WARNING: This story -- a fictional one - contains sexually explicit parts involving sex between a minor and an adult. Do not read the contents if it will offend you. If accessing this story causes you to break local laws (village, town, city, county, province, state, or country, etc.), please leave now. Please note: I write these fictional stories for two reasons. 1) To help young gay people of a certain disposition to better understand themselves. 2) To help relieve the sexual tensions of those who are attracted to boys without resorting to actual association.

Any characters portrayed in this story are fictional and not representative of anyone living or dead.

Anyone wishing to contact me can do so at john.thestoryteller@gmail.com

Other stories on Nifty by John Teller/The Storyteller can be found here.

All rights reserved. All parts of these documents are © Copyright 2012 John T. S. Teller, and may not be reproduced in any form without the author's consent. Nifty.org have permission to reproduce it on their website.

A small sermon. Nothing in life is free. Everything costs, and Nifty is no different, so please send them a couple of $'s/£'s to cover costs and stuff. They're very discreet, and you won't get your name in lights if you do.

The only one smiling.

Part 4.

It was on Boxing Day and Chris was fourteen when Greg had a telephone call from him. Greg had spent Christmas day with his parents that year, but only because Chris's family were having a family affair party that included many relatives attending, and Greg didn't want anybody except the immediate family knowing about them. Chris argued that he was being silly and should attend the party, but Greg insisted on not doing so. Anyway, Chris phoned on Boxing Day and said he was coming to stay the night. Greg was smiling to himself because his boy sounded as if he'd been sneaking a few glasses of sherry when he shouldn't have been, and he insisted he talk to Sophie before he'd pick Chris up. When he spoke to Sophie, she confirmed his suspicions, but agreed that Chris could stay the night.

      Greg knew every one of Chris's moods, and the moment the boy got in his car and they began to drive back to Greg's place he knew he was slightly tipsy and in for a proper romantic evening. It was a beautiful night; one of those lovely starry nights with a bright half-moon illuminating their part of the world, and in the lane that led to Greg's house, Chris told him to pull over into a parking area with an unrestricted view overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. Greg stopped the car, looked past Chris at the ocean, and said, "Look at that scene. It's beautiful."

      Chris was quiet for a while, looking at the ocean, and then he turned to Greg and said, "I love you."

      Greg reached out a hand, Chris took it, lifted up both armrests between them, scooted across the passenger seat to get closer to Greg, and then leaned back with Greg's arm wrapped around him. He kissed Greg's hand repeatedly while they watched white horses dancing in the cold waters and waves dashing against the rocks below them. Greg felt the tears on his fingers before he heard the sobs. He was worried, and asked, "Are you alright?"

      Chris snuffled and rubbed his cheeks against Greg's hand. "Yes. I was just thinking how much I love you."

      Greg knew the words his boy spoke were genuine, but he also knew the alcohol Chris had drunk had something to do with lowered inhibitions. But it was nice once in a while to just forget anything other than the love they shared. And to talk about it. When Chris rang, Greg's first thoughts were of the sex they would have this evening, but now all he wanted was to hold and love his boy. He kissed Chris's hair, and whispered, "And I love you, too, more than anything in the world."

      They were quiet for a while, each deep in their own thoughts, and then Chris said, "I've been talking to a friend about us."

      Immediately, Greg was alarmed. "A friend?"

      Chris nodded. "Yes. David Atkinson. He was at the party. He's nineteen. He asked me for a date."

      "And?"

      "I told him that I'd already got the most beautiful lover in the world."

      "That was nice. Are you attracted to David?"

      Chris rubbed Greg's hand against his cheek. "Yes. He's nice, but I could never love anybody else but you. I told him that. He asked about you. I told him all about us; how I'd always loved you; that we were meant for each other."

      "Wasn't that risky? You're still under-age."

      Chris shook his head. "There's no difference. I'm under-age to him as well. The difference is that he only wants sex with me. That isn't what it's about, is it Greg?"

       Greg kissed his head again, and hugged him that little bit harder. "No. Sex is important to us both, I think, but loving you and having your love is far more important to me. How do you feel?"

      "The same. I'm always thinking about you. Loving you makes me happy. Knowing you love me makes me even happier. I think about you when I wake up, and I think about you when I'm in bed before I go to sleep. And all the time in between."

      Greg giggled. "No sex in there?"

      Chris wasn't amused, and grunted, "Don't spoil it Greg, please!"

      "Sorry. Sorry."

      "S'ok. I know what you mean. Of course I think about sex, but that's only part of us, isn't it?"

      Greg nodded. "Yes. I know what you mean. No matter where I am or what I'm doing, the moment I think about you I can't help but think I'm the luckiest man in the world. Lots of men fall in love with boys, but it's very rare for a boy to fall in love with a man. Our love is one of those very rare events, and I never stop thanking God for bringing you to me. Now it's happened, I wouldn't want to live without you."

