Heart of a Dancer 8

The Heart of a Dancer

Heart of a Dancer - Chapter 8- "Big Boys, Little Boys"

"I beg your pardon; who did you say you were?" I asked in astonishment.

"Freddie Stevens, her husband, that's who. This's the Stevens house, isn't it?"

"Yes," I stammered, "but Mrs. Stevens is deceased and has been for quite some time."

"Then, where's the boys, Malachi and Micah?" he demanded loudly.

Micah, just exiting from a shower, hearing the loud voices, stepped from the hall clad only in a white bath towel wrapped about his waist. "What's going on?" he asked and stopped, staring at the man and seeing the two boys, fixed his gaze on them.

"Well, well," Freddie began, "I'm willing to bet you're little Micah and I'm also willing to bet you're not quite so little any more. Step closer so Daddy can take a closer look at you and that fuck-able ass of yours."

Micah's eyes widened and he began to tremble as he attempted to speak, but he was so frightened by the appearance of his father, he could utter no sound what-so-ever. I knew, at that instance, this was the voice that haunted Micah's dreams, the memories of it bringing on the night terrors he experienced. Quickly stepping toward him I said, "Micah, leave the room and call Malachi."

Micah stood frozen in place, seemingly paralyzed by his father's presence, so I turned my attention to Freddie Stevens, pointing my finger at him, ordering, "You get your ass out of our house," and started toward the telephone.

Freddie casually reached behind his back, extracted a nasty looking handgun from his belt, pointed it at me and said, "No, White Bread, you're going to plunk your ass down on the couch next to Dashonte and Trevion and keep your mouth shut or I'll shut it for you. I intend to finish what I started years ago before his mother interfered."

All I could think was "shit, I'm going to get shot again if I'm not careful" so I sat down next to the two little boys.

Freddie stepped over to Micah, pulled the towel loose, cupped Micah's cock and balls in his left hand, and said, "I brought your little brothers with me, Micah, hoping Lila would take care of them, but now that she's gone, I think I'll just hang around a bit and enjoy myself. Now, turn around and bend over so Daddy can fuck that nice ass of yours."

Micah, shaking like a dog shitting razor blades, did as he was instructed. Freddie kept one eye and the gun on me while he unzipped his pants and fished out his own hard cock, ready for action. Walking up to Micah, slipping up close to his butt, Freddie was just about to skewer his second born like a chicken on a spit, when something flew through the air and smacked his forehead with a loud "thunk," not unlike the sound of ripe melon when tested for ripeness. Freddie's eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed onto the floor, a baseball resting on the carpet next to his inert body. Thomas stepped into the room and stepped over to Micah, raised him upright, pulled him into an embrace and said quietly, "It's all over Micah; the voice in the night will bother you no more."

Micah cried out, "I remember now! That dirty bastard had his dick up my butt and it hurt and I cried, but he just leaned over me more, covered my mouth, and whispered, `Yeah, sweet thing, hold still; Daddy's goin' to fuck you hard'. That's when Momma roared into the room and clobbered him with a lamp. I ran to Malachi's room and stayed there."

By then I was off of the couch, checked Freddie to see if he was breathing (he was, dammit), and grabbed the phone to call 911. Before I could punch in the numbers, Malachi walked in the front door, service pistol drawn, and muttered, "Well, I'll be damned," as he leveled the pistol at the prone figure on the floor, "the old son-of-a-bitch came back." Quickly checking Freddie, he instructed me to go ahead and call 911 and to Thomas and Micah, "Get dressed and get back here, fast. This place will be crawling with officers in a couple of minutes."

Deshonte and Traevion looked at each other, fixed their eyes on the black man with the big gun and gold badge, and slowly moved their hands toward their duffels. Malachi spotted the movement and said very calmly, "Freeze, you two, you're not going anywhere. Grab each other's hands and hold them." The two little boys did exactly what they were told to do. They looked frightened, alone, and so miserable, I couldn't help myself but go over to them and sit with my arms around them.

