Ganymede

Life is a Ball

(First part)

Shawnee Valley Elementary School. May 15th, 2000

My ex-wife and her husband were one row in front and twenty seats to the right. After a curt acknowledgement of my unwelcome presence when they took their seats, they ignored me. I was 'personna non gratis'. Nothing had changed during the four or five months since I had least seen them. Their two girls, two-year-old spoiled twins with prissy curling blond locks, were whining and wriggling and disrupting the people around them. As usual, their parents made no effort to quiet them. Finally the house lights dimmed. The principal, forty pounds [20 kg] overweight and showing signs of premature aging, came to the front of the stage. She spoke with deliberate slowness, as if addressing a class of fifth graders with short attention spans.

"Good evening. I'd like to welcome you all to the Shawnee Valley Elementary School's Annual Fifth Grade Show. This year, as your program indicates, our students will be performing an original show, 'Enough is Enough'. I think it is undoubtedly the best performance that we have done in many years and I hope you get as much enjoyment from watching as the students did in getting ready for tonight."

She smiled at the audience, showing obvious pride. "Now, while all of the students worked very hard and deserve both your appreciation and applause, I am told that there is one student in particular who I should mention at this time. The theme of tonight's show came from an idea provided by one of the fifth-grade students, Justin Edwards. Justin also worked very hard to develop three of the songs you'll be hearing. In addition, he will be singing the theme song that he composed. Justin is a very talented boy, but he's just one among the many talented children you will be seeing tonight. Ladies and gentleman, the students of the Fifth Grade of Shawnee Valley Elementary School proudly present, 'Enough is Enough'."

I wondered where Justin was as the show progressed from one amateurish performance of nervous boys and girls to the next. He was certainly not among the more than eighty students on stage. There were no less than thirty-five boys in the show, and I could see at first glance that he was not one of them. Still, I studied them closely, lingering on the handsome boys, the slender boys, the boys who exuded character and intelligence in their posture and faces. They were always boys who would be incredibly easy to fall in love with. Despite the enjoyable distraction, I still waited impatiently for Justin to make his stage debut.

It was thirty-five minutes into the show before he entered from stage right. He stepped quickly across the stage, moving with the grace and elegance of a conditioned performer who knew the importance of stage presence and how to make a grand entrance. What was also very clear was that Justin knew how to entertain. In those few elegant steps, not quite running but quicker than a fast walk, he showed more flair than the last three students who had demonstrated the effect of at least a few years of dance lessons in an amusing parody of a number from 'Cats'.

Justin pirouetted, and stopped. For a moment he was frozen, poised with one arm outstretched, legs braced. He leaned to one side so far that his balance would have been lost had his attention waned even a fraction of a second. It was a dynamic moment and it demanded the audience's complete attention. The silence was prolonged. His hair was punk-style dyed in vivid colors, with spikes that were sticking straight up and probably moussed. Under the spotlights, the effect was every bit as outrageous as it was intended to be. His face was vibrant, and his juvenile sexuality was electrifying in a way that took me by complete surprise. Since I had last seen him a day or two before Christmas, he appeared to have changed dramatically. Suddenly, he was no longer a little boy. This was Justin as he really was. If only for a single night, he was 'out'.

I could almost feel his step-father's distaste rising from the row in front of me. However, his appearance not withstanding, his clothes were quintessential boy! He wore a brilliant red shirt, tight blue jeans, and white Nike sneakers. The music teacher at the old black Steinway took his cue as Justin continued to hold his position. He built up to a key-thumping crescendo before Justin moved a muscle. Then, he jerked his arm down, spun around, paused for an instant with his cute bubble-butt presented for the audience's admiration, and then he turned back to face them. Justin leaned into the microphone, swallowing anxiously. His first few notes were definitely uncertain, wavering until he found the key and his exuberant confidence returned in full measure. Then, reassured that he could do this all by himself, he began to sing, phasing each syllable perfectly while he gyrated, his body moving in superb synchronization to the music.

"Enough is enough,
I just wanna be me,
Don't try to make me,
Be something else.
I don't wanna be less,
So don't try to mold me,
Don't hold me back,
Just let me be me,
Enough is enough,
I just wanna be me."

"I want to be me,
I want to learn who I am,
I want to discover it all,
I want to be me,
I want to play,
I want to run,
I just want to be me."

All too soon it was over. It was all I could do not to stand and clap. He deserved a standing ovation, yet no one stood up. However, I clapped as loudly as I could, and then some. I clapped until my hands hurt. Slowly the applause died away. Justin's song was the high point and a brilliant conclusion to the performance. His song had provided the climax, conveying the meaning of a ten-year-old's existence. Without the last few minutes, the show was marginally entertaining. With Justin's stupendous climax, the show was worth paying money to see. My heart was beating quickly, almost as if I was on stage with him. For a few minutes he had soared higher than most people achieve in a lifetime.

He bowed, swooping low and suddenly became a nervous little boy again. He slowly straightened up. For the first time he seemed to become aware that hundreds of people were sitting in the audience. This was no dress rehearsal, this was the performance of his life. His eyes opened wide and he smiled beautifully and flashed brilliantly white teeth. His smile was shy, yet more than enough to show that he was proud and very aware that he had excelled beyond anyone's expectations, including his own.

"He certainly knows what he wants to be. Talk about queer," the man next to me said loudly to the woman sitting on his other side.

"SShhhh. Not so loud, Donald. Personally, I think he's very good-looking."

"He's very pretty, that's for sure. If you ask me, that one's a faggot in the making," the man snorted derisively. "Look at his hair. He's a goddamn homo-sexual. His parents better keep him away from Kevin. That's all I can say."

"Husssshhhh! Some one will hear you, honey."

"Well he's a fag! Look at him! Talk about a little cocksucker. He's got the lips for it. God! He's probably wearing lipstick! It certainly looks like it. Anyway, it's not just me. I bet every man here is thinking the same thing. He's a little queer that would have been happier if he was a girl!"

I shuddered. No matter how much I wanted to deny it, or how much I wanted to hit the man as hard as I could, they were right of course. I recognized it the moment he came onto the stage. In fact, I had known Justin was 'different' for several years. Justin radiated an aura that was anything but that of a ten-year-old boy. On stage, he was in his element, expressing himself and fulfilling a role determined for him by genetic predisposition. Yet, he was also very different to the androgenous boy of several months ago. Then, the signs were evident even though no one had taken the time to listen to him. He was fighting a battle that few boys struggle with before their mid-teens.

I felt uncomfortable, silently accepting responsibility for the unfortunate creature who now joined the other boys on the stage. Beside them, he was slender, and among the smallest in size. Standing beside him was one boy who was at least a head taller, and thirty pounds [15 kg] heavier. Justin looked much younger than ten years old. Almost as soon as the applause faded the overweight principal returned to the stage. She smiled at her students, her eyes lingering on Justin with considerable pride while she walked to the microphone.

"Ah hem… Ladies and Gentlemen, the students of Shawnee Valley Elementary School's Fifth Grade thank you for your applause. I hope you enjoyed this year's show as much as I did. In my fifteen years of teaching 'Enough is Enough' is by far and away the best performance I've seen. As parents you should be very proud of what they've accomplished here tonight. And I hope some of your applause was for the remarkable young man who worked so hard to make the show a success. I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot more of Justin Edwards in coming years. But we also need a special round of applause for Mr. McVue, our music teacher who worked so hard to get the show ready. He also provided the piano accompaniment tonight."

She took a quick breath and smiled at the audience as if to confirm the truth of her statement. There was a small ripple of applause.

"Now, before you all leave, there is one more thing we need to do. This year we are especially fortunate to have Caroline Gilly in the Fifth Grade. I'm going to ask Caroline Gilly to step forward and draw the winning ticket for the raffle. Why Caroline Gilly, you may ask? Well, Caroline's father is president of Halcyon Travel, and it is Halcyon Travel that has donated this year's prize for the Fifth Grade Raffle. I know that your sons and daughters have all worked very hard to sell tickets. The prize is an all-expenses-paid trip for two to MOUSEWorld, flying first class with six nights' accommodations at the resort of your choice, and a four-day pass to the park. Think of all the fun you'll be able to have."

She smiled at the audience as two husky boys dragged a large drum on small metal castors across the stage. A pretty dark-haired girl stepped forward from the middle of the front row. She had the 'I'm popular with everyone' look as she daintily walked to the microphone. Her pace was measured and well-practiced. The teacher nodded and Caroline dipped her slender right hand into the drum and felt around for several seconds. Slowly she lifted up a single ticket, pale pink the same color as the one in my pocket. Without a word, she nervously handed the ticket to the teacher. Her moment of fame had passed.

"And the winning number is…" The teacher took a deep breath. "One thousand, seven hundred and eighty-eight. That's one-seven-eight-eight."

She gazed around the auditorium as if expecting someone to leap to his or her feet and scream, 'I've WON!' Instead, there was a sudden silence.

"Well, whoever won, I hope they have a good time. The winner should call the School tomorrow to make arrangements to pick up the tickets. Now, I hope you will join me in a show of resounding applause for Mr. Gilly and Halcyon Travel for their generosity, and please do remember to use them for all of your travel needs in the future…"

There was nothing like resounding applause, and after a few cautionary notes from the principal about collecting belongings, including Fifth Graders, and instructions about leaving the parking area, the audience rose in mass and departed.

Deirdre was waiting in the foyer. Perhaps she was waiting for me, perhaps not. Robert was standing thirty feet [10 m] away, guarding the precious angels and trying his best to ignore me. The two girls were sulky, evidently envious of their half-brother's success. Whenever I was around they seemed to go to unusually spiteful efforts to let Justin know that they resented him, a condition that his step-father duplicated with insidious charm but less effect.

"Alex, I was hoping I'd have the chance to meet you. I'm sure Justin was glad you managed to take time out of your busy schedule to see his little play."

"Justin was superb, Deirdre," I commented dryly. "What you just referred to as a 'little play' might be apt for what the other kids did on stage, but it's not for him. He was exceptionally good. I think he has a great future ahead of him."

"I'm sure he'd like to hear that from you," Deirdre said snidely. "You who have never been on stage."

"Don't belittle him, or me for that matter, Deirdre. We both know that the kid has talent, and lot's of it. He was by far the best on the stage. For his age, he's simply incredible."

"Come on!"

"Honestly, you should think about sending him to performing arts school next year. I'll even help out with the cost if it's a problem. With some work he might even be on Broadway in a few years. He's got natural talent, and not just in singing and dancing. He could go a long way."

"Okay, I agree he's good. I don't want to fight with you, Alex. Hell, why is it that every time we talk, we end up fighting like cats and dogs."

"I'm an ass, I guess."

I shrugged and turned away. I saw Justin walking slowly towards us, his face uncertain when he saw us together. He glanced around, looking for an excuse to turn back and avoid meeting the two of us together. I waved and beckoned to him.

"Hi Dad," he muttered nervously as he walked up. "What did you think?"

I wasn't his father but I still appreciated the recognition. I ruffled his hair playfully. "In a word…" I paused for effect. "I think you were great, kid," I admitted honestly. "I guess another word is awesome, or fantastic, or mind-blowing, or…"

Justin smiled weakly. "I was okay. My timing was off a bit at the end. I was going to do two songs, one after the other to finish, but we had to cut the first one because the Principal thought I had too much to do in the show."

I nodded. "One song was more than enough to show what you could do," I said proudly. "You wrote the song, and the music too?"

Justin nodded once. His fingers rubbed together nervously and he blinked rapidly. "My teacher, Mr. McVue helped a bit with the score… I guess it was okay. I'm glad you came…"

"So am I. Very glad. I like your haircut by the way."

Justin regarded me uncertainly. "You like it?" He asked nervously.

I laughed. "It suits you. At least, it looked just right for the song," I added brazenly. "I expect it's a bit radical for a kid your age, even for your mom."

"Radical? Yeah, I guess you could say that." With a deliberate glare at the man standing near the exit doors, Justin added, "It drives him crazy."

"I expect it would." I glanced at Deirdre. Her expression gave nothing away.

"I can't believe you came all the way from California just to hear me sing."

I smiled. "Well, I really came for the raffle. I won, you know."

"You won?" Justin grinned.

"That's nice for you," Deirdre said snidely. "Who will you take? Your friend Peter, or Paul, or whatever his name is. He's what, eighteen or nineteen now? That's a bit on the old side to go to a theme park, isn't it? Wouldn't it just be a whole lot easier to give the tickets away? I'm sure Robert and I could put them to good use this summer."

I glared at her, imagining the twin girls leading them through the toddler attractions while Justin dawdled behind in an attempt to distance himself. A counter idea formed in my mind. I smiled gleefully.

"He'd be twenty about now, Deirdre, I think. I haven't seen him in two years. Anyway, I was thinking of taking Justin, assuming you'd let him go with me of course?" I added as the expression on her face became one that was less of amusement and more of consternation. "I have some business I need to do in Orlando in June. It'll be a combination business and pleasure trip, but mostly pleasure."

Justin beamed.

First Class Lounge, Pittsburgh International Airport. June 10th, 2000

Justin seemed oblivious to my presence as he picked disinterestedly at the few remaining nacho chips and salsa. He had not changed since I had seen him at his school performance. He had the same pale creamy skin that looked as if the sun had never touched him, a winter 'white' that would probably last through most of the summer. Although I longed to touch him every time I laid eyes on him, since the marriage disintegrated I had yet to find the courage to caress what was I remembered to be very soft skin. I pretended that my feelings were above suspicion while I guiltily consoled myself with longing glances.

I studied him as often and as long as I could without appearing to show more interest in him than was reasonable under the circumstances. When the opportunity arose, we wrestled, and if he was so disposed, I performed the occasional back rub, always clothed of course. He was smooth and hairless and the muscular development of his slender arms and legs befitted a young dancer, lean and unpronounceable. With his narrow waist he appeared almost girlish. The fact was, as his mother once observed, he was much too good looking for his own good. The fact was that he was pretty enough to be a girl and, as others had all too recently surmised, sufficiently effeminate to raise the obvious suspicion that he would be far happier in the role of the other sex. I had no doubts that he was going to be gay when the time came.

I watched him across the table, playing with his food as he excavated a chasm into the refried beans, created a dam, and then, added salsa by the spoonful until it slopped over the edge onto his plate. The burrito dam showed no indication of bursting before the plates were cleared away. He was shy, vague, and frustratingly unhurried at the best of times. He was disturbingly unpreoccupied with the life he led. However, the truth was that his normally tranquil manner also aroused me at the same time as it worried me. Indeed, my own attraction posed a moral dilemma. There was far more to Justin than met the eye and I often caught myself wondering what would become of him if left to his own devices. Certainly, he should be in show-business if appearance and talent were considered, I mused. He was bright enough to do that, and much more, yet from past behavior he gave me the impression that he lacked the dedication to go very far. Perhaps he would become a drama teacher at college like his mother. However, he was very unlike what one would expect of her offspring. She had been a something of a tom-boy for as long as I could remember, while her son was girlish with his long dark locks, curling silken hair that was long enough to reach to his shoulders and always hanging annoyingly in his eyes. Worse still, his step father might guide him into insurance sales or some other mind-numbing line of work. I shuddered at the thought. I suspected that the last four years Justin had spent with his step-father had proven to be very difficult indeed.

"Well, I'm glad you could stay, Deirdre. This was a good idea. I really hate eating airline food," I began as I glanced at my watch.

There was still another thirty minutes before we had to be at the gate. Despite his apparent boredom, Justin was radiant, his excitement building with every minute. He smiled every time his eyes met mine. Indeed, he had not eaten much and he picked at his food only because he needed to divert his attention from the imminent departure.

"We will soon begin boarding for Flight 105 to Orlando. Could all passengers holding boarding passes for Flight 105 please come to Gate 28? If you do not have a boarding pass please come to the check-in at Gate 28. Also, the captain has asked that all passengers check any baggage that exceeds the maximum carry-on dimensions. We will begin general boarding in a few minutes. First class passengers are now being boarded. Thank you."

"I'm not at all certain about his summer," Deirdre said suddenly. I glanced at her, startled from my silent examination of her only child, a bastard in the moral sense of the word if not by character.

"Huh? Whose summer?"

"Justin's, of course! Who else would I be talking about?"

"I don't know. At Christmas I thought you had it all planned?"

"I did too. I was intending to spend most of my summer here. We have a summer program at the College. Now it looks like I'll be working at Wilford Falls again. A very interesting project has come up. I'm going to spend the entire time with the same people that I worked with last summer. We're working on a new play by Adelman. It's even possible that it might go to New York."

"And?" I prompted.

"There's nothing much for Justin to do within miles of there, and there certainly won't be any kids his age."

"I guess you'll have to stay with Robert and the girls, Justin," I teased mindlessly.

Justin gave me a wry look that conveyed his displeasure. His mother sighed.

"Alex, really! Robert has far too much to do with running the business and everything. And with the girls, well he simply won't have the time."

"So I don't understand why you haven't made other plans for him. It's a bit late to start looking for a summer camp," I said caustically.

"Hell, I just found out on Wednesday! Alex, I can hardly leave him by himself here for the summer, or dump him on Robert for that matter, now can I?"

I shrugged. "What's the problem? Can't you try to enrol him in a summer program in the area or something? There has to be a dozen camps in that part of the country. One has to have an opening even at this late date. They must get cancellations. Kids get sick all the time."

