Teglin

Stupid Johnny

A Boylove Romance

Chapters 6-7

Chapter Six

I couldn't have moved if I had wanted to, as I lay there in the waters of the Grecka Droga, watching Jasio disrobe. He had looked at me – seemed to say to me by his mere gaze – that he knew I was watching, knew why I was watching, and that he wanted it that way.

He had trembled. Yet the air was calm and warm. I could see his bare chest rising and falling as he drew in a series of big breaths, and then a controlled calm seemed to befall him, and with a knowing glance back at me again, he started unbuttoning his pants. Their tautness over the curve of his buttocks suddenly loosened, and he let them slip down over the barely perceptible swell of his hips, leaving only the thin, nearly transparent white of his undies to adorn his form. Then lifting first one foot then the other, just as elegantly as if he had choreographed a dance, he stepped out of the pants. As his body stooped and straightened, I indeed thought of a dancer bending to a song – one that he had chosen personally, and choreographed in acts. Each act was to reveal just one more element of his grace and beauty.

First Act. The rounded curve of his shoulders, the arch of his back, the promise in the mounding of his buttocks, the long columns of his legs – the beauty of his boyish form. He might reveal it to me consciously, but it was inherent in him – he could not hide something that possessed him as much as he possessed it, for all the years of his childhood. The grace unfolded with obvious conscious intent, as he folded the pants and knelt as before an alter, to place them upon his shirt.

Second Act. The strength of his thighs, his calves flexed, tendons taut beneath the white fabric of his knee socks. Sleek biceps, neck long and straight – the beauty of boy captured in motion. Grace in his natural poise, fingers outstretched and barely touching the fabric of his sailor shorts, his body balanced on one knee, the foot of his other leg potent with the power necessary for him to rise.

I think I gasped again. A rude interruption, but one I could not halt.

His play was a message. He had seen my erect manhood. Had known it's cause. Had responded as clearly as a boy could.

His undies were stretched out, I could see his boyhood pressing out hard just below the line of his thigh, his balls forcing a bulge below.

He paused, letting this act speak, still kneeling sideways to me, holding the pants out before him. He knew that I would hear and understand.

The third act, and he suddenly seemed hesitant. Unsure. He straightened, and just stood there for the longest moment, then turned slowly and lowered his eyes, his hands by his sides. Only the distant gurgling of the stream, echoing softly from facet to facet within our crystalline shelter, could be heard, until I thought I caught the notes of a flute. They came from Jasio's direction, I was certain, but they were muted in the humid air – the glass that surrounded us in every direction failed to echo, and I could not make out the melody.

He stood there so meekly now, his legs together, heels touching, the white of his socks and panties looking soft upon his flesh, the paleness of his thighs and naked chest almost blending with the garments. His hands crossed over his outthrust penis, hiding it, covering it. Again I heard the soft notes, and saw that his lips were moving.

Another message? A… question? The notes seemed to rise, but lose strength with their utterance. A supplication? A request?

With a jolt I bent upright and stood, to splash across the pool. I stepped up upon the shallow terrace, but stopped at the edge of the pool.

"Wha…" I started to call out to him, but the notes came again, and so clearly that they were obviously his own sweet voice now, and the words, "I would come in with you, Piotr, but… I'm not sure what to do next… I want to follow you, but…"

He stopped again, seeming to be unable to finish this act.

"But what, Misiu?" I almost whispered it.

"I can't swim, Piotr, and… I've never…"

"Then, Misiu, let me guide you," I rushed to answer. "I'll bathe you, right here at the edge of the pool. Once done, we'll see if you'll let me carry you deeper, to feel how wonderful these warm springs are. I'll never let you go."

His eyes questioned me first, but the plea in my own eyes wasn't enough. He hesitated, "You… won't let me go?"

"Nev…," I started to promise. Then I realized I could only answer with the absolute truth. "I won't let you go, Misiu. I will hold you the whole time. Alright?"

He considered it for a moment, looking first at the pool, then back at me, then at the pool again, and finally said, "Alright." He sounded still very hesitant, and seemed to shrink in upon himself, standing almost stooped now, his shoulders hunched, his body drawing back.

"Come. It will be alright, I guarantee. Here. Let me get your socks off. And your undies," I said as I dropped to my knees onto the dry ledge before him. He willingly lifted first one foot then the other, and let me slide the socks down. I smoothed his skin, and slid my hands down his calves, gently kneading them. "There, loosen up a bit. I'll take care of you."

It was all I could do to keep from leaning forward and kissing his little dickie as it sprang through the opening of his undies when I unbuttoned them. It was softening, from his wariness, and flopped down from the confinement of the fabric, onto his balls. They hung there fairly loose in the warm air, but drawing up a bit with his apprehension.

I slid the panties all the way off, following the line of white against white, as they slipped down and down and down against his flesh. Then dragged my eyes away, and followed his ritual, carefully folding both the undies and the socks, and stood to walk over to place them on top of his other clothes.

He was totally nude now, and standing facing the pool, looking down at the waters as if they were bottomless. I allowed my self just a second before returning to him, shaking my head in something akin to disbelief. He was too gorgeous to behold!

"Here, sit right here on the ledge," I said as I returned to him, my voice suddenly wavering with the wonder. I held out my hand, and he took it, but he didn't follow me as I stepped down onto the first terrace, within the water. So I just knelt again before him, still the supplicant – but this time I gently tugged on his hand. This time he let me pull him down. He folded his legs and crossed them, sitting very protectively there on the dry ledge.

I loomed over him again, my dick bobbing out right between us lewdly. It seemed threatening even to me, as he sat there so timidly, still searching the waters, so I sat back on my heels. My pole still rose between my legs. "Uhmm, wish I could get this out of the way, but…" I scrunched my lips up at one corner, as I pressed it up against my belly. When I let go, it just popped free again.

Shyly, he gave me the meekest of little grins.

"Good. I'll try to keep it from stabbing you. Now… give me your feet, ok? Let me at least get your feet in."

Reluctantly, he rocked back on his bottom and let me draw his feet out and stretch them into the water. I heard his sudden intake of breath as he felt how warm the water was.

"Feels good, huh?"

"Ye… yeah, I guess so," was all he would admit to.

For a moment I just supported his feet in the water a bit, then gradually lowered them, till he was all the way in to his ankles. Gently I cupped the water and starting lifting it along his calves, imperceptibly rising higher and higher.

"My mama used to wash me when I was a boy. Before the war," I said, thinking to make idle conversation, "but I remember once, my Tato did it, kind of like I'm doing you now – we were at a resort."

"Was that unusual?" Jasio asked, very quickly. I sensed his immediate interest.

"Unusual? That we were at a resort – yeah – we weren't rich, we…"

"No, that you father bathed you, instead of your mother," Jasio interrupted, but almost in a whisper, almost apologetically – but needing the answer – as if I were telling him something crucial. Again I wondered – what has this boy experienced in his life – has he ever felt a mother's hand washing him, or his own father's?

"Yes, it was a bit unusual for him to do that – but it made me feel so close to him – I'll always remember it – I don't often want to remember that kind of thing," I continued, half in bemused wonder at my sudden complete surrender to memories. Like I no longer feared them.

It seemed right. Like I should let those memories unfold – for Jasio's sake.

"Can I pull you down onto this first terrace, Jasio? It's very shallow. It won't even come up above your waist when you sit here."

"Ok," he answered after considering it a moment, again looking down at how deep the water was, then back at me.

"I guess my mama wasn't allowed in those baths – maybe only men," I continued my recollection, hoping to distract his thoughts from the water. It seemed to work, because as I talked, in one easy motion I placed my hands on either side of his thighs and just lifted him right down into the water. His little boyprick and balls floated loosely right there below my gaze as they were submerged and the soothing waters rounded over his thighs.

He grasped me tightly, instinctively, holding my shoulders, but I felt the tenseness in his arms release even as his bottom touched the tiled surface of the terrace. I let him go, then gently loosened his grasp and lowered his hands to the water too. He was so cute there, and reminded me of a little baby for a moment, as he gingerly tested the water with his fingers, playing them about, concentrating on them.

"Well, anyway, I remember being a little shy there at the resort pool, surrounded by the other bathers – all men, as I recall – a few boys – all males, anyway – and my Tato could see the fear in my eyes. He sat me down, just like I have with you, and… took care of me… I mean, he washed me, but… somehow it was more than a mere bath… like he knew what I needed and just did it – like all fathers should."

Jasio instantly quit swishing his hands about, and muttered almost under his breath, "Some boys never had a father."

I didn't know what to say to that, and both of us remained silent for a while. I felt so bad. It hurt deep down inside me. My throat was suddenly so tight, and I felt myself on the verge of tears. I thought he looked like he might cry too. I could only kneel beside him, and continue to cup the water and let it trickle now down his arms and his sides. Then I reached across to alcove, and retrieved some soap and a washcloth, and very gently started rubbing the cloth up across his tummy and lower chest. I dipped it again and again into the pool, and brought it back fresh – more to soothe him than to wash him. All the while I wondered how I could answer him. Finally I just had to settle on the truth.

"I don't know, Jasio," I managed to say, feeling the emotion only slowly loosen its knot within my throat. "Maybe…," I started, but hesitated to continue it, afraid of overstepping some bound – it was what I felt, but would he accept it, would he allow it? "Remember you asked earlier, why all this… why I came back for you, why I gave you food. Well, maybe that's why I did it, Jasio. When I walked around your cart, and touched it, and then you came running out at me, so angry with me… looking so fierce, but still a bit afraid of me… and I just suddenly knew you needed something from me, whatever little I could give. I… it was kind of like my Tato knew what to do back then. I just… well, I had to fill this little tummy of yours, didn't I?" I tried to force a little smile, and hoped I could make him forget his own hurt.

"You think if I had a mom or a dad, they would have done… they would have taken care of me?

"Oh yeah. I think we all have that caring in us, don't we? That's why I stopped for you, Misiu."

"Not all of us," he answered so abruptly, certainly, lifting his head as he spoke it, and looking up at me through eyelids suddenly shuttering in butterfly motions. I knew again that he was willing himself not to cry.

Everything I said was drawing us deeper and deeper into this well, where both of us were sounding the depths of our own sorrow, of our own pasts, but I somehow felt like it was what we both needed, right here, right now. Wasn't it about time that this little boy knew? Wasn't it about time that I started to remember, to open up, to give a bit. He wondered. I answered. How could I do less?

"Yes, not all of us," I agreed. "I understand that. They weren't… I guess they haven't been all that caring… with you, have they, Jasio."

They.

We both knew who 'they' were.

His people. His keepers. Those who should have cared.

Another long pause, while I washed his arms and shoulders.

"We're not all like… them, Jasio. I… I'm not like them. I do care… that's what I wanted to tell you about earlier, at breakfast."

