Date: Sat, 28 Apr 2012 17:53:34 -0600 From: michaelpete@hushmail.com Subject: Where There's a Will Chap II Dear readers: Please consider supporting Nifty with donations as that is how they are able to continue their great work. Ten bucks is fine though more is a lot better. Be advised that in the following one will find graphic sexual depiction between minors and minors and adults. The story is fiction but based mostly though not entirely on real characters, events, places and situations. There is no relationship between the names used and that of any real person. Send comments to michaelpete@hushmail.com. Michael Peterson CHAPTER II VISITOR Minutes after Kevin's car pulled away from the front, there was a light rapping on the rear door of the house. I knew before looking who it would be. Two voices in my brain battled over whether he should be allowed in. 'In' won because keeping him out might cause more problems than a refusal. And, of course, there was that save the child business. "You gotta let me stay heah a couple days, okay?" was what he said as he pushed past me into the kitchen. He wearing the same clothes I'd seen him in Tuesday and Saturday at the Walmart. There was a ragged but full knapsack on his back. I followed him into the living room. He stopped and asked, "Wheah'mah gonna sleep?" I took a breath and suggested, "We need to talk first." "Don' worry yo'self none. Ah ain' gonna say nothin' 'bout you. You jus' gotta let me stay heah fo' a couple days is all. Ah got money so ah kin pay fo' mah own food." "Mikey, that's?." "Don' go callin' me Mikey. It ain' mah name." "So what do I call you?" He frowned and shrugged his shoulders. Some of the previous hardness was gone. It wasn't that he looked like a vulnerable little waif, There was more a combination of fear and frustration behind a façade of toughness. "So wheah'm ah gonna sleep? Heah?" He nodded toward the sofa. "In the guest bedroom but first we have to talk." "What? Mac's daed. So what. Ah'm, shit, what?" "You're not shit. And how do you know Mac's dead?" "Don' worry. Ah jes' know." "All right. He probably is. Please sit down and try to relax a little. You can stay here and I'll take care of you." "Ah don' need nobody takin' cayeh a me!" he snapped and stood up. "Okay, okay, relax." "So wheah'm ah gonna sleep?" I led him upstairs to the guest bedroom. As he passed through the door by me, there was that unwashed smell again. What kind of hold had Mac had on him that he didn't have to share the booty? There was only a spread on the bed so I pulled sheets and a pillow case out of the closet to make it up. He sat in the chair by the dresser staring down at hands tucked between his thighs and waited silently. I debated telling him about the police visit but decided he didn't need any more worries. I did suggest, "You need to stay away from the windows and?" "Ya think ah don' know that?" "All right. The bathroom's?." "Ah know wheah it is, 'membuh?" There was nothing friendly in his voice. He said he was going to sleep and that he could make his own breakfast in the morning. As I was walking out he said quietly but not meekly, "Ya'll kin blow me if'n ya want." It wasn't an unexpected remark. I answered, "I don't think that's a good idea right now. Let's talk in the morning." He shrugged his shoulders and took off his knapsack. I closed the door quietly and walked back downstairs. Sleep wasn't on my mind. Sitting didn't do me any good either so I walked back and forth from the kitchen to the living room trying to figure out what to do. The boy, whatever his name, was probably a runaway, likely had been for some time, perhaps, unlikely as it had seemed to me, actually living on the streets. If he left in a day or two as promised, he'd probably disappear from my life forever meaning there'd be no legal repercussions. The police had nothing they could lock me up for. That, of course, if they didn't find the boy in my house, or at all. It didn't seem likely they'd have his real name or a picture though it was possible one of the other victims, if there were others, would provide a good description. His long hair was a thing of the seventies, not the twenty-first century, at least not yet. Nonetheless, even if caught on the streets, the boy didn't seem the type to volunteer any information, especially since he'd been involved in a serious felony. There'd be nothing to tie him to the day's events, unless, of course, one of the other victims was as dense as Mac and identified him. There was a potential problem in the future. Big money was available suing former 'abusers' but, under the circumstances, there was too much baggage that went along with making the charge. I was working out scenarios he could invent to cover his participation in what had gone on when he appeared on the stairs, naked and wearing a hard on. "C'mon, Harry. Blow me." My frame of mind at that moment made it easy to suggest he try masturbation. "Ah already done that an' it din' work. C'mon. You like it. 'n' ah tole you ah ain' gonna say nothin'." "Look, son, I am?" "Don' call me son neither. Blow me 'r I'm gonna go stan' in a winduh jes' like this." He held his arms out. I wondered for a moment if he would actually do it, decided he wouldn't and shook my head.. "Shit! You'll see." He walked quickly back up the stairs. I began to worry that maybe he was erratic enough to do it. His door closed. I took off my shoes and walked up the stairs. No light shone under his door. It took half an hour for me to get myself into bed, who knows how long to finally fall asleep. What woke me up not much later was a pair of lips around my cock. It was a strange sensation. The boy I envisioned wasn't the kid there in my house but a child actor from an old television show. I wasn't sure why he was there. When I reached for him, warm flesh transformed the illusion to reality. The dream raised himself over my face and pushed its erection down toward my mouth. It hit my chin first. He reached back, felt for my lips and pulled my chin down. I was under his control. There were no negative thoughts in my brain. The sensation in my groin was irresistible. My dick stiffened inside his mouth. His slid over my tongue, the unwashed taste strangely welcome. He fucked my mouth slowly and moved his mouth up and down on me in time. I lightly embraced his rising and falling buns. His was a wonderfully formed sucking cock with a soft puffed out underside and hard sides and top. The foreskin had fallen back below the head. There seemed to be a genuine bone inside the soft flesh at the tip. His hands gripped the back of my thighs. He sucked hard on the head of my cock each time he reached it then managed to take in nearly all of me, stay there for a moment with his tongue and cheeks caressing my shaft, before drifting back up. He did the same with his cock in and out of my mouth, staying deep inside after each thrust, then lifting back up. His cock seemed ready to burst but that's the way it always got. Mine, however, was nearly there. Then, as his lips reached to base of my organ, there was no stopping it. There was a quickly passing thought to withdraw but my body wouldn't allow it. My sperm shot into the back of his mouth. Rather snap his head back, he stayed where he was and pumped harder into my mouth. I felt his ass cheeks