William Rush

The Chronicles of New Atlantis

My Time in Eden

Chapter One

Of course that isn't the entire extent of my life, regret and proclamations, no, existence is more than that and mine is no different. I'm not certain when things started to go wrong or how I was able to convince myself that everything was still fine, so maybe that's what we should find out first and the only way to really find that out is to start at the beginning.

I grew up in a Greek family in a small town on Long Island. I was the second of three boys, Thadeus being the oldest, was three years my senior, Mikos being the youngest, was two years my junior. We were all good boys, docile and obedient, trying hard to please.

When I was young I was driven to succeed by my parents, encouraged to make the most of every opportunity. My father drove the harsh realities of life into me with his belt. Nothing short of academic and physical excellence was accepted. To say he was a cruel man would be a lie, rather he was a strict disciplinarian, believing in that old adage 'spare the rod, spoil the child', perhaps a bit more than most.

Even so, I didn't think it strange, my family was Greek after all, and the other Greek fathers in my neighborhood seemed to follow the rule of thumb as well, with varying degrees of severity. So being that as it may and knowing that my friends suffered under the weight of their fathers, I had no way of knowing that my punishments were much more than what they endured.

I grew up to be a good man and perhaps it was the very discipline that I feared that made me so. Fear breeds contempt, but it also breeds respect. I had a deep and abiding respect for my father and mother, one that would've been common a decade or two before my birth, but not so much after.

My father watched me practice at my chosen sport, Basketball, ensuring that I was focused and doing my best, he could abide failure, but not laziness. I spent hours on the court my father had made for me in my backyard, dribbling and shooting, my younger brother Mikos, standing in front of me, wiping his dark hair from his eyes, watching me, trying to block my way to the hoop. The sun had it's way with our bodies, turning us tan, even as our father kept our hair longer than most boys, allowing the curly black locks to hang like some Ancient Greek athlete's around our face. My father would watch us practice and keep count of all the mistakes we made. Once the game was over we would retreat to his study and take our place bent over his desk as he administered our punishment.

"But Poppa," Mikos would say, not realizing at his young age that begging was a futile gesture, "he's faster than me. I tried to stop him."

I would watch as his shorts and underwear were lowered, revealing the bruises from the beating he had received the previous day. I turned my head, out of respect, I knew he did the same for me. That still didn't prevent me from hearing him cry out, counting each stroke, as father brought the belt down across his bottom, never hitting the same spot twice.

When father was done, he would stand behind my brother, looking at his handiwork, then with his thick Greek accent he would say the same thing he always said, 'there is no room in this world for the weak or stupid. I am not raising you to be either. You will not try, you will do. There are no exceptions. The world will not grant you any mercy and neither shall I.'

With that he pulled my brother's shorts back up and gave him one more firm smack on the bottom, only this time with his hand and sent him to stand beside me. Knowing it was my time, I would take my place, bending over the desk. I would shudder as father pulled my shorts and underwear down. He would announce my crimes and the number of strokes I'd earned.

When it was over we were sent to our rooms to do our homework, we would squirm as we sat, feeling the heat and pain from our punishment, sniffling a bit from time to time, depending on what we had endured. We were expected to finish our homework by supper, a feat we rarely had problems with. My mother or Nanna would place the food on the table. We would wait for our father to take his food and then pass each dish around, the oldest, my brother Thadeus was served second, then I, then Mikos. Mother would take her food last, but she never complained. Instead she would sit and talk to father. We would listen, knowing better than to speak without being spoken to.

Afterwards we would present our father our homework. He would look over the problems, ensuring that each one was correct, when a mistake was found, we shuddered, knowing that this time it would not be the belt, but the thick switch he had cut from the back yard. Mikos bore it the worst, even though my father let him keep his shorts on, his small bottom gave very little resistance to the brutal strikes. My brother and I weren't allowed the luxury of shorts or pants, we were switched on our bare bottom. The sound of the birch hitting our skin was different than the sound it made as it landed on our brother's clothed buttocks.

If no mistakes were found, father would serve desert to those who had performed well. As we sat at the table father would ask each of us what we had done in school. We were careful to pay attention to detail, not wanting to be asked twice. Our English was perfect, there was no excuse for poor grammar at the table, nor colloquialisms. After each of us had eaten and shared our adventures he allowed us to go out and play. Mikos would follow me, and being the second oldest, he was my responsibility. Thadeus, not wanting to be weighed down by his younger siblings would hop on his bicycle and ride off to his friends.

Shortly after I turned ten, I watched Thadeus ride off for the last time. He was thirteen and beginning to suffer under father's yoke. He was not good at sports, no matter how hard he tried. His scores at school were suffering as well. That afternoon, when Mikos and I returned home from the neighbors, we waited at the door for Thadeus, but he never arrived. Father came out when it was dusk and asked what we were still doing outside. We told him that Thadeus had not returned. I offered to go look for him, but father just laughed and said he probably just had a flat tire.

Thadeus never came back. There was no note or reason left for why he was gone, but we knew that he hadn't been taken, that he had chosen to take a chance on his own, rather than suffer with father. I never heard from him again, perhaps the fear of being caught and brought back to father was more powerful than his love for me, who knows. We never mentioned Thadeus after that, it was almost as if he never existed.

I spent the next six years sheltering Mikos as much as I could, him being two years younger than I, he seemed to bear the brunt of my father's anger now. When we practiced together I would give him a shot or two, willing to accept a lash if it meant he didn't have to. As I left for college I wondered what would happen when my father ran out of boys to beat. The last time he tried to strike me was the first day I returned home from college, I had received an A minus in a class and he wasn't pleased. He took me to his office and told me to bend over his desk, but I wouldn't, I told him that I was too old and he could not make me anymore.

Father glared at me and called for Mikos. He told me if I would not accept my punishment like a man, then Mikos would accept it for me. I stood and watched as father beat my brother, but I never took his place. That was the last time I came home for anything, until after I had graduated from college. On most holidays, Mikos, who was also at school, would come over and we would spend our time together, enjoying life as much as we could. I had gotten loans and paid for my own schooling, declining my father's offer. I refused to play basketball or any other sport, regardless of whether I was good enough to make the team or not. Instead I wrote poetry and studied literature, two subjects that had always fascinated me.

When I graduated I received my degree in Journalism and set about getting a job. I found one at one of the city's larger papers. They put me to work right away, writing fluff for the Community section. The story about the kitten nursed by the dog, that was me. The story about the ninety year old volunteering at the homeless shelter, that was me too. I didn't write serious pieces, but it didn't matter, I made a living and enjoyed what I was doing.

I talked to my parents every once in awhile, Mikos, after much pleading from my mother, convinced me to return home for Christmas. I made amends, or at least what amends I could make with my parents, and things returned to normal. Mikos married a young Italian girl and produced a fine dark haired grandson for my father and mother. They doted over the little tot, Demetri Alexios Matesis the second, named after my father.

My mother encouraged me to find a woman of my own, but I held a dark secret in my heart. I had no desire for women. Yes I could see the things that men were attracted to, but it never moved me in any way that I wanted to chase after them or for that matter sleep with them. No, what excited me were the young boys I saw. There was a beauty there that stoked not only lust, but joy in my heart. I started to play basketball again so I could be with them. When I saw one watching the game, I would give a knowing look to their parent and toss the boy the ball asking him if he wanted to join in. Some parents were leary, but most thought I was just being kind and would nod to their kids, not realizing how much I enjoyed the brief moments when we touched.

Of course those boys were the ones on the cusp of manhood, not the clean soft boys that had yet to find any hair around their penis or under their arms. They were too little to share the court with me, so I had to make do with watching the occasional boy sitting on the sidelines or playing on the swing or jungle gym.

It might have been a nasty hobby by most people's standards, but it kept me fit and satisfied my desires for the most part. I was happy to go home and remember the soft touch of some boy's arm against my own or the brief flash of skin as some tyke hung upside down on the jungle gym, exposing their smooth soft tummy. I still dated women, infrequently, just enough to clear any lingering doubts about my sexuality.

As I said before, I thought I knew the way the world worked and to me it seemed quite cruel. I being left out of normal society, forced to exist in this parallel realm of deviance and unsatisfied desire. I did the only thing I knew how to do, I threw myself into my work. Some days I worked fourteen hours, writing story after story, not because I wanted more money or a better position, but because I had absolutely nothing else to do that seemed worth my time.

I had been at my job for three years before my 'big break' came. My editor came down to my desk and told me that some guy had called up and asked for me by name. He had some information about the missing hustlers downtown. I had no idea there were missing hustlers downtown, or for that matter what a hustler was. My editor assured me that this was a dead end, but encouraged me to follow it, she knew I wanted to write something real. So with her blessing, I called the man on the phone.

"Hello," I said, "this is Nico Matesis, you asked me to call you."

"Hello Nico," the man said, "I'm sure you have a lot of questions for me."

"No," I said, being entirely untruthful, "not really, I was just returning the call."

"We need to talk Nico," the man said, "meet me at Kevin's on 4th avenue tomorrow at eight PM."

"What's this all about," I asked, thinking the man was a bit off his rocker, but he had hung up.

If nothing else it was very cloak and dagger, which seemed to pique my interests. It seemed the kind of thing a serious journalist might do, meet some stranger in a diner to discuss some great secret about missing hustlers. I thought about taking someone else, but then reasoned that since it was in a public place, there was really no harm. The man wouldn't try anything in a crowded restaurant, would he?

I arrived about ten minutes early, parked my little hatchback and walked to the diner. When I entered the restaurant no one seemed to be interested in me, so I took a seat in a booth in the back corner and asked for a menu. Five minutes later, on the dot to be exact, he walked through the door. He seemed to know me and to be honest I thought I recognized him, just not from where. He walked over and sat down without asking, then motioned for a menu.

"The roast beef is wonderful," he said in a thick Greek accent, nodding to the man eating at the counter.

"That's good to know," I said. "I waited, I wasn't sure if you were going to order anything."

The man laughed, he looked to be in his late thirties, he had a beard and mustache and long black hear pulled back into a pony tail. He wore silver aviator glasses and a black leather jacket that hung open, revealing an expensive polo shirt and tan slacks. His shoes looked Italian, I judged him to be upper class or at least upper middle class, I found it hard to believe he was involved or knew anything about missing hustlers, if there actually were missing hustlers.

"I'm glad you came," he said. "I thought you might be frightened."

"No," I said, looking at the man, trying to figure out where I recognized him from, "just curious. I've never had anyone call and ask for me before, I'm not exactly on the front page."

"You should be," the man said, "you're a great writer Angelos, don't let anyone tell you different."

"Well thanks," I said, "I'm always happy to hear from a fan."

"I didn't come here to tell you that you were a great writer," the man said. "do you know why I asked you to come down here."

"Something about missing hustlers," I said.

"Don't speak so loud," the man said in an urgent voice. "Yes. I have information about them, where they were taken, whose taken them."

"I don't get it," I said, "I checked with missing persons and the police department, neither of them had any reports of any missing boys."

"You don't get it," he said. "They have no one to report them missing, that's why they're being taken."

"Why would anyone take them," I asked. "I'm just trying to figure this out."

"Are you really that stupid," he asked, then sitting up straight, he narrowed his eyes and said, "No, no you're not, you're smarter than I thought."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," I said.

"Did your father put you up to this," the man asked, suddenly looking around the diner.

"What are you talking about," I said. "how do you know my father."

"By the gods," he said, looking at me closely, "You don't know. I thought you did, but you don't."

"Again," I said, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I need to go," the man said, standing up quickly nearly knocking over the waitress. "Don't follow me. It's best that you forget ever seeing me."

"What are you talking about," I asked, handing the waitress a five as I followed the man out the door and onto the street.

"Don't follow me," he said speeding up as he tried to get away from me. "I've put you in great danger. Forget you ever saw me. I am a ghost to you."

"What are you talking about," I said, chasing him, "maybe I should just ask my father…"

The man stopped, turned around and grabbed me by jacket and dragged me into an alley.

"Listen to me," he shouted, holding me up against the wall, "Do not talk to your father about this. He cannot save you. He wont save you. Unless you want to end up like Thadeus, never mention this again."

"What do you know about Thadeus," I said, struggling with the man, as he pressed his forearm against my throat, trying to hold me in place.

"You must never mention any of this," he said with this look crossing his face, one normally reserved for the insane.

"What happened to Thadeus," I said, fighting with the man. "Do you know where he is."

"You must forget all of this Nico," the man said, "Thadeus would not want you to endanger yourself for him."

"Where is he," I shouted, trying to push him off of me, "tell me."

