Date: Sun, 23 Aug 2020 21:59:53 -0400 From: Moon Store LLC Subject: Back Seat Angel Part 6 Hi Folks! Here is the sixth installment of my little tale. It is complete fiction, and if you shouldn't be reading this sort of stuff, don't. However, please donate to Nifty for allowing us to share with each other. Help make the world a little more colorful, and keep the forces of drudgery and conformity at bay. http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html Moonstore -------- Part 5 -- Wow. What kind of cruel people deny a boy pizza? Once again, I am struck by the strange circumstances that brought this enigmatic creature into my life. ------- Part 6 -- I don't really know how to respond to Buck's declaration that he has never had pizza before; for that matter I am not quite sure I believe him. I mean, how does a youngster grow up in the U.S. of A. and not at some point eat pizza? From what I've gathered so far, he has truly been raised in a completely sheltered environment, radically different from the norm, but he has also stated that he has been to school, knew enough about a cell phone to call an Uber, and otherwise seems fairly intelligent and observant. His statement of innocence raises so many unanswerable questions in my mind about Buck's origins and subsequent behavior that I'm beginning to wonder if I'm in the middle of some huge cosmic practical joke. I keep getting whipsawed back and forth between the ideas that he is crazy, that I am being played for a fool, or that I am somehow caught up in some extended and elaborate conspiracy. Muddled thoughts swirl around in my head like the miasma of a humid summer evening. One thing I do know, however. I am in absolute agreement with Buck that getting something to eat at this point is a grand idea. So, I busy myself with the task of grabbing a couple towels within arm's reach, and do a cursory wipe-down of our bodies so that I can get out of bed, and locate my cell phone to dial in an order. Buck assents to the rough swipe of terry cloth over his face and torso by closing his eyes and sitting passively, and then watches me silently as I do the same to myself. We are still sitting in the middle of the bed, face-to-face, and so I take a good look at my young companion after wiping the larger globs of congealing spunk off of us. His hair is askew and sweaty but not matted, his wide, trusting eyes betray absolutely no evidence of anxiety or distaste as they watch me daub the goo away, and his lips are curled up into a sweet, contented smile, like a cat when it is enjoying being stroked. Lanky arms prop his body up, and his lightly-furred legs are splayed casually, and shift back and forth as I wipe, making access easier. Even the hefting of his cock and balls to clean them off elicit no shyness. There seems to be absolutely no evidence whatsoever that our recent sexcapades have made him uneasy, nor does he appear to be exhausted or worn out. He is, despite his disarray and nakedness, completely at ease right now, alert and watchful of my movements, but seemingly uninclined to jump out of bed and poke around, nor fidget. He appears completely accepting of his environs, despite its unfamiliarity to him, and so his mellow mood begins to relax me as well. That term `angelic' rises into my consciousness again, unbidden, contrasting strangely with the mess of the bed and the smell of cum and sweat. I ponder it momentarily, and then it hits me; for once, I also feel no need to hide my own nakedness, no shame in my decidedly middle-aged frame. This is who I am, and this is what I look like, and having Buck gaze at me does not produce any shame-filled urge to cover myself up. This is different from the usual post-coital awkwardness I am used to, the ego-assuaging "was it good for you too" kinds of questions, the silly posturing, or worst, the remorseful "I gotta go now" declarations. I too can hear none of my usual near-constant inner dialogue; it seems to have similarly sloughed away as I toweled off my stomach and chest. There are questions I have, of course, about the circumstances that brought Buck to me, his crazy-religious attitudes about how we met and our subsequent carnal acts, and his potential plans for how to deal with the fact that he is essentially on the run, and how my little apartment is hardly a satisfactory place to hide from his pursuers from "The Center," but right now I feel I can just file the questions I want to pepper him with into the back of my mind, resist the urge to make small talk, and join with him in this little be-here-now moment. I close my eyes, sit, and let the serenity and quiet wash over me. Buck, too, makes no overt move to stir. (Jack-O, you got a hot naked boy in front of you and you aren't looking? - Shush, brain, not now. -- and... silence. Huh? How `bout that? No backtalk from the brain? Nice!) Eventually, though, the hunger pangs and the need to shower intrude back into my consciousness, and so after several minutes of peace and silence, I rouse myself from the bed and pad into the front room to grab my phone, and rummage through the laundry pile for some cleaner towels. Returning to the bedroom, I see that Buck hasn't moved at all, he is still sitting there silently, legs crossed, eyes