Date: Wed, 12 Sep 2018 12:47:05 -0400 From: Orson Cadell Subject: Beaux Thibodaux 31 Please see original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/) for warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex between adult and young-adult men, some of them related to one another. Go away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to Nifty **TODAY** at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming. ***** Will stood up and the blaze of anger was clear and intense. "That is nasty, mean and disgusting. I won't put up with that. I *room* with them, I don't *sleep* with them. You, you, you..." Will heaved a deep sigh that promised real tears, and soon. "You aren't the person I thought you were, Beaux Thibodaux." Beaux's face had gone from outrage to desperate guilt. "Mr Faolan, please drive me home." ***** Beaux Thibodaux 31: Will or Will Not Saturday Evening, 25 August By Bear Pup ***** "NO!" Beaux's voice was like a wail and I went to speak, silenced instantly by a blazing glare from Will, followed by a wink. Oooookay. Where the hell was this going? "Will! Will, I'm sorry." Beaux was standing and I watched our little pocket Hercules flick Beaux's hand off his arm like a fly. "I didn't mean. I mean I didn't. Oh, WILL!" Will rounded on him with the grace and ferocity of a panther. "You meant every word of that Beaux Thibodaux, and don't you give me that. Why did you say it? Why?" "I don't know, me! I don't. I just thought of you and, and, and... I'm so SORRY!" "You said it to hurt me and you know it. You said it to be mean." "No! I was teasing, me!" Will spun around and harrumphed, a real, actual harrumph, and I could tell the quick spin had been because he didn't want my ward to see the wicked grin that was settling on Will's features. "Please, Will! Please! Please! I didn't mean it, me. What can I do, Will?" "You can start by telling me why you said that when you knew it would hurt me, Beaux." The kid kept trying to edge around Will or grab his arm or shoulder. Will was having none of it, and he had the intense power and grace to prevent the contacts and the flanking moves. "I don't--" "And don't you DARE say you don't know! You knew pretty well when you were making smug and nasty faces at me!" "I just, I, I..." He went quiet for a minute. "I just was, you know, hoping you'd say you liked me more?" "And you couldn't ASK? You could just say, 'Do you like me, Will?' You HAD to cut me? You HAD to go after three really nice people AND after me AND suggest I was *pretending* to like you? That I faked it cuz I want to, to what? To just g-g-g-g-g-get in your pants? You think that's all I want? After all I said to you? After all *you* said to *me*?" Will's voice went from rage to lip-trembling sadness in an instant. "No. No. You are not the person you were pretending to be. Mr Faolan, take me home please." "WILL! Will, no! Please, what can I say." "Tell me how you think I feel right now." Will still wouldn't let Beaux see his face, turning away relentlessly as Beaux circled. "You feel h-h-h-h-hurt and angry and that I done been m-m-m-mean for no reason? Oh, Will--" "And is that how you WANTED me to feel Beaux Thibodaux?" "NO!" The wail was studded with true remorse. "How did you want to make me feel?" "I-I-I-I-I-I. I wanted you to like me?" His voice had gone small. "And you HURT me to get me to LIKE you?" "I don't KNOW! I don't know, Will!" Will rounded on him again, a God of Fury, "And how do you feel now?" "I feel terrible, me! I feel like merde, shit, me! I never wanted to hurt you! I never--" Will ping the boy with a glare that could freeze hydrogen. "And how you do you think Matt feels?" Holy shit! A trap very well sprung! "M-M-M-Matt? M-M-Matt who?" Will's voice was utterly implacable; as flat and cold as an iced-over pond. "The Matt who was practically glowing when he found out you were coming to his birthday party. The Matt who practically melted when you said hello. The Matt *you* flew into a huff in front of when someone joked with you. The Matt *you* walked away from like a rooster with its tail in a snit when some 'big bad boy swatted your widdle bitty butt wid a big mean towel'. I bet *you* never even TOLD him Happy Birthday, did you?" "What?" "Did. You. Wish. That. Poor. Boy. Happy. Birthday?" "N-N-N-N-N-No. They was mean to me!" "As mean as you just were to me?" Wow. Note to self: Do not piss off Will Jones! I saw Beaux run full-speed into that brick wall. BAM! His eyes actually crossed a little. "What?" "Did they try and say you were a liar and were just pretending to like them? NO! Did they imply that you were using them for sex and getting a little on the side? NO! They teased you about your accent, which no one on this entire STATE has probably ever heard. And they did what every boy in every school in this country does when someone's stupid enough to stick his big, lily-white butt-cheeks up when boys behind them have wet towels. Did you even THINK to ask if they meant something mean? Oh, no! Not Beaux Thibodaux! Did you give them the benefit of the doubt? Oh, no, not Beaux Thibodaux!" "Stop!" "Did you? Did you give anyone else a chance to say anything? No! You pranced off like an offended princess and never even looked back. You even TOLD ME that. 