Copyright 2009 by The Stories of Max Borren ©. All rights reserved.

On Straight and Narrow - The Story of Max & Chris

Chapter 2: The Return from Despair


     In case you're wondering (for past readers), we've switched to an HTML format for our Story Chapters using a dark background color, a light font color, and a 14 point font (larger font). This is to accomodate our visually-impaired readers, who were kind enough to point out this problem to us. If those who are not visually impaired find this text too large, just use your browser view mode (zoom in/out) to shrink the text to 85% or so for a 12 point font. Anyone wanting to see black font on white background can email us at and we'll send you a black and white copy to read. We're always happy to do whatever we can to accomodate our readers.

Events up till now:

     When we left Max he was still living and working in Texas, alone, while Chris had moved out of state to live with his mother. Somehow, a connection was made here partly based in a betrayal and partially based on hopes and dreams or maybe just a deep need. Without Chris in his life Max has slipped further from his path and wonders the deserts of sexual obscurity with only his life line to Chris, the boy's phone calls and letters, tethering him still in some remote way to a life he'd only dreamed of at one time, but believes now is just a fantasy.

And so, the story begins...

     My life had been so planned, I thought. You know, go to college, graduate, get a good job, make a lot of money, keep attending church, but have a little fun along the way and always keep those you depend on near at hand. Who was I kidding? My life now is a total wreck@! I've changed jobs twice in the last 7 months, and have no idea anymore what the inside of my local church looks like. I dropped my guard after my recent `excursion' into the unknown (the second such trip in my lifetime) and took pity on a college guy I met at a club who was more than just friendly toward me. Like a dope, I let him move in with the promise, "Sure, stay as long as you need to till you get on your feet financially. I mean, I can't personally understand what it's like to have your family just throw you out after finding out you've had sex with another guy. Still, I can definitely feel your pain and I don't mind sharing for a month or so." Stupid... Stupid! Mother-Fucking-Stupid-Dumb-Ass !!!!

     Last night -- oh "Wow, that was something!" I was in bed with David and it was for the most part the usual routine. So damned fucking horny I could've screamed and he was late again getting off work. He was shit faced drunk when he came home and as he began to take off his street clothes I watched his lithe body slowly revealed in the dim light of the bedroom at two a.m. He wasn't a weight lifter, but his shape was so natural. Firm round pecs, large dark nipples, short golden blonde hair coating his long legs and that small college guy waist, good arms and a lean warm friendly face with just a smidgen of facial whiskers (blonde too). His shirt was off and he started to pull down his jeans after taking off his sneakers and socks. I could tell that he wasn't wearing underwear again -- fairly common for him. Suddenly he grunted, "No", and stalked out to the living room. I waited about sixteen minutes. When he didn't come back to the bedroom I decided to go check on him.

     He was lying on the sofa stretched out fully with his legs just lightly draped apart. His left hand was partly in his open fly. His semi-hard pecker was lying just outside the V shaped opening of his jeans front. You couldn't really see his balls from that angle. I reached across the sofa, ran my hand down his chest lightly, and continued to stoke down the middle with the index and middle finger of my left hand. I gradually pulled my hand up, as I got closer to his beautiful dick -- so that by the time my fingers almost touched the base of his penis, instead they just glided barely over the top of his blonde bush. David never could stand that -- his pubic hair was so sensitive. He told me last month that was because in high school he weighed 275 lbs and could never see his pubic hair let alone touch it. By junior year of high school, he got on a crash diet and a workout program. By senior year, he was considered the hottest blonde haired guy at his school and no one ever believed him when he kept telling them that he used to be the 275 lb fat kid. This Adonis went from never having sex to being one of the most sought out mother-fuckers at his high school. His tight blonde ass was so hot you could bounce a quarter off that tight pink hole -- no matter how hard you fucked him.

     Now he let out a low moan, my finger tease had done the job. He was now almost totally erect. I gently grabbed his throbbing 10-inch shaft and used it to guide him up off the sofa, into the bedroom, the rest of the way out of his pants, and into our bed. He was now fully awake and those hard ice blue eyes blazed at me as he said, "Max what the hell did you wake me up for. I was having a great fucking dream. It was a bad day at school and I worked my ass off behind the bar tonight and only received $20 in tips, fucking cheap ass customers." I reached casually between his thighs and ever so slowly stroked his balls in this kind of rhythmic circular motion that I learned to do long ago with my three middle fingers, always in contact with his scrotum and both sides his testicles at the same time, all the time. I can do the same thing with his beautiful cock but take my tongue and alternate dancing it down and around his shaft both lightly, gliding and lubricating it as I go, and also with my dancing fingers. David, as usual, couldn't help himself. He was moaning so deep it was like listening to a bass amp as it hummed and vibrated from the bottom of his abdomen.

     Just when precum began dripping copiously down the tip of his penis and trickling sideways across the hard shaft -- that was when I'd strike! I'd throw my whole body under his using my arms to push him up and onto my face. I used my thin beard to scratch across his ball sac then grab his dick hard with both hands (I really needed both for a good job) and at the same time I'd bury my face up his crack and my tongue (normally so gentle) would dive in and rip apart his cherry tight little ass hole like it was an old stretched out rubber band. Every time David would scream and yelp -- even though I'm positive he knew what was coming. Oh god, just the smell of his ass drove me so crazy -- that was why I did what I did, the way I did it! Hell, it's how I self-taught myself the secret of David's prodigious multiple orgasms. It was always a big trial not to sink my large canine teeth deep into his smooth round delicious ass muscles (actually I did do it, on two different occasions, and it was days before he got over it and could properly sit down again). Just as he'd try to rip himself off my face, my arms and hands would drop his now raging engorged hardon and strike at both sides grabbing those delicious barely bony pelvic love handles (no fat just firm muscles and bone) and then I'd ram his ass as hard as I could into my face while I struck deep with my tongue as far as it could reach up his tight ass aiming my long narrow tongue slightly down and all the way forward. When the tip found his prostate, I'd continue to stab with the tip of my tongue at his gland over and over again while using my tongue to milk up the side of the gland too -- really I imagined that my tongue had become the fangs of a venomous African cobra viper.