alert and curious, body naked and sexy, but otherwise completely inert. I'm tempted to ask what the transition from raging bull to bovine complacency is all about, but the question seems intrusive right now, so I smile at him, shrug, toss the towels on the chair next to the bathroom door, and sit back down on the edge of the bed to call the pizza shop. He smiles too, but otherwise makes no moves other than with his eyes as I pull up the speed dial. "Hey Tony....Yeah, this is Jason. I want to order a couple of pizzas for delivery....Yup, I know I don't get the employee discount for delivered, and I want fresh-made pizzas, not freebie mistakes that got made an hour ago...I know, I know, full price ain't my style, but can't a guy live a little large now and then, even on the wages that you pay us for peasant labor? What? Yeah, Tony, your mother wears socks that smell too.... How about, ummm, a large with all the works, and a medium cheese? Mozzarella cheese, you mameluke, not fromunda. You keep your fromunda to yourself. Wash your mouth, wash your hands before you make my order.... About an hour you said? Perfect. Can I put this on account, pay you when I come in for late shift on Sunday? Cool, I'll tip cash, who's bringing them? Paulie? That little minga nephew of yours? I'll plan on eighty minutes.... Tell Paulie I heard that, too.... Does he know where I live? .... Right, number six. Grazie mille, Tony, see you later." Throughout my exchange with Tony on the phone, Buck has been watching me banter rudely with my boss, rapt. Now, my call done, he reaches out and takes my phone from my hands, turning it over and squinting at the caller ID for the pizza shop, as if memorizing it. I'm curious what he's thinking, so I ask, breaking the silence between us. "Buck, were you serious when you said you've never had pizza before? I mean, didn't you at least eat school lunches or something?" He turned the phone over once again, then gently placed it on the side table. He turned to me and said earnestly, "Jack, we at The Center grow all our own food, and Brother and Sister Christians made meals for us to take to school. It is forbidden to eat that which has not been blessed. So I've seen others eat the peet-sa, and they taunted us for refusing, but I was not tempted." "But, you're sure you're okay with eating it now, right, Buck? Because I don't think I've got anything else in my fridge except beer, soda, and stale bread. I'm not much of a cook, I'm afraid. I just deliver the stuff." "Oh yes, Jack. We made a covenant, remember? You said so. This place has been sanctified." He beamed. Holy crap. He took everything I said literally and seriously. I just meant that `sign of our covenant' phrase as a prelude to a kiss. Well, either I majorly put my foot in my mouth when I said that to him, and am going to have to do some furious backpedaling when he calls me out on this so-called covenant, or I am going to have to figure out how to live up to his expectations as a newly-found role model. Hoo-boy. How do I get myself into these messes I make by running my mouth? It seems that every time that I try to brush off Buck's crazy pronouncements as memorized doubletalk, he blindsides me with some earnest and sincere statement that ensnares me further into his worldview. How do I get out of this? Do I even want to? I sigh, file these questions with the others, and do my best to smile back. "Buck, we got time to get clean before Paulie comes with the pizza. Let's grab towels, head to the bathroom, and wash up, okay?" I suddenly flash on the possibilities a romp in the shower with this sexy teen might entail. A chance to run my soapy fingers up and over his backside. Sliding a hand into the cleft between his pert butt cheeks. More. I could almost hear the gears shifting in my head as I looked down at the little fur patch on the top of his feet, then up his slim legs, past his plump balls and slumbering sausage, up the light treasure trail on his flat belly to his dark pink nipples, and back up past his warm, kissable smile into his eyes. I'm sure I unconsciously licked my lips as I made my scan of Buck's body, and I definitely know that my tentative smile has turned into leer, because Buck's eyes seem to lock onto mine, acknowledge my appraisal, and he deliberately looked down and gave me a frank once-over as well in return. He then nodded to himself, as if he had come to some sort of decision, and rose from the bed. "Yes, Jack, let us go and bathe. Each other." He extended his hands to me, palms up, eyes wide in invitation, and, after a moment of dumbfounded shock, I silently assented, and allowed myself to be pulled up into a standing position and led into the bathroom. As we stepped into the relatively confining space, I briefly scanned the room, hoping for something a little more romantic to present itself than the usual display of generic body wash, shave cream, toothpaste, and mismatched washcloths, but Buck seemed to be paying the contents of the counter no mind as he fiddled with the handles and spigot over the bathtub. (What, Jack, you expect him to judge you by the number of beauty products you have furnished in your boudoir? -- Yes, brain, I feel judged, but not by him, so shut up.) As he leaned