Cory, Bo, and Doc
by Ashley Hardric ©2005

    This is a work of fiction.  That means it is not true.  Didn’t happen.  It’s a figment. No boys were involved or harmed in the writing of this story and no trees were sacrificed.  The author does not condone sex with boys; he just writes fantasies about it.  Further, sex in reality requires caution and protection, but my characters won’t catch any bad bugs unless I write them in.  Be safe and legal in the real world, and enjoy the story only if you are of age and location to do so legally.

    **This story is the property of the author and may not be reproduced elsewhere (i.e. other than Nifty Archive)  without his permission.**

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    And, feedback on the story is always appreciated!

    The references to Native American tribes, customs, history, and so on are totally invented,
and are not intended to represent any specific tribe or actual customs.


Chapter Eight

    So Bo had his first sit-down restaurant dinner.  He was very hesitant about ordering.  I guess he thought it would be rude to ask for something he wanted.    But he sure did enjoy his meal.  We returned home and watched TV for awhile, and then went to bed.  I felt closer to him than ever that night, but we did not have sex.  We seemed to understand that an even tighter  bond had been forged, and that sex could happen any time rather than every time.

    Wednesday we had a lot on our agenda.  Meet with CPS, meet with lawyer, have lunch with Cory, get clothes for Bo.  I’d run his shorts and tees through the washer and dryer, so he was clean, if not exactly stylish.

    CPS was first.  Bo was led to one office, and I was led to another.  He had the letter from his mother; I had the notarized “Application To Provide Temporary Foster Care” form.  My interview went smoothly.  The officer wanted to know how I had met Bo and why I wanted to take him in.  I was honest, mostly, and told her all the “socially acceptable” portions of our meeting in the canyon.  “The three of us just seemed to fit, like a family,” I said.  “He didn’t have anywhere to go the evening we found his mother’s note, so I took him home with me.  And then the next day we were together with him when his uncle died.  So in a very short time, we’ve gone through a lot together and gotten to know each other very rapidly.  It’s not been an ordinary friendship.”

    She had a few more questions but seemed to be satisfied.  “And this character reference, would this be the same Dr. Bess Bailey whose husband chairs the Senate Subcommittee on Child Welfare?”

    “She sure would be,” I said.  “She’s my boss at the college; we’ve been friends for years.”

    “Well,” the case worker said, “I don’t see any reason to take up any more time.  I’ll recommend approval, depending on the results of Bo’s interview, and if all is in order, we can issue an emergency care order releasing Bo into your custody today.”

    She excused herself, and returned shortly.  “It seems that young Mr. Stillwater threw a bit of a tantrum.  But don’t worry,” she hastened to add, seeing my reaction.  “He’s fine.  When my colleague suggested that maybe he should go to a foster family who was already approved, he cried, he threatened to run off and live in the woods, he pleaded to stay with you.  There doesn’t seem to be any doubt that you’re who he wants to live with.  So, let’s get the rest of the paperwork done.”

    A half hour later, Bo and I emerged from CPS, all legal and proper.  We walked out into the bright sunlight, and Bo turned to face me with the biggest smile he could muster.  “Yes!” we yelled together, and he jumped into my arms, wrapping arms and legs tightly around me.   A few passers-by stopped to look at our enthusiastic display.  I let Bo slide back down and put my arm around his shoulder.  “Come on, Son,” I said proudly.  “Let’s move on to the next stop.”

    It was lunch time by then, and we were to pick Cory up at school and have lunch together.  We pulled into the main gate, and Bo spotted him immediately.  As I pulled up to the curb, he bolted from the truck clutching the CPS order in his hand.  He raced over to Cory,  nearly knocking him down.  “Look, Cory, look!” he yelled.  “I’m legal now!  I’m official!  I can stay with Doc.”  He showed Cory the document, and both returned to the truck.  We drove off for a “99¢  Whoppers” lunch at Burger King. 

