THE CASE OF THE GENTLE GYMNAST Copyright © 2005 by Jerry Leckie — A young police detective, assigned to a gay missing persons case, finds himself on a voyage of self-discovery when he begins to question his feelings for his partner.

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From Part Three, Chapter Fourteen:  A clear crisp, cold October night had fallen on the city. After a sumptuous meal in the hotel, the boys were escorted to the floor that had been reserved for them.

Brandon and Ed had been touching physically and in spirit since their reunion at the command post, but they longed for a private reconciliation. Consequently, they bid everyone a good night and retired to their bedroom. There, they slowly undressed, marveling at the sight of every portion of flesh exposed to view.

Ed had difficulty keeping his breath under control until Brandon was naked - a vision of muscle, all man, lightly dusted with blond hair so fine that it could barely be seen. In the midst of the picture lay heavy genitals. Ed placed a hand on Brandon's chest. Inside that powerful frame was a gentle, loving passionate soul that adored and understood him. Ed would stand by this man forever.

Brandon had no better control over his breath than Ed. To him, Ed was the perfect man, small of stature and perfectly proportioned, in keeping with his Japanese heritage. Brandon knew that within this sleek, hairless body dwelt a patient, intelligent, intensely passionate soul, qualities that he admired and loved. To Brandon, Ed was his soul mate, one to be cherished, nurtured, protected and loved well.

The blond haired, gentle gymnast carefully lifted Ed and carried him to the bed, where he made gentle passionate love that was reciprocated in every respect.

In the next bedroom, Michael Marks and his younger brother, sated after sweet lovemaking, stood naked before the large window overlooking the nighttime panorama of the city. Mickey wrapped his arms around the boy and nuzzled the back of his neck. Staring out of the window, Dickie whispered, "The city lights look like a basket of jewels."

Mickey murmured into his ear, "That's our world out there now, and we'll be happy in it."

In the Intensive Care Unit of St. Vincent's Hospital, Bart sat by John's bed. Holding his friend's hand, he stared at the still form and listened to the rhythmic sounds of the monitors. "Come back to me John," he said quietly.


Over the next week, Bart spent almost every off duty hour at John's bedside. He missed his friend terribly, the easy conversation, mutual respect, kindness and sunny humor. He even missed their physical closeness. There was something very comforting knowing that John was close by.

Bart's duties regarding "The Case of the Gentle Gymnast," as it was informally called, was far from over. The singular missing persons case had mushroomed into a hydra-headed monster with no end of loose ends to clean up and incorporate into volumes of written reports.

During the week, he had many meetings with the city attorney, the district attorney, the chief of police, Child Protective Services and Jack Wade.

The children's parents had been notified of the loss of their parental rights and the city's legal staff was waiting for an avalanche of complaints and/or covert actions. Consequently, police officers guarded the boys twenty-four hours a day.

On the bright side, CPS was coordinating the unbelievable outpouring of donations for the children's welfare, due largely to the efforts of Jack Wade and daily articles in the Grant County Times. The boys had gone on shopping sprees for new clothes, and were otherwise kept busy with testing at the university.

Jack Wade's law staff was examining the documents salvaged from the compound. And, Jack's investigators were tracing telephone calls and other transactions the brother's had made for the past six months.

One of the largest bits of unfinished business was what to do with the so-called brothers. Half them were recovering in the jail ward of the county hospital and the other half were cooling their heels in the city lockup.

On Saturday morning, Bart was at John's bedside reading some case reports when Brandon appeared at the door. He smiled, pleased to see the boy. "Hey, how's the week gone for you?"

Brandon sat beside him, smiling comfortably. "Real good. I talked CPS into letting me go back to my university classes, provided I live with Ed and that he's always with me." He grinned. "And you know I agreed to that." They laughed. "He's down in the cafeteria taking care of a case of the munchies. He'll be up in a little while."

Bart turned serious. "Have your parents tried to get in touch with you?" Brandon shook his head. "Well, I'm still concerned for the safety of you guys. Be careful."

"I will." Brandon nodded at John's sleeping form. "How's he doing?"

"He's doing remarkably well considering he has a concussion and a hairline skull fracture. The doctors are keeping him in an induced coma until the trauma to his brain is healed." Bart sighed heavily. "God I hope he wakes up soon. I miss him so much."

