ACHTUNG! This story may contain scenes of sexual activity between and among adult men and underage boys. If you find this offensive or if it is illegal for you to read this in your jurisdiction, do not read this story! This is a fantasy. This did not happen and the author does not advocate the violation of any laws. Please write to let me know what you think of my story at: christophe dot gantier1987 at gmail dot com.


Wilde in the City
Christophe Gantier


Chapter 1

Sexy Boy! Sexy Boy! You know what you want and you know how to take it! Sexy Boy! Sexy Boy! You know what they want and you know how to fake it! Take it, fake it, beat it, make it! Sexy Boy!

Shaun Wilde sat in his seat in the First-Class section of a US Airways 737 en route from Detroit to New York, reading Lord of the Flies and listening to Trevor Hawke sing on his Sony Walkman. It was a mixtape of dance music from the past twenty years, the disco era to the spring of 1998, which his father had recorded and given to Shaun on his birthday on May 18, just a week before the man was killed. It was Shaun’s most important possession, a link to the man who had raised him for eleven years and loved him and cherished him.

Sexy Boy! Sexy Boy! They love you ‘cause you’re hot and sweet! They love you ‘cause you’re a piece of meat! Sexy Boy! Sexy Boy! You know what to say! You know how to play! You know the way ‘cause it’s your day! Sexy Boy!

Shaun loved this song. His father had loved watching him dance to it. He had said Shaun seemed so free and uninhibited when he danced to it—and he was. It was a nasty and sexy song, an anthem for gay boys, as his father had described it in an article in America Fortnightly, the magazine his mother edited and for which his father frequently wrote. Of course, that was why the Christians and the conservatives hated it so, which was just fine with Shaun and his father.

The boy sighed as the chorus played again. He closed his book—and his eyes—and lay his head back against the seat. His father. He felt a sob catch in his throat and his eyes grew moist. He couldn’t think about his father. It was too painful. He had loved his father and now that he was gone, he wasn’t certain what was going to happen to him. He wished he could get up from his seat and dance, turn the volume up on his Walkman until the headphones were blasting in his ears, drowning out all sounds and thoughts from the outside and leaving him with only the sexy, nasty beat of the song. Dancing. Reading. Masturbating. Those were his three escapes from the difficulties of the world. When life was too painful for him to deal with, he could always escape into a good book, a good song, or a hot and sexy fantasy while beating it. Take it, fake it, beat it, make it. Yeah, Shaun was a Sexy Boy.

He was hard. “Sexy Boy!” always made him hard. Sometimes, he even beat it while listening to “Sexy Boy!” He wondered how many other gay boys did that? Had Trevor Hawke planned it that way? Had he thought about all the hundreds of thousands of gay boys across America and the world who would love the song and beat it while listening to it? He had to have. Of course, he couldn’t be too overt about whom he was writing the song for. The Christians and the conservatives would have gone completely berserk then. As it was, they could only make insinuations. Still, Shaun knew for whom Trevor meant the song. He meant it for Shaun. Shaun Wilde was a Sexy Boy.

He would like to have gotten up from his seat and gone to the restroom to beat it, but it would have been too obvious why, especially when he was in there for as long as he would undoubtedly take! Besides, his jeans—faded, torn, tight—would give him away. His boner was tenting the fabric. Oh, man. He needed to beat it, though. He had done it only four times since awakening that morning, and walking through the Detroit airport had made it even worse. Several men had looked at him and he could see the hunger in their eyes. His wild, shaggy, golden blond hair, the black sweatband, his tattered skater jeans, and his sleeveless white sweatshirt with the message, “Eat, Sleep, Skate” was a sexy look, especially since he was only eleven. Yeah, Shaun Wilde was hot. He knew it—and he wanted others to know, too! Shaun was a Sexy Boy.

His father had told him he was hot. What Shaun didn’t understand, though, was why his father hadn’t acted on it. If he thought Shaun was so hot, why didn’t he do it with him? It wasn’t like Shaun hadn’t given him enough hints, enough chances, enough provocations. Yet, the man simply smiled and hugged him, sometimes kissing his forehead and telling him to go the bathroom and “take care of it.”

