Date: Wed, 27 Jun 2001 00:05:09 -0400 From: LJB Subject: To Fulfill a Prophesy Section 1 (LJB)(MM BB Bb 1st anal oral teen2b slow)( 1/50) The following is a pure work of fiction and is the property of the author. If you are looking to get off quick, read something else. This story is presented in serial form and you'll read a lot of background before you get any mindblowing sex scenes. If you are bothered by same sex relationships, read no farther. This is a story about the interaction of males with each other in a fanciful setting. It's a story with some sex, not sex with some story. If you enjoy it and wish to continue reading, please let me know. LJB To Fulfill a Prophesy Section 1 "HEY!! What do you think you're doing there ?" It was not like me, Benton Dean Hillsborough McAdams III, to interfere with someone else's business. In fact, of late, the only thing I was involved in at all was my own business. As Owner, Chairman and C.E.O. of a multi-faceted conglomerate and one of the wealthiest men on the North American continent, I had immersed myself in the day-to-day operation of my many businesses and industries. `McAdams Corp.' was a well known and highly respected name in corporate America and since picking up the reins, after the sudden death of my father three years ago, I had become as well respected in the business community. My dedication and management skill were acknowledged at the highest levels of national corporate management. I worked 18 hours a day, 7 days a week and ate, slept and breathed business. I was totally occupied in my corporation, earnings were at the best levels in 25 years and I felt isolated and totally miserable. `Dean' was the name used by only my closest relations, of which there were very few left, and my closest, personal friends, which numbered even fewer. Normally, I was addressed as `Mr. McAdams', `Benton' or `Ben', depending how well someone knew, or thought they knew me. Mr. Chen, my Head of Household, friend, teacher and a long time family employee, would always call me "Mr. Dean". It was a reminder of those who had loved me through my youth. My Mom and Dad and Brenda, my now ex-wife. Then there was Jamie, my son. I knew that Jamie had loved me at one time, but it had been over a year since I had seen him and many months since we had even spoken by telephone. Brenda and I had been married only three years and I have not exercised my visitation with Jamie hardly at all the past few years, allowing instead my work to invade my life, totally. Now Jamie was almost 13 and Brenda had sent him away to boarding school last Fall, accommodating husband number 4, and I was realizing, I had not been the `Dad', my son deserved. I had, for a long time, made a point of not having enough time to reflect about my life. At 34 years of age, I was rich, reasonably handsome and fit, educated, eligible (according to the gossip columnists), and incredibly lonely. I slept, alone for a number of years, at the palatial family residence in which I had grown up, called the `castle' and I lived my life at the various offices which my corporate properties maintained. The family chauffeur had been retired after my father's death at the ripe age of 76 and I had decided to drive on my own, a choice I had cause to question on several recent occasions. This seemed to be one of them. It was 1:30 a.m. and I was heading home for some sleep. Even though it was early Sunday morning, the weekend meant nothing for me. I would be back for several scheduled meetings by 10 o'clock.. As I stepped off the elevator at my parking level, I heard noises of a scuffle. This consisted of several thudding sounds, some shoe soles scraping on the cement floor, the sound of voices and what might be moaning or groaning and crying. "No, please don't" was clearly shouted out, followed by the cracking sound of slapping or hitting. I moved into the aisle and walked quietly toward the sounds. "I'll teach you, funckin' little slut" a man's voice roared. A thud echoed from the corner in the direction I was headed. I saw two men standing over a body, which was laying on the cement floor, huddled in a fetal position. One of the men swung his leg back and viscously kicked the prone body. A thud reverberated and a cry came forth from the body. "Little faggot," the man snarled, "you better learn to appreciate an opportunity to service real men." "HEY!! What do you think you're doing there ?" I shouted. The men turned to face me. I was surprised to see that both of these were younger men, likely about 20 years old. "Stay out of this asshole" one of them shouted. "This is none of your business." "Security." I called out, knowing that the areas were monitored for sound. "I need assistance, immediately on Level One Blue, call the police and an ambulance. This is Benton McAdams speaking." A reply of, "Yes, sir." came back over the speaker system, almost immediately. "I told you to stay out of this." one of the fellows shouted, heading toward me. "That would not be a good idea." I warned pulling the flap of my coat aside so that my holstered revolver showed plainly hanging from my