Brandon studied Bart for a moment, seeing the anguish the man was suffering, and his heart went out to him. Quietly, he said, "You promised to tell me how I acquired the name 'Gentle Gymnast.'"

Bart smiled and nodded toward his friend. "It was John that gave you the name. He's a very sensitive guy, with insight like you wouldn't believe. When he saw Stella Foxworth's painting of you, his first word was 'gentle.' Then, he went on to say that you had a gentle loving soul with much affection to give, but that it was all locked up inside you."

Brandon nodded in agreement. "He's right. That was true ... until I saw Ed's painting. When I saw it, something clicked in me, and I knew that I would never be the same. I would love Ed forever, for no other reason than he painted that portrait. He's made a happy life possible for me."

Bart regarded the boy with a smile. "The butterfly has left its cocoon and can never go back."

Brandon's eyes narrowed momentarily, then he spoke. "I think everyone should check to see if they are living in a cocoon. If they are, they've got to break out of it ... if they want to lead a happy life."

They sat in silence for a few minutes. At length, Brandon took John's hand and asked, "Do you talk to him?" The detective looked at him curiously. "Who knows, he may hear you. Just because he's asleep doesn't mean his ears aren't working."

Brandon sat on the edge of John's bed. Softly, he said, "John, it's Brandon Johnson. You're my hero John. You fought like a crusader for us in that basement, and it sucks that you're stuck in this bed. You need to hurry up and get well so you can see how happy me and the rest of the guys are. We love you and we need you with us here in the land of the living." He glanced over his shoulder at Bart. "And, you need to get well most of all because Bart needs you. He loves you very much and misses you." He squeezed John's hand. "Hurry up and come back to us John." He kissed the man on the forehead and stepped away.

Ed Tekai was standing in the doorway. He gave his lover an encouraging smile, then silently shook hands with Bart. He kissed Brandon on the cheek and sat on the edge of the bed. Taking John's hand, he addressed the man. "Hi John. It's Ed Tekai. I want to thank you for rescuing Brandon and returning him to me. And I'm sorry you got hurt in the process. But, you need to get well now. I want to paint a portrait of you, and the Gentle Gymnast wants you to see him perform the rings exercise he's been working on." He kissed John's cheek. "Just remember that we love you and need you with us." 

Inspired by Ed and Brandon, Bart spent the rest of the day talking to John, whispering words of encouragement, reading to him and even singing to him. This routine was interspersed with visits from Stella and Linda, Randy and Joe, Jack and Bernice Wade, and Malcom Foxworth, Joe's father, in addition to many members of the Canyon City police force.

The doctors spent Sunday morning running tests on John and decided to withdraw the medication that kept him in the coma. If Bart had been one whit less inhibited, he would have turned cartwheels down the corridor when he heard the news.

Late Sunday afternoon, after he returned from a much needed shower and change of clothing, he sat holding John's hand, speaking softly. "John, you're getting well. You're coming out of it man. I'm so proud of you. You're a fighter, a real trouper."

He paused, resolving some conflict within himself, then continued. "Shit John, I want you to get well because I miss the hell out of you. I didn't realize how much you meant to me until you were taken away." He rose and kissed his friend on the cheek. "I love you John. Come back to me, please."

Bart gazed at the peaceful face before him, then slowly John's fingers closed around his. The fingers squeezed his hand once, then relaxed and Bart burst into tears.


Monday morning, a smiling Jack Wade plopped down in front of Bart's desk. "Well son, we're going to be spared the expense of placing the brothers on trial. According to the government, they've violated the terms of their resident visas, so they're going to be deported. Seems they're a group of religious fanatics that broke away from some obscure monastery in the western part of Turkey. I suppose only God knows how they discovered the compound here or accumulated the funds to buy it."

His manner turned sullen. Bitterly, he muttered, "But, we know how they financed their continued existence here. They preyed on the ignorance and irrational fear of the invincibly stupid." Bart's eyebrows went up and Jack cleared his throat. "Pardon me Bart. I usually don't let emotion and personal opinion enter into my professional life."

