Date: Tue, 10 Apr 2018 13:52:51 -0500 From: MC VT Subject: Bisexual Adult-Youth Silver-Crowns Silver Crowns ©2018 MCVT February 26, 2018 On top of that puddle of the milk of human kindness is a layer of man cream. Aging perv learns a new kind of love. Reaching in your pants to pull something out? How about pulling out your wallet and making a generous donation to asstr.org? Adult content; 100% Fiction, ped, MM, Mb, death, slow. ============================================================== We did it and got caught; arrested, tried, found guilty, served time and now we were listed on the state sex offender registry. Jim and I had both worked at the large discount store after release as some sort of demeaning rehab. We had to be kept humbled, penitent and shamed as something like re-offense prevention, I guess. Never knew each other during those years, but we'd trod that same path and endured the same crap afterward. We met online at a popular sex forum several years after my release. I noticed some of the terms he'd used and his comments were informally encoded. I'm not going to rant about the laws and culture and all that. I knew the law and broke it - a number of times and was fully aware that I would eventually get caught. It was only a matter of time. When I was young and strong - I could satisfy my needs easily. Frottage and voyeurism were my first proclivities. But my needs escalated and I became bolder adding assault to the mix. My "rape by surprise," became a more frequent requirement to soothe my psyche. It only took one to nail me and I kept my mouth shut about everything else. I won't fall into the mindset of being "less than human" for my acts - seems like I was born this way - but who knows? Still not enough information or research about people like me to explain or help - the shrinks shove pills, but they only blunt mind and body but never suppress the urges. Maybe I wasn't cut out for a marriage and family, but I'm still a man with the same basic wants and needs as any other human. There are a few friends in my life, and I go out for a beer occasionally, get in on the sports pools and generally get along fine after my years of "forced enlightenment." Don't look much different from any other working fool as I get on the bus to the senior center every day. And the proclivities that took me into prison are still alive and well in my head, just like when I was a kid. Can't shake that, but I've got help now. Time. Yep. Pervs get old. Same urges, and my aging muscles and painful joints are no longer able to fulfill those desires. I couldn't win a tickle fight with a toddler now, but I'm still standing and able to move freely enough with a pocket full of non-steroidal anti-inflamatories if it gets too painful. (Ugh!) *** Well, I came to find out Jim lived in an adjacent neighborhood, and we decided to get together. Visiting a few times, we enjoyed reminiscing about our "good old days." Reminiscing hotted both of us up sexually. He didn't like head because of my dentures; with or without. But I didn't like the fact he couldn't respond with enough rigidity in his britches for me. Those were minor issues in our friendship. Jim wasn't confined to bed, but he tired easily, and his body moved slowly and painfully some days - his mind was sharp and his sense of humor was keen. Still had a head full of hair though it was completely white now, and kept himself neat, though there were days he didn't shave. But all codgers do that. We lived on our government pensions in supported housing and scraped along with a few bucks left over at the end of the month like so many others wearing silver crowns. Legal fees had depleted any retirement funds leaving me in a difficult situation, but hey! I had a friend who understood me. Then, one day I got a call from him to come over while his new carer was there. Hard for him to shop, and keep house, but kept what he could tidy and in order. His housekeeper/carer would have a light workload, seemed to me, though I would have been begging her to bathe me as soon as she came in the door. Jim nixed that idea. Jim's proclivities led him toward "personal counseling," of a sort. His intimate counseling involved youth, specifically boys - counseling them toward puberty through very intimate instruction. Jim was much more debonair than I ever was. Well educated, well-traveled, and spoke several languages with a slick charm. I grunted along with one and a half languages, expert in neither. I never needed to "groom" my prey - he did. *** The morning was foggy and chilled, but I caught the bus and was at Jim's door early. "Get in here." He was in the bathroom shaving. As I neared the smell of menthol shave cream, "Make the coffee. It's on the cabinet." In the kitchen, I found a tiny foil bag of coffee - enough for a few pots and no more. "Blueberry flavored coffee?" I yelled at Jim, and almost puked. "That's why I need help. That came from the holiday gift exchange last year at the