Teglin

Stupid Johnny

A Boylove Romance

Chapters 8-9

Chapter Eight

Jasio melted down through my arms right in my lap, instinctively seeking the covers even as the old woman turned the door handle to enter our cabin. I had just enough time to pull the comforter up snugly to his chin before the she opened the door. I sat there behind him, naked to the waist, but she was giving me no real chance for modesty.

I was beginning to feel like I had just about had enough of her demands and intrusions, and started to blurt out angrily, "Give us a moment to get dres…"

"We don't have… a moment," she cut me off peremptorily, pushing the door wide and shuffling in, stooped and breathing hard. She had to half turn her whole body towards us as she glanced over. "I've seen men and… plenty of boys… naked. Now, the both of you – you had better… start getting dressed."

I snarled, but stretched to bend down to the floor nonetheless, to retrieve my shirt and pants. Jasio's things were folded and resting upon a little stool next to the bed. I reached for them too. "Why do you say we have to go back to Jodłówka tonight?" I grumbled curtly.

Perhaps she sensed my rising anger, or a burgeoning resistance, because for once she didn't scathe me with her eyes, but just glanced my way and sidled slowly, chuffing like a steam engine, over to the edge of the bed where she sat down. Jasio seemed to want to shrink away from her, and started to slip right around me in the bed. I made way for him, holding the covers up. Even with our hostess sitting just a bed-length from us, my thoughts turned instantly to stealing a glance under the covers at his naked form, but I briefly closed my eyes instead, savoring the molten, silken heat of his bottom and his legs as they seared my thigh. He grasped me, using my bulk as leverage to slide behind me. I could only lean ever so slightly into him, imagining his touch as an embrace. In truth, I realized, his touch was even more intimate than any embrace could be. He sought refuge behind me, trusting that I would protect him. I leaned over quite consciously then, when his escape was complete, and postured myself as my little boy's shield.

The old woman heaved a sigh, as if she had resigned herself to some burdensome task, but then she looked down the length of the bed towards Jasio, and her features seemed to soften suddenly, unlike anything we had ever seen her do before. There was more than mere idle scrutiny in her raised brow. Much more. There was a kind of beatific melting of her all her ire, as she seemed to soak in the boy's features.

"Good afternoon, paniczu," she intoned softly, almost reverently, dipping her head towards him with an almost girlish, shy smile.

I looked from her back to Jasio, taken aback by her choice of words. 'Good afternoon, my lord.' How very odd. But there was no condescension in her manner. Just the opposite. There was more of deference, than anything else.

Just as I turned my head to look back at him, Jasio sneaked a peek from behind me, leaning out, staring back at her wide-eyed, just as stunned, or perhaps more so, than I. I could well imagine that no one had ever addressed him in that manner before.

"I hope you enjoyed your bath, and napped well."

"Ye… yes, I-I did… I mean, we… did," Jasio stammered out in barely more than a whisper. He looked up at me almost desperately, questioning. I shrugged and shook my head, equally as bewildered.

"Please tell me if there is anything you need, paniczu. And you too, Comrade… Ostoja,"

It seemed to be her intent to surprise me now, because she looked at me so pointedly, but this time her raised brow seemed to hint that she was toying with me.

I stared back at her, wondering if there were any implied threat in the revelation that she knew my name. Notwithstanding her bemusement, to me the air in the cabin, so silent and calm, suddenly bordered more on oppressive than peaceful.

"Yes, I know who you are, Chief Inspector Piotr Ostoja," she continued, answering my unstated question. "Captain Rudenko told me all about you on the phone just now. And it is he who says you must return to Jodłówka tonight."

She said it quite matter-of-factly, with no edge to her tone. There was no threat here. But there was a mystery. More of the Grecka Droga mystery. I calmed myself and relaxed down upon the bed, then reached around behind me and patted Jasio through the covers. He leaned into my back, the warmth of his body reassuring against mine. The thought flitted through my mind instantly – let there be mystery, let there be danger, but from now on just let there always always be Jasio near me, with me.

"Who might this Captain Rudenko be?" I asked.

"He's with the KGB. And you will be thankful that he is, before this is all over. When I described your car he knew you well enough. You can be just as thankful that he has guarded The Droga these many years, since you Commies took away all the Podhorowski lands. But his power extends only so far. That's why we have to hurry."

She sighed heavily again, then seemed to gasp for air, her chest shuddering with the effort. Blindly, she held out one hand. "Come! Just come with me." Again she dipped her head towards Jasio deferentially. "Kochany paniczu. Please, come with me. I have many things to show you."

She commanded me. She seemed to beg the boy.

His presence behind me, against me, felt the same. Yet hearing her tone, seeing the way she implored that he bend to her will, made me wonder about the boy. Who was he? At least, who did she think he was, to speak to him so? Of course she would have no idea of the circumstances in which I had found him last night, but now she was acting like he was a little prince. Well, far from me to disabuse her. Who better than this little boy had earned all the respect he could get?

"Quickly, please. Get dressed and come with me," she implored of him again.

I sat silently, my head turned down towards him as he stared at the old hag. Slowly he took up his garments and withdrew again behind me. I felt him starting to dress himself, so I took up my own shirt.

The old woman seemed to falter coming down the steps. Jasio surprised me by letting go of my hand and rushing to take hold of her arm to help her down.

I stood back and watched, astonished by more than his new daring. He had sheltered himself behind me while we got dressed, and then latched onto my arm with both his hands and practically welded his body to mine as I led him out of the cabin. Now I realized that in all the time we had spent together since bathing – even during our walk back to the cabin – I had not had a chance to just stand back and gaze upon him.

What a glory he was to behold!

Like the sun's rays sought only to shine upon him! The brightness of his sailor-boy whites, set off by the blue pinstripes and the wide, dark blue collar, blended with the pure whiteness of his skin. He had a natural clearness to his complexion, and now that the grime and grit were washed away, he looked virginal, like a boy doll fashioned of porcelain. Such a slim, small boy, but suddenly he seemed taller, standing so erect next to the bent and gnarled form of the old woman. It was his legs that did it. They seemed to rise up and up above his high stockings, in long white columns up to where his short shorts clung tightly to his thighs. His little bottom was firm and tight inside the shorts. I could easily cup both cheeks in one outstretched hand, if only I dared.

Oh, I almost dared. I was so jealous of the old woman, as he took hold of her arm instead of mine. He stood there so attentively, awaiting her feeble descent down the one last step.

I stared, almost breathless in wonder. Could it be true that I had actually touched this creature? Had I been dreaming that he had touched me as well – that we both had done so much more together than merely touch. With his free hand he brushed a stray strand of hair back from his cheek and tucked it behind his ear in a vain attempt to tame it against the wisp of a breeze off the mountain slopes. I almost swooned forward, so closely did I watch the graceful movement of his little fingers.

Now completely dry, his hair fluffed in swirls all about his head, longer than it had appeared when wet and plastered against his neck. Each strand began straight, lustrous and tinged red, then curled in graceful waves. The wayward lock sifted back across his cheek. He peered through the strands as if through a veil, letting it flutter against his white skin. I wanted to reach out and hold it back for him, so that I might simply behold his loveliness.

Loveliness.

His loveliness.

Can a man rightly ascribe such a quality to a boy?

But how else to describe him? The very tenderness of his touch, his open-hearted trust in me, his innocence of spirit, free of resentment for all the wrongs done him, his eager inquisitiveness about the world around him, his seemingly matchless ingenuity All those could be described as elements of this boy's loveliness A loveliness that emanated from deep within. But I must admit that at this moment, it was his beauty that transfixed me.

I won't resort to calling him just sexy or pretty. I should not even use the word beautiful. He was beautiful, but lots of boys are beautiful. The word just doesn't suffice.

Every boylover must have the experience – it happens to all of us at one time or another. We see boys every day whom we admire, whom we want. Boys we describe as cute, sexy, pretty. But then on occasion a special, very special boy steps for a moment into our vision, and all else in the world is forgotten. It's as if our eyes have never before been focused. We are stunned, benumbed momentarily, by this special boy. Something about him makes him stand out before all others. We stare at him without fear of discovery, because this kind of boy turns heads. No one would look at you suspiciously for watching him, because everyone watches him.

Did it take the waters of the Grecka Droga to reveal to me that Jasio was such a boy? Then blessed waters, they were. Holy waters. Revealing a living God amongst us.

I've long wondered about such boys. Do they realize how special they are? Did Jasio realize it? Others may never have spoken of it to him. I would. I would make him realize it. I would teach him, reveal it to him. Perhaps he would see it in my eyes, this special boy, this once in a lifetime special boy.

If I could not reach out to simply clear the hair from his cheek, then I wanted to reach out and snatch him back to me, away from the old woman. I wanted to feel his long, delicate fingers close about my arm, not hers. And then I'd pull him around to face me. I'd tip his face up so that I might be the one to soak in his radiance.

Then I would be free to touch his hair. I'd trace each wave with my own fingertips.

I felt bereft! He no longer clung to me.

You're mine, Jasio! I've found you now. I won't give you up to anyone!

He must have heard the cry of my own spirit. Else I cried out loud, not even knowing it. The old woman heard me too. Both of them stopped and looked at me, Jasio with an inquisitive little twist of his head, his eyes big with wonder at what he must have seen in mine. The old woman's eyes laughed at me. My longing must have been written in plain letters on my fa… but it was not my face that she was laughing at – she looked down with raised brow, her face wrinkling in a bemused grimace.

"Don't worry your… self, Comrade Ostoja," she huffed, as she took one last step down with Jasio's help. "You can keep your prized manhood in your pants – I won't take… your boy from you."

I reddened immediately, feeling it now. My longing for the boy would be obvious to them both, if Jasio noticed my arousal too. I self-consciously looked down the length of my torso to where my dick had again raised its head, and was straining hard, resting sideways, pushing out the fabric of my pants, flexing, threatening to rise up and poke up above my waistband. Not twenty minutes since Jasio had sucked me. Less than that since I had wiped my semen off his lips, and here I was erect again. Perhaps twenty years without a boy will do that to a man, or… perhaps it was simply… Jasio. Thirty-eight years without Jasio.

Beyond amazement, my immediate reaction was embarrassment that the old woman should see me like this, and that she would so crudely comment on it. I had tried to hide it from her before, earlier in the day, but now? What did she mean by her crude remark? Did she guess? Or was she truly capable of reading my mind?

And Jasio? A part of me wished that he would notice, that he would know, that the knowledge would remind him of what we had just done together, in the baths… in bed. I wanted him to be reminded that his rightful place was with me, not her! I raised my head slowly, and looked at him from under my brow. His eyes flicked down too, then raised again, boring into mine. He seemed to have stopped breathing, in his concentration on me.

"Men don't change… much, paniczu," she said to Jasio, patting his hand reassuringly, still chuckling. He half turned his head, to listen to her, but still he kept his wondering eyes on me. "It's the same… the same, always… as it should be. And boys too. Wanting to help… and their men? Chary of each little… glance. Or even a moment… away from their boy. However, your man seems a little more… uh – jealous – than most. Ha! Or at least he's more obvious about it," she ended with a wry lift of her brow.

My ears felt singed – it was as if she could see right into my soul, as if she knew what Jasio meant to me. Certainly she would know that I hadn't grown hard for her!

Indeed, my whole face burned, but I could not, would not, break the connection that had suddenly formed between me and Jasio. Let him read what he could from my all too obvious condition. Let him begin to understand his captivation of my whole being.

The old crone had no patience for us. She placed both of her hands upon Jasio's, and by sheer force of weight she pulled him around to face her. "Your man is jealous. But you, kochany paniczu," she patted his hand where it rested beneath her arm, "you do me a great… honor, and… I am grateful."

Jasio too seemed reluctant to break the spell that had bound us to one another. With a confused, almost desperate turn of his head back and forth between me and his insistent companion, he finally seemed to give in, leaving me with one final imploring look before turning to stand attentively before her. He stood there listening, but as I watched him, it seemed that he was struggling to hear her, straining to still the thoughts in his head, so that he could understand her.

"Thank you." she repeated. "You're very kind, paniczu," the old woman said, again lowering her head towards Jasio, as if in deference. "Now. I have much to show you and your… man. Much to tell, also. I will explain everything. You… won't believe any of it, until you see… for yourself, so we must hurry. There is much still to be done… this day."

Once again, her mode of addressing the boy struck me. It was so archaic. A generation or more out of date. That might be understandable given her age, but there was more to it than that. It was if she were using the old language reserved for the subservient class, kowtowing to an aristocratic master. She talked as if she were Jasio's personal servant. The aristocracy was long dead. First came the Republic, then the Nazis and the Russians made sure that the Polish nobility could only be found in the history books. And yet, to the old woman, Jasio was her 'young lord?'

Even now she held his hand in a shy, self-deprecating way, with a meek smile and a dip of her head. It was all the more remarkable given the vast difference in their ages. Her hands were small, the skin glassy and almost transparent with age, but his were smaller still, even softer, smoother. Her fingers gnarled with age, awkwardly crooked at the joints. Jasio's were slender and straight – just a boy's hands, but she seemed to bow to them. The old hag might well have curtsied if her wobbly legs could have withstood the strain.

Jasio was the picture of concern and attentiveness as he walked the old woman forward. It was no sham. I saw it in the way he stayed half turned towards her, reading her face for signs of her strain, cradling her arm. I was struck by the irony – a boy who had been kicked around and neglected for as long as he could remember, and he could so genuinely give of himself to help this old woman whom he hardly knew.

"Comrade Ostoja. Your car has been removed to Jan's private carriage house, and…"

"My car? Moved!" I almost panicked, right then and there. Without that car I was a sitting duck for my pursuers. Not to mention that upon that car rested all my hopes for establishing some kind of life, some new arrangement, for Jasio. I looked around wildly. Even a cursory glance showed that the GAZ was gone. "But who… what did you…"

"You're sputtering again, Comrade," she pinned me with those disdainful eyes of hers again.

I was more than sputtering! I was about to spit tacks! The old woman was just speaking nonsense now. Dangerous nonsense at that. Jan's carriage house? His private carriage house?! I'd lay down odds that she herself couldn't drive, so who else was hanging about here, unseen? What had we gotten ourselves into?

Instantly I saw Jasio's alarm at my outburst. He dropped the old woman's arm and started back over towards me. I reined in my first instinct, which was to lash out and demand an immediate explanation from our erstwhile hostess, assuming my accustomed authority as a Party official. Instead I reached out for Jasio and pulled him into me protectively. He felt my hands upon his shoulders, and sought the refuge offered by my body.

The old woman sighed loudly, almost impatiently. "You may be the man Jan has chosen… but once a Commie always a Commie? Just… listen now, don't talk. I will give you plenty of opportunity to ask your questions… when I'm done."

She looked at the two of us for a moment, her glance soft and understanding when it rested upon Jasio. Less so when upon me. So much for deference! It seemed that the entire measure of the old woman's respect was reserved for this wisp of a boy huddled in my embrace.

"Jan," she said soothingly. "Don't be afraid or alarmed. Just follow me – with your man. Hmmph," she grunted, and gurgled what might have been another chuckle at my expense, again looking down between my legs. I suppose that in my alarm about the car, my member softened a bit, no longer straining against the fabric of my pants. "It seems your man will be able to walk with us after all. So please follow me. I will not lead you wrong."

She raised her palsied arms and waved about, all around us, in half-circles circumscribed by the inflexibility of her ancient bones. "All this… everything you see here was…," she paused again and fixed me with her stern gaze again. "Was and always will be, no matter what the Communists say – everything here IS owned by the great and noble Polish Podhorowski family. When I was a little girl your age, the Count and Countess were foremost among all Polish noble families, recognized and honored at the Viennese court as much as any of the Austrian or Hungarian nobility. Long before the Emperors and Czars and Kaisers, who have held sway over Poland for so many centuries, and for as long as there has been a voice to tell the story of the Grecka Droga, Podhorowski's have been lords of this land."

She shuffled on past us and took the lead, heading off on a track to the side of the inn, it seemed. We swiveled to follow her. I let Jasio shift to my side, but held his hand firmly in mine, wary of any further tricks or surprises from our hostess. Say what she might, I wasn't letting Jasio leave my side for hers again, if I could help it. How I managed to walk forward, I don't know – not because of my dick, which threatened to burst the seams of my pants again now that I had Jasio to myself, but because I couldn't keep my eyes from straying to the boy holding onto me – I still felt that amazement, that awe, as if I had only just now begun to realize how special he was to me. More than once he looked up at me too, with those self-same wondering glances, as if he were trying to make sense of me. More than once too, I almost spoke, wanting to drown out the droning of the old crone, to tell this wonderful boy something of what I was feeling. But how do you tell a boy you've just met that you love him? What could possibly make him believe that? Or understand it? Would it just scare him more, rather than offering him comfort or solace or reassurance? Oh I wanted desperately to be alone with him, to just try to sort out all these emotions and sensations that I was feeling. If only I could make him understand.

This one boy had entered my life – after so many years in which I had despaired of ever truly loving a boy, of ever having a boy to love, and… my god, I had to waste precious moments from the few that we would be allotted, to walk with him in the company of this ancient old witch who seemed to think that our destinies were somehow inextricably bound up with hers!

