Date: Fri, 21 Aug 2009 22:20:57 EDT
From: Park517@aol.com
Subject: As Flies to Wanton Boys   six

"As Flies to Wanton Boys," the story that follows appeared ten years ago as
my first submission to the Nifty Archive. Its 46 pages are still there:
/nifty/gay/adult-youth/divine-neglect under the title "Divine Neglect" for
readers who want to consume the whole thing in one sitting.

That 1999 version, slightly edited and revised, will now appear in shorter
takes. This is the next to last. Because several readers were unhappy about
the way things ended, a sequel was planned.  It will not be posted, though,
unless readers indicate their interest.

[DISCLAIMER: The following completely fictional story, the sole copyright
for which belongs to the author and translator, contains explicit
depictions of sex between men and should not, therefore, be read by anyone
under the legal age of consent in whatever jurisdiction or by anyone
offended by homoerotic and/or pornographic material.  It is forbidden to
post the text electronically or disseminate it in any manner without
permission of the copyright holders.  The author welcomes comments which
the translator, -- park517@aol.com -- will forward at his discretion.]


DIVINE NEGLECT Chapter Six


       "Hello, your sleepiness," he whispered.  "I love you.  Did you miss
me?"

       "Every minute.  Every second."

       "I'm sorry I took so long.  I had to help Mirko."

       I was suddenly wide awake.  "Help Mirko what?" I asked with more
than a touch of jealous concern.

       "Wash.  He was washing."

       "Why did he need help?  Both his hands work, don't they?"

       "Because of his vow."

       "What vow."

       "You know.  He has vowed not to wash these," Rifat fondled my penis
and testicles, "until he is back in Belgrade."

       "So you did it for him?"

       "He said that would not break the vow.  And he needed washing
there."

       "I can imagine."

       "Did you know he has three?"

       "Three what?"

       "Three balls.  He said the extra one is for feast days."

       There was something -- an undertone of suppressed laughter -- in
Rifat's voice that made me suspicious.  "Rifat," I asked, "are you trying
to tease me?"

       "Trying?  I thought I was doing very well."  The suppressed laughter
erupted into the open, and to stifle it, the boy pressed his mouth against
my side.  I swatted his rump.

       "Ouch," he squealed.  "Do you beat everyone who teases you, or just
poor, defenseless Muslim boys?"

       "Only Muslims," I pinched his haunch, "and only Muslim boys with
adorable behinds.  I am very particular."

       "You are very special," he kissed me under one ear, "and I am glad
you like my bottom.  Mitya?" he was suddenly serious.  "Are there schools
in the South Seas?"

       "Some, I imagine.  Why?  I thought we were going to go naked and
turn brown.  Most schools make you wear clothes."

       "We will go naked, but after a while, you might want to finish
studying and become a real doctor.  And I... well, I might like to study,
too."

       "Do you want to be a doctor?"

       "I want to study history."

       "There's a lot of it, and most of it is sad."

       "I know.  But I want to study my history, the history of the
Illyrians and of Kosovo.  Mitya, the thing is, I want to understand what
has happened here and why.  Maybe, I could find out what went wrong and
that would help to fix it."

       "It's very hard to fix the past, Rifat.  But that doesn't mean you
shouldn't try.  It does mean that we wouldn't go to the South Seas right
away."

       "Would you mind?"

       "No.  As long as I can be with you, I won't mind anything.  I mean
that.  Lying next to you, feeling the heat of your body and knowing that I
can pinch your sexy behind whenever I want, I am happier than I have ever
been."  I ruffled the hair on the back of his head and petted the curve of
his shoulder.  His hand slid up and down my thigh and his fingertips
brushed my scrotum, but for some time he was silent.

       "Mitya?"

       "Yes."

       "Mitya, about your god? The one who doesn't pay attention.  What if
he ..

       "Or she."

       "He, I hope.  What if he saw us doing what we do together? Naked
with each other?  Would he punish us?"

       "Because men should not do such things with other men?  Is that what
you mean?" I asked.

