From: an347544@anon.penet.fi (Gramarye)
Reply-To: an347544@anon.penet.fi
Date: Thu,  3 Aug 1995 21:24:32 UTC
Subject: NEW STORY!!  Ben and Mark (M/b pedo)

This story contains consexual sex between an adult and a boy.  If that
offends you, you're a dumbass who should stop reading now.

If you are not of legal age to read this, you are probably reading it
anyway.  Just note that Big Brother doesn't want you to have it.  ;)

Feel free to redistribute this story by electronic means, as long as the
header is intact and you're not making a profit on it.

On with the show.


BEN & MARK
by Gramarye

This story is dedicated to three boys who have touched my life: John,
Adam, and Joe.  You're the greatest, guys!

===============================
Part I--An Incident at the Mall
===============================

	Mark whistled happily to himself as he walked through the mall,
clutching his birthday money tightly in one hand.  He was thirteen but
small for his age, a slender, lithe boy with dirty blond hair that
continually fell into his jade eyes.  He hadn't decided where to spend
his money yet...and he didn't notice the three bigger boys following him
from a distance, eyes glued to his back.

	Mark walked into the bathroom and stepped to the urinal.  As he
began to pee he thought about how quiet the bathroom was.  Deserted.  He
had never seen the mall bathroom completely empty before.  Then again, he
had never come to the mall this early in the afternoon on a weekday
before, and it just wasn't as crowded as it normally--

	Mark's thoughts were interrupted as the door behind him slammed
open.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw three teenagers walk in.
They were sixteen or seventeen, high-schoolers, and they didn't look like
they were in the advanced classes, either.  One of them sported a leather
motorcycle jacket, and the other two wore torn shirts and jeans.  They
looked tough.  Mark suddenly regretted not waiting for the weekend and
coming here with his friends, holding on to the brief hope that they
would just ignore him and go about whatever business they had come in
here for.

	That hope faded when Mark saw that they merely stood by the
sinks, staring hungrily at his unprotected back.  His heart began to
pound, and a sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead.  His stream of
urine dried to a trickle as his testicles tried to crawl back inside his
body.  He zipped up and slowly turned toward the door, swallowing, trying
to get some moisture into his suddenly dry throat.

	"Where ya goin', kid?" one of them demanded as he turned toward
the door.

	Mark winced, and turned to face them.  There would be no easy
escape.  "I was..."  his voice trailed off miserably.

	Their leader, he of the black jacket, saw the fear in Mark's eyes
and his mouth split into a predatory grin.  "The money, kid," he said
laconically.

	Mark didn't move, furiously trying to think of a way to escape,
to avoid losing his birthday money to these thugs.

	"Don't fuck with me, kid!" black-jacket shouted in anger.  "I saw
that wad you pulled out to buy that soda.  I want it, NOW, and maybe you
can crawl out of here instead of getting CARRIED out."  He took a
threatening step towards Mark.

	From the other end of the bathroom, far back in the corner, a
toilet flushed, and everyone froze.  Mark felt a burst of hope inside his
chest--he was not alone in here after all.  There was someone else,
hopefully an adult, maybe even a cop or mall security.  He might get out
of this okay.  The three teens, for their part, were unwilling to run from
their prize, yet uncertain how to proceed.  They, too, had images of cops
and mall security.  Four sets of eyes were glued to the last stall as the
sound of its lock sliding carried across the tomb-silent room and the
door slowly opened.

	It was an adult, but just barely.  He was wearing a simple black
shirt and Levis, no uniform of any kind, and all four of the frozen boys
knew he was probably a student at the nearby college.  Mark's hopes began
to die, and the other three broke into grins.  No problem here.

	The college student looked at the tableau before him, taking it
in.  He spoke directly to black-jacket boy.  "Not big on fair play, are you?"

	Black-jacket boy, whose name was Steve, was unconcerned.  Sure,
the guy was older, but Steve was almost the same size, and he had two of
his friends.  He summoned his toughest voice.  "Whoever the fuck you
are, move on.  Mind your own fucking business and you won't get hurt."

	"I'm Ben," the guy replied calmly.  "I'm making this my
business.  I don't like three against one."

	Steve looked at his friends and jerked his head towards Ben.
Take care of him, said the gesture.  Steve stepped between the little kid
and the door; he didn't want to lose him while his buddies took care of
the idiot who wanted to butt in on the action.

	The two slid towards Ben, raising their fists.  Ben didn't move.  In
unison, they lunged at him, and Ben exploded into motion.

	He spun to the side, under the punch being thrown at him, and
came up slightly behind the puncher.  His palms connected with the back
of the shoulder throwing the punch, and he pushed.  The unprepared teen
was completey unprepared and off balance, and Ben's push added to his own
considerable momentum.  With no chance to regain his balance or recover,
he slammed into the wall headfirst and sank to the ground.

