Chapter 97


Our hope is that every homosexual youth in this country can find a home and someone to love them as they are.
No one deserves to be discriminated against, no matter what their differences from society's norm

A tidy quote from chapter 137
"titles belong on books, not people" ©Carl Dickson—2007

Does your mother know you're reading this shit?

Warning: This story is PORNO. I have tried my hand at friction, now I'm trying fiction. This story contains vivid descriptions of sexual activity between men and teen boys.
It contains no truth, partial truth, or half truth. What it does contain is stroking material. If this kind of story turns you off, or offends you, please find something else.
The author does not encourage or condone sex between adults and underage children.

If you are underage, or if this is illegal where you are, then please go away. If you're under 18, Adios come back when it is legal for you to read this smut.
If you lied about your age in order to access this story, remember this is our story. Life doesn't always work out like a story.

A strongly worded suggestion has resulted in this statement.

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

Thus said, this story is copyrighted, ©2005-2012. It is therefore illegal to copy or use any part of this story on any other web site without my written permission.

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    The boys saw us enter the front door and ran to welcome Shane to the family. Many hands took our clothes from us and our suitcases and carried them upstairs. They asked where to put Shane's things. I told them to sit everything in my room and we would find Shane a room after lunch. I was starved, we never got our breakfast, we were too busy eating sausage in bed.
    "Sir, the new equipment is installed and I would like to ask some questions," Edmund told me. Turner and Jim smiled at me and opened my office door. A wall of nineteen inch plasma monitors faced my desk. A long counter top stretched from the door to the front wall. It was covered with keyboards. I sat down at my desk to see a six foot tall and ten foot wide picture of Cory and I in our wedding shirts. Cory had his head in his permanent position, on my left shoulder. The picture captured the love in my boy's eyes as he looked up to my face. I was staring straight into the camera.
    Jim broke the moment as he began to log into all of my sites. The display broke into thirty five different screens as scrolling numbers began to fill each section. Data poured in from around the world from my various accounts that I track throughout the day.
    "Jimmy, put in a sell order on 8967. Shift to me for password." In a few seconds one of the screens was flashing a window for an entry. I pulled out my keyboard drawer and typed in my password. The screen reopened and in a few minutes the numbers changed and everything went to negative numbers.
    "Is that right?" Cory asked as he looked at the new numbers.
    "I just put in a September sell on fifty million gallons of gasoline. At today's prices we will loose close to thirty million dollars, but wait and see what happens in October. I am gambling that I can sell in September and buy back after the end of October for three or four times less than I sell for."
    The boys were looking at me. "Think about it. Come on. You have been working alongside of me for several months. Look at the indicators." I walked over to the array and begin to point at graph lines. Every thing was climbing and climbing. I pointed at our private page that I had worked from for several years. On that one page I keep tabs on trends and changes. Still nothing. Turner was tracing two graphs and shaking his head. Jim sat down in a huff and crossed his arms.
    I knelt beside him. "You're not thinking babes. What happens in November?"
    "Elections!" shouted Cory. He ran to my trend page and started pointing. He grabbed a keyboard and scrolled the pages back over the past six years of history. He was following my train of thought. Turner was still lost, but Jim was almost on it.
    "Who is controlling the oil prices right now, Jimmy?"
    "The big oil companies. And they are in the pocket of…" he pulled up a screen in the middle of the array. "And they want the election to swing their way. So look at this," he enlarged an area of the screen. "They are going to force pump prices down."
    "Yes, but look at crude prices. We bought this at fifty one dollars. It is now sixty three fifty. They are going up. If they go level in September prices will fall drastically in October. I can predict that oil will go above sixty five to seventy, or more. We will sell three million barrels of oil at our own price and put that money in our pocket. Then we will turn around and replace those barrels of oil with their money and it won't cost us a dime. You wait and see. Gasoline right now is selling at the pump for over three dollars a gallon. By October first it is going to be down to about two dollars a gallon. If they win the elections it will stay low until the end of the year. If they loose it will go up by mid-November. Either way we will be sitting on three million barrels of free oil and we can afford to sell it at any price because we have spent nothing to buy it." I actually worked this scenario out on paper and if I had actual money invested, not just paper trading, I would have cleared over five million dollars profit by the end of December.
    "So are you voting for them or against them?" Edmund asked me.
    "Politics is not my bag. I'll vote for the candidate that is best suited for the job. I am saying that this cartel here is trying to pull manipulative strings. It doesn't work along partisan lines, it is greed to them. I am banking that they will back the candidate that they believe can put more money in their pocket. In order to do that they have to make it seem that their candidate has the political clout to manipulate prices, that will make them more attractive to the voters. Win or loose, either way the prices will rise again. I think that it will be more of a gradual rise next time though. The public is outraged at the obscene profits the oil companies are posting.