My penis strained against its imprisonment, reminding me at each step that my body was a mere creature of my emotions. Now that I had Jasio with me again, holding onto me, it would be impossible to ignore. And by the gods I didn't want to. Every pulse within it, every movement I made, hurt with an excruciating torture that reminded me of my passion for my boy.

Of course he noticed. Again. He was staring at the full length of my bulge. This time he slowed his pace. His mouth dropped opened and he looked up at me wide-eyed, as if he were awed, wanting to speak, but unable to. He let go of my hand, but I didn't have even an instant to protest, because I felt his fingers slide softly across my pants.

He took hold of me, and I might have swooned right then and there. My mind reeled, as he traced the long lump of my dick down to it's stalk. I almost staggered when he retraced his way back to the head, and grasped it, squeezing.

I did stumble, but kept on walking, notwithstanding the fact that I was totally unable – even if I cared to – to listen to the old woman's continued meanderings. I could only trudge along, watching, feeling Jasio's touch.

He raised his head and looked up at me, his mouth still open. His eyes were wells of emotion. In the softest of whispers, he asked, "Is it really me? Do I… mean that much to you?"

I tried to answer just as softly, not wanting to share in this moment with the old woman. "Yes, Misiu, it is you. Only you."

The old woman was uncanny, for she slowed to a stop and started to turn about. Jasio's hand darted from my cock and he dropped it rigidly to his side. I fumbled to catch my own sense of balance, then wrapped my arm around his shoulder and drew him close to me. My thoughts were all a-jumble – trying to prepare to meet another onslaught by our hostess, struggling to deal with the emotions that surged through me. Jasio knew! If I could not speak directly of my love for him, my condition of ever-lasting arousal at least served the purpose.

I think the old woman was going to make another of her acerbic remarks about me, but no sooner did her eyes rest upon Jasio than she seemed to melt, and with the most beatific of smiles that she could possibly manage. "Paniczu, I know you must have much to think about, to wonder about, but you have had some time to talk with your man alone. I promise you – you will have more, soon, but I beg you for now – the both of you – give me just this moment. Will you do that?"

"Yes… Babciu," Jasio answered her meekly, his head turned down.

"Good. And you. Commie?" she looked at me, raising the brow over one eye questioningly. Again she glanced quite deliberately down at my erection. "I… no. I won't even ask you to cover yourself. Just do your part, and let the boy listen for a while. You too. What concerns him seems to concern you too," she ended.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Right. Then I tell you again. Everything you see here is Podhorowski land. And this day, paniczu. This day… well, it's the happiest day of my life to welcome back to the Grecka Droga its rightful lord."

There was no mistaking who she was referring to. I might as well have not been present, for all the notice she gave to me. Here eyes were transfixed upon Jasio. He stared back at her for a moment, then slowly shrank back into me even more.

I don't think anyone could make an honest appraisal of either Jasio or me, and say that either of us was dumb. I can admit however, to being completely dumbfounded at that moment. We both knew what the old woman was saying, but there is a grand chasm between what is heard and what is understood – or even believed.

"That's alright, Jan. You will understand. And accept it. Soon," she crooned at him, and bent her head to the side, looking at him tenderly. "Ah! But I… no. No more now… just come with me. We'll get to the gatehouse, where I can sit… then I'll tell you all."

She turned again and wobbled off in the lead. Jasio and I had no choice but to follow along behind. At least his hand was now firmly grasping mine, back where I wanted him, by my side. I felt better that way. Somehow more secure – all the mysteries and uncertainties of the Grecka Droga held at bay, so long as we were together. My penis was still hard, but now it seemed no longer to strain and throb – perhaps a dick does have a mind of it's own – perhaps it felt more secure now too, sensing the rightness of being with Jasio – for the moment not needing more.

I chose for this moment to ignore the old woman's ravings. Let her stew in her grandiose fantasies, if she must. Jasio could be the last of the Caesars for all I cared right now. Just keep him by my side!

As we passed the inn, the park-like forest spread out before us. Off to the left was the sun-struck, faceted dome of the baths and arboreum. Through the trees we could see the creek wending its way on up the floor of the narrowing little valley, between the looming mountains on both sides.

I saw that we were following the tracks of a little-used road that trailed off through the trees towards what looked like a small cottage, perhaps 50 meters [150 feet] ahead. There was a tall, black, wrought-iron fence – each post topped with some kind of figurine – extending to either side of the cottage. And a gate. Yes. The gatehouse that the woman sought.

Beyond the gatehouse, beyond the fence, the forest seemed to thicken a bit – the trees to grow taller – or perhaps it was merely the rise of the valley floor beyond, that proffered that illusion.

All around us too, the forest closed in as we walked on. The boles of the tall pines were thick, the matting of needles beneath showed the accumulations of years and years, undisturbed. And all around us it was so quiet.

Birdcalls. The breeze high up among the crowns of the firs. A woodpecker far off in the distance rat-a-tatting. The scrape, scrape, scrape, as the old woman dragged her feet along the track, her puffing breath. Once again I felt like Jasio and I had entered some world where… well, time might not stand still, but none of the dangers that threatened us could break through. It was a haven, this Grecka Droga. Peaceful. Untouched. Untouchable. By rights, I should be speeding up the King's Way to escape my pursuers. By rights, Jasio should be back down in the flatlands, scouring the roadside for scrap. But here we were, both of us, walking patiently behind this ancient woman towards… what?

In truth, I walked along dreamily, filling my senses. The pressure of Jasio's grip upon my hand was more real than my own heartbeat, or my own breath. The brush of his arm against mine was what sustained me. I could close my eyes, and smell the pungent spruce – or the clean, soap-scent of the boy beside me. Or I could open them, and look all around at the deep greens of the foliage, the dark browns of the dirt track, the crystalline blue of the sky above – or I could look down at my side and see the curls upon Jasio's head. The world was big and beautiful and serene around me. I could turn in circles and stop in any direction and see it's magnificence. At the center of that circle would be the 150 centimeter [5 ft.] tall little creature who strode with me.

Circles again. Circles that could be said to circumscribe our world. But to me, at this moment, the circles were what set me free. I had the sudden urge to release Jasio's hand. I slid my own across his shoulders and drew him to me, melding his body against mine. Neither of us broke stride. We walked as one. He looked up at me and smiled so sweetly, his eyes both questioning and knowing. I felt him raise his own arm to grasp me about my waist. He drew me to him.. He understood. I knew he did.

We continued on at the old woman's labored pace. She led us right up the two-track lane towards the gatehouse.

I felt Jasio's arm slip from behind me. Please don't let go, I wanted to call out to him. I don't think I was capable at that point of thinking of anything beyond holding him close, beyond his body leaning into mine. I looked down at him again, not wanting this moment to be over, wanting to see that same wondering look in his eyes.

In an instant I saw that the boy was indeed concentrating on something, but it wasn't me. He was staring down at the ground, and along the track behind the old woman.

I followed his gaze, and saw only her small bootprints in the dank, bare earth.

Jasio nudged me, and pointed down, his finger tracing a path in the air that followed right on along the track. He looked excited, or startled by something, but didn't say anything. I looked where he pointed, but could only shrug my shoulders. 'What?' I mouthed at him, keeping just as silent as he.

He held up both his hands, as if grasping some object on two sides, and described a kind of waving or oscillating up and down motion with them, then one hand shot forward, as if gliding up the road towards the gate.

I said before, that no one could honestly describe either Jasio or me as dumb. Now I had to amend that. Certainly they could never say that about him. But me? Surely no one was going to compliment me on my observational powers.

It was as plain as writing on a paper. The tire tracks. The tire tracks in the roadway, on one side superimposed by the old woman's bootprints.

My GAZ had been driven this way, and from the look of it, was somewhere beyond that gate. Towards Jasio's carriage house, according to the old woman.

"Look," Jasio whispered, shifting his gaze. He pointed at the fence, which loomed taller and taller – even over my own height – going off on both sides of the gate into the forest. "It's the same… as my key…"

"Your key?"

"Yes. Each fence post. On top, see it?"

"I see a bunch of…," and I stopped. Literally stopped, right in my own tracks. I stared, to make sure. Then looked down at Jasio, thinking of all the strange things the old woman had said. Her 'young lord.' The heir of the Podhorowski's, returned to his lands.

She was indeed leading us towards a Podhorowski estate. Each one of the fenceposts was capped with that noble family's familiar crest – that self-same shield with crossed horseshoes that had stood guard down at the entrance to the Grecka Droga – carved on the mountain face.

"Your key?" I could only ask again.

"Yes. The one I've had… for as long as I can remember. I used to carry it around on a string, around my neck. Until Leon broke it. It had that same symbol carved on it's handle. What… what could that mean… Piotr?" Jasio's words trailed off into almost a whisper.

"It means just what I've been telling you," the old woman interrupted us gruffly, with a harrumph. She had stopped too, farther along, and turned toward us. "It confirms it. I knew it was your key, and I knew then exactly who you were – even if your face didn't speak of it just as clearly."

"You're insisting that Jasio – Jan – is a member of the Podhorowski family." It was more an accusation than a question. It was time for the old woman to quit stringing this out.

"He is not just a member of the Podhorowski family. He IS the Podhorowski family. The heir, the last known remaining member after you Communists…" she answered heatedly, but stopped suddenly. I think she saw how Jasio quickly took my hand again, as if to defend me from her own accusation. She took a deep, halting breath, then continued softly, looking now at Jasio. "I am sorry, Paniczu. This is not the way to tell you. And I know enough about your man here," she raised her gnarled finger and pointed it shakily in my general direction, "so that I can say he had nothing to do with what happened to your family."

The boy was gripping my hand tightly, and a glance told me that he was standing by my side stiffly, looking shaken by the harsh exchange between me and the old woman. "Look," I said more calmly, but I was still impatient with her ways, and not about to be deterred. "If you don't want to hurt the boy's feelings, then quit saying all these fanciful things. Like this key? Anyone can make such a key. I hardly think that just because Jasio had it , that it proves…"

Now I had to stop, because what I was saying didn't even make sense to me. And why would I be so quick to deny anything about Jasio? I didn't know anything about his past. It might be time for the old woman to spill out her story, but it was also time for me to just shut up.

"I don't know, Jasio," I exchanged a confused glance with him. "Perhaps… we should just listen to what she has to say."

"Oh… ok," he said meekly. He stepped closer into me, grasping my forearm tightly, and took my hand with his other one.

"Good, then come inside with me now. I have to… sit down. We'll talk in there… then, if all is right, you'll go on up to your lodge".

The lodge, whatever that was, remained hidden beyond the gate and fence. The roadway continued on upslope beyond, disappearing in a curve a hundred meters [300 feet] or more into the forest. Somewhere up there was my GAZ.

I could have panicked at that thought, but frankly, at this point I didn't know how to feel. Events and circumstances were taking new turns every few minutes, it seemed: my car was gone; someone called Captain Rudenko was demanding that we return to the Jodłówka Collective; this old woman was proclaiming the noble birth and heritage of my Jasio.

Jasio fingered the weathered photo in his lap, tilting it one way, then the other, peering close as if trying to draw out from it some evidence that would convince him of the old woman's story. The boy who stared back at him couldn't have been more than ten or twelve years old himself, but his visage was faded, washed out by too many days, months, and years of exposure to the elements. Even now brightly-lit dust motes swashed the air in front of the mantle, where all the rest of the family photos were on display, splattered by the sunlight in leaf-filtered abandon.

"Believe me, it's true, Paniczu," the old woman repeated for perhaps the fifth time. There seemed almost a desperation in her pleading. But there was conviction too. Certainty. "I've kept that picture through all the years, along with all those you see there above the hearth. That is your family. That little boy is indeed your father. Anton Agenor Wycenty Podhorowski. Your father, when he was your age."

I stared at the photo too, and I might just as well have been staring at Jasio, it was such a close likeness. The little boy in the hand-tinted portrait had the same curling hair, the same nose, lips, chin. His eyes. I could feel the intensity of their gaze. That was the same way Jasio's eyes pierced and probed. The twenty year old photo captured a spirit. Jasio's spirit.

I was convinced. It was plain to my mind that Jasio was a Podhorowski. Well… if I could accept the word of this old crone that those photos on the mantle were of the Podhorowskis, then so was Jasio.

"What do you think, Piotrek?" he said to me in such a small voice, still peering at the photo. He placed it loosely in the vale between his two tightly closed legs and left it there, holding his palms wide, as if unwilling to claim what was evident. He sat so straight and upright, his legs together, feet flat upon the floor, looking helplessly lost in the face of the old woman's assertions.

"I… " I started to speak before even knowing what to say, so desperate was I to reassure this boy who meant so much to me. But what could I say? I had no way of knowing the truth. My heart went out to him. What must he be feeling, to suddenly realize that he was looking at a picture of his own father? A father he had never known, or could barely remember.

I edged close to him on the settee, where we sat across from our hostess, and placed my arm around him once more to draw him close. He leaned into me, accepting, even welcoming my touch, but didn't waver from his gaze upon the face of the young boy in the photo. "It… might just as easily be you in that photo, Jasio," I said quietly. "He looks exactly like you. Especially the eyes – so big, and…" I ended abruptly, on the verge of saying that the boy's eyes looked so big and alive. I shrank from acknowledging the truth, however. For this boy, if the old woman spoke the truth of it, was long since dead.

"My father," Jasio intoned, as if musing to himself. "Of course I wouldn't have remembered him like this, but… shouldn't I remember, shouldn't I feel… something?"

"Perhaps." I answered him solemnly. "We don't often remember much about things when we're very young, Jasio. Perhaps you were just too young, when he was… when the last time…"

"Yes," he rescued me.

I felt so guilty for that – fumbling for words, when it was he who had just been given such shattering news. "How do you feel about it, Misiu? Are you alright?"

He seemed suddenly to need the reassurance of contact with me, leaning in to me even more for support, sliding his bottom closer. I felt the taut muscles and rigidity of his whole body pressed into mine. With a stuttering sigh, he answered. "I-I don't know what to feel. About these pictures, all this… I guess I should feel happy, to be told that… I had a family once. That… but it's just all too soon for me to know what any of it means. All I really do know is that I never had anybody, Piotrek. You came back for me last night. You're the only one who has ever come back for me. Only you."

I squeezed him tightly to me and crossed my other arm over his chest to hug him even harder.

The old woman was relentless. She seemed oblivious to Jasio's turmoil and started in again with her stories. It all seemed so impossible, what she was telling us about this once great family that she had served all her life, but what if it were all true? What did it all mean? What would it mean, for my Jasio? What would it mean for me?

All I could think of, all I could do, was just… be here, for him. I couldn't possibly understand what must be going through his mind, after hearing about his long-lost family like this. It would have to be enough, for now, for me to just hold him and let him think it through.

"Głupi Jasio! Don't you ever stand on my shadow again!"

Jasio could hear those words now, just as clearly as that day last Spring.

He hadn't reacted fast enough. Bolek's balled-up fist came down like a sledge-hammer against the side of his head, and the boy flew in a heap into the roadside ditch. Even through the dazzling pain, he forced himself to open his eyes and to roll, knowing that he couldn't just lay there. If the old farmer got his ire up, there was no telling what he would do.

"You trying to steal my ghost, boy!?" Bolek demanded, glaring down, towering over him, his huge hands resting upon his hips.

Jasio stayed on his hands and knees, trying to look as meek and small as he could. How many times had he seen a little puppy dog cower in submission before a bigger dog? Old man Bolek was in charge of Jasio for the rest of this month, so it wouldn't pay to get him too angry. The boy wanted to eat. And he didn't want to sleep outside the farmer's hovel, as cold as it was at night.

"No sir, I was just… I was just trying to find out why your shadow wasn't as long as…"

"Stupid whelp!" Bolek cut him off. "The others may let you get away with all that kind of nonsense, but not me. Now get up, we have to get this hay back to the byre before sundown."

"Yes sir," Jasio scrambled up, backing out of the way of the farmer's ham-like fist, and took up his position again behind the man, but standing well back along the rope so that he couldn't possibly step on the old man's shadow again. It didn't matter that shadows obviously were caused by blocking the sunlight – that they had nothing to do with a man's 'ghost,' whatever that was. Shadows were nothing. They didn't matter to a man at all.

Bolek would never understand. Bolek would never even listen, if Jasio tried to explain it.

Now Jasio wondered if this old woman, this old servant as she proclaimed herself, would understand him if he told her how he felt about being a Podhorowski. He knew the old woman was telling him the truth. Looking at the picture that lay upon his knees, he might as well be looking in the mirror again. Seeing himself in that full-length mirror this morning had been a shock, but now?

What should he feel for the boy in the picture? What should he feel for this boy who grew up to be his real father, then… died. Was killed.

What should he feel for all those other people – his people – pictured on the mantle? His grandmother, his grandfather. Uncles, aunts – ancestors…

It was just a picture, from long ago. It was little more than a shadow, on paper. It felt like a piece of paper. It was a piece of paper. There was once a boy, and somehow, someone had put his shadow on this paper. There were once… all these other people… even a shadow had more substance than they did, to him.

Memories. Now memories were real. Not like shadows. If only he had memories of his father, his mother, his… all the Podhorowskis. Then he might feel something other than… emptiness.

