Chapter 1

Over the years, my fascination with 'the stars' deepened. I considered them a helpful guide whenever I felt the need, or the urge, to consult them, if you get my meaning. But I did take enough of an interest to learn the basics of fortune telling. Thanks to Mrs. Bradley, who provided me with a sound financial 'future' – pardon the pun – I set myself up as an astrologer, once I'd upped sticks and settled in my new abode on the West Coast. I was able to attract many gullible clients, all willing to believe any old crap I told them, so long as it pandered to their vanity.

Present day: I am now almost seventy-three years old, and in the "You couldn't make it up" department of life, I'll tell you briefly what I do now. But I have to 'rewind' to the early 2000's to do that. In those first years of the new millennium, through my 'work', if you could call it that, I became aware, on my radar, of a branch of the prediction business called 'Rumpology', otherwise known as 'Asstrology'. And no, I haven't misspelled it, you read it correctly; 'Asstrology'. The practice requires the reading of an individual's left and right buttocks, which could divulge a lot about a client's future. As soon as I became aware of this, I instantly knew where my future lay. And I instantly knew what my client's future would be – handing over their money to me. I get lucratively, and ludicrously paid for giving a 'reading' of naked, nude, bare asses. True, I mainly have to endure fat-ass women who want to know what the future has in store for them; diets being one of my stock, plain-as-day answers. But I also have mothers who bring along their young girls and boys, desperately wanting to know what's in store for their daughters and, far more interestingly for me, their sons. These women pay me handsomely to touch, examine, and play with their offspring's bottoms; naked, nude, bare bottoms. All in the name of 'Asstrology'. Like I said, you couldn't make it up. But I did. I made up all kinds of twaddle to tell my clients, based on what I looked at. And to this day, I love looking at young boys' bottoms.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm telling you the ending (See? I'm good at fortune telling), before I have resumed my narrative of what happened next. Maybe I should pick up from where I left off: February, 1979, after the reading of Mrs. Bradley's will. Yes, that's a good place to start.

I sat in the solicitor's office as he gave me an inventory of all that was now mine. After responding to the solicitor's inquiry as to what I might do with my newly acquired wealth, he offered a piece of advice, "Free of charge," he joked. "But seriously," he went on, "Think long and hard about your future. Don't make any rash decisions. Take advice, yes, from family and friends, but make sure it's really what you want to do. Don't be swayed by people who might have their own agenda. Don't fall for sob stories. New-found wealth can be a magnet for gold-diggers. Be wary of people's motives. I'm not suggesting you should distrust everybody, I'm just advising you to be on your guard. And if there's anything I can do for you in my professional capacity, then please don't hesitate to call."

The solicitor pushed a business card across the desk towards me. He'd just given me 'free' advice, in the hope of becoming one of those gold-diggers, it occurred to me. The solicitor told me the whole process of transfer would take a few weeks, "Enough time for all this to sink in, and give you time to adjust, and consider your future." I trusted in the stars. They would guide me. And the stars were telling me my immediate future was to celebrate with a few beers and spirits. And hopefully, another boy to celebrate with. My cup runneth over when it came to boys. I could take my pick from Scott, Andy and Nathan, and of course, my beautiful, one and only, Jay.

But my alter-ego, 'Felix', was gnawing at my brain. Much as I loved being in the company of Jim's coterie of boys, 'Felix' still wanted the thrill of the chase, the thrill of having his way with someone new; someone 'Felix' could take, and have control over, and then discard. Someone 'Felix' could have downright, dirty, base, unabashed, no consequences sex with.

Chapter 2

The solicitor and I concluded our business after we had shaken hands and he had told me he would keep me informed of progress concerning the transfer of assets.

I stepped out onto the street and looked for the nearest bar. I thought I'd celebrate with a beer or two. But I thought it best to keep my good fortune to myself; I'm not stupid; I wasn't going to order a beer in a bar and start shouting, like they did in the gold rush, "The drinks are on me!" No, I would celebrate quietly. By myself.

But I never did get that drink. Well, not in the way I imagined I would. The stars were telling me, no, pulling me, towards an amusement arcade that I was about to pass in my search for liquid refreshment. I happened to look in, alerted by the familiar sounds within, of one-armed bandits and other mechanical and electrical devices, designed with one aim: to part a fool from his money. From the street outside, I saw him, playing one of those machines. The mantra returned to my brain, "Do not mess on your own doorstep," or, in this case, "My own home town center." My mind also recalled Jim's words to me, "You worry too much." I felt like a character in one of those cartoons, where an angel is sitting on one shoulder, whispering to me, "Don't," and on the other shoulder, a devil was whispering "Do it." But I was sure of one thing: the stars had led me to this boy; I hadn't sought him out. And anyway, my alter-ego, 'Felix', was that devil on my shoulder, urging me to "Go on in." 'Felix' walked right on in.

My timing was right, it seemed. The boy lightly bashed the side of the fruit machine, "Stupid thing! he said as he hit it. "Hey!" a voice shouted from the shadows at the back of the arcade, "I've told you once. Do it again and I'll throw you out." The boy belligerently barked back, "I was going anyway. Your stupid, stinking machine has taken all my money." The disembodied voice in the shadows replied, "Too bad. You know what you have to do if you want more…." He stopped what he was saying, when he stepped out of the shadows and into view, and saw me standing by the entrance. "Oh, er, hi," he said to me, clearly flustered, "Didn't see you come in."

The guy was in his sixties, I'd guess, with a beer belly and an awkward, half-limping gait. He, and I, and the boy, were the only ones in the place. Beer belly man spoke, "I was about to close up. Don't get much trade this time of day. Don't usually open until evening. Just thought I'd amuse this little guy," he looked in the direction of the boy, "Keeps him off the streets, ya know? Keeps him from getting bored. Keeps him out of mischief. Keeps him out of the cold." I remained silent and let beer belly dig a bigger hole for himself. "He's a regular," beer belly continued, "I, er…ha!..I, er…let him play sometimes, with credit."

In my estimation, the boy was no more than ten. In 1978, any restrictions as to how old someone should be to play in these kinds of establishments were not strictly enforced. In fact, it was encouraged; the flashing lights and noises appealed directly to awed, gullible youngsters with money bulging in their pants, and the gullible youngsters appealed directly to the likes of 'Felix', and, pardon the pun, I had a 'gut' feeling here, to beer belly as well; all with erect cocks bulging in their pants!

Beer belly, clearly unnerved by my stare and silence, divulged more information, just as the boy started moving towards the exit, his head bowed low. "Boy's home. That's where he comes from. Feel sorry for him," beer belly said, quietly. I kept staring at beer belly, but called out to the boy, "Hey, kid. I have some spare change that's burning a hole in my pocket. Want to help me lighten my load?" My peripheral vision saw the boy raise his head, look up at me, as if he was trying to get the measure of me, and replied, "Sure." I kept looking at beer belly, and said to him, with what I hoped would be a knowing look, "That alright with you?" Beer belly had regained his composure, "Sure," he replied, "But I'll lock up anyway. It'll be just you, me, and the kid." I looked down at the boy, "Got a name, kid?" The boy, still trying to weigh me up, replied, "Wolf."

Chapter 3

I hadn't seen much of Jay or his friends, or Jim and Alison, for that matter, since Thanksgiving, other than a fleeting visit or two by Jay and his friends, on a Saturday afternoon; not enough time to do 'man things' with any of them, much to my dismay. The holiday season is, as far as I'm concerned, one big hiccup in the year, where every routine is disrupted. It's a busy time for families, what with one thing and another. Best leave them to it, I say.

Jay continued to deliver my newspapers, and I continued to go to work, not knowing, at that time, about Mrs. Bradley's gift to me. Jim and Jay, and Alison, kept in touch by phone. It was arranged that I have Jay stay over the second weekend in January. And on the Sunday, my house would be filled with boys, as Scott, Andy and Nathan would come visit me and Jay. Jim would be away on one of his road trips, and Alison welcomed my offer of the break from looking after one of her brood on her own; she would only have to concern herself with crabby Abby.

I know I'm jumping from one story line to another, but hey, it's my story, and I'll tell it how I want; I'll tell you about events in the amusement arcade, and all about 'Wolf' later; I want to keep you guessing. I'm evil like that. But as I'm telling you this from memory, from the perspective of a cranky seventy-two year old, you'll forgive me if I wander from time to time. And if you don't, that's not my problem.

Now, where was I? Oh, yes. The second weekend of January, 1979. Before Mrs. Bradley had shuffled off this mortal coil. Saturday morning: I was expecting Jay to arrive after his paper round. Alison had dropped off an overnight bag for Jay the previous evening, Friday, so that Jay had all he needed for the weekend. And Scott, Andy and Nathan would join Jay and me for the day on Sunday. Four sexed-up boys. And me. I thanked my lucky stars.

In readiness for Jay's arrival, "at about 8 o'cock," I mused to myself, remembering Jay's misspelled note to me, I had washed and dressed. The doorbell chimed at 8:20. I opened the door to see a beaming, toothsome, grinning boy standing on the step, holding the handlebars of what looked to me like a new bike. "Hi there, sexy bum," I said to Jay, as I beamed and grinned back at him. I was genuinely pleased to see him. Jay had the ability to lift my spirits, and to lift my cock right up in my pants.

The start of the new year had brought with it an icy, cold blast of air, and Jay was fully wrapped up in winter apparel; gloves on his hands and a rather fetching, brightly colored, red, knitted, bobble hat adorning his head, with strands of his feather cut hair peeking out and curling up around the banded rim of the hat. Jay smiled even more now, if that were possible, as his reaction to my calling him 'sexy bum'.

"Is that a new bike?" I inquired.

"It's my Christmas present. A BMX!" he informed me, very enthusiastically, "I don't want to leave it on the lawn. Is there somewhere I can put it?"

I lifted off my winter jacket from the peg on the wall, and said, "Sure is." I picked up my bunch of house keys from the phone table in the hall, slipped my arms into the sleeves of my jacket, buttoned it, and said to Jay, "We'll put it in the garage." I made a great deal of showing interest in, what I knew was important to Jay; his new 'BMX'. "So you finally saved up enough money to buy yourself a Christmas present?" I asked him.

Jay said excitedly, "No, no! I didn't buy it. It was a present from mom and dad. They said it was my reward for saving up so digi…digilently." I loved Jay's mispronunciation of some of his words; it's what made Jay who he was, which was endearing to me. I didn't bother correcting him, I just smiled: inwardly and outwardly.

I unlocked and pulled up the garage door and said to Jay, "There's a space over by the toolbox," pointing in the direction of said item. Jay propped his new bike up against the toolbox. "That's a fine looking bike," I remarked, "Very…," for want of a better word, I said, ."..'Chunky'."

Jay smiled at me, in a way as if to say, "He has no idea what it's for." And he would be right. I still had no idea what a 'BMX' was. Jay took pity on me and explained, "It's no ordinary bike. It's for riding on all trains." Jay picked up on my quizzical look, and tried to explain further, "You know, all kinds of surfaces!" he exclaimed.

The penny dropped; another one of Jay's mispronunciations. I corrected him this time, "You mean you can ride it on all kinds of 'terrains', not 'trains'," I said, laughing.

Jay was not the kind of kid to get annoyed at me for pointing out his weaknesses, he just smiled back, willing to learn new, unfamiliar words, and nodded, "Yes. All… 'terrains'; roads, fields, tracks, that kind of thing."

I smiled, and said, "In that case, I know a good place you could try it out." I lifted the cover off of the old camper van that had been hibernating since last August, then made a proposal, "How would you like to try your bike out in some woods I know? We could go out for a weekend in this."

Jay's big blue eyes widened, "You've got a camper van!" he said, somewhat obviously.

I continued, "I know it's old, but it does the job, and can cope with rough terrain. A perfect match for you and your BMX, wouldn't you say?"

Jay looked the camper van up and down, then turned to me and said, "When can we go?"

I replied, "I think you'd better get your parents permission first. If they agree, then we'll sort out a date and time. Okay?"

"O…Kay!" Jay replied, with verve.

Chapter 4

Back in the house, Jay and I divested ourselves of our winter apparel. I hung my winter jacket back on its peg, together with Jay's little, in comparison to mine, dark red one. Jay removed his gloves, then took the red bobble hat from his head, shook and ruffled his hair to get it back into shape, and handed his hat and gloves to me. I placed them, and my house keys, on the phone table. "Your bag with all your overnight stuff is in my bedroom. Want to go and unpack it, while I fix us some coffee?" I said to him.

Before I entered the kitchen, I lingered in the hall and waited to hear Jay's reaction to what he would see laid out on my bed. Sure enough, a little, high voice exclaimed, "The Holiday editions of Chicken, Naughty Preteen Boys and Model Boys! The Holiday special of Awesome Boy! And some Awesome Boy pajamas and underpants! Wow! Thanks, Uncle Frank!" I smiled and headed for the kitchen. Jay rushed into the kitchen, put his arms around my waist, buried his face in my chest, and said again, "Thanks, Uncle Frank." Jay looked up at me and said, "And thanks once again for my Christmas present; the action figure of 'The Spear'. Now Awesome Boy and The Spear can do battle!"

Jay continued to gaze up at me as he added, "I know I thanked you on the phone for my Christmas present, but I wanted to say thanks to you in person, and not just with a note tucked inside your newspaper. I really love it. You must have gone to some trouble tracking it down; The Spear was this year's hot toy and I know the stores were running out of stock. Where did you find it?"

I stroked Jay's upturned head and played with his hair, and melted at the sight of his big, clear blue eyes looking up at mine, as I told him, lovingly, "Never you mind. All that matters is I found one. I just wish I could have been there to see your face when you opened it." I could just imagine it: Christmas morning, with Jay in his pajamas: an excited little boy.

Ever since I became aware of the Awesome Boy phenomena, I had been attuned to listen out for, or read anything about, the boy with super powers. I had seen on the TV news that this year's 'must-have' toy – The Spear action figure – was in short supply and the hope of obtaining one for Jay would be near impossible. But I trusted in the stars, and they had somehow led me to a store in a town no less than fifty miles away from here. My interest in Awesome Boy also extended to its author and creator, Ed Powell. I kept my antenna up for any news concerning him, and, in particular, his son, Erik – 'Blondie' as was.

Finally, I broke the reverie, and said to Jay, "Have you unpacked yet?"

Jay replied, still looking up at me with fully dilated pupils, "Uh-uh."

I patted Jay's bottom and said, "Go on, then. Give me a chance to get the coffee on."

Jay let go of my waist, turned on his heels and raced away to the bedroom. By the time coffee was brewed, Jay was back in the kitchen, obviously hiding something behind his back. Jay smiled a knowing smile, then said, swinging his upper body from side to side, and kicking and scraping his heels gently over a pattern on the tiled floor, "I know you don't have it, being a man on your own and all that…but I have!" Jay presented his surprise, "Twister!" he exclaimed, "I put the box in my bag when mom wasn't looking. I thought we could play a game later."

I shook my head in wonderment as to how the stars had brought this boy into my life. I hadn't felt such a warm glow inside of me for a long, long time. My whole being was welling up with joy and love, I guess. "Just like Uncle John and Larry," I commented.

"Just like Uncle John and Larry," Jay repeated, adding a question, "What do they get up to in the latest magazine?"

I replied, "I don't know. I haven't looked at it yet. We can read it together in bed tonight. It might give us some more ideas."

Jay gave a wide, acknowledging smile, then jokingly demanded, "Where's that coffee?"

I replied, "Coming right up, sexy bum." Jay turned and wiggled his tight jeans-clad bottom in front of me. I mused to myself, "The coffee's coming right up, and so is my dick in my pants."

Chapter 5

Jay sat himself down at the kitchen table, while I poured a steaming hot coffee into his cup. "My dad doesn't call me 'squirt' anymore," Jay informed me, as his delicate fingers carefully wrapped around the hot coffee cup.

"Oh?" I said. Jay toyed and fingered the coffee cup's handle, with his head tilted to one side, as he watched the steam rise and billow from the hot beverage.

"No," Jay continued, "His code word for me now is 'spurt'," he told me nonchalantly, "I just thought I'd tell you, just in case I 'spurt' on your couch."

I smiled, "That's very thoughtful of you, Jay," I remarked. I added, "But it's fine. It's an old couch that has seen better days. Another stain won't make any difference. It'll wash off."

Jay looked over at me, sitting at the opposite end of the table, pouring my own cup of coffee, then he informed me, with his head still tilted to one side, and with a half-giggle in his voice, "I like being called 'sexy bum'."

The two of us couldn't stop inanely grinning at each other. "Good," I said, "That's good. Because you do have a sexy bum. And I've missed seeing it, and the boy who owns it." Jay picked up his cup, pursed his lips and blew seductively on his coffee to cool it, all the while looking at me with those tantalizing, wide open eyes of his. Jay took a couple of sips, then set the cup down again.

"Hungry? Ready for breakfast?" I asked my little treasure.

Jay rose from his chair and ran his hand along the kitchen table as he sauntered over to where I sat, then stood close beside me. "I'm hungry…," he said, ."..But not for breakfast just yet. I'm hungry for your thingy. I've missed having your big thingy." Looking straight into my soul with his still fully dilated pupils, Jay rubbed my crotch, then he straightened up and started to slow strip. My big thingy felt like a tent pole in my pants, as I watched Jay, deliberately, slowly, and methodically, remove his clothes.

The temperature outside was bitter. Inside my warm house, the temperature was being raised by an eleven – now more than a 'half' – year old boy. Jay had layers of clothes to protect him from the cold, and one by one, Jay was determined to put on a show for me. Jay pulled up his maroon sweater, inch by tortuous inch, above his head, until it fell away from his arms and dropped onto the kitchen floor. Jay made a meal of slipping off his ankle-length boots, and followed that by removing his maroon socks, one after the other, a little at a time. Jay kept looking at me as if to confirm I was enjoying the performance.

The bulge in my pants told him I was. Jay kissed me full on the lips and, at the same time, placed his hand on my bulge and massaged it. I shifted in my seat. Jay resumed his strip show; he undid each button on his red and white check shirt, starting at the top and working down, and when all the buttons were undone, he slowly tugged at his shirt to bring it out from where it had been tucked into his jeans. Jay put his arms either side of him, slightly back, and jiggled until gravity sent the shirt away from his arms, and onto the floor. Jay pressed his body against mine and whispered in my ear, "Do you want to do the rest, Uncle Frank?"

I said nothing. I just turned my chair to face him, held his tiny waist and positioned him in front of me, standing between my open legs. My hands ran up and down his upper body before I tugged at his white t-shirt, bringing it out of his jeans. I caught sight of his belly and navel. I kissed the exposed flesh and tasted his body, licking it with my tongue. Jay clasped his hands to either side of my head and ran his fingers through my hair as I carried on kissing and licking his belly. I raised his t-shirt and kissed and licked his chest and nipples.

Jay let go of my head and raised his arms. I pulled the t-shirt up, clear over his head and dropped it, where it joined the other items of his wardrobe on the kitchen floor. I kissed Jay's hairless armpits, and my lips and tongue traveled down his left bare arm, as I manipulated it with my hands, holding his arm straight out. My mouth traveled back along his left arm to his chest and nipples, then proceeded to kiss and lick his right arm. Jay willingly held up his right arm, while my hands explored his bare back and shoulder blades. Jay bent his neck and head back, with his eyes closed and his mouth open. I got out of my chair and kissed his neck, on his adam's apple, and then kissed his chin and open mouth. My tongue found his. This time, I held the sides of his head and ran my fingers through his hair. I kissed his nose. I kissed his closed eyelids. I caressed his little ears. My hands traced down his neck, back down to his smooth upper body.

I sat back down on the chair and unbuckled Jay's belt. I unfastened the top button of his jeans. I unzipped the fly of his jeans. I kissed his body between his navel and the start of his pudendum. I tugged at his jeans until they slipped down to his knees. I kissed the 'o' in 'Boy', of his blue Awesome Boy underpants. Jay moaned with pleasure, as he leaned his upper body back, and pushed his groin into my face, his hands and arms now limp by his sides. My fingers slipped inside the elastic waist band of his underwear, and I pulled his underwear down to his thighs. Jay moaned pleasurably once more, as his impressively-sized erect cock sprang out and jiggled a few times, as if to say, "Yay! I have been released! Suck me!"

Jay stood before me, with his jeans down at his ankles and his underpants down at his thighs, just above the knees. My right hand stroked Jay's inner thigh, up to his balls. I fondled his balls. My lips wrapped around Jay's beautiful cock. Jay slowly rocked his body back and forth, pushing his cock deep into my mouth and out again. I kept hold of his little balls, tickling them as best I could as his cock sunk into my mouth. Jay shifted his body to and fro for a little while, until I got up off the chair, scooped his small, perfect body into my arms, and carried him, with his jeans still around his ankles, and his underpants still around his lower thighs, towards the bedroom, kissing his mouth as I went. Jay wrapped his arms around my neck. Our lips were locked tight as we entered the bedroom.

Chapter 6

No words were said. I gently placed Jay on his back on my bed, and pulled at his jeans. They were so tight, I had to resort to turning them inside out to get them off past his feet. Jay giggled at my predicament.

Jay's Awesome Boy underpants slipped off easily and I flung them in the air. They landed on an ornament on the top of my dresser; a plastic figure of the Statue of Liberty. The 'o' in Awesome 'Boy' was held prominently aloft on Liberty's upheld hand and torch. I couldn't have made a better throw if I'd tried. Jay and I both giggled.

I kissed Jay's feet and toes. I worked my way up his legs. I reconnected my hand to his balls and gently fondled them. Jay lifted his legs in the air. I kissed Jay's ass hole. I licked Jay's ass hole. My index finger played around his anus. My index finger entered his anus, with a little help from my spittle. Jay's legs settled on my shoulders as I massaged his anus, inside and out. Jay whispered softly, "Thingy, please, Uncle Frank."

I quickly got off the bed and removed all my clothes, lightning fast, and got back into position. Jay's legs rested once again on my shoulders. I eased my frame over Jay's willing body, supporting myself with my arms either side of him, while my cock zeroed in on its target. The tip of my cock nestled in Jay's bum crack, and found its way to his hole. "Do you want me to lube you?" I quietly asked my sweet prize (As a parting gift to me, Jim, at Thanksgiving, had slipped in my pocket a spare jar of his strawberry-scented "nipple grease," "Better than Vaseline," he had informed me).

"No, it's okay. Your spit is fine," Jay replied, smiling.

Once again, I offered a silent prayer of thanks to the stars for their bountiful, beautiful gift. I slowly and carefully pushed my cock into Jay's rectum. Jay pushed the back of his head into a pillow and gripped the bed either side of his body, as my cock eased into his bum tunnel. "Am I hurting you?" I asked.

"Mm-mmm," he murmured, with a slight shake of his head, which I knew was his way of saying "No." I moved my body to a kneeling position, and moved Jay's lower body up to my groin and between my legs; I stroked Jay's stomach and chest as I probed deeper into his body. Jay lifted his legs so that his feet were now on my shoulders, thus opening up his legs wider for me to gain extra penetration. I thought to myself, Jim really has taught his precious boy well.

I began to rock forward and backward, my cock enjoying the glory of Jay's warm, glory hole. I fondled Jay's erection, and rubbed my hands in a circular motion over and around his balls. Jay let out a moan, "Oh…Ohhh!" he uttered, then more audibly, "I'm going to spurt!" And he did.

A spurt of Jay juice gushed from his glans and spat up into the air, then, dropping back down, spattered over my pubes and his groin. At the same time, I deposited my load into Jay's bum hole. I let my cock linger in his warm, soft channel for a moment, before withdrawing, and watched as my cum trickled out of Jay's open rectum.

I laid beside Jay, with my arm over his belly, caressing his waist. I buried my face in the side of his neck. Jay caressed my arm that was draped over his body. We lay together like that, in silence, for a good, contented, half-hour at least. Finally, Jay softly said, "It's a shame I don't have you all to myself this weekend. I have to share you with Andy, Nathan and Scott tomorrow. But 'Twister' with you and them should be fun."

I kissed the side of Jay's neck, and replied, "We'll have to make the most of today, then." I began tickling Jay's body. He giggled helplessly as he scrunched his body into a ball, in a not so convincing effort to stop my onslaught. I did stop, eventually. I tapped his bottom lightly a couple of times, then asked him, "Ready for breakfast now?" I looked at my bedside clock; it was quarter to eleven.

Chapter 7

Present day: Anyone with half a brain must have worked out by now that I didn't move immediately to the West Coast, once Mrs. Bradley's estate had been transferred to me. I don't apologize for straight talking; like I said, I'm in my seventies now, and long past the age where I give a fuck about what people think of me, except in my 'professional' capacity, where I feel I have to suck up to the suckers that pay me. I didn't mind 'reading' the backsides of females; all ages from five to ninety! I had become expert at feigning a gushing enthusiasm for all those who were willing to part with their money, to hear me spout claptrap. But I really had to work hard at masking my revulsion at examining the asses of old crones. Admit it, you'd find it difficult; hemorrhoids, anyone? I've seen it all. And even some young women don't exactly clean themselves properly, if you know what I mean. Jeez.

But it's worth it. Not only for the money, of course, but worth it by far, for the boys. I may be in my seventy-third year, but my dick is still functional, and my alter-ego, 'Felix', is still lurking in my psyche. Not as horny as I once was, admittedly, but all it takes is the occasional sight and feel of a young boy's ass to excite me. And the opportunity presented itself just last week. His mother had dragged him along. His mother wanted him to be a successful 'rap' star. His mother said her boy had talent; it only needed to be coaxed out of him. His mother said he was shy, but she had heard her son make up rhymes to himself in his bedroom, rapping along to a rhythm track he had created himself on his computer. His mother thought it was very, very good. His mother was deluded. There's none so blind as motherly love towards their offspring. The moment I set eyes on the boy, I knew his latent talent lay elsewhere; laying on my examination table.

I had to suffer an example of the boy's 'rapping', when his mother insisted he perform, in front of me, in my salon, something he'd come up with just the other day, apparently, "Just so's you can get a feel for my boy's talent," his mother explained, "If he shows you what he can do, it may help you give an accurate reading," she offered, hopefully. I already knew what kind of feeling the boy could give me, and what he could show me. I knew his mother was more or less paying me to tell her something flattering and upbeat about her son's future. I told her there really was no need to embarrass the boy (or for me to hear something excruciating to my ears) – I didn't tell her that last bit – I could easily determine where his future lay if I were to perform my examination of the boy's posterior. And god, did I want to examine him!

Anyway, she insisted I listen to the boy's crap, I mean 'rap'. The pair had never visited my salon before. The boy's mother had told my receptionist – yes, I had one – that she had heard about my talents through 'word of mouth'. All I knew about the mother was what I'd seen on the computer entry in the appointment ledger kept by my receptionist; that her name was Miss Rodriguez. After reluctantly agreeing to hear the boy's 'rap' – I thought it best to strike up a 'rapport'; I won't apologize for the pun – I asked the boy, "And what is your name?"

His mother replied for him, "Miguel," she told me.

"And how old are you, Miguel?" I asked. His mother told me he was ten. Miguel looked embarrassed and shy, and had the demeanor and body language that shrieked, 'I really don't want to be here.' Miguel either looked down at the floor, or at his phone, constantly twiddling his thumbs over the wretched device, absorbed in its content, and seemingly oblivious to me or his mother.

I was wrong. Miguel had the ability to not only concentrate his attention on his phone screen, but at the same time, listen to his mother. His mother told her son, "Show Mr. Ross your moves, Miguel." Miguel twiddled his thumbs a few more times, then tapped the phone once. Immediately, the sound of a monotonous, soulless, thin, 4:4 beat spewed from this tiny device. Miguel came alive. Miguel shifted his body weight from one foot to the other, his knees bending and bouncing with the repetitive beat, like he was on springs. His upper body swayed from side to side, and he started gesticulating with his arms and his hands, like most pop stars do these days. Then, Miguel startled me by prefacing his 'rap' with the shouted staccato introductory words, in rhythm with the beat, "Yo!..Bitch!..," before 'treating' me to his rhyme, over the tinny, robotic, clunk of his phone's beat:

"You hit me like a me-te-or,

You came at me like a shoo-ting star,

I have to say from me to-yah,

You're a sexy mudda-fuck-ah."

Miguel spat out all the words in a high, but dull, disinterested monotone, with no attempt at inflection. Miguel finished his rhyme, tapped his phone to stop the beat cacophony, and stood there with a self-satisfied look of 'Ain't I great?' and waited for, no, expected, a favorable response from his audience of two.

His mother burst into a loud round of applause, and whooped, "Woo!" like they do these days – god knows why – in total admiration of her son's 'talent'. I was speechless. I had a fixed rictus grin on my face, and to my shame and horror, found myself giving the spoiled little shit a smattering of applause. Fuck it, I thought, through gritted teeth, so long as I'm being paid richly for this, I'd applaud a turd on the floor. It occurred to me I just had.

I couldn't believe what I had just witnessed. A witless, spoiled creep being indulged to the 'nth' degree. And Miguel had uttered "Mudda-fuckah" from his foul, potty mouth, in front of his 'mudda', and to a total stranger. What ever happened to manners? To etiquette? To respect? To consideration? There was one saving grace about Miguel; he was drop dead gorgeous, with smoldering hazel eyes and Latino looks. And I couldn't wait to get his pants off.

