The President's Son

The Crusade

 

 

 

By

Alan Stroup

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

 

This is the second book in a trilogy: The President's Boy, The President's Boy: The Crusade, and Bring the Heat

 

The author wishes to thank the many positive responses of my previous books. Having spent sixteen years writing over thirty novels to give the world an enlightening view of gay men and boys, I'm converting these to digital format for your pleasure. Support me on Amazon, Create Space, or Kindle. I'm also an advocate to eradicate civil commitment laws and America's puritanical viewpoint on sexuality and gay rights.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PROLOGUE

America's First Boy graduated from high school without academic fanfare or any aspiring goals to achieve his father's success in politics. He had as a teenager influenced, if not inspired, thousands of boys and girls who possessed an alternative sexual orientation.

In the gay community the President of the United States' first born son was the snowflake that started an avalanche of awareness to the general public for the rights of young gay people to have a better understanding and pride in their sexuality. With each snowflake that fell during Chip Carver's White House adolescence a new generation of gay teens experienced a gradual break down of homophobia in their daily lives.

With the assistance and friendship of England's most famous pop singer and teenage boy toy, the two teens manifested a campaign to support all gay boys and girls in a belief that everyone should feel safe in school, at home, and in their community.

Not since the thirteenth century has the youth of the world envisioned their own crusade to promote their rights and inspire change. Chip and Ronin expected a few teenagers to partake of this adventure from coast to coast; a way to spend their free time and make for an enlightening essay of how they spent their summer vacation away from school.

While the Crusade of 1212 A.D. was certainly an army of children, these two famous teenagers did not presuppose of such an assembly for their own crusade. They hoped for a few dozen youth as a representation of a unique society who could make immense challenges compatible to the personal enjoyment of loving someone of your own sex. In philosophical sense the message was too complex for the average teenager. Most of the interested kids just wanted to ride a bike with other teens who felt the same way they did.

The reality of organizing such a crusade came in doses from the boys' parents, mainly the president and first lady. A panel with a mix of gay and straight members was organized within the White House as a project that would have made a college report gleam with creativity and ingenuity. One thing they all shared was a commitment to making any crusade a safe and influential event.

Austin, Texas

Benjamin "Slim" Barkley wasn't slim nor did he have the bark of an oil tycoon that had once made him famous, if not feared. For Texas' most self-righteous billionaire this philanthropist loved a good fight with politicians more than beating Oklahoma University in their yearly football rivalry with UT—barely, that is.

At 62 years of age much of the fight had gone out of the old rancher, but not the intestinal fortitude that had made the old gruff one of the richest men in America. Most of the bred, oil, Texas men knew the character of Ben Barkley; few knew who and what made this man a living legend.

A stout Liberal in backbone Ben had refrained from financial support of "pussy" Republicans like the Bush clan. His focus had always been on his twenty thousand acres, bursting from the seams with cattle. Oil just happened to be an inconvenient surplus below the green pastures. Too busy to ever marry, his nephews and nieces were most often the recipients of the baron's generosity and love of children. Only his eldest nephew, a seventeen-year old Texas University freshman, knew what might just make his uncle's heart tick a different beat than most of the mentors who had influenced his life.

To Austin Barkley, his uncle had had far more influence in his life than his own father. An accomplished swimmer as a youth and now a member of one of the nation's finest swim programs in the Texas Longhorns, it was well known in the family circle that Austin's uncle had a fifty-meter swimming pool built on the ranch to accommodate his favorite nephew when the boy was only ten-years old. Only in Texas could one find a lone, suit less lad swimming laps in his own fifty-meter pool. For a ten-year old to be told that this massive swimming hole was a no-suit requirement received no less of a smile than welcoming a boy to free partaking at an ice cream parlor. Of course this skinny dipping referendum seemed to disappear when other family members partook. That didn't matter much; this little tacit secret made this union that much tighter.

Uncle Ben spent countless hours sitting beside this Olympic size pool, with wine glass in hand, monitoring his nephew's workouts while reading the Wall Street Journal and encouraging this aspiring pollywog to perfection in all four swim strokes.

Living twenty miles away from his uncle didn't hamper Austin's swim practices. Ben simply sent a chauffeured limo to pick up and deliver his nephew on a daily basis from elementary school through junior high that lasted until the boy's high school swim coach insisted that the youngster attend the required practices at the school's own twenty-five meter pool.

Call it gaydar or whatever, Ben always knew Austin was different than other boys. The man saw himself in Austin and had a way of influencing, if not financially persuading, his younger brother Jake, Austin's father, that the boy was put on earth by the Good Lord to be under the protection and influence of one Benjamin Barkley. Given that Jake Barkley was also Ben's lawyer—well paid, mind you—Ben pulled the strings from a distance on where and how his younger brother's family lived.

Ben's few distracters were Jake's wife, Lucille, who thought Ben had way too much influence in Austin's life. Her lack of fondness led to her casual nickname for the man—Bum Steer. Obviously Austin detested his mother for saying anything negative about his uncle.

Ben had the ultimate suggestion to his brother, "Have another three kids to keep the little lady changing diapers and out of harm's way." Joe obliged and Ben upped the man's salary.

Ben and Austin became a common appearance at Dallas Cowboys' football games, Texas Rangers' behind-the-dugout fanatics and, of course, the Longhorns guaranteed season tickets holders on the fifty-yard line. If Austin happened to miss a game due to a family excursion, the fans around Ben would ask, "Where's your boy, Ben?" That always made Ben grin ear to ear.

Despite the gifts of jewels and the most modern of Mercedes Benz, Lucille frowned on all these "ridiculous, waste-of-time commitments," she called them that her eldest son held in such esteem with his uncle. She learned to bite her tongue, a casual learned trait by Texan women who had married into money. Her Mormon upbringing in Utah believed in family togetherness, strict ideals to healthy diet and protocol. To Lucille, Uncle Barkley imposed vices on Austin that were inapprehensible. It was a given that her own father, a Mormon bishop in Salt Lake City, always clashed with Ben during family gatherings. It was a disaster waiting to happen.

This uncle/nephew union was widely accepted by most, envied by a few, yet understood by no one. To Ben the boy represented perfection, a living angel on earth who had become the man's sole reason for enjoying life. Ben knew little about coaching swimming or the nuances of athletics until this budding nephew began to show promise and commitment to this sport. The man knew one thing: he had better learn all he could about swimming or lose his nephew to a better coach. Ben studied, watched, and formulated his own strategies to produce a talent unmatched by few youth in the United States. He had studied the sport of swimming and sports psychology with the same ingenuity that he had mastered the oil business.

Beginning when Austin turned eleven, Ben put into effect a training regimen that included nutrition, growth charts, weight program, and massages after workouts. The first time Austin flipped over after an invigorating leg and rear end massage a most prominent hard-on was evident to his uncle's laughter and surprise. This comical reaction became an expected occurrence each time his uncle kneaded the delicate muscles of a budding youth.

Though Ben could certainly state, using former President Clinton's definition of inappropriate sex acts, his relationship with his nephew was morally on key. "Key" being the relevant word. Swimming wasn't the only thing taught. Masturbation and erotic zone teachings were well appreciated by a young adolescent whose sexual questions had no embarrassment with his uncle. With puberty came the post-workout libido. It was important that the boy's semen became good swimmers, as well. Ben implied that the extra attention was a reward for finishing arduous workouts.

When Austin was fourteen, a string bean at five-eleven and nearly as tall as his uncle, he asked Ben if he could bring another boy over for a swim. Ben not only concurred but made sure his absence was replaced by security cameras unseen by unknowing eyes. His verifying his nephew's tastes did not go unfounded. There are logical reasons why Austin had a penis pointed upward more than downward when they were together. Two blue-eyed, blond and naked teenagers attracted to each other had much the same physical response. Their sexual fumbling, accurate perceptions, and finally success in this discovery of bonding these erections had made Ben's pool investment one of his most successful ventures of his lifetime.

Certainly a feeling of losing this precious boy to another male had crossed his mind, but even this thought was put to rest when Austin began to rely even more on his uncle's wisdom, advice, knowledge, and compliance in arranging dates with this boy and others.

Austin finally came out to his uncle at fifteen years of age, as if all these shenanigans were a mystery to a casual observer. Ben squeezed his favorite person and couldn't resist a little poking of fun.

"D'oh! And here I thought with all those boners you were fantasizing about cute girls."

Austin grinned. "Shucks, Uncle Ben, you're the hottest boy I know."

That made Ben's day, as any day with his nephew. He took the teen out for a steak dinner that night in Dallas after a quick helicopter trip. Over dinner Ben tiptoed around the fact that he was inclined toward the ole turtle head, too. Took a second, but Austin figured that one out and giggled his precious laughter, never lost from boyhood. Austin leaned across the linen tablecloth.

"Uncle Ben, even at twelve I knew how to get your britches to raise. Reckon my favorite man had the finest oil derrick around, and it seeped from its tip. Don't you think I didn't notice."

Ben realized at that very moment that he had underestimated his nephew's brilliance, a boy who saw through him like no other. They were buds for life and possibly their kiss on the lips that night, a whole lot longer than this loving gesture partook from years previous, bonded them for eternity.

Leave it to Austin to try to arrange a date for his uncle with his assistant swim coach, who Austin was sure was gay. For some logical reason, Austin hadn't expected resistance or rejection. Ben was always protective of his privacy and sexuality. He admitted to his nephew that the boy was more than he could handle between keeping a range and training an Olympic hopeful in line. For the time being he'd pass on this relationship angle. Instead, this wealthy Texan threw the teenager a party for their entire high school swim team in celebration of the boy's coming out, though no one but two handsome boy swimmers knew of Austin's sexual tastes. Ben didn't enforce his no-suit policy. Austin had no reservation to toss his swimsuit to the wind and set a trend for his peers to follow, despite having a few mothers around as chaperones for this large picnic and party. There wasn't a mother who dared complain, what with an abundance of teenage studs flashing their wares.

That evening after the party Austin told his uncle about the president's son, Chip Carver, and the boy's Facebook page which was used by Chip to disclose that he was gay. At Austin's age, Chip had just become another motivating and inspiring person in his life to make him feel proud of his sexuality. He followed the First Boy's daily existence with fervor, wishing to someday meet this amazing teenager.

With Chip Carver's announcement of a gay crusade across the United States, Austin approached his uncle after his high school commencement for advice, if not assistance in this endeavor. Ben, never one to disappoint Austin, relished this opportunity. Within days an invitation had been sent to the White House with an addendum of financial support if young Carver would be so generous as to visit the Barkley ranch.

The White House

Chip and Philly had just returned from Italy, a graduation gift from their parents. It wasn't necessary for Philly to tag along, but it was his brother's choice of partners, considering that Ronin was in contract for several concerts during this time. Unlike many brother combinations, Chip and Philly were as tight as any siblings could be and rarely had rivalries that kept brothers at odds.

Chip's report to his father in the Oval Office was blunt with typical teenage insight. "Dad, Venice is still sinking, Berlusconi wanted to bed me, and I want one of those zippy moto's."

President Carver, a year and a half away from finishing his second term, reclined back in his plush chair and smiled. "Tell the Italian president that your butt is already committed to an English boy, and no! on the cycle. How was Rome?"

Chip swung his leg over the arm of the sofa. "Dreary, Disneyfied and otherwise uninspiring. As Fellini saw it, it is ancient, contradictory, preening, a theatrical wonder, but I like its gay district."

A few years earlier Alain Carver wouldn't have found that a bit funny. Now he chuckled. "My intellectual son. Turning over a new leaf? I hardly doubt the gay adventure. My Secret Service agents would have told me about that excursion."

"True, maybe. I mean, I memorized that part about Rome from Fellini's opening scenes of his swan-song cinematic homage to Variety Theater, Ginger and Fred. About the gay district, what makes you think that your agents are all straight?"

"Okay, I'll give you that one, but they all like their paycheck. Anything you liked that didn't have a hard-on attached to it?"

"David's penis. If he was Jewish, why isn't he circumcised?"

"One can only suppose that's how Michelangelo liked his boys," the president replied.

"Not me. I like the full mushroom effect. I porcini sono pronti!"

"What's that mean?"

"I don't know. They said it at dinner over there. We toured the Maserati factory and the Ferruccio Lamborghini Museum. I think I want one of them too."

"Isn't Ronin enough for you to drive?"

"Good point, Dad. Off the topic, do you mind if I go to Texas for a few days?"

The president glanced up from his paperwork. "Hmmmm, I understand you've been invited down there by this...I have it here somewhere...yes, here it is...a Benjamin Barkley. I've heard of him, major contributor to our party. I've had the agency check him out: Wealthy, somewhat of an oil barren who has made quite a mark by his own bootstraps. They say he's a bit of an eccentric bachelor with his own fifty-meter Olympic pool in his backyard. With as much money as the guy has I'm surprised he hasn't offered to host the Olympic Games."

These were things Chip wasn't even aware of. "I like the guy already. He wants to fund my crusade."

"The question is, my eldest son, what's in it for him? No one just picks out a teenager to give that much money to. If he expects some form of favoritism from me, he'll be sorely disappointed. I support your dream on this crusade but not at the expense of playing politics. I might be a lame duck president but I have to protect the party. This man isn't the typical Texas Republican. He has a reputation of rubbing this southern, conservative, iron hold from the Republicans the wrong way."

"To each his own way, Dad. Whether the guy is Republican or Democrat shouldn't have any bearing on our mission to express love based on equality. I've never ridden a horse or lassoed a cow, so I'm up to the challenge."

"Haven't you had enough men who have lassoed you, Chipper?"

"Funny, Pops." Chip swung his legs downward and moved forward to sit on his father's desk. Few people would be so daring. "So I have your blessing on this. Give me Zack and Looper; they'll make sure the guy doesn't brand my behind, unless he's real cute."

"The guy is sixty-two. Dare say he's on Viagra and past his prime. Want to take your brother?"

"Philly's my sidekick. I wouldn't dare deprive him of a chance to ride a bull."

"I wish I could get rid of a few legislators out of Washington just as easy. You better behave yourself, young man."

"Moi?"

With a full security team in tow, the boys' plane landed in Austin. At the airport they were transferred to a helicopter that sat down within a half-hour on the front lawn of a ranch almost the size of Rhode Island. Waiting near this helicopter pad was a robust Texan in a white cowboy hat and a white, braided western shirt with jeans that outlined the legs of a man who hadn't let grass grow too long under his feet. Next to Ben was his nephew, Austin, dressed in much the same outfit but with a pair of britches that shone of deer hide. The teen's smile could have lit up the tarmac.

"Howdy, partners!" Ben greeted the boys as they stepped from the helicopter. "Meet my nephew, Austin Barkley, the future of Texas."

Austin blushed and stepped forward to shake the hands of two handsome boys, one a teenager his age and one he awed like his favorite movie star. Chip's million-watt smile almost had Austin cream in his pants. From behind Austin's back he swung out two cowboy hats, both brown and perfectly shaped to make them instantly Texas' cowboys.

Hot and humid the Texas air was overwhelming to the president's sons at first, only to find the rich soil at their feet intoxicating.

Several agents had already scoped the ranch out. They had made prior arrangements and secured the premises against surprises. Ben had really gone out of his way to be totally congenial and helpful. This gathering was as much for his ego as it was for his nephew.

The boys checked their living arrangements and changed into the range clothes that Austin had sat out for them. He was so excited to show the two teens the ranch on horseback that Austin just naturally followed the boys into the bedroom.

Chip and Philly each wore European cut briefs, one red, and the other blue, under their suits. They didn't mind one bit that Austin stayed and eyed their crotches as they changed. Considering how well the Carver boys were endowed, they knew Austin was enjoying the view.

Ben and Austin had done their homework. Through the knowledge of the Secret Service they found out the boys' foot and clothing sizes. The finest Lucchese boots slid on their feet; their first pair of cowboy boots. Plaid shirts with Wrangler jeans rounded out their outfits. Belt buckles of a buckling bronco had the Carver boys smile at their western getup.

Outside at the corral, ranch hands had prepared horses for the boys' excursion around the ranch. Chip's and Philly's horses had doglike friendliness, while Austin's favorite horse had an incorrigible impish streak. Austin was very empathic with the president's sons, their lack of riding ability and novice experiences with the wilderness. He taught them about heels down, light hands on the reins, sit in a balanced way so that head, shoulders, hips, and heels fall in a natural line. Control over a horse, like control over a teenager, is one in the same; a quote from Uncle Ben, Austin noted.

The Carver boys quickly learned that a horse had very clear opinions about what he did and didn't want to do. A trot away from the ranch, but not too fast, brought smiles to the boys' faces. Two agents rode far to the rear as not to impede on teenagers' space.

A horseback ride was similar to a roller coaster ride at this stage in their lives. Austin's advice about safety, respecting a horse's speed and space were all helpful. They couldn't be a spaz or daydream, instructions that Austin said with humor but truth. Ride for long and it's not if you come off your horse, but when. Chip absorbed his peer's words that a horse is so sensitive to mood and subtle shifts of the body that, if you're quiet and focused, there are times when it can read your mind. You simply think, "Stop," and the horse stops. Or you think, "We should go left, and the horse is moving left before the thought is complete. That's really powerful when you're a teenager.

"I had a boyfriend once who read my mind," Austin added and watched Chip and Philly smile with acceptance.

Chip knew immediately that this handsome Texas boy was trying to make Philly and him comfortable, if not informing them that he was gay, as well.

They grappled with wilderness shock—suddenly transported to deep wilderness without sufficient time for adjusting perceptually. The sun's orientation—relatively high overhead and intense—took getting used to, and there was this vacuous sense of enormous country.

All three riders and their horses attuned to the wonderful background music of gently singing birds, wind softly sighing through the brush and trees, and veritable ambrosia of earthly scents. Austin was well used to Texas country, his autopilot flowed with his horse's gradual trot. Mesmerized by silence amongst them, Austin embraced this solace like pretty eye candy, while it's geologic significance soared right over boys who were more used to the confines of a huge White House.

A fat, five-foot-long timber rattlesnake all mottled black-gray and green laid coiled just behind a beach ball-size chunk of rock along the trail. Austin spotted it first and pointed to this dangerous creature, but not uncommon. Chip and Philly's eyes enlarged, adrenaline soared through their veins and panic caused their spines to straighten. The snake just sat there with its tongue flicking out. Luckily there was no death rattle, no aggressive S-shapes coiling as a prelude to striking. Like a cat taking a sunny nap on a summer's day, the snake just maintained a comfortable repose.

Chip was amazed how Austin just sat there staring at the snake, like the two respected each other's space. Their telepathy was unambiguous—you leave me alone and I'll leave you alone. They rode on.

Around the next bend there is a sound of a prelude of riffles, a churning pool amid wild spray and clawing boulders. The canyon's deep forested sides and sandy beaches along the riverbank were strikingly wild and healthy to boys yet to experience this phenomenal of ranch land. Above them on a branch came a taunting "kaa-kaa-kaa!" from a raven.

"That's Okie," Austin said and pointed up at the aerial creature. "Go away you stupid bird! There won't be any skinny dipping today!"

"Why do you call him Okie?" Chip asked.

"My uncle and I aren't great fans of Oklahoma, and that crazy bird stole my underwear one day last summer. I've yet to find it."

The boys laughed and eyed the mischievous bird. Respected for their vast repertoire of calls, cunning, and phenomenal aerial capability, ravens often distinguish themselves as tricksters getting into mischief when searching for food and brightly colored objects to take back to their nests. Austin's underwear just happened to be bright green. Flying away with invaluable treasures and croaking loudly about their little Pyrrhic victories, it's difficult not to take delight in their clever antics.

Austin pointed down at some tracks by the river's edge. "Bear tracks, but make no mind, I always am prepared." He reached into his saddle bag and pulled out pepper spray and a blow horn. "Uncle Ben won't let me venture out without these."

Philly found these safeguards assuring. "Nothing like a modern cowboy," he said in humor. "Too bad we have to keep our clothes on. That river looks awfully tempting to swim in."

"We could go swimming, but there are several cotton mouths out there and my uncle has restricted me since one chased me last summer. Okie just sat up there and laughed. That bird is like a coyote with wings. There is nothing that goes on in these woods that he isn't aware of. He's watched my first kiss from a boy and a whole lot more."

"Maybe that's why he took your underwear. He's a gay bird," Chip surmised and had his peers in stitches.

Austin swung off his horse and climbed up an old oak tree to a tree house he had built as a boy. He brought down three fishing poles and a can of stone fly hatches. Almost as soon as Philly swung his line in the current then a rainbow trout snagged it. The boy beamed from ear to ear--his first fish, ever!

Off with their boots, socks, shirts and pants, the teens reclined on a large tree trunk that had cracked and fallen into the river. Austin retrieved sun screen lotion from his saddle bag and didn't bother asking his friends if they wanted coated; he volunteered to rub it on their faces and torso. So enamored with this chance at meeting his hero, Austin's erection poked from his underwear. It was a physical response he hadn't planned on. If he thought Philly would be concerned, he was totally wrong.

"Nice rod for a cowboy," Philly said and had his brother swing around with a smile.

"I find your Texas hospitality might to my liking," Chip said as not to embarrass his host.

"Thanks," Austin said out of politeness. "You guys are like the best thing ever to happen to this ranch and to gay kids. I hope you'll invite me on your crusade."

"That's a given," Chip replied. "I am really thankful that your uncle has decided to help us out. Even a little would be a big help."

"Uncle Ben wants to see this crusade be real successful. Thanks for coming down and meeting him. It means a lot to him, and I kinda appreciate it, too."

"It's our first time in Texas, but your state has always been against anything gay. I want our crusade to eliminate homophobia and bullying. And that's our real focal point—trying to be proactive as a group about social change." Chip was well versed in his agenda.

Austin was quick to give Texas more than a reputation as prudish. "We have tons of gays in Texas. It's the Tea Party and Republicans who rain on our parade. Self-righteous bigots if you ask me."

Chip took the lotion from Austin's fingers and returned the favor. Of course he also managed to tease Austin by rubbing his elbow against the tip of the hard-on. It quickly had a moist spot seep to the size of a Texas' quarter. Chip laid the boy back on the log, pulled down the front of the blue briefs and went down on the rigid object. Barely a minute later Chip was swallowing sperm while the raven squawked with appreciation.

Only after the three boys mounted their horses for their return trip did Austin realize they were being followed by Secret Service. Anxiety swept through him that these men had seen everything. Chip only smiled.

"Don't sweat it. They're here to protect, not to judge. Anyway, they know I'm gay and deserve a fantasy to jack off to tonight."

Austin relaxed but was glad he didn't have constant scrutiny in his life. They circumvented this boulder-strewn lake, surrounded by lush alpine meadows, glittered under a flawless blue sky. Austin was alive and wanted to shout to the heavens for being so happy. Chip Carver had given him a blow job. Wow! He had a few close friends in the Boy Scouts; they'd never believe him.

So he did his own celebration. "Yeeehaaaaa!" He vented a true Texan scream for joy that he had had sex with his idol—well, not exactly sex, but really close. He lifted his Stetson to wipe his brow of sweat and then found humor in Philly rising from his saddle from a sore butt. These city boys had soft butts.

"Sorry `bout dat," Austin apologized for shocking his new friends.

"Don't mention it," Chip replied with a smile. "If we did that in the White House we'd have a dozen agents with their guns drawn.

A half-mile from the ranch the boys picked up the aroma of beef brisket and ribs. Their first horseback ride had been successful and quite adventurous. Normally Austin would teach the boys how to brush down their horses, feed them and put them in stall. He had other ideas and allowed the ranch hands to take the horses off their hands.

Around the back they flew, though Chip and Philly definitely felt the effects of several hours of having their butts bounced. There in the glimmering rays of a hot sun stood a magnificent Olympic size pool, blue water glistened under a Texas' sun. Chip laughed at the brilliance of something so refreshing to the senses. Off with their clothes, the three teens dove in to the refreshing coolness of crystal clear water.

Half the pool had lane dividers, while the other half had both a volleyball net and a basketball goal. In six feet of water it was still necessary to spring off the bottom or constantly tread water.

Ben Barkley strolled out with two margaritas in hand, knelt at the pool edge and allowed his nephew a sip. He offered the Carver boys equal gulps but they declined, though appreciative.

"Might happy to see that Austin has introduced you to our Texas swimming hole, boys," Ben said. His eyes went to the watery reflections of the boys' penises. "Are those snakes in the water or are my eyes deceiving me? I better get my six-shooter."

Austin knew his uncle wouldn't miss the length of the Carver boys. "Reckon we might have to adopt them as Texans, Uncle Ben. We need a fourth, Uncle Ben, care to join us?"

Ben glanced around and, what the hell! he owned this spread. Off with his finest tie and shirt he was as naked as these teenagers in a matter of seconds. A hefty tucked splash made his entrance even that much more profound. For being sixty-two there wasn't much fat on this senior who could probably bench press these three boys together.

Ben had no qualms about taking one of these youngsters in his grasp and sending him ten feet across the pool. And that was just to make sure he had a clear shot. Ben's Texas smile radiated his love of beauty, a joyful sexiness of admiration for the beautiful, smooth bodies surrounding him. At one point he lifted his nephew to complete an easy dunk, the boy's ass in his face. If anyone caught the lick they had to be quick at sight.

"Ah, youth. It is wasted on the young, isn't it?" Ben asked Philly.

"You don't seem old to me, sir," Philly said and made a friend for life.

Ben's butler of thirty-seven years strolled out by the pool. Arthur Washington, seventy-seven years young, was old school loyalty to one of Texas' wealthiest and influential citizens. When it came to Ben Barkley, nothing surprised him. His employer had looked well beyond that the man was black and had a family history of slaves dating back two-hundred years. To Ben, Arthur was a trusted dear friend, if not adopted into the family.

Ever so prompt, Arthur appeared at attention with a hand towel draped over his forearm. "Sir, your brother and his family have arrived. Should I allow them access? They are with the Secret Service currently."

"Of course, Arthur. Put the old cow out to pasture if you have the nerve." Ben said that in a whisper, as not for Austin to hear. It was a standard joke to call his brother's wife a cow. Arthur always found it funny and couldn't help but break with a smile.

"I could inform the Secret Service that she is suspicious," Arthur replied in rare comedic form.

Ben chuckled. "That would be cruel, but I like it. God knows, my brother would never let me live that one down. I'll be right there, Arthur. Thank you for informing me."

Arthur glanced into the pool, always in appreciation of his employers' artistic desires. "I've never seen the pool lovelier." He strolled off in geriatric fervor after the remark.

Ben had a departing remark to keep Arthur honest. "You old fart! You just wish you could still get it up!" He saw Arthur tap his tired ass in retreat.

"Boys, I reckon I better do my duty as man of the house. I'll call you for dinner." He did his best to spring from the pool, an effort that he found somewhere in his aged body. Ben didn't think to tell his nephew that his parents and siblings had arrived.

Austin's five siblings ranged in age from a fifteen-year old sister to two younger brothers, twelve and ten. Two more sisters, nine and seven completed the family. Brought up partially Mormon, with a dose of Texas Presbyterian from their father's side, the girls especially were conservative in nature and far more prudish than their older brother, long a protégé of their Uncle Ben. For the most part, as far as their mother was concerned, Uncle Ben was the pariah of the family to be avoided at all cost. How he got his fangs into her eldest would forever be her bane against her husband.

It wasn't like Austin had exactly come out to his family as of yet. At school Austin was suspect; on the ranch he was the respected nephew of the boss who brought cute boys to swim with him. Ranch hands treated Austin as if he was heir to the crown. To his siblings he was their mentor, a young god who received kudo for his swimming and academic talents. When five boys and girls came all but running toward the pool, Austin nearly panicked in fright. His 13-year old brother, Cheet, was his closest confidant, but even this budding, pubescent youth didn't know of his brother's sexual orientation. He was the first to run up and realize that Austin and two other teens were nude in the pool.

"Hey, bro! Oops!" Cheet spun around. "Austin says before we meet his friends we have to be in our swim suits!"

Like obedient angels they all headed for the pool house adjacent to the pool. Of course, Sara, the fifteen-year old was puzzled at this request. She managed to twist close enough to notice that there was a lot of pink under the water.

"Thanks, Cheet," Austin said and waited until his sisters and youngest brother were in the pool house. Cheet just stuck around waiting for something good to show.

"I have suits in the pool house," Austin said. "Do you think you can sneak them out to us?"

Cheet sat down on the edge of the pool, his eyes absorbing everything below the water line. "Sure, but they're going to know what I'm up to; plus, they just kicked Scooter out while they undress."

Chip and Philly weren't quite sure what the fuss was but Austin had to make quick decisions or face censure, if not worse from his siblings and mother. Going skinny dipping must be some sort of sin to the Mormons. He abstained from this religious practice because his father said he could. Uncle Ben considered the Mormons a snake oil sect who made up a religion so they could fuck as many women as they wanted.

A hundred yards away stood a tall oak tree on the south edge of this manicured backyard, and above the branches of this large, ancient oak, stood an amazing tree house that he and his uncle had built five years earlier. The thousand-square foot domain, supported by half-a-dozen Ponderosa pine poles, was like a private residence for Austin, a place where he not only slept while at the ranch but where he had his first affairs with boyfriends.

"Come on, guys!" Austin yelled and sprang from the pool with Chip and Philly on his tail.

The boys sprinted across the field, their bare, pink asses spraying water to and fro. It was a chance worth taking. Anyone glancing out the rear of Ben's ranch home could see the naked teens, but, so what? He was almost a free teenager on his way to college.

Inside this magnificent version of a tree house it was finished with specially treated spruce, redwood, mahogany, oak and cedar. Like everything in Texas it seemed overdone in its appearance. With Japanese tastes, its calmness was esteemed with a peaceful aesthetic that screamed isolation and privacy. All of Austin's artwork, his hobby when away from others, was exhibited on the walls. Gay charcoal drawings, photos of his favorite friends, and two of Chip, taken from the teen's web site. Austin blushed when Chip's eyes fell on his picture in full Monty, at least from the rear.

"This is awesome!" Philly exclaimed. "You're so lucky."

That was hard to believe coming from a president's kid, but Austin accepted the praise. When the boys saw Austin's initials below each painting or drawing it brought even more accolades. A massage table sat in the corner of the room, a special piece of furniture with its own secrets. While it can be said that many a gunslinger had put carvings into their gun to signify those they had shot, Austin and his uncle had carved in their own notches for each orgasm—a private joke. Practically across the wood panel underneath were several hundred marks.

Chip saw this interesting piece of furniture, most often seen in a trainer's room. "My coach in tennis gives me a lot of these."

"Really?! I get `em after swim practices. My uncle is really good. I'd like to give you one." It just slipped out, but Chip didn't mind and jumped up on the table. Philly wanted to assist.

With two on one, they took turns in their best attempts at giving a vigorous massage, resembling Rolfing at times. Three horny teenagers found ways to make this a sexual scene, full of raging hard-ons and flipping tongues.

In Austin's euphoria he had long forgotten his reason for escape or the hazards lurking nearby. He certainly hadn't heard or sensed his two brothers who had invited themselves up and into this tree house. Three teenagers were well exploring the heights of pleasure and the depths of desire when Philly just happened to twist his head around the see thirteen and ten-year old boys standing by the doorway with smiles on their faces. Philly's cock was inside Austin's mouth, while his brother had this Texas boy's legs upward, gliding a fairly long and glistening penis in and out. Philly saw no reason to panic and put a finger to his lips for the boys just to remain silent or leave—it was their choice. They stayed. Not until Philly jacked Austin off, while Chip was coming inside those tight cheeks, did he release his dick and proceed to come all over Austin's lips and slurping tongue. He jumped off the table and pointed at the box of tissues beside Austin's bed on the other side of the room.

"Could you throw those over? Thanks," Philly said and had both Austin and Chip finally discover that there were two observers in the room. Austin's face turned ashen white, his half erection dripped with sperm.

Cheet broke the tension. "It's cool. I know." He patted Scooter's head as to assure he was in on this secret.

"How? I've never told you." Austin implied.

"Scooter and I have spied on you through your web cam. We've seen you beat off with your guy magazines and what you watch on the Internet."

Austin could hardly find anger inside of him at his brother's disclosure. Younger brothers were, well, a nuisance at the most interesting of times.

Chip certainly wasn't all that embarrassed and introduced himself and his brother. Their nine-inch cocks had Scooter's stare that locked on until Cheet thumped his brother on the head.

"I brought three suits from the pool house. Sara is wondering where you guys disappeared to," Cheet said.

"Thanks, bro, I owe you one," Austin said and had a new appreciation for his brother. He was always a little condescending to this thirteen-year old, but this loyalty had a new respect in store. Austin had always felt a little ashamed for wanting his uncle all to himself. Cheet in turn had always supported him and maybe it was time to give little brother some credit.

With smiles on their faces that had far more meaning than just running through the plush, green grass the boys raced back to the pool. The nine kids were quickly organized into a volleyball game before dinner. Chip and Philly found the Barkley kids fun and very athletic. Scooter had this goofy smile on his face the whole afternoon and, as ten-year olds' are known for, his suit was poking forward most of the time.

At dinner the Carver boys met Ben's relatives. Lucille was charming in her meeting President Carver's sons. Though she often treated Austin with coolness and strictness, as if it was her role to counter everything that Ben had taught him, she was a gracious mother in front of the Carver boys. This was prestigious to her and certainly something she would convey to her woman's group at church. They would obviously be impressed.

Arthur was his usual cordial self, a butler bent on etiquette and décor. There certainly wasn't any offering of beer or wine to Austin or the other teens while Lucille was around.

A private conversation between Austin and his uncle verified a great afternoon for his favorite boy. There was enough food with burgers, mesquite-smoked chicken and pork ribs. Though he didn't like to make exceptions for Lucille, he had his chef prepare a svelte grilled-salmon salad for this fussy woman.

There was no talk of the crusade during dinner or while the Barkley clan was present. Lucille didn't insist that her eldest return with the family since the president's boys would appreciate her son's appearance. Of course later she's quiz her eldest for all the latest gossip. Under her breath she hinted that Chip and Philly were no doubt safer if they were chaperoned by Austin. Austin would relate what he heard to his uncle. Just another thorn to chalk up in this eternal dispute between his mother and his favorite person.

Austin didn't whine when Cheet and Scooter wanted to stay over at their uncles. He owed them for their silence, but at the last second Lucille decided that Cheet could stay but not Scooter, like an added informer to their uncle's antics. Scooter pouted until Austin promised him a special visit at another time in the tree house—just the two of them.

The Special Gift

Ben Barkley loved to show off his collection of sport memorabilia to anyone who showed interest. Off the main dining room his lodge room was a showcase of the ranch's history, filled with stuffed heads of deer, bear, and a mountain lion. Austin had often accompanied his uncle on these hunting trips and now was an avid woodsman himself. He personally took pride to brag with a little history about each mounted animal cadaver, as if he was his uncle's spokesman.

Nearby Cheet felt honored to be allowed this night to spend with his uncle and brother. His mind was still comprehending all this new vivid sexuality that he had viewed that afternoon. He was pretty sure he was straight, but gay sex was, well, wonderful to see. Three days away from turning thirteen, though he told everyone he was thirteen, a small fluff of pubic hair had surfaced to go with this new habit of squirting sperm on a nightly basis. Sharing a room with a ten-year old didn't offer privacy, so he had had to demonstrate this new proficiency to Scooter. The boy was even more amazed that his roommate could do now what they watched Austin do. Though a ten-year old was under foot a great deal, Cheet sort of wished that the boy could have stayed with him that night. They had so much to talk about and, knowing his brother, Scooter would probably want to try some of it.

For the time being Cheet felt special and honored to share this moment with Austin and everyone else.

It was when his uncle moved a book on the mantel that the fireplace swiveled to reveal a whole new room never seen by his eyes before. If Austin hadn't confessed to Ben that his brother caught him having sex, Ben wouldn't have been so revealing. He now put trust in his "almost" thirteen-year old nephew that what happened or was seen in this house stayed in the house. Cheet nodded with glee and promised with a crossed heart.

This enclosed room was brightly lit by little spotlights up in the corners. A room with no windows this private escape was alive with white oak walls, double-sided tufted-leather furniture and bright colors. Pictures of Austin decorated much of one wall: a young teen naked by the pool outside, a few of his competition victories, and others Cheet had never seen. He even saw one of himself next to an eight-by-ten of Scooter. That made him smile that he deserved such recognition. It came with a reality that his brother did a whole lot of skinny dipping when he visited Uncle Ben. Along another wall were sport pictures, some very old. His uncle loved to explain each photograph or bit of memorabilia, especially when it came to Joe DiMaggio.

Chip and Philly stayed awestruck at this fantastic collection. They were pleased that this man didn't treat them like children. In the main lodge room Mr. Barkley had brought out a bottle of cognac, Louis the XIV, he had said with another history lesson, and then gave each boy a swig of this sweet, strong tasting wine. It was no doubt Cheet's first taste of alcohol. Ben had brought the bottle with him to this private escape to keep filling the boys' shot glasses.

The boys were told to make themselves comfortable in overstuffed armchairs while Ben talked about his favorite item, a 1917 Shoeless Joe Jackson baseball card. Though it was difficult for anyone but baseball enthusiasts to comprehend the significance of all this, both Chip and Philly were avid Washington fans. They well appreciated seeing items related to Ty Cobb, Willie Mays, and Ted Williams. The concept of greatness had a way of exciting every boy's imagination of achieving stardom in sports.

The teens and one soon-to-be might not have sensed their new giddiness after two drinks, but they were all beginning to be lightheaded and relaxed. Cheet found anything funny and was a giggle a second.

Chip knew that any time he and his brother were out of sight, or the agents didn't know where they were, he had to call in. Once verification was reported the boys reclined back in their chairs to enjoy Ben's presentation. Chip learned more about baseball's history in thirty minutes than he had his whole life.

Finally the man dimmed the lights. "On behalf of Austin and myself we would like to present our invited guests with a gift." Ben swung around from behind his back a small cardboard box, encased in plastic. "This, boys, is an unopened box of Tops baseball cards from August of 1952."

Chip and Philly knew enough about baseball cards to know the value of a 1952 card, especially of a well-known Texas baseball player named Mickey Mantle. What if?

"I've been waiting for years to use this on a special occasion. It is as much to honor my eldest nephew's sexual orientation as it is to do the public a service and make these cards available."

If Chip thought the man was going to open those cards that night they were very mistaken. Ben elaborated on his intention. "I've booked an auction house in Dallas for the coming weekend. The baseball world has been notified and let the bidding commence. All proceeds, minus ten percent for the house, will go to the success of the crusade."

Chip stood up, shook Ben's and Austin's hands and hugged them both. He thanked them immensely. Sure there was hope that at least one Mantle card would be in the box, but others were also very valuable. Ben assured them of the number possibilities in this distribution that Mantle would certainly appear. In mint condition the card would get six figures.

To celebrate this grand occasion, the room's lights were shut off. Ever so slowly the ceiling commenced to open and a magnified view of the stars appeared before the boys' eyes. The warm evening air penetrated the coolness of the room, but the view was overwhelming. Austin dragged out several futons so they could lie down and view this modern version of astronomy. It captivated these boys to the power of the universe. The highly magnified telescope was actually several hundred miles away but relayed these magnificent views directly in a holographic screen above the room. Chip slid his fingers over and held Austin's hand in his and moved him upon the futon.

It didn't take long for Cheet to see that his brother was having more fun than he was. He saw the other futon that his brother had dragged out from a closet and asked Philly to lay down with him. The boys reclined side by side to enjoy the awesome sight of a meteor streaking across the sky.

Philly just thought his eyes were open, but a sudden peck to his lips made them really bloom. Philly slanted his vision to his left to see if anyone else had noticed that this young man had kissed him. His brother and Austin were way too involved with their own necking, now naked to their skin. He turned his head toward Cheet.

"Relax your lips," he suggested and kissed the boy deeply.

That was all the encouragement Cheet needed. He began to disrobe this teenager beneath him to explore a new passion he felt in his loins.

Philly was up to the challenge. His mind quickly retreated to when he was twelve and saw Looper kissing his brother. Not sure what that was all about, he became more inquisitive to catch them in bed together shortly after. Only after this disclosure of his snooping did he learn that his brother was gay. Chip had taught him only as much as Philly thought he could absorb emotionally. Kissing was one lesson, the sex part was even more caring. Having an ambitious and aggressive boy above him was nostalgia in reverse.

"Teach me," Cheet whispered.

"Only what you're ready for," Philly said back and let the boy direct the actions.

Austin was sprawled out over Chip's back when he saw his brother and Philly in a deep embrace. He well knew this adaptive video system of his uncle's. Grabbing the remote he put an X-rated, 3-D, male on male video above them.

Whether it was Cheet's lowered inhibition or his inquisitiveness, coming once was hardly enough to satisfy his appetite into his first sexual experience with someone else.

In their few minutes of relaxation between orgasms, Philly just had to ask where Cheet got his name.

"My name isn't really Cheet, its Chet. Austin started calling me Cheetah as a tot because he said I moved with cat-like reflexes whenever I played. Eventually this went to Cheet and there it is."

"That's really cool. You're pretty quick with that pecker, too."

Cheet giggled and dove back in for round three. This time he wanted to lick and taste another's boy's penis and balls. What might be the most spoken line in gay sex—"I'm not sure it will fit," to "Oh yeah! Faster! Give it to me!" Cheet would laugh later and admit he was like that on the diamond. "Yeah, batter! Swing! Can't hit what you can't see!"

Morning came and the boys found themselves all bundled up under warm covers. Ben strolled in with a tray full of eggs, bacon, toast, sweet rolls, milk and cereal. His disappearance the night before was perfect timing.

Austin's suggestion of swimming had four boys sprinting bare-ass naked to the pool after each had refreshed himself with their morning rituals. In the pool Cheet could hardly subdue an erection during play. After only one night he had become a dynamo in sexual expression. His swimming comrades teased this neophyte over this constant boner, but Cheet didn't mind. They had accepted him as one of their own and that was all that mattered to this almost-a-teenager.

After grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch, Ben invited them all for a session of skeet shooting, a true talent of both the uncle and Austin. Cheet had rarely spent any time with his uncle, let alone tried skeet shooting. Like the Carver boys, this was all new to him. They had barely begun to shoot when Ben's brother showed up to take his son home. The boy's mother had allowed him to miss yesterday's Little League all-star practice, but he had to rest up for the game on Saturday morning.

Cheet was not pleased that his father had come this early. Could he just stay a few hours more? Joe didn't like to refuse his sons anything, especially when their mother wasn't around. He relented.

Ben liked having his brother visit him, especially when there weren't women folk around to meddle in their business. Likewise, Joe relaxed when he was around his eldest brother by twenty years. Their mother and father had surprised everyone by this late birth.

Joe was a fine shot himself, adjusting to the smoothness of a twin-barreled 12-guage and hitting twelve plates in a row. He especially enjoyed teaching Cheet a few techniques, while Ben worked with Chip and Philly.

Leave it to Arthur to bring out the beers to celebrate a reward for success. Joe had no qualms that the boys shared a beer, even Cheet, as long as the boys didn't get too silly or it affected their shooting. It didn't go unnoticed that his eldest and the president's oldest son were now close companions and draped over each other like long lost buddies. Likewise, Joe caught his middle boy holding hands with Philly. That was very surprising.

Unbeknownst to everyone but Ben and Arthur, when the guys retreated to the ranch they were welcomed by all the ranch hands who had been invited to wish Cheet a happy birthday. No one would dare exempt themselves from such an invitation.

While Ben and Joe spoke of Cheet's all-star team and their success so far in their district, the boys had a time with play-active video games, especially tennis and ultimate fighting. Austin would quickly discover that his new friends were avid martial artists and had skills far superior to an average adolescent.

With access to the various wines and beers scattered around the party, the boys gradually acted like the Three Stooges plus one. Cheet was a real clown when not soused, but with a few sips of alcohol this youngster was a laugh a second and that didn't even include the boy's new bursting hormones. His love for Philly held no reservations given his lack of awareness under the influence.

Philly had a few more drinks than Cheet and welcomed his friend's funniness. They were all over each other with kisses and hugs, laughing, cavorting, ass grabbing and mocking their sexual antics with boyish laughter. Only Arthur had bothered to keep check on the teens from taking off their clothes and making real fools of themselves.

By late afternoon Joe knew he would be read the riot act when he returned. Lucille did not tolerate lateness, let alone alcohol in the family. He barely gathered himself to depart as he held his balance after more than a few beers with Ben. His glance into the main lodge where the boys were celebrating Cheet's birthday caught his new teenage son with Philly's arm around the boy's waist. Their kiss on the lips with their hands squeezing each other's ass had Joe double check to make sure it was his thirteen-year old who was partner to all this. Obviously the Carver kid was sexually harassing his boy.

Joe turned back to his brother. "Guess I better grab my boys and get home before the wife tears me a new asshole."

Ben often held his tongue when around his brother. His lectures about not being so passive had often gone in one ear and out the other. "Brother, someday you'll going to grow a set and put that woman in her place. You and the boys deserve time to yourself and away from all that breeding air."

Joe glanced again at the boys. They were down to their underwear and having a battle with plastic guns that shot marshmallows of all things. He couldn't remember seeing his sons have this much fun. It all seemed too risqué. His stumbling toward the group proved he had a few too many.

"Boys! We're out of here," Joe said with a slur.

"Ah, Dad, can't we stay a little longer?" Cheet asked and nailed his father near the belt buckle with a well-aimed marshmallow.

"I'm not going," Austin said with determination.

Joe was in no mood to argue. "Cheet, now you know you have a big game tomorrow. Get dressed, your mom is expecting us."

Austin stayed as he was, but Cheet solemnly slipped on his shorts and shirt. He leaned and kissed Philly on the cheek. "I'll call, if that's okay?"

"The White House?" Philly asked and cracked up.

Cheet saw the hilariousness in that and all but fell on his butt. "Yeah, it's in the phone book, isn't it?" He laughed so hard he nearly threw up

Ben had strolled in and began to deposit the open beer cans in a trash can. He could blame Arthur or his staff for being so lax, but boys will be boys. "Joe, I'll have my limo driver take you and Cheet home. You're not driving."

His brother didn't argue and everyone said their goodbyes, three of them in their underwear, which hardly affected the owner of this ranch. Cheet had to leave his birthday gift from his uncle at the ranch, an English twelve gauge pump shotgun. He stumbled along with an arm around Philly's shoulders until he got to the limo.

Being the lone passengers in this luxurious limousine, father and son reclined on the soft, white leather. Joe eyed his boy's glassy eyes and the constant smile of joy that meant he had had a great day. "Son, is there anything you would like to tell me?"

Cheet gave his father this quizzical look, glanced around and grabbed a small ice container just in time before he threw up. A few napkins from his father and Cheet felt a whole lot better. His remark was an accurate perception. "Beer really sucks."

"Your mother will have a cow," Joe said.

"You're not going to tell her, are ya, Pop?"

Joe reached over and patted his son on the head. "Not hardly. Some things are meant to stay between father and son. Don't suppose you'd like to explain kissing another boy."

Cheet leaned back, feeling a whole lot better. Another grin was more like a memory. "Ya saw, huh? I'm sort of like Philly, Dad. I like girls, but being around boys is a lot of fun too. Haven't you ever kissed a boy before?"

"Not that I can remember. Look, son, there's nothing wrong in being gay, if that's how you feel, but you're still only twelve."

"Thirteen, Pop. I mean, like, in one day, and Philly says we're just straight boys who like sex."

Joe rested his hands on his boy's knees. "You haven't actually tried sex, have you?"

"Gee, Dad, I've never asked what you do in bed."

Joe agreed that his question might have been too intrusive. He backed off. "As far as your mother is concerned, the car had a breakdown. Your uncle tried to fix it but we ended up using the limo."

"Yeah, okay. There was a marshmallow in the gas tank," Cheet suggested and found his words funny. His father couldn't resist laughing at that. If there was any solace in this experience, Joe realized he had shared in his son's first loss of control.

Being the more sober one, Joe gargled with a seven-up that he found in limo's fridge. Upon arriving home he sent Cheet straight to his room to avoid his mother. Though the boy acted loony much of the time, he was overly squirrelly this time. Cheet agreed.

Lucille bought the story, though she still reamed his butt and blamed Ben Barkley for everything. The man was too pompous, an arrogant old fool who was a bad influence for all their children. How the president ever trusted a man like that proved that their Head of State was an idiot. On and on she went and Joe simply listened until he had to get up from the kitchen stool to take a leak. She was still rambling when he reached the bathroom door.

By morning the family SUV was parked safely in front of Joe's house. He headed to the office, though it was Saturday morning, to catch up on some paperwork. The missus was responsible for getting the children to Cheet's Little League game.

Lucille was quite content wearing the pants in the family—someone had to! She had recently told her father in Salt Lake that she had turned out like him, a tyrant in control. Her father laughed and congratulated his daughter because he had often thought of Joe Barkley as one of those weak-kneed liberal lawyers.

Robert Mathewson had never really approved of Lucy's marriage to Joe, but the man appeared to be grounded and offered a secure home life, though he wasn't Mormon. That aspect really concerned Robert. So far his daughter had raised her children respectful of Mormon family values and had done a damn fine job.

Lucille didn't believe in locked doors or knocking. She thought it was a mother's role to impose, violate, and snoop through her children's belongings. Only Austin and Sara had begun to verbally object, though this was still mostly often ignored by their mother.

The collection of dirty clothes from the floor and chair in the boys' room was a daily event, though it usually came with the derogatory, "I hope you two find a patsy for a wife who wants to clean up after you." By this time the boys had learned to shut their ears and quote verbatim the words.

Entering the space between beds she smacked both boys' butts under their blankets to rise and shine. Picking up T-shirts, jeans, socks, and towels were routine. Cheet knew better than to leave discarded Kleenex on the floor for his mother to get suspicious. Boys' habits were best kept away from women's thoughts. It was when Lucy swept up a pair of 24 size underwear that made fingers practically stick to the garment. She saw where the blotch of slipperiness was, right on the seat of the briefs. A smell of the goo confirmed her suspicion.

On his elbows, his blond head barely above his pillow, Scooter rubbed his eyes and glanced at his mother to question why she was smelling his underwear. His covers were raised to reveal his nakedness before he could respond.

Cheet was less responsive than his brother. His first hangover had convinced him that maybe waking up at noon might fit his disposition. A wave of air swept over his body that accelerated his senses. His mother had literally yanked his covers off. Sprouting a morning erection his hands went right to his groin.

"What in hell do you think you're doing?!" he yelled like he would to any kid at school, but certainly not his mother. He never saw the hand that smacked the side of his face.

"You pervert!" Mrs. Barkley shouted.

By this time she had disengaged Cheet's belt from his pants. With a quick grasp of her fingers she obtained her son's ankle to twist him on his side. Furious with wrath of one pissed off woman she smacked his ass, back, and legs with a leather belt that had a skateboard designed metal buckle that formed instant welts, some breaking the skin.

"What'd I do?!" Cheet screamed several times in his attempts to break free.

Scooter leaped up and attempted to grab his mother's arm, all to no prevail.

Cheet finally yanked his ankle from his mother's grasp and crawled from his bed until he fell to the floor. Instantly on his feet he saw his mother prepare for another charge. He ran into his closet where he held the doorknob shut with all his might. His mother threatened, but Cheet hung on for dear life.

Lucille, shaking with revenge, sought revenge on all heathen. Her eyesight went to Scooter, her youngest son. "Now you tell me the truth or you'll get the same. Did that brother of yours stick his you-know-what up your behind?"

All the commotion had three female heads at the doorway. Scooter snagged his pillow and put it over his groin. He was beginning to shake, as well, not to mention being shocked at this accusation.

"No, I swear, he didn't! Gee, what makes your think that?"

"Liar!" his mother screamed and slapped the boy across the face. "You will tell me or you'll get more where that came from!"

Scooter threw his pillow at his mother and ran from the room. He whipped down the stairs to hide in the garage behind boxes stuffed with Christmas bulbs. The spider webs were less frightening than his mother.

With tears in his eyes and pain tormenting his body Cheet hid with his knees to his chest behind an assortment of games, sports equipment and clothes. He swore that if his mother opened that door he was willing to fight for his life. The more he remembered this beating the more he bawled. One of his Little League bats was now held firmly in his hands. Were women really this stupid about boys jacking off? From that point on Cheet wanted nothing to do with girls or being Mormon. A half hour went by and a knock commenced at the closet door.

"Cheet, Mommy wants you to get dressed for baseball. She wants us all in the car in ten minutes," Lila said, his youngest sister.

Cheet weighed his circumstances. He sure didn't want to disappoint his teammates, and maybe his mother had just overreacted. He slipped out of the closet to discover his room empty. His jock and baseball uniform were in his dresser, so he quickly got dressed and grabbed his ball glove and hat.

Halfway down the stairs he was ready for any trickery. Sara was at the bottom, her face as demeaning as any female. "Your brother is hiding in the garage, like he usually does. Go get him! Mom is waiting. Jerk!"

"Asshole!" Cheet shouted back and detoured to the garage where he retrieved Scooter. They hugged, not fully understanding why their mother had gotten so angry. Up the stairs they flew to their room, where Cheet helped his brother get dressed. The car horn was honking every ten seconds.

Out the door they ran and climbed in the rear of the van, away from the judgmental faces of four females. The two brothers glanced at each other, both with red eyes from crying.

Hungry, upset, and hardly refreshed after waking up, Cheet had Scooter sit in the dugout and away from their mother and sisters. His coach questioned the redness around the face, the dried tears, and blood on one of the elbows.

"I fell," Cheet admitted. "Do you have anything to eat?"

Coach Peters knew better then to get involved in family quarrels or abuse situations. He only ran a hardware store and didn't want to upset anyone. Hustling to the concession stand he bought a couple of hot dogs, soda and chips. His concerned expression was even more pronounced when he saw Cheet share this food with his younger brother.

By the third inning Joe finally was able to break away from work and hustle to his son's game. Cheet was pitching and holding his own with the score two to two. Looking up into the stands he saw his wife and children. They hadn't exactly saved a seat for him so he stayed by the fence behind the dugout. Joe only noticed the red mark on the side of his son's face when he came off the mound at the end of the inning. Joe smiled and waved

"Great inning, son!"

Cheet barely looked or acknowledged his father's compliment.

It was when his son was going up to bat that Joe saw a red stain down the back of the boy's baseball shirt. Paint? Kool-Aid? A marker of some sort? Even more apparent was when Cheet kept tugging on his uniform to loosen it from his skin that Joe became even more concerned. A base hit didn't give Joe time to investigate.

A young boy's voice from the dugout had Joe wondering why his youngest boy was not with his mother. By leaning over the fence Joe spotted Scooter sitting by himself. Unusual, but if the coach said it was okay, so be it. Scooter waved to his father with a pained expression. Things weren't all right.

Joe watched intensely his son on the mound the following inning. Grimaces of pain, a few tugs at the back of his shirt and almost tears between pitches. Joe leaped the fence to march straight toward the pitching mound.

"Time!" the umpire yelled. He stepped from behind the plate as if this intrusion was a mock of baseball rules.

Coach Peters trotted out after Joe Barkley. "Joe! Joe! What's the problem? We just can't have parents jog out on the baseball diamond."

Joe walked straight to the mound, saw his son's face and yanked up the back of the shirt. There for his teammates, umpires, coach, and one father to see were marks of a beating.

"Dad, it's okay." Cheet tried his best to save embarrassment.

"This your mother's work?" Joe asked and received a nod. He glanced up into the stands with a look that could kill. His second glance was at the umpire. "I want my son to have medical attention. Can we have a few minutes?"

A most puzzled look came from this umpire's face. "This is beyond my position," Fred Cooper said, a volunteer umpire who didn't want to think of the ramifications. Fred thought about it. "Look, you can put in a substitute; we'll make sure the boy is taken care of, then he can come back."

Coach Peters knew you just can't stop a game for something that wasn't a game injury. "Okay, let's do that. Cheet, why don't you and your dad go over to the office there and get that cleaned up."

By this time a boy's father, who was a doctor, was quickly acquisitioned on the spot. In the wooden shack where the game announcements were made, Dr. Lucas examined the wounds that went from the neck area to the thigh. Joe refused to have his wife inside and told her directly to leave before he called the police.

Lucille was bound to have her say. "I ought to be the one to call the police. You know what your brat there did?! He screwed your youngest son. Yes, I have all the proof I need!"

Joe slammed the door on his wife's face. Through tears Cheet looked up and said, "I didn't, Dad. I swear."

Dr. Lucas recommended that the laceration on the right gluteus might need stitches. The doctor admitted he would have to report this abuse--Mrs. Barkley's, that is. Joe concurred.

There was no returning to the game, no post-game celebration over his team's winning, and certainly no family gathering at the local pizza parlor.

Leaving the emergency room Joe held both his sons in his arms. Words couldn't describe how he felt. He also realized it had been a long time since he had had physical contact with them. Joe took them to an Italian restaurant, a place that was his son's favorite spaghetti meal. Across the table from both of them, he asked the inevitable.

"Okay, guys, I need to know the truth. Sharing a room, there are few secrets. Brothers are brothers, hey?" Joe looked at the eldest of these two. "I have a feeling you've become sexually active recently. To teach your brother all this might be a little too soon."

"I know all about sex," Scooter lit up as not to be treated like a child.

"That's not the point, son. There are things that you're not ready for."

"I didn't do that, Dad," Cheet said. "I admit I jacked off and used Scooter's underwear. She thought, well, I don't know what she thought."

"You used my underwear?" Scooter asked and punched his brother. "Use your own, duphus!"

"Okay, you two. It's pretty obvious what your mother thinks, son. Your mother saw the stain and assumed.

"That I fucked Scooter. I can't even fit my big dick up that tight butt."

Scooter laughed, as did his brother. "It's not that big," Scooter said with certainty. "I wouldn't mind if you wanted to."

"Ah, boys, that's not the point here. A woman's perspective of what boys do gives a whole new meaning to what they perceive as right and wrong."

"It's none of her business what we do, Dad. Why does she have to come in our room to begin with? It's like she wants to see us naked. Does she have that right?" Cheet asked.

"A mother's prerogative, son. It's our job as parents to protect you both from doing things that are more mature than you're ready for. Don't get me wrong here, I believe what you've told me. Your mother jumped to conclusions."

"Oh, please! You're just afraid we're having more fun than you are. I heard Mom tell grandpa on the phone that you haven't touched each other in three years. So don't be jealous because Philly and I are having sex."

Joe was stuck for words with his son's intimate knowledge. A glance at his youngest boy proved that he was privy to all this. He had no idea how much information or where his sons had gotten their sex education. Obviously he had failed miserably at that job. "Regardless of your parents' problems, sex isn't something you rush into. There are diseases, pregnancy, and relationship issues that you don't always consider. A ten-year old should be playing Nintendo and not discovering the pleasures of an erection."

"I do that, too, Dad," Scooter said.

"Yeah, that's weak, Dad," Cheet added. "It's not like we spend all day humping each other and jacking off."

"You do," Scooter reminded his brother.

"Shut up, runt!"

"Boys, you're in a restaurant. I just don't want you two to take up masturbation as a hobby."

Cheet laughed, but Scooter wasn't sure what that word meant. Cheet made the hand gesture. "Not like you don't do it, runt."

"Yeah, but you're the expert. You shoot."

"You two are incorrigible," their father said and had to smile while he glanced around the restaurant in case he had to explain to anyone listening that he was their father and he had everything under control.

A detour to the topic of baseball saved anymore surprises for their father. Joe stepped outside to call his brother and to explain the situation. His brother, Austin, and the Carver boys were already in Dallas.

The phone went silent for several seconds while Ben fumed beyond recognition. This Texas billionaire wouldn't hear of any delay; he was sending the helicopter for Joe and his sons to meet him in Dallas.

Dallas, Texas

The auction hall was packed with card collectors from around the nation. Having an unopened box of 1952 baseball cards was an unprecedented opportunity for the true baseball fanatic. Word had gone out over the Internet and had even been news on the Today Show. Not since a newly discovered Honus Wagner card, selling for a couple of million dollars, had anything in the baseball world created this much interest. So crowded with participants it was standing room only.

As a precursor to this grand finality, there were lesser card displays of Big Poison and Little Poison, Paul and Lloyd Waner, the Barber Sal Maglie's rookie card in 1945, Cool Papa James Bell, the Negro Leagues' coolest base stealer, and one Shoeless Joe Jackson 1914 E. & S. Publishing Co. card, which Ben just had to buy for his collection. He also bought with his pocket change one 1914 Christy Mathewson.

Ben had fun with the audience when he gave out door prizes of a hundred dollars for the first right answer to his nickname game. Out of his eight baseball's less-than-complimentary monikers, seven of them were blurted out by one of these baseball experts.

Joe and his sons arrived in time for this big event at the Heritage Auction Galleries. Ben rubbed his finger across the now black eye of his nephew, then hugged the boy to his chest. He swung a stare at Joe. "Never again," Ben said as a matter-of-fact. Joe nodded.

Chip and Philly Carver were honored for their appearance, though the true reason of the selling of this box wouldn't be revealed until later.

A shocker came as the auctioneer opened the bidding. Though the auctioneer wanted the bidding to start at $50,000, an offer of a million dollars for the hundred packs came in over the phone. If there was anticipation with any prolonged bidding war if was abruptly halted.

"Do I hear a million-one?" the auctioneer asked, waited, and slammed his gavel down to end this monumental event in less time than it took the spectators to realize what had just happened. The great news to Ben and the boys, the bidder just happened to be a celebrity. Once a night for one-hundred straight shows a pack would be opened before a live television audience. The head of the Tonight Show would use his purchase for far more entertainment value.

"Would the man mind if he opened the first pack today?" Ben asked and his question was relayed over the phone.

"No problem," came the answer and everyone breathlessly waited for the box, purchased by Ben's father on the birth date of his son, to be unsealed. What was most unique, there would be no question of the authenticity of these cards as the real thing—mint condition.

"Though no Mickey Mantle, the first five cards were all in the numbers 311 to 407 card range, rare and pricey: Clem Labine, Hoyt Wilheim, Bill Dickey, Eddie Mathews and Dick Groat—total evaluation, over $12,000, a great start.

The White House

Chip and Philly landed at Andrews Air Force Base in the early hours of Sunday morning. They took a car caravan to the White House entrance where their parents had waited up. At the stairwell the president and first lady hugged the boys before everyone detoured toward their bedrooms.

Saturday had been a long day with far more excitement than could be explained to a parental, "How'd your day go?"

The two brothers on adolescent, summer, vacation time, weren't all that tired. Stripping their western clothes off in Chip's room they showered together and Chip didn't have to ask twice if Philly wanted to sleep over. They had so many notes to compare and discuss. Chip looked at his brother as his best friend rather than a brother who slept in the next room.

They climbed in bed, fluffed their pillows and were practically nose to nose in preparation to recant the rollercoaster day. There had been so many surprises, both for the good and the bad. Their private jet had barely left Dallas International when the boys received texts from Austin and Cheet, their new friends. The foursome texted their entire trip.

The auction might not have achieved its expectations in a bidding war, but Ben shocked everyone at its closure by announcing that the proceeds of the sale would fund the first youth gay crusade across America. Coming from Ben Barkley, known oil barren, Texas rancher extraordinaire, this news was received with mixed emotion. Was Big Ben coming out of the closet at 62 years of age? Gossip spread quickly, yet Joe might have been the most pleased individual there. He suspected for years his brother's orientation, but it wasn't his role to question. His shock would come over dinner from his eldest son.

Ben had taken everyone to the Rustler Steak House downtown. Wine and the choicest prime beef drenched their appetites. Austin was always one to limit his uncle in how many beers the man could have when he was around him. Over the past days the teen had indulged way too much. His happiness and having a new best friend caused him to stand up to toast the Carvers, Uncle Ben, and his father and brothers.

"To our new life of sanity, good friends, and men who love us. To my uncle who I love dearly and thank him for this successful venture. To my father and brothers who deserve better. To Chip and Philly, boys I'm not disappointed in being my idols and making me feel proud that I'm gay."

Scooter laughed, Cheet applauded. Their father sort of froze in his seat, yet raised his wine glass to honor the toast. Philly patted the teen on the back, while Cheet squeezed his new friend's crotch underneath the table.

On a serious side Joe revealed his intention to file divorce papers against their mother. He would leave it up to each boy whom they wish to live with. For the time being they would be staying at the ranch. Ben subdued his smile. He supported his open invitation he had offered his brother that the boys could stay as long as they wanted. Come school year he would have the boys shuffled back and forth in a limo. He would also negate his no-suits rule in the pool if their father had a problem with this.

"I'm not one to rain on my brother's all-male residence. Let the boys be boys. God knows they've had enough Mormon goody two-shoes," Joe said and got smiles from his sons.

With hands behind their heads, Chip and Philly had their laughs with their involvement in the Barkley dilemma. What they didn't know, Dallas stations had already broadcast Ben Barkley's announcement of this gay crusade under the leadership of the president's sons. From a Texas city to national news, even the Tonight Show broadcasted the buying of the cards and the upcoming crusade. Chip had no idea of how fast his idea was taking roots.

Philly rested his head on his brother's chest and then placed his hand over Chip's bare belly. He loved his brother dearly. "You know, Chip, Cheet and I had a talk during the auction. I felt almost sick over what happened to him. Cheet told me that he and Scooter fooled around and Scooter wanted his brother to put it in him, but Cheet said he told his brother it would be like shoving a twelve-gauge shell in a twenty-two barrel. Scooter loved to jerk him off and watch it shoot. He forgot that Scooter wiped him off with his own underwear. She had no right to beat him like that."

"Women overreact," Chip said in his limited views of girls' response to male sexuality. "Nothing we can do."

Philly melted his nude frame into another warm presence. "It makes me think when I was that age. I think I enjoyed rubbing my penis at Scooter's age, but I had no idea what potential it held. My sexual feelings didn't interest me much, sort of resistant to any explanation as any form of desire. I think by the time desire manifests itself it is there, a fact of the self, one of our well-springs. You taught me all that when I was twelve, but was I ready at eleven, or even ten? As my older brother, you were god to me. I trusted everything you told me. Did I impose sex on Cheet, or was he ready? Is he teaching too much to his brother?"

The depth of the conversation bothered Chip with a responsibility he had rarely thought of. "If you remember that first night I told you that whatever you wanted to know I'd teach you at your pace. You wanted to know and try everything. Your choice."

Philly raised up. "I'm not blaming you. I loved those times. You made me feel awesome and loved. I was ready. I know Cheet was ready, too. Three times in an hour and he could have gone all night in successful orgasm. Can a ten-year old be sexual?"

Chip swung his arm over his brother. "When we bathed together I was six, you were four, and we giggled at our erections. We fondled each other at every bath. Pleasure is something we have always had at our fingertips. We just didn't call it sexual. Different forms of sexual feeling makes itself known at odd times. How we negotiate with those sense of desires and with the dawning awareness of difference is varied for everyone."

Philly rested his head back down. He deliberately drew a circle around Chip's bellybutton. "Yes, I understand your point. Makes sense. Do we really need to understand the origins of desire as it arises from the impetus to control it?"

"That's really deep, dude. No wonder you get all A's."

"Yeah, that came out really intellectual. I think I'm saying that if a set of tits excites me, I can't go up and touch them. Does this impulse to perform my secret fantasies outweigh my right to pleasure? Of course it does or else rape would rampant. I have to use some restraint."

"We learn that at a young age, Philly. It's why we didn't flip out our dicks at everyone when we were seven. We learn social graces and the right to privacy. Scooter knows this. His mother invaded their secret. She was wrong in what she did, and that's not to mention what she did to the psyche of Cheet and Scooter. It's a crime. Sex is supposedly this big secret that our parents know and wish to keep it from us. The earlier we discover this so-called secret the happier we are. I think the secret allure of this game isn't always entirely pleasant if one forces you to do it; a little frisson created by the mixture of interest and of repulsion makes it fascinating. Scooter's investigation into all this is more of a relief than an intrusion."

"Yeah that's how I see Cheet and me. We're totally into it, but it's a substitute for the girl of our dreams. For you it's, well, you."

"I admit sex is passion to me. I see a dick and I go animal. To think at Scooter's age and before dad became president, I was really embarrassed to show my body to anyone, especially my parents. It was like they were asexual. Now it's no big deal. Trouble is for you, your girl isn't going to have the tool to take you up the ass, and I know how much you like it."

Philly chuckled. "You gay guys have it right there. Cheet was all like worried it would hurt and stuff, but once I was inside he went bananas, all moaning and sensuous. I want a girl who's not scared to wear a dildo."

"It goes to show you that even straight boys need dick. I'm glad I had a brother to teach."

"Like Austin's Boy Scout leader," Philly said with certainty. "He sounds like a really cool guy."

"You heard, huh? Texas law at its best. I'm going to talk to dad about that," Chip replied.

"He won't pardon a sex offender," Philly thought. "I bet their association went spastic when he was arrested."

"Every one of the teens in the troop is gay save three and they don't care, Austin told me. That has to be part of our crusade, Philly. So many laws are part of the problem between adults and in Ronin's country it's sixteen. Why not? Sixteen-year olds know who they want to suck their dick. We have to make the public aware of our rights and diminish homophobia. It's the main purpose of the crusade."

"Easier said than done," Philly replied. "Dad won't support us if he thinks we're promoting some free love association."

"We? Does that mean you'll march with us?"

Philly kissed his brother's limp penis. "Yeah, Cheet and I have decided to spend our summer vacation supporting our brothers."

Mrs. Carver had no intention of waking her son up early. She walked into her eldest son's bedroom at noon to see both her sons in the same bed, their legs somehow entwined and Philly's arm swung over his brother's neck. They were too adorable to wake. She gathered their clothes on the floor and admired these western clothes that were obviously gifts in Texas. They reeked of various odors and a few stains. Mary changed her mind about waking these two after one obvious scent. She thumped down at the foot of the bed until she got one of them to open their eyes.

"Good morning," Mrs. Carver softly spoke and began to tickle Chip's foot under the covers. He squirmed.

"Mom! Go away and come back tomorrow," Chip said.

Philly moved onto his stomach, sure of more sleep. Slowly their covers were slid down over their bodies, first revealing bare torso, then one bubble butt and Chip's arousal. Chip rolled on his side and bent a knee up. Mary ran a finger up the back of both boys' thighs until she made like a spider over their buttocks. When both boys giggled she knew she had them. Chip spun around, grabbed the blanket to shoot it up over his body and lay there looking at his mother.

"Okay what do we owe for this torture?" he asked.

Mrs. Carver held up the shirts. "Beer? Wine?"

"Pancakes for me, Mom. How `bout you, Philly? Eggs?"

"Don't get smart with me. These shirts stink of a party. What gives?"

"Texas hospitality, Mom. I'm almost eighteen," Chip said.

"But you're not and neither is your brother. Some example you set. You're both grounded today."

Chip laughed. "Boy is that redundant. White House...grounded, get it? Wait! We get to sleep, right? Good, ground us." With that said Chip slid back into a fetus position while Philly chuckled. Off slid the blankets again.

"I will not have my sons become alcoholics. This is serious what you've done behind my back."

Chip sat up again. "Look, Mom, we were just having fun. It won't happen again."

"The trouble with trouble, it always starts as a little fun."

Chip looked at his brother. "Where do mothers get these sayings?"

"It's what mothers are good at. Assure me there will be no more alcohol until you're of age, and then I want you to think of the possible ramifications of drinking."

Chip leaned forward to hug his mother. He certainly wasn't going to argue this point. "Make a list of items we're supposed to abstain from. Philly is a little too young to understand but that's why he has me."

Philly began to wrestle with his brother until their mother had her sons' balls in her hand. "You're not dismissing me that quickly. Your father has been inundated with news services calling all morning. They want an interview with his First Boy in an hour. Your father gave them permission. Now I can let them come in here, minus blankets, of course, or you can both get dressed and do it right. I recommend you get rid of the erection, it might scare a few. I also want a promise that you won't drink behind my back again for a few more years."

"That's fair. What do you think, Chip?" Philly asked. "I hate beer anyway, Mom. Yich! The cognac was pretty good though."

"My sons the alcoholics. Goes with the history of presidential children. Not in my house!" She smacked both their butts and saw the perfect white hand print left. Finding this amusing, she added a few more.

"Okay, okay, okay!" Chip swiveled out of bed and moved his hips side to side to flip his boner at his mother. He ran when she started toward him. Philly always thought his brother was hilarious. He decided to join his brother in the bathroom.

Chip weaved through the West Wing of the White House before he went to the press room to meet with reporters. This Gay Crusade had escalated to a hot topic in the press. His timing was good, his father had just finished with the ambassador to Saudi Arabia.

President Carver greeted his son with a handshake and another hug. Apparently the alcohol story hadn't made its way to their father. Chip knew, eventually, his mother would snitch on them.

There was small talk about Texas, the ranch, horseback riding, skeet shooting, and the auction. The Secret Service was as much parental as his mother.

"My sources tell me you had the hots for the man's nephew," Alain said with a grin.

"Someone said, maybe it was you, Dad, that when you can't love the person you want, love the person you're with."

"Cute. I won't tell Ronin if you don't."

"He's cool with it. He has a fifty-five year old hairdresser that loves to suck his cock. I'd be jealous but the guy is a flame, a total female impersonator whose claim to fame is making love to my boyfriend. Listen, Dad, there's a favor I need. I'd like to pardon this guy in Texas."

"Son, you should know that it's not that easy. Yes, I'm making a list here of people who I believe should be pardoned, but they're usually referred to me. What did this guy do, steal one of Mr. Barkley's horses?"

"He sucks boys' dicks, Dad. I mean older boys, like teenagers. Austin says he's super cool and was the best scout leader they ever had."

"I imagine so," Alain said and laughed. "What was he doing, giving merit badges for the best orgasm?"

"I'll suggest that one to Austin. No, Dad, it wasn't like any of the guys told on him. One of their mothers snuck a peak at her son's journal in his bedroom. Even though not one of the scouts admitted anything, they raked the guy over using just the journal. They can't do that, can they?"

Alain shook his head with two thoughts: Texas as a habit of making up laws as they go along, and his son's naïve sense of how the world should operate. "Not really, but Texas is sometimes their own country. Chip, I appreciate you wanting to stick up for the guy, but can you imagine the grief I'd get for pardoning a sex offender?"

"Philly said you'd say that. Not like you'll be running for office again. Gee, Dad, I'm not implying anything, but you and Ronin." Chip let it hang. "Boys have great bodies and need love, even from older guys. Their whole troop is gay and the guy was a super role model. Can't you just look into it?" Chip wrote the man's name down on a pad in front of his father.

President Carver sighed. His son's way of blackmailing him had to be an inherited trait. He promised he'd have someone pull the case but couldn't guarantee anything. That at least made Chip happy. "You planning on making this guy part of your crusade?" It was said more of a joke than a true inquiry.

Chip took it as a suggestion, not sarcasm. "Why not? Austin told me the guy is great with kids, funny, and athletic; plus, handsome enough to make a gay kid come in his pants."

"More information than I need to know. Okay, better get your butt down there and talk to the press. Nothing about Boy Scouts or mentors or boyfriends, okay?"

"Oh, sure, Dad, just raw boy on boy sex, coast to coast for anyone participating."

"Don't you dare!" The president started around his desk, but Chip was quicker.

"You and Mom ought to team up."

Alain beat his son to the door and managed to grab a handful of balls and dick. "Ah, yes, my son the boozer. If I hear of you drinking again I'm going to castrate this handful. Ronin will have to find another long dick to play with."

"Okay, you win, Dad." Chip winced until his balls were released. "You presidents drive a hard bargain." For a surprise he hugged his father. "When did you have your first beer, Dad?"

The president wouldn't admit it to his boy, but this hug had made his day. He kept this lovable squeeze for another minute. "In high school, but it was to look cool and fit in. I know what you're going to say, but why don't you kids just admit in front of each other that you're doing it out of fear of rejection. Then have a Pepsi, which taste a whole lot better."

"A Pepsi doesn't make us do silly things, Dad."

"Son, I've never not known you to do silly things."

Chip broke off this father and son moment. "Good point."

"Hey, Chipper, before you leave, your mother says I should learn a hip move from you. Something about swaying hips."

Chip busted out laughing. "Sure, Dad, just swivel your hips tonight like this."

"That's it?"

Chip opened the Oval Office door and twisted around to whisper. "Oh yeah, you have to be nude and have a hard-on. You're in luck tonight."

Chip had barely stepped out into the Rose Garden on his way to the Press Room when his mother caught up with him. The First Lady liked to let all three of her men know who was boss.

"You're not going in there in your school clothes. Get a suit and tie on, young man."

Given his audience of three Secret Service men Chip liked to harass his mother. "Ah, Mom, I'm not like a government employee."

"No, you're representing our family. Don't make me tell you twice."

"What are you going to do, spank me? You know how much I'd like that."

Mrs. Carver marched over and obtained her son's ear. "You're getting too big for your pants, Chip Carver." She didn't let go until they arrived at his room. His best suit was already laid out.

Chip stripped off his clothes down to his bare skin. "I'm ready. They've seen my best side before, anyway."

Mary called his bluff. Off they went together past two cleaning ladies assigned to the family wing. They tried their best not to look, but they caught a good view. To the elevator they both stepped in. Chip wasn't backing down.

Even seventeen-year olds have their limits. He just didn't think his mother would press to open the elevator but she did. Outside in the hallway there was a tour of the White House in process. A few mild screams, dozens of eye sockets wider than a full moon and Chip reached across quickly to press the closed button. The First Lady had won and she knew it. While her son was reduced to silence she couldn't help but laugh.

"It's not that funny," Chip said in defeat.

"Don't you feel the least embarrassed?"

"I just didn't want to put any old lady in cardiac arrest," Chip said. "It's not like they haven't seen me naked before. There's probably not a kid around who hasn't taken a shot at his dick with his web cam or cell phone."

"That may be true, son, but you represent something far bigger than just a gay, horny boy."

Chip gave her that one. "Well they all now that the Carver men have long dicks."

Back on the family floor Chelsea was just coming out of her room and whistled at the sight of her brother. "Mother and son time together. Priceless."

"Another comedian," Chip noted and moved on to his bedroom.

Dark suit, blue and white tie, Chip was as handsome of a teenager whomever lived in the White House. Late for his press conference, he saw many a smile as he took his position behind the podium. He had to smile himself.

"Okay, I'm grounded and Mom won't let me help the man wind the clocks every Friday," he said as his opening statement to make everyone laugh. Word had spread quickly about Chip's nude appearance. As a mere boy when he moved into the White House he loved Fridays as that opportunity to help wind each clock. Once Philly found out he often beat his brother to help wind the clocks. Rarely was Chip awake before his brother.

"Was that part of your promotion for your gay crusade?" the question came from the floor.

"That's better than my own excuse. We'll go with that. I promise no more streaking." Chip hoped to move to crusade questions.

"When is the crusade scheduled?" a lady reporter asked.

Chip scanned the room, far more than just a few reporters than he thought. "Huh, next week, probably on Monday."

"Are you going to walk across America?"

"I'm sure my peers would like that; then they wouldn't have to go to school for a couple of years. We're going by bicycle, and for those who don't have a bike, thanks to Mr. Barkley, we'll have bikes available."

"Why have a gay crusade?"

Chip drew his shoulders back, glad to reaffirm his identity as a gay youth. "I know that few kids live as I do, but I'm no different than any gay kid struggling to find out who they are. A few years ago I was alone and worried. That anonymous comfort is one of adolescence's great and only consolations. Fortunately I have had some super cool people in my life, one of them my brother, those who make me feel loved. This crusade is for all youth, whether you're like me or not. I've not had the privilege of hanging out, wandering around, getting lost in a world that's larger than my family. It's hard to feel the space around myself in which I can come to be unknown. I didn't want to go on being known in the old ways as just a son of the president; I need to disappear a little in order to come back as someone new: myself. This is that opportunity for all gay kids to find acceptance from other kids.

"To just talk is to do nothing, admittedly, about the circumstances that make each of us lonely and worried in the first place. Most gay kids can't fix anything yet, they aren't ready. Our sadness and isolation cannot be solved by words, but there is something we can have which is full of promise, full of what's to come next. I'm extending an opportunity to thousands of youth that we can do something about our situation: get up and ride with me across America!"

Chip received applause from several of those present. Other reporters weren't too sure if this was just a show and there would be some excuse why the Crusade wouldn't go on. It was way too big of an idea for even a president's kid to organize.

"Chip, do you see yourself as a rebellious youth, defiant of your parents' control and able to do what you damn want when you want to? Can young teens look to you as a leader when your maturity might be in question?"

Chip thought the lady was being a bit harsh. It all came from his nude display that afternoon.

"I'm seventeen, ma'am. I rebel to see how far I can push my parents like any kid. I wanted to wear just a shirt and slacks to this conference, but my mom had other ideas. I pushed, she pushed back and she won. I rarely get away with anything, but I can take a form of power over what I essentially cannot change, because I can step out of it all, a little bit, become less myself while the colored lights shine on my teenage rebelliousness. I'm thinking that your uptightness with sexuality sucks. I'm not ashamed of my body and my parents haven't made me feel ashamed. I don't mean to shock any little kid who has parents who has instilled in their kids the same archaic ideas about sex as they received from their parents. If anyone was offended by my sexuality, then I'm sorry. I'm a little more hung than most males. The important thing about this crusade, we all can join something larger than ourselves, a stream of lights and lives: a march of togetherness, an anti-bully message, a right to be gay and proud, and maybe there are kids out there that would just love to know others like themselves. You're right, I act weird and rebellious at times, but who's going to relate better to kids, someone like you, or me? I can tell a boy I used to feel just like him, how I'd come to breathe more freely, how possibilities opened for me like those multiple realms, worlds I couldn't envision a few years ago. We can talk about our common sorrow till we can actual laugh about it, that this sorrow and loneliness is short lived and a gay boy is just waiting out there to be found."

A male reporter might have fueled an even hotter topic. "Chip, your father has often been accused of being a heartthrob for the female sect. Are you like that with guys?"

The president's press secretary stepped forward. "Ladies and gentlemen, keep the questions focused on the Crusade, please. The boy here isn't going to talk about political agendas or his parents."

"That's okay, Bob," Chip spoke. "My parents are awesome and madly in love. Thankfully they're not like some parents who might have kicked me out of the White House for being gay." He stared at the woman reporter. Fortunately the laughs took away the tension.

Unknown to Chip, his parents' full support rested on his presentation. If this was going to be just another teenage whim President Carver would have found a way to halt its process. Impressed with their son's words, President Carver assigned the Secret Service to plan a route and security throughout the Crusade, a chore that made it precarious and difficult considering bicycles were going to be the choice of transportation. Planning on 500 participants, the logistics were a nightmare from second one.

One of the first e-mails Chip received was from Ben Barkley—(Great job, my boy. I'm on your side all the way. We'll be in touch) Austin tweeted his new friend—"Awesome, nude! Oops! Meant dude. Saw U on CNN. I've had it, U R so correct! Long and hung!"

As social media goes Austin's tweet was seen by thousands and Chip's fans were sure he was cheating on Ronin. Chip assured his fans that he had enough love for several boys to go around, but only a few were special.

Being grounded didn't mean much. Philly and Chip rode their mother's stationary bike to get in shape for hours of riding. By nightfall they were planning a route to take across the United States, a map that would change dramatically in the next few days.

Early the next day Chip waited patiently to see his father. The president had a quick five minutes for his son before a scheduled luncheon with a few senate leaders. Chip strolled in the Oval Office with a hopeful smile.

"Are you mad?"

The president was standing up behind his desk while shuffling papers together in preparation for his meeting. "Actually, Chipper, your mother and I thought you did a great job. You're like an ambassador now for your own cause. Ambassadors don't necessarily talk about their penis size, if you understand where I'm coming from. We're proud of you. Your mother got a kick out of that hula-hoop trick you showed me. Guess everyone knows the Carvers are hung." He chuckled with his boy.

"Dad, Two Magazines and a website for guys emailed me. They want to do an interview and a shoot. Okay?"

The president immediately assumed these were teen social medias. "Sure, if you have the time. Gotta run now."

"Right, Dad. Anything on that Texas guy, you know, the one who got set up."

"Yes, well, it's on my desk somewhere. He wasn't exactly set up. We need to talk more about that one." President Carver kissed his son on the forehead and was out the door. Chip stared back at his father's desk, wanting to see any report. He ventured over to rummage through a dozen files and saw the released paperwork from the Texas Correctional Department. Chip read it page to page. The psych report said the man was a homosexual, attracted to teenagers and unremorseful. "D'oh! What gay isn't attracted to teenagers?" Chip asked out loud. He noticed the list of men his father was going to pardon. With a quick glance upward, Chip nonchalantly made an addition to this list for his dad's secretary to type up. Probably no one will notice anyway.

Chip and his brother spent the afternoon creating a website for the Crusade. They decided to have an initial gathering by the Capitol in a week. By evening, during a family dinner, the president showed his sons all the correspondence from individuals to groups who wanted to assist the Crusade. It was agreed upon that July 4^th, Independence Day, would be the target.

New York City's mayor wanted the start of the Crusade to be centrally located from downtown. Chip figured the notoriety would be an asset. President Carver surprised his son with his support in asking every governor across the route to assist and support his endeavor. So far he had heard from seven governors who would comply.

In 24 hours the Crusade website received over a half-million hits with all the press it had received. Most of the questions stemmed around the route, what kids should expect. How were they going to eat? Sleep? Could girls be in it? Did you have to be gay? What should they wear? Was there an entry fee? How about bike repair? Medical treatment? How many miles were they to cover in one day? When would they finish? And were adults going to chaperone? As a result of these inquiries there were now constant meetings between brothers, their mother, and even Chelsea got involved.

Back in Texas, Austin and Cheet were making their own plans to coincide with Chip's and Philly's. Mrs. Barkley complied with her husband's wishes in exchange for him not filing child abuse charges against her. She was going to fight to keep Scooter from going with his brothers, but even this idea Joe wasn't going to relinquish. It would be an ugly divorce for all concerned.

With ten days to go there were still a lot of contingencies and a rush to finish. There was suddenly a pouring of assistance from available shelters to offerings of locations to rest. A bus company made a gracious gift to transport any person, thirteen to nineteen, with parental permission, to any location to and from the planned route. This generous offer became the biggest impetus for the Crusade's success. From three hundred and fifty-three interested teenagers registered already to the crusade to twelve hundred more in a few hours.

Only through Austin did Chip find out that Uncle Ben had purchased one thousand ten-speeds at cost, with another thousand put on hold. Ben had planned on a car escort and two large twelve-wheel trailers to the rear, one with food, cooking and water, while the other would carry bikes, offer repair and serve as an emergency medical center.

Far bigger than he could have ever envisioned, Chip was glad he had adults around him who had volunteered their time and services to help. Philly had made a list of things that he thought every biker should have in his or her backpack: toothbrush, comb, eating utensils, swimsuit, hat, change of clothes, and sunglasses. Leave it to Chelsea to think of sunscreen and toilet paper—tampons for girls.

All Boy magazine came to the White House with one editor and a photographer. No agent or staff were aware of the magazine's contribution to the gay community as a popular pornographic display of young gay men. Their editor would have preferred a more discreet location, but Chip mentioned he was grounded. The First Boy recommended his bedroom, a place away from his parents and staff's eyes.

The interview took a few minutes, and then the editor suggested the spread should be a day in the life of Chip Carver getting ready for school. Though Chip said he slept in the nude, the editor thought it would be sexier if he wore a pajama bottom. Philly quickly hustled to his room and retrieved one of his.

From a fake waking up to the bathroom, it was agreed that it wasn't classy to show the First Boy peeing. Chip washed his hands and face, brushed his teeth, combed his hair and then stripped for a shower. With a see-through shower stall, there were erotic shots of a wet teenager, gradually getting a hard-on and jerking off in the shower. Philly blurted out that it was at least accurate; Chip opened the shower stall and sprayed his brother with water.

From underwear to school clothes the photo shoot ended inside the bedroom. There was one extra question that the editor asked offhand.

"How's your relationship with your brother?"

"I love the kid," Chip said and humorously grabbed Philly around the waist to kiss him smack on the lips. The cameraman was quick enough to snap a picture.

A check for a million dollars was signed and handed over to one Chip Carver. The editor knew this might well be the most popular issue ever.

Austin, Texas

The Texas Department of Corrections wasn't the least happy to receive notification of a Presidential pardon for a sex offender who was destined for their Sexually Violent Predator program and life-time registration. The man would have been monitored for the rest of his life to be kept away from children. Why the President of the United States would pick a twenty-six year old carpenter and Boy Scout scoutmaster was beyond them. It wasn't that Josh Ambrose was a serial child rapist, but Texas had to take precedence on protecting their scouts from homosexual men.

There were no happy campers when the papers were handed over to the warden at this Texas State Correctional Facility near Amarillo for the immediate release of Inmate Josh Ambrose; that is, except one, Josh Ambrose.

Josh, the older boy of two to a middle class family in Houston, had devastated his parents with his arrest. He had never come out to anyone, outside of his Boy Scouts troop, nor had he ever wanted to. A walk in the park near the Texas University campus and Josh was invited to play in a softball game. This particular teenager was brave enough to wear a miniature rainbow flag on his T-shirt. The teen was quick to make friends with this gregarious college student and they were soon talking scouts. Josh dropped his guard and admitted he was gay, as well.

In minutes the two males were best friends and the teenager admitted they needed a new scoutmaster for their troop. By their own selection they had four other boys who were either gay or gay friendly. The group was built around this nucleus.

Living in his secret world of love for the younger set, Josh had found the niche that gave him happiness and contentment. Being an Eagle Scout himself, his life revolved around scouting. His troop learned more than any other troop, went on more excursions, and were the tightest group of boys at the Texas State Jamboree. They recruited within their own circle of influence, picking out that special teenager who was likely gay. Only one boy in their troop was straight; yet, he was an advocate for gay rights and felt perfectly comfortable around his gay peers.

To a gay, young adult, not yet comfortable in his own skin, boys represented a safe haven for Josh to express his sexuality. When gaydar presents its interesting, unspoken attraction Josh discovered that gay teens gravitated to him like a straight teenager to a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model. Resistant at first to preserve the dignity of being a scoutmaster, temptation and the naturalness of sex made it way too easy to become involved with impressionable boys. They thirsted to be liked and desired by an older male of Josh's maturity. Likewise these young upstarts found their leader to be a godsend to their own physical hormones and the impulse to love someone of their own sex. These scouts didn't view Josh as an adult who must demonstrate some unwritten boundaries against natural tendencies. They saw the man as a peer, a human being with the same desires that they had.

Unfortunately, that was now all in the past. His life destroyed after an embarrassing arrest, Josh had considered suicide the first few weeks of his incarceration. He'd met men like himself, vulnerable and newbies to a system that preyed on the weak. Then there were the true predators of the prison system, convicts who were just looking for a "boy" to satisfy their sexual wonts. Josh had never actually had a sexual affair with an adult, but several men interested him. It was the bullies he couldn't stand, men who thought because he was gay that he just loved giving blow jobs and bending over. Pressure was mounting from the older guys who eyed him on a daily basis. Soon he'd have to submit to be someone's boy toy or be gang raped.

Josh had one true friend to talk to, a psychologist who was a family man with four kids, a lovely wife and two dogs. Josh was intimidated from the start when he saw the family photo on the man's desk. Certainly a well-respected shrink would look down on someone who had had sex with mere boys. Dr. Miriam's first words changed all that: "Mr. Ambrose, personally I'm disgusted that they'd even put someone like yourself in prison." The doctor was blatantly honest, maybe too much. He admitted he loved to take his high school daughter to school so he could see the way her friends dressed and how so many of them tried to impress him. "I'm usually horny the rest of the day. My wife benefits from my casual observance of these Lolita's."

Josh smiled, yet not so sure that the man was setting him up. Quite the contrary, Dr. Miriam found Josh's attraction to teenage boys the most natural tendency for a homosexual man. His words encouraged, if not eradicated the shame that had almost brought Josh to his own demise. On a daily basis either Dr. Miriam or Josh sought the other out for casual conversation in laughter and reflection.

"Ambrose, pack your shit!" the guard yelled outside the man's cell at midnight.

His cellee stirred, murmured something to the effect that he was likely being sent to the big house where his ass would be sold for a few cigarettes.

Those words often had an ominous conclusion at times. He was either being sent to the hole as protective custody or being trans-packed to another prison, a joint far worse than the one he was currently housed.

Josh leaped down from the top bunk and tucked his erection underneath the band of his white boxers. His cellmate acted concerned but was really thinking that Ambrose had gotten a kite through to the guards that he was in danger. All this would follow the young man and put him in even more jeopardy.

