By Nil Street




This story depicts a relationship between teenager males. If you are not of legal age to read such material or if it is not legal for you to read it for whatever reason, I ask you to leave now.

This is a work of fiction. The events and the characters are only and completely parts of the author's imagination and must be viewed as such. No human, no sheep and no wolf was harmed during the writing of this story.

This story is more about people getting to know each other, learning how to interact with each other, how to trust each other and also a story about love than it is a porn story. It may depict some sexual scenes and maybe not, it will all depend about the feelings I have while writing it. So if you were looking for a quick wank, I suggest you find another story.

The pseudonym Nil Street and the story When Lambs Become Wolves, along with its French version Quand les ageaux deviennent loups are protected by the international laws of copywrights. Special permissions may be granted for posting this story on other sites but as I don't necessarily want my writings to be associated to some of them, please be kind and ask before you do any criminal act you may regret in the future.

Now on to the story...



Chapter 1:


It is quite ironic to realize that before the last three days I had never been in the vicinity of my parents for that amount of time. And I was forced to be there, all dressed up in that black Armani suit to attend their burial.

It was not that I hated them or despised them. I was indiferent. Nothing more, nothing less. Nor warm, nor cold. I could say that I was maybe a bit sad, as people usually do when they lose a puppy or when an somebody who lived down the street and used to say hello at the grocery died. For my parents, I had never been more than a puppy they had leaded to show to their social club. They had never known how to raise a child as they probably never had any desire to  do so. The only thing they had ever wanted probably had simply been a human being to carry the genetic bagage of the Biltmore's dynasty. Little did they know that me being gay, the fabulous, the majestic (I'm being sarcastic here) blood line of the Biltmore was to come to an end with me.

I had been raised by a nurse and teachers who, even though they had been hired by my family, seemed to have more power than me inside of our house. Even the stupid cook used to slap me behind the head when I was caught doing anything that was not to her convenience. I had been nothing in my parents' eyes, and they had been nothing to mine. Being lower than the cook, having the stupid butler not even caring about knocking on my door before entering my suite always told me that I was not one of the masters in this house. I was, in fact, a prisoner.

So I didn't cry when the police came to the manor to tell us my parents' helicopter had crashed on their way from the airport to our home. I didn't cry when I saw them in their luxurious coffins and I didn't cry when we left the cemetary after they were put into the Biltmore's family mausoleum where my parents had already selected a place for me. How creepy! I would never be buried with them.

We went home where fat ladies ate until their stomachs exploded and the men made a razzia in my father's private collection of scotch and cognac, smoking my his cuban cigars while waiting for the reading of the will that was to take place in my father's library. Yeah, when I say it was my father's library, that means that I had never gained the right to enter this room before. At least, his dying made a first change for me that day.

"I, William Nil Biltmore the Sixth, healthy in body and spirit..." bla-bla-bla... I knew what was to come. No surprise about that. And for the last three days, I had it all figured. I was sixteen and I was rich, which would grant me an automatic emancipation from the state. I would sell the manor, I would sell everything, I would get a generous allowance up until I turned eighteen. I would be free as a bird.

When the lawyer said I was to be the heir of all of my parents' belongings, the money, the properties, everything, even though it shouldn't have been a surprise, some people left, red with anger and others stayed with mouths wide opened from the shock. I guess that for them I had been as much invinsible as for my own parents. Way to go, bitches! At least, you inhaled enough food and booze for the next couple of months.

My dreams of freedom were crushed when I heard this little sentence that would tell me my parents could still rule my world, even from the other one. "Up until his majority when he will be granted the totality of the Biltmore's heritage, William Nil Biltmore the Seventh will be placed under the care of his aunt Laurie Maxwell who will be his guardian."

"What?" I shouted angrily, jumping out of my chair.

"Sit down!" the lawyer scolded me, as though he had any right to.

"Fuck you!" I said, "I'm sixteen years old, not some stupid little kid! I will be granted emancipation tomorrow morning!"

"In his will, your father specifies that you are to be under the care of your aunt. Everything in the Biltmore's heritage will be sealed and put under my care for your own security until the day you turn eighteen."

"What about my allowance?" Since my parents were never there for me, they had made up to their lack of affection by giving me an allowance of five thousand dollars a week without counting my numerous credit cards.

"This money will be sent to your aunt so she can provide for your needs. And as the heritage is frozen, your credit cards have been disabled."

Now I was furious.