Chapter 8

I'm going to meander a bit. Again. Hell, I'm in my seventies now, I'm allowed. What strikes me about the present day, and what is now considered acceptable, is a far cry from how it was. And I find the world as it is now, completely full of hypocrisy. Let me explain: Over one hundred years ago, the 'love that dare not speak its name', was vilified, and deemed indecent, perverted, abhorrent, evil and highly illegal. Nowadays, it's in your face. All the time. A man can legally marry another man. A woman can legally marry another woman. There are transgender rest rooms. And I'm sure somewhere in the world, it would be legal to marry a chicken if you wanted to. One hundred years or so ago, the likes of playwright Oscar Wilde were sentenced to hard labor in jail for practicing 'homosexual acts'; punished for succumbing to his base, perverted, sick, heinous sin; that's how it was looked upon.

Now, as I say, it's everywhere; those acts are legal. I can't help but think that it might take another hundred years or so to acknowledge that inter-generational love and sex is a normal condition of the human race. That thought, at the moment, provokes revulsion and sends shock waves, and calls for those that petition for it and to practice it, to be strung up, castrated. Exactly the same attitude and mindset that Oscar Wilde had to endure for his predilections in the nineteenth century.

This is the dichotomy, I find, in the attitudes of the present day; an impressionable young boy can spout filth from his mouth, and be exposed to rhymes that encourage him to emulate his idols and peers by saying, "Mudda-fuck-ah," and it's deemed totally acceptable. A boy can be brainwashed and trained to kill with a gun, a knife, or a suicide bomb. A boy can watch, unsupervised, unspeakable horrors on a video channel online. A boy is free to watch internet porn. Yet he isn't allowed to express his sexuality to the full, and enjoy the pleasures of the flesh with an adult. Hell, even ancient Rome, one of the great civilizations, thought nothing of having a catamite; a bum boy.

So-called professional shrinks say these days that a young mind can be traumatized and damaged by something or someone to some degree; it's the human condition. You may recall me telling you that I was fucked when I was a kid; didn't do me any harm. Something's wrong with current society somewhere. Too many people have been given the oxygen of publicity. And most of us are dumb enough to accept all their psycho-babble, be it someone selling a book about a new miracle diet, or the latest conspiracy theory, or the ghost-written memoirs of a Z-list 'celebrity'; 'non-entity', more like. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em, I say; that's why I peddle utter garbage to eager, susceptible, clients of 'Asstrology'. Maybe I should approach a publisher, for me to write a book about reading people's asses. I can't help thinking that it'll sell a lot of copies. Rant over.

It dawned on me that I had turned into that old guy with his dog Tiger, railing against a world he was no longer part of, back in '78, but secretly, wishing he was. I wanted to go back to a time when I felt safest: '78 – '79. But before I do, I suppose you're wondering about Miguel. Or Wolf, for that matter? Had you forgotten about him in the amusement arcade? I told you I tend to wander in my thoughts these days.

Miguel. Let me focus on Miguel. Then I'll transport you back with me into my comfort zone; the seventies, or what was left of them in 1979.

Miguel. After his excruciating 'performance', and after the frantic applause and the shrill, piercing cries of "Woo-oo!" – I hate that – from Miguel's adoring mother had died away, I felt the need to comment. And the need for a stiff drink. The stiff drink would have to wait. The stiff cock in my pants, however, needed attention. I said to myself, [Priorities, Frank. Comment first, cock later.] I found myself praising the boy, "Very good, Miguel! Wow! Let's see what your bottom tells me about your future, shall we?" I waited for a response from Miguel's mother, as Miguel had gone back to twiddling his thumbs on his phone while I spoke. What is it with kids and their damn phones?

Anyway, Miguel's mother replied, "Yes! I have a feeling it's going to be good."

I had a feeling, too; a different one from Miguel's mother. To my surprise, Miguel finally spoke directly to me, and mercifully, not in execrable rhyme, "Does my mother have to be with us while you're doing the reading?"

I replied, "It's customary, as you're so young, but, if your mother agrees, I can do the reading privately."

Miss Rogriquez deferred, "He's at that age when he's becoming aware of his body," she continued, jokingly, "Never mind the fact that I've seen him hundreds of times in the buff." She addressed her son, "But, if that's what you want, baby…."

It was definitely what I wanted. Miguel replied to his mother, "Yeah, that's what I want," then turned to me and said, "Let's do this shit." I understand that, in the modern day parlance of the young, the phrase 'Let's do this shit,' is a positive statement. At least I hoped so. Things were looking up, including the cock in my pants.

Chapter 9

I led Miguel into my examination room. His mother was content to sit and wait in the main salon, flicking through a dog-eared copy of last month's 'Asstrology' magazine.

"Now then, Miguel," I said, "To effect an accurate reading, I need to concentrate on what your bottom is telling me. With that in mind, firstly, I must insist on absolute silence. May I ask you to put down your phone and to switch it off?" To my surprise, Miguel did as I requested. "Thank you, Miguel. Now, secondly, I need to study you for a few minutes. Would you stand still for me?"

Miguel replied, "Sure. I can do that." Miguel surprised me for a second time with that answer.

I asked Miguel to look straight ahead as I took the opportunity to circle the boy, uttering every now and then, a few meaningless "Uh-huh's." Miguel was, at a guess, three feet seven or eight. A shock of black hair, held in place, I surmised, by a pot full of holding cream. High cheekbones. Full lips. Brilliant white teeth. Swarthy – that's not an insult; on the contrary, that's a compliment – flawless skin. Smoldering Latino looks. Hazel eyes, with thick, black, long eyelashes, almost looking like he was wearing mascara, bringing out the brilliance of the whites of his young eyes, with no visible hint of a blood vessel. Lithe body. Tiny, 'nipped in' waist. Pencil thin legs, even while wearing some kind of chinos. Tight little bum. Bright blue trainers, bearing the legend, 'Nike'.

I broke the silence, "Was it your mother's idea to bring you here?" I asked him. "Yeah. She kept going on about how you'd accurately predicted her friends' futures."

I thought, Amazing. What guff some people would swallow. I said, "And what about you. Are you finding this embarrassing, or are you cool with it?"

"Yeah, it's sick," he replied.

"Oh," I replied, with dismay in my voice.

"No, dude, you don't understand. 'Sick' means good. I'm totally 'cooool' about it," he said, laughing at my ignorance, and intimating that my use of the word 'cool' was so last year.

"Ah," I replied, and laughed with him. "Would you be comfortable about dropping your pants and underwear and bending over the table?"

"Knock yourself out, dude," he replied, as he undid his chinos and pushed them down to his ankles. Miguel's white underwear followed soon after. And there he was, unashamedly showing me his little, tight, flawless, swarthy bum. Miguel bent over the table.

I could see his little balls between his stick-like legs. "I'm going to touch you now. Is that okay with you?" I asked.

"Do what you gotta do," Miguel replied, still looking ahead.

All I could see of the talking part of Miguel's anatomy was his shock of black hair. His body relaxed over the table, and his bum muscles visibly relaxed as well. I took my time ogling this boy's bare ass. "Uh-huh," I murmured again. "Some people are nervous about a strange hand touching an intimate part of their body. You don't seem to be," I remarked.

"It's just the same as being examined by a doctor, I guess," he told me.

"Just the same," I confirmed. "Okay, Miguel. You're doing fine. I'm going to touch you now," I informed him. I placed the open palm of my right hand on his right buttock, and gently massaged it. Every time I moved his bum cheek, I could see his ass hole; a darker color to the rest of his complexion, but, nonetheless, a stimulant for my cock. I placed my left palm on his left buttock and massaged both cheeks, opening up his crack and getting a good look at his fully exposed ass hole. "Uh-huh," I murmured. "Oh, that's interesting," I said.

"What is?" asked the shock of black hair.

"I'm getting a lot of positives from your butt," I told him.

"Really?" the shock of black hair said, in an interested way.

"Really," I said, "I think a probe would be useful. There's more information I can gather from your inner sanctum," I announced.

"Inner sanctum? What's that?" the shock of black hair inquired, now sounding even more interested.

"The aura around your anus suggests there is a hidden truth, waiting to be discovered, within and beyond the surface." Years of practice meant that I was a past master at blinding the gullible with cod psychology.

"Is that good?" the shock of black hair asked, now with an interested intensity in his voice.

"Very good," I said, enthusiastically, "For the uninitiated, it means your bottom is guarding a secret, which can only be discovered by a very attuned instrument of the psychic fraternity. I am that attuned instrument. The psychic energy flows through me and reveals its secrets to me, but only if the subject, meaning you, Miguel, allows the psychic energy to pass through to me. To achieve this, I will need your permission to explore inside your butt hole with a probe."

The shock of black hair responded with excitement, "Sick! I'll ask my mother…,"

I stopped him from finishing that sentence, "No, Miguel, no. The psychic energy is too fleeting to wait, and if there is any disturbance in the flow of energy now, I may lose the connection. The aura is in this room now. To open a door at this crucial moment would be disastrous. I don't want to be the one to break the psychic connection. I haven't felt so much energy like this surrounding an anus; not for a long time. The aura of your anus is exquisite, and is very special."

Miguel's shock of black hair raised slightly, "What do I have to do?"

I knew I had reeled him in. I had his undivided attention. I had his ass, quite literally, in the palms of my hands.

Chapter 10

"The aura is saying to me that you must not divulge anything to anyone about what is about to happen," I told a completely rapt Miguel. "First, I need you to make a pact with me and the aura I am channeling. I need you to swear an oath that you will not reveal the secrets of the methods the aura uses to manifest itself in me and you."

The shock of black hair bobbed up and down energetically, and said, "Yes."

I continued, in a soft, but emphatic tone, "Please be aware, Miguel, that if you break the pact, none of what I discover will take place. The aura must be trusted implicitly. Any betrayal by you of the aura's secret ways will result in the aura abandoning you forever, and your hopes and dreams and aspirations will not be fulfilled. And at present, the aura is compelling me, urging me, forcefully, to delve into your secret place, where, the aura assures me, your promising future will be revealed to me. And believe me, I have not detected such a strong, positive aura as this, as I have said, for a long time. Am I making this absolutely clear to you?"

Miguel said a positive "Yes," as I continued to examine the boy's flawless backside in minute detail.

"The aura is joining together your butt hole and my index finger as I speak. The aura wants to use my index finger as a conduit, to enter your anus, to discover the secrets hidden within your secret place. Bearing in mind the oath, the pact that the aura requires you to make, I need your permission for my fully charged finger to enter your anus. Do you grant it?"

I knew Miguel probably didn't understand half of the garbage that was spilling from my mouth, but that didn't matter; it all sounded good to a ten year-old boy, wanting desperately to know about his golden, glittering future.

"I grant it," came Miguel's response.

"Good. The aura is pleased. Now you must make the pact. Will you repeat after me, saying the exact words I use?" I asked Miguel.

"I will," the shock of black hair affirmed.

"It's imperative you stay exactly as you are. Any sudden movement, or look back, might upset the delicate nature of the aura. Understood?"

"Understood," Miguel repeated.

"Good. Repeat after me," I instructed him, "I, Miguel Rodriguez…," the shock of black hair responded. "Do take thee, oh aura…." Miguel repeated the words. "To have and to hold…." Miguel repeated the words. ."..And for you, oh aura, to reveal the secrets…." Miguel parroted my words. ."..That you have deposited in my secret place…." Miguel eagerly and carefully repeated, ."..Within and up my butt hole." I took great satisfaction in hearing Miguel repeat that line back to me. ."..And if I should betray the trust I have placed in you, oh aura, all that you reveal to Mr. Ross, the aura's conduit, and me, will turn to dust." Miguel was word perfect, and I told him so; there's nothing like a crumb of encouragement to keep a boy's attention.

"Now…to make it more comfortable for you, I have a special aura-blessed jelly that I can use to assist in the insertion of my aura-filled finger into your butt hole." I reached on the table for a glass jar, on which I had placed a sticky label, and in my best handwriting had inscribed, 'NiP Ple GR3ase'. I showed it to the shock of black hair, telling him it was a secret chemical formula the aura had given to me, and that the aura had told me to add 'essence of strawberry', to make it smell nice and make an agreeable scent for mortal humans.

I slathered some of the 'secret formula' on, around, and just in, Miguel's ass hole. I told Miguel to keep still and to remain exactly where he was positioned, and not to look at me, as the aura surrounding me was not to be gazed upon by an untrained eye, and if the trust was breached, the delicate aura would dissipate, and the secrets waiting to be discovered by me would be lost forever. I told Miguel that although it is my aura-filled finger that will penetrate his butt hole, he may feel that his anus is being opened up wider than a finger. This would be because the aura will make his anus open for me to peer into his secret place. I warned Miguel that the aura may push its way into his anus to widen it, and it may feel like he is being violated and feel pain. I told Miguel that the aura must be allowed to penetrate deep within him, and not resist. The shock of black hair acknowledged the warning. I dropped my pants, slathered my cock with "NiP Ple GR3ase," and plunged my hard, hard dick into Miguel's 'secret place'.

You may feel short-changed at this point, but there really is no point in telling you more about Miguel; he's not an integral part of my story. Anyway, I think you can guess the rest, other than I told him afterwards, what he wanted to hear, that he was going to be a successful rap artist and that he would make squillions of dollars and shack up with a next generation Kardashian. Miguel had no idea my cock had been the 'aura' in his ass; he really believed the aura had revealed to me his secret place.

For the benefit of his mother, I took a few pictures of her son's bare backside, drew some arrows on a printed copy on one of them – I kept the rest – and wrote some garbage about how this and that arrow points to "Traces of hills and dales, that, to the trained eye, reveals that although her son would encounter ups and downs in his career as a rapper, his upward trajectory was guaranteed." I made sure his gaping ass hole was not on show in the picture I gave his mother – I took several of those for my personal collection – and I guessed that as Miguel was 'At the age when he is becoming aware of his body,' Miguel wouldn't let his mother see his ass.

I used one picture of Miguel standing up with his ass cheeks clenched tight. I told her that a tight ass was a sure sign that Miguel would retain money. I did put a circle around the approximate area where Miguel's ass hole would be, telling her that to expose his anus would be like letting the secrets of his talent for words spill out, for all lesser talents to copy and plagiarize. What I really meant, of course, was that I thought Miguel is talking out of his ass. But I didn't tell his doting mother that part.

With Miguel convinced that if he were to reveal the secret of the aura's methods, all of his aspirations would come to naught, and Miss Rodriguez happy with the results of my consultation, I gladly accepted their sizable contribution into my bank account.

So there you have it. The way I operate when a young boy that takes my fancy is presented to me. I don't go looking for them; the stars provide them. I'm just surprised and thankful that so far, no one has got wise and filed a complaint against me. I guess the stars shine down on me and protect me. Just as well; when an invitation arrived in the post a day or two later, for a private viewing at a new art gallery, it left me in somewhat of a dilemma…

Chapter 11

By the time we'd showered, and had 'breakfast', it was early afternoon. Jay and I chose to remain naked for the rest of the day. We both knew our clothes would have come off again, so what was the point of putting anything on? Jay's Awesome Boy underwear was still being held aloft by my Statue of Liberty ornament. Jay's pile of clothes remained on the kitchen floor; mine in a heap on my bedroom floor.

Jay and I sat on the couch. Well, strictly speaking, I sat on the couch. Jay's naked body laid sprawled across the couch, his head nestling in my lap. Jay was looking up at me while his hand toyed and played with my flaccid cock. Jay lifted it up and let go, and watched as it flopped back down. Jay did this a few times. My big member seemed to fascinate him. Jay, now just generally fondling my cock, asked me, "Uncle Frank, why have you only got one bedroom?" I think Jay wondered why there was a door to another room he hadn't seen inside.

"I don't have just one bedroom, I have two," I informed him. Jay continued playing with my cock as if it was modeling clay,

"Oh. Why then, for my mom's bennyfit, when she drops me off here, is she made to think I sleep on your couch?"

'Bennyfit' – another one of Jay's mispronunciations! I inwardly smiled and replied, "When both my parents died, I moved my stuff into their bigger room. Over the years, I filled up what used to be my bedroom with junk. I use it for storage now. I'll show you what's in there, if you want."

"Okay," Jay replied matter-of-factly, satisfied with my answer. Jay popped my cock in his mouth and started to stimulate me.

Oh, god, here we go again, I thought to myself, as my dick began to respond to Jay's fingers and mouth. I raised my hands up and placed them at the back of my neck. My back straightened up, then arched backwards into the curve of the couch. I closed my eyes. Jay's feather-cut hair brushed against my thighs. I felt his hot breath on my pubes. I felt the warmth and wetness of his mouth as he started to suck. I felt his tongue feeling my cock inside his mouth. I felt Jay's little hand rubbing and massaging my balls. I felt ecstasy.

I didn't hold back. I 'spurted'. In Jay's mouth. Jay swallowed. Any residue that trickled out from his mouth, he wiped away with his arm. I kissed Jay's forehead.

Jay looked up at me and smiled, "You know, Uncle Frank, I really don't want to share you with Andy, Nathan and Scott tomorrow. I want you all to myself."

I was thinking the exact same thing about Jay; I didn't want to share him; he deserved all my attention. "Let's call them up," I suggested, "Tell 'em that I've come down with the 'flu or something."

Jay's face lit up, "I've got a better excuse," he said, "Look!" Jay pointed to the window, "It's snowing!"

I got up and looked outside. He was right. It was snowing. Hard. And settling. Quickly. The sky was gray and dark. I turned on the TV for the local weather report; "Blizzard conditions," they said. "Do not attempt to go out unless it's really necessary," they said. "Stay indoors," they said. Jay looked at me, and I looked at Jay. We both had the same idea, "Race you!" I said, as we both scampered to the hall phone.

"Yes, it's terrible," I agreed when Andy's mother remarked about the weather, "Best do as they advise and stay in. Maybe Andy can visit some other time," I said. I had similar conversations with both Nathan and Scott's parents. Jay's face was beaming, no, glowing, as he listened, standing next to me in the hall. I put the receiver down. I looked devilishly at my little partner in crime. "Better keep yourself warm," I said to Jay mischievously, as I picked up his bobble hat from the phone table and scrunched it on his head, "There. That's better, sexy bum!" Jay looked a picture, standing there, grinning absurdly, with just his bobble hat on. And that reminded me: Pictures! "Stay there. Don't move!" I told him. I quickly found my Polaroid camera and took a few photos of Jay, in various poses, in just his bobble hat.

Chapter 12

Jay removed his bobble hat and put it back down on the phone table. "Can I see your junk room now?" he asked.

I moved down the hall, with Jay following close behind. I opened the door to my old bedroom. There were cardboard boxes stacked up. An old hi-fi. Old vinyl records. Some stuff that I kept because they 'Might come in handy one day', some old clothes from way back, when I was a young buck in my early twenties; god knows why I held on to them; and my old school yearbook. That's the stuff that was immediately visible when you entered the room. There were more cardboard boxes at the very back, stacked up on what was my old bed, that hadn't been touched for years; mostly filled with old pots and pans and crockery that I never used; I'm not sure that my mother ever did, either; they had been taking up cupboard space in the kitchen, and never seemed to have moved from there all the while the kitchen was her domain. After she died, I had a clear out, but for some reason, I didn't have the heart to throw any of it out.

Jay surveyed the haphazard scene. He picked up a few items of my old clothes, "What's this?" he asked, holding up a tired pair of flared maroon corduroy pants with a large, yellow and green flower motif sewn onto one of the legs.

I explained, feeling a little embarrassed, "I fancied myself as a hippie. I went through a phase in the late sixties. I would have been about twenty, maybe twenty-two, something like that."

Jay looked pityingly at me, "You wore these?" he asked, incredulously.

"Yep, 'fraid I did. I thought I looked cool."

Jay teased, "Seriously?"

I smiled at him and snatched the pants away from him, saying, "Yeah, wise guy. Just you wait until you're older and look back at some of the things you wore. The day will come, mark my words."

Jay giggled and turned his attention to my yearbook. "Can I see?" he asked.

"Sure. I haven't looked at that in, well, years."

Jay sat his naked behind on one of the cardboard boxes and began flipping the pages of the photos and entries. "Where are you?" Jay inquired. I flipped over the pages and pointed. Of course, Jay tried unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh at the sight of the younger me.

"That's enough of that," I told him, as I looked lovingly into his big, blue eyes. Jay closed the book and set it down on top of a box, but he didn't get it quite right; the book fell to the floor and opened up at a random page.

"Oops! Sorry," Jay said, genuinely.

"Don't worry about it," I told him as I picked it up. The page that the book fell open to stirred up some memories and emotions. There, staring up at me, was the boy I had a crush on at the time. I'd only recently thought about him; he had entered my thoughts the first time Jay had stayed overnight; the day I burnt the bacon.

David Fallon; I remembered: David and me in the school gym. David and me in the showers. David and me at the movies, in the dark. David and me in his bedroom.

David and I had closed the book on our 'friendship' when he and his family moved to a more select part of town, way out in the country. I closed the yearbook and put it carefully back on a cardboard box.

It was becoming apparent to both of us that there was no heating in the room, and as we were both completely naked, and the snow was still falling outside, Jay and I were beginning to feel the chill. "Come on, sexy bum," I said, "Let's get out of here and close the door. Time for 'Twister'. That'll warm us up." Jay jumped off the box he'd been sitting on, and bounded out of the room, rubbing his arms to warm them up, as his little body disappeared down the hall and back into the main room. I watched his sexy bare bum wiggle and wobble away, before shutting the door on my memories. I made my way to the main room, thinking that I'm currently in the process of creating a new set of memories; with Jay.

By the time I'd followed Jay into the main room, he was already shaking out the brightly colored plastic 'Twister' mat and laying it out on the floor. Such a simple game, I thought; but one that gives a whole lot of pleasure. I wondered if the creators of this game had ever given thought that it would be played by naked people. It must surely have crossed their minds; or was it just 'Twisted' minds like mine and 'Uncle John' and 'Larry', in the magazine story, that had the thought of playing 'Twister' in the nude, thinking it would be a whole lot more fun? My thoughts strayed to the latest issues of my 'special' magazines; I wondered what 'Uncle John and Larry'. or whoever they were called this time, were getting up to this month? Those magazines were going to be bedtime reading for me and Jay; but right now, it's time to play 'Twister'; in the buff.

Chapter 13

"Is that your real name, or is it a nickname of some kind?" I asked the boy who'd just told me he called himself "Wolf."

The boy looked cautiously at me as he replied, "Wolf is my name. Short for Wolfgang. Wanna make something of it? Most people do." I stopped staring at beer belly and turned my gaze to little Wolfgang. After years of studying boys I'd like to have had my way with, but only actually, for real, started doing so recently with Blondie, Ben, even Jay and Scott, I considered myself adept at quickly sizing up the prey.

Wolfgang, I guessed, was about four feet in height. Chestnut hair, his head crowned by a black baseball cap that had seen better days. A check lumber jack kind of coat, with a faded, discolored, grubby fleece around the collar. Distressed, faded light blue jeans, with a hole at the knee, on the right, and a patch at the knee on the left, and frayed bottoms. Scuffed, black trainers; ones with rubber soles; the rubber was starting to come away from the material uppers. One shoe lace was coming undone and trailing on the floor of the arcade. In my head, I'd already estimated his age at about ten, but I wanted to know if my guess was right, "How old are you, Wolf?"

Wolf still sounding cautious, barked out the answer, like it was his default defense mechanism, "Ten. Wanna make something of that, too?"

I privately congratulated myself on guessing correctly, then, ignoring his abrasiveness, replied, "My name is Felix. Not much better than being called 'Wolfgang', is it?" I saw a hint of an upturned mouth on the boy. I had nearly made him laugh, it would seem. "There's some loose change jingling in my pants pocket. Put your hand in there and see what you can fish out," I said, as I shook the pocket that contained five dollars' worth of assorted coins.

Wolf looked quickly at my pocket as the noise of the jingling money attracted his attention, then looked up at me, then shook his head and said, "Sheesh!" as if to say, "Been in this situation before. Here's another one." It didn't stop Wolf from sliding his hand in my pocket, though. Wolf delved in my pocket, took out what he could in his small hand, transferred the spoils into his other hand, and in turn, put the coins in his jacket pocket, and then dipped his hand in my pants for a second time, to retrieve the rest of the hoard.

Beer belly, meanwhile, after I'd diverted my gaze from him to Wolf, limped to the arcade street door and locked it, turning the 'Open' sign over to 'Closed'. The arcade front had tinted glass, so the only way you could see inside from the street was from the open door. I guessed beer belly kept the door open at business times, so that you could hear the racket from the machines as people passed by, and were lured in by the sounds and the lights you could just about see from the doorway. Beer belly limped back from the arcade front, constantly throwing a bunch of keys up and catching them in his hand, "Felix, huh?" he said to me, extending his hand for me to shake, "Bob. I'm the manager of this here establishment."

I shook his hand; he didn't have much of a grip. "This place yours?" I inquired.

"Hell, no," Bob replied, "I just manage it. The proprietor comes in once or twice a week to collect the takings. Comes in through the back door."

I nodded slightly in acknowledgment, and fixed my stare back on beer belly, "Tell me, Bob, what does Wolf have to do if he wants more 'credit'?"

Bob suddenly had a look of fear on his face; the thought may have occurred to him that he'd been duped. He and I maybe weren't on the same page, so to speak. He'd just locked himself in with someone who'd guessed what he was up to and was now going to give him a good kicking, and while I was about it, rob him of the takings. "Now…I…I…don't want any trouble," he said, uneasily backing away from me, waggling a finger in front of him, "I…I…."

'Felix' put him out of his misery, "Relax, Bob. You and I, I think we want the same thing, don't we?"

Bob was still unsure of my intentions, "I…I…guess so…?" Bob said as more of a question.

The stars were in alignment; it felt good to be 'Felix' again; the adrenaline rush of control. The adrenaline rush of the possibility of being found out. The adrenaline rush of seeing fear in another's eyes. Only this time, the only fear evident was in Bob's eyes and demeanor, not the boy; Wolf looked as if he'd seen and heard it all before, and wandered off to the machines. I knew the stars had drawn me into this place, so I was confident in asking the $64000 dollar question to Bob, "How much 'credit' does Wolf get for sucking your cock?"

Bob looked at me with a mixture of fear and dumbfounded incredulity, and after a long pause, told me, with a nervous laugh, "T…two dollars." Wolf was oblivious to Bob and 'Felix's' conversation; he was feeding some of my money into a pinball machine and was waiting for a game to start, with his fingers ready to press the flipper buttons on the machine's sides.

I smiled and leaned in at Bob's ear, and said quietly, "So five dollars' worth of 'credit' should secure me his ass."

Chapter 14

Bob, still not sure if I was tricking him into admitting something that would give me a reason to give him a beating, remained cautious, "My leg is killing me. Can we go in the back? I need to sit down."

For all I knew, the proprietor could be waiting 'in the back', and it would be me that was about to receive a kicking. But I knew the stars were on my side. "Sure. What have you got there, 'in the back'?" I asked.

"Nothing much. A small office. A desk. A sink. A kettle. A safe. And a back way in and out. But more importantly, a chair!" Bob said urgently. Bob led the way, his limp now more pronounced. We reached the tiny 'office', and Bob eased himself down on to an adjustable swivel chair. He rubbed his bad leg, saying, "Oh, that's better. Sorry there isn't another seat. Use the desk."

Given what kind of establishment this was, I was mindful that there might be a firearm in one of the drawers of the desk I was now sitting on. Bob might look ineffectual, but appearances, I know, can be deceptive. I asked Bob, "Boy's home, you say. That's where Wolf comes from?"

Bob, still rubbing his leg, replied, "Not a boy's home, exactly. More like a refuge. They can come and go as they please. The refuge makes sure they get a good square meal and a place to sleep and clean up for a day or two, and a small amount of cash to see them on their way. The refuge is a kind of charity, paid for by donations and fund raisers. It's way on the outskirts of town, in a privately owned house, almost in the country. The boys get a bus in, or hitchhike."

I asked Bob, "You said Wolf was a regular here. Does that mean he lives at this refuge permanently?"

Bob stopped rubbing his knee, "Hell, no." Bob pointed at a drawer just below where I was sitting, "There's a bottle of bourbon in there. I could do with one. You gonna join me?" I opened the drawer and took out the bottle. "There's two mugs behind you," Bob told me. I put my hands behind me and felt for them. I found them and gave one to Bob, followed by the bourbon. Bob uncorked the spirit and poured some in my mug. He poured some into his. He leaned back, as best he could, into the swivel chair, took a large mouthful of drink, and continued, "The boys don't stay there. It's only a place they know they can go when they feel the need to. They can get their own clothes washed there, get some donated clothes, that kind of thing." Bob paused, looked at me, then admitted, "I don't mind telling you, mister, you gave me a fright out there. I thought I was a goner, for sure." Bob was starting to relax in my company.

I reassured him, "I saw an opportunity, and I took it. You and I, we want the same thing."

Bob took another large mouthful of bourbon, "You're right. Wolf can supply it. Well, he can supply a blow-job, at any rate. Not sure about him offering up his ass."

