Date: Wed, 1 Sep 1999 13:02:07 -0400
From: "C. E. Jordan" <c.e._Jordan@MailAndNews.com>
Subject: ANDERSON (PART 1)

Please send any comments to:
c.e. jordan@mailandnews.com

Copyright c.e. jordan

                           ANDERSON (Part 1)


         I scanned the faces of the kids scrambling to get 
out the last class at the end of the day. My eyes rested
upon one boy long enought to receive a smile. Anderson hung back 
as I knew he would. He was in no hurry to leave. As a newly 
minted teacher I was relieved that in general, most children 
remained just children to me. However, the very few like Anderson
who were 'different' seemed to recognize immediately that they 
could find a special friend in me.

	The twelve year old had started hanging around
after school offering to help me clean the blackboard
or just help tidy up after class. As a one parent 'latch
key' kid, there was rarely anyone for him to go home
to. Anderson liked to spend as much time as possible
just talking with me. He was very nice, bright, and
exotic-looking, but had lots of problems at home and
needed someone to talk to. Oh, it was the usual story, no father,
a verbally and physically abusive mother who was
emotionally pretty much a child herself--just thirteen
years older than the boy. What was important to her were
parties, drugs, and just having a good time. She obviously 
blamedthe boy for being born; for disrupting her life. I
guess Andy saw my relative stability and caring
attention as something he wanted and needed to have.

	I tried to keep our relationship as impersonal as
possible. But he would have none of that, and
eventually his unselfish sweetness broke me down. He'd
try to give me things he considered treasures such as
his best baseball cards, chewing gum, his nicest model
car, or a candied-apple at Halloween. It was kinda
cute. He knew I lived within walking distance from the
school as he did, but he didn't know exactly where and
kept begging to walk home with me. But the thought of
that was really scary to me. Aside from childhood
playing around, I previously had only one real
relationship that involved intimacy with a boy, and
that lasted for years. It was a pretty devastating and
intense experience for me.

	Then one Saturday morning my apartment door-bell
rang, I opened and guess who was standing there? I was
astonished. "How did you find out where I lived...and
how'd you get in?" I asked him. The front door of my
apartment uses an electronic key and visitors usually get in
only if I buzz 'em in.

	"I followed you here yesterday...and today
I just pressed somebody else's bell and pretended I'd
lost my key. They buzzed me in. I didn't press your
bell 'cause I knew you wouldn't have let me in."

	True. But since he was already right there at
my door, I let him come in. I asked immediately if his
mom knew where he was, he just shrugged and said, "She
don't care." But I insisted on calling her to try and
keep things on the up and up. On the phone when I said
her son was o.k. and that he was with me, she sounded
puzzled about why I felt I had to bother her with that
bit of information. Then she startled me by asking if I
would mind keeping Andy overnight because: "I'm not
going to get back home from my boyfriend's house till
tomorrow afternoon." 

	I was really upset and angry but I didn't make a fuss
for the boy's sake.

	As I hung up Andy looked up at me and shrugged
his shoulders again as if to say 'I told you so'. But
when he heard that he was going to stay with me until
the next day he went a little nuts. He jumped up and
down, yelled "Yesss!!" then leaped into my arms nearly
knocking me over. At that moment all I knew was,
once again, there was a real, warm, excited
boy in my arms...and I thought 'maybe this boy actually loves
me. I gotta be dreaming.'

	Since Andy lived in the neighborhood, I urged him
to go home and get a change of clothing, or at least a
change of underwear...but nothing I said could make him
budge. I think he was afraid that if he left I might
change my mind about letting him stay with me. So
finally we agreed that he could wear an old flannel
shirt of mine when it came time for bed. I had no
pajamas for him since I usually don't wear anything to
bed unless it's very cold.

	We went to see a movie that afternoon and
afterwards, I took him to a 'night club' on Manhattan's
westside that I'd read about. It was really just a very
good restaurant/night club that on certain nights
lowered their lights and adjusted their program for
kids up to about seventeen or eighteen years old.
They had good entertainment by broadway child-stars.
And they served food that kids liked. It was really nice.
Andy was stunned and captivated by the whole
experience. For him it was a totally different world,
here he was travelling out of Brooklyn to Times Square
for a movie, then a trip further uptown to this neat
club--it was almost too much for his young mind to take in.
His mom rarely took him anywhere, except once a year to
see his grandmother all the way in North Carolina.

	At the club we were given a table in a shadowy
corner where we ate and looked at the entertainment.
Andy swivelled his head all around, taking in
everything in the unfamiliar and fascinating place,
then he leaned back in the soft padded chair and stared
at me with big wet eyes. Later, he sneaked his hand
under the table to grasp mine and squeeze it. I was
glad I could make him so happy--if only for a little
while.