"I have money in my accounts." That was true. Ever since I had become friend with Shawn Matheson a few months ago, I had started saving most part of my allowance. Added to the amount I had left in my banking accounts, it would have been enough for me to survive on my own for the next two years.

"Your banking accounts have also been seized since they had been opened by your father. They were still under his name. As I have been chosen by your father to be the executor of his will, I am now the one to consider what allowance you will have. I say the allowance will be granted to your aunt so she may judge what you may need. A cheque will also be delivered to your new school to pay for your tuition. I do not consider you mature enough to be living on your own." What did he know, the old fart? He didn't know me at all.

I was suddenly feeling weak in the knees. Even dead, my parents had maintained complete control on me in the name of Oscar Freeman. I sat down until the trial ended without uttering another word. I was trapped.

"So it seems as though you have everything figured out," I mumbled before standing up, turning around and leaving the library, completely defeated.

"Will!" I heard the aunt Laurie shouting after me before I ran up the stairs and slammed the door to my suite behind me. The bitch didn't even know the fack that nobody, and I mean nobody, ever called me Will.

I must have fallen asleep sometime in the middle of my crying, for through the window I could see it was night already when I was woken up by someone shaking my shoulder gently.

"Not knowing how to knock seems to be common in this freaking nut house." I snapped at whoever had entered my room. "You know I could have been fuckin' naked in there!"

"Will," aunt Laurie started, but I interrupted what would surely be a long monologue.

"Get out," I said through my teeth.

"What? Will..."

"I said get out! Isn't that clear enough?" I shouted while getting up.


"Don't you ever call me that! My name is not Will but William!

"Well won't you let me call you Will? I'm your aunt after all."

"Not even over my dead body! Are you fuckin' deaf or what?"

"Watch your language with me young man," she scolded me.

"Oh you will say that sentence a lot with me in your house," I sneered, a smirk spreading on my face.

"You will learn to go by my rules when you are in my house or else you'll be grounded."

"Oh my freaking hell," I laughed, "who do you think you are dealing with? A toddler? You read way too many cheap novels, Laurie Maxwell."

"I never said you could call me by my name. Call me aunt Laurie as you should."

"You called me Will, so I guess we are quit."

"It's not the same, William."

"I concure. Will is not my name. Laurie is yours. Aunt is a title you give out of respect, out of love, but not out of power. I don't fukin' know you and before today, you couldn't have cared less who I was. So I will call you Laurie."

"Every time you will call me Laurie, I will call you Will."

"I may not answer."

"Me neither."

"Good. That way you'll stay out of my hair."

Laurie sighed.

"Listen, William, I think everything between us started a bit awkward."

"Oh so you can think?"

"I know this arrangement does not suit you."

"No, it doesn't suit me at all. I'm fending for myself all alone for the last sixteen years and now that the rents are dead you want to play mommy with me? I don't think so. I bet the old shit knew it wouldn't suit me either."

"Don't talk about Mr. Freeman that way," she said, seeming exasperated.

"Him too!" I snorted. "But I was actually talking about your brother."

Then came the slap in the face. The perrenial slap in the face women so love to give, thinking we men are not allowed to give it back. And as I predicted, Laurie looked at me wide eyes with her hands both covering he mouth and her nose, seeming on the verge of crying. How pathetic. So I slapped her too. You slapped me, I slap you, must you be a man or a woman. An eye for an eye. I had learned that much within the years. Even the fat cook had never tried to slap me again after she had tasted her own medicine when I was fourteen.

"I was wondering when it would come," I said, trying to look as though her gesture had not affected me at all. "Now get out."

"William, I..." she started, trying to hug me, playing the poor little crying beast so I would feel bad for giving her back her gift. I pushed her away.

"Get out of before I slap you through the window," I said, rising my voice.

"Please, William, I know you are angry..."

"I said get out!" I yelled.

"Okay, I'm leaving," she whispered before walking to the door. Before she could open it, it flew open and in came Steven, the Butler. I couldn't help but roll my eyes. The guy would probably be washing dishes in a truck stop after I left.

"What is this all about?" he asked, glaring at me with his nose high in the air. "I will not endure such a behavior from your part."

"Then leave!" I glared in return. "You're fired, anyway! Now get the fuck out of my house! You and all the staff!"

"I will leave when Mr. Freeman tells me to leave. Now," he said, as he opened my closet, "it is time to pack."

