Date: Tue, 15 Mar 2005 09:16:46 +0800
From: dirge  <dirge@operamail.com>
Subject: DEEP IMPACT Part 2

DEEP IMPACT: The Island  (Part 2)

Code: M/b

Disclaimer: This story contains graphic depictions of a man and a pre-
pubescent boy involved in a mutual relationship. I respect myself
enough not to hold back in my writing, and I respect the reader's right
not to continue reading this story. "Deep Impact" is an artistic work of
fiction and is thus awarded Constitutional protection under the First
Amendment of the United States of America. Any reference to real-
life characters is only fictional.

"Congress shall make no law . . . abridging the freedom of speech." -
First Amendment of the United States' Constitution.

Stanley v. Georgia, 394 U.S. 557, 566 (1969). The Court determined
that, "The right to think is the beginning of freedom, and speech must
be protected from the government because speech is the beginning of
thought."

The Supreme Court has stated the fundamental principle of the First
Amendment is that government "may not prohibit the expression of an
idea simply because society finds the idea itself offensive or
disagreeable." Texas v. Johnson, 491 U.S. 397, 414
(1989).

Other Works by dirge: Adult-Youth: "To make love"; "Andrew is
Beautiful"; "The Last Supper of Beer"; "The Hiders" (work in
progress); "Deep Impact" (work in progress)



Deep Impact: The Island (Part 2)

My dick leaked pre-cum onto the sleeping boy's tummy. It was still
early in the morning, so there was no hurry, not that there was a hurry
anyway. I could still hear the rain though it had lessened considerably.
Between Chas and I it was warm. He was so close to me, so naked, so
small. Gently I lifted the covers and looked down at his nude form. His
little back so tanned, and his dimples right above each ass cheek. His
ass itself was a marvel. Perfect in shape and size. I needed to touch it
again.

I slid my hand down and cupped right up under half of his boy-melon.
Perfectly soft but firm with youth. Carefully I wiggled my hand into
his little crack, my fingers feeling that bud of his chute. Dare I? Could
I manage without waking him? There was a way. With one leg draped
over me, Chas had opened up a slight passage just under his balls.
Slowly, so very gently I scooted down just enough; taking my
hardened prick slid it trough the passage. That, in and of itself, was
almost enough to cause me to molest him just beneath his scrotum.
The burning flesh of his inner thighs lightly pressing the length of my
cock. Now Chas, in his peaceful sleep, was skewered by my sex. It
came through just at the cherry part of his cheeks where ass meets
perineum. Using my hand I guided the snake head of my tool to the
spot I knew so well after the night before. I smeared the pre-cum that
oozed from my Cyclops-eye around his hole. Chas was still out cold.
My cock head was so much larger than his pucker, still it pressed
against his door eagerly like a lost animal trying to get in.

I moved my cock and pressed gently over his naturally distended
button with a finger. Back and forth I rubbed. In my minds eye I
pictured how I had finger fucked him the night before. Could I do that
now? Surely he would wake. I grabbed my dick and milked it into
him. I could feel the slimy substance running down his crack onto his
leg. The constant pressure from my finger was soon enough to breach
the portal. I stopped -- had I detected a change in his breathing? No.
He was still sleeping. For the moment I left my finger still. When all
was well, I pushed once more without gain, he was too tight.
Removing my finger I collected more of my natural lubricant and let it
drip over his hole. When I thought enough had made its way down I
began with my finger again. This time it slipped in easily to the first
joint. I stopped. Chas shifted in his sleep, pushing still closer against
me and lifting his leg that was draped over mine up towards his chest.
The result was a natural spreading of his ass that gave me better access
into his anus. When he had settled and continued his deep, slow
breaths I decided I could go a little deeper. I eased my finger in until I
was just over the second knuckle. His sphincter seemed to nibble and
his rectum felt alive. I'm not sure if the rhythmic thumping was my
pulse or his, but in his bottom it felt like it coursed through his body. I
imagined it resonating into his spongy flesh, into his bones down to his
toes like someone beating at the far end of a metal pipe. I began the
stirring that I had seen him do to himself. I went clockwise, and as I
approached six o'clock I nicked very lightly his prostate. Instantly his
rectum sucked my finger. It clamped down so that I could not move.
My heart stopped. Was he awake? His eyes were shut but his breathing
was now short and shallow. I decided I had better quit while I was
ahead. But as I began to pull out my finger, Chas whispered, "No,
don't take it out." I had some explaining to do. What was a boy to
think when he wakes up and finds that ass has been lubricated, and that
a man's finger is probing him?