	As the first went careening into the wall, Ben was already
dealing with the second.  He used his own momentum from pushing to drop
and spin, left leg lashing out and sweeping the second teen's leg out
from under him.  He leapt to his feet and stomped the fallen youth's
ankle viciously.  There was a sickening crack, and the fallen youth
groaned sharply, his face losing all color and turning waxy.

	Steve's jaw dropped in shock, which quickly faded as righteous
anger rushed in to take its place.  His hand dove into his pocket and
emerged gripping a switchblade.  The -snick- of the blade opening was
very loud in the deserted restroom, even over the moans of his friends.

	Ben turned to face Steve, whose face was set in anger, his eyes
glittering viciously.  "You broke his leg, man.  You're dead."

	Ben did not move as Steve stalked him, weaving the blade of his
knife in slow patterns.  "Give up," Ben gently implored.  "Turn around and
leave.  I don't want to hurt you."

	For a moment--a brief, clear moment--Steve saw himself doing just
that: walking away, going home, maybe even studying.  In that one moment,
he saw a stark truth: that violence breeds violence, and that if he
didn't change his ways, he would be hurt badly one day.  His friends,
moaning on the ground, were evidence enough of that.  In that moment, he
saw that he could change his life.  Walk away.  Stop hanging out with
delinquents.  Pass tests, go to college, have a long and happy life.

	Ben saw the hesitation, saw the sudden uncertainty in Steve's
eyes.  "Go," he said gently.

	Steve turned to go, realizing he was out of his league.  This guy
was bad news, and Steve realized suddenly that he was afraid.  He had
never been afraid before, and sudden rage at his own fear filled him,
sweeping out the common sense that had been there a moment before.  He
turned back towards Ben.  "Fuck you, man," he said, and went for Ben's
throat.

	Mark still stood by the urinals.  Part of his brain was informing
him that this was his chance, and he should leave RIGHT NOW, but he was
unable to tear his eyes from the scene in front of him.  He was
fascinated by the way Ben moved, by his incredible self-assurance.  He
was completely captivated by this stranger who had come from nowhere to
defend him.

	Ben trapped Steve's knife arm as it flashed towards his throat,
stepped and twisted.  Steve's back slammed into the wall, the knife
clattering on the floor as it was knocked out of his hand by the force of
the collision.  Ben's arm shot forward, and suddenly his hand was
tight around Steve's throat.  Steve struggled to draw breath.

	When Ben spoke, his voice was still gentle, even sorrowful.  "You
had a second thought a moment ago.  You should have listened to it.
There is still time to change.  Do you understand?  You don't have to be
like this."

	He released Steve's throat, and Steve slid down the wall to a
sitting position on the floor, gasping for air.  Ben stooped and scooped
up the switchblade, dropping it in his pocket, and turned to walk over to
Mark.  As Steve saw the broad back begin to move away, his temper
demanded that he leap up and grab Ben's throat, take him from behind,
choke the life out of him.  This time better sense won out.  He didn't move.

	"Are you okay?" Ben asked Mark.

	"Yeah."

	"Come on, let's go.  I'll buy you a coke or something."  He
placed his hand on Mark's shoulder and guided him out of the battleground.



============================
Part II--"Can you teach me?"
============================


	Ben and Mark walked to the food court, making small talk.  Mark
insisted on using part of his birthday money to pay for Ben's coke.

	"If you hadn't been there, they would have taken all of it!" he
insisted when Ben protested that he had money of his own.

	Ben gave a resigned smile and graciously accepted the drink.

	They talked and drank.  Mark told Ben all about school, his
parents, his little sister, and his friends.  Ben told Mark about
college, how he wanted to be a doctor, and about his hometown.  Finally,
Mark asked the question he had been dying to ask for hours.

	"Do you know karate?  Is that how you beat them up?"

	"Not karate.  Other martial arts.  I've been studying martial
arts since I was 10."

	"Can you teach me?"  Mark asked, eyes glowing in excitement.

	Ben gazed at him thoughtfully.  "Why?"

	Mark was caught off guard; this was not an answer he had
expected.  "Ummm--" he stammered "it's cool, you know, and I, uhhh, like
martial arts, you know, and..." he trailed off, completely thrown off
track by Ben's curious stare.

	"Learning martial arts is a very serious business, Mark.  Not
like the movies."

	Mark nodded somberly.  "But look how small I am.  People will
always be able to beat me up.  If I learned martial arts, then I could
win fights."

	"There's a lot more to it than that."  Ben gazed at Mark for
several more minutes, his eyes travelling over the boy's body.  Mark's
eyes pleaded with him.  "Okay.  I'll give you my number, and you talk to
your parents.  If it's ok with them, I'll teach you."