    "Edmund, I am sorry. I got carried away and you had asked to talk to me. I have to apologize to you. I have missed having instant contact like this." I waved my hand about the room. He understood, but he had a dig for me.
    "Sir, for someone with total recall and a mind as sharp as you have I find something a bit odd." He had my attention. Jim had been working with Edmund and teaching him how to use a computer. He had never felt the need for the infernal machines before, but even the youngest of the boys of my family have their laptops with them constantly as they do whatever it is that they do. I encourage the use of the computers as I believe that the skills they develop now will only serve them better in the work force of the near future. FYI; there is no blocking software on the boys' computers. I really don't think that any porn site that these boys may happen across will corrupt them any more than they already are.
    "I suppose that maybe I shouldn't have done it sir, but Master Jim showed me your journal and the story he prepares from it. I was excited when I saw my name and your notes concerning the first evening that you and the lads came to the house. I am a bit perplexed though sir. You insulted me."
    Uh oh. What have I done?
    "Sir I am quite proud of my Italian Sausage Soup. It is not a difficult soup to make up and I had a large pot in the cooler the night that you arrived. You were all hungry and you told me you would enjoy a bowl of the soup. Sir the recipe for that soup came from my grandfather. He adds a few things to his soup that are not traditional, such as sweet Basil and finely chopped bell peppers, but sir, in your journal you referred to it as Gazpacho soup. Sir, that is a Mexican soup that is served cold."
    I was stopped short. I had erred, badly. "Edmund, I don't know what to say. I don't sit down with my journal each day. I have so many things going on that I take notes. I record tidbits of my day on this small MP3 player that I have in my pocket, but even then my notes get jumbled.
    "I had lunch with Ric and Anita Garcia a few days before we came over here. She served me the Gazpacho soup, cold. I did not like it all that much and I guess the name just kind of stuck. As I think about it I don't remember your mentioning a name for your soup. You only offered me a bowl full and it smelled wonderful. I have eaten that soup, or a variety of it in Italian restaurants before. Well, what can I say. I made a mistake."
    "Oh sir, I am not upset. I just couldn't imagine you making a mistake like that."
    "I'll make a deal with you Edmund. If you will forgive me then I won't go buy a whip."
    "Well you did refer to Jim as young Master. If he is your master maybe you would like to be beaten as a slave." I smiled at him. He is still not sure about me in many areas. "Edmund you are what, fifty two years old? I suppose old habits die hard. I love you and the boys think that you are super dude. I'll over look the master bit if you swear you will not be offended at my calling your grandfather's soup by another name. Now do you have any of that soup made up? You have me hungry for some."
    "Young Maste… Sir, Ģerâld has lunch ready, but if you would like a bowl of soup after your dinner with the boys I can arrange to bring one to you." I really enjoy having this man around. I need him here, but what an asset he would be to our home in Tucson.

    Lunch time was called. Çhé Ģer laid a great lunch of greens and a rice dish with fish before us. Shane was making friends and staring at the naked boys. I moved to my office to change some plans I had made. I spent over an hour on the telephone and sending e-mails. So far I had nothing, but positive reaction. The gate guard called to tell me that the drivers had come for the RVs. I had let that slip my mind. I sent fifty boys to clear the personal items from inside and the under cargo areas of the Traveler© duo.
    The boys wanted to know where they were going with their Travelers. I love to play my boys. "Take a good look boys. That's the last time you'll see them." Age wise Toby was the oldest one there and Gus is the youngest, —Harry and Timmy were on assignment for FI— I looked on their sad faces. Some of the boys had never even been inside of those vehicles yet, but they were learning the stories the other boys had to tell and they were feeling a loss.
    I had to bring them back. I told them that they were going to be refitted with a new shell that would make them safer and warmer for winter travel. I had to run for my life. I was glad that I had pants on, they were after my balls.
    I went back to my office to wrap up a few final bits and pieces then put things away. Jim was sitting with Edmund as he walked the man through the big world of commodity trading. It is a fantastic world and a person can get started for only a small investment of two or three thousand dollars. It is highly recommended that everyone should learn how to trade by using paper money, or what is called paper trading. A good reporting firm will need to be secured for hourly reports, but that can wait until a person is ready to get his feet wet.
    There are on-line sources that can be checked, but they run behind time. Newspapers print daily results and that is where I started. I watched an item to see how it moved over time. I chose an item of interest and began to chart it. I went on line to see what the price range had been that day and started a graph. By graphing I began to see trends. With these indicators I began to plot possibilities. I lost some, I won some, I learned. Over time I began to loose less. I bought control of coffee and thought I was on the way to get rich quick. Two months later I was broke. It could have been worse, I sold late, but not too late, two days later I would have been in serious debt.
    I looked for something a bit more stable and settled on regular unleaded gasoline—RUG.

