Date: Sun, 10 Aug 2003 10:26:46 -0500
From: Fredric L. Brothers <flbrothers@hotmail.com>
Subject: ANOTHER LAWN BOY STORY - Part 7 (Man/Boy)
ANOTHER LAWN BOY STORY
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By Fred Brothers
Copyright (c) 2003 Fredric Law Brothers - All Rights Reserved
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NOTE CAREFULLY: The following is a copyrighted work and is intended
solely for private, individual use. It may not be reproduced by any
known method, distributed or posted on additional web sites, without
the written permission of the author.
DISCLAIMER: This story is fiction. It bears no connection or
resemblance whatsoever to actual or specific persons and/or life
experiences or situations. If you do not appreciate gay,
intergenerational (that means man/boy love to the uninitiated or brain
dead) love stories, or you're under 18 years old, then please leave
this site now! Okay? You have been warned. Enough said!
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Part 7
So it is decided. That fast! And Clay has made the decision.
I'm rather proud of him and his take-charge attitude. In addition to
other new endeavors, I am now going to be a tutor to a high school
student - a teenager whom I secretly adore - a beautiful sixteen-year-
old young man with the face and the body of a crippled Adonis.
Clay is packing his books and papers, and an over night bag. He
decides to stay the night at my place. This decision takes me
surprise, as it does his grandparents. They make the choice, quite
wisely in my opinion, not to argue with him and to just let it ride. I
am very pleased with their attitude and also with the arrangements.
While he's going about his tasks, I explain to the two good
doctors how I intend to structure the tutoring, and my general thoughts
on education. They seem pleased by my comments. The explanation is
completely ad hoc. I have no deep theories about education, not having
taught a class since I was in grad school. But I ramble on about
making learning something a person wants to accomplish, plus dredging
up from the recesses of my brain some appropriate jargon. Franny nods
approvingly (I hope) while the old man remains relatively impassive,
except for raising his eyebrows a few times. I am sweating profusely
when this is all over.
Franny now decides that she needs to show me her kitchen. It's a
real beauty, as up to date and modern as a brand new 1955 Chevrolet
BelAir. Entering that kitchen is like going into a time warp...and
back fifty years. The appliances, the dishes, the fixtures and
cabinets...everything is straight out of the 1950s. They should move the
entire room directly into the Smithsonian Institution and do it
immediately. One needs to preserve these amazing relics of mid-20th
century Americana - the Kelvinator refrigerator; the Chambers
stove; the Thor washing machine; the sink and drain board; the white
enameled, steel kitchen cabinets; the dinette set with the Formica top
and the yellow, plastic upholstered chairs; the fluorescent lighting.
"Lets go out onto the back porch for a moment, Cole," she says
softly but insistently. We walk outside. The back yard is even more
beautiful than the front...and I know who is responsible. There is a
small, makeshift greenhouse off to one side and beautifully contoured,
landscaped areas. It is small, but overflowing with beauty and
variety. Even on this overcast, rainy day, one can see the loveliness
and luxury of this area.
"This is truly splendid, Franny. Am I correct in assuming this is
Clayton's work?"
"Most certainly. He did a fantastic job, did he not?"
"It's superb! Absolutely superb!"
"Thank you. And I would like to have you know that he did all the
physical work himself - all of it! No outside help was used." She
removes a tissue from her pocket and blows her nose. "He really is a
good boy, Cole. Yes, he can be difficult. But tell me, which teenage
boy is not?"
"I'm sure that's very true...remembering how I was at that age.
My parents thought I was going to wind up as some factory drone."
She turns and looks at me...an expression of dead seriousness on
her face. "Please take it in a relaxed manner with Clayton. Don't
push him...or press him...too hard. He has...has many...many problems.
Things are challenging for him. He has great difficulty learning...
difficulty concentrating...difficulty just sitting still for extended
periods. Take everything at a...relatively slow pace...make the
surroundings as pleasant...and as conducive to learning...as possible."
I look at her. Suddenly I am concerned, upset and rather startled
by what she says. "I don't totally understand, Franny." There is deep
concern and even fear in my voice...and I am sure she can hear it.
"What I am trying to say Cole, is that Clayton has some serious...
very serious...learning disabilities. He needs a calm...relaxed
atmosphere...in order to function on a - for him - high level."
"Learning disabilities? Clay?"