     When David started to shake, and cum was being forced out of his organ from the pressure on his prostate gland I'd suddenly stop! Then I gently and carefully pulled his ass off my face. His cock was so rigid it could have substituted for a dozen US Flag Poles. Finally, I took my left and right hands, reached up twirling my fingers around his erect nipples after lubing them with his precum and early ejaculate, and then using the tips of my nails, lightly grazing them over and down his chest and abdominal muscles with the outside fingers barely brushing body hair and pubic hair. When my final destinations were in sight I used my left hand to firmly grab the base of his erect vibrating cock -- the blood looking like it would burst any minute out of the tip of the glans or from his piss hole. Then moistening my left hand one final time on lovely delicious precum and early ejaculate (licking off all the excess of course) I'd force the three middle fingers on my left hand up David's asshole -- strike at the prostate with all three fingers and milk it like I wanted it to erupt in this huge nuclear explosion. Damn, David's prostate at this point was hard as a large piece of gravel, but so smooth and round, and sometimes pear shaped. With my lubricated left hand I timed the three separate strikes (fingers out then suddenly racing / drawing into the center for the target) from my right hand fingers to match almost exactly the three strikes of my left hand fingers as they now locked on his metal like rod twirling down the shaft one minute and forcing up if to the very tip squeezing likewise as if I planned to rupture that major organ.

     By the end of the second thrust, David had almost stopped breathing -- perspiration sometimes was forming as little beads across his blonde coated skin. When I began the third and final assault of his penis, that erupting hot metal spike was screaming for release and was fighting to try and stay as far away from my advancing squeezing fingers anyway that it could. Once I was locked on for that final jab, my hands were like pit vipers -- their fangs milliseconds away from striking the hot blood rich engorged flesh. AND THEN I STOPPED! At the absolute-last possible second the last strike averted right at the tip of that gorgeous shaft! NO MORE THE FOOL YOU ARE -- I dove with my tongue and speared the last quarter inch of the glans, tapering the tip of my tongue to rip down that red piss hole, and trigger the final explosion that was the fully timed release of everything. Wave after wave of bliss and agony thrummed through David's 20-year-old body from the tips of his toes to the end of every shaft of hair on his head. I continued to use my tongue to glide constantly down and around that heavy pulsing throbbing diamond hard shaft of his penis guiding wave after wave after wave of his sparkling white sticky love juices onto the walls of the bedroom, the headboard, both our faces and chests and oh yes lovingly directing as much as possible into my mouth and down my throat in pulsing hot flashes of sweet ecstasy. Dear god, if I could've bottled that I would've been a millionaire a million and one times over. Then I'd release David from the self imposed bondage without leather or straps -- but by only using my own body as the weapon, and I'd smile down at him and then lightly run my tongue one final time across every inch of his asshole, balls, pubic hair, chest and cock.

     Once he was clean I'd kiss him gently on the mouth and laugh when he told me, "Damn you Max, God fucking damn you, you-son-of-a-bitch. You know I can't stop you, but one of these days you're really going to hurt me bad! You're such a skinny dude no one would ever realize how fucking strong you really are. It hurts man! The first few times I admit I've never felt anything like it in my life, but after the tenth, the twentieth time -- hell, I just can't handle it anymore!" I simply replied, "Oh come on, get real David, you know exactly what I'm doing when I start -- you could stop me then, dead in my tracks, every time. I've never forced you at that point. But hell, yeah, once I reach the end, even I can't control it then." David sighed and rolled his eyes, saying "Honestly Max, I'd really just rather give you a blow job. Wouldn't you like to be the one to erupt like that for once in your life?" I couldn't help myself; I just started to roll over laughing. "Now what's the matter?" he said. "Look at my fucking dick David -- are you blind? Most of the time I've already come by the time my three fingers enter your tight ass; or if not then, then always, always by the second time. One time with you, when your frickin' prostate changed shape, I almost held my load till the third strike! Of course I don't have the freaking multiple orgasms that you shower us with, but when my average sized rocket goes off it still does more than satisfy me!"

     Ok, so this 20 year old was really looking for a dumb sugar daddy and I provided the dumb part like a piece of cake. Well, in this case it was a nice piece of ass, his ass, but my wallet. Oh, yeah, what happened to Chris? Hell, Chris is a thousand miles away and I've finally realized I've got needs that have never been met before! So what the hell do you think I'm going to do just wait around for something that'll never in a million years come to pass? Fuck, I'm only three years older than this jerk and he isn't living under my roof for more than three months before I finally realized what all those late nights after school were all about at his part-time bartending job; you know the one where he'd close down the bar and clean the restaurant every night until 4 a.m. Well I'm not totally stupid, I waited around for the little prick to get off of work on two nights in a row, then followed him and a `customer' back to the `customer's apartment. With all the screaming going on it wasn't hard to figure out who was getting the best ass in town (and it wasn't me)! So then I bugged all the phones at the apartment just to be certain (I've got a freakin college degree in technology for God's sake), to think, I actually cared for this little scum bag. I never realized what a good actor a hot 20-year-old co-ed could be in real life?! He'd come back to the apartment exhausted -- too much studying required, and then off to work those late nights trying to earn enough money to pay me something on rent and board, yeah right. Of course once I left and he was home alone on the phone it was "Man Jason, Max is such an old bore, I mean he isn't hot and he keeps whining all the time about how much he wants to help, but you know he's just looking for easy ass." Oh really? I've had plenty of chances now for ` easy ass' as he says, and trust me it doesn't have to cost you $900 a month for food, clothing, rent and spending money, believe me!!!

     When the little prick finally got home from his latest `late night of work', we sat down and had a heart-to-heart. I put my arms around him, told him how special he was to me, asked him what he really felt -- what did he really need? Oh my gosh! You wouldn't believe the dribble he spouted on and on about. He loved me, he needed me, and he couldn't imagine anyone finding someone as good looking and caring as me!!! I calmly walked over to my office desk, pulled out the tape recorder and pushed `PLAY'! Then we listened to his conversations with `the friend'. Oh WOW, that stopped him dead in his tracks! His mouth dropped open, "How did you get that? You've been recording my private phone conversations!" I just stared at him and didn't say a word. He babbled on for another sixteen minutes or so before it hit him, "I guess I need to find somewhere else to stay for a while?" Oh yea, right Mister Know-It-All! "You've two hours to get your `customer' friend over here to pick up your things before I kick your `whiny little shit ass' out on the street!"

