Teglin

Three Weeks to Heaven

A Boylove Romance

Book One

Chapter 1

The slope hung precipitously over the valley below. Glimpses of a long meadow and a rock-strewn stream running with cold snow-melt teased me, keeping me expectant and awake. There was something down there for me. I did not know what it was, but it was there nevertheless.

I hoped it was rest that awaited me. I wanted nothing more than to break this unexpected and unwanted journey by flopping down next to the stream or in the shade of an Aspen grove. 48 hours in the saddle since getting the telegram: "teg. need trkr. renegade tk j."

Only Bill Sanders, my old college fraternity brother, had ever called me Teg, so I knew this was for real, even though I hadn't known that he had brought his son out to the mining district. Well, I had only been West for ten years, myself, but in that time I had learned to track. I could follow a fish through lake water, and though Joey's trail would be two weeks old by the time I got over the mountains to Elizabethtown, I never doubted what I had to do. I just hoped the cavalry was on the trail already. Likely that bunch of Comanche that was raising hell out on the Staked Plains. Unfortunately, the army was not always successful tracking down small bands of renegades.

Right now I needed rest. So did my bay. His head was dragging. Back up on the ridge line he had slipped on the loose rock once too often. I was drooping too, I guess.

Until I glimpsed the boy down in the valley. A fair-haired youngster – I could see that much, from above. Golden blonde locks reached to his bare shoulders. He was naked to the waist, skin the color of alabaster in the noon-time sun. He wore knickers, his calves showing white below the dark material of his pants. Now that was odd out here in the West. I hadn't seen a boy in knickers since coming West myself, to start ranching. Not that I got to see too many boys out on the Mogollon Plateau, much to my regret.

Of course, I started getting hard instantly, and felt the usual quickening of breath and pulse. Couldn't help it. Well, that's why I came West in the first place, to escape the heart-rending, never-to-be requited passion I felt for boys. And the embarrassment. You see, Teg Junior, down between my legs, had a mind of his own. Just the scent of a boy, much less the vision of loveliness that now presented himself to me, would make my penis stand up to attention. It was the kind of situation I was forced to avoid, but desired more than anything else. It would be comical if it weren't so dangerous.

Now my seven inches [18 cm] stretched out painfully, flaring against the rough confinement of my jeans.

Yes, it could get more than embarrassing at times, holding this uncommon love for the little ones. But there it was. I would not change it if I could. It was at one and the same time my curse and my greatest joy. Just to be around a boy like the one down there in the meadow, just to be able to watch his every movement, to hear his every sigh, or the soft tones of his lilting voice, to watch him brush his hair back, or to witness the stretch of his lithe body as he flung a rock into the stream – those were just a few of the treasures that I can only find in a boy.

Of course, the brief glance, or a moment in his presence, was all I could expect of this or any other boy. The fate of a man like me is not often kind. Not since the passing of the Classical Age in Rome, as far as I knew.

Common sense, and a high regard for my own freedom, told me that it takes much more than love to share a relationship with a boy, even if he returns your love. You have to have that, of course. I would never force my attentions upon anyone, and can't imagine any circumstances that would ever lead me to do so. You also have to have either the permission of the child's parents, or some circumstance which places the youngster in your care. Neither was ever very likely.

However realistic I was with my passion, unrequited love never stopped my errant tool from showing its feelings. I willed my penis to subside as I continued down the trail. If I were going to rest by that stream, I wanted to at least be graced by the nearness of that boy. Having a tent sticking out in my crotch might frighten him, depending on how old he was.

Couldn't really tell yet. Hopefully pre-pubescent. I admired them about age 8 to 12. Old enough to have an independent personality, but before they lose their incredible smoothness, their slim, delicate charm. Muscle development and lankiness would mask that forever.

Before I came out of the woods at the base of the slope, I got down out of the saddle, brushed myself off and smoothed my hair back into place. Yeah, just like a young suitor, not yet dry behind the ears, getting ready to escort his girl to the social. That's the way I always feel, meeting a boy for the first time. They do that to me. My heart beat like a drum and I felt like my stomach was tied up in knots. Not to mention the tension in my loins. My balls would ache from now until I could get alone and milk them.

Putting my hat back on and taking the reins in hand, I stepped out into the meadow. The boy was standing on the bank of the babbling stream with his back towards me, arched in statuesque glory. What a sight for my tired eyes. I breathed in the scene.

The stream meandered off along the relatively flat valley floor as far as I could see in both directions. Where the boy's home was I could not fathom, as the bottomland was clear of any structures. The hint of a breeze painted my face soothingly, and gently fluttered the gossamer strands of the boy's hair.

His figure was that of about a 10 or 11 year old. My eyes traced the lines of his shoulders, from the long slender neck that peeked through the fluttering tresses, down to arms almost effeminate in their sleek, unmuscled perfection. His shoulder blades flared beneath his satiny smooth skin, as he swung his fishing pole out into the clear water. He was a thin boy, his ribs outlined in symmetry along his dimpled backbone as it curved down to disappear under his sagging trousers. The drawstring was loose enough that his waistband had slipped down the curve of his hips to lodge teasingly just below the beginning of the crease between the twin globes of his buttocks. Perfectly formed, slim legs, devoid of hair where I could see his calves beneath the knickers, made him look taller than he really was – perhaps 4'10" [1.47 m] or so at the most. He was barefoot – I saw his shoes and shirt cast carelessly aside over by a lunch basket.

I swear I had to force myself to breathe upon seeing this angel up close for the first time. He stood still now, like a child of the gods with the sun burnishing his creamy, unblemished flesh. I could have stood still there, as well, perfectly happy just to observe, but I did not want to scare him if he turned.

"Halo there," I called out as calmly as I could as I approached slowly.

He turned, startled, dropping his pole. For a moment he did indeed look frightened, but quickly regained his composure and granted me a wary smile of guarded welcome. My kind of boy! Willing to give me a chance to prove myself, but not blindly trusting.

"Hi, mister," he said in a soft, rather high voice, a song-bird like voice that I'll never forget. It had a flute-like quality, as gentle as his smile. I will never forget my first look at his face, either. A Nordic god-child, indeed. Sparkling green eyes with flecks of golden-brown, that made Nature's own green meadow grass seem lifeless by compare.

His eyes were cast below thin, silvery-blonde brows, so fine that they were almost invisible. Lips red and full – I longed for a forbidden kiss instantly, but failing that, if only I could be allowed to gaze upon his countenance for a brief while! His every feature accentuated the delicacy of his frame.

My god-child's fright did not last long, nor his wariness. I have to admit, happily, that I have that effect on kids. They seem to sense that something in me that loves them – well, the boys, anyway. Not that I have anything against girls, mind you. There's just no attraction there. I've never seen a female, young or old, that could compare to the winsome beauty of a young boy.

I think the little guys sense not only my love for them, but that they are completely safe with me. Must be my rugged good looks! At 6'2" [1.88 m], all bones and lean muscle from the last ten years of work on my ranch back near Flagtown, I exude strength and carry myself with a carefree gait. I have dark brown hair, and it needed cutting just at this moment, hanging down like this boy's. But my hair falls straight, with no natural curl like his.

Nothing much riles me. Except the kind of thing that got me on this trip in the first place. Yes, and the boys. Nope, they had nothing to fear from me. Sure, when I meet a beautiful boy I want him fiercely, I can fantasize as much as any lover. But notwithstanding my complete familiarity with the Classical writings on Greek love, well, I was perforce still a virgin. My dream was that someday, if I led a good life, I would meet a boy who wanted me in the way I wanted him, but till then I would love and protect from afar.

I could see this one looking me over just like I did him as unobtrusively as possible. He seemed to like what he saw, his smile widening off-handedly. As for me, I certainly liked what I saw. It was an effort to maintain my composure. His bare chest just begged to be caressed by my hands, if I ever dared sully his perfect skin with my work-roughened fingers. Tiny little reddish nipples, surrounded by aureole no larger around than the tip of my little finger – they glared at me from his peerless white skin – skin that was almost a translucent pearl-white. His pants swayed down in front, far below his pert little belly-button. That little nubbin peeked out of a firm belly that sloped gently into the velvety, V-shaped, but still hidden pubis. His waist was narrow, accentuating his hips, and giving him something of an effeminate grace. The merest hint of his pelvic bones, undulating under his satin flesh, seemed to channel my gaze down. The knickers were fairly tight, and buttoned up along the side, so there was no excess fabric to hide the bulge that I expected to see between his legs, but it was barely apparent. God-child's treasures were obviously small and as dainty as the rest of his frame. I could imagine his little penis, perhaps an inch [2½ cm] long when resting soft upon his pearl-encasing, totally hairless scrotum.

That's when I got in trouble again. I swear I wasn't consciously willing all these lascivious thoughts – they come upon me unbidden when I see a boy. And this was no average boy. Teg Junior did it to me again. My shaft snaked like a pole out of my pants leg and lifted out, still pointing down, but with its head forming a visible knob in my crotch as it strained to come upright. By the time I was aware of it, my arousal was impossible for him to miss.

He didn't miss it. Just as I became aware of the throbbing pulse in my straining manhood, I saw his gaze lower as he took in my towering frame. The shock in his eyes was like a dagger to my heart. I didn't want to hurt this little guy, this demi-god of Creation. He deserved love, caring, protection, not what he must have been thinking when he saw my untoward condition.

For the barest moment his eyes sought mine, and thankfully I saw a look not of fear, but of confusion and questioning. Involuntarily, I guess, his little hands turned palm out, fingers unconsciously bending as if he were trying to grasp for something, almost as if he were pleading for something. I swallowed hard and turned away to hide my shame. I couldn't fathom what that look of pleading meant. I was more flustered than I had ever been with any other boy. And let me tell you, I don't get flustered by anything or anybody except boys.

Was he pleading for mercy, out of fear? No, it wasn't like that at all. Desperately I hoped it wasn't like that. More like an entreaty, like he was tugging at my soul. Or was that mere wishful thinking on my part? Love is a funny thing – it always seeks a soulmate, and here I was hoping that this boy was feeling the same way I did.

Another funny thing – it was at that moment that my passion for this unnamed boy transformed from the physical to a spiritual plane. That just made me harder, of course; the thrill of loving and caring for this boy as more than a beautiful object made me painfully turgid. If my God-child were pleading with those doe-like eyes, then I wanted nothing more than to meet his every need.

While fiddling with the saddle ties, I stole a glance his way. He too had turned half away, and was looking down at the ground, where one foot parried with a loose rock. Through the swirling, silken strands of hair which veiled his face, I thought I saw sadness in his expression, a kind of disconsolate hopelessness, like I had just disappointed him in some way. Like he was used to disappointment and was shrugging it off.