      Chris turned his head and offered his lips. Greg kissed them softly, and then they snuggled together and spent the next hour almost in silence, just watching the sea and being utterly in love. And when Greg eventually drove them to his home, for the first time in many months, when they went to bed they didn't have sex. Instead, they spent every waking moment shedding tears of love, professing their undying love for each other, both very much aware that the love they had was almost unique.

      But the following morning, the fourteen-year-old Chris displayed the other side of what he was when he woke up needing sex any way he could get it. Two hours later Chris collapsed on the bed sporting a huge grin, and he made Greg giggle like a schoolgirl when he said, "I do need sex as well you know!"

      And Chris couldn't stop laughing when Greg said, "I'm knackered! I think I'll ring that David Atkinson up to help me out."

And that's pretty much how life went on for both of them until Chris was just turned fifteen and Greg had that phone call from Sophie. It was Monday, 9^th of April: 7pm. He would never forget that day. Chris had stayed with him over the weekend, and he was doing a full wash, including the bedding that was splattered with both his and Chris's spunk. Sophie's voice was strained when she said, "Greg, I'm a bit worried about Chris."

The moment she said that, Greg was worried too, and he asked, "Why are you worried? Is he alright?"

There was a short moment of silence, and then she said, "I'm not sure. Have you noticed anything strange about him lately?"

Greg wasn't sure what she was referring to, and he asked, "In what way?"

Another short moment of silence, and then Sophie's voice sounded very worried when she said, "I might be being silly, but he doesn't seem himself lately. I dunno; sort of sometimes he's with us, and sometimes he's not. And he keeps getting pains in his bones, and these headaches. He's got one now. I've given him some Paracetamol and he's gone for a lie down. I'm worried about him Greg."

Sophie's words hit home. Greg had also noticed something was different with Chris of late. Perhaps for a couple of months it had been going on, but he'd put it down to growing pains: Chris's body adjusting to his growth and the change in his hormones. There were times when he seemed a completely different person to the Chris he'd known since he was almost a baby and Greg thought Chris was falling out of love with him, but when the melancholy left his boy, he was his normal, loving self. That's how different he was. But right then Greg wanted Sophie not to worry, so he said, "Perhaps it's just growing pains, Sophie. Why don't you get him to the doctors in the morning just to check him out? It won't do any harm, and it will put your mind to rest that it's nothing serious. Mine too."

He heard Sophie sigh down the phone, and then she said, "Greg, can we have a chat?"

The way she said it told him there was something serious and personal on her mind, and he was pretty sure the personal may have had something to do with him and Chris being lovers. "Sure. Can't we talk over the phone?"

"Not really. I'd like to talk to you properly. Alone. Can I come and see you now? Tony's in and can look after the kids. It's only twenty minutes in the car."

(Kids. By the time Chris was fifteen, not only did he have his sister Jane, he also had two half-brothers; Anthony aged three, and Harry aged two.)

Greg looked around the room. Because his family came occasionally, there was just the one photograph of Chris on display, and one of Jane so as not to make it obvious that Chris was special (there were hundreds of others locked away in a drawer -- some of them of Chris naked and aroused, and Greg would have plastered the walls with pictures of his special boy if he had the choice), but being a boylover meant you couldn't do those things. He could soon clear the bedroom of any tell-tale evidence of what they'd been up to. No problems there, so he said, "Sure. Of course you can, Sophie, but you'll have to take me as I am. I've just put a full load of washing in."

"That's not a problem. I'll be with you in about half an hour. I'll see you then."

"Ok. I'll leave the front light on so you can see your way to the door when you get here. Bye."

"Bye."

Greg heard the car draw up and went to the front door to let Sophie in. Although she looked at him and said `hello', she didn't really look at him if you know what I mean. Sort of she wasn't pleased with him, and he was apprehensive about what she had to discuss. He made her welcome, poured two coffees from the percolator, and sat in one of the easy chairs in the lounge while she sat in the other. When they were settled, he was very nervous when he asked her, "What do you want to talk about?"

She shrugged her shoulders, took a sip of her coffee, and then looked directly at him. "Greg. I'm not criticising you, but I know what you and Chris are to each other, and I don't really want to interfere in what you do, but something is bothering me."

Greg looked directly at her. "Sophie, whatever it is, Chris is your son, and you have every right to ask. So, providing it concerns him, I promise you won't offend me in any way. How can I help you?"

Sophie took a deep breath. "Sexual diseases. I'm worried that Chris might have a sexual disease."

Greg thought he'd be prepared for anything, but he was totally shocked by what she said. Of course, the first thing that went through his mind was that Chris had been having sex with someone else, and he recalled the conversation they'd had at Christmas and the David Atkinson who had asked Chris for a date, and he blurted out. "Has he been seeing someone else besides me?"