I took a gulp of bourbon, "Do you get many boys from the refuge coming in here?"

Bob laughed out loud, "You sure are green! It's their second home, and guys like me, and now you, know it. No wonder this place is called the Pleasure Palace. Guys come in here in the evening, spend a little money, mostly handing it over to the boys to play with, just like you did. The guys take their pick of the boys, promising them a bed for the night, usually in the hotel around the block, and…'Bob's your uncle', if you'll pardon the pun. It's a well-trodden path, from here to the hotel, believe me." Bob took another mouthful, and swallowed hard, eager to quickly tell me more, ""The boys know to come here in the evening. That's when the guys finish work. You see the wedding rings on their fingers. Probably got families and wives back home. It's usually dead here during the day. That's when I do the books and clean up. I just happened to see Wolf skulking outside while I was picking up the litter that people drop in here, and putting it in the bin outside on the sidewalk. I took pity on him and invited him in. I was in the mood for some 'relief', if you get my drift. Then you walked in. I should have closed the door. You sure picked the right time."

I thought, No, the stars had picked the right time for me. I said to Bob, "So. Shall we find out if Wolf is up for a twosome? You in one end, me in the other?"

Chapter 15

"If we're both playing Twister," Jay thought out loud, "Who's going to spin the arrow?"

I suggested, "We'll keep it by us, within reach."

Jay smiled a toothsome smile, "If our legs and arms are all tangled up, that might be difficult," he said.

I smiled back, "Let's find out, shall we? I'll spin the wheel first." Jay placed himself on the mat, legs akimbo, with his substantial cock swaying in between, and waited for his first instruction. "Right hand: green," I said. Jay crouched down and placed his hand on a green spot.

I handed the spinner to Jay, and with his free hand, flicked the wheel, "Right foot: yellow!" Jay said, enthusiastically. I placed my foot on the appropriate spot.

I picked up the spinner, "Left foot: red." Jay stretched his body. Jay's cock dangled downwards, and although I'd seen it many times now, I marveled at the size of it compared to the rest of his little body. The spinner was handed back and forth, and, as the game progressed, Jay's prediction at getting tangled up did indeed prohibit the use of the spinner. I ended up bending over Jay's body, and Jay's right leg was wrapped around one of my arms. At several points in the game, I had the pleasure of Jay's cock dangling in front of my face, Jay's bum in front of my face, his balls resting on my shin. Inevitably, I lost my balance and we both collapsed on the plastic mat in fits of laughter and giggles. I felt like I was a child again.

Jay and I both lay on the plastic mat. Jay climbed on top of me, his now stiff cock pressing on mine, his stomach pressing on mine. His lips pressing on mine. My hands fondled and rubbed his bottom and back, and his head and hair. The phone rang.

I could have ignored it, but as I was in charge of Jay for the weekend, I figured it could be his mother on the line. I figured it could be to do with the snow. Jay and I scrambled to our feet and I headed for the phone in the hall. Jay padded along behind me. Sure enough, it was Alison. "I hope you two are having a good time," was her opening line. If only she knew. On second thoughts, it's just as well she didn't.

"We're having a ball," I replied. Jay giggled.

Alison laughed, "Good. I'm just calling about the snow," she said, "It really has got deep. It says on the news that snow plows are out. I think it should be okay to venture out tomorrow, once the blizzards have stopped. As far as I know, Jay's school will be open on Monday. I think it's best I pick him up earlier than planned tomorrow. Are you okay with that, Frank?"

I wasn't, but I understood. I had to be the understanding adult, and hand back Jay to his rightful guardians. My brief feeling of being a child had disappeared in an instant. "Not a problem. You're the boss," I replied, "I'll put Jay on." I handed the receiver to Jay, and observed once again, despite him being in his twelfth year, how small he looked, struggling to hold on to, what to him, must be a big piece of equipment; yet he had no trouble in handling my 'big piece of equipment', I mused. As Jay spoke with his mother, my mind turned to how best I could use the time I had left with him; bath time; reading magazine stories in bed; sex in bed. Then tomorrow, clearing the snow from the front of the house; building a snowman; having snowball fights; all of those activities, alas, fully clothed. I began to feel sad that I hadn't had children of my own. A child like Jay. Or Blondie, aka Erik. I was still relatively young enough. Perhaps there was time.

I became aware of a little smiling face looking up at me. In my daydreams, I hadn't noticed he'd finished his conversation with his mother and the receiver had been placed back on its cradle. "Mom's picking me up about midday tomorrow," Jay informed me.

I smiled back, grabbed hold of Jay's waist, lifted him aloft, over my shoulder, and patted his bare bottom, "I think it's way past 'thingy' time, don't you?" I said, as I carried him through to my bedroom.

Jay burst into fits of laughter, and told me, "My sexy bum's all yours!"

Chapter 16

Wolf had finished playing on the pinball. He'd now moved on to the slot machines, hoping to win the jackpot. It wasn't long before my five dollars in change was now sitting in the bellies of the greedy machines. From the back office, Bob and I heard Wolf shout out, "Any more credit?"

Bob shouted back, "You're all out of luck, kid. Time you paid your dues. With interest." Bob looked at me, "He knows where to come," he said. A moment later, Wolf appeared at the entrance to the office, his body propped up against the door frame, with his arms crossed. Bob said to him, "You owe us both."

Wolf tried his luck once again, "What if I was to call the cops?" he threatened. "Wooo! Who's afraid of the big, bad Wolf??" Bob mockingly replied, "They couldn't care about the likes of you. Who are they going to believe? You came in here begging for money, that's what I'd tell them. I wouldn't give you any money, that's also what I'd tell them. So you make up a story to get back at me; I'd tell them that. He's a runaway, I'd tell them. They'd take you away. Face it, kid, it's cock sucking time. And my new friend Felix, here, wants a piece of your ass."

Wolf looked at us both with disdain, "I don't do nuthin' in here with my butt."

I put my mug of bourbon on the table, and informed him, "You do now."

Wolf looked genuinely concerned, and demanded, "Let me out of here."

Bob told him, "Two dollars from me. Your agreement with me is that for those two dollars, you suck me off."

I added, "And five…," I emphasized the 'five': ."…dollars from me, well that suggests you have a charging scale, wouldn't you say, Bob?"

Bob bobbed his head. "If two dollars buys your mouth and hands, five dollars must be top of the scale, ergo, that must mean, your ass."

Wolf thought for a second, "I didn't agree to that. I didn't agree to anything with you," he informed me.

"But you took my money," I reminded him.

Wolf growled back, "But I thought that was for…for…the same service as the old guy."

I smirked; "The more money given, the more service you provide. Stands to reason," I countered. Wolf uncrossed his arms and started to back away. "You can't go anywhere. The front door is locked, and neither Bob or I are going to let you go until you've provided us with the service we've paid for, simple as that."

Wolf frowned, "Fuck you!" he told both Bob and I.

"No," I corrected him, "You face fuck Bob, and I fuck you."

Wolf now knew who were the real wolves. Wolf had been demoted to 'Little Red Riding Hood', only the ending to the fairy tale was going to be different for him. The wolves would have their way and devour the prey, and Wolf would become 'Little Boy Riding Cock'. "I've never done it in my ass in here before," Wolf admitted, hoping to garner a little sympathy, and what, I'm sure, he was counting on, was for me to show him some mercy and let him go.

'Felix' wasn't that guy. "There's a first time for everything," my alter-ego told him, "Take off your clothes."

Bob started to unzip his pants. He shifted his girth around in the swivel chair, and awkwardly managed to get his pants down to his ankles. The same procedure followed with his underwear. Bob's engorged, fat cock stood upright between his hairy, open legs, waiting for its service. "Me first," Bob told Wolf. "Um…,"

I interrupted, "No. Not today. Both of us at the same time, Wolf. I'm in the mood for a spit roast. Now take off your clothes." I started to undress, "Bob's waiting…," I said as I removed my jacket, ."..and I'm waiting…," I said as my shirt came off, ."..I won't wait much longer…," I said as my vest came off, ."..start removing your clothes…," I said as my pants, shoes and socks came off, ."..only my underwear to go, and you've yet to take anything off yourself…," I said, as I removed my underwear. Wolf's eyes almost popped out on stalks at the sight, and size, of my erect cock.

"I'm not having that up my ass!" he gasped.

Bob interjected, "Jeez! That's making my eyes water, let alone Wolf!"

I ignored Bob's remark. I grabbed Wolf by his neck, and very close to his face, told him, "Take off your clothes, or I'll rip them off you."

Chapter 17

"Alright. Alright!" Wolf said with difficulty, while my hand was around his scrawny throat. I released the boy from my grip. Wolf stood in the doorway, and looked at me, and then Bob.

"Do as he says, kid," Bob advised him. Wolf exhaled a sigh of defeat, and removed his baseball cap. Wolf's chestnut hair tumbled out and down the sides of his head; his hair was long and straggly. Bob and I watched as Wolf unbuttoned his jacket and took it off. Underneath was a t-shirt that at one time would have been white; it was a dirty gray. He pulled off the t-shirt. I took a guess that he'd recently visited the boys' refuge, because, although his clothes were old and tattered, they, and he, didn't smell. I noticed that when I had pinned him against the doorway; in fact, he smelled good. Wolf took off his trainers; now they did smell. Not him; just the trainers. Without having to undo them, Wolf's thin arms and hands pulled down his faded jeans and he stepped out of them. All he had on now was a pair of socks and underpants, with a couple of holes in them.

Wolf hesitated, "When I've sucked the old guy in the past, I've always kept my clothes on. This is…," his words trailed off; he could see neither Bob nor I gave a fuck about what he usually did. Wolf summoned up the courage, and slipped his underpants down, and stepped out of them. Wolf's penis and balls were typical of a thin boy; stringy cock and small ball sack; thankfully, for me, a tight little ball sack; no 'pendulums', swinging low. He was cut, but no matter; in this situation, I was only interested in his ass.

"Socks," I said. Wolf removed them. And there he was; naked in Bob's office. "Get on your hands and knees, between Bob's legs," I told the boy. Wolf did as instructed. "Do what you normally do," I told him. Wolf took hold of Bob's cock and rubbed it up and down a few times, before taking it in his mouth, and bobbing his head up and down. "Now lift your ass up. Let's have a look at you," I demanded. Wolf obeyed. I could see he was trying to look out the corner of his eye to see what I was going to do, "Keep sucking," I told him.

Bob was a little concerned; he asked me, ""When you start at your end, he ain't gonna bite me, is he?"

I replied, for Wolf's benefit, "He'd better not, or I'll bite him, after I've crushed his nuts." At the thought of what I'd said, Wolf stopped what he was doing with Bob. "Keep sucking," I said, "Bob wants his two dollars' worth." I inspected Wolf's ass and hole. Clean and small. Pink and soft.

Ever since Jim gave me some of his strawberry-scented 'nipple grease', I always carried a supply with me, just in case the stars presented me with an opportunity, like they did today. As I've said before, I was never a boy scout, but I adhere to their motto, "Be prepared." I took the small jar from my jacket pocket, lying on the table. I smeared Wolf's ass with the stuff. Wolf reacted by clenching his ass cheeks. I prized them apart and stuck my finger in Wolf's ass hole. I didn't waste any more time. I removed my finger and replaced it with my cock. Wolf gave out a muffled cry.

Bob looked nervous, "Have a care, there, Felix. I'm kinda fond of my cock. I don't want teeth marks in it. I have difficulty walking as it is. I don't wanna make it worse!"

I slapped Wolf's bare ass, "Wolf isn't going to bite you. He knows what I'll do to him if he does." I slowly burrowed my way into Wolf's canal, inch by inch. I'll give the boy some credit. Not monetary, but praise; for his first time, he accepted my cock very well. I suppose he didn't really have a choice. I thought, Felix is alive and well. Felix likes control. Felix likes to have the advantage. Felix wants to fuck Wolf's brains out.

Bob suddenly said, "Oh, jeez," and I saw that he had spilled his load on Wolf's hands. That didn't take him long! I took that as my cue to pump Wolf's ass harder; I wanted my five dollars' worth.

Wolf's head was now buried in Bob's pants and underpants, down at Bob's ankles. Wolf was holding on to Bob's legs. Wolf's ass was up in the air. My cock was pulsing in Wolf's ass hole. And then it was over. I slipped my cock out of Wolf and spattered his ass with my cum. Wolf said nothing. Wolf just whimpered quietly with his face still in Bob's underwear. I wiped most of my cum off of Wolf's backside. I offered him some advice, "Think about it. Five dollars a time, and your ass will make you rich in no time."

Wolf's head emerged from Bob's underpants and turned and looked at me, "But I don't have five dollars. The old guy's machines have it."

I looked at Wolf, "How you choose to spend your money is no concern of mine. Now put your clothes on." Wolf gingerly rose to his feet, clutched his backside, and picked up his tatty underpants and put them on. Bob uneasily rose from the swivel chair and pulled up his underwear and pants. I got dressed. There wasn't any real reason I chose to get completely naked; it was the thrill of the moment, I guess.

Wolf had dressed himself. Bob fished around in his pocket and produced the bunch of keys he'd toyed with earlier, "I'll open the back door. There's a car port out there, and an alleyway that leads to a side street. Wolf knows his way out." No sooner had Bob unlocked the back door, Wolf ran out, as quick as he could.

His parting shot was to call back at me, "You ain't the first!" followed by, "Bastard!" as he ran down the alley. Ironic, I thought, that Wolf should call me a bastard, when most likely, that's exactly what he was.

"He'll be back," Bob said with an air of certainty about Wolf, "They all come back," he added.

I looked at Bob, winked, and said, "So will I. Soon. Sometime one evening."

Bob responded wearily, "I figured you would."

I asked Bob one final question, "What's the name of the hotel, and its address?"

Bob opened the drawer of the desk, got out a pen and a piece of paper, and wrote the details down. "Here," he said, handing me the paper, "When you take one of them there, just say 'PP'. 'PP' for 'Pleasure Palace'. No more questions asked, okay?"

Chapter 18

Jay and I enjoyed each other's bodies for quite a time in my bed, that snowy day. My 'thingy' had entered Jay's 'sexy bum' once again. Afterwards, we showered, ate, drank, and watched some TV. In the evening, I peered outside. The blizzard had finished. The snow was deep. I didn't relish the thought of clearing the drive in the morning, but it had to be done. I watched as a car or two carefully made their way along the street; so the streets were navigable, it would appear. The TV weather said the snow wouldn't linger; by tomorrow, a thaw would be on its way, as temperatures rose.

I know we had spent some considerable time there, but that was for energetic purposes; this time, it really was 'time for bed' for Jay and me. We snuggled beneath the covers of my bed. Under the glow of my bedside lamp, with Jay cuddled up by my side, we looked at the front cover of my latest issue of 'Model Boys'. On the cover this month, there was a picture of 'Danny', a black-haired boy in a fetching pair of brown herring-bone pants and a lime green shirt, with the buttons undone to his navel. I turned to the first page, with Jay's head resting on my chest, my arm around him. 'Danny' had a favorite uncle called 'Paul', and the two of them liked nothing better than to spend time with each other in Uncle Paul's townhouse apartment. Uncle Paul's apartment had a balcony and a big bed. Turning the pages of the magazine, it was a novelty to see Uncle Paul and Danny do it on the balcony, before transferring to the bed. I kissed the top of Jay's head, and buried my lips and face in his feather-cut hair, and said, "I don't have a balcony, but I've got a big bed."

Jay replied, cheekily, "That's not all that's big," as, under the covers, he took hold of my cock and gave it a playful twist.

[Here we go again,] I said to myself.

Sunday morning. Washed and dressed. Winter clothes on. I'd scraped away the snow from the drive. For once, the TV weather had got it right; a thaw was already taking place. Glistening icicles captured in the winter sunlight were rapidly melting, and ice water dripped from the branches of trees. There wasn't any sign of Mrs. Bradley. I now know why.

***

And that was that. The weekend with Jay cut short. Alison collected her son and his stuff at midday, like she said she would. I watched and waved as Alison's car, containing its precious passenger, got smaller and smaller down the street, until it was just a dot in the distance. No Andy, no Nathan, no Scott to console me.

I had always considered myself to be a loner; prided myself, in fact, that I was happy with my own company. But watching that car disappear from view made me feel very alone. I thanked the stars once again for introducing me to Jay, Jim, Andy, Nathan and Scott. I didn't know it at the time, but I would also thank the stars for guiding me in to the Pleasure Palace. It was the beginning of another chapter in my life.

And of course, standing there alone in the melting snow, there was something else I was unaware of at the time; Mrs. Bradley had been taken into hospital the previous Thursday. She wouldn't come out alive.

Chapter 19

I said my goodbye to Beer Belly Bob as he let me out the front door of the Pleasure Palace. I walked out in to the sunlit street. The winter sun, low in the sky, made my eyes hurt. My eyes adjusted to the light as I walked along the sidewalk. I went inside a bookstore, flicked through a local book about the history of 'The Wayfarer' refuge, then found a section dedicated to astrology. I purchased a book titled, "Astrology for Beginners," by someone called Marius Willow. Yeah, right, I thought to myself, His real name is probably something more like Ernie Duff, or Dick Wilty, I mused. And that's where the germ of an idea first formed in my head. I'd wait to see how much I'd realize from the sale of Mrs. Bradley's house, including the antique collection, and when all her savings, and all her assets, had been counted up. Then I'd quit my job. Maybe sell my own house and look for something better – not bigger – but better. Or maybe, it wasn't such a bad idea to move away completely; move to the West Coast. Perhaps the stars would lead me to Blondie/Erik. Who knows?

I had to be honest with myself; as much as I loved Jay, I knew the time was rapidly approaching. Jay would be twelve this year. It wouldn't be too long before puberty set in. I lose interest very quickly when pubic hairs start to appear on a boy. And zits! All those pustules! And Blondie/Erik would only be eleven this July; younger than Jay. But all of that is in the future, and that's why I bought 'Astrology for Beginners', by Marius Willow. I thought it would make a change from reading about 'Uncle John and Larry', or 'Uncle Paul and Danny', or whoever.

I was out in the street again. Before I went home, I thought I'd do a recce of this hotel Bob had told me about. I took the piece of paper out from my jacket pocket and looked at the name and address again, 'The Excelsior.' When I found it, I thought its name was something of a misnomer. It looked very much like the kind of establishment I'd taken Ben to, in another town thirty miles away. I wondered if there was a chain of these cheap shit holes. In the cold light of day, it looked run down and unwelcoming. Just the kind of place to put off genuine guests looking for somewhere to stay in town, but just the right sort of place for the likes of me. I looked at the frontage, and the neon illuminated sign, 'EX S OR', it flashed, or to be more accurate, flickered, even during the day. I made a decision: after work, sometime during the coming week, I'd visit the Pleasure Palace and see what was on offer, and then bring that offer here, to the 'EX S OR'.

For most of the drive home, I was in a daze, and on automatic pilot; my mind going through all that had happened in one day; the late Mrs. Bradley's letter, her entire estate bequeathed to me; the Pleasure Palace; Beer Belly Bob; Wolfgang; the 'EX S OR' hotel; the informative book about 'The Wayfarer'; the astrology book.

I decided it was best not to breathe a word about my good fortune, concerning Mrs. Bradley. The news would break soon enough. I just wanted some time to take it all in, and there was no point in shouting it from the rooftops; not until the solicitor confirmed that everything had been transferred to me, and that would take "a few weeks," he'd said.

I hadn't seen Jay since that snowy January day, with the exception of his little bobble-hatted figure delivering the newspaper at the weekends. We kept in touch by phone, of course. Jim had arrived back from one of his road trips, and he and Jay were spending time together. I wondered how many times, how many days, had Jim used the new code word for Jay, "Spurt." I wondered how many times Jay had 'spurted' with his father.

As for Andy, Nathan and Scott, since that aborted snowy Sunday, I hadn't really been in touch with them. I think things were cooling off, as far as they and I were concerned. I considered them Jim's boys, anyway.

No doubt Jim had a good time on his road trip. I was interested to hear about it, as it took him to the West Coast. On the phone, he'd promised me he'd tell me all about it, when I next see him; which was going to be at the beginning of March. Alison and Jim had invited me over for dinner on the first Sunday. There would be no chance of having 'sexy bum' that day, as the whole family would be there: crabby Abby included. Unless, of course, Jay and Jim wanted to play with the slot cars in the basement, and…"Would I like to join them."…maybe?

I parked the car in the drive. I looked over at Mrs. Bradley's house. It was in dire need of repair. If I was to sell it, I would have to spend some money on having it renovated. The front lawn was now an overgrown jungle. The front porch door's paint was peeling, exposing the wood underneath, and that had gone a dry, gray color. But looking at it now, more than I ever did while Mrs. Bradley was living there, the structure didn't look too bad. At least, that's what I hoped.

I never did get that celebratory drink in a bar in town. I did have an unexpected slug of bourbon with Beer Belly Bob, though.

I headed indoors, chucked my house keys on the phone table, and went straight to the ice box and opened a cold beer, raised the bottle and made five toasts, "Cheers, Mrs. Bradley," "Good health, Jim," "To beautiful Jay," "Here's to Beer Belly Bob and his Pleasure Palace" – "Hmm, a good name for a music band," I said to myself. And the final toast, "And here's to the future."

As it was a Friday, I had no work tomorrow. I remembered I'd promised Jay a weekend in the woods, with his BMX, and my camper van. Tomorrow, I decided, I'd better check that the old girl was still roadworthy; it had been sitting in the garage, covered over, since last August; that August weekend with Blondie. With beer in hand, I went in to my bedroom, slid open a dresser drawer, and took out the frame that contained Blondie's short shorts. I looked at the cutout newspaper picture of him. I allowed myself to get a little wistful. And a little bit drunk.

Chapter 20

Saturday morning. A breathless phone call from Jay. Permission granted by Alison for me to take Jay for a weekend in the woods, "When the weather gets better," she says. I suggested sometime in the Spring. A late April date was set. The woods would, at that time, still have muddy tracks that Jay could ride about on, to his heart's content, on his BMX.

I recharged the battery of the camper van, and brought it out into the watery, winter sunlight; the first light it had seen since last year. The inside smelled musty and stale, so I gave it a thorough clean, inside and out. A trip to the woods in April would mean that the weather wouldn't be warm enough for me and Jay to sleep under the benevolent stars. We would have to sleep in the van, on that squeaky bed. I bounced up and down on the bed a few times, hoping that, by some miracle, an enforced longer hibernation than usual might have fixed the problem. If anything, it had made it worse; it was as if the lack of use and movement all winter had given cause for the bed to protest by seizing up. The squeak had now been given an aural pal as accompaniment; a deep groan, or wheeze, as if it had contracted some kind of breathing difficulty. It would have to suffice. No way was I going to miss having Jay all to myself in those secluded woods.

It took most of my weekend to get the camper van in any kind of shape, worthy of transporting a little boy called Jay, with his BMX, into the woods.

***

Tuesday. I finished work about five. I drove into town. Had a bite to eat, then headed for the Pleasure Palace, about eight. The sun had gone down, and I saw for the first time, the arcade lit up in all its tacky neon glory. The sign flashed on and off above the front door. The noise of clanking machines, the whizz and bangs of electronic games machines, the general hubbub and bright lights coming from within, through the enticing open door, suggested a lot of 'pleasure' was being had inside. A lot of trade, I hoped.

Considering it was almost mid-week, and a working week at that, I was taken aback by the number of people playing the machines. Mostly men. Some with young 'friends' by their sides. I surveyed the scene; I counted three men being very attentive to two young girls. The three men kept the girls supplied with coins for the machines. One of the men caressed the neck of one of the girls, then his hand moved to her shoulder, and when the girl won a point or two on the machine, the man praised and congratulated her by tapping her bottom, saying, "Well done! You're a natural!" I guess this place wasn't exclusively just the pick up point for boys. Ah, well, to each his own.

Most men played the machines on their own, lost in their hopes of winning the payouts. It wasn't until some of the players moved away from a machine, that I saw him. He'd been obscured from my view by the men milling around him. Into view before me was a vision in blue; dark blue pants, washed-out fleece-lined denim jacket, sky blue shirt, white trainers, long blonde hair, crystal blue eyes. A little moppet; couldn't be any more than eight. I wondered why the men who had surrounded him had suddenly moved away; surely, no one in their right mind would miss an opportunity like this. I overheard one of the men say to another, "Too risky," as they walked away.

The machine the boy was playing on was right next to the back office. The office door was open. I peeked in. Beer Belly Bob was sitting in his swivel chair. "Hey, Felix!" he said, when my face appeared before him.

"Hi, Bob. Who's the sweetie?" I asked him, as I looked in the direction of the vision in blue.

"Never seen him before, until tonight," Bob replied. Bob smirked and said, "I want to thank you for the other day. You got the best out of Wolf. Best damn BJ I've had in a while, and I'd never seen him naked before; he'd just sucked me off fully clothed in the past. I have to hand it to you, you really know how to control these little cocksuckers. Sit yourself down on the desk. I'll get out the bourbon." I sat down. From the office doorway, I could sit and watch the vision in blue.

I asked Bob, as, from his chair, he opened the desk drawer and pulled out the bottle of 40 percent proof, "Sweetie, there. I heard a couple of guys say he's "Too risky." Any idea why?"

Bob poured two mugs of bourbon and handed me one, "My guess is, he's been tagged by one of the volunteers at the boy's refuge," Bob replied.

"Tagged?" I inquired.

"Yeah," Bob enlightened me, "You'll notice on the sleeve, by the cuff of his jacket, someone has written their initials in ink. It means someone at the refuge has already staked a claim on the kid. Kind of like an owner's brand, like a farmer does with cattle. The boy don't know that, of course; not yet, anyway."

I inquired further, "So you mean, all the guys in here know not to touch any boy with some initials on their clothing?"

"Got it in one," Bob confirmed. I took another look at the boy. The stars were telling me that this boy was going to be mine, and to hell with anyone's damn initials.

Chapter 21

Bob poured another slug of bourbon into my mug. I kept watch on the blue boy, as one by one, men wandered over to him, engaged him in conversation and feigned interest in the score he was racking up, with their money, on the machine he was playing. As soon as the men got sight of the initials on the boy's cuff, they made a swift retreat, and left the boy alone.

Bob couldn't help but see I was intrigued. "Don't even think about it," Bob advised me.

I changed tack, "When all the boys come in here for the first time, are they all tagged? Wolf, for instance?" I asked.

Bob gulped some of his bourbon, before answering, "Not all. Only the ones that the guys at the refuge take a shine to. The refuge can't stop the boys from coming and going, it's only a place for the boys to stay temporarily, as a respite from the streets. It's not meant to be permanent. The guys who run the refuge can pick and choose, and stake their claim when the boys walk in the door. It's usually the pretty ones. Wolf was one of those. When Wolf first appeared, he was the same age as that little fella you're looking at now; and yes, he had some initials on his clothes. All the boys with initials are untouched, as yet; virgins, unaware that awaiting them is their deflowering by the guys who's initials happen to be on their clothes. After a while, when the refuge guys have had their way, the initials are removed, and there's a free-for-all. Me and the guys who come in here, we wait for the day that the initials are no longer there."

Still assessing the blonde boy in blue, I asked Bob, "Some of your 'customers' must have tried to buck the system, and try their luck at ignoring the 'branding'. What happens when, or if, they do?"

Bob took a large gulp of his bourbon, grimaced as he rubbed the leg that was clearly giving him pain, and said, "They don't walk too good afterwards. Like I said, don't even think about it."

I needed to know, "How can the refuge possibly know who's muscling in on their 'arrangement'?"

Bob sighed, and said, "The boys make their own way here in to town. But the refuge makes sure this place is monitored. Two of their staff are nearly always in here, or at the hotel, taking it in turns at keeping a discreet eye on the refuge's property. Two of 'em are in here tonight, same as every night. Any serious attempt by anyone foolish enough to make a move on the 'property' is dealt with swiftly and painfully. Likewise, if I were to point those 'minders' out to you, it would get back to the owner of this place, who happens to be the same guy that runs the refuge. One more 'mistake' on my part, and I'm out of a job. No more Wolf. No more any boy, and very probably, no more me. And I don't want to jeopardize my relationship with the refuge."

I knew the stars were with me. Why would they show me this pretty boy, only for him to be snatched away, and be unattainable? If I were to trust the stars completely, I had to see it through. The stars had given me this boy. I wasn't about to be ungrateful and throw their gift back in their glittery faces. "You ain't gonna heed my advice, are ya?" Bob said, "Don't say I didn't warn you."

I told Bob, "I guess I'll find out soon enough who the goons are, when I make my move on the boy."

Bob replied: "Oh, jeez. It was nice knowing ya. Come back and see me when you can walk again."

Chapter 22

I drained the last of the bourbon from the mug, and set the empty receptacle on Bob's desk. It wasn't dutch courage that made me drink, just Bob's hospitality. "Time to see what happens," I said to Bob as I winked at him.

Bob replied, "I hope the boy's worth it."

I left Bob's office and made my way over to the little rhapsody in blue. "Hi," I said, as I looked at the score on the machine, "Looks like you'll soon be running out of credit. Want some more?"

The boy looked up at me with bright-eyed innocence, "Okay, sir." I fished in my pocket for some change, just as the machine flashed the words, "GAME OVER."

