Date: Mon, 20 Feb 2017 16:04:32 +0100 (CET) From: monkeyprince@tutanota.com Subject: Wonderland, Part I - The List, Chapter 4 - The Last Checkbox AUTHOR'S NOTE This story is a fantasy. It did not happen in real life. The characters portrayed in this story do not exist in real life and any resemblance to a real person is coincidental. This story involves friendship and a romantic relationship, including sexual encounters, between an adult man and a young teenage boy. If you are not allowed to read it or don't want to read it, please don't. This story is my original work. Please do not copy or reproduce this. Nifty Erotic Stories Archive has a non-exclusive license to display this work. I retain sole authority, copyright, and other rights and title over this work. I enjoy chatting with new people and welcome new friends. I'm also happy to receive, and will respond to, comments about this story: thoughts, suggestions, critiques, questions, etc. But please no hate or meanness. I am hoping you may consider making a donation to Nifty. This a place where you can read to share in others' beautiful fantasies, knowing that those others share the same thougths and feelings you have. This is also a place to read to express some part of your inner self, perhaps a part you might not be able to express in other ways or in other places. That's why I read Nifty. Is that why you read? http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html. Lastly, to set a proper expectation, this is not a quick sex story. It does have sensual and sexual scenes, but it is also about a relationship; it's about love. I hope you stick with it, and I hope you like it. Thank you and enjoy. Peace, -Monkey Prince monkeyprince@tutanota.com * Wonderland Part I – The List Chapter 4 – The Last Checkbox * I was rubbing my dick with my hand, a little lube creating a wonderful sensation, as I looked at my favorite kind of porn. I want a boy. Knock, knock, knock. Someone is knocking on the front door. Knock, knock, knock. A second set of knocks, lighter than the first. I race to the bathroom to clean off my hand from the sticky lube, race to my bedroom to grab my robe, start toward the door, race back to my bedroom to get slippers, then start toward the door again, then take a moment to compose myself and tighten the tie on my robe, then open the door. Standing on my stoop is my across-the-street neighbor Alice and her two kids, Jack and his sister. "Hi," says Alice. "Hi," repeats Jack and his sister together. "Hey guys," I say in that way you talk to young children, smiling at all three but paying special attention to Jack. I feel a draft from the cold air go up my robe and touch at my lube-covered semi and I tug my robe tighter. "Sorry I'm in my robe, still," I say, hoping that specifically talking about it will make Alice dispell any concern she may have had. "I didn't have to work today." "If I don't have to work, I stay in my PJs all day," says Alice, waving her hand dismissively. "Me too," says Jack. I think about Jack in spiderman undies and no shirt, but assume he wears long pants and shirt as pajamas. "Right on," I say. "What's up?" "Guys," Alice says, looking down to Jack and his sister expectantly. Jack reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out an envelop, then looks at his sister, then starts saying "You're . . . " drawing out the word until his sister joins in, "You're invited!" They manage to say together, Jack with a little more pizzazz as he does a quick hop and thrusts the envelop in my direction. I laugh at the theatrics. "What to?" I ask, looking at Jack, then at his sister, then taking the envelop, then looking at Alice, expecting her to be the one to explain. "We're having a dinner with a few of the neighbors," she explains. "We'd love for you to come. It's this weekend. Sort of short notice, but we hope you can come." "Yeah, we hope you can come," says Jack's sister meekly, leaning into her mother as she trails off the end of the sentence. "Yeah, come!" says Jack happily. My semi starts to rise thinking about cumming with Jack. "I bet I can come," I say, knowing that I would change any plans I had to be able to be with Jack for a whole evening. "Great!" says Alice. "The details are in the invitation Jack gave you." "OK," I say. Then add, "Thanks so much. I am very lucky to have great neighbors like you guys." I look at Jack's sister for a moment, then spend more time looking into Jack's smiling face, ears sticking out a mile. I look back at his mom so as not to linger on Jack for a conspicuous length of time. I realize I am smiling without trying. "OK, we'll let you enjoy your lazy day," Alice says, pulling her kids gently by the arms. "Come on guys, let's let Nate relax on his day off." I leave the door open to watch them walk down the steps and across the street. Jack breaks away from his mother to run the last few feet out of the street and jump onto the sidewalk across the street. He makes a gun shape with his hands and pretends to shoot his sister. I hear the mock shooting sounds he makes with his mouth. "Don't shoot your sister," I can faintly hear Alice say. I also hear Jack laugh. * * * * * I wait in the office chair, my legs bouncing in anticipation. When Professor Samuels called me into his office on the weekend, I thought he wanted to scold me about my research he had me do or else say that he liked my writing. "I'd like to offer you a job," says the older man with greying stubble. I was nervous coming in, but now I'm nervous for a different reason. "What do you mean?" I ask, my legs stopping their involuntary bouncing. "I want you to help teach my class," says Professor Samuels in his rich baritone. I think absent-mindedly that he could probably seduce many college boys with that smooth voice and handsome features. Perhaps I will be a distinguished Professor some day, seducing college boys. "The Research Methods practicum, specifically," he says, then adds, "perhaps part of the Writing segment, as well." I blink, making sense of this. "Wow," I manage, somewhat lamely I think. "Thanks," I add, more spirited. But then I think, and then say out loud, "I'm not sure I have the teaching experience." "You were a TA in college and co-taught English as a Masters student," he read from a piece of paper in front of him, perhaps my resume that I submitted to him when I asked to be his research assistant. "Yes," I say simply. I look behind him at his many books on the shelves, apparently arranged in no particular order. It reminds me of the library, only smaller. Smells a bit musty, too. The Winter hung over us for several months now. With several months of closed windows, and because the building is old, the musty smell makes sense. "Well?" he says. At first I wait for him to continue, then realize he is asking me to respond. "Yes," I say, trying to convincingly smile through my nervousness. I am nervous not for teaching but rather that this may be the start my dream job. "This could turn into a part-time teaching thing this summer, too, if you want," he says, almost off-hand, nonchalantly. But then earnestly, "You do want to teach?" He sits back in his chair, confident, "You told me so." I nod, then add, "Yes, I did. I do." "OK, then," he says, smiling at me. "Come to my class next week, I'll introduce you. You and I can talk before then, but in class you should talk about what you do researching for me, and that you'll help do that with them." "Them?" I ask, perhaps foolishly. Professor Samuels answers patiently, "The students." The Professor thinks a moment, looking out his office window, then looking back at me for emphasis, "Your students." I decide to take this news formally and try to impress the Professor with my professional enthusiasm, lest he