He didn't speak, but just let me wash him. Meekly surrendering himself to my care. I wondered. Was his just a surrender to helplessness, still. Or did he yet believe me? Did he surrender to the spirit that was behind my caressing hands, behind my every touch, and glance?

He looked down. At the tile. Then at my kneeling form. At… what?

I couldn't tell.

Just the thought that he might believe me, that I might be getting through to him, and my penis began to pulse. Oh my god, if I could break through to him. If I could just make him feel my love.

"Hey, let me… uh, look at those hands," I said awkwardly. I motioned to him to lift them and hold them out.

"Ahh, I'll have to scrub these with a little soap, and get at those fingernails." He still didn't say anything, but just sat there in the water and let me minister to him. I washed his hands and wrists and up along his forearms, lathering the washcloth, running it up and down. Carefully I looked at each finger in turn, and dug out the dirt from his fingernails with the cloth, then scrubbed them directly with the soap.

"There," I said triumphantly as I splashed clean water over them, and then used my whole arm to push the suds away from us towards the lower pool. The underground spring was apparently constantly pumping fresh water into our pool, because the soapy water flushed out quickly.

"They're clean enough to eat now," I bragged.

"You're silly," he mumbled, trying to sound glum, but I could tell he was just about as proud of the results as I was. He sat there looking at his clean hands, turning them over and over, anyway.

"Oh, I mean it. I think I'll eat them all up right now."

"Oh, you won't either," he said, but the way he looked up at me from under his lowered brow – I could tell he wasn't just perfectly certain what I would do.

"You just watch, little guy. If I wash it I get to eat it."

Playfully I grabbed his left hand and brought it up to my mouth and acted as if I were about to bite into his fingers. His lips began to form a smile, but he tugged back on his hand nevertheless.

"Oh no you don't," I admonished him, and flashed my other hand out to tickle him under his armpit. He finally giggled outright at that, and let me hold his hand. Again I acted as if I were going to insert his extended fingers right into my mouth, then I just froze and held them there, poised before my open mouth, looking right down into his wide-open, wondering eyes.

"Oh, just a little nibble, ok?" And I leaned forward, closed my lips around the tip of his middle finger, and just held it there for a second. I couldn't resist then, and let the tip of my tongue just graze the end of his finger. It tasted just faintly salty and fresh. I closed my eyes then, and gave the tip of his finger a real kiss.

He lowered his hand very slowly, still looking at me, his mouth open, taking quick, shallow little breaths. His eyebrows were raised – he had seen it, felt it, and I guess was trying to fathom my silly ways.

"You didn't… eat this one," he said as if in a trance, still looking right up into my eyes as I knelt before him. Slowly he lifted his right hand, offering it to me.

I took it in both my hands – he laid it upon my open fingers, where I crossed them as if creating a serving platter. All the playfulness in my spirit suddenly vanished. His boyish hand, so smooth and unblemished even by his hardships, was so small compared to mine. That he would offer it to me was like an acceptance. He did trust me now.

I bent my head low again, but this time to kiss the top of his hand. Still holding it to my lips, I looked into his eyes again. A mix of wonder and willingness and… permission dwelt there. He didn't pull back. He let my hands guide his, as I turned it palm up and kissed there. Slowly I curled his fingers in, to close his palm. And then I let him go.

He pulled his hand back just as slowly and rested it against his tummy. Half-opening it, he rubbed his other thumb just where I had kissed him. Again we looked into each others eyes, but neither of us spoke. It seemed that even the trickling of the gentle cascade at the edge of our pool, and the murmuring of the mountain stream were silenced, because I could hear nothing then but my own heartbeat.

What did we share in that moment, beyond the sense that we existed alone, together? I felt he had given me what no other being had ever given me since Stefan, so many years ago, when we would lie in each other's arms wordlessly, sharing our souls. As with Stefan, at this moment, words did not seem necessary to tell Jasio how I felt.

He knew. I knew.

So it seemed simply natural that I cup my hands in the water again, and trickled it over his left shoulder. Then with the washcloth I soaped him there, and rinsed again. As the waters fled down, I leaned forward and kissed the rounded curve, then kissed again along the ridge of his collar bone. I felt my head brush against his cheek, and I am as certain as I have ever been of anything that I felt him lean in to make our contact hold even longer.

I moved to his right shoulder, marveling at the beauty of this boy. He sat there upright, his back straight, with the water lapping at his tummy, his hands resting now in his lap, his head up, opening himself to me, letting me serve him as I would.

As I washed him, the grime of days and weeks and months poured off him, falling down in streams across his chest and arms, leaving little streaks that washed away with my next handful of water. That scent that I had become so used to, almost to love, because it was a part of him and his past, slowly washed away too.

I bent to kiss his right shoulder, then raised his hand high and cleansed his underarm down to his armpit and along his side. I bent to kiss there too. Even then he didn't pull away, but let my lips rest lightly in that so sensitive, private vulnerable flesh. My flesh met his, feeling the tightness of the skin over his ribs – more testament to his privation. I tasted the moist, hot, pale and tender flesh where his arm joined his body. I paused, and breathed in deeply, and let my kiss linger there. Again he leaned into me, seeming to want the press of my lips.

Not a word spoken still, as I shifted to his left side once more. When I bent to kiss him this time, I felt his heartbeat there beneath his arm – it kept time with my own – beating, beating, measuring this time we had together, when all else in the world was suspended and forgotten.

I sat upright and shifted back upon my haunches for a moment. My penis jutted up, still bearing witness to what I felt. He gathered his legs in and sat back upon them too. His little penis was lifted up out of the water and dripped down across his loosened scrotum, completely flaccid from the hot waters of the spring.

"Close your eyes for me, now, Misiu." I whispered.

He didn't even ask why, but immediately, without even the slightest question or hesitation he closed them and just remained there kneeling before me, with his hands resting on his thighs.

I took the wash rag and dipped it free of all the grime, then soaped it lightly and raised it to his brow. "This won't sting. I'll wash it off quickly now, just keep your eyes closed for a moment, sweetie." With deft movements, I washed his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his cheeks, even around his eyes. Quickly then I rinsed him. A little line of dirt lay there still along his hairline. I would have to give him a shampoo. He didn't open his eyes as I took up the cloth again and washed his ears, his chin, and down around his neck.

My kiss, right on his forehead, seemed to awaken him from some dream. He opened his eyes then, and as I sat back, he gave me the most sublime, gentle smile of contentment that I have ever seen.

"It feels so good, Piotr," he said dreamily. "Thanks."

"Oh, we're far from done, Misiu. Let's do your hair next."

"Ok," he answered, half-closing his eyes as in complete contentment and acquiescence.

"You'll have to keep your eyes closed again, for a while."

He answered by simply letting his head fall back a bit, and closing his eyes immediately. If only I had dared, I would have kissed his red lips right then and there, for he held them closed, almost puckered out, in his complete submission to me.

"Haha, no, I think we'll have to do this a bit differently." He opened his eyes again, listening contentedly. "I think I'm going to have to lean you back in the water, and soak your hair…" His eyebrows shot up at that, and he jerked his head back just a bit in reflex. "Don't worry, Jasio, I'll hold you the whole time. And you can see it's not really very deep here. Willing to try?"

"Ye – yeah," he answered in a hushed voice.

"Thanks," I said, feeling again that he had just set his stamp of approval on me.

I scooted back a bit, then held out my arms. He leaned forward, rising up off his calves and let me take him by the arms. He practically floated about as I turned him sideways and pulled him towards me. He straightened his legs out in the water and leaned back against my left arm.

I had forgotten the scars.

The very instant I felt them against the soft flesh under my forearm, I stifled a gasp. Unconsciously I guess I had expected to feel the smoothness of his back against my arm. Instead I felt the welts that I had discovered last night in the car.

Jasio didn't seem to notice. So they were obviously healed. I kept my composure and acted as if nothing had happened. "Now I'll lean you back, Misiu. Just let me get your hair good and wet. I won't even let your face get below the water-line, ok?"

"Ok," was all he said in answer. He looked a bit tense, and I felt his stomach muscles stiffen a bit when I slid my right arm across his chest to gently grasp his other side, and then just laid him back with my left arm firmly supporting him below his shoulders.

His hair literally dissolved into the water! For hours now I had become accustomed to the way it clung to his scalp and to the sides of his head, almost completely hiding his ears, clumping here and there, straggling out wildly in dirty, stiff-dried strings. Now as I lowered his head, and the water line crept up along the sides of his head and scalp, I saw how fine and soft his hair was. Each filament loosened and floated out. His locks waved gracefully in the water, ebbing and rising with each little motion of my arm.

I think he felt it too, how wondrous cleansing and liberating it was, because all the while that I had I laid him backwards his eyes had held to mine, seeking reassurance, looking for any sign from me that I might drop him to submerge in the depths – now he just melted against me, half rolling his whole body towards mine. Again he closed his eyes dreamily, and I felt his shoulder muscles relax. He had to hold his neck straight, to keep his head from flopping back into the water, but it too seemed to loosen, to flex with each wave of motion in the water.

I released my right arm from his far side, letting the buoyancy of the water hold him up and lovingly ran my fingers through his hair, loosening each strand carefully, sliding them between the pads of my thumb and fingers.

And then, I swear the most startlingly arousing sensation I think I had ever experienced happened totally by surprise. I hadn't even considered it – but as I was brushing his hair beneath the surface of the water, my fingers began to come in contact with his scalp – with the very contour and firmness and… softness… of his skull! I stopped breathing momentarily. It was perhaps the most intimate touch that I had had with another being, since those days so long ago when Tomek would make love to me – but… even those old experiences paled in comparison, I think, because I was touching a part of this boy that it would literally be impossible to touch in any other way than this! The water made his hair fly away, inviting my fingers to roam as if in direct contact with his scalp, feeling every little nuance of contour beneath his flesh.

I closed my own eyes, and suddenly knew exactly what a blind person would learn to experience every day – that there ways of feeling, modes of sensation that were unimaginable in normal circumstances.

I can't even explain it completely. Anyone can touch their scalp. Anyone can feel the planes and curves of the skull. It must have been some magical compound of the warm waters, the willingness of this boy, my growing love for him – I don't know. All I know is that I felt like Jasio had allowed me to touch his very soul.

I cupped his head in my hand and held him floating there, washing him, watching his hair drift out beatifically, like a halo. Who but me had ever seen him like this? Surely his mother had once held him so, cleansing her baby boy's hair. Had she lived long enough to do that? Perhaps the man that Jasio vaguely remembered, dressing him – his father? Certainly few others, from the looks of him.

What I washed from this boy was more than dirt. Each particle of grime that I removed was witness to some moment of hardship, as he toiled for miserly handouts. Every little scrape or bruise revealed beneath the dirt was a reminder of all the hours he had struggled with his cart, seeking everyone else's discarded scraps of wood and metal. And the scars on his back?