But he did have memories. Of Piotrek.

"What do you think, Piotrek?" Jasio heard himself asking. He even heard Piotrek's answer. But it was more the man's voice that he wanted to hear than his words. This man was real! Not a shadow, not a paper! This man at his side was the only reality that he cared about now.

He felt the man – his man! He felt Piotrek edging closer. That was real too. The physical presence of this man next to him. The strength of his body. It sent shivers through his own form just to be near Piotrek. Not shivers of fear, like with Bolek or Leon. It was like his whole body was one of those strange pieces of metal he had found once – metal that clung to other metal – and it just didn't cling – it practically leapt towards the other piece of metal, like it needed to touch it. That was what he felt, being near Piotrek. Even as the man's arms went around his shoulders, Jasio snuggled closer, wanting to feel the man's flesh – to feel what was truly real.

"It… might just as easily be you in that photo, Jasio," Piotrek said quietly.

"My father," Jasio answered. "Of course I wouldn't have remembered him like this, but… shouldn't I remember, shouldn't I feel… something?"

"Perhaps," came Piotrek's reply. "We don't often remember much about things when we're very young, Jasio. Perhaps you were just too young, when he was… when the last time…"

"Yes," Jasio said quietly, filling the awkward silence. He could practically feel the gentleness of the man. Piotrek didn't want him to be hurt, but he obviously didn't know what to say to avoid it. "How do you feel about it, Misiu? Are you alright?" Piotrek's lips almost rested upon Jasio's brow.

The heat of the man's breath caressed Jasio's skin, and his whole body responded. He shifted his bottom again, pressing hard against Piotrek. From the soles of his feet to the top of his head, he wanted to feel this man, to smell him, to… taste him again. Piotrek's whole body was hard, not just his thing. A manly strength seemed to surround him. He smelled… like a man. Like a man should. Not pungent like Leon or Bolek, but… like the earth, of the earth.

Jasio felt the man, smelled the man, and suddenly, he thrilled at the familiar ache growing between his own legs. He was getting hard down there, just like Piotr did so often. And he knew it was for the same reason. There was no way to tell the old woman what mattered to him. There was no way to tell her that all this land, all these pictures – they were… shadows! There was no way to tell her that one moment with Piotrek, one second of his touch, was worth every bit of all these treasures that the old woman was talking about.

I feel you, Piotrek, he wanted to shout out. You were there last night. You were still here, this morning. Your touch is real. Your touch is what I want.

Jasio pressed his legs together tightly. The momentary relief, with his siusiak and his aching balls held rigid in the vise, was all that made it possible for him to quell what he wanted to cry out. He steeled himself, and with a ragged rasp of his breath said, "I-I don't know what to feel about these pictures, all this… I guess I should feel happy, to be told that… I had a family once. That… but it's just all too soon for me to know what any of it means. All I know is that I never had anybody, Piotrek. You came back for me last night. It was you who came back for me. Only you."

Jasio listened – he truly wanted to know it all – but the old woman's stories about his real father were something that he would have to think about later. Looking back had never done him much good. Until last night. He had looked back, that once, and wished that Piotrek would come back to him. At this moment, that was all that really mattered – that Piotrek had come back – these faded pictures meant nothing compared to this moment, sitting next to this man who seemed capable of… well… what wasn't he capable of? It was Piotrek who had wrapped him against the cold, who had given him warm clothes. It was Piotrek who kept Leon away. Piotrek, who had caressed him,- wanting only to make him feel good. Piotrek who had brought him here, made sure he had a place to sleep, to eat, to… bathe. Piotrek who… for the first and only time in his life… made him feel… wanted, loved. Piotrek who had touched him in places and in ways so intimately, and so differently from the way that Leon had ever done – Piotrek who had awakened in him… what? Hope? Desire?

Belief. Piotrek made him believe! In himself and in the future. Most of all, in the man, himself.

Jasio listened to the old woman, but every word that was not about Piotrek, and their future together, was… just like the shadows. There was more reality in the heat he felt right now, from pressing his body against Piotrek's flesh, than in all the Podhorowskis – even if they were his people.

Jasio felt like his whole body was wound up tightly, like the spring he had scavenged from an old rusted clock in the Jodłówka dump. He used to wind it, and wind it, till it was a tight little disk of metal, then watch as it sprang loose – always wondering, thinking – how could he use it? What could he make with it? He felt like that now, like his stomach was all twisted up into a knot. The ache between his legs pulsed, begging to be released just like that old spring. But for what purpose?!

For only one purpose now. He had only one purpose now. To be with Piotrek. To see Piotrek, to touch him, to hold him – oh, to he held by this man!. To taste him – to offer himself to this man! To know him – and to have this man want him!

The photo dislodged from it's perch between Jasio's legs, and fluttered down upon the floor. I hastily let go of him, and bent to retrieve it. "I'm sorry. We must take care of this now. This photo of your… Tato." The words were searing to me, and I swear I felt jealousy even of this faded photo! It was only moments ago that Jasio had called me his Tato. I didn't want to relinquish that title, even for… especially for a photo.

"I wonder what he was like, when he… you think… you think he would have washed me, like you did?

"I'm sure of it. He would have washed you, taken care of you."

"You can be sure of it, Jan," the old woman interjected. "You're father was a wonderful boy, and when he grew up, he made all of us proud."

"You say he lived with you here during the war?" I asked her.

"Yes," she answered with a wistful smile, and continued, reminiscing again, losing herself in what were obviously fond memories. "It wasn't safe on the estate, after the Germans came. But up here – my Karol, God rest his soul, my Karol and me, we kept Anton with us. The old Count brought him to us and said that the enemy would never touch him here. Anton already knew the Way. He found it when he was just ten. He and… and… ah, how can I forget his name… I'll – I'll remember it… Anton pined for him so, but there was no way for a Frenchman to visit the Droga in those times… but Anton did love it here, even without his beloved…"

The old woman seemed suddenly to return from some far away place, interrupting her train of remembrances. They seemed to make less sense the longer she spoke, so perhaps it was just as well. "I babble too much," she mumbled, looking down at her twisted, palsied hands, resting in her lap. "There is much for you to discover here, for yourself, but right now, you want to know what happened to your father, don't you."

"Yes," Jasio answered in a near whisper.

"Well," she continued, "the Grecka Droga was protected, as it has always been. But then after the war, when all the Podhorowski estates were taken from them, and the family just disappeared – well, Anton was sixteen then, and wouldn't listen. He didn't realize what it was like, he couldn't know. We had kept him safe here all those years during the war, but we had also sheltered him from what it was like out there, with the Communists in control. He left. He was determined to find his Erastes, although it had been six years since they had last… joined… here. Koczurba had control by then. All the home estates had become part of the Jodłówka Collective, and Anton made the mistake of going directly there. Koczurba captured him and made sure that Anton was punished – just for being the last of the Podhorowskis."

She stopped, and just sat silently for a moment, turning her head to stare out beyond us again, into the woods.

"We never saw him again. He got word to us. He was assigned a shack on the Collective, within site of the ruins of the old palace. He was forced to work like all the others. He said he would make everything be all right again, but…"

"He didn't give up. He married one of the peasant girls. Imagine, one of his own peasants, and she became the rightful Countess Podhorowski."

"I'm sorry, I should not speak any ill of her. From everything I heard, she stayed by Anton's side loyally until the very end. It was love that they had, just as true as the love between me and my man. She went with him, when the Commies came one day, and took him to Warsaw. Captain Rudenko searched for them. Found their records. They both ended their days in a common grave in some camp in Siberia. You can ask him all about it, he'll know all the details. I've never wanted to know that much. I have my memories. I have… those years… when he was with us… like he was our own boy… my Anton…"

I thought she was lost to the world then, lost to her memories, but suddenly she shifted her gaze from the far-off woods that had shared her memories with her, to gaze directly at Jasio. "Captain Rudenko said they had a son. Jan was his name – a name of honor, borne by so many of his line through the centuries.. Heir to the great Podhorowski name, and all that goes with that glorious lineage. But he never found any records about the boy. We all assumed that he – you – died with your parents in some Russian camp."

"We should have searched for you, Jan! If only we had known! Leon. Koczurba!" she spat. "He must have kept you, when your parents were taken to Warsaw. Or your father, knowing what was to come in Warsaw, left you at the Collective on purpose. We don't know. We just don't know. Don't you see, that's why you…" she ended in a spate of coughs, throwing her head back and sinking into her chair.

Jasio quickly gave the picture to me and stepped over to her side, patting her on her stooped shoulder. "Babciu, Babciu," he called to her soothingly, bending down to catch her gaze. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," she croaked, "I'll be alright. It's that Koczurba, Jan. He had a reason for keeping you. He must have all your things there too, anything that your father left you, all that remains beyond the Grecka Droga. That's why Captain Rudenko says that you must return there tonight. Before you go, before Piotr Ostoja takes you away from here forever. No. Not like that. Only you, Commie," she turned to me. "You will go. You will leave Jan here with me, and you will return, while there is still time, and you will find out…"

"No!" Jasio almost screamed. He stepped back from the old woman, and in almost a panic, looked from me to her and back again. "You won't… you said… we talked about it, and I don't want you to leave me, or take me back there either…"

"Jasio, Jasio!" I found myself sitting on the very edge of the sofa and reaching for him. He pulled back in a defiant little struggle, his eyes wide in denial of what the old woman was suggesting, but then he yielded to my grasp and gave in and let me fold him into my arms. I held him to me and buried my face against his chest, feeling the whip-cord wiriness of his frame, tensed against any plan that would tear us apart. I caressed his back almost in a frenzy, shushing him. "You're not ever going back the way it was, Jasio! Never! I don't know what's to become of us, but… dammit, I won't make you go back there. I won't. I won't…" My words trailed off as I felt his body softening, giving in to me. I leaned back, and drew him back onto the sofa with me, holding him, pulling his legs across mine, hugging him to me, cradling him almost like a baby. I glared over at the old woman defiantly.

"You have to promise not to leave me either," he pleaded.

"But… if… look, I don't think she's talking about… she just wants me to go back to the Collective and try to get whatever belongs to you. Things that your… your father left for…"

"I don't care about any of that. You said there were bad people chasing you. If you go back, they might catch you. There's nothing back there for me. I just want…"

"You don't know what Koczurba might have, Jan," the old woman interjected.

"It doesn't matter what he has! Don't you see? I don't care anything about all this… stuff you've told me. It doesn't mean anything to me! But Piotrek! He…"

"If your man loves you he will not let you make that decision, young man!" the old woman interrupted vehemently. Her ire was something to behold – she sat up suddenly with an energy that neither Jasio or I could have expected in her, and looked at the both of us like Baba Yar poised to cast some lethal potion.

Just as suddenly she collapsed back into her chair, looking pale and drained. Both her hands, resting on the armrests, shook violently.

Jasio scrambled to get out of my grasp again, groaning, as if denying the possibility that she might have had a stroke or something. I finally had the sense to boost him up, and followed to kneel opposite him by her chair.

"It's… alright," she whispered. She must have felt his hands caressing her arm, because her eyes remained closed. "But you… mustn't refuse your… birthright, Jan. There's so much… more for you to see. I know… no one helped… we did nothing… your man has…" She closed her eyes, and took deep breaths. We could see her palsy abating, as her hands steadied a bit. Color began to return to her face.

"Just don't make any decisions yet, Paniczu. I will take you up to your lodge now. Commie. Pull on that rope. There in the corner. I'm going to need help getting up to the Strażnik. Servants will bring a carriage."

I felt my own breath suddenly escape me. What was it she had said? Something that… something that I somehow knew was very important. "What is this Strażnik? The Guardian? A house?" I demanded insistently.

"It's always been called that. The Strażnik Drogi, where Podhorowskis have guarded The Way for more than a millennium."

My heart was pounding, but I didn't know why. Something about that name, something I had heard before. "Jasio's house, you said, because he is the last of the Podhorowskis…" I mumbled, lost to my own thoughts, trying to remember something. Something that had to be very important.

"His home. No matter where you may take him. The Strażnik Drogi will always be his home."

Try as I might, I could not place the name, the phrase. Strażnik Drogi. Guardian of the Way. In a daze, I said "I… I can help you to walk up there, if you wish us to go there now."

"No. Something must be said first. Jan. This is your home. Yours to do with as you will as lord of this land. You may come and go as you wish. But with all others," she fixed her gaze squarely on me. "only those who are ready to follow The Way may go there."

"The Way. The Way! You keep speaking in riddles, old woman!" I was angry. At myself, at her. There was something nagging at me. Was it something perhaps dangerous for Jasio? Was this old hag a threat to him? But no. There was nothing to indicate that. It was my fault, the way I was feeling. Letting my own fears get the better of me. "Forgive me. I know you think you are… I don't know, carrying on a tradition or something, being true to the Podhorowskis – and now to Jasio. Jan. But you have to understand that this is very frustrating to… both of us, I think.

"I don't expect you to understand, Piotr Ostoja, but if you are true to your word you will do as I say."

"True to my word?"

"Last night, looking down the barrel of my shotgun, you said you would take care of this boy. I must know if you meant that, in all ways."

"Well… of course, I did."

"Do you love him?"

"Ye…," I started to answer her immediately, emphatically, but the nagging continued. What was the old woman trying to get at? I looked at her hard, trying to plumb the depths of those old eyes. Bewilderingly, I answered, glancing across her at Jasio too. "Do I love him? Yes. Yes, as hard as it may be for someone like you to believe, I do love him."

I stood, as conscious as ever that my dick bulged where it lay, expanding the fabric of my pants. Defiantly, still angry deep down at this old harridan's machinations, I felt like pointing to my penis and demanding her to deny what it meant when a man is aroused like I was by just standing near a boy. As quickly as that thought came, it vanished in a panic of doubt. Impossible. How could I even think of ruining everything Jasio and I had together?

Instead, I reached across the old woman, holding both my hands out, begging Jasio to give me his in return. He slowly rose, his eyes fixed upon mine – questioning again. Always questioning! But he did raise his hands to mine, holding them out flat, palms down. I gently grasped his fingers and lightly pulled him over, from around the chair.

"It doesn't matter, Babciu, that I've only known him for one – no – less than one day now. That doesn't matter, "I continued as I again pulled him to my side and put my arm across his shoulder. "I don't know how to explain it to you, but I think I would do – anything to take care of him. I've tried to explain it to him. Circumstances are… there are people… looking for me. If I could… I mean, I will do anything I can for him. I have plans, there are people I can call. I…"

"I'll do that too, Commie. You're not listening to me. I asked if you love him!"

"But I said I… what do you want me to say?" I felt myself blushing. I glanced down at Jasio, and saw that he was watching me closely, listening as if he had asked the question, instead of the old woman. I sat back down on the settee, and gently pulled him down to sit beside me, trying to figure out what to say.

I couldn't tell her what he meant to me, in truth. If a boylover learns anything in life, it's to hide his true feelings. Who but another boylover – or a loved boy – could possibly understand how I felt? How could I tell her that – that I'd… marry him, for lack of a better word. I'd bind my being to his. But trapped in a world where such feelings are criminal, how could I tell her I wanted to devote my very being to this boy, that I wanted to be with him in every way, to be a part of him?

How could I tell her? I had not even told him.

I looked at her grim-faced. Feeling helpless. "If I could," I spoke now carefully, firmly, emphasizing my words. "If I can, I'll do anything. I wish it had been different. I wish I could have been with him all the years of his life, to watch him grow, to make sure he had enough to eat, a place to sleep all his own."

I swiveled on the cushion, and looked directly at Jasio, including him in my words. "I would have been a…," I gulped, unable to say what I truly wanted to say. My eyes sought his briefly, beseeching him to understand. But I couldn't maintain the contact. The questioning in his eyes threatened to force me into admissions, in front of our hostess, that might ruin everything we had had together. I dropped my gaze to my own hands, gripping my knees.

"I would have bathed him," I muttered feebly, remembering how our ablutions together in the Grecka Droga's hot baths had meant so much to him. "I… would have been a Tato to him…" I felt flushed suddenly, weak and defeated. A self-defeat, it was. I was not brave enough to dare the truth.

My cock shriveled in that instant. I was literally deflated in body and spirit. Dammit, this old woman meant nothing to me, and yet I could not break through the fear of revealing what I really felt for Jasio. I resented her for trying to force me to do so. It wasn't for her to hear. It was for Jasio!

"Ahhhhhh." the old woman finally filled my helpless silence. She stared at me, looking at me with narrowed eyes, as if trying to peer through some kind of fog at me. I watched her eyes as they lowered to my groin. She saw everything. She seemed to know everything. I waited, just knowing that she would comment just as crudely now as before out on the road.

The silence was intimidating. I felt shamed. But at least Jasio hadn't noticed. He was staring up at me still. I didn't see any disappointment in his eyes, at least. Nor any kind of an accusation. He just looked… he looked at me with such an open gaze of… expectation… of trust? Like I had done no wrong, as far as he was concerned.

He had that magic with the old woman. A mere glance at him was enough to soothe her, to transform her. Now he had that same magic with me. His trust was like mana to me! I felt it just as if there were a lifeline between us, and he was filling me with his own unstoppable spirit.