Fumbling with my words just like I did with the saddle, I yammered out something like, "Ah… nice… nice day for fishing…" I prayed that he would answer me, that he wouldn't up and run away from this stranger who had just walked up, sprouted a hardon, and couldn't even complete a sentence. Aw heck, I just hoped he didn't even know what an erection was – naw, honestly I knew from his reaction that he did. Maybe still he would grant me a few moments to bask in his glory.

"Ye… Yeah," he kind of stammered too. I glanced over again, and it seemed like he had shrugged off whatever doubts my erection had caused. He stooped to retrieve his fishing pole, stretching his pants taut against the firm globes of his buttocks.

I sighed to myself, both in relief and in awe at his beauty. "Mind if I sit a spell and… keep you company?" I said.

Well, there it was. Whatever he said next would seal my fate, for longer than this one afternoon. A boylover doesn't encounter the epitome of boyhood, and ever forget each precious moment in his presence, each scent, each exchange of glances, and perhaps a passing touch. I would never forget him, whether or not he graced me with his company for the next few hours. The brief wait for his response was tense enough to cause my rampant flesh to subside. I really just hoped to sit there with the boy!

"Sure, sir… I… I'd like the company," he said in his contralto, sing-song voice. For a moment I thought I heard a wistfulness, a trace of sadness in his tone. Like he wanted me to stick around as much as I wanted to be there. Like he truly needed a companion. Was I mistaking his demure, rather shy hesitancy? Trying not to be too obvious, I watched him from beneath my hat brim as I began to loosen the cinch strap.

He was waiting for my response, I could tell. He even glanced my way with that pleading look again.

The mercurial ups and downs of my own emotions, as I had waited for his reaction, dissolved in a flood of relief and unnatural joy. I'm telling you, that's what boys do to me. I do get smitten easily, and this angel had me hooked completely.

"Call me Teglin," I hastened to respond to his offer of companionship.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Teglin!" he said as he flashed me what could only be described as a joyous smile, as if to say: thanks for granting me this great favor! Me grant him a favor? If only he could know what his words meant to me!

"Just Teglin, son. I'll be grateful if you'll cut that 'Mister' part."

Like I say, kids usually like me, but this boy was if anything more desperate for companionship than I was. I wondered what would make him feel like that, was he in some kind of trouble out here? Were his parents mistreating him? I struggled to come up with something to say that would show him that I cared, but I didn't want to take any further chances of scaring him off, by sounding too desperate myself.

"You know what," I said, "I'd appreciate it if you would just call me Teg. Not many do, and it would make me feel good, like I have a friend."

"Sure, sir… I mean, Teg," he giggled, even as his face began to blush slightly. It looked like my god-child had an affliction similar to mine. His complexion was so fair that his emotions were betrayed without conscious effort.

Well, his giggling made me grin, as they say, like a mule eating briars. My father, a rather staid Boston banker, would cringe to hear me use a phrase like that, but if you've lived out West for ten years, you're bound to slough off some of the polish of the Eastern elite. I certainly had long since lost any pretense I had ever learned in the Ivy League clubs.

In my exuberance, I must have become less than gentle loosening the cinch strap on my bay's saddle, because he suddenly lurched against me. I was still grinning foolishly, but suddenly I was flat on my back with the freed saddle and blanket ensconced across my chest.

That just made the little devil burst out laughing and slapping his knees, while I looked up at him in befuddlement.

I gave him some time to enjoy himself at my expense, quite pleased actually that the ice was good and broken, and we could be more free and open with each other. Finally I fixed a glare of mock exasperation on him and called out, "Well, are you just going to leave me here, trapped under all this leather?"

He traipsed over, still giggling, and although we both knew that I did not really need the help, he proceeded to pull the saddle and blanket off me. As he stood over me I drank in his loveliness, practically in awe. That's not something I could hide very well either, and of course he noticed the intensity of my gaze. At times past, I've had more than one boy tell me, "don't look at me like that," when much to my amaze I had been staring too closely. It's not a conscious thing, perhaps my eyes get too big, perhaps the child can see the longing there – I don't know.

Well, god-child stopped giggling, but my attentiveness seemed to please him in some way, because he gave me a quirky kind of smile, with his eyebrows raised knowingly, as if to say that he knew I was faking helplessness, just to have him hover over me, but he did not mind.

Gone completely was that pleading, desperate look of just moments before, to be replaced by something more akin to a simple question – he must be wondering what it was that I found so fascinating about him. Well, he didn't seem to be bothered by it, but I could see his mind churning behind those heavenly emerald orbs.

Never had I seen anyone so fair and blonde as this boy! Even his lips were shaded more flesh-pink than red. I tried to memorize even more of his features, because this dream was not going to last forever. I would want to remember every last bit of him. Yes, I would fantasize about the boy, while I furiously stroked my blood-engorged penis, but I wanted this memory for much more – for my devotion. He was truly a demi-god.

He had small, delicately formed ears hidden within his cascading tresses, which framed his thinnish features. A slim nose, pale cheeks, the skin soft, glowing, almost transparent.

Much to my surprise, the god-child extended his little hand towards me, as if he were going to lift me bodily. Short thin fingers, a small, smooth palm – a hand that had never known much work. Could he be the product of frontier ranchers? The purity of his complexion and the delicacy of his frame bespoke the East. Was he displaced too? Or was he sickly and unused to the outdoors? No! Definitely not that. This boy may be fine boned and his beauty unsullied by days in the sun and wind, but he was the epitome of boyhood – vibrant, glowing, healthy… perfect.

Emboldened by his acceptance of my rather too-obvious beguilement, I dared to reach up for his hand. Soft and warm, the feel of it almost made me forget myself again. I could actually feel the fine bones beneath his flesh, and the very pulse of his beating heart! Careful not to hurt him, I playfully tugged him down onto me.

There I was, in boy-heaven, me on my back, he sitting astonished on my belly. Both of us laughing uproariously. I drew my legs up, to keep him from rocking sideways onto my stiffening dick, although I could definitely feel the pressure of his buttocks on the very head of my cock. He didn't notice it, and just settled in and put one arm up across my knees. He propped himself there, just as pretty as you please, looking comfortable and smug.

"Hey," I said, tapping his closest knee, "you can get up now. I'm not a chair."

"Nope," he said defiantly, triumphantly, "you thought you were going to trick me. Now I think I'll just sit here."

I wasn't about to argue. Now this was rest and relaxation! A moment ago I was riding hot and weary down a mountain-side. Now I reclined in meadow grass, beside a cool stream, with a beautiful boy sitting possessively on my stomach!

Well, I clasped my hands behind my head and gazed contentedly into the boy's face. There was literally a halo of reflected sunlight glimmering through his silvery blonde hair. An angel if there ever was one. Some quandary. Now I did not know whether to think of him as a representative of the Olympian gods or an angel of grace. Truly he was both.

"Alright, I freely recognize your right to stay where you are," I conceded happily. His chin jutted out in triumph.

I felt emboldened to say, "might I ask who it is that has made of me a cushion for his comfort and pleasure."

His smug smile of victory was suddenly replaced by a bashful grimace of embarrassment. He looked down. "You'll laugh if I tell you," he said in a low, quiet voice.

"Never," I said.

He sat there clapping my knees together with both hands absent-mindedly, twisting his body away from me. "Yes, you will. If I do tell you, you have to promise not to laugh." He sneaked a peek at me to see how I would react to his demand.

"As champion of our recent encounter, it is yours to command and mine to obey. I'll not utter a peep if you'll only tell me." At that moment, with the heat from his soft bottom permeating into my stomach, with him squirming idly against my raised legs and lightly brushing the tip of my penis, I didn't really care if he ever told me his name, so long as he remained with me.

You have to picture the scene to imagine the Nirvana that I was in. It was like he was part of me. He was so close that I could smell his boy-scent, a fragrance so unlike that of a man. Even though he had been out playing in the meadow, a sweet, musty mixture of soap and his very own bodily exhalations wafted to my nose. I've admired many boys from afar, and had had some close contact with Bill Sanders' boy, but not intimately like this.

I visually traced every line of his profile. I drank in details of his beauty. His sensuous lips turned down ever so slightly at the corners, the lower lip full and soft, the upper rested upon the lower in the shape of a symmetrical curlicue, the flattened point just below the two little ridges that led to his nose. His nostrils were so tiny and narrow. And I swear that I could see the light of the sun through the membrane of his precious little ears, so delicately formed were they. His little fingers flexed playfully, clothed in pink-white skin that was devoid of the misuse of hard work or age. Little digits made for a magical touch.

He had long eyelashes of fine strands, eyelids with a warm pinkish sheen. His lashes fluttered, making him a coquette without any conscious effort.

The world could have come to an end at that moment and I would have gone happily knowing that I had witnessed, had even been touched by pure, virginal, boyhood.

"Wishes," I thought I heard him whisper. I wondered if it truly came from his lips, or like the breeze, through the pine boughs of the forest so close by.

"You… you wish… something?" I said hesitantly, in a hushed tone matching his.

"Wishus," he said more forcibly. He was still looking down, as if afraid to meet my gaze. "That's my name. My nickname."

"Wishus. Wishus," I twice breathed his name softly, wistfully, wondering how this name might be a window into his soul.

"I like it. Very, very much," I said reverently, and I meant it. It struck me. "It's musical, and brings to my mind some kind of a… of an expectation…." I caught myself thinking out loud, but didn't regret it, because he suddenly beamed with a smile and looked directly at me. It was a remarkable transformation, like I had just drawn the curtains on a window, through which poured life-giving light.

The god-child slipped off my stomach excitedly onto his own knees, facing me intently, leaning into and grasping my upraised knees in a bear hug with both arms.

"It's short for Allouitius. I hate that name," the words tumbled out of his mouth in a rush.

"I don't know why…," I started to protest, but was drowned out as he continued.

"I don't want anyone calling me Allouitius," he proclaimed, certain that no one would dare to contradict this dictum of his. "Momma used to call me Allie, but that's a girl's name, so I came up with Wishus."

"I like it. I like it a lot," I again tried to interject. You can't imagine what a sweet little smile of acknowledgement he gave me at that. I mean, his whole body snapped to attention, he cocked his head to one side, flashed me a smile ever so briefly, then continued on with his discourse.

"Too bad my grandfather was named Allouitius. That's where I got it from. Allouitius Knight. He was actually a drummer boy in the Revolution. You believe that?" he exclaimed in a voice that rose in pitch melodiously.

"Sure, I believe it if you…."

"Well, that's what they say, anyway." He proceeded to give me the whole family history. I listened in rapt attention, not believing my good fortune.

Have you ever had a half-naked boy, clad only in his knickers, draped all over you, his animated body wriggling and flexing this way and that as he talked? Wishus' taut little tummy was wrinkled like a washboard when he relaxed and scrunched down, with his chin momentarily atop his hands, which were clasped atop my knees. A second later he would be stretched up to full height, and his tummy was smoothed out. His little belly button, hidden under a fold of skin, would wink at me as he moved.

