Date: Tue, 20 Feb 2001 19:57:32
From: Ganymede
Subject: First Boy, Part Two

First Boy. Part 2,  by Ganymede

WARNING:

This story contains a graphic description of sexual acts
between a man and a MINOR boy. I do not condone child abuse,
however boy-love as described in this story is an entirely
different matter.

If the subject of man/boy sex offends you, if this material
is illegal in your place of residence, or if you are under the
legal age for such material, do not read further! You have been
warned! Read at your own risk!

The story is copyrighted under the pseudonym, Ganymede. A
single copy has been placed in the Nifty archives. Feel free to
post it to appropriate newsgroups or send it to your friends. If
distributing my story for monetary gain, please contribute funds
to a charitable organization providing services for boys.

The story is fiction. Any resemblance to any individual,
alive or dead, is unfortunate.

THE NIFTY ARCHIVE:

The Nifty Archive needs your support. If you enjoy reading
this story, please remember that it is available only because of
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FINAL WARNING:

If you are under the age of 18, if this material is illegal
in your place of residence, or if man-boy relationships aren't
your thing, then exit now and save yourself from a life of sin!



First Boy. Part 2, By Ganymede

Chapter Ten.

I put the airline's in-flight magazine back in the seat
pouch in front of me. I had memorized all that I could of the
layout of the Amarillo airport and there was another matter that
I had to attend to before we landed. It was not a large airport,
but I had to be prepared to move quickly when we landed. Ever
cautious when it came to Shelley, I fastened both our seat belts
tightly. It was hardly rational. If there was a bomb set to
explode as we descended, seat belts would not save us. I counted
off the seconds, tried to determine the rate of descent, cleared
my mind of extraneous detail, not that it would be much help
until we were safe on the ground. If there was a bomb, it would
go off soon. It would have been set to go off at an altitude that
would result in the greatest possible damage to the aircraft. It
was only to be expected that they would want to prevent
reconstruction. Some things never changed.

Shelley slumped in his seat, as gloomy as I had ever seen
him. He had good reason to be scared. I was scared as well. For
the moment there was little that I could do to comfort him.
Anything that I might have said would have unsettled him further.
He would immediately detect the stress in my voice. Yet, even
while I tried not to worry, I continued to listen to the cell-
phone. What I heard was hardly reassuring, but there was a
possibility that I might overhear something important. Every few
seconds I spoke into the phone to convince Shelley that I was
talking to someone about the sudden change in plans. I would have
to make that phone later on.

"This is Bravo-Alpha Flight Four-One-Three on approach for
an emergency landing at Amarillo. We've just cleared 12,000 feet.
We're coming to new course, 210 degrees, on final approach."

"That's A-okay Bravo-Alpha Four-One-Three. We have you
cleared on Runway One. All other traffic is on a holding pattern.
I repeat, that's Runway One. It's northwest of the main terminal.
It's all yours. You should have visual now?"

"We do, Tower. It looks real good from up here."

"How's the engine manifold doing, Bravo-Alpha-Four-
thirteen?"

"It seems to holding up for the moment. We're a bit worried
about the effect of altitude. The change in pressure might make
it blow any time."

I smiled at Shelley. Twelve thousand feet was probably
fairly safe. What mattered now was getting on the ground as
quickly as possible.

I switched off the cell-phone and put it down. I had a few
minutes left until the plane landed and a lot remained to be
done. I started by getting out the small multi-purpose tool from
the inside pocket of my jacket. It was standard CIA field-issue,
and it had saved my life on one other occasion. In addition to
various implements found on most Swiss Army knives, it contained
two well-concealed thin flexible blades that could be used to
pick almost any lock.

Two years ago, I had discovered that the small Phillips
screwdriver was just the right size for the screws in the back of
a cell-phone. I placed the tray table in the down position to
provide a work surface. Then, I opened the cell phone I had taken
from the CIA-Secret Service agent in Cincinnati. I wondered
whether Wilderstein suspected what I would do with it. It was
unlikely. He was not a field agent so he very well might fall for
a ruse that most agents would anticipate. With a modicum of luck,
I could buy some valuable time. With the screws and rear cover
removed from the Nokia, I examined the electronics.

I was hardly an expert, but I recognized what had been done.
The Russians were very good. They had transposed the circuit
board of a Motorola StarTAC, added the tape recording mechanism
from a Sony micro cassette recorder, and folded an unidentified
yet complex flexible circuit board into the remaining space. I
made a mental note to check the contents of the used cassette
tape when I was by myself. I had a good idea what was on it.
Quickly, I transcribed the code that identified the cell phone
onto a napkin.

Shelley watched, slightly bemused, not understanding what I
was doing, but fascinated as any boy would be by electronics. I
heard the dull rumble from underneath as the pilot began to
prepare the aircraft for landing. My StarTAC phone had been
frequently modified and I almost knew how to do it blindfolded.
First, undo the four screws behind the battery pack, remove the
plastic cover, write out the code again, reset the pins to the
other code. I put the back on, then did the next set of pins. I
smiled. With luck, my telephone would lead Wilderstein on a merry
chase for a few hours. I looked up, glimpsing the roofs of some
factories or warehouses below. It would not be much longer before
we were safe on the ground.

"How are you doing, Babe?" I asked gently.

Shelley started. He looked up quickly. He shrugged, trying
to appear unperturbed by the situation. Finally, he gave in and
blinked. There were tears gathering in his eyes.

"I'm scared, Rick."

"I was too, for a while. I was trying to decide whether it
was worse to sit here and poop in my pants, or risk getting out
of my seat and going to the toilet."

"Very funny, Rick. Only I'm not amused," he replied icily.

"I think it's okay now," I said calmly. "We'll be on the
ground in a few minutes. Listen, you can hear the plane getting
ready to land."

The whirring sound from flaps or wheels did not help very
much. Shelley glanced back over his shoulder at the empty seats
behind us. There was just the two of us.

"God, please, I don't want to die," he prayed aloud.

I held his hand in mine. His fingers were thin, delicate,
slightly clammy. He was scared. There had been a time when he had
wanted to die. He told me about it one afternoon when we were
walking along the beach. He had contemplated it for most of the
night, but he had been thinking about how to do it for much
longer. He had even gotten hold of her hand gun on a few
occasions. This time was different. I heard it his voice when he
talked. He hated his life, hated what he was doing with Ronald,
yet he still went back to him at night. For a minute he had held
the gun to his temple with his finger on the trigger. His life
had been that bad. Just knowing how close he had come, made me
very sad. No boy deserved to be so distraught that he had to
consider death as the only way to escape. Could I ever make that
time up to him?

"We'll be okay," I whispered. "I love you, Shelley. I want
you to remember that, whatever happens. I'll always be here for
you."

"I know. I love you too, Rick."

I smiled, thinking how wonderful it was to hear the last
five words. The brown leather briefcase was still unopened. I
needed to search it to make sure that Wilderstein had not
included a tracking device. It was unlikely because it was too
obvious. I placed it on my knees. It was heavy, but that was only
to be expected given what it was supposed to contain. I unlatched
the catches and opened the lid. It was full. I lifted out the
thick gray envelop that Wilderstein had told me would be there.
For a moment I weighed it in my hand. Shelley had paid a steep
price for what was inside it. This envelop was his future. I
unfastened the metal clasp at the top and slid the contents out.
There were two plastic bags inside. I opened the first one and
inspected the contents.

"What's all that stuff?" Shelley enquired.

"Well," I began. I lifted up the first one. "This is the
birth certificate of a boy called Shelley James Lawlor." Shelley
grinned. "Born March 17, 1989."

"That's me," Shelley claimed, still grinning from ear to
ear.

"No! I would never have guessed you were only ten years
old," I mocked. I moved the form to the side. "And this one is an
adoption decree."

"What's that?"

"It's sort of an ownership certificate," I answered.

I felt an overwhelming sense of pride. Wilderstein had
gotten a judge out of his bed as soon as he had heard what had
happened in Cincinnati. My respect for him went up slightly. At
least he met his part of the deal.

"Ownership of what?"

"Well,..." I paused teasingly. "It says that Shelley James
Lawlor was officially adopted by Richard Scott Barrett. It was
signed by Judge Daniel Webster at 3.00 am on May 5, 1999. Hey,
that's today! You belong to me now, so you had better do what I
say from now on."

Shelley laughed and nodded gleefully. "Uh huh! I'll do
anything and everything you want from now on."

"So you've been my son now for almost a whole day." I
breathed out. The relief was overwhelming. I felt an enormous
burden had been lifted from my shoulders. "Actually, seventeen
hours to be precise. Hi son!"

"Hi Dad." Shelley beamed.

He held out his hand and we shook. Later on we would
celebrate in a very different way. For now, we were both
perfectly happy to make a game out of it.

There were other forms and letters in the pile as well.
Shelley's school records for one thing. He had been a C student
for years. The most recent grade report showed he was getting A's
and B's and he could do even better than that if he put his mind
to it. I knew who was responsible for the improvement. I was. All
he needed was love and affection and he would perform at a level
that matched his intelligence.

There were also a few photographs, including one that was
very familiar to me. It was the first photograph of him that I
saw. Perhaps I had fallen in love with him even then, more than
two weeks before I had even met him. He stood next to a beat-up
girl's bicycle. He wore tight-fitting clothes that had obviously
been selected to show of his body, a white tee-shirt and black
spandex shorts that reached to his knees. It was obvious that he
had an erection. It was a stubby little thing, a crease in the
front of his shorts.

"What else is there?" Shelley asked impatiently.

"Hm,..." I mused.

The last document was a collection of perhaps twenty or
thirty pages that were secured in the side with a metal prong. I
felt a cold chill. This was Shelley's case history, prepared by
Child Protective Services. It was surprising thin for a file that
should have covered six years of a boy's life in the "system". I
would read it later, when Shelley was not around. I pushed it to
the side.

"What was that?"

"Just some other stuff from your school," I lied.

"I didn't get into that much trouble," Shelley said
adamantly.

"Well, schools have to keep all sorts of records. There's
probably stuff in here about the time you scraped your knee in
the playground," I explained feebly.

To change the subject, I opened the other plastic bag and
extracted a sheaf of papers. These were the "identity papers",
prepared by the CIA. There was another birth certificate for
Shelley, only this time his name was Alan Jeffrey Burke with a
birthday in the middle of December. My name was David Alan Burke,
age 41. There were credit cards, a driver's license, and a
passport for me, including stamps for a regular visits to Mexico.
That was typical of Wilderstein. Alan's school records were
typical of an average student who kept out of trouble. The papers
were worth keeping, if only as an emergency resource. Beyond
that, I had no use for them.

"Well?" Shelley persisted. "What's that stuff?"

"Papers for a new life," I explained.

"What's that?" he added as he pointed at a small plastic bag
that contained a sheaf of papers.

"That's what we call pocket litter in the spy business. It's
the kind of junk you'd find in a person's pockets. It'll be very
useful if we get searched for any reason. You don't need it until
you need it, and then you can't do without it."

"So who are we now?"

"We're supposed to become the Burkes when we get off the
plane."

"You mean if we get off the plane," Shelley commented dryly.

I smiled reassuringly. "It's okay, Babe. Take a look out the
window. We'll safe be on the ground in a minute or two."

Another minute. It passed very slowly. Second by second. As
I replaced the papers in the briefcase and examined it for any
tampering that might indicate it had been fitted with a location
transmitter, we listened to the change in engine sounds, pitch,
tone, increasing vibration. A glance past Shelley showed that
touch down was imminent. I held my breath. I always did that when
I waited for the tell tale sounds of tires hitting the tarmac.
The angle of the concrete runway narrowed. Only a few seconds
remained. I placed my hand on Shelley's slim thigh. He smiled,
that nervous little smile of his. His eyes fluttered. He was
still scared, but then, so was I. Still holding the cell phone to
my ear, I listened to the remote conversation in the cockpit. The
chatter between the co-pilot and the control tower was reassuring
as I heard Gate 12 as the plane's destination. It was off to the
side, away from other gates.

I suppressed a smile. Obviously, there were some hidden
meanings in the pilot's information, words like 'engine manifold'
that they used to provide information that a bomb might be on
board. There would be a ground crew ready to go to work the
instant the plane stopped moving.

The wheels touched, shrieking as rubber met concrete. The
plane lurched, came down solidly. The engines roared, screaming
in the almost impossible effort to slow the plane down. I began
to get ready.

"When we get to the gate, I want you to move quickly," I
instructed. "Do exactly what I tell you to do." I paused. "And do
it as fast as you can. Don't worry about me."

