Date: Sat, 10 Nov 2007 10:02:51 -0800 (PST) From: Story Writer Subject: Adam Dancer - Chapter Twelve WARNING: This story is fiction and any names, elements or places in this account are drawn totally from my own imagination. If you have a problem with material like this, then please do not read it. Though the chapters deal with homosexual exploration by young boys, I try to also get into affection, conflict and difficulties for boys who a trying to discover who they are and what their relationships are all about. If you are too young to be reading these stories then please leave and return when you are of age. Comments are welcomed. I can be reached at feestyoreayes@yahoo.com. I want to thank all the people who have sent emails to me. I have enjoyed the comments and loved the suggestions. I sometimes have let character development dilute the sexual activity a bit, so forgive me. Chapter Twelve Adam and Caleb and Fred "One two three four five six seven eight; Now lift your chin. No, no Caleb, relax that neck." The tall eleven year old boy glistened with sweat. The moves they kept repeating seemed ruined by all this repetition, but he understood that the glory of beautiful dance required tireless discipline of this sort. It seemed to help the slim, dark-haired beauty to work hard and protest internally with some robust unspoken insults. "You fucking cow!" Caleb thought, with a contrasting, choir boy earnestness on his face, but did not say out loud. "What bloody pasture did you dance your fat ass out of?" He smiled demurely to the dance mistress, convincing her that he held her in high regard. And he DID learn from her. Her Russian in-your-face approach created conflict and a paradox. You fight to excel and not just go through the motions. In spite of all the denials, Caleb was competing with other members of each dance class. And the schizophrenic combination of admiration and intense hate that Madam Kovine inspired drove the boy to flee incessantly from his frightening dependency on her by exceeding the skill levels she expected. He knew that the dancer he was going to be would make her old triumphs seem mawkish. Skinning off their dance togs, Caleb and the other male dancers were the opposite of modest. Years of sharing pathetically cramped and ugly changing rooms, reserved for the few boys risking ridicule by taking up ballet, made shyness an attribute of a five year old beginner. Caleb Collingsworth shut the other boys out of his mind, hating the forced intimacy and droning on about fright films, video games and sports. Caleb was doubly out of place there. His disdain for pop culture was poorly hidden and he was British. He had few friends and English parents who barely tolerated his indifference to the sports that amounted to an obsession with them. The strikingly attractive boy missed his grandma very much. When Sidney and Brenda Collingsworth went off to promote their football enterprises all over the globe, little Caleb, from the age of four until last year, lived with Brenda's Mum. ************************************************************************ Emily Vincent had been a stage and television actress, well renowned for her comedic turns. She shared two passions as a young woman; playing her roles to the hilt and being a loving Mum for her only child, Brenda. It was not easy for Brenda to adjust to the constant traveling, the haze of hotel rooms and the string of nannies that took her from sound-stages when she was weary and tried to entertain her when Emily was in Australia or America. Brenda's resentment about the chaotic days of her childhood and her disgust about being a bastard without a dad forged a wall between her and her well-meaning Mum. It was not plain to the casual observer, for Emily never stopped trying to reach her daughter, with attention, encouragement and genuine affection. Brenda, in turn, was clever and pragmatic. She carefully projected an image of a happy girl, knowing her Mum had the resources to get her to high plateaus of academic accomplishment. She applied herself in studies and sports, risking, carefully, as a very concretely cunning opportunist. This was in vivid contrast to the spontaneity of her Mum, who regularly flirted with professional disaster to keep herself enthusiastic about her craft. At age ten, Brenda easily convinced Emily that life would be simpler for them both if Brenda was boarded at a school. After visiting many academies, Brenda and her best friend Cynthia successfully begged their parents to enroll them in Kent College Preparatory School. The two girls were like a mutual tutoring service, laboring together to excel in class and guide one another socially. They both were capable athletes in Netball, gymnastics, swimming and cross country running. It was apparent that they would prosper in sports at the school and later at the Senior School. They sailed through GCSE's and A level challenges, setting their sights on Trinity College, Cambridge. Brenda confidently entered the study at Trinity to receive their assessment of her admissions potential. "Miss Vincent," the Don began, "Your record of accomplishments in academics and athletics is very impressive. I predict a very promising pathway in university for you." Brenda smiled gently and confidently