Down three flights of stairs into a holding tank Josh waited for two hours with no knowledge of what this was about. He was fingerprinted again, given a DNA sample, and then told to dress in civilian clothes which were way too large for his lithe body. Brought to a window near the visitation area the lucky man was processed out and given two hundred dollars. By the time he was walked out of the gate into pitch darkness it was four o'clock in the morning. No explanation. This had to be a big mistake on someone's part, but Josh kept his mouth shut.

Nothing but a quiet street and little traffic. Thinking they would discover their error very quickly, Josh just wanted to get away from this place as quickly as possible. He didn't wish to bother his parents or brother, the one who wasn't talking to him. Josh walked the six miles into town, slept in the rear of the local bus terminal for three hours, and then when he saw that there weren't any cops at the station in search of him he caught the first bus out to Amarillo the next morning.

Only one phone number was stuck in his head, the boy he loved more than any other; the one who just cried and didn't say anything when confronted by police. Those investigators had said that they had a boy's confession on everything, but only after Josh took a plea deal did his father tell him during his first visit to his son's prison that none of the teenagers admitted to any sexual abuse.

Josh dialed the boy's cell phone number. Now seventeen, Travis Howard was groggy at being woken up at nine in the morning during summer vacation. He became really excited that this adult he loved and meant so much to him was free. Scared that his parents would ground him again, the teenager gave Josh his best friend's phone number--Austin Barkley. Travis said Austin was living with his uncle and would definitely help him until Travis could find a way to see him again.

Having just finished breakfast, Austin was surprised but not shocked in hearing of Josh's release. Chip had sort of implied to be ready for some really cool news. In minutes Ben Barkley was on his way to pick up a very frightened but relieved young man.

No more getting roused out of bed at seven in the morning or being under the scrutiny of four females, the Barkley boys had taken to their uncle's ranch as pups to their mother's tits. The freedom still came with responsibilities of cleaning the stables, keeping their rooms neat and tidy, mowing the lawn in the backyard, and cleaning the pool. All this came with a reward. Upon finishing the pool, they all whipped off their shorts and dove in. To their uncle's delight he now had two more beautiful nephews in their birthday suits most of the time.

Austin wasn't the least pissed that he now slept in the tree house. His brothers joined him when Austin granted permission. Their father had the guest room until Ben's new addition to his ranch house was finished, another 2,000 square feet of bedrooms, kitchen and family room.

With Josh Ambrose's arrival, Ben had a temporary trailer put out by the pool house. Whether it was a test or not, Josh kept to himself for several days and only occasionally peeked at the constant nudity in and out of the pool. A few days earlier he had vowed never to be around boys again, and now he had them running around with their wet asses and gorgeous dicks flipping up and down. This had to be set up or a dream. He kept pinching himself to wake up and realize he was probably still in a six by six damp cell.

The White House

Presidential pardons often make the news, drawing criticism and suspect. Some of the most outrageous characters in political circles, if not associates of such, received pardons for special favors and gracious past deeds. Pardoning of a sex offender had everyone's head spinning.

Chip heard the good news from Austin first. More like an exuberant thank you from the hearts of all the boys in Troup 233. Chip kind of froze at the email, then said, "Oh, shit!" Whether he thought, even after his sly move, that it would never actually happen was now a moot point. It had. Consequences flashed through the teen's mind—two words often used by his parents for his inappropriate actions: No crusade. He would be grounded for life, stuck in this prison that the British had failed miserably to destroy in 1814. His father might even make him replace the guy to serve out his time.

Over time Chip had learned to face his executioners early. Such logic often stopped the stress and anxiety of the inevitable. At least his punishment would be over. He moved to the Oval Office; his father was in a meeting—maybe in three hours he'd have the time. Inside the Oval Office his dad's friends were probably raking him over the coals. Chip tried to envision the words. "What were you thinking, Mr. President? No one pardons a sex offender? You've fucked up the next election!" Yes, Chip knew his father's advisors used such language. Chip was told by his father's secretary that there was a scheduled press conference in two hours. It explained the three-hour wait. The fourth hour would be the execution of a seventeen-year old.

Chip retreated to his bedroom. He barely laughed at the cell phone pictures of Austin and his brothers frolicking naked in the pool. If he would have been there he could have faked drowning, then hid on the ranch somewhere. It started to piss him off how hypocritical adults were. He knew from reading in magazines that men were avid porn watchers, especially when it came to youthful physiques. When one of their peers was caught for violating some moronic law the guy would be ostracized forever. Made no sense.

At one o'clock Chip turned on his television in preparation for the horror of his father explaining how this was an accident, one he didn't know he had approved and then having the press unmercifully destroy his great career. His father was announced and the press corps obediently stood to give their momentary allegiance. Chip saw his father raise his hand to halt the initial questions.

"Afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I've called this press conference to alleviate your concerns that have stemmed from my decision to pardon certain individuals. Usually a president doesn't explain why he has so chosen certain individuals. In this case I feel it necessary to explain one."

Chip gulped and felt like hiding under his bed.

"Let me remind my fellow Americans that everyone is protected by the Constitution of the United States. As egregious as some of you might find some behavior, even these individuals are protected by our Constitution. I direct you to a gentleman I pardoned in the State of Texas, a person whose rights were blatantly violated by those who took an oath to protect and honor the Constitution. Using evidence that was obtained very questionably, irresponsibly, and without substantial confirmation, a man was threatened with a maximum prison sentence if he did not plead guilty. I repeat, without a single victim to proclaim abuse, a man was imprisoned without due process and an opportunity to challenge his accuser(s). In this case it was a mother who read a passage from her son's diary. Mind you this was a private journal written by a teenager that wasn't meant for parental eyes. My Attorney General, Richard Bauserman, is further investigating these violations by the Texas judicial system and we will report these findings forthwith. I find it incomprehensible that our judicial system would use lies and deceit to threaten if not coerce a man into admitting an act he may have, or may not have committed."

Alain had prepared to leave when a question blurted out that really pissed him off. "Mr. President! Are you looking to release more pedophiles into our community?!"

He turned back, his temper flared. "Excuse me?! Let me confront your ignorance first. A pedophile is an individual involved in sexual activity with a prepubescent child. We're talking teenagers here. I do not advocate sexual relations between adults and prepubescent's, but that's not the point here. Politicians and certain individuals have too quickly created hysteria by their own definitions of morality. By labeling individuals by irresponsible labels, have you not judged them by your own biases?"

The woman was not to be admonished that easily. "Does this have to do with your own son being gay?"

Alain took a deep breath. He scratched his face and had a chuckle to dismiss a temptation to leap forward and strangle this broad. He wanted to vent, but he knew how humor relaxed him and defused a tense situation.

"Yes, my son. There was a time during my first term that I neglected my children. My wife, God bless her, knows all about my daughters and my sons: their appointments, needs, best friends, favorite foods, secret fears, and even their hopes and dreams. I was vaguely aware of some short rug rats living in the White House." The president waited for the laughter to die down. "Ma'am, societies differ remarkably in what they consider socially desirable and undesirable in terms of sexual behavior and consequently differ in what they attempt to prevent or promote. Our country is by far the greatest country on earth, but we lag behind many of neighbors and European allies with our puerile views of sexuality. As a parent of a gay teenager, and even as straight ones, they deserve respect for their decisions. They need from us the emotional and practical tools to make good decisions. I find admirable the Dutch age-of-consent laws that permits adult sex with those twelve to sixteen if the young person consents. Either the child or the child's parents can file charges if the sex is coerced. Trust me, my children have minds of their own. They rebel, say no to us, and disagree when the argument is logical. My staff rarely have the guts to do the same. They can certainly make sexual decisions based on their desires. What may seem like a horrible violation of social taboos from an adult's perspective need not be so to a child or teenager."

From a hundred feet away on another floor, Chip yelled, "That away, Dad! Give `em hell!"

Hands flew on the floor and the president pointed at another reporter. "Mr. President, are you advocating a change in our age-of-consent laws?"

Whether or not the president had opened up Pandora's Box, he wasn't backing down from a fight. He had six months to go in office and, as far as he was concerned, he was justifying his own actions as well as his son's.

"Ted, we have a right to be scared of muggers, stalkers, robbers, and murderers, but our country has almost become immune to these behaviors, while we become hysterical with sex offenders. More politicians have been elected on the getting-tough with sex offenders than on wanting tougher gun laws or stopping teenage gangs. While we all like to point fingers at China and other countries over their human rights violations, they laugh at our civil commitment laws for sex offenders and how we lock them up for life for what they might do in the future. Sex offenders are being registered, identified for public harassment, and involuntarily put in mental hospitals for a pseudo illness; yet there is no evidence that any of these measures improves "public safety". So, in answer to your question, maybe it is time to remedy this problem and look to other countries to find out what works for them and why their teenage pregnancy rates makes ours look like a catastrophe. I'm fairly aware that the American people are very sexual. Why then are we so uptight with our children enjoying the same pleasures that we do? Are we that envious of the young? I believe we do need an educational system that promotes healthy and happy sexual children."

This same female reporter took it personally that the president was challenging her intelligence. She wasn't about to give up. "You wouldn't mind, Mr. President, your son having an affair with an adult?"

Alain stared her down. "At his age, ma'am, I'd rather teach him gun safety than who to unzip his fly for. A choice of a partner in a sexual relationship becomes more significant only because society or, like yourself, demands that there be a particular choice in this matter. Ask any gay person if I'm right. A lot of gay boys are unhappy because those around them make sure that's how they feel. First of all I believe that, as a society, we should treat our children as human beings, with rights, including sexual rights. They are not mere chattels at the arbitrary disposal of their parents, in which people of all ages and both sexes have full self-determination to engage in consensual sexual activity when ready. We are doomed to be a sexually repressed society in how we treat our youth. Trust me, teens know the difference between coercion and consent. Our penal system is loaded with thousands of sex offenders who weren't violent or predatory. Their lives have been destroyed by our definition of morality and boundaries. Sure our children must be provided with protection, with guidance, with a sense of security, but we cannot prosecute a fourteen-year old as an adult because his behavior violated adult standards, and then treat another fourteen-year old as an innocent child who got his penis touched because he wanted it touched. Teens, especially, do not always view the sexual act as distasteful and many of them may gain considerable comfort from thinking themselves loved and wanted by an adult. What I'm not implying is that teachers and other adults put in a position of trust and authority should violate sexual boundaries of their students or athletes. I am saying that we need to look at the broader issue and become more intelligent in how we treat others who might not have measured up to your definition of morality."

The woman shot back. "So you condone the Duggar boy's actions." It wasn't a question.

"Really? You want to go there? A hormonal fourteen-year old boy whose actions were so innocent I have to question the sanity of the American public who couldn't wait to prosecute this man. One would think a family with nineteen children that nudity would be so prevalent that this family would set a precedence for openness. Instead we had a young man, who apparently lacked any common sense discussion about sexuality because of some imposed Christian standards against sexuality, take it upon his own initiative to discover the opposite sex. Disgraceful! Not the boy's actions, but society's reaction. I hardly endorse the Duggar response of reporting this to the police. That's like inviting foxes into your house to share your family dinner."

In Alain's mind he knew he had shot a hole in his foot with that summation, but it wasn't like he was running for reelection.

One reporter which the president highly respected had his hand raised amidst a dozen. Alain knew who to point to. His question was fair, if not helpful. "Mr. President, your reference to guns compared to sex...what's the parallel?"

"Good question, Frank. We all abhor gun violence, especially what happened in Newtown a few years ago. Last year we had over two hundred children ages twelve and under shot to death in the United States. Absolutely a disgrace. Seventy-five of those deaths involved a child handling an unsecured gun. Do I see any protesters wanting these parents put in jail for life? If they had committed a sex crime, you'd be screaming for a life sentence. We are a society with warped morals, and our youth soon discover that their sexual feelings are thwarted by adult prohibitions. What I find interesting, we appear to ignore the fact that they play video games with violence, blood, and horror. Welcome to America. I'd rather give my teenagers sexual freedom than an assault rifle for Christmas."

This same woman blurted out, "Mr. President, you don't think Texas was trying to protect a group of Boy Scouts from a pervert?"

To Alain he was now on a mission. This woman was pissing him off. He eyed this nuisance with disdain and because she had the nerve to just blurt out a question. Even though his press secretary criticized this reporter for violating protocol, the president went right after her.

"At whose expense? The violation of a person's constitutional rights? Was there a complaining victim here? Let's talk about a warped judicial system, shall we. A sixteen-year old teenager from Fort Worth was sentence in Texas to probation for the crime of getting wildly drunk, driving his pickup thirty miles over the speed limit, and then killing four pedestrians and leaving a friend brain-damaged and paralyzed. Incredibly a Texas Judge, Jean Boyd, I believe was her name, found that his millionaire parents had coddled him to the point he didn't comprehend empathy. This judge spared the boy a twenty-year sentence and sent him to a half-million dollar rehab with horses for therapy, all paid for by his father. And you are here today calling a man a pervert with no victims. What do we call a killer of four, a drunk driver? Amazing. Lady, you need to get real!"

She sank back into her seat. It was one of the president's favorite reporters who helped the president out with a simple question. "You do admit that sexual abuse may cause psychological harm, Mr. President?" The question was casual, direct, and without provocation from a Washington Post reporter.

"Of course, Howard. When the First Lady and I had requested advice on dealing with a gay son, which is no different than an all-out libido straight adolescent, the professional who we met with told us that the great life experience of an adult may be more beneficial to our child than a relationship with someone his own age. There is a myth about trauma in all but a few cases. As she said, it is rarely the act, but the reaction. Do we create harm through our hysteria? If we take these gay Boy Scouts in Texas as an example, even though their sexual behavior may not have been sexually motivated, this does not mean that any boy is not totally unaware of his power to attract, which he may well use deliberately to gain attention and affection. I'm certainly not saying that our son or these Boy Scouts have or had any mental problems with being gay. I'm sure this therapist won't mind me quoting her that there is little proof that a pleasant experience with someone older will lead to a lifetime of consequences that the child doesn't know about. I'm certainly not dismissing the fact that some kids grow up and, for whatever reason, believe they were exploited. I just don't think we should help contribute this falsehood when none existed." Alain knew this information would bring new facts into this debate, a debate that he wouldn't have touched in his first four years of office.

"So I hear you saying you're giving the former Speaker of the House a free ride on his sexual escapades as a teacher and coach many years ago," a reporter said without being too accusatory.

"That is a subject no aspiring politician would touch with a twenty-foot pole. I'm not an aspiring politician, thank heavens." Alain waited for the laughter to die down.

"I'm diving into this with both feet, so have patience with me. First of all, let's say this had been a woman blackmailing Mr. Hastert. The same men and women who condemn our former speaker would now likely say this female teenager had a crush on her teacher and got her wish, an affair. Kind of late to ask for money, but adults know where the gold lies. Now I'm not saying that it's okay for people in authority to have sex with their students or athletes. It is what it is and happens every day. In this case we're dealing with a man who has never come out as a homosexual and was scared of losing his reputation. That's how we've always treated homosexuals, keep them in the close and don't tell anyone. There's been a sensationalist reaction because we're dealing with two males here. Regardless of the mistakes of his past, he didn't deserve to be blackmailed.

"It is unfortunate that another man involved died in the 1990s. His sister has given her own insights which may totally eschew the truth. The teenager obviously had a long term relationship with this mentor, so I highly doubt if it was coerced. I know the argument, ladies and gentlemen, that our youth aren't ready for sex. Trust me, I was more ready to explore my sexuality at thirteen than being physically and verbally abused by my football and basketball coaches. Our education system has it backwards, I'm afraid. Given society's viewpoints on such relationships the guilt imposed on this man may well have been induced years later. As what has happened with this blackmail, one can hardly blame the former speaker for his panic. While Europe laughs at us, our gay men are made to suffer. Alas, I have learned from having a gay son that we as a society impose more shame and disrespect on our gay population than any civilized peoples should." The president quickly pointed out a friendly reporter.

"Back to Texas, Mr. President. Are you saying that this Boy Scout troop in Texas encompassed all gay boys?"

"I thought you knew that," the president said smugly. "I believe they all are, but is that really relevant here? Let's don't make homosexuality the problem here. If we as a nation want to mature and make sense of all this, let's start with how we glorify sex at every turn, promote the sexualizing of children at earlier and earlier ages and continue to model homophobia in our schools. If we as parents want to have happier and healthier children, why not teach them responsibility, safety, and give them permission to enjoy sex in the most positive and healthy way possible. They have a right to information, a right to experience sexual pleasure and a right to engage in sexual activities with others. Helping young people learn how to enjoy the gifts of sex is an adult responsibility, but so is helping them to understand and manage its power. How many men and women are in prison due to a minor knowing they can gain sympathy with their own parents, if not revenge against another adult for putting them into an embarrassing position? We're denying our children the responsibility of occasionally pleading mea culpa. I spoke of the Danish law earlier. What they've done is allow children ownership of their sexuality. What an interesting approach, don't you think? Our children are not as innocent as we make them out to be."

Hands flew up in this monumental news conference that touched on the very nerve center of religious dogma and motherly protection. A reporter didn't even wait to be called. "Mr. President, why not allow the government to mandate sex education."

Alain laughed at this potential grenade. He was in this up to his eyebrows and expected the next question to inquire whether he had had sex with a minor. Thoughts of Ronin entered his mind. It hadn't blown up in his face, thanks to an understanding son. It was like facing Congress when he had to explain why he had climbed in bed that night when Ronin was visiting. Yes he was little inebriated after a few drinks with members of his cabinet. He certainly didn't want to wake up the first lady at that hour. It was actually Ronin's fault, but Alain didn't use that one. The boy had simply thought the body next to him was Chip's and had gone down on the man in the middle of night when he felt an erection press near his rear. A few kisses and the president found out why boys were a whole lot tighter than a woman who had had four children. If every man had an hour with that boy, women would be taking a backseat in their minds. Ronin admitted that he knew all along that it was the president, but Alain dismissed that quote because the teenager was obviously still half asleep.

The president put these thoughts to the back of his mind, though he sensed a lump in his pants just thinking about one cute English lad.

"Don't forget we had an appointed official who suggested teaching masturbation. They tar and feathered him out of Washington." He waited until the laughter subsided. "The problem is with sex, as it is with religion and politics, we have both hardline views, a strong sense of "belief superiority," with disdain for anyone who doesn't share our views. The more moderates are just content to let others make the choice for them. Many people will support me today; other will think I'm evil and promoting abusive relationships between child and adult. That is far from the truth. The facts prove that preaching and the anti-sexual moralism in our country by so many stifle every vital impulse in our youth. By setting strict limits on our youth it produces young adults who crave authority, fear responsibility, mystical longing, impotent rebelliousness, and pathological drives of all kinds. It is quite probable that our homophobic community has well persuaded homosexual men to find solace and comfort with younger males. Possibly that's why I have empathy for our former speaker of the House.

"Sadly the thinking and the structure of the majority of people corresponds to the interests of the political and economic rulers. From childhood, people are trained to be falsely modest, self-effacing, and mechanically obedient, trained to suppress their natural instinctual energies. In this way our children become subservient to their parents. Thus, the most powerful instrument in achieving this mass structure is sexual repression which is fostered in the home, in the school, and above all through the influence of religious moralism. The parents who punish children for masturbating and who do their best to prevent adolescents from having a full sex life are unwittingly carrying out the purpose of the ruling powers."

Upstairs Chip stood up from his desk and applauded. It did cause Philly to run in his brother's room to see what all the commotion was.

"Dad is so awesome!" Chip said without explanation, but it would take hours before Philly saw the replay and fully agreed.

One thing the president's position did do, it got everyone off the subject of pardoning Josh Ambrose.

"It is why you support your son's gay crusade, Mr. President." It wasn't a question but a fact to support the president's position. President Carver already had in the back of his mind to send Frank a guest invitation to a dinner at the White House.

Alain smiled, relieved at a less pressing inquisition.

"Absolutely, Frank! One of the most profound effects of the gay movement upon the lives and loves of our young boys and girls is that it gives them the social permission to like and to love themselves. My son's message is that the burden of being homosexual has been lifted. My boy is a hero to me and heroism isn't always about leaping through fire, or putting one's life on the line, though he's done that too. Everyone one of us is a hero in waiting. We're just waiting for the opportunity to step forward and do something extraordinary. I have time for one more question." Alain picked a less aggressive reporter.

"Yes, Mr. President, are you going to introduce any proposals to Congress to relax the current age-of-consent laws or civil confinement for sex offenders?"

Alain had a chuckle. "You know, Burt, they already call me a lame duck, now you want to castrate me. It is what it is right now, so America isn't ready to give something like the Dutch law a chance. Sex is not a malleable entity that can be constructed through politics, language, or media. Sexuality is not neutral. A warring faction based on power, heterosexual bias, and subjugation has always existed between men and women, and the egalitarian view of sex, with its utopian pretensions, offers little insight into the typical male psyche, especially a gay one. Thank you for your time."

The president wasn't quite out the door when "that woman" shouted, "Will you be inviting Mr. Ambrose to the White House, Mr. President?"

Alain spun around. "I'll leave that to my son, ma'am. Feeling a little defensive, are we?" Alain stayed in the door frame away from the cameras. This was between him and her. "Ma'am, you remind me of a story of a woman who was on a plane ready to crash. She had jumped up and exclaimed, `I can't die like this! I'm only thirty years old and no one has ever made me feel like a woman!' A tall, dark, handsome man stood up next to her, unbuttoned his shirt to reveal a muscular chest and rippled abs. As he removed his shirt, she was becoming quite excited. Handing it over to her, he said, `Iron this.'" The President saluted this broad and walked away while his press secretary and two Secret Service agents laughed hysterically.

The president could not have created a more divisive subject amidst the American people than if he had promoted segregation again. Reaction was quick, accusatory, if not American hysteria at its best. There was even a demand for the president's impeachment. The ACLU, long scared of their own shadow and fear of losing their fundraising if they dared to fight against civil confinement for sex offenders, came out in full support of the president's challenge to laws that imprisoned men for frivolous crimes. A terrorist with a dirty bomb in a New York subway could rely on the ACLU defending his right to carry a bomb more than a sex offender caught with a smiling twelve-year old boy's penis in his mouth.

Never had a press conference gained such worldwide attention on such a subject as sex. China reacted with the fact that President Carver had admitted that American citizens were hypocrites.

Russia's President Putin was far less sarcastic with his own announcement that President Carver was the most courageous president since JFK. For two men who rarely had anything good to say to each other, the words were hardly a breakthrough.

President Carver sat at his desk the following morning reading and hearing the fallout from the previous day. China's slap was deserved. Putin was smug, well-knowing he had fucked Chip Carver. Alain mumbled, "Don't think my son hasn't told me, Vladimir. You wanted to get into Ronin's pants, too, but guess who beat you to it old man." Alain couldn't resist sending an email to his rival world leader: (Our mutual appreciation for English beauty was magnificent. Eat your heart out) A response was but seconds away.

"Didn't know your heart was strong enough. Some day we must compare notes."

Alain almost retaliated that his missile was longer than Vladimir's, but he didn't want to give the Russian any ammunition to use in public exposure.

The president's cabinet and party were not pleased with any subject that pitted women and the religious right against their party's political platform. Already several men running in the Primary elections were distancing themselves from President Carver. Flooded with opinions, both pro and con, all of which verged on crisis intervention, Alain quickly put a committee together to improve America's sex laws with recommendations on improving the science of psychology when it comes to sexual relationships. In his written statement on this decision, he admitted his own lack of knowledge and that much of the information available was counterintuitive and was not understood by the general public and the justice system. In his proposed plan he wanted this committee of health professionals and sexologists to study the psyche of children from Europe, especially Finland and the Netherlands, to fully understand why their education system and sexual mores appear more advanced than America's.

It may well have worked out in the president's favor that another school shooting had happened that morning. Invited to Massachusetts in support of a senator running for reelection, Alain let it be known that people seemed more concerned about the sex life of a twelve-year old than one who killed his peers with a sawed-off shotgun. The president hit the nail on the head.

"Bullies and violent tendencies run rampant in our schools because we lack adult leadership and the sensibilities to listen to our own children's problems. We are projecting our own adult fears, repulsion and horror onto child victims without conscious reasoning or giving them ownership of their bodies and behavior. My son has told me that sexting amidst his peers is a daily game. That sexuality to them is real, despite their parent's objections that they're growing up too fast. Most interesting thing is, our generation did the same thing with the premise, `Show me yours and I'll show you mind.' Problem is, as parents, we do not want problems to be true, we do not want bad news and, as a result, we become functionally blind to signals that are practically shouting at us. It's easier to blame anyone but our children. What Americans want is not truth, but validation for their archaic beliefs. You can't handle the truth!"

Senator McCarty liked his father's advice when growing up: "There are times in life when you just don't want to miss a good chance to shut up." He didn't exactly endorse the president's liberal stance, having six kids of his own, but he'd be the first to admit that his children were hardly asexual. He, himself, had been nearly arrested for child porn a few years earlier. Trading his old cell phone in for a new one, a sells clerk had found pictures of nude children in the photo menu. Thinking they were doing their duty to God and country, this woman reported her find. The then U.S. Congressman had to verify that these were his own children, who made it a habit to come out of the shower and have their siblings race after them. In this case his ten-year old son was standing on the sofa shaking his penis at his two sisters chasing him. The young congressman had found it amusing and captured this on his cell phone. Fortunately his state's voters didn't view this as nefarious. Senator McCarty took the platform, acknowledging and thanking President Carver for his support. He was pleased that much of his audience were young adults, the age range he was trying to inspire with new jobs and a bright future. Leave it up to a reporter to open up a can of worms.

"This rings close to home for yourself, doesn't it, Senator?"

Senator McCarty knew that the majority of spectators and news people in the audience had no idea what the question inferred. "President Carver has addressed issues close to the heart of every parent and society at large. Treating sex as dangerous is dangerous in itself. I agree that the sexual politics of fear harms our children. It blinds us to the critical needs of youth, leaves children defenseless against the real dangers they face on a daily basis and sabotages their right to healthy, pleasurable sexual expression. There is a minority that have acted as major power brokers in determining sexual education policy in our schools. It is this ignorance and ideology, not the developmental needs of young people that underlie our current approach. We need a bold new vision for addressing these needs, one that recognizes that sex is a great gift to be celebrated and enjoyed, not a menace to be ostracized and condemned."

Applause was immense and supportive. For a split second he was afraid he had drowned his political career. He felt President Carver's arm around his shoulders and knew he was now attached to everything this man represented. Only the night before he had told his oldest son, now fourteen, that it might not be a good idea to be part of Chip Carver's ride across the nation, even though Paul Jr., admired the president's son a great deal. This parental rejection might now have to be reversed.

Naturally Paul Sr.'s political opponent ran with the hysterical opinion that the senator was no less a liberal than our current president, taking America down the road to immorality. Using attack politics this adversary insinuated that the reelection of this Republican senator would mean an eventual amendment for the release of all sex offenders and putting plastic dolls in schools for our kids to practice on. In the world of politics no amount of lies and innuendo was sacred.

Senator McCarty had now invested his reelection to the President of the United States. He had no choice but to invite the president to his home in South Brighton Beach. The large English Tutor home sat on ten acres of prime beach property with a mile-long stretch of white sand facing the Atlantic Ocean. Moss-covered rocky shoreline had its own cove for late night skinny dipping.

The McCarty kids had hoped that the Carver children would accompany the president, but this wasn't the case. Six dejected children faced the president and Alain sensed the disappointment. He called up the First Lady and made sure that Philly, Chip, and Chelsea set up their web cam for a telecommunication visit. Chip had to remind his father that that was old school. They'd just Skype.

Mrs. McCarty was as gregarious as her husband. Highly spirited, charming, and motivated to keep a beauty-contest figure after six pregnancies, President Carver found the lady fantastic. She certainly had no disagreement with the president's message about sexuality, as she served wine with hors'deurves before the main dinner.

"Mr. President, you were so right about those phony Tea Party folks. They think our children's sexual autonomy will erode our moral values. They like to dismiss our teen pregnancy rates, high school dropouts, and these young boys bringing guns to school. My own sons can play with themselves all they want, but they're not playing those violent video games."

Alain smiled, toasted this intelligent woman who reminded him way too much of his own wife. "The Duggar family should be so lucky to have parental common sense. If you're not too busy, I might instigate a new office, The Department of Sexuality," the president teased.

At home the senator was far more relaxed and at ease with the president. "My son, Paul, visits your son's website on a daily basis. He's a big fan of that English boy, Ronin, I think. Your son has influenced a lot of youth to feel more comfortable with themselves."

"So your son is gay?" Alain asked, a question he wouldn't have dared use a few years earlier. It was a question he once dreaded being asked of him.

Paul eyed his wife with a grin. "We're not sure. Paul Junior hasn't exactly come out to us. We just suspect. His infatuation with your son has us intrigued. Paul and I were concerned that some of the photos and essays about gay boys might be too much for our son, but he informs us otherwise by telling us we're old school."

Alain laughed. "My son likes to tell me that, as well. What an education our kids teach us, yes? Chip's view on his homosexuality I once thought was his misplaced, condescending liberalism. I've learned since that it is his insight. Our therapist...yes, even the First Lady and I have indulged in this avenue to explain our children, has said that any passing reference or inference by our son makes all the difference to a young gay person because it gives concrete form to the unspoken, unacknowledged, and unexpressed feelings. In our society, which as a distinct heterosexual bias, any depiction of gay male sexuality is, for gay boys, a breath of fresh air."

"Brilliantly put, Mr. President," Mrs. McCarty announced. "I know Paul here has been reluctant to allow his son to go on this crusade your son is having. I think the social atmosphere might bring him out. I know you don't know Paul Junior, but do you see other young boys partaking on this journey?"

Alain patted the senator's knee and spoke as if he was addressing his Joint Chiefs of Staff. "Despite the rebuttal I'm receiving on my social standards platform, the real battle here is about freedom of speech, access to information, and most importantly, freedom of the imagination for my son and others like him. The opinions of openly gay youth don't seem to count because they have been told by their peers that their social or moral standards are far below those of the general population. I think the crusade will bring together a collusion of ideas and pride. Your son can't help but benefit and learn by this socialization of teenagers."

Mr. & Mrs. McCarty appeared to make a decision by mere eye contact. With great timing Paul Junior came in, a strapping youth as handsome as his father, the young man had no reservation about intruding on his parents' conversation. His mother smiled and invited him over to speak with them personally.

"Did you speak with the president's children?"

"It was so cool, Mom. Chip is, like, the ultimate awesome. He invited me personally to the crusade. Will you and dad reconsider? Please?"

The senator had his son sit beside him. "We have and we think it's a good idea." Rarely had his son hugged him over the past several years. He received the grandest squeeze with a kiss on the cheek. Paul Junior made sure his mother got the same treatment. What the president hadn't expected was a hug as well.

"Thank you for convincing my parents, President Carver," Paul Junior said with a guess that the man had an influence.

A quick memory of Ronin's boyish scent caused him to have a flashback of adolescents' raw ability to incite attraction. If he blushed at this affection he beamed a smile to hide this rush of blood. "You're most welcome, young man. I believe you'll have the time of your life."

"Care for some fresh air, Mr. President?" the senator asked.

A great suggestion, Senator McCarty placed his arm around his son's shoulders as they traipsed out to the rear of the home. A warm sea breeze greeted the three males, while the lady of the house stayed inside to assure of preparations for dinner.

There in the middle of a fountain in the garden stood a sculpture of Marino Marini's spectacular `Angel of the City', a bronze statue of horse and naked rider. The rider's ecstasy was cast with an erect penis. Paul Junior laughed when the president's eyes locked on. The statue was often a party conversation piece. Senator McCarty just had to explain its significance.

"It was my wife's idea when we were over in Italy after that fiasco four years ago. She saw this copy and said, `Fuck `em! If they don't like the picture of our ten-year old son's erection, have them check this one out.' So goes our acquisition."

Alain laughed to the enjoyment of both Paul's. "So this was the recipient of the great boner escapade," the president said patting the 14-year old on the head. Paul Junior had a satisfied grin.

"I still flash it," Paul Jr. said with a flair of accomplishment.

"Yes, and Paul Revere here, at least that's what my kids call this rider of this statue, has a reputation as a patriot and boy lover."

"Ah, Dad, do you have to tell that story again," the teen whined.

"This I have to hear," the president said as a tease to a teenager not much younger than his own two.

The senator glanced up at the second story window. "My twelve-year old son lives in that room and one night he swore he saw his older brother riding this horse, stark naked, facing the rider."

"It was a dream," Paul Jr. said as an excuse that no one ever bought.

"Well, Tyler told us all this at the breakfast table the following morning and when his mother and I examined this rider, his penis was coated like a slip and slide."

Paul Jr. had this foreboding smile when he glanced at the president. "It was just an experiment."

Alain broke out in laughter, but not to embarrass the boy. "Hell, Senator, as a boy I might have tried that one myself." He had no idea that he had just made a friend for life to one fourteen-year old.

Senator McCarty agreed with the president to put this humorous story to rest. They moved to this expansive beach. Agents already moved about the white sand; there were few beachgoers about and even these bathers were restricted from entering a quarter-mile off-limits zone. A motor craft patrolled the shallow waters just offshore.

Paul Junior moved between his father and the president. He knew he had the two most powerful men in the world by his sides, and he seemed to relish his position. Called P.J. by his family and friends, he had been home-schooled since sixth grade. Only two of his sisters wanted to attend a local junior high. Having a face that was often called pretty, many of his teachers thought he was a girl in his early years. Light brown hair flopped over his brow to his neck. His love for dance and music had made him an easy target for his classmates in sixth grade, teased unmercifully for being too soft, un-athletic, and labeled by boys too young to even know what sexual orientation was all about.

Barely as tall as the men's shoulders beside him, P.J. absorbed this air of importance when he saw these agents recognize him as the senator's son. Two years ago he might have slipped his hand in his father's, but he wanted President Carver to see him as cool as Chip must be.

"Have you thought about retirement, Mr. President?" Senator McCarty asked.

"Lately, a whole lot," Alain said with laughter. "I'm going to take a lesson from my predecessors, disappear for a while, write my memoirs, be a father, go fishing, and watch some porn in the privacy of my own study without worrying that Congress won't approve."

P.J. laughed. He was delighted that the president would treat him more than a child in admitting such a thing. He'd tell the president that he liked porn too, but not with his dad around.

Alain was quite enamored that the teenager beside him appeared very comfortable. Ronin might do the same thing, but God forbid his own sons would want to be seen with their parents. It was a cardinal sin to show any kind of affection in front of their peers. The senator's boy was more fitting a boy actor, one that young girls would scream over and fantasize about. Too cute for a boy, only Ronin could match his presence for beauty.

"My wife and I have decided to give our children a free rein in making decisions when they use their computers. It sure has saved us the burden of the birds and bees talk." Paul Sr. had a chuckle with Alain, while the youngster between them sort of nodded with a grin. "I find that our kids' academics and happiness far outweigh us trying to be moralists with them."

"Excellent point, Paul," Alain said. "Far different than Washington where people have learned that it pays to seem moral, since it lets you avoid censure and guilt."

"There will always be the Spitzers and Foleys," Paul said with certainty.

"Who were they?" P.J. asked.

The senator wasn't one to hide the facts. "One was a New York governor who was an advocate against sex tourism and prostitution, and then got caught in the same web he preached about. Foley was one of these crusaders against child exploitation. On the side he had sex with boys."

"What a hypocrite," P.J. said. "Wouldn't it be better if he just came out and said he loved boys?"

The senator had to grin with Alain over his son's logic. "But we all love boys, P.J.!" The senator grabbed his son around the waist and tossed him to the sand with the help of the president. They quickly buried the giggling teen beneath mounds of sand to the delight of the agents nearby.

Whether it was P.J.'s way of showing off or embarrassing these men, he finally escaped far enough way to shake the sand from his hair. Stripping his shirt and shorts off, he was totally naked while flapping his clothes up in the air to rid the sand. Both men just laughed, so P.J. threw his shirt at his father and his shorts at the president, then ran. The chase down the beach had more humor than any expectation of catching a speedy teenager.

The senator wasn't the avid runner or in that great of shape as the president and had Alain stop with him to catch some wind. Playing games with the younger set is something that the president missed. He readily admitted defeat to P.J. and found the boy fascinating, if not a bundle of pure male beauty with a bubble butt and lines of a gymnast. A light fluff of pubic hair fashionably adorned a penis that hung without a single wrinkle. Alain thought it was the epitome of Greek sculpture to have perfect genitalia.

"Youth does have its beauty," Alain admitted openly.

"I must admit, Mr. President, my son prefers being naked more than clothed. If the press is hiding in the sand dunes, I can only see the headlines now: President & Senator chase nude boy down the beach."

Alain had a belly laugh that had him bending over. At this point he could have cared less. He winked at P.J., who stood from a distance with a pose that would have made any gay person drool. "What did Plato say...'Here the older man loves the younger because his comeliness is a symbol and reminder of pure and eternal beauty, and the younger loves the older because his wisdom opens a way to understanding and honor.'" The words were practically said as a conscious thought, a confession that the senator may not have grasped.

Senator McCarty tossed P.J. his shorts. "You've won! You're going to make President Carver too tired to enjoy his dinner."

"You guys are wusses!" P.J. called out as a challenge for the two men to resume their chase. He was surprised when the president sprang from his crouched position to cover the five yards between the two before P.J. could escape the man's hand from grabbing his ankle. A quick hand up between the boy's testicles and his inner thigh had the youngster off his feet and diving into the sand. Two slaps on his bare bottom proved who won this contest.

"Cute butt," Alain whispered into P.J.'s ear before his father caught up to them.

"Great move, Mr. President. I must learn that from you before you leave," Paul Sr. said and helped both males up.

"That was so cool," P.J. admitted and shook the president's hands. "I'm never going to wash my butt with your hand prints on them."

The men had their laughs. His father had an idea. "Well I suppose you could sell them at auction, but who would want to buy smelly, boy buns?"

Nothing was mentioned at dinner about the fun on the beach. Alain did learn that the McCarty kids were all talented musicians and dancers. They had their own band, a fact that would be proven after dinner.

The heads of this extended dining room table were always reserved for husband and wife. Alain refused to take Mrs. McCarty's spot and sat down at a corner chair. Paul Junior quickly had his brother change places with him so he was next to the president. The senator said grace and a more choreographed group of children could not have been better behaved.

P.J. assured that President Carver received the largest portion of steak and lobster. There was little talk of politics, but Alain was interested that the children's school was year around with Mrs. McCarty as their teacher.

"My son is doing an essay on Lewis & Clark's expedition," Mrs. McCarty explained to the president.

"Ah, yes, Thomas Jefferson's appointees. I'm well versed in their mission," Alain confessed to the fascination of P.J. "Meriwether Lewis was quite charismatic and brave."

"Mom says that Lewis suffered from depression," P.J. spoke.

"He had a few mental health issues, but was quite astute at botany and biology," Alain added.

"What's that?" nine-year old Gregory asked.

"Plants, birds and bees," his sister blurted out.

"His buddy Clark was more into geography, drawing maps, terrain, and the study of Indians."

The senator imputed a rumor that might have had interest to his eldest. "I've heard that Captain Lewis might have been gay." That perked up P.J.

"That's highly likely," the president agreed. "He had many relationships with men, never having married, though Clark did. While his men certainly had fun, as it was with the Indians, Lewis never indulged."

"Fun as in sex," twelve-year old Lucy made sure her siblings knew.

President Carver felt embarrassed for detouring around the obvious. "Yes, to be exact. When Governor Lewis lived in St. Louis he took in a thirteen-year old boy to educate."

"In what?" Gregory asked.

"Why the birds and the bees," P.J. explained and had the whole table in laughter. Gregory ended up with the hiccups.

"You should see the president, Mom. He's really quick," P.J. said without going into details. "He spanked my butt. Want to see?" Rather quickly P.J. leaped up and pulled down his pants, though the marks had mostly disappeared. He got his siblings in hysterics again.

"President Carver used to be quite the athlete, P.J. No doubt why his sons are well known for their athletic accomplishments," Paul Sr. told his son. The comment certainly gained points between him and the president.

"My wife tells me I have a little spark left," Alain admitted. "When men get to my age they have to pace themselves, beat the youth with trickery and deception over their raw talent. My time doesn't always allow me the opportunities to catch up on my tennis or swimming, as my sons would like, but I sneak in as much exercise as I can. The way I look at it, a whale swims all day, eats only fish, drinks water, and is still fat. A rabbit runs and hops and only lives fifteen years. On the other hand, a tortoise doesn't run and does nothing, yet it lives for 450 years. Makes one wonder if we should exercise."

P.J. thought that was hilarious. "You're probably the fittest president ever."

"Experienced words from a fourteen-year old," his mother teased.

"Almost fifteen in a few weeks, Mom."

"Yes, another hormonal stage that we haven't figured out yet. Thank God you're not a girl," Mrs. McCarty said as a reference to her teenage years. She put her hand over President Carver's. "If you ever run for office again, I think you have your new campaign manager in my son. He adores you."

"The ladies...(Alain caught his mistake, one he was careful not to make around Chip)...and all the men will be jealous that I chose the handsomest young man in America. Justine Bieber has nothing on this charmer."

P.J. just beamed while his oldest sister put her finger in her throat.

After dinner the family and the president moved to a family room where an assortment of musical instruments were set up. Practically running to their respective musical positions, the kids were like the Trapp family. From piano, drums, violin, guitar, keyboard, and saxophone, they played TAKE ME HOME TONIGHT, with P.J. taking lead vocals. He was quite good. TURN AROUND BRIGHT EYES was a duet with P.J. and his oldest sister, June. Then the four boys together sang CAT'S IN THE CRADLE, directed at their father. Mrs. McCarty nudged the president.

"It's a pun at their father. He's gone so much."

"Life as a senator," Alain whispered to the missus, both regretting his lost time as a father and feeling for the boys who needed a father figure in their lives.

The president was extremely impressed with the musical numbers. He suggested to Paul that he should allow his children to do an ad for his campaign as a way to involve his sons and daughters. Paul said he would do it.

Alain and Paul Sr. spent an hour in the senator's study talking strategy and the configurations of the upcoming senate race. The president was shown his bedroom across from P.J.'s, as the senator said his goodnight.

With his hand on his bedroom doorknob Alain was tempted to wish the boy goodnight, but the teen was probably asleep. He waved to the agent stationed in the hallway, then prepared for bed. Deciding to read a little he climbed between the sheets, chuckling to himself with a memory of P.J.--absolutely adorable.

A mop of brown hair poked around the door frame. "Hi," P.J. said and moved inside, wearing only his pajama bottoms barely kept up by his bubble butt.

"Well, welcome. What do I owe this visit? Did my agent see you?"

"Nah. I waited until his back was turned. They're so easy to fake out. Just wanted to come over and tuck you in." P.J. giggled and swung a music cube from behind his back. "Did you know I dance?"

"Your mother told me that you take ballet and modern dance. That's very impressive."

"I've copied all of Michael Jackson's moves. My dad says I met him when I was five. He didn't hit on me or anything, though that would've been cool."

Alain had to laugh. The boy was so honest as to be too aberrantly vulnerable. "I have a feeling if he was still alive you could teach him a few things."

P.J. smiled. "That would be so cool. Would you like to see me dance?"

Alain nodded, put his book down and prepared for a show. P.J. placed the cube down and the music started, WHAT I LIKE ABOUT YOU. If the Secret Service agent heard it he was likely thinking that the president was trying to be a hip father.

The teen's body came alive, airy, and convivial, his talent was not amateurish but professional. A gift of expression P.J. shook his mop, swirled to the beat and had the president mesmerized with the rhythm of the human body. The boy possessed the power of dance, its exotic nature when combined with raw skin and curves. His lightweight pajama bottoms slipped halfway down his ass, enough that he caught a glimpse of the president's eyes drowning to its sensuous invitation.

One number wasn't enough as a faster beat of WAKE ME UP BEFORE YOU GO GO, brought P.J. closer to the president's bed. With rapacious movements of his arms and head, circular and thumping beats of his hips, Paul Jr.'s body was lost to the beat of the music. A talent worthy of America's Most Talented, P.J. relished this opportunity. He saw the president adjust his crotch under the covers. The boy's natural charm and smile had the president feeling the heat of his body come alive and dictate his physicality.

Alain watched the movement of pink before him, totally fixated on this entertainment. "You are so good," Alain said with exuberance and applauded.

"I have one more if you insist," P.J. said while capturing his breath. His impressive abdominal muscles had the raw definition of male mystery.

"I insist," Alain responded.

P.J. sucked in his stomach to let his bottoms drop to the floor. With some trepidation and a whole lot of self-confidence he stepped out of them. His half erection was evident. He put on M.J.'s, I'M BAD, and copied the King of Soul's routine perfectly. His grabbing of his crotch increased the length of his penis until it was straight up. M.J. would have given his riches for this youngster.

Finished, the president held out his hand and took the boy by the back of his neck to kiss him on the forehead. P.J. was quicker and landed his own on the president's lips. The teen stood there, his panting chest had a boy's musculature above a rigid stomach. An erection almost touched his belly button, straight and rigid.

"I've never actually kissed anyone before. Was it okay?"

Alain was so impressed with the boy's sincerity he wouldn't dare say anything but a compliment. "It was as tender of a kiss as I've ever had."

P.J. grinned. "Teach me," he asked.

"Would it not be better for another boy that you loved?"

"They would think I was weird if I asked them to teach me how to kiss. I know things but I don't really know how. You'd really be doing a teenager a big favor." P.J.'s face was one of pleading.

The teen's aggressive kiss sent the president on his back. Within that split second P.J.'s hand had swept under the sheet to find an erection that might well have represented a green light to his lust. Another hand reached for the lamp beside the bed, enclosing the two of them in darkness.

Not since Ronin had surprised him had the president been so totally dominated by a boy's lust. Alain's hands had encircled a waist so slim that his fingers touched. A mere lift of this lithe body had a firm cock at his lips. His tongue slid lower, licking a set of hairless spheres, delicate in taste but no child either. P.J. moved his hips forward and upward, allowing his ass to be in target of this tongue. His hole lit up like a firecracker when it was touched. Jolts of pleasure ignited his entire groin when the tongue darted in and out of his anus. A long lick across his ball sack, over his penis, finished with his dick encased in a wet mouth. There was no control; P.J. ejaculated instantly into the throat.

In the throes of orgasm P.J. stiffened and had an intense orgasm as he pressed the president's head tight against the pillow and his exploding organ. The finest sexual moment of his young life, it well surpassed when he was twelve and caught his parents having sex in the laundry room. With his mother naked and sitting on the dryer, his dad was ramming his dick between her legs, his balls bouncing to the rhythm of his hump. It wasn't his mother's form he stared at as he hid behind the hamper. At that instant Paul Jr. slipper his shorts to his ankles to allow access to a budding penis. He rubbed it as quickly as he could. His first ejaculation, P.J. was examining the stickiness of his fingers when he looked up and saw his father staring down at him. His dad wiped his wet dick with a towel, winked at his son, and then tossed the towel to P.J. to wipe himself off, all without his mother knowing her son had been watching. That night the senator came into his son's room to ask him if he had any questions on what he had seen. "How often can I do that?" P.J. had asked to his father's laughter.

"At your age, give or take thirty minutes, just don't do it in front of your mother. Here's some lube to help out." And with that his father left with his fatherly advice; the only sexual conversation they'd ever had.

A career of masturbation took off, and P.J. didn't mind if his brothers caught him. He had become their educator, as well. On this night only a different adult had given him license to be who he was.

Alain might have been surprised but for the amorous creature he had just brought to orgasm. Figuring that this might relax the boy's libido, he was very mistaken. With his head held tight against the teen's pubes, he swallowed each squirt of the warm liquid. P.J. released with a pleasing kiss and dove under the sheets to find his goal.

P.J. had seen his father's erection and his brothers. Never had he witnessed a dick this long. He licked it with fervor, caressing the full length of this boy's dream. Taking it in his mouth, his first experience was clumsy, gumming the tip to start, then seeing how far he could shove it in his mouth. Halfway down and P.J. gagged. He giggled to himself and dove back in. With his hand he stroked the extra inches below his mouth. Faster and faster he rubbed and sucked. The extra expansion and moans preceded the flood of hot cum into his throat. P.J. tasted it, found the substance salty and rather bland, but he swallowed it nonetheless. He licked and sucked to completely satisfy his partner until the president lifted his head.

"You're too amazing," Alain said while capturing his breath. The boy's technique was better than most of the women in his life. They kissed for several minutes, hands and fingers glided over each other's bodies.

"May I sleep with you?" P.J. asked.

"Your parents," Alain said as a concern.

"They never bother me and I have my own room. Please?"

"My boy, there's an old political saying, `Never get caught with a dead woman or a live boy in bed."

"We won't get caught, I promise," P.J. said with certainty.

Taking turns in the bathroom, P.J. cradled up into the president's arms to love a man's embrace. Neither one of them was tired, so they talked about P.J.'s future, a career of dancing on Broadway or doing a male version of Flash dance. Alain's future plans? Go to a nude beach in France. They laughed.

"You'd win the longest wiener award," P.J. said and told a joke. "What did Aladdin tell his boyfriend? `I know it's not a lamp, but keep rubbing.'"

"You're precious," Alain told the youngster and cradled the boy into a spoon, hoping that sleep would soon be upon them.

Paul Jr. gyrated his bare bottom against the president's half erection. Bringing his fingers from his mouth, he reached around behind him and coated the shaft. Redirecting the stiff member and he began to insert it.

"Slowly," Alain whispered and reached around to find the teen hard and ready. Before he realized it P.J. had pressed several inches into his rectum. Ronin all over again. The president froze to let the boy have full control. Gradually the sliding became more pronounced, boyish moans with young fingers twisted back to help drive the man's hips deeper and faster into his rear. Finding the teen a natural bottom, Alain rolled on top to increase the speed and tempo of this penetration. He kept the teen inviting more and then switched positions to allow P.J. to sit on top. His head upward, back arched, P.J. took his time as his own personal challenge to feel all nine inches within him. He rode the cock like a young bull rider, occasionally bending forward to kiss the world's most powerful man passionately. "It feels so awesome!"

Alain tweaked the boy's nipples, running his fingers down closer to the throbbing dick. Barely touching the perfectly shaped turtle head, the boy's cum squirted onto his chest and abdomen with the same veracity and volume. P.J.'s ass dropped lower to encase the entire length, his ecstasy and verbal loquacity brought the president to orgasm within the cavity.

There were no words as a completion to this raw, sexual release; rarely is there a verbal summation of sexual joy when sheer pleasure had screamed to satisfy all their physical needs. They kissed as their signs of love and loyalty to this unlikely bond.

Alain woke up at 5:30. It wasn't a dream; a naked fourteen-year old boy was sprawled out next to him. P.J. had the countenance of an angel, a child's dreamy look when asleep. Gorgeous and deliciously hot with his tent pole beneath the sheet, Alain kissed the boy softly before getting out of bed. Two times in one night. He hadn't done that since, well, his first year in marriage. Alain chuckled to himself. The joke of never to get caught with a dead woman or live boy in bed, now he lived what he once laughed at.

Checking his computer for emails and security concerns, he also checked in with the White House. Into his gym shorts, presidential shirt and shoes, he was prepared to go for his morning jog when this sleeping beauty came to life.

"Can I run with you?" P.J. asked rubbing his eyes.

Better than leaving the teen to be discovered accidentally, Alain agreed. He moved to the hallway and took the agent down the hallway to discuss if the beach was secure. P.J. dashed across to his own room and within minutes was behind the president and the Secret Service agent. Alain acted surprised and welcomed a running partner.

In his hands P.J. carried two sets of headphones with selected music. Passing one to the president they sat foot on the beach. P.J. was in bare feet and quickly discovered they were to be accompanied by two agents running in proximity.

President Carver wasn't so sure that this teenager could keep pace but P.J. was up to the task. While the president ran near the shoreline, P.J. let the soft sand and shallow water invigorate his body with the rising sun over the Atlantic Ocean. Making sure the president had the same music on that he did, P.J. humored his running mate with dance moves while running. The president laughed and tried to copy the antics of his sidekick to Fleetwood Mac's, TELL ME LIES. The security men couldn't help but find this comical.

Two miles up and back, P.J. acted like it was a walk in the park. Near their finish, P.J. splashed the president with a sweeping foot. Alain hustled after this youngster into a set of rolling waves, twirled the teen around until he got a giggling teenager and let the boy fly. A wrestling match ensured and a more blissful time in the water couldn't have been better than if it was a father and son in play.

Their return to their bedrooms had P.J. once again dart in the president's room when the agent had his back turned. To the shower they both scooted. The president was at the mercy of this adorable teen, always ready to please this new man in his life by soaping him from head to foot. All the attention had a return compliment. Washing the boy's back and butt had Alain erect in seconds. P.J. backed up into the hardened member, a new aspect of his young sexuality that he desired to feel again and again. Spreading the boy's arms back and high in a Superman pose, Alain teased the boy by pressing his elongated member vertical between the ass cheeks. The insertion even surprised the president when all the soap and water made it easy to slip in. He fucked the teen with sounds that were only meant for bedroom pleasure. This firm bubble butt was tighter than any vagina Alain had ever fucked. The sensation had P.J. squirting the shower wall without touching himself.

Two smiling males dried each other off. One of them was so much in love the smile was a permanent fixture.

"Take your wet towel over to your bathroom," Alain suggested. "You have to think like a parent. Always cover your bases."

P.J. thought about this. "You're smart, but that's why you're the man."

Seeing her son enter the kitchen nook with the president at seven o'clock on a Sunday morning, Mrs. McCarty had to do a double take. "What'd you do with my son, P.J.?" She glanced at the president, whose heart had just skipped numerous beats. What did she know? It wasn't this knowledge that she questioned. "That boy thinks nine o'clock is an outrageous time to be woken up."

P.J. was proud of himself. "President Carver and I ran a marathon before breakfast."

Alain had to laugh this time; actually, he was relieved of his paranoia, if not guilt. "Not exactly a marathon, but I'm damn proud of your son's endurance. I could use someone to push me on my morning runs."

"Take him, Mr. President. You have obviously sparked an interest in my sleepy-head son. Feed and clothe him, and I'm sure he'll fit into all your sons' hand-me-downs."

"Really, Mom?" P.J. asked with heightened anticipation.

President Carver loved this boy's naiveté. "P.J., you'd get bored of the White House in a few days. My boys think it's a prison."

Mrs. McCarty walked over and hugged her eldest. "I'm only kidding, sweetie. President Carver doesn't need another hormonal teenager around the White House. He already has one who likes to romp around nude like another boy I know."

"Chip and I would be so good together," P.J. said with a Grin.

"Chip might make you his cuddly doll," Mrs. McCarty teased to see her son's reaction.

"I can do that," he admitted. "I'm good at cuddling." His glance at the president saw him busy cutting his sausages to avoid getting caught on this topic. P.J. quickly corrected himself out of protection for this man he was sure he was in love with. "At least my stuffed bear thinks so." He laughed at himself and his mother cracked up.

Senator McCarty wasn't as vigorously disciplined as the president to a morning exercise routine but joined this breakfast bunch in a few minutes. He was just as surprised to see his eldest son this early as his mother.

"You have a glow about you that I haven't seen since I married your mother," Paul Sr. teased his son.

"Gee, Dad, I ran, like, an ultra-marathon this morning with the president." P.J. slipped on his headphones over his ears to avoid further inquiries.

Alain only shrugged. "The amount of energy in your son when he dances and runs is enough to complete a marathon. He's an amazing boy."

P.J.'s father made his son remove the headphones. "What are you listening to?"

"LET'S HERE IT FOR THE BOY," P.J. answered and had the president smile as he sipped his coffee. How profound.

The two men adjourned to the family room to watch MEET THE PRESS, a program they rarely missed to catch the insights of their respective party members or their opposition. That morning in answer to the president's weekly news conference, they had on a prominent psychologist, Dr. Adcock, with the John Hopkins Hospital and the director, Dr. Hennessy, of the National Health Organization. Dr. Hennessy had rarely offered any political opinion or countered any presidential influence. He immediately compared the president's son, Chip, to Mr. Snowden, who had fled to Russia. He had given up information on the NSA for their intrusion into the public's privacy.

President Carver took offense to this comparison and was ready to fire the man when he returned to Washington. Many considered Snowden a traitor to the United States. He had certainly harmed the nation's intelligence services.

Dr. Adcock couldn't comprehend the comparison until Hennessy explained it. "Conformity doesn't elevate anyone to wisdom, it puts people to sleep. And that's exactly what has happened when we allow our politicians and the religious right to dictate our morals or intrude on our rights. That includes our children's rights. Young Carver has sparked a national debate, not only about sexual orientation, but age of consent, much like Mr. Snowden has created controversy on how far our privacy is extended. Privacy is a social construct, as is childhood and adulthood."

Alain nodded and agreed in principal to this fact. The firing idea was a bit harsh. Snowden had definitely awakened a nation to what each person saw as their right to private conversations versus safety concerns to keep this country safe from terrorism.

This concept threw Adcock off his agenda. "I hardly see how this deals with the problems of intergeneration sex and why, just because young Carver is the president's son, we should be addressing this."

P.J. flopped down on the couch next to the president. Alain's discomfort with having the teen hear this made him feel like a hypocrite.

"Hi, guys!" P.J. busted out and received a hush sign from his dad.

All eyes and ears were now glued to the television. "Who better to challenge rules that they feel are unfair? Are we still depending on children's gullibility to tell them that they'll go blind if they masturbate? Early sex does not cause delinquency and it certainly does not cause a lifetime of harm in most children. President Carver has simply informed the American people that all intergenerational sex should not be lumped into one category as evil and deserving practically capital punishment. Two boys might have mutual masturbation to their enjoyment, but involve an adult and it becomes a devastating crime. Hardly practical to ruin a man's life with harmless behavior. Look at the Rind study and verify the results." (The Rind study found that most adults who had had sex with adults found it neutral or beneficial)

Dr. Adcock didn't wish to challenge these facts, so he went for the hysteria. "I can tell, having worked with sex offenders for twenty years, that many of them have forty, fifty, even a hundred victims. These acts make children sexually promiscuous, if not active before they are truly ready."

"When is truly ready, Doctor?" Hennessy asked and didn't leave it hanging. "I find it deployable that we have a lower age for a teenager to drive a two-thousand pound car, capable of going over a hundred miles per hour, than we do for that same youth to decide who he or she wants to touch or be touched by. It's almost laughable but for the damage our legal system incurs on the young and old. Discovering pleasure is likely an event that will be repeated. As human beings we seldom repeat behavior unless we receive some type of reward for its actions. There are reasons why boys, and girls for that matter, don't often report sex with adults. Yes, there are many reasons, but certainly one is that they might have actually enjoyed the attention and pleasure. Raping kids is wrong, but I have a real problem when teachers and coaches are afraid to hug kids out of fear."

Dr. Adcock went with the vote of conservative thought for the American public. "I'm not sure politics is the arena for moral issues intrinsic to sexual decision-making. It all comes down to parent-child communication in shaping healthy attitudes and behavior."

Dr. Hennessy had to smile at that one. "Yes, we're all aware of how great parents are as successful sex educators. The appropriate place to debate these concerns of our president is exactly in the marketplace of ideas amongst our professional health managers and educators. Today's heresy may well become tomorrow's orthodoxy. This notion of innocent, non-sexual children is an invention of our time, created more by politicians and women like the Anita Bryant-types for self-serving interests. The meaning of religion has to shift away from its archaic symbols and old-fashioned laws and begin to work with the reality of human life. For instance, this preaching of hatred and railing against gay rights has done nothing but grant permission to bullies and protagonists to hate people who are different than they are. What has happened to our one commandment of love?"

The narrator didn't want this to be a religious segment or gay rights issue, so he steered the conversation back to the political arena.

P.J. saw his opportunity during a commercial break. "I think they ought to listen to us kids. Adults should just mind their own business and stop preaching. We all know you don't practice what you preach."

Senator McCarty was surprised to hear his son challenge authority. "What would you do different if we left you alone?"

"I wouldn't take out the trash." P.J. had both men laughing. "I mean, like, why are you so concerned what I do sexually? You don't care that I jack-off three times a day, so why does who I have sex with make a difference? I know what you're going to say, that I don't know about STDs or how to put on a rubber, but I do. Grandma showed me."

Paul Sr. was shocked with this assertion. "My mother, Grandma McCarty, showed you how to put on a rubber?" He asked this in total disbelief.

"Yeah. When I was twelve she asked me if I had any girls or boys that I played doctor with. I teased Grandma if I could do this without a medical license? She chuckled and said playing doctor is a rite of passage for being a kid."

"I'm not sure if that's your grandmother's privilege to encourage you in such matters. But that hardly has anything to do with condoms," Paul Sr. lectured.

"I'm getting to that part, Dad. I sort of admitted that I prefer boys, so she said that penises were more fun than vaginis anyway. She meant vaginas, but Grandma is funny. She wanted me to be safe if I had sex with someone I didn't know, so she went to her room and brought back two rubbers. Holding up two fingers, I unwrapped one of them and peeled it over her fingers to see what it was like. She told me to hang on to the other one until I'm ready."

"And you're just telling me this now," Paul Sr. said it with discernment. "So is my son out of the closet?"

P.J. had this puzzled expression and looked at the president. Alain added the definition. "It means a place where gay people hide their sexuality."

"How can you hide your sex in a closet?" P.J. asked.

"Forget it," his father said. "You told your grandmother you were gay? She certainly never has mentioned this to your mother or me."

"D'oh! Grandma said she can keep secrets. She's one adult I can tell anything to."

Senator McCarty's embarrassment was clearly evident in front of the president. "I apologize, P.J., for not being here for you, but you have to..."

"I do understand, Dad. It's not your fault. Well, it is, but I'd rather have a dad who's a senator than one who picks up trash. They both can make great fathers, but one of them makes more money. Don't blame Grandma, or I'll be mad at you. I still have the condom, only because I haven't met any strange people." P.J. chuckled. "That doesn't mean I'm not a virgin."

Paul Senior's eyes lit up. "If that dance instructor of yours has... He's way too gay to be teaching boys."

"Dad! Mr. DelBene is really nice and he hasn't touched me. Why should you care? Am I like some possession to you that you have to control who, when and where I love? I don't get that. Are parents envious because their kids might enjoy something they didn't have the luck to do when they were kids? I can figure out the disease part and even knocking up some girl, but you shouldn't have a say in who I want to have sex with. My body isn't yours.'

"We're only trying to protect you, son."

"Against what? I can say no. You didn't care when my soccer coach tormented us, called me names like pussy and faggot, physically abused his son when he missed a shot on goal, or made us run and do push-ups for losing a game. Our Little League coach wasn't much better, throwing baseballs at us during practice for letting a strike go by. Hitler could have used him. Adults are just big people who act weird. They just have more experiences than kids do."

"That's different," the senator tried to explain and felt really awkward discussing this in front of the president. He glanced at Alain. "Mr. President, I apologize..."

"Don't, Paul. I have two sons don't forget. P.J. makes some good points. My boys have given me great insight to raising boys. I had to examine my own selfish motives and expectations when I found out my children were having sex and that I had a gay son. Was I jealous of their sexual affairs? Afraid of them growing up faster than I wanted them to? Certainly the diseases and pregnancy issues were of concern, but damn if they didn't use protection. And we each have gay sons. I was really homophobic before I had my ass chewed out by the missus. I've learned a lot since. We can only support them." Alain caught a smile from P.J., but he didn't dare return it.

Paul Sr. relaxed and appreciated the president's words. He glanced at his son. "So it wasn't your dance instructor?"

"No, Dad, nice try. Remember when I hurt my hip last month? Mr. DelBene took me into the locker room to examine it. I stripped off my ballet tights and had a hard-on when he touched my hip. I would have given anything if he'd given me a blow job; I really wanted him to. He looked at me and said, `P.J., you are one hot boy, but I'd lose you as my favorite dancer who I cherish and this job I love if I allow myself to enjoy youth's gifts. He kissed me on the cheek and put ice on my hip. Boy did that make my boner go down."

Paul Sr. and Alain had to laugh at this story. Only someone with self-esteem and integrity could reveal such honesty. This Sunday morning news program became a forgotten debate to something far more important: Meet Your Son.

"So this is why you want to go on this crusade, to meet other gay boys?" his father asked.

"Sort of. I want to meet Chip Carver, but I want to do something really important, present who I am and make you proud of me. Chip said that until we lovingly embrace our own existence, we have no context in which to love another person."

Senator McCarty stood up and engaged his son with an enormous hug. Tears came to his eyes. "P.J., I love you. I'm proud of you for taking this stance and being who you are. Yes, it's true that most adults don't always fly with their ducks in a V, but occasionally listen to us for advice and learn from our mistakes."

"Dad, you and President Carver are my favorite teachers and the greatest men in the world."

There were a few seconds when the president figured he'd rather be at a nuclear proliferation conference than at the threshold of being disclosed as a sex instructor for the senator's son. He welcomed a hug from this teenager, as well, but then P.J. asked his father if he could show the president his room and his dance trophies.

"Of course, if President Carver doesn't mind," Paul Sr. said.

As expected, P.J. no more had closed his bedroom door than he unzipped Alain's fly and went to his knees. The president fought for words, his eyes on the boy's door. What if? Taking a safer approach, he grabbed P.J.'s hand and moved to the bathroom shared by his two brothers next door. P.J. assured the president that his brothers wouldn't snitch. Some relief that was. Alain went down on the teen and was swallowing another massive load within the minute. One good thing, the kid was a quick shooter.

The Presidential helicopter landed on the massive lawn to fly POTUS back to the White House. Mrs. McCarty thanked the president for his stay, and then wetted a Kleenex from her pocket to wipe a wet spot from Alain's collar. She'd have no idea it was her son's semen. The missus invited the president and his entire family up for an end of the summer vacation after the crusade ended. He accepted.

The president held out his hand to this teenager that had revived him sexually. Instead, the boy gave him a mighty hug that had his parents smiling and his siblings giggling. The senator realized that President Carver had connected with his son, just not how.

Inside his helicopter Alain did a final wave. He caught eyes with P.J. and wished he was fifteen again. But wasn't he into women? Alain couldn't figure himself out. That boy's ass held secrets that could please a male for years. The president chuckled which confused a few Secret Service agents in the bay of that helicopter.

He wasn't about ready to disclose the humor. There was always a Presidential decree lowering the age of consent to fourteen. Of course he'd have to make this retroactive to the beginning of the month. That would get him impeached for sure. What president ever pardoned himself?

 

Austin, Texas

Ben Barkley had taken on a new life. Having his nephews live at his ranch was a godsend. He also now had a 26-year old gay man living in a trailer by the pool. The young man was handsome and in need of a mentor. They shared a lot in common, Josh just didn't know it yet.

Ben was also at his best running a business. In this case the Crusade's success depended on his organizational skills and savvy. Just the previous day he had sent the first semi-truck to the Big Apple with a load of 2,000 ten-speeds. Another truck would be leaving with enough food and water to stock an army for a month. Another smaller vehicle would act as a command center and medical station. It would serve as a traveling store of sundries and supplies for the participants to purchase if they needed toothpaste or soap.

Josh Ambrose had spent the first few days of his freedom inside the trailer, afraid to venture out. Each day he became braver to join the three boys who swam naked in the pool. Courage to reveal his attraction came with the confidence that Mr. Barkley had encouraged. Ben had made Josh the Crusade's activities coordinator. Josh had been scared to death of this elder, his powerful frame and statute. Now he was gradually finding a father figure who didn't judge him for being gay.

The following day Ben had caught Josh masturbating while watching his nephews in the pool. Ben wasn't much for knocking on screen doors, so he had just entered and saw the erotic act. A startled Josh was sure prison would have been a safer place than being caught by Ben Barkley. Ben grabbed the man's stiff dick and led him out to the pool with three wide-eyed boys wondering why their uncle had Josh's hard-on in his hand.

"Boys, this man would rather stay in the trailer fantasizing about you than playing. Make him feel welcome, will you?"

Austin splashed both his uncle and Josh, while his brothers jumped out and pushed both of them in the pool. Ben helped out this inclusion, hoisted his frame from the pool and went about his business, soaking wet.

Feelings fully accepted, Josh opened up and became part of this clique of males. Ben put him in charge of reviewing the applicants of staff after the ad was placed nationwide for chaperones for this crusade. They hired 25 staff members and Ben had no qualms in saying he wanted 25 gay males, 18 to ancient years of age, he didn't care. He also didn't have the time to run arrest records, so they looked at their current positions as youth directors, teachers, coaches, or even pastors. One applicant was 65 years old, a former teacher and coach, who admitted being arrested for having consensual sex with three boys twenty years earlier. Ben talked to him over the phone, verified the accidental disclosure of the relationships and hired him as his personal assistant and driving companion. Ben was logical when hiring. He figured that most men who had sex with minors would never be revealed for two reasons: either the boys were embarrassed about having sex with another male, or they enjoyed it too much to give it up.

The other 24 men were from 18 to 42, all willing to ride a bike across America while keeping an eye on hundreds, if not thousands of teenagers for $5,000 a month. Ben sent each of them a round-trip ticket to Austin for a two-day staff meeting and party.

Not too concerned about rain, considering the drought in the area, Ben bought fifteen four-man tents in which two men would share. They might as well pick a partner and learn tent life, Ben surmised.

Ben's chauffeur was busy driving back and forth picking men up at the airport. His Texas-style barbecue set off the first night's festivities. Light entertainment of Spanish guitars was concluded by his nephews and Josh singing a barbershop rendition of Girls, Girls, Girls, but in this case it was, "Boys, Boys, Boys...Well, yellow, red, black or white..."

The boys' act united this group of gay men and older teens to laughter and a camaraderie that Ben hoped for. He spent the remainder of the evening with beer in hand and discussing the entire plan of this crusade. Safety was the number one priority. Bottom line, this was a team effort where no cyclist would be allowed to stray, fall behind, or otherwise join this pact when they weren't registered and had a parent's signature. Yes, they well knew that many teens had forged this signature, but the Crusade wasn't in position to verify authorization to allow and treat their child if an accident was to happen. It was already a massive undertaking and Ben had secured insurance to protect each of his and their interests.

The Secret Service was heavily involved and had obtained a map of the route from Ben. Campsites were designated, some leased for a night by the committee, and special invitations were being considered. An Indian tribe in Utah had invited the Crusade to spend a night. A boy in Iowa, another in Missouri had offered the use of their farms, while other gestures had poured in.

Ben went over a hundred possible scenarios, some bound to happen: bike crashes, dehydration, injuries, runaways, family emergencies, bullies, kids that don't get along, unwanted adults or ruffians, and there was no misunderstanding that the Secret Service wouldn't allow anyone too close to the president's boys. Ben was informed that day of the inclusion of a senator's son, another V.I.P. As far as these chaperones were concerned, every gay boy and girl rider was to be protected to the max.

Nights and bad weather breaks were the responsibility of Josh. He knew how important entertainment was being at several scout jamborees in the past. Talent nights, games, and sports were a necessity. Tent mates who were compatible were also his responsibility. There would be a constant shift of these pairings. The Crusade would supply condoms and safe sex brochures, but sex would otherwise not be discussed. What boys and girls did in their tents would be their own business as long as it was agreed upon between parties.

A mini bus was leased for riders too fatigued to continue for a day. It was not for any youngster wanting a free ride across America. Josh sent out notifications to cities and towns of the timing of this caravan, expecting support and protection. Using mostly backroads and off-the-beaten-paths, per se, would lessen traffic and trouble.

Josh asked Ben about musical instruments. Ben purchased a dozen guitars in less than a minute and two thousand helmets to go with the bikes. They decided that the semi carrying the porta potties would stop every hour for a ten-minute break. Roadside stops wouldn't be taboo, just frowned upon. The semi would unload the potties in the evening, and a shower system within the truck could bathe 50 kids at a time with a hot spray. Modesty would not be an attribute on this trip.

These 25 temporary chaperones brought forth solid ideas and problems for Ben to solve. Many boys and girls, not extremely athletic, won't be able to keep pace or have the stamina. How about a typical teenager who thinks midnight is perfect to go to bed?

Ben assured them of one thing, these kids will be so tired they'll barely make it through dinner. On most roads the cyclists will have to go Indian file or abreast. Traffic will have to be monitored, slowed to assure that both cars and bicycles have access. Sometimes it might be necessary to ride on the shoulder where accidents were more likely to happen. Whatever the circumstances the chaperones had to be flexible.

Ben decided that each chaperone would have from fifty to a hundred kids in their group. Teens who weren't up to snuff would have their own team and would start a half-hour ahead of everyone else and no doubt arrive at each day's destination later. Allowances would be made.

In his final summation Mr. Benjamin "Slim" Barkley pointed his finger at his guests. "You will give these youth their dream, a dream that their future will not be judged by their sexual orientation, but by their character. One of the few consolations a gay kid has is hanging out with friends who won't judge him, getting lost in a world that's larger than his family. Give them this power over what they essentially cannot change, that is themselves. They now have the chance to join something far larger than themselves, a thousand goals, a thousand dreams, a thousand desires who will all say, I am someone special today because I am gay!"

This band of aspiring youth leaders broke into a spirited applause. They adjourned at midnight to wander outside in the warm Texas air. A sign was posted in the grass a few yards from the pool. (Nood Swimming, No Truncks) Several men glanced at the sign with odd looks.

"Give the kid a break! He's only a fourth grader," Ben said with his belly laugh. "Well, nude swimming and no trunks. It's fairly obvious. You wouldn't want to upset an ambitious boy, would you?" He personally stripped to his bare skin and dove in. In minutes a throng of naked men had a fifty-meter pool all to themselves.

Josh returned to his trailer and found Austin naked in his bed. "My uncle thinks you need a night in the saddle," Austin said with a smile.

"Austin, you're still a minor and you know what just happened."

"Josh, I'm also a Barkley, and Barkley's don't have loose lips. Get your ass in here and let's play merit badge."

"You mean the one where scoutmaster teaches sex education. I like that one."

WASHINGTON D.C.

A few hundred boys and girls cycling across America didn't excite the mass media. What made headlines were all these aspiring politicians putting their names in for the next President of the United States. Most of these were done for their own egos. Only on the Today Show was there a five-second segment on the upcoming Crusade. Few expected it to succeed or last more than a few states.

A few days from its start there was no denying that over 2,000 applicants had been received and more coming each day. Something big was about to happen to the gay community; yet, this was far bigger than any gay organization was prepared for. As reality became closer and clearer, gays from around the country began discussing this monumental undertaking.

There was no doubt that such an endeavor could never have reached this stage without a benefactor in Ben Barkley. In this case the philanthropy wasn't just about giving money. It was about giving oneself to a cause. Ben was empowering a new generation of gay youth and keeping the American dream alive and well.

The mass media quickly recognized the significance of this event. It was their function, after all, to amuse, entertain, and inform. President Carver reminded the press that they also had a responsibility to inculcate individuals with the values, beliefs, and codes of behavior that would integrate them into the institutional structures of the larger society. In a world of concentrated wealth and major conflicts of class interest, to fulfil this role required systematic propaganda.

President Carver had parried the negative flood of criticism from various Tea Party foes to the religious right that he was advocating a new "anything goes" mentality in America's youth. His son's crusade had now turned into a demonstration for sexual rights rather than a gay stand. Alain had dozens of respected professionals come to his side with common sense.

As one astute therapist said, "Western society is replete with attitudes that impede the development of a healthy attitude toward sex. In view of all these factors and the president's concern for the future of our youth, rational attitude toward sex and in view of the inevitable disappointments, exploitations, and rejections that are involved in human relationships, one might wonder how anyone could reach adulthood without being seriously maladjusted. All humans have a deep need to be esteemed, wanted, and loved. Sexual activity with another is seen as proof that one is attractive, desired, valued, and possibly loved—a proof very necessary to self-esteem and happiness. Hence, the Gay Crusade exemplifies these principals and should be soundly appraised for their courage to stand on this issue. In support of a revision of sex laws in regards to the age of consent, the effects of such atypical experiences depend upon how the child interprets them and upon the reaction of adults if the experience comes to their attention. Trust me, it is rarely the act, but the interference of those who lack common sense."

The press ran with the logic and the neutrality it presented. New York's governor stepped up and announced that the caravan of bicycles would be escorted through the state and given the slow lane of its highway system. Hearing that Ben Barkley was an avid baseball fan, the governor made special arrangements at Woodstock and Cooperstown for the group to play baseball. Chautauqua Lake on its western border was prepared for a musical celebration and lakeside activities for the entire contingent.

Hours before his flight to New York City, Chip met with his dad in the Oval Office. Alain greeted his son with a hug and a kiss to the cheek. The respect was an acceptance that his teenager was no longer the child he had battled with for years. To the president this was no less important of a meeting than if it was with the Chief of Staff's.

Chip's new maturity showed; he didn't put his feet on his father's desk. "It's not too late for you to join us, Dad," Chip said more in humor.

"Don't think I wouldn't if I still fit on one of those tiny bicycle seats. You would let me have a tent with Ronin, right?"

"Once you have it, you don't go back. I'm glad we've shared something together. Ronin thinks you're a great lover. I do have a problem you might be able to help me with. See, I think I'm going to have two boys who, well..."

"Think that you're their boyfriend," Alain filled in.

"Yeah. How can I tell Austin that I'm in love with Ronin?"

The president chuckled and came around to put his arm around his son. "Chipper, this is where relationships become tricky. I'm under the impression that gay boys are less demanding than two jealous women, but your ass is in a sling either way. All you can do is be honest. Be firm, tell Austin that you and Ronin are a couple and have this understanding that you can fuck around, but that when you're together it's just the two of you. There's a senator's boy who I met who thinks you're pretty hot, too."

Chip pondered this and liked it. "I suppose a three-some or a four-some wouldn't be out of the question. Did you get a chance to test drive P.J.? Yeah, he emailed me. There's something going on between you and him, isn't there? He thinks you are absolutely gorgeous."

"Even presidents can take the fifth. Now, about orgies. Not that I've tried this, but just because everyone agrees to it doesn't mean feelings are put aside. Three people who have nothing invested in each other might work. Bringing a third or fourth party into a loving relationship is asking for trouble. Someone is going to get their feelings hurt."

"Sex can sure get complicated, can't it, Dad?"

"Boy, can it," Alain thought out loud. "Few of us escape the effects of society's anti-sexual conditioning. Whoever called our groin privates needs to have a thorough thrashing."

"Why's that, Dad?"

"Well, see, privates mean something to be hidden. Leave it to the Germans to call their genitals, Scham, which means shame. We've already imbedded in children's minds of something evil lurking in their fun zone."

"Gee, Dad, you're president. Do something!"

"Not that easy, boy. We're such a great nation, full of promise and unfulfilled dreams, yet we're such an ignorant people, which leads to fear and then eventually hate of others who are different than us. Being gay isn't a choice, but being stupid and a bigot certainly is."

"Ronin is meeting me in New York, so I guess I'd best get ready. Did I tell you that Mr. Barkley is going to announce at the start of the race that any boy or girl who is currently registered and finishes the entire trip will have their college expenses paid? He's so generous for doing that."

"Does that include you?" the president joked.

"Dad, I have plenty of money. I even have another interview with another gay magazine, German, I think, in New York. Ronin and I are doing it together."

"I'm not familiar with the magazine, but brush your teeth and don't say anything that can come back and bite you in the ass. Take that from your political father. By the way, Senator McCarty wants you to keep an eye on P.J. The boy's a, what you guys call, a hottie. Spend some time with him, will you?"

"Sure, Dad, my gaydar will be up." Chip laughed. "Was he G.I.B.?"

"I know what that means. No comment." Alain stood up and gave his son a lovable hug. No more had President Carver felt good about his advice to his son when the boy handed his father an email that P.J. wanted Chip to give to him. The email could make a grown man pee in his pants.

(You were so awesome. Thanks for being there for me and blowing out my fifteenth candle. I'll send you postcards. Love, P.J.)

Alain quickly crushed the email in his hand. "You never saw this or I'll ground you for life."

"I'm your lovable son, Dad. I know nothing, see nothing, and hear little. Naturally I will have to check out the equipment so you're not one up." Chip laughed and got a kiss on the nose.

Alone again the president sent back a happy birthday greeting to one P.J. McCarty. No use in having someone question what a fifteenth candle looked like.

NEW YORK CITY

Chip and Philly settled in for a night at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in New York City, while Ronin arrived later at JFK International and was chauffeured to the hotel. The three of them had a few minutes to act like silly teenagers in their reunion before three men arrived from a German gay magazine for twinks. The editor assured the boys that nothing would be released until they had both turned eighteen.

Philly hunched himself in a corner to snicker at this manufactured sex. No actual sucking or fucking could be published, but that didn't mean penetration didn't happen. Lights flooded the room. Aluminum discs reflected beams of light and make-up in the right places did the rest. It was the angles of the camera that convinced the viewer of the erotic act. Other photos would be prized collectors' items. There would be no doubt to anyone that these boys loved one another.

The photo shoot had three men rubbing their hands at the financial upside coming their way. Two checks of a million each were handed to the boys and it was over within an hour.

Off the boys flew with their Secret Service agents in tow to dinner and a night at the theatre to watch Billy Elliot. Arriving back at the hotel the boys shared a single bed, though there were two doubles. They weren't sure if this excursion would allow them a night to themselves for the next several weeks.

By one o'clock Philly was fast asleep as Chip and Ronin contemplated any last items that hadn't been included. Their minds tired, they fell asleep in each other's arms.

Teens rarely consider the consequences of staying up late. Looper's call had Chip's, "Yeah, sure," mean only that he was asleep again in five seconds. The blankets and sheet shredded from over their nakedness had three teens reaching for anything to get their bodies warm again. Looper had no problem with spanking three bare bottoms, then putting an ice cube under Chip's balls. The First Boy's eyes lit up and, just as quickly, he got the three of them to wrestle Looper on top of the bed so they could pulverize him.

Breakfast arrived in their room while the boys shared the bathroom. They dressed in new bicycle shorts and fluorescent yellow and orange shirts with a rainbow flag on its sleeve, the one attire that would distinguish them as part of this grand event. Each of them stuffed their backpack with nutrition bars, lotions, lip balm, and other essentials. Both brothers had grown up under the stigma that they might be targets for mentally ill people. Reluctantly but without complaint they donned a light vest of Kevlar that was made to look like a synergy hydration light vest. In their shoes, waistline of their underwear, and on their bikes were GPS units, well concealed from human eyes.

Ronin knew the dangers of being presidential kids because being a celebrity had its own precautions. In England he would have had his own bodyguard.

They each felt like professional cyclists ready for the French Grand Prix. Gloves, helmets, sunglasses, and the finest cycling shoes were donned to look as cool as possible. Wearing only sandals out to their waiting limo, they were greeted by hundreds of cheering fans. The atmosphere was more like a parade, a celebration that welcomed this Fourth of July to the city. It was a perfect day of sunshine and far less traffic than on a normal work day.

Philly was conscious that people might well consider him gay like his brother. That didn't bother him one iota, and Chip had made it known to the press that his brother was riding with him in support of all gay boys and girls. Brotherly love overshadowed sexual orientation.

Police cars, kids on bicycles swarming about, and inquisitive spectators lined the sidewalks, like this was the start of a New York Marathon. Their black SUV pulled off 97^th Street, down Central Park West Dr., past the tennis courts that made Chip glare at this sport he loved the most and one he sacrificed his participation for the summer for this Crusade. A large booth came into view where riders were still signing up to receive their T-shirt, badge, and bike and helmet if needed. Each bike had its own GPS unit to avert a kid from just signing up to steal one of these custom titanium road bikes.

"Check this out, guys," Philly said from his view out the SUV's tinted window. Two girls were going to ride a tandem. The boys thought that was so cool.

Leave it to a radical minister to organize part of his congregation into a sign waving protest of hate against sodomites. This fanatical half-dozen protestors were quickly surrounded by men from the Village with their own rainbow flags and signs. This time such mocking of gays would go unheard and unseen.

A rock band had set up near the lake which drew its own crowd of young adults. On a side street adjacent to the park stood a line of trucks, prepared for a journey westward. Along the park's 6.1 mile loop cyclists assembled, some of them only to escort these kids to the city limits.

The boys exited at the west entrance to Strawberry Fields to meet the Barkley's at the memorial to John Lennon. On the black-and-white mosaic featuring the word "Imagine," Chip and Philly hugged Mr. Barkley, Austin, Cheet, and a surprise—Scooter. They met Josh Ambrose as reporters ran off an array of quick photos. Thanks to the New York Police Department they kept order and a large crowd surrounding the boys. It was a happy chaos, a gathering of smiling faces ready to set on an adventure unequaled in American history.

Agent Looper Wenzel recognized Senator McCarty and welcomed him and his son to this circle of importance. An introduction to Chip led to these two teenagers meeting for the first time. Like a rush of a warm breeze P.J.'s smile had a way of making others smile. Chip shook the boy's hand and wondered why his father hadn't mentioned the boy's beauty, or had he? His father had said he was a hottie, but what do adults know? Their eyes held attention for seconds until Chip remembered Philly and Ronin. For some reason his dad's talk about orgies came to mind. No wonder his father was in such a good mood; he'd had this gorgeous fox in the sack.

 

 

THE GAY CRUSADE

 

Quickly the bikes were prepared, and though Chip's group was selected to lead this congregation there were dozens of unregistered cyclists who desired to ride well ahead of this parade for several miles. For two miles back there was a string of yellow and orange jerseys sparkling in the morning sun, as magnificent as a ray of sunshine. Skateboards and joggers tried to keep pace, all wanting to feel a part of this excitement.

Down 5^th Avenue the mass of youth received nothing but applause, fireworks, and makeshift signs rooting for their success. Across on 42^nd Street the caravan passed Times Square in a blaring, electrifying, exhilarating crossroads of the world. Graffiti floated down from the high rises above them, traffic at a standstill, and the boys couldn't help but laugh through their happiness that New York was celebrating this Crusade with the same joy as a world event.

Chip arched his body around and saw a flood of teens and children as far as the eye could see. A million silver spokes spun and glistened in the sunlight. He had accomplished many things in his young life but this was his proudest. Ronin could only give his love a thumbs up when he saw Chip's tears. Surrounded by Austin and his brothers, a new, cute boy named P.J. never lost his smile. Chip thought of himself as the luckiest boy in the world.

Over to Miller Highway to Henry Hudson Parkway they rode, clear sailing thanks to their escort of sirens and twirling lights. Following police around twists and turns, most of these unauthorized cyclists began to peel off once they reached the 87 and across the Hudson River. Their first stop: Woodstock.

Estimated to be 3600 riders, they rode on a tranquil undulating route serving up classic summer New York scenery—rolling hills, apple orchards, cornfields and vineyards. By 9:00 they had pulled into a rest stop to take inventory of this massive display of kids on bikes. Already they had a girl in medical with scraped knees and an elbow from a crash of bikes.

Ben acted the drill sergeant, annoyed at girls who were in bikinis, those who had mountain bikes, and a few teens who had followed on motorcycles to eye the girls in bikinis.

The sun was rising blazing hot. Boys had already stripped off their tops, putting Ben's immediate attention to sunscreen. He had his staff go through the crowd to coat backs, necks and legs with lotion. Last thing they needed were hundreds of sunburnt kids the first day.

Chip and Philly had pleading eyes with the agents for the removal of the Kevlar vests. Sweating and hot, Looper agreed and let the boys strip to their shorts. Water replacements, bathroom breaks and early snacks went smoothly. With the early complaints of sore asses, Ben could only shake his head. Kids rode with cell phones, and several even brought their laptops. He'd warned on the web site for the kids to ride for at least two hours a day to prepare for this. Those with STAFF shirts did their best to handle the questions and odd behavior.

By early afternoon they had reached Woodstock, a town of little significance but for a 1969 rock concert. The community had had reunions of sorts but nothing like this onslaught. There was no secret of this initial stop. Thousands of youth and adults had converged at this location in hopes of another noteworthy gathering. Bands had converged, stages built, but with far less organization from fifty years earlier. It was chaos.

A snow fence enclosed a fifteen-acre farm land for the crusade to park for the evening. Entering a secured gate was to protect against outsiders, but kids just leaped the fence to join these boys and girls with yellow and orange shirts. Tents erected, it was a time to get to know one another, make friends, and make any last minute arrangements for longer rides to come.

Two agents, Looper and Zach, had been bodyguards for the boys for several years. Riding bikes was not something they were used to, but they were athletes nonetheless. Their weapons in discreet places, two agency vehicles rode front and rear of this assemblage.

With the Barkley brothers, Ronin and P.J., Chip and Philly walked amongst their peers to greet and thank them for their participation. Flooded by autograph seekers and those who just wanted to touch famous people, it was both fun and fearful at the same time.

They walked through this quaint village, agents discreetly behind, to gawk at unique antique stores, handicraft shops, food stands, and art work. Lone musicians attempted to impress, many with their own rainbow flags to be faithful to the cause.

After months of being apart, Chip had his hand in Ronin's, their love for each other as great as before. Philly and P.J. had become quick friends, along with Cheet who was constantly by Philly's side. Austin didn't mind having Scooter as his sidekick. He respected the relationship between Chip and Ronin, and had his own now with Josh. The man wasn't as free as the kids to sightsee.

Ben held a meeting for all the participants before dinner. He stressed that the entertainment in the surrounding hills was not something they recommended. Drugs and alcohol were prevalent and unwelcomed in this camp. Teens and adults from surrounding areas and states had converged on this site more for the camaraderie of people than a gay rendezvous. Everyone needed to look out for each other, report visitors who didn't belong and any suspicious behavior. Only those with badges would be allowed to partake of dinner. Staff was always available for counseling or problems. There were several young riders, though Scooter was the youngest. A few twelve-year olds were amongst the riders, so Ben kept watch for reports of runaways to missing kids on his computer. He stressed safety, which also meant safe sex. The number of boy-boy, girl-girl participants was staggering.

Dinner was a success, though staff discovered at least a dozen people trying to get a meal after borrowing or stealing someone else's badge. A warm evening kept most of the kids within the fenced area; only the older teens ventured off to listen to the bands in the area. The semi with the shower system opened up and gave the kids their first glimpse of what to expect. Chip and Ronin set the example, being sprayed with the force of a water gun, but laughing the whole time. They jumped down stark naked and had dozens of kids there just to stare at their nudity. The way the Carvers were hung, the stares were long. Sixteen kids—no girls—showered, a few with their shorts on.

Sunset and an array of fireworks entertained the thousands of youth who had committed to this event. Chip kept waiting for the time to speak to Austin, but upon seeing the boy with Josh it was like the problem had solved itself.

Looper had come into the boy's tent and caught Chip and Ronin in an embrace. No big deal. Looper had been Chip's boyhood teacher and lover. The man would always have a special place in his heart. Looper and Zach were now married, two adults who could share stories about this crazy, but lovable First Boy.

"Come to join us?" Chip asked.

"My gun might get in the way," Looper said and had the boys laughing. "Look, just wanted you not to fret. There'll be one of us around here at all times and might check inside the tent throughout the night."

Chip and Ronin understood and said their goodnights. The sounds of beating drums and electric guitars didn't make going to sleep easy.

Six o'clock came bright and early. Six in the morning is not an adolescent time. Ben used an air horn which wasn't appreciated by the thousands sleeping on the surrounding hills. Kids slowly wandered around like zombies, some still in their pajamas in search of porta potties. Ben had the shower truck open for anyone desiring a shower. No one took advantage. Makeshift sinks were flocked, kids brushing teeth, combing air or just trying to feel alive. Breakfast had a wide selections of sweet rolls, eggs, bacon, cereals, and orange juice.

Seven was supposed to be their start; 7:45 was when the last tent was loaded in the truck and everyone was on their bike. Ben yelled through his megaphone that tomorrow would be different. This was not summer vacation at home and they had a schedule to keep. "Get up! Get dressed! Do your bodily functions and get on your bike!"

The night before Ben waited patiently by the gate for anyone violating his ten o'clock curfew. Sure enough four teens, 14 to 15 years of age, came through at 10:15.

"Hearing problems or are you used to defying rules?"

One of the girls spoke for the quartet. "Sorry, sir, we lost track of time. It won't happen again."

"I'm inclined to put the four of you on the bus home tomorrow." He watched their reaction--dropped heads and near devastation. "Okay, here's what we're going to do. The four of you will help the younger kids take down their tents, clean the sinks after everyone is done, and make sure all the potties have toilet paper. After three days I'll reconsider because I'm sure there will be others to replace you."

The four readily agreed and went to their tents. Ben kept patrolling. It was the three college boys that Ben caught while patrolling the fence. They leaped the snow fence to find themselves in front of an adult at 11:33 p.m.

"Pack your bags, you're leaving on the next bus."

"Who the fuck are you, old man? We've signed up for this crusade," one of them spoke with a Boston College T-shirt one size too small.

"I'm the old fuck who owns this land for a night and you're trespassing. You need your ears boxed, youngster."