"Okay. Why?" Shelley asked. "The bomb?"

I could hear the waver of fear in his voice. I did not want
to scare him further, but I also needed him to know that he had
to be prepared for an emergency. I shook my head.

"I think they'll get to it in time, Shel." It was good to be
able to use his real name again. "My real worry is that there
will be some one to meet us."

"I don't get it? We were supposed to land at Albuquerque,
Rick."

"Now that you've been officially adopted, don't you think
it's time you started calling me 'Dad'?" I suggested boldly.

Shelley grinned and used his hand to push his hair back from
his forehead. "Except dads don't jack their sons off at thirty
thousand feet."

"That's true. But I'm a very special kind of dad," I grinned
back at him. I reached over and ruffled his hair. "No matter
what, just remember that I love you."

"I know, Rick, Dad. I love you too, Dad," he added,
obviously pleased with himself as he tried the new word.

"I don't understand though. Why would they be here when we
were supposed to land at Albuquerque?"

"Good question. They'll scramble when they heard the plane
was being re-routed, that's for sure. Now the good news is that I
don't think the CIA has many people in Amarillo, and it's too far
to bring in agents from Dallas. The chances are there'll only be
one or two. They'll probably ask the Airport Police to hold us
until they arrive."

"So we're safe, Rick?"

"Not yet. Here's what's going to happen." When I had studied
the in-flight magazine I had plotted an escape route. "If they
follow standard procedure, they'll open the door the second the
plane stops. Follow me up there when I start moving. There may be
someone waiting there, but more than likely they'll be in the
terminal. Just keep moving as fast as you can. If I stop, you
keep going no matter what."

"Okay."

"If I am not with you, don't run unless someone is after
you. If there are Airport cops waiting for us, I'll take care of
them. I want you to walk as fast as you can. Follow the signs all
the way to the exit. There's a parking garage right outside the
terminal. Go into it and go right. Go all the way to the back.
Back, right-hand corner, got that?" Shelley nodded. "Get down
between two cars. Lie down and keep out of sight. I'll find you
there."

"Otherwise I'm to stay right behind you?" Shelley asked.

"You got it. Don't stop for anyone. If some one tries to get
a hold of you, I want you to cry 'pervert'. Something like that.
Whatever it takes. Tell them to take their hand off your dick and
leave you alone. Then get out of there. Don't stop for any one!"

"Except you. You can always put your hands on me," Shelley
smirked.

"Shel, it isn't funny."

I gave him a look that got his immediate attention. His
smile vanished. I gave him the 'once-over'. His blue jeans were
innocuous enough. His New York Mets jacket was emblazoned with
No. '69'. It was as sexy as anything I had ever seen him wear,
but it was a 'dead giveaway'. Underneath he was wearing a tight
white tee-shirt.

"Take your jacket off and leave it here. You won't be
needing it. Let's get moving."

The plane was still moving, creeping along towards the
terminal as we unbuckled and began to move towards the front
exit. The hostess was already there. She was visibly frightened.
her hands kept touching the door release, ready to spring it open
as soon as the plane was in position. She glared at us. Shelley
pressed up behind me, seeking my protection. It could only be a
few more yards.

The hostess began to turn the levers. Then suddenly, she
shoved outward and the door swung open. She bolted through the
doorway first. I was close behind her, running as fast as I
could. With a glance over my shoulder I confirmed that Shelley
was running with me. Up the ramp, easily passing the hostess,
slowing as we came through the doorway into the terminal
building. There were two Airport Police waiting there. Grey-green
uniforms, hands by their sides, one suddenly reaching for his
sidearm in a neat leather holster next to his brightly shining
handcuffs. He buckled as my foot slammed into his soft belly. It
took another round-house kick to bring him down. I turned,
responding to instinct, my senses heightened by adrenaline. The
other man panicked and began to back away. Still spinning, my
backward kick caught him in the knee. It also threw me off
balance. I stumbled, regained my composure, and launched another
kick into his other knee to bring him down. I heard his leg
crack. I started running again, aware of people moving away, of
Shelley pounding just a few feet behind me.

We careened down a corridor and slowed down only when we
reached the main terminal concourse. I stopped to get my
bearings. The exit was to the right. To the left the concourse
led back to the other gates. For a moment I considered getting
out of there as quickly as possible. At that time in the day, it
should have been relatively easy to find a taxi or hotel
limousine. Then, I thought about taking another flight,
destination unknown. Pay cash for the tickets. A one-hour flight.
It would take that long for them to check the passenger
manifests. In crisis mode, there was safety in last-moment
changes in plan. This time, I kept to my original plan.

We headed to the left, walking at a leisurely pace towards
the lounge areas. My heart was settling down. Shelley was still
skittish as his body continued to feel the effect of the stress
of the last ten minutes. The first few stores were food stores.
Then, a gift shop. My sigh of relief was audible when I saw what
was inside. I led Shelley over to the clothing racks.

"What are we in here for?" Shelley asked. "Are we hiding?"

"Hardly. Don't you want a memento of Amarillo?" I whispered
in his ear.

"No! I want to get the hell away from here."

I grinned and picked out a bright red shiny nylon jacket
emblazoned with 'Amarillo Rattlers', size 10-12. I held it up to
Shelley to check the size.

"Try this on. I bet its close to the right size for you," I
said cheerfully as I handed it to him.

While Shelley tried it on, I picked out another one in blue.
Blue was 'his color' because it matched his eyes. Red would draw
more attention to him. This time I wanted him to be noticed, if
not identified. I placed the blue jacket back on its hanger.
Instead, I picked out a blue tee-shirt. It was a men's small
size. It would be gigantic on his compact body. It was also
emblazoned with the 'Rattlers' logo. He also needed a cap to
cover his hair. I ambled over the counter, then stopped, my
attention riveted to the headlines of the late-edition newspaper.
I began to read. By the time I had finished the first paragraph,
Shelley had confirmed what I already knew about the jacket. We
were ready to pay. Sixty-four dollars and change and we were on
our way again. There was no need to buy the paper. The story was
yet another example of government dis-information and lies to the
American public.

"Now what?" Shelley asked as we started walking along the
concourse.

"Now we find a bathroom," I answered and added in a somewhat
quieter voice, "I'm dying to clean up my pants."

Shelley grinned. It was good to see him happy again. He was
beginning to relax. The men's bathroom was on the opposite side
of the concourse. I led the way inside and made a cursory
inspection as we moved along the line of stalls. I placed my cell
phone on the ledge above the wash basins. It was where a business
man in a hurry might leave a phone by accident if he was in a
hurry to catch a flight. With luck, it would be stolen. With even
more luck it would soon be taken on another flight, perhaps to
somewhere like Mexico City, or Honolulu.

The cubicle on the far end was for handicapped access. A
quick glance over my shoulder confirmed that we were alone.

"Inside, Shel!" I ordered brusquely.

I closed the door behind us, turned the latch, let out a
deep breath, smiled at Shelley.

"So how do you like the cloak and dagger stuff. Do you think
you want to be a spy when you grow up?"

Shelley shrugged. "Who wants to grow up?" He smiled shyly.
"Now you're my dad, I want to stay a kid forever."

I winced at that. It was too close to the truth. I leaned
forward, leaned down, placed my hand behind his head. I kissed
him, ever so slightly, barely touching him. It took a moment for
him to respond. His lips pressed forward, instinctively seeking,
suddenly hungry. Against reason, I gave into desire. We kissed
urgently, passion that had been restrained for too long bursting
out of us. I felt his tongue slip between my lips. I literally
sucked him in, pulling on that slippery wriggly eel of flesh
until there was nothing more to come. He spluttered around my
lips, laughing despite the seriousness of our situation. It was
time that I started making up for the last few days. Finally,
breathless, we parted, looking long and hard at each other.

"God, I want to have sex so bad," Shelley whispered. "I need
you in me, Rick."

"Rick?"

"Okay, Dad then,... But it sounds really weird saying that.
Like you're my father and you're going to fuck me?"

"I bet it happens more often than people imagine," I
replied.

Shelley grinned. "Well, if I was your real son, I'd want to,
that's for sure."

"Same here, so I figure it happens fairly lot."

"We could,... you know,... mess around in here," Shelley
suggested. He licked his lips in anticipation.

"In here?" I teased. "What if someone comes in? Do you want
to get me arrested?"

"I guess not."

I grinned at him. "How about this, then?" I whispered as I
leaned forward and pushed him back against the tiled wall.

My hand cupped his compact groin, feeling for that special
small treasure that lay between a young boy's legs. There was not
a lot that I could feel through his jeans, but it felt good to be
touching him. Shelley breathed in deeply, held it, slowly let it
out in a longing sigh. He did not need to say anything. The faint
smile on his face was enough. I squeezed carefully, closing and
relaxing my fingers rhythmically, until his smile widened and
threatened to become a healthy grin.

"I love you," he whispered. "I love you so much it hurts
inside. I was so scared in the plane those last few minutes."

"I'm sorry I ignored you," I said quietly. "I had work to
do."

"I saw you. What you were doing with the cell phones?"

"I was doing was changing over the codes. Wilderstein,
that's the man who was in the plane when we came on-board, I
think he might be dumb enough to try to track us, so I swapped
the codes just in case."

"Then when we were running, and you said I had to keep going
no matter what happened to you, and I didn't want to lose you,
and I was so afraid, Rick. Sorry, Dad!" Shelley shook his head.
"It's going to take some getting used to. It's not like I'm
pretending any more."

"That's okay. Anyway, you're safe now," I said gently. "The
next thing is to change your appearance, Shel. We can't have you
going around the Texas Panhandle looking like a boy-whore, now
can we?"

He shrugged. The fact was that he was beginning to enjoy the
frequent admiring looks that we had both noticed since he had
started wearing Wilderstein's clothes. But even before that, both
men and women had looked at him. Not every man, of course, but
enough of them to suggest that there were far more potential boy
lovers than American society was prepared to admit.

"How can you change the way I look?"

"Well, for one thing, you can wear the tee-shirt and jacket
we just bought. Let's start by getting your clothes off."

"Everything?" Shelley asked with a teasing smirk. "If you
want me naked, Dad, you only have to say so."

I was able to hold my laughter to a minimum. "I wish," I
finally managed.

He hurriedly removed his skin-tight tee-shirt. He grinned up
at me, aware that my eyes were fully absorbed. My gaze lingered,
relishing his smooth unblemished body. Half-naked, he was nearly
as sexy as he was completely nude. He was beautiful. His nipples
were tiny, dime-sized, barely visible darker spots on a lean
tanned chest. His navel was also small and enhanced by a little
fold of brown skin that ran all the way around so that it could
not be described as either an 'innie' or an 'outie'. It was just
there, and it was incredibly sexy. His belly rippled, with well-
defined muscles that hinted at the 'six-pack' he would have when
he was older. He was slender with prominent bony hips, supporting
his jeans that had dropped down his narrow waist. He smirked up
at me.

"Pants too?" he asked teasingly.

'God, yes!' I wanted to say. Instead, I winked back at him.
"Just wait until tonight. You're going to be so sore," I taunted.

"And you're going to be so tired, you'll start wishing I was
a girl," Shelley giggled.

It was a long standing joke between us. 'Boy pussy' needed
more effort than its feminine alternative. Lovingly, I ran my
hand over his flat belly, upward to trace the lines of his ribs,
touching his neck with my thumb, before moving on to caress his
bare shoulder. He was beautiful. I would never grow tired of
telling him that. Standing there before him, paying silent homage
to his perfect body, I wanted so much to make love to him, to
take him, to make him mine, to leave my seed inside him.

"Please,..." Shelley implored.

I glanced down. His eyes were pleading, conveying desire. He
breathed quickly, not panting, but anxious, aroused. Two weeks
was a long time to be together, but kept apart. For two weeks, we
had not joined in the one way that defines the love between a man
and a boy.

"I want to, too," I murmured. "God, I need you so badly."

"So? Let's do it. It won't take long," Shelley urged. He
quivered, his excitement growing quickly, becoming overpowering.

Suddenly, I was the reluctant one. Not that I didn't want
to. I wanted to. I wanted to feel the warmth and tightness of his
body. I wanted to see his eyes glistening with tears. He cried
when we started. Not because it hurt badly, but because he was
happy, because he was close to me. My desire was fueled by
looking at him, my penis already becoming rampart with a hunger
that was all consuming. The need to be inside him was like that.
Once aroused it was impossible to stop. I started to give in. It
was all I could do to stop.

"No! Not here! Not like this, Shelley."