And, now, Shaun was alone. His father was gone, having been shot in a convenience store during a robbery gone bad. He was simply an innocent bystander, in the wrong place at the wrong time—and Shaun was now alone. Yes, he was sitting beside his mother on the plane as they flew to New York, but she wasn’t going to keep him. She didn’t know that he knew she was going to get rid of him as soon as they got there. She didn’t want him. She never had. The bitch.

He opened his eyes and pushed the stop button on his Walkman. Pulling the headphones off, he turned his head and examined the woman beside him. Forty years old, perfect blond hair, flawless make-up, an impeccable woman’s business suit. Reading a news magazine with a cover story about the sex scandal between President Clinton and his intern Monica Lewinsky. She was always so in control, so with it, so together, so—unlike his father. David Wilde had been so laid back and easy going, so understanding. There were always students from his English classes at the University of Michigan in their home, eating dinner, debating different books and different theories and different political philosophies and his father was always happily listening and guiding he discussions. His father was so unlike his mother—and yet, they had been best friends at Harvard. How? How had those two become friends—and why in the world would a woman like his mother agree to have a child for a man like his father?

The woman glanced away from the article she was reading and cocked her head slightly as her eyes met his.

“What?” she asked.

Shaun took a deep breath and asked, “Why don’t you want me?”

She frowned and asked, “Why would you ask such a thing?”

Shaun sighed and said, “I heard you, Mom. On your cell phone, talking to your girlfriend when I came back from the restroom, at the gate before we got on the plane. You told her that you had finally found someone to take me when we get to New York and that you two wouldn’t have to worry about having me get in the way.”

His mother pressed her lips tightly together and turned away. She was blushing, actually blushing. He had never seen her blush before. She was always so in control. She never got embarrassed. She never blushed. She was blushing now. She’d been caught.

After a long moment, she inhaled and then turned back to him. He expected her to react as she normally did when confronting an underling who disappointed her. Instead, she smiled sympathetically.

“Shaun, sweetie, did your father ever explain to you the circumstances around why and how you came to be?”

He smirked and replied, “I know the facts of life, Mom. Dad told me when I was five.”

“That’s not what I meant, though it doesn’t surprise me he’d tell you in Kindergarten.”

“I was in first grade. I started school early.”

“Whatever. No, what I meant was why I got pregnant with you when he was gay and living in Ann Arbor and I was a lesbian in New York.”

Shaun shrugged and said, “You two were best friends at Harvard and you wanted to do it as a favor to him.”

“Your father and I were, indeed, best friends in college.”

A rare wistful look came over her face, looking forward as if she were gazing back twenty-two years.

“David Wilde was a beautiful, radical free-spirit in 1976. He was slim and had shoulder-length blond hair and a smile on his face that could melt the heart of even the most cynical Boston Brahmin. And, I hated his guts—at first. He was in a philosophy class I was taking my freshman year and we got into a debate about existentialism. I told him he was an idiot and he forced me to explain myself and we debated for the entire period. And then we would debate in almost every class after that for a month, much to the chagrin of our teaching assistant and the other students. Then, by the end of October, we realized we were having fun arguing with each other. He took me to Jimmy Carter’s victory party on campus on Election Night and from then on, we were the best of friends. We’d go out dancing and he’d go home with whatever hunk he had found and I would go home alone with my big, round glasses and read Jane Austen until I fell asleep.”

“Sounds like a blast.”

She chuckled and said, “It was a wonderful time. I met Max when she was at Wellesley and David liked her back then. Well, after graduation, I went to Yale for my graduate work and he went to Oxford and then to NYU. We met up again in New York when I went to work for The New Yorker and, we stayed friends.”

“But, why?” Shaun asked. “Dad was like so laid-back and open-minded and everything and you’re so… not.”

She laughed and said, “I’d fire people for saying that to me, but you’re my son—and you’re right. We were opposites in many ways. He was gay, I was a lesbian. He was a radical leftist, I was a moderate Republican. He would do two or three guys a week. The only woman I ever had sex with was Max.”