BACK THEN: If you remember I told you in chapter 27: A little update before I post this. This story was put to paper when oil was forty dollars a barrel. I held on until the end of the hurricane season of 2005, seven months later, oil was selling for sixty dollars a barrel. I had control of 8.01 mil. barrels at a profit of more than twenty dollars a barrel. All of my boys are multi millionaires as of this posting date.
TODAY: I am writing this in the fall of 2006 and things have changed quite a bit. Light sweet crude oil is almost double what it was selling for at the time I wrote chapter 27. If commodity trading allowed for one to buy and hold I would have doubled my money. But that is not the way trading works. It is a constant buy and sell. I doubled my money several times. When that chapter was written I was making more money than some of industry's leading CEOs. Now I am working at being able to have enough money to assume the national debt. I don't want the debt, I just want to be the world's first trillionaire.

    I felt the need of a sugar spike. I walked across to the dining room table and the fruit bowl. As I skinned a banana I heard Eric yell out, "Get your fucking faggot eyes off of him." Oh dear, I went to the family room to see Eric on his knees crying out to Shane, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Please forgive me."
    I sat down next to Shane and pulled Eric to my lap. Eric held his eyes down and shook. "He had his hand on Gus's back. He didn't do nothing. He was just talking. I'm sorry. Please forgive me." Shane held out his hand. Eric took it and shook hands, "Friends?" Shane told him it was okay.
    Eric crawled over to Shane's lap and Gus joined them. Eric told Shane that Gus was hand's off to everyone, but me. I looked at him. I said, "Gus is hands off to everyone." Someone asked me if I had a name yet. I sent Art to get the name box.
    I had all of the boys together so I sat back a minute to tell them that I had business to attend to Friday. I told them that I was going to the school to sign some papers for JB and that I had to stop at Base B. Borne spoke up and asked me if I could bring the rest of his personal stuff down. It was already packed and ready to go, but there had been no room on the bus for him to bring it when he came down with the first forty boys.
    "Borne, I am sorry. I should have asked about that. We could have had it here already. I have runners coming down everyday. It was my oversight."
    "Quit it!" he rushed toward me and stopped short. "Just fucking quit. You, you…, you just, you just have to… Quit treating me like I'm something special. Just get to it when you can. You make me feel…Damn it, I'm nothing. I can get by. You always treat everybody as if we are the only things in your life. You act as if the world will end if you don't do for each of us at once. I…" He broke down and began to cry. Finally he was letting go. No one pampered him. No one patted his back or told him how it would be better. Everyone sat in silence. My family knew what he was feeling, the new boys were learning. For the most part these boys have never had a family that genuinely cared about them or their wants and needs.

    I drew Mark Franklin's name from the box. He sat back and gave me a thumbs up. Traditions never die. We beat that horse up once already. We all use it. Today it is considered a universal signal for good things. But it is not historically correct. There never was a thumbs up signal. An even fist meant life. Thumbs down meant a kill for the victor.(I learned that on TLC, The Learning Channel. They learned me they did.)

    I sat back and enjoyed quiet time with the boys. I listened as they talked amongst themselves. There seemed to be small groups gathered around each single new boy. The family was explaining how things work amongst us. Mostly the new boy was getting worked amongst his instructors. I watched as some serious carnal knowledge was gained, on both sides.
    Something about Shane drew my attention and I began to make him my sole focus. I had one youngster after another slip into my lap and cuddle close until his attention was drawn elsewhere. There was another waiting to take his place so that my lap never grew cold. I had boy butt sweat running down my thighs and I loved every drop of it.
    I will have to have a very long heart to heart with Shane and very quickly. Edmund called us to dinner, he had to try his hand at vegetarian cooking. His Swedish meatless balls in a thick onion gravy was very impressive. We had our choice of mashed potatoes, boiled noodles, or rice as a base for the meatballs to be served on, each choice was excellent.
    Edmund had taken the time to meet with ladies from Em and Anita's church which is known for their vegetarian diet. He had a notebook full of recipes that he had asked Jim to computerize for him. Jim has a lot to do keeping track of my movements, but Turner was more than glad to help out. Turner's fingers are magic on a keyboard. I have tested the boy. He can type one hundred and ten words a minute, without errors. The average person talks at the rate of one hundred and twenty words a minute. Turner can take live dictation with little discomfort to the speaker.
    Jim is no snail at the keys. He beats my eighty words a minute quite easily. I do make errors though. The faster I type the more grammatical errors show in my work and the more missed letters. I don't use grammar checking software, but I do use spell checking with automatic correction. That causes most of my errors as the computer doesn't like some of the words I use. It just flat hates the word devirginizing. I have to overwrite it several times before the computer figures me for some type of illiterate and lets me continue. I just tried to use the word gooder in a sentence. The spell check keeps changing it to goober until I do a work around. That slows me down a bit.

