Date: Thu, 16 Feb 2017 18:23:24 -0500
From: Bear Pup <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: Beaux Thibodaux 5

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.

*****

Beaux just sat gulping over and over, Adam's apple bouncing like a toy
ball. He turned to me, the food (for at least those few millisecond)
forgotten. "You own all this?"

"No, Beaux." I blushed hard as my voice choked a bit. "No, *we* own all of
this. This is *our* home, not mine now. You understand that, right?" He
went still and silent and I saw a tear work its way down his pale cheek
just before he nodded brusquely as the ravenous stomach monster reasserted
it dominance over the boy. I reached over and laid my hand on his
shoulder. Beaux stiffened, then sighed and relaxed. It was a start at
least.

*****

Beaux Thibodaux 5: The Docs

By Bear Pup

M/T; bonding (NOT bondage); medical; masturbation

I showed Beaux his room, his eyes wide and staring. The room that would be
his was a guest-room I designed especially for men or male couples who
would stay for an extended period. A king-sized bed (identical to the one
in my own master bedroom at the other end of the floor) was flanked with
nightstands. I was particularly proud of the fireplace of stacked stone
running straight to the ceiling, centred on the window-wall with the same
views of the lake and woods. A pair of comfortable chairs on a Persian rug
sat in front of it with a side-table between them. Like the rest of the
lower level, the floor was laid with polished stone (rough stone in wet
areas).

"Onc... Kevin, you said that I should tell you if, if I needed a minute?
This would be that." I smiled and sat with him in the chairs. He looked at
everything from the view to me to the furnishings to the size of the space;
I did my best to stay relaxed and appear to look at the view whilst trying
to see Beaux's reactions out of the corner of my eye. He finally calmed
down and his voice was now quiet, "Kevin, this is a lot. I'm out of my
depth, me. I'm sorry, but I don't know what to do or say or think."

"DO? Do what you think best. You're a smart young man. Say? Say what comes
to mind, son, and I'll try my damnedest to tell you anything you want to
know. Think? I can't help there, other..." my voice caught a
little. Allergies, I'm sure. "... other than that this is your home, yours
as much as mine. This room is *yours*, son, and everything in it. So is the
home overall, but there are a lot more rules in the rest of the house there
since I live here, too. We'll talk more later, but can you handle the
idea?"

"I don't rightly know, me. I'll, I'll try, Oncl... Kevin."

"If it helps, think of it like the Place d'Armes for now. A place to come
back to at the end of the day."

He smiled a bit and nodded, relaxing a bit more. I showed him the closet
(huge, like all the closets I design), then the bathroom. This, THIS was
special. Similar to my own, it had a jetted tub and a huge shower (easily
big enough for two; four if they're up to something naughty). Commode,
double-sink vanity, and, piece de resistance, a full-height, locker-room
style urinal. And there I hit a stone wall.

Beaux looked at it, then the shower. He looked at the commode and sinks,
and then the urinal. He looked at the jetted tub, then, again, at the
urinal. "Okay, Oncle, I'm stumped, me. What's that do?"

I was utterly wrong-footed. "It's called a urinal. So you can piss without
the fuss and flush of the commode."

"Um," he blushed with furrowed brow as he stared at the porcelain object,
"but how, Oncle?"

Ooookay. Well, perhaps that explained the soft, liquid sounds when I'd
expected to hear the rushing torrent of a teen male's piss. Nobody ever
taught him to pee standing up. All righty then.

"We'll get back to that, okay, sport?" He just looked at me with a crooked
frown and nodded, suspicious, like I was winding him up in some way. With a
last glare at the urinal, he followed me out into the Bar again. One of the
many things that made my custom homes unique was the complete separation of
sleeping spaces. No bedrooms touched another; none shared a wall. Now even
if they did, no one could hear anything 'intimate' unless they listened at
the door, interior walls were soundproofed as well; sound control was a
speciality (read: obsession).

