Ganymede

Life is a Ball

(Third part)

Room 262 Worldview Hotel, Orlando. June 27th, 2000

"I look like a hairless little boy again," I thought with some satisfaction as I surveyed the end result.

That part of my anatomy also looked like Martin was entirely intentional yet something I preferred not to acknowledge. I turned off the water and opened the shower door to get a towel. I was pleased with my new appearance, my genitals not too unlike Justin's smooth boyish organs if the difference in size was overlooked. Without pubic hair the sense of being naked was greater enhanced.

I posed before the mirror, flaunting my denuded body. Being deprived of my adult hairiness, albeit artificially, was suddenly strangely arousing. I smiled, my thoughts turning to the equally nude boy in the adjoining room.

"My beautiful little boy should be waking up about now," I mused aloud.

My revenge was about to begin and the realization made my body shiver. Gooseflesh erupted on my arms and my penis began to bloat with the onset of an erection. I watched it lengthen, thicken, straighten in the steam-frosted mirror until I was rigid.

"Not much longer, Justin," I promised silently. "And you'll be mine."

The plan was flexible with room to maneuver. However, I still had one more hurdle before it could be set in motion. Success hinged entirely on Justin. I discounted my earlier uncertainty, positive in my knowledge that with a little prompting on my part, he would probably enjoy playing a the part of the willing victim again, if not actually relishing his role. I had learned that much in Dr. Steiner's office. Of course, I hoped for eager participation on his side, something that would truly make vengeance worth having. I wanted them to lust after him. The more they desired him, the more their pain would provide me personal satisfaction.

Momentarily, I considered whether my confidence was misjudged. I shook my head resolutely. Even from the time Justin was a toddler, there was something about him that struck a familiar chord. What the men had done to him had merely confirmed it. For as far back as I could clearly remember, I had always been aware of the similarities between us. No matter how much either of us tried to hide it, the attraction mysteriously wanted to announce itself with unsettling frequency. If I played my cards right, perhaps Justin would even become an equal partner in my plan. A father and son tag team with a mutual goal. Then I would truly have my vengeance on the men who had ruined both of our lives.

I picked up the jar of vaseline and scooped out a large glob. I was quickly reaching the point of no return. It was just a matter of seconds until I stepped through the door. There was no going back. I sighed, then slowly reached downward. There was a momentary shock when I felt the cool vaseline on my heated erection. A quick downward glance was enough to see my glistening penis, my glans flared and purple-tinted, my testicles drawn into a tight knot. Despite the rage that continued to torment me, it throbbed with anxious need. I was sexually aroused in a way that should have been extremely disturbing because of the incestuous implication. I was beyond caring. I shrugged dismissively. Instead of engaging in moral dispute, I picked up my dressing gown and slipped my arms through the sleeves. Justin was waiting next door, and I had been waiting for more than a week.

He was awake, just as I expected he would be. He glanced away quickly when I entered the room, leaving a distinct impression that he had been watching the door for my return. I gazed at him, his slim body covered up to the nipples by the blanket. His upper chest appeared pale and fragile in the yellowish light from the lamp. His hair was still tinted the same blue-purple and streaked with yellow-blond of nearly two weeks earlier when I had left him at the mall food court. I breathed out slowly. From where I stood, he was ravishing. His injuries were hidden, and already well on the way to recovery. In fact, without closer observation, it was possible to imagine that nothing had happened to him. I stood patiently, watching and waiting.

Slowly, Justin's head turned to look back at me. His face was expressionless, like he was dead. I shuddered and breathed heavily, stilling blaming myself. Wordlessly, he turned onto his side, then onto his front. His face was buried into the pillow, too ashamed to speak. Nothing had changed. I wondered how many times I had tried to break through the barrier he had erected between us. It was an impenetrable shield, an emotionless armor that defied affection, rejected understanding, gave nothing away.

I walked forward, realizing that my right hand was shaking. This time, when I massaged his flesh, it would be without the latex gloves provided by the hospital. After tonight, I hoped that I would never have to use them again with him. I would cross into forbidden territory and instinctively, I knew that the days and nights that followed would be different.

I sat down beside him, feeling the residual warmth of his body on the mattress. He tensed, immobile as I gently lifted the covering away. He was naked. Although his skin was not as dark as he had been before the incident, his back was still lightly tanned. His buttocks, small firm slightly pinched mounds, were nearly white.

As was quickly becoming my habit, I patted his bare rump to accustom him to my touch. This time my fingers lingered, gently stroking my fingertips into the beginning of his crevice. He shivered slightly. An excited thrill ran through me. It was the first time he had shown any pleasure with me. My hand trembled. I closed my eyes, exerted every effort to make my caress light and feathery, and full of love. My hand travelled up his slender back, over one shoulder blade, down the bumpy ridges of his spine. His sigh was barely audible. He was beautiful.

"Justin… I'm sorry," I whispered. "God, I'm so sorry."

He did not respond to my touch. He never responded, not for me, not for the nurses who had touched him when he was still in the Children's Ward.

My thoughts filled with memories of him before. Before the divorce, he was an affectionate boy who loved to be touched, often demanding casual back-rubs when I had the time for him. My anger seethed. I heard him sniff, his crying muffled in the pillow under his head.

"Justin…" I implored.

Nothing, no movement, no words. I stroked the smooth curvature of his small cheeks. From behind, there was no sign of the injury that had been done to him. At least there was no sign of injury until his firm cheeks were parted. My hands trembled as I cupped each cheek and gently opened him to view. All of the bite marks and most of the bruising had disappeared. All that was left was a grey-greenish hue that had replaced the purple-black circle of abused flesh that once surrounded his anus. There was still no pucker. There never would be. I fingered the loose opening gently, touching where ripples had once been but were no longer.

He had already prepared himself. I hesitated outside his glistening orifice, staring at the tell-tale transparent sheen of vaseline. Even with frequent exercise, he would still have to be very lucky to have enough sphincter-control not to need an operation. At least, he was fortunate not to need a colostomy, and lucky that the skill of two of the best pediatric surgeons in that part of the country had been brought to salvage what could be saved of his genitals. I was resigned to the fact that he would never be the same beautiful, happy boy. Only two weeks earlier, four men had ruined him forever.

My finger was inside his anus before I realized it. There was a slight pressure that resisted inward motion beyond the second joint of my finger. That was all that remained of his sphincter's involuntary strength.

"Squeeze on it," I instructed patiently. "You know the routine by now. I want you to do it as hard as you can."

He squeezed feebly. I felt a loose band tighten, his moist heat binding uncertainly around my intruding digit before he relaxed.

"You'll have to do better than that," I warned.

"I'm trying! Okay? I'm trying as hard as I can," Justin whined. "I can't help it!"

"Does it hurt?"

"No! It doesn't hurt… It's just… I just can't! That's all!"

I sighed inwardly. This was hard on both of us, but it was far better for me to do what needed to be done to him than one of the male nurses in the hospital. I had watched them several times to learn what I had to do. By nature, the procedure was invasive, and I quickly realized that Justin suffered even greater indignity with the nurses. It was clear that they really did not care. It was an unpleasant job for them.

Unlike other times, when I followed instructions for Justin's rehabilitation to the letter, this time I followed my instincts. My finger gently levered downward and Justin jumped when I made contact with his immature prostate. I lifted up, curling my digit within his bowel to increase the pressure. My finger pushed against his prostate mercilessly. After a few seconds when he did not breathe, I rotated it, rubbing forcefully over the delicate gland buried inside his abdomen.

"Uhhhhh," he groaned.

He gasped suddenly, almost like he had experienced a momentary orgasm. I smiled, eased away slightly to relieve the pressure, then increased it until he groaned again. My knuckle brushed his scrotum, my finger all the way inside the velvet-hot canal. With deliberate intentions, I curled my finger and again forced the tip directly into the pea-sized organ that in a few years would produce his seminal fluid. Justin gasped loudly. Even as my finger backed away, he pushed down, squeezing as hard as he could to compress his bowel and continue the pleasure I had given to him.