Defeated? No! I wasn't defeated. I couldn't be defeated, as long as Jasio had faith in me. God, I stood taller all of a sudden. I felt stronger. And yes, I felt every bit of that force returning within me, filling my manhood just as surely as it did my heart.

When the old woman finally spoke, it was like nothing I had expected. Had she too drawn from Jasio's spirit? Had she sensed that perhaps there was something in me that was so very special to this boy?

She continued almost speculatively, slowly, thoughtfully. "It's a noble thing, to be a father. Every boy deserves to have known a father. I'm sure you would have been a good one, Piotr Ostoja. But you are not his father, are you?

"He… he called me…"

"He called you Tato. Yes. I know. We must ask him what he meant by that. But first, let me ask you something more. You know, when you arrived here last night I thought you may have directed that big ugly Russian car here with a special purpose. Did you? Do you, Piotr Ostoja, know why this hidden vale is called the Greek Way?"

"Yes, well, the road…"

"… extends no farther than Jan's chateau, behind us." she completed my sentence peremptorily. "You know nothing more than that?"

"I was trying to find a way over the mountains," I threw my hands up, wondering what it was she wanted of me more than that very obvious explanation.

"The Greek Way is not a road!" she said, her agitation obvious in the way she shuffled forward in her seat and grasped her cane with both hands. She looked at me with what I could only sense as exasperation, but then she glanced over at Jasio once more and in an instant she was soothed, becalmed. The boy was as much a balm to her as he was life to me. She melted back into her seat again. She sighed, then looked off into the distance again.

"Babciu," I asked, "is there a purpose in…"

"You will think it very odd," she interrupted me loudly. "you, an all-powerful Communist official, will think it odd that I, a woman, could know of the Greek Way."

"I don't think it odd, because I have no idea what…"

"Shusshhhh," she dismissed me, not even showing anger at my own interruption, but silencing me all the same.

I felt every muscle in my body bunching, wanting to spring to action, but her shush was as effective as a command from a Commissar.

"It has always been so," she continued, oblivious of my agitation. "It has always been true, that mothers and sisters – and old old loyal servants," she said with a bow of her head to Jasio, "that women have urged their men and their boys to walk The Way. We know what it has meant to the world, through all the years. From before the time of the Grotto, through all the centuries that the Mount stood sentinel, to the time of the Strażnik, men and boys have joined together. Pushed on, encouraged, by their women. Don't you see, men and boys had to join together. Not as father and son. Oh so much more than fathers and sons. Otherwise… well, there is Beauty in this world, there is Good, but there is also evil, and the Good must always be fought for. Women nurture the Good, but men and boys – only they can safeguard and defend it. It is The Way. It is what God has ordained. What the Gods ordained, before that."

I was listening now. More than listening. Again that nagging something in what she said gripped me. She had triggered memories in me, as if I had heard it all before, and understood it then no better than I did now – but oh how I wanted to understand it!

"Fathers can fight, but would a father lead his own son to battle? Can a father ever truly cut away all the ties that bind him to the earth? Fathers can instruct their boys, but what father could ever truly free the spirit of his son to dare fate?"

The old woman was impassioned now, and spoke as if having a vision. I heard her, but at the same time my own mind whirled: The Greek Way. The Grotto, the Mount. The Strażnik Drogi!

Tomek! He had spoken of these same strange names!

It was one quiet summer evening early in the War. The rest of our band were sitting about the fire, whiling away time before Tomek ordered us all to our blankets, but Tomek and I had walked hand in hand off into the tall grass of the field next to our hideaway, just scenting the slow breeze, listening to the encroaching silence of nighttime.

I don't know why I asked it. Maybe I wondered what it was, that something that seemed to bind me to the big man. I think I was afraid to just come out and ask him, so instead I said to him, "Tomek? Why do you only take boys into our troop?"

His step faltered, as if he had stumbled over some clump of grass. Then he stopped and turned to face me. His expression seemed one of surprise, almost of alarm, like I had suddenly hurt him – me, the boy who had fought by his side and shared his bed for almost a year. If he had been wounded by a German bullet, I think that is what he would have looked like – surprised, shocked, disbelieving that anyone could break through his armor. He recovered quickly, though, and just stared at me quizzically for a moment. Then he chuckled. Quietly. "But haven't you learned by now, my little Piotrek, how much I love little boy ass?"

"No." I objected immediately, lowering my eyes in embarrassment, feeling the blood rising up my cheeks, for his actions belied the facts of our lives together. "That can't be it, Tomek. That's no answer. There are ten boys with us now, but you've never… you only… fuck me."

A mask dropped over his face in an instant. Although he stood there still looking down at me, his eyes seemed to retreat, he seemed to draw back, contemplating either me, or dwelling on his own thoughts, or… I don't know. He was silent for a while, then spoke words like I had never heard him utter before or since. Gone was the peasant-like gruffness, gone was the easy-going bluster, to be replaced by a an almost studied formality, as if he were mimicking some man of culture and education, and yet he was not mimicking. "My little Piotrek," he sighed," In this world gone savage, you and I can fight the barbarians with more than mere guns and grenades. Perhaps… someday you too will walk the path that I dare to follow. I am the Erastes to your Eremenos, dearest one. Hand in hand we walk the way of the Greeks. Together we can safeguard what the Guardians of the Rose once taught their boys upon the Mount, what was once celebrated by Greek Warriors and their boys at the Grotto of Naxos, what has lived on between men and boys at the Strażnik Drogi. We can do that if… if I am worthy of you, my little Eremenos.

"Mój Eremenos. My beloved Piotrek. I… I should have asked you before. Will you follow the Greek Way with me?" he held his hands out to me.

I was dumbfounded, understanding so little of what the big man had said. It was all so strange, and yet… I somehow did understand more of what had happened between us since the day he found me orphaned and alone. I stepped into his arms and buried my face in his massive chest, and simply said 'yes.'

He kissed me. This burly bear of a man who had saved my life, who shared my bed, who taught me how to survive in our crazy, upturned world, kissed me. He had never done that before. I don't believe he ever tried to do so again. But at this moment, he placed his finger under my chin, lifted my face, and leaned down to kiss me. Our lips met, our tongues slid sensuously past and over each other's. At that moment I knew that Tomek the Bear lived his life for me, to show me the way, to teach me how I might become a man someday.

I don't know how much I missed, but the old woman's rasping voice finally broke through to me: "… repeat, Mr. Communist. Do you understand what I have been telling you?

"Y-yes," I fumbled to respond, wanting it to be a truthful answer. I understood that Tomek had been more than just another father to me. Much more. Was that what she meant by The Way? The Greek Way? The Grotto, the Mount, the Strażnik Drogi – those names impassioned me too, but I hardly knew why. Because of what Tomek said? Men and boys. Men and boys! Always men and boys. What men and boys celebrated at the Grotto… what men taught THEIR boys upon the Mount… what lived on between men and their boys at the Strażnik Drogi… what Jasio and I had lived in this one day and night we had had together? I had protected him. Saved him. Yes. We had briefly – all too briefly, I feared – joined our fates, under the protective symbols all around us. My circle of life conjoined with his. Where we linked our lives together, we both thrived – that had to be part of the Good that the old woman preached. But to what ultimate purpose? What had I taught him for the days ahead? What had I given him… for his future?

In a searing flash within my mind, I knew that I had not given Jasio anything for his future. NO! I had not yet given him anything, but… could I? Was there time?

"Are you listening, Piotr Ostoja?" I again heard the Old Woman's demand. She continued without waiting for an answer.

"Hear this, then. Why would a mother or a sister – or an old servant like me – let her boy, any boy… be with a man? Because there is more to safeguarding the Good than merely knowing how to fight for it! A boy must understand the very nature of the Good. It is no accident that every religion on Earth enshrines Love as the embodiment of Good. It is by knowing Love that we know the Good. It is by sharing Love that man and boy – those special few men and boys who find each other – those that follow The Way – it is through their Love that they fulfill their destinies. They follow the Way together. It is their life. It is the life of our world."

"You see that there is more to this love I asked you about, than that of a father to a son, don't you, Piotr Ostoja?"

"Yes!" I answered angrily. "No! I mean…" I looked over at her and lifted both my hands, palms open, waving helplessly in the air. I was reduced to being a supplicant before her relentless questioning. What was it she wanted from me? Why was she goading me, telling me these… things… about men…"

About men and their boys.

Again I wondered if she was a witch. Could she see into my soul. Did she suspect all that I felt for her Jan? Did she – would she accuse me, would she denounce me as a filthy pedophile, if she knew… but then, why all this about the special love between men and boys? Dammit, what was the old woman trying to do to me? To us.

I could only drop my hands onto me knees, and look down. I felt no shame. I gloried in my love for boys, in my love for this boy. I was a MAN, when he saw me erect for him. What was I when she saw me? How I feared the baring of what I was to any public glare.

"I… I can't… possibly tell you… what I feel, Babciu," was my strangled reply.

She sat quietly for a moment, when I didn't continue. I couldn't. I wanted to. For Jasio's sake. I wanted him to know that there was meaning in what we had done in the baths. I sucked his dick, yes! I took into my body part of his spirit! Then later he sucked my dick. It wasn't just sex, for him either. Not for either of us. I was sure of that. I would talk of it with him, I would declare my love… but should this old hag hear it too?

My hand crept back into his lap. He let me entwine my fingers in his. I squeezed, and he squeezed back. I dared to lift my eyes to his, hoping again to see the understanding there, even if we never had the chance to talk about anything again.

"That's right, Piotr Ostoja. Touch him. Feel your spirits entwine, not just your fingers. Let the spirit wash through your body, feel the beauty of it, the Love. You will feel it, if you truly do love this boy. And then you must tell me. I must know."

"Don't be afraid. I know you have touched him before. I know that you have taken his boyhood in your mouth…"

Jasio gasped at her words, and I felt his fingers clinch mine. Perhaps I should have felt shock myself, and anger, but oddly, I did not. Her words did not have the ring of an accusation.

"No, Jan! Don't be afraid of what I know. Your women will always know," the old woman said, almost cooing to him. "I did look in upon you. But I was not spying. I did not watch. I did not stay. What you shared with your man was part of the Good that I so wanted you to share. I knew then that this man might indeed be worthy of you. When I glimpsed the sight of Piotr taking you into his mouth, I knew that my little Podhorowski had truly returned to his rightful home."

"And you, Piotr Ostoja. You should not fear or resent my knowledge either. If you are the kind of man I believe you to be, you will have heard the legends, you will have searched out the fables, the myths. Aiden and Mihel – do you think the young prince's mother knew not what a man would teach Mihel, when she took him to the Mount? Yes. The Mount of the Rose. She knew. She knew Mihel would be taught how to make love. She hoped more – that he would FIND love with his man upon the Mount."

"The little Tzarevich Alexis and his beloved sailor, Nagorny – sent here by Her Highness the Tzarina herself – oh you must know it was not just so that the little Alexis could bathe in the Grecka Droga's healing waters, but that the boy and his man might walk The Way. Yes. They walked this very road to the Strażnik, and beyond. The made love in the same waters that you bathed in with Jan today. "

"So you see, Piotr Ostoja, my challenge to you is no trick, no trap. I want to know of your love for our Jan. I want to know. I must know, if you are worthy to walk The Way."

My mind whirled, and I swear I wasn't sure where I was, or when. First Tomek, now this old woman. And Jasio.

The silence was palpable. I was almost afraid to look back to Jasio, but knew I had to. Time was slipping away. How few hours might remain, that I would be together with him? Would I let those hours speed by without telling him how I felt? Whatever the meaning of the old woman's challenge, whatever it meant to her, it was something I had to accept it for US. For Jasio and me. Perhaps also for Tomek. And… Stefan…

"Jasio," I began softly, tentatively. "All day today, I've been telling you that we didn't have much time, that people were chasing me, that I had to take you back to Jodłów… no, no, it's ok, Misiu. I won't ever make you go back there again. I think we have to take our friend here at her word. I think… there's something magical about this place, like it's a haven, hidden away here in these mountains. She's promised to show us, to prove it. To prove that you are the heir to a great and noble family, that you own everything around us here. That we have a chance. I want to believe it. I guess I do… believe it."

"She also tells me that I must somehow prove that… I love you. I tell you, I don't understand why she needs to know that, but maybe I don't care any more. Because I want to tell you, Misiu. I want to tell you, desperately. I think my heart will break, if I go one more minute without telling you. I want to try to explain what I think – what I hope – has been happening between us, ever since last night."

"I used to think that Time was my enemy, that it has always stood against me, because it took from me everyone I ever loved before. You make me see everything differently, now. Now I realize that Time made me who I am, at this moment. It made you who you are now, too.

"I don't know. This old lady seems to be very wise. I know she's right about one thing. I would not go back, now, Jasio. Back to be a Tato to you through all those terrible years you lived alone at Jodłówka. I'm selfish. I would not go back, because I've…" I stopped, almost breathless, feeling my heart pounding so hard in my chest. I wanted so much for him to understand what I had to say.

"Oh Jasio. My Jasio. The past shaped the both of us, but as far as I'm concerned my life only truly began yesterday, when I met you. Even if I could snap my fingers and make time stand still, I would not do so. I wouldn't go back. Not even to just two hours ago, to that time that is already gone, when I got to hold you and bathe you. Or before that, when I beheld you undressing in the light of a rainbow, and thought I had never seen anyone so beautiful. Or… this morning, when I helped you get dressed in clothes that are finally worthy of you…

"Or… to that moment I first beheld you, on the road outside Jodłówka. No, I wouldn't even go back to recapture any of those special moments. Do you know why?"

He was staring at me wide-eyed, drinking in my every word. Slowly he shook his head no.

"It's because every moment from now on, is going to be just as special, if I can be with you. Now is my time. I'm ready now, after 38 years, I'm finally ready to be the man that Time has been working to prepare you for too."

"When I found you last night, and then drove away, leaving you on that desolate road all alone, I was afraid, I guess – afraid to accept the challenge. In truth, the very same challenge that Babcia has given me. But in truth I knew I was ready. I did return to you, Jasio. We were meant to be together, I believe. When at your moment of greatest need, when at my moment of greatest need, we met! I do accept Babcia's challenge. I think – I pray – that you will too. We can fulfill our destinies together, if we dare."

"Jasio, I hope you will understand what I'm going to try to explain to you, about the kind of man I am, of the kind of man I want to be for you. I think this is what Babciu is daring me to do. She's forced me to be true to the kind of man I am – the kind of man I've always been. I think… if I understand it myself… I think she's forced me to be true to this… this Grecka Droga. To 'The Way.' To all who have followed The Way before us, and to all who will come after us."

I took a deep breath again. "Why, Misiu… why… have I… did I…" I glanced self-consciously over at the old woman, who sat listening to me. I couldn't let her presence keep me from trying to explain the truth to Jasio about what I felt, about the kind of man I was. "you remember how I was all morning, with you. You even asked me about it. Why did I… why was my… penis so hard all the time. Why did you get hard too, when we were together in the baths? What is it that makes us both like that, just being together?"

"I've been what is called a boylover all my life. I know now that I was born to love boys, to want always to be with them, to take care of them, to love them. I was made that way, for a purpose."

Suddenly I just had to stand up, and face him, and as I rose, I realized why – I had grown harder while trying to find the words to tell Jasio about the kind of man I wanted to be for him. I felt my blood surging through my body, filling my penis – it was an irresistible, overpowering force that had to be expressed not merely in words, but in the one way that was unmistakably a part of being male.

"For you, dearest." I reached down between my legs and felt the hard tube of my flesh trapped within my pants. Slowly, deliberately, oblivious to the presence of the old woman now, I slid my dick up and up under the fabric, till it pointed straight up in my white slacks, tenting it out, stretching up above my waistline, threatening to poke through the buttoned layers of my shirt. It felt huge under my fingers. Jasio stared at it momentarily, still wide-eyed, and I saw that he too was breathing heavily, feeling, seeing, sharing in my passion. I looked down between his legs. He was sitting tensely, his legs together, so it was difficult to tell, but I thought I saw the spear of his own little penis standing hard against the fabric of his sailor shorts. My heart raced, seeing him like that.

"Misiu, I loved another boy, once, long ago. When I was just a boy myself. His name was Stefan. Yes, we did the same kinds of things together that you and I did in the baths today… and like you did to me in bed afterwards. We shared in everything and wanted to be together always and forever more. The War ended all that, and took him from me, just like the bad times after the War took your parents from you. But in the time we had together, Stefan taught me so much. One thing I'll always remember – something he said once – that before we fell in love he only knew one word – 'me.' "Me, me, me," he said. "But now that we are together, Piotrek, it's 'us' and 'we.'"

"That's the way I feel about you, Jasio. I only want to know those two words, when I think of you – we and us!