The nineteen-year old searched his two buddies for support. They weren't about to challenge. All of a sudden he went respectful. "My bad. Look, we just went to hear the bands. We're not like the rest of these lames."

"No, you're not. You're punks, thinking you're something because you're in college. I have fourteen-year olds here with more courage in their little fingers than you do in that thick head. If I let you stay it will be on my terms, not yours. Don't bother opening your mouth. I don't want to hear your sorry ass."

The three nodded. They found out they were now part of a sanitation crew, helping dump the porta potties at every sewage station, cleaning the showers nightly after washing down the dining tables. They were to report to Ben every night.

"How much do we get paid?" one of them questioned.

"Really?" Ben asked sarcastically. "Consider it paying off your probation. Miss a day and we won't have any more words. Let's see your backpacks." Ben found a bag of weed and let it fly to the wind. He escorted them to the semi with the shower. "You're starting tonight!" Ben watched them strip to their shorts and start up the ramp.

"You pussies! Get those fuckin' shorts off! Ya'll need a few months on my ranch to make ya men." He kicked their asses into the semi, turned on the water and made sure they scrubbed down every inch inside that truck.

Over 3200 kids on bikes were left after the initial deluge from the city. Another short day to organize, get the kinks out, and allow kids to know there was nothing to fear but their own illusions and inhibitions.

Through the Catskills they rode, a region dotted with picturesque farms, resorts and camping sites. Stretching for what seemed like miles, a river of yellow jerseys came alive in the wooded surroundings and pastures dotted with black-and-white Holstein cows. Few citizens were aware of this crusade knifing its way through their communities. A lone State Police car led this parade.

Arriving in Cooperstown before noon the campsite was up and running quickly. A lunch of soup and sandwiches was served before those who wanted to visit the National Baseball Hall of Fame headed off for free admission, thanks to Mr. Barkley who paid for all admissions. Others went to Farmers Museum, an open-air museum that recreated New York life from around 1790 to 1860. Spinners, weavers, a blacksmith, a broom maker, and others plied their trades in costumes and settings of this period. Thousands of bright-eyed youth blended in to the many tourists already enjoying this vacation spot for baseball enthusiasts.

A few parents, especially mothers, saw boys and girls with their rainbow flags, pins, or interesting printing on shirts (I like boys, get over it) (I kissed a boy and liked it) (Girls can do it better, ask me). They corralled their children like these kids had rode in on Harley Davidsons.

At four in the afternoon the kids started several ball games. Many of the girls and younger teens gravitated to the 16" softball game, while a select group of boys decided on baseball. A tall, lanky fourteen-year old, quiet in demeanor and humble in his presence said he was a pitcher. Ben, the appointed manager of both teams, tapped the youngster on the shoulder for the pitcher of his American League All-Star team. Cheet had first dib on the National League's starting pitcher. An idyllic lake below the diamond gave this game a breathtaking presence.

Shane Colter was the only teenage biker with a parent accompaniment. It was not the best distinction to have. His story was too embarrassing to even mention, but every day he cherished being part of this crusade for reasons that was his alone. From age eleven he had found Chip Carver's Facebook page a living testament to how he felt. How Chip's persona life had affected so many youth might not ever be known. In Shane's life, his idols were Chip and Ronin. He used as his reward for finishing his homework the privilege of Chip's website. Sending away for the Crusade's brochure, mainly because it had the First Boy's picture on it, Shane fantasized over the seventeen-year old boy's photo. In early June his father walked in on him and caught his son masturbating with a computer on his thighs. Figuring his boy had found a porn site, Mr. Colter grabbed the computer and saw the nude photos of Chip and Ronin together. It wasn't pornographic, but erotic enough for a gay boy.

"Ya fuckin' queer, boy?!" his father had yelled. Shane wanted to deny it; instead he cried. Worse yet, his father confiscated his computer and Crusade brochure until Mrs. Colter made him give them back the next day.

Shane lived in Mattoon, Illinois, a baseball city if there ever was one. Boys grew up with a baseball glove in the crib like Ohio kids grew up with footballs. He was a Little League standout and now pitched for his Pony League team, the best this league had.

Mr. Colter lived through his son's baseball career. To have a queer son wasn't in the cards. As if to challenge his boy's devotion, he gave Shane the choice, go on this Crusade with all those fairies or pitch on the all-star team.

Shane had never stood up to his father. Scared to death of the man's control, Shane knew what his father was trying to do. He choose the Crusade to his father's shock.

"Okay, you'll see, kid. I'll let you ride with those pansy-ass, wannabe girls. In two days you'll be begging me to bring you home." What Shane wasn't told, his father had no intention of allowing his son to socialize with any gay boy—not on his watch!!!

Ben Barkley knew of this father-son combo because he charged any adult two grand for riding in the crusade. He was surprised to receive a check for two thousand dollars. Thinking that this father was totally supportive of his son's orientation, Ben was about to be sorely disappointed to find out differently.

After an afternoon in baseball heaven, Ben was in the best of moods. This darling boy with long limbs must be a young version of another Texas slinger—Jim Ryan. It was just a guess, more of a fantasy Ben thought.

The catcher he picked had trouble handling the boy's curve in warmup. Ben stepped in to catch for both pitchers. From 60' 6", Shane Colter threw with the speed of a high schooler. The pop in the catcher's mitt proved that. Ben went from an annoyed coach who now had to catch, to a very interested senior who felt like he was catching a future professional.

Shane was used to people admiring his talent to throw a ball. He now had hundreds of boys just like him clapping and rooting him on. As his shortstop he had his idol, Chip, while Ronin, in pink shorts, played right field. Ronin wasn't too sure if he could actually catch a fly ball, but he was willing to try. Not that it made a difference, Shane struck out most every hitter.

Fourteen feet longer than Little League, Cheet was a fish out of water at this distance in his first year of Senior Little League. He still fired those heavier Major League baseballs with everything he had.

Mr. Colter sat on the bleachers, away from all the other spectators and miffed that his son was actually enjoying himself. The mere fact that there were a dozen boys acting silly by cheerleading with their sexual gestures toward their peers had the man steaming mad. To make matters worse, there was this wannabe Yogi Berra behind the plate. The old man should have retired forty years ago, Shane's father thought.

Shane thought their antics were hilarious, especially his second baseman's. P.J. did his best breakdancing moves to the group of black teens who had their sound bars blaring. He'd never considered himself a sex object or desired by another boy, but these boys were treating him like someone really special. A pat on the rear from Chip Carver was better than any compliment. Ronin sat on the bench next to Shane, kissed him on the cheek and said, "You're like totally awesome, mate."

Shane blushed and hoped his father wasn't looking. He was.

Two hours of baseball. The smell of hot dogs and hamburgers filled the evening air. Shane Colter was no longer the unrecognized boy with an adult who hung to the rear of thousands of bicycles. Chip insisted he eat with his friends that night and, sure, bring your father. Mr. Colter ate by himself.

Ben attempted to befriend the adult, only to find a disgruntled man whose plans had gone astray. That damn baseball game had messed up everything, Colter thought. Then there was that senator's boy who constantly had his arm around his son's shoulders. Shane was enjoying himself way too much.

Ben sat down by his partner and confidant on this trip. "Art, that boy's father must have been weaned on an icicle."

It was loud enough that several boys heard, including Shane. He glanced back and saw his father sitting against a tree. Caught between embarrassment and feeling sorry for his father who didn't understand, Shane felt guilty for having so much fun.

Art Acosta was a listener. It was what made him a perfect fit for Ben's right hand man and sidekick. He was also a man of experience, wisdom, and was as attune of his passion for youth as Ben's failure to accept his own attraction for boys. Cautious, but strategically cunning, Art was whittling away at Ben's denial. The tactic was so transparent that Ben didn't realize he was being psychoanalyzed.

"You loved that boy at first sight, hey, Benjamin?" Art teased with casual conversation.

Ben had never known anyone to be so blunt and thought provoking as his new senior citizen friend. He wasn't threatened by Art; actually, knowing that the man had been convicted of lewd and lascivious conduct with boys was a form of one-upmanship. It was a transparency of nakedness that revealed an innermost secret. Under this masquerade of hubris there was a subconscious voice saying that he was no different.

"I'm just intrigued by the boy, Art. Such talent and a scrooge for the father. You know I spotted the same potential in my nephew. It's why I built that pool. What would happen if I started a traveling boys' baseball team?" Ben had said it out loud, hoping that Art might encourage this brain storm.

"My friend, I have no doubts you have always gotten what you wanted. Your nephew's success has given him a college scholarship, a reputation, and numerous accolades. It has also reinforced your commitment, but what are you searching for? And have you received that magic in your life?"

Ben never liked anyone imposing or questioning his lifestyle. Art was different. Hardly equal in the financial arena, for some reason Ben felt humbled in his sexuality compared to Art Acosta.

"All I ever wanted to give Austin was love, Art. That swimming gave him self-esteem, hope, affirmation, and happiness. Shouldn't a boy know that he's loved? I did it all for him."

Art jumped at this chance to support his friend. "Absolutely, Ben. You've been the source of love that has made the boy what he is today. For that which you give to others, you give to yourself. We grant the status of great teachers by the measure of one's actions, not one's words. You teach what you have to learn."

Few men had made Ben think like Art did. Rarely did anyone compliment him; they all thought he was too big, too full of himself to be praised. Ben was like a little boy being adorned with honor. Speechless he fought for a thank you.

Art's hand slid on top of Ben's. The elder went for the bull's eye. "Silence holds secrets, my dear friend. Is it not that, as a gay man, you have created a person you chose to be, not as someone people think you should be?"

Inside Ben's mind he couldn't believe anyone would dare call him gay. Yet, did not a grown man, right in front of him, strip him of this façade he'd been hiding for most of his life, but was in plain sight? Austin knew, didn't he? Why did he think that others would actually see him as a straight man when all his efforts were to convince boys like Austin that love is essential, powerful, and absolutely attainable? And here he had deprived himself of true love.

"You're hitting below the belt," Ben said like a warning.

"I'm sorry if you feel that way, Ben. I care about you and I know you hunger for human affirmation. One does what he does for creative survival."

Ben backed off and apologized for being defensive. Yes, Art was right and asked the man if this quick obsession for this boy, Shane Colter, was a dangerous affection.

"Don't deny what is natural," Art responded. Sexual excitation without gratification cannot be tolerated for long. For men like ourselves there are only two solutions: suppression of the excitement or gratification. The first regularly leads to psychic and physical disturbances; the second to conflicts with the rules of society. Personally, I didn't resist my compunction and paid dearly by imposed punishment for loving another. I don't regret it for a second. Yes, we can fantasize, create an Edenic setting free from the world's hostility. Is that living or just existing? Does that boy need a man's love? Possibly. The art of life lies in plucking pleasures as they pass and making the most of what the moment gives."

Ben placed his other hand over Art's, a rare sign of affection shown in public, especially in front of boys. "I have too much Plato in me, Art. I love the younger because his comeliness is a symbol and reminder of pure and eternal beauty."

Art smiled. "And the younger loves the older because of his wisdom opens a way to understanding and honor. Sadly it's the wise man that must show a discriminating respect for public opinion and the laws, and seek to be neither master nor slave of any man."

Ben reached for his water glass and saluted the two of them. They were one of a kind and both men knew it.

Barely done with dinner, Mr. Colter made sure to come to the table and remind his son that 8:00 was his curfew. Shane nodded in respect and then, after his father departed, glanced at Mr. Barkley. Ben read it as pleading that the adult wouldn't see him as a child.

"I'll talk to your father, Shane," Ben said and moved his hand through the boy's hair. An instant euphoria swept like a tidal wave into his brain and body. Art had been right.

"It won't do any good. My dad is afraid someone will take my virginity." Shane couldn't believe he'd said that, but he was glad when all the boys laughed. Under the table P.J.'s hand squeezed Shane's balls. Shane had never had any sexual contact with anyone, but his smile and boyish giggle was only understood by a senator's son.

"Guys, hit the shower," Ben ordered and looked for his three college boys to begin cleaning row after row of tables. They were obediently ready.

This initial group of boys set a precedence of expectations for this multitude of youth. They went up to the truck naked and stepped out minutes later to gather their towels from a makeshift rack. If anyone might have been shy it should have been Scooter with his prepubescent frame, but he strutted about as proud of being a boy as anyone else. Hundreds followed and it was the occasional teenager who left his shorts on who was mocked to remove this last covering. Girls gawked clandestinely, and then a few of them decided that fair was fair to strip and follow the boys' example. It was an example of what to expect for weeks. Nudity had to go beyond sex acts as a glorious demonstration of God's gifts to males and females.

When Shane's erection became obvious in the steaming shower, Chip made light humor of it as not to embarrass the boy. "That's more of a bat than anyone did against your pitching. It's beautiful."

Shane grinned and was glad when P.J. flashed his own boner to the laughter of the boys. They had to jump up and down before they exited, and even that didn't really work. Thankfully evening darkness had settled in. He and P.J. came down the ramp, their bouncing dicks making each other chuckle. Mr. Barkley was laughing at the bottom with towels in his hand. Shane was just glad that at least there was one adult who didn't judge them. P.J. had already figured out that many adults found boys most desirous.

Shane didn't appreciate his father showing up at a quarter to eight, just to make sure the boy obeyed curfew.

One high school girl walked up to Ben Barkley and said, "Mr. Barkley, you're sexist. There's not one female staff member."

Ben thought about this and replied, "You're right! Not about being sexist, but I made a mistake there." Within hours after posting for two female staff on the Crusade website he had two post-graduates apply and were accepted. He paid their way to Corning, New York, where they would meet the Crusade as they passed through.

Staff took their turns with the showers after the kids. They showed they too could parade naked like everyone else. Like two young boys checking each other out, these two geezers eyed each other's crotch with an occasional glance. Ben saw the hefty cock of Art's, thick and cut, while his was long and thin. They both had kept their bodies in shape.

He held his nightly staff meeting just as it began to drizzle. Josh quickly had a tarp put up and the two-dozen plus men huddled together. Ben prepared them all for the following day, over two-hundred miles to bike. It would be a test for them all, if not a grueling one that might separate the weak from the strong. There were boos when Ben announced the addition of two females to the staff. Laughter followed.

The staff's lone medical staff member, a 29-year old physician's assistance on vacation, assured Ben that everyone was a go. A few rashes, bruises from play, a mild cold, bug bites, and one boy with an asthma attack; all of which were handled.

Sixteen hundred tents lined up in rows resembled an army at war. Ben walked the corridors between the various colored tents, occasionally hearing sounds ranging from roommate chatter to near orgasm. They were, after all, away from home and free to love. Two naked girls went zipping by in front of him to different tents. Ben just scratched his head.

He didn't worry about security; the Secret Service men usually had two awake with night goggles and unseen sensors. What they saw was their own business.

Returning to his tent he walked in to this Safari 4-man with plenty of room. Art was being Art, cleaning and arranging. They looked at each other and the elder of the two saw that his boss was fatigued.

"You over did it, didn't you, Benjamin?" Art put the man in his arms and hugged. "You're doing an amazing job, hang in there."

Not even his butler called him Benjamin, but Ben enjoyed Art's company so much he didn't put much attention to it. A sore back, painful knees, and cramps to boot, Ben knew his friend was right about pretending he was still a kid who could crouch down behind the plate for so many innings. He couldn't remember being held in anyone's arms for a long time. Austin, maybe, but that was love. For some reason he surrendered to the caress, then released to kiss Art on the cheek.

"Thanks, I needed that. I'll have to give General Patton credit for keeping an army in line."

"You missed," Art said and planted one right on the lips of his new friend. The kiss melted into something far more sensuous.

When they released, Ben had this odd sensation that he had no power over Art. The man didn't fear him, but the respect was there. There was a rush of blood to his groin which needed no explanation. He stripped down to his underwear and flopped down on his bed. Art poured them both a glass of wine.

"Don't let Austin see any alcohol. I had to promise him that the Crusade was on-the-wagon time," Ben said.

"No problem. I'll keep an eye on you. A toast to soberness. Did our three delinquents show up tonight?" Art asked to start a casual topic.

"They were there. That Peter, he's a brain teaser. The boy called me Tex tonight, but he was ready to run when I gave him the eye. His exterior wants to be a tough guy to his friends, but he's a pussy cat underneath. Bring me a rope tomorrow night. I might have to hog tie me a calf."

Ben broke open his laptop computer to check the Crusade website. A parent wanted Ben to check on a runaway boy, while his emails were from new recruits who would meet the caravan at various locations. From his scoping the Internet he was elated that on the Tonight Show that evening a '52 Mickey Mantle had finally emerged. Untouched by human hands it was immediately encased in plastic. Only a Honus Wagner card was valued more. The million dollar purchase was being recouped slowly. He reached for his cell phone and transferred a picture he had taken that night, sharing it with Art. The photo was a surreptitious shot of Shane coming from the shower. His smooth penis was still engorged but dangling like a loop. A small patch of pubes had yet to grow south.

"Why you old sneak!" Art joked. "He's beautiful, especially that long V to his groin. I've never seen a more desirous body in my life, six feet of pure boy wanting to be loved."

Ben laughed at the description, finding his penis rising as he examined the photo more closely. "He is exquisite, isn't he? Three innings, nine strikeouts, despite his second baseman making him laugh. I tell you, Art, he'll be the first openly gay pitcher in the majors. It's too bad he's scared of his father. That makes for a neurotic athlete, I tell ya. Mantle, DiMaggio, Rose, Aaron, they were all neurotics, always trying to live up to their father's expectations. Want a superstar...make a boy a neurotic. Not that Shane needs to have a psyche like that, the boy is a natural."

"You want him in your arms, don't you?" Art teased without a smile.

"Am I that transparent?" Ben asked.

"I see the lump in your underwear. I'm hard myself, just don't be his first."

"What do you mean?"

"I've never met a boy who didn't like sex, but if they make the first move you won't have to worry about losing him later. A gay boy needs a mentor, a man in their life who respects them. But respect is a two-way street. The boy will come on to you if and when he learns to trust. It's his way of saying, `I know you want me and I want you, but don't think I'm easy.' They already know that sex is taboo, especially sex with an adult. The power is in their hands and most of them know this from day one. Later on when they reflect back, give them no reason to think they were abused or exploited. This is a cop out, or one they might use to seek financial wealth. If this relationship is built on love and respect, a man will look back on this as enriching, a wonderful time in their life, and you, Benjamin Barkley, will be honored for life in their memories."

"You're brilliant, Art. You still haven't explained why it's bad to be their first."

"All boys are aerial spirits. They might have had mutual masturbation with boys their age, even blow jobs, but eventually those urges for girls will take over for most of them. The transition is like night and day, easy. If you're their first, it sometimes becomes a blaming game that you stole their childhood or made them gay. Having experience with someone their own age offers them the advantage and they feel more mature in showing you what they already have learned, as if to verify their sexual prowess. When I was in the military I worked in Special Services as a young airman. I met a major's boy who came in after school to shoot baskets. Tate was fourteen, a knockout like Shane, quiet, respectful, and innocently charming. We struck up a conversation and soon were friends. He looked for me, and I waited patiently for his smiling face to adorn our base gym. Afterwards I joined him in the shower. Though I was twenty, I barely looked fourteen myself. Bingo! a hard-on just checking his gorgeous ass and dick. Whether he noticed me, or not, he never reciprocated. I turned my back as not to be obvious. What's best, he had a chronic bad knee. I massaged him in the trainer's room, his legs, ass, and all the time dripping in my shorts. I desired him so much but was afraid to intrude on this Ganymede boy. That young man liked me so much his parents invited me to dinner. Know what? That boy went on to college at North Carolina, then was on the Olympic team, before ending up with the San Antonio Spurs. Tell ya, Ben, I could have gone down on that boy, probably had his ass, but I'm glad I didn't. There's imposing, and there's consent. Tate invited me to his ball games, his home, and here I was, a gay adolescent hot for his body. I don't regret it for a split second. I suppose I lived my fantasy with Tate through masturbation."

Ben rested his eyes on this amazing gentleman he had put his faith in and found a close friend. "Thanks for telling me that, Art. I've often worried if I overstepped my boundaries with Austin. I love him so much but I stopped short several times of truly devouring the boy. He has always made my body come alive. I sensed at times he wanted me to continue beyond the masturbation, but his father is my brother. I just couldn't."

"The boy loves you beyond words," Art confirmed. "His loyalty and devotion is yours forever. He's also a gay boy, a brother of ours. We're a different breed."

Ben focused back on Shane, the sleek, wet body with all that skin between his belly button and that small patch of pubic hair. He reached down and rubbed his cock through his underwear.

"Get real!" Art blurted out and had his thick cock out, rubbing it profusely to the same picture.

Ben reached in his fly and flipped out his boner with a laugh. "That's right! We can have `em from a distance, and think they want us as their daddy." Ben had to laugh at himself, but they both made hearty cum messes at the same time.

The air horn blew at six and bodies moved a little faster than the previous morning. At breakfast Ben saw Mr. Colter without Shane about. He approached the man after promising Shane he would at least try.

"Morning, Mr. Colter! Beautiful morning, if I don't say so myself. Not like a Texas sunrise, but close enough." Ben sensed he wasn't going to get a response. "I know it's none of my business, but..."

"You're right, Barkley, it's none of your business. Now if you'll excuse me." With that, Ted Colter moved away leaving a sullen Texas billionaire staring off in the distance.

Departing almost as scheduled, New York's governor's gift of using the state's main 88 freeway was a blessing. Sometimes reaching forty miles per hour, the miles long stretch of yellow made exceptional time to Binghamton. Ben had been worried about the rain that came down intermitted through the night, but the hot sun dried the highway to perfection. There were drivers or passengers who gave the kids the finger, either because of the inconvenience or they knew about the Crusade. The rude calling of names was rare, but it happened.

The switch to Route 17 meant less traffic but much slower progression. They reached Corning by early afternoon, had lunch and toured the Corning Glass Center. It gave a welcome reprieve from sore butts. The two young ladies, volleyball teammates at Penn State and now lovers, joined the group with smiles and an aura of professionalism. Their experience as camp counselors during college was an added benefit. Ben liked them from the start.

"I'm glad to have you as an addition. I apologize for my lack of foresight. There's a lot of nudity, especially males. Are you okay with that?" Ben asked.

"Been there, done that," the six-five spiker spoke. At least she smiled. "I might glance at Chip Carver, but I doubt if I'll be overly impressed."

Ben laughed and liked these girls. "Good, then you'll have something in common."

From Corning it was a straight shot through some of the most pristine country most of the kids had ever seen. Frozen in a quieter, simpler time, villagers traveled in horse-drawn buggies, and bearded farmers waved to this never-ending wave of yellow. Passing grape orchards they had a bathroom break, only to find a few hundred of the kids sneaking grapes and having a fight of purple stains on their faces and clothes. All in fun Ben left no time to clean up.

Well after six o'clock they pedaled to a wooden camp grounds, already set up to welcome this long day of cycling. Chautauqua Lake sat below them, glistening to a departing sun in the west. Forget swimsuits, the sweaty, hot, and exhausted kids stripped as they ran to the lake adjacent to their camp. Remote enough at this location, a thousand boys and girls skinny dipping was well noticed from other areas of the lake and the boaters out for skiing, fishing or recreational boating.

Mr. Colter had told Shane not to slow down and to keep pace when they were still fifty-miles from their goal. Though an athlete in his youth, he seldom had the time to stay in shape. Certainly a bike ride would be relatively easy. He discovered just the opposite. The man gradually dropped back and ended up riding in the bus with thirty-six kids who were exhausted or had some other ailment. Arriving at Chautauqua, Shane didn't wait for his father and dashed off with P.J. He figured he'd pay for it dearly when he returned.

While the State Policemen thought it amusing, a local cop stepped in and called a halt to this nudity. He said he couldn't authorize a clothing optional beach. Ben got out his bullhorn and ordered the kids to shore to relay the bad news. They booed, but the officer said the lake was filled with pike, which had amazingly sharp teeth and couldn't tell the difference between a small fish and a penis. It was enough for the boys to put on their shorts.

With one dilemma behind him, Ben got his staff together after the kids had dinner. He was taking them out to a popular chicken place close by. The few staff left at the camp would be brought their meals. Lingering close by and walking funny, Ben was surprised to see Mr. Colter. There was no doubt that the man had some complaint.

"Mr. Barkley, I want to apologize for this morning. I came on rather strong."

"You think?" Ben asked mockingly. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"Today's ride was enough to assure me that I'm not as young as I used to be. Would you mind too much if I rode with someone for a few days?"

Ben could've put this scrooge on the bus or in one of the trucks. He knew this might give him a chance to make amends. "Ted, right? Why don't you ride with Art and me tomorrow. We don't bite."

"Thanks" Ted felt like he'd all of a sudden became an annoyance. He turned to face this older adult. "It's not that I don't appreciate what you're doing here, but you have no idea what it's like finding out you have a gay son."

A moment of silence. Ben took his eyes off of the sparkling waters of this grand lake. "First of all, Ted, I'm inviting you to eat with us tonight. Let your boy eat with his friends. Secondly, I do know what it's like. I'm gay and I've known homophobia all my life. Texas is way too Republican and bigoted for any gay boy to grow up in."

"Yes, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that to be judgmental, or anything, but you live it and I'm learning to deal with it. My son will be fifteen tomorrow and I'm afraid he'll want nothing to do with me. I don't know what's going to happen to our relationship."

Ben had to subdue a chuckle on that one. What fifteen-year old wants his old man around when he has an assortment of gay peers by his side? "Why should anything happen between you and Shane? He's still the same boy in need of his father's love and support. It wasn't his decision to be gay, trust me. Being gay isn't a choice any of us make so we can be called names, ostracized, made to feel like second class citizens, or being bullied in school. You have a terrific kid there. Don't you dare judge him for his sexuality."

Ted couldn't argue this reasoning. He had a lot to learn and never for a moment would he have thought this Texas oil man was gay. Ben, on the other hand, had just done something he never thought in his life he would admit. He'd said he was gay! Art would be proud of him.

Shane came up from the beach with his arm around P.J. They had become fast friends. He looked for his father, expecting to be chewed out. No one. Few adults were around but for those calling everyone to dinner. Chances are his father was packing them up because he couldn't keep up with the other cyclists and would be blaming him. He was fifteen tomorrow so maybe it was time he spoke his peace. Why should his father tell him who he could love and when? Pensive and worried, Shane tried his best to keep a brave face and not show disappointment.

A few hundred teenagers strolled around the lake to the institute, a popular retreat for music classes, concerts, plays, and art exhibits. In their own clique of eight, followed closely by the president's sons' security team, they bought waffle ice cream cones and took in the art exhibits along the sidewalk. The lake air was clean, invigorating after a hard day of riding. They played a game of freeze tag, dodging pedestrians and tourists until Looper thought it was getting out of hand and making others uncomfortable with the fact that in a matter of time some old person would be knocked down. Back to the camp they went, finding jokes or ways of teasing one another.

In Chip's tent they formed a circle of testosterone until Philly spun his tube of toothpaste in the middle of the circle. It pointed at Cheet.

"Truth or dare, Cheet?" Philly asked and Cheet told him truth. "Tell us your last sex dream."

Cheet grinned and said it was the previous night and he was riding his bike but Josh was sitting and letting him do the pedaling standing up. With every pedal he was riding up and down on Josh's dick. Cheet admitted he had a wet dream.

The boys laughed, which would have been that much funnier if Josh would have been there. They took turns spinning the tube until clothes became the initial penalty. It took a half hour until everyone but Chip was naked. The other boys got tired of his luck and mobbed the First Boy to strip off his underwear. Most of the boys chose dare to make it more fun. Kissing became the main dare, long, open-mouth, tongue fencing kissing to assure uproarious laughter. From lips to balls, licking to sucking, it became more desirous to have this tube stop in front of you.

Shane's smile and joy never diminished. This was the best time of his life, and his hard-on was locked in place from second one. He had trouble keeping his eyes off of Chip's looping member, so long and inviting to his lips, lips that had never had a dick to suck on. Shane glanced down and saw the oozing of pre-cum from his own erection.

"You lost, First Boy!" Philly gleefully yelled and all but startled Shane from his focus.

Shane shot his eyes upward and saw his idol smile at him. What he wouldn't give if Chip ordered him to such his dick. But Chip had lost and now he was crawling over to where Shane was sitting Indian style. Chip separated the youngster's legs and began licking Shane's balls, running his tongue up the shaft until the tip was deluged between wet lips. Shane's eyes rolled, his moan aware to all.

"He's going to come!" Cheet shouted recognizing the look.

Chip released and pressed the boy's cock at its tip to take away the impending orgasm. P.J. began yelling, "Virgin! Virgin!" and had the others join in. They swamped this Illinois boy, kissing him head to toe, rubbing his nipples and making this young teen giggle with the pleasure.

A counselor's head poked into their tent, a college student from South Carolina who was really cool. "Hey, guys, keep it down, staff is back."

"Oh, shit!" Shane said. He didn't usually swear, but this was to impress his friends. His father wouldn't be too far behind, so he excused himself to face the fireworks. He humored his friends by doing push-ups and squats to make his erection go flaccid. That took five minutes.

Finding his father a few minutes later Shane approached the man somberly, but he was building the nerve to tell his father he wasn't ready to leave for home yet. The closer he came the more his knees weakened and he knew he'd chicken out. "Hi, Dad, where ya been?"

Ted Colter beamed a humorous grin. "Hey, boy! Yeah, sorry I didn't tell you. I went out with Ben and the staff. Don't you have something you want to do? Stay out till ten if you wish. I'll be with the staff for a while."

"Sure, Dad. Thanks." Shane ran off as quickly as he could before his dad sobered up. He'd rarely seen his father drunk, but this was a lucky break. He'd have to thank Mr. Barkley later.

Shane ran straight to P.J., hanging around outside the tent. He hugged him, kissed him on the nose, and the two went sprinting to the lake. By themselves they threw selected rocks to bounce in line with the moon's reflection coming right at them across the lake. Humid air had them strip to their waist. Dressed only in shorts, one had legs that were like stilts, limbs like spaghetti strands, and an awkward six-foot tall athlete. P.J. was only five-seven, built more like a dancer with a powerful torso, butt and legs. They were an odd combination of boyish physiques, yet their chemistry was a perfect mix. In the most bravado of his entire life, Shane stepped behind his new friend, squeezed him, and then when P.J. twisted his face around he planted a most amazing kiss to P.J.'s lips. The daring move was a new revelation and skill that Shane had just learned in the tent. P.J. turned toward this boy his heart beat for. His erection barely poked into Shane's balls, while Shane's member pressed against his stomach.

"Want to go to my tent?" P.J. asked and they hustled off with their shorts' explicit flash of maledom.

Hand in hand, P.J. flipped open the flap of his tent and saw his roommate, Scooter, playing monopoly with two twelve-year olds. "Oops! Sorry, guys. We'll see you later," P.J. said and matched the disappointment on Shane's face.

P.J. recommended showers, but Shane said his penis refused to go down, so that was out of the question. They decided to stroll the beach, hand in hand, an occasional kiss until they leaned against a large boulder where P.J. reached in Shane's shorts and jacked him off.

By nine the weather had cooled to where Ben had a bond fire built next to the truck alongside the showers. Kids came out wet, dried off next to the roaring flames, then gravitated back to their tents. His three inmates, Ben called them, were the last to shower. He waited for them to exit from their cleaning and knew Peter always had something smart to say. Down the ramp they walked and sure enough, "Okay, Tex, your corral is polished."

A rope came from behind Ben's back. A quick whip with a loop had Peter's body encircled. Ben yanked and had the teenager prone. In less than ten seconds he had the boy's legs bound and hands connected to the ankles. Peter's friends broke up in hysterics.

"Guess if your friend here is goin' to call me Tex, I best keep up my reputation and brand this cowpoke, don't you think?" Ben got two nods, figuring the boy would be spanked.

Art was nearby and knew the plan. He pulled a sizzling, skinny log from the fire, burning hot ashes at one end which he then handed to Ben.

Ben swung this hogtied college boy over his lap, a bare ass ready as a calf's hide. Peter pleaded, screamed like a prissy girl near tears, and promised never to say a bad thing again.

"You're mine, boy! Daddy's got a hot one here. You'll fit right in with the other branded bulls I have on the ranch. Reckon you'll like that, a big bull ridin' your ass," Ben tormented. He held the stick close to where Peter could feel the heat.

"Oh, please, sir. I promise, I really do!" Peter whined.

Ben hesitated, like he was in deep thought. "Okay, if you're going to be a baby about it," Ben said, smacked the bare ass and untied the boy. There was more laughter around that campfire than a comedy shop.

Shane was in love; he just couldn't tell his father. He returned to his tent and found his father fast asleep. While his dad snored next to him, Shane masturbated once more to the memory of P.J.'s affections.

Bodies moved more slowly at six the next morning. Ben wondered if they should give this a day of rest, but they had a schedule to keep. In this first morning hour he felt like a complaint bureau. He listened publicly, sometimes privately, to anyone with a whine. A couple girls pointed out a boy who had masturbated openly in front of them the previous night. Ben placated their anxiety by saying he'd handle it. Others thought their butts were too sore to ride; Ben told them to tough it out. He saw a boy who resembled the runaway posted on the Internet. The boy was one of his youngest and with an older boy of fourteen. Ben would have to time this one with caution. He knew several kids kept their daily Facebooks to advise all their friends and family of the progress. Nationally they were making news somewhere. People were ready to criticize, find reason to find some sexual deviancy that would wreak havoc on the crusade. As the adult in charge it would be his head.

Tents undone, kids rushed to prepare their backpacks, others waited patiently for their turn at a porta potty. Ben collared this fifteen-year old exhibitionist and took him to the side.

"Rumor has it you were flashing the big one to a couple of girls." He expected the boy to deny, say it was a lie, but the boy's head hung. "Are you gay, son?" The towhead nodded. "Need a friend, huh?" Another nod. "How about your tent mate?"

The teen softly spoke. "He doesn't want to do anything. Just keeps to himself, boring."

Ben wasn't a psychologist. He often went to his heart for advice. Few boys were as easy as Austin to raise, and the last thing he wanted to do was give wrong advice. He figured the boy getting his rocks off wasn't about the girls. Loneliness, just wanting someone to notice him might well be the problem. Ben received the boy's name, assuring the teen that he wasn't going to be kicked out.

"Tommy, even if these girls weren't lesbians, females aren't in to watching boys jack off. It's rather immature to think you're going to get applause." He made the kid smile. "Even a boy might think this is a little weird unless they were part of it. Let me see if I can find you another partner, but only if you promise to not flash anymore girls." The teen nodded.

That was way too easy, Ben thought. He figured the boy would be jacking off in front of a staff member by the night. Next the runaway. This one he had Art stand by. Ben approached the suspect as the boy was preparing his bike. Ben recognized him as the third baseman on one of the baseball teams. Not a bad fielder with a fine arm. A brown mop who needed a haircut and with an essence of a street kid. When the kid saw Ben coming at him, he dropped the bike and ran right into another adult. Art had a waist hold that few boys could escape from.

"Don't panic, I'm not the cops," Ben said. While Art maintained a vice grip, Ben gave the straight scoop. "Yup, I know you're a stray. It's like this, sport, you're a calf with a brand that's not mine. Now before I'm accused of cattle rustling, what's your story?"

The boy was near tears, but also wanted to show a brave face with other kids around. "I hate my fuckin' step-father. He kicked me out of the house and said he'd beat my butt if I showed my faggot face again."

Ben raised the boy's yellow shirt and saw the bruises around the chest. The same on the back. "How many times as this creep hit you?"

"All the time. My mother won't tell him not to; she's too scared. I don't give a damn, I'm not going back there!"

Ben took all the information down on paper and, for the time being, the boy could remain with the crusade. He put a call into Family Services in Syracuse to have them check on this family.

President Carver had a great friendship with Pennsylvania's governor, so it came to no surprise when a Pennsylvania Highway Patrolman was waiting by the border to replace the New York escort. Forty-miles more on Route 90, the caravan crossed the northwest corner of the state, just south of Erie. Ted Colter, sitting in the backseat of Ben's Aston Martin, had to laugh when this Texan refused to stop had a Mobil station to get gas. Ben said he'd never buy gas from Exxon because they were homophobic in the way they treated their employees.

Crossing into Ohio near Conneaut, they were greeted by cops all right, cops who made sure they exited off the highway to off-beat roads heading south. The Crusade had picked up an additional two hundred teenagers coming up from Pittsburgh and east from Cleveland and other communities close by. Only the previous night had he disclosed to the multitudes his promise to fund any kid's education who had started in New York. This inspired some teens to stay, but sixty had ridden enough to convince them that a tour on a bicycle was strenuous, at best.

In the car Ben telephoned Family Services again for an update. He was notified what he already knew, the boy was a runaway. They knew of the Crusade and threatened Ben not to transport the boy over state lines. "Ma'am, I don't transport anywhere. The boy's a runaway. You want the little wrangler, come and get `im." They didn't appreciate Ben's rebuff, but Ben hung up. He spotted the boy at the next rest stop, getting his mother's number at a restaurant where she was a waitress. Ben promised he was only going to tell her that her son was okay.

Ben was after more when he called—the truth. The woman acted like the call was an unnecessary intrusion while she was working. Yes, her boyfriend had found Troy in bed with another boy and had kicked him out of the house. She acted like she was ignorant of the beatings. The boy would probably be sent to Foster Care—nothing she could do. Ben asked her to send an immediate email granting permission for the boy to stay with the group. Again she wasn't sure she would have the time. That is until Ben threatened that he'd call the police and have both her and her boyfriend arrested for child abuse. Within minutes he had the email.

Not quite enough for Ben Barkley, the man called his brother and had paperwork drawn up to give him legal custody of the boy. The papers were electronically transferred to a server and notary in Syracuse, who drove them to where this lady worked. In minutes her problem was solved. In front of the server, who was also a notary, she read the first few lines thinking this was just another permission slip and signed the document.

"Good! The kid is his problem now. He'll come running back to mama when his ass gets sore."

The server gave the lady a copy a recommended she read it all at her convenience. She tossed it in the trash when the man departed.

For all practical purposes Ben had just adopted a boy he knew little about. He received word of her acceptance as this two-mile parade stopped in the middle of Amish country. Ben went looking for the boy and saw only the fourteen-year old kid that the other boy had as his buddy. The teenager from Buffalo had met Tony on the bus to New York City, but admitted after Ben threatened the boy with two weeks of hell that Tony had taken off. Ben checked his map and saw that the closest city was Canton. Putting Ted and Art in one of the vans he was off to Canton a few miles away.

What pissed him off even more was that the kid stole a Crusade bike. His guess was the bus station and, sure enough, when Ben showed the guy at the ticket window a picture of the boy from the Internet, the teller said the youngster had boarded a bus west to Indianapolis twenty minutes earlier. Ben took the route down and sped off. Ten minutes later he was honking his horn behind this bus but only made sure it stopped when he parked directly in front. As he boarded the bus he handed the driver two hundred dollar bills.

"This will take only a minute, sir. Thank you for your time. You have a runaway on board."

Ben eyed the boy trying to hide in back. Sitting next to the youngster, Tony wouldn't even look at him, only to tell Ben, "I'm not going back."

"You don't have to. You're mine until we get to California, then you can decide. For the time being I need you to get off this bus. What'd you do with the bike?"

The boy pointed below in the cargo hold. The driver was quick to release the bike and drove on.

"Is this a trick," Tony asked.

"If you were my boy, I'd spank your ass. Actually you are mine, but physical punishment is the last thing you need. Come on, we have a bike trip to finish."

In the car the boy was taciturn for many miles. Finally, "What do you mean, I'm yours?"

"Only way I could save your butt. I adopted you." Ben couldn't resist laughing, which broke up the boy, as well.

"Figured my mother would choose that asshole over me. Fuck her!"

"Tony, there are things in life that are hard to understand. I have no doubt that your mother loves you. She also has needs and a sense of survival. Raising a child isn't always on the menu."

"She never wanted me anyway. Said I was an accident, that my father was a loser who was just out for a fuck. Shit, they were only sixteen."

"Let's get off on the right foot. I'm single, find that bulls are easier to work with than kids, don't care for profanity, and am willing to give you a break if you work with me. What d' ya say?"

"So you're one of those who want a kid to fuck. I'm game."

Ben pulled over with a hard brake which sent the boy sliding under the dash. He helped him back up in his seat and fastened a seatbelt around his waist.

"Check this out, wannabe stud. I'm not interested in your body. I've seen more fuzz on a billiard ball. This is your chance to make something of yourself, be proud of being gay, if that's what you are, and have a future in whatever you choose. You've been given a raw deal, but that's in the past. Clean up your act and give me a chance here."

Tony gave it a few seconds of thought. He eyed Ben with a few more seconds of their time. Not seeing an adult trying to trick him, he apologized, not sure why he was being treated so nice. Tears came to his eyes that were difficult to explain. In Tony's mind he would miss his mother, a friend at school who liked to get naked under the sheets and jack off like he did. Since meeting Del, this boy from Buffalo, he had learned a whole lot more. Del liked being fucked, even by a twelve-year old. So the tears were about loss, but Ben wouldn't know that. But they also had a hope that everything the man said was true. He knew they weren't, but he was used to survival after the beatings.

Tony felt real special as they passed 3600 boys and girls on bicycles. Most of them recognized Mr. Barkley's Aston Martin and waved. Tony waved back. At the apex, Ben pulled over and pulled out of the trunk a ten-speed. They shook hands and agreed to talk that evening. The boy would be riding near the front with Austin and his brothers.

Ben tangled the boy's soiled T-shirt. "If I have to search the range for your butt again you won't like the way I brand my calves, and you don't have a lot to brand back there."

Tony smiled, which kind of diminished that threat.

As planned, if the timing wasn't right in their scheduled arrival to Columbus, Ronin, Chip, and Philly, were to pile into the Aston. Other boys like P.J. would have to wait patiently with the other kids.

"Mr. Barkley, P.J. is part of the show. He's going to dance," Ronin said.

Ben had no problem with this if the boys didn't mind a crowded backseat. At the last second he waved Tony over. The boy might as well feel accepted.

"Guys, the first chance you get would you mind hosing this boy down. He stinks worse than a cowboy on a two-month cattle rustle."

Ronin had four shows planned across the nation: Columbus, St. Louis, Denver and San Francisco. The shows weren't so much to fund the Crusade as to give it impetus and support. While the Crusade camped between Newark and Columbus, Ben's group arrived at the Value Arena an hour before show time. Ronin's band and backup singers from England had already set up. A sold out arena made the English singer almost as popular as a Canadian boy from years earlier whose career had all but disintegrated by drug and alcohol abuse and pretty much acting stupid.

Ben had never been to a concert like this, let alone knew the fascination with boy bands. He found himself a little out of place with the screaming girls. He never thought that a boy could come on stage draped in a rainbow flag and be received as if he was a Beatle.

Ronin called this the Crusade's anthem as he sang Celine Dion's Power of a Dream. It made Ben the happiest man on earth. He was amazed with P.J.'s dancing skills when the boy did a modern dance to one of Ronin's numbers. So impressed with the concert, and that Tony said it was coolest thing he'd ever seen or been involved in, Ben decided to get the recording of the show and screen it to his campers the next evening. It was gracious of Ronin to introduce Mr. Barkley as the financier of the Crusade. The kiss between Chip Carver and Ronin was better than any Academy Awards show, punctuated by a birthday cake with eighteen candles. President and Mrs. Carver had a closed circuit Happy Birthday greeting for his son.

"Guess we can finally have sex," Ronin said and didn't fool any of this crowd.

Driving back in pouring rain they stopped off for dinner, arriving back at their campsite at 10:30. Ben knew he would have a few unhappy campers because they couldn't go to the show. Josh had done his job after driving to three different stores to buy 2,000 bottles of Baby Oil. He demonstrated to groups of 500 kids how to give a massage. One bottle was handed out to each tent.

There wasn't any campfire for the late arrivals to warm their bodies after a shower, but the hot water felt refreshing. A successful show made it all worthwhile.

P.J. hustled up to Shane's tent with a rain slick over his frame. He peeked in and saw that Mr. Colter was snoring away, but Shane was still awake. Shane crawled his way over to the open flap and got a kiss for his effort.

"Happy fifteenth, B.F.," P.J. wished, kissed him again before his preparation to sprint away. "Did you know your birthday is the same day as Chip's? That's so awesome."

Shane lit up, snagged P.J.'s arm for another kiss. He was getting very daring.

Ben shuffled everyone to bed, not sure about their travel plans if this rain persisted. He conversed with Art about the evening's events, promising his partner that he'd have a ticket for him for the St. Louis show. A voice at their tent opening had Ben invite the visitor in.

"Evening, sir. We did the showers once. Do you want us to wash it again after you guys?" Peter asked with only a pair of surf jams on.

"I appreciate you asking, Peter. Once is enough. Did you enjoy your massage tonight?"

Peter wasn't his usual smug self. "Actually Chuck and Dane did their own thing. They're rather tight."

Ben's facial expression was one of disappointment. Art had insinuated that he thought Peter was a third wheel and acted the clown as a way to cover his insecurity. Once again Art had a way of being right on with these kids.

"It's not right that you didn't get to benefit. You ride just like the rest of them." Ben eyed his partner. "Art, feel like helping our friend out here?"

Art nodded and glanced at this college boy with soft eyes. Peter was not offended at the offering; his reaction was one of shock that someone would want to do something for him. "If you really want to...I guess..."

"Lay down right here, youngster," Ben ordered.

Peter unlaced his board shorts and asked for a towel. "It was how Josh said it should be done."

"Exactly right," Ben replied. Between Art and himself they coated the boy's legs with coconut oil, making the young man squirm with all the sore muscles he had. No one had to tell Ben or Art how great it felt to have your butt massaged. Peter melted to the touch and as much as he tried to hide the pleasure his moans were obvious. Into the lower back to the shoulders Ben and Art could give a massage.

Peter was slightly reluctant to turn over. "I...well, it felt good," he explained.

"Boners are a natural response," Ben said with laugher. "Don't fret what is expected."

Peter swung over, his penis flipped straight up. Over his thighs Ben's hands took one leg, Art the other. The erection stood firm and dripped at its tip. Neither man would not assume that Peter desired to be masturbated. That is until Peter sat up and kissed Ben, then Art on the lips.

"You guys are all right," he said and laid a hand each on their groins to find them both hard. "It's okay if you want to." He laid back down.

Like they were experienced as a two-man team, they had Peter near orgasm when Peter twisted, flipped out Art's erection and took it in his mouth. His rear pressed into Ben's groin as an offering. Releasing for a few seconds he felt it important to tell Ben.

"I had sex with a boy in high school, but we just gave each other blow jobs. I'm clean so you don't have to use a rubber. Just go slow."

Ben had a ranch hand ten years earlier, a young twenty-year old who fell in love with his boss and just as quickly became a popular boy toy in Austin. Ben lost him to another college age guy. With Art's smile and encouragement, Ben slid it ever so slowly, back out, then repeated it until Peter reached back to press full penetration. Pleas of pleasure increased Peter's devouring the thick cock in his mouth of someone who had had more boys than Peter was old. This opportunity was a young man's dream and Peter took full advantage. He flipped around and didn't mind that Ben's penis had been in his rectum. He sucked it with vigor while offering Art his turn. It didn't take long for Art to come up the boy's ass, while Ben jacked off over Peter's face, the Boston College freshman licking as much as he could with his tongue.

No way was this teenager not getting off. While Art licked the boy's ass, Ben swallowed the warm cum flooding from the hardened member. Peter could barely stand up.

The three males laughed with each other, like life for three gay guys should have this every night. "Thanks," Peter said and threw on his shorts.

Ben grabbed the young man's shoulders. "Peter, I've been a bit rough on you, but you strike me as a good kid. You don't need to pretend to be something you're not. I prefer the polite boy to the mouthy one."

Peter hugged this senior citizen. "I have issues, I know. I love you guys." With that Peter walked out in the rain.

It was midnight when Ben and Art turned off the light, still chuckling at this turn of events. Not like Ben wanted to wake up at 5:30, but such was the director's role. Through the night the rain never let up. There was no blow horn at six. Three thousand plus kids were extremely grateful.

Breakfast was served at nine under a large tarp. Only a few hundred could eat at once in order to stay dry. Kids stayed in their tents, despite the warm air. Puddles were everywhere.

Ted Colter ate with Ben and Art. He sighed. "I have a request, if you don't mind. I need a ride into Columbus." The man was returning, minus son, to Illinois. This was an event for the young, not a father afraid of something he didn't understand but was beginning to. It was time to cut the apron strings.

Tony, with his sidekick, Brent, went looking for this new man in his life and found him in his tent on a cell phone. The boys were sure Ben was just playing like he was talking to the president. Brent Hemwall was a sixteen-year old from Holland, Michigan. A polite, well-mannered boy, this trip was his birthday present from an aunt who had no trouble with a gay nephew. Brent jumped at the chance despite not knowing another individual at the Crusade. The boy was so easy going and pleasant it was easy to make new friends. To his good fortune Tony had become just that.

"Yes, thank you, Mr. President, that will much be appreciated. Weaving through small towns and stopping traffic hasn't made us real popular," Ben said. "No problems there, sir, Chip and Philly are doing exceptionally well. Thank you, have a nice day, Mr. President." Ben hung up and glanced at the boys. "What?! You don't think the main man and I are tight?" He started to chase them but they were way too quick. He invited them in his tent.

With only shorts on and wet from head to toe, Tony didn't look worse for wear. His friend wore glasses that revealed a hundred raindrops, but the kid was a faithful follower of a twelve-year old. Go figure.

"Mr. Barkley, how about a baseball game?" Tony asked.

"Call me, Ben, Tony. You're kidding, right?"

Tony pointed north. "There's a field out there waiting for us. I can get a bunch of kids."

Ben was in a good mood. To hell with the Ohio governor, President Carver was sending the National Guard to escort the Crusade across the rest of Ohio on Rt. 70, a main highway. The ride would start at eight in the evening, provided it stopped raining. Art volunteered to drive Ted Colter to Columbus in the Aston Martin. What didn't sound practical was using all this baseball equipment in the rain. The gloves, catcher's equipment, and bats were all new. He thought of Josh and told the boys to retrieve staff members and any boy who wanted to play.

"Good, we don't want no stinkin' girls playin'," Tony said and had Brent laughing.

Ben knew he couldn't stop any girl from playing. It was only a Freudian slip but he didn't tell the boys that. Josh arrived with a red playground ball and knew just the game. Behind him Chip and the boys had gathered, most in just their drenched underwear.

Out onto this massive green acreage Josh set up three bases, home, pitcher's plate, and a base way out in center field. More boys gathered, happy to be doing something. Josh explained it was called Australian Long Base. Teams were split up from the 52 boys and the few staff present. A player kicked the ball in any direction into a large diamond, then ran to the mound, where he could stay or run to the center field base. Once he left the mound, he was committed—no return. He could be tagged or hit by the ball. Once reaching the long base, he could stay or head back, but all the way to home. There could be any number of kids on one base, any number could stay or advance upon the next kicked ball. Three outs and the teams switched.

There was sliding and slipping so much that, why shorts? Once Austin and Chip tossed off their shorts to play nude, so did the others. More boys showed and soon they had seventy kids to a team, sometimes fifteen to twenty on a base, boys running one direction, while their teammates headed back toward home. Josh upped each side to ten outs because, with all the kids running, three to four outs could be had by tagging or hitting runners. It was funny and fast moving, muddy bodies galore.

About two dozen girls eventually strolled down to see the action. All but three stripped naked to join the fun. Tits, penises, and cute buns bounced and raced across the field. Ben laughed till he cried. He even patted the head of his bright-eyed exhibitionist. The boy's inkling of being seen naked was validated, minus the erection.

Any community close to a Crusade's campsite usually benefited. Ben sent Josh to buy a thousand towels of various sizes, a few umbrellas, and several hundred bathrobes. There were dozens of boys and girls looking like chocolate figures with smiling white teeth exhibiting that this was the most fun some of them had ever had. A long naked line waited for their turn under the hot spray, while a fire was built despite the rain. An overhang was quickly hauled up as a drying off area. With shower shoes on, youngsters were walked back to their tents under an umbrella. Ben ordered five hundred pizzas, not a small order for any restaurant. Feeding an army couldn't have been any harder. At five o'clock the rain subsided, partial sun streamed through gray clouds to give witness to a drenched camp.

Art had met with Ben to discuss something that Ted Cotler had disclosed. One of their staff members was asking too many questions. Art suspected an informant, so he had a friend run a background check. Using the man's application, the owner of this Boys' Club in Atlanta verified employment. Art's source went another layer. Pretending to be a writer for Sports Illustrated and interested in interviewing a few members of this Boys' Club, not a single boy at this Atlanta location had ever heard of this staff member.

Finding out that his staff member had a tent by himself, Ben had the man distracted to another tent. He checked out the man's computer and notes. A complete dossier on nude activities, unreported exhibitionism, rampant sexual acts, massage seminar, and nude showers and a complete lack of privacy. Someone was after to disgrace the Crusade and make these adults all look like pedophiles.

Austin was quickly brought to his uncle's side, briefed and sent after his brother Cheet. Promising the boy another shower, Cheet waited patiently in a nearby tent for this staff member to return. Ben, Art, and Austin had their own roles to play. With a few seconds of masturbation, Cheet was ready. The boy burst into the man's tent, all but running into the man's grasp, screamed and dashed out into the arms of a seemingly surprised Ben Barkley.

Art, his cell phone capturing all this on video, was routinely monitoring all this commotion. The staff member stepped out.

"Okay, what's this all about, Mr. Foster?" Ben asked, Cheet right by his side, still half-erect.

"Uh, I'm not sure. The boy came flying into my tent with no clothes on."

Ben looked at Cheet. "Did this man touch you, son?" Ben asked.

"Yes, sir, he did. He put his hands around my..."

"That's all I need to hear. Foster pack your bags, you're out of here!" Ben ordered.

Foster protested. "That's not what happened. If that's true, certainly he wouldn't have just walked around without clothes on."

Ben pointed at Austin, who just happened to be standing by. "Austin, check the tent to see if this boy's clothes are in there."

Austin came out with Cheet's T-shirt and shorts.

"They were strewn on the floor, sir," Austin explained.

"This is outrageous! I never, I would never do such a thing."

"Luckily we were walking nearby," Art said and let this man notice that a cell phone was recording everything. "I suppose we should report this to the authorities."

Foster threw up his hands. "As if you're just walking by with a camera. This is a setup."

"We're doing a documentary on the Crusade. Just our luck, I guess, you fucking with one of my boys."

"Okay, that's it, I'm out of here. I'm going to..."

Ben stepped up and bumped this wuss in the chest. "You're not going to do a damn thing, bud. I'd advise you to go back to wherever you came from and hope that I keep the police out of this."

Two brothers gave each other a high-five as they paraded by a few interested spectators. Cheet was rather proud of his half-erect penis that could flip to its power whenever the moment arises.

Austin had accomplished far more than just putting his brother's clothes in the tent. He had quickly opened Foster's computer, erasing files of staff and participants' names, dates and times, and all other pertinent documentation. It was as much to protect his uncle as it was to guard the Crusade.

Ben had a list of things-to-do, so he went in search of Shane to ask the boy if he wanted a tent to himself or pick a roommate. He heard the slapping of skin outside the flaps of the door and couldn't resist peeking in. P.J. had the boy's legs up in the air while penetrating a very virgin ass from seconds before. Shane saw the light streaking in and almost panicked.

"Sorry, boys," Ben said. "Are you two bunking together now?"

Shane nodded. "Use plenty of lube," Ben said and closed the flap. He was glad he'd caught them, though there was a tinge of envy over P.J.'s role.

Two military jeeps and a truck full of National Guardsmen arrived at the campsite at seven that evening. The weather was still suspect. Art arrived back from his second trip to Columbus; this time delivering a pissed off man to the airport. Art had no regrets of this trickery to rid the presence of someone who didn't have the best interest of the Crusade. He even acknowledged to Foster how money can persuade men to do what's not in their hearts. Whether Foster felt he was doing youth a favor or the powers-to-be, he showed a little remorse for violating the trust that Ben had put in him.

At eight o'clock and on the verge of darkness the long convoy headed west on Route 70. Flashing lights were both in the front and rear to warn the light traffic of a three-mile stretch of bicycles. Vans, trucks, Ben's car, and a military troop truck were sporadically separated to give light for guidance.

Near Richmond this cavalcade pulled into a large truck stop, filling the parking lot amidst a dozen trucks. Those sleeping in these trucks weren't too appreciative of this invasion. Ben had called ahead and made arrangements for a midnight meal of chicken and hamburgers. Ben thanked the National Guard colonel for his support as they headed back to Dayton.

Indianapolis was another point where Ben expected a new allotment of boys and girls from areas of Chicago to the South; he wasn't to be disappointed.

The Crusade arrived at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway in the wee hours on the morning. In the infield their tents were quickly assembled and an additional 1200 teenagers throughout the Midwest and South had arrived to blend in with their counterparts. Far more than the Crusade had planned, Ben wondered how 5,000 young people were to be fed and travel as a unit.

Having money was a godsend. Ben ordered an additional semi to equip itself with another shower system. More food, tents and supplies, he was glad that most of the new recruits had sleeping bags and capable bikes. Hardly enough staff, groups of 200 riders formed a squadron. Ben packed up a dozen kids who had been perpetual riders on the Crusade's bus to the bus terminal for trips home. As he explained to a few disappointed kids, this wasn't a bus trip west.

Art designed tracks of tents depending on age and sex. As far as the Carver's and Barkley's were concerned, they had their own block next to Uncle Barkley. P.J. and Shane, Tony and Brent, and a few other chosen friends were included. Ben snagged Tommy Kubish, his exhibitionist, by the ear and made sure he would stay under surveillance of his boys. Tommy and his roommate had broken through by the use of massage. They were now at least jacking each other off. Tommy was happy and in love with his first boy.

Letting the kids sleep through the morning, in late afternoon there were tours of the Indy Museum. There was available an open chow hall where the kids could come and eat when they wanted. Before nightfall Ben played Ronin's concert on the large media screen in the Speedway. They loved it and five-thousand kids swayed and danced to Ronin's version of the Beatles' GET BACK. Ben enjoyed it more the second time, and Art was in tears when Ronin sang PLEASE, PLEASE ME to Chip, substitution of boy for girl in the lyrics. What gay boy wouldn't be happy and proud after hearing that! With Tony standing in front of him, Ben swung the boy's arms to the beat of the music. Tony relished the attention.

The concert set the tempo for the night's travel. Though Ben had never considered this traveling at night, the kids loved it and seemed to fit their nocturnal schedule. Governor Robertson welcomed the Crusade as both a political bonus and a gesture to his friend, President Carver. The State Police escorted the mass of inspired yellow jerseys out of Indiana and into Illinois to points west.

Austin, Texas

Ten days earlier Louise Barkley was the mother of six children. Now she had three daughters wondering where their brothers were. A woman scorned, Louise blamed Benjamin "Bum Steer" Barkley for this travesty. She contemplated revenge.

Louise usually kept her family in check with an iron thumb. Her husband was merely her older child, a man who needed to be told what to wear, have his underwear ironed, and pretty much have his life organized by a female. Louise was concerned because Joe hadn't fled to her arms in chaos. His decree for a divorce had literally spun the woman out of control. It had to be all Ben Barkley's idea, and Louise was a woman who wasn't easily broken.

A quickly hired private detective, Jake Foster, had received his initial $25,000 upfront fee, with another $25,000 after his assignment was completed. His initial reports had Louise angry in disbelief but also excited at putting a stop to this so-called Gay Crusade. Her eldest son, Austin, was reported to be having sex with his scoutmaster, a young man she thought had been arrested for child abuse. Then the reports that hundreds, if not thousands, of children running around nude had Louise's mind contriving the worst capital punishment she would expect from Texas authorities imposing on Ben Barkley. To think that Scooter and Cheet were victims to all this liberal behavior had Louise all but drive north to strangle someone.

No more had the reports come to her on a daily basis than they stopped suddenly. Foster had emailed her that his covers were pulled and he had no more to report. He questioned his assumption that her eldest was having sex with an adult, and the nudity had been mostly in the showers. Louise figured that Ben Barkley had gotten hold of the man's balls, she just couldn't prove it. Without evidence or an eyewitness she was clueless on how to proceed. Louise called her father in Salt Lake City.

Howard Walker was a self-made millionaire who had used the Mormon Church to his advantage in gaining favors and political inroads. When Howard was called by his daughter over the impending divorce he was furious. Texans were blow hearts, uneducated men who had sniffed too much oil. Joe Barkley was a pansy ass, a mere minion in the vestiges of humanity.

Leaving little doubt that Howard did not care one iota for Ben Barkley it didn't surprise him that the man had volunteered to be the director and financier of this faggot crusade everyone was talking about. He had always thought that the man was strange, which made it true that in Texas there were either steers or queers.

Howard's comfort to his daughter was a sympathetic ear. He also said the matter would be handled appropriately. The Mormon enterprise had its own methods in dealing with outsiders or people who didn't comply with the church's standards. Gay children were quickly excised from the church, if not from their very families. The suicide rates of Mormon gay teenagers were the highest in the nation. Emotional support from the church or parental empathy were non-existent.

His first call was to Utah's governor. Howard wanted to know if this crusade was coming through his state. The governor was in a gray area in placating the President of the United States and, at the same time, assuaging his voters. Feeling at times that he was merely a puppet for the Mormon Church he started apologizing and suggested an alternative route through Wyoming.

"That's quite all right, Governor. I don't want you to get your balls in a vice with President Carver. I was only verifying that the crusade was traveling through."

Howard smugly smiled to himself, proud that he had such influence over the governor. He now had to put his plan into action and he knew just the people to vent disaster on a group of queers and their director.

 

Mattoon, Illinois

If it wasn't for Ted Colter's call inviting the crusade to Mattoon, Ben would have stayed adjacent to Route 70 all the way to St. Louis. Now he was detouring to a city just north of there, Shane's hometown and baseball heaven, so said Ted Colter. He had arranged a Pony League all-star team to play against the Crusaders, Ted called them.

"Find your best nine and bring `em on," Ted had challenged Ben, and it wasn't like Ben to back down from a challenge.

A parade of six, sixteen-wheelers, assorted vans, and smaller trucks resembled more of a Rolling Stones' concert tour as the Crusade crossed the country. At Indianapolis a group of girls had painted rainbow flags on top of every truck, a job that required several trips to a paint store. From above in the skies it was quite a colorful sight.

Ted had allocated some farm land outside the city limits for a campsite that could take on a small city. A quick meeting with staff and the population stats were close to what Art had surmised: Seventy-six percent high school and college age kids. The other 24% ranged from ten to fourteen. Josh figured a half-dozen or so runaways, two hundred unregistered, six young adults who were avid cyclists and just wanted to be part of a cross-country jaunt, and the occasional group of youngsters from various communities who joined for several miles before turning back.

Ben needed to recruit fifteen boys, twelve to fifteen. He was told that these all-stars were 13 and 14 year olds, but it was only through Shane to mention that boys turning fifteen after June 1^st could participate. There were several of these and he was one. The teen gave the scoop on Mattoon's team, a group of boys with national championship intentions. He had been only the second best pitcher on the team, though that was debatable.

"You will pitch for us, right?" Ben pleaded.

"That's a given," Shane replied. His anxiety showed; no one at his school, his friends or baseball team knew he was gay. What a way of coming out! Shane wondered why his father would do this to him, but Art Acosta had hinted that maybe it was his father's way of putting him on a pedestal. `Here's my gay boy, and I love `im!' Shane hoped Art was right.

The game was scheduled at seven under the lights. Many of the kids would ride their bikes the three miles in to watch. On the bus was a bunch of ragtag boys and one girl, who proved to Ben she could play catcher because she caught underhand fast pitch at home in Knoxville. Having a butch haircut with bound breasts and a sock in her crotch, Ben didn't have the heart to say no. If Ben hadn't seen her play long base in the nude, no one would know for the better. Cheet was his shortstop, an exceptional Little League pitcher but sixty feet was way too new for the youngster. He padded his roster with four fifteen-year olds, two a bit older than the rules required. Philly was one of these, but Ben was desperate for ringers. It wasn't like they had a lot to choose from.

Art had the assignment of going into town at the various sporting goods stores and finding two dozen uniforms closely resembling one another. In a baseball town that proved to be easy.

The bus arrived at the ballpark at six, but word had gotten out and the stadium was nearly filled. The other team was already taking infield. Spectators drifted into this well-groomed stadium with anticipation of watching a bunch of fags swish while pretending to play baseball. Most had heard about this game from posters that were mere hours old. The local radio stations also announced the game. One announcer made his own humor by saying that the Mattoon boys would wipe the pink-laced pansies out of town in a hurry.

Electric scoreboard, sub-surface dugouts, and a lighting system that made it daytime at night welcomed these young ballplayers. Shane was the only one not overwhelmed. Kids congregated around the Crusade bus, gawking at boys they had heard were all gay. No one had exactly told Ben that Mattoon, in spite of its baseball notoriety, was still a redneck town. Ben saw the nervousness, that look of `What did you get us into?' He had only coached individuals, never a team, but he had one chance to inspire these boys who were now part of himself.

"Boys, I can tell you to go out there and have fun, but that won't stop the butterflies in your stomach. We're here for one game, one game that people will discover that a gay boy is no different than a straight one. But I'd be lying to you if I told you that this isn't a game of straight versus gay. It is. There are gay boys on their team, they just might not know it yet. Win or lose, you will represent pride and confidence. I've seen most of you play and we have boys...excuse me, and one girl with skills. Learning to win takes time and a mental outlook that you can win. It's like learning to ride a horse. It's about love and letting go, accepting the what-ifs and understanding that events beyond your power are simply that—beyond your power. What's important with riding a horse turns out to be what's important in life. You give your heart knowing there will be risks. You go fast anyway, you run the bases with abandon. You get thrown or struck out, you get back on and laugh anyway. You go forward with whatever brilliance and clarity you can muster. Dizzy, Daffy, Dazzy, Goofy, Spanky, Snuffy, Jigger—no, these aren't Teletubbies, but Major League Baseball players. Give each other a nickname and let's go out there and kick some straight ass!"

The boys cheered and smiled, a minute's reprieve from being pure-scared. They exited the bus to scrutiny, and then a teenager called out, "Fags!" which had his peers laughing. A young boy came up to Shane. "Hi, Shane. What are you doing with those guys?"

"I'm one of those guys," Shane said with far more confidence than he felt. By his side was P.J., ready to do battle with anyone disrespecting his man. They stared, he stared back. P.J. was sure he could fight; after all, he'd watched Ultimate Fighting and WWE for years.

There was a gradual getting used to their surroundings. The boys warmed up under the watchful eyes of Mattooners, treating these visitors much like they were a Negro team from the 1940s. A few Mattoon coaches came over to stop this barrage of trash talk and demeaning words. Chip and Austin stood like bodyguards by their own peers. A group of high school varsity baseball players converged by the fence, when one of them said, "Hey, Colter, I didn't know you were a pillow biter!"

Shane kept warming up his arm.

Chip never liked bullies or guys who thought they were tough because they hung out in group. "And he didn't know you were a moron!"

"What'd you say, faggot?!" the teen asked and leaped over the fence.

"And you're deaf, too, asshole!"

Before Art could come between the boys, the boy with a Mattoon High School tank top was taking a swing at Chip. Chip sidestepped the swing, grabbed a wrist and sent the boy in a total flip to the ground. He kept the wrist in a lock while helping him stand back up, and then had this senior dive face first to the dirt. Several other teens leaped the short fence. Philly jumped in the melee. Between the brothers they could handle at least six.

More than just Art could handle, coaches and several other adults came to intervene. It was not a good start. The teens snarled at each other and threats came like raindrops.

Tony had dove into this melee like a Doberman. Art all but dragged him off a kid's leg that was longer than the boy was tall. The Mattoon junior had his laugh but knew the kid had the guts of a Navy Seal.

It took a few minutes to separate these boys, and another minute to calm young Tony from giving a teenager rabies. Ben pointed toward second base, which was all it took to refocus.

Tony had proven he could stop a ball when they played at Cooperstown. He got the start at second. P.J. had right field with his speed. Philly took center, while another fifteen-year old had left field. The Crusaders won the toss and picked to be home team.

The game had some pageantry before it. The national anthem was played as part of the tradition of this baseball town. Players stood somberly, though Shane had been near tears a few minutes before, not sure that his father was right about this. There were boos when they took the field.

"You fuckin' traitor!" came from the dugout where Shane had won the respect of his peers weeks before. Now he was just a queer to them. Over two hundred kids from camp cycled in and filled a whole section in the bleachers, many dressed in pink and flamboyant colors. Rainbow flags flew, girls formed a cheerleading squad, and all of the Crusaders waved at their rooters with smiles. Cursing, name-calling became fast and furious until security kept factions separate.

Shane struck out their first hitter on three curves. He knew these kids for years and their weaknesses. Their second hitter grounded out to Tony, who fielded cleanly and threw like a Little Leaguer to first. No one believed this kid was a teenager, and they were right. The Mattoon kids started calling him Pow Wow, and Tony was ready to pounce if it came to that. Their third hitter hit a fly to Philly who handled it with ease. Fear drained from nine gay boys. They had survived the first inning.

In the dugout Shane beamed a smile and told his teammates that they weren't starting their best pitcher. The coach was saving the boy for a big game over the weekend. A sigh of relief spread over fifteen faces. "We can hit this guy. You ain't got no thing if you don't have that swing." Shane had his peers smiling and motivated.

Bias or not, Ben started Cheet batting first. The boy bunted and had the first hit. Mike, a fifteen-year old, walked, which had Philly come up. He drove a double to the wall and all of a sudden the Crusaders were up two to zero. "God loves gay boys," Ben said softly to his buddy Art, next to him. Most of his team heard it and laughed.

Ben had concern about bringing his clean-up hitter with him. The teen said he was fifteen but could have been eighteen. Big, strong at five-eleven, Tyrone was built like a wrestler, but was as soft spoken and gentle as a pussy cat. Looking at these Mattoon boys, their first baseman was six-three. Their outfield looked like college players. Ben didn't have one more moment of guilt.

Tyrone hit one deep over the left center field wall and it was 4-0. Three straight outs and the Crusaders hustled out to their positions with a few less boos than the inning before.

The opposing coach had walked out toward home and wrinkled his finger at Ben to come out of the dugout.

"Are you sure that boy who hit the homerun is no more than fifteen?"

"About as sure as your center fielder and third baseman being sixteen, if not older," Ben replied.

The home plate umpire was privy to all this and stepped in. "Gentlemen, let's just play ball. There's enough little kids and big kids to balance it out."

The coaches glared at each other and spun to their respective dugouts.

One out when Shane's curve got away from him and clipped a hitter. The next batter hit a ground ball to Philly who relayed the ball to Tony. The 12-year old stepped back to throw to first and had his legs taken out in a hard slide away from the bag. Before Ben could run and complain that it was interference, Tony had fallen on this slider like a lion ready to eat his prey. The young Canadian boy was not amused by being taken out. Before he stood up he humorously humped the player in the rear.

Almost a bench clearing brawl, Tony backed off, his hands up as an apology. The Crusader fans went crazy, hysterically laughing and carrying on to rile the opposition.

Ben had intentions of protesting the lack of call by the umpire. Instead he had to take this little guy by the shoulders. "That's bush league, young man. Want to leave a bad impression to these people, act like a gay boy who doesn't respect anyone." Ben left it at that.

Tony knew he'd acted from anger but apologized to his coach. He did have one question though. "Ben, what's bush league?"

"We'll talk later," Ben replied.

"I knew you were going to say that."

Ben hoped for more of the same in the second. It didn't fare well. Shane held his Mattoon friends to three hits through five and a third when there was a bunt single, then an inside the park home run when the left fielder slipped and the ball skipped to the corner of the fence.

The Mattoon coach knew he couldn't allow any more runs, so he brought in their big pitcher, a six-foot-three inch sidewinder with a whip for an arm and a 95 mph fastball. Shane was the first hitter and got a fastball in the back. Shane held back his anger, if not the tears. Ben rubbed it while sending a threatening stare at their pitcher. "Don't get scared now, cowgirl. Getting' even is a bitch!"

"Bring it on, old man," the kid yelled. Ben would have liked fifteen minutes with the brat.

The only boy to touch any pitch that inning was Cheet, who bunted it to third and was thrown out. Shane ended up stranded at second.

Mr. Colter sat on the first base side behind his son's dugout. Proud of Shane's pitching excellence he was embarrassed at the amount of homophobia sitting around him. Few adults talked to him and those who did thought Shane was only a token pitcher for this group of gay kids. At first Ted didn't think this group of boys had a chance against the Mattoon boys, but it was in the ninth and they were ahead by a run. No way were they going to score anymore with their best pitcher in.

Pow Wow, as Tony was now affectionately called, led off, even by his teammates now, tried his best to crouch low and get a walk. He took three straight pitches for strikes, then told Ben, "I thought that last one sounded a bit low."

Ben roared with laughter and hugged this boy in his arms. This spry youngster might wear a chip-on-his shoulder but that was understandable. The boy had potential, an underdeveloped talent that needed molding. Tony's smile lit up the dugout as he tossed his bat in the rack and informed his peers that the ball was as big as a melon and he had just miscalculated.

Between Philly Boy and the Happy Clothespin, Shane's moniker, they managed to foul off four pitches to the fans' delight.

Two outs in the ninth the Crusaders were chattering, encouraging Shane to finish them out. Their pitcher came up, smiled at Shane, and made Ben decide to come to the mound.

"Are you sure you want to pitch to this guy, Mr. Happy?"

The boys around the mound busted up laughing. Tony said that is what he liked to call his boner. That caused even more laughter. The plate umpire came out to speed up this appearance and the entire focus had been shot. Ben never got his answer. The first pitch sailed over the batter's head, but it made him drop to the ground. Whether Shane was aiming or not was his own secret. On the second pitch the ball went sailing over the center field wall. Shane hung his head and mouthed, "I'm sorry," to Ben. He did strike out the next hitter.

Both coaches were called out to the plate by the league president with the Crusaders still to bat. The home plate umpire and this president had conferred and were only trying to protect the interests of his town. "Men, it's been a great game but I believe we'll be going in to extra innings. I wouldn't want to see anyone get hurt. A tie is a fine way to end it."

Was the gamble worth it? Ben wanted to argue, to say his team deserved its final at bat. There was a lot at stake; plus, Shane's arm was getting tired and he had no replacement outside of a Little Leaguer. The Mattoon coach had his reservations. It wasn't likely that these gay kids would get any more runs; yet, he also hadn't on pitching his best kid because he wanted the boy to save his arm for the upcoming playoffs. Then there was this umpire, the mayor of this city. To defy him might be a bad call. On second thought he shook hands with the Crusaders' coach.

Fans and players were equally disappointed. A new respect for these gay boys and one girl emerged with the shaking of hands. Sam, short to Samantha, had bunted twice and struck out twice. The boys called her Buns because, well, she had a wider butt than the boys and pretty much the width of home place. Shane found it another way to gauge the strike zone. She didn't mind. Tony's name of Dickless for her didn't quite fly.

On the bus Ben sort of twisted what was said at the plate. "Boys, and I suppose that's a compliment to Sam, they wanted to save face and not get beat by a girl. What Tony did to that boy on second base is what you did to their pompous attitude tonight."

The kids went wild, truly feeling like victors. "That doesn't make it right, young man," Ben warned and got a wink from his adopted urchin. "Our victory tonight might well affect their sex lives throughout their adolescence."

Philly shouted, "Impotent!" and the team returned the chant over and over to the puzzled fans outside of their bus. Of course it took Tony to ask what he was shouting.

"Can't get it up," Austin educated.

"I sure can!" Tony replied and got pummeled on by the boys around him.

The bus was splattered with a few eggs as it departed, not much worse than a visiting football team during the fall. It took a police escort to make sure all the Crusader fans left the city without incident. High school students in their cars still managed to throw tacks and glass on the highway.

Being an assistant coach, Chip sat next to Ben to analyze the game. "I think they were scared you had something special for them in the ninth, like a hit and run, double steal, or a squeeze."

"My boy, I was thinking about the ole three-ball walk. See, if we could get a runner on first and the next hitter could get to ball three, I'd have him trot down to first like it was ball four. Of course the catcher would turn around and complain, but, by that time, my first base runner would be at second. Simple mistake, the batter returns; he was only going to talk to the first base coach."

Chip busted up. Ben would've made an awesome coach. "You did a great job patting butts, placing the fielders right where they should be, but kissing your second baseman might motivate your players to hold out for more, like blow jobs. Baseball players are so greedy."

"Cute kid. Does that include my pitcher?" Ben asked in humor while pinching this teenager's nose.

"Sure! Everyone knows you have the hots for him, including Shane."

Ben was rarely embarrassed. "He does? Don't tell me that, Chip. What's that innocent child going to think of me?"

"He likes you, so don't sweat the small things."

Thinking that Shane was sitting in front of him, Ben placed his palm over the boy's head and said, "Great job, tonight, kiddo." It was Austin who turned around.

"Thanks, Uncle Ben. I took a lot of abuse coaching third base. That's a rough crowd."

Ben decided not to tell his nephew that he looked a whole lot like Shane from the rear.

They arrived back in camp to a celebration when the score was announced with an explanation. Loyal Crusader fans arrived in mass from the stadium, telling their peers all the happenings, which gave everyone more pride.

The players stripped for a well-deserved shower. Even Sam "Buns" Ewell went in naked with the boys. She exited to receive a towel from a surprised Ben.

"You did an absolutely superb job, young lady, catching Shane tonight," Ben complimented. He got a hug, the first from a nude female in his life.

"You're the best, Mr. Barkley. Thanks for having faith in me."

"You have a lot of guts being around boys," Ben said offhand.

"I am a boy, sir. I might not have a penis and balls, but inside my body I'm a boy. I'm taking testosterone shots. When I make enough money I'm going to have a sex change operation."

This was all new to Ben. He asked how much this all cost and was told nearly six figures. "See me when we get to San Francisco, young lady...ah, man."

As the boys came traipsing out, Ben made sure he was one of the last ones. Across from him to the rear of this trailer, a long naked frame was rinsing his hair. Ben patted his nephew on the butt, swung his arm around the boy's waist until his little finger felt the edge of pubic hair. He kissed the wet neck. "How's my boy?" A hand pushed his fingers down to feel a near erection. Not like Austin to be that aggressive, it even surprised Ben.

Shane swung his head around. "Happy to have been on your team, sir," the boy said and shocked Ben with a quick kiss on the lips.

Ben wanted to apologize. It was the second time that evening that he had mistaken boys. He eyed the long stretch of spray, seeing no other shadows underneath showers. The light was dim to the rear and maybe these two boys were identical from the rear. So many of them had the same hairstyle. He sure wasn't going to explain. His hand had automatically let go of the erection, but not his mind. Shane was that perfect, well-behaved, church-going youth, one you didn't see as a sexual human being. Loss of words, Ben only smiled and stepped back into his own spray. A slight turn by Shane allowed a clear view of the boy masturbating himself. Ben's rapid erection was a sign of approval. In less than a minute jolts of sperm arched onto the floor. Shane's expression searched for approval.

"Your body is as beautiful as your pitching," Ben said as he smacked that petite rear again and walked out. Ben was hoping that Art would approve. This was, sort of, Shane's idea. Well, okay, the hand, but that could be explained away.

A great thing about just recovering from a hard-on, it makes your dick look big. For so many new kids who hadn't experienced the camp's nudity, seeing their peers naked had eyes locked. Chip and Philly received a wide audience, but now Ben felt he must look like he had a major sausage between his legs. He played it off as God's gift to Texans.

They still had a several hour trip to St. Louis. With the second concert the following evening, Ben decided to travel again by night, let the kids sleep through most of the morning and enjoy the sights in the afternoon. Word had already reached him from their web site on the Internet that there were another 750 riders waiting to join the Crusade. Ben had no idea where he was going to put them.

Down Rt. 70 they flew without an escort but for a convoy of trucks. If anyone wanted to stop them they could explain to 5,000 gay kids the reason. Around the southern tip of St. Louis, across the Mississippi River they arrived at an old fairgrounds around three o'clock in the morning. A few trucks had long been there, setting up tents, boundaries, a large circus tent for eating and the porta potties, which had nearly tripled in proportion.

Ben's tent was one of the first arranged to the front. Having slept a little while Art drove, he spent the next hour making sure the camp was settled and the area secure. Art was fast asleep when he came in to a darkened tent. Climbing in bed he felt a warm body sliding up to his front. There was no panic, probably Austin or even Scooter. There's nothing like a smell of a boy, and Ben moved his nose into the boy's neck. Way too much hair for Austin, Shane, or even Scooter. His hand verified nakedness, but a boy caught between adult genitals and boyish.

"What do I owe this privilege," Ben whispered to his adopted son.

"I wanted to sleep with you," Tony whispered back, cradling the man's arms tighter around his waist. "You can, you-know-what, if you want?" The boy wiggled his butt into Ben's groin.

"As tempting as that sounds, you're my responsibility to keep safe and sound."

Tony swiveled around in a flash until his nose was practically touching Ben's. "What's that have to do with anything? You hug and kiss me, tickle and wrestle, so why not sex?"

"Well, because," Ben could only answer. "I think loving you in ways that make you feel good is fine, but being your lover won't help me be a father to you. You're going to need someone to guide you, discipline once in a while, encourage and redirect your energies. Being that intimate with you changes the rules. You might not understand but respect where I'm coming from."

Tony thought about this, kissed this new man in his life that he was beginning to love and nodded. "We can still cuddle, right?"

Ben put his hands under those sweet buns and held the boy close. "You and me till the cows come home."

Tony made sure his body was sprawled out over Ben's, resting his head on the man's chest. "I hope the cows never come home."

Ben heard a light giggle from the cot a few feet away. Art had enjoyed that conversation.

There ended up to be a lot more to this event than was led on. Brent came to the director's tent the following morning, overly concerned that Tony had taken off. Found out that Tony had told someone that Brent was his "girl" and Brent took offense. Tony sought quieter shelter, but didn't regret it either. Fortunately Tony was dressed, tying his shoes and ready for breakfast. He was glad Brent was worried about him and even more, he still liked him.

Ben was in a hurry to stay on top of things and left it to Art to settle the boys' differences. He departed while Art looked at Tony to apologize.

"Okay, I'm sorry. I only said that because you like it up..."

This usual reserve teenager who had fallen for a twelve-year old became quite honest when confronted. "I'm a bottom."

"Yeah," Tony replied not used to this term, but he'd heard it around other kids. "I assumed you want to be treated like, you know, a girl."

Art had Brent come in and sit on the cot. "Boys, there's a misconception about gay boys, thanks to our straight friends. First of all they think that any gay boy just would love to get on their knees and give anyone a blow job; secondly, we will be a vessel for their dicks. Wrong! Just because Brent might like to be a bottom doesn't mean he's this docile, weak-willed male who wants to be feminized. I've always found that once a guy experiences sodomy in a loving way he will usually want to repeat the act because of its pleasure. To always want to take the top might reveal some personality issues, like your macho, the boss, or being dominant. Hardly the case. A bottom can deny access altogether; they also have a greater degree of physical stamina and strength. Who does the most moaning in ecstasy? Yes, you know, the bottom. A good bottom is never a victim, a preconceived notion of being passive. Maybe Brent is using you to get off. Ever consider that, young man?"

Tony grinned. "Okay, I get it. We're equal. I think we should trade off then."

Art glanced back at Brent. The boy pondered this and said he wouldn't mind trying it, but he preferred being the bottom. A settled argument, the boys kissed to make up and off they flew. Art could only shrug his shoulders and wish he'd had such problems as a kid.

At the entrance to the camp Ben was inundated with about 150 men and women, gay citizens of St. Louis and proud to have the Crusade visit their city. Ben welcomed them all, though he stayed wary of adults he didn't know around "his" boys and girls.

No more had this group dispersed then the chief of police and two deputies arrived. This always made Ben nervous. Sheriff Falkner was gracious with his welcome and brought out a portfolio with pictures of dozens of adolescents who were missing or considered runaways. He wanted to compare them to Ben's roster. When they approached his tent, out came Tony and Brent, arms around each other.

"Hi, Dad!" Tony blurted. Chances are the boy was one of these runaways whose situation had yet to be remedied in police reports. Fortunately the sheriff assumed that the boy was Ben's son.

There was relief that Art was fully dressed. They scanned their files together looking for matched pictures. Ben didn't dare say anything about the hundreds who weren't registered. He'd given up on enforcing this aspect. Four boys and two girls were found easily, all reported missing, which meant they'd forged their parent's signature. Ben didn't want to play the truant officer nor did he have the capacity. The sheriff could only notify the parents of their find.

Ben held a staff member meeting and recommended that they tell their squads that the police were here. Forgers, runaways, and anyone else not registered should return home. It got laughs. Since when do teenagers follow rules?

Josh informed Ben that the purchase of tandem bikes was working. Several kids who were overweight or had other physical problems had struggled to keep up. Combining them with an able rider had worked. One girl had lost twenty pounds already.

For the afternoon's entertainment Ronin was holding a talent contest. Two winners would be selected to perform at his concert that evening. Ben liked it.

Another sellout for the upcoming concert, Ben had purchased tickets for 100 kids, all obtained by a fair lottery. Not unlike the first show, Ronin had his audience screaming and in the palm of his hand from the beginning. His chosen winners were well received, a girl who was a terrific folk singer and a boy who sang a duet with Ronin. Their voices were in perfect harmony. He combined other very talented boys and girls from that afternoon to make a chorus for him. An African American rapper with the Crusade impressed the arena. P.J. wowed again with his classical dance, and then did breakdancing with five other boys from the Crusade who worked with P.J. all afternoon to choreograph excellence.

Ronin's decision to sing Power of a Dream at the end, as well as the beginning, went over well. He invited the love of his life up again. Ronin said Chip had just turned eighteen and asked if the audience would give them permission to make love. They loudly approved, but that's when a few boys near the front held up their newly bought gay magazine with Chip's and Ronin's pictures on the cover, bare from the waist up, with the caption, BIRTHDAY BOYS, though Ronin had turned 18 months earlier.

"Busted!" Ronin said and got laughs. He had no idea how busted.

WASHINGTON, D.C.

Congressman Adams was a member of the Tea Party, which became synonymous with the old Moral Majority. They believed in less government and the Constitution, the way they wanted it interpreted. A marriage was between man and woman, blacks should know their place, and if you were white and Protestant you were like them. He also had a thing for male pages on the side. His marriage to a high profile CEO's daughter had gained him favor and financial backing. He hadn't had sex with his wife in six months and blamed his role as a congressman for his failure to return to New Hampshire over the same period.

Lou Adams hired his own pages, and upon reviewing applications, the honesty of one sixteen-year old as a member of his high school LGBT Club was too good to pass up. On a sleepover the teen just happened to have a copy of a monthly twink magazine with the President's son on the cover.

Lou's mind instinctively put a few calculations together, having read only recently that Chip Carver had turned eighteen. A full spread in three days? But wasn't young Carver on a crusade? Too many things didn't add up. He called an investigator from the sex task force in Washington and revealed his concern. In so many words the investigator told him to forget it. What was he to gain by embarrassing an eighteen-year old, son of a president? It would be the magazine who would be in jeopardy. Lou thought otherwise. Certainly President Carver was aware of his son's decision to pose in provocative positions with an erection. All this after the president's lectures on changing consent laws. Too coincidental if you asked Lou Adams.

This congressman knew the value of political smut, the type that reflects badly on anyone associated with the President. He had to, after all, look after the interest of those running against the opposing party. By his own investigation in this Crusade web site, Lou saw that this English boy singer had arrived in New York on July 3^rd. He called the New York City sex crimes division, only as a third party interested in the welfare of our young. Adams gave them a road map with the name of the hotel and they might want to check to see if any photographers came to the First Boy's room.

"And your name, sir?" the woman investigator had asked.

"I'd rather not be involved," Lou answered and hung up. He was glad he used a pay phone.

St. Louis, Missouri

At one time on his itinerary Ben thought the kids would enjoy the Merrimac Caverns, just south of St. Louis. With 5,000 kids and climbing there wasn't a tourist spot around who would appreciate that many teenagers.

The Crusade was now prepared to head west, more open country and harder rides in some ways. Driving his own vehicle had been a godsend. Surviving on a few hours of sleep a night he had stayed on top of things. There was also one college sophomore who had become his secondary drive. He had to smile with this thought. This ride was even softer than riding in the Aston. Took him sixty-two years to realize how much he enjoyed a tight bottom.

If he hoped for another scene in the shower he was disappointed. The kids in the show were Chatty Cathys under the hot spray. In the other semi Peter was already cleaning up. As the boys and girls wandered off to their tents, Ben was alone for a long deserved shower.

Upon returning to his tent he heard the soft sounds of sex. He peeked in to see Peter in bed with Art. `Good for Art,' Ben said to himself and went cruising the long pathways between rows of tent. A few speakers, however small, filled the air with what Ben questioned as music. Bikes were parked next to the tents, so far surviving the trip quite well. The desert and mountains coming up would be a true challenge. Arriving back at the tent Peter had left and Art was reading. Ben was pretty sure that his dear friend wouldn't admit to having sex.

"Evening, Benjamin. Peter waited for you but figured you were tied up. He had a hard problem to solve and needed an older guy with experience."

Ben wasn't about ready to confess he had heard. "Well, let's see. The only person I know around here that's a real problem solver with experience is you."

Art chuckled. "Okay, you got me, but I must admit I'm not as good in bed as I used to be. You're a damn good problem solver if you ask me."

"Why do two old farts like us deserve a hard body?" They laughed. Ben confessed the scene with Shane the night before. "Would you act on it, my friend? Let's say Tate would have done the same thing."

Art placed his book down on the cot. "You're talking apples and carrots, my dear fellow. Tate was straight and Shane is gay. You betcha I would've taken advantage if that beauty had sprung a hard-on, but I'd likely messed him up mentally."

Ben was surprised as he climbed into bed. "Are you saying we're harming Peter?"

"Heavens no, that's not what I'm saying. Peter knows who he is and what he wants. Next year he might quit college and think he's a hero by joining the army. He may well return in a body bag, but he's loved who he wants to love. The way I look at it, Ben, being a math teacher for a number of years, we each have this A and B, A being our sex and B our brain. Now we know that A is a result of B, our brain being truly our sex organ. There are those who believe we think through our dick, but that's only partially true. So, if you're attracted to a boy's A, you have to consider where his B is. The A's and B's need to dissect, become whole with each other. In Tate's case I had the AB, while his behavior would have strictly been all A. Later on, depending on how society fucks with his brain and how much guilt he devises over the act, his B would condemn me, if not flood him with shame."

"Isn't that more of a cop out, Art? Adults use this blame game, `he stole my childhood', just to win a lawsuit. It's others' reaction that convinces him he was eternally harmed."

"You'll get no argument here, Ben. The fact is, a child is quite capable of strong sexual feelings but at the same time is not capable of handling the emotional aftermath of those feelings. What may have seemed like a harmless and even highly erotic act is often devastating psychologically."

"But isn't physical or even emotional abuse by parents, coaches, or other adults even more damaging?" Ben asked.

"Of course it is, but how often is an adult told that because he was spanked, cuffed across the head, or screamed at that he's scarred for life? The courts would laugh if he filed a lawsuit or claimed abuse. Yet those same adults have anger issues, relationships problems. Sex has been given a bad rap, especially when caring is attached. There are boys who really do need affection, but they are also stigmatized and socialized out of all ability to respond to an adult who cares for him. Then there are others who can accept it and benefit from it. If we were in Siwa Valley, North Africa, New Guinea, or part of the Aranda Aborigines in Australia we wouldn't be having this discussion."

"Why's that?" Ben asked.

"Because these societies engage in anal intercourse between men and boys openly as a recognized custom. Likewise, in several European countries you would have permission to love most any boy here at camp. I can compare many of the boys that have come under my tutelage to your relationship with Austin. Those boys demonstrated a high degree of maturity, self-confidence, and self-reliance. Whatever your relationship, at least sexually, with the boy, you've done an excellent job. He has no lack of fear of unfamiliar people and his interpersonal relations are beyond his age limit."

"I still don't understand why you think you'd harm Shane?"

Art flipped out his wrinkled and thick penis. "Because with this sausage I'd stuff that petite asshole to where one of us would shout with glee. The poor boy would be startled with my reaction. I'm not sure my heart can take a beauty like that youngster. If he makes me drool I can only imagine what he's doing to you. Six feet of pure male virility."

Ben broke out with a hearty laugh. It relieved this Texas gentleman that his dear friend approved of his love for Shane. Ben stripped and crawled into bed after kissing Art on the lips. Their small gaslight was turned off leaving the two men to contemplate in the dark.

"So you approve my new angel. Now is my love for Tony abnormal?"