have second thoughts, and stand, reaching out my hand to him. He smiles, seemingly recognizing my action as one meant to please him, and accepts it for what it is and what it was meant to appear to be, stands, and lets me heartily shake his hand. "Thank you, sir," I say, staring into his smiling eyes. "You're welcome," he says, releasing my hand and sitting back down. "I should be getting back to these papers." As an afterthought he adds, "For some of these kids, you'll have your work cut out for you." I start to turn, but I hear him clear his throat and start to speak. "Also," he says, "You know I am the drama professor as well. Would you happen to know any boys?" I am taken aback quite suddenly. I blurt out, "What?" "We are doing a production of 'Pippin' and we are struggling to find a Young Pippin." "Oh," I say. I don't hesitate, "I know this one boy," I say, looking at him as I speak to see his reaction, but he looks at me blankly with a hint of a smile. "He might be good." "He can sing," Professor Samuels assumes in a questioning way. "Yes. He's in choir. He's an alto," I offer, noting that I do know him somewhat, though I haven't actually heard Robby sing. I don't offer that piece of information to the Professor. "Great. See if you can bring him around next week sometime, I'll give him a quick audition." The prospect excites me. "OK," I say. I suddenly feel awkward standing in front of his desk. I nod to Professor Samuels, partially in respect and partially as a 'goodbye,' then start toward the door to leave his office. "And Nate," he calls, causing me to obediently turn and face him. "You called me 'sir' before. Don't call me 'sir,'" he says, very serious. But then smiles. "You can call me 'Professor' when we're with the students, but when we're working together, call me 'Quentin.'" I smile at him. "OK. Quentin. See you next week." "I'm glad we'll be working together. You'll be good at this teaching thing. Nothing to it. Just be yourself." I turn and exit, but then look back at him before I leave and see him look into my eyes. I realize perhaps he has a crush on me. Or I am imagining it. * * * * * I have pulled most of my clothes out of my dresser and closet and tossed them about my room and on my bed and stand in front of them trying to mentally create matching sets. I think about whether this dinner with Jack's family and some of the neighbors will be formal, casual, or in-between. I decide to dress in jeans and a collared shirt. I try on one set, then another, then another. I think about what Jack would like on me the best; tighter jeans, looser jeans, a patterned shirt, a solid shirt, and on and on my thinking goes. I decide that Jack will think the same of me regardless of the type of clothing I wear and as long as I feel comfortable so to act comfortable, Jack will be comfortable around me. I put something on, do up my hair, and look at myself in the mirror. "OK, Jack, my sweet boy. I'm coming to you," I say aloud. * * * * * I bound up the steps the same way that Jack bounded almost two months ago now. I knock on the door and ring the doorbell, holding a tray of cookies in my hand as a gift for the dinner even though the invitation said it was unnecessary to bring anything. I hear laughing on the other side of the door and footsteps nearing and I am suddenly nervous. Alice opens the door, smiles, and says loudly, "Hi, Nate! Come on in." "I brought cookies," I say, stepping in. "I make pretty good cookies." "Fantastic, thank you so much," Alice gives me a quick side hug and takes the cookie tray. I hear laughing and talking in the kitchen farther in the house and then I hear sets of feet thumping from the kitchen into the hall and see Jack and his little sister running toward us. "Hi," they yell at me in unison, coming up next to me. Jack puts his arms around me quickly, and his sister does the same. I am momentarily stunned until I hear Alice call from down the hall, almost in the kitchen, "we're very huggy, watch out." I put my one arm each around Jack and his sister, gently rubbing their backs. "It's all good." It really was rather good. "What'd you bring?" asked Jack, releasing me and looking into my face. His sister lets go and looks at me expectantly. "I brought cookies." "What kind?" he asked. He was dressed in a long-sleeve blue t-shirt and gray chinos and white socks, the little boy version of dressing up, I figure. "It's a special recipe my friend gave me; chocolate brownie cookies with chocolate chips." "Chocolate chocolate chip are Kyla's favorite!" Jack says. 'Kyla'! That's her name. "They are, sweety?" I ask her. Kyla timidly nods and looks down at her feet as she moves to stand closer to her brother until her arm touches his. Kyla is dressed in an adorable purple and yellow dress with pink shoes or possibly slippers and her hair done up in a pink bow. "Your dress is very pretty," I say to her. "Thank you," she says demurly, but with a smile. "I made pizza rolls!" Jack shouts suddenly. "OK," I say and start walking in after Jack. I notice his lovely pert butt sticking out; a 10 year old bubble butt. I feel Kyla's hand slip into mine as we walk down the hall and into the kitchen together. I look down at her and give her hand two soft squeezes to show her our hand holding is OK with me. Jack runs past several people, some I recognize as neighbors and some I don't know. Jack pushes a guy who looks to be just a few years younger than me out of the way so he can get to the oven. "Excuse me," says Jack, putting on an over mitt, opening the oven door, and reaching in to pull out a pan of Totino's Pizza Rolls. "See," he says, showing me. "Awesome," I say enthusiastically, "I love pizza rolls!" The rest of the guests stop talking and watch our interaction unfold. I have a feeling that this is how most interactions are with Jack—he seems used to being the center of attention. Alice says, "Let me introduce you. But first, wine?" She starts pouring the wine before I can say, "Yes, please," but I say it anyway. "I know Bob and Doris," I say, referring to the neighbors down the street. "Hi. Nate," I say to them, referencing myself so they don't have to ask my name in case they forgot it. "Hi Nate," the elderly couple say together. "Hi Nate, I'm Charlene, Alice's big sister," says a lady who does look like Alice. She shakes my hand vigorously but for a short time. "This is my son, Harry." "Hi," says Harry with a half-smile. I reach out my hand, and he reaches his hand and we grasp. Harry holds my hand just a bit longer than was necessary for a first meeting handshake. I let him hold my hand until he lets go. "And just like Alice, I divorced my husband, so no men here," says Charlene abrasively. "Jesus, Mom," says Harry. "Charly, let's not scare away the neighbors," says Alice in a mock defensive tone. "Marriage really can be a blessing," says Doris, with Bob nodding along. "Of course it can, dear," says Charlene. "And so can divorce." I smile. "Have a pizza roll!" says Jack to Harry, oblivious. He holds the pizza roll close to Harry's mouth. I smile bigger. "OK, buddy," says Harry, laughing, grabbing it from Jack and popping it in his mouth. He immediately opens his mouth and sucks in some air and makes a noise that sounds like the word "hot." "Watch out, it's hot," says Jack. I laugh. "Here," says Jack to me, handing me one. "You can have one, too." I take it from his hand, sliding my thumb against the back of his fingers as I take it from him. "Thanks, but I'll hang onto this until the inside cools a little. I saw what you did to your cousin," I say, nodding toward Harry. And to Harry I say, "Thanks for the heads up." "No prob," says Harry, just able to swallow the hot pizza roll. "Wanna see my room?" Jack asks me. Alice says, "He doesn't