Date: Mon, 18 Sep 2000 06:17:28 -0700 (PDT)
From: Wishus Teglin <teglin@excite.com>
Subject: Three Weeks to Heaven book 2 chapter 7

Three Weeks to Heaven
Book Two, Chapter Seven

by Teglin and Ty
teglin@excite.com

Special thanks to Ty in this Chapter 7.  He made it better in every way.
Where you might find the most touching moments, you'll know that Ty
had a hand.  He was also relentless in correcting my mistakes!

FOREWORD:

As with Book One of this story, I am indebted to Ganymede for my
inspiration to write.  His stories remain the best in the boylove genre.  I
wonder how many men have come across one of Ganymede's stories,
and found their innermost feelings and dreams validated, and thereby
have come to embrace their love for boys as the positive good that it is.

And again, this is dedicated to the boy, wherever he may be, who needs
love and care.  In short, dedicated to all boys, anywhere and
everywhere.

Copyright 2000 by Teglin.  You may freely copy this boylove romance
and distribute it.  Please have the courtesy not to alter it in any way.


WARNING:

This boylove romance contains descriptions of sexual acts between
men and minor boys.  Their sexual relationships are very important to
the story, as part of their love-making, but it is their spiritual relationship
that I wanted to explore even more, as the very essence of boylove.

If this story is illegal where you are, or for your age, or the concept
of a man/boy relationship offends you, don't read further.


Chapter 7

Wishus clenched his teeth, trying to still their chatter, as his whole body
shook convulsively against the chill.  He didn't know how far he could
get, before completely collapsing.  Or stumbling off the trail, into the
canyon bottom.  He just knew it was now or never.

Better to die, looking for Teg, than midst the stench and filth in the
Tower.  All night long he had lain in his bed, too weak to even roll the
rock over the doorway.  He hadn't gotten any better, just kept vomiting
and ... worse ... on the floor, on the bed.  Teg mustn't find him like
that!

His world was coming to an end.  He knew it.  When the sun finally
rose, it did nothing to dispel the chill, hiding behind clouds.  The skies
seemed to lower upon him.  Wet, gray drifts of clouds hung below the
rim of the canyon.  It hadn't rained yet, but everything he touched was
wet and cold.  Just above those foggy banks, the sky was completely
overcast for the first time in weeks.  Must be a late spring cold front
before ... before a summer he would never see.

He felt it to his very bones.  The cold sapped his remaining reserves of
strength.

But worse ... he whimpered weakly, feeling the pain starting to surge
again in his stomach, and reached out quickly to grasp a branch hanging
over the trail.  It snapped under his dead weight, and he fell to his knees,
not even feeling the stabs of the sharp rocks as they cut into his skin.

He doubled over for what seemed like the hundredth time, feeling the
dry heaves take over his mid-section.  They were uncontrollable – he
couldn't fight them anymore.  His stomach muscles tightened into hard
little knots against the emptiness in his belly.   He tried to throw up,
wanted to throw up!   Anything would be better than this remorseless
torture.   At these moments he seemed to feel his heart stop beating,
and the muscles of his chest seemed too weak to resist the rib-crushing
pressure from below.   Oh God, he wanted to die!!

He collapsed completely onto the cold wet rocks of the trail bed.  His
nightgown soaked up the moisture quickly, shocking him back to
awareness.  The heaves stopped.  With one long, despairing groan he
lifted himself again and stumbled forward to his feet.  Not here!  He
didn't want to die here.  Teg had to find him on the trail.  The trail out
of the valley.   On the trail where his man would be returning.  Just as
he had promised.


----------------


Almost numb to the cold now, Wishus just plopped right down in the
shallow water at the edge of the beaver pond.  Good!  He had made it.
Teg would now find his body easily enough.  The trail would carry him
right past the pond.

He would find a clean body too.

Wishus looked down at himself.   Blood trickled from his right knee.
Listlessly he slumped to scoop water over the cut, and to wash the dirty
red stain away.   The nightgown was hopeless.   And now useless.   He
struggled to lift it up and off his shoulders, and over his head.  It felt like
he couldn't lift his arms that high, so he bent over even more and kind
of rolled the fabric over his back and head.   It fell into the pond water.
He regretted that. It would just make the water dirtier.  Perhaps Teg
could fish it out later on.  He hoped so.  This was such a nice place.
Teg and he had played here ....

Goose bumps rose involuntarily on his arms, as he was suddenly bared
to the chill air.  They disappeared just as quickly.  He guessed even the
goose bumps were too cold and weak to stick around.   Funny, but that
wasn't funny.  Maybe it would have been, some other time.  Slowly he
washed himself, removing the streaks of dirt bequeathed by the trail and
bile stains from out of his own gut.

His hair.  Teg loved his hair.   He knew that even when Teg found his
body, he would cradle his head and smell and kiss his hair.  Grimy, wet
clumps of it hung down over his brow.  He reached up and felt the
lockes on one side.  It was all matted.  Slowly, painstakingly, he started
pulling the tangles free, using the water from the pond to soften and
remove the dirt, using his fingers like a comb.

Half an hour later, Wishus crawled grimly out of the pond and slowly
rose to stand on wobbling legs.  He was as clean as he could get.  And
cold to the core of his being.   Even through his tan his skin looked pale
and pasty, the blood drained.   He couldn't even feel anything through
his fingers or toes anymore.   There was no reason to die here, though.
Teg should know that he tried till his last breath to get closer and closer.
That he had never given up.  That he had always believed the promise
....

Almost unconsciously, Wishus put one foot forward, then the other,
and shuffled his way around the pond.  The trailhead over Black
Mountain was just across the meadow, in those trees.

Now it started to mist.  The clouds lowered even more, settling in, just
like his wet nightgown had hung wet and clammy on his skin.

His whole world looked gray now ...

... the luminous gray of the clouds – somewhere beyond them, there
was sunlight.   Maybe Teg was riding right now above the clouds, on
his way here to find his boy.

... the smooth sheen of gray of the meadow grass that he trod down
into a flattened mass with each shuffling step.   Maybe the sun would
come out someday and dry the grass, and each leaf would rise again,
hiding the fact that a lonely little boy had ever passed this way.  That he
had ever existed.

... the lifeless gray of his own form.   From the wet-darkened clumps of
his hair, inert and plastered against his scalp, to the leaden droplets of
water that fell from his chin, or his fingers, or from his shriveled little
penis.   Maybe someday ....

No.  Maybe not.

Wishus made it to the trees at the edge of the meadow, and knew he
was going no farther.  Not now.  Not ever.  Odd, he realized.  This was
where he had said good-bye to Teg just three weeks ago.   Now this was
where he was going to ... where Teg was going to find him.

There, under that big aspen tree, where he had knelt before his man, and
taken his seed ....

`I wanted to do so much more for you, Teg.  And with you.  I wanted
to be with you always.'

Wishus stood for a long while, motionless, benumbed.  His mind
somehow not capable of directing him onwards.  He felt the cold as
something inside him now.  It wasn't in the air around him, nor in the
mist.  Not something he felt on his skin, or even in his bones.   This cold
was in his soul.   It was infinite sadness, that his cold form was all that
Teg would find now.   It was infinite despair, that there was nothing he
could do.

`I tried, Teg.  I waited here for you.   I'm sorry.   I just couldn't make it.
I love you.'

Finally he took the few halting steps to the aspen tree, then slowly laid
his body down.  The carpet of wet, dank leaves sank to his weight,
enveloping him.   He closed his eyes, and lay insensible as the mist
gradually turned to a light rain.

A leaf, long dead, but hanging stubbornly all winter long from the aspen
branch above, quavered in the slightest of breezes, grew heavier and
heavier with the rain, and finally, ending it's life completely, fell down
sodden upon the boy below.  Claiming the boy ... the boy who had
wanted to become one with his man, would now inexorably, become
one with the very earth.


----------------

My hand sought the letter resting over my heart once again.  An
unconscious act.  I didn't notice it, really, until the fourth or fifth time
that I pulled off the trail at a turn, nudged my horse up to the very lip of
the drop-off into the valley, and sought that first sign of my boy's
presence.

I kept looking for smoke rising from the chimney of the Knight's cabin.
My heart leapt into my throat when I came to that overlook, where I
had first espied Wishus fishing down below.

Nothing yet.  He wasn't there.

How I wanted to spur my tired horse down that trail faster and faster, to
force him to take it headlong.  Every nerve in my body was tingling, my
breath was quickening, my heart pumping faster, stronger.

Still, I had the sense not to force it.   Both my horse and the packhorse
following on a rope behind us, were dead tired, after the last twenty-
four hours non-stop on the trail.  I had packed up at the railhead with all
the supplies I could imagine needing, planning for an extended stay in
the valley.  I'd build a cabin here, somewhere near.  Start a second
ranch.  Sell off the one back in the Mogollons.  Do whatever necessary
to be here with Wishus.

So I sat bolt upright in the saddle, letting my horse pick her way down
the trail at her pace, feeling the drag of the pack horse, every one of my
senses heightened, ready to leap off into Wishus' arms ... if we ever got
down this trail!!

I was not likely to find him out playing by the creek on this foggy,
chilled afternoon.  It wasn't raining yet, but the moisture hung in the air
and glistened from every rock and branch and leaf.  The sun was a pale,
slightly brighter blob of gray in a totally overcast sky, shedding no
warmth at all.  This cold front had stalked me all the way from Arizona
Territory, then had finally enveloped me and everything before me
during the night.  I hoped Wishus was snuggled up before the fire,
perhaps reading a book.

I reached in and felt the letter again.  How I would love to sit with him
this evening, before that very fire, and pour out my love to him ....