"Oh absolutely not! But when you put yourself in a position of trust and authority, intimacy is not in the cards. That boy is a bundle of energy and street smarts. The first discipline he doesn't like or get his way his ace in the hole is to call you a pervert and threaten your world. No compassion, no empathy, no real understanding of destroying another human being. Don't get me wrong, that's not typical of twelve-year olds. But Tony has few coping mechanisms because of how he has been brought up. Other boys are capable of loving with free abandon until they are told by some adult that they're being exploited. To play victim is an easy out for any child or adolescent."

"I'm thankful I didn't give the boy that kind of power," Ben said.

"You did right by him, my friend. You know, there are many people who believe boy lovers like ourselves just want to avoid the responsibilities of an adult relationship. Trust me, a relationship with a boy is in many cases more onerous than one with an adult, not less. Ben, if we listened to our intellect, we'd never have a love affair. We'd never have a friendship. You've got to jump off cliffs all the time and build your wings on the way down. That's not my saying, but Ray Bradbury. I think he's right."

"AA and BB squared sounds like a good combination," Ben said in humor.

"Yes, and let the boy extend his hand to be loved. You'll have a friend for life."

They were almost asleep when Ben spoke in humor. "So you're saying if some adult had told Tate, "Wonderful that you had sex with Art. He's such a loving fellow, and I do hope you had multiple orgasms. He would have had his B massaged?"

Art laughed. I guess I needed you to be there as a reinforcer, though I think you're highly bias."

Zach Mullins had worked for the Washington D.C. Sex Division before becoming a Secret Service Agent. His colleagues then and now respected this man for his integrity and fairness. It is why he was texted this day by a previous partner and warned that a certain congressman was nosing about for information concerning photos.

Zach was actually the family's lead protector since Looper had been promoted to direct the Presidential detail. He went in search of this full-time boy who could challenge any man's abstinence. Zach collared the president's son by the ear after breakfast and took the teen for a walk. Chip had no reason to lie to one of his favorite bodyguards and revealed what was likely to be found.

"I was only a week away from eighteen," Chip spoke with adolescent logic. "There's also another gay tween's magazine, though I think they put everything Online now," Chip added and relayed this photo shoot in his room.

This spelled trouble for a wide range of people, and Zach had a lot of interference and surgery to do. A quick conversation with his mate, Looper, and the two went to work. They were on Route 70 when the call came from their office in Washington. A female detective had called the FBI, who called the Secret Service, who notified the president. Shit was already to roll downhill.

Out of respect for Mr. Barkley, Zach called him immediately as not to be blindsided. The Crusade would take a hit, possibly ending it entirely. The detective wanted to interview Chip Carver, as they called it—Zach knew it would be more of an interrogation. Zach recommended Denver for this questioning to allow time to figure this out.

Ben and Art had taken for the first time a different route for their own sightseeing interests. Through the Missouri Valley Wine Country, over sweeping green hills, past picturesque farmhouses and into the heart of Missouri wine country just west of St. Louis. Driving parallel to the tour which was about ten miles north, Ben was shaken by the call. How could anyone explain to an eighteen-year old English idol that he would be considered a sex offender in America for having sex with a seventeen-year old? In England the age of consent was sixteen. The fun of this side trip had left his heart. Ben had the same remark for Zach that he had used for years when any problem came to his attention, "I'll handle it." Oddly enough, he usually did.

Anxious now to get back with the Crusade he was now annoyed at the extremely twisty road that went up and down the forested hills and past many small houses. For twenty gruesome miles in what would have normally been a blast in his Aston, his mind spun for solutions.

Impatient, demanding, and aggressive, Art saw a different Ben Barkley emerge, the wealthy oil baron who made politicians jump and people move. Into his computer he flew, then two calls to two gay teen headquarters. He wouldn't be put on hold and didn't care that the editor was in a meeting. An emergency was an emergency. A gulp, silence from the other end when the editor found out this wasn't a social call, Ben could picture this guy peeing in his pants. In seconds he had both editors like ten-year olds talking to daddy.

He might as well have taken over as Chairman of the Board. They were to deny, deny, deny, no comment, and refer everything to their lawyer who was now Joe Barkley, as temporary as it was going to be. They resisted only for the second it took Ben to get nasty with them. Such an accusation with a conviction could easily destroy their organizations. They knew it and so did Ben. Both editors decided to comply. Whatever this Texan had in mind, it was worth the wait.

Going east Ben saw the stream of yellow from a mile away. The kids had stopped for an extended rest to explore one of Missouri's caves and enjoy the hot springs. Despite families being present, several boys and girls stripped naked to partake. Mothers covered their children's eyes while others enjoyed youth in their ambivalence.

This proud Texan had his finest Stetson on when he met with both Zach and Looper to assure them both that a relief pitcher was coming in. He wanted the agents to call President Carver and tell him not to panic. If rumor gets out he is to say there is no truth to the fact that his son did a pornographic spread before he was eighteen.

Zach eyed his lover, wondering if this man had bumped his head. They knew about the hotel in New York, the meeting in the First Boy's room after Ronin had arrived. It would be simple math to figure the rest. "Sir, you can't bribe these people. That New York detective will lock your ass up in a second."

"Bribe is such a nasty work, Zach. That's hardly my plan. I'm not going to have either of these boys or those fine gay businesses take a hit. Not on my watch!" With that Ben stormed off to smack a few tails if he had to.

Josh took his responsibilities very seriously. As much as he wanted to be well-liked he knew when to act the adult and protect this Crusade. He saw a few disgruntled women along the path to these hot springs. When he saw the rampant nudity amidst children that were his to control he hit the roof.

"This is not a pool party, people!" Kids scampered for their clothes and when Josh said it was time to move, they moved! A few dozen teenage butts hustled from several of the hot springs to dress before Josh could take names. They hauled ass back through the forest and to their bikes.

Chip knew he was in hot water when he was called to Ben's car. From the confident First Boy to a child with his head down ready to be admonished, Chip was ready to apologize for the chaos. At this age it was important to be seen as mature. Even seventeen-year old boys don't always think through things. Welcome to the human race. Chip certainly didn't want to put the Crusade at risk or cause harm to people he loved. To tarnish his gay peers would have devastated this young man.

"Son," Ben began and put his arm around this boy he enjoyed immensely, "let's don't sweat the small things, partner. Here's what we are going to do."

Chip listened and agreed completely. Much like his own father, Ben Barkley possessed a power of adult wisdom that became lessons in life for a young adult. Chip made sure to give this senior a mighty hug as tears dripped from his eyes. Why certain people in society had to be so cruel and vindictive was something even Ben couldn't explain. Sometimes, Ben said, these type of people only understood one thing—conniver right back at `em!

Back on his bike Chip spoke softly to Ronin as they pedaled barely inches from each other's handle bars. Ronin wasn't told of the impending investigation or the possible repercussions. He only gave a thumbs up and was sure that was the way it was. Chipper glanced over at this boy he loved so dearly. How could America even consider charges against this beautiful English boy? Ronin wouldn't hurt a fly, and here were a group of idiots out to make him a sex offender. Chip fumed for miles.

Across Missouri they rode. Across the Missouri River, past lakes and creeks called float streams because they are fed by fast-moving water from underground springs, robins, bluebirds, meadowlarks, cardinals, orioles, hawks, owls, quail, doves, and thrushes filled the sky throughout the ride.

A highway patrol car filed past the 5,000 plus riders, his blue lights twirling and not liking it one bit that his highway now only had one lane for cars. Three miles later he came adjacent to a Secret Service SUV. The agent flashed his badge next to the window to let this officer know what he was dealing with. Unsure of his duty to derail this parade or the significance of the Crusade, he decided to wave and drive on. The agents in the car chuckled and knew they had little authority in any state but to protect two teenage boys directly behind them.

Just southeast of Kansas City the caravan turned off the main highway to make their night's stay at Whiteman Air Force Base. Tents were set and rules were enforced. Josh arranged a disco night with their now popular rapper who volunteered to be a DJ. Josh spoke to the multitude of youth that he also planned a rock and roll night, a bubble bath battle, and a country and western evening. That last one got a thousand boos until Ben got up and spoke, "You cowhands will learn to two-step if you know what's good for you!" They applauded and still booed.

Ben had camped in his tent. He placed a call to his brother, had a meeting with his truck drivers and a shorter one with Josh. Art was never left out of any plan and was quickly making follow-up calls and other necessary arrangements.

Josh had no trouble with 99% of his necessities. He needed another 7,000 T-shirts for new kids, and a boy in California was on a mission in organizing as many gay kids from Southern California to its northern neighbor to meet the Crusade in Lake Tahoe. Ben got out his map. He'd have to make an alternative route to accommodate this idea—no problem. The one percent rejection came when Josh asked if he could call the police with the number of drugs floating around.

"No. If you catch `em, put them on the bus at the nearest bus station. Make sure they leave and take their bikes. If they resist, then threaten them with the cops."

The base commander, General Spree, came to the site to welcome Ben and the Crusade. Of course he wanted to meet Chip and Philly. Anything he could do for the president was fine with him. The general definitely had his eye on his second star.

"Sorry to hear about the boys' troubles," the general said and caught Ben off guard. General Spree elaborated by saying that someone had leaked it to the press. That really pissed Ben off.

Sure enough, within minutes both editors were calling Ben in a stage of panic. Ben ran the scenario down to them, confiding the details and assuring their cooperation. There was a lot of relief as they remembered that that was exactly what happened.

Feeling confident that the world was temporarily balanced, Ben went out in the warm night air, glad that Art had caught the general's ear. Two old Air Force men, no doubt talking about military bars they have known. Ben had to laugh about that one. He moseyed out to the sounds of disco, a huge recreation area used by airmen. Thousands of kids were dancing to, of all things, disco music. Their DJ had far more adrenaline than any of them. They were being challenged to a disco contest.

Ben leaned against a tree next to the woods to enjoy the spectacle and memories of his experiences in the 70s. How incidental his current location was had to God's doing. Ten yards away he caught sight of a boy sitting by a tree with his head down by his knees. The lad didn't seem a bit too happy. With a whole lot on his mind, Ben decided he could forget his problems to cheer up a sad camper.

"Shane!" Ben said in surprise and immediately sat down beside the boy and saw the tears that had been streaming down the boy's face. The thought that P.J. had deserted him or someone had treated him badly came to mind.

The boy tried to wipe the tears from his face. He let Ben pull him close. "What's the problem, youngster? Let ole Ben help you on this one."

Shane blurted out that his father had called and said the family had received threats. Their house had been egged because Shane pitched for the gays. His dad implied that the boy's life was in danger when he returned.

"Just one asshole. Threats are baseless," Ben tried to assure.

"My dad says a lot of cars go by and yell, you-know-what, at all hours of the day and night. My father doesn't know what to do."

"What's your father do, Shane?"

"He's an architect, sir. Mostly homes, but business is kinda slow these days. Dad thinks his business will be even worse now."

"That's a lot to put on a fifteen-year old," Ben said and wished he hadn't said it out loud. "Son, it's going to be okay. I know that's what adults like to tell you but you're talking to Ben Barkley here. I have a plan. Ben Barkley fixes things, yessirree!"

This brought a smile to Shane's lips. It might have helped when Ben wiped a tear away and hugged the boy. Shane swept his arms around this burly man and for that moment love had its own definition.

As if Ben didn't have enough on his plate already he rode up and offered his hand to help Shane. With an arm around the boy's shoulders they walked downhill to this mass of dancing teens. Shane let go, turned and began dance moves to I'M JUST A LOVE MACHINE that a fifteen-year old boy shouldn't know. Ben broke up in laughter, then showed this youngster a few moves from his day. Other teens around them encouraged this senior on, finding more than a little competition from an adult who remembered the disco era.

"How?!" Ben shouted amidst the music. He was referring to Shane's mastery of several disco moves.

"My sister taught me! She likes to dance!" Shane yelled loudly and whipped off his shirt. For the moment his father's problems were put behind him.

It had been almost 35 years since Ben had danced like this. He considered himself a terrible dancer but he allowed his body to move to the mood of the music. His eyes locked onto Shane's sweaty frame, a more beautiful sight wasn't to be had. Thinking that this momentary relief was over, both Ben and his partner were tapped to move into a roped-off area filled with hundreds of kids who were thinking this was Saturday Night Fever. A little shifting of gears and Ben had a lithe teen in his hands, twirling and moving to CAR WASH.

The smell of marijuana permeated the air, maybe increasing this ambience of gyrating bodies. Shane's vision had locked onto a fascinating cowboy in his fantasies. Ben Barkley was this all powerful, god-like creature who was an inspiration to all who were gay. A distortion or not, it was Shane's motivation to adore another adult who wasn't his father. For those precious moments this man who held him could raise the dead and heal the sick. Not that Shane actually believe that, but he put all the trust he could muster that Ben Barkley could and would make things better.

YOU MAKE ME FEEL LIKE DANCING had a lot of eyes on this man/boy combination. For the moment Ben and Shane were the center of attention, a boy following the lead of someone used to being the attention. They were a hot couple, verified by several girls who circled around these two as encouragement. Most thought of their director as this sexy senior, while others had their eyes on the cute gay boy. Philly and Cheet, who had found each other again, gravitated over and danced adjacent to these two.

Knowing he'd pay the price tomorrow, Ben surrendered when the sweat poured from his body. Yeah, he'd showed them, and Shane put his arm inside of Ben's as they proudly walked away, while DANCING QUEEN played to the new moves that Cheet had learned while watching his uncle.

A few yards away Tony and Scooter had broad smiles, but Ben only waved because the boys were talking to a few older teens. There were times when having an adult around wasn't cool.

Ben hugged his partner, possibly longer than he should have. All of Art's words flooded his brain while he had Shane in his grasp. How could this be wrong? Ben asked himself. Love had presented itself with different feelings throughout Ben's lifetime. His biggest enjoyment had been Austin. Now a mightier force tugged at his heart. Could he actually love a fifteen year old? Outrageous and illogical, Ben thought.

It was the boy's eyes that was like a stamp of approval. Shane had these bluish, marble eyes that sent Ben a message of angelic forgiveness. They were pleading eyes, the type that begged to be loved. At first Ben was sure this was all his imagination. Only after Shane reached forward to overlap Ben's hands at his side, and then press groin to groin before the ultimate kiss inside his tent did Ben melt to the boy's desires. An astute senior citizen had become putty to an adolescent's charm. Too flustered, his erection pulsated against his shorts. Shane made sure this new man in his life saw the protrusion from his own shorts. A large wet spot had taken shape.

Ben's eyes were glued to the arousal. He sighed, and then reached around to pat Shane's ass to send him back to his peers before he lost control and did something he might regret. After Shane's pout and wave goodbye was when Ben really regret not bedding the boy. Ben dropped his shorts and masturbated on the spot, all the time wishing that Shane would second guess this faux pas and return to catch him in torment.

This was no time to shower; the temptation was too great if Shane showed up. He retreated to his bed to regain his composure. In walked Austin with Brent.

"Where's P.J.?" Ben asked, expecting to see certain boys always paired up.

"He's with Chip and Ronin," Brent said with no great concern.

Ben discreetly looked back and forth to his nephew, like, you and Brent are doing it?

"Brent is hot," Austin said. "Josh has his own tent now, so Brent is sleeping in mine.

"But where does that put Tony?"

Austin gave his uncle a quizzical look, as if he should know who sleeps with who. "He's with Cheet, sometimes, or with Scooter. Why are you nude? Oh, wait, you don't have to answer that; I saw Shane a minute ago. He was adjusting his crotch. Way to go, Uncle!"

Ben practically stuttered to correct the misconception. "I didn't do anything. I wanted to, but sometimes I don't have the courage." Ben had to laugh at himself.

"You have no idea how much Shane loves you, Uncle Ben. If you don't take him soon he'll jump your bones." Austin was quite serious.

"Why? Has he said something? I mean, about me?"

"You're all he talks about. Like you're some sixty-year old Hercules. Some boys like daddies, and you're definitely a daddy," Austin teased.

"I might hurt the youngster, he's so fragile and thin," Ben replied in humor.

"Trust me, Uncle Ben, there were times I wished you had fucked me. I know, I know, I'm your nephew but we both like it, so what's the big deal?"

"I might have liked it too much to ever see you with a boy like Brent. He's hotter than I am." Ben moved upward and forgot his dick still swelled from an orgasm. He still hugged both boys.

"You jerked off, didn't you, Uncle Ben? Wait until I tell Shane. He sure won't let you do that again all alone."

"Don't you dare! Keep an eye on Scooter for me. I don't want him getting in with older boys who might exploit his innocence in all this."

"My brother knows everything or has seen it. Cheet is usually nearby."

"Don't forget your brother's only ten," Ben reminded.

"That little rug rat loves to suck dick. What'd you expect hanging out with a bunch of gay boys? He's fine, don't sweat the small things." Austin whipped out his cell phone. "I think you ought to look at this."

Ben viewed a short video of five boys seducing a tied-up teen about fifteen or sixteen years of age. "Download this off the Internet?" Ben asked.

"No, this is going on in camp. You can see the trappings of a tent. Sexting is real popular among everyone, but this looks like it could be forced."

Art walked in and saw his naked partner and the concern with the cell phone. He was invited to take a look at the video. Twice in succession, Art had his own theory. "Staged. The kid's butt is already oiled up. I'm not too sure if he knew he was going to be fucked by five of his peers, but he knew something was going to happen."

Art's perception was highly respected by Ben. On second look he could see what Art was getting at. There was even a look of enjoyment on the receiver's face. The director was still agitated that child porn was being produced within the camp. By pure coincidence, his attempt to replay this video had others come up. One of them had P.J. and Cheet doing 69, well aware that they were being filmed by their own accord. Another had two boys he didn't recognize in intercourse.

"You guys are taking a big chance by filming yourselves. If this gets outside this campground there will be hell to pay."

"It's only between our gay community, Uncle Ben," Austin tried to assure.

"Yeah, they offered me a hundred dollars," Brent said.

Austin verified that. "They're looking for boys to film, mostly young."

Ben all of a sudden had another significant problem. This one had the most urgency for the moment. "Where'd you see these boys last?"

"They're cruising the dance," Brent replied.

Ben threw on his shorts and dashed from the tent to run toward the recreation field. He wanted to give Tony more credit, but... Behind him Austin and Brent were trying to keep pace. Among all these kids it was almost impossible to find anyone specific. Ben asked around, especially at the spot he had last seen his adopted son and nephew. One girl was sure the two youngsters had taken off with some older teenagers. Thousands of tents stood in the darkness, spread out like rows of crops. How could they ever find them?

"Spread out!" Ben ordered. "They can't all fit under one tent." He saw Philly and P.J. playing with some fireworks they'd bought from someone. Ben recruited them, as well.

Austin found the tent first, only because two of the boys were waiting outside with just their underwear on. He whistled until he got his uncle's attention. Coming up from behind the two teens they had no idea who had approached and why.

"Stay!" Ben told the two junior high boys, and then entered to see Tony and Scooter giving each other blow jobs. An older boy was taking a video of the action. With one quick swoop he grabbed both boys' arms, spanked their asses with a good Texas backhand and told them to get to his tent. Grabbing the cell phone he crushed it below his foot. In front of two other scared teens he rifled through their clothes to find two more cell phones. He destroyed these too.

"You're paying for those!" their leader spoke with way too much confidence.

Ben could've smacked the brash teenager on the spot; instead he gripped the boy's boner in one hand, the kid's throat in the other. He literally swung the boy into the side of the tent, collapsing poles and sent its whole frame clashing to the ground. Ben climbed out first, making sure the other three stayed buried under the tarp.

"Give me your underwear," Ben said and had the remaining two strip. "That's to make sure you don't dash off." He found an ankle under this tarp and pulled out the first boy. Ben took the teen's name, where he was from, and what was his intention. Two more followed suit, the last being the least resistant with feeling that his dick had almost been twisted off.

As the crowd grew to see what all this commotion was about Ben wanted to make sure he got his message across.

"Okay, this is how it's going down. Get dressed. We're going to meet together, all five of you, at the bus at exactly six o'clock. I'm not going to bother my staff to drive you into Kansas City tonight. If you're not there, I'm calling the police. Child porn is a serious matter."

"We're all minors," the teen said in ignorance and like it was an excuse.

"You're ducks don't fly in a V, do they son? Possession, distributing, hell! You're filming the smut! I'm trying to save your ass from a lifetime from registering as a sex offender. They don't care that your silly ass isn't eighteen. They want to set an example to the other teenagers who film each other."

Ben moved off after telling Austin and Brent to retrieve Tony's and Scooter's clothes. He didn't expect to see Tony in the tent; the boy was probably at the front gate, telling the military police that he's been abused. Ben figured that his angriest bull and a stubborn mule were easier to deal with than teenagers.

He opened the flap, unsure of the tent's contents. There on his cot sat two boys, one crying and it wasn't Scooter. Ben stayed silent and felt terrible when he saw this twelve-year old shrink backwards like he expected to be hit. Sitting on Art's cot, Ben took a deep breath.

"What did they promise you?"

The more reposed Scooter spoke right up. "A hundred dollars and a percentage of proceeds from anything they sold."

"Amazing," Ben said calmly. "Scooter, this is your Uncle Ben, the man who once lit a cigar with a hundred dollar bill. Why did you think you needed money?"

"I didn't. They said I was cute and sexy."

"I call you cute all the time and I don't expect a blow job."

That brought a giggle from Tony. Ben turned his attention to this youngster. "So, bright eyes, do you think I'm going to un-adopt you? I'm not even sure that's a word, so we can't do that, can we."

Tony shrugged and cried some more.

"You guys make me feel old," Ben said and sat back. He was happy when Scooter grabbed Tony's hand and they both came to sit on his uncle's opposite knees.

"We're sorry, Uncle Ben. Don't be mad," Scooter said.

Ben squeezed them both. Having two naked boys on his lap wasn't all that bad. "It does me no good to tell you little steers to keep your peckers in your pants. Not much you can do if your mother walks in on you, but you don't need to have her view a video with your butt in the air and your mouth around a boy's dick. Do we have an understanding between us on this? You know I don't care what you do in the privacy of your own quarters. Just don't film your fun times, that's all I'm asking."

The boys smiled and gave this cowboy a hug. Ben slapped both their bottoms and told them to get dressed. Big brother Austin managed to slug them both in the shoulder after he threw their clothes at them.

Alone, Ben took a deep breath. The President of the United States had an easier job than his. Maybe if he drove this herd across the plains for two straight days they'd reach San Francisco. It was tempting.

Art moseyed in fresh from the showers. "Shane Colter asked me if you were coming for a shower. He's in there with three other boys singing, TAKE A CHANCE ON ME. What have you done to that boy? He was a perfect introvert around his father, now he's the gregarious, quintessential gay boy."

Ben had to smile at that one.

Art put his hands on his friend's shoulders. "I have another saying, don't regret anything that makes you smile. By the way, you have five teenagers outside asking for you. They don't look too happy, but I have your back."

Not what Ben was looking forward to. He started outside the tent, but Art wasn't exactly following. "I thought you had my back on this one."

Art laid down on his cot. "I do. I figure your front can do the light work, so I'll just lay here and listen. If I hear you grunting I'll be right out."

"Thanks, buddy," Ben said with little frivolity. Waiting patiently were the five teenagers, four with their heads hung while their supposed leader begged for reprieve.

"Mr. Barkley, we are really sorry for what you saw tonight. We thought...."

"No," Ben interrupted, "you didn't think. Bringing two children into your circle of child porn didn't require a lot of brains. My father used to tell me that it's easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. Isn't that what you're doing here?"

"We just thought...ah, were thinking...oh, fuck! We believed that because we're all underage that doing that wasn't going to get us in trouble. They can't prosecute minors for that, can they?"

"Let's look at this from two views, shall we? First of all they can prosecute, and given that you all look around sixteen, or so, they might even file adult charges against you. Even if they stayed with juvenile charges, you all would have to register as sex offenders the rest of your lives. Explain that to your neighbors, your kids' schools who won't let you in the building, or worse. Then we have your final result sent out on the Internet. Dare say you'd get 50,000 hits in one day. Guaranteed that some father of six, a teacher, priest, or a dentist gets caught for downloading and possession of the porn. While he does ten to fifteen years in prison, you're laughing because you had your jollies. Boys I don't make the laws and, yes, they are kind of idiotic, but welcome to reality."

"We get it. We're just asking for another chance. The trip means a lot to us."

Ben had a soft heart, but he was fighting with this decision when Peter came up, prepared to clean the showers if everyone was done. It was perfect timing.

"Peter, show these fine community members how to clean showers, the toilet lids in our potties, tables after meals, and preparing our plastic outhouses for dumping. When you think they have it down, you are dismissed from your probation."

Peter grinned. "This way, youngsters."

Back to his tent Ben collapsed on his own cot. "I think we need a vacation, Art. Ever been to Tahiti?"

"Nude beaches! Now the French know how to live. Take Cape Agde for instance, south on the Mediterranean. Pure debauchery, I tell you. Sex galore, even between men and boys. No one cares. By the way your brother called. He reserved that room and got the photos and samples you wanted. He's on his way back to Austin."

"Excellent!" Ben said and chuckled to the beating sounds in the distance of GIMME, GIMME A MAN AFTER MIDNIGHT. He got Art laughing.

Peter was so grateful he returned an hour later to catch his two favorite seniors almost asleep. The men waved him off with words from Ben that there was so much testosterone in this camp, certainly Peter could find a boner he liked.

In his own tent Chip opened the flap to allow any air possible to cool off their bodies. Ronin and P.J. lay sprawled, their limp penises rested on drops of semen and Vaseline. The three-some just happened, a moment they hadn't planned but ended up being a lot of fun. Their conversation was far more insightful than exploring each other's bodies. Sex was now something to be enjoyed with little secrecy and no worry of being judged.

P.J. kept to himself that he had now personally enjoyed having father and son in the Carver household. Little did he know that Ronin had already proclaimed the same distinction.

Ronin wasn't out in England. Millions of girls still had hopes they would be the one Ronin would fall in love with. Thousands came to his concerts, screaming hysterically when he came on stage. They bought his albums and assorted paraphernalia that had made Ronin a multi-millionaire. What he'd admit in a second, he would give all that up to be in the arms of Chip Carver.

His previous manager, Samuel Crowler, a renowned judge on several talent shows, had warned Ronin not to come out. Crowler finally bailed out of their relationship because Ronin refused to pretend he was straight and denounce the gay rumors.

Now temporarily relieved of their budding lust for sex, the three teenagers talked about kids they'd met during their rides. Boys and girls who had tried to commit suicide, who had never known another gay person or had an ounce of support. One boy said he didn't feel there was anything inside of him, just a blank space, emptier than a house full of siblings who made fun of his attraction to male schoolmates. Kids whose sense of anything in their life was tiny, inchoate, buried beneath a great weight. The Crusade had been far more than a bike ride to them. Plainly earth-shaking to the core of their very souls, meeting gays like themselves who wanted to give of themselves.

They learned that their mistake didn't need to persist, a sorrow which would pass. So many adolescents moving through life with contradictory forces barely held within one troubling, sexual frame. They could not escape the dual need to enter into their own fantasies and to censor them at once, their budding erotic life pleading to flourish.

In their conclusions the boys talked as outsiders, kids who had their act together. How it feels to be alone and worried; every teenager's coconspirator. They all wanted to be understood. Every teenager needs to disappear a little in order to come back as someone new: yourself. Maybe the Crusade couldn't fix all that was wrong, most weren't ready. Their sadness and isolation could not be solved in two weeks of camp, but it was full of promise, full of what's to come next.

Ronin snuggled up to his lover. "It's just, well, we've each found someone here who's just like us. We've joined something larger than ourselves, a stream of bikes, long rows of tents, boys to shower with, and moonlight and silhouettes of boys giving each other blow jobs in the woods. Maybe we should come out and admit we're poofs."

Chip and P.J. pounded him until Ronin giggled for mercy.

New York City

Detective Jennifer Kemp was no amateur to sex offenses. Trained in Orange County, California as a district attorney she learned all the tricks of the trade, from how to lie and deceive to playing the role of an actress in a courtroom. Orange County taught their lawyers to piss on people without conscience and Jennifer was a damn good pisser.

This wasn't a typical rape at a college dorm or boy hustlers in Greenwich Village. She had had high profile cases before, but money and political pressure often persuaded the department to look the other way. It was one thing for Woody Allen's kids to claim sexual touching, quite another to bring a prominent actor and director in front of a judge. No one wanted to see their idol accused, let alone convicted of a crime that, at least in his case, sounded fairly innocent.

The detective eyed the hotel's video of that particular July day with intense interest. Adjourning to the hallway she waited for the last hotel guest to depart the room, a man named Joe Barkley. That name sounded familiar to her, she just couldn't place it. Not like she'd seen the guy before. The detective had two assistants with her to gather evidence.

After a week's passing, all she could was ask the maid if she could remember any soiled sheets, a pubic hair she might have collected because, after all, it was the president's son. The black main, Ira, had the best laugh she'd had in weeks. Changing soiled sheets was as common as swiped towels. The maid did remember that the other Carver boy had also occupied the room. Certainly he might be a witness. Ira couldn't believe they were taking a magnifying glass to the bedspread in search of pubic hairs. As far as she remembered, no one was murdered.

To Kemp even a president's son is liable under the rules of the land. She had these two, gay companies by the balls. They had willingly known that Chip Carver was under eighteen at the time of their photo shoot. Their coyness at waiting until after Carver's birthday was purely a fool's errand that no one would find out. She'd shut them both down for that one, if not send a few of their executives to jail.

The chief editor for Teen Boy Crazy was refusing comment or to be interviewed. That would soon change when the man was indicted, Kemp thought. They'd likely blame Chip Carver, possibly for lying about his age. She'd find this out when she interviewed the boy in Denver. It wouldn't sit well with England when they arrested one of their boy toys, but the English always think they're above the laws. If the younger Carver was also present, there would be another charge of contributing to the delinquency of a minor against the English lad, even if Philly was just a spectator to the acts. The Secret Service agents might be held as accessories. They did or should have known what was going on behind the closed door.

Pulling her weight with a search warrant, Detective Kemp also got to interview White House staff and take pictures of Chip's bedroom. She did managed to obtain a few pubic hairs and a semen sample from one of Chip's discarded tissues. When the test came back with two different DNA matches, Kemp might have another molest charge against this English boy. She'd need his DNA to have his ass.

With her new evidence the detective boarded a plane for Denver with a fellow detective. They were well versed and experienced at good cop, bad cop. Not surprising Kemp enjoyed playing the good cop because she loved acting and making the defendant think that she liked them.

Whiteman Air Force Base

The sound of two screaming jets woke Ben from his sound sleep. Five after six! He swung out of bed in his underwear, ran outside and let out a long blare from his air horn. If the kids were late they could blame him this time.

During breakfast Ben could tell who slept with whom, especially amongst his boys. Seeing Austin with Shane opened his eyes. That was interesting. Was his own nephew trying to make a move on his boy? Ben didn't think that Austin would do that to him. Possibly the new Texas freshman was being a match maker and telling Shane what his uncle loved most. Then it happened; Shane glanced over and smiled that million watt gesture that said, "I know you want me." Ben glared back with a suspicious look, but couldn't hold any serious expression. His heart and groin leaped for joy at the same time.

A blue sky had fast moving swirls of white clouds. The wind was brisk, so the sooner they got across Kansas the better. They made good time around Kansas City. Going through Topeka, the state capital, was touch and go with 5,000 kids on bikes. It almost grinded the city to a halt in the disruption.

Kansas was a conservative state, not exactly reveling in this gay crusade. The citizens looked upon it with indifference, if not subtle curiosity.

To assist progress Ben had made sure every boy and girl received a sack lunch that was stored in their backpacks until lunch. This stretch between Topeka and Dorrance was flat, monotonous and very windy. There were more golden wheat fields than these kids wanted to remember. Prairie fields flowed with tall grass, beautiful wildflowers and, of course, wind. Several girls and boys stopped to make hippie decorations of flowers for their handle bars to helmets.

Near Junction City the wind picked up on the open prairie keeping the kids' heads lowered. Their bodies slumped over to avoid being blown off their bikes. Tumbleweeds, some of them as large as hippopotamuses, flew across and sometimes over startled youth. The lovely Flint Hills, a region of rounded limestone hills covered by bluestem prairie was a backdrop that few saw.

Riding in a car Ben didn't get a real sense of danger. Sure there were black clouds about, a drizzle that was more refreshing for the kids than a nuisance. A squall line was in the distance, seemingly heading east away from them. Around this possession was humid air rising rapidly into colder air. A shallow layer of just-warm-enough air hovered above the surface—warm enough to prevent the ground-level air from rising. An incoming cold front from the west was only known by weathermen, hardly expecting 5,000 bicyclists to be traveling through Tornado Alley.

Down the highway a police car shot by these kids with his siren screaming and lights flashing. A strange looking van came shortly after, members of a local "chase community" of tornado chasers. A man yelled from his passenger's seat for the kids to stop. If the lead groups weren't stopping, they weren't either.

To the front the officer drove his car sideways, blocking the path of the Crusade. He exited to confront the first vehicle, a Secret Service SUV. The agents weren't naïve to the possibility that terrorists used fake police cars. They held their distance with hands near their weapons. Ben Barkley also exited and rushed to the front as the volunteer to test this authenticity. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"They've spotted a vortex fifteen miles from here. We have to get your people undercover."

Easier said than done, a half-dozen men looked back at an endless flood of yellow jerseys on an open prairie. A total disaster, if not a human tragedy was close at hand. Word spread quickly by Zach and Looper to Chip and Philly to drop their bikes and get in the cars.

Chip looked at Ronin and the rest of his friends. Thousands of boys and girls behind them, all wondering what was going on.

"No," Chip said empathically. "Just because I'm the president's kid doesn't make me special. No way, I'm staying with my friends."

Looper wasn't persuaded and gave this boy a sideways stare. "If we have to we'll drag you physically into the vehicle. Your choice."

A spattering of raindrops began to fall. This turned into a "hail roar", the sound of billions of hailstones on the way to the ground. Chip pointed northward at a super cell miles away. It made Looper look.

"Oh shit!" came from Looper's mouth. He turned, ready to pick up his assigned protectee. Chip was gone.

In that second he had his agents look away, Chip had grabbed Philly's hand and away they sprinted down the highway. Looper sprinted after the boys but was left in the bikes' wake.

"Get off your bikes now!" Philly and Chip screamed, telling the kids to lie down in the ditches next to the highway. After the first quarter mile the kids to the rear saw what was happening. They dropped their bikes and scampered to the cover of wheat, which was one big distortion if they expected that to protect them.

Far in the distance the first sight of a tornado's funnel shape formed. It appeared to be striking downward at the earth, but that was an illusion. While tornadoes do form from the top down, they aren't visible until they pick up debris from the ground. What the kids now looked at was a grotesque mixture of earth, shrubs, fragments of trees, a flying barn, whole cows, and sheets of plywood. Its path was narrow, zig-sagging at forty-miles per hour and heading straight to cross over the highway.

Screams and chaos, there were enough to make a horror movie surreal. Chip saw headlights coming toward him; he didn't see the ones to his rear. Both vehicles screeched to a stop when two agents in each vehicle dashed out and toward them. Chip was ready to run around when someone gripped his waist, another lifted him off the ground by his legs to make him airborne. Literally thrown into the SUV, he was then sat on by Looper. Philly had just surrendered and walked to the other SUV on his own power. Both vehicles peeled off and gained speed quickly. They turned east and accelerated to a hundred and twenty miles per hour down the highway. Chip was pissed.

"You had no right to do that. I deserve to be there with my friends." No way could he escape the weight of his one-time adult mentor.

"It's in God's hands," Looper said above him and wasn't about to move.

Chip's mind ran with the words. What if God killed thousands of gay kids? All the bigots, the homophobes, religious fanatics, and haters would say it proves that God hates faggots. "Please, God, don't hurt my friends," Chip prayed out loud.

The kids would later say it sounded like a freight train coming at them. Its 200-yard-wide path of destruction left nothing to the imagination. A half-mile away the spout lifted and spun due east, as if a hand from heaven pushed it on a new path. Another mile away it would touch down again to resume its path of destruction.

Heads lifted, boys rising first and yelling with glee that the tornado had spared them. If anyone noticed, there were boys, even girls, who had put their bodies on top of the one they loved. P.J. was one of those as he laid over Scooter. Ben had instantly caught sight of his nephews and Shane. Austin and Cheet sprinted off before their uncle could reach them. Shane had slipped in his attempt to follow, and then found himself in the arms of a large, strong man, who carried him like a loaf of bread to the nearest ditch. Ben swung his body full length over the thinner adolescent. His hands swept over the boy's head to protect this vulnerable area from flying debris. In the solace of calm there was celebration, hugging, kissing, and more nervous laughter than they would ever experience in their lives.

Ben got up after dislodging dozens of corn stalks from nearly burying his body and Shane's. There was massive debris surrounding them, but Shane stood up shaken and leaned into his man's arms. In seconds the teenage arms of his nephews were also trying their best to encircle Shane and Uncle Ben. The event had no doubt been the scariest happening of their young lives.

On an off-ramp under an overpass, the Secret Service watched as the tornado faded away. Only then did Looper release his weight from the First Boy. The SUVs began their trip back. Looper had loved this boy for six years. He felt bad for the way he had to treat Chip, but it was his job and he did it the only way he knew how.

Chip stayed flat. His breath was gradually coming back to him. He knew Looper wasn't to blame. An eighteen-year old enjoyed defying authority. Risk had no definition.

"I want left off at the rear," Chip confided with an angry voice. The agents obliged, along with dropping off Philly.

Chip exited and allowed his lightweight body to recover. He looked back at Agent Wenzel. "Man, you need to go on a diet." Chip let a smile slip, and then leaned forward to kiss Looper on the lips. It was a get back. Looper had to chuckle at being embarrassed.

Few kids had seen the brothers rescued, but many knew of their frantic run to warn the thousands. Boys and girls ran up to them, thanking the brothers for keeping a cool head and sending most of them into ditches. Toward the front they were met with more hugs and kisses, but laughter prevailed over being scared to near death minutes before. Zach and Looper were speaking with the police officer who had sacrificed his own safety to warn everyone. The officer had hid under his car.

Several boys heard Looper tell Ben how he thought the worst until he heard Chip's prayer before that funnel lifted upward like a miracle.

"If you think I was the only one praying you gotta big surprise coming, buster!" Chip said as he approached the front and had the group busting up.

Ben felt bad that he hadn't foreseen this as possible. Sending the semi-trucks ahead was a mistake. They considered how many kids they could have jammed inside, and then to consider the rush—maybe it was better not to have the trucks here.

Like the born leader Ben was, the boys shouldn't have been shocked. "Well, wranglers, this is like getting' bucked off a horse. Ya gotta get right back on! Let's get rollin'!"

With Chip and Ronin riding on the hood and trunk Ben drove his Aston Martin slowly down the road, while the boys yelled to mount their bikes and to get their gay butts out of here!

The officer had suggested to Ben that, around these parts, they keep their radios on. This tornado came out of nowhere, so keep an eye out.

Ben had chosen the night's campsite from an invitation from a sixteen-year old farm boy. Tad Erickson was one of eleven kids, third oldest, but out to his family. His father wouldn't let him participate in the Crusade, but only because he needed the boy home to help with the crops. Though the ranch was 5 miles off the beaten path, Ben chose it anyway out of respect for the boy's request. He wasn't disappointed.

On ten acres chosen by Tad's father, the valley had a semblance of a tan and brown checker board with thousands of tents. News traveled fast through Kansas and across the nation of the near miss with the Crusade. Eventually it made national networks. Mrs. Erickson with her husband, Karl, and every one of her children were at the road's entrance to their farm to greet this army of children. As expected the press were there, as well, while a helicopter flew overhead. From Woodstock to Missouri, the press were denied access to the camp, per Ben's instruction. This would be no different.

Over the last ten miles in reaching this farm the elevation had increased. They were in the shadow of the great Rocky Mountains. This land was virtually treeless, but valleys, ravines, and canyons ran into mountains nearby. Under a light drizzle the tired, but relieved mass of yellow swung off their bikes to the glorious sight of tents.

As Ben shook hands with Mr. Erickson, he was surprised at the man's age, barely 34. Tad had not disclosed another oddity, he had an identical twin who was also gay. The striking twins reminded Ben of a young Ted Williams and asked immediately if the boys played baseball. They did, which got a grin from this director.

A woman reporter with her cameraman were on the kids like bees to honey. How scared were you? Did you receive any warning? What did you see? While Ben was tied up with introductions, Art became the go-between and hustled the kids away from the inquisitive reporters. He answered all their questions like an evasive politician, absolving any blame and assuring the reporter that teenagers are resilient and handled the danger with expedience and coolness. Art sure didn't know the interview would be replayed nationwide and that a district attorney from Michigan would take offense to a once convicted sex offender being around five-thousand minors.

Thankfully the sprinkles lasted but a short time before a most gorgeous rainbow arched above them. A hot dinner was already prepared, including several thousand ears of corn supplied by Mr. Erickson. He hadn't expect 5,000 youngsters but he had plenty of food.

Gilda, a year younger than her husband, had no trouble showing Ben what the family could offer the camp during their stay. In the valley stood a pristine pond with a floating raft in the middle. She hinted that even though it was stocked with blue gill for her youngest, the pond was used more often as the family swimming hole.

"I'll try to make sure our teens wear something," Ben assured.

"We're not prudes here, Mr. Barkley. My husband and I grew up in a sect in Montana. Our children are used to nudity."

Relief came over Ben's countenance. Afraid of offending anyone's hospitality, the press was one thing, his hosts were quite another.

Dinner was over when the sound of rock music swept over the camp. If Ben thought these kids were either too tired or would forget about their rock and roll night, he was mistaken. Josh was on top of things and was quickly directing youth to the dance, the pond, or a game of soccer on an adjacent field. Even ten-hour bike rides were not enough to diminish a teen's energy level.

Boys had a tendency to follow Chip around. If he was playing catch with a miniature football with Ronin, they all wanted to play catch. If they were kicking a ball, soccer was in. Tonight the boys grabbed two ball gloves from the rec van and were tossing a softball back and forth. For Chip it was teaching his best friend American sports. Ronin was a beautiful, talented human being; he was also a barrel of laughs when it came to sports. Sometimes overly girlish, Chip made sure never to laugh at him but with him. If Chip was ever asked why he was in love with this English boy, he'd say it was Ronin's smile, his sexy physique, his eyes, his hair, and then his skin. Oh yeah, the boy knew how to dress!

This simple game of catch drew more boys like a magnet. Shane could hear a ball striking a glove from a mile away, and here came P.J. and Brent with the Erickson twins. A spirited game commenced which drew more spectators as participants.

Ben Barkley was not a man to unravel, but the tornado incident was a hit below the belt. How he could not have forecast this possibility was like a defeat. So close to disaster, his life wouldn't have been worth living. His despondency didn't last long after Art got his ear.

"You've got a lot on your plate, friend. No one can prepare for all possibilities. Francis Bacon once said that if a man will begin with certainties, he shall end in doubts, but if he will be content to begin with doubts he shall end in certainties."

Ben couldn't help but pat his dear friend on the shoulder. "Art, you're smarter than any bureaucrat I've ever met."

"Aristotle and I would be in competition," Art kidded. "I agree with that philosopher when he said that where our talents and the world's needs cross, there lies our vocation. Few men could have held this group together."

"Thank you, Art, but I'm a neophyte with crusades."

"Every great artist was first an amateur—Ralph Waldo Emerson." Art had Ben finally laughing.

Down the hill a hundred bare butts were running to the pond to join just as many already swimming. One good thing, Ben thought, there won't be such a long line for showers that night. He saw Mr. Erickson approach, sure that the man had complaints.

Lars Erickson was an uncomplicated father who raised his children with love and respect. His discipline was entirely hard work and obligation to the family. He'd only just found out that Ben was owner of a ranch in Texas, so they had a lot in common. In short duration the three men were smiling as Ben shared stories of the Crusade's ups and downs.

Ben warmed to this Nomadic ancestor with eleven platinum haired children. Found out that Lars had run away from an Amish settlement when he was fifteen with another boy, the two boys' sexual encounter was discovered when a girl saw them in the barn. They took off rather than face ostracizing from the community. They'd heard of a commune in the vicinity and blended in amongst seventy adults and as many children. Free and open sex with anyone was the standard. Lars had met his future wife, Gilda, who was but fourteen at the time. His friend who he had run away with found his niche with other men. Pregnancy and love proved too strong for the young pair and they headed for Kansas to Gilda's grandfather's farm; hence, the inheritance when the man died. Lars had since taken a mortgage out to buy machinery and build a barn. A drought the previous year had all but sent them to bankruptcy.

Ben absorbed it all, now realizing why it was so easy for a set of twins to come out to their family. There was no judgment in this extended family. Both Ben's eldest boy and girl, 19 and 18 respectively, were married before they graduated from high school and had children before they were seventeen. Now their mates also were part of this family living in a ten-bedroom, two bath farm house. Lars knew the next question and said there was no bathroom door. Two to three at a time weren't unusual. Privacy was not a commodity in the Erickson household. Sex education started at two, usually around the age you decided to sleep in your parents' bedroom for the night.

Ben's smile went with his thoughts of what it must be like to live in that type of environment. The Erickson kids appeared healthy and happy. When he found out that Lars had horses, his interest really lit up. They talked breeding, but that's when Ben's experience overshadowed anything this young man knew.

"Don't even consider it, Lars. There is hardly any point in breeding your mare to an animal whose traits—temperamental or physical—are not compatible with hers. If color is important to you, you might do well to check the relative dominance of certain colors in the breed. Chestnut is dominant in Thoroughbreds, for instance; gray in Arabs, and so on."

Lars never had a great education and all this information was a godsend to his limited horse-sense. They meandered to the stable where Ben took inventory of older horses that Lars had bought at auction. To Ben's knowledge the man was taken for a ride. The tact was in bad condition and these horses were retired animals, more like gift horses for kids. Ben felt sorry for the guy.

"If you don't mind me asking, Mr. Erickson, what's your debt on this place?"

"I owe the bank three hundred thousand," Lars admitted, seeing the look of disappointment on Ben's face.

"I might send you a Morgan or a couple of my Thoroughbred to give you some nice offspring."

"I don't have that type of money, Mr. Barkley. That's generous, but..."

"I've been told I'm a better philanthropist than a rancher or director of teenagers," Ben said laughing. The two of them walked down to the pond, admiring kids at play. Lars pointed out two of his daughters, 14-year old twins. Their nudity blended in with the scenery. What was interesting, they were with Philly and Cheet. His nephew's half-erection bouncing in the shallow water was rather obvious.

The men sat at a picnic table, enjoying the sunset, hot breeze swirling through the canyon. Ben took in the fresh air that invigorated his tired body. Business was rarely forgotten or as a solution to various problems. He talked to Art on his cell phone, making sure his associate had cleared any complications with Ronin and his band. Chip's sister, Wendy, had sent the photos requested. Dotting I's, crossing T's, Ben had to put himself in the mindset of a detective.

The Crusade was on schedule; actually a few days ahead. It was Tuesday with another concert due in Denver on Friday night. They were now in the Great Plains, beginning a slow ascent that wouldn't have relief until they crossed the Rockies. The trek was about to be a crawl.

Ben spanned his eyes over this vast pasture. "Lars, you should have a cattle farm." And that's when Lars Erickson told him about the twister from two years ago that destroyed their new barn, just missed their house and killed two-thirds of their cattle.

"Your family hid in a cellar?" Ben asked.

"No, we ran to that pond and treaded water for fifteen minutes. Greta had the baby under that wooden dock in the middle."

All Ben could do was shake his head. Why would anyone in their right mind live in tornado alley? He didn't have time to ask Lars the same question. A group of naked teenagers were approaching from their swim in the pond. Ben was sure the kids would be complaining about something. A girl with a butch cut, small breasts, and a shaven crotch spoke for the group of five girls and six boys.

"Mr. Barkley, we just wanted to know that we don't blame you for this morning. People who don't know what really happen are blaming you for bringing us through this area, but the weatherman says the tornado came out of nowhere. For most of us this is the greatest experience of our life. We hope you do this every year."

Ben had to laugh at that one. He knew so many of the teens had cell phones, receiving news and contacting friends. This Texan felt like apologizing, to tell these youngsters that he knew more about ranching than conducting a crusade for gay kids. All Ben could mouth is, "Thank you for your support. I love you guys."

"You're so cool," the girl said like he was some type of movie star to them.

Ben turned to Lars. "No one has ever said I was cool."

Lars patted the man's hand. "You are cool," and then he turned to these teens, a moment of respect. "When my twin boys decided to tell me they thought they were gay I suggested they pray to our Higher Power to support them. We aren't religious, per se, but my wife and I raise our children as Spiritual beings having human experiences. So my sons did pray and they both admitted that they felt presence of love more powerful than anything they had experienced in their young lives. It's interesting to note that each of them felt a sweet comforting love that filled their bodies and minds. It was as if an electrical field had hummed in their room, filled with love and joy. My twins often share the same emotions, inspirations, or psychic messages. Both felt they had a thought that said, `You are loved, just the way you are.' The Divine is within you all, just love as you wish to be loved."

If Ben was stunned, so were these kids. They nodded, while three of the girls had tears in their eyes. Their departure held more gifts than what they had in mind.

Ben Barkley was never a religious man, hardly a Spiritual one either. He was moved and whatever came over him he'd swear was a nudge from God. "Lars, I have a ranch manager who's been wanting to retire for the past few years. I wouldn't let him; I've been scared or too busy to hire another. How would you like to move your family to Texas and be my manager?"

Lars wasn't shocked, more like flabbergasted. "Mr. Barkley, I appreciate your generous offer, but you're talking about a family of fifteen with another on the way."

"Lars, I realize you don't know me. I don't often toot my own horn because sometimes money does that for me. I have a 40,000 acre ranch with more room than I'll ever use. You have a great family from what I've noticed, and you deserve better than debt and dodging tornadoes. I seriously want you to ponder my offer and know that in your new home you'll have enough bedrooms for your kids and enough bathrooms to ease the burden. My manager makes two-hundred thousand a year. God knows, maybe it's time to have the smell of females on the ranch, especially when they don't mind being around naked males."

Lars laughed. "In our family and in this heat it's more convenient not to be burdened by inhibition."

The two men shook hands and Ben wandered off to check on what his own boys were up to. He came in on the latter part of a softball game to enjoy his favorite past time. A set of fifteen-year old twins made a hell of a double play combination. When Chip spotted this prominent citizen who had virtually made this Crusade possible, he trotted over.

"My dad called. He wasn't real happy with this investigation, but I told him to chill out, we have it covered."

"And he believed you?" Ben asked.

"No. He said it was like receiving a note from my teacher and me saying that I have it under control. I told him our plan was above his security clearance."

"Only you can get away talking to your father like that, Chipper," Ben amused.

"Now you get the chance, he wants you to call him. Before you do, go out there and pitch a little."

Ben's composure wasn't concentrating on softball, but he caught a line drive back up the middle on his first pitch. The next ball was a ground out, then a deep fly to left, where Shane ran it down and made a shoestring catch. Ben tossed his glove in the air and felt fifty years younger with this joy. They bumped chests when Shane ran in with that smile again. The bump sent Shane flying backwards onto his butt. The two of them laughed so hard they fell into each other's arms.

"Want to dance with me tonight?" Shane whispered into Ben's ear.

An immediate smile and Ben felt like a high school kid who was just asked to go to a dance by a boy. Having pitched a perfect inning he retired toward Chip to do the inevitable. Chip dialed and handed the phone to their director.

If President Carver had been this defendant's lawyer, he would have had to subdue laughter with this story of what really happened. The president was assured that all possible complications had been covered; nonetheless, Alain knew that a courtroom's integrity was protected by its bodyguard of lies. As if to assure success the president implied that his Homeland Security were watching this closely.

Denver, Colorado

Detective Kemp arrived at Denver International Airport in the department's Beechcraft King Air 350i. Her stops in Cincinnati and St. Louis to interview two editors had proved fruitless with no comment from their lawyers. She warned them that such belligerence wouldn't last long. Her insistence on slamming this abuse of minors would be the pinnacle of her career and make her name known around the nation. The arrest warrants would be delivered the second after her interrogation of young Chip Carver.

With the Republican National Convention being held at the same time, hotel rooms were scarce. With her assistant they had to go another ten miles out of the city to find a vacant room. Still a day away from Denver, from what Kemp could find out from the Internet, she would patiently wait for this so-called crusade to enter the stadium where the Denver Rockies played their games. They were on a ten-day, away-game schedule.

Kemp's facts and figures were rock solid; she'd even obtained the hotel's video of three men representing one of these porn sites as they entered the lobby. One man held his array of cameras, while another had a cart for lighting. These same men were video-taped in the hallway as they entered and exited Chip Carver's room.

Then there were the semen samples, two distinct types in Chip's bed. She couldn't wait to take Ronin's DNA. Sitting on her bed Kemp examined her evidence and again brought out the evidence from the Internet. It wasn't like she was asexual and found the size of Carver's erection most appealing. In a matter of speaking she knew she was looking at child porn, but as her fingers slid under the covers she rationalized her masturbation that the boy was eighteen now.

 

High Plains, Kansas

No one was trying to fool anyone, Ben knew when he hung up. The president knew it was a bullshit story but, for some reason, the man was willing to allow Ben Barkley to swim or drown.

Darkness crept in and the kids began to drift toward the sound of music. From a mild drizzle most of the evening to a steady, warm rain. Hardly a single boy or girl had an objection to this downpour. Everyone but those swimming in the pond were hot and sweaty. Lars had chased everyone from the pond upon darkness. He and his nineteen-year old son had stuck around as lifeguards. Now these same 230 kids began moving to where the action was—the pasture of dance.

A massive display of wet skin began to commune into this mass of nudity. Mostly white mingled with ebony and drenched chocolate, these same teenagers weren't the same, modest adolescents from when they had arrived at Woodstock where few wanted to undress to shower. Now only a couple of girls wore more than their underwear, while those coming from the pond were stark naked. Those girls in their underwear admitted to their friends that they were on their period. They now felt they had to have an excuse for not being naked.

Ben and Art watched from outside this glorious scene of teenage bodies. For Art it was a chance to inform his friend that, across the board, everyone was on the same page. These thousands of kids had gone from apprehensive youth and teenagers, afraid to express their feelings and thoughts, to a family of brothers and sisters. Their physical bodies were once hidden temples, covered and ashamed. Nudity had now become so common no one paid it mind or glanced twice.

Ronin caught wind of what Chip had kept secret from him. With so many kids with cell phones and computers it was bound to happen. All Chip could do was take his boyfriend in his arms and assure Ronin that everything was going to be okay. His dad alone wouldn't let a hair on the boy's head be harmed. Ronin nodded with an internal belief that President Carver would protect him as Chip had promised.

Ben's plan was already in motion. One of their semi-trucks had gone ahead to Denver, where a hired crew of four had procured technical assistance and prepared a Mission Impossible. Around the country a couple of editors and cameramen were holding their breaths.

Art was in constant contact with another close friend who he'd known as a boy. Though the man was now married, their love affair as teacher and student was cherished by this lawyer for the rest of his life. When Art's cell phone dinged it wasn't the best of news this time. Art swung his cell phone around and showed Ben a news report with a former prosecutor from Michigan. The man had come forward after seeing a commentary on the Crusade, denouncing Art Acosta, assistant director of this crusade, as a sex offender and a sexually violent pedophile. Every child in this event was vulnerable to be snatched at any second this prosecutor had told the press.

"Sorry," Art apologized for speaking with that reporter and another distraction.

Compared to more pressing problems, this only inflamed Ben Barkley. "No apology is necessary, Art. I'll handle it." Both men laughed at this common three-word phrase.

Ben dialed his brother. "Joe, get me everything on this Lou Rosenbloom, out of Kalamazoo, Michigan." It was all Ben had to say; Joe knew the rules to this game.

Matters settled, Ben felt a hand slide in his. Standing next to him was what the Greeks called a Ganymede; Ben called Shane the Angel of Temptation. In only wet, red briefs, the boy was a stretch of pink maleness with a transparent loincloth. Five enormous floodlights set up by Josh only partially silhouetted this amazing beauty to his side. Being led into this mass was a crazy idea, but Ben never could say no to a boy.

As they walked toward an army of nakedness Shane offered an ultimatum. "I kept on my underwear until you lose yours."

Ben was taken back. "Shane, I'm not sure your peers want to see a senior's body."

"You're a hunk, Ben. I think you're sexy."

He let the boy's nibble fingers take off his shirt, pants, shoes and socks. Down to his striped boxers, he felt stripped of all that labeled him an adult. As if they glowed one second, the rain had them a glistening gray quickly. A chest and waist, toughened from a rancher's work, was as powerful and muscular as any male there. On Ben's ranch there wasn't a ranch hand around that wouldn't compliment their boss for chipping in.

On an elevated mound under a large tarp two speakers and one DJ blasted the sounds of rock and roll into this valley of skin. Ben most likely couldn't tell anyone the name of any particular group. It was the pounding beat, the beaming smile of a teenager who was having the best time of his life and in love—in love with boys and with a man. To Shane being gay was an image at times, sounds, pleasurable touches, and perception at other moments. Here there were no secrets, no pretending, and no apologies for being anything but yourself.

The Eagles' ALL SHE WANTED WAS TO DANCE resonated this joy from every limb and muscle of Shane's young body. Sure he had attended school dances before, where you pantomimed others' moves, pretended to have fun, or moved to the hetero female without emotion. Tonight, this wasn't a dance, it was an invasion, a gay festival of freedom. A year before he was awkwardly gangly, more like a baby giraffe who hadn't developed enough muscle to walk upright. Now his coordination had caught up to his height.

It wasn't like Shane could explain his attraction to this adult man. He knew the puerile influences of teens his own age and the mature satisfaction he got when around adults. Engage one and you often engage the other. Engage them during adolescence and you light a fire.

Like that fifteen-year old at a school dance, Ben mimicked this gyrating boy in front of him. Smiles around him were acceptance, if not a challenge to an adult who had entered this circle of hormones, an adolescent world that rarely invited people unlike themselves. When Shane swiveled around and wiggled his ass in Ben's crotch there was embarrassed laughter, but only from Ben. No one else was watching. Dancing had taken on a form of dry fucking, boys humping boys, girls rubbing against girls.

Realizing he wasn't the center of attention here it felt natural to reach down and secure the boy's waist. How he loved this thin and taut waist. A small breasted girl seemed to come out of nowhere to admonish this adult in their midst. "No touchee." Her lack of smile convinced Ben of this implied rule of engagement. It was sexual dancing without the act of possession.

Self-control had its limits, and little could he could do to control the surge of blood to his groin. In panic his eyes searched the dozens of dancers around him, barely inches away. There weren't exactly kids grabbing on to each other, but there were bodies sliding upon each other, masturbation by using the limbs of your partner.

Shane knew the score. The teen was in his own world. None of the teenagers around him had his attention. He turned around to grind his own boner stretched sideways in his briefs against Ben's erection. If Ben expected another repute from anyone, all he saw was that same girl's nod as approval. She moved her hand across her eyes, then did the same thing across her forehead. Ben looked confused. Never stopping her rhythms, this college-age female moved next to Ben to relay the obvious.

"Don't see, don't think," she said and moved off with her girlfriend.

Like a scorned schoolboy Ben was determined to abide by these unspoken rules of dance. For the moment he was not a director but a man attempting to play. Arms did not entwine. They swung in their movement in geometrical movements to the rhythms of dance. In those brief seconds of awareness Ben realized he was over analyzing everything. Finally he let his inhibitions run. His erection had escaped through his fly but the mutual masturbation was monumentally too satisfying to stop. Entrenched in this mass of bodies, Ben was glad Art couldn't see him acting the fool. Surely that's what he'd think.

There were a collision of bodies with no excuses or apologies. Ben found himself in front of a female who grinned at his sudden appearance. A boy of thirteen or so, a foot shorter just carried on like Ben had been his partner all along. At times there was very little movement, bodies were so crushed together, most of them nude. His groin felt the brushing of skin and then he realized his boxers were down to his ankles. A bump from Shane had Ben step out of this muddied garment to be left to trounce on.

There was no question who led this pair. Shane reached down to finally strip off his underwear. He tossed the garment above everyone's head and laughed at himself. The underwear landed on a girl's shoulder. Laughter all around, other last bits of apparel were discarded from anyone left clothed. His boner was against the raw length of an older teen who grinned that maybe he'd turned the boy on.

As if intoxicated by the eroticism, Shane's eyes were closed, his head rocking to the lyrics that really said, ALL HE WANTS TO DO IS DANCE. No hands, just the lubrication of rain water gyrated their members to increase the arousal. Shane swung to press his wet ass against Ben's hardened member, an orgy of sexual unrestraint was all around them.

`Don't think. Allow yourself to be swept up,' Ben told himself. What would Art do? The question crossed his mind. Having a clear view of Shane's dance moves Ben began copying these. Their choreography appeared almost professional for a few moments. The same rotations and turns, they were one for the moment. This was beyond dry fucking, only a slide away from full intercourse. Bumping of wet torsos kept this man/boy oneness tightly together. There was that one second, maybe it was thirty, they'd truly became one. Ben's mind shot open to the reality. His hips were grinding to the beat and Shane had his head leaned backward against Ben's face. The moans were not feeling the music but living the pulsations of being fulfilled. His penis was engulfed in this petite, puffed and hardened gluteus. He pulled out and sent the last jolts of ejaculation high on Shane's hip. The rain quickly diminished the whiteness to a clear paste.

Ben told himself that it had simply gone between the teen's legs. Decisions were decided for him as Shane flipped around again, brought them crotch to crotch and then chest to chest. Wild kisses only sent this wild teen crouching with touch-and-go kisses all the way to a throbbing cock. A kiss at its tip, down its length into the balls, Shane tasted the last remnants of cum. Ben squirmed because his cock tickled to the torture.

"Don't anyone look," Ben said under his breath. No one cared. Never so thankful was when Shane slid his body upward again to a speechless man. It was the silence between rock sounds that gave time for reflection. One thing for sure, it was too late to escape.

"I handled all of you, didn't I?" Shane asked with that adorable look of desire.

All Ben could do was nod.

Shane had become immune to opinion. This culture had now clearly shaped his adolescence. It had influenced his expression and possibly its future. An adult had granted permission and definitely had magnified his sexual manifestations. His friends and one director had produced a creature optimally primed to leave a family who had judged him critically, if not rejected him initially. His adjustment to move into unfamiliar territory had been like moving to a foreign country. Shane adapted quickly. For this one night he had captured this man he admired deeply. Whether he knew it or not, the power was now in his corner.

"You were great!" Shane yelled above all the noise of thousands of teenagers. Drunk in lust Shane kissed this man passionately while those around them arched their heads toward the stage.

Before Ben could appreciate the comment and the kiss, the DJ had yelled, "Grab ahold of the one you love!"

Surely Shane would look for Austin, P.J., or someone else. Instead Ben found the boy's hands circling his waist to a slow tune of I'LL ALWAYS LOVE YOU, By Taylor Dayne. A reprieve of sexual adrenaline, they had both recovered their arousals, but love's chemistry had its perfect formula for four minutes. Before Ben could excuse himself the music reverted to The Pointer Sisters' JUMP.

If Ben expected that Art was waiting for him like a father figure whose son had violated curfew he saw no one who was acting merely a spectator. Looking into this inferno of emotion, there was Art dancing shirtless with a teenager. Neither of them had known each other until that moment. Their clothes nicely folded by a tree was typical Art. Ben saw no reason to put on damn clothes, though that lubricious ache in his groin had temporarily departed. He stood catching his breath, a continual shower of warmth invigorated him that for a brief time he had just relived adolescence. Adults would say he lost control, but Ben thought it more as adaptive senior behavior. He had just fucked a fifteen-year old in the midst of three thousand witnesses, but only two human beings lived the moment. Ben relaxed and laughed.

Once again this DJ held a contest. If you were tapped on the shoulder by Josh or his five assistants you got to move toward the stage—in this case, the tarp. Selections were done on originality, compatibility, and pure enjoyment.

During a break Ben moved to the side of this black teen who was a constant source of inspiration and energy. Ben had hustled over to get his wallet. His arrival on stage, naked to his bare skin, had received catcalls and applause. Best thing, Ben knew his dick was impressive because he had just achieved orgasm. No better time than to show off. He had no problem getting the kids' attention.

Ben asked the winners of Disco night to come forward. Three sets came up on this quickly manufactured stage where he gave the winning couple, two girls, a hundred each; second place boys, fifties, and the third couple of two boys, twenties. He offered the same for the winners of the rock and roll and the western dance for the next night. He didn't receive any boos this time.

Rain drops splattered continuously through the night. It was enough to keep Ben and Art under their covers until seven. The huge breakfast tarps had long been set up with hundreds of early risers enjoying their pancakes. Both men spun out of bed, glanced at each other and chuckled. A hangover had more guilt for over indulging than their expressions that they had indulged in silliness for one evening.

Like an army general surveying his battlements, Ben held an umbrella above him as he relished the dead stillness of five thousand souls. These dance nights were a great idea, but how can you expect even teenagers to want to get up with anticipation of riding two hundred miles on a bike? The rain was a blessing; there would be no trip today.

Grabbing a plate of food, Ben was happy to see Lars eating with his twin sons and Chip. Down the ravine the solemn pond was absent of all life, itself recovering from teenager abandon. All Ben could think about was Shane Colter. Would the boy have any regrets? Had anyone teased him or saw Shane having intercourse? How did he handle having all that sperm shot up his rectum? Ben laughed at himself over this thought.

"Hey, you lost in space?" Lars asked with a grin.

Ben shook his concentration. "Oh, hey, Lars. Nah, just thinking about the nuances of life." Lars invited him up with a few others to see the house.

Five males walked the quarter mile to the Erickson house, a two-story, wooden frame that would be turned to matchsticks in a tornado. Greta kept a clean house, even with little people moving to and fro, taking turns pouring milk on their cereal. Ben didn't have to ask, Greta placed a cup of coffee in his hand. She had no qualms with displaying that there was equality in their relationship.

"Lars told me your offer, Mr. Barkley. My husband is a beautiful man with a heart bigger than this valley. You won't be disappointed if your offer is still on the table."

"It is, ma'am, and call me Ben. I'm not going to insult you by telling you that your family deserves better, because I can see you do the best you can and your children are a marvel. You all deserve an opportunity, that's all I'm offering."

"Then we accept," Greta said without a glance at her husband.

Their ten-year old son popped his head in the kitchen and said there was a van with a satellite on its roof at the end of the road. Ben knew his obligation and what they were here for. Chip, as if on cue, considered any inquiry into this Crusade was his responsibility, as well. He fell alongside his director.

On this slow walk down a road with a thousand puddles, Ben called Joe for any updates. He didn't pay the man seven figures for taking his time. Joe was the typical godsend with his background check of one Lou Rosenbloom. He used his pseudo excuse as a Kiwanis' president, wanting to do a roast for his buddy Lou. Most of Lou's cohorts bought right into it. The man's past of good and bad flowed from their mouths. That and accessible court records put together quite a life story of a man with many peccadilloes. After Ben received the news he owed it to Chip what was coming. Chip was always up for a fight to defend a member of his community.

Chip knew all about reporters and how their daily duty was an attempt to find fault or bring another person down. Sensationalism was their game. His father had always told him not to argue with stupid people, first they bring you to their level, and then they beat you with experience.

Being embarrassed wasn't an attribute in this crusade. He was naïve enough to still believe that once a person fills their commitment to the community, like someone convicted, they should get second chances. Not so for sex offenders.

It was almost amusing, if not puzzling to Chip that his friend Art was still being harassed for something that happened 30 years ago, and the greatest orgy in the world had happened last night on a pasture. If there had been less than a thousand orgasms last night it would have surprised Chip. He and Ronin had two each before they had gone up to the mike at midnight along with six of their friends to sing POWER OF THE DREAM with everyone there. What a grand way to end an evening. There had still been over 2,000 of them all naked and having a blast. Girls saw more erections and raw sex in one night than they would the rest of their lives, even if they watched hundreds of porn movies. By morning someone's photo of Chip, Ronin and their friends, arms around each other's shoulders, their wet bodies gleaming, was on the Internet receiving ten thousand hits a minute. Ronin awoke with Chip holding his cell phone to his eyes.

"If I'd blimey known someone held up their cell phone I'd tugged on it a few seconds. I look like a ten-year old compared to you."

Chip had snuggled up close to this boy he loved and kissed his earlobes. "That's what I love about you, you're so truthful."

Ronin gave him his best morning breath kiss.

There were half-dozen reporters who seemed to come from nowhere. Almost all of them stuck their mics inches from Chip's and Ben's faces. The questions were directed mostly at Ben Barkley.

"Sir, did you know that you had a pedophile working with the Crusade?"

Ben barely tolerated reporters, especially women. "Your ignorance amazes me. Sexual relationships with adults and teens is not pedophilia, it's homosexuality. Others might refer to it as hebephilia, but such a label is for those who don't wish to educate themselves. Let me save you all the trouble with your accusations and hysteria. This thief and liar from Michigan has brought attention to a quarter of a century conviction. Mr. Rosenbloom hasn't lied about the sexual conviction, but the labels he has so designated on one of my employees, all to create hysteria and hatred. If Rosenbloom wishes to point fingers, let me reveal his petty theft crime in college and his DUI ten years ago. And you might ask about his forced retirement before he would have been prosecuted for prosecutorial misconduct. This Rosenbloom is no saint, but a bad actor who was fortunate not to be caught earlier for his incompetence. I will assure you that Mr. Acosta has been an asset to this Crusade, his conduct immaculate and a role model for every participant. There are no scarlet letters in our society, so let's don't try to pretend that you people are any better than someone who made a mistake thirty years ago."

Disarmed by Ben's support of this man, they went at Chip Carver. Chip wasn't any less supportive. "I don't see what all the fuss is about. Mr. Acosta is a leader, a counselor for us all. I think the world of him. His sexual orientation should not be anyone's concern, and if I find an adult attractive, why can't he think that youth are attractive. It's all about love anyway. My dad thinks reporters are evil, and you know what evil is? It's the denial of love."

A reporter held up a photo from his cell phone of eight nude boys singing like they were in a chorus line. "This is not something you find at a summer camp."

"You people are a trip," Chip mocked. "This is not a summer camp, but it is five thousand gay teens celebrating an experience together. Get a life!"

A woman raised her voice to be heard. "Yes, but there have been many emails and tweets from the kids here that rampant sex is going on. Here, let me read you one I got off the Internet this morning. `Margie, EYHO (eat your heart out) like friggin' awesome! NKD boys, boners, wild sex, so many hot girls, ya'll got t' get here! Orgiville!' Another one reads, `Stan, fuckin' A! All the SEX yu want. Dance t'night, adults cool. Head 4 Denver t'mor.' Mr. Carver, that sounds like kids out of control."

"You jealous?" Chip asked and knew his mother would be giving him the eye about now. "Look, lady, gays are different than breeders. We're not playing silly games like we're saving our bodies until marriage. Few are monogamous and we use protection. Sometimes," Chip said the last word under his breath.

The reporter snapped back. "You might be the president's son, but under Kansas law, you..."

Ben stepped in. "Why are you trying to berate a good thing, lady? These crusaders travel far and hard for a purpose. Let them have their hair down for a few hours."

Chip cracked up and got punched by his director. Most of those reporters hadn't caught the slip.

"I doubt if their parents would approve. A promised bike ride is not the same as a sexual smorgasbord, sir. These might be emails to their friends, but they're all over the Internet. One implied that there was an adult making love to a boy during the dance. Certainly you must have control of these counselors."

It was like someone taking his knees out, Ben tried to hide a guilty look. Frozen for words Ben felt the blood drain from his face. The reporter didn't give him a chance to answer this insinuation because another of these vultures went right to the ongoing investigation. Words from Chip's mouth were barely heard as Ben tried to flash back to last night. How could anyone have really noticed when there was barely any room to move? Arms, bodies, hips, all moving to the beat of music. It was a high without the drugs. Ben thought how his mind was spinning, totally engulfed at that second with sexual energy that Shane had literally brought to the surface. He wasn't going to lie to himself; yes, the wetness, the sliding had led to the penetration, as quick and unexpected as it was. He remembered now, reaching around and jacking Shane off, the spurts hitting a teen's butt and legs in front of them. The kid had felt the warmth of semen, smiled and let the rain rinse it off. A jolt of pleasure from orgasm had sent Ben's brain into a different dimension. It was all coming back to him now. But did anyone know?

"Mr. Barkley...Mr. Barkley?!"

Ben realized someone was calling his name. He had spaced out and tuned all these people out. "Yes, yes, sorry, I was thinking. What were you asking?"

"I suppose you also have no comment like Mr. Carver here regarding the investigation between the First Boy and Ronin Par..."

Ben interrupted. "Frivolous and unfounded. It will all come out in the wash. Now if you have nothing else, we'd like to get out of this rain."

Reporters are never done and followed the two males for another ten yards. The woman reporter made sure she insinuated that social services would be visiting. Barkley was not being square with them and they demanded the truth.

Eight teenagers returning home had showed up in front of the bus, per every morning instructions. Excuses ranged from sickness to a falling out with their partner. One of them had to leave because a parent demanded they do. For those used to the comforts of their own bedroom it wasn't easy living in a tent around thousands of their peers, loud music from sound bars, to personalities they weren't used to.

As Art took each of their names to cross them off the registry, there were no complaints about the food, communal showers, nudity or sex. Everyone was gracious that it had been a lot of fun. The bus departed to the waving of those who were intent on seeing this through. Many were sad to see certain kids leaving. Like a free get-out-of-Crusade card, they were on their way to the nearest bus station and a promised ticket home.

Chip saw that Mr. Barkley's confidence and hubris was now pensive in thought. "Don't sweat the small things, Mr. Barkley. Fuck `em!"

Ben placed his arm around the boy while they walked back to the campsite. "Easy for you to say. Teens have loose lips and way too many have cell phones."

"Hey, if it's about you and Clothespin, we have your back."

"Shane told you?!"

"Sure, we tell each other everything. It's the only thing we have similar to girls." The two of them laughed. "I had sex with my bodyguard when I was twelve. I still think it was super cool. It was as much my idea as his. If anyone says anything, I was there, as well, and didn't see anything."

"But I didn't see you... Oh, yeah, I guess you and Ronin were right next to us."

"Shane said you were awesome! He told us that he splashed some guy in front, but the kid was really cool with it. You made his body do things he never thought possible. Everybody was getting' off."

"How does a fifteen-year old know how to dance like that?" Ben was feeling a whole lot better. It was refreshing to have witnesses.

"At our school they had to censure any rubbing or simulated sexual acts. Tell a teenager he can't do something and watch him or her do anything to get away with it. Our curiosity can quickly get answers on the Internet. Shane really loves you."

"He said that?"

"Let me think," Chip started by rubbing his chin. He pretended to be Shane by putting his hands over his heart. "I'm in love! I'm going to marry Benjamin Barkley."

Ben chuckled. "Shane didn't actually say that, did he?"

Chip put his arm around this lucky man. "To the word. Been there, done that. I said the same thing about Looper after we'd done it. I followed him around like a puppy, wrote notes, texted him for hours, and tormented his poor soul. It was so cool. That's what you have to look forward to."

Ben swung his eyesight to see if Chip was bluffing—he wasn't. "And how long did this last?"

Chip thought a few seconds. "About four years." They had a good laugh together.

"What could the boy see in an old gruff like myself? Maybe he's planning his financial future." Ben said it as a joke but felt bad for its implications.

Chip jumped to Shane's defense. "Not hardly! What does a fifteen-year old need? A bicycle, maybe a skateboard, a computer to do his homework and watch a little porn, and a few video games. Shane's in love with you, appreciate that. Don't tell my parents what I said about the computer."

Ben broke up in laughter again. Teenagers were so precious—at times. "I'm sorry about that, I didn't mean to imply..."

"No offense taken." Chip thought about an example. "I dated a girl, maybe once too many times, which means twice. I took this girl to a freshman Halloween dance at school. She smiled to impress me, laughed at my jokes, held my arm the whole night and told her girlfriends she was in love with me. Hell, we didn't even know each other, our likes, our dislikes, what our fantasies were. Now take two boys, like you and Shane. You made love, got into each other's hearts and shared something so cool as sex. Shane said you took his breath away, made him feel really special and desired. He said he would love to be in your arms forever. Now that's love. I feel the same way about Ronin."

Ben searched his soul. He had to admit he had never felt this way about anyone. How could he explain to himself why his heart leaped for joy every time he saw Shane? If there was such a thing as chemistry, the two of them had it together. But the age difference! And then how would people accept such a relationship? Certainly Shane would grow tired of this friendship. It wasn't like they could be on the same athletic teams, listen to the same music, have the same friends, even share the same future or goals.

"It wouldn't work! Okay, I'll admit I'm in love with the boy. You heard it from me first, but it's ridiculous to think we could be a couple." Ben left it at that.

Chip rarely played the psychologist. He was most often the patient who needed one. From an adolescent viewpoint there were few gray areas. The tangible circumstances of each dilemma were hardly analyzed to their fullest by a teenager. "Look, Ben, I know I'm not in your shoes. Looper once told me that if I felt the same way about him after college, maybe we'd hook up. Yeah, he went ahead and married my other bodyguard. Took me right out of the picture and didn't even wait till I finished college. What a jerk!" Chip had his boyish giggle over that one. "Point is, I actually considered that. I still love the clout. Age doesn't mean a thing as long as your hearts are in the right place. Shane's funny, really honest, empathic, loving, intelligent, has an awesome body, and is super athletic. What more could you ask of a kid?"

"About forty more years," Ben replied with tongue in cheek.

"Forget that!" Chip resounded. "Shane would have all sorts of bad experiences from people who didn't love him like you do. He'd only want to do it once a day and his ass wouldn't be that cute bubble butt anymore. All hairy and a waist six times bigger, you two would replace long kisses with quick pecks in memory of what you once had."

Ben roared with a hearty belly laugh. This boy's observation about life was priceless. "You're amazing, Chip Carver. If there was a fountain of youth I might consider the offer."

"But there is, Ben. Shane!"

A smile of gratefulness was followed by a concerned frown. "But I can't fall in love with a fifteen year old. I just can't."

"You already have, sir," Chip said emphatically and he wasn't smiling.

With sunshine peeking through scattered clouds, the raindrops began to dissipate. Renewed optimism sent a vigor of energy through Ben. He whipped out his cell phone to call Joe. His main source of communication flashed low batteries. Chip offered his. One call had Mr. Erickson's mortgage paid in full. He would advise Lars to put the property at a high price and let the bidding begin. His next call was to the local John Deere dealer. A harvester was on its way, leased until Lars had finished his crops.

The two males responsible for this crusade were eyed by hundreds of teens finishing their breakfast. Among them Cheet and Philly, bright faces with two very pretty Erickson twins. Next to them their twin brothers ate with Brent and P.J. Ben turned to Chip.

"I don't trust that reporter broad. She's the type to send the authorities in here to snoop. Let's get the hell of Kansas, shall we?"

"Like Dorothy?" Chip kidded and had to explain to Ben when the man didn't get it. "Probably well before your time," Chip added getting a grin.

Ben grabbed the boy's head to give him a Dutch rub. At the same time he glanced in case Shane was around. What was he thinking?! Here he was, pondering that Shane would get jealous if he saw him with another boy.

Out of curiosity and damage control, Ben had to ask, "How many boys know besides you and Ronin?"

Chip started to count on his fingers and toes in tease. "I figure five, maybe twenty. Cheet and my brother are too busy getting their rocks off with girls. God, what a waste of an erection. Then there's P.J., Scooter, Brent, Austin, and Suzy."

"Who's Suzy?"

"She's cool, don't sweat it. Apparently she had to tell you to drop the adult image and just go for it. She thinks you and Shane are a good fit. You humping Shane gave her a new appreciation for male love."

Ben shook his head. "My ass is grass. That girl will have it all over the camp today."

"Ain't happening. Suzy has made it with two of her teachers, both female. She knows how to keep a secret."

"That's hardly comforting," Ben replied. "She still told you about the two teachers." His eyes caught Shane in the distance. When their attention on each other had locked on, their smiles at each other didn't need words. A cute wave had Ben wave right back. It was so girlish as to make Chip start laughing. Ben punched him in the arm again.

"Buy the boy a ring and get it over with," Chip said and ran off.

Peter hadn't been seen in a few days and did a detour to shake hands with Mr. Barkley. "What's with Art? He's keeping his distance."

"The man's feeling a bit down. He needs your loving, Peter," Ben said and knew he'd have to talk to his friend.

Off in search of his friend only meant a trip to his tent. Art had packed and was resigned to defeat. "What's goin' on?" Ben asked seeing the luggage.

"I don't want you or the boys to take heat for me being here. It's easier if I step aside."

"The hell you will! I lassoed an ex-prosecutor this morning. I doubt if he'll open his mouth again. Pal, you're with me till my bull gets pregnant. We'll have to get that prostate checked when we get to San Francisco; you must have been up three times last night."

"Goes with age, I'm afraid." Art didn't tell his friend that he had been diagnosed with prostate cancer and didn't have insurance to cover the radiation.

"And another thing, stud," Ben said while unpacking Art's belongings, "Peter misses you. You have an obligation to our youth to satisfy their needs."

Art chuckled and took this big cowboy in his arms. Their kiss was becoming a common thing. They held each other tightly. Their embrace was a man's comfort. They knew that sex with each other would fill a void they both needed. They also knew they'd rather have a hairless body of an exuberant boy. It was just a tacit understanding.

Word quickly spread that this Crusade would be on its way within the hour. Almost immediately there was Cheet, Philly and two sets of twins at Ben's tent.

"I know what you're going to ask. I'll talk to their father." Ben searched the faces of these boys and girls. There was no questioning that they had all been intimate the night before. There was a whole new risk when boys and girls were involved together. Before he could question his nephew whether they were using condoms the kids breezed off.

Ben didn't have to go too far when Lars was seen speaking with Chip and Ronin. Like a man used to running things, Ben ran down his plan. "Lars, you'll have a harvester by mid-morning. Go for top dollar on the property. Arrangements are already being made on the ranch for you. I'll cover all moving expenses."

"Ben, I can't ever repay you for your kindness. The bank just called me and said someone had paid off the mortgage. I'll cover this when we sell."

Ben didn't refuse the offer; actually it was more of a test of the man's integrity. "I'd like one favor from you. Let your twins finish this tour with us. With the harvester manpower isn't as essential."

Lars quickly agreed, glad not to have four teenagers to feed for a while. One more call to Ted Colter before Ben rounded up his troops for departure. "Ted, Ben Barkley...no, the boy is healthy and enjoying himself. I need your services. Two homes, one fairly large, like ten bedrooms, six baths, large family room and kitchen. These homes are for a very large families. One family is fifteen or so. The other I want you to design for yourself. See, you'll have to stay around Austin for a while to get all this done. I also want a dorm built, but with all the amenities, not like a college dorm, per se, but large bedrooms, a cool video room, spa, and no corridors. Make it open spaced, glass, etc. Then there's the stadium, one major league size without the seating; the other should be Little League. Bleachers are fine. Can you handle that?"

Momentary silence. "You're asking me to move," Ted eloquently put it.

"Yeah, if you're in the mood." Ben had a laugh with Ted.

"You're serious. My son didn't put you up to this, did he?"

"Yes, I'm serious, and, no, Shane doesn't even know. How are we going to prepare him for the majors unless we give him the best opportunity?"

"Thank you, Mr. Barkley. This couldn't have come at a better time. My wife and I have had...well, I'll explain another time."

"No explanation necessary, Ted. I think the world of your son. You've done a fantastic job raising him." It was a casual way of telling Mr. Colter that his boy was a sexual dynamo, went spastic with a dick inside him, and had an adult doing flips in his mind. No more had he hung up with Ted Colter then Shane was waiting to his side. Chip had been right, the obsession had started.

"Morning, sir," Shane greeted. "I just wanted you to know that I enjoyed last night. I know it's important that my love for you doesn't look too obvious. I respect your privacy and position."

Whoa! That wasn't what Ben had expected. Had Chip talked to the boy? Ben was stuck for words, but it was his obsession that took over. One arm swept around Shane's waist to bring the boy to his lips. It was totally ironic. "I love you, too," Ben said and moved the side of his hand across the teen's face. "One thing, I need you to change your birth certificate, say, early fifties."

Shane glistened that pearly white smile that again made Ben realize his teeth weren't so white from coffee and booze. He'd knock off the booze, but maybe he could get the boy to drink coffee. Then there was the perfect face. No acne, just sparkling eyes and a mouth that desired to be kissed because it was shaped like a pink flower. The nose was cute, too.

Matters settled Chip made sure the Erickson boys joined the Front Runners, as they called themselves. They were now their guides pointing west and toward the Rockies.

Not believing his ears Ben zipped down his driver's window to hear singing behind him. Led by Ronin thousands of teenagers were singing POWER OF THE DREAM as their bodies pedaled their bikes to the rhythm of the song. What an inspiration to hear this with a smile on so many faces. Ronin turned one song into another, starting these kids in ALL I REALLY WANT TO DO IS BE YOUR FRIEND, by the Byrds. Few kids knew the words but that didn't matter, they followed Ronin with his amazing voice.

Across the state line they passed Burlington by noon, having risen to over 4,000 feet above sea level. Ben had cheered Art up by telling his partner about his plans for the ranch. When this was done, Ben was flying them both to Texas to saddle up and ease down one trail and up another, through high meadows bright with lupine and Indian paint-brush, past twisted junipers on the heights, and over a pass to Austin Lake, named after his nephew.

"We'll camp there overnight to watch the stars pop into place. If we're lucky enough we each might have a boy in our arms," Ben added.

"I couldn't think of a better way for a man to reflect and pray," Art said and thought himself lucky to have met this man beside him.

Ben patted the knee of this gentleman. "Reckon if we'd met earlier we'd been like a couple of horny mares."

"We still are, Ben," Art replied.

The two men kept looking west to see the mountains for which the state is famous. Those mountains lie farther west and out of view. Wheat and corn fields dotted the landscape. Art convinced Ben to pull over and let the kids have a go at Old Town Museum. Five thousand teenagers took over this town of 21 refurbished buildings filled with authentic artifacts from the early 1900s. A mock gunfight took on extra significance to the actors in front of so many kids. The local old-fashioned soda fountain didn't have enough ice cream to supply the hundreds in line. Souvenirs to cram into their already stuffed backpacks, this tourist setting was glad to have, but happy to wave goodbye to this Crusade. Ben had passed many a tourist attraction as not to shock any vacationers. In this case, he and Art had a good laugh.

The troop crawled at times with elevation increases but flew with speed on the down hills. Several rest stops, their arrival at Coors Field came at ten that night. Ben had called ahead and was assured a few concession stands would remain open. Promised double wages, the employees were glad to wait for this entourage to arrive.

Twenty-six hundred tents didn't all fit into an outfield, so the long corridors of the stadium were used. The infield had to be left open for the concert the following evening. For the first time in the Crusade these weary bikers looked for their tents and flopped into their sleeping bags. Above them and inside the stadium's aisles waited concession stands ready to fill the stomachs of hunger teenagers. Few had the strength to eat.

Circleville, Utah

In a rundown gasoline station on the outskirts of town, T-Bone Moseby crouched by his black and scarlet Harley Davidson motorcycle, screwdriver in one hand, while he fiddled with fine-tuning the engine's carburetor. Every so often he would reach up with the other hand to goose the throttle—rum-um-um-um...rum-um-um-um-um. Clad only in oil-stained boxers, half his ass was sticking out the back, T-Bone was beginning to think his luck was looking up. He'd just received a down payment of 25 g's for a job that was something beneath his gang but what the hell.

His new recruit to his gang was a19-year old, Jay Ramsey. Jay sat on his own forty-year old Triumph as he watched his mentor work on a dream bike that he hoped to own someday. Jay was a far better dresser in a grease-smudged T-shirt and a torn pair of khaki pants. The cowboy boots were a gift to him from someone who used to be part of this gang of misfits; used to be because the man had hit on Jay one too many times and T-Bone had let it known that the boy was his. Hands off! Jay had no idea what had happened to the guy, but no one was talking either. At five-ten, a hundred a thirty pounds soaking wet, the slim, acne-faced youngster ate like a bird and was willing to try any drug offered his way. With zilch self-esteem and no self-worth the boy welcomed anyone into his life who gave him the time of day.

Beside a rack on a dilapidated wall hung two leather jackets, soiled and older than Jay was. On the back was printed WARRIORS, an unlikely name considering the reputation of Circleville. During the Black Hawk War, Circleville was the site of a massacre of an entire Paiute village in 1866. After some discussion on how to handle the women and children, they were led up singly from the cellar and their throats cut. It was a vivid reminder that relations between white settlers and Native people weren't always peaceful.

T-Bone liked to brag that his relatives were part of this vigilante group. As a second grade drop-out, T-Bone, whose real name was Cyrus, formed his first gang at age nine and has never looked back. Merchants were so scared of this boy that they gave him protection money. Now that he was thirty-three, he no longer had that type of respect after a new police chief took office, but that didn't stop him from harassing tourists and intimidating vacationers who mistakenly camped anywhere near Circleville.

The town's really only attraction was Butch Cassidy's boyhood home. Cyrus was both envious and imitating of this infamous outlaw. Though Cassidy had his own notorious band, "the Wild Bunch," who robbed banks and stagecoaches, Cyrus claimed to be the modern version with motorcycles replacing horses.

T-Bone adjusted the idle and was satisfied that it no longer was running a little rough. He reached down and turned off the ignition and the motorcycle died with a cough. Crossing one leg over the leather seat near the sissy bar, he had Jay sit in front of him. A wrap of his arms around the teen's chest was often the only time that Cyrus showed any caring for anyone besides himself.

Jay had his legs splayed out to the side, hands on the handlebars. Having been an outsider all his life, nothing more than a kid destined to wash dishes in a fast-food restaurant, it was a dream come true to be accepted into a gang. Even though he found women attracted, they never much wanted anything to do with him. Jay accepted a man's affection as his way to fit in. T-Bone might call people faggots and despise them all, but Jay knew where the man's tastes were. That didn't mean you ever called T-Bone gay. He'd slash your throat in a second.

"I've been thinking, Jay, we oughta take a trip up to Oregon way when that smuck gives me what's due me. Fuckin' A, me and you ridin' for some down time on my hog."

"Can't I take my bike, T-Bone?"

"Why the fuck would ya wanna do that? Don't you like puttin' your arms around me?"

Jay knew better than to rile the man. "Yeah, you're right. What if we bought one of those fab homes and leave this hell hole?"

This was the first time that the boy had showed more than a casual interest in being Cyrus's boy. People might just think the underweight teenager was his son and not think they were some queers moving in. "You fuckin' serious, or you just fuckin' with me?"

Jay considered the position he was in and the potential power of being asked his opinion. "Why not? I'm your boy, aren't I?"

That's all T-Bone needed to hear. His hands swept inside the teen's pants and had a hard cock being slid up and down in seconds. The kiss on Jay's neck was the first time he could remember kissing anyone.

"Fifty g's is fuckin' confetti these days," Cyrus considered. "That fuckin' smuck must think he's dealing with a real sucker. I got my own plans." When Jay splattered the gas tank with semen, T-Bone demanded the teen lick it up. Control is a bitch, he liked to say. Jay did as he was told to avoid the consequences of crossing his man.

Years earlier Howard Walker had taken a ski trip down to Elk Meadows Ski Resort. Pulling over to put on a set of snow chains had not gone over too well when a jeep pulled alongside to assist him. The driver of that jeep was a smelly, tattooed local resident. Cyrus all but pushed this well-to-do driver to the side while Mrs. Walker stayed warm in the front seat of their Lexus. It was T-Bone's bill that caused the momentary rift.

"That'll be five thousand dollars."

If Howard thought the man was being funny he found the seriousness when he was punched in the stomach. "Goes with my protection while you're here," T-Bone had added.

Howard wrote a check out that day and also took the jeep's license plate number. A tracing of that vehicle led to a call from Howard to T-Bone the following week.

"You took advantage of me, sir, and I'm not a man to forget someone who has robbed me of five grand. I have powerful connections in the Mormon Church, so pay a heavy price for your sin or work with me. Your choice."

T-Bone laughed. "You fuckin', old fart! I should've taken that Lexus. I'd look better drivin' that fuckin' car than you and that bitch. Yeah, asshole, I'll do your bidding if the price is right."

The two hadn't spoken since until a few days earlier when Howard offered fifty grand to put a stop to a bunch of queers riding their bikes through God's country of Utah.

"Motherfuckin' queers, huh? I'll fuck `em up alright," Cyrus had said and was told the first installment would be sent with information forthcoming.