Sirens were blaring as the paramedics and several Des Moines Police Department cruisers arrived at the house. As the paramedics were working on Fred Stevens, preparing to transport him, one of the officers said, "You know, Malachi, your house is getting to be one of our regular stops. What happened, who is he," pointing at Freddie, now being wheeled out, "and who are they?" pointing at Deshonte and Traevion.

"He's my father," answered Malachi and I interrupted with, "and these two boys are his and Micah's brothers," totally surprising Malachi.

Thomas and Micah returned to the room, fully clothed, so with a tip of his head, Malachi said to the officer, "You better talk to these two and Matt. I came home from work and found this mess."

Malachi walked over to the couch, knelt on the floor in front of the two frightened little boys, still holding hands, and said quietly, "What's your name?" touching Deshonte on the knee.

"Deshonte Stevens and I'm ten years old," he sputtered.

Turning to Traevion, he asked, "and your name is?"

"Traevion Stevens and I'm eight years old. Can we quit holding hands now? Deshonte's squeezing mine really, really hard."

"I am not," answered his brother.

"Yes, you may. Do you have any proof of what you just told me? After all, you might be two African princes kidnapped while visiting an amusement park or spies sneaking into our house to steal Thomas' recipe for peach cobbler or heist Micah's favorite CD."

"No, we're not," snickered Traevion, "at least I'm not, but the dude next to me looks pretty shifty."

"Don't be a smart ass, Traevion," growled Deshonte, "he has a gun and a badge -- a really big gun. There are some brown envelopes with birth papers and school records in our bags."

"Thank you very much," Malachi acknowledged, "I'll take a look in a minute, but first, where's your mother?"

"She died," Traevion said sadly.

"Yeah, she OD-d on some bad shit," offered Deshonte.

Malachi nodded knowingly, making no comment while I rummaged through the duffels for the envelopes. He opened them, examined the birth certificates, vaccination records, and school papers. The father of the boys was listed as Fred Stevens and the mother was Joelle Vincent. As he perused the paper work, I was sorting through their clothes. They were worn and in need of a good laundering or better yet, tossed in the rag bag. The two little boys were in desperate need of baths also and looked like they good use some nutritious meals as well.

The officers finished their questioning of Micah and Thomas and turned to Malachi.

"Do you need an intake officer to stop by for those two Malachi or will you take care of it in the morning?"

"Morning," replied Malachi and the officers left.

Micah and Thomas stepped over, looked at the two little tykes, and Micah said, "So you two are our little brothers, right?"

They were more interested in Thomas and the pitch he made that felled their dad. Thomas looked at them, smiled, and replied, "Pitcher, Little League -- he was an easy out." Of course the boys wanted to learn how to do that. Malachi and Micah stepped into the hall to visit and when I heard Malachi snort, "That dirty bastard." I knew Micah explained what happened to him so many years before. I left them visiting and headed for the kitchen to check on dinner. It could be we'd be eating out if everything cooked dry or burned. Fortunately, the slow oven did the trick. I was thankful we fixed extra, intending to have leftovers for lunch the next day. Those plans changed in a hurry.

"Thomas, Micah, please get Deshonte and Traevion washed up for dinner," I shouted from the kitchen, "and Malachi could you help set the table for six?" Poor Malachi looked at me, shook his head from side to side in contemplation, and smiled. We both knew we'd have two more to care for in our home.

The "little boys," as we referred to them, were hungry, almost as hungry as the big boys (Thomas and Micah), but without the capacity to hold as much. It was obvious they hadn't had a decent meal in several days. After dinner, the "big boys" showed the "little boys" the routine; dishes to the dishwasher, leftovers covered and put in the refrigerator, and chairs back in place. Chores completed, I announced bath time and asked Thomas and Micah to gather up Deshonte's and Taevion's clothes and get the laundry started. The little boys needed to learn and understand that in our household, everyone pitched in and helped out.

In the bathroom, tub filled with hot water, Malachi and I stripped the little boys and put them in the tub. Malachi knelt on the floor washing Deshonte while I, kneeling next to him, did the same with Taevion. When the time came for their crotches and butts to be scrubbed, we handed the wash cloths to the boys to do the job and they handed them back, allowing us to do it. We skinned them back, gently washed their private parts and butts, and when we were done, they scampered out of the tub onto the bath mat where we dried them.