My hand froze in place, touching the letter.  I suddenly felt even more
chilled,  sensing something ... something out of the ordinary?   I took a
deep breath, clutched the letter briefly, then reached back down with
both hands on the reins to pull my horse to a stop.  There was no
sound.  I couldn't even hear the rush of the snowmelt stream down in
the valley below.  No breeze to speak of, to rustle the wet canopy
overhead.  It was gloomy, cold, and dead.

Dead ... empty.  I tried to take another deep breath, haltingly, my throat
constricting now with sudden dread.  It hurt.  Deep inside of me, it hurt.
Something was ... wrong.

I closed my eyes and tried to still my thoughts.   You know how
something pops into your head, and it's so terrible that you sense it
coming, and you try not to let it enter your consciousness.

Think of Wishus!  He's down there right now, waiting for you.
Nothing's wrong.  It's just this weather.  Enough to deaden anyone's
spirits.  But not today!

It wasn't working.   I couldn't shake the feeling.

Alright, Teg.   Forget this.  Get on down the trail.  Find your boy.

That's when I realized what I had sensed.

The smell of smoke.  Not a trail of living, rising smoke, wafting from the
Knight's cabin chimney.  A pervading smell of ... old smoke ... a stale,
dank, enveloping scent that just lodged in my nostrils, like it blanketed
everything around me.   The smell condensed on me with the very
moisture in the air!  Deadening, numbing.

I looked around, mystified.  There was no sign of any recent fire here.
Nor any across the way, across the valley, on the slopes rising above
the valley.

So, no reason for panic, or dire imaginings.   Just get on down this trail.
Just a little farther to go, and you'll find him waiting.

I did quicken the pace, spurring my horse on, jerking at the taut rope
leading to the pack horse.   Both horses started to stumble, so I slacked
off a bit.  Dangit, it wasn't going to do any good to get killed coming
down this trail, yet the dread was eating at me, against every rational
explanation I could come up with.

Lots of things could leave that trace of smoke.  A small forest fire.
Perhaps Ben Knight burning off some meadow grass?  No, not in the
springtime.

The smell was so pervasive.  Ok, some hay caught fire.   Burned the
barn ... and Wishus tried to help put out the fire ... maybe he got his
hands burned ... or got caught in the fire, and was seriously hurt, or ....

Oh God.  Tell me that he's alright!

My mind snapped shut on that.   I couldn't bear to think of Wishus
even being slightly hurt.  I tried to replace the thought with something
good, instead.  Wishus at the creek fishing ... pulling Wishus into the
pond ... kissing him up at the hidden city in the canyon ....

It didn't work.  What if he had indeed been injured?

Struggling  to avoid the image in my mind, didn't keep it from trying to
sneak back in over and over. All of a hundred possibilities suddenly
demanded to be played out in my imagination. I started crying, in a
explosion of tears and anguish.  Feverishly, I wiped the tears away,
clamped my jaws shut in a vice grip, and mentally screamed at myself.
What was I doing?!  This was foolishness!  To think the worst for no
reason.

I breathed deep, calmed the thoughts, but now felt my fears replaced
with a deadened feeling of lifelessness in my own limbs, and a heavy,
sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

This was no way to meet my boy!

Plain fact was, I had been on the trail for 24 hours now, without sleep. I
had walked off the train unrested from fitful sleep, stiff as a board.  And
before that, 48 more hours on the trail, from Oklahoma!  So it was time
to just remain as calm as I could be, get down this trail, and show
Wishus that I had returned just as I promised I would.

Seeing his smile would make everything alright.  Just his smile ....


--------------------


Half an hour later, at the bottom of the trail, I felt like I could float
across the floor of his valley, bouyed by that prospect of his smile.

He wasn't there, beside the creek, where I'd first met him.  But that
didn't matter.  I looked the spot over ... there's where I fell down with
the saddle atop me ... and he smiled at me.  Over there we romped
through the tall grass, and he laughed and laughed.  And there!  Across
the meadow - the trees screened the Knight's cabin from me, but I could
see beyond, where little cottonwood saplings circled the banks of the
beaver pond, where we had splashed and literally shouted with joy.

The three weeks were over!  Finally!  I was back.

Here was the path along the creek, past this spur of trees, towards the
cabin.  I did nudge the horses into a trot now.  Level ground, they could
handle it.  My heart was in my throat.  He might be standing right there
on the porch of the cabin!  Just imagine his smile when he saw me ....

I spurred my horse again, past that last pine screening me from sight of
the Knight's cabin, singing in my heart, Wishus, I'm here!  I'm back,
dearest!

-----------------------

I floated, indeed.  Even as my cold, lifeless body sat dumbly midst the
ashes of the cabin, my consciousness seemed to hover above.
Witnessing.  Not living this moment.  No senses, but that of sight.  I
saw myself holding and staring at the burned remnant of Wishus'
baseball knickers.  I couldn't feel the texture of the cracked and charred
cloth ... but there I was, fingering that precious fabric.

Was I crying?  I felt no tears running down my cheeks ... but how
could I?  I was seeing all this, as in a dream.  It couldn't be me.

Ahhh.  That's what it was ... a dream.  A very bad dream.  My world
suddenly, horribly changed.  A world without ... him in it.

This couldn't be real.  There was no sound ... not even the prattle of the
light rain that had started to fall while I sat there, minute, after fading
minute.

In a dream, one can see everything.  Odd how in this dream world, the
burned-out cabin still held its shape.  Blackened remnants of the rafters
that had hung silently, massively, protectively, over his bed ... a charred
portion of the ladder, rungs still intact, that he had climbed up ... ashes
laid down in a pattern, by the very floorboards of the veranda that he
had trod upon ....

Over there, in the Knight's bedroom, some coyotes had been gnawing
and splintering bones.  Mr. or Mrs. Knight, caught in bed by the fi ....

Horrified, I jumped up and stumbled back, my senses rushing in upon
me.  Now I smelt the stench of burned and decaying wood and human
remains, all too clearly!   How terrifying, the heat and the rising flames!
The suffocating smoke!  The horror of not recognizing his
surroundings, not knowing how to get out!  Hearing the screams.
Theirs.  His own ....

 I still clutched my boy's remains ... a small piece of cloth.  I felt the
tears now, but was insensible to the cold dribble of the raindrops, or the
pain in my legs, from sitting for more than an hour, motionlessly, midst
his ashes.

The aching, choking pain inside me was so overwhelming, leaving me
feint with weakness.  "My Wishus!" I croaked out in agony, wanting to
scream it, but my strength was drained, and my knees buckled.  I
collapsed awkwardly onto one knee, my hands falling into the ashes
again, arms stiff and trembling.   Quickly I retrieved the fragment of his
knickers, and clutched it to my chest.

The letter ... folded and resting over my heart ... there it was.  I felt it
underneath the very fingers that curled around the cloth fragment so
tightly.   Slowly,  I straightened at my waist, then reached in to pull the
letter out.  I had wanted to read these thoughts to Wishus, then give the
letter to him, to read again any time he felt the need.

That wouldn't happen now.

Did I ever tell him?  Did he understand?

If he ... if he knew he was going to die in the flames of this cabin ... did
he at least know that I loved him?  Was it any comfort to him?  Did he
suff ...."

I couldn't, wouldn't complete the thought ... yet it didn't matter what I
did, or thought.  It was all over.  Done.

Oh God, how it hurt!!!

Ten years old.  Torn from his childhood home.  He knew such
overwhelming sadness.  Then two days when ... it seemed ... I ... it
seemed I gave him hope ... then I failed him!!

Oh my dear, sweet Wishus!  What have I wrought?

I DID ... I DO love you, Wishus.  If only I could take your place ....

I fell back, into the bare mud next to the ashes of the burned-out cabin,
and gave myself to the tears.  They were all I had left in this world.

At some point, without any real conscious direction, I managed to wrap
the folded paper within the tatters of Wishus' knickers, then brought it
reverently to my lips, to kiss.  Then I crawled again to  the verge of the
cabin's charred remains, and set the packet down.  It was hard to let it
go.  Like letting go of my past, and saying good-bye to a future, that
now, could never be.



-----------------------------


Who knows how long I sat there in the drizzle.  It may have been
minutes, or hours.  You have to be aware, to sense the passage of time.
You have to be thinking, living, hoping, striving, to even need the
concept of time.

 I remember asking my aged grandmother one time, how she could just
sit in her rocker, on the porch of her old house back in Boston, for hour
after hour, doing nothing.  She never answered, just returned a blank
stare.  Now I understood, completely.  I suppose there comes a time for
us all, when all meaning in living departs.

So I might have sat, time without end, but for the thump in my back,
from my horse.  He wasn't stupid.  He saw the barn standing across the
way.  Inviting, dry, warm.  Filled with hay.

I looked around, sightlessly, and felt his cold, wet nose press into my
cheek.

I resented the intrusion, and wanted to viciously strike out at the beast.
Instead, taking a deep breath, resigned at the necessity, I brushed the
tears from my eyes and stared back at him.

Misdirected bitterness, I realized, looking up at his round, glassy eyes,
dumb with the innocence of an animal, who could know nothing of my
loss.

"At least you won't tell me that `life goes on.,' I mumbled.

He snorted, and so did I.  It wasn't true.  I refused to admit that it could
be true.  There should be no life in a world that would no longer know
... his smile.

No life.  Well, duty, responsibility, then.  I stood up, upon creaking
knees, feeling very old and worn, and reached out for the reins.

It suddenly seemed a sacrilege to leave this spot.  I had left him once.
How could I do it again?  Why should I do it again?

I could just cut my horses loose, let them fend for themselves, while I
stayed here ... by his side.  My place was with ....