"Chas. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to--"

"It's ok." He cut me off. "It feels so slippy back there." He squeezed
my finger in him, and I sunk it to a full depth. "Oh yeah." He
whispered. "What did you use to make it so slippery?" He asked,
looking into my eyes while he contracted around my finger. How was
I to explain that to him? The truth.

"I used my pre-cum." I said.

"What's that?" he asked. I was a little embarrassed, but I figured he
needed to know.

"It's a clear fluid that leaks out of my dick when it gets really hard. It's
super slippery. I used it on you last night when you put your finger in
your butt and when I fingered you. Remember how my finger slipped
in?" To prove my point I pulled my finger out almost all the way and
then eased back into him. He let out a little moan and squeezed down
hard.

"Oh. That makes sense." He said like my explanation  had all the
reason in the world. I could not resist, so I leaned in and pressed my
lips to his. He yawned his mouth open and my tongue traced across his
teeth then flicked in and rubbed across his tongue. At the same time I
began stirring him again. His moan filled my mouth as I grazed his
internal node.

"Oh, gees!" he broke the kiss and biting his bottom lip looked me in
the eye with a questioning sincerity.

"It's your prostate." I explained. "Guys have them to help make
sperm."

"I can't make sperm." He whispered up at me.

"I know, but you will some day. Right now it feels really nice doesn't
it?" And with that I pressed into it. His ass shot back and he humped
his now erect, boyish cock up and down my navel.

"Yeah, mmm. . ."

"You like that?"

"Yeah. Do it again to me."

And I did. I pressed twice: once lightly, and then once harder. He
giggled and sort of moaned at the same time. Like a little animal he
tried to burry his head into my shoulder. I jostled my finger in him a
little bit. He was tight, to say the least, but did not hint at any
discomfort, even when I went so deep my hand no longer had finger
length to give him. Chas, always surprising me with little innocent
movements that belied the underlying eroticism in his nature, tossed
his head just so that his lustrous hair fell across his face. He kissed me
on my chin. Of its own will my cock surged and leapt slapping his
rump. Reading my mind the boy reached back and gripped the thing
right below its head, his fingers barely touching around it's girth. I
moaned. He squeezed and a spoonful of the clear fluid ran onto his
hand. Bringing it back he examined the stuff. It webbed between his
fingers, giving them a sheen in the morning light. He smelled it and
looked at me in a manner that said there was nothing special about
that, then gingerly he snaked out his pink little tongue and licked the
substance. Again he looked at me to confirm that, really, there was no
taste.

However, to me, it was an extremely erotic moment. The ingestion of
bodily fluids, those of one's lover, indicates a comfortable acceptance
with the natural processes.

"Matt?" came the timid preliminary to another question.

"Yes?"

"When you, you know. . . Did that thing to me last night?"

"What thing, Chas? We did a few things, and I liked them all."

"Me too, but. I mean when you put your mouth on my. . ."

"On this?" I said and spiraled my finger wildly inside him.

"Oh. . . ungh! Yeah, ahhh, yeah! When you put your mouth there.
Why?" he asked. It was a reasonable question. And I had to think
carefully about my response.

"Well," I started, "when. . . ok, when two people. . .um. . . no." I really
had no response that would be adequate. "Well, you know how we do
stuff like right now my finger is inside of you making you feel good,
and it makes me feel good?"

"Yeah." he nodded and brushed a wildly strand of hair out of his face
and tucked it behind his ear.

"Well, back in America it was illegal. A man and boy could never be
allowed to touch each other like we do."

"I know, but why?"

"It was just the law. People were afraid that a man would hurt a boy."

"You don't hurt me."

"I know, but people who made the laws didn't think about that. They
only were concerned that sex between men and boys was bad no
matter what, so they made it illegal. If you and I got caught back in
America, they would have sent me to jail for a very long time." There
is no easy way to explain the law to a boy, especially when the law
was at once set up to protect but also to harm. How could I explain that
what was known as justice, was mostly a masque for hate and fear, and
just plain arrogance?

"Is it illegal here on the island?" He asked.

"Maybe. I don't know, but I know there are people on the island, who
if they knew about us would be very mad and try to separate us."

"But we promised to protect each other." He said indignantly. Our
oath in the night meaning so much more to him than what other people
thought.

"I know. But, maybe, sometimes, to protect one another, we need to be
careful about who knows about us."

"Will my mom be mad?"

"I don't know. It seems to me that your mom is a very wise woman. I
think she would understand. . .But maybe she understands that we love
each other, and I think she respects our privacy."

"Yeah, I think so, too." He agreed. "But, you know. You sucked on
me, you know, back there last night. And. . . well. . . I really liked it."