She nods. "Yes, he has them...a host of them. Clarence does not
even want to acknowledge that they exist...which is just denial of the
most ignorant type. Yes, I know I should not criticize him so severely
...but it is the truth! He is blind...totally blind when it comes to
the offspring...the child of his beloved...of Clarence, Jr."
She laughs lightly. "Do not be misled by his words...or by some
of his actions. He loves that boy...love him more than anything else
in the world. Anything! And he does not see what he does not want to
see."
I nod. I think I understand...but I'm not completely sure.
"Clayton has a number of learning disorders...among other
problems. Please do not think that he is retarded - he is not. No!
In truth, he is - as Clarence said before - quite average in most
areas. However, as you can see by the landscaping here, he can be
truly masterful in areas where he has great interest...like gardening
and landscaping...and baseball." She laughs again. "But...well, you
just have to repeat things often...and make him listen...and get him to
concentrate on whatever he is studying...and try to prevent his mind
from wandering."
Learning disabilities - the boy has learning disabilities?
Plural? I would never have guessed. "Does he take medication?"
"Oh, yes. Oh, yes indeed. Quite a few, actually. And he will...
um...be going to his physician again on Wednesday afternoon. Every two
week...he has a standing appointment." She sighs heavily. "Yes...
every two weeks." She wipes her eyes and blows her nose again. "So
please...please remember that. He may be a little `off' for these next
few days...until he sees Dr. Newcombe."
"Off?"
"He may be a little more tired than usual...and listless...a
little distant and maybe somewhat moody. Whenever he gets this way, I
say he's `off'...not like his normal self."
"Dr. Newcombe, huh?"
"Yes...Dr. Newcombe...at Northwestern Medical."
Clay burst onto the porch. "I'm ready! So lets ggget goin'! We
gggotta pack up the SUV. C'mon!"
His grandmother turns to look at him...and gives him a gentle
smile. "Did you remember your crutches, the batteries, your
medications, the..."
"Gramma, I gggot everything! So lets ggget this act on the road."
And we do!
^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^
"Are we rrreally gggoing to the nursery?"
"That's what I said, isn't it? Just as soon as you finish reading
your chapter and answering the questions at the end, we'll be on our
way. I promise...and I keep my word."
Clay dives back into the book.
Christ! Did I sound like a parent or what? God! How awful! I'm
ashamed...mortified!
It's now the second hour of his studying. And so far, he has been
rather involved with the two subjects. One reason is that I read him
the "Riot Act" before we opened the first book.
This version of the Riot Act consists of the following: working to
the very best of one's abilities, being honest and forthright, and
absolutely no bullshit or excuses. And if any of these rules are
violated, then it's back to the old system, and the list of tutors
approved by the school.
When we arrive at the house, we bring his stuff in from the SUV
and put everything in the guest bedroom. This is where he will sleep
and work. I tell him to unpack while I go over the work he has done
for algebra - his homework and the tests. After looking over the
papers I come to the brilliant conclusion that Clay is just plain
sloppy about mathematics. He skips steps, makes incorrect assumption
and fails to copy the problems properly. I am thoroughly pissed at what
I see...and thoroughly annoyed at his stupidity and carelessness.
Then I think about what Franny said - what she tells me there on
the back porch...about Clay's learning disabilities. These errors...
these almost laughable mistakes...are very much symptomatic of a
learning dysfunction. So, it will be more than a simple exercise in
getting him to know the material. It will be the more difficult task
of getting him to pay closer attention to the written material and
perform the assignments in an orderly manner...without shortcuts,
without mistaken assumptions and without copying errors.
He comes into my office, and we go over the chapter questions one
by one. Again, he has made a myriad of silly mistakes...stupid,
unexplainable mistakes.
"Why did you do this here?" I ask, pointing to a glaring error.
"Well...it ssseemed lllogical...to go from this sssstep here...to
this ssstep here?"
"Logical to whom? Not to me."
"Why? Look at everything on this llline...then lllook at the next
llline. It's the sssame."
"Not quite...not exactly. Look closely...look at both sides of
the equation."
"Hmmmm." He looks at the problem closely. "Oh, shit! Yeah! Now
I sssee what I dddid wrong." And I launch into an explanation the
"equals sign" and its full meaning in the world of mathematics.
^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^
Ninety minutes later, we're at one of the nurseries Clay knows.
