Date: Fri, 20 Apr 2001 21:01:35
From: Ganymede
Subject: First Boy   The Fourth and Final Part

First Boy, Part 4 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.
The story cannot be used for monetary gain, including placing
it in an archive or by distribution in electronic or other media.

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


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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 4, By Ganymede


Chapter Eighteen.

The first bullet hit a tree that was ten feet in front of us. I
heard its impact at the same instant as a large chunk of dark
brown chiselled bark broke away and fell to the ground. No amount
of training or experience in the field can take away the shock of
realizing that someone is trying to kill you.

Shelley and I stayed together for what seemed an eternity, frozen
in place. We were partially connected with the head of my penis
barely lodged in his anus, not really penetrating, but ready to do
so any second. It would not have taken very much pressure to break
through that resilient barrier. He had been pushing back the way
that boys do when they're ready, relaxing his inner muscles, mak-
ing his pelvis rotate to loosen the way.

Even after the shot was fired, he kept doing it, pushing harder,
uttering a little whimpering cry as he felt the head of my penis
bulging. Was he so utterly entranced, so intent on his single-
minded purpose that he did not hear the gun shot? I pushed him as
hard as I could, ramming his body towards the ground, covering him
protectively as best I could even as I recognized the absolute
futility of it. Any bullet that could do such damage to a tree
would pass right through both of us and deep into the mossy earth
before it stopped.

As I lay over the now-panicked boy, feeling him struggle under-
neath me, I had a mental image of the next bullet smashing into my
spine. It would tear such a large hole that death for both of us
would be instantaneous. Better that than a lingering painful
death, a death like Manuel had. Bleeding slowly to death, scream-
ing in horrendous pain as his life ebbed into a red pool under
him.

Silence. Interminable silence. The absence of sound gave a false
sense of security. Just the sounds of breathing. Our breathing.
And Shelley's vocal complaints, garbled words muffled in the
ground beneath me. His body writhed, wriggled beneath me, his but-
tocks pushing against my still hard penis. Did he still think I
was trying to 'fuck' him? Hadn't he heard the gun shot?

Yet, the impossible had occurred. I was stunned when I realized
what had happened. By falling on top of him, my penis had been
thrust into him. Not far, not unless two or three inches could be
considered far. But it was far enough. I felt Shelley's sphincter
gripping just behind my glans, exerting that warm tight pressure
that made me so excited that it was all I could do not to push
against him, not to penetrate even deeper. His anus flexed, grab-
bing again and again, pulling my penis further into him.

"Oh, God!" he groaned. "You feel so good, Rick. I'm so close."

"Shut the hell up," I said angrily.

I reached between us, separating us with a frantic jerk, barely
cognizant of his throaty moan, grabbing the back of his jeans.
They had fallen to his knees, so bunched up he would not be able
to move faster than a clumsy waddle. When it was time to move, he
would have to move very fast. I dragged his jeans upward, elicit-
ing another loud complaint that was immediately followed by a
squeal of pain that was probably caused by the metal zipper snag-
ging his penis. It was impossible to fasten the front of his
jeans. He would have to run clutching the front of his jeans to
keep them from falling down. And he would have to run faster than
he had ever run in his life.

"What's wrong?"

"Later! Listen to me. On three! You're going to get up and run as
fast as you can, Shel'. Go straight past the horses. Don't stop!
No matter what happens! I want you to keep running!"

"Like in the airport, Rick?"

I could hear the fear in his voice. His befuddled brain was slowly
beginning to put two and two together. No wonder he was scared. He
had good reason to be frightened. I was frightened. If he was
frightened, he would run fast. I hoped he would make it. There was
a good chance he would make it if he ran fast enough.

"Huh? yeah, like that," I answered abruptly. We needed to get mov-
ing. "Okay, Shel', I want you to go in a straight line, more or
less. Go as fast as you can. Don't stop running. Once you get
close to the cliff, go right. You'll find a trail that leads to a
mine. Go inside, not too far because it's dangerous. I want you to
wait there."

"Okay." Shelley rasped.

I could feel his slender body trembling like a frightened animal.

"Rick, promise you'll come get me soon?" he implored.

I did not answer his question. "Shel', if I don't come before
dark, I don't want you coming back here."

"What should I do?"

"Keep following the cliff. It'll take a while, but,..."

"But what?"

"Shhh!"

I listened. There was a single sound in the silent grove. The
sound of a branch breaking. Whoever was out there amongst the
trees was closing in. Only a matter of seconds remained.

"You'll come to a river," I whispered. "Follow it downstream. It's
rough going and it'll take most of a day. You'll come to a ranch.
Maria's there."

"Okay. I'll wait for you there. I love you, Rick.... Rick?"

"I love you too. Run fast, okay?"

"Rick, I don't want to leave you," Shelley sniffed. He was start-
ing to shiver.

"I'll always be with you, Shelley. Always. Now go!"

"I can't! This is good bye, isn't it? Forever?"

"No. It's not over until the fat lady sings. Remember?" I said.

He nodded slightly, clenching my hand in his hand, holding on for
all he was worth. He remembered the 'fat lady'. She had sung on
the Mall the day I took Shelley to the Air and Space Museum, and
we had laughed all the way home as we joked about her booming
voice that went on and on until we were no longer able to see her.
For the life of me, I could not remember her name.

I stood up, exposing my back above the ancient green-hued log that
had been sheltering us. I yanked at Shelley's arm, lifting him to
his feet. He stumbled, looked at me with a piteous face that was
full of fear and uncertainty. Like me, he knew that this was in
all probability the last time we would see each other. I wanted to
say good bye, to tell him again how much I loved him, how much he
meant to me. Instead, I shoved him. There was no time left. I
could feel the cross-hairs lining up on the target midway between
my shoulders, on the line of my spine.

"Go! GO!" I screamed at him.

He was ready to cry. There were tears forming in the corner of
each eye. He blinked rapidly, resisting my second shove just as he
had resisted the first push. Finally, he responded. He began to
back away. One step. Then another step. And then he turned and
took flight. Whenever we ran on the beach he had beaten me in
sprints. He had teased me relentlessly each time as he glowed with
victory. For once I was glad he was a fast runner.

I watched him disappear between the pine trees, scrambling across
a rock ledge, slipping on moss and wet pine needles, then getting
back up, glancing over his shoulder, running awkwardly with one
hand at his waist, the other fending off branches that whipped at
his head. he was gone from sight even as I started towards the
horses. Miraculously, a second shot had not been fired.

At that moment, I had only a single goal and that was to get the
rifle from my saddle. If I was armed, we both had a chance of sur-
vival. I nearly made it.

"That's far enough!"

Wilderstein's voice stopped me in my tracks. He was the last per-
son I expected to meet. I stood still. The tone of his voice was
warning enough not to move. Not an inch. The rifle was still a
couple of paces away. I could see the polished wood stock protrud-
ing from the saddle scabbard, temptingly offering salvation if I
made one desperate leap and managed to grab it before Wilderstein
shot me in the back. The important thing was to make certain that
Shelley managed to escape. It was like a scene out of a low-budget
Western as I turned around slowly and lifted my hands into the
requisite position of surrender.

Wilderstein held a pistol in the classic target shooting stance
with both of his arms outstretched. It was one of those women's
guns, 22 caliber with a platinum colored barrel and hand grip,
certainly not powerful enough to need two hands to hold it. It was
designed to fit into a hand-bag and not clash with the lipstick
and eye-shadow containers. At close range, it was deadly.

"Well, Rick, imagine meeting you here way out here in the wilder-
ness."

"Imagine," I said sarcastically.



Although he smiled at me, his eyes narrowed. It was unsettling.
Neither of us spoke as we glared at each other. Staring at the
barrel of a gun, even a small gun, was like staring at death. I
had even seen men lose control of their bowels when they thought
they had seconds to live. I gambled, still trying to buy time for
Shelley's escape. Every second counted.

"How did you find us?" I asked.

Wilderstein shrugged. "You went to all the trouble of trying to
cover your tracks. In fact, you made it all too easy. There's the
guts of an EPIRB inside the handle of the briefcase. I knew you'd
check it over thoroughly, so I had it done in Israel the last time
I was there. They don't have the best technology, but they've
learned to make do with what's available."

I nodded cautiously. I had examined the briefcase carefully, but
not carefully enough. Short of taking it apart, there was no way
that I would have discovered the position-transmitter.

"By helicopter?" I asked.

Wilderstein glanced at me dismissively. Of course, he had used a
helicopter. He was as far from riding a horse as I was from going
to a synagogue.

"At any time, I knew where you were within ten feet."

"Why?" I asked curiously.

"Why? You mean why am I here?" Wilderstein smirked. "You really
don't know?"

"No witnesses?" I suggested.

"That, and other reasons. You should know by now that I always
have reasons for what I do. I never did like you very much, Rick.
You were okay in the field, but nowhere as good as everyone said
you were."

"Do I detect a note of jealousy?" I asked callously.

He ignored my jibe. "He won't get very far, you know."

That got my interest just as he knew it would. I tried to remain
calm. I stared back at him, watching for the slightest indication
that I might be able to make the few paces to the horse, reach
over the saddle before he fired his gun. At this range, my Brown-
ing would make a fist-sized hole through him.

"I was quite surprised when you got off at Amarillo," Wilderstein
said. "I went to a lot of trouble to get you on that flight to
Albuquerque. What gave it away?"

"The bomb?" I asked absently.

Wilderstein did not have to answer. I could see the answer in his
furtive eyes. He could never be a field operative. Suddenly every-
thing that happened over the last few days was beginning to make
more sense.

"The extra suitcase," I explained.

"Oh! Yes, I suppose it might have looked a bit suspicious. I fig-
ured you'd head up this way, of course. You used to live around
here, didn't you, Rick?"

I shrugged. People like Wilderstein always pretended to know more
than they let on. Information was power, and if you did not have
information, then you pretended to. It was part of the game.
Always the game.

"I wouldn't have talked, Jacob," I said simply.

"We couldn't risk it."

He smiled, eyes cold and steady, watching me like a hawk watches
its prey before it swoops.

"Do you have any idea what would happen if word got out?" he
added.

"About the President and his attraction to boys?" I ascertained.
"No one would believe it. He's got too much of a reputation with
women."

"I'm not talking about the fucking President," Wilderstein
sneered.

I regarded him dispassionately. How fast were his reflexes? He had
spent most, if not all of his career behind a desk. Even if he was
able to shoot, and his aim was probably nowhere near perfect, he
was certainly close enough to kill. With luck, the 22 caliber bul-
let still might not kill me. It was all about risk, about how much
risk I was prepared to take in order to survive.

"What then?" I demanded.

At that point, I was still buying time, time for Shelley to get
further away, time for Wilderstein to relax his guard, for the
pressure to mount.

"What's it all about in DC nowadays? Budget, Rick. It's always
about budget. The Democrats have hacked at the Agency's budget
until there is next to nothing left."

"So?"

"What do you think would happen if even a word about this one got
out?" he repeated. "National security is one thing, but cutting
the nuts off a ten-year-old boy is something else. The fucking
news services would love it. The politicians would cut the
Agency's budget to nothing."

"And you think I'd spread the word?" I asked. I shook my head. It
was doubtful that he would believe me, but it was worth a try.
"All I want is to live with Shelley. Besides, there's no evi-
dence."

"Don't give me that crap, Rick. Your little faggot friend is car-
rying all the evidence you need right between his legs."

He smirked and I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
To make matters worse, Wilderstein slid one hand into his jacket
pocket and brought out a pen knife, standard Agency-issue, like
mine. Unlike mine, his knife looked as if had never been used.
Then, without warning, there were sounds in the distance. Shel-
ley's voice screaming. A loud grunt. Screaming louder. Reaching
into my mind, discovering in one horrific instant all the fear
that could hide there. Seeing Manuel! The terrible hacking knife,
slicing through the tender flesh, severing that part of him as
blood spurted out across the wooden boards of the truck. There was
a strangling shriek. Then, silence.

I breathed deeply.

"We'll go to your doctor, Jacob," I offered. "There won't be any
evidence left."

He laughed. "It's too late for that, Rick."

I groaned, loathing the man before me and all that he stood for. I
could see nothing as I turned and looked towards the area when
Shelley had been told to run. Nothing but the gloom of the heavily
wooded slope. It was as if someone had turned out the lights
again. It was black after I had looked at Manuel. There were no
emotions save hatred for the men who had murdered him. Wilder-
stein's expression was uncaring, remote, hateful. Instinctively,
part of me accepted that, Shelley was also going to die.

"Were it so simple as cutting his balls off to get rid of the evi-
dence?" Wilderstein continued unabated.

"There's no other evidence," I argued. "Why don't you let him go?"

He regarded me with visible cynicism. "I thought you were smarter
than that, Rick. Can't you figure it out for yourself?" he tor-
mented.

"You could have used an implant, couldn't you?" I demanded
angrily.

"What? Oh, you're talking about the failure rate. It was never
that much of a problem, not when it's only needed for a couple of
days. At one time, we had even considered an implant in his arm-
pit."

"I don't understand. Then why?"

"X-rays."

"Huh?"

"Grey was smart, real smart compared to you. We figured he'd
expect an implant so he'd X-ray the kid before he got close to the
President. It's the only way of finding an implant if it's in
deep. Now, here's the question?" He had a self-satisfied smirk.
"What's the one place that never gets x-rayed?"

"The balls," I answered grimly.

"You got it, Rick." He smirked again. "We had the Russian pair to
work with. I thought of it as poetic justice in a way. Their spy
caught by their technology. I'm sorry that there wasn't another
option. We had to take both of the kid's balls, of course. You
understand why we needed a back-up, don't you?"

I nodded. "You didn't trust me?"

"I've never trusted you, not after what you did in Mexico. The
problem was that even knowing that, I still had no one else to
use."

"What about Mexico?" I demanded immediately.

"You and that other little faggot. What was his name? That Navarro
kid? You lost your fucking mind over him. You jeopardized the
whole operation."

"You could have taken him out of the way," I suggested feebly. "Or
told me to cool it."

"I wanted you to get the message. The operation always comes
first. Plain and simple."

"You?"

"I didn't do it personally," Wilderstein remarked.

He glanced to my right, looking directly over my shoulder. I
resisted the impulse to turn and look. However, at that instant
there was no question in my mind. Whoever had done that terrible
thing to Manuel was in the woods with Shelley even as we spoke.

"I heard it was very messy," he intoned. He licked his lips
absently. "The kid got a hard-on, just before it was done, did you
know that?"

"You're,..."

"I'm what? A cruel son of a bitch? An animal? Go on say it!" he
tormented. "He must have been as horny as hell in bed if he could
get an erection at a time like that."

I knew that he watched me closely, seeing my shoulders slump, my
face pale as blood drained. Wilderstein realized his advantage
mercilessly.

"I heard the kid scream when they did it, Rick. They tell me his
blood shot out over three feet."

"Go to Hell!"

Wilderstein smirked. "I wish I had been there to see the look on
your face. It must have been something when you first realized his
cute little dick was missing. The fact is, the goddamn faggot only
got what was coming to him."

Each word was like a knife thrust into my heart. I said nothing. I
tried to close my mind to his barbed words, yet they plunged
deeply into my memories.

"I don't know who screamed the loudest, your boyfriend of his
father. I didn't know this at the time, but the doctor who did the
operation on your little Shelley said if they'd only cut his balls
off he probably wouldn't have died. Taking his dick apparently
made all the difference, I guess from all the blood he lost."

"Damn you! I'll kill you."

He smiled. "No Rick! 'fraid not!"

The hand holding the gun wavered, gesturing. I heard the sounds of
footsteps, the muted sounds of Shelley's struggles, a voice try-
ing to be heard through a hand that was clamped over his mouth. I
turned slightly, used my peripheral vision. Shelley was being
dragged along. One arm was twisted sideways, nearly tearing his
arm from its socket. He was covered in dirt, but other than that
he seemed to be okay. I recognized his captor immediately. Sam
Underhill.

We waited for nearly a minute. A long unforgettable minute until
Shelley was standing next to me. He was shaking uncontrollably,
his voice incoherent. Shock and stress would do that sometimes.
Trauma could last for years before a young person's mind finally
forgot.

"Well, here's the nation's first boy," Wilderstein guffawed.
"What was it like to have the President's cock in your ass, Shel-
ley? I hear he's pretty big?"

"Fuck you," I answered for Shelley.

"No, boys aren't my thing," he snorted as he looked appraisingly
at Shelley. "Even when they're as cute as this one. Now Sam here,
from what I hear he might be a different matter. I've even heard
he's got the biggest cock in the Agency. That true, Sam?"

Sam grinned sheepishly. He nodded. I revised my impression.

"So faggot, was it good with the President? Did he make you beg
for it? Boys like you are supposed to like it good and hard, don't
they? He got it all the way up your ass too, I bet."

Shelley's head lifted up. His hand smeared tears and snot across
his face. He tried to say something in response but the words did
not come out. He glanced at me, his expression dismal. I nodded
reassuringly, thankful that on the surface, at least, he was
unharmed.

"Did Rick ever tell you about his first boy? Shelley, are you lis-
tening to me?" Wilderstein continued. He was on a roll. "It was
about four years ago. His name was Manuel Navarro. He was a faggot
too, only he was nowhere as pretty as you are. Even with that
brown crap all over you."

Wilderstein twitched. It was one of those things that I had been
trained to look for. The flaw. The one opening. A nervous condi-
tion?

"Rick fucked him a couple of times a night. The little faggot
loved it too, from what I heard. Manuel was just like you. He
liked it hard. He made a lot of noise when he came." He smirked,
looking directly at me. "Oh yes, Rick, I've heard you. I've lis-
tened to you fucking his boy-pussy. That's what you perverts call
a boy's ass, isn't? He really squeals when he gets off, doesn't
he?"

"You bugged my house?"