Through eyes still glazed with tears, I finally focussed on what was
before my eyes all this time.

There were three, not two horses standing now, heads down, waiting
patiently in the rain for their human master to become aware of them.

I wiped the tears and rainwater from my eyes and brows with a brush
against my sleeve, and stared again.

Molly.  It was Molly.  The Knight's draft horse, the one that I had taught
Wishus to groom and feed.  Ben Knight treated her better than he ever
did Wishus, always leading her to a warm stall in the barn at night,
filling her feed bucket with oats ....

Instantly, I spun on my heels, my blood suddenly rushing through my
veins, my mind suddenly reeling with wonder.

The barn door was open!  Molly was roaming free, to graze on the
green grass of the meadow.  But the fire had obviously occurred during
the night, when the Knights were in bed!  Their bodies, their bones ....

"Damn you, Teglin! Open your eyes!" I shouted out.  I ran towards the
barn, then stopped in mid-stride, my blood boiling, my breath heaving
in stentorious bursts.  I felt faint again, but this time with uncontained
joy.  Wishus might be ....

I had to remain calm now!  Look around, Teglin!  Tracks.  Look for his
tracks!

Curse this rain too.  Oh God, if he's alive, where is he!?

The ground showed smudges, small depressions, nothing that I could
see were clearly left by the feet of a boy.  The fire was old.  Perhaps
weeks old.  It probably occurred right after I left the valley.  If Wishus
had escaped from the burning cabin, then his tracks would be old, but
they ....

I started circling, criss-crossing the ground leading towards the barn.
Had he opened the barn door?  Had he released Molly?

Oh God, was he in the barn right now?  Sleeping?  Hurt?  Burned?

"Wishus!"  I cried out, as I ran again for the barn, still looking for tracks.

"Wishus!" I yelled into the darkness, as I slammed open the swinging
door.  It was all gloom within, and the air was heavy with humidity and
the scent of the hay in the loft.

I ran from stall to stall, calling out his name, then clambered up into the
loft, in case he were laying there unconscious.

He wasn't there.  He wasn't anywhere in the barn.  I saw no sign that he
had been living here ....

The City!  He would have gone to his city up in the canyon!  How
stupid I was!  Why couldn't I start thinking clearly?  When would I start
thinking clearly!

I ran back out of the barn and literally leapt up into the saddle,  and then
spurred my horses towards the canyon trail.

The drizzle still fell, draping the valley floor with an opaque veil.  The
cloud bottoms were down inside the valley too.  I began to lose all
sense of up, down, right and left.  There was only the damp, gray circle
of visibility around me, always shifting forward as we galloped across
the flat bottoms.  It didn't matter.  I knew the way.  If Wishus were up
there in his City, I would find him!


-------------------------


Once the trail left the canyon floor, and started skirting the steep incline
of the canyon walls, the way was treacherous, in the misty rain.  I saw
signs of Wishus' passage everywhere though!  Smudged and washed
out tracks of small feet.  Broken twigs, at a little boy's height.  A
precious shred of flannel - maybe his nightgown!  He had escaped the
fire, in the middle of the night!

Soon I climbed into the cloudbank that had drifted into the valley and
it's side canyons.  It was like throwing on a hood.  I couldn't see
beyond twenty or thirty feet, around me, and my range of hearing
seemed to shrink into that circle too.  I felt so isolated.

It didn't keep me from yelling out his name.  The closer I got to his city,
the louder and more desperately I shouted, to the point of hysteria.
There was no response, and I couldn't tell if it was just the dampening
effect of the fog, or ... he wasn't there.

If he wasn't there, what was I going to do!?

Ok, dumb question.  I'd search and track, and find him.  Please the
gods, I'd find him soon, especially if he were injured from the fire, or
from the rigors of living out here all alone.

Finally I got to the first terrace level, of his city.  Sepulchral, vacant
doors stared at me from the ancient dwellings, chilling me more than
the cold fog and rain shroud.  The Shaman's Tower was hidden in fog
still.  I called out sharply, "Wishus!  It's me!  Teg!"

Silence was returned.  The sodden air muffled every sound, but surely I
would have heard him, if he called out to me..  He could be asleep or
sick, and injured.  I pictured him laying in misery on the bed we had
fashioned.

His tracks were everywhere, going both ways - up to the Tower, and
down.  I couldn't tell which were the most recent.  The dust in the city
pathways was now turning to mud, and all tracks prior to this
afternoon's mist and intermittent rain were being obscured.  Light rain
fell now, so I stuck to the rockier parts of the pathways.

By the time the Tower came within my radius of vision, I knew
something was indeed terribly wrong.  The stench of human waste and
vomit hit me like a hammer - he was sick, perhaps injured.  He would
never have used the Tower as his latrine, unless he simply could not
move.  I scrambled and ran the last steps up to the Tower level, my
heart pumping wildly, dreading what I would find inside - yet hoping
still to find him there.

Please, Wishus, be ok!

Vomit stains trailed down the ledge face, below the Tower porch.
Puddles of it lay near the brink - so he had tried to get away from the
Tower itself.

The detritus of several weeks of his stay here lay littered around.
Opened cans.  A firepit filled with old coals and ashes.  Wood for the
fire, stacked and sorted by size.  Markings on the adobe wall - he had
counted the days till my return!

Quickly I stooped to enter the Tower itself.  My first reaction was
dismay, that he was not there.  My second, following almost
immediately upon the first, was a gut-wrenching horror.  I felt my own
bile rising, seeing his soiled bedding, from uncontrolled diarrhea.
Vomit lay on the floor and the bed.  He had suffered horribly from
some sickness.

Quickly I looked around, for some clue as to where he could be now.
There was nothing.

I backed out, back into the `fresh' air of the porch, and breathed deeply.
The tainted air wasn't what sickened me.  It was the thought of what
my boy had been through.  He had gotten sick, and had been all alone.

I looked around here, too.  He had obviously sat here on the porch a lot.
Cooked here.  Ate here.  He had collected a variety of items from the
burned cabin.  A comb, some pots and pans, and oddly ... one of Mrs.
Knight's necklaces?  It lay by itself on a flat stone.  Perhaps something
he held onto as a reminder of her?

I picked it up, and wondered.  It wasn't charred in any way.  Coral
beads.  And ivory.  Strung on ....

This wasn't one of Mrs. Knight's necklaces!  Well, perhaps the stones
were hers, but the string was knotted and twisted grass, or fibers, or
bark,  from a tree!  Wishus had fashioned this!  Something to occupy
his long hours up here?

I lifted it to my lips and kissed it, closing my eyes.  Dear Wishus,
wherever you are, I'll find you!

I quickly stuffed the necklace into the same chest pocket where I had
kept the letter I wrote to him ... and remembered the letter!  I had left it
at the cabin site!  He wasn't dead!  I would need that letter, he would
yet hear my words with his own ears!

Find him first, Teglin!  I looked around one last time.  Saw nothing to
offer me a clue to his current whereabouts.  I hastily circled around the
perimeter of the city.  The only tracks led down the path to the valley.
He hadn't wandered off somewhere here, around the city.  So I took off
down the trail too.


-----------------


At the bottom of the canyon trail, I cursed myself again for not being
more systematic.   I had jumped to conclusions about Wishus dying in
the cabin fire.  I had rushed headlong up to the ancient city refuge.
Now, right here, I found sign of Wishus' activities over the last couple
of weeks.  Trails leading to the cabin site, and directly out into the
meadow.  One heading over to the vicinity of the beaver pond.  Grass
still lay flat on the ground there, from recent passage.

I leapt up into the saddle of my patiently waiting horse, and took off to
the pond.  I didn't even dismount there, having learned my lesson.   He
wasn't there, so I searched for his next destination.  He had come to the
pond.  Sat right there at the edge of the water.  Then he had taken off
across the creek, across the meadow.  The path through the tall grass
was like an arrow pointing my way.

He was heading straight for the trailhead out of the valley!  My boy had
taken off to meet me!  Sick.  Injured.  Refusing to give up!  Perhaps
desperate.  Perhaps thinking that I ....

The tears started to flow again.  I spurred my horse off along Wishus'
trail at a gallop, crying and whimpering like a little boy myself.  Dear,
sweet Wishus!  I'm on my way.  I'll be there, baby.  I'll find you!


--------------------


Big John Smalley pulled his horse to a stop at the bottom of the trail,
not believing his eyes.  There, not twenty feet away, was the nude form
of a boy, well, maybe a girl, laying right there on the ground, partially
covered in wind-blown leaves.

He felt himself growing hard instantly.  What a looker!  Long blonde
hair, perfect, slim figure.  It didn't matter to Big John, that the child's
skin looked pasty, and slightly bluish, no doubt from the cold.

He grunted, dismounting from his horse, and tying him quickly to the
closest aspen bole.  Then he strode over to the reclining form and
looked down.  Boy?  Girl?  Well, one way to find out!  He laughed out
loud at his own joke, even as he inserted his boot beneath the child's
mid-section, and nudged the body over.

Boy indeed!  As pretty a piece as Rolando!

Was the kid dead?  What was he doing out here like this, with no
clothes.  All he was wearing was a necklace.  God, he looked hot in that
necklace!

Hell.  Did it matter if he was dead or alive??

"Wake up, kid," he muttered gruffly.  "Big John needs to plant his dick,
and right now!  Been a long time."

"Wake up, I said!"

"Damnit, I'd rather do it awake, but ...."

"Wake up, god damnit," he warned, one last time, then pulled his foot
back and swung it forward viciously, his hard boot tip hitting smack in
the boy's side.


-------------------


I've made a few mistakes in my life, but none so bad as the one I made
now.

