Date: Thu, 17 Aug 2006 01:17:52 -0700 (PDT)
From: Hank M <redbeardedsf (at) yahoo (dot) com>
Subject: The Fate of a Poor Man's Son, part 15

THE FATE OF A POOR MAN'S SON, PART 15

By Master Redbeard
A new arrival at the estate


This story involves erotic situations and actual sexual contact between
males - as well as humiliation, exhibition, and much of the usual stuff for
this genre. If you are not at least 18 years of age (or whatever legal age
is where you are) go away now! If you are offended by the content of this
story go away now! If you are in a jurisdiction in which it is illegal to
read or possess such fiction stories go away now (well, it would be better
if you could get the hell away from that jurisdiction). And if you are
someone who cannot distinguish fantasy from reality, please go away and get
some help.


I welcome reader response (no flames). Include name of the story in title
line. You can reach me at email address below.

- - - - - - - - - -

THE FATE OF A POOR MAN'S SON, chapter 15

By Master Redbeard (redbeardedsf at yahoo dot com)


Captain Winston's younger son Randy had not come back to the estate at all
for the semester break. Instead, he took off to spend a semester studying
in Europe. Slaves are not supposed to listen in on the conversations of
free men, but the captain would launch into a string of epithets each time
Randy's name was mentioned or any time Europe was mentioned. From what I
heard of his itinerary, Randy was visiting abolitionist countries like
Sweden and Belgium. I missed Randy's kindness, but I was glad the boy was
away from his awful father.


Soon enough I lost track of days at the estate. I would service the captain
sexually or I might be called upon to service his houseguests. More and
more the captain would call me up to his rooms along with another slave -
at first it was always with Rye, but soon there was variety - and have us
perform for him. Our master would pass out in a drunken stupor before our
sex act was complete. But since he was capable of waking up at surprising
moments, we would continue our scene. Many times I found myself enjoying
the sex - I had stopped worrying about what that meant to my
heterosexuality.


There was another evening where I was cast in the after dinner
entertainment. This was indoors but when I was handed the khaki outfit and
the pony slaves were given their small bits of cloth to wear, I knew we
would be re-enacting the cannibal scene that I'd so recently seen Eddie
perform. I acted panicky and jostled about hanging from the pole as the
tall black men carried me onstage, but it was all an act for me. I had
already taken both African dicks inside me. I felt I was beyond letting
anything effect me.


After our performance I sucked about a dozen cocks. I noticed that Erik's
father was not in the crowd this time. When I thought I had finished, I was
dragged over to a dark corner of the room once again. I thought I
remembered the foul smell of Judge Snow's crotch and the bitter taste of
his cheesy cock, but once again I was overpowered by the sheer
unpleasantness of the morbidly obese man.


When I finished swallowing the judge's meager load, he again called to his
friend, my master, to ask whether he could borrow me. The captain simply
said, "We shall see."


That night as I fell asleep in Rye's arms, I thought about the prospect of
being loaned out to Judge Snow. As repulsive as the fat man was, I told
myself, "I'm beyond letting anything effect me." I repeated that mantra
till I was sound asleep, calm, living in the moment.


But my resolve to remain unaffected was shattered the next morning. I
served the captain in his morning shower, but he hadn't asked for his usual
morning blowjob. As I was drying him, he seemed eager to get to his sitting
room. I had to follow him with the towel still patting at his big wet
body. He stopped, stood beside his desk, and then indicated he was ready
for his blowjob.


I slurped up and down his meat, feeling it jump quickly to full size in my
mouth. Usually he didn't bother speaking to me, especially not while I was
sucking his cock. But that morning he looked down and said, "I just wanted
to look at some pictures of the slaveboy I'm expecting in a few weeks."


His behavior was out of the ordinary, but I just kept on sucking the man's
stiff cock as he took a manila folder from his desk and opened it. He
chuckled a bit as he said, "My good friend, the headmaster, had such hopes
for this lad. Too bad this boy is going to be caught red-handed stealing
from the school two weeks from Sunday." I knew he was talking about my
little brother, but I tried to stay focused on the cock in my mouth. "The
new boy has such a soft-looking lower lip, Wally, so much like yours." With
that the captain grabbed the back of my head and thrust forward so that his
pulsing cockhead slammed against the back of my throat. I gulped as fast as
I could while my master shot his hot cream.