Wilderstein and Underhill shared a quick glance. Their silence
answered my question. I was not surprised. They had unrestricted
access to technology that very few people could even  begin to
appreciate.

"Now what?" I asked sullenly.

Wilderstein hefted the pen-knife he was holding in his left hand,
tossed it up a few inches, caught it deftly.

"Now we finish the operation," he sneered. "Do you know about the
operation, Shelley?"

Chapter Nineteen.



"No!" I reacted instantly.

Wilderstein cackled. He had a perverse sense of humor. "So, you
haven't told him yet?"

I shook my head once, trying to meet his eyes, warning him, plead-
ing with him not to deliver that devastating news. Wilderstein
rubbed his fingers across his lips thoughtfully considering the
situation.

"Bring him over here, Sam," Wilderstein said softly.

Casually, almost as if he was opening the knife to undertake some
minor insignificant ask, he extracted the largest of the three
blades. Like the blades on my pen knife, it had been honed to a
razor edge. It was pointed too, scalpel-like but deadlier.

"Take your pants off and lie down," he said roughly.

He pointed to the mossy log. Shelley looked at me uncertainly. His
face was dark, dark from the stain I had applied one day earlier,
but his fear was very present in his eyes. He cowered mutely
before Wilderstein, unable to move. Underhill roughly jerked his
arm backwards, upwards, eliciting an immediate shriek of pain.

"That's nothing, Rick. If he doesn't do what he's told, Sam will
rip his fucking arm right off," Wilderstein commented coldly.

"Take your pants off, Shel," I said quietly.

Shelley gazed at me, his eyes watering, blinking furiously as he
fought to stop himself from crying. His one free hand moved
slowly, his mind churning, yet obeying. His jeans, no longer being
held up, slipped down a couple of inches. He shoved at his jeans,
pushed them past his knees, until he stood there with only his
underpants to shield his private parts.

"That's far enough. Now lie down," Wilderstein continued. He
raised an eyebrow, studying me with amusement. "You tell him."

"Lie down, Shelley," I repeated glumly.

I knew what was coming. However, with a gun pointed directly at me
there was nothing I could do to stop it from happening. Besides,
reason argued in my frantic mind, he had already been emasculated.
It was simply a matter of getting rid of the evidence.

With a shove from behind and the sudden release of his arm, Shel-
ley sprawled forward. He stumbled as his legs tangled in his
bunched up jeans. He regained his balance, turned awkwardly,
slowly sat down on the log. He looked up at me, his face streaked
with tears. I nodded reassuringly. With luck, Wilderstein would
be quick about it. There would be some bleeding, but nothing that
could not be stopped with the application of pressure. He would be
in pain, but he would be alive. I could get him to a hospital
before nightfall.

"Not face up," Wilderstein instructed. "On your belly."

"Rick?" Shelley asked nervously.

"It's all right," I answered uncertainly.

Why did they want him to lie face down? The possible answers to
that question horrified me.

"It's a pity Shelley isn't a girl, Rick. He has such a cute little
hiney," Wilderstein sneered. "No wonder it's called a boy-pussy."

"You're a bastard," I swore bitterly.

"At least I know who my parents are, Rick. That's more than I can
say for you. I want you leaning face down over the log," he added
to Shelley. "I want your butt up in the air."

"Why?" Shelley asked meekly.

There was a brief silence. Why indeed? Wilderstein began to laugh.
Shelley cowered as he knelt down. He stopped there, not leaning
forward, not breathing. He trembled and jerked back when his waist
touched the damp surface of the log.

"What's so funny?" I demanded.

"You really haven't figured it out, have you?"

"What's there to figure out?"

"Why we're here, for one thing. What's going to happen to you and
your little boy friend, for another."

"I presume you're here for the evidence," I answered cautiously.
"After you get it, you'll leave us alone."

He chuckled, turning the knife in his hand with surprising dexter-
ity. "You know, when I was a kid I always wanted to be a doctor,
Shelley. What do you want to be when you grow up?"

Shelley ignored him, watching his tormentor with a stony silence.

"I would have made a good surgeon, don't you think, Rick?"

"Listen," I implored. "This isn't the place to finish it, Jacob.
I'll take him back to the clinic at Taos."

"No. It's past that."

"It's never too late," I began.

Wilderstein gave me a withering look. "It is this time. The oper-
ation is out of your hands. You're getting your final fuck, Rick."

Shelley glanced at me, his eyes flashing a warning despite his
tears.

"Is he going to fuck me? Now? With you watching?" he asked, turn-
ing back towards Wilderstein.

"That's the general idea. Unless you'd prefer Sam here? Why don't
you show him what's in store for him if he doesn't do what he's
told."

Shelley looked over his shoulder, watching as Underhill unfas-
tened his belt, opened his zipper, pushed his jeans and boxer-
briefs down far enough that they would be out of the way. Shel-
ley's mouth opened, gaping. His eyes were glazed in mute disbe-
lief. Underhill's penis was unquestionably the largest human sex
organ that I had ever seen.

A lot of men claim to have huge penises, so many men that one
might logically expect the norm to be twelve inches long with a
girth to match. Most men don't get even close to that. In fact,
the average penis is about six inches long. Two standard devia-
tions, or ninety-five percent, falls within the range from four
inches to eight inches. Underhill was close to the one-in-a-thou-
sand men who could rightfully claim to have a length of twelve
inches. Just the thought of what it could do to a young boy's bot-
tom was enough to bring bile up from my stomach.

"Big huh?" Underhill said proudly. "I've even put a man in the
emergency room once. He never could shit properly after that, but
he couldn't stop coming back for more."

His penis, huge, hard, and purple-black in color, wavered back and
forth. It was surrounded by a dense jungle of nearly pitch-black
hair, two enormous testicles suspended in a wrinkled leathery
purse. His sex organs were both formidable and threatening.

"What do you think, Rick? Do you think Shelley will still be able
to walk after he's done?"

I glared at Wilderstein, clenched my fists in impotent fury.

"Now you, Rick. What happens to the kid is totally up to you."

"Huh?"

"Take your jeans off and get down on the ground with him."

"No!"

"Just do it!" Wilderstein demanded.

To make his point even clearer, his hand moved to the right,
dropped lower until the gun was pointed at Shelley. His finger
rubbed across the trigger, like a man musing about the conse-
quences of his actions. I took a deep breath. At such times, rea-
son was replaced by survival instinct, and instinct told me to do
whatever ever needed to be done to keep him from firing the gun.
There was no choice.

"You know, I've listened to you fuck him, and I've looked at those
pictures I showed you, Rick, but I've never actually seen a boy
get fucked in the ass. What's it like?"

"Why don't you try it sometime and find out for yourself?" I
replied bitterly.

"Maybe. You never know, I might even have a go too. If ever a boy
was going to tempt me, I'm looking right at him," Wilderstein
said. "Maybe I will try some boy-pussy, assuming he's still alive
after Sam's done, of course."

"Wilderstein,..." I began. My fingers fumbled at my waist, slowly
unfastening my belt. "Jacob, you know there's money in the brief-
case."

"I know, Rick." He smirked. "All too well. A million dollars in
clean unmarked bills. However, I wasn't planning on recovering it
for the Agency. Both Sam and I have some expenses that can't go on
our expense accounts for obvious reasons."

"Jacob, there's another million bucks in a Cayman Island account,
and I could get you more. A lot more," I offered.

"A bribe? You really think you can bribe you way out of this,
Rick?"

I shrugged, trying to appear disingenuous. He watched me suspi-
ciously as I opened my zipper.

"You really don't get it, do you Rick?" he asked again with grow-
ing amusement.

When I failed to answer, he continued. Yet, he twitched again,
distorting his face for a momentary glimpse at the man within.
When he spoke it was in an anxious voice that projected a pitiful
man trying to become someone important.

"I talked with the President two days ago. Right after you rushed
out. See, while I was waiting for you and Shelley to make contact,
I had finally realized what needed to happen." He paused, glancing
at Underhill. "Sure we blame it on Congress and the collapse of
the Soviets, but when you get right down to it, that ass-hole in
the White House is the reason why the Agency's funding has been
slashed."

"You figured out a way to get it restored?" I prompted hopefully.

"Not just restored, but enhanced to Reagan-era levels."

"How?"

Wilderstein smirked, glancing at Shelley who was still kneeling
before the log.

"The President has a thing for your boy, Rick. Maybe he can't have
Aaron Carter, but he knows he can have the next best thing when-
ever he wants it, and with no questions asked afterwards."

"Meaning what exactly?" I demanded.

"He wants the kid back so bad he'll do just about anything,
including pushing an increase in the Agency's funding through
Congress," Wilderstein added.

"And he'll make Jake the Director," Underhill added gleefully.
"I'll take his old job."

Wilderstein gave him a scornful look. This was not something that
he wanted me to know about. At least the present Director had come
into the position because of his experience and ability.

"Promotions all around, huh? What about Fishbein?" I asked.

"He gets an early retirement, just like you," Wilderstein
laughed. "Only there'll no little boys will be around to keep him
company. From what I've heard, he has a bad heart condition. He'll
be out of the way in a week or two."

"And Shelley? What happens to him?"

"After you're gone? He'll be happy enough," Wilderstein said dis-
tantly. "I'll take good care of him. He'll miss you, I expect, but
there's no way to avoid that."

"This is where we come to my death?" I asked boldly.

He shrugged, quickly bringing the gun back so that it pointed at
my head.

"Yeah, I guess it is.  I'm sorry about that, Rick," he snickered.
"I really don't have a choice. I need you out of my way perma-
nently, and not just cooling your heels out here in Colorado. Now,
get down behind him," he added. "Unless you want Sam to do him
first."

He twitched again, showing increasing agitation whenever his
guard was down. He appeared to be having trouble breathing. I took
the proverbial stab in the dark even as I moved to my knees and
took up a position behind Shelley.

"What is it Wilderstein?" I asked demurely. "Short of breath?
Facial twitches beginning to bother you?"

He glared at me. "It's none of your fucking business."

"You don't look too good to me." I rested back on my haunches,
playing my cards like a gambler who had nothing to lose. "You
really ought to avoid stressful situations. What do you think,
Underhill? Doesn't he look sick to you?"

Underhill smiled cruelly, visibly enjoying my sarcasm. "He's got
some Jewish disease."

"Shut the fuck up, Sam."

"What is it, Wilderstein?" I asked with cursory politeness.

"Fabry Disease! Not that it's any of your fucking business," he
said angrily. "Damn them. Like I wanted this on top of everything
else?"

He shuddered, swallowing again and again as his cheeks reddened.
At a guess, the disease appeared to affect his heart and nervous
system. Perhaps the disease also accounted for his bloated
appearance. Whatever it was, it did not seem as if it was going to
dramatically affect his life span at a time when a reduction was
most needed.

"Now what happens?" I asked.

He glared at me. "You're going to fuck your little boy friend one
last time, that's what."

"Oh! And then you kill me?" I asked calmly.

There was no point in panicking. Now, more than ever, I needed to
keep a firm grip on my emotions. I ignored Shelley. I had to focus
on the situation, study the options, plan a course of action. Sur-
vival lay in surprise, in diverting their attention.

"NO!" Shelley screamed at the top of his lungs.

"Shut the fuck up!" Underhill said firmly.

"NO!"

"Stay calm, Shelley. It's not over until the fat lady sings," I
said pointedly.

I knew that he did not understand what I was trying to say but he
suddenly fell quiet, his entire body heaving with each breath. His
expression was dismal.

"How Wilderstein? You put a bullet in my brain?"

"Nothing quite so dramatic, Rick. You'll die from natural causes,
only it will be more painful. A massive cerebral hemorrhage.
You'll die fucking your brains out!"

"That's the same way you murdered Harry Grey isn't it? Don't you
think someone will figure it out?" I asked nonchalantly.

Wilderstein shrugged flippantly. He was obviously enjoying the
exercise of power. Even in his current position he had ultimate
power. Life and death were his to command. He was voracious.

"They won't find your body for a month, if they find it all. I
hear there's plenty of bears around here this time of year," he
added. "Besides, I'll be in charge of the Agency by the end of the
week. It won't matter what anyone figures out."

Shelley shuddered again, but did not utter a sound. I tried not to
worry about him. This was a game, a game without rules with an end
result of life or death.

"I have one more question," I began slowly.

Wilderstein glanced at his trembling hand dispassionately, as if
sheer willpower could stop the nervous tremor that plagued him.
His upper lip settled over the lower lip, trying to find moisture
in his mouth. His eyes narrowed, yet his guard remained down. He
nodded curtly.

"Who killed Manuel?" I asked quietly.

His expression was smug. Silence. His eyes flickered warily.
Again, his hand holding the small caliber gun quivered. My muscles
tensed, finding power in muscles and tendons that pulled back
against bones. I readied myself to spring. I would have one
chance, and only one chance. I would have to take the gun, aim and
fire at Underhill before he could draw his own weapon. I took a
deep breath, filled my lungs, then gradually exhaled. Years of
training took over. It was automatic.

Empty your lungs! Release your mind of everything! Have one goal!
Count the steps! Instant movement! Don't hesitate! Kill or be
killed!

"Don't try it, Barrett," Underhill warned in a low voice.

I glanced to the side, caught his movement, realized that in the
last few seconds his hand had slipped into his shoulder holster.
He was holding a 9mm Smith & Wesson Tactical. It was one of the
lightweight models with an alloy frame, but it was just as deadly
as the heavier stainless steel pistols. It was pointed directly at
my chest.

"Rodriguez," Wilderstein said with a smirk.

"What?"

"He sent the kid into the village, didn't he?"

I nodded slightly. It was a hot day. I remembered thinking that
the errand should have waited a few hours until the sun had been
lower in the sky. At least then it would not have been so hot.
However, Rodriguez had taken Manuel aside, out of the dimly cool-
ness of the house and onto the verandah. I heard them laughing.
Manuel's loud infectious giggle. His body was beginning to expe-
rience the first changes of puberty, yet his laughter was still
that of a child. He was still a boy despite the signs of approach-
ing manhood. It made me happy every time I heard him laugh.

"Well?" Wilderstein asked.

"Yes," I answered.

I could still see Manuel's pony when he trotted down the narrow
lane on his way to the village market. he had departed with char-
acteristic eagerness. He was always ready to help. I had gone out-
side to watch him leave, still thinking of what we had done
earlier, before the heat of the day made the bedroom too uncom-
fortable to stay in. We had made love, had sex. His lean brown
body was moist with sweat, yet he had not stopped, not even when
he achieved his third orgasm of the morning. The last one had been
dry but he kept thrusting, riding my penis with a valiant will.
His entire body seemed to be sucking against my penis. Each deep
breath was timed to his up and down motion. Pushing all the way
down, caused the accumulated fluid within his rectum to squirt
along my penis and dribble out. There was a wet slimy pool under
his buttocks, my pubic hair clumped together in a tangled dark
mess. Still, he kept moving, inexorably thrusting in an erratic
repetitive rhythm. I would always remember him like that. He
should have been exhausted. His face was contorted in ecstasy as
he went on and on, experiencing some hidden yet overwhelming plea-
sure.

The last thing I saw was his back, his dark hair, his hand lifted
as he waved goodbye. His laughter was imprinted on my memory. My
Manuel. I remembered taking a drink that Maria had brought out to
me. Her words, unforgettable.'That one, he should wear out
sooner.'

"Rodriguez?" I asked with a bottomless anger.

Wilderstein nodded slightly. His lips twitched, formed the merest
hint of a smile. His nostrils flared. He breathed in suddenly, and
then out again, very quickly.

"No!"

"Yes!" he acknowledged with a gesture towards Underhill. "Ask
him."

I glared at Underhill. His silence was confirmation enough.

"Why?" I demanded.

"I already told you. You were screwing up the operation. You
needed to get a message you wouldn't forget."

"Fuck you!"

He laughed. "It worked. You tore into them like you'd lost your
mind. How many did you and Michael kill that day? A dozen? And you
fell for the rest of it as well. It could not have worked out any
better."

"What are you talking about?"

"The two agents you killed at the border. They weren't working for
the Mexican cartel. It was Rodriguez all the time."

"You're crazy!" I said. "I'm not that gullible."

"Think about it. Rodriguez sent your boy into the village."

"It doesn't prove anything," I said loudly. I could feel my face
becoming hotter. "He liked both the boys. He used to tease Manuel
about having a girlfriend. He'd never hurt him, and certainly not
like that."

"You're not thinking it through," Wilderstein said snidely. "Ask
yourself why he might want to see the operation fail."

"There's no reason to. He was Manuel's uncle," I said flatly.

"It means nothing. With you and his brother out of the way,...."

Wilderstein's voice trailed off. He had planted the seed in my
mind and was allowing it to germinate. I glared at him. Certainly,
it was not impossible, even believable in a way. Rodriguez was
left in control. Not only would he control a multi-million-dollar
Agency-sponsored enterprise, but he would have destroyed the com-
petition in the process. And I had sent Manuel's younger brother,
Juan, into his house to ensure his security. How could I have been
so mistaken?

"Jacob?"

Was I really begging for my life? I heard the plaintive tone of my
voice, the sound of fear. I stared at the gun in his hand, a gun
unlike that of any field agent I had ever known. Then the incon-
sistency struck me without warning. Even with hollow-point bul-
lets, it would never be able to cause the damage to the tree trunk
that the first bullet had caused. Underhill's Smith & Wesson would
have that sort of impact if it was fired from close range. How-
ever, that first shot had come from behind me, some distance away
judging by the sound. Perhaps it had been fired from as far away
as a hundred yards. A rifle? of course, it had to be a rifle,
although neither man carried one now? Was there third person hid-
ing behind the trees?

"What?" Wilderstein answered abruptly.

"It doesn't have to be this way," I said softly. "We could be on
the same team."