over to test the water, I glanced down at his slim form, taking the broad but lightly-muscled shoulders, the smooth skin of his back, the small pert globes of his butt. I noted that he had a dusky blond fuzz of a treasure trail beginning in the small of his back, and continuing into his ass crack, matching the one on his stomach. With his outsized junk hidden, his body appeared much more delicate, and his demure movements as he familiarized himself with my shower controls tantalized me with their economy. Unable to refrain from touching the exquisite naked form in front of me, I reached out to trace my fingers down the bumps of his spine, and Buck hummed in response as he felt me gently massage him. My hands slowly worked their way down his back, until I was cupping and kneading his firm glutes, to which Buck quietly moaned. By now, the steam from the shower had started to waft into the room, so I gently released my hands from his butt, and pulled him into a standing position so that we could step into the bathtub together and pull the curtain shut. I helped the boy position himself under the spray of hot water, and helped him wet himself all over by lifting his arms up, turning him slowly around, stepping behind him, and then sliding my hands up and down his chest, his back and posterior leaning against my belly. We then switched positions and I allowed the warm water to cascade over me, his body still pulled against mine, sharing the feel of wet warmth and the slipperiness of our skin rubbing together. I then grabbed the bar of soap and began running my hands over his body, gliding over his back, his shoulders, then across his pecs, under his arms, tickling the hairs there, eliciting a giggle. Then lower, coating his abs with lather, then into his pubic patch, firmly working the remnants of jism free from the curls, then down under his balls. I gave his half-hard penis a few tugs with my soapy fingers, and he responded with a purr, but his earlier hair-trigger response seemed to have abated, so I continued to silently slide my hands down and around his slim torso, until I was sliding my fingers up and down his ass crack, slowly working my way in. Buck seemed to offer absolutely no resistance to my exploration of his butt, so I probed until I found his rosebud, and my finger scraped across his sphincter, making him twitch and squirm, but he otherwise made no sound, nor indicated that I was invading forbidden spaces. Emboldened, I pushed my soapy middle finger inward, and, after momentary resistance his ring relented and I was able to slip inside his ass, first a fingertip, then, gently working my hand in and out of his crack, to my second knuckle. This brought forth a whimper, but still no indication of reluctance, so I continued, eventually burying my digit in the warmth of his guts, where I slowly began searching for, then finding, his prostate, which caused him to gasp. I wrapped my free arm around his chest and pulled him to me, and began thrusting my finger in and out of his sphincter, working his tight hole until it was slick, and he was responding to my probing thrusts by backing up against my belly, the wet curls of his head thrown back against my shoulder, until he had my now-hard cock wedged between our two bodies, and my shaft slid up and down the lowest part of his back, making me groan with pleasure. I marveled at Buck's sudden transformation from dominant thruster to submissive bottom, and the urge to pry him apart and bury my dick in his hot hole was near overwhelming, but I realized that the logistics of trying this in this small shower was daunting, and I didn't want to unintentionally take his virginity without some sort of discussion first. Honestly, the prior talk of covenants and defiling oneself and temptation of the Devil coming from him has me justifiably spooked. His initial reaction to sexual stimulation just a couple hours ago was, to put it mildly, extreme. I am not quite ready at this point to find out what his reaction to getting fucked in the ass might be, even if his body language seems to indicate that he wants me to keep going. Reluctantly, I slowed my pace until our bodies were still, breaths ragged, the hot water cascading over us. "Buck, turn around and trade places. Your turn to soap me up." He slid around to face me as I withdrew my finger from his butt, and looked up at me with eyes shining. "Yes, Jack, I will give to you what you ask. We grow together." With that, he started to run his hands up and down my chest, spreading some of the soapy lather over me, then began working his way down my body, washing and then rinsing me bit by bit, until his hands began caressing my turgid pole and fondling my pubic hairs, making me gasp. As the water rinsed my crotch free of soap, he knelt down and faced my aching tool, and, as I watched in awe, he opened his lips, pulled my prick into position, and took me into his mouth. Until now, Buck had been jerking himself off, had been the passive recipient of my oral and digital explorations, or he had been instinctually thrusting and humping in order to fulfill that age-old need to get himself off. But now, here in the shower, he was demonstrating a desire to explore mutually pleasurable options, and even