"I have to tell you that I was once a loved boy, too. Like you. There was a man named Tomek, who took care of me during the War. But 'took care' doesn't really tell you what he meant to me, because he was much more to me than just a friend, or even like a father. We were like… well, you know when a man like your father falls in love with… a woman… or one of the farmers on the Collective falls in love with a woman – they get married, they live together, share everything. Tomek and I were like that, Misiu. He was like I am with you – always hard because he had a need that was just as basic to his being as it is in mine when I'm near you – he had a fundamental need in his being to be always with me. . But more, Jasio, so much more – we made love. He… lay with me… entered me… like – like a man does… with a woman… because he wanted to be a part of me, and I wanted to feel him in me… He wasn't my lover. He was much more than a mere lover. I wanted him to be like my… husband – or like my other half, like we were joined together…"

Suddenly Jasio stood too. I froze and stood there breathlessly, as he looked up at me. He seemed to be searching my face. Reading me. Using that power of his to probe, to seek out meaning and purpose. Wordlessly, he stepped closer, then closer still. Always peering up at me, drilling me with those omniscient eyes of his. There was Truth, where he looked, and I knew he had found it when he nodded, just once – an almost imperceptible lift of his head – an acknowledgment.

He searched all of me, letting his gaze trace it's path down, across my shoulder. He reached out, and touched it, with just his fingertips, so lightly that I could barely feel it. His eyes glided downward, along my arm, then across to the other. He touched them both, gliding his fingers along them as well.

I heard his deep breath, through his nostrils, as he let his gaze, and his fingers slip across my own heaving chest. Feeling me, forcefully now, tracing the outlines of my muscles – down, down over my stomach. Suddenly he looked up at me again, but let his hands drop, till I felt them upon the hard shaft of my penis.

I took a breath, and answered his touch. "I think that's what love is, Jasio. It's that burning need you feel in me now. The need in me to be always with you. To be a part of you. To… join with you…"

I heard rustling and grunting behind me, but I hardly noticed as the old woman croaked softly, "You two… deserve some privacy… I'm sorry to have intruded… Paniczu, but… I had to know. I will wait for you… outside. You and your man… you must certainly walk The Way. Together."

With that I heard the scrape of her feet across the floor, and then the quiet click of the door as it closed behind her. Jasio had given her a slight, offhand nod – not once did he take his eyes from mine. His hand still explored my member through the cloth of my pants.

"I tried to tell you this before, about what made me like this," I let my hand rest upon Jasio's as he felt of me.

"Jasio," my voice came husky and soft. "No matter the number of days there may be, I want to live them with you. I want to be with you, a part of you. I do love you, dearest. Will you be with me? Can you… love me… too?"

He leaned in to me, seeming suddenly weak, and rested his cheek against my chest. I felt him pressing into me, as if he wanted to smother himself in the fabric of my tunic. He enfolded his hand and mine between our bodies, stepping into me, capturing my rigid dick within his grasp, almost within his body.

Again I heard him breathe deeply, his nose pressed hard into my flesh. He seemed to want to burrow his body into mine. I suddenly felt the hard rod of his little penis against my leg as he practically climbed onto me, wrapping his legs around mine.

I knew that he understood everything I had said, and with absolute certainty, I knew that he returned my love. There was a desperation in his need to tell me. It was like he had discovered a way to speak without words, that he had found a way to unite our bodies. I had said I wanted to be a part of him – I heard the echo of my words in his pressing need.

"You already are… a part of me, Piotrek," his muffled voice was as husky as mine. "And I never want to us to be apart again. Ever!" He turned his face in and I felt him kissing me, over and over.

In one sinuous movement I immediately knelt, sliding down his body, wrapping my arms around him till I could see his face before mine.

"Jasio," I whispered, " I…"

"Just tell me, Piotrek," he wouldn't let me continue. He pulled back from me just enough to look into my eyes. I felt the supple warmth of his delicate form yielding into my hands. my fingers molded to the blades of his shoulders. My palms held his slender arms tight to his sides. "Will it always be 'us'? You and me? Was your… was Stefan right?"

"Yes, sweetie, it will always be 'us.'

"Do you want me like your man – like Tomek wanted you? Am I going to be… do you… want to be like that… with me?"

"Yeesss, Misiu" I groaned. I slid one hand down the curve of his back till it pressed against his soft bottom, and pulled him into me even more. He closed his eyes, and let me draw him closer. "If you will have me like that – like we were one soul – like our souls were joined… our bodies… joined."

Dreamily, his eyes barely fluttering open, his nostrils just flaring, his every sense almost a part of mine, he said "It's what she means, isn't it, Piotrek? About this place? About you and me – like those others and… The Way? There's a special Way, isn't there. For two people – like – like you and me?"

"Oh yes, Jasio. A very special Way for a boy and a man, like you and me. Will you, dearest?. Will you walk The Way… with me?

"Yes, Piotrek. I will always walk The Way, with you. Only you…" he whispered, and his lips were so close to mine that I felt them form the words. His breath entered into me as I so very gently completed our union and our lips became one.

Chapter Nine

Jasio jumped up for the hundredth time since we got into the carriage, leveraging himself up off the seat, his narrow shoulders high and flared back. With his left hand spread wide, he stiff-armed my thigh, using me as his prop. For the hundredth time I flinched and squirmed as he narrowly missed smashing his palm against the head of my still unrepentant and sorely neglected dick. With his right hand, he gripped the leather padding of the carriage frame, straining to lift his own slight frame up high enough to get a good look around the old woman who sat opposite us.

All his bobbing up and down, the constant pressure on my dick, the very motion of the carriage, threatened to make me cream right in front of the old woman, right in my pants. It certainly didn't help that I couldn't take my eyes off him, that I couldn't stop staring at his bottom, so tight within his sailor shorts, that I couldn't help but smell him, feel him, touch him! But this boy was too excited to realize the exquisite torture he was putting me through.

"She said he's my servant, " he whispered and nodded towards the back of the driver, in the low seat in front of us. Then he giggled nervously, softly, as if to declare anything too loudly might dispell the fantasy of this moment. The clop-clop of the horse's hooves was muffled, the creak of learther just hinted at the strain as we drove up the path, the low rumble of the spoked wheels was but an undercurrent, barely discernible. Still they threatened to drown out Jasio's hushed wonder.

"Yes, she did," I answered just as softly, feeling much the same as he did. Believing, but at the same time hardly daring to believe.

Neither of us wanted to disturb the old woman, who seemed to have nodded off as soon as we got into the carriage. She sat with her eyes closed, the weight of both her hands on the knob of her cane. Not for the first time I wondered if she were a witch, and that cane some kind of magical staff. I knew her hardly at all, but I knew her enough to wonder if she were indeed asleep.

"She said this carriage is mine, too," Jasio said a bit louder.

"I guess… I suppose it is yours, Misiu."

"And the horses?"

I could only shrug, and speculate. "They would have to be, I guess. She said you had a carriage house, this carriage, servants. She said you had a… a lodge. A house up there, somewhere," I pointed up through the trees. The two gray and white speckled horses were pulling hard against their harness to get our carriage up the mountain road.

I wondered as he did, but none of it really mattered to me right now. I could just as well, just as gladly, close my eyes and remember Jasio's lips against mine, remember his words of love, answering mine. Just moments ago, I held him in my arms, knowing that he was as much mine as I was his.

He sat back down in the soft cushion of our carriage seat, pressing his body against mine, grabbing my arm with both his hands now.

"Can you believe it, Piotrek?" he asked his voice rising in a trill, his excitement almost overcoming him.

I felt him shiver. He just had to let it all out, and I had to come out of my boy-induced fog to join him in his glee.

"I do believe it, Jasio. She said everything here is yours."

"The land – these mountains?" he let go of me long enough to point up at the steep mountain slopes that rose beyond the tree tops. They had closed in on us now, although not so much that the afternoon sun was blocked out. The valley we rode up was no more than a 100 meters [300 feet] across at the base. Off to our left, the creek was flowing even more swiftly – one continuous cascade.

"As much as anyone can own these mountains, I think you must."

"The trees… that tree?"

"Yes."

"And that one?"

"Certainly."

"And that one, and…," suddenly he turned his head and gave me the coyest look, and his hand darted to really grab my dick this time, grasping it within the fabric of my pants, and squeezing it hard. "And this tall one, Piotrek?"

"Aghhhhh! I squirmed in my seat, and tried to hush my outcry. The old woman had seen me erect by now a lot more than I wanted, but still it would be embarrassing if she witnessed this kind of play. I had tried to hide my condition from the carriage driver.

Jasio jumped back and giggled again, quieter, tentatively – a timid little exclamation. He grew silent, and scooted back in his seat, his head lowered. He was looking at me though, from under his brow. I think he was taken aback by his own daring, and didn't know just what to expect from me. He glanced across at our sleeping companion, then back at me.

"Wow, you… surprised me, little one," I said softly, "but yeah, I can safely say that you especially own that… this one." I nodded down at my raging dick.

"S-sorry, Piotrek. I just… I got excited."

"I could tell," I answered, raising my brow, smirking at him. "I'm glad you really like owning all these… ummh… trees." I reached out to take his hand, and brought it back to my crotch, placing his fingers directly upon my hardened rod. "This one will always be yours."

He growled, lowly. It was almost like a kitten purring – an animal-like reaction from deep within him. His whole body seemed to come alive, his eyes opened wide as he stared down at my long-suffering penis. His hand took over, rubbing the full length of it. "What's this, Piotrek?"

I managed to take a breath, and to look down. He was thumbing the very tip of my dick, mercilessly mashing the tender flesh of my glans beneath the rough fabric of my pants. It was wet there – a darker spot was growing. My leaking tool had been too long ignored. Jasio had sucked me less than an hour ago, but he had certainly not drained me dry. Now the attention he was giving to my straining member had triggered a flood.

"Uh… it's… you're going to make… me cum again, Misiu…," I whispered hoarsely, "if you keep that… up!"

Again, he gave me that tentative giggle, still feeling his way, seeming to be unsure of his own reaction, not trusting himself, or me. So, very slowly he withdrew his hand, whispering softly, "then I better stop… touching it, huh? For now?"

That last made my already pounding heart race – to think that he wanted to hold me down there, that he was feeling things, that he was beginning to sense in himself a need for me. "Yes, but… just for now, Misiu," I uttered the words as softly as I could, wanting him to feel my own need.

He pulled his hand onto the cushion, but then immediately shifted again in his seat, turning his whole body to face me, sitting on the very edge. He looked at me, his mouth open, red lips pursed – he sat poised – thinking hard about something, wanting to say something. His deep brown eyes searched mine, searched my face, and whatever struggle was going on in that mind of his, he made his decision. He leaned over. I was mesmerized – no doubt my mouth hung open too. I was paralyzed, watching him move towards me, watching as he lifted himself enough to place his lips right up against my ear. Whispering, wisps of air from his lips sending shivers through me, "You mustn't cum now, Piotrek. I promise, I'll… I want to do it again, with you, ok? Later? Like before, maybe? With my mouth?"

I swear I almost did cum at that instant. The very thought that he wanted it, the feel of his being, of his lips, of his breath, the halting way he said it, so filled with his awakening to me – everything about this boy combined to make me almost swoon.

What we had shared back at the gatehouse was still with us. Jasio was MY little boy. He could be jumping up and down in the carriage, trying to grasp all the changes in his life, but even in the midst of all these wonders, he held on to me. For him, as well as me, that fact that we were now together was more important than anything else.

Jasio kissed the ear into which he had just whispered his promise, and sat back down next to his man, holding tightly to Piotrek's arm.

He had never been happier, never felt more alive, in all his days, than he did right now. A day ago he had wanted to end everything. Now he knew that every moment he had spent in his life up to now was just the beginning.

With a self-satisfied sigh of utter peace he snaked his left arm beneath Piotrek's and rested his hand again upon the man's penis. He contented himself with just resting it there, knowing that to do more might make Piotrek go over the edge.

He let the colors wash over him, hardly seeing them for the moment. Green of tall pines, blue and white of clouds so high, crystal clear of air so clean, solid the feel of his man – all were a part of the world that he owned.

The old woman kept saying it. Piotrek believed it. But it wasn't until the carriage man opened the door and stood aside, his head held down deferentially, that Jasio could truly accept it.

He had a name! And it wasn't Głupi Jasio.

Jan Podhorowski. Paniczu. Kochany Paniczu?

Misiu!

More than all those new names. He had a being! A day ago, he was an ant. Worse than an ant. He was dirt. Worse than dirt, he was mud – too low to go through even a farmer's door. Turned away. Brushed aside. Refused.

Now he had Piotrek. And an identity. They said he was heir to all this. What that really meant, was that he was connected to all. Everything about him?! He was with people who cared about him. He could see it in the old woman's eyes, every time she spoke to him – she cared about him. He saw it in the way this new man had bowed to him, and held the carriage door open. With a smile on his face!

He saw it every time he looked in Piotrek's eyes, and for the first time understood what it meant to be loved. He knew it every time he saw Piotrek's siusiak, every time he saw the man's massive penis pushing so hard, as if to explode from his pants. Piotrek had been shocked just now, when he grabbed that mighty dick, and claimed it.

"All these trees are mine, Piotrek? Even this one?" And he had reached right between his man's legs, and grasped his dick. He had never done anything like that ever before. Never would he have even dreamed of doing it with Leon. But here, now, with all the world proclaimed to be his, he reached out for the one thing that was the most important to him. Holding Piotrek was like… it was like… admitting, like accepting, that this was all true, that Głupi Jasio was no more.

Perhaps… perhaps Głupi Jasio never had been.

All those times they made fun of him. All those times they wouldn't let him play. Or wouldn't let him build. Or not even think. All those time he wasn't allowed to stay. To sleep in a warm bed. To sit around the fireplace. To listen to the stories.

To eat.

Because he was Głupi Jasio.

He had never understood that. He never could figure out what was wrong with himself. There didn't seem to be anything wrong. He looked like the others. He had all his hands, arms, legs, feet, teeth, ears. He liked the same things they liked. He was good at the things they did. He could make things. Things they never even thought of. He was a good boy. He worked hard.

He had never been Stupid Johnny!

That's why he couldn't help but jump up and down now. That's why he couldn't help but ask all these questions. That's why he couldn't help but smile when the old woman barked at him. That's why he wanted to sit so close to Piotrek. That's why he had grabbed the man's siusiak!

And they all understood too!

He WAS Jan, the son of Anton. He had his own father. He had his own mother. He had… he had… a home! People! Piotrek!

Perhaps I moaned too loud when Jasio put has hand back on my aching dick. Too loud for our companion, anyway. "Plenty of time for all that later, you two," the old woman's burly voice came like a shot to the both of us. She was glaring down at Jasio's hand over my turgid penis. The boy jerked back upright in his seat, alert again to her presence. But he giggled, seeing her stern visage. I don't think he was any longer afraid of the old battle-axe.

"Sorry, Babciu," he said meekly, but one glance told me he didn't really mean it. He was smiling across at her sheepishly, his head down, but his eyes open and watching.

"Never you mind, Paniczu," she answered him tenderly. "Boys can't be blamed if their men are constantly pawing at them."

"Wha – but…!" I started to protest.

"Try to keep your… energies… in check for a while longer, Comrade Ostoja. I'm sure all the servants will delight at watching a man in heat after his boy at the Strażnik Drogi again, after all these years, but at least let us make the introductions first."

I think Jasio would have collapsed back in his laughter, and he almost did, but he was just too excited by the newness of everything about us.

"More servants?" he asked of her, again scooting to the very edge of the cushion, looking like he was poised to start his jumping up and down again.

"Oh yes, you have your house manager, of course, the butler, your own personal hand-maiden, a cook. And then your Piotrek will have his man-servant, too, and…"

"All those people will… will want to help… to take care of me?"

"Yes, indeed. Each one of them will consider it an honor to serve a Podhorowski again, and especially you, Kochany Paniczu. They will take care of you and your house an…

"But whatever will I do when… I mean… what if Leon or the others find out. Will they…"

"Neither Leon Koczurba nor any of the other farmers on Jodłówka, nor anyone else in this world, can touch you here, Paniczu," the old woman pronounced. "What you will do, is partly up to you. Partly a matter of who you are," she said firmly. And then lower, but seeming to contradict what she had just said, she added, "and partly what you must do, because of what you are, Kochany Paniczu." She bowed her head towards him, respect and something akin to awe showing in her bearing. "You are a very important personage, Master Podhorowski. Important to a great many people who will see to it that all the Leons of this world can never touch you again. After tonight."

"What do you mean, after tonight?" I asked. "Is Jan in some kind of immediate danger? Today? Tonight?"

"As I said, Captain Rudenko advises that you return to Jodłówka tonight, before…" she stopped in mid-sentence, seeming to suddenly become aware of something in our surroundings. We were just passing a huge boulder beside the road. She glanced at it, and half-turned in her seat, but quickly gave up on any attempt to look back over her shoulder.

"Ready yourselves." And with those words she settled back again in her seat, and scanned our faces with a look of smug satisfaction.

It almost sounded like a warning, but I didn't sense any danger. With Jasio jumping about, barely suppressing his glee, with the sun shining down upon our open carriage, warming us against the Fall air, with the very beauty and grandeur of this narrowing mountain passage leading higher and higher up – with a new memory, of my boy's avowal of his love for me – I could feel no fear.

I looked at the boulder that had seemed to trigger the woman's sudden interest, and felt my heartbeat quicken instantly. It was huge, sitting like a sentinel next to the road and inscribed with exactly the same kind of symbols that stood upon the rock face along the King's Way!