'Never looked back,' you said. You never even said goodbye to that boy. On his birthday. On the day that, up 'til them, you'd helped make special!" "Will, please, please stop!" "So you, Beaux Thibodaux, are the only spoiled little brat on the planet who deserves a do-over? You prance off all insulted at the tiniest teasing, but, oh LORD, when you say something really vicious and nasty and cruel? Everybody else is just supposed to go, 'Oh, poor Beaux Thibodaux.' That what you expect?" "No! No! Will, stop! I begging, me. Tell me what to do, Will!" "You saying that to keep me from leaving, to get me to shut up or because you mean it?" "I mean it! I mean it!" "Fine. March your ass up to that office and you call and apologize to Matt. You tell him Happy Birthday. You thank him for being nice. You explain why you huffed off and ask him if he'll forgive you." "C-C-C-Call? N-N-N-Now?" "Kevin, you got the number?" "Actually, it's right next to the phone. I didn't put it in the rolodex yet. All I had was the office number." "You tell me true, Beaux Thibodaux." That whole two-name thing had teeth! "You doing this for me or because you're actually sorry?" Will's face was tender now, but still stern. "Both, but now I'm so sorry about Matt I'm could die of shame, me!" "Good. You should be. Let's go upstairs." He reached out and pulled Beaux into him. The taller teen melted into Will like wax, leaking tears, even trying to snuggle himself into Will's thick neck. POP! Nice head-slap action there, Will! "No. You don't get to snuggle and you don't get to cuddle. I'm still pissed as hell. Upstairs. Now." Beaux practically sprinted up the stairs, a parolee with a fresh pass. I followed. Will sat on the side of the chair as Beaux dialed, one hand on the youth's smooth back, petting him, soothing him. By the time the phone rang, Beaux's voice was steady. "Missus Lyons? This is Beaux-- Yes ma'am. Thank you, ma'am. Can I speak with Matt if he's-- Thank you. Yes, I'll wait." Beaux kept darting glances to Will, who was (I could tell if Beaux couldn't) working hard to stay even a little bit stern. "Matt? Matt, I am so sorry. For before. For, um," he looked up and Will scowled. Beaux sighed. "Matt, listen a minute? I, I ain't never been teased and -- no, please? I thought they was being mean, me. I know now I was just," Will silently mouthed, 'spoiled and self-centered'. Beaux closed his eyes and swallowed. "I was being spoiled and didn't try to think of it from your way. And when they, um, they, um, popped my bee-hind?" I could hear Matt giggle and Beaux matched him nervously, "Well, I just didn't think. Can you, um, can you forgive -- I'm just -- I -- Thank you. You was so nice and all and I, well, it was mean the way I went off like that. Thank you so much. And I really, really want you and Johnny, special, to come over soon? And I can make it up for you?" I heard Matt chatter happily for a moment. "And Matt? Happy Birthday?" Will reached down and hugged my ward. I smiled and retreated, unsure whether either had even seen me. I was in the bar, nursing my second beer with a new cocktail for Will and a nauseatingly-colored juice drink for Beaux when they came down a long while later. Will was blushing near to bleed and Beaux was purring. Well, enough of that. "You ready to keep going?" I swear to every god I'd ever heard of that Beaux's heart went from his throat to his toenails in about three seconds. Will smirked but (wisely) made sure Beaux couldn't see it. "Keep going what?" "Fifteen minutes is not the Saturday agreement, son. We have much of the rest of that tape to watch." If I had proceeded to anally sodomize a monitor lizard with a hissing cockroach right then, Beaux would likely have looked less appalled. Will maneuvered the near-catatonic Beaux to the loveseat. The act of curling them together brought Beaux out of his coma and I settled the drinks at each of their elbows. Next up was Wanda, a short, bouncy and tremendously-overendowed high school