"Why not?" he demanded petulantly. "We can stop if someone
comes in. We can do it quietly. It's not like we haven't done it
in public before."

"I know that." I smiled at him. "Having oral sex in my car
is not the same as doing it in an airport toilet."

"That wasn't the only time," Shelley reminded me.

His eyes met mine, soulful, blue, enigmatic, innocent,
intense. No wonder I loved him as much as I did. Just his eyes
were enough to take my breath away.

"I remember," I answered simply. "I want it to be special,
Shel."

"Yeah, I know."

I could hear the disappointment in his voice, his excitement
deflating quickly. I did not want to reject him. I would never do
that to him. He had been rejected for most of his life. Even his
father, whoever he was, had rejected him. Tenderly, I stroked the
nape of his neck, curling his hair between my fingers, fondling
behind his ears. Usually he giggled when I tickled him there.
Instead, he fixed his gaze on me with a look that said he was not
going to take 'no' for an answer.

Gently, I moved my hand down his back, feeling the tiny
bumps of his backbone until I reached his jeans. My fingers
pressed on, slipping between denim cloth and skin, following the
line that continued from his spine. It was a narrow gap, but it
was enough. Halfway down his buttocks I encountered the elastic
of his bikini briefs. It was a tiny thing, barely big enough to
contain his genitals, small as they were. from behind, he might
as well have been wearing a G-string. Momentarily, I wondered
where Wilderstein had managed to find clothing like that.
Certainly not in any store in Washington DC, and the clothes he
had supplied were hardly the kind of thing one would find in a
catalog. Perhaps on the Internet, but what would a person search
under? 'Sexy preteen boy's clothes'?

With a single finger, I felt between his firm cheeks,
reached along his crevice, seeking the hidden entry into him. The
softness and slightly moist heat that identified his anus made me
tremble. This was what I had longed for.

"Please?" Shelley whispered. "I need you, Rick. I really
need you."

I knew what he wanted. He did not have to say it. I pressed
gently, lifting my finger upward at the same time. I could feel
his anus relaxing, pulling against my fingertip. He sighed from
deep in his chest and moved his buttocks back so that my finger
was driven inward. It was only to the first joint, not far at
all, but far enough. It was always surprising to me how easy it
was, how intimate contact had a way of solving any problem. That
first penetration was always something we shared.

"We don't have the time, do we?" Shelley asked softly.

"Not really. And we don't have any lube. It's in the
suitcase."

"Oh shit!"

"Yeah, something like that. The cops will have fun when they
open those bags of ours and start going through the clothes."

Shelley smiled shyly. "Do you think they'll figure out about
us?"

"Because of the K-Y? Maybe. It won't matter. We'll be long
gone."

I kissed the top of his head as I removed my finger from its
welcoming abode. I felt Shelley's anus close up. I slowly
withdrew my hand from the seat of his jeans. There was still a
trace of the shampoo he had used the night before. His hair was
like glistening golden silk. The brilliant light from the
overhead fluorescent tubes, the tiled walls, the smell of
disinfectant, all of it combined to unsettle me.

"It's okay," he added. "I still love you."

"Just wait until tonight."

"When you stuck your finger in my butt I thought you were
going to, you know,...." Shelley teased.

"I wish."

"We could do something else?" he suggested shyly.

"What do you have in mind?"

Shelley shrugged. "I know we can't fuck and all, Rick, I
mean Dad. That sounds so funny, saying that, but I could suck
him?" he offered meekly. He glanced up at me. "From the look of
him, it won't take all that long."

I grinned. It was an offer that was impossible to resist. It
was always impossible to resist. I held my finger to my lips when
I heard echo of voices as two men entered the toilet. We heard
the sound of urinals flushing, then silence again. I guided
Shelley back and he sat down on the toilet. He reached up,
fumbled for a few seconds as he tried to find the start of my
zipper. Cautiously, his fingers trembling with anticipation, he
pulled it down, an inch at a time. He swallowed, licked his lips,
stroked the hard length of my penis, playfully pulling on it with
his thin fingers until it bulged through the opening. It was
constrained by my briefs, but the head pointed up and out. Even
from my perspective it was threatening. There was a dark spot in
the material, growing steadily bigger as more preseminal fluid
seeped out.

Shelley lifted the elastic waistband back with one hand,
exposing my hard member to a gentle, very careful caress that
ended up by smearing the fluid over my glans. He giggled, glanced
up at me, pulled my briefs down further to expose the full length
of my penis. Still meeting my eyes, he leaned forward and licked.
His tongue tickled. It was only for a second or two. He was not
about to waste time. His lips followed immediately, kissing
first, sucking second, then opening wide. It was mechanical and
rushed. It was not how he usually did it. Usually he took his
time, savored every moment, every change in texture, every taste.
Usually he licked it all over, probed the slit in the end with
the tip of his tongue, tried to get it inside even though we both
knew it would never fit. Usually, he played with my testicles,
squeezed them between his strong little fingers, pulled on them
until I was ready to beg for mercy. Usually we had more time.

My penis plunged into his mouth. His teeth scraped, but only
slightly before his jaws opened up, his tongue moved away, and
his lips stretched wide. He pushed down onto my extended organ,
pushed deeper than he needed to. Another boy might have gagged
when my penis reached the back of his throat. Not Shelley. He
went even further, making steady, yet gradual progress. 'Deep
throating' was not something I had taught him. It was not
something that I wanted him to do. However, I appreciated it. For
a small boy, my penis was quite a mouthful. Then he moved away,
lifting off, pulling my penis against his tongue, away from the
constriction of his mouth until all that remained inside him was
my glans. My penis throbbed relentlessly, demanding more.

"God!" I muttered. "You feel so good."

My hands moved to the back of his tousled head. I held him
there, realizing that wet heat now covered most of the length of
my erection, preventing him from lunging back down again. There
were times when I would have stopped him from going all the way
down and times when I would have encouraged him. Never once had I
forced him down. This time I felt a sickening guilt. It was
strange that it had never happened before. With his succulent
mouth still holding the head of my penis, Shelley looked up at
me. There were tears in the corners of his eyes. His lips were
stretched into thin pale lines, so different to the perfectly
shaped lips I loved to kiss. His facial features were exquisite,
a sublime combination of unblemished skin and classic
proportions. It was the same face that captured my heart and took
my breath away the first time I had seen him in person. His eyes
were brilliant, blue, endearing, innocent. Always his eyes. His
eyes were magnetic and alluring, they were eyes that had seen too
much cruelty and pain.

Instead of allowing his head to lower again, I contained his
head between my hands to deny him.

"Don't go down so far, Shel," I said huskily. "Use your
hands."

Was it relief that I saw in a fleeting acknowledgement? His
hands moved into place, one cupping my scrotum in his palm, his
fingers kneading my testicles in much the same way as a cook
would knead dough. And his other hand? His right hand could
barely reach all the way around my penis. He held it loosely with
three fingers on the underside, his thumb looped around the
shaft, his little finger extended outward so that it rubbed where
my penis joined to my scrotum. He used his mouth on the upper
half, sucking as he bobbed his head back and forth.

I rubbed his shoulders, using a firm massaging motion that
relaxed him almost as much as it did me. It also encouraged him
and he responded to the intimate touch of my hands on my bare
skin by using his tongue to lever my penis around inside his
mouth.

The pleasure was both immediate and overwhelming,
enthralling joy, intense delight. Hot, wriggling and wet, silky
soft and loosely-moving, a cacophony of sensations cascading
through my loins. I did the only thing I could. I arched my body,
giving him free reign to do whatever came into his mind. Faster,
until the jacking motion of his little hand had become a blur,
until my penis throbbed and my body shuddered with nervous spasms
that preceded orgasm. Still faster, increasing his suction until
my testicles began to ache. Ecstasy comes in waves, beginning in
my groin with an overpowering urge that tightened my muscles.
Then, in an out-of-control rush, exploding through me, jerking my
penis as white-hot ejaculate erupted.

A long time ago, or at least it seemed like a long time ago,
I had stopped warning Shelley when my orgasm was imminent. It
made no difference whether he was officially notified. He
operated on instinct, perhaps feeling the sudden increase in
hardness, sensing the bursting pressure inside me, realizing the
pulsing in my urethra as semen began its journey into his mouth.
Then, and only then, he times his movements to mine. He seemed to
understand a man's need to thrust during emission, not to be
content to simply let it spurt out. When my buttocks clenched and
my thighs began to slam against his face, he stopped everything
he was doing for a few moments. It was not long, yet it was long
enough to meet my need. He stopped everything that is except his
sucking. He sucked harder, so hard that it seemed as if he was
actually pulling the fluid out of me. His right hand clutched my
penis, held it tightly so that each bucking motion of my hips,
pumped my raging organ back and forth through his fist. His other
hand clamped my testicles with incredible force, as if squeezing
the sperm from me into him.

And then it was over and I felt drained. Emptied by a boy of
what made me a man. There was never any remorse when we parted,
just contentment, just the realization of what I had placed
inside his body, just acceptance of the inevitable special joy of
sharing what came from being lovers. And quiet. There was no
sound except my heavy breathing, and Shelley's tongue as it
licked his lips. He gazed up at me and smiled weakly, proudly. It
was funny how it made him tired as well, even if it was only a
momentary exhaustion.

Playfully, lovingly, I rubbed my hands through his hair. If
it was untidy before, now his hair was mussed up. A few times I
had even ejaculated onto his head, spurting my fluid into his
golden hair, rubbing it into his scalp with a perverse
appreciation that it was a 'shampoo' of a type that few boys ever
had. This boy, this wonderful beautiful boy was mine, my son. I
smiled back at him.

Casually, Shelley's hand wiped against his lips. Everywhere
in his mouth, he could taste me, that slightly-salty tang of a
man's emission. Without shame, he licked the back of his hand,
catching the moistened streaks of semen that had escaped his
suction. He licked his lips. Another trace, tasting warmth,
remembering what had been in his mouth only seconds earlier. He
smiled again, appreciative of what we had achieved.

"Was that good?" he asked after a moment.

I met his eyes and in silence, nodded. My penis was
glistening wet with his saliva, the first few inched coated with
a milky film. He smiled, catching my drift. Like a child eating
an ice cream, his tongue licked across my glans. Back and forth,
up and down, until he was done and he straightened up.

"Let's get you dressed," I said awkwardly as I reached down
and began to replace my penis behind my briefs.

He stood up, momentarily giving my penis a final petting
caress that promised more pleasure before the night ended. I
winked at him. Enough said. He would be sore tomorrow morning.

I ripped off the labels from the tee-shirt before I handed
it to Shelley. Then the jacket we had just purchased. He put it
on, zipped it up, unzipped it to his navel. The cap went on his
head, slightly askew until I straightened it, pushed his blond
back underneath the edge, turned it around so that it pointed
backward. He looked different, but was his appearance different
enough?

Hurriedly, I removed my leather jacket and began to turn it
inside out. The lining was reversible. The jacket had been
carefully designed and fabricated by a tailor in London's Argylle
Street. It even included a thousand English pounds and an
equivalent amount in US dollars hidden behind seams that easily
came apart. I put the jacket on again, transformed from
corporate-executive-casual into contemporary-sportswear. At short
notice, there was little that I could do to change my hair style
or color.

"Okay?" I asked.

"Cool!" Shelley said admiringly. "We look like we're going
to a game or something."

"That's the idea. Let's get our asses the hell out of here,"
I added.

We left the toilet, abandoning the private sanctuary that
had allowed us to bond again. We needed that intimate closeness
even if the relief occured faster that either of us would have
preferred. Once outside the men's room, I glanced towards the
gates at the end of the concourse, again considering a change in
plans. Spontaneous action was sometimes better than following a
predetermined course of action, although planning was usually
superior a reactive response. A group was gathering in front of
one of the gates. That suggested a departure was imminent. Under
normal conditions it would be relatively easy to buy two tickets
at the gate, but there was a possibility that the airlines had
been notified already. I was left with my original plan. Taking
Shelley by the hand I started to walk towards the exit.

We were only about a hundred yards from the inspection area
when three men in dark suits came through the metal detector.
That they held badges out as they walked, and passed unhindered,
provided an immediate confirmation of their role. The Agency had
arrived. A quick scan of my watch showed that barely twelve
minutes had elapsed since we had disembarked from the aircraft. I
took a deep breath, prepared myself with mental determination,
looked ahead with unwavering eyes, and placed my hand on
Shelley's shoulder. I felt him become tense. I took a tighter
grip. The last thing we needed was to be nervous.