He cleared his throat again and continued. "The brothers sent out letters to every church in Missouri and the surrounding states, offering a religious cure for homosexuality. The responses they received were usually from fundamentalist denominations. The church leaders put them in touch with the parents. And the brothers had the parents sign documents committing their children as novices into the religious order."

His face took on an evil smile. "And that's where the brothers made a mistake. Under the laws of this state, parents can't sign their kids away like that. In addition, the brothers didn't have a right to administer drugs--not even aspirin--, or electrical shock treatment, not to mention corporal punishment."

Then, his face took on a look of horror. "But, ya want to know the real kicker? As stupid and gullible as the parents were, the brothers were deadly serious about their work. They really thought they were doing the work of God every time they hit one of those kids with a stick ... because they did it to each other. When the hospital crews took the robes off the brothers, they found the backs of every one crisscrossed with fresh and aged scars, welts and bruises." 

"Jesus," Bart muttered.

Jack sat back in his chair with a grim expression. "I'm quite sure Jesus would not have approved."

Bart shook his head in wonder at the foibles of humankind, then turned to another matter. "We've got to find more permanent housing for the boys. The hotel can't keep devoting an entire floor to them forever."

Jack sighed. "I'm working on it."

After dinner that evening, Randy, Joe, Mickey and Dickie met to plan the week's activities for the boys. Fortunately, they had--more or less--settled into a routine that was comfortable for everyone, because Mickey, Joe and Randy were occupied during much of the day with classes and work.

Randy asked, "Any problems so far with the boys?"

Joe snickered. "Their hormone treatments seem to be wearing off quickly, 'cause they're getting hornier by the minute."

Dickie piped up, "Yeah, I've noticed that some of them are pairing off."

Joe laughed. "I hope more of them pair off, because if one more of the little fuckers cruises me, Randy is gonna start being jealous." They all laughed.

Randy offered, "We've got to find some way to get them involved socially with other kids their age. Maybe we can arrange some meetings with the Gay/Straight Alliance organizations at the high schools."

"That might be awkward since they have to be guarded every moment," Mickey said. "Kids don't feel comfortable with uniformed cops hanging around."

They all looked a bit discouraged. "Let's hope the need to guard them comes to an end ... soon," Randy murmured.

After gymnastics practice that evening, Brandon bid good night to Joe and Randy and went in search of Ed. He found the boy asleep on a mat in one corner of the gym. Smiling, he lay down beside his love and playfully began nibbling on his earlobe. Ed roused slightly from his slumber and stroked Brandon's cheek.

"Hi sexy," Brandon crooned into his ear. "You're cute enough. You don't need beauty sleep."

"Just storing up some energy to keep you occupied in bed," he murmured, without opening his eyes.

Brandon kissed him tenderly. "I know a nice soft bed I'd like to wallow in with you," he said, stroking Ed's smooth cheek.

The energy Ed had stored bubbled to the surface at the thought of touching Brandon's naked body. They quickly donned their heavy jackets and exited the gym. The night was clear and cold. They walked quickly, holding hands. A full moon greeted the two as the path led them past a copse of trees.

"Wow!" Ed exclaimed, looking up at the beautiful sight.

Brandon circled the boy's slender waist with a powerful arm and pulled him close. "Um, they say that anything done under a full moon is automatically forgiven."

Ed grinned. "I don't think we need forgiveness for this." He pulled Brandon's head down for a passionate kiss.

As they parted, Brandon murmured, "Slowly turn your head and look at those two guys standing under the streetlight over there. I saw them outside the gym earlier tonight."

Ed took in the sight. "They look like a couple of guys I saw yesterday. Same caps and jackets. They don't look like students."

Still embracing his lover, Brandon gripped him fiercely. "Damn! I wonder if they're after me."

Ed said, "Then we gotta find out for sure. Let's keep walking down this path. When we get to those bushes, I'll go to the left so they'll think you're alone."

"Let's do it," Brandon said through clenched teeth. "This shit is gonna stop!"

The boys strolled casually down the path. At the appointed place, Ed spoke louder than necessary, "See ya tomorrow Brandon," and turned left, disappearing behind the bushes.

The two men approached Brandon rapidly, one trying to throw a thin rope around his body.

Brandon raised his arms, shrugging off the rope. Spinning around, he buried his fist in the man's stomach. Surprise registered on the guy's face as he bent double. Brandon felled him completely by kneeing the attacker in the groin. The man fell like a tree in the forest.