"I cannot," he said, finally letting me go,

"because I don't know. I can tell you that the last time I saw him he was fine, but even then I've told you too much." "Where did you see him," I said, grabbing the man's arm, "where was he?"

"I can't tell you that," he said, "just be glad that he is alive, that's all I can say. You must never call me again. Do not mention this to anyone, especially not your father. If you do I cannot protect you Nico, no one can."

"What are you talking about," I shouted at the man as he walked away.

"I am a ghost to you Nico," the man said, "A ghost. Do not look for me, for I have nothing to give you but pain."

He pushed me down on the ground and took off running. For an older man, he was quite quick. By the time I reached the street he had already dissapeared. I looked at the cell phone I'd lifted from his pocket and wondered how long it would take him to figure out it was gone.

I walked back to my car, feeling very confused, wondering if this had all been some practical joke played on me by the other writers at my office. They liked to do those kinds of things, it seemed chaos ran in the veins of most writers. The more I thought about it, the sicker I became. I had not thought of Thadeus in a long time and to have his name mentioned, how could this man even know about him.

I sat in my car and pulled the man's phone out again. I looked in his address book and found three numbers, two I didn't recognize, but the third, that one was my father's number. How did this man know my father? I tried to remember him, but for the life of me I couldn't picture where I had seen him.

Chapter Two

Two days later I asked mother if she had heard anything about Thadeus and she cried. Later that day, after practice, when Mikos and I were ready for our punishment, father sent Mikos away and made me undress completely. He beat me with the birch harder than I could ever remember. At the end I could not even stand. Red welts lined my front and back, from my chest to knees. He held me up by my hair and looked into my eyes.

"If you ever mention that name in this house again you will live to regret it," my father said, in a voice so calm it sent shivers down my spine.

I never said another word to my father or mother about Thadeus, but that did not stop me from looking for my brother. After dinner, when Mikos and I were let out to play, we would scour the neighborhood, looking for him, at least for awhile. After a few months we gave up. Mikos, always a bit more cautious than I, begged me to stop, and I did.

I hate myself now for giving up so easily, but I was a boy and I could not change what had happened, so I did the only thing that I could do and forgot about my brother. That night in my apartment I couldn't fall to sleep, when I did I had a dream.

I was a very young boy and a man was dragging me by the arm. The man stopped and sat down, he pulled me to my knees and grabbed me by my ears. I watched as he forced my head down towards his crotch. I stared at the man's penis as it stood up from that thick patch of hair. I knew what he wanted, but I did not want to do this thing, so I struggled to break free of his grasp, when I thought there was no way out of it, the man was suddenly knocked to the ground and I looked up and saw my father standing there. He reached down and lifted me up into his arms, then carried me away. As I looked back over my father's shoulder I could see the other man, laying on the ground shouting, but I couldn't understand what he was saying, When my father carried me out of the room, I woke up.

I sat there sweating, trying to remember my college psych classes, what they said about the subconscious and fears. For the life of me I could not figure out what the dream meant. Perhaps it was my own desire for boys playing out, punishing me in that way guilt did. Perhaps I believed father would save me from that desire, or maybe I wanted father to save me, to show some sign that he cared for me and loved me, whether I succeeded or not.

The next morning, I lay awake wondering what I should do. I thought of my brother, the awkward boy who could not throw a ball to my father's satisfaction and I decided I would not let this die, despite the cryptic warnings. Thadeus was not dead to me, he lived in my heart as much that day as he did those many years ago, and I would not turn my back on him, not this time. I was not a frightened boy anymore, I was a man and I would behave like a man.

I arrived at work early that day. I went to the archives department, where the paper kept records on every newspaper article published by our company. At that time nearly half of the records had been entered into a computer database, the remaining ones were still on film, sorted neatly in order on a long line of shelves. I entered the name Thadeus Demetri Matesis, but nothing came up. For the life of me I couldn't understand how a young teenage boy dissapearing from Long Island could escape the paper's attention, so I assumed the records had to be in the database.

My friend Tom worked in the research department, we had grown up together in the same neighborhood. He had lived several blocks from my house. He hadn't been my best friend, but he had been my friend and I thought if anyone could help me, it would be him.

"I'm doing research for my parent's," I told Tom. "About Thadeus, do you think you could search the database for me?"

"Yeah," he said, looking at me, I could see the compassion in his eyes. "I'll check on it first thing after lunch."

"That'd be great man," I said, patting him on the shoulder. "I really appreciate this."

"Don't mention it, I'm happy to help," Tom said, as he looked at me, "but you know, I have to ask, why now? I mean isn't this just going to open up old wounds?"

"Maybe," I said, "don't worry about that though, let me deal with that. I wont show them anything I think they can't handle."

"Alright buddy," Tom said. "I'll let you know when I find something."

"Thanks Tom," I said.

I went back to my desk and started to work on my other assignments, the article about the man who had just turned one hundred years old, another about the dog who had become a You tube sensation. I tried to concentrate, but it was hard. I left work to grab a sandwich, but I found I couldn't eat, there was no hunger, even though my stomach grumbled. I looked at my sandwich and finally ended up handing it to some homeless guy that asked me for change. He threw the sandwich back at me telling me he didn't want food, he wanted money. I flipped him off and headed back to my office.

I sat at my desk waiting for Tom to call, but he didn't. It wasn't until about five minutes before it was time to leave that my phone rang. I looked at the phone, wondering if I should pick it up, remembering the man and his warning.

"Hello," I said.

"Angelo," Tom asked.

"Yeah," I said.

"I need to see you right now," Tom said, "come down to the archives."

"Sure," I said, "did you find anything?"

"Just meet me down here as soon as you can," Tom said.

"Alright," I said, "I'm on my way right now."

When I got to the archives, Tom grabbed me by the arm and led me through the rows of shelves.

"What's going on," I said, "what did you find?"

"We can't talk here," he said in a hushed tone, as he dragged me to an office in the back.

Tom pushed me inside and put his finger to his lips as he went over to a side door to make sure the neighboring office was empty.

"I found some things," he said, sitting down in front of his computer, motioning me to come and stand next to him.

I watched as he logged into the computer and opened up a file. A picture popped up of a young family with two young boys.

"Do you know this family," he asked me.

"No," I said, "Who are they?"

"That's Demetri and Helen Matesis," he said, "and their sons Angelo and Thadeus."

"What are you talking about," I asked.

"I found it in the Bridgeport paper's archives," he said. "What do you know about your parents?"

"What do you mean," I asked.

"What did they tell you about where you came from," Tom asked, looking at me.

"They met in an orphanage in Greece," I said, "mom and dad grew up together. Momma said it was love at first sight. When they were sixteen they married and had Thadeus a year later. Three years after that they had me and moved to the states."

"That's what happened," he said, "it just wasn't your mom and pop."

"What are you talking about," I said.

"That's the Matesis'," he said, "I don't know who your mom and dad are, but they aren't the Matesis'."

"Of course they are," I said, "they just screwed up the picture. You know they do that."

"No," he said, "I thought the same thing so I called over there asking if there were any retractions, but there weren't. The guy who wrote the article told me he took the picture, there were no mistakes. I asked him what happened to the family and he said they just dissapeared one day. Their house was empty, their store closed, everyone assumed they had gone back to Greece."

"What are you saying," I asked.

"I'm saying what I'm saying," Tom said, "your father and mother aren't the Matesis', at least not the ones in that picture. There was only one Helena and Demetri Matesis in the states and they aren't them."

"That can't be right," I said.

"It is Angelo," he said, "why did you really ask me to look for Thadeus?"

"I can't tell you," I said.

"Fuck Angelo," he said, "I think you better tell me. This is some serious shit."

I felt dizzy, like I was going to fall over. I pulled a chair over and sat down, rubbing my face with my hands, trying to get the color back into my life. I looked at him and then told him everything about the guy I had met. He listened, shaking his head at times.

"This is deep shit man," Tom said. "You have to go to the police."

"I can't," I said, "not until I find out what's happening."

"Angelo," Tom said, "you'll be an accessory, Christ I'll be an accessory. You can't just let this go."

"I'm not going to," I said, "but I can't just turn my parents in without knowing what they did or if they did anything."

"Fine," Tom said, "So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet," I said, "I don't know."

"Angelo," he said, "that's not everything."

"What do you mean it's not everything," I said.

"I found out about another article," Tom said, "one we were going to run, but decided not to."

"Yeah," I said, "so?"

"It was about Thadeus," he said. "His disappearance. They were going to run the story, but they stopped it."

"Why," I asked, not understanding how the paper could pull the article.

"I don't know," Tom said, "but someone didn't want anyone knowing about it. I wouldn't have even known about it, if Martha hadn't mentioned it. She was working for the paper at the time. She told me that she was the one that did the research."

"Who was writing the article," I asked.

"Collins," Tom said, "Roger Collins, over in obituaries."

"Oh my God," I said, rubbing my eyes, "you don't mean…"

"No," Tom said, "he was working local news at the time. Martha said that's why he's in obituaries now, he wouldn't stop pushing to run the story."

"I can't believe this," I said. "Have you talked to anyone else?"

"No," Tom said, "of course not."

"Don't," I said, "Not til I figure out what's going on. You have to promise me Tom."

"Okay," he said, "don't worry man. I wont say anything. Just try to figure this shit out quick. I don't feel like going to jail over this."

"I will," I said. "Is Collins in today?"

"Do you want me to call and check," Tom asked.

"No," I said, "I'll go see him."

"Angelo," Tom said, putting his hand on my forearm, "be careful."

"I will," I said.

I headed back upstairs, my knees were actually shaking. I tried to take in everything I had found out, but I couldn't, it just seemed so unreal, like I was watching some movie. When I got to Collin's office he looked up and waved me in.

"So you found out," he said, as I closed the door.

"Found out what," I asked him.

I watched him as he stood up and walked to the file cabinet in the corner. He pulled it open and reached in the back of the files and pulled out a cigar box.

"It's all here," he said. "I knew you'd come one day. Every things in there."

"What do you mean," I asked, wishing people would just tell me what the hell was going on.

He pulled out an old tape recorder, the kind with the red buttons you press down to record. He opened the cigar box and removed an old cassette tape and placed it in the machine and pressed play.

"The kids missing," I heard Collin say in a loud voice, "I think that's a fucking story."

"Don't push me Roger," another man said. "Drop this story."

"Who the hell do you think you are," Collins shouted, "I'm not dropping it. People need to know about this."

"Mr. Collins," another man said, one with a Greek accent, "I understand you're concern. It is such a tragic thing, a missing boy. I know you have children of your own, don't you. What are their names, Peter and Junior, is that what you call little Roger?"

"Who the fuck are you," Collins said, "Have you been following my family?"

"Such allegations," the man with the Greek accent said, "I am hurt that you would insinuate such a thing. I only meant that it must cause you concern, knowing that your little boy might be next? It would be unbearable if poor Junior ended up missing, don't you think?"

There was the sound of things falling over, and the first man said, "Roger, stop! Stop Roger!"

"You should listen to your boss," the Greek said. "You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

"I'll kill you if you go near my boys," Collins screamed.

Collins stopped the tape and looked at me. I watched him take a flask out of the drawer of his desk. He offered it to me, but I shook my head.

"Who was he," I asked.

"I don't know his name," Collins said, "but he had pictures of my boys. They'd been following them. I couldn't… I couldn't do anything. I'm sorry."

"What did you find out," I asked. "Why wouldn't they let you run the story."

"Your brother," Collins said. "He had told his friend some things. He said he had found out something very bad about your father. His friend told his father. His father thought it was all a joke, but it wasn't."

"What did he tell him," I asked.

"I never found out," Collins said, "I was trying to, then they came and talked to me."

"Who did Thadeus tell," I asked.

"The kids gone," Collins said, rubbing his eyes, "the family moved a couple weeks later. You wont find them."

"This can't be happening," I said, leaning against the door.

"It is," he said as he took the cassette out of the recorder and started to pull the tape out in long strands.

"What are you doing," I screamed trying to pull the cassette away from him.

"I'm keeping my family safe," he said. "I've done everything I can for you. Don't ask anymore of me."

"You don't understand," I said, "Thadeus…"

"I understand," he said, "you don't think this isn't killing me? I've lived with this for ten years! Every night I see that boy's face. You can't imagine. Well… maybe you're the only one that can."

I stared at the man, worn out from years of guilt. He was crotchety, that's what people called him, Crotchety Collins. He was never happy. There were rumors he drank on the job, well obviously they weren't rumors. At one time he had been one of the best writers on the paper, then one day he gave it all up and moved to Obituaries. People said it was because he couldn't handle the stress, it got to him. I understood now that it was more than that, whatever these men had told him, was enough to break the man down.