Cyrus knew every bar and whorehouse within a hundred miles. His gang members consisted of weekend bikers to bartenders and bouncers from nightclubs as far north as Salt Lake City. Promising them gas and all the beer they could drink, T-Bone had thirty men at his disposal. Now all they had to wait for was when these queers would be riding their tricycles through his country.

Denver, Colorado

"What the hell!" A beam of light flooded Chip's face from the opening of his tent flap. He was pissed at whomever it was. His arm was pinned beneath Ronin's left side; the two boys were spooned together without covers. The night's temperature was humid and hot, making sleep difficult at the beginning. Chip twisted, his morning erection flipping upward from being pressed against Ronin's lower back.

As soon as Chip rubbed his right eye with a finger, there was his father's face replacing the glistening morning sun. "Hi, kiddo. Sorry for waking you up, but, hey, Ronin, how's my adopted son? Anyway, just wanted to know if you two wanted to go to breakfast with me."

Ronin raised his arms to wave one hand back at the president. He stretched out, allowing full view of his naked front with a boner that twitched with his morning yawn. In a way it was a tease to this man he liked very much. He knew that the president's eyes were glued to the sight.

"What do you think, Ro?" Chip asked with affection.

"My ass is still sore. From the bike, that is," Ronin corrected himself to Alain's smile. "Why not. I'd relish a bagel, mate."

"I'd relish a bagel, old chap," Chip imitated and got Ronin to giggle like a girl.

Barely six-thirty Ben had also been alerted to the four black SUVs that had come through a tunnel leading to the right field bullpen. Men in suits were all over the place. Fortunately Art had risen early for one of his many trips to the bathroom. It was a regimen he dreaded every night. Seeing the President of the United States step out, Art didn't want to be seen, but a Secret Service agent came up behind him.

"Sir, the president is looking for his sons, Chip and Philly. Would you know where they are located?"

Art directed them to near his own tent, then pointed out the two blue tents next to each other. If his anxiety wanted to alert both boys to their father's shock, it was too late.

President Carver was more wide-eyed when he stepped to the next tent and saw his youngest son sleeping with a gorgeous blond female of Nordic descent. Her bare breast above his son's arm was enough to improve his blood circulation. Alain tugged on his son's toe as not to wake the young lady. Philly crawled bare ass to the opening and nodded to the plan for breakfast. And here the president thought this was a gay crusade.

Into the heart of Denver the caravan of limos and SUVs traveled. They stopped at the Hyatt Regency at the Colorado Convention Center where the Republican Convention had started two days previous. The boys and one young lady in their yellow jerseys appeared a little underdressed in this professional atmosphere, but they also represented the Crusade in fashion.

The president was actually delighted that Philly had brought along his girlfriend, Sonja. Philly had nudged his father's leg underneath the table in an attempt to distract his father from seducing the poor girl with his charm.

Alain asked how P.J. was doing while checking his son's response to any disclosure the boy might have made. Apparently the kid knew how to keep secrets.

From breakfast they walked amidst security to the 16^th Street Mall, where shoppers received a pleasant surprise in seeing their president amongst them. Alain waved, greeted Denver's residents and thanked them for their support in giving him eight wonderful years in office. He bought his sons and the pretty young lady cowboy hats and boots, even though the kids couldn't exactly take the apparel with them on the trip. With something up his sleeve he had the kids try on swimsuits, and gave a thumbs up to Sonja's selection of a striking pink bikini. He couldn't believe Philly's luck in bedding this girl.

Breakfast had turned into a sightseeing fest, while Alain struck up conversations with Philly's girl. A ride to the downtown aquarium proved fun and enriching. This afternoon assembly finished at Elitch Gardens Theme and Water Park. He enjoyed tremendously watching his sons, Ronin, and Sonja frolic with hundreds of other youngsters enjoying the exciting rides.

Lunch followed while they overlooked breathtaking views of Denver on this soon-to-be smoggy day. Another side trip to the South Platte River and their single raft took this presidential party down rapids on a thrilling manmade chute. Ronin rushed to sit between his lover and the president to protect him from falling out. Alain thought it was so cute.

Only when Chip mentioned to his father that Ronin had a concert that night did they return to the stadium to prepare for the night's show. Alain made sure to kiss Philly's beauty on the cheek before they departed. Sonja thought he was just the most handsome man, just like his sons. No one knew, including herself, that she was already pregnant with the president's first grandchild. Philly had assumed that the blood on his sleeping bag back on the Erickson farm was a little left over from her period. He never considered that he was Sonja's first.

Coors stadium started to fill at four o'clock for the evening's eight o'clock concert. A beautiful yellow-orangish sky gave off a magnificent sunset to Ronin's appearance on the stage centered on the Rockies' infield. What had so impressed the Crusade's teens was Ronin's itinerary of the British Invasion hits. Though his own repertoire was sung in Columbus and St. Louis, he livened the 40,000 screaming fans with hits from the Byrds to the Beatles.

Dressed in a western shirt open at his bare chest, bought for him by the president, he was sexier than ever. It didn't matter to those nubile Lolitas who fantasized over this cute British boy that Ronin was gay. Every one of them was sure they could change him if they only got the chance. Surrounding this large stage were the thousands of teenagers who were part of the Crusade. As they danced so did those in the stadium.

Detective Kemp and her assistant had showed up at the Coors Stadium at nine o'clock that morning. She waited patiently for Chip Carver to return. While she waited Kemp took the opportunity to inspect Chip Carver's tent, finding that he shared the tent with the British boy. Taking a few hairs from the pillows, she had what she wanted. A couple of pubic hairs were like trophies to her. From purely an investigative angle, she also inspected Philly Carver's tent, taking a much shorter hair than the longer strands on the same pillow. At two o'clock she gave up.

Returning at eight that evening security was reluctant to let her into the stadium without a ticket. Jennifer was adamant she be admitted, flashing her New York State police badge to no prevail. Only after Ben Barkley was notified did the director come to the gate to offer assistance to this pissed off woman.

Overlooking the grounds, Chip met with the detective in a high priced box owned by no other than the owner of the Rockies' baseball team. The president's son was as cordial as his father at a press conference. Yes, he gave both editors his birthday. Kemp had in her possession copies of the checks for a million each, dated before he turned eighteen. This was something Ben had not taken in consideration. Yes, he had received one of these at the White House in his room, the other in New York. Kemp began to light up with confidence as things were going her way exactly as planned. Yes, Chip admitted posing for pictures at both locations.

The detective pulled out the lab results from a local forensic office that rushed the DNA results to her by seven o'clock. She was very disappointed that the semen samples weren't of Chip and Ronin, but of Chip and Philly.

"Chip, does your brother share your bed?"

"Not hardly. He has his own bed."

"Then how would his semen end up on the same Kleenex?" she asked in curiosity.

Chip didn't hesitate. "We jacked off together," he said without any embarrassment.

"Oh," was Irene's only response. "I have here the Internet photos of you and Ronin together. Did you, how best to put this,..."

"Fuck `im?" Chip blurted out. "Sure, it's just that the camera was angled so one doesn't really know if I'm in `im. I found it difficult to simulate something we're both okay with doing."

Jennifer had just solidified the acts that would lead to slam dunk convictions. She had to make sure to fill in the blanks. "And Ronin was eighteen?"

"Absolutely! And so was I."

Detective Kemp giggled, sure that the boy was forgetting when his birthday was. "I'm sorry, your birthday was, what, three-four days later."

"Four days later than what?" Chip questioned.

"Why the time you were photographed having sex with Ronin Par..."

"Wait!" Chip interrupted. "I didn't have sex with Ronin until four days later when the pictures were taken."

Kemp lost her smile. "No, my report is accurate. You were photographed in New York on July 3^rd in the company of the accused."

"Accused?" Chip chuckled and grew serious with such an accusation. "You have your facts wrong, ma'am. I was photographed in New York, yes, but only head shots. The actual sex scenes were taken in Columbus, Ohio."

Detective Kemp's face drained of color. She was furious. "Don't play games with me, young Carver. The photos clearly show a precise room at the Hyatt Regency in New York City. No, this wasn't done in Columbus, but in New York. We also have pictures of your bedroom in the White House. Don't perjure yourself here, young man. We have solid proof."

"Your solid proof is full of holes. I'll have to ask Mr. Barkley if the scenes are still available, but you've jumped to conclusions here."

Ben was radioed to report to this executive box. As expected he was only a few steps away. He entered to an antagonized detective. Chip didn't give the woman time to speak.

"Hey, Ben, are the stages for that shoot still up?"

Ben had to fake a senior moment for a second. "I believe so. We haven't needed the space, so, yes, I think so. Is there a problem?"

"You two are fucking with the wrong person!" Kemp said upon standing up. "Let's go! There's just no way!"

Down the stadium ramps and not taking the elevator helped piss off this detective even more. Out of the stadium rows of trucks were parked, all belonging to the Crusade. One of the drivers just happened to be smoking beside the rig.

"George, do you mind if we take a gander at what you have inside?"

"No problem, boss. Let me unlock the back for you."

Ben made sure there wasn't a ramp or ladder to assist the detectives into the semi truck's bed. It brought laughs to Chip and Kemp's male assistant when Ben tried to put his hand on the woman's butt as an attempt to lift her upward. She finally made it and lost her balance to sprawl forward. Her hose shredded from knee to ankle.

Inside the long trailer Ben clicked on a light switch. Two separate bedroom creations came into view, one perfectly matched to Chip's White House bedroom, the other to a New York City hotel room. In the case that window drapes were shown, a fake background of a window had been used. Chip was amazed that the bed, nightstands, walls, posters, and carpet matched his own. Since part of his dresser drawers were seen in one picture, this too was well displayed.

"This is a farce!" Kemp exploded and began to examine the Internet's photos to precisely compare the bedroom's ambiance. Identical to a fault she found nothing to claim fraud. Her assistant snapped dozens of pictures, even carpet photos, wallpaper, new sheets and a pillow case that just happened to have a few hairs from Chip's and Philly's head. She'd find the same in the other bedroom, but those were of Ronin's. A slight stain on the sheets was definitely semen, but Irene was too livid to take a dry sample. Her fastidious nature looked for tags, identifying marks that might differentiate from the photos in question. "Where exactly did these editors stay when they were in Columbus?" Kemp asked.

"Ronin's band members put them up," Ronin answered.

"I'll be talking to them," Kemp assured.

Ben and Chip stayed back and occasionally smiled at each other. Surprises weren't on Ben's menu, but then it happened. Detective Kemp had pulled the dresser away from the wall to examine the mirror's back. She called her assistant over.

"When did those Internet pictures and videos come out?"

Detective Rogers pondered for a second. "July 9^th, I believe. They were in Columbus on the seventh. What do we have?"

"Take a picture of this. I think we have them."

Ben and Chip had no idea what she saw. Nobody knew that a van parked close by had a long range camera and mic on these proceedings as well. The United States government at work. The four of them exited, Kemp keeping her smugness to herself. "Well, it's apparent you two have covered your asses. Unusual for gays. We'll just have to see how good your little game is."

"Didn't mean to disappoint you, ma'am. They also used a green screen to fill in later, but this was more realistic," Chip replied and walked off with Ben. Chip thought his version might cover whatever mistakes were made, or what she found. They both wanted to return the second the detectives left.

Kemp waited until the two gentlemen had gone back in the stadium. She dialed New York to talk to a district attorney waiting on her call.

"Max, hold off on those warrants. Our suspect has invented quite the scenario with replacement bedrooms in a semi. I have a few items I'm investigating, I'll get back to you."

They departed to the airport, excited that a furniture company would help them put two and two together.

Fifteen minutes later the light posts around this parking lot showed two males practically sprinting to a large sixteen-wheeler. The rear drawers swung open and the two lifted themselves into the hold. Ben was sure he saw the detective slide the dresser back against the wall, but there it was slid sideways. Ben scratched his head. Both of them bent around and saw written in chalk exactly what the detectives had—SHIP 7/11.

"Well fuck me," was all that escaped from Ben's mouth. A quick removal of the shipping instructions by his sleeve was an hour too late.

A successful concert had ended with a fireworks display well worth the price of admission. Certainly the fireworks was just an exclamation point to a whole lot of fun and excitement that Ronin brought to Colorado with his singing and entertainment. Long after the stadium had emptied, the kids of the Crusade continued with their own entertainment of singing. Chip had never really appreciated his peers' talents with guitars and harmonicas. Sitting around a keg of lemonade, he got into singing folk songs that warmed their hearts and made them as happy as, well, gay boys and girls.

Several hundred miles east of Denver, a Beechcraft King Air had developed a fuel leak over Missouri. As quickly as the right engine burst into flames, it was just a matter of time until the plane became an inferno. The FAA would be notified within the hour and be on their way to Missouri to investigate this unfortunate accident and to recover the bodies of the two passengers and their pilot.

Long before the FAA was notified or the destroyed plane was located Ben received a mysterious phone call as he was prepared to go to enter his tent. His cell phone read: NO CALLER. Before he could ask who the caller was and how he got this number the man said, "A New York Police aircraft has crashed. There are no survivors. FYI."

The man hung up, leaving Ben with a thousand questions. Why the call? Was it a warning? Ben flipped his cell phone open again to call his brother. Joe found the news breaking story on the Internet seconds later.

"The report says the plane called in a distress at 10:12 and disappeared from radar at 10:13. They have no idea if the plane landed safely or crashed," Joe replied.

Ben checked his watch, it was barely 10:16. What was this, the Twilight Zone? He hustled to find Chip among the still hundreds of adolescents who never wanted this night to end. He located the boy with a group of his peers. A girl was singing folk songs. Ben leaned downward with a whisper that drained the blood from the teen's face.

Chip is a brilliant boy, fun-loving and very caring. He was also naïve to the evil within men's hearts, agencies, some so secret they didn't have names. These same agencies often went to any length to protect America's interests and their most prominent citizens.

Chip retreated back to sit behind Ronin, putting his arms around him. Tears came to his eyes because death was new to him and those people, no matter what their intention, didn't deserve such a fate. He tried to picture their families' grief and the sadness nearly overwhelmed him with emotion.

Seven hundred and fourteen fresh-faced teenagers were waiting in the parking lot at seven o'clock. Males and females from New Mexico to Montana had made their way to join this Crusade on its final legs to California. Tony and Scooter had counted each one, taking their names, handing out T-shirts, and getting totally pestered.

A sixteen-year farm boy from Wyoming teased Tony if he'd ever been to second base. Tony shot back, "Let's forget elementary school. I'll pitch, you catch and I'll have you singing soprano to Take Me out to the Ballgame."

Nothing more was said the next morning about a plane crash or the lone discrepancy of the staged bedrooms. Ben had his own concerns and felt like a pawn on a much bigger stage. He watched his nephew and adopted son mingle with a new group of young faces. The two youngsters appeared to handle these teenagers with the same dexterity and swiftness of tongue they gave older brothers.

While he might have been pleased with the news that another Mickey Mantle rookie card was found in one of the last packs opened on the Tonight Show, he had more pressing areas to deal with. A call from his brother was surely bad news, but Joe said there was an announcement from a D.A.in New York City that the investigation into two, gay production companies and possible sexual abuse was closed due to lack of evidence. At what cost? Ben wanted to ask Joe, but didn't.

The Crusade had grown to almost 6,000 cyclists. Art told him that parents must have heard that the Crusade kids were being fed better than they'd receive at home. That fact made Ben laugh.

Shane had been oblivious to any of the happenings from the evening before. He had given Mr. Barkley his space, as not to be seen as a nuisance. Now he raced forward to stand in front of a man with a frown, which changed rapidly to a smile when he saw it was Shane. The boy brought a Denver Bronco's hat and jersey from behind his back.

"This is for you. I thought you'd look really cool in them," Shane said.

There weren't price stickers on the items, but Ben knew what these clothing items cost. Kids were often given money by their parents in case they wanted to buy souvenirs or for an emergency. There was no doubt that Shane had spent most of his fun money on him.

"Well, thank you, young man. I will wear them when I'm not in Texas," Ben humored and hugged the teenager. Shane melted in his arms and Ben just kept on hugging to Art's amusement. If there really was such a thing called chemistry, Ben felt a warmness and a special vibration when he held Shane.

"How about you and me getting together later," Ben said softly.

Shane moved to half-an arm's length. "Really? I'd love that. Just say when."

There was a lot of gay pride as the parade of so many bikes departed Denver. Rainbow flags flew from handlebars, the backs of seats, and so much yellow it was blinding. It was Art's turn to cheer up his buddy, even suggesting to his friend that the president would probably invite them to the White House when this was all over.

"I doubt it," Ben replied.

"No, really, Chip told me he had already told his mother to have us over for dinner."

"Well, I'm not flying in one of their private jets!" Ben said and had a good laugh. Ben rolled down his window and heard thousands of kids singing, WE GOTTA GET OUTTA THIS PLACE. Ronin and Chip had a great sense of humor.

The Crusade got so used to riding the interstates that a sense of entitlement prevailed. Highway Patrolmen realized there wasn't much they could do but allow one lane access to three miles of bicycles. Imposing summits, superb mountain scenery lay straight ahead. Kids shifted to low gear to pedal up and down the steep grades while standing up on their bikes. No more singing, but colorful hot air balloons floated breathlessly above them, one even flying a rainbow flag of encouragement.

Almost daily the Crusade was on national news. One major network had even kept a road map of the progress. The beautiful aerial shots of this sea of yellow was artistic to the naked eye. The gay community was never prouder than when these youth put their minds and bodies to this awesome endeavor.

The usual goal of 200 miles wasn't on the agenda for this day. Ambitious at best from Glenwood Springs, Ben had another reason to arrive early in his next planned tent city across from a beautiful lake.

Through mountainous passes, past famous ski resorts, the ride was both tedious and majestic in appearance. Even after the first group of 500 riders entered the campsite, stranglers were miles to the rear, some even walking their bikes.

If there was anything the director had learned over the previous week there was the need for rest and recreation. To just ride, sleep, and ride again presented the Crusade as more of a grueling survival contest.

On the back edge of this massive lake Ben had reserved the area under the impression he'd have roughly 2,000 campers. Now there were almost three times that. Space barely allotted the amount of tents. The reserved boats, wave runners, and other beach activities were insufficient for the numbers.

There was never in question that these campers would eat well. Trucks filled with peaches, melons, apples and apple cider, and most important were the cobs of sweet corn for dinner.

On a sloped lawn with an unobstructed view of the lake Chip and his friends had plates full of ribs and corn on the cob. Coming around a winding dirt road teenagers were still arriving an hour after the initial leaders. Assessments of the teens, always accompanied by jokes, became the entertainment. Girls, the overweight, and a few feeling the effects of heat and altitude struggled to finish. Cruel at times, insensitive for sure, boys will be boys. Ronin said that karma would certainly get them for their jokes. He had no idea how right he was.

To enjoy the last few hours of sunlight in this mountainous air, the boys took off amid a swath of trees into country of aspen-laden paths. A series of waterfalls had the teens and two rug rats strip their clothes off and partake of one shallow pool of water. A lone elk came up on a rock cropping to view down, a casual disregard that any of these boys presented a danger to his existence.

Leaps from the peak of a waterfall had antics of ball-holding to protect what they knew was most precious. They eventually meandered without clothes up a creek in the warm sunset glow to an isolated hot spring. Too restful, too serene to ignore, their bodies reclined in this Jacuzzi heat of 102-degree water. Laughter, freedom, all seemingly more important than time. Streaks of last-second rays dwindled into complete darkness before Chip finally suggested they should return.

There had been forks in the creek that no one seemed to remember which one they had come from. What had been once an easy hike in this creek to avoid rocks and branches, had turned into a touch-and-go to avoid tripping. What had taken merely a half hour to reach that hot spring pool turned into an hour and no sign of that waterfall or their clothes. Assorted ideas sprang forth, each positive that this or that trail was the way back to camp.

Ten boys, their nervous laughter turned to one of concern. Finally Chip saw a glow from a high ridge, a mile or so from the creek. "I'm not sure what it is, but we can get direction and find camp in the morning," Chip said as a plan.

Back at the lake agents Looper and Zach were quite content to take their paper plates and relax by the lake in view of their subjects with nine other boys on a side hill. How ten boys could disappear in less than a minute was nothing new to adult babysitters. The men finished their plates and began to scout the tents, the lake front, then around a dozen groups of teenagers playing Frisbee or in idle gossip. Nothing.

Notifying the other agents, they checked their GPS unit in the SUV. Search parties of a dozen youth, flashlights in hand, began to scour the proverbial alpine paradise toward the red dot. Under cover of darkness Chip's shoes and the boys' clothes had been discovered. Looper took out his revolver and fired twice in the air.

Scratched from thorns, itching from unseen plants, and harassed by insects, the boys wandered into a setting of cabins, a sand volleyball pit, and the sound of rapids nearby. Two gunshots from far in the distance didn't faze any of the boys. They were just glad to find humanity. Stepping on acorns here and there they almost made it to this large wooden structure where sounds of music flowed. Out through the doors came a throng of young campers, ten to sixteen years of age. They stopped in their tracks. A few screams, giggles from the boys, and all before one girl decided to run in to inform a couple of counselors that there were a whole lot of naked boys in the courtyard.

Rev. Garland was a young pastor at a local Baptist church. Working with youth was a passion, but seeing ten naked boys in front of his flock might have been an affront to God to some ministers; to Bob Garland it had the makings of a stunt from the local Boy Scout camp on the other side of the mountain.

By the time Bob had made his way through his 200 campers he wasn't so sure this was a prank. "Bob Garland, and you are?"

"Chip Carver, sir. We're lost."

The kids laughed. Even Bob stifled a giggle. "Okay, I had no idea there was a nudist resort around here." He eyed a couple of his girl oglers. "We need some blankets here! After you've taken a mental picture for eternal memory, would you mind retrieving some covering for the boys?" Two girls ran off.

Bob invited the boys in, figuring they were hungry. That wasn't really true, but the boys appreciated the hamburgers nonetheless. Finally assorted blankets and sheets arrived, so they wrapped themselves to alleviate any future viewing. Without the nudity it got kind of boring as most of the gawkers dwindled back to their cabins. That is until one girl eyed Ronin a second longer than her friends and recognized the British pop singer. She whispered to her friend.

Screams were so pronounced Rev. Garland was sure there must be a snake in the room or one of the boys had flashed a hard-on. Jumping up and down, girls ran to tell others. Three of these young ladies ran forward to touch this dream, this idol of the female sect. Tomorrow the reverend would tell these same girls that he hoped they'd act the same way if Jesus had appeared.

One eleven-year old had the gumption to say, "They would if he came naked." Bob could only shake his head.

Chip just sat back in amusement. He loved it when Ronin had to fend off females. It was when one of the thirteen-year old nymphets grabbed Ronin's blanket and touched his penis.

Their youth pastor went ballistic. "Girls! Girls! What's got into you?!" Bob barely finished his exclamation when another seventy girls flooded into the dining hall.

Forget about their reverend, they mobbed this smiling eighteen-year old with a dog pile resembling smear the queer. Later on Chip was sure his dick was grabbed a dozen times, stroked half that, kissed at least 50 times, and he was sure two girls gave him head before his peers helped the drag girls from the pile, while Bob Garland called in reinforcements. Chip admitted later he might have exaggerated on the kissing and stroking, but it was definitely fondled!

Order restored, six counselors surrounded one naked boy with a declining hard-on. "What's got into you all?!" Rev. Garland yelled.

"Don't you know who that is, Rev. Garland?!" a girl shouted.

The sound of a helicopter flew over the campsite, then settled down on the grounds. The Secret Service didn't mess around and had called in two emergency services. With this compound drawing attention it was worth the landing to check it out. Two agents and a forest ranger came bursting into this dining hall and saw the boys. The drawn guns might have been a little too much, but things did look hectic. Badges were flashed and Reverend Bob wondered what or who had invaded his church camp.

One look from Looper, and Chip gulped. This head agent didn't much care that when he grabbed Chip's arm the blanket was left behind. It was guaranteed that no young female or male at that camp had ever seen a hanging seven.

"The rest of you, outside!" Looper yelled.

When these infamous ten were led outside, a single agent was left behind to explain to one nervous pastor and a couple hundred kids. "What'd they do, rob a bank?" Bob asked.

Zach could only smile. "I apologize for the inconvenience. That was President Carver's son. The boy has a tendency to be our Dennis the Menace."

"The Gay Crusade!" a boy shouted in hearing about the president's kid. They rushed again outside to glimpse at these boys that many of them saw as heroes. Word spread quickly and kids were bringing pens and paper for the boys to autograph, while Chip and Ronin were the first to be flown off. Fifteen minutes later the helicopter came back and retrieved the other eight. Scooter and Tony had already made friends and discarded their coverings. Austin and Shane laughed all the way back to camp; that is until they saw Mr. Barkley's face.

Ben gathered his misfits together. "For playing Davy Crockett, the ten of you will be bringing up the rear for the next several days. Anyone who lags will be assisted by your generous display of affection. No one finishes behind you!"

"Karma, mates" Ronin said and got pounded by his peers.

The following day Ben had planned as a day off for the Crusade to frolic on the lake. He also wanted to take in a rodeo and offered free tickets to anyone who wished to come along. Ten boys didn't have that option—they were going.

A large contingent of teenagers rode the three miles to the fairgrounds for this rodeo. For many of them it was their first. For Ben and his nephews it was the sights and smells of home. There was little persuasion to get Scooter and Tony to sign up to capture the pigs. Austin registered in the barrel race, while Cheet wanted to enter the Tie-down roping contest. Ben told Shane that he signed the boy up to ride bareback broncos. Shane pleaded that he'd never even been on a horse.

"But Austin said you were good at bareback," Ben said and had a good laugh.

"Only when you ride me," Shane shot back.

The boys looked sharp in their cowboy hats. It wasn't like Ben to be pissed for too long over the previous night's incident. To his imagination, he would have been one of the boys if he was that age. The stories they came back with were hilarious.

Ben spent an hour securing horses for his entries and proper clothes. No one had much heard of the name of Barkley from Texas. Art tagged alongside, amused with all this cowboy stuff.

The stands were filled with Crusade kids, rainbow flags waved amidst redneck spectators and a crowd more tuned to macho behavior. A carnival atmosphere had agricultural displays and animal shows.

Tony and Scooter had a time trying to catch greased-up pigs along with thirty other Colorado boys their age, then riding sheep and trying to hang on for dear life. The bull riding certainly had its entertainment, all preliminaries to the night's finals. All the boys' events were held that afternoon. Austin took third in the barrel racing, giving the Crusade kids a thrill and celebration. Then Cheet had a time with his calf roping competition, impressing his girlfriend in the stands. Compared to his tent mate, Philly, Cheet knew he had taken his girl's virginity and his own; all the sex with boys didn't count. He figured you couldn't get a virgin pregnant, and he was only temporarily right. Doing it five times a day, a conception was made on their fourth hustling back to their tent with their mutual excitement over this newness of sexual intercourse.

To give everyone a chance to ride a horse Ben rented a dozen of these animals to let his kids take turns. Shane couldn't stop smiling atop a brown and white pinto, proud and tall, glad that Austin and Ben were mounted on horses next to him. They broke into a trot and Shane hung onto the horses' mane for dear life.

Ben had Austin take two horses back to the gate so other boys could ride them. He also helped Shane up on his horse to ride bareback in front of him. Not since his teenage days had an electrical jolt to his brain nearly knocked him off-balance, and this was caused by simply putting a hand under the boy's buttocks to lift him on the horse's back. He was smitten.

Off beyond the stables they rode into the surrounding woods on a trail meant to be more scenic than challenging. Ben let the horse prod along, as he had something to say to the boy.

A wide smile that Shane didn't see came over Ben's face as he put his large hands around the boy's waist of 28 inches. "Youngster, your grin reminds me of a World Champion Bull Rider I had the pleasure of seeing several times. His name was Lane Frost, and the boy had a smile to light up any rodeo."

"Do you still know him?" Shane asked.

"The boy got gored by a bull in Cheyenne, Wyoming, after he had ridden the bull the full time. Tragic loss, and he was only twenty-five. His favorite saying was "plumb tickled", which leads to me telling you that I'm plumb tickled to know you. I also must confess I feel guilty for taking advantage of your beauty. In our society you are a forbidden fruit and a blooming flower that I have no right to impede upon."

"Please don't do that to me," Shane said as he turned to face this adult. He felt the man's hands leave his waist. "Not that!" Shane grabbed the man's hands again and put them around his chest as he leaned back. "I mean, don't say that you're sorry."

Tears were gradually coming to his eyes.

Ben was taken back, now not sure how he had upset the boy. "I just wanted you to know I meant no harm."

"I know that, Ben. How can you even think that you harmed me?" Shane let the words hang and didn't receive an answer.

Ben kept ahold of this love and moved the horse forward. He was glad when Shane rested his head back on his chest and began to talk.

"When I was nine I walked in on my parents doing it. My dad has a great ass and I enjoyed watching his balls bouncing as he pumped away. Then my mother saw me standing there and they went in panic mode, saying they were just cuddling, tickling each other. They must think nine-year olds are complete lames. Why do grownups want to hide what is fun? Anyway, it struck me odd that I had no interest in my mother's nudity, but my father's intrigued me. So I'm watching TV as a ten-year old and this boy on Star Trek comes out wearing this blue, skintight suit where I could see his dick and balls perfectly. I grew hard instantly and knew this was the coolest thing I'd ever seen. I so much wanted a Lycra suit like that for Christmas. Mom couldn't figure out why. Then I fell in love with Will Wheaton, his suit defined his butt that I fantasized over at night. Then I had Cody over for a night; he's my shortstop. We played strip poker and had all sorts of fun that lasted till we were twelve. One night he said that he had learned that only homosexuals do what we did, so he wanted to stop. I was devastated. It had been so cool, the kissing, the blow jobs, even experimented with the humping part. Our next game I knew if I pitched a no hitter, Cody would hug me. I pitched a perfect game, and, yes, Cody hugged me, so I asked him over. He said he couldn't do that anymore, said he felt really guilty going to church and thinking about us. Then when Dad caught me jacking off, I didn't care. I thought he might even be proud of me for having adult genitals and producing sperm. All he did was say I should be embarrassed, and then he picked up my laptop and saw what I had beaten off to—Chip and Ronin. `What the hell! What's got into you, boy?! You're no son of mine if you're a faggot!' That hurt really bad. Maybe he's come to accept me, but Mom told me on the phone last night that Dad said he never expected me to play ball again in Mattoon. Gay boys weren't real popular and when he had run into Cody, my friend said he didn't want to know me anymore. Now you want to feel all guilty for knowing me."

Ben felt terrible. What he had attempted to do had completely backfired. "No, no, no, that's not what I mean, son. You don't know what you've done to me, Shane. I love you more than you can guess. Society would hang me from the tallest tree if they knew. I've violated a trust that I've exploited you as part of that love."

"Bullshit!" Shane said, and he wasn't one to use foul language. "I trust adults to teach me right from wrong, to make me feel good about myself and give me guidance. You've done that. I trust you to trust me, to share my love for you by giving me confidence. I don't care what others think, I'm gay and so are you."

"But our age difference, see..."

"What does age have to do when two people love each other?"

"Shane, there are laws."

"Fuck those laws! Mom says that love is always the answer and I can never go wrong when I share myself with others. You know she once walked in one Cody and me. We feinted sleep, our bodies pressed together, like really pressed together, me in him and my hand stroking his cock. She lifted those blankets and tucked us in. I just knew she saw that we were naked and probably guessed the other part. Did she make me feel small like my father? No! Only after Dad made such a scene did she tell me she already knew. That didn't mean she loved me any less. She was only disappointed that Cody had abandoned me. Now you."

"Shane Colter! I love you too much to ever abandon you. Actually, I would like you to come and live on my ranch."

Shane sprang his head around. "Really? Would my father let me? That would be so cool."

"Listen a minute and see what you think. I want to build a baseball park, maybe two, so we can train boys year around to be really good. We have so many fine baseball players in the Crusade, and several of them will be living on my property: Cheet, Scooter, Austin, Tad, Bjorn, Tony, and several more I can recruit. Your parents will probably be moving to Austin, so I think I can convince your father to let you stay with me for schooling and practice. He can visit you anytime he wants."

"Yessss!" Shane whipped around and kissed this man he idolized. "What if we organize just a gay boys' baseball team? That would be so awesome."

"I suppose you'd want your own horse?" Ben teased.

"Maybe a few sheep. Austin told me about farm boys." He laughed.

"Sheep are for boys who are lonely cowboys. When there are several horny boys around, who needs farm animals?" Ben's phone buzzed in his pocket. The head of security needed to see him at the front gate. A quick spin and a trot brought them to a security office. Ben saw three of his own sitting in chairs.

A man as distinguished as Ben was waiting patiently. "Mr. Barkley, I assume. Your boys here have a little trouble keeping their tempers in check."

The three boys in question were all male—sort of. Ben was getting used to the many transsexuals traveling with the Crusade. Initially Ben thought them odd, a gender distortion that was both sad and insulting. He'd gradually come to accept these boys as human beings who saw themselves as female with female traits. All three wore attire that wasn't real masculine, and then there were the pink fingernails and purple hair. Ben wasn't ready to judge.

"So, Daisy Duke, what's the real story?"

The boy appreciated Ben calling him by his desired name. "Mr. Barkley, there were five of them, calling us names and saying they were going to dump us in a manure patch. You know us, we fought, kicked, scratched, and pulled their hair. We were just defending ourselves."

Ben looked at this has-been cowboy with a white Stetson and tarnished boots that had seen its day. "Now what's your story?"

The head of security didn't like the approach. "I don't have to tell you my story. We don't need their kind here. Boys need to act like boys, not girls."

"Everyone deserves respect, no matter what their gender preference is. They are all part of a crusade, and part of their platform is anti-bullying. I would expect more from an adult to promote the same cause. I don't exactly see the five culprits who started this." Ben waved his arm at the boys to depart, but that's when Art stepped from nowhere and introduced himself as an attorney to this security man.

"I saw the whole thing and I think we can settle this amicably," Art said and had the security man agreeing. "Now the way I see it, (handing Ben his business card which was his Medicare card) this would make a good lawsuit for discrimination and a hate crime. We can sue this rodeo for millions."

"Whoa, there stranger!" This overweight, wannabe cop had second thoughts. "Maybe I was a bit harsh. I'll talk to those boys and make sure it won't happen again. No use in getting' all up in arms."

Ben agreed and thought an apology from the man might be in order, just to present an adult approach. Reluctantly the man said he was sorry.

Shane and the three boys beamed that Art had conned the man into surrender. It sure had a fat bigot fuming.

There was a lot of laughter when the five of them went into a western clothing store. Ben told the boys to find an outfit, on him, of course. After all, there was a dance that night at their campsite.

There wasn't any desire to stick around for the bull riding, steer wrestling or bareback riding, not with what Ben had in store for his campers. He had Shane follow him back to the tent where he took the boy by the shoulders and looked him square in the eye.

"It took a brave soul to tell me your happiness and heartbreaks through your childhood. I'm here for you, but you must lead. For the two-step I'm about to teach you, I'm the leader. With that approach, Ben brought out a musical cube he'd borrowed from one of the boys. Instantly a Carrie Underwood song came forth and Shane was about to learn how to western dance in his new tight jeans, teal paisley shirt with tie, and his shiny buckled, tooled-leathered belt. The seat of the blue jeans curled nicely inside Shane's firm butt. The mere sight had Ben bit his lip. For the fun of it Ben made sure they had brown-finish spurs on their boots.

Ben had hired a local country and western band for the evening's festivities. The event started with the Crusade's National anthem, Power of the Dream. The inspiration led to Shane Colter stepping forward to offer a prayer for the Crusade and its followers.

"Heavenly Father, we thank you for this great opportunity to share our sexual orientation with the nation. Jesus never rejected anyone, and if we are outcasts who have been rejected by society, we do what love is and accept others for who they are. Give us strength and perseverance as we march toward San Francisco where we will celebrate our great accomplishment. Let us all be one in Your Name. Amen!"

This mass assembly of boys and girls, dressed in everything from western attire to just shorts, gave Shane quite an ovation. He wasn't done with that mic.

"I want to take this time to thank our director, Ben Barkley, for his love and making this a success. He is our redwood, and we might think of him as old, but he is as young in heart as we are. Even a redwood is life, the future, a symbol of strength and beauty in our eyes. God bless him!"

As he and Ronin had planned, they had the band play an Oak Ridge Boys favorite, IT NEVER HURTS TO LOVE SOMETIME. What a great way to start this dance on this sparkling night under the stars.

It didn't take long for thousands of youth who had never two-stepped to fall in place and enjoy the fun of country music. The band knew how to entertain teens who were suspicious of music that took time to warm up to. As what usually happens, a whole lot of kids suddenly loved two-stepping. Ben gave out his financial rewards to the previous rock and roll dance winners, and the new contest was on. For once, Shane and Ben made it into the finals to do battle with a couple lesbian tandems and a pairing of farm boys from Montana who had way too much experience at this.

Ben swung this boy in his arms to the rhythm of LATE NIGHT BENEDICTION AT THE ALL COME BACK SALOON. It hardly mattered they were the center of attention; the mere thrill of having a smiling boy who loved him as he loved Shane was all that mattered. He showed these young'uns that the ole blood still flowed. Shane's lithe body was swung around in his spiffy outfit that was hi-lighted by the boy's constant smile.

What was supposed to be an hour show ended up two hours of whoopin' fun. Slow dancing to MY HEARTS ALIVE united the love they shared for each other. By the time that band kicked in LEAVIN' LOUISIANNA IN THE BROAD DAYLIGHT, thousands of teenagers would remember this night for a long time with more fried chicken, corn on the cob, and apple pie than they'd ever get at a family reunion.

Six o'clock came early and many a teen would have to adjust to Ben Barkley's schedule.

Chip, plus nine, brought up the rear of this train of bikes. The kids usually dragging this parade were actually inspired by having these boys by their sides. No longer did they feel a burden, and each of them pushed a little harder, smiled at these favorite sons, and sang along with Ronin when he broke into one of his songs. It was a humbling experience for everyone.

The Crusade arrived at the Utah border by three o'clock, having survived the Rocky Mountains and the Great Divide. Not seeing his favorite boys to his rear, Ben regretted the imposed punishment. The happiness of singing, usually spreading back into the masses of youth, had a tremendous impact as they treaded up steep hills and mountain passes.

Ahead lay the Uintah and Ouray Reservation to the north, and to the south was their destination of an Indian village that had invited the Crusade to spend the night. Ben knew little about these Indians, only that this small community was a sect who had dissected from larger reservations to allow gay youth and adults a place of refuge. The Ute, Paiute, and Shoshone were much known to Utah's plain, so these Indians were likely derivatives from these tribes.

Pass red-rock canyons, spectacular geological formations, and cottonwood-lined rivers flowed through rolling, arid, high-plains terrains. Where the Green River flowed south to join the Colorado the caravan of yellow and orange took a dirt road to a sleepy little valley filled with various huts, a general store, and odd-shaped, wooden buildings.

Immediately sunburnt faces appeared from these shelters in the hot sun, waving and welcoming this stream of bikes that never seemed to end. As always a sea of tents had been amassed by the trucks that had arrived several hours ahead. It was usually left up to the kids to put their poles upright. A quarry was nearby, and hundreds of youth went right to this area when they heard that dinosaur remains were found there. Sure enough an excavation was always ongoing, but casts of mammoth skeletons were visible. Rock formations and natural arches were everywhere.

Ben and Chip met with the head of this small reservation, a man named Chief Rainbow, a gregarious, slightly effeminate man who wore attire more fitting a business man, an Indian business man. Around him stood obedient youth, dressed in shorts and brown leather loincloths. Their faces matched the soil beneath their bare feet.

Sometimes difficult to tell genders, these two males representing the Crusade shook hands with dozens of greeters, each very pleased to have the Crusade as guests. They were shown a school house that also substituted for their church. A long barracks was both a recreation hut and dining room. The reservations income came from a general store which sold dinosaur replicas, pictures, and actual fossils. Tourists had to go off the beaten path to find this attraction.

In total there were about 400 souls living here, 16 adults, the rest youth and teens, many of these runaways seeking acceptance for being gay. The village had once been a mining location and, if truth was told, the few adults here worked the river gorge for gold nuggets that helped keep the community funded.

Like scrutinizing a show horse Ben sized up this 47-year old man, handsome at six-one, slim with a flair for vanity. A few glances at a few boys' faces in support of their leader Ben saw the loyalty. It all told him a lot.

Art sensed what was coming and did his best friend a favor. Taking the license from the new Mercedes parked under an overhang to protect its bright blue body, Art's lawyer friend ran the number and found the owner's name. A few Internet connections and just as quickly he had a complete history of one Joshua Rainwater, former manager of an Indian casino until he was found to have a sexual relationship with the owner's 14-year old son.

A self-made millionaire through scrupulous gambling deals, in his dash to escape the wrath of a pissed-off father, he talked his teenager admirer to take off with him. Only after several months did the kid return to his father because the man promised him a better future than Joshua Rainwater.

Chief Rainbow didn't bother becoming some religious fanatic, nor did he try to pretend to be something he wasn't. His campground was, for all practical purposes, a refuge for any boy who needed a home, temporary or permanent made no difference. For many this was an orphanage, a commune like no other. Few states would allow this den of iniquity, so some thought. Gay boys under a gay Indian chief, nothing of value could come of this. In fact it flourished, reputation of this safe haven flew around reservations by word of mouth. Not only did this refuge pull in Utah boys, teens from all over the Great Basin, if not the Great Plains came to seek sanity and safety in numbers. To give credence to his ideals Joshua allowed a lesbian couple with their three kids to move onsite, only because one of them was a doctor. He promised her six figures and then billed welfare services for his kids' health bills. Joshua manipulated adoption papers, especially with runaways.

Chief Rainbow, as he liked to be called, knew what boys needed: good food, a warm bed, sports, games, occasional discipline, and freedom to climb in bed with anyone they wanted to. Successful, it's why he had 400 boys who had no intention of leaving.

Rather than have the biggest and toughest dominate the younger and weaker, the chief appointed boys who were smart, sensitive, and often more vulnerable to be leaders. If an older boy didn't like it they were welcomed to leave. Much like the business world Joshua had learned so much from, the nerds and geeks were your eventual CEOs and presidents. He didn't allow alcohol, theft, coercion, bullying, or tardiness from school. Despite what many citizens of Utah thought of as a pervert, Joshua Rainwater was a life-saver and hero to many a gay youth.

Though the majority of the young people living here had Indian heritage, there were many who did not. Chief Rainbow had relatives long in the past who were Sioux; his facial features had the exquisite features of this tribe.

Even before Ben received much of this information from Art, these two leaders found much in common by pure telepathy. Getting a tour of this vast community, boys' smiles were easily returned, most well-versed on the Crusade's goals and their success. Their attire was mostly breechcloths, their necks displayed necklaces made from nuts and seeds and an occasional gold nugget. Four-boy huts, most often the same age and compatible were clean and organized. Each boy had his own area, separated by a partition for privacy. Wood carvings of animals, flowers, and birds lay displayed on top of crude nightstands. Dream catchers and feathered headdresses were touches that any Indian boy loved.

There was a town house, warehouse, granary and storehouse, and a large shelter where they gathered for ceremonies, dances, and socializing. Ben beamed a wide smile when he saw a baseball field, grass finely mowed, and right next to another grass field for lacrosse. Possibly just as glorious was the herd of horses roaming about in a large pen, mostly mustangs, half-Andalusian, or half-Arab horses. Several colts were for the younger boys. This camp leader impressed Ben with his knowledge of breeding the fleetest stallions as studs.

"Equestrian is one of the boys' favorite things to do here," Josh said.

The Chief showed Ben another four-boy lodge, this one filled with articles of clothing, women's skirts and blouses, colorful accoutrements. Beads were weaved into fabrics and sashes of beauty. Ben knew already the makers of these articles, for he met many a boy on the Crusade who had female tastes. The buffalo hides on the floor and walls were canvases to any artist.

A large Tepee was for ceremonial use. In the middle sat a fire pit, ready for the night's celebration that Ben had not yet known of his invitation.

At first impression Chip was apprehensive when he saw so many brown-skinned youth. It felt to him like they had walked into a juvenile detention center. One night and everyone would be lucky to escape with their belongings. This adult leader appeared friendly enough, and Chip quickly learned that these teens were just as intimidated by him as he was of them. A sense of compassion for these boys just as rapidly came to fruition. So many tribes it was like throwing in an orphanage Italians, Germans, English, Russians, and the like. Here the boys said they were Shoshoni, Paiute, Gosiute, Ute, Washo, Bannock, and Mono, to name a few.

Chief Rainbow told Chip and Ben that to satisfy everyone, there were often a dozen ceremonies, different language barriers, prayers, headdresses, sacred dances, and rituals for initiations. In many ways they had agreed upon a few specifics to make everyone happy. These were proud kids, and despite their sexual orientation, their bravery and courage were still primary aims.

It didn't surprise Chip when the Chief said that many youth arrived who weren't gay, but survivors from abusive homes, alcoholic fathers, or bullying from older teenagers. The Chief welcomed them all.

Chief Rainbow impressed these leaders of the grandest crusade America had ever known. "Our boys learn the mastery of patience, without traces of either self-pity or bitterness to dull the purity of their cheerful enduringness."

They went in search of their numbers, all but disappeared from sight or sound. Down by the river's shore flocked thousands of naked bodies. To the Crusade kids every location was a new Woodstock. With their Indian brothers, skinny dipping was a natural outlet and the river's edge hardly could accompany the vast numbers. Several boys on the verge of pubescence came running up to their chief to invite him to join this melee of fun and frolic. Joshua put his arm around a handsome twelve-year old.

"Gentlemen, this is Nooka, a Nex Perce, an expert at horse bleeding. Their tribe are preeminent horse dealers."

"Appaloosa, derived from the Palouse River Indians of the Washington-Idaho border, right?" Ben spoke up.

Nooka spoke very good English, smiled and knew he had a horseman in front of him. The boy was quiet, reserved, but possessed this skill that his chief had spoken.

Chief Rainbow explained. "Here individual effort is acknowledged and does not go unrewarded. Yet everyone is assured the necessities of life. Stealing is almost unknown. We govern our village through social equality and pacifism. Everyone participates in harvest, helps with plowing, fishing, and the building of canoes from red cedar. They grow through exertion, treat others with respect and maintain an air of quiet dignity. We are a clan in and of itself, with special privileges and how to protect these. Our boys please the spirits through our sexuality, but we also take cold-water baths, flagellate with birch boughs, fast and purge ourselves to give health to our loins. Status is irrelevant; my wealth is only to give these boys a home."

"Impressive," Ben said eyeing the comfortableness of these naked Indians amidst his own boys, as he called them.

Only when Chief Rainbow felt that he nor his own boys were being judged did he extend the invitation to Ben and a few of his most loyal braves to attend a ceremony that night. Ben and Chip readily agreed.

Austin, Texas

Sarah Barkley missed her three brothers a great deal, so she followed them relentlessly on her computer via the Crusade's website and numerous kids who posted their progress daily. Several photos were splashed and many went viral. One in particular stood out which made Sarah's screen saver on her computer. Though somewhat dark, rainy, and from a cellphone, the picture of a solid mass of nude, dancing bodies was a teenage fantasy come true. An education for any nubile teenager, an abundance of sex acts could be seen if one looked close enough. Boys' erections sprang from their loins and girls' eroticism was visible as well. Only one problem, her mother saw it.

Louise was livid, not only that her daughter had an interest in all this, but somewhere in this picture she knew her three sons were part of this debauchery. She examined the picture with zoom features, and then with a magnifying glass. The photo, taken from stage height, was sharp for its miniature camera capabilities, but the lighting was miniscule. Sodomy and fellatio were there for the imagination. Louise could pick out a few shorter youth crammed within the flinging limbs and gyrating bodies of older teens. Her magnifying glass barely appraised two boys, both naked and their loins pressed into each other. Louise could swear one of them was Scooter. Far to the right she picked out a larger figure, probably an adult, a smiling teenager pressed backwards into the other. Apparent were the broad shoulders, the haircut, and the powerful arms. Unfortunately the boy's head obscured the man's face. Louise was sure the frame of the man resembled her nemesis, Ben Barkley.

As punishment for her daughter's infraction, Louise garnished the girl's computer, only to check it thoroughly for other photos and information. Hundreds of texts, emails, photos, and daily journals were easily found from the boys and girls participating in the Crusade. Hit and miss she saw the names of Chip and Ronin. Approaching her investigation from a different angle, she saw where this daily Internet blog had millions of fans. Tweets were so common the Crusade had taken on the importance of a sitcom. Major hits were common, 3.5 million to a picture of naked boys in front of thousands of their peers. There with their arms around each other's shoulders were her naked sons. Louise was appalled and shrieked.

At her bridge club meeting she took several of these pictures in her efforts to campaign against this Crusade. She well expected other women to be just as appalled as she was. Quite the contrary the women giggled, gawked at the photos and made their obscene comments. When Louise said it was straight child pornography, Sodom and Gomorrah, her bridge partner said that the Crusade was a sign of the times where teenagers could let it all hang out and free sex was at anyone's disposal, just like the flower children and hippies in her day.

Louise directed her anger at this woman. "I happen to have a ten-year old in that mass of demons."

Her bridge partner was hardly affected. "A ten-year old is old enough to learn a little about the birds and bees."

Another lady practically drooled over the photos. "Know the only problem with being gay, they have far more sex than we did in high school, but you can't brag about it." Her friends laughed. Louise stormed out.

A conversation with her father in Salt Lake City reaffirmed the effort that this Crusade would stop in its tracks when the men he had hired took action. Her sons would be sent back to Austin for counseling and rehab. The words were the most sensible she'd heard all day.

Joe Barkley was quite proud of himself for his efforts in protecting the president's son. Every once in a while he earned the exorbitant sum that his brother paid him. He did a little investigation on this Art Acosta. The man had been teacher-of-the-year three times at a high school where he had taught mathematics and coached track and field. Sent to a mandatory therapy program, Ken had completed the required course work and admitted to another 62 victims throughout his years as teacher and coach. Joe had to wonder why there was never a complaint. He texted Ben to relay his findings and concern for his own sons.

Ben emailed back: "I love the guy. He's likely to become a life partner. Your sons are exceedingly happy and have more sex than either one of us. They think you deserve father-on-the-year for your support. Get over it."

(Ben kind of exaggerated with the father-of-the-year award)

Green River, Utah

T-Bone Moseby and his sidekick, Jay, had never heard of this remote reservation. They parked their cycles at the closed gate and walked a mile until they were overlooking a flood of tents and wooden buildings. There were few solutions but to walk among this throng of teenagers and start asking. T-Bone's idea was never put into action. Surrounded by ten Indians, none older than sixteen, T-Bone had more an immediate distraction to deal with.

"Well, kiss my ass, what am I supposed to do with you injuns, spank the lot of ya?"

"Get the fuck outta here!" one of the younger boys brazenly yelled.

Moseby didn't like the odds. Indians were like Mexicans, they ganged up. He motioned to Jay to start back to their machines, but then waved a hand at a younger boy who was assigned to make sure they left. "Listen here, scout, I'll pay you a hundred dollars to find one boy. Fifty now, fifty when you return and can point him out."

The youngster thought about the offer; his friends had retreated back to the compound. "That's it? Just one boy and you don't want to see him."

Moseby concurred and off the kid ran. A half-hour later they met again up on a plateau overlooking the campsite. The boy pointed to a group of boys standing near the first row of tents.

"He's there, the tall one with khaki shorts," the boy said.

"Looks like there are two tall ones," Moseby said but his binoculars pinpointed the boy's features. When the kid asked for the other fifty dollars, T-Bone laughed and told him to get the hell away from him.

This young Navajo crackled a bird call and five Indians stood up from behind boulders, cactus, or from the desert floor, as if they had blended perfectly in with the earth. Two of them had bows, the others, sticks. T-Bone said he was just kidding and gave the boy the other fifty. By morning he'd be back, but far more careful this time.

As with all goings-on with this clan the boy reported to his chief what had transpired and gave the man two fifty-dollar bills. Chief Rainbow made sure this information was relayed to Ben Barkley. Ben wasn't sure what to make of it, yet he knew that his sister-in-law, removed or otherwise, had relatives in the area. He wouldn't put it by Louise to try something conniving. In turn he told Austin to stay around others, speak to his brothers, and don't talk or go anywhere with strangers.

Chief Rainbow had planned on his own dinner for his guests. He had his boys fish and clean trout for several weeks. The numbers far outweighed his expectations. With the addition of Mr. Barkley's hamburgers and corn on the cob, there was plenty of food to go around.

The day's hot sun began to dip behind mountains to the west. Dinner was more cafeteria style where kids moved to their own areas to eat. Two large bond fires were set within square areas. Drums collectively set to rhythm as part of this feast. Singing and dancing commenced in the center, songs and dances reenacting ancient myths and family sagas. Attired in only loincloths or grass skirts, the boys wore various headbands, body paintings and headdresses to denote their upbringing or learnings.

By the main lodge Ben had selected his closest friends, boys he had come to know personally, all in preparation for their first sweat lodge. Scooter was told he was too young, but the pleading near tears, his peers' coming to his defense, all persuaded Ben to cave in. He was big for a ten-year old, almost eleven, and he assured his uncle that he was experienced enough to know what bigger people did. They were told little by the chief, and it came as a surprise to see a woman who was there to inspect their health, take a blood sample and diagnose potential problems. The lady was a physician, but more important was her role as a medicine woman or shaman with supernatural powers derived from association with personal guardian spirits. There were thirty-five men and boys, stark naked at the mercy of this elder woman. Ben had never gone to a woman doctor and, to his memory, had never been seen naked by anyone but his mother. He and Art snickered at each other, joking about the possible prostate exam. Art had his own secrets there.

Without any medical tools, the lady listened for heartbeat irregularities, examined skin, teeth, ears, eyes, under armpits, and had no reservation in taking one's penis and testicles in hand to inspect for disease. Her one collection was of a blood sample. The means to detect HIV or other STDs were modern medicine.

Chip and Philly had used the sauna in the White House, which wasn't as suffocating as this heat. They endured, enjoyed the beatings on their bodies with sage leaves, and felt honored to be among true Indians. This was their life, their rituals, a religion to their souls who sought to connect with higher powers and their ancestors.

Scooter was the only boy who did not possess pubic hair, though there were six 12 & 13 year olds from the Crusade there, and three Indians of the same age. Tonight was their puberty ceremony and Ben had carefully searched amongst his six thousand for those who fit this criteria. Cheet was one of them. Two boys from South Dakota had followed their sisters into this Crusade. Discovering that their sixteen-year old sisters were lesbians and signed up for the Crusade, it was revealed by their brothers that they were in love with each other, as well. Tony had discovered a thirteen-year old Virginian, whose wealthy parents had given him permission to ride in the Crusade. They took off to Italy on a second honeymoon.

The ceremony was both scary and an honor for these boys. A bee hived-shaped frame of willow sticks covered with buffalo skins welcomed their nakedness. Inside Indian boys were already praying and singing. When the flap was closed, cold water was poured over the stones. In the enveloping cloud of steam they heard the voice of the spirit and felt its hot, purifying breath. They rubbed themselves dry with sage leaves.

These boys were soon brought out from the lodge, sat in secluded spaces before a buffalo skull and a fire of sweet grass burst forth in smoke after a powdered substance was tossed into the fire. They were flagellated and told to allow their minds to be receptive to the coming of a vision.

Later on Tony would describe it to his adopted father. "I was really scared, nothing but blackness and this smoke filling my nostrils. Chief Rainbow spoke to me, `All the powers of this world, the heavens and the star peoples, and the red and blue sacred rays; all things that move in the universe, in the rivers, all waters, all trees that stand, all the grasses of your grandparents, all the sacred peoples of the universe, listen, my boy, a sacred relationship will all be yours.' Then my mind got real dizzy and my body seemed to float upwards. It made me listen to the voices from within me. It felt like someone was with me and I had this vision of being a bird looking down on the desert, and I'm not sure if I've ever seen a desert until then."

An hour had passed when the boys were brought out of their trance, one induced by something far beyond their comprehension. Chief Rainbow gave each boy a grown-up name that would protect them within the spirit world, a power to help them into manhood.

Ken had mentioned nothing to this healing woman about his cancer. Next thing he knew he was being treated with herbs. This doctor expressed concern about his health that he should allow her to treat him for several weeks. Ken was told to take mentzelia seeds and cinnabar daily. The man could only thank the woman and promise he would seek treatment when he had the chance. It didn't satisfy her desire to treat, so she gave him an herbal infusion, rubbed portions of paint on his shoulders, back, abdomen, genitals, limbs, and between his legs. She knew his prostate problems, half-hypnotizing Ken with a chant while sprinkling colored powder on him. The shaking of a rattle distracted this senior citizen from the powdery, pollen like substance was blown in his face. For a few minutes he lost track of time, his head spinning in confusion of where he was. The words and cadence of the chant permeated his body and soul deep within.

A cold spray invigorated their bodies when Chip and the boys exited the sweat lodge. There was humor when teens compared their all-over brownness to the white boys' white buns. The older teens were handed masks of supernatural creatures, and then escorted in the main tepee, the largest tent in the community. The inner skin was brightly painted, medicine bags, an arrow quiver, shields, wooden bows, and the tepee poles decorated the interior. There was an altar for burning sweet grass and other incense during the ceremonial occasions. Parfleches, which are the closets and drawers of the tepee, were strewn about. A huge fire pit was the main centerpiece.

Chief Rainbow came in with a full feathered headdress on, his face mask was ornately adorned with long strands of horsehair and scowling eyes. All the masks had the power of prophecy, mercurial in nature, they had to be treated with respect. A person who ridiculed a mask courted almost certain illness.

More experienced teens painted the bodies of the Crusade boys with bright red ocher and bloodroot, carefully coating the genitals with vermilion makeup, concocted from fat mixed with berry juice and minerals that provided the desired color. So slippery was the mixture that most of the boys had an erection in seconds. Next came the adornment of their slim waists with bracelets of shell and necklaces of seeds. A friendship dance commenced to the rhythm of beating drums. Two boys would dance around the fire, side by side, a slow shuffle. After a single circle they picked two of the Crusade boys to join them, Cheet and Shane, and there was another shuffle about the fire. This went on until everyone was dancing to the beat of the drums.

Dances began to imitate animals, awkward movements that pawed the air, yet these white guests, so inebriated by the incense, copied their Indian brothers' actions to the T. These lucky boys had been connoted into membership in a particular society, a blue-white smoke rising to the apex of this huge tepee. Its floor symbolized the earth on which the Indians lived; the sides, vaulted to a peak, put the emphasis to the sky. The tepee's vast roundness symbolized a reminder of the sacred life circle, which has no beginning and no end, and behind the hearth, in even the most modest of lodges, was an earth altar on which incense, in the form of fragrant sage or sweet grass, was burned.

Chip and Ronin had barely recovered from their erections, stimulated by this painting of their skin. White zigzag lines coursed down their upper arms, chest, backs, buttocks, and legs. Clean and purified after their saunas, they felt refreshed and terribly sensual. To be in any way immoderate or intemperate at that time, or to fail to observe the rituals of this sexual awakening would be to violate a sacred tradition.

The three adults were soon in rhythm to their younger counterparts, blending to the ways of animal spirits, their arms representing wings, while their genitals whipped up and back to signify strength and virility. To this clan of boys, their adult chief meant no more than the fact that the individual who held it was honored for his wisdom, his bravery, or his persuasiveness.

This was an unregimented society where a wide range of conduct was tolerated. Like so many tribes, a boy might dress as a girl, but that was his decision and he was not ostracized for it. Indeed Chip's long penis had much affection to these Indian boys, and to taste the sperm of this gift from the spirits was to indeed inhabit its power.

Finally the initiates entered, there lack of masks made the others appear dominant and fearless. A sacred pipe was brought out, a calumet used for rituals of high ceremony. What was once considered to have mystical properties, tobacco was no longer a drug used by this society. Ingestion of peyote was a hallucinogenic cactus, causing visions that often take the form of beautiful, kaleidoscopic designs. These boys in their celebration of sexual maturity were given this important sacrament. Their bodies also painted, their minds were in another world, and their naked bodies gleamed of newness. Indian boys prepared their new brothers with smear of lube in their anuses, fingers gently slipping in and out. Their bodies and minds readied, they were presented to Chief Rainbow.

A wicker basket was brought forward. Inside were a dozen butterflies released to the air and boys' excitement of even more color. "Now catch me a butterfly," he ordered each boy. "Be quick!"

The virile boys scattered, but only to find obstacles in boys sitting cross-legged, awaiting to capture for a brief second a young man determined to be cunning and swift. His penis was hardened by the lips that engulfed it, then released to hasten his capture. While one boy gummed this pubescent creature, another fingered him as his last vestiges of boyhood. Nary could a boy go a few feet until they were again encased in sexual wont. Finally to be sure that none of them reached orgasm, they were released to capture their own butterfly. Each brought the winged creature forward.

"Now rub its wings over your heart and ask the butterflies to lend you their grace and swiftness."

Chief Rainbow gave each boy their adult name and mask, then presented them to their brothers. A celebration was at hand. The calumet was passed around, each person becoming intoxicated with peyote buttons. Dances became erotic, boys' mouths engulfed hardened members until they soon were chained six in a row, their tender entrances becoming far more pronounced as each boy became immune to another's entry.

Art stretched his nude frame and felt the furry cover of a buffalo blanket. It was light outside; this he knew from looking upward and seeing a bright blue sky through the hole in the tepee. Six o'clock it wasn't. Without a watch Art was clueless. Ben's arm was hung over his waist, so Art attempted to put it to the side. A snoozing director shot his eyes open to glance up at his friend.

"Where are we?" Ben asked with humor.

"I think we've been captured by Indians. Best thing, there are all these naked boys everywhere. I can't believe I went through an entire night without peeing."

Ben chuckled and saw he was surrounded by sleeping teenagers. Shane's nude frame was near Ben's feet, as if the boy sought safety with this adult near. Scooter was twisted over Austin, but the older brother was too far gone to care.

"By the way," Art said bending down to kiss his partner, "my answer is yes."

With a hand around Art's neck Ben made sure it was a long kiss. His mind fought for the question to support the answer. So much had happened the night before. Three ejaculations! How many years had it been since he'd done it twice? Twenty? Thirty years? All he knew was that his hard-on hadn't gone down for over three hours. Art was just as lucky. Then it came to Ben; he had asked Art to be his partner for life. Not like they could get married in Texas, but he would if he could. They'd made love before falling asleep. Compared to all the boys he had fucked through the hours, Art was the most gentle and caring of them all. Actually Ben didn't want to know all that had happened. Bodies were everywhere, crawling, searching for any male bond available. He was pretty sure he had had sex with Austin, Cheet, and definitely Shane. A rush of pleasure swooped over Ben's mind with the realization that Shane had entered him, their love for each other consummated in a massive chain of raw sex. Ronin had been on the receiving end in front, a boy who certainly enjoyed being a bottom. Never having experienced an orgy, this had been gay heaven a few hours earlier.

"Then it's done, you're moving in," Ben said and had never before felt such a connection for someone his own age. This type of companionship was so different than the pure lust and love he felt for Shane. With Shane he wanted to possess, to devour the boy. Art had the maturity that sparked a union of experience and mental challenge.

Ben arched up his frame to see bare asses wet from all the ointment, boys still entwined in somber sleep, but no sign of their chief. Here he had spent years in dire respect for his nephews' sexuality and in one night he had loved them with passion. Go figure. Ben just hoped that Scooter hadn't been that resourceful in the dark.

Hopefully his counselors didn't have 6,000 kids lined up on their bicycles waiting for their director. He hadn't planned on taking a day off, but they had a few days to play with so a day of play wasn't a disaster.

Other teens in this ceremonial tepee began to rustle. One of these sleepy youngsters holding himself up by an extended arm was Chip. He winked at Ben and Art, the teen's morning boner still glistened with lube after five orgasms the night before. Nothing unusual for an eighteen-year old, he had fucked and been fucked by at least twenty-five boys. He'd have to explain to his favorite English boy that this was an exception to the wild, wild, west.

Art stood up and proudly exhibited a boner. There was no doubt that an Indian had gotten the best of him. Even Indians knew the value of Viagra, Art thought. He was hungry, that was for sure. Reaching down he helped this new man in his life upward. Ben thanked him, then walked over to his youngest nephew, slightly separating Scooter's butt cheeks. No blood, but plenty of oozing semen that had drained during the night. Without the ability to ejaculate, this rabbit never ran out of energy. The boy had survived far more sex than he would likely ever experience again. A boy this young might not know whether he will end up gay or straight, but Scooter knew what pleasure was and how to satisfy other boys.

Missing were his ceremonial boys, seven in all. Near midnight the chief had taken all these new pubescent out upon the desert as part of their initiation. A few of them like Brett and Eddy had reached puberty earlier than the others, yet, the initiation had served a purpose in welcoming gay boys to a new world. Chief Rainbow assured Ben that their safety was a priority. Tony's rambunctious behavior worried Ben that the boy might bolt. Cheet might have some influence over this youngster, Ben prayed. He woke his group so they could have breakfast and ready themselves for the day.

Outside they strolled stark naked, the sun nearly blinding them. So many of his Crusade kids were out and about, eyeing this group with suspicion. Chip asked a girl what time it was and shocked them all when she said it was nine-thirty-five. The breakfast truck had long closed up.

"I happen to know the cook," Ben said and had all of them smiling.

Activities abounded around this close community. A soccer game on one field had many kids participating, while others tried lacrosse with several Indian youth. Chief Rainbow came up from the side, dressed in a casual Dodgers' T-shirt and shorts. He didn't look the worse for wear.

"I like when my guests enjoy their stay," he said with laughter. "Your boys should be returning shortly. I have one of my older braves with them."

"Enjoyed the evening," Ben said. "You'll have to give me that recipe."

The chief laughed. "Oh, the medicine of youth, you mean. Yes, it does keep your arrow taut. Indians have had that a lot longer than you white folk. I've heard you like baseball. My boys would like to challenge your boys. Say, four o'clock?"

There was rapid agreement. Ben could only hope that Shane had survived an evening of raw and uninhibited sex. A wager of sorts was held close to the chest by two wealthy men. A dose of reality was conveyed from Ben to the chief that his kids had many cellphones. If this foster community, per se, could handle the heat of media attention the game was on. Chief Rainbow could've cared less if the game was on national television, then said the game should be played as pure as possible, no cleats and no clothes.

In the distance upon a knoll T-Bone had slept sprawled over his motorcycle, sure that his target would be easy prey the following morning. Not only wasn't there movement from the thousands of tents, there was no sign of a tall lanky boy. From this flat plateau a half-mile away from camp Moseby kept his binoculars focused on the thousands who eventually meandered to the breakfast tents.

In his fit of anger he verbally and physically abused his boy toy, Jay. Because this kid had no home, no family, no money, and little else to live for, Jay tolerated abuse as if he deserved it. While Moseby's stare scanned this assembly of teenagers, Jay's vision went to the ball diamond in the distance where boys were digging sliding pits in front of second and third. Years earlier baseball had been his lone escape from an alcoholic step-father. Success had come easy for this lithe shortstop, an outsider to his teammates because he never had money and dressed poorly. No one could negate his talent for playing ball. Only as he got older did his step-father's jealousy of his son's success hinder this talented boy from playing baseball.

When T-Bone saw tears in this boy's eyes Jay said it was dirt and nothing more was said.

Seven naked, dirt-brown boys came running into camp during lunch time. Leading the group was Cheet, scratched and bloody but with a smile on his face. Into the arms of Ben Barkley, all of Ben's worries were dissolved in Cheet's first words. "That was so much fun."

Tony had leaped into Chip's grasp, a teenager he admired extremely but was often too scared to approach. Totally surprised Chip rested his hands under the boy's butt to support this excited boy. They all looked like they'd survived being stranded in the desert for a week.

Though they all needed a shower, the boys were hustled to a table where a plate of hot dogs welcomed their starving stomachs. So famished none of them were too anxious to speak of their adventure. To their peers, it was enough to see their faces again.

Art retrieved their medical counselor to wash the many wounds suffered from feet to heads. Ben made sure to make his rounds, hugging each boy around the neck and telling them of the ballgame later that afternoon.

Showered and wearing the prescribed loin cloth of two deer skins front and back, the boys scattered. They didn't seem the bit tired in their desire to be part of all the festivities going on. Riding on the main athletic field Indian boys were showing their amazing skills to the hundreds of boys and girls lining the field's perimeter. A young boy of fourteen dropped down on one side of his mount, one leg hooked over the horse's back and an elbow resting in a sling that circled the animal's neck. His hands free for bow and arrow, he discharged his arrows over the horse's back or from beneath the neck. Ben applauded wildly.

Painted symbols adorned the horse, eagle feathers on its mane, fastened fake scalp locks to its bridle, red ribbons to its head. Naked to his core, the boy had painted himself as if a brave prepared for war.

There was no way that Austin or Cheet could compete with such horsemanship. The morning hours had these Indian boys having their fun to score at their leisure in their lacrosse game against the Crusade boys. Soccer was no different, far too skilled even to several girls who played varsity soccer at their high schools.

Being asked by a handsome Indian boy Austin had just met, his facial features as magnificent as the finest of braves, Austin dropped his shorts and walked out upon this field as the sole representative of the Crusade's hopes. Little did Austin know, Hida had grabbed the boy's shorts to bring them out to the field. He threw them on the dirt, flung himself upon his pony and charged fifty yards away. His fast gallop back had him swoop down along the flanks of his mount and sweep up the shorts in is bare hand. The boy's peers went wild with their cheers.

Austin had never played such games, but he was up to the challenge. His sleek body became one with his bareback riding, his balls felt crushed against the horse's ribs. He leaned, held on for dear life and managed to grasp his shorts and pull himself back up in desperation. The Crusade kids went doubly wild.

A small rubber ball was thrown out from the Indian crowd. With dexterity Hida scooped this up just as easy as the shorts. Austin missed the ball on his first pass, but obtained it on his second.

Hida slapped his friend's open palm, chest pumped him and pointed to one of their smallest boys in their community. Ten years old, Fewke ran out to make himself prone on the ground. In full gallop, Hida managed to pick the boy up underneath his shoulder and fling the boy, plus himself, back up on the mount. It was impressive.

Austin didn't want to back down, but this was well beyond his capability. At a calculated speed, Austin slid down the side of his horse, one heel still high on the flank, his ass cheeks spread to the open air, he temporarily had a hold of the boy until there was no way he could remount and bring the boy with him. Over he tumbled, he and the ten-year old slid unmercifully along the dirt. Scraped but otherwise unhurt, Austin made sure the boy was okay, before he lay there with legs spread to catch his breath and feeling each limb to make sure nothing was broken. His uncle was just as quickly by his side.

"Is my dick still there?" Austin asked in humor.

"About the only thing that's not bleeding," Ben said examining his nephew's dirty frame.

Patsy Sue, a fifteen-year old lesbian from Wyoming, gave the Crusade kids a sense of pride when she rode a mustang standing up, her boobs bouncing and her sex minus anything the gay boys desired, but she was still madly praised. Her lover was greatly impressed.

Austin came out of his uncle's tent to the arms and praise of his friends. Limping a little the boy played it off for attention. Ointment and band aides everywhere, Austin assured his peers that he would be ready for the ball game that night.

Shane stepped in the tent to find Ben cleaning up. He put his arms around the man's waist from the rear, kissing Ben's neck. If Ben wondered if Shane would remember anything about the previous night, he was about to learn.

"You aren't mad at me, are you, sir?" Shane asked.

Ben turned around and took the teen's face in his hands. "Why would I be mad at you?"

"You know, I entered you when you fucking another boy. I saw Austin do it, so I kinda thought..."

"Shane, I love you, and what we share is amazing. There are pleasures in life we can both remember without guilt if that's what you want. That was a special time and I hope it was a great memory for you, as well."

"Oh, it was!" Shane excitedly said and then went on to tell his favorite adult about what Cheet did after leaving the tent at midnight. They had run several miles, the Indian boys far outdistancing their counterparts. A sidewinder, roadrunner and several jackrabbits had scurried from the barefoot boys intruding on their land. Running under arches, spires, and natural bridges, they stopped on a flat vertical rock, like a dinner plate standing on edge. Cheet said it was all like a dream, the lack of fear, and a bodily sensation of being drugged. They had each paired off, their new Indian companion just seemed perfect for each of them. The sex they shared made them blood brothers in the sense of semen entering into each other's cavity.

Using their combined skill and speed they had killed a pronghorn antelope, the Indian boys dressing it out and each of them eating from the same portion of heart, liver, penis and testicles. Cheet said they were covered in blood, but it wasn't bad tasting. Each portion derived an animal transposing their life to insure the growth of a boy to manhood. Sleeping on the heat of this fin of rock from the previous day's sun, they had slept in the arms of their new Indian brother. Washing themselves in the morning under a waterfall, the Indian boys would stay three more days in the wilderness to challenge their survival skills. The Crusade boys ran the five miles home. Tony, the youngest of the Crusade boys, felt himself as tough as any Indian boy and showed himself proudly. Cheet said that Tony was a really cool kid once you got to know him. Outside of his feet being cut and bruised, he was ready to pitch if Ben needed him.

"Okay I'll start Cheet and we'll go from there. Chances are, these Indians won't be able to hit his curve ball," Ben said with certainty. "He actually ate the antelope's dick?"

"Yeah, a nibble because there were so many of them. I'm sure the penis wasn't as long or as thick as yours," Shane teased and slid his hand down Ben's shorts. "It's supposed to make them horny and it's working just thinking about it. I know, I can be pretty silly and immature."

Ben kissed the boy deeply, feeling the hard-on pressing against him. "Shane, if I've learned anything about grown men, we're all fifteen-year olds at heart and act that way every chance we get. Were you this horny a month ago?"

"I was just a boy a month ago and would have run to tell my mother if a man wanted to touch me. I was pretty stupid then; now it's all I want. Sex with my peers and my Indian brother was okay, but not like you do it. You kiss, reach around to pleasure me, caress, and say sexy things. Boys just want to get their rocks off. You older guys really know how to make love."

"You're tempting me, young man. Right now we have a ballgame to go to and I don't mean balling you."

There was electricity in the air, an enthusiasm that the Crusade might actually shine in all its glory by defeating these Indian boys in a contest of physical skill. There were few if any of the 6,000 Crusaders who didn't attend this game, parking themselves on a hill that started where the outfield fence ended, some 300 feet away. Down the chalked lines, thanks to Ben's supplies, kids were required to stay back ten feet to allow space for fielders. Two wooden benches were the only dugouts available. A single backstop, taken from a high school who had upgraded their field, stopped any balls getting by the catcher. Art volunteered to umpire, standing behind the pitcher's mound. He, too, was required to be sans clothes. Both coaches, Chief Rainbow and Ben Barkley, sat naked as jaybirds as they prepared their lineups. Only when they met with the umpire did Ben learn that the chief did not take his name from the gay pride colors, but when he was looking for a site to build his community it was selected after seeing a rainbow arched over this valley, a true sign from a spirit.

Ben watched his team warm up, seven boys, two girls. He'd held tryouts at one o'clock, 232 boys and girls showed up. Informed they'd be playing nude, one girl dropped out because she was on her period. After running and throwing drills and hitting a ball tossed up to them from a kneeling position, a cut was made to 50, then to 25 after batting practice. Infield drills lowered this to fifteen.

P.J. was the second youngest to Cheet. A seventeen-year old who had played two years of varsity ball in high school but had knee problems would be a DH for P.J. There were girls behind the plate and at first base. The first baseman was called Butch for obvious reasons. Even Ben was a little scared of this Mohawk, wannabe male who could beat up most of the boys.

With the assistance of a sound bar, The Star Spangled Banner was sung by Ronin, who had learned the words in an hour and practiced for 30 minutes. He walked to the pitcher's mound bare ass naked and had the British flag painted on his stomach down to his crotch. Baseballs were painted on each butt cheek. Like all the male players, Ronin's penis was painted red, balls blue, and a white stripe went from under their penis to upwards to define their V. Twelve cheerleaders, which included six boys, did the painting and shaving of pubic hair. The girls had a baseball diamond on their stomachs with home plate at the crotch. Likewise, all the Indians might as well have been prepared for war, such as their bodies were painted. Around their heads they wore headbands.

Ben insisted that their catcher could wear a jock with cup. The Indians refused any reprieve from the rules. So confident was Ben, he didn't flip for home team, but said it was the Indians' diamond so they were home. He didn't really expect a close game.

Throughout the afternoon the Crusade kids had posted this game as the Crusader's last stand. They'd been crushed in everything else. Thanks to two laptops with webcams, the game was televised on the Internet for those interested. Word had spread quickly on this mass media outlet and gay websites. Parents who followed their sons or daughters, teens who knew their classmates in the Crusade, made for over 600,000 hits in just the first inning. It all meant the game had taken on national interest.

Rainbow flags flew from the foul markers on the fence, while white bases had replaced the brown wheat bags full of straw. Even a new pitcher's mound had tossed a wooden plank. The ambience was more of a nudist city, all except a few Secret Service agents extremely overdressed.

Scooter hustled his small buns over to the Indian side to carry three carbon bats to replace their one aluminum and three wooden ones. The Indians were very grateful. On each of his butt cheeks he had BAT BOY nicely painted on.

While Tony found a table to put behind the backstop so he could do a play by play commentary with a webcam, Chip was introduced by Chief Rainbow as the president's son and had the honor of throwing out the first ball. The game was on.

Washington D.C.

Senator McCarty had just finished an evening Foreign Relations meeting in the Senate chamber when his wife contacted him about a baseball game that had gone viral over the Internet. P.J. was playing second.

Paul was an avid Red Sox fan and was somewhat disappointed when his eldest son didn't pursue baseball after Little League. The boy could sure scoop up grounders that was for sure.

Paul relayed the message from his wife that his son's Crusade team was playing an Indian team in Utah. For that brief moment he'd forgotten that he had never told anyone that he had a gay son. In many of these senators' minds was the vision of a bunch of limp-wristed boys playing a tribe who would eat them for lunch.

They adjourned to the Senate lounge and found the Internet site. A left-handed boy, sixteen or so, brown to the core and painted like a Cleveland Indian mascot was winding up in preparation to throw a pitch. The senators had to glance twice to realize that the boy was totally naked, his penis whipping across his groin as the pitch was delivered. There in the batter's box was a younger boy, also nude but with a red penis, blue balls and white streaks up his hip line. The boy swung and missed the pitch he barely saw.

Practically at the same time a swarm of FBI agents converged on a congressman's condominium, catching the elected official in bed with one of his teenage aides. The boy had cooperated fully in exchange for getting into Princeton. Along with the embarrassing bed scene, the FBI found quite a collection of nude photographs of teenagers. President Carver had ways with congressmen who crossed a boundary they never should have approached.

Meanwhile President Carver and the First Lady were hosting a dinner for Thailand's Prime Minister and his wife at the White House. The invitation had hoped to support this man in a country whose politics were so divisive and violent that an army coup was possible at any time. There had been nine since 1946. The U.S. president was also trying to promote a trade agreement to welcome one of the biggest, smoothly, functioning car making hubs in the world in Thailand.

After dinner the First Lady escorted the guests to a family room, where the Prime Minister and his wife would certainly enjoy watching a baseball game with the two Carver brothers participating. Chelsea was visiting her parents and had an email from Philly that her brother was starting in center field.

Nine bare butts were jogging out to the field when one webcam switched to an adult crouching behind home plate. The rear view of the umpire brought instant laughs. A young voice had all the enthusiasm of a Vince Scully with the LA Dodgers.

"Well that wasn't a pretty sight, baseball fans, the Indian pitcher scalped the Crusade's first three hitters, one, two, three. Custer would not be pleased. Crazy Horse would've been proud though."

President Carver coughed; the First Lady turned bright red, and Chelsea laughed. Prime Minister Yingluck Shinawatra and his wife sat there in awe. Finally a smile cracked from this world leader's face.

"I've heard about your Indian tribes. I had no idea they still didn't wear clothes. Fascinating."

"Ah, we didn't know...," the First Lady started to apologize.

"My dear, I find it quite cute," Mrs. Shinawatra said stopping any attempt to disrupt the telecast. "Which of the boys is yours, Mary?"

Mary Carver swept her eyes over the boys as they turned in their positions. The red penises stood out like colorful orchids on their bodies. She knew which one was Philly, his red flower drooped like a long tulip. With trepidation and pride she pointed toward the boy playing catch in the outfield.

"My my!" the woman said, not exactly explaining her reaction.

The President and First Lady did a momentary glance at each other. They might have just set détente back a hundred years.

In Las Vegas, what started as a joke at a casino posting a Cowboys versus Indians baseball game drew millions of dollars in instant bets, mostly favoring the Indians after it was announced a thirteen-year old was starting for the Cowboys. When it was discovered that the game was being played in the nude it took center stage on one of the big screens. Other casinos quickly picked up this betting scheme in giving the Cowboys an underdog odds in winning.

Green River, Utah

Coach Barkley had watched Jumping Deer warm up, but the lefty had thrown straight down the middle in practice. The husky sixteen-year old, without an ounce of fat, had a screwball that was almost unhittable. Striking out two of his first three hitters, Ben was beginning to rethink his so-called easy victory. His young nephew slid up next to his uncle to put his hand on Ben's thigh.

"Guess we should've scouted them a little closer, hey, Uncle Ben?"

"We have pitching too, Scooter," Ben assured the boy.

Cheet got the first batter to hit a sharp one hopper to their first baseman. She handled it like a routine grounder and the Crusade kids whooped and hollered.

Three straight hits off of Cheet's looping curveball, and Jumping Deer showed he not only could pitch but hit as well. A 350-foot home run had Bjorn in left field just look up and watch the ball sail over his head.

The second inning wasn't much better and Ben was thinking that their agreement to only go seven innings would save face and avoid a massacre. Score: 7 to 0.

It had been hoped that Shane's arm wouldn't be necessary. The teen's elbow had been bothering him after a throw from center field at the Erickson farm. Shane was ready after several days rest in case Ben wanted to use him, but Ben wanted to protect his boy from any further injury.

Going into the bottom of the third Ben brought in Tad Erickson from third. The fifteen-year old had a strong arm, just not very accurate. Despite walking two and hitting one, he struck out the next two hitters. A sharp grounder to Cheet, now playing short, was mishandled but the boy fired to home. Buns Megan had straddled the plate but slightly had to move to her left to retrieve the ball. One Indian boy had no choice than to mow down a female. Still wearing her face mask, Megan shoved her catcher's mitt right into the boy's groin, sending him up and over her body for an out if she hung on to the ball. Art slipped around the crashed bodies and inspected the glove, then gave a huge out sign. An ovation from six-thousand happy fans turned into humor when the Indian boy stood up holding his balls, but also extended his hand to congratulate this brave girl.

Top of the fourth, Cheet led off with a bunt single, the first hit for the Crusade. He stole second, sliding head first into a soft sliding zone the boys had dug that afternoon. From his chest to his toes had turned brown, except for that red hose.

Chief Rainbow came out to see his pitcher. The boy pointed to his foot. Without shoes the dragging of his back foot after delivery had taken its toll. His big toe was a bloody mess. A relief pitcher had to be brought in.

"Scooter, my boy, run and get me some medical tape," Chip told his bat boy. Being an assistant coach had some authority. He had Shane go with Scooter, telling the teen to meet him at his tent.

Coming from the bench, a rather stout Indian boy who hadn't missed a meal in a year looked far more menacing than the boy he replaced. After the initial warmup pitch, Ben was rubbing his hands.

"We'll chip away at this lead now!" he told his team. He wondered what happened to his assistant coach and Shane.

Bases loaded after another hit and a walk produced two runs on a single. A sacrifice fly brought in a third. Once again with the help of walks they had the bases loaded, only for their shortstop to make a great backhand stab at a groundball and turn it into a double play.

Tad had a tremendous fastball when it crossed the strike zone. The Indians scored four more runs to make it an eleven to three game.

In Chip's tent he gave Shane a massage that he was often given before and after his tennis matches. A woodie was often the result of kneading the buttocks. Chip had the perfect remedy for that and Shane felt refreshed after this muscle was relaxed as well.

"I'm ready, coach," Shane said as the team was preparing for the top of the fifth. He showed that his shoulder and arm was very relaxed after Chip's massage. "Chip said that if the Indians could wear headbands, we can wear an elbow band."

Ben chuckled and winked at Chip. In quick succession the Crusaders had runners on first and second when Philly hit a long towering homerun. Two more runs off of errors had the score 11-8. Shane strode to the mound to the roars of thousands. Twelve cheerleaders down the first base line were hardly syncopated in their routine, but they did form a pyramid and had their apex boy flash the crowd with a hard-on. Their laughter had them crashing to the ground. Fortunately the boner survived.

Hours before Shane had been exhausted in mind and body. His vision quest had sapped his vigor to the point of zero energy. One massage by the hands of Chip, and the body had responded to the deep muscle therapy and masturbation.

Shane's fastball was lively, dipping as a slider one second, then breaking away from the batter the next. Three straight strikeouts and the Crusade kids had new life.

Drums pounded and these braves came out dancing around home plate, their frenzied weaving and stamping built to a climax. The dance was meant to intimidate any attempt by these white boys in thinking they could win. It worked for the inning, no hits, and no runs.

Shane again shut down his opposition, giving up only a ground ball to P.J., who flipped it over to the "Amazon woman on first" he called her.

Top of the seventh. Ben was at his best when he was giving a coaching lecture. "Hey, guys, this is it. Time to dig in the spurs, wave the hat high and let's ride this bull to the finish!"

Scooter tugged on his uncle's elbow. "Uncle Ben, we're not at a rodeo."

"Oh, yeah, of course not." With his team cracking up over their bat boy's correction, Ben was glad for the humor. "We must approach our opponents as if they were buffalo. In the old days, there were `buffalo callers.' Boys who dressed themselves in buffalo skins, and they snorted and yelled to lead the herd ever onward to the edge of a cliff. Other hunters came up behind them and roared mightily, stamped their feet and whirled torches over their heads to strike terror into their prey and set off a stampede. Our weapons are our bats, and now is the time to send terror into the hearts of our foes."

The boys looked at their coach that surely the sun had gotten to him. "Sure, Coach, whatever," Bjorn said and grabbed his bat to go on the on deck circle. P.J. was given first up, a logical choice to get on base first. He bunted, ran like a boy at Little Big Horn and beat the throw.

Megan had yet to hear a single `clink!' of metal from her bat. She bunted back to the pitcher, who looked at second, then decided that first was his better option. Megan beat the throw. Tad crushed a double, making it a two-run game. A pop-up bunt was costly. Bjorn hit a long fly to left, but that only made it a one-run game, 11 to 10. Shane walked to the plate, a boy who was far a better pitcher than hitter. Ben felt so bad that a boy he loved so much might make the final out, he almost pulled him for a substitute batter. Shane swung at the first two pitches with arms that acted like loose spaghetti strands. Batting left-handed, the boy's great ass had Ben reaching between his legs to keep something from popping upward. He readjusted his focus. A close pitch was called a ball.

Teenagers often at times over-think their objectives. Not Running Bull, as the pitcher was often called by his peers for his slowness and weight, he should have stayed with a curve that had Shane swinging at something that was there a second, gone the next. He came in with a fast ball to finish this game with gusto. Shane stuck out his bat.

Shane hadn't hit a homerun since Little League. The ball sailed toward center field and sent one Indian's butt running full speed toward the snow fence only four feet high. If he had played back, he might have easily reached over the wooden barrier to catch it. Instead, the ball hit a single fence stick and bounced up and over. Crusaders 12, Indians 11.

Shane was mobbed at the plate, carried high upward by six of the boys, which did nothing but display his sex to the world. Behind the plate, Tony leaped on the table and gave his best performance from his disco experience.

"Oh...my...God! The greatest hit in all of baseball, fans! All skin and bones, except for his gorgeous dick, Shane Colter has brought the Crusaders back to life. I love him!"

A third out followed and Ben called his team together for a pep talk. "Boys, one of the great things about baseball is that you have to give the other team a chance at their turn at bat. They have their three, four, five hitters up. Shane, Running Deer is batting clean-up. If you want to walk him, I understand." Shane was too dizzy to think about it. Actually his left leg ached from when his friends had jumped on him.

"How about the buffalo, Coach? Are we still going to stampede them?" P.J. asked and had everyone laughing again.

"Funny kid," Ben said and started to chase P.J. around the bench.

The first batter laid down a pretty bunt and easily had a base hit. Running Deer rubbed his bat, shot a glare at Shane and could have cared less about his injured foot.

Shane threw two sliders that went wide and away. To walk him would put the winning run on first with no outs. A fastball down the middle and all Running Deer saw was a melon. On the button, but flat, he nailed the pitch perfectly, sending a line drive directly at Shane. All Shane saw was the glare of a ball coming back at him faster than he'd pitched it. He simply opened his web at groin level. The ball smacked into his glove which shot back into a set of balls, which put Shane on his butt. It took a split second for Shane to realize he had a ball in his glove. He leaned sideways and tossed the ball to first for a double play. Thousands of kids went wild.

Shane stood up, cupped his balls to inspect and assure himself they were still there. P.J. had run in, bent down and kissed Shane right on his penis. In Washington D.C., while the other senators roared with laughter and happiness, the senator smacked his forehead in disbelief of his son's antics.

"Don't see that every day in the majors," another senator conveyed and had them roaring again.

Shane wanted a strikeout, but got a long fly ball to Philly instead. The boy squeezed his glove to assure victory and a Crusade win. The Indians were gracious losers, congratulating their peers for an outstanding game. Tony hustled out with a cell phone camera to interview the coach.

"Dad, I mean, Coach Barkley, what do you think of your team?"

"A great step for mankind, a giant leap for all gay boys and girls," Ben said.

Tony looked quizzical. "Wasn't that said on the moon?"

In the wild celebration that followed, Chief Rainbow met Ben near the mound. "Great job, Coach. We should have a best of seven."

"We would if we didn't have to reach San Francisco in five days. I feel a little like Earl Weaver must have felt. He used to grant interviews with the press in his office after the games, but he seldom wore any clothes." The men chuckled and the chief invited Ben for a drink.

"I can't, Chief. I'm afraid I promised the boys that there would be no alcohol during the Crusade. I have committed. Now if you'd like to come down to my ranch in a few weeks, I'll take you up on that."

WASHINGTON D.C.

You would have thought it was the seventh game of the World Series. As the game had gone on more senators gathered or peeked in to see what all the commotion was about. If these had been Little Leaguers a person could understand--cute, innocent, if not cuddly—but teenagers—ho-hum—unless they were naked and playing either the Russians, Chinese or Indians. So it seemed.

A dozen senators jumped to their feet, gave each other high-fives, and pretty much acted like twelve-year olds when the Crusaders' victory came to fruition. Paul was one of these exuberant politicians who began hugging his colleagues in wild celebration of this amazing ballgame. Innings before he had wanted to punch this senator from Georgia who had called the Crusade first baseman a dyke. Monikers like fag, faggot, dyke, and homo had never quite the effect or punch in the gut until Paul had found out he had a gay son. Now those words hit home, and he wasn't going to stand by and have a grown adult who should know better degrade another human being because of their sexuality. So what if his son had kissed another boy's penis. Hey, the boy's gay! No more had this anger passed then he was hugging this same bigot in his arms. Go figure.

Few people knew that a baseball game between a bunch of no-name gay kids had attracted more viewers than the Yankee-Boston game on Monday night national television.

Their composures came back to earth as they watched thousands of youngsters taking up the entire baseball infield to sing Power of the Dream, led by a British boy who had become very popular in the United States despite his love affair with the president's son, Chip. Tears crept into more than one senator's eyes.

Quite a shock when this same Georgia senator suggested that they should do something for American youth who "chose" to be gay. Paul spoke right up.

"Senator, gay boys and girls don't choose to be gay. No one grows up and decides they think it's better if they love someone of their own sex. That's social suicide. Being gay is not about choice. Your idea has merit, I think we should not only offer protection for gay youth but a future. I've seen the bullying in school that these kids receive, being ostracized, and the results—low self-esteem, loneliness, and potential suicide. Why do eleven kids a day attempt suicide? We have the power to stop this social abuse."

Still filled with adrenaline most all the senators fully agreed. Paul knew how easy words turned to ineffectual action. Now was the time to do something for his son's future and all those boys and girls representing something far bigger than 6,000.

"I say we attack it under a no tolerance policy for bullying, and we start this at the grass roots level in elementary school. A hot line where gays can report abuse and bullying. Federal standards that will support, if not take action if the school doesn't. We advocate total equality!"

Senator Byrd from Iowa was the first to nod. "Okay, Paul, you write the bill and we're support you, non-partisan, though the Tea Party will try to undercut you. It all steps on their biblical interpretation."