submissive behaviors. Wow. This was a whole new level of wish-fulfillment for me. I do not know what prompted this, but I absolutely am not going to say no. Warmth and wetness enveloped my throbbing member as he slowly slid his lips up and down on my pole, and I groaned in ecstasy as he swallowed me as deep as he could, forcing me down his throat until he choked slightly, then pulling back up the shaft, lips still tightly encircled around me. He then proceeded to enthusiastically bob up and down on me, establishing an uneven rhythm, stroking my shaft with his fingers and sucking on the head. His blowjob was inexpert but undeniably eager, and he hummed in pleasure as he worked my tool over with his spit and friction. The teasing sensations of boyish hands made the urge to establish a rhythm well up inside my loins, and so I clasped my hand over his, demonstrating a stroking speed for him to emulate, and started to guide his actions to intensify my pleasure. "Grab hold of my nuts and play with them, son, I like that. And use your tongue on the head....yeah just like that, but be careful of your teeth. Make a fist and stroke the shaft, right at the base of my cock....Oh, damn, that's a good boy....uh hunh, keep doing that, son, just like that, and you'll make papa cum." (Oh, we're doing the daddy stuff now! Yeah, make him service you! -- Shut up, brain, you can spectate, but not kibitz.) He pulled gently on my nuts with one hand, using the other to form a circle around the base of my cock, and did his admirable best to follow my directions, despite obvious rookie status as a giver of head. Eventually, I could stand the irregular pace of his blowjob no longer, and grabbed hold of the sides of his head with my hands and guided him up and down, and my hips began humping up into his hot, suctioning mouth, and I felt my balls began to churn up their load, getting ready to spew. Buck continued to gulp and slobber on my cock, I could feel myself getting closer and closer to the edge. He took my thrusts valiantly, and even when he pulled off gagging once, he dove back onto my knob immediately, lapping at it with his tongue while he regained his breath, and keeping hold of my thrusting tool with his tight fist. My chest was heaving, I was huffing and grunting, and I needed to reach out to the shower curtain rod for support. I really hoped that we wouldn't come crashing down into the bathtub before I got my nut, but my desperation, and Buck's enthusiastic slurping on my pole as I humped his face, meant that our position on the slippery floor was getting more and more tenuous. Finally, I resorted to balancing myself on Buck's shoulders, and ramming my cock in and out of his choking throat, praying that he wouldn't suddenly pull away or fall over. I was so close to getting my nut that I couldn't help myself, and concerns about treating my teenage charge with any dignity or respect fell away as I rammed my dick deeply into his throat over and over, straining for release. Buck seemed to accept my frantic need and hung on, doing his best to stay upright, and steadying himself against the side wall with his arms to allow me to face-fuck him to the point of no return. "Oh God, son, I'm gonna cum. Fuck yeah, fuck yeah, make papa nut. Ungh, ungh, oh shit, oh shit, right there, boy. Fuuuuck!" Buck pulled off of me at the last moment, grabbed my dick, and began to stroke me furiously with his fist, sending me crashing backward against the shower wall for support. I arched my back, and shoved my hips forward, ready to explode. Pushing his clenched hand onto my pubic bone to steady me against the stall, he then grabbed both my nuts with the other and pulled down, hard, and I responded by spraying a huge rope of jism onto his waiting face, and I let loose with a loud roar as my orgasm overtook me like a runaway diesel truck. My head snapped back, and I let loose with several more volleys of cum, grunting in pleasure with each shot, my eyes squeezed shut, seeing stars. Slowly, my orgasm subsided from giant intense waves of rapture to spasms of pleasure, and I was able to reopen my eyes and watch as Buck lapped the side of my shaft, purring as the remains of my load oozed off of the head of my throbbing prick, dripping over his fist. Finally, just staring intently at my cum-soaked crotch, panting, he coaxed the last of the jism from my balls by kneading them gently in his hand. I came down off my incredible high and tried to catch my breath, able finally to steady myself against the wall, slumping down, panting, practically insensate. I looked around, amazed at the paintjob of jism I had splattered across his face, the shower stall, the curtain. I hadn't remembered cumming this hard in years. My twitching cock finally subsided, and I stood without support, so he stroked the head of my dick lovingly, as he might pet a favorite puppy, and then let me go. He looked up at me with a self-satisfied smile, and sighed, rolling his shoulders like he had just finished a good workout. I stared at him in disbelief. A couple of hours ago, this young guy was practically tearful with remorse at the fact that he had an orgasm, decrying the sex act as the Devil's temptation. Now, kneeling at my feet as the water in my shower