Deirdre nodded and sighed weakly. "I know. I've already talked to most of them about it. Most of them are already full and have waiting lists. I found one, Camp Watchetoochie. They had a last minute cancellation. A boy broke an arm or something like that. They're supposed to be among the best."

"It sounds like Camp Watch-your-tooshie," Justin interrupted. "I might as well be at Wilford, Mom."

"We are now boarding rows 45 through 35 on Flight 105 to Orlando. Could all passengers holding tickets for seats between rows 45 and 35 on Flight 105 please come to gate 28."

Deirdre ignored Justin. "They say they could take him for the whole summer, at least they say they can, even with the short notice. The trouble is, well… it's a long time at his age… and… well…" She glanced quickly at her son. "It's just well… it's just that I'm not pleased about leaving him alone for that long, that's all."

In the past she had thought nothing of rushing off to some drama capital of the world to study or give a workshop. I wondered what had happened to change her mind. On previous summers she had no hesitation in dragging Justin with her. However, since her marriage to Robert Mackey III, she had mothered him until she became overly protective. Perhaps she was over-compensating for her husband's disinterest in him, or trying to mitigate the competition afforded by the terrible twins. At Christmas when the family gathered, and I dropped by to see Justin, she practically doted on him. Maybe it was just to annoy me. Much to the consternation of her husband, I went out of my way to spend even more time with Justin than I had planned. After two days and witnessing half-a-dozen fights, I presumed that there were problems ahead on the marriage front. Too bad! Robert and Deirdre deserved each other.

Justin brushed his hair back, moving his hand from his forehead to the nape of his neck before he turned his languid blinking blue eyes on me. It was a distinctly feminine gesture, and one that was overtly seductive. He needed a father, not the selfish conceited oaf that Deirdre had married. However, except for me, he had never had a male role model. I stifled a smile when I considered whether I qualified as a suitable role model for a ten-year-old boy given that most parents would prefer to see men like me languishing behind bars.

God only knew where Justin's father, his real father, was because only his mother knew who he was. At least I hoped she knew, for one could never be too certain of anything with Deirdre. I suspected that the Peace Corps harbored him in some remote corner of the world. She had no qualms in admitting that Justin was an accident, a mistake made in the heat of passion in a dry dusty village in Africa or some other God-forsaken place. He was further evidence of my sister's impetuous nature. On the positive side, at least he had not been fathered by some negro villager she met while studying tribal ceremonies. If anything, his genes had benefited by natural selection. He was an extremely handsome boy.

"There's always your mom and dad," I suggested lightheartedly, even though I knew that a summer with his grandparents in Baltimore would be totally unsuitable for the pretty boy sitting opposite me.

"Hardly! He'll have nothing to do except follow them around the golf-course."

"Well take him with you then. If you're afraid he'll be bored, he can take his computer or something."

"It's not just that,' she acknowledged. "I'm not happy about him spending the summer with me. It's a very unusual place where I'm going. Until a few years ago it was strictly by invitation, and then you had to be nominated. It's just not a place where an impressionable young boy should be."

"What on earth are you talking about, Deirdre?"

"She means that just about everyone there is gay," Justin interjected snidely.

"I find that a bit hard to believe," I said testily.

Had I been mistaken in my analysis of Justin? I seriously doubted that I was wrong, but perhaps he was over-compensating, making up for an interest that made him feel uncomfortable. His disparaging tone was unsettling.

"Well you better believe it, Dad Every man there is queer!" Justin added quickly.

"Justin! That was years ago," Deirdre interrupted in exasperation.

Justin shrugged. "It was two years ago, Mom. Anyway, last year was exactly the same the entire time I was there."

I wondered what happened previously. Then I remembered that a year ago Justin had a part in one of the plays they worked on. There are only a few plays with parts suitable for a nine-year-old boy. Suddenly, I suspected that something must have happened that upset him. In all likelihood what had occurred was related to his unnerving comment about homosexuals. Even if the motivation was still lacking because he was still so young, he certainly looked as if he was the sort of boy who not only invited interest, but would say 'yes' if the opportunity presented itself.

"Then do the summer camp thing," I answered blandly, pushing considerations of Justin's sexual orientation to the back of my mind.

She shook her head quickly and I imagined that she had also rejected the possibility for the same reason as I did.

"I expect it'll all work out once things have settled down," she muttered as much to herself as to me.

We watched each other in silence. A minute passed. I emptied the margarita and checked my watch again for the departure time, stealing glances at Justin as he continued to play with his food. Every few seconds he would quickly glance back at me. Again I wondered what had happened the previous summer in Wilford. I had an unsettling sense that both he and Deirdre had something planned.

"I have a favor to ask, Alexander," she said at last.

I smiled, expecting the worst now that she had called me Alexander instead of Alex. It involved Justin, of that much I was certain. I nodded and waited. I suspected it involved summer.

"I'd like you to keep Justin with you for a few weeks after you get back from Florida, maybe as much as a month or more until I figure out what to do with him. In a way, he's as much your responsibility as he is mine."

My mouth dropped open in stunned surprise. Certainly, my income had fed and clothed him for the first six years of his life, but I owed him nothing. Her current husband had become his legal guardian when I moved to California. Justin still called me dad, and tended to say it even more often in Robert's presence.

"I'd like him to spend some time with you in LA anyway. I'm always taking him, Alex. It would only be for a few weeks, and well… As soon as I know how things stand at Wilford, you can put him on a plane."

I glanced at my step-son and he quickly averted his eyes to stare at the construction zone on his plate. "Even a few weeks wouldn't be a good idea. There's a problem, and I think you know what it is, Deirdre."

"I don't know what the problem is, Alex. I do know that Justin wouldn't be any problem to you at all. Why, he could move into your place. He would have a lot to keep him busy. He likes you a lot, and he's always well behaved. What's more, he can pretty much take care of himself."

"We are now boarding rows 25 through 35 on Flight 105 to Orlando. Could all passengers holding tickets for seats between rows 25 and 35 on Flight 105 please come to gate 28."

I smiled at Deirdre. "It would be a pleasure, but…. well I'm not sure I should. I think you know what I mean."

Deirdre smiled slightly as she indicated she understood what I was alluding to. "I'm certain there won't be a problem as you put it. If I can't trust you with my own son, who can I trust? Besides, he's going to be a hell of a lot safer with you than up at Wilford with me."

"Safer with me? You really think that?" I asked curiously.

"What's the problem, Mom?" Justin interjected.

Deirdre shrugged. "There isn't a problem, Justin. At least not what I would call a problem."

"Deirdre?" I began. She gave me a deprecating look. "A few weeks? That's all I asking, Alex."

"Deirdre," I began earnestly. "I really don't know where I'm going to be in a few weeks."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's more than what you think. I've been giving a lot of thought to quitting the company. I'm tired of the hassles. I've made more money than I'll ever be able to spend in the next two lifetimes," I said.

Deirdre regarded me with something akin to shock. "What? What on earth are you talking about? Heavens, you're only thirty seven and you're talking about retiring? What are you going to do with yourself?"

I smiled. "For the last few years I've worked sixty hours or more a week. I don't plan to die at fifty."

"You're thinking about what's-his-name?"

"Luke Robinson," I offered.

"You are, aren't you?"

I shrugged. Certainly Luke's sudden death had been on my mind the last few weeks, but I had been thinking about an alternative line of work for several months.

"Not particularly, Deirdre. I miss him, that's for sure. I was thinking of trying my hand at something else."

"Who? You mean get out of real estate? That's somewhat out of character for you, isn't it Alex?" Deirdre said cynically. "Where would you park your Beemer? Or do you plan to just retire to the golf course?"

I shrugged. "Maybe I'd like to see what I can do with my life, Deirdre. I could probably do something else if I put my mind to it. There isn't much satisfaction making deals every day. Only the words and numbers change."

Deirdre looked at Justin and smiled back at me. "Why don't you come to Wilford. You could write that book you were always talking about. You could really achieve something too, Alex… if you wanted to."

"I don't think Robert would like that idea at all," I taunted. "Besides, I thought you were worried about Justin's welfare," I suggested lightly. "Promiscuous gays and a ten-year-old boy and all that? You had better keep both eyes and a leash on him all the time."

"Promiscuous gays? Hardly, Alex! You should know better living in California. Most of them aren't at all like that. They're really very nice. In fact, it's a very complex group. They're good people, even if some of their attitudes are a bit unusual."

Justin grinned cheekily. "They're more than unusual, Mom. They're downright weird."

Deirdre raised an eyebrow at her son, threatening rebuke as she turned slightly in her seat to see if anyone was close enough to hear what she said, and then leaned closer to me.

"Just between us, last summer two of the men… well, they practically courted Justin, including a man whose name you'd recognize if I told you. He's very rich. Considering who it was… well, it would be quite an honor for any boy if… Well I'm sure you know what I mean. They're very open about sex up there. No one would have cared."

I gazed at Deirdre and Justin, oblivious to everything and everyone around me. "What? I don't believe what you just said," I said loudly.

"Don't be so surprised, Alex. We both know that pederasty has a long tradition. It's been accepted by a lot of people in the arts for a long while. You should know that from living in LA. Hollywood is full of them."

"So?" I asked uncomfortably. "For Heaven's sake, Deirdre, he's barely ten years old."

"That's why they call it boy-love. If he was fifteen or sixteen he wouldn't be a boy, now would he? Anyway, by the time a boy is Justin's age, if he's interested in it, there's no reason why he shouldn't be interested in doing something about it."

"Practice his technique?" I said sarcastically. "It would be nice if he was mature, at least."

She shrugged. "We both know what's involved. He doesn't even have to be capable of doing anything other than reciprocating."

I glared at Deirdre and considered whether her meaning was the same as my interpretation. I had few doubts that Justin was 'interested', and deep down, even fewer qualms if he chose to do something about it. I would have been blind not to have seen that when he was on stage. But was he really capable of 'reciprocating' at ten years old? A willing participation seemed very unlikely, although from his outward appearance it would not be too long before he was very 'interested in doing something about it'.

"Look Deirdre, I know there are people around who don't have the same hang-ups as the politicians who try to run the country, but it's still against the law. You're talking about the sexual abuse of a minor. That's serious jail time."

"Frankly, that's not an issue for me. I'm not surprised Justin drew some interest from them. I think you know why as well as I do," Deirdre continued unabated.

The word that came closest to describing Justin was 'sexy', but he was not sexy in the way the opposite sex would necessarily find desirable. By the standards of most members of his own sex, he had a real problem. However, for some men he would be very special. Justin smirked and blushed, obviously remembering the previous summer with some accuracy, if not outright enjoyment at the attention he had received. But then, show me any extroverted about-to-be-gay boy who doesn't like being the center of attention. Deirdre laughed.

"What's so funny?" I asked without humor.

"Well, it was funny at times. The one man actually asked me if Justin had feelings for him. He wanted me to know he had strong feelings for Justin. Strong feelings for a nine-year-old boy, can you believe it?"

"Mom," Justin interjected shamefully. "You said you weren't going to tell anyone."

"Okay, but Alex really doesn't mind, I'm sure. He's very understanding. Aren't you, Alex? I think it goes with living in California."

"I think I get the picture. So what about this summer?" I groped.

"It's actually one of the reasons why I'm going back."

"To work with a bunch of gay wanna-be actors, some of whom chase after your son?" I laughed.

"No, not that," Deirdre laughed. "It's true almost all of the men up there are queer, and the women make no secret that most of them are lesbians. One or two of them are beautiful, I mean really beautiful, but Robert would have a stroke if I did anything with one of them. No, I'm going back because they really are talented and I get a kick out of being around them."

"And what about Justin?" I asked. Deirdre grinned gleefully. "Why, I thought you would have figured it out by now, Alex. That's where you come in," she replied.

I took a deep breath and tried to reason that I was jumping to conclusions. "Me? How?"

"After you take him to Florida, I guess I'd like you to spend the rest of the summer with him. After all, you may not be his step-father, but you know, you're still his legal guardian."

Before I could say anything the loudspeaker announced the final boarding call for Flight 105. I nodded weakly and promised to call her from the hotel with my decision.

Room 262 Worldview Hotel, Orlando. June 10th, 2000

The god-damn Mouse was everywhere, it seemed. After the fifth, or was it the sixth channel of 'Mouse', I said 'fuck' under my breath and resorted to looking at the brochures so generously provided by the MOUSE Company. Just about everything was decorated with unmouse-like ears and whippet tail. It was not enough that Mickey's likeness was plastered on the magnetic entry card for the door, the soap, even the two tiny bottles of shampoo. Of forty cable programs on the television, the Mouse and his affiliated enterprises appeared to dominate more than half, and the rest weren't worth watching. Talk about a captive audience. I began to wonder how I would survive four days and five nights without losing my sanity.

The noise from the shower and drowned out much of the sound of the tv and I sat back on the bed and contemplated my predicament. I was bored. I even gave some thought to closing the door to the bathroom, reasoning that there might be enough time to jack off before Justin finished if I didn't postpone my climax unnecessarily. It would be the first time in a long time when I had not ejaculated at least once during a 24-hour period. The alternative was to wait for my turn in the shower. After flying from LA, meeting Justin at the airport, the flight to Orlando, and a bus ride that took twenty minutes less than the wait at the check-in counter of the hotel, I needed to relax. Masturbation would be anything but arousing when all I would hear was the Mouse advertising the attractions of the park or announcing what was on the other cable tv stations he controlled. It was one vast sexless monopoly, an insidious conspiracy that competed with the gross national products of medium-sized third-world countries.

Without reason I caught myself thinking about Justin. He was in the shower and probably soaped up by now. The thought of disrupting his hot-water relaxation was suddenly enticing. I thought of him nude. He would be naked as the day he was born. I remembered him, pink, screeching, and to my eyes at the time, a thoroughly unattractive proposition. Yet, shortly after he came into the world, I began to discover how much I loved him. How quickly things had changed, I mused. The baby became a pretty toddler, became an exceedingly beautiful boy. Now, as in the past, I saw myself in him, even though there was no genetic link between us. He was curious at the same time that he was estranged, seemingly at odds with the world around him until he discovered who and what he was.

Justin was talented. God, was he talented. Each time I visited I looked forward to Justin's singing. His singing was exceptional, made even more enjoyable by his perfect pitch and sense of rhythm. With his movement skills he projected a dynamo that continually made me think of Michael Jackson at the same age. Justin's natural ability often gave me cause to wonder whether he would pursue a career in show business.

Again, I smiled as the idea of seeing him naked in the shower came to me. Despite the fact that to date he had shown no sign of interest in sex, since his performance in the school show I often caught myself thinking he was very sexy. No, not just very sexy. That was an understatement. He was incredibly sexy. His performance had been erotic at the same time it was innocent. I queried my motives and tried to fathom the cause of my conclusion. It was illogical, given my inclinations to teenage youths. Justin was a boy, a ten-year-old boy with a hairless little dick and tiny balls. It was as unreasonable as my desire to interrupt his shower.

Then, I realized I had erection. I wondered when and why I had suddenly become interested in his body. Without warning I found myself hoping that he might be engaged in the pastime of the pubescent boy, the age-old pursuit of self abuse? Again I smiled. Justin was a long way from being pubescent at ten years old. However, it was possible that he had already discovered how to make his little hand go up and down on that still immature part of his anatomy. An interesting thought, almost interesting enough to lure me to my feet and go into the bathroom for a quick look. The need to urinate would provide the explanation of my visit to the bathroom. Believable, except that I had eliminated the necessity only few minutes before Justin went in for his shower. A pity, I decided. Next time, I promised myself to think first before pissing.

Did Justin know the basic techniques for self abuse I continued to wonder with amusement? I smiled, deciding that it was more than likely given my own natural passion for masturbating. And then, without warning, I again remembered the conclusion that was reached by the stranger at the fifth grade performance. Justin was gay. Suddenly it seemed illogical that he would not be doing it in the shower.

I closed my eyes and began to imagine him masturbating, inexpertly of course, with the unskilled hand of a ten-year-old boy. Definitely no more than a two fingers and thumb job, and it would still be overkill. He was still too young to really get off, yet his penis was big enough to give him all the pleasure he needed at his age. I thought of his little uncircumcised morsel, straining erect, glans bulging and reddened from the hot water. Despite my opinion at the time, and medical claims of improved hygiene, his mother had prevailed in the decision not to circumcise him.

The absence of noise from the running shower entered my consciousness as Justin walked into the bedroom. A towel was wrapped around his waist as if he had something to hide from me. He was still spotted with water where the towel did not cover him. He was not skinny, yet he was certainly a long way from being fat. To my appreciative eye, he was beautifully proportioned. There was just the slightest hint of puppy fat on his chest, the curves of his ribs and belly muscles clearly visible, yet not pronounced like a malnourished waif from a third world country. Nor was he well muscled, although he was certainly physically fit from attending his jazz-dance class. What I could see of his body was pale and unblemished, white and smooth like a polished marble statue in a museum.

I watched him cross the room, moving with such exceptional grace that it made me think his feet were not actually touching the floor. I found myself silently fantasizing about the part of him I could not see. I expected I would get the chance if I played my cards right. During four days and five nights there would have to be at least one opportunity to feast my eyes on his nakedness and revive the memories I had retained from before the divorce. Life wasn't that unfair.

"How's the shower, babe?" I asked as I enjoyed the sight of partially bare boy flesh.

"Okay."