“Too much information, Mom. Don’t gross me out.”

She smiled and said, “Remember. We were kids once, too.”

“Yeah, well. Still…”

His mother shrugged and said, “Well, David came to New York during the summer of ’86 with his partner Stephen and we went to dinner at a nice little Italian place and he was deliriously happy and claimed that the only thing missing from his life was a child. Well, I wanted to take a year off and write a book and after several discussions between David and me and Max, well, I agreed to have a baby for him. The thing is, though, I had never, ever planned on being a mother. By that, I mean, I was never going to raise children. Changing diapers and putting Band-Aides on cuts and scrapes and driving kids to soccer practice and dance lessons and baking cookies for the PTA—that was just not me. I never wanted it and I still don’t. David understood and said all he and Stephen wanted me to do was bear the child and he would take it from there.”

Shaun looked down.

“You were special, Shaun. Your father wanted you very badly and I gave you to him. You were my gift to him. A son. I think that makes you very special.”

“I guess,” Shaun replied softly, staring at his Vans, “but Stephen left him when I was three and Dad’s dead now and you don’t want me.”

“Yes,” she replied with a sigh. “I am heartbroken about David. I really am. I loved him like a brother, but… let’s be honest, Shaun. You would be miserable living with us. You would. Max hates anyone with a Y-Chromosome…”

“What does that mean?”

“She hates males. And I am a bitch. I am demanding and ruthless. I have to be to make it in the business world. I run one of the most important and prestigious magazines in the country and I have to be on guard twenty-four hours a day. I cannot let off for a second and I wouldn’t be able to provide you with the love and attention you need. You’re accustomed to the love and attention of your father. You’re used to being in a circle of gay people. You’d be miserable with Max and me.”

“You could change.”

“I could, but this is my life, sweetie. And you would still not be as happy. However, I have someone who wants you, someone like your father, a gay man, a writer who desperately wants a boy like you in his life. I emailed your picture to him, I’ve described you in minute detail, and he’s already in love with you. In fact, he’s meeting us at the airport.”

Shaun snapped his head toward her with shock.

“Already? You’re that excited to get rid of me?”

She looked at him with dismay and replied, “Shaun, I thought you’d be happy.”

“When were you going to tell me? We just get off the plane and you announce, ‘Well, you’re going to live with this guy now. Good bye.’”

She frowned in consternation and responded, “It’s not like that. I was going to tell you now. Eric’s… Eric’s the perfect person for you, Shaun. I know it. I had some other friends I was considering, but Megan and Whitney want a girl and Carla and Lisa want their own child and Jack and Andrei are adopting a boy from Romania. Eric, however, is perfect. He’s twenty-four and he’s a member of the Falcon family. I’m sure you’ve heard of them.”

“They’re rich.”

“Yes, and Eric’s uncle owns my magazine.”

“They’re rich snobs who think they’re better than everyone else because their robber-baron great-grandfather stole millions of dollars from his competitors?”

“Well, something like that. Yes, but Eric isn’t like that. He’s a progressive, like your father was. He writes and… well… I think you and he will be a perfect match.”

“And what if I don’t like him?”

“Well, I hope you’ll give him a chance, but if you don’t like him, well, I suppose you can come stay with Max and me until we can find someone else.”

“In other words, you gave birth to me, but that’s it.”

She sighed and said, “Shaun, sweetie. Please understand…”

“Oh, I understand. You don’t want me. Period. Your son. You just don’t want to be inconvenienced. You don’t want me in the way.”


He turned his head from her and placed his headphones back on, turned on his Walkman, cranked the volume and closed his eyes.

He was through discussing the matter with her.


~ ~ ~ O ~ ~ ~


Neither had spoken a word since Shaun had placed the headphones back on, even as they disembarked and entered the gate at LaGuardia Airport. Shaun had donned the denim jacket he had dumped on the floor during their flight, plus his backpack, covered with all manner of skateboarding and rock band stickers, and he was pulling his carry-on suitcase. His mother pulled an overnight bag and carried her purse. She was marching with a look of stolid determination on her face. Shaun simply looked disgusted. They followed the crowd down the concourse until coming to the security gate and passed through.