I don't know why, but I was entranced by his slim neck. I could see the rising columns of tendons and muscles, encased in the softest, silken textured flesh, so white and pure. I wanted to lovingly brush his hair back and nuzzle in the little crevice between his neck and collarbone, and give him soft kisses.

Actually, I was entranced by his every feature. He would raise his arms and I could see the concavity of his little armpits. There too I longed to plant a kiss. His eyelids were so thin that they glowed from within with the warmth of the tiny capillaries that carried his life's blood. His little nipples stood out hard and erect in his excitement. They begged to be caressed.

I wanted to touch him everywhere with a depth of emotion that constricted my heart, and throbbed with an aching pressure in my testicles. My penis was still rock hard, and receiving a constant, indirect massage as Wishus pushed and squeezed my knees. I knew I might cum at any moment, which might cause another crisis of embarrassment, but I guessed that Wishus wouldn't notice, unless I could not contain my reactions.

All these musings rushed through and mingled in my overloaded mind with the boy's chatter. I soon realized that he was not only beautiful and pure on the outside, but smart, innocent, vivacious – and talkative!

Having exhausted his grandfather's story, from which I gained an inkling of the long and proud bloodline of his family, he suddenly veered back onto the subject of names.

"Teg. Teglin, I wonder where your name comes from," he said, pursing his lips, wrinkling his brow, and looking off into the distance musingly. Then he looked at me questioningly. This being the first opportunity for me to speak, I figured it was my turn.

"Welsh, I think," I said.

"Oh, Wales, that's on the Western border of England. We learned that last year in school."

"You have a school out here?"

"No, silly." he harrumphed, giving me another variation on his many facial expressions, this one indicating his complete and utter disgust with my thought process. Actually, this expression too was laced with his patented sweetness. I don't think he had mean bone in his body.

"I mean back home, in New York. I just came out here last month to live with my Aunt and Uncle. My parents sent me out here because they were so asham…"

Suddenly he froze, horrified, realizing he was giving away something too personal. Again he looked down in melancholy. But this boy was irrepressible, his exuberance was not to be denied. He so quickly masked the unpleasant thought, that I knew he had had a lot of practice denying whatever it was. Right at this moment, I think he just desperately wanted someone to listen to him. Did that indicate a deep loneliness? What kind of hurt was he trying so hard to avoid thinking about? Having me here seemed like a balm to him, that he wanted to use up as fast as he could, before I disappeared.

That brief moment of introspection, some sad memory, was washed away as he resumed his talking. I could tell by his eyes that he saw my inevitable concern, but he seemed determined to brush it aside and focus on gayer thoughts. My erection began to subside nevertheless. I was amazed at my own reaction. Just the hint of a cloud over this demigod of mine made me want to do something, anything, to aid him.

For now I could only listen. That's what he seemed to need now – someone to listen. I suspected that since being shipped out West for whatever reason, he had been one very lonely and lost boy, shut off from every familiar aspect of his life. At least my own exile from the East had been voluntary.

So listen I did. We must have talked, well, he mostly talked, for a couple of hours. He eventually propped himself up against my saddle, facing me, and we had a gloriously long conversation.

I found out all about his trip West. It hadn't been a happy parting with his folks. I could tell that. I wondered what kind of people would divorce themselves from their young son. Wishus skillfully avoided any further hint about the cause of his exile. He wasn't getting along with his Aunt and Uncle, who he said had taken him just to get a subsidy from his parents. His Aunt was in the last stages of a pregnancy, and his Uncle had turned out to be something of a ne'er-do-well. He also drank to excess, as far as Wishus was concerned. No, he wasn't abusive, just inattentive. Wishus was basically uncared for, in both senses of the word.

His predicament made my heart wrench. I was powerless to help. Worse, I would be leaving him as soon as I recuperated enough to get back in the saddle. At the most, I would give myself till tomorrow morning before I needed to get back on my way.

I resolved to devote my every waking moment to this child for the few brief hours I was here. I was already thinking about my return trip, when I would get to see him once more. After that there was little hope for more than an ongoing correspondence. But there I was, already dreaming that Wishus would even want to keep in contact with me.

For now he certainly did. At one point during our conversation, he lifted his feet up onto my stomach. It took me a few moments to get up the courage, but I finally reached out and nonchalantly caressed and massaged his feet and calves. His surprised smile and the contentment pictured in his visage were all the reward I would ever need. I kneaded his soles, tweaked his toes playfully, and coursed up and down his lower legs. All the while he continued his discourse on his life and family.

And all the while I kept thinking that this was my moment, the moment I had been waiting for all my life. I liked myself at this moment, thrilling at my own honest reaction to this intimacy with a boy. Wishus was giving me a window into my own soul, and what I saw there was wholly good: tenderness, caring, compassion. And yes, there was passion too. I didn't try to hide that from myself. I wanted this boy more than I had ever wanted any other, but that desire paled in comparison to my concern for his welfare.

It was an all too brief interlude. The inexorable march of time and the lowering of the sun marked its end, when Wishus suddenly looked up in shock and noticed that it was late afternoon.

"Oh no, I promised to catch some fish for supper!" He jerked upright then jumped up and ran to his pole, his lithe form so tense that I could sense he was more than just surprised at the late hour.

"Your Aunt and Uncle won't be angry if you come back empty handed, will they?" I called out to him as I stretched my lanky frame and rose to my feet also. From what he had told me, I didn't think he was afraid of being physically punished.

"No, no, but… I wanted to do something to… I wanted to make a good impression for a change. Do something to help out. Now they're going to think I'm just useless."

I could almost feel his anxiety, and tried to imagine what it would be like to be ten years old, unloved, rejected, desperate to fit in to a family he had not even chosen for himself. I felt a lump in my throat, a sign of my own desperation to find a way to help Wishus in some small way.

"Uh, maybe I can help," I said as I strode to his side, where he was fumbling to retrieve a worm from a cup. Of course the bedraggled worm was lifeless after sitting in the enclosed container in the sun for hours.

"Will you?" he jumped to accept my suggestion, almost pleading. His hands were moving furiously, clumsily, as he crimped his arm around the pole and snaked the fishing line up between two fingers to get at the hook. Of course he caught the point under his skin, but it was superficial and he easily removed it.

"I can't get this. No matter what I try to do, I mess it up." He was starting to whine and sniffle, and I knew tears were likely to follow soon.

"You know what?" I said as I reached out and calmly but firmly grasped his fumbling hands. He looked up helplessly. I smiled down into his reddening eyes reassuringly, then cupped one hand under his quivering chin and said, "We can get some better bait first, then I'll show you just where to lay the hook. We'll have a whole string of trout before you know it."

"Really?" he squeaked in a tiny voice, his throat constricted by emotion, but I could see a twinkle of hope in his eyes. A twinkle of trust, it was. Now I had to live up to that trust.

All he needed was a helping hand and a little instruction, and once again the transformation was remarkable. Soon we were hopping through the tall grass, laughing and romping, trying to outwit a grasshopper to impale on the hook. Wishus was again the bundle of pent up energy bursting to be released. We would have had our grasshopper a lot quicker, but my mind wasn't on it. I just wanted to watch my little god-child as he crouched and leaped and crept through the meadow, his every motion fluid and graceful. He was one of those boys favored by fate with the natural athletic skills and reflexes to match his physical beauty. He just needed a mentor. Even as I thrilled at every moment I spent with him, I felt deep down sadness that he wasn't likely to get that fatherly guidance out here in the wilderness with an uncaring Uncle.

Once we had a fat, juicy grasshopper, I lovingly guided Wishus' little fingers with my own in getting it hooked, then stood behind him with my hands on his arms as he tossed it out behind a rock in the stream. I towered over him protectively, encasing his fair form in my near embrace, then we just stood there patiently with my hands resting lightly on his shoulders, gently, gently massaging.

At one point he leaned back into me and I gasped involuntarily with the joy of it. He cocked his head back and peered up at me with that quizzical look again. I didn't know if he understood the effect he had on me, but I made no effort to hide my complete contentment. I did refrain from pressing my hardening penis into his back. He no doubt felt it anyway, but there was nothing I could do to avoid it but to back away. That, I was unwilling to do, knowing this boy needed me for this moment.

I know, that sounds like the kind of rationalization that you might expect a boylover would make, and no doubt it was, but everything we were doing together was building up Wishus' self-esteem. I felt that he was going to need that inner strength after I was gone.

I saw not even a trace of disapproval, or shock, or fear in his eyes. Only the same reflected contentment that I felt.

Well, as he looked up at me, I almost leaned down to peck him on his forehead. Finally some reserve of good sense got the better of my passion, and I refrained from that too intimate act. I did lean down and sniffed and tousled his hair, and said off-handedly, "You smell good." He harrumphed and punched me with one elbow, but remained leaning against me.

At that very moment we got our first bite. For the next hour we pulled them in one after the other, and got our string.

I was just unhooking the sixth catch of the day, when Wishus' Uncle Ben rode up.

"Uncle Ben! Look at our string!" Wishus literally leaped down the stream bank to where we had pegged the knotted lariat upon which five trout swam desultorily. He proudly strained and tugged, half lifting the catch out of the water. It was heavy enough that he almost pulled himself into the cold stream instead, but he beamed up at his Uncle.

The man looked a little befuddled, if you had asked me. Maybe he had already been drinking or was just naturally slow, but he failed to respond as Wishus obviously wanted him to. The lad just wanted to be acknowledged for a change, to be complimented on his great feat. He was going to provide supper for the family, after all! His Uncle looked dumbly at the fish, at me, at Wishus, back to me.

"Looks like you had some help," he said finally, in a dull, uncaring tone. He did not sound drunk, just plain uncaring. I could understand him focussing on my presence – I was an unexpected stranger on his land, standing with his charge. But it should have been easy enough for him to take the scene in at a glance – my grazing horse, me unhooking another trout, Wishus safe and excited. In my opinion, Uncle Ben should have understood that my presence was no threat and he could safely take the time to congratulate his little nephew, then go on to find out what I was doing there.

Wishus, bless his little heart, was downcast. His shining triumph stripped from his grasp by the unthinking comment of his Uncle – it was what he had talked about for the last hour, how his Aunt and Uncle would see what a food provider he could be.

"Yes, sir," Wishus answered his Uncle disconsolately, dragging the trout string towards me. "This is Mr. Teglin. He helped me a lot."

"Well, once I showed him where to drop his line, Wishus did the rest, Mr. Knight," I hastened to add. "Why, Wishus even strung the catch." I looked from the man back to Wishus, and gave him a slight nod. I wanted to encourage him to buck up, and take the credit. He deserved it. I was telling the truth, because I had made sure not to do too much. I had wanted Wishus to experience it all, so he would be confident when I was no longer there to help.