senior's club - it's all I've got. Must have been the gag gift." Jim's new carer would be there within fifteen minutes, so I made coffee and we sat in the kitchen. "Maybe she's a hottie." I suggested. "Doubt it - hotties work easier jobs. Besides they told me her English isn't so good, so she's probably an immigrant. Name's Monika - for some reason she can't hold a client very long. Let's find out why." Jim was a sharp old fox, so I went with this and was curious what he was planning. *** A soft wrapping on the door, and I jumped to answer it. "Monika?" I asked. "Yes, are you Jim?" "Uh, no. He's in the kitchen." I opened the door widely, but she didn't move. Instead she looked back to the street, and looked back at me with an unhappy look on her face. "My son's sleeping in the car - I don't want to leave him..." "Home-fucking-delivery!" I thought. "Jim's gonna croak!" "Bring him in; he can nap on the couch." I used my most fatherly voice. "Not a problem?" She asked tentatively. "Never. Children aren't problems. Bring him in." She smiled and turned to her car while I went to Jim, "Your lucky day, you pervo-recto. Wait till you see this." I took him to the living room. In that moment, the tiny dark-haired Monika brought in a bundled three-year old in her arms and put him on the couch. He moved around a little, and stayed asleep. Jim was standing with his mouth opened in surprise. "Well, who is this?" He looked at Monika and whispered. "Santos." She whispered. "Mi hijo." Jim pulled his shirttail out and took us to the kitchen so the child wouldn't be disturbed. I offered Monika coffee, and she asked what the odd smell was. After I explained the blueberry coffee predicament I opened the cabinet doors to reveal Jim's empty shelves. "Dios mio!" The woman exclaimed. "No food!" Jim gave her a short list of duties he needed help with - just the usual, laundry, floors, bathroom, shopping, picking up his meds at the pharmacy... I watched from the hallway. Monika was very small, dark and slender - she was rather a cutie and seemed energetic enough to make things work out. A problem with childcare was the reason she couldn't keep a client, but she just found the perfect workplace! "Do you have a shopping list?" She asked, peeking in the freezer which displayed a beautiful, thick growth of crystals and a few ice cubes. "At this point, I'll eat almost anything." He said, looking somewhat pitiful. "Aye! Pobrecito. I'll get that done when Santos wakes." "If you go to the store now, I'll watch Santos, and we'll all help carry the groceries into the house." I added and winked at Jim. She seemed skeptical, but looked around the apartment calculating the work needing to be done and considered Santos schedule. "Okay. Card and list, Mr. Jim." Monika stood, "If Santos wakes up, his sippy cup's in his bag." She was out the door in a flash, barreling toward the market, list in hand. We looked at each other and grinned - two pervs alone with a sleeping human body. But I was confused, "The kid's three and still using a sippy cup?" I brought Santos diaper bag back to the kitchen. It was filled with diapers, powder, all kinds of small toys and kiddy junk - a few shirts, pair of pants and socks. "Still in diapers... Hmmm." Jim was assessing the situation. A few moments later we heard Santos crying. He'd woken alone. Jim sat on the near Santos and spoke with him softly, telling him something like, "Mom is working, little man. Get up and go to the bathroom." The kid listened with some respect as Jim had used Spanish, but then started crying again. That's when we smelled the problem. Oh, gee, I almost vomited! Jim walked him into the bathroom and started taking Santos shoes and sox off. I brought the diaper bag. "Aren't you supposed to use a wipee? There's a box in here." "Let's rinse it off him... Hold his shirt up for me." Jim was sitting on the side of the tub with his small charge, grabbed all the poop he could in the diaper and rolled it up. I ran it out of the house to the neighbor's trashcan trying not to breathe. Jim rinsed, and rinsed, then had the boy squat, while he rinsed some more until Santos was clean and pink. I admired Jim's lack of gag reflex. So, I dug around and found a clean diaper. It seemed rather small for Santos. The whole time Jim was washing the boy, he carried on a line of patter - something about feeling good when your underwear is dry and how men stand and pee and sit to poop. It was something to hear, he knew just what to say. He was being patient and gentle, washing every inch of the kid's butt and groin while the kid stood still, listened and answered his questions. The boy said sometimes he had to stay in a place and couldn't go to the bathroom; his mom was working so he had to wear a diaper. "Well, I'll talk to her about it." He said and continued counseling the lad. "You're almost a boy now, and boys use the toilet - well most of the time. Do you wet the bed?" "The pull-on is for night." He told Jim. Jim looked