     "Two hours? How do you expect me to pack all my clothes, my books and other stuff in just two hours? What customer?" he said. "You know your `customer' from work the guy you've been going home with every night when the restaurant closes AT 2 A.M.!" I yelled at him. "And it won't take you two hours to pack the things you moved in with. Over my dead body will you be taking any of the clothes, books, etc that I paid for with my money!" Now the acting really started. I mean real tears -- damn he was good -- there were real fucking tears rolling down his gorgeous muscular jaw line. I almost believed I'd hurt his feelings somehow. Duh, no way! I just stared at him for another five minutes, until he eventually looked up at me, and the tears suddenly stopped, then he said "Two hours huh?"

     "Two hours bud, pack light." I just turned my back on the douche bag and walked out. Two hours after that, he was out of my life -- well until he broke into my apartment ten days later with some bouncer friends from his workplace and stole back most of his clothes I'd bought for him. Good riddance! What a damn fool... I was Ok, when I was still dating women, now that I finally let go of my raging hormones for what seemed like the first time in my life, everything goes to hell in a hand basket fast. What am I doing? Why am I doing this to myself?

     Oh, yes, I know, Chrisy.... Yeah we still talk at least three times a week on my calling card. Plus, I write him at least three letters each week. Since he's been gone I've received at least a dozen letters from him. He's just a kid you know, and I don't want to feel all this guilt, but I promised him I'd be there, so... I've these urges now and they get so bad you just have to scratch that itch! I can't help but think about it at work too -- that's what's messed up my job so much that my performance has gone down badly. I hit the bars most every other night nowadays. I keep looking for something, but I never seem to find it at a bar, especially not a gay bar. Something I've been looking for so many years, that I finally gave up almost a year ago, then Chris came into my life and now I'm looking again. There's all these whiny little fags there; I mean I don't see an honest real man in the bunch no matter which club or what hour I'm looking. All these supposed men seem so fake to me -- where are the cool men, like my old friends? You know the guys that had any girl they wanted anytime they wanted them -- those kinds of men? I haven't been out with most of my friends locally in months. Shit, most of them have stopped bothering to even call anymore. I also feel this deep desire to protect someone; I guess it's the guilt over what I did to Chris. That's what happened with David, this fuckin' 20 year old I let move in. He was so like Chris, amazingly good looking, a strong young man, but vulnerable -- someone that needed my protection... Or so I thought. Since he was of age and consenting, I didn't feel like I was taking advantage of him, although maybe I was and just wouldn't admit it to myself. Wanting to care for another man; is that wrong? Maybe men don't care for and protect other men; I've no idea since this is all something totally out of my league. I've no experience in men on men relationships, not really. Damn I just want to get my rocks off most of the time, that's all, but even that doesn't fill this hole in my gut!

     Hell, I need to read Chris' letters... Where the hell are my kid's letters? Fuck, if David found them and threw them out I'll hunt down that asshole and personally strangle the life out of him with my bare hands! No, I never told Chris about David. What would've been the point of that? I said I had needs, urges, and Chris told me in no uncertain terms that he could never fill those needs in my life. Fuck, he's only a kid -- he needs someone to protect him, not some jerk who molests him! I'm such a fucking prick, only interested in what I need from him, when I know full well that no one is looking out for him.

     Where the hell are those letters? Think! Where would I put something that personal -- a place that reminds me of Chris -- a place no one else would look in! Chris, handsome, innocent, strong... Strong! Weight lifter, that's it my weight set, I never use those anymore and David wasn't the least bit interested in lifting weights when he lived here! I run to the game room of the apartment (yes, I have a game room / office); well it was suppose to be used as a third bedroom, study or family room. I chose to use it as the game room / office / workout area. I run into the room and locate the weight set over in the far corner -- there's the box of spare equipment parts. I grab the box and frantically look below the parts and instruction manuals and there they are! Thank you, thank you lord for not allowing me to lose these.

     Some of them are silly I know, it's a 16 almost 17-year-old kid writing them -- I bet he never wrote a personal letter before in his life. I grab the first small paper I can find and gently unfold it, to read, "Max, I'm sorry for the last couple of days. I really do love you, Chris." What was that about? Did we fight over something? Oh, now I remember, Chris asked to come back to Texas and move in with me. Dear god, how would that ever have worked? He's underage, there's no way on this earth his folks would ever let him move in with a single adult (not a guy seven years older than their kid)! They'd immediately ask why a 23 year old professional is offering their child free room and board since he obviously can't pay for it himself. No, the boy needs to stay with his family. I can't just let him plead his case with me and then cave into those penetrating deep blue/gray eyes! Thankfully, I can't see his eyes when we're on the phone, but I can hear his voice. That masculine baritone voice now, each month it gets a little deeper, the kid definitely must be filling out more, he sounds older than me on the phone most days.

     Next letter, where, here it's:


this is me writing. (I laugh at that.) I'm in chemistry class, we got a new instructor. He's very boring and I'm sitting in the front row. I hope he doesn't see me writing and take my paper and read it!

(Crazy kid -- the teacher would just think you were taking notes, unless you were looking guilty.)

     He's going on about really boring things, but the class seems to like it. I think it's boring!!! We just had an assembly last hour and it was pretty good. He was doing panamiming, I didn't spell that right, oh well. He also did a lot of robot dancing, he was a nice guy. Sorry I didn't call you this weekend, but I had to work a triple shift Saturday from 6 am till 11 pm. Sunday I worked from 6 am till 4 pm and I was tired and went home to bed. I'll call next weekend though. I only work 5 pm to 11 pm, lunch and dinner.

     I'm saving lots of money. I'm not cashing my checks. That way my mom won't get in trouble and I can stay there. We're getting along pretty good for now. Haven't played much in my sports games lately but I haven't worked hard at it either. I mean I've been slacking off running and in practice lately.

     He just told us to never mix Sulfuric Acid with water because it'll freak out. I told him to put the jar under the faucet and turn the water on then jump back, but he didn't do it. Sorry about my writing. Now it's doing better because we're doing a little bit of lab, mixing of compounds.

     I can't wait until summer. I got my last report card, not great but not bad. I got a B- in English, these are semester grades, a C+ in History, missed by 1 point but the teacher wouldn't give me a B-, then a C in Computer Programming, a C in Chemistry, a C in Advanced Algebra, and a B- in Sociology. Not bad, but not good either. In the summer, it'll be great! One thing I wanted to do with you is go to the Water Park if you want to. I'll be next to ride the Octopus.

     I want to get some; you know what, from you if you haven't already sent it. I mean because I asked you on the phone. I miss doing things with you a lot even though we never really got to do much. I broke my promise the other day -- you know the one I'd never break. I was pretty disappointed with myself. Oh well that's life. I'm not going to make a habit of it though. I got so wasted, then I smoked some, but it wasn't any good it just gave me a headache. Mike was so mad about it, he said it was the worst he'd ever had.