"Looks like I came just in time," I said, smiling at the boy, "Here, hold your hands out. There's a lot there. Don't drop any. Cup your hands together and I'll put the money in your hands." The vision in blue eagerly did so. His tiny hands accepted my offering,

"Thanks, sir," he said, shouting above the din of the arcade. When he held his hands out, I looked at his shirt cuff; written in black ink, were the initials, 'DF'. The boy put most of the coins in a pile by the side of the machine, and inserted the rest in the machine's slot.

"What's your name?" I asked the boy in blue. The boy commenced his game on the machine. Without looking away from the machine as the tumblers rolled around, he replied, "Max."

I looked around to see if I could see any 'minders' taking an interest in me or the boy; none as yet. "That's a nice name," I said, "My name's Felix."

I figured, if I wanted to gain his trust, and if I didn't want to spook my prey, there were certain questions I knew you didn't ask a young boy you knew had come from a refuge, and was now in an amusement arcade at 9pm; Firstly, "Haven't you a home to go to?" Secondly, "Do your parents know you're here?" Thirdly, "Isn't it way past your bedtime?" and lastly, "Can I suck your cock and fuck you?" Instead, I praised his dexterity on the machine he was playing, although he could hardly reach the fruit machine arm, let alone pull it down. "Oh! Nearly three bells! Nearly the jackpot!" I said, to flatter him. Max gave a closed-mouth, half-smile, but his wide open eyes remained locked on the machine's illuminated display.

"How about me pulling the handle for you? I might bring you luck," I suggested, "Or, if you like, I can lift you up so you can reach the handle more easily?" Max liked the latter idea. Max let me lift him up. His little bottom was now sitting on my upper arm. My hand was resting on his upper thigh. Max pulled the handle. Unsurprisingly, the machine refused to co-operate in paying anything out.

"Ooh, at least you got a 'bar'. Now you can 'nudge'," I said to encourage him. Max, with his small face close to mine, glanced at me, smiled, and returned his full attention to the machine. Several tries later, it was clear the machine wasn't going to give up its contents of coins. The pile of money quickly vanished. "Too bad. I really thought you were going to win," I told Max, still with his bottom perched on my arm, and my hand now giving his thigh a subtle stroke.

"Do you have any more money?" Max asked me.

"'Fraid not," I replied, looking sympathetic at him, "No more coins, anyway. Tell you what, how about we go for a bite to eat? I bet you could demolish a burger, fries and soda. What do you say to that?"

Max's face had a look of total innocence and trust, "Okay," he said, nodding his head vigorously. Max put his arm around my neck, and I started for the exit, carrying him in my arms.

"I'm staying at a hotel nearby," I told him, "We can order room service, and have our burgers in my room. How does that sound?"

I wondered if his folks had ever told him not to talk to strangers, or go with them, when he replied, enthusiastically, "Okay. I've never been in a hotel before." I left the arcade carrying my 'jackpot', and, following us out into the street, I became aware of two burly figures walking a few steps behind.

Chapter 23

I walked along the sidewalk, with Max in my arms, and as I walked, I asked him, "How old are you, Max?"

Max replied, "I'm eight."

I silently congratulated myself in guessing the boy's age. I also took a guess that the heavies following me wouldn't make a move, or draw attention to themselves by causing a commotion on a busy, bustling, nightlife street, or do anything while I was holding Max. Entering the hotel, on the other hand, may be a different matter.

When I approached the hotel, which, at night, didn't look as bad as it had in the daylight, except for the neon sign with missing letters, I set Max down on his feet, and held his small hand, as we entered the foyer, through the revolving door. The receptionist at the desk looked up from his sports paper, and looked both me and Max up and down. I could see in the reflection of a foyer mirror, that the two heavies had followed me in.

I said to the receptionist, "I'd like a room for the night."

The receptionist replied, "I'm sorry, sir. We're fully booked."

I opened my wallet and looked at the desk clerk, "Oh. I must be mistaken. I'd been told at the P.P. that you might have a cancellation." I slid a twenty dollar bill discreetly across the desk, in the clerk's direction.

The clerk consulted the guest book, "As it happens, sir, you're in luck. There is a cancellation."

I paid cash for the room in advance. The clerk turned the guest book around for me to sign. I briefly looked at the list of names of the people who had checked in; three had signed in as 'M. Mouse', two as 'D. Duck' and one as R. Toodeetoo. I signed in as 'Felix D. Cat'. While signing, I asked the clerk if I could use his phone.

"Sure," he said, and placed the phone on the desk.

I dialed a number I had memorized. I got the ring tone, and after two rings, a voice said, "The Wayfarer. Can I help you?"

"Yes," I replied, "I'd like to speak to David Fallon. Tell him it's Frank Ross. We used to go to school together."

The voice on the other end hesitated, then said, "I'll put you on hold."

About thirty seconds later, another voice cut in, "Frank? Is that really you?"

I confirmed it was, "You'd better believe it! Remember the showers after gym? You complimented me on my physical appearance, and soon after, you made your move?"

David said, "I remember."

"Listen, David," I said, softly, with my hand cupped over the phone, "I'd like to have a good long talk with you, maybe meet up and talk about old times, and catch up with one another, but at the moment, I have a more pressing situation that needs resolving. I'm in the reception area of the Excelsior hotel. I have with me a boy called Max who has your initials on the cuff of his sleeve. Two of your heavies have just followed me in here, with the intent, no doubt, of doing me harm. For old times' sake, David, I'd be grateful if you'd call off your goons."

There was a brief silence, before David answered, "How in hell…? Never mind. Put the one with the crooked teeth on. I'll speak to him. Oh, and Frank, this one time, 'for old times' sake', the boy is yours. I'll be at the refuge tomorrow, if you'd like to return my property. I have a few questions."

I replied, "I'll take good care of your 'property', and I'll explain everything when I see you."

I shouted over to the one with the crooked teeth, "Hey, your boss wants a word." The desk clerk looked up from his sports paper momentarily. The one with the crooked teeth looked surprised when I addressed him directly. I held up the phone and wiggled it a couple of times, "He's waiting," I told the heavy.

Crooked teeth man looked at his colleague in bemusement, then loped over to the desk. I offered the phone to him. "Boss?" he said, with a hint of confusion and puzzlement in his voice. Crooked teeth man listened to David's instructions, put the phone down on its cradle, looked at me and said, "Have a nice night." Both heavies walked out of the Excelsior.

Chapter 24

The desk clerk handed me a key. "Room 21. Second floor." I couldn't help thinking that the desk clerk was probably wondering why the heavies had left me alone after one phone call. The desk clerk had suddenly become more attentive to me, rather than his sports paper. "I'll show you the way," he said. I assured him there was no need, that I'd find it.

"Come on, Max," I said to my little friend, who's eyes could just about peer over the top of the reception desk, "Let's go find our room." "Oh," I said, turning back and addressing the desk clerk, "Any chance of having some burgers and fries and soda delivered to the room, soon?"

The desk clerk replied, "No problem. Consider it done…and no charge, they're on the house." I figured the desk clerk had been impressed to witness how I dismissed the heavies and that I was still walking. It seems my old school friend David had a lot of clout in this town.

Room 21 looked like any other hotel room; a bed with a dark brown wooden headboard, a bedside table with a lamp and a clock radio. A writing desk and chair. A separate bathroom off to the side, by the front door. A wardrobe, with three bent wire hangers looking pathetic inside it. In the mini-fridge, there was a supply of water, a few selections of miniature spirits, two bottles of beer, and two small bottles of soda pop…and two packets of condoms; not your usual hotel fare, I thought to myself.

Max took off his faded denim jacket and put it over the only other piece of furniture in the room; a chair by the window. Max drew back the net curtain to one side and looked at the nighttime street scene below, before jumping on, and bouncing up and down, on the bed; or, to be more precise, on a grim-looking, faded pink colored candlewick bed cover. Max trampolined for a few minutes, his blonde hair flailing up and down, until there was a knock on the door.

"Room service. Your food," said the voice outside. I opened the door and accepted the order. I was about to slip the deliverer a tip, when he said, "No, sir. Compliments of the management," as he closed the door with a wink and a smile. I wondered what kind of involvement and influence my former school friend held here at the 'EX S OR'.

Max jumped off the bed energetically and came to inspect the contents of the brown paper bag I had just been handed. The smell of the meal made us both hungry, as I opened the bag. I handed out a cheeseburger and fries to my little new-found friend, and a paper cup full of cola, ice, and a stripey red and white plastic straw. Max sucked noisily on the straw a couple of times, then opened up his polystyrene burger container. I noticed that the burger he was now devouring, was, roughly, about the same size as his face. He took another two sucks of cola, then attacked the paper bag containing the french fries. All of this food he tried to stuff greedily into his mouth at once, the way young boys do. Max made short work of the food, and, almost inevitably afterwards, let out a belch.

"Good?" I asked him.

"Mmmm," he agreed, with ketchup around his mouth.

"You've still got some on your lips," I told him. Max's tongue traced around his lips, and then he wiped his wet mouth with his sleeve, the one that had "D.F" written on his jacket; the jacket that was now adorning the chair back, over by the window. I took my time eating, sitting in the chair at the writing desk, and watching the antics of Max, as he resumed jumping up and down on the bed. "You don't want to tear a hole in the bed cover," I said to him, "Better take off those trainers." Max bounced his bottom down on to the bed, then reached down and removed his shoes; they fell with a 'plop' onto the carpeted floor.

"Well," I asked Max, "Your first time in a hotel. What do you think?"

Max looked around and replied, "No TV."

I replied, "No. I guess we'll have to entertain ourselves." Max laid down on his back on the bed, and found a new way to bounce up and down on it. I let him expend some more energy, knowing that my intention was to be bouncing up and down on him, at some point this evening.

I didn't want to make the little guy feel uncomfortable, or get him upset, knowing, as I did, who's initials had been 'branded' on his clothes, but I was curious as to how and why, someone as young as Max had found his way to the Wayfarer, and then found his way to the Pleasure Palace.

My questions, it seemed, would have to wait; the next time I looked over at Max, he was curled up on his side, on the bed, his legs tucked into his chest, fast asleep. I studied him for a while. I looked at the clock radio; it told me it was midnight. "Little fella's had a busy day," I said in my mind. Come to think of it, so had I. Max was deep in sleep. I made the decision to undress him and take a good look at him.

Max slept with his mouth open, taking ragged, small breaths. I could move him about quite easily, without disturbing his slumber. I unbuttoned his sky blue shirt and slipped it off his shoulders, then extricated his arms. Max was now topless. Next, I unbuttoned his pants and unzipped the fly. I tugged at his pants from his ankles until they were completely free from his legs. I took a moment to look at Max, lying now on his back, with just his underpants on; white ones. I ran my hand over Max's groin. I took hold of the elastic band of his underwear. I pulled his underpants down and off. I played with his minute cock and balls. I lifted his legs and looked at his hole; pink and pristine and virginal. I turned him over and looked at his bottom. It was obvious to me that Max's tiny frame would not be able to accommodate or endure my well-endowed cock. I resigned myself to limiting my activities with him by merely undressing myself, creaming over his bare bottom, wiping it, then transferring his little naked body underneath the bed covers. I took a shower, and while doing so, thought about my reunion with David Fallon. Afterwards, I slipped under the covers of the bed. Max, in his state of slumber, automatically cuddled up to me. I drifted off to sleep with Max's naked body pressed close to mine.

Chapter 25

Mid-May, 1979: Three weeks after Jay and I had enjoyed each other's company in the woods (I know, I know – I haven't told you about that yet, but I will), Mrs. Bradley's estate had been transferred to me. I was now the owner of two properties, and in one of them, I now owned all of the collectable antiques Mrs. Bradley had amassed over the years. None of them were to my taste, but I knew from the inventory and valuations made, that they were worth a considerable sum, should I decide to sell. All these things were of no interest to me, so that's what I decided to do; I needed to clear the house if I were to have any chance of renovating and selling it. I'd got it into my head that Mrs. Bradley's – correction, my house – was in desperate need of repair. But, to my surprise, the structure was sound enough, I had been told, in the report by the experts I had engaged the services of. The repairs were only cosmetic, apparently; a lick of paint throughout, a few replacement fixtures, and a new front porch. The front lawn needed razing to the ground; it had become completely overgrown.

I quit my job. It was now common knowledge in the neighborhood of my good fortune. I had employed a company of specialist antique dealers to professionally wrap up the items and hold them in storage until auction day. With the house now cleared of what I considered junk, I set about assessing what needed to be done to bring the house up to scratch. Jim offered his services as a painter and decorator. He suggested we could make the task more fun if Jay and his friends lent a hand. I wasn't going to refuse an offer like that. It was good to see Jay's friends; the first time I'd seen them since Thanksgiving. I didn't know it then, but it turned out to be the last time I'd see Andy, Nathan and Scott.

And so it was, that we all congregated one sunny May weekend. Jim suggested to the boys that they were likely to get paint all over themselves; best for them to get naked and have a bath later.

If only Mrs. Bradley could have seen Jay and his friends lending a helping hand, under Jim's and my supervision, wandering around her old house, with paint-spattered, naked bodies. The boys had decided to paint their genitals; all of their dicks were a lovely shade of magnolia, and my hand prints, also in magnolia, adorned both cheeks of Scott's ass. Jay had got specks of paint in his feather-cut hair.

Despite all the mayhem and horsing around, Jim, me, and the boys did a good day's work. I treated the boys to a pizza delivery, and we ate from the cardboard boxes, sitting on the paint-spattered protective covers laid out on the floor in the main room; it looked like something Jackson Pollock would be proud of.

With pizza boxes and remnants of food disposed of in the garbage can outside, I re-entered the house, looked at the naked, magnolia decorated boys, and announced, "Bath time!" All four boys scrambled to their feet and scurried upstairs. "Shall we?" I asked Jim. "It would be churlish not to," Jim replied. Jim and I both smiled at each other as we simultaneously removed our old paint-covered clothes. Jim and I ascended the stairs. The noise of four excited boys got louder as we approached the bathroom. The bath was filling up with water. Laughter and merriment echoed through Mrs. Bradley's empty-of-furniture house. I figured this house hadn't heard the like for a long time.

As it was me playing host this time, I insisted I got in the bath first, with Jay. I wanted to wash out the paint in his hair, and to pay close attention to his magnolia penis.

Jim applied himself meanwhile, to Scott's ass, wiping off my hand prints. Jim slapped Scott's wet ass a few times as he did so. The bath was cleaned, emptied and refilled, and Andy and Nathan clambered in. Jim washed Andy. I washed Nathan. Jay and Scott meanwhile, had a towel fight.

All of us now completely clean, Jim put his arms over the shoulders of Scott and Andy, and led them out of the bathroom, saying, "I've never done it in an empty house before. Let's find a room."

That left me, Jay and Nathan. I came right out with it, "Who wants a fuck?" I asked.

Nathan put his hand up, "Jay's had you a lot of times. I want to know what your big thingy is like in my ass."

I looked at Jay, "Is that alright with you," I asked him.

Jay just gave a toothy smile, and replied, "I bet he can't take it."

Nathan retorted, jokingly, "Oh yeah? How much do you bet?"

Jay replied, "One of my slot racing cars. The black one."

It was obvious Nathan had long coveted this object of desire of Jay's, when he said, "Deal!" and Jay and Nathan shook hands.

Jay stipulated, "I want to watch this, Nathan, and watch you lose. Then I'll show you how it's done." It seemed my 'big thingy' was being fought over.

Chapter 26

It's funny how life pans out, especially if you allow yourself to be attuned to the stars. It was the stars that compelled me to walk in to the Pleasure Palace. It was the stars that introduced me to Beer Belly Bob, from whom I learned all about The Wayfarer refuge. It was the stars that took me to the bookstore in town, where I'd flicked through the book about the history of The Wayfarer. It was the stars that told me, in that book, that The Wayfarer came into existence through the efforts of its 'local boy' founder; one David Fallon. I'd memorized the contact number in that book. I figured it might come in useful, and indeed it did. That number put me in touch with my old school pal. That number saved me from having my legs broken, or worse, by two of David's paid heavies. That number was the reason I was in a hotel bed with a small, naked, eight year-old boy; a gift from David to me, even though Max had been 'branded' with David Fallon's initials on his sleeve. That number was the reason I was going to the outskirts of town today, to meet up with David Fallon and return his property.

I'd woken early, as I usually do. Little Max was still fast asleep. I pulled the bed covers off and looked at Max's little naked body, so small in a big bed. Max had his thumb in his mouth. Max was curled up, lying on one side of his body, his little balls peeking out from between his closed, bent up legs. The early morning sun was streaming in through the window, onto the bed, and onto Max's exposed, tender, fresh, young bottom and pale pink bum hole. I couldn't believe I hadn't had my way with this boy. Maybe, something in the back of my mind, was saying to me, This is David's boy. Not for the first time, I was perplexed; why would the stars lead me to this little angel, only for them to say, "Do not touch"? It didn't make sense. Perhaps all would be revealed to me when I took Max back to The Wayfarer. I had the distinct impression that all the pieces of the puzzle were not yet in place; the stars had yet to be in complete alignment.

"Hey…wake up, sleepyhead," I said softly as I nudged Max's bare shoulder. Max opened his eyes, blinked a few times, rubbed his eyes awake, and lifted his head from the pillow.

He looked down at his naked body. "Where are my clothes?" was the first thing he said.

"Over there, on the chair," I said as I made a hand gesture towards them. I noticed Max had a little erection; his cock twitched a few times. Max sat up and squinted as the bright sunlight through the hotel window shone on his face. "Come on," I chivvied, "In the shower. Then it's breakfast. Then I'm taking you for a little trip."

Max was now fully awake, "Where?" he asked.

"You'll see," was all I said in reply; I didn't want to tell him I was taking him back to The Wayfarer, just in case that was the last place on earth he wanted to be returned to.

We both got in the shower. I soaped Max all over his body and took great care in applying it to his cock, balls and bum. I shampooed his hair. I watched as the soap suds trickled down his body, sliding off his extremities; his hands, his elbows, his cock. Suitably washed and dried, we dressed. We checked out of the 'EX S OR' and looked for a place to eat. After breakfast, it was time to retrieve my rust bucket that masqueraded as a car, from the street I'd parked it in. I didn't follow the main route out of town, or the route the bus took to The Wayfarer, just in case Max realized where I was taking him; I took the 'scenic' route. The long way round, yes. But so what?

Chapter 27

I had memorized the address of The Wayfarer, in the book I had perused in the bookstore, just as I had done with the phone number. I followed the back roads as shown on my fold-out map. Max sat beside me. When he realized where I was taking him, he made no protest. Just the opposite, in fact; he seemed pleased to be back; his face perked up into a smile. The Wayfarer was set back from the road, with a small driveway in front. The last house I remember passing on the way here was at least two miles back. The Wayfarer was set in its own grounds. A large, European, Georgian-style house. Built around the early part of the century, I guessed. I estimated at, six bedrooms, maybe? I pulled into the drive and into one of the four parking bays by the side of the house. Above the door, written in the glass window, in a bottle green and brown mosaic pattern, announced, 'Wayfarer.' I turned the big, brass door handle. It didn't budge. I rang the doorbell. A loud, melodious, slow 'ding-dongggg' rang out. I could hear a shuffling movement from inside, and could see through the front door's two separate panes of heavy, mosaic-patterned, frosted glass, a figure slowly ambling towards us.

The large door opened, and a familiar face greeted me, "Jeez! A walking miracle!" Beer Belly Bob said.

I looked at him in surprise and confusion, "How so?" I asked.

Beer Belly Bob enlightened me, with a grin, "You're still able to walk, and that's a miracle."

I gave Bob an enigmatic half-smile, "I'm returning David Fallon's property. I've been invited."

Bob looked down at Max, then back at me, "You know Mr. Fallon?" It was Bob's turn to ask, "How so?"

I replied, "Let's just say we go way back." There was an awkward silence, with Bob wincing slightly as he stood in the doorway. "Looks like you could do with sitting down, Bob. Aren't you going to let me in?"

Bob rubbed his bad leg, "Mr. Fallon ain't here, Felix. He's in town, taking care of some business." It seemed to me that Bob was reluctant to allow me and Max inside.

"Like I said, Bob, I've been invited, and I promised David I'd return little Max; and here he is." I petted the back of Max's head.

Bob looked at Max again, then, again, back to me, "So that's the little fella's name."

I was beginning to get a little impatient with Bob, "So…are you going to let us in, or what? I don't mind waiting…inside, preferably, or in my car."

It dawned on Bob that I wasn't going to go away. "Oh, er, ha! Sure. Come on in. Where are my manners? And you're right, I could do with sitting down."

Max and I followed Bob into the house. "Hey, Max, I'm sure you know the way, so why don't you go into the kitchen, help yourself to something from the refrigerator, and put the TV on," Bob told the boy, "Me and Felix have some things to talk about."

Max bounded away to the back of the house. Bob, with his half-limp, led me to a side room, and beckoned me to sit. I sat on a large, all-enveloping, fabric-covered, floral-patterned sofa. Bob settled slowly and uneasily into a soft chair, upholstered in the same fabric as the sofa.

"That's better," Bob said as he exhaled, and took the weight off his leg, which he stuck straight out. Bob came straight out with it, "So, how come you ain't in hospital?" he asked me.

"I told you, Bob. David and I go way back."

Bob looked at me with a mixture of confusion and suspicion on his face, "Ain't none of my business, I guess." Bob paused, then said, "Mr. Fallon keeps a bottle of bourbon over there," as he pointed over to an antique walnut cabinet, with inlaid marquetry. "I don't wanna have to get up again if I don't have to." Bob said, "Would you mind helping yourself, and get me one?" I got up, opened the cabinet, poured two glasses of bourbon, handed one to the immobile Bob, and sat myself back down again. I remained silent. I figured that, sooner or later, Bob would have to break the awkward void, and tell me what I wanted to know; he was that kind of guy.

Bob noisily gulped down a mouthful of bourbon, then said, "I suppose you're wondering what I'm doing here." The thought had crossed my mind. Bob was the type that didn't like silence; if no one else was talking, Bob felt he had to fill the air with chatter himself, "I live here. When Mr. Fallon is here, I look after things at the Pleasure Palace. We don't see too much of each other. Mr. Fallon goes into town with his minibus. He visits the bank, then scouts around the railroad station, the bus station, anywhere he might find waifs and strays and runaways. Mr. Fallon befriends them, guarantees them a bed for the night and a place to freshen up; brings them back here in the minibus. When Mr. Fallon arrives here with a bus full, that's my cue to go open the Pleasure Palace, in the evening. Sometimes, I go during the day, if I need to clean the Pleasure Palace up. It was one of those 'sometimes' days that I encountered you," Bob said as he paused to take in another large mouthful of bourbon.

Bob was being most informative, but I had to ask, "I don't hear any sounds of boys here today."

Bob enlightened me, "No, you won't. They are only here in the late afternoon or early evening. Mr. Fallon don't allow them to stay during the day, which is why I was surprised you turning up with Max, like you did." Bob relaxed by sinking further into his chair, "But I guess if you're like that…," Bob crossed his fingers to suggest a closeness, ."..with Mr. Fallon, it was okay for me to let you in."

I looked at Bob, "David calls all the shots, does he?"

Bob bristled as he shifted slightly in the chair, "You don't cross him," was all he said, as he rubbed his leg subconsciously.

Chapter 28

Bob drained his glass of bourbon, then asked me, "You wanna take a tour of the house, while you're waiting for Mr. Fallon?"

I looked at my watch: by the time Max and I had found somewhere for breakfast, found my car, and driven out to The Wayfarer via the scenic route, and had this informative, but near-stultifying conversation with Bob, my watch told me it was 1pm. I also looked at Bob's stretched out leg, and said, "Only if you're able."

Bob explained, "I have to rest it regularly, but I've been advised to keep moving it, give it some exercise, otherwise it will seize up. So a little walk won't hurt it none; it's supposed to do it some good." Bob raised himself unsteadily from the chair, and grimaced a few times. "Let's start upstairs," Bob decided.

The ascent upstairs was agonizingly slow for Bob, leaning heavily on the banister. Eventually, he made it to the top. "I'll stay here, if you don't mind. Catch my breath," Bob said between rapid, wheezy breaths, "Look in all the rooms. The furthest one along, at the end, is Mr. Fallon's room. The doors on the right, are where the boys sleep. Bunk beds; two in each, that means there's four boys in each room. There are five bedrooms, so, in theory, we can accommodate twenty boys up here. I think the most we've ever played host to though, was about ten. Two bathrooms are down the other end."

I asked Bob, "And how many boys will be sleeping here tonight?"

Bob replied, "Depends. However many Mr. Fallon brings back with him."

As I put my head around the door to David's bedroom, I asked Bob another question, "Where do the bodyguards, heavies, whatever you like to call them…where do they stay?"

"They don't," Bob replied, "They're only hired to police the Pleasure Palace and to deal with anyone who tries their luck in there with the 'branded' boys. And anyway, having them here might just spook, or raise alarms, with the patrons, the ones who donate."

I asked Bob another question as I looked in the boys' rooms, "So you and David run this place by yourself? Must be hard work."

Bob was a mine of information, as he told me, "Mr. Fallon sees to the administration, the paperwork, and the boys' needs, if you know what I mean. As you can see, I can't do too much, I'm just a 'presence' here, while Mr. Fallon is out. There are two volunteers, both paid a nominal sum for expenses and such, that do the cooking, the cleaning and…," Bob whispered "..the fucking." It's Mr. Fallon's reward to them for 'looking after' the boys. The two volunteers also get to take their pick of the new influx and 'brand' them." I was full of questions, "I thought you said you lived here, Bob?"

"I do," Bob replied, "I have a room downstairs. Saves me from climbing these damn stairs too often."

I had to tease out the information from Bob, piece by piece, "Don't you get a pick of the bunch? I remember you saying at the arcade that you only get the ones that have had the 'branding' removed. Is that right?"

Bob rubbed his leg, "Yep, that's right. I tried my luck once. You don't make the same mistake twice. I'm far down the pecking order."

More questions filled my mind, "But you're trusted to look after the place on your own. There must be some kind of connection with you and David. How and when did that happen?"

Bob was clearly in distress again with his leg, "Can we go downstairs now? I'll show you the kitchen, and we can check on little Max."

"Sure," I replied, hoping Bob wouldn't forget my last questions.

Bob took one slow step at a time down the stairs, and again, between sharp breaths, replied, "He bought the Pleasure Palace from me. Said he thought it would be useful as part of his 'operations'. The Pleasure Palace was just about making ends meet when I owned it. Mr. Fallon said he had an idea to make it pay, to bring in the punters. He sure did. He kept me on as manager. I was mobile then. I soon learned that if you take advantage of his 'generosity', if you get my meaning, you get put in hospital," Bob said, painfully.

Bob went on, "Mr. Fallon needed someone he knew he could trust with the Pleasure Palace. While I was recuperating, my replacements – and there were a string of them – weren't up to much. They weren't party to what was going on in there; only I was. Mr. Fallon took pity on me – certainly wasn't his guilt – and moved me in here, on the understanding that I run the arcade at night until it closes around midnight. I come back here to my room downstairs after that. Takes me about an hour to get back; Mr. Fallon arranges for a cab to take me there and to bring me back. I hear certain things from the rooms upstairs, if you get my meaning. There was talk a while ago between him and me about going into partnership at the Wayfarer, but nothing's come of it, and I don't ask."

We'd reached the foot of the stairs. "Over there, on the left, is Mr. Fallon's study and office. Heard things going on in there, too," Bob was keen to tell me, "And here's the kitchen, where I can sit down and rest my leg." Bob unceremoniously plopped down on one of a set of six high stools. Max was using his arms and elbows as a counterbalance on one of the stools, swaying his body while his legs and feet swung off the floor. Max was watching an episode of 'Scooby-Doo' on the TV. Bob looked at his watch, "Three o'clock. Time flies when you're having fun, don't it?" he said, "Mr. Fallon said he'd be back some time around four. That's early for him," Bob remarked, now looking at me, "I guess that's because he knew you were coming." Bob gestured for me to get close to him, then he whispered in my ear, "Did you fuck him?" referring to Max.

"No," I replied, "But I had David's permission, if I'd wanted to."

Bob made an assumption, "I didn't see this little guy arrive here," he said, again, referring to Max, "So Mr. Fallon must have brought him here somehow while I was at the arcade. The first time I saw him, he was attracting attention in the Pleasure Palace, until the punters saw the initials on his cuff. I can only think some of the other boys must have told Max about the arcade and slipped him out from the refuge sometime last night."

I nodded in agreement, then asked Bob, "Seen any more of Wolf?"

Bob replied, "Nah. He's probably on a freight train somewhere, or hitching a lift, getting by, by selling his ass; a trick or two he learned here. But he'll be back. He always comes back."

Chapter 29

I'd assumed that when David had told me on the phone at the hotel, that he'd 'Be at the refuge tomorrow', he'd be there waiting for me and to re-take delivery of his property. Instead, I was in the company of Beer Belly Bob, and Max, in David's kitchen, waiting for David's return. I thought my time had not been wasted; I'd had the chance to have a tour of the refuge, and gleaned some information from Beer Belly Bob, or, as I was rapidly considering, changing my private nickname for him to 'blabbermouth' Bob.