"What did they say," I said, "about your boys."

"You don't want to know," he said. "It wasn't good."

"I know this is rough on you," I said. "but is there anything you can tell me about what happened to Thadeus?"

"I don't know what happened to him," he said, taking another swig from his flask.

"What did this man look like," I asked him. "The one that came to see you?"

"There were two of them," Collins said, "the other one was quiet, didn't say anything. He seemed to be in charge. The one that's speaking was an older guy, mid-forties, grey hair, balding. He had a mustache and this scar on his cheek. Horrible scar. The other guy was a bit younger, late twenties, long black hair, he had a mustache and a beard. He wore these outdated sunglasses, the ones pilots wear. The guy just stared at me. He never said a word."

"I know him," I said, "the second guy. I've met him. He was the one that told me about Thadeus…"

"I don't want to know," Collins said in a urgent voice. "Don't tell me anything. Jesus, I have to think of my boys. Rogers only fourteen, they could… Just leave. You can't tell anyone about this. Promise me."

I looked at the man, leaning back in his chair, his hands shaking uncontrollably. I knew there was more to it, but I knew he wouldn't tell me, there was fear in his eyes.

"I wont," I said, "thank you Roger."

"Don't thank me," he said. "I didn't do anything. I should've done something."

I opened the door and watched him as he continued to unravel the tape, lost in some thought from long ago. He looked up at me for a second and then looked away. I left his office, closing the door behind me.

Chapter Three

"Angelo," my editor said as she walked past my desk, "What happened with that lead about the missing hustlers?"

I looked at her for a moment, wondering what I should say, then thinking of nothing else, I said, "you were right, just another nut job."

"I thought so," she said. "Well I'd say I was sorry, but I guess it's a good thing. Those boys have it rough enough out there without someone grabbing them off the street."

"You've got that right," I said.

"Well you have a good weekend," my editor said, "you deserve it. Great job on the You tube dog."

"Thanks," I said, as she waved and walked back to her office.

I grabbed a few things from my desk and took that as my cue to get out of there. I walked to the elevator, just as the door started to close. A young dark haired boy, maybe twelve or thirteen held the door open for me.

"Thanks," I said.

"You're welcome," he said with a slight Greek accent.

I looked at him wondering if it was a coincidence, thinking it must be, that I was just paranoid.

"Funny," I said, "I'm Greek, but I can't place your accent."

The boy looked at me, his eyes widening slightly for just a second, then he said, "Albanian, not Greek. My parents escaped when I was just a boy, but I never lost my accent."

I smiled, "aren't you still a boy?"

"I'm twelve," the kid said in his defense, "I'm not a boy."

"Ah," I said. "I'm sorry, didn't mean anything by it."

"That's okay," the kid said as the elevator reached the bottom.

"Well I guess this is our stop," I said as I held my hand out for him to go first.

The kid smiled and stepped off the elevator. I watched the boy walk ahead of me, he had a cute butt, not flat, but curved. I could almost see the dimples through his jeans as he walked. As he stepped out the door on to the sidewalk he waited for a second until I passed him, then followed behind me. Would these guys really send a little boy to follow me? I looked over my shoulder and the boy smiled.

"We must be going to the same place," he said.

"You're going to my car," I asked him, eliciting a laugh from the boy.

"No," he said, "but I could use a ride. I don't have any money for the subway."

In the seven years since I realized I liked boys, not one had ever asked me for a ride, not even when I was the star of the high school basketball team, now one with a distinct accent wanted to hop in my car?

"Don't you know you're not supposed to talk to strangers," I said.

"What's your name," the boy asked.

"Angelo," I said.

"My names Eros," the boy said.

"I've never heard that name before," I said, smiling, knowing full well what Eros meant. In ancient Greece, the word was used to define a relationship based on physical attraction, lust for lack of a better word. Eros was also the god of sex and beauty, the Roman's called him Cupid. I wondered who in the world would name their son Eros?

"It means love," the boy said, smiling.

"Really," I said, "well that's very interesting."

"Can I get a ride from you," the boy said running up to walk beside me. "Just because you know my name," I said, "doesn't mean I'm not a stranger."

"I really need a ride," the kid said, "I spent my subway fare and if I call my parents my father will… well he'll be really mad."

"I don't know if that would be a great idea," I said, even though I remembered what my father would've done if I'd ended up calling him for a ride, "you don't even know me."

"Are you going to hurt me," the boy asked.

"No," I said, "but that's not the point."

"If you're not going to hurt me," he said in a matter of fact tone, "I don't see why you wont give me a ride, unless you want me to grab a ride from someone who might?"

"I tell you what," I said, smiling at the boy. "Why don't I give you a twenty for a cab? I'll give you one of my cards, your parents can mail it back to me."

"Nah," he said, "if you don't want to give me a ride, I can get one from someone else."

"Jesus," I said, looking at the kid as he stared at me with the most beautiful dark eyes. "Fine I'll give you a ride."

"Thanks," the kid said smiling as he walked beside me. "I'm only going to Astoria."

I looked at the boy, he was very cute, almost model cute. He had his parted to the side and he had these beautiful red lips, that just seemed too red for a little boy. I almost wondered if he was wearing lipstick.

"I hope you don't make a habit of this," I said as I approached my car.

"Oh, I wont," the boy said. "I just got hungry and forgot to save my bus fare."

"I understand," I said, opening the passenger side door so the kid could hop in. I closed the door behind him and walked around to the other side and got behind the wheel of the car. For a second I looked at him and then shook my head, paranoia was getting the best of me. I told myself it was just a coincidence.

"Where are you going in Astoria," I asked.

"Twenty-first Street and Twenty-seventh Avenue," he said, still smiling.

"Alright," I said, "you're in luck, it's on my way home."

"Thank you sir," he said.

"Please," I said, "don't call me sir, you'll make me feel old."

"But you are old," he said, "aren't you?"

"I'm twenty five," I said, "that's not that old."

He looked at me for a second and then with a little smirk said, "I guess not. Can you still get it up?"

"Woah," I said, "don't you think that's a little personal?"

"Sorry," he said, "I just know old people have a problem with that."

"I'm sure some do," I said, "but I'd really rather not talk about that stuff with you."

"Why," he said, "you can't can you?"

"You're a smart ass aren't you," I said.

"Sometimes," he said.

"So you ask for rides from strangers," I said, "then you ask them if they can get it up, are you just asking to get molested."

"Why," the boy said, shifting in his seat, "do you want to molest me?"

"No,"

I said, "that's not what I'm saying at all."

"Are you sure," he said, "you did give a defenseless little boy a ride in your car."

"You really are a smart ass," I said.

He smiled at me and leaned back in his seat, watching as we pulled out onto 7th avenue.

"So what were you doing downtown," I asked looking at the kid as he crossed his legs.

"Oh you know, this and that," he said.

"That's not really an answer," I said.

"I go to guitar lessons," he said. "My dad wants me to be a musician."

"Ah," I said, "Do you want to be a musician?"

"Do you," he countered.

"I'm not the one going to lessons," I said.

He looked at me, as if he was trying to figure something out, then said, "I guess so."

"I guess so," I said, "the diplomatic way of saying no."

"No," he said, "I really like the guitar, I just wish I didn't have to practice so much."

"I know all about that," I said.

"What do you mean," he asked, "did you have to play an instrument when you were young?"

"I'm still young," I said, "and no, I didn't, but I did have to practice basketball."

"Basketball," the kid asked.

"Yeah," I said, "I was going to be the next Nikos Galis."

"Who's that," the kid asked.

"Greek basketball player," I said.

"What team did he play for," the kid asked.

"None in America,"

I said, "he only played in Greece."

"Wow," the kid said, "he must not have been that good."

"No," I said, "he was a great player, he just wanted to stay in Greece."

"Why," the asked.

"Well why didn't your family want to stay in Crete," I asked.

"Albania," he said, "and it's because it was communist."

"Well there you go," I said.

"But America's not communist," he said. "Wouldn't he make more money playing here?"

"Moneys not everything kid," I said.

"My father thinks it is," the kid said.

"Well some people do," I said. "I've never felt like that myself. I guess I'm happy just being comfortable."

"I want to be rich when I grow up," the kid said.

"I thought you were grown up," I said, smiling.

"No," he said, "I'm just not a boy."

"Oh,"

I said, "then you must be a girl?"

"No," he said, "I've got a penis. I'm just not a boy, I'm a man."

"Really," I said, "and what makes you a man?"

He looked at me for a second, then blushed, and turned to look out the window.

"Oh," I said, suddenly figuring out why he was a man. "That's cool buddy."

"None of my friends have any," he said.

"Early bloomer," I asked.

"I guess," he said. "I don't know when I'm supposed to bloom."

"You're about the right age," I said. "but you know, I don't think this is the kind of conversation you want to have with a stranger, you should talk to your dad or mom about this."

"You brought it up," he said defensively.

"Well not intentionally," I said. "I mean there's nothing wrong with having, well you know. It's just it's a private thing you should talk about with someone you trust."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"I'm not embarrassed," I said, "I just don't think it's appropriate to have a conversation about pubic hair with some kid I just picked up."

"I don't have pubic hair," he said, laughing, "I've got semen."

"Jesus," I said, "now I know I'm not talking about that with you."

He laughed and asked, "what's wrong with semen?"

"Don't be a smart ass," I said.

"I don't make much," he said with a smirk, "but it's enough to get my hand sticky."

"Jesus kid," I said, "do you talk to every stranger you meet about semen?"

"Only the ones I like," he said.

I nearly jumped out my seat when I felt his hand slowly rest on my thigh.

"What the hell," I said, "what do you think you're doing?"

The kid flinched and suddenly leaned against the door, looking at me as if I'd hit him.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I thought…"

"Thought what," I said. "you're just a kid."

"I know," he said, "but I saw you look at me and I thought you might want to… you know."

"Oh God," I said, "are you a hustler?"

"What's a hustler," the kid asked.

"Do you have sex for money," I asked.

"No," he said, "I just saw you and you seemed nice."

"Have you done this before," I asked. "Got into someone's car and tried to get them to have sex with you?"

"No," he said this worried look on his face. "Please don't be mad. I'll get out here."

"No," I said, "I'm not letting you out in this neighborhood."

"It's okay," he said, "I didn't really have to go to Astoria."

"You're not Albanian are you," I said.

"No," he said, not able to look at me.

"Where are you from," I asked.

"Greece," he said, "I'm sorry."

"Why did you lie then," I asked.

"I didn't mean to," he said, staring out the window, "I thought it'd be fun."

"You're horny," I said, "you know that don't you?"

He nodded, looking at me with those beautiful eyes, his dark lashes fluttering. I thought of his bare pubis and wondered how long his dick was.

"I'm sorry I touched you," he said, bowing his head.

"Don't worry about that," I said to him.

"I didn't mean to do anything bad," he said.

"It's okay," I said. "Everyone does something stupid every once in awhile."

"I really thought you'd want to," he said, "you know…"

I looked at the boy, wanting so much to reach out and touch him, to let him know I did want to, but I didn't, instead I placed both my hands on the steering wheel and held on for dear life.

"Is your name really Eros," I asked.

"Yes," he said, "I didn't lie about that."

"That's a strange name," I said.

"My mom gave it to me," he said, "she thought it would make me popular."

"Really," I said.

"Yeah," he said, looking at me.

"It's a cool name," I said to him.

"No it's not," he said, "but that's okay."

"Just out of curiosity," I said, "what were you planning on doing?"

"What do you mean," he asked.

"I mean if I had," I said, "you know… done things with you, what would you have done?"

He paused for a second, as if he was thinking, then said, "I've always wanted to taste someone else's cum, I think I would've tried to give you a blow job."

"Jesus," I said, "you're kidding me?"

"No," he said, "I guess I'm a fag."

"No," I said, "you're just curious and besides, what if you're a fag?"

"My dad would kill me if he knew I was a fag," the boy said, banging his head against the seat.

"Stop that," I said, "Don't call yourself a fag and quit hitting your head, that's disturbing."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I tell you what," I said, "lets stop and get something to eat. I know this great little Greek place. Do you like Greek food?"

"Duh," he said, smiling.

Chapter Four

"So what do you want to eat," I asked.

"I'm not hungry," he said as he unwrapped his silverware.

"You sure," I asked, "the dolmades are wonderful."

"That sounds good," he said, "but I don't have any money."

"I'll buy," I said, "but you know that, don't you."

He frowned at me, not saying anything, fiddling with the spoon, running his finger along its length.

"I'm sorry," I said, "that was rude of me."

"It's okay," he said, leaning back in his seat.

"So where do you really live," I asked.