as she listened for what she had been striving since early in her tenure at the Kent school. "You are the daughter of Emily Vincent, the entertainer, is that right?" "Yes, Dr. Huggins." Brenda answered with a bit of worry that there may be social class contamination burrowing under her master plans. "You may do well to draw from your mother's influence, Miss Vincent, because we find that your entire collection of admissions material is almost uniformly bereft of imagination. You will excel in another programme, but our college is not for you." Brenda was blind-sided by that frog-faced man's unkind rejection. Everything was dropping into their admissions dust bin. But her personal discipline muted any salty retorts. "Very well, thank you for considering me." Brenda said, with all she could muster to sound respectful. Cynthia suffered the same fate at Trinity, but, being the more resilient of the pair, dusted herself off and suggested a nice run into hills and meadows with her reluctant friend Brenda. Second best turned out to be a very gratifying adventure for the two of them. It was Edinburgh University where they had one of the finest sports unions in all of the United Kingdom. The two girls were dynamos in class and on the sports fields. They both enjoyed the emerging opportunity for competing in football, winning many matches, with both of them fiercely fighting off attacks, playing defense. Brenda met a football entrepreneur at a match in Leeds. Sidney Collingsworth was there to appease an investor who had a hare-brained idea of professional women's football in the UK. Sidney, still in his thirties, was drawn to the form of a very attractive girl with raven black hair and alert blue eyes. She was graceful and relentless, yet displayed a sensible understanding of the game. She anticipated moves, suggesting that she was born to play defense. Soon after he introduced himself to Brenda, they each realized that this was a match that had to be. Their shared values and mutual interests made them sometimes wonder, were it not for the eleven years age difference, if they were separated fraternal twins. They were also sexually compatible. They made love with wild abandon, forgetting one night to use contraception. Apparently birth control pills had their occasional flights from probability. Brenda was devastated and was almost certainly going to have an abortion. Sydney wanted a son. Emily wanted a grandson. Brenda wanted Sydney to be her husband. When Caleb was born, Brenda refused to even hold him, handing him off to a nanny. Sydney was ecstatic with the perfectly formed boy baby and lavished attention on him, dressing him in football jerseys and parading him in front of famous athletes who predicted that Caleb was going to thrill and break hearts at Wembley. Emily knew that she had to be diplomatic with Brenda in order to have time with her beautiful, alert and happy little grandson. She refrained from offering advice and bit her tongue when Sydney made rude comments to the appealing and earnest boy. Sydney despised the natural grace of the boy. The lad was nimble, well-coordinated, strong and enthusiastic in play, but he wanted to dance. This incensed Sydney. When Caleb was four years old, Emily took him for weekends. He adored going to the cinema and theatre with his grandmum, amusing her by imitating pirouettes and often falling and laughing. One day, Emily purchased a full-sized Yamaha keyboard for Caleb to use at her home in Kensington. The tiny four years old boy brushed his long black hair from his cherubic face and made a request. "Play a song for me Nana." He said with his soft imploring voice. He stood in red shorts and a striped polo shirt. As little boys are prone to do, Caleb scuffed off his shoes without ever reaching or looking down. His eyes signaled for her to begin. Emily did not expect Caleb to stand quietly and submissively as he listened to her play. It was an inspiration to select "You're Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile". She fought off tears of joy with what he did. Caleb, remembering seeing Annie on stage with his Nana, launched into a joyous, dancing rendition of the orphans; twirling and leaping and holding his arms out to an imaginary audience. His sense of cadence was remarkable, but the sheer pleasure he skillfully exhibited proclaimed that Caleb needed encouragement to study dance. Sydney and Brenda had friends over for a lawn party in their home in Chelsea. Their hosted social occasions were carefully choreographed to create an atmosphere where business was discussed and deals were made. They had rehearsed Caleb over and over again to burst upon the lawn in his footballer's togs and kick a ball authoritatively into a football goal. The tiny lad of four performed perfectly in practice. "Caleb, come to Dad!" Sydney shouted. It was Caleb's cue to thunder through a vanguard of wine drinking guests onto the lawn, dribble adeptly to voices shouting their amazement and slam the ball precisely in the center of the net to a roar of approval. The band struck up, as a joke, an intentionally off-key, mocking version of Liverpool's theme, "You'll Never Walk Alone". Caleb, born to dance and never warned not to, shucked his cleats and devised an impromptu solo