Wishus responded to me with a shrug and a weak little defeated half-smile that was definitely not heartfelt. It had a hard time making itself all the way to his eyes. They looked hopeless, as if he wanted to say, "it's no use."

"Teglin… I'm sorry, sir, but I don't believe I've ever heard your name around here, Mr. Teglin," Ben knight said agreeably enough. I guess he wondered how I knew his name, but he did not know of me.

"No, sir. I have a place over on the Mogollon. Just passing through here. Came upon your nephew here. He was kind enough to allow me to rest. Well, sir, I can't resist a chance to cast a line out in a fishing stream.. Hope you don't mind, sir," I said, doffing my hat.

"Not at all, sir," Knight said. "You're welcome to your rest. And a good supper. I suspect you've helped my nephew a little more than you let on. It's only right that you should share in the fruit of your labor. Mrs. Knight would string me up if I didn't invite you in."

I looked questioningly down at Wishus. He had been following our introductions. "You will come in to supper, won't you Teg… Mr. Teglin?" he said, perking up a bit from the sting of his disappointment.

If Wishus wanted me there, I'd not dream of declining the invitation. I was just sorry to have our time together end like this so abruptly, and it was disturbing to witness the lack of sensitivity for the boy's needs on the part of his Uncle.

It was an afternoon that I would never forget, a heavenly interlude, during which I had been granted audience with a god-child. I knew that we would never have the opportunity to be alone together again, and he would not be so free with his emotions with me in the presence of his folks. So the inevitable parting would begin now. I could only mask my own discouragement and make the most of the opportunity that remained.

For now, it was back into the so familiar mode that all boylovers must know – observe from afar with furtive glances, plant silent, wistful kisses into the ether, and let the boy go.

Chapter 2

Now it hit me like never before, because this time I loved the boy. I mean I truly loved him. I did not just admire Wishus, as I had so many other boys, in passing, through the years. I loved him. Not lust. Love. I assure you there were no embarrassing moments with my arousal in front of Wishus' Aunt and Uncle. My longing for the boy had transcended to a plane beyond mere physical attraction, to one built of concern and passion so strong that it took all of my energy, both physical and emotional, to keep from crying out during the meeting with his Aunt, the frugal supper, and the conversation afterwards.

I did not show it outwardly. As I said, I am practiced in this one aspect of boylove. Nevertheless, I felt it, painfully. Knowing that I might never see my god-child again after tonight made each passing moment more unbearable. I did resolve to accomplish one thing – I wanted to get a sense of Wishus' relationship with his guardians, and to find some way, through suggestion, to ameliorate the life that had been dealt him. Perhaps I could even offer more material aid, financially, if I could get some sense whether they would invest whatever I sent into a better life for the boy.

They were not bad people, but I did not like them nevertheless. They were providing shelter for Wishus, but not a home. Through the whole evening that he watched and listened to us, not once did they ever invite him into their arms, either literally or figuratively. He was just there, he was their ward, but he was not a loved part of their family.

It was a sad, sad evening, made all the more so by the contrast between Wishus of the meadow, and Wishus the boarder in this cold abode. Gone were the quirky smiles, the exuberance, the playful wit that I had somehow released in him this afternoon. Now he sat pensive, his eyes ever active, going from one speaker to the next, a lonely and alone boy, hanging onto every word desperately. More than once his gaze met mine, and in the dim light I thought I saw that same hurt and pleading look that I had seen when we first met, and I had shocked him with my erection.

I had no more idea what that look meant now than earlier in the afternoon.

Not trusting my reading of his gaze, since I had too much of my own emotions invested in him, I knew I must not imagine that anything about me was so important to him, but the hope persisted.

The Texas-style cabin was split into two rooms by an open, roofed veranda. Each room had a loft. Wishus slept above the general living area, where we sat now, while his Aunt and Uncle would cross into the other room. We all sat inside that evening, for it was still too cool out, this early in the mountain Spring. We sat in wooden chairs pulled over from the supper table. Only Mrs. Knight had a rocker, where she knitted for the expected baby. Mr. Knight offered me a drink, then sat idly next to the table, occasionally freshening his own glass. I am not a drinker, so the one glass was more than I wanted.

I was in part thankful for the gloom of evening, because I could more readily watch Wishus. Flickering yellow light from the dying fire in the hearth, and from one tallow lantern, washed the boy's silent form in waves of gold.

He had brushed his hair before supper, when Mrs. Knight had us all wash up. Now his tresses flowed full to his shoulders. Here and there was a natural ringlet, burnished with the glow of the flames, seemingly alive, bathed in ever-shifting patterns of shadow and light. His flawless pearly-white skin now looked tanned and sun-bronzed, but it still radiated from within with the virile energy of his youth. The god-child sat with his feet up in his chair, his legs tucked together beneath him to one side, making his whole body lean lazily against the chair arm, his head cocked sideways and resting on the palm of one hand. Golden locks draped loosely across one whole side of his face, nearly masking one eye, while on the other side his hair hung freely away from his cheek in undulating curls. This pose lent him an air of mystery – what did he see through those golden strands of hair, why didn't he brush the veil back – it was all of a piece with the boy I was yearning to know more about – part of him was so free and open, unabashedly eager for attention, while another part remained hidden, as if on guard against being too exposed.

He had donned a loose-fitting, white tunic over his knickers, and had pushed the sleeves up, leaving his slender arms bare to my view. In the flickering light I again traced his every curve and angle, noting the lack of musculature. It made him look all the more vulnerable. The wide, open collar of his tunic laid bare the symmetrical flare of his collar bones. They merged with the curve of his little shoulders, the whole forming a bow scarce two hands breadth apart, from which sprung his slender, satiny neck.

A dainty, effeminate boy, some might say, but that was only his outward appearance. Beneath, there flowed all that boyish energy that I had witnessed today. Arms that showed no ugly bulge of muscles, flexed with pent-up tension as he listened attentively to every word we spoke. While he rested his head on one hand, his other arm shifted restlessly, at one moment lying across his thighs, then wrapped tightly around his calves, pulling them in even closer.

All scrunched up in his chair, a little golden bundle with eyes wide and open, watching, waiting… for what? I wished for one of the Old Masters to paint him in that pose – a study in the dark hues of night contrasted with the inner glow of pure, virginal, exquisitely beautiful boyhood.

Wishus was watching me too. I was not blind to it. His every glance, the occasional solemn, brooding stare from under his lowered brow, both thrilled and pained me. That too is a familiar refrain for a boylover, always wanting to read the most into a boy's attentions, but always distrusting of one's own hope and imagination. Of course I wanted his attention, I wanted his thoughts on me, but my yearning was tempered by concern. However glorious was our afternoon together, it must come to an end now. I would be leaving. I was used to the hurt of unspoken love, but for him, if he cared for me, our parting would be too much to bear.

The conversation continued in the way it always does out West, when strangers brought together briefly, want to know everything from each other. As the evening drew on, and the fire died out completely, leaving only orange-yellow coals, the room began to grow chilled. I noticed it when Wishus finally drew both his arms in, tucked tightly across his chest.

What wouldn't I have given if I could have wrapped him in my arms! Well, I did the next best thing, finally breaking my spell of despair.

While Aunt and Uncle were momentarily lost in some ramble concerning an acquaintance of theirs, I said quietly, leaning towards Wishus, "Son, would you be kind enough to fetch my coat – the sheepskin coat?"

"Sure, Te… Mr. Teglin," he didn't even hesitate, but with the nimbleness of youth unwound himself from his fetal embrace and scampered across the bare wooden floor to where my coat hung on a hook. He brought it to me with that same open and pleasant desire to please that colored his every action earlier in the day. I marveled again that his parents were so cruel as to send this angel of good will out of their home and that his guardians were apparently oblivious to his charms. It should not have taken a boylover to see the many wonders in this boy.

As I took the coat, Wishus started to turn back to his chair, but I said as nonchalantly as I could, "Wait, young man. You know, I bet you need this more than I do. Stand just here."

He just grinned in surprise and stood before me as if at attention, his little belly arched out and his hands at his side. I wanted to grasp him in a bear hug, but I maintained my air of off-hand unconcern, for the benefit of the Knights. I held up one hand and motioned with one finger that he should pirouette around. He did so, in one gleeful jump, giggling all the while.

The tail of his tunic flared up as he hopped around, giving me a delightful but all too brief glimpse of the two cute little dimples just above his buttocks, at the base of his spine. I could smell him again, too, as he whirled about, his boy scent still fresh and sweet, but at the end of the day hardly unwashed. Well, my coat had its own peculiar aroma – a mixture of me and the sheep, I guess, but Wishus did not seem to mind. I held it up for him as he slipped his slender arms through the bulky sleeves.

Then he turned back slowly, entranced, with a look of total satisfaction on his face, as he hugged the soft and warm garment to his chilled body. He closed his eyes briefly, while savoring the feel of it, smiled sweetly like a cherub, and let out a soft sigh of contentment. My work was well done!

"Thanks, Te… Mr. Teglin," he stammered in a hushed whisper when he opened his eyes and looked gratefully into mine. I knew he wanted to call me Teg, but for some reason known only to him, he used the Mister in front of his folks. Well, I guess I understood it, since I too was more formal with him in their presence – kind of an unspoken agreement between us that our developing friendship during this afternoon was just between ourselves. I maintained distance to avoid arousing suspicion. Exactly why he did so I did not know. Still, the contentment he showed now told me that we were still best of friends.

"Well… you just cozy up in that old sheepskin, and before long you'll be good and toasty," I said, loud enough that his Aunt and Uncle could not help but notice. I wanted them to think it was no big deal, this little act of kindness. Of course, given their attitude towards Wishus, I should not have worried about their being suspicious of my intentions. They had to care before becoming suspicious.

Wishus sat back down and totally enveloped himself in the oversized coat, luxuriating in its comfort and the sense of protection it afforded. Every once in a while I caught his glance as he peeked out of his haven. Invariably, he seemed to be saying "thanks for thinking of me."

As time passed his eyelids told me something else, as they drooped lower and lower, the warmth of the sheepskin lulling him to sleep. He was exhausted, after our long day together, and romping in the meadow.

Even Mrs. Knight noticed the boy's drowsiness eventually, and startled him a little too abruptly, "Allouitious! Wake up and go on up to bed, now."

It was almost comical how large his eyes became upon being so rudely awakened, but he took no offense. "Yes, ma'am," he said as he stretched out and stood up. "Good night, Aunty, Uncle Ben." Obviously his Aunt had never asked for a good night kiss from the boy, since she did not seem to expect one. Inwardly I cringed at that. A boy his age needed that kind of affection.