Well I've to go now.

Love, Chris

     That was another 3-page letter. The kid uses notepad paper and writes on most every line on each page, but his writing style is pretty big. He's always so proud because he likes to send me at least three pages each time, he knows I love reading every letter and I've told him that the long ones are the best. Of course mostly he just fills the letters with what he's either doing at that time of day in school or talks a lot about his job at a local resort hotel. His mom's still on social assistance and so the government can't find out that the boy's making money, since while he's in her home it would count against her weekly assistance checks. The letter says that he and his mom are getting along well, but I know they're not really because he's mentioned several times sleeping over at the hotel (not in a guest room, usually in an unused conference room or down in the laundry room when it's closed. His mom only allows him to do that when she really wants him out of the house because she's upset about something he's supposedly done. Again he mentions coming back here, but that's still not a certainty as of yet. From his writing you'd think we did things a lot when he lived here, but other than the days I treated the interns to lunch there was only the two parties over at my apartment. That isn't really a heavy social calendar if you get my drift. I tell myself that I don't understand what the boy wants from me, but that would be a lie, he wants someone who'll care for him, who'll just love him as he is without reservations. He needs a real parent and a real friend. I don't see how I could ever truly be either of those things. My support has always been colored by my desires -- and I used the boy for my own urges, even if I didn't really mean for it to happen. Heaven above, the boy's mother actually sent me a thank you note. Can you believe that? She said she just wanted to thank me for all the help I gave Chris during his intern program and she knows that I've been writing to him to encourage him to keep up with his athletics programs and school work. She said she thought that was all very admirable especially for a busy professional man like me. If the woman only knew the truth, she'd be writing something very different! Again, it just increases my guilt.

     You may've also noticed the vague remarks about promises and a reference to sending the `you know what'. Damn, the kid was starting to run with the wrong crowd now that he's out of state. The `old friends' wanted him to start doing cocaine and other harder drugs. Chris told me that he only needed them to keep up with his busy school and work schedule, so like an idiot I volunteered to start sending him plain `speed' if he'd promise to only use it as needed and not for recreational use or when he was drinking or driving. Most of the companies I work for employ large numbers of truckers or delivery personnel and so I've never had difficulties in getting straight `speed' whenever I wanted any. Of course, I know that mailing this to the boy could land me in jail if I'm not careful but for the most part it would keep him safe or at least safer. I send the small packages via a ground shipping service instead of the U.S. Postal Service -- and at this time, most of those shipping providers don't check small packages or letters very well.

     I yearn for each and every letter from the kid. I can't explain really. The feeling of being needed, having someone who looks up to you, who admires you, and who loves you. Maybe this is what all my married friends with kids keep trying to get me to understand. I just never could make a permanent commitment to any woman I was with and I never thought of myself as good `Father Material', but that's not really the whole truth.

     I pull out another folded letter from the box, its five pages long:


I decided to make a journal and guess where it's goes; I'm sending you my journal! More or less, you're my journal, since I write and call and tell you everything about my life here. I MISS YOU A WHOLE LOT!!! Well time to start my journal...

(Tears begin to slide down my cheek. I can't help myself as I keep reading. I'm his journal, the keeper of all his secrets? This amazingly handsome, strong, wonderful young man is keeping his faith in me? I don't deserve this, because I love this boy for all the wrong reasons.)

      Monday October 9th... Went to school of course...fell asleep during class... When I got home I decided that I'd do my homework just for you. I know how much you always tell me that doing good in school is important for my future and how proud you are when I do well... I want you to be proud of me... Asked Tracie, this pretty girl from school who I'd like to go out with to come over if she wanted to and we could study together. She DID! You've made me more confident and just like you told me on the phone, if I remain confident and I'm courteous and outgoing I really can make the friends that I want to and date however I want to...

(Funny I never once noted that the boy couldn't date any girl he really wanted to. I just wanted to keep him for myself. But I'm happy that he's feeling stronger now than he was before and proud of his ability to cope with such difficult situations.)

      Tuesday October 10th... I woke up and went to school early...forgot to tell you that I went out for first string on the sports team and track & field. Mr. Johnson was really impressed with my trials -- he told me so to my face! I was better than three quarters of all the guys on both squads... I know that you don't care for sports that much, Max, but thanks to you I'm doing great just like you said I could... Want to come back to Texas for Christmas -- I'd get to see you then, but I really don't think I should since things with my dad are not going well... Don't think I can come, will you be mad at me if I don't come?

      I hope you're happy getting all these letters. I never wrote this much before to anyone... I think Tracie is trying to make me jealous today... Went to the movies with another like you've told me to and not give up, just keep my thinking clear and do my best...see if she wants to go to the school dance with me... I think she will say yes, but I could be wrong... Live and learn like you always say... I'm going to mail this letter with your other one since I never got it out in time. Sorry. I know you won't mind getting extra letters, ha-ha.

(To the side is a note:)

Maybe # 1 School Athlete soon!

Your best, best, best friend,


     When the boy signs his letters like that, I know he's thinking that someone may be reading the letter other than me, likely his mom or his current girlfriend I guess. He's explained that in the past on the phone. I continue to wipe the steady streams of tears from my cheeks. I find I can't continue reading every single letter. I have most memorized almost all by heart at this point. `Girlfriend?' do I remember him getting a steady girlfriend recently? I can't help feeling jealous right now.

     Time goes by. The more I continue to communicate with the kid the more possessive I keep feeling. Each day I feel more and more like a substitute father and less and less like a good friend or older brother. It's spring now. I don't know how I made it through the fall and winter. Chris has decided to return to Texas and live with his father again since he recently had a big falling out with his mother. She accused the boy of being a drug addict and turned him in to the police and school authorities. His bedroom, school locker, backpack and clothes were searched. He even endured a strip search from the police while at school. I know that was very traumatic, but for some reason the boy was nearly hysterical when he called me last night. I don't remember how I managed to calm him enough so he was able to quit sobbing. This young man has always seemed so strong and mature most of the time. Then on occasion when something strange happens -- it's almost like he reverts to a boy of 9 or 10 instead of 16 going on 17. Gratefully he's been following my suggestions and backing off from doing any drugs -- so his system was clean when they administered a drug test. This was the last straw for the boy with his neurotic mother -- the court does allow a boy his age to choose a different parent each 6 months or so, and so now the boy will be coming back to Texas. I don't understand some of his feelings on this topic because he's likewise fearful in many ways of returning here and yet he can't explain why to me?