"I can't tell you," he said with a smirk, "you're a stranger."

"Ah," I said, "so now I'm a stranger."

"Well maybe you're just strange," he said, then began laughing at his own joke.

I stared at him for a bit, taking in the image of him, trying to figure out how this cute kid in a polo shirt and jeans ended up in my car, only to be sitting across from me in that restaurant, before I could stop myself, I said, "so ask me."

"Ask you what," he said.

"What you want to ask me," I said.

"What do you mean," he said as he started to drum the spoon on the tabletop.

"I don't know," I said, "I thought you might have some questions."

He looked at me, this serious look, like he was deciding what he should do, then he finally said, "what should I ask you?"

"You tell me," I said.

"You're strange," he said.

"Maybe," I said, "but this seems to be too perfect. You know what they say about that."

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth," he said.

I shook my head. The waitress came and I ordered the dolmades. She smiled at the boy sitting across from me. I waited til she left then I looked at the boy again.

"You know," I said, "I was wondering, what were you doing in the Daily's building? Is that where you go for guitar lessons?"

He stopped fidgeting with his spoon, it was only for a second, then he started again. He looked out the window, but before I could tell what he was looking at, he was staring at me again, silent.

"I'm not stupid," I said. "I know someone sent you. I just can't believe they'd send a boy to do a man's job."

"I'm not a boy," he said in an angry voice.

"Of course you're not," I said. "but I still don't know why they sent you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, squirming in his seat, "you're really weirding me out."

"Well the feelings mutual," I said.

"I think I should go," he said.

"No," I said, "you don't have to go. I'm not going to hurt you."

"I need to," he said, "I've got to get home, it's getting late."

"I thought you needed a ride," I said.

"I can manage," he said as he slid out of the booth.

I grabbed his arm, perhaps too rough, he looked at me frightened. I loosened my grip and just jerked my head, motioning for him to sit back down. He slid back in the booth, this time I saw what he was looking at, a brown sedan parked across the street with two men sitting in the front seat.

"You'll tell me what's going on," I said, "or someone else will. Eventually I'll find out."

"Please," he said. "I didn't want to. Just let me go."

"Who are those guys," I asked.

"No one," he said, "I don't know them."

"You keep looking at them," I said. "I thought one was my uncle," he said, "I don't know them."

One of the men got out of the car and started to walk across the street towards the restaurant. I looked at the boy and saw fear in his eyes, his hand starting to shake. The waitress returned to the table and set down the dolmades. She looked at the boy, then me.

"Is everything okay," she said.

"He just needs to use the restroom," I said.

"Oh," she said, smiling at the boy, "It's right over there honey. Just knock before you go in."

"Thanks," he said, sliding out of the booth once more.

I watched Eros as he walked back to the bathroom. He looked at me, then went inside. When I turned around the man from the car entered the restaurant. He was wearing jeans and a sweater, his hair was combed straight back, like he'd just stepped out of a greaser movie. He looked too young to be the man that Collins had mentioned. He watched me as he walked towards the table.

"Hello Angelo," the man said in a thick Greek accent as he sat down.

"Do I know you," I asked.

"No," he said, "but I know you."

"Obviously," I said, "you just said my name."

"You're a smart ass aren't you," he said.

"Not really," I said, "just stating the obvious."

"There's still time for you to turn back," he said. "The path you're headed down, you don't want to be on it."

"What path is that," I said, then took a bite of one of the dolmades.

"The one that can only lead to pain," he said.

"Are you threatening me," I asked.

"No," he said, "I don't threaten people."

"I'm going to find out," I said. "You know that, don't you."

"Go talk to your father Angelo," he said, "before you talk to anyone else. For his sake."

"For his sake," I said, suddenly feeling a great deal of anger well up inside of me.

"Yes," he said standing up, "And take the boy with you. You could use the company."

"Is he your son," I asked, "is that what you people do, send your kids out to seduce men?"

"All the time you spend at the park," he said, "I thought you might like to taste the real thing for once."

I bristled at the insinuation, then looked around, hoping no one had heard him.

"Eros is all alone," the man said, "do what you will, but he knows he can't come back without you."

"I'm not taking the boy," I said.

"Oh," he said, "if you are a kind man, you will. You don't have to spend time with him if you don't want to, but he knows what he has to do."

"What do you mean," I asked. "What's going on? That's all I want to know."

"Your father can answer those questions for you," he said. "Go talk to him."

"You know what's going on," I said, "just tell me."

"That's not my job," he said, "my job is to make sure you don't get into trouble, well, more trouble. Go talk to your father Angelos. He can answer your questions."

"I need to know what happened to Thadeus," I said, "please just tell me."

"Your father knows," he said, as he slid out of the booth, "I don't. Ask him, he's expecting you."

I started to get up but he pushed me back down, "don't follow me. Go home Angelos, your father is waiting."

I watched the man walk out of the restaurant, I wanted to follow him but a part of me remembered the boy, Eros. He was still in the restroom. I didn't want to leave him behind, I had no idea what might happen to him. My gaze followed the man as he walked across the street to the car. He turned to me and waved, then got inside. The car pulled away just as Eros returned to the table.

"I'm sorry," the boy said as he sat down.

"What are you sorry about," I said.

"That I got you in trouble," he said.

"You didn't get me into trouble," I said, "I got into trouble a long time ago."

He sat there looking at me with these sad little eyes, then asked, "are you going to hurt me."

"No," I said, "I'm not mad at you Eros, don't worry about that."

Eros stared out the window as I drove to my parent's house. I kept thinking about the conversations I'd had, everything I'd found out. I glanced at Eros as he sat there watching the houses pass by. As I got closer to my parent's house, he started to fidget.

"Do you know what's going on," I asked.

He looked at me and nodded his head.

"Are you going to tell me," I asked.

"I can't," he said softly, "please don't make me. I'm already in trouble."

"Why are you in trouble," I asked.

"Because you wouldn't do it with me," he said. "I was supposed to get you to do it."

"Have sex with you," I said, "that's why they sent you?"

He nodded, wiping a tear from his cheek.

"I'm sorry buddy," I said, "but it wouldn't have mattered, I don't think I could've done anything with you."

"They said you liked boys," he said.

"Well I do," I said, "but I've never done anything and I plan on keeping it that way."

"Am I ugly," he asked.

"Of course not," I said, "you're a beautiful boy. I just wouldn't want to hurt you."

"You wouldn't hurt me," he said, pleading with me. "We can still do it if you want to."

"Buddy," I said, "Even if I want to, I'm not going to."

"Please," he said. "I can make you feel really good."

"I'm sure you could," I said, "but I couldn't do that to you."

"Even if I want to," he asked frowning.

"Even if you wanted to," I said.

I knocked on the door to my parent's house and waited. My mother answered the door, not saying a word, just looking at me and the boy that stood beside me.

"I need to speak to poppa," I said.

"I know," my mother said a worried look on her face, "come inside, he's in his study."

I stepped inside, Eros followed behind me closely. His hand reached out and grabbed mine. I looked at the boy as he held my hand, I could see fear in his eyes. I followed my mother to the den and stood waiting as she walked to my father's study. She stepped inside and I could hear them talking. A moment later she stepped out and motioned for me to enter.

"Not you," she said to Eros, "you know better than to go in there."

"Sorry Mistress," Eros said.

"Come now," my mother said, "I've made some cookies, perhaps you can taste one to make sure they're good?"

"Yes mistress," Eros said, as she placed her hand on his shoulder and led him to the kitchen.

"Come in Angelos," my father said, "don't stand there with the door open all day."

I stepped inside and noticed a man, slightly older than me sitting in a chair in the corner. The man had a goatie and long hair that hung past his shoulders. He was wearing a pair of slacks and a blue dress shirt shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I noticed a slight smile on his lips, that seemed unsettling.

"I hear you've been a busy boy," my father said to me.

"What's going on Poppa," I asked.

"What do you mean," my father said. "What do you thinks going on?"

"I've talked to people," I said, "I know about the Matesis and Thadeus."

"You know nothing," my father said. "Only what I've allowed you to know, remember that."

"Where's Thadeus father," I said. "They said you know where he is."

"My dear boy," my father said, pointing to the long haired man, "he's right here, don't you recognize your own brother?"

I looked at the man again, staring at him, seeing his dark eyes and the slim face and then, as if everything aligned perfectly, I saw him, the little thirteen year old boy that rode away on his bike so many years ago. I stifled a sob, not willing to believe that it was him.

"Hello Angelos," the man said, "Have you missed me."

"Thadeus," I asked.

"Yes," he said, "it's me Angelos."

I walked towards him, a sudden rush of joy welling up inside me. I wanted nothing more than to hold him, but in that second when my fingers touched him, his arm shot up and he pushed a pronged object against my neck. My body convulsed immediately and I felt myself fall to the ground as darkness surrounded me.

Chapter Five

Father beat Thadeus mercilessly that night. I sat in the living room with my mother, while she nursed baby Mikos. She assured me that it wasn't my fault, that father was punishing Thadeus because he had been a bad boy. I could not for the life of me understand why the brother I idolized and loved so dearly would want to do that to me. I suppose if I had known then, what I know now, I would've considered myself lucky to have survived my time with him.

When I woke up, I couldn't see, everything was blurry and all I felt was a small hand on my arm, patting me, the voice of a child repeating over and over, "I'm here Master. I'm here."

I brushed the hand away and sat up, rubbing my temples, trying to rid myself of the throbbing pain in my head. A panic set in, if only briefly, then my vision cleared and I saw Eros there, but he wasn't dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, rather he wore a strange robe, that wrapped around shoulder on one side and hung down, barely covered his privates. When he shifted I could see his flaccid little penis and the small set of balls that hung below them, hairless and smooth. I turned my head away, embarrassed when he caught me staring.

"Are you okay," he asked, sitting beside me.

"Eros," I said, "what are you doing here?"

"I'm watching you," he said. "Making sure you're alright."

"Where am I," I asked.

"We're at the estate," he said. "You're father's home."

I looked around and saw that I was laying on a mattress on the floor in what looked like a cell. The walls were carved out of stone and I smelled a sickly sweet smell that I couldn't place.

"My father doesn't own an estate Eros," I said, "where are we."

"He told you," I heard a voice say from the other side of the door. I looked up to see Thadeus's face as he stared at me through the small square cut in the cell door.

"Thadeus," I said, suddenly remembering how I came to be here, "why would you do that?

What's happening Thadeus?"

"You'll find out soon enough," Thadeus said.

"Why the hell can't anyone answer a question," I said.

"Shut up," Thadeus said, "you need to learn when you can speak and when you can't."

"Please Angelos," Eros said to me, grabbing my arm, "you're father will come for you soon."

"Listen to the boy," Thadeus said in a cool voice, "maybe you'll learn some patience."

"What happened to you Thadeus," I said, looking at my brother's face, as he sneered at me. "What did they do to you?"

"They didn't do anything," my brother said, "I chose to leave. You wouldn't understand."

"I'm so sorry," I said, "I looked for you Thadeus. I really did."

"Shut up," Thadeus screamed. "I don't care. You mean nothing to me. I value my dogs more than I do you."

"I understand you're angry," I said staring at my brother, hoping to find some sign of joy, but seeing only hatred and disgust.

"You wouldn't understand anything," he said. "Now shut up or I'll come in there and show you what happens to slaves."

"He's not a slave," I heard my father say, "never call him that again."

The door opened and I saw my father standing there, dressed much like Eros, except his robe was longer, hanging to his knees.

"I've brought you some clothes Angelos," he said, tossing them to me. "Put them on."

I looked at the boy sitting beside me, suddenly feeling very modest. A darkness seemed to descend on me, one born from despair. In that moment I felt this beating in my ears, as if my heart was trying to escape my chest. I hesitated, looking at my father, not able to hide the anger or shame.

"I've seen you too many times for you to suddenly get shy," my father said, then noticing me staring at Eros said in a matter of fact manner, "Never mind the boy, he's seem more naked men than you have I'll wager."

I looked at Eros, he didn't seem to react to the comment, he just started to unbuckle my pants as I sat there. I pushed his hands away and he frowned.

"I can do that," I said, "just… just turn around."

Eros turned around, but my father didn't. He watched me as I dressed and tried to figure out how to put the strange robe he had brought me on, after some struggling I slid it over my head and pulled my arm through both sides. It was remarkably light and felt very soft, almost like silk. It was very similar to the one Eros was wearing, only it had gold trim and hung down to just above my knees.

"Much better," my father said. "We must talk Angelos. There are many things you need to learn if you're to make it here."

"Where's here," I asked.

"All in good time," my father said, Thadeus standing beside him, holding a small curved metal tube with two nodules on the end. "Come now, you too Eros."