want to see your room." At nearly the same time, I say, "Sure." In response to Alice, "It's alright. Can I bring my wine?" I say these two things to make it like I am more interested in doing adult things like drinking wine but am allowing Jack to show me his room because I'm a good sport. "Suit yourself," Alice says to me. "Jack, don't stay up there too long, we have other guests, OK?" "OK," calls Jack as he runs to the stairway and turns for me to follow. Kyla puts her hand in Harry's as she leads him along as well, following me and Jack. I look back at Harry and say, "Looks like it'll be a party upstairs." "Yeah, seems like it," says Harry. We walk upstairs together, with Jack leading the way, his taught heinie at eye level, pushing at his pants with each step. Jack leads us into his room and turns on the light then jumps on his bed. He looks at me and opens his arms wide signaling the room. "Very nice," I say, looking around. His walls are a medium green color with some sports and video game posters on his walls—Pokemon and Red Sox and others. He has a baseball jersey hanging on his wall, some baseball trophies on his dresser, some clothes on his bed and his floor, seemingly all clean clothes because they are folded. I also see, just next to me at the entrance to his room, his dirty clothes hamper. The hamper is open and I see some dirty clothes in there. Jack starts talking about his baseball trophies and video games as I make my way inside his room and stand leaning against the wall on the other side of the hamper to make room for Kyla and Harry, but they continue down the hall, I suppose to Kyla's room. I look at the baseball trophies on the top of the dresser. I see a Pikachu amongst them. "You play Pokemon?" I ask him. "Yeah," says Jack. "Cool," I say. I walk to him and stand next to his bed, leaning my knees against the matress, sinking in toward him a bit. "Do you?" he asks. "Yeah," I say. Then I clarify, "I used to." "I could beat you," says Jack with an impish grin. "Oh yeah?" I say plopping myself on the bed very close to him, he pulls his leg up and away from me a little to get his pants out from under my butt. "Definitely," he continues. I put my arm around his neck quickly and put him in a light head lock, and he squeals in glee. With my other hand, I poke at his belly. I recall suddenly being tickled when I was young and not liking how indelicate most people were when they tried to tickle me. I would laugh, but I remember it kind of hurting many times. I poke at him easily and lightly pinch his belly, feeling just a bit of pudge under his shirt. He continues laughing, but then starts doing the same thing to me, poking and pinching at my belly. Jack, with his nimble, small body, wriggles out of my grasp and giggles. I go at him again with my pinching fingers and he easily dodges and then slides down the side of the bed. I follow him and put my head close to his belly. He puts his arm around me, this time putting me in a headlock. I let him. With my face essentially in his armpit, I stop resisting, which causes him to stop resisting. I sniff, trying to smell any by smells. I smell detergent. He may have just put this shirt on just before people came over. I make a token show of resistance and Jack doubles down the pressure and pushes my face more into his armpit and partially into chest. I put a little of my weight onto him. His face is next to my ear. I hear him grunt lightly, quick gasps a second apart. We have been in this pose with my face in his armpit for maybe ten seconds when I put one of my arms around his back, with the aim of getting to his butt, but because he is nearly lying down, I can't get any more than his back. I tug at his shirt lightly and get my thumb under his cottony shirt, lifting up slightly to grab at his nearly non-existent love handles, feeling his soft, hairless bare skin under my fingers. "Ticklet torture," I hear a girl say with a quick laugh. Kyla. I turn my head sideways, seeing Kyla standing alone in Jack's room's doorway. I quickly detach myself from Jack, letting my hand caress Jack's small body as I stand up. Harry then walks up behind Kyla in the doorway. I move against the wall near the door allowing Kyla and Harry to enter the room and try to seem normal and not guilty. Jack giggles and stands and hops back onto his bed. I notice suddenly and with concern that I have a semi. Harry seems not to notice anything amiss and engages Jack in a discussion of the Red Sox as Kyla taps one foot with the other foot then vice versa. I, hopefully discreetly, shift so I lean against the wall to make my semi less obvious and to give it time to go down. But now I'm next to his hamper and for just a moment try to ignore it. But I can't resist and peer into the hamper. I notice it is about a quarter full. I notice something white—it could be undies, or a t-shirt, or something else. I notice a pair of wind pants. I notice that there is more under that, but can't make it out. I hear a call from downstairs, "OK, dinner's almost ready." "K, guys," says Harry, "time to go down." "Tally ho!" calls Jack, jumping from his bed and slipping through Harry and Kyla to lead the way back downstairs. I try to hang back so I can rummage through Jack's dirty clothes, but Kyla very sweetly waits for me to follow. Harry moves to the side to let me and Kyla through the door first and smiles as I pass by him. Harry turns off the light in Jack's room and follows us down the stairs. "Which one do you live in," asks Harry. "Which house?" I ask, just so I don't mistake his meaning. "Yeah." "The one sort of diagonally across the street." "Oh," says Harry. "How long have you been there." I get the feeling Harry is making small talk with me, not wanting to overtly flirt, but given the circumstances with a little girl next to us and Harry's mother downstairs, making small talk and flashing smiles is about as flirty as it gets. "Only a little while. How about you?" "I'm just starting my Masters in Fine Art downtown," says Harry. "That's really cool, good for you," I say, interested in Harry but more interested in seeing Jack's butt again. "Thanks," says Harry. We head into the dining room. Everyone is standing around, not yet seated. "What do you do?" asked Harry, obviously trying to keep the discussion with me going. "I work at a college library, but also recently got an assistant professor job to teach alongside an English Professor; research practicum and writing seminars kind of thing," I say, fibbing a little on the title of "assistant professor." "Wow, that's great," says Harry. "Teaching, now that is an admirable profession," chimes in Bob, easing me into the main discussion around the table. "Thanks," I say generally to Harry and Bob and everyone else that now seems to be looking at me. "It's new?" asks Charlene. "Yeah, I start teaching next week." "I get this seat!" chimes in Jack, claiming his seat and pulling it out a little. "Did you hear, Jack, Nate just got a new job," offers Charlene, trying to make her young nephew pay attention to the talk that he probably thinks is boring. "Oh cool," offers Jack. "Yeah, it is cool. Thanks," I say, looking right at Jack, who was now standing next to me. "Jack," calls Alice from the kitchen. "Come help me finish setting the table." Jack runs off and I inwardly curse Alice for calling Jack away from me when he just stood next to me. I chat and listen as I inch my way to stand directly behind the chair next to the one Jack claimed. "I used to be a secretary at an elementary school," says Doris. "'Course that was when I was much younger. But I so did love seeing those young ones every day. It warmed my soul," she said, almost melancholy. She added, with a raised finger for emphasis, "Kept me