    Bo could hardly contain himself as he told us about his interview.  “And then this lady thought she was being all nice and everything, and she said maybe I should go live with a family who was already approved.  I felt like telling her where she could put her approved family, but I was good.  So I said to her, I said ‘please don’t make me go away from Doc.  He rescued me from being all alone and I want to stay with him.  I just can’t start all over with a family I don’t know.’  And I was getting worried, and scared too, and I started to cry and I wasn’t faking it, either.  And then I got mad.  I was thinking who does she think she is, telling me where I can live and where I can’t.  So I thought, maybe I’ll just go and live in the woods.  I can you know.  Even in Winter.  So I said to her, I said ‘if you take me away from Doc I’ll just run off into the woods.  I’m Indian and I know how.’  I was crying real hard and all, and madder than hell.  So she comes around next to me and gives me some Kleenex and helps me calm down again.  And then she says ‘Let me talk to my boss for a minute.’  So she leaves the office and I sat there trying not to cry any more, and then she comes back and says that it’s all OK and that I can live with Doc.  I was so happy I jumped up and hugged her and started to cry again, and then she started to cry.  I guess we got the carpet all wet.”

    I told a bit about my interview, and concluded, “A lot boils down to who you know.  When she spotted Dr. Bailey’s name as my character reference, I could see the connections clicking  in her mind.  She knew right away that she could lose her funding if she alienated a friend of the chairman of the Senate child welfare subcommittee!”

    “So it’s all final?” Cory asked.

    “No, actually it’s just started.  There are a few more hoops to jump through before anything is final, but it’s a very good start.”  We munched for awhile, and then I said, “You know what right now is?”

    “What?” both replied.

    “Right now is our first one week anniverary. “

    “Yeah, it is,” agreed Cory.  “Seems like longer.”

    “So much has happened,” mused Bo.  “I can hardly believe it’s real.”

    “So, Happy anniversary,” I said, and gave both a quick hand-squeeze. 

    I told Cory that the lawyer was next, to read the will, and then shopping.  “Tell Bo what the well dressed young teen should be wearing this season.” 

    So Cory reeled off a few brand names, A&F, Aeropostale, and Nike and Jockey and Wrangler.  “Wranglers are the best jeans in the West,” he said.  “Get the ones from a western wear shop, not K-Mart.  They’re better.  And get a pair of hiking boots besides sneakers.  You’ll need them for some of the hikes I want to do.  TimberTrails are good”  Bo paid rapt attention, memorizing his “big brother’s” advice.  I could see my credit cards smoking even as he spoke.


    My lawyer’s office was near the courthouse, so after dropping Cory back at school, we headed the half mile back into town.  Lyn had been my lawyer ever since my disastrous and brief foray into marriage had ended several years before.  Considering the amount of legal fees I had poured down that particular drain, she owed me some expedited service.  And she gave it to me.

    “I’ve got the application for ‘Approval of Permanent Foster Care Provider’ in progress,” she informed me, after we finished with introductions and pleasantries.  “Bo, that means that Doc will be authorized to be your permanent foster father, instead of just temporary.  It won’t mean any change for you.”  She informed me that since Bo was now a ward of the state, I would be receiving support payments for his care. 

    “Maybe it will be enough to finance today’s shopping expedition,” I commented.  “Bo has outgrown all his clothes.  Anything else we need to do at this point?”

    “Not yet,” she said.  “Not until today’s paper work is processed.”  She turned to Bo.  “I understand you found your uncle’s will?”

    He handed it across the table, and Lyn called her secretary in.  “Tom, we need to make a legal transcript.  Would you bring your machine, please.”  He entered with a court reporter’s machine and sat down behind it.  “When we open a will,” she explained, “we make an official legal transcript of the reading and register it with the Court.  That makes it into a legal document, and if there would be a challenge, everything is documented from the start.  Ready, Tom?  OK, let’s begin.”