Off the bar was the utility/gym/storage room, a large space with fitness
equipment (no, I didn't even go there), washer/dryer and other
equipment. In the farthest corner was the dumbwaiter to upstairs. Rack
after rack of stainless 'gorilla' shelves lined the walls. I shopped
frugally, but liked to have two weeks of everything needful in reserve. Get
stuck in a long snowstorm with power outage and you'll understand why. The
Family Room was the other side of the Bar, a two-story space soring with
windows. The staircase to the upper (main) floor was on the opposite side,
open and inviting. Beyond was the double-door to the master suite, an area
I definitely did not show Beaux.

"Simple rule, Beaux. Everyone needs and deserves privacy. I will never,
ever enter your room without knocking or your permission. That door," mine,
"is my own room and off limits unless you knock and are invited. Deal?"

"Oh, Oncle, I'd never go where you said not to. You can come into my room
anytime. It's your--"

"NO!" My voice was a bit more-harsh than I intended and Beaux pulled up
short. I tried to soften my tone. "This is *your* home, *your* house, as
much as it is mine. I know it's hard, but please, Beaux, please. At least
*pretend* that you believe this is your home, too. Just for me? Please?" He
hung his head and nodded, and I felt like a complete heel.

I led him up the stairs. The upper level was floored in continuous wood
except for the kitchen, in travertine. Part of the space into which we
emerged was open to the room below; the remainder was the formal living and
entertaining space, which I needed for clients (and some truly decadent
parties). The massive oak double-doored entryway opened to one side where
the room jutted out in front. To the right of the stairs was my business
area which I skipped but explained. My office was there, plus a sumptuous
conference room and an area of samples, cases and worktables hidden from
the casual eye.

To the other side was a truly spectacular kitchen. This was long before the
rage for "chef-kitchens"; it sported actual industrial appliances and ample
workspace. The dumbwaiter sat in the corner to make resupply easy and
painless, and an ample pantry was beside it. The centre island gave into
the dining room proper, dominated by a massive refectory table from an
actual defunct monastery. I could comfortably seat ten guest and squeeze in
fourteen. All with stunning views behind. Two guest suites and a powder
room completed the upper floor, all off and alcove between kitchen and
dining room.

We completed the tour and I took Beaux out onto the back porch. He jumped
as another jumbo-jet took off from MCI, startled as no sound could have
been heard before I cracked the French doors. He gaped at the plane,
realisation dawning that he'd just been on one of those a couple of hours
earlier.

I took a moment so he could soak in the view, the furniture and the
grilling area (pre-outdoor-kitchen) before taking his hand and leading him
down to the lower-level deck. I explained the dock and the lake and
promised to show him the skiff and canoe I kept for fishing before we went
back into the house by way of the Bar. This was my "special place". The
stone floor and oaken beams, rich woods (including a ship's-deck ceiling)
and dark accents, all pricked out in tarnished copper gave a warm, safe and
ancient feel. I loved this space. The world simply... melted here.

I let Beaux sit for a minute and policed the wrecked massacre that had been
our lunch. I moved over and sat at the stool next to the boy who sat gazing
thoughtfully at me, the view and the furnishing. When I had his attention,
I broke some news I was worried would not go well.

"In about an hour, Beaux, I'm taking you to a doctor that I've known and
trusted for years. We have to make sure that you're healthy and that I can
keep you healthy, and I need him for that."

Beaux had scowled at the word, doctor. "G-Ma always said that doctors were
frauds and did just terrible things." He paused and stared at me for a
too-long-to-be-comfortable interval. "But she's been wrong bout everything
else. If you trust him, Oncle, I will too."

I choked a little at that, but recovered quickly. "Today, he's going to do
what is called a physical. He will check all of you, and I mean ALL of
you," Beaux blushed, "and you've just got to trust us that it's
needful. He's also going to take blood samples. Have you ever had a shot?
An injection, Beaux?"