The owner greets him enthusiastically, like they're old pals. Clay
introduces me. We walk around the very large area displaying the
different species of shrubs, trees and plants. It is still raining
lightly but it doesn't bother me and definitely does not hamper Clay's
enjoyment. He is in his element...his own little world...and he is
enthusiastic, talkative, and just ever so hyper.
"The great plus about George's plants is ttthat they're gggrown
right here...lllocally...in the area where we llllive. Too much of the
crap around is gggrown down south and they're nnnot adapted to our
harsher climate. So, they croak after a bbbad winter...can't take it.
These here do much bbbetter."
We select eight plants - some flowering, some evergreens, and two
dwarf flowering trees. We hope to plant them tomorrow at the front and
sides of the house - or maybe even today if the rain stops. I also buy
peat moss, mulch, fertilizer, soil acidifier and various other things
that Clay says I need. I take his word...he's the expert.
On the trip home, we stop to eat, then the supermarket and finally
a bookstore. I get a few of the latest novels by some of my favorite
writers. They're ones I missed during the move and the settling in
process.
Clay has not stopped talking since we left the nursery. He talks
about everything - jumping from subject to subject without apparent
reason. It's almost comic listening to his routine. He finally
begins to talks about his school and his studies...and his learning
difficulties.
"You know, they sssend me to this place...the CBA ssschool...
`cause I got sssome real bad lllearning problems?"
"Yes, your grandmother mentioned that to me. Is there anything
more you want to tell me about them? Some details...some names?"
He shrugs, then shakes his head. "Not really. It's jjjust
strange...and gets me upset and pissed mosta the time. I mean, why
don't I see things and lllearn things like other kids do? Why's
everything so hard for me to understand...and know?"
I just stare at him. I know I can give him no answer...no answer
that he will find satisfactory...or that I will find satisfactory...
just generalities about his condition and the human condition. "I'm
sorry to say, I have no answers, Clay. I've known other people...men
in particular...who've had learning difficulties and they just had to
work around them and learn to live with them and the consequences.
What do your doctors say?"
"The same. I gotta learn to lllive with `em and mmmake...mmmake
changes and tttry to adapt. Then they give me mmmedication...and
that's it. But things don't seem to get any better. SOS - same old
shit!"
I have to smile at Clay's use of a "dirty" word. It sounds so
foreign coming out of his mouth. "Do you take the medication every
day?"
"Yeah...some. And also the doc gives mmme an injection every
tttwo weeks. It's sssupposed to help...with mmmy problem...uh...my
problems, but I don't see...or feel...much difference. Not really."
I don't know what to say. I'm just so sorry for him. He seems
somewhat pathetic and so terribly vulnerable. I get the feeling that
he seems perpetually lost - swept up in a world he does not completely
understand, buffeted by conflicting tides. Only at the nursery is he
assertive and seemingly in his element.
"Well, this afternoon we'll hopefully be doing something that you
know one heck of a lot about...gardening and plant care. No problems
there, right?"
"Yeah!" He gives me a huge smile. "YEAH!"
^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^
It takes about two hours to put in the plants we'd bought. I'm
surprised at how much Clay is able to do, considering his physical
limitations. He moves around easily, with a great amount of energy and
very little wasted effort. He lays out where each shrub and tree is to
be planted and does the actual planting after I've dug the holes. The
rain holds off while we're doing the work, then starts again, watering
the beautiful, newly installed plantings.
While Clay is putting in some of the plants, I go into the house
and get my digital camera and take pictures of him working. He looks
so great...and so cute, with patches of dirt smudged on his face. He
insists on taking some photos of me, and he does. We are having a good
time working together...it feels comfortable...and I love being with
him...and I hope he enjoys my company and companionship as well.
We both shower after the garden work - Clay in the main bath, me
in my bathroom. I slip on a pair of gym shorts and a tee shirt, and
head out to the kitchen to get something to drink. I'm shocked to see
Clay already sitting at the kitchen table, eating an orange and reading
his social science textbook. He's in the same state of dress (or
undress) as I am...and wears only a pair of white boxer shorts and an
athletic shirt. He looks so appetizing...so totally delicious...so
damned yummy. I stand and look at him for a minute or so, absorbing his
bountiful teenage beauty, his quiet charm and distinctive good looks.
He is so absorbed in the reading that doesn't notice me. "Getting
a jump on more studies?" I ask in a low, slightly quivering voice.
I startle him slightly. "Huh?" He looks up quickly, and seems a
little stricken. "Oh yeah." Then he turns red with embarrassment.