His mother stopped and looked around until she saw a tall, slim young man with reddish-blond hair, wearing jeans and an NYU sweatshirt, waving and grinning. Beside him stood a teenage boy, slender, as well, with a long, blond ponytail, wearing slim jeans and a sweatshirt with a picture of a male ballet dancer leaping through the air above a caption reading, “Dance! Fly! Live!” He seemed somewhat more reserved than the young man beside him, though his eyes met Shaun’s and seemed to lock onto them.

“There they are,” his mother declared as she turned toward them.

“Them?” Shaun replied in an accusatory tone. “There’s more than one?”

She glanced sideways at him and marched on.

“Eric! I’m so glad to see you!”

“Samantha! You look… Samantha-like,” Eric replied.

“How very safe and diplomatic of you,” his mother replied. “You can relax, however. I’ve put the knives safely away.”

She turned toward the teenager and said, “Tristan, I’m so glad to see you. You look very beautiful, this afternoon. Are you doing the summer intensive with SAB?”

“No, I’m taking the summer off,” the teenager replied with a bored yawn. “Uncle Damian’s disgusted with me, but I have so much going on this summer…”

“His social life,” Eric interjected with a grin.

Tristan shrugged and said, “I don’t need it, anyway. Uncle Damian makes me dance my ass off every time he sees me, so it’s like a summer intensive all year.”

“You’re very fortunate to have such a gifted and powerful uncle.” She turned to Shaun and said, “You know, Shaun was in training in Ann Arbor.”

Tristan looked with surprise at Shaun and exclaimed, “You’re a DS?”

“Not really,” Shaun replied. “I mean, I take dance lessons, but… I’m learning lots of things. I also take gymnastics and violin and I play soccer.”

“And, you’re a skateboarder, I see,” Eric added with a nod toward his “Eat, Sleep, Skate” sweatshirt.

Shaun smiled reluctantly and nodded.

“Shaun, this is Eric Falcon, the famous writer,” his mother said. “He wrote Tristan Larkspur.”

Shaun’s eyes snapped open in surprise and he exclaimed, “Oh, he’s that Eric Falcon. Why didn’t you say so?”

Eric grinned and asked, “I assume you’re a fan?”

Shaun nodded, then forced the smile off his face, reminding himself he was angry.

“And, this is his ward, Tristan Hawthorn,” his mother added, “the inspiration for Eric’s teenage ballet dancing, violin playing, murder-detective vampire.”

“Hey,” Tristan responded with a diffident, upward nod.

“Hey,” Shaun replied in kind.

“Well, this is a veritable Algonquin Roundtable here,” his mother declared. “Shaun, you and Tristan have so much in common. You both dance, you both play the violin, you’re both… well, um, I mean…”

Tristan raised an eyebrow and asked snidely, “You suck cock?”

Eric elbowed him sharply and gave the teenager a deadly look. Shaun turned his nose up and defiantly replied, “Yeah, I do. You?”

Tristan glanced sideways at Eric and then sullenly replied, “Yeah.”

“I guess you’re an asshole, too,” Shaun sniped.

“Shaun!” his mother barked as she elbowed him.

“Well, this is going to be fun,” Eric declared happily. “Why don’t we get this circus on the road! Sammy, will you be riding with us? Uncle Julian has lent me Antoine and his Land Rover.”

“Thank you, no,” Shaun’s mother replied. “Happily, I have my driver waiting for me. Shaun doesn’t have any other luggage. I’m shipping his things from Ann Arbor and they should be arriving Monday or Tuesday. His father’s things will go into storage for him until he’s older. His things will be coming to my place and you can pick them up at your leisure.”

“Wonderful,” Eric replied with a smile at Shaun, who glowered at all three of them. “Then lets take off, shall we?”

Samantha placed a hand on Shaun’s arm and said with emphasis, “Shaun, call me if you need to, but please, give… this…a chance.”

“Why, of course, Mummy Dearest. Thank you ever so much,” Shaun replied snidely.