    She began by stating the date, time, location, persons present, and the purpose of the gathering.  She described the envelope Bo had given her, and asked him to describe where he had found it, when, and the circumstances of his uncle’s death.  She then dictated that she was opening the sealed envelope, did so, and drew out the single typewritten sheet of paper.  She scanned it briefly, and then read aloud. 

“Let the record show that this Will consists of one typewritten page only, and that it is entitled Last Will and Testament. 

I, William Beauregard Stillwater, residing at Boulder Valley Road, Boulder, Arizona,  being of sound mind, and contemplating the certainty of death and my own mortality, do hereby execute this document as my Last Will and Testament.  I hereby revoke all previous Wills and Codicils thereto.

I hereby direct that my remains shall be disposed of by simple burial in a plain pine box, if this Will be found in time to accomplish that reasonably.   Arrangements have been made with Sunset Funeral Home.

I hereby bequeath all that I own, be it monies or real properties or possessions or investments, to my great-nephew, Rafael William Beauregard Stillwater, Social Security number 520 63 6618.

I hereby appoint my great-nephew executor, if he be of legal age.  If he is not of legal age, or unwilling or unable to serve, I appoint his mother, Maureen Atwood Stillwater Rodriguez, executor.  If she is unable or unwilling to serve, I  appoint my financial advisor from Stockman’s Financial Services, John Spitz, Jr, as executor.  If he is unwilling or unable to serve, I petition the court to appoint an executor from the Financial Services staff of Stockman’s to carry out the distribution of my estate according to my wishes herein stated. 

All records of owned properties and other financial documents are stored in safe deposit box number 563 at Stockman’s Bank, Boulder Valley branch.  A key for the box is in my hogan where my nephew will find it if he uses his head.

I sign this Will, in the presence of two witnesses, this 14th day of July, 2001.

[signed]  William Beauregard Stillwater.

On the date above written, William Beauregard Stillwater, well known to us, appearing to be of sound mind and under no undue influence, in our presence signed this Will.

[signed] Anthony Running Deer Begaye, Russel Edward Humboldt, Daisee Yellowhair Brubish.  The Will is concluded.  A notary seal is attached by Mary Milligan, also dated 14 July 2001.  This concludes this transcript.” 

    She took a deep breath.  Tom stopped typing, and Lyn thanked him as he gathered up his machine and left the room.  “Well, Mr. Stillwater,” she said, addressing Bo.  “It would appear that you have inherited some property.  And I have a feeling, from the sound of that will, that you have inherited quite a bit more.  Are you ready to find out?”

    He nodded nervously.  “Does the will seem OK?” I asked.

    “Ironclad, I’d say.  You said there are no other relatives, Bo?”

    “I don’t know of any,” he answered.  “Uncle always told me I was the last of his family.”

    “Well, then you are legally entitled to open his lock box, if you have the key.  Do you have it?

    “No,” he said.  “I don’t have any idea where he means.”

    “Is it OK for us to go look for it?” I asked.

    “Ordinarily, I’d say no,” she replied.   “But here, we have a clear, solid will, and an obvious instruction to find his papers in the lockbox.  We can’t process the will until the contents of that box are known, and Bo is the sole heir, as well as the sole surviving family.  So I think, given these circumstances, that you are legally entitled to find the key.”

    “So it looks like we have a treasure hunt ahead of us,” I said to Bo.  “If there’s nothing else today, I guess we should get to it.  Lyn, thanks for everything.  Let me know when I have to jump through more hoops.”  We shook hands all around and returned to the sunny afternoon.

    “Do you think Uncle had some money?” Bo asked as we walked to the truck.

    “No way to know,” I told him.  “But don’t get your hopes up.  Don’t be spending his money before you know if there’s any to spend.  Today, you spend mine.  Let’s go shopping.”