"Urrrgggghhhhh," he grunted.

There was a desperation in his voice that had never been there before. Without warning he trembled again from a sudden spasm from deep within him. Unless I was mistaken, the boy was bordering on orgasm. He twitched, raising up. His buttocks lifted higher than the rest of him. He was undeniably pushing back against me. For the first time, I felt his sphincter muscle contract the way it was supposed to. Unbelievably, his rectum had tried to grab my finger and pull it deeper. He still felt very loose, but it was reassuring in more ways than one. Not only was there some muscular effort, but he was becoming increasingly sexually aroused. My finger probed deeper, using more force against his prostate than I intended. He shuddered without warning, his slender body again racked by a fleeting orgasm. My guilt, and there was an abundance of it, was assuaged by a cry that was muffled by the pillow.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

Justin nodded slightly, waiting. I paused, fighting the inhibitions of incest. We had reached the point of no return. Either I stopped, or I took the next step. There was no turning back when my finger resumed its rhythmic stroking. My hesitation provided him with a brief respite. It ended before either of us had the chance to think about it. I provoked sensations deep inside him without mercy. His sphincter tightened, gripping with surprising strength, yet not enough to slow my cautious stabbing. It was deliberate, and just strong enough to demonstrate the growing urgency of his need without slowing my motion. I leaned forward, bringing my mouth close to his nearest ear. Now was as good a time as any.

"What they did to you was terribly wrong, Justin, but being gay isn't a bad thing."

He lay quietly, my finger fully embedded in his quivering anus. The silent hiatus dragged on. I wanted to finish what I had started. I wanted to share his pain. I wanted to replace his pain with pleasure, and to teach him the meaning of a man's love. I felt my patience being tested, yet I realized that now, above all else, I needed to wait for him to respond. I could not force myself on him after what they had done to him. I wanted this to be something that he wanted to do. I wanted him to desire my love and to need revenge as strongly as I did. My hand moved away, wiping the slick lubricant against the sheets.

"I didn't want it to happen like that," Justin murmured.

"I know. I'm understand, Justin."

"I'm… I'm sorry you were worried about me."

"You could have been killed, Justin."

"I know. I just wanted to find out what it felt like. That's all I wanted. I didn't think…"

"It's okay to want to have sex, Justin." I paused. "You have to be very careful, especially at your age. You have to be very sure the man loves you before you do anything with him."

"He seemed nice at first," Justin said absently.

"I'm sure he did. But he wasn't, was he? He could have killed you."

"Do you hate me?"

"Hate you? God no! I'm so sorry you were hurt… and I'm angry at myself for leaving you alone. I could never hate you, Justin. Never in a million years."

"Is it because you love me so much?"

"What do you think?" I replied.

"I guess."

"It's normal for a boy of your age to be curious about sex, Justin," I said gently. "If a boy is interested in other guys, it's okay for him to experiment, Justin. It's not wrong. At your age it doesn't even mean he's gay. Boys go through a stage. Most boys grow out of it."

"But if he is gay?" Justin interjected. "I am. You know I am too. I've known it for a long while. I won't grow out of it because I'm gay!"

"How do you know?" I asked gently.

I lifted him into my arms and held him in my lap. Not for the first time, I was stunned by his light weight. The slender boy seemed very fragile.

"Because I look at pictures of men… and I pretend I'm with them. I think about doing it with guys."

I nodded understandingly. 'It' no longer needed explanation, not after what he had been through. His innocence was gone.

"That's okay too."

"Some men look at pictures of boys and pretend too," Justin said sullenly.

"That's true. It's not unusual for men and boys to like each other like that," I added softly. "They're called boylovers. It doesn't mean they should have sex though."

"Why not?"

"It's against the law. Justin."

"I'm not dumb. I know that. It still happens. Martin said there are lots of men and boys who have sex."

I heard the awkwardness of youth in Justin's voice. He had learned about the existence of boylovers first hand. I sensed that he was consumed by the need to learn more. The seeds had been planted in his fertile mind.

"Yes, there are," I said.

"I wanted to go with him."

"I know, Justin."

"Why… Why did they have to hurt me, Dad? They acted like they liked me at first."

"Really? I don't know the answer to that. I think some men are like that. Maybe they felt guilty about it… because society says it's wrong. Maybe they were jealous of how good looking you are."

"Sometimes, when… well there were a few times it was nice. They said they wanted me to enjoy it. I know they wanted to hurt me all along now," Justin murmured guiltily. "I could see it in their eyes."

It was not hard to guess when those times had occurred. I felt my anger flaring and I took a deep breath. It was easy to imagine his sore tired body not responding to their obscene lust. Then, the men lost control and inflicted torment of a different kind. Unable to achieve an erection commensurate with their expectations, they had forced the key-ring over Justin's penis and testicles and attached a chain to it. They had done other things to him as well, things that he would never be able to forget. I breathed out.

"Hurting you was wrong, Justin. It doesn't matter what you wanted. But I want you to understand that not all men are that way. It's very different when men and boys have sex because they're in love."

"I know that. Sometimes they said that… they loved me… when I did what they wanted me to. They didn't hurt me then," he said sadly.

I clenched my fist, still ravaged by the need for vengeance. "Justin…" I began awkwardly. My inability to speak honestly hung between us until finally I gasped the two words that interrupted the long silence. "What happened?"

Justin quickly looked away. For a long while he stared at the wall as if memorizing the decorative pattern of the wallpaper.

"I… couldn't… help… it," he whispered hesitantly.

I nodded reassuringly. Justin's dam was breaking before my eyes. I held him tightly, rocking to and fro. He began to cry, sobbing from deep in his chest until his body was shuddering with erratic convulsions. I tried to imagine what he had experienced, his fearful guilt from being a willing victim, his confusion and agony when he was sodomized, his terror with each injury inflicted on his young body. He was no longer innocent. His beautiful body had been disfigured. He had been brutalized and he had lost a testicle. He was lucky to still have his penis.

"Tell me what happened," I said patiently. "I promise I won't be angry with you," I added.

"Martin… did it to me first. Once we were in the bedroom… and they had the camera and lights set up. He did it first… he fucked me. His thing… his cock was so big. He put some stuff in my butt first… lots and lots of it so it wouldn't hurt me… Then he put his fingers inside… When he tried to put his cock inside me, I cried. It hurt so much. I wanted him to stop…"

"Did you tell him to stop?"

"No… I… I couldn't. I tried. It felt like I was being torn apart behind me. I could feel it pushing in. It was so hard. I thought I was going to be ripped apart. I felt like I was going to be sick. When I cried it made him angry, so I tried not to…"

I breathed out. "You wanted him to fuck you, didn't you Justin. You wanted his cock inside you?"

Justin gave a barely perceptible nod. "I wanted to know what it felt like. I couldn't stop. It hurt so bad. At first it was horrible. Then after a while it felt okay…"

"You liked it," I said awkwardly. The truth hurt.

"I… I guess…"

I grinned suddenly. "Good for you!"

"Huh?"

I continued to smile, realizing how to get through to him. "I said good for you. I bet it felt really nice after a while."

"Yeah, sort of. You don't mind? You're not angry?" Justin asked with surprise.

"If what you mean is do I mind that you enjoyed your body, the answer is no. If you mean do I mind that you did something that you feel bad about, the answer is yes."

"I don't understand."

I shrugged and took a deep breath. "Okay. We both know you're going to be gay when you grow up, Justin. Now we both know it's nothing to be ashamed about any longer. It's time we talked openly about what it means to be gay. You might not like the way other people make fun of gays, but you might as well get used to it. I think, no, I know that having anal sex is probably the most important part of being gay. It isn't essential, but it's how most gays have sex. For you, I don't know how to say this, getting fucked is how you're going to show a man how much you love him. Practicing the way you did when we were at MOUSEWorld the first night is part of growing up for you. You grow up by learning, by experiencing what your body has to offer. Eventually the right man will come along. He'll teach you everything you want to learn."