The second man's face was a mask of anger. He poised to swing his fist shouting, "Why you little ..."

His attack was cut short as Ed raced around the bushes. Seeing the man raise a fist against his beloved, he performed a drop kick into the man's knee, knocking him off his feet. Ed pounced on the man, twisting his arm painfully behind his back and burying his thumb in the guy's Adam's apple.

Brandon gave the first guy another kick in the testicles to keep him down while he dialed 911 on his cell phone. He gave the appropriate information to the operator, then added, "Contact Bart Killian in the Detective Division. This concerns a case he's working on. And hurry!"

Ed smiled evilly as he knelt over the man he had subdued. "I've studied martial arts for fifteen years mister. I can move my thumb a fraction of an inch and you will never speak again. So far, your only injury is a fractured knee. Unless you want to be hurt more, you're going to start talking and tell us the truth."

He eased his thumb back so the man could speak, but twisted his arm higher behind his back. The man yelped in pain. "This is only a fraction of the pain you're going to feel unless you agree to talk and tell the whole truth. Now talk, or I'll start breaking your fingers ... slowly ... one at a time." The man's face turned into a mask of terror.

Brandon's cell phone chirped. It was Bart. He gave the detective a quick description of the situation, then said, "You might want to listen to this. One of the birds is about to start singing." He held the phone close to Ed and the man. "Bart's on his way."

Ed bent one of the man's fingers in a direction Nature had not intended and fired questions at him rapidly. "What are you and the other guy doing here?"

The man was sweating profusely. "We came to capture Brandon Johnson," he wheezed.

"Why?" Ed demanded.

"T-to take him to a sanitarium for treatment," he stammered.

"What sanitarium? Where?" Ed said with menace in his voice.

"Norton Institute. Astoria, Kansas."

"What kind of treatment does Brandon require?" Ed asked, twisting his thumb in the man's throat.

"To cure him of being a faggot," the man gasped, with a touch of belligerence.

Ed applied a slight bit of pressure and broke the guy's little finger. "Who hired you?"

"Ahhhhhh. Johnson's parents."

"How much did they pay you?"

"Ten thousand dollars, plus expenses."

"Who referred you to them? Who told you they were looking for kidnappers?"

"Curtis Downing."

Brandon leaned forward, looking at the guy closely. "Reverend Downing, the pastor of the church my folks belong to?" The guy nodded his head, frantically.

Brandon's eyes narrowed and he ripped off the man's cap. "Well, well, well. If it isn't Curt Downing, Junior. I didn't recognize you with that cap and a goatee." Brandon grabbed Curt by the hair and jerked hard. "You motherfucking hypocrite!" he shouted. "I wonder what your dad's gonna say when I tell him about all the times you sucked me off when we were kids."

He banged Curt's head against the pavement and Ed broke another finger. In the distance, they heard the sound of sirens.


By ten o'clock Tuesday morning, Brandon and Ed had given their statements and depositions regarding the events of the night before. Now, they sat in Bart's office along with Jack Wade and an FBI agent. Bart replaced the telephone in its cradle and grinned. "Well, your two assailants are resting in the jail ward of the hospital, not comfortably, but resting." He glanced at the FBI agent. "They will be arrested for kidnapping, will they not?" It was a statement, not a question.

The agent closed the folder on the depositions he'd been reading. "Yes, that will not be a problem."

Brandon spoke up. "I want my parents and Reverend Downing arrested. I want them brought here and tried."

The agent's eyes widened. "Are you sure you want your parents arrested?"

"Yes," Brandon said with conviction. "They had me kidnapped once and tried it again. I want them put away for a long time, because I refuse to live the rest of my life in fear."

Jack Wade interjected, addressing the agent, "There's a possibility that other parents could try the same thing, so you could be investigating a number of kidnapping cases all at the same time. It would be to your advantage to make an example of the Johnson's and Reverend Downing."

By noon the following Tuesday, Bart, the FBI agent, Ed and Brandon were exhausted. They sat under the hot lights of a local TV studio where they had given eight interviews, four to broadcast news services and three to cable news services. The eighth and most interesting one was to MTV. The following morning, they were scheduled to return to the studio for more interviews for morning magazine shows.