There was that evil laugh again. I was cleaning his cock with my tongue as
the captain turned one of the pictures in his manila folder to face me. The
picture showed my little brother, Will, in a Speedo - it must have been as
part of the school swim team. Will was bending over so that the top of his
crack was exposed above the waistband of the tiny swimsuit, and the valley
between his cheeks was a thin shadow.


The captain licked one finger and ran it along the shadow that was Will's
crack. He just grinned at me and snarled, "Heheheh."


I looked up at him. I actually met his eyes. I spoke, "Captain... Master,
sir, please you ca-ca-ca...." I couldn't get myself to finish that
sentence.


He stood to his full height towering over me and bellowed, "Aside from the
impudence of speaking without permission, were you going to tell your
master what he could and could not do, slaveboy?"


That was the moment I was supposed to grovel and beg his forgiveness. But I
knew I had already earned a punishment and if I let this moment pass it
would never come again.


"P-please, M-master, forgive this unworthy slave for speaking. B-but the
boy is still so young. The boy is only...."


His hammy fist slammed across the side of my head as he lifted up a piece
of paper and pushed it against my face. "The boy is eighteen!" he screamed
at me. "Slaves are not worthy to even look at legal documents, but I'm
showing it to you! Damn ungrateful brats in your whole family! I have a
legal document signed by Judge Snow stating that the new slave I will
receive next week is legal age."


I was frozen to the spot. Where had I heard that scenario before? Of
course, it was Rye's story about his enslavement. When he was still so
young and he had reminded Captain Winston of his age, the captain had waved
a legal document declaring that the boy was already eighteen - and
therefore available for sex. I thought of what Will looked like in the
swimsuit picture. Nobody could believe this was an eighteen-year-old. But
then again, nobody in the town of Winston ever questioned the actions of
Captain Winston or of Judge Snow.


The next thing I knew Rye and another slave were dragging me out the back
of the house. I was being strapped into an X-shape on the whipping
frame. Rye whispered trying not to move his lips as he asked, "What the
hell did you do, you fool? How did you get our master so angry?" But I
couldn't answer.


All the slaves were gathered around in a semi-circle to watch my
punishment. I heard the voice of the captain, but I couldn't turn to see
him. "This slave not only spoke without permission, but he had the audacity
to question his master's actions. He will be punished and you will all
witness the punishment."


Captain Winston brushed the whip around my neck and shoulders so I could
see it. He announced to the crowd, "As terrible as his actions were today,
this is the slave's first time on the whipping frame. Therefore, I am being
merciful and only giving him twenty lashes with the short whip." The
captain moved closer to my ear and grumbled, "You went without a whipping
or even a caning for quite some time, boy. That was because I wanted to
keep your pretty ass all tender and fresh. But now that I'm bored with
fucking you, it'll be fun to put some stripes there."


They say that once a slave has been whipped he is never the same again. The
first slice of the whip across my back was so intense I could not even
scream in pain. The second whiplash hit my buttocks and the third went
across my thighs. It was the fourth lash that finally caused me to howl in
agony. The captain had purposely crossed the first lash mark and the spot
where they met felt like a burning knife wound. I continued sobbing and
howling through the next ten or twelve lashes. But my throat was too sore
to yell and my eyes too puffy to cry by the time my master neared the
twentieth lash mark across my butt.


He grabbed my face and in a loud voice said, "The next time it will be a
horsewhip and I'll be sure to lash it a couple of times across your cock
and balls." Then he spat at me and yelled, "What do you say, slaveboy?"


Without a moment's hesitation I called out as loudly as my weakened state
would allow, "Master, thank you, Master!" Then I was aware of the captain's
creepy, evil laugh and after that I passed out.


Rye cared for me. I was given the rest of that day to heal, but put to work
the following day. Of course it was painful for me to move when I was
assigned to carry and place heavy paving stones. But I worked as hard and
as fast as I could. I was not about to do anything to displease my master.


As Rye and I were digging in the garden I spoke under my breath and told
him about the captain's plans to enslave my younger brother. It was clear
that the captain had set me up so that I would speak out and he would have
cause to punish me. I then told Rye about the phony document from the court
attesting to my brother's age. There was a faraway look in the big slave's
eyes and I thought for a moment that he would cry. He looked at me as if
thinking what to say. Finally he looked to the ground and said, "You're a
slave, Wally. You just have to be concerned with your own survival." Then
he returned to digging.