young." "I bet," says Harry. "Jack can make me want to pull out my hair, though." "Oh, he's sweet," Doris defends. "Now Kyla, she is the sweetest and most precious," says Charlene, bending down over Kyla who had inconspicuously taken a position just behind Charlene. "OK, grab your places, we're just about ready to bring in the food," Alice says as she walks in with two more bottles of wine. I sit at the seat I had staked out, but to my chagrin Harry sat in just the spot where Jack claimed; right next to me. Jack walks in with a basket of bread and then cries out, "Hey, that's my spot." Jack puts the basket of bread on the table and zips between me and Harry and playfully pushes and punches his arms and chest. Harry grabs Jack with his arm around Jack's neck and pulls him down. With Jack wedged between us and his head bending over Harry, his butt pushes up against me. I push my napkin on the ground and bend to pick it up, pushing my face gently against Jack's butt on the way down, feeling it's firmness but still soft, and then again on the way back up. I take a silent sniff to see if I can smell anything like boy or butt smell but I smell only detergent or fabric softner. My dick starts to get a little harder. I quickly glance around and I don't think anyone saw, or if they did see, they didn't understand the significance, or anyway are pretending not to. "You can sit on my other side," Harry tells Jack. Jack can sit on my lap if he wants, I think. We all chat and laugh and tell stories about living on this street (except for Charlene and Harry who don't) and about our work and what we do for fun. I glance frequently over to watch Jack eat. Occassionally Harry will catch me looking at Jack, but I believe that each time he catches me, he thinks I'm looking at him, and then smiles at me, as if we are having a secret connection. Harry is somewhat attractive. He is 24. We don't discuss whether he has a girlfriend, but we also don't discuss whether he has a boyfriend, and I assume he is gay. Charlene and Alice seem like the kind of people that would be ok with people being gay. Bob and Doris seem a little religious but they also seem pretty liberal. I wait until everyone is mid-meal until I excuse myself, claiming I need to use the restroom. I make my way upstairs to get to the only restroom, except when I get to the top of the stairs, I slip into Jack's room and peer into his hamper. I tentatively reach a hand in and pull up the wind pants I saw earlier, then the white thing, which turns out to be a white tank top, and I find white socks. I put his tank top and then his socks to my nose and sniff in deeply. It smells neutral, just a bit like sweat, just a bit like detergent still, and just a bit like it was on a body for a day. I turn back to look down the hall to make sure no-one else is coming up the steps. Not hearing anything but talking from downstairs, I reach farther into the hamper. I am searching for undies, but I just find more shirts. I am about ready to give up and see if I can find some clean undies when I pick up his wind pants and realize that there are undies within the pants, as if Jack had taken both his pants and his undies off at the same time. I feel like a just found the end of the rainbow. I pull the undies out of the pants. The pants and the undies are really small. The undies are Spiderman undies. Of course. I don't chance standing there any longer and head straight into the bathroom. With the undies. When in the bathroom, I figure out the door lock and immediately pull down my pants. As I do, I see three sets of toothbrushes, the Red Sox one is Jack's, I think. I don't want to take too long in the bathroom because I don't want anyone to think I'm having a problem or pooping too much. I put Jack's dirty undies to my face. I smell a little pee and a little poo. I look on the inside of his undies and see a bit of a poo stain and a very faint yellowing where his dick would be. I put the pee stain in my mouth and taste its pungent flavor. Then I put the poo stain on my tongue and don't taste anything. I then put the whole shit stain in my mouth and lick it. I still don't taste anything. It must not be a fresh stain. I then put the undies around my growing dick and use it to jerk myself off. I rub the little boy's dirty undies on my dick, deliberately making the tip of my dick rub agaisnt the shit stain, imagining that his tight pink hole rubbed against that very part of his undies, imagining my dick rub against his shit hole and wishing my dick was inside him. I imagine me licking the kid's cock through his undies, then sliding those undies down and taking his whole cock and tight smooth balls into my mouth, sucking and licking his small prick until he dry cums in my mouth, his cocklet jerking and pulsing while he face fucks me, hips thrusting involuntarily and making dirtly little kid moaning sounds. I get close to cumming and instead of cumming in his undies—I don't want his mom to find my cum—I put the pee stain back up against my nose and lick his undies while I cum. It was a quick jerk off but it was an intense cum imagining little boy Jack's dick and balls and hole against the very piece of fabric that was on my dick and face and tongue. I clean the errant squirts, flush the toilet, and quickly wash my hands. For a final piece of Jack, I pick up Jack's Red Sox toothbrush and lick it, then put it back as it was. I open the door silently and peek out. Not seeing anyone I step into the hall. I consider for just a moment taking the undies with me. But even though I thought of doing very dirty things with Jack, I still really like the kid. He is a nice boy, and I don't want to steal his undies from him. I pop my head back into his room, toss the undies into the hamper and then turn back around to Harry at the top of the stairs. "You OK?" Harry asks. My heart thumps quickly. "Yes," I say quickly. "There was this old New England architecture unit at the school I teach at last semester," I began, half making things up as I went along, "and this is the first time I've been in a house on this side of the street. My side is all triple deckers, but this side is single families. Very different. Old colonial style. Very cool." I talked a little too fast, I think, put too many words into my story; maybe Harry will see the lie. "Yeah," says Harry. "I like architecture as well. I am more into the more modern styles, but . . . ." He trails off. "Hey," I say, trying to further separate Harry's mind from anything he may or may not have seen. "I was thinking that . . . ." I deliberately trail off and look down, then back up at him. "Yeah?" says Harry, starting to smile even though I can see he is trying not to smile. "I'm sorry if you're not . . .," I say, drawing this out, catching Harry on a hook of what I hoped was his desire. "What?" "I hope you don't think . . . I'm trying not to be awkward," I say and laugh. "I was wondering if you might like to go out sometime. Like, get some coffee or a drink or something." Harry smiles. "I was hoping you would ask that." I caught him. "So . . . . Yes?" I say, playing along. "Yes," Harry replies quietly. A silence between us sustains our awkwardness. Harry is starting to turn red. He doesn't have the same big ears as Jack, but he does have the same bright features. Actually, I think, Harry really is quite cute. "OK," I say. "We better get back downstairs." "Yeah," says Harry and we both turn to head downstairs. "Actually," Harry says, looking at me, "I did need to use the bathroom." "Oh, ha," I say. "OK." "Hey, give me your phone number," says Harry. We exchange phone numbers and then he goes to the bathroom and I head downstairs. I sit on the bottom step and look at the news for a minute and let Harry walk past