"Don't touch my clothes," I said menacingly. Steven ignored me. So I advanced on him. I was sick of all these people running my life. I was supposed to be free, not having all these jerks plowing their noses in my businesses.

"Steven," Laurie said, "please leave this room and let William pack his things by himself. It's obvious he is upset and doesn't want us here."

"Yes, madam," he answered before walking back through the door as a dog that had been chastised by its master.

"Yeah, to the box, bitch!" I laughed.

"William, I will be downstairs when your luggages are ready. Just take your clothes and your private belongings. For anything else, you'll make a list of what you need and they will be sent home," Laurie whispered before closing the door.

I took all my time to pack my clothes and what little stuff I would carry with me. Before leaving the house and jumping in my Jeep though, I stopped by my father's library.

As I was backing off from the garage, Freeman, his face as red as a radish and puffing as if about to have a heart attack, came rushing to me. "Shit, I've been caught," I said to no one in particular.

"What do you want again?" I asked, putting my poker face on to see if he would call my bluff.

"This car will stay right here!" he fumed.

"No way!" I said, shaking my head violently. "This car is under my name! You have no right over it."

"Dear," Laurie started, "we are leaving by plane." Dear... this word made her look as though she was an old snobbish English bitch with her tea cup in her hand and little finger in the air. I bet she was the proud owner of a poodle.

"Is it so fuckin' hard for you to call me William, Laurie?" I snapped.

"William," she corrected herself. "William... I live on the opposite end of the state. You have to leave your car here."

"Oh shit no! Wherever I go, my car follows!"

"You are such a pest!" the gruff man said.

"Back off, asshole! When I'll shake your cage, you'll yap!"

"William, come with me," Laurie pleaded. "Mr. Freeman will send it to you with your other things as soon as possible."

I didn't utter a word while the limousine drove us to the airport even though Laurie tried to chit chat, excitedly telling me how much I would love her house, how much her son was thrilled at the mere idea that I was coming to live with them and so on... I wanted to tell her to shut up, that I would never be a part of her family, but I didn't say anything. I would probably have puked all over her two thousand dollars Chanel dress. Let her speak to the air... When we boarded my father's private jet, before she could say anything else, I walked to the master's bedroom on the upper deck of the plane and locked the door behind me.


I know you may think I was a little brat and I knew I was one even back then. For my whole life, I had been this spoiled kid who had to fend for himself in this universe of egocentrism and narcissism where everybody surrounding me was either ignoring my whole existence or pushing me around as if I had been a nuisance. In all of these years I had lived in the Biltmore's manor, I had to build myself a mask of constant careless surrender to a staff who never cared about me while my parents were out building their fortune and power all over the world. And for what achievement? Dying in a stupid helicopter crash before even reaching their fourties. How ironic. For all those years spent in a complete lack of affection by anybody in the house, where I was left to discover how to fend for myself, I had discovered all by myself how to entertain myself, and mostly, how to become independent as fast as humanly possible. I had waited and waited for the day I would be allowed to leave the coldness of the oversized museum with its manicured lawns and gardens and these dozens of rooms I had never been not allowed to enter.

The day I turned sixteen, which means about three months before my parents died, had been a turning point in my existence. As everything concerning me, my parents had gathered all of the gratin from their social club, constituted of their business partners, politicians and jetsetters of all kinds, including some rivals in the industry, to whom they wanted to show off. Even high members of the clergy were there even though our family was agnostic, along with kids from my school and their important parents. Even the headmaster of my school which I detested with passion, had been on the list and I was constantly feeling his stare on me. I was expected to be all smile and giddy as the little puppy mommyyyy and daddyyy (read the sarcasm here) had raised to act so I could be spoiled again with gifts that were all for the show.

Everything had been polished to the core by stylists and designers. Flowers had been set on every tables and a famous quintet had been hired to play jazz by the pool, which had been covered with lotus and lights for the occasion. It was a party for the adults, don't forget it, so nobody would be wearing any swimming suit and nobody would grace the pool. Anyway, the ladders and the diving board had been removed prior to the party so the pool would look more of a very fancy pond than an actual place where kids like me used to swim. 

Even my clothes for this garden party had been selected by specialists. In other words, I'd never had my word in the making of any of the details. I was not to be celebrated really, and I knew it well, but to show off to these people how well trained I had been. I was to shake hands with people I didn't know from Eve nor Adam, hands that were selected by my parents, I was to smile dumbly to all the assembly, stand straight for the photographs with either of my parents' hands on my shoulder while spreading fake grins so we would look so typically american on the front page of the Enquire or the Business Weekly. I was to be all 'ohs!' and 'ahs!' when unpacking expensive  shit I didn't even need nor want then I would be dismissed as soon as the pet show was over so the adults could talk about their so important lives without the nuisance in their way.