There was a salve that helped whip marks heal faster. But as I felt the
flesh on my ass cheeks, Rye remarked that even if the marks did not show,
there would now always be some tougher skin under the surface. My ass would
never be the tender smooth flesh it was when I'd first become a slave on
the Winston estate.


More days passed and on a sunny afternoon I was sent to serve drinks at the
gazebo overlooking the swimming pool. This was the same pool where I had
played with the captain's sons so many years earlier. As I approached I saw
the captain with Mr. Blank and I headed toward them. But then I saw
splashes in the pool and Mr. Blank's twin sons popped out of the water,
laughing and chasing each other.


I brought the iced teas to the table. The ones for the two men were spiked
with gin while the boys' teas were sweetened with extra sugar. The twins
leaped out of the pool and I saw they had both been swimming in their white
underpants. The thin cotton was virtually see-through from the water. The
weight of the water made one pair of briefs droop down revealing one boy's
backside.


"Don't show your bottom in front of a slave, boys," Mr. Blank called
out. "You were warned how nasty and sex-obsessed slaves can be." Then the
man turned to the captain and added, "Would you believe when this slaveboy
was still free I used to let him baby-sit for my sons?"


I saw the look on the captain's face. He chuckled softly but I don't know
if he even heard what Mr. Blank said. He was mesmerized by the slim sleek
bodies of the wet boys. His eyes seemed glazed over and his tongue flicked
out to quickly lick his lips. My stomach turned.


The indulgent father sent his boys down to the far end of the pool so he
could talk business with Captain Winston. I stood at slave rest position,
ready to serve the men, but treated like a piece of furniture. I heard the
two of them talking about a contract, about a loan from the captain, about
collateral to secure the contract. And then the captain mentioned the
twins.


"If it weren't for my bankers I'd simply forego the very question of
collateral, since I have such confidence in your venture." Captain Winston
sounded so solicitous. "But even if the very worst happened - well, the
boys would come to me and you know how I feel about the little fellas,
heheheh."


Mr. Blank was looking down at the contract. Clearly the man did not know
how the twisted pervert truly felt about his young sons. I saw the captain
gazing off into the distance. I followed his gaze and saw that the blond
brothers were wrestling, each one pulling down the wet underpants of the
other one.


"Boys!" Mr. Blank shouted. "What did I tell you about letting the slaveboy
see your bottoms?"


Then Mr. Blank turned his attention to me in another way. He whispered
something to the captain who smiled and said, "Go ahead, I'll keep an eye
on the twins."


Mr. Blank grabbed me by my slave collar and pulled me into the changing
room. As the door closed behind us, I heard the captain call out to his
young charges, "You can drop the undies if you like, boys. The slaveboy
can't see you now."


Damn! How far in advance did the captain make his nefarious plans? The
twins were even younger than my brother. How long till Mr. Blank's contract
would come due and the captain would take possession of the boys?


I turned to Mr. Blank. For a moment I wanted to warn him. I wanted to tell
him not to sign his contract and to take his boys as far away from the
captain as he could. It was too late for me and would soon be too late for
my brother, but there was no reason he had to put his twin boys in the
hands of the sex-obsessed captain.


But Mr. Blank was determined to be brutal and cruel to me. He pushed me
over and grabbed my hips. He shoved his cock into me without any lubricant
and he fucked me hard. "Yeah, I saw the way you were looking at my little
boys," the nasty man said. "I know all about slaves - that story of the
trusted household slave who went berserk and raped the master's son and all
his young friends at his sleepover!" (It had been shown many times over
that this was an urban myth. But the myth kept being repeated because it
suited the tough-on-slavery lobby that dominated American politics.)


Mr. Blank was panting, fucking my bottom, and rambling on, "But the doctor
checked their sphincters. I took them to the captain's doctor for a checkup
so they could be collateral for my loan. The captain's doctor said nobody
had tampered with my sons back there." My mind was screaming, "You bloody
moron! How could you be so blind to the captain's motives?"


And then Mr. Blank collapsed on top of me, filling me with his cum and then
giving me his cock to clean off. He laughed as he walked out of the
changing room without looking back.


Yes, the father was an asshole. But it would be the sons who would
suffer. But I remembered what Rye had reminded me: I'm a slave. I just had
to be concerned with my own survival.