	Mark's face split into a beautiful smile.  "Thanks!"

	Ben wrote down his number and handed it to Mark, who said his
good-byes and ran for his bike.  Ben remained at the table, watching the
boy's back as he moved away, heart pounding in his chest.

==========================
Part III--Later that night
==========================


	Mark's parents sat at the kitchen table, discussing him, while
Mark sat in the living room watching TV and pretending not to hear.
Mark's father, Bob, was a giant of a man who often looked at his son and
wondered where he had gone wrong.  The boy was small, hated sports, and
spent all his time with his computer or his books.  When he DID go out
with his friends, Bob had no idea what they did--it wasn't baseball or
football.  Nevertheless, he loved his son dearly, and tried with all his
considerable might not to let Mark know how disappointed he felt
sometimes.  Mark's mother, Debbie, was a gentle woman; a woman who
admired strength, but hated to see it used for violence.  Her first
reaction at Mark's request was a burning desire to shout "NO!"...but she
had held her emotions in check until she could speak to her husband about it.

	"I called the police," Ben said quietly.  "Those boys that jumped
him in the bathroom had all been in trouble before.  Fights, vandalism,
stealing."

	"Thugs," Debbie shook her head in sorrow.  "This is what comes of
violence.  And you want Mark to learn to FIGHT?"

	"Not fight, Deb.  Defend himself without sinking to their level."

	"Fighting is fighting."

	"I don't think so.  The sergeant I talked to was very impressed
with Mark's friend.  He said Ben couldn't have handled it any better.
When that boy pulled the knife, Ben could have killed him.  A lot of
people might have.  But there's not a scratch on him."

	"He broke another boy's leg."

	"Yeah, we talked about that, too.  Ben called the police station
and asked them to talk to that boy's parents.  He also offered to pay the
hospital bill.  The sergeant said that if HE'D been in by himself against
three more people, he would have done more than break a leg."

	"Still, Bob..."

	"There's something else.  The boy in the black jacket?  Name's
Steve.  He's the leader of that little gang.  He asked the police to tell
him how he could get his record clean, because he wants to go to a good
college."

	"Really?"

	"Yeah...and he said it's because of what Ben said to him."

	"Mmmm."  Debbie looked thoughtful.

	"Look, Deb, it'll be good for the boy.  He needs some activity in
his life.  He spends way too much time in front of that damned computer
of his.  I like the sound of this guy Ben.  I think he can teach Mark
more than how to fight.  I think he can teach him to be a man."

	Debbie looked thoughtfully at the ceiling, and then nodded once.



	Meanwhile, in a deserted college phys-ed room, Ben was working
out furiously.  The room was assigned to the various martial arts clubs
and used for the judo and self-defense classes the college offered.  Ben
had long ago impressed the teachers of the various classes enough to be
given a key to the room, and he worked out there on a regular basis--as
well as the extra workouts he did when he had any kind of stress.

	Tonight he had a LOT of stress.  He pounded the bag mercilessly,
furiously, arms refusing to get tired.  The hollow smacking of his fists
against the vinyl echoed throughout the room and down the hall.  He
switched to his feet, spinning and kicking the heavy bag with all his
might, grunting with the effort of each blow.

	He tried to convince himself that he was bothered by what he'd
had to do that day.  He tried to keep their faces in his head; one
slamming into the wall, one going into shock as his leg was broken.  He
tried to tell himself it was simple remorse at having been forced to do
violence that was creating such a tempest inside him.

	It was no use.  The faces kept dissolving, forming another face
entirely, one which was topped with fine blond hair.  He saw Mark's
brilliant green eyes twinkling at him, hinting at the warmth and humor
and mischief that lay beneath.  He saw Mark's warm, sunny smile, which
made him ache with emotion each time it was turned on him.

	"You CAN'T do this, Ben!"  he told himself savagely.  "It's
WRONG.  He wants a teacher, not a-- a--"  But he could not bring himself
to utter the word, and instead flung himself at the bag with renewed
vigor until he was too exhausted to move.

	He stood there, finally, hugging the bag for support, his attempt at
catharsis having accomplished no more than completely wearing him out.
Sweat poured off of him.  It dripped into his eyes, and he felt the sting
and told himself that's why he was crying.

	Ben's phone rang.  He picked it up to hear Mark's excited voice
chirping that his parents had said yes, that he could study with Ben,
that he couldn't wait, and could they start tomorrow?  Ben gave the
directions to his dorm room through the huge smile that had erupted on
his face.  He hung up the phone feeling excitement and pleasure--and
hating himself for it.


========================
Part IV--"Ready, kiddo?"
========================


	Mark rode his bike to Ben's dorm, wearing sweats and a loose
T-shirt, as he had been instructed.  He parked, went inside, looked at
the line in front of the elevator, and decided that the third floor
wasn't that far.  He took the steps two at a time.