Justin sat back on the other bed, the one nearest the bathroom. He kept the towel wrapped around him and he pulled his legs up so that he was comfortable. Without saying more, he began to watch the television with the mindless attention of his generation. No wonder he still had some puppy fat, I thought critically. He needed outdoor exercise, and while his dance instructor probably worked him out one or twice a week, it was not enough to compensate for a sedentary lifestyle.

"What do you want to do tomorrow?" I asked, still watching him with furtive interest.

Justin shrugged. "Anything's cool." He paused. "I'm just glad to be here with you."

"Me two. I'm glad that you decided to come," I laughed. "It wouldn't be much fun by myself. I think you have to be a kid, or be with a kid to really appreciate this place."

Again Justin shrugged disinterestedly. "I could never have a good time here by myself," I added truthfully. I paused, very aware of the truth of what I was about to add. "I really like being with you. I miss you a lot."

Clearly he was disturbed by what I had said. "Well, I'm here, so you can have a good time, can't you Dad?" he replied flatly and without emotion.

I gazed at him and he stared at the television. He was nearly a stranger to me and the distance between us seemed to be increasing every time I tried to talk to him. I sensed that he knew I was watching him and he was ignoring me because of it. He wanted me to go away so that he did not have to deal with me or engage in meaningful conversation. For the last three, nearly four years I had avoided my responsibility as the only father he had ever known. It hurt me to see him living in Robert's house. I wondered what his relationship was like with his step-father. Not very good I suspected.

"I guess I better go take a shower too," I grumbled. "Otherwise you'll complain about the smell I expect."

Justin gave me a wry smile and did not reply. I eased off the bed, cheated of the chance to see him change into his pajamas. There would be other chances, when we went swimming, when he woke up, when he changed his clothes, when he used the bathroom, whenever. I had four days, and after tonight, four more nights. In fact, the entire summer awaited us.

Having lived by myself for the best part of four years, I was unprepared for bathroom chaos. It was impossible that one ten-year-old boy could get three towels wet and create a puddle on the floor that stretched from the tub all the way to the door. Luckily there was one nearly dry towel left, or at least one towel that had not joined the tangled mess on the tiles. The toilet water was the color of pale chardonnay. Apparently ten-year-old boys did not bother to flush. And not only did they fail to remove their urinary waste, it appeared that their aim also left a lot to be desired. I sighed as I wiped the splatters from the toilet seat, feeling slightly disgusted and even a bit sympathetic for the people he lived with. Justin would require either a lot of discipline or a lot of getting used to, and it would take a lot more time than a mere four days. I considered dragging him in from the bedroom and making him clean up his mess. Then, as I thought about the distance between us, I rejected the notion. For now at least, I would put up with his untidy habits.

I undressed, placing my clothes on the driest section of the vanity. With a towel sandwiched under my foot, I mopped up the floor before turning on the shower. It was only on a hunch did I check inside the shower to ascertain whether I needed more shampoo. A plastic bottle lay in the bottom of the bath. The cap was off and a yellow stain ran towards the drain. I did not need to examine it to know that the amount of shampoo left inside was insufficient to shampoo even the hairless Mouse. I searched the vanity twice while the shower continued to run. There had been two bottles of complimentary shampoo there the first time I had used the bathroom. That was before Justin had showered. It was improbable that he had used both bottles, particularly when there was no sign of the missing bottle.

I lifted all my clothes to check underneath for the missing bottle, feeling increasingly cold and angry while I searched. Without giving more than a moment's thought to it, and oblivious to my nudity I stalked out of the bathroom to confront Justin with his heinous crime. Had I turned off the shower, he would have been warned enough to stop what he was doing. He would have had time to cover himself, perhaps even to pretend he was doing something else. As it was, I caught him in the act. Justin was a long way beyond the basic techniques of self abuse if the finger inserted three-quarters of the way into his anus was anything to judge by!

Perhaps it was only to be expected. I could not remember how old I was when I discovered masturbation, although I expected I was close to twelve years old. It was several years later when I discovered the added pleasure of rectal stimulation. Perhaps boys of Justin's generation started earlier and experimented more. Whatever the cause, he had certainly learned how to extract the greatest possible pleasure from playing with himself. His eyes were closed to slits, his mouth open as he breathed in quick gasps. He lay on his back, one leg bent at the knee and pulled up tightly against his chest, the other stretched out on the bed. His position naturally parted his buttocks and exposed the source of part of his pleasure. He masturbated a small, yet very stiff penis with erratic jerks of his right hand. At the same time, he slowly pushed two of his fingers into his anus as far as he could reach. My mouth opened and I gazed in shock and fascination that a ten-year-old boy was capable satisfying himself in that way. His narrow pelvis twisted and followed a natural motion of its own. His rhythm became faster, taking control only momentarily when the pace slowed, then yielding again to erratic jabbing. His trembling arms and legs jerked, his face contorted, a gasping urgency ran through him and changed to shuddering spasms.

For several seconds he did not realize that I was watching him experience the throes of orgasm. For those few precious seconds I observed his ecstatic joy, abandoned in his private world, deriving shameless euphoria from finger-fucking his own ass. No less surprising, he jacked an absolutely hairless penis with the aptitude of a teenager. He knew exactly what he was doing, and what he needed to do to extract sensations from a body that under normal circumstances should have been innocent of such feelings. My mouth stayed open. I was lost for words. He groaned when he twisted his finger around, pulled it back, pushed it in even further and harder than seemed humanly possible or prudent. He jerked his buttocks with frantic thrusts, becoming almost violent as he drew ever closer to the edge. His hips lifted up high into the air and his body arched, straining hard. His hand was moving with awe inspiring speed. If I did not know better I would have sworn the prepubescent boy was only moments from ejaculation. Perhaps he had already climaxed and was riding the wave of euphoria.

The missing bottle of shampoo was lying beside him. Except that it wasn't shampoo, it was body lotion, compliments of the MOUSE Company. Further, from the apparent ease that he guided his finger relentlessly back and forth within his tight orifice, he knew exactly what to do with it besides putting it to a more socially acceptable use. I stared at him, stunned that he was so absorbed in what he was doing that he was unaware of my presence. His other hand held his penis, but not the way one would expect from a young boy. His fingers and thumb made a sheath with his fingertips, enclosing his hard little organ at the base. He attacked it with rapid jerks that had advanced far beyond juvenile inexperience. He masturbated like a well-practiced teenager. His erratic pumping motion was lubricated by a liberal coating of the hand lotion applied to both front and back. His rhythm was barely interrupted as his fingers suddenly pulled away from his bottom and grasped the plastic bottle. Quickly he brought it between his cheeks, replacing the void where his fingers had been a moment earlier. He pushed both up and down at the same time, straining anxiously and hurriedly. He forced it through his anus, seemingly oblivious to any pain. It slid in quickly, penetrating until only the tips of his fingers prevented it from disappearing all together. It was perhaps an inch [2½ cm] in diameter and less than four inches [10 cm] long. It was about the size of a typical ten-year-old boy's penis I thought irrationally, but it still looked much bigger than Justin's small member. Without warning he looked up and blanched when his eyes met mine. Terror instantly supplanted the boy's overpowering joy.

"NO! NO! GET OUT!" Justin shrieked. "GET OUT!"

I backed away out of sight. My heart was pounding. In the space of a few seconds I had witnessed his most intimate activity, an unwelcome spectator to his secret pleasure. I hesitated, listening to Justin's shameful sobs over the noise of the shower behind me.

"Justin…" I implored. "Justin, it's nothing to feel ashamed about. Please Justin…. please don't be upset. "

"GO AWAY! I HATE YOU!"

I sighed. The distance between us had suddenly become a chasm that was as wide and hard to cross as any geographical separation between people. I went into the bathroom and turned off the shower. Through the cloud of steam I saw my reflection in the mirror. I owed him my understanding and I had a responsibility to him that was unavoidable. I walked slowly back to the bedroom, accepting the undeniable truth of a stranger's observation overheard in a high school auditorium.

"Justin," I began again, calmly. "It's okay!"

"Go away," he hissed, his face buried in his pillow. The towel that had earlier covered his thighs and lower abdomen when he came from his shower had been hastily pulled over his naked body.

"Can we talk for a moment?"

"I just want you to leave me alone," he sobbed. "I hate you, I really hate you."

"Justin, what I said about it being nothing to be ashamed about… I meant it. There's nothing wrong with making yourself feel good. It's your body. It's yours to enjoy."

"Go away, damn you."

"I'm sorry I surprised you, Justin. I really didn't mean to disturb you. When I came out all I wanted to do was ask you if there was any more shampoo," I said shaking my head. "If I'd known, well, I would have respected your privacy."

"I hate you."

"I love you, Justin."

"You have a real funny way of showing it," he retorted grumpily.

"Justin, you have a right to be angry, but I wish you'd listen to me."

"I'm listening. Say what you have to say and then leave me alone."

I smiled. At least I had a chance to talk at last. I desperately wanted to get it right the first time.

"Just about every boy plays with his dick at one time or another. When I was a boy I did it too, you know Justin," I said quietly. "It feels good and it's a very natural thing to do. It's also perfectly normal to explore the rest of your body as well. You're lucky. You've discovered how to make yourself feel good long before most boys do. Touching your bottom is also nothing to be ashamed about."

"I know what it is. I'm not stupid. It's dirty and disgusting."

"If that's the worst thing you do, then you're okay, Justin."

"It's bad to do it," he retorted adamantly.

"So is farting, but everyone does it," I countered. Justin suppressed a giggle by grunting into the pillow. "What makes you think it's bad… or dirty and disgusting for that matter? Is it because you poop from there?"

"No. He said it was evil. That's why!"

He? It wasn't hard to guess who he was. "Robert?" I inquired. Justin nodded slightly. "He's an idiot, Justin," I replied. "Jesus! There's absolutely nothing wrong with doing it. It's a butt. if you want to and you enjoy it, then you should do it. It's no different to playing with yourself in front."

"He said…" Justin stopped. "He said playing with myself was really bad. It'll make me sick if I do it!"

"That's an incredibly dumb thing to say. If that was true just about every boy would be sick non-stop. Sex can't hurt you if you're careful. Okay, so there are germs back there, but so long as you wash your hands afterwards you'll be fine. And in front, well it'll be a bit messy when you're older," I joked, "but, other than rubbing until it gets sore, it's absolutely harmless."

"He didn't say that. He didn't say anything about germs," Justin admitted between sobs. "He doesn't even know I put my finger in there. He said if I play with myself… I will be…"

"You'll be what?"

"I won't be normal!" Justin's lips tightened and he hesitated again. "Because it's what faggots do, that's why," he blurted out. "That's what he said. He said it would make me gay."

I expected something like that to be the reason based just on the few times I had met Robert. He was a Christian conservative, as inflexible and overbearing in his opinions as a Jesuit priest. Loving your fellow man apparently did not extend to homosexuals. He had zero tolerance for anything other than white, middle-class, conservative family values.

"Oh! He did? Well he's a much bigger idiot than I thought he was."

"That's easy for you to say. He's not your stepfather!"

"It doesn't matter. People do things because they want to. You get nice feelings from doing it, that's all. Playing with yourself, front or back, won't make you gay, Justin. Trust me."

"Then why would he say that?"

"I already told you," I grinned. "He's an idiot. Joking aside, he's probably afraid you'll like it and you won't want to stop. In fact, in my opinion you'd be strange if you didn't like it," I ventured. "Most boys will never know how nice it feels to do what you were doing."

That provoked a slight another slight smile from Justin. He regarded me curiously. Not many fathers openly discussed sex with their sons, and even fewer endorsed a boy's intimate explorations, especially through the back door. In my mind it was part of growing up and discovering one's self.

"Can you tell me why were you doing it?"

"Because it feels good," Justin said simply. "You were right about that!" He smiled slightly and breathed out slowly.

"Of course it feels good," I added. "Playing with yourself, either in front or behind, is guaranteed to feel good," I smiled." Actually it's is probably the nicest feeling there is. No, not probably, definitely. It's a very special feeling."

"Why?"

"Why is it special?"

"Yeah. Why does it feel so good?"

I grinned, gleefully aware that Justin's shame was being replaced by an infectious need to understand his feelings.

"You know what nerves are?"

Justin nodded and lifted his head away from the pillow. His cheeks were still red and tear streaked, but at least he had stopped crying. "I guess."

"If you put your finger in a flame it would hurt, wouldn't it?" I asked. Again Justin nodded. "And if I tickled you under your arms, more than likely you'd giggle. The reason is that nerves connect all the parts of your body to places in your brain. Some places register pain while others make you feel good. Think of your private places, your dick and your butt, as having a big bunch of nerves that are joined to a special place in your brain that likes to feel especially good. Making that part feel good makes the rest of your body feel nice as well. How does it feel by the way?"

"It feels funny."

"Funny?"

"Like I'm doing something that will hurt me. It's like I'm going to explode."

"That's the way it's supposed to be, Justin. If you do it for a while the feelings become so good it makes you feel like you're going to burst."

"That's exactly how it feels sometimes," Justin admitted shyly.

"When you're older white stuff will come shooting out of your dick."

"Why?"

"Right now it doesn' matter. I'll tell you all you need to know. However, trust me that's the best part. You'll have to wait a few more years for that I expect, but it's worth the wait. Until then you'll have to be content with the nice feelings."

He pursed his lips ready to say something. Instead, he regarded me curiously. The gap between us had suddenly shrunk to manageable proportions. I wanted to touch him, the physical connection bridging the emotional gap.

"Will it make me gay?" he asked nervously.

"Touching those places makes you feel good, that's all. It will not make you gay, Justin," I answered. "Being gay isn't caused by playing with yourself."

"I don't want to be gay."

"I don't think any boy really wants to be gay, Justin. It's something you don't have a lot of say in. If you're genetically set up that way, there's not much you can do about it."

"I guess… Am I? Do you think I am?" he asked even more nervously.

I smiled reassuringly, remembering the pretty boy on the stage. He was in his natural element. The man sitting in front of me, and probably many others in the audience, had seen the same signs. Anyone who saw Justin that night had good cause to think if not speak the obvious comment. I sighed inwardly, knowing how accurate the comment had been and feeling a surge of resentment. Justin would suffer if he followed a path different to the one his step-father laid out for him. The man was inflexible and demanding. I resented that I had allowed myself to be pushed out of Justin's life. I could help him understand. In that instant, I realized that my successful career accounted for nothing when I lost the one person I truly loved.

"Does it matter what I think? You can't change the way you were born. Besides, you're way too young for something like that to be certain. You won't know if you're gay until you're a lot older."

"How old do you have to be?" Justin asked nervously.

I thought for a moment and considered saying that sometimes a gay boy knew what he wanted when he was younger, even by Justin's age. There was no point in telling him what him already knew, or what he didn't need to know.

"Usually by the time you're in your mid teens it's usually pretty clear what turns you on. For most boys it's girls of course, but for some boys it's other boys." I don't know why I added the next two words except that it seemed right under the circumstances, "or men."

Justin sat up slowly, pulling the towel across him to make sure that he was respectably covered at all times. I smiled again. He seemed to know instinctively that at least for the present, he needed to conceal himself from me.

"He hates gays, Dad."

"I'm not surprised."

Justin wiped his fingers against his cheeks, wiping away the drying tears of his fading guilt. "He makes fun of people who might be gay all the time. Like my music teacher, Mister McVue. He only met him once and he calls him names. Do you know what he says? He says 'Watch out for McVue or he'll catch you in the john.' And when he drops me off at school, sometimes he asks if I'm wearing clean underpants. I know what he means. Mom doesn't like him saying things like that, but he still does. He does it all the time, especially when I'm alone with him. And he calls me Wooz-boy because I don't like sports all that much," Justin said sadly. "I know he hates me. I hate him back!"

"Remember what I said about him being an idiot?" I joked. "You're a beautiful, intelligent boy, Justin. I was so impressed at the show. I couldn't believe how good you were. Everybody clapped louder for you than any of the other acts."

Justin glared at me. "He didn't clap!"

I stared back at Justin, feeling my anger growing. Not much escaped Justin.He was not merely precocious. He was highly intelligent.

"I watched him. Mom clapped almost as much as you did, but he didn't, not once!"

"I'm sorry," I said regretfully. "I thought you were fantastic."

"I saw you clapping. You were louder than anyone else," Justin said proudly.

I remembered how I clapped, thinking how much my hands would hurt if I kept it up for much longer. I was his number one fan. He was destined for great things.

"Justin, I want to ask you a question. You don't have to answer if you don't want to, okay?" I said. I didn't wait for his answer. "You said he told you it was dirty and disgusting, or something like that. How did he come to say that to you?"

"There was a bottle of hand lotion under my bed. He didn't even ask what it was for. He gave me a long lecture about playing with myself."

"I can imagine. Did he say you'd go blind?"

"Huh?"

"Nothing. It's an old joke about masturbation," I replied wryly. "It's a fact of life that boys jerk off. Justin, I did when I was a boy, and all my friends did it too. I know you're embarassed and all right now, but you shouldn't be. I don't want to make things worse, but I think we should talk about this."

"I…" He bit his lip.

"You don't have to if you don't want to. If you want we can forget it totally."

Justin regarded me uncertainly. He swallowed and let out a long sign. "I don't… I don't want to be gay. I can't help it," he murmured.

I nodded reassuringly. "It's okay, Justin, really it is. I mean it when I say there's nothing to be ashamed about. What were you using the hand lotion for?"

"Jesus, what do you think?"