The distance between them and us narrowed quickly. There
were a few other children on the concourse. A few were ahead of
us. A family of a boy and two girls, a mother and father. Closer.
Shelley was getting very nervous. Tighter. Keep walking. Closer.
I felt him flinch. I relaxed my grip.

"I reckon you cain't wait to get home to Mom, can you Trav?"
I said loudly.

My accent was pure Texan. It took years of practice to be
able to do that. Shelley was startled and his head swivelled up.
I winked.

"She missed you, so she's gotta be cookin' all day."

"Yeah,... I guess," Shelley added.

His accent sounded like a ten-year-old boy with laryngitis.
It did not matter. We were ten feet beyond them. All that
happened was one of the agents gave us a quick glance, dismissing
us as two locals returning home to Amarillo. If he had been
listening closely, he would have heard my sigh of relief.

We turned left at the luggage carousels and headed towards
the car rental desks. There were four companies. I chose number
three in the line and with a lowered voice, told Shelley to wait
next to the nearest exit door. My usual practice is to rent the
smallest, cheapest car there is. Small cars drew less attention
than big cars. However, this was Texas, and Cadillac ranch was
only a few miles down the road. I chose a Cadillac Seville, STS
model. It had 300 horsepower and was good for 150 m.p.h.
Arguably, it was the best car made in the USA.

While the lady behind the desk completed the paperwork, I
listened to the conversation behind me. It was all I could do not
to laugh.

"Man, you should have seen it, Paul. What a time to go to
the can. He took both of them down in a second. It was like
watching Bruce Lee at work. Then he and a kid took off. There
must a dozen cops at Gate 12 now."

"I think I just heard something about they've stopped all
the flights."

I declined the insurance. It was not a wise move given that
I was renting a $50,000 car, but I was going to use the credit
card that Wilderstein had provided. I doubted that Wilderstein
would appreciate the irony. I signed the credit card form, took
the keys she handed me, bundled the papers and a map into the
front pocket of the briefcase and headed for the door where
Shelley was waiting. He followed me out of the terminal into the
afternoon sun.

Chapter Eleven.

The trick was to give the impression that we were headed
south, towards Mexico. That was where Wilderstein would expect me
to go. It was a natural escape route. It was a country where I
could fit in without a great deal of difficulty. However, it had
to be believable. Simply driving south would be seen as a ruse.
Instead, we started by asking directions at the rental company
counter for the best way to get to I-40, the major east-west
freeway that passed through Amarillo. I made sure that the gate
attendant recognized Shelley. He even removed his cap for the
occasion so his blond hair could be seen. I handed over the token
from the car rental agency and asked about I-40 again.

I drove out of the parking garage much too fast. Years of
experience told me that driving fast was the best way to draw
attention to oneself. The wheels spun loudly as I pulled into the
traffic that seemed to constantly circulate in the loop around
the terminal in a never-ending search for a parking spot. I
veered onto Airport Boulevard, crossed the railroad tracks, and
immediately pulled across two lanes ready to turn at the next
intersection. East Third Avenue was sign-posted to go to both
Route 335 and I-40. The turnoff to I-40 was the following one. I
continued on. With luck, Wilderstein would put two and two
together and come up with Route 335. Route 335 looped south and
then west around the city where it joined with I-27, and I-27
went south, through Lubbock to Odessa where it joined with I-20.
I-20 headed west all the way to El Paso. Wilderstein would use
Agency records to discover that I had crossed the Mexican border
at Alamo Alto, not far from El Paso.

The Route 335 loop also continued north again where it
rejoined I-40 at Soncy. We were almost there when I pulled into a
McDonalds. It was more than 400 miles to Albuquerque. It was time
for drinks and hamburgers. Hopefully, a snack would be enough to
keep Shelley quiet until he fell asleep. While I continued to
hope that the Agency did not have a record of a cell-phone
belonging to Adam Highland, also known as Rick Barrett, I was not
prepared to take the chance. With a handful of coins, I left
Shelley sitting at the table eating french fries while I made the
long distance phone call to Maria. She was anxiously waiting to
hear from me. My plans had changed, but we would still be where
we were supposed to be. Our arrival time was going to be later. I
added to the list of things we would need. There was a momentary
pause. I could hear the tension building in her voice. She was
worried. Had there really been a bomb on board the aircraft? It
was impossible to be certain. It was likely, but I didn't tell
her that. It no longer mattered.

I returned to the table. Shelley looked up and grinned. It
was a remarkable what a full belly could do for a boy's mood. Not
even blinking, but with a hint of a smile, he gave me the 'look'.
The restaurant was crowded, too crowded for us to tie up the
men's toilet for five minutes without raising someone's
suspicions. Instead, I grinned at him and said one word.

"Later!"

I led the way outside to the car. I opened the hood and
looked in the engine bay. There it was. The speedometer cable
connected to a small metal box before it disappeared into the
right fender. Out came the multi-purpose tool again. There were
four screws holding the cable into the box. Three screws came out
easily. The fourth screw needed work and I was careful not to
damage the head. Finally, it too began to loosen. I pulled out
the end of the speedometer cable. Until it was reinstalled, there
would be no record of the mileage.

And so it began, a long drive almost due west. For almost
the next hour the sun came right through the windscreen. Even
with the sun-visor down, I had to squint behind my sunglasses.
Shelley's solution was to lie down and put his head in my lap.
Within minutes he was sound asleep and completely unaware that my
erect penis was his pillow.

Mile after mile went by, keeping the tachometer just over
2,000 rpm, coinciding with a speed just over seventy miles per
hour. It was not fast enough to draw attention. I was driving
with one hand on the wheel, the other lovingly brushing Shelley's
silky golden hair. Just behind his ear, the hair was even softer.
So was the skin. It felt very much like his groin, that smooth
skin that flowed over the yielding softness of pubis before it
merged into his penis. My fingers stayed there, caressing gently,
musing about the years we would spend together. I loved him. I
had loved him from the moment I had first laid eyes on him.

By the time we reached Glenario, a small town on the New
Mexico border, the sun had set. The sky was streaked with clouds
like brilliant orange flames. I drove on, not feeling tired, but
knowing I would be fighting exhaustion when it was dark. After an
already very long day and preceding night, and with just sixty-
four miles so far along the freeway, I was not looking forward to
the next two hundred-plus miles that would take us to our motel.

Another half-hour passed. Shelley had barely stirred. I
could feel the heat from his face, moistness on my thigh as he
drooled. It was not unusual that he did. He drooled when he was
asleep in my bed as well. Perhaps it was because he had his lips
apart. He did that almost all the time, moving his lips as if he
was sucking on a nipple. Sometimes he cried, making whimpering
sounds that kept me awake for hours at a time. I did not tell him
what happened while he was asleep, not after what he had been
through during the last few years.

My eyes were getting tired. I rubbed at them and promised
myself I would stop for a cup of coffee before much longer. It
had been three hours since the plane landed in Amarillo. Three
hours. If my assumptions were correct, Wilderstein would be on
his way to Amarillo. Would he have agents from Albuquerque drive
to Amarillo? Either that, or he would have local police set up a
road block or monitor traffic for a pearl-white late-model
Cadillac with Texas plates. I glanced down at the road map that I
had placed behind Shelley's shoulder. The last major town was
Tucamari. From there, we could have taken a back road into the
mountains, past Conchas dam, to Las Vegas, New Mexico. There was
an alternate route that would take us south-west to Pastura. From
there, Route 60 would take us west to I-25, some forty miles
south of Albuquerque. It was a hard decision. It was also a
spontaneous decision, one that was made easily when I saw the
exit for Route 54. It would be a longer slower drive than I
anticipated.

I stopped for more coffee in Pastura and took advantage of
the interruption to rewind the cassette in the much-modified
Nokia. I listened to a conversation that I had already heard.



Grey: "What the fuck?"

President: "Someone's at the door!"

Grey: "Damn! I'll take the brat into the bathroom!"

President: "You've killed him!"

Grey: "Not yet!"

President: "Don't!"

Grey: "God! You're crazy. The kid could put you away
forever. Just being in here with you is enough to get you into
deep shit."

President: "No! The agents are discreet. They know, okay?"

Grey: "They know? They know you fuck little boys?"

President: "How could I do it otherwise? They're with me
every second."

Grey: "That what?"

President: "Trust me."

Grey: "Jesus!"

President: "What's up?" he asked as if there was nothing
wrong.

CIA Agent: "Excuse me, Mr. President, but we have reason to
believe you might be in danger."

President: "Danger? Hardly, I have Harry Grey in here."

CIA Agent: "Just him? No one else?"

President: "I have a young friend as well."

CIA Agent: "Is there a problem with him?"

President: "Of course not. He just isn't feeling very well
right now."

Me: "I want to see him."

My voice sounded brusque, loud, demanding, in control.

President: "I'm sorry. Not at the moment! Maybe in a little
while. I'll have him brought to your room when he's feeling
better, Mr. Walker."

Me: "The hell you will. I want my son now! If he's not out
here with me in ten seconds I'm going through the door and
getting him."

There was a break in the conversation, the sounds of feet
crossing the floor, of a door opening. I had not heard their
whispered voices before or Shelley's awful gagging sound. Perhaps
not hearing had been the best thing at the time.

President: "It's the kid's old man."

Grey: "For God's sake, get rid of him!"

President: "I'll try."

Me: "Your dick is showing, Mr. President."

President: "He's feeling a bit sick, that's all. He isn't
hurt."

I heard the sounds of movement as I pushed past him and
stepped through the doorway, the horrible rattling noise as
Shelley coughed and cried. Then, more sounds of movement, a door
slamming behind us, the long walk down the corridor to our room,
Shelley's voice, once again. What followed only reminded me of
what I had hoped I would forget.

Shelley: "I love you, Rick."

Me: "I love you, too. Are you okay?"

Shelley: "It hurts, Rick."

Me: "Where?"

Shelley: "Down there. He lifted me up by my nuts, Rick. It
felt awful. It was like they were being ripped off."

Me: "Jesus! I'll kill him. I'll fucking kill the bastard."

Shelley: "Rick, don't! Don't go! Don't leave me alone. I'll
be okay."

Me: "I don't think anything's injured. Does it still hurt?"

Shelley: "Not as much. Just hold me, Rick. I want you to
hold me."

Me: "It's okay. You're safe now. It's all over, Shel. I
promise!"

Shelley: "I love you, Rick."

Me: "Yeah? I didn't know."

There was a faint sound of laughter, feeble wheezing, the
sound of Shelley blowing his nose.

Shelley: "I must look a real mess."

Me: "You're beautiful, and I love you so much."

The sound of kissing was unmistakable. Quiet. Not breathing.
Just the soft smack of lips, wet tongues uniting. It sounded as
if Shelley stopped shaking. Nearly a minute passed. It was a long
passionate kiss. It ended with a little whimper as we parted.

Shelley: "Man, I needed that!"

Me: "Me too. Are you cold?"

Shelley: "I'm starting to feel better..... Rick?"

Me: "Yes?"

Shelley: "He did it to me."

Me: "I'm sorry."

Despite how much I had hoped that it would not come to that,
it was inevitable that it would. It was only to be expected that
the President would want to have anal sex with him. Both of us
had known that it was going to occur. Hearing Shelley talk about
it, send a knife into my heart. I would never forgive myself for
putting him through that horror.

Shelley: "I tried, Rick. I really tried not to."

Me: "What did you try?"

Shelley: "I promised myself it wouldn't be like you. I
didn't want to have one,... you know. I was going to pretend."

Me: "You mean an orgasm?"

Shelley: "I tried. So hard. I didn't want it to feel good. I
wanted to hate it. I wanted it to hurt. Like when Robbie does it.
I wanted it to be like that."

Me: "I'm sorry, Shel. Your body doesn't have that sort of
control."

Shelley: "Rick, he made me do it doggy-style. I was so glad
he didn't want to do it the same way you and I do it."

Me: "Did it hurt a lot?"

Shelley: "At first. He wasn't very careful. Once he got it
started, he started doing really hard. I wasn't ready.

Me: "I'm sorry, Shel."

Shelley: "He went in a long way. Kinda like how you do it
when you're getting close. Only he was faster. I almost couldn't
breath and I could feel it getting looser and looser until it was
really sloppy. Then, I couldn't help it. I wanted it to be you
instead. I wanted you so badly."

Me: "I know."

I remembered that he had called out my name when he
climaxed. I had heard his cry as clear as a bell, pleading in
ecstasy, begging for what he needed, unable to stop his body's
intense spasms as he attained that ultimate pleasure.

Shelley: "Rick, I got to use the bathroom."