I could have simply drawn my gun and called out to the bastard, but
when I reached the trailhead, and in one instant saw Wishus lying on
the ground, with Big John kicking him and shouting at him - well, I saw
red.  I didn't think.

I didn't even wait for my horse to come to a stop.  I simply leaped off
him, landing on my feet, and started running.

At the start, I let out a groan of anger, and it just built and built in
intensity to the point that I was screaming, by the time my right
shoulder hit Big John square in his back, on his left side.  I was coming
at an angle, and at least had enough sense not to trample Wishus!

I just had to get that bastard away from my boy!

We both went rolling beyond Wishus' body.  I came up against the
trunk of an aspen tree, maybe 6 feet from where Big John fell.  He was
twice my body weight, at least, and didn't fall as far as I did.

It felt like I had wrenched my shoulder from its socket.  The pain was
searing.

I came up growling.  "Stay away from him, Big John!  I'm not going to
let you hurt him, no more than I did with Demetrio!"

Second mistake.

He came up in a crouch, his big ham-like fists held up at the ready.  He
looked stunned.  Not at my attack, but at what I said.  He took a quick
look down at Wishus, then back at me.

"You!" he boomed out.  "So you're the one who took Ro ...."

"Yeah, took him where he'd be safe.  And now, I'm going to kill you
for what you did to him and Demetrio, and for so much as looking at
my boy!"  I indicated Wishus with a nod of my head.  Even as I did so,
I wanted to scream out to this monster to just get out of my life.  I had a
boy in need right before me, and here this bastard was in my way again!

Third mistake.  I lunged for the brute again.  Now I stand over six feet,
and have been roughened by hard work and hard travel, over the years.
So I'm no pantywaist.  It mattered not a whit.  Big John was ... well, he
was a giant, in every way.

He caught me with an almost non-challant right, practically exploding
into my stomach.  I charged into it stupidly, letting my anger, my fear,
my hurt, get the better of me.  The impact made me reel back, and I fell
against the aspen trunk again.  I was literally stunned, unable to breathe
for a couple of seconds.

"Going to kill me, huh?" he laughed at me.  "Why, I've been looking
for you for a couple of weeks.  Figure on doing the same to you.  Took
my boys away, you did.  But now, I see, you've brought me one even
better.   How you feel, knowing that Big John's going to have your boy,
mister?"

I fumbled for my gun, suddenly very much afraid.  He slapped it away,
with a grin, and it went flying off to the side, out of reach.

Then he reached down and grabbed me by the collar and pulled me half
upright.  I was paralyzed.  Limp like a rag.  He held me up with his left
hand, and started to pummel my face.  Left and right, using each slap to
emphasize his words.

"I'm going to TAKE you apart, mister.  You're going to eat your own
TEETH."

Each blow was more than a slap.  It was like taking a sledge-hammer
blow to the side of my head.

I knew at that moment that I was going to die now.  Right here.  Here,
where Wishus and I had said goodbye three weeks ago.  Where I had
promised to him, that I'd return, to be with him always.  Here, where he
had come, to meet me again ....

"I'm going to beat you to DEATH.  Then I'm going to make your BOY
be my fuck toy, mister."  The blows got harder, as he got angrier.

Through the fog in my brain, I tried to react.  I tried to lift my knee into
Big John's groin, tried to flail about with my own fists.  I ... just
couldn't do it ... he had me whipped through sheer brute force.  I had
just enough sense to understand that the next blow, or the next, might
kill me outright.

The man was still talking to me, but I couldn't hear it anymore.  There
was nothing beyond a ringing in my ears now.  And pain.

Through the pain, I felt I had to at least ... well, what do you call it?
Pray?  Wishus had to know, that I loved him.  That I did come back for
him.  That I ... that I'd give my life for him, I love him so!  Wishus, hear
me!  I ... I've failed you ... but dearest, I did ... I DO love you!  Hear me,
Wishus ...."

SLAM!  He was getting rougher now.  That one was a fist to my jaw.
No simple slap.

Amazing how I could be aware of each blow, yet too paralyzed to even
react.

SLAM!  This one against the side of my nose.  Blood spurted out,
soiling the big man's vest.  He didn't seem to care.  Just reared back,
still shouting at me, taunting me.  I saw the glint of pleasure in his eyes.
He liked hurting people.  Killing things.  And I was incapable of
defending myself or my boy.  Wishus!  Hear me, sweet!  I tried, but ....


---------------------

Cold.

The one reality he could perceive.  It was hardly a thought - his mind
had long since fallen into a state of lethargy, induced by weakness, and
the chill air and mist on his naked body.

He had been drifting in and out of consciousness, but now he just lay
awake, occasionally managing to open his eyes to mere slits.  At times
he wondered what he was doing here like this, cold, naked, wet.  At
others, he remembered.

Teg.  He was waiting for ... Teg.

Occasionally a new thought or image arose in slow motion, drifting
before him ...

... he should get up.  Now that he didn't feel the pain of his sickness,
why not get up, and ...

... oh, there was a bird, pecking at his outstretched hand.  Odd, he
couldn't feel it.   It should hurt.   Fly away now, bird ...

... who was that giant standing over him?  Not Teg.  Bigger.  He was
talking, but ...

The smashing blow from the hardened leather of Big John's boot came
as a surprise, indeed.  Didn't hurt, but maybe it should have.  Was that
the crunch of bone that he felt?  His own ribs?

Movement ... some kind of commotion ... oh ... too tired to think about
that ....

Wishus ...

... ahhhh, a nice dream ... Teg's calling ... would be nice to drift along in
that dream, but ... I think I'll sleep a bit now ...

Wishus, hear me!

Teg.  Teg?

Teg!  Is that you?

Wishus summoned every ounce of his remaining strength, against the
numbing, paralyzing cold, and opened his eyes wide, for the first time
since falling into the matted leaves beneath the aspens.

Look, now.  See!

Figures ... fighting ... two men ... fighting ... the giant, holding Teg by his
neck.  Hitting Teg.  Teg!

Wishus screamed.  The sound welled up deep inside him, and built and
built ... but nothing came from his mouth ....

If this was a dream, it was like a nightmare, in which he knew what to
do, but just couldn't get his body into motion!

At least his eyes worked, and suddenly he was as mentally awake and
aware as ever in his life.

The big man was hurting Teg.

Sounds started to filter in.  What was that?  What did the big man say?

"I'm gonna enjoy killin' you, mister."

He was trying to kill Teg!  Blood was everywhere!  Teg was bleeding!
His eyes were open too, but he just seemed to be hanging there in the
big man's hands ....

Again it started deep inside him,  building and building, and this time
there was no stopping it.  No scream.  Just his very life force!  And a
rage at that brute who was hurting his man!

Wishus felt the strength coursing through his veins again, replacing the
nerve-deadening cold in an instant.  He rose, on unsteady limbs, then
fell back to his knees.  NO!  No time for weakness!  He propped himself
up on one arm, and used the other as a brace against one knee, to
propel himself up onto his feet.

The big man was sputtering in his rage now.  Killing Teg with his bare
hands!

Wishus looked around for something to use as a weapon - a rock, a
fallen branch - anything!

A gun!  It lay there practically at his feet!

He bent over quickly, grabbed the gun.  It was heavy!  He almost fell,
unbalanced by the unexpected weight of the gun.  Now with both
hands, he grasped the gun by it's curved handle, and lifted it up, rising
too quickly.

A wave of dizziness and nausea swept over him, and he was afraid he
would fall again.  Would he be able to get up this time?

Of course he would!  But no need!  There was nothing, including his
own weakened body, that was going to keep him from defending his
Teg!

Wishus quickly shook the haze from his vision, and steadied the gun at
shoulder height, holding it straight out, pointing at the massive figure of
the big man.  He slipped his index finger over the trigger, and didn't
even hesitate to shoot. The flame and smoke that blasted from the
muzzle of the gun enveloped the big man's profile.

The force of the blast caught the boy off-guard, and he felt his wrists
crushing against the backlash.   He staggered back, but didn't fall.

The giant released Teg, who fell heavily to the ground.  Then the man
seemed to straighten, slowly.  He turned his head towards his assailant,
disbelief written over every feature.

Wishus felt like he was going to crumble to the ground again.   He
whimpered, seeing blood start to seep from the big man's wounds.  He
wanted to cry, to run away, it was so horrible what he had done ... but
no!  It was for Teg!   He wouldn't run.  He wouldn't cry.

His lips and jaw trembling, his hands shaking now at the end of his
outstretched arms, Wishus fired again.  This time the blast
overwhelmed him, and he staggered back, even as he saw the big man
fall too.

He had done it!  He has saved his man!

As he fell, he dropped the gun.  His head hit the ground hard, and he
was out instantly.  The cold quickly enveloped him again, and he lay as
still as before.


---------------------


BAM!  An explosion broke through the ringing in my head, followed
by a wash of gun smoke!

Big John let go of me, and I dropped like a rock back against the aspen
tree, hitting my head again.  I didn't even feel it, but I was plainly still
alive, still aware.

As the smoke wafted away, I saw him standing over me, looking off to
the side, as if in disbelief, astonished at something.  I tried to turn my
head, and to focus.

Wishus stood there!  Not 5 feet away!  All 4 foot 10 inches of him,
holding my gun out with both hands, arms straight out, pointed directly
at Big John's midriff.  His diminutive form was dwarfed by the huge
bulk of the man.  He was totally naked, but for a coral colored choker
necklace – just like the one I had picked up in his city!  His skin was so
pale, drained of blood by the cold.  It was bluish-white like that of a
spectral wraith.