"You'll actually stand by and watch your boy friend get fucked by
the President?" Wilderstein asked sarcastically. "I expected more
of you, Barrett. All that talk about loving him? Was that bull
shit just so you can get your cock up his ass?"

I shrugged, a feeble attempt to give credence to a lie that my
mouth could not utter. Wilderstein smirked.

"No, I don't think so. But maybe," he added after a pause. He
chuckled as he thought of something. "I tell you what, Rick. You
put on a good show now, fuck the kid until he begs for more, and
I'll consider it."

My penis was limp and it seemed to take forever to get it hard
again. There was no shame in masturbating in front of two other
men, not when my life depended upon it. Shelley lay submissively
over the log, knowing what was happening directly behind him, but
unable to contribute. Every few seconds I could hear him sniff
loudly. He was crying. Wilderstein stood the side, watching dis-
interestedly. In contrast, Underhill was visibly fascinated. His
hand frequently groped his groin, massaging his half-erect penis.
It was impossible to determine whether he was excited by seeing me
or Shelley. Perhaps he was aroused by both of us, by the mere
thought of what we would do in a vain attempt to live.

Of course, I realized what Wilderstein was doing. It was his way
of breaking Shelley's spirit. As soon as I was done, perhaps even
before I was done, he would pull the trigger. He wanted Shelley to
be powerless, so emotionally distraught that he would do what was
required of him without hesitation. Wilderstein had used the same
approach with me by having Manuel murdered. The method had been
selected because I would be devastated. I would act on impulse,
guided only by anger and the need for revenge.

Minutes ticked past. Not one minute, or two, but fully five min-
utes passed before my penis was hard enough to even begin to con-
template what was expected of it.

"Stick a finger in him," Wilderstein ordered. "Isn't that how you
faggots start. Faggot foreplay?"

Until then, actual penetration had been remote, so far off that I
the situation was surreal. Suddenly, it had before immediate and
the prospect was unsettling. Two men would see us in the act of
love, fulfilling the obligation inherent in our devoted union. I
grimaced, silently wished that my erection would be insufficient,
melt away, that Shelley would somehow forgive me.

I placed my left hand gently on his back, just beside the bottom
of his spine, right at the start of his buttocks. Shelley was
cold, but so was my hand. He winced, in surprise, from the cold,
from actual physical contact. I wanted to pull my hand away. Yet,
primal need drove me. I would survive. I would do whatever was
needed to continue to live. I lived for Shelley. He was my only
reason for existence.

My hand moved over the soft rounded curvature of his cheek. My
fingers followed the dividing line, edging into the warm zone of
his crack. How often had my fingers stroked that part of him in
preparation to enter him. If this was 'faggot foreplay', then so
be it. This was how a man made love to a boy. Gently. Tenderly.
>From the heart. My right hand came forward and my fingers care-
fully parted his cheeks, opened the crevice to the light of day.

What should have been pale, unblemished but for a reddish ring
around his now frequently abused anus, was brown. Shelley's anus
was still partially dilated, the verge opening into his bowels
without any sign of a pucker. There was a dark ring, nearly purple
around the tiny hole, a rippled line leading back to his scrotum,
visible as a darker wrinkled smudge. The scar on the underside of
his little lump was small, lighter in color. It was barely visi-
ble, yet still very present in my mind. That scar would always be
there, a grim reminder to me that his manhood had been taken with-
out his knowledge, without his consent, and that I was responsi-
ble. Certainly, I could postulate that the operation would have
happened without my agreement, but there was no way to know for
sure. Only one thing was certain, and I preferred not to think
about it.

I touched the indentation of Shelley's anus and he winced again.
My finger pressed into the soft slightly moist flesh, probing the
opening until my finger nail disappeared inside. He quivered. He
needed something to lubricate the way, yet there was no point in
asking Wilderstein to fetch a tube of K-Y from the bag that was
still tied to the pack horse. He wanted to cause Shelley distress,
so much stress that his spirit would be broken. With me gone, he
would no motivation to resist. He would become the compliant lit-
tle boy who would do exactly what was demanded of him. He would be
completely emasculated, far beyond what the operation had
achieved in a physical manner. The thought sickened me.

I used saliva. Men have always used saliva with boys, and while it
is nowhere as slippery as a lubricant like K-Y or vaseline, it was
usually all that was needed to ease the way for a man's penis to
fit inside a tight young body. Lots of saliva. Drooling it over my
fingers, wiping it against Shelley's anus, sliding my finger into
the taut hole, moving it back and forth slowly until the rim of
Shelley's anus no longer moved with it. Then freely, working the
moisture into him, deeper and deeper, until the second joint of my
finger had disappeared from sight. I felt his hot bowels, the
encompassing pressure of his body, the tightening of young mus-
cles as they resisted, then finally gave way and loosened. I heard
Shelley's guttural moan, yielding to my insistent digit as I began
to pump.

More saliva, getting him wetter, looser, more relaxed. 'Faggot
foreplay'. Two fingers. Shelley groaned and opened up, taking
both fingers on the first push. I went as deep as I dared and then
some. I pushed against his trembling body until my knuckles were
against his cheeks. He twitched, gasped, gave a little boyish
grunt, pushed back into my hand. He was ready.

More saliva, this time, spitting on my fingers and smearing it
over my penis. I was oblivious to our witnesses. If they wanted to
watch, I was not about to stop them. I was confident that Wilder-
stein would not shoot until my penis was inside Shelley, until I
was close to, or just after orgasm. He was always one who chose a
course of action for the greatest effect. And this, all of this,
was for effect.

I came forward on my knees, guiding my penis like an unwavering
spear into its target. Small, yet gaping, inviting me to partici-
pate in the pleasures beyond that precious portal. How over had I
pressed home my advantage? Man into boy, penis into anus, taking
him, making him mine?

We groaned together, making that soft familial sound, the sound of
lovers joining, sharing, reaching into the cavern within him. If
felt different to K-Y, special somehow, nerves attenuated, con-
centrating on the sensations of heat, pressure, penetration.
Inside him. Shelley squeezed back, then opened for me, welcoming
my sex. Steady. Don't force it. Don't push to hard, or too fast.
let him adjust. he's willing. He's always willing. he wants this
as much as I do. Gently. Let him know how much I love him. Looking
along his back. He is so slender. Like Manuel. Manuel liked to
have sex. So does Shelley. What is it about boys that makes them
enjoy this? It ought to hurt like hell, but it doesn't. It's the
most wonderful feeling in the world.

Nearly all the way inside, I stopped. I could feel his pulse. The
pressure was fading, opening up, accepting my presence, readying
for what came next. Both of us throbbed, sharing our heat and our
hearts. We were joined, properly joined. Joined the way lovers
were supposed to be joined. Shelley nudged me, using his sphincter
to pull insistently against me. This was his way of letting me
know he was ready to go on. Not that he wanted to finish.

I pulled back slowly, glancing to the side where Underhill was.
The man was masturbating slowing, jerking his hand rhythmically
along his thick, extended sex. Its size was obscene, beyond sense.
No man needed a penis that huge. Nothing could stand in its way.
The glans glistened as copious pre-seminal fluid oozed out. Pur-
ple veins, ugly and twisted, gnarled the length and made it appear
even more inhuman. Animal like, so different to Shelley's short,
sleek instrument of male passion. I loved Shelley's beautiful
boy-penis. Underhill's thing aroused nothing but disgust in my
mind.

I began cautiously, exerting care with each thrust forward, pull-
ing back as tenderly as I could. With a boy, even a boy who had a
lot of experience, a man needed to be patient at the start. Shel-
ley would loosen further as soon as his body became accustomed to
having my penis inside it. It was natural for that part of him,
usually so small to stretch, for his inner muscle to relax and
lose its strength, for the faint yet essential traces of mucus to
seep down and mitigate the friction of my careful thrusts. I used
my hands to stroke his flanks, soothing him as I started to
increase the pace. Giving Shelley pleasure instead of pain
required that I did not penetrate too deeply, or apply too much
force. It had to be done gently, very gently. There would be time
enough for deep rapid thrusts, forceful pushes that rammed my
penis into his immature prostate, but not now. Now my penis teased
him, tantalized his nerves, massaged his tender flesh, released
its precious droplets of slippery fluid. Shelley's reaction was
to spread his small firm cheeks further part, opening himself.

The sensations just within his anus were sublime, yet insignifi-
cant compared to the entrancing delight in the void behind his
muscle. There, in unbelievable softness, bathed in heat and
embraced tissue that surged around my engorged sex, I was com-
plete. Utterly happy. I could feel Shelley's joy, his sporadic
trembling, a nervous tremor along his spine, the pulsing of his
sphincter in time to my thrusts. Every thrust relaxed his orifice
further, loosening until there were no longer clamping spasms,
until there was no resistance. He had yielded, just as he always
did. His body was mine to enjoy.

I leaned over him, plunging as deeply as I could, using my abdom-
inal muscles to jerk my penis within his hot rectum. He groaned in
ecstasy as the pressure increased against that tiny hidden gland
in front of his bladder. I could hear Wilderstein's snicker,
vaguely aware of some crude comment about what I was doing to
Shelley. It was close to the end. My head came down next to his,
my lips close to his ear.

"I love you, Shelley James Barrett," I whispered.

I knew I was saying goodbye for the last time. It was only the
second time that I had used his new name, what had become through
a judge's signature, his real name. For a few days he was no
longer an orphan. He had a family. He had me, and Maria, and Juan.
However, in another minute, perhaps more, perhaps less, that
would change. He would be back where he started from, an abused
child who would be subjected to the sexual excesses of the most
important man in the world.

It was only then that I recognized our salvation. It came not with
a blinding insight into some universal truth, but with a faint
rattling sound. My eyes swept the ground on the other side of the
log. There, five feet to the right were the unmistakable signs of
a snake. The ground was drier there and the sandy soil showed the
unmistakable imprint of a snake's motion. By craning my neck, pre-
tending to thrust as hard and as deeply as I could, I could just
see the dark shadow of the scaly coils. There was a snake under
the log. There was only one problem. It was well beyond my reach.

"Oh God!" I groaned in ecstasy that was less pretended than it
appeared to me.

I lifted up, dragging my rigid penis back, sucking through the
boy's slack bowels, surging out of his dilated anus. I poised
there, my sex quivering, drooling with pre-climatic expectation.
Hot. Hard. Angrily red. I slammed back, ramming my erection all
the way inside in a single thrust. I heard Shelley moan, gasping
as the air was forced from his lungs.

Again. "Oh! Oh!"

That from both of us. Mutual needs being satisfied. I jerked back,
barely glancing behind me, to the side. Underhill was staring,
masturbating furiously. Wilderstein had a smug look on his face,
obviously contemplating the perfect moment to put me out of my
misery. He had a syringe in his right hand, the 22 caliber in his
other hand.

Grunting, giving the impression of a man totally out of control
with lust, I lifted Shelley bodily, clasping my arm under his
waist, pulling him upwards and onto my penis. I felt him shudder,
giving way, abandoned to a sexual peak. I turned him, letting them
see his face, the shameless euphoria of youthful orgasm, mouth
open in a frantic cry of unbridled joy. Then, my other hand went
into action. I pinched his nipples, tiny, dark pointed spots. He
writhed and plunged back, his pelvis oscillating wildly, then
frenzied as another wave swept over him. His penis had shrivelled
until it was barely visible, a useless appendage that did little
more than show his gender. Below, his scrotum had tightened to a
wrinkled knot, but I still grasped it, pulled it, clutched it,
rubbed it, created sensations in the sensitive skin that were
enough to make him whimper. The two egg-shaped pellets moved
between my fingers. I wondered whether Wilderstein would remove
them right away. They were the only evidence of Agency involve-
ment, but they might still prove useful when Shelley was whoring
for the President. I preferred not to think about that.

I lowered Shelley back against the log. Not in the same place, but
a good three feet to the right from where he had been lying only a
few moments earlier. We were closer to Wilderstein and he stepped
away, watching my rapid humping motion with growing distaste.

"Disgusting! His crap is all over your cock!"

I heard, but I did not care. Not now! Not when the end was so
close. Another glance confirmed my worst fears. Wilderstein had
removed the protective cap from the needle-end of the syringe. I
wondered what was in it even as he began to close the distance
between us. An organic toxin was more than likely. The Agency had
done a lot of research over the years identifying toxins that
affected the human nervous system. Snakes, frogs, even jellyfish
had been used to create powerful poisons that disappeared into
harmless hydrocarbons while the victim died in agony.

Another thrust. Pausing, listening, trying to judge the timing.
It had to be perfect. Then thrusting into him again. Lying over
Shelley's back, almost protectively, feeling his sphincter trying
to close, become tighter, wanting to help me achieve release.
Mutual needs were being fulfilled for the last time.

I reached out, not cautiously but with a desperation that came
from having no other alternative. The buzzing rattle was
instantly louder, but my hand was already jerking back, yanking
the now-angry snake out from it's hiding place.

It was between four and five feet long, thick-bodied, two shades
of brown in an odd-shaped pattern that was typical of the Western
Diamondback rattlesnakes that frequented the Southwest. It had
hematoxic venom, venom that attacked the blood system. It was a
fatal bite. I had only a momentary glance as my arm jerked back.
Its body coiled aggressively, its forked tongue was flickering,
sensing danger. Then its fangs bared. It was ready to strike. I
threw it as hard as I could. It struck Wilderstein's head.

What happened next occured in the space of just a few seconds.
Wilderstein lurched, dropping the syringe as he frantically tried
to push the snake away. I jumped back, jerking my penis free. I
scrambled back onto my knees barely thinking that I needed to pick
the syringe up. At the same time, I violently shoved Shelley to
the other side to get myself between him and the snake. Underhill
climaxed thick ropes of semen as his pelvis bucked wildly. There
was a loud scream even as I rolled out of the way of Wilderstein's
flailing feet. I came to my feet, holding the syringe. I glimpsed
Wilderstein, swinging the small, seemingly ineffectual hand-gun
back to point in my general direction. Barely taking the time to
aim, he pulled the trigger. There was no shot. The pistol jammed.

Wilderstein started to move towards me, still pulling on the trig-
ger. Then in frustration, his hand clenched on the gun. His face
blanched. Realization had occurred. There was a fang mark on his
neck. I saw two neat little holes less than an inch apart, cen-
tered over the carotid artery. This was the killing spot, the only
artery beside the aorta that assured death. Wilderstein looked
surprised. His eyes flickered. Almost casually, his free hand
moved to his neck. He could feel it, the sudden start of what
would shortly be very painful. The Diamondback had a reputation as
having the most fatal of all snake bites. Bitten in the neck, life
span was measured in seconds. Already the venom was flooding his
brain cells with toxic poison.

"Rick?" he said in bewilderment.

I smiled. "Sorry Jacob. You didn't leave me a choice."

I swivelled around, vaguely hearing Shelley's muted cry, half-
expecting to see the snake biting him. There was no sign of the
snake. Underhill, having finished the mother of all ejaculations
was moving towards his gun. There was a dribble of semen still
trickling from the over-sized slit in the end of his huge semen-
covered penis. His jeans dropped lower, tangling his legs and
restricting his movement. It would have been amusing if it was not
a prelude to him shooting me.

He picked up his weapon as my brain registered the need for imme-
diate action and I started to move. He had time to fire one shot
before I reached him. He would have killed me if Shelley had not
kicked him as hard as he could. As it was, the bullet went through
me like a mule kick. It knocked me back and spun me around. I fell
to my knees. With a gun wound, there is always a moment before
shock sets in. It takes only a fraction of a second for the nerves
to react, for the brain to realize pain, but it seems longer.
Then, I knew that the bullet had entered my left shoulder, just
under the collar bone. What I did not know at the time was that it
had gone right through, cleanly, missing my vital organs, but
impacting the upper part of my shoulder blade before it exited.



"NO! NO! NO! NO!" Shelley screamed at the top of his lungs. "NO!
NO! NO! NO!"

"That's far enough, Barrett," Underhill shouted. "Shut the little
fucker up!"

"Shelley!" I beseeched.

I tottered, feeling the hot wetness of blood seeping down my chest
and back. Shelley started to move forward. Instantly, Underhill's
gun moved in his direction. His finger started to pull back on the
trigger.

"No! Shelley! I'm okay." I gasped, swaying as the first wave of
shock swept through me. "I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay," I repeated
mindlessly.

"Goddamn, what did you do to him?" Underhill demanded.

'Him', was Wilderstein. His face was rapidly turning purple. He
looked as if he was about to explode from the pressure building up
inside his head. His eyes bulged. He was beginning to sway, still
looking bewildered. It seemed impossible that Underhill had not
seen me throw the snake, but he had been pre-occupied at the time.
It made me feel better, not enough to take away the searing pain
in my shoulder.

"Nothing." I took a deep breath. "It looks like he's not feeling
too good," I said in a voice that sounded just a little bit too
cheerful. "I don't know. Maybe it's that Fabry thing he was talk-
ing about earlier."

Wilderstein gagged, slowly sagged back onto the log, sat there
with his legs splayed out. Saliva trickled from the corner of his
mouth. He tried to say something but the words stuck in his throat
and came out with a grunt.

Underhill looked at me suspiciously.

"Yeah, maybe," Underhill muttered. He smiled slightly. "That was
some fuck you gave your boy. He takes it just like a man, doesn't
he?"

I scowled. However, at that moment there was nothing I could do,
not with a 9mm still aimed at me. I might not be quite so lucky
with the next bullet. However, so far I had been lucky. With a
little more luck, Wilderstein would collapse and draw his atten-
tion for the few seconds that I needed. I readied myself to move
quickly.

"You think he would like my schlong up there next?" Underhill guf-
fawed as he waggled his semen-covered monster at me.