girl. Uncharitably, I wondered if she could stay upright on ice-skates, and whether a life preserver would ever be required -- and how she'd tie the strings! I watched with amazed approval as Will whispered and cooed Beaux into considering the girl whenever his attention wandered. He also kept all eleven of Beaux's hands off his junk... for the most part. I noted that he was far slower to remove hands from his nipples than anywhere else. I leered inwardly. We talked about Wanda and I had to commend Beaux. His appraisal wasn't that different than mine, but Will was merciless. Each cutting comment from Beaux (and from me) was rebutted instantly. And he was right. When Beaux called her a fake (which I agreed with), Will asked Beaux what fake looked like. When Beaux stammered, he asked, "So am I fake? Is Barry?" Flummoxed, Beaux backed down. I doubt the boy even recognized Will's subtle petting and casual caresses that kept modifying the young man's mood and perceptions. Next up was a serious, bookish girl named Mary. She was attractive in a severe way, with incredibly long and dexterous fingers that talked far more than her mouth. Of the three so far, she unsettled Beaux the most. She was smart with a sharp and biting wit and a lot of hidden depths. She was the first who could easily have kept Beaux on his toes in a conversation and he knew it. What she hated was "Popes and Visigoths," something the interviewer had her explain. "Men who repress people who wish to create and men who destroy things of beauty that others have created." She was disdainful at the question as if the reason should be obvious to anyone with a mind. Beaux's eyes glittered with iridescent emeralds; he hated the fact that he agreed with the young woman. I decided one more and I'll be damned if it wasn't Susie Sorority from a Lily Tomlin routine. Her actual name was "Rebecca-call-me-Becky" and she actually used the term, "rad lib orneriness," and all of us laughed. Will was, if anything, even more ruthless than either of us in eviscerating the chick. She was everything that people loathed about the modern college girl. Even Beaux didn't object to 'just one more' video. This was Kristin, and she ended up being, far and away, the most challenging. Kristi was smart, and not funny or witty at all. She was... real, quiet, serious, guarded. She was a high-school senior. She had started taking French that year and reluctantly read a poem she wrote, in French, about a kite. I watched as Beaux's mouth slowly dropped. She read it then deprecated it mercilessly, shredding her own work in a way that no polite person would that of another. I paused the video as he spun to Will. "Why she say that? That was good! Yeah, it could use some work, but I couldn't write that. I could see that kite, there! And she just learned French? Will?!?" "Beaux, people never see the good things about themselves. I... I'm not sure I understand it. Mr. Faolan?" "Okay, first, one more 'mister' from you, young-un, and I'll have you over my knee." Will snorted a laugh but I saw the appraising and quite... intrigued look on Beaux's face. Oh dear. "I am Kevin, this is Beaux and you are Will." Will shuffled uneasily. "Well?" "I, sir, um, I don't really like calling, um..." "Oh? OH! Well, until you get... more comfortable around me, we can do 'Southern' and I can be Mister Kevin." "Yes, sir." He blushed adorably. I'm a bottom and even I chubbed at this utterly toothsome young sub! Beaux was just bewildered. I tried to explain. "So, Beaux, most people, the good ones at least, find it a lot easier to believe they've failed or done something wrong than that they're really good at something." He looked from me to Will dubiously. "Let's try this. I was once walking down Rue Royale in the French Quarter when this young guy started talking about the mathematics of Ramanujan. When I looked blank, you know what he did? He blushed purple and apologized for boring me. He said something like, 'all the kids must know that.' Can you imagine? Mathematics that most college professors don't know and he thought I was mocking him?" "You can stop that now, Oncle." He was trying for stern around a mouth that wanted to laugh. "I get you, me." He turned to Will. "I, well, Will? I, um, don't know a lot of stuff but I know some things that... Oh, Oncle! Save me?" I chucked at the expressions of frustration and bewilderment on the faces of my ward and his boyfriend--POW! Ambushed by a word mid-thought. I shoved that into a corner for a minute. "Will, it's hard to explain. Because of the way Beaux was... brought up, he knows math and classics and such better than most