Tristan pressed his lips together, trying not to grin before giving Shaun a hateful glare for good measure. Samantha, however, sighed rather dramatically, Shaun thought, before giving Eric a smile and a sincere, “Thank you.”

“Onward and upward,” Eric replied before turning and marching toward the exits. Shaun followed behind the two, only barely hearing Tristan hiss, “You didn’t tell me he was so cute. Now, I know why you were so excited. Is he going to be my replacement? Are you sending me back to live with Uncle Julian?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Eric replied.

“Look, if you all don’t want me, I’ll be happy to go back with Mom,” Shaun declared from behind them.

“Not at all!” Eric replied as he gestured for Shaun to join them. “Tristan’s just acting like a silly girl.”

Tristan glared at Eric as they continued up the concourse and sniped, “I suppose he’ll be sleeping with you?”

“You suppose wrongly,” Eric replied with a smile. “Actually, Shaun will be sleeping with you!”

“No way!” Tristan countered. “I’ll sleep on the couch—or I can go back to Uncle Julian.”

“Hey, I can go back with my mother!: Shaun exclaimed. “I don’t want to go where I’m not wanted.”

“No one’s going anywhere except to our place in The Village!” Eric announced. “No one’s going to their mother’s, no one is going to Uncle Julian’s, and no one is sleeping on any couch. However, as soon as I drop the two of you off at the apartment, I am going over to Uncle Julian’s. We have business to discuss and I probably won’t be home until around ten. I will leave money for you to order in, Tristan, or the two of you can run down to the Christopher Street Deli.”

“You’re leaving him alone with me?” Tristan demanded in outrage.

“Yes, I am, and I expect you to treat him with respect and to get to know him and not blame him for any ill feelings you have toward me. Shaun’s father was a very good and decent man, whom I knew on a professional basis, and I expect you to do everything you can, Tristan, to make Shaun feel welcome in your home, in his new home. Do I make myself clear?”

“You sound like my father,” Tristan spat.

“Your father was a motherfucking bastard,” Eric replied.

“Yeah. My point exactly,” Tristan answered.

Eric stopped at stared with narrow eyes at the teenager. Tristan blushed and looked down.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“You’re being needlessly petulant, Tristan. There is no reason for you to be jealous. I love you and I always will. Now, let’s get a move on before we get trapped in the rain.”

Tristan sighed and followed, looking down and not looking at Shaun, who followed further behind until they left the building. A green Range Rover with deeply tinted windows pulled up and Eric opened the back door, signaling for Shaun to enter first. Eric took his suitcase as Tristan followed the younger boy into the backseat.

As Eric walked around to put the suitcase in the back, Shaun looked up front and saw a young black man turn around from behind the wheel. He was wearing a conservative suit, his head was bald, and he had a huge grin.

“Hey, man. I’m Antoine,” he declared. “I’m Julian Falcon’s driver and assistant. You’re Shaun?”

The boy nodded, immediately feeling warm—and just a bit horny after all the stress and tension—as the driver met his eyes.

“Hi,” he replied.

“How’s it hangin’?” Antoine asked.

“Okay,” Shaun replied, not quite certain what the proper response to such a question should be.

“Tristan, what do you think of our new boy?”

Tristan diffidently shrugged. Antoine grinned and as Eric climbed into the passenger-side front side, he asked, “So, Eric. How ‘bout a round of brownies?”

“God, yes!” Eric replied with feeling. “And a round of Long Island Teas, too!”

Antoine chuckled and reached under his seat for a Tupperware container, which he handed to Eric.

Shaun raised a suspicious eyebrow and asked, “Brownies?”

“Yes,” Eric replied. “Antoine makes the best brownies. Guaranteed to solve any problem you might have. Brownie, Tristan?”

“Give me the whole damn container,” the teenager replied sullenly.

“I think one will be sufficient,” Eric replied as he handed the first brownie to Shaun, who took it and politely said, “Thank you.”

As he took a bite, he watched as Tristan took his and put half of it in his mouth at once. It was then Shaun was certain it was a “magic” brownie. He glanced up in the rear-view mirror and saw Antoine’s eyes twinkling. Shaun grinned at him and took a second bite.