"I liked it too, Chas."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Well, first I love you and I want to make you feel good.
And I knew that would. When I hear you moan It makes me happy.
But also, it's a way to express our sexual feelings. And also you're a
boy, and I'm a man who like boys. Your butt," I said, pinching him a
bit so that he squirmed, "your butt, to me, tastes really good. There's
no hair on you and you taste fresh and new. But also salty. Chas, you
just taste good."

"Move your finger to that spot."

"There?"

"No up more." He lifted his hips and sank back down.

"Now?"

"Ouch! No. Yeah. No. No. Right there!" He grunted. Slowly I worked
around in a circle, brining him closer and closer to a dry climax. He
rubbed his cock on my hip, getting into a rhythm as my finger worked
hard on his ass.

"Chas, do you want to try something that will make you feel really
good?" He nodded, probably already thinking he was feeling good.
"Ok, lay on your back and lift your legs like last night. I pulled my
finger out of him and he gave a reluctant sigh at the emptiness in him.
I threw the blankets off onto the floor and gazed upon his nakedly
excited body. He lay back and when his ass came into view his little
hole was winking at me. I kneeled over him and taking my cock ran
the head along his crack, each time I crossed his bud I pushed in. Then
when I thought he was slick enough I positioned my head right at his
pucker. From between his calves he eyed me. My cock was huge, too
huge to take him, but just the glans. Up and down right over the spot I
rubbed and on the fifth turn I sunk in until my mushroom head was
totally inside of him. He grunted, but I had no intention of fucking
him, though this was so close as to be undistinguishable.

"Oh God, Matt! Deeper, please!" He moaned.

"Not today, little one. Not today. I'm going to do something else." At
that I grabbed my shaft and began jacking the part that was not inside
of him. I felt my balls tighten and my dick expanded, the head flared
and Chas squeaked. Then I was shooting ropes of cum that never saw
the light of day, for they entered Chas. My cock drained, I milked the
last into him. Chas looked at me with a sort of stupor on his face, his
eyes squinted like a content kitten. My cock weakened and I let it drop
against my legs. Chas looked down at it. I reached between his legs
and fondled him. He had gone half soft. I pulled his foreskin back,
then squeezed his balls. But this  morning was for his anus. From his
nuts I ran my hand down between his cheeks. My finger at his hole. I
pushed and it slipped in with a slurp. Chas opened his mouth but made
no sound. My cum coated his rectum walls. He was sopping. How
much? I though, how much on his first time? Pulling out I pressed two
fingers together and inserted just the tips. There was little resistance,
the boy was so relaxed. Slowly, Slowly, all the way to the bottom. I
stopped and wiggled them up against his prostate. He shoved his head
back into the pillows and I felt his anus contract. When the spasm
passed there was a slackening sensation in him.

"I feel it." He whispered, and timidly explored around his entrance
with his own fingers. This was a very sexy move by him, the boy
curious as to how his ass is being treated explores for himself the place
and object of penetrating. I pulled out of him slowly. Some of the cum
bubbled over with a tint of brown and ran down is crack. I took his
fingers and pressed two together. I guided him to his hole. He felt
around, the volcano was large and distorted. Then with a grunt
"Ungh!" he  hilted his fingers. Smaller, they almost fell into him with
a sloppy sound. His little toes curled and then of his own accord he
jerked out and  pressed three fingers together and slopped them back
in. "Ungh! Ungh! Ungh!" he moaned. I watched hypnotized while he
almost violently rammed himself. "Matt!?" with desperation in his
voice. "Please!" he just couldn't do it, physically or emotionally. His
fingers were too small and with three pressed together to make him
bigger he could not get the depth or angle that he wanted, needed. He
was jabbing his innards with force now then, before my eyes, both his
hands were back there, fingers slipping in as he tried to pry his
slippery hole open. Finally he got his two middle fingers hooked and
pulled wide. He looked at me with a glisten of sweat on his brow.
"Matt, please, do it." My heart melted. I could not deny him. And with
two fingers I shoved into the open maw at the center of his little,
gyrating ass. But gentle I was not, slamming home to the prostate,
flicking it then continuing with a proper finger fuck of  my little lover.
"Oh yeah. Eee aaa uuuu eh eh eh!!!" the noises that emanated from the
back of his slender throat were a combination of vowels and guttural
gurgles. Each sound letting me know he felt it, that it was good for
him. Finally, his legs dropped, splayed wide to give me correct access
to his opening. They were just tired and he couldn't hold them up
anymore. But he made sure, whether by conscious effort or animalistic
need for pleasure, that the finger fuck continue. He maneuvered his
hips and butt in such a way that there was no impediment to the sex he
was having.