experts but knows next to nothing about other subjects. It's why he's not going to school. He'd be hounded in a high school and utterly lost in a college." Will wormed his way around so he was staring in Beaux's eyes even though he addressed me. "Mister Kevin, I'm not really very smart--" "Ah, ah, ah!" He blushed more than ever but ploughed on, "Well, not like you two. But I'd love to teach Beaux anything I can, and learn from him too?" Beaux was enraptured. I sighed deeply enough to cause a draught. "Will, look at me." He reluctantly pried his eyes away from the teen's. "You asked Beaux if what he said was to get you to stay or if he meant it. This because you want to spend more time with Beaux, or--" Will's voice changed so utterly and so suddenly and I was silenced and Beaux's eyes went wide. "Beaux, can you get me a drink? And get it upstairs, please? One quarter cup plus two teaspoons whisky, a jigger of bitters, four ounces ginger ale, five tablespoons beer and one half-jigger Cointreau." Beaux stared for a minute, shook his head and ran up the stairs like he was fleeing a pack of rabid weasels. "What was--" Will's voice was a dull, rasping saw across ancient driftwood. "I have no fucking clue what I just asked for and I don't care. I like pleasing and taking care of people. I like men who take charge and I like..." he blushed purple, "doing what they tell me. But so help me God, the next time that you question whether I mean what I say about Beaux, that I care for him, I will do what bullies did to me when I was a kid and make you cry like a girl." His eyes blazed like a campfire run amok. But he wasn't done, not by a long shot. "You love that boy. I know that. I may not be not smart but I'm not stupid. You want to protect him and nurture him, but I want to make him happy. I don't even care how. But you try One. More. Time. to say that it's about me and not him, and I will, I will, I will..." Against all expectation, his sudden fury dissolved in tears and I rushed to him, cuddling him and cooing. "Hush, Will. Hush. I'm new to this, too. Give me the break you demanded that Beaux give Matt... please?" We could hear Beaux ransacking the kitchen for the various measuring containers. "Will, I won't apologize. I won't. I will literally destroy anyone, ANYONE, Will, who hurts that boy." Will's eyes cleared and he searched my own like a pirate searching a treasure map, certain that what he hoped wasn't true, but desperate for it to be what he'd hoped. "Will, I've never had what you want to give to Beaux. And I'm not sure the Beaux will appreciate it, or reciprocate it, or even recognize it. Are you man enough to deal with that?" Will's voice was suddenly small and unsure. "No?" "Honestly, I'd be disappointed if you could say 'yes' to that. I couldn't. Now, I hear what sounds like Cointreau." I yanked his tee-shirt up, unable to stop the thought, 'what amazingly, furry, fucktastic abs,' and dried his face. I leapt back to my own chair as an Alpine avalanche mauled the stairs, ending with a panting teen offering the small hunk a... uniquely-vile drink. Six conflicting version of beige fought a pitched battle to define it, from yellowish to tawny-ish to greenish to orangish to... icky-ish? Hideousness-ish? Will, consummate actor and dedicated submissive that he was took a sip and, well, let's say the nonverbal cues were far more convincing than his, "Oh, well, Beaux... that's just perf-f-f-f-fect." The 'f' stuttered as a ripple of true revulsion wracked the mini-muscle-stud's body. For the first time in a couple hours, I looked at the pair. Especially how they looked at one another. Will had not been kidding; his entire world was dedicated to making Beaux happy. Beaux didn't really know what the hell to make of his emotions, but how could he? I was twice his age and I couldn't. I kept silent as the two gradually, almost-painfully, flowed into one another. And in that instant, I made one of the most painful decision of my life. I cleared my throat. "Um, Will? When do you have to be at St Luke?" He refocused his eyes (no small feat) on me and said, hoarsely, "N-N-Noon?" "I know it's unfair, but would you be willing to spend the night? Beaux has had a really bad day. The upstairs guest rooms are..." Beaux's eyes burned holes in my chair in his attempt to incinerate his recently-appointed guardian. I coughed politely, "Or you could sleep, um..." I let the leer loose, "wherever seems best?" Beaux scowled, knowing instinctually that I hadn't given up that easily. "But there will be rules." I ignored any attempt by either to catch my eye. "Beaux, you will wear shorts to bed. All