Jasio seemed quick enough to tears, in the last few hours – with the mere reminder of half-forgotten memories, or in response to simple kindnesses. As I held him there in the water, I suddenly wanted to cry – remembering his future.

He must have sensed it in me, for he opened his eyes once again and looked up at me, seemingly bewildered.

"What's wrong, Piotr?" he said, his voice sounding lower, coming up out of some dream.

"Nothing, Misiu. Nothing at all," I lied. "I'm just… happy to have this chance to… take care of you,' I answered lamely.

My throat constricted as I struggled to hold back the tears. Just so he wouldn't see it, I pulled him up out of the water and into my arms, wrapping them around him, holding him tight to my chest. The waters streamed from his body till only their drip, drip, drip remained. Settling the fingers of my right hand over his temple, I began stroking him there in gentle cirlces – as if I could erase all memory of those awful hardships from his thoughts. I sighed deeply, marvelling at this moment. I was washing him, caressing him, but felt cleansed myself. Of every concern, every sadness, every sad memory, every regret. Of every thought of the future. Here I was. Here I wished to be. I held him against me, speechless, but hoping he would feel my love. Finally I kissed him on top of his head, and managed to croak out, "there, Misiu, your hair is almost clean enough to eat too. Just… let me wash it a bit."

"Yes, Piotr," he uttered meekly against my chest. I think he was perfectly content to settle there in my arms forever, because he had seemed to snuggle even closer, letting his arms cross over his chest, drawing himself in as I pressed him to me.

He helped though, as I sat him back up upon his heels, holding himself upright again with his hands on his thighs, as I reached for the shampoo that stood in a bottle next to the alcove. The lotion was fragrant, like the exotic flowers that scented our haven. I was pleased. Jasio's natural scent would be perfume to me, but he deserved to know what it felt like to be pampered.

"Keep your eyes closed till I rinse this out, ok?" I asked him as I poured the cream out into the cup of my palm. He nodded and closed them and just sat there looking very relaxed on his stiffened arms, his shoulders pushed up, his chest sagging forward. There was something incredibly sensual in being able to pour my eyes over his face, his shoulders, his hair, knowing that no one, even he, was watching me. He submitted to me willingly like this, but would he be so free to give his consent if he saw how I practically devoured every centimeter of his flesh with my eyes?

The lather and suds transformed his hair once more – this time to a soft, glutinous white mass that molded into infinite abstract shapes with every twist and turn of my fingers as I kneaded and massaged and rubbed. His head weaved and bobbed to every stroke of my hands, but I made certain to do it gently. The contented little smile upon his lips was consent enough.

"There! Now I'll lean you back again into the water," I said even as I started to wrap my hands about him, to lean him sideways. He flowed into it easily, and let me lean his body sideways, straightening his legs out again. He was even more relaxed now, and seemed to just naturally stretch out, letting me practically float his whole body with one arm under his bottom and the other under his shoulders. As I bobbed his head in and out of the water, the foamy suds lazed and drifted away in the current, till his hair once again waved freely, it's auburn hue catching the sun and defying the very laws of nature, started to shine with it's own burning radiance right there in the water.

"And now for my due," I announced triumphantly as I lowered my lips to his forehead and kissed his brow. He opened his eyes in perfect contentment, yielding to me the only payment I had asked of him.

He must have seen the way I let my eyes travel from one end of his body to the other, and perhaps how they lingered upon the limp form of his penis. Again I marveled at how big it was in comparison to his small body. It lay wavering and curving upon his flattened pubis with every little motion of his body upon the surface of the water, the half bared glans peeking first up towards his chin, then flopping over to one side or another languidly, in slow motion. His little testicles lofted up loosely, when the waterline rose above them, and then flattened laxly down between his legs when I lifted his bottom up. I might have unconsciously wet my lips, for suddenly Jasio said something that caught me totally by surprise.

"You aren't going to eat my siusiak, are you?" he half-laughed.

My eyes darted to his. He seemed bemused, but still wondering. Had he actually made a joke of it, I wondered.

As much as I wanted to answer yes immediately, and then dive down between his legs to consume his boyish treasures, I hesitated. "I… just might… do that, little boy, but… hmmh… well, we did have sausage for breakfast, so perhaps I'll wait." I tried to say it just as jokingly as he had.

He didn't respond, but just kept looking up at me, his eyebrows raised in that perpetual wonder of his. Whether he was disappointed or not, or whether he even had a clue as to what the implications of his question were to me, at the very least he seemed still content enough to just lay there relaxed in my arms.

"First… uh," I fumbled for a way to continue, "first I had better wash your legs and your feet. Those should be quite tasty."

Playfully now, he lifted one leg and bent it at the knee. "Is this what you want?" he asked, looking very smug now.

At least I had given him that. I suddenly felt just gloriously happy. Just a moment ago Jasio and I both had been on the verge of tears. The old woman's comments, all his questions at the breakfast table – all of my feeble answers – everything had conspired to ruin these moments we had together. Now all that seemed to have washed away with his bath.

"Yes, indeedy" I answered, doing my best Groucho Marx impression, notwithstanding the fact that he had no doubt never seen any kind of film or even knew such a thing existed. He got the message anyway, because he giggled, and his whole body shivered in expection and delight.

I shivered too. One of those spontaneous exultations of the spirit that just had to seek some physical expression – and then once again the full realization of what he was allowing me to do hit me, and I had to take another deep breath and steady myself.

I watched as he lowered his long, slim leg back down into the water. It was so utterly beautiful a sight, the way every line of his body flowed into the next. His legs conjoined at the apex of my desire, then separating in symmetrical perfection, each thigh glistening from both the water and the natural glow of his pale skin. There along his inner thighs, where he flesh was most tender, I could see so clearly the blue tracery of veins beneath the transparent surface, carrying blood from his little feet and the firm, almost infinitesimal swell of his calves.

Now my hands trembled again, as I floated him around in the water and lifted him at the shoulders so he could sit up again. I let my right hand slide down from his bottom and across, over both his thighs, then down, down, down the length of his left leg till I cupped his heel in my palm.

I pulled up on it, forcing his leg to bend and rise. A fleeting waterfall appeared, then disappeared just as quickly, as the Grecka Droga's warm waters flowed from his leg. Carefully I leveraged him backwards against the bank of the pool. He eased back willingly, gracefully rolling upon his bottom, leaning till he could rest his arms there along the rim, letting them mold to the gentle curvature of the tile.

I looked down between his legs, into the water. With his leg flexed up high, his bottom was lifted and opened – I glimpsed the darkened little hole there beneath his balls and wondered silently if I could wash him there too.

It would be his choice. That much I knew.

As he settled back, perhaps sensing my renewed passion, he gazed more intently down the length of his body, no longer so ready to giggle. I glanced up at him – he was following every motion of my hands as I started washing his thigh, dipping the refreshing, cleansing water up higher and higher along it. I took the cloth and ran it smoothly up and down his thigh, then over his knee and back down his lower leg. Every vestige of Jodłówka washed away, but for the little irregular trail of tiny bruises. Perhaps his shin had scraped against the cart pedal. Perhaps he had tripped over a fallen branch, in search of some half-hidden scrap of iron along the side of the road. Again, I contrasted these little injuries to the welts on his back, and when I leaned down to kiss each one, following their path down his fibula with my lips, I wondered how to salve the wounds caused by his people back at Jodłówka.

With loving attention to every crease and curve, I finished by scrubbing Jasio's foot. My cloth found it's way between each toe, and again I dug the grit from beneath his nails. Like his fingernails, some were chipped, and all needed trimming. Something for later on, if I could get some scissors from the old woman.

I switched to his other leg then, kneeling before him, feeling like his servant as I reached for his heel with my left hand, and cupped my other hand around the fleshy part of his calf. Again I pulled upwards, getting him to bend his leg and lift it so I could wash everywhere, up and down, inside and outside, behind his knee and all the way down to his ankle and foot.

Wash and rinse, wash and rinse. The water dripping down his upraised leg was musical as it dribbled back into the pool, carrying with it all the filth that had accumulated over days and weeks. His body, from his head to his arms down across his belly to his legs and feet, was completely clean now. But for the long strands now clinging wetly to his scalp, he was completely hairless. I couldn't even see the short fuzz that some boys have on their arms and legs. If they existed, they were so silken and fine, so pale as to blend perfectly with his creamy complexion. His skin was everywhere soft and smooth, marred only by the occasional scar or bruise that any boy might have who had existed on his own for so long. If anything each little blemish served to heighten the impression of his boyishness. He had the fair paleness of a child, and the slimness round his shoulders, the red ripeness of his lips, the delicacy of his fingers were like that of a girl, but Jasio radiated BOY. There was no incipient promise of fullness in his hips, only the underlying promise of strength, litheness, sleek suppleness where his strong legs met the curve of his buttocks. There was no weakness underlying the tautness of his chest and tummy – just the firm outline of his pectorals, and the ripple of the stomach muscles below his ribs.

I took one long labored breath of a sudden, just in awe of his incredible beauty. My penis was bursting with a sudden realization of my own maleness, in response to his. His penis was still resting soft upon his pubis, but the firmness of his foot rested in my hand. I felt it hard, and extended straight towards me. I shifted backwards, and extended his leg out completely, running my hands up and down the hardness of his lower leg, down along the top of his foot, and all the way along the side of his big toe. It too was a miniature of my own, delicate just as were his fingers, but so hard and rigid.

I swear I didn't even think about it – it just seemed to happen, as if there were some primordial need in me to feel my maleness against him, I got up off my haunches and thrust my penis forward, rubbing it deliberately, roughly against his calf. My foreskin slid down and my suddenly bared and engorged glans glided excruciatingly against him. I heard myself groan softly, like some pitiful, wounded animal. Involuntarily I threw my head back, closing my eyes.

"You… you want me to suck you now?"

The sound of his suddenly husky, hushed voice practically pushed me over the edge – I might have cum right then and there, after hours and hours of the arousal that his mere existence caused me, but the meaning of his words cut through the fog in my brain instantly. I toppled forward awkwardly, dropping one arm stiffly by the side of his legs to steady myself, and must have looked quite silly as I grinned sheepishly, guiltily, at him in embarrassment.

"I'm so sorry, Jasio. I just… got…"

I just got truly stupid, I thought to myself. I was acting like Leon, no doubt. Doing just what that brute would have done, and started using Jasio for my own pleasure.

"It's alright, Piotr," he said more softly, as I steadied myself and sat back again. "You're… always hard, and… when Leon starts to get excited like that, then…"

"I'm not Leon, Jasio. I'm sorry if I… I want this to be… I just want to make you feel good. I would never do like Leon." I said softly, feeling both upset at myself and a bit disappointed that the boy hadn't recognized the difference between why I did things, and why Leon might have done them.