turned tepid, he had just given my the most mind-shattering blowjob of my life, and seemed happy about doing it. If I had at this point suddenly come to, strapped to a gurney in a mental ward, to discover that this had all been some fever-induced hallucination, I would not have been at all surprised. This was beyond any fantasy I had ever had; beyond any scenario I had ever hoped. I began this little adventure with this teen boy doubting his sanity. Now, I was beginning to doubt my own. No orderlies showed up to pull the shower curtain aside and ruin the dream, however, so I eventually pulled Buck to his feet, and hugged him to me as the water ran over us, washing the sperm and soap down the drain. I shook my head to clear away the crazy thoughts, and tried to get my noggin to clear itself, and dispel both the imaginary nuthouse, and the post-cum sluggishness. I remembered that we had a delivery coming to the apartment shortly, and this spurred me to speech and action. "Buck, we need to get dried off and dressed, the pizza guy is going to be here any minute." "Okay Jack. Our time of growing together in body is over. Now, we share food, and we can talk, and grow together in spirit." I turned and shut the water off, and looked down at Buck's face. He looked back up at me, expectant, and I saw that there was absolutely no guile, no deceit in his expression. He seemed to simply accept that our connection was supposed to involve mind-blowing sex, that I would have questions about him and his behavior, doubts about what had just happened between us. Either he was wise beyond his years, clairvoyant and knew how to read minds, or had managed, in the few hours we had known each other, to forge an intuitive bond with me that defied any rational explanation that I knew of. That, I ruminated, or I was being played by a master manipulator. If the last were true, however, he already had me in his trap. I sighed, and stroked the water out of his mop of dark curls. Please, I thought, don't let the worst of my suspicions be true. I don't want the evening to end like that. I turned and grabbed the towel, and we busied ourselves for the next couple of minutes getting dry and presentable, stopping occasionally to reach out to each other with a gentle stroke, a sly tickle, sometimes a slap and a giggle to keep wayward fingers on the task at hand. As my little teen nymph had entered the bedroom sans clothes, I rummaged in my drawers for anything that would remotely fit him. A pair of elastic swim trunks, too small for me, hung baggily from his hips, but served to make him look decent. Buck, surprisingly, picked out an old tie-dye for his shirt, shrugging it over his shoulders and then looking down at the lurid design with a grin. It hung halfway past his hips but he didn't seem worried about the size. I slung on the first pair of slacks I could find, and, in a show of solidarity, pulled out another tie-dye from the bottom drawer and put it on, even though it was faded and had holes in it. Whatever. Who knew that the concert trinkets of my misspent youth would be put to use in such a fashion? As soon as we finished, the doorbell rang, and I could see Paulie's old coupe with the `Tony's Pizza Parlor' topper just outside the front window. Glancing at my watch, I saw that it had been eighty minutes, almost exactly. Either they were busy at the shop, or Paulie had stopped on the way to my house to chug a beer, as I knew he was prone to do when out on delivery. It always seemed to take him an extra ten minutes to make his rounds, but he was affable, handsome in a dark and raffish way, and always seemed to be able to get away with stunts like this. Folks just didn't seem to mind his lack of punctuality when he turned on the charm. Plus, he was the owner's cousin, so he wasn't going to get fired, and he knew it, as long as he kept his delays within plausible limits. I grabbed my wallet and headed for the door. Momentarily, I thought to tell Buck to stay out of sight, but he was right behind me, obviously curious about the process of food delivery and what the appearance of pizza might be, and seemed completely unconcerned about whether anyone from "the center" might be knocking, so I chastened myself for being so guilt-ridden, and flung open the door. Paulie stood there, pizza boxes in hand, trademark smirk on his face. He glanced at me, then peered down at Buck, who was standing behind me with his head poking out from behind my back, like I was his bodyguard. "Hey, Little C! You finally get to taste what the vegetables you bring us taste like when we cook them up! Or at least you will if this ghiottone doesn't eat all of the pizza himself! I won't tell your uncle if you won't! Mangia!" Paulie looked up at me and his smirk widened. "And I won't tell your uncle either, you dog! Enjoy your dinner, and the pizza too!" With that, he shoved the two steaming hot boxes in my hand, plucked the twenty out of my hand without offering change, sauntered back to his car, shouted "ciao" as he climbed in, and sped off. I hadn't had a chance to say a word since I opened the door, and I stood there, gape-mouthed. "You two know each other?" I finally managed to sputter. "Yes Jack, we deliver vegetables from The Center to his