	Ben answered the door immediately.  He was wearing white pants,
and Mark recognized them immeidately as karate pants even though Ben was
just wearing a normal shirt.  Ben smiled.  "Come on in."

	Mark wandered around Ben's dorm room, picking things up at
random.  He looked at Ben's trophies, from tournaments all over the
world.  He sat at Ben's desk.  He looked at pictures of Ben's family.
Finally, Ben asked him if he was ready, and led him to the practice room.

	Ben and Mark sat cross-legged, facing each other, and Ben began
Mark's first lesson.  He started with the history and philosophy of
martial arts and explained the courtesies Mark was expected to follow.
Mark gazed at him intensely, fascinated, and Ben was pleased to see that
Mark did not fidget, or interrupt, or ask whether they could just get
started.

	"Ok," Ben said at last.  "Get ready.  Go do some stretches while I
change."

	Mark pulled his shoes off sockless ankles, and Ben couldn't help
looking at Mark's beautiful feet.  The sight of Mark's bare toes filled
him with lust, and he pulled his eyes away with great effort.  He went to
the corner of the room and pulled the rest of his uniform, which Mark now
knew should be called a "gi," from his gym bag.  Ben pulled off his shirt
and with great deliberation donned the rest of his gi.  Mark's skin
tingled; he could feel the atmosphere in the room change as Ben pulled
his black belt around himself and tied it with practiced, reverent
gestures.

	When Ben turned back to Mark, he looked like an entirely
different person: intense and deadly.  Then his smile broke the effect.
"Ready, kiddo?"

	"Yes, sensei," Mark responded smartly, and Ben nodded his
approval at Mark's correct attitude.

	"Okay, place your feet like this..."  and Ben began to teach,
passing on the secrets of balance, discipline, and self-control to his
young apprentice.  All the while it took every bit of his own
self-control to keep from grabbing the boy in his arms and carressing
every inch of his body.

=================
Part V--Intuition
=================

	Mark rode the now-familiar route to Ben's dorm, backpack swinging
from his shoulder.  He had been taking lessons from Ben every day for
three months.  He had changed: he was stronger, healthier, and most of
all, more alert.  His eyes scanned left and right along the road,
noticing everything.

	He was happy.  He was always happy when he got to see Ben, who
had quickly become his best friend, but tonight he was even more happy
than usual.  His parents were having their 15th anniversary, and had
asked Ben if he would mind watching Mark for the night so they could
drive up to the coast for a night of dinner, dancing and a romantic
hotel.  Ben had been happy to agree, of course.

	Mark felt important.  How many kids his age got to spend the
night at a college?  He couldn't wait.  He felt the weight of his
backpack, heavy with his own month-old gi and his clothes for the night
and next day and his smile grew bigger as he remembered the past few months.

	He had taken to martial arts instantly and with passion.  Ben
proclaimed him a natural.  The moves were easy for him; he had a natural
balance and resolve, and once shown something two or three times he had
it for good.  Even more importantly--according to Ben and as Mark himself
was starting to learn--his mind was adept at the disciplines he was
learning.  Ben had been amazed when Mark had achieved deep meditation on
his first attempt.  Mark's newfound awareness was a source of great joy to
him; it was like seeing an entirely new world somewhere beneath the old.  He
noticed things that mere weeks ago would have seemed completely trivial
to him.

	One of the things he noticed was that Ben seemed ill-at-ease
sometimes around him, and this frightened Mark.  Ben was Mark's best
friend--Mark loved him completely.  He had thought deeply on it, but
could not pin down exactly what it was that made Ben nervous.  There
seemed to be no pattern.  Part of it, he was sure, was Ben's own
control.  The times he let Mark know he was uncomfortable were a slip on his
part, and even then Mark didn't have any hard evidence...just a vague,
intuitive knowledge.  But Ben had taught him to trust his intuition.  He
was determined, over the course of this overnight trip, to discover what
he was doing wrong and fix it.  He didn't want Ben to stop hanging out
with him.

	Ben stood by his window, watching the front of his building.  His
hands shook.  He was watching for Mark, of course.

	The past three months had been a personal roller coaster for
Ben.  On one hand, he liked being with Mark more than anything in the
world.  Aside from Mark's aptitude--he was any teacher's dream
student--Ben had fallen completely in love with the boy.  He was smart,
funny, sensitive, and caring.  Ben discovered that his college friends
didn't mean even half as much to him as Mark did.  Every time he saw
Mark's bike pull up to the bike rack out front, his heart leapt into his
throat in an ecstacy of joy; spending time with Mark made him completely,
utterly happy.