ballet dance, complete with pirouettes, attitudes, pleas and jetes of varying scale. The Collingsworth elders watched in stunned silence as women applauded and men laughed. Caleb, that night, was farmed out to Emily because the boy was obviously a fairy, suited to mince around with his show business grandmother. Caleb prospered with Nana and threw himself happily into dance instruction. When his Mum and Dad moved to San Francisco, they retrieved their eleven year old boy, now beautiful, poised, ambitious and frightened of the overt disapproval he endured with his dad. ************************************************************************* Before he had left the stimulating city of San Francisco for the cow town called Davis, Adam went to say goodbye to a little friend named Caleb. He hated leaving behind this lonely little fellow who had no real friends. He was suffering from profound grief. It was as if his grandmother, who shared a joyful seven years together with the talented, loving and beautiful boy, had died. Adam got through a lot of the barriers to knowing Caleb by being a loyal friend who listened. In the beginning, Adam was sexually attracted to the younger, pre-pubescent boy dancer, but he felt a more asexual attraction that allowed patience and an almost older-brother sense of caring and protecting. As Adam and Caleb were trying to say goodbye, Caleb began to let his defenses slip and allowed himself to quietly weep, brushing away Adam's hands offered for comfort. "People I love leave me, Adam. I have nobody and my Dad hates me." Caleb said. Adam could not counter Caleb's remark about his father, because he knew from his own experience with the Dad that there was indeed unwarranted hatred. Adam had a card printed with his email address, his home phone number, his cell phone number and his various IM addresses. He pressed the card into the depressed boy's hand and felt relief when the card was carefully tucked into Caleb's wallet. They did not embrace. They said few words. Adam decided that this was the end of their relationship. ************************************************************************* Caleb had just tried to say goodbye to his only real friend, Adam. He thought about how hopeless it was to love someone and then, inevitably, lose him or have him run off by his father, or as with Nana, exiled by his mother. Here in San Francisco the only thing they kept in his routine was his ballet lessons. They did this reluctantly after a psychiatrist friend thought the dance was Caleb's only interest that pushed against depression. Sydney mocked emotional weakness. Depression was a tent that the weak hid under so others had to make up for their lack of initiative. The man either disputed or ignored the flickers of health from his son. No matter the good grades, no matter his artistic brilliance, the man only saw a flawed fairy of a son. Now he was going to have a confrontation with Caleb. Caleb had a tiny dance area in the basement of their suburban home. It was fitted with a large mirror and a long barre, as if there would be more than one boy working there. He was playing a piece by Chopin, gently stretching to the music when the door burst open. "I see you got an email letter from that American fairy friend." Sidney declared loudly as he turned off the CD player. "All Adam wanted to do was say hi and tell me about his new town." Caleb solemnly explained. "He is a homo! Were you sucking his dick before he left?" "He is a friend. I haven't fooled around with anyone and he would never do that." Caleb insisted. "Caleb, I am not pleased about how you defy me and show no interest in anything but dancing. If you do not get some straight friends and get rid of the queer ones, the ballet lessons end!" "Okay, father, I will do that." Caleb said, having no idea what the hell he was going to do to keep the classes that were almost all he cared about. "Good! I expect you to introduce me to a heterosexual boy within a week. Is that clear?" Caleb nodded, just to get the verbal abuse to stop. The boy wondered how on earth he was going to produce a friend who would satisfy his father. This was too much for the young boy who only knew about homosexuality from books and magazines. Caleb wondered if, indeed he was a homosexual. He hadn't even started wanking, much less fantasizing about either boys or girls. ************************************************************************ Adam Gardens had just listened to half an hour of breathless babblings from his friend Kevin about how much he loved Liam Coe. "So old man Coe didn't ask you about PE?" Adam interrupted. "No, Adam, he is a cool guy." Kevin offered, refraining from violating confidentiality about Dr. Coe's special lusts. Hey, Kev, my cell phone is showing a San Fran number, so can I get back to you?" "Okay, Babe," Kevin replied. "See you later." "It's Caleb," a soft voice answered. "I am desperate." "How can I help you, Caleb?" Adam said with a calm voice. Caleb carefully summarized the demands of his dad, avoiding any semblance of analysis, but holding to just what was said. "Okay, first the easy stuff. Stop using that email address attached to your ISP. Get a browser email address and check emails at the library." "Oh, of course," Caleb responded. "We