"I know, Piotr. You're nothing like Leon. I know that. I just thought maybe I could make you feel good too, like you…"

His words made my heart soar. He did understand then. At least part of it. "Jasio, thank you. I thank you more than I can even say. But I don't want you to think that you exist for my pleasure, or to serve me, or anyone else – even Leon. He should have served you."

I lifted his foot again, and leaned forward, pressing my cheek against it. Just rubbing it there. I sighed deeply, feeling my love just pouring out to him, wanting so desperately to show him, just to give him a small idea of the kind of love I wanted to give to him… I closed my eyes, feeling his foot against my cheek, and almost cried out again with the hurt – if only I could show him somehow, let him know that I'd do anything for him if only I could.

"Jasio… Jasio… Jasio…" I uttered, as I shifted to nuzzle the bottom of his toes, kissing each one, where they were so tender and soft. Then I just sat right down in the water at his feet and started kissing and kissing the bottom of his foot, a hundred little offerings of my love – I knew the meaning of what I was doing, kissing the bottom of his foot, placing myself exactly where I wanted to be. If only I could make him understand it too.

Perhaps he did, for when I finally lifted my head and looked down the full length of his body, he met my gaze full on, with eyes that glistened with his own emotion His lips were parted and his chest rose and fell in jerking little heaves. He was on the verge of tears.

"I do know one thing, Misiu," I said.

He immediately lifted his brow, questioning me, then managed to whisper it, "What? What… do you know, Piotr?"

"I do know that I exist for you. To serve you."

He caught his breath and brought one hand round to smudge his cheek, as the tears started trickling down, but I knew they were good tears. Very good tears. He was trying his hardest to smile through his sniffles.

I ran my hand beneath his calf and bent his leg at the knee so I could scooch forward. I held out my arms and he nodded, and we both got up on our knees and I gathered him to me. My penis lodged between us, canted off to the side. I could see it's glistening head sticking out, just below his arm. Whether he noticed or not, I don't know. We just hugged each other, his head resting on my chest. I felt his arms reaching round me, his hands pressing hard against my back.

I felt the scars upon his. I looked down, and saw again, just like last night, that they crisscrossed his narrow back.

Slowly my penis drooped down, deflating right there between us. It wasn't a moment to ask about them. I didn't feel like stirring either anger or sadness, in him or me, but they couldn't be ignored. I just started caressing him there, from his shoulder blades all the way down to the curve of his buttocks, deliberately feeling each little puffy stripe. He tensed just slightly, when he realized what I was doing. When he realized that I was doing it on purpose. But then he relaxed again against me, sighing, as if giving in to the inevitable. They were old scars. My touch didn't hurt, but to be reminded of them must.

"Let me look," I whispered down into his ear.

He drew his hands in and just slid down, lowering his head as if in shame. He shifted about and sat back upon his heels there right before me and leaned forward over his knees, revealing the whole ugly expanse of his back.

Ugly. Beautiful.

Gazing at the scars, but seeing the boy, I wondered where ugly and beautiful met. For they were awful, sickening wounds. So harsh had been the beating, that long after the bleeding had stopped, each welt still looked angry, red and livid. Yet they weren't really a part of him. Not a part of this boy.

What I saw at that moment was Jasio's spirit. My own anger, the hatred that I knew I would dwell on at some later time, fled before the vision I had of this boy defying the unjust punishment he had received. Jasio had never given in. The boy I found upon the side of the Old King's Way had defied every blow against his body, from man or the elements.

I knelt there above my boy's arched back and knew that it must not be shame that Jasio felt. It was something precious to me, instead. He had bared his back to me, knelt and stooped so that I could see everything. His trust in me was complete.

"I will wash you here also, Misiu. I'll be gentle."

He nodded his assent.

"Someda… sometime I will ask you about these scars, Jasio. For now, I just want you to know how utterly beautiful you are," I said as I started lifting the warm, freshening spring waters up upon his back.

"Beautiful?" he repeated the word, as if not believing me.

"So very, very beautiful," I answered. I took the soap in my hands this time, and rubbed the bar between them. I didn't want to use the rag on those raised welts. The scars looked so delicate, the skin there lustrous, gleaming, looking too thin to protect him, as if they might open again, to trail blood instead of cleansing water down his back.

I placed my hands there firmly though, letting the scars mold to my flesh, letting my hands glide in swirling motions to wash him, to massage him. Perhaps mine were the first hands to ever lovingly touch him there. Surely my lips were the first to ever kiss him there – each stripe, each wound felt the warmth of my touch.

When I had washed him there completely and caressed and massaged him from his neck all the way to the small of his back, I soaped my hands again and let them glide down farther, till they cupped his bottom.

He gasped once, but like a cat who has just been petted, Jasio seemed to instinctively rise upon his knees and lean forward, stretching his back forward, grasping the edge of the pool again, and thrusting his bottom up and out.

My god, my dick sprang to life instantly in response to his action. I was hard in a flash. Solid, iron hard again, all 21 centimeters [8¼ inch] of me. I had to flex my own hips back to keep from stabbing my penis right in between his cheeks. Lovingly I washed him there, first concentrating on his little cheeks – washing and rinsing – then daring to let the middle finger of one hand, and then the next, glide up and down between his cheeks. I felt the little indentation of his anus, and could look down and see it's dark recess just at the edge of my gaze. Blindly, I let my fingers glide even farther, gently soaping his pereneum, and the underside of his dangling scrotum.

Jasio squirmed with each touch there. That only made my dick throb all the harder, as I wondered if he had ever been touched there by Leon or any other man. Was he still simply submitting to me, his new protector, the man to whom he had offered his trust? Or was he experienced in these feelings? Did he squirm in anticipation?

He looked back over his shoulder, and I had my answer in an instant. The skin over his brow was drawn tight, his nostrils were flared, his lips pinched in wonder – not anticipation. His eyes were searching – not daring. Again he breathed in short gasps, as if he were on the verge of some precipice, looking over, wanting to take the leap, but almost afraid to. I thought I saw something else in his look though – some desire or… need.

Perhaps it was a need that I wanted to read into his expression. Nevertheless, I bent to answer it, kissing both his cheeks in turn. Then I let my lips nestle in the cleft between, pausing there just centimeters from that secret spot that I had grazed with my fingers. Just centimeters from telling him, if only I could kiss there, and if only he would understand it, that I longed to submit myself to his service body and soul.

I raised up again. He was still looking back over his shoulder at me. I just met his gaze steadily, hoping he would read in everything I did, that I wanted to be his. I had ministered to him there. Then I had kissed him there, just as I had every other part of his body.

Every other part except one.

"Turn over, Misiu," I heard some man's voice say. It hardly sounded like mine – it was hoarse and there was a sudden urgency in it.

Jasio nodded, ever so slightly, hesitantly, then just kind of rolled over slowly in the water, naturally extending his legs out. As if by design, he lifted one leg and brought it around on the other side of me, so that I was suddenly kneeling right there between his legs and staring down straight at his penis.

It lay there upon his pubis, soft but latent with his boyish potency – there was nothing about it that would have suggested that he was yet a man – not even a trace of pubic fuzz upon his mount. Jasio could not cum. But I knew he could become erect, and that was all that a boy needed from his member – the hardness that would let him feel what was to come as he matured, a hardness that would not die, but let him taste the future again and again and again.

Even soft it seemed out of proportion with the sleekness of his body. I could almost have spanned the narrowness of his hips with one outstretched hand, and yet his cock was thicker than my thumb and almost as long. It lay there with it's underside bared to me. I could see the wormlike bulge of his urethra just beneath the surface, and follow it all the way up to where his foreskin connected to the spearhead of his glans. His skin bulged there too, and I knew if I tried to pull that foreskin down I would find the thin membrane that attached it – a spot so utterly sensitive that I wondered if he had ever had the resolution to rub it and play with it. As a boy, my frenulum had been so sensitive that I hardly dared to touch it for more than a split second – until Stefan taught me the intensity of the pleasure that hid there beneath the almost unbearable tenderness.

The underside of his glans peeked out beyond the band of his foreskin. It's cleft was so enticing, half-hidden, but just as well half revealed, closing just below the bottom of his little meatus. The slit was so small as to be almost invisible, and yet I could just trace its opening – someday he would spurt his semen from that tiny hole – if he got his dick hard, if his glans engorged and became fiery red with his lover's touch. Now his glans lay quietly half within its protective sheath, more pinkish, even bluish than red – warmed by the Grecka Droga's waters, but not tortured by that soothing touch.

Below his big boy's cock, this little boy's eggs lay just as soft, but just as surely protected within his scrotum. It was loose with the warmth, and let the little marbles within hang down freely upon the rise of his buttocks. They were large for his size too, but not yet extended like a more mature boy's. Large enough within their sac to almost completely cover the ridge of his pereneum as it trailed down between his butt cheeks to his anus. With each motion of his body within the water, his balls floated and bobbed, giving me tantalizing glimpses below. My fingers had cleansed there, but I had yet to see his most secret spot openly.

Jasio's tummy and pubis were perfectly smooth, funneling down to the little fold of skin puckering around the base of his penis – smooth, pale and translucent white, bounded by his winking belly button, which I had already had one close encounter with out by the latrine, by the twin spurs of his hip bones spiking up, almost threatening to break the taut skin there, and by the V of his crotch. I could see the tendons there, flexing and stretching as his legs bobbed in the water.

Without any prompting, both of us knowing what I was going to cleanse next, Jasio seemed to purposely lift his hips out of the water – I could see his tummy muscles tightening with the effort, and his thighs felt stiff and hard against my sides.

I drew closer, shifting up farther between his legs. My own erect dick slid down below him – I felt it rubbing, flexing up against his bottom, but there was little I could do about that. I couldn't will it down. Only brief moments of sadness or hopelessness had made it soft, since the drive up into the mountains. Jasio knew what makes a man hard. He knew the effect his body was having on me. Thankfully he hadn't denied me this closeness because of it.

I glanced up at his face a couple of times, tearing my eyes from his boyhood. He was watching me silently, intently. I could read nothing of fear in his look – just that same wonder, that same probing consciousness and hyper-awareness that I had sensed in him since he awoke this morning.

He breathed more slowly now, calmly. We had shared an intimacy already that knew no bounds – he knew by now that my touch would be kind and gentle. He had let me caress those wounds upon his back – he had bared his soul then. Baring his boyhood to me made him no more vulnerable than that.

And yet we both knew that if I washed his penis as I had the rest of his body that it would consummate something between us. By his own admission, Leon had never touched him there. Leon had only taken from Jasio. Leon had demanded that Jasio touch his manhood, become subservient to it. With my touch, with every action I had taken since we had met, I told Jasio that it was I who was here for him.

"Did… did your Tato wash your siusiak?" he suddenly broke our long silence, his voice so high and wavering.