By the gods!  Even in the jaws of death, even when despairing for both
my life and that of Wishus, even as my would-be killer stood over me, I
could still be instantly affected by the mere sight of this boy.  I was
immediately struck by his beauty.  No telling what trials he had been
through.  Sickness, injury perhaps, yet he stood so tall and straight, like
a statue, perfectly chiseled - if only Michelangelo had seen him like this,
Wishus would surely have been his model for David.

His sleek, unmuscled boy's body was like a tender reed standing before
a forest giant, yet in that instant it was plain who was the strongest.  It
wasn't only the gun that equalized things.  I could feel it.  I know Big
John could feel it!  Wishus radiated power.  We could see even in his
trembling arms, his determination to defend me.  There was fear in his
eyes, but also courage.

Big John, the child beater, was no match for the mighty Wishus.

For Demetrio!  For Rolando!

BAM!  Smoke and flame flew out of the end of the gun again, point
blank, into Big John's broad side.  This time the recoil knocked Wishus
back, and he staggered and then fell to the ground, onto his back.

I tried to lift myself more, to reach out to Wishus, but my muscles
refused.  I could only stare up, as Big John fell off to my side.  I
followed him down with my eyes, and saw blood spilling from his mid-
section.  Wishus had hit true.

I lay there for a moment, straining to move, gradually regaining my
senses.  Pain came first.  I felt like my skull was crushed.  Perhaps my
jaw was broken.  Each breath I drew hurt deep down in my midriff.
Had he broken some of my ribs?

Slowly, I rolled over on my side towards Wishus, and started to drag
myself towards him, hoping that I wouldn't faint, but feeling like I
might, at any moment.  My legs wouldn't answer to my directions, but
were dead weights holding me back.

Wishus just lay there where the gun blast had kicked him back, arms
splayed wide, the gun nearby.  I reached out and finally drew close
enough to touch him, at his ankle.  His flesh was like ice!  I could see no
obvious injuries.  No bleeding.  His chest rose very slowly, then fell.  He
lived.

I lay still for a moment, feeling like I was going to lose consciousness at
any moment, dizzy waves blurring my vision.

Ok.  That was ok.  I could faint, no problem.  But not before I took care
of my boy!

Mustering every remaining ounce of my strength, I dragged myself
towards my horses.  I reached up to grasp the belly strap on my
packhorse, and pulled myself up, to lean unsteadily against him.  I un-
strapped my supplies as quickly as I could and struggled to drag out a
rolled up tarp.   Then a blanket.

The tarp I had planned for a temporary tent, while I built my cabin.  It
would serve a similar purpose now.

I tried walking back to Wishus, but I fell flat, when I let go of the pack
straps.  My brain was addled.  Big John had taken care of that.  He had
left me without the capacity to walk.  Without the capacity to see
clearly.  Without the time to cherish this moment, this meeting with my
boy.

So I crawled, dragging the tarp and blanket, and when I collapsed from
that, I dragged myself too, across the carpet of leaves, to my boy's side.
With fumbling hands, I strained to spread the tarp.  Upon that I spread
the blanket.  Then I lay flat myself, along side Wishus.  I lay on my
right side, with his head about chest level.  Slowly I pushed my right
hand beneath his shoulders, astonished again at how cold and lifeless
he felt.  Then I wrapped my left hand over his chest.  Grasping my
hands together, locking his body to mine, I started rocking the both of
us, till on the third roll, I was able to lift him bodily over me.

We were now both on the edge of the tarp, with the blanket beneath us.
I hurried to pull the tarp and blanket over us now, and let it fall over my
back.  Wishus was completely wrapped inside this cocoon now, and I
hugged him to me, willing my body's warmth into him.

The waves of light-headedness seemed to have subsided, but I didn't
think I had one ounce of energy left, had I wanted to make a better
shelter for us.  All I could do was run my hands up and down his cold
body, and hold him close, hoping to impart my warmth to him.

I became hard!  My legs wouldn't work, but I think my penis was
governed by an altogether different mechanism!  It snaked up in my
pants, stiffening between us.  I cupped his icy buttocks in my hand and
pulled him up a little farther, letting my hardness rest against his own
little penis.  It was rubbery hard too, from the cold.  I pulled him in tight
against me, my right hand caressing his bottom and his thighs, my left
arm cradling his shoulder, my hand travelling in light circles from his
shoulder blades down to the small of his back.

His head now rested just at my chin, and I kissed and kissed his soft
hair, whispering to him over and over again that we were both going to
be ok now.  That we were together again.

We lay like that for I don't know how long.  I may have drifted into and
out of sleep more than once.  Gradually I felt his body warming,
coming to life.  At first I felt a twitch of his legs.  Then he squirmed
about a bit.  He whimpered, seemed to be talking under his breath -
perhaps in a dream.  A while later, I felt him moving his arms. He
snaked his right arm up against my chest, letting his palm rest flat
between my breast and the crook of my arm.  I thrilled at his conscious
touch.  My tears started flowing, when he put his left arm up around my
waist, and held on tightly.

"I missed you," he whispered with an angel's breath, as though it took
every ounce of his being to say those words.  At the same time I felt the
wetness of his own tears on my arm.

"I missed you too, sweetheart.  But now we're together again.  You are
my boy."

"I love you," we both whispered simultaneously.

I think we both slept then, almost immediately, our bodies demanding
rest from our ordeals.


------------------------


Wishus was so warm and soft against me, when I awoke. We were both
still wrapped in our tarp and blanket cocoon, our arms entertwined, our
breaths intermingling.

I didn't want to disturb him. I didn't want to move, myself!  How my
body ached. It seemed like I would long relive the beating Big John
gave me.  My punching bag head throbbed, my jaw felt unhinged –
even breathing hurt!  But I was breathing the air from Wishus' lungs!
That had to have magical healing powers.

My mind was clear. I knew I had things to do.  The pain was as nothing.

First, was he ok? Was my boy ok? Any injuries? I let my hands roam
slowly, gently, all over his back from the nape of his neck down to as
far as I could reach, to his upper thighs. No apparent cuts or abrasions
or swellings. Just the infinite smoothness and softness of his skin. He
felt a little thinner.  The delicate curve of his shoulder was a little
sharper. Everywhere I touched, my hands glided over the very structure
of his small frame, feeling his ribs and his backbone, the base of his
skull, his knobby elbows. He was just a little doll in my arms, malleable,
offering no resistance to my touch. I pulled him into me, tighter still.

The hot air that he had just exhaled for me to breathe in, the scent of his
hair so strong in the enclosed space, the feel of his body against mine,
all combined to remind me how far we had been apart these last three
weeks - but now we melted into one another. I wanted to undress, and
give in to my passion, and crawl back into his embrace. Suddenly I felt
like one huge tumescent penis! I swear I felt that I could cum just
feeling his hot flesh against mine. It was such a magnificent feeling!
Even the pain of my injuries mixed into my soaring emotions - I had
made it through countless miles to get back to Wishus, I had fought for
him, suffered for him, saved him! Just as he had saved me.

I had to pull away.  Lifting the covers a bit from off my head, I saw that
it was almost dark.  The mist was still falling – lighter now, like a heavy
fog.  Carefully I arose to a sitting position, replacing the blanket and
tarp over Wishus' upper torso.  I reached in towards his legs, and felt
along his calves, his ankles, his feet.  He seemed fine.  So I could rule
out injury!

Time to get him to the barn.  I'd build a fire, cook something for him,
get him comfortable.

There was one thing to do first, though.  If he woke up, I didn't want
him to find Big John's body so close by.  He didn't need reminders of
that.

Hurriedly I stood, forgetting all about my inability to command my legs
just hours ago.  They seemed fine now.  I guessed it was my head, all
along, that was the problem.  I felt a bit dizzy, but that soon passed too.

Wishus had killed the man in self-defense, as far as I was concerned.
There also seemed little chance anyone would come looking for the
man, but why take chances?

I pulled a rope from my saddle, looped it over the horn, tied it around
Big John's chest, and dragged him a couple of hundred feet into the
woods.  The wolves or a bear would take care of him.  Better yet,
vultures.

Back at the trailhead, I couldn't help but kneel beside Wishus, and feel
along the surface of the tarp, where it curved and mounded over his
body - just to prove he was still there, I guess!  I smiled.  Took a deep,
invigorating breath of pure satisfaction.  I was back with my boy!

All aglow, oblivious to any soreness or pain now, I scurried about the
little clearing, to make sure there was nothing of Big John laying
around.  His horse was nowhere to be seen.  Fresh tracks led up the
trail, so I figured she was long gone for home.  Likely there would be a
celebration in Miranda, when the bastard's horse came through town
with an empty saddle.

My own horses stood still, heads down, looking rather forlorn and
miserable, but loyal to their master.  Molly had tagged along too.
Seeing her, I knew exactly what I had to do next.

It took no more than fifteen minutes to find some fallen aspen poles,
lash them together crudely, and then rig them onto Molly.  I had a
makeshift travois frame.  Now I needed that tarp Wishus was snuggled
up in.

I peeled it away from his blanket, keeping him wrapped up like a
mummy, then rolled him off the edge of it onto the bare ground.
Quickly I threaded a rope through the grommets, stretched the tarp
across the travois platform, pulled it tight, and we were ready to go.

Again I knelt beside him.  He hadn't moved even once since falling
asleep next to me - I hoped he would sleep through the rough haul
across the meadow, down through the cobbled bed of the creek, and on
to the barn.  Was there a better way to do this?  If I could have carried
him all the way, myself, I would have, but I still wasn't sure of my own
strength.

I gathered him into my arms, feeling his warmth through the blanket.
He was such a little package!  And so precious.  Soft, delicate.   I laid
him onto the tarp, and very loosely strapped him in.