	On the other hand, he felt very attracted to Mark.  It was an
attraction that grew in strength every time they were together.  He would
watch the light reflect in Mark's eyes, or the graceful way his body
moved,  and his throat would close up in aching desire.  When Mark was
learning a move, and Ben had to step in close to demonstrate (and sometimes to
correctly position Mark's arms or legs) he would feel himself getting
hard, despite the bending of all his will to avoid it.  Lately, when he
masturbated, it was always Mark's face in front of his eyes...Mark
removing his shoes from his perpetually sockless feet...Mark stripping
off his shirt to work out, a habit he had taken up before he had gotten
his gi.  Ben had noted the gi with both relief and disappointment; it
made classes easier for him when he wasn't constantly bombarded by the
view of Mark's beautiful, smooth chest...but he damned sure missed the view.

	The problem was, Ben was utterly convinced that his feelings were
WRONG.  There was a word for people who felt like he did, Ben knew, and
it was a word that filled people with dismay and disgust.  What would
Mark's parents say if they knew how he was feeling right now, waiting for
their son to arrive?  They certainly wouldn't be asking him to watch Mark
for the night.  Ben ground his teeth in frustration.

	"Control," he growled at himself.  "You...have...control!"

	But he was losing it fast, and he knew it.

	He saw Mark come into view, and as always, his spirits
immediately lifted.  He took a look around the room, making sure it was a
reasonable facsimile of clean, and waited for the knock at the door.

	Later that night, after dinner had been eaten and they'd watched
the Simpsons in the TV room (which is a legal requirement for living in
dorms) they were sitting on Ben's bed, talking about different techniques
Mark had learned.  Ben was at one end and Mark at the other, legs
stretched across the bed and ending right next to Ben's head.  Ben was
trying very hard not to stare at Mark's legs, which was extremely
difficult, since Mark had worn very loose shorts and his underwear was
clearly visible in the gap between shorts and leg.   Ben's eyes darted
back and forth between the gap and the shoes next to him.  He thought how
easy it would be to slip those shoes off and reveal Mark's gorgeous
feet...to bathe those feet with his tongue...and then to move up Mark's
leg, up, up, up, until...

	Ben shuddered and leapt to his feet.  "Want something to drink,
kiddo?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

	"Sure.  A Coke."

	Ben went to the "kitchen"--separated from the rest of the room by
a half-wall--and pulled a coke from the fridge.  Mark's voice followed
him.

	"Ben?"

	"Yeah?"

	"Where am I gonna sleep tonight?"

	Ben's heart skipped a beat.  He fought against every desire and
said, "The floor, I guess."

	"Oh."  Ben appeared with the Coke just in time to see the
crestfallen look on Mark's face.

	"Something wrong?"

	Mark shrugged.  "When I spend the night with my other friends we
usually share the bed."

	"Oh."  Ben gave an inward groan of joy and dismay.  "You can
sleep with me, if you want."

	"Cool."  Mark grinned at him, and once more Ben felt his heart
melt.  This lovely, lovely boy...

	They sat in silence for several minutes, and Ben became aware
that Mark was watching him carefully.   He had felt Mark's eyes upon him
many times over the past couple of weeks, and even more so for the past
few days.  His intuition told him he was under scrutiny.

	"What's up?" he queried.

	"Nothing.  Hey...ummm...let's play truth or dare?"

	Ben's heart pounded so hard he thought Mark would be able to hear
it.  "Okay," he said.  "You go first."


Part VI--"Truth or dare?"


	Mark grinned slightly.  "Truth or dare?"

	Ben hesitated a moment, then took the easy option. "Truth."

	It was the moment Mark had been waiting for.  "What's wrong with
you lately?  Why do you seem so nervous sometimes when I'm around?"

	Ben felt a moment of shock, then resigned amusement.  He had
commented so many times what a natural Mark was at observing and feeling
his environment...he should have known he could not hide his discomfort
from Mark forever.  He considered all his choices, and once again took
the easy option.

	"Ummm...nothing."

	"Hey!"  Mark said, indignant.  "You can't do that.  You have to
tell the truth."

	Ben flinched, and bowed his head.  What should he do?
Conflicting desires warred within him.  He was suddenly sweating, very
nervous, very afraid.  COULD he tell the truth?  Or would it be better to
make up something believable?

	He looked up into Mark's interested eyes, and saw something else
in their depths: concern.  He made a sudden decision, focussing his
resolve.  This was the boy he loved, completely; he would not lie.  It
was time to tell the truth, and if Mark was offended, better now than
later.

	He took a deep breath.  "Mark...I--I--like you."

	Mark was utterly mystified.  "Huh?"

	Ben gritted his teeth and forced the words out once more.  "I
like you."

	Mark's look of confusion didn't change.  "I like you, too!"