Justin smiled uncertainly. "Sure, it's easy for you to say. You're not…"

"Okay… what's the problem," I interjected.

"I don't want to be gay."

"Don't be angry about it and don't hate yourself. You have no say in it. If you want to hate someone, hate me."

"You? Why?"

I smiled. "Because although your mom and another man brought you into this world, I've always loved you."

"So why would I hate you?"

"Because I love you."

"That doesn't make any sense at all."

"Yes it does. I love you, and not like my own son," I answered. I felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from my chest.

"That helps a lot," Justin said sarcastically.

"You really don't understand, do you? Justin, if you must know, and I think maybe it's time you did know, I love you because you're a boy," I said cautiously. "I may not have been your father but I helped to raise you. Maybe I had a bad influence." Justin regarded me silently. "Do you understand what I mean when I say I love you because you're a boy?"

"I think I do. Are you gay?"

"Yes, I guess so!"

"No! I don't believe you."

I sighed. "In a way, I am, Justin. That's why your mom and I separated."

"Mom said you're gay. I didn't believe her either."

I nodded. "What's there not to believe. I like boys. I'm not happy about it, but I can't help it, Justin."

"You like boys? Boys? You mean boys like my age or older guys?" Justin asked uncertainly. He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "You're a boy-lover like him?"

"I guess."

Justin's hand shook slightly. "You're not like Martin though," he added quickly.

I heard the fear in his voice. I glanced at the wall, feeling revulsion. "I can control it, Justin," I said miserably. "I might be a pervert in a lot of people's eyes, but you're safe with me."

"Like I care?" Justin shrugged. "I'm a fag too. I stick things up my ass, remember? Four guys fucked me I don't know how many times."

I swallowed, wondering whether he really intended to say something else. All of my life I had lived with the threat of discovery and constant self-hatred, made even worse by my failed marriage and a boy who often looked at me strangely and left me feeling as though I was missing the point of being alive. Had Justin been feeling the same attraction all along?

"Justin," I began awkwardly. "You don't understand."

"I do understand and I don't care, okay. You're a man who likes boys and I'm a boy who likes men. What is there not to understand about it? It isn't all that difficult to get."

I laughed, uncertain of why I found his naivete amusing. Then suddenly, the thought came to me that out of the blue he had stated the obvious. I should have seen it all along. I had been blind to his appeal in MOUSEWorld, and he knew all the time that I was gay. He had been trying to tell me what he wanted, that he wanted me, and I had not been listening to him. What was there not to understand. If Justin was willing, why not? The taboos of incest were intended to protect the human gene pool, not ten-year-old gay boys who would never reproduce. Besides, my perverted logic disputed, Justin was not really related to me by blood so it could hardly be incest.

"It seems pretty simple if you look at it like that, huh?" I asked.

He shrugged and looked at me seriously. "No one would have to know. Not even Mom. After what happened last summer, I don't think she would mind anyway. I'd never tell anyone, and neither would you," he grinned sheepishly. "Especially not Robert, although I really don't think he would lose any sleep over anything I did. In fact, he'd be very happy if I never came home."

"You're a beautiful boy," I said softly. "I've always dreamed. I've always wanted to, but that's all I've ever done. I've dreamed, Justin."

"You've never had sex with a boy before now?" Justin asked promptly. "I thought in California, that's all people did, have sex and all that."

"They do have sex a lot," I laughed. "Only usually not with boys your age, although I'm sure it goes on there."

He smirked, bravely enjoying his new-found relief from inner torment. "Mom said you had a boyfriend."

"Had is the operative word! But he was hardly a boy. He was eighteen, Justin. And that was two years ago. We're talking about men liking boys."

"Like with Michael Jackson?"

I nodded. "More or less. They'd put me in jail for the rest of my life if anyone found out I had sex with a boy."

Justin's eyes flashed, no longer moody. He tried to play the role of abused child, giggling before he finished. "Help! Help! Someone call the child abuse hot-line. I'm being raped."

"Very funny," I said seriously. "Justin, do you know what this means?"

"Uh-huh!" Playfully he covered his groin with both hands.

"No! Be serious for a moment."

"O-k-a-y," he answered in a sing-song voice that was too soprano for comfort and sadly reminded me of what was now missing from his body.

"Justin, this is important. Before you have sex with someone you should love them first."

"I have to get married first?" he said with playful slyness.

"I didn't say you had to get married. Anyone you have sex with, a male or a female, it's always better if you love them first."

"Why?" he asked simply, seriously. "Don't people have sex just because it feels good?"

I smiled absently, thinking of the people I had sex with and how few of them I had truly loved. There was a rationalization that I used at the time, but I could not think of any explanation that Justin would accept. None of them I had loved as much as I loved Justin. I was a hypocrite of the highest order.

"It's too dangerous nowadays," I answered vaguely. He waited for me to explain. "There's aids for one thing."

He smiled with a boy's solution to every problem. "I know that. You told me already, remember. I haven't forgotten. So you use a rubber if you're worried about it. Everyone at school knows that. Anyway the doctor said I don't have aids."

I smiled back at him. "It isn't that. I'll always be worried about you catching it, but if you're careful, you should be okay. You were lucky the first time."

He shrugged dreamily, caught up in some inner thoughts that were hidden from me. "So? If you don't have aids, and I don't, then there's nothing to worry about, is there?" he said strangely.

"Meaning?"

Justin smiled shyly. "You said you always dreamed about having sex with a boy. I'm willing if you are. No one would ever know," he added hesitantly.

"Except, remember what I said about being in love first?" I answered testily.

Again he shrugged. "What makes you think I don't already love you? Maybe I love you more than anyone else in the whole world? Maybe I never had the chance to tell you before?"

I laughed. "You have an answer for everything, don't you?"

Justin nodded eagerly, sensing that my resistance was faltering. "I promise I won't tell."

I had started out with a plan to seduce him. Now, the roles appeared to have been turned upside down. I was fighting to resist. I patted his bare upper thigh, caressing skin that was unbelievably soft. He was warm and so alive that my fingertips tingled with the barest touch. They named him for what he was. He was a 'fag boy'. No matter that it was true, even that Justin had gone with them of his own volition, I still hated them.

A few inches away from my fingers was the treasure of his boyhood, or what remained of it. It lured me onward. I felt my lust growing beyond my control.

"We… can't," I started to say.

I watched his face begin to crumble. He wanted physical contact with me, just as much as I needed to be with him. Yet, it was more than lust and the hunger for physical gratification. I did love him, and I believed he loved me back. I breathed out. Seconds ticked past. I tried to slow my racing mind, yet every time I looked at him, I realized sex was inevitable.

His penis was limp, and had been since our discussion turned serious. Now, while I gazed at him, and felt the same deep affection and longing in his eyes, I saw the miracle of erection begin. It was a magical transformation, made even more remarkable when his fingers lightly stroked the side of his penis and retracted his foreskin.

Two words described the essential characteristics: small and hard. If measured along the top, which became the bottom as it stiffened and rose into the air, it was no longer than three inches [7½ cm], and probably shorter if a ruler was actually applied to it. The thickness varied slightly along the length. Beginning with a blue-purple hued glans about the size of my thumbnail, the flared helmet narrowed slightly before the precious boy-sized organ swelled to its maximum thickness, not even three-quarters of an inch [2 cm]. In his God-given uncircumcised state, the skin was pulled very tight, enough to give a polished sheen. It actually looked hard enough to be painful, but it did not appear to unduly bother Justin.