over at the diaper and told me to find the right one, as if I was his flunkie. "They're all that size." "Okay. Run free, boy." After he dried Santos, he stood him on the bathroom floor, naked but for his shirt. "Go find the kitchen." "What's his mom going to say if he's naked?" "Get down to the bodega and get some bigger diapers and some of those little stickers." He pulled his wallet out and handed me a bill. "Some stars or dinosaurs - nothing fluffy-looking or pink." I left as they were in the kitchen going through the refrigerator for snacks. "Good luck that." I thought and headed down the street. As I returned, I met Monika in the drive, unloading groceries and helped her with the bags. Inside, there was Jim, with half-naked Santos on his lap and a spoonful of peanut butter, feeding Santos little bites and talking to him in Spanish again. I gave Jim the bag with the diapers and stood nearby, listening: "Oh, no! I'm so sorry. Did he poop?" Monika asked. "Yep. It's all right. All cleaned up now and ready to pull his pants up." Jim opened the package of diapers and handed one to him. "Dress yourself, Santos." The boy stood on the floor and wiggled the new diaper up over his butt. "Good boy. Let's go to the bathroom." Jim led him to the toilet. Monika and I followed them to the bathroom where Jim explained that while he was here he'd get a sticker for every time he went to the bathroom by himself. "Keep yourself dry and clean down there." He patted Santo's diaper. "You'll get a sticker every time you use the toilet, and we'll put your stickers here." He pointed to the tile above the tissue dispenser. "When you get six in a row, you'll get a prize. That's a sticker for every finger on one hand and one extra sticker on your thumb." Santos nodded and smiled, but he was blushing with all the attention. I took Monika to the kitchen and helped her put the groceries away while she made sandwiches. "I'm so sorry. I hope Jim doesn't report me to the agency. I need this job." Knowing Jim's proclivities, "Don't worry. Having a kid around is probably the best medicine for him. He's always loved kids, and I suspect he was a boy himself at one time with a very similar issue. Boys need a little help from men with that class." *** We had a good lunch with Monika and Santos telling us about coming to the states, and all the different places they'd been. It wasn't a pretty history, but here they were - eating and having a comfortable time with us around a rickety old wooden table. Before long, it was mutually decided that Santos was welcome when Monika came to work. Jim and I would dote on and thoroughly spoil Santos while Monika did the chores. Of course, we'd keep the bathroom sticker program going, to help Monica. Jim and I took Santos out to the old garage and looked around for a ball or a tricycle or some kind of toys. Couldn't find much except some lizards and spiders so we walked out in the alley and met a lady walking her dog and petted him. Santos wanted to pee, and Jim was tired. "Pee on the fence and think of the toilet. We'll stand behind you so no one sees. Got to get your sticker, so whiz in the weeds. Hurry up." We guarded as though the universe would grab his little one-incher and toss it to the wolves while Santos pulled the front of his diaper down. A few moments later, he turned around smiling. "Good job, Santos. Keep yourself dry down there." When we got back, Monika was putting the second load in the washer and cleaning the floors. Jim made sure that Santos put his sticker on the tile and congratulated him again. "He needs to nap now or he'll be cranky later." Monika told us. Jim and I put him on the couch while we watched the news and Santos was asleep before long, looking like a dozing cherub. I flipped the channel to the baseball game while Jim leaned his head back and fell asleep rubbing his erection under his shirttail. *** Santos' short life was a hard one. Mom's was extremely difficult, but they were survivors. My path, with my proclivities had been continually upsetting and confusing when I was young. Feeling like a freak for being unable to control myself, and filled with shame had warped my spirit and destroyed my life. My differences ran deep inside me and so painfully. Unfortunately, there was nothing to alleviate that kind of pain. Jim had his own trials, and plenty of hard times. Decades of them. He'd survived, too. Hard times like this crew had experienced wear on the soul, and we'd found ways to continue, each butting up against a different, but hard stigma and tough times at almost every turn. Maybe there was a reason for our lives to cross. I could only suppose that Monika didn't know about the sex offender registry, and if she did, she hadn't bothered to check her clients to see if they had a past. Didn't say a word about it. *** The next week, Jim ordered me to come over and bring books. "Stop by the library. Ask for some kids books in Spanish, bring English too. Something about boys