I followed my father out of the room, my mind still hazy, my thoughts racing a mile a minute as I tried to figure out where I was. The hallway outside the cell was narrow. There were rows of steel doors on both side, each had the same square hole in them. There were boxes on the side with small clear glass pads on them, but nothing else. I watched as we reached the end of the hallway and my father placed his hand on the glass pad and the door popped open on its own.

As I walked through the door, I entered another hallway, only this one was much wider and the walls were covered in a smooth plaster. There were murals lining the hallway of open fields, satyrs and boys danced around bonfires.

I slowed down to look at one scene of a man kneeling behind a boy whose mouth was open as if he was crying out, Thadeus pushed me, motioning for me to keep moving. I turned to look at him, not knowing where his anger grew from or why he hated me so.

"Go," Thadeus said with contempt, pointing the metal tube at me. "Or do I need to motivate you."

"Leave him alone Thadeus," My father said, not even bothering to turn around, "I wont tell you again."

"I'm sorry father," Thadeus said.

"You should be," my father said, as he stopped at a door and opened it, motioning for me to step inside.

I did as father directed, looking around as I entered, I saw two small boys, about eight or nine years old kneeling beside a low lying stone table with platters of food and pitchers of water lining the center. Both boy's were dressed like Eros with low cut robes, barely covering their nether regions. One had blonde hair and brown eyes, the other had dark hair and dark eyes and looked much like Eros.

"Have a seat," my father said, motioning towards one of the cushions. "Thadeus go see if they've found Telios."

"Yes father," Thadeus said, glancing one last time at me as he left the room.

"What's going on father," I said.

"You were never this impatient as a child," my father said, "what's gotten into you Angelos."

"I don't know what's going on," I said, desperate for answers. "The Matesis', Thadeus, what's happening father."

"That you'll learn in time," Father said his voice still calm, "Eros can help you, can't you boy?"

"Yes Master Petros," Eros said, bowing his head.

"Good boy," my father said, smiling as he sat on a cushion across the table from me. "He'll do everything he can to make you happy my boy."

"Why did you knock me out," I asked, "I would've come with you if you asked."

"Thadeus is a little impulsive," my father said, "and he doesn't much care for you, as you probably already know."

"Why," I said, "what have I ever done to him."

"Ah," my father said, "now there is a question that I can answer."

I looked at my father as he smiled, motioning for one of the young boys, a blonde haired one with brown eyes to come to him. The boy stood up and ran over and sat on my father's lap. My father's shifted a bit, then let his hand rest on the boy's thigh, very close to his privates. Father noticed the shock on my face and sighed, moving his hand away from the boy and then lifting the boy off his lap.

"What do you remember of your childhood," Father asked me, "before we moved into the house?"

"What do you mean," I said, not realizing I had lived anywhere before that house.

"Think boy," my father said, "think back to your earliest memory."

I didn't know what my father was talking about. I was about to say something, when suddenly it occurred to me that I had been in the room I was sitting in before. The table seemed higher then, but that was because I was a small boy. I remembered my mother walking me in the room, but it wasn't my mother, it was another woman who was my mother. She stood there for a moment and was dismissed.

"You be a good boy Nico," she said. "Do what they ask and I'll have a treat for you when you come back."

"Yes momma," I said smiling at her as she left, closing the door behind her.

"Come here boy," A fat man said. I looked at him and saw he had no clothes on, his penis was hard and I remembered that he had made me put it in my mouth before. I cringed and started to bang on the door, trying to get my mother's attention, but she never came back. I felt someone grab my arm and drag me across the room, it was the fat man. He was laughing.

"Now, now, Nico," the man said, "you're not too young for the strap my boy. If you don't get busy, it'll be across your backside soon enough."

I struggled and the man grabbed my ears, pulling me down towards his penis. I could see it as it came closer and closer, I started to sob, not wanting to do that awful thing, then just before it touched my lips, the fat man fell over. I looked up and there stood my father, an angry look on his face.

"We talked about this," my father shouted. "We had a deal."

"He's a slave Petros," the fat man said, "what do you expect me to do."

"He's my son," my father said, "and if you ever try to lay a finger on him again, I will gut you like the pig you are."

"He's not your son," the fat man said, "he's the refuse of a slut mother."

"I've paid you for him," my father said, pushing a serving boy aside, "it doesn't matter who his mother is, it matters only that he's my son and I will not let the likes of you touch him."

"The great Petros," the fat man said, "Son of Telios, Senator of Corvith, father of a slave."

"Anisio," my father said, "leave this to the dogs or you will be a dead man."

With that my father carried me from the room, I looked at the fat man, his face red. He picked up a plate of food and threw it across the room, shouting at another boy to come to him. I watched the slender boy as he approached the man, trembling.

"I was a slave," I said, looking at my father. "My mother was a slave. You bought me. When you brought me home you told me my name was Angelos. When I said it was Nico you beat me. I argued with you one day about it and you grabbed the poker from the fireplace and pressed it to the palm of my hand, that's where I got the scar. You told me if was from touching a muffler on the mower."

"Good," my father said. "you remember."

"How could you," I said, glaring at my father. "Is that why you beat us, because we were just slaves to you."

"You are not a slave," my father screamed, banging his fist on the table. "You are my son and I love you."

"You never loved me," I screamed back at him.

"I loved you more than you can ever know," my father hollered jabbing his finger viscously at me. "I disciplined you because I wanted you to grow up to be a good man, to be the kind of man that could build his own empire."

"I don't want an empire," I said, "I don't want anything you have to give me."

"Sometimes it doesn't matter what we want boy," my father said, "our station dictates what's expected of us. You are the grandson of Telios, the greatest Senator in all of Gea. You are destined for greatness and the only way to assure that greatness was to remove you from this world."

"What do you mean this world," I asked.

"You are not in New York anymore Angelos," my father said, "you're in Gea. You remember though, I know you do."

"It was a dream," I said as if saying those words would make it true, "it was all a dream."

"No," my father said, "it's all very real. You can never return home Angelos. You've already jeapordized too much."

"What have I jeapordized," I said, not able to hide my disgust. "your kidnapping teenage boys, for God knows what?"

"Ah," my father said laughing, "I was wondering how Demetri would suck you into his fairy tale. Always the honorable boy, aren't you Angelos."

"He told me you were taking them," I said, "where are theyfather?"

"We weren't taking any boys," my father said, shaking his head, "He just told you that to get rid of you, well more in point, to get rid of me."

"Why would he want to get rid of me or you," I said, "none of this is making sense."

"It's making absolute sense," my father said, "you're just not paying attention."

"Then tell me what I've missed," I said, wanting more than anything else to find some reason in that sea of madness.

"Suffice it to say there are more things in this universe than you or I could ever dream of Angelos," my father said. "One such thing exists on that world, rather one such person. His work is so important that the very future of Gea depends on it. Those closest to this man, who garner his favor, will not only be very wealthy, but very powerful. That is why you are here now and can never return and that is why Demetri is trying to use you to drive me from that world as well."

"I will go home father," I said standing up, "You can't keep me in this place forever."

"I can keep you here til the day you die if I wish," my father said. "And you'd do well to remember that."

"I don't understand," I said, suddenly feeling very much like a small child begging to avoid a beating, "Please father, I need to know what's happening."

"My boy," my father said, "That place has nearly ruined you. I should've brought you hear long ago. Your mind is muddled and now you are a leaf adrift on an ocean, but I will make sure you find your way to shore. You may not believe it, but I love you Angelos. I love you more than you could ever know."

"Where is my mother," I said, tears welling in my eyes, remembering the woman who left me with that fat man so long ago.

"She's at home," my father said, "she'll be here soon."

"No," I said, "my real mother."

He looked at me, sadness in his face, "I'm sorry boy, but she passed many years ago."

I sobbed, covering my face with my hands, the loss too much for me to bear. I felt the soft touch of Eros as his hand rested on my arm.

"I wish it could've been different," my father said in a soft voice. "I really do. You might not believe me and I've given you little reason to believe otherwise, but you are my son and I love you more than life itself. If I had been a better man, perhaps…"

He looked at me, then stood up. I watched as he walked towards the door, then turned around, "stay here Angelos. Eros, show him to the library once he's eaten. The boys are here for you my son. I know your desires and you have no need to be ashamed here. Perhaps a little time with one of them might lift your spirits."

My father left and I sat there, unable to eat or even look at anyone. Eros wrapped his arms around me and rested his head on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry master," he said.

I looked at the boy and saw the grief in his eyes.

"Thank you Eros," I said, pulling the boy so that he sat on my lap.

For a long while I just sat there, holding the boy, remembering the woman who had loved me so long ago, the woman I would never see again, except in memory. I was certain that I had abandoned her, not understanding that I had only done what any other small boy might do under the duress of pain. I remembered the songs my mother sang, the sound of her beautiful voice as she eased me to sleep.

Eros showed me to the library. He pulled up the records of my mother. She had died of a wasting disease, cancer to be exact. They had tried to save her, rather my father had, but she could not be saved. They cremated her and set her ashes to the wind, scattered amongst the waters of the great sea. My father had freed her shortly after he took me away. She had been a seamstress for the remaining years of her life. I was her only child and by giving me up she had gained her freedom. I however found that I had lost mine, for I was a slave to the memory of that woman.

In my heart I knew she loved me, that she had done everything she did, so that I might be free, that I might not suffer as she did and her family had before her, but there was still this part of me that hated her for giving me up, for not finding some other way.

Chapter Six

After three days without food, Eros begged me to eat. He had the cook make dolmades. He brought them in and fed them to me one at a time, sitting by my side, encouraging me with each bite. I looked at the boy and felt ashamed. Here was a boy, barely old enough to be a man, chained to me by some unknown bondage, and I could not garner up enough strength to even thank him for his kindness, for I knew his kindness was not forced, but rather the kind that came from a deep devotion, even though I could not understand why.

"Eros," I said, "you don't need to stay here with me, I can manage."

"I want to master," he said, even though he knew I hated the term.

"You're not my slave," I said, "I've told you that."

"Please master," the boy said, "If I'm not your slave, then whose slave am I?"

"I suppose you're my father's slave," I said.

"But I don't want to be his slave master," the boy said. "I want to be yours."

"Why," I said, "why would you want to be mine?"

"Because you are kind master," he said. "I know you wont beat me or hurt me."

"Do they really beat boys," I asked.

"Yes master, sometimes for no reason at all," he said, then looking at me, his eyes wide with fear, he asked in a soft voice, "You wont beat me will you?"

"I would never do that," I said.

"Thank you master," Eros said smiling, resting his head on my leg.

I stroked his hair as he laid on the bed next to me, oblivious to the fact that the hem of his tunic had ridden up, exposing his smooth bottom and the cleft that ran between his dimpled cheeks. I wanted to reach out and touch him there, to feel the soft skin, but I couldn't, instead I sat still, feeling my cock stiffen, hoping the boy didn't notice.

"I can help you master," the boy said, looking up at me, then at the rising lump inches from his face, "If you would let me."

"No," I said to him, "I would never make you do that."

"I want to master," the boy said, smiling. "I really do."

"Maybe some other time," I said, lifting him from my lap.

"Please master, not another time, now. You wont hurt me. Maybe…" he said, pausing, then looking at me with hungry eyes, "maybe you could make me feel good too. If you want to."

I looked at the boy sitting beside me as he brushed the hair from his forehead, a very serious expression on his face. I imagined his mouth wrapped around me, the warmth I might find there, but I still could not give in.

"You're too young," I said to him.

"No I'm not," he said. "please master, the other boys say you think I'm ugly, that you don't want to do it with me because you can't bear to look at me. Please master. I want to, really I do. I can make you feel very good. I've done it before master, please?"

"Eros," I said, "I don't think you're ugly and if there was any boy in the world I would like to do it with, it would be you, but I don't want to hurt you like that."

"It wont hurt me," Eros said, sounding very much like a child denied a toy. "You're just afraid of hurting yourself. You think you're better than them if you don't do it, but you aren't. The other boys don't suffer, they find relief, but I suffer and you don't care."

"How do you suffer," I said, "I don't make you do anything you don't want to."

"But you do master," he said, "I want you to touch me and make me feel good. I want to make you feel good. If I don't soon, Master Petros will take me back and give you another boy, a younger boy. Do you want another boy?"

Eros took my hands in his and I saw the confusion in him, his inability to understand why I wouldn't take what he was offering so freely. I reached out to touch him, but he pulled away frowning.

"Oh Eros," I said, "I don't want another boy. I like you very much, but you don't understand."