"Uh...I'm so sssorry Cole. I know I shouldn't be parading around this
way." He stands, putting his arm stump behind his back. "Lemme go
back to mmmy room and...um...I mean to the guest room and...uh...put
sssome clothes on."
He moves to get his crutches, which are propped against the table.
"If you're comfortable the way you are, why change? Stay, finish
eating and maybe we can discuss what you're reading. Please."
He smiles and lowers his head. "Thanks. Thanks a lot, Cole." He
sits down again, but leaves his right arm on his lap. "I nnnever do
this at home...you know, walk around ssso undressed. My grampa doesn't
like it when he sssees my...my...my llleg and my arm...and the rest of
my bbbody. It gets him very upset? He bbbecomes like almost crazed."
"You can walk around...or what were the words you used...'parade
around'...any way you want. I don't mind at all." I give him a small
smile. "In fact, I like it a lot. I think you look...well, you
definitely look rather handsome and...you'll excuse me for saying this
...but quite sexy." I say this in a rather off handed, jovial manner,
so that he doesn't become overly concerned about my intentions. "Is
that okay?"
"Yeah! That's great. Yeah. Thanks again. I appreciate what
you're sssayin'. I appreciate it a lot." He pauses. "But...but...you
know Cole, I know that I don't look...uh...you know...like yah say...
look sexy. I'm just a very less than ordinary lookin' guy...who's
rather ssslow...and likes to ppputter around with ppplants and ssstuff
like that. A rather tall doofus...that's me."
He's quiet, but I keep noticing him snealing peeks at me and I
see his eyes moving over my body. "You know, Cole...uh...you look real
great. You do! Really! I notice it last week, too. You have a
gggreat body...a super bbbuild...great chest...powerful arms....You
lllook lllike a ggguy in real great shape...lllike in his 30s...real
super."
I know I'm blushing at his comment. "Thanks...thanks for the
compliments, Clay."
"I mean `em."
"Thanks again. However, let's get back to you for a second. I'm
not going to argue with you about the merits of your appearance or
whatever, but I do want to go on record as saying that I find you're a
very attractive and quite an endearing young man, who also happens to
radiate...for me...lots of sexual excitement. That's...well, that's
all I know...and I'm saying what I know...and what I feel."
Clay flashes a rather shy smile in my direction...and blushes.
His cheeks have a high color and he looks adorable,
I get a bottle of sparkling spring water from the fridge and take
an banana from the fruit bowl on the table.
We're quiet for a time, Clay reading his text...and me watching
Clay. Believe me, there is nothing better to do on a rainy Saturday
afternoon than to watch a beautiful male...of any age...whatever he may
be doing. I am so lucky to have this divine creature here with me...
and to be granted the opportunity to admire him...and to be comforted
by his presence. He is so lovely. I have the great good fortune to be
able to caress his lovely body with my eyes...well, that's a reward
beyond any I know. It is a value to be treasured.
He looks up at me, and notices how I am drinking in his every
movement and gesture. "Sorry, Cole," he says almost in a whisper,
while lowering his head and closing the book.
"Excuse me, Clay?" I shake my head. "I don't understand. Why
did you say that?"
He cocks his head to one side and looks away. "I can understand
what a shock this mmmust be for you...you know, ssseeing how badly
crippled I am and...and what a mmmmess...what a physical mmmess I am.
One arm...one leg...ssso ssscarred up and all. And all mmmy other
problems too...like this ssstuttering...my ssstupid performance in
school...my tall, ugly body...deformed...and..." It sounds as if he
starts to sob lightly.
"There is no reason to apologize Clay. I don't understand what
has brought this on. I don't understand what you're doing...or why
you're doing it. Why are you saying these things? I also don't
understand the sudden tears."
But he's not listening to what I say. "...and how thin and almost
wasted I look." He begins to choke up. "I've got so few muscles...and
what I got are so small. I'm so tall...so thin...with almost zero body
hair...and these two disgusting stumps hangin' off my body." He moves
his right arm to the top of the table. It is the first time I see it.
"Shit...what a gggoddamned friggin' mmmess!"
I cannot understand what has brought on this outburst of self-
loathing and self-criticism. I am at a loss...completely at a loss.