belt. This was the first time ever I had appreciated Ted Tanner, my Director of Security, insisting that I be armed when traveling alone at night. The man stopped dead in his tracks. Before either of the brutish pair could organize a thought to flee, two uniformed Security men came running up with their side arms drawn. "Detain these men for the police, please." I indicated to the Security staff. I hurried over to where the body lay on the cold, cement floor. He was virtually naked. A torn T-shirt lay a couple feet from the form and appeared to have been ripped from its owner's body. A pair of soiled, torn jeans were bunched around the feet of the victim and a pair of dirty, worn runners covered his feet. There was no sign of underwear or socks. As I approached, I could see red welts on the back and buttocks of the victim where he had been kicked. I knelt beside the body. This was not the body of a man, being too small in stature, but also too large for that of a child. "Get some blankets over here." I yelled to the Security men. "Where do you hurt the most ?" I asked kneeling beside the body. He was shivering and racked with the shudders of sobbing. "I don't want to try to move you until the ambulance arrives. Is there anything I can do to make this easier for you ?" I questioned. "I'll be okay." a young voice shakily replied, "but I think they broke my arm. I can't feel much, but the pain in my arm and hip." He was sobbing involuntarily as he spoke, but was making an extreme effort not to let it show. "I can't go to the hospital and I have to leave before the police get here." "That's not going to happen," I replied firmly, putting my hand lightly on the side of his exposed rib cage, to discourage him from moving, "but don't worry. Everything will be all right." I moved around to the front side of his body and was startled when I realized that this was only a young, teenage boy. He was not much bigger than Jamie would be and could not be any more than 15 years old. He had shaggy, strawberry, blonde hair. His face was battered and bruising was already starting to show. His left eye was swelling shut, his cheeks bruised and blood trickled from a split in his upper lip and the corner of his mouth. The eye I could see was a dark blue. There was a gash on his cheek bone, as if a ring had snagged him. You could tell that under better conditions this was a good looking, young face. His right arm lay extended on the ground and it was obvious, from the swollen area, that his forearm was broken. Bruises showed on his chest and as he eased from the tight ball of the fetal position he had drawn himself into during the attack, his exposed abdomen also showed welts and bruising. When he attempted to move his left leg slightly downward, a sharp yelp escaped from him and his entire body jerked. It appeared that the leg joint might be dislocated, so I suggested that he not move more than was absolutely necessary. One of the Security men brought over blankets and helped me carefully lay some over the boy and bundle one under his head. "Security Office." I called out. "Yes, sir." the speakers replied. "Call Ted Tanner and tell him I need him here, right away." I ordered. "Yes, sir." was the response. Through the still open channel I heard the dispatcher grumble, "Why me ? Why me ? Tanner will have my balls. First for calling him at this hour and second for `the Boss' being in the middle of it." I continued to gently touch the boy's side and assure him that he was safe. "What's your name ?" I asked. The boy stared at me with his single, open eye and didn't respond. "Well then, what can I call you ? I'm Dean." I realized what I had said and wondered why I would tell this boy something that was considered intimate. Well that wasn't important right now. "You are safe. I won't let anyone harm you again." I kept assuring him. "I'm David, but you can call me `Davey'." the boy eventually replied, quietly. It seemed as if the boy knew there was a difference in the way people addressed each other and I got the impression that I had just been given a privilege that many had not, in return for my sharing. Before we had a chance to talk any further the ambulance pulled into the garage lane way, followed by a police car. The ambulance attendants came over and spoke with me and then began their evaluation of Davey's injuries. The police officers wanted to speak to me and I went over to where they were standing with my Security men. It was now about 2:15 a.m. The two police officers were Mutt and Jeff. The one was a veteran cop about 50 years old, 5'11", 210 lbs., a solid build with an identifiable beer gut hanging over his belt. His partner was young, likely recently graduated from the police academy. He stood about 6'2" with sandy hair, maybe 21 years old and about 190 lbs. He was built like a weight lifter with a thick chest and upper arms. His thighs also looked thick and solid. I felt a stirring in my groin as I studied the officer and decided I had best concentrate on other matters. I gave my statement to the officers and they recorded my accounting of what I had observed