The smell was erotic, addicting, that of my musky cum and  his own
boyish odor, a light scent of flesh, sweat, and some sort of secretion
from his internal cavity. Between his gurgles and moans, could be
heard the rhythmic slap of my fingers engaging his center, and then a
very quiet sucking sound as I pulled out.

The sight was one to see. A boy and man naked upon a white bed. The
boy in a sort of sacrificial position, spread eagle with a raised rump,
and the man kneeling between his legs driving a hand under him, two
fingers tightly lodged and the boy's body moving up and down: up
with the force of the intrusion into his hole, shoved up by the hand of
the man, but then when the man pulls out the boy himself tries to
follow the phallic fingers by dropping his hips. With his free hand the
man takes the limp cocklet and jacks it to erection. The boy's eyes
grow wide, over stimulated, over sexed, wanting the pleasure in his ass
but also wanting his own cock to be manipulated.

Poor Chas didn't know from which direction the pleasure was coming.
I see his tongue flick across his lips, he eyes his cock in my hand but
also urges me on with the down thrust of his hips. I resisted the urge to
drop on him and kiss him. To savage him with my mouth while I grind
my cock and balls against his and bring him to a traditional orgasm.

Finally it was Chas who decided for me. With a loud groan he pushed
my hand away from his cock, and in the movement of pure grace, with
gymnastic ability he lifted his left leg to his chest and rolled over on
the spike of my fingers, pulling both knees to his chest and arching his
back so that his little ass pushed towards me. So erotic, I could have
just slipped into my young lover with my cock that was now
recharged. He had given himself up to the anal stimulation, the other
being too much with what was already being done to him back there.

"Maaaatt.do..me..harder..ungh!" he got the words out as if by
extreme effort. And I knew my duty. Like with Colt, I had started
something that from here after I must take care of. I knew Chas was
feeling incredible pressure, the build up of friction inside of him, the
assault on his little prostate, his loose, now almost yawning sphincter.
All this added to what he needed. Increasing my tempo to an
impossible speed, I determined to bring him off. His grunts grew
louder and his fleshy tube was spasmodic; it trembled. Suddenly, but
with ample warning he was there. At that spot that only a boy can
know, balancing somewhere as if in perpetual tipping, but falling to
the neither side. If I wanted to I could keep him at this point for a long
time, long minutes, maybe an hour, but this was just introductory ass
sex for Chas, later we would go into detail.

A young boy having an anal orgasm is miraculous, but at the same
time violent, savage, and somehow erotically lewd. It's all in his ass,
deep in his ass. Especially when he's so young that he cannot ejaculate
semen, all is focused on making something deep in him "ejaculate" for
the sole purpose of sexual fulfillment, not procreative instinct. Though
the unconscious animal drive toward selfish pleasure is a factor, there
is a conscious understanding in little boys who take it up the ass. They
know something about what happens in them that, I think, the world is
not privy too. Sometimes his little erection is hard and when he comes
he cums in his cock, shaking in dry spasms, but this time, at least for
Chas, he is soft, and he knows it. It's not about that part of him, its
about something else, something about his tummy and his muscles
locking, something about his butt that he is sure of yet simply cannot
name, does not possess the vocabulary to name.

I am relentless. I have stopped the fucking and have lodged deep in
him now. Still save for a rough diddling of his prostate gland. Then he
cums. I know he does this because first of all he is crying into the
pillow little curse words, "fuck" is among them, and  little squeaks, but
also this ass tunnel vibrates uncontrollably, then stops and then pushes
in waves like he is taking a huge shit. Trying to shit out my fingers. I
hold on and after a bit it passes. His rump relaxes and drops from its
receptive posture to his ankles. I pull out of him carefully. There is no
resistance. My fingers are gooey. I wipe them on his flank. The little
volcano his no longer. Now just a pucker that gapes open, and winks at
me. Forcefully I take his legs and pull them out from under him so that
he is lying on his stomach and this smooth globes close to protect the
ravaged hole. I lay down next to him, trying to get close to him, to
protect him from the feelings that he is undoubtedly having.
Insecurities about so much, from his sexuality, to what exactly he felt,
to confusion as to what release he liked more, penile or anal. Or,
maybe he is just exhausted. I caress his little back, run my hands over
his buns, down his legs, back up over his buns. I lift his hair from  his
neck and kiss his nape. I kiss his back. I lay down and behind him try
to pour my warmth into him.