Here I am, sitting at the kitchen table with this terribly attractive
boy, and he is reeling off a list of his physical faults. Is this
normal? His speaks so freely and so openly about his physical...and
mental...problems. Maybe this kid has real, deep, emotional troubles,
along with deep-seated problems of low self-esteem and low self-worth.
Yes, I will admit, it is all rather true. Everything he says is
true. But...on the other hand, it is also not true, since I find him
so incredibly lovely physically, and so endearing and gentle. Is he
actively trying to turn me off...have me not pay attention to him? Or
is this a reverse ploy? Is it even a ploy? Suddenly my mind is
reeling and I'm so terribly confused by it all. This boy has me
mentally climbing the walls!
"Why are you saying these things Clay? Why are you listing these
things that are supposedly wrong with you? I mean, before we came
inside and showered, you were all bubbly and talkative and now you're
all introspective...and busy belittling yourself...and saying things
that are so obviously untrue! I'm just wondering...do you go through
some...well, you know...do you go through drastic mood swings?"
He nods. "Yeah, I do...at times."
"I understand." I push my chair slightly back from the table.
"What I still don't comprehend...and what you have not properly
explained...is why you are sitting here tearing yourself down. Why are
you so determined to make me think less of you as a person...as an
individual...and as a man?"
When I say this last part, he jerks his head up suddenly and
stares at me. I mean, his eyes are drilling right into me! Then he
starts tearing up...getting weepy. He doesn't say anything...just shakes
shakes his head, and looks down at the book again. I see tears running
down his cheek and dripping onto the textbook. He is sobbing silently.
We both sit quietly. Everything is exceptionally still. I can
hear the rain beating on the roof. Clay turns his head and stares out
of the window at the downpour. "The rain's good." He's sniffling and
is choked up. "It'll really help the plants a lot. I'm glad we're
able to get `em in the ground tttoday." He has a rather far away look.
"Oh! I forgot to mention - that shower's real great, man! I mean it's
even got such a great bench in it. It makes things so easy for me."
"Thanks. I glad it works for you. Yes, I had benches put in
every shower when I had the bathroom renovated because I figured I'll
be here for a while and I'll probably need them in a few years." I
laugh and he smiles.
I realize I'm staring at his right arm. I am still busy absorbing
everything I can about him. It seems to have been amputated about
three inches below the elbow, I guess. It has a nice taper and a
rather small, indistinct scar at the end. He keeps the stump moving
almost continually - wiggling and skittering over the surface of his
book. Again, as I did with his leg, I find the remaining portion of
his arm to be extremely pleasing - okay so I find it actually quite
beautiful - and exciting - and very, very sexy - maybe even sexier than
the leg.
Of course, I know full well that it is not politically correct to
find another person's handicap or disability or physical limitation to
be sexual alluring or beautiful - or to stare. We learn this from
earliest childhood - our parents drum it into our heads. "It's not
nice to stare." Children are just naturally curious and can become
fixated by anything out of the ordinary. Maybe because my mother never
gave me an honest, simple, straightforward answer...maybe now, forty-
five years later, it has begun to become manifest as this powerful
attraction...a fetish, if you will, although I totally abhor that word.
Before meeting Clay, I never had the difficulty...as an adult.
I never found people with disabilities particularly attractive or
desirable or interesting. I outgrew the fixation...or was it only
dormant? Now, like thousands (maybe millions) of other men and women,
I inexplicably find myself drawn to a person like Clay. Not only
because of his stunningly beauty, with that perfect boyish/manly
magnificence - but because he is disabled - an amputee - a double
amputee.
But what is the problem? I don't understand why I'm treating this
like such a large problem and a strange situation. It is all very, very
simple...simple and straightforward. I am in love with the boy. I am
in love with Clay. I love him and I want him to be with me...and to
love me in return...fully and completely.
He suddenly moves to stand. I don't want him to leave . to leave
the kitchen and go off to another room...to sulk. I place my hand on
his arm...on the stump...and rub it slowly...rub it very gently. My
sudden action does not seem to surprise him.
We look at each other again. The intensity of our gazes builds
and becomes quite powerful. Only this time it is gentler...softer...than
before. And instead of fear and anxiety, I can feel the heat...and the
inevitible building of a remarkable attraction and a tremendous passion
...between the two of us.
The End of Part 7
(To Be Continued...)
If you have any comments about this or any other story of mine, send
them to flbrothers@hotmail.com I appreciate all emails - ALL! - and
I hope to answer every one. Thanks so much.