As hot and tired and hoarse as they were, they smiled at one another, because they had accomplished their objective. The world now knew of the brothers, the compound, the abuse suffered there, and of the parents who had consigned their children to the monsters at the encouragement of so-called religious leaders. The world also now knew of the fate of one set of parents, their religious leader and a couple of hapless would-be kidnappers. The FBI agent made a point of stating that the same fate awaited any other parents who tried the same thing. Brandon, Ed and Bart made the point that the world would be a better place if homosexuality was understood instead of being condemned or feared.

Randy and Joe met the group as they exited the studio. Joe clapped Ed and Brandon on the shoulders and proclaimed, "I'll bet every gay magazine in the world is going to be clamoring for an interview with you two."

Brandon grinned. "Not going to happen. I've had my fifteen minutes of fame. I'm just quietly going back to my classes and living with the man of my dreams."

"Oh, who is that?" Ed quipped. Brandon picked him up and kissed him soundly. When his feet were on the ground again, he smirked, "Oh, him."

Bart's cell phone rang while everyone was laughing over their antics. He listened for a moment, then broke the connection, looking like he wanted to pee, laugh and cry all at the same time. "John's awake and is asking for me!" he shouted as he raced for his car.

Joe stared after the car burning rubber out of the parking lot. "Betcha a dollar he uses his siren on the way to the hospital."

Randy shook his head. "I ain't betting he doesn't."


John had been moved to an ordinary hospital room. Unlike ICU, it had windows through which sunlight streamed, and was much more cheerful without the drone of the monitoring equipment. The pots of flower gifts that had accumulated for a week had been transferred also, brightening the room further.

Bart skidded to a stop in the doorway, panting. He quickly shoved down a pang of guilt for using his siren on the way. Taking a deep breath, he entered the room. John lay still, eyes closed.

As Bart slowly approached the bed, John said, "Hi Bart," with a smile, eyes still closed.

"Oh, I thought you were asleep," Bart murmured shyly. "How did you know it was me?"

John chuckled, keeping his eyes shut. "It's those damn squeaky cop shoes you wear."

Bart laughed along with him as he sat on the edge of the bed. John opened his eyes long enough to take Bart's hand, then closed them again.

"Is there something wrong with your eyes?" Bart asked with concern.

John squeezed his friend's hand. "No, not really. It's the concussion. I'll have trouble focusing for a while. So, it's easier not to try." He looked at Bart for a few seconds. "I see two of you." He giggled. "And, God damn do you look good."

A single tear ran down Bart's cheek. "So do you. It's good to have you back."

John nodded and suddenly seemed restless. "Would you help me up? I'd like to try standing for a while--the doctor said I could. I've been in bed so long I've got a permanent flat spot on my ass."

"Sure." Bart turned back the covers and helped his buddy swing his legs over the side of the bed. John gingerly scooted forward until his feet touched the floor. He grabbed Bart's hands and stood.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed, swaying, and threw his arms around Bart. "The room started spinning. Let me shut my eyes and stand here a minute. Maybe it will stop."

Bart embraced John and they stood there for perhaps a full minute. John's head felt so good, resting on his shoulder. His body was firm and warm. Presently, he was conscious that he had a lump in his throat and another tear fell.

Gradually, John's arms tightened around his body. "I heard you, you know."

"Hm?" Bart didn't dare try to speak.

"When I was unconscious, I heard people talking to me. But I knew for sure when you spoke," John replied softly. "I was in such pain ... It hurt to think ... I didn't know what was happening to me ... And I was so scared. But I heard you encouraging me, asking me to come back to you ... I heard you say that you love me."
He looked Bart in the eyes. "So, here I am Bart."

The squirrel cage of fear and indecision that had been running in Bart's stomach for weeks suddenly stopped. He realized without question that the man in his arms meant more to him than anyone on Earth. The opportunity of a lifetime was being offered. Was he man enough to reach out and claim it?  Was he man enough to burst out of his cocoon and transform into a butterfly?

Yes. He leaned forward and brushed John's lips with his. The lips parted and he entered into a life-changing kiss. He felt John's hard muscles straining against him and the stubble of his beard. He inhaled John's musk, the most heavenly scent imaginable.