and being brave." "Damned demanding for an old fool. Don't know if they'll serve your specific needs on short notice, Sahib." I told him. "Well, bring books with pictures of animals." "Okay, but don't get mad..." Sheesh! I didn't know much about libraries. "Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Just get over here with some books - I promise no more blueberry coffee!" "It's a deal." That stuff was awful! Monika showed up at around nine with Santos in her arms. Jim had his tiny bed already made on the couch, and he slept while Monika went to shop. She'd be gone longer today, having to go to the pharmacy for Jim's meds. "Did he use the toilet at home?" Jim asked Monika as they reviewed the meds. "He got at least three stickers every day because I took him to the bathroom as soon as he got up. But sometimes he has to sleep in the car while I work a part-time job cleaning offices in the evening." "Monika, give him a milk jug to pee in so he keeps himself dry and clean. He can do it; I'll show him how. Do we have an empty jar with a lid?" She looked around and said we would after lunch. Santos earned three more stickers with close monitoring, and two were in the jar - seemed Santos like the way his pee sounded as it splashed into the container. Jim felt as much of a champ as Santos, and the stickers went up on the tile! After two more weeks there were stickers all over the tissue dispenser and bathroom wall. Jim gave Santos two packages of tiny briefs with bright cartoon characters on them. Of course, Santos had to model them for us. Ha! Santos seemed to like prancing around in his new briefs, and Jim carefully showed him how to use the "secret pocket" to no avail. The kid pulled the briefs down to pee. Much easier, but Jim enjoyed that class. Monika thanked Jim because the urination issue was solved. She didn't seem to mind all the attention from Jim, and actually appreciated the help with her young son. Diapers are expensive! So, everyone benefited from Jim's sticker program. *** Every Wednesday we spent the morning and lunch reading books and naming animals. We sailed matchsticks in the kitchen sink and tried out a number of things from the house to see if they would float. Santos was a smart little bugger, and becoming bilingual quickly. Monika was proud and lavished hugs and kisses on Santos and Jim. Through this whole affair, Jim kept a guiding hand on Santos - on his back, his shoulder or his hands, and tousled short, dark curls often. Little Santos grabbed his hand while walking through the house our outside around the yard. Monika reminded Santos often to be gentle with Jim, but Santos was something of an imp and often tickled Jim when Mom left to shop. Though that was a riot of fun to watch and it left Jim exhausted. That boy Santos was a beauty - he was active, mouthy and smart, but so beautiful! Long, straight eyelashes and light brown, caramel-colored eyes and the dimples! His smile and giggles were prizes Jim was seeing more of as the weeks wore on. Monika kept his straight hair cut in some style that was supposed to have a part at the side, but it fell over his eyebrows making him look like a pixie. The ever-present cowlick stood up and waved about proudly adding to his charm. Sometimes Santos brought toys or something from his house to show to Jim, and explain them. We bought the boy several tiny cars and made a dirt track by the back porch and "zoomed" the cars around and around. I found a long, slender branch from a tree and tied a string on it for Jim to pull his car with Santos' while I made the appropriate revving and braking noises. One particularly hot day, we got the garden hose and squirted Santos while he ran around naked in the sunshine, then Santos grabbed the hose! Jim and I were partially soaked, but we all had a good nap after that! Though you may think that these were silly little things to do, but parents often rush past the deliciously simple delights of a child. We enjoyed every moment, and had a thorough discussion of Santos' responses and his little thoughts after he left. Santos became the center of Jim's conversations - if not his life. *** The children's librarian began to call me by my first name, and had a stack of six books waiting for me every week. She was a cutie but much too healthy and strong for my old bones. Dammit! Still, she gave me a few good fantasies. After gathering the books, I'd stop by the bodega and get candies. Jim hid them in his pockets for Santos to find later. They both enjoyed that; Jim enjoyed it with an erection, but no one noticed but me - Jim's clothes now hung on him like a scarecrow's garb in winter. Every visit, Jim's computer recorded all the activity around his living room and Santo's little bed on the sofa. After Monika and Santos left, I'd edit out the empty scenes and leave Jim to watch the day's activities as he fell asleep. *** Before Santos' birthday Jim had a big box delivered to his front porch. Took us almost a