use Vonage, so I can go on line and delete listings of phone calls to and from you." "Excellent, Caleb," Adam reassured. "I know a boy at your school who is twelve. He is very masculine and straight, but he and I became close friends when his sister got sick and needed chemotherapy. He is tall and ultra cute from my homo vantage point. I helped get all the kids in our class to shave our heads so she wouldn't be the only baldy there." "I remember that, Adam! When you showed up bald for dance classes, I thought you did it for a part in a show or movie." "Sit tight, Caleb. I am going to call Fred Basehart on my land phone, right now." Adam was able to get Fred's help without a glimmer of reluctance. Fred agreed to communicate by email to the address that Adam had just set up for Caleb. All Caleb had to do was log in and change his password. Hi Caleb, I see that your lunch period is the same as mine. Please meet me at 12:30 just by the salad bar. I remember what you look like and if you forgot me, look for a Golden State basketball t-shirt. Adam is a close friend who I totally like. I can tell you that your Dad is going to find me a total jock and hetero dude. Relax, man, I don't give a shit about your orientation and who the hell expects an 11 yr old to even know much about his hormoans! Ready Freddie Hi Fred, You are very cool. See you at the salad bar! Crazy Caleb ************************************************************************* Fred Basehart realized that Adam's unsolicited kindness towards his sister Kate had been an act that altered forever Fred's attitudes towards boys who were less aggressive, more casual about sports and more introspective. Not long ago, to Fred, you were a stud or you were a cocksucker. Fred's intolerance for people who were different did not spring from him like an immaculate misconception. He was well taught by his father and a series of self-hating sports coaches. He remembered once seeing Kate talking to "that little dancing cocksucker" in the hallway. He was livid about it and confronted Kate, who said: "If you harm one fair hair on Adam's head, this pointy little shoe is going to help you learn to hit a high C with ease." Kate threatened. During the terrible days when Kate's survival was in question, kids shunned the Baseharts, as if the leukemia cancer was contagious; except for one boy, "that little dancing cocksucker". Adam's presence in the hospital was so ubiquitous that the nurses thought he was part of the family. He entertained Kate when she needed a pleasant distraction. His parents, with Adam's urging became supporting friends to the Basehart family. It was when Adam marched his entire class to a hair salon, hand in hand with a new jock friend, that a friendship was cemented. This is going to be weird, hanging out with an eleven year old boy who probably recites Shakespeare at the dinner table, Fred thought. I wonder what we can do to pass the time until his dad doesn't need proof that Caleb no longer spends the day on his knees sucking off boys. Well, if worst comes to worse, Kate can pinch-hit. Now that is a plan to inoculate little Caleb from suspicion! ************************************************************************ "Hi, Caleb," Fred said. "Hi, Fred," Caleb responded, feeling as if he was in the lion's cage without a whip and chair. Fred gently guided Caleb to the serving line, nodding his head to friends with an unspoken warning not to say, or do anything crude. The dancer and the basketball player set their trays down at a table that miraculously stayed free of any additional company. "Caleb, I love Adam like a brother. My formerly homophobic dad adores the kid. I want to actually be a friend, not a pretend friend, so don't worry." Fred fixed his eyes on Caleb's until the little boy managed the first smile in a week. "I am so afraid about losing the dance lessons, Fred." Caleb said, getting right down to the main thing on his mind. "I almost forgot how to make friends, so please be patient with me." "Caleb, Adam told me about you and your granny. Shit, if I lived with such a cool lady most of my life, and then got ripped away from her, I know I would be fucked up about people." Caleb looked with a new sense of hopefulness after that crude but brilliantly accurate summary by Fred. He understood! "We can really make friends, right?" Caleb ventured, blushing down into his shirt. "Like I said when you were flicking your fork at the pineapple cubes, I want to be a real friend, not a pretend friend. So let's have you invite yourself to go to a Warriors game with me Friday night." "Is that a video war game?" Caleb ventured. "Are you fucking shitting me, Caleb?" Fred said with a whooping laugh. The blank stare told him no. "Wait, relax, man, I didn't mean to make fun of you. The Warriors are a professional basketball team that plays in Oracle Arena in Oakland. "Hey isn't that where Billy Joel is giving a concert?" Caleb asked? "Wanna see that too? If we go, we will have to drag Kate along. "That would be too expensive." "We already have season tickets in section 5, but the Billy Joel concert tickets belong to Mom and Dad and two of their friends." "Um, let's stick to the Warriors, then." Caleb decided. "Caleb, what's your locker combination." "Oh