His internal dialogue must also be filled with questions about me.
About us. I a man, he a boy. How I inserted the head of my cock into
his ass and shot a load that I then used as lubricant to finger fuck him
to orgasm. I am his vowed protector, and he mine, but simultaneously
I am a sexual object, one who commits sex on him, who sexes him up
and brings him off. If he was unsure before this morning's bout, from
now on every gesture I make and he makes to me will be filled with
the knowledge that sex is an inevitable possibility. That I am the one
who he knows can bring him to bliss. That it is me, the man, who has a
large cock who desires to touch the boy. A man he now knows whose
intention, though noble, are also sexual. He realizes that the word,
even if he does not know it yet, is lover.

I rub again over his smooth hump of an ass. What a perfect marvel.
But he will never think of his ass in the same manner, as something
that just shits. From now on he knows that his backside can cause him
such pleasure. It will be immediately evident in his posture, he will
take care to know who is privy to that part of him. He will be self-
conscious about how he displays his butt, knowing that that which
came is also a sexual organ, and that in his jeans or shorts it is a very
obvious sexual organ. And he has a power over it with others who also
know this. Me, for instance. Colt, after have his first powerful anal
orgasm, the life changing one, always knew how to drive me nuts. He
wore pants that displayed what he had. At times he wore shorts that
outlined him well. Once we went to the mall and he was wearing a pair
of soccer shorts from the year before. They were not small, but fit just
a skosh tighter than was the current fashion. And then a tight t-shirt. I
quickly noticed that he was not wearing underwear, this causing his
already pert butt to be boldly displayed, as the silky nylon fabric
drapped over each firm globe, at times falling into his crack. I found
myself overly protective of him. Looking to see who noticed him, and
he was noticed. A few men looked with hungry eyes. A girl or two
espied him. Even a boy or two watch wide eyed as he pranced around.
I was aroused the entire day, knowing that just beneath that fabric was
the ass the night before I had plowed, that I had dropped up and down
my shaft, not once but a handful of times. Then the security of dark
cinema; we watched some adaptation of a comic book. But in the high
corner we barely noticed the movie. My hand slipping up the leg of his
shorts to grip his little cock and then he pulled the shorts up higher and
his ass was in my hands. And somewhere during the movie he said he
was scared so he climbed in my lap and we fucked quietly and slowly,
his anus somehow pre-lubricated.

Coming back to the present I squeeze his butt, Chas looks at me. I
wonder what he will do to make sure he gets what he needs?

"You ok?" I ask.

He nods. "I really went crazy, huh?"

"You were perfect." I say. "You were so sexy."

"I just couldn't stop." He meekly pipes. "I.it felt so good."

"I know. It is supposed to."

"I feel really loose back there."

"You are. When we do that you go loose, so I can." I pause. We had
done so much but talked about so little.

"So you can fuck me." He finish my sentence matter-of-factly.

"Yeah. So I can fuck you." I whisper. I bring my lips to his. Our kiss is
passionate but soft, full of our exhaustion. When I try to pull away he
locks my bottom lip and I dive back onto his little mouth. Sucking his
own bottom lip, so full, so perfect. And when he tries to pull away I
have his lip held gently between my teeth, so now it is his turn. He
drools into my mouth. I'm filled with his saliva and  his taste. I
swallow deep, wanting to keep his gift. He tongues me and I suck it
like it is his cock. Then we brake mutually and look into each other's
eyes.

"Wow." He whispers.

"Yeah, you kiss real good." I tossel his hair.

"I'm hungry." He says.

"We should shower. And go eat at your place."

He gets up and walks exotically to the bathroom. His butt, that perfect
dewdrop, small and compact, at the same time so shapely. My boner is
angles up as I get out of bed. He turns and reveals his own hard cock.
We shower. I wash him clean in the hot water. He jacks me until I
come all over him and have to wash him again. We are all laughter.
When I wash his ass he goes silent and opens up to me. I give a slap
and say no more right now. He scowls at me, but soon giggles as I
drop to my knees and suck his own iron tool into my mouth. He cums
quickly. Of course we kiss. We get out and dry and Kiss, we always
kiss.

He retrieves his shorts and slips them over his rump. His t-shirt lays
ripped on the floor. I give him one of mine, and then put a sweater
over him as it is cool out. I am afraid of leaving the house with him.
He looks like he spent a night having sex, he absolutely glows. And
wearing my clothes it is obvious that I am the man who sexed him.

. . .

The rain had drenched the island. A small creek formed during the
night and now carried water down to the beach, it also had eroded
parts of the cement walkway. There would be plenty of work come
Monday. I noticed a two large palms had blown over in the night, but
residences were secure, solidly built.