month to put the damned bike together, but it was a racy-looking cycle! We attached all the streamers and the little horn without too much cussing. Complicated affair for two old dogs, but it was such a streamlined vehicle! Then, we hid it in the garage for him to find. "How in hell did you afford this? You got an off-shore account somewhere?" I asked as we took the bright blue bike to the garage. "Friends." He said. "Neither of us has any friends left after..." I told him. "Sold some of my meds on the street - to those friends. They don't care about anything but the money." "Which pills?" I knew he had some he needed. "Pain pills, sleeping pills... I cut what's left in half now, but I couldn't just get the kid a card." His decision and I knew he loved the boy deeply. What could I say? I got Santos coloring books and crayons and a sheaf of metallic dinosaur stickers from the dollar store. We stacked up four small cups of gelatin and put a candle on top for a birthday cake. Jim made Santos' favorite - cherry gelatin with peaches. The candle was more fun than the gelatin for Santos, and it was a good birthday party on the back porch as we sang and explained the "birthday spanks" custom to Monika and a wide-eyed Santos. Then, we told Santos to go to the garage. Jim just sat on the steps while Monika and I helped him ride his bike up and down the driveway until naptime. I took pictures and sent them to Jim and Monika, grinning. Yeah, I have to admit, I was proud of the boy, and maybe even loved the tyke, too. Being with Monika and Santos gave me the feeling of being part of a family - something I hadn't felt before. My proclivities had disqualified me from taking a relationship that far and my own parents were not so interested in any of my potential children. God, I'd lived a sad life except for the last few months. *** One Sunday during the game, I saw Jim on the computer calculating all kinds of sums, with an occasional curse word, and re-working the figures again and again. "What's up old fart? Budget problems? I got a few bucks..." "Nah. Trying to figure out Santo's problems." He explained, "Damn, Monika's living on almost nothing with her boy. And the government just cut her food allotment." Jim explained the figures, and calculated the costs of work and raising a child, gas and car repairs, insurance, laundry... "Let me check this out." I picked up my phone and called an acquaintance who worked at the courthouse. He was a guy I served time with, and was working in the supply department in a county office building, and I explained a little of the situation, then handed the phone to Jim. That led to several more phone calls and Jim was taking notes the entire time. "Hmmm. Yes. I see. What's the limit and the requirements?" Jim was smart with the ins and outs of bureaucracy, and he had something hot in the pipeline. I was hoping he'd get some more help; the half-meds were taking a toll on him, though he was all smiles when Santos was around. *** The next Wednesday, he told Monika to forget the cleaning; he wanted to talk to her. I went out on the driveway with Santos and got his bike out. They had a long, serious conversation. I made sandwiches for Santos and me and put him on the couch for his nap while they continued their conversation. Then, they got on the phone and started making calls for a while. After that, Jim lay on his lounger and watched Santos sleep while Monika went to the store. I started the laundry and finished it up, wondering what had happened. "You have to help Monika move soon." Was all he said. "Why is she moving?" "Found a better housing situation at The Commons." "Okay." I waited for more to unfold. The next week, they had a brief conversation. Monika was all smiles, and hugged Jim again and again. That day went very well, and we started a new routine. Now, while Monika finished up her work, Jim and I bathed Santos before he went home. Santos' baths were wonderful, wet events with the tub filled with bubbles and toys and paper boats we folded during the week. Lots of splashing and laughing. Oh, yeah. Jim made sure Santos was thoroughly washed, and they talked about penises, scrotums and puberty in simple terms. I stood in the doorway watching and enjoying my friends having a great time - but more as a lookout. Old habits die hard. Damn, Jim was good with the kid, and became closer to him every week. *** Helping Monika move was a simple affair. We loaded her few possessions into boxes and bags, loaded the trunk of her car. She kept their few clothes organized in cardboard boxes and ate off a card table with two folding chairs. No tele, no stereo, but lots of library books. She and Santos slept on the same bed. Her box springs and mattress were roped onto the roof, and we went directly to her new digs. I almost cried at the conditions she lived in before - it was almost as bare as the cell I'd been confined to, but her new place was better and had a little patio. Santos kept a running