His remaining testicle was nothing to write home about. If size was important, he had something about the size of a bean. It made a slight indentation in the loose folds of his still-bruised scrotum. It advertised his immaturity even more than the complete absence of pubic hair. Yet, when all was considered I had to admit that it was Justin's hairlessness that enraptured me. His youthful perfection was emphasized by the smoothness. My other lovers had bushes of varying degrees, most dark and curling, and clearly well on the way to manhood, if not fully mature. Justin was different in a way that left me wordless. His groin was slightly mounded with the slightest hint of puppy fat before the lean muscles of his lower belly began. At ten years old, he already possessed a well-defined abdomen. Dancing kept him very fit.

"You're so beautiful," I sighed. A smile flashed across his face. "And I love you very much." He beamed. "Come here," I said gently.

He was warm and soft and I gathered his bare body back into my outstretched arms, cradling him like a small child. He lay quietly, content to be hugged closely.

"I love you so much," I whispered into his nearest ear.

"I love you back."

His response was what I needed to hear more than anything else. It confirmed what had gone unspoken between us since we arrived in Florida. Happiness overwhelmed me. At last, I felt complete. The boy I loved, loved me back.

Justin's eyes closed. My nose was close to his tousled mane and I inhaled the perfumed scent that lingered in his freshly shampooed hair. I eased him back, guiding him so that he turned onto his front with his buttocks over my thighs. Lovingly, my hand caressed his lower back, my fingertips trickling over the small bumps of his vertebrae. There was another smell, sweet and aromatic that I recognized as the smell that I had noticed every time that I exercised his anus. It was his smell.

My fingers flowed down his flank, stroking his rounded buttocks, coming ever closer to the source of the distracting smell. My thumb followed the dividing line, pressing between the firm cheeks, into a warm moist crevice. I felt Justin tremble. My other hand moved to the side, placed flat on the rounded hemisphere, fingers pressing into the flesh, splitting him apart. His anus glistened with the greasy cream. It looked as though it had been anointed for a holy purpose. Silently I worshipped his perfection, engaged in a close study of the dime-sized opening centered in a circle of darker flesh. Despite what I knew had been done to him, I could not help but wonder again whether the tiny hole could really stretch wide enough for a man-sized penis to enter. That his anus lacked the appearance of a virgin gave me an uncomfortable feeling. I could not change what had happened. Neither of us could go back to June 11.

There was no pucker to be seen in Justin's small anus. After two weeks, the rim was still slack and slightly puffy. It had borne the brunt of excessive penetration. It would be a long while before it resumed its natural tautness. Perhaps it never would. He had been entered not only by foreign objects introduced by his own hand, but by four men constantly and brutally over a period of almost twenty-four hours. There, in a place that was the most private of all places, he would never be like other boys his age. From what the doctors had told me, I expected that there would always be occasional seepage from an anus that never closed completely. However, it was a lot better than him having another operation, or being required to wear a colostomy bag. The other side effect, a sphincter muscle that was not as strong as it was supposed to be, was something whose special benefits I had yet to realize.

"What are you doing back there?" Justin asked breathily.

"What do you think? I'm looking at your ass," I grinned. "Why?"

I leaned forward to bring my lips close to his ear. "Because I want to, Justin. That's why," I answered softly. "Because it's a beautiful part of you that I've never really looked at before."

I heard the husky tone in my voice, as breathless and excited as Justin. I felt my heart begin to beat faster, adrenaline surging through my arteries, becoming increasingly skittish. My thumb pressed inward and Justin shivered. Although he was very quiet, I could tell that he was agitated. When he felt his anus give way easily, he jumped. There was very little resistance in him, not even slowing my ingress when my finger quickly passed beyond the first joint. Then out again, lightly scratching the sensitive rim with my fingernail before tracing circles around the opening. There was sufficient lotion that the motion was lubricated, but not enough to go further without applying force.

"Where's the lube, Justin?" I asked, glancing around the bed.

He laughed. "I think I'm lying on it. What do you want it for?"

"What do you think I want it for?"

I slid one hand between Justin and the bed, groping his bare skin at the same time as I searched for the tube of KY. He started to giggle, twisting under my tickling fingers. My hand pursued its objective relentlessly, working ever closer to his crotch. He was very stiff and the sudden warmth of his little penis made me quiver with excitement. He wriggled, lifting his hips up higher to give me unfettered access. Clearly, he wanted more. Instead, I continued to feel around underneath him until the tube was in my grasp. I wasted no time squeezing out most of the remaining gel into the deep valley between his butt-cheeks. Again my fingers began to fondle the tender opening, now gliding on the added slipperiness.

Justin lay very still, his head cradled on his bare slender arm. I had no doubt that he was enjoying my massage, but would he enjoy what I was about to do next. One finger probed at his opening again, testing the resilient muscle's resistance. He tensed slightly, not fighting against it, just nervous. I pushed gently, yet firmly. He winced when he felt my finger penetrate deeper.

"Okay?"

"Uh huh," he breathed.

"Does it hurt?"

"Uh uh."

"Do you like it?"

"Hm…"

"What does 'hm' mean? You can't make up your mind so you have to think about it?" I teased.

"It means put it in deeper," Justin said boldly. He lifted his head up and regarded me lewdly. "Of course I fucking like it."

I grinned back at him, finding his obscenity incredibly arousing. One look at his face was enough to know what he wanted. His buttocks tensed, his hot anus pulsing loosely around my finger. He pushed back, very deliberately. At the same time I slowly pushed against him. My finger sank into him, sliding on the clear jelly that slicked his crack and covered my forefinger. There was no resistance other than a pleasant welcoming pressure, then beyond the faintly muscular band of his sphincter he opened up. Hot, wet, luscious heat engulfed me. Apparently, his own practice sessions and twenty-four hours of hard sex had prepared him. He pushed up at me with intentional force, driving my finger in until my knuckles were compressed into his bottom. I felt his anal muscle working urgently, contracting, releasing, almost sucking. I curled my finger and pressed towards his belly in the search for his prostate. He wriggled again, repositioning himself. His buttocks tensed, flexing like rubber, tightening on my finger, squeezing.

"There?" I asked.

"Uh, yeah, there… no… God!" He squeaked. "Yes… yes, there!" he gasped.

He twitched, then shuddered. I forced my finger against the delicate lining of his rectum, pressuring the organs beyond his intestine. Suddenly, Justin bucked, his legs writhing in a vain attempt to escape the sensations that burst from deep inside him.

"Jesus! Oh! Ohhhh! Oh God!"

"Better than a toy hammer, huh?" I teased.

"Yeah! yeah! Much better! It feels so good!" Justin shuddered, no longer able to control his body's spasms.

They came quickly, erratic and increasingly urgent. I leaned forward, bringing my lips close to his ear.

"What do you want me to do?" I whispered.

"Faster," Justin groaned. "Do it faster and deeper… and hard. As hard as you can," he grunted.

I felt his insistent sphincter endeavoring to clamp down on my finger despite the fact that much of its strength had been lost. I felt the luscious inner heat of his bowels, the soft void sucking, encompassing, yet demanding to be filled with something much bigger than a finger. His breathing was ragged, quick gasps interspersed with whimpers that conveyed dire need. I complied with his request, jerking my finger back and forth as hard and fast as I could.

"Uhhhhohhhhhahhhhhdaaaaaa."

I felt his body straining, every muscle obeying an instinctive urge to achieve orgasm. He was very close, but I was a long way from allowing him to climax. I grinned, slowing my pace to gentle rubbing of his now fully dilated anus. His anus sucked noisily against my finger, excreting a yellowish slime of glistening lubricant. I pushed my finger in further, deeper and deeper until my knuckles were lodged in his widespread crack. I lifted up, mercilessly compressing his sensitive prostate.

"What are you, Justin?" I asked crudely. "Tell me what you are?"

"I'm a fuck-boy," Justin groaned.

"What's a fuck-boy do for fun?" I taunted. I eased my finger back until only the first half inch was embedded.