The Georgian surprised even Paul. "Then we rub it in their faces. Wasn't it one of their major voices who was arrested tonight for having sexual affairs with one of his teenage aides? The congressman is going to say the kid is legal, which he is at sixteen, but we have tried to separate our urges away from these gorgeous teeny-boppers who jump at our insistence. We can't have these high school kids who have a political future in mind think that they're our sex slaves."

A senator from Texas knew his district wouldn't buy in. "Don't we already do enough in promoting SpongeBob, Square Pants, and The Simpsons? Come on, guys, some of us our fighting a conservative following. My ass is on the line here."

"Bob, Ben Barkley is a big part of your area. Can you imagine getting his support? It's always the extremists who speak out against those who are different than themselves. I think when it comes to voting, Texans are more middle-of-the-road than you think. Counter your opposition with business opportunities we can send your way and you'll win the vote."

"So you're saying, Paul, that you guys will support not closing that military installation? That will work."

The men negotiated through the evening, but the only thing they agreed on was inviting that ball team to the Capitol. Across the lawn there were two other families who had jumped for joy. The Prime Minister of Thailand and his wife might not have completely understood baseball, but they knew who won. For several seconds any formal displays of protocol were forgotten when hugs were received all around, toasts to baseball players, and congratulations to the president and his wife for having great children.

Finally the prime minister's wife had to whisper to Mary Carver, "Your sons are so fortunate to have certain gifts." She smiled in such a way as to denote that that gift was between their legs.

"As long as they don't show it off too often to the world," Mary joked.

For the president he was especially proud of his sons. Chip had often taken the spotlight, but Philly had performed magnificently. To see a pretty, blond girl of Nordic descent jump into his son's arms was quite startling. Apparently his youngest boy had a way with women, just like his old man. Was he too young to be a grandfather? The thought was laughable. Surely both his sons practiced safe sex. That P.J. always cracked Alain up. A kiss on the pitcher's penis was priceless. God knows what woman would complain to the FCC about that and the boy's erection on top of the pyramid. Some people just needed to get real.

Mattoon, Illinois

Irene Colter was multi-tasking, according to her explanation to her husband who was busy packing the basement. Every few minutes Irene hustled back up to her 16-year old daughter's bedroom where her other two boys, 12 and 11, were parked as well sitting in front of a computer screen watching their brother pitch for the Crusaders.

The little family secret of having a gay son hadn't lasted long when kids in the neighborhood began heckling the Colter children and harassing the family. Irene had to sit down her kids and explain the disturbing details.

Suzanne, the 16-year old, gave her mother a most annoyed look. "Gee, Mom, it was quite obvious wasn't it? Shane loves Cody Loggins. Why do you think he had him over for sleepovers every week? They were hot in bed. I used to listen through the wall."

"Suzanne, how could you?" her mother asked and laughed.

"She spied on `em!" Trevor said, an all-star Little Leaguer who didn't mind defending his brother to his own peers. "So what if Shane likes boys. Gays are no different than we are."

"Very mature, young man. I wish your father had the same viewpoint. Suzanne, we do not spy on your brothers."

Suzanne punched her brother. "It was only twice."

"Wow, like that really hurt," Trevor said to humor his younger brother, Bo.

Ted Colter knew something was going on or his wife wouldn't have been running up and down the steps every few minutes. Moving had never been in his plans. Having a gay son had caused all this, but blaming Shane only incensed his anger. His twelve-year old was taking the heat now. Their Little League all-star team had advanced to the Sectionals, and Ted would not move his family until his son's team was eliminated. Would they like Texas? Anywhere to escape this incessant gay bashing, though as days passed it was becoming less and less. If Shane returned, what might happen then? Ted's business had not picked up. Adults held grudges longer than their kids.

If Irene was keeping something private he would know when he checked the Crusade web site that night. He usually liked to do it when everyone was asleep. Ted wasn't sure how he would have acted if he'd stayed with the Crusade. That nonsense in Missouri, and to think that his son might have been involved in that orgy! Shane lacked the courage or the balls to become involved in anything like that; plus, he was way too shy. Yes, his son could throw a baseball, but the boy had little aptitude to hit a ball out of the infield. Certainly he would see eventually that this attraction to boys was nonsense and really not him.

Ted fingered the five round trip tickets to Austin he had just received from a Joe Barkley. The letter enclosed had stated for the Colters to pick out whichever home they wished. Surely this meant some condo or middle class area. Having a letter from an attorney worried him anyway. This whole bit of moving and a new job made no sense. If his reputation as a business leader, Rotary Club President, and respected father of three talented sons hadn't gone down the drain because of Shane's actions, he would stay right there in Mattoon. Ted had even looked into a program by a local church to alter his son's gayness. Irene had threatened him with divorce if he pursued this.

Ted regretted walking in on his son that night. What boy would ejaculate right in front of his father and think it was okay? What was Shane thinking? Of course he should have excused himself, apologized for not knocking. It was the concern that the boy had locked on to some porn on the Internet that caused him to check the computer. It wasn't porn, but well might have been. Chip Carver shouldn't have put nude pictures of himself and that English kid on his Facebook. What was wrong with teenagers these days?!

His wife had barely spoken to him over the past few weeks. Her message to him was that Shane had always thought of his father as his hero. Whatever went on in their family was what all families went through. For Shane to think that his father might congratulate him or at least respect his sexual maturity ended up being more of a slap in the face, according to his wife. Irene had all but said that he was responsible for causing Shane's self-loathing, fear around his father, and shame for being who he was.

Had hating his father made Shane a bad person, damaged goods? That's what their twelve-year old son had asked his own mother. This whole episode had made Ted question his own character. Was he really that self-serving, egotistic, and living his own lack of athletic achievements through his sons? Was Shane this inferior person to this god-like image Ted had so intoned on his boys? Ted knew he was jealous when he found out during the first few days of the Crusade that maybe his son didn't need him as much as the father needed the son.

Maybe, just maybe, Shane was trying to tell him something that night. Yes, that was it, Shane was telling him that he was different. An intimacy between father and son that wasn't meant to be sexual, but a tacit, yet graphic display of sexual identity. In some ways it was Shane's coping strategy to reveal a secret that wasn't to be revealed until a certain time. Ted had produced that time by his intrusion. In those few minutes his relationship with his eldest son was destroyed. If it could ever be rebuilt Ted would have to look within himself to find the issues that kept him from accepting a person attracted to their own sex. Was it really that critical to judge anyone based on sexual preference?

Irene came trotting down the steps, a happiness he hadn't seen on his wife's face in months. He didn't dare ask for fear she'd bite his nose off; something that had been quite common as of late. She had agreed to this move in hopes their family would survive this crisis. Her only comment made sense: "How often will we have to move away from problems?" Ted didn't have an answer for her. Now she was smiling and wiping away tears at the same time. Something had happened.

Irene had called her son a few minutes after he was carried from the field. Guessing right, he had gone to his tent to dress. It had struck Irene to the heart when Shane said it had been the happiest day of his life. He had also asked if his father had watched. Irene tried to avoid the question.

"At least I know I have one man who loves me," Shane had said out of frustration. Irene had no way to know that her son regretted saying that, not because it was true, but it might put Ben Barkley at risk. Her response, "There are things a parent shouldn't know about their children; one of them is their sexual experiences. I won't have an adult taking advantage of you, though. Don't think I didn't see that naked man hug and kiss you on the lips." She'd left it at that and was immediately sorry for raining on his parade.

"Mom, I'm not your baby anymore, I'm fifteen. You treat me like I'm an alien from another planet."

Irene had almost laughed except that it hurt more than Shane knew. The conversation, so delightful at first, had gone south in a hurry. She immediately called him back instantly. In tears she said she was sorry and that she respected his decisions. Irene added that she would always be there to listen.

So came the joy and the tears to tell her husband that he might enjoy watching a replay of a baseball game her and their children had just enjoyed.

Ted had no comment. "Are you sure you want to move all this stuff to Texas?"

"Most of it is your junk anyway. Anyway, it said in the letter that our moving expenses would be paid. Don't be such a penny pincher."

Green River, Utah

From a rock ledge Jay had watched the entire baseball game while his best friend slept nearby. It hardly mattered that two hours before he was forced to lie naked on this brown earth while T-Bone had his way with him. Jay only knew it was the only way to keep the only friend he had.

The closeness of the last few innings had almost caused Jay to jump up to thrust his fists in the air to celebrate. He wasn't always sure of the score, but the roars had more to do with who was winning than any scoreboard. All Jay could say to himself was that he'd give up his motorcycle to play one inning with those boys.

Dinner was waiting the 6,000 strong rooters of the Crusade team. Every player was carried back to the campsite on top of someone's shoulders or lifted high by a half-dozen raised arms. Shane had managed to find a few minutes of privacy inside his tent, though every minute someone was stopping by to tell him how great he made them feel.

Ben had just stepped into his own tent and realized how red his skin was. He'd made sure that all his players were coated with sunscreen, and then had forgotten himself. His cell phone rang and it was his brother.

"Louise is pissed," Joe said off the top. "She heard about the game and wants her sons brought home. I'm giving you permission to keep them."

"Your wife...uh, ex-wife has no life, Joe, so she's quite willing to spend the whole day making sure others don't have one either."

"You're point, Ben? I've known this for years. My daughter called me and thinks her mother is planning something with her father. Be careful."

"That might explain an inquiry we had yesterday. Thanks for the update, but we'll be out of Utah tomorrow, if all goes well."

The evening was spent partying in view of a beautiful sunset. If it wasn't for the mere fact that many of the boys needed sleep, Ben would've left that night.

Three reporters, one from Salt Lake, had found their way to this valley. Chip and Ronin were given the assignment to speak with them. His first words would make his father proud, "Gentlemen, I am not prepared at this time to announce my candidacy. I'll only throw myself into the running after both candidates have run out of money. Thank you for your interest." He started to walk away but they ran after him anyway.

"Mr. Carver, do you realize the baseball game this afternoon was televised nationally?"

"Like myself, Tony Barkley is not committing to the NFL for this season's football telecasts. Though they say he's the next Howard Cosell, he has to finish junior high first."

"Who's Tony Barkley?" one of them asked.

"If you have to ask, did you really watch the game?"

There was rapid whispering and one reporter said it must be the hysterical boy who was imitating Red Barber during Bobby Thompson's home run against the Dodgers. Ronin asked Chip who Red Barber and Bobby Thompson were. Chip said he thought they played for the Rolling Stones.

"Has the Crusade turned into a nudist camp?" a reporter asked.

"We might if we weren't constantly bombarded by reporters."

"Is your pitcher around? Who is he? How old? Where's he from?

Chip sighed. "So this isn't all about me? How's a guy supposed to get elected? Anyway, his name is Shane Colter, fifteen, now from Texas. I'm his agent, so give him three or four years until he's ready for the majors. Then, and only then, will we sign for two hundred million for ten years. That's a great deal!"

One reporter enjoyed Chip's frivolity. "Are you sure, Chip, that you won't run? We could use someone with a sense of humor as president?"

"Sure, say that now! You didn't always appreciate my father's jokes. I owe living in the White House for eight years for almost driving me insane."

"So this Shane Colter wants to be the first openly gay Major League baseball player?"

"Hey, let's don't rush the kid, he's still learning which hand to masturbate with. Anyway, I've not going to pull his covers, though I wouldn't mind pulling the covers over him and me. He's a heart throb. Sexuality shouldn't be a factor in any sport. I sure wouldn't want to piss off a pitcher who can throw a hundred miles per hour by calling him out on his sexuality."

"You would make a good agent, Chip Carver."

"I said the same thing to my father, but he took a lesser job."

"And, Ronin, how did you like American baseball?"

"Jolly marrrrrrvelous, my dear fellow. I must recommend it to England; any way to get our darling British boys out of their clothes." That one even had Looper, a few steps away, crack up.

"On a more serious front, boys, I understand they dropped the investigation into possible sexual improprieties. Any comment."

Ronin beat his buddy to the punch. "The bloody cops discovered that Chipper and I were simply examining each other's family jewels. My man has the most amazing scepter, don't you think?"

"Yes, we've seen it. Was the painting of these jewels a way of sending a message about America?"

"Oh, pleassseeee!" Chip responded. "Since when does blue balls become just an American problem? Trouble is, the girls who painted us thought it was water soluble. Now I really do have blue balls."

The reporters had their laughs. "Try turpentine," one suggested.

"You first. Let me know how that works for you, mate," Ronin said.

"What's in the future for you both?"

Chip glanced at Ronin. Ronin returned the stare. Chip leaned forward and gave those with cameras a Kodak moment as he kissed Ronin.

"After our honeymoon, we both might be going to college," Chip said.

Ronin sure looked surprised. "Bollocks?! I didn't even know we were getting married!"

"Oh, yeah, that's because I haven't asked you yet. How `bout it, mate? You and me till the boys come home. Will you marry me?"

Ronin smiled at the reporters. "This is so cool. Blimey yeah!" The British cutie leaped into Chip's arms to consummate this offer. The pictures were worth thousands to the paparazzi who weren't there.

Ben and Chief Rainbow had an evening walk together as if they'd been friends for years. The bases and bats were gifts to this community which served a purpose for so many wayward youth. There wasn't much a lone adult could give so many children but a chance to grow and mature. Ben suggested to Joshua that he build an industry, per se, a place where these boys could learn a skill or trade. He handed the chief his ranch card and suggested that Jumping Deer and a few other boys get in contact with him soon. Perhaps their athletic talents could be developed into a future career. They shook hands, but not before the chief gave Ben a white deerskin jacket, the rarest and therefore the most valuable gift—the best evidence of its owner's wealth and status in the community. An open invitation to the chief to visit Texas was one the chief was looking forward to.

A quick check to see if his "probation boys" were not slacking off, and Ben finally could crawl into bed. In the dark he heard Peter and Art, their sexual jaunts were a nightly event. Feeling his body melt to the comfort of sheets, a shadow of a figure stood by the tent's entrance.

The height, slimness, and posture were giveaways. There was a dropping of his shorts before Shane slid into Ben's bed.

"Can't sleep?" Ben asked.

Shane snuggled close and draped his head across the adult's chest. "They won't leave me alone." His somberness was quite apparent. "Do you love me, Ben? I mean, not like a son, but really love me?"

Ben stroked the boy's hair, wondering what was on the boy's mind. "Shane, the Lord said there is no greater love than laying down one's life for his brother. I would protect you with my life, that's how much I love you. I only worry that as you grow into an adult you will resent me for loving you."

Shane arched up and spoke into the man's face. "I know why you say that, but this isn't about sex. My feelings for you won't go away, even if you reject me."

They kissed passionately, and Ben couldn't help but wonder what Peter's thoughts were across the room. Peter was of legal age and his judgment may well condemn this interaction. There are some things in life worth risking freedom for, even the soul of a fifteen-year old. This beautiful being twisted his lithe figure around until the objective was obvious. With a stretch of his arm he had the tube of gel in his hand. Circling, then a finger penetration led to a soft murmur. Minutes of preparation before Ben slowly slid his erection within the tight folds of skin and muscular contraction.

Shane's long back made it easy for Ben to kiss its length, nibbles of sweetness to the scent of boydom. With his fingers Ben encircled the boy's nipples, hardening the minute nobs. Down the slim waistline, a stop to tickle an innie bellybutton, then the feel of wetness on the tip of a throbbing cock just beneath this tickle. Intermittent entries and thrusts were sending this young prostate vibrating to near craziness in want. There was no escaping the fact that two other men across the room were enjoying this verbalization of ecstasy. A muscular clamping held Ben's thrust in check, pulsations built and there was no escaping the impending explosion. "Do you want to come?" Ben whispered.

"No, not yet," Shane whispered back.

Exhaling the moan of pleasure Ben drained his loins into the cavity while stopping his masturbatory milking of Shane's member. Jolts of electricity unfelt in decades hit his brain to send the man into another dimension.

So relaxed, so relieved from tension and stress, Ben held the boy within his grasp, eyes dreary with sleep. Not sure how long he slept, Ben awoke—Shane had departed.

Shane didn't have to walk far to step into Chip's and Ronin's tent. The boy was running on vapors, not sure what his intentions were, only that he wanted to visit people he loved. His body was exhausted but not his appetite to love.

"Hi, guys!"

Chip and Ronin were lying in bed, discussing the day's events and waiting for one of them to say goodnight and roll over so the other one could snuggle up behind into deep sleep.

"Well, what do we owe having an American hero in our tent?" Chip asked.

"I just want to say how much I love you guys."

"Come here, my little pretty," Chip said humorously and had Shane in their arms making the boy definitely feel wanted.

"Rocky," came a voice from outside the tent. It was from an agent.

"Bullwinkle," Chip said back and took care of that.

"You tripped a sensor," Chip explained to Shane. "Now that you know the code, you have no choice but to stay."

Shane slid off his shorts again. "Guess I'm your slave."

"Ronin, your first wedding present. Unfortunately we'll have to treat him like a used rubber and toss him out. Shane's like a young brother anyway."

It took but a few seconds for Chip to realize he was getting sloppy seconds. Shane admitted it was Ben.

"This assistant coaching job has to stop," Chip said and he had his friends busting up.

Mattoon, Illinois

Ted Colter waited patiently while his family went to bed. He might as well have been sentenced to the sofa for how his wife was treating him. Opening his desk computer he typed in the Crusade web site, which led him to a baseball game that was played that afternoon.

Totally confused on why his son hadn't been picked to pitch, a camera swept over the dugout and there was Shane with his elbow wrapped in an ice bag. Bad luck, and to think that Cheet was a fine Little League pitcher but not at Major League distance. Ted questioned how his wife could have been so happy when the Indians built a monumental lead.

The second inning could have been just as bad if it hadn't been for Philly Carver's diving catch in center. Even Ted had to hold his balls as Philly slid along the grass face down. The boy got up, showed the ball, and then scraped the dirt from his body. His white penis had turned to golden brown.

There was little hope left when Shane did come to the mound, his elbow had a band around it. Shaking the arm after his delivery didn't seem to affect Shane's delivery. Watching his son throw a baseball stark naked was a unique sight. The muscles were so well defined, the whip of his arm and how his whole body torqued to perfection. The family had a modest approach to attire, and here was his own son exhibiting his penis and testicles. So sleek without an ounce of fat made his penis that much more pronounced. Ted tried to look at it from someone who was gay. Yeah, his boy had a gorgeous dick. That made Ted chuckle for the first time that day.

Now his own children had seen their own brother as the day he was born. Deep down Ted felt a bit of pride with his son's genitals. His little bubble butt would be what the girls wanted to see.

Only a few weeks earlier Ted remembered a boy that seemed just out of Senior Little League, quite unsure of himself, timid, and a body that hadn't grown into itself. Now it appeared he'd grown another inch and put on ten pounds. His pitching performance had Ted clapping, before he realized he might wake up his family. He laughed when Scooter hustled out to retrieve a bat, the words BAT BOY on his butt cheeks.

As the Crusaders fought bravely to climb their way back in the game Ted's enthusiasm went through the roof. He was up and down, raising his arms one moment, punching the air the next. When his son came up to bat with one on, all Ted could say was, "God, forgive me for being a fool. I do love my son, give me another chance."

There was that loud metal clink off the bat and Ted yelled, "Go! Go! Get out of there!" And it was gone. "Yeeeah!" he shouted and had Irene and his daughter and sons at the foot of the stairs. They didn't need an explanation. Like the game had been live, there were hugs and kisses.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Ted asked.

"I did. You appeared not to be interested," Irene honestly said. She held her breath knowing what was to come.

Since the live broadcast someone had done a lot of editing. So many cell phones had captured the action, the views were now close-ups. Shane was mobbed, then lifted high in the air. A camera captured the celebration very up front and center. Shane's penis, balls and anus were there for the world to see, hairless as they were. Suzanne started to laugh, then her brothers. Family jewels were no longer a secret. Then it happened, the kids had let Shane down when Ben came up, hugged the boy in a bear grip and kissed him on the lips. Irene waited for the volcano to erupt.

Ted was both shocked and frozen in thought. The laughter had stopped and he knew everyone was waiting for his reaction. Never taking his eyes off the screen he said, "I had the pleasure of meeting Ben Barkley. If I had to choose a man to set an example for my son, to teach him intimacy and character as a homosexual he'd be my pick. My boy is gay, God bless him. I see what I should have noticed before; his peers find Shane attractive, desired, valued, and possibly loved—a proof that our son and your brother will have self-esteem and happiness."

Irene breathed a sigh of relief and finally put her arm around her husband. "Thank you, dear. As a family we're growing." She had her children come together for a group hug. Even Suzy knew it was a great time for this family to do just that.

The family stayed awake to watch the bottom of the inning and laughed hysterically when P.J. kissed Shane's penis. Ted held his fingers to the bridge of his nose and couldn't hold a straight face. Sure, he was finished in Mattoon. Despite the success of these gay youth they would still be ostracized for being just that.

Leave it to Ted to leap for joy and hug every one of his family when Shane recorded the last out. There wasn't a dry eye to be seen when those boys and girls sang the Power of the Dream.

Green River, Utah

There was the blare of the bullhorn everyone dreaded. Up at six, bikes began to amass down a dirt road to the main highway. Gifts had been passed: moccasins, beads, a rawhide par fleche, buffalo skins, mide bags, and medicinal charms were traded if not gifted to new friends so many had made.

Art's role as assistant director had far more implications than supporting Ben Barkley and cleaning up details. As he'd done with Tony, Scooter, Cheet and Austin, he had taken Shane to the side after breakfast with his man-to-boy discussion. Shane gave his utmost attention to an adult's wisdom and advice. As with the other boys, Shane thanked Art, hugged him and went on their way. Art didn't mind being the camp's psychologist and, heaven knows, his advice might come in handy someday. None of the boys shared with another what was so secret about this tete-a-tete.

Past high mountain meadows bursting with wildflowers, the Wasatch Mountain Range was soon upon this train of 6,000 bicycles. Through the Fishlake National Forest they climbed, steadfast and slow. The naked slopes of the Tushar Mountains spanned the higher altitude.

Chip and his cohorts were still relegated to the rear, though Ben had told them that their punishment was soon to end; he missed their faces and voices at the front. There were two additional faces who had blended in with this group: Jumping Deer, whose real name was Ray, and Curved Arrow (Drew), the Indian shortstop, had been visited by their chief during the night. In as few of words as Joshua Ambrose could say to two of his favorite teenagers, "This is one of those few chances in life you must grab before it escapes. Run with the wind, brothers," their chief had said.

Boys had arrived on foot, dropped off after hitchhiking and by bicycle. Joshua bought two of the best bicycles he could find from the boys who owned them and gave these wheels to Drew and Ray. The Crusade boys welcomed these two with open arms.

One of the Secret Service vehicles slowed up to where Zach reached out from his passenger side window to hand Chip his cell phone. The First Lady wanted to speak to her son rather urgently.

"So, when were you going to tell your parents? It's common protocol to inform mothers of marriage proposals and who the bride...uh...groom...whatever, is going to be. Nothing like your dear mother finding out from the Washington Post front page: President's Boy to Marry British Pop Star."

Chip gulp and did a weak smile to his brother. "Sorry, Mom. Gee, it just happened last night. A spare of the moment thing. Ronin will probably back out when he discovers that he's going to lose his fan base—silly girls."

"Trust me, Chipper, that boy is too good of a singer. There are a lot of gay singers who are very successful. Did you buy the boy a ring?"

"Uh, sort of forgot about that part, Mom. I'll get to it right away in San Francisco."

"And about college and your future. What have you and Ronin decided? Are you going to live together, commute, or have a long-distance marriage?"

"Gee, Mom, we haven't exactly talked about all that. You're kinda bustin' my balls here."

"Just be lucky you're not home. I'd have those things in my hand after this stunt. What were you thinking?
A wink over at Ronin was a fake Every-thing-is-under-control wink. "Sometimes I think like Dad, Mom. You know, impulsive, powerful, in control. Genetics, I think."

"You mean through your dick," the First Lady added and had to giggle at herself for saying it. "And then there's children. You're way too young to be a parent."

"I've raised Philly, kind of. Ronin and I would like to adopt a couple of boys."

Ronin heard this and nearly fell off his bike. "Twelve-year olds?" Ronin asked all quizzical.

Chip laughed. "No, babies. You know, we'll get them after they stop that crying period."

Mary Carver was listening to this from 2,000 miles away. She shook her head. "Son, let's be sensible. I know that's not a word in your vocabulary, but listen to your mother now. We'll sit down with you and Ronin to establish what both your goals are here. Besides the sex part, which I'm sure you're both very good. Personally I'd recommend you keep the genetics in the family."

"You mean I should ask my sisters?!" Chip asked, somewhat in humor.

"Very funny. There are avenues to pursue this."

"So I should ask Ronin's sister and he should check with mine," Chip replied to antagonize his mother even more. Ronin had the widest eyes and the most shocked look. He was only hearing one side of the conversation.

"Chipper, it's not nice to tease your mother. You're lucky you're in Utah. Now you get that boy a ring and have the store charge it to me."

"Mom, I'm, like, above my allowance allotment now. I have money."

"Oh, yes, my son the porn star. Don't think you're going to have full access to that much money. Your father won't have you running around in a Porsche or wearing gold chains around your neck."

"I was thinking more like a cock ring, maybe a couple through my nipples. Ronin loves to lick my nipples and earlobes. I think he's getting excited just hearing me talk about it."

"Chipper! Cut that out, I'm your mother. Let me speak to my son-in-law."

Chip handed the phone to the love of his life. "Hi, Mrs. Carver," Ronin said in that soft, affectionate voice that made women think he was the most adorable boy in the world.

"Congratulations, Ronin. You have a handful, you realize that."

Ronin was sort of surprised at what Mrs. Carver was referring to. "Ah, you mean Chip's penis, Mrs. Carver?"

The First Lady roared with laughter at the boy's misperception. "You're funny, my boy. No, I was inferring that you're going to have to stay on top of things. Someone in the family has to be in charge, if you get my meaning."

"I'm usually on the bottom, Mrs. Carver. Chip likes to stay on top, but if you think it's important..."

Mary gained her composure. "You are a precious eighteen-year old. Maybe the person was right who said the English and the Americans are separated by a common language. Ronin, honey, we'll talk when you get back to the White House. There's so much we both have to learn to keep that husband of yours in line."

"Thank you, Mrs. Carver, whatever information you can give me I appreciate. I do love my Chipper."

"And I know he loves you, honey. You guys be good and don't cause any national crisis."

"We won't, Mrs. Carver. Thanks." Ronin handed the phone back to Chip, who said goodbye and to tell his father not to sweat the small things. And, oh yeah, Philly might have gotten this girl pregnant. Chip handed the phone back to Zach to leave his mother in suspense.

Approaching Fremont Indian State Park, there was quite the rumble of motorcycles going the opposite way of the Crusade. At least thirty-five menacing faces had deliberately slowed to closely peruse so many young cyclists. A few tossed pins in the middle of this assembly had immediately caused several tires to puncture. A gradual separation of bikes became apparent when kids had to pull over because of these flat tires. Word quickly spread to the lead car as the train of thousands of bikes came to a halt.

"Must have been those motorcyclists that passed us," Art explained to Ben.

"There's a State Park ahead. We were planning on stopping there anyway, so let's gather those six teens in a van and we'll repair their bikes while we're resting," Ben decided.

This park road was easily over six miles in length as the kids pulled over to eat and attend to bathroom business in one of the semi-trailers. Cabins, picnic tables and concessions were in abundance for the kids to kick back after a hard morning ride.

No one really knew how many counselors there were, so this fifteen-year old teenager could only assume that this man who approached him was on the level. A fifty-dollar bill was kind of over-the-top, but he would have to scan thousands of faces to find Austin Barkley. Actually he knew in what vicinity the boy was likely to be in, so it wasn't that tough.

Austin was gossiping with his friends at a picnic table back in this pine forest, his usual tent mate was by his side, though Austin had spent the evening with his former scoutmaster. Why his uncle wanted to see him was a curiosity, but Shane said he would walk with his buddy. Down to just their shorts because of the heat, the two boys left their IDs by their bikes. The boys never made it to the front.

Jay felt bad for tricking the boys, but he didn't want to piss off T-Bone. When the two were hustled into the deeper woods at gun point, Jay watched as two other members of this motorcycle gang began to rough up the two teens. "Which one of you is Barkley?"

Before Austin could answer, Shane said, "I am."

"No, I am," Austin blurted out.

"Okay, assholes, you're both coming with us. You both fit the description."

An hour later two bikes stood on their kickstands without riders. Chip called out, then had his peers spread out to find Austin and Shane—no luck. Word went to the front and Ben was quickly to the rear of the caravan. They spent the next half-hour searching. A sense of panic swept over Ben Barkley. He decided to leave two counselors at this State Park, the rest of the Crusade would travel on.

Back in his car Ben urgently called his brother, who then called Louise. She pleaded ignorant. Before other calls were made, a rumble of heavy machinery was again in the air. Up to the front of this stream of cycles rode black-leathered, tattooed, muscled rejects from all works of society. Pointed helmets, military caps, headbands—they were all there in their attempt to intimidate and halt this procession.

As precaution, Zach had quickly told Chip and Philly to get into one of their SUVs. Chip despised this stunt to no end. He just didn't like to be treated different than the rest of the kids. At the front things had halted, but Ben had two Secret Service men behind his car who weren't scared of this group of punks on their Harleys.

With a smirk of confidence on his face T-Bone slid off his cycle and walked up to Ben. "So you're the pied piper of these queers."

"Get on with it, low-life. What did you do with my boys?" Ben got right up in the jerk's face.

"You're quick, I'll give you that much. That's right, I have your two lovelies. Would you mind telling me which one is the Barkley kid? I'll have to dispose of the other."

"You touch one hair of either one and I'll kill you with my own hands."

"You and these flaky fags? My men here don't take too kindly to threats, old man."

Looper had heard enough and pulled out his semi-automatic weapon. "Your punk ass is in my sights, creep! Answer the man, where are the boys?"

Moseby backed off after seeing the weapon. "Good luck with that, bitch! If you want to see those boys alive again, I want a hundred thousand for each."

"That'll take time," Ben said. "Name the place."

Moseby gave the man an inquisitive stare, eyed the Aston Martin. "Fuck! You're way too willing, dude. Make that a million each. I think you have it."

Before Ben could respond he had his western tie flipped up by this filthy biker. "I'll be in touch. Don't bring in the cops or you'll be finding your bitch-ass boys' heads on the highway. Give me your fuckin' cell phone number, bitch!"

Looper hated bullies and the likes of these. He stepped forward. "Ben, how many tires were punctured back there?"

"Six, I believe. Why?"

Looper proceeded to shoot six motorcycle tires out as the men on top of them tried to scramble from this spray of bullets. He saw one thug reach in his jacket. Looper sent a bullet into the man's shoulder. Looper figured right; the men would rather have the money than retaliate. Torture came to mind, but there were too many witnesses and a mass slaughter of trash would still cause a major news story to ruin the Crusade.

Six former Harley riders hopped onto the back of their buddies' cycles. "You'll pay for that, asshole!" Moseby yelled as he turned his gang around and motored off. Six abandoned cycles strewed on the highway.

Zach requested help from his peers and quickly rolled the wounded machines into a ditch. Zach brought out his PPK and shot holes in each of their gas tanks.

Ben looked at Looper in awe. "Are you sure you should have done that?"

"They want the two million. Let's worry about the boys," Looper replied.

There was massive confusion up and down the ranks amidst thousands of teenagers. The men agreed that the boys' safety was paramount, and Ben didn't want guns involved in the dispute. He had a hunch who was behind this, though the money didn't make any sense. It was agreed upon that the Crusade should continue westward, while Ben would stay behind to remedy this kidnapping. As hard as he tried to get Art to go with the Secret Service men, Art insisted on staying with his friend.

Moseby had forgotten what the primary purpose of this kidnapping and harassment was—to stop this Crusade in its tracks. Money had turned the primary motivation. He realized his potential wealth with his tenacity to ask for a million for each boy. It was a stroke of luck.

T-Bone had lost ten of his riders by the time he had returned to Circleville. This was no teenage gang, but men who preferred to harass easy tourists and weak individuals in bars. When the opposition had guns it had become a whole different scenario. A few threatened this well-known punk that their motorcycles better be recovered. Moseby promised them he'd buy them new bikes.

The boys had been delivered to T-Bone's place, stripped of their shorts and tied. Jay had heard the boys talking and heard them use first names. He knew exactly which one was Austin Barkley. He also decided to keep this a secret from his bud in order to protect the boy he recognized as pitching the Crusaders to victory the day before. All Jay wanted to do was talk baseball.

Never one to miss an opportunity from playing the tough guy, T-Bone grabbed Shane's crotch, loving the fear he could put into innocents. He had Shane near tears in seconds with the vice around the boy's testicles. The threat of jamming his hard cock in their asses had Austin admit that he was the one they were after. Moseby switched attention to the other boy.

"I'd love to fuck that pretty ass, but apparently your private property of some old fart upstate. Dare say he'd like that ass if he could get it up."

Rather excited now that he had his target in hand T-Bone went for his phone. Although Moseby used the adjacent room, Austin heard part of the conversation. The other party had to be his grandfather, but Moseby wasn't willing quite yet to deliver his grandson to Salt Lake. There had been a change in plans, and now Moseby wanted a hundred thousand for each boy, regardless that one of them wasn't a Barkley. Even this grandfather didn't want blood on his hands and agreed to the new deal.

Agent Wenzel was in charge of this group of Secret Service agents. His instinct was to cancel this trip for all concerned. It would be best to get these youth back to their homes before shit hit the fan. He knew Chip's reaction would be over-the-top, so he got his men together to discuss the possibilities. Opening the backseat to release the Carver boys had one pissed off First Boy. He felt helpless to retaliate and just stood there glaring at Looper.

"I'm really sorry, guys. You have to give me a break here, it's our job," Looper said as just fact.

Chip glared at his protector with anger, not so much that Looper wasn't doing his job, but that the teenager just wanted to be treated as a normal kid without being known as the president's son.

Back to the front the boys went with a warning that any further problems and they would be flown out of there immediately. For the time being the Crusade continued on Route 70 to where they would turn north on Route 15.

On the phone to Joe Barkley, Ben ran down the problem. His roadmap pinpointed the only close town with a sizable population—Richfield. Joe was ordered to pick up certain supplies, pack two million in cash in two briefcases from the safe, and then fly the ranch's helicopter to Utah. "And bring my holography device," Ben added at the last second without explanation.

So many decisions had to be made. Ben struggled with notifying Shane's parents. Surely they would bring in the police, if not the FBI. He would be the fall guy and Ted would pull all his support, including the move to Texas. The decision was a no-brainer.

The idiots they were dealing with were not rational. Like many bikers who lived on drugs and booze they often acted as if they weren't given one iota of common sense. They lived for the day and nothing more. If something went wrong with this rescue his ass would be on the line. Being responsible for two young boys' lives wasn't exactly a billionaires' wet dream. In Ben's case there was the L-word, two human beings he loved dearly. A case of feelings that can't be forgotten without a confession, and there was no way he was turning Catholic.

Art was there for solace, a man of wisdom and a type of guru who had developed a sixth sense to figure out all the intricate flaws of the human race. His words were like powerful verses that sent logic to a new high. Art wasn't one to expel on his importance. The fact was that most people were looking for the same things: companionship and love. No one conquered life; you can only survive it. If you went with just the impulses of existence, we would simply breathe, eat, drink and have sex to procreate.

There had to be something more, Art had said, like finding someone, no matter what age, to love and be loved. It was why God made girls ready at 13 and 14 years of age to have babies, to prepare a new generation to be taken care of by those with wisdom. These days we'd prefer our youth to have an education, not to be weighed down with the responsibilities of raising babies. This does not negate their rights to express their sexuality and give and receive pleasure. As Art liked to humor his best friend, it's why God created the quintessential gay person to avoid over-populating the earth. Be it girls' periods, PMS, nagging, protective fathers of teenage daughters, and for boys who liked sex without the rigors of dating, Art liked to preach that gay sex may be the only true freedom.

The woman doctor at the Indian village had seen into the depths of Art's soul. In her spirit vision the man's only escape was to stay and be treated. Hardly in Art's plans. To this former teacher, his life was now at its pinnacle. He was in love with someone his own age, and then there was Peter. Their long discussions into the evening hours when Ben or the other boys weren't around had great depth. The college sophomore had been a cross country runner in high school, a varsity letterman who usually was looked upon as an also-ran. Not necessarily the lyricism of manliness, the prodigy of testosterone unbound, Peter had hidden his sexuality well. In his junior year of high school he had fallen head over heels for a freshman cross country runner, a slim fourteen-year old genius from brilliant parents who eyed this junior as their son's guardian angel. The boys quickly became tight friends, despite the age difference. Peter took on a rough exterior to defend himself against his classmates who tormented him for liking a freshman. The two teens sat with each other in church, went to movies together, traded comic books, and played one on one basketball with neophyte skills. Sometimes they'd sit together at the school cafeteria and trade innocuous gossip about nightly television shows. The younger man even helped Peter with is math problems.

Taking Robin under his wings Peter had the brother he had always wanted. But he desired more than a little brother. Peter invited Robin for a run on a day their high school was closed due to snow. They ran several miles in the fluffy whiteness, laughing, slipping, yet knowing this was dedication to training, a sport they both loved. Afterwards in Peter's room, Peter showered first, leaving his computer for Robin's use. Ready for viewing, Peter had put two heterosexual porn movies and three boy-boy shorts. He'd even positioned his webcam for spying.

Peter finished with his shower, dried off and came out to allow Robin his turn. In the meantime Peter checked what his friend had viewed—boy-boy. A green light flashed in Peter's mind. Into the bathroom he walked, pretending to do grooming while pressing his hard-on against the sink. When Robin finished, Peter had a towel waiting, wrapping his friend into the comfort of cotton, Robin's back pressed against Peter's front.

Peter let his towel drop from his waist, leaving his boner explicitly uncovered. A deep inhale of hope, he squeezed Robin in an embrace that held all the dreams of a virgin gay boy.

They froze in place, but then Robin twisted his face around to brush his lips against the side of Peter's cheek. In the background the music Peter had put on was playing: "It was just my imagination, running away with me." A perfect coincidence.

Adolescents rarely use words. Their hormone-filled, penis-driven, oh-so-happy happenstances relied solely on non-verbal feedback. The mutual intoxication of their clean bodies, raw, naked and erect sex, met when Peter tossed the towel to the side. Their erotic combining of front to front did not last long—twitches and tingles and pulses and involuntary spasms, a moan, a gasp, a sigh—two hard members rubbed into the other until both vibrated well after orgasms. A deep kiss, first for the both of them, had them separate after panting. Smiles, then laughter. The discovery was over.

A boy's love for another doesn't always last. While their peers hugged their girlfriends in the hallway, held hands going to class, kissed to impress, Peter and Robin held their secret close to their hearts. They had their private rendezvous, most often in the auditorium or Boys' locker room after everyone had left. Their kisses long and passionate, it appeared their world was over when Peter graduated.

Through the years Robin had proved faithful, now a senior and planning to go to the same college if he could get financial aid.

Robin was not out to his father, a domineering father who often questioned why his youngest son didn't date girls. The paternal figure thought that Peter had become too possessive of his son, even now that Robin's teammate was in college.

Peter had discussed all this with Art, a teenager who, underneath a pseudo macho exterior, was a fragile boy with a large heart. What was funny to Art, though he knew Peter was a bottom, Peter said both he and Robin liked being fucked, so they took turns.

"You are very lucky, Peter, to know such a dedicated boy. Don't give up, love is a commodity that is worth striving for and hanging on to."

Peter had never had anyone to talk to. Art was both a mentor and a man he loved very deeply. To be held in a man's arms was a security all gay boys should know.

While they spent so much time in the car by themselves, both Ben and Art revealed their innermost thoughts. Art had yet to disclose his lone health problem, the Indian doctor's prediction that death was at his doorstep, or that this trip had given him both the love of his life in Ben, but a last fling with youth. When Ben felt that his friend would be safer with the Crusade as they moved on, Art said, at his age, he needed to live life to its fullest.

"I cannot tell you what peace the knowledge of death gives me. To know the place and with a person I love, at least, is more than most can hope for."

"We're both too tough in our nature to let a group of rowdies get the best of us," Ben replied. "I want you to go to a hospital and begin treatment."

"Ben, my dear friend, being with you and these boys is the best medicine a man in my condition can have. My prostate can wait another week to be roughed up by some demented proctologist." With that the matter was settled.

The two seniors had quite the laugh when Ben bought two motorcycles in Richfield. A few odds and ends and Art thought his friend had watched too many super hero movies. They practiced staying balanced and getting used to having a rocket between their legs while waiting for Joe to arrive from Texas.

Circleville, Utah

Moseby returned after assuring this group of bikers that they would all be paid that evening. He'd called Barkley and the man said they would meet that night off of Route 113. Barkley had trusted the man to deliver the two boys and simply instructed this kidnapper to follow to where a green laser light would be shining.

T-Bone was antsy with anticipation that he would be a millionaire by evening. Howard Walker had called and was informed that, yes, his nephew was with Moseby. He could pick up his whiny, nose-picking brat by morning. In what condition he left in suspense.

"There's been a change of plans, Walker. Fuck you! Thanks for the fifty grand!" T-Bone hung up and loved the power of being in charge. He went to the next room where his bitch was guarding the two teens. Moseby stepped out of his pants. He massaged his dick to hardness. "Who's first?"

"I'm here, T-Bone," Jay said.

"Why don't you get the fuck out of here, dude. I have younger meat to fry."

Jay stood up, stammered for words to finally say, "I thought you liked me."

"Come on, dude, I've had your bony ass. These two are queers with that Crusade of fags. They want my dick, you can see it in their faces. Just check those smooth cheeks. Not a pimple on them and their little holes are hairless. I'm creaming here, fuck-head!"

"Just because they're gay doesn't mean they want everyone to fuck them," Jay said and was slapped a hard one for saying it.

"I think you've lost respect fer yur elder, bitch!" Moseby said and sent Jay sprawling across the floor with another backhand slap. He approached Shane, whose eyes were wide with fear. His hands tied behind his back and ankles strapped together. "Suck this, bitch!"

Held by his hair, Shane let the thick dick penetrate his mouth, but not for long.

"Leave the boy alone!" Jay called from across the room. In his hand he had a crow bar.

T-Bone sighed, pulled out to turn around. He started to laugh. "To think I was going to take your skinny dick to Oregon with me. Now whatever you and these boys have against me is all wrong. You'll all mine until I get paid. Got that, asshole?!"

He started toward Jay and caught the bar as it was swung aimlessly at T-Bone's torso. There was something so wrong about this fight. He brought his boot heel down on Jay's foot with preening animal rage, twirled the teen around and dropped the kid's jeans. In one ram he was up Jay's ass. Moseby's ferocious look of hatred was so infuriating, the crazy defiance so indecorous, it was all Jay could do to take the abuse without screaming. The hard slaps on his bare ass accompanied the accelerated penetration. Moseby took a hold of Jay's ponytail and yanked it backward, stretching the young man's neck. An intense ejaculation came seconds later.

Moseby came off his toes, slid out and wiped himself off with Jay's pants, then turned back to the boys. "Your turn will come tonight. Don't think a couple of million will buy your asses. I'm going to fuck you both right in front of your saviors. I'll put a knife to your throat just to make sure no one intervenes."

Jay slumped down on the hard asphalt floor, embarrassed and ashamed for not being able to defend himself. He'd saved the two younger teens, but for how long?

It wasn't quite nightfall when Austin and Shane were put on the back of two motorcycles, their hands still tied behind their backs, but they were given a pair of Jay's underwear each, which was two sizes too big for each.

From the town of Junction the two dozen motorcycles headed west on Utah 153 into the national forest, passing Puffer Lake and Elk Meadows. Near Beaver Canyon they turned right on 123 north to the Big John Flat, ascending the Tushar Mountains. Three peaks soared above 12,000 feet, and a half dozen others topped 11,000 feet. Their open summits provided sweeping views of south and central Utah. If it wasn't for ropes tying each boy to the rider, they would have surely fallen off.

 

 

Beaver, Utah

Joe Barkley had landed on the outskirts of Richfield at seven in the evening. It had been a rushed flight. An hour on the phone with Chief Ambrose had given Ben clearer ideas of what he was up against and the terrain he should look for.

While Joe found a way to refuel the helicopter, Ben and Art rode their Kawasaki motorcycles, each with a briefcase strapped to its seat, south to Beaver at the foot of the Tushars' west slope. Full of inexpensive motels and attractive old buildings, it was like being back in their childhood. An old pioneer town, it was also the birthplace of Utah's favorite outlaw, Butch Cassidy.

East on 153, the road was narrow, challenging these seniors with improvisation on their cycles. They ascended the hairpin switchbacks, steep drop-offs to where there began a nearly complete absence of trees on Route 123. Ben saw what he wanted and the two set up a laser light to welcome their guests as the sun set in the west. The departing sun put a blanket of darkness upon this stone formation that overlooked a valley far below.

There was a rumbling of thunder heard a mile away in the tangled canyons, the sound that only two-dozen Harley Davidsons could make. A beam of green penetrated the night sky which gave a clear direction to Moseby and his gang.

"No matter what happens, Ben, this has been one hell of a ride," Art said and hugged his friend. The man's cough really worried this Texan icon. It had increased in strength and longevity over the past few days.

"Just follow my lead, old friend," Ben assured. "I'm not going to wait until we get to Texas. You're seeing a doctor the second we get to San Francisco.

The stream of headlights drove straight to this single green beam. Moseby stopped fifty yards short of two men seen in the light of his Harley. He scanned the darkness, lit now by a half-moon high above. T-Bone looked for problems or vehicles which shouldn't be there. Slowly he advanced with his gang, their Harley's grinding stone beneath the tires.

"Where are the boys?" Ben said when the two men were within speaking distance. Moseby waved up two cycles, strapped with two teenagers who appeared to shiver without shirts on.

"If I see a gun I'll kill these boys right now. Let's see the money," T-Bone ordered.

On the ground Ben opened two briefcases filled with wads of cash. As Moseby reached for the cash, Ben slid the cases back. "Not until we trade. Boys! Get on that bike," Ben ordered.

Austin had some experience with a dirt bike years earlier. The two youngsters tried their best of get off the backs of the Harleys without help. Having their arms tied behind them didn't help. They both landed on their butts. Their underwear just drooped to their knees. Both boys stepped out of them. Art thought it best if the boys wore something. He dressed both of them like they were his children.

Art hustled to untie them both and took a few seconds to help navigate Austin with the cycle's controls. "It can jerk the bars right from your hands if you accelerate too quickly," Art advised. "Head back where you came onto this ridge and hide when you get the chance. We'll be there when we get there," he added and Austin nodded.

"The shorts!" Moseby yelled. "They're my bitches!"

"They can keep them," Jay said and was told to shut up.

"Hey, Max! You and my bitch here can ride with these two to make sure they get to the road safely," T-Bone yelled.

"That wasn't part of the deal," Ben spoke.

"Take it or leave it, old man. As far as I'm concerned we have the money and the boys now. So go fuck yourselves!"

Art was sitting to the rear of the one Kawasaki left, the cycle purring in idle. Ben was slowly backing up toward the cycle, nodding as if in agreement that they'd been screwed. He leaped on the front, swept the kickstand upward and zoomed off. One thing that Moseby hadn't expected, the briefcases started to slide right along after the bike.

"What the fuck?!!!" T-Bone shouted and jammed his cycle into gear.

In seconds Ben had accelerated to sixty miles per hour with intent to go a whole lot faster if he had to. Behind him were an army of cycles, all destined to stop him. Then came the sound of pistol shots.

"Stay low, Art! Those assholes are shooting at us!" Ben yelled and felt his dear friend grip tighter around his waist. There was a relaxation of Art's hold and Ben thought the man was preparing way too early to escape.

"It is time, my friend. I do love you," Art spoke into Ben's ear.

Up ahead the terrain appeared endless, an isolated promontory of stone jutting endlessly into space. Such was the vision of this three-dimensional laser beam. It was, for the time being, a peninsula in the sky. Even Ben had no idea when space was about to confront his stable existence, he was wondering why Art had said this. Then it happened, air and motion appeared to come to a standstill. The cycle's wheels were no longer gripping earth but flying through space. Gravity took over.

"Pull your cord now, Art!" Ben yelled. As the bike sailed into blackness Ben reached for his own cord, pulled, then felt the jolt of his body to the parachute above. He quickly searched the area for Art, but there was no sign of his friend. Below him a large object was dropping quickly to earth a half-mile below, but another object next to the cycle was slumped over, tumbling lifelessly through the air. "Nooooooo!!!" Ben cried out.

Below Ben came the loud screams of men, many men. Their bikes tumbled into space while black-clothed riders blended with the darkness of so many lost souls.

They say one relives his life at the moment of death. For T-Bone Moseby it was only confusion, a desperate panic to feel his tires hit ground that became his illusion. His body began to drift away from his prized motorcycle, a gasp for breath, a body leaden with its loss of control. A single headlight was coming straight for him, only to see a helicopter veer upward and out of sight. Life immediately felt like a series of fading dreams. Surely he would wake up at any second. Surrendering to his fall T-Bone had only a few seconds to think about being a millionaire and keeping one of the two boys for sex. He would give the Barkley kid back to his grandfather for an additional $50,000, and maybe sell the other one for a million when he was ready. His brain exploded upon impact, shortening a life that had done little to improve the human race.

A half-dozen riders to the rear of this pursuit saw their peers disappear from view. Fewer and fewer red taillights guided this path in chase; yet this plateau appeared to go on forever. Bikes had disappeared, sounds of rumbling pipes silent. Once three of the men slid their cycles sideways, three more followed, mostly to avoid collisions. Three of these bikes, with riders attached, were sent off this ledge into a fall that no one survives. The other three froze by the cliff's edge, afraid to move and hearing the screams of horror. Slowly they began to crawl back, then attempted to stand when they saw a vehicle approaching them.

Chief Rainbow stepped from the driver's side with a baseball bat in his grip. He had raced to this location to assist his friends and avoid anyone getting hurt. He'd been ten minutes too late. Ahead of him were three men, barely able to walk, but hardly prominent citizens of the community. From the back of the pickup jumped six other boys, bats in hand. Only the doctor remained in her passenger's seat. There was an attempted explanation by these men in leather jackets, chains hung loosely from their waist. One so-called gangster still displayed his brace knuckles. Chief Ambrose wasn't buying any of it. In less than a minute six Indian teens had pulverized these predators to an inch of their lives.

Chip had persuaded Looper and Zach to at least standby in case Mr. Barkley needed their assistance. Reluctantly Looper agreed upon one condition, no one said anything to the president or the agency. Their drive would only be to the campgrounds. Going east on Route 70 a green light shooting straight up into the night sky had caught Ronin's eye from the backseat of the SUV. The beam had to be twenty miles away. Flashes of red shot up from the valley floor, then a light in the sky that could only be from a helicopter. Looper agreed to check it out.

Turning south on Route 113 they drove through a turn-of-the-20^th century gold-mining boomtown. Along the crest of a narrow ridge, Looper saw the single headlights of motorcycles, a quarter-mile in on the plateau. He swung his vehicle toward them, putting his high beams on three cycles, one of them with two naked boys on it, the other two single riders.

"That's Austin and Shane!" Chip yelled from the rear seat and watched as another cyclist pulled up alongside the boys' bike and attempted to crash the bike by kicking at its gas tank. Austin veered at a forty-five degree angle. To the rear of Austin's nemesis, another rider was attempting to get between the two bikes by kicking at Mac's cycle to separate it from the boys' escape.

Looper slowed and turned in the same direction as the three retreating taillights. He had no idea how he was going to intercept this one.

Austin was more or less letting this machine drive him. Way too powerful, some maniac had just tried to hurt them. Insects, dust, and a dark void were the only things in front of him. Shane had his hands around his friend's waist, hanging on for dear life. All Austin could think of was that this barren ground would lead them to safety.

"Jump!" Shane screamed and didn't wait for Austin to hear him. Like a wrestler taking his foe to the mat, Shane didn't release his grip but hauled his friend to the rough desert floor. They hit with a thud, bounced up, slid and went over a ledge into space together.

Behind these two boys on one of the pursuing bikes Mac was too busy defending himself against Jay's antics to ward off this attack on the two boys. His cycle's front wheel hit the first downed bike sliding toward the cliff's edge. It went straight up like a reverse wheelie, tumbled and sent both vehicle and rider flying into the night sky.

Jay had one more second to react. He turned his cycle sideways hitting his left side hard and finding that he was literally trapped underneath his sliding bike. Only the last of this bare ground let the weight of this machine fall away from Jay's leg. His hands reached back for ground in desperation to catch his body its slide. Fingers slid and frantically tried to press earth to brake his movement. Both legs and then waist dropped below the ledge, but two hands held until fatigue and gravity won out. He dropped.

For the first few feet of their tumble both Austin's and Shane's fall were broken by brush and sage. Their bodies rested on a three foot ledge sticking out from the cliff's side. Once again the underwear they were given was down to their thighs. It didn't matter that Shane had landed on his buddy, the relief was that movement had ceased.

"That wasn't so bad," Austin said in iconic humor. "Now if you don't mind, get off of me."

Shane rolled left, which was almost a grave mistake. His body began to slide downward and only a large tree branch as an outgrowth from this cliff prevented the boy from falling an additional 4,000 feet. Austin snagged Shane's flopping underwear to pull him back on the ledge. He could thank Art for that idea to put those back on, though on was not the relevant word.

"Okay, maybe it's best that you just lay on me," Austin added, but that's when another body came crashing down right on top of them.

The earth began to shake. Dirt began to crumble. Half of this ledge broke off and went crashing off into darkness. Austin took the worst of this collision; his balls were crushed by Shane's thigh. A wrong move by any of them would create an unstoppable side-slip downward to sure death. Careful not to jostle and dislodge himself, Jay searched for balance, feeling nothing but raw skin and hearing, "Watch where you're putting your knee!"

"Austin? Shane? It's me, Jay."

"If you came to retrieve us for your buddy, you guys sure are desperate," Austin said.

"No, I'm on your side. That other creep went off the cliff. Okay, now hang on, this ledge is crumbling!"

"You think?" Austin said sarcastically but with far more frantic than humor.

Jay jammed his feet against the solid surface to his right, finding various roots of these branches that were like fingers from the side of this ledge. Just then Austin's balance slipped when the dirt caved in underneath him. Only Shane's grasp of his friend's arm prevented the boy from tumbling off. Their falls were just a matter of time.

"Oh my God!" came the voice above them. Beams of light from the SUV lit up a person barely hanging over the ledge. It was Chip. "Hold on, guys!"

There was little time to discuss a rescue attempt. Chip was scooting over the lip of this ledge while Looper held onto his ankles; Zach raced to latch onto Looper, while Ronin went back to search the SUV for rope.

At full extension, Chip was unable to attach his hands to any of the three boys. Looper now had to extend his own torso over the cliff. Finally Chip had his hands around Austin's forearms to replace Shane's grasp. "Pull up!" Chip yelled and the human chain began to move upward until Austin was dragged on solid ground. Back down again, Shane had managed to get on his knees, supported by Jay's holding around the boy's hips. This extraction went smoothly without Looper having to descend his own torso. Only one more.

"Reach for me!" Chip spoke to the last survivor.

"I don't deserve to be saved," Jay said with his knowledge of how he had contributed to this mess.

Looper yelled with an authority long reserved in dealing with Chip. Even though he couldn't see the teenager or knew of him, the boy represented a human life. "Listen, son, you deserve a second chance. We saw what you did for the boys, now let us help you."

Jay shimmied up to his knees but still wouldn't extend his arms. "I'm a loser," he said and began to fall backwards in one last redeeming sacrifice for all that he had done wrong.

From the dark came a circle of rope that encircled Jay's body as it tilted backwards. Only Shane's quick thinking saved Ronin from being pulled over himself. The boys' weight combined wasn't enough as they felt their loss of balance. Zach leaped up and caught both boys around the waist. With the assistance of four males, Jay was hauled up from this ledge to his safety.

Looper couldn't believe his eyes. "Ronin, where did you learn to lasso anything?"

"Mr. Barkley taught us at the rodeo. He used to do this to cows. I think it's kind of silly but it sure came to good use."

Jay was in tears and stood up to put Ronin in his arms. "No one has ever done anything nice for me. Thank you."

Ronin had scared himself, never realizing he had this courage inside of him. Though there was nervous laughter from how Ronin had learned this skill, Chip was crying because Ronin was crying.

"Heroes come at the oddest times and from people you least expect," Zach commented as he escorted everyone into the Secret Service SUV. As not to mean that the words were disrespectful or demeaning he put his arm around Ronin and kissed him on the cheek.

"Hey, bud, he's my husband!" Chip said with a smile.

"Yeah, but he's our hero," Zach said and got a high five from Chip.

As soon as Ben touched ground he went in search of Art. There, not thirty feet away, lay his friend, a broken body that no one could have survived. In his grief Ben kissed the bloody face and held the broken body of someone who had come to mean so much to this honorable man. Tears ran down his cheeks and a feeling of great loss he'd never really known until now.

"Why, Art? Why didn't you pull the cord? We could have beaten this thing, you and me. I can fix anything," Ben said in his plea of trying to understand this man he loved so much, a sidekick and companion that could never be replaced. All his money and fame could not fix death.

Finally Ben took a deep breath and pulled out a flare to alert his brother. Small fires were all about from where motorcycles had crashed to earth. Ben had no need to see the bodies of so many men. There were consequences for taking advantage of others, and for these men their endings just happened to be a gruesome death. He located the two briefcases as the chopper settled down nearby. With Joe's help they wrapped Art's body inside the parachute, then lifted off to retrieve the holography equipment at the top of this plateau. There waiting for them was Chief Rainbow and six of his boys. The recanting of Art's death caused great sadness amidst these new friends of the Crusade.

Before any plans were made, Ben had to find the boys. This was quickly resolved when his cell phone rang—Looper had the boys safe and secure without explanation. They would meet Ben back at the campsite, north on Route 15. Ben then decided to fly to Sevier where the chief had friends and the doctor could prepare Art's body for burial.

Looper saw the helicopter buss overhead as he drove back to the main road. He almost collided with a pickup truck and discovered it was driven by the chief. They each pulled down their driver's window to change greetings and inform the other of all that had happened. The knowledge that Art didn't make it had turned the SUV into dead silence. In the backseat the boys started to cry and it was all Looper and Zach could do to show strength despite of their loss.

Through so much of the Crusade the agents had been observers, invisible men who weren't so invisible. They had emotions, memories, and reflections of all that they'd witnessed. This man, Art, was respected by every agent and given great latitude. For some reason, it was like losing a close friend.

Another individual had missed all this excitement, but had no less his misery. Howard Walker wasn't one to sit by and get screwed by a lowlife asshole. He had reached Moseby on his cell phone while he was driving down from his Salt Lake City home. On his motorcycle, T-Bone was perturbed that this man was pursuing him by driving his way. In quick thought he told Walker to look for a green light pointing toward the sky; it was already in view for him. For the extra fifty thousand his grandson would be there waiting for him.

Howard saw the light over fifty miles away. An odd way to get his attention, it still took almost two hours to find this spot, though the light had long disappeared. Only a beam from a helicopter seemed to pinpoint this location, but even this aircraft had disappeared shortly after.

Howard had passed a pickup filled with a bunch of rowdy Indian boys in its bed, then a black SUV with tinted windows. These appeared to have pulled out of a dirt road off the beaten path. He drove cautiously until he saw three men stumbling toward him in his headlights. These men looked the type that Moseby would have in his company, so Howard pulled over and got out.

"Have any of you gentlemen seen a lot of motorcycles?" Howard asked politely.

The three men looked like they had survived a car wreck. Blood appeared to drip from noses and mouths. Barely able to walk, one helping the other, they had apparently survived quite a beating. These leftover gang members of a once feared gang of outlaws eyed each other and then this senior beside his Lexus. One of them stepped forward, pushed Howard to the ground and informed his two friends that they'd found their ride home.

Though Howard was not a violent man he wasn't one to steal fifty thousand from, let alone another fifty he had in the glove compartment. From his suit pocket he pulled out a 9mm Beretta. A shot through the first man's leg as the guy opened the car door wasn't enough to stop the other two from bringing out knives from their own pockets. Howard laid them both out with bullets through the chests. The last punk had made a desperate attempt to escape in the Lexus. He put the vehicle in reverse and spun the wheels to go in reverse but aimed the car directly at Howard Walker. Howard brought his gun up and fired as quickly as he could through the rear window, then dove to the ground.

How the Lexus missed him could only be credited to a bullet that had struck the driver square in the forehead as his torso had twisted around to see his target. His slumped body didn't negate the fact that the dead man's foot was on the gas pedal. The Lexus accelerated across the plateau and disappeared when its tires had no more ground underneath. The explosion was heard for miles.

Dr. Rainwater had served as a physician for twenty years at an Anasazi Indian Reservation. Her father, though in disagreement of her lesbian lifestyle, left her quite wealthy upon his death. She was quite content to help Chief Ambrose's attempt at giving refuge for gays who were rejected by parents and their own Indian reservations.

Dr. Rainwater also felt a connection with the dearly departed. She had taken a liking to this gentleman as a kind and gentle soul. Her quick autopsy had concluded that Art had been shot by a .38 slug, but it wasn't the bullet that had killed the man, but the fall. Ben couldn't understand why his dear friend didn't pull his cord.

"Because he was dying of prostate cancer, and the man didn't want sympathy," the doctor said. "He didn't have long to live, the cancer was eating his body."

"But I could have...," Ben started to say.

Dr. Rainwater comforted this grieving man. "Yes, you might have saved him with the best medical care, but Art wasn't one to intrude on anyone. I knew the man for only a few minutes, but knew his soul like a brother."

"If Art had only told me, I could've done so much. To tell Peter is going to be tough. The boy has grown to an emotional attachment."

Art's body was wrapped in a deer skin to the tribe's beliefs. The doctor mentioned that every bone in the man's body was either crushed or disintegrated with the fall. Dr. Rainwater had procured a body bag, while Ben said he would find a casket during their travels. For the time being the man was going to finish this trip with the Crusade.

Ben was dropped off at the campsite by his brother as the helicopter took off for its return trip to Texas. Most of the kids were long asleep after a tough ride. With help from a couple of counselors Art's body was put into one of the vans which held cold storage. He adjourned to his tent to prepare for a shower and relax. There in Art's bed was Peter, waiting patiently for the man's return. Ben sighed and hoped the teen was asleep. He wasn't. Turning with the expectation of seeing his best friend, Ben had trouble holding back the tears. He sat down on the edge of the large cot.

"Peter, there's been an accident. Art won't be returning."

"He's okay, right? I mean, is he in the hospital?"

Ben took the boy in his arms. "Art died tonight. I'm sorry."

There was silence before Peter broke out of Ben's comfort and dashed from the tent stark naked. Ben took out after him but hardly had the speed or endurance to stay with a teenager. On his way back from the shower, Chip saw both males run by him until Ben stopped.

"Chip, would you mind? Peter's not taking it well."

Chip tossed his shower bag on the ground, stepped out of his shower shoes and began running after Peter. No one had exactly explained to Chip that Peter had run cross country in high school. Twenty minutes later the two were on an old dirt road well into the hills of barren country. Chip was a good hundred yards behind Peter, while the lone Secret Service agent, Mike Crosby, who had the night assignment to guard Chip and Philly, was now a quarter of a mile behind.

"Fuckin' kids!" Mike swore for the last mile.

"Come on, Peter! Slow up!" Chip yelled at the top of his lungs.

Peter did stop, turned around and waited for Chip to finally catch up. Chip's hands went to his knees, while Peter was hardly gasping for air. "Man, you're good." Chip stood up and rested his hands on the older teen's shoulders, an attempt to make sure the boy didn't sprint off again. "I'm sorry about Art, I really am. We all loved him."

Peter couldn't hold his grief and broke down, shaking, and falling to his knees. Chip felt terrible for this teenager.

"He was my best friend here. I really loved him," Peter muttered.

"I'm your friend, too, Peter. Ronin likes you, also, and so do all my friends. You've always treated us with respect and kindness."

Peter couldn't stop crying and all Chip could do was hold him tight. In the distance his protector watched and was just glad they weren't running.

It was a casual walk back to camp that took another 45 minutes. They both showered when Ben arrived to tell Peter that he was welcomed to spend the night in Art's bed. The boy did.

Anyone who can sleep through a bullhorn was either deaf or dead tired. Chip was the latter. Ronin shook his lover and said that Mr. Barkley had stopped by to tell him that he could ride in the backseat of the Aston Martin so he could sleep the morning away.

Chip rolled Ronin under the covers with him. "No way. You're not going to have fun riding bikes through these hills without me. If I fall asleep just point my bike in the right direction."

Peter, on the other hand, decided to ride shotgun with Ben. It wasn't so much that he was tired, he wanted to know everything that Ben knew about Art. As a computer game programmer Peter had now named his new system—ARTILU. It had come to him in his sleep last night. Given that Ben had spent several weeks with Art, he relayed all that he could remember.

In the mountains of Fishlake National Forest the Utah police were scouring the countryside in search of clues to one of the most mysterious mass murders in the area's history. Explosions, gunshots, helicopters, and racing motorcycles had filled the air with sounds that several residents weren't accustomed to in this serene country. Twenty-nine bodies, thirty-two motorcycles and one Lexus automobile belonging to a Howard Walker in Salt Lake City. It took several hours to discover that the driver who was shot in the forehead was not Howard Walker. Each motorcycle license plate was now being researched for ownership, while a dozen investigators combed Pavant Plateau for clues that would put two and two together. Evidence of tire tracks involving two other vehicles showed an obvious rescue attempt. A gang battle would hardly include a helicopter and a Lexus. The FBI was called in.

Howard had hitch-hiked his way back to Salt Lake, a few minutes ahead of a phone call from State Police. Certainly he knew that his Lexus was missing, but he had yet to report it stolen. An investigator would be there shortly to discuss the matter. There wasn't much of a way he could cover his bruised and battered face. Howard called his lawyer.

In Austin, Texas, Joe Barkley sent his ex an email that said: `Our sons are in safe hands. Don't try that again.' Louise was not a happy camper, especially when her own father hung up on her.

From Route 15 to 21 to 6, four miles of bicycles crossed into Nevada. Traffic was light as sagebrush rolled over the vast plateaus and brutal desert mountains like an endless desert sea. More than 150 mountain ranges crossed in this Great Basin that the Crusade had to pass through. It was hot and dry, having thousands of kids ride in nothing more than swimsuits. They had spent their first fifteen minutes coating each other with sunscreen.

Within minutes of crossing the Utah border the procession was stopped by the Highway Patrol. Looper intervened, saying if he had to call President Carver he would have the National Guard escort the Crusade across the state; otherwise, allow them one lane and go on their way. The two patrolmen decided it was in their best interest to concede.

Stops were frequent to allow the riders to fill their water bottles and observe the Joshua trees, cacti, yuccas, and bushy plants known as shad scales. Occasionally a rider spotted a cottontail rabbit and a Gila monster scurried across the highway.

They had three hundred miles to cover to cross the state. This wouldn't be done in one day. Through the Egan Range they rode, up to Eureka in following what the state called its Pony Express Territory. The cyclists were literally retracing the old Pony Express Trail. Arriving in Austin, Nevada in early evening, the community was once the state's second-largest city when silver mining was hot. Now the population was barely 400. Its location was almost the exact geographic center of Nevada.

It was a joke around camp as everyone set up that they had barely seen ten cars all day, but their Highway Patrol nearly had a problem with 6,000 bikes crossing the loneliest road in America. Go figure.

Salt Lake City, Utah

Special Agent Michael Seastrom was to the FBI what a drug sniffing dog was to a police force; actually, they called him The Human Canine. Michael was 32, single, a graduate from Penn and the ultimate professional in the field of forensics. So competent in his work he was often recruited for assignments all over the west coast and was well known in all of the 56 field offices and 400 additional satellite offices. Out of almost 13,000 FBI agents, Seastrom was considered a psychic because of his accuracy. His three assistants were recruited by himself, all Ivy League grads who had a penchant for the word nerd.

Michael was a total geek, wore glasses of Harry Potter vintage, and donned the same dark blue suit every day. The perfect target for any bully during his high school years, he was so intelligent with sarcasm that few of the macho set ever wanted to tangle with the school genius and quintessential weakling. He was on the school golf team with a two handicap.

In five hours at the scene Michael had in his mind a scenario of exactly what had happened within 90% accuracy. He perused four different crime scenes: the top of the plateau, at which three specific events had taken place, and the base of this cliff. Fingerprints, serial numbers off of motorcycles, spent shells, foot prints, tire tracks, blood samples, objects that looked like they were dragged, helicopter tracks, and even indentations that first appeared to be a camera tripod were deciphered more thoroughly than a game of Clue.

By the time Michael had arrived with his entourage the local sheriff and his buffoons had managed to add their footprints and tire tracks over a broad field while contaminating a great deal of evidence. This head field agent cleared the area of incompetence and went to work. He set the stage of the initial confrontation, the reverse of three motorcycles, two briefcases on the ground that were then dragged toward the cliff. Either a planned trick or something had gone terribly wrong in the negotiations. Michael compared tire indentations and decided that two men were on one bike when it went over the cliff. Four .38 shells were found that meant the front cycle was probably fired upon. Toward the cliff's edge were pickup tracks with many footprints, blood, a tooth, and moccasin prints. A fist fight or beating, Michael decided the numbers favored one side. The tripod marks were confusing. Why would anyone be filming this? And why on adjacent sides were there two tripods?

Seastrom decided that the Lexus, a heap of rubble in the valley, had arrived late. Five 9mm casings were picked up. These prints were later to be tied to a Howard Walker. Two bodies with their knives still in hand proved that a gun usually won out. Michael wondered why men went full speed off this cliff with no sign of braking. There were skid marks, but these had to be from the last few bikes. It wasn't like the weather had been bad. Certainly these riders could see a black void ahead.

Over a half-mile below, the shattered remains of over two-dozen men were like putting rocks in a bag, so broken were the bodies. Identifications and fingerprints off handlebars were quickly sent to FBI Headquarters in Washington. Nineteen of these men were ex-felons, three with outstanding warrants.

"Check this out, sir," an agent called over to his supervisor. "Boot prints, but they just start here, then walk over to where we think a body has been removed. Like the guy came down from space."

Michael Seastrom looked up. "He did. See those wavy lines in the sand? A parachute. This guy knew what he was doing. How many men ride their motorcycles wearing parachutes?"

"Evil Knievel," an agent answered to humor the moment. "Sir, this Kawasaki has temporary tags. Who the hell buys a ZX-6R superbike that must have cost him over twenty thousand dollars and flies it off a cliff?"

Michael stared at the once brand new machine. "Someone who doesn't give a fuck about money because he's going to teach a valuable lesson to someone. In this case the man had a motorcycle gang in mind. Quite successful, if you ask me."

Michael didn't consider many mastermind criminals he had put away behind bars as idiots. In reality they were quite brilliant. He knew that most suffered from an egocentric personality, an extreme hubris, which meant they possessed a passion to ignore high risk situations. Surveying this field of carnage and what went on at the peak of this plateau above him this man covered his risks quite well. Whoever this guy was the man wasn't your average criminal, if criminal at all.

It was apparent the man had retrieved the two cases after they'd struck the earth. Michael told everyone that he'd bet his monthly check that each case had been filled with cash. No one dared accept the bet. The agents moved to where a helicopter had landed, obviously to pick up two men, one already dead. Seastrom's cell phone rang.

"Sir, we've discovered three more bikes, but one body. It's the tire tracks on top of the ridge that you have to see."

The FBI chopper once again flew its chief agent to the top of the cliff and toward the main road until they spotted the tire tracks that deviated at an angle toward a ledge off the beaten path. The foot prints were far more convoluted than the others. They stepped around a massive amount of footprints before checking the cliff's ridge, then the crumbling ledge below, which was still spitting dirt clogs and rocks cascading down the cliff's edge into an abyss below.

As if his mind was visualizing a motion picture, Michael ran the events with an IQ of 155, scary to most, yet logical to this man.

"Two of them were naked. Probably victims," Michael shocked his cohorts.

"How the fuck did you come up with that?!" an agent asked--one who wasn't an assistant, nor ever would be.

Hardly undone by the agent's moronic disbelief, Michael bent down. "Looks like three tumbled off this ridge, only to land there. Perilous, they each fought to save the other. Dare say that ledge was stable before they landed on it. Whomever was in that vehicle rescued them. These are penis prints between the legs. A set of balls, in case you need a further education," Michael admonished while pointing and drawing male genitals in the sand. "Probably boys. Not much of a frame or waists. See this rubbing here in the dirt? A rope was used on one of them. I'd say they were very lucky to be saved by whoever came along. Make sure you get samples of those blood stains."

As this confident agent traced back to the tire tracks, another agent had run up to his boss with results already relayed under police protocol. "Sir, the Lexus is registered to a Howard Walker, Salt Lake. Should we have him picked up? We also called in those temporary tags. Benjamin Barkley out of Austin, Texas. Agents are on their way there now."

Michael didn't answer right away. His mind had reserved this information and had answers that no one was expecting. He squatted down. "Okay, what is going on here?" the agent said softly to himself. Purely rhetorical his peers knew better than to try any suggestions.

"Gentlemen, these tracks are from bullet proof tires, a Chevy SUV to be exact. Oh, shit! This might involve our president's sons. We've stepped in something a whole lot bigger than we thought, gentlemen."

The other agents' eyes got a whole lot wider. Only their own human canine could possibly come up with this ridiculous scenario. "A kidnap, sir?" an agent asked to break the silence.

Michael stood up, his conclusion was set in stone. "Find this Walker, now! Jack, get me the Secret Service on the line, like a second ago. Don't you guys watch the news? This Ben Barkley is running Chip Carver's Crusade. They're in Nevada, I believe. I need the exact location, like now! Who was that guy with Barkley? Probably dead, whoever he is. I want the DNA of those blood samples done immediately, fingerprints off those bikes below, and find out if that motorcycle dealer has video cameras in his business. I want them in minutes if he has those videos. Well? What are you standing around for?! Get your asses in gear! We're not running some fuckin' Walmart!"

Six FBI agents arrived at the residence of Howard Walker at seven that evening. His lawyer was with him and answered the door. "My client has no comment."

An agent flipped up a search warrant without response to the no comment legality. Having no choice, Howard watched as the agents began to dissect his five-thousand square foot home from top to bottom. He hadn't exactly confessed to his attorney everything that had happened. Attorneys rarely enjoy having egg on their faces.

In the laundry room an agent discovered, shoved in a hamper, a pair of dress pants with blood stains. The jacket and shirt were dirty and ripped. Stuck between the mattress in the master bedroom was a Beretta 9mm revolver, minus seven shells in the clip. A pair of dirty shoes were put in a bag to match the footprints taken at the scene. Credit cards and one cell phone were also confiscated. The NSA had tracked all calls made in this area. They were reviewing the data. A search of Moseby's body had also retrieved a cell phone. The connection would soon be made.

Downstairs, an agent read Mr. Walker his rights and handcuffed him behind his back to his lawyer's objection that his client had nothing to do with these murders on the evening news.

Austin, Texas

In the back of Joe Barkley's mind he knew of the possibilities, if not the reality of a massive investigation that would unearth clues linking Ben, if not him. He was not surprised to see three black cars driving through the ranch's main gate. As a lawyer and feeling he had nothing to lose he confessed his part and what he knew. Yes, he believed that another boy was kidnapped beside his own son, but he didn't know who. Any verification of the boys' safety had been only verbal. He pointed fingers at his father-in-law and his current wife, soon to be divorced.

"The tripod marks...what were they?" the agent asked.

"Holography," Joe answered.

Agent Plant laughed. "That's exactly what Seastrom said. That's one sharp S.O.B. The other fellow, the one with your brother, who is he?"

"Art Acosta," Joe said, but the video from the motorcycle store had already been relayed to a FBI computer. Joe didn't mention the Indians' assistance or anything not asked of him. With facial recognition and fingerprints taken off a gas tank, they had the complete criminal history of Art Acosta, convicted sex offender. Nationwide arrest warrants had been issued for two men: Ben Barkley and Art Acosta.

Though the helicopter was temporarily impounded, Joe wasn't arrested, nor was the pilot. His facts and information proved invaluable to the FBI. They did go to Louise Barkley's home and arrested the woman on the spot for conspiracy to kidnap. Unfortunately more than just her son had been kidnapped. Joe had followed and took his daughters to the ranch. He would be granted temporary custody by a local judge.

By eight that night Michael Seastrom had filled in most of the blanks in his report. There was one apparent gang member unaccounted for. Several questions remained that weren't answered: Who was the second boy kidnapped? One of the president's sons? And why wasn't it reported? Did someone now have Secret Service agents and the president's sons under threat of death? Why did a group of Indians involve themselves? Did they just happen to come along? Then why the beatings?"

Figuring that Moseby had been killed, Howard Walker contrived an array of lies, all quickly dissolved by the FBI's investigation. Even with his lawyer present Howard kept tripping over facts and forgetting what he had previously said. Finally he broke down and confessed. He couldn't keep up, nor remember, his own lies.

Another helicopter trip to Circleville had discovered the location of where the boys had been held. Blood and semen samples were found on the floor. A large weapon cache, money, drugs, and drug paraphernalia were taken into evidence. This gang hideout and longtime community villain were wiped from existence in one day. Twenty thousand in cash was found in a tool box underneath fishing tackle. The two agents who found the cash counted the hundred dollar bills and split the money, each shoving ten grand into their pockets.

The Secret Service in Washington D.C. had no reason to think that President Carver's sons were in jeopardy. Their agents had called in at specific times using proper code names. Nevertheless, Agent Seastrom wasn't one to put his signature on any report unless every stone was turned over, every fact known. He had a satellite take a visual of this campsite outside of Austin, Nevada. Things appeared way too quiet. A federal Special Weapons and Tactics team was called in, as well as local SWAT teams in and around Nevada. A raid was the only way to uncover the truth. Seastrom never did things half-ass.

Austin, Nevada

What Ben wouldn't have given to be back in Colorado and soaking his body in the restorative powers of mineral-rich waters that sprang forth from the earth's depths. A ride on the range with his eight-year old paint horse, Darby, would be just about perfect right now.

So hot and fatigued most of the 6,000 kids found haven within their tents after a hot, hard day's ride. Bike tires had been deflated to stop them from exploding under the intense heat of the highway. It explained why few cars traveled this route. Two cars at the same time was considered a traffic jam. One boy had ridden over a rattlesnake leisurely crossing the road. He'd barely avoided being bit, but it did cause a pile up of bikes and kids scrambling away from a pissed off rattler.

The camp doctor had become an expert on road burns and cyclists' injuries. He'd seen more naked kids than a missionary in Africa. Each morning and night the young physician would run an assembly line like a triage. The inspection of limp dicks to assholes had their share of communicable diseases from genital herpes to gonorrhea caused by a few teenagers who accidently and ignorantly spread their misfortune to others. A bowl of condoms and lube was set near the flap of doctor's tent.

Ben had spent early evening talking to kids who were concerned with the rumors about Art's demise. The man's death was accidental, Ben assured them. He also began to understand more about transgender boys and girls when he stumbled upon a circle of them singing folk songs. Beyond what even gay boys and girls had gone through, these kids lived daily the feelings that they were inferior or judged as freaks of nature.

His education came quickly with facts and experiences of several teens who found Ben an easy adult to converse with. Bullied incessantly, these kids deserved a break and many had found acceptance and happiness with their Crusade's travels. In addition many of them had goals and dreams to change to the gender they felt most comfortable with.

A few of them had even fooled Ben with the way they dressed and acted. His empathy grew by bounds when he got to know these boys and girls personally.

This world of gay youth gave Ben personal value. All his life the mere influx of money had never been satisfying enough. What he had longed for was a purpose in life and now he had found it. By helping kids be out and proud, they could transform what those words meant and dissolve the shame surrounding their identities. For all of them they had come to realize that this Crusade was activism, a way for them to tell the world that this was who they are. For Philly and Cheet, and maybe other straight boys who were bicycling with their friends, they represented acceptance, a toleration of peers whose only difference was who they loved.

Ben had little need to be loved by mere boys; yet, he found it imperative that they be demonstrably wanted and loved as persons in their own right and also to have their own love received and accepted as worthwhile. For younger boys like Tony and Scooter, it was difficult to have an open and honest discussion of their explicit sexual desires, as well as secret sexual fantasies. Too wrapped up in the pleasure mode and exploring what was growing between their legs, the mental side had yet kicked in.

Learning to educate teenagers from a gay adult's perspective had woken Ben's imagination. It was not easy to speak about equal power and mature relationships in which each person's feelings and needs were to be respected when Shane was such a physical part of his life. The boy had a basic understanding of abuse or a violation of agreed-upon rules of sexual conduct. To Shane a boundary meant a defense he put up when he didn't trust someone. He was not going to deny his attraction or avoid them because of what others might think. `Do no harm,' he had told Ben, which meant he would never betray or do something to demean his own morals when it came to sex.

With Ben, Shane could discuss his sexual fantasies, however secret or shame-bound they may have been. Ben still refused to tie the teenager up and pretend he had taken him prisoner, despite Shane's pleading. A private joke between them, it usually made Ben's face turn beet red.

Ben often tried to find comparisons between Austin, a boy he had practically raised and loved, and Shane, a true jock like himself and competitive to the core. The boy started to mimic Ben's character and competitive streak. He wore a black Stetson which Ben had bought him at the rodeo. The boy even put Ben's red checkered scarf around his neck which they had sex. Anything that had to do with his favorite man was now an obsession.

Ben had Shane laughing when he tried to institute his favorite saying: "It's not enough to win, you have to let the loser know he lost."

For a fifteen-year old Shane had grown quite knowledgeable to how adults viewed teenage boys. Most adults would be quite content if teenagers just jacked off five times a day to avoid any expression of gayness, especially with an adult. It was bad enough that his own peers at school and on his baseball team wanted to ostracize him for being different sexually, even though he was even better at baseball than they were. Now for adults to want to restrict him to a sexual, prepubescent playpen was incomprehensible. Shane saw this as an adult's contempt against youth, a conceit, arrogance, and superiority, a judgmental, fault-finding, and condescending attitude toward boys.

"I don't feel contempt back," Shane admitted that night to a group of teens he had found and introduced himself to. He found the subject they were discussing to his liking, so he sat and listened at first, then gave his own views. "If I felt powerlessness and shame, then I might be mad at adults," he added. "Gay boys admire each other, and every time someone tells me that I have a cool body, one more notch for all gay boys!"

Shane's wisdom had quite an effect on those youth from six different states, all of them older than this confident fifteen-year old. They all agreed that the nudity throughout the Crusade had helped destroy a lot of shame about how they viewed their bodies. Their parents wouldn't have approved, but, what the hell! Wasn't this Crusade about getting away from judgment and worry?

Their sexuality was legitimized by this peer group subculture. The reality of the moment was that they shared something in common. Gone were the dynamics of the peer group that invariably defined the dynamics of shame of gay versus straight. There was no compulsory heterosexuality here.

They bantered back and forth, agreeing on most thoughts and coming to a conclusion that this diatribe on being gay wasn't one they could ever have in a classroom or as a topic in a debate club. Of course someone said, "It's about time we did."

Whether Shane realized it at the time, or not, several of his peers remembered dancing in the Missouri rain and that Shane was quite involved with an adult in demonstrative eroticism. He had caught more than one eye watching a beautiful boy tantalizing an adult who was past his prime. One of the boys teased Shane, if not questioned his motivation.

Shane bounced on being singled out. "Don't judge me. I have a father who wants me to be just like him. I feel vulnerable when I'm around my dad because he loves to control me and makes me feel inferior. Mr. Barkley allows me to experience power, invites me to feel good about myself and elevates my self-esteem. When my father gets mad at me, he just shames me and I say, yes, sir, whatever you say. My brother just stares back and gets defiant. My father leaves him alone."

The kids laughed, but they could all relate. They each started to talk about teachers, coaches, a neighbor, or a relative who they felt confident enough to talk to. A few had had sex with an adult. One seventeen-year old revealed a long held secret.

"The guy was my soccer coach. We didn't talk about what we were doing, we just did it. I remember the smells the most. His body was breathtaking, mature and awesome. I had no idea of the words patience and prudence. I wanted us to have sex every time we were together. Seth, that was his name, got spooked that others noticed me hanging all over him. My teammates noticed and said I was queer for my coach. Then I caught on and let Seth dictate the time and place."

The other kids waited in anticipation of some conclusion. Donny smiled and held their curiosity in suspense. "Yeah, we still do it. Seth got married and has three kids. His wife knows we have a history and was really jealous at first."

"Come on, Donny, you're killing us here. What happened?" Brittany Eagleson held her girlfriend's hand for the result.

"Seth took me to bed one night with Amy, that's her name. Guess his wife figured the only way this was going to work is if they both shared me."

His friends cracked up in laughter. "So you screwed his wife?!" a boy asked.

"I lost my virginity while Seth screwed me. Kinky, but they're still married. His wife started to want me when Seth wasn't around. No way. I've sort of played it cool for a few months. College will be a good escape."

The story made an interesting parallel to other teenage secrets. One girl had had sex with her cousin, five years younger. The twelve-year old had flashed her his boner while she was babysitting. The girl gave him what he wanted. Like Donny, the boy kept asking his parents when they were going out again and his mother was concerned that her son had fallen in love with his cousin. She had no idea of the real truth."

"But you're a lesbian," Donny spoke up.

"One thing about a twelve-year old, they're not all macho and know-it-all as the boys in high school. I taught him how to lick pussy and he's really good at it. I'm helping him to understand women, to treat them right. Timmy knows I like girls."

"Does he ejaculate?" a girl asked.

"Does now. I brought him off for his first sperm. He's rather thankful to me for what I'd taught him."

"Just me careful, girl. Boys talk like girls."

"We've talked about that. His dad is our minister. Men are so easy. He takes me home after I babysit, so I told him how handsome he is and how much I respected him. Once he kissed me goodnight I knew I had him. I've since jacked him off in the car. My insurance policy in case Timmy's parents ever find out. Need I say more?"

All the kids sat there taciturn. To reveal such secrets required tremendous courage, something most of them were scared to do. There was a refrain from judgment. They were young, but had the mental capacity despite limited experience to know that sex was such a temptation it only took a situation or luck.

The subtle, nervous laughter from a boy was a catharsis of respite. These odd, or maybe they were normal, experiences at a young age didn't stop the kids from seeing the human nature of society around them, in their neighborhoods and families. They had each held a sexual memory, and Shane's episode now seemed so mundane to their own.

Shane took a message from Chip Carver's Facebook. "Guys, friendship partakes of divine love more often and fully than does romance. Mr. Barkley has no interest in being followed or worshipped or even believed. He invites me to question, challenge, or inspire him. He's my mentor, a man who can suggest possibilities, can point me toward the truth, and be radiant in love."

A boy from South Carolina smiled and applauded Shane. "I love Socrates."

"He's dead, Luke," another boy joked.

"No! Tell me it ain't so, I just read his book a month ago," Luke humored back. "He said that it was taken absolutely for granted that close contact with a beautiful, grateful, and admiring young male was a virtually irresistible temptation. Guess I'll have to find someone else. Does Mr. Barkley have friends?"

The kids laughed. It took a girl playing devil's advocate to challenge the boys. "Today they would call Socrates a pervert."

Surprisingly one of the more reserve girls spoke right out. She was a college student at Texas Tech. "Dr. Kinsey said that there is little evidence of such a thing as innate perversity, even among those individuals whose sexual activities society has been least inclined to accept. I think he was talking about us."

A seventeen-year old from Connecticut interjected. "Actually, Dr. Kinsey was ahead of his time. He implied that most human sexual activities would become comprehensible to most individuals if they could know the background of each individual's behavior. It was the Greek culture who elevated a sense of shared human experience. There were few secrets, so it had no power to hurt the recipients. In my school growing up gay and male has many obstacles to love and intimacy."

That was agreed upon by all. Every one of them admitted they'd each spent much of their childhood hiding or feeling shame because of their desire for love with members of their own sex. Lying and hiding had become games to disguise their true selves.

"So why shouldn't I love someone older than me?" Shane said more rhetorical with what was just said.

"Go for it, boy!" a girl said and had all heads nodding.

"Thanks," Shane replied.

Probably the smartest young man there was a senior from Boston University who had started with the Crusade in New York. The other kids were antsy about him because he was quiet, with a sense of observation that had everyone nervous. His goal was to become a psychologist and this crusade was an educational pursuit. Nick was gay himself and, like the others, had his own secrets. His was his music teacher for five years. It was why Nick was a concert pianist as well. He couldn't wait to get to his piano lessons. A total commitment to an hour of piano got him a blow job. By the time he was thirteen he looked forward to returning this reward for good behavior and studious concentration. Sadly his piano teacher was found out when another boy wasn't as enthused as Nick over piano lessons.

Nick flatly denied ever being touched and told the cops that this other boy had confessed to Nick that he'd do anything to get out of piano lessons. This fifty-year old bachelor had the charges dropped solely on Nick's statement, even though the other boy said he had never met Nick. Nick's falsehood was actually true in a sense; the accuser didn't really care about being touched, he hated the piano.

Five years later an immense love between mentor and his pupil had never diminished but had grown stronger. This was the primary reason why Nick's piano teacher came to all his concerts and paid for his pupil to come on this crusade.

When Nick finally said something, everyone listened. "This is our miracle to rescind secrecy, the Crusade, to explore the possibilities, to expound reality, to teach, to draw a comparison with other gay boys and girls. Listening to every one of you here you've convinced me I want to go on to graduate school to help gays like ourselves. We're getting the shaft with moronic laws and a society ignorant of our needs."

The other teens stood up and applauded Nick's words. Almost as an afterthought to share what others had done that night he told his sexual beginnings with his piano instructor. One of his female peers asked the possibility of sexual persuasion.

"Do you think, Nick, that this man planted the seeds of homosexuality in your brain?" The question was fair and a common fault society blamed on intergenerational sex.

Nick wasn't offended. "When I was ten my parents bought me my first computer. I started by typing in penis on YouTube. Very educational. Next I tried Tumblr and was directed to more web sites than I ever imagined. All I wanted was to see penises and learn about boys. When my teacher touched me on the thigh I was leaping for joy all over. The first time he put his hand on mine, I put my other hand on his. I touched his thigh and let my little finger feel his bulge. A hug allowed me to keep my head pressed against his chest. A hand on my lower back got an erection poking up from my shorts. Then when his palm brushed up against my boner I stood up, unzipped my zipper to give him an opening to play with whatever he wanted to do. He did. Here was somebody who was interested in my penis like I was in theirs. What this man did was give me life, hope, and self-confidence."

Shane leaned over and patted the teen on the shoulder as a thank you. This new fifteen-year old was really, really glad he had taken time to join this group, even if he didn't know anyone there.

Across the grounds Ben was with Chip and Ronin when his brother called. "The FBI knows everything," were the first words from Joe's mouth. He ran down the early evening's visit and that he had custody of the girls at the ranch. Joe said he couldn't represent his brother as his lawyer on this one, there was quite a conflict of interest with his own involvement. He had called in a noteworthy criminal attorney. The man was already on the case and said it looked like classic self-defense.

Ben had an urgent need to go to the bathroom. It wasn't like he'd thought through everything to a tee; actually he had left a roadmap of evidence. The only goal had been to get those two boys free. That he had accomplished—barely. There was an arrest warrant out on him, Joe mentioned.

"Get your affairs in order and turn over your role to someone you trust," Joe suggested. "I'll prepare bail from this end."

Ben had hung up feeling totally devastated. It was like his whole life had just crumbled beneath him. The Crusade might dissolve a few hundred miles from its goal. The publicity would kill all the momentum of this proud march from sea to sea. Ben could fix many things with money and power, but not this.

Maybe Art was the one who lucked out in all this, to avoid another embarrassment in his wonderful life of helping others in education and love. To have the Crusade plunged into chaos now had its own reality. To his left were Chip and Ronin, both gorgeous boys with smiles on their faces. How does one tell these crusaders that this party was about to be crashed?

It mattered little to Ben now that the world would know he was gay. An investigation might uncover far more than a conceived plan to murder an entire gang. Actually, if the boys would have been released outright without the deceit that Ben saw he might have let those punks have the money. Plan B to make these flakes chase the money was a revenge for crossing him. He now felt terribly wrong for including Art in all this. In Texas, the "law of parties" erases the distinction between killers and accomplices, finding that a person can be held criminally responsible for the conduct of another if he or she participated in the crime. Ben was pretty sure that Utah or the feds had similar laws.