I was just at the point of asking Bob how David had funded all this; surely donations and contributions alone couldn't account for it? And on the TV that Max was glued to, Scooby-Doo and Shaggy were at the point where they unmask the caretaker as the culprit, when, the sound of a key in the front door got our attention. The front door opened, and immediately, the sound of several voices, mostly high-pitched ones, drowned out the denouement of the Scooby-Doo episode. Bob told Max to turn off the TV. From the kitchen, I could see four small figures, and one large. I studied the large one. Was this David? The figure was bulky, and sported a paunch. He was completely bald. I hadn't seen David for at least twelve years, and in my mind's eye, he was still that athletically-built – with a full head of long, brown haired – boy I had lusted after. And now, to cap it all, he wore spectacles.

Bob made his excuses; "Time for me to go. I expect my cab is waiting. Mr. Fallon's very efficient." Bob raised himself from the stool and limped towards the front door. I heard him say, "Your friend is here, Mr. Fallon. He's in the kitchen, and he's brought Max," before shuffling out the front door and closing it behind him.

The bulky figure told his gaggle of raggedy boys to "Wait here for a minute," before heading my way. David looked me up and down, and said, "Frank! It is you! You haven't changed a bit!"

I wasn't going to lie; I replied, ""You have!"

David laughed and hugged me, patting my back at the same time. "I never thought I'd see you again." David stepped away and looked genuinely pleased to see me, "Frank Ross. In my house. I can't believe it!" David smiled at me, and I knew it was my old schoolboy lover. It was his smile that I loved back then. "Has Bob been looking after you?" David asked, "I know he can be something of a windbag."

I laughed, "Bob's fine. He's been giving me a tour of the house and filling me in on certain matters," I told my ex-paramour.

"Has he now," David replied, "I didn't know you were coming so soon. My fault; I should have told you I wouldn't be here until later. If I'd have known you'd be here earlier, I would have made sure I was here, and headed Bob off at the pass, so to speak." The noise from the boys at the front door intensified. "I'll be right back. Let me see to these boys first." David looked at my almost empty glass of bourbon, sitting on the kitchen top, and remarked, "I see Bob has been at the bourbon."

Before I could reply, David looked at Max, then at me, "And you've been at the Excelsior." It was a statement of fact, not a question.

I replied anyway, "Yes. And I'm returning your 'brand'…intact. Virgo intacta, I may add. Well, as far as I'm concerned, and to my knowledge."

David smiled again, then turned his attention to the four noisy boys. "Let me show you to your room," he told them, and led them upstairs.

Four in one room, I thought, and speculated as to how David would single out one, or maybe two, or maybe all four, to be the proud bearers of his initials on their clothing. Or had these boys been here before? And how did Max come to be here? There were so many questions I wanted to ask David. In the meantime, I switched the TV back on for Max, and we both watched the second episode of Scooby-Doo.

Chapter 30

By the time the museum curator had been unmasked as the villain by Scooby-Doo and his pals, David re-entered the kitchen, carrying a laundry basket full of clothes.

"That didn't take long," I told David, "You settled those boys in pretty quick."

David replied, "They've all been here before. They know the routine. I'll get their grubby clothes washed. My two volunteers will be here soon; they'll see to it that the boys get a bath and a bed for the night."

Looking at the laundry basket, I asked David, "Any of those boys' clothes have your initials on them?"

David gave a half-smile, "No," he said, as he sorted through the clothes in the basket, and picked out two jackets, "This one has 'W.M.', and this one has 'D.K.' written on it. William McNair and Devin Kovak. They're the volunteers. Personally selected by me. You'll meet them later, assuming you're staying, that is?"

"Oh, I'm staying, alright. There's so much I want to ask you; so much I want to know," I confirmed.

"Let me put these clothes in the washing machine, in the utility room, before they walk there themselves," David joked.

I asked, "Two boys are 'branded'. What about the other two?" I inquired.

David replied, "Like I said, they've been here before. Many times. Once their clothes have been washed and dried, and they've been fed and watered, William and Devin will bus them into town, to the Pleasure Palace, and leave them there. Once they've done that, my two volunteers will return here, and tend to their property for the night."

My head was full of questions, and more kept popping into my brain by the second, "Bob says these boys aren't forced to stay here, that they have a tendency to be drawn to the bright lights of town, getting there from here, either by bus or hitchhiking. How can your volunteers know that their 'chosen ones' will still be here when they return from unloading the non-branded ones?"

David sighed, "No guarantee at all. These boys are free spirits, and you can't rein them in. That's why they are branded. That's why they all head for the Pleasure Palace; the boys know that the punters can look, but can't touch; at least not until the day the initials are removed. Punters can spend money on them, for sure, and get to know them. The Pleasure Palace is like a shop window; look, but do not touch until the day of the sales, as it were; the day the branding is removed."

I had to ask, "Don't the boys try to scrub away the branding?"

David sighed again, "Laundry ink. Indelible. When the time comes to have the branding removed, well, we don't remove it, we cover it over with a patch of material."

I asked another question, "Is the brand always on their jackets?"

David replied, wearily, "No. Could be put anywhere, just as long as it's visible."

"That would explain," I replied, "Why Wolf had a patch on his pants, on the knee?"

David studied me. It was his turn to ask me a question, "You've met Wolf?"

I told David, "Once. It was a chance encounter; me and Bob had the 'pleasure' of his company in the back office of the arcade."

David sighed again, "And Bob told you all about the arrangements there. I must have a word with Bob."

I was concerned, "I know Bob has his faults, but I don't want to be the cause of him spending more time in hospital," I said in Bob's defense.

David gave another half-smile, and replied, "Bob's an asset to the Pleasure Palace. I know that now. It wouldn't make business sense to have him incapacitated again." David headed for what I assumed was the utility room, "Now then, Frank, let me get this washing on. Go into the front room and help yourself to another drink. You know where it's kept. Pour one for me. I'll be with you in a moment, then I'll tell you all you want to know, and you can tell me what's been happening in your life since we had to split."

I asked one more question before David disappeared through a door at the far side of the kitchen, "What about 'Scooby-Doo', here?" I said, referring to Max.

David looked at the boy, then looked back at me, "He's fine, being entertained by the TV. I'll tell you all about him, too. Now go and pour those drinks."

Chapter 31

On my way to the room with the bourbon in the antique cabinet, I had to pass the stairs leading up to the bedrooms. I heard laughter and general excited chatter from the four boys David had brought here. I looked up to see, at the top of the stairs, running into view as if he were being chased by the others, a naked boy. He stopped, looked down at me, and said "Hi."

I said "Hi" back. He giggled, and then ran back along the landing, to join his other miniature 'wayfarers'.

I entered the front room and prepared two glasses of bourbon, sat down, glass in hand, and waited for David. Five minutes or so later, David appeared, "Give me a moment, Frank. I want to check on the boys upstairs." I sat and listened to the steady tick-tock of an antique clock David had in the room. Soon after the clock had delicately chimed four, David finally entered the room, picked up his glass of bourbon and let himself fall backwards into a chair. David swirled the amber liquid around in the glass before taking his first taste, "They're settled and comfortable up there," David said of the four boys. "

And naked," I added.

David added a comment of his own, "And ready for a bath. William and Devin will see to that when they get here." David took another sip of bourbon, "Frank Ross…never thought I'd see you again. Still got a big dick?" David asked me. I laughed out loud. "Still got your hair, too," David observed of me as he rubbed the top of his bald pate. David continued, "Mine fell out. I shaved the rest off. I've opted for the 'Kojak' look." David paused and studied me, then asked, "So who loves ya, baby?"

I looked bemused, "Come again?" I asked.

David responded, "Is there anyone significant in your life…you know, a…'Mrs' Ross?"

I smiled, "No. There's certainly no 'Mrs' Ross. What about you?"

David joked, "I don't have a 'Mrs' Ross either. I'm married to this place."

"Ah, yes," I responded, "The Wayfarer. I read a local book, which tells of the Wayfarer's purpose, and who owns and runs it, but not its history. Care to enlighten me?"

David took another sip of his drink, "Mmm, certainly," he started, "My parents bought this place as their home. They were doing well financially. You know my father was a dentist; had a practice in town. What with that, and his investment portfolio, he had the wherewithal to afford this place. He wanted to move to a better neighborhood. Joined the golf club, that sort of thing. It meant me changing schools. There's a private one not far from here. My parents wanted to get me away from you; said you were a bad influence on me."

I almost spurted out the bourbon I had just filled my mouth with. I swallowed, and said, laughing and coughing at the same time, "That's rich. As I remember, it was you that seduced me. You knew how I felt about you. You instigated all the things we got up to. And your parents told you it was me??"

David laughed with me, "Yep. They said, and I quote, 'No son of theirs was going to be turned into a faggot"." Little did they know, I already was one!" David looked earnestly at me, "It's a pity we never got to consummate our relationship, if you know what I mean."

I smiled. I didn't tell him that Mrs. Bradley's 'Uncle John' had done that, with me in his Cadillac car, in 1956. "Water under the bridge," I declared. "Anyway," I said, getting back to the subject, ""The Wayfarer. When did it turn into a refuge? And what happened to your parents?"

David told me his parents both died in a car accident ten years ago. Being the only son, David had inherited the family home and substantial estate. David didn't have to work again. About seven years ago, when David was still only twenty-three, he got bored. Aware of his proclivities, he hit upon the idea of opening a refuge for runaways; boys only. At the time, there was stiff opposition from the snooty neighbors, most of whom lived at least three miles away in either direction. David went ahead anyway, with backing from the area's authorities. Round about the same time, David secretly bought the Pleasure Palace from Bob. The set up was complete when David hired some local heavies to police the arcade; on the surface, to throw out any troublemakers, but under the surface, to make sure no one tampered with the Wayfarer's property; the boys.

"I have one regret," David ended up saying, "That I had to mete out the same punishment to Bob as I would to any other transgressor. Bob had to know his place in the scheme of things. But the heavies beat him up real bad; made an 'example' of him; the message being, "If that's what happens to Bob, then think about what will happen to you if you try your luck with the branded merchandise." I took pity on Bob, and moved him in here, after his stay in hospital. I paid his medical bills. He's harmless, really. I just wish he'd be more discreet. Get some bourbon in him and he'll blab. Not that it matters much; it's an open secret about the Pleasure Palace. The great and the good in town know about it, and the Excelsior. I have two clerks working there, on my payroll as well as the hotel's. The hotel has no idea the clerks reserve some rooms for 'special' clients; and even if they do know, they turn a blind eye to it; business is business; profit is profit; money is money, no matter where it comes from. The clerk's income is supplemented by the 'tips' they receive from the men from the Pleasure Palace, when they arrive at reception with their unbranded boys."

David drained his glass, "I'm telling you all this, Frank, because I trust you. You obviously have the same interests as me, if Wolf and Max are anything to go by. Speaking of Max…," David continued, "..he's the little brother of a boy who stays here quite often. The brother is no longer branded. They both come from a broken home – don't they all! – the elder brother must have thought it fun to take his little brother into town and introduce him to the world of the Pleasure Palace, so they must have both slipped out last night. The elder brother hasn't come back. When I first saw little Max, I knew I had to stake my claim, hence the 'branding'. I haven't had him yet, and from what you tell me, neither have you."

I confirmed, "No. To tell you the truth, if the little fella hadn't dropped off to sleep, I would have. You gave me permission, remember?"

David replied, "That I did. But I'm glad you didn't. I want to be the one to educate him in the ways of the Wayfarer and the Pleasure Palace. I like 'em fresh and virginal. Tell you what, Frank; the volunteers, William and Devin, are due here any time now to see to bath time with the boys upstairs, before they ferry them to the arcade. The washing machine should have finished its cycle by now. I'll transfer the boy's clothes to the tumble drier. Wait here while I do that. Have another drink. When we're alone with Max, we'll have some fun, eh?" The antique clock struck five.

Chapter 32

The antique clock chimed on the half hour. I heard a car pull into the grounds of the house. I looked out the window. Outside the bus, that David had brought the four boys back to the refuge in, was parked. Written on its side, in large letters, was a slogan, 'The Wayfarer – Doing what's right for the boys'. A car had parked next to mine. I saw the occupants get out and look curiously at my old rust bucket. The two men approached the front door. The doorbell rang out its distinctive, slow, 'Ding-donggg'. I thought it best not to go and open the door so I waited for David to do that.

David emerged from the kitchen, walked to the front door and opened it.

I heard one of the men say, "Who's rustheap is that?" referring to my car.

I heard David say, "It's a friend of mine from way back."

The man replied, "Not the kind of car we usually get here."

David responded, "I know, I know. Don't worry about it. The boys are upstairs, waiting. Get them in the bath, scrub them, fuck them, do what you want. Just make sure they're at the arcade by the time it opens for business."

It didn't take much of a guess for me to work out these guys must be William and Devin, the 'volunteers'. The men disappeared up the stairs. David re-appeared in the front room.

"I guess you heard. Sorry about that. Not exactly tactful, those two," David said to me.

I smiled, "It's okay. It is a rust heap, but it gets me where I want to go. I'm supposing you must entertain the golfing fraternity, or whatever, here. In among all the high-end marques of cars, mine must stand out like a sore thumb."

David replied, "Occasionally, I host a fund raising event here. The neighbors have mellowed to the idea of a refuge for boys, and now they embrace it wholeheartedly, now that they know it doesn't cramp their style, or send house prices crashing down, or raise the crime rate around here. They fall over themselves to appear generous and charitable. I have to say, their money helps me run this place, but most of it still comes from my pot. I can afford it."

I had to ask, "I'm surmising, your patrons have no idea about your 'activities' with the boys?"

"None whatsoever," David immediately replied, "Plenty of money, but thick as shit."

I decided it was time to tell David about my good fortune. "Speaking of money," I announced, "I might drive a rust bucket of a car at the moment, but I have been left a substantial amount in somebody's will."

David's head tilted to one side, "Oh?" he said.

I continued, "Do you remember my neighbor who lived across the street from me, Mrs. Bradley?"

David acknowledged in the affirmative, "That old battleaxe? Has she died at long last?" he asked.

"Yes, her," I confirmed, "Out of the blue, I received notice that she had left her entire estate to me. I'm waiting for the legal people to confirm the transfer of assets."

David looked perplexed, "Wow! You get everything? What about that slime ball that saw to everything when her husband died? What's his name…John, wasn't it? What about him, doesn't he get a look in?"

I told David, "Watertight. It's all mine. Her nephew isn't in any position to contest it."

David asked, "Dead too, is he?"

I replied, "In a manner of speaking, yes."

David asked, "So when do you get the money?"

I told him the solicitor had given me a time in May.

David got animated, and said, "Well, this calls for a celebration. Champagne, I think."

David took us both back into the kitchen. Max was still glued to the TV screen. Wyle E. Coyote was on, chasing that darned Roadrunner, armed with a box of 'Acme' explosives. It was evident Max had been helping himself to the contents of the fridge; several Babe Ruth wrappers scattered over the kitchen table top attested to that, plus the tell-tale ring of chocolate around Max's lips.

David took out two stemmed glasses from a kitchen cabinet, opened the fridge and produced a bottle of bubbly. Max delighted in hearing the cork go 'pop', and watching it fly to the ceiling and coming back to earth again. The champagne gushed out from the bottle; it was lively. So was Max.

Chapter 33

"Can I try some?" Max asked.

David offered his glass of champagne, "Just a little sip. It's not soda pop. Don't want you falling asleep now, do we?" David said as he looked at me and winked.

"The bubbles are going up my nose!" Max said excitedly, but changed his tune once he'd tasted the sparkling wine, "Yeugh! That tastes yucky!" he commented.

David laughed. "I'll leave you to entertain Max while I get the boys' clothes out of the tumble drier," David said, as he drained the rest of the champagne in his glass, and set the empty receptacle down on the table top.

I'd forgotten that four boys were still in the house, being 'attended to' in some way by William and Devin. David came back into the kitchen with a pile of fresh-smelling, warm, dry clothes. He zipped past Max and me, saying, "Won't be a minute," as he headed out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

After five minutes, David returned to the kitchen. Moments after that, I heard the commotion of four boys and two men, descending the stairs. I heard the front door being opened. I heard one of the men say loudly, "See ya!" as he closed the front door.

"That's them away," David said. "Will you be okay for a while longer, Max, if me and my friend leave you to have a talk?" David asked Max.

"Yep," was Max's short reply.

"Good boy. And hey! No more chocolate bars, understand?" David waggled his finger playfully at Max, "Don't want you being sick and throwing up."

David led me into his study on the ground floor. It had obviously been his father's study, replete with a large, intricately carved, wooden desk, adorned with a green writing top. A large rectangular ink blotting pad sat atop that, together with a green-shaded table lamp. There were metal file presses in one corner of the room. Two chairs, one behind the desk, and one in front. David took the one behind the desk. He invited me to, "Sit yourself down, Frank."

David got straight to the point, "I'm looking for someone I can trust. Someone who'll be willing and able to share the load. This place doesn't run itself; there are books to keep, maintenance, that kind of thing. How would you feel about becoming my partner?"

That took me by surprise, and I know I showed it on my face. I paused, then replied, "Bob told me that you had spoken to him about that."

David sighed, "Bob told you a lot, didn't he? Well, yes, it's true; I had considered it, and I shouldn't have mentioned it to him, and got his hopes up. I just felt some obligation to him, after the heavy brigade had done their worst. But he's slow, indiscreet, and, quite frankly, not up to the job."

I had to ask, "Forgive me, David, but this offer of a partnership wouldn't have anything to do with my impending, imminent wealth, would it?"

At least David was honest with his reply, "Everything to do with it," he told me, "If you're looking for something to occupy yourself with, here it is. And the icing on the cake, is all the boys you could ever wish for."

I told David, "I'll think about it. Long and hard."

David smiled, "I'll bet your cock is long and hard in your pants at the moment. There's a little boy in the kitchen waiting to be entertained. He's been in there long enough."

I started to rise from the chair. "No, Frank. Stay where you are," David said, "I'll call Max in here. I'm in the mood to have him over the desk."

David got up out of his seat, and went to the door.

"Before you call him in," I said to David, "Remember he's only eight years old, and has a little tush and tiny hole. I got to see him naked while he was asleep at the hotel."

David replied, "Well, I haven't seen him naked yet, and I'm itching to do so. As for his little tush and hole, so what?"

I was beginning to see that David was more like 'Felix' than I had imagined; both he and my alter-ego had no concerns about the boys we wanted to control and have dominance over; and my imagination was already picturing little Max over David's desk.

I replied, "Like you say, so what?"

Chapter 34

David called out, "Max! Turn the TV off and come in here! Now, please!" David returned to his side of the desk, standing behind it.

Max scuttled into the room. I got up and closed the study door, then sat back down again. David looked down at Max, "You're a pretty boy, Max. My friend and I want to look at you."

Max had a wide-eyed, trusting innocence about him. "Climb up here on the desk, Max, so we can get a better look," David commanded.

Max was only too pleased to be the center of attention; he eagerly scrambled on to the desk and stood up in front of David. I got Max's rear view. David held Max's hands and spread the boy's arms out, horizontally straight. David let go of Max's hands. "Keep your arms out, Max, there's a good boy." David's eyes went up and down, examining the boy's tender frame, from head to toe. I did the same with Max's rear view.

After studying Max's clothed body, David issued another instruction, "Okay, Max. Put your hands on my shoulders to steady yourself. I'm going to take your shoes off."

Max did as he was told. I think Max thought this was some kind of game, with him as the focus of the adult's adoration. He wouldn't be wrong, I thought. David removed Max's shoes. "Keep holding on to my shoulders, pretty boy. I'm going to take off your socks," David told Max.

As David started to slip off Max's socks, the boy turned his head to look at me, and with a smiling, innocent face, it looked like he was saying to me, "Hee, hee! This is fun!"

David and I looked at Max's little bare feet. David asked Max to lift his arms in the air, above his head, "See if you can touch the ceiling," David challenged the boy.

Max stood on tiptoe, and stretched his arms up as far as they would go. That's when David took hold of Max's sky blue shirt and lifted it up over Max's head, and dropped it on to the carpeted floor. Max still looked like he was enjoying the game, whatever it was.

"Put your arms out again, Max," David instructed the topless boy. David studied Max's chest. I studied Max's back. "Put your hands back on my shoulders. I'm going to remove your pants," David told Max.

Max giggled at the naughtiness, as he put his hands once again on David's shoulders. David didn't undo Max's pants, he just pulled at them, making sure he got hold of Max's underwear at the same time. Max's pants and underwear were now both down at the boy's ankles. Max held on to David's shoulders as David helped the boy get his feet out from the last of his clothes.

"Arms out again, Max," David instructed. Max stood on the desk, naked, with his arms out. David studied the boy's front. I studied Max's cute little bottom. "You are a very pretty boy, Max," David told him. "Would you please lay down on the desk. On your back, and then lift up your legs. Spread them apart. Good boy!"

David issued these instructions to Max as if he was training a dog to perform tricks. But Max did exactly what was requested of him. David stroked Max's open legs, and studied Max's cock, balls and ass hole. I got out of my chair to have a look myself. I stood next to David. We both gawped at the boy on the desk, showing us all he had to offer. Max's little face peered back at us, as if to say, "Are you pleased?"

"Okay, Max. Turn over. Bend over the desk. Let's see your pretty bottom," David said in a lilting, soft voice. Max obliged. David touched Max's pert little bottom. Fresh and pink. Ditto Max's ass hole.

David undid his pants and dropped them to his ankles. David repeated the action with his underpants. David spat in his hand and applied his spittle to Max's tiny pinprick of a hole. Without warning, David pushed his little finger into Max's ass hole. Max let out a yelp, and moved his bottom to one side.

"Stay still, Max," David said firmly, as he resumed pushing his little pinkie into Max's little pinkie. "You are a tight little one, aren't you, Max?" David remarked. Max began to cry. "Be a good boy, Max. No tears, now. You're not a baby, are you?" David said in that calm, lilting, soft tone.

Max sniffled, "No-o-o."

David said to Max, "No. Not a baby at all. You're a very good big boy. So good, in fact, that I think you can manage a big finger."

Chapter 35

I watched as David added more spittle to Max's hole, and to David's middle finger. David skirted his finger around Max's pink anus, wiggled his finger on Max's hole, and started to ease in, jogging his finger backwards and forwards in tiny movements; like a pneumatic drill uses vibrations to dig down. David's finger began to make progress in Max's tiny, tight ass hole.

Max screamed, "No! Stop! I don't like it!"

David ignored Max's cries and plunged his finger deeper into Max's rectum. David's finger was in; past the second knuckle. David was remorseless; his finger probed ever deeper, until he could go no further.

Max cried and screamed; an ear-piercing plea for David to stop. David twisted his finger inside Max's tiny bottom hole.

"It's surprising how accommodating a little boy's ass hole can be, once you get it to yield," David boasted. "Gets it prepared for a bigger object. My cock, for instance."

I noticed David's cock was dribbling slightly; the liquid, like runny honey, dripped in long strings onto Max's bare bottom. David jogged his finger more rapidly in Max's ass. Max was now in floods of tears, sobbing uncontrollably as David continued his relentless invasion of Max's hole. Part of me felt revulsion and sympathy in equal measure for the little boy, but the other part, the part of me that was 'Felix', was aroused by David's onslaught. 'Felix' was the stronger of the two; 'Felix' began to take pleasure in hearing Max's cries. 'Felix' hardened his heart, and his cock. 'Felix' dropped his pants and underwear and began to masturbate himself as he watched David perform on Max.

David removed his finger, and brought his face down to the level of Max's ass hole. David separated Max's ass cheeks and made a close inspection and assessment of Max's stretched hole.

"Be a good boy," David told Max, in hushed tones. David felt Max's little balls and cocklet, and fondled them. David's body leaned closer to Max. David's cock touched Max's backside. David released Max's cock and concentrated on his own. David rubbed his cock on Max's bare bottom, and wiggled it around Max's bum hole. David's penis tip was now poised for penetration. David used the same method he had done with his finger, gently, but progressively, using vibration to ease himself in. Max screamed again. Max's eyes were red and filled with tears; tears that dripped onto the desk top. David applied more spittle. David forced his way in. Max's legs left the floor and sprang upwards, either side of David's body. Max had been violated. David pressed his hand on Max's body, at the base of the little boy's spine, and forced his way further into Max's ass.

I knew that Max couldn't take my cock inside him; 'Felix' knew this too. 'Felix' had to be content with getting his jollies as an observer; a voyeur. David began to thump away in Max. It looked like David could split the boy in two, such was the pounding of my new/old friend. I remembered Bob's words to me, "You do not cross him."

Max's body went limp. Had he passed out? David swiftly withdrew from Max's ass; not out of concern for the boy, but to shed his load all over Max's bare bottom. I looked at Max. His tear-filled, red eyes were open, his angel face now tightly wincing, his teeth clenched.

"It's all over now, Max," David said softly, "What a good boy you are." David tapped Max's bottom, "Now let's go and get you cleaned up, and wipe those silly tears away. You told me you're not a baby. Only babies cry." David pulled up his pants and underwear.

In the meantime, I had managed to retrieve a handkerchief from my pants pocket. I shot my load into it. I scrunched the handkerchief into a cum-filled ball shape, pulled up my underwear and pants, and put the soiled rag back into my pants pocket. David lifted Max from the desk, turned him around, put his hand under Max's bottom to support it, then proceeded to carry him off upstairs. Max hid his face by burying it in David's neck. Max's legs were dangling and swinging either side of David's body. My thoughts turned to David's offer of going into partnership with him.

I followed David up the stairs, as he carried little Max, now silent, into one of the bathrooms. David set Max down on his feet, and turned on the hot water for the bath. David wiped away the residue of tear tracks from Max's face by cupping the boy's face in his hands and brushing his thumbs across Max's cheeks. David calmly kept talking to Max, "You're a good boy. You're a very good boy. You're a big boy now. Big boys know how to make me happy. See? I'm smiling. I'm happy; and you should be too. You're a very good boy, and your brother will be proud of you. Don't tell him this, but you were much better than him. You're a really, good, special boy."

Max, taking in gulps of air, as he tried to speak through his pain, asked David, "W w why d did you d do this to to me?"

David replied in an instant; cold and threatening, "Because I can."

As soon as he said that, it stirred up memories for me. I came to a decision about the offer of a partnership; my answer would be 'no'.

Chapter 36

It occurred to me, that all those years ago at school, it was David who had singled me out. Even then, David was manipulative and usually got what he wanted – "Because I can," he had said, then and now.

I thought it had been me that had developed a crush on him. I now realize, looking back, it was David that sowed the seed in me, making me think I desired him, when, in truth, it was the other way round. I wondered if David's parents recognized that, and took the decision to move the family away, so that it would release me from his clutches before it went too far. Mere speculation on my part, but the thought was now there, lodged in my brain.

It also occurred to me that after my association with David, maybe I gave off an air of vulnerability, of susceptibility, which was picked up on by Mrs. Bradley's nephew, John. Maybe John recognized in me that vulnerability and susceptibility, and exploited it for his own ends. Or maybe I was talking the kind of psycho-babble that I always dismissed as utter garbage. Maybe I was thinking too much.

One thing I had to admit, I got turned on watching little Max getting deflowered; I lusted over the sight of his naked body; getting aroused at the sight of his cock, balls, bottom and bum hole. And something else just flashed through my mind; I had to admit to being a loner. The stars had originally brought me Blondie/Erik. I had been alone with him; in sole control of him; no one else involved; it was special and I liked it. Ben had been a mistake; I hadn't listened to the stars; that one was doomed to failure and disappointment. The stars had given me other boys, but each and every one of them had to be shared: Wolf with Bob; Scott, Nathan and Andy shared with Jim. At least I got to spend some time alone with Jay, and I regarded that time with him as special.

The two boys I had spent time with alone were the two boys that meant the most to me; Blondie and Jay. If I were to go into partnership with David, I knew it would be David calling the shots, and there was always that hint of menace, "You do not cross him."

That's why I came to the decision there and then, to decline David's offer. I'd rather go it alone. Maybe I had to be selective with whom the stars presented me with, or led me to. Maybe the stars were teaching me, saying to me, "We're giving you these boys, in different situations; find the path that is right for you…and right for the boy." I was beginning to realize there was more to this astrology lark than I had imagined. The book I had purchased certainly thought so. In among all the garbage and junk surrounding astrology, there was a core truth. I just had to find it, with the stars as my guide.

I left David upstairs to bathe Max. I went into the front room and helped myself to another bourbon. I sat on the sofa, staring at the antique clock. It was nine-fifty.

*****

"There you are!" David said as he entered the room, "You weren't in the study or the kitchen, so that left only one place else." David poured himself a drink, topped up my glass, and sat down. "I've put Max to bed. He's gone off to sleep. Little fella's had a busy day."

I made no comment. With the help of the drink, David and I reminisced about schooldays, and classmates and teachers. It helped me to realize I was my own person now. I was no longer in awe of my boyhood friend. Meeting him again was like formally closing my yearbook, never to be opened again. David didn't know it yet, but if he were to broach the subject of the partnership, I would decline his offer. The solicitor's words and advice ran through my mind, the day I learned about Mrs. Bradley's will, "Don't be swayed by people who might have their own agenda. Be wary of people's motives. New-found wealth can be a magnet for gold-diggers." For all I knew about David, his finances may be in a parlous state, and he was desperate for an injection of cash – mine. The next time I looked at the antique clock was when it chimed two o'clock – in the morning.