And I was not wrong. I couldn't have been anyway, since the whole event had been planned and rehearsed then the script had been shoved to my brains by the staff of the manor for the last two weeks.

The main surprise of this day, if you could call it a surprise, as I actually had known everything about this 'surprise' for weeks and was told to act ecstatic at the sight of it, had been when my father, after gathering everybody in the front yard so to make sure they would babble about how generous he was to his son for the next decade, gave me the keys to my Jeep. As expected, I had acted ecstatic, for the hypocritical 'ohs!' and 'ahs!' from the crowd and received a slap in the back from daddyyy and a kiss on the cheek from mommyyy (again the sarcasm) for the great pleasure of the photographers and journalists.

When I was finally released, I went back to the house, telling the nosy headmaster who inquired to where I was going that I needed to use the john. But as you may have guessed already, I never came back to the party. Instead, I sneaked upstairs and to my suite where I would still be bored, but without the poker face and the whole attire and also without having to pretend anymore.

As soon as the door was closed behind me, I got rid of the costume which was as comfortable as a bear trap, took a shower to get rid of the horrible perfumes of the ladies and gentlemen all mixed up together and dressed back to my casual shorts and tank top, which I was not allowed to wear outside of my rooms.

I was in the middle of reading Jack Kerouac's On The Road, silently bathing in the freedom the book expressed when there was a knock on the door, which startled me. I was used to people entering my room as if it were a manufactory, so I didn't know how to react. I quickly hid the book under the couch, put on my robe to hide my current state of dressing (yeah, I know, how pitiful) and prepared myself to pretend that I had come to refresh before rejoining the party. I walked through the main room and opened the door, but barely enough so I could pass my head. There, on the other side, stood Shawn Matheson, all dressed up in a costume that seemed very uncomfortable as he was trying to breathe by running a finger inside of his too tight collar.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, confused.

"My father told me I should check on you."

"Huh!" I snorted. "I should have known better," I mumbled.

Shawn was the headmaster's son. From the first day I attended the private school, Mr. Matheson had been on my case. I hated the man with his nosy attitude, always asking me about my parents, my grades, my likings and any other junk every time he passed by me in the corridors. More than once, he had stopped me so he could suggest I take a more active part in the school's activities such as registering to team sports, which I hated with a passion, or in any other superficial organization such as the year book or the Christmas and the annual Spring Break ball. The man never knew when to quit. Wasn't it enough that I was a straight A student?

Well how could I not be?

At the manor, I had my own personal teachers who were constantly shoving knowledge to my brains. Every evening after school, every weekend, every leave. Even during Christmas and summer holidays. It was almost impossible for me not to be that straight A student that I was. It was good for the show. It would be even better when I became valedictorian, as predicted by my father. Afterwards, I was to attend High Comercial Studies in Harvard, lick boots to enter the stupid fraternity my father had been the leader of when he was a student, graduate with honnors and join the ranks of both my parents on the board of the administration council of Biltmore Incorporated. Hadn't both my parents died in this accident, my guess is that they would have found me a wife who also was an honor graduated from Harvard so we could have our own puppy of a child who would be raised by the staff in my own immaculate manor and so on, so history would repeat itself forever, adding pictures of all the William Nil Biltmore, from One to infinite, in the lobby of the headquarters of the Biltmore company all over the world. How exciting.

"May I come in?" Shawn asked, a confused grin on his lips as he waited for me to answer.

I must admit Shawn was a real eye candy. And he was quite popular in our scholl since he weekly featured in the school newspaper as he performed and excelled in about all the sports that were accessible. And there were a lot. His shoulders were broad and he was tall and cocky and simply gorgeous in his all american look, his chocolate brown eyes ans his licorice short hair. I was fairly popular also but not with the same crowd. Mine was composed of the utter riches and the utter bitches of the school. It was not that I hung with them as much as they hung around me all the time, doing their best to participate in the freak show all of our parents were making. They were not bad kids at all, if you could get past the way they looked down at the other crowds. And even that was not entirely their fault. They had been raised to spit on simple mortals who dreamt of being in our shoes. They all tried to stay by the pack, not as much in need of friends but mostly to protect themselves from the other crowds who shoved us around because our parents were richer than theirs.