uncle's shop and other places. He calls me `Little C' and my Brother Christian Mentor `Big C.' He always offers us food when we come but we must refuse because it is not blessed. He is nice, though, he is not teasing us, he is friendly. I like him. Can I see the peet-sa now? I'm hungry." I looked down at the boxes in my hands and shrugged, and handed them to Buck, who took them to the end table by the sofa and set them down. I can see that I have even more questions that need answers. How is it possible, I wondered, for me to have gone through my life so clueless as to what is going on around me? Buck knows the shop where I work? Paulie called me `dog' and knows the proximate reason for Buck and me to be hanging out in my apartment in matching t-shirts? And is not fazed about it? This nefarious Center is peddling vegetables to places all over town but I've never heard of it? My head is spinning. I glance over at Buck and he is standing expectantly by the unopened boxes, tracing over the word `pizza' with his hand, and realize he is sounding the word out. I walk over to him and unstack the boxes, placing them side-by-side on the coffee table, the top facing the TV set, the openable end facing the sofa, and set the nearby roll of paper towels next to them. Obviously, I have done this setup many times before, and I look sheepishly over at Buck, who says nothing. The slovenliness of a meal in a bachelor pad does not seem to register with him, and I realize that since pizza is new to him, the supposed table manners of how to consume it properly don't matter. If you ask me, anyways, the folks who eat pizza on china plates with a knife and fork are the heathens, not us. I flip open the boxes and Buck utters an "ah" as the steam wafts up. I place a paper towel in Buck's hand, and pull a slice of the multi-topping pizza free, since that was the one Paulie identified as having the familiar vegetables on them, and place it delicately on top of the towel, where Buck eyes it, practically drooling, but makes no move to eat it, and he instead sniffs it and looks over to me, seeing what I will do. So I grab an equal slice, put it on a towel, raise it to my mouth, and bite the end off, nodding over to Buck and indicating that he should do the same. He closes his eyes, briefly contemplating, and I suspect he is `blessing' his food, and then he copies me, chewing tentatively. He then grins and swallows, nodding and giving an affirmative "Umph" to me before taking the next, larger bite. Before a minute has passed, he has demolished the slice in his hand and reaches out for another, pulling it from the pizza box himself, losing half the toppings as he drags it out, but piling them back on top before taking a huge chomp out of the slice in his hand, eyes closed in apparent delight as he eats. I guess eating pizza comes naturally to teen boys, no matter the privations of their former life. I eat my slice more slowly, mulling over in my mind how to approach the multitude of questions I have for Buck. I pull my second slice out of the plain cheese pie so that Buck can get slices out of that box as well, and he follows suit, giving another "Umph" to indicate approval as he tries it. I notice that he is eating his slices crust and all, unlike some spoiled modern folks who do not deign to eat the untopped portion. Waste not, want not, I guess, and he is obviously enjoying his meal, so who am I to tell him that he ought to throw part of it away? While my young charge continues to wordlessly and voraciously demolish slices of pizza, I frame how best to approach what I want to know, without offending Buck by prying needlessly into his private life. I suppose asking about the food he is eating is as good a way to open the conversation as any, so I swallow, set my slice down and look over at him. He is, to my mind, still sexy as hell, even distracted by food and with his body hunched over the coffee table, and I note that his trouser snake has halfway worked its way out of this second baggy pair of shorts he has worn today, despite being completely ignored right now in favor of a newly-found love of pizza. Oh well, time for that later. I clear my throat. "Buck, I'm glad you like the pizza. And Paulie mentioned that you deliver from the center to the shop, so he recognized you. So, does this center grow food and sell it? Is it some kind of camp or commune?" "Jack, we at The Center are a community. We are self, um, self-sustaining, Brother calls it. We grow food and raise animals, we sell what we don't need to The Others and use the money for what we cannot make. It is God's Plan we follow, we reject the temptations of the world and lead lives of simplicity and righteousness. Money is gotten as a necessary evil to keep the forces of The Devil at bay, not as an end to itself." Okay, we are at the point where the crazy-talk is beginning to seep in, but my hope is that Buck is just repeating phrases that he has previously heard, and not starting out on a rant of his own. I hope that I can steer the conversation towards facts, rather than dogma. I kind of like this new, improved Buck that has shown himself to me -- a normal, horny teenage boy sans inhibitions, sweet and playful. I don't want a resurgence of the scared