Now he was frankly alarmed. "No, Oncle. Needle get folks killed!"

"You're right. Needles are dangerous for things like illegal drugs." This
was the mid-eighties and the link between AIDS and IV drug use was fresh in
my mind. "But with doctors it's okay. They know what to do and will never
harm you, okay, Beaux?"

He stared for a minute at his hands, then looked back at me. "Will it
hurt?"

That one took no thought at all. "Yep!" His eyes got wide. "Hurts like hell
sometimes. I hate needles and hate shots and hate them taking blood. I
can't tell you how many times I whined for a doctor to skip a test so I
wouldn't get poked. But I know up here," tapping my head, "that it hurts
for a few seconds and it's over, no pain or scar, and that they do it
because my health is important to them."

He narrowed his eyes at me. "I'm not going to like this 'never lie to me'
thing am I?"

I laughed loud and long. "No, Beaux, but I promised. Needles hurt, but some
people just don't care at all. One friend calls me a sissy any time I whine
about it."

Okay, even for a backwater, bayou-bred and uneducated kid, I know that
would get a rise. Challenge the manliness of a man-child? Yep. And it got
the reaction I hoped for.

"If you can take it, Oncle, so can I." His voice was flat and solid and
dared me to contradict him. I smiled inside but kept my face serious.

"There are two other types of doctors you'll see in the next week or
so. One deals with how people think and react and feel."

"Psychiatrists. Right. I never had books on the subject, but it was
mentioned a lot of places. That don't bother me none at all." I was
surprised by that, but pleased.

"The other," I stumbled and mumbled and stalled, "is, um, for, um, teeth."

"Dentists?"

I looked up. "Yes, Beaux, dentists. We need to make sure you're healthy
there as well and doctors don't do that." Fuck, I hate dentists. I would
give my spare kidney if someone promised I'd never have to go back.

Beaux smiled for the first time in who-knows-when, and his eyes
twinkled. "You don't like dentists, do you, Oncle? You scared of
them-there?"

I thought of bluffing but the 'no lies' thing fucked me this time. "I hate
'em, Beaux. Everybody has things they don't like, and dentists are near the
top of my list."

"Okay, then here's the deal." Deal? He's a teen orphan and he talking
DEALS? "I let the doctors do the needle thing and you go with me to the
dentist."

I stared at him, slack-jawed and gobsmacked. It's like he'd reached inside
me the day before when I was making lists and saw just how much I *didn't*
want that very thing to happen. I longed to play the 'I'm the adult' card
or the 'under my roof' card, but I'd already told him otherwise. I tried
frantically to think of any excuse, any loophole. Fuck! I was gonna be a
guardian and I just HAD to get a kid smarter than me. Fuck, fuck, FUCK!

"Deal," I grumped. Beaux's eyes glowed. I thought for a minute and realised
that, since his mother and grandmother had passed and left him alone, this
was really the first time his own will had won through. That thought melted
my heart (but not my non-negotiable hatred of dentists).

We freshened up and I got him into my truck, deciding that it was time to
introduce him to my actual lifestyle. Beaux never batted an eye. Of course
not, I chided myself, He'd never been in ANY vehicle; why would he care
about the difference between a rental sedan, a Supra and a pickup?

I drove to Doc Martin's office and escorted Beaux in. He was skittish in
the extreme and clearly had no interest in being there. That dissolved when
the Eloise Effect hit him like a tidal wave. Eloise Martin was a wife,
partner, nurse and office manager rolled into one exuberant package. The
best way to describe Eloise is 'delightfully dumpy'. Regardless, the
sheltered and innocent Beaux was a pigeon to Eloise's hawk.

"Oh, my! Aren't you just the MOST adorable thing on EARTH!" Beaux looked at
me and I just shrugged, 'you're on your own, kid.' Eloise bustled around
the reception desk and descended upon the unsuspecting Beaux like a plague
of locusts.