"No. No he didn't. That time at the hot springs, he washed me everywhere else, but then he said, 'you know how to wash yourself down there. Now you finish the job.' I remember, I was kind of sad that it ended there. I never felt closer to him than that day."

"Do you want me to…"

"No!" I called out, "I mean… i-if you want to… do it yourself, that's ok, but…"

I held my breath, my hands just poised to cup the warm waters and lave them over him.

"You'll wash me there?" he finished for me, as I hesitated. The answer somehow seemed as important for him as it was for me. It was almost like a test. His final test for me. Was I or was I not like Leon? Was I or was I not that 'Party Man?' He still held himself there rigidly floating in the water, awaiting my answer.

"Oh yes, Misiu. I will wash you there. It's something I want very much."

"Ohhh…," he answered meekly, so very softly.

"This is what I wish my father had done," I said back to him, just as softly. I reached for one of the big white towels that lay within the alcove, then I leaned over him, looming over him, stretching with my arms to throw the length of the towel out upon the tile behind where Jasio was.

Then I carefully placed one arm under his back and shoulders, and the other beneath his bottom, and lifted him right out of the water like a little baby and sat him down upon the towel. His buttocks rested right at the edge of the pool, flattening upon the soft white of the towel, and his legs dangled over into the water. Without prompting he leaned back, propping himself on both arms.

The first palmfull of water that I dipped up, I let trickle down one thigh, right up below his crotch. Then I did the other, and then back and forth with more water, and a soft caress of the tips of my fingers. With each touch, I grazed his ballsac. It was so soft and light that I hardly felt it.

"A boy needs to be taught to clean himself here," I said as I continued to wash all over his inner thighs, and let my hands roam up and out, over his hips, and to his lower tummy, circling my target. A couple of times the side of my hand or my palm nudged his flaccid penis, and rolled it accidentally from its curved and relaxed perch upon his pubis. It lolled there lazily, curving limply at the base, and extending out thickly to his right, till the head flopped upon his right thigh.

I took up the soap, rubbed it thoroughly between my hands, then dropped it onto the towel. Everywhere I had laved him with the waters, I lathered and swept the suds all around and over. It felt like lotion against a baby's skin, he was so soft and virgin there between his legs.

Boldly then I reached right down beneath his balls and lifted them, cupping them in the fingers of one hand, and started sudsing them too. "It gets all dank and stuffy inside our clothes, down here. We have to wash down here between our legs and all around our balls," I instructed as I continued.

By this time his whole crotch was a white with the froth and foam, but for the shaft of his penis. Just as directly, just as boldly, but with the same care and gentleness, I reached for it and lifted it and lovingly washed it too. As big as it looked against his small frail body, it was so light and soft and pliant. I let my fingers rub everywhere, up and down the shaft, around his pee slit lightly.

"A boy needs to clean here very well, Misiu," I intoned. "It's important to pull back on this skin, and bare the head of your penis and clean behind there. Do you do that?"

"N-no." he started to say, then continued, "well, the skin comes down sometimes, but it feels so – kind of painful there – I never washed there before. Do you do that to yours?"

You have to picture me the way I was then, kneeling between his legs still, but resting back on my heels. My own penis was still as hard as ever, and poking itself out right there on the surface of the water. If I got up on my knees directly, I would have stabbed the poor boy in the balls with it. Still, he could easily see the engorged head at the end of my stalk, and my own foreskin half covering it, just like his. The constant splashing within the water had kept the pre-cum from accumulating there, but it was slick and wet.

"Uh… yes, I do. It's a bit different when you get hard, but…," I reached down with one hand and wrapped it around my stalk and pulled my foreskin down from around the resisting crown of my glans to show him. It popped free, livid with my arousal. I flinched as I cupped some water around its base, "Yes, I wash it here, and all along the foreskin that I pulled back. I released my dick, and took a deep breath. "Let's see if I can do yours like that, ok?"

"Yes. Ok." he answered hesitantly. Seeing my reaction to touching my own penis, I wondered if I had just scared him.

So very gingerly I took his limp member between the thumb and two fingers of my left hand, and with my right I tugged down on the outsides of his foreskin. It seemed just a bit reluctant to pull down freely, pulling the still pliant glans down with it. "Do you… does it come down often?" I asked.

"I never really pulled it down. Not really often. Kind of hurts when it does," he said, making a face.

"I bet it does. The head of your siusiak is very sensitive, that's why. This skin protects it. But it does need to be washed."

I tugged a bit more forcefully, and his prepuce started to retract, gliding down, peeling away almost – sticking to his glans as the skin was worked backwards, until finally his raw glans was bared completely. "There," I said, as I grabbed for the soap again, got a bit on my fingers, and then very lightly traced a trail around the base of his dick and foreskin. He only jerked once, so I seemed to be doing it right. We were like two surgeons, concentrating on a very delicate operation, both our heads down, staring at his bared glans.

Next I rinsed him there, and let go of his stalk. It flopped over upon his leg again, and the foreskin quickly rolled right back up over the glans, till only the bare tip of his dickhead was peeking out again.

Both of us were suddenly quiet as I rinsed his whole crotch free of the soap. Then I dabbed the corners of the towel around there, gently drying him.

The silence within the solarium suddenly seemed deafening – the gurgling of the stream had become mere background noise, as did the little waterfall trickling into the lower pool – so steady and continuous were they that we forgot them. I sat still in the pool, and Jasio held his feet perfectly still too.

I heard him breathing, though. I looked up into his eyes, and he seemed to be questioning again – or to be on the verge of another question, his lips parted, as if wanting to speak.

I looked down into the waters between us, for some reason suddenly overtaken with doubt… Should I…

"Did your… did you want your Tato to kiss you there? Wh-when you bathed it, I mean," Jasio stuttered.

I looked back at him, and took a breath, "Well, no, I guess not my father, but… someone else… other people.

"Other people that you liked?"

"Yes, someone I loved… and who loved me."

"Did you get hard, because you liked them?"

"Yes."

Neither of us spoke then for a second. He circled his feet about idly in the pool.

If ever there was a pregnant moment, this was it, because I knew what I wanted to say, and I felt like he wanted me to say it.

"Would you let me kiss you there, Jasio?"

"Yesss," he sighed.

It seemed so natural that his penis started to lengthen then, once we had both spoken the words that said 'I like you. Do you like me?'

I love you.

Do you love me?

We both froze, watching it – me, poised to lean forward and kiss him in that precious place – he, tensed back upon his stiffened arms, baring himself to me. It grew in little spurts, with the blood from his heart pumping into it, filling it. As it straightened and hardened and lengthened, stretching it's skin ever more tightly, the outline of his swelling glans began to appear beneath his foreskin, as if it were molded around the flesh beneath. It's color too changed, where it extended out beyond his prepuce, darkening, from the pale, flaccid pinkish-blue to its aroused purplish-red.

My spirit soared, my heart started pounding in my chest. I hadn't even touched him. Mere words – with both of us skirting a direct avowal of our feelings for each other – had caused this. The words were as yet unspoken, but his boyhood, and my manhood, told the story clearly enough.

"Because… you like me?" I asked, stating the obvious, but wanting it to come from his lips too.

"Yes, Piotrek" he answered so demurely, so softly, that it was half a second before I realized how he had said my name.

Chapter Seven

Party Man. Communist. Piotr. Jasio could grasp such names.

But Piotrek?

Tato.

Friend.

Father.

Other boys used those kinds of words. Not Jasio. At least… never before.

This man who was kneeling before him, who was leaning closer to kiss him yet again, spoke so easily of such things.

How his own Tato had bathed him. How it felt to be touched by someone you liked.

Someone you loved.

"Some men get hard, when they like someone…"

And boys? Was it the same with a boy?

Jasio held his whole body rigid, awaiting Piotr's… Piotrek's kiss. .He felt his cock growing harder and harder, and knew that the man was right.

He had gotten hard lots of times before, and it always happened whenever Leon used to force him onto his knees and suck his huge dick, but never before Piotrek entered his life had he understood why. Bulls fucked cows. Roosters fucked chickens. Their cocks got hard too.

But little boys?

Piotrek knew why. Now Jasio did too. It was so plain now. It was the need within him that did it. A need that Jasio understood all too well. Friend. Father. Mother. Someone! Even more wonderful, it was a need that Piotrek wanted to fill!

Last night all he had wanted was to die. To die at the hands of this very same man. Now all Jasio wanted to do was to live. With this man. This man who cared that he was warm. This man who cared that he was fed. This man who cared that he felt safe. This man who cared…

… this man who cared that he lived!

Jasio wanted to shout out his joy, wanted to leap into the man's arms, wanted to hold on and never let go, wanted to… give to this man, wanted to give IN to this man, wanted this man's touch, wanted this man's kiss…

He gasped, drawing in his breath in one loud rush, as Piotrek gave him that first touch on his now hard cock. He strained through fluttering lids to keep his eyes open, to watch, to match the images with the feelings, as Piotrek's hot fingers closed around the shaft, just below the head. His whole body reacted, he felt himself thrusting up, meeting the touch.

With Piotrek's thumb and fingers on either side of his prick, clamping down, Jasio's thrust caused his foreskin to jerk down. He screamed out!

He hardly ever dared to bare the head of his siusiak when he got hard by himself. It was just too… painful. No. Pain wasn't the right word, but that was the trouble, there were no words to describe this feeling – until now.

Now he knew. It was the need. The need that Piotrek made in him. The need to feel the man's hands on his cock. the need to feel the man's kisses there. The need to have the man touch the naked tip of his dick now – he would lay here, and let Piotrek do anything he wanted. Only Piotrek could touch it. Only Piotrek would know how to touch it and make that pain turn into something… something that he just knew… he needed.

He had wanted Leon to do that. But that man had never known what Piotrek knew.

Piotrek knew what it meant to give. To live.

Jasio laughed. Tried to laugh. It sounded more like the bleating of a lamb to his own ears. It was hard to laugh when you could hardly breathe. Piotrek was pulling down even farther on the skin of his dick. Jasio felt the knob on the end stretching down, tighter, sending hundreds of little stabbing sensations into him – no, not hundreds. More. He had always wondered what the numbers were above that. You couldn't count the stars with just hundreds! He had tried many times. It was the stars then, themselves, that Piotrek was making him feel – everyone a signal that he needed to answer, to acknowledge, but there were too many to answer with just his little body…

He collapsed back upon the towel, no longer able to hold himself up on his trembling arms. He closed his eyes, wanting to block out the light. He willed himself not to hear anything, especially not that pounding of his own heartbeat that boomed in his ears. He only wanted to feel. To wait for Piotrek's kiss, and to feel!

I thought Jasio was hurt, at first. Never had I heard such a sound from a boy's throat. Maybe he had a cramp?