	Ben gave an inward groan.  "No.  I--I--"  he stammered, looking
off into the distance.

	Mark was lost. He could see Ben's nervousness clearly: the sweat
on his brow, the stammer in his voice, the trembling of his hands.  Ben
was afraid, realized Mark, and the realization gave him a sudden chill.
He could not imagine anything that would scare Ben, who had faced down
three boys (one of them armed with a knife) without any sign of anxiety.
What was so bad that BEN was scared of it?

	"Mark, you don't understand.  I--ummm--like you like...well...
ummm, I'd rather be with you than with...girls...you understand?  I mean
girls aren't...I like you more."

	"You mean you're gay?"

	"No, not really...see, I like guys...your age."

	Mark stared at him for several seconds and then giggled.  "That's it?"

	"Huh?"

	"THAT'S what's been bothering you?  That you like me?"

	Ben blushed, which made Mark giggle more.  "Yeah."

	Mark cracked up.  "Tell me more!"  he demanded.

	So Ben told him everything.  How he had been overcome with Mark's
beauty the first time he saw him...the shiver that ran through him every
time Mark took off his shoes or his shirt...how worried he had been about
his own feelings.  Once Mark had gotten over his laughing fit he listened
with interest.

	Ben finished his narrative and waited for a response, nerves
still keyed to the breaking point, waiting to see what Mark's response
would be.

	"Well?"  asked Mark expectantly.

	"Well what?"

	"It's your turn!"

	"Oh...okay...truth or dare?"

	Mark grinned.  "Truth."

	Ben asked the question he was afraid to ask, because he was also
afraid not to.  "How does that make you feel?"

	"That you like me?"

	"Yeah."

	Mark giggled again.  "It's funny."  He saw the flash of hurt in
Ben's eyes and spoke quickly.  "Dude, I don't care.  You're my friend.
I'm not going to stop being your friend just because you want my body."
He caught Ben's eyes and flashed his warmest smile.

	Ben was unable to keep himself from smiling back, and suddenly
they were both laughing.  Finally, Mark got himself under control and
gasped out, "Truth or dare?"

	Ben smirked.  "Dare.  I don't have any truths left."

	That started Mark giggling again while he tried to think of a
dare.  He thought about what Ben had just told him.  He knew he was
supposed to feel upset and disgusted, but the truth was, he didn't feel
that way at all.  He felt intrigued.  As far as he knew, no one had ever
felt that way about him before.  No one had ever worshipped him like Ben
had.  It was a powerful, dazzling feeling, and he liked it.  What the
hell, sex was no big deal to him.  He played around with his friend Jon
sometimes, though not since Jon got a girlfriend.  Mark knew that in the
eyes of most people that was just as wrong as Ben's desires were supposed
to be, but he didn't care.  He got an idea, such a daring idea that it
left him giddy and tingling.  The grin he gave Ben was one of pure mischief.

	"First, take off my shoes."

	Ben stared at him in disbelief and excitement, then turned his
head to look at Mark's feet.  Mark wiggled his shoes at him.  Moving
slowly, unable to believe he was fulfilling one of his deepest fantasies,
Ben unlaced one of Mark's shoes and slid it off.  He gazed in wonder at
Mark's bare foot.  Mark wiggled his toes and smiled at Ben, who took a
deep breath and removed Mark's other shoe.

	Mark moved, plopping his bare feet onto Ben's lap.  "Lick my
feet," he said.

	"Huh?" said Ben, still unable to believe this was happening.

	"That's my dare.  You have to lick my feet."

	Ben shivered, a fever of desire burning in him.  He lifted Mark's
foot to his lips, breathed a prayer, and began to lick.  The taste was
wonderful, even better than he had imagined; leather and sweat and BOY,
so strong, mixed into a potpourri of smell and taste that was making his
dick harder than he ever remembered being in his life.

	Mark felt Ben's tongue caressing the bottom of his foot and his
toes, and the tingling he felt intensified.  It felt really good.  He
tried to form words for the feeling.  Warm?  Tickly?  He couldn't find a
word to describe it, so he just giggled again, and said, "Mmmmmmm."

	Ben wondered how long Mark was going to let him do this, and
decided that he'd just keep licking until Mark said something.  Hey, he
wasn't about to stop!  Eventually, Mark sighed and pulled his feet away.
"Your turn," he said slyly.

	"Truth or dare?"

	"Dare!"  Mark shot back immediately.

	Ben hesitated.  Did HE dare to say some of the things he wanted
to say?  He looked up to find Mark looking at him warmly, compassionately.

	"Ben.  It's okay.  Dare me whatever you want, I don't care."

	Ben felt his love for Mark grow even more, a thing he would have
considered impossible.  He cleared his throat.  "Okay.  Ummmm...strip
down to your underwear."