"He fucks!" Justin gasped. As if further explanation was required, he added, "He puts a man's cock all the way inside his boy-pussy, and he fucks like crazy."

"You're a little fuck-boy," I whispered. "And this is your boy-pussy, isn't it?" I asked, twisting my finger deeper again until it rammed into Justin's prostate.

"N-n-ng-g-g… Y-y-essss."

He squirmed and nodded emphatically. The pressure of my finger against his prostate increased. "What do you want me to do?" I whispered. "Tell me!"

"I want your cock all the inside my boy-pussy. I want you to fuck me. I want you to fuck me again and again! "

"You want your boy-pussy fucked?" I teased. "You want me to fuck you just like they did, don't you Justin?"

Justin nodded. He had heard all of the words before, the dirty words that made his heart pound until he was shaking with excitement. The sex words turned him on, overpowering any resistance he might have had. He wanted to comply with my demands, just as he had complied with their demands. He wanted to be held tightly, to feel the brute unforgiving power of a man's penis when it penetrated his slim body, and he wanted to be hurt. However, this time he realized that it would be different. He would be loved at the same time. He nodded, again and again, finally overwhelmed by a consuming urge. It had been ignited by four men and without warning it had exploded into a raging inferno. He could remember someone saying that he would 'live to be fucked', but he could not remember who said it. It was true. Silently he gave himself up to the feelings, gasping, grunting, groaning until it was over, and then he fell asleep, happier than he had ever been.

Room 262 Worldview Hotel, Orlando. June 28th, 2000

Sex with Justin was infinitely more satisfying than I had ever experienced. Perhaps it was merely his acceptance that I also had something that he needed in order to be fulfilled. It was mutual. Although I could claim no role in taking his virginity, or in teaching him about sex, that Justin needed me was enough to make me feel worthy of sharing his body. He was a shy, curious little boy who had just made the greatest discovery of his life and still wasn't quite sure of what to do about it.

Justin lay side on, his head nestled into my shoulder. His cheek was hot and ever so slightly moist against my upper arm, his nose nuzzled into my armpit as if absorbing my masculine scent. Knowing what had been excised from his body, increasingly, I tended to think of him as androgenous. Yet I possessed the ability to make him whole. I had become his man.

His breathing was relaxed, taking deep sonorous breaths that restored my faith that he was content at last. He was dreaming. Every so often he would twitch, his breathing would accelerate, then gradually slow. He seemed to tense whenever I stirred. His right arm was draped across my chest, jerking sporadically as if he was trying to move something that was bothering him, or making me aware that I could not move away more than a few inches.

Despite the fact that I had an erection that demanded my attention, I was content to let him sleep. For the first time in two weeks my immediate problems seemed to have faded. There was still his mother to deal with. My calls had gone answered until several days had passed. Then, no longer in the depths of utter despair, I tried not to lie to her. Rather, I had withheld the full nature of Justin's injuries, especially the few details of what had been done to him in the trailer. She knew only that he had 'run away' for a day and had been beaten up by some older boys. Eventually, I would have to tell her more of what had happened to Justin, but it could wait until after the summer was over. Until then, she would know only that I had to stay a few more weeks in Florida to close the deal for buying the mall. I would tell her the truth only if I had to return him to her care. Until then, we would be together. If it was up to me, Justin would stay with me forever and she would never know what four men had done to her son. There was no way to change what had been done to him. Already I found myself accepting the inevitability of it. If not them, someone else would have come along and taken his innocence. It was simply a matter of time. It was sheer misfortune, that the circumstances were what they were.

And then, there was the memory, such a powerful unremitting memory of what had occurred during the night. Had it really happened? It had, of course. Even if I guiltily pretended it had been a dream, there was no mistaking the lingering smell that emanated from under the comforter. Each time when I became aware of the odor, I inhaled deeply just to make sure it was real. It was Justin's smell, primal, fecal, musky. It was the earthy odor from deep inside him, the smell of sweat, and male juices, the smell of semen, of long hard sex. With it, came the memory of the hot, slick wetness inside him, his weakened yet remarkable muscle grabbing at me hungrily every time that I nurtured his body.

If it had only been one time it might have been possible to overlook it, pretend it had never happened, go on with our lives in a relatively normal way. However, it hadn't been one time. It had swept over us like a consuming fire-storm that left nothing behind except the undeniable knowledge that we loved each other. We made love throughout the long hours of the night. Yes, it was love. It wasn't just a matter of animals fucking to release pent-up urges. It was fulfilling, exchanging sensations, whispering needs, giving everything, mutual pleasuring, and fun. We would never be the same again.

I smiled to myself, thinking of Justin's face, not simply a smile but beaming. His eyes were serious with intent, yet so intense that he looked into my soul. I saw myself reflected there in his liquid pools, knew that everything had changed between us. We were no longer father and son, not that we ever truly were related by blood. We were becoming one being, joined so completely that there was no way of separating us, certainly not of determining exactly where in our physical union, Justin's body began and mine ended. Each time I left my love inside him, I felt even more love grow between us. I had never known that such love could exist, passion yes, but not a love so strong that I felt an overpowering need to have him beside me forever.

Had I hurt him even a single time, if he had shown even the slightest trace of pain, it would have ended right there and then. There was discomfort at first, there was no denying it. What ten year-old boy would not feel discomfort with seven inches [18 cm] of hard flesh contained inside his rectum. He had experienced the full length and thickness of an adult penis so deep in his bowels that only the taut knot of my bulging scrotum prevented further penetration. However, he loved me, and I loved him back, and no pain could take that away.

His exhilaration was matched by his shameless exclamations that attended each frenzied orgasm. We rutted as equals until he had no more to give and I was too exhausted to continue. Only then, when we were fully spent did I allow him to fall back into the bed in the tangle of sheets. He smiled at me enigmatically, a look that said he knew he was mine. It was a look that conveyed his inner happiness, a look that said he now had everything that he wanted. Neither of us worried about the mess we had created, the streaks on the bed, the wetness that oozed between us. We were too exhausted to care.

Only then did Justin sleep, though it was far from soundly. It would never be possible for him to have the sleep patterns of a child again. At times his breathing became erratic, huffing and practically snoring until he changed position. Then, he passed from the dream, or was it the virulent memory of four hours of sometimes violent sex, into a deep sleep where I had to press my fingers to his chest to feel his ever-so-slight motion and convince myself that his heart was still beating. I woke several times during the night. Once, my penis itched so badly that it was all I could do not to get out of bed and rinse it clean. Instead, I put up with it rather than risk waking him up, scratching at the stickiness of drying semen and KY and the fluids that had come from deep inside him.

I had never woken up next to a young naked boy before. When Justin woke up, he also woke up sexually aroused. It stuck out straight, pointing into my thigh. It was not a matter of a piss-hard-on. His final dream, whatever it was, saw to that. He muttered in his sleep, something about 'take them off'. Interesting, given that he was already naked, otherwise I would have helped him out. A moment later, he grunted. Then I felt it. His penis poked against my side deliberately. He wriggled closer, pushing it into me like a little finger. His voice was a sleepy purr.

"Fuck me."

"Huh?"

"Fuck me, Dad."

"You aren't properly awake yet."

"So? You can still fuck me, can't you."

I smiled. "What were you dreaming about?"

"Girls. What do you think?"

"Somehow I doubt that very much." I laughed. There was no threat that his dreams would ever be graced by girls.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Are you going to?"

"Am I going to fuck you?"

"Yeah."

"You're still too sleepy."

"That didn't stop you last night."

"Hm… It didn't, did it? Aren't you sore?"

"A bit. I don't care."

"Maybe I do care about your butt."

"It isn't your butt, is it?"

"That's where you're wrong. After last night it belongs to me from now on."

Justin giggled. "I like belonging to you."

"You don't! Only your dick and this belongs to me."