Sophie looked shocked, and she almost shouted at Greg, "No! Of course he hasn't! Well, not to my knowledge he hasn't, and I know my Chris well enough to know the only person he goes with is you!"

Greg shook his head. "Then I can assure you, Sophie, that he won't have caught any disease from me! I would never, ever do anything to put him in the slightest danger!" He was almost in tears when he continued, "Sorry, Sophie, but if there's the slightest possibility Chris has AIDS (there, it was out!), then he won't have caught it from me. Anyway, I'm sure you're wrong. Why do you think he's got AIDS?"

Sophie suddenly dropped her shoulders and began to weep. Immediately, Greg was out of his chair, went to her and put an arm around her shoulders to comfort her. Although she was crying, he managed to make out what she was saying. "I'm sorry Greg. I'm so worried about him that all sorts of things are going through my mind. I just know there's something wrong with him, and I'm trying to work out what it could possibly be. I shouldn't have said that."

Greg hugged her a bit tighter. "Don't be silly! But if it will put your mind at rest regarding that, apart from my ex-wife, and you know how long ago that was, I've never loved anybody else except Chris. I just wouldn't do that. He's too precious for me to be promiscuous. I'm well aware of the consequences of being unfaithful, especially when you're like me and Chris. And I don't think Chris has either, so I don't think that's what's wrong with him. Why don't you just take him to the doctors in the morning and it will probably be nothing to have worried about. I'll come with you if you like."

Sophie's relief was obvious when she sank into Greg's arms, and they hugged for a while. Then she dried her eyes and smiled at him. "I'm sorry Greg. I had just had to make sure. I should have known better. I know much you love him, and how much he loves you. I'll see if I can get him in the doctors in the morning. To put my mind at rest. And then I'll ring you and let you know what they say."

When Sophie had gone, Greg felt completely hollow. Part of him was beginning to think that Sophie might be right, but that would have meant that Chris had been unfaithful, and if he had, then there was a very good chance that he would have AIDS, too. Then he called himself a selfish bastard because he couldn't give a fuck about himself. The only person in the world that mattered to Greg was Chris. For all he cared then, they could have put him in a wooden box and buried him six foot under just so long as Chris was alright. Sophie's worries had got to him, and he cried like a baby for a while. Then he pulled himself together and told himself that Chris was fine, and that they were worrying about nothing. But that night he hardly slept a wink worrying about his beautiful boy.

The next morning, Greg rang in work and made an excuse that he wasn't well, and didn't go. Then he mooched about for a few hours, waiting. Waiting. When the phone finally rang, he was trembling when he picked it up. It was Sophie. She'd been to the doctor's with Chris, and they were on their way to hospital for blood tests. The doctor didn't say what was wrong because he didn't know, but he'd sent them to the hospital to be sure nothing serious was wrong with Chris. Greg wanted to go to Chris, to hold him; to hug him; to tell him how much he loved him, and that he'd be fine. But this was family matters, and Greg was not Family. He was just his lover.

Two days later, and Chris was having a CT Scan. He had a brain tumour. It was inoperable. All they could do was give him Intravenous Chemotherapy. And Greg became Family. And he was still Family when, on the 27^th of November on a cold, windswept day of that same year, they lowered Chris's emaciated but beautiful body into a newly dug grave in the old churchyard.

Chris never went to Greg's house again after he first went to the doctors, but Greg shared fully in the final months of his life. He was there when Chris was poorly after the chemotherapy to love him and try to cheer him up; he was there when his boy's beautiful hair fell out, and they laughed when he was able to kiss Chris's bald pate; he was there to secretly bring Chris his sexual pleasures by sucking his life juices out of him when they were alone while he was well enough to enjoy it, and he was there when the nurses from the Cancer Support Team administered the final dose of Diamorphine before Chris passed peacefully away in his mum's arms.  

My dearest, beautiful Greg.

I love you with every breath I take. I have since we first met all those years ago when I was almost a baby. One of my earliest memories is you coming to our house and you tickling me so much that I wet my pants. Do you remember? I do. And you were so silly when you took my hand off your willie that day when I was seven. Just think what you missed, you silly man! LOL. Mind you, my willie was so small then that you'd have thought you were sucking a chocolate finger, but I would have had difficulty getting yours in my mouth. LOL. Not that I didn't want to. My dreams then were sleeping with you and doing all sorts of things. But I got my way in the end, and when I did, it was worth the wait. We've had fun, haven't we Greg? I've loved every second of us being together. That's why I'm happy while I'm writing this. I get sad sometimes because I don't want to leave you, but then I think about what I've had, and it makes me happy again. Do you know what really makes me happy Greg? When I got older, we often talked about how long our special loving would last. We said it would last forever, but we both knew it wouldn't. Well, not the sex side of us wouldn't. You're not gay like me. You love boys. One day I would have grown into a man, and although I know you'd always love me as a person, I knew you wouldn't want me like I want you. I'm not blaming you at all. If you didn't love boys then I would never have snared you. That's the great thing about what we had. I was there for you at the right time, and you were there for me at the right time. Just think about how fantastic that was. Nothing can take that away from us. That's another reason why I'm happy. But if I'd lived, there would have come a day when I would have been unfaithful to you. I would have hated that more than anything in the world. But it won't happen now. I'll always be yours. I've never done anything with anybody except you, and I know you haven't done anything with anybody except me. Isn't that fantastic? We belong to each other for all time.