I smiled. "Maybe you had rough hands?" I teased. Justin gave me an exasperated look. "For the front or back?" I asked.

He shrugged ambiguously. I sensed his shame. The question did not need to be answered. It would not have taken him very long to realize that lubrication increased the sensations in either area.

"It's good that you've discovered what to do," I said gently. "Without the lotion, your butt might get sore, although probably not with just your finger in there." He avoided my gaze, again answering my unspoken question. I decided to take the bull by the horns.

"Of course, it's an even nicer feeling when you use something bigger than your finger, Justin. Don't be ashamed of enjoying it."

"It's wrong, and not just because gays do it," he retorted angrily. "It's bad."

I was not surprised. Justin had spent the last four years of his life living in the same house as a Christian Fundamentalist. He did not need to finish the sentence for me to understand the reason behind his shame.

"Oh come on. Do you really believe God cares whether you stick things up your butt?"

He watched me sullenly, his silence answering where he could not. Finally, his answer came. "No!"

"You do, don't you?" I grinned at him. "That's why you're ashamed of it. Trust me in this. There's nothing wrong with doing it. You have to be a bit careful with what you use, but other than that, it's okay."

Justin grunted in frustration. Months of internalized confusion was coming to the surface. His fears, his guilt, his desires burst to the surface like a breaching submarine. He nodded slowly, silently acknowledging what he had known to be true from the third grade.

"I'm gay. I know I am, Dad!"

"I don't how you can be so sure, Justin? Personally, I don't know if you are or not. I don't mind either way, of course," I added quickly.

"I… I am. That's one thing I'm sure about!" he said softly.

"Yes, I know."

"Y-y-y-you kn-kn-know," he stammered almost incoherently. He took a quick breath. "How? H-h-h… How do you know?" he demanded.

I studied Justin's terrified face. How could I tell him it was obvious to anyone who looked at him? Even though he was ten years old, an age when a boy was more interested in toy cars and trains than anything else, he had discovered his own 'anything else'. What was worse, not only was he interested in his anatomy but he had already begun to radiate his sexuality towards other males. He was 'coming out'. The hair style, the ear ring, the gestures were intended to arouse interest. He just did not realize it. I shuddered inwardly.

"Because," I countered, trying to stall.

"Because of what I was doing just now?"

"Yes. That among other things."

Justin was silent. I waited. Nearly a minute passed. I thought he would ask 'what other things'. he didn't. "How long?" I finally asked.

"What?"

"How long have you been doing stuff?" I explained.

I readied myself for an answer I didn't want to hear. I really didn't want him to tell me he had already had sex with other boys, perhaps even with men. Under the circumstances it seemed unlikely that he had not begun to experiment sexually with other people. He stalled, visibly disturbed, but anxious to tell someone.

"If I tell then you have to promise not to have a fit," he demanded awkwardly.

"I won't. I want to help you," I added reassuringly.

I wondered what help I could provide to a frightened boy who had embarked on a course that was calculated to lead to a lifetime of social hatred.

"I've know about few years I guess," Justin began awkwardly. "I remember starting just after he married Mom. I wanted you to come back. I wanted things to be the way they were before you left. I was so angry. Some nights I couldn't sleep so…"

I nodded reassuringly, imagining his failing self esteem, anger replacing affection, his urge becoming stronger as his curiosity grew.

"At first I only did it in the bath. I used to rub the soap around there first, so it was clean."

"And I guess it was a bit slippery?" I suggested lightheartedly.

Justin smiled. "That too. I liked how it felt, I guess. It felt even nicer with my finger inside," he admitted.

"No kidding? Then after a while you started putting things in there," I prompted.

He nodded, looking down shamefully as his secret was revealed. He had forgotten how he made the transition from fingers to foreign objects. It had happened quickly. First he experimented with the soap bar. It was too big by far, but the feelings were strangely better as soon as he tried to push it inside. Over a short period of time he tried many other things, from tightly rolled toilet paper, to a pencil, even the end of a spoon. As soon as he had experienced orgasm, his experimentation went in different directions. There was nothing too unusual if it filled the basic criteria of size, shape, and surface. His technique advanced rapidly when he discovered where he liked it most was just beyond the reach of his finger. The objects needed to be rounded at the end and at least four inches [10 cm] long. His tools of pleasure were carefully selected for function, yet reflecting imagination and an anatomical perspective that pursued ways to feel even better. Slowly the size increased. Four inches eventually became five [12½ cm], then six [15 cm]. The increase in thickness was even more dramatic. A diameter of less than a quarter-of-an-inch [½ cm] quadrupled. His body adjusted, still wanting more mass to achieve sensations that always seemed just out of reach. The objects became even thicker. It was like a competition he could not win. It did not matter that sometimes he was sore afterwards, that occasionally there was even streaks of blood, that the hand lotion he used left greasy marks on his sheets and underpants. He could not stop. He had given up trying to stop.

"I can't help it," he said guiltily. "I tried to stop a few times. I can't."

I smiled reassuringly. "What else, besides this?" I asked as I picked up the small plastic bottle from beside him.

"Other stuff… you know things I find… like I have this toy hammer from when I was little. It came in a tool set. It was one of the things you gave me for a birthday present when I was about four or five."

I nodded vaguely, not remembering the gift but imagining its size. The length and diameter of a plastic handle designed for the small hands of a toddler would probably be more than ample for his needs for several years to come. I smiled fondly. No wonder the plastic bottle had gone into him with such apparent ease. It was certainly no thicker than the handle of a toy hammer, but it lacked the advantages of length and variation of thickness. I decided to pursue the subject.

"And what else?"

Justin pursed his lips, resisting the impulse to tell all now that he had started to unload his guilty load. Intuitively, I sensed that what he was holding back had to be worth hearing.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't feel comfortable about it," I suggested blandly.

Justin rolled his eyes in exasperation. My comments sounded like the soft sell of a school counsellor and we both knew it. I waited, knowing he would come around quickly. I was curious, and excited. I was also trying to help him understand. He was full of questions that he needed answers for, and I was the one person who had the answers.

"You won't tell?"

"Hell, who am I going to tell? Your mom? Get real. It's really none of her business."

"But it's bad to do stuff with your butt," he said guiltily.

I regarded him seriously, considering whether 'stuff' was really sex with someone else. Was Justin still a virgin? Certainly, it was becoming increasingly doubtful. With his exceptionally good looks there would more than a handful of boys who would be attracted to him, and plenty of men too for that matter. As I pondered the thought uppermost in my mind, I decided to allay his guilt, even to press the issue and find out exactly what 'stuff' he had been doing. As I phrased my thoughts, I realized that it sounded a lot like a lecture.

"Sticking the occasional thing in your butt is nothing to be ashamed about, Justin. What you do with your body is your decision." I took a deep breath. "I want you to be clear about one thing. No one else has the right to tell you not to something that you enjoy and really doesn't hurt you. Do what you want with your butt. If it doesn't affect anyone else, it's okay."

"What if it's not occasional?"

"As long as you don't injure yourself, I can't see that anyone is really hurt by it. Just try to do it in private," I chided. "I don't think Robert or your mom would be quite as understanding as I am about it, so they probably shouldn't find out."

"What about sex?" he asked boldly.

I tensed. Justin was opening up to me as trust began to grow. He sensed my uncritical acceptance. I was of two minds about the answer I would give him. At that moment, he was almost sexless. The fear and shame of discovery had made his penis retract upwards into his groin so that it was only partially visible. It was difficult to imagine him have sex with another male, man or boy. It was impossible to imagine him having sex with a girl.

"What about sex?" I stalled. Did I really want to know whether Justin had acted on his desires with another person?

"Sex! You know when two people do it!"

"Um, in what way?"

"The usual way, I guess."

"Do you know what gay guys do?"

"Dad, it's the end of the twentieth century, not 1960. Hell, every boy in my class makes jokes about what gay guys do together."

I grinned, slightly perturbed by his implied comment about my age. "I guess that's the difference between growing up watching the Simpson's compared to the Donna Reed Show."

"Huh? What's the Donna Reed Show?"

"Nothing. It isn't important." I thought for a second. That was two points for Justin. "Have you?"

"Have I what?" Justin rejoined.

"Have you done it?"

"You mean… sex stuff?" Justin asked awkwardly. "Kind of. I haven't… you know, done anything behind." He smiled slightly, then glanced away. "At least not with someone else."

The concealed lie was obvious. Already, he had learned to tell just enough of the truth to hide what he did not want to tell.

"What do you do to him?" I asked.

"I can't tell you. Just some stuff in front."

I nodded gently. "That's okay. I understand. Do you want to tell me what you do when you're by yourself instead?"

"I told you already. Like… when I jerk off, I like it… with my finger in there…"

"Is that all?"

"Sometimes I do other stuff."

"Such as?" I persisted.

Justin breathed out heavily, a long frustrated sigh. "Mostly I just do it with my fingers. Sometimes, like I said, I put other things in my butt to make it feel even better. I can't help it. At first I just did it a little bit at a time, but now I can't seem to stop."

I smiled. Perhaps he was still a virgin in the only way that counted for a boy. And if he wasn't, this was not the time for him to tell me. Patience was a virtue in my business, and it took all of my experience to be patient. In time he would tell me.

"It's okay Justin, really it is." The expression on his face was still one of disbelief. I wondered whether I would be able to get through to him, to break down the barriers that society threw up for boys like Justin. "One day," I began reassuringly, "one day when you're older, you'll meet someone who you really like. You'll fall in love with him. You'll have sex with him, and you'll be incredibly happy. But you have to learn to be patient until you meet the right person." I took a deep breath. "Being gay, Justin, well it's very different to being straight, apart from the obvious fact that you have sex with guys. You have to be very careful, especially with someone older."

"Because of aids?" he asked.

I nodded, grateful that he knew some of the dangers. "Partly because of that. aids is a big problem but you could be hurt in other ways as well."

How?"

"For one thing, when a man does it with a young boy like you, for example, there's a good chance you'll be hurt."

"Why?" Justin asked nervously.

"Well for one thing, because your anus is very small compared to the size of a man's penis, it might be torn. Even though it sounds like you've been putting things that are fairly large in there, you still have years to go before you try it."

"I kind of figured that out already for myself," Justin smirked. "Sometimes there's a bit of blood that comes out."

"That's my point. If the man has aids, then if you bleed, it's very likely you'll catch it. If he's using a condom it's a different matter, but you could still be hurt by it."

"I knew that already from health class," Justin said confidently.

"And there's other reasons you have to be careful," I explained. "I'm sure you know what people think about gays. You've probably heard other boys at school talk about gays so you know what they think about them."

Justin regarded me, visibly worried. "Yeah. I know. No one I know likes them."

"I expect that's right, especially for boys your age. Mostly because they don't understand, or don't want to understand. It's a different way of living, and most people don't like that."

Justin nodded his head sagely, sucking on his lower lip. "It's the same as racism. It's why white people don't like black people."

"More or less," I agreed. "And Arabs don't like Jewish people, and so on and so on."

Justin nodded again. His breathing was very hesitant, leaving me with the impression that he was close to tears. "I think I understand. But… well, I'm gay… I want to know… you know… what it's like to have sex."

"That's normal," I admitted. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"But how do I?"

"How do you what? How do two males have sex?"

"I know about that already. What I want to know is how do I find out if I like it, you know, do that stuff without, you know, doing it with a man?"

"Like I said, it's only natural to want to know. In time you will find out what it's like," I said patiently. "There's no rush at your age."

"I don't want to wait forever," Justin replied bitterly.

I laughed. "Maybe you should try it with a boy your own age first. That's how most boys start. Eventually you'll do it with someone older."

"Eventually?" Justin repeated with a slow sigh.

I nodded. "You have to be patient, and when the time does come, you'll have to be very careful. In the mean time, I want you to know that it's okay to put things in your butt if you want to." Playfully I ruffled his hair. "But right now, it's bedtime, Justin. You have a long day tomorrow. We'll spend the morning at the pool. I have to be at the mall in Orlando for a lunch meeting for a few hours in the afternoon. Then we'll come back here and take in one of the parks until closing time."

Callawashie Creek Mall. June 11th, 2000

Martin pressed forward into the machine. Unseen, he reached for his crotch to rearrange his slowly stiffening penis so that it could extend beyond his underpants and reach against his lower belly. That way he could rub himself against the machine when he wanted. He watched with frequent and admiring glances.

The boy ambled closer to a group of older boys playing a survival game with digital creatures and simulated lasers that screeched with every shot. They were young teenagers, all of them a head or more higher than the boy who held Martin's interest. The young boy lingered there for several minutes, watching one of them rack up a high score much to the chagrin of his companions. They ignored him. Unable to get their attention, he finally walked away to make another circuit of the arcade. This time he passed within a few feet of his admirer.

Martin could not help but whistle under his breath when he saw the boy up close. In Martin's limited vocabulary, he was suddenly so far beyond 'cute' it took his breath away. The boy wasn't just handsome or good-looking. He was 'drop-dead gorgeous'. It was all the man could think of to describe the boy who he now realized was very beautiful.

He had finely sculpted features, a small pert nose, and a pretty mouth that seemed to say 'kiss me, Martin'. His big sombre eyes held Martin's gaze for several seconds before he quickly, almost guiltily looked away. A moment later, they made eye contact again. This time it was a lingering glance. The boy's eyes flickered and his head turned away again. The show of uncertain interest made Martin smile slightly. The boy had the 'fag-look', Martin had decided the instant he first saw him. His first impressions were confirmed. The boy's hair was naturally straight and light-colored, but it was strangely styled, even for the game arcade. It looked just right. The ridge of the boy's hair consisted of short red-blue-hued spikes tinted with a fading purple dye down the center. It was much longer and streaked with blond-brown at the back. It was shorter on the sides so that it had the appearance of bristles.

Maybe the boy had been blond when he was younger, Martin mused, or perhaps he was still blond under the dye. He liked boys with blond hair and blue eyes. They looked very innocent on the surface, but from Martin's experience, they were no different to other boys underneath. They were just as horny as other boys when they became excited. Side on, Martin's first impressions were further confirmed by two small coils of curling hair, one on either side of the boy's slender neck. They reached to his shoulders, one falling behind, the other in front. The glittering stud in the boy's small right ear was enough to cause Martin to fantasize about licking it with his tongue. It provided still more support for his untested hypothesis. It even looked like a diamond. He had always wanted to give a boy a diamond stud for services rendered, but he was barely able to pay the rent on his trailer. Everything about the boy excited him and made his heart beat faster.

However, the man's adrenaline surge was caused by factors beyond appearance. The boy possessed an aura that demanded his attention. He radiated energy that seemed to make the air vibrate around him. It seemed to Martin that there was a wonderful scent rising from the slender body, the smell of youth becoming musky, a smell tinged not only with childish sweetness, but sweat and feces. It was the smell that came after sex. He wanted to ravish the boy's smooth skin, suck on his tender lips, grind his genitals in the silky hairless skin of the boy's small crotch.

"He's hot," Martin murmured to himself. "He's so fuckin' hot, I can't stand it."

The boy was agile in his movements, emphasizing his slight build and natural elegance. Like a seasoned stage performer, he had 'presence'. He sauntered with a carefree attitude, apparently at ease with the raucous world around him while always standing apart from it. Martin guessed that even with shoes on, he was several inches under five feet and weighed less than eighty pounds. He wore a dark-green tee shirt advertising Heiniken Beer that was several sizes too big for him. Even the tee shirt conveyed a roguish quality that seemed to be entirely in character. His cut-off-at-the knees denim shorts were marked with juvenile printing and crudely crafted drawings. The crotch was paler than the surrounding denim, vaguely hinting that it had seen more wear and tear than the rest of the shorts. They were loose-fitting and gave nothing away except that they had once been expensive-label jeans, an impression reinforced by white Nike Air-sneakers. Despite the fashionable 'grunge', the pre-teen looked and acted very differently to the other boy-punks who frequented the mall. It was only after he saw the boy's perfect teeth that Martin had no doubts that the brilliant sparkle in the lobe of his ear came from a real diamond. The boy's mouth opened slightly, his pink tongue pressed forward and daintily swiped his upper lip. To Martin, the gesture was intentional and distinctly arousing.

During those next few seconds, something in Martin's demeanor caught the boy's attention and his head swivelled around again to glance back at the man one more time. This time, Martin smiled and returned his gaze with a deliberate, yet very appreciative stare. It was a look that said everything that needed to be said. Man and boy shared that look of mutual interest for what seemed to be a very long time, but in reality was only a few seconds. During that momentary meeting, Martin mentally undressed the curious boy. In awe, he filled in the details of an imagined nude body with a practiced eye and many years of experience. His eyes glanced briefly away, dropping to the boy's groin and hovered there just for an instant. There wasn't much to indicate gender behind his shorts. He could easily pass for a girl. Martin considered that possibility with distaste. He was proud that he had never 'done it with a cunt'. He deliberately rubbed his thumb against his first finger, the often exchanged signal for advertising the opportunity to receive money for intercourse. All the while, he continued to hold the boy's gaze.

Even if the gesture was not understood, the intensity of his look was enough to make the boy uncomfortable. He scowled, turned away quickly, and continued on his way.

"Good move, you fucking idiot. Now you scared him off," Martin thought. "God, he's certainly beautiful, though. I'd like to get him in bed. I'd stick more than a few inches into his boy-ass before I was done with him. I bet he has a tight little ass too, but he wouldn't be tight for very long, not after the first time I cummed in his guts."

