It was a sultry hot day inn the middle of July. The heavy rains over the last two days had dramatically increased the humidity. Daniel was sprawled out on the bed, reading an essay on the second world war.
He could hear his mother and stepfather's voices coming from the living room. He knew they were checking the travel documents for the umpteenth time, the reservations, and everything else for the three-week vacation they had decided to take in Portugal. The suitcases were packed: they would leave early the following morning. They had already booked the taxi that would pick them up and take them to the railway station.
He heard his mother say, in a plaintive tone: "But it's a real pity, Petrus! How much I would have liked it if we could stop one more day at Fatima!"
"Really! To attend mass and holy communion, light a candle... just one day is enough. And anyhow the agency said the pilgrim's house had only one night free."
"I think you're more interested in museums than churches!"
"That's not true. But you know... even in churches there are works of art."
"Yes, you go there just for that... not to pray!"
"You pray enough for us both, Adeline..." his stepfather spoke in a tone halfway between ironic and condescending.
Daneel imagined three weeks alone, not having to go to Mass on Sunday. No Mass and logically also no communion. His religious life was not in great shape! He had to go to confession every Saturday night, so that he could take communion Sunday morning. He could never resist for long without committing the sin.
But if he did not take communion, his mother would have subjected him to a painful, stringent, and interminable interrogation. It was not as if he hadn't tried not to commit the sin! In all its many variations... For seven years he had been fighting his own instinct and it seemed to him more and more a lost battle. Everything he put in place was as effective as the Maginot line: easily circumvented by temptation!
The sin! He did not steal, he did not hate, he did not say bad words, he was honest, scrupulous, not a glutton, he did not feel envy, he did not... But sometimes he lied. Although those lies were only the consequence of the sin from which he could not free himself.
The enemy: were temptations! They seemed to emerge from all sides, like mushrooms, like weeds, like... Everywhere, every moment... sometimes even while in church, which made him feel even guiltier. Every time he tried to pray, he had to stop after a few minutes: it seemed that his prayers, instead of giving him protection, would provoke even more powerful temptations!
What were the words of that psalm he once heard in church? Here it comes, surrounding me, like a lion ready to leap on its prey, always lurking... or something like that! Right, yes, when he had heard those words, he felt that way: a prey surrounded by hungry lions.
He was sinful in thought, in the best of cases... he sinned by himself, when all went well... he sinned with others... and what was worse, while he did it he liked it, even if afterwards he felt dirty, weak, a dunghill! Right, yes, a dunghill!
Seven years of useless struggle. Would it ever have ceased? Sometimes he wanted to stop fighting, to give up. But he could not, even if he felt increasingly tired. Like ancient armies: behind the infantrymen were riflemen, who would shoot anyone who turned his back on the enemy and tried to desert. Here, his mother was the body of the riflemen... She prevented him from escaping and so he had to keep fighting.
But his mother, just like those soldiers, did not realise how strong, terrible, and fierce the enemy was! Advance and die... escape and die... well, better to die struggling than fleeing! But how difficult it was... How can you fight with a stick against those who attack you with a machine gun? Oh, sure, the bullets from that machine gun penetrated the flesh and burned it, but they did not kill you! And the only way to mitigate, at least for some time, that burning in the flesh was letting go to the sin.
Then, wash, first the body, then the soul... and resume the battle, wondering when you would be hit again. Ratatatan... burning... the sin... shower... confessional... and then the terror of hearing another burst... And here it was, it came: ratatatan... burning... sin... shower... confessional... And again, and again, for seven years, without cease, without respite, without armistice... let alone then find peace!
Once he even thought of killing himself, but he could not, because he would have committed an even worse sin... and whoever dies in sin, suffers the pains of hell, forever. But was it not a hell that he was living? But there were also days when the machine gun seemed to be silent... sometimes only for a few hours, sometimes for a week or more. Although this happened rather rarely.
His mother came into his room, "Daneel! Remember not to let anyone in the house!"
"Of course, mother..."
"And go to Mass on Sunday. Make sure you do... and bring home the Gospel leaflet!"