I squeezed his buttocks lovingly, rubbing my fingers into his hot moist crack, searching. Was it possible that what I felt was his anus? It did not seem right. Buried between the firm rubber of his cheeks, it was so soft that it was like a little mouth, a wet and hungry mouth that was demanding my attention, wanting to be fed.

"I wan you t'fuck me," Justin yawned. "Please."

"That's better, Justin. At least you said please that time. Okay, I will, but I want you to tell me if it hurts."

"Yeah, I know. The same as last night. I haven't forgotten. I don't mind if it hurts."

"Maybe it won't hurt as much," I said hopefully.

"It didn't hurt that much the last time we did it. I think he's made my hole bigger again."

"Okay, turn over and face the wall. Are you sure you want this?"

"Na! I changed my mind. I think I'll get some breakfast first," he giggled teasingly.

"Very funny. Where in the hell is the K-Y?"

"Wherever the hell you left it. You used it last-. Youch! Hey, what was that for?"

"What do you think?"

"You can't get a stiffie?"

"Very funny. You'll be sorry when I find it, Justin."

"Why?"

"Because I'm really horny this morning."

"Good! So am I."

"Okay, I got it. Pull your legs up to your tummy. Okay, now put your hands back here and split that beautiful butt wide open for me. Jesus, it smells like a brothel under the sheet."

"Huh?"

"Nothing. Don't worry about it. I'll explain later."

"Eeech. Gross."

"What's wrong?"

"It's cold."

"Sorry! I think you'll live."

"Mmmm… That's better. Hey Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"What are we going to do after breakfast?"

"Don't know. I have to meet Harrison tonight for dinner. That's all I have planned for today."

"That feels yummy. I think I'll skip breakfast if you keep doing that. Who's Harrison?"

"My you're talkative in the mornings, aren't you? He's the man who hired me to work out the mall deal. He's movie producer or something."

"Oh! Yeah… that feels so good. Even better there."

"I hope so. I would have thought you'd be really sore after last night."

"It is a bit. It feels loose already."

"I can't imagine why."

"I can. You've got your finger stuck up my butt."

"It'll be two fingers if you don't stop wriggling around."

"I can't help it. Any way, two's even nicer…"

"Like this?"

"Uh huh. That's better. Deeper, okay?… Yeeoouuch."

"Okay?"

"Yeah. Let me get used to it a second. No! Don't pull back. Move them around!"

"Like this?"

"Yes, like that. Now back and forth."

"You really like being finger-fucked, don't you? I expect I'll have to do this to wake you up every morning from now on," I mused as I rotated and plunged my fingers in a slow sensuous rhythm.

"Only if we have sex afterwards."

"I think that can be arranged."

"It feels a lot bigger back there now," Justin hinted.

"You got any ideas what you want to do today?"

"We could do it again and again. Uh! Ah! I know what this is. He feels nice. Bit lower! Oh! Yeah! That's it! Yeah! Mmmm… You can put him in me whenever you want."

"You ready?"

"Uh huh. He's awfully hard this morning."

"I wonder why? Slowly?"

"Uh huh. Go real slow. That's his head I can feel already, isn't it."

"Hurts huh?"

"Not much. Go slow 'cause I wanna feel him going in."

"What's it feel like?"

Giggling. "Strange. It's like I'm pooping in reverse."

"Very funny. Maybe you'll grow up to be a comedian."

"He's so big. Mmmm… Yeah… Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"I love you back."

"Just my back? Because that's where my butt is?"

"I love all of you."

"Fuck!"

"What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

"Na! I just thought of something, that's all."

"What?"

"Geez, he's big. Uh! Oh God! I was trying to imagine what Robert would say if he knew what we were doing."

"Hm… don't know. He's a pain in the ass. Try to push back a bit. Not so hard. I don't want you hurting yourself. There's no rush."

"It doesn't hurt any more. Sheez! More! Yeah! Keep doing that! Man I can really feel him in there now. Whoa. There he goes!"

"Okay?"

"Give me a second to get used to having him all the way in. Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Pull back a bit."

"Okay?"

"Okay. Now, I'm ready."

"I'll go slow."

"Not too slow. Try to keep him in deep. If feels better like that."

"Why?"

"Why do you think?"

"Don't know. Maybe it has something to do with this."

"Oh shit! Don't! Fuck! Oh! Yes! Yes! Yes!"

"Bull's eye, huh?"

"Yeah! Oh shit! That's so wild, right there. It's where my prostate is, isn't it?"

"Must be. I love it when you get noisy."

"Yeah, that's so good! Fucking awesome."

"Here?"

"Oh! Yeah-yeah-yeah! Right there. Do it there."

"Like this?"

"Yeah! Oh God! Jesus! Fuck!"

"You like it here? You want it this way, huh?"

"I like it any way. Just go slow for a while."

"I kind of figured that out for myself."

"Oh fuck! God! Faster!" Pleading.

"I know. This fast enough for you?"

"Per-perfect." Gasping. "You want me to talk dirty again?"

"Uh huh."

"I'm really glad I'm your fag-boy."

"So am I. Is that the best you can do?"

"It's hard to con-concentrate. Ee-oo-aa-oo-aa-ah. G-o-o-o-d! I really love having your cock in my boy-cunt. I want you to fuck me hard. I need him in my ass so bad."

"Better, 'cause you've got all of it now. Stop squeezing on it for a bit!"

"Why? O-o-o-h! Oh God! Don't you like it?"

"Of course I like it. I'm going to cum in you any second if you don't stop."

"So? That's the whole point… of fucking."

"You better stop that or we'll both be sorry."

"Deeper! Please, Dad. Do it harder. Do it faster!"

"Are you sure?"

"Oh, oh, Jesus! Faster! Do it real fast."

"God, Justin! Stop squeezing! No!"

"Can't help it.Can't!!! Going to cum! Oh fuck!"

"That's the general idea. I thought you said you wanted it fast. You better stop that or…"

"Aawwhhfaaauck!" Justin always made the strangest sounds when he climaxed. His pre-teen body shuddered with vicious spasms, his rectum clamping, compressing, pushing, pulling my penis into him while his legs flailed and his pelvis bucked wildly. I felt his penis jerking, not with the full force of maturity but with such rapidity and intensity that ejaculation was irrelevant to his pleasure. After four or five spasms within half as many seconds, I cupped the throbbing organ under my palm, holding it captive until his orgasm was finished and he subsided enough to regain his senses. His gasping faded to slow deep breaths.

"It feels really strange just holding one ball," I crooned. "So small, it's just like a little marble inside."

"Guess so. He's lonely, so he likes being held."

I fondled Justin gently, ever careful not to squeeze too hard. His scrotal skin was so delicate that I could not actually feel it, except when it was wrinkled the way the way it was at that moment. Usually, I sensed it between my fingers from its moist heat. Anyone who has touched a ten-year-old's scrotum knows exactly what I am talking about. After only two weeks, it was already hard to locate where the incision had been made. The only visible indication, and it was very visible, was what was not there on one side. It seemed quite a bit smaller than it had once been.

"You're lucky there's still one in there," I said after nearly a minute of comforting him in his sleepy satisfied bliss.

"I know. I was pretty dumb, wasn't I?"

"Leaving the mall with him wasn't the smartest thing you've ever done, that's for sure, Justin. You could have been killed."

"Yeah, I know. He's getting soft, now. You didn't cum in me."

"Not so soft that I can't finish what I started."

Justin giggled, feeling my careful flexing movement inside him. "I bet I can get him hard again before you count to sixty."

"A minute? How about thirty?"

"Hm, don't know! I can try?"

"Are you always going to be like this?"

"Like what?"

"So horny?"

"Don't know. Do you love me, Dad?"

"You know the answer to that as well as I do."

"Yeah, I know. Why don't you prove it to me."

"I should make love to you? Is that it?"