"Why don't you go back to the party and have fun?" I asked, trying to sound as if I were not as annoyed as I really was. "Go tell your father that I'll be back in a minute," I lied. I was not to come back down there before everybody had left. When I say everybody, it really means everybody. Immediately after the party was to end, My parents' helicopter would be coming and take them back to their penthouse on the top of the main headquarters building in Manhattan. The manor, as the rest of their possessions, including me of course, were just for the show. The rents never even asked me if I ever wanted to live with them in New York. They wouldn't have wanted me to cramp their style.

"But you won't," Shawn said, calling my bluff through my mask of sincerity.

"Actually, no," I answered coldly.

"May I ask you why? I mean, all your friends are out by the pool and seeming to have a blast and all..."

"Excuse me, but who do you think you are?" I snapped. "The freak show is over."

"I'm sorry," Shawn whispered dejectedly, which made me realized I was a total jerk to him, even though the guy had never done anything to deserve it.

"Listen, this party is not for me, okay?" I said, as if it would explain everything.

"What do you mean? It's your birthday..." He seemed genuinely confused. I decided it was not a good idea to have a conversation on the doorstep, and hearing paces in the far end of the corridor made it all obvious. I opened the door.

"Come in," I said.

As he walked into the room, Shawn's eye became as wide as saucers. I found his reaction quite strange. From the moment he had passed through the door, his looks had suddenly changed from cocky to completely mesmerized. I couldn't help but suppress my laughter at the fact that he looked so much as a small child so suddenly.

"Wow!" he exclaimed as he slowly sat down in one of the couch as if it had been made of cristal. Is it your bedroom down there?" he asked me, pointing in the direction of the french doors on the opposite wall."

"Euh... yes," I mumbled, not knowing why he was so excited about the suite at all. All of my friends had that kind of suites and I had always had that room, so for me, it was kind of weird to meet somebody who seemed so impressed by the size of it. It was just a bunch of rooms connected to one another, after all. A bit disoriented, I went to sit on the opposite couch. No, I actually let myself fall into it. Fuck the protocols. This room was the only place where I could act myself. "I'm sorry I was rude," I almost whispered.

"It's okay," he answered, his eyes setting on mine and his grin never leaving his face, dimples adorning his cheeks. He was not a child anymore. He was a handsome man, I decided. And he was looking at me, expecting for me to continue.

"I..." I seemed to be at loss for words for a moment. For once, I realized that nothing had been rehearsed by any of my tutors so to speak and I had to find my own words to discuss with this near stranger who was sitting in my room. "It has nothing to do with you, okay?"

"But why?" He seemed as lost as me. "Who?"

"It's just... you didn't really come here to chit chat with me did you?" He was about to answer but I didn't give him the time. "Your father made you come by and sneak on me."

"What? No!" he replied, trying to defend himself.

"Oh please... He's always all over me. And you just told me that your father told you to check on me. We're not in school here, so your father has no right to resume his nosy pitch."

"No!" he repeated, jumping out of his seat as if he had been burnt. "You have it all wrong!"

"Which part? Your father being nosy?"

"My father is not nosy. You don't know him," he snapped.

"Oh yes, he is. Otherwise, how can you explain that he pushed you into coming here and sneak on me?"

Shawn sighed and let himself fall back into his seat.

"I think that it's all a big misunderstanding. I guess I made it seem as though my father told me to sneak on you, as you said, but it's not right."

"So tell me," I said, crossing my arms on my chest as I had done countless times when I wanted to close myself against the world or the agression from the staff.

"I was there at the party when I saw you leaving," he started then took a deep breath. "I saw my father talking with you before entering the house."

"Interrogating me about why I was leaving would be more accurate," I interrupted him, "but go on..."

"You were feeling as though he was interrogating you? How so?"

"He asked me where I was going, as if we were at the school."

"Shit!" he muttered. "My father is not nosy. He just thought you were not having fun and so you confirmed you weren't when he saw you leaving the party. He wanted to be sure you were alright."

"Says who? You?" I let out a bitter laugh.

"No, it was him. When I went to chat with him by the entrance, I could see he was thoughtful, so I asked him what was wrong and he told me about his thoughts. On any of our birthdays at home, party or not, and when I say party, it's never quite as big as yours, shit, your party is bigger than my sister's wedding... but party or not, everybody makes sure that we have a good time. My father was not acting nosy when he asked you where you were going. He only wanted to know if you were alright."