Screwed! "Yes mom..."
"And don't let me find you've turned the place into a pigsty when I get back!"
"No, mother."
His stepfather called out from the living room: "Adeline! He's almost twenty-one, he's no longer a child!"
He had neither a good relationship with Petrus, nor bad. They lived together, civilly. Almost like with colleagues at work. At least he was not supine like he was with his mother. Petrus respected him and he respected Petrus.
"You cannot understand, Petrus! For a mother, her child is always a child!" his mother said in a loud voice, rather annoyed, as she returned to the living room.
"We'd better go to bed, Adeline: we need to be up early."
"You've changed enough money, I hope?"
"We have credit cards, Adeline!"
"Yes, but you can't tip or order a tea, or... give alms in church with a credit card, correct?"
"Yes, Adeline, I changed what you told me, French francs, pesetas and... what ever's the name of the Portuguese currency!"
"The escudo, Petrus, the escudo! You asked them to give you some coins, too?"
"What little they had in the bank. If necessary we can change the banknotes.
If you had listened to me and we had taken the plane... "
"The plane is too fast. On a pleasure trip you must just travel, and not... fly, or jump! We should do it in a carriage, if they were still in use... or at least in a car..."
Daneel shook his head and tried to start reading again. But he could not. Fortunately, for the last three years his mother no longer wanted him to take his holidays with them. It was Petrus who had decided, even before they were married, something for which Daneel was truly grateful.
Of course Petrus, Daneel thought, had a remarkable patience with his mother. He let her have her say, sometimes he did as she wanted but other times he jibbed and refused to accommodate. On those occasions not even a cannonade could move him and his mother had to give in. Petrus, however, never raised his voice, not even when she raised her tone. He never lost his temper or his calm. Daneel wondered how he did it. It was something he admired.
"We're going to sleep, Daneel. Don't stay up too late!"
"No mom, good night. Good night, Petrus."
"We'll say goodbye now, because tomorrow morning we're leaving the house at five o'clock and we don't want to wake you up." Petrus said.
Daneel got out of bed and put the book away. He went into the living room and wished them both a good trip. His mother took the opportunity to give him another dozen instructions. Finally the two of them went to their bedroom. Daneel turned off the light in the living room and returned to his own room.
He decided to undress and wear pyjamas. With the heat he would rather have slept naked, but he could not, with his mother at home.
"But from tomorrow, I'll sleep naked!" he said to himself, determined.
And here, as if it were a magic word, a spell, that word bounced along the cerebral convolutions like a pinball ball, lighting here and there flashes of light, images... "naked... naked... naked... naked male... nice naked cool guy... strip naked... naked... all naked... a nice naked fuck... naked... naked... naked... fuck him naked..."
He shook his head violently, as if to spin dry the word, those images. He undressed... "undress... bare naked... strip naked... naked... strip... nicely naked... all naked...".
He put his pyjamas on in a hurry, and had a little problem tucking himself inside, his member stood up, peeking from the opening of his trousers... He turned off the light and threw himself onto the bed...
And the hand, as if it were a large insect, animated by a life of bits own, descended upon the opening of the pyjama trousers, crept in there... and seized the prey and devoured it... savoured it, moving it up and down, slow, quivering, ple... aaa... su... raaaa... bleee...
Naked... handsome naked boy... handsome... smiles... smiles at me inviting... oh how inviting... he touches me... so... and he wanks me... he smiles... "suck it"... who said that? I? He? What does it matter... suck... nice... do you want me? I want it? Yes... he wants me... I want him... so, yes... let me enjoy... naked... nice... ahhh... he moans... I moan... "kiss me!"... "lick me!"... "put it in me!"... Him? I? What does it matter... Siiix-ty-niii-ne... the magic number... I'm the six... he's the nine... Siiiix-ty-niii-ne... aaahhh... here it is... no... nooo... nooooo... Yeeeaaaahhh!
And Daneel dumped into the handkerchief he'd just the time to press against his throbbing tool. When the last splash was launched, he waited a little longer, panting. Then he brought the handkerchief to his nose and inhaled the odour... the smell of sin!