       "Well, should they?  Don't most people think it is very wrong?"

       "Rifat, sweetheart, remember all the people long ago who thought the
sun revolved around the earth.  They were wrong, and what most people think
now just doesn't matter to my love for you or, I hope, your love for me.
As for my god, he or she or it has probably seen men making love to men
millions and millions of times without punishing them.  There hasn't even
been punishment when men raped other men or women or forced them somehow to
have sex in ways they didn't want.  Either no god was watching or no god
much cares what men do when they have sex."

       "So the men who ... who ... who hurt my sister and then killed her,"
his voice was both angry and tearful, "you mean even they won't be
punished?"

       "Probably not by a god.  Maybe by other men.  Most likely by
themselves.  I don't think even the lowest, most brutish man can live with
himself after hurting a woman or any human being that way.  Eventually, he
will become completely an animal and his neighbors will kill him or he will
live with a memory that destroys him.  At least, I hope that's what
happens."

       "But I would like to be the one who kills him."

       "If you did, would you be any better than he is?"

       "I would be alive, and he would be dead."

       "Alive but full of blood guilt.  That's not a good way to be alive."

       Rifat said nothing.  He snuggled closer to me.  I put my hands on
either side of his head and kissed his eyes.  They were wet.

       "My love," I said, "my wounded, lonely love, don't cry.  Last night
you asked if I wanted to love you just because I felt sorry for you and was
horny.  Do you remember?"

       "Yes."

       "I do feel sorry for you, terribly sorry, but I love you because you
are full of life, not of grief.  You love me because you have lost everyone
you loved and lost them in a terrible, horrible way.  But I hope you also
love me because you can tease me and teach me and laugh with me and talk to
me about gods and history and the future."

       "Those are good reasons why I love you.  So is this." He ran his
fingers along my penis.  "And I like all the furry hair you have
everywhere.  But most of all I love you because you love me.  Alif and I
loved each other from when we were little boys.  With you I have a grown-up
who cares for me, and I didn't think I would have such a person again.  I
am glad you saved my life, but I am alive because you let me love you.
Does that make sense?"

       I kissed his lips and stroked his back down to his buttocks.
"Rifat, it makes wonderful sense," I said.  "I forgot to say that another
reason I love you is that you are so intelligent.  You should study.  We'll
work something out."

       "You are very intelligent, too, your brilliance, but are you also
superstitious?  Why do you have a cross on a shiny chain around your neck
when you don't believe in the Christian God?"

       "My mother gave it to me.  She does believe, and she believes it
will protect me."

       "And it has, so maybe she is right.  My... my mother believed, too,
but in her god, and he didn't save her.  You know, Mitya, it has been three
years, and I still miss her.  She said I was her baby, her special love,
and then she left me."

       Real tears, now, turning to wracking sobs.  I hugged him with both
arms and pulled his body on top of mine, kissing his eyes and mouth and
ears and throat.  "Rifat," I murmured, "now you are my special love. It's
not the same, I know, but I will try as hard as I can to keep you safe and
help you to be happy.  Will you let me do that?  Let me hold you when you
have to cry and let me laugh with you the rest of the time?"

       He nodded, snuffled and pushed his face into my chest.  "Will you
hold me now while we go to sleep," he asked, "and let me hold you?"  He
wrapped his arms around me.  I tightened mine around him and turned in the
bed so that he slid onto his side facing me.

       "Sleep well, my beloved," I whispered into his ear.  "Golden
dreams."

       "Thank you, Mitya," he murmured.  "You are so beautiful.  I won't
need to dream. I will just feel our love all around me.  Good night."  He
kissed my collar bone and relaxed immediately into sleep.  I lay awake for
a few more minutes of silent rejoicing and then followed him.