it's three seven four." Caleb revealed. "I am going to put a Warriors sweatshirt in your locker. Have it on when you explain about the game to your dad." The shirt was incredibly valuable in Caleb's discussion with his father. He didn't even have to explain about who Fred was. "That's the point guard that the high school is all excited about, Caleb! How did you get to know him?" "I saved his life in math, Dad. He is actually pretty smart but needed some help with quadratic equations." "Where are the seats, Caleb?" "They are in Section 5, really close seats in the corner." "Those are excellent seats," Sydney enthused. Listen to him, because he really knows the game." As planned, Fred called that night and Sydney asked to talk to him. Caleb grinned as Fred talked soccer for almost half an hour, acting ever so impressed by how Caleb's dad was involved in the professional soccer scene. After two Warrior games and attending all of Fred's games, Caleb began to enjoy basketball. It was a shared thing which gave them pleasure. It was no longer a scheme to fool dad. During Christmas break, Sydney announced that he was renting a beautiful lodge up in Aspen. He called Fred's parents to ask if it was okay for Fred to join them for some skiing the day after Christmas until New Year's Day. Caleb had given Fred a head's up so agreement was swift. Fred and Caleb were sent ahead on a chartered jet, pure luxury, with no other passengers. A limo met the boys at the airport and rushed them to a lodge near Aspen Highlands ski resort. Neither of them had skied, but Fred was sure that a fit dancer like Caleb would probably learn pretty quickly. A servant greeted the boys and gave them a tour of the huge lodge, which tried to look rustic, but could not conceal opulence. The boys shared a large bedroom with two king sized beds a private bathroom and a large balcony sporting a hot tub. While they relaxed and heard the tinkle of someone preparing dinner, they looked out and saw the sky darkening. They clicked on the bedroom plasma television for the news. It was apparent that a huge snowstorm was building up, closing down the airport. Caleb called his father's cell phone and got no answer. He then tried the home phone and heard the recorded message. Fred got his dad on the phone. "I know they left San Francisco minutes ago, son," Fred's dad explained. "I expect that they were probably diverted to another airport," he reassured. Persistence by Carl Basehart rewarded him with a grim reality. The Collingsworth flight was missing. Fred sat down with Caleb on the bedroom sofa. "Dad said the flight is missing, Caleb." Caleb grabbed Fred's wrists and began to scream. His eyes fluttered and his slim legs kicked over and over against the leather base of the sofa. Fred said nothing, as he seized Caleb and rocked him in his lap. Caleb's voice went hoarse, and his sounds were raspy and futile. He stopped rocking now. He stopped flailing his colt-like legs and he shut his eyes as if he had fallen asleep. But Fred felt the rigidity of the boy's muscles and felt troubling warmth as Caleb wet his pants. He lifted the feather-light child to the bathroom. Caleb did not respond to words that rushed to comfort. Fred stood Caleb up, but the legs quaked and buckled, requiring Fred to lay the stricken boy on the plush bathroom rug. He slipped off Caleb's sweater and shirt and was relieved that his pulse seemed normal. While lowering Caleb's trousers and underpants, the childish penis and slender thighs were streaked with urine. Fred somehow found that he was not disgusted but entirely focused on meeting Caleb's immediate needs. He filled the tub with warm water and, after looking to see if Caleb had defecated and finding no mess, gently lowered the little boy into the tub. It was a form of sanity to softly bathe his new friend. He kissed the little boy on his brow and shared a calm that eased the rigidity in the arms, and legs and tummy. The sensitive servant, named Lawrence, alerted by Caleb's screams watched the calm touches of the older boy. He knew that Caleb was conscious and not in danger. He agreed to rule out further traumatizing the child by having a bunch of EMT's probe, question and haul him away. The room was peaceful and quiet. A large bath towel, warmed by a heated, arching tube, was placed on a bed. Fred lifted Caleb in his arms, ignoring the wetness, and eased his slender, nude body on the towel. Another towel warmed and dried the boy off, inspiring an encouraging return of color. Fred stood over the long-legged boy and realized that, in the height of this terrible tragedy, he was in love with Caleb. He did not experience an erection, nor desire to do anything more than care for him. He had an overwhelming need to have a pure intimacy demanded by the innocent little boy he now held in his arms. So Fred closed the bedroom door, turned off the lights and crawled, naked, under the covers. He held the boy close against his muscular body and heard Caleb expel a sigh. Caleb whispered: "I love you." Now I know, Fred thought, that if this beautiful boy asked me, I would not even pause before sucking his beautiful little penis. The next chapter gets more intimate. Comments sent to feestyoreayes@yahoo.com are welcome. Cruel ones will be discarded.