dialogue going he was so excited about moving. The new apartment building had a swimming pool and a play yard. How did Jim wrangle this? Later, after all the commotion of moving, we went to Jim's with a pound of bologna, chips and big bottle of soda. Santos told Jim about the new playground and the pool and his new apartment while we ate our sandwiches. Seems Jim had contacted a friend of a friend, and through the network he was able for a computer "correction" that would ease Monika's finances with more housing support. That meant she didn't have to put Santos to sleep in the car while she worked the second job. She could be home and stay with him every night. *** The months passed by and the holidays came. Monika and Santos took us to an evening mass and we celebrated afterward with a glass of wine with cheese and crackers while Santos slept on the couch. After exchanging a few small gifts, I brought mine out. I'd dug around at the thrift store and found some jeans and a jacket for Santos. Jim and I washed them. He showed me how to use a needle and thread. I carefully stitched the clothes where needed and felt like we'd done something important because we did. The kid didn't take the jacket off, and was enthralled with the big yellow zipper up the front. The jeans would have to wait; they were a little too long and had an inch or two around the waist for Santos to fill in. Jim had the good sense to keep the holiday music going all the time Monika and Santos visited and we sang along, keeping our spirits up. Yeah, all of us wanted to do more do more for Santos, and life was the way it was those days. Santos was happy enough as he biked up and down the driveway, then the alley without training wheels. Jim and I watched the tele together with as the New Year came in with Santos on our laps snoring. Mom was at mass. *** Remembering back, I considered Jim's health. He was slowing, and his skin occasionally took on a gray cast. Not being a doctor, I didn't know the cause, and I suspected he was still selling his meds and maybe slipping some money to Monika. Being who I am, I said nothing and pushed forward with coming over to help and visit. I liked Monika and Santos, maybe they were my best medicine, too. Everyday I'd call Jim to check and see if he wanted me for any reason; I finally had a "meaningful daily activity." That felt good - to be needed and wanted, even if it was by only a young woman, her son and an old man. *** It came time for Jim to re-register at the police station - sex offenders in our area had to show up annually with proof we lived in the same place and other information. But Jim asked if someone to come to the house instead. The PD doesn't cater to people like us, so we rode the bus to the station and waited. Jim and I were both tired, but he got through the interview just fine. I wasn't there to listen, but I'm sure he said nothing of Santos, though the kid had changed our lives in a joyfully radical way. That afternoon, I put Jim to bed - he was so tired he couldn't eat. I waited till late before I left. When I came the next morning, I called an ambulance immediately. Jim was fevered and had problems breathing. They took him off to the hospital and I called Monika. We met in the hospital lobby. Good thing - the staff wouldn't let Santos in the ICU. Seems Jim had a respiratory infection, probably from the PD visit, but he would be home in a week. Jim and I called Monika's supervisor and told her we needed Monika even though Jim wasn't home yet, we had to move his furniture around. That worked out easily. Jim needed a hospital bed and an oxygen pump after he came home. A nurse would visit him every several days until he was strong again. I silently doubted he would be "strong again," but bit my lip and kept smiling for Santos. Our lunch without Jim on Wednesday was a sorry, silent affair - we missed our friend. He'd become something of a quiet leader and dependable and comfortable presence to all of us. So, I started sending pics to Jim - Santos on his bike, Santos in the tub, Santos and Monika, Santos sitting on Jim's new hospital bed... Yeah, that kind of stung to remind Jim of his health issues, and it was the next part of his life. Monika helped me move the tele and his computer so he'd be able to get to them easily. *** The next Wednesday morning a taxi rolled up and the driver helped Jim into the sidewalk. I ran outside to him. He looked pale, weak and very tired, but he was smiling. "Monika's bringing my Santos, right?" "As far as I know." I held his arm, steadying him up the steps. "Thanks for the photos - that helped..." He said nothing about the changes in the furniture, or the hospital bed, just climbed on it and fell asleep with a deep sigh. After removing his shoes and socks, I simply tossed a blanket over him and let him snooze. Soon enough Monika and Santos were hugging and kissing Jim, and he looked up and smiled. They were on the bed with Jim, and looking something of a