"Uh huh. If you want me to I can squeeze on him a bit until he's hard again?"

"Let's take a break for a while. Justin?"

"Yeah?"

"You know they'll do it again with some other boy, don't you?" I asked.

"Yeah, I guess."

I felt him tense up, drawing away slightly, but not far enough that he would break the flesh-bond we shared. We were still joined. Neither of us would do anything to separate us, either physically or emotionally, not after what we had been through together. We had achieved a mutual dependence. Together, we could survive. The several inches of my penis that remained inside Justin's rectum provided a connection that could not be challenged.

"You know, the next boy might not be quite so lucky," I said abruptly.

Justin shrugged dispassionately. It was hard for him to acknowledge that his reluctance to identify them was an act of complicity.

"They need to be punished for what they did to you."

"I… I know… I know that. Only I can't. I can't tell, okay?"

"No, it's not okay, Justin. Why don't you hate them for what they did you?" I asked cheerlessly.

Justin was quiet for a long while. I was about to say something unimportant, if only to break the silence. He chewed at his bottom lip, a sure sign that he was very nervous. His hands fumbled awkwardly with the corners of the pillow that lay beneath his head.

"I can't."

"I don't understand," I said slowly.

Justin sighed. He took a deep breath. "They made a video."

I knew about the video. Until now, we had not talked about it. "I know that. So?"

"So I can't tell anything more," Justin replied adamantly.

"Are you afraid they'll show it to other people?" I asked.

Justin nodded his head slightly. "They said they would put the best bits of it on the Internet if I told anyone. They took some photos of me with a digital camera as well. Before they let me go, they showed me some pictures of other boys on the computer."

"And you're afraid someone would recognize you?"

"Yeah, that mostly. If they were arrested, the tapes would be shown in court, wouldn't they?"

"Probably. I imagine a few parts would have to be shown to prove…"

"I… I can't. I don't want people to know. They'll see everything. They taped everything, okay?"

"So?"

"It shows what I did with them."

"And?" I prompted.

Justin was scared stiff, even if a certain part of his body was not. His penis was still standing to attention, and demanding attention. It was no longer than my thumb and nearly as hard.

"I know most of what you did with them. Is whatever else that happened so bad?"

He breathed out slowly, thoughtfully. "At first it wasn't so bad. Then, well it got out of hand. Some of the things weren't fun."

"Such as?"

"Like I had to suck their cocks after they…" He winced. His silence was shameful. "Stuff like that."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not now. They taped it all, Dad. Everything!"

"Justin, what if we could get the tapes back from them? I suggested. "We could destroy them. Would you go to the police then?"

"If they were arrested, would I have to give evidence?"

"I guess. I don't know. Yeah, probably. The State would have to prove what they did to you. I think with kids, all they do is have you meet with the judge. You wouldn't have to show the judge anything. The doctors would talk about your injuries. You'd just talk about what they did to you."

"What if the Judge asks me if they forced me to do stuff?"

"I guess you tell him."

"The truth?"

"It doesn't change what happened. You're ten years old. You're not old enough to make decisions like that."

"Except with you, huh?"

"Yeah, well let's not go down that road right now."

"I can't tell, Dad."

"Don't you want them to be punished?"

"Yeah, but… I just can't, that's all!" he said with finality.

"Okay." I took a deep breath.

It was now or never. For a few times during the two weeks I considered doing nothing. Like Justin, I could try to forget the entire thing had ever happened. Maybe, eventually, I'd be able to look at myself in the mirror and not loathe myself. However, the memory of that afternoon in Doctor Branston's office, and later in the operating room, was just too strong.

"Justin, what if we could punish them?"

"How?" he asked.

I felt my heart lurch with anticipation. At least he was curious enough not to dismiss the proposition.

"I don't know yet. What would you like to do to them?" I asked nervously.

"I… I'm not sure. Part of me wants to kill them."

"Same here!" I said agreeably. "If they were dead, at least they couldn't hurt other boys ever again."

"Do you hate them?"

"Yes, of course I do. I would hate anyone who hurt you. For what they did you…"

"I… I…" Justin paused, uncertainty and fear reflected in his beautiful face. "I know who one of them is, Dad," he admitted softly.

"Who?"

"His name is Martin Hale. I saw his name on an envelop."

How many Martin Hale's could there be in Orlando? I turned away from Justin, barely aware that some time during our talk, my penis had slipped from its hot wet home. I reached into the drawer of the nightstand that separated the two beds and retrieved the telephone directory. Lying on my back, I turned the pages quickly. Justin was attentive, scanning the alphabetical listing with me.

"Back a page," he announced excitedly, when I reached 'Hammond'.

My hands shook, feeling clammy. Justin's first finger ran down the line of names. There were several Hale's with the initial 'M', but only one had the foresight to spell his name out in full.

"Jackpot!" we said in unison.

"Are you sure?' I asked as soon as the implication had settled into my mind.

"Number 69, Callawashie Creek Park," Justin said aloud. "Sixty-nine! It has to be him. I saw that number on the outside of the trailer."

"He took you to his trailer," I said carefully. Justin nodded. Martin Hale must have been very confident that the boy would not reveal his identity. I had a chilled feeling, a feeling of deja-vu.

"Now what?"

"Huh?" I said vaguely.

"Now what?"

Justin's voice brought me back to face reality. "I don't know. Yes, I do! I know exactly what to do."

I hopped out of bed and went over the table next to the window where I had been working on the last phase of the financial analysis of the Callawashie Creek Mall. Suddenly, everything made sense. The first time I had gone there, I had glimpsed a trailer park from the rear of the Mall. It was behind an area where dumpsters were kept to collect rubbish and construction debris. It was too much of a coincidence. Justin had been taken only a few hundred yards away, although Martin Hale had probably gone by a circuitous route in order to confuse his victim.

I picked up my laptop computer, made sure that it was still plugged into the telephone jack, and came back to the bed. On the way, I picked up a bath towel that had dropped to the floor. "Here," I grinned. "I think you need it more than I do."

Justin grinned back at me. "Well maybe I am pretty messy back there, but whose fault is it?"

"Mine, I guess. However, it's your butt so you get to clean it up."

He made a wry face. Under different circumstances there was nothing I would rather have done at that moment than clean him up, and not with a towel. I had licked him clean during the night. However, I had other things on my mind. In fact, my mind was racing.

"I thought you said my ass belonged to you from now on," Justin asked teasingly.

"It does," I answered with a smile. "Do you want to take a shower?"

"With you?" Justin suggested hopefully

"Not this time, you sexed-crazed monster. I'll take a rain-check."

"Okay, but the offer's only good when I'm horny."

"Deal!"

"What do you need your computer for?" Justin asked curiously.

I grinned, amused how he was able to turn his sexual desire on and off at will. At least he still had the attention span of a child, if not a child's innocence.

"Wait and see," I said as I resumed my place in the bed next to Justin.

"Are you going to do some more work?" he asked indifferently, reaching over his hip and dabbing between his cheeks tentatively.

"Nope."

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

"If we find him?…"

"Yes?" I prompted again. "What are we going to do?" I finished. Justin nodded once. "I don't know. I haven't decided yet. How's the back-door feel?"

"It's okay." Justin shrugged. He lifted himself up slightly and glanced underneath him. "You really made a mess last night though," he said accusingly. "There's stuff all over the sheets where I was sleeping."

"Gross."

"What are we going to do? I could get some soap and water and try to clean it up."

"No. There's nothing to worry about, Justin. We'll be checking out later today. I'll throw the sheets in the bath-tub and tell the front desk that you wet the bed."

Justin smirked. "Very funny. I guess I did in a way. Remember when you pulled out that last time."

"Uh huh."

It had been rather like pulling out a cork, made far worse by the gas that had built up inside him. So much for the so-called advantages of water-based lubricants. The sudden release of pressure had blown out gobs of semen, lubricant, and mucus all over the sheets. Cautiously, Justin probed between his buttocks, examining the small opening with a fingertip.