He relaxed with a deep sigh. He had fallen into it again. Again. Again... He was weak. Without willpower. "Man stands above an animal because he can resist compulsion", his mother's word. "The best way to drive away temptation is not to resist them", the word of... who? Oscar Wilde? Or... "I can resist everything except temptation"; yes he must have said that... Just as he could have said it!
When his mother had discovered he was masturbating...
He had just turned thirteen... yes... he remembered it well... his father had disappeared for a month, more or less... he remembered it too well...
A classmate taught him to masturbate... he did not even remember his name... or his face... but he remembered how, left alone, the last ones in the locker room off the gym, his friend had showed him that he had a hard-on... then he had masturbated in front of him... invited him to imitate him... and they had masturbated, each by himself but looking and giggling like two stupid little kids... and his buddy had shot... he had only managed a few drops.
He liked it! But, all his problems started that day. Because since then, not only had he started to masturbate, sometimes even three, four times in a day... other times he did not do it for a couple or more days... but every time he imagined that it was someone else holding it in his hands and pumping it up for his pleasure... or it was him taking hold of someone else... Always, only, exclusively, another a boy, never a girl.
Yes, his father had been missing a month. No one knew why, where he went: the police kept saying there was no trace of him... Not in any hospital, not among the corpses found and unidentified... Vanished into thin air...
Daneel loved his father, he had suffered a lot when he disappeared. His father was strong, kind, almost always smiling... His father understood him... he always found time to be with him... and he had disappeared. Without any reason. One morning, while going to school, his father, still in his pyjamas, greeted him with his usual smile and winked at him. He was not there for lunch... he had not called... His mother called his work: they said that he had left at ten to go to the doctor and had not returned...
To the doctor? Why to the doctor? He wasn't sick! His mother had called the family doctor: no, he had no appointment, he hadn't seen him... Then she called all their friends, relatives, everyone she could think of. Nobody had seen him, nobody knew anything about him. He didn't return for dinner. Daneel could not sleep that night. He listened to his mother crying, almost hysterically... but he could not even cry...
Early the next morning, he heard his mother call the police. They arrived. They asked them a thousand questions. No, they did not fight... No, there were no financial problems... No, he never talked about leaving... No, he did not have a lover, he did not gamble, he didn't take drugs... No... No... No... But he was gone! Evaporated. Without leaving any traces. The car was still in the parking lot of the company where he worked... His office in order. No clues. Nothing! But he had disappeared.
For about a month, the temptation had not presented itself... but then... who knows why, somehow, he had felt the need to relax with the only practice that seemed to have the power to give him peace...
And once... he was sure he had locked the bathroom door... but evidently he had not done it well... He stood, his trousers and boxers lowered, his legs wide in front of the mirror... his eyes half closed, his head slightly bent back, looking at his own reflection, and he quickly masturbated... dreaming that the one on the other side of the mirror was another boy and they were masturbating each other...
He heard the sound of the door but thought it was closed... then the scream of his mother, there, in the open doorway, looking at him pale, furious.
"Daneel! Dirty pig! What are you doing, eh? You disgusting pig!"
He froze, turned pale. Struggled to get dressed unsuccessfully: he was trying to pull up his trousers but the boxers were tangled up and prevented him... His member was hard and did not seem to want to get soft... His mother screamed... he pulled on his briefs and was finally able to cover himself... His mother hit him... He had pulled up his trousers and closed them... and his mother was screaming... he had shielded himself with his arms from his mother's fury... trembling... motionless...
"I do not want a degenerate son, a pervert in my house! Shame on... You're disgusting! Those disgusting things... not in my house! Swear that you'll never do it again... never again... never again! You must go immediately to confess, immediately, hurry up! "
And Daneel had sworn, in tears... and because of that oath, he had started telling lies. He had never told any before. Even when he had made a prank, he always told the truth... even the one time he skipped school, he told the truth. Always. But now... now he could not... not anymore... He didn't want to see his mother so angry with him... He had never seen her like this...