"I understand," he said curling up next to me, not caring that his stiff circumcised penis was sticking out from underneath his short tunic, "you feel guilty because you grew up there, because they told you its wrong and that you're evil, but you aren't master. I know you aren't."

"I can't," I said, even as Eros's hand moved along my thigh, slowly. "Please Eros, you have to stop."

"Just once master," he said, "never again if you don't want to, but just this once."

I groaned as I felt his fingers wrap around my throbbing cock. He pulled my tunic back uncovering the steely hard rod, looking at it, smiling, knowing that it was stiff for him.

"You want it master," he said. "Tell me you want it."

I looked at him, the soft round face, his hair, slightly disheveled, those ruby red lips, wet and moist, and I couldn't deny my lust.

"I want it so bad Eros," I said, "suck me."

The boy's lips wrapped around my member, pulling me deep inside of his mouth. Eros slid off the bed to kneel down in front of me, his eyes looking into my eyes, a sparkle of victory there, maybe even of joy.

"That feels wonderful," I said, stroking his hair as his mouth moved up and down my stiff cock for the first time.

Eros's sucking became more urgent and I felt his hands stroke my balls, rolling each one in his palm as he expertly worked on my rigid pole. I was not that large that he couldn't take most of me in his mouth, in fact I was about average, if not a bit larger, maybe seven inches long when I was really excited, and at that moment I was really excited.

The boy moved up and down the length, his tongue licking the sides of my cock, watching me, smiling when he made me groan, basking in the power he held over me. I gripped him by the hair, leading him back to the tip, trying to get my cock back inside of his warm wet mouth.

His lips parted, and his tongue darted out, twirling around the glans of my cock slowly, then he took me inside. I felt his tongue slide along the bottom. I could not help but groan as he forced all but the last inch into his mouth, looking up at me, his eyes wide with hunger.

He took his mouth off my cock and said in a husky voice, "you taste so good master. Please cum for me. I want to taste your seed."

I groaned as he engulfed my cock once more, taking me deep into his mouth, a small moan escaping his lips, as he felt my cock brush the back of his throat. I gasped as he removed all but the tip from his mouth, twirling his tongue around the slit, then thrusting it inside, as if he wanted to pry my juices from me, then just as quickly he pulled it out, stroking it in his small fist.

"Oh," I said, "I'm almost there."

"Fill my mouth master," he said, "let me taste you."

I groaned and my cock throbbed in his hand, just an inch or two from his face. Before Eros could take me back in his mouth, a jet of pearly white cum shot out and coated his lips. Frantic, not wanting to lose my seed to the ground, he took me back inside.

I felt my dick spasm, shooting thick gobs of juice inside of his mouth. He looked at me, with passion in his eyes as he swallowed, trying to keep up with the deluge of seed filling his mouth. I fought to regain my composure as the last moments of bliss began to wane. I looked at him suddenly realized I was holding him by the hair, keeping him there on my cock.

"I'm sorry," I said, letting him go, a wave of guilt filling me.

"You don't need to be sorry master," he said smiling as he licked the cum off his lips. "I wanted to do it."

Eros lay next to me, rubbing his body against mine. I could feel his stiff little member poking against my stomach and I smiled as he grabbed my hand and pulled it towards him. I gripped his little rod between my fingers, feeling how hard he was, stroking the small tip of of his cock gently, listening to him gasp. His eyes were closed as I toyed with his little penis, his mind caught somewhere between this world and the pleasure that he wanted so dearly.

I pushed him back so he lay down, pulling his small tunic up over his head, wanting so much to see the boy naked, tired of the teasing glances he had provided me up til that moment. He was beautiful, his skin a smooth alabaster, with tiny pink nipples, still unaffected by puberty, he was completely hairless, the only sign of his coming maturity was the slightly thick penis that stood up at attention, and even that was no longer than my middle finger. He giggled, a smile forming on his lips as he lay there looking at me as I moved my mouth towards his stomach. I had fantasized about licking his body, running my tongue along his belly til I reached his smooth pubis and that's what I did. He grinned at me, his hands caught in my hair, not forceful, but there to let me know he wanted it, that he didn't want me to stop.

When my tongue reached his tiny shaft, I took a tentative swipe along its length and he gasped, thrusting his hips towards me, but I wasn't ready for that yet, I wanted to give him more. I ran my tongue to his tight little sack and licked his hairless balls, rolling them around with my tongue. He reached for his penis, to stroke it, but I grabbed his hand and he moaned, but obediently moved his hand away, resting it on his chest.

"Oh master," he said, "that feels so good."

"I'm glad," I said, as I licked the smooth skin below his balls, running my tongue roughly across it, enjoying the musky boy smell. I moved my tongue back up around his testicles, nibbling the inside of his thighs, causing the boy to jerk and giggle.

"That tickles," he said, laughing.

I just smiled as I leaned up, looking at the smooth stiff little cock, with just the slightest curve, examining it for just the shortest moment, before I wrapped my lips around it and swallowed it hole. The boy gasped and lurched, the sensation of my tongue causing him to cry out. I continued to lavish my tongue along its length eliciting the slightest moans.

His hand roamed his stomach as he concentrated on the sensations coursing through his young sex. He whimpered as I brought him closer and closer to the brink, his hips thrusting slightly, trying to push more of himself inside of me, but I already had all of him. He moaned, almost like he was in pain. I took my mouth off of him and looked up at him as I stroked his cock with my thumb and two fingers.

"Don't stop master," he said urgently, "I'm going to cum." "Do it," I said in a husky voice, "I want to taste you in my mouth."

I wrapped my lips around the tip of his cock and stroked the length of him, his young body arched up and he let out this cry, like an animal startled by a man, then it happened, his little penis convulsed in my mouth and the smallest spurt of juice jumped forth and landed on my tongue. I continued to suck him as he cried out, his hands now gripping my hair so firmly it hurt.

"Oh master," he cried, his eyes closed tight as he sunk into his bliss, "don't stop master."

I could taste his juices, they was slightly salty, and maybe my mind was playing tricks on me, but they seemed to be sweet as well. I relished the way his penis throbbed in my mouth, releasing it's pleasure, not only to him, but to me. Then almost as quickly as it started it stopped, and I felt him tugging at my head, pulling me away, as the tongue that had given him pleasure, now tortured his sensitive little tip.

"Oh master," he said, "stop. It itches. Please."

I laughed and let him go, looking up at his body, his chest rising and falling, his small glistening little rod throbbing in front of my face. He smiled down at me, a smile I hadn't seen before, innocent but knowing, this dreamy little look crossing his face as he stroked my hair, then ran his finger down across the bridge of my nose and giggled.

He laid there beside me, his arms wrapped around mine as I held him, smelling the sweet scent of his hair, feeling his chest as it rose and fell. I nuzzled his neck and he moved his head back rubbing it against my cheek.

"Thank you master," he said.

"You don't need to call me that," I said. "Call me Angelos."

"No master," he said, "I can't call you that."

"Why," I asked, stroking his chest.

"Because I'm your slave," he said. "You don't understand. Slaves never call their master by their name. If I did, it would be like spitting on you."

"You're not my slave," I said, "your no ones slave."

"But I am master," he said, turning to look at me. "I'm your slave."

"Then I'll free you," I said, "I can do that."

"No you can't," he said, "please don't even joke like that. They'd take me away from you and give me to…"

I felt him as he hid his face from me, nuzzling it against my chest.

"To who," I asked.

"Master Thadeus," he said in a muffled voice, then looking up at me he whispered, "please don't give me up master. You're so kind. I like being with you."

"I wish we could just go home," I said, "then you wouldn't have to be my slave."

"We are home master," he said. "And you have to accept that."

"This isn't my home," I said. "This is my prison."

"Please master," he said wrapping his arms tighter around me. "This can be your home."

"I don't think it ever will be home for me Eros," I said as I stroked his back softly with my hand.

"We can make it your home," the boy said sitting up to look at me, holding my free hand in his.

"And how can we do that," I asked.

"I can't tell you," he said, "I have to ask your father first. I'll go to him now and ask him."

"Ask him what," I asked.

"I can't tell you," he said, "but you have to trust me master. Please."

I looked at the naked boy, his body so close to mine I could feel his warmth.

"I trust you Eros," I said.

"I'll go now master," he said, pulling his tunic back on, "while I still have the courage. Pray for me master. The Gods want us together, I know they do."

"I'll pray for you Eros," I said, even though I didn't believe there were any Gods to speak of.

After he left I laid back on my bed and thought of what had happened, a twinge of guilt coursed through my soul as I realized what I'd done to poor little Eros. I believed the boy only wished to please me out of fear, I had no way of knowing boys could feel deeper than that, or that their love was much purer than any man's could be. I drifted to sleep amid my worries, the images of Eros's naked body danced inside my slumber, but it was far from a nightmare this time.

Perhaps I should've fought harder than I did, but now I realize that acceptance was the only thing I could do. Father was right, I had no control over my destiny, neither did he. The fact is we were all bit actors in a much larger play. The parts were chosen for us and the roles did not change, merely because we wanted them to.

Eros woke me smiling, sitting next to me, his hand shaking my shoulder. I looked up at the child and could see the excitement in his face. He was talking but I had not been awake long enough to bother to listen to him.

"Slow down," I said, "what are you saying Eros."

"We can leave the compound," Eros said, hopping up and down on the bed beside me. "Your father said we can go, but you must speak to him first."

"Go where," I asked.

"To your father's villa in Amazonia," he said, smiling. "I've heard it's beautiful there sir."

"Where the hell is Amazonia," I said, wondering what he was talking about.

"Your father will tell you," Eros said, "You're to see him immediately."

I stood up. Suddenly conscious of my nakedness, I covered myself, causing Eros to giggle. He watched me as I dressed, a little smirk on his face. He nearly pulled me through the halls to my father's study.

"Angelos," my father said, "It's good to see you out of your room."

"There's not much to see there," I said.

"No there isn't," father said. "So I suppose it's time you learned of the world."

"I would like to go home father," I said.

"I know boy," father said, "but unfortunately that can't happen. You're DNA was banned in the sequencer. You'll never be able to go back."

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"Did you think you just appeared here," father said, "you had to pass through a doorway. That doorway has a lock and you my dear boy have been locked out."

"You can't do this to me," I said, "that's my home!"

"No," he said in a stern voice, "you seem to forget you were born here, this is your home. For all intents and purposes you were an alien on that world. It's best to remember that."

I stood there, staring at my father as he sat on the edge of his chair, excited and angry, the two emotions dancing on his face, much like they did when he punished me as a boy. I started to walk away, tired of arguing, tired of fighting, tired of hearing how pointless everything seemed to be.

"Don't go master," Eros begged, tugging on my arm. "Master Petros said we could leave for Amazonia, didn't you master."

"Yes I did Eros," my father said. "And I'll still let you leave, but only on certain conditions."

Father looked at me and told me that I was a citizen of Atlantis, but that I was a citizen under the name of Nico. I could no longer call myself Angelos, that man was gone. He explained that Amazonia was a colony on another Earth, much like my own Earth, but slightly different and that he had arranged for me to move there. He thought it might be easier for me to adjust to my new life on another Earth, rather than on Gea.

Father explained that only a few people were aware of the existence of different Earths, most believed there was only one Earth, when in fact they'd found four Earth's so far and there was no reason to believe there weren't more. The Earth I grew up on had no knowledge of the others, even if some scientists there thought there might be.

The Earth I would return to was different, there was no doubt about that. The Union of New Atlantis, which was what they called their colony on that Earth,

had many member states, as well as colonies. Within the colonies of New Atlantis, and many of the states,

slavery and pederasty were not only legal, but encouraged. Father forbid me from mentioning to anyone that I had been born into slavery and had done much to destroy any record of that fact, because there was such a stigma attached to being a slave, even a freed slave, that it could quite possibly ruin him.

On an even more severe note, he explained that the knowledge Eros and I possessed was of such great secrecy that they were contemplating erasing it using chemicals, the only problem is that Earth existed in nearly all my memories, so if they were erased, I would be nothing more than a blank slate, and I would only remember the most basic things such as using a fork or opening a door. Father had convinced the committee that he knew his boy and that I would understand the importance of keeping such information secret.

As father explained this to me, he acted like it was as normal as say, telling me there were several different species of tulips and the only difference was the shape of their leaves. I was not certain that I believed him until I ended up at the Gateway. The center for dimensional travel between Gea and that other Earth.

The Gate was actually a large square structure, nearly three stories tall. It was made of concrete and had large metal girders surrounding it, with various small mesh panels interspersed along the sides. When one looked through the gate, they only saw the other side of the room. It was not even apparent that a doorway of any type even existed within it's border. Once someone stepped through, it became readily apparent, for merely a second an image of the other side appeared, a large terminal, much like the one we stood in, with throngs of people waiting to enter from that side as well.