"Deshonte's got a stiffie," giggled Taevion, pointing at his brother.

"So," was Deshonte's response and sure enough, jutting out from his crotch was about two and half inches of little brown cock, "it's bigger than yours, shorty."

"Not much," replied Taevion, thrusting his crotch forward to exhibit his own little treasure.

Boys will be boys, no matter the age I concluded, and gave each of them a gentle swat on the butt. They possessed no pajamas and their clothes were in the laundry, so while they were giggling and chatting with Malachi, I went in search of something appropriate for them to wear to bed. Thomas was smaller than I, but not much, so I asked him if he had a couple of t-shirts the boys might use to sleep in, which he produced from his dresser. The shirts fit the boys, sort of, with the bottom hems settling below their knees.

All of us ended up in the living room; Thomas and Micah on the floor with Thomas' head resting on Micah's stomach; Deshonte and Malachi on one end of the couch and Taevion and I on the other end. Each of us had a tired little boy cuddled up on our laps. The popcorn Thomas made during bath time was doled out in bowls and we ate popcorn and watched television. Resting comfortably on my lap, Taevion said, out of the blue, "Are you going to stick your thing up my butt?"

Thomas, Micah, and Malachi immediately turned their attention from the popcorn and television, intent on my reply. The question caught us all off guard, not knowing where this conversation would go, but highly suspicious of what brought the question about. We were gay, yes, but none of the four of us had a proclivity for little boys.

Looking at Malachi quizzically, I replied softly, "No, we don't do that to little boys in our house," and before I could say anything else, Taevion interrupted with, "Good; it hurt when Freddie would do it."

"Yeah," added Deshonte, raising his head up from Malachi's chest, "and it made your butthole messy when he got all squishy inside you."

A pediatrician and a social worker were definitely on the agenda for the next day, along with a shopping trip for clothes. Their comments were something none of us could ignore. If true, and we had no doubts it would be, there'd be more charges laid against Fred Stevens. The boys didn't refer to him as "father or dad," but always "Freddie." Perhaps that was just as well, since I didn't think he was a very nice person deserving much respect.

It wasn't long until the little boys were asleep. We carried them to Thomas' old room, now that he slept with Micah, and tucked them in. Micah and Thomas stood by the bed, smiled at their new siblings, and gave each a gently kiss on the forehead. Malachi and I were too tired to do anything other than kiss each other good night.

Sleep came quickly to both of us, but unfortunately not long enough. An hour later or so, I heard little voices whispering outside of our bedroom door. "Come in, boys," I said tiredly, and two little t-shirt covered, brown bodies crawled under the covers with us. I heard Malachi sigh deeply and that said it all.

Around three in the morning, I was awakened by Deshonte whispering to Malachi, "Malachi, I have to pee. Will you take me?"

Malachi groaned, crawled out of bed, reached out his hand, taken quickly by Deshonte, and the two of them, one very naked brown man and one t-shirted brown boy, headed for the bathroom. In about five minutes, they were back and crawling into bed. It was quiet for about three minutes when Deshonte whispered, "Your dickie is really big, Malachi!"

"I suppose so," was the sleepy reply.

"Will mine get that big?" questioned Deshonte.

"Not if you don't go to sleep."

All was quiet until the next morning when two brown smiling faces, popped up from under the covers and began chattering like blue jays. One of the first comments from Traevion was, "You guys sleep naked and your dickies are stiff," Then, poking his head under the covers, he continued, "Malachi's bigger than you, Matt."

With that comment, it was time to get up, get dressed, which we did right after we made the parade to the bathroom to pee, wash our hands and faces, brush our teeth, and start the day. I thought we might as well get them started on a routine from the first day. Clean clothes, a fine breakfast fixed by Thomas, and we had happy boys. Micah and Thomas were almost beside themselves trying to be big brothers and take care of the little boys. It was fun to watch the interaction between the four of them.