With several glasses of bourbon in me, that's when David made his play, "Have you thought about my offer? You and I would make a great team. Partners!"

It was at that point, David and I became aware of another presence in the room. Beer Belly Bob had shuffled in. David looked at him, and said, "Oh, hi, Bob. Didn't hear you come in. Everything okay at the arcade? Where are the boys? Where's William and Devin?"

Beer Belly Bob replied, "Not surprised you didn't hear me come in, with you two laughing so much. The Pleasure Palace is fine; all locked up for the night; a good evening's takings. The boys are all at The Excelsior with their sugar-daddies for the night. There was no reason for William and Devin to come back here, as there wouldn't be any boys to come back to. Except for Max, and I'm sure you two took care of him. If you don't mind, I'm bushed, and my leg is killing me. I think I'll turn in, if that's all the same to you."

David said, "Fine."

Beer Belly Bob limped out of the room and made for his own room. Bob's room door closed. I took the opportunity to call it a night myself. David insisted on walking me to my car, "Don't mind if I take a good look and laugh at the old heap you're driving, do you? Who knows, the next time I see you, you'll be driving something more suitable, eh?" In 1979, the phrase 'drink and drive' had no meaning.

David and I stepped out in to the cold night air. David sat in my car on the passenger side, and made derogatory comments about the state of the car, "Next stop, breaker's yard!" he said, bursting into fits of laughter.

"Listen, David," I began, "About your offer of a partnership. I'm very flattered, but my answer is no. I don't have to have more time to think about it. My mind's made up. It was good to see you again after all these years, and it certainly stirred up some memories for me. But I must follow my own path, and it doesn't include The Wayfarer. I hope you understand. Maybe we'll meet again at the Pleasure Palace. Now I know about that place, I intend going there more often, and The Excelsior, of course. No hard feelings about me turning you down, I hope."

David replied, "Not at all. Whatever you decide to do, I hope it brings you happiness and success." David staggered out of my car, closing the door very gently, and said through the window, "Quietly and gently does it. It's not the neighbors I'm worried about waking, because there aren't any. I'm just concerned that if I slammed the door shut, it just might fall off!"

I started the engine and disappeared into the night. That was the last time I saw David, or Max.

Chapter 37

Jay and Nathan and I went into an empty upstairs room, to see who would win the bet. Jay had bet Nathan he couldn't take my cock in his ass. The victor would be the proud owner of a prized black slot car.

From another of the empty upstairs rooms of the late Mrs. Bradley's house, could be heard the sound of echoey slaps; a house devoid of furniture amplifies the sounds. "Scott's getting his bum spanked again," Nathan casually remarked.

Jay and Nathan both reclined their naked bodies on the still-carpeted floor of the room; my guess was that this was the second bedroom where Mrs. Bradley's nephew John had stayed in, way back in 1956. I looked out of the window. There was a clear view of my house across the street, and a clear view into what would have been my bedroom when I was about Jay's age. 'Uncle John' would have had a bird's eye view of me, I wagered.

Speaking of wagers, the challenge of Nathan's bum and my cock was about to commence. Jay brought me back from 1956, to the here and now, when he said, "Come on, Uncle Frank, Nathan's waiting."

And he was; Nathan had adopted a pose on the carpeted floor; his head was touching the carpet, and his bare ass was up in the air. I grinned ear to ear at the sight. Just to eke out the tension, I said, "Wait a minute. If Nathan wins the bet, he gets to keep Jay's slot car. If Nathan loses, what does Jay get?"

In unison, both boys replied differently: Jay said, "He won't win," while at the same time, Nathan said, "Nothing!"

Jay added, "If Nathan wins, which he won't, I still get to have Uncle Frank's thingy."

I wasn't going to argue with that. "Are you ready?" I asked Nathan.

"Yes, but how about using some nipple grease?" Nathan replied.

Immediately, Jay responded, "That's not fair. No one said anything about using my dad's nipple grease. The bet was that you couldn't take Uncle Frank's thingy up your bum. No nipple grease allowed!"

I remarked, not very seriously, "Jay, I'm surprised at you. Anyone would think you're having second thoughts about Nathan's capabilities. I don't want to hurt Nathan. If nipple grease makes it more comfortable for him, then I think Nathan has the right to request it, don't you?"

Jay thought for a moment, "Okay, but if Nathan has the right to make a change to the rules, it's only fair that I can make one too."

"That seems reasonable," I agreed, "What's your change, Jay?"

Jay pondered, then came up with, "A time limit! If Nathan can't get your thingy up his bum in…in…five minutes, then Nathan loses!"

Nathan protested, "Whaaaat? No way!"

It seemed to me that things were getting heated, and all over the ownership of a slot car…and my thingy. "Boys, boys!" I said, to calm things down, "Let's have a compromise. Nipple grease for Nathan, and as for Jay's request, make it ten minutes. It's that, or the bet's off."

Both boys reluctantly agreed to each other's demand. "Stay exactly as you are, Nathan. I'll go and get some nipple grease. I always carry some with me. It's in my jacket pocket downstairs."

Jay jumped up, "I'll get it!" he said. And he did. With Nathan's ass primed and ready with copious amounts of strawberry-scented lube, and my dick smeared, ready for action, and my wristwatch placed on the floor, the second-hand of the watch reached "12."

"Go!" said Jay.

I knew Jim had had Nathan's ass several times, so it wasn't difficult for me to penetrate the boy's anus. My cock slipped in, a little at a time. Three minutes 'in', as it were, I pushed a little deeper. Jay's eyes darted from Nathan's ass to watching the wristwatch tick down. Nathan started to groan, "Oooh! Unnnggh!"

Jay got excited, "I told you! You can't take it!" he taunted.

I asked Nathan, "Do you want me to stop?"

Nathan replied with an emphatic, "No-o! Ooooh! Aaaargh!"

I burrowed deeper into Nathan's hole.

"Eeee!" Nathan let out a high-pitched squeal.

"Is it hurting you?" I asked.

All I got in response was another ear-splitting cry, "Eeeeeeeaaaaggghhh!"

I stopped. I withdrew. Nathan immediately put his hand on his ass hole and rubbed it. I helped him; I rubbed it too.

"Sorry," I told him, "I don't want to damage you."

My mind flashed up images of David in his study at the refuge, and little Max. "You okay?" I asked Nathan.

"Oooh, your dick is really big. I don't know how Jay does it," he replied, as he reclined his body, full stretch, on the carpet, still feeling his bum hole, "You win, Jay," he said, dejected.

Jay, acting triumphant, said, "Told you. Now I'll show you how it's done!"

Jay helped himself to a finger-full of nipple grease and smeared it on his bum hole, and followed that by dipping his finger in the jar once more, and attended to my thingy, slathering it with lube. Jay asked me to lay flat on the floor. I did. Jay sat his bottom on my groin, facing me. Jay took hold of my cock and guided it to his bum hole. Jay eased his bottom down. My cock was in his ass; balls deep. Jay bounced his bottom up and down, and, turning to Nathan, said, in a boastful, jerky voice, "Not…more…than…a…minute…and…it's…in…my…sexy…bum!"

I looked at Jay's body, bouncing up and down on top of me; his big cock standing to attention, pointing straight upwards. Jay's feather-cut hair rose and fell with each bounce. I placed my hands on either side of his waist and felt his taut little body muscles work with every bounce. Jay built himself up into a frenzy, until he spurted. A fountain of cum shot from his penis, and splattered all over my stomach. In a synchronized moment, my cum spurted in Jay's bum. Jay laid his body over mine, his arms and hands on my shoulders and neck, his head nuzzling on my chest, and both of us breathed heavily.

Nathan didn't know this, but when I had taken Jay and his BMX, in my camper van, for that magical, beautiful, weekend in the woods in the April just gone, Jay and I had perfected our love-making. I know, I know, I haven't told you about that yet; but I will.

Chapter 38

Après-sex; upstairs in Mrs. Bradley's house – I must get used to calling it 'my' house – Me, Jim and the boys all reconvened downstairs. Jim and I had dressed. The boys remained naked, and amused themselves by generally running around and playing pretend wrestling, which was a sight to see.

Jim lamented the fact that he had no long road trips lined up for the next few weeks. "Much as I love having the boys, I miss the road. I miss having the variety that's on offer when I'm away. The thrill, the excitement of a new boy," he confided.

"I might be able to help you, there," I told him, "I know a place in town that just might fill the void. If you're not too fussy, and you've told me before that you aren't, then I think this place might fit the bill."

Jim responded, "You know I'll take them fat, thin, ugly, so long as they've got a dick and an ass, that's fine. Tell me more."

I couldn't help myself; I burst into a spontaneous, facetious, rendition of 'Summer Nights', from the musical movie of the moment, "Tell me more, tell me more, did ya get very far…."

Jim laughed, "You jerk. Come on, don't keep me in suspense. Spill."

I didn't let on to Jim about how the stars had led me to the place, lest he thought I was going mad, "I stumbled upon it by sheer fluke," I explained. "The place usually isn't open during the day. It's trade is at night. The guy who runs it was in there during the day only to clean up, and the door was open. I was attracted by the noise of the machines – it's an amusement arcade – and, by the sight of a lone player inside; a young boy. I arrived at the right time. The manager hadn't seen me slip in, and I heard him tell the boy that if he wanted to play on, after losing his money, he'd have to perform certain 'favors'. To cut a long story short, I got talking with the manager, and we came to an arrangement. I gave the boy some more money, which, naturally, he plowed straight back into the machines. When he lost all the money, payback was due. The manager and I spit roasted the boy. I've been back a couple of times since. Always at night."

Jim was taking all this in, and asked, "Same boy?"

"No." I replied, "Different ones. That's why I think you'll find what you're missing, in there, while you're not on the road."

Jim wanted more information, "Go on," he requested.

"There's one strict rule you must adhere to. Break it at your peril, you will have your legs broken, or worse."

Jim listened intently, as I explained further, "The boys you steer well clear of, the ones you must not touch, unless you want to spend some time in hospital while they patch you up, are the ones with initials written somewhere on their clothes; they are already spoken for; 'branded', if you like. I cannot stress this enough; leave those boys well alone. Any ones you see without the branding are fair game. Take your pick from one of them. But I say this again," (I emphasized each word so that I got it through to Jim): "Do. Not. Under. Any. Circumstances. Take. A. Boy. With. Initials. On. His. Clothes. Do I make myself crystal clear?"

Jim got the message, "Understood. What's the name of this place?" he asked.

"The Pleasure Palace. But wait, there's more," I said, "When you've befriended your boy, and believe me, the boys all know the score, there's a hotel just around the block, called The Excelsior. It's not much of a hotel, but hey, you're not there to admire the decor. Take your boy there, slip the guy on reception a twenty and mention the 'P.P.'. 'P.P.' meaning The Pleasure Palace. The charge for the room is the going rate, plus twenty for the desk clerk, and hey, presto! You have a boy for the night. When you sign the register, use an alias. You'll see several 'D. Ducks' and 'M. Mouse's'. I sign under the name 'Felix D. Cat'."

Jim said, "One problem. I'm not on the road. I have to think of an excuse as to why I'm away for a night from Alison and the family home."

The first thing that popped into my head was, "Truckers convention? A get-together at The Excelsior? Something like that?"

Jim's cogs were turning in his brain, "Brilliant!" he said, "It won't take much to convince Alison that I'm staying out for a 'boys night out'. Alison doesn't really know any of the other rig drivers. She won't know that the 'boys night out' would be me and a fuck toy. All I need is a phone call from one of 'the guys', to invite me. How about you being 'one of the guys', and phoning me?"

I replied, "No, that won't work. Alison knows I'm not a truck driver, and anyway, I operate alone when I go to the arcade."

Jim retorted, "No, you don't get it. You and I arrange a certain time when I know Alison is home. You call me at that time. I'll make sure I pick up the phone. All you have to do is confirm it's you, and I'll do the rest of the talking, having a conversation with myself, in effect. Alison will only hear my half of the conversation. I will invite myself out. I expect Alison will be glad to get me out from under her feet for an evening and a night. Does that sound like a plan to you."

Jim and I agreed on a time for me to make the call; six o'clock, tomorrow evening.

Chapter 39

I know I've been telling this tale from the perspective of a man in his seventies, and prone now to wander from one thing to another. So, to avoid any confusion as to where we are, I'm going to recap on the story so far, in chronological order, and in double-quick time. So here goes:

January, 1979: Jay comes to stay, showing off his new BMX bike.

February: I'm in the solicitor's office. Contents of Mrs. Bradley's will is disclosed to me. On the same day in February, the stars lead me to The Pleasure Palace, Beer Belly Bob, and Wolf.

Also in February: I visit the Wayfarer and meet up with my old school friend and object of my schoolboy crush, David. David fucks little Max.

March: I frequent The Pleasure Palace. I take a boy of no consequence in this story to The Excelsior hotel, and have perfunctory sex. No opportunity to speak to Bob.

March: Dinner with Jim and Alison, Jay and Abby. Nothing of any interest to report there, except that crabby Abby was her usual, irritating self. Jim told me he had enjoyed his road trip to the West Coast. I hadn't bothered telling you this in my narrative, because it was so mundane.

March: I'm back at The Pleasure Palace. I take another non-branded boy back to the hotel. There's really no need to tell you about him, he wasn't really my type, but he would do. I fuck him. No chance to speak to Bob, as the place was busy.

April: Jay with his BMX, with me, and the camper van, in the woods. I know, I know; I haven't told you about that yet.

May: Jim, Jay and his friends help me decorate what was once Mrs. Bradley's house. I tell Jim about my times at The Pleasure Palace and The Excelsior hotel.

Here's where I pick up the story; I decided there was no need to tell Jim anything more about Beer Belly Bob, the manager of The Pleasure Palace, because Jim was going to the arcade in the evening, when I knew Bob would be occupied in his back office with his bottle of bourbon, leaving the hired heavies tasked with overseeing things everywhere else. Jim didn't need to know about David Fallon and The Wayfarer; Jim was only interested in picking up a non-branded boy and taking him to the hotel.

I called Jim at the pre-arranged time, so that he could spin his web of deceit for Alison. Jim was convincing, talking to himself on the phone; even I, just listening to him, believed he had been invited on a 'boys night out'. I heard Jim ask Alison if she minded him being away for a whole night. I heard Alison say that she would welcome the break, and that it would do Jim good to spend time with his truck driving buddies. Although I knew he didn't need it, I wished Jim luck and success in picking up a boy and having fun at the hotel. I reminded him one more time, before ending the call, "Avoid like the plague, any boys with initials on their clothing. Make damn sure the boy you pick doesn't have a 'brand' on him."

Present day: I have an 'Asstrology' salon on the West Coast. I've told you about Miguel. I've told you about an invitation I had received, to attend the opening of a new art gallery, and that I found myself with a dilemma. Hadn't forgotten about that, had you?

Now all that's been cleared up, let me transport you back to April, 1979, a week or two before the events I've just told you about with Jim.

I'm ready to tell you about the magical, beautiful, April weekend in the woods, spent alone with Jay.

Chapter 40

It was a shimmering, fresh, early Spring morning in late April. Birds were singing their hearts out, in praise of the new life emerging from the trees and ground. Trees were proudly showing their colorful, new season garments and coverings of leaves, while the buds and bulbs in the ground below were coyly revealing their true colors of red, white and yellow. The camper van, spruced up, cleaned and maintained, stood in its elderly magnificence, outside the Paterson family home, waiting to welcome in its very special passenger: Jason Joseph Paterson, who, in turn, had an equally cleaned and maintained BMX bike to bring on board. I stood beside the camper van, ready to open the side door, feeling not unlike a chauffeur, waiting to greet and assist a VIP. I had got the onboard refrigerator to work. I had toiled and succeeded in fixing the cooker. The radio resolutely refused to co-operate, however hard I tried to make it work; but no matter, I didn't want any distractions, I wanted Jay all to myself for two whole days. I had also got to the root of the problem of the squeaky bed and fixed it; if there were to be any 'bouncy-bouncy', I certainly didn't want any annoying, irritating noises from inanimate objects, that, in my mind, were voicing their objections to my activities, in the only way they knew how. And I was anticipating plenty of 'bouncy-bouncy'.

Jay's mother, Alison, was watching her son from the front door of the house as Jay wheeled out his BMX from the garage. Alison was still in her dressing gown. Jim was still in bed. Crabby Abby, as far as I knew, was probably watching TV with the sound up loud, stuffing her face with 'choc'lit chip' cookies. Jay was smiling ear to ear as he approached me and his transport vehicle, using only one hand on the saddle of his bike as he walked beside it, he guided it expertly to his own personal driver for the weekend.

"Good morning, young sir," I said politely. As Alison was in earshot, I refrained from greeting him by saying, "Hi, there, sexy bum." Jay looked resplendent in an arm-less, dark blue puffer jacket, with a light blue, long-sleeved t-shirt beneath. And buff colored shorts; knee-length. Well, just above the knee, to be accurate. On his feet were a pair of brown lace-up hiking boots, and white socks, just peeking out from the top of the boots. Blue was Jay's color. It brought out the blue in his big, saucer eyes. He carried over his shoulder, and held with his other hand, a dark blue, hard-wearing denim bag containing all the items an excited preteen boy would need for a weekend in the woods. I knew what he had in there, because he had told me what was being packed for him by Alison, when I spoke to him on the phone the previous evening: A change of clothes, four pairs of underwear, 'Just in case of accidents,' three pairs of socks, a toothbrush and toothpaste, a face cloth and soap, a small bottle of shampoo, a selection of candies and savory snacks, two cans of soda pop, his Awesome Boy and 'Spear' action figures, three comic books, and a torch.

I opened the side door of the van, relieved my VIP traveler of his luggage and placed it securely in the van. I helped him lift the BMX inside and secured it with rope to the bed to stop it moving. Jay moved inside the van and took his place in the passenger seat. I closed the side door and squeezed my way into the driver's seat. I started the engine, which still clattered, even though it had received a change of oil, spark plugs, etcetera. But hey, I thought, if it ain't broke, don't fix it. Jay waved his mother goodbye, as did I, and then van, Jay and I set off on our weekend adventure.

En-route, I knew I would be driving along Parkside, and past Ed Powell's former home; and the park entrance, where all this began, I suppose; where and when I had abducted Blondie. This trip was going to be different. This boy was not covered over, cowering on the bed; this boy was sitting right beside me; a willing participant. I had left my alter-ego, Felix, behind; I had not packed him in the van. There was no need for Felix's urge for power and control. I felt relaxed and at ease, and looking at Jay, I knew he felt the same way.

Chapter 41

I breezed along Parkside, momentarily flicking my eyes to one side as we drove past the former home of Ed Powell. I imagined the sight of Blondie/Erik, as he strolled home that day, minus his blue short shorts. I imagined the look on the face of the old man, walking his elderly dog, Tiger, as Blondie/Erik sauntered home, pants-less, not bothering to cover his swinging, swaying boyhood or his fucked ass.

The park gates were shut. I viewed this as a metaphor, that, combined with the knowledge that Blondie/Erik no longer lived around here, closed the door on any chance of ever seeing him, or his body, ever again.

Another hour or so's drive, and we arrived at the woods. I found the trail that would lead to the clearing, deep within the woods. I carefully traversed the camper van over exposed tree roots, muddy areas where the sun, not yet in its full summer strength, had yet to penetrate the shadows to dry out the ground, and avoided, as best I could, low-hanging branches. The van and its occupants bounced up and down in their seats a few times, and I was concerned about how the suspension might fare on this tricky path. Eventually, both van and passengers arrived at the clearing in one piece. My old wagon had been made at a time when motor vehicles were built to last, no matter what you threw at it.

"Well, what do you think. Is this BMX country?" I asked Jay, as he surveyed the scene before him from his camper van seat.

"I loved the bouncing. My head nearly hit the roof of the van back there," he told me, "This is great. So much to explore and ride on!" he added.

I couldn't have agreed more, So much to explore and ride on; that's just what I had in mind with Jay's body, I thought.

The clearing had been dried by the sun; no muddy, wet patches of grass. Over in the trees, it was a different story; mud, water, bumps and rocks and decomposed leaves; perfect for a boy to try out his BMX on the 'trains' it was designed for. Jay eagerly opened the passenger door and jumped down on terra firma. I alighted the other side and stood and breathed in fresh, tree-scented air. Jay ran around the clearing, and jumped up on the fallen log that Blondie had walked and balanced his nude body along last year.

"I'm the king of the castle!" Jay shouted, with his arms outstretched. Jay jumped off the log and viewed his kingdom for the next two days, by walking around the whole perimeter of the clearing, peering into the trees, and finding another trail, the one I knew led to the stream.

I started unpacking the van. First out was Jay's BMX. Jay was too enthralled with his environment to think about helping me unpack the rest. I was happy just to let him ride around the clearing. "Jay! Just for now, keep within the clearing, so that I can see you. The wood is dense, and you could easily get lost. Don't be adventurous yet. Clear?" I instructed him.

"Clear!" he replied, as he whooshed past me on his bike. Jay circled me and the camper van, doing skids and performing jumps on his BMX.

I laid down a canvas on the ground, and on top of that, the blanket I had fingered and fucked Blondie on. I had brought a stove to cook on outside. I had a back-up with the fully functional cooker within the van. It might be difficult to light a fire with twigs and sticks strewn around the clearing, as they were probably still going to be damp, so I had brought along some dry tinder. There's nothing like meat cooked over an open wood flame. As I knew I had company on this trip, I'd remembered to load two fold-out chairs; I didn't want my little Jay getting a cold bottom; on the contrary, I wanted a hot little bottom!

"Uncle Frank! Uncle Frank! Watch this!" Jay shouted excitedly. I watched as Jay performed a jump stunt on his bike, followed by a skid. I applauded, then put my fingers to my mouth and whistled.

I went back to unloading. I sorted through a bag of provisions and produced two vacuum flasks. "Want some soup? Coffee?" I said with a projected voice.

"Yes, please. Both," came the reply from the boy cyclone, as he whizzed around the clearing.

I'd checked the weather report before setting off this morning. We couldn't have picked a better prearranged weekend if we'd tried. No rain. Temperatures expected to be higher than usual for the time of year, and sunshine.

"Jay! Come and get your soup and coffee."

Chapter 42

"I was just thinking…," I said to Jay, as we both sat on our fold-up chairs, and both of us with our hands nursing a hot mug of soup, "It must be your birthday soon. Last November, when you fell off your bike and cut your knee…do you remember?" Jay nodded that he did, as he slurped on his soup. "You told me that you were eleven and a half. That means you must be twelve soon. Am I right?"

Jay smiled his toothy smile at me, and confirmed, "Uh, huh. Thirtieth of May."

I just said in return, "Uh, huh." I left it at that. I thought it might occupy Jay's mind as to what I might have planned for him. Truth was, I hadn't any idea as yet. I thought Jay might give me some clues. Jay wasn't the kind of boy to say every five minutes, "It's my birthday soon," should – perish the thought – anyone forget. Jay was an unassuming, lovely, pretty boy. I just left the thought with him.

After soup and coffee, Jay resumed his bike riding. "I'm going to try a wheelie," he informed me. I had no idea what a 'wheelie' was, until he demonstrated one for me, somewhat unsteadily. "I'm still learning some tricks," he told me, "They're pretty basic, but practice makes perfect," he said, as he circled around.

"What tricks are they?" I asked him, as he whizzed past me.

"A bunny hop. A one-eighty, and a three-sixty," he said.

"Oh?" I replied, "How about a sixty-nine?"

Jay laughed as he rode around, "That's one of my dad's specials!" he replied. I laughed at that.

The sun was rising in the sky. I closed my eyes in the chair and listened to the birds and the sound of Jay practicing his tricks around me. "I think I might have a snooze, if that's all right with you, Jay. I was up very early this morning, and I'm going to take a moment's shut eye. Will you be okay amusing yourself for a while?"

Jay replied, cheekily, "Sure, old man."

I smiled, "Remember, don't go too far. You can easily get lost. Stay close to the camper van."

You know how it is when you doze off; you wake with a sudden jerk of your head and a snort. That's what I did. I blinked a few times and brought myself out of my slumber. The birds were singing and whistling their merry tunes, but I didn't hear Jay on his bike. I looked around the clearing. No sign of him, or his bike. I checked the camper van; not in there, either.

"Jay?" I called out. No answer. I called again, louder, "Jayyyy!" And again, "Jason! Where are you?" No answer. Oh, shit, I thought, He's got himself lost. I called again, trying not to add a hint of concern to my voice, "Jayyy!"

Out from the trees, a very muddy looking boy and bike appeared. Without any acknowledgement that I might have been worried about him, as boys are prone to do, he rode straight at me, and came to a skidding halt inches in front of me. "There's a stream down that path," he told me, pointing to the trail he'd just emerged from.

I remained calm, and let my heartbeats return to their normal rhythm, before saying, "What did I tell you about not straying too far? Promise me you won't do that again." I added, more sedately, "So you've found the stream, have you?"

Jay delighted in telling me, "Yeah! It's great! I rode my bike in it. There's a great big muddy bit on the way there!"

I couldn't help but smile and say, "So I see…your mother's going to kill me, bringing you back in such a state, and we've only just arrived here."

Jay corrected me, "It's two-thirty. You zonked out!" Jay was right; I'd been asleep for ages. My neck began to ache. "I have a change of clothes," Jay said, "It's warm. I can take these muddy things off."

"Good idea," I agreed, "We can go and wash them in the stream. Don't change into your other clothes, you'll need them for tomorrow," I suggested. "Okay," Jay replied, "I wonder if they have nude BMX competitions?" he pondered.

I thought, I sincerely hope so; that's something I'd pay to go and watch; nude boys performing tricks on bikes.

Chapter 43

"If we're going to the stream, I'd better keep my undies on, just in case we see someone," Jay said, thoughtfully.

"Unlikely," I told him, "I've been coming to these woods for a number of years now, and I haven't seen another soul yet," I replied, and followed that by issuing a dare, "I dare you to ride on your BMX to the stream with nothing on at all."

Jay grinned mischievously, and said, "You're on! ..only…can I keep my boots on?" as he started to peel off his muddy clothes.

"Yes," I said, "That's allowed." While I watched Jay strip off, I asked him, "The stream is about ten minutes away from here; on foot, that is; how come you found the trail to get back here again?"

"Easy," Jay told me, "I took one of my comic books with me; one that I didn't want to keep. I tore out pages from it and left them on the trail every few yards. I put a stone or rock on top of each page I put down, to stop the pages flying away with any wind that might blow. I just followed the trail back." Jay looked so pleased with his answer.

I smiled, "I'm impressed. That's clever," I said, praising him. "But promise me, don't wander off on your own anywhere else. These woods are dense and isolated. If you get lost, no one will hear your cries for help. Promise me, Jay. Don't wander off by yourself."

"I promise," Jay replied, while he struggled to get his shorts off, over the hiking boots he kept on. "How come you know this place?" Jay asked as his shorts finally came free of his feet and boots.

"My father brought me here many times, and he showed me the way to the stream. I was always a good boy, always obeyed his instructions to me,

"Don't wander off. Stay where I can see you." Jay replied, "I get the message. Don't wander off. I won't," he assured me. Jay slipped his underpants down, and carefully took them off his booted feet, trying not to get mud on them.

I took a moment to view his naked body, and adjusted the crotch area of my pants. "Oh, you really do have a sexy bum," I told him. Jay stuck out and wiggled his bottom in front of me.

I told him, "We're going to the stream to wash off as much of the mud as we can from your clothes. Pick them up, and give them to me; I'll carry them. You'll be free to do tricks on your bike." Jay picked his muddy clothes up and handed them to me, then swung his leg over his bike; his little sexy bottom made contact with the saddle. "Lucky saddle," I said to myself.

We followed Jay's paper trail to the stream; me, walking with a pile of muddy boys' clothes, and Jay up ahead, purposefully seeking out patches of mud to ride and skid his bike through. By the time we got to the stream, Jay's legs and boots were covered in mud, and there were flecks of mud splattered on his upper body. I wondered if there would be any point in washing off the mud from his body, because on the way back, he'd be filthy again. I made a request, "When I've washed out the mud from your clothes, as much as I can do, I'll wash you. On the way back, please resist the temptation to get dirty again; avoid the mud. Okay?"

Jay said, "Okay," and rode his BMX into the stream, "Guess I'll try and wipe some of the mud off my bike," he said. Jay dismounted, mid stream, and splashed some of the flowing water on to his bike. He was crouching in the stream, with his bottom and cock dipped in the water.

"I know the sun's out, but the water must be cold. Don't freeze your assets off," I told him.

"Eh?" was his reply.

I smiled at him, "Don't get cold," I warned him. I rubbed his clothes in my hands, and then beat them over a rock a few times. Jay waded out of the water, wheeling his bike out with him. He lay his bike on the bank of the stream.

"Now, let's look at you," I said to Jay, "Let me wash the mud off you." Jay stood upright, with his legs open, while I splashed some water over his body, and between his legs.