As Eros and I waited in line for passage, we watched the small brief glimpses of the other side as people passed through. I watched the gate, and couldn't help remembering stories of time travel and teleportation and all the horrible things that might occur if it happened.

"Are you sure this is safe Eros," I asked.

"Of course master," Eros said, then seeming to enjoy my discomfort he asked, "Shall I hold your hand when we walk through?"

I smacked his hand away and he giggled, smiling at me. When we arrived at the check in we we walked through a scanner and our bags were sent through an x-ray machine. The men looked us over and read our papers.

"Your name," a security officer asked.

"Nico," I said feeling a bit uncomfortable.

"Nico, grandson of Senator Telios," Eros corrected me.

The security officer looked at my identification, then at the papers and waved me through. I walked forward and hesitated at the gate, not sure if I wanted to risk being atomized, then I felt Eros push me from behind and I stepped forward.

The sensation of passing through was accompanied by a slight shock, not electricity, more like someone had just drummed a wooden spoon down across the entirety of your body. Eros looked at me as I paused, then continued to pull me along.

Amazonia was a chain of islands that resided in the Pacific Ocean, about two hundred miles north of the Pitcairns. The islands were artificially created by the Atlanteans and were often referred to as the Pleasure Islands by most non-Atlanteans. The island's main source of income was from tourists, in particular tourists looking for sex.

Eros explained this all to me on the flight there. We had to fly since the Gateway didn't actually take you to Amazonia, but rather to New Athens, the largest city in New Atlantis, which was what they called the southern half of Alaska on this Earth.

Eros tried to go over all the small differences between my world and this one, but to be honest, there were so much information that I got bored and fell asleep, waking up shortly before we made landfall. The airport was much like what you might expect from any airport, efficient with tight security. We were once again checked, our baggage scanned, and then sent on our way.

A limousine was waiting for us, the driver, pleasantly opened the door for me, but refused to let Eros in the back, until I demanded he leave the boy be. The drive was an eye opener of sorts. I had learned about slavery not only from my father's brief lecture, but from the computers in his home. I knew that the Atlanteans had never abolished it and that, for the most part, there was little change from the ancient times. For over thirteen thousand years the Atlanteans had practiced it and pederasty. They did not defend it or try to hide it, at least not in their colonies, because they saw nothing wrong with it. It was as much a part of their lives as food and water.

On the streets nearly nude figures trudged along, some with merely a thong, others with loin clothes. Eros explained that they were slaves and in warmer climates it was customary for those working in the less desirable parts of the island to wear little to no clothing.

Young slave boys, some only six or seven years old paraded through the streets, their bottoms exposed to the world, their privates barely covered. It was hard to miss the implements some were adorned with. A young boy around the age of nine had a ring wrapped around the base of his penis that pulled his testicles tight against his rigid little rod, which was barely hidden by the loin cloth tethered around his waist. Eros explained that some masters forced boys who tended to touch themselves to wear such things as punishment, others out of pure maliciousness. The ring would minimize the flow of blood to the boy's penis, causing it to stay erect, at the same time it diminished the boy's ability to orgasm, causing the boy to suffer in a state of arousal. There use was regulated and only rings that passed the Slave Authority's rigid testing were allowed to be used. These rings were designed to monitor the boys health, loosening and tightening automatically, to ensure that no lasting damage ever occurred, even if they were still quite miserable to wear. I teased Eros, asking where I might find one in his size, he turned pale, his eyes widening with fear. It took me nearly ten minutes to assure him that I was only joking and that I had no intention of forcing one on him.

The closer to the airport one got, the seedier things seemed to be. On one street there were men sitting behind wooden stands with tents set up behind them. Little boys stood at attention, lined up in front of the proprietors. As cars passed the boys lifted their loin clothes, exposing themselves to traffic. It did not take much imagination to understand what was going on. On another street the same thing occurred, only this time young girls took the place of the boys, all the girls were on the cusp of womanhood, they had no tops on, their conical breasts exposed as they rubbed their hands over their bodies, enticing the passing women and men to stop. Apparently the Atlanteans had no qualms about renting little boys before they matured, but little girls were out of the question.

As one passed into the residential districts, things changed. The slaves were more modestly dressed, most wearing short robes and sandals. They still wore no underwear, but apparently that was a custom that was practiced around the world. The houses were magnificent. There were no poor people living in Amazonia, at least none that owned property. The villas here were owned by the rich and famous.

By five that afternoon

I was entering my father's beachside Villa in Amazonia. The Villa was made of a grey marble, which seemed to be the medium of choice for Atlanteans. It was not a matter of practicality, but rather beauty that propelled their designs. Marble was smooth and beautiful and most of all expensive. One did not make a house from marble without spending a good deal of money. Nor did one make a house of marble with the expectations that it would be cosy and warm, rather it had a austere beauty to it. My father's house took six years to build. The marble was shipped from a mine in Italy. The costs were astronomical, but then they were supposed to be. Columns lined the driveway, rising up, holding large arches that hovered over the driveway. Etched into the surface were images of naked boys dancing with men at a beach. A lone woman rose up from an open shell, her hair was long and as it ran down her back it soon took the form of waves. Boy's knelt in front of her, listening to her sing, or perhaps recite poetry. The images were as clear as any photograph one might find, the workmanship was exemplary, not a blemish to be seen.

As I approached the entrance to the house, two magnificent mahogany doors stood closed, a small glass screen, the only sign of modern progress, stood to it's right. I looked at it for a second, uncertain what I should do. Eros stood beside me waiting, holding my hand, smiling. I tried touching the panel, but nothing happened, so I resorted to doing things the old fashioned way and knocked.

A small boy answered. He was around the age of eight or nine and had dark hair and eyes typical of most Atlanteans. He was dressed in the traditional robes most Atlantean boys wore, except it was a bit longer and had elaborate gold stitching along the sleeves and bottom.

"Hello," I said smiling at the cute child, "are you the man of the house?"

The boy looked at me warily and hollered, "Mother there's a man at the door."

A woman in her early twenties arrived and held out her hands to greet me. I could not picture this women being the young boy's mother, she barely looked to be twenty, but then I remembered most Atlantean women married by the age of sixteen, some as young as fourteen. Despite myself I could not understand why I was not shocked or dismayed.

"Can I help you," the woman asked.

"I'm Nico," I said.

"Son of Petros," Eros said, correcting me once more.

"Yes," I said, "and this is Eros."

"His slave," Eros said, bowing to the lady.

"And a well mannered one too," the woman said. "You must be a well disciplined child."

"Yes mam," Eros said, never looking at the woman directly, keeping his head bowed.

"I'm glad to meet you," the woman said, stepping aside and waving me in, "My name is Delilah."

"I shall grab the bags master," Eros said, bowing slightly, "if it pleases you."

"Help him Ethan," the woman said.

"But mommy," the boy said, "I'm not a slave, why do I need to help?"

"Because a man is measured by the kindness he offers to even the slightest of creatures," the mother said. "Now run along and help Eros."

"Thank you mam," Eros said, nodding to the woman.

I watched as the two boys ran off to the limousine to grab the baggage. Then followed her inside to the living room. She sat on the couch and motioned for me to sit beside her.

"We were expecting you," the woman said, "and we are fully aware of your, shall we say, situation."

"What situation is that," I said, feigning ignorance.

"Suffice it to say you're father has asked us to assist you while you're here," the woman said. "And we shall be happy to do that."

"I'm not sure what kind of assistance I might need," I said, looking at the well dressed woman, wondering exactly who she was.

"Second generation Atlantean," she said, as if reading my mind, "Ethan is third generation. I've lived on this Earth all my life. Your father thought my experience might be advantageous to you."

"I see," I said, "but I can't see how it will be that much different from my own home."

"Well for the most part you're right," she said, "but in the parts where you aren't, it could be shocking for you."

"And what parts are those," I asked.

"Well in regards to pederasty and slavery of course," she said.

"I'm fully aware of both," I said, dismissing her comment, "I spent the last month on Gea."

"Ah," she said, "an expert already. I see then. How do you propose handling little Ethan's advances then?"

"Advances," I asked.

"Of course," she said. "You're a wealthy young man from a prominent family, every boy old enough to be mounted will be throwing themselves at you."

"You have to be kidding," I said.

"No," she said, "I'm not. And the first thing you should know is that you can't just bed the little brutes or you'll disgrace them. Eros knows the practice well enough. He is the son of Anisio, he should."

"Anisio," I asked. "Anisio, son of Thracius?"

"Yes the man your father bought you from," she said, then noticing the surprise on my face added, "I assure you, there are no secrets that have been kept from me."

"That can't be right," I said, my mind unable to wrap itself around the words she had just said.

"I'm sorry but it is," she said, "when Anisio passed, Eros was given to your father to help settle some debts. I thought you knew."

"No," I said, watching Eros as he dragged a heavy bag behind him to our room, "No one told me that."

Chapter 7

I wondered how I could overlook such a thing, how after spending weeks perusing through my mother's history and my own, that I could gloss over something of such importance, then it came to me, Eros had guided my searches. Did Eros intentionally keep that information from me? For the first time since I met the boy I was angry, even livid, at the thought that this boy I thought was so devoted to me, could deceive me like that.

I followed Eros down the hall to my bedroom. He was standing inside unpacking a suitcase when I entered. He smiled at me, the same smile that had brought me such joy many times before. I looked at him, scowling, and he noticed, his smile soon fading.

"What is it master," he asked, dropping a shirt on the ground as he ran over to me.

"You lied to me," I said as he grabbed my hands.

"No master," Eros said, "I would never lie to you."

"You never told me who your father was," I said.

"You never asked master," he said, frowning.

"Don't you think that's something you should've told me," I asked.

"Master," he said, almost on the verge of tears, "I was afraid you wouldn't want me if you knew who my father was."

"I don't understand," I said, knowing how humiliating it would be for an Atlantean to be owned by his father's former slave. "Why would you want me to be your master?"

"Because your father was going to sell me to a brothel," he said, looking away from me, blushing. "I could not bare that kind of life. He said that you were a kind man and that he knew you would be compassionate and forgiving to me. He said that if I pleased you, I could stay with you, but if I didn't…"

"But you're honor," I said stroking the boy's hair, "how could you live like this?"

"Like what master," he said, "I had no honor under my father's name. Everyone that knew him despised him, even me. He made me do horrible things master, when he passed I thought the Gods had answered my prayers. In my entire life, the only time I felt like I could finally be happy was when I first met you and you gave me a ride home. I love you master, don't you know that?"

"I know that," I said, wrapping my arms around the boy, "I love you too Eros."

And that was that. What might've been fodder for a great Greek tragedy, ended instead with a whimper. My dear Eros was even more dear to me after that. I could not bare to be apart from him. The Atlanteans have a phrase for it, I was 'hobbled' as they put it. In Atlantean society, slaves were not to be loved, although a certain amount of affection could be displayed to loyal slaves. Love was reserved for citizens, or at the very least free people, slaves though, were considered to be lesser creatures, intelligent but lacking the discipline to return such affection. Altanteans believed that one did not just become a slave, rather it was a sign of ones inability to succeed at life's most simple challenges that forced one into slavery. For that reason there was no pity shown to slaves, not because Atlanteans lacked compassion, but rather because to do so was a disservice to the slave. To honor your slave meant to care for them and ensure that they behaved in a way befitting one of their class.

Slaves were expected to be unquestioningly obedient. If a slave was commanded to do something, it should be done immediately, without question, and to the best of the slave's ability. If there was a question, then the slave could only pray to the gods it was a valid one, or they would most likely suffer for asking it. I did not realize just how brutal the Atlanteans could be, because I had never witnessed my father strike a slave, even though he had struck me more times than I could care to remember. In fact the beatings I received were not unlike the ones a slave boy might receive, or any other Atlantean lad, except mine were always done in private, a slave's was often done in front of other slaves, in the hope that it would deter them from the same actions. Of course you might remember that I was beaten in front of my brothers, but the fact is, most Atlantean children were punished in front of their siblings for the same reason, it was thought to instill a healthy fear of punishment and shame.

My first taste of Atlantean justice came less than two hours after arriving at the Villa. It appeared that poor Ethan had decided to play soccer in the house and had ended up destroying a vase from the 12th dynasty of Misinthea, which meant it was one hundred years old.

In fact it wasn't really that valuable, except for sentimental reasons. It was part of my adopted mother's dowry to my father. It didn't matter so much to Ethan, he was still struck silent with fear. If there was any consolation, it was the fact that his father was in New York and would not arrive in Amazonia for three days. Being that it's customary for an Atlantean child to be punished by their father, he felt he was relatively safe for at least some time. However, as I was soon to find out, there are little nuisances to the Atlantean culture that one should expect, but often times fails to.