Halfway to his house it was impossible to keep little Chas dry under
the umbrella, so I hefted him into my arms as he locked his bare legs
around my hips. In this manner I could shield both of us from the rain,
even if it was slightly uncomfortable for me. Chas, despite his light
weight, made me top heavy. I slipped my hands under his rump to hold
him closer. At this he giggled and kissed my neck.

"Chas not out here!" I said exasperatedly, and had no recourse but to
squeeze his little rump.

"I can't help it." He said, sort of pouting. "Beside, we're the only ones
out in this crappy weather."

I giggled at his use of expletives. "I know, but still. We need to be very
careful."

"Well, you're the one with your hand on my butt, mister!" It was true,
I could not help but fidget his shapely little derriŠre. "Ok, fine!" he
humphed, and in ending his game nipped my earlobe very hard.

"OW! Fuck!" He was all giggles, the little imp.

"You swore!" he said and laid his head on my shoulder.

"Well you tried to eat me!"

"Well maybe now we're even!" he sassed. I got is sexual innuendo and
could not help but smile. After last night it would take a lot more than
a nip from the lovely boy to recover what I had eaten of his ass.

"Listen, hold still." I jumped over a puddle. I could see his place up
ahead. "Almost there, I said."

"Matt?"

"Yeah?"

"I got a boner."

"Well, just don't think about it." I said, but I myself was feeling his
little shaft pressing into me.

"It's not my fault. It's cause you're holding my butt like that." My
fingers were digging in to him. It was almost impossible not to, with
one hand full of the umbrella, I only had one had to support. And on
top of that, because he insisted on wearing such accessible shorts, the
material had pulled aside and what my fingers were sinking into was
not the cotton but the crack of his bobbing little ass. And ever so
lightly I grazed his still loose little bud.

"Sorry I said. Just when we get to the door make sure you keep the
sweat shirt over your, you know what."

"My dick?"

"Yes, that." We reached the door and the dry safety of the entry way.
Anne had dropped the storm door so it was necessary to ring her so
that she knew we were out there. Each living unit was supposedly
"equipped" to withstand a mild nuclear explosion. I wasn't sure about
that, but they were well built and could surely keep out the weather. I
let Chas down and he modestly covered himself. As I was reaching up
to ring he pulled my hand away.

"Not yet." He said. Looking at me seriously. "Look." he said, pointing
to the section of buildings in front of us that formed the industrial units
that ran in a circle as the second ring around the GC building and
courtyard. I looked but there was nothing to see, just he backs of the
buildings stared blankly at us.

"I know he said." Looking quite serious. And with that, almost with
out movement, but in a way that held my heart from pumping blood,
he pulled off my sweat shirt and let it drop to the cold concrete.

"Chas." I started, but hadn't the ability to go on.

"Shhh." He said lifting a finger to his lips, twinkle in his eye. His
shorts fell effortlessly to his ankles, and stepping out of them and out
of his flip flops he was rawly naked.

"Chas. Not here. Not now." I drank in the sight of his tanned body in
the gray morning. His soft and boyish flesh in juxtaposition to the
grainy concrete wall, the cold cement, and the damp humid day was
eerily erotic.

"Matt, you don't know." He said, his little hand going to his cock.
"Just do me real quick. Please!" I could not resist. I reached out to
him. His flesh was warm but he was covered in goose bumps. I
thumbed his dark little nipples that were almost the same color of his
tan. He moaned. There was something very illicit, dangerous, about
pleasuring the boy on his very own doorstep, with his mother right
behind the storm door. It could open at any instant.

"Oh, Chas." I moaned and sunk to my knees in front of him, sliding
his very rigid penis between my lips. My hands rubbed up his legs,
only stopping when is little ass fell into my grip.

"Matt! Yeah!" and then be began his little grunts. My fingers
burrowed into his crack. Finding the precious button that was
considerably smaller than an hour ago, I slid my middle finger deep
until it hilted in him. He was not slick back there, but I still managed
to go into him easily. No time to waste, I sucked faster and harder
while flicking his prostate. The result was instantaneous: his little cock
twitched, his butt clenched, and he was rocketing in a dry orgasm. His
knees suddenly going weak he slumped and fell full weight on my
finger in him, with my other had I caught him and held him to me.
"Oh my little lover. Your little body can only take so much, can't it?"
he whimpered at me in response. Looked up and smiled.

"Thanks. I needed that." Our lips met in a soft, tender kiss. We pulled
apart. I stepped back, sliding my finger out of him and sniffing it
before slipping it in my mouth, tasting his inner body one more time.