Me: "That's okay. I'll carry you in if you want me to."

Shelley: "No, you don't have to. I don't have to go, not
like that. I feel so,... so dirty. I,... I need to wash him off
me."

Me: "It's okay, Shelley. I understand. We'll have to be
quick doing it, though. I want to get the hell out of here as
soon as possible."

Shelley: "I need to, Rick. I can't stand feeling like this."

Me: "I know."

I heard the sound of me lifting him up, carrying him into
the bathroom, placing him with his buttocks over the side. There
had been a short length of rubber hose conveniently attached to
the tap. Its purpose was obvious, had been obvious as soon as we
entered the room and with the knowledge of what was expected of
Shelley during the night. We used it for the second time in two
hours. It had slid in easily, much easier than the first time. I
heard the sound of water. It sounded like a hose running.
Gurgling sounds. Then silence.

Shelley: "It doesn't feel so bad this time."

Me: "I made the water a little warmer."

Shelley: "I think I had better move onto the toilet before I
start getting cramps."

Me: "I expect it'll take a minute or two. I had better go
pack our stuff. Are you okay for now?"

Shelley: "Rick?"

Me: "Yeah?"

Shelley: "I love you. Are you mad?"

Me: "Because of what happened? It's not your fault. It's
mine. From now on, I'm going to do everything I can to make it up
to you."

Shelley: "That's not going to be easy."

Me: "Huh?"

Shelley: "You're going to have to do it every day from now
on."

Me: "Except I won't 'have to'. I want to do it."

Shelley: "Go on, get outta here and get packed while I get
his filthy crap outta by butt."

Me: "I love you."

Shelley: "Yeah, I know. Hey Rick?"

Me: "Yeah?"

Shelley: "It's mutual!"

Me: "I know. Listen, there is something you have to know."

Shelley: "Huh?"

Me: "Shel, if something goes wrong now, here's what you have
to do. We might get separated at some point so I'm going to give
you your own airline ticket. I'm going to give you some money
too, two hundred bucks, just in case. Get to the airport. Take a
taxi, hitch hike, whatever it takes. Go to a check-in counter.
Make up a story so they'll help you. Say your dad's outside
parking the car or something. We're booked on a Delta flight from
Cincinnati to Atlanta. Then, on a Western Air flight to
Albuquerque. Once you get there, you'll wait for me."

Shelley: "Where will I wait?"

Me: "It doesn't matter. Somewhere where there are other
kids, if you can. The best thing will be for you to pretend to be
with a group."

Shelley: "How will you find me?"

Me: "Don't worry about it. The airport isn't that big.
Besides, I don't plan to let you out of my sight form now on.
This is just in case there's a problem.

Shelley: "Okay. Where are we going after that?"

Me: "You said you always wanted to live on a farm, didn't
you?"

There was a momentary silence before my voice returned.

Me: "You and I are going to disappear in Mexico."

I switched off the cell-phone. So that was how Wilderstein
knew our final destination? He had more than enough time to put
his plan into action. The only thing I did not understand was why
he would put a bomb on board the aircraft. Of course, there was a
chance that the third suitcase was simply a mistake, but in my
experience, mistakes like that happened very seldom.



When we finally pulled into Albuquerque it was well past
midnight. I had stopped for coffee three times and my bladder was
ready to burst. Fortunately, finding the motel on Gibson
Boulevard was a simple matter.

I parked at the rear of the building, a few spaces down from
Room 144 and on the other side of the parking lot so that my
headlights would not shine against the motel windows. Going by
the yellow glimmer through the edge of the curtain, a light was
still on in 144. Parked in the space in front of the room was a
Jeep Wrangler. It was covered in a thin film of dust, with a
'please clean me' fingered on the hood. I breathed out. Now I
could rest for a while. I was as tired as I had ever been but
there were still a few things that needed to be done before I
slept. I opened the door, got out, and went around to the other
side of the car. I lifted out the inert body of a ten-year-old
boy. His only response was a sleepy, 'are we there yet', and a
hug that tightened his arms around my neck. I carried him across
the parking lot to the sidewalk, and then a few more paces until
the door to Room 144 opened. It closed quickly behind us.

"Put him on the bed, Mister Barrett," Michael suggested.

Michael Barone had known me for nearly five years. I trusted
him in ways that I trusted very few people. He still called me
Mr. Barrett. I wondered what he would do when Mr. Barrett was
gone.

"Hiya Rick."

I turned before I reached the bed. His voice always caught
me off guard. Juan sounded exactly like his older brother. He
looked exactly like his older brother. His older brother was
dead. Manuel Navarro. He was the first boy I had really loved.
Four years ago. Was it really that long? He was twelve years old
and just far enough into puberty that he was beginning to produce
semen. He would have been sixteen now, old enough for Michael to
find interesting.

"Hi Juan," I answered.

I had loved Manuel only for a matter of few months, yet
sometimes it seemed like a lifetime. At other times, it seemed
like a transient glimpse at boundless happiness. He made love
with an earnest passion, shameless and excited at every coupling.
And we coupled frequently, so often that his grandmother used to
tease him about 'wearing it out'.

Juan grinned broadly. He had perfect white teeth, just like
his brother. His eyes flickered the instant that he noticed the
sleeping boy lying in my arms. He looked at Shelley. His face,
already ochre-hued, darkened further. If anyone asked me whether
he could be jealous, I would have answered 'no'. Yet, his dark
eyes brooded.

"Is him?" he asked pointedly. He was always more comfortable
speaking Spanish with me. "Your boy from DC? The boy Mama always
talk about?"

I nodded and carefully eased Shelley down onto the bed. From
the untidy cover and sheets I assumed that it had already been
slept in. That was good. Michael would have to stay awake until
dawn and it would be safer if Juan was awake to help him. They
had a long drive south to the Mexican border.

Michael stepped closer and rested his hand on Juan's
shoulder. Officially, I had guardianship of him, but Michael had
become both friend and father. They were close, but they weren't
lovers. I breathed out, beginning to feel the effects of not
enough sleep and a body that was kept awake by an overdose of
caffeine. I smiled absently, not able to concentrate. I was too
tired to think. Despite that, my mind continue to whirl through a
thousand different thoughts, testing ideas that might have become
plans if a certain situation arose.

There was always the memories of four years ago. Mostly they
were good memories. I had loved Manuel more that I had ever
thought possible. For four years I had been so lonely that the
prospect of death began to offer solace. I cherished one
particular memory of him. We were on the beach at Acapulco. He
was so beautiful with his lustrous golden brown skin that he
could have been a god. His eyes were mysterious, liquid dark
pools that charmed, captivated, seduced. How he laughed, peals of
joy scattering through the air, even a slight smile brought me
instant happiness. No boy could compare to him. No boy that was
until Shelley came along. He was so different with his pale skin,
blue innocent eyes and silver-blond hair, but he was no less
perfect. Now, Juan?

When had he changed from the awkward little boy I brought
back home with me from a failed mission in Mexico? He was his
brother's equal in every way. He had the same barely restrained
sexuality, the hot blood of his Spanish ancestors boiling in his
veins. Like his brother, his little dark-skinned erection would
be so hard that it gave the appearance of being both powerful and
fragile at the same time.

"He's a lot like Manuel, isn't he Mister Barrett?"

I looked away quickly. "Yes. He's very,..."

"Sexy?"

Michael had taken the word out of my mouth. I nodded, unable
to speak. Juan was both beautiful and sexy. Shelley was also
beautiful and he was sexual, but in a very different way. My eyes
flicked back and forth between them. It was a boy lover's
fantasy. Two beautiful boys who made no secret of what aroused
them. Juan was the same age as Shelley, just ten years old. Young
as he was, he was safe with Michael, at least for another five or
six years. Then, if he was so inclined, he would meet his match
for Michael was a man who, given the opportunity, could make a
person beg for mercy. Until then? I had no doubt that he could
seduce anyone if he put his mind to it. Would his grandmother
give him the same warning as she had given to Manuel about
'wearing it out'?

"Is everything ready?" I finally managed to ask.

"Yes! Juan and I will take your car to Mexico and stay with
Rodriguez. You take the Jeep." He gestured to a couple of bags
standing next to the door. "It's all there, everything you asked
Maria to get. We put food at the cabin, too. You planning to stay
there a long time?"

"I helped, Rick," Juan said. "Lots of food there now."

"Thanks Juan. As for how long, I guess for as long as it
takes," I answered. "Did you get the wood-stain?"

Michael nodded. "It's in the bathroom." He winked
meaningfully. "Maria, she told me to buy some other stuff for
you."

"What other stuff?"

"Stuff for his butt. To make him slippery inside," Juan
giggled as he glanced down at Shelley with what I took to be
envy. "So you can do him."

My mind reeled. I glanced down at Shelley, sound asleep and
completely unaware of the discussion about him. If everything
occured as I had planned, I would 'do him' as soon as he woke up.

"Gee, thanks a lot, Michael," I said sarcastically.

Michael shrugged. "He knows, Mister Barrett. He knows about
you and Manuel too. Maria told him when she arrived. Fact is, I
think Juan wants to be your boy as well. I reckon he's old enough
to make decisions like that for himself. He's younger than his
brother was, but he knows what he wants." He raised his hand from
Juan's shoulder. "It looks like you're going to have to take two
boys to bed now, Mister Barrett."

I smiled. It was an interesting thought, a possibility that
I had not considered until that moment. I found myself warming to
the idea even as I wondered what Shelley would do.

"Well, I would like to get some sleep first," I laughed.
"Are you ready to leave?" I added with a sleepy yawn.

Michael glanced at Juan and nodded. "We ate before you got
here. We've just got to change our clothes and we're gone."

"Okay." I smiled at Juan. "Do you understand about the
clothes?"

Juan nodded seriously. "I look like him and he look like me
so he wears my clothes."

With that minimal explanation, he started to undress. His
brother had been the same way. He was totally uninhibited about
his body. He unfastened the buttons of his plaid shirt and peeled
it back to reveal a superb abdomen. His skin was the same hue as
aged copper, oxidized to a shade of brown that I found intensely
arousing. Like Shelley, there was no flabby softness under his
velvety skin, but unlike Shelley, Juan had well-defined muscles.
He had spent most of the last four years working on the ranch. I
expected it would not take very long before Shelley began to
develop a similar junior-sized six-pack of belly muscle.

He ignored my lingering interest as his hands moved to his
waist. Deftly, his fingers unfastened the copper-colored clasp
and zipper. He shoved his faded blue jeans down his thighs and
kicked them from his bare feet. He grinned at me.

"You like what you see, Rick?"

"Yes, I like. When did you turn into a little sex-maniac?"

Juan shrugged with pretended nonchalance and fingered with
the waist of his white cotton briefs.

"You take off his clothes?" he asked slyly as he gestured to
the boy asleep on the bed.

"Yeah, I guess I'd better," I answered. "There's no way he's
going to wake up and do it himself."

I sat down on the bed next to Shelley. No matter how often I
had undressed him, there was always an intense excitement that I
experienced by removing his clothes. It came from revealing his
glorious body, seeing him exposed and vulnerable. It was much
more difficult to remove his clothes when he was asleep. I
struggled to remove his tee-shirt, over-sized though it was. I
undid the laces of his sneakers and took off his shoes and socks,
holding each small warm foot with loving attention and silently
and dutifully marvelling at his delicious tiny toes. His jeans
offered less resistance because I did not need to move him into a
different position. I stripped him down to his brightly colored
bikini briefs.

"Cute undies," Juan teased. "Just like a girl," he added
under a breath.

Both Michael and I laughed. Juan was envious, and he was not
giving in to the competition with a fight. Not that he needed to
be jealous in one area. From the size of the bulges in the boys'
crotches, it was obvious that Juan's penis was much larger than
Shelley's. Even without seeing the changes wrought over the last
six months, I knew that part of him would be just like his older
brother, only smaller because he was younger. For a twelve-year-
old boy, Juan had been well-endowed. In the macho tradition of
southern Mexico, he was also very proud of the fact. From what I
could see, his brother was following in his footsteps.

"I guess you had better put his undies on too," I responded
with a wink.

"If he wears mine, I will," Juan said provocatively.

"He has to look as much like you as possible," I said
absently.

It was less important that Juan's appearance changed. He was
going back to Mexico. He needed to be seen at a distance when
they passed through El Paso. A stop at a gas station would
probably be enough to satisfy Wilderstein's men when they began
to ask questions. Once safely over the border, he would disappear
until I sent for him. It might take a month or a year. There was
no way of being certain. In his place, Shelley would become a
ten-year-old Mexican boy who had arrived in the U.S. four years
earlier. Until the heat died down, he would have to be extremely
careful whenever he was in public.