harden. His thrusting became almost bouncing. His pubic bone banged against my upper lip. Then he stopped, his cock pulsing powerfully. Neither of us moved for a minute or so. His throbbing went on though slowing gradually. My cock convulsed occasionally, briefly shaking my middle. He pulled me onto my side, careful to keep himself pressed into my mouth. One thigh went up and came to rest on the side of my head. One arm draped over my ass and hugged it to him. My dick deflated but he kept it inside his mouth, sucking gently or nudging it every once in a while with his tongue. Once or twice, he tugged on my ass or pushed his middle at my face but, within a couple of minutes, I felt his mouth open and heard the heavy breathing of sleep. It took a while, but the boy's penis finally began to deflate though it couldn't slide out of my mouth with his leg over my head holding him in place against me. I was far too content being able to hold a boy close, fondle his buns, and slosh his cock around in my mouth to push him off me. I stayed like that for easily an hour but the need to sleep eventually overtook my passion. I gently lifted his smooth thigh off my face and fell asleep against him, my one hand holding onto his leg. He awakened me in the morning the same way he had hours earlier, with the same result. The only difference took place a few minutes after he'd cum. Without a word, he got up and walked out of the room. I watched his buns go out the door. Wouldn't it be wonderful, I thought, to have a boy like that living with me forever. Mikey or who knew what went downstairs, still naked, and prepared a breakfast of scrambled eggs and cheese omelet along with four pieces of toast with peanut butter. He drank milk instead of juice. I said, "Good morning" but his reply was only a nod. I made myself the same thing substituting jelly for peanut butter and drinking a tall glass of orange juice. When I sat across from him to eat, he picked up his plate, went into the living room and turned on the TV. It made for a morose meal. I sought ways to communicate with the boy, maybe even find out what name to call him. How could he, I pondered, swallow two loads of my sperm and not speak to me? Was he that much of a prostitute, or male nymphomaniac as Kevin suggested? Nothing outside his oral ability indicated he might be gay. Did he see that part of our sex as payment for mine, or his lodging? Leaving my dishes in the sink, I went into the living room. He was sitting on the sofa, his knees pulled up under his chin, his preadolescent scrotum hanging out over the soft blue edge of the cushion, his eyes fixed on a child's Sunday morning cartoon show. I sat in my easy chair and stared at him. The warmth of his smooth boy body was offset by the coolness of his half shut eyes. There didn't seem to be an iota of emotion in them. He didn't even smile at the funnier parts of the Tom and Jerry cartoon. When the commercial came on, I asked, "Would you like a blanket or something? It's kind of cool in here right now." He pushed out his bottom lip and shook his head. I decided our need to talk overrode any anger he'd have over the television being temporarily turned off. He frowned and leaned back, dropping his legs to the floor. I half expected him to get up and leave the room. "What?" he said with a bored expression. "Do you have a family somewhere?" He nodded no. "Where will you go when you leave here?" Shoulder shrug, more bored expression. "Can you at least give me a name to call you?" He sighed and said, "Jackie, but it's not my real name." "You don't trust me at all, do you?" No answer or indication. "All right. As you know, I'm a boy lover. That means I am able to care for a boy, you, and that you can trust me completely." I felt stupid saying that. "All right, you've probably heard that before but in my case you can pretty much believe it because if I say or do anything against you, it could put me in prison." He nodded to that. "I've got to guess you've had a pretty crappy life, not much happiness. I'm not sure I can change that but I'd like to try. You're only eleven?" "Twelve." "All right, twelve, so there's time to get your life straightened out. There are foster parents, for example, who are very loving and raise kids like their own." He smirked, shook his head and muttered a dragged out "Sheeut".. "Okay, maybe not that many but there are some. I'm not sure how, but maybe I could help you find someone decent who really does care." "Kin ah watch TV?" "Jackie, c'mon, let's talk. Do you want to keep living like you have been?" "Yeah! So can I watch TV?" I handed him back the control. Up came the bare knees, out flopped the cock and balls. As I was leaving the room, I turned and said, "I care what happens to you. You can make me prove it if you want." Kevin called around midday. "How you feeling today?" "I have no idea." "Read the paper?" That snapped my mind to. "No. Let me go get it and I'll call you back." I rushed out then had to look for it. The paper delivery man had teens tossing newspapers out of the back of a seventies station wagon. They didn't pay much attention to where they landed. Mine was in my neighbor's briar bushes that separated our yards. I pulled out the comics and handed them to the boy. He forgot the TV, leaned forward, laid them out on the coffee table and, chin in hand, paged through. The headline on the main local news page read, 'Murder Suicide Leaves Two Dead'. According to the reporter, extortion of some kind, possibly over sex, was responsible. It gave the names, Mac's was James R. McElhenny, along with addresses and had both Mac's and Jones' driver's license photos along with a picture of the Jones house with police all over. It mentioned that, although it hadn't been officially released, there were reports that police had recovered information from the shooting victim's body that had led to the sex extortion theory. I was sure it was some sort of notebook, the old little black book, containing my name and address along with those of others and possibly something about amounts paid. There was no mention of Jones' past with boys. I occasionally glanced over at my guest. He looked at each strip end to end but swiftly, too swiftly to be reading the speech balloons. Perhaps he couldn't read. For sure he wasn't in school at that time, maybe never had been though it was hard to believe that in 2006 a boy could actually be out on his own so much that he'd escaped a year or two in a classroom. Where had this boy been living all these years? He acted as though he'd been through some unpleasant foster home experiences. There was an obvious lack of trust, even dislike of adults. He'd been gruff with me even though he cherished the sex I provided. I called Kevin back, not mentioning that I had a guest over a telephone line that could well have been tapped. He didn't answer. The reason became obvious when he pulled up out front fifteen minutes later. "Jackie," I said to the boy, "a friend of mine is here. You better go upstairs until he leaves." "Just say you don' wan' nobody in heah nayow." "He's my best friend. I can't do that." "He give blow jobs too?" he asked as though it was a job qualification query. "No," I lied. "Now, go on up, quickly, and don't make any noise. He'll be here for an hour or two. Take the comics with you