"But he did send you," I interjected.

"He did not actually send me. It was I who suggested it wouldn't hurt to go and see if you were okay. My father was telling me his concern, nothing more. He wanted to try and ask your mother if everything was alright with you but she was nowhere to be seen."

"She must have already been passed out on her champain," I snorted. So much for keeping up appearances, I thought. But the journalists were already gone, so why not get drunk?

From my point of view, even though I didn't know my parents that much, I had realized long ago that their relationship had been based on appearances and power. I couldn't remember any meal my parents graced me with their presence when they had spoken to each other, unless it was for talking business. My guess was they didn't really love each other. They both came from very fortunate families, they had met in Harvard, married the summer after their graduation and had me within a year into their marriage, adjoining their fortune and power to finally fit in of the Forbes' five hundred list.

"I asked him if he thought we should come and ask you if, you know, we could do anything," he continued, trying hard not to flinch over the fact that my mother was indeed drunk to the core. "He just told me that I should." He took another big breath of hair. "As for him being all over you, as you say, I don't know about it. My father has never pushed me to do anything I didn't want to do and he has never been sneaking on me. Maybe it is something you should discuss with him."

"Yeah right! As if I were to risk myself being on that kind of spot! He'd probably go right to my father and tell him what kind of brat I am for getting into his face."

"Well you are a brat, you know," Shawn said, a shy smile appearing on his lips.

I was absolutely mesmerized by the guy. I wouldn't have acted on it nor told him what I thought, since I couldn't have risked him knowing I was gay. He would probably have run to yell it over the crowd in the backyard, which would've made my father thow me down the gutter with the remainings of the party without a dime to fend for myself. But this guy had a face that was so expressive that even though his eyes were made of complete mystery, trust me dark eyes aways are complete mystery, I was the perfect example of poker face, the way his facials moved when he spoke, the way his dimples appeared and disappeared, the way his brows furrowed, made me feel as though I could see right through him. 

"It was a joke," he said, getting rid of his suit jacket, undoing his tie and the top two buttons of his shirt, and rolling his shirt sleeves before he launched himself on the couch I was sitting in and bumping his shoulder on mine, which opened a bit of the top of my robe and revealed a part of my tank top. Seeing it, he preatically launched himself over me to grab at the cloth. "Don't tell me you're all dressed up under that robe," he said, a smirk spreading on his face that was an inch or maybe two in front of my face. "Why would you wear that robe over your clothes?" he asked.

"Because they are not appropriate," I mumbled.

"Not appropriate? What do you mean? You don't have pants on?

"No!" I interjected. "I mean, I'm wearing shorts."

"You mean like walking around shorts? Like in jogging shorts? Or are you talking more about underwear shorts?" His smirk had gradually changed to little smile to big beaminf grin to goofy to almost sensual by the seconds it took to say all of his interrogation sentences. I was amazed. With my friends at school, all I'd ever seen were fake grins, tight smiles and blatant smirks.

"I mean..." I said, closing my robe tighter against me and refolding my hands over my chest for good measure. "I mean... walking shorts..."

"And you think that's not appropriate?" he asked, his face still in front of mine. If I had wanted to kiss him, I would have had just to reach for him and he wouldn't have ever known what had hit him. But I guess I wouldn't have ever known what had hit me after he's finished reorganizing my face with his fists and found myself in the gutter. So I didn't.

"I don't wear them outside of my room. That would be inappropriate."

"So you are in your room now wearing that robe over your clothes."

"Well I wasn't wearing the robe before you came in," I said, as if it should have been obvious.

"So why are you wearing it?"

I looked at him as if he was growing a second head.

"I told you," I sighed, "that it would be inappropriate."

"So you are actually telling me that you wear these clothes you qualify of inappropriate only when you are alone?" I nodded. "That's weird," he stated, sitting back in the couch, his shoulder and his arm right next to me. I said nothing, lost in the contact. If it hadn't been inappropriate, I would have loved to let loose of the robe and feel its heat on my skin. "So tell me," he said, turning his face to look at mine," would it bee inappropriate if I were dressed like you?" The way he said it felt almost seductive.

"I g... guess nnn... not..." I stuttered. Oh my freaking shit! I had never stuttered before.