"Lets get you dressed." I picked up his shorts and slid them up his
coltish legs. Over his slender hips. I suddenly noticed how small he
was. So light of bone, well muscled but not bulky, not a waste of flesh
on his body. Next I pulled the sweat shirt over him and he slipped his
boy feet into his flip flops. I looked back out at the dismal buildings,
no one was to be seen. "Well then, are we ready now?" I asked. He
nodded, chewing on his bottom lip.

I rang the bell. It was a minute or two and then the intercom: "Yes,
hello?" came Anne's drowsy voice.

"Hey. It's us."

"Oh great. Hold on." There was pause then a buzz, then the gears in
motion started sliding the door up. We walked through the entryway
onto a porch area, the inner door was opened and Anne was standing
there in her bathrobe.

"Mom!" cried Chas in boyish exuberance and jumped into her arms.

"Hey there, love" she kissed his head and inhaled his clean smell.
"Mmmm, smells like someone got you to take a bath."

"It was him!" Chas pointed at me.

"Well I wonder how he did that?!" Anne teased. I was a little
embarrassed, if she had any idea!

"Really, I'm not in the habit of taking in little urchins and bathing
them, but this one was so cute and bedraggled, I didn't have the heart
to deny him." They both giggled at that.

"Come in, Come in. I just put on coffee. Have you guys eaten."

"Nope, we haven't eaten anything." Chimed Chas, "We're starving."

"Lets see." Anne said absent mindedly. A healer and doctor, yes. A
cook, no. Anne was not one for being handy in the kitchen. I wondered
if that explained the absent husband, a topic she had not discussed with
me, and one I felt I had no business questioning, as she had never
asked me about my status as a single man.

"Allow me." I said.
"Oh, I thought you would never ask." She said. In no time I had started
a large batch of fluffy scrambled eggs, toast, ham, and a fried plantains
dipped in cinnamon. During all this Chas disappeared and returned
only when I was putting the food on the table. He had changed into
short white soccer shorts that looked like they came from the 70s, a slit
in the side that revealed his lustrous skin that was lighter than the rest.
It looked like he had tried to do something with is hair, but it was still
wonderfully independent. He still wore my sweatshirt, that was several
sizes too small for me, one I had kept because it was Colt who always
lounged around my apartment in it, sometimes all naked and all boy
except for that old shirt. Chas had bunched the sleeves up above his
elbows.

"Let's eat." I said. Sitting down and sipping my coffee. Very good
coffee.

"Matt!" Said Anne suddenly. I looked up shocked. Looking over at
Chas to make sure he still had his clothes on. He did, thank God.
"Your ear, it's bleeding." I reached my hand up and my finger came
away with a spot of blood.

"Oh, damn." I said walking over to the mirror. Not much blood, some
just enough had smeared to make it look worse than it was. "Hmm,
must have been a bug or something." I mumbled, looking sternly at
Chas's reflection.

"No biggy. Just let me get a swab and a little Band-Aid." Anne got up
and left the room. I took the opportunity to look accusingly at Chas.
He grinned widely at me and then stuffed his mouth with some eggs,
biting down and baring his teeth. The little devil had marked me. I
could not help but love him. When Anne came back Chas pretended to
be absorbed in his plate. She quickly swabbed my lobe with alcohol
and stuck a little adhesive shaving tape on it. "There, she chimed."

"Uh, thanks." I said bashfully.

"Oh, it's probably nothing she said, but I haven't had time to catalogue
the insect life on this island. I don't think there is anything that can
harm you, but better safe than sorry."

"Yeah." I agreed, looking at the boy sitting across from me. "You
never know." Chas had to sip his coffee to keep his mouth silent.

I decided it was time to veer away from that subject. "So, what was it
you wanted to get my advice on?"

"Oh!" she said. "I almost forgot. I have decided to run for the council."
She looked at the both of us, and both our mouths fell open.
Unbelievable. Anne already was over worked and now she wanted to
enter politics.

"That's great." I sipped my coffee before adding, "But aren't you full
up with the clinic?"

"Yes, but I can make time." She paused to take a bite and sip her
coffee. Then somberly added, "I think it's a good opportunity. I'm
well known because of my position."

"Yes, I have no doubt you could win, but." I paused and looked at
her. "Anne, you barely eat as it is."

"Matt, I thank you for your concern but I'm a big girl. And trust me,
politics is not my game, but something's been bugging me since that
meeting the other day." She gobbled down some toast with a jam and a
plantain. "You know that Dr. Reed character?"

"Yeah. I don't like him." I added instantly. She nodded.

"I heard him, sort of, in conversation with Dr. Phelps, one of the
surgeons. Matt, he said he was going to run. Or, that was the tone of
the conversation anyway."

"He does seem like the political type." I said.