if you want." He paused for a moment, grabbed up the comics and walked upstairs slowly and deliberately. I watched his backside cheeks all the way up and out of sight then turned off the TV and waited for his door to close before letting Kevin in. I was still unsure if I should admit the boy was in the house. That was when I remembered the extra set of dishes in the kitchen sink. "So, what do you think?" Kevin asked as he sat on the sofa, right where the boy had been. I sat in my easy chair watching for any curious expression. "Other than names and addresses, the paper's only got what we heard on TV yesterday. And we know what the cops found on Mac's body, well, most of it." Kevin looked toward the dining room and kitchen then held his hand about four feet off the floor and raised his eyebrows. I knew what he was asking and nodded. The sofa I rarely used was warm where Kevin had been sitting. I held up my finger for silence. There was a definite possibility the boy was listening, may have been hidden at the top of the stairs, probably still naked. Kevin took a breath and wiped his brow. "So, I take it the boys in blue haven't called. I shook my head. "Difficult time for a decent conversation." I nodded assent, completely unsure what we could talk about under the circumstances. "I gotta go to the bathroom. Be right back." I walked quietly toward the stairs listening for any sounds from above. The kid tried to get back into his room quietly but was too slow closing the door. I followed him in. He hadn't dressed. "Just put on your clothes and come on down. My friend knows a lot of what's happened. He doesn't know we actually did anything. I told him we didn't. He was here last night when the police came by looking for you." Jackie, or Mikey, looked up sharply. "Cops wuz heah lookin' fo' me?" "We think Mac had my name and address in his pocket when they found him. Look, we need to talk. I don't know what you know about what happened yesterday. If you like, I'll read you the story in the newspaper then tell you what the cops said last night and what I said to them. So put some clothes on and come on down. Just don't say anything about sex in front of my friend. Like I said, he doesn't know about that." I left him standing there with one hand around his balls. It only took him a few seconds to put on a tee shirt and pants. He came to us barefoot, just like he lived there. I introduced him as Jackie. He frowned at that but shook Kevin's hand. My fat friend was kind enough to make the contact brief even though I know he'd loved to have hung on longer. I picked up the newspaper and looked to the boy. He gave his standard shoulder shrug. Sitting on the sofa with room enough for him to sit beside me, I read it slowly beginning to end. He remained standing against the arm of the sofa until I held up the paper for him to see the photos. He didn't sit but put one knee up on the cushion to get closer. "Last night when the police came, they accused me of having sex with boys but they were just guessing, maybe because Mr. Jones had a record or maybe Mac but they seemed to think that sort of thing was going on and Mac was blackmailing Mr. Jones and me over it. They knew I'd given Mac a lot of money. I might have to go to the police station and give a statement but maybe not. If I do, I'm going to get a lawyer to go along and advise me what to say. The most I will say is that some boy came here from the Walmart supposedly to help me with the groceries and do some work here so he could earn some money. Then Mac came in and told the boy to undress while he held a gun on me. Mac then said the boy would tell the police we'd had sex unless I paid him twenty-five thousand dollars. I'll tell them the only name I have for the boy is Norman, unless you have a better idea, and that I have no idea where the boy or Mac live. I can say I assumed the boy lived with Mac but I didn't know his or Mac's name or where they came from until the story on the television and the newspaper article. That sound okay to you?" Another shoulder shrug. Then, "How cum they knowed 'bout you?" "It looks like Mac had a notebook and he wrote everything down." That seemed to bother Jackie so I added, "But they don't know whether there was one boy or several. They said 'boys' when they were here so I'm sure they don't have your name or anything about you. Were you living with Mac?" He shook his head. "But you went to his house a few times?" Shoulder shrug. "Well, if the neighbors saw you they might get a description, and figure out there was only one boy. Did they, the neighbors see you?" Shoulder shrug. "So, is what I'm gonna say to the police okay with you? Is there anything that might cause you trouble?" Shoulder shrug. "C'mon, Jackie. I want to know what you think. Is there anything in what I said that could be a problem for you?" "I's okay, but ah ain' gonna be heah when ya'll go ta the cops." "That's probably a good idea but you can come back tomorrow night if you want, just not before about eight or nine. I want you to come back." The boy pursed his lips and said nothing. I could feel Kevin cringing at the thought. Kevin volunteered to go out for lunch. "Whatta you two want?" I suggested pizza. For the first time since I'd known the boy, there was a brief look of enthusiasm, a very brief one, then, "Okay." Apparently, he liked pizza. I tried to speak to Jackie while Kevin was out but it was all one way. After a few attempts at getting him to tell me what his plans were, he asked to turn the TV back on. Then, out of the blue, the control in his hand and pointed at the television, he calmly stated, "You lied. That fat guy's a fag too. If ah asted 'im ta blow me, ah bet 'e would. Home cum ah cain't stay at 'is house tamorruh?" I was about to say he was wrong when I realized he was actually asking permission, not demanding or threatening. I sat at the far end of the sofa from him. "Why do you think he likes boys?" "Ah jes' know," he replied with a slight haughtiness. "Well, unfortunately, he's got to go to work but he probably would let you stay with him if he was going to be home and it would be fine with me. Do you have someplace safe to go during the day tomorrow?" I had a very strong desire to to take him into my arms. "If you like, I can meet you somewhere after I speak with the police and we can spend the afternoon and evening together someplace away from here then come back at night." "Ah got sum place." He turned on the television but moved from channel to channel far too rhythmically to have been paying it any attention. Kevin managed to take the better part of an hour to get back with a large pizza. The boy gobbled his, obviously enjoying every bite he was able to down until a full tummy forced him to stop. I wrapped the last two slices in aluminum foil and put them in the refrigerator for later. With my guest watching television, Kevin and I sat in the kitchen. My friend was concerned the police were going to find the boy with me. "Harry, I know you. You're getting attached to that kid but I hope you realize he's not getting attached to you. This is one really dangerous situation, one very dangerous kid. You've got to be realistic. Let him go tomorrow. Give him some money, a few hundred dollars and he'll probably leave the area. He gets found with you and, even if