"I don't believe you have clothes that would fit me, do you?" he asked me as if it were obvious. Well maybe it was, since nothing in my wardrobe would fit him for sure. I was only five foot three and about a hundred and fifteen pounds soaking wet, for Pete's sake! He would barely put an arm in any of my shirts. But still I shook my head, which made him laugh. "Come on," he said, standing up.

"What? Where?" I was confused.

"Well, it seems to me that your party is over here, and I'm hot. You wearing your inappropriate clothings makes me want to wear mine. So why don't you come by my place so I can change and then we can have fun?"

"What do you mean? I'm okay here."


"Sure," I mumbled, all but convinced by my own statement.

"Come on!" he insisted. "It's gonna be fun, I promise!"

"But why?"

"Why? It's your freaking birthday, that's why!" he exclaimed, his voice rising to a higher pitch at the end, which made me really want to hang out with that goofy guy. "Sorry to say it that way, but you didn't have any fun the whole day and it's your special day. You're supposed to have fun, not to spend it in your room, as huge and as beautiful and as luxurious as it is. When you're all grown up and live by yourself and you decide you want to be left alone for your birthday, it's gonna be okay because it's gonna be your own choice, but now it's obvious you need to relax, kick back for a couple of hours, and just have plain, disgusting and utterly inappropriate fun. You'll see that I'm the king of fun if you give me the chance to prove it."

"But why me? I don't like pity."

"I don't want to pity you. I want to entertain you, that's different. And I'm sure after a while you'll want to entertain me just as much as I want to entertain you. Come on! I promise that if you're not enjoying yourself, you'll get full refund and a lift back home by the minute."

"I'll need to change before we go."

"Okay," he said, "but bring your inappropriate clothes with you so you can change at my place. We have a pool, so maybe it would be a good idea to bring your bathing suit too. Come on! Get dressed and meet me in the front lawn," he said excitedly, walking to the door.

"Why? Where are you going?" I asked him. "You can stay there while I go change."

"I'm going to get my father. He must be bored and worried to death by now."

"Your father?" How could that one not hit me first? I wondered. As friendly, as entertaining and as sensual as he made me believe he was, the guy was still Shawn Matheson, son of the school's headmaster. And I hated the headmaster, right?

"Yeah, of course! We came together, and we can't actually walk to my place. It's at the opposite end of the town."


I must admit I was excited at the mere idea of being allowed to wear my summer clothes in the open. I know it's pathetic today, but at to me at that time, it felt like pulling the leach at its extent without having to be scolded for my behavior, so yes, I was excited, and even more, I was ecstatic. Shawn had promised me a good time and as weird as it felt, I knew he wouldn't fail to his attempt. Simply sitting in my room together had made me feel as though I never wanted him to leave. I don't know why I felt so confident with him, probably the fact that he had been acting strange the whole time and I wanted more of it, perhaps it was linked to the fact that I found him absolutely gorgeous. Or perhaps it had to do with him being so different from all of my snobby friends. And I hadn't realized it all in my room for at school, I had observed the other groups of friends interacting together, wondering how it would feel to be myself around mine as easily as most of my fellow students. I could probably have acted on my feeling and actually tried to interact with these other groups instead of simply observing them from afar. And now, I was invited in the house of one of the others who wanted to entertain me on my birthday, and I was finally going to interact with him.

The painful grin I was adorning while I was packing my bag never faltered when as I left the house and I saw Mr. Matheson in the middle of the drive, his jacket casually hanging from his shoulder and his tie loosen, and smiling broadly at whatever Shawn had told him. He seemed so far away from the nosy and pushy bitch I was encountering in the halls of the school everyday that even though I couldn't believe everything Shawn had said about him not being either nosy nor pushy, I could imagine myself enjoying the day with both these men.

It was strange to realize how much they look alike. I must admit that I had never seen the both of them so close together for the years I had attended the school so it shouldn't have surprised me. Seeing this resemblance now gave me a good indication about what Shawn would look like when he would turn fourty and I was not disappointed. Mr. Matheson was definitely a handsome man.

"Hey, William!" Shawn waved. Should his smile have been any wider it would probably have injured him for the rest of his life. It was strange. At least I was not the only one excited about this whole invitation. I was feeling welcomed and I was still on our property. "Got everything?"

"Yeah!" I said, trying to sould laid back about my being invited to spend time at the Matheson's as I made my way to join them by a silver middle class car.

"I'm glad to finally see you for more than a couple of seconds," Mr. Matheson said with the smile never leaving his eyes as he extended his hand which I shook. "Happy birthday, William."