For a few seconds after the boy departed, Martin considered leaving his half-finished game and following him around the arcade like a hungry dog lapping at his fleeting heels. Like a dog, he was in heat. Once the urge had formed, there was little he could do to stop it. After a one-month hiatus, he needed some 'boy-ass' badly. This time, Martin smiled self-consciously and resisted the temptation. The child's parents or friends had to be somewhere in the vicinity. This was neither the time nor place for what he wanted to do with the boy, but if could get him alone… Martin pushed his thoughts to the back of his mind and went back to concentrating on his virtual Formula One race. With five laps to go, he was still in third place, and closing rapidly on the leaders. However, his interest in the game had been shattered, vanished like the punk-haired gamin.

He spun out on the last lap after taking the S-bends at thirty miles an hour faster than appropriate. The virtual car slammed into the virtual barricade, burst into virtual flames, and the screen went black.

A quick glance at his watch told Martin it was well past time for lunch. He glanced around the arcade quickly, wondering where the boy had gone to. There was no sign of him. It seemed that he had missed yet another opportunity.

Outside the arcade, the afternoon traffic had become a steady flow of seasonal shoppers walking up and down both levels of the mall. The food court had little to interest him, certainly there was nothing with alcohol. He settled for a couple of chocolate chip cookies and a lukewarm cup of coffee. He found a seat beside the fountain and sat with his back to it, with his legs propped up on the adjoining chair. He liked to eat and watch the passing parade. Like every moment he was awake, Martin Hale was always on the lookout for an attractive boy.

Nearly ten minutes passed before Martin saw him again. The boy was wandering aimlessly from store to store, pausing to look in the windows, entering briefly if he was interested in what he saw. Martin half-closed his eyes, focusing his thoughts. If sheer will power could accomplish what he wanted, his fantasies would be realized.

Slowly, almost inevitably, the strikingly handsome boy approached the food court. He moved elegantly, his long slender legs reminding Martin of a deer in the woods, ever ready to take flight. He lingered at the other side of the fountain, looking around, slowly appearing to become braver. Every few seconds he glanced around him, evoking the sense that he was looking for someone, waiting for someone to meet him, trying to make up his mind. His eyes passed over Martin, came back, paused, went away again. For a moment his attention was diverted by people waiting in line to buy food. Martin heard the buzzing voices of other people in his ears, increasingly distant. There was just him and the BOY.

There was much stronger light in the food court and from where he say he saw that the boy had an intelligent face, despite his attempt to appear punk. The boy's eyes quickly flickered back, away, back again, providing nothing more than glimpses. Momentarily, they looked directly at each other. Martin's unwavering gaze had been enough to make the boy feel uncomfortable again. Martin smiled slightly and the boy immediately glanced away. However, his eyes quickly returned. Now Martin knew the youngster was interested. His heart beat faster. Like a wild animal, he enjoyed the hunt nearly as much as devouring his prey.

The boy sauntered a few paces, turned around, hesitated, took a slow deep breath, cautiously lifted his head, and exchanged a meaningful look. He focused with unblinking eyes. His confidence appeared to build with every second. Martin smiled again, his eyes never leaving the boy's deliberate gaze. Finally, Martin nodded once, barely moving his head. He felt his heart begin to beat even faster as it responded to a massive surge of excitement, knowing the familiar sense of triumph. He had no qualms when it came to taking advantage of a willing victim.

The boy hesitated, breathed out slowly, began to walk. He followed an unwavering line towards the men's bathroom. Martin smirked. This was too easy. He stood up, glanced quickly around the food court, and trailed his ten-year-old victim to a his rendezvous with destiny.

The boy was already standing at the urinal when Martin came past the privacy partition. His head was bent forward, eyes studying the task at hand. Martin paused, studying the boy from behind. Now, his heart was pounding. Martin started to walk towards him, his attention partially diverted until he was certain that the cubicles were unoccupied. They were alone. He breathed out with relief. He stopped beside the boy and stepped close to the adjoining urinal. A sideways, downward glance revealed nothing, and left him wondering whether the boy even had his penis out. Perhaps he had already finished urinating and closed his zipper. Perhaps he never intended to start. Martin quivered with excitement and felt gooseflesh. He took a fresh breath deeply into his lungs, licking his lips while he studied the chrome-plated flush-fitting at the top of the white porcelain.

"If you were a hairless little boy, you'd be right at the top of my list," Martin said softly.

The boy froze. "Huh?"

"You heard me." Martin waited. It seemed as if he could hear his heart thumping. "Are you?"

Seconds passed. "Am I… what?" Frozen in place, the beautiful boy inhaled the last word.

"Are you a hairless little boy? Have you got any hair down there?"

"Huh?" Breathing out.

"I bet you are hairless. I bet you don't have even one tiny hair anywhere near your cute little dick. You don't, do you? You want to show me?" Martin added. "Prove you're hairless, and you'll be right on the top of my list."

The boy swallowed. "You mean… You want me to show you… down there?"

"I like my boys without any hair," Martin smirked. "Except on their heads."

"You're a fag!" the boy proclaimed heatedly.

Martin grinned, articulating his response with cruel enjoyment. "You think I'm a fag? Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. I'm not a fag, at least not if you mean I like to fuck men in the ass."

He watched the boy carefully. The pre-teen appeared to be nervous, but whether it was from fear or excitement, it was impossible to tell. He seemed to tremble, finding each word said to him more thrilling than the last. He was very nervous. Martin followed his instinct, and instinct told him the boy was his for the taking. With his dyed hair and gold ear ring, the boy even looked like he had come out of the closet. Perhaps he had even had homosexual experiences already. That would make things interesting, although it would remove the thrill of taking his virginity. Martin preferred virgins. There was something about taking a boy's innocence, about showing him the difference between pain and pleasure was a simple matter of how far, how hard, and how fast he was fucked. Taking a boy's virginity gave Martin a thrill like no other. He enjoyed sending a boy back to his loving parents with a nagging urge that could only be satisfied when a man's penis was inside him. There had been lots of boys before this one, and a good many of them had been virgins. From appearances, it was possible that the boy would be a willing victim, and that excited Martin even more.

"You know what I really like? I'm not a fag but what I really like are fag-boys! Hairless little fag-boys, that is," Martin added and raised an eyebrow with a suggestive leer. "And do you know what I really like more than anything else?"

The boy moved his head slightly. It was just enough to show that he was interested in hearing more.

Martin smiled. "What I like are fag-boys who have tiny cocks," he teased. he watched the boy's reaction. It was exactly what he expected. The boy cringed.

"I bet you have a nice little cock, don't you? Maybe I ought to call it a wiener. That's what boys your age call it, isn't it? A wiener, when it's small, and a stiffie when it's all big and hard?" he suggested with a downward leer. "I'd be surprised if you're not getting a stiffie right now. In fact, maybe you've already got one hiding down there."

The boy tensed, gulping air into his parched throat, knowing the truth of those words. It was small, the smallest of any of his friends from school. Again he swallowed. The words burned his ears. Throughout his slender body, he felt a weird, overpowering thrill. His heart was racing, urging him on. The man was talking in a low voice. It was barely more than a whisper, but he heard every word clearly. What he was hearing made him tremble with excitement. The man was talking about his penis. He was talking about his penis being hard, and it was. It was very hard. It seemed to take all of his concerted effort merely to breath out. The warnings about strangers in toilets were forgotten in an instant. He realized intuitively that if he stayed there much longer it would soon be more, much more than mere words. He did not understand why he wanted more.

He was aware of the man's proximity, and it made him self-conscious. That his erection was barely long enough to project beyond the opening in his shorts, gave no solace. The sound and motion beside him startled him. He was very aware that the man was slowly opening his zipper.

"You've got a hard-on, haven't you?" Martin asked crudely.

The boy nodded awkwardly, afraid to look across and confirm what both of them already knew. His penis was very hard. It had been that way since he first walked into the toilet, since he saw the man looking at him from the other side of the fountain. He had recognized him right away. It was the same man who had been in the arcade. His penis was so stiff that it was impossible for him to urinate, even if he wanted to.

"You like to play with it, don't you," Martin said huskily.

Again the boy nodded slightly, exerting all of his willpower to resist temptation. He should have felt revulsion. Instead he was more excited than he had ever been during his ten years.

"Yeah! Especially when it's hard, I bet. It's fun to rub it when it's sticking up. Up and down. Up and down. It feels really good when you go fast, doesn't it?"

He smiled down at the shy boy. From the side of his face and neck, Martin could see that he was starting to blush. The boy was standing perfectly still. He was obviously interested. It was time to go the next step. With the fingers of one hand, Martin levered his underpants down and out of the way, clearing the way for his semi-erect penis to protrude through the opening in his jeans. He grasped it with his other hand, jacking the full length with deliberate slowness.

"It feels so fucking good when you get off, doesn't it?" he said breathily. "Yeah, it's so fucking good."

The boy tensed, trying with all his might to reject thoughts that rose up inside him and conquered his inhibitions. He wanted desperately to say nothing, to leave for the safety that lay right outside the door to the men's toilet. Instead he nodded slightly, acknowledging that not only did he masturbate, he loved the feelings that came with it. His delayed response caused Martin to interpret.

"You know, kid. Masturbate! Jerk off! Pull your meat!"

The boy smiled slightly, amused that an adult would talk so openly about a subject that just about every boy his age made jokes about. Martin smirked back at him knowingly. The words had a special magic because they were dirty words.

"Playing with your dick feels so fucking good. Up and down. Up and down, faster and faster until you cum." Martin rubbed relentlessly with a slow steady motion. He sighed loudly to convey his enjoyment. "You can't cum yet, can you?"

"Uh-uh," the boy replied nervously.

He did not understand why he wanted to stay, yet he knew he could not leave. Suddenly, he felt very hot, his small hands clammy, his brow feverish. He did not have to look to know what the man was doing, yet it was all he could do not to turn his head. He wanted badly to see the man's penis. Instead, he looked upwards.

Martin grinned again. "That's what I thought. I didn't think so. You're not old enough, not by a long shot. Of course, there's only one way to make sure you can't cum," he suggested teasingly. He allowed the offer to stand without further elaboration.

"I s'pose," the boy mumbled.

"You know what feels better than playing with it?" Martin asked slyly. The boy regarded him uncertainly, not answering except with his eyes. "Letting someone else play with it." He smiled.

The boy shivered, meeting Martin's unrelenting gaze. He felt strange. His inner sense was invoked. All reason was gone. he followed his true nature, obeying thoughts that disregarded inhibition and warnings about strangers. It was a feeling of acceptance. He knew what he wanted. He wanted the man to touch his penis, but more than anything else he wanted to touch the man's penis. He nodded slightly, finally allowing his eyes to see. His eyes lowered. The man's thick shaft was partially hidden by his slowly moving hand. However, the boy could see the pale smooth-shaven base and the swollen glans, bulging red and shiny. His mouth opened in silent amazement. The man's nearly erect penis was big. It looked bigger than his father's penis, far bigger than he had ever imagined. It was far larger than the vaguely remembered images that filled his dreams at night.

"What's your name?" Martin asked.

"Justin…"

"What's your last name, Justin?"

"… Edwards," the boy murmured self-consciously. For some reason he was no longer afraid.

"You're not from around here, are you Justin?" Martin continued.

Justin's lips moved slightly. He was still very nervous. "I'm here with my dad. He's got some business here at the mall. When he's done, we're going to visit MOUSE."

"Good. I thought you might be staying at the park."

"We are," the boy admitted with a secretive whisper.

Martin smiled reassuringly. At times like this he imagined that he had a Rasputin-like power over boys. "How old are you, Justin?"

"Ten!"

"So you're not old enough to drive, huh?" Martin teased persistently. It provoked a slight smile. "But you're certainly old enough to know what you want, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Martin nodded. "You think it's a secret, don't you Justin?"

"What's a secret?"

"What you're thinking about right now. But I know your dirty little secret. I know what you want."

"Huh?" Justin asked uncertainly.

"I bet you're a good little cocksucker?"

Justin's eyes opened wide. He wanted to shake his head in denial. How many times had he pretended, forming his lips into an "o" and moving his tongue over an imagined penis?

"You always do what you're told, don't you, Justin? You never get into trouble, do you? No one knows what you really want is a man-cock to suck. I can tell, you know."

The boy stared directly ahead, his eyes unwavering from the white porcelain bowl before him. A crimson blush extended to the collar of his shirt. Even his ears felt red-hot, perhaps from shame, perhaps from the strange thrill of hearing an adult say words that were used in the playground.

"You want to meet a guy, don't you? You want to meet a man who'll teach you what it means to be a fag-boy. You are a fag-boy, aren't you Justin?"

He heard Justin's sudden intake of air. It was as good as an affirmative 'yes'. Martin grinned. Even if he was frightened, the boy was about to get what he wanted. In his experience, a little fear made what happened the first time even more exciting. Every boy had to have a first time he would never forget. This boy would never forget how he learned what was expected of him. Combined with just the right amount of pain, the lessons were never forgotten. After all, all said and done, it was only what both of them wanted.

Martin stopped masturbating only moments before it was too late. His penis was throbbing urgently, its bloated gnarled dark shaft still pulsing as the threat of ejaculation slowly receded. By Caucasian standards, it was very big. A statistician would have placed it in the 90th percentile. He grinned despite the interruption to his imminent satisfaction. He backed away from the urinal, his erection protruding through his open zipper like a thick stake. He observed the boy's momentary hesitation, caution and willpower fighting a losing battle with curiosity and sexual arousal. Bewildered, Justin glanced down, his eyes immediately growing large again.

"Hey Justin, is mine the biggest cock you've ever seen, or what?" Martin taunted.

"It's huge," Justin admitted breathily.

He trembled slightly, unable to take his eyes away from the jutting organ. His heart pounded. The engorged organ seemed to pulse with life. It was a man's penis, huge and still very erect despite the interruption in stimulation. The purple-hued glans was widely flared, the thick shaft variegated with swollen blue veins.

"Do you want to play with it?"

"I guess…" Justin answered softly.

His right hand felt clammy. Deep inside he wanted to reach out and touch it, hold it in his hand, rub his fingers along it. There was a feeling like butterflies in his stomach.

"It's not a whole lot of fun playing with a guy's dick where someone might see you. Let's go in the can. Then you can get it all out," Martin said crudely.

He placed his hand on Justin's thin shoulder. His fingers gripped firmly, showing who was in control. He moved quickly now. It was important that there was no time for the boy to change his mind. Justin glanced up, his eyes questioning yet no longer afraid or nervous. It seemed like he had been waiting all of his life for this moment.

Guiding the boy's movements, Martin started to walk towards the cubicle at the far end of the row. He opened the partition door and looked inside to see whether it would lock securely. It wasn't safe, not by a long shot. Although what he had in mind would only take a few minutes, it was possible that someone would come in. He leaned against the tiled wall. Victory was at hand. He smiled reassuringly, delaying as long as possible. For what he wanted to do, the boy had to be sexually aroused. Then he would do whatever Martin wanted. He flexed his penis with hungry anxiety, gleefully observing the boy's continuing fascination. He wondered why boys were so attracted to adult penises. Was it the same reason why men like him were attracted to juvenile penises.

"You ever play with your ass, Justin?" he asked crudely. "Maybe like sticking a finger up your chute to see how it feels."

Justin winced. His brow felt feverish. He wondered how the man knew about that. He swallowed, compressing his lips with determined resistance. He tried to shake his head, tried to deny the truth of it.

"You like how it feels back there, don't you. There's nothing quite like a finger up a tight little ass, excepting something bigger than a finger." Martin grinned crudely. "Have you ever tried anything else up there? Most boys do sooner or later."

Again Justin swallowed. His throat was dry, and the heat of his forehead had expanded to his entire face. He felt red-hot, blushing with shame at the secret that this stranger had confronted him with. Finally, he nodded.

"Sometimes," he mumbled.

Martin grinned triumphantly. "Yeah! I thought so. You look like the sort of boy who likes to play ass games. Let me guess what you use." He pretended to think. "It has to be something available around the house. The handle of a dust-broom maybe?" Justin regarded him uncertainly and Martin smirked. "Not that, huh? How's about a candle? You ever stuck a taper up your chute?" Another look, less uncertain, more guilty. Martin laughed. "Hm… I'm getting close, aren't I? Let's see, it's not a dust-broom, and it's not a candle. Maybe you're into the fruits and vegetables. Banana? Carrot? No, I didn't think so."

"I got this thing I use," Justin said nervously.

Martin raised an eyebrow. "I bet you do! What is it, Justin? A hairbrush?"

"A… a bowling pin," Justin answered softly. "It's made out of plastic. It's from a set I got when I was a kid. Sometimes… sometimes I sit on it and force it into me." Justin trembled. "If I push hard it goes in really deep."

Martin's eyes narrowed. He studied the boy. "Yeah, I bet you like it nice and deep. It's better when it's deep." He smiled reassuringly. The boy might be a virgin but he was a willing victim. It was all too easy. "It felt good too, I bet. It's not as good as the real thing. You want to lose your cherry properly?" he asked boldly.

"Huh? Lose my cherry?" Justin repeated.

Martin smirked. By the time he had finished with him, the child would well and truly know the meaning of losing his 'cherry'.

"It means you want a man to fuck your cute little hiney, Justin. Does that sound like something you'd be interested in? Maybe when you're playing with your bowling pin you've thought about taking a cock up your ass?"

Justin hesitated, then he nodded slightly. "I guess," he ventured tentatively.