Shelley shrank back, already scared out of his wits and unable to
take his eyes away from Wilderstein. At least he had stopped
screaming. There was a reason for his interest. The man's face was
quickly turning grey, a sign that it was about to get worse, much
worse. His hands quivered uncontrollably. I glanced back at
Underhill, realizing that he had just taken a couple of steps in
my direction.

"I've never fucked a boy, at least ways not one his age," he
laughed as he nodded towards Shelley. "I've thought about it. I
mean what man hasn't? He's a cutie. What's it like to have a tight
little ass gripping your cock, Barrett? It must feel like you're
always fucking a virgin, I bet."

"Okay," I answered softly. "It's not all it's cracked up to be."

He laughed at my pun, but the mere thought of him trying to pene-
trate Shelley send a shudder through my body. Even with his body
loosened up, Underhill's penis would still tear him apart. Yet,
with the pistol continuing to be aimed at me, there was nothing I
would be able to do to stop him if he decided to act on his incli-
nations. He would rupture Shelley's anus well before he was able
to get his penis halfway inside. There was only one thing that I
could do and I had to do it quickly.

"Of course, there's no way you'll be able to get that through his
ass," I added suggestively.

Underhill's interest piqued. He inclined his head, considered me.

"Don't bet on it," he said cruelly.

"You'd have a better chance if you fucked him in his mouth," I
said slyly.

Shelley cringed, drawing away until his back was against the log,
He wrapped his arms around his knees and hugged himself tightly.

Underhill's head swivelled back to Shelley. He had a look in his
eyes that implied he was considering it, imagining the possibili-
ties, appreciating the unrealized sensations of a young boy's
mouth around his penis. Yet, even as he turned back to me, he
shook his head slightly. He suddenly smirked and licked his lips.
Except that he was looking at me instead of Shelley, Underhill's
expression had not changed. There was unbridled lust in his eyes.

"On your knees, Barrett. Unless you want a bullet in you other
shoulder as well?"

"What now?"

"You're right about one thing," he chuckled. "There's no way my
cock is going through his ass unless it's real stiff. And you're
going to suck me till I am."

He stood in front of me, obvious to the growing area of red that
had formed on my shirt, to my left arm that continued to twitch as
it hung limply by my side. Up close, his penis was even more
threatening. Even half erect, it still measured more than nine
inches long. It was thick, club-like, like a human forearm ready
to punch into Shelley's intestines. The dark, nearly purple shaft
was streaked with white strands. It was all that remained of his
ejaculation.

"Suck it, Barrett," Underhill ordered. "But if I feel your teeth,
I'm putting the next one in your brain."

I had no choice. I closed my eyes. I opened my mouth, wide. Very
wide, stretching until I could go no further, until my lips were
thin and pale. And his glans barely fit through. I recoiled from
the thick salty taste, the smell so different to anything I had
experienced in twenty years. No boy was like this. Underhill's sex
was unpleasant, yet it was also vaguely familiar. When I was a boy
not much older than Shelley I had sucked Sam Keneally's penis
often enough. It was barely six inches long, and not all that
thick, but it was still a mouthful. Not like this. I gagged again
and fought against the instinctive urge to pull away. The taste of
his adult fluid filled my mouth.

"Yeah, that's nice," Underhill intoned. "You suck pretty good,
Barrett. I like the way you use your tongue. I guess you come by
it naturally."

I slurped my tongue back and forth over his swollen glans. It was
an acquired skill. I glanced up at him and he met my eyes know-
ingly. It was all about power for him. Some men were like that.
Sucking his penis gave him power over me. I was subservient, pow-
erless, unable to resist. Casually, I lifted my right hand,
brushed my thumb against his full dark scrotum, sank down until
the head of his penis pressed into the back of my throat. He was
still not even halfway. When I sucked Sam Keneally, he had taught
me how to hold my breath, open my mouth, resist gagging, and to go
all the way down. Down until my lips were nestled in his pubic
hair, down until my nose was pushed into his scrotum, down until
his penis touched my tonsils. Without thinking that I was perpet-
uating the same rite of initiation, I had taught the same trick to
Manuel. I had not needed to teach Shelley how to do it.

I hoped that Underhill could not see the syringe in my right hand.
I held it with two fingers, using the other fingers to fondle his
scrotal sack, drooling a steady stream of saliva down his slowly
stiffening organ. I eased upward, exposing the slick shaft of his
penis. At least the strong taste of semen had faded. It was nearly
fully erect. It was so thick that I would not have been able to
hold it in my hand and join the tips of my fingers and thumb. Not
that I intended to hold it. I sucked on the rounded end, keeping
it within my lips. Already, he was oozing pre-seminal fluid. I
recognized the taste immediately. Salty, almost soapy, not like a
sexually mature boy, not until he was well into adolescence. With
my lips over the man's penis, my teeth just behind the flared rim,
I sucked as hard as I could before wriggling my tongue at the gap-
ing slit in the end. Underhill groaned and backed, trying to shove
more of his rigid penis into my mouth.

I pushed the needle of the syringe into his penis, squeezing the
plunger as I did so. I hoped I was close to an artery. There was
no point in hitting a vein, not if I wanted him to die quickly.
The same went for the erectile tissue. Swollen as hard as it was,
there was obviously very little blood getting out.

Underhill bellowed in agony. I guess it was only to be expected.
Independent of size, there were a lot of nerves in a penis. He was
so distracted that he dropped the pistol. He jumped back, gripping
his raging erection with both hands. As Shelley would say, 'that
had to hurt'. His face contorted, tortured by feelings that super-
ficially seemed to have no source. There was no sign of injury,
not even a tooth mark. He grunted, shaking miserably as the pain
increased. His suffering would quickly become unbearable.

"What,... did,... you,... do?" he finally managed to get out.

Slowly, it dawned on him that he was no longer holding the pistol.
Instead, it was in my hand, my right hand, and it was pointed up
at him.

"What?" he groaned.

His eyes followed mine downwards in a sweeping glance. He saw the
empty syringe lying on the ground.

"NO!" he screamed. I nodded. WILDERSTEIN! FOR CHRIST'S SAKE, HELP
ME!"

"He's not about to help you," I said calmly. "It's not because
he's jewish, either. He's as good as dead. Paralysis is already
setting in," I added. "With a bite like that, it won't take very
long."

I did not need to look at him to confirm my statement. Still, I
did. Wilderstein had doubled over, unable to support himself. His
head was between his knees. A line of spittle trailed from his
mouth, slowly lengthening until it broke away and dropped to the
side of his brightly polished shoes.

"A bite like what?" Underhill asked uncertainly. "Wh-wh-what are
you t-t-talking 'bout?"

"Oh, a snake bit him in the neck. Didn't I tell you?"

Underhill paled, began to shiver, began to move towards me, saw
the gun pointed at his chest. His erection was beginning to wilt.
The toxin, an Agency specialty from one of nature's creatures was
flowing into his blood stream. There was no way of stopping it. No
tourniquet would work. He turned and staggered away. He went about
twenty feet before he toppled face forward. For a few seconds his
fall was interrupted by a tree trunk. In slow motion, he slid to
the leave-carpeted ground. He tried several times to get up. Each
time, he fell back again. It was unpleasant to watch, but it was
no less unpleasant to imagine what damage he would have inflicted
on Shelley. Within a minute the toxin disintegrated, but not
before it had initiated a massive hemorrhage in the cerebral cor-
tex. I fainted.

Chapter Twenty

I don't remember much of what happened after that, except that I
owed my life to Shelley. Somehow, he managed to get me onto a
horse. He even had the foresight to get on behind me, holding me
tightly so that I would not fall off. Those few intermittent times
when I was conscious, I was aware of the warmth of his body behind
me, the slowly plodding horses, the wetness that spread between
us, his anguished crying gradually becoming a gritted determina-
tion. And the shocking pain in my left shoulder, throbbing con-
stantly. I came to as we passed by the old mine shaft, vaguely
aware that the wooden cabin I had been planning to use for the
next few weeks lay only a mile or so over the ridge. However,
Shelley did not know that and when I tried to speak, my words were
garbled and he was so distraught that he could not put them
together.

So we rode on, following the cliff until it stopped, then joining
with the river, we continued down towards the old Keneally farm.
Maria was waiting for us. It was another scene from a Western,
where the injured cowboy returns and falls from the saddle when
he's in sight of the farmhouse and the wife comes out to discover
him barely alive and soaked in blood. Fortunately, Shelley man-
aged to keep me in the saddle.

When I awoke, it was dark. I lay still, trying to remember, barely
aware of the familiar smells of wood smoke, of a ranch kitchen, of
cedar. I went back to sleep just as I heard Shelley's soft yet
excited voice.

"He's awake Maria."

"Shhhh, dear. He needs to rest."

Sinking back into the darkness of sleep, dreaming of a beautiful
blond headed boy riding a horse. I woke again, hours later, per-
haps only minutes later. I could hear their voices. They sounded
far away. I heard the door close. Footsteps approaching.

"You think he'll be okay?"  That from Shelley.

"The doctor say he should go in hospital." That from Maria. "He
lose plenty of blood. Too much, child."

"I'm scared."

Silence again. I tried to speak through the dullness. I could
think the words but nothing came out from my lips. My head sagged
back into the pillow. It was enough that I could hear Shelley.

"You need hot bath. I see to it."

"Bath?"

"Blood all on you."

"Oh? Maria,...." He cried in frustration. "I don't want him to
die."

"He's not dead."

"I can't leave him."

"I understand. You stay here with him. Le lavaré tengo gusto de un
bebé."

"Huh?"

"I wash you like baby."

My mind said 'smile'. Smile at the idea of Shelley being bathed by
a woman, any woman. He existed only for a man's happiness. Only a
man could appreciate such  beauty, the gentle sexuality that
hinted at an underlying quality that was almost feminine at times.
I had seen him naked so often that I could easily picture him
without clothes. In my mind, he was perfect in every way. With
Maria, his body would not be noticed in that way.

I heard her moving around, collecting warm water and towels. The
thud of a basin being placed on a table.

"I can do it myself, Maria."

Maria laughed. "Saque sus calzoncillos."

"Huh?"

"Your underpants, take off."

"No way!"

'You are such a boy', I thought. The act of smiling was physically
impossible, yet the thought went through my mind and gave me plea-
sure. 'She's seen boys' penises before' I wanted to tell  him.
'She won't bite it off.'



"Usted no tiene nada ocultar de Maria. Es pequeño pero no es que
pequeño que usted debe estar avergonzado de él."

"I don't understand."

Maria laughed softly. "I say you have no reason to hide it. There
is no shame in being small there. Some boys are big. Some boys are
small. It is not important, not if it gets hard enough."

Oh that I could laugh. I could only imagine the expression on
Shelley's face. His penis was small, but that was what I liked. I
also liked that his penis became very hard.

"It's not small," Shelley retorted indignantly.

"It is. I see it after your operation, remember," Maria reminded
him. "I change bandages."

"Operation? Oh! You mean my bike accident?"

"No era de un accidente con su bici sino una operación en sus
testículos," Maria said quietly. "Usted ahora es un pequeño capón
pero usted no sabe."

I wanted to speak out, to raise myself up, and intervene. It was
my job to tell him, not her job. It had to come from me and no one
else.

"Maria, I don't understand when you speak Spanish," Shelley asked
after a few seconds. "I only know a few words."

"Eso es bueno!"

"Huh?"

"No debo decirle. Está para que Rick le diga."

If I could have, I would have let out a heavy sigh of relief.
Maria was correct. She should not tell him.

"Maria!" Shelley exclaimed in frustration. "Can you teach me
Spanish?"

"Yes! I will teach you. But first you take off calzoncillos.
These,"  she laughed. "Calzoncillos are underpants."

"Si!"

No matter how much I wanted to, I could not turn my head or open
my eyes. It was as if my head was frozen in position, immovable.
Yet, I could imagine the scene unfolding only a few paces away
from where I lay in bed. I heard the rustle of clothes, Maria's
motherly clucking as she took Shelley's clothes. There was a
momentary silence.

"Para un muchacho, usted tiene muy hermoso un cuerpo."

"Maria," Shelley complained. "Say it slowly."

"Para un muchacho,..."

"Okay. Um,... For a boy, okay, then what?"

"Usted tiene muy hermoso un cuerpo."

"I don't understand any of it."

"Be patient. I help you. Hermoso is beautiful. You are beautiful,
like a girl."

"Okay. What was the rest about?"

"Listen carefully. Cuerpo is,... like,...."

Shelley giggled. "You mean like a girl's body? You mean body?
Okay. Um,..."

He giggled again, increasingly self-conscious as the meaning
became clearer. Maria was absolutely correct in her appraisal of
what was apparently now a very nude boy.

Maria laughed. "Why, your face get hot? You blush like a girl."

"Do not!" Shelley retorted.

"I see why Mr. Barrett love you so much."

"Huh?"

"You are lucky. You love him too? Some boys love men. "

There was a long silence. I waited in a misty fog, trying in vain
to hear Shelley's thoughts. It was difficult for him, admitting to
another person that he loved someone, that he loved the man who
had adopted him.

"Uh huh," Shelley answered softly. He paused, then added with more
confidence, "Yeah, I love him a lot."

"That's good. My Manuel was like you."

"Yeah, Rick told me what happened to him. It's horrible even to
think about. I'm sorry."

I heard the splash of water and assumed that Shelley was being
soaped up. I heard a soft giggle, a muted whisper that sounded
like, 'it is nothing to be ashamed of.'

"Do you think I'm a bad person, Maria?"

"Porque usted es flojo donde un muchacho debe ser apretado?" she
chuckled. "Sorry little one. I ask if it is because you are loose
where a boy should be tight?" There was a playful slap of a wet
hand on a small firm buttock. "Es estrecho y debe ser estirado."

"Maria!"

"You said you wanted to learn Spanish."

"Yeah, but not like this."

"I said that part is narrow and must be stretched."

"I see, so estrecho is stretched and,... estirado is narrow?"

"She laughed again. "No the other way. Estrecho is narrow."

"It doesn't sound right," Shelley commented.

"It is. With a man a boy's hole gets bigger."

"Okay, how do I say that in Spanish."

Maria thought before she replied. "Con el hombre el agujero de un
muchacho consigue más grande."

"Okay."

Shelley repeated the Spanish version slowly and Maria acknowl-
edged with a another playful slap.

"It is not bad, Shelley, what you do with him. It is how you are.
You do it because you need to. Manuel was the same." She laughed.
"I have to warn him or he will wear it out."

I heard Shelley's answering laugh. He sounded happy, happier than
he had ever been when he lived with the Harmon's in Washington. I
drifted back to sleep, harboring a vague image of a little naked
boy playing in the straw high up in the loft of a barn. He was
laughing as he sprinted from bale to bale, hiding from someone who
was trying to catch him. Was it Shelley? Or was it Juan?



Chapter Twenty-One.

It was daylight when I awoke again. The light hurt my eyes. Sec-
onds later, I closed them tightly, needing time to adjust before I
tried again. The house was quiet. My thoughts converged on some-
thing, trying to put the pieces of a jigsaw back together again.
Some of the pieces were very familiar, the others forgotten so
long that they had merged into obscurity. There was no reason to
where my mind drifted, not at first. Then, a flash of recognition,
and memories became vivid. The light. The light streamed through a
tall window that faced to the rising sun. It was divided into
smaller panes by thin metal strips, not wood that would be found
in other windows. And the bed too, although I had barely seen it,
had an innate quality that struck a chord within me. It was dark
and high, with hand-carved wooden posts that terminated with, of
all things, pine cones. How often had I laid in that bed and
looked up at the very same window to see the sun rise?

I smiled weakly. I lost my virginity in that bed. Do boys have
virginities? It seems logical on the surface. Certainly, there
was blood on the sheet after my first time. Not a lot of blood,
but enough to show the essential fact that I had been deflowered
during the night.

I woke up alone. I was sore too, at least where his penis had
been, but I had no regrets. I was there because I wanted to be
there. For as long as I could remember, I was Sam Keneally's boy.
He had adopted me. For years he had been like a father to me,
serious, inward, demanding, not very affectionate. Yet, he was
more than a father in some ways. He taught me everything I needed
to know to survive. Except one part of me was inborn, connate
within me. I needed him in an intimate way, a way that a father
could not know his son. I needed affection beyond a father's love.
A game. It had all started as a game in the barn.

I had not done anything bad, well not really bad enough to be pun-
ished. Still, in his characteristic manner, Sam took charge and
insisted on discipline for what had been a simple accident. He
used my belt as a strap. If my jeans stayed on, he favored the
buckle end. If my rump was exposed, the other end. By then I was
wise to his favored means and chose to lower my jeans to my knees.
It did not end there. My jeans came off, all the way off, and with
them came my cotton underpants. He caught me, ripped the buttons
from my shirt as he tore it from me. Then, naked, not afraid but
excited in a way that I had never been, I scrambled away to hide
among the bales of hay. Eventually, he found me. he found me stiff
like a railroad spike, and he gave me pleasure in a way that I had
never dreamed possible. Afterwards, my belly full of beef barbe-
cue and beans, I went with him to his bed and discovered an adult
world.

I smiled again. Somewhere, sometime, I had read about the love of
men and boys being passed from generation to generation, a cycle
that doomed a boy to repeat the abuses he had received. I agreed
in principle but reasoned differently. Sam Keneally had been my
lover. I was Shelley's lover. In time, he would a boy of his own.
was that so terrible?

Shelley? It was all I could do to tilt my head and look around the
bedroom that had once been mine. He was curled up in an armchair
next to the fireplace, a red and black patterned Navajo blanket
covering him. Yet, a bare arm crooked behind his dark brown head,
and a glimpse of an equally bare thigh suggested that he was very
naked. There is something about watching a child sleeping that
creates the awareness of enduring love. Innocence perhaps, or
harmlessness, so utterly unprotected and exposed? Yet, this
sleeping guardian was protecting me. There was a throbbing pain in
my left side. I went back to sleep to find relief among my dreams.