and done. They then went to see if the two men we had apprehended were willing to make a statement. As I turned to check on Davey, Ted Tanner walked up beside me, his normal casual and nonchalant attitude masking any reactions and thoughts. I was glad he had arrived. "I think I'm going to have to shadow you 24 hours a day, `Boss'. Why can't you behave yourself when I leave you on your own ?" Ted's half jokingly query left me knowing that he wouldn't let this be forgotten. "Well it's just one of those things." I responded to my long-time, trusted friend. "How many times have I warned you that I have the worst timing of anyone you will ever know ?" We both chuckled, and then Ted's manner turned deadly serious. "Dean," he said, "you can't allow yourself to get into such situations. This could have turned out much the worse for you, if these guys had been older, or meaner, or armed, or any number of things. I've spoken to you before about the need for better personal security." It was only at times of stress that Ted called me `Dean', instead of `Boss', although he, above all others, was entitled to call me anything he chose. The use of my name denoted a degree of worry that could not be expressed in simple words and I appreciated the concern behind its meaning. "I know, Ted," I replied, "but this couldn't be avoided. This kid is only about 15 years old and they might have killed him, if I hadn't put a stop to it. I appreciate what you are saying and the concerns you have, but this is just one of those things that couldn't be foreseen. I will never again hassle you about insisting that I carry a weapon at night and increased security might be something to be considered. Maybe, you can find out how they got in here in the first place. This is suppose to be a secure area. And listen, I don't want anyone ending up fired over this, I just want the problem corrected." "You got it, `Boss'. You can be certain it will be corrected." Ted vowed. The ambulance crew had loaded Davey on a stretcher and were ready to transport him. "This could very well be the beginning of it." I told Ted, quietly. He looked hard at me and raised his eyebrows, questioning. I pointed and took Ted over to the boy. "Davey, this is my friend, Ted." I indicated. "I'm going to be here for while with the police and Ted is going with you to the hospital. He will stay with you until I can get there. Is that okay ?" Ted started to object as I knew he would. He believed his place was always at my side, but I placed my hand on his arm and he remained quiet. Davey eyed Ted. "He's a cop." Davey snarled. "No, he's my Security Chief." I assured him. "He works for me. But more importantly, he's my friend and he will look after you just the same as I would. That's a promise from me to you. We will not allow you to be harmed any more. Trust me, please." Davey stared at me for a moment with that single, open eye and then gave a very slight nod of his head. "Ted, I want him taken to Memorial Central Hospital." I instructed. "He is to receive the best of care, whatever is needed. Tell them to put him in my father's wing. If his face requires plastic surgery, call Dr. Tompkins, the head of the service. I want the Chief of each service to deal with his injuries. If you need to haul in the hospital administrator, do so." A nod from Ted conveyed that not only my instructions were understood, but also my intent. Ted stepped over and spoke to his two Security men for a moment and I notice him stressing a point with them by wagging his finger as he spoke. Always a sign of strict instructions. As the ambulance departed with Davey and Ted on board, the police officers came over to me. The older officer spoke. "We talked with you, your Security men and the two fellows you held. They tell a slightly different story and we think that everyone will be best served, if we just let everyone continue on with their business. They are making noises about bringing charges, against you for threatening them with your gun and holding them, against their will and I don't want to see you, getting into that sort of trouble. Seeing as no harm was done here, I think you had better just forget about this whole thing." His manner was very condescending. I could not believe what I was hearing. My temper flashed, an emotion which had not happened in a very long time. I took a deep breath to assure I was in control, before I asked, "And what about the injuries to the boy ?" "This is not really a boy that you want to be worried about." the officer continued. "This kid is a known homo prostitute, who keeps running away from his foster homes and has had a lot of scrapes with the police before this. He's a fucking queer, selling his butt to, or blowin', whoever has a couple of dollars. Those fudgepackers all deserve whatever they get anyway. They're all the same and it's best to eliminate them, before they spread disease to our normal citizens and their children. He lured those guys in here and then tried to run off with their wallets. They were just teaching him not to fuck with the upstanding people of this city." The officer ended this