But I'm really worried about you. That's why I've written this letter. I know I can't stop you being sad, but I don't want you to be sad all the time. I want you to be happy. That's why I've put this photo in the envelope with this letter that you'll get when I'm gone. It was taken the day after you came to babysit me and Jane and I got you to do things with me. Look at my face in the photo. I was so happy that day because of what we'd done. What I've never told you is that when you went out of my bedroom, I did it three more times thinking about what we'd done. LOL. That was the sexiest night of my life. All the plotting and planning I'd done was soon sorted by a bit of a rash on my leg. Although I was nervous, I was giggling when I went to my bedroom and took my clothes off, because I was imagining what your face would be like when you saw me. I very nearly took my underpants off as well, but my willie was hard and I thought that would have frightened you. LOL. But I got you didn't I? LOL. You should have seen the look on your face when I walked in with just my underpants on. I should have taken a picture of you. You looked like a rabbit caught in a car's headlights. LOL.

And what about that first time when I got you to go inside me! LOL. I'd been planning that for ages. You should have seen your face when it plopped inside me. You didn't know whether to laugh or cry. LOL. But I knew once I'd got you in there you wouldn't be able to resist me. And just look where we went from there! WOW! LOL. You naughty man you, abusing a little boy like me! LOL.

But shit to anybody who would think you did anything wrong! YOU gave me what I wanted! YOU made me happy. That's why I can write this letter now. Because of YOU YOU YOU! I love you now, and I always will until the end of time, and nobody can take that away from me. Chris loves Greg. Greg loves Chris. Nobody in the world knows how beautiful that is to me. I don't care about dying. I'm not even interested in it. The only thing I'm concerned with is YOU and ME, and we'll always be together if you take me with you for the rest of your life.

So please don't be sad Greg. I'm your special boy. That's what you've always called me. And I am. I always will be. I love you Greg. Keep repeating that you love me for as long as you live. Just for me. Please!

Chris. XXXXX Millions and millions of kisses forever.

Tears. Buckets of them, and Greg howled like a wolf that day when he sat on his own in his house and read the sealed letter Sophie gave him two days after Chris was buried. Never had he felt so much pain as that which was breaking his heart. He was literally choking with grief, and for three months after Chris died he became like a zombie. He wanted to kill himself. Oh my God! How he wanted to kill himself! The only thing that stopped him was the letter and the photo Chris left him: his beautiful boy, wearing his most beautiful grin the day after the first intimate moment of their lives together. And then Sophie finally managed to get to see him. She was shocked at what she saw and what he'd become when Tony broke down the door and they managed to get in. The house was like a shrine to her son; hundreds of photographs of him lined the walls and filled ever nook and cranny, and Greg was like a werewolf; unwashed; unshaven; dishevelled; hiding in the dark. The demented Greg shouted and screamed at them to leave him alone. It was only when Sophie said that Chris would have been ashamed of him that he broke down, fell on his knees and clung to her skirt, sobbing for forgiveness. After they'd taken down the photographs (many of them of their son naked and unashamedly pornographic), they called the police and the doctor, who decided immediately that Greg was a danger to himself, and they sectioned him and locked him up in a mental institution. For his own safety: they said.

Two years later, Greg was Family again, but this time he was playing with and tickling little Anthony and Harry. They were two beautiful kids, but not like his Chris. Nobody could be like his Chris. There was only one Chris, and that's how it stayed, and a further two years later when the Boeing 737 spiralled out of control over the ocean and he watched the blue waters fast approaching as he held himself firmly in the window seat, while the screaming and yelling was going on around him, as he looked at the crumpled photo of his beautiful boy clutched in his fingers, and as he recalled the words Chris wrote:  I love you Greg. Keep repeating that you love me for as long as you live. Just for me. Please!, he chanted the words, I love you Chris, over and over, and when the plane hit the water, he was still repeating the words, and he was the only one smiling.

The end.

You can find my other stories on Nifty here. If you wish to comment on this or any of my other stories, just drop me a line to john.thestoryteller@gmail.com Genuine comments will be appreciated. All flames will be extinguished in the trash bin.