"You should get dressed before you get cold."

"I'm not cold."

"You look like a chicken after it's been plucked. Get back under
the blanket."

"I have to go to the bathroom."

"Well, hurry. He'll still be here when you get back."

"Maria?"

"Yes dear?"

"Will he be all right?"

"Yes, I think so. Keep that blanket over you."

"He's so incredible. I love him so much. "

"Yes. It's good that you love him."

"He started calling me 'Chilito'," Shelley giggled. Maria
laughed. "I see you know what it means."

"Ay joven! It is tiny, no?"

Shelley giggled. "Only because he's cold. He shrivels up more
then.... Maria?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Last night, when you were bathing me,.... you said something. You
were talking about my bike accident and you said something about
my balls?" Shelley asked uncertainly.

"Sus bolas?"

"Cojones," Shelley explained.

"Ah,... cojones,.... yes,...."

"What did you say?"

"I forget."

"Maria?"

"Si."

"Was it bad down there?"

"Bad?"

"Was I hurt?  My balls. You know, like was I injured or something
when I fell off my bike?"

"Si. Injured? No, not like that."

"There's a scar underneath, see. Rick said part of the bike prob-
ably cut me."

"It's hard to see it's so small."

"Yeah, I know. Maria, it feels different down there now. Kind of
like my balls are numb or something."

"Mi pequeño capón pobre. Usted todavía no sabe lo que usted ha
perdido entre sus piernas?"

It was better that I pretended to be asleep. I did not have the
strength to talk, not about that. However, unlike Shelley, I
understood, although I hardly agreed with her sentiment that he
was a 'poor little capon'. That he still didn't know what he had
lost between his legs, was a situation that I would have to remedy
as soon as I could sit up and explain what had happened to him.

"Maria," Shelley implored. "Please, not in Spanish."

"Okay."

"What did you say?"

"It's not important."

"Maria! Please tell me? I'm worried."

"You are afraid something is wrong with them, Chilito?"

Shelley giggled. "I guess it's kind of like my nick name now so
you can call me that too,... but only when no one else's around,"
he added seriously.

"Sus testículos lastimados? Ah,... your cojones hurt bad?"

"No, but they're bigger than they were. Rick said they'd swelled
up, only it's been two weeks now and they haven't gotten smaller
again."

"That's bad."

"Maria,.... They feel really strange. It's like they don't have
any feeling at all now."

"Yes, Chilito?"

"Maria, what happens if they,.... well if a boy lost them,...
what would happen to them?"

"He would not be the same as other boys. He would not become a
man. He would be like a capon."

"What's that?"

"A capon? It is like a rooster, only smaller. He is male, but not
male, but he is not female either."

"Is that what you called me earlier? A capon?"

"Si."

Maria sounded nervous. She was old and experienced in many ways,
accepting things that defied an otherwise staunch Catholicism. I
could hear a phone ringing somewhere in the house. From the sound
of her shoes on the wooden floor I heard her start to leave. She
had barely reached the doorway before she stopped.

"Don't be afraid, child," she said gently. "Mr. Barrett will
explain it all to you when he is better."

"I'm not scared, Maria," Shelley replied defiantly.

"That is good. Now you get dressed, Chilito, before I come back.
He would not want you to be cold."

I listened to Shelley's light footsteps. That he could move across
the old wooden floorboards with barely a sound was reassuring. I
sensed his presence next to the bed, the faint pressure as he
leaned over the mattress, the sweet warmth of his breath as his
face drew near.

"I love you, Rick. Please don't die on me."

Even as the words I wanted to say formed in my mind, I was con-
sumed by my need for him. This skinny little boy had become the
center of my existence, as much as Juan, more in some ways. I
heard his words become fainter and fainter until there was nothing
left in my mind except a remote notion that Shelley was still
standing next to the bed. The Navajo blanket had slipped from his
shoulders, leaving him naked. Countless times I had feasted my
eyes on his bare body, yet now he was different in some undefin-
able way.



"He's awake."

"Shhhh! Chilito, be very quiet."

"He is! Maria, I saw his eyelids move. See!" Shelley whispered.

"Perhaps. Do not wake him."

"Maria,.... he's going to get better, I know he is."

"Yes, Chilito. He will be okay soon."

"Rick?"

"Sshhhhhh! Better he sleeps."

"Maria, can I get into bed with him?"

"Can you?..." Maria clucked. "Perhaps in another week, maybe two,
when he's stronger, then you do that. He will want you too, I
expect."

"I don't want to do anything," Shelley said hotly. "I just want to
be next to him."

My eyes opened again. It was like looking though a piece of yellow
muslin. Two figures were hazy, but they were real, and alive, and
one, the smallest one, was Shelley. Again, even in silhouette, he
looked different. I struggled to focus. I blinked, closed my eyes,
waited until I could concentrate. Even breathing seemed to
require considerable effort.

"See, Maria, his eyes flickered! See, I told you!"

"Shhhh, my darling Chilito. He needs to rest."

"Sh-Sh-Shelley," I said. My voice was little more than a whisper.

"Oh Rick!" Shelley gushed. "Maria! Maria! He said my name! Did you
hear him?"

"Hush, Chilito. He doesn't need you screaming in his ear."

"I-m-ok-ay," I murmured. "Ch-li-to."

"Rick! Maria! Oh, Rick I love you so much," he cried effusively.

"How-are-you?"

"Huh? I'm fine. I'm great, now. Rick, I was so worried. I thought
you were going to die."

I tried to smile. I didn't think my lips would work. Everything
was an effort. Fortunately, Maria understood.

"Shelley, you get him some water, okay?"

"I,...I want to stay with him."

"He needs to drink, Chilito. Not talk to you."

"Yeah, okay. Sure, Maria."

Shelley darted out of the room on his assigned mission. Maria
watched his brief-clad bottom disappear before she turned back to
me.

"That boy! He loves you, Mr. Barrett."

I winced when I tried to move. I could not move my left arm. My
right arm was very hard to move but at least I did not experience
a brutal stabbing pain. I moved my hand slightly.

"How-long?" I asked with difficulty. My question made no sense.
"Asleep?" I added.

"How long have you been asleep? It's Friday today. Chilito brought
you here on Tuesday. He hasn't left your side the entire time,"
she added.

"I-don't-remember."

"You lost much blood," Maria explained. "The doctor come here to
sew your wound. He want you in hospital, but I can not be sure is
safe for you. You stay here. I send for Michael."

"Michael?"

"Si, Mr. Barrett. He's very worried. Bad things happened in Mexico
too, but okay now. He come by Sunday I hope. He bring Juan, too.
Everybody okay."

"Gracias-Maria.  Le-debo-mucho," I said in a faint whisper.

"No debt." She smiled generously. "Shelley, he's good. You lucky
to have him as a son."

"Juan-too," I answered.

"Rick, I'm back," Shelley shouted as he bounded back into the
room.

He was breathless and he had spilled more than half of the glass
of water. He regarded me uncertainly, then suddenly he grinned as
he brought the glass to my lips. For the last four days he had
felt useless. Now, he had a role to fill beside staying constantly
at the foot of the bed like a faithful dog. I sipped awkwardly.
The water tasted wonderful, fresh and clean like the water I drank
as a boy. I breathed out slowly and managed something of a faint
smile at Shelley to show my appreciation.

"He not leave your side, Mr. Barrett," Maria repeated fondly as
she watched Shelley closely. "Very special boy, is Chilito. He
give you blood."

"Huh?"

"I did, Rick. I gave you blood. The doctor said you needed a blood
transfusion. And I wanted to help, so he tested me," Shelley said
proudly.

"Good-boy," I murmured.

I tired easily. Acting on instinct, Shelley brought the glass back
to my lips. Again, I sipped, then relaxed.

"Rick, I love you."

Shelley's voice faded out, then silence as a dark chasm yawned in
my mind. I had a fleeting ugly glimpse of a bloodied body, a nude
boy. For a while, I struggled to regain consciousness. I could not
stand to be tormented by Manuel again, yet I could not stop the
memories from rising from the hidden depths of that chasm. My Man-
uel. My beautiful, sensuous, hot-blooded Manuel. Manuel who rode
me like a jockey rides a powerful stallion, in control but at the
mercy of a plunging beast, smiling wantonly. Then, the terrible
sound, screaming, agony. Then, nothing.



"Maria, I'm worried."

"Don't be scared, Chilito. He will get better, I feel it. He loves
you too much."

"Maria, I want him back again so much. It's all I can think
about."

"Ese normal when you're in love," Maria chuckled. "Especially for
a sexy boy. He make you sore."

"I don't mind. I'd give anything," Shelley muttered. "Maria,
what's that? It sounded like a car."

"Good. They're here at last."

"No, it was two cars, I think."

"I want you to stay here! Stay with him, Chilito."

The sweet fragrance of flowers was the first thing that greeted my
other senses. That and a strange bristling touch against my cheek.
Then warmth, soft as silk warmth, melting against my side,
slightly sweaty against my hip, cooler in other places. I felt
where his hand lay, a gentle comforting pressure. Again, the bris-
tling sensation. I resisted opening my eyes. I was content despite
the persistent discomfort in my chest and shoulder. Shelley was
lying next to me, pressed against me, offering me his body's heat.

"I love you, Rick. No matter what happens, I'll always love you,"
he crooned absently. He kissed my shoulder, nuzzling with his nose
as he spread the kiss onto my chest.

"I love you too," I breathed out.

He pulled back, grinning. "You're awake?"

"Yeah. Does Maria know you're in bed with me?"

"'course not." Shelley giggled. "I only do it when she's gone to
sleep or she's in the kitchen."

"Hm, you feel nice," I murmured. "So soft."

I opened my eyes hesitantly, looked up towards the large multi-
paned window that had been brought to Colorado by wagon more than
a hundred years earlier. The light was no longer harsh, but hued
with orange and red. They were the colors of a sunset. It took all
my strength to turn my head to the side. I wanted to look at Shel-
ley so much that any effort would not have been too much. He was
different.

For one thing, the stain I had used to darken his skin had all but
disappeared, leaving a tanned appearance that suited him. His
hair, once long and blond, then short and dyed dark brown, was
gone. He looked, no he was, bald. Well, not quite bald for there
was a barely visible silvery fuzz that covered the top of his
head.

"Maria, she shaved my hair off," Shelley said to my unasked ques-
tion.

"Oh?"

"You're angry?"

"No. I like you bald."

He smiled shyly. "I know it looks weird. Rick, there was no way to
get the dye out. We tried and tried, and it didn't get any
lighter. I wanted to be blond again for you."

"You didn't have to," I said softly. "I'll love you no matter what
you look like."

"Even bald?" Shelley asked nervously.

"Especially bald. Besides a bald dick and a bald head kind of go
together, Chilito?" I teased.

"You know that's my nick name now, Rick. Maria calls me that all
the time, and so does Roberto and Mr. Lucas sometimes."

I managed another smile, although I was uncertain about whether I
was happy that the hired help were calling my adopted son 'Little
Dick'.

"You don't mind about my hair?" Shelley asked worriedly.

"No. Actually, I always wondered what you'd look like with a buzz
instead of long hair."

"Well?"

"You're just as sexy, Chilito," I teased.

Shelley giggled. "You're just saying that to get me all worked up.
It's not fair when you can't do anything."

"Maybe I can't,... but you can," I said suggestively.

He grinned. "What should I do, Rick?"

"Hm,... What do you want to, Chilito?"

"I could suck him?" he offered gleefully. "You wouldn't have to do
anything except shoot."

"I like that idea." I sighed.

It was a very nice feeling just knowing that he was lying beside
me. Maria would have had a fit if she knew what he had been doing
at night time. Yet, as enjoyable as the idea was, I appreciated
that I was still too weak.  There would be no pleasure in it. What
should have been an exquisite joy would be reduced to fulfilling
obligations.

"You know what I'd like more?" I said hesitantly.

"What?"

Even with a single word, it was impossible to overlook the enthu-
siasm in his voice, the sudden elevation in his excitement that
came when he was confronted with the possibility of something
else. The something else. The one thing that made it impossible to
deny that we were lovers. Not yet. There would be a time for that
when I was better.

"I've never seen you masturbate."

"Say what?"

"Masturbate."

"Huh?"

He looked confused and then it slowly struck me that in all of the
time we had known each other, I had never used that word with him.
He knew many of the other words well enough, just not that word.
And for good reason. He had never masturbated himself.

"Don't you know what 'masturbate' means, Shelley?"

"No."

Laughing was impossible. It came out with a wheeze and sounded
like a chicken being strangled.

"What's so funny?" Shelley demanded.

"Masturbation is the same as jacking off."

"Oh!" His high spirits diminished. "You want me to jack you off,"
he offered seriously.

"No. I want you to jack you off."

"You want me to do it to myself?"

"Sure."

"Why?"

"Why?" I tried to laugh again. It hurt. "Because that's what boys
your age do. You're supposed to jack off by yourself. Not all the
time, but at least sometimes."

"Oh!" Shelley gave me a bashful smile. "I guess I can if you want
me to, Rick. But I'd rather do yours."

"You need to learn how to take care of the little guy down there
sooner or later, and now is as good a time as any."

Shelley looked uncertain. He pursed his lips thoughtfully, con-
sidering what was involved. Suddenly it struck me, irrefutable
logic that explained why he was shy. He had been having sex in one
form or another for nearly a year and he had never given any
thought to pleasuring himself. certainly, I had given him plea-
sure, lots of pleasure, but it had been selfish pleasure because
it satisfied my own lust. The one thing that the vast majority of
boys discover by themselves, had been denied to him.

"What do I do?" he asked awkwardly.

'Well, first you get him hard, but by the feel of what is pushing
against my leg, you can probably skip that step."

Shelley giggled. "When he gets like that, he won't go down until I
fall asleep."

"Well, once you get used to masturbating, you ought to be able to
take care of that problem," I replied. "Just jack yourself the
same way you do mine."

"Okay. It's kinda hard to hold."

"Ah Chilito. So don't use your whole hand. You need like two fin-
gers and your thumb."

"Okay. Like this, huh?"

"How does that feel?"

"Okay. I like it more when you do it though."

"I'm sure you do."

"Why does it feel strange?"

"You're not used to doing it to yourself, I expect."

"How fast should I do it, Rick?"

"As fast as you want. YOu can try it different ways and see what
you like the most."

"It feels really weird when I rub around the tip."

"Nice weird?"

"Uh huh. It tingles, kinda.... Rick?"

"Yeah?"

"You don't mind me doing this?"

"No, of course not. I want you to do it."

"Oh!... I thought it was bad."

"Huh? What was bad?"

"Touching myself there. It's bad. Least that's what she told me."

"Who? Maria?"

"No! Of course not. Mrs. Harmon! She said it was evil."

"It's not," I said reassuringly. "It feels good, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, it's nice."

"Then how could something that feels nice, be evil?"

I smiled and with effort managed to reach across and place my hand
on his bare thigh. I could feel the rhythmic movement of his hand,
movement that spread out through his entire body and became a
tremble, the increased heat that radiated from his sex organs,
making his body glow with energy and effervescence. Within the
last minute his breathing had become faster, shallower, matching
the rapid jerking of his hand.

"Every boy does this sooner or later, Chilito," I said softly.
"It's part of what makes him a boy."

"Every boy?" Shelley asked as he gulped air.

"Well, when I was about your age we used to joke that if you asked
ten boys, nine of them would admit they did it, and the other boy
would lie about it."

Shelley was beyond smiling. His brow furrowed as he concentrated.
His hand moved quickly. Short bursts peaking with furious speed,
then slowing as he struggled to catch his breath again. My only
regret was that the blanket covering us meant that I could see.
However, his expression was more than sufficient. His eyes closed
to mere slits, eyelids flickering as his boy's penis began to
experience the build-up phase. The sensations were not foreign to
him. In the last year, climax had been a frequent occurrence, but
not like this. This was different. This was about him. About feel-
ing good.

"OH! Oh, Rick."

"What's up?"

"Can't,... keep,... doing,.... much,... longer."

He gasped as the peak rushed forward and his motion became fren-
zied. His body tensed, pressing closer until his chest was against
my side. There was barely room between us for his hand to move. I
could feel it, slapping on my hip every other stroke. He gasped
again, made a soft whimpering sound, became rigid.

"Oh! OH! OH God!"

His thighs began to buck. Behind the veil of his eyelids, I could
see his ecstasy, the ultimate thrill of any male. Unbounded joy,
infinite yet lasting only seconds. The sudden rush, everything
concentrated, bursting in a few pulses, sensory overload, nerves
reacting, every muscle responding to orgasmic fervor. A fleeting
expression of euphoria flashed across his face, contorting fea-
tures beyond bliss into temporary madness, then vainly pursuing
an awaiting unobtainable rapture. Still, his hand continued to
move relentlessly stroking, pulling, pumping, yanking on the hard
spike between his slender legs until it became tender. He groaned,
shaking like a leaf. I placed my hand on his bare lean back and
cuddled him until he calmed down.

"Wow," he sighed.

"Pretty good, huh Chilito?"

"Better than good. Incredible."

"Well, now you know how to do it, I'll expect you to do it every
day," I teased.

"Every day?"

"Until I'm better," I added. His face brightened.

He heard the footsteps coming up the stairs before I did. He
jumped back, scrambled out of the bed and ran to the armchair, his
lingering erection still obvious if one was interested in such
matters. Within a matter of seconds he had wrapped the red and
black blanket around his body and taken up an otherwise innocent
position on the end of my bed.



Chapter Twenty-Two.

Maria entered first. There were others too, but they waited out-
side. She bustled around the bed, straightening the bed cover,
fluffing the pillow, lifting my head.

"Michael, él es detrás de Méjico, con Juan," she whispered. "They
bring other men, too."

"Who?"

"Un hombre es pequeño, nariz como un judío."