Jasio saw them too. "Look at those mark…" he started to exclaim, pointing at the massive boulder, but he too stopped in mid-sentence, just like the old woman. Bewildered, I followed the sudden shift of his arm, his finger pointing stiffly forward, beyond the carriage. His jaw had dropped open. He looked frozen in time.

Time might well have stood still. As I followed Jasio's gaze, and turned my head to peer up the road, I believe my jaw must have fallen slack too. It was one of those moments that I would recollect at some later point, and wonder at all the many thoughts that suddenly raced through my mind, all compressed in less time than it might take to breathe.

The road had just turned and was rising to surmount a crest. The tall trees on each side of the road rose too. Towering. Majestic. And framed by them: just the crenellated rooftop of what must be Jasio's Lodge.

Suddenly time must have in fact reversed course. To another century, certainly to another age – when there were such things as Counts, and Princes, and… castles…

Surely there can be majesty in many things. And so with Jasio's 'lodge.' The edifice grew right up out of the ground as we rode higher and higher. Our perspective had suddenly foreshortened. The trees, the rising swell of the mountainside – all had contributed to deceive us – for it was a… a mansion, a palace – anything but a mere lodge. And yet, we both knew that this was our destination, Jasio's home, the mountain retreat that the old woman had spoken of. It could only have been called a mere lodge in the minds of kings… or in the minds of the great and noble Podhorowskis of old, princes in all but title. I looked in awe from the mansion to the boy who would now claim it, and felt in the presence of even more majesty. There were wonders to behold in he who would grace this castle before us. Innocent little boy. Wise and thoughtful boy. Hurt yet sensitive boy. Found boy. New boy. Mój chłopczyk!

He glanced up at me then and I felt an electric current course between us. The Strażnik Drogi was the conductor of that force, drawing us too it like a powerful magnet. We held onto each other, and as one turned our gaze towards our goal.

Or dirt carriage-road, no less than the trees and the mountains, had deceived us too, because as it crested the rise leading up to the castle, and leveled out, it opened upon a broad, finely-paved courtyard. Cobbles suddenly resounded under the feet of the horses. Each stone was of the same golden-sheened granite as the roadside boulder – the same native stone had been used in building the great mansion itself. The very air shimmered – every molecule seemed a prism, dazzling us with the bright glare from sun and stone. The plaza stretched out before us all the way to the walls of the great structure. Empty. Waiting.

Empty for many years, waiting for just as long, for this moment.

The Strażnik Drogi!

It looked every bit the Guardian of the Way – of this Way that we had come – and what of The Way we had pledged to travel? It rose like part of the mountanside, no less a part of the very earth than the outcropping of rocks and crags that threatened to plunge down upon us. Indeed, we must be nearing the very source of the Grecka Droga's waters, because the span between the mountain walls suddenly narrowed even more, and occupying that entire span was Jasio's 'lodge.' Behind it, the forest primeval seemed to close in, the walls of the mountains seemed to join.

The splashing mountain stream that had accompanied us, running along beside us ever since I had turned onto the road leading to the Grecka Droga, surely saw it's source here, in a fountain, built right up against the slope off to our left. The pool spilled about the feet of two figures – one small – a boy – the other a man… I suddenly felt dizzied again, because I knew instantly who that man was. The boy's man! It could have been me Of course the boy was Jasio The two of us – the two figures – were standing on opposite sides of the half-circle enclosure of the fountain, seeming to be just stepping down into the waters, reaching out for each other. Just like Jasio and I had stepped into each others arms those precious moments just past.

The overflow from the fountain washed down like thin sheets of glass all around the enclosing pool, the cascades joining, funneled then, to start on their way down the mountain valley. Either the stream had its source in the fountain, or it was tunneled and channeled beneath the very foundation of the palace, because there was no room on either side of the structure – it abutted right up against naked stone outcroppings, as if sitting like a great wall between us and whatever lay up there, upon that mountain…

I felt a sudden, cool wash of air pour down from that looming, impenetrable prospect – right down from those dark green treetops, perhaps from the very heart of ancient groves – right across the barrier formed by the Strażnik Drogi, right across the expanse of the courtyard. It was almost glacial in it's purity, breathing of lofty and frozen places, off an invigorating quality that excited our spirits rather than chilling them. I felt Jasio's grasp upon my arm tighten, but I knew it wasn't in fear. His whole body stiffened against me, but only because he shared in my own sudden awareness.

We had arrived. The twisted and convoluted paths of our lives had led us together, and our path together had led us to this place.

The shoed hooves of the horses clip-clopped on the cobbles of the courtyard, and our carriage lurched, to level out. At that moment, as if they had been awaiting us, a group of men and women trooped out from an arched driveway, at the far right end of the building. They hurried, with excited glances our way, down along the face of the palace to take up places in two rows leading up to the portico. The were all wearing much the same livery as our driver – formal black vest and breeches, white shirt, or formal black dress with white blouse.

As we approached, it was like entering into a fairy tale. The attire of the servants, the classical lines of the palace, this enchanted hideaway so much a part of the very mountains that surrounded us – it was all out of time, other-worldly, untouched, unsullied, unchanged by the years of war and oppression that the rest of Poland had suffered. Certainly there was no trace of the concrete and blockhouse imprint of my own world.

Jasio drew into me even closer as the carriage made a wide turn to approach the grand entranceway. It was apparent to both of us that we were going to stop right at the foot of the steps and be forced to ascend them between the gauntlet of servants. It was a daunting prospect. They were all doing their best to stand stiffly and formally, but their very presence and their ill-concealed interest in the two of us was something we hadn't been prepared for. I could hardly imagine what must be going through Jasio's mind, to be treated like this after so many years of being more used to the role of an outcast. He sat stiffly erect on the edge of our seat, but like me, he was having trouble settling his gaze on any one thing – the servants, the palace, the overawing mountains – they all claimed part of our attention.

The lodge – Jasio's palace – hung over us. It was an imposing structure, two stories, with arched windows lining both floors all the way along the facade – perhaps ten windows in either direction from the entranceway. There were columns on either side of the entrance, smaller decorative ones on either side of each window, and the doorway, like the driveway, was arched.

I felt like shying back against the far side of the carriage, and taking Jasio with me, but the old woman had other ideas. As the carriage drew to a halt, she stirred herself from her seat, scooted forward holding both her hands atop her cane, and in a voice vibrant with her emotion said, "Welcome home, Kochany Paniczu. The Strażnik` Drogi, and all who serve you here, awaits you."

Thank goodness she was there, otherwise I don't think either Jasio or I would have had the presence of mind to know that everyone was waiting for us. The footman had already opened the door to the carriage, but we just sat there looking from the old woman to the expectant faces of the servants to the imposing precipice that towered over us – rising like one piece – the palace, the giant fir trees behind it, the massive mountain wall. Wisps of fine white clouds, like streamers, floated across the slopes – the only motion in what must have been a centuries old setting. I felt dizzied, my mind whirling with visions of other carriages, other Lords Podhorowski, arriving to this self-same moment at their mountain retreat.

"Help an old woman up, would you, Paniczu?" Once again the old woman's voice brought us back to the now. Jasio jumped up instantly to take her outstretched hand. He braced his feet against the swaying floor of our carriage, and hoisted her up. I dumbly began to get up, too late to help, too stunned to do much of anything but just stare. I was sensible enough to think about my condition, and to wonder how I was going to hide my constant arousal from all these strangers, but now I realized that my ever-hard penis had softened in the last few moments. For a fleeting moment, my thoughts had strayed from the boy at my side, to dwell on all the new sights.

How brief the respite threatened to be! Now I sat back down quietly, watching Jasio again. Watching his every movement as he helped the old woman. I thrilled at a sudden rush of the most exquisite sense of wonder. For one small moment I had glimpsed part of a world beyond Jasio, but I wanted no part of it, if it didn't center upon him. His hold upon me quickly reasserted itself. No mountains could awe me for long. The palatial walls of the Strażnik Drogi were mere backdrops. They were all – everything here – was merely a frame for my Jasio.

I almost desperately willed my penis to lay dormant, just for once. Just for a short while. Let me get out of the carriage, let me meet all these people, without having to try to hide the evidence of my passion. But let me never lose this passion! Boylover affliction. Boylover penitance. Name it what you will, this fever that rose within me whenever I was even near Jasio, but I gloried in it.

"Take my hand, if you please, Pani Sokolska," I heard the footman say as he reached up to help her step down. On the periphery of my awareness, it dawned on me that we had finally heard her name. She was not a forest shrew then, not come to bewitch Jasio and me.

I took a deep breath, and stood. I had more to do than just sit trying to hide my arousal. For now my tool lay half-hard along my pants leg. If they noticed, so be it. I had to breathe. I had to walk. I had to watch Jasio. I needed to be beside him. As I got up, the old woman stepped down onto the porch with all the wheezing and grunting with which she had ascended into the carriage earlier, but then she turned in complete control of her senses to look up at Jasio.

He stood facing them all, his lithe form framed within the open carriage doorway, every eye upon him. I saw every emotion borne of wonder and joy writ upon the faces of the servants. Pride in the look of the driver, who had gotten down from his perch to stand with the others. He had seen Jasio first. Glee in the way the pudgy woman with the apron fidgeted with her hands and stared up at the boy with undisguised admiration. Just plain satisfaction – like he had known this moment would happen someday – in the slow nod and steady smile of the tall, thin old man who stood at the head of the line on the left. Awe – but not trepidation – in the wide eyes of a young girl who occupied the last place in line on the right.

Each person saw him in their own way. I too looked upon him, this boy of my life-long dreams. If there were magic in this Strażnik Drogi eirie, it emanated from him, because looking upon him did indeed make time – my time – stand still.

It could not have been more than a few seconds that he stood there looking down upon the assembled servants, but I can remember those seconds as eons. To all the others – well, I didn't really know what expectations all these others had invested in this boy, but as for me, I was sunk heart and soul in him. 140 centimeters [4 ft. 7 inch] of mere human flesh? Hardly! 140 centimeters of self-ordained, life-giving spirit! Jasio did not stand much above my chest as I stood behind him. I marvelled at how small and thin he looked, yet from within that frame came my every motivation now. Was it actually possible that I could reach out, and place my hands upon his small shoulders, to feel my fingers press along their gentle curves? Yes, it really could happen, it really was possible now. Because he allowed it. How did I dare to face him, to even contemplate stooping to his height, to bring my lips close to his, to taste them? Did that not defy all proportion? He was so small. I was so big. But by his grace I knew that it was possible, that I would enfold him into my arms. By his grace, his virgin flesh, so white, so pale, so soft to the touch, was my flesh. By his grace, my strong arms might envelope him, lift his child's body, and press it against my own burly, hardened lines.

By his grace.

By his grace, he provided reason to exist for each person here, but none ever more so than me. I suddenly wanted to vault over the side of the carriage, run around to the other side, push aside the steps, and kneel to the tread of his feet.

I swear I was about to do it too, but by his grace, he bade me otherwise. By his grace, time resumed, and I was called. He half-turned, and implored me in his high voice, "Piotrek?"

All the time I had sat there or stood woodenly lost in thought, marvelling at the possibilities, he had stood before the throng of watchers, needing me. He held out his hand to me. I jumped to him more swiftly even than he had for the old woman.

"Yes, Misiu?"

"They want me to get down. You're coming with me, aren't you? Don't let m…"

"Of course I'm coming with you, sweetheart. I'm here. I'll always be here."

He jerked on my hand forcefully, almost desperately, pulling me to stand behind him. Then he seemed to take one last look at all those faces gazing back at him, took a deep breath, and then stooped to accept the assistance of the footman. I handed him down carefully, then followed down the steps.

"Everyone wanted to meet you, Kochany Paniczu," the old woman said, taking Jasio's hand from the footman. "We all remember your Tato, and even little Agnieszka, here, has heard stories of him and all the Podhorowski men and boys who have come here." Shifting stiffly with her whole body, she indicated the young girl at the end of the line. "Would you like me to introduce them all to you now, or would you prefer to go inside immediately?"

The Lord and Master of the Strażnik Drogi edged back, his hand sifting the air behind him for mine. I had held back at the very foot of the steps from the carriage, not wanting to obtrude in this special moment for Jasio, but when he reached for me, I thrilled once again to the meaning of it, and jumped to his bidding. He grasped my fingers tightly, blindly, pulling me to his side.

"We can… we can meet everyone now, I guess," he said, glancing up at me questioningly. I just raised my brows willingly. It was his call.

"I'd like to meet them all now, Babciu, and…" he said directly to the old woman, then he paused, his courage suddenly seeming to fail him. He looked down at the ground and dug his sandal in between two of the cobbles, but then it was like he had just as suddenly collected some hidden strength within himself, because he squared his feet, looked up again and directed his gaze to both sides, where everyone was lined up to meet him, and boldly said, "I'd like to hear from each of you, about my father. If not right now, then later?"

As one, all the servants just beamed. Some of the women curtsied. It dawned on me suddenly that it had been just the thing that someone accustomed to dealing with others might say, sealing a bargain between himself and each one of these strangers, even before they had been introduced to each other. Was there something in his blood, some strain of command, a natural understanding of what it meant to be a Podhorowski?

"Please allow me to be the first, then, m'lord," the tall old man at the head of the line took a pace forward and bowed at the waist. I am Dominik, head of the household staff. It has been my honor to serve not only your dear father, but your grand-father and great-grandfather as well." He then looked at me, and with a bow of his head, said, "and I've been pleased to serve all the boys and their men, Erastes and Eremenos alike, who have graced these halls through the years. Welcome, Kochany Paniczu. Welcome, Pan Ostoja." He started to step back into line with the others, but hesitated. Great emotion suddenly surfaced, where before he had spoken with all the dignity and formality that might be expected of someone in his position, and his years. He blinked several times, rapidly, clearly fighting back tears. He held his mouth rigidly closed for a moment, as he turned back directly to face Jasio. For an instant he glanced towards the old woman, exchanging a meaningful, unspoken communion with her. Then to our complete surprise, he slowly got down on his knees.

What a contrast it was, to see this white-headed old man kneeling at the level of the boy, looking into the boy's eyes, imparting to him all the emotion he felt. "Jaśnie Panicz. Jan, of the house of Podhorowski, it was at the foot of these very steps that I – we – all said goodbye to your father, twelve years ago. He even allowed me to embrace him, just before he set out on his way. I wished with all my heart to greet him again. I can honestly say that greeting you instead, is no less a moment of joy."

I felt a little tug on my hand, and Jasio's fingers loosened their hold on me for an instant. He seemed to lean forward almost imperceptibly, but then he drew back and clutched my own fingers even more tightly. I could tell that the old man's words had greatly affected the boy. He wanted to react. He wanted to respond. I peered down and could see that his eyes were wide, his lips half parted. He was just on the brink of saying something, but some uncertainty held him back from uttering his reply.

Again he glanced up at me, almost beseeching me, as if I might reply for him. I squeezed his hand firmly, trying to impart strength to him. "I – I can tell…" I tried to say something, tried to imagine what must Jasio feel hearing again about his real father. I ended rather lamely, hoping it would answer Jasio's need, "Jan's father must have been a wonderful man."

"Hardly more than a boy himself, when he left, sir. He was with us many years. We all wish that our young lord here could have been with us all these years too."

Jasio let out a little whimper, and then he did release my hand and stepped forward and gave the still bowed man a hug, wrapping his arms gently about the man's shoulders.

"My… father… I think… would be glad that you remembered him so well… ah, Pan Dominik," Jasio said, his voice gaining strength as he continued. I was amazed – it seemed like he was deliberately speaking to the whole throng, to all those about us who looked on with such heartfelt agreement with the sentiments of the man who knelt before Jasio. He must have known too that the man was expressing what everyone here felt.

"I didn't know my… I don't remember him, but I think he would have liked to have returned here, to have greeted you again. If I… " Jasio suddenly paused, and sighed loudly. "If I am who you all say I am, then… well, I… I'm…" he couldn't continue. His lips trembled, and I saw that the tears were starting to trickle down his cheeks.

A motherly-looking woman, who had been next in line behind the old man to greet Jasio, stepped forward and touched Jasio's arm. "There, there, Paniczu. It's alright. And you, old man," she said with mock sternness, "you get up off your knees before you have all of us crying. This is such a joyous occasion, to meet our Jan." She helped the old man get up as Jasio stepped back to my side, taking my hand again immediatly. He looked up at me meekly, but tried to smile through the tears. I just put my arm around his shoulder and hugged him to me. "You are a remarkable boy, Jasio Podhorowski."

His only answer was to lean his head into my side and to hug me even harder.

"Paniczu, allow me to present Halina, your matron of the household," the old woman continued with the introductions, indicating the rather formidable woman who had come to Jasio's rescue. The matron had set the old man back upon his feet securely, and took her place next to him again in line, then curtsied. She smiled tenderly at Jasio.

Jasio pulled me forward with him, following the old woman down the line. He swept the tears off his cheeks and sniffled, but seemed to consider it his duty to stand before each person and acknowledge them personally. Again I marveled at how he seemed to take to these lordly ways so naturally. The boy whom I had carried from one peasant hutch to another just last night, to be spurned and turned away, now graciously accepted the greetings of every one of these strangers.