Once again I lost track of days. That happens so easily when you're a slave
and one day seems like the last. So I was taken by surprise when Rye led my
little brother Will into the slave bathing room. The boy was collared, with
a SIN tattooed across his collarbone. He undoubtedly had the same SIN
tattooed across one butt cheek, but it was hidden by the boy's white briefs
- the same brand of underpants he wore when we had lived at home as a happy
family.


I wanted to run and hug my brother, but I couldn't bring myself to move. I
merely mumbled, "I'm sorry to see you like this, Will."


"It's OK," the boy said, trying to muster what confidence he could. "The
captain saved me from having to be auctioned off. He promised to
investigate the police report that got me sentenced. At least I have a good
master. Right, Wally?"


At that moment I must have turned to adjust a faucet. I heard my younger
brother gasp. "Damn, you must have been a very disobedient slave to get
whipped like that, Wally. What did you do that was so bad?"


I had gotten used to the marks on my back. They were mostly healed and only
bothered me at rare moments. But there were welts and discoloration where
the whip had struck. "It's a long story," I mumbled, not meeting his eyes.


Then Rye led Will forward and said, "When you see the marks of the whip on
Wally's back and ass it's to make you understand that you have to be
obedient and follow all your master's commands quickly and eagerly."


"No!" I blurted out before I even realized what I'd said.


Rye grabbed my arm and muttered, "Think about the horsewhip across your
dick and your balls, Wally." That was a blunt enough way to tell me to shut
up.


"Does the boy need his pubes shaved?" I asked Rye, trying to get down to
work.


Will protested, "Yeah, I got pubes!" He really was so young and so
innocent.


As I lathered the shaving cream I thought back to the morning when the
captain had showed me Will's picture. I'd had the captain's cock in my
mouth at the time. If I could turn back time... I thought, if only I would
have bitten the man's cock off. If only! Of course I would have suffered
the most agonizing and torturous death. But at least that evil pervert
wouldn't be able to use his cock on my little brother.


It only took two swipes of the blade to remove the light patch of blond
hairs above the boy's penis. Through the cleaning and the enemas, my eyes
kept clouding up with tears. Fortunately, Rye took the lead and I only had
to assist. Then we dressed Will in his own white briefs and Rye led him
upstairs to the captain's quarters.


But the two of them returned downstairs less than five minutes later. Rye
looked ashen. In a soft voice he said, "The captain wants you to escort the
new slaveboy upstairs."


I walked like a zombie up to the captain's familiar door. I made sure Will
was in proper slave rest position. Then, knowing that the captain was
probably watching from his remote hidden camera, I whispered, "Remember,
you're a slave. You have to do what your master commands." Then I knocked
on the door and heard the booming voice say, "Enter."


It was hours later when I returned downstairs to Rye. He tried to hug me
but I pulled away from him. I spent the next five hours polishing fixtures
in the room and then polishing them all again. I never looked at Rye. I
tried to stay as far from him as I could. And he had the sense to know I
didn't want any conversation.


After five hours there was a bell. Rye went upstairs and returned a few
minutes later with Will. The boy was dressed in his white briefs, but the
fabric was torn from the elastic waistband. His eyes were red and puffy
from crying. I turned away. I didn't want to be witness to any further
damage.


Rye looked to me and then said to Will, "I'll get you cleaned up,
boy. Wally needs a break; he's been working too hard."


Will glared at me his lips set in a scowl I had never before seen on his
cute face. "Good," he snapped. "I don't want my filthy pervert big brother
touching me ever again."


I refused to tell Rye what happened inside the captain's rooms that
night. I've still never told anyone. I have refused to even replay the
incidents of that night in my head. And, although time has passed and many
pains have faded, I cannot recount it now.


(Chapter 15A is Will's account of everything that happened the first night
he was taken to Captain Winston's rooms. This subsidiary chapter will be
available on Nifty, but is outside of Yahoo's guidelines and therefore will
not appear on SlaveNow or SlaveFuture.)


The following day Rye and I once again prepared Will for the captain. Will
and I never spoke and never met each other's eyes. At one point, Will
turned to Rye and snapped, "Does he need to be here?"


Rye seemed caught off guard but regained his composure and softly said, "We
have a job to do. New slaves should just keep their mouths shut and let us
do our job." Still I let Rye take the lead and did my best not to have any
physical contact with Will.