me when he comes back downstairs. I whisper to Harry, "Say I needed to make a phone call or something." "OK," he whispers back, understanding the surreptitious nature of things and he seems rather pleased by it. Harry walks back in and I hear Alice say, "How did you get back before Nate?" I hear Harry reply, "He was just sitting on the stairs when I went up, I think he was taking a phone call." Good boy, Harry. I walk back into the dining room and sit at my spot and realize Jack is not in his seat. I panic just a moment, thinking perhaps he witnessed me in his room, but then he comes walking into the dining room from the living room with a handheld gaming system. He walks slowly by me and I ask him between bites, "What game are you playing?" "The new Pokemon," he replies without looking up. "Oh cool," I say. He looks up. "Yeah." "How far are you in the game?" I ask. Jack comes over to me and starts telling me about his game. I put my hand gently on his back as I look beside him. With me sitting and him standing, my head is pretty close to his elbow, and I kind of rest my head against him as I look on. I hear his light breathing through his nose, which sounds small and sweet. I feel his elbow move up and down with his belly timed to each breath. I start rubbing his back in very small, slow circles. When he doesn't react to that, and as I listen to him narrate the current situation in his game and which Pokemon are on his team, I rub my hand lower and lower on his back until I reach the top of his boy bum. I rest my hand gently on the very upper part of his butt and part of his lower back, then shift position so I can "see better," and when I do that distracting movement, I put my hand fully on his bum and give it one, very gentle squeeze. He doesn't react. But my dick reacts. His firm bottom gives me buzzes of electricity in my fingertips. I want to feel his butt with abandon, feel inside his crack, slide my fingers around his naked, small body. Instead I move my hand back up his back, not wanting to push my luck. The rest of the meal is wonderful and we have some good and some boring conversation. As I get ready to leave at the end of the night, I shake Harry's hand, who holds it a bit longer than he did even when he greeted me. Kyla gives me a quick goodbye hug. I shake everyone else's hand. Because Jack wasn't right there, I waited until I said goodbye to everyone else before I called into the house, "Jack, come say goodbye!" I hear him running to the door as I am putting on my coat. "Bye!" he blurts out bouncing into me and wrapping his arms around me in a hug. I return the hug and rub his back gently. "Bye, buddy," I say. He was only up to my chest, but I put my arms around his neck and back and gave him a gentle squeeze. "I had fun today, thanks a lot," I said to Alice and everyone, but by the direction and volume of my voice, it was really meant especially for Jack. "You're welcome," says Alice. "You're welcome," repeats Jack. "We should do this again," I offer. "Yeah," blurts out Jack before his mom has any say. "And you guys should come over my place sometime, I'll return the favor," I say. Jack is fun and rambunctious and he has lovely smelling dirty undies. How I want my hands and nose and tongue and face and dick to be all over the rest of him. I turn and head into the cold night, cross the street quickly, turn the sticky door knob, and head into my apartment for the rest of the evening. I realize with a smile that I still have just a little taste of Jack's pee on my tongue. * * * * * I write in my Journal: I haven't written about The List in some time. Here is how it stands now. The List: Kiss Make a boy feel good and cum Be in a situation where I can legitimately touch a boy (CHECK-shopping) (CHECK-Jack at dinner) Follow a boy and learn about him Jerk with a boy's actual undies (CHECK-Jack's undies) Have online boy boyfriend (CHECK-Aaron) Be friends with a boy (CHECK-Robby) Have real-life boy boyfriend Be in love with a boy I could really go for a boy kiss. I am about to leave to go to Robby's apartment to see if he will do the show. * * * * * There isn't just one feeling inside me as I hop the several steps to the front door of Robby's apartment. I feel hopeful. I feel nervous. I feel some worry for a potential rejection from Robby. I feel some worry for a negative reaction from Robby's mom. I feel excitement most of all. I knock on the door. I stand. I wait. I feel the cold air seeping through my jeans; my thighs are cold.I knock again then stuff my hands in my pockets. The door opens a couple inches, Paula's freckled face behind it. "Hi," I say. "It's Nate, the guy who. . . ." "Hi Nate," Paula says, opening the door wider. "I remember you, of course." I stand, suddenly forgetting why I'm here. "Come in, it's cold," says Paula, prompting me to action. I step into the warm apartment. I smell food. I unzip my coat and slide my arms out of my coat one by one and then hang it over my arm. I hear a metallic clank and feel something bump my leg and I realize I kocked over an umnbrella stand. "Oh, sorry," I say loudly, startled. "It's alright," says Paula. "Let me take your coat," she says simply, kindly, dispelling the awkwardness. I grab the umbrella stand from the floor and put it upright and then put my coat into Paula's outstretched hand. "Thanks." "Did you want to see Robby?" Paula asks. Her tone is neutral. I watch her face for some sign of irritation or other emotion that might suggest she is not comfortable with my being there. "Yes," I respond, unable to find words to say anything further. "I can go get him," Paula says. "I think he just finished a shower." "Actually, I wanted to ask you something," I say. I am mildly nervous, I can feel the butterflies. Paula stands with my coat in her hand. I see her body slightly shift so it was more directly facing me. She waits patiently as I inwardly build the courage to ask her a question. I feel a little bit like a guy who is asking permission to date a man's daughter in some kind of 50's trope. But I will away the nonsensical feeling that Paula can somehow see inside my mind, can somehow know that I sort of am actually asking her for permission to date her son. Though even her son doesn't know that yet. I try to empathize with Paula, to see what she would see if her son started getting help from the "librarian" who shows up without warning on a Sunday morning asking after her barely 13 year old boy. "First, sorry for coming by on a Sunday morning without calling or anything first," I say. I wait a beat to see if she would respond, but instead she gives a curt nod that seemed to both accept my apology and also brush it aside as if it's nothing. "I just got a promotion at work," I continue, classifying the trial period of assistant teaching as a promotion to make it seem more stable. "I will be assistant teaching a class; writing and research methods." "Congratulations," says Paula, as a matter of course. "Thank you," I respond, with a dip of my head. "The professor I will teach with asked if I knew someone who could play young Pippin in the musical Pippin. Robby told me that he sang in the choir. I wonder if it would be OK with you if I suggested Robby for the part." Paula let a small smile show, and she says, "Robby was saying that you two talked about doing musicals." I feel a slight pang of nervousness wondering what else Robby had told Paula, partly because I don't want her to think my hopefully-growing relationship with Robby is inappropriate, and partly because I hope that Robby is talking about us because he likes me. "Oh?" I say. "Yes," she responds. "I think he is interested in doing them again." "Oh," I say again, enthusiastically. "That's great! I've only worked with him on academic