	On the way back home in the subway train,
Anderson didn't talk much, I thought he was overwhelmed
and tired from a day filled with new experiences. He
leaned onto my shoulder and closed his eyes. I guess
the other passengers looking at us saw only a cute
sleeping boy and his big brother.  Everything felt so
right. Until I recognized someone sitting on the far
side of the cab, a teacher from my school whom I knew
only by sight. I don't think he saw us or recognized
Anderson as a student from the school, but it got me to
thinking about the reality of the situation; of how
precarious...and dangerous it actually was.

	After leaving the subway station we strolled
through the calm dark-blue night along the tree-lined
avenue leading toward my apartment. Anderson was still
very quiet. And he was still holding onto my hand.
Near home I finally asked, "Did you have a good time
Andy?"

	He didn't answer that except to ask a question
of his own. "Charles, do you like me?" Confused, I
hesitated for a moment. Then, trying to lighten the
mood I laughed and said, "Hey, kiddo, what's not to
like?" But he insisted, impatiently shaking his head,
"But...do you *like* me?"

	"Yes, Andy, I like you...I like you...a whole lot." I
realized I was saying that to myself as well as to him.

	"Then I don't wanna go back home, let me stay
with you all the time, mommy won't care..."

	At that point I stopped and put my arm around
him. His head came up to my shoulder. "Andy, I'll
tell you the truth.... I don't think they'll *ever* let
you live with me..."

	"They?...Why?"

	"Things are complicated, um, there are all
kinds of laws. But you live nearby--you can always
call me if you're in trouble, and you can come over any
time now that you know where I live..." He looked to
the ground and said simply, "O.k." Resignation was
etched into his voice, he was a kid accustomed to
having dreams regularly go up in smoke.

	I thought he'd fall exhausted into bed when we got
home, but I guess the excitement of this new situation
kept him alert. So we watched TV and talked late into
the night. I learned that his father Saleem, was only fifteen
when Anderson was born. Saleem was a son of the Palestinian
owner of his mother's neighborhood grocery store. And as
soon as Saleem's dad found out about the half-black
baby, they sent the Arab teenager, kicking and screaming, back to
Lebanon. Andy never saw his father and had dreams about
going to Lebanon one day...although he wasn't quite
sure exactly where that was. His feelings for his
mother were complex, but he was on the edge of hating
her because of the endless abuse.

	Finally Anderson began to droop. "We'd better
take a shower and get to bed if we're gonna wake up
anytime before tomorrow night." I suggested.

	"Awright..." and Andy began to strip unabashed
right in front of me.

	I took off my own shirt but stopped to admire
the perfect young body being revealed to me; at some
point Andy became aware of my stare and subtly altered
his movements, he slowed down and opened up his body to
my gaze. His fingers took their time as they moved down
the front of his blue denim shirt. It fell to the
floor. He peeled up his white undershirt and pulled it
over his head, revealing the pale amber skin of his
chest and belly. His dark nipples stuck out like small sharp
thorns. And his underarms were bare. He bent over a bit
as his slim fingers negotiated the complexity of his
button-fly black Levis.

	Andy straightened up and glanced slyly at me for
a second, his narrowed grey eyes were like liquid
smoke. He slowly pushed down his jeans and stepped out
of them. At this point his slender back was towards me.
I walked over to him...because I had to touch the marks which I
thought I saw in the glow of the soft bedroom light
because I couldn't believe they were real, couldn't
believe that someone could do such a thing to their own
child. Andy didn't hear my footsteps approach him
across the thick carpet and he let out a soft gasp when
my hand touched his back. My fingers followed the
traces of old beatings -- crisscrossed, dark-edged scars
about the width of a leather belt.

	 I felt like crying for him, and my disbelieving
touches became caresses -- as if it might be possible to
stroke away all of his hurt; to compensate for his pain
by eliciting pure pleasure. Andy pressed backward
against me as my arms went around him. The shock of
having his bare body against mine overwhelmed my senses
for a moment. Andy lifted his chin towards the ceiling
and was making breathy little noises as my hands
caressed his belly and his chest. My right hand dropped
lower briefly encountering heat and boyhood hardness. I
moved my hand away, afraid of going too far, but Andy
grabbed my hand with both of his to put it firmly back
at the center of his pleasure. I kissed up and down
side of his face and took a tender earlobe into my
mouth to suck and nibble.

	Andy was groaning now because my hand had slipped
below the elastic waist of his BVDs to grasp him
directly. I was surprised to feel a briefest touch of nearly invisible
velveteen just above his sex. But Andy had obviously
lost control, he was writhing and gasping; suddenly he
grabbed the sides of his BVD's and thrust them far down
his legs. He spun to face me and wrapped his arms tight
around my neck while his pelvis hammered against mine.
As I hung on to him he made a desperate attempt to undo
my belt and pants but it was too late; he cried out my
name in a strangled voice and came all over the front
of my new tan Dockers.


TO BE CONTINUED