With the plan I had developed, what the boys wore under
their jeans was largely unimportant. They could probably wear
nothing and get away with it. Unless things went seriously wrong,
no one would see the boys undressed. No one would realize the
anomaly of a rancher's kid wearing skimpy European underwear.
Just the thought of him wearing the boring white cotton
underpants or staid boxers that were typical of boys where he was
going to live was depressing.

Shelley had quickly adopted my habit of sleeping in the nude
so I was motivated by an inner need to make him comfortable, not
out of any intricate logic. I removed his briefs. Juan reacted by
stepping closer, looking intently. Michael stayed where he was.
Young boys held little interest for him.

"His dick ain't real beeg," Juan remarked callously.

For the moment I ignored his comment.

"He's ese like Mike's," Juan added with a slight sneer. "No
skeen!"

"Mine too," I added. "Most American boys are that way."

"I like them both ways," Michael laughed. "He sure is a cute
kid, Mister Barrett. Real cute. Dang if he doesn't look like that
kid on tv. Aaron what's his name."

"Aaron Carter? You're not the first person to make that
statement. Hopefully, you won't be able to recognize him
tomorrow," I said.

"He's got beeger balls 'n me," Juan added.

There was an unmistakable trace of envy in his voice. He was
staring at Shelley's genitals. Michael turned and looked as well.
>From the way that Shelley was positioned, his legs apart with one
leg nearly perpendicular to the other, his sex organs were
exposed. His scrotum was very loose, emphasizing the egg-shaped
contents under the soft slack skin. To a casual observer it
certainly looked as if his testicles were larger than those of a
ten-year-old boy.

"It looks like he's ready to start puberty," Michael
observed. "He doesn't look all that old. If you'd asked me, I
would have said he was nine or ten."

"He's just turned ten," I replied to the implied question.

"Maybe he's starting early. From the look of him he'll be
shooting before you know it, Mister Barrett."

"Maybe," I answered without enthusiasm. Sooner or later I
would have to explain what had happened to him.

"Well, we'd better get moving. Go ahead and get dressed
Juan. We've got a good two hundred miles ahead of us. I want to
be on the other side of El Paso at least an hour before sunrise.
I don't want any one seeing you in the light."

"At the outside it'll take four hours to get in place. You
should be okay with time," I said. "You plan to cross over at
Alamo Alto using the Tornillo Drain like we used to?"

"Yeah. It's a hell of a walk back from there, but we'll be
fine. We ought to make it to the drop-off point by nine or ten
a.m. I'll call Maria when he's safe," Michael answered. "She'll
get a message up to the cabin."

"I'd appreciate that."

I smiled at Juan as he took the pair of designer-label jeans
I handed him. It was still warm. He was nearly the same height as
Shelley and probably close to the same weight so the clothes
would fit him without a problem.

"You sure about those undies, Mister Barrett?" Michael
joked. "Any boy would sure look sexy in them."

I laughed. "Get on the road, you randy old goat."

Juan dragged the jeans upward, closed the zipper and
fastened the button. It was surprising how much the jeans
emphasized his body, two parts of his body in particular. His
sexuality was very evident, at least as far as a man who was
attracted to boys was concerned. Buttocks defined, crotch
exaggerated, low on his hips. I swallowed and dragged my eyes
away. I busied myself, or rather pretended to be busy by
inspecting the paper bag that Michael had left next to the lamp.
Inside were two tubes of K-Y lubricant and a packet of condoms,
just in case I needed them. I didn't. By the time I glanced back,
Juan had put the tee-shirt and jacket on, and was just in the
process of putting on Shelley's socks and shoes.

Michael had also started to undress, placing his shirt and
jeans on the chair beside the table. I also undressed, tossing my
clothes across the room to him. He dressed, tightening what had
previously been my belt by two notches. I was also several inches
taller than he was, however all he had to do was walk out to the
car. As late as it was, it was unlikely that anyone had seen us
enter the motel room. I stayed undressed, wearing only my briefs,
because I would get into bed as soon as they were gone.

I fished in my jacket pocket to find my wallet, pulled it
out and removed a couple of hundred dollars before I handed it
over to Michael with the jacket. Rick Barrett might be going to
disappear forever, but I would still need some money for
emergencies.

"The car is a white Caddy," I explained as I gave him the
keys. "It's parked near the fence. Lose it." Michael nodded. "If
you leave it unlocked in Alamo it shouldn't take more than a day
to disappear."

"I hope it's insured."

"It's not. The Agency rented it."

Michael laughed. "You're going to make that ass-hole
Wilderstein really mad."

"Probably."

"Then we had better be real careful with fingerprints," he
added.

There was an open clear plastic packet lying on the table.
He picked through a handful of pale creamy latex gloves, selected
two for himself and carefully pulled them over his hands. He kept
two more gloves aside for Juan. It was a good sign. Like me, he
was taking no chances.

"Take it slow up to the trail," Michael advised. "There's
some real rough sections on that road. And keep an eye out for
bear. One of them was hanging about when I took some stuff up
last week. Big fucker too. I put a couple of boxes of .338 shells
in the back of the Jeep. Your BAR Browning is over there with the
rest of the stuff. I even got the scope realigned for the
occasion. You ought to be able to take out anyone who comes
sniffing around up there."

"Very funny. I'm not going on safari," I said dryly.

I waited until Juan finished tying the laces to Shelley's
shoes. He stood up and I placed the cap that Shelley had worn at
the airport on his head. From a distance, there was a similarity.
But only from a distance. I hoped the transformation was more
successful with Shelley's appearance.

"Now, I don't want you doing anything dumb," I began. "Keep
out of trouble. Do whatever Mike tells you, Juan. I'll phone you
as soon as I can."

"Okay. Rick?... I like you, Rick," Juan mumbled.

"I know that. Everything will turn out fine, okay. You have
to trust me."

"I do. You love him?" His voice broke as he came close to
tears.

"Yes," I answered simply.

"The way you loved Manuel?"

"Yes."

"He's lucky."

"Juan,..."

"Yeah?"

"I love you too, okay."

"Yeah. I miss you, Rick"

"When this is over,...."

Michael placed his hand on Juan's shoulder and gently guided
him towards the door. It was time to go. If they didn't leave one
or both of us would start crying. I closed the door behind them
and watched through the narrow gap in the curtains as they
crossed the road. For a moment the lights came on in the
Cadillac. The rear brake lights flashed and the car slowly
reversed, turned, and with its headlights off, began to move out
of the motel parking lot.

I sighed with relief. It was always relieving when a plan
proceeded exactly as it was supposed to. I checked my watch and
smiled weakly.

"Damn," I thought aloud.

I still wore my watch.

Chapter Twelve.

Temptation! That's what he was, lying naked on the
dishevelled bed. Unadulterated temptation. I was tired, but I was
not that tired. The more I looked at his slim smooth body, the
more aroused I became. He was so different to Manuel. To my eyes
he was almost feminine despite his young boy's body. I loved
differently too. He aroused paternal instincts within me, so
unlike the raw sexual thrill Manuel gave me. I ravished Manuel
while he bucked and humped and demanded more. I made love to
Shelley, gently entering him, taking him gradually into the
heights of ecstasy, staying within him long after we had
climaxed. I could never do that with Manuel, or with Juan for
that matter. Passivity was an affront to his burgeoning
masculinity.

I eased onto the bed, yawning tiredly. My rigid penis
bounced against my thighs, slapped my belly, let me know that it
was ready for action even though the rest of my body was close to
exhaustion. I had not slept in,... how long had it been. I curled
up into Shelley's silky warmth, absorbing the sweet sweaty
fragrance of his body. Like me, he needed a shower and shampoo.
Was it really twenty four hours ago that I had forced myself in
to the President's bedroom? I yawned again, closed my eyes, felt
the weight of sleep pulling into a dark chasm. How long had it
been since I slept? How long?.....

When I awoke the room was still dark. After a dozen years of
experience in the field, a person acquires a sixth sense.
Something was wrong! My eyes flickered, quickly adjusting to the
darkness. I listened, barely moved my head, concentrated in the
heavy silence, tensed the muscles in my arms and legs as I
prepared to leap up. Still pretending to be asleep, I moved my
arm outward, using my right hand to feel for Shelley, for where
he should have been. There was still residual warmth. My eyes
opened and I looked around the gloomy room. There was a small
amount of light coming through the gap in the curtains, more than
there had been when we first entered the room. It was getting
lighter outside. Not sunshine, not yet, but it would not be long
before the sun rose.

"Shel?" I called out softly.

"I'm in here," came a voice from the bathroom.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. I had to pee."

I smiled. So much for my sixth sense providing a warning of
danger. I heard the splatter of urine hitting the water,
gradually fading to a tinkling sound as the last few dribbles
splashed down. Then silence. Shaking off. It always amused me
when he did that. It was a two-handed job, waggling it back and
forth energetically, just one step away from openly masturbating.
When he did it in public restrooms, there was often a sideways
glance, either from me or the person on the other side of him.
Once, when I had taken him to a baseball game, a man had ogled
him, nearly drooling as Shelley went through his teasing routine.

A moment later Shelley bounded out of the bathroom and
leaped onto the bed. He slid under the covers and into my waiting
arms.

"Fuck me, Rick," he demanded aggressively.

"What?"

"I'm ready."

"You're always ready," I answered.

"So are you. I can feel him against my belly."

"That's probably true. But I just woke up," I complained.

"So. It'll wake you up all the way," Shelley giggled.
"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Are you going to fuck me or not?"

"Can I go pee first?" I asked.

"If you have too," Shelley replied with pretended petulance.
"Only it'll be easier if he's softer."

I grinned at him, immediately catching his drift. There was
one sure-fire way of getting my penis softer.

"There's lube on the stand, under the lamp," I instructed.

"I know. I already found it. I'm ready."

"Ah, that kind of ready," I mused. "No foreplay?"

"Nope," Shelley giggled. "I've been wanting to do this
forever. I want you in me."

"I think I can do that. How do you want to do it?"

Shelley thought for a second or two. "'cause you're still
sleepy, I'll be the jockey if you want."

'Riding the horse', or 'being the jockey' as Shelley termed
it, was one of my favorite positions. It gave him control, and
that was the key to having sex with a young boy. It was important
that he was able to set the pace and determine the depth at the
start. As soon as he was used to it, lust took over. If left to
his own devices, he would usually do it as fast and as hard as he
could. It always surprised me how much he could take when it was
up to him. When it was my turn to take the active role, I did it
the way I thought would give him the greatest pleasure. I was
often goaded to employ greater effort.

I rolled onto my back, reaching out to Shelley as he
scrambled on top of me. He lay down, full length, resting his
head on my chest, listening to my heart beating. For a minute we
did nothing but share our body warmth, the delicious heat of bare
flesh pressed together. My hands caressed his lean back, tickling
his ribs ever pass as I glided my fingertips up and down from his
neck to the start of his buttocks. He giggled every time,
slapping or pushing my hands away but not with enough effort to
show that he wanted me to stop. Finally, when he was getting
close to being annoyed, my hands flowed down one last time. Until
now, I had stopped at the small gap between his buttocks that
heralded the start of his crevice. Not this time. My hands felt
the smooth roundness of his cheeks, holding one in each hand,
easing my fingers into the hot zone that separated them. It was
slippery there, along the furrow of his crack. When my finger
touched his anus, I realized what Shelley had been doing in the
bathroom.

"So you were peeing, huh?" I teased.

He giggled. "Uh huh, I did that too. But I did something
else as well 'cause I wanted to be ready for him, Rick."

"So I see."

Actually, I could not see, but I could certainly feel.
Shelley's anus was appropriately relaxed, the same way that any
young boy's anus becomes after it has been subjected to both
lubrication and fingering. There was no resistance to my finger
at the small opening, just an inviting softness, the surrounding
rim yielding to an enclosing tightness within. I rotated my
finger, encouraged by Shelley's soft sigh and a very deliberate
backward pressure that was intended to achieve penetration. My
finger slipped into him, grasped by the spongy heat of his
nibbling orifice.

"I think I know what you need," I said softly into his ear.
"And it's not my finger."

"Uh huh," Shelley breathed. "I want you so much, Rick. I
want to feel you all the way inside me."

"You do it," I answered.

"Now?"

"If you want to."

"Yeah," Shelley murmured.