he says nothing was going on, they'll convict you of something, maybe even kidnapping. No matter what, you'll go to prison and if you get out, and that's a big if, you'll go on the sex registry, probably have to go into one of those really nasty therapy programs and never be able to get a decent job again. I know guys on that list. It's the pits. It's what keeps me from getting anywhere near kids." "He says he knows you're a BL but that's probably just because you're my friend." "Maybe, but he caught me looking at him a couple of times. The kid's no dummy. He's probably been with a lot of different guys. He tell you anything about where he's been living?" "Nothing but I think he's been on the streets, on the run, maybe living with different guys like you said, maybe BL's, maybe others. He's not ematiated or anything so he's been eating fairly well, maybe money from Mac. He can't read so he's probably never been to school meaning he hasn't been in any homes for more than a few days or weeks at a time. He says he has no family and maybe that's true. "Last night, after I turned him down for sex like three times, he waited until I was asleep them sneaked into my bed and started blowing me until I did him too. Took my cum down his throat, and again this morning. He's experienced and I suspect he's not gay or anything but who knows. Maybe he is. Maybe he just does men so they'll do him, or, well maybe, it's the only way he knows to get some kind of physical closeness with someone, comfort. "Christ! Poor kid. He won't allow any other closeness. He won't even talk to me." "Harry! Listen to yourself. You're getting attached like I said. Stop it. You're gonna end up in jail. Back off. Let him go. That kid scares the shit out of me. He oughta be doing the same to you." Kevin was right to fear the boy, more so about the riskiness of my having him right there in my house when cops had already been knocking on the door. I steeled myself to give him all the cash I had before light in the early morning and let him go. Kevin left, leaving me alone with a boy who seemed more and more in desperate need of my help. I made sandwiches for the evening meal but he wanted the two remaining slices of pizza in the refrigerator. I heated them up in the microwave. They, along with a glass of milk, seemed to satisfy his hunger. There wasn't much in the way of conversation. I tried to get him to open up several times but was completely unsuccessful. When I asked him where he planned to go the next day, he just insisted he knew where to go. I didn't ask him if he would be back. "Do you need any money?" "Nah, Ah got plenny." I hadn't thought to ask him if he knew what had happened to the tens of thousands of dollars he and Mac had collected. I'd just assumed that Mac had taken charge of it and, with him dead, it was lost to the boy. His bursting full knapsack popped into my mind. "You aren't carrying some of the money you got from me and the others, are you?" He frowned. "My God, son. If anyone figures out what you're carrying, you could get killed, or at least hurt badly." "Ah kin take caeah a mahself." "Not with that kind of cash you can't. How much are you carrying?" He looked down at his toes. "Nuff fo' me." "Have you counted it? Do you know how much there is?" He looked up sharply. "Ah kin cayunt money." There it was. He probably couldn't get past a hundred if that, had no idea how much he had, hadn't understood the huge numbers Mac had been demanding. It was probably one way Mac had been deceiving him. I felt I had to do something. At some point out somewhere, maybe in front of others, he'd be going into his knapsack and pulling out stacks of cash. Or he'd be paying for things, food most likely, with hundred dollar bills. Whatever or wherever, it was going to attract the wrong kind of attention. A terrible self serving thought passed through my mind, bothering me instantly for thinking it. If he were to be killed for his money, I'd be completely out of danger. That wasn't something I could be part of. "Look, I'm not interested in getting my money back. I just want to see how much there is and see if there is some way you can protect yourself. Maybe I can get you smaller bills, hide some of the money for you, I don't know but, believe me, carrying around large amounts of cash and trying to use hundred dollar bills is going to get you hurt if not killed, and you'll lose all the money. Come on upstairs with me if you want. I'm only going to count it right now, nothing else." I expected a flat out refusal to allow me to touch his things but he stood, followed me up the stairs and into his room. The knapsack was sitting beside the bed. From its appearance, he must have had one hell of a time zipping it closed. Considering the condition of the thing, it was surprising it hadn't started to pull apart. I was careful opening it. Fortunately, it had a good quality zipper. Inside were dirty clothes including the torn shirt and threadbare pants I'd first seen him wearing. Under the clothing was money, lots of it, certainly tens of thousands of dollars. I guessed they must have gotten to at least four of us. The boy sat on the bed as I laid stacks of bills out on the floor. That and the counting took the better part of an hour. He was carrying eighty-four thousand six hundred and forty dollars, all but eleven hundred and forty in hundred dollar bills, a death sentence were the wrong street person to learn of it. I told him how much was there. It didn't appear that he had any concept of the enormity of the sum. "You kin have yers if'n ya want." I think he remembered the manila envelope he'd received and expected me to take out a relatively small amount. And, it was the first even remotely kind thing, that wasn't part of the original con, he had uttered since we'd known each other. "I'd love to but it's almost a third, well, let me show you." I separated twenty-five thousand dollars out from the rest. "It's a lot." He stared at the money and shrugged his shoulders. "It's okay." I looked into his face hoping to discern something of his real attitude, the real motivation for his generosity. What I saw, or seemed to see, was resignation. Or was it defeat? Did he expect to be robbed, hurt, killed? Wish for it? I went to the bed and sat near him though leaving space between us. I'd have loved to put my arm around him but didn't believe he'd accept it. Physical closeness with this boy was reserved, it would seem, for sex. "You know, this kind of money could put you through school, private school. I'd consider it a good investment if what you and Mac got from me was used for that, I mean, I think it would be very well used and for something a lot more important than anything I'd use it for." It didn't seem I was getting through. "If you were to live in some kind of good foster home, we could use this money to put you in a special school for kids your age who never studied before." "Shit. They ain' no good foster homes. Ah know. Ah been in plenny." "Would you let me look around? See what I can find? I'll bet there are some good ones, maybe only a few, but some. We just have to find one." "Shit, they jus' gonna sen' me back wheah ah cum from an' they ain' nothin' good theah." He was talking, for the first time. I wanted it to continue. "Can you tell me where you're from? I