kid who thinks Jesus needs to flagellate us for being horny. I do need answers, though, so I ignore the last comment and focus on what I can find out from him. "So Buck, your community is self-sustaining. Is it just called `The Center' or is it known by another name? I mean, I've never heard of it, even though I must have eaten some of your produce at some point. I work at the pizza shop with Paulie, right? So I must have seen what you delivered, even though I've never seen you before today." Buck carefully sets the crust of the slice he is munching on down on the paper towel in front of him, and turns to me. It appears he is willing to talk, and tell me a little of his backstory. "Yes, Jack, I forget that The Others do not know about us; we are The Foundation Upon the Rock of Peace at the Center of the Universe. Our Family has a farm and we call that Center Farm because the true name is too long to say all the time. Since we live at the center of the universe, we just call it The Center when we speak to our Sisters and Brothers of it. But the farm is not in the middle, we are. The farm is around us, and both sustains and protects The Rock, and shields us from that which is unholy." I think back to what I've seen around Tony's place, and remember `Center Farm' stamped on some of the boxes that I've broken down and heaved into the dumpster while I was cleaning up the kitchen between deliveries. I didn't think anything of it at the time; the name sounded generic, not local, and certainly not nefarious. My shift, too, is usually late, so I'm not surprised that their incoming deliveries bypassed me. I'm troubled, however, by his assertion that his little `family' needs protection from the unholy. That speaks to a streak of paranoia. And, uh, wow, living at the center of the universe? That's a heck of a claim to make. Buck reaches down and grabs the crust of pizza, and takes another bite out of it. I do the same, and contemplate how to frame the next question, because, if he's got a family of folks out looking for him, and they categorize me as one of the `unholy' that Buck is supposed to be shielded from, I could potentially be in some sort of physical danger, should they be inclined towards violence. And I don't have the means to protect either myself or Buck, no matter whether he thinks we have somehow `sanctified' this little apartment with a `covenant.' I have no idea who I might call on if threatened; neighbors? the guys at Tony's? Uber support? Hell, I don't even have a firearm, it never occurred to me I might use one. So if it comes down to `us versus them' it is definitely going to go in favor of them, not me. And I don't even want to contemplate potential kidnapping charges, if the law were to step in between, so that option is out, too. I swallow, sigh, and face the boy sitting next to me on the sofa. "Buck, you seemed to think that the folks from the center might chase you all the way to the airport, that they might attempt to track you down using the Uber app when you first got in my car. Do I need to take steps to protect us from your friends? Do you think they might mean us harm if they found us? Was the `scourge' you talked about receiving something that would physically hurt you? Or even me?" I watched Buck carefully, and he seemed unsure how to respond, so I continued, my voice a little firmer. "Buck, we are not just `others,' you know. We are a society, and we have laws in place, laws that protect people from violence or abuse. We do not believe that god, or anyone else, has the right to directly punish us for transgressions, real or imagined. If you want me to say something to the authorities, tell me. I want to help you, so I need to know." Honestly, I'm not sure the law would be helpful in this situation. Social Services are not known in my town as being particularly well-organized. Nor would I welcome the intrusion and questions such an appeal to the law might bring on myself. I'm bluffing, I know that. But I will not countenance some youngster being beaten into submission by zealots. The offer of help is real. The implication that I have resources to back that up, well, not so much. He looks up at me, seemingly shocked at my little speech. "Oh no, Jack, nobody from The Center would ever try to hurt you, or me. And nobody is ever violent. Violence is ungodly." He hung his head, and I could see his cheeks coloring. "Jack, when I met you, I was scared. I was disobedient. I had stopped taking the medicine that Brother Christian Mentor had given me, and I had run away from The Center rather than tell him what I had done. What I had not done. Um, what I failed to do. And I knew they would come searching for me when they realized that I was no longer at the farm, or at my parent's abode, or in the Brother's hall. But not because they wanted to hurt me. They would never hurt me. They would come looking because we are God's family and we look after each other." He looked up at me, and I could see that his eyes were red. I tried to recall if I had seen any sign of corporal punishment on him during our shower together. I had, of course, seen pretty much every inch of his body, and I had to admit that I saw absolutely no mark, no bruise, that might imply abuse. Even the