     The day is finally here. Actually, it's been here, come and gone by almost a week. Chris was supposed to be back in town last Friday or Saturday, but I haven't heard a word from him over the past week. No letters, no phone calls. He has my calling card number so it should just be a matter of picking up any available home phone or payphone and calling me. Where is Chris, what's happened? It's Friday and I'm getting frantic. I pick up the phone -- maybe calling some of his old friends from school some that he interned with at my old job -- I kept some of their phone numbers. I pick up the phone and begin dialing. At that moment, I hear a faint tapping. I'm still dialing and the tapping has stopped, no it started again. I realize that someone is at the apartment door. I live on the second floor now, having changed to a new complex three months prior for more room with a lower rent.

     I peek through the peephole, but see no one. I release the door chain and click back the deadbolt lock. The door silently swings open. "Oh my God, Chris, what happened to you kid?" The young man is leaning heavily against the side of my front door frame -- I can see bruises on the side of his body that's facing me and he's keeping the left side of his face averted from my direction. I reach out and gently put my arms carefully around his shoulders and pull him into my chest. "It's going to be Ok, Chrisy; no one is going to hurt you here. Come in, come in. I promise you you're safe here." Slowly, carefully, I pull the battered boy into the foyer and quietly shut the door behind us. I immediately decide that I should take him to the master bedroom and manage to get him to sit on the side of the bed. Since coming inside he's been crying quietly into my shoulder and sobbing in great heaves of his chest, but also trying to make as little sound as possible, I can tell. Once I get him to sit on the side of the master bed I take my arms from around his shoulder, reach up with both my hands, and try to gently cup either side of his face. The moment I touch the left cheek, the boy jerks his head violently away from my hand. With extreme care, I once more rest both hands on the sides of his face and slowly, gently, pull his face around to look it over carefully. His left eye is almost swollen shut and his left cheek and part of the chin are badly bruised. There's a large cut above the left eye -- looks like someone punched him with a large ring on because I see some faint indentations in the bruising above and around his left eye. "Here, Chrisy, just lie back for a moment and let me go get some things." I try to help him lay back on the bed and the boy moans as soon as his right side and back touch the mattress. While attempting to bring his legs up onto the bed as well he groans and cries out repeatedly several times. It rapidly becomes apparent that besides the bruising on his right side and arm and back there appears to also be bruising of his left and/or right leg and additional damage to his back and neck.

     I kneel down beside the bed and place my face near his left ear -- careful not to touch the ear since I notice that there's bruising and bleeding there as well. Someone or more likely several people worked this boy over repeatedly. As powerfully built as Chris is that would've taken some very, very big men to do this to him -- especially since I see no indication of bruising or bleeding from his knuckles or hands, in fact they seem to be the one area of his body that was completely spared. "It's Ok, bubba, I'm here. Maxi is here -- I promise I'll take care of you my love." I stroke his hair gently while I continue to murmur reassurances to him. The boy has been through a terrible beating and I vow that if I ever find the dirt bags that did this to my kid I'm going to bring the same pain back tenfold on them -- or at least cut their ball sacs off and then stuff them back into their mouths.

     Finally I've managed to find all the medicine kit and additional medical supplies I keep in the master bathroom. I brought the boy to my room in the master suite because it has a private toilet, bath, and changing area. He can remain here without being seen from the more public parts of the apartment and there's also a private balcony that overlooks one of the many different pools at the complex. Carefully and methodically, I clean and treat all the worst cuts, abrasions and gashes. Several minutes before I managed to get the boy in a slight sitting position; enough that he was able to swallow several prescription pain medications (mostly anti-inflammatory medication and Hydrocodone). "Chrisy, we need to take off some of these clothes. Let's start with your shoes, socks and then your shirt, Ok?"

     I unlace his running shoes and ease them off both feet. Then I gently pull off both socks, so far so good. Placing my hands under his shoulder blades, I try to pull him just up off of the mattress. This boy's really nearly a man in most everyway and it's difficult to pull him up when he's in such pain and clearly not able to help much. "Just sit like that for a moment, bubba" I said while I dropped both hands to his waist and then slowly eased up his shirt hem to pull the T-shirt off over his head. As the shirt lifts from his abdomen I notice large purple markings on both his left and right front side over the side abdominal muscles. Chris still has a remarkable six-pack of abs, with near perfect definition, but I see the muscles spasm and quiver from the assault they received. He groans hoarsely as the shirt begins to go over his arms and shoulders revealing his biceps and pectoral muscles. Those beautiful pecs are mostly unaffected, but the biceps and shoulders on both sides are severely bruised with swelling running down the back. I now manage to get the shirt completely off and encourage him to lay back down where he begins to sob again and cough. I see blood on the side of his mouth and realize that someone struck him across the left side of his mouth as well. I now notice some scratches in long bruised imprints around both shoulders, some of the back and part of the neck. It's clear now that several people tried to grab him at once -- at least one from behind by the neck and likely two from the sides. I recognize at that point that the bruising along the lower abdominals appears to be from kicks by boots or large shoes.

     "Bubba, we need to take off your jeans now. Ok?" At this point, the meds must be affecting him because he barely acknowledges my words. I realize that his belt is missing and start unbuttoning his jeans, which are 501s. I remember the last time I saw that waist and those muscular legs. I have the fly fully open now and try as best as I can to ease the jeans down by pulling from the bottom of each pant leg rather than attempting to roll the jeans down his butt and thighs. Gratefully he hardly moves. Gently, slowly, I manage to pull down his pants without causing the boy further pain. Now that I have his pants off I can tell that the left hip also received some kicks and it looks like someone attempted to kick the boy in the groin too because there's some bruising on the right inside thigh just below his white briefs. I consider whether or not to remove the briefs, but opt instead to gently pull back the top of the waist band to check his crotch. His genitals appear intact with no obvious damage. I put my hand under his briefs and slowly and carefully roll each testicle in my hand -- there doesn't seem to be any swelling or discomfort. Chris moans slightly in his sleep and I notice that his penis is starting to engorge itself. For a moment, my eyes lock on that majestic beautiful huge cock. I immediately stop any further checking and gently replace the briefs to their earlier position. I just wanted assurance I didn't need to take him to the hospital for more serious external or internal organ damage -- I had no desire to turn a beating into molestation. I now began applying the ointments and salves I brought to try and reduce the inflammation and prevent any spread of the bruising. I also brought in ice packs and wrapped small clean kitchen towels around them and applied them where I could to try and reduce the swellings further. I managed to take his temperature orally and found it to be only slightly elevated. There was no other damage apparent to the head other than the left side of his face, ear, cheek and mouth. Once I've assured myself that I'd done everything that I could for the moment I picked up the phone and called a family member that was a Physician's Assistant. I explained the situation and described Chris' injuries. My second cousin was somewhat concerned about possible damage to organs near the abdominal-side area injuries, but further checking revealed no involvement in back near the kidneys. So, he told me that he felt I could proceed to treat the boy at home, although he still felt like a physical exam at the emergency room would've been a better idea. I knew that Chris didn't have any desire to seek professional help if possible because for some reason he seems to be avoiding or paranoid of authority figures. Especially since he came to my apartment, a new address that he'd never been to before, but likely had memorized the address from all the letters that he mailed. If the boy had wanted professional medical attention, or felt he required it, he wouldn't have been shy about seeking out an available emergency room, since there were at least four or five in the local area as it was.