projects," I go on, "but in reading his writing, I can tell he has a great voice." I realize what I said may be confused, so I clarify: "What I mean is, he has a good style in expressing himself. I think if he had an opportunity to build that voice in acting, he could build his style and grow as a writer and student." Paula nodded as I was talking. I hear footsteps coming down the hall, "Who are you talking to?" from a small voice. A moment later a boy several years younger than Robby turns the corner. He is really cute. Not pretty in the way that Robby is, but I can tell he is Robby's younger brother, Alex. "This is Nate," says Paula to Alex. "He helped Robby on a couple papers and other school work." "Hi," I say, "you must be Alex." Alex's eyes widened slightly when I mentioned his name. "Am I getting a tutor?" Alex asks in apparent alarm. Paula smiles, "No, no. He is here for Robby." I feel good to hear 'he is here for Robby.' I am here for Robby. "Robby!" Alex yells, "Some guy's here for you!" I hear a door open and footsteps down the hall, and then Robby comes around the corner. His hair is wet and messy, with strands flying out to the sides. He has an oversized white shortsleeved t-shirt with giant lettering "Star Wars" on the front and baggy blue sweatpants. I can see his collar bone in the big opening of his t-shirt, which unexpectedly arouses me. When he sees me, Robby does a quick smile on one side of his mouth, then looks at his mom, then back at me. "Hey," says Robby. "Hey," I say back. "How's it going?" "Good." "Robby," says Paula, "Nate wants to ask you something." Robby cocks his head and squints his eyes slightly at me. The motion reminds me of a puppy looking at someone curiously. I wanted to pet his hair down and stroke my finger down the peach fuzz of his cheek, jaw line, neck, and down to his exposed collar bone. I suddenly smell Robby's shampoo. "What?" says Robby, curiously, head still cocked, looking back and forth between me and his mom. "Yeah, what?" asks Alex, who had gone into the kitchen but peeked back out. "Robby, take Nate to see your room. You guys can chat in there," suggests Paula. Then to me, "I'm good if he's good." This causes Robby to squint some more. I remember the smell of food. "It smells good in here, by the way." "Cinnamon muffins!" Alex yells. "Thanks," says Paula. "They are almost ready. You're welcome to stay for one." Robby, seemingly anxious to know what I wanted to say, says, "Come on," and starts down the hall from where he came. I follow Robby, watching his oversized shirt and wild strands of hair, darkened from being wet, float behind him. His boyish white socks pop against the dark brown of the wood floor and the dark blue of his sweats. He turns into a room halfway down the hall. I catch up to him and watch him plop on the full-sized bed in the center of the room and raise his arms as if to gesture to the room for me to see. "This is my room," says Robby flatly. Then, with more interest, "What do you want to ask me?" I look around the boy's room. The room had three white walls and an orange accent wall; wooden framed bed, light wood color with one matching nightstand on one side, the bed half-heartedly made with dark blue and light blue plaid puff blanket and matching pillow cases; no clothes or other clutter on the floor; a slight smell of sweat and sleep in the air; a bureau with video game character figurines on top; a bookcase with more board games and video games than books; and a TV with an Xbox hooked up to it. "Nice room," I compliment. I then lead right into, "I wanted to ask you if you wanted to be in a musical." "Oh," says Robby quickly, seemingly waiting for me to say more. "Yeah," I continue, "The professor I will be teaching for asked me if I knew anyone, a boy," I say, looking at Robby and giving him a smirk, "who was able to sing. I thought of you." He looks down at his lap and then shifts backward on his bed and brings his legs up to sit cross-legged. "What do you think?" I ask. He continues to look at his lap, then up at me, "Are you in it?" he asks. "Well, no. But I will help the professor, who is the director, and I can go to the rehearsals whenever you do." Robby's face gets a little brighter and a little less unsure. "Can I sit down with you?" I ask him, purposely trying to be closer to him. "Sure," he says, and pats next to him in a way that reminded me of what a parent would to beckon his child. I sit next to Robby, the smell of his shampoo overpowering the smell of the general scent of boy and sweat of the room. From this new position, I see Robby's open dirty clothes hamper that was hidden from view on the other side of the bureau and I remember Jack's dirty undies and think of what Robby's dirty undies would smell and taste like. My dick twitches. "I think it would be a good opportunity for you," I say. "The only other people in the show are college students that go to the college. And I was thinking . . . ." Robby uses his arms to lift himself up, remaining cross-legged, and turns his whole body to face me. "Yeah?" "I was thinking that we could do a show together sometime. Maybe this summer. I think it would be really fun to do a show with you." I half-smile at him to show him that I am being true and positive, but not over-eager. Robby half-smiles back at me. "OK," he says simply. I am inwardly ecstatic, but outwardly, at least I think, I am calm but happy. "OK," I say. "Cool," I add. "Yeah," says Robby. "This could be fun." Robby's smile fades slowly and he looks up at the ceiling. "Do I have to audition," he asks, his gaze returning to my face with moderate concern. "No," I say, but correct myself, "Well, sort of. The professor who directs the play wants to hear you sing, just to make sure you can sing OK." "Oh," he says. He pensively rubs his chin. "What would I sing for him?" "I think 'Corner of the Sky' would be a good song to sing for him because that is the song Pippin sings in the musical." Robby thinks, then says, "That makes sense." Another moment of thought, then, "When?" I think how wonderful this could be—being with my crush. I do have a crush on him. He is my first real, serious crush I've had in a long time, and I think he likes me, even if it isn't romantic love. But perhaps it could be . . . . A guy can dream, anyway. "I can bring you to meet him tomorrow after you get out of school, if that works." "OK," Robby says. "Cool." Robby leans back suddenly, his head bouncing against his blue plaid pillows, and he puts his arms behind his head and arcs his back up, stretching, making a slight and involuntary grunt as he exhales mid-stretch. His t-shirt is so baggy that his sleeves fall to his shoulders, exposing a light tuft of hair in his armpits. My dick starts to get hard; I need to touch him. I place one hand on his knee, intending to say something like, 'I can't wait to spend time with you,' but no words come out of my mouth. Instead I leave my hand on his knee until he finishes his stretch. He leaves his arms behind his head but relaxes his body and as he looks back at me. He doesn't try to move my hand away. I realize I have been looking into his face. He is cute. He smiles. Really cute. And beautiful. I smile back. "I'm kind of nervous," Robby says, his voice startling me and breaking my trance. "Don't be," I say, my hand still resting lightly on his knee, afraid to move up his thigh or down his shin, but not wanting to stop the contact. "You're really likable." Robby breaks into a broad, real smile, his right eye squinting involuntarily. A call from down the hall: "Muffins are ready!" Robby pops up and slides off his bed, causing my hand to slide off his knee. "C'mon!" he yells, and tugs at my arm, his touch creating goosebumps and tingles up my