Turning to me and wrapping the coat even tighter about himself with overlapping folds, he said boldly, "Good night, Mr. Teglin. May I sleep in the coat? I'll give it back in the morning," he hastened to add. His little voice had risen with the question, and so sweetly did he ask it that even his Aunt did not demur too forcefully.

"Oh, but he's going to need it…," she started to say, looking at me questioningly, but I interrupted.

"Begging your pardon, ma'am, but that's perfectly alright. I'll get it in the morning."

"Well, you heard him. Up with you, now!" she clapped her hands, and for the first time gave him a trace of a smile.

The boy graced me with one more of his own patented gifts, that grateful and contented smile of his that just grazed his lips and widened his eyes ever so slightly, then he turned and started up the steep, stairway ladder to his loft.

I fully expected that that would be my last sight of my boy – this vision of his lithe form, snug in my too-large coat, disappearing head-first through the loft-way. Finally only his little feet, and then he was gone.

Then the sudden void in my heart. An end to this most wonderful day of my life. No doubt Mrs. Knight would retrieve the coat for me when I left long before Wishus woke up.

She started to speak, and I had to force my heart to start beating again, and to pay attention to her. All the while I strained hopelessly to hear any movement up above. And pitied myself that that was all I had left.

"He seems to like you, Mr. Teglin," she said.

"Uh, yes… yes, we had a good time out there fishing today," I responded, still, through habit, trying to minimize the significance of our time together. "Every boy likes to fish, I imagine."

Well, the conversation struggled on after that, although it was useful when Mr. Knight offered advice concerning my journey. Good advice it was too, probably saving me a day or more in getting over Black Mountain into the Santa Fe Valley.

The big surprise for me was when they finally declared the evening spent. Both insisted that I sleep right there before the hearth, rather than out in the cold barn. Although the floor would be a lot harder than a bed of straw, I certainly did not protest. In fact I was overjoyed, with a fullness in my breast that almost made me cry out. I was going to sleep just below my god-child's loft! For this one night, I would know he was safe! I would hear his every turn and sigh in the dead of the night!

I tell you, after the Knights left I just stood there a moment with my eyes closed and tearing up, in silent thanks to whatever higher power had made this day complete. Finally I snuffed out the lantern and spread my blankets before the still glowing embers of the coals. For half an hour I lay as still as I might, hearing every creak as the walls shifted in the breeze outside, and thrilling when I occasionally identified the rustle of my boy's bed clothes as he turned in his sleep. Before I drifted off to sleep myself, I thought I even heard him murmur once, softly, angelically, transported in some little boy dream.

Well, I wanted to lay awake all night, in silent vigil beneath Wishus' aerie, but after 48 hours in the saddle, and a glorious day of intense emotions, in which I myself had been transported from carnal arousal, to playfulness, to arousal again and again, then to spiritual exaltation, and back to pensive moments with Wishus – I could no longer fight off the exhaustion.

I know I did send a message up to him before I dropped off, one of those futile whispers into the silent night which would have required divine intervention for him to hear – "I love you, little boy. I love you, my child of the gods, Allouitious Wishus Knight."

I must have slept three or four hours, well after midnight, when I snapped awake, knowing instantaneously that I was not alone in the room. And I knew it was Wishus there with me even before I opened my eyes. The mind is a marvelous engine, capable of integrating varying sensory perceptions into a picture, drawing upon a swish of garments, the scrape of a bare foot on the wooden floor, the boy scent – and that sheepskin aroma! Oh, I knew it was Wishus and my heart sang!

I breathlessly opened my eyes and there he was, standing over me, still hugging my coat to his breast.

The embers had died to ashes, so the only light came from an unchinked crack here and there in the cabin walls, and one oil-skinned window. Fortunately there was a full moon outside or I would have missed another of those visions of loveliness that Wishus was wont to afford me with, unintended, just by being himself.

Gone were the familiar knickers and tunic. Now the coat was wrapped around his little boy's nightgown, which flowed in soft flannel folds down to his knobby knees. It looked plain but comfortable, with thin vertical stripes disappearing up under the coat. I could make out the lines of his inner thighs from my vantage, looking up beneath his gown, but the treasure higher up between his legs was hidden still.

Presented with Wishus so close and in such dishabille, I instantly began to grow hard, and could immediately feel the dull, wrenching ache in my balls. I had doffed my outer garments, but was wrapped in blankets, so Wishus could not see the true effect he had on me, but he saw that I was astonished by his sudden appearance in the dead of the night.

"I… I'm sorry, Teg," he half whispered. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"No, no, Wishus, you didn't scare me," I hastened to reassure him, my own voice tarnished with sleep, raspy and hoarse. "I was just a little… well… okay, you scared me a bit." I chuckled, and speaking a little louder than he had, said, "Just a little, though." Hey, I know people, and everyone gets a kick out of inflicting a little harmless fright, so long as its not done in malice. I thought maybe Wishus would derive a small sense of control and power with my little fib. He could never scare me. Thrill me, yes!

"You're sure you're alright?" he asked, looking concerned, but then he confirmed my reading of human nature by giggling, and brought one hand to cover his lips.

"Yeah, I'll be alright, you little scamp," I said in mock anger. "What did you come down here for, just to see if you could frighten me out of my skin?" I chuckled again and lightly rapped his bare foot.

"No," he protested. "Really, I just wanted… I really just wanted… I just wanted to see if you were okay. You might be cold, since I took your coat. That was unfair of me."

I could have eaten him up, he was so sweet! I knew he really was concerned, and maybe just a little bit lonely… the way he hugged the coat to his thin frame suggested that both the cold and perhaps something more were bothering him. What must it have been like for this little boy, god-child though he may be, to have been relegated to the confines of his dark loft out here in the wilderness every night – so unlike his bedroom back East, where he was always surrounded by family and the bustle in the city streets.

Yes, I knew that this boy was concerned that he had taken my warm coat from me; it was in his nature to show that kind of care. But I also knew that he, like me, was reluctant for this night to end, when the only person who had shown him any warmth and concern in return, was going to depart, perhaps forever.

"Wishus!" I breathed his name into the night.

"Yes?" he asked, then quickly knelt beside me, feeling the pull of my emotions. I had but to look up into his angelic face to see, in the soft reflection of the moonlight in his eyes, that he was taken aback by the force of my utterance. I rose to sit facing him, then reached out and took both of his hands in mine. They were cold, so I began to rub them.

"Wishus, you make me feel quite special, thinking of my comfort down here. Thank you. But I want you to keep the coat tonight, I really do." I caught myself almost pleading with him.

"Look, remember, how I asked you to call me Teg, out in the meadow?"

"Yes," he answered me solemnly, just loud enough that I could hear the true music of his voice.

"Do you remember why I asked you to call me that?"

"You said very few people called you Teg, and if I did, it would make you feel like you had a friend."

"That's right," I nodded. "Well, now I feel the same way about the coat. When you wear it, I feel all warm inside, because it's like you're telling me that we are friends, that you'll share what is mine. Knowing that you wore it tonight, even after you changed into your nightgown, really hits me here." I placed one hand on my heart, then grasped his hands again. "Every time I wear it, I'm going to remember you. And that will really make me feel warm."

"So… so, I should keep it for… the rest of tonight, until you leave?"

He said in a voice so thin and tight with emotion. His eyes glistened more than normal, from welling tears, so I knew that I had understood this little boy correctly. He was so alone, and for right now, he was desperate to hold onto my presence.

"Yes, Wishus, I want you to have it tonight. Please. Keep it… for me." My own throat had a lump, and that last phrase was kind of strangled out.

"I will, Teg," he smiled at me through real tears, and withdrew one hand hesitantly to smear them away, then sniffled, "I guess I had better… go back up to bed, huh?" He sounded reluctant, and made no effort to withdraw his other hand. When he brought his hand back down, still moist with his tears, and absently began to massage the skin on top of my hand, I knew what he wanted, what he needed.

"Wishus?"

"Yes, Teg?" he answered in that kind of nasal, hollow tone that we all get when tears and sniffles overcome us.

"Will you do me one more favor?"

"Yes, of course, Teg. Just ask!" He wanted so much to please me, as if he would grasp at some way to repay my simple acts of kindness.

"Will you lay down here with me for a while?" I pleaded in earnest this time, wanting it probably more than I was sure he did. "I'll carry you to your bed a little later."

He didn't say a word, but his angel's breath sigh of relief was answer enough. He closed his eyes immediately and literally flowed down by my side as I lay down and reached out for him. I cradled his darling little head in the crook of my arm and shoulder, and he snuggled close, crossing one arm over my belly. All the while I had had my raging erection, so now I quickly grasped his forearm in my free hand and drew him tight against me. This was no time for him to accidentally rub against my stiff member.

Sure, I wanted to make love to Wishus, but now was not the time to think of that. There never would be a time for that, I knew. So I would do the one thing I could do for him, and for myself. I would simply cherish him for our remaining moments together.

The top of his head brushed my cheek, and I luxuriated in his silken hair, caressing him with my lips. He felt my light kisses and did not pull away.

I whispered, "Wishus?"

"Yes… Teg?" he returned to me, drowsily, from out of a sleepy haze.

I sniffed his hair and rubbed my nose in his scalp. "You still smell good, Wishus," I chuckled.

"Oh, Teg," the boy roused himself in exasperation, then jabbed me weakly in my ribs with his free hand, that lay embedded between us. Then he pulled himself even tighter into my embrace, and threw one leg across mine.

Moments later I could hear his regular breathing and I knew that this demi-god of boyhood was peacefully asleep again. No longer alone and lonely.

For the next hour I willed myself to lie awake, soaking in the closeness and warmth of his body, never loosening my embrace of him. In his now peaceful slumber he only drew closer to me, never relaxing his grasp. I nuzzled in his hair over and over, memorizing his unique boy-scent.

I whispered to him the whole time, aware that he would not hear me consciously. That alone gave me the courage to say all the things I said to him. But I hoped he would absorb my words of love subconsciously, and perhaps they would be some source of strength to him in the days, months, and years ahead.

Finally, nearing dawn, the reality of man/boy love could no longer be denied. I could not risk being found in Wishus' embrace. I moved so slowly that he would not even notice, to extricate myself from his hold, every move away from him a struggle against my own hopes and dreams.

I gently scooped his dainty form off my blankets and lifted him bodily. His head I held with my right hand against my left shoulder, in the hollow of my neck. In lifting him, his gown had ridden up, and my other arm pressed against the bare flesh of his back, my hand cupped his bare, incredibly soft rear. I gasped in surprise, and had to stand there for a moment with my eyes closed, to regain my composure.