     By Saturday afternoon, the swelling of the face and cheek was doing so well that Chris was once again able to open his left eye. Now I had both those handsome deep gray/blue jewels staring straight into my heart -- for the first time in almost nine months. The clean white linens and spread were pulled up to just below his chest and I'd been spoon feeding my love for the last 20 minutes. Chris kept looking out the balcony doors into the late afternoon sunlight with reflections from the tall trees just off the balcony. "Chrisy, do you feel up to telling me what happened to you now?" I asked quietly. Slowly he turned his face back from the side to look into my eyes once more.

     "I've missed you so much, Maxi," he said as a few tears slowly tracked down both cheeks. I reached out my left hand and caressed his right cheek cupping his face by the right jaw line and chin. "Oh my handsome boy, I've longed to see your smiling face so many times I don't see how I could possibly express exactly how I feel at this moment." He titled his head slightly to the right resting his face and head further onto my hand and for a time just breathed deeply and slowly like that. I finally realized that I'd never finished applying my, $160 per bottle, designer cologne yesterday because I'd been so worried about finding Christopher. Most of the scent was likely still on my hands -- he was taking in the scent with each slow deep breath. My heart almost burst at that moment -- here sat my love, so abused and savaged and yet all he apparently wanted to do was track my scent. I wore the same cologne most every day. I never realized that he even knew what it smelled like.

     "Chrisy," I said again as the tears slowly spilled from my eyes. "I need to know what happened to you," I pleaded. "I need to know who did this to you, bubba. Don't you realize that these people could've killed you if their blows had just been applied at slightly different angles or to slightly different areas?" Finally he opened his gray eyes again -- gray now like distant thunderclouds before a big storm. "I missed my flight last Friday, and had to make a connecting flight on a two leg run on Saturday instead, to get down here. My Dad met me at the plane, and the moment I stepped out of the gate, I could tell he was so mad. As usual, he was drinking again before he came to pick me up. We got into a big argument on the way back to his apartment," the boy explained. For just a moment he stopped and then his eyes drifted by me to the glass doors of the balcony. As the boy let his gaze drift out toward the horizon, he slowly began again. "I just grabbed my bags when we arrived and tried to rush in the door before he could catch up to me, but Mary his old girlfriend met me at the door, and she didn't let me in until I set my bags down and gave her a big hug. She always insists that I wrap my arms all the way around her and squeeze her real tight, she loves my arms and she says that when I squeeze her like that it makes her feel like a school girl all over again." My eyebrows must have lifted up when Chris mentioned `Mary' the girlfriend because when I threw that questioning look back at Chris a second time. I know that he knew what I was asking. "Yes, Mary's the old girlfriend that took my virginity several years back when she was drunk one night, and came over, but dad had stood her up to go bar hopping with his buddies and their dates." I let it drop at that for now. I suddenly knew that there was much more to that story than the boy was telling, but I also knew that for now he wasn't comfortable revealing more than he'd already said on the subject.

     Further gentle probes brought out the fact that Chris had just managed to barely avert a fight with his dad in front of the apartment building over the extra $185 his dad had been forced to pay to upgrade Chris' airline ticket from the original arrangements. Chris went on the explain that the airline had overbooked his original flight and since he couldn't find the original ticket and boarding pass at the flight gate he'd missed the flight and was unable to get on because his seat had already gone to another passenger. Since Chris failed to produce his ticket in a timely fashion, the airline told his mother who had brought him to the airport that they'd have to pay an upgrade unless they wanted to wait another week before taking the flight. His mother called his dad and told him to get his `drug addicted bastard' back to Texas on the next available flight or she'd make trouble with the attorneys again as she'd done in the past. That forced his dad to spend the extra cash -- which was the reason for all the friction with his father. To make a longer story short -- Mary continued to flirt with Chris the entire weekend which didn't calm his father down at all and by Sunday night his dad was starting to `hit me again like he always did in the past when he was mad'. His dad also wouldn't let him use the phone at all which was why the boy hadn't been able to call me. In the past nine months I'd learned that Chris' mom normally abused her son verbally as often as she could saying frequently that Chris reminded her of her deadbeat ex and all of his ilk. Even while Chris' folks were still married, it wasn't unusual for his father to beat up on Chris and/or his mother when he'd been drinking too much. After the nasty divorce, his father's drinking steadily increased and the beatings began to get more and more severe. When Chris finally turned 14 he'd been doing weight training for more than two years and finally was more developed at 14 than his father was at 31. Just after Chris' fourteenth birthday his father had tried to beat the shit out of Chris and on that occasion Chris managed to easily pull a round house on his father (since he was almost too drunk to walk anyway) and from that point on his dad more or less left Chris alone.

     Apparently, the combination pressures of Mary, Chris' mom and the outlay of extra cash from Chris' dad had caused his memory of past events to fade enough that when the fight finally peaked Sunday night -- his dad once more tried to beat up Chris. Instead, once again, Chris got the better of his dad easily, but this time he left the old man with a black eye, a busted front tooth and busted eyeglasses. Unknown to Chris, unfortunately, his dad had resurrected his old poker buddies, most of whom were brawny truck driver types with a motorcycle gang member or two thrown in.