statement with a big smile, as if his opinion had clarified and resolved the entire matter. The young officer had stood back, with his head hanging, listing to this total pile of crap. "And do you concur with your partner's assessment ?" I asked the younger constable. Without raising his head anywhere near where I could look him in the eyes, he replied, "My partner is the senior man on this call. I have to yield to his decision." "Well, I don't." I challenged. "I wouldn't make too much fuss over this fuckin' homo, if I were you." the senior man said with a louder, almost threatening tone. With the increasing aggressive demeanor of the officer, my two Security men started moving toward me and the officers. I noticed them and raised my hand, indicating they should wait. They stopped, but remained alert and within easy access. I reached inside my suit jacket and removed my cell phone and notebook from my pocket. Checking a number in the book, I dialed and waited. "Hello." I said into the phone. "This is Benton McAdams. Could I please speak to Chief Farrell." There was a pause, and the older police officer got a big smile across his face. He had seen this ploy before. Some puffed up asshole would pretend to call a ranking official to give him time to back down and do what they wanted. In the end, after a minute or two had passed, they would put the phone away and pretend that the person called could not be reached, thus caving in to his authority. "John, I'm sorry to disturb you in the middle of the night. There's been an incident in the garage of McAdams Plaza and the senior officer seems very reluctant about bringing charges against the perpetrators. I wonder if you would provide an intervention in this matter." There was a pause and by this time the smile had disappeared from the older cop. "Yes, everyone is still here except the victim has been taken by ambulance to the hospital, accompanied by Ted Tanner, but then he was never interviewed anyway. Thank you, John. We'll see you in about 15 minutes then." With that, I shut down the cell phone. "Chief Farrell will personally review the situation, when he arrives in about 15 minutes. He said for you to wait and keep everything `as is' until then," The senior officer turned beet red. "You asshole," he said, "when this is done I'm going to either arrest you for interfering with an investigation, or bust your ass." "Security Office," I call out, "are you still recording all activity on this level ?" "Yes Sir," the speaker replied, "everything is coming in clear as a bell." I turned and stared at the officer. It slowly registered on the shirker that not only his inaction on the case would be under review, but all his remarks, including his threat to me had been recorded. I am sure the vision of his pension being shredded passed through his mind. His young partner, a small smirk gracing his lips, grasped the man's arm and pulled him across the garage to where their patrol car was parked. The two Security men quietly glided into a position between me and the officers. I motioned them over. "I want to thank you for your help tonight. I appreciate the extra attention you've been paying to what's been happening." They both smiled and nodded, not really knowing how to respond. "I'm sorry that I don't recognize either of you. I'm usually pretty familiar with all our security people, so I assume that you are recent additions. What are your names ?" "I'm Jason Lawrence." said the taller of the two. "And, I'm Dale Savage." the other responded. "We just started a week ago," Dale continued, "and we didn't think we'd meet you for a long time, Sir, you know, working night shift orientation and all." "Well, you have more chance of seeing me on the night shift than at almost any other time." I joked. Looking at these men, I judged them each to be about 26 years old. They were very similar in appearance, except for their height. Both had full heads of soft, brown hair, brown eyes, clean shaven, lifters' builds, not unlike the younger police officer I had noted earlier this night. They also both exuded an air of confidence and maturity that made you have certainty in their abilities without even knowing them. "Let me guess." I continued. "Both ex-marines ?" "I am, Sir," Jason volunteered, "Dale was Navy Seals. We both got out about six months ago." "Well I'm pleased you did, and even more pleased that you were here with me tonight. Somehow, I think we are going to be seeing more of each other, if I know Ted Tanner very well, and I do." I related to the two young men. "I believe you are correct, sir." Dale responded. "Mr. Tanner instructed us that we were not to let you out of our sight, until we had you `safely tucked into bed'. He also said to tell you that we work for him and you couldn't fire us, only he could." I chuckled. I reflected that I had known that Ted gave in far too easily about going to the hospital with Davey and I had been certain that there would be a catch. The one absolute agreement that I had guaranteed Ted, when he took his position, was that he was totally in charge of security. I could not override