    We hit the local “mall,” a very small shopping center with a mini-Sears and Penney’s and not much else.  We started at Sears with a variety of shorts and shirts.  We found some stylish  Bugle Boy cargo shorts and some shorter athletic styles as well.  He wanted some bikini style underwear plus some boxers.   And sox.  And sneakers.  I helped him pick out a nice cotton button down dress shirt and a pair of “dressy” chino slacks.  “You’ll have to try these on,” I said, so he started to put them on.  “Not here, you goof,” I said.  “They have changing rooms over here.  I’ll show you.”

    I pointed him to the cubicles, planning to wait outside, but he said “I want you to come in with me.”  So we both squeezed into the booth.  “Help me with these,” he said, handing me the new pants.  He pulled down his shorts and a perky boner popped up.  “All these clothes make me horny,” he whispered, rubbing himself against me.  “Bo, you can’t do that here,” I whispered back, as he continued to rub against me.  “Sure I can, just watch me,” he whispered back.  He was already glistening with precum, and I realized he was going to cum all over the changing room whether I helped or not, so I took his slender rod in my hand and helped him out.  He had not been kidding about being horny, because after just a few hand strokes and a few more pelvic thrusts, he shot a load, his cum splatting against the mirror and dripping down the glass.  He leaned against me for a few moments, and then said “Now, help me with these pants.”

    “Hold on,” I whispered.  “We better clean you up.  You can’t get cum on the clothes.”  So I boosted him up on the built-in seat, and milked the remaining cum that still oozed from his dick, licking him dry.  He began to erect again, but I figured I should slow him down.  I told him to try on the pants. 

    He stepped into them, and we checked the waist and the crotch and the ankles.  He was fully hard again with the attention to the fit, and suggested we should check my pants as well.  But I stopped him, fearing that we’d been too long already.  We emerged with the pants, and Bo asked if he could have a second pair in a different color.  “Why not?” I figured. “It’s only money.”  While he chose a dark pair, I tossed in a necktie as well, thinking,  “Just in case.” 

    “One more thing,” he finally said.  “I want a jock strap.”

    “You’re kidding,” I said.  “Why a jock strap?  You’ll feel all strapped in wearing one of those.”

    “I just think they’re cool,” he said.  So we found a junior size jock for him.  We left Sears with a pile of clothes and a credit card bill that should have sent their stock soaring the next day.  And then we headed for the Western wear store.

    We found him a pair of Wranglers that fit his narrow waist and skinny butt like they had been tailored just for him, and another pair that would give him room to grow.  He found a really spiffy Western style shirt that accented his spreading shoulders, and he found a hat.  Cowboy boots rounded out the ensemble, and we were done.   He wanted to wear the jeans and the shirt and the boots home, so the clerk trimmed the tags off, and Bo went into the changing room -- alone this time.  When he emerged, I nearly did not recognize my new son.  A skinny waif in shorts had walked in, but a young man in Western finery strode proudly out.  He put the hat on, and said “How do I look?”

    “Bo, you look fantastic.  Check yourself out in the mirror.”  He did and liked what he saw.  He kept looking and turning and looking and taking the hat off and putting it on again. 

    “I can’t believe it’s me in the mirror!  I can’t wait to show Cory!  Do you think we could go find him now?”

    I looked at the time.  Cory’s afternoon lab would just be finishing; we might be able to catch him before the next class.  “We can sure try, cowboy.  Let’s go.”  We collected the remaining parcels and headed back to school.  Bo spotted Cory from across the quad, heading directly toward us.  “Let’s just wait until he sees us,” I told Bo as we walked on.

    He nearly didn’t, and almost passed us by.  Then he saw me and waved.  “Hey Doc,” he said.  “Who’s that...”  He stopped dead in his tracks.  “Wow!” he said.  “You little shit, I didn’t even recognize you!  Dude!  You look great!  Omigod, I can’t believe you!  You look about 2 years older and about 2 inches taller.  Turn around, Dude.  Oh, man, I can’t believe you!  Dude, you look awesome!”  He had to hurry on to class, and gave Bo a quick hug.  “I’ll call you tonight,” he promised.

    Bo just beamed.