promise I won't say anything. It's just that I know so little about you and?" "Mis'sippi. An' mah name's William." The urge to hug him overcame me. I slid beside him and gave him a one armed embrace. He didn't budge. "Thank you for that confidence, trust, William. I won't let you down." I let go of him and moved slightly away. He said nothing so I went on. "Do you have a family back there?" He shook his head. "No uncles, aunts, grandparents?" A shoulder shrug then, "Ah wanna go ta bed. Gotta git up early." "But you can come back tomorrow night." Even though I knew inside me how dangerous that was, there was no way I couldn't say it. "Okay if ah take a shar?" "Of course, I'll get the water so it's just right." I went into the bathroom and turned on the water, adjusting it not too hot. William came in naked but soft. I'd half wondered if bed meant sex but the soft peter dangling between his legs dispelled that notion. He wanted it a touch warmer. He was only in there for ten minutes or so then quietly went into the room and turned off the light. After a few minutes, I went in to say a last good night. I really didn't expect him back the next day. The little bit of light from the street through the curtain illuminated enough of his face that I saw the shine of wetness on the side of his nose. He was crying. Of course, that melted me like the cheese on his pizza. I put my arm around him and said, "I'm here for you if you want me." It quickly occurred to me that could mean sex. "You need help, I'm here. No strings attached. You don't have to do anything but be willing to help yourself. I care about you." Feeling any more said would be too much, I kissed him on the head and left. He didn't come into my bedroom until around five and that was to say goodbye and ask, "Kin ah leave some a mah money heah? The paht that ain' yers? Ya'll kin take that." "Of course. I'll put it in a bank if you like or hide it. Whatever you say." "Bes' jes' hahd it. An' don' go tellin' the cops nothin' ah tole you." "Nothing. I know nothing about you." I got up and had to hurry to keep up with him. His back pack didn't seem nearly as full as when he came in. He went out the kitchen door without looking back. What had happened? What was he crying about the night before? Did he believe that I might be able to change the direction of his life? I went upstairs to see how much money he'd left. There it was on the bed. It looked like most or all of it. It was easier to count since the thousand dollar groups were still in their cross stacked positions. He'd taken one thousand six hundred forty dollars with him, all the small bills plus five hundreds. The first thought that came to me was that the amount wasn't just for one day. He wasn't planning to come back that evening, or that week, maybe never, in reality, hopefully never. Did he distrust me? Or was it just that he didn't believe that I, or anyone for that matter, would be able to find him a happy home. So many thoughts about so many possibilities went through my mind, I forgot most of them. What I was left with was a great emptiness. Something that could have been wonderful had come and gone, probably for good. There was no way at that time I could see the positive side of things. The money, all but Kevin's ten thousand, went into the floor of the storage space over my bedroom. I'd kept some kiddie porn there years earlier but decided to burn it New Years Day 2000. It had been part of a ritual purging of any thoughts of ever having a boy again. Kevin called at eight forty-five. He'd gotten the name of a local lawyer off a BL internet group's site. I called but was told he wouldn't be in until sometime after eleven. After calling my boss' secretary to say I wouldn't be in that day, I got hold of the policeman who wanted to speak to me and let him know I'd decided to bring a lawyer along. He said, "Your choice," and hung up. When I finally got hold of the lawyer, we arranged a lunch meeting downtown near the courthouse. I told him the sanitized version of what had happened, that is, no sex had taken place, the kid had taken off his clothes to pose beside me while the photographer held a gun. "Then, Mr.Frysdale, my advice is just not to talk to them at all. It sounds like all they have is your name and address in the dead man's pocket. Even if they can prove you took fifteen thousand dollars out of the bank, there's no crime that you've committed. No, just call the detective back and tell him you've decided there's nothing you can add to what he knows and hang up. In fact, don't even call. They'll call you, or maybe they won't. Without the boy, and even if they did, he'd have to make an accusation which, under the circumstances he's unlikely to do, there's really nothing for them to charge you with." The attorney accepted lunch as payment, possibly expecting a fat fee if things for me went bad. The detective didn't call. He must have figured out the lawyer had given me good advice. Kevin came over after work. I gave him the ten thousand he'd loaned me. "Harry, I know you're suffering but you know damn well there's nothing you can do for that kid without putting yourself in prison, probably for the rest of your life." That didn't help. "You see, Kev, that's what really pisses me off, really! I'm probably the only chance William, or whatever his name is, has, maybe ever had. He's apparently been through the system, you know, group homes, foster parents, all that, and, for whatever reason, and maybe it has a lot to do with him, it hasn't worked out. I got the impression, and it might just have been me being naïve, I'll admit it, but I think what that kid needs is what they're not allowed to do any more: give him hugs, be physical and I don't mean sex, but get really close. Okay, before you say it, I know I sound like some Looney Tunes tree hugger but, I think he somehow knows that, or maybe just senses it. I think that's what he was crying about last night. Maybe somebody's already gotten into trouble doing just that. I mean, the kid has had sex with men long before he did it with me and the others he seduced to blackmail. No, he knew how to do it. That's why they were able to pull this shit off. I'll bet someone's in jail right now because they loved him, and he loved them and that's why he hurts so much. Christ! What a piece of shit country we live in!" Kevin sighed and shifted his weight back into the sofa. "All right. Maybe I agree one hundred percent with what you're saying, but the fact is, there's nothing you can do. I know you don't drink but let's go somewhere and have some wine or something, get a little silly. You've gotta get past this kid. God, I hope he doesn't come back." I said, "If he does, it won't be anytime soon. He took over sixteen hundred dollars so he could get far away and stay there. Who knows where he went? But you're right. I know you are, but it doesn't make me feel any better." We went out to a nice bar with great burgers, and wine. A cop did call later on in the week. I told him there was nothing I could add to what I'd already said. For a week or so, I considered moving to another part of the city. Kevin started watching for available homes out his way though the idea of that long commute didn't appeal to me at all. I spent some time with the real estate classifieds and made a