"I'm Eloise and you just HAVE to be Beaux! Kevin has told me ALL about
you!" All of Eloise's sentences had at least one word in ALL CAPS and ended
in exclamation points if a teenager was involved. "I've got EVERYTHING
ready for you! Kevin is just SO nice but I'm SO sad about what happened!
Oh, sweaty, we'll take SUCH good care of you and Kevin is JUST a doll!"
Smiling, I fell into the wake of the cheerful chatter as she manoeuvred
Beaux down the hall, never even imagining that the boy needed time to get
his bearings.

"Now your uncle has taken care of EVERYTHING, everything! We are just
DELIGHTED to meet you!" We entered the exam room where Doc Martin was
waiting, "Isn't that RIGHT, Bobby? Aren't we just DELIGHTED?" Rob Martin
rolled his eyes at me. Tragically for Rob, Eloise noticed. "We are, Beaux,
and if Bobby doesn't treat you right, you come straight to me!" She glared
at 'Bobby' as she turned and flounced out.

The door closed behind here and Beaux's eyes were about the size of
billiard balls as he looked to me, Rob and to door, utterly mystified.

Rob finally spoke, his low and calm voice piercing Beaux's
discomfiture. "Everything is fine, son. Sit over here," He pointed at the
paper-covered table, "and rest a minute. My wife slash nurse takes some
getting over. We're just going to chat and figure out what's what, okay,
son?"

"Y-y-y-yessir," Beaux squeaked, which I found adorable and heart-wrenching.

"Have you been seen by a licenced doctor before, Beaux?"

"No sir!"

"Have you ever been to the hospital? For a bad injury or illness?"

"No SIR!"

Rob detached, calm, clinical voice seemed like a tonic on Beaux as the man
walked through the standard (and not-so-standard) questions as if this
happened every day.

"Who did you go to when you got sick?"

"I didn't get sick much sir, and G-Ma, my, um, grandmother, would bring
back medicines from town then."

At no point did Rob express surprise or consternation. I was in awe of his
acting ability.

"I'll need some samples, son. You okay with that?"

Beaux looked to me. "I told Beaux you'd take blood and such."

"Blood, yes, and urine and feces." Beaux had no idea about that latter term
and I wondered how THAT would go.

"Beaux, I'll start with blood samples. It's going to hurt a bit, but you,
young man, will have no trouble with something as simple as a quick sting,
right?"

"No sir!" Beaux's voice had gone up about three octaves and I tried to hide
my smile.

Doc Martin tied a rubber string around Beaux's arm and held the boy's arm
rigid, then pulled an ENORMOUS syringe from the tray behind him. Beaux's
eyes liked to pop out of his head. The doctor fitted a tiny needle in the
end and moved forward. Beaux's eyes leapt to mine, accusation and betrayal
clear in them. With his attention thus diverted, Rob took the opportunity
to pierce the vein.

He was two collection tubes in when he looked to Rob and asked, "How bad is
this gonna hurt, sir?" in a high and terrified voice.

"Well, son, we'll find out in a minute, son..." Rob got another three tubes
of blood and released the tourniquet, "... because we're done. How was
that?"

I thought Beaux was going to either crap or sing out, the relief was so
profound. "That's IT?" His voice broke embarrassingly on the last word and
he blushed.

"Yep. We have some that you'll actually feel later, but that was all the
bloodwork." Rob had Beaux strip to his shorts, a blushful and bashful
procedure on the part of my ward, then began.  Like all physicals, it was
tedious and boring. Lots and lots of strange and worrisome implements came
into play. Each time, Beaux's eyes would seek out mine. I'd nod or smile or
(occasionally -- so sue me) yawn and he submitted with (usually) good
grace. The reflex-mallet was perhaps the oddest reaction. Beaux acted like
the seriously expected extreme pain and was shocked speechless when all
that happened was his knee popping upward unexpectedly.