    A serious problem exists with a family as large as mine has become. We can't jump in the car and go get an ice cream cone. Everybody likes a soft serve, triple scoop, dipped cone on a warm summer's evening. I suppose we could go in shifts, but the place would be closed by the time the last few group's turn to go came. I asked Shane to slip on some clothes. After he left I called the little ones to me and asked Cory to stand guard and let me know if Shane was returning.
    Quickly I polled the boys for their reactions on Shane. All of the older boys and the college boys had seen the same thing that I had seen. I cautioned everyone not to discuss what was seen and to never mention it to Shane. I told them I was going to deal with it. I apologized to them. I was going to take the little guys with Shane and me for an ice cream cone. They all smiled at me, but I could see their eyes. You can keep a brave face, but the eyes tell everything.
    At the soft serve ice cream shop I let the boys gravitate to where they wanted to be. Everything I had thought was proven true as Shane came over and sat down between Theo and Gus, causing them to have to scoot aside. His hands were on the little ones' backs or arms, just normal touchy feely. He didn't touch the older boys, only the smallest of the younger ones. I hoped that I could get the boys to talk. They were happy and their ice cream was running down their chins as they giggled and acted like kids.
    Ricky is fourteen, fifteen before school takes up in two more months. Eric is fourteen. Kenny is fast approaching thirteen. Theo will be fourteen a few days before Ricky's birthday. Then there is Gus. Shane had bored holes through the little fellow all afternoon. He was in serious lust for the smooth bodied youngster. I have not even hinted at Shane being anything more than a one day visitor. He is cute and lovable, but nobody will be around my kids if I can't have full trust in him.
    I asked the boys to tell me what they thought about their day. This is a normal question in our house. It lets the boys dig in their memories for little things that they have thoughts on. Theo blew the top off of the subject of my inquiry at once. "Why does Shane stare at me. He makes me scared. I don't like to sit next to him."
    "Why don't you like to sit next to him, little one?"
    "I think he wants my booty," he giggled at me in his innocent way.
    "You like for boys to mess with you. You like to mess with them too. You love big boy dicks, don't you?"
    "Well yeah, but, Shane, you look at me different. I get scared. Why do you look at me like that?" Shane didn't know that he was doing it. Shane told Cory and me about his young cousin. I can see that he has a thing for very young boys. Without anything being said he got up and came around to sit by me.
    "I'm sorry, little dude. You are so perfect. I love you. I love to look at you. I don't think I want to sex you, I just want to look. I want to touch you. I would love to hold you. My little brother… he was only…" The dam broke. Theo was the first to be next to him with his arm around the young man's neck.
    Shane had some deep pain. I let him cry. He didn't cry long, but he cried hard. Theo moved to him and told him that he could hold him if he wanted. Shane enveloped the boy and began to cry again. He finally pushed back and apologized to Theo. "I hope that I didn't make you feel funny. It's just that you… you look a lot like my brother. Not in the face. Just your body. You and Gus both. I think that he would be a muscled up kid like Eric if he hadn't…" He had to hold on for one moment more.
    "Did he die, Shane? How old was he?" Theo is deep, too deep sometimes. He had a tough life with a drunken mother. He had to grow up in order to survive.

    Shane's brother was twelve. He and Shane were riding their bikes along the side of the road when Shawn's front tire hit a rock or something in the road that caused it to jerk sideways. A truck was passing by and Shawn was drawn under the truck in an instant. He never had a chance. At the last moment he looked at Shane before the large tires of the truck rolled over him.
    I wanted to grab him and squeeze the life out of him. I hurt as much as he did. The boys hurt. They were wrapped around him crying as hard as he was. I had a large stack of napkins and a cup of water. I began the clean up as I washed each boy's face, including Shane's. I washed their sticky hands then pointed them to the car.
    The youngsters ran to the family room and cried as they told the family about Shawn. The evening became very somber. Shane told the family how sorry he was for causing them to worry. He told all of us that he didn't want sex with the kids, he just wanted to look at them. He was two and half years older than Shawn and he was his brother's hero.
    Shawn meant the whole world to Shane. Their parents were disassociated. They weren't drunks, in the literal sense of the word, but they did drink a lot. They never had any praise for the boys and very little time was spent with them. Shane took pride in his job as big brother and mentor. The two boys slept together. They bathed together and Shawn was eager to receive any of Shane's cast offs. Old toys, clothes, anything Shane no longer wanted or could wear, Shawn wanted it. Shane said that his brother had stacks of his old clothes in the closet. He would go through them all of the time to see if they fit him yet. He wanted to be just like his big brother.
    Shane found out that he had sixty five brothers. Gus wanted to know if he could sleep with him. I have to trust him. I only hope that he doesn't let me down.