There were a lot of men who were small, with Jewish noses. I
thought of one man in particular. Harold Fishbein. He was short,
not more than five feet five inches.

"Bald?" I asked. "At the back?"

"Bald?"

"Calvo. Ningún pelo en la parte posteriora."

"Si. This is him, Mr. Barrett."

"Harold Fishbein, himself," I mused.

Almost as soon as I had determined the identify of one of my vis-
itors, he entered brusquely. Fishbein always had a 'take-charge'
attitude. I assumed it came with the position of director. He car-
ried a briefcase, the same briefcase that I had taken from Wilder-
stein in the airplane. He walked halfway across the room before he
stopped. He nodded curtly, surveyed the room, saw Shelley sitting
on the bed, gestured to me with an arrogance born from a lifetime
of commanding underlings.

"I think he wants you to leave, Shelley," I said quietly.

"No!"

"He doesn't want to leave," I explained with a sarcastic tone.
"Seeing that he lives here, I guess he has the right to stay."

"I don't think you'll want him to hear what I have to say," Fish-
bein said threateningly. "Your housekeeper as well."

It was warning enough. Maria began to move towards the doorway but
Shelley sat on the armchair with a defiant expression that offered
a direct challenge to Fishbein's authority. The man's countenance
darkened.

"Shelley, it's only for a few minutes," I said gently. "It's
okay."

"I'll go get dressed," Shelley said haughtily as he held the
Navajo blanket tightly to his body.

I watched him leave with pride. "Well?"

"You're lucky, Barrett," Fishbein said absently.

"Lucky? What, to be alive?"

"That! All this," he added with a vague gesture. "You're a rich
man."

"Me?"

"I had someone check you out before I came here. You own this
place now, after Keneally died, don't you?" He did not wait for me
to answer. "How big is it anyway?"

"Ninety-three thousand acres." I pursed my lips. "There's about
ten thousand in grazing. The rest is forest."

"About as far as the eye can see, right?"

"Something like that."

"What's it worth?" he asked. I shrugged noncommittally. "Just the
timber must be worth a fucking fortune."

I shrugged again. "You'd have to cut the trees down first."

Fishbein laughed. "And then there's always the two million you
just got from the Agency."

"That's not mine. Get to the point," I said abruptly.

He gave me the same cynical expression I had become used to when I
worked for him. He had a lot in common with Wilderstein. The word,
'Machiavellian' described him perfectly. He thrived on the uncer-
tainty of espionage.

"It's been interesting, these last couple of days," he began.
"Your friend Michael led me on quite a chase. You owe him and that
boy a lot."

"I know."

"No, you don't, Barrett. You have no idea! Rodriguez was last per-
son you should have sent them to."

"I ran into Wilderstein," I said simply. "He told me."

"What did he tell you?"

"That Rodriguez arranged for something to happen four years
ago,... so he could get control of the cartel."

"You're talking about the situation involving that boy. His
father was one of your field people, wasn't he?"

"The boy's name was Manuel," I said angrily.

Fishbein nodded slightly. "If I'd known the Agency was involved I
would have done something about it at the time. I'm sorry, Rick."

"You didn't know?" I asked hesitantly.

"No." Fishbein turned and gazed at me. "I didn't, but Wilderstein
knew about it. He was working with Underhill on the parallel oper-
ation. Those Mexican bastards cut a boy's penis off and they stood
by and watched him die. Do think I would tolerate something like
that?"

"Probably not. How did you find out about it?" I asked curiously.

"We thought we were following you, Barrett. We picked you up at El
Paso. At least we thought it was you. Instead it was your friend,
Michael. Apparently, Rodriguez became angry about something. He
was just about to kill Michael when our people got there. Michael
got the truth out of him. It wasn't pretty."

"I can imagine," I replied. "Michael knew how much Manuel meant to
me."

Fishbein nodded. "You were always a master of understatement,
Barrett. He made sure that Rodriguez got what was coming to him."

That was 'Agency-speak' for a slow and painful death. Rodriguez
did not die from a bullet in the brain or an injection of a fast-
acting poison. I breathed out. Michael had saved me from making a
trip to Mexico.

"You were going to kill him, weren't you," Fishbein said, reading
my mind.

"He probably didn't hold the knife, but he was responsible," I
answered with surprising calmness.

"But you killed Wilderstein? Underhill too, if I'm not mistaken?"

I shrugged. "They got what they deserved. It wasn't pretty to
watch either."

Fishbein chuckled. "Better this way than a trial." He hesitated,
pondering whether to proceed. "About the President,... what was
done to get the connections established, there wasn't a choice you
understand."

"I know. I wouldn't have agreed otherwise."

"Too much was at stake. We had to know, and we had to know
quickly."

I nodded slowly. "The nation's interests always come before the
individual's interests," I said blandly. "However, taking one of
his testicles would have been enough."

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't pretend you didn't know Shelley was castrated," I said
dryly.

"No!"

There was something in the way he answered that told me he was
telling the truth. Like me, he had approved the operation on the
understanding that only one testicle was to be removed. Not two,
not both of them.

"Wilderstein lied to you?" I asked.

"He was a loose cannon. I should have guessed he was running a
parallel operation. It makes sense, knowing what he's like. I'm
sorry, Barrett. I agreed to one. Just one. Even that's bad enough,
but taking both of them was totally unnecessary. I would have
fired him for that alone."

"He was a fucking ass-hole," I said bitterly. "Do you know what he
was planning to do next?"

"I know he had the President in the palm of his hand. I expect he
was black-mailing him. That's probably why he needed the second
transmitter."

"Hardly. He didn't needed any back-up. He was going to use Shelley
again to get to the President. He was out to get your job."

"You mean Wilderstein was going to use the boy as a whore?" Fish-
bein asked. He did not expect me to answer. "That would have been
enough of a reason," he thought aloud.

He looked rueful, then smiled as he shrugged. The issue had become
moot with Wilderstein's death.

"What happens now?" I asked.

"That depends on you, Barrett."

"It's not a matter of national security any longer?" I challenged.

We both knew what I was talking about. We stared at each other.
The silence hung between us.

"Your sex life is none of my concern," Fishbein said after a
while. "As far as I'm concerned, you've legally adopted the boy.
You're responsible for his welfare. You do what you need to do. I
think I'm correct in my assumption about you."

"Which is?" I prompted.

"You'll do anything you need to do in order to further his best
interests."

"Including murder," I added pointlessly.

"I don't give a damn about them," Fishbein said, referring to
Wilderstein and Underhill. "I'm talking about Shelley's future.
Your's too, for that matter."

"I'll arrange for the operation to remove the transmitters, but
only if it's on my terms," I offered. "No clinics in Taos this
time."

He nodded. "There's no rush. It should be done when the time's
right. Unlike Wilderstein, I trust you. Unless I'm mistaken,
you'll keep him safe beside you. However, once they're removed
from Shelley, I want the damn things destroyed before some other
clown comes up with a proposal to use them again." He hesitated.
"Barrett, if you wanted we could arrange for a transplant, but the
doctors tell me there's not much point other than eliminating the
need for hormone shots when he's older."

"From what I've observed so far, a transplant would be redundant,"
I replied bitterly.

"You're saying he's gay?"

"I'd take bets on it," I answered.

"Well, it's up to you. Barrett, here's the deal."

Fishbein glanced at Michael who had been standing in the doorway,
listening.

I nodded and he backed away. We waited for a few seconds until he
was safely out of hearing range.

"In return for your silence, and the boy's, and I do mean I want
complete silence, the Agency will also forget it ever happened."

"That's it?"

"We forget everything. You never worked for the Agency. Every
record is destroyed. No trace. Nothing. The money vanishes. No
comes after you in the middle of the night. It's all forgotten."

"The adoption?"

"It's still legal. What you do with him now is your business."

I smiled. "It's always your way, isn't it Fishbein?"

"It always was and it always will be. Get used to it. You don't
have a choice, Barrett. It's a good deal. You've been fucking a
ten-year-old boy. You could spend the rest of your life in jail
for that. This way you get to enjoy living here," he added with a
casual gesture towards the window.

I shrugged. "You haven't asked me what I want."

"Okay? How much more?"

"It's not about money. I want to know the truth."

Fishbein laughed as he started to walk. "You haven't figured that
out yet?"

He was nearly out of the room before he stopped and turned around.
He walked back slowly and placed the briefcase he was carrying on
the bed beside me.

He turned and stalked towards the door.

"This is yours. Just remember that it's now forgotten, Rick. It's
over! Forgotten! Do yourself a favor and forget too. Maybe you
don't realize that you're a very lucky man."



He was gone from the house before I opened the briefcase. It was
all there, the sheaves of a million dollars in cash, the manila
folders, even the plastic bags holding the pocket litter for iden-
tities I would never need. There were also the two carefully con-
cealed receivers, one device constructed with a Sony Walkman, the
other within a cell-phone. I shrugged, then my heart lurched as I
suddenly realized their importance. I could not help wondering
what the message was. Of course, I panicked.

Chapter Twenty-Three.



I do not know what I expected to hear when I switched on the
transmitter that had been incorporated into the Walkman. I do know
that an irrational fear gripped my heart. I couldn't breath, not
for the first few seconds as I struggled to hear, to make sense of
sounds that seemed both familiar and foreign at the same time.
Slow, steady beating, the sound of Shelley's heart. An intermit-
tent squelching sound, he was eating. It sounded innocuous. I
heard the unmistakable scrape of a chair as it pushed back, the
rustle of clothes as he turned. The voices were reassuring.

Maria: "Shelley, this is Juan. He's ten too."

Juan: "Hi!"

Shelley: "Hi yourself!"

Maria: "Do you want something to eat too, Juan?"

Juan: "No tengo hambre, Maria. Es él el muchacho a que Rick
adoptó."

Maria: "You speak English, Juan. Is rude."

Shelley: "I don't mind, Maria."

I could hear the tension in the boys' voices. They were struggling
with their emotions. One boy had clearly invaded the other boy's
turf.

Maria: "No, Chilito, it's not right."

Juan: "Chilito?"

Shelley: "Like the Taco Bell thing."

Juan: "Why not 'Burrito' then?"

I heard Shelley's giggle. It was reassuring that the boys were not
going to start fighting in the kitchen. I breathed out gratefully.

Shelley: "I'd rather not be a 'donkey'."

Juan: "'s better than 'leettle dick'."

Maria: "That's enough. Juan be nice."

Juan: "He's Rick's boy!"

Shelley: "Juan?"

Juan: "What do you want?"

Shelley: "I'm sorry, okay."

Juan: "Why're you sorry?"

Shelley: "Because I'm here. I didn't ask to come here."

I shuddered. How quickly things had changed. Only seconds earlier
he had been giggling, breaking down the barrier between them with
light-hearted banter. Now, he was shrinking back. I heard his
fear, his guilt, his anger.

Maria: "Juan, séale agradable que él tiene nadie."

Juan: "Neither do I. I got no one 'cept Rick."

I heard the sound of Shelley backing away, his sniffing as he
tried not to cry in front of his challenger.

Shelley: "I,... I can't. I can't."

Juan: "What cain't you do?"

Shelley: "I can't go back there, where I used to live. I hated it
there with her and Robbie."

Juan: "That's too bad 'cause I don't want you here! You don't
belong here!"

Shelley: "I know! I,... I,..."

Maria: "Don't cry, Chilito."

Shelley: "I can't help it."

Maria: "It's okay. Both of you talk with Mr. Barrett when he's
better. I know he make things okay."

Shelley: "How can he? He's right! I don't belong here. Juan, I'm
sorry. You're his son, not me. It was all I wanted, but it's not
fair. You were here first.... It wasn't fair to make you go to
Mexico. I tried to tell him that. You belong here, not me."

Juan: "You don't understand."

Shelley: "What's there not to understand. This is your home. Rick
loves you."

Juan: "He loves you. You're his maricon, his boy. He has sex with
you."

Maria: "Is enough, Juan."

Juan: "I seen the stuff he use to do you in the ass."

Shelley: "So?"

Juan: "'s gross! Doing that!"

Shelley: "Your brother did it!"

Juan: "Manuel? You know about him?"

Shelley: "Rick told me. I'm sorry, Juan. I really am."

Juan: "He's good to me. He bring me here. Deseé dormir con Rick,
en la cama de Rick."

Shelley: "I don't understand."

Maria: "He say he want to sleep in Rick's bed, be his lover."

Shelley: "Oh!"

There was a long silence. I heard Michael's voice in the distance
although I could not make out what he was saying. I heard a car
door close, an engine start, the low rumble of exhaust and the
sound of tires on the gravel road. Fishbein was gone. Then, cry-
ing. I heard Shelley's pitiful sob.

Juan: "What's wrong with eem?"

Maria: "Juan, you be good. Mr. Barrett nearly killed, but Chilito
save him."

Juan: "Huh? Rick? Michael say something bad happen."

Maria: "Si! Mr. Barrett very sick, but he get better."

Juan: "What happened?"

Shelley: "Rick took me up there into the mountains. Only we were
followed. They came after us. One of the men shot Rick in the
chest. He killed both of them. He got bit by a snake. It bit him
right here. Then,"

Juan: "A snake bite Rick there? A rattlesnake?"

Shelley: "No some guy who Rick called Wilderstein I think. The
other guy shot Rick."

Juan: "Ese Rick okay?"

Shelley: "Yeah, I think so. At least he's talking now. Juan?"

Juan: "Yeah?"

Shelley: "Thanks."

Juan: "For what?"

Shelley: "For going to Mexico."

Juan: "It's okay. I got to wear your clothes. They're cool,"

I smiled faintly, remembering how Juan had looked the last time I
had seen him. His appearance had changed nearly as much as Shel-
ley's had changed when he became a ranch brat.

Juan: "I find this."

Shelley: "Oh! OH! OH! Thank you, Juan! Thank you so much."

Juan: "'s in the back pocket of your jeans. I figured it was
important."

Shelley: "It's my mom and dad. When I was a baby. It's all I have
of them."

Juan: "Oh! I'm sorry."

Shelley: "It's okay. I really appreciate you bringing it back to
me."

Juan: "Sure."

Shelley: "That's what Rick says all the time. 'Sure'."

Juan: "You love him don't you?"

Shelley: "Yeah. So do you."

Juan: "Only he loves you."

Shelley: "That's not true. I know he loves you. I can see it when-
ever he talks about you."

Juan: "You don't have to make me feel good."

Shelley: "It's true."

Maria: "Esa es bastante charla para ahora. Juan, you take Chilito
outside. You show him to ride a horse. You be good to him."

I rested back in the bed, musing. Everything considered, the sit-
uation was turning out nicely. For a while it had been the prover-
bial 'touch and go'. Remarkably, both boys had kept their tempers.
I wished I had been with them to help them deal with their feel-
ings. So different, yet so  similar. Perhaps being the same age
had helped, only a matter of a few weeks separated them. They had
discovered a common ground. I was certain that a life-long friend-
ship would blossom. I considered turning off the Walkman and going
back to sleep. Temptation to eavesdrop won.

Shelley: "She's cool."

Juan: "Maria?"

Shelley: "Yeah."

Juan: "She know about you and Rick?"

Shelley: "About us having sex and all? Yeah, she knows. We talked
about it once when she was giving me a bath."

Juan: "That's why she call you 'Chilito'. (laughing) She seen it
too."

Shelley: "Yeah. Rick says it isn't important, how big a guys dick
is. It's what you do with it."

Juan: "What's it like?"

Shelley: "What's what like?"

Juan: "What you do with him."

Shelley: "You mean sex?"

Juan: "Yeah."

Shelley: "It's nice."

Juan: "Like what happens?"

Juan was bold like his brother had been. 'Embarrassment' was not a
word in his vocabulary. I wondered how Shelley would respond. In
my experience, he was usually reticent when it came to talking
about sex. I was about to be surprised.

Shelley: "What do you think?"

Juan: "Maria, madre del Dios. If I knew, would I be asking."

Shelley: "I guess not. You haven't done anything with him?"

Juan: "With who? You mean Rick?"

Shelley: "Who else?"

Who else indeed? This far from town, there were only a few other
males in Juan's life besides me. Given what I knew about Michael,
there was no likely candidate.



Juan: "No, 'course not."

Shelley: "Then how do you know what guys do?"

Juan: "Michael, he tell me guys do sex stuff."

Shelley: "Michael's the guy who took you to Mexico, isn't he?"

Juan: "Si. He's cool."

Shelley: "You like him?"

Juan: "Yeah. He don't explain much. It goes in your ass, don't
it?"

I heard Shelley's giggle. Nearby a horse whinnied. The barn door
hinges squeaked loudly. The boys were going into the barn. Already
there was static coming from the receiver. If they decided to go
much further from the house, they would soon be out of range.

Shelley: "Uh huh."

Juan: "Doesn't it hurt?"

Shelley: "It depends. Sometimes it does, and sometimes it
doesn't."

Juan: "Does it hurt bad?"

Shelley: "No. Not real bad. Mostly it's okay. If you do it with a
man, your butt has to stretch pretty far. If he's too big it can
hurt pretty bad. Especially if he's not careful putting it in."

Juan: "Oh!.... Shelley?"

Shelley: "Yeah?"

Juan: "'m sorry about back 'n the kitchen."

Shelley: "It's okay. I know how you feel because it's the same for
me."

Juan: "El ypu lo ama mucho? Sorry. You love him a lot?"

Shelley: "Uh huh."

Juan: "You're lucky. When he does it, does it hurt?"

Shelley: "Rick? Nah. He's okay."

Juan: "'s beeg."

Shelley: "Rick's one? It's not that big."

Juan: "How you know? You do it with other men?"

Shelley: "I guess."

Suddenly, Shelley sounded nervous. He had suffered, those times
he had been in Robbie's bedroom. He had lost his innocence, his
virginity taken cruelly, brutally, suffering pain, forever carry-
ing guilt because despite the pain and terror of being raped, part
of him had enjoyed it. I felt for him.