He met maids, upstairs and down! He met his personal cook. He met the stable master (with whom I determined to have a conference concerning my GAZ), the grounds keeper, the doorman. For each, Jasio had a shy smile, but I'm sure by the time we neared the end of the line on the right, he was as dazed by the many names and titles as I was.

"And finally, young lord. I wish to present to you Urszula, and her daughter Agnieszka. Urszula was your father's personal maid-servant. As with most of the others, she has returned to the Strażnik upon hearing of your arrival, but will be unable to remain on the staff due to the illness of her husband. With your agreement, Paniczu, matron and I have decided that Agnieszka will be trained as your personal servant. Her mother will stay long enough to train her. Does that meet with your approval? You can of course decide otherwise at a later point if you so desire."

Jasio seemed taken aback by the sudden need to make a decision. He quickly looked up to me again questioningly, almost frantically, his mouth open to answer the old woman, but no sound came out.

I didn't know what to say. To be truthful, and to my shame, my first reaction upon hearing of the old woman's plan was alarm. Jasio with a young girl? Could I trust a girl in his presence? Would she steal him from me? Thankfully I had sense enough left this day to almost instantly realize how pointless such fears were. It was just another of the burdens that every boylover must carry – boys grow, they become men. Would our love survive the presence of a girl? I might as well ask if our love would survive time itself, for time alone would tell of our story together, time alone would bear witness to the changes that his fleeting youth would bring, of his future needs and desires. For now I knew what I felt for him. I absolutely knew what he felt for me. I calmed myself, with no more than the hint of a flush to betray my inner conflict of emotions. "I'm sure Agnieszka will make a fine… maidservant, Misiu."

"Oh, ok," he conceded.

Both the mother and the daughter beamed with his approval, and gave the lowest curtsies of all. They stepped back in line looking completely happy.

"Good. That's settled, then. Paniczu," the old woman adjusted her feet, positioning herself laboriously to face Jasio squarely, formally. "The Strażnik Drogi, you will discover, is many things to many people. For you, it is also a home. By your leave, m'lord," she said, with a bow of her head, "your staff will now take up their duties, once more in the service of a Podhorowski."

Jasio listened with rapt attention, and he understood immediately. Things had changed. There was a finality to this moment. An ending to some things that had defined his life up till now. I watched as he drew himself to his full height, standing reed tall, the very picture of elegance. His sandaled feet were planted firmly upon the ground of the Strażnik. The calves of his slim legs flexed beneath the clinging white socks, tensed to the same taut alertness of his whole body. He could have been a Roman prince, standing there, the leather straps of his sandals laced tightly, ready for his commanding march. The wide collar of his tunic lifted with his breath, and even though his uniform was but a boy's playtime copy of a sailor's garb, it commanded attention, if for nothing else than the incomparable beauty of the boy who wore it. His back arched, making his bottom so pronounced that his tight pants sought the cleft between the cheeks. His shoulders, as narrow as they were, true to his boyish lines, jutted back in attention. His neck was straight, and upon it he held his head even with the old woman's, looking her directly in the eyes. The blue-trimmed cap sat jauntily upon his unruly hair.

By the stars, if every person there at that moment didn't know that Jasio was born to take possession of this grand palace, then that benighted person must be blind.

His voice hardly wavered as he accepted the mantle of possession that the old woman had proffered, but it was halting, as he accustomed himself to his new role. "Yes. Yes, Pani Agata… please, you… you can go, you can all go… if you want…"

Through it all, he still held my hand in his, and I thrilled to the strength of his grip. I felt the surge of his spirit, as he dared to take hold of the new role that had befallen him.

The old woman bowed once again, lower this time. She certainly recognized Jasio's transformation. The others followed suit, and all the women curtsied again. Little Agnieszka I think was a bit overawed, because she was caught off-guard, but recovered quickly, and gave a studied little dip of her knees too.

Then off they all trooped. All except our Sokalska – off down towards the car port. The old woman shuffled round in her tracks and lifted the point of her cane up towards the entryway to the palace. "Only one who follows the Way may enter these doors. I will, therefore, follow the rest of the staff to the servant's entrance."

And finally she did it. I knew that all day long she had been on the verge of it, old habits straining to surface, mixed with a renewed hope, a rising respect, and just as with Agnieszka – perhaps some awe. The old woman was still capable of feeling awe, even after all she had experienced in her long life, after all the great men she had known, after all the Podhorowski boys she had served. Now she bent to the task, forcing her old bones and muscles into long dormant modes. Her palsied and stiffened joints must have ached to the effort, but she did it in spite of them. With her feet as close together as her bowed legs would allow, she slowly bent her knees, and curtsied, her head down. She spoke just one final word, letting it roll from her tongue like a pronouncement, "Paniczu!"

With that, she raised herself once again, her eyes closed as if in prayer, and turned to shuffle off after the others.

Perhaps at some other time and place I would have laughed at the sight, but not now. It was easy to see that she acted out of real respect and love, not just for Jasio, but for his father, his grandfather, and perhaps for more. Perhaps for all that Jasio seemed to represent to her. For the Podhorowskis, but also for the Grecka Droga, for the Strażnik Drogi. For The Way.

Suddenly we heard the clatter of the horses' shod hooves and the creaking of the carriage. Both of us turned to see it driving away. It circled the courtyard, with the quiet calls of the coachman and the slap of his reins upon the horses' flanks. Its circuit took it past the fountain and back around to enter under the driveway arch even as the old woman made her way through as well.

We found ourselves alone. Completely, totally alone.

I think we both took a deep breath then, as we looked about us. For myself, I was dazed by… everything! The fairy tale setting, the fairy tale palace, the liveried servants, and not the least by the way Jasio himself had handled it all.

Gone was the giddy glee with which he had jumped up and down in the carriage. Gone the little vagabond I had almost crushed beside the King's Way. Gone the lost and abondoned boy. Gone the years and years alone at Jodłówka.

I stood in the presence of the new master of this world, this strange and magnificent world that we had entered – the mysterious world that we had both been drawn to as if by fate. He was also MY boy! Master of all, including my heart, and yet bound to me by the commitment that we had made to each other this day.

"Jasio!" "Piotrek!"

We called to each other at the same instant, a kind of exhuberant outpouring by both of us – something we had to express to each other. In that same instant, I bent to take him into my arms, he leapt up and wrapped himself about me, his arms almost choking me, so tightly did he enclose my neck. I felt his soft curls against my cheek, his lips seeking the bare flesh beneath my collar. We both just held on to each other, sharing the wonder of it all.

"It's so beautiful here, Misiu," I spoke softly into his ear as I turned us about, just trying to take it all in. "It's so beautiful, this new home of yours."

"It's everything I imagined," he sighed.

"How do you mean – have you heard of the Strażnik Drogi before?"

"No. I've never heard of it before, but… I've been here before, Piotrek." He said it with complete certainty. He raised his head from the crook of my neck, and the look in his eyes told me that he was as certain of this as anything in his life.

"You have? But, your father left here before you were born."

"It happened down there, before, at Jodłówka. Did you see it there, last night? Did you see where the great palace used to be? There's nothing left now but a few rocks – laid out on the ground. I used to look at them, study them. When the farmers build a new house, first they lay down what they call a foundation. That's all that's left of the palace now – the foundation. But I built it Piotrek! In my mind I built it. I could tell where each room was, and sometimes at night, when the moon was out, or even by the light of the stars, I'd go there. Sometimes no one would let me in their shack, but I could always go to that old palace."

He paused, considering something, turning his neck to look back at the grand palace. I swiveled about so we could both look at it. "To think that I can go in there. Now. I could really walk inside, walk into each room. I used to do that – in my imaginary palace. I would walk from room to room there. I'd play like I…"

His voice trailed off wistfully, lost in his memories. He had spoken with such fervor before that I really could picture him doing just as he said. Now he stared up at the Strażnik, silently remembering.

"What Jasio? What did you play there?" I tried to urge him on.

"I actually played like I belonged there. Talking with the great princes that used to live there. I even found the head of an old statue. It took me a long time to figure out how to do it, but I finally built up another little foundation under it, and lifted it bit by bit, till I could slip it onto an old, broken column of stone."

Jasio, master of our world. Jasio, the engineer. Jasio, the dreamer and doer. I must have shaken my head in the wonder of it all.

He looked at me suddenly, smiling sheepishly, lowering his head down slightly in self-deprecation. "Don't laugh, ok? Don't laugh at me, Piotrek," he pleaded almost desperately.

"Oh don't worry about me laughing at you, Misiu! I doubt there's anything you could do or imagine that I wouldn't find fascinating. Don't you know that by now?"

"Yes, I do," he answered immediately, bringing his head up again confidently. Then he kissed me, right there on my cheek. His way of apologizing, I think, that he had even begun to doubt me. "Ok, so I used to talk with that statue, Piotrek. I used to wish that he was my friend, or even my father. Was that silly of me? Was it foolish to wish for that?"

My chest swelled with emotion as I pictured this little boy, alone at night with only the heavens to keep him company. The heavens, and his silent companion upon the stone pedestal.

It was my turn to sigh – a loud and long exhale of regret. Then I held one hand up, palm outstretched, and described a wide sweep across the template of sky and mountain and palace, carrying Jasio about with me as I turned. "Misiu! If that man whose head you put up on that column was a Podhorowski, then he was your blood. If he helped you see his palace, if he helped you imagine all this, then he was just doing what any father would do, or any grandfather."

"So I did belong there, didn't I, Piotrek? In that other palace? In the one I built, in the one I saw in my mind?"

"Yes, you did."

"I belong here too, then, don't I?"

I considered his simple question. I considered all that the old woman had told us, I considered all that we had seen of the Grecka Droga, all that we had done here in this hidden valley. We had already consecrated this place to our lives. I thought of what we had pledged to each other, and to The Way.

"Oh yes, my dearest sweet prince, you belong here. And wherever you belong, so do I."

I bent again, to let him down gently, but even as he loosened his clenched knees around my waist, and slid down – even as his feet touched the ground – he pecked my lips with his own. "You remember what we said too, don't you, Piotrek? Back at the gatehouse?"

I remember everything about that, Misiu, and I always will."

"Mmmmmmmh," he hugged me with all his strength, his little arms squeezing me. His moan came from deep within him. Then he let me go, only to seek out my hand again. "Together always, then, you and me?"

"Together always, you and me."

"Then we belong here together. And what a place to belong to!"

"It's hard to take it all in at once, isn't it?"

"Look! Up there on the roof!" he pointed excitedly at a new discovery. "What's that… big cloth rising on a pole there. It has the same picture on it, like on that big rock, and my key."

"I believe that is your family crest, Jan Podhorowski. That, I believe, is your personal banner. They're raising it above the palace, in honor of you. You're here now. In residence. A Podhorowski is here again, and that banner proclaims it for all to see."

"For all to see," he mused, ruminating over the words. "If there's anyone up in those trees, they'll see it, for sure," he said, pointing up at the forested slopes that hemmed us in. "But it's not likely anyone else can see it, hidden away like this."

"They need to see it down there, where we came from," I said. We both turned towards the way we had come.

"I didn't realize how high up we were!" Jasio exclaimed. "We're even above the tree tops."

And so we were. We walked forward, till we were standing at the very edge of the plaza. The surrounding trees hardly served to obstruct the view down the canyon leading to the Grecka Droga, because they fell away so precipitously. Our road up here had followed switchbacks. We could see it sweeping off across slope down below us, then again the other way, lower down. It had not seemed like such a steep climb, but from where we were standing, the Grecka Droga was hundreds of feet below us.

"There's the inn! There's the Grecka Droga," Jasio pointed off through the nearest treetops.

"Our cabin too. And the creek – see it over there, along the far side of the canyon floor?"

"Yeah, and the baths, Piotrek, see the glass. That's where you…"

He stopped abruptly, his hand flew to cover his mouth and he gave one his little giggles.

"Oh, don't remind me now, Jasio! It's bad enough trying to hide my siusiak from the servants, much less all those farmers at Jodłówka. Oops, too late. I think it's growing again!"

"Let it grow," he said, softly, conspiratoriously. "They won't be able to see it so far away!"

"Are you so sure?! There – just out on the plain, there's Jodłówka."

"Well, your thing is big, but not that big, Piotrek," he jibed at me, and once again he moved his hand to cover me, to touch me, to press his palm and his fingers along my expanding rod, and suddenly we were both very focused on the here, the now. Not the far away.

I snaked an arm about his shoulder and pulled him tight to me, and took a deep breath, closing my eyes. If I opened them, I could see out forever beyond the mountains. I didn't want to see that, though. I wanted only his touch.

"I had better… stop this, huh, Piotrek?" At first I thought Jasio might be teasing me, but his sinuous voice betrayed the truth. He was reluctant to stop. He wanted to touch me. My boy wanted to touch me!

"Ye- yes…" I just as reluctantly answered, through a breath constricted by my own true desires. "You had… better stop… or they will all… see…"

He shifted upon his feet awkwardly, almost unbalancing himself, and let out a little moan, just under his breath. I looked down to see him squirming his legs together like a boy who needed very badly to pee. But this boy didn't need to pee. My little boy was sporting his own boy-sized erection, complete with his own much shorter and smaller but oh so enticing bulge in his white pants. "But I… kind of wanted you to feel me, too, Piotrek," he implored half-heartedly, knowing as well as I did that maybe now wasn't the right time.

Seeing the outline of his little dick did nothing to reduce my own arousal, but I steeled myself not to reach over and touch him there. If I did, I don't think there would be any turning back. The servants of the Strażnik would get an eyeful.

I breathed deeply, trying to calm myself, gulping in the air. "Uhh… let's… maybe we can find a chance inside, Misiu?" I forced out the words.

"Ok." he said softly, hoarsely, surrendering. He let go of me slowly, with a parting graze of his palm across my turgid member. "If we can't do it right now, then… at least we can hold each other tight," he said, as he slid his arm back behind me, leaning into me again, and grasped me about my waist, snuggling himself into my embrace.

I closed my eyes and concentrated on the holding of my boy. We stood there for long moments, as I came down from my almost orgasmic state. Gradually I allowed my eyes to open, to add sight to the sounds and the touch, to sense what it was like to be on top of the world with the boy I loved.

I thought once again of our circles of existence, and how they were merging, becoming one. This little boy beside me was my life.

"Are you alright now, Piotrek?" Jasio whispered, finally breaking our long silence.

"Yeah, I'll live, I think."

"Then listen!" he whispered again, more urgently.

"To what, Misiu?" I whispered too, suddenly more alert.

"Listen hard. You'll hear it. It's so beautiful," he answered mysteriously, smiling up at me conspiratoriously.

"The wind? There isn't mu…"

"Shhhh. Softer than the wind."

"Softer than the wind, huh? Perhaps the sound of the clouds up above, then?" I asserted wryly.

"Nope. They're way too high. We couldn't hear them."

"But we're up so high too, maybe we can…"

"See their shadows? See how fast they move across the treetops below us?"

"Yes."

"Now look at the clouds themselves – see how slowly they seem to move?"

"Yes."

"That proves they're too high for us to hear – they're moving so fast, but they look like they're standing still. No, it's not the clouds."

"Your something of an expert on clouds and their shadows then, huh?" I said jokingly, but in fact I was very impressed. That reasoning of his took some doing. Some… spatial geometry, or trigonometry, or some such thing.

He giggled. "Enough to know we can't hear them."

"Ok, the pines then. The wind in the pines. That's what you hear."

"No, listen for it. The barest hint of a whisper, a far off rush of air it is, sure. But it's not just the wind."

"Then what is it, Einstein?"

"Huh? Who?"

"Sorry, just a… very smart fellow I once heard of."

"You think I'm smart?"

"You seem to hear things! That's for sure. And you… you seem to look for the why, and the how, about everything."

"Yeah, I do, that's why that sound is so beautiful. Because I know what causes it. I figured it out, long ago, and now I can hear it. Up in these mountains."

"But what is it, Misiu!" I said too loud.

"Shhhhh," he admonished me again. "It's the sky falling." He said it so softly, as if imparting to me a special secret for only my ears to hear.

"Huh? Wha…"

"Yeah, the sky is falling. Up here, we can hear it."

"Is that different from the wind, then?"

"Well, I don't know for sure. I haven't studied the wind as much as I have… shadows, for instance. But what is the wind, anyway, Piotrek? I used to listen to the stories – when they would let me sit inside and listen, that is – they used to tell one about the hen who went around crying that the sky was falling – remember that one? Well, I tried to tell them all, that it was just the wind that the hen was talking about. You know, cold air falls, Piotrek? I used to sit beneath the cooler door, at Jodłówka. I could feel it. The cold air, falling. Imagine it falling down the mountain side here! Like a giant cooler. So that's not just the wind. It's the sky falling."

I swear I was stunned, to witness the way his mind worked. It didn't matter that perhaps his terms were wrong, or that perhaps his thinking had taken him one direction too far, or – it just didn't matter at all. I just stood there in reverence for his mind, for the genius I saw in him. Then I said, "The falling sky – it's… it sounds… it does sound soft and beautiful, Jasio, just as you said. You make me see that there is indeed beauty in the how and the why, too, if you can discover them. I admire you for that ability, to see the how and the why. I wish I had it."