His body lifted away and his knees drew up beneath him so
that he squatted above me like a jockey crouched about a horse
awaiting the start of a race. He felt behind him, guided my
penis, touched his crevice as he sought the opening there. The he
held my penis closer to the base, eased back as the tip nudged
into the small indentation. He winced noticeably, pushed a little
harder, swallowed and bit his bottom lip. It had to hurt. It was
the worst part and he knew he had to be both careful and patient.

Robbie was neither careful or patient. I knew that Robbie
had hurt him. Shelley was used to seeing blood afterwards. It was
his blood. The first time there were red smears of blood all over
the white sheets. He was very sore afterwards. Yet, he had gone
back, time and time again, until the pain dulled to a raw ache
and his body was able to take the abuse without being ravaged.

He groaned softly as he felt my penis penetrate deeper. It
was still not in far enough that he could stop pushing down.
Instinctively, his anus fought back. No matter how much he wanted
to have sex, it was always the same. It was like putting a square
peg in a round hole, or more accurately, a big peg in a small
hole. He had to be patient. That part of his body needed time to
adjust. Even with practice, it took a lot of effort.

I supported his hips with my hands. It would have been easy
to force him down. Indeed, it sometimes seemed that a sudden hard
thrust would have been preferable to watching his distress. His
face contorted even as I felt his anus clench and try to push my
penis out.

"Okay?"

"Not used to it," Shelley gasped. "It hurts a bit, Rick."

"I'm sorry. We don't have to,..."

"I want to, okay. I'm not used to it. We both know it won't
stop hurting unless we force him in."

What is said about absence making the heart grow fonder,
probably could apply to abstinence making the ass get tighter.
Two weeks without sex was a long time when a boy had become used
to doing it on a regular basis. However, even while we paused,
waiting for the contractions to fade, I wondered why he was
having such a difficult time. Before I could ask the question,
Shelley gave me the answer.

"You're so much bigger than him."

"Huh? You mean the President?" I asked guiltily.

"Uh huh." Shelley smirked. "You have the biggest cock of any
guy I know."

"Even Robbie?" I teased. "You told me once that his was
huge."

"It is huge, but your's is huge-er."

"I'll take that as a compliment. I'm sorry I'm hurting you."

"'s okay. Sometimes I wish he could just slide right up me."

I nodded, stroking his trembling flanks in a vain attempt to
reassure him. Shelley eased down, half-closing his eyes,
controlling his muscles with concentration, resisting his body's
rejection. Without warning, he pushed down once, twice, tried a
third time, then backed away quickly. It had gone in a bit
further. There was only a momentary hesitation before he pushed,
trying again. It was as if his wish had been granted. The head of
my penis squeezed past the taut band inside him.

"Yeah," Shelley groaned.

"Better?"

"Much. I gotta catch my breath."

"Take your time. There's no rush."

Shelley smiled shyly. His body held mine, locked inside him,
joined together. He took a slow breath. His sphincter closed,
binding on my penis. He winced. The sensation felt both familiar
and strange. He struggled for a few seconds until the spasm
faded.

"Phew! This is hard work being on top."

"You've only just started," I grinned. "You'll be sweating
like a pig before you're done."

It was a wonderful sight. He sat astride my thighs, his own
slender smooth thighs splayed wide, his pale shrivelled genitals
vaguely male. Rising between us, like an umbilical, I could make
out the straight stiff stalk of my penis. It connected us. This
was what made us what we were. We did this to show how much we
loved each other. It hurt him, but it also defined him. He was a
boy-lover's boy.

"How're you doing?"

"Okay. It feels like it's starting to get looser, Rick."

"Yeah, I can it."

Gently Shelley lifted up an inch or so and promptly pushed
down again, driving my penis even deeper. He shuddered. I hated
to see him hurt himself. He regarded my affectionately. I smiled
back at him.

"Don't rush," I cautioned.

He nodded with an erratic movement that showed he was under
stress. Then, closing his eyes again, he pushed obstinately
downward. I felt my penis surging deeper, ramming into his bowels
without regard for his pleasure. It was like that, being impaled.
I realized that his urge was now in control and he was intent on
giving me his body. There was nothing I could do to stop him. He
knew what he had to do, and the sooner he did it, the sooner it
would stop hurting.

I glanced down again in an attempt to see how much was left.
I could still see my penis, albeit much less than before. Perhaps
half. The rest? The rest was inside him. However, when he was
like this, agitated and anxious, four inches was not enough. I
slid my hands along the smooth skin of his thighs, brushed his
wrinkled scrotum with my thumbs, marvelled at the barely
perceptible indication of his gender. His penis had contracted
until all that could be seen was his pale bluish-pink glans.

His sphincter dilated in a rush. It was fascinating how that
happened. One moment it was a tight band that resisted my gentle
thrusting. The next, it had become loose and spongy, sucking on
my outward movement, yielding easily as I returned. It was as if
some switch had been thrown, an inner voice that convinced his
muscle to 'give in and enjoy it, because there was no point in
fighting'.

Shelley felt it as well, that sudden looseness that allowed
him to move without wincing, to push down further. He rose up on
his haunches, pulling his penis through his distended tube until
it came free. The first two inches glistened with shiny slickness
from the film of KY. His hand reached underneath, felt between
us, repositioned the swollen head where it needed to me. Then,
gazing down at me with a cherubic expression, he rubbed the tip
around in circles, smearing the lubricant before he reinserted
it. His sphincter grasped my penis momentarily as he readied his
inner muscles. Then with deliberate slowness he allowed his body
to drop down. My penis penetrated as nature intended.

Straight, hard, inflexible, a stake of flesh pushed into
softer, weaker flesh. This was the meaning of 'taking
possession'. He could not stop until he belonged to me. Further,
slowing down as my penis reached into his rectum. However, the
worst was over. The rest was easy. He slowed only to relish the
sensations, the pressure building when my penis was nearly half
way inside him. Four inches was all that it took for him to have
an orgasm. Four inches, until my penis was in the vicinity of his
tiny prostate. It did not matter that it was immature, that the
production of seminal fluid was impossible. All that matter was
its incredible sensitivity. He groaned loudly.

Some boys talk during sex. Manuel did. He told how it felt
and how he wanted it. A lot of Mexican boys do that. It was
impossible to have sex without getting instructions every step of
the way. I put it down to the macho thing, the need to be in
control of the situation. Not that I really minded, of course. It
was nice to know that my efforts were appreciated, even if it
meant going faster, deeper, and harder.

Shelley seldom talked. He groaned and whimpered a lot
instead. I could tell a lot from the sounds he made. With my
hands on his hips, I lifted him up so that my penis pulled back
until it was nearly out. Then, holding him so that he could not
move away, I began a long deep thrust. Past the halfway point,
the point of no return, I eased him down. My penis skewered into
him. He groaned again, his breath exhausting as he was impaled. I
kept him there with a steady unrelenting pressure on his hips,
flexing my penis within his pelvis. He gazed at me in silent
hungry desperation, unable to express the incredible feeling that
came from have my penis all the way inside him.

It would not take very long. I had known that from the
instant we started. All too soon I felt the imminent tightness in
my scrotum. Too soon. I stopped then. My penis was throbbing,
luxuriating in his fabulous heat, contained inside his gently
squeezing rectum. His flesh surrounded my flesh. I belonged
inside him. Like me, Shelley had been born to do this. Looking up
at me with his innocent doe-eyes, he smiled weakly. He could feel
it too. The sensation of release was just around the corner. A
few more thrusts and it would be over. Inside his body was too
hot, too tight, too wonderful. I felt him quivering with
excitement. There was joy in his eyes. I saw the trusting
acceptance that came from knowing he was loved, that he knew he
was making me happy.

He squatted down, keeping my penis deep within his bowels,
resting, trying to delay the inevitable ejaculation. His pleasure
depended on me. He wasn't ready for it to end, not yet. It is
possible to control almost every bodily function, but it was
impossible to delay orgasm in that situation. I could feel the
tightening of my inner muscles, his body clamping down, my semen
leaking out as I fought to hold back a greater flow, trying to
prolong it, to make it last more than a few frantic seconds. Each
squeeze slowed the eruption, but the short of withdrawing, it was
only a temporary respite.

Shelley, his eyes nearly closed with mystical rapture, began
to move again. His first few backward thrusts were almost casual,
rhythmic pumping. Then suddenly he began to jerk, humping
erratically. I gasped, felt the surge of semen rising through my
shaft, spurting copiously into the grunting, shuddering boy above
me. This was sex without the need to reproduce. Raw, primal sex.
Rutting frantically, both thrusting in a simultaneous short-lived
ecstasy.

I felt the change inside him. The result of an anal orgasm
was always the same for a boy. They could easily pretend to
climax, but one thing was always missing. They could not achieve
the sudden looseness that now pervaded Shelley's trembling body.
He breathed with quick shallow gasps, gripping my flanks with his
knees. He could feel my fluids inside him, the sloppy, oozing
heat that seeped past my penis and filled his flaccid inner
chamber.

Gradually, my hands moved from his hips to his back, the
upward to his shoulders. I drew him down until he lay on top of
me. At the same time, my legs lifted up until my thighs cradled
his rump.

"I love you," I whispered in his ear.

His anus clutched at my penis, showing his love for me in a
different way.

"Is that what you wanted?" I asked quietly.

Shelley nodded, moving his tousled head on me chest. He
tilted it around so his eyes could see my face.

"You feel nice," he murmured.

"So do you, lover boy," I answered. "You came right at the
end."

"Uh huh. I didn't think I would for a while. I wasn't ready
to stop."

"I could tell."

"Rick?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we do this for ever and ever?"

"Have sex?"

"That too. I meant just lie here like this."

"If you want. I guess they'll find out bodies eventually and
figure out what happened."

"If I had to die I'd want it to be like this," Shelley
smiled. "Cowboys are supposed to die in the saddle but I want to
die with your dick in my ass."

I laughed, reached down and playfully squeezed the rounded
cheek of his bottom.

"Same here. I can see the obituary. 'Rick Barrett, retired
CIA operative and his recently adopted son, Shelley died while
fucking.'"

"Hey, Dad?" Shelley began.

"Yes?"

"I was just trying it out to see if it worked."

"And does it?"

"You answered didn't you?" Shelley answered with a grin.

"I thought you felt strange calling me Dad when we were
having sex?"

"We're not having sex," Shelley replied gleefully.

"We're not? My dick is confused then. He's inside your ass
and covered in jizz and he's not having sex."

"We had sex. We're not having sex right now."

"What do you call it then?" I teased.

"Hm,... Good question. I don't know, but you aren't fucking
me so we aren't having sex."

"You sound like the President," I chuckled.

"Huh?"

"Well, that's sort of what he said. A while ago he tried to
argue that oral sex wasn't really sex."

"It isn't?"

"Of course it is. What else could it be? A mouth massage as
part of oral hygiene?"

"More like a mouth wash with you," Shelley giggled.

His fingers tugged at my armpit hair. "Do you think I'll be
all hairy like you one day?"

"Nope."

"Why not?" Shelley asked.

"Because I'll shave it all off. I like you nice and smooth."

"Even around my dick?"

"Especially around your dick."

"There's something I guess I ought to tell you now you're my
dad."

"Sure. Fire away."

"My balls feel funny," he said with a somewhat distant
voice.

"Funny?" I asked nervously.

"Weird. It's hard to explain. It's like they're numb or
something. They've been like that for a while now. It's like I
can feel your fingers when you touch me there, but my balls don't
feel anything."

"Oh?" I remarked cautiously. "How long?"

"Don't know really. I didn't think about it, or even really
notice it until yesterday. When you were playing with it in the
plane it didn't feel the same."

I nodded. Sooner or later, preferably later, I would have to
tell him about the operation and what had been taken from his
body. Now, I avoided the issue.

"Maybe it's because of the accident you had?" I suggested
feebly.

"I guess. Do you think I hurt them, Dad? I was sort of
worried they might have been hurt when I was with him. That other
man practically lifted me off the ground by them."

I winced. If I ever had the chance to do it over again, I
wondered if I would still agree. I had agreed to Wilderstein's
plan for only one reason, and that reason was lying on top of me
with my penis still embedded in his bowels. I would do anything
to keep Shelley, including murder someone.

Much though I loathed Harry Grey for hurting Shelley in an
effort to get him to reveal who I was, I did not need to kill
him. Someone else had done that for me. The newspaper headline
that I had seen in the airport shop had announced his death due
to natural causes. However, that was highly unlikely. Harry Grey
may have been a Russian spy, but he knew too much. He was too
close to the President to ever be tried for espionage. There was
only one solution and it could be accomplished by one of two
methods. Death by natural causes, or death by accident. Over the
last half-dozen years so many people around the President had
died from accidental causes, that it was only to be expected that
natural causes would be selected for someone as important as
Harry Grey.