scrapes on his knuckles and knees, which I could see now as I sat next to him, looked like typical teenage encounters with rocks, dirt, and the like, not anything inflicted. He saw me looking at him with concern, so he looked back down at his lap and continued. "Jack, I think I ran away from Brother Christian Mentor and The Family because I was angry, and I knew that they would come looking for me because God commands that we love one another. They would want to protect me. But I was angry and did not want to atone for my transgressions, and I did not want their help. I wanted to be alone. I wanted time to think." He drew in a shaky breath, exhaled, and went on. "I did not want to talk to The Maven and have her intercede with me and Brother Christian Mentor. I told Brother I was going to the farm, but I told Sister I was staying home, and I hid in the van when it went to deliver, and then I got out and found the phone and the hoodie, and I called you. Well, I used the Uber app like I've seen others at school, and it was you. And then the eruption of Satan happened, and we became tainted. Are you mad at me?" I looked at him, and his lip was trembling. I looked directly into his pleading eyes. "No Buck. I am not mad. I was shocked when it happened, but not angry. And Buck?" "Yes, Jack?" "We are not tainted. We are not defiled. We are not dirty. Stop calling it that. Yes, and the, um, eruption is not something that everybody would understand, and some would be, uh, distressed by it, but I was not. We, um, we bonded. Yes, we bonded, which is what happens when people face troubles together. Which we did. Which we are." I realized that our conversation could be derailed by a discussion of our orgasms, and I glanced down at Buck's lap, to see if we were in danger of an immediate repeat performance. His pants leg was open, almost showing the tip of his cock, and I could see the lump in his shorts where his balls nestled. It looked inviting, but he didn't look like he was hard. Yet. Maybe the `medicine' is wearing off. Or maybe the serious discussion is enough distraction. (Maybe the distraction needs to be avoided, Jack-o! Why don't you give the poor boy some real help, instead of talking him to death? -- Shut up, brain, I'll get back to you later.) I look back up into his eyes. "I'm glad you called me. I think you might have been meant to. We are helping each other, whether you believe that or not. It's not a one-way street. I don't believe in your god, but I do believe in angels, and I think it's more than a coincidence that you pinged me and not some other random Uber driver. So maybe one of us is supposed to be the guardian angel for the other. I'm glad it's me that found you, and not, like, the police." Buck nodded. "Before, we have had others leave The Center below the Age of Decision, and they ended up in, um, in, custard?" I laughed. "I think the word you are looking for is custody. That means held against their will. No, Buck, we're the ones who ended up in custard. Did you like the flavor?" A giggle. We both locked eyes for a moment, and then a glance downward, both at the same time. When we both looked up again, the mischief in our expressions helped to lighten the seriousness of our prior moods. "Buck, I would like to continue this discussion later, because I still have a lot of unanswered questions. But, if you're pretty sure that we are not in danger, and that the people from the center are not going to hurt us, maybe we should just relax and finish the pizza, and maybe find a movie to watch. You are welcome to spend the night here, if that is what you want. Cool?" He again nodded, this time smiling, and he reached out and grabbed his by now cold pizza, and munched a bite. I did the same. After a moment or two of thoughtful chewing, he turned to me, swallowed, and said, "Jack, even the scourge is not hurting someone. I am still a little afraid of being scourged, because I have seen Brothers and Sisters cry afterwards, but not because their bodies were punished. Scourge is supposed to hurt your, um, your pride. I think I need time to be away from The Center so I can think about what to do next. Even if it is for just a little while. I need to figure out some things. So, if you're really going to let me stay here, yes. I want to. With pizza and a movie. That would be, um, cool." With that declaration, he smiled up at me, tentative and shy, so I grabbed his shoulder and gave him a little side hug of encouragement. He responded by scooting over the space between us on the sofa, and snuggled up against me, tucking his head into the hollow under my arm. From there, he reached across and snagged another slice of pizza, which, if I was counting correctly, was his fifth. Typical voracious teenager, I noted. (Hope he's voracious for some more dick, too! -- Well, no shit, brain, but don't be crude. Cuddling during a dinner date is nice too, so shut up and enjoy for now. Geez! What a buttinski!) I leaned over and found the remote for the TV on the side table, trying to decide what kind of movie would set the mood for us, then changed my mind, and tossed the remote into Buck's lap. "Here, you figure this out. It's time you left the center of the universe, and were introduced to the World."