Presently, he felt John's erection pressing into his.

They broke the kiss and stared in wonder, for they had taken their relationship to the next level. Both men suddenly felt giddy, but John recovered first. He took Bart's face between his hands and asked, "How about helping me over to the couch?" With a smirk, he added, "But first, I think you should close the door."

Very early the next morning, Bart reassembled with the others at the TV studio. He was late and only nodded to everyone as the producer rushed him through preparations. The man had positioned them on the set and started a countdown when Brandon began to giggle. "Well Bart, I see that even the makeup people couldn't wipe that smile off your face."

Ed began to cackle along with Brandon, then Bart broke up while the FBI agent looked on in confusion. The producer was horror stricken.
Staring at the clock on the wall, he shouted to the room at large, "Thirty seconds to airtime people!" Fortunately, the assembled interviewees made heroic attempts to regain their composure and the conversation with the host in New York proceeded as planned. Before they left the studio, they gave two more interviews for different networks, without incident.

Just outside the door, Bart grabbed Brandon in a headlock and gave his blond curls a scrubbing with his knuckles. Laughing like a hyena, the boy yelled, "Uncle! Okay. I give." Bart released him and stood there grinning shyly. Brandon shook his hand, saying, "Congratulation man. I so happy for both of you." Ed gave Bart a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

The FBI agent looked both curious and profoundly confused. Brandon slapped the man on the back and exclaimed, "Yesterday he proposed to his boyfriend." The guy was so caught up in the moment that he grabbed Bart's hand and congratulated him before he realized what he was doing. Bart accepted his well wishes with a goofy grin.

To Bart, Brandon asked, "When will John be released from the hospital?"

"If he continues to improve, in a couple of days," he was happy to report.

Indeed, by Saturday, John had made great strides in regaining the ability to focus his eyes, and the doctor released him with a litany of precautionary instructions. Bart walked tall and proud beside his partner as the attendant pushed the wheelchair to the front entrance of the hospital, where Bart's car waited at the curb.

They drove in silence until John took Bart's hand and held it while studying their progress through traffic. "We going to your place?"

Bart nodded, swallowing down a case of butterflies in his stomach, for he had suddenly realized that this was the first day of the rest of their lives.

He had almost said no, we're going home, but he didn't know whether he had the right to say that. They hadn't discussed living arrangements -- yet. Instead, he said, "I thought you would be more comfortable there, rather than being alone at your place." In answer, John raised Bart's hand to his lips and kissed it.

John waited patiently on the stoop of the apartment while Bart fidgeted with his keys to unlock the door. Inside, Bart's nervousness suddenly overtook him. He had never felt so inadequate and insecure. Resting his trembling hands on John's shoulders, he asked shyly, "Uh, are you hungry? Uh, would you like something to eat?"

John smiled and took Bart's hand. "Thanks, but no. If it's all right with you, I'd like to lie down for a while," he said, leading his lover into the bedroom. There,
John took him into a poignant embrace and kissed him tenderly. "I'm glad to be here Bart."

He sat on the bed while Bart stood nearby, staring at him uncertainly. Giving his lover a come-hither look, John removed his shoes and socks; then, he paused and cocked an expectant eyebrow at the man he adored.

Bart's Adam's apple bobbed once, as he cautiously moved to a chair and did the same.

>From that moment, everything suddenly seemed to move in slow motion, as in a beautifully choreographed ballet.

John slowly stripped out of his shirt and waited, smiling. With eyes full of wonder, Bart follow suit, unbuttoning his shirt, shrugging it off his muscular shoulders and letting it fall to the floor.

Eyes now glittering with anticipation, John stood, unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants. Without breaking eye contact, he hooked his thumbs in the waistband and lowered them to his knees. Seated on the bed, he deafly pulled them off and dropped them on the floor. He stood once more, in his white boxers.

Bart stared at the large tent in the front of John's underwear and swallowed. He fumbled until his pants were undone, then stood, pushing them to his feet, and stepped out of them. Wide-eyed, he presented himself to his lover.

John licked his lips at the sight of the impressive erection straining the front of his lover's briefs. Without preamble, he dropped his boxers to the floor and moved to the center of the bed.
To be continued

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