"I'm sorry I put you through all this," I said sincerely.

Shelley smiled. "It's okay, Dad. We're happy now. That's all
that counts."

I laughed and bent my head so that I could kiss him.
Instinctively, his head swivelled around so that his lips met
mine instead of his forehead. I had not intended to kiss him like
that. After going without brushing for twenty four hours my
breath must have been ripe. On the other hand, Shelley's breath
was fresh and sweet.

"That's not fair. You brushed your teeth, you little bum-
boy," I teased.

"I don't mind." Shelley giggled. "But if I'm a bum-boy,
you're a bum-bandit."

"Maybe I do mind," I replied.

I started to shift his body off me so that I could get up
and go to the bathroom. Instantly, his knees locked into my sides
and his hands gripped my arms. He clung to me like a little human
limpet. To get him off me, I would literally have to drag him
away.

"Come on, it's not fair," I complained.

"You can't get up."

"I can't? Why not?" I played along.

"Because you'd have to take your dick out of me and I don't
want him to go."

"Then I'll have to carry you into the bathroom with me," I
replied.

"If you pull your dick out, I'm going to get really, really
mad."

Shelley grinned at me and promptly landed a quick kiss that
was mostly wet, wriggling tongue, right on my lips.

Chapter 13.

I did the only thing I could under the circumstances. I held
him tightly against me and carefully eased up and off the bed,
Shelley's arms looped around my neck and his legs lifted up and
locked around my back. With one of my hands under his buttocks
and the other arm around his back and holding his shoulder, my
penis was not about to come out. Still, his rectum clamped,
pulling against my softened penis with remarkable strength
considering what had happened to it only a few minutes earlier.
The unmistakable odor of sex rose up from our bodies. It was a
sweet smell. The musky aroma reminded me of the times we had laid
in bed afterwards, totally exhausted yet still joined. I was part
of him. My seed was inside him. We had made love. We loved each
other. We were lovers in every sense.

Carefully, I began to walk. I could feel my penis moving
inside his body, sliding through the accumulated fluids, the
walls of his rectum like a tube that was gradually becoming tight
again, yet still stretching and flexing to accommodate me. It
felt hot and alive, massaging my penis back to life again. And
there was also the slightly unpleasant feeling as my semen seeped
out of him, as hot thick cream became cold stickiness. My pubic
hair felt like it was plastered to by groin, my scrotum coated
with wet goo.

Shelley had left the bathroom light on in his hurry to get
back into bed. For a moment I considered resting him on the
vanity counter while I brushed my teeth. Then we could go back to
bed, and repeat what we had just completed. The mere thought of
proving my love for him again was exciting. I could feel my
hardness returning, my penis expanding again, growing longer,
reaching upward into his abdomen. The urge was back, and now I
was awake, it was even stronger. However, time was short. There
was a very full day ahead of us if we were to reach the cabin
before sunset.

"Fuck me," Shelley purred as his thighs tensed.

His legs pulled us closer together, not that we could be
much closer than we were. My stiffening penis pushed deeper, and
the realization of our mutual need incited my heart to pump
faster. I gripped his buttocks, now with both hands as I pulled
his cheeks apart and strained upward and into him. MY penis
continued to grow, taking over his inner void again until it was
fully erect. Was it possible that so much of my penis could
actually fit inside this slender little boy?

Instead of going back to bed, I took him into the shower. I
had never had sex with him in the shower, at least not anal sex.
There is a first time for everything. Well, not quite everything.
A long time ago I had made a promise to myself, and Shelley too,
that I would never use the 'doggy' position with him. Robbie did
it that way. That way hurt too much!

With difficulty, I turned on the shower, have the water time
to warm up, and carefully stepped over the bath edge with Shelley
still clinging to me. My penis was rock-hard and fully embedded
and he wriggled around to let me know that he was just as eager
as I was to take advantage of it. I did not need encouragement,
but it was nice to have it.

Awkwardly, I managed to release one hand and closed the
shower door. The warm water splashed over us, momentarily
diverting me as I stood there relishing the awakening refreshing
change. Shelley, however, was not so easily diverted. Using his
thighs and arms, he lifted his body upward. Gravity did the rest
the instant that he relaxed his muscles.

"Oh God," he gasped as he dropped down.

My penis had forced deeply into him. It had burrowed into
him as deep as it had ever been, at least that was how it felt to
me, but as far back as I could remember, I had never penetrated
him so hard or fast. He squirmed, pressing his face into my chest
to stifle what had to be a cry of pain. His entire body trembled.
For a moment I thought of a wounded animal, jerking erratically
as if it had been impaled by a spear. Yet, even as I began to
panic, Shelley's arms tightened around my neck. He struggled as
he pulled himself away from it, choking back what sounded an
awful lot like a sob. He did not lift up quite so far this time,
just far enough that the head of my penis was still gripped by
his quaking muscle.

"I love you, Rick," he groaned. "I love you. I want you in
me so much."

"You don't have to do this," I said.

Even before the words were barely out of my mouth, Shelley
dropped down again and my penis rammed back into him. It was hard
not to feel bitter. It angered me, knowing that Robbie used to do
this to him, take him with deep hard thrusts. It would have been
rape, but Shelley had wanted to do it, again and again, until he
was nearly senseless.

"I want to make love to you," Shelley grunted.

His legs gripped my hips, straining to push more of my
rampart organ inside him. Not that it could go much further. He
had reached the physical limit of seven inches. It was thick and
hard, and it was all the way inside him. He shuddered again, but
not as violently as the first time.

"Oh, Rick."

I heard the urgency in his voice, the nervous excitement,
the need that could no longer be denied. I grinned at him
proudly, felt his rectum clamping as he exerted all his strength
against me, holding me inside him. His flickering eyes met mine.
This was love. Enduring love. Sure it was sex too, but it was
love first and foremost.

Love thrives on sex. At least, it was like that with Shelley
and Manuel. I needed to show Shelley how much I loved him and the
best way to do that was to give him pleasure like no other. No
matter how many times we made love, each time was memorable. Now,
my hands caressed his back, massaging the firm bumps of his
spine. All of his weight seemed to be carried by my rigid penis.
Indeed, my body arched back, lifting my sex upward and outward,
curving into his grasping depths as I tightened my groin muscles
and strained against his buttocks.

His arms locked around my neck, dragging his body upward. I
flexed my sex, throbbing hard, making him quiver as it jumped
inside him. Then with one hand cushioning his buttocks to make
sure that my penis did not escape, and the other on his shoulder,
I began. Up and down. Slowly at first, but quickly gaining force
until he was slamming down so hard that each breath was knocked
out of him.

I felt renewed as the water cascaded over us, stronger than
seemed humanly possible, with more energy than I could ever
remember. Yet, we were both gasping and groaning as the
excitement began to peak. I pushed him back against the tiled
wall of the shower, gripped his slender thighs close to his
knees, started a different in-and-out motion that was less about
going up and down than it was about going backwards and forwards.

The wall behind Shelley was an immovable barrier, hard and
resisting, absorbing force that on the surface seemed to
contradict Newton's law, 'for every action there was an equal and
opposite reaction.' I expected a reaction back. There was none,
not unless you would call Shelley's panting a reaction. It took
only a few seconds before his groaning and twitching told me that
he was nearly there, at that pinnacle of ecstasy from which there
was no escape, merely the overpowering need to be there again.

Yet, as urgent as my thighs and hips were lunging against
him, I realized that I wanted to delay the inevitable climax for
as long as possible. This was something that we both longed for.
It would make up for the long days and nights that we had been
separated, or unable to satisfy our lust. This was what men and
boys had been doing since they found a private place at the rear
of a smoke-filled cave.

And then I felt the approach of my ejaculation. There was no
holding back, not this time. I pounded against him, straining to
get further inside him. I had a vague thought throughout that all
demanding desire, that if I could just get far enough inside him,
I could become part of him forever. I could hear his gasping in
my ear, moaning his incoherent love aloud. Could I really go any
faster than this? Slamming him back against the tiles, jamming my
feet against the bath so that we would not slip, aware of him
crying, pleading, begging me to do it.

It was not like before, not beginning with a slow dribble.
It burst out of me as I jack-hammered furiously into the soft
clutching body before me. A torrent of semen gushing into him,
filling his anal cavity until it squelched noisily with each
dying thrust. It always ended the same way, with regret that it
had not lasted longer. Had Shelley climaxed as well? There was no
way of telling. His eyes were closed, concentrating on the
lingering sensations. Muted appreciation, a shared moment,
knowing what we had done. Precious time together, forming
memories that would have to last until the next time.

My penis, contracting as my erection faded, finally plopped
out of his dilated anus and flopped against my thigh.

"The poor little guy's exhausted," Shelley observed.

"You're exhausted?" I teased. "I don't believe it. I was
thinking you might want to do it again.

"Yeah, right," he giggled. "I was talking about your dick,
Rick."

"Oh, that!" I winked at him. "I was pretty good for an old
dude, huh?"

"Uh huh. I never did it in the shower before."

"Neither have I. Did you like it?"

"Yeah, and so did you."

"Does it hurt?"

That was the question I always asked afterwards. Most of the
time Shelley shrugged, accepting his discomfort as the natural
by-product of having sex with a man. A few times, only a few
times, he had complained that it was sore, that it hurt where my
penis had been. He nodded slightly but did not elaborate.
Lovingly, I stroked his shoulders, kissed his forehead, nuzzled
his ears. Shelley relaxed contentedly, abandoned to his blissful
thoughts and the sybaritic pleasure of the dull ache inside him.
He always enjoyed being held after sex.

"Rick?" Shelley asked softly.

"Uh huh."

"What I was saying before, about my balls feeling funny?"

"Yes."

"It was the same this time. When you were doing it. I could
see them getting squashed against your belly, but it didn't hurt
at all. I could barely feel it."

"Oh!"

I had a terrible sinking feeling. This was not the time to
tell him what Wilderstein, what I had done to him. He would have
to know what happened after his supposed bike accident. It had
not been one testicle as I had agreed, but both of them. Both of
them were gone, replaced with silicone-covered transmitters. He
had been castrated for the good of his country. Would there ever
be a good time to deliver the bad news?

"It's probably normal," I explained. "I guess we had better
get a move on or we'll be charged for an extra day."

There was no conviction in my voice. There was a fleeting
sense that he knew I was holding something back. He squirmed
slightly and I eased him down onto the bottom of the bath. He
picked up the soap from the holder and began to lather his front
up. Satisfied when his white soapy belly and chest was covered in
foam, he began on his back. Shyly he rubbed his fingers between
his buttocks.

"The best part about doing it in the shower,... is cleaning
up," Shelley announced.

I grinned. I understood as any man who has made love to a
boy that way would appreciate. Cleaning up can be unpleasant at
times. Other times, it can be as enjoyable as having sex in the
first place.

"Well, make sure you're really clean all over because this
is the last shower you'll be able to take for a long while."

"Why? Where are we going?" Shelley asked eagerly.

I shook my head, pretending I was not going to tell him. His
response was immediate. His little hand reached out and gripped
my penis as hard as he could, He yanked it downwards, not too
hard but hard enough to let me know he meant business.

"Okay, okay," I laughed. "I'll tell you. Just don't pull my
dick off."

I leaned down and whispered in his ear. For a few seconds he
did not understand. Then slowly, he smiled. His eyes opened wide
and he beamed at me with joy. I took the soap while Shelley
proceeded to shampoo his hair. His mood had become infectious and
we were suddenly hurrying to get on our way.

In a way, it was illogical, him having a shower and
shampooing his hair until it glistened. However, I did not have
the heart to tell him what was in store for him when he got out
of the shower. We dried off quickly, barely cognizant of our
nakedness until Shelley gave me a long look and meaningfully
dropped his eyes down to my crotch.

"He's my best friend in the whole world," he grinned.

"I'm glad because I'm in love with yours," I answered.

We stood there, facing each other, aware of that growing
urge we shared. The need to be together was getting stronger and
stronger, overpowering any restraint I possessed. Was three times
in a row actually possible? I saw the answer to my unasked
question in Shelley's smile, a smile that was both shy and sly.

"You want to go back to bed?" Shelley asked softly.

"I'd love to, but we really need to get on the road."

I paused, wondering how he would take it. Sooner or later he
had to know, and sooner rather than later.

"Shel, there's something I haven't told you."


End Part 2.