You'll never know the struggle I endured to keep from looking down between the little boy's legs. I imagined his little penis, lying hidden within the protective wrap of his drooping foreskin, and the soft little ball sac upon which it rested in the 'V' of his legs. To actually see it would be a memory I would cherish through time immemorial. I could not adequately describe the magnitude of the effort to avoid gazing upon it. Suffice it to say that it left me trembling. But I knew that to look would be tantamount to violating the trust that Wishus had in me. It was never to be, I knew, but if by some miracle I ever did know the joy of seeing Wishus in all his natural beauty, then it would be by his choice, not mine.

So, cradling him like a baby, I started climbing the ladder. My middle finger slipped naturally into the moist crack between his buttocks, the finger tip hovering a hairs-breadth away from his virgin anus, but this time the struggle was easier. I would not take advantage of this sleeping child by penetrating deeper to that ultimate object of all my pent-up desires.

It wasn't intentional, but when it happened I did not resist any longer – as I slowly, carefully stepped up the ladder, cupping his buttocks, his thigh rubbed up and down against my penis. Halfway up the ladder my breath grew ragged and I nearly fainted with the release, as I finally came, spilling my seed in huge spurts inside my longjohns, spurts that seemed to go on and on. Never before had I come with such force and in such copious amounts. The liquid warmth spread and soaked through the fabric, touching Wishus. It was meant for him, after all, as the natural result of my love for him, so I did not feel that I was soiling him. I only held him closer.

I had to pause again to regain my senses. Then when I finally resumed climbing and made it to the side of his bed, I leaned down and kissed Wishus on the forehead for the first time, offering him a silent thanks.

I left him there, in his bed, still wrapped in my sheepskin coat, his covers drawn up over his legs. He still slept the untroubled sleep of the loved boy.

Chapter 3

I had drifted off again after leaving Wishus in his bed and returning to my blankets in the room below, hoping for just a few more minutes of rest before I had to get back on the trail. It was out of this deep, early morning sleep that Ben Knight woke me with a rasping, muted voice.

"Teglin! Mr. Teglin!"

The first thought that crossed my mind was: what a contrast from the way I felt when Wishus had awoken me just a couple of hours before! Even as Ben Knight spoke, my first thought was of my boy up in the loft.

"Mr. Teglin, please wake up," Knight called to me again, probably not loud enough to wake up Wishus, but verging on it.

I reluctantly sat up, rubbing my forehead. "Yes, Mr. Knight. I'm awake. What do you ne… oh yes, you're waking me for my trip. Tha…."

"No, no." He waved me silent. "Mrs. Knight had a rough night, and just a minute ago I found blood on the bed clothes. I'm taking her in to town, to a doctor, I need your help. I need you to stay here while we're gone…."

Immediately it dawned on me that his plan made no sense, so I said, "Hold on, hold on, sir. Might I suggest that I ride through town on my way and send the doctor out? Surely that would be easier on your wife." It would also get me on my way, as much as I regretted that necessity, for it would mean that my departure from Wishus was indeed imminent.

"Naw, the doc's too old to come out here. I'm going to have to take her in on the wagon." Ben Knight dismissed my suggestion with obvious annoyance and impatience. Worry was making him frenetic, and here I was standing in his way. Whatever I could do, I would. You just can't leave a woman in the lurch. But the same could be said for a child, and my best friend's little Joey needed me too.

"Why do you need me to hang around here?" I said.

"I can't take the boy, Teglin. All I'm asking is that you stay over one more night. We can be back by tomorrow noon. You said yourself that I had saved you that much time by telling you how to get over the mountains into Santa Fe."

He rushed through this so fast that I barely had time to comprehend that first part – another day with Wishus! Even as I tried to regain my breath, I thought: 'But Joey needs me now!'

The temptation tore at me, and I went through all kinds of half-thought-through rationalizations, but when it came right down to it, I could not stay. Every lost day was one more in which Joey would be held by the renegades. I could not sacrifice Joey just because I wanted so badly to accept this excuse for delaying my goodbye from Wishus. Certainly not just for the convenience of the Knights.

I regretted having to say it, but I did, shaking my head 'no', reluctantly, "I can't stay, Mr. Knight. I would like to help, but I have to get on that trail. You'll have to take Wishus with you."

"No I won't," he said altogether too vehemently, and getting louder all the time. If I couldn't calm him down he could hardly help but wake up Wishus. "That boy is helpless. He'll just be in my way. He can't drive the team, he would just get on Mrs. Knight's nerves, he…."

"Not Wishus," I protested, motioning with my hands to quiet him. "Why, I've only known him less than a day, but that's long enough for me to know that he would be a big help and a comfort to your wife."

"You don't know him like I do, Teglin," Knight said, still too loud. "He's just a burden for me out here. Damnit, I don't know why I agreed to let him come out here. And damn the family honor! My brother should have put him up for adoption or sent him off to a home somewhere. That boy has…."

"Mr. Knight!" I hissed through clenched teeth, rolling my eyes upwards to hint that the boy might overhear us. The man was rambling, going into a tirade. I didn't understand what Wishus had to do with the family honor, or why he should be sent away. The most obvious possibility – Was he a bastard? No, that made no sense in this case. That couldn't be it. He had lived with his parents for ten years.

Whatever the answer was, Wishus did not need to be hearing any of this kind of talk from his guardian, so I continued, "You're going to have to take Wishus with you. My friend's boy can't wait. I thank you for saving me a couple of days getting to him, but I need to take advantage of that. I have to go."

"Alright, go then," he ignored me, and started to stomp away angrily. "I'm going to leave him alone here then. He'll be fine."

"You're what?" I interrupted, probably too loud now myself. "You can't leave a boy his age out here by himself!"

Knight still ignored me and started rummaging around, gathering supplies for his trip into town. His mind was only half centered on me now, and I knew he wasn't going to listen to reason. "Yeah, he'll be okay," he mumbled absently. "It's only one night alone. Now, let's see, where was tha…."

I jumped up, grabbed his arm from behind and swung him around. The stubborn set to his jaw told me that I was going to get nowhere unless I mollified my tone of voice. "Ben," I started, trying to be as reasonable as I could, "he's only ten. He's going to be frightened, hungry, cold. You just can't leave…."

"I don't have time for this, Teglin," he said, shrugging me off. "The boy's going to stay here. If you're worried about that, then you're welcome to stay here. Otherwise, stay out of my way. My wife's waiting and I have to get the wagon hitched." He carried a basket full of supplies out the door of the cabin and back across the veranda into the other room.

Well, I just stood there dumbfounded, not believing what I had heard. It would have been criminal, leaving Wishus out here alone during the day. But to abandon him to chance in the mountain wilderness overnight? My heart was in my throat, beating roundly, hammering in my ears. I've already said that I don't fluster easily, and I don't, but this had riled me because there was nothing I could do about it. How would I go about forcing the Knights to take their ward with them? What if I rode along with them, taking Wishus on his own horse? Would Ben Knight take care of the boy when I left them in town, or would he abandon him there too? The man wasn't rational; there was no telling what his reaction would be. I swear, I felt helpless, just like the stranger I was, just passing through. No rights, no say, no influence.

At that moment I happened to look up to Wishus' loft, and there he was leaning over the opening, his arms propped on either side – he had heard our argument! He wasn't crying yet, but his eyes were wide with disbelief, astonishment, fear – he looked stunned. And he was staring at me as if awaiting my decision.

Like a flash, it hit me – I had been so wrong when I thought 'there's nothing I can do.' How stupid of me! What I could do was what I had to do. You can only be in one place at a time. I was wrong too about being a stranger. Yes, I may have been just passing through yesterday, but not now. A boy needed me here and now.

I was not a stranger. I was this boy's lifeline. Less than an hour ago we had lain together, his head on my shoulder. He had cried in gratitude when I asked him to stay with me, he was so desperate for some caring attention. Earlier in the day, we had laughed and played out in the meadow, and talked for hours. As much as I had feared the consequences for him, Wishus had grown to depend on me. He knew I cared. Hell, if he were as smart as I thought him to be, he knew that I loved him.

My heart cried out for Joey, too. I closed my eyes, still holding my head up, and prayed for him right then and there, and affirmed to the heavens that I would continue my journey to help in his rescue. But for now, Wishus came first.

That done, I felt justified and right, if not happy about being torn between two loyalties. I opened my eyes and Wishus was still staring at me expectantly, wondering, waiting. I said, as soothingly and lovingly as possible, "Wishus, I know you heard all that about being left here by yourself, but none of it is true. I'm staying here with you, Wishus, until your Aunt and Uncle get back from town. I will never leave you alone."

He seemed to weaken, as if suddenly growing faint with relief, his arms momentarily bending under the weight of his body. His hair, which he had brushed back over his neck, cascaded down. He then steadied himself and closed his eyes. I saw him gulp, like he had just escaped from a dire threat and could now breathe freely.

Then my darling boy looked at me with that haunting, pleading, hurt gaze that I had witnessed twice before – out in meadow, when we first met and I sprouted a hard-on that shocked him, and later in the evening, while he sat so silently in his chair watching my every move. There was something there that he needed desperately, but was afraid to ask for. I swore right then and there that I would grant whatever wish he had, if only he would reveal it to me.

He did not smile, he was too shaken for that, but he did relax, and in a soft, hoarse voice said weakly, "Thanks, Teg. I… just… thanks, Teg."

Hoping to cheer him up a bit, I tried to put the whole scene behind us as quickly as possible. I didn't want him dwelling on what his Uncle had said. "You know what, good ole Wishus? I think you could use some more sleep. Why don't you hit the sack for a while. I'll see your Aunt and Uncle off and then cook you up a breakfast you'll never forget."

"Al… Alright, I'll try," he said, sounding unconvinced.

"Hey, what do you think about trout gravy!"

"Yuk!" He made a face, grinned wryly, and tried to shake off the thought.

"I… think I will definitely go back to bed if that's what you have in mind. Maybe I'll come down after breakfast."

"Oh, you'll like it, you'll see. I promise. Now see if you can get some shut-eye. I've got a big day planned for you. Let's see: breakfast, chores, lunch, chores, supper, chores. It should be lots of fun!"

"Oh, I can hardly wait," he said sarcastically. He started to move away from the opening, but then paused and looked down at me pensively, forgetting our playful dialogue. "Night, Teg. I mean, good morning, Teg. And thanks again. I… I…," there it was again. The pleading look, and whatever it was that he couldn't bring himself to say.

"Go along, little man," I told him softly. "I'll be here when you come down. I'll be here."