    I took Borne with me Friday morning. I also gathered Rocky and Nad to tag along. I thought that it might be possible for them to sit with Randy Hobbs for a bit. He and I discussed the boys at length and he sees great potential in both of them. Programming is a lot of fun for a detail minded person, but these two boys go way past simple coding commands, they encode the code. They can take a page of symbols and find the hidden message on it while I am still trying to figure which end is the top of the page.
    As a game Nad took Lincoln's Gettysburg Address and scrambled it then encoded it in under and hour. The boys watched as he handed the code to Rocky. Rocky looked at the symbols that looked so much like a drunken hen had walked across an ink pad then onto the paper. He began to read, "Fourscore and seven years ago our fore fathers brought…"
    I consider this a gift, an uncanny gift, to be sure. With that kind of natural ability they would be extremely valuable to anyone who needs to deal in cryptography. Randy was going to throw a few pages of encoded pages from Andy's fool proof system at them. Randy is certain that there is no encryption system that someone can not break. I feel that if Andy's system has a flaw in it then Rocky would see it very quickly.
    Tony MacMillan met us at the car and walked us in. Borne was whispering in the hunk's ear. I headed to JB's office as Tony showed the boys around. I finished my business then, with a fresh cup of coffee in hand, I called my two young code breakers to me. I left Borne with Tony and told him that I would return in about two to three hours.

    An MP vehicle escorted me from the main gate to the demonstration area. That was a first to me, but I suppose with the visitors and the nature of our work for the morning it was necessary. Randy stood by his golf cart as he waited for the boys and me to arrive. I talked with him and Andy for a few minutes then sent him off with the boys. Andy and I took our seats in the temporary stands that had been erected for the morning's demonstration.
    I was impressed. The material was more than I had ever conceived. I consider two inches of steel armor plating about as good as it gets. The sandwich that the coach company had developed was only an inch thick and it repelled all small arms fire. A two inch thick sheet five feet long and three feet high was in a frame for the real test. A marksman with a hand held forty five millimeter grenade launcher took aim. The grenade was deflected to explode harmlessly on the ground.
    A shoulder fired rocket was sent screaming down range to explode with only surface marring, no damage. Nothing fired against the material penetrated the sandwiched layers. The outer skin was scorched and marred with no deep damage. A quick mix of the three components and the damage was repaired to be tested again. A damaged spot was repeatedly hammered each time it was repaired and still no weakness was evident. A shaped charge was attached to the sheet of material. The outer layer was splintered. The first fiber layer took a beating and a hole had been made in the middle layer of composite. The second fiber layer showed the back of the final side of the resin material. But the final layer of composite resin material had no penetration at all. I learned that the company had received permission from the makers of Kevlar to use their fibers in the composite resins to add extra external strength.
    The military minds were impressed. They wanted to do further testing. They moved off to negotiate with the company executives. The president of the company stepped up to me and asked me to name my price. I flippantly told him, "Stock."
    "Done," he told me. He then introduced me to an executive of the company that manufactures the Kevlar fibers. A three way partnership will be put together for the new armor plating material. I looked at Andy. The deal hasn't been broached yet, but it looks like I am a share holder in a gold mine.

    Andy and I went down into the underground caverns of the base. Andy knows me and he has his suspicions about my short range goals. He also knows that he is better off not knowing the details. He left me alone in my secure area with an armed guard at the door. I searched reams of highly classified material and encoded it to my own files. I want to know everything about times, movements, and locations as I put together a plan to make Murat al Hadi a worry to the world no longer.