His mother brought him to Father Erik Mailleux, the parish priest, and he had confessed...
"How many times have you done it?"
"I do not know, father... so many..."
"Alone or with others?"
"Alone... except once... Then always alone..."
"But don't you know this is a serious sin? Even alone, by yourself? The sin of Onan: throwing away the seed God has given us to procreate. Think how many lives you have thrown away! Children who were not born because of you! Sexuality is a gift God has given us to make children in the union of holy marriage... It is not a game to be played as if it were a trivial thing. You must promise me that you will do your best not to give in to temptation! "
He promised... He was seriously determined not to do that horrible thing anymore, that bad sin... For a few days, from the shock, from fear, because he had sworn... he managed not to fall back, but then... again... and again... and again...
The mother had not surprised him anymore... and even if she checked his underpants and sheets - he did it in the toilet and dumped in the bowl, then he washed himself so he left no traces. And he went to confession... No longer with Father Erik, because he was ashamed of not being able to keep his promise, but with the assistant parish priest... And every time he confessed, he promised that he would try not to do it anymore... But every time it was in vain.
Two years of confusion, of pain, of difficulties... of forbidden dreams and practices, of repentance, of surrender. Two years in which he had developed rapidly and in which it seemed that his whole life was focused, for better or worse, there, between his legs, on his member that from time to time woke up and demanded attention. Two years in which to see his companions change before or after sport, was a cross to bear and a delight...
Desire was strengthened as his body developed. He had tried to court his female friends... because he had understood that his desires were a fagot's wishes, and he did not want to be like that! Everything was fine, with these girls, until the thing was pushed a little further and they began to touch... and he just did not get a hard-on, indeed he felt vaguely annoyed... And instead, he was getting a raging hard-on just looking, fantasising about a nice guy.
No, Daneel did not want to be a fagot... but he realised he was becoming one and could not change it... His comrades recounted their sexual prowess... with the girls, of course... They teased him because he admitted, honestly, that he had not done anything yet... So, not to be judged strange he started telling lies to them too, inspired by what friends were saying, he too said that he had done it one time with a girl from the neighbourhood...
His only lies were about that. At home, his mother had never mentioned the subject, though Daneel was aware that she was still watching him. She had forced him not to lock himself in the bathroom anymore... so he masturbated every time he took a shower... or locked in the school's toilets... And he kept dreaming, fantasising about finding someone like him, to do it together... Then he repented, and he went to confess...
After his father had disappeared, for a couple of years he had seen a certain Jaspar Baert wandering around in their house: he was a high school friend of his mother... they had met again at work... a good friend of his mother... Daneel did not like him. Incredibly... physically, he was attracted to him: he was very sensual, beautifully masculine, virile...
He wondered if he wasn't his mother's lover, but he had never seen them exchange any sign of affection... even if Jaspar acted a bit like the head off the household... even towards Daneel. But then... his mother would never have done those things without being married, Daneel thought. Not his mother, all home, work and church! Simply, because her husband had disappeared, she relied on a friend, a colleague...
But Daneel started to masturbate and fantasised about doing it with the handsome Jaspar. Once he saw him wearing only his shortest shorts, helping his mother to take care of the little garden behind the house, and he admired his muscles darting and shining in the sun from the tiny drops of transpiration that covered him... More than admiring, he had felt excited, so much so, he had run to the bathroom to masturbate, spying from behind the curtain...
He had just vented and settled back when the two entered the house. His mother was talking animatedly with Jaspar...
"... all in jail, at least! They are just perverted pigs, that's what they are! Aha! And they are demonstrating, those disgusting perverts. They call it gay-pride! What do they have to be proud of, huh? Giving their asses away? There is no more modesty. "
"That's right, Adeline." Jaspar answered. "We would should castrate them all.
Those effeminate degenerates that molest children. Yes, they should castrate them! "
And Daneel felt himself turning pale: it was as if they were talking about him... and yet... they could not know... not suspect... he was not effeminate... And he did not molest children: he liked the more developed, more virile, more grown-up comrades. He liked, at least physically, Jaspar... No, he was not effeminate. When he looked at himself in the mirror, the image he saw was that of a normal fifteen-year-old... The signs of virility were growing on his body... And he did not move, he did not speak like a girl. He did not care for dolls, far from it!