My mother used to pat everything she touched.  She seemed to draw
some satisfaction from it.  Now I knew why.  I couldn't keep my hands
off my precious little package, as I tied the ropes in around him. I
brushed his head, through the blanket's fabric.  I patted his shoulder.
Smoothed the wrinkles over his tummy.  Stretched and tucked, to make
him cozy.  Made sure he could breathe inside his wrappings, while
remaining warm and secure.

With every touch, I just knew he could feel my love.  Even through his
sleep, I knew he would be aware that we were together again, and that I
would take care of him always.


----------------------------


He never awoke, during the entire trek across the valley floor to the
barn.  I grabbed more blankets from my packhorse, then rushed in to
set up a nice bed for Wishus.  We had to have a fire for cooking, and
just to stay warm.  So I chose the big, vaulted portion right in front of
the main entry way for that.  At that point, the roof was at least 15 feet
high, and there was no loft.  Six feet beyond the fire pit, I dumped a
huge pile of hay from the loft, spread a little for a soft, clean flooring,
and back from that I formed a ledge for our bed.  Three layers of
blankets, and a couple more for covers, and we were set.

Next I unstrapped Wishus and carried him in and situated him on the
bed, dug out a fire pit, and got the fire going.  There was plenty of cut
firewood outside against the barn wall.  Dangerous enough, having a
fire in a barn, but this was no time for caution.  Wishus needed some
comfort and care, and I intended to be with him every minute.  I'd
watch the fire like a hawk.

The horses needed tending, so I brought them in, unsaddled and
unpacked them, quickly curried them, and got them into stalls.  I gained
more respect for Ben Knight.  He had built a fine barn.  Even had water
piped in from a rain barrel up top.

Now for some food.

I knew that Wishus had been sick.  Lots of vomiting and diarrhea.
Food poisoning, I guessed.  Or just the runs.  By the look of the Tower,
he had been pretty miserable for a day or two.  No doubt couldn't eat,
or couldn't keep anything down.

So I'd have to start with something light.  Get something on his
stomach that he wouldn't immediately throw up.

I shaved some jerky into a pot, filled it with water, dragged out some
coals, and started brewing.  Later on I'd round up one of the chickens
and make some fresh soup.

I was going to need a lot of hot water.  Wishus needed a good bath, and
so did I!  Mrs. Knight's huge cast iron laundry vat was just what we
needed, so I spent a good twenty minutes rolling it in from the back of
the burned out cabin.  It was heavy!  By the time I had it filled and
warming, twenty buckets of water later, I was ready to sit back.

I just sat there for a moment, on the straw next to Wishus' ledge, and
stared into the flames.  We were doing ok.  Soon the barn would be ....

"So I didn't dream it, after all."

It was like music.  Someone singing.  His voice is that lovely, and he
said it so softly, that I wasn't even startled - yet, I cannot describe the
depth of my emotion at that instant.   My Wishus was alive and well!
We were together again, and now I heard his angel voice again, to prove
it.

I turned to him, shifting bodily upon the straw, onto my knees, and
leaned over him - he was propped up on one elbow, the blanket had
fallen away from his head and hung down across his bare chest, from
his shoulder.  I hadn't even heard him arise.  I loosely wrapped my
arms around him, still not totally convinced that he wasn't injured
somewhere,  and gently hugged him, then pulled back a bit to gaze
happily into his eyes.

He looked at me wonderingly, smiling with those beautiful red lips of
his.  I reached out with one hand, slipped the palm of my hand between
his head and his hair, and pulled him towards me, then kissed him on
his forehead.

"No dream at all, Wishus.  I'm back.  We're together again."

He looked weak, unsteady even on his elbow.

"How do you feel, sweetheart?" I murmured.  I let my hand flow from
the base of his head, feeling his soft hair underneath my fingers.  Then I
let it drift along up over his shoulder.  He was warm, and silken to my
touch.  Not hot, as he would have been if the sickness still lingered.

"You were sick, weren't you?"

"Oh yes, Teg, I could barely move, it hurt so bad, and I kept throwing
up, but I knew you were coming back, and I ...."

He collapsed back upon the blankets, but his eyes never left me.  He
reached out to touch me, as if to prove I was really there, his eyes
roaming all over my face.

"I thought it was all a dream, Teg.  But it's not.  You really did find me
laying under our tree, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did sweetie."  He didn't seem to remember anything clearly.

He tried to get up again, and winced.  His hand went to his side, where
Big John had so brutally kicked him.  I saw a big bruise there, where
Wishus rubbed his hand in gentle circles.

"Ouch, my side really hurts."

"Looks like ...." I started to say something stupid, `looks like Big John
really kicked you hard.'  Thankfully he interrupted me.

"I must have fallen on the trail down from the City, Teg."

"Yeah, it's a nasty bruise there, Wishus.  Let me look."  I gingerly
pressed beneath the wound, testing his ribs.  He didn't cry out, so I
knew he had no broken bones there.  Plainly he didn't remember the
kick.

"Looks ok, it will heal soon.  We're both going to be ok, now, Wishus."

"So long as it's not a dream, Teg!"

"It's not.  I'm really here.  You're really ...."

"Where are we ... oh!  In the barn.  You carried me all the way here?
Found me out there, and carried me here?  Oh Teg ...."

That was it.  All it took.  His damn of pent-up tears burst, and it all
started to pour out.  He was sobbing instantly, just overwhelmed with
emotions.  I grabbed him in my arms again, this time drawing his head
and chest tight in to my own ... and I rocked him!   I just rocked my
baby up and down, holding him like I'd never let him go, reassuring
him over and over, "I found you Wishus.  We're together again.  We'll
always be together from now on.  I found you sweet Wishus."

I made no attempt to get him to stop crying.  He needed to let out the
tensions of these past weeks.  He had just been through so much.  I
kissed him softly on his head, I brushed his hair and caressed him like
that for a good five minutes while he continued to sob.  Finally  his sobs
turned to halting attempts to say something.   Bits and pieces came out
clearly, "it was so lonely up there ...Auntie and Uncle ... the cabin
burned down ... wanted you to come back so much ...."

I let him talk it out, even though it all wasn't totally clear.  He ended
with a couple of little whimpers and sniffles, and then pushed himself
back from my chest, so he could look again up at me.  His face was red,
with pale little rivulets streaking his cheeks, where tears had flowed
down.  His lips still trembled slightly, as he looked at me through eyes
rounded by wonder and worry.

"You went through so much, honey.  I'm sorry you had it so rough.
And you got sick too."

"You ... you're hurt too, Teg," he said, questioningly, suddenly
noticing the  cuts and bruises on my face.   "What happened?"

Again I almost mentioned the beating, then realizing once more that he
didn't recall the fight, I shifted gears.  "Oh Wishus, can you believe that
I could get like this falling off a horse?"  I shook my head in dismay,
acting as if embarrassed and ashamed.  "That's a rough trail down to
the valley, and, after all, I was taking it pretty fast trying to get down to
see you!"

"You're going to be ok, Teg?" he asked, as he tentatively reached out
with his right hand and lightly touched my bruised cheek.  "Must have
been a really nasty fall."

"Oh yeah, I'll be fine.  You and me are going to recuperate right here,
then we have to decide what to do next, Wishus."

"Here, let me lay you back down.  I have some broth ready for you.
We have to get something on your stomach."

So I busied myself getting the broth ready, and we just chatted like that,
both of us keeping our eyes on the other, like we just couldn't get
enough of the new reality.  Wishus was still weak.  He lay back flat
upon the hay ledge and turned his head to rest it flat upon the blanket.
Only his eyes moved, as he followed my every motion.

"What do you think, Wishus?  What do we do now?  Build another
cabin here in the valley, or head back to my ranch in Arizona?" I started
off, as I sat down before him on the straw.

"I don't know, T ...."

I put a spoon of broth to his mouth and he opened wide and took it
down.

"Mmmh, that's good, Teg.  It seems like forever since I ate, and kept
anything down.  Uh, why can't we just stay here?"

"This'll get you going.  Then we'll have something more substantial a
little later, if you can take it."

"Ok, Teg."  He opened wide for the next spoonful.  That alone made
me feel like a king.  I was taking care of my boy, and we were definitely
going to be alright now.

"Well, everything at the ranch is ready and waiting.  Here we'd have to
rebuild.  And then there's another small problem, Wishus."  I couldn't
help but let my voice go lower, with the doubt that suddenly entered
my mind.

"What's that?" he noticed my concern.

"Here, don't stop." I said.  For a moment I just fed him silently, until he
finally lifted one hand and kind of waved the spoon away.

"I think that's ... about all ... I can take right now, Teg," he said, as I let
his head back down upon the bed.

"I need to  ... rest a bit here ... but what's that other problem?"

"Well, honey.  With your Aunt and Uncle ... gone ... well, what if your
parents want you back with ...."

"NO!" He jerked back up onto his elbow, just as I was drawing away to
put the bowl and spoon down.  His eyes were wide this time with panic,
and his breath suddenly came fast.  "No, Teg!   I'm staying with you!"

"That's the way I want it too, Wishus, believe me!"  I hastened to
answer him, coming back to grasp him into my arms.  He was the one
who grabbed on tight, this time, clutching me.  I felt his little hands
gripping at the fabric of my shirt.

"Don't send m ...." He started to cry again, his words choking off.

"Shhhhh!  I'm not ever going to send you back willingly, Wishus!  We
just have to think these things out.  If we go back to Arizona, then
there's less chance of anyone finding you, if they ...."

"They'll never even look for me," he cried bitterly, through his tears.  "I
hate them!"