Juan: "Who?"

Shelley: "I don't want to talk about it, okay."

Juan: "How do you know it hurts sometimes then?"

Shelley: "'cause I got raped where I used to live."

Juan: "Raped? How?"

Shelley: "Jesus. How do you think?"

Juan: "Only women get raped. And girls too, I guess."

Shelley: "Boys can get raped too."

Juan: "How?"

Shelley: "How do you think?"

Juan: "I don't know."

Shelley: "He forces it in and fucks you. It tears you up inside
and you bleed, okay!"

Juan: "His dick?"

Shelley: "Of course, his dick. Maybe his fingers too."

Juan: "I'm sorry."

Shelley: "It's okay now. I hated living there. For a while I went
to his room most every night before Rick came along. The first
time was the worst. I was sore for days. It stopped hurting even-
tually."

Juan: "Oh. Rick, he know what happen to you?"

Shelley: "Yeah, he knows. Some of it, anyway. I haven't told him
everything. It'd just make him mad. You the only thing I really
wish for?"

Juan: "No, what?"

Shelley: "That I had met Rick first."

Juan: "El le tomaría, su virginity?"

Shelley: "Huh. I'd be a virgin? Yeah, I guess. Well, a part of me
would be."

Juan: "It hurt you still?"

Shelley: "Maybe. All I know is it doesn't have to be like it was
for me, Juan."

Juan: "Bad, huh?"

Shelley: "It was real bad. Rick doesn't know it, but I tried to
kill myself one time. It was a couple of weeks after it started. I
took some sleeping pills."

Juan: "No!"

I had the same response, that same angry desperation that I could
detect in Juan's voice. I recoiled from the thought of Robbie
doing that to him, of Shelley being so distraught that death
became his only viable option.

Shelley: "You've never done anything with another guy?"

Juan: "Sex stuff?"

Shelley: "Of course, sex stuff."

Juan: "No."

Shelley: "Not even with a boy?"

Juan: "You see a boy 'round here?"

Shelley: "Yeah, me." (giggling)

Juan: "You wanna?" (giggling)

Shelley: "Where?"

Juan: "Here!"

While engrossing until now, the conversation had suddenly much
more interesting. The sound of their voices had changed, no longer
as loud but hushed, sharing the conspiracy that bound boys into
best friends. Then I realized that Shelley's heart beat had also
become faster.

Shelley: "Someone might come in."

Juan: "Up there."

Shelley: "Okay, you go first."

I smiled as I heart them climbing the ladder into the loft. The
straw softened the noise of their feet as the walked across the
timber boards, then a dried crackling sound as they settled down
into a private corner. I could imagine where they were. I could
picture it easily, as much from my own childhood experiences as
from the last time I had been up there. Bales were stacked against
the far wall of the barn, but a gap had been left on the side
nearest the windows that overlooked the corral. They would have
moved into the corner, to where they would not be seen even if
someone came up to the loft unexpectedly. They would have plenty
of time to rearrange their clothes.

Juan: "You first."

Shelley: "No way. We do it together or not at all."

Juan: "Okay.

Shelley: "On three, okay? One,... two,... three,..."

The sound was unmistakable.  Zippers opening. Two boys with bated
breath, watching. The rustle of clothes was followed by the dull
thud of sneakers falling against wood. I held my breath as well. I
heard the shuffle of feet, wondered momentarily why one of the
boys had stood up. Then it struck me that one, perhaps both of
them, were taking their jeans not just down, but off entirely

Juan: "'s small. Chilito's right for you. I call you Chilito too,
okay?" (Giggling)

Shelley: "Yeah, I guess you might as well. Most everyone else
around here does. I can't help it. Your's is way cool, Juan. You
still got your skin."

Juan: "I like your's. You look like Rick."

Shelley: "yeah, except I'm tiny compared to him."

Juan: "Me too. He's beeg."

Shelley: "You've seen Rick's cock?"

Juan: "Yeah. When we met him at the motel. I seen your's too."

Shelley: "Oh! I guess when we swapped clothes, huh?... Hey, Juan,
do you know how to mister-bait?"

Juan: "Huh?"

Shelley: "Mister-bait, you know like when you play with your dick.
Rub it and stuff."

Juan: "You mean like jackin'."

Shelley: "Yeah. Rick told me it was called Mister-baiting. I don't
know why, but that what he calls it. At first I thought there was
some guy with that name who invented it or something like that.
Then I figured it out. Playing with your dick is just like baiting
a hook, only you catch guys instead."

I laughed. It hurt. My entire left side ached, but I could not
stop laughing. 'Mister-baiting', the 'bait' to catch every boy's
best friend.

Juan: "It's cool."

Shelley: "Yeah, it does feel nice, doesn't it?"

Juan: "You do this with Rick?"

Shelley: "Yeah, sometimes. You do it often?"

Juan: "Uh huh. Ah....Oh,... yeah,... ah, se siente tan bueno."

Shelley: "It's good now, huh?" (giggling)

Juan: "Yeah. Ohhhhhh. Oh! (groaning) Dios. Dios! Dios, que se
siente tan bueno."

Shelley: "You're a hell of a lot faster than I am." (laughing)

Juan: "Porqué usted paró?" (gasping) "Why you stop, Chilito?"

Shelley: "Ah, um, well,... I did it to myself just a bit ago."

Juan: "Oh!

Shelley: "It was more fun watching you mister-baiting. You pulled
the skin all the way back at the end."

Juan: "Uh huh. Hurts kinda, but it's good."

Shelley: "Sometimes I sort of wish I still had mine. I guess we'd
better go back."

Juan: "Yeah, I wanna see Rick."

Shelley: "Me too. Do you think he'll mind that we did stuff
together."

Juan: "You tell him, Chilito?"

Shelley: "I guess not. He wouldn't mind anyway. I know he wouldn't
want me doing it with another man, but you're different."

He was right about that. I lay there, listening to the sounds of
the boys putting their clothes back on. It was different. It was
different with Keneally. It was different with the Mexican boys
who had followed Manuel. No one I had ever had sex with could com-
pare to Shelley. I would rather kill myself that live knowing that
he had been unfaithful. But not Juan? Just the thought of what he
had just done with Juan excited me.

Juan: "'s different just 'cause you're doing sex with a boy?"

Shelley: "Uh huh. And he loves both of us. Juan, what's bugging
you?"

Juan: "I want him too, Chilito."

Shelley: " Huh? What do you want?"

Juan: "I want him. Like you and him."

Shelley: "You want him to do that? You mean in your butt?"

Juan: "Michael say some boys do that with men. My brother do that
with Rick."

Shelley: "You want Rick to fuck you?"

Juan: "Uh huh. Okay with you?"

I heard Shelley's infectious giggle. A plot was in the making. In
a way, I was not surprised. I remembered what Michael had said
about Juan when we were in the motel room in Albuquerque. 'He
knows what he wants. It looks like you're going to have to take
two boys to bed now'.

Shelley: "Yeah, I guess I kind of expected it. I think it can be
arranged. Only you're going to have to wait until he's better."



Chapter Twenty-Four.



I recovered quickly. Having two energetic boys almost constantly
next to me, if not actually in my bed was undoubtedly a contribut-
ing factor in my recovery. As if by clockwork, Juan always disap-
peared at bed time, leaving me alone with Shelley. As soon as he
heard the door to Maria's bedroom close, Shelley would dart across
the floor and slide into bed next to me. He was warm and smooth,
and he slept soundly after he had performed his nightly 'mister-
baiting' ritual. Certainly, lying beside him while he masturbated
feverishly was 'bait' enough for me. However, I lacked the
strength to act on my impulses, no matter how much I wanted to
participate. For the first few nights, he was content just to
pleasure himself, but eventually the novelty wore off. Then, he
would get his penis hard and poke it into my thigh until I
responded.

Sometimes, when he was tired it ended there. His boyish enthusiasm
slowly became lethargic thrusts. A minute or so after that, I
would hear the soft sigh of his breathing. Yet his sleep never
lasted through the night. The first time I awoke, his head was
under the blankets and hidden from view. After that, he always
pushed the blanket down to expose my maleness before he took it
into his mouth. He was gentle and caring, and so focused on what
he was doing that he seemed to be oblivious to my presence. Not so
for the sensations that radiated from my groin. I had never been
so aware of how it felt to be the recipient of oral sex. He was
creative and skilled in a way that few people were. His mouth and
tongue were national treasures, and would have been worthy of
including in the Smithsonian were those parts of him not essential
to our mutual happiness. I was usually capable of one, and occa-
sionally two ejaculations per night as my strength began to
return. Every morning he abandoned the warmth of my bed and scam-
pered across the floor, often only seconds before Maria entered
with my breakfast and Juan.

At the same time, I began to see a side of Juan that was very dif-
ferent to his brother. They were as alike physically as brothers
can be, but Juan was less demanding. He remained clothed and was
visibly self-conscious when Shelley strutted around the bedroom,
exhibiting his naked, or nearly naked body. Yet, his eyes stayed
attentive. He was every bit as entranced as I was by the project-
ing spike of proud pink flesh that decorated Shelley's middle sec-
tion. I bided my time, appreciating that Juan would have to come
to his decision without undue pressure from me. Coming to grips
with his sexuality was one of the hardest decisions in a boy's
life. There was always the possibility that Juan preferred girls.
Not that Shelley had any ambivalence about showing off his sexual
inclinations. At times, I even thought he would sit down on my
penis despite an audience of one interested boy. It was a differ-
ent matter if Maria was around. Juan would giggle hysterically as
Shelley scurried off to get dressed or wrap himself up in his
adopted Navajo blanket the instant he heard her footsteps in the
hallway.



And as for the incident in the barn loft? I kept quiet about what
I had heard. In a way it was none of my business. They were enti-
tled to some privacy. Indeed, as the next five days passed it
seemed that the boys had an ever increasing need for privacy. I
resisted temptation to listen in again by using the only means
available to me. I sent the briefcase downstairs to be deposited
in the safe in the library. Instead, I fantasized about what the
boys might be doing while they were gone from my room. Ostensibly,
they were playing in the yard, or Juan was teaching Shelley how to
ride a horse, but after the first day, I suspected that sex play
was far more likely, and riding had an taken on an entirely dif-
ferent meaning. I watched them carefully, aware of their changing
relationship as much as I was aware of my changing relationship
with Juan. I regretted how I had been with him after Manuel's
death. I had been cold and aloof and I ignored him rather than
deal with his close resemblance to the boy I loved.

Every time I saw Juan it hurt. It physically hurt to look at him.
Every time I did, I could not help but remember his brother. The
sight of Manuel's bloodied body would stay with me forever. All
that I could do was hope that it would not taint my emerging rela-
tionship with Juan. And it was emerging. Shelley noticed it. He
teased me relentlessly, even placing a pillow over my crotch once
to hide what he said was a 'whopper' when Juan was sponging my
chest as part of my daily bath. I teased him back, with creative
comments about 'chilitos that needed extra sauce'. Our fast food
wisecracks often passed by Juan without getting so much as a
smile. I put it down to cultural differences.

Therefore, I was not surprised on the Sunday night of the second
week I had been in bed. I was feeling a lot better, even managing
to get up to go to the bathroom without Michael's assistance. My
shoulder still hurt, and I had very limited use of my left arm,
but the wound had healed on the surface sufficiently that there
was no longer any drainage. So what happened? Well, it started
like this:

"Hey Rick?"

There was a tone in his voice that got my attention. I looked up
to find Shelley grinning.

"What's up?" I asked.

"Nuthin'. I was jus' thinkin' 'bout sumthin'."

I laughed. The 'cowboy' accent was getting better even if it
sounded exaggerated at times. He could do a very good imperson-
ation of Michael, and an even better one of me. His impersonation
of Maria was way off course, but hilarious none the less.

"Okay, out with it."

"You're feeling better, right?"

I smiled. He knew my health condition as well as I did, because he
demanded reports on the hour. I never got tired of answering the
question of how I was feeling. It was nice to have someone who
cared about me.

"I was thinking about something, Rick," Shelley ventured uncer-
tainly.

"Yes?" I prompted curiously.

"Seeing as you're getting better and all,..." His voice trailed
off and he glanced at Juan before he looked back at me.

"Go on, Shel'. Ask him!" Juan said boldly.

I looked at Juan and he suddenly looked very shy, something I
might have expected for Shelley but so out of place for him.

"Ask me what, guys?" I asked quietly.

They shared a guilty look, the kind of look that boys have when
they're planning to do something that they know they probably
should not do.

"Nothing," Shelley said vacuously.

"Shel'!" Juan said angrily. "You promised!"

Shelley spun around. "I know! Okay! Just be quiet!"

I was surprised at the sound of his voice. It wasn't anger, it was
something else. I watched him carefully, wondering what was going
through his head. His hair had grown back sufficiently that he no
longer looked completely bald. It looked like a close 'buzz' from
an over-zealous hairdresser, but his hair was so blond that it
looked like silver fuzz.

"Come here Chilito," I said gently.

He approached the bed cautiously, keeping a steady watch on Juan
who stood on the other side of the bed.

"Yeah?" he said petulantly.

"You want to tell me what the problem is?"

"Not particularly."

"Are you guys fighting about something?" I asked pointedly.

"No!"

"Then what's the problem?"

"There isn't one."

"Sure?"

Shelley pursed his lips and remained silent.

"Okay, out with it, Chilito," I said with my 'authority' voice.

"Rick,..." he whined. He sighed. "I love you, okay?"

"I love you too." I patted the bed for him to sit down beside me.
"Now tell me."

"WouldyougetangryifJuanandIhadsexwithyou?"

"Huh?" Had I heard what I thought I heard. he had blurted it out
so quickly that I thought I was mistaken.

"WehavesextogetherandhewantstodoitwithyouandIdon'tmindsocanwe?"

"Huh?" I asked again.

"Wellcanwe?"

"Well can we what?" I repeated slowly with distinct emphasis on
each word.

"Have sex?" Shelley giggled. "Can we?"

"If you both want to, and seeing you just asked so nicely, I don't
see why not," I answered.

Shelley giggled and turned to Juan. "See! I told you he was cool."

"Okay, guys, if we do this there are going to have to be some
rules," I said forcefully.

Shelley and Juan shared another quick glance and nodded slowly.

"Okay, there is only one rule and it goes like this. No one does
anything they don't want to do," I explained. "If you don't want
to do something you say so. There are no bad feelings afterwards."

"Okay," Shelley agreed. He thought for a second. "What if,....
well if one of us wanted to do something and you,... well, like
you didn't want to do it? What about that?"

I nodded. "The same rule applies. I don't want anyone to get jeal-
ous or upset. Having sex is really about having fun with someone
you love. Everyone has to enjoy it."

Juan scratched his forehead thoughtfully. He smiled shyly. "I
haven't done anything before," he murmured. "Except with Chili,
of course."

"Hey! You promised," Shelley interjected.

"It's okay by me if you guys have sex," I laughed. "Besides Shel',
you just told me a minute ago yourself, I think."

"I did? yeah, I guess I did."

I turned to Juan. He returned my gaze with his big dark eyes.
Steady, unwavering eyes that communicated his budding urge. His
brother's eyes were the same. They were eyes that seduced, not
innocent like Shelley's eyes. These were pools of mystery, commu-
nicating an underlying sexuality that I had always managed to
ignore in the past, but which I could no longer overlook. His eye-
lids flickered, then his pink tongue licked against his lips. So
like his brother. His tiny Adam's Apple bobbed as he swallowed,
his long thin fingers moved nervously against his leg.

I heard the door to Maria's room close with a firm click. The
house fell silent. She was such a sound sleeper that we could have
an orgy in her room and she still would not wake up. There might
never be a better time.

"Juan, if you want to be with me by yourself, I can ask Shelley to
leave?" I offered.

He shook his head slightly. "You love him, Rick. You want him."

"Yes, I do," I said fondly. "I love him very much,... and I want
him too. I also love you."

Juan licked his lips again. "You Manuel's man. You sleep with him.
I know he was ninfo, Rick. Usted  casquete con él. Usted sea mi
hombre también?

I breathed out. Would I be the man for Juan too? Would I 'fuck'
him? I glanced back at Shelley. He shrugged impassively.

"Do you understand, Juan? This isn't something you should do with-
out a lot of thought. Te le voy a meter de mira quien viene."

"What did you say?" Shelley interrupted.

I smiled. "I told him I was going to fuck him in the ass. Although
it really translates as doing it doggie-style."

Shelley giggled. "Yeah, I thought so. A Juan le gusta singar de
mira quien viene."

"Really?" I asked. "Your spanish is really improving."

Shelley giggled. He was not about to disagree. "I'll tell you
about it later on."

"Okay. It'll be worth hearing how Juan likes doing it doggie
style. You're the dog, Chilito?"

Shelley smirked. "Sometimes. Mostly he's been using the candle
that Maria gave him. You could do it that way except Maria would
kill us if you opened the wound in your shoulder again so you bet-
ter not be humping him that hard."

"What do you suggest then, Chilito?" I taunted.

"You let him do it to you. Besides, it's his first time and it's
way easier on the boy that way."

"You don't mind?" I asked awkwardly.

Shelley shrugged. "The night is young," he said gleefully. "I
don't mind going second."

"I have a feeling I'm not going to get a lot of sleep tonight."

"So, Rick, if you want you can sleep all day tomorrow," Shelley
answered cheekily. "Hey Juan, let's get nude and show him that two
boys together can be more fun than one boy at a time."

It took about two seconds for Shelley to undress. I don't think he
had ever been so eager. He pulled back the covers and jumped onto
the bed, immediately cuddling up to me the same way that he had
done every night since I had been injured. The restorative proper-
ties of a pre-teen boy's body cannot be overstated. Imagine get-
ting an injection of pure energy, something that sends a burst of
fire through your body until every nerve is tingling and demanding
more. That's what it was like. Hot, wriggling, very much alive,
his tongue licking on my chest, his little teeth nibbling on my
nipple, his breath blowing over the newly created wet spots.