He smiled shyly up at me, accepting my words as an accolade. It made me feel all the more proud that he cared what I thought of him.

"What else do you find beauty in, Jasio," I asked, not wanting to give up on this opportunity to see into the mind of this boy that I was growing to love more and more with each passing moment.

"I guess… I see beauty in many things. I get excited by them, learning about them."

"Over there, Jasio." I lifted my arm from around his shoulder and pointed off down the plaza a bit. "Those flowers – I hadn't even noticed them before." We ambled off towards them – they were scattered in posts and beds all around the courtyard. "Do you see beauty in the color of a flower?"

Excitedly, he piped up, "Isn't it interesting the way bees and wasps are drawn to just certain colors in the flowers? I wonder how each flower came to have just the right color to get an insect to land there. Old Bolek told me that all the plants need insects to help them grow. I was thinking about doing a test, to see if I could get bees to go to different colors."

"So I just see the color, but you see the purpose in a color. We both see something that touches us, somehow."

"Yes."

"I find beauty in your voice. It sings to me, every time I hear you speak."

"Your voice is so deep. Did you know that a low deep voice, like yours, travels farther?" Again he was so eager to explain. "I mean a high voice like mine can sound loud, but a low voice – it somehow… digs deep. It carries so far. Your voice makes me… tingle," he giggled, "like it gets under my skin! I love the feeling. It's… beautiful, to me."

It was my turn to smile at him, accepting his accolade. I think I must have blushed a bit.

I looked around us, searching for more ways to learn about my boy, and my gaze fell upon the figures that graced the fountain. We had been drawing closer to it unwittingly, but even from a distance the figures seemed to epitomized whatever there was of beauty in the human form – a boy's, and a man's. "Look there, Jasio," I pointed towards the fountain. "Isn't that so beautiful?"

"Come!" he grabbed my hand and led me off towards it. "What do you like about it, Piotrek?" he asked so eagerly. He seemed to revel in this new game of ours – this exploration we had undertaken.

"Oh!! That's so easy. The boy. Look at him. I swear he looks like you. His hair is… my god, Jasio, it's a masterpiece – look at the way the sculptor has revealed the very essence of your beauty! The way the curls wave so naturally in the wind. You're so tall, slim, soft and smooth, your skin so pale white. The sleek lines of your arm as you reach across the pool towards your… towards the man…" I halted dumbfounded before the sculptures. We had stepped so close to the verge of the pool that I could feel the cool, wet spray.

"Hmmh. That's you, for sure. The man. But me? Is that really me? In the first place, it's mold green, not pale white."

"Oh yes, he's the very living image of you. The artist gave him your form, I can add the colors, the textures, everything else that I love in you."

"Well, it better be me, then! I wouldn't want some other boy reaching out for you," he said jokingly, but it was his turn to blush – suddenly a delicate red hue spread across his pale – and white – cheeks.

"But I can say the same thing – is that really me?" I remonstrated, indicating the man. "I wish! To look like that! Whoever the sculptor was seemed to know his models perfectly."

"He knew how to mold the metal. I find beauty in that. He knew how to make them stand here for who knows how long. I really find beauty in that! Just think of what goes into making something like this. I've watched the blacksmith pour metal into molds. I even tried to do it myself – to make my own little forge, but I couldn't get the fire hot enough, you know… Piotrek? Hello, Piotrek?"

"I- I'm sorry. I just can't take my eyes off you – him – yo…" I fumbled with the words, and turned to stare at Jasio in much the same way as I had been staring at the boy's statue, my mouth hanging open, my jaw slack with wonder, my eyes wide. "There I go again. I'm really sorry, Jasio, I just can't help it."

"It makes me feel… beautiful, Piotrek. The way you stare."

"It does? I mean, yes, you should."

His blush spread. But so did his little smile.

"It's because you stare into me, not just at me. I know you think I'm… good looking. I can see that in the way you always stare at me. I can see that in the way your siusiak is always so hard for me! But I think you… you like more about me. You see the beauty in the how and the why of me, too. Don't you."

It was a statement. A confirmation, with no need for me to answer.

"I see beauty just the way you do, Piotrek," he continued. "Look at that man there, reaching out for his boy. He's strong. Look at his muscles. They're in motion, like he's stretching as tall as he can be. Because he wants to stand tall for his boy. Look at his siusiak. It's not hard – yet! But it hangs there, growing hard, because of what he sees in his boy. He cares so much. He wants the boy in his arms, not all the way across the pool, but right there in his arms. It's you, Piotrek. Look at his eyes – your eyes! They're calling to the boy, but letting him choose to step forward across the pool. Look at… me – the boy… he wants to be with his man."

He paused and looked down, thinking, idly shifting the sole of his sandal across the rough surface of a cobble stone. He seemed to take a deep breath, and when he looked back up at me again I saw that his face was taut with emotion. His chest heaved. "Why do you think I… keep reaching for your siusiak, Piotrek? I wondered about that. I asked myself how and why. Even now I want to feel it."

"You do?" I answered meekly, hardly daring to hope again. I stole a glance down below his waist, and his hardon was bulging out his shorts again. Being here, standing before the images of this boy and his man – images frozen for all time in the motion towards each other – had the same effect on both of us.

"Yes. Like this boy in the fountain. He wants to touch his man. Do you think – you think the man who created this, watched them? Do you think he watched as the boy stepped into the pool, and the man joined him, and they touched?"

"I can't imagine that he could portray them so perfectly, unless he did watch, Misiu."

"Do you think anyone is watching us?"

"Perhaps."

"Then… perhaps I should stand closer, and… we could look like we're just talking, and…"

I had trouble breathing again. All I could get out, was "… perhaps…"

He sidled in so close to me that his head fit right in under my armpit, snuggling in so tight that I felt the full length of his body against mine. His hair brushed my side, and I felt their soft curls on the underside of my arm. I felt his flesh, separated from mine only by the thin fabric of our clothing. He was so warm and boyishly soft, yet here and there hard and just as boyishly alive with his intent. Soft where I felt his bare thigh brush my leg. Hard where his elbow dug into my belly, as he maneuvered to reach his hand across to grasp me again. Hard where the rounded smoothness of his shoulder slid against my ribs. Hard between his legs… oh so soft when his fingertips finally did make contact yet again with the cloth-shielded shaft of my penis – he was gentler this time, exploratory, touching and feeling rather than grabbing.

My dick responded the same way, however. Hardening even more, lengthening, inching its way upward underneath my slacks. Throbbing, jerking, when his fingers scraped delicately across the corona. My glans was cloth-covered, still protected by my foreskin, but I could feel the contours of his fingers there – first the tips, then the pads, then the crease of his joints, and then the full length of his slim little fingers sliding over it, then back.

My eyes closed involuntarily and I held my head back, my feet spread and legs steadied, preparing to withstand his assault on my senses. I probably moaned. I'm sure I did, but I couldn't speak. My jaw was clenched. I had to consciouisly refrain from grasping Jasio and holding onto him for my very support.

There was no sound penetrating to my ears, other than the continuous melody of the trickling waters – and his voice!

"We seem to see beauty in the same way, at least in one thing, Piotrek. I can't get my mind off your thing, and you seemed to get excited when you see mine. When we were in the baths, you… looked at me. At my siusiak, especially. Why do we love them so, Piotrek? I want to see yours, now."

His fingers desisted in their roaming path along my thickening shaft, and I felt them slide directly to the row of buttons that forcibly held me prisoner. One, two, then three, he loosened, and with each I felt my dick sliding freer, responding to his efforts. By the fourth, my pants fell open. They might have slid to the cobbles if I hadn't stood so tensely, my thighs clenched, in expectation of Jasio's next move.

My dick didn't wait. It sprang up at full length, slapping against the edge of Jasio's wrist. He deftly caught it, with a flick of his wrist. He held his fingers wrapped around the base, while the hooded glans and the upper length of the shaft came to rest against the underside of his forearm.

Imprisoned again! But this time by my boy.

The skin beneath a boy's wrist must be as soft and smooth as any other part of his body – and hot! The sudden contact of my penis with Jasio's wrist seared me, flooding me with his heat. I felt it all the way to my balls. I swear I did. And even the slightest movement of his still exploring hand made my dick head slip from side to side under the pressure of his flesh. It was excruciating, but he wouldn't release me. I moaned again. I might have begged for mercy, if I could have opened my mouth to utter even one sensible word, but I still could not.

And then he assaulted me with his voice again. "It's so big, Piotrek. And hard," his breathy undertone, filled with his own lust, shot through me. I never knew the full power of a boy's voice till that moment. I never knew the depths of a boy's desire till that moment.

"I ask how and why my siusiak gets hard, when I touch yours, or even when I think about yours. Is your thing beautiful? To me it is. There's such beauty in the way it needs me, in the way it stands up for me. There's beauty in the… this hurt, this pain I feel inside my chest – it tightens up, when I see you hard like that – there's beauty in the way it draws me to you, like the color of a flower draws an insect. It makes me want to be with you, to hold you. That's the how and the why – why the boy in the fountain here is reaching out for his man. Just like me, he wants to share the air that the man breathes. He wants taste the man's flesh. He wants to drink of that man's seed, like I drank yours. He wants to be with that man."

Combined with the mere pressure of his hand and his wrist upon my penis, his huskiness and the want in his voice might have sent me over the edge at that instant.

But at that instant, he slid his hand down, off my shaft. My raging penis lolled free then, no longer suffering that sweetest of torments. I breathed hard, taking the opportunity, knowing already where his hand was going. No sooner did I sigh in relief, but I felt his little fingers upon my balls.

More exploring. More feeling. This time weighing, lifting.

More clenched teeth. My thighs even tighter. I tried not to sway against him as he massaged my testicles, first supporting them both in his outstretched palm, then taking each in turn, holding them, squeezing ever so slightly, bobbing them up and down, pulling.

Why do men and boys lift their lovers' balls? Why do we weigh them? Why do we torture them so!? I might have asked Jasio that, if only I could speak, but I didn't have to. He was still true to his nature, still seeking the how and the why.

"They're heavy, Piotrek. And so huge. Just like your siusiak. Not like mine. I can't stop thinking about what they hold. The seed. The stuff that makes babies. This is where it all comes from, Piotrek. The stuff I tasted. I've watched as they cut the balls off the bull calves back at Jodłówka. They said it would keep the calves from growing so huge and being so mean. But you're not mean. You're just big!" he spoke just above a whisper, and then louder, "And beautiful. I find beauty in your balls, too, Piotrek. Is your thing like a pump? Does it make the seed come up, so I can taste it again?"

He needed both hands, and leaned in across me. If we had wanted to hide our actions from anyone watching in the Strażnik, that was probably a lost cause. I held him like a little bird under my wing, and he bent within my embrace.

He lifted my balls out, so that he could examine them, pulling on the pliable skin of my scrotum, tugging on the wiry hairs there, concentrating, testing. With one hand he moved back up along the shaft of my dick, capturing it again, pulling it up so he could see even better. He massaged it too, starting a slow motion up and down on it, sliding the skin upon the hardened shaft beneath. Just the tip of my glans poked free with each downstroke – his motion was tentative, still exploratory.

"I'm going to try it. I'm going to pump on it, make your stuff come up, so I can taste it again. Look at the way your balls pull up when I pump on your siusiak. It's all connected, isn't it? It's like the fountain, Piotrek!" He said excitedly.

He was fascinated by my dick and balls. They were like a machine to him, my dick like one of his make-shift tools, something he could manipulate. Trouble was, his manipulating was about to make me fall over! I found myself lifting up on tippy-toe as he played with me, my body desperately trying to wrest back some control. It was the most sublime torture imaginable to have him pulling and probing and pumping, in his own rhythm, not mine. To his own purpose, not mine. I was a tool for him.

The ache in my balls started to build, bordering on pain, but inching towards ecstasy. Now that his attention was shifting towards my shaft, though, so did mine. The ecstasy emanating from his hand wrapped around my tool was unchecked – there was nothing about torture there, just one rising crescendo of feeling. It didn't even have a central focus – it was everywhere that Jasio's finger's touched, everywhere his palm grazed, it grew every time he pulled my foreskin down over the wet surface of my glans. Lower, lower, lower… I take it back – it was torture. I wanted to feel him take me all the way, but his stroke just verged upon the precipice. Every stroke a bit lower, but not yet all the way, not yet freeing my glans, not yet stretching it, pulling it, tightening it over the end of my shaft.

"Are you going to bleed, Piotrek?!" he suddenly exclaimed, sounding alarmed. "The head of your dick is so red! It's like it's going to bust open, like it's fiery hot. But it's wet too. Can I feel it?"

It was all a part of his exploration. He didn't stop the pumping. He just made it harder, each stroke longer. He let go of my balls, and placed a fingertip directly on my glans!

I nearly jumped up out of my sandals, because this was pain too. Not the dull, aching pain in my balls, but a shrieking blast of the kind of pain that it's hard to inflict upon oneself, but can't be denied when someone else does it to you. And you want him to do it again, and again, an again, but you want to beg him never to do it again!

He did it again, this time with a ring of his fingertips, probing the spongy mass of my enraged dickhead. I think it was only his constant pressure, the permanence of the touch, that made it possible for me to keep from screaming out. I was breathless anyway, and couldn't have drawn in enough air to scream. He pumped now, hard, and held onto my glans, hard. It was an agony that I had never experienced before. I could never have done this to myself. Now my glans was bared completely on each down-stroke. It was hooded again, over and over, all the way up to his fingertips, on each up stroke. He wouldn't relent. He slid his fingertips down over the glans, grazing it, hard. It did no good to stand on my toes now. There was no way out. This boy had complete control of me. He was using my body, intent upon achieving his objective. He knew what would come. He knew how to make it come. He wanted to witness it.

His fingers slid over the corona, and lodged beneath. And still he kept pumping, pulling the skin up over his fingertips, faster and faster.

I started convulsing. I could feel it, but I couldn't control it. My thighs, my chest, my arms, my head, every muscle flexing, spasming, every part of me twisting and weaving and flailing to this boy's control. I felt like I was suspended in midair, incapable of willing any part of my body to respond to my command. And incapable of either hastening or stopping the inevitable. It was all Jasio. Anything, everything, that he wanted.

It all came too quickly for him, even. It caught him by surprise when I lost it. I felt my balls tighten. I felt my dick about to spew, at that undeniable instant of the most agonizing ecstasy, and then my sperm finally came shooting out the end of my dick, spewing up and out all over his hand where he held onto my glans, then splashing down upon the other. "Oh!" he squealed in his delight. He was drenched in my cum.

Suddenly I was released from all the torture and all the ecstasy. He let go of me and stood up and stepped out from under my arms, staring at his hands. I fell forward onto the rim of the fountain pool, letting the waters spill over my hands, but needing some support to keep from falling to my knees. I turned my head then, looking at him, and blinked hard, trying to keep from fainting. My cock and balls were inflamed with the most exquisite sensations. Jasio was standing there, still staring at his hands, turning them, letting the goo of my sperm drip from one finger to another, down across his splattered palm, threatening to spill upon the cobble stones. He wouldn't let it spill. He was as fascinated by it as he had been by his handling of my tool. He seemed entranced by it.

"Is there… beauty in that… Jasio?" I managed a rasping question, as I caught my breath.

"Oh yes!" he said almost reverently, still examining my cum. "Your seed, Piotrek. It's beautiful. Part of you that I can hold. I can… I can take it in my body." He dipped his head and touched the tip of his tongue to the pearlescent swirl in his palm. As he drew it back, a long strand stretched out, a thinning filament, till it broke free to pool again in his palm. He took my cum into his mouth and seemed to savor it, licking his lips, smiling so sweetly at me.

"I can take it into my body, all of it. Or I could spread it to all the world. Like this."

He stretched out both his hands, cupped, holding my fluids, as if he were giving up a precious offering. Gracefully, he dipped them into the pool of the fountain, and let the waters slowly wash my cum away. We watched as strands of it were swept over the edge of the pool and down into the catchment below.

We both straightened back up at the same instant. I stood there wobbly on my feet, quickly grasping at my pants to hold them up. Jasio stood facing me with the most self-satisfied expression on his face, as if saying "Look what I just did!"

"Are you… are you sure the whole world wants to… share in my cum?"

"Well, if they don't, it's because they don't know you as well as I do," he answered smugly.

"Oops!" he exclaimed, giggling again. "We mustn't let any go to waste." Quickly he darted out his hands and grasped my now softening tool. It was dangling now, my sperm dripping from the tip of the still reddened glans. With a look of studied intent, he expertly directed the splattering of cum into the catchment, shaking it off, and milking me free of any remaining seed.

I could only stand there, my hands held up out of his way. I glanced over towards the Strażnik. "Hmmh. So much for our plan to not let anyone see what we were doing, huh?"

"Oops, again!" he laughed, and quickly scooted up close to me, making a show of surreptitiously stuffing my dick back into my pants. He drew the flaps of my fly together, and fumbled at the buttons. Both of us were sputtering with laughter by now. He fell against me, grabbing me about my waist. I hugged him to me with all my might.

"Thanks, Misiu. It was truly… beautiful."

"Yes, it was, wasn't it." he answered, and gave me another huge squeeze.

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