He nodded, then seemed to freeze in place for an instant, deep in thought, lips compressed, still staring at me but not seeing me. It was but an instant, but I knew his mind churned through a flood of thoughts in that brief moment. I knew it was over when he brushed his hair back again, and pushed himself away from the opening. Before disappearing completely, I saw him hesitate, then he turned back quickly and did something that I will never forget as long as I live. It was like an unconscious act, drawn from deep within his soul, not something that he planned or thought about. With a desperate look, his mouth half open to speak, he stretched his hand out towards me tentatively, palm open, fingers taut, like they were grasping for something just out of reach. All I heard was a strangled, choked back moan, and then he drew his hand back with a jerk and brought it reflexively to his mouth. It all took but a moment, a moment frozen in time, and I again knew that he wanted to tell me something, but could not. He turned away slowly, unable to say whatever was in his heart.

I too choked back the lump in my throat and reached my hand up towards him. I think he saw my gesture before he rushed away to his bed.

The Knights got away before dawn, and by sun-up I had the fire going again, had cut some bacon, gathered eggs from the coop, and was preparing for breakfast. I was determined to make this day special for Wishus, so I even wrung the neck of one of the Knight's chickens – I could leave a dollar for a replacement. I was going to treat Wishus to a fine repast for supper – before this day was done, I planned to teach him how to make himself useful around a farm, doing some essential chores, helping with the cooking.

If only his Aunt and Uncle had done the same, they wouldn't feel that he was such a burden. I did not doubt for a moment that Wishus would gladly chip in to help if he were given the chance. Just yesterday he had gone out intending to provide supper with his catch.

"About time, sleepy head!" I called up to him when, an hour after dawn, my straining ears were rewarded with sounds of rustling up in the loft. My boy was up getting dressed.

"Well, it was your idea to get some more sleep!" he yelled back down playfully, in that high-pitched voice that I was growing to love so much.

I'm not one to dwell on things I can't control, so notwithstanding my resentment at the way Ben Knight had coerced me into delaying my journey, I was gloriously, deliriously happy to have more time with Wishus. I wanted to spend my every waking moment with him for as long as possible.

"Come on down!" I called up to him again. "You're just in time to help me make the biscuits."

"I… I don't know," he said doubtfully, much clearer now since I could see his foot lowering to the top rung of the ladder. "I'm not very good at…."

"Wishus," I interrupted him, "I want you to agree that all day today you'll never use the words 'I can't', or 'I'm useless', like you said yesterday about catching a fish. You're going to find out today just all the things that you can do, not what you can't do."

"Sure!", he said without hesitation, and I could hear the eagerness in his tone. This boy was no quitter, he'd take on anything.

As he nimbly stepped down the ladder, I paused in my cooking and just stood and watched in awe, refreshing my senses – he was simply, utterly beautiful! He had put on his knickers again, and as he came down step by step, his back to me, his little butt wriggled and canted, first one way then the other. Well, that was beginning of the first of my erections for the day. I knew that Teg Junior would be up and down all day long. Up when I was with Wishus, playing or even just talking to my little child of the gods, down in the hopefully rare moments when we were apart. Or maybe not. Perhaps I would have to take advantage of those rare moments to relieve myself with a quick hand job.

Wishus had also donned tall, knee-high socks, covering his calves. Black and white vertically striped socks, and his black shoes. He wore the tunic too, this time tucked in. It was baggy and loose, puffed out around his waist – suddenly I knew I had seen this picture before – he was the very image of one of those base ball players I had seen in the Illustrated Colliers! He was wearing a base ball costume. Base ball was a new game, and all the rage back East.

"Wishus, you must play base ball, huh?"

"Yeah!" he cried out enthusiastically as he jumped the last couple of steps. "You've heard of base ball? I'm not much good at it, bu…."

"Uh, uh, uh!" I admonished him.

"Oh, yeah," he said sheepishly, but with an innocent grin below his downcast eyes. "I forgot."

"You were saying…?"

"Uh, well… yes, I play base ball. I even got to watch the Knicks. They're the champs! They played Hoboken for the league victory…."

His chatter went on and on, music to my ears. Obviously the game was dear to his ten-year-old heart. At least his parents had been kind enough to get him a costume for it.

"Maybe you can teach me the game later on, huh?" I said when he paused long enough for a breath.

"Sure!" He was already standing next to me by the table, where I was setting out items for mixing the biscuits. He jumped close and kind of stood behind me on my right side. I thrilled at his touch when he grabbed my arm from behind, lifted it, and said, "Yeah, it's all in the arm motion. You have to pitch with an overhand…."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," I chuckled, looking back awkwardly, holding my arm up where he had propped it behind my head. "Can we finish breakfast first?"

"Oh, yeah, but can we play afterwards?" he still had my arm in the grip of his two little hands, but lowered it and gave me a pat. "You'll get the hang of it quick. You have a strong arm, I can tell." And he electrified me by squeezing my upper arm.

Struggling to maintain my composure, reveling in his touch, I said, "Well, I can hardly wait myself, Wishus, but before we play we'll have to do a few chores, milk the cow, feed the chickens."

"Aw, can't that wait?" he begged, hopping around in front of me, then boosting himself up onto the table. I don't know how I could have resisted the pouty, angelic look he gave me. I tousled his hair and just beamed at him, unable to hide my fascination with his beauty. I could see the tender little depressions in his cheek, where he had lain on a fold in the bed clothes, and his uncombed hair was even more wavy and curly than yesterday, hanging about his face in glorious disarray.

I put on my solemn face. "You know how you've wanted to be more useful around here? And how you'd like your Aunt and Uncle to appreciate you?"

"Yeah," he said, downcast. "But I heard what Uncle Ben said before he left…."

"You can forget all about that. You're going to learn to do some of the chores. That'll make them stand up and pay attention when they get back. Your Aunt is really going to need the help when the baby comes."

"Yeah, that's a good idea!" He was excited again, his moods and expressions shifting so easily. Then all of a sudden another thought popped into his fertile mind. "Hey, Teg, maybe you can tell me. Auntie couldn't. How did she get that baby in her tummy, anyway?"

I was somewhat taken aback by this question, to say the least, and immediately wondered where this conversation would lead. My heart started fluttering, and my half-hard penis, tucked down my left pants leg, now began to throb. I guess I flushed a little, because he said, with perfect innocence, "What's the matter, Teg? I'm sorry if I made you mad, like Auntie, but I was just wondering. I'm sor…."

"No, honey, don't be sorry!" I rushed to reassure him. I dropped the utensils I had been arranging on the table, and reached up and cupped my right hand behind his neck and gently pulled his head forward against my breast. Then I brushed his hair back. The concern was wiped away from his face and he just smiled up at me expectantly. "It's just that I've never talked to a boy about this kind of thing before. I… I don't mind telling you about it. You can ask me anything. I… ah… say, I've got everything ready, so you can learn how to mix the biscuits while we talk."

"Okay!" He scooted off the table top and picked up a spoon and held it ready like a sword. "But you'll explain it? About the baby?"

"Of course. Now spoon in about… four big… four really big heaps of flour into the bowl. Yeah, that's it, big heaps. Now, keep going…."

"No, you keep going," he reminded me.

"Okay, alright… well, you see, a man and a woman fall in love and get mar…."

"Teg, I know that part," he said disgustedly.

"Yeah, I guess you do, so…. okay," I took a big breath, wondering again how much to tell him. "After getting married they do what's called making love."

"What's next?" He said matter-of-factly.

"Well, they go to be…."

"No! I mean what do I put in next?" he giggled.

"Oh, I thought… well, now you have me completely confused." I laughed too. "Okay, put in some salt, however much you think will taste good."

"Sure! Now, this making love, you said they go where?"

"They go to bed, where the man puts his penis… you know about that?"

"His peepee?" He said, turning his head sideways to look up at me.

"Yes, but the real name is penis. Some people call it a cock or a dick. Or little ten year old boys sometimes call it a peepee!" I nudged him playfully with my hip. He shot me a look of mock offense.

"Puts it in where?"

"Puts the water in the bowl, of cour…."

"No!" Now he poked me in the side with his spoon. "What about the peepee?"

"Okay," I laughed, "you put a little water in the flour and I'll tell you where the penis goes. You see, the man loves the woman very much, and when you love someone your penis gets very hard and long, very stiff, and…."

Without even looking at him I sensed that Wishus suddenly grew rigid, and froze for a moment, a cup of water poised in mid air. I glanced at him and saw him frowning, looking troubled and pensive. Then he looked up with confusion and consternation written all over his face, his puppy dog eyes kind of moist and so vulnerable, and then that unspoken look of pleading. "Uh, Teg," his voice had risen high again, "can… can we talk about that later?" He licked his lips nervously. "Wh… what do I do now with the biscuits?"

I felt like a heel. Yes, he had brought up the subject, but I had carried it too far, out of my own crass desire to discuss this kind of thing with the boy. I had been acting like a predator, I had been all too eager to agree to talk about sex with this boy, because deep down I wanted to touch him and make love to him more than I wanted life itself. I hated myself at that moment, but determined immediately that I would make up for it. Never again would I lead Wishus into an area where he didn't want to go.

I put my arm around his shoulder and hugged him to me again. I spoke softly, knowing without looking down that he was listening. "Wishus, I believe in saying whatever it is that is on your mind. And I want to say something now. I know that what I said must have bothered you in some way, and I'm sorry. But don't let this keep you from ever asking or telling me anything you want."

"Sure, Teg," he said just as quietly, his voice muffled with his cheek pressed against my side. Then he looked up and smiled. "I'm not mad or anything. I asked about it, didn't I? There just something I… something happened… that… let's talk about it later, okay?

"You got it, little one." I squeezed him again and felt his arm snake across behind my back. He could barely reach my other side, but he grabbed a handful of my shirt and drew me even closer to him.

Well, I felt like a king then! And just stood there reveling in the sensation for a moment.

"Uh, Teg?"

"Yes, Wishus."

"The biscuits?"

That brought me back to reality, out of a glimpse into boylove heaven, and we proceeded to finish breakfast, using the Dutch oven for the biscuits. Wishus was going to be a natural cook. He still had that same natural competence, that unconscious grace of motion that I had seen in him the day before. He could pick up any task easily enough if I just took the time to explain the whys and wherefores. It was the same way with the chores. Although he had lived in the big city all his life, he quickly mastered the basics for the care and feeding of the livestock, and the simple repairs that we made as we saw the need for them that morning.

Through the whole morning I took every opportunity just to watch my boy, glorying in his physical beauty, his form, his fluid motion, and his spirit. A few times I caught him in a quiet moment lost in some deep thought. He always looked troubled during those moments, and I wondered over and over about what sad event had clouded my boy's life.

In an open area right in front of the cabin, Wishus taught me this new game called base ball. We threw the stuffed hide ball back and forth, and then he produced his pride and joy – a big, smooth stick he called a bat. With that held high up over his shoulder, I had to 'pitch' him the ball, and he proceeded to whack it here and there. Guess who had to chase his ball around every time he hit it? Well, he set stones out in the grass to be the bases, and would run like the wind while I chased his ball, laughing all the way, stepping on the bases and yelling "home run!"