    I gathered the three boys for our trip back to Albany. Borne had a quiet smile on his face, I knew without asking that he had been in bed with Tony. He was content and totally silent as we listened to the excited chatter of Greg and Al. They shared all they had done and the neat codes that Andy and Randy had made them solve. I asked if they had been stumped by any of them. Al got quiet as Greg told me that Andy had some that were really hard and that it really bothered Al that he could not find a single complete word. Ego stroking time.
    I took the next exit and found a comfort food shop. To my joy I had chosen an exit with a national ice cream company's store location. I loaded the three boys up on their favorite confection with lots of sugar in many forms. These three boys are all old enough that the sugar metabolizes easier and they won't go into a low orbit on me. But the sugar had the effect that I wanted, it opened them up to listen to me.
    I chose a seat where we were in relative seclusion as I explained the workings of the mainstay of Foss International Security to Al. "Al, if you had been able to find a complete word in any of the pages that Andy showed you we would be bankrupt and you would have no future with us.
    "Oh, there is a future for you and if you could break our code you would be the most sought after one young man in all of the world." I went on to explain, generically, how we encrypt data using a chip that Andy developed when he was, but an eighteen year old boy himself. Al felt better about his failure, but vowed to work on it until he broke it. I had to fill him in a little further. I explained my addition of the randomizer to the encryption chip "In order to really appreciate what is going on, you need to understand what a MAP function is. MAP stands for "Modular Arithmetic Processor". Andy's chip consists of one main CPU and several additional onboard processors that assist the CPU with certain tasks. One of these tasks is cryptography and the MAP processor implements all the encryption. When the main CPU wants to perform a math function it calls the MAP processor to give it some input and expects some output in return. By altering the paths of these MAP responses through the use of password encoding, a mechanical function can be controlled electronically. Then with the addition of thin film switches we have a unit that is capable of taking a five hundred and twelve bit encrypted entry and switch it around to different MAP processors, eight hundred times a second. This seemingly random pattern will not be easily hacked. I won't say that it won't be hacked, but being mechanical as well as electrical a hacker will have to have the chip in his hand to break its coding.
    He grinned at me and told me to, "just wait." I would like to see him succeed, but I am afraid that he will.

    We pulled into the drive at Empire Canal to see a strange mini-van. A red-haired scarecrow stepped from the van and approached me as I got out of my car. She looked down her long hooked nose at me as she passed me a brown accordion type folder with its string tied in a neat bow in the very center of the files container. Her body language and the tied string were speaking volumes to me about the character of Ms. Winifred Cramer. I was most happy to be the vehicle by which her young charges would be rescued from someone almost as bad as those that had held them in captivity in Kiev.
    "All of their records are there. The bank account numbers for the money from their parent's insurance settlements are there. Every penny is accounted for.
    "I want nothing more to do with either of them, or you, forever. Do not call me. I will pray for your lost souls that your time in purgatory be long and painful."
    I lost it. "As I will be praying for you oh mighty hypocrite. I will pray that the one who allowed Himself to be scourged beyond recognition, dragged through the streets of the town to have His hair and beard pulled out by the handful, then allowed, yes allowed, Himself to be nailed to the object of ridicule and scorn so that He could take on your sins and die the death that you deserve, reveal His love for you. Those two little ones that you detest so much know His love. They know that He died for them. They know of His love and forgiveness.
    "Forgiveness, Winifred. My Lord Jesus tells us in His Word that, "if there is no forgiveness in you, there is no forgiveness for you." Winifred you should endure only twenty four hours of what those boys have suffered. They were stolen from their own neighborhood as they played in childhood innocence. They were chained and starved until they submitted to the wiles of the their captives. They were beaten and raped by people who couldn't care less about them in any way except as an object for their baseness.
    "Those two youngsters cling to one another because, as they see it, there is no one else for them to cling too. Yes, they have sex with each other. They equate sex with love and acceptance, that is all they understand.
    "You judge, you condemn, you miss no chance to tell these children, that have no one in this world to love them, that you believe them to be evil. It is you madam. You and the hypocrites with whom you choose to associate that are evil. You are the only link to any blood relation that these boys have left in this world and you have chosen to severe that link. I am proud to be here to pick up the pieces and to try to help these two young innocents become men of quality, ones upon whom society can look at with pride.
    "I am proud to be able to shelter these two innocents from you and all that you stand for. I am most grateful that you want no future contact with them, it is only for their best. I believe that any contact with you would only confuse and anger them. I will tell them who you are and I will see to it that you are remembered for all that you have meant to them. When they are of age they may choose to seek you out, but I would not hold my breath were I you." I turned and walked to the house. I was met at the door by two young redhaired boys that were already in uniform and ready to meat the head of their new family.

    Ronnie and Rusty Cramer. Sweet faced youth full of boy energy and vigor. They were amongst the hundreds of boys and girls found in sexual bondage throughout the world. Then fifteen year old Ronnie was found chained to a wall of a brothel in Kiev, Ukraine. His twelve year old brother, Rusty was rescued from the clutches of a four hundred pound African Emissary. The man was immune from prosecution and had to be let go. It was sad to hear that he was found in the back seat of his car with his throat slit and his own penis inserted into the gapping wound. His longtime driver had been busy changing a tire along the side of the dark road on the outskirts of Kiev. He never saw or heard anything. He never heard the bullet that entered the back of his head for his dereliction of the duty to protect his black master.
    Rusty required medical treatment, but in his delirium he communicated his relationship to Ronnie. Ronnie was at a local convent where he was being nursed back to health by nuns. Rusty was allowed to join him before the two boys were reunited with their family.
    On their return to the US they learned that their parents had been killed in an automobile accident. They had been searching for their boys for over a year and were following a lead where someone claimed to have knowledge of them. Now the boys had no kinfolk left, with the exception of Ms. Winifred.