Fifteen years... And his first serious fall...
He had taken the train to Brussels to see the football match, the Namur youth team against that of Brussels. The companions who he'd gone with wanted to stay a little longer in Brussels after the game, but he had to go home, or his mother would get angry. So he took the train to Namur alone. It was almost empty. He entered a compartment and settled down.
Just before the train left, a young man entered... he must have been a little over twenty, Daneel thought. He leaned out of the compartment and asked him, with a gentle smile, if he could sit with him.
"It's empty, and the seats are not booked..." Daneel said looking him up and down. "Please, take a seat, sir."
"Don't be so formal! Between guys..." the other said, sitting in the central seat, right in front of Daneel.
He was a blond with light eyes and slender build, long delicate hands. Really beautiful. The light blue sports jacket was open showing a matching light blue T-shirt with a design he couldn't quite distinguish. A sea scene, surf. Soft anthracite trousers and leather moccasins, no socks: slightly hairy ankles peeked between the cuffs of his pants and shoes. This detail seemed very, very sensual to Daneel...
The young man rummaged in his sports bag, taking out a book which he opened. Daneel read the title, "La Danse du Coucou" by Aidan Chambers... He had read that book, logically hidden from his mother, as it narrated the love between two guys... That text had both excited and scared him at the same time. Due to the tragic end of one of the two teenagers when the other had left him for a girl...
He was absorbed in these thoughts, but continued looking across at him. At one point the boy looked up and smiled. "Do you know this book?"
A little embarrassed being surprised looking at him a little too brazenly, he replied, "Yes... I've read it..."
"It's the second time I'm reading it. I always do that. A quick first reading to know what it's like, if I'll enjoy it. Then a second, more careful reading to savour it. Are you going to Namur? You live there?"
"Yes and you?"
"No, I'm going to see my father. He's separated from my mother. I'll stay at his house for a couple of days."
He spoke with a warm, attractive smile. Daneel found him incredibly charming, sexy, and he was reading a story about a gay relationship! The train pulled out of the station. They were still alone. The young man stood up and closed the curtains shutting out the corridor. Daneel wondered why.
The young man sat down again. "Did you like the book?" he asked.
"Yes, except it ended badly," Daneel answered.
Daneel watched as the man relaxed into the seat moving his legs, and his eyes focused right there, noticing the form which hinted at what was hidden. Embarrassed by what he was doing, he quickly looked up. By accident, directly into his eyes. The young man did not avert his gaze, only smiled.
"It shouldn't always end like that, between two boys," he said softly.
Daneel didn't know what to say, he was too embarrassed. At that instant the compartment door slid open as the inspector arrived. He looked at Daneel, took his ticket and punched it. He repeated the same action with the young man, then left, closing the door behind him. They were alone again. The young man stretched his legs out, crossing them with his. They were on the outside and almost touched those of Daneel. The train rattled on the tracks and the carriage swayed slightly. Their bodies jolted with the movement so that their calves came into contact from time to time.
That repeated little touches not only pleased Daneel, but also aroused him. He felt his head in turmoil and hot flashes assail him. The young man clutched his legs lightly, which were now in contact with his, and the swing of the carriage made him press more or less heavily. He looked at him in confusion, perplexed. He was reading his book. Then he looked up from the book and smiled at him. Daneel blushed, partly because he was aware that he was getting a strong erection.
"I want you..." the young man whispered.
"Eh? What?" Daneel murmured, more and more agitated and confused.
His gaze fell quickly between Daneel's legs, then he looked up. "You've got a hard-on. You want it too."
"No... I..." he stammered, beginning to tremble slightly, his heart beating at three hundred miles an hour.
"Yes," he insisted.
He put the book down, sat up and leaned toward Daneel. Reaching out he rested a hand on Daneel's shoulder. Then he gripped his neck, leaned towards his ear and pulled him lightly against him. He caressed his hair, moved his hand over his head and brought him closer to his face... approached his lips and gave him a kiss. At first light, then tender, then intense.