I nearly fell down to the pavement when Shawn slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand before giving me one of those one arm hug I used to see some guys giving each other in the halls at school.

"Duh!" He said. "Here I was telling you I would show you a good time and all this time I never told you happy birthday! Well, happy birthday, man!"

"We should go," the headmaster said. "I can't wait to get out of these," he pointed his clothes. "I feel like I'm working. Shawn, you want to drive?" he asked while throwing his keys to his son. I was about to open the back door when Mr. Matheson told me "You may sit in the front. I feel like being chauffered," he winked at me. This was definitely not the same man I was crossing path with in school everyday.

We talked a little but mostly I was observing the scenery. I was not about to tell them it was actually my first time sitting in the front of a car since I knew it would have sounded lame and pathetic, but it was. One of the good parts of being the Biltmore son certainly was that for all of my life, I had been chauffeured to wherever I wanted to go, but it also meant I had always sat in the back of the sedan with a silent chauffeur in uniform and hat who wouldn't have bothered making small talk with the rich brat that I was. I could see from the frequent amused glances Shawn was giving me in the reflexion of the window that he knew I was pretty much enjoying myself.

As strange as it may seems, I had never visited the other parts of the town. Sure I had gone to several places around the world, but even there, the chaperons had never let me see anything else than the selected hotel areas or the upper class neighborhoods. The only foreign events I had attended in those trips had been folk dances executed by locals even though they all had seemed as rehearsed and professional as my birthday gathering instead of being how they should have been, people dancing and enjoying it just for what it was. I also had been blessed by the different foods while the snobbish chaperones were lifting their noses over the world gastronomy, prefering ordering this lame attempt at cooking that is in the American culture or the insipid French food the hotels had on their menus to please boring tourists. The cook at home had studied French and American gastronomies and I could understand how fat she was. Everything she cooked only tasted it, fat. Maybe I was the picky one, but I was also the only one in the house who had tasted the delights of the Polynesian, Portugese, Australian, Dutch and Spanish foods that had been cooked by locals.

The ride mustn't have taken more than ten minutes but I savoured every second of them as the imposing mansions became less and less imposing up until we entered this area where the houses, which were almost all smaller than our poolhouse, looked all more homey, lively than the big fat museum where I was living. Lawns were not as manicured even though most were nice looking, I even saw people mowing them and still enjoying to do it. I saw kids playing in the dirt with miniaturized versions of caterpillars and fire trucks while some men and women, who seemed to be the parents instead of nurses, smiled at them, sipping beer from the bottles and just enjoying life. I mean, all of these people who actually needed to work so they would bring butter and bread to their tables, all these men and women who everyday had to sweat water and blood so they would pay the bills and maybe save enough for some luxury or helping their children go to college one day, all these people took some time off from their obligations to observe their children, to love them, to be there for them and even found the time to enjoy the sunny days as they laid back on their not so manicured lawns, simply enjoying each other's company. None of them were Rockwell paintings nor cheap Sears pictures in any way, but they seemed happy. This feeling, as simple as it may appear to anybody outside of our fortified little snobby world, was overwhelming me with joy. And as I was discovering this foreign sensation, I realized another one, one I had always thought was reserved to lower classes looking upon us, was crawling its way into my mind.

I was jealous.


To be continued.


I hope you have enjoyed this first post of my story When Lambs Become Wolves. Thanks for reading. As with everything I write, the hardest part was to break the ice. But as the story started to flow into my mind, I couldn't stop the characters from finding a life of their own and plead for me to put their story on pages. As you probably have already figured it out, Nil Street is nothing else but a pseudonym, so don't bother ask what I wrote before, it is the first time I write under that name.

English is not my first language so be kind when you send your comments. Even though everything is far from perfect, my English writing is still better than a lot of things I've read on the network so far. Flames will be ignored, so don't bother sending them. Spam will also be ignored, so please do not forget to insert the title of the story in the 'object' box so I don't delete your message without even opening it.

I know where the story goes, how all of the characters will be interacting with each other, I know the ending too. So you may want to give me your impressions and ways you seek the next chapters, but it doesn't mean that I'll change anything in my writing. But it may happen that suggestions, if I find them enlightening and accurate for my story, will be considered. So if you planned of sending me comments ordering me to change my whole point of view, when I should post the next chapters or even any rude message, then don't. Write your own material if you are not satisfied with mine. I don't take orders from anybody.

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