He fell back, flinging his arms up over his head, revealing every centimeter of his glorious boyflesh to me, as I peered up from his tummy all the way up across every little ridge of his upthrust ribs, past his tiny nipples, across the pearlescent tenderness of his armpits, and on up and up and up to the twitching fingers that grasped for air. Still he held his pelvis up for me, offering himself to me, so should I let go?

I searched his face. His eyes were closed now, and his lips. They were both held tight, and his jaw was uplifted, tensed, teeth clenched hard. But there was a look of pure ecstasy there – not one of pain.

Breathless anticipation. That's what I saw.

I knew where I wanted to kiss him. I had bared his glans, pulled his foreskin down purposely, never expecting this kind of reaction. But all the better!

I wet my lips, then kissed him lightly there, right below the crown, right on the frenulum. He froze, practically suspending himself in midair, his torso flexed up off the towel. I froze too, just momentarily, knowing what torture it could be for a boy to have his glans assaulted before he was fully ready for it. Sweet torture it must be, but I knew exactly how to prepare him for more.

I lifted my head, and very slowly, gently helped his foreskin slide back up along the glistening helmet of his prong. He let his body down just as slowly, and I heard him release his breath.

Heard him. Only heard him, because I didn't want to rise. I closed my eyes, and just let myself nestle there right between his legs, cupping my right hand over the end of his dick so that I wouldn't brush it with the bristles of my two-day-old beard. I rooted there. Burying my nose in his flesh, breathing of his new scent – his true scent – breathing at the base of his shaft, then sniffing down along the side of his scrotum, then up and around his pubis to the other side.

Have you ever smelled something so intoxicating that it gripped your very heart, and you just couldn't bear to let it go? It might be new-ground coffee. Or the tantalizing lure of night jasmine. Those are powerful enough, but let it be the scent of a boy! I used to nuzzle Stefan's neck, after we had run and run and run through the summer fields and collapsed upon the hay, just to smell the sweat that beaded upon his skin and matted the short, silken hairs there to his nape. I used to snuggle down, deep down, alongside the other boys at night – back during the war – when even Tomek's strong arms were not enough to scare away the memories. There was something consoling in the mixture of odors that were captured under our blankets – some kind of palliative that was borne from within us.

There was nothing I could have wanted but to lay there forever between Jasio's legs. No pleasure more enticing… but one.

I wanted the pleasure to be his.

In the car, the night before, I had petted him, stroked him, till he had slept. Now I wanted him to experience much more.

With one last kiss on the taut, sensitive skin next to his scrotum, I lifted my head from his flesh and raised up. With slow strokes of my free hand, I began to caress up across his tummy and down along his hips, just lightly circling his mid-section, but keeping my other hand cupped around the end of his dick.

In its erect state, just as when it was soft, Jasio's dick looked huge in comparison to his body. I suddenly realized that I had never asked him how old he was. But whether he was 9 or 10, or a small 11 or 12 year old boy, his penis was prematurely oversized. It's tip would rest half-way to his navel, if I let it loose. I could easily place all four of my fingers underneath it.

I did so now, careful not to disturb his foreskin, sliding my hand down his shaft. At first I only let my fingers graze his skin, and as I started to slide them up and then back down his shaft, it was with a feathery touch. A teasing touch.

He humped his torso up. Once, then again, then taking up my slow rhythm. I watched him – he still didn't open his eyes, just held his head braced back against the towel. Slowly, I think unconsciously, he pulled his arms down and lifted his hands up into the air next to his chest. They moved erratically in the air, in short, jerky motions like that of a baby who hasn't yet gotten full control of his muscles. I knew that Jasio was instead entering that state where he would indeed lose control of his muscles.

His dick was hot! Flaming. Whether it was the warm waters of the Grecka Droga, or the sunlight captured within this vaulted hothouse, or just the fire that I was kindling inside his body now, his whole body was hot. I realized suddenly that he was sweating, and so was I. We were both feverish. His hair was plastered across his forehead now – not from the washing, but from the heat.

It felt so uplifting though, as if we were both cleansing from the inside out. The Grecka Droga was a strange and mysterious place, and its bath, this bathhouse, the jungle, the mist, the heat, the circles, two by two… all together, One with the Other, One in the Other, One for the Other…

… I don't know how long it lasted, but I do know that for a moment my mind swirled, and I lived those circles. When I came to, I was no longer gliding my hand up and down Jasio's dick. I was grasping it, full-fisted, and sliding it's sheath of loose skin up and down, with each stroke baring his fiery hot glans, with each stroke feeling his heat rushing up into my body. With each stroke his body convulsed, pistoning, matching my motions.

Jasio was flopping his butt down wetly, splatting against the hard surface of the tile, with only the towel to cushion him. His arms were now stretched out by his side, jerking spasmodically just like his legs. It was like his whole being was centered between his legs now, and his limbs were only receiving sporadic stimulus from some autonomous, motor-control part of his brain.

Through my own labored breath, I heard him repeating over and over, "Only… Piotrek. only… Piotrek…"

I didn't know if he was ready yet, but I was. His glans was swollen and stretched to a shiny sheen now, wet with the mucous from his own prepuce, and wider at it's coronal ridge than the shaft of his dick itself, just below the head. The encircling, flared ridge was a darker purple in color. It was there that my fist was rubbing over and over, forcing all the gyrations in his body. I wanted to taste it! I wanted to replace the heat of my fist with the wet heat of my mouth.

With a hungry growl, I dropped back down and engulfed his 7 centimeters [3 inch] of boymeat in my mouth all at once, letting my lips slide down around it, letting my tongue immediately start laving it, testing it, tasting it. At the same instant I grasped his balls with my hand and started squeezing them.

His butt shot up off the tile again. Instantly I dropped my other hand down below his buttocks and held him up there as I sucked. His flesh was hot there too, and so soft. Just the feel of his bottom against my hand made me thrust my own dick forward again, blindly. It only splashed water, leaving the raging need within me unanswered.

So I concentrated on his dick instead, devouring it, brutalizing it now, pumping my head up and down on his prick, sucking hard, collapsing my cheeks along it, tightening the ring of my lips.

The friction was firing every nerve ending the little boy had, and I knew he was feeling it all the way from the tip of his little dick down along the shaft, and spreading through his pubis and balls, flooding him.

The juices of our sex squished against my lips and my chin at each downstroke – his testicles were wet with it now too. My head bobbed up and down on his spike. Each stroke I grunted. Each stroke I could hear the slurping, sloppy suctioning of my saliva. The taste of his boyflesh did that to me. The waters of the Grecka Droga had only enhanced the earthiness that I curled my tongue around. Just below the rim of the spongy helmet at the end of his dick, I tasted the tangy saltiness that his foreskin had hoarded, before I slicked it back, revealing it's hidden treasure.

With each stroke he moaned now. It started as a low hum, almost imperceptible – it was mindless, coming from an involuntary tightness that was gripping his very insides. I knew the feeling well, like there was a hand reaching from within, gripping his privates, twisting, pulling, forcing the tension all the way up into his body. The moans grew louder with each suck, with his dick lodged all the way against the back of my mouth. When I withdrew, sliding my lips along his shaft all the way up to the rim of his dickhead, he had barely enough time to breath, then he had to release the sensations he was feeling with almost pitiful whimpers, almost as if he were pleading with me to desist.

But I knew he didn't want me to. I knew he had no idea what he wanted, if this was indeed the first time anyone had done this to him. I was sure of it. He had no clue what I was building him up to – those were whimpers of pure need now. Just to have a man sucking his dick, or pumping his manhood up his bottom, was enough to make almost any boy happy, but that same boy could and would almost always take more, and want more.

"Piotrek!" he called out between gasping moans. "What are… you… you're sucking… me… it hurts… No! don't… stop…"

I wasn't about to stop. I don't think I could have if he had asked me to. It had been so many years since I had been with a boy, and now to be with THIS special boy of all others. I loved every sweet, tortured, cry that he made, because I knew I was giving him something worthy of his beauty and his goodness. I knew all about this kind of hurt. And I knew all about real hurt. So did he. This was something to make up for all the neglect he had suffered, every denial, every meal he had missed, every night he had slept cold and alone in a corner… every morning wondering what there was that could be worse than the day before.

I had settled into a rhythm that I knew would push him over the edge soon. He was literally squirming up against me now. I felt like a musician playing his body – we were so in tune, each motion of my mouth upon him causing a corresponding motion within him, each stroke bringing forth the low accompaniment of his soft tones.

Such an instrument to play! There was no need for me to say anything, no need for me to answer his cries. He quit speaking intelligibly, and all that was left was his ragged breathing, the squirming of his hot, wet bottom upon my hand, the uncontrolled splashing of his legs in the water on either side of me, and his rising squeals.

I released his balls and slipped that hand too down beneath his butt, gripping one cheek with each hand, digging my fingers into his crack and pulling him into my mouth even more, smashing his glans into the back of my throat. He cried out, in one long glorious scream of ecstasy and I knew he was going to finally orgasm.

This was what Leon should have done for him. This was what I WAS doing for him. I couldn't speak the words, but they cried out from my heart – "I love you Jasio…"

The old woman closed the door as unobtrusively as she had opened it, and turned away with as much of a smile on her lips as she ever allowed herself these days.

One more boy with the man who loved him.

Jan's orgasmic howl was suddenly muted, but that didn't matter to her. It had never been the sounds of their sex, nor the occasional accidental glimpse of it that she had obtained through the many years at the Grecka Droga, that she sought. She wanted always and only to know that each and every boy that came here was beloved and served.

It was the Way.

She had seen the man's love in his protective stance last night, in his concern for the boy's comforts and needs. She had seen that the boy had fallen in love too. His tears at the breakfast table told enough of that story.

How many had there been through the years? Boys, and their men? She could remember as far back as before the First War – the old Count and his Anton. They had consummated their Oneness here too.

She had feared its end. Two thousand years that the Circles had joined here, but she had feared it would all end with the Communists.

Now it was a Communist who brought a Podhorowski back to the Way. She was certain of it. The Circles would not close. They had not closed.

She slowly shuffled across the courtyard to their cabin, carrying their freshly cleaned clothing. She had even mended one large rip in the boy's coat. Jan. Jan Podhorowski's coat. She was sure of it.

She grunted up the steps and opened the door. "Just like men," she muttered under her breath acerbically, seeing the unmade bed and the clutter on the table. What a mess.

"What is all this ju…" she started to exclaim. This was a first. She had cleaned their rooms for more than half a century, but couldn't recall any boy or man who had packed in such an assortment of odds and ends.

It must be the Jan's. He had a tinker's coat. More pockets and hidey-holes than she could count. Before she actually saw the boy, she had wondered how this Communist had managed to pick up a Gipsy boy.