This time Rye brought Will upstairs to the captain's room. As soon as Rye
had left the bathing room and I was putting things in order, a tall
overseer appeared in the room and grunted for me to approach him. Since I
served in the house and the gardens I didn't have contact with the free men
overseers who supervised the hard labor slaves.


I stood obediently in front of the overseer, fearful that he was here to
give me some further punishment. He simply turned and said, "Follow me." He
never looked over his shoulder as he strode quickly out the back of the
house and across the lawns to the slave quarters. The overseer walked to
one of the slave barracks, unlocked the bolt on the door, and pushed me in
front of him.


There was a room crowded with narrow cots. I would later count twenty cots
and twenty hard labor slaves. Every one of the big brutes looked up toward
me as I entered. "You got a new roommate," the overseer shouted. Then he
turned and left as quickly as he had come. I turned toward him. My slave
contract specifically said I was not to be housed with the hard labor
slaves.


It's just as well I hadn't tried to protest. I'm sure it would have earned
me another punishment and I'm sure I still would have ended up facing a
night of hell in that smelly slave barracks.


Each of my new roommates was at least six inches taller than me and must
have outweighed me by 100 pounds - there were black men, white men, and
every color in-between. None of them had their bodies shaved - some had
thick mats of fur not only on their chests and legs, but also on their
backs and butts and arms. From the stench in the room I wondered if any of
them ever had a chance to shower or bathe.


There was a moment of stunned silence after the overseer left. This was
followed by a commotion of men surrounding me and grabbing me and lifting
me off the floor. Hands were everywhere on me and I felt the big sweaty
bodies of the hard labor slaves rub against my slim smoothness. For an
instant I thought I'd be torn limb from limb as they fought over me. For
that instant I thought such a gruesome death might be preferable to my
present fate.


But just as the noise and the pressure and the limbs were about to totally
envelope me, there was one voice raised above all the rest. The sea of
flesh parted and revealed one man who towered above his mates. I was to
learn that his name was Press; he was easily six-feet-eight and weighed
almost three times what I weighed. Press was covered with thick, scraggly
black hair everywhere on his body. His cock stood upright in front of him
and looked more like a baseball bat than a human appendage.


Press lifted my whole body with one hand and tossed me down on a bed
nearby. He grabbed my legs so my feet were on his shoulders and then he
pressed down against me. My knees pushed into my tits and I thought I would
break from the pressure. But the greatest pressure was the battering ram
against my bottom hole.


He grinned, showing his uneven, dirty teeth as he pushed forward into
me. When I screamed he laughed loud and said, "This kid is used to the
pencil dicks of the gentry!" Then the air was knocked out of me as he
shoved his penis all the way inside me and I felt his massive weight
pressing down against me.


Without any pause Press began fucking my ass hard and long. As he fucked he
seemed to be staring intently into my face. "You don't know who I am, do
you, boy?"


Was he someone I knew before he was enslaved? Was he someone I was supposed
to know? I just stared back into his face dumbly. He never missed a beat of
his cock pistoning in and out of my ass as he continued, "I was arrested
for fucking teenage boys who claimed they didn't want dick up their butts!"


Still looking into his eyes I recognized his face. If he was cleaned up,
with his hair combed and his beard shaved, this was a face I remembered
from news reports five and six years earlier. There had been a series of
rapes of young teenage boys and the man eventually arrested for the crimes
had the memorable name of Preston P Preston - the man who now bore the
slave name Press.


Being the age I was at that time, my classmates and I all made crude jokes
about it. "Hey I gave the boyraper your address with directions to your
bedroom," or "I heard you've been wandering through the park late at night
'cause you want a date with the boyraper." The truth was Preston P Preston
filled many youthful nightmares and made boys more careful about walking
home alone after dark. But now here I was, my upturned bottom being ravaged
by the same cock that had caused such terror just a few years earlier.


Press called out to the crowd of slaves surrounding the bed, "This boy may
be legal age, but I swear his ass is even sweeter than the one I got
arrested for fucking!"


The irony was bitter indeed. Press had been arrested and enslaved for
fucking boys the age of my younger brother. And even as I was experiencing
the brutal slave's cock up my ass, I wondered what the captain was doing
with my brother at that moment. The very same acts that were so roundly
condemned and punished when Press did them were performed with impunity by
the wealthy and powerful captain. I wondered whether the captain would grow
tired of Will and whether my younger brother would end up with his ass
pounded by Press.