    I could not have hurt more if someone had hit me. Edmund stood at the foot of my bed and told me that Hillary had passed in the night. I had to go see Ģerâld, immediately. I asked Edmund to accompany me. He has known Ģer all of his life. Ģer has grown up playing in this house.
    Edmund and I walked down the hall to the married men's quarters. Edmund was shaking so bad that he could not remember the combination of the new electronic locks that we have had installed throughout the mansion. I hate carrying keys and there are so many locks on this house that one almost needed to pull a wagon along behind to carry all of them.
    Luke and Ģer's door was ajar, but they were locked. Luke had his key deeply inserted in Ģer as he tried to make the tumblers fall in place and open up to the rich reward that awaited him. I'm an ass hole, I have told you that for a long time now. I stood and watched the loving couple fuck their bony butts all over the bed. I felt like a creep. I could have left, I suppose I should have, but I had a serious purpose in being there. I thought that it might be best for the boys to release their tensions before I told them the bad news.
    This is not the time, nor was I in the place to relate what went on between the young couple. Their love is deep and genuine. I had a mission, albeit distasteful. I cleared my throat. They rolled apart and looked at me standing there and smiled at me. Luke started to say something then he saw Edmund move in behind me. I went to the bed and made myself at home. I came between the pair and put an arm under each of their necks to draw them close to me.
    "You are so beautiful and your love is sincere. I have long admired the two of you as you seem to draw strength from each other. Luke, baby, build all of the strength you can muster because Ģer is going to need some extra."
    Ģerâld raised his head and looked at me. He looked at Edmund who stood by the foot of the bed looking at his feet. "Oh no!! Is it grandmother?" I pulled him close as he broke down. Luke climbed over me to get behind Ģer and together we sandwiched the boy in all of the love we could offer him.
    "Did she go easy, no pain?"
    "Her nurse told me that she passed in the night. She said that Missy had a smile on her face as if she was having a pleasant dream." Edmund told him.
    "Take me to her. Can I go see her, Edmund?"
    "Yes, young master. They are awaiting you. You are the only one that has been notified. I will have the car out front when you are ready."
    I didn't ask to go. As Ģerâld and Luke arrived at the door to leave Ģer looked at me. "You go and take care of your grandmother. We will be here if you need us." He asked me if I was going. I held him close and told him that he needed to say goodbye in his own way. I would come over later, if he needed me.
    I know that he can handle everything. Hillary had planned every detail and there was little for Ģer to do. He arrived back at the house during our lunch that Tim and Jerry had prepared for us. We laughed as Ģer sat down and begin to tease the cooks about their trying to take his job. He told them that the fare was palatable, but a steady diet of it might kill a few of us until they learned how to really cook.
    Sandy jumped in, which is unusual. "Oh no, and they are going to cook for us at the old house. Guess I'll have to stock up on Snickers Bars." The family kept it light and joyous as we ate together in peace.

    That peace was threatened shortly after lunch. The guard at the gate called to tell us that a Ms. Hodges was demanding to see her son. Ģer shook his head. I told the guard that the young man was in mourning and did not wish to be disturbed. When his mother tried to ram though the gate with her car I asked Ģer what he wanted me to do.
    "What do you do with any trespasser. Shoot her then call the police." He is bitter. I can't say that I blame him, but Hillary was her mother. She is grieving also.

    Hillary was laid to rest. She was a very well loved and respected lady. I was pleased that there had been such a large turnout at her funeral. I really wanted to go and say goodbye to a woman that had really touched my soul in the short time I knew her. Not only was I able to go, but the entire family attended the large affair. We were just faces in a crowd. Ģerâld saw us and that was important. He knows that we care and that we were there in his hour of grief.