Eventually, Rob reached the part of the exam when he softly and politely
asked me to step outside. Beaux's breath and eyes went nuts, but Rob had
this one down pat.

"Beaux, I have to examine, well, parts that no growing boy wants to show an
uncle or parent. You get me, Beaux?" The boy looked at him in horror than
back to me. Putting the final nail in the coffin, "Front AND back, Beaux."
My ward may no further objection as I left, his furious blush about to
ignited the oxygen in the room.

When Rob came out, his face was puzzled and grave and I grew worried. He
had me come back in. Beaux was dressed but more red than I'd seen any
human. My worry exploded now. Rob ushered us both through another door
which led to his actual office and had us both sit. Beaux had the face of
the condemned prison after his last meal.

"Okay!" Both of us jumped and looked at Doc Martin.

"Beaux, you are in excellent health. I have to say that I'm frankly
shocked. Doctors like me like to think that we are indispensable, but guys
like you prove us wrong. Without a single injection, exam, poke or prod in
your entire life, you are probably healthier than any young man I've ever
seen. I need to give you a couple of injections to prevent diseases that
you will never have been exposed to the way you lived, but are common in
cities like this, but otherwise you are disgustingly, ridiculously
healthy." Beaux seemed more relieved than any time since he asked me, 'Can
you take me someplace? Someplace not here?'

Rob leant forward and hit his intercom button. "Eloise? You are now allowed
to smother this poor young man with attention and affection. " He looked at
Beaux and winked, "Please let him breathe occasionally, will you?" Rob
released the button on the enraged squawk of his wife. She appeared moment
later and I knew that the look she gave him boded less-then-well for Rob's
future sexual fulfilment. She dragged Beaux away, chattering and
crooning. The boy's last desperate glance at me was one I studiously
ignored; unlike Rob, I was never, ever going to risk his wife's wrath.

Rob got extremely serious as soon as the door closed. "We have a situation,
Kevin."

I sprang to attention, concern and worry etched on my face. Rob waved at
me.

"No, no, nothing like that. He's healthier than a horse. If word gets out,
he might put paediatricians out of business. When you were out of the room,
I did the normal hernia exam. You recall, the turn-your-head-and-cough? He
got really, exceptionally nervous. He started to thicken like, well, any
young man would and started breathing in a way that I thought I'd need to
sedate him."

I just looked at Rob, confused and uncomprehending.

"Kevin, there is no other way to say this. He acted like getting an
erection was actually dangerous. I've had an endless stream of kids (and
men) in here who blushed or stammered or shied when they got a stiffy, but
nothing, nothing like this."

I started to speak and he shushed me.

"When I did the prostate exam, I honestly though he was going to come
unglued. He was sobbing, Kevin, and not at the discomfort. Sobbing at the
fact that he got hard from that. Fuck, Kevin, everyone gets a stiffy when
you probe the prostate, especially a teen. But I have never, not ever, had
that negative a reaction.

"Kevin, Eloise asked me to recommend a Psych specialist. I'm happy that I
picked the one I did. Dr Silvers, well, alongside his normal practice with
teens, his specialises in the victims of... Kevin, I'm sorry... victims of
sexual abuse. Kevin, you have to be prepared for the possibility... I don't
know how else to put this... that Beaux has been raped, and raped often."

Rob sat and watched as I absorbed that, watching the horror in my face and
the tears that suddenly flowed from my eyes.

"What makes this so strange is that his anus does not show any hint of
tearing or trauma. He certainly has not been used in that way. I'm sorry,
Kevin, but I don't want to keep anything from you. Something is very, very
wrong with the way that boys sees himself and his sexual, well,
parts. Please watch for signs of bedwetting, fear of voiding his bowels,
extreme sensitivity in his genitalia.

"Reach out to me the INSTANT, day or night, that you notice anything. I am
really worried, Kevin, and will do anything to help that poor boy, anything
at all."