of your body parts will stay inside the shorts, and all of Will's body parts will stay outside the shorts. Will, same goes for you. And, no, my nascent rule-lawyer, pulling the shorts down or otherwise circumventing the inside/outside rules will not be tolerated. All sexual contact with lower 'parts' will be through a cotton barrier. Are we agreed?" "NON! Je ne suis pas d'accord! I mean, no, I don't agree and you've no {SQUEAK}!" The latter sound was accompanied by a lurch that nearly sent Beaux off the couch and he turned with fury to meet Will's slight smile. "Yes, Mr... Kevin. That will work just fine." "Will! No! It will NOT be--" Will leant in and whispered and I watched in fascinated amusement as Beaux's face went from crimson rage to magenta blush and as his dick made violent attempt to punch a hole through his pants in a sudden need to escape the cotton prison. Beaux turned to me but refused to meet my eyes. "That will be fine." Fiercer whispers and a scowl on Beaux's face led to, "And I'm sorry I yelled, me. I was," arrow-slit eyes glared at Will whose smile never wavered, "wrong to say that, me." I couldn't help it. I laughed so hard it hurt. I could see Beaux puffing like an enraged rooster before another squawk portended a spirited mini-wrestling/tickling/groping match between the two. That redoubled my mirth and I slowly recovered as they faded into a rather revolting cuddle-fest. "AHEM!" I coughed rather dramatically and got both to look at me. "If I watch you two anymore I'll be in danger of developing diabetes. I'm going to bed. Turn off the lights and the fireplace before you go to bed and make sure the outer doors are locked and the inner doors are closed. ESPECIALLY your door, Beaux." With pure avuncular cruelty, I added, "Oh, and Will? I doubt your shorts will be wearable by morning." Have you ever heard someone try to cough up an appalled gasp? Quite fascinating; much like a gigged frog. "If Beaux doesn't have anything to fit, you can ask me in the morning. Mine might be more your size?" I left two boiled beets, one atop a pocket Hercules and one atop an Adonis as I walked past to my own room. I got the door closed just in time for a very masculine and butch attack of giggles at their reactions. Regardless of what you may have decided, I wasn't a complete bastard. I was up early and left an array of underwear options on the chair closest to Beaux's door. Quite a while later, I heard the sound of a door being carefully opened -- have you ever noticed that it makes more noise when someone is trying to be stealthy than when they, you know, just *open* the damned thing? -- and then a scurrying noise as someone, probably Will, scooped up the offering and retreated at speed. I decided on a strange choice for breakfast since I was relatively certain that the boys -- I was already thinking of them that way -- would be a while. I sautéed a chopped apple in butter until it was par-cooked then added yet-more butter, along with brown sugar, cinnamon, mace and nutmeg. I took a large square CorningWare dish and added old fashioned oats, milk, cream and the apple mixture, topped it with a lid and put it into a slow oven. I created a walnut streusel and set it aside. When I decided the boys had enjoyed enough Sunday Morning Cumming Down, I uncovered the gruel and added the streusel, raising the temp of the oven as well. I came down the stairs and knocked rather more loudly than required. A querulous, "Yes?" responded. "Twenty minutes until breakfast and -- Beaux, I know you can hear me -- I'll throw it in the trash if you are not in the kitchen by that time." A mad scramble erupted and I snickered. Mugs of one of Mama specialties -- tea with a marginally-sub-lethal amount of cream and brown-butter/brown-sugar -- awaited the boys as they loped up the stairs. I took quick stock. Beaux looked like a canary that had eaten a canary colony, and Will... well, Will looked like the delighted-to-be-eaten canaries. Both were fresh from showers and I narrowed my eyes. Will noticed, "No, sir. We showered separately. And, um, sir? You really need to get better locks on those bathroom doors?" Beaux glowered mutinously as I cackled. Breakfast met with rapturous reviews and I basked in the reflected glory. It *was* good, honestly; filling, warming and homey in a way it's hard to describe. Even those who'd never known grandmotherly affection -- Will and Beaux for instance -- felt the matriarchal benediction of the scrumptious meal. As it happened, Will had an even-stricter morning routine than Tala had inflicted on us. Pocket Hercules? Fuck that! The *real* Hercules would