arm and down my spine. * * * * * I write in my journal: I spent a full hour at Robby's house after we ate cinnamon muffins together. I taught him the song and how to sing it well, employing some of the newer versions of the song from Broadway singers. Robby does have a nice voice. His speaking voice is just a bit husky sounding, like it is on the cusp of puberty. But his singing voice seems angelic still, like a boys' choir voice. I wish I had been in a boys' choir when I was a teenager and fondled the sopranos. But I digress. When I took Robby to sing in front of Quentin, he was very nervous. While we were waiting, both of his legs were bouncing, anxious. I thought for a moment that I had made a mistake, that perhaps Robby would not actually be good in front of people, that he would be too self conscious. I wouldn't want Robby to do something he didn't want to do, but he seemed legitimately interested in doing this. I wonder if he wanted to do this more because it was with me, or if I am just making that up because I desire it so badly. Singing a solo is different than singing in a choir, exposing yourself and your talents without other voices to build you up. But when Quentin asked Robby to stand in front of him and sing a song, Robby confidently strode into the middle of the room and stood, center "stage," and started to sing. The song starts low and soft, and Robby's soft voice, though beautiful, started thin. Perhaps due to the dulling accoustics of the room, different than his hardwood floor apartment where I had heard him sing, his voice seemed not to make it far from his mouth. But even so, his voice caressed me through the early lyrics, edging closer to the chorus of the song. When he reached the chorus, he sang confidently and his pitch was true. His voice pleasantly lilted through the second verse, his eyes open and looking right at Quentin, my eyes locked onto this fresh boy. At the climax of the song, he sang loudly, from his chest and belly. He has just a slight nasal quality to his voice, which I actually find to be a good thing. At the height of the song, he raised one arm in a theatrical motion worthy of Broadway, hitting the high note, tone pure and golden. After the song, neither Quentin or I made an immediate sound. The silence almost aching for the return of the angel that filled our world with music just a moment before. Robby froze in the stance he reached at the end of the song, arm outstretched, smile exuberant and infectious. Then Quentin clapped, then I clapped. And Robby lowered his arm and smiled and blushed and did an embarassed half bow in response to the applause. Robby got the part. The rest of the company had been in rehearsals for some weeks, and the first performance is next weekend. And now I'm leaving to be at Robby's first rehearsal to cheer on my angel boy. * * * * * I arrive at the theatre 15 minutes earlier than the rehearsal starts so I can be here when Robby arrives. I walk through the door at the back of the theatre and look around for Robby as I walk down the aisle of the theatre. I don't see Robby. I notice the other actors starting to arrive. I nod to some as they come in. I take a seat in one of the many empty chairs of the house looking at the stage as I watch the college boys and girls in the cast hop onto the stage and start stretching. I look back toward the doors just as Robby walks through one of them. I watch him take a tentative step into the big space and look at the stage, then up at the ceiling, slowly scanning the ornate decor and chandelier on the ceilings and walls. He starts to walk slowly down the aisle. I stand so that he can see, but as I do, Quentin walks through the same door just behind Robby. Quentin greets Robby and places his hand on Robby's shoulder. I incur a sudden rash of jealous emotion and start waiving my arm to get Robby or Quentin's attention. Quentin sees my potentially frantic waiving first and then points at me for the benefit of Robby. Robby follows Quentin's point and sees me waiving, and returns the waive with an enthusiastic back and forth of his hand that reminds me at once of a little kid as well as a gay guy. I hope . . . . Robby comes bounding down the aisle, enters my row, and comes toward me. Upon reaching me, he unzips his coat and pulls it off and almost simultaneously puts one of his arms around my waist in a hug so quick it is almost a light pat of his arm on my lower bag. I briefly get one of my hands on his back to give a sort of a return hug. I leave my hand on his back and lightly rub up and down. "Hi," I say. "Hi," Robby responds, his smile faded but his eyes still bright. He has on a light blue long-sleeve T-shirt that seems just slightly too small for him. It makes him look very young. He has on skinny jeans that accent his lithe legs. "Are you excited?" I ask, still rubbing his back lightly. I become suddenly aware that the actors on the stage might be looking at us, and I stop rubbing his back and move my hand onto his upper arm and give his arm a light squeeze. "Yeah," he says. "And nervous." "No need to be nervous," I say, encouragingly. "Now I have to sing in front of everyone," he says, looking around the room as if accentuating the point. "No big deal," I say with a flick of the hand. "You got this. You're really good; just gotta relax and be yourself, you know." Robby nods, not necessarily in agreement, more in acknowledgement. Quentin gets the actors assembled and calls everyone up to the stage. Robby starts to go in response to Quentin's call to the stage, but then comes back to me and says, "Hey, you come, too." I have a sudden moment of panic at the thought of being up on the stage with everyone. Though I immediately wonder why the thought causes me panic. "I don't think so," I say. "I think it should be just the actors. I think he'll have you do warm ups." "I'm kind of nervous," he says with a mock pout, his luscious lips inviting. I just smile in return and say, "Go on. But come sit back here between your scenes." Robby starts off again, then turns and says, "I will." I watch Robby's small butt in his skinny jeans as he jogs to the front of the stage. As he hops onto the stage, his shirt rides up his back and his skinny jeans get pulled down his butt a little from the motion, and I see the band of his Banana Republic boxer briefs as well as some of the orange and blue and yellow stripes of the cottony fabric below the band. When he stands back up, his shirt stays a bit crinkled so that the bottom of the shirt sits on the top of his butt, hiding just the band of his undies, and because his pants are still pulled down from his jump onto the stage, the stripes of his undies are still visible. My dick starts to get hard as I watch him walk casually over to the center of the stage, top of his undies exposed for the college boys and girls to see. Quentin calls the actors together and I overhear most of his introduction of Robby, and the actor who plays Pippin shakes Robby's hand somewhat vigorously so that Robby's shaggy hair and his body bounce slightly with each bob of the older actor's hand. Robby looks small next to the college students, and it makes my attraction for Robby grow. I watch them do physical warm-ups, Robby's undies sticking out almost the entire time. I listen to their vocal warm-ups, watching Robby's mouth to try to make my ear catch his voice. Then Quentin calls out that they will start with the scenes with Young Pippin to have Robby jump into the part right away. Robby's body visibly tenses, but I see the actor that plays Pippin walk right at Robby and give Robby a rough squeeze of the shoulders. I can nearly feel Robby's release of tension as he turns and pats 'Pippin' on his upper arm in thanks and friendship. I am