Again I just held him tight and tried to comfort him, letting him feel my
presence.

"Let's just ... let's just go to your ranch, huh Teg?" he finally uttered.

"Ok, and we can always come back here and build later," I said.

"Yeah.  We can do that," he answered, letting me lay him back down
on the bed.

I got up again, wanting to clean up things a bit, then lay back down
myself.  I could cook something better a little later.

He just lay there looking up into the rafters this time, lost in thought.  I
just remained silent, letting myself savor this treasured moment,
watching my lovely boy just laying there in his bed.  His golden hair
splayed out under his head, and shone like the firelight that it reflected
back to me.  I admired his sleek shoulders, and the gentle rise of his
little boy's chest.

After a minute or two, he turned his head again, looked at me so sternly
and solemnly, and said, "Don't ever do it again, Teg."  He shook his
head no, and once again I saw his face start to pinch up into a bout of
tears.  He was trying to hold it back, but it was coming.

I was a little taken aback. Blinked my eyes, in a double take, then just
dropped the bowl I was washing, and rushed back to him.

"Don't do what, sweetie?" I pleaded.  This time I lifted his head and
slipped onto the bed beneath him, drawing my legs up onto the bed too,
so that he could lay between them, and rest back against my chest.

I laid back against a mound of hay as a headboard, and wrapped both
arms over his chest.  He was crying softly this time.  No sobbing
heaves.   Lightly I smudged the tears from his cheeks and brushed his
hair a bit.

"Don't do what, Wishus," I asked again, more calmly.

Weakly, slowly, but fully determined to do it, he turned in my grasp,
and rose on wobbling knees before me.  The blanket fell from him,
sliding off his frame reluctantly – as if it too wanted to linger over his
perfect form.  At any other moment, I would have gasped and become
instantly aroused.  This was my first look at my little god, since
returning.  I had held him so close that our bodies melded, I had
explored and felt for any injuries, I had carried him all bundled in the
tarp and blankets, but I hadn't really gotten to see him!  My eyes glided
hungrily down his frame, from his pale pink nipples, down across the
protrusion of his ribs and breastplate, across his flat tummy, down
down to the sloping triangle of his pubis, between his slim and supple
thighs.  His little dick hung wobbling with his motion, soft, yet perfectly
outlined within the fragile foreskin.  I could see his glans as if it were
uncovered.  His balls hung down, warm and loose, the little orbs
pressing out against his scrotum, perfectly outlined.  I could see the
very tracery of the veins which fed them ... oh!  At any other moment,
I would have leaned forward to take him into my mouth, and make love
to my little boy.

Not now, with him in such obvious distress.  He wasn't even aware that
he was naked before me.

"Don't ever leave me again, Teg.  Please.  Not ever again.  You just
don't know how much I  .... "

He just collapsed in upon me, still crying.

"Never again, Wishus.  You and me, together, forever."

He rested his head in the crook of my neck and let his tears stream
down my shoulder.  I reached forward, pulled the blanket back up over
us both, and laid back, holding him against me.

"You go ahead and cry now, sweet.  It's ok.  I know, you've been
through more than any boy should have to .   You and me, together
from now on, Wishus.  We're both going to be fine, now.  Ok, sweet?"

He sniffled, but answered me in a muffled sigh, "Ok, Teg.  Always."

He stopped crying soon.  Neither of us wanted to move.   He lay on me
like that till we both finally slept.

Sometime in the night, I awoke.  The fire was out and all was quiet.  I
rolled over till we could both lay flat on the bed, keeping him wrapped
in my embrace, then fell back into an untroubled sleep of total rest with
my boy.


------------------------------



Absent-mindedly, I soaped my loosely and very heavily hanging balls,
reached down beneath to scrub a bit, and then up to squish the suds
along my flaccid penis.

Wishus was sitting cross-legged upon our blankets, on the hay ledge,
one of my over-large shirts hanging open over his shoulders.  He hadn't
bothered to put his arms through the sleeves, it was so nice and warm in
the barn now.  The shirt tails hung down to form a cover over his thighs
and his far knee.  Inside, he held my letter!

He had been reading it now for ten long minutes.  Only once did he
look up at me, at the very beginning - probably about where I said I was
going to take up Mrs. Browning's challenge, and answer the question:
'how do I love thee?!'

He had smiled, quizzically, at me, but said not a word.  Rivulets of his
golden hair hung down over his forehead, and he flicked them back
with a toss of his head, and then smoothed them, and gathered them
behind his ears, before lowering his head again to read more.  How
lovely he was from that angle, his profile so smooth and angelic.  His
green and gold-flecked eyes under those long, long silver-golden lashes,
his red lips pursed in thought, his ... but no need to compose my Ode to
him again ... let him finish it.  I hoped it would mean as much to him as
it did to me.

While he read, I bathed, standing on a carpet of hay some distance
away from the fire.

I just watched him, wondering at his thoughts.  A bit nervous, even
though I knew he loved me.  Would he understand what I had wanted
to express?  Would he understand that I treasured him soul and body?
Would he understand and accept the full measure of the love that I
returned to him?

I rinsed the last of the soap from my body, and began to towel dry, still
glancing over at him.  He must be nearing the end ....

He looked up again, this time turning his head towards me, but holding
it down still, looking up from under lowered brow.  Lips still pursed,
pressed tightly, his eyes ... he held them half closed, peering through
slits at me.  His shoulders heaved a bit, rising and falling quickly.  He
opened his lips a bit, and let himself breath in and out, deeply, as if
laboring with some deep emotion, and then ... I saw the first tear trickle
down his cheek, and drop upon the open letter.  He lifted the letter then,
and kissed it.

"Te ...," he tried to utter my name, but his throat was hoarse with the
intensity of his emotion.  He gulped, then brought one hand up to wipe
more tears from his cheeks and his eyes.

So I had my answer.  It was a moment of the sweetest joy, knowing
that I had brought this feeling upon him, that I had the power to mold
his feelings.  That he granted me that power.  That I could in turn bring
him joy.

My penis became engorged immediately, and I stood there facing
Wishus, holding the towel, with my tool rapidly rising to stand straight
out looking at him.

"Oh Teg," he whispered forcefully, this time, seeing me become erect
before him.  He fully understood now what that meant.

He was still weak.  I had prepared a good stew, and he got a good bit of
it down earlier.  But he still needed a lot of rest.  He hadn't voluntarily
moved off the bed, except when I took him out to pee.  So I was
surprised now, as he dropped the letter onto the blankets, and propelled
himself off the bed towards me.

Before I could react he knelt before me, reached up for my jutting shaft,
wrapping both of his little hands around it, and kissed the very tip of
my glans!

I was electrified, feeling the warmth of his lips enclosing me, and then
the tip of his wet tongue against my slit.

He looked up at me, his eyes round with emotion, and just as quickly as
he had fallen to his knees before me, he pulled back, released my dick
and held his arms out straight up to me, beckoning me.

"Wh ... why did you ... do that!" I exclaimed, as I grasped both his arms
and pulled him up to his feet.  I held him before me, my hands behind
his shoulders, and he leaned back, beaming.

"You just made me so happy, I felt like I had to kiss you!" he said.  His
shirt hung open, revealing the golden tanned flesh of his chest and
tummy.  He was regaining his health.  His skin was no longer pasty and
pale, like it had been out there in the cold, under the aspens, but showed
that he had spent the last two or more weeks out in the sun.

"It was a very nice kiss!" I laughed.

"Come!" he commanded, pulling back, and taking hold of both my
hands again. He walked backwards, leading me by both hands, looking
up at me with such a sweet little smile of entreaty.  I followed quite
willingly.  It was almost like dancing, as he would twist and turn to pick
his way backwards, but always leading me on.

 My standing pole bobbed up and down to the rhythm of the dance.
Wishus noticed it and giggled, naughtily, "The things you said in your
letter, Teg!  You must have been real hard when you wrote that!"

"You know I was, Wishus." I smiled and knodded, then gazed down
along his half-nude figure.  He noticed, then stopped moving
backwards, and looked down with me at his wobbling little boydick.  It
was soft, but apparently starting to stiffen a bit!  The shaft wasn't
hanging loosely over his balls now, but lifting, lifting, pulsing visibly.
The dangling tip of his foreskin was slowly pulling up, forced tighter
and tighter by his swelling glans and lengthening shaft.

He looked up again, his eyebrows raised and his head cocked wantonly.

"Hmmh," he mused.  "You wrote about a lot more than my peepee,
Teg, but I really liked that part!"

"Umm, what other parts did you like?" I played along with him,
wondering where this would lead, and not at all unwilling to satisfy my
longing to make love with him again, if that's what he wanted.

"Well, sit down here with me, and I'll read a few parts I ...."

"Oh!  I have an idea, Wishus!  Let me do this!  You read the letter to
me, and tell me what you liked about it, and I'll give you that bath we
talked about.   You know – when you read what I said about your nose
or your neck or ... other parts," I nodded down at his now upstanding
stiffie with a knowing glance.  "When you read about it, I'll wash it!"

"Yeah!  Yeah, I like that, Teg!"  He grabbed up the letter and sat down
on the bed, squirming with delight and beaming at me.

I quickly retrieved a couple of buckets of the steaming warm water, and
a wash cloth and soap.  In one bucket I mixed the soap.  In the other I
would dip the cloth, to rinse my boy clean.

"This Mrs. Browning, Teg," Wishus called to me, as I ladled the water
into the buckets.  "Somehow I imagine her poem wasn't quite as ...."

I looked over at him, and he was holding the paper, examining the first
lines, looking bemused.  "Quite as ... what, Wishus?"

"Naughty?" he looked up at me, grinning.