It wasn't like Art hadn't discussed his time in prison. "It's not as bad as they say," Art had started. "I had immense anger at the DA and a couple of parents of the boys for their stupidity and vengeance. Prison is like anywhere else, you get used to it. You obey the rules because it makes life easier. I went through transitions of guilt, remorse, shame, and rebellion. A person has opportunities to rationalize all that had happened, look at it from both sides, then come to a logical assumption that God put me there for a reason. Did I do harm? That's more of less for those boys, who are now adults, to say. One of them wrote me in prison, said he was really sorry I was there and would love to see me when I got out. We did. From a slim teenager to a broad-shouldered and muscular adult, his heart was lovable. He told me that for years he almost believed he was this damaged goods, but he knew better. He was a better person for our relationship, not worse. I have mixed emotions about going to prison for a person who doesn't consider himself a victim, but because of others' opinions. Strange world, Ben, strange world."

Ben remembered this as if it was yesterday. To think that this wonderful man fell to his death because he refused to pull that cord was deeply frustrating. He called Chip to his side.

"I'm in trouble. Do you mind if I speak with one of your agents?"

Chip didn't hesitate and called Looper on his cell phone. Agent Wenzel was there in two minutes. The agent had risen through the ranks from being Chip's primary bodyguard, confidant, mentor, and private lover to be elevated as President Carver's number one protector. He'd been given this assignment because of his history with both Chip and Philly. It helped that he was married to Zach, who was now Chip's primary guardian.

Looper had far more than a personal interest in all this. He had begun to write up a report earlier to cover his ass and those under him. Accepting a set of keys to Ben's Aston Martin Vanquish, just in case, Looper took his favorite teenager aside to discuss a few details.

Chip nor Philly had called their parents for days. It was late in Washington D.C., but Chip held his breath and punched in his mother's cell phone.

"Hi, Honey," his mother answered and sounded like she hadn't been fast asleep. "Run out of money? It's usually the only reason you call two adults you remember as having some influence in your life. Maybe you'd like to tell us now about your engagement or explain your last remark. Philly wouldn't do that do his mother."

"Mommmmm!" Chip said and added, "I can't call just to say how much I love and miss you and dad? Gee! And of course Philly wouldn't do that to you. It would be incest. Kind of weird if you ask me. You know we love you."

"What'd you do now?" Mary asked.

"I'm good. It's my brother; he's always a pest, so I'm tellin'. Just kidding. Is dad asleep?"

"No, he's just sitting here reading a book on whether he can put teenagers in Guantanamo Bay."

"Very funny. I have to speak with him, you know, man to man."

"Got Ronin pregnant, huh? That boy will make a great mother, he's so sweet. Give my love to my adopted honey." She passed the phone to Alain.

"What kind of trouble did you get into now, son?" were the first words from the president.

"Daaaadddd! Gee, you'd think I was Dennis the Menace. We have a problem, Houston," Chip started and ran the story down and that Looper's report was being sent within a few minutes. He could hear his father's brain either smoldering or grinding gears, Chip wasn't sure.

"Do you know that Vladimir Putin rides a motorcycle, sometimes with a gang of questionable characters?"

Chip busted up, catching the humor. He figured his father must have gotten lucky that night since he was in a good mood. "I'll tell Mr. Barkley, Dad. I'm not sure if he wants to repeat that performance though."

"You weren't involved, were you?" the president asked.

"Only so far as reaching over a ledge to rescue my buddies and another guy. Routine."

"Remind me to strangle Looper when he returns. You did have clothes on, right?"

"Sure, Dad, you don't think I always go around naked, do you? Don't answer that. Ronin sends his love, so does P.J."

"He didn't, did he?" There was a voice of concern.

"Didn't what, Dad? All he said was tell your dad I said hi. Anything I should know?"

"Your security clearance isn't high enough. Put Looper on. If his report is similar to your explanation I'll be on the phone with the FBI director and AG tomorrow."

"I just hope tomorrow isn't too late," Chip said before handing the phone to Philly.

"Hi, Mom, I'm in love."

"Uh, son, this is your father. Do you love your old man?"

"Hi, Dad. You bet! I might have got a girl pregnant. You gave me some powerful sperm."

"Obviously I should have given you a few condoms, as well."

"It would have taken a couple of boxes, Dad. She really likes doing it."

"Give me the details when you get home. Here, explain it all to your mother." Alain handed the phone back to his wife, with an explanation that their youngest male is taking after his brother.

Mary was just back from the bathroom, so she had missed the conversation with their father. "That's great, Honey, but we already have a gay son. I thought you really liked this girl at your school." Mary used her sense of humor in dread of the expected news.

"I'm only partially gay, Mom. There's a girl I met on the Crusade. She's really cool and pretty."

"Okay, but she might be a lesbian if she's in the Crusade."

"Trust me, Mom, she's not a lesbian. We have this connection, if you know what I mean."

"Philly, every guy who's getting their dick serviced thinks there's a connection. The only connection is in your little brain that's poking her."

"This is different. Anyway, Sonja has missed her period. I'll keep you updated."

"Young man, if you think you're going to drop out of school to get a job at the local 7-Eleven to support a wife and baby you have another thing coming."

"Wow, Mom, you really jumped to conclusions. I was thinking that Dad might fit me into his cabinet somewhere. Gotta run, bye!"

*************

Through their two thermal viewers, the FBI team watched with nervous excitement—and no small amount of glee—as what appeared to be two men around one vehicle guarding two particular tents. Under normal circumstances, the lack of clear, sharp images would not prevent the team from determining whether these men were friend or foe. With even the little elevation provided by a slight rise, the agents could look down on the spread of thousands of tents.

Whoever these men thought they were, the darkness of night had given them a false sense of security. Agent Seastrom could make out that they were neither properly dispersed nor making any effort at concealment. The obvious conclusion was that terrorists, whether they called themselves a motorcycle gang or not, had taken over the camp. The few Secret Service men had been neutralized. Naturally these agents from another agency could never measure up to an FBI man. To rescue the president's sons would be a real kudo for him.

Seastrom instructed his men and the hundred and fifteen other police officers from around the region to circumvent the camp to get a closer look. He did not wish to make this a long vigil on the perimeter. The waiting had been mercifully short. Helpful terrain features and a surprising lack of security have allowed the SWAT teams to get their job done in barely two hours.

Common for SWAT teams this execution was a `no-knock' warrant. The first time anyone would know they were there was when they would be storming into tents or firing bullets into subjects that they were sure were dangerous. These men were wearing flak jackets and masks and carrying military grade weapons. What made this surprise even better, it all would happen before dawn when everyone was asleep and people would be disoriented.

Arriving by cars, and the FBI by helicopters, they had rendezvoused some three miles away and hiked their way in. To most of these local law enforcement types wearing their ninja-clad uniforms was a game of war that could become quite dangerous to 6,000 boys and girls because of the moronic nature of man. The FBI, wearing full body armor, were only slightly beyond the 10-year old boy playing war.

Two Secret Service agents were just an hour into their own shift, alert with coffee in hand. They no longer wore their Secret Service jackets because of the incessant heat. Wearing only T-shirts, they blended in well with the counselors. The Crusade had been like summer camp. Any chances of someone dangerous tracking this Crusade down with the intention to do the president's sons harm was so remote it appeared absurd. Nevertheless the men were being paid to do a job and they still took it serious.

Wearing a black wife-beater to ward off a slight chill in the air, Ted Bracken took a pair of AN/PVS-7A night vision goggles out of the SUV parked behind the tents. Most of the time he liked looking for kids either sneaking out of camp or into it. Sometimes he picked out a wild animal. Ted had to blink and look again when he saw a line of men on the perimeter of the camp. If they were near the Mexican border Ted would've said he was watching a coyote take a family across the border.

"Hey, Stan, check this out," Ted said and had Stan visualize an army of men getting into position to do what?

Stan pressed a button on his cell phone that alerted the other four agents from their sleep. In a flash he had sprinted into Chip's tent, all but dragging the naked teen from his bed. Chip made sure that Ronin followed. Philly was pulled from the arms of his girlfriend in the next tent, the girl startled and near hysterics that something bad at happened.

Even though it wasn't protocol for Ronin to be part of any precautionary isolation in the SUV, Chip wouldn't have it any other way. They were engaged to be married; that had to mean something. Looper hustled over and saw his boys nude to the core. He sent them back to get dressed and to report right back.

The four other agents sprinted from their tents with guns drawn. This did nothing to soothe the minds of men who were suspicious that a hostage crisis was happening within the camp. The mentality of `shoot first and inquire afterwards,' was a disaster waiting to happen. The agents had quickly formed as a group waiting for instructions or a logical reason why they were standing there in the middle of the night.

Looper had absorbed the observation of men on the perimeter, as well. He informed his colleagues of this fact and formulated their course of action. When the three boys returned Looper directed them to one of the SUVs. "Stay there and don't even think of getting out," Looper said, mostly directing his words to Chip.

Formalities of surprise had been somehow compromised and any abort was out of the question. At the command, "Go!" men leaped into action, confusion abounded and any of the previous directions by Agent Seastrom seemed to be forgotten. The sweeper team decided to go in at the same time as the assault team, and any command center by radio couldn't distinguish these two teams apart. There had been no time for team rehearsals of those men not trained in FBI procedures. Each member should have known where he was going, but also precisely where his teammates would be and in which direction their fields of fire might be directed.

Fortunately no grenades were ignited, but some idiot sheriff from Reno threw two flash/bang grenades to disrupt, disorientate and illuminate their entry, so he thought. In this tension-charged atmosphere kids sleeping was to everyone's benefit. Men so packed with equipment tripped as they ran into the camp, one of them accidently discharged his weapon.

Looper had leaped into the SUV, activating a number of systems at his command. Instantly a message was sent to Washington D.C. that his team was under attack. A sophisticated weaponry shot up from the roof of the SUV, so heavily armed that this vehicle alone could have won most Civil War battles by itself. The boys stayed huddled together in the backseat. Five Secret Service agents surrounded this vehicle in their protection ring. Coming at them were a dozen men with their assault weapons at their waists, pointing directly at them.

"Identify yourselves!" Zach yelled in the early dawn air.

"FBI! Drop your weapons! You are surrounded!" Seastrom hollered back.

"We're Secret Service! Show your badges!" came the request, but even then Zach would never relinquish his gun.

From a hundred yards away two Secret Service agents had their eyes on this confrontation. "They have FBI jackets on," Ted notified his superior with his night goggles on.

Zach raised his badge when Seastrom raised his above his head. He stood up with his adversaries still a twenty yards away. "What's this about?!"

"We have reason to believe that President Carver's sons are being held hostage."

"I can assure you that that is not the case. They are secure inside this vehicle. Step forward with your arms up!"

"No! You step forward with your arms up. All of you! I don't believe your agents at all."

Zach looked at his peers. "This is ludicrous. Someone must have played a serious prank." Zach took the initiative and walked forward with his weapon to his side. He moved halfway between these two forces and waited. He saw a lone agent move toward him. One idiotic gunslinger could set off a blood bath.

The two men met like two generals settling their differences in the middle of a battlefield. "What the hell are you doing here?" Zach asked examining Seastrom's badge, while he showed his own.

"I want to see both Carver boys," Michael said. "We have reason to believe their lives have been put in danger."

Zach walked the agent to the SUV, making sure the man's gun was replaced in his Holster. He then put his own automatic weapon in Seastrom's back. He lifted out the gun and frisked the man for other weapons. No one sees the Carver boys with access to a gun.

There in the backseat sat three boys, not the least embarrassed at looking immensely scared. Chip had faced precarious situations, but he was wondering what this imposition was all about. In the front seat was Agent Wenzel. The men knew each other during training exercises at Quantico, Virginia.

"Is that you, Rover?" Looper asked with a laugh. "What are you trying to pull?"

Michael never liked being teased by this canine name, but he liked Wenzel and didn't mind this moniker from him. "Residual from that mass murder in Utah. We thought there might be one gang member unaccounted for." He didn't wait for a reply.

Michael eyed the weapon mounted on top of the SUV from the inside. Such a gun could slaughter an army. "You boys okay? If you're not, just say so. I knew Wenzel here has a way with males. We have the place surrounded," Seastrom said half-seriously.

"And you are?" Chip asked.

"FBI. We are concerned that there were suspicious activity in the camp. Why's the other boy here?"

"My future mate, if you must know," Chip answered.

"Probably against regulations," Seastrom said with certainty.

"What the fuck, Dude!" Philly wasn't one to mince words. "You woke us out of bed. Sorry I didn't have time to put on my tux. Wait till our father hears about this."

Seastrom apologized, then eyed Ronin. "And you are?"

"English, you blimey fool. I'll tell the King, then watch your bollocks get fried."

Chip and Philly laughed. It was rare that Ronin spoke like a scorned Englishman.

"What'd he say?" Seastrom asked.

"He's English, man. Every British kid should come with a set of sub-titles," Chip said and had his peers busting up.

Michael was satisfied and knew his ass was in a vice. "We still need to arrest two men: Art Acosta and a Benjamin Barkley. Where are they?"

"Do you have permission to do that from your director?" Looper Questioned.

"They're wanted for murder. I don't need a permission slip." Michael backed off and received his gun back, but Zach was concerned with the sound of a shot.

Seastrom got his mic and demanded an immediate report.

"I got word it was one of our tag a longs who tripped. Why the man's safety was off really concerns me."

"We have six thousand kids with us. Touch one hair on their head and I'll have your badge and your ass," Zach said without soft coating his power.

Across the camp several hundred boys and girls had been woken by the sound a gun. Many poked their heads out and were told there was a police action going on and to stay in their tents. Kids scrambled to hide their marijuana, erase porn from their cell phones, or to toss their beer cans toward another tent. Kids were calling their peers in camp on their cell phones. Rumors spread quickly: It was a drug bust because they were gay. The police were going to harass them. There were runaways and this was a massive sweep. Art had been murdered and they were looking for the murderer. And that child porn was so rampant that they were rounding up all cell phones.

Near the front of the camp three deputy sheriffs from Las Vegas noticed the largest tent and invaded its privacy. They shined their flashlights on two beds. Startled and blinded eyes came up from the sheets, two people in each bed.

"Freeze!" the sheriff said. "Now slowly keep your hands above your heads and step out of the beds."

Ben slid out with his underwear on, while Tony was slower and didn't exactly cooperate with the arms above the head order. He didn't have a snitch of clothes on.

"Who the fuck are you?" Tony asked as a disgruntled juvenile.

"Tony, watch your language," Ben corrected.

This deputy sheriff who figured he was arresting one of America's Most Wanted criminals wasn't amused with a kid. "Do you always sleep naked with an adult?"

"I don't give a rat's ass what you think, you bozo!" Tony shot right back.

"Watch your mouth, kid, or I'll shut it for you."

"Be careful Tony, the creep probably watched ultimate fighting arts on how to hit a twelve-year old," Scooter said as he stepped out just as naked from the other bed. Peter was too scared to say anything, but stood there with a boner declining by the second.

"Looks like we have quite a child sex ring here, Rex," the deputy said.

"Not interested, dude," Tony said. "We'll wait for a Michael Jackson lookalike. You're too ugly."

Ben had to intervene. "You're probably after me, Ben Barkley. These boys have nothing to do with this."

"Where's your accomplice, Barkley?" another cop asked.

"He's in an eighteen wheeler at the entrance," Ben replied.

"Yeah, he's hiding," Scooter spoke up and got a high five with a laugh from Tony.

"You boys have a real smart mouth," the lead sheriff said. "I'm going to put the lot of you in juvenile hall for the day. Laugh that one off."

"Lay off of `em!" Peter finally spoke out and got the butt of a gun into his gut.

"If I want any shit from you I'll fuck your ass," the sheriff said.

The smallest boy in the camp stepped forward. "Oh, big tough guy. Want to hit me next?" Scooter asked.

"Scooter! Enough!" Ben shouted.

"Sorry, Uncle Ben."

"Great! We have incest here. We have a nice room where you can tell us all about what goes on here." The sheriff approached Ben to swing him around and attach handcuffs while reading the man his rights.

Under direct orders from the President of the United States another invasion was about to commence. Above the tent the sound of helicopters converged on this camp as if it was a military zone. Black Hawks lit up the area with flashes of light, while men rappelled from the whirlybirds onto the ground. The deployment of a Special Forces unit from the local Fallon Navy base was taking this mission as an assault on terrorists.

Considered a hostage rescue each soldier became immersed in the moment he entered the Crusade camp. Extensive training in their initial Special Forces specialties these soldiers were experts in carrying out such standard missions as this unconventional warfare. Cops and FBI agents were quickly overcome by soldiers who swept through like human bulldozers. They had their guns confiscated while they lay face down on the earth with a weapon to the back of their heads. A bullhorn announcement had everyone stay in their tents, though several scared cops found haven with a few teenagers.

Three Las Vegas cops never got the chance to bring out their subject under arrest. Two soldiers found this tent flap open and came in to find three naked boys and a man in his underwear. The Special Forces' men didn't waste time putting the three cops on the ground.

"But we're not the bad guys here," one of the cops spoke as his hands and feet were being tied, then dragged out onto the grounds.

Ben had his hands released and was told to stay put. He had the boys get dressed and sit on their beds. For two boys in particular Ben wanted a word with them both when this was over. Both Tony and Scooter gulped.

FBI badges didn't have much authority when it came to these soldiers. Agent Seastrom found his face in the ground like everyone else. When the camp was secured, General Beal stepped out from a Black Hawk and surveyed the scene. Six Secret Service agents had held their own and stayed in position, badges held high.

Sunlight had creeped over the horizon. The camp appeared quiet but for a hundred-plus men prone on the ground while soldiers stood guard. Finally the general allowed Agent Seastrom to rise. The general had a full briefing from the Pentagon, which had received the same report from Agent Wenzel. That and a call from the President of the United States was all he needed to proceed.

General Beal didn't really need to hear from this upstart field agent. "Agent Seastrom, I presume. You are called a Special Agent because your investigative authority is very specifically defined and limited. You are permitted to investigate violations of specific federal statutes. You cannot investigate anything you want to—you are not general agents. You are part of the law enforcement community, not above it, and if you're smart you'll have a successful career working with other law enforcement officers smarter than what I see here. By order of POTUS, you and your men are to be escorted from the premises without delay. You are not to arrest or serve anyone here at this camp. Do we understand each other?"

Michael wanted to protest, justify his actions as he understood them. Instead he said, "Yes, sir."

Looper took the opportunity to introduce himself to the general. "We appreciate your quick response, General. The president's sons were never in danger."

"Good to hear that, Agent Wenzel. I know your history. Fine man, and President Carver put a good word in for you this morning. If you see him, tell him of the professionalism of our operation, will you?"

"Absolutely, General. Care to meet Chip and Philly?"

"Be my pleasure. I also have a message for Mr. Barkley, if he's around."

If Looper meant this as a private joke Chip and Philly rolled with the punch. All three of the boys stepped from the Suburban and shook hands with the general. Ronin was getting used to being odd boy out, but the general shook hands with him as well.

"Your father told me to spank your asses if you were up to no good. Don't know how boys as handsome as yourselves could get into too much trouble, unless there are girls around," the general said with a grin, then remembered this was a gay crusade. "I'll tell your father if he calls that you were dressed."

"Here at camp we have a don't ask, don't tell policy," Chip said and had the general laughing. "Thanks for bringing us so many men in uniform."

"Glad to have helped, young man. I have to speak to your director. By the way, we look forward to having you guys on base tonight."

General Beal was escorted to Ben's tent to find three boys with the director. They shook hands and the general apologized for the inconvenience that morning.

"The Crusade was a little boring until this happened," Ben said and had the boys coughing.

"President Carver sends his regards. He commends you on an outstanding job and said that little incident in Utah, well, don't worry about it. Sometimes you have to do what you have to do. That's a quote from the president. It's too bad he can't run for another term. We need a strong military presence in the White House."

They conversed a few minutes about the incident in Utah, and the general became an instant friend of Ben Barkley's. The man had the type of gumption the general looked for in his commanding officers. The general eyed three boys with only their underwear on. He only smiled.

"Suppose this one of the perks of being a director of gay boys." He left it at that.

If it was brevity or downright stupidity a lone sheriff waited at the gate as Ben walked the general to his helicopter. "Sir, we have a Nevada arrest warrant for an Art Acosta," the sheriff called out.

General Beal walked over with Ben to view this paperwork. "Says here the man hasn't registered as a sex offender within the twenty-four hours required by law. God forbid! A major terrorist right here in Nevada. What should we do, Ben?" the general asked with sarcasm.

"Give him the body I guess. They will probably convict and sentence my friend to twenty-five to life. Hope they have a freezer."

The general chuckled. He brought over a navy lieutenant. "Lt. Wright, arrest this man if he isn't off federal property in one minute."

This sheriff only had to take a quick glimpse of the general's seriousness and all but ran to the main road to an awaiting police cruiser.

"Fuckin' clown," the general said for Ben's ears to hear. They shook hands and Ben welcomed the general down to Texas. General Beal said they'd have a beer at the base that night.

"Sir, I'm responsible for six-thousand of my troops here. Can't go back on a promise. No alcohol."

"My type of soldier," General Beale said and saluted Ben to the delight of Tony and Scooter nearby.

A preferable spanking was on Ben's mind for two boys getting way too big for their britches. In this case they were way too eager by removing their underwear. Instead he welcomed both boys to accompany him to the shower where he made them both taste the delicious taste of soap in their mouths. Talking to adults like that, whether they were idiots or not, was uncalled for. Next time Ben would have them meet a bull he called Nasty, who would give their asses a chase they'd never forget. Tony believed him with a quick, "Sorry, Dad. That soap is nasty enough."

It was a miracle that no one was shot or killed that morning. It was now six-thirty, most the camp were wide awake and scared to come out. Ben got out his bullhorn and announced breakfast would be served in half-an-hour. It was like nothing had happened.

A military escort led this parade through the western part of this Great Basin, through Cold Springs and onward to Fallon Naval Air Station. They'd beaten the hottest part of the day and the base was a welcome sight from the invasion that morning.

Ben talked to his brother as he drove behind a military jeep, feeling rather proud of being friends with General Beal. Everyone should travel around with the president's sons. There was also a joy in his voice when he said he wouldn't be needing that criminal lawyer. President Carver was his lead counsel.

One of the first things Ben did upon settling in at their new camp on base was to have a counselors' meeting. He addressed all the questions, the past events in Utah and the raid on the camp.

There were laughs when counselors admitted emptying trash containers upon their departure from the last campsite. The contents were filled with marijuana packages, beer bottles, and all sorts of paraphernalia that might land a juvenile in trouble. Two cell phones with video and pictures of naked teenagers had also been tossed away. Ben suggested to have these given back to whomever threw them away. He hardly considered this child porn as long as Scooter or Tony weren't in them.

With a little more than a hundred miles to go to reach San Francisco, there were more than 8,000 more kids waiting around Lake Tahoe to join this cavalcade the rest of the way. Two gay boys out of Los Angeles had taken it upon themselves to recruit and poster Online this demonstration of support and cohesiveness to the Crusade. Ben had fronted the extra money to buy an additional 10,000 T-shirts. He didn't worry about the lack of registrations or even parental permission. Obviously the most pressing problem was the transport of almost 15,000 bicycles along route 80 to San Francisco.

Ben hesitated in asking Chip to contact his father for a National Guard escort, so he sent the governor an email addressing what was about to indulge the State of California. Not expecting any response or even that the governor would see the request, Ben did get a response: We welcome this crusade in your last journey on your fantastic quest to promote gay rights. Proceed with police escort.

Chip and Philly, though a separate entity under protective services, had rarely been acknowledged for their participation or role in the Crusade. On base the general had assigned a liaison officer to specifically escort and have the president's boys partake as VIPs.

With Ronin as part of this threesome, the boys were driven by military vehicle to the Basic Exchange, where they were told to buy any cosmetics, clothing, or other essentials that they needed, gratis military expense. A huge digital display for base events, alerts, or other information had an unusual message that caught Philly's eye: REPORT ANY UFO SIGHTINGS TO COMMAND IMMEDIATELY. Philly had to turn to Major Phillips as their liaison officer.

"Sir, is that a joke?"

"Not at all, Philly," the major stated. "Because of our location and being close to Area 51, we are constantly being observed by extraterrestrials."

Philly waited for a smile or laugh that wasn't forthcoming. Instead he had trouble refraining from laughing. "Chip, did you hear that?"

Chip and Ronin were busy examining new electronics and game systems. Philly had to point at the message center and explain what the major said.

"He's pulling your leg, Philly," Chip said.

Major Phillips' face was one of shock. "I'm surprised your father hasn't briefed you on events." He waited for the curiosity to show on their own looks. "UFO documentation is vast, kept from public exposure, but an intrinsic part of our military experience. Personally I've had the pleasure of a sighting. I was at a SAC Launch Control Center, the location is top secret, but its importance is responsible for two legs of the triad. Before dawn several of us saw UFOs maneuvering in the sky. The objects, which were not known aircraft, began to streak across the sky, stop, change directions, and then return to a position overhead. Within seconds we had eight of the ten Oscar Flight missiles go offline. Never before has this happened. These UFOs had deployed some form of electromagnetic pulse. You know, boys, the same thing also happened in Russia, but their launch operations began to prepare their missiles for a strike against the United States. No centralized system could derail the missiles from winding up. Then, as suddenly as it began, the system shut itself down, also without human intervention. Above them was an unidentified craft described as being large: 900 feet in diameter. Ask your father about the incident at Byelokoroviche."

"Wow!" Philly said with surprise. "That is so cool. I've studied reverse engineering, like aircraft that Dad says can go Mach 9 or above. But using hydrocarbon fuels, as they now do, the weight of the aircraft would be, like, a million pounds and fly at altitudes above 95 kilometers and below 110 kilometers because there wouldn't be sufficient oxygen for combustion."

Chip shook his head. "Now you did it, Major Phillips. My brother is his class genius."

To get the boys off this subject the major asked them if they wanted to fly in an F-14. Three smiles were the answer.

All the way to the airfield Philly was as talkative as he'd been the entire Crusade. "Sir, I might have a TS-SCI (Top Secret-Sensitive Compartmented Information) clearance, so if there's any other information you'd..."

"Philly, Dad only tells you certain things because you're a kid and harmless."

"Tell that to my girlfriend," Philly shot back. He had the major laughing.

"Three billion males have your missile, so don't think it's a UFO," Chip battled a younger brother.

"No, they have a shorter version. Mine is, like, long range." Philly got a high five from Ronin for that one.

Fallon Naval Air Station trained many of the Navy's top pilots. It was used to having high profile political figures go on rides to promote budget and naval interests. To offer three rides for these boys also served a purpose and receive a thank you from the President of the United States. Chip and Philly did nothing but smile for thirty minutes, recanting the acceleration, flips, and awesome aerial maneuvers from their pilots. Ronin wasn't sure if his body would ever recover and looked deathly sick. Chip had to hug his best friend to assure him he was safe on the ground and in the arms of someone who loved him. At least Ronin's pilot had told him that he was the cutest co-pilot he'd ever flown with.

Ronin turned to his two buddies. "Eat your bloody hearts out, mateys!"

The boys adjourned to the base gym for showers, but when Chip saw the tennis courts the temptation was too overwhelming. The base had several good players but none could be found to beat this eighteen-year old. Ronin, as usual, sat proud as his lover demolished all-comers.

From the courts the three teens were taken to the officers' club to have dinner with the base commander. Not like it was specially programmed, men and their wives put on a show they had presented before: Laugh-in, based on the sixties' TV comedy. Ronin was in stitches for the full hour.

When Chip found out that the base's mascot was a bear, and that they actually had one in a zoo-like setting, Chip whispered to the general that he'd like to use the bear for a few minutes. Looper had thought it was real funny introducing the general to the boys in the backseat of the SUV that morning. Tired and only in their underwear they were hardly presentable to meet an important military figure. The general smiled and said he'd call the bear's trainer immediately.

It was still early evening when the boys arrived back at camp with a trailer in tow. Clandestinely they walked with the trainer back to Looper's tent, then had another agent call Looper from the perimeter to meet with the commander in his tent.

All nonchalant and confident, Looper strolled down this corridor and opened his flap to enter. The trainer, hidden in a corner, had this medium size bear rise up on his hunches and roar. Looper backed up, tripped, and frantically crawled from the tent before sprinting anyway but there. If he hadn't heard all the laughter he might have kept on running.

From an `I'm-going-to-kill-you,' look to one of extreme relief came from Looper's face, but that was all before he began to chase Chip around the camp. An eighteen-year can usually best someone in their thirties with agility and quickness. Looper finally gave up.

With Ronin's suggestion, Josh organized a quick show for the kids, so many of them new since the last talent show. A stage was quickly erected. As dusk settled in thousands of teenagers began to descend to watch or participate. A special VIP section was designed for the base commander and his entourage.

Out of 6,000 youth the talent was immense. From singers to drag queens, no one got booted off for at least thirty seconds because there was too much laughter. Half didn't survive the first minute. Under a star-filled sky, super clear in the desert air, the night was casual to the disturbance of the morning. After several weeks on the road there was a sense of relief that the Crusade was coming to finality.

Despite the early summer promise of being away from home, away from pedantic parents, removed from annoying siblings, the return home was on the mind of most. For many of them it also meant they'd survived a personal challenge to win full college tuition, thanks to Mr. Barkley.

Maybe too perfect of timing, the last of the contestants received a rousing applause as the teens began to dissimulate. General Beal was on his cell phone to Chip's right and appeared quite concerned with the call.

Clicking his phone off, the general expressed to the counselors present and his staff that it was necessary to clear this field immediately. Hardly bad weather Chip couldn't figure out what the problem was.

Trucks arrived to install a roped off area the size of this large field used for base touch-football games and soccer. Even then thousands of teenagers stuck around to see what all the commotion was about.

"They've spotted a UFO in the vicinity," General Beal told Zach, but everyone in the area heard him.

"Yeah, right," Philly mocked quietly for his brother, friends and girlfriend. "I bet they're trying to scare us."

But that's when Ronin pointed to the sky at aerial lights in the distance. The lights moved around in sine like motions and the closer it came the edges of the craft had colors of red, blue, and yellow. Curious at first, thousands of eyes stayed glued on this craft because of its amazing color display. What became intriguing with this was when the luminescent object accelerated at a tremendous high speed, then hovered for a few seconds before darting off at an amazing angles.

Philly had his hands to the side of his eyes, focused to the night sky. "It's probably from Area 51, isn't it, General?" Philly left it as a question.

"Sorry, Philly, we don't possess such an aircraft that can do that," General Beal replied.

Like a vulture spotting its prey below, the rhombic-shaped craft appeared to hover, then shot right for this field. Kids began to scatter, running for their tents or anywhere they thought safety would be. The spaceship illuminated the area, orangish lights glowed, now defining its dimensions as nearly 400 feet in diameter.

Zach had hustled the president's boys backward, but hardly running in panic. General Beal retreated to a safe distance, not quite albeit frightened as everyone else. A full-bird colonel ran up to the general and whispered in the commander's ear. General Beal only nodded, took a few more steps backward and seemed assured that he wasn't in danger.

A most focused teenager amidst this bizarre spectacle Philly rubbed his eyes, making sure he was awake and not dreaming. This was way too similar to Close Encounters. Silence was intertwined by girls screaming in the distance. Philly watched as the massive craft landed softly on the field, supported by three large pods that emerged from the belly of the saucer. Around the edges of its shell came a swirling of red and blue lights, disorienting anyone who kept their vision on the brilliance for too long.

Slowly a rectangular partition opened at the craft's edge. Whatever was going to emerge had everyone's attention. Two robotic machines raced down the ramp, each about four feet high with invisible gears for momentum. Like protectors for some type of alien being, the creature came forward from a bright white light. The grotesque alien created more panic than the saucer. The winged gargoyle specie had antennae and a reptilian body. The creature stopped at the base of this strip.

As if a teen's regression was on automatic, Philly eased backwards and slipped his hand in Looper's. Though Philly had never became romantically inclined with this agent as his brother, he still had had several encounters in bed with Looper and his brother. Looper would always represent the ultimate protector. For the moment Philly felt safe in the man's hand.

General Beal extorted much bravery as he decided to approach the craft which had landed but 50 meters away. He was the world's negotiator, a lone individual to face what appeared to be a true contact with the alien world. His conversation appeared to be understood and fruitful. The general walked back to where Chip and Philly were standing with their friends and agents.

"These ETs have a full understanding of our language and of your presence here at the base. I'm afraid they require your boarding before they leave."

"Shouldn't we notify my father?" Chip asked in disbelief.

"I don't think that's an option with them. I'd tell Sasquatch no before I would this creature. He or it is rather determined," the general countered.

Chip looked at Looper while the man had his arm around his favorite boy's shoulder. "Can't you do something?"

Looper shrugged his shoulders. "Out of my league, sport. Their guns are bigger than mine."

"It's about the bear, isn't it? You'll leaving me out to dry, aren't you? I thought we were closer than that," Chip replied disappointedly. He looked at Zach.

"Look, Chipper, it'll be like you are our first ambassadors in space. Your father will be pleased."

Chip escaped Looper's grasp "This is like a joke to you guys, and it's our asses on the line here. Thanks for the loyalty." At least Ronin put his hand in his.

"You're not going to do this alone," Ronin said.

"What if that thing says you can't go?"

"It blimey well better have a good reason or I'll kick it in its jolly big bollocks, if it has any."

Shane had hung onto Ben's waist from the rear. Ben wasn't too sure about all this but had his hands cradled over Shane's. When the boys began their walk toward the craft he felt committed to join them. Ben took the offering of Shane's hand and walked with them.

Their steps toward this craft were far more tenuous than a visit to the Oval Office to be scolded. Hollywood couldn't have done a better job at creating a horrific reptilian glob of slime and tentacles as this creature exhibited. The green arms had three gangly fingers dangling down by its hips that were sexless. Philly had an inkling to pee down his shorts. Behind the boys came their friends in support, with Scooter and Tony holding onto Philly's hands.

Chip held Ronin's hand tightly. He kept looking for some human being inside this suit. This couldn't be real, he kept telling himself.

The bass voice of this reptilian monster gave a disapproval roar from a guttural throat. Its voice was way too much like Darth Vader's.

Scooter pointed at the weapon held by both robotic objects. He nudged on Philly's elbow. "Those are Tenloss DXR-6 Disruptor Rifles. I have those in my Star Wars collection. They can disintegrate victims and penetrate a force field."

"Scooter, not right now. I'm sure they aren't toys," Philly said.

"Bow to your leader!" came the command.

"Oh, hell no!" Chip replied. "You might be ugly but you're no leader. Do you know who our father is?"

The beast turned toward this recalcitrant boy. "You dare to disobey me?!" came the bellowing voice.

"Check this out, Squid Head, I have a notion to pull your tentacles out of your ass and see how tough you really are." Chip went into his wushu stance to defend himself and his friends.

"Vaporize them!" the creature told the two robots to the side of the ramp.

Chip dropped his hands and backed up. "Okay, maybe we should negotiate here." But that suggestion was a little too late as these mechanical robots brought up their weapons resembling grenade launchers.

While Austin, Cheet, and Shane sprang into a sprint to get out of harm's way, five of the boys found themselves hosed down in a spray of white foam, coated almost from head to toe. Tony was the first to correlate the smell to where he tasted the goo.

"Hey, guys! This is whipped cream!"

Chip, Philly, Scooter, and Ronin wiped their eyes to find they weren't exactly vaporized. Immense laughter came up behind them; Looper was laughing so hard he crumbled to his knees. Down the ramp came two beautiful women in thongs. They wheeled out two large birthday cakes with 18 and 16 candles on them, respectively, though Philly's sixteenth birthday had been several days earlier.

Chip was between finding humor in all this to being really, really pissed at being scared out of his wits. He wanted to seek revenge. One look at Looper and Chip dove on the man to make sure his security chief was as doused with cream as he was. "You jerk!" Chip shouted but finally had to smile at this great ruse.

The reptilian creature pulled his mask off, which had taken hours to fashion and construct. Whatever had just happened took great pains to pull off. When General Beal and his staff gathered around to enjoy the festivities and have their jollies, Chip had regained his composure at being the brunt of a practical joke.

"My father?" Chip asked.

"The president has a great sense of humor with you boys," General Beal replied. "He feels your eighteenth and your brother's sixteenth birthdays should be treated with something special."

"But how did you get...I mean, the United States doesn't have...there aren't any flying saucers known to exist."

The general put his arm around Chip, only to realize a second later of that mistake with all the whipped cream. "Son, your father has used this as a way to disclose a highly classified craft from Area 51. There have been massive reports of UFOs in our tristate area lately. For our citizens to know that we possess such a craft will relieve a great deal of anxiety. At the strategic level the practice of over classification erodes the public's trust and confidence in their government. We now have thousands upon thousands of eye witnesses who can assess that a saucer object does exist."

"That guy really freaked me out. He could have at least dressed like a wookee."

The guy who played this beast came down to shake hands with the boys. It gave time for the boys to examine this great costume.

While Philly and Ronin received extra attention by scantily clad girls in wiping the cream from their bodies, the two presidential boys were amazed that our military possessed such a flying machine. Philly was once again mentally intrigued. "Do you think this came from outer space, General?"

"A replica, but that's all I can say. How do you think we got the laser and stealth? Gifts from our alien neighbors."

"So my brother was right; reverse-engineering he called it. Can we go inside the space craft?" Chip asked while putting his arm around his brother.

"That is top secret, I'm afraid. These beauties are from the base. Even navy women can be sexy."

Huge carts with dozens and dozens of cakes on them were coming down the ramp, enough for thousands of kids. Tables were quickly set up and teenagers were told to line up. It was a cake and ice cream party.

As the party winded down the Crusade kids retreated to their tents with the assurance from Ben that they'd be off-and-biking by seven. Looper corralled Chip inside the boy's tent when Ronin was absent. He hugged him from behind.

"You know I love you too much to ever put you in danger. I'd fight to the death if I thought anyone wanted to do you harm."

Chip spun around and looked at this man who was his first male lover, the person who swallowed his first orgasm and taught him how to be comfortable in a gay boy's body. "I know that's true. I apologize if I acted like a ten-year old. If I'm going to dish it out, I have to roll with the punches. It was amazingly good; maybe the best practical joke in First Boy history." Chip kissed Looper with far more passion than as a young teenager. "Care to stay for the night?"

"I'm afraid this mission requires 24/7 duty. Ronin might get jealous."

"My lover enjoys a good ménage a trios. If you haven't experienced us two together you haven't been to the moon and back."

Looper laughed. He pressed this young man to his groin and for that split second relived the dozens of times their bodies had found each other's pleasure. Chip was now a man by all accounts, yet Looper knew he would always own part of the boy's heart and vice-versa.

Ben returned to an empty and quiet tent for the first time in weeks. He had gotten use to Art's presence, his coy smile, intuitiveness, and implicit theories about boys and the world. The man had become a companion that surpassed marriage. Art's death had illuminated mortality's playing field, a reality that life was short.

Losing friends and relatives rarely had the impact on Ben's life as did Art's passing. Barely time to grieve, Ben visited Art's cadaver every chance he got to say a prayer for a man he was deeply in love with. Problem was, Ben had to forgive himself for his failure to truly express his love to those who had touched his life. What he wouldn't give to be able to tell Art that he loved him as no other adult.

Alone with his thoughts didn't last long. In walked Cheet, sullen and on his own mission. Ben figured that the boy's amour had broken up with him. He now had to mend a broken heart. They sat down on Ben's bed as the uncle put his arm around a nephew who never quite got the attention his older brother did.

"Okay, youngster, what troubles you this fine night?"

Cheet was close to tears when he asked, "Uncle Ben, when a girl says they missed their period, what exactly does that mean?"

Ben sighed. "Have you been using condoms?"

"No. I'm only thirteen."

A snicker was barely subdued. "God doesn't make mistakes, so when He gave boys mature genitals at your age He expected that procreation would be the result. Of course as the human race flourished in its beginnings there was more a communal setting, where adults raised the kids their kids had. Wisdom and experience are the best lessons, not kids raising kids."

"Why don't we do that today?"

"I think we've gotten away from that nuclear family idea. Grown adults are happy to retire and let the stupid raise the stupid."

"I'm not stupid, Uncle Ben!" Cheet resented the implication.

"No, I didn't mean the way that came out. You lack wisdom and life's experiences to raise a vulnerable human being, that's all. To bring a precious child in the world is a wonderful achievement and not to be taken lightly. Your girlfriend might be late with her period, or she may well be pregnant. I'm likely to think the latter. How often have you been so lucky?"

"We do it about three or four times a day. I can go several minutes now without coming."

"I'm afraid your sperm has matured like you are doing. Much has to be learned to be a dad. Being a father is far more fun. All you have to do is squirt with a woman who likes your weenie. My ranch is turning into its own commune, so I think we can raise this child together under the guidance of several adults. How does that make you feel?"

Cheet wiped away his tears, turned and hugged his uncle. "Thanks, Uncle Ben. You being gay, and all, is really cool. I hope my kid is just like you."

"Oh I'm sure he or she will be much prettier."

Only the sparkling and twirling colors of lights interrupted this uncle and nephew colloquy. They both rushed to open the tent flap to watch the flying saucer take off, gliding upward like a helicopter, and then streaking off into the night sky with the speed that no modern aircraft was capable. Ben hugged this budding teenager close to his chest, a young father with so much to learn from life.

Shane came out of the dark, greeted his baseball amigo with a kiss, and watched Cheet disappear wherever straight boys go.

"Care for some company?" Shane asked.

Ben wasn't sure how a night alone would feel. "You and Austin having a night off?"

"Josh had that look, so Austin isn't anyone to let another person get too lonely."

Ben wasn't going to play psychologist to that one. "Sure, come on in. You have your choice of beds, though I can't guarantee you that the scents of Peter and Scooter have faded from one of them."

"I'll take yours, if you're in it," Shane said with a smile and disrobed quickly.

All logic, precaution, or common sense were lost in a fleeting moment for Ben. Their passionate kissing led to fellatio as Shane adored the muscular frame of his own cowboy idol. When Ben took the lead his devouring of teenage perfection was just as deliberate and purposeful. Tasting the fruits of delight, his tongue slid to the hairless orifice. There was no question on how this drove Shane to utter abandonment. If Art was still alive Ben had no doubt the man would have been driven to masturbation just listening to this boy moan.

During sex, men use their right brain, a thinking process that is so intense on what he is doing that he's virtually deaf. When a man has an erection he finds it difficult to speak, hear, or do anything else but where his focus is on. It wasn't that Ben hadn't adamantly set his boundaries that excluded Shane, but these boundaries were mere confetti when this boy came on to him and found him irresistible. Ben's prowess as a lover was, in this case, directly related to Shane's level of satisfaction, his intimate feelings and emotions that stirred his libido to heights he never had experienced before.

Shane liked to be entered from the side, then switch to his back in having his legs raised upward, sometimes split, other times drawn together. He moved to doggy style, then to sitting on Ben's hips. He rode Ben while controlling how fast or how deep, all the time maintaining a rock hard boner. For any male Shane was a sexual dynamo who moved around the bed like a chess piece in control. In better terms, he controlled Ben like he did hitters by varying pitches and setting him up for the obvious coup de grace.

Moving his ass in massage of the organ inside him, Shane masturbated to this rhythm of being fulfilled by another male. The tantalizing of his prostate was plummeted to pleasure, then squeezed to pulsation. His back arched, neck shot back, while his hands reached down for balance on Ben's chest. He pulled the chest hairs in his ecstasy, and then moved his hips forward to point his throbbing penis into Ben's mouth. So much ejaculate, Ben kept swallowing to avoid choking.

Ben balanced the teen by encircling the thin waist, allowing the gentle thrusts into his mouth to absorb every ounce of sperm. With dexterity, Shane swiveled around, offering his moist hole to Ben's mouth once again. The real purpose was to masturbate Ben to orgasm, which was rapid and short. Shane captured the squirts, tasting each salty excretion with honey perfection.

They flopped side by side, silent and recapturing these amazing emotions of their sexual jaunt. Ben reached up and slid his finger along Shane's face.

"Boy, don't you know you're both a poison and an aphrodisiac to a grown man? What am I going to do with you?"

"Just love me," Shane said. He let the cool night air wash over his nakedness and the sexual sweat. His limp dick oozed the last remnants of an awesome orgasm.

"Art had this talk with me last week. I really miss him. He asked me what I thought of a society who said I couldn't consent to sex. Why don't people take in consideration what a teenager wants? I know my parents and society want to protect us, but from what?"

Ben rode up on his elbow. "They are concerned that you're not old enough to manage the feelings association with sex, especially with an adult. Using sex as a way to cope or self-medicate serves different purposes for different people. What if you're using sex and romantic intensity to say, "Look at me! Pay attention to me! Notice me! Love me! Don't reject me! Desire me! Make me feel lovable?! Help me to feel whole, even just for a few minutes."

"You sound just like Art. I'm not in a self-destructive pattern of sexually acting-out. Art and I discussed how my father emotionally abused me. Sure I felt lonely and sad, but I understand my feelings and emotions. To have sex with someone who doesn't judge me, but loves me as I do him, really makes me feel good."

"You're special, Shane, and I'm not saying that as a way to groom you. I mean you're special because of how you handle yourself. All you have to do is look around this camp. You see kids with multiple boyfriends, drug use, sexual addictions that are actions from painful childhood issues. There so many traumas from physical abuse, intimidation, physical neglect, emotional neglect, to parental homophobia that they must act like a man—whatever that means. Not everyone who has a history of neglect or abuse becomes an addict or a sex offender. It's you kids who take a lot of responsibility for both the good and bad things that happen to you."

"Isn't that what life is all about, Ben, the ups and downs? Art said we must learn to be resilient, forgiving, and be accountable for our own decisions. You and Art, even my friends here, have made me proud to be gay. Austin and I know we are getting away with a lot of sex here that are frowned upon in the neighborhood, but it's kind of fun to act silly and be ourselves."

"My boy, you have an awesome future ahead of you. Discover your talents, outside of sex, that is, that you have so much energy for creativity and personal growth. Your sexual being should always take a backseat to being friends with God and exploring life to appease Him and yourself."

Ben threw a sheet over the two of them, kissed his Ganymede goodnight and had a thought that Art was nodding his approval from above. A notion that he was about to be a great-uncle brought a smile to his face before he dozed off.

The press had converged outside the gates of the naval base to interview anyone who had witnessed the sighting of a UFO from the night before. Rumors abounded of seeing the spacecraft land near or within the base. There were not only eyewitnesses but more than enough cell phones which captured this historic event in video. The press had a field day, but Ben kept this train of bicycles focused as they went south of Carson City on Route 50, to South Lake Tahoe.

Ronin had his new music cube bought at the base BX and broke into FROM A DISTANCE that made the first hundred bicyclists like a choir leading a parade.

Cheet was one of these leading cyclists. His glance over to his buddy riding next to him brought smiles to both their faces. They'd shared the same tent for almost two weeks, most of the time living with their girlfriends. In a gay community a boy was somewhat of an outsider having a girlfriend. No one gave him any recognition, but he was still propositioned every day by another boy.

Philly had adjusted better than he, but the presidential son was also three years older. Cheet knew few boys his age had screwed a girl, and now he had one pregnant. His third baseman on his Little League team admitted at a party that he had fucked when he was ten during a strip poker game, but that didn't really count; it was just in and out.

Cheet kept a few secrets from his uncle the night before. Having sex with a girl was fun for a few days, but his girlfriend had required so much of his time he didn't have a minute to play or give his other friends an opportunity. He was also self-conscious that Breta made fun of him. On one night Breta had told him he was a terrible lover. So Cheet asked Sonja and Philly how anyone could tell he was a lousy lover in 30 seconds.

Sonja and Philly thought Cheet was making fun of himself, but the boy had asked an honest question. Sure he didn't last long, but he was getting better. Philly went down on Sonja, but Cheet wasn't ready to dive into that black abyss. Actually he knew he wasn't a very good lover, terrible at foreplay and never lasted long enough to change positions. He tried biting his lip, thinking about baseball, but his dick kept exploding once he was in.

Their foursomes were more fun, and Cheet enjoyed being loved by Philly. His kisses weren't as aggressive as Breta's, and he was far more gentle and caring, making sure that Cheet didn't come for several minutes. Philly certainly gave better blow jobs than a girl, and Breta could never fuck him like a boy could. The girls loved watching him and Philly make love. It didn't exactly seem fair. Cheet couldn't tell his uncle all this, but he did tell Uncle Ben some of Philly's jokes that cracked him up.

Philly had told Cheet that his grandfather told him and Chip that he often played his wedding video backwards so he could see himself walk out of the church a free man. And that boys aren't cut out to be monogamous. That's something you make furniture out of. Adam was the first to call his penis Peter because he didn't want a stranger making 99 percent of his decisions for him. His girl never told jokes to make him laugh like that.

While the boys laughed hysterically the girls felt snubbed. Sonja had to counter Philly. "Adam definitely came first; you boys usually do. He also preferred looks to brains because most boys can see better than they think. You guys might fantasize about having sex with two girls, but so do we—so that we'll have someone to talk to when you guys fall asleep."

Cheet loved it when his bud made the girls mad. When Philly thought it would be romantic to have sex under candlelight, Sonja protested that the sleeping bags might catch on fire.

"You just can't bear to see a boy enjoying himself," Philly replied and got a high five from Cheet.

"No, you might have something there. You can see me and might get my name right this time," Sonja said.

"I lost my focus," Philly reasoned.

"So did I," Cheet interjected. "I reached around expecting to find a penis to jack off." At least he and Philly thought it was funny.

The next morning with their girlfriends riding behind them—like they should--Philly reminded Cheet that the same Texas team that had beaten their Little League team was now in the Little League World Series at Williamsport, Pennsylvania.

"If I had my choice of playing in that series or being with you, I'd choose this Crusade. I know I can act pretty goofy, but I really love you guys."

Philly enjoyed Cheet's company immensely. He never thought of him as just thirteen, but a sensitive kid who was super athletic. In some ways Philly regretted bringing girls inside their tent to disrupt what they shared. It was refreshing when they made love in front of the girls. In so many ways sex with a boy was a lot more fun. Sure, a vagina was interesting, but ugly compared to a boy's penis. Boobs were so-so, and much like the girls behind them; kind of boring once you've felt them once to twice.

Alongside the road waited five miles of children, teens, and young adults in wait for 6,000 Crusaders who had survived this long trek across America. To most of these thousands of kids, from as far north as Canada and south to Arizona, their peers were like movie stars, winners of a contest that required endurance and stamina.

A huge sign, WELCOME TO CALIFORNIA, CRUSADERS, was held up to cover almost the entire road. Ben and the Secret Service drove their vehicles around the paper sign to allow the cyclists this privilege. Leave it to P.J. and Tony to make this a race around their older peers and bust through this greeting with their arms raised high. Chip and his contingent were laughing too hard to really care.

Thousands of new yellow T-shirts were far brighter than the stained jerseys that had seen miles upon miles of travel, sweat, and grind. Slapping hands were an unexpected treat to teens meeting teens from around the country. As far as the eye could see gay boys and girls had come from very long distances to show their support and pride.

These were the same boys and girls that so many of these newcomers had watched for days on the Internet, their parties, their ballgames, their romances. They were celebrities and were surprised to hear they had fans from all over the country.

It was different, Ben driving by himself with no one to talk to. He could've invited one of his boys to ride, but that would have been too self-serving. He missed Art's conversation, the man's few years of being married. Art had told Ben that he once didn't talk to his wife for six months because he didn't want to interrupt.

What a way to wake up with a naked boy next to him. There was no question that males were at their sexual peak in the morning. He had given Shane a blow job before it was time to wake up the sleeping dead. Teenagers should be allowed to sleep all morning. Shane wanted to return the favor but Ben said he hadn't reloaded from the night before. There was some truth to that.

He pulled his Aston over to a registration table, which was still busy passing out T-shirts. Two young teens stood up and introduced themselves, Mickey Watkins and Jose Ricoh, both fifteen from Irvine, California.

"Pleasure to meet you both, boys. I owe you guys a heaping full of thanks for your organization. This is a great turn-out," Ben said and tipped his hat.

To look upon this Texan with a black cowboy hat seemed to impress both boys immensely. "Can we meet Chip and Philly?" Mickey asked. "And maybe, Ronin," David added to Ben's smile.

"All three would be most honored," Ben replied and escorted the boys over to introduce them.

With thousands of kids gathered in gossip or in meeting new friends it became imperative that the agents kept encircling Chip and Philly to secure their safety. A pandemonium persisted, both sexes wanting to touch the president's boys and Ronin. Their bikes were almost stolen but for the quick eyesight of Zach who made a quick arrest of two teens without jerseys. The police weren't welcome visitors, but Zach suggested to the cops to escort the boys away and let them go.

Chaos was on the verge when Ben blew the air horn, which sent at least 6,000 cyclists scurrying to their bikes out of habit. Several other thousand teens followed suit. For the moment the beleaguered boys were riding in safety to the front of this community of gay boys and girls. This procession was no longer going to stay stagnant.

Ben had to laugh when he saw a new bike called the Copenhagen Wheel, possessing a motorized rear wheel which turned the bike into an electric hybrid. He could've used these to cross the Rocky Mountains with a few of his kids.

Having a few minutes with Jay Ramsey had assured him that the young man had found company with Peter. The two teens had hit it off and had their own tent. Art would have been proud of his friend's match-making efforts. Peter was sensitive to the issue that he didn't rush Jay into thinking that they had to have sex. Jay had been used and abused without any consideration for what he wanted out of life. This was going to be a slow progressive of adjustment to allow Jay to feel comfortable with new friends who cared about his survival.

It was midday when this parade of bikes went through Sacramento under police escort. Thousands of spectators had turned out for this expected ride-through. At no time in history had nearly 15,000 youth accumulated as one body to acclaim their independence and rights.

While the Crusade cycled by the capitol building California's Democratic Governor stepped out of his office to meet with the Carver boys and Ben Barkley. A long advocate of gay rights, the governor was pleased to assist this demonstration by so many youth.

"My favorite idealists," the governor greeted Chip and Philly, having met both of them in the White House.

"Which way to Disneyland?" Chip asked and introduced Ben and Ronin.

The governor exuded charm, joie de vivre, and an unmistakable air of power and command. "Chip, my boy, this isn't a political rally to begin your political career, is it?"

Chip had to laugh at that one. "Governor, I prefer adventure to security, freedom to popularity, and conviction to influence. Show me where I can get a marriage license and I'll be out of your hair."

Austin, Texas

Louise Barkley hired a shrewd lawyer and agreed to give state's evidence against her father. She said she had no idea what his intentions were. Louise received a mere slap on the wrist, then married the lawyer in a quick marriage in Las Vegas. Her divorce had been granted the day before. This attorney with two young kids of his own persuaded Louise not to seek custody of her own children, only visitation rights. She agreed because the man was wealthy and far more sexually active than Joe ever was.

The Colter family were now residents of Austin. Taken into a high-end community on Austin's north side, Ted had worried that Joe would show them houses that were far out of his salary range. That was until Mrs. Colter saw an English Tudor on five acres with an arched driveway behind pristine gates.

"A truly magnificent residence. Someone of importance must live there," she had said.

"Is it a place you would prefer?" Joe had asked.

"When I win the lottery," she teased.

"You already have," Joe said and pulled into the driveway. Within minutes the home belonged to the Colters.

While the missus decorated her new home, the children and Ted spent most of the time on the ranch. Ted began architectural plans and permits to construct a 14-bedroom, five-bath home a half-mile from the main ranch house, and a condo-type dormitory setting on an acre adjacent to the ranch. A baseball stadium with a weight room, locker areas, leisure center, and large concession deli was already being graded.

The Ericksons had also arrived and quickly moved into a tent city until their home was complete. Their children took to the fifty-meter pool as free of clothes as they did in their Missouri pond. The Barkley girls never knew quite what hit them. A dozen boys and girls of all ages, bare as the day they were born, had no qualms parading around the ranch. Three days later, appearing stranger than their naked friends, the two youngest female Barkleys flung off their two-piece swimsuits and joined the majority. The next day their oldest sister obliged, only because she had quickly fallen in love with a sixteen-year old, blond and gorgeous, Sorenson boy. Their romp in a hayloft on the fourth day pretty much solidified the relationship. No way was she returning to Austin.

Joe had had a few weeks of freedom until the arrival of his daughters. Caught between being a babysitter and being a lawyer was a multi-task he didn't appreciate. Then the Ericksons arrived. Regardless of their communal upbringing and hedonistic lifestyle, Joe was glad to have his daughters included, fed, and looked after. The prudishness of his wife's religion had little logic and now his girls saw no reason to wear clothes.

Shane's 12-year old brother's first day with the Ericksons was spent a whole lot under water. His hard-on wouldn't descend in this naked, nubile world of flesh. It took another twelve-year old Erickson girl to drop his shorts underwater. When the two came to the surface, Lori Erickson held the boy's shorts in her fingers.

"My brothers get boners all the time. They're so cute, you should be proud."

That's all it took and Trevor absorbed the praise and smiles with the same vigor he got when he hit home runs for his Little League team. He lost his virginity the next day in the pool.

Bo, Tracy's younger brother, was learning how to ride a horse around the range. He found the attention paid to him by two Erickson girls around his age far more entertaining than the girls at his school. These girls liked to play a game far more advanced than doctor.

Kentucky bluegrass adorned the baseball stadium where a pasture once stood. The ball diamond was Ted's pride. To design his own ball park had always been a dream, and now Ben had given him carte blanche to spend whatever money it took. Sub-surface bullpens, batting cages, scoreboard and lights were being shipped in; now all that was needed were ballplayers. Standing on the pitcher's mound Ted wished he was a boy again. His one accomplishment had been having three boys. Just because one of them was gay didn't seem to matter anymore.

Circling the fence Ted saw a nude female riding a paint toward him. It wasn't until the horse came in through the bullpen gate that he noticed another rider on back, his youngest son, also nude. His sons had lost their modesty in a few short days. Should he be concerned? The young lady had knobby breasts, probably a year older than his boy.

"Hey, Dad! This is Ruthie. We're just out riding the range."

"Care for a little catch?" Ted asked and watched his son jump off this horse without a saddle. He wondered what Bo thought about girls. The boy certainly hadn't reached puberty yet.

After the very young lady rode off, father and son snagged two gloves and a ball from a dugout equipment locker. Within sight of the swimming pool, it didn't take long until Trevor was running their way. His love for baseball wasn't much different than his older brother's. Trevor's Little League all-star team had lost early in their district championships. He was quickly throwing a three-way with his father and Bo.

Ted tried to be cool with having his sons naked in front of him. He hadn't seen either one of them nude in years. Trevor had a few pubic hairs, almost invisible. His nipples had a slight puffiness, which meant he was on the verge of puberty. Off with his shoes, Ted felt memories of boyhood when he shagged fly balls barefooted with his own father. Bo dashed to get a bat and said the same thing. "Dad, hit us some flies."

They played Five Dollars; twenty-five cents for a cleanly fielded grounder to a dollar for a caught fly. When Trevor was the first to reach five dollars, he hit the flies.

Ted scooped up his ball glove and whipped off his shirt under the hot, Texas sun. His youngest yelled from the outfield grass, "Take it all off, Dad!" So he did.

"I haven't felt this much alive in years," Ted told his middle son and was glad when Trevor smiled.

Allowing Bo more freedom to catch flies than his brother, Ted thanked God that moment for giving him this chance to share baseball with his sons. At 37 he still had his speed, fair arm, and a good looking body, according to his wife. Bo found it humorous that his dad's penis flipped all over when he ran for a fly ball.

With Bo hitting, his father and brother moved in considerably. Catching a fly, Trevor lobbed the ball back in to make sure it bounced before reaching Bo. He blurted out, "I had sex for the first time, Dad." He figured his father would be pleased that he liked girls.

Ted was taken back but not surprised with all the nudity. "So, how was it? Did you use protection?"

"Kinda cool. I've seen Shane's, and mine is sorta clear. A condom would just flop around I think."

They both laughed. "Better be safe than sorry. I'll see if I can buy you Little League size."

That made Trevor bust up and he dropped the next line drive. "She told me to pull out before I came, but I already had." He laughed again. "I kept humping so she wouldn't know I did."

Ted dropped the next fly ball so he wouldn't reach five dollars. A drop subtracted the same amount that he would have received if he had caught it. It also allowed them to talk longer. "Was it her first time, too?"

"She said it was. How can you tell?"

"You can't unless there's blood, but these girls come from a farm where they had horses. Most often riding bust their cherry."

"What's a cherry?" This time Trevor dropped an easy fly on purpose so he could get the answer.

Ted explained and heard Bo yell, "You guys suck!"

Trevor knew he shouldn't have said it when he did. "Shane does."

"You know, son, that's okay. I've given you boys the wrong impression that being gay is somehow bad. It isn't and I'm sorry. I love Shane as I love all of you. Just because he loves his own sex is no reason to judge him."

"I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have said it."

"Well, Shane sucks, but not at pitching." Ted got his twelve-year old laughing again.

"You guys are having too much fun," Bo shouted, dropped the bat and ran out to join them.

Lars Erickson and Joe found their friendship as easy as Ben had. By the time Joe realized the gravity of the situation, that this was far more than body freedom and children allowed to express their bodies without adult inhibition, it was kind of late to worry about contraception or abstinence. It was Lars, after all, who had made sense to Ben that it's the role of adults to raise their children's children. Let the kids be their sexual nature without the responsibility of raising babies. Spoken like someone who had grown up in a commune.

"And their schooling?" Joe challenged.

"Home schooling. My children are far more intelligent than their peers and without the bullying, cliques, or peer pressure," Lars said with pride. "You won't find these kids desiring drugs, alcohol or cigarettes to impress others. They can be themselves and not be embarrassed."

Joe nodded rather impressed. "Do you frown on those with alternative sexuality?"

Lars laughed. "My twin boys are on the Crusade. Love is love, ja?"

Santa Clara, California

The ride was long and enduring. Through Berkeley at the most arduous of times, San Francisco's City Council insisted that the Crusade cross the Bay Bridge and receive the recognition from the City on the Bay. Traffic snarled, flags waved, and gay teens had never felt the love of so many. Down Castro Street to Fisherman's Wharf, the parade of bicycles appeared endless. On Castro Street alone men dressed in leather, thongs, and even a few nudists stood on the sidewalks to greet these smiling faces of the young. The parade lasted three hours, more like a city on bicycles. A few men were so blatant as to have hundred dollar bills in their fingers to offer any fair looking teenager a quickie.

The last 40 miles were strung out with the only goal of food at the end of the rainbow. Feeding fifteen thousand youth was a major undertaking, but it was done with expediency.

Levi's Stadium was in the heart of Silicon Valley, the home of the San Francisco 49ers. 7500 tents decorated the acreage of parking lots and a football field. If there was a single consolation with this tortuous last leg from Nevada to this finality, there would be no bullhorn at six o'clock the following morning.

For 6,000 boys and girls the shower scene had been passé, a routine of nudity, congestion, and clockwork timing that equaled a fast food restaurant. So systematic in its presentation few kids gave it a second thought. Now comes along another 9,000 teenagers, young adults and a few tweeners. Culture shock to human body defined.

For those who did shower the last remnants drifted in after midnight. Shane's appearance was a given, though Ben wondered where his protégé hid to time this so perfectly.

This huge 18-wheeler had plugged into the stadium's water supply so there was plenty of hot water. The steam welcomed Ben's tired body, mostly mental exertion in assuring that the last few hours of the Crusade stayed right on cue. Tomorrow these youth had buses to catch, rides from friends or family, and plane tickets to return them home all over the United States.

Across this fog stood his teenage admirer. The boy's persistent ideation and immersion might have potential problems if Ben had been a female, but life was complicated enough without rejection.

It became obvious that Shane had his own admirers, as well. Two older teens had arrived late, their eyes on the six-one teen with a body that screamed boy-toy. Shane understood his attraction without ego. He neither flirted nor became the camp cock teaser.

The two older teens crept closer, made idle conversation with Shane and sensed the invitation of a boy desiring attention. These eighteen year olds were football players from a prominent high school in the Bay area. Conditioned physiques, they had the confidence of boys used to getting their way. Either they felt that Ben wouldn't care or that he might well get off on watching a seduction.

Two more boys came in through the mist of steam and stayed at the far end. Ben had no intention of imposing his will on Shane's decision to have sex with these older boys.

While one teen went down on Shane, the other palpated the younger's boy's rear, as if checking the linear perfection of a race horse. Kisses on the rear were mere foreplay for his objective. Shane sighed to having his dick sucked. Attention from two males had far more than an arousing incentive. The poking of an erect member near his rectum had Shane speak his mind.

"Make sure you wear a rubber," he said softly.

"Baby doll, I'm safe," the guy replied.

This time Shane twisted his head around. "That's not the point. Please put on a condom."

A hand reached up and grabbed Shane's hair. "You're kind of young to tell me what to do."

"I'm not!" The voice came from six feet away. Ben made a step forward but still kept his distance. "The young man asked you to wear a condom. I don't think that's an unreasonable request."

"What the fuck! Mind your own business, old man."

"The boy is my business. He's fifteen and has made a reasonable request. Either honor it or get the hell away from him."

These two opportunists stood up and eyed the man who had dared confront their seduction. The options were few, but obvious. Without access to a condom neither of them were going to achieve their aims without confrontation. A quick push into Shane's back had the boy flying into Ben's arms.

"Protect your pretty boy's ass, asshole!" the guy said and nudged his buddy's elbow to vacate the showers.

Ben also had choices to make in that split second. He wanted to rouse them both, for he wasn't one to take lip from smartass kids. Shane diverted these thoughts with his own kiss to Ben's lips.

"Thanks, Mr. Barkley. They're the assholes. I shouldn't have gotten involved, but I thought you might think it was sexy."

Ben put his hands around Shane's butt cheeks and held the boy tight. Was he jealous or just possessive? "Idiots like that give gays a bad name," Ben softly spoke in Shane's ear.

They had barely split apart when a flashlight lit up this dimly lighted corridor of water spray. A few showers down Ben heard Tony's voice and saw his adopted son's back as another boy had just disengaged from intercourse.

"Get out of here with that!" Tony had yelled at whomever held the flashlight.

"You two get the hell out of here before I have you arrested," the security guard said to Tony and P.J.

"Just try it, buster!" Tony bravely replied.

"Tony, just step out. I'll handle this," Ben said and watched as a man in a uniform began to step into these streams of water.

Not exactly the brightest thing this guy could have done, the man was almost drenched by the time he walked back to the rear showers. "Sir, may I have a word with you?" The guard made sure to eye Shane before Ben moved with the guard back to the entrance. The security officer had quite a gander at Shane's pointed penis that was straight up a minute ago.

Ben read the patch on the guard's sleeve. Nothing more than a stadium security cop, the guy was overplaying his role. "Sir, I just had two young men tell me that you were in there with a young teenager in your arms, and the kid had an erection. Care to explain."

Ben was so perturbed he deployed speaking to this little twerp. "I believe you got a fraction of the truth. You interrupted my shower for this?"

The guard tasted an arrest, something that would impress his own supervisor. Guarding a parking lot and thousands of bicycles was rather degrading. "You're an adult, showering with kids, two of them engaged in fucking each other. What am I supposed to think? Personally you perverts belong in San Francisco, but you're on my watch. After I speak with the boy in there, we'll see. Don't plan on going anywhere."

"I have an inkling to slap you across your bullheaded carcass, young man!"

"Are you threatening a law enforcement officer, sir?"

"If you had a gun I would've already stuck it up your ass, boy! Now, if you don't mind, I got better things to do."

Ben walked off but saw this renta-cop walk right over to speak with Shane coming down the ramp.

"Young man, did that adult over there have you in his arms?"

Shane looked mystified. "I don't know what you saw, but you saw only a fraction of what happened."

"So you do admit that that man molested you? You did have an erection? You know, a boner."

"D'oh! Why don't you talk with the two guys who tried to fuck me, but I said they couldn't because they didn't have a condom. All Mr. Barkley did was intervene."

"So he knew what was transpiring?"

Shane saw where this was going and kept his mouth shut. He saw Tony and P.J. standing nearby with their ears and eyes locked on this confrontation. Walking over to them he diverted their attention to a retreat back to their tents, but not before the guard took down the names the boys gave him: Gerald Fritz, Howie Gurgleson, and Ama Inya. The last one was from Tony. This wannabe cop had to ask for the spelling and still didn't get it.

His temper calmed, Ben dressed and went back to explain to this security cop exactly what had happened. The man was nowhere to be found. On his return there was Shane in his bed.

"Shane, I'm not too sure this is a good night to do this."

"That creep isn't going to do anything. Those guys lied just to get back at us." He began to undress Ben as the man expressed his concern.

"There are cops who think it's their job to harass and impose their own homophobia on others. He's the type, Shane."

Any words weren't exactly getting through. His cock had risen quickly inside of Shane's mouth. Sometimes a hard dick had no conscience. Actually, Ben thought, sometimes was an understatement.

There wasn't a bullhorn that woke Ben and Shane, but a voice at the tent's flap. "Mr. Barkley, this is the Santa Clara police. We'd like to have a word with you. May we come in?"

"No you may not! Give me a second." Ben scampered to put clothes on, then checked his watch. It was six-fifteen.

As Ben stepped out, a sheriff's deputy glanced inside and saw Shane sitting on a bed throwing on his T-shirt and shorts while rubbing his eyes. An interrogation that lasted almost an hour, Ben wished he had the names of those two boys from the previous night. Picking up an additional 9,000 youth the day before hadn't exactly given him time to familiarize himself with faces.

Inside Ben's tent, Shane was also given the third-degree by two more investigators. With Ben Barkley out of the tent, one of these investigators went through Ben's artifacts, luggage, and bedding in search of pornography or used condoms. Anything admissible as evidence. Illegal as hell, it's the way California law enforcement operated. Search warrants were something they did before the Patriot Act.

When Ben returned and saw the two detectives come out of his tent, breakfast was the last thing on his mind. The last day of this Crusade and he was going to find himself in a county jail, charged with humanity's most hideous and misunderstood crimes. All he needed to ask was, `Do you want my hands in front of me or to the rear? Could you please wait until we're in the police car?' His knees went weak, and that senior feeling that life was too short for this disturbance rushed into his brain.

After speaking to his peers, the lead detective glanced over at Ben. "We'll be in touch. We have three other boys to talk to. A Fritz, Gurgleson, and Inya. Can you tell us which tents they might be in?"

Ben shook his head. If these cops weren't so pathetic he might have laughed. "Shane, would you mind retrieving P.J. and Tony?" Ben asked.

Shane was a trifle shaken after his first confrontation with the law. They had all but threatened him with juvenile hall if he didn't confess. He sprinted off to come back with these two boys a few minutes later. Ben weighed the potential problems of admitting he was the guardian of Tony, but he took the high road in confessing his parentage. He also had the right to be present when his adopted son is questioned. For a change, Ben was sort of glad for Tony's street smarts.

Tony listened to the cop's inference by a stadium guard into a shower scene of sex play with another boy and with an adult present. "Really?" Tony replied sarcastically. "I'm a kid. Got that? I can do whatever the fuck I want."

"Tony! That's extremely rude," Ben corrected. "The officer is simply asking if you knew I was present."

"I never saw you, sir," Tony said like an angel. "It was really steamy in there, and me and P.J. thought we were the last ones to shower."

"Did you see anything?" the officer asked Tony.

"How could I, dude? Have you ever been fucked and jacked off at the same time? I had my eyes closed while resting my head back on P.J.'s chest. It was awesome."

"I don't need the details, young man. You had to, at some time, notice something."

"Yeah! I saw these two bozos push Shane into Mr. Barkley here, and then this freak in a uniform came busting in with his flashlight."

"I thought you said you didn't see Mr. Barkley in the shower."

Tony didn't bite on the trip, nor miss a beat in his response. "You're not listening, dude. I said when P.J. and I were doing our thing, I didn't know anyone else was there. Then these voices came up and I glanced over. Not like I knew it was Mr. Barkley until later, see, but now I know. It could have been you for all I know. Where were you last night?"

"This isn't about me, young man. Have you seen these two older guys before?" the officer asked Tony.

"No, but when I do I'm going to punch both of them in the balls."

"I don't recommend you do that, young man."

"What gives you the impression that I think you guys have my best interests in mind?"

Ben smiled meekly and intervened. "You'll have to excuse my son here. He comes from a broken home and a community that didn't exactly protect him. For all practical purposes, his mother abandoned Tony."

"Yes, well, that's Social Services' problem." The investigator was hardly sympathetic. "Mr. Barkley, the boy is kind of young to be having sex with a fifteen-year old. To be that promiscuous at this age has me concerned."

"Whatever," Tony replied. "P.J. is within the five years that your stupid law states. Yeah, that's right, I know my rights. Go bother someone else who gives a shit."

"Officer, they're both minors and gay. I don't think that's an issue here," Ben informed and added, "Boys will be boys," to the investigator's annoyance.

Outside the tent P.J. was waiting with a wink directed at Tony and Ben when they exited the tent. Ben had no idea that the senator's boy had been schooled well the night before.

"We'll be in touch," the investigator said closing his notebook.

"You've said that before," Ben said feeling a lot more assured of his freedom. He watched this band of four detectives walk off, a little disillusioned that they hadn't made their big bust for the day. A few minutes ago he was sure he'd be walking in front of them with handcuffs on. Taking the three boys into his tent he wasn't sure what he was going to say.

"I'm sorry, guys, that you had to go through that," Ben started. "That had to be difficult for someone your age. Adults can make you feel very small.

"Not really, Ben," Shane spoke up. "What do you think Art talked to us about? He said if we love older guys we must have foreseeability and should expect this at some time, and he was right."

"Yeah, Art was cool," Tony agreed. "Not like I would've cried like some wuss, but those guys make me nervous. They think we were up to no good and blaming you because we like to fuck."

Ben had never suspected Art for his foresight in preparing the boys for this possibility. The man had showed a very proactive stance when it came to sexuality. "And you, too, P.J.?"

"No. Art never spoke with me about that. Shane and P.J. gave me the rundown last night, pretending to be assholes with a badge. I followed their lead, so those creeps didn't freak me out."

A glance at Shane. "Didn't they want to know why you were sleeping in my bed?"

"Sure, but I told them I was scared that those two guys last night would come looking for me."

"I think I have my appetite back, boys. Let's get some grub," Ben said and kissed each of them on the forehead. Even in death Art had saved his ass.

Shane was the last to leave, twisting back at the last second to whisper into Ben's ear. "You know I'd never let anything bad happen to you."

"It's the adult who should be saying that to you," Ben replied.

"I already know that." Shane rubbed his palm down on Ben's crotch. The boy had turned into a sexual animal.

On that football field there were few if any Crusaders who were aware of this police interference or the ushering in of three boys to testify in this inquisition into the proclivities of the Crusade's director.

The trucks began to fill with the Crusade's bikes that had survived a very long trek across America. After breakfast the bus that had assisted on a daily basis for those who were ill, injured, or just plain tired, now bused thirty-two kids at a time to the bus station or to the nearest airport. Ben had rented an additional six buses to travel into San Francisco's International Airport.

A long stretch of kids lined up to thank Mr. Barkley, Chip, Philly, and Ronin for this opportunity. Hugs, handshakes, and kisses came fast and furious in an endless parade of pleased boys and girls. Friendships made, experiences never to be forgotten, and memories of love affairs were now a part of these teenagers' lives. No one had totally prepared for this abrupt ending, a dissolution of family that had far exceeded any camp adventure.

Thousands were content to stay for the night's concert, having bought tickets before the Crusade even began. Sixty-nine thousand tickets had been sold, and now Ronin made available another three thousand standing-room only tickets surrounding the stage, which might have been the best tickets anyway. Ronin had offered the proceeds to Ben to help with the massive costs of the Crusade. He refused the generous suggestion.

For the two teens who had taken the initiative in gathering the 9,000 additional riders from the West Coast, they weren't done. Down the coast by way of Route 101, a very scenic trip, over 2,000 boys and girls would begin their trek to continue this premise of a crusade for the emancipation of gay youth.

Ben called a meeting of his counselors, 23 learned survivors of a most tedious assignment of their lives. He thanked them for their perseverance and patience. Handing out checks made for a lot of smiles because there was a $5,000 bonus check for each one of them.

"Next year! Next year! Next year!" they began to shout but that only brought laughter from Ben.

"I'm retired," Ben said and was booed. He wasn't a glutton for punishment. Few men could have done what he had just accomplished. There were free concert tickets for anyone who wanted to stay; otherwise, there were hugs for the departures and invitations to come down to Texas and the ranch any time for a visit.

For the two boys from Southern California who spent their time and money in promoting the Crusade, Ben gave each of them five thousand dollars and took them both out to lunch with Chip, Philly, Ronin and Shane.

Shane's deserving fate? The teen had become the younger version of Art Acosta in Ben's life. This Texan billionaire felt alive, invigorated and possessed with love. Why the boy had to be just fifteen was a curse Ben tried his best to ignore. For the moment he was in love. The night before after another vigorous sexual display the two lay there side by side facing each other. Hands swept down each of their bodies to find the curves, landscapes of attraction, and the pure maleness that each of them found to their liking. What this sensory period allowed was verbal communication between a man and a teenager. Truly acknowledging their love for each other Ben asked, on a trial basis, if Shane would like to live with him. Shane kissed the man from head to foot as just part of his answer.

Looper was not a happy camper when he found out that Senator McCarty's son had been questioned by police about his sexuality and what the boy had observed. All it would take was one loose-lipped detective to leak this to the press and a U.S. Senator's campaign would be severely affected. Looper included this in his report that morning back to Washington. He knew the president also read this report and wouldn't be pleased.

Sure enough, thirty minutes later, a call came from President Carver himself. The president didn't blame Looper outright, but the heat was enough that there were a whole lot of "Yes, sir's" in those two minutes of having his ass chewed. There would be no more interrogations, interviews, questioning or any other inquisitions done to specified individuals.

"Make that for anyone associated with the Crusade," the president added. The Attorney General had been briefed and was making amends.

It took another half-hour to track down the agents with Chip and Philly on their tour at Google to relay this message. The tour to this Silicon Valley Taj Mahal had sold Philly on being a computer geek in making billions with his next brilliant concept. Every gay nerd there raped Ronin with their eyes and were jealous of Chip Carver for holding the boy's hand during the tour. As polite as ever, Ronin had no idea how many men there seduced him with their eyes.

An agent reiterated this news to Ben, who complacently nodded with the fact that the police were no longer allowed intervention without presidential approval. Ben didn't dare question how much influence the federal government had with local police. It appeared to him that those detectives didn't give a rat's ass about any political agenda in Washington D.C. He could see himself being hauled away in handcuffs and saying, `But I know President Carver,' and watching those cops laughing themselves silly.

Looper never thought he'd be glad to be back protecting the president. Living with and around thousands of gay boys had been an eye opener. He had grown up as one of these adolescent angst-types, desiring just one boy to be like him. This Crusade had been gay nirvana, a cornucopia of physical specimens and personalities to choose from. Cuties at sixteen who looked twelve, and fourteen-year olds who looked twenty. They were all here in a daily dating game. Whoever thought that a daily bike ride would tire these loins were greatly mistaken. All it did was lessen masturbation time and increase the likelihood that these kids would be super horny by the time night time came around.

Too many of this generation had the belief that one has a right to satisfy their sexual urges, a sense of entitlement that came with the times. Distorted attitudes and beliefs just seemed to go along with the territory. It all made Looper feel old, an over-the-hill thirty-year old. Yikes!

Looper had lived a second adolescence through Chip. Whether that had been right or wrong, the boy appeared well-adjusted and beyond his peers in common sense. Boys were resilient when they weren't brainwashed into thinking they're mentally crippled for having sex. Chip was hardly preoccupied with sex compared to many of these boys but, considering he had the hottest, if not the prettiest boy in camp, his penis rarely went a day without being satisfied. Looper sensed a tinge of jealousy in this thought. Previously Looper had tried to dismiss a whisper from Chip that his father had tasted this morsel. The President?! The most powerful person in the world was known to dabble, but having Ronin was like Kennedy with Marilyn Monroe—the best of the best. Looper had to admit that, if Ronin didn't have a penis, with a set of boobs and a wig he could probably make Sports Illustrated's swimsuit issue.

Agent Wenzel was sure that his significant other had his own secrets from this excursion. Zach was a stud, a beautiful human being with a body of a Spartan. There were no complaints here. Looper had his crushes, infatuations to take to the grave. Young Shane was this focus. While having a few minutes of pleasure with Zach the night before, he had envisioned he was fucking the boy. Looper dared only glance at, afraid the front of his pants would burst forward. What a sweet ass! Tall and slender, the Greeks would have mounted a sculpture of the youth for eternal viewing at Olympia. This contemplation made Looper hard as he stood on the ground floor of Google, admiring this Disneyland of computer geeks. What he wouldn't give to be fifteen again and have Shane in his bed while his homophobic brother slept in the next bed. There were rumors that Ben Barkley was getting a piece of this. But Ben was 62! Looper truly wanted to sit down with the director and drool while Ben confessed this forgivable peccadillo. Of course Looper would want the details.

By the time of their return, Tent City in the middle of this football field had slowly disappeared through the morning hours and replaced by a stage. Ronin's traveling crew was well rehearsed at many locations. This concert had special meaning and arrangements went well beyond Ronin's previous appearances. California's governor knew how to kiss ass when he wasn't kicking it.

An afternoon shopping spree to San Jose Ronin spotted a clothing store. Chip chuckled because he knew of Ronin's affliction for clothes. While Chip would have had them matched in bowties and briefs, Ronin chose white shirts, dinner jackets, peach ties and white tennis shorts. Two Ralph Loren watches and rings were agreed upon. Chip balked when it came to the pink shoes and purple socks.

Ben had trouble saying no to anything Shane wanted. Actually, the boy had never asked for anything but sex. When Shane pointed at the earrings in the case, Ben panicked, not at the precious stones, but a parental veto.

"What will your father say?"

Shane grinned. "My father signed a waiver giving you rights to make medical decisions during the Crusade. We'll still on the Crusade, right? And this is sort of a medical procedure."

"You're going to get me shot," Ben replied and asked the clerk to surface the sapphire stone that had caught Shane's eye. "Are you sure a diamond isn't more befitting?"

"The blue matches my eyes," Shane said placing the stone against his ear and looking in a mirror. "Our friendship deserves equal billing."

"Then I can see myself in your ear as well as your eyes?" Ben said to humor the moment. He got a kiss for that one. The clerk's eyes sprang open but he was hardly going to disapprove with what he was about to make in commission.

A quick prick in the ear and Shane's face lit up with this new decoration. He looked around for Ben, who was buying them each rings for a surprise later. When his man came over to examine this new body armor, Shane hugged him while whispering, "I suppose nipples and a dick loop are out of the question."

Throughout the previous weeks the Crusade had witnessed an abundance of facial and body décor that went beyond vanity. Rings through every part of the body wasn't unusual to see in the shower. So far Ben hadn't had to put his foot down to his closest boys to avoid tongue, dick, or nose rings.

"Don't even think about it!" Ben shot back and bopped the boy on the top of his head. "Maybe a dragon tattoo across your waist down to your bottom, with fire breathing from the mouth of my favorite spot."

"Okay," Shane agreed and had Ben cracked up.

Ben never thought in his life he'd ever have his ear pierced. What he wouldn't do for the love of a boy. What will his ranch hands say?

A few clothing selections and Rolexes to really spoil the teen, before Ben led everyone next door to a hairdresser. Chip, Philly and Ronin followed to make three hairdressers beam with joy when this quartet of boy charm walked through the door with bodyguards in tow. They quickly cancelled their afternoon appointments. The manager came out to make sure all four boys received special attention. Shane's blond mop almost cascaded to his shoulders, yet he was okay with appeasing his mentor with just a slight cut above the neck.

Pedicures and manicures were suggested by the overly effeminate owner of this establishment. Ben nodded just to watch the boys protest. Instead they wanted this experience and giggled through the entire process. They forced Ben to submit to the same services.

"But I'm a cowboy!" Ben said with a smile.

Leave it to Shane to go over and kiss his man right on the lips. "Yeah, but you're my cowboy and I might just suck those toes. You do want them looking sweet for me, don't you?"

Beet red again, especially in front of three adults who only thought Shane was kidding, but adorably funny. "Art would find this funny, but only for you."

Ronin clapped and suggested there should be a double wedding. Thank God there were no press around, but it took Zach to speak with these employees later and "suggest" that no one ever say anything to bring embarrassment back on their customers. Of course the owner promised, but he'd already received a five-hundred dollar tip from one Ben Barkley with the same message.

Ronin arrived back early enough to rehearse any new renditions he had planned with his band. A production crew was setting up for a DVD special that would be in high demand. Satellite trucks and a TV station had cameras and cables all over the field.

An unexpected treat, the governor arrived by helicopter before the field was inundated with thousands of fans. He had dinner with Ben in one of the luxury boxes reserved for elite corporations.

A boy band from LA was the opening act for Ronin. By eight o'clock there were over 70,000 people of all ages in anticipation of something very special.

On 50-yard line prime seats Ben sat next to the governor, while Chip was on the governor's left. Shane was beside his favorite man, hair swept back and slicked up in a Paris model's wave with a small blue bobby pin to the side, the newest style in gay fashion. Wearing a silk shirt, sport coat and slacks, snake-skin boots and rose-colored sunglasses, Shane felt like a million dollars, especially after the governor asked him which college he was attending. Shane made sure his Rolex shone at his wrist. He had no idea what a sugar daddy was, only that his heart belonged to Mr. Barkley.

While Ben wanted to chuckle at the governor's miscue over Shane's age, the teenager slyly said he wasn't in college at the time, but was leaning toward Stanford. That made the governor extremely pleased.

"There won't be any California boys left for the girls after they spot you," the governor said.

"He's Texas bound, Governor," Ben informed. "I protect the cute ones within barbwire fences, like my Arabian horses."

"Sort of a stud ranch," the governor joked. "If I was a broad, I'd want his baby."

"Hell of a business opportunity," Ben humored back and had the governor laughing.

Chip leaned forward to give Shane a thumbs up. If he wasn't so much in love with Ronin he would've been on that ass more than Ben.

When it came to Ronin's concert he rarely confided in Chip as to his choreography or song selection. This was, after all, an English boy who ran to third base after he hit a softball and couldn't catch a football to save his life. But on stage...wow! Above, the huge digital screen displayed two hearts united with male sex symbols inside. Two in one was Ronin's wish.

From the minute the concert started there were 70,000 teenagers, men, women, and kids on their feet. Up through this circular stage came the world's most popular Beatle. He introduced Ronin by saying that England had sent its cutest baby boy for a second British invasion. Up came Ronin dressed in a Union Jack over a set of white leather pants that were cut so low it barely covered the base of his penis. Bald as a twelve-year old, it was how Chip liked his boy.

The two broke into Magical Crusader Tour and Get Back to send this crowd into a frenzy. Switching the British flag for an Uncle Sam hat, the teen was bare-chested in those sexy pants that had girls screaming to Girls Just Want to Dance, by the Eagles.

As was Ronin's custom, he used the male gender instead of the female in his songs. He sang the Beatles' Come On to his lover, which had Chip in tears. At that moment Chip knew he was the luckiest guy in the world to love someone as special as Ronin. Ronin was a gift to humanity and he had thousands glued to his heart at that very second. His rendition of In My Car with zooming race cars on screen had kids rocking.

Changing outfits to a San Francisco baseball player Ronin alternated between British icons and American hits. He sang Fleetwood Mac's' I Wanna Be With You Everywhere to Phil Collins' Can't Stop Loving You, Gonna Be All Right, and True Colors, waving the rainbow flag to honor the gay and lesbians there that night. When you thought it couldn't get any crazier, Ronin broke into a Rolling Stones' classic, Can't Get No Satisfaction, then back to Easy Lover. An ELO favorite, Mr. Blue Sky, to a Whitney Houston hit to show off his range. Gone were the days of a dainty twelve-year old on England's Most Talented, singing A Thousand Miles with assorted colored hoodies. Ronin came alive on stage, dancing with abandon, rejoicing in his lyrics and singing to his lover whenever he turned back to make sure he encompassed this entire circular stadium.

A known secret by Chip, his boy loved Stevie Nicks, so he had to sing Everywhere. He gave a few of his selected talents from the Crusade the stage, and then came back on his platform dressed in his western attire, lace hanging from his sleeves. With Austin, Cheet, P.J., Philly, Shane, and Tony, all dressed in French thongs the color of the rainbow and towels over their shoulders, they sang together a rendition of Girls, Girls, Girls, but changing gender:

Boys, boys, boys, Boys, boys, boys,

Well, Yellow, red, black or white

And a little bit of moonlight

For this continental romance

Shy boys, sexy boys, (whistle)

They're all like that fancy world

Champagne a gentle song

And a slow dance

Who makes it fun to spend your money?

Who calls you daddy most every day?

Boys, boys, boys

Boys, boys, boys

Well they made `em up in Hollywood And put `em in the movies

Those lovely photographic splendors

In and out of magazines

Cute boys and beauty queens

Falling in love with the real big spenders

But although a boy's world may be

Frantic, they're still romantic in

Their own way

So, hop on the world is swinging

Don't sit and twiddle your thumbs

Get out and meet those cute boys,

Boys, boys

Step on, the world is swinging

Put on the dazzling charm

Get up and find those cuuute boys

But don't rush, keep it nice and

Gentle...and sentimental for that

Certain moment

Moonlit oceans, boys full of emotions

Stepping on that slow boat to China

And next door in Japan

They know how to please a man

Calling in for tea...loving their...samurai

They've got that old-fashioned

Feeling, when it comes to pleasing

They know their way

So hop on the world is swinging

Don't sit and twiddle your thumbs

Get out and meet those cute boys,

Boys, boys

Step on, the world is swinging

Put on the dazzling charm

Get up and find those cuuute boys

But don't rush, keep it nice and

Gentle

And sentimental for that certain mooooment, when you draw back

the curtain

Step on the world is swinging

Put on the dazzling charm

Get up and find those cuuute boys

Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh,

Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh,

Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh,

Boys, boys, boys,

Boys, boys, boys,

Boys, boys, boys, boys, boys.

That was as much fun to sing for the boys as it was for the crowd listening. They had practiced that song for three days while riding their bikes.

Finding a diamond in the rough, a girl on the Crusade sang like an angel. Ronin invited her to sing Where Does My Heart Beat Now, while he dressed for the ultimate highlight. On his return few would know the practical joke he was playing on Chip. Now in his white tux, but long pants, he joined the young lady in Beauty and the Beast.

Philly escorted his brother on stage, Chip in his white tux and white shorts. Ronin was cracking up and stood back while his lover gave thanks to the governor for giving them honorary California citizenship and being there for this grand occasion. Chip also said that he had the legs in this family, while Ronin had the voice.

As Ronin's best man, Shane stepped forward with Ronin as excitement grew. Ronin sang Because You Loved Me in French and English while holding Chip's hand. Rev. Harris, a selectee from the governor himself, stepped forward. Tony and Scooter in their powder blue tuxes hustled forward with the rings. On the screen the faces of the President and First Lady and the parents of Ronin, smiled from being beamed to this location. The surprised boys' hands sweated as they held each other's fingers, and possibly only then did they realize the monumental undertaking of their commitment. They smiled to each other.

"On this day, Chip and Ronin, your lives will be together. Your hearts will be guided by love and by friendship. The love you share will be stronger than anything you could have possibly imagined.

"On this day you promise to cherish, to nurture, with love and friendship, and through the coming years that love will only grow.

"On this day you promise to stand by each other, both physically and in spirit, to support with pride and respect, to shower each other with affection and admiration, to hold and comfort with tenderness and warmth, to aid with compassion and empathy.

"On this day you promise to be near when the other is in need, to be honest and truthful always, to trust utterly and implicitly, to respect and understand why you may differ at times, to offer hope and resolution when things go wrong. You offer your integrity, as a human being, to your best friend, as the one who truly loves you.

"On this day you promise to be faithful and sincere, to be tolerant and merciful, and to be kind and thoughtful. And in the face of adversity, fear, and trouble, you will stand proudly and firmly beside each other, with courage and fortitude.

"When one of you is happy, the other will partake in that happiness, and when the other is sad, you shall share your sorrow. When life is sweet, you indulge your energies and your creativity, and if one of you is infirm, you shall nurse the other back to health and vitality.

"On this day, do you, Chip, take the hand of Ronin in marriage as your lawfully wedded husband, without doubt or reservation, thoroughly and entirely, joyfully but solemnly, and privately but with honor and valor?"

"Yes," Chip said proudly.

"And do you, Ronin, take Chip's hand in marriage as your lawfully wedded husband, without doubt or reservation, thoroughly and entirely, joyfully but solemnly, and privately but with honor and valor?"

"Yes," Ronin said with happy tears in his eyes.

"Before God and these friends and family, I proclaim this marriage as a special bond and partnership, a promise with divine assistance, to share your lives in a loving and faithful way. Your love, your heart, your soul, your entire world are yours to share with each other, forever. I announce you husband and husband. You may kiss the love of your life."