happy that actor was empathetic enough to notice Robby's sudden concern and kind enough to be there for Robby. Robby reads from the script as he learns the blocking for the scenes. I watch mesmorized mostly by Robby's exposed undies, but also enjoy watching the other actors fawn over this cute boy and each try to outdo the others in helping Robby through the scenes. See world, I think to myself, everyone loves young, cute boys. Then it comes time for Robby's song. The guy playing the rehearsal piano begins and I hear Robby clear his throat. As he sings the other actors watch him. The song does not require much blocking or choreography on Robby's part, just singing. But Robby's expressive voice and subtle hand and body movements animate the scene. Robby sings the song better than when we were practicing and better still than when he auditioned for Quentin. By the last note, the rest of the cast's silence was immediately broken by applause by everyone for Robby. The actor playing Pippin rushes to Robby and fist-bumps him and gives him a pat on the back. I hear various praises, 'he's better than the other kid,' 'wow, we lucked out, and just in time,' 'how'd they find this kid,' and more. Robby accepts the praise with humility but also with a red face; even his ears are flush. Quentin catches my eye from among the bustle on stage and he gives me a thumbs up. I return it with what is, I'm sure, a Cheshire Cat grin on my face. Quentin calls out that they would run through the whole show before the ruckus over Robby fully died down. Robby made his way out of the crowd of the cast and walks downstage and jumps off the platform and starts jogging toward my row. He makes his way down my row, enormous grin on his reddened face, and plops in the seat next to mine, slithers down low in the seat and puts his legs up on the seat in front of him. I put my hand on his lower thigh and shake his leg lightly back and forth and say, "Great job, Robby." I no doubt still have my Cheshire Cat grin, but Robby doesn't look at me but pulls at the collar of his shirt and puts it over his chin and audibly breathes a sigh. Robby's body is shaking slightly, probably from nerves and the excitement. Robby lets out another sigh. "I did OK?" he asks me, turning his head abrutly to look directly at me. The sincerity of his small voice takes me aback, expectant and trusting, seeking affirmation from me despite the overwhelming support he received from everyone else. "Amazing," I say, staring into his eyes. "You're amazing." Robby smiles and looks away, but not coyly this time, not blushing anymore. He sighs once more. I can feel his body relax and melt into contentment. I take my hand off his thigh and lean back in my chair, enjoying the closeness to Robby even though we're not physically touching. We watch the show together, with Robby getting up for his scenes and performing well again. After his major scene, he runs back down the aisle and into our row, and plops down next to me again. I shift position, grabbing the armrest between us to leverage myself. When I settle into my new position and lean back, I feel softness and warmth over my hand on the armrest. Robby is placing his hand on mine. He sends electric currents through my hand and arm, up my neck, and down my back. I release my grip of the armrest and slowly turn my hand upside down under Robby's hand so that our palms are facing each other. I lightly clasp Robby's hand, his hand sweaty from exertion, its stickiness the same dew that sweetened the palms of Adonis. But instead of Venus, it was I who could hold his hand, and instead of Adonis, Robby is the boy whose hand is in mine. I move my hand off the armrest. Robby lets me take his hand. I rest our hands on Robby's thigh and wriggle my hand more thoroughly within his clasp as he tightens his hand around mine. Our fingers are not threaded, but our hands are holding each other softly and firmly. I feel Robby's fingers move slightly as he gets his hand into a more comfortable and firmer hand hold. I feel Robby's taught, thin thigh muscles constrict lightly under my hand. I feel Robby's light arm hairs brush against my own as he moves slightly with each breath. I look at Robby's face for just a moment and see that he is watching the stage. I remember that other people are in this big room with us, that other things are happening around us, but I'm having trouble thinking of the world as any bigger than Robby, and I find it hard to sense any feeling or meaning other than Robby's hand in mine. "Nate," Robby says. His voice the magic that calls me back to the world. Then after a moment, and so low it is almost a whisper, "This is fun." In response I squeeze his hand, not sure I could trust my vocal chords to make any noise. I lean back more fully in the chair, realizing my body had been tense. I sigh, releasing tension, trying to normalize myself in this sudden and magical situation. Robby wiggles his fingers again, achieving an even closer, tighter grasp on my hand, the building sweat between our hands bonding us. As we watch and listen to the actors on stage, most of my focus is on Robby. I feel his belly brush my elbow with his breathing. I feel his arm hairs tickling my own. I feel his small hand, his warmth and grasp keeping me entirely within moment. With him. I realize I'm falling in love. * * * * * I write in my Journal: Robby held my hand. There was no real exchange between us, just a tacit understanding. A feeling without words that I hope Robby felt as strongly. He held me tightly, and then held me tighter. My heart grew ten sizes. The butterflies inside my belly were flying faster and farther than ever before. I realize I might be going down a rabbit hole. The love of a boy leading me down a rabbit role. I hold other wonders of life dearly: togetherness, family, friends, food pleasures, physical peleasures, the small wonders of life like breathing deeply and sprints of physical exertions and orgasms and goosebumps and smiles from strangers and physical connection and emotional connection and long hugs from those I love. But in times of dark or depression or desperation or longing, and also in times of light and happiness and joy and fulfillment, I compare these comforts to love with a boy. So forget The List. It's components just bits of a life, dark spots in comparison to the brightness of the one and singular aim I now have. I cross out all elements of The List except one. The List is no more, except for this last checkbox. For me now, my goal is only love. Only Love. Love with a boy. There is no more special relationship or feeling I can think to excel the utter and unexpressable elation at knowing without words that there is someone with whom I share my inner spirit. The love of a boy that may seem a curse to some but that will empower my greatest jubilation. The love of a boy that may bring me to tears but that will also peak my senses to highs without par. The love of a boy that may drive my darkest thoughts but could only be the grace of light by which I compare all beauty in the world. The love was once a nameless love, a feel without form. I sought to name it, to find the form that will embody my love. I do love a boy. And beyond hope I daren't speak aloud lest it may not come true, I hope to feel a boy's truest of love in return. This hope I will write here, but write here only. May this be the truest confession because there is no-one here for whom I need to lie, for I am the only witness to this private and unadulterated feeling I can express in no way truer than when I express it to myself. And to see it written so I know with full understanding that it is true. I love Robby. Yes, I've stepped into the rabbit hole. But what could be within if not Wonderland?