have had a time keeping pace as Will attacked every facet of my machine like a fiend. Beaux was trapped in a no-man's land between lust, adoration and awe. Both of us pushed ourselves harder than ever and were nearly dead when a repulsively-chipper Will announced how much *better* he felt. Better? Not until someone lopped off my arms! Will followed the Zombie Twins (me and Beaux) to the steam shower and I swear he nearly came at the fittings. Only the need to minister to 'poor Beaux's' aches -- yes, I loathed Will in that instant -- kept him from waxing poetic. He even rubbed my own back -- I have never come so close to a spontaneous orgasm as I did when his hands hit my middle-back, finding knots that might well have been there in college. I was on the edge of weeping with pain/relief/joy when Beaux moaned a little and Will returned his attention to my selfish, undisciplined and uncaring (and utterly-delectable) ward. FUCK! I hate young people! By the time we emerged, Beaux adoring and Will disgustingly-smitten, it was nearly time for Will to leave. He said he had hospital 'scrubs', a term not to enter common parlance for another decade or so, in his locker at work. Using a crowbar, a gallon of Crisco and some glue solvent, I got the two separated enough to get Will into the car. Beaux looked like I'd not only stolen his candy, but fed it to the monster under the bed; Will wasn't much better. As we pulled out, Will gasped, then settled into a despondent slouch. "Will?" "Well, I, um, didn't bring a lunch and don't have enough mon-- never mind." "Interesting. Have you ever really *looked* at the glove compartment of the Celica before?" His face was priceless, with equal measures of 'stuck in a car with a dangerous lunatic' and 'don't offend boyfriend's guardian'. He leant forward and opened the miniature locker and gasped. He found a small cloth bag containing a thermos of soup (chicken, he'd find out later) and a sandwich (ham and mozzarella, ditto) with two soft drinks I'd seen him consume (ginger ale and 7-Up) and a bag of Fritos, the universal accompaniment to sandwiches for anyone under the age of thirty. He beamed at the floorboards. "Mist-- um, Kevin? I am so sorry..." "For fuck's sake WHY?" "Well, for doubting you. Last night was," Will sighed luxuriantly, "the best I've ever had. And your, um, rules?" He blushed hard enough that I had to look; the car's interior had turned red. "It was right. Beaux wanted more than he, well, than he's ready for. And if you hadn't, well you know, I might have ruined it." "You've got it backwards, Will. I could never do for Beaux what you have. And last night?" I chuckled. "I could have lectured for a year and not gotten a message through to Beaux so well, or so quickly. You are a treasure, Will, and you can't begin to know how much I appreciate you." When I let Will off at the staff entrance of St Luke, he looked like a miniature Macy's Day balloon. He bobbed as he walked and appeared to float about ten steps for every one that touched the ground. He'd extracted about six promises that I would have Beaux call him later to the point where I laughingly threatened to never let Beaux use the phone again if he didn't stop pestering me. I got home to find Beaux a complete wreck. He'd guessed correctly that the reason I didn't let him come with us was that I wanted to talk to Will alone. He leapt from that conclusion to the utter certainty that I'd told Will he could never see Beaux again. That he was some sort of bad influence and that I wouldn't... and on and on. I found that trying to interrupt the tidal wave of words (many in Bayou French) was not in the cards, so I sighed deeply and grabbed a beer and sat as Beaux's frenzy mounted and his scenarios, threats and imprecations got to the point that I was fighting not to laugh. Beaux finally stopped talking long enough (hypoxia, I think) that I got a chance to speak. "Beaux, I told Will he was the best thing I think ever happened to you and that he was welcome anytime." "You SEE! I KNEW that you were what? What? What you say?" Sigh. "Beaux, you're happier than I've ever seen you. Well, not now. Right now, you look like a fresh-caught crawdad, all blotchy and spiky and looking for anything to claw. But overall, you and Will are good together. I *will* be following Dr Silvers' advice and making sure you take this slow, but I am not going to do anything to keep you apart." Beaux was sitting there, mouth agape, trying to fit what I was saying into his fever-dream outrage. "But that comes with another lesson, and one that you really, really won't want to hear. You need to think about