"I've got soggy socks," he told me.

"I'm not surprised," I replied, "When we get back to camp, I'll light a fire, and I'll cook us something. You must be hungry."

Jay said, "Yes, I am. For food and your thingy."

Chapter 44

When Jay and I returned to our camp, I told Jay to take off his wet boots and 'soggy socks'. It was now late afternoon, and although it had been a beautifully warm and sunny day, a chill would still pervade the night air. I wrapped Jay in a large towel, and rubbed his body, while the soft towel caressed him. Jay sat on his chair, cuddled up in his towel, while I lit a fire and prepared some food and hot coffee. I hung Jay's wet clothes on a makeshift drier; the branches of a nearby tree. I was amused at the sight of his Awesome Boy underpants hanging suspended on a tree branch. I placed his wet boots near the campfire to dry out. We ate our food, we drank our coffee. We talked.

"This is great, Uncle Frank. Thanks for bringing me," Jay said, "I'm full up."

"Oh," I replied, "Then you won't be wanting any apple pie."

Jay responded, "I think I can manage a piece."

Neither of us said anything earth-shattering; it was just general chit-chat, shared between a man and a loving boy, under a bright blue sky.

If you're thinking that this peace and reverie was about to be broken by some dramatic event, like Jay getting himself lost, or by some unwanted intruder, think again. I gave the game away earlier by saying I had the most wonderful, magical time with Jay, that weekend in the woods. And so it was. Nothing more, nothing less, and I'll relate it to you now.

Jay devoured a second piece of pie. "I thought you were full up," I joked, "Must be the fresh air. Makes a boy ravenous."

Jay, still wrapped in his large towel, got up from his chair, and shuffled over to me. He sat himself sideways in my lap; he rested his head on my chest and shoulder, and dangled his legs and feet, swinging them off the ground. Jay's legs and feet were exposed. "Warm enough?" I asked him.

"Mm,mmm," he said, softly.

I cuddled him. Jay's arms were still cocooned inside the towel. I kissed his nose and lips, "You taste of apple pie," I told him.

Jay laughed, "So do you," he said in return.

I nuzzled Jay's neck. Jay giggled and told me it tickled. Jay kissed my lips. Jay loosened the towel, and exposed his naked body. I ran my fingers and hands over his chest, nipples, stomach, thighs and penis. Jay's penis sprang to attention. The mauve-colored glans peeked out from his foreskin.

Jay stood up, dropped the towel completely, and beckoned me to stand up. "I want to thank you properly," he told me, as he unzipped my pants and pulled them down. Jay knelt in front of me and pulled down my underwear, "Sit down again, please," he instructed me. I sat. Jay knelt between my legs and took hold of my cock. My cock sprang to attention. Jay began masturbating me. Jay gently kissed my balls and my shaft. His hands stroked my inner thighs, then cupped my balls and massaged me. Jay took my cock in his mouth, his lips clamping tightly around my erection.

My mind drifted back to when I'd brought Blondie here; I had been so concerned that I would be caught, in flagrante delicto, with a naked boy. I had no such concerns now; the world and its worries were elsewhere; I had been entranced, in the enchanted woods, by a boy called Jay, taking care of my own wood.

Jay drew in his cheeks, and my cock experienced the expert technique of a pre-teen boy, schooled in the art of erotic stimulation. The campfire crackled and smouldered. So did I.

Chapter 45

"Mmmm, your thingy is tasty," Jay informed me tenderly, as he held my shaft in place while he took long, lingering, repeated licks from the base to the tip. Jay flicked his tongue over the tip of my penis, twirled around it, and chowed down for another greedy mouthful.

I was almost out of my chair and out of my mind with this onslaught of sexual pleasure. I couldn't contain it any longer; I released my jizz into Jay's mouth. The corners of Jay's mouth were immediately expelling white bubbles of my cum. Jay opened his mouth and showed me his cum-coated tongue, which he was proud to display, before swallowing. Jay picked up the towel he had previously dropped and wiped away the considerable wetness from around my cock and thighs. Jay smiled his toothy smile and played with my now flaccid dick,

"Will you please do my thingy now, Uncle Frank?"

We swapped places in the chair. I knelt in front of Jay, as he sat in the chair and spread his legs. Jay's cock stood vertical, as high and proud as the trees surrounding us. I stroked Jay's legs and thighs. I fondled Jay's balls and found below, his little bum hole; I fingered him lightly there, at his sweet spot. My mouth ravenously accepted Jay's cock, and I moved my head up and down as I sucked his big boy wonder. I made a slurping sound as my mouth released his cock, only for my mouth to re-engage with his awesome dickie, and suck some more.

Jay's head and neck tilted backwards in the chair, his eyes closed. "Mmmm," he murmured, "Ohhh, that's good!" he whispered softly, "Ohhh, yeah."

Jay gripped the sides of the chair and raised his body slightly, so that there was a gap between his bottom and the seat. My finger immediately tickled his anus. I inserted my finger in his bum hole and wiggled inside him, simultaneously sucking and slurping on his cock.

Jay offered me encouragement, "Ooh, right there, yes!" he said, breathlessly. Without pausing, I continued the fingering and sucking. "Oh, owww, ohhhh, mmmmm…": Jay pursed his lips and, with his mouth closed, he started making pleasurable noises in his throat; grunts and intermittent humming. With support from Jay's hands, gripped firmly either side of the chair, Jay started rocking back and forth, synchronized with my sucking and fingering rhythm. Jay opened his mouth again, and let out a loud, "Ah! Oh…my…god!"

Jay had reached orgasm. Jay cummed. In my mouth and on my hand. Jay slumped back in the chair. I considered it only right and proper that I did what he had done to me; I opened my mouth, showed him the result of his 'spurt', and then swallowed. I wiped my hand and my mouth on the towel. I wiped Jay's cock, and watched it as it slowly lost its hardness and came to rest between his legs.

"The best yet!" he informed me, "Oh, that felt gooood!"

I raised myself from kneeling in front of Jay, slipped out of my pants and underwear, which, all this time, had been around my ankles, and took off my shirt, my boots and socks. I wandered over to the camper van and extracted two blankets. I gave one to Jay. Both of us robed ourselves with the blankets, sat back in our chairs, and watched the flames flicker and dance in the campfire. We sat silent, listening to the crackle of burning twigs, and the myriad bird song. There was no need for words; our faces said it all; complete satisfaction.

Chapter 46

The setting sun painted the sky and what few clouds there were, with a mixture of yellow, red, orange and lilac, before saying goodnight with a twilight regal purple. The clear night brought with it a chill in the air. I extinguished the fire before Jay and I moved ourselves in to the camper van for the night. Jay unwrapped himself from his blanket, and slid his naked body under the bedclothes. I listened for a squeak. The bed remained silent; it was as if it was indicating its approval of the boy lying in it. I dropped my blanket.

Jay looked at my naked body, "Ready for action, I see," he said cheekily.

I slipped in beside him, and replied, "Always with you." I held his body tight to mine; our cocks pressed up together. We kissed. We fondled each other's entire bodies underneath the bed covers. The camper van swayed and rocked and rolled that night.

****

Sunday. Dawn. The birds had commenced their chorus. I laid close to Jay and watched him sleeping. So close, in fact, that his shallow breaths blew on my face. His lips were moist and inviting. I kissed him, softly. Jay's eyes blinked open, and a big, toothsome smile stretched across his face. His big, blue, saucer eyes glistened and gleamed.

"Morning, sexy bum," I said.

Jay said in return, "Morning, Uncle big thingy."

We both laughed. I brushed the hair from his forehead. "What time is it?" Jay inquired, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Early, yet," I informed him. We both needed to wash and freshen up. I suggested we take an early morning trip to the stream. "In the meantime, I'll get some coffee on the go."

I opened the van door and brought myself fully awake by breathing in some cool, fresh air. I stood naked as I lit the camper van stove. Jay threw back the bed covers and sidled up to me, putting his arms around me. "Mmmm, that's nice," he said.

Jay let me go, scratched his bum, and then did something I hadn't seen him do before; he picked his nose. I smiled. I was happy that Jay could feel free to be himself, and not to have any reservations or inhibitions. I handed him a tissue. He blew his nose and asked, "Um…where can I put this?"

I pointed to a small cupboard, "There's a trash can in there." Jay opened the cupboard door and dispensed with his used tissue. It was silly things like this that I would remember, and marvel at, because it was me, the loner, who liked his own company, who was now wondering how I'd manage without this little ball of fun in my life. I wished he'd stay the age he was right now, and be like Peter Pan, and never grow up. Dare I say it; I love him. At that exact moment, I considered my evil twin, my alter-ego, 'Felix', dead and buried; love had won the day.

We both followed Jay's comic book paper trail to the stream; me on foot, and Jay scrambling around on his BMX, performing 'bunny hops', '180's', and 'wheelies'. Jay was getting quite proficient in doing these bike stunts. I still had dreams of being a paying spectator at the 'naked boy bike riding trials', if only there was such an event! Yet, here I was, watching my own private, naked boy bike rider show. Jay sped off ahead. I reached the stream's bank. Jay was waiting, sitting on his bike, naked, mid-stream, "What kept you?" he asked, in a playfully, good-natured way.

"Cheeky monkey!" I responded, with a big smile on my face. Jay brought his BMX to the side of the stream, dismounted, and laid it down on the bank. Jay assisted me with the removal of my clothes. We washed each other's bodies thoroughly, front and back. I shaved myself. Jay watched me and copied my facial expressions as I did so. I dabbed a blob of shaving foam on his nose. Jay giggled and wiped it away. Another glorious Spring day had us both lying side by side, by the side of the stream, looking up at the blue sky and the tops of the trees, listening to the sound of the flowing, clear, crystal water. I didn't have to share Jay with another living soul.

Chapter 47

Washed and refreshed, back at the camper van, I prepared breakfast. We ate in the camper van. Afterwards, we ventured outside. Jay had produced from his bag the two action figures I had bought him: Awesome Boy and his 'nemenemesis', The Spear. Jay ran naked around the clearing, holding Awesome Boy aloft, pretending the character was flying, racing to confront his arch-enemy, who Jay had already placed on top of the fallen log. A showdown between the two foes was imminent.

Jay brought Awesome Boy in for a landing on the log, making a "Zzsssooossshhh" sound, "I'm going to teach you a lesson," Jay, as Awesome Boy, said to The Spear.

Jay, playing both parts, retorted, on The Spear's behalf, "Oh no you won't"; Jay had given The Spear a gruff voice, "You've foiled my plans once too often, Awesome Boy; this time you can't stop me."

Needless to say, Jay, in his role as Awesome Boy, did spoil The Spear's plans, and once again, thwarted The Spear's attempts at world domination. The Spear action figure fell off the fallen log, with a little push from Jay, and the action figure tumbled to its doom. Jay, as Awesome Boy, sang, "Awesome Boy, Awesome Boy, no one can outsmart Awesome Boy." Jay's make-believe game was over. Jay gathered up his prized toys and put them away in his travel bag.

While all of this play-acting was going on, I sat in my chair, taking sporadic sips of a cold beer, reading 'Astrology for Beginners', by Marius Willow. Every now and then I diverted my gaze to observe Jay's naked body and to listen in on his play. After he'd packed away his action figures, he pranced towards me, took a cheeky sip of my beer, and flopped himself down, theatrically, at my feet. Jay looked at the cover of my book, and read the title out loud, "Astro…Astrogoly for beginners, by…Marry Us Willow."

I smiled at another of Jay's mispronunciations. "What's that about?" he asked, as he helped himself to another sip of my beer.

"Predicting the future using the constellations in the sky as a guide," I informed him.

"Oh," Jay said thoughtfully, "Like the horror scopes in magazines and things?"

I smiled again. "Exactly like that," I confirmed.

"What's your star sign, Uncle Frank?" Jay asked, but before I could open my mouth to tell him, he went on to tell me his, "Mine's Gemini."

I told Jay I was a Virgo.

"Gemini means twins, doesn't it? But there's only one of me," Jay stated. Indeed, in my eyes, there could only be one Jay.

"What is Virgo?" Jay inquired of me.

"Virgo means 'maiden', or 'virgin'," I told him.

Jay looked at me with a big grin on his face, then burst out laughing, "Virgin? You? That's funny!" he exclaimed, with great merriment.

I laughed too. It was kind of ridiculous, come to think of it. "Funny, is it?" I said as I playfully picked him up from where he sat at my feet, plonked him on my lap and tickled him wherever I could.

"No, stop! No! Aaaagh!" Jay's giggles and laughter rang throughout the clearing as I continued to tickle his naked body, "Oh! Stop it…stop it…sto…," Jay couldn't speak any more as he lay helpless in my lap at my relentless tickling onslaught. I stopped and stroked his head. I leaned forward, put my lips on his stomach and delivered a great, big, raspberry sound on to his bare belly. Jay was in fits of giggles. Jay's body went limp over my lap, his head falling backwards, his feather cut hair hanging down towards the ground.

"I give in," he said, in between convulsive giggles. I ran my hand along the length of Jay's body. I rubbed his balls. I rubbed his cock. Jay's cock stood to attention immediately. I toyed with Jay's stiffy. I lifted myself out of the chair, together with Jay in my arms. I carried him over to the blanket, spread out on the ground. I gently laid him down.

Jay lifted his legs up and spread them wide, and said, softly, "Thingy, please, Uncle…virgin!"

I made love to Jay on the blanket, in full view of the sun, the trees and the birds. We were Gemini. We were the twins, joined as one. The stars, I'm sure, blessed our union.

Chapter 48

A yellow butterfly fluttered across the clearing, and Jay and I watched its haphazard course from our prone position on the blanket, where we lay motionless, basking in the sun and the glow of our post-coital reverie.

What else is there to say? Jay and I spent the rest of the day doing a number of things; reading: him with his comic books, me with 'Marry Us' Willow, as Jay had called the author of my book. Jay scooted around on his BMX, perfecting his trick maneuvers, while I was his audience. We bathed in the stream again. We ate our lunch. And in the late afternoon, we packed up our things, ready for departure from this idyll. While packing up, I watched Jay with an air of bemusement, as he pulled on a pair of his underpants, rolled about in them on the ground, took them off, put on another pair, and repeated the process.

Curiosity got the better of me, "What are you doing?" I asked him.

"Mom packed four pairs of clean underwear for me. She might think it funny if I go back home with only one dirty pair, the ones I had on yesterday. I'm going to do the same with my change of clothes. If there's no sign of me having worn them, she might get suspicious. She will be expecting my clothes to be muddy. I can't tell her I was naked the whole time, can I?"

I thought, Boys can quite happily wear the same clothes for days if they are allowed, but, Jay had a point. Jay might not be able to pronounce some of his words, but I couldn't fault his reasoning. I certainly hadn't thought of that! Jay dressed himself in his second set of clothes and made sure they were suitably splodged with mud.

Jay sat beside me in the passenger seat as I started the camper van's clattering engine. "I wish we could stay here forever, Uncle Frank," he said.

"So do I," I replied.

Jay reached over to me and planted a kiss on my cheek, "Thank you for a great weekend," he said. Jay smiled that devastating toothsome smile of his, and added, "I love you, Uncle Frank."

I tried my best not to well up, or have the slightest tell-tale wobble in my voice, as I responded, "I love you, too."

****

zyx

Sunday evening. Jay delivered safely home. Alison remarked on the state of Jay's clothing, "I can see you had a good time. Better go upstairs and take those muddy things off. I'll put them on to wash straight away. Have a bath, and put your pajamas on. School tomorrow, in case you'd forgotten."

I said goodbye to Alison and Jim.

Remember, this weekend took place two weeks before Jim and his boys had helped me paint Mrs. Bradley's house, where I had told Jim about the goings on at The Pleasure Palace and The Excelsior. Jim was in between road trips, and at a loose end. Jim's idea of a 'trucker's night out' had yet to be concocted.

So, allow me to bring the story up to date; to almost the end of May, 1979, and the Saturday before Jay's twelfth birthday, due the following week.

Chapter 49

Saturday morning. The phone rang at 11am. Alison's voice sounded distressed. She struggled to formulate her words and remain coherent. She was obviously crying. Through her sobs, she barely managed to tell me the news, "It…it's Jim," she began, "He…he's in hospital…(sniff)…he's been…mugged. Last night. I…I've been with him all night. He's in a bad way. I…(sniff)…left Jay and Abby with a neighbor…I…I'm tired. The doctor says Jim is 'comfortable', and that I should get some rest. I'm home now…(sniff)…I…I'm taking Jay to see his father…(sniff)…this afternoon. I…I'm not sure if I should let him see the way Jim is…(sniff)…but Jay wants to see him."

All I could say in reply, was, "If there's anything I can do," and "How did it happen?" and "I'd like to go and see Jim this afternoon, if that's okay, and if they, the doctors, and you, will allow me to?"

Alison couldn't, or was unable, to respond to my first two remarks; all she said in reply was, "Yes. Jim would like to see you. He's talking, he's conscious, but I warn you, he's pretty beaten up. Why would…(sniff)…anybody do that to someone just for the sake of…of…a wallet and cash? I just can't understand it. Why him?"

I told Alison that I would be at the hospital in the afternoon. Alison gave me details of where Jim was being treated; which floor, which room, etc. Alison and I finished our conversation. I felt numb. I stood by the phone, trying to process what I'd just been told.

The previous night, Friday, was the night Jim had arranged his clandestine trip into town to try his luck at The Pleasure Palace. Had Jim ignored, or simply forgotten, my explicit instructions, 'Do not, under any circumstances, get friendly with a boy that had initials written somewhere on his clothing?' Or was it just sheer bad luck that Jim had been the victim of a particularly nasty mugging? I hoped it was the latter. "It must be a mugging," I heard myself saying. Jim wouldn't be so stupid as to disregard my warnings. I had spelled it out plainly enough to him. No, it must be one of those unfortunate times when Jim was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. If Jim, in town on his own, had been seen flashing the cash around by some ne'er-do-well, some low-life, that scum must have seen his opportunity, particularly on a Friday night, when the town would be heaving with people; Jim would have been singled out as a potential hit. That has to be the answer. I was trying to make myself feel better. I wasn't succeeding. If Jim was conscious, the only one who could tell me what had happened, was Jim himself. I hoped I could be alone with him long enough to find out. I picked up my house keys from the phone table, went outside and started up the car.

By 12:30pm, I was at the hospital. I was in Jim's room. So was Alison. "I couldn't sleep. Couldn't stay away," was all she said.

"Why don't you take time out? If you don't mind me saying, you look exhausted; shattered. I'll sit with Jim. Go and have a break. Have a coffee. Jim's in the best place. He's being looked after. Take five," I urged Alison.

"Okay," replied a resigned Alison, "I'll do that." There was no sign of Jay.

"Has Jay seen his father yet? Is Jay here?" I asked.

"Yes. He saw him briefly and was upset by what he saw. He had to get out of the room; he couldn't deal with it. He's down the hall. I'll go and comfort him." Alison kissed Jim's battered head and took her leave, and left me alone with Jim.

Jim was a mess. Tubes and things attached to his arms and nose. Jim's face was purple, red, and a putrid yellow. One of his eyes was puffed and closed. Jim was able to speak, "Hi," he said, in a manner that was far from friendly, "That shitty hotel. Some place you sent me to," he said, through gritted, broken teeth.

"What happened?" I asked, with genuine concern, "You stayed away from the boys with initials on their clothes, didn't you? Tell me you did."

Jim swallowed hard, "Oh I did that all right. I made damn sure there wasn't a 'brand' in sight."

I was confused and dumbfounded, "So why did this happen?" I asked.

Jim swallowed hard again, then said, "I'll tell you all I can remember."

Chapter 50

It was hard for me to keep looking at Jim's battered, swollen face, as he began to relate to me the events of Friday night. With difficulty, he swallowed hard again, and started to speak, "First things first. Alison thinks that I was mugged. That's the story I've told her. She wants to get the police involved; to report it. I've told her I don't want that, for obvious reasons. I just want to forget about it and move on. As far as she's concerned, I was mugged. Clear?"

"Crystal," I acknowledged.

Our conversation was interrupted by a knock on the open door of the hospital room, "Hello. I just want to check on you, and have a look at your drips, and your chart," the nurse said. She busied herself doing exactly that for a few moments. "You've really been in the wars, haven't you?" she said to Jim. "Don't worry," she continued, "Once the swelling has gone down, you'll see a vast improvement. At least no bones were broken." She smiled a professional smile and left the room, leaving the room door open.

Jim continued, after drawing in a ragged breath, "Last night, I left the house. As you know, I'd made up a story for Alison, that I was going to meet up with some of the rig drivers in town and make a night of it." I nodded, wishing in my mind that Jim would get on with it. "I took a cab into town. Entered the arcade. The place was buzzing. Found myself a companion for the night. I checked and double-checked, for any initials on my catch. None. Absolutely none. The boy knew the way to the hotel. I slipped the guy on the desk a twenty, like you said. Paid for the room in advance. Signed the register under a false name. Before I could take the boy up to the room, two mean looking gorillas took hold of my arms and bundled me out the door, manhandling me into an alley by the side of the hotel. They started laying in to me. Before I knew it, I was winded; I fell to the ground. These morons kicked and punched me. With every blow, they kept saying, "This one's from Bob. Stay away from the refuge, Felix." They kept repeating that, as they pummeled me, as if to ram the message home, "Compliments from Bob. Stay away from the refuge, Felix."

My mind went into overdrive. 'Compliments from Bob?'. 'Stay away from the refuge, Felix???" I had to know. I asked Jim, "Did you see Bob in the arcade? Did you have any dealings with him while you were in there?"

Jim painfully shook his head, "Didn't see this 'Bob' guy at all."

I asked another question, "Why were they calling you Felix?"

Jim replied, feebly, "I remember you telling me everyone signs in with a false name. I remembered you telling me you signed in as Felix. I couldn't think of anything better, so I signed in as Felix."

My head was spinning. Jim asked, "Who is this 'Bob' guy? And what was all that about staying away from the refuge?"

I told Jim, "Trust me, it's better you don't know."

Jim replied, "Trust you? I did. And look where it's got me."

Jim finished his story, "Anyway, after these baboons finished knocking six bells out of me, to add insult to injury, they took my wallet, opened it and took my cash, dropped the empty wallet on the ground, took my watch, and ripped off a gold chain from my neck that Alison had given me, and took my wedding band. So, for all intents and purposes, as far as I'm concerned, it was a mugging. If the police get involved, they'd want to interview my truck driver friends – the ones who weren't there – the ones who were never going to be there because it was all an excuse to get out of the house, and just some stupid line to feed Alison. All I remember next, I managed to somehow crawl my way out of the alley, out onto the thoroughfare. I must have blacked out, because the next thing I knew, I was lying here, with doctors and nurses surrounding me. They asked my name; was there anyone who they could contact, that kind of thing…." Jim's attention wavered from me. Jim was focusing his good eye on something, or someone, behind me. "

Another nurse, no doubt, I thought.

Jim, however, said, "Hi, Spurt."

I turned around to see Jay's tear-streaked face looking at me with utter disgust and hatred.

"Is this true?" he demanded.

I sounded surprised; genuinely surprised, to see Jay standing there. "Jay!" I said, "Where did you come from? How long have you been there? How much have you heard?"

Jay's tears were flowing uncontrollably, as he spat out his reply, "Everything! I heard everything! It's your fault my dad's in here! I hate you! I hate you!"

I tried to console him by attempting to hold him. Jay pushed my arms away.

"Where's your mother?" Jim asked his son.

"She's asleep in the waiting room. I thought I'd leave her alone and come and see you again." Jay directed his anger at me, "I never want to see you again. Leave my dad alone!"

It broke my heart to hear Jay say that.

Jim backed up his son, by telling me, "I don't want to see you again, either. You're too dangerous to know. Stay away from me and my family. I'll have a talk with my son; Jay knows to keep quiet about 'man things', and what's happened is part of that. You can be sure no one else will know. Now get out."

I knew it was hopeless to try and make amends to both Jim and Jay. Perhaps when things weren't so raw, I'd see Jay again. What an early twelfth birthday present I had given him.

I left the hospital room. I walked along the hospital corridor. My anger was reaching boiling point. By the time I had exited the hospital, I had revenge on my mind. But who was responsible for this outrage? Bob? David? I had every intention of finding out.

Chapter 51

I'm not a violent man by nature. My threats to boys were just that; threats – to make sure I got my way with them. It worked with Blondie, Ben and Wolf. The stars had taught me another way to get what I desired when they introduced me to Jay, literally falling into my life, that day he fell off his bike. I'd fallen under his, and the stars' spell. I learned to love him. And he had told me he loved me. That's something I will never forget. And I would never forget, or forgive, the bastard that took Jay away from me. I had to find out who. Bob? David? Both? And I had to know; why? Was It David's revenge on me because I had been with Max? Was it because I refused David's offer of a partnership? Bob's words kept repeating in my brain, "You do not cross Mr. Fallon."

Before I contemplated doing something stupid, I needed to calm down; to think; to get to the bottom of this. I thought having a 'talk' with Beer Belly Bob would be a start. Bob was fond of talking, and I was sure, with not much persuasion, he'd tell me all I wanted to know.

I drove into town. I parked the car in a side street. I sat in a diner across the street from The Pleasure Palace. The arcade was closed. I watched to see if Bob would emerge to put the garbage in the street bin. I thought it best to interrogate Bob when he was on his own; there would be no chance in the evenings, plus he'd have David's heavies in there.

I couldn't keep filling myself up with coffee and loitering in the diner all afternoon. I left the diner and thought I'd try around the back of the arcade, at the car port entrance. The back door to The Pleasure Palace was locked tight. As I'd quit my job, my time was my own. I resolved to come back again tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, if need be, until Bob came to balance the books or throw out the trash. Failing that, I'd take a trip out to the refuge, and confront both Bob and David, and hope that The Wayfarer's volunteers wouldn't be there; four against one is not the sort of odds you want. Well, three and a half, to be exact; Bob wouldn't be able to catch me if I was forced to run.

****

Sunday morning. I'd overslept. I didn't get much sleep during the night. I kept waking up, my mind going over and over again what had happened, and why? Why target Jim? Was it because he had signed the hotel register as 'Felix'? Did the goons think Jim was me? A case of mistaken identity? But, if the goon with the crooked teeth had been involved, he'd have known that Jim wasn't me; I'm sure he'd have remembered his humiliation at my hands when I'd passed the phone over to him to speak to his boss. And anyway, I'd stayed at the hotel a couple more times since then, and, before Jim's visit, and both of those times, I had signed the register as 'Felix D. Cat', so why not pulverize me on one of those occasions?

The last time I looked at my bedside clock, it had told me it was four-thirty. I woke up at ten o'clock. I opened the front door to retrieve the newspaper. On the front step, I was greeted by the sight of many broken pieces of colored plastic. I recognized them straight away, as what was left of two action figure toys: Awesome Boy and The Spear. Both figures had been dismembered; ripped to pieces. I picked up the newspaper. Scrawled all over the front page, in thick, black, 'magic marker' ink, was a handwritten message, in big, capital letters, "I HATE YOU." I should have heeded my own advice, 'Do not mess on your own doorstep'. Now I found myself with a real mess on my doorstep. I looked up and down the street, to see if anyone was watching, before gathering up the pieces of the toys. I slunk back in the house. I was at my lowest ebb.

Chapter 52

I sat at the kitchen table, stunned into silence, staring into space. A thought flashed through my mind, At least the rare Awesome Boy comic book hadn't been ripped to shreds and deposited on my front step. I took solace in that, thinking that Jay may have kept that comic, and be reminded of happier times with me, and that once he had calmed down, I might see him again. If he was still delivering my newspaper, maybe I could talk to him again eventually, and he would give me the chance to mend his broken heart, if not his toys.

Although I felt numb, my anger was raging beneath the surface. I would go into town once again, and stake out The Pleasure Palace. I wanted some answers. I wanted retribution. I thought of a number of things I wanted to do to Beer Belly Bob, or David, or both.

I made it into town by 1pm. I found a space to park the car almost in front of The Pleasure Palace. No sign of life. The front door remained resolutely closed. Or so I thought. About 2:15, the door of the arcade opened. Beer Belly Bob shuffled out on to the sidewalk with a plastic bag, leaving the door of the arcade open. I calmly got out of my car, and slipped, unseen, in the door, while Bob had his back to it. Bob wasn't exactly the quickest of movers. I had time to check the back office, and the rest of the arcade, to make sure there was no one else in the place, and that Bob and I would be alone. I could wait behind one of the gaming machines, out of sight. Bob clomped his way back into the arcade and locked the front door. I watched him as he bumbled awkwardly towards his office. I waited for him to settle in his swivel chair.

I stepped cautiously and silently to the office door, "Hello, Bob," I said, in a sarcastic tone.

"Jeez! What the f…?" Bob said, startled. Bob looked at me with fear, "Wh…wh…what are you d…doing here?" he stuttered.

"Surprised to see me? Surprised I'm still in one piece?" I said, contemptuously.

"I…I…don't want any trouble, now," Bob said, in a pleading kind of way.

"Well, you've got it," I replied, as I stepped heavily on the foot of his bad leg.

Bob let out a shriek of pain, "Jeez! You're hurting me!"