his instructions to his staff. The only option I could have, would be to fire Ted and we both knew that was never going to happen. We three continued to chat and I started to become more familiar with these two, strapping studs. I could honestly say that I liked them. About 20 minutes later the `Chief of Police' car pulled into the parking area. It was followed immediately by another police unit, out of which climbed a rather sleepy looking Captain, a Superintendent and the Watch Commander. The four senior officers swung into immediate action. Splitting into pairs, they interviewed both of the investigating officers, separately, re-interviewed Jason and Dale and then the detained pair, comparing the written accounts with the individual's statements and then re-interviewed me. I advised them that the activities in the garage area had been recorded and the group went off to the Security Office to review the tape. After returning to the garage, they conferred together for a few minutes, then the senior officers arrested the detained men and had the two investigating officers take them to the station. Three of them then climbed into their car and headed out, leaving the Chief with me and my two guardians. "Thank you for calling me, Ben." the Chief said. "Sometimes, our older men get too set in some of their old ways and attitudes and unless we become aware of them, we can not help them to modify their manner and approach. These assailants will face a raft of charges and after we talk to David at the hospital and see how he is progressing, we will likely add a few more." We shook hands and the Chief climbed into his car to head back to his bed. That left only Dale and Jason and me. While the Chief's staff had performed their review, Jason and Dale had taken turns going and changing out of their uniforms and into their regular street clothing. I noted that they arranged it between themselves, so that one of them had remained near me all the time. I went over and picked up Davey's T-shirt remnant, his jeans and sneakers, which the ambulance crew had left when they took him. "Okay, I expect one of you plans on driving." I said. "That would be me." Dale responded. I somewhat reluctantly handed him the car keys and while Jason held the door, climbed into the back seat of my white Mercedes. "To Memorial Central Hospital, please Dale." I requested. I passed Jason my key card for exiting the garage and told him there was also one for the hospital parking lot somewhere in the glove compartment. As a major contributor to the hospital, I had standing access to the parking facility for executives, a privilege I had not used since my father passed away. For some reason I felt very anxious about riding as a passenger in the back seat of my own car to the hospital, but reasoned that it gave me a better chance to think, than if I had been driving myself. I still couldn't help feeling an ominous sense of panic as we sped along. To maintain my composure, I reviewed the activities of this early morning, It was now about 4:45 a.m. on Sunday morning. I was on my way to check up on a 15 year old, male prostitute about who, until four hours ago, I had no knowledge or association. Why? This boy meant nothing to me. Or did he? Could he actually be the first of those we had been waiting for ? I recalled that in the garage I had felt drawn to this boy, before I even knew who he was. I wanted to be concerned about this boy. No, I felt I needed to be concerned about this boy. Why was he the first person I have consciously cared about in a long, long time? Why was I doing this? This boy could offer me nothing or could he ? Would he be the start of those for whom we waited ? Then again, if Jamie were injured, for whatever reason, would I not hope that someone would care for him until I could get to him? And yet, feeling that way, I hadn't even made an effort in many months to contact the son I was now reflecting about. But this boy would not likely have anyone coming to save him. Except for us. I really did care about him. Even if he isn't one of them. And, I really cared about Jamie, even though my actions didn't support it. Through all this, it occurred to me how very many times I had thought about Jamie over the past week. Why did Davey also make me think of Jamie? But, if he was one of them, then he was tied to Jamie. Was that important to understand, or not? So many questions and so few answers. I knew that we would have to get the answers sorted out very quickly. The Prophesy of the Guardians The House of Chen, being both old and honourable, shall be the Caretakers of this vision of the yet to come. From this time forth, one son will be born to the House of Chen in each generation to the number of 110. These males shall be the Caretakers and shall guard this knowledge until its time arrives. There are dark forces and men who fear the power of the Guardians and would use it for their own purposes. Care must be taken to preserve them while they grow and develop their skills. They must learn to love and trust, so that they may serve the needs of mankind. (Partial translation)