couple of calls. One agency assured me that with my home as a down payment, I could move into something very nice. I was more interested in a trade. That led to thoughts of a more pronounced move: out of the country. The United States of America, my homeland, was treating my kind worse than serial killers or terrorists. As a matter of fact, the anti-terrorism Patriot Act included us, put us in the same rightless category of individuals who murdered thousands at a time, even went one step further. The so called Protect Act, part of the Patriot Act, allowed us to be tried in the U.S. for having sex in another country with what the U.S. considered a minor even if the other country didn't, even if and after the other country had tried, convicted and imprisoned us, or not. Men in the U.S. were being convicted even if the prosecutor's case fell completely apart and the proof against one of us was virtually non-existent. The often coached testimony of an adult former child 'victim' was enough no matter how implausible. The children of my country were being abused horrifically in the name of protecting them while those supposedly doing the protecting raked in enormous amounts of money. Hugging a child was a crime. Providing damaging, abusive so called therapy was accepted, even admired. Six year olds who playfully patted the backside or kissed the cheek of an opposite or same sex classmate were being labeled sex offenders. Kevin survived by eating too much and beating off to kiddie porn he had encrypted on hidden hard disks. I read, went to the movies and watched TV. We were both lucky that we loved the work we did. But, there was always that huge black hole in our lives that sucked up so much of the joy and satisfaction we might have felt. I had been getting desperate for a boy well before the appearance of my young extortionist on that parking lot. So, the thought of moving out of the country was hardly new. Kevin, bless him, belonged to a couple of internet BL discussion groups. He contacted a few friends and acquaintances to see where life might be less oppressive. I was afraid to use the internet for anything other than shopping and work related research for fear that I was being monitored. Requests for warrants to read the Email or check internet activity of an accused or merely suspected pedophile were routinely approved. Proof could be nothing more than the capricious suspicions of a cop or federal agent, even an anonymous tip. Asia used to be the place to go but religious fundamentalist groups, many NGO's and UNICEF were spending fortunes of government and donor cash to dig a handful of us out of the woodwork. Parts of Latin America were a bit less of a problem in that certain classes of people there seemed less concerned about male male sex at any age as long as it was hidden and, possibly of greater importance, were more likely to mind their own business. However, one needed to speak the language and know how to behave in their culture. Then there was the problem of earning a living. Even skilled persons working for local employers didn't make very much. English teachers earned starvation wages. Foreigners working for international firms did better but were expected to live in certain areas and be part of the company social scene. And, such jobs tended to be short term. Nothing sounded very promising. By the middle of June, moving became less urgent. Apart from all the problems attached to doing so was my quiet hope that the boy would come back one day and I'd be there when he did. Of course, I hoped he'd still be a little boy, not some pimply faced, changed voice adolescent. Kevin introduced me to another BL, an older man who'd been around when my city was a virtual paradise of available boys. Rather than help, he regaled me with stories of boys chasing him down the street to be the one chosen for a fling in his bedroom. After our second meeting, Kevin apologized for the hook up. Then, on Sunday, June 17th, at a few minutes after eleven PM, there again was a soft wrapping on the kitchen door window. I was watching a movie I'd brought home from Blockbuster but I must have been listening for it. Well, I had been for the better part of a month. I jumped up and ran to the door. It was him, with no knapsack and a dirtied yellow tee shirt with the collar torn loose on one side. At least he was dry. It had rained most of the day. Rather than accept the proferred embrace, he pushed past, head down, and went into the living room. There, he stood sideways to me as though he was looking at the television. I could tell he wasn't. "Ah need sum mo' money," he said hardly audibly. It was obvious he was hiding something about himself. Since it was hard to believe a twelve year old street kid could have gone through sixteen hundred dollars in a month of simple eating and maybe clothing expenses, either the money had been gambled away or stolen. I almost turned on the overhead light for a better view but decided he didn't want to be seen that clearly so I just walked to within a few feet of him and asked, "Are you okay?" He didn't answer, just lowered his head and repeated, "Ah jes need sum money is all." "And some new clothes and a bath and probably some food. You can sleep here if you want." I wanted to say much more but worried he might think it was sex I was after. "Ah caint. Ah gotta go. Jes' gimme sum a the money." "Why can't you?" I moved to in front of him. His lower lip was puffed out and his head was bruised over his left eye. "William, son, what happened to you?" "Nothin'. Ah jes need sum money." "Or somebody will hurt you?" It looked to me as though this time he was on the receiving end of extortion. "I can protect you if you let me. Do they know you're here?" "Please, Mr. Harry, jes' gimme a couple thousand an' ah'll go on." He wasn't threatening, didn't sound as though that was something he was ready to resort to. "William, son, I care about you." I'd wanted to say love but was afraid to use the word. "You can stay here where nobody can hurt you, as long as you want." It scared me that I'd said that but I didn't regret it. William lowered his face and remained silent. I squatted in front of him and said, "Stay here, William. You'll be safe." "Ah jes' need sum money is all." "Son, someone beat you up. I don't want anyone to hurt you." He took a breath and repeated with a slight increase in frustration, "Then jes' give me sum a the money." "Do you need it because they'll hurt you if you don't give it to them?" "Ah jes' need it." I was losing him and knew it. "How much do you need?" "Same as befo' is okay. Tha's all ah need." I took him upstairs with me though mostly to keep him from letting someone else in. I didn't really think he would but there was a possibility that someone was waiting outside and might insist on it if they knew I wasn't near him. He waited in the bedroom while I climbed into the crawlspace with a hammer to pry up the floorboards hiding the eighty plus thousand dollars. I counted out sixteen hundred dollars and took it to him then pulled out my wallet and added all the smaller bills from there. Sitting on the bed with him facing me, I handed him the money and said, "Please be careful. You are very important to me, no, not just that, I love you. I want to protect you, teach you to read and write, take care