"Well Justin, what say we start off by getting better acquainted at my place."

"Acquainted?"

"With what I've got in mind, Justin, we're going to become close friends. There's no better friend than the guy who fucks your ass. I'll be your first time, won't it?"

"Uh huh."

"Well, every boy has to have a first time. You're going to have a lot of fun with me as your friend. First, before we leave here, we're going to have a quick look at each other's dicks, just to make sure you've got a small one down there," Martin grinned shamelessly at the red-faced boy. "And unless I'm mistaken, you'll want to do more than just look at what I've got down there. Mine sure isn't small like yours. It's what a boy like you needs. Then, I'm going to take you somewhere real private because I think I've got what you want, and I know you've got what I want."

Justin looked up again. He was no longer uncertain. He felt a warm glow and he smiled.

"Okay," he murmured.

Martin smirked, slowly nodding as if every question had been answered, as if everything was decided.

"You're a fag, Justin. That means you're going to be my little fuck-boy. I'm going to take your cherry, fuck-boy, and after I'm done, if you're interested, I've even got a few friends who would like to meet you."

"Maybe," Justin responded uncertainly.

Martin grinned crudely. "These friends of mine know what to do with a boy-pussy. Today's your lucky day, Justin. Hell, if you're a good boy we'll even make a movie of how you lost your ass-cherry. You're going to be a bit sore in your hiney afterwards, but you'll get over it in a few days. You're going to have more fun today than you've had in your entire life. And after we're finished with you, you'll live to fuck. Getting you ass fucked will be your only reason to wake up in the morning."

Emergency Room. Orlando Children's Hospital, June 12th 2000

"Yes, of course! Look! Can't this wait, Doctor? For God's sake! I really want to see my son."

"We understand, Mr. Edwards. I know the last few days have been very difficult for you… for both of you. I'll be as quick as we can. Before you see him, it's important that I talk to you first. I really can't stress how important. How quickly Justin recovers is going to depend a lot on you."

"Look," I leaned forward angrily. "I've answered all your questions up till now. If you have any more, I'll answer them just as soon as I've seen Justin."

"Mr. Edwards," the doctor said with grim determination. "Please be patient. It's imperative that you listen to me. You may not want to hear what I have to say, but there's no choice. It's about your son. You have to hear me out."

"What about my son? What do you have to say that can't wait until I've seen him."

"It's about his injuries… about what happened to him. It's better that you know before you see him." Branston slowly rubbed the fingers of one hand against the palm, then squeezed until his knuckles turned pale.

I sat up suddenly, feeling fear unlike any other. "What?" I took a quick breath. "The nurse outside said he was okay. She said that he needed a few stitches and then he was going up go to the children's ward to sleep."

"Mr. Edwards, please understand. The nurse, well… I instructed her to say very little to until we'd talked with you."

"Then talk, goddamn it! What's wrong with Justin?"

"He was gone twenty-four hours, Mr. Edwards. Some things happened to him during that time. Bad things. This isn't easy. Can I call you Alex?"

I nodded quickly. "What happened?"

"We don't know exactly. Maybe we'll never know all the details. Your son is heavily sedated at the moment. Several specialists have seen him during the last two hours since he was brought to the emergency room."

"But he'll be okay?" I interrupted.

"More or less. There are two areas we're worried about right now. I'll discuss them in a minute. There are some other physical injuries that are mostly repairable without surgery. Mentally, well it's much more than shock. He has signs of post traumatic stress syndrome. So far the shock has been fairly slight, but it could turn out to be much worse. He had to be sedated when he first came in."

"How bad is he?" I demanded. I felt my stomach heave, opening a chasm that seemed to have no bottom.

"He'll come out of sedation in a short while. He'll be aware of his condition relatively quickly. You'll have to be able to support him. He's going to need surgery later today."

"How bad?"

"Mr. Edwards, Alex. He's doing a lot better than… well what we should expect under the circumstances." The doctor took a deep breath. "Alex, he was with a pervert."

"What? You said…" I groaned, turning to Detective Ellis.

"I know what I said, Alex. I was trying to make it easier for you. Doctor Branston, I think you'd better tell him about the boy's injuries."

"The boy's name is Justin! For God's sake, tell me!" I interjected.

"I said he was with a pervert. That's not completely correct. Sadist would be a better word."

"Oh God!" I covered my face with my hands, imagining the worst.

My beautiful blond-headed, blue-eyed angel was disfigured and mutilated. With a terrible suspicion of what had happened to him, I slumped back in the chair. Despite the agony of the last twenty-four hours, I finally began to understand the expression, 'emotionally distraught'. It was hard to speak, almost impossible to concentrate.

"Tell me!" I said simply, my voice barely more than a muted whisper.

The doctor was silent for several seconds. He lifted back a single sheet of paper on his desk. There was a ring. Perhaps half-an-inch [13 mm] in diameter and an eighth-of-an-inch [3 mm] thick. At one time it had been polished chrome. Now it was dull crimson-red, bloodied. I stopped breathing, staring, feeling nothing. It was a momentary respite. I recognized the object. It was a key-ring that could be purchased in automotive stores or from almost any hardware store. The doctor started speaking and I tried to listen, then tried to block out the merciless monotone words.

"…This ring, Mr. Edwards. It was taken from around Justin's penis. Both of his testicles had been pushed through it as well. For obvious reasons, a thing like this is often referred to as a cock-ring. There was a chain attached to it earlier, but it was cut off."

Half-an-inch [13 mm] in diameter, slightly more than an eighth-of-an-inch [3 mm] in thickness, and it had been forced over Justin's penis and testicles. I shuddered and vaguely, stupidly wondered why it was bloodied. The last time I had seen Justin naked was in the hotel room after his morning shower. Then his uncircumcised penis was limp, barely two inches [5 cm] long including the foreskin. If it was half-an-inch [13 mm] in diameter he would have been lucky. Momentarily, I wondered how big his penis became when it was restrained by the cock-ring. It wouldn't be much thicker than normal, maybe three quarters-of-an-inch [20 mm].

"The ring was very hard to remove… For obvious reasons it couldn't be cut it off." I felt bile rising into my throat. "Oh God!"

"It had been forced all the way down to the base. It had probably been placed there sometime yesterday. Fortunately, it wasn't there long enough to cause his urine to back up in his bladder so there is no damage to it as far as we can tell. The bladder is functioning okay, although your son has temporarily lost urinary control. That's normal when stress is involved. At some point, probably when the ring was first placed on him, his testicles were also pushed through it. At the base of his penis… well it's thicker there so the blood flow was restricted. There was some damage to his urethra, that's the vessel that conveys urine from the bladder. There's a lot of discoloration. There is some bad bruising on his scrotum from it as well."

I imagined a short penis, incredibly hard and dark purple, sticking out through the hard metal band. I envisioned blood encrusted skin, incredible pain. I felt rage and hatred for the man who had done it.

"Can-c-c-can you fix it?"

"The urethra can be repaired surgically if necessary. A urologist was with him earlier. However, that itself isn't the problem."

"Then what is?"

"As you can see, Alex, the ring isn't very big. It was there for some time."

"I d-d-don't understand."

"When it was placed there it was probably a tight fit, and he was probably soft at the time. Then later, when he was erect, and he was probably erect a lot, it would have been extremely tight. His erection would not have gone down easily. In fact, it might have stayed that way for hours. The band cut the flow of blood off entirely."

"Oh God! How bad is it?"

"The discoloration I mentioned earlier is because the inside of Justin's penis has been badly bruised. The swelling has blocked virtually all of the passage. Normal urinary function will be impossible for him for quite a while. In fact, we currently have a catheter inserted through his penis."

"Jesus! The fucking animals."

"I'm sorry! The point is, well there may be some permanent damage to the penis. We can't be sure for a few days."

"What about surgery, Doctor? Can't it be reconstructed?"

"Under most situations it's possible to reconstruct the urinary passage and remove the damaged tissue. In Justin's case the urologist is not recommending surgery. At least not yet. His plan is to utilize the catheter for a few days and see what happens. It's entirely possible that your son won't need surgery. The swelling will go down, of course. However, the tissue inside is a different matter. His erectile function could be impaired if there's been damage to the urethra."

"What sort of surgery?" I asked nervously.

"If we can't reconstruct it, sometimes we have to make a permanent opening in the urethra before the damaged area."

"Jesus!"

"Right now, Justin's penis is… well it's not a pretty sight, Mr. Edwards. I hope that surgery is unnecessary. If the urethra has to be reconstructed, there would be an unsightly scar along the length of his penis. The other way… well, it may be a bit unusual in appearance and function, but it would look much better."

"He'd be able to urinate normally?"

"More or less. He'd have to sit down, of course. There was a time when he first came into Emergency… There was a possibility that Justin's penis would have to be removed completely. I think we're past that point now."

I swallowed. "Thank God! The other… you know… will he be able…"

"The reproductive function?" The doctor smiled vaguely. "The good news, if there is any good news, is that his capacity for erection seems to be relatively unaffected. In fact, that was what changed the urologist's decision to remove his penis."

"I don't understand."

"Your son had an erection while the ring was being removed. Considering the nature of his injury, it was rather surprising. There was more bleeding, of course, but the erectile tissue is basically still in working condition. Your son is all boy."

I smiled weakly, thankful for anything. "Why? Why would someone do something like that?"

"The ring? Who in the hell knows! I can speculate. He may have had trouble becoming erect at some point. His abductors wanted to see him aroused, perhaps. With the chain attached to it, maybe they led him around by it. God only knows."

"You just said abductors. Why?" I demanded.

The detective glanced at me guiltily. "As you know Alex, Justin was seen leaving the mall with one man, but that doesn't necessarily mean that the man was alone. There is evidence to suggest that several men were involved."

"Several men? Evidence like what?" I demanded nervously.

I had a terrible sinking feeling that I had not heard the worst of it, knew without a shadow of a doubt that the horrors of my imagination of the last day and night were nothing compared to what had really happened.

"The amount of semen we found for one thing," the doctor answered flatly. He paused momentarily, as if uncertain about what was to come next. "Your son hasn't eaten recently, perhaps not even during the entire time he was gone." Again he hesitated, glancing at the man beside him. "It's standard medical procedure. His stomach was pumped. It was mostly semen."

"Oh God!"

"The amount of it was… well it was inconsistent with the amount one would find from just one captor, even if it happened a number of times over twenty-four hours. There had to be at least several others involved. We think he had oral sex many times. God only knows how often it happened…"

"We hope to get a genetic match from it," the detective interjected. He shrugged uncomfortably. "If we have something on record, or catch someone later on who matches it, we'll have the evidence for a conviction."

"Jesus!"

"I'm sorry, Alex. If there was a way not to tell you all of this, believe me, I wouldn't."

"Let me see Justin."

"It's not a pretty sight. You have to be prepared for the worst."

I sighed from deep within. There was more I had to hear. "What is the worst?"

Doctor and detective exchanged a silent look. Neither spoke for several seconds. I stared at Ellis. Over the last twenty-four hours we had become something akin to friends. If anyone had to tell me what happened to Justin I wanted it to be him.

"Alex, I don't know how to say this. There is no easy way. Your son was raped."

"God! I have to assume it wasn't just once. It wasn't, was it? It wouldn't be one time if several men were involved?"

"If you must know, Alex. God I wish I didn't have to tell you this. He was anally raped repeatedly during the period. The condition of Justin's anus is indicative of, well, of prolonged intercourse. Most of the time, I expect even when he was left alone, you understand what I'm saying, or when he was sleeping, I expect an object was inserted into his anus."

"An object? Like what?"

"Homosexuals refer to them as 'butt plugs'. It's used to expand the anus prior to having sex."

"I know what a goddamn butt plug is!" I snarled.

"One was removed from Justin in the Emergency room."

"God! NO!"

"Justin is… well maybe he's lucky it was used. It kept him fully dilated. In fact, it may have even helped to limit the damage. All things considered, he's very lucky to be alive after what was done to him."

"I want to see him!" I demanded angrily.

"Mr. Edwards, please. In a few more minutes, that's all. You have to hear me out first."

"Alex, you have to understand."

"He needs me. I… I…" I sobbed. I looked up and glared at Ellis. I needed to blame someone besides myself. "You fucking bastard. You said he'd probably be okay," I swore.

"Alex, I know. At the time, it seemed like the best thing to tell you. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

"God! You said he probably wasn't abducted. You said he was seen walking out of the mall. You said he probably just ran away. He'd be back as soon as he got hungry. Now this!"

"We know he wasn't forced. I haven't told you much about the man he went with for that reason. I didn't want you to worry without reason."

"Without reason?" I repeated mindlessly.

"It's possible Justin wanted to go with him. There's a witness who said that he went willingly."

"I want to see it. The thing you took out of him."

I don't know why I asked to see it. I knew what a butt plug looked like. I had used them often enough myself. It was like something snapped inside me. Hatred of an unknown man, of men who had tormented my son's body, overwhelmed me. Twenty-four hours, living a day and night in growing horror; endless, terrible fear from not knowing where Justin was; rage at myself for leaving him alone in the mall for three hours while I closed a multi-million deal to buy a 25 percent share of the real estate for my company. I always seemed to be putting business first. My self-hatred was matched by my loathing for the men who had abducted him, the men who had done this terrible thing to the beautiful boy who I had always thought of as my son.

I watched with sick apprehension as Ellis reached into his briefcase. It was in a clear bag, a skin of nearly invisible plastic that revealed far more than I wanted to see. It was a crude and cheap imitation of a human penis. Six inches [15 cm] long, perhaps longer, a knob on one end, a bulbous swelling on the other to represent a glans. Between the ends, the thickness varied, reaching two inches [5 cm] in the center, more than an inch and a half [4 cm] just before the knob. It was cream-colored, still glistening with an oily sheen of the lubricant that had once coated it. It was streaked with a brown film that could have been blood or feces. My stomach heaved and I fought against the urge to vomit.

"Mr. Edwards… Alex…"

I looked up slowly. "How bad is he injured?" I murmured.

"Your son's rectum is in reasonable condition under the circumstances. There are several tears in the rectal wall, none of them serious. He's lucky his bowel wasn't ruptured. However, his sphincter has been badly damaged."

"Damaged how?" I asked nervously while I returned to contemplate the object on the table.

"Your son is just ten years old, isn't he? At that age, even though the anus is quite small, the sphincter muscle can expand enough to allow relatively large masses to pass though. However, something the size of this plug, or the size of a man's penis, would still have to be forced through his anus. The muscle tissue of the sphincter is damaged as a result."

"What are you getting at?"

"Muscle damage isn't necessarily irreversible. Actually tears heal quite rapidly, and some muscles can become stronger as a result. However, in a situation like this…"

"WHAT?" I said loudly and impatiently.

"There may be permanent damage to the sphincter, that's the muscle that provides closure for the rectum."

"I know what a goddamn sphincter is," I said angrily.

"I'm sorry. Justin's currently using a colostomy bag. There's a chance, just a chance mind you, but it may have to stay."

"You're telling me Justin needs a colostomy aren't you?"

"No, at least not yet. But it is a possibility and I want you to be aware of it. I'm just trying to prepare you if that happens. We'll know more in a few days. There's a strong chance that the muscle will recover enough to make it unnecessary. There are ways to strength the voluntary action of the sphincter enough to achieve a nearly normal function. Like any muscle damage it responds to physical therapy. If that doesn't work, there is an operation that places a rubber band around the anus to provide sufficient pressure for closure to occur."

"God!" I groaned.

Physically, Justin was the perfect boy. Long, lean legs, slender abdomen, firmly muscled chest. Jazz-dancing kept him in excellent shape. He was four-foot-six inches [1.37 m] tall and weighed eighty-three pounds [38 kg]. When he wanted, he could move faster than I could. Then this! What they were telling me was that he would never be the same. My hand shook angrily.

"Is there anything else?" I groaned.

Again the doctor and detective exchanged a silent look. I shuddered. I knew then that I had yet to hear the worst. The silence was long and I shifted uncomfortably.

"There's not a lot of internal damage considering the way your son was treated, Mr. Edwards. We've taken several x-rays to be sure. There's a cracked rib and he has bruised lungs. I suspect he was punched several times in the lower abdomen. We know his kidneys are also bruised because he's passing some blood in his urine."

"That's all?" I asked with immediate relief.

"He has some other minor injuries. Some cuts and abrasions on his lower abdomen, a few bruises. Other than the damage to his groin, these are mostly on his buttocks and thighs. He was tied up part of the time so there are rope burns on his wrists and ankles." The doctor paused. He took a deep breath.

"God! What else? There's something you haven't told you, isn't there?" I demanded.

My patience seemed unnatural under the circumstances. Yet I knew the doctor was holding something back. I could see it in his eyes and the reluctance to meet my gaze. I glared at Ellis again. He looked away. The doctor nodded slightly. This was his responsibility and he knew it.

"Alex," the doctor breathed out. "What I'm about to say is among the hardest things I've ever had to say to a parent."

"Justin's going to die, isn't he? That's what you're trying to tell me."

"No! Trust me, he's not going to die from this. What was done to him is not life-threatening in itself."

"Justin was infected with Aids?" I suggested nervously.

That had to be what they were holding back. I had a terrible feeling of sinking in a black bottomless pit. My beautiful boy was doomed.

"I don't think so!"

"What do you mean, you don't think so? There are tests, aren't there?" I demanded. I was nearly incoherent with fear.