	Mark was pulling his shirt off before Ben even finished the
sentence.  His shorts followed without hesitation.  He spread his legs
out and put his arms behind his head, letting Ben see every inch of his
body, smiling all the while.

	Ben's throat tightened as he stared at Mark's beautiful body.
The smooth chest, the long, slender legs that now he could see almost all
the way up...

	"Truth or dare?"  Mark's gentle voice broke Ben from his trance.

	"Dare," Ben whispered, unable to tear his eyes away from Mark's
body.

	"Take off all your clothes," Mark said, voice even more
mischievous.  "And then take off my underwear.  And when you're done with
that, there's one more part to the dare."

	Ben didn't complain that Mark was really doing three things
instead of one.  He stood and stripped down to his boxers, then
hesitated, looking at the tent in his shorts.  He was so damned hard.  He
looked at Mark for confirmation, and saw nothing in Mark's eyes but eager
mischief.  He slowly stepped out of his boxers.

	Mark watched as Ben undressed.  The hard-on that had started
while Ben was licking his feet had continued to grow; he was now fully
hard and enjoying himself thoroughly.  He had never had this much fun,
even the times he had played with Jon.  Then again, Jon had never
worshipped his body, either.  He felt a wave of heat sweep over him as
Ben stepped towards him and reached for his underwear.

	Ben couldn't believe he was doing this.  His hands reached
towards Mark's underwear.  His face was flushed, his breathing heavy.
All of his dreams, right here before him, waiting to be claimed.  "Oh God
ohgod ohgod" was the only coherent thought in his head.

	He hesitated one final time before committing himself.  "Mark...
we shouldn't...this is wrong."

	"I want to.  You want to.  Who cares about anyone else?"

	Ben saw the logic in his statement.  Who had the right to make
decisions for them?  Who had the right to tell Ben that it was wrong to
feel the way he did, to tell him that love was wrong?  Who had the right
to tell Mark what he should do with his body?  What had Ben learned and
followed all his life, and passed on to Mark, if not control of self and
following of personal beliefs?  Would he be denied his dream by a society
that delighted in oppression?

	Thus reassured, Ben gently pulled off Mark's underwear.  For long
moments thoughts were pushed out of his brain as he stared at the
fulfillment of his fondest desires.  Mark was almost completely hairless,
and his small 4" dick was rock hard, throbbing in time with Mark's heart.

	"Ready for part three?"  They were both whispering now.

	"God, yes" Ben replied.

	"Okay...this is part three.  You have to do whatever you want to
me.  That's what I want you to do."

	Ben looked at Mark in shock.  "You're serious?"

	"Yeah."  Mark's smile was proof.  "Go for it."

	Ben took Mark in his arms and held him, and Mark returned the
embrace.  He felt Ben's arms surrounding him, enfolding him in security
and warmth...and strength.  Mark felt that strength and remembered seeing
Ben break concrete blocks with the same arms that were now wrapped around
him.  He felt a brief instant of fear.

	"Don't hurt me," he whispered.

	"I will never hurt you," Ben replied.

	Mark relaxed into the warmth.  Ben held him for a long moment, then
gently lay him on the bed.

	Ben knelt and began licking Mark's feet again, this time moving
on up his leg.  To the knee.  The thigh.  Higher.  Finally his tongue was
at the edge of Mark's balls, and with a sigh of ecstacy he drew his
tongue under them and all the way along Mark's dick towards the tip.  He
repeated the motion, licking everywhere his tongue could reach, swirling
it around the head and down, covering every inch.

	Mark sighed and gave himself over to the starburst of feelings
which had exploded within him the moment Ben's tongue touched his dick.
He moaned softly and placed his hand on the back of Ben's head, running
his fingers through Ben's hair and urging him on.

	Ben needed very little urging.  He took Mark's dick into his
mouth and began to suck, very gently at first, slowly increasing the
tempo.  Mark's fingers began to twine into his hair, to twist and pull as
climax neared.  Ben didn't mind.  The contact with Mark was driving him
crazy; pre-come leaked from his dick, and the pain from his hair being
pulled seemed remote and unimportant.  He felt Mark's body shudder and
tense, felt Mark's balls tighten, and then Mark was convulsing in
pleasure, his dick spasming in Ben's mouth.  A sound somewhere between a
groan and a scream broke through Mark's locked teeth.  He didn't have a
lot of come; just enough for Ben to taste, to feel the sweet texture.
He swallowed every drop.

	"Wow," said Mark.  "That felt awesome."

	Ben smiled at him shyly.

	"Lie down."

	"Huh?"

	Mark gave him a look of mock exasperation.  "Lie down!  I want to
do you."

	Hearing those words made Ben feel light-headed.  Half in shock,
still unable to believe this was really happening, he lay down on the
bed.  Mark pushed his legs and arms into a spread-eagle position.  "Be
still," he admonished with a sly grin.