"No. What are you doing?" Daneel moaned.
It did not seem possible, it did not seem real. A thousand thoughts, a thousand words crowded his mind. He was no longer able to understand, to say anything. He knew he would not be able to escape, nor did he want to.
Both hands began to explore Daneel's body, his arms, which remained at his side, then his neck again. He caressed his chest through the light cotton shirt, moving down to his stomach, finally, touching his thighs. They brushed lightly against his hard, hot penis, feeling it through the material. Daneel took a deep breath. "What are you doing?" the voice inside him asked the young man, but the words did not come out of his lips.
"I like you..." the young man told him and slipped down on his knees in front of him. His hands were busy on the button of his jeans, then began to lower the zipper.
"No..." he moaned, "... it's... dangerous... here..."
The young man stood up, went to the door and clicked the lock. "Here, come here..." he said with an encouraging smile.
As if in a trance, Daneel got up and went to him, continuing to repeat to himself that he should not, that it was dangerous, that it was wrong, that it was... The other pushed him against the door and crouched down in front of him, he slipped a hand into the open flap and rummaged, grabbed his strong erection and pulled it out. Daneel looked at him, trembling. He looked up and smiled at back at him.
"You're beautiful here too..." he whispered.
The man ran his lips along his raging penis, straight as a rod, and Daneel groaned. It was incredible. The young man reached up, taking hold of his trousers and puling a little. But Daneel held them back so they would not slip down and moaned again. The young man teased the tip of his penis with his tongue. One of his hands kneaded his testicles lightly, the other hand caressed his ass and a finger slipped between his tense, nervous buttocks, and teased the little hole.
"No..." Daneel murmured, closing his eyes and feeling his legs give way with the emotion.
But he didn't want it to stop. His legs flexed a little and the boy pushed his finger against the sphincter and meanwhile he made Daneel's entire penis slid into his mouth. Daneel groaned again and opened his eyes. Looking down, he saw his penis disappear between those lips and he felt an incredible, very strong pleasure. The young man began to move his head back and forth, gradually faster, with vigorous thrust, letting it go down into his throat. That mouth was hot, humid, and very pleasant!
His finger continued to move on Daneel's little hole, which pulsed. His penis vibrated in that mouth, his breath became laboured, and the tremors along his body became convulsive. He threw his head back, closing his eyes and felt the curtain, the glass, hard, cold, behind him. Suddenly, unexpectedly, with a series of strong spasms, he gave him all his hot seed, which the young man drank with gluttony, while Daneel moaned, in a low and choked voice: "Ooohh... I'm... cooo... coooming... oooh... "
He kept sucking on it until he could get nothing more from it. Then he pulled away from Daneel. Barely opening his eyes, Daneel hurriedly pulled up his briefs and his trousers, closed the zipper, buttoned them and gave a long, trembling sigh. When he opened his eyes, the young man was standing in front of him, a satisfied smile in his clear eyes and on his soft lips.
"Did you like it?" he asked, sure of the answer.
Daneel nodded, but murmured: "We should not have done it."
"Why not? It went well, right?"
"But..." he tried to object, but he didn't say anything else. He had liked it enormously, but now, perhaps because of that, he was terribly ashamed.
"Why don't you do it to me now?" he asked him.
"No... I cannot..." he groaned. Opening the door, he ran off down the corridor, ignoring the voice asking him not to leave, and went into another car.
He looked nervously at the communicating door between the carriages, fearing and also hoping to see him coming. He had the impression that everyone was looking at him and he felt a strong sense of shame. But he couldn't drive out the pleasant exhaustion from having enjoyed himself so intensely! If masturbating was an ugly sin, how much more ugly was what he had allowed to happen?
The next morning would be Sunday. He would have to go to communion, but now he could not. Maybe, though, if he went to church sooner, he could go to confession. Although at this time Father Erik Mailleux would be in the confessional. He, which certainly would give him a long lecture. But if he didn't go to communion he would have to endure his mother. Better the parish priest.