what happens if you two end up *not* being right for each other. Shut up for a minute, Beaux. I'm not saying you will. I'm saying that the overwhelming majority of people are absolutely convinced that they have met the perfect person a dozen times before they actually find someone to spend a lifetime with. Many never manage it." He looked at me as a welter of emotions roiled through him: certainty, defiance, pride, fear, longing, need. "Get dressed. Let's get lunch and then I know what we can do with the day." Lunch was the long-promised Minsky's. I got my treasured toasted raviolis which, shocking to me, merely interested Beaux; I got almost a third of the scrumptious morsels! The meatball sub, on the other hand, met a fate that should not be witnessed. It was like a Scooby-Doo cartoon. He lined it up and unhinged his jaw and it was gone before I started my cheesesteak. I'd been prepared, though, and a large Five Star Cheese pizza appeared just as Beaux finished the grinder. I was quite proud that I was able to get a slice without losing a finger. After that, it was off to KCMOtown, a record shop that also rented VHS tapes. This was before Blockbuster... wait, what am I saying? Who still remembers Blockbuster? Who remembers VHS?!? Anyway, suffice it to say that long, long ago, you got to watch movies by going to a store and rummaging through tapes that you then had return (be kind; rewind) a day or two later. I grabbed three for our movie night: Casablanca, Annie Hall and Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf, three of the best films about love gone wrong. We got home and I made popcorn, something that fascinated and thrilled Beaux. Corn was a vegetable to Beaux, a tender and rich one that figured in many dishes. The idea that a dried version could explode into fluffy yumminess was alien to him. I filled a bucket with ice, adding beer for me and Coca-Colas for Beaux (the horror and lasting trauma of New Coke were still a year away). The Bar had a "sports zone" designed for watching games with an old, comfy, U-shaped sofa in front of the screen. We settled there with a giant, buttery tub of popcorn between us and I queued up my favorite of the three, Casablanca. Beaux had curled into me around the time Sam was playing it again. By the end of the evening, we had a lot to talk about, mainly on what love meant and why it hurt so much. It was, at the time, one of the most touching and moving discussions I'd ever had. We each cried at various points in the film-fest, and the love-fury of Taylor and Burton, the evening's finale, both captivated and horrified Beaux. I broke halfway through Annie Hall so Beaux could coo and whisper to Will across the phone line. Will had an early shift the next day, but we arranged to pick him up on Tuesday for (to Beaux's near-incandescent displeasure) another 'girl-video' night. Beaux was thoughtful after the call. "We're watching these movies because you want to make me think about things not working with Will, ain't you?" "Yes." We were settling in again and I couldn't see Beaux's face. "It's a lot easier to become infatuated with, or even fall in love with, a person than to have something end. You and Will might grow old together, and you might grow apart in a matter of weeks. You've read the classics, Beaux. You've read Shakespeare. Things don't always work out, son. I just want you ready if things go wrong." "I don't think I could make it, me." His voice was cracking with emotion and I nearly cried. "None of us do, Beaux, when it happens. But it still happens. I can't tell the future, and I can't change fate. No one can. We can only work for the best and hope it comes out right. The sad part is, we never know what 'right' means." Beaux turned to face me, a look of real betrayal there. "But it's wrong! I know it is!" I hugged him tightly. "Yes, Beaux, it's very wrong. But it's also what it means to be human. We all do the best we can, protecting ourselves and those we love, praying that they won't get hurt, that *we* won't get hurt, but knowing that it will happen anyways. A couple weeks ago, a blinding flash and a deafening crack made me think I'd lost you forever just days after finding you. I really thought I'd die right then. The sad part, the truly tragic part, is that I wouldn't have. I'd have gone on for the rest of my life, treasuring those days and mourning what we'd never have gotten to do. Beaux, every single day is a gift. It really is. Treat it that way, Beaux, and treat Will that way. You both deserve it." Thanks to Ship, Dan, Rob and the other Rob for beta-reading this and finding my never-ending typos.