Rain began falling as the Range Rover pulled out. Eric looked around and, with his mouth full, said, “It usually doesn’t take long to get home from LaGuardia on a Sunday, but with it raining… we may need extra brownies.”

“Hey, whatever it takes,” Antoine replied with a grin.

Tristan swallowed the last of his and said, “Can I have another?”

Antoine glanced at Eric, who shrugged and nodded. Antoine tossed one over the seat and Tristan caught it and took another huge bite. Shaun watched him chew and felt his dick begin to swell again. Tristan was an ass, but… he was cute, sexy, beautiful. His blond hair was long, very long, and pulled back in a ponytail. He was very slim, like the perfect male ballet dancer, and his face was delicate, yet male, just like a dancer, with high cheekbones, thin lips, thin eyebrows. He was just too pretty—and Shaun hated him for hating Shaun.

“So, Shaun, how was your flight?” Eric asked as he turned around and partially faced him. Eric was sexy, too. Tall and slim, his red-blond hair was kind of shaggy, with curls and flips, but not long. His face was slim, like Tristan’s, and his blue eyes and smile made Shaun hard, as well.

“It was okay. It was raining in Detroit, so we were late taking off, but the pilot said he could make up for it on the trip.”

Eric nodded and said, “I guess things were a bit rocky between the two of you.”

“Mom’s a bitch,” Shaun replied.

“Well, yeah. She is, but she’s a cool bitch.”

Shaun shrugged and responded, “Well, I don’t know about that. She’s not cool to me.”

“Well, I thought that was a pretty cool thing, having you as a favor to her friend. Not a lot of women would do that.”

“Yeah, well, that was cool, but it was cool for Dad. She doesn’t want me, though.”

Eric nodded and said, “Well, I hope that someday you’ll think it’s cooler living with Tristan and me than living with her.”

Shaun shrugged diffidently and looked out the window at the rain. They hadn’t made it too far from the terminal before they stopped. He hated New York. It was too big, too busy, too complicated, too…too. Ann Arbor was cool. Cool people, a cool university. Big enough to be interesting, not big enough to be too busy and complicated and… too much. Why couldn’t his mother have found someone in Ann Arbor to take him if she wasn’t going to keep him?

“Shaun, I’m really sorry about your Dad,” Eric said softly. “He was a good man. I knew him, professionally. We both wrote for your mother’s magazine. He was a gifted writer. I think he should have given up teaching and concentrated on writing. He was phenomenal. I was jealous of him.”

Shaun smiled sadly and looked down at his backpack on the floor. He whispered, “Thank you.”

“I know it has to be hard to lose a father, especially one you were so close to; and, eleven’s a tough age for it because you’re old enough to understand what’s happened, but not really old enough to have all the tools to deal with it.”

Shaun shrugged and said, “Dad was so cool. Most dads are kind of goofs or jerks or… mean. Dad wasn’t. He knew what was in my head. He… he wanted me to be free… free to make my own mistakes, but he wanted to be there for me when I did so he could help me put my shit back together. He was so fucking cool. So cool. So…”

He couldn’t believe he was starting to cry—in front of total strangers, in front of the jerk Tristan. God, they were going to think he was a crybaby. He turned his head and sniffed hard, forcing himself not to cry.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, gentle, soft.

“It’s okay, dude,” Tristan said. “We understand.”

Shaun sniffed and trembled slightly as he regained control of himself. He inhaled and, without looking away from the window, asked, “Can I have another brownie?”

“Sure,” Eric replied softly.

He handed one across the seat. Shaun didn’t look away from the window. Tristan took the brownie and tapped Shaun on the shoulder. The younger boy turned and Tristan handed it to him with a nervous smile.

“Thanks,” Shaun whispered before taking a bite and looking down at his backpack again.

“So, Shaun, you’re a dancer?” Eric asked.

“Well, I train, but it’s not like my life. There’s girls there that are so into it that I know they’ll make it big. I like it, but it’s not the most important thing in my life. I also like playing the violin and I like the gymnastics, though I took it to help the dancing. I also play soccer and I love that.”