I kept my foot on his while I demanded, "I want some answers to some questions. I'm just about ready to explode, so don't disappoint me," I warned.

"Okay, okay. Anything you want, just don't hurt me."

I looked Bob straight in the eye, "You wanted to hurt me, though, Bob, didn't you? Or was it David?"

Bob's face was contorted as I put my full weight on to his foot. "It wasn't Mr. Fallon. He had nothin' to do with it. He doesn't know."

I rocked my body weight on Bob's foot, "Doesn't know what, Bob? Start talking." I could see I was inflicting real pain on Bob.

"Jeez! Please, stop and I'll tell you everything!"

I eased my foot off of Bob's, "Everything," I repeated. I sat on the desk and said, "Got any bourbon in this drawer?"

Bob nodded and whimpered, as he rubbed his leg. I opened the drawer, took out Bob's favorite tipple, poured it into two mugs, and handed him one. I knew once Bob had got a taste, it would loosen his tongue. Bob took a large gulp of his drink. I noticed his hand was shaking.

Bob asked me, with a quiver in his voice, "So if you're here, who in hell did the morons beat up?"

At least I'd got an answer to one of my questions; I had been the intended target. "They 'beat up' a very good friend of mine. And I'm seriously now considering, on his behalf, repaying you in kind," I informed the shocked and frightened Bob.

I wanted to know more, ""Why did you want to do me harm? What did I ever do to you?"

Bob gulped another large mouthful of bourbon, as if it was water and he'd been in the desert for days without any. I topped up his mug. "That night," Bob began, "That night you were at The Wayfarer. I'd just come back from here. I heard you and Mr. Fallon talking; loudly. You'd obviously both had a drink or two and you hadn't heard me come in…." Bob had another gulp.

"Go on," I ordered him.

"I heard Mr. Fallon offer you a partnership, and he shouted out that you had accepted. I heard him say you and he were partners."

I prompted Bob, "And?" I asked, all the while getting more impatient with Bob's slow delivery.

"Mr. Fallon had talked about going into partnership with me a while ago. Mr. Fallon didn't mention it again. I didn't want to push him for an answer, so I let it drop, thinking the longer I lived at the refuge, he'd bring the matter up again one day." The booze was having the desired effect on Bob; words came cascading out of his mouth, "Then you come along. First, here at the arcade, then at the refuge. Mr. Fallon had never mentioned you before, but suddenly, you're best buddies and he's offering you a partnership that should have been mine, and you accepted his offer. I saw the empty bottle of champagne in the kitchen. You must have been celebrating. It made my blood boil."

Bob quickly took in another gulp of bourbon, then continued his verbal spill, "I thought, if you were out of the picture, Mr. Fallon would have to offer the partnership to me. I took out a private contract with the people that supply the heavies at The Pleasure Palace. I didn't want Mr. Fallon to know, so I hired two guys that had never worked for Mr. Fallon before. I hired them to hang around The Excelsior to look out for, and wait for, a guy called Felix. On the night they were there, last Friday, they checked the register after this guy signed in with a boy, and he'd signed in as Felix. The hired heavies called in at the arcade later that evening, and just said to me, "Job done." I paid them. I didn't expect to see you again. Well, not for some time, anyway."

I thought it time I educated Bob, "First, my name is not Felix. Didn't 'Mr. Fallon', as you call him, ever mention me by another name?"

Bob shook his head, "He just called you his friend. I only knew you as Felix."

I continued with Bob's education, "Secondly, David, or 'Mr. Fallon', did offer me a partnership, but I turned him down. I didn't want to get involved. Whatever it is you think you heard, you heard wrong." I could tell Bob's fear factor was rising; you could see the worry etched on his face, and the way he was frantically rubbing his bad leg and squirming.

"Thirdly, those apes you hired to beat me up, didn't know what I looked like, so when a friend of mine booked his room at the hotel, they, acting on your inadequate instructions, mistook him for me, and beat the living crap out of him. Now give me a good reason why I shouldn't do the same to you, eh, you bastard, Bob, eh?"

Bob cowered in his swivel chair. "You've cost me a friendship," I continued, "But what's worse than that, the ramifications of your stupidity means that I have lost not only that, but also someone very dear to me. My friendship and my relationship with the one who means a great deal to me has probably been tarnished irreparably. Gone forever."

Bob put his head in his hands, "I…I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I thought you were a threat to my partnership with Mr. Fallon."

I continued with Bob's education, "David told me he'd spoken to you about a partnership, but that's all it was; talk. David told me you were slow and, what's the word?..ah, yes, I remember… 'indiscreet'. He also told me you weren't up to the job. A partnership with you was never going to happen, Bob. You know something, Bob? When I came in here I was ready to smash you to a pulp. It wouldn't have been the first time someone had, would it? You've got as much brains as the monkeys you hired to do me over. But now I just feel pity for you. You're not worth the effort of a beating. You can keep your Pleasure Palace, and David can keep his refuge. Oh, and you can keep this," I said, as I poured the remaining contents of Bob's bottle of bourbon over his head and spun him round in his swivel chair. I fished out the bunch of keys from Bob's grubby pants pocket, sorted out the key for the back door, unlocked the door, dropped the keys on the ground, and made my exit through the car port, through the alley, and out in to the street.

Chapter 53

Monday morning. Up early. On the pretense of checking over my camper van, I waited outside for Jay to deliver the newspaper. I wanted the chance to explain to him; I wanted to apologize. I wanted to know how his father was. I wanted Jay.

I was sorely disappointed. Another boy cycled towards the house. As he threw the paper in my direction, I called out, "Hey! Got a minute?"

The boy replied, "Yes, mister." I asked,

"No Jay today? Is he okay?"

The new boy informed me, "Jay doesn't do this round any more. He asked to be put on another one. I do this one now."

"Oh," I said, "Tell me, er…what's your name?"

The boy replied, "I'm Saul."

"Hi, Saul," I said, "Tell me, is Jay okay? I heard his father isn't too well."

Saul responded, "Jay's okay. His dad's not well, but he's doing okay too."

"Good," I replied, "Pleased to hear it. Thanks, Saul."

Saul pedaled away.

Burnt boats, burnt bridges; call it what you will, but it seemed the stars had given me Jay, and the stars had now taken him from me. I couldn't go back to The Pleasure Palace, The Wayfarer or The Excelsior. All those doors had been slammed shut. The stars had taught me one thing; they had shown me that relationships were poison to me. I was a loner, and I vowed I would never get emotionally involved again, for my sake and for the sake of the people that I would hurt. I would take my pleasure where I found it, then leave it alone.

Just as David had felt some kind of obligation to Beer Belly Bob, I felt I had an obligation to Jim. That day, I instructed my solicitor to make a payment covering Jim's hospital bills, as an anonymous 'well-wisher'. The imminent auction of Mrs. Bradley's antiques would more than cover the cost. I also instructed the solicitor to arrange the sale of Mrs. Bradley's house, and mine. There was nothing for me here now. I would dispose of my rust bucket car and the old camper van. I would buy a bigger, more modern, Winnebago or some such thing. I would go on the road, on my way out west. Who knows? The stars might be benevolent and re-connect me with Blondie/Erik. I sure as hell wanted to re-connect with Blondie's ass.

August, 1979. Almost a year since the abduction of Blondie, I said goodbye to the place I'd lived in all my life. I'd sold both houses. I'd got rid of most of the contents of my house, as there wasn't really anything of worth. The old furniture was donated. All I kept was a few items, packed now in my 'new', second-hand, motor home. Those items included a school yearbook, a family photo album, a few vinyl records, a couple of items of clothing I used to wear when I was young and 'hip', a collection of 'specialist' magazines, a plastic bag containing Ben's underpants, a framed pair of Blondie's blue short shorts, Blondie's newspaper picture and some Polaroid pictures. And for some peculiar reason – god knows what – an urn containing the ashes of Mrs. Bradley's deceased dog, 'Mr. Bradley'.

Another life beckoned. I was determined to have some fun along the way.

There wasn't anything unusual about seeing hitchhikers on the road in 1979. Some bore makeshift, hand-written signs, giving a clue as to their intended destinations. Some, just walking along with a thumb prominently stuck out. In 1979, it wasn't unusual to see young people of either sex, on their own, wanting to hitch a ride. True, it was rare to see preteens doing this, but the stars must have been with me, 200 miles into my journey. Up ahead, a lone figure on a lonely, long road, had his thumb out. I passed him slowly, for me to get a good look; and he was looking good; trim and lean, with long, dark brown hair and a shirt tied up in front, showing his bare midriff. He had a backpack strapped to him. I stopped a little way past him, keeping the engine running, and watched him in the side mirror of the motor home as he ran to catch up with me.

I'd also stopped a little way past him for another reason; I wanted to make sure he was alone, and that no others were waiting, hidden somewhere by the side of the road, waiting for the signal to show themselves. That was unlikely, as the road was flat, as was the surrounding area, but I wanted to be sure, all the same. As the boy got close to the motor home, all I could see of him from the driver's side, was the top of his head. I took a chance, and unlocked the passenger side door and opened it.

"Just you?" I asked him.

"Yeah," he replied, with a high, but husky voice. That was a turn-on for me straight away.

"Where are you headed?" I asked him.

"Anywhere," he replied.

"Jump in," I told him.

He smiled and took off his backpack, flung it in the foot well of the motor home, and climbed in. As he shut the passenger side door, I put the motor home in gear and moved off; if he was lying to me, and he had others lying in wait for their chance, I would leave them there.

Chapter 54

I could have asked my passenger any number of questions, just to make small talk, and to pass the time. I could have, but I didn't. I could have asked him why he was on the road, what his name was, why he was on his own, but I only wanted to know two things: how old he was and what did he look like naked? I tested the water in another way, by asking him directly, "I bet you get any number of propositions on the road, what with you being a good looking kid."

I left the question hanging in the air, to see if the boy would respond. He did. After traveling along the road for half a mile, he said, "If you give me some money for some food, I'll suck you off."

After another half-mile of silent contemplation, I raised the stakes, "I'm giving you free transportation; I'm not charging you money for gas. I'll give you money for food in exchange for your ass."

The boy stayed silent for a while. "Let me get this straight," he finally asked, "You wanna put your dick in my butt, in exchange for money?"

I corrected him, "Money for food, or go hungry. I can stop right here and you can give me your ass. No ass means no money, and I will stop right here anyway, and you can get out."

The boy asked, "How much for my butt?"

I replied, "Money for food; that's what you wanted. I'll give you enough to get a decent meal at the next place we see."

The boy pondered, then said, "Pull over, mister." I pulled over, off the road.

"How old are you?" I inquired.

"Thirteen," he replied.

"Any pubes yet?" I asked.

The boy's eyes widened at my question, "Er, no. Well, maybe," he replied.

"Best I take a look," I suggested, "Come in to the back of the motor home. On the seat will do."

The boy moved to the living area of the motor home and sat on the seat. I followed, and stood in front of him with my arms crossed, waiting for the show. "Strip," I told him.

"Everything?" he asked.

"Everything," I confirmed. The boy removed his shoes and socks. The boy untied his shirt and took it off. The boy stood up and unfastened his pants, dropped them, and stepped out of them. The boy pulled off his underpants. I uncrossed my arms, told the boy to sit down again, with his legs open, "Let's see if you have any wispies," I said, as I knelt down in front of him, between his open legs.

"A few," I commented, as I took hold of his penis and stroked it, "You'll do," I added, coldly. I got back on my feet and told the boy to suck me. The boy unzipped my pants, extricated my cock from my underwear, and performed an expert blow job.

"How many times have you done this?" I asked him.

"Plenty," he replied.

"And how many times have you taken it up your ass?" I inquired.

"Never," he replied, curtly.

"First time for everything," I told him, "Turn round on the seat; show me your ass hole."

The boy showed me his ass hole. I fucked him. End of story, really. I was still feeling numb and raw from my separation from Jay; I just wanted a release. I told the boy to remain naked in the passenger seat as we set off again down the road. "When we see a sign for a diner, or whatever, that's when you put your clothes back on," I told him.

Farther along, we saw a sign up ahead. The boy put his clothes on. I stopped the motor home about a quarter of a mile from the eatery. "This is where we say goodbye, kid," I said. I took five dollars out from my wallet and handed it to him. The boy picked up his backpack from the foot well, opened the passenger door, jumped down, and started walking towards the diner. I shouted out, "Have a nice day!" as I drove past him.

Chapter 55

The West Coast. Finally made it. I'd traveled countless miles, stopping here and there, and 'here' today, I stopped by the ocean. I decided to take a stroll along the beach. Another glorious summer day, and a gloriously tanned, shirtless boy. He was with a group of three friends, but this one boy caught my eye. If the stars were to work their magic, I required them to separate my chosen one from the pack; from the herd. Oh, and did I mention? As well as being shirtless, all he had on was a pair of white, body-hugging, tight little speedos.

I stopped a few yards away from the group, took off my sandals and dropped them on the sand, rolled up the material of my cotton pants to my knees, and allowed my bare feet to feel the wet sand under them, and to bathe them in the ocean waves that undulated steadily.

I observed my prey; long, blonde hair, bedraggled from frolicking in the shallow waves. I'd guess his age at about twelve. Lean and taut, but with good muscle development. Every time he emerged from splashing about in the water, he had to adjust the back of his speedos, pulling them back up, as the weight of the water caused them to slip down, revealing a hint of ass crack. I saw, further up the beach from the ocean's edge, a pile of clothes and other items, which, I assumed, were the group's belongings. And then the stars worked their magic. The three friends raced back up the beach and began drying themselves off with their towels. The group put on their shorts and t-shirts over their wet swimwear, gathered their other items, stuffed them into their bags, and made for the dunes and away, calling to their lone friend, "Hey, Lee! See ya later at the skate park!"

The boy in the speedos shouted back, "Yeah. Later!"

I lingered awhile, surveying and weighing up the scene: one human figure in the distance, throwing a stick in the water for a dog to swim out and retrieve; a female jogger was approaching from the other way. Apart from them, the beach was mine and the boy's. The jogger jogged past and away. The figure with the dog, following its master, disappeared into the dunes. The boy, oblivious to my presence, continued splashing around in the water. I picked up my sandals and walked over to the boy's belongings and took a look: a towel, with a skateboard sitting on top of it; a pair of red Converse shoes with white rubber soles; a cloth bag containing a white t-shirt and navy colored knee-length shorts; a cheap, bright yellow wristwatch with matching plastic strap. Nothing else. I lay myself down on the sand, right next to these items, and rested my body on one elbow, as I watched 'Lee,' as his friends had called him, continue his dip in the ocean, unaware that I was now guarding his belongings.

I had no plan. At any moment, other people could come along the beach. It was quite likely that the boy I had decided was going to be mine, could all so very easily run away from me, or shout for help, once my intentions had been made clear to him. The only thing I could do was trust in the stars; I'd let them decide how I was going to have this boy.

It was akin to a scene in a movie, where the beautiful body emerges from the ocean, filmed in slow-motion, with an erotic charge. The boy waded from the water, put his hands up to his head and swept his blonde hair back from his eyes. The very brief pair of white speedos just about covered his boy bits. I could see his cock nestled snugly within that small stretched material. The boy pulled up his speedos at the back, where they had slipped down again. The boy's body was glistening wet as the sun highlighted the droplets of water on his golden-tanned skin. The boy made his way up the sand, and noticed me lying by his clothes. The boy looked at me curiously.

"That's my stuff," he said.

I replied, "I was just admiring your skateboard." I lied. I was, in reality, admiring the dripping wet boy god who stood before me.

The boy god stooped to move his skateboard, picked up his towel and began drying his hair. "It's just a skateboard," he said, warily. I could smell the scent of boy god wafting its intoxicating way into my nostrils, as it mingled with the distinctly salty ozonic air. It was a heady mix; one that made the cock in my pants tingle. I could tell the boy was unsure as to what to do, and that he was unsettled and unnerved by my presence.

Good, I thought, Control. The advantage; 'Felix' was about to be unleashed again.

The boy could see I had no intention of moving away from him or his 'stuff' any time soon. The boy proceeded to nervously dry the rest of his body with his towel; face, neck, shoulders, arms, underarms, torso, legs, feet; in that order. The boy reached for his cloth bag.

"Uh-uh," I said, as I put my hand on the bag and drew it close to me. The sound of the constant breaking waves created a backdrop to the unfolding drama; a soundtrack, if you will, to the movie that was being played out for real.

The boy repeated, "That's my stuff."

Chapter 56

Like I said, I had no plan. I didn't know how I was going to get 'Lee' to remove his speedos, or how I was going to have him. The stretch of beach we occupied was all ours; no one was close. The stars whispered in my brain, 'The dunes'. The grassy clumps would be perfect to hide a boy and a horny Felix from view. I'd never had a boy on a beach before; the prospect delighted me. I picked up Lee's 'stuff,' including his skateboard, stood up, and said, "Follow me."

I headed for the grassy dunes. The need for Lee to take back his belongings overwhelmed the need for him to go and seek help. Lee meekly followed me. I found a secluded spot, surrounded by tall grasses. I sat down, and placed Lee's bag and skateboard next to me.

Lee stood in front of me, "You can have my skateboard, if that's what you want. Just give me my stuff," he informed me.

"I don't want your skateboard or your stuff," I informed him.

"What do you want, then?" Lee asked, understandably worried.

"You," I replied, as I looked him up and down, and especially at the bulge in the front of his tight, white speedos.

"Aw, man," he replied, in disbelief, "You some kind of perv?"

"The best kind," I retorted, "I only go for the good looking ones."

As soon as the words left my lips, I grabbed hold of Lee's ankles and pulled them towards me. Lee lost his balance and landed with a thump on his backside, on the sand. Lee was taken by surprise, and before he could react in any way, I had pinned his body underneath mine. I straddled his body with my legs, either side of his torso. He was lying on his back; his shocked, fearful eyes tried to avert my gaze. I shifted my position so that my body was now sitting on his legs, with my hands pressing lightly down on his chest.

"Lee," I asked, as my face loomed over his, "Is that your name?"

"It…it's…Leif," he stuttered. Leif was trembling like a leaf underneath me.

"I heard your friends call you Lee," I stated.

"Th…that's what they call me, b…but it's Lief," the boy confirmed.

"Nice name," I told him, "I'll call you by your rightful name; I like that better," I added. "Now then, Leif. Let's see what you've got in your speedos."

My hands slowly slipped down to his snake-like hips, feeling his nipples and navel and stomach along the way. I pulled down the front of Leif's speedos and exposed the boy's cock and balls. Leif tried to put his hands in front of his exposed genitals in an attempt to shield them from my gaze, or whatever else he thought I was going to do with them. I slapped his wrists sharply and took his hands away from his jewels,

"Do that again, and I'll smack your balls," I warned him.

I had no intention of hurting him, but he didn't know that. Leif lay prone on the sand, his arms now rigidly by his sides. Leif's hands grasped at the sand, and his fingers sank into it. I kept a close watch on those hands; I've seen those movies, where a handful of sand is thrown into an adversary's face and eyes, as a means of escape. If Leif did think of that, I'd be ready.

I tugged either side of Leif's hips and pulled his white speedos down to his thighs. Leif's golden, tanned body was broken by the white tan lines, now revealed to me. Leif lay silent and motionless as I slid off him pulling his speedos down his legs and feet and off. Another souvenir, I said to myself, as I stuffed the tiny scrap of material into my pants pocket.

"Open your legs, Leif. I want to take a good look at you," I demanded.

Leif had come to the rapid conclusion that he'd better do as I said. Leif spread his legs.

"Spread out your arms," I commanded him.

Leif spread out his arms. Leif was like a stranded starfish beneath me. My eyes feasted on Leif's body, from his head down to his toes. Leif's flaccid cock lay slightly to his left side; he was uncut. Leif's balls were just how I liked them; small and tight.

"Lift up your legs – in the air," I ordered him. Leif obliged me. Leif's ass hole was bright pink; I watched as his anal muscles contracted and then relaxed, offering me a view of his inner sanctum. I told Leif to turn over and get on all fours. Leif did just that. I enjoyed brushing the sand away from Leif's bare young ass. I released my cock from its lair; I pulled down my pants and let the beast feel the salty, briny air, before allowing my cock to zero in on Leif's ass hole.

Leif remained silent, until he felt my cock start to penetrate. "Aw, fuck!" he blurted out.

"Precisely," I replied, "Got it in one. I'm going to fuck you. Now stay quiet, if you know what's good for you."

I grabbed hold of Leif's ass cheeks, and assisted my cock in its journey into the darkness. Leif remained silent as I entered his soft, moist, glory hole. With my cock now firmly planted, I let my hand wander to his cock and balls and massaged them, while I started to fuck his ass in earnest. Leif's cock responded to my touch, as it morphed from a floppy minnow, into a marlin. I grasped Leif's cock and wrapped my fingers around it, while Leif's warm, inner sanctum surrounded my own cock. I pumped Leif's ass, like I would pump up a tire; I was thumping him with a steady rhythm. Leif uttered a few grunts, but other than that, kept remarkably silent. The only other sounds were those of the waves breaking on the shore, and the rhythmic slapping of my groin against Leif's ass cheeks.

I reached the point of climax. I pulled out my cock and spread my cum over Leif's ass. I pulled up my pants. Leif assumed a kneeling position. I picked up Leif's bag and skateboard, and threw them over the dunes, so that they landed on the sandy beach.

"Go and wash yourself off in the sea. By the time you've done that, and retrieved your 'stuff', I'll be gone. Don't even think about looking back at me, otherwise I'll do you harm. Understand?"

Leif just nodded, then scrambled over the dunes. I saw him pick up his bag first, then hastily put on his shorts and headed for the ocean to clean up. I slipped away from the ocean and walked back to my motor home. I thought to myself, Hmmm…I think Felix and I are going to like the West Coast.

Chapter 57

From the moment I knew I'd lost Jay, that time back in 1979, I resolved never to get emotionally involved with a boy or his family again; I never wanted to fall so deeply in love, knowing it was doomed to failure, and knowing I would cause emotional pain and upset to the object of my desire. No, it was better I remained detached from all that; I was content for the stars to provide me with cold gratification, as and when they saw fit. I've had many encounters in that way since then, and one day, perhaps, I might tell you about them; but only if you're interested. I find that the older I get, the less people want to hear about an old guy's reminiscences; it's special to the old guy, but not to anyone else. I hate hearing people of my generation begin a sentence with, "In those days…." It's as if they've accepted their lives are over and that all they have to cling on to, is their past, when they were young and vigorous, and that the up and coming generation should hear them boast about how so much better it all was, "In those days," compared to how the young live in their world. So what was the point, I hear you cry, of me telling you about my life? Catharsis, I suppose.

But I'm still living, and enjoying my remaining years, and long may I continue to do so. Which brings me to the present day.

I had long established myself as a reader of backsides; an 'Asstrologist,' if you please. My fame – or notoriety – in certain circles was well-known. People believe what they want to believe. Over the years, I was propitious enough to cement a reputation with the cognoscenti on the West Coast. As a result of my acceptance within the circle, and my connections with the current batch of 'avant-garde', I was deluged with invitations to attend people's parties, social events, fashion shows, art galleries; you name it. Me, Frank Ross, from humble stock, now accepted by what I would call the 'in' crowd; the 'movers and shakers'. Am I showing my age?

I'd allowed myself to become ever so slightly pretentious, by addressing myself professionally as 'Franklin Ross: Rumpologist'. My business card bore the legend, "Your future is behind you." I was rather proud of that bit of nonsense. Probably not original – no doubt someone had come up with that before, but, there you are.

I turned down most of the invitations I received, only accepting the ones that I thought would prove invaluable in adding to my sphere of influence, or profit. I was still a loner, and shunned the glare of too much publicity, but that only served to make me some kind of enigma in some people's eyes and minds, which, in turn, made them more attracted and fascinated by my air of 'mystery', which didn't harm my standing in the community. On the contrary, it enhanced it. It was a double-edged sword, but one I learned to cope with.

A day or two after my encounter with Miguel and his deluded mother – remember them? – I received an invitation to the opening of an art gallery. Well, more of an exhibition, really. A celebration; a retrospective, of the art of Ed Powell, creator of the phenomenally successful franchise that was Awesome Boy.

I had secretly followed the career of Ed Powell, ever since I had discovered it was his son I had taken in the woods all those years ago, and my work, if you could call it that, and my contacts, had brought me in to the peripheral edges of the artist's own circle of influence. Ed Powell was now eighty years old, and in poor health. For the past four years or so, the artwork for the perennially popular comic books and film franchises, had been overseen by Ed's son, Erik. Erik had emerged as a talented artist in his own right, and taken the character of Awesome Boy into much darker territory in his stories, than his father ever had. For example, Erik's second story, after taking the helm from his father, had Awesome Boy in a cat-and-mouse chase adventure, with the hero trying to locate and rescue the young son of a wealthy shipping magnate's son, who had been abducted and held to ransom by 'The Spear'. Awesome Boy's 'nemenemesis' – I still smile at that – had secreted the boy away in an undetectable underground bunker, deep in a dense forest.

It was with much trepidation and angst that I accepted the invitation to the opening of the gallery's retrospective and all things 'Awesome Boy'. The invitation said that Ed Powell would be too frail to appear, but his son, Erik, would be there. My curiosity and longing to see Blondie again had got the better of me. I knew I would be taking a risk, meeting up with Blondie after all this time. Would he recognize me? Would he do something about it if he did? Would he accuse me? All of that was overridden by my urge and necessity to come face to face once again with Blondie. But it had been forty years since we last met; another time, another place, another world away. I took the view, and the chance, that I would no longer be recognizable as his abductor.

Chapter 58

It occurred to me, that in all the things I have told you about, I had never described my own physical appearance. In 1978 and 1979, I was thirty-two; that you already know. I took care of myself. I was six feet two in height. Lean and trim, but powerfully built. I had a full head of brown hair; shoulder length. Clean shaven. Brown eyes. I wore the fashions of the time, including flared jeans, until, inevitably, fashions changed, seemingly overnight in the eighties.

Fast-forward forty years…I'm now seventy-two, and although I still have a full head of hair, it is now totally white, and so are my eyebrows. I have a full beard, which is also completely white. Some people call me 'Gandalf'. I walk with the aid of a silver-topped cane. My stomach, once lean and trim, is now paunchy. But I 'dress to impress' for a man of my age; a brightly colored waistcoat; a black velvet suit; shiny leather shoes, mostly black, but sometimes crimson or cherry red. A pocket watch – 'full-hunter', naturally – and chain. A colored shirt to either match, or contrast with, my waistcoat, and similarly, a cravat. I sometimes wear a fedora, or panama, or some other hatter's delight.

Today, at the gallery opening, I wore a black-banded fedora. My spectacles hung around my neck from a chain; I need the glasses to be able to view things close up. I held a complimentary glass of champagne in one hand, and a gallery brochure in the other, telling me all about Ed Powell's life, and the exhibits on display. I made small talk with some of my fellow guests, some of whom were my clients. It was one of those that said to me, "Allow me to introduce you to Erik Powell."

Erik and I shook hands. Erik stood two inches shorter than me. He had lost his beautiful, blonde hair; he had a short cut of what was left, either side of his head; the top was completely bald. His skin was tanned, but showed the ravages of too much sun; for a fifty year-old, his face was lined with wrinkles. In a land of plastic surgeons, I wondered why he hadn't succumbed. He was thin and wiry; too thin, in my view; it didn't suit him, his gaunt face or expression.

"Thank you for coming to view my father's exhibition," Erik said. "I've heard good things about you, Mr. Ross," Erik told me. "I'm intrigued," he went on, "Can you really tell someone's future by examining the curves and lines and marks on their, er, posteriors?"

In any other corner of the world, this kind of conversation would have sounded preposterous and vacuous, but not here, not on the West Coast.

"Oh, indeed. It takes many years of study to understand the characteristics of the derriere, and how the subtle nuances lay bare the subject's prospects. Each and every curve and mark has a meaning. Each and every bottom shape has its own story to tell." I was well-versed in talking complete and utter nonsense, with complete conviction.

I was relieved to know that Erik had no idea that we had met before; must be my 'Gandalf' disguise! Thank you, stars! I said silently in my mind.

"I'm fascinated to learn more, Mr. Ross," Erik continued, genuinely.

"Please, call me Franklin," I urged my one-time object of desire.

Erik began again, "Franklin, I wonder if I could make an appointment with you? Not for me, you understand, but for my youngest son?"

I replied, "Of course."

Erik responded, "Good. He's here somewhere." Erik looked around the crowded gallery until he spotted his offspring, "Ellis! Ellis! Over here, please!" he said. Erik's son bounded towards us with confidence and enthusiasm. Ellis stood next to his father. Ellis was about ten years of age. Ellis had a beautiful, blonde mane of long hair. Ellis had striking, Nordic looks. Ellis had a fabulously golden tanned boy body. Ellis wore skin-tight, faded pale blue jeans.

"Say hello to Franklin Ross," Erik said to Ellis, "I'm arranging for you to have a consultation with him. He can tell your future by looking at your tush. Would you like that, son?"

Ellis said that he would.

Oh, my stars, I thought… Here I go again!

(Optional) PLAY-OUT MUSIC: "My Life," by Billy Joel.

The End