I found my voice amongst the discarded refuse of my world, "I know that,
Rob. I will. I will."

Rob looked at me, long and hard, then moved forward and hit a button on the
phone. "Eloise, let up on the poor boy. You there? Good. Bring me..." and
he rattled off a string of nonsense syllables. In moments, Beaux and Eloise
reappeared, Beaux inexplicably smiling and Eloise with a covered tray.

"Beaux, like I said you need some protection from diseases you would not
have encountered. Lean over the desk, here, son."

Beaux blushed furiously but did as instructed. Rob unbuckled Beaux's belt,
and the boy near freaked, but the doctor just peeled the barest corner back
over his ass and administered the first injection.

"YEE-OWCH!" Beaux looked at him with a face of betrayal.

"I told you these would sting, didn't I?" Beaux did not respond and looked
daggers at me. He made it very clear. This was MY fault. Rob gave him three
more injections, Beaux grimacing at each and pointing his accusatorial
glare at me. No doubt, I'd pay for it later.

We headed home with Beaux in a complete funk and me worried.

When we got to the house, I moved to the kitchen simply by default. Beaux
sat downstairs for a while, brooding, then moved up to watch me.

Tonight's was a meal that I really enjoyed, the cooking and the eating
equally. Grilled chicken with a creamy, cheesy, bacon-y sauce. Pasta
beneath and grilled veggies to the side made it complete. After grilling
the chicken and setting it aside to rest, I watched Beaux's eyes fixated on
the protein. When the veggies were cooking, emitting those amazing and
succulent herbal smells, his eyes could not be drawn away from
them. Finally, the utterly incomparable scent of crisping bacon wove its
allure and the garlic, Romano and cream that I added captivated his
attention.

I plated the concoction and took great and evil pleasure in very, very,
very slowly moving the plate in front of my new ward. If I'd delayed a few
seconds more, I was utterly convinced that Beaux would have leapt across
the island and seized the dish, perhaps (accidentally, of course)
steamrolling me to my death. I had planned ahead so utensils were there,
otherwise I was pretty sure that Beaux would have dived in face first.

In all fairness, it WAS good. The succulent and savoury chicken and the
smoky, creamy sauce competing to dominate the placid pasta. Subtle herbs
and gentle spices made the veggies sing. Beaux was partway through the
plate before I started. I made sure that there was some crusty bread for
dunking. The only blip in the meal was when Beaux finished wiping the last
drop up with the bread and shyly asked if there was more.

"Yes, and it's going in the fridge. If you still want more after a couple
hours, I'll reheat it for you." I was delighted with the sulky pout that
earned me. He was thinking of me as something other than a stranger; no one
bothers to pout at strangers. "Do you *want* another mud bug episode,
Beaux?" That brought him up short, still scowling but at least thinking. He
was somewhat mollified by dessert, a bright, acidic, pomegranate sorbet
with wafer-cookies. I was hoping that it would counteract the richness of
the main course.

I went to turn on the TV and realised, 'Why?' Being around Beaux was
already making a positive difference. Instead, I grabbed a favourite book
and went down to the Family Room. Even though the sun was low in the sky
and the summer day was warm, I lit the oversized fireplace. Beaux was
transfixed. The gas flamed leapt and danced across the fake logs as the
iron began to glow. After watching for a while, I saw his eyes start to
droop. In a few minutes, his head jerked up after he briefly dropped into
slumber.

Beaux yawn, "Would it be okay if I go to bed now, Kevin."

"You don't have to ask me, Beaux. It's been a long, rough day. Get some
sleep. Let me show you one thing, though."

I followed him into the bright, warm bedroom and went to the side of the
smaller fireplace. I showed him four switches. When activated, he jumped a
bit as blackout shades came down and the room became dim, then dark.

"We're facing just a little north of west, and the sun is fierce. This is
so it's easier to sleep on long summer evenings."