    Grief is what his mother gave everybody. The woman has some serious issues that need to be dealt with. Of course I was not there, even though Ģer begged me to go. It would just not be appropriate. Ģer did drag Luke along for moral support as they sat in the offices of Hillary's attorneys for the reading of her last will and testament. The two boys sat with Edmund and Mitch later that evening as the four of them related the events of the session to me.
    Things went along fairly well as the last will and testament was read. All of the relatives repeated time and again that the old bat had lost her marbles somewhere. She didn't have anything nice to say about any of them. She left several young relatives large sums of money for their education funds with strict restrictions that it be used for tuition and books only. She bequeathed Mitch one hundred thousand dollars for a start in life as he saw fit . She also left provisions to pay his full college expenses if he decided to go to school. She gave gifts of ten or twenty dollars each to most of the adult relatives. She had told me of her loathing for what she called "living vultures waiting for her to rasp out her last breath." I think she let them know just where they actually stood with her when she gave Edmund two million dollars worth of controlling stock in one of the town's largest utility companies.
    True to her word she left Ģerâld's mother two cents and a paper napkin that she had kept as a souvenir from a birthday party at the Empire State Building. She said that was the last time that she was ever proud of her daughter. She left a trust for the care and provision of her son who is on life support in a sanitarium for the rest of his life. "Drugs put him there and it would take a lot of drugs to keep him alive," she said in her will. At the death of her son, "the proceeds of the trust fund are to revert to my Grandson, Jerry, with all of the love this old woman has to give him." Ģerâld was in tears as Edmund related that bit to me.
    Ģerâld's mother demanded that she get the house. Luke told us that Ģerâld buried his face against Luke's chest and everyone thought that he was crying. In truth he was in hysterical laughter and the attorneys knew it. They made a big production of searching all of the documents before them before announcing that the house had been sold several months earlier.
    Ms. Hodges demanded that she have the money from the sale. More careful searching revealed that the money had been donated to a charity. She wanted to know which scam artist had conned the demented old woman out of that. After listening to her rantings the attorneys told her that the money had gone to a charity in Arizona. They finally revealed that it went to a group called the fŗĩęñďş Çłųß. They were an organization that provided safe shelter for children who felt threatened or intimidated in their homes or at school. That got a big laugh out of her and a long tirade of innuendos for what she considered the club to be.
    She wanted to know just what it was that club needed her money for in the first place. She was shown newspaper accounts that Hillary had clipped showing our airplane and the story of how we had been first on the scene in Mississippi after Katrina. There were several stories about the houses that the boys had built and bits of background on the boys being street kids who were trying to give the world better than they had received. They told her that the fŗĩęñďş Çłųß operated shelters and homes for abused boys. They even have holdings in a school in New York. She wanted to know which one. She was told it was Bradford Academy. She turned on Jerry, "That's that fag school where you worked for awhile."
    "Woman, I didn't work there. I am on the board of directors of the school."
    "You? You're a child. You can't direct your piss into the toilet without washing down the walls. How can you be a board member?" She grabbed her things and stalked out of the office proclaiming a law suit to contest the will and her mother's sanity. She called the attorneys shysters and scam artists as she slammed the door behind her.

    Ģerâld wanted to know if the money was safe where she could not touch it. I told him that the attorneys had told him that the fŗĩęñďş Çłųß operated shelters for abused boys. I reminded him that he and Luke had purchased a house next door to mine. The house needed extensive remolding. As officers on the board of the fŗĩęñďş Çłųß the boys owned and operated the house. They did not live in the house and had no plans too. That makes it a perfect shelter for the money.
    I used that opportunity to do something else that I had needed to do a long time before, but in order to insure Hillary's wishes for the house I had held off until after the will was read and sealed. Probate would not take any time at all because the woman was thorough in her affairs and everything was open for the courts to inspect.
    The house had long been out of her name and the deed was registered. The family would never get their hands on the house or the land upon which it sits. I handed the deed to Ģerâld. Empire Canal is his and his alone. I explained that when Mic and I went to the closing I learned the hard truth of the house. Buried deep in a hundred and fifty some odd years of dust in the city's archives is an agreement with the Carpenter family and the city that as long as the house remained in the family there would never be any property taxes assessed against it.
    If I had taken ownership of the property that chain would have been broken. Even if I turned around and gave the house to Ģerâld later it would have not been continuous family ownership. The current tax rates would put an annual liability on the house of close to eight million dollars. I know that Ģerâld could not handle that. The property is not generating any revenue, it is a dead weight. The taxes would have sunk the home forever. As I saw it I had no choice, but to put the house in his name from the beginning. Through some enterprising paperwork the house was part of the Hodges-Bingham foundation and the fŗĩęñďş Çłųß as a shelter home for abused boys.

    Most of the family had drifted in to hear the boys tell of the reading of the will. The whole room was deathly silent as the impact of what I had told them sank in. As a unit the news struck a cord. Luke was the first to attack me followed instantly by Ģerâld. I was carried about the house on the shoulders of my family.
    Now I have to manipulate some more paper to keep everything together. I hope that a probate judge will buy the idea that Hillary sold the house to the charity then donated the money also. I really hope that the city will consider Ģer's ownership as an unbroken line. True the house is now part of a charitable foundation bearing his name, but he is the one in control of the property. I set the foundation up as a close partnership and then the foundation entered into a limited partnership with the fŗĩęñďş Çłųß. Let's see if it flies.

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