	Mark began to stroke Ben's legs gently, laughing when Ben
twitched.  He'd never known Ben was ticklish.  He was too fond of teasing
to let the knowledge pass, and he spent several minutes seeking out
ticklish spots on Ben's body and attacking them relentlessly.  Watching
Ben squirm and struggle not to move or laugh was the funniest thing Mark
had seen in a long time.

	Finally he returned to Ben's legs and resumed stroking them just
below the knees.  He moved his hands slowly upward, nearer and nearer to
Ben's straining dick, until he was so close that Ben could feel the air
from his fingers.  Then he pulled his hands away and started at Ben's
knees again.  Ben's sharp, dismayed exclamation made Mark start giggling
again, and he repeated the process all over.  Ben's muscles would get
tighter and tighter as he got closer; Ben's face would glow with eager
need.  Then Mark would take his hands away and everything would collapse
at once, sending him into paroxysms of laughter.

	Eventually he took mercy on Ben, and continued the upward
movement of his hands until he was gently stroking Ben's dick.  Every
muscle in Ben's body tensed, and he gasped in pleasure as Mark grasped
his dick more firmly and began to jack Ben off.  Ben felt Mark shift
position and opened his eyes to see Mark's feet right in front of his
face.

	"Lick them while I do this," Mark said.

	Ben did, the sight and taste of Mark's feet driving him rapidly
towards orgasm.  Mark sensed this and slowed way down.  He wasn't ready
for Ben to come yet...they had so much more to do.  Mark found that
during the time he had been teasing Ben, his own dick had returned to its
rock-hard state.

	Mark rolled Ben onto his side, and maneuvered into a position
that had his dick next to Ben's mouth.  Ben immediately began to suck
him, and Mark sighed in pleasure and satisfaction.  He looked at Ben's
dick, right in front of his face, and tentatively licked it.

	Each thing that Mark did was driving Ben farther and farther into
ecstacy.  When he felt Mark's tongue touch the tip of his dick, he
thought he might well explode, that no feeling could be better than
this.  Then Mark swallowed as much of Ben's dick as he could manage and
began to suck, and Ben was lost in a new wave of pleasure.

	He licked down Mark's balls and under them, then moved his tongue
down into the crack of Mark's ass, wondering how Mark would react.
Mark's reaction was immediate: he spread his legs wider.  Ben dove in
with his tongue, pushing, straining to get it in as far as he could.
Mark lifted one of his legs and hooked it behind Ben's head, stretching
his hole as wide as possible to give Ben better access.  Ben delved in
deeper.

	Mark found sucking Ben was not at all disgusting, as he had first
thought it might be, but fun...especially when Ben was sucking him, too.
No wonder people spoke of "69" with such reverence!  Then he felt Ben's
tongue in his ass, and a whole new realm of pleasure opened before him.
He almost sighed in disappointment when Ben withdrew his tongue and
started sucking him again, but then Ben replaced the void with his
finger, pushing just far enough in that Mark could feel the pleasure of
it.  There was no pain.  Ben pushed against the wall of Mark's anus in
time to the up-and-down motions of his head on Mark's dick.

	Mark moaned in ecstacy, and Ben, who had been riding the edge for
long minutes now, trying to prolong this, could hold back no longer.  The
added vibration of Mark's moaning pushed him farther than he could take.
He was suddenly coming wildly.  As he shot he felt a sudden fear that
perhaps he should have warned Mark, but the boy was beyond caring.  Ben's
sucking and fingering and sudden spasm had pushed him over the edge as
well, and seconds after Ben began to come, Mark shot his second load
into Ben's mouth.

	They collapsed against each other, exhausted with pleasure.  Mark
detached himself from Ben and crawled up beside him, cuddling against
him.  They lay there for long minutes.

	"Mark?"

	"Hm?"

	"Thanks."

	Giggle.  "It was fun.  I want to do it again."

	"NOW?"

	"Uh-uh.  It would fall off if you did it again now.  Tomorrow."

	Mark paused for a second, then continued.  "And the day after,
and the day after..."

	"I get it."

	Mark giggled again.

	In a few minutes the pace of Mark's breathing became slow and
steady, and Ben knew that he was asleep.  He looked down at the
beautiful, innocent face, completely peaceful in sleep, and wondered how
he could have ever felt guilt for loving such a lovable boy.  He thought
about disentangling himself from Mark's embrace so he could shut off the
light.

	"Fuck it.  I can sleep with the light on."

	Moments later, he proved his own words true.  His breathing
slowed and his body relaxed.  He drifted off into a peaceful slumber,
holding tight to the boy he loved so dearly, his spirit at last perfectly
resolved.