"Yes, there are tests. However, the tests won't even begin for about six weeks. It takes that long for the virus to multiply enough to show up. We did a test already, just to make sure he wasn't already infected. He's not by the way. It's getting to be standard practice in any sexual assault case. Anyway, I think the tests will continue to be negative."

"Why is that?"

"Because he had multiple attackers," the doctor answered simply.

"I don't understand why that would mean anything."

"Because of the risk, you see. If one of them had Aids, the others wouldn't have taken turns with him, at least not after the first time, and certainly not without condoms being used. There's plenty of evidence to suggest they weren't used."

"Then what? What are you trying to tell me?"

"During the time he was with them, he was subjected to a lot of pain. The ring we removed from his penis was only part of what was done to him."

"It was only twenty-four hours," I said. "What else happened to him?" I asked in horrified disbelief that it could become worse.

"He was tortured. It was mostly during sex, I would imagine," Ellis said slowly. "The things that were done to him were probably done then. Mostly sexual things."

"What things?" I asked.

I heard my anger fading, hoping that not only had I had heard the worst of it, but I would be with him in a few minutes.

"I was going to tell you later on, but if you're going into the operating room with him it's probably better that you know beforehand. The good news is that most of his flesh injuries are not going to be permanent. The worst is a puncture through his foreskin, probably from a hot needle. They may have been going to insert a ring or stud, but didn't for some reason. It'll close by itself in a few weeks. The others are bite marks. None of them have penetrated the epidermis, the skin, deeply enough to be problematic. They're on his groin and buttocks mostly. His nipples received a lot of attention too. They're going to be quite sore for a few days. However, once the rawness goes away, he'll be fine."

"You said the good news again." I glared at Branston, knowing he was holding something back, something worse than all the rest. His face was a facade for the truth he did not want me to know.

"Yes, I did."

"Earlier you said that if there was any good news, it was that he could still have erections. What's the bad news?" I challenged.

"His scrotum is very badly swollen," the doctor answered slowly. "Generally a boy's testes can be palpated even when there is considerable injury to the scrotal tissue. In Justin's case…"

"What is it?" I demanded flatly.

"Even though a ten-year-old boy's testes are generally still quite small, they're firm and the shape is well defined. I found it extremely difficult to identify any testicular mass on the right side. Justin's right testicle, well it's still there, but it's very spongy. The left one isn't in much better shape but at least it's intact."

"I presume you're telling me something that's wrong with them," I said nervously.

"Yes. The extent of actual testicular damage is very hard to determine without opening his scrotum. He's scheduled for surgery about an hour from now. The point is, a boy's testicles are very susceptible to damage under certain circumstances. For example, we get a lot of injuries from soccer. If parents knew the risks, I'm sure…"

"Get to the point, Doctor!"

"I'm trying. A boy can be injured with a kick to the groin, but other than a lot of pain, he's basically going to be all right. That's because the testes are able to move with the blow, even into the inguinal canals if necessary. In Justin's case that couldn't happen, not with the band around them. I suspect both his testes were subjected to frequent and very hard squeezing."

"God! The poor kid. It must have hurt like hell."

The doctor nodded understandingly. "The pressure applied was enough to cause him great pain. I believe the right testicle has been crushed. For all practical purposes I think it's been ruined. It's possible that there's been too much damage for the other one to function properly. The reduction in blood flow is also problematic. Without blood, the cells begin to die. After a few hours of interruption, testicular functions start to be impaired. As long as twenty-four hours, with the band as tight as it was, the damage is going to be severe."

"What does this mean for him? Does he have to have them removed?" I asked fearfully.

"It's hard to determine at this time. Like I said, the right one is probably going to have to be removed. The left testicle, it's hard to tell. We need your permission to examine him. It's a relatively simple procedure. If what the urologist suspects is true, he'll remove the right testicle at that time. Depending on what he finds when the scrotum is opened, the left one might have to be removed too, Mr. Edwards."

"Fuck!" I groaned. "You're going to castrate the poor kid, aren't you?"

Ellis and Branston shared a guilty look. I resented that the doctor had talked to Detective Ellis and told him about Justin's injuries and the probable outcome. It was clearly no secret.

"It's very likely. Under the circumstances, there isn't much of a choice, Mr. Edwards."

"When… when will you know if…?"

"Right away. It'll be easy to see if the left testicle has atrophied," Branston answered. He paused. "It has to be removed. Leaving it would only cause problems later on, even gangrene."

"God! And if it hasn't?"

"Then he's very lucky and only the right one needs to be removed. It isn't the end of the world. His reproductive ability is definitely going to be impaired with only one testicle, even if it wasn't damaged. However, there's no question that the left testicle wasn't injured. It's just a matter of how badly."

"How bad are we talking about?" I asked.

"Very bad. If we didn't have the problem with physical injury there's still the interruption of blood flow to worry about. It has been long enough that there's going to be a lot of cell damage. That definitely means a reduction in testicular function. How much damage is the big question right now, but even if the left one remains, my guess is Justin's going to be unable to have children without artificial methods."

"Meaning what?"

"If he keeps his left testicle, with the damage it's sustained, he'll be very lucky if he's able produce a few sperm when he's older. He certainly won't have enough to use the normal method of conception. Of course, with the advances in lab techniques, it's very possible Justin can still be a father, if and when he wants to."

"That's a moot point anyway isn't it, given what the bastards did to him? If he wasn't queer before this happened, he will be now," I said angrily.

"Mr. Edwards, there's really no connection."

I regarded both men with disdain. "He told me he was gay the day before he disappeared. He's only ten and he knew he was." I breathed out slowly. "God! He had a difficult enough relationship with his step-father before this happened. I wonder how much worse it will get for him?" I added. My mind raced into forbidden territory before I squashed the ill-formed thought.

"There's another problem that's related to the damage to his testicles. In a few years, Justin would have entered puberty. After this, with the extent of damage, the fact is he won't mature normally, at least not without hormonal therapy."

"Meaning?" I prompted.

"I think I better explain a bit further, Alex. One testicle is more than enough to produce sufficient testosterone for sexual development to occur. However, the cells in the left one will have deteriorated because of internal hemorrhaging and the interruption to Justin's circulation. Without normal testicular function, Justin will have to have hormone treatments for the rest of his life."

"What… happens…now?" I groaned.

"As I've said, he'll have surgery to remove the right testicle. As for the other one, the decision will have to be made when his scrotum has been opened."

"Is there any way, you know… at his age… when other boys see him in the locker room at the pool. They'll make fun of him."

The doctor nodded. "It won't be a problem. The urologist will use an incision that will leave very little scar tissue. In fact, in a few weeks, once the swelling and bruising go away, even Justin will be hard pressed to find it himself. And of course, silicon replacements can be inserted. They can be almost the same size so that there will be no visibly obvious differences. When he's in his early teens, they can be removed and replaced with adult-sized ones."

"I expect that's better than nothing! When will you do the operation?" I asked sadly.

"We're getting him ready now, so right away. The nurse outside will give you the permission forms."

"I'm not his father," I said bitterly. "I wish I was. I've tried to reach his mother. She's at a retreat. It's miles from anywhere. I've called her again and again since Justin disappeared at the mall. She hasn't called me back yet."

"But you have the authority to sign, don't you?"

I nodded slightly. I swallowed. "Yes… yes, I guess I do. His mother wanted me take care of him this summer. She mentioned it at the airport. I still had guardianship from when we were married. Great job I've done so far."

"Well it wasn't your fault. Something like this could have happened when he was with his mother."

"Can I see him now?" I begged.

The doctor nodded slightly. "If you want. He's under sedation. And of course, you can go into the operating room with him if you want to."

"Fucking bastards! I want to see them hanged, Ellis. Every last one of them."

"I understand how you feel, Alex. The fact is we'll be lucky to catch them," Detective Ellis admitted softly.

"I don't believe it!" I replied viciously. "Justin has to be able to give you descriptions. He spent twenty-four fucking hours with them. He's an incredibly observant kid. He's highly intelligent. He'll know details that'll surprise you."

"It isn't that simple. What I said earlier about how quickly Justin recovers is going to depend a lot on you. How good you are with him the next few weeks is really important."

The doctor took a deep breath. I closed my eyes, barely able to control myself.

"That's why I want to be with him right now," I said angrily.

"Listen, Alex. There's a reason why I just said we'll be lucky to make an arrest. Justin…" Ellis began awkwardly.

"What? Why not?"

"Justin isn't talking about what happened to him. Before they sedated him, we had a child psychologist with him for nearly half an hour to try to get at what happened. I wanted to get a description, anything that could help to put these men behind bars. We got nothing of any use from him. There's a real problem, Alex."

"What sort of problem?"

"I've already told you that Justin left the mall with the man quite willingly. What I didn't tell you was that the only witness who could give a description… I'm sorry I have to tell you this. The witness was working in the food court. The man he saw leaving with Justin had him in the men's bathroom for nearly fifteen minutes. The fact is… Mr. Edwards?"

"Yes," I muttered in response to his attempt to raise my attention.

My eyes were closed, hoping against all hope that I did not hear what he was going to say. Try as I could, I could not block the words out. I knew what he was going to say. Suddenly everything made a lot of sense.

"… Justin is not going to tell us what happened, not now, not ever… Are you okay, Alex?"

I shook my head. My Justin, my beautiful, intelligent Justin, my blue-eyed, blond-headed Justin. The boy who I loved more than life itself. The boy who smiled angelically at me and said he would be okay by himself for a few hours. Less than an hour after I went to my meeting he had entered the men's toilet looking for sex. Ellis was telling me that he suspected my ten-year-old son was a homosexual, that he had been with a man for fifteen minutes before he walked off with him. How long had I known it would happen? Had I anticipated something like this would happen the night before Justin disappeared.

"He's just ashamed, I expect," I mumbled awkwardly. "He's like that sometimes. When he's frightened or nervous, he tends to clam up."

"Has anything like this happened before? It's not unusual for boys to go through a stage where they're interested in their own sex. Something with boys his own age perhaps?"

I shook my head. I knew nothing with any degree of certainty. I had noticed Justin's unease in the hotel room when we talked about sex. There was a lingering impression that he had done certain things, but not all things. He had a secret that he dared not tell me. There might have been sexual activity with his friends, maybe even someone older. I would have been surprised if he had not engaged in occasional sex play with boys his own age.

I swallowed, knowing that what the detective was asking was very different to childhood sex games. It seemed impossible that a ten-year-old boy was a willing partner in brutal sex with one or more grown men. This was what the detective's question implied, and it terrified me.

"NO!" I answered.

If the finality in my voice was enough to tell them the meeting was ended, that I stood up should have convinced them.

"He needs you, Alex," someone said.

"Catch them quickly, Ellis. Because I'll fucking kill all of them if I find them first."

"Alex, I know how you feel. I understand. I really do. However, the law doesn't operate any differently for you. Take the matter into your hands, and you'll be prosecuted."

"Fuck you, Ellis. I'm going to see my son. And if I see any fucking cops or doctors, even a fucking nurse, while I'm with him, I swear I'll fucking kill them because when I'm done, I'm going into the surgery with him and watch while someone cuts his balls off."

I glanced at them, their faces showing both compassion and understanding. I clenched my fists to prevent a continued outburst. I needed to get away from them, to be with my son, to offer whatever support I could even though he was asleep.

"Alex, there's one more thing before you go to see him."

"WHAT?"

"We want to schedule some time for Justin to see a psychologist. He's going to internalize this. He needs to get it out before he breaks down completely."

"You saying that he'll go crazy? I can help him deal with it. He'll be okay."

"We know you can help him deal with it. And yes, Justin needs you, but this needs an expert. He needs someone trained in dealing with this type of problem. Alex?"

"I'm listening."

The doctor sighed. "Will you give your permission for some counseling?"

"His body has been devastated. He's been raped God-only-knows how many fucking times. He's going to lose his right ball, and maybe his left one too. And now you want to go to work on his mind? Fuck you! YES! You have my fucking permission for him to see a goddamn shrink!" I left, my mind reeling in turmoil.

Room 1031a, Orlando Children's Hospital June 18th, 2000

I had been seated by Justin's side on an uncomfortable plastic-covered seat, holding his inert hand throughout the operation. Through half-closed eyes and occasional circumspect glances, I watched the doctors and nurses moving around the operating room. Their voices were already muted, then further muffled through their face masks. I winced when a silver needle was expertly inserted into Justin's thin forearm and a drip started down a plastic tube. Unfeeling and unknowing, he lay in a drug-induced stupor while they tried to repair his body.

There were two surgeons, both men in their forties. Dr. Patrick was the pediatric urologist. Dr. Lamont was the chief surgeon in the emergency room. Between them, they made a formidable team, a team that could repair the physical damage. Dr. Patrick began the preparation work by removing the catheter with calm detachment. Unlike me, he was oblivious to Justin's nude body.

I tried to look away, yet macabre curiosity brought my eyes back again and again to witness the horror as much as partake of the overpowering beauty of his slender form. On the small soft mound of Justin's pubis, standing out vividly from the pale hairless skin, was the ever-present reminder of the horror that started little more than twenty-four hours earlier.His penis and scrotum were dark and swollen in size so that they looked incongruous. His scrotum appeared to be several times larger and bloated as if filled with fluid.

Minutes ticked by while the urologist tried to insert a thin pliant probe beyond the swollen section of Justin's penis. Finally, he moved his head in an affirmative nod. The surgical decision to open the urethra was postponed and I breathed a sigh of relief. At least that part of him would be intact although the catheter would have to stay for several days longer.

I watched Lamont working above Justin's naked body. I was fascinated by his deft hands. He began by inserting a hollow needle into the darkened swelling of Justin's once tiny scrotum. The drainage of accumulated fluids quickly reduced the size to that of a dark-purple golf-ball. I could feel my heart pounding, each breath becoming increasingly difficult. Because of the need to minimize the scar, the incision was made closely following nature's center-line from the beginning of Justin's penis into the fat pouch of his still-swollen scrotum. It ended at the perineum.

The doctors had warned me again during the pre-surgery briefing that when the scrotum was opened they would be able to determine whether both testicles would have to be removed. I took a deep breath. Dr. Patrick took over again to initiate preparations for the removal of Justin's right testicle. Now, I watched while the skin of his scrotum was peeled back to expose the viscous contents. A thin tube was clamped before it entered the testicle. I closed my eyes, hearing the bland professional voices of the two doctors at work. "I'll need about five millimeters [¼ inch] to work with, Jeff."

"I can't give you anywhere near that much. You'll have to cut him close. Maybe there's enough for a tie-off. It's pretty much destroyed the vas deferens. I'm going to make the cut before the damage finishes as it is."

"Poor little guy," a nurse said softly.

"That's the understatement of the year."

"I've got some bleeding."

"Suction on the right. You got it."

Several minutes ticked past. Each breath was difficult. I watched Justin's face, remembering the joy in his eyes when I visited at Christmas. He had literally jumped into my arms the moment I stepped through the door.

"How's the left one look?"

"Like crap!"

"What do you think?"

"My honest opinion? It's not worth the risk. I think it's too far gone. It hasn't atrophied by the look of it, but it's not worth keeping."

"That's too bad."

The doctor glanced at me, the question unasked. I sighed. Slowly I moved my head. "Whatever you think," I murmured. "I know you have to do what's best for him, but if there's a chance you can save it…"

Anything was better than nothing. At least some feeling would remain even if the damaged organ was incapable of functioning as nature intended.

The doctor examined it closer. Slowly he nodded. "We'll try to save it. A day or two from now, we'll know more. Jeff, I think we better leave the silicon out until the left one has settled down. I don't want to have him back here with an infection. "

"I agree. There's no rush to pad him. Maybe he could even wait until he's ready to go pubescent."

The time passed quickly while the two doctors finished up.

"I need a few more minutes to close the scrotum and he's all done, Bob. I need a taper-cut micro-needle with a 9/0 polypropylene suture. Ten centimeters [4 inch] on the end ought to do it."

Less than an half-an-hour after we had entered, Justin was wheeled out of the operating room into recovery. I sat by his side, thinking. Although my rage had diminished, I felt like my brain was numb. The slightest thing would send me over the edge. All things considered, it was a successful outcome. Justin would have a relatively normal life despite the curious physical appearance of his scrotum for the next few years. If he exercised caution while changing his clothes, it would go unnoticed by all but the most curious with excellent eyesight.

At first glance, his slightly lop-sided scrotum would appear to be normal, if somewhat smaller than average. The scar would be barely visible when the wound had healed. By the time Justin was old enough to be exposed to ridicule during sexual intimacy or tormented by rambunctious boys in the locker-room, he would be operated on again. Silicone would provide the symmetry needed for aesthetics. With the exception of the obvious loss of hormones essential to maturation and the inability to reproduce, his sexual ability would not be unduly restricted. Justin could continue his life much as before, albeit uncomfortably until the severed nerves became desentized. Doctor Lamont assured me that even his Cowper's Glands would eventually become functional, allowing a discharge of pre-seminal fluid when he was sexually mature.

"Mr. Edwards?"

I turned around quickly, returning to the present with a jolt. "Yes?"

The nurse looked at me curiously. "Doctor Steiner has just finished prepping Justin. He'll see you in his office."

I followed her along the passageway, past three or four doors. It was an office typical of a hospital doctor. A wood-grained desk was surrounded by a motley collection of chairs, none equal in comfort to the leather high-backed chair of the occupant. Doctor Steiner looked up and smiled warmly while he continued to hold a file open.