Press's orgasmic grunts sounded like a harpooned walrus. I thought my
ribcage was crushed for sure when the huge slave collapsed on top of
me. But he was soon pulled off me as the other hard labor slaves pushed in
for their turns. There was obviously some kind of hierarchy in this
barracks as it was soon settled which two slaves would enter me next - one
in my ass and one in my mouth.


Was it consideration for their mates? Or was it simply pent-up sexual
frustration? Each of the slaves shot their loads within three minutes of
entering me. I lost count of how many cocks were inside me, until I was
aware of Press's fat erection at my lips. Obviously I had gone through all
twenty and was starting through the crowd a second time. This time the men
were more leisurely about getting their rocks off.


One powerfully built slave with a thick Russian accent held my ears and
slid my face up and down on his thick erection as he sweetly recalled using
his son in the same way - or as he called it "teaching my boy to take care
of his papa." He didn't tell me the age of his son at the time of these
lessons, but he told me that was the reason he had been arrested and
enslaved, and he also told me I was even cuter than his son had been, with
softer lips as well.


I had just finished sucking that big Russian when the door of the slave
barracks rattled open. There stood another overseer announcing that their
day was beginning and everyone needed to be in the showers within three
minutes. So, they really did get to shower after all? But they were still
smelly and sweaty by the end of the day. I stumbled toward the showers with
the others. The night had passed and I hadn't had one instant of rest.


What next for me? Would I be sent out to work with these massive slaves? Or
would I be returned to the house to work with Rye? Was this cramped, filthy
barracks my new home? Or would I be returned to the cage I shared with Rye?


As often happens in the life of a slave, the answer to "What next?" was
something unexpected. The overseer pulled me from the shower and snapped
handcuffs on my wrists attaching them to the back of my slave collar. Then
he marched me back toward the house. As soon as I saw the open-backed
truck, the overseer shoved a ballgag into my mouth. It was the same kind I
had seen on Scott, with holes so a slave could still breathe. At that point
I knew that my fate would be the same as Scott's. I would be leaving the
Winston estate.


Change is frightening. When you're a slave and have no control of what's
going to happen to you and lack any knowledge of your destination, change
is terrifying. As much as I hated Captain Winston and as much as I felt
degraded and abused in my present situation, I knew that things could be
much worse. Knowing how my master had treated me in the preceding weeks, I
felt certain that whatever he had planned for me would be a great deal
worse than anything I had already experienced.


I was shackled in the cage on the open-back truck facing the big window
into the slave bathing room - the same as Scott had been. The nipple of a
dildo-shaped water container was placed in my mouth. But I was helpless and
couldn't move. All I could do was stare at Rye as he looked at me through
the window and plaintively shook his head. Then he turned and went back to
work, glancing at me occasionally.


The sun was getting hotter. I knew that hours were passing, but had no idea
of the time. Captain Winston walked alongside the truck carrying a bag. I
knew this was not accidental on his part. He looked up at me and grinned.


"I'm so glad you're gagged, slaveboy," the captain began coyly. "I'd hate
to have to punish you for all the stupid things you'd say if you
weren't. We both know slaves don't deserve explanations, but I find myself
wanting to share some things with you. Your contract does indeed stipulate
that you are to remain my property for two years and fifteen days of your
enslavement. And so you shall, boy. But I'm sending you out on loan to a
good friend of mine. You shall remain on loan to him until you reach the
two year and sixteen day mark at which time you will become his property
and his problem."


Then the captain reached into the bag he was carrying and pulled out a
small pair of khaki shorts, waving them in front of my face. "I just picked
these up in Will's size. That boy has such a narrow waist." I knew that was
the costume slaveboys wore to play out the captain's twisted scenario about
being captive to African natives. The evil man looked up at me once more
and smiled serenely, "Oh, don't worry, I won't let those black ponies at
the boy too soon. Not till I start getting bored with him, heheheh."


With that the captain walked away. How many hours had passed? I saw Will
through the window being cleaned up and prepared by Rye. He looked my way,
his eyes wide. Then he turned. I couldn't see his expression. He kept his
back toward me. When I saw Will bend over for his enema, I remembered the
day the captain had showed me a photograph of my brother in his Speedos.
How innocent had my brother been on that morning some weeks past, never
knowing the vile thoughts of the distinguished old man he trusted. Tears
began rolling down my cheeks and the truck began to move down the driveway.