       I did dream, a strange dream of being in a line of Eskimos.  They
wore furs.  I wore nothing and I was cold as the line wound up a hill to an
altar of some sort.  Passing the altar, each Eskimo bowed down and seemed
to move his head from side to side over something lying on the slab in
front of them.  When it was my turn, I bowed down too and started to move
my head as they had, but then I saw that Rifat, dressed in a blue track
suit, was lying on the altar and that the Eskimos had been rubbing his nose
even though he was dead.  Shivering with the cold, I did the same thing,
and the boy came alive.  His lips parted and he rubbed his nose against
mine.  I woke to find Rifat's grinning face above me and our noses touching
as they had in the dream.

       "Good morning, your nakedness," the boy beamed at me.  He was fully
dressed.  "I have a cup of hot tea for you and a bowl of hot shaving water
for your suggestion of a mustache."

       "What do you have for the chill in my bones?  And why is it suddenly
so cold?"

       "I have hugs," he said.  "Would you like a demonstration?  The
weather has changed.  It is drizzling and sad."

       "Demonstrate one of your hugs, please."  I raised my arms, and he
dropped into them, stretching himself the length of my body and wrapping
his arms around my waist.

       "This is one of the most popular hug models," he explained.  "It
comes with a kiss at no extra charge."

       "Demonstrate, please."  He shifted his position to put his hands
under my shoulders and lowered his lips to mine for a brief, fluttery
touch.

       "I can see why there's no charge for the kiss.  It hardly deserves
the name."

       Rifat pretended to pout.  "If you don't like my kissing, why is my
buttress trying to stand up and fly?"  He sat up with his knees on either
side of my legs and put his fingers around my stiffening cock.

       "Because I love the rest of you.  Good morning, my beloved," I slid
between his legs, sat up and hugged him to me.  "Do you always get up so
early?"

       "I'm a simple farm boy, your exaltedness.  We had a cow I had to
milk," he gave my penis a squeeze.  "For a while, Alif and I had a pony
that I had to groom."  He raked his fingers through my thatch of chest
hair. "And one of my jobs was to clean out the chicken coop and collect the
eggs."  His hand darted between my legs and gripped my balls.  "These are
fresh and warm," he grinned.  "A little small for a chicken, though, and
unusually fuzzy."

       He had me laughing, and I put my hands on his head so that I could
give him a deep, passionate kiss that would restore a proper, serious tone
to the proceedings. "Now, that," I declared, "is what a good-morning kiss
should be.  Get off me, farm boy, I have to dress."

       "And shave and have some tea," Rifat said, hopping off me and the
bed.  He helped me into my clothes and watched as I shaved, almost with the
wonder and envy of a little boy observing an older man performing a
mysterious adult ritual.  "You are very precise with your razor," he said.
"Are you planning to be a surgeon?"

       "Probably not.  I'd like to try being a pediatrician, keeping kids
healthy."

       "What about grown-ups who get sick?  They need help."

       "But children are better company.  And they usually do what the
doctor tells them and they get well faster."

       "Mitya, do you want children of your own?"

       "Do you?"

       "I asked you first."

       "It's a very hard question to answer, Rifat.  If I hadn't found you,
yes, I might have gone back to that girl I once lived with and asked her to
marry me and raise a family.  I think it's a basic human urge to want
children, to see your identity carried beyond your own life.  But many
people are happy to live just with the one person they love.  I could be
happy that way with you."

       "And I will be happy just with you," he put his arms around me and
pressed his cheek against my back, "but I would also like to have lots of
children, at least enough to name after my father and my mother and my
brother and sister.  If you were a pediatrician, maybe you could get
parents who had more children than they wanted to give some to us.  Or we
could find a girl to play tennis with and have babies that way.  Would you
like that?"

I dried my face and cleaned the razor and detached his arms from my body so
I could turn and look directly at him.  "My love, you have wonderful ideas,
but they may not be completely practical -- unless, of course, we did go
live, naked and brown in the South Seas.  I've read that attitudes about
family and children are sometimes more relaxed there.  Anyway, we don't
have to decide right now.  We are going to have all our lives together to
work things out.  Right now, I have to find a way to keep you with me now.
And that won't be easy."