"Hello, Mr. Edwards. It's good to see you again. Your son is doing very nicely, I see. The surgeon's last report is very positive."

"It depends on your perspective," I said. "I don't see it quite the same way as you do. It's hard to see sterility as being positive."

"I'm sorry. I understand completely. But, you know, given what happened to him, Justin's lucky to be alive."

"I know that, too." I sighed despondently and shrugged. "How bad is he taking it?"

"How bad? He knows about his testicles. He's a very intelligent boy. He knows he can't change what happened. He's resigned."

"He was always a bit a of a stoic. How about up here?" I added with a slight gesture to my head.

Steiner nodded slightly. "Let me answer with a question. What has he told you?"

"Nothing really. He keeps saying he's sorry, but he hasn't said what for. It's like he's on a huge guilt trip and too afraid to say why he's guilty."

"It's pretty normal under the circumstances, Mr. Edwards. He has a lot of guilt."

"I think I know what you're going to say. Please don't!"

"I won't. Last time, when he was under hypnosis, I began to understand."

"You said it didn't work."

"In a way, it didn't. That's why you're here, today. Justin has internalized this thing very deeply. He hasn't forgotten anything. He just doesn't want to think about it, so he's pushed it deep down. He's a remarkably bright boy, by the way."

"I know. So what happens today?"

"If you give your permission, it'll take a few minutes for the drug to take."

"What drug?"

"Sodium Pentathol. It's an unusual approach, especially for a child. However, it usually works in situations like this. Once I know what happened, I can begin to work with him to bring it out and discuss it with him."

"The truth and nothing but the truth? Damn it! Why can't we just leave him alone. He's been though enough already," I answered angrily.

"The truth can be unpleasant, Mr. Edwards."

"Compared to what I've been through? I think I can stand it, Doctor. And if I can't, I'll be the one to decide when to leave."

However, I stopped before I reached the position where outright refusal was my only relief. I had to help Justin deal with what happened to him, just as I had to learn how to deal with it myself. Instead, I listened to Dr. Steiner, and now I watched from behind a darkened glass panel that was mirrored on the other side. Justin sat up, his face expressionless, eyes glazed as if staring at something that was either very far away, or inside his own head. He had been that way frequently since he'd woken up nearly a week earlier. The drug made no immediately discernible difference. Perhaps it had not taken full effect. Ever since he had woken up in the recovery room, Justin spoke with hesitancy, and stopped without reason. He wanted to tell, yet the words did not come. His mind had erected a barrier to protect sanity. God, how I wanted my son back the way he'd been before I left him alone in the mall.

The doctor began with a soothing voice, calming Justin with questions about his school, his friends, his pets, anything but what happened. Justin answered exactly as I expected him to. Succinct answers, no elaboration, just the truth. Justin's voice sounded innocent. Steiner changed tack without warning. Suddenly, everything changed. I swallowed bile.

"I want you to think back, about what happened last Thursday afternoon. Where were you?"

"I was at a mall with my dad."

"You went to the video game arcade, didn't you?"

"Yes. Daddy told me not to."

I sat up. It was the first time he said more than enough to answer the question. It had been years since he called me daddy.

"Why did he tell you not to go to the arcade?"

"Because he doesn't like me going there."

"Why not?"

"I don't remember."

Justin was hedging. Surely he would remember my warning about the type of men who frequented arcades. I had started on the warnings against strangers when he was six.

"Why did you go to the arcade?"

"I was waiting for Daddy… I still got bored playing the machines."

"What did you do when you left the arcade?"

"I walked around the mall some. Then I felt… hungry."

"What did you do?"

"I… I went inside."

"Where did you go inside?"

"The toilet."

"Why?"

"I was… hungry."

"You were hungry?"

"He kept looking at me."

"Who kept looking at me?"

"The man. He was in the arcade too. He had hungry eyes."

"He had hungry eyes? What does that mean?"

"He kept looking at me."

"Okay. The man followed you into the toilet, didn't he?"

"Yes… I don't know why wanted him to."

I breathed out with a shudder. Poor Justin. No wonder he didn't want to remember.

"What happened in the toilet?"

"He stood right next to me. I was scared I couldn't pee even a little bit."

"Why were you scared?"

"I don' know."

"Did you want to leave?"

"No!"

"What did you want to do?"

"I wanted him to touch my cock so bad."

"Did he?"

"Yes."

"Tell me what happened."

"He smiled at me…"

"Yes, Justin?"

"He asked if I was hairless. He said he liked hairless little boys. Then he said we should get acquainted because he liked me and I was like him."

Justin's voice seemed to tremble with excitement. He was reliving the moment, experiencing the same incredible thrill.

"What else did he say?"

"He said I was a fag-boy. He asked whether I wanted to lose my cherry," Justin added with increasing fervor.

"What happened then?"

"He asked me to go into the can with him."

There was a slight pause. I was surprised by my apparent calmness.

"Did you want to go with him?"

"Yes."

"What happened there?"

"He sat down on the seat."

"After that?"

Justin was silent for several seconds, fighting the urge to tell. "He pulled my pants all the way down to my feet and started to play with my cock," he said softly. Dr. Steiner's next comment surprised me. "It was nice, wasn't it Justin?"

"Uh huh. It felt good."

"I bet your cock got really hard when he played with it."

Justin stared blankly at his interrogator, his mind no longer challenging each question. "Yes."

"Have you ever done anything like that before?"

"Yes."

I breathed out slowly. I closed my eyes and waited for several long seconds, trying to think of the explanations I would give to Dr. Steiner when the session ended. I wondered whether he would believe me. I remembered what had happened in the hotel room and tried to decide whether it could be classified as child abuse. In reality, I had not really touched him in a sexual way, yet my impression was that Justin knew it was sexual every bit as much as I did.

"Was it with another man?"

"Uh huh!"

I sat up, guiltily. Fear settled over me as I desperately reasoned that my fear was unfounded. I had not touched Justin in a sexual way. It had to be someone else. I listened carefully. The inevitable question, the question I had wanted to ask Justin several times after we had arrived in Florida, but had not been able to ask, had finally come. Perhaps I was so afraid of the answer that I had steered away from it.

"I want you tell me what happened with the other man."

"Mr. McVue played with me in the storeroom," Justin answered blandly.

"Who is Mr. McVue?"

"He's my music teacher at school. He plays with me and Peter Haverstock."

I shivered and the tension evaporated, wondering when it had happened. Perhaps a better question was how long it had been going on for. Somehow, I knew that it was not just a single incident. There had been lots of times, or at least lots of opportunities with the work Justin had undertaken for the Fifth Grade Annual Show. School started in mid-August and the Annual Show was in May. It accounted for Justin's sudden change in behavior towards school. Even his mother had informed me that he looked forward to music class in a way that was disturbing. With deepening fear, I sat back on the corner of the table, watching through the one-way window. Suddenly, I was very glad that I had invoked Justin's rights of privacy. The bond between doctor and patient would insure that only the three of us would know what was unfolding in the other room. There was no tape recording. No video. No witnesses. Nothing. I was glad that Ellis was not standing beside me.

"You like to do things with Peter and Mr. McVue, don't you, Justin?" he asked.

"Uh huh!"

"Does Mr. McVue play with your penis?"

"Of course. I play with his cock too. So does Peter. Sometimes he lets us suck his. Sometimes we suck each others while he watches."

"Do you like to do that?"

"Uh huh!"

Steiner's eyes flickered up, just a few seconds but long enough to make a one-way contact with mine. My fists tightened. He was urging me to leave while I still could. I shook my head even though I knew he could not see me.

"Now Justin, I want you to think back about what happened in the mall toilet. Can you tell me what the man did to you? What did you do with him?"

"He sucked on mine for a while. He put his finger up my butt too. Mr. McVue hadn't done that to me. It felt strange, it even hurt some, but I still liked it. It was different to doing it by myself. It made my cock really hard."

The doctor looked directly at me again, as if trying to see through the reflective wall in front of me. I breathed out, nodding. With unsettling trepidation, I silently urged him to continue with his questions.

"Did you suck his penis, Justin?"

"Yeah! I sucked his cock some. He made me stop after a few minutes 'cause he was going to cum."

"It was something you wanted to do, wasn't it? You liked doing that to him, didn't you?"

"Uh huh. It was a bit smelly, like pee. I guess it kinda bothered me until I got used to it. It was really big, way bigger than Mr. McVue's. Bigger than daddy's too."

"Then what happened?"

"He asked me if I wanted to go to his place, and I said yes."

"You left the mall with him willingly? He didn't force you to go with him, did he, Justin?"

"No. I wanted to go. He had a Harley."

"A motor cycle?"

"Yeah! It was way cool. I got on behind him. Man! It was a rocket. I was scared I'd fall off."

"Where did he take you?"

"I don't know. Some trailer park I think. I got lost after a few minutes."

"Can you describe where he took you?"

"I don't remember it much. I think there was a river we crossed over because I remember going over a bridge. Then we went down a dirt road for a while. There was a verandah along the front of the place where we stopped. There was a bunch of trailers but this one was at the back. It was by itself, I remember the color was cream and white."

Do you remember the number? Was there a number outside, on the door?"

"I think it was sixty-nine?" Justin smirked crudely. "It might have been thirty-six. I didn't really notice. I remember…"

"What, Justin?" Steiner asked gently.

"Nothing! I forgot."

"After you went inside, what happened?"

"He took my clothes off and made me walk around the room for him. I had to 'strut my stuff' for him. He said I had a really nice body."

I watched Steiner wince slightly and I felt my distaste for the man grow. Until that Thursday, Justin had been perfect in every way. Every day of his life I had admired him, astounded that such beauty could have been created by someone whose name I did not know as the result of an unfortunate union with his mother.

"Then what happened, Justin?"

"He stood up and started taking his clothes off."

I shuddered as Justin smiled shamelessly. He was remembering, replaying the scene while the man undressed. He was thinking of what he saw. I closed my eyes. I was barely able to breath.

"It was funny."

"What was funny?"

"It was funny because he didn't have any hair there."

"What? Hair? Where?"

"Around his cock, of course," Justin replied with obvious exasperation.

"Oh! You mean around his penis?" Dr. Steiner asked.

"Of course. He said he shaved it off so he would look like a little boy again," Justin explained. "It looked funny," he added seriously.

Unconsciously, he rubbed at his crotch. For a few seconds I thought the sutures were irritating him. They were due to be removed the next day. Then the truth dawned. He was becoming sexually aroused. I felt my heart skip, then pick up a few more beats. That I was excited, was very disturbing. So, he looked like a little boy, I thought to myself.

"Did he say or do anything else you thought was funny, Justin?" Steiner probed.

Justin shrugged disinterestedly, his hand now stroking rhythmically between his thighs. Dr. Steiner's head turned away from Justin and towards me. It was a warning look that penetrated the one-way window.

"He has a really big one," Justin said earnestly. "It's much bigger than daddy's. I'd never seen one that big before. It's long and really thick."

The change in tense from past to present made my stomach churn. He was remembering, making past events that should have been forgotten become his present reality. I could sense the excited charge that flooded him. It was a surge that made his body quiver. The comparison with my penis was unsettling and I felt my stiffness diminish slightly. Justin was not so afflicted, and the pointed disturbance in his loose sweat pants left no uncertainty regarding his erect state. He was breathing deeply, his eyes half closed.

"I wanted to lick the end of it for him, only he wouldn't let me. It tastes salty, you know. the stuff that oozes out before a man cums."

Again, Dr. Steiner looked directly at the mirror. His eyes were narrowed. I resisted the impulse to leave and take Justin with me. The horror of his personal nightmare was beyond comprehension. Yet, I had to stay and hear it all. I would learn what I needed to know.

"What happened then?"

"Martin rubbed his cock all over my tummy. It made me really hot."

"Hot?"

"You know, hot, like horny. I got a hard-on. I've never been that hard before," Justin explained.

"It's called an erection," Dr. Steiner said perfunctorily.

"It got like that 'cause I was so excited. I wasn't afraid any more," Justin said testily. "He started saying things, and calling me names," he added shamelessly.

"You can tell me if you want."

Justin swallowed. His left hand brushed through the few remaining spikes of hair that remained from his visit to the hair salon just one day before his school performance. The colors had faded. The dyed streaks was no longer the red-blue and vivid purple plume that was undeniably homoerotic. They had become muted shades that merely hinted at his underlying sexuality. His other hand was busy, fingers wrapped around the cloth-covered projection, squeezing and rubbing.

"I'm his fuck-boy," Justin murmured. He smiled obscenely. "That's what the hole in my butt is for. So men can fuck me. I don't have a cunt so I use my butt-hole. I want to have their cocks in my boy-pussy."

I felt a cold chill. It was immediately followed by a surge of excitement that overwhelmed me. It was not only the words, 'fuck-boy and boy-pussy, it was the way he used them. No longer did he depreciate his sexuality. He exuded an eroticism that aroused my perverted lust. He had accepted what he was. He was no longer ashamed of his desires. I remembered what happened in the hotel room. The euphoric look on his face was unforgettable. He was in his element, following an inner need that could not be denied. Only a week ago and he had been ashamed. Then I had been barely able to resist, but only because of his shame. Now, I knew I would succumb as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

"Then what happened, Justin?" the Doctor asked dispassionately.

"He made some phone calls."

"Phone calls? To whom?"

"He called some men he knew."

"Men? Who were they?"

"I don't know. They were men who liked boys."

Justin smirked knowingly, looking directly at the psychologist and silently challenging him to pursue the matter further. Steiner backed away quickly.

"Then what happened?"

"We went into the bathroom." Justin gazed down at the floor, still smiling, still remembering.

"And?" Steiner prompted.

"He got out some vaseline and made me lie over the vanity. He put a lot around my butt-hole with his finger, then he stuck it all the way up inside me again."

The look on Justin's face would haunt me until I died. He grinned lasciviously. From the look alone, I could imagine what had happened. He was remembering the intense pleasure of his very first time with something human other than himself. He was feeling the man's finger pushing deeper and deeper until it was all the way inside his rectum. It was something he would never forget.

"He made me get off in only a few seconds, and with just his finger too. God, I was so horny I couldn't stand it," Justin added slyly. "Then he put two fingers up me.

"It felt good, then?" Steiner asked awkwardly.

It was easy to imagine him with his buttocks parted, two fingers inserted into his anus. I gulped air and listened closely.

"Good? God, it felt so fucking incredible I could believe it," Justin laughed. "It hurt for a few seconds until I got used to it, of course. It's always like that when it's tight at first. Then I thought I had died and gone to heaven. After a while he stuck three fingers up me. That hurt too, but only for a while, and then it got better like it always does."

"But you knew what he was doing to you was wrong, didn't you?"

Justin shrugged. He glanced towards the one-way window. I had the disturbing thought that he knew I was watching him, that I could hear every word he said, that the drug was having no effect on him at all. It seemed like he was talking directly to me, parodying my own words from only a few days earlier.

"Wrong? What's wrong with it? What I do with my body is my decision, isn't it? Isn't that what grown-ups tell kids? No one has the right to tell me not to do things that I want to do. I can do anything I want just so long as it doesn't affect anyone else."

Steiner regarded him thoughtfully. "That's true in a way, Justin. However, it's much more complicated than that. What about drugs?"

"I didn't do any drugs, okay," Justin said hotly. " Martin asked me if I wanted to, but I'm not like that."

"Still, you knew it was dangerous. You could have been killed. In fact you were seriously hurt."

"I'm here now, aren't i?"

"I think you need to be older than you are to make the decisions like the ones you're talking about, especially any decisions that involve having sex."

"Like letting him stick his fingers in my butt? It's nothing to be ashamed about, not if it's what I wanted to do," Justin retorted.

"He stuck more than his fingers up there though didn't he?"

Justin laughed crudely. "Why do you care? I'm a fag-boy. I wanted him to fuck me. Besides, he asked me whether I wanted to stay. I could have left before anything happened, if I wanted to."

I sighed. "You poor little bugger," I said softly. "I could have prevented this if only I'd listened to you. You were trying to tell me what you were feeling, weren't you. I should have known what you wanted. But I didn't, and you came out all by yourself."

"I don't know how you can believe that. No boy wants to happened to you."

"How do you know what I want?"

"You didn't want to get hurt, did you?" Steiner asked impatiently.

Justin shrugged. "Of course not. I'm not an idiot. I could have left if I wanted to. I wanted to stay. I didn't know they were going to hurt me. Besides I can't change what they did to me now, can I?" he replied with a learned stoicism that defied his age.

"What happened next?"

"Next?" Justin sighed. "He stuck a hose in me and filled my ass with water. He flushed all the poop out of me so I would have more room inside me. I don't think I ever had a crap like that."

"He gave you an enema," Steiner queried. "Then what?"

"Then he cleaned me up." Justin smiled slightly, remembering more than he was telling. "He told me it was my last chance to leave. If I stayed he couldn't be sure what would happen to me. He told me that I might be hurt."

"You wanted to stay, didn't you Justin?"

"Yes, I already told you I wanted to stay. They arrived just when we came out of the bathroom."

"Who are they? The men he called?"

"There were three of them."

"Can you describe them?"

Justin shrugged absently. Yet I could tell by the way he turned away that his memory was adequate to the task of description.

"What happened then?"

"One of them had a video camera," Justin answered flatly. "You can see all of what happened on tv, if you want. They made tapes of the whole thing."

NEXT PART

NEXT PART