“Yeah, soccer’s cool,” Eric remarked. “I think guys who play soccer tend to be a lot cooler than the ones who play football. They aren’t jerks and bullies like a lot of football players are.”

“Yeah, soccer players are cool,” Shaun replied. “They’re fun and everything, but they don’t bully guys like other jocks do.”

He paused, and then added, “And I like reading.”

Eric nodded and said, “So, what are you reading now?”

Lord of the Flies,” Shaun replied.

“Oh, well! Talk about bullying!” Eric remarked. “So, have you read I book?”

Tristan Larkspur? Not yet,” he replied. “Some of the guys at school have, but they told me only because they know I’m gay. Most people think it’s kind of gay.”

“Well, of course it is,” Eric replied with a grin. “The protagonist is a gay teenage vampire.”

Tristan chuckled and said, “He means lame, Eric. Some kids today use ‘gay’ the same as ‘lame.’”

Shaun blushed and nodded. Eric looked away and said, “Oh.”

“I mean, they think it’s lame because it’s about a gay guy,” Shaun quickly explained.

“Ah, well. I understand, but the whole reason I wrote it is that I wanted kids to relate to Tristan. I thought it would be easier if I made him a vampire because he would be less real, but still dealing with the sort of issues real kids face.”

Shaun nodded and said, “I guess I should read it.”

“So, what do you think of Lord of the Flies? How far are you into it?”

Shaun inhaled and said, “They just killed Piggy. It’s… I don’t like it. I mean, I like it. I like it a lot. It’s just hard to read because I hate the… I hate the injustice, you know? It’s like… this is what society is like when there aren’t any rules and some jerk takes over who says what the people want to hear. They end up killing people and hating anyone who’s different from them or thinks different or acts different.”

“Very perceptive,” Eric replied with a smile. “I’m impressed, Shaun. You know, that book’s normally taught in middle school or high school. I impressed that you understand it that way.”

“Thanks,” Shaun replied softly. “It makes me wonder what would happen if someone like Jack ran for President, someone who says what the people want to hear and hates anyone who’s different or thinks different and who wants to kill anyone who gets in his way.”

“Well, it’s very possible we could elect a President like that someday,” Eric replied. “I think America is ripe for a dictator like that, a real fascist who could appeal to a large segment of the public. In fact, I’m surprised it hasn’t already happened. Nixon was close, but someone even worse could very well come along in a few years.”

Shaun sighed and then said, “Maybe I should read Tristan Larkspur instead. Maybe that would cheer me up more than reading about naked boys killing each other.”

“Well, the naked boy part is cool, but yeah, things get a little depressing later on,” Eric replied with a grin.

“So, did you name your character after this Tristan?” Shaun asked.

Eric smiled back at Tristan and said, “Yes, I did. I love Tristan very much and I decided to write a book about him as a tribute to the boy I love.”

Tristan looked down and then out the window, pressing his lips together. Shaun looked from Tristan to Eric and saw the man watching the teenager with love in his eyes.

“But, this Tristan isn’t a vampire, is he?”

“Well, not in the traditional sense,” Eric replied. “There are some bodily fluids he seems to have an unnatural need for, but blood isn’t one of them.”

Tristan almost grinned as he held his middle finger up, though he continued to look out the window.

“I wanted to give Tristan immortality, so I made him a vampire, but I made him one that doesn’t want to kill good people. He kills evil people. Plus, like the real Tristan, he plays the violin and dances and reads and…”

He looked at Shaun and then grinned.

“You know, you and Tristan really do have a lot in common. Maybe, you’ll be in my next book. Maybe Tristan will bite you and give you immortality. How would you like that?”

Shaun blushed and looked at the teenager, who frowned.

“Maybe you should ask Tristan about that,” he replied.

The car started moving and they finally seemed to be making some progress. Shaun popped the last of his second brownie into his mouth and watched as they entered a freeway leading away from the airport. Shaun finally began to relax and as he glanced to his right, he saw Tristan relaxing, as well.

Maybe this wasn’t going to be such a bad situation, after all.



Let me know what you think. Christophe dot Gantier at gmail dot com. Chapter 2 will be up in few days!