"What do you have to say for yourself Ethan," the boy's mother said, in a stern voice.

"I'm sorry mummy," the boy said, wringing his hands together. "I didn't mean to."

"You've been told about playing ball in the house," his mother said, "and you chose to in a house that doesn't even belong to you."

"I am sorry mummy," the boy said, "I'll pay for the vase."

"How can you pay for it," his mother said, "you have no money. No there is only one way for you to pay for it boy, you shall be punished."

"Yes mummy," the boy said in a dejected voice, "I shall tell Father when he arrives."

"No," the boy's mother said, then glancing at me added, "You didn't break father's vase, you broke Mister Nico's family's vase. You shall confess to him and accept his punishment."

"It's alright," I said, "there's no harm done."

"You obviously don't have children," Delilah said, "or you would know the harm done. Obedience from one's child is the greatest sign of love and respect. When one defies their parent, they defy that love. Ethan knew he wasn't supposed to kick his football in the house, yet he did it anyway, didn't you?"

Ethan nodded, a frown on his face, close to tears.

"And because of that disrespect, he has broken something of value to your family," she said. "You will punish him, for that is how things are done. You might not want to and that's a good thing, one should not take joy in a child's pain, but still, it must be done, for his own sake."

"I understand what you're saying," I said a bit taken aback, "but there's no way I'm going to punish this boy."

"You must," she said, "for it is not only the custom, but shows that you have a desire for the boy's wellbeing. To deny this boy his punishment is like saying he's not worthy of your time, that he is some free boy that wandered off the street. Unless that's how you feel about him? Is it?"

I could tell Ethan was not too happy with the turn of events. He looked at me trying to stand still, but unable to, instead he stood on one foot, drawing imaginary circles on the marble tile with the toe of the other.

"Of course not," I said, "but wasn't it you who said a man is measured by the kindness he shows the slightest creature?"

"If you think that denying a child consequences is kindness," she said with disdain, "then you have come from a place more lost than I had presumed."

"Alright," I said not too stupid to realize I had lost the argument, "if I were to punish him, what would the punishment be?"

"Did your father not punish you as a boy," she said, "I thought the son of Petros would be much more knowledgeable of such things."

"Of course he punished me," I said in my defense, "but you can't expect me to…"

"To what," she asked.

"My father wasn't a kind man," I said in a firm voice. "He would beat this boy with a strap til he couldn't stand still, perhaps even use a cane."

The boys face paled as he heard what I said, his hand reached out for his mother, but instead of holding it, she grabbed his arm by the wrist and held it out to me.

"Then that is what you should do," she said. "Eros will find you a strap or cane, whichever you desire. If you don't have the stomach for it, I'm sure Eros can manage, though the indignity of being beaten by a slave might be a bit much for the boy."

I took the boy's hand and heard him sob. I looked down at the dark haired little child and saw myself standing there, shaking, waiting for the inevitable. How could this be kindness I wondered? How could beating a boy with a rod or a belt be a sign of love or respect?

"Isn't there some other way," I asked.

"If there was," she said, "then I would offer it to you, but there isn't."

I stood in my father's study, it looked much like the one he kept in my old home. A desk in the corner and a stool in the center of the room. Books line the shelves along the wall. I knew what the stool was used for and I was certain the boy did as well. Ethan was not happy, he seemed on the verge of tears.

"I'm not going to hit you," I whispered to him, causing him to look at me with astonishment.

"Master," Eros said, "what are you saying?"

"It's barbaric," I said, the bitter memories of my own punishment rising up like bile, "there's no way I'd do that to this boy."

"Then what should he expect," Eros said, "that he can disobey his parents, that he can do whatever he likes, and there's nothing to worry about, that all will be forgiven? I know you don't wish to hit him, but if you don't have the stomach, I will master. For your sake."

"For my sake," I said not even trying to mask my anger.

"Yes master," Eros said in a firm and determined voice. "The lady knows who you are. Everything you do will be watched and reported back to your father. If you fail to fulfill this small duty, and it is your duty, then what can he expect of you in the future? Would you so dishonor your father?"

"So I should beat this boy so my father will be proud of me," I said trying to mock the boy, but knowing in my heart there was a part of me that desired my father's acceptance.

"No master," he said, then as if reciting from a text book added, "you should beat this boy so people will know you are an Atlantean, that you understand and respect your customs. To do otherwise would be spitting on your heritage."

"Boy," Eros suddenly said pushing Ethan towards the door, "Go fetch a strap. I'll be administering your punishment."

"No I wont, you're a slave," Ethan said defiantly, turning to face the older boy, "you can't hit me."

"Then perhaps you should tell your mother that," Eros said, staring at the boy.

The boy shoulders slumped as he realized he was stuck. I watched as he walked off, rubbing his bottom before it had even been struck. Eros looked at me, but differently than before, almost a look of disdain.

"What," I said.

"I thought you cared about your father," he said, barely able to keep his own hands from shaking, "He's a kind man and a loving man. What he did for you was unthinkable. He risked everything because you were his son and he loved you, but you wont even do what's right this once, so that Ethan's honor and your father's might be preserved."

"You don't understand," I said.

"I understand," Eros said, looking as if he was about to cry. "I just can't believe it."

"Eros," I said, pulling the boy towards me. "I don't want to hurt the boy."

"Neither do I," Eros said staring up at me, "but sometimes you have to do something you don't want to, because it's the right thing to do."

"Don't you think Ethan should have a say in the matter," I said, hoping to appeal to the boy inside of Eros mind.

"He's nine master," Eros said, almost as if he thought I was crazy, "If it was up to him he would never be punished for anything."

"Eros," I said, not knowing what to say.

"You don't have to agree with it master," Eros said, "but sometimes you do something, not because you want to do it, but because it has to be done."

I watched as Ethan walked in, a frown forming on his lips as he held a thick strap in his hands, one made specifically for the task at hand. Eros took it from the boy and held it out to me. I looked at the young slave, standing there so confident that he was right and I couldn't help but wonder what had happened to cause the boy to feel so strongly about discipline at his age.

"over the stool," I said to Ethan.

"You have to remove his undergarments sir," Eros said as he reached out and pulled down the boy's briefs. "Now he’s ready."

The boy began to tremble as he made his way to the stool. Knowing what was expected of him, he climbed on top of it. His legs were not long enough to allow his knees to reach the ground, so his full weight was being held up by the leather stool. The boy squirmed around as he tried to get comfortable, his hands gripping the sides of the stool so tightly his knuckles were white. Ethan looked over his shoulder as I moved to stand behind him. Eros knelt beside the boy, grabbing the hem of his robe and lifted it up over the boy's smooth bottom so that it rested on his back. The boy let out a whimper, trembling as he saw me test the strap with my hand.

"I'm sorry Ethan," I said, even though there was a part of me that was excited to look at the boy's bare bottom.

"I have a soccer match tomorrow sir," the boy said between sniffles, "please don't beat my legs."

"I wont," I said as I began to lose my resolve once more.

"Twenty should do enough," Eros said, as if I wasn't aware of the process at hand.

"I know what I need to do," I said looking at the small trembling child bent over before me, then gathering the last of my resolve asked, "Are you ready Ethan?"

"Yes sir," the boy said burying his face in his arms.

I raised the strap in the air and then paused for only the slightest second before I brought it down on the boy’s bottom. A loud crack resounded in the room. The boy cried out and I saw a red stripe form where the strap had hit him.

"One sir," the boy said whimpering, "thank you sir."

For a moment I saw little Mikos, my beloved brother kneeling before me and my knees began to wobble. How many times had I stood and watched my brother sobbing as he accepted his own beating.

"Master," Eros said, looking up at me, "you can do it."

I raised the strap again, trying not to think about what I was doing or why. I didn’t even realize I had struck the child again until I heard him cry out once more.

"Two sir," the boy sobbed, "thank you sir."

I trembled, looking down at the slim little child, hearing the soft whining sound rising up from his throat, the sound I had heard many times before, that pleading sound one makes when they seek mercy from those bigger than themselves. Eros stared at me, unmoved by the boys plight, waiting to see if I could finish.

I raised the strap once more and struck the boy, trying to avoid those spots I had hit before, not wanting to inflict any more pain than was required. The boy jerked from his place on the bench, his legs pushing out as he raised his bottom up.

"Three sir," Ethan cried out, looking over his back, trying to see the pain his bottom had endured. "Thank you sir."

My mind was awash now, I could not escape it, the thoughts searing inside of me, as if someone had taken a brand and opened up inside of me a fresh wound. My father stood over me now, watching me, waiting for me to settle down, then I felt it as I struck the boy once more, that shameful desire for mercy, for someone to lift me from that stool and run away with me, but I was never saved from my punishment and Ethan wouldn’t be either. If I failed, then the boy’s father would take my place and I doubted he would grant the boy any pity.

I didn’t even hear the boy count out his lash, rather a pounding filled my ears as my heart raced and I struck the boy once more, crying out as the strap landed, watching as the boy’s bottom shook from the blow. The boy’s head flung back and his whole body shook and lurched as he screamed, his hands reaching back to cover his bottom.

"That’s all," I said handing the strap to Eros, "Five more."

"But master," Eros said.

"Don’t," I said, anger welling up inside of me. "I decide what he deserves. Five more and he’s done."

"Yes master," Eros said in a soft voice, "I’ll bring him to you once I've finished."

I nodded and left the room, hearing Ethan softly crying. My hands shook as I tried to gather my thoughts, to make some kind of defense for what I had done, but nothing came to mind. The boy’s mother looked at me, but there was no disdain in her eyes. She reached out and put her hand on my shoulder and led me to sit down in the living room.

"Don’t hate yourself," she said. "You are a merciful man. There’s no shame in that. You come from a different world Nico, you don’t see the troubles that stir in your heart." "It’s cruel," I said.

"You think it’s cruel," she said, "but no boy has died from a spanking, rather it makes them stronger. He’ll come away from this obedient."

"You mean frightened," I said unable to hide my contempt.

"Fear breeds obedience," she said. "Would you rather have him be like the other children in this world?"

"You mean happy," I asked.

"No," she said. "A lack of discipline doesn’t make them happy. Ethan knows I love him, but he also knows that if he does something wrong there is a consequence and that it isn’t that I’ll deprive him of a toy or send him to his room, but rather something much more real."

"You can’t understand," I said. "I do understand," she said. "I felt the strap as much as you did as a child, only you come from a world that taught you mercy was love, but it isn’t. Mercy is teaching Ethan right from wrong, so that he will grow up to be a good man, not a spoiled brat that feels the world owes him something it doesn’t, never able to make a go at life because he want’s everything given to him."

"How can beating him show him that," I said, "it only shows him violence."

"Violence," she said, stroking my arm. "Were you a violent child?"

I looked at her and shook my head, I definitely wasn’t violent, in fact I was a gentle child, caring and compassionate.

"You know so little," she said. "And you’ll learn even less if you don’t open up your mind. This world is not your own Nico and you must realize that doesn’t make it worse, only different."

Ethan stood before me, his underwear in his hands, his cheeks still wet from tears. I tried to be firm as his mother watched me. I lifted the hem of the boy’s tunic and he took hold of it and held it in the air. He turned around and I looked at his bottom, now covered in a pale shade of red.

"I’m sorry I had to hit you," I said.

The boy nodded wiping his nose with the back of his hands, then said, "I’m sorry I broke your vase. I wont play ball in the house anymore."

"I know," I said, patting the boy on his shoulder. "I hope you know I didn’t do this because I don’t like you Ethan, you’re a good boy."

"Thank you sir," the boy said, still holding his shirt up.

"I think he likes you too," his mother said, "turn around Ethan."

Ethan turned and I saw his uncircumcised penis standing erect, barely three inches long, the skin held tightly over the head. I blushed and pulled the boy’s robe back down to cover him.

"I’m sorry sir," he said.

"For what," I said, then leaning forward whispered, "I used to get stiffies when I was punished too."

He smiled and wrapped his arms around my shoulder and kissed me on the cheek. I smiled at the child and patted his bottom softly, forgetting for a second the pain that had been inflicted on the child. He hissed, but stood still.

"Sorry," I said.

"Ethan," Delilah said, "Go wash your face and maybe, if Mister Nico is up for it, you can go for a walk on the beach later."

"Can we," Ethan said turning to me the sadness draining from his face, replaced now with that sincere desire only a child can know.

"Of course," I said, "I’d love to go for a walk on the beach."

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