of you. If things get bad, you come back here. Okay?" The expression that built on his face wasn't anger or frustration, just a deep sadness. He sighed and raised his eyebrows in a brief assent, turned and left the room. He didn't look back until he was headed out the back door but, even then, he stopped short of looking directly at me. Many years before, a man who worked with street kids told me of their intractability, their unwillingness to leave the life they'd left their unhappy homes for. Apparently, I was getting a first hand look at that phenomenon. William had been beaten up, had his new clothes tattered, and from what I could see of his body, he wasn't eating very well. That same street worker had also told me about the incessant gambling and drug use by those kids. Gambling may well have been how William had lost the bulk of his money. It was strange, though, that he hadn't asked for more. He knew how much was there, knew how much more there was beyond what he'd asked for. It was from that fact that I held onto a glimmer of hope that the boy would come back to me, that we'd be together again. Of course, there was the question of how in the world I'd be able to keep him without someone calling the police about the single man with a boy whose face and speech clearly indicated they weren't father and son and that the boy didn't attend school. Even if they couldn't get a sexual abuse charge against me, they'd probably convict me of kidnapping and who knew what else. Monday night, I drove straight from work to Kevin's house. He wasn't home yet but had warned me he might be a little late. As the city photographer, he'd had to go to a reception with the mayor and president of the city council. His understanding was that he'd be free to leave by six at the very latest. So, it would be forty-five minutes or so before he arrived. My little Triumph wasn't designed for a comfortable wait so I took advantage of the ample open space and freshly planted corn field out behind Kevin's house for a relaxing walk. It had been relatively cool that day after a couple days with rain. The ground was soft in the cornfield. I was careful to walk between the foot high stalks. The area was sparsely populated considering how close it was to a major city. It was well off the interstate. Farms still dominated the area. Could I live with William in such a place and not attract attention? Twenty some years before, Kevin had had young rambunctious teenage boys out here regularly. Other than a few new homes here and there, there hadn't much of a demographic change. There was the problem of how to acquire a home where people had lived in the same house for great lengths of time, often generations. It was something to discuss with my friend. He arrived a mere ten minutes later. We ate microwaved fish sticks and French fries for dinner. I told him of William's appearance Sunday night and my thoughts about living in a rural community. "I could do a lot of my work from home via the internet. A number of other employees are doing it. They've all got family excuses, you know, wife working, small children to watch, an ailing grandmother, that sort of stuff. But, I've got the seniority and type of job that would lend itself to my being allowed to work at least three days a week out of a home office." Kevin finished off his last fish stick and leaned back in his chair. When he opened his mouth, the flesh of his jowls drooped like a frog about to croak. He was slow to speak, then, "You're thinking about how I had boys out here twenty-five years ago, aren't you?" "And times have changed." "In spades, my friend. In spades." He leaned forward. "For instance, the farm behind me. It's still owned by old Mr. Sparks, one of the founders of the town up the road, a town he now lives in with his daughter and son-in-law, said son-in-law being the mayor of said town. The farm is run by a cooperative which is a part of a corporation or something like a corporation, I don't really know what it is, but the people who work it are employees of said cooperative. The folks living in the farm house over yonder are college professors who go into the city each day to profess. She teaches psychology and stuff like that. Need I say more about her likely attitude toward a single man with a kid who obviously wasn't his and wasn't going to school? "Then you have that new house across the road and up a couple hundred yards. He runs his father's hardware store in town. She is what God made her to be, a housewife, or so says their evangelical pastor. "I would not call this a friendly place for you with your little friend. I doubt there is any place in these unfortunately United States outside of somewhere deep in the Rocky Mountains where you two could live together unmolested, no, uninvestigated for more than a few weeks." I sighed and shook my head. "Have I been dispiriting?" he asked glumly. We looked at what little he'd found out about other parts of the world, particularly Latin America. "What you'd need is a country like Guatemala where corruption is the norm, where you could probably buy papers for the both of you. I doubt anyone would care whether he went to school or not, perhaps not even what you did in bed together so long as you didn't do it on the front lawn. "The problem is how you'd get him there. Nowadays, taking a minor into a foreign country is a major undertaking. He'd need a passport and some sort of documentation that he had parental approval, no, I'm wrong. If I'm not mistaken, and I rarely am, I believe only a parent can take him across international lines. I read that somewhere." I commented, "If it's so easy for illegal immigrants to get into this country, it shouldn't be that hard to get someone out." "You'd sure think so but if you got caught, slammo! The list of charges against you would take seven pages of court jabberwocky. Unless, of course, if he was Mexican. Then, you'd be repatriating him. However, I doubt anyone would take your little good old boy for a Latino. "Might've been a better idea for you to have given him all the money. Then, he'd have nothing to come back for. You've got to worry now that his friends will learn where you live. Or you could move to another part of town." He was right about one thing. He had dispirited me. I didn't finish my fries. I did decide to see what the possibilities of working at home might be. "Christ, Harry," snarled my boss. "You live alone. At least there are other humans here. Why in the world do you want to spend more time alone?" "Well, for one, I hate the commute. I hate sitting in traffic with the carbon monoxide fumes. Secondly," and this was the crux of my pitch, "I think I can be more productive at home. You value my imagination. Here, there's so much going on, people wanting to talk, you looking over my shoulder?" "I never look over your shoulder." "Okay, figuratively. You like to see what I'm working on before it's done." He raised his eyebrows and said, "What else?" There really wasn't anything else but I managed to add, "Well, I eat healthier at home." "Eat healthier. Christ! Look at you. You're one of the fittest looking guys in the office and you don't even go to a gym. Whatta you want to eat, Brussels's sprouts and broccoli? Hell, you can get that down the street at the eatery or whatever it's