"Naughty?" I asked.  "Well, yeah, I don't think she had any lines in her
poem about probing her lover's belly button with her tongue, if that's
what you mean!"

"Yeah!" he giggled.

"Ok, now where do we start?" I asked eagerly, as I set the buckets
down beside the bed, and knelt there.  I was excited.  This was going to
be fun!  It was warm in our little barn now, nice and cozy, but I felt
goose bumps rising all over my flesh in anticipation, and my penis
jutted out mightily, still.  It rudely pointed its head right into his lap.

He noticed, and reached down to grasp it.

"Aaaahhhhhhh!" I groaned, feeling his fingers around my shaft,
squeezing, inadvertently pulling my foreskin down tautly over my
glans.  It plopped free, red and shiny and wet.

"Oooh, Teg!" He exclaimed breathlessly.  "That reminds me, I have
something to show you!  I can do this too!"  He reached with his other
hand down to his own jutting little penis, but then suddenly released
my dick and his own, holding both his hands out, fingers splayed out,
palms flat.

"No, no, not yet.  When we get to that in the letter, ok?" he said so
sweetly.

I breathed in deeply, to calm myself, then said, "oh ... ok, honey, when
we get to that point.  Uh, read fast, huh?"

"No!  We're going to take this nice and slow, Teg.  You have to give me
a proper washing!"

"It will be my pleasure," I answered, smiling happily, as I dipped the
cloth in the soapy water.  "Now where do we start?"

He lay back, just beaming with happiness, loving my attention, my
willingness to follow his lead.  He was excited too.  He held the letter up
in his hands, over his chest, and perused it, "Hmmh, have to start here,
at the beginning, of course, where you say, uh ....

"... I love your green eyes with those golden flecks, so deep that I can
look in them forever, bathing in their verdant richness, feeling forever
refreshed.  I love your almost transparent, silver-gilt eyelashes, long and
dainty, oh so elegant, below your silken eyebrows ...

"Have to start there, Teg!" he said, lowering the letter to his tummy, and
then reaching up to cup both his hands behind his head.  He looked so
self-satisfied!  So pleased with himself, reveling in my worship of him,
knowing that I meant every word I had written.

"Ok, sweetie, now this is going to be a little ... let me just softly get
your brows, and around your eyes here ...." I started in, dabbing lightly
at his eyebrows and eyelids, and below.

"That tickles!" he laughed out.  His tummy  jumped up and he
squirmed around.

"Oh!  Oh!  I'll try to not to tickle you.   There, those verdant, green
eyes, all clean now."

"Yeah, whatever verdant means," he said sarcastically, picking up the
letter again.  "I'm sure it's got to be a good thing, though!"

"You gotta believe that, for sure, honey.  Now, what's next?"

"Hmmh, let's see ... here's the next part:

"I love your golden-blonde tresses, sun-drenched into a cascade of
many colors, yet each alone, and altogether -  pure gold!  I love to bury
my face deep into your hair, smelling your scent, and feeling as if I were
able to sink into your body.

"My hair, Teg.  You don't have to wash it completely right now, but
...."

I leaned down then, captured by my own words, suddenly no longer
feeling like laughing or giggling or tickling.  He saw my sudden
upwelling of tears, as I slipped my fingers beneath his hair, and lifted
his tresses to my lips.  Then I raised back up again, and started to press
the damp cloth to his hair, brushing the strands down against my palm.

So very softly, quietly, he almost whispered, he too no longer playing,
"I knew you loved my hair, Teg.  I stopped at the pond to wash it for
you.  I just sat down in the water, feeling so sick and tired and ...."

"My dearest boy ...." I murmured back to him, and then kissed him
lightly on the lips, then his nose, his brow, and again his hair.

We remained silent then for a while, as I carefully and thoroughly
caressed and brushed his hair, at times cupping his head lovingly in one
palm.   He looked into my eyes so sweetly.

Finally, I laid his head back down upon the soft hay mattress, and said
merely, `thank you."  He graced me with a smile.

I cleared my throat, sniffled, and dried my tear-streaked cheeks.  "You
can go on now, sweetie."

I washed his cheeks, his neck, his chest and tummy ... every part of his
body, as we got to that part in the letter.   Just as I had written: his
reading, and my ministrations to his body, did indeed become a rite of
devotion.   Every moment I gave thanks for the chance to serve this
boy, just to be with him, to love him.  I knew he felt just the same,
giving of himself freely, accepting and returning my love.

It was really such a joyous time together.  Yet when he started reading
the lines about his feet, and I saw how the last two or three  weeks of
rough living had left his feet a little scarred, a little hardened, with dirt
and grit embedded in his skin, I couldn't contain my tears any longer.

Then he read on ...

"I'll cup your heels in my palm, as I make love to your feet, feeling so
close to you, because this, my Wishus, is my rightful place!  At you
feet!  Serving you through time.  It is what I live for.   It is why I am
here on this Earth.

Your feet ... they bring you to me, whenever we are separated.  Here's
a promise.  Whenever you are at rest, or whenever I can do so without
disturbing your purpose, I'll kiss and caress and care for  your feet, in
appreciation ...."

I knelt at the foot of his bed.  With such studied reverence, I washed
every part of his feet and toes, removing every particle of grit, cleaning
his toenails, kneading and rubbing the little hardened calluses on his
heels and the balls of his feet.

The warm water, the warm air, the quiet ... the love ... when I looked
up along his naked form, I saw that Wishus was now in a kind of dream
state.  His eyes were closed, his head back, he was breathing softly,
slowly, and one hand languidly glided up and down, so very slowly, on
his still-hard penis.   I saw him pull his foreskin all the way down over
his virgin purplish-red glans, then push it back up, absently luxuriating
in the sensations that I was giving him, and that he could give himself.
So that was his surprise.  I felt privileged to see it.

I lowered my head then, wanting to add to his pleasure, and took one of
his big toes into my mouth.  I sucked on it, laving my tongue around,
over and under, feeling the slickness of his toenail, and the rougher
texture of his skin, beneath.  I shifted to his other foot, and did the
same, then just lost myself going back and forth, kissing, sucking,
cleaning each of his toes, licking between them, tasting of my boy.

This was not something I had ever really fantasized about, in all my
lonely days as a forlorn boylover.  Yet now, it seemed so right.  What
more fitting symbolism of a boylover, than kneeling at my boy's feet
and making love to those appendages which trod the very earth.  He
could use me, as he used the earth – his solid foundation.  And no
matter what trials or difficulties he had to endure, no matter how dirty
and cracked and hardened his feet would ever become, I would gladly
clean and love him there.  It was my place.  My purpose in life.

Use me, Wishus!  I cried out in my mind.   Always make me yours!   I
give to thee everything that is of me.

I kissed and licked the soles of his feet.  He began to moan an
acknowledgment, feeling my gentle love of his tender flesh..  I took the
taut tendons of his ankles between my lips and kneaded them, I licked
around his heels and over, to the top of his feet, all the while rubbing
and massaging.

I knew my boy was aroused – I could see that in his continuing
erection.   I also sensed that he was in a state of bliss that was so gentle,
and serene, and sublime.   I felt the same way.   We both had erections,
coming from our shared intimacy and love, yet I sensed that neither of
us at this moment needed  release.  Reading the rest of the letter could
wait.

We needed more to just drift together, to rest together, to BE together.

The fire was still pouring out it's heat.  The dusk was full now, and
there was no more light seeping in through the cracks in the walls.  All
was dark, quiet, and peaceful.

I stood and walked to my clothing, piled on the hay-strewn floor.
Reaching into my vest pocket, I drew out the coral necklace I had found
up at the city.  I tied it around my neck.  This was how I wanted Wishus
to see me, when he woke up.  I knew he had made it for me.  It was
kind of like my letter to him.  Something that would bind us forever.

Then I crawled in beside Wishus, and made the blankets ready to pull
over us, when we would need them.  Then I very slowly, very gently
replaced his hand with mine, upon his little penis.  He was more than
half asleep already, and his hand fell away to his side.

I held my palm flat over his rod, but didn't wrap my fingers around
him.  What he needed now was a much softer touch.  With infinite
patience, I caressed his tumescence with my palm, sliding it up and
down, and around in circles against him, pressing his covered glans
down onto his pubis, adding to the soft sensations.  Slowly, I widened
my caresses, letting my hand glide down and up over his little balls,
feeling their spongy hardness beneath the almost cottony soft texture of
his scrotum.

Letting him down easy, so very easy, I widened my arcs even more,
and started caressing his thighs and his tummy, coming back to his
penis and balls less and less often.

His breathing slowed.  I felt all tenseness in his body was gone,
completely.  And finally, his little peepee lost it's urgency and laid
down flat upon his pubis.  I watched through long minutes, as the
engorging blood slowly seeped out.  Ever so slowly, his little tool
softened, and glided off to one side.  His glans grew smaller and
smaller, his shaft shorter and shorter, till finally his loose foreskin once
again hung down below his glans, gathering protectively.

I let my hand glide up his body, slowly, to just barely press against each
of his tiny, translucent nipples, then in and out of his armpits, and
across his shoulders.  He was mine.  I remembered that first night we
spent together, when I had my first chance to see him nude, and could
not look.  Would not look, because he had not granted me the right.
Now, tonight, I knew that he had given himself to me totally.

I then lay my head down beside his, pulled the blankets over us, and
just watched him ... live.  Thank the gods, it was all over, and we were
together again!  Together again ....

When I felt myself starting to drift to sleep, I lay back flat on my back,
and ever so gently gathered him into my arms, pulling him over onto
me.  I felt his bare flesh against mine.  That's the way I wanted every
one of our nights to be, from now on.