family. Monika and I brought breakfast while Santos was in a spirited conversation telling Jim he was going to start pre-school. Monika was beaming; delighted her son would get a good education. Jim only smiled, nodded and asked him more about his new school. Santos and Jim shared a sandwich on the bed, spreading crumbs and bits of chips all over the blanket, but they were having a good time. I sat beside the bed and organized all the pill bottles. Antibiotics, blood pressure medication, anti-inflamatories, sleeping pills, cholesterol fighter, diuretic... I found an index card and made notes about the times with a description he had to take each one. When Monika returned with the groceries, I helped her put them away while the guys slept side-by-side on the hospital bed. As I brought in my tea, to sit and watch, and help Jim when I could, I noticed something odd. His head was tilted at an odd angle and his skin was white. No movement under the blanket over his chest. "No. Not yet." I thought and put my fingers near his nose and my eyes began to sting. No breath. A sharp pain hit my heart; my friend was gone. My eyes burned and my breaths became shallow. "Not yet, please..." My tears flowed. "Oh, god. No." All our good times helping Monika and Santos abruptly ended in that moment. Santos was napping soundly as I lifted the blanket slowly and took Jim's left hand out of the back of Santo's little jeans, then covered him back. Gingerly, I moved the blanket and sheet and noticed Jim's right hand in his pants. As I lifted the blanket from Jim's body, the room filled with the smell of semen, and there was a big wet spot on Jim's pants. I moved his hand, zipped his slacks up, and waited for Monika to return. A few moments later, Monika was at the door with a bag of groceries. With red, tearing eyes, I told her that Jim had died. She started making calls, per her registry's protocols, and I went in and got Santos and took him to the bathroom, saying nothing about Jim. I took him to the kitchen and gave him a spoonful of peanut butter. When Monika got off the phone, I asked her to take Santos home before Jim's body was covered and hauled out on a gurney. "Please, he doesn't need to see Jim like that. Tell him Jim went back to the hospital and said to tell Santos he loved him very much. You have my number. Call if I can help." I went to his computer and trashed the hard drive with my tea and a handful of salt. I called Monika the next day. We had to clean the house out - but that was easy enough after the PD left. They went through everything and took what they wanted for themselves - even took his meds. Imagine that! I found a place to cremate the body. Jim's social worker helped with the arrangements. There was no family to contact, just me, Monika and Santos. A week later, we picked up the cardboard box of Jim's ashes and sneaked them to the park by the river and let Santos go to the playground while I emptied the box. Fitting enough. Monika wanted to light candles, so we stopped at the church and prayed, lit the candles. She told me she didn't want Jim to be in hell, so she was going to come back later and light more candles for him. But I knew Jim had his bit of heaven as he died, and was probably somewhere watching over our Santos forever. *** At a local fast food place, Monika and I only had coffee, but Santos ate a burger and fries then went to play on the big plastic tubes and corral full of colored balls. We watched him jumping around climbing all over the bright structures. Digging in her purse, Monika found an envelope sealed in a plastic bag. On the front was "My Dear Friends and Santos." "He left this in the freezer for me." She smiled and shook her head. I was in tears again, and brought napkins to wipe our eyes. "He left Santos an insurance policy." She looked over the paperwork. "Ten thousand..." Waiting as she read. "He says he loved you for all your understanding and help..." She glanced at me as tears rolled down her cheeks. Yeah, this tough old perv was bawling like a baby - I realized Jim had probably been selling his meds since he'd first met Santos. He'd hurried his own death to give the boy something to remember him - for the last few rushes of touching Santos' sweet body closely. Kept my mouth shut about that. But I placed my hand over Monika's, "Monika, we all have our crosses to bear. Jim had his, I have mine. If you hear anything bad about him, remember - remember we're all human and we all love... We all need someone to love - in our ways." I was ready to break down. "But know one thing for sure. Jim was a loving man - he loved us and he cherished Santos more than you'll ever know." Rode the bus home with my hands over my face, my heart stinging and my eyes burning and remembering back the first time I'd met Jim online, and how we'd come to help each other; need each other. "Yeah, I loved you too, Jim - in our peculiar ways, I loved you." I thought and went home feeling very, very alone. Fin.