Juan hung back just as I suspected he would. I did not react
overly much. I stroked Shelley's flank reassuringly, using long
gliding motions from side to side and then along his spine from
his neck to his buttocks. Then, when he settled down and his imme-
diate need to be next to me had faded, I lifted his chin until I
could look into his wonderfully clear blue eyes.

"I love you," we said simultaneously.

That was all it took. He melted over me, taking his position on
top of me, searching to position my already fully-erect penis
between his thighs, clamping his legs around it, then kissing.
Kissing with all the passion within his young body, letting his
need pour out through his lips, stabbing his succulent tongue as
far into my mouth as it could reach, then sucking, and kissing,
and licking until we were both breathless.

"Phew!"

I gasped playfully and slapped his firm little rump when he
finally dragged his mouth away. Grinning, Shelley eased his slen-
der body off me, making sure to drag his hot little penis over
mine before resuming his place beside me. He pressed against me
with his right leg draped both casually and causally over my now
very-hard penis. That boy certainly knew how to keep a man erect!

We both looked to see what Juan was doing. He had undressed down
to his underpants. I was surprised to discover he was not wearing
the obligatory white briefs that identified just about every
ranch boy in the southwestern United States. Instead, he wore a
micro-brief, like Shelley had been wearing the last time I had
seen him in underpants except that Juan's was red. This was inter-
esting.

"Where did those come from?" I asked.

Juan grinned. "Maria got them. Me and Chilito, we show her on the
Internet."

"So she ordered some for both of us. They came in the mail two
days ago," Shelley added.

"Cool!" I chuckled. "They look great on you. But you have to take
them off, Juan, so we can see the rest of you."

Juan looked shy for a moment and seemed to hesitate but Shelley's
groan of exasperation broke his resistance better than anything I
could have said to reassure him. He pushed his briefs down and
stepped out of them.

He was hard of course. I don't think any boy could have watched
what Shelley and I did and not gotten an erection. His penis was
bigger than Shelley's, noticeably bigger, and not just because it
was uncircumcised. It was both longer and thicker, and to my eyes,
more aggressive with its hooded appearance. His brother had also
been well endowed, but while Manuel had come equipped with testi-
cles that were on the verge of pubertal function, Juan was still
boy-sized. His testicles had not descended and were barely much
larger than the pinto beans that Maria used in her delicious
stews.

"Well, come on, Juan." I grinned. "Get your butt into bed so I can
turn off the lights."

"We're going to sleep?" Juan asked awkwardly.

"You can if you want to," I replied teasingly. "Maybe I'll make
love to you, muchacho. Let's see if you can say that in Spanish,
Chilito?"

Shelley giggled. "Si. Let's see,... Um. I know 'love' is 'amor'
and I assume it's the same for boys even if it's in the butt.
Hm,... I don't know the word for 'maybe'."

"Is 'le haré'," Juan smirked.

"And 'make' is like 'quizá' isn't it? So I guess it's 'le haré
quizá amor'."

I laughed, but I was very proud. "I think you said  'Perhaps I
will do love to love him'."

"Huh?"

"Don't worry, Babe. I fully plan to, if that's what he wants."

Juan nodded eagerly. "Chilito, he say it feel good when you do
him, Rick. I want that too. Maria she says 'ir a rechinar la
cama'."

"Hm,... that's sounds about right. We should make the bed squeak,
huh?"

Juan nodded again as he carefully climbed on to the bed. Unlike
Shelley, who was rambunctious to be point of being oblivious to my
physical condition, Juan was scared stiff that he might somehow
worsen my injuries.

"Maria, she say you be careful too, 'cause mine not beeg like
his."

Shelley chortled. "But it soon will be. I made sure he pooped,
Rick, just in case."

I laughed. "It sounds like you guys have this all planned out."

Shelley grinned. "Come on Juan, let's give him the works."

With that the boys went to work on me. Shelley took the lead
because he knew what to do and he no inhibitions left when it came
to having sex with me. had Maria been in the room he would have
scuttled for cover. Juan was quieter, making far less noise, and
initially much less aggressive. That changed as the minutes
passed and he began to realize that sex really was about having
fun with someone you loved.

Basically, my role was to be passive but responsive. This was the
boys' show. Some of it had been orchestrated, or at least prac-
ticed in advance. When Shelley started sucking on my penis, Juan
quickly moved into place and added his mouth right alongside, but
on the other side. What might have been double trouble in any
other situation became infinite pleasure. When Juan was no longer
tense, I placed my hand on his small bottom and gently pushed his
cheeks apart. He quivered when he felt me touch him there, yet he
stayed where he was, sucking on my scrotum. I pressed down the
narrow crevice, slowly rubbed my finger over his anus. He quivered
again, closing up slightly as his instincts came to the forefront.
But not for long. A moment or two later, I felt the little muscle
relax again.

"Move your legs apart," I said.

Shelley helped get Juan into a better position.

"He has to get you loosened up with his finger first. It's cool.
Just let it happen."

I licked my finger and put it back, back into the tight little
hole that blossomed in his crack. A virgin rosebud about to be
deflowered. Juan squirmed about, then pushed further onto my fin-
ger. I smiled. Most boys did not like anal play because it quali-
fied them as being gay. It seemed like I was surrounded by two
boys who were exceptions to the rule. I pushed deeper, beyond the
second joint and began the laborious but thoroughly delightful
task of stretching his sphincter.



I felt my testicles tighten as they sucked, licked, tickled, nib-
bled, caressed, squeezed, petted, pampered, nuzzled, and stroked.
When one boy's hands, or lips, or tongue was doing one thing, the
other boy quickly changed to do the same. Shelley was teaching
Juan. And it worked. After a while, they were no longer in harmony
but following their own ways of showing affection. They were
equals in every way but one.

It was then that I felt something cool and slimy against my penis.
I glanced down between the two small heads that were lying on my
belly. Shelley's hand was slowly sliding up and down my erection,
applying lubricant over their lingering saliva.

"You need this, otherwise it hurts going in," he muttered to Juan.

"He's so beeg."

"Yeah he is, but you'll be okay. Just do what I told you, Juan. Go
real slow till it stops hurting."

"It hurt bad, Chilito?"

"Nah. Juan, it's just for a couple of seconds. The candle didn't
hurt does it?"

"ese beeger!"

"Yeah, but ese more fun," Shelley teased. "You ready?"

"Si!"

Shelley and Juan sat up. Both of their mouths were still shiny and
there was a glistening streak on Shelley's cheek where my pre-sem-
inal fluid had left a trail.  Shelley wriggled away to make room
for Juan to knee above me.

"It's okay, Juan," I said reassuringly. "Just relax. That's all
you have to do. Especially don't fight it."

"He's right. If you feel yourself squeezing down, you have to try
to make it looser," Shelley added.

Juan nodded anxiously. He licked his lips, and swallowed. His
brother had also been nervous when he lost his virginity. I imag-
ined that every boy was like that. The first time was a big step
in growing up.

"What do I do?" Juan asked awkwardly.

He wriggled, squirming against the blunt knob of my penis. In con-
trast, his own organ was soft and dangling between his legs. From
my experience, most boys lost their erections as soon as they got
into position. While I would have liked to have thought that this
was because of the lack of stimulation on the penis, more than
likely they were anxious when they confront the daunting task
before them. However, while Juan's penis shrivelled, the reverse
was true for me.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" I asked gently.

If I had one 'golden' rule, it was essential to make absolutely
certain, especially for a boy's first time. For that reason, as
much as any other, Shelley almost always initiated sex. That way I
knew and we didn't have to go through the 'are you really, really
sure stuff'.

What boy was every sure about taking a man's penis inside his body
for the first time?

Juan nodded slightly. "Si, Rick. You make love to me."

"I love you, Juan."

"Si. I love you too."

There were no more visions of Manuel, not after that. I knew the
truth when I heard it. I felt Shelley's small hands moving around
my penis, positioning it, holding it in place, preventing it from
buckling when Juan began to push down. He did not need any encour-
agement. He was a brave boy, but then I had always known that. His
brother was also brave. He pushed hard, resisting the impulse to
jerk away when it penetrated, pushing even when the discomfort
began to build into something more. He took two inches before he
winced, then fighting back the pain, he gasped loudly.

"Hurts, Rick," he whimpered.

"Just for a minute," Shelley said from behind him. "Just sit real
still and it'll go away. Don't push for a while."

"ese in, no?"

"Yeah, it's in, Juan. It's in a fair way. It's kind of cool watch-
ing it."

I smiled up at Juan. I could feel his anus gripping just behind my
glans with brutal resistance. He shuddered continuously, fighting
back the instinctive urge to pull away every time his anus cramped
and sent a cruel spasm through his body. I felt sorry for him.
Short of stopping, there was nothing that I could do to help him.
No amount of foreplay took away the need for a boy to be stretched
this way. It had to happen at least a couple of times before he
loosened up enough for it not to be agony.

"ese beeg," Juan whimpered. "ese real beeg."

"Yeah, isn't he?" Shelley chortled.

But Shelley was used to having sex with me. He knew what to
expect, understood how to make it feel better, how to move when
the time was right. he was justly proud of what we did together.
Together we could achieve what at first glance and to the uniniti-
ated, appeared impossible.

"Don't mind him, Juan," I said reassuringly. "You'll get to watch
him next."

"eet hurt heem too?"

"Not any more. It used to when he was younger. Shelley's as loose
as a goose after a couple of minutes. It slides right up in a cou-
ple of seconds."

"It just takes practice," Shelley giggled. "I  can't believe I'm
sitting here watching Juan lose his cheery."

"Cherry?"

"That's what it's called when a boy looses his virginity," I
explained. Then realizing that Juan might not associate 'virgin-
ity' with the Mexican maccho male, I added. "When he takes a cock
for the first time."

"Si. No soy una virgen ahora."

"No," I said softly. "You're not a virgin any longer."

"Estoy alegre," Juan sighed. "Es bueno tenerle dentro de mí."

"What did he say?" Shelley asked.

I laughed. "Now, you're really going to have to learn Spanish,
aren't you Chilito?"

"I already know enough Spanish," Shelley rebuked playfully. "So
tell me?"

"He said it was good to have me inside him," I answered.

"Yeah?" Shelley grinned. "Yeah, I sure know that feeling. You
think he's ready, Rick?"

"Why don't you decide?" I teased. "You're the resident expert."

Shelley giggled and crouched lower, looking between us, seeing
where Juan's body ended and mine began.

"He still looks tight, Rick.

"I'll give him a bit longer then," I said. "Is he bleeding?"

"Nah. He's okay, but his hole is stretched really tight," Shelley
observed.

However, after a minute or two, when it became evident that merely
sitting still was not going to achieve the degree of stretching
that needed to occur, I started to guide Juan's body to carefully
move up and down. He choked back gasps that threatened to become
wails. Yet, he stayed with me valiantly, doing his best to relax
and not cry. Slowly, ever so slowly his sphincter stretched, loos-
ening and becoming accustomed to having my penis inside him.

I had quite forgotten what it was like, that first time with a
young boy. I had only the one experience and it was not something
I had ever expected I would forget. All said and done, it is some-
thing of a miracle the way it happens. I guess it is nature's way
of accommodating the variation in the human species. After all,
there is such a vast range in our physical characteristics, that
it would only be logical to expect a similar range in our other
characteristics, not the least being our psyche and sexual needs.

Juan was small-framed and quite slender, not unlike Shelley. When
I looked at him afterwards and saw his narrow waist and slim hips
I had to marvel that it was even possible at all. There simply
could not be that much room inside his body, but there was. Don't
think for the moment that I went all the way the first time. Only
a pig does that because there is simply no way that a boy's going
to enjoy it. He will later on, of course, but not at the start.
Then, the feelings are foreign, and he is somewhere between panic
and pain, and is of half a mind to ask you to stop.

Always slowly. Always aware of what I was doing. It was a simple
formula. Patience plus care. If I paid attention to what I was
doing instead of my own pleasure, I knew he would begin to enjoy
it. There were simply too many nerve endings where my penis was
for him not to enjoy the rhythmic motion inside him. It was more
than simply getting the head of my penis somewhere in the vicinity
of his immature prostrate. I touched that area occasionally and he
shuddered uncontrollably, but for a long while his real pleasure
came from my gentle rocking beneath him and the sensation of my
steely organ sliding back and forth through his sphincter.

Just as I expected, he loosened up and relaxed. At his own pace,
he began to move, taking over greater control as he realized that
there was no longer any discomfort. His hips rotated and oscil-
lated, thrusting my penis deeper and deeper into his hot luscious
cavity, into the loose succulent tissue of his rectum.  His eyes
were closed to mere slits, and his mouth remained partially open,
and he still had difficulty breathing, but there was no question
that he was enjoying it. It would have been impossible for him not
to. He did not have an orgasm. Perhaps it was unusual for that not
to happen, but it was his first time. By comparison, it was
unusual if Shelley did not at least one orgasm.

I kept trying, right up to the end, getting him close, in fact
very close. I could get him all the way up to the edge but I was
still not able to give him that special thrust to send him over
the edge in ecstasy. Shelley could sense my frustration. Even more
than I did, he understood what it was like for a boy to achieve
that wonderful pinnacle. There was not a lot he could to do to
help either of us. He watched closely, his face seldom further
away from the action than a few inches. It must have been quite a
view.

I kept trying, right up to the inevitable end. Sometimes Shelley
would climax when I did, shuddering with the contractions from his
powerful rectal spasms. There was something immensely satisfying
when we made love with perfect timing, his rectum clutching fran-
tically to meet my ejaculation. Then, we would heave together,
writhing in ecstasy, sharing the hot spurts of my semen and the
powerful grasps of his sphincter. I prayed that it would be like
that for Juan. It made making love worthwhile.

Juan groaned at the end. He was so close, so very close. Perhaps a
few more seconds. Perhaps as long as a minute. He could sense what
was ahead. He was pushing back, straining hard, gasping for each
breath, whimpering when my penis nearly pulled out. I pushed into
his as far as I could and released my passion in a torrent of
semen. Pumping it out as he twitched and writhed. I was almost
finished when he bucked suddenly, grunting, shoving his butt back
against me as hard as he could. He climaxed, not hard and pain-
fully like Shelley did, but undeniably achieving release. His
anus pulsed, tightening noticeably before it relaxed even fur-
ther, suddenly loose and soft, and very squelchy.

I stayed inside him until my penis was soft and small. It was eas-
ier taking it out that way. It just needed a slight backwards tug
and it slipped out with a familiar wet slurp. Juan sighed and his
little hand felt behind him, fingering the no-longer tight band of
his anus. He was fully dilated, and if Shelley was any guide, he
would be loose for a while. I placed my hand over his, pressing
his fingertips into the hot wetness that oozed from inside him.

"'eese beeg," he murmured softly.

"Uh huh," Shelley acknowledged. "It'll close up again in a while.
Does it feel good?"

"Yeah. What happen? Is like I want to,... to blow up, like a bal-
loon."

"I think it's the best feeling in the whole world," Shelley said.
"And afterwards too, when it's all sloppy and you feel so tired
you can barely move."

He giggled and crawled up to lie on top of me, carefully keeping
his weight away from my injury by keeping his upper body lifted
up. He leaned down and brushed my lips with his. Then, his tongue
met mine and slipped back between my lips, engaging in the duel of
flesh, sucking, probing further as his tongue pushed deeper. His
lips were ever so succulent that I succumbed to him, embraced him,
drew his naked body down onto me. I was oblivious to the discom-
fort in my shoulder.



Chapter Twenty-Five



"Rick?"

"Yeah?"

"Hey, you didn't call me Chilito."

"Sorry." I grinned. I could tell he was happy, happy that I was
finally out of bed, that we were by ourselves. "What's up, Chi-
lito?"

Shelley pulled back on the reins and stood up, bracing his feet in
the stirrups to stand up. He surveyed the horizon. He swivelled
around, gazing back to the ranch house. He was so relaxed that he
could have been riding since he was a toddler.

"I love you!" he announced suddenly.

"Ditto!"

"I said it first so it means I love you more."

"Okay. What's up, Chilito? Why did you want to come up here?" I
asked.

"I'm so happy."

"Really? I could never tell."

"No, really. Rick, I love you so much. And I love being here with
you and Juan and Maria, and Michael, and,..."

"Let's not forget all the hired hands, and the horses," I laughed.
"I know what you mean."

"Rick?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad I'm a boy and you're a man, and we love each other."

"Hm, what does that mean?" I asked curiously.

"Well, for one thing,..." He smirked teasingly. "It means you get
to fuck me whenever we want."

"Here?"

"If you want," Shelley said teasingly.

"Now?"

He giggled. "Sure. I got some KY in my pocket."

"Same here," I laughed. "Great minds think alike."

"We're together now, aren't we?"

I knew what he was referring to. I breathed out, and then inhaled
again. The smell of the distant pine trees reminded me of my own
childhood, of growing up here, of coming to depend on a man's
love.

"I'm glad it's just us, Shelley," I said tenderly.

"And Juan," he added.

"Yes, and Juan," I agreed wholeheartedly.

"And Maria."

"Yes, and Maria, and Michael, and the horses, and...."

"I'm so happy, Rick," Shelley sighed.

He lifted his foot out of the stirrup in preparation for dismount-
ing. he crooked his leg over the saddle horn, sat there like a
cowboy overlooking his ranch. So at home. I smiled at him. This
was love, this gnawing, ever present longing, this radiant glow in
my heart, this sense of being complete. This was love.

He grinned at me. "I want to stay a boy forever. If that's okay
with you?"

I knew it was time. "Shelley, there's something I have to tell
you," I began gently.


THE END