Idly she looked over the items on the table, noting how they had been laid out so systematically. The serrated-edged, cast-away lid from a tin can, a half-shredded sock. Nothing but scrap. Not one item that wasn't broken or used or tattered. Even that big skeleton key. It's haft had been broken, then hammered ba…

Suddenly, and for the second time this day, the old woman felt faint. She almost fell forward onto the table, but managed to grasp the edge and prop herself up on it unsteadily. That key! The emblem at the end of the haft, almost hammered out of all possibility of recognition, but still unmistakable to someone who had seen such symbols, had honored such symbols, all their life.

Proof positive that the boy was a Podhorowski? There were the two interlocking horseshoes of the family crest.

The old woman wondered if the boy had a clue – did he have any idea at all what that key represented?

What if he had just found it? What if he had merely picked it up, along with all the other scraps he had accumulated here?

No. She wouldn't believe that. The boy… he looked…

Hurriedly now, driven the sudden need to confirm what she knew had to be the truth, the old woman turned to lay out the clothes for the boy and his man. She started to shuffle across to the door, then hesitated and reached out for the key. It was heavy. It must fit in one of the old family chests, or a… well, she didn't know what. But the boy had to know. Or he had to find out.

She placed the key right on the edge of the table, where her two guests couldn't ignore it, and made her labored way from the cabin and on across the courtyard.

It was good that they weren't ready to come out of the Solarium yet. She had something to do before serving their lunch. Ninety-eight years old, and she had thought she had seen it all. Now this. How many years had it been since she had held any hope in her heart for such a moment?

She groaned up the porch stairs to the inn, then headed straight back to her own rooms, to the familiar, treasured shrine in the corner. Here she kept all the momentoes of her life and of her service. The tarnished, silver-handled hairbrush her mother had given her when she turned 18. The votive book that her husband had carried every day in Russia, during the First War. The little circlets woven of their own hair – little Anton's, and his man's, the Old Count. The first she had served.

And a picture. When was it taken? She didn't need to look, but she did anyway. There on the back. 1938. Three generations of the Podhorowskis. Here at the Grecka Droga.

The little one – just 10 years old that day – Jan's father. Yes. He looked exactly like the boy in the picture. 10 years old, and never to know what it meant to follow the Way. Well, he knew, but the Communists made sure he never had the chance.

The old woman hadn't cried in… well, it had to be since before the war. Long before the war. Now she sat down heavily in her chair by the shrine, welcoming back long-forgotten feelings.

So. She wasn't too old to help bring the circles back together again. Her hand trembling more from the emotion than from her age, she reached for the phone and began to dial.

Captain Rudenko would know what to do. He would contact the others.

Not even the purifying waters of the Grecka Droga could make me feel more alive, more like a new man, than Jasio's non-stop grin and clinging gaze, as we sauntered from the Solarium back to our cabin. He was holding onto my left arm with both hands, not even watching where we were walking.

I laughed down at him, "You're going to trip. Better watch where you're going."

"I'll just follow along with you," he retorted, and gave his head a little coy twist to the side. A stray curl of his hair flounced over, like a veil over his lips and chin I could have creamed right there – I still hadn't had my release! I had jacked him off, and sucked him, but my member was still straining at full stand.

He was a beautiful boy before the bath, but after…! I had combed his hair till it shone, amazed at how lustrous it became. It hung in gorgeous, natural curls, framing his thin face, and flopped about in abandon.

"Haha! Alright," I conceded. "But what are you looking at me like that for?" I teased, not at all displeased to have him literally hanging on me, and knowing full well why, anyway. He was like a little frisky puppy, skipping along beside me.

"Well… you know," he threw his head back and puckered his lips up at me, taunting me.

I couldn't help but laugh again, "Yeah, I know."

It had been all he could talk about. The feelings when he came. The fact that I had sucked him. That I had bathed him, kissed him all over his body. That I had treated him like a little baby. He had said that last accusingly, but without any force behind it. He was as transparent as any boy could ever be – just overjoyed at being the center of my world.

He suddenly let go of my arm with his left hand, and let his right slide down till it found my own, interlacing his fingers with mine, and then he took up a more natural pace beside me.

"Was that… Is this how you felt, Piotrek, after your father bathed you that day?" he asked more quietly.

"Hmmh. I have to admit that my father didn't suck me off, but… yes, I felt very special that day. That he had taken care of me like that. That he had made me feel… like his one special boy."

"Am I you're special boy?"

"Oh yes, Misiu. You are my very own special boy."

I felt his hand squeeze mine then, and hold it tighter. I don't think it was even a conscious act on his part. It came from what he felt deep inside him. I felt it too.

The cabin steps were too narrow for us to walk up them side by side, so I stopped and held out his hand, letting his fingers curl about mine as he lightly stepped on up to the porch. He turned to me, eyes level with mine, holding on to my hand as if were about to dance, and smiled beatifically. I stood there awestruck for a moment, wondering at the fortune that had made us cross paths. Less than a day ago, I was nothing but a criminal on the run. Less than a day ago, he was a vagabond, an outcast. What were we now? A gentleman in white suit, not a care in the world? A little sailor boy, off on a holiday?

I looked about us. What was this place, that our paths had led us to? And where would we go from here? Circles were everywhere. Circles that joined, like a magician's metal rings – once joined no mere mortal could separate them, but… what if the circles just transected for one brief moment? Were our paths to veer from here?

His fingers laid within mine. Mine wrapped around his. For this moment. Would they separate tomorrow, never to touch again? I felt a sudden void opening, and emptiness inside me that physically hurt.

"Piotrek?" Jasio tilted his head, quizzically. I tried to mask it, but he must have seen or felt or sensed my sudden panic. "Come on up, Piotrek," he finally said, giving me a little tug on my fingers.

Obediently, willingly, I followed him on into our cabin, thankful that at least for this moment he was here to direct my steps. I dreaded to think what was to happen when once again I would have to make the decisions.

"Someone's been here," Jasio said out of the blue. Immediately he dropped my hand and hurried towards the table.

I was suddenly feeling quite bereft. "How do you kn…"

"The old woman – someone – brought our clothes back," Jasio said as soon as he stepped through the doorway. He pointed offhandedly towards the bed but was looking down at the table. "And the key. Look here, it's been moved." He waved me over to the edge of the table and picked up the large key. I couldn't really remember where I had placed it, in the midst all of his other stuff.

Again he pointed, this time to the empty spot, where it had lain earlier.

"Oh. Oh yeah, I see," I said dumbly, batting my eyelids. More in astonishment at his powers of observation than anything else. But for the new clothes laid out on the bed, I doubt I would have noticed any change.

"Wonder why she picked it up," I mused.

"Yes, me too," he responded, as he turned the key over and over in every which way, absently studying it.

"What does it go to?"

He looked suddenly taken aback too, and looked off into space. "I think… it goes to a big box that Leon has in his shed. I…"

Jasio stopped, and just stood there. He didn't continue, but just ran his thumb up and down the shaft of the key.

"What is it, Misiu?" I asked quietly.

""Well, I remember I used to have this key on a… string, around my neck. And one day I was trying it out on things, and I was going to try it on this big… box, that Leon has on a shelf in back of his house. He caught me in there, grabbed the key, and just stood there and broke it in two. He was so mad. I don't think I ever saw…"

Jasio slapped the key back down on the table top, but then just as quickly he picked it up again and then very deliberately put it back where it had been earlier. He turned away from the table then, seeming preoccupied and walked with head down over to the bed. Idly he fingered the sleeve of his old coat.

"That's when he beat me, Piotrek," he turned back towards me and said it, lifting his head up at me, looking at me so forlornly. No tears. Just a look of wanting to understand.

"You mean, back there?" I motioned towards his back.

"Yeah. He whipped me. Told me to get out and never go near that box again. I snuck back in later on and got the key. then I hammered it back together, just like the blacksmith does, but… I never tried using it again."

He turned then, and just sat back upon the bed, upon his coat. I walked to his side and ruffled his hair a bit, and just sat down beside him. Neither of us said anything, for the longest time. Finally I put one arm around his shoulders and drew him to me.

"I'm tired, Piotrek," he finally said, sounding defeated. It was like the memory of the beating had made him totally forget how happy he had been just moments ago. "Can we… lay down for a while? Would you lay down with me?"

"Of course, Misiu," I answered immediately, and just instantly felt shamed. Jasio hadn't forgotten. He wanted me to be with him. He hadn't forgotten at all. "I could use some shut-eye myself. The old woman will tell us when lunch is ready."

For the second time that day Jasio awoke snuggled within the man's arms.

He remembered. They had gotten undressed. Silently. None of the play, like when Piotrek dressed him after their bath. Then they had slipped under the covers again. He must have fallen asleep instantly. The last thing he remembered was the feel of Piotrek's strong arms, wrapping themselves around him, pulling him into the little cave formed by the big man's body. That, and Piotrek's lips – one little kiss, upon his head. And the feeling that none of the past mattered. Only that moment was important.

Now he remembered something else. Standing back on the road, outside the collective last night, wishing he could turn back time, to make this man come back to him.

Jasio didn't want that anymore. He never wanted to go back. But that's what faced him. Going back.

Why couldn't he make this dream last? Why couldn't he stop time, right here and now?

He used to track the sun's movement in the sky, with his Shadow Ring. Till Leon had noticed it, and stamped out all his markings, and hung up that sign. Głupi Jasio's Field of Corn.

There was no stopping Leon. No stopping the sun, either. It came up in the East, went down in the west. Same thing every day. The true mark of time.

Jasio snuggled deeper into Piotrek's arms, and felt the familiar hardness of the man's huge cock lodge against his spine. Funny. That seemed like something that time couldn't end. Piotrek was always hard.

Hard because of him. Jasio knew that now. Understood it. He felt his own much smaller dick getting hard now too, feeling the man's erection so tight up against his back, and knowing now what it meant – to like someone, to love someone, to WANT someone so terribly much that you would even stop time, if only that would help.

Slowly, so as not to disturb the man's sleep, Jasio curled about within the man's grasp, turning bit by bit till his face pressed against the man's wiry-haired chest. Now he could reach down between them to touch Piotrek's cock. Carefully, holding his fingers steady, he let them rest ever so lightly on the side of the huge dick. It was hot. Even within the warmth of their blankets, it was hot. Soft. Hard. Hot. Alive. He could feel that the man's heartbeat was strong, just be touching his cock.

If he were going to stop time, then better that he stop it in the bath house, Jasio thought. He could hear Piotrek's words, "I remember once, my Tato washed me, kind of like I'm doing you now…

"Piotrek," Jasio whispered tentatively. Wishing that this man who had washed him would awaken. This man who had touched him, like no other.

"Piotrek." Even his whisper sounded thunderous, deep down under the covers, but he wanted to say it. And say it again.

"Tato…"

"For what you give me. For what you mean to me…"

He let his small hand curve over the stalk of his man's penis. If time was to stand still, here and now, then now was the time to give back. How he wanted to give back, then take, then give, then take again and again, so long as he was with this man! Time standing still. No going back.