After an hour of that, while chasing another of his whacks, I finally got smart and refused to pitch it again. Instead, I ripped my shirt off and flopped down in the shade of a convenient tree.

Wishus didn't protest too much. He was just as dirty and sweaty as I was.

His hair clung in sweat-darkened strands to his cheeks and neck, and his face was flushed red. Against the iridescent, creamy white of his natural complexion, the hot flush make him look like a little Christmas elf. I could see the tracery of the tiny blood vessels in his cheeks.

He flopped down perpendicular to me, using my belly as a pillow for his head. Even suffering from heat exhaustion, I became aroused again instantly, but for once his nearness seemed the most natural thing to me, as if our time together had made us closer and closer, and his head was right where it should be – resting on me. Even my heart accepted the goodness, the rightness of our intimacy, and instead of racing ahead, it actually began to return to serenity. Not to say that I ever lost that tightness in my chest and in my groin, the ever present tension borne of my love for this boy.

I idly pulled on bedraggled locks pasted to his forehead, and ran my fingers slowly across his brow. My head was propped on the protruding root of our shade tree, so I could watch Wishus' every move. I scanned him lovingly from head to foot, drinking in his charms.

He glanced at me time and again, craning his head sideways, smiling contentedly. We lay there panting for a few moments before he finally smiled even more sweetly and said, "You look happy, Teg." And I knew at that moment that my happiness brought him joy.

It shocked me. It was not the kind of observation that a ten year old might be expected to make. The blood coursing through my loins surged and I felt the head of my cock almost bursting against the fabric of my jeans. I almost cringed, it felt so sensitive. Without thinking I blurted out with too much obvious emotion, "being with you makes me happy, Wishus."

And there it was again, damnit. I had done it again, overstepping the bounds. He suddenly gave me a doubtful, querulous kind of look, then picked up a twig and started peeling it.

I didn't know what to say then, but I know I did say a prayer – oh please, don't let me ever hurt this boy! Now my heart did race! Such a simple comment he had made. Expressing his awareness of my feelings! But was he ready for my expression of love?

Not sure of what he was feeling, I reluctantly, tentatively withdrew my hand from is brow. Before I even knew what happened he shot his hand up behind his head blindly and grabbed my retreating hand and guided it back forcefully to his forehead.

He possessed me at that moment. I actually found it hard to breathe, and my heart beat furiously, my penis strained in my pants leg and I felt myself cumming convulsively. You will say that it is not possible, to be so aroused that you cum without even touching your dick, but you can't know the magnitude of my emotion when Wishus took hold of me. I felt the release, and the warmth of my semen spread through the fabric of my jeans. I must have gasped, even while trying to control the uncontrollable.

My love looked up at me again with those deep green eyes, that familiar expression of pleading writ so plain. He said simply, "Don't stop. I… I like it. I… like it when you… brush my hair there."

Struggling not to gasp again, I could only answer raggedly, softly, "I… I'll not… stop, Wishus. Not until… you tell me to." He let go of my hand and I resumed slowly stroking and tracing his hairline with the pad of my trembling fore-finger. Back and forth, soothingly. With my other hand I loosened the clammy hair from his moist cheek.

I must have nodded off for a few moments, because the next thing I remember was a hazy thought: 'that damn fly, why is it attacking my chin?' I slapped at it, my eyes still closed, and felt not a fly, but a stick! I popped my eyes open and there Wishus was, turned on his side, but with his head still resting on my stomach, giggling and with a twinkle in his eyes as he quickly withdrew his stick.

"You were snoring!" He said, laughing, showing perfectly white, bright teeth.

"I was not! I never snore," I protested, acting wounded to the core.

"Oh, you'll never know how loud," he responded emphatically.

"Well, I'll outlast you tonight, and if you snore I'll be sure to wake you up appropriately," I remonstrated.

"Ok, you try," he said doubtfully, then pressed his lips together and just lay there, looking perfectly contented, idly flapping the stick softly against my chest. I marveled at his many faces. Now his lips, normally turned down just slightly at the edges of his mouth, were pressed together and turned up. They moved in barely perceptible tics as he breathed, or as he flexed his jaw, or as his inner thoughts were reflected by little degrees in his changing smile. After all our exertion, his lips were fully red now, as if painted to contrast with his fair skin.

I reached out to caress his hair some more. I loved touching the fine, silken strands, each seemingly a slightly different shade, from silverylaced gold to creamy yellow. Immediately as I touched him his face suddenly went slack, as if his thoughts were transported far away. At least he did not look fearful, doubtful, or pleading – any of the wide range of emotions I had seen in him during the last 24 hours, so I didn't withdraw my hand. I did sense some kind of concern in him.

"What are you thinking, Wishus?" I asked quietly, hesitant to break into his reverie.

He sat up, folding his legs across one another, his hands in his lap, still fiddling with the twig. Looking down at it, he responded in a low tone, as if he were unsure that he wanted to tell me. "I… I was surprised that Auntie and Uncle Ben left me here with you. That's all."

"Oh, Wishus, don't feel bad about that. They were so worried about the baby that they… I don't think they really would have left you alone…."

No, I don't mean that," he interrupted, looking up at me with now very troubled eyes. And now I did see that so familiar pleading and wounded look. "I mean… I'm surprised they left me with you… a… a man."

"What do you mean, Wishus?" I asked, astonished. Why wouldn't he be left with a man?

He still looked at me, now with tears beginning their slow path down along the side of his nose. When he spoke again, it was in a weak little voice, choked with sadness, and his lips trembled. "Teg, that's why my parents sent me away, because of something I did… with a man… with my Uncle Tom. They caught us out in the garden. I… g-gave him… a kiss. Right here." He put one finger to his lips. "I did… l-like him, and he wanted to kiss me, and took me into the garden that night. I told them I wanted to kiss him too, but that didn't make any difference. That just made them madder, and they sent him away, and me… and me, too…."

As his words spilled out and I realized what he was telling me, my heart overflowed for the boy. I pulled myself up against the tree trunk, and reached out both my arms for him. "Come here, little boy," I said, looking up at him from a lowered brow, my expression one of total sympathy – heck, I was on the verge of tears myself. So this was the almighty high crime Wishus had committed against the family honor! His Uncle Tom had forced a kiss on him, and his parents couldn't live down the thought that their son might be queer. Now Wishus was confused, because he had been punished so severely for something he had seen no harm in, for reciprocating his Uncle's love, and for telling the truth about it!

Wishus crawled into my lap and I pulled him tight to me, and let him cry, resting my chin on the top of his head.

"There, there, Wishus," I crooned, my jaw moving against his head. I wouldn't have broken contact with him at that point for anything. "I know now why the Fates brought me to this valley to see you. I was brought here to tell you that you did nothing wrong, Wishus. If you liked your Uncle, and wanted to kiss him, then it was the right thing to do." And I meant it. And not just because I'm a boylover. A boy his age should never have been punished for expressing innocent affection.

I didn't know about the Uncle, but I knew that Wishus had done nothing wrong.

"But I… I feel like it was… my fault," he sniffled doubtfully, obviously wanting to believe me, but still struggling with weeks of doubt, loneliness, and despair. "And… and it's going to happen again. You'll hate me… my Uncle Ben will send me away and get mad at you… but I can't help it… I can't help what I feel…."

It finally got through my thick skull. My boy wasn't just crying for what had happened in the past. His doubts, that pleading look of his – they were all a part of what he was feeling now. For me!

I took a deep breath to calm myself, then said, "Wishus?"

"Yes, Teg?"

"What do you mean about how you're feeling? Tell my what it is that you are afraid of."

"I'm going to ruin it for both of us, Teg. It's all going to happen again," he whined, and I felt him shake his head despairingly.

An electric bolt shot through me. Hope so long crushed down and dormant, rose, poised to devour me in its twin jaws of disappointment and denial. I took another deep breath.

"Why do you say that, Wishus? Is it because you want… to… you want to kiss me?" I held my breath now, and waited. I thought – yes, Teglin, thankfully you expressed yourself correctly this time. You could have made that question a sarcastic accusation, trying to hide your own hope, or you could have made it a snide denunciation, trying to keep from being denied yourself. But you didn't! You made the question one of acceptance, of approval, of invitation. It was an open door, through which Wishus could enter of his own free will, only if he wanted to. He could enter and accept a greater measure of your love, or stay outside and still have your undying devotion. You did it right. You made it his choice!

I waited an eternity.

Then I heard his answer, so low and hesitant, barely audible… "Yes, Teg."

Blood coursed through my veins in delirium! Verily, I had journeyed down a mountain trail into a vale called Heaven!

Even now, I steeled myself to act only for Wishus' benefit, and at his behest. I would not let 25 years of unrequited boylove overcome what I knew to be best for this boy.

I did breathe again, and willed my pounding heart to be still.

"What you want is… is what I want… Wishus," I managed to say between halting breaths, still holding him tight to me. "You are a good person, full of good thoughts… and nothing you ever would want to do could be wrong. If you want to… kiss me, then I want you to know it's alright.

You will do what's right, Wishus! You're that kind of boy."

"I… I am?" He finally dislodged his head from the weight of my jaw and looked up at me with his doe-like eyes, his tears drying now, and the beginnings of a hesitant smile forming on his lips.

"You are. You most definitely are a child of the gods, who can do no wrong, Allouitious Wishus Knight."

"Oh, you promised not to call me that" he stuck his tongue out at me indignantly, but grinning widely even so. Even his eyes were lit up with his joy. "I'll make you pay for that," he said, sliding off my lap onto his knees. "Now you have to pitch to me some more!"

"I do?" I said, trying to look dismayed, and failing miserably at that. I was transported beyond joy to exultation at the turn of events. Wishus really did care for me!

"You do have to pitch for me," he stuck out his bottom lip sternly. As he got to his feet, he said, "Now get up… please."

"Oh, alright," I groaned as I stretched to my feet and began to dust myself off. "Where's that drat ball?"

"Oh, here it is," he said delightedly, scampering to pick it up. He returned it to me then turned back towards the open field. "Come on, slow poke," he waved me to follow.

Before I could even put one foot forward he stopped in his tracks and turned back on his heels. "Oh!" he kind of squealed. "I forgot," he said, and suddenly he looked all sheepish and began to blush. He hesitated just a moment, then jumped to me, stood up on his tip-toes, grasped my left arm, and planted a loud, wet kiss just below my shoulder. Then he shot me the most radiant little smile, looking pleased with himself, and ran off into the field.

I stood stunned, then slowly felt the spot where his lips had grazed my soul. I traced their moist pattern, and just held my fingers over that holy spot. "I'll not wash that arm for a good long while," I thought, shaking my head in amazement.

NEXT PART