He smiled at me sleepily and I moved out, closing the door behind me. I
read for a couple hours, then went up to my office and went through things
Louise had sent over. Nothing urgent; one advantage of my profession was
that things could only be 'urgent' if a project was actually in the
construction phase, and I had none at the moment. I finally secured the
house and went to bed.

*****

Here is what I figured out later that led to a lot
of... misunderstanding. Beaux had stripped down to his low-rise briefs,
finding the stretchy material both comfortable and vaguely exciting. He
climbed under the covers and started to relive the completely novel feel of
the doctor's hands on his body, coming fully hard at the thought. In the
absolute silence as he'd learned was essential over the last four years, he
turned onto his stomach.

Showing no other hint of motion, back and ass still as stone, Beaux's right
hand stealthily moved down and pulled back his foreskin. He began to softly
scritch and scratch the extremely sensitive ridge behind the glans. He had
this down to a science and it took perhaps ten minutes in complete silence
before he brought himself to orgasm. An observer would have noticed,
perhaps, a hard shiver but nothing more, then a sigh not uncommon to a
sound sleeper.

What was not the same, as he found out the next morning, was the thin and
light cotton of the tiny briefs did not capture his release as had his old
and baggy boxers. He panicked when he woke to the tell-tale mess. Running
into the bath, he stripped the briefs and washed them out, but saw no ready
place to hide them. Beaux then used a washcloth and then wet hand-towel to
clean the bed then quickly made it again. He virtually panicked when he
heard my knock on the door.

*****

I knocked and waited, then could hear the pipes complain about the shower,
so I gently opened the door a crack. "Beaux? Can I come in?"

"Sure, thing, Kevin. I'm just getting into the shower, Oncle."

I moved in and saw that he'd already made the bed. Interesting. With Dr
Martin's words fresh in my worried ears, I slipped back the sheets. I could
see the darker colour and reached down and felt the dampness right at
crotch level. I carefully remade the bed and moved to the bathroom. I
opened the door and said loudly, "Beaux, did I show you where the towels
and such are?"

From the echoy shower, Beaux replied, "Oh, I found them already, thanks."
The low-risers he'd worn the previous day had been rinsed out and were
still wet, as was a hand-towel. I moved back, closed the door, then went up
to the kitchen.

As early as it was, I knew that Eloise would be up. I called their home
number and asked if her husband was awake. He came to the phone and greeted
me.

"Rob, I'm pretty sure Beaux wet the bed last night." Even I could hear the
worried shaking in my voice. The idea that anyone would abuse such a
wonderful child was monstrous. Worse was the horror that only my sister and
Beaux's paternal grandmother had any real contact with his. I felt myself
become physically ill.

"Kevin? Kevin? Are you listening to me?" No, I hadn't been.

"Sorry, Rob, I'm really shook up."

"I understand. Tell Beaux that you have to come back in to talk about test
results. I talked to Dr Silvers and he can see Beaux tomorrow, but gave me
key pointers in case this came up. Just be at the office when you can, and
we'll work the schedule out." I could hear Eloise fussing and sniffling in
the background, knowing she understood and shared my horror.

<eof>

Author's note: As always, let me know your thoughts. Beaux has had a tough
life, and emerging from of that will take skills that not even his loving
uncle may possess. Keep writing me, please, with both positive and negative
criticism so I can improve as an author.

*****

Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
Canvas Hell: 12 chapters, more coming, .../camping/canvas-hell/
Karl & Greg: 15 chapters, more coming, .../incest/karl-and-greg/
The Heathens: 3 chapters, more coming, .../historical/the-heathens/
Beaux Thibodaux: 4 chapters, LOTS more coming, .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/
Mud Lark Holler: 4 chapters, more coming, .../rural/mud-lark-holler/
Turntable Rehab: 4 chapter, more coming, .../authoritarian/turntable-rehabilitation-services/