He narrowed his shoulders and crept downwards. Lower and lower, trailing one long continuous kiss down the the man's stomach to where he held the huge dick in his small hands.

"Mój Tato," he whispered, as he bent to kiss the rounded, wet tip of the man's dickhead.

"Piotrek."

"Tato."

The man dreamed that Jasio was his. They were running together, towards a far wall. Father and son, man and boy. The wall kept receding, no matter how fast they ran. He picked the boy up in his arms, so they could leap forward. Jasio clung to him. "I want to be with you always, Piotrek. Tato," he whispered into Piotr's ear.

Piotr woke instantly to the touch of the boy's fingers on his dick. After hours and hours of being engorged, his weapon was like a sword unsheathed, glistening and steel-hard, supple and ready. Beyond ready. But he held himself still. If it were a dream, he mustn't do anything to make it end. And if it were not a dream?

The boy's fingers seemed so real, their touch so gentle, caressing, softly jacking. Piotr felt his heart beating harder already. It wouldn't take much to make him cum. Yet he wanted to hear. Had Jasio really said it?

The covers pulled down from his shoulders. Jasio was slipping downwards – his feet seemed caught in the sheets. Piotr felt the boy's soft lips against his stomach, and wanted to cry out with a feeble protest, but even more – he wanted to listen! He strained to listen.

"Mój Tato."

This was no dream! Piotr looked down. Jasio's head was just above his dick. He had felt the little puff of breath, so hot against his pubis, with the boy's words.

To be his father, for real! Now that was a dream, but… was he not the boy's father, in spirit?

He felt the boy's soft, hot, wet lips on the very tip of his dick! Involuntarily he pushed his pelvis forward slightly. His glans pressed into Jasio's lips, but the boy didn't draw back. He gripped Piotr's dick even more firmly, and opened his mouth a bit, letting half of the prepuce-covered glans slip within.

Piotr's mind swirled. He wanted to think! To hear, to understand! Jasio wanted him! Wasn't it time to answer?

But Piotr also wanted to feel! The ache in groin had been building for hours and hours, and he had suffered it gladly. It was time for words. But it… let it be a time for… release too…

Piotr let his right hand fall down off his side. He reached for Jasio's head, and touched him tentatively – first feeling his palm against those soft curls, then letting his fingers slip within to touch the boy's cheek, letting the boy know that he had heard.

"Mój chłopczyk! My dear, sweet boy!" He let the words float from his lips solemnly, softly.

Jasio strained his head back, never letting the dick escape from his lips, and looked up at Piotr. There was no mistaking the joy, the love in his eyes.

"You know… what you're doing? What will happen… if you continue that?" Piotr asked breathlessly. He knew Jasio had been forced to suck Leon, but had he ever seen the man cum?

Jasio nodded.

"And you want it? You want my seed?"

For his answer, Jasio merely lowered his head and slowly sucked Piotr's glans into his mouth. The man felt his prepuce being pushed down by Jasio's lips, baring his raw, swollen flesh to the boy's mercies.

The boy was tender. His lips slipped tightly below the crown of Piotr's penis and lodged there behind the bulbous helmet, locked around the coronal ridge. His tongue sworled wetly all over the man's glans, first soft and flat, then hard-tip pointed, to probe the pee slit. The boy seemed to savor the tastes. His spittle was starting to dribble out, leaking down Piotr's stalk onto the sheet.

Jasio knew all about the milk. He had seen Leon's semen spilling from Martina's slit, and wondered what it was. He had seen the same kind of thing dripping from the hard cocks of the farm animals, too. The baby stuff. The farmers used to laugh about it, when the bulls rutted. The cows would be sloppy with the baby stuff.

"You want my seed?" Piotrek had asked.

Yes, he wanted that seed! It wouldn't make a baby in his belly. He was no woman. He had no slit, like all the female creatures. But it was from Piotrek. Something powerful, magical, that would only come out of his dick when he was like this – hard! Hard because he liked Jasio. Because he wanted Jasio.

The boy knew what to do too. His mouth would be the place where the man could pump his seed. And whatever there was of magic or power or strength or goodness or caring – everything that meant Piotrek – that's what he wanted to swallow. He would take it into his body just because it came from Piotrek.

The man's cock was huge. Jasio could barely stretch his mouth around it, and he felt the spongy knob at the end of Piotrek's dick filling him up. Yet he wanted more of it. Wanted to move his lips down farther, take more of the man's hardness into his mouth, till it rammed against his throat, till he could not possible fill himself up further, till there would be no place else for the man's seed to go than into his throat, into his stomach.

It was tight, stretching his lips, but he slowly sucked in more of the stalk. He felt Piotrek shudder. Felt the man's whole body spasming, jerking. Just like he himself had done in the bath. So he could make Piotrek feel that same incredible pleasure!

Piotrek had taken Jasio's dick into his mouth too, then moved up and down it, and he had sucked and sucked on it.

Suddenly Jasio felt the head of Piotrek's dick pressing into the back of his mouth, and felt himself gagging. Instinctively he jerked his head back. Piotrek screamed out. It sounded like he was in agony, but Jasio knew better. He had screamed too. His shrill voice had shattered the quiet in the bath house. Now Piotrek's groans were like a lion's or a bear's. The forest trees outside the cabin would shake with the sound.

It was the movement of the man's dick inside his tight mouth that did it. Jasio immediately started back down on Piotrek's dick, slurping up his own saliva, tasting the man. Again he would take as much of the man's cock into his mouth as he could, then pull out again, and do it over and over again until Piotrek would shoot his seed.

The boy set the rhythm. His own and Piotrek's. The rhythm of his lips, stretching over the swell of the man's cock just below the knob, the tight slide along the man's hot flesh, the inevitable blow against his throat – the rhythm of Piotrek's low, wavering moan as his dick slid deeper into Jasio's mouth, the erratic, but constant shuddering of the man's body, the rasping, entreating scream when his glans could go no farther. It seemed to go on and on, rising in volume and tempo. And then Piotrek's yells started to taper off and became stuttering gasps.

Jasio remembered the sensations within his own body when Piotrek had sucked him. He remembered how it felt to give in to the man. Being in the man's total control, giving his body to the man to do as he wished with it. And then he remembered the moment he knew that there was no taking back. That Piotrek could manipulate his body like some kind of machine.

Keeping up his rhythm, he reached his left hand down below the man's cock and tried to grasp both the man's huge balls. They were too large, and just slipped from his fingers. But he had to do it, to take the man there. That most vulnerable spot – for boy or man – where he could be hurt – but in the hands of the one who cared? Jasio opened his hand out flat supporting the man's dangling testicles and pushed in firmly, confining them against the man's own flesh.

Piotrek gave one mighty jerk of his body, and seemed to straighten out rigidly. His dick stabbed into Jasio's mouth and started gushing his cum out in spurts. He yelled out and tightened his fingers within Jasio's hair, holding the boy's head still.

Jasio felt the hot liquid shooting against the back of his mouth. He held his breath, ready for it, and started gulping down the man's seed. He swallowed it all, loving the feel of it, proud of what he had done for his man.

"Did you do that for your father, when he bathed you?" Jasio taunted me when I finally came to my senses. I was laying on my back and opened my eyes to see him kneeling beside me.

His hand was still on my dick. I could feel his little fingers tenderly caressing, smearing the messiness of my ejaculation all over the now mercifully flaccid flesh.

I just smiled, and reached up and smeared the same messy goo from off the corner of his mouth. A bit of it had straggled down to his chin too. I wiped it away there too, feeling a surge of the most overpowering emotion at that little act. I could touch him anywhere. I could wash him, dress him, clean his face just like a father would. He granted me that right, willingly. He also had granted me much more.

"Hmmh, it kind of goes beyond what most little boys do for their dads," I teased him back.

"So maybe I shouldn't call you Tato, huh?" he said, tenting his eyebrow. Clever boy! I was beginning to see that I would never win any kind of mental challenge with Jasio.

"Oh, I loved it when you called me that," I protested, pouting – unconvincingly, I'm sure, because I couldn't help but smile. I held my arms out wide to him. He leaned forward instantly, falling into my embrace. I rolled over onto my side, and just held him there, with my arm cradling his head, and wrapped around his back. Our eyes were just inches apart. I crossed my other arm over his bottom and thigh, and pulled him into me.

For a moment we simply explored each others eyes. I felt something passing between us. Everything we had shared together, from the moment I espied his gray, shadowy silhouette on the road last night, had forged a bond between us. Father and son? Man and boy? Lovers? Everywhere we turned here, we saw the signs of it. The circles of our lives had crossed. How could those circles possibly be broken?

As if he read my mind – or perhaps because I had read his – we both started speaking at once. "I don't think I can ever take you back…" "I don't think you will ever leave me on the colle…"

Both of us stopped in mid-sentence. I wanted to blurt out that he was right, but I was already feeling the doubt of my own statement! How could I not take him back? Should I put him at risk too? What if the KGB found me? Would they imprison him? Kill him? Or just abandon him, wherever we happened to be at the time?

"Jasio!" I crushed him to me, kissing his cheeks, his nose, his eyes, his brow. I let my lips graze his, and wanted to linger, but did not. Instead I pulled his head against my shoulder, and whispered into his ear, "I don't want to take you back! Yet I don't know any other way? You have no idea the kind of danger I would be leading you into if you stay with me."

"Whatever the danger, it doesn't matter, Piotrek!" he answered immediately, as he pulled back from me and looked me again in my eyes. I saw the desperation there. And the truth of how he felt. He did not know the facts, but he did not want me to leave him. I knew that as certainly as I had ever known anything in my lifetime.

"I don't care what happens, just don't leave me. I – I was gonna… I was ready to die back there. I want to die if I have to go back there. I could get by, if you stayed! But… but could you stay, could…"

"Shhhh, Misiu! No I couldn't stay. You have to listen. I'm on the run. There are very bad people after me. If you get… if you stay with me, it will just be worse for you. At least back at Jodłówka you have…"

"NOTHING!" he almost shouted it out, and sat up beside me. I sat up too, and reached out for him. He fell into my arms again, and let me just hold him.

"I know. I know. It's bad there, but if I don't take you back…"

"You can't take me back there, Piotrek, please! I want to stay with you. Don't ever take me back th…"

"Stop that! The both of you!" We heard the old woman's growl coming from outside, on the porch. We hadn't heard her approach. Instantly we both turned towards the door, still holding onto each other. It was becoming a routine, this habit of hers – surprising us, commanding us.

"Stop all that foolish chatter," she commanded yet again, louder than she needed to. We heard her hand fumbling with the door handle. "Jan! And you, Mr. Communist. I will tell you exactly what you are going to do. You must go back to Jodłówka. And you are going to do it tonight. Now get decent. I'm coming in to tell you why."

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