The train reached Namur and Daneel got out first and ran away. He did not even want to see him, that handsome boy... so brash... so good... that he had given him incredible, but forbidden pleasure. He got on the bus, still fearing the young man had followed him, but he didn't see him. On the way home, he gradually calmed down.
He entered the house and announced his arrival. He heard the voice of his mother and Jaspar respond. As he went to his room, he heard them arguing and stopped in the hallway, struck, heart in his throat, eavesdropping.
"... that gay boy. Served him right to get a beating. That'll teach him. And the newspapers are practically defending him! What a shame!" his mother said.
"The newspapers always stir things up. They slate parents because their child ends up in hospital, when they were simply attempting to raise it. That makes news! And they depict the parents as violent people. If a child doesn't do as he's told, he needs to taste the stick, for sure! " said Jaspar.
"And especially a son who does those filthy things with other boys! They all do it, the journalist have had the courage to write!"
"Not me for sure," Jaspar commented, chuckling. "With the girls, yes, of course, but with another boy. I would have put the knife in his belly if a pervert had tried it with me!" Jaspar stated.
Daneel stopped listening, went into his bedroom and threw himself on the bed, shaking, scared. A pervert, that's what that guy was on the train and he did not want to be a pervert! But, why had it been so incredibly pleasant? He had never enjoyed it so much. And that boy, had swallowed everything, and he seemed happy. A pervert, yes, but how beautiful.
No, he could not, he should not become a pervert. He should not have allowed it to happen. But he had not been able to stop it. His no had been useless. Because he said no, but... but he wanted it! God, what a shame! He had wanted to, although he still had no idea it would be so pleasant.
He got up, undressed and went to the bathroom to take a long shower. To wash off what he had allowed to happen, what he had done, what had happened to him.
The warm water ran over his penis and reminded him of the sensation of that mouth. A new erection grew. He fought briefly against the new temptation, but surrendered almost immediately. He leaned against the cold tiles, took it in his hand, and started to masturbate under the jet. He pushed his other hand behind him, and with one finger he teased his little hole as the boy had done on the train. After awhile he came again, but with less intensity than on the train, still feeling a very strong pleasure.
He rinsed off and thought that he had fallen again. He had committed another sin. Well, he said to himself, the next morning he would have two sins to confess instead of one. But why was he so incapable of controlling himself? So weak? He wondered if, growing up, he would be able to change. If his craving to enjoy himself would have calmed down. If his penis would stop getting hard so often and demanding him, controlling him, dominating him.
But, how handsome was that guy on the train. So brash, so brave, and he had enjoyed it because it had never happened before. He had escaped, when that boy had asked him to suck it.
Who knows what that would have done to him? To lick, to suck a nice penis aroused and hard? And what would the seed taste like? He would have to taste his own, one time or another. Oh no! He had to stop! Of course not, never. He did not have to fall by doing it anymore. He had not even noticed that handsome boy's penis looked like. Probably it was nice, his face and hands were beautiful.
He wiped himself off, put on his clothes and went back to his bedroom, trying to drive those thoughts out of his mind. The game... good, he had to think about the football match. Some of the players were just beautiful, sexy. No, hell, not again? He felt like a sex maniac. Who knows if Jaspar stayed for dinner? Probably yes, then he would leave after. He was often there, but he didn't seem to be running after his mother. What would Jaspar's penis be like? And its flavour? Who knows if someone ever had sucked him? Sucked by a girl, of course. He said he had never done it with a boy.
Stop! He had to stop thinking about that thing all the time!
And what had happened to his father? Possibly he had gone off with another woman? Was he tired of his mother? Why didn't the police find him? In the bank they said he had not used his credit cards. And his mother said he had little money in his pocket. So what would he live on? He missed him, his father, he missed him very much.
"Where are you, Dad?" he asked himself. "Why did you leave? What was wrong?"
His mother had begun to say that he must have died, but he didn't believe it. The police had not found his body, right? Suicide? Not even thinking about it. Not his father. He had no reason to kill himself, just no reason. But then, where was he?