     When all those men showed up Thursday night for their supposed weekly poker game -- a couple of them insisted Chris join in. They all stood up as if to introduce themselves as he walked over to the table, but just as soon as he got in reach his dad grabbed him from behind yelling, "You're going to get yours now you god damn little fucker" while men on either side grabbed his arms and shoulders before he could land a single blow in self defense. There were actually five men total and they all took turns smacking the living daylights out of the boy who was mostly unconscious after the first 10 minutes of heavy pounding.

     "Lucky for me they threw me out the front door onto the lawn after they finished. If they'd kept me inside while they continued to drink and play I don't think I'd have made it here to your place. They really did a number on me and so it took me the rest of the night and most of the next day to get here to your new place. I got lost a few times, but I was afraid if I stopped and asked for directions that someone would turn me over to the cops." Again, there was that fear of people in authority. "Damn that sick bastard!' I said. "You're not going back there anymore." Point made, I figured that there were most likely witnesses to at least some of the assault so if his dad tried to make trouble we could just threaten to report him to the authorities. I'd a couple of lawyer friends that I was certain would add some threatening letters to the mix for free if needed just to shake up the old bastard. "You turn 17 at the end of the month and in Texas mostly you're free to live as you please from that age forward, few authorities take time to hunt down kids that old or older and force them back home, so I don't think you need to worry about your parents mistreating you anymore, Chris" I told him.

     "But how will I live down here, Maxi, I've got no job right now, and the money I've saved isn't enough to get me by for more than a few months at best." I smiled and looked my lad right in those deep blue eyes and said, "You're my ward now Chrisy, those same lawyer friends can help with some fancy paper work and we can transfer you to my local school district here and you can finish out high school in style. You do realize that most of the kids in this area are at least upper-middle class if not a great deal higher on the income bracket?"

     Chris still wasn't buying that we could pull off this scam, plus he said there was no way he could fit in with rich kids. "Christopher, you're the damn-best-looking kid I've seen in the past 10 years, at least. Here, in urban Texas living areas, there are only three things that count, which are Number 1: Money; Number 2: Your Looks; and finally Number 3: Power. If you have any of those first three, you seldom have problems getting into high society circles around here." The boy just swallowed loudly at that. I went on to assure him that I had enough money to take care of him, not only through the rest of high school, but well into college or even all the way through college -- whatever he needed.

     That settled, I continued to care as best as I could for my patient while also going into work when required -- after all I still had to earn that paycheck I was going to spend. I came home from work late one night about a week later. Chris was finally starting to look more normal now. I yelled out his name when I first came through the door but got no response. Per my earlier decision, I'd been sleeping in the front guest room. I wondered back to the Master bedroom -- saw the unmade bed but still no Chris. Just then, I heard a small splash coming from the Master bath. I walked into the separate bathing area and saw Chris soaking in a hot tub of water with steam rising slowly up the walls. Looking casually in the bath I saw his fully nude body along with that gorgeous long large penis, which lay gently flaccid down the side of one thigh, and unable to stop myself I crept up to the side of the tub, and slowly put my arms around him and squeezed. The boy almost jumped two feet out of the water, when he realized that I could see him in all his glory, he started turning several shades of red, but still made no moves to cover his modesty. I planted a large kiss on the now almost healed left cheek and proceeded to pull some paperwork out of my briefcase. It was the documentation I needed to get Chris into school in our suburb -- he would be set to start in the next few months. When he finally understood what I was saying a big smile spread across his face and he jumped up from the bath water, reached around and grabbed me, hugging me right up against his gorgeous naked body. Warm water was running down the front and side of my suit and silk tie, which would now be history, but I didn't care because right at that moment since I felt like I suddenly had everything I'd ever need in my life. When I finally got untangled from that gangly handsome youth, I patted him on that tight ass and said, "dry off, bubba, I think we'll be dining out tonight to celebrate, but first we have to get you some new duds otherwise they'll be carding your pretty ass at every joint we enter because no one will believe you're of legal age".

     "What can you do about that? Are you going to get me a fake ID or something?' he queried. "No bubba we're going to deck you out like a true native Texas rancher, once I'm done with you your own mother wouldn't recognize you and certainly wouldn't think about asking you for ID!" With those rippling muscles and the right clothes, not only would no one be carding this kid, most every place I planned to take him to would likely be throwing down the red carpet to get that pretty tight body into their club as fast as possible. Rich beautiful people tend to attract more rich beautiful people, at least in Texas, and with my background and funds, we should have just enough of what we needed to make the impossible seem probable.

     Long story short, again, we hit the town together for the first time ever as a team and I promise you not a single person ever once stood in our way. No, really for the most part I could've been part of the wall paper, but the stud with me was getting passes from the hired help, the well paying female clientele and as often as not from the well paying male clientele as well. No these weren't gay bars we were attending either. Chris at this time had no desire for that kind of attention, but he felt like king of the world in all the local restaurants and bars that we did make the rounds of that night. I'm glad we purchased the lower styled alligator boots since I wasn't sure the kid could have handled the full sized ones -- not the way he did that northern kind of walk. Texans tend to be a little bow legged you know, at least those doing real ranch work since they're always caring around heavy loads or riding horses. I did get him a Stetson hat, but since he really didn't know what to do with it we just leave it in the SUV most of the time. We even met a fair number of his soon-to-be classmates, and you know how important first impressions are. I quickly realized that I was going to have to teach my protege about all the real dangers of older women since I was fast realizing that some of the older women taking too much interest in him were going to be the moms of his future classmates, which might not go over well with either those classmates or their fathers, but then again, you never know.

     Around 2:30 a.m., we stumbled back into the apartment. Chris was totally shit faced, but I've always held my liquor better than most anyone else I know. Before I realized what I was doing, I'd stumbled into the Master bedroom, thrown off all my clothes (I sleep in the raw you may remember) and immediately jumped into bed -- the far left as usual. I was almost instantly asleep, but still did manage to rouse a little when I began hearing some strange noise not far off. Suddenly someone was shaking the bed and the next thing I knew there was a great deal more heat under the sheets than there'd been there a few moments before. I quietly rolled onto my back, then my left side, and looked over the covers -- there was Chris with a bowl of cereal in his hands wearing only his white briefs while in bed munching happily. I finally sat up pretty much in bed and that was when Chris kind of squeaked in mid mouthful and mumbled "What are you doing in my bed, Maxi? Are you not wearing clothes?" he added as he noticed my pinkish lower abdomen peeking out from under the sheets.