"It's still loose," he announced with something that could easily be mistaken for pride.

I nodded. "I can't imagine why."

"Do you think it'll ever get tight again?"

"Not if we keep doing what we did last night," I said.

"And this morning too. I don't care if it's loose, just so long as I don't have to wear that dumb-assed bag again."

I could not tell Justin what I knew. The doctor had told me the bad news during the last visit. His sphincter had recovered as much as it was going to. Luckily, he would not need a colostomy. Unfortunately, the muscle was not strong enough to close the anus properly. He would always have such poor muscle tone that he would sometimes experience leakage and difficulty in passing stools. There was an operation, but Justin was not ready for it. Another six months or a year before he would hear about it.

I could do nothing while the computer booted up, until the modem connection was established, until the browser was pointed at the database I had been using to evaluate the economy and market factors surrounding the Mall. When I entered 'Callawashie Creek Park' into the GIS search engine and placed it at the center of the screen, my suspicions were confirmed. In the bottom right hand corner of the monitor was the parking lot and garage enclosure of the Mall. I changed the criteria to an aerial photograph and removed some of the layers of data.

"Well?" I asked, gesturing to the detailed aerial photograph that covered most of the monitor.

"That's it, right there" Justin said sharply.

His finger moved to point to a wooded area that followed a natural watercourse. The shape of a bridge was clearly visible just before the entry to the trailer park.

"We crossed over a bridge just before we got there. It has to be that one."

"How long were you on the motor-cycle?" I asked.

"I don't know exactly. Like about ten minutes, I guess."

"You know, Justin, if the leaves were off the trees, you might have even been able to see the back of the Mall from there. He drove you around in circles."

Justin groaned. "I remember thinking that at the time. Something weird was happening. He made lots or turns, but he didn't seem to be going anywhere."

I turned off some of the layers and turned on two others. Using the cursor, I moved across the map until I was centered on lot 69. I changed the scale and waited for the new data to be loaded. Fortunately, before 9.00 am, there was very little traffic on the system. A minute later. We were looking at a close-up aerial photograph of the roof of the trailer sitting at 69 Callawashie Creek Park.

"That's it! I know it is."

"How do you know?"

"That! I saw it from the kitchen window. It was right there. And there was a big tree next to it."

That, was a white 300 gallon [1100 liter] propane gas tank about ten feet [3 m] away from the side of the trailer. Justin's finger slowly crept back away from the monitor. He smiled up at me. He had always been a very observant child.

"Now what?" he asked, self-consciously fondling his surprisingly hard penis.

I swallowed, trying to convince myself that he was not sexually excited about the prospect of seeing Martin Hale again. Seeing my interest, he slid his hand downward, gripping the skin hard enough that his foreskin retracted past his glans. It was swollen and purple-colored. The tiny meatus opened like a mouth, speaking. I felt my hear race, a surge of excitement, breathing deeply. Now what?

"Now we think of a plan," I answered.

Justin's hand began to move up and down, rhythmically engaging the entire rigid length with is thumb and first finger. He turned to face me, smiling seductively.

"Are you horny again?" I teased.

"Yes!"

"You want to finish what we started earlier?"

"Uh huh. I want to be fucked properly this time. No stopping until he comes in my butt."

"Oh?" I grinned at the boy. "What about our friend in the trailer?"

"He can wait," Justin said adamantly.

"No he can't," I said firmly. "Let's get a shower."

I shoved the sheets back and swung my legs out of bed. With one hand on Justin's right ankle, I dragged the giggling naked youngster to the edge of the bed. He was easy to lift. His arms hugged my neck, his face drawing to mine, eyes closing, lips forming a kiss. When our mouths came together, his legs automatically locked around my waist so that he was suspended, even if I let go of him. Which, of course I did, only to caress his slender back, from his sticky buttocks to the nape of his neck. We tongue-kissed all the way into the bathroom. I deposited him in front of the toilet and took a place beside him. It would be a lie to say that we urinated together. Justin started first and finished first, but for more than a few seconds we intersected our streams. He was well-shaken and watching with fascination when my final droplets emptied into the pool of now-amber-colored water.

Soap, water, shampoo, and a wet wriggling boy provided more entertainment than watching the World Series. I rinsed him at the start and at the end, and in between he was covered with foamy bubbles from head to foot. Then, grinning from ear to ear, Justin took his turn. He showed great delight in examining my hairless genitals, even offering to shave me again.

Without more warning than a few seconds of inactivity, he stuck his first finger inside my anus and squirmed it around. I relaxed, feeling his digit going deeper and deeper until it could go no further. He lifted up, prodding for my inner gland and then, amid a flurry of infectious giggles, began stabbing back and forth. When I started to complain he slapped my butt with his other hand and said, "'s only fair. You washed mine out."

Who was I to complain? It was quite enjoyable, if he was a little inexperienced. Experience would come with practice, and I followed my instincts, letting him experiment to his heart's content. After a few minutes, I realized his motion had become slower and more exaggerated, a rhythm that was intended to produce pleasure. Although he was a fast learner, clearly he had learned how to pleasure himself and was merely applying that knowledge to me. I found myself wondering whether another part of Justin's anatomy would eventually find its way inside me. If it ever happened, it was still many years away.

However, all good things have to come to an end eventually. I reached behind and stopped his hand. He beamed when I told him that even though I was getting close to orgasm, we had other, more important things to do. We toweled ourselves dry and quickly dressed, stealing frequent and longing glances before our bodies were clothed. It was all either of us could do not to jump back into bed and resume what we had left unfinished. However, it was not our empty stomachs demanding a different kind of nourishment, that caused me to postpone our love-making. Rather, I had the start of an idea, an idea that would not only give me revenge, but also ensure that Justin's future would not be compromised. I would retrieve the photos and video tapes. That the only way to guarantee the safety of other boys was by forceful intervention, was never far from my mind. Continually, I wondered whether I would be able to do what I would need to do when the time came.

We picked up some coffee, a carton of lowfat milk and half-a-dozen donuts at a drive-thru window and ate in the car. The first order of business was to reconnoiter and find the best way of approaching Hale's trailer without being seen. That required a pair of binoculars, and that meant a trip to a sporting goods store. On the way out of the store I did something that I had wanted to do for a long time. I purchased a bright-red Speedo for Justin

I parked in the mall parking lot, shortly after ten o'clock. There were already several dozen cars parked already. I presumed they belonged to the retirees who walked there every morning. In a large paper bag behind our seats were the items we had purchased less than half-an-hour earlier.

The only way to purchase a hand-gun was by applying for a permit and waiting several days for approval. While it was less difficult to buy a rifle or shotgun, there would still be a paper trail that led directly to me. There no records for knives! I had purchased a nine-inch [23 cm] hunting knife with a bone handle, binoculars, two-way hand-held radios, and fifty feet [15 m] of 3/8 inch [10 mm] nylon rope. To complete the image of a father and son preparing for a camping expedition, I included a two-person tent, two zip-together sleeping bags, and cooking and eating utensils. It would have been cheap at twice the cost. I had plans for those items after this ordeal was over. Along with seeing him in a Speedo, I had always wanted to take him a camping.

Justin regarded me with uncertainty. I could see his apprehension, his fear, the ever-present memories of what had been done to him. The man's home, the place where he had been taken, was out of sight, yet it was only a few hundred yards through the woods. He breathed out slowly.

"Are you going to kill him?" he asked fearfully.

I shrugged. "I don't know. I want to" I thought for a moment. "At least I think I do."

"What about the others?"

"I want them all," I answered flatly. "I want them all dead for what they did to you." I opened the car door. "This time you can't stay at the Mall by yourself."

Justin gave me a weak smile, remembering the last time he had spent a few hours by himself at the Mall. He opened his door and got out without answering.

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