The rest of the day, after Thomas and Micah left for class, was filled with doctor examinations (confirming medically what we already knew), interviews with social workers (requiring proof of parentage before temporary custody was granted), and shopping. Socks, underwear, and shoes were picked up at a discount super-store while, shirts, pants, jackets, and caps were purchased second-hand at a St. Vinnies store. When I suggested pajamas, the boys both opted for Thomas' shirts. Evidently those shirts provided some security for them, so what the heck. It was an expensive day, but a reassuring one also. Fred Stevens, when the courts would be provided with the doctor's assessments and testimony from the social workers, would spend a long, long time in jail. Additionally, Illinois wanted to visit with him concerning the death of Joelle Vincent and some armed robberies in the Chicago area.

Malachi also took time to check in at his office and was reassured Mark Westmoreland wasn't above suspicion in the abduction of Thomas and the Bureau was keeping the pressure on him. By doing so, they hoped they'd get a break in the case. So far, we didn't have to involve David in the investigation, but we knew there'd be a time we'd have to.

School registration was next, bus schedules, school supplies, and lunch tickets (the boys qualified for free lunches and snacks), and it was off to school for Deshonte and Traevion. Their attendance records weren't the best while living with their mother, but we made it very clear education was important and regular attendance was a big part of it. Malachi and I decided I'd forgo any substitute teaching opportunities while the boys were small since I'd be needed at home to help them with their school work and be home when they came home from school. The boys needed some constancy and love in their lives and we intended to provide it as best we could.

Getting two little boys ready for school in the mornings, checking and helping with homework, fixing breakfasts, laundry, and all the other activities necessary in making a home for our growing family, was made easier with the help of Thomas and Micah. When they were home, before or after classes, they helped in meal preparation, getting the boys dressed and ready for the day, walking them to the bus stop and meeting them after school, and helping with homework. They enjoyed having the little ones to fuss over and protect and the little boys loved it in return. Deshonte and Traevion still insisted Malachi and I help with the nightly baths and still cuddled up with us on the couch before bed. Life was busy, but nice.

Halloween was a stitch! Thomas and Micah paraded the boys, costumed as Batman and Robin, up and down the neighborhood streets and waited while the boys trooped up sidewalks, knocked on doors and shouted "Trick or Treat," then "oohed" and "aahhed" over the goodies they were given. It was a new experience for Deshonte and Traevion and they were thrilled when they arrived home with their plastic Jack-O-Lanterns full of Halloween treats. I had to limit the amount they could consume since we didn't want tummy aches from eating too much. I think Thomas and Micah enjoyed the experience more than the little boys did.

Thanksgiving dinner was another new experience for Deshonte and Traevion. They were constantly at Thomas' and my side in the morning while we prepared the noon meal. When Thomas put the turkey on the table at noon along with all of the side dishes and desserts, there were two little, brown smiling faces gleefully expressing their thanks and amazement. Malachi did the honors of carving the bird and of course each of the little boys received a drumstick -- such a treat!

Two weeks before Christmas, Malachi took the afternoon off to help with some last minute shopping and, as he said so eloquently, "Fuck you stupid for about two hours," since we had to be cautious with our love-making now there were little ones in the house. Oh, the vagaries of married life, but we loved it. We still slept naked and so did Thomas and Micah, but it didn't seem to upset Deshonte or Traevion or the fact they lived in a gay household. They still wore Thomas's t-shirts to bed preferring them to anything else and connecting them with their "older brothers."

When Malachi walked in the door, his long, fat cock was slithering down the right leg of his trousers, begging to be released and stuffed up my rumble seat. I hardened and twitched at the sight of it and in anticipation of where it was going to go. Wrapping his arms around me, locking his lips with mine, we both moaned at the pleasure we gave each other. As we headed toward the bedroom, the doorbell rang.

"Shit," exclaimed Malachi as he turned back to answer the door.

I waited inside our bedroom for Malachi to return and disrobe me; something he loved to do and turned me on light a light bulb factory. He stepped inside the door and said, "Matt, there's another cute, skinny, white boy outside asking to see you or Thomas."

OMG!

The End ????

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Thank you for reading Chapter 8 -- "Big Boys, Little Boys," the conclusion of "The Heart of a Dancer." I hope you enjoyed it.