called." He finally agreed to think about it. Rather than go home, I stopped off at an internet café that served sandwiches and pies. I looked up Guatemala. The age of consent was eighteen. Homosexuality was illegal. None of the Gay sites recommended it. Our infamous city's crime and homicide rates palled along side theirs. And, I assumed it was worse than published. Other than the Mayan ruins at Tikal and the four hundred year old city of Antigua, there didn't seem to be much for tourists other than a stern traveller's warning from the U.S. State Department. Going to Yahoo news brought up little more than tragedies: more crime, multiple deaths in bus accidents, drug trafficking and money laundering, kidnappings, and government corruption. The Guatemalan police department seemed about as useful as a pea shooter in combating heavily armed criminal gangs. Worse, a goodly percentage of local cops seemed to be involved in the crime they were supposedly fighting. A website placing countries between one and ten based on their level of corruption placed Guatemala along side Haiti, the Philippines and much of Central Africa in the nine bracket. However, there were no stories of anyone being arrested or even accused of sex with boys or having kiddie porn on their computers. It looked as though if one could avoid being robbed or murdered, a dubious proposal, a reasonably cautious BL wouldn't be of concern to local law enforcement officials. But, how the hell could I get a twelve year old white, hillbilly English speaking boy through Mexico and into the country. Then, I remembered reading or being told that a non-Spanish speaker would have a difficult time getting along or arranging anything. William couldn't even read or write his native tongue. I went by a Blockbuster, well, the Blockbuster since all the others I knew of had closed due to internet competition, and picked up a copy of Casablanca in hopes it might take my mind to an entirely different place. It did allow me to get to sleep by twelve thirty. It only took three days for William to reappear though this time it was much earlier at six forty in the evening, and he came in a taxi. The cabbie got my attention by tooting his horn. William was in the back, trying to open the door. The cabbie waved me to him. I ran out. William was in obvious pain. "Kid's hurt. I think he needs to go to a hospital. He said you'd pay. It's twelve seventy-five." "Nyuh uh," grunted William as he pushed the rear door open with his foot. I fished a handful of bills out of my pocket and handed the driver a twenty. Ignoring the proferred change, I helped William out. "What happened?" He was cradling his right hand in his left. He fell into me. The cabbie suggested, "Why not let me take the both of you to a hospital? Kid's hurt bad." "I've got a car," I answered. "I'll do it. Thanks." "Ah don' need no hostal. Jes' lemme lay down fo' a wahl an' ah'll be okay." The way he was holding himself, his virtual struggle to stand, the hand, all indicated serious injury. After a few steps, I couldn't stop myself from picking the boy up. He cried out in pain so I put him back down. "Jes' lemme go insahd." I worried neighbors might be observing the scene but didn't look for fear it would make it seem I was doing something wrong. We finally got through the door. "William, what happened to your hand?" His face showed no damage." "It jes' hurts is all," he said with great strain in his voice. "Come on over here to the sofa and let me look at it." When he went to sit, he groaned and stayed upright. "Where else do you hurt?" "Is jes' mah sahd." I was sure I knew what happened. "They beat you up again, didn't they?" "But ah din't tell 'em nothin' 'bout wheah you lived." I felt like crying. "William, I've got to get you to a hospital." "No, ah don' need no hospatal," he fired back. "Jes' lemme stay heah fo' a wahl an' ah'll be okay." "William, you hand's broken. A doctor needs to fix it." "Nyuh uh. It'll be okay. Ah don' wanna go ta no hospatal." He bent over slightly, groaned and began to cry. "William, I'm going to help you lie down, okay?" He nodded a painful assent. I got on my knees, slowly picked him up, keeping him as straight as possible, and lay him on the sofa. Tears fell off the side of his face. "Did they hit you in the ribs?" The crying increased. "They kicked me theah, mothafuckuhs." I put my arm under his head and kissed him on the forehead. "William, son, you have to go to a hospital?" "No! No! They gonna call the pohlice an', oh?" I was then sure his ribs were badly damaged if not broken. The heavy breathing caused by his crying and protests was very painful. I frantically sought words that would convince him of his need for medical help. "William, look, we can make this work. Sure, they'll call the police. Someone really hurt you. Just tell them a gang of teenagers grabbed you and beat you up for your money. Don't tell them you had a lot, just a few dollars." Where did he live would be their next question. "Tell them your parents abandoned you and you've been living on the street trying to find them, uh, for a few weeks, that you begged money from people to feed yourself." His clothes were relatively new. "And one woman, say it was a woman, bought you new clothes. And don't say any more, just that. They'll put you in a home somewhere. They're not going to lock you up or anything. Then you can escape." "Ah wanna live wif you." That brought on my own tears. "Oh, William. Nothing would make me happier but you know they're not going to allow that." He wiped his face with the good hand. "Mothafuckas." He winced when he sobbed. "Ah ken stay inside. Ain' nobody gonna see me. An' ah won' steal nothin', ah promise. Lemme stay heah." I wasn't going to deny that. "Then you come back here when you can." I sniffed and wiped my dripping nose and eyes on my sleeve. "William, I love you. I don't know how, but I'll find a way. You can come back here as soon as you're able but right now, son, right now, you have to go to a hospital. You're hurt badly." I was looking at the discoloration on his left side. "You might be bleeding inside. You could die." "No, no. Ah ain' bleedin' nowhere. Jes lemme lay heah an' it'll git bettuh." It took half an hour of talking back and forth, promises and plans but he finally agreed to let me take him to a hospital. I think it was the pain more than my words that did it. He had a story for the police, as simple as I could put together and a twenty dollar bill in his sock, along with a cover story for its presence, for a taxi if he got a chance to use one. I had no illusions that they wouldn't take all his clothes off at the hospital and the money would be handed over to the police with his belongings. But, William was certainly resourceful if nothing else. With the passenger seat of my two seater back as far as it would go, I carefully laid William on it and drove quickly to a suburban state hospital. There, I helped him out and handed him over to a nurse in the emergency room. When asked, I said, "Look, I saw him on the street walking like he was hurt. This is all I'm willing to do. He's yours." I turned and walked out with her asking me to come back and at least leave my name. The rest was lost when I passed through the door. It didn't look as though anyone was interested in my license plates.