Chip took this British doll in his arms, bent him slightly backward and wanted to make love to him right then and there. Fireworks and their peers' hugs and kisses surrounded the boys. To millions on the worldwide Internet, it was one of the most watched Internet specials ever shown.

No one expected this extravaganza to be over until Ronin led them all in The Power of the Dream.

***************

The boys' honeymoon was on hold until after Ronin's last concert in Southern California at the Irvine Amphitheatre in Orange County. That certainly didn't stop them from cuddling at two o'clock in the morning after the dismantling of this concert arena and the setting up of tents again for the thousands of kids still left for one more night.

Emails from all over the world poured in to congratulate the First Boy of the world and his English sweetheart. Millions of jealous girls and boys were happy, only because the two teenagers appeared meant for each other and were madly in love. Their worlds would still be separated for the time-being. Ronin had his career and Chip desired to give college a try. For the time being there would be a bed for Ronin in the White House anytime he wanted.

Marriage ceremonies often send a spark to others in love. Josh knew he was in love with Austin, but the teen was two months away from his eighteenth birthday. He also wasn't sure that Austin felt the same way for him as he did about Ben's nephew.

Two Sorenson girls had diamonds in their dreams, but their boyfriends were very evasive as they climbed into the sleeping bags to the warmness of female bodies. From this warmness came a frigid refusal for sex when both boys declined to be persuaded into a marriage proposal. Cheet crawled out and passed another pissed off girl on his way into Philly's bed. Though they didn't have sex, Cheet knew being in a boy's arms wasn't all that bad anyway.

Tony had a very sleepy Scooter enveloped into his vice grip, explaining to his peer how marriage wasn't in his plans. He had too many boys in his plans to fuck and be fucked by. With his high-pitch giggle Tony even suggested that he might have to try out a farm animal if one would so kindly offer their rear to him. He expected Scooter to giggle but the boy was fast asleep in Tony's hug.

Jay and Peter smoked a joint before turning in. Both of them had enjoyed being bottoms to older more dominant males. Now that they had found friendship in each other and similarities in their experiences, it took Peter's direction to offer Jay the top position. They traded off after several minutes and discovered this unique idea of sharing. The marriage ceremony wasn't brought up, though Jay said it would be cool to love someone as much as Chip and Ronin did. Peter readily agreed.

P.J. and Brent had turned into two confident boys with the Sorenson twins as their boyfriends. Both Bjorn and Lars had athletic bodies, both from sports and farm work. They respected their partners, trading them when P.J. and Brent consented, and occasionally were bottoms for them both. Friendship abounded, though love was pushing it. Brent was the most vulnerable, his future easily saw Lars as his husband. P.J. wanted to see what the world of high school and what college would offer, a cornucopia of handsome males from which to choose from. To marry a Yale boy would please his parents tremendously.

Rather than use the shower in one of the trailers, Shane followed Ben to one of the locker rooms where they shared a hot shower with the newly married couple, Ronin's band, and Ben's nephews. So many great looking bodies, Ronin apologized for having a few straight boys in his band. Flooding the shower room floor meant sliding bodies in a frolic of fun and their own water sliding park.

Like clockwork when they adjourned to their tents Shane could at least pretend to be married to Ben Barkley. He kissed the muscular, mature body all over, then sank into the awaiting arms that made Shane feel loved and desired. Sex wasn't all that important considering the late hour, but he didn't mind being fellated to orgasm to make him slide into sleep that much faster. His last murmur was in the arms of this man he already felt was his forever.

"Do you think, Ben, that we'll ever be a couple?"

Ben knew what the teenager meant. "We'll have to move to Iceland," Ben said with a chuckle.

"Why Iceland?" Shane whispered.

"They have an age of consent of fourteen. We won't have to worry about the cops busting our door down to take a look. You do realize we can't do this when we arrive to Texas." Ben waited in the dark for a voice of confirmation.

"Mmmmmmm, I'd like to be in your arms every night," Shane whispered and was asleep in seconds. Shane well knew wherever they were that Ben couldn't resist him.

Ben reached across to turn off the soft music playing on his radio. What a coincidence it was Shania Twain's Forever and For Always. He didn't dare laugh in fear of waking up this special creature in his other arm.

As usual Ben rose early to step out in the morning air surrounded by an empty stadium. Video trucks and crew had all departed and only a clean-up crew were busy at this early hour sweeping trash.

There was the realization that the Crusade was truly over, no air horns, morning breakfast or thousands of bicycles in preparation for the daily 160 mile ride. Ben's responsibilities were over.

Looking down the rows of green, gray, blue, and brown tents, a lone teenager stepped out from his tent, stark naked and with an erection. The boy stretched, scratched his balls, and waved to the director. Ben gave a wave back before the teen stepped back into his tent. A typical day without the rigors of a bike ride.

No one had hassled anyone exhibiting nudity, though erections were frowned upon. Lesbians didn't mind seeing boys' butts, but erect penises grossed them out, according to complaining witnesses.

The concert had gone viral, not so much because of two guys getting married, but the fact that it was President Carver's son. Ronin's appearance certainly drew millions. Chip's sister, Chelsea, now a junior at Stanford, took her brother and Ronin out to a late dinner in San Jose. The boys arrived back early in the morning.

There was also another early riser, a detective with binoculars high up on the second level. The officer didn't expect to see any offense, per se, but he knew this Crusade verged on the side of illegalities. He just couldn't prove it. In his sight came Ben Barkley, dressed comfortably in slacks and T-shirt, always wearing his cowboy hat. It was what was left inside that tent that intrigued the detective.

A movement far to the right caused the detective's binoculars to swing. Naked as the day he was born, a lone teenager, sixteen or so, had stepped out to revel the morning sun with a hard-on. Not exactly exhibitionism, the scene sort of showed how immoral this crusade had become. And then there was Barkley waving, as if condoning this display. It wasn't that the detective had anything against gays, he just thought it was abnormal behavior that shouldn't be acted upon. Marriage was out of the question because two males can't procreate. He didn't want to hear that some women can't or didn't want children to begin with.

Detective Fry knew he had better things to do than spy on a bunch of faggots. He turned to go, only to watch Ben Barkley return from the restroom and greet this tall, lanky boy who had stepped out from the same tent, with nothing more on than a man's western shirt that rode over his hips. The kiss on the lips had the officer raise his binoculars again. Those two had to be up to no good. He watched the teen jump down and do 50 pushups, while his bare ass became quite visible. There was just no way Ben Barkley was refusing that piece of ass the detective knew.

Fry knew that this gay circus, as he called it, was on its way to Orange County. A call was necessary. Let them deal with this problem.

With but a few hours of sleep, Chip and Ronin were rustled out of deep sleep for their drive to the airport. Ben had hired a private jet to take the newly married couple, Philly, his nephews, P.J. and Tony to John Wayne Airport in Orange County. Two agents drove down, while two more flew with the Carver boys. The Erickson twins, both male and female, were flying to Austin. Shane wanted to ride with Ben in the Aston down scenic 101.

At the San Jose Airport fans were well aware of the departure, thanks to a Crusade boy who put it on the Internet. Several hundred flocked to the airport to send off this newly married couple and to cause chaos at the terminal.

With the top down, warm breezes blew into the faces of Shane and Ben as they sped toward Big Sur. Their first goal was breakfast at a restaurant within the oak-studded hills. For a few minutes these two intergenerational lovers strolled through redwood groves that reached skyward beside this fabled coastline.

Down the coastline they drove on this precipitous coastline by the Piedras Blancas Light Station, a point supposedly named in 1542 by Spanish explorer Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo for its white rocks. Shane leaned over and gave Ben the first blow job he had ever had in his Aston Martin. A few larger vehicles going the other way had the drivers thinking that Ben was a pretty lucky guy that morning.

Ahead of schedule, Ben pulled into the Hearst Castle parking lot. Perched in the Santa Lucia Range, the 127-acre estate was one that Ben had always wanted to tour. The 115-room main house and guesthouses, plus the beautiful pools made their excursion very entertaining. Shane's favorite, besides the pools, was the dining room with all the flags.

The beautiful pool with its Greek statutes was so tempting Shane began to pull down his shorts for a quick dip as a tease.

"Don't you dare!" Ben warned and took his boy into a head lock. "I have a Texas pool that I could put three of these puppies in."

"Does it have Greek statutes, Ben?" Shane asked.

"It soon will have, youngster. I'm thinking of having one done for my favorite person."

"Art Acosta?" Shane asked with tongue in cheek.

Ben laughed. "Good idea, though I'm not sure if the man would look right next to yours." He got a kiss for that one.

It was close to Morror Bay when traffic slowed, though Ben knew the reason why. Up ahead was a stream of bicycles, the last remnants of the Crusade. As the Aston passed, Shane arched up in his seat and waved a rainbow flag to the kids' yells and acceptance.

Down through Santa Barbara, the Aston soon switched over to a freeway around Los Angeles and into Orange County by late afternoon. The other group arrived well ahead of their director and were already settled into the Newporter Inn.

Chip and Ronin were given a honeymoon suite, while P.J. and Philly hooked up, which left another room for the Barkley boys. Shane knew where his bed was.

A hot Southern California morning welcomed these refreshed youngsters to a smorgasbord of fun options for the day. They chose the beach; Ben decided to forgo the water and visit the Huntington Library in San Marino. Shane immediately volunteered to go with his mentor, but Ben insisted that the boy join his friends at the beach.

At a local surf shop Chip bought them all board shorts and Boogie boards. It didn't take long for one girl to recognize Ronin, and hundreds of beachgoers flocked to gawk at the boys just wanting to be themselves for a few minutes. With the assistance of lifeguards and agents running to the shoreline, order was barely restored. Such is the peculiar nature of being a celebrity. Privacy had become a premium. Even the Barkley brothers, Tony and P.J. were asked for their autographs.

Though still rough around the edges, Tony's aptitude had never been challenged until he decided one day to run away to be in a crusade. That one day had changed his life forever. It was a search to find, not only sanity, but validation. He found more than that; he found a man who wanted to give him a childhood without abuse.

This new teenager on this day felt slightly inferior to his friends. He would never admit this complex to anyone. Nor would he admit, though his eyes told a different story, that he'd never seen the ocean, never been in a swimsuit or on a Boogie board. He also didn't know how to swim. Philly was the first to pick up on all this, all except that Tony had turned thirteen on this day.

Young Carver saw the nuances of fear, the look of panic when the board escaped Tony's grasp, even though it had a leash attached to the boy's ankle. As not to embarrass the youngster, Philly was constantly by Tony's side, helping in non-distinct ways to assure the boy's safety. A wave had tumbled this new teenager to the bottom as he came to the surface sputtering and coughing up water. Tony's arms flopped helplessly, but Philly's hands stabilized the boy's waist and Tony flew both his arms around the older teen's neck. Philly took the chance to whisper into Tony's ear.

"Tony, when we get back to the Inn, I'll teach you how to swim."

The normal character of this sprite would have rebelled a month ago. Tony drew back and it wasn't all sea water on his face. "Thanks, Philly, I'd really appreciate that. This is my first time and I'm not very good. This is really a big ocean, isn't it?"

"I think you've done as well as everyone else, Tony. You've seen both the top and bottom of the ocean in one day."

Tony giggled and kissed Philly on the cheek. Though many on the beach caught this affection, Tony didn't much care what people thought.

What would've been relaxing was to lay on the beach and soak up the sunshine. Shane was especially irked at all this attention, though he signed several autographs. It was the girls who wanted to touch him that was a little too much. So many of these kids had seen the nude baseball game against the Indian tribe on the Internet. These boys were celebrities because they had braved the elements in more than one way. Even reclining on his beach towel, kids stood around gawking like these boys were some type of alien creatures. By noon Chip and Ronin sat up and asked their friends if they wanted to go to Disneyland. Tony was never so excited in his life, and Philly picked up on this, as well.

Shane put a call in to Ben, who was looking upward at the Blue Boy by Gainsborough. "Ben, we're piling into the SUVs and going to Disneyland."

"But Ronin has a concert at eight."

"He wants to go, too. None of us have been there except Chip and Philly."

Ben's mind was used to making split second decisions. He wasn't one to miss a good time himself. Money also had a way of organizing matters. In a matter of an hour he had the boys' luggage on its way to the Disneyland Hotel, where rooms were quickly arranged. Enough of Pinky, Blue Boy, and the Gutenberg Bible, he was racing the Aston down the freeway toward Anaheim.

The director had no trouble finding his boys within the grounds of Disneyland. A crowd of kids had decided that being near or on the same rides as the president's sons and Ronin were the best tickets there. It made for precarious situations in the Pirates of the Caribbean to protect these VIPs in the dark.

Scooter and Tony sped off on their own, taking in every adventure they could. Plans were revealed in the Swiss Family Robinson treehouse where Ben gathered the ears of the boys. It was decided that only Chip, Ronin, and P.J. were essential to the concert, but then the boys enjoyed singing Boys, boys, boys, too much to cut it from the program.

At 6:45 they returned to the hotel, got dressed and crowded into two helicopters with agents never to be left behind. Down to the Irvine Amphitheatre, the choppers landed on the grounds at 7:50.

Minus a wedding ceremony, any special gest, and the governor, Ronin entertained the sold-out house for an hour and a half, making thousands more Ronin fans if they weren't before. A discussion and farewell to his band and manager, Ronin joined his peers back on the helicopter. Within the hour they were zipping through the Matterhorn on bobsleds.

Ben opened his eyes to the sight of his little clock on the nightstand—seven-ten. This was sleeping in for him. His troupe had returned after the park's closure at one. Tired after a long day Shane and he had both fallen asleep in seconds. The feeling of a knee, a foot, a boner, or an arm hanging over him were absent. Ben twisted around to find the other side of the bed empty. He had to chuckle; his kids wanted to be at the entrance when Disneyland opened.

Taking his time he knew wherever the largest contingent of kids were, his boys would be in the center. He couldn't believe he'd missed his adopted son's birthday the day before; that is, until the boys had hinted it to him after they'd heard Tony tell the ticket window that he was thirteen. That meant a quickly arranged birthday cake during the concert. Tony was ecstatic. Ben bought the boy more Disneyland clothes and jewelry than a kid should have. A quiet breakfast was like being in a basement while a tornado was happening outside.

Orange County has a reputation of being a conservative, bedroom community that has their own agenda of politics and racial superiority of white capitalism. The backbone to this political quagmire is their District Attorney and his law enforcement team of miscreants and bullies. Their behavior ignores the Constitution and basic human rights as somehow inapplicable to them. When they're caught, they're defended by heavyweight law firms whose job it is to keep the machines and their main players out of trouble. Most often they succeed and rarely they don't.

Philly and Tony had plans. While P.J. and Scooter slept in one bed, they had crawled in together to make sure they were up at 6:30. With cereal, two donuts and orange juice they were in the pool by seven, despite that it wasn't officially open. Looper had a cup of coffee while sitting on a deck chair and waving off a hotel personnel that he had this covered. No one was going to say no to a presidential kid. In less than ten minutes Tony was doing an adequate dog paddle and holding his breath under the water. At 7:20 a plainclothes officer was at the side of the pool flashing his badge to this thirteen-year old.

"Son, I need to speak to you," the officer said.

The boy's smile and fun disappeared in one second. "Fuck off!" Tony said. Looper was standing there a second later and pointed a finger at the youngster that he'd be dwelt with later.

"What can I do for you, officer?" Looper asked.

"We have reason to believe that he was molested at the Newport Inn two days ago," the officer said. "We're here to investigate the complaint."

"Who complained?" Looper asked.

"I'm not obliged to tell you that." This detective once again pointed to Tony to exit the pool.

That pissed off this presidential protector. Looper figured that this investigation went well beyond Tony. He made one call which went to a multitude of directions.

"I'd advise you stand down, sir. You have no idea who you're dealing with," Looper told the detective and motioned Tony to stay put.

"And you have no idea who you're messing with. I'm an Orange County police officer, so before I charge you with obstruction of justice I recommend you sit your ass down on that deck chair and keep your mouth shut!"

Looper drew his gun. "Put your hands behind your head, now!"

The detective had a shocked expression and reluctantly did as told. "You're in big fuckin' trouble, buddy. Wait till we get your ass in Santa Ana."

Looper handcuffed the officer and confiscated the man's weapon. "Yeah, I've heard about your county jail. Real tough when you have helpless men in restraints, or it's four against one. Bunch of piss ant, high school wannabe football players that have discovered you can steal money by pretending to be cops. Your type make me sick. Now we can do this the easy way or my way. I want to know who put you put to this and what do you know."

"Go fuck yourself, asshole!" the officer shouted.

Looper slammed his foot to the back of the detective's knees, sending the man to a kneeling position. He glanced at Philly and Tony, checking this all out. "Philly, you may continue teaching. This won't take long."

Looper gripped the man's neck, slid the reluctant officer to the pool's edge and slammed his head beneath the water. Looper then held it under for almost a minute. The man came up fighting for breath. "Let's try this again. Who sent you and what do you know?"

"I'm going to kill you!"

"Wrong answer!" Looper sent the man submerged again, but much longer. When he did allow air, the man collapsed, almost at the verge of drowning. He did talk this time.

"Our D.A., Rochoski. He has video, that's all I know."

"That wasn't all that difficult, was it?" Looper asked and didn't expect an answer.

Two FBI agents lived within five minutes of Disneyland. They arrived with backup. When Homeland Security and the FBI receive an emergency distress call they don't respond, they invade. At the same time another team of agents swept into the Newporter Inn to scrutinize the previous rooms of the presidential boys. Purely an assumption from Looper, it proved accurate. In all four of the rooms, including the Honeymoon suite and the agents' rooms were hidden cameras.

Two of the Secret Service agents had just gone to sleep from their nightshift when they were awakened by the alert call. They quickly stabilized the floor to secure it, saw that Zach had Chip's room under surveillance, then went after P.J.

Zach entered Chip's bedroom and saw Ronin getting dressed. Ronin pointed to the bathroom. There in the shower was Chip getting ready for his day. Back out to the main living quarters there were two detectives who had walked in after seeing the open door. One of them was handcuffing Ronin.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say may and will be used against you..." It was as far as the cop got.

"Drop to the ground!" Zach ordered and had his semi-automatic weapon out. The two detectives did as they were told. Zach released the handcuffs off of Ronin and told the boy to join Chip in the shower.

Within minutes three more black, government vehicles zipped into the Disneyland Hotel parking lot. Agents stormed out and caused guests to either retreat or get out of the way.

Agent Stan Church hit the lobby entrance in a run, stopped at the top step and eyed the parking lot. There to his left was a dark blue Ford with a man sitting in the front seat and two heads in the rear. Stan sprinted to the vehicle, sprang open the rear door and saw Shane next to a guy in a suit.

"Get out of the car, son," Stan told the teenager.

"Sir, I'd advise you to close the door." The detective flashed his badge and expected obedience.

Stan drew his own weapon, then called over two FBI agents standing nearby. "Arrest these two men," Stan told the agents.

Stan escorted Shane over by a rose garden near the entrance. "Tell me what they said," Stan said.

"They said they were going to take me to juvenile hall if I didn't confess to having sex with Mr. Barkley. They said they had colab..."

"Collaborating evidence," Stan assisted.

"Yeah, that was it. They said they had that, and that it wasn't my fault and I wouldn't get in any trouble if I admitted it."

"And you said?"

"I told `em they were lying and my parents would sue them for kidnapping me if they took me anywhere. I said that Ben has never done anything to hurt me, nor would he ever."

"And they said," Stan said.

"That I'd never see any of my friends again if I didn't fess up. And that's when you came."

"Assholes!" Stan said and patted the boy on the back. "Good job. We'll take it from here. Find your buddies and go have fun."

A total of five Orange County detectives were hauled into two SUVs for their trip to FBI headquarters in Los Angeles. From there they were quickly put on a plane for a stay at a maximum federal penitentiary in Illinois as suspected terrorists against the United States of America. Another individual would soon be joining them.

In southern Orange County a black Chevy pulled up to an upscale residential section in front of a two-story home. The four agents watched as a woman departed in her Mercedes. There wasn't any knock at the double front door, just an entry free rammer that broke down the wooden barrier. A man dressed only in his boxers came storming out from a breakfast nook, alarmed and with his cell phone in his hand. A single agent slapped the phone from the man's grasp.

"Anthony Rochoski? You're under arrest for terrorism. Put your hands behind your back," an agent ordered.

"Do you know who I am?! I'll have your asses for this!" Rochoski yelled as he was handcuffed. "This is nothing but Gestapo tactics! You ought to be ashamed. I want to call my attorney and get dressed."

"Where you're going you'll be supplied clothes." Another agent threw a bag over the county's district attorney's head.

"I have a heart condition!" Rochoski complained.

"You sure do, buddy. I'm surprised you even have a heart."

As a detective was hauled away from the pool area, Looper didn't miss a beat in reclining back again and watching a boy smile because he actually made it from one side of the pool to the other without touching bottom. Tony had advanced from a dog paddle to where he could do strokes and kick his legs.

On deck Philly wrapped his pupil in a large, fluffy towel supplied by the hotel. Looper had motioned the youngster to his side. "So, what happened at the Newporter?"

"Probably when we first got there, me and Scooter ran into Chip and Ronin's room like we were groupies wanting their autographs. It was like those girls at the concert. We dropped their shorts and gave them blow jobs. No big deal. Girls would have done the same thing, but I'm sure those guys prefer us."

Ben had his coffee refill and saw Austin and P.J. eating with a Secret Service agent at a far table across the room. In came Scooter, who had spent the last half-hour in the gift shop admiring all the stuffed animals that would look so awesome in his room. He saw his uncle and hustled over.

"Hi, Uncle Ben. Have you seen Tony?"

"Sure haven't, youngster. Where is everybody? Thought for a second you guys were already in the park."

"We're meeting in the lobby in ten minutes. Want to join us?"

"Why not, I could use a Mickey Mouse day," Ben said and shoved a final piece of bacon in the boy's mouth.

Looper requested and received all the electronic surveillance equipment and video evidence by ten that morning. A van that had brought two of the detectives was parked in the Disney lot. It was seized and discovered to be the receiving station of the hidden video cameras. Looper destroyed all the evidence within minutes, then called the president to report that the situation was taken care of and all participants were neutralized.

"And our boys?" Alain asked.

"Ever been in Space Mountain, Mr. President? Dare say they're having a blast about now."

"Good job, Looper. Fuckin' county never supported me in the last election anyway. That hypocrite for a D.A. has always felt he was above the law, so we'll going to give him a taste of his own medicine. Mess with my boys and your balls will be hanging from my golf mittens."

"Ronin sends his love," Looper teased, since he was the one man who could do that besides Chip.

"That pretty boy can thank me when he comes to the White House for his wedding reception. How's Ben Barkley doing?"

"As far as I know, the man never knew what transpired," Looper conveyed.

"Excellent. I like the guy. Keep whatever surveillance you have on the man and this boy. The guy's a straight shooter, so I doubt if we'll ever have to use it."

"Yes, Mr. President. Evidence is secured."

As Looper hung up he had to smile at himself. He'd gotten to know Ben well enough to make sure that the video of his love affair with Shane Colter would never surface. He wasn't sure who was the luckiest, Shane for having a billionaire as a bed partner, or Ben for screwing one choice piece of boy. When a nation is at war, detaining enemy forces, regardless of the ability or intent to prosecute, is not only lawfully authorized, it is often morally required. Terrorism has taken on such a vast definition, even harassment of presidential children constituted the worst of crimes. The mere fact that illegal sexual activities had constituted the harassment was of no excuse to full detention as the humane alternative to killing. Although a deprivation of liberty, it also results in a preservation of life.

Detention also facilitates a timelier conclusion to armed conflict. It permits the humane interrogation of combatants or the promulgation of an agenda. President Carver certainly believed that youth can certainly consent to an agreed upon act that was relatively safe and unforced. His extraordinary power to detain an individual without trial was his to use as he saw fit. In today's America, indefinite detention was the least of the government's worries. It would at least stop one demagogue from his pseudo war for political reasons on so-called sexual offenses.

On the monorail Shane finally had his chance to inform his mentor of the morning's activities. Ben was flabbergasted that this had all gone on without his knowledge. He quickly apologized to this teenager for the stress and adults' cruelty to its youth.

"You don't have to apologize, Ben. Art told me exactly what might happen, and he was right. They treat you like I'm a little kid and I was touched by the big bad wolf. Once they found out that I wasn't buying that one, they got rough, started to scare me. I looked at `em like they just couldn't wait to get home to look at porn on their Internet. Why are you crying, Ben?"

"It's all my fault. A kid shouldn't have to go through that."

"No way! It's not your fault. Sure, I defended you, but I also defended my own beliefs. A kid shouldn't have to be called faggot and queer by their peers at school or on the baseball diamond, or have a father who thinks I'm not his son because I'm a homosexual. My twelve-year old brother texted me last night and called me Fruit Loop because he saw my earring on the Internet. He says my father is going to kill me. Yeah, you're right, a kid shouldn't have to go through that because we should have the right to decide who we want to have sex with. This crusade is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I've found adults who respect me and give me self-esteem. I have friends just like me, who share the same feelings, thoughts, and desires. And they want to arrest you?! Screw `em all!"

Ben whispered to Shane, "We'll introduce Tony to your brother when we get home."

Shane cracked up and knew the likely outcome of that. They both glanced around and saw a number of people engrossed in this conversation. He decided to exit and move to quieter surroundings, It's A Small World.

It was no secret that the grounds in Disneyland had a celebrity in its midst. The head of security was used to having stars enjoy this world famous entertainment. By late afternoon an executive with Disney Studios had caught up to Chip and Ronin to ask them if they wouldn't mind participating in the evening parade and sing Power of the Dream on their own float. Ronin talked it over with Chip and agreed that if all the Crusade boys could also be on the float, waving rainbow flags and that holding hands and kissing, the idea would be okay.

This senior executive grinned. "Boys, when I was younger than you were I watched the Mickey Mouse Club religiously, especially Spin and Marty. Well, one of these boys was caught by his parents with another boy in bed. If I remember right Kirk was fourteen. His parents took him to Walt Disney for counseling, and Walt fired the boy. I dare say Walt turned over in his grave when we started to have our Gay Day here at the park. The man needs to turn back over again so you have my permission to do anything but have sex."

Chip, Philly, P.J. and Ronin spent an hour rounding up the rest of the boys in preparation for this nightly parade and fireworks show. When nightfall converged on the park, Ben slipped away back to the hotel and saw Looper and Zach having a late dinner together after their day shift. The fatigued Texan was asked to join them at the table, so Ben sat down in his Goofy sweatshirt that Shane had bought for him and took off his Stetson.

The agents had been replaced that afternoon by two other Secret Service men flown in that day, so they were in leisure clothes. President Carver requested a meeting with his two favorite protectors the next day.

Ben raised his glass of water. "A toast to two gentlemen who's been my pleasure to know. I also feel I need to apologize for..." He saw Looper raise his palm.

"For the T-shirt? Shane must be telling you something." The men laughed. "No need for an apology, Ben. My partner in life and I have been on your side since day one."

"But this morning, I heard..."

"Taken care of," Looper injected. "This county has a corrupt side that hasn't been seen since pre-civil rights in the South. Sex has replaced blacks as the villain. Orange County is all about image and money. They tolerate Mexicans and the Asians, only as long as they kill or rip each other off. This county would prefer that those communities fall in the ocean during the next earthquake. An idiot up in San Jose had called down here to poison your arrival. You and Shane arrived after a long trip, took a shower together and had awesome sex on the bed. May I say, for a man of your age, you have quite the physique and stamina."

Ben smiled with a shocked expression. He patted his rigid stomach. "Ranch work, boys; plus, I've lost fifteen pounds since the beginning of this crusade without my beer. Never felt better. Stamina? My boy has a way of making sex a nine inning event. Shane moves in and out of positions like he changes pitches on the mount. But how'd you know all this?"

"They had a lowlife district attorney who ordered cameras to be planted in your rooms. Their once nefarious D.A. had this Machiavelli attitude that in politics, evil deeds cease to be evil if urgent public interest makes them necessary. I believe it was more his private sex problems than public interest. They also learned that an adult can perform sex without having the Kuma Sutra book as a guide. I must say I've never seen a teenager enjoy himself so much as with you. That boy is a sex machine and an example of living Viagra. There goes my myth that a sixty-year old can enjoy sex, just not as a participant. I could sell that video and make millions. Unfortunately my boss won't let me." Looper and Zach had their jollies with that one.

An older man's face blushed. "I can't take the credit," Ben started. "Okay, it takes every bit of energy I have to keep up, but Shane is a gymnast in bed: on his stomach, all-fours, one leg up, two stretched, standing up, in the saddle, you name it, and he has to experiment before we're finished. So, who is jacking off to Shane's ass? And is mine still in a sling?"

Looper put his hand on top of Ben's. "I destroyed the video and bit my lip while doing it. You're one lucky cowboy for having him in your stable."

The three of them could barely subdue their laughs when the waitress showed up and took their order. "Wine, gentlemen?"

Zach had the most interesting smirk. "We are off duty. Ben, your obligation is over, what do you say?"

Ben nodded, so Zach ordered a bottle of Chenin Blanc. As soon as the waitress departed, Ben felt like the pariah of the group. Not so much for having been filmed but his relationship with Shane.

"Guys, I'm not normally like this. I mean, I don't have fifteen-year old boys hanging out in my pasture. My horses barely tolerant me, and the bulls snort and would rather run me over when they see me coming. I don't deserve such a beauty in my life."

"But you do, Ben," Looper said seriously and waited for the wine bottle to be opened. He raised his wine glass. "To quote Callimachus, drink up my friends for we shall not have wine and boys forever."

Zach placed his wine down. "Normal is not natural, but rather habitual behavior that over a period of time has become typical in a particular society. You are a gift, Ben. Sometimes you don't let yourself know that. When someone enters your life unexpectedly, look for the gift that person has come to receive from you. Shane is the lucky one here."

"I've never quite looked at it from that perspective, but thank you. I can't help but admire your relationship, and here I am with a teenager. You must think..."

"You must not apologize, Mr. Barkley," Looper vented. "You're not planning on writing a book or anything, right?"

"Cowboys barely can put a sentence together. We've been thrown from bulls too many times," Ben admitted.

"Good, I wouldn't advise it. I became Chip and Philly's bodyguard when they first came to the White House. At age twelve Chip and I developed a friendship that might have found me in Guantanamo Bay reserving a top bunk for Orange County's district attorney. As a young agent I was also searching for who I was. Even being intimate with one so young taught me that sexuality is a form of communication, a way of communicating complex ideas and deep feelings. You might say that biology comes first, but consciousness is the first part of sex, and exploring that consciousness with another person is one of its purposes."

All the math was adding up in Ben's mind. He glanced at Zach, like all this might be a surprise—it wasn't. "How did Chip absorb all this?"

"I don't have to tell you, Ben, that teenagers don't really talk to their friends or parents, they perform for them. What they each need is someone with whom to bare our souls. I was the one Chip selected. The boy sensed a secret, a unique greatness in himself that sought expression. But he was questioning whether these new hormones were flawed. He was a pain-in-the-ass to his parents, a Dennis-the-Menace to White House staff in his self-deprecation. I was the one who reinforced his worth, supported his expression of his unique gifts, and sort of escorted the boy through the minefields of shame relatively unscathed. Was it right? Was it legal? Ben, love has no requirements, that's what makes it love. Our relationship had only one purpose. It exists as a vehicle for us to decide and to declare, to create and to express, to experience and to fulfill our highest notion of who we really are."

Ben waited while three steaks were placed in front of them. "If you don't mind me asking, how long did it last?"

"For several years until he found a boy who won his heart—Ronin."

"Hey!" Zach spoke up. "I had his heart for a year."

Looper laughed and pointed. "Yes, my competition."

"In the words of my boy, that is very cool," Ben said and added, "And are you still friends?"

Looper took a bite of his steak and salad. "Friendship thrives on time, on knowing its object very well. I'm thinking my friendship with Chip partakes of divine love more fully than does our romance. Helping Chip grow into the young man that he is defines love. It is the essence of God, of life, of all that is and is not. Such love cannot be captured by thought, and yet love is all we are, don't you think?"

"Boys, I have been very fortunate to fall in love twice during this crusade. Art matured my heart, while Shane captured it. The boy is sunlight, the air I breathe. He has showed me that love is within and around me at all times without any exceptions or conditions whatever. I have trouble not believing that it is all wrong."

"Before I became a Secret Service agent I worked for D.C.'s sex task force," Zach said and saw blood drain from this man's face across from him. "Trust me, boys know the difference between coercion and consent. Abuse must be defined so it's not stereotyping individuals but by each individual case on its own merits. A gay boy needs protection, guidance, and a sense of security. It must always be about him, not the adult. Boys do what works for them, as adults do. One mindlessly does things because at some level, we perceive that it works for us. We all want a payoff."

Ben ordered one more bottle of wine. He was not a scholar, but he admired the men's insights. "Is being gay all that different? An hour ago I told Shane that he was far more intelligent than I was at his age. He denied it, said the only difference was that he has a crusade and I had my right hand. Is that profound, or what?"

The agents found humor in that. Zach leaned forward. "Isn't it awesome that this crusade celebrated sexual freedom? Being gay has always allowed me to fantasize because homosexuality itself is a sort of forbidden fantasy. The general public tolerates us until our message comes face to face. We don't need their permission to like and love ourselves."

Ben nodded and had to joke, "So who takes out the trash?"

That had them chuckling. "How many men does it take to take out the trash?" Looper asked. He had Ben's curiosity. "Unknown. It has never happened."

Zach shot a thumb at his significant other. "He loves cats. Come on, women love cats. Men say they love cats, but when women aren't looking, men kicks cats."

"It's my feminine side," Looper admitted. "My partner is like a woman in that he has to have the last word in any argument. Anything a man says after that is the beginning of a new argument."

"You boys are awesome," Ben said.

Looper eyed his love. "Isn't it great to be called a boy again?"

"Guys, at my age, anyone under forty is a kid. Sorry `bout that. I'm sure the gay community in Austin would ostracize me for my proclivities."

"Envy would be more like it," Zach said quickly. "In the gay world boys are like caviar, the quintessential beauty pageant of hairless splendor. If Shane was to enter a gay bar every eye there would rape the boy. There will be a few to retreat out of fear of repercussions if his age is known. Lust for the physical pleasure is the prime motivator, but there are those like you, Ben, who have peace of mind. Loving others, even a boy, is a profound way to add love to their lives and our own. Loving not only brightens each day and makes you feel good about yourself, it also makes others naturally want to return that love to you. Watch a boy with a dog and you'll see, not the callow, silly, selfish boy, but an emotional, caring, compassionate human being with expression. Let an adult cultivate a boy's garden and watch his skills and cooperation multiply ten-fold. Some say boys are lousy lovers, but is it not our responsibility to teach this art? To watch you and Shane in that video would give credence to love-making for any couple, male or female. You two are like finely tuned instruments in love. I commend you."

"Yes, I can see me as the old dog licking my boy's face," Ben joked.

"You're not the one holding the leash," Looper said as fact. "I remember that boy when we first started in New York. Quiet, reserve, insecure, and always had his head down. The only time he jumped is when his father spoke. Shane was scared of the man's very appearance. Now look at him. Full of confidence, vitality, vigor, and he has love written all over his face. Guess who he owes that to? In Chip's case, the boy can act ten years older when he's around me, but around a peer he's fanatically looney. That's what makes me special. Peer relationships aren't a sideshow, but the main show. You've not deprived Shane this opportunity, but encouraged it."

"Isn't that what this crusade's been about?" Ben asked.

"Absolutely!" Looper agreed. "Thousands of adults have praised and welcomed their younger generation because of what it represents, our future as gays, the youth and beauty it bestows, and its hope that teens will honor us for our accomplishments and our sexual desires. We represent that independence to them that they need. Sure, kids want to learn primarily from their peers, but they recognize that we gay men can teach to overcome problems, the pitfalls of our orientation. They want most for someone to find them acceptable as sexual objects. Even if they've found this in a peer, an adult's approval is like finding a diamond."

"I'm as dumb as my bulls around you two fellas," Ben said.

"I wouldn't want to try to outthink a bull," Looper said. "We've learned a great deal from your wisdom and vision. Don't underestimate yourself, sir."

"I'll toast that one," Zach offered.

The men ordered peach cobbler for dessert and discussed the future of several boys staying on Ben's ranch after the crusade. Then when the final drop was poured from the wine bottle, Looper remembered an interesting point that President Carver had mentioned.

"Congratulations, by the way, Ben. The president is going to recommend you for the Nobel Prize for Humanitarian Contributions. You well deserve it."

"What if they find out that I'm just a lucky cowboy who lassoed a handsome boy?"

"When you have the President of the United States on your side, you don't worry who you lassoed," Looper added.

In his two-thousand dollar a night suite Ben took a shower, spoke a few minutes with his brother at the ranch and turned in. It had to be near midnight when he heard the click of the bedroom door and knew it was Shane.

The teenager was very respectful taking his own shower and preparing for bed. It was a rare thing for the two of them not to have sex before snuggling up in sleep. Ben felt a little guilty faking sleep when the boy crawled in bed so cautiously and polite. Maybe the boy is tired himself.

Minutes went by when Ben heard the sobs of crying. He immediately turned to hover over the teen to see the wet eyes of sadness. Kisses on the cheek preceded the question, "What's the problem, young man?"

"Are we ever going to be together again?" Shane asked in his sorrow.

Ben took the boy's lithe frame in his arms. Gone was the stylish haircut in New York City, replaced by a mop of brownish-blond hair. From the college boy to an adorable Dutch boy, Ben loved them both. "My darling boy, I'm always here for you. Your family lives in Austin now and I have big plans for the ranch and your baseball future." He licked the tears to force a smile. Austin often cried when he was fatigued from a workout or because he needed held. Everyone has to be loved once in a while.

Shane asked a dozen questions to figure out he wasn't losing this man in his life. His erection was now pressing into Ben's, words replaced by physical lust.

Ben rolled the teen on his back and sat on his groin. A swipe of saliva to his ass and Ben inserted the swollen member up his rectum. The fulfillment was breath taking. Moving up on his knees he allowed Shane to move like a piston up and down while his thick penis bounced to the rhythm of Shane's fucking. Leaning forward they kissed passionately.

"Want to try other positions?" Ben asked.

"I've already come," Shane replied with a giggle.

"Guess the old man still has a tight ass."

"It felt wonderful. I've finally shared my blood with you. In Utah I never had time to ejaculate. We're practically married," Shane said in all seriousness.

"I've swallowed your cum so many times your blood is mine forever," Ben informed his mate.

"Chip said that being inside a person is the ultimate intimacy in being one body and one soul."

"Chip is probably right. How many boys have you been one with?"

"You're my last. I mean, among all my friends. Being a bottom is more fun, but I feel closer to you now."

Ben reached over and obtained several Kleenex to wipe himself and Shane. They rested next to each other with soft kisses and soothing hands. Perhaps, Ben thought, Shane deceived a Nobel Prize for making a senior citizen feel forty years younger.

Ben rolled out of bed at six-thirty, took a shower and shaved in preparation for a ten-o'clock flight to Austin on a private jet at John Wayne. While sitting on the throne he read his emails on the old Crusade web site. A New York modeling company had watched an Online recording of the Santa Clara concert and was interested in using Shane Colter in a clothing spread. Ben could have easily declined without telling Shane, but he texted back to receive more information. New York would like to do a photo shoot of the teenager in three days. Without checking with Shane's parents, he accepted.

A fluffy white robe with a monologue of the Matterhorn on its chest was tossed on Shane's naked frame. His plan was to rile this youngster from his bed to where they could catch an early breakfast in the dining room after Shane did his required morning exercises, a routine Ben had prescribed since the first day they met.

Five boys would accompany him to Austin, while the Carver boys, Ronin, and P.J. would fly back to Washington on their own charter.

"Surprise!!!" Ben was nearly bowled over by nine boys in the same fluffy robes that he was in. By a combined effort they picked this cowboy off his feet and dumped him in bed to the ease of packed pillows to his back. Tony and Scooter carried over the breakfast plate and placed it on his lap. Chip handed the man a gift box for him to open.

Inside was a gold bracelet with all nine of their names, plus one for Art, printed on it, each represented by a diamond—a rose one for Art.

"It's beautiful," Ben said and placed it around his wrist. His first real glimpse upward after gaining his composure and there they stood, nine smiling faces like angels in virgin robes.

"Well aren't you guys the most darling lot of cowboys. Have you eaten?"

Every head shook to the negative, so Ben got on the hotel phone and let every boy order his own breakfast. In minutes two smiling bellhops brought in carts full of pancakes, waffles, cereals, eggs, sweet rolls, and assorted donuts to go with milk and orange juice.

With mouths full and boys giggling, Ben had his audience for a few moments. "Boys, I want to thank you for this gift. The last month has been the most memorable of my life and I owe it all to you. I once thought that striking oil gave me happiness, but knowing boys' hearts has no equal. Y'all must remember that this started with a boy's dream, and that boy is in this room as America's First Boy. He and Ronin put this together, and I'm the lucky guy to be the sucker. Only joking there. Back at Woodstock I wasn't so sure I was the one cut out to handle this lot, but at Cooperstown I learned that we had the chemistry to make this work. Without Art's advice and counsel I would've made more mistakes than what I did. We will always remember him in our prayers and love. He was a good man with a heart of gold.

"I will not pass judgment on you boys. Growing up gay and male in our culture has specific obstacles to love and intimacy. We get good at disguising who we are, pretending we aren't hurt, hiding our softer, more vulnerable selves and looking good. Intimacy requires honesty, openness and vulnerability. It also requires courage from brave hearts to embrace and express anger, fear, jealousy, sadness, gratitude and joy in a respectful and direct way. It takes a brave heart to apologize, to have difficult conversations about sex, erotic desires and monogamy. It takes a brave heart to stretch beyond your own needs and limitations and to love your friend the way he needs to be loved."

"Like Shane loves you, Uncle Ben," Cheet spoke out.

Shane broke a grin and other boys applauded. "Blame my Texas derrick," Shane said.

"I've heard it gushes," Cheet humored. "That is, compared to the dry well that my little brother has."

"Hey! I'm working on that part," Scooter joked.

"Boys, I love each and every one of you in different ways," Ben intervened. "You could say that Shane is my dawg, but you're all my pets. What separates us from my stock on the ranch is that we have morals and compassion. The best thing about horses and dogs, is that they are incapable of emotional dishonesty because emotional manipulation requires an individual to be self-aware that they can inflict harm on another. Society has come to believe, at least in America, that any sexual relationship as a youth with an adult is harmful. Personally I've come to believe that you boys are obviously capable of distinguishing the varying costs and benefits of behaving as you please in different settings. Now my horse isn't self-aware so he cannot have an abstract appreciation of his effect on me as compared to most of you."

Cheet raised his hand, having his robe draped down to his butt while doing his yoga meditation pose. "So you're saying that Shane is your horse? I assume you don't use a saddle, so you must ride him bareback." The boys cracked up at Ben's expense.

"Very funny," Ben sarcastically replied. "You're assuming that I always ride Shane."

Shane shot his finger in the air and gave a point for his mentor. "I've learned to ride, fellas. Eat your heart out."

"Back to my horse analogy," Ben spoke out laughing. "I realize that God gave us unique qualities to separate us from animals, but all of us could use some horse sense. Art was not only a fine person, a tremendous teacher, but he understood teenagers. He believed that young brains who receive a wide variety of experiences at your age can greatly benefit from it. He knew that emotional support was the key to having healthy adolescents, a future of happiness and empathic relationships. Now as soon as my horse sees me he is happy and expresses his affection. A horse, like a dog, can no more withhold this affection than a wave can prevent itself from striking the shore. You, boys, can project your love for one another through kindness, an understanding how another person might feel pain or pleasure by your actions. You can also be altruistic, doing something to make another person feel good about themselves or assist them in some way. I want each of you to set a personal creed of Do No Harm. Treat others as you would want to be treated. Soon helping others will become second nature. Can we all do that?"

Ben received nine nods and a thumbs up from Tony. Miracles do happen. "My parents treated me like shit, but I love you guys and my new father. Nobody treats me like a punk, and if I hear any of you talking shit about Ben I'm coming after you."

Tony's robe went flying before the boy got hammered on and tickled until he surrendered. His boy's giggle welcomed his peers to pick on him.

Austin waited for the calm to return. "Uncle Ben, why is the law so screwed up when it comes to us having sex?"

"It's a gray area, Austin. Some adults impose their sexuality upon youth, much like adults do to each other. Certainly many young people benefit and even enjoy the sexuality. If they are too young it might develop a sexual preoccupation too early. For boys your age it only enlightens what your interests are already. Personally I don't believe a person in a position of a teacher or priest should take advantage of their role. Most kids are resilient, but they are also vulnerable to crushes, infatuation and an adult's manipulation. Like most societies, we value boys more than girls, so there is an instinct to protect boys from being led astray by gay men. I know, I know, that's a joke here, but a straight boy shouldn't be exploited by a gay man, even if a blow job feels good."

"I'm straight and I don't feel exploited," Cheet said.

"You've had good experiences with people you trust. You're comfortable in your own skin; other boys aren't so much. Consent isn't as much about age as it is about intelligence. A boy should be able to understand the proposed action, taking in consideration the age, maturity, developmental levels, physical condition, and experiences of the other person. Knowing what society expects is often bias and not fitting to the circumstance, but you should be aware that if the sexual adventure, per se, is found out, the adult might lose his job, have financial burdens, have to register as a sex offender the rest of his life, and then there's your embarrassment with your own family. That's not to mention what the police and court system will put both of you through. You guys know Josh; just ask him."

"It should be between the man and the boy," P.J. said and had everyone agree.

Ben felt like he was speaking for Art in this discussion. "Just be aware of the consequences of your actions and alternatives to it. Assure that agreement and disagreement will be equally respected, and make the decision voluntarily without coercion. Naturally any person should be mentally competent to make this decision at the same time. Don't ever take advantage of someone drunk or someone so young that they don't understand what's going on."

"My mother refers to it as boundaries," Chip said. "It is a compromise of equal power, knowledge and trust. Saying that the man has the power is underestimating the boy. Both our rights, needs, and requests are just as important as the other."

"We are responsible for each other," Ronin added to his lover's advice.

"I just want you boys to be happy and love each other," Ben surmised.

"Like Philly teaching me to swim," Tony said. "Which isn't such a bad idea about now."

"We have a plane to catch, young man," Ben informed.

"But,.." Tony tried.

"No buts, little Emo!" Philly said and put his protégé into a headlock. "It's so great to have a little brother to pick on. Now I know how Chip feels."

"Yeah, sorry," Tony replied. He wouldn't admit it, but being a little brother had its rewards.

"Remember always, boys, that unless you harm a dog, a horse, or even your friend, they will nearly always be your friend."

Scooter let his robe drop to the floor, jumped up on the bed to wag his butt, and then licked P.J.'s hands and face. P.J. patted and caressed this lovable boy to get his laughs.

While Scooter sank back into P.J.'s lap to receive a casual hug that could last forever, the other boys reclined where they could with a friend of their choice.

Ben engaged a sip of his coffee while absorbing these beautiful boys in white robes. "Know that my ranch is always open to anyone here at any time. Nothing warms the heart quicker than nature's wonders of riding the range, rustling leaves and gorgeous sunsets. If you need time to think or be by yourself for a few days I have the perfect horse and trails to do just that."

Shane snuggled up close to Ben, putting his arm in his. Austin was getting his hugs from Chip and Ronin, and Cheet was helping Philly turn Tony into a house pet. But then there was a knock on the door.

Without waiting for anyone to jump up to open the door, an agent standing in the hallway did the honor. "Ben, there's a Mrs. Barkley here to see her sons and you. Should I let her in?"

Before Ben could even put his words together the woman had wiggled her way behind the agent to allow entrance. Philly and Austin quickly stepped in front of Scooter and P.J. to block a view of this naked ten-year old, while Chip and Ronin leaped up to step in front of Cheet who had his robe off, as well. Shane slipped his arm out from Ben's just in time.

"Hi, guys!" Louise greeted with a warm smile, her eyes spanning shocked expressions.

Ben put his tray down beside the bed and stood up. "Louise, we didn't expect you. What do I owe this privilege?"

"Yes, of course I should have notified you of my arrival. I was in San Clemente visiting my sister when I saw on Austin's Facebook page that my sons were here at Disneyland. May I say you have quite the harem here. I can smell the testosterone amongst so many handsome youth. Lucky you. A far cry from your smelly oil fields and cattle, Ben."

Their relationship had never been cordial. Ben wasn't sure what angle the woman was coming from. "Now, you know, Louise, that getting lucky at my age means I find my car in the parking lot." That got a laugh from the boys to relieve the tension. "What exactly can I do for you today?"

Louise glanced around the room, finally spotting her youngest who had slipped back on his robe to poke his head between Philly and Austin. "I've never seen my sons without their little electronic devices in their hands. Heaven forbid, they can't speak with friends, distance themselves from their parents, flirt and gossip, bully, experiment, or rebel. How did you manage that one?"

"An agreement, Louise. They have learned to navigate their daily lives without technology. I dare say they have survived and grown."

"Yes, it appears that way. I barely recognize them, they've grown so much. I even saw on news where you had paid the hospital bills for three young adults who wanted to change their sex, and three more if they get parental approval. I had no idea you advocated for the transgender." Louise didn't wait for a reply but glanced around the room at faces she was not familiar with. I'm not familiar with several of your charges here."

Ben made sure his sash was tied before he paraded around the room. "This is President Carver's son, Chip, if you've forgotten, and his husband, Ronin. Dare say my nieces are avid fans of one or both. The one who looks like Austin is Shane. Your father managed to involve his life in his kidnapping efforts, but let's not dwell on that. This cutie is Tony, my adopted son and group comedian. He likes to say that he once shot a rhinoceros in his pajamas. How that rhino got in his pajamas no one has yet figured out. I'll warn you that the boy doesn't have an off switch. Behind Scooter is P.J., the boy with a million-watt smile. He's Senator McCarty's son. Last but not least is Philly, our Einstein and Chip's brother."

"Pleasure to meet all of you, boys, and welcome to the family, Tony. My brother-in-law has excellent tastes at times. I had hoped to speak to my sons. Their aunt would love to see them."

Cheet stepped forward. "Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of my friends. You almost killed Austin and Shane with your stunt. If it wasn't for Uncle Ben, I'm not sure what would have happened."

Louise lowered her head. "Yes, I'd like to apologize, but that wasn't all my doing. Your grandfather had no idea he was being taken advantage of."

"My self-righteous grandfather had it coming. He always has to have it his way. That's the trouble with being Mormon, if people don't measure up to their expectations they can denounce them as unworthy," Cheet said with a vengeance.

"Don't forget you're Mormon, as well, young man," Louise replied.

"No, people are Mormon who say they're Mormon. I'm not part of any religion who won't accept my brother as gay or my friends as equals. God loves us all and it's not Austin's choice that he's gay. I think gay boys are awesome."

"So do I!" Scooter spoke up.

Louise glanced at Ben. "Well, I see you've done a great job brainwashing my children."

Austin went to full posture. "Mother, Uncle Ben didn't do anything to make us realize that certain people are bigots. Being gay isn't a choice, but being homophobic is. You've always blamed him for just wanting his nephews to be happy. You abused Cheet and Scooter. You owe them an apology."

Louise raised her hand. "Hey, guys, I didn't come here to fight. I am very sorry for what happened and I'm asking for forgiveness. I love you boys and even though I am an adult I still have much to learn. There is still an invitation from your aunt to see you."

Cheet was determined to vent. "I can't speak for Austin or Scooter, but I'm going back to Texas today. If she wants to see us, she can come to the hotel here, but she doesn't have much time. We're leaving very shortly."

Scooter breezed around his friends to hug his mother. "I forgive you, Mom, but I'm more into oil derricks, horses and dogs. I'm staying with my friends."

There were chuckles around the room which had Louise curious. "Your aunt is downstairs in the lobby. You do have underwear underneath your robe, right?"

Scooter, still a foot shorter than his mother, had a most quizzical look on his face. "Why would anyone wear underwear underneath their robe?"

The missus almost cracked a smile. "Yes, you boys go by a different drummer. If you can find your clothes, I'll meet you in the lobby. Maybe you can convince your brothers to join you."

"We all think Aunt Judy is cool," Scooter said.

Though she had almost turned to depart, Louise again glanced at Ben. "Ben, I've been rough on you through the years, but I'm not that proud to apologize for my jealousy in the way you relate to my children. Joe told me in no uncertain terms what you did in Utah to save Austin and this other boy. My sons are no dummies, so whatever you've said or done you have influenced them to the greater good. As a mother I'm very protectorate of my children, but I must know when to cut the apron strings. I just hope you've also taught them the risks of certain behaviors and their sexual freedom. All I see are nine beautiful faces, so I'm assuming God is pleased. Someday I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me."

Ben caught Louise before she was out the door. He put his hand on her elbow. "Louise, I'm not very good around women, but you're always invited to the ranch. You can even wear a swimsuit in the pool." That made her smile.

"I wouldn't want to scare my kids," she responded and kissed him on the cheek. She whispered a private thought in Ben's ear. "That boy over there who looks like Austin, he's precious. I wish I was sixteen again."

"Totally gay," Ben said subduing a chuckle.

"Damn! Just my luck. I hope he's Austin's hunk."

"Close," Ben said without revealing the truth.

************

EPILOGUE

(Two years later)

Congressman Carver was the youngest U.S. representative in American history. After only two years at Princeton Chip had gained such national notoriety that his home state of Pennsylvania had all but begged Chip to run for the vacated position. He won overwhelmingly. Chip promised his parents that he would still finish his college studies, by correspondence if necessary.

Now in Houston, Texas for the second anniversary of the Crusade, Chip sat with Ronin on his right and Ben on his left. This District championship meant a great deal to the winning Texas Little League team on their goal of making Williamsport, Pennsylvania for the granddaddy of all Little League baseball championships. Fifteen-year old Tony Barkley sat on his father's left, a stout young man in a black cowboy hat and white western shirt who had lost his delinquency habits to become one of Texas' teenage bull riding champions. So polite and focused Chip barely recognized this teenager from the unpolished smart-ass twelve- year old during the Crusade.

It had taken only the previous season for Ted Colter to finagle his way to a head coaching position in the City of Austin's Little League program. He had his own thirteen-year old son, Bo, who had turned thirteen after May 1^st, plus Scooter Barkley. Three other twelve-thirteen year olds who were part of Ben's home for wayward boys made for a murderous row of lightweights—all who just happened to be gay.

With a national reputation as a baseball academy, everyone knew the youth it attracted. All over America parents offered money to Ben to take their son, while other boys simply gravitated to this safe haven. Ben had no intention of opening up a gay orphanage for rejected boys, so he made baseball the prerequisite. For three boys on Ted's team, he put them up in his own custom home in Austin to give them residence so they could play on his team. His Cubs had won the league championship, which allowed him passage to coach the all-stars.

Ted's best pitcher was his own son, a submarine thrower who almost scraped the ground with his knuckles in delivering a very deceptive movement on each pitch. Shane had spent a great deal of time with his brothers to improve their pitching technique. A sinker that dropped at the last moment helped Bo average 15 strikeouts per game.

With five of his players being trained and schooled at the ranch the nucleus of this team was baseball savvy at its best. Ted often attended the daily baseball practices at the ranch handled by former pros, both gay but never out while playing. Ben's financial means had long arms. Absorbing all this instruction, Ted then trained his own team the same way.

This was not a one-stop day of championship baseball. From Houston Ben would be flying his friends and boys to San Antonio for the under-18 state title. There, Shane and his Texas Wranglers, which was the team name on the ranch, were competing against a Fort Worth team for the state championship. Shane, though seventeen, was now one of the most highly touted players by Major League scouts since Bryan Harper, who now played for Washington. Though recruited by no less than 56 colleges, Shane would forgo college in pursuit of his dream of playing professionally. Not since a Missouri football player entering the NFL draft as an out gay player had a player with such skill offered himself as the first openly gay recruit to baseball.

Shane had made Sports Illustrated, ESPN, and other numerous sport editions in his massive scrutiny of success. Youth television specials came to the ranch to document this boy's success in modeling and baseball. To many a gay boy in America, Shane was their heartthrob, practically replacing Chip Carver, now that his father was no longer president.

Shane had been quick to announce that his father had inspired his performance, but Ben Barkley was his heart and soul. There was no secret that Shane lived with the gay billionaire, influenced under his guidance and was Ben's constant companion to Longhorn and Ranger games. There were rumors, but all of these were based on speculation, if not envy. At six-six, Shane was likened to Jim Ryun, Roger Clemens, and other fire ballers of previous eras.

Shane had gained a reputation in the modeling field as a most-sought after teenage model in America. Traveling constantly to New York, the teen picked amongst his many offers. Over two years the boy had amassed over five million dollars with his good looks and charm. Beneath the seams of this modeling world Shane had his own stories of sexual harassment, groping, and whispered encounters behind his mother's back. During his first trip to Paris, France, Shane, though traveling with his mother as chaperon, had a clandestine affair with two handsome, male French models.

In the throes of affection from these two experienced twenty-something's, Shane murmured to one of these aggressive and lucky models to make sure they put on a condom. A request learned from experience. They did not. Post-orgasm and feeling he had not been assertive enough after this ménage a trios, Shane called Ben in Texas. A private jet and a half-day's travel, Ben had these two Parisians by their collars, all but dragging them to a doctor. Tested and lectured by a Texan for failing to abide by a simple request from "his" boy, Ben's anger and hostility didn't diminish until the results came back negative.

Mrs. Colter, quite enamored with Paris and her role as escort for this sought after teenager, never figured out why this philanthropist flew in on a minute's notice. The modeling world knew immediately that this pride and joy of youthful beauty was well protected.

It was never important for Shane to be monogamous or faithful to Ben. Quite the contrary, Ben desired Shane to explore, love, and enjoy his youth with the many possibilities in his journeys. Safety and health were inspired on the ranch grounds and taught within the boys' education. Every boy was tested and given a complete physical before being accepted on the ranch.

Wearing a white shirt and tie like his lover, Chip, Ronin had learned to love baseball. He often talked about the sport in his English travels and at home, but his peers often looked at him cross-eyed.

Few couples have three wedding ceremonies, but that's exactly what happened to Chip and Ronin. Their marriage in London, after ones in San Francisco and in the White House, was a field day for English tabloids and a loss for millions of female hearts. Actually Britons saw this uniting of their pop singer with an American president's son as a true bonding across the pond. Their honeymoon in Bermuda at the prestigious Fairmont Southampton Golf Club drew hundreds of paparazzi to this vacation site.

Now with every Bo strikeout of an opposing batter Ronin rose to his feet while shooting a fist in the air. From the mound Bo had a smile for Ronin as a thank you for his support. Scooter was no rookie at shortstop. He made dazzling plays while also working with Austin. With his older brother at Texas, and Cheet on the under-18 team, the boy was not the lone hero in this family. Baseball was his life, but the new pubic hairs had meant he had finally caught up to what he relished most during his Crusade days.

With a 5-0 victory, these 11 thru 13 year olds had a quick celebration before their teammates were hustled to the airport on their way to San Antonio to root for the senior boy team.

Ted and his wife had come to full acceptance of Shane. The teenager was happy, received academic accolades, and achieved financial success before reaching adulthood. The boy's living arrangements in the main Barkley residence were kept discreetly within the family. Rather than thinking this as a secret affair, it became a private matter not to be discussed. Ted had one goal, to watch his son in a Major League uniform. Which team was going to draft his son? Houston had an inside track, which satisfied Ted's anxiety.

At all three levels of baseball at the ranch, Little League through the senior boys, the intensity of skill had only been seen previously from visiting teams from Japan and Taiwan. Trainers, dieticians, sports psychologists, performance specialists, and academic tutors were almost unheard of at this age in this capacity. Ben had brought in the best, from Major Leaguers to experts in the field. He knew that due to Shane's height, more things could go wrong in his delivery. The focus turned to rhythm and pace. Constant video replays and digital analyzing adjusted angles and preparing the body to explode to where a seventeen- year old was throwing over a hundred miles per hour consistently. A fastball and sinker made this youngster a terror on the mound that no college player ever wanted to face, let alone a teenager.

Cheet also benefited from constant scrutiny. A second baseman when he wasn't pitching, his left-handed sidearm style made a slider an unhittable pitch. Most lefties bailed out on his curveball. With his strength training the scouts were whispering they had another Sandy Koufax coming up.

On two-day rest, Shane knew he was pitching to no less than 30 scouts. He was particularly proud to see his brother and hear of their LL victory and their future trip to Williamsport. The entire ranch of 56 boys was present in their support with hugs and kisses before the game.

In the first year Ben saw how rivalry and the older boys could easily bully the younger set. He instituted a mentor system, where the older boys were assigned a younger to teach and be responsible for. Their success and behavior depended on their senior's attention. It worked. Pride in their protégé's accomplishment meant reward for the effort for both boys.

Nine innings, 21 strikeouts, and a perfect game for a nine-zero victory. Coaches were mumbling of an unfair advantage, a dynasty of recruiting the best of the best. That is, until someone reminded them that these kids were all gay. Boys like Cheet and Scooter weren't complaining that they were being stereotyped into this gay arena.

Approached after the game by a Houston Astros' executive, Ben took the offer to Shane and his parents. A signing bonus of ten million dollars, and a contract for ten years at two-hundred million. It was the fattest rookie contract of all time, but as Shane nodded, Ted Colter signed as legal guardian.

Ben was both ecstatic and saddened that this love-of-his-life would be leaving the nest for good. Being 64 he wasn't at the height of sexual prowess, yet Shane often told the man in bed that no one could make love to his body like he could.

Instantly Shane donated half his signing bonus to the ranch for the construction of a gay library and research facility to promote boy happiness against harassment and bullying. He just happened to mention that Chip Carver would be an excellent president in twenty years.

In his green uniform, a Kawasaki green the boys called it, with orange stars on the shoulders, Shane shook hands with the Astro general manager. Reality hit when the executive said he would report to Oklahoma City the next day for a Class A game.

Three other Wranglers signed minor league contracts that day, gutting this team in lessening its national championship hopes. Two of the boys were from the Indian reservation run by Joshua Ambrose. They had been at the ranch for 18 months.

Ted Colter had never been happier, standing beside his son and being the adult to sign this tremendous contract. Raising Shane had had its ups and downs, but this gave him a sense of satisfaction to thumb his nose at Mattoon, Illinois for ostracizing him and his family. Ted thought it best for Shane to spend his last night with his family in Austin.

"Sorry, Dad, but I owe it to Ben to spend it on the ranch," Shane said.

Ted was a breath away from an accusation he'd regret. He challenged his anger. What exactly was he upset with? Ben Barkley had given them the world at their feet. His son was gay, intelligent and in love with a senior citizen. Should he be jealous of this? Was he envious because his own boy had all this sexual freedom? Or that a grown man had this forbidden flower in his grasp? Was sex really all that big of a deal?

"I understand, son. Promise me when you have a game in the vicinity, you visit your family, fair enough?"

"Sure, Dad. Thanks for understanding."

Shane took a few steps to hug and kiss Chip and Ronin. "You guys look just like politicians," he teased.

"Goes with the territory," Chip said. "We'll strip down for a swim."

Tony was listening to this conversation as he stepped forward. "Yeah, we had two Mormon missionaries in suits come to the ranch last year. Dad took them around to the backyard to introduce them to us. There we were, sixty boys and girls swimming naked. `Care to join them?' Dad asked those two guys. Boy did they take off real quick. But they had a good look first."

A quick flight back to the ranch, Ben landed his new jet on his 7,000 foot runway. He planned a late dinner for his guests, Chip and Ronin. The married couple were given Shane's rarely used bedroom, while Tony had Trevor over for sleepover. The 14-year old brother of Shane had been tamed by Tony from his judgment of gays. Though straight in nature, a night of sexual adventure with Tony was almost as much fun as baseball.

Ben threw down a Viagra to make sure this new professional baseball player never forgot who loved him best.

Take people out of the habitat of clothes and they look pretty much the same. What is more remarkable is that they also behave similarly and direct their actions toward common goals. The human capacity for fitting in with the demands of group living not only is responsible for the tightly coordinated actions of academy conditions, but also facilitates the much more diffuse coordination of behavior that allows a commune setting to function harmoniously.

Having a capacity to engage in reciprocal altruism is useful only if it occurs in a social environment that is full of cooperators. Ben adhered to a challenge far more significant than managing cows and producing oil. He often swore at an invisible Art for taking the easy way out.

Ben also relied heavily on his brother's organization skills, Lars Erickson's liberal experience within an open society, and his nephews' input on what makes boys happy from participating in the community. While Ted Colter designed every aspect of this academy, Ben hired teachers, a doctor, dietician, psychologist, cooks, and other workers who not only could relate with teenagers but with the constant nudity and sexual activities of gay boys.

Given the fact that the Erickson family had several girls, there were constant additions of new children to the ranch. Every child, including Philly's and Cheet's, became part of this nuclear family, raised by adults and teenagers alike. One distinctive aspect of life in this type of community is that a small group of people, numbering close to eighty, spent much of their time in close proximity and developed strong personal ties of friendship and cooperation.

Everyone had their own responsibilities to the ranch. Tony had taken to ranching like a fish to water. From branding to breaking a wild steer Tony fell in love with ranch work. The boy could have been Ben's biological son, so close in temperament, strength of character, likes and dislikes. When the boy took to bull riding, Ben trained the youngster with more vitality than he'd worked with Austin.

Ben kept to himself the enormous temptation of Tony's libido. At five-eight, every inch of the teen's body glistened with muscle. He was a walking hard-on and had no qualms in teasing his father by not wearing clothes around the house. It was reason enough to make sure that Tony had a constant parade of boys as night time guests.

Both Ronin and Chip had donated money to build a chapel on the grounds. This was no organized religion, but a message of peace and love derived from the New Testament. There was no dogma, or formula to follow, but every boy helped to work out ethical solutions for themselves, which is considered to be the highest stage of moral development. Honesty and treating others as they would want to be treated were goals for each of them. With this diminished judgment of each other, their openness became a social glue to love one another.

At fifteen, Tony's life was attuned to please his father. Ben paid for Tony's mother to visit a year previous, only to be confronted with a wild woman who wanted her son returned. Often inebriated or drugged at the ranch during her stay, Ben refused and Tony wanted nothing to do with her. Put into a clinic in Austin for recovery, the woman lasted but two days and was D.O.A. on a drug overdose within a week.

Training on a mechanical bull for several months, then Red Rock, the bad mother of all bulls that Ben called the ranch's most stubborn animal, Tony went on to Dallas to win the state's teenage bull riding championship. He humbly admitted to Chip that his success was because he'd ridden more boys than the other riders.

As a gift to Chip and Ronin on this second anniversary of the Crusade, Ben had an 18-hole golf course developed on the ranch. These lovers had really tackled the game in Bermuda; their humorous shots were still the talk at Fairmont. Now along the sprawling oak-covered hills, clear springs, and awkward rock formations, Ben was erratic at golf as he was at changing diapers for his new grandnephews, thanks to Cheet.

The absence of bodyguards was apparent on this Texas venture for the former First Boy. Chip would be the first to admit that he often felt underqualified when it came to being the nation's youngest congressman. As he rode alongside Ben between the rolling hills and century-old oaks on his painted stallion Chip knew he could confide in this man about his new political relationships as a representative and not a presidential child. As with Shane, this elder statesman, rancher, and respected philanthropist gave the young man logic and advice to assist him through the mine fields of political games.

Tony and Ronin rode behind, the younger and more confident rider giving advice to this popular singer on managing a horse and staying upright in the saddle. "Did you know, Ronin, that a thousand-pound cow, after it has been slaughtered, bled, and relieved of its head, hide, hooves, heart, lungs, and other internal organs and viscera, will be converted into about 430 pounds of brisket, steak, roast, ribs, hamburger, stew meat, and other retail cuts."

"I bloody do now," Ronin said and had to grin at this cowboy and how far the boy had come in two years. Sitting around the outdoor fire pit that evening the fifty-meter pool always had teens frolicking in play. Above them Ben's blue HondaJet flew over the ranch from its return trip to Columbus, Ohio, where it had picked up Philly after his week's workout with the varsity lacrosse team.

Ben's cell phone rang and it was Shane. He had pitched three innings for his minor league team, no runs, two hits and three strikeouts. Ben smiled with the news and then had a chagrin on his face when Shane said that his catcher kept calling for nothing but fastballs.

"Shake the sign off," Ben suggested. Shane said he tried but the catcher was thirty years old, an old-timer in the minors and didn't want any sassy kid, wet-behind-the-ears, telling him what he should throw.

"Okay, youngster, you've got to learn to kiss-up to these relics. Tell the guy you want to show him what other pitches you do have and then he can make the best choice based on this knowledge." Ben thought that made sense.

"Well, Ben, I would, but they're sending me to Fresno because our Triple A club needs a pitcher day after tomorrow."

"How's your arm, pal?" Ben asked.

"Great! I felt like I could've gone nine tonight."

"Ice packs, my boy. Let me know how the game goes tomorrow." Ben said his goodbyes and didn't mind in front of Chip and Ronin telling his pride and joy how much he loved him.

Ben didn't have to wait for Shane to call on that next game. The game in Fresno was an afternoon double header and Shane's pitching performance made for big news out of Houston. The 17-year old had pitched a no-hitter, striking out eleven.

Already 23 games out of first place the Astros were in dire need of pitching. Ben never considered how desperate Houston was until Shane called that evening and said he was being called up to the Show. He was destined to start in Houston against the Angels on Tuesday night. Ben almost fainted with joy.

Somewhat of a publicity stunt to draw fans to the ball park, the Majors would have to go back to a young Joe Nuxhall with the Cincinnati Redlegs to find another pitcher making his Major League debut before the age of eighteen. Not even Strasburg with the Nationals had that honor. Immediately Ben called the Houston front office and bought an executive box and 75 reserve seats.

Looper and Zach flew into Austin from their own vacation in the Netherlands Antilles. They were now employees of Ronin, bodyguards for the young man's around-the-world tours. Their pay had increased four-fold from the paychecks they used to receive from the Secret Service. Ironically, Ronin was now their center of attention, while Chip was secondary. In reality both men were under one umbrella and Ronin had no qualms in relaying this fact.

On a different flight came Joshua Ambrose, his Indian complexion under a cowboy hat warmed the heart of Ben Barkley as he welcomed his dear friend from Utah. Both men had united in their goals to be altruists for gay youth.

Under the shadow of dark, threatening skies, a light evening shower didn't dampen the reception of this grand feast for those adults and teenagers who were the nucleus of the Crusade two years earlier. From the drizzle to a peaking sun the warm Texas night quickly turned into a pleasant ambience. Ben's hired chefs decided to keep the grills outside so the smell of beef and lobster created inviting aromas in the evening air. The swimming pool was no longer a solemn training arena for an uncle and his nephew. It had become a social gathering spot for dozens of nude boys and girls, and it had the reputation as the locale for the conception of more than one child now living on the ranch.

Ted and Irene Colter arrived with their children and three of the ranch's recruits. Ted, wearing his league's all-star cap as proudly as his players, had adapted well to Texas lifestyle and Austin City living. Thousands of area residents and visitors from around the state had traveled to the ranch to watch a baseball game in the stadium that Ted had designed. Its fences now resembled Wrigley Field in Chicago, and the electronic scoreboard replayed every play. So manicured in its grass designs, Ted built two practice fields for the players to do drills on, in addition to the batting cages, weight room and performance labs. A plague visible as one entered the stadium had the architects name and business number. Ted was now very busy with his own architectural firm of six architects.

In Ben's majestic dining room, one side enclosed by glass overlooking the pool outside, a massive round table was the centerpiece for his guests at this important assembly to remember a grand tour across America. Leave it to a freshman congressman to tap his wine glass and bring to order this assembly.

"First of all, from Ben, Ronin, and myself, thanks for coming, ya'll. Each and every one of you have become a part of our family. I have devoted most of my young life to understanding the principles that enable people to improve their lives. It is those principles—the principles of a free society—that have shaped my life, my family, my husband and America itself.

"Unfortunately, the fundamental concepts of dignity, respect for all sexual orientations, equality before the law and personal freedom are under attack by the nation's own government. I'm in position to fight for our greater well-being and opportunity through the political process. Our Crusade was the first step in promoting a free society, free and open debate on what it means to be gay. As a boy in the White House, I observed that no government can possibly run citizens' lives for the better. The more government tries to control, the greater the disaster.

"Instead of fostering a system that enables people to help themselves, America is now saddled with a system that destroys value, raises costs, hinders innovation and relegates millions of citizens to a life of poverty, dependency and hopelessness. This is what happens when elected officials believe that people's lives are better run by politicians and regulators than by the people themselves. Those in power fail to see that more government means less liberty, and liberty is the essence of what it means to be American. Love of liberty is the American ideal.

"Ben Barkley has created on this ranch opportunities to be oneself, a vision of creating real value for boys in a principled way, our nation would be far better off, not just today, but for generations to come. I'm dedicated to fighting for that vision. I'm also convinced that most of you here today believe it's worth fighting for, too."

Surprisingly it was Ted Colter who stood first to wildly applaud Chip's words. Everyone followed suit. Scooter, Tony and several of the younger boys pounded the table in their shouts, "Chip for president! Chip for president!"

Ted Colter raised his wine glass to toast both Chip and Ben. Two years earlier this man had almost lost his son, his career, and the respect of the community, all because of bigotry. Down on his luck, not knowing where his next house payment would come from, all this had changed with one phone call from Ben Barkley. Ted was now a multi-millionaire, a respected community member, coach, father of a Major League baseball player and a friend of influential people.

Ted was fighting back tears. "God bless you, Chip. You have been an inspiration for my son and millions of other boys. I hope to live long enough to see you as the leader of our country. If someone was to tell me a couple of years ago that I'd be in Texas having dinner with Ben Barkley and the president's son, while dozens of naked boys were swimming visibly outside, I'd likely have that person committed." The laughing changed Ted's composure to a gleeful smile.

"It seems logical that, as we mature, we change our minds about human nature for the better. We all need to constantly look outside of ourselves to take in more of the world. Sort of a paradox that to be truly committed to yourself, we each have to be really committed to other things. I've found the truth to know, and when I thought I knew it, I had to think again. I'm rambling here, so I just want to thank Ben for this great opportunity and allowing me to know my son for the love he exemplifies."

Throughout the meal the men and boys reminisced about their Little League careers, who had kept their first ball glove, blew their allowance on baseball cards, and maybe someday that Griffey Jr. card might be worth something. Did Pete Rose deserve the Hall of Fame? A hundred percent yes. Most of the guys would rather sit behind home plate than in a luxury box. Only Ben had actually caught a foul ball. It was Tony who started the conversation on who he would like to hold his bat; bat being a pseudonym for something smaller between his legs. That one went over the head of Irene, the only woman there. The Sandlot won the guy's all-time favorite baseball flick.

Leave it to Tony to tell the best joke. "Hey, guys, did you hear that the police got called to a daycare center this afternoon. Yeah, a three-year old was resisting a rest." Obviously he got pounded.

Ben never felt the necessity to negate the serving of wine to his adolescents. Kids got a little tipsy and giggles were more common than serious conversation. Cherry jubilee helped juice the lasting effects of even the youngest appetite there. A cherry cognac helped wash down the remnants of a fine dinner.

In his lightweight vest and tie Ben had sat pensive with a warm smile through most of the meal. Deep in his heart he missed Shane. Though this inevitable loneliness had always been on the fringe of his emotions the reality of having no one to share his bed or life with had again struck at his very core.

The sexual nature of the relationship was not the key to Ben's sadness. Sure he missed the hugs at night, the lanky, naked body that often looped over his own frame during sleep, and the affectionate notes that Shane often put on his nightstand when he wasn't looking. How many teenagers would be that considerate and loving to find the simplest of gestures so inspiring?

Unlike so many of Shane's peers, the boy didn't glamour for late morning sleep. Shane was up with Ben at the break of dawn in order to ride the range with him on their favorite horses. In their hats and boots, full saddle and western attire, the two males often rode in silence with nothing but grins on their faces to welcome a new Texas morning. The animals and birds never failed to amaze these lovers of nature and each other. Shane had become a proficient rider, tall in the saddle and moved easy to the cadence of his black and white mustang.

Occasionally Tony, Shane's brother, and Troy would join this morning escapade before breakfast. Tony was far the aggressive rider, vehemently wanting to race the last quarter of a mile to the ranch against anyone who dared to challenge. They would return to a hearty breakfast full of laughs and energy to attack the day to its fullest.

That morning Ben had ridden alone in his thoughts. Mortality had risen its ugly head in his solace and sorrow; yet, he had no regrets for his love of Shane and the boy's success.

Dinner had been one of persiflage with occasional laughter from Tony. The boy's humor was always at the surface. Austin sat like his uncle, pensive and in contemplation of so many variant personalities. The college senior had used his summers to advance his goal as a sports psychologist and his senior status. He was anticipating graduate school to become the ranch's therapist. Like most ambitious men and women in the mental health field Austin was an avid researcher and amateur expert in his favorite subject—sex.

Most of the boys on the ranch looked upon Austin as an older brother, an educated person they could ask any question and get an accurate answer. Even Ben felt somewhat intimidated by his nephew's educational sophistication and desire to diagnose all behaviors. Ben's coping usually slanted to humor the young man or wrestle him to submission.

Tony, on the other hand, told Austin that his penis did all the thinking and if he wanted to give therapy to his dick, there was always an erection waiting for him. Austin just shook his head at this nightmare for a patient. Tony had fallen in love with a straight boy in Shane's brother, Bo. For a gay boy to satisfy a straight kid it meant giving up his ass on a continual basis. It was exactly what Tony was doing to ensure that Bo remained his best bud. One thing Bo was totally enamored with was Tony's jokes. Not a person at the table knew what Bo and Tony were discussing, but leave it to Tony to ignite controversy.

"Dad told me that man first walked upright to free his hands for masturbation."

Bo busted up as usual. The boys noticed everyone else had heard Tony's remark, especially Ben.

"Tony, I don't believe I've said that. There is a lady present."

"Oh, yeah, sorry Mrs. Colter."

Irene Colter was not a Louise Barkley. Far more passive, but nonetheless a lovable mother to her children, she was not used to being the center of attention. "That's quite all right, Ben. Having three boys nothing shocks me anymore. My middle child now wants an earring like my eldest." Her stare went at Ben, who still felt a sense of guilt for not seeking permission first.

Ted Colter was in a very relaxed mood after several glasses of wine. He chuckled when this topic was brought off. "Trevor could always use the same psychology his older brother used on me. Shane said that one of his peers told him that I might see that my son taking control over his body would threaten my manhood." He waited for the laughter to die down. "Now how can a father have any ammunition left after that approach?"

"Does that mean I can have one, Dad?" Trevor asked.

"Which ear do you have in mind?" Ted asked with a certainty that this son was straight.

"I was thinking both," Trevor surprised his father.

"Yeah, Trevor swings both ways," Tony said in jest. He got a kick in the shin underneath the table.

Mrs. Colter noticed that Tony's earring was in his right ear. "Are you gay, Tony?"

"Yes, ma'am. That's where I met Ben, on the Crusade, I mean."

"Oh...," Irene stated a bit shocked and added, "I had no idea I was giving my son permission to stay overnight with a gay boy."

"Mom! What difference does it make what one's preference is? Gee! You make it sound like Tony would rape me because he's gay."

"No, no, no, I didn't mean to infer that. I guess this all makes sense. All the nudity out in the pool, and all. Don't you think, Ben, that it promotes a sense of exhibitionism?"

Ben was caught off-guard, which left him almost speechless. "I, well, I just never considered..."

"It's called skinny dipping, freedom of expression because it's their home," Austin spoke up rather perturbed.

"I didn't mean to imply that it was wrong. Boys are more prone to do that," Irene said apologetically.

Austin sat down his wine glass. "Exhibitionists rarely follow their lewd displays with any attempt to intrude physically on anyone. The urge to exhibit oneself manifests as a compulsion, rather than a conscientious intention to dominate or scare anyone. And girls are just as much exhibitionists as boys; it's just more accepted when girls do wet t-shirt contests and show their boobs at Mardi Gras. Girls love to flash their sexuality in tease. Boys do it as a sense of power and pride of having a penis."

"My nephew, the shrink," Ben humored to relax the mood.

"Penises are good," Tony said to get another glance from his father and another nudge from Trevor against his ankle.

"Irene, you must excuse my teenage Elmer Fudd, the wabbit hunter," Ben said to crack up his son and the other boys.

"I'm not sure what that means," Irene said and appeared a trifle tipsy.

Austin brought the term home, so he explained it. "Solitary, quick to arouse, goal-targeted, driven to hunt, and a little silly. A male's brain has software like Elmer Fudd, who's always on the hunt for a specific target: rabbits. The moment he sees a wabbit—or thinks he sees one—he squeezes the trigger and fires. Gay boys are like this; they are instantly activated by visual cues and directed toward immediate action—in particular, behavior leading toward orgasm."

"Austin, I'm not so sure that Mrs. Colter has your interests in mind," Ben said.

"No, Ben, I find Austin's descriptions very educational. After all, I do have a gay son, and, obviously, Trevor is around other gay boys all the time. Being an adolescent once and raising them are certainly different things. Trevor tells me that sexting is big at his school, and girls see this as empowerment."

Austin leaped on this. "Yes, to have a boy caught is a crime, but female exhibitionism is rarely considered a social problem. Most males welcome it. Women used this image as part of their sexuality, while boys have an urge to chase and seduce. With gay boys we like to see penises and butts. Any sexual cue will do for Elmer Fudd as a trigger-happy hunter who readies, aims, and fires at the slightest hint of any wabbit."

Irene looked at Trevor. "How does it feel to be a wabbit?" She laughed.

Trevor looked at Tony next to him. "Are you Elmer Fudd?"

"I've shot you a few times," Tony admitted and had the table laughing.

All eyes went to Trevor to verify the significance. "Hey, Austin has told us guys not to be a slave to our fantasies, so I'm now a master. Being a top can be a lot of fun, too."

The discussion had certainly livened up the table. Then Irene asked what a top was and no one jumped to explain except Austin. "When two guys have sex, there are two complementary roles: the "top" and the "bottom." Usually the bottom is penetrated by the top. Most gay guys prefer to be bottoms."

"Oh, of course. More of a passive role," Irene assumed.

"Actually the bottom is in control and has the power," Austin admitted, which made Tony take notice.

"Yeah for bottoms!" Tony spoke and had Ronin give him a high five. "Did you guys hear about the boy who accidently lost his left ball? He's all right now."

When will that boy ever learn? Pounded again.

Ted Colter was far from the judgmental homophobe from years earlier. Under the influence he spoke his mind. "I think your mother wants grandchildren down the road. If you could play top with a female, she would be extremely pleased."

"Well, I sort of have," Trevor said and decided maybe this was the right time.

"What does, sort of, mean?" Irene asked her son. "One doesn't sort of have sex."

"Care for a cognac, Ted? Irene?" Ben asked.

"In a minute," Ted replied. "Okay, Trevor, what have you done now?"

Trevor smiled. "You have a grandson. I had sex with Sonja during out in the pool. Matty is seventeen months now."

Irene's eyes flew open. "Oh my God! Why didn't you tell us?"

"I didn't want castrated, like Shane."

"We hardly castrated your brother," Ted spoke.

"Dad, you almost ruined his life. He's okay now, but before...even I was mean to him."

Scooter jumped up to ask his brother if he wanted him to retrieve Matty. Trevor nodded. In minutes a short, blond-haired boy, barely putting one foot in front of the other, saw Trevor, opened his arms and mumbled, "Daddy!"

Up into his arms Trevor put the boy in Grandma Colter's arms, though the tot didn't quite know what to make of all this. "Meet your grandmother, Matty."

Irene was near tears with the news. Ted could only shake his head. He did ask Trevor if he was serious with this girl.

"Not really, Dad. We rarely speak. Our kids are part of our whole family here, brought up by everyone."

Ted had seen a lot of things through the past two years, so this didn't surprise him. It was Irene who had to ask, "You mean other boys have had children with the girls here?"

Trevor glanced around the table with a huge grin. He counted Philly, Cheet, Scooter, and he wasn't sure if his younger brother had lucked out yet. "Maybe four," he answered with a grin.

"It's what happens when you let children play naked around each other," Irene said, aiming it mostly at Ben.

"Hey, I'm naked most of the time and I don't have kids!" Tony protested.

Austin wouldn't have his uncle be the target of abuse. "D'oh! Boys and girls are obsessed with the sexual; it is the only realm of primordial adventure still left to most of us. Don't forget in your generation, the medical profession and mainstream society were in perfect agreement that certain sexual activities were unacceptable, including masturbation, oral sex, anal sex, adolescent sex, being gay, and interracial sex. We've matured since then, thank you."

With her grandchild in her arms, Irene was too excited to be angry. "It would have been nice to know that my son was a father."

"I was going to tell you, Mom, only that I figured I'd best wait until I'm old enough so my adolescence wasn't spent in my room," Trevor said. "Why should Shane have a sexual outlet and we have to use our hand?"

"Dude, that's why you have me," Tony said to get more laughter from his peers.

Ben certainly didn't want the conversation to be on Shane. "I didn't want this dinner to be a college course in human sexuality. My little experiment of creating an open community has a few pitfalls. I apologize Irene for this surprise."

"Oh, Ben, I'm not a prude. Ted and I appreciate what you've done for Shane. All my children appear happy and content with the time they spend here on the ranch. Austin, it appears you have a great future ahead as a therapist. These boys appear to look up to you for advice. And Tony, you are a bundle of energy. If you can keep my son away from the girls awhile longer, I guess I should be happy."

"My pleasure, ma'am. Trevor is putty to my fingers. Dad says I have a photographic memory which has never developed."

It took a second but Irene finally found it funny.

"Son, I said pornographic, and, trust me, it's developed," Ben added.

As this congregation unwound and the Colters returned to Austin, Ben had a ranch house full of visitors. The boys would find refuge in the dormitory while the older males were given bedrooms. If Ben thought his bed would be his own for the night, he was delightfully surprised to find P.J. waiting for him.

"Hi, Mr. Barkley. I like older men, but first I want to tell you about something Tony and I have discussed. A European Gay Crusade across five countries."

"No way, P.J.! I'm retired," Ben informed in distinct terms.

P.J. peeled back the covers and revealed a very delectable penis at full elevation.

"I meant from directing crusades," Ben said and slid in.

"Don't suppose you can be a consultant?" P.J. asked and moved his fingers to get the right response.

"Now that's something I think we can arrange," Ben said and leaned over to click off the light.

************

 

(To be continued in Bend the Curve)

Book 3 of The President's Son

 

Preview of Bend the Curve

 

There are certain players in different sports who just create a buzz. Such was the case with seventeen-year old Shane Colter. The fact that the youngster was gay seemed old news. One can overlook minor discrepancies in youth, especially one who could turn men's heads as well as women's.

Caught between an adorable innocence of a boy and the rough exterior of manhood, Shane was still too quiet, reserve, and an easy victim of big boys' distorted versions of testosterone and what masculinity means. In the locker room of his triple AAA game, his locker had been sprayed "Jailbait". Shane was near tears when he called Ben for an explanation.

"Relax, take a deep breath. You have to learn to roll with the punches here. Smile, my boy. Tell them to remind their girlfriends and wives of this and that you're not easily changed."

Shane did just that and got laughs and a pat on the back. One older veteran wanted to take the teen under his belt but knew any close association might have a negative reaction. The man ruffled the boy's hair and said what most of the men were thinking anyway: "My wife already thinks you're hotter than that Bieber kid was. He turned into a real loser. Don't follow his example. Personally, I'm glad you're gay."

The other members of the team had their laughs and smiles with the truth. Shane proved that not only was he untouchable as jailbait, but he was unhittable, as well.

Under boundless blue skies Houston's stadium was filling with capacity not seen for several years. Last in their division, the team's home run and RBI totals were also last in the Majors. Long-suffering Astro fans could be excused for feeling less certain about their beloved team's chances after their first-half start.

But here in the warm evening with the sun barely peeking over the right field wall, hope sprung eternal. These fans had come to witness a seventeen-year old, teenager's, Major League debut. Being gay and young wouldn't be enough to incite interest, but Shane had a hundred-mile per hour fastball and a curve that dropped off the table.

Houston was not a franchise that tried to buy a pennant. Shane Colter might be the exception. His statuesque frame lacked impressive musculature; his lack of any manly features and presence belonged more in a Little League game.

Shane would admit later that he was unconscious as he walked to the mound in the top of the first, his feet barely touched the grass as thick and luscious as an Augusta fringe. Just like Ben suggested, the boy took a deep breath and glanced up to a luxury box in the second level. Shane tipped his cap to Ben, though his parents might have well thought it was to them.

All eyes were on a youngster whose face resembled a boy fresh out of junior high. The young man moved a rosin bag threw his fingers, and then adjusted his groin. For some reason his mind only thought of one person. Memories of a dance two years ago in pouring down rain invaded his mind. Ben Barkley had said he would be the first gay player to come out in the Majors, and he was.

Fifty thousand fans! Shane raised his blue eyes and scanned the stadium to absorb the color and breathless excitement. If he threw this first pitch he would be part of their fraternity, a game of tribes and labels, and a very lonely business that Shane had already discovered. What if they knew he wasn't just this bright-eyed, naïve boy who just played a kids' game? He played with himself no less than three times a day and saved one more for when Ben could keep up with him. He loved to suck cock, swallow cum, put his tongue in anuses, and relished being fucked in various positions before he even considered ejaculating. His All-American boyish face did not emote a highly eroticized mind and body.

That same fourteen-year old who gleamed with excitement in getting his autograph by the dugout was eye candy to Shane. What he could do to bring that same boy to a happiness that went well beyond a mere signature of a sports hero.

Would he still be their boy-god if they knew? This almost made Shane laugh as he rubbed the baseball to eradicate the slickness from the ball. He was no god, but a sexual dynamo in bed who wanted that same fourteen-year old autograph seeker to come to his hotel room and shower with him. It would break the hours of boredom that a traveling athlete has to endure. He could, Shane knew; after all, he wasn't eighteen yet and these youth were part of his clique of "innocent" children. This mere thought sent blood to his penis. His Major League career would start with a boner.

Shane began to chuckle to the puzzlement of their opponent's first hitter. The guy might even think he was mocking him. Another adjustment sent a slight point of his near erection to the side of his baseball pants. Chances are a television camera was on him at that moment. This would be a secret left for memoirs, a boner for all gay boys whomever played this game. He should have worn a jock to suppress this arousal, but maybe it was a gesture for all those spectators wishing him ill or their homophobic remarks.

They were hypocrites, Shane knew. He'd spent his adolescence amidst sexually open and loving men and boys. His knowledge and views of sexuality exceeded most teenagers his age.

Shane watched this batter tap home plate with his bat and establish the position he desired in the batter's box, something he'd witnessed since he was that twelve-year old Little League pitcher who saw how nervous prepubescent boys were to face his fastball. Only last week he'd had a dream that his father's all-star Little League team had sought him out in their locker room for autographs, but had contrived a plan much more fun than a fan's collectible. The boys had stormed over him, stripped his clothes off and forced him to suck each of their dicks while they took turns fucking their idol.

Shane had woken up with his first wet dream in years. The next day he confessed to Scooter his dream. Scooter giggled and said he would see what he could do. He was, after all, the captain of his all-star team.

With a spray upward of his arms Shane rotated his right knee in a torque that accelerated his waist into delivery. He felt his boner slide to the opposite angle inside his baseball pants. The baseball was violently whipped forward with a mild grunt but hit the catcher's glove with a much louder pop. The pitch painted the outside corner at 101 mph.

"Sttttrike!" the umpire screamed and a whole new world of a seventeen-year old was about to begin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The author appreciates comments from readers at Af71vet@yahoo.com Thank you for those who have appreciated my novels and for your kind messages

 

Other books authored by Alan Stroup:

A Blue & Gray Perspective By a Boy Soldier (Amazon or Kindle)

1)      The Hyacinthus Project

2)      The Art of Loyalty

3)      Kings Academy Trilogy (Kings on Amazon or Kindle)

The Huckleberry Pirates

The '39 DiMaggio (Amazon or Kindle)

XY Minus Three

The Tennis Kouros

Boy Falcon

1)      The President's Son

2)      The President's Son—The Crusade

3)      The President's Son—Bend the Curve

Three Ball Walk

The Neurokid

The Revolution of Ballet

On Second Thought

We Are, Nittany Lions

The Last Castrati

Whispers In An Italian Restaurant

Age of Dissension (Nifty)

Director's Cut (Nifty)

Arabian Summer

Robin Hook, Coming-of-Age