     A warm broad smile spread across my face as I told Chris with my best southern drawl, "Darlin' this is actually MY bed if you remember. I was only loaning it to you during your recovery. And tonight you do appear fully recovered to me, don't you think? Also, if you'd remember passed conversations, I think I did tell you once before that I sleep in the `all together'. In fact I thought you told me you did too?" He just swallowed his mouthful of Cheerios and then replied, "Yeah, well I do actually sleep in the buff, but not when I'm visiting someone else's home." I smiled right back at him and then boldly edged right over to the exact middle of the bed and told him, "Chrisy, you're NOT a visitor here. This is your home now, just as much as it's mine. I think you should start sleeping any damn way that feels natural to you."

     The boy got a wicked smile on his face and shot back "Oh yeah, so this place is as much mine as it's yours?" I just nodded my head at him. "Well then I think since I weigh more than you I should get the bigger bed don't you?" He almost had me on that one, but I managed to cock an eyebrow back at him and stated very loud "Perks at home, as in most homes, are assigned in order of income my young friend. While I'll never exert force on you ever again for any desires I might want to make in OUR home, likewise I'll reap the benefits that my much bigger paychecks allow me. Once you're competing on an equal level with me pay wise we can revisit these issues again."

     He chuckled softly in the voice that was getting deeper and deeper every day. "Ok, I get the message and I'll retire to the guest room from now on." He started to get out of the bed now that his late night snack was pretty much finished. I just reached up, put my hand in front of his naked chest, and held him firmly in place. I know I had a very peaceful look on my face while his face only showed some confusion. "You've already turned out all the house lights, bubba, and you're in your `visiting attire'. I think you know by now that you're completely safe with me, wherever we find ourselves. There are still a great many things that you haven't yet allowed yourself to share with me. For one thing, and this has happened on several occasions, I know you have some deep dread or fear of Authority figures like doctors, teachers, security guards and / or police." At the mention of doctors and police, Chris seemed to get that frightened panicked look in his eyes before I continued, "This is something you're going to need to tell me about sooner or later. We've shared our deepest feelings with each other for months now and I feel safe in knowing that you're a very special part of me now." My hand still held pressure on his broad chest. "Do you really love me, Chris?"

     "With all my heart, Maxi; you've saved me" he replied. I shook my head in a negative motion "I only went where my heart lead me Chris, you give me credit that's unearned and undeserved. You know that I need you as badly if not more than you need someone like me right now." I laid my feelings bare. "I don't embarrass you anymore, do I?" I asked at last. "No, you don't worry me now, I trust you," he told me.

     "Trust should be earned, Chrisy. It ends up having little value if you just keep giving it away like some cheap trinkets."

     He seemed to draw closer even though I'd have sworn he didn't move an inch when he said "So you don't feel you've earned my trust back yet?" I just lowered my head and then shook it in the negative. "What do you want from me, Max?"

     There it was, the question I'd been dreading all week, but I knew there was no way to avoid asking it. "You still feel the same way you said you did last summer, don't you Christopher?" He reached out and brushed his big hand against my hair, "I can't deny this connection I've got with you, but I can never give you what I think you want most from me. I just don't feel the same way." He continued to stroke the hair at the side of my head, "What do you want from me, Maxi," he asked me again.

     My heart was breaking all over again. Would it, could it ever really change? "Just stay here with me tonight Chrisy, just hold me and tell me again that you really do love me." I started to shake a little all over -- like chills running up and down my body. I know he saw me shaking because he reached out and wrapped those big arms around me and pulled me close to him gradually turning me around so my back was to him. I know some folks reading this will say who is the adult in this story? Well physically, Chris, while just a little shorter is really the much bigger man, he could easily have dominated me anytime he wanted to. But as regards human experience I definitely was more aware of the dangers of my surroundings even when I was just Chris's age of 16 soon to be 17. At 23, I had vastly greater amounts of worldly knowledge than Chris would likely have, even after he turned 25 or 27, unless things change radically in the near future.

     My back was against his side and chest. At times when he turned, I could just feel his crotch rub lightly on my lower back and the top of my butt. There was no arousal there, none at all, but his arms were warm and for one of the first times in my life I was warm, and safe and loved. We fell asleep like that, his arms around my shoulders and chest and my arms in front of me wrapped around his. I woke up during the night one time and found him still holding me, but now his body was gently pressing up against my back -- spooning my back. I hugged his arms closer against my chest, he seemed to sigh, and his chin came to rest on my shoulder. I fell asleep with his warm breathing caressing my neck. No matter how much or how great the sexual acts I'd had before or have had since -- never in my life did I feel more love than in those wakeful moments that first night in bed with him since he'd returned to Texas."

     When I woke up the next morning, he was gone. My arms were empty and I was all alone again. I got out of bed, showered and dressed for work. I came across the ruined silk tie on the floor of the bathroom, pushed under the cabinet edge. I picked it up and smelled the soap I keep in my bathtub on it. That smell never meant anything to me before. Now I could only think of him, the way he smelled so fresh and clean yesterday when he hugged his naked body to me in my dress suit. Just as I started to walk out the bedroom door, I saw a piece of scrap paper peeking out from just under my pillow, so I walked over and picked it up. It read, "You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn't want to wake you. I didn't know when you needed to be to work, but I thought they wouldn't mind if you ran a little behind this one day. I'm off to check out my new school here and to hand in all my transfer paperwork that you brought to me, to be ready for school when it starts at the end of summer. Thank you, Maxi, for taking care of me, but honestly I'm actually a pretty big guy as I think you can see. I can take care of myself most of the time, at least when I'm not fighting five guys at once. I'll see you when you get back home from work. I love you, Chris".

     A little bit of the emptiness faded. I'd see him when I got home. And I'd be seeing him again and again and again, for more days than I could likely count. He'd be there for me. I'm sure that this relationship, most likely, wouldn't have been enough for a great many people -- but at that time in my life, in that moment, it sustained me, and I smiled as I walked out the door.

     Then as I got into my car and started the engine, I remembered his pain -- on the night he first spent in this apartment and back on the night he first slept beside me in the old apartment complex, in my bed. I needed to share in his pain -- somehow, I knew he could never really get on with his life, until he'd passed that point of his life, the place of pain. Once that was passed and done, one way or another, things would be different. Like you said in your letter, Christopher, live and learn, live and learn bubba.

*** End of # 2 ***



By the way, regarding the factuality or fiction of this story line, there's only so much we can or will add, or take away or change in this story because if we did more than that this would no longer be The Story of Max and Chris in our series On Straight and Narrow. It would become a story for which we'd have nothing to base the story line on. Does that give you any hints?