"Yeah, but I don't care if he runs. Or normally I wouldn't care. I don't
like politics at all. But we're not in Kansas anymore."

"Meaning?" I ventured. her tone carried a certain foreboding.

"Meaning, Dr. Phelps is a good surgeon, probably the best, but he has
a history." I looked and nodded for her to continue. "He was part of
the early rightist movement after Bush won the election in 2004. He's
a very conservative Christian and he was at the forefront of
proposition H."

My stomach churned. I was no longer hungry. "You mean the
proposition H?" she nodded. Proposition H was a controversial law
enacted back before the catastrophe. I remember it distinctly, the one
issue that signaled to me America was no longer a place that
represented freedom. It prevented Homosexuals from voting. Thinking
back on it, it sounded ridiculous, but after the attack in the malls the
Republicans became a proto-nazi organization headed by Karl Rove
and his evangelical flunkies.

"Yeah, I think you should run." I said looking at her then at the lovely
Chas who pretended to be occupied with his meal.

"But what many don't know about Phelps is what he did to help
Rumsfeld and the Attorney General's office with Patriot Act III."
Anne added.

"I don't know much about that. I sort of dropped out of caring about
politics after prop H." I admitted.

"I know, most clear thinking people did, too. But it makes since.
Because of the secrecy clause in the Patriot Act that was added by
congress right after the election, Phelps's work was protected from the
public."

"What do you mean, what kind of work?"

"Matt, he had a eugenics plan."

"A what?" I vaguely understood what eugenics was but. . .

"He pioneered research in finding the homosexual gene. Not only that,
but I feel he did some very unethical experiments during his career.
But that's another story. What he did was to nail down the marginal
genes. He found the gay gene, the pedophile gene, as he called it, the
transvestite gene; he found them-or so he claimed. Medicine was so
political, it was like it was being run out of the White House. He
convinced the Bush administration to in act an executive order that all
babies needed to be tested, in fact any child under five years old."

"Ok, so. . .they couldn't vote anyway." I said.

"I know, but what the Patriot Act did was to equate these genes as
being incompatible with American values. In the wording of the act
that equated gays, babies, infants, children who carried these genes
with terrorists."

"My God." I managed to say. My mouth had gone dry, my hands were
shaking. She nodded.

"Matt, they wrote an extermination agreement into the Act. That
means they were allowed to, well, let's just say they were allowed to
take care of whoever fell under the banner of--."

"You mean they could find these kids, five years old, and take them
and." I stopped short. I didn't want to believe that it was possible.
Not in America, not even in Bush's and the neo-Conservatives' fascist
America.

"That is exactly what I mean." Outside the window it was raining
again. I sipped my coffee.

"And you think this Phelps guy and Reed know each other?"

"They seemed very friendly when I overheard them. But, I just can't
take that chance, If I can do anything, I have to." She said.

"I support you." I said. "What can I do to help?"

"I'm not sure yet, but I'll let you know. You are already helping out so
much with Chas. I know it will be hard on him because I'm just going
to be more busy, more occupied." With that she leaned over and kissed
his head. He looked at her and kissed her nose.

"Anne, anything. Chas, you. You're both like, like family to me. And
I'm very fond of Chas, he can stay at my place or whatever you need
just let me know. Need campaign signs, I'm quite the artist."

"Me too!" Piped Chas. "I want to help."

"Oh, you're both great. But listen, we're keeping this on the low down.
I expect Reed is going to announce his candidacy soon, probably at the
harvest festival. I need to wait for him to do that. I don't want to
undercut him right out the door."

"Anne, does this Dr. Phelps know that you know about his past?"

"No. And we need to keep it that way. I know more about his work
than he could possible know, but also, that's not my area of specialty,
or at least he thinks so." Anne added with a content smile. She was
really a marvelous woman. And if I were the type I might even make a
move on her. But, Ah, beautiful Chas!

.

Chas reluctantly agreed to sleep at his own place tonight. I spent the
day talking and hanging out with him and his mom. The boy Chas was
a delight to my eyes. Every chance he got he snuggled up to me on the
couch, wrestled with me, rubbed up against me. Anne had retired to
her study for awhile and when he heard the door click he shot me a
wicked stare. I shook my head no, but he nodded yes. Again I shook
my head and no. He stood up on his trim legs across the room. I could
lightly see a blue outline beneath his the white thin fabric of his soccer
shorts. Lifting up the front the sweatshirt he pulled down the front of
his shorts and showed me the tight blue speedo he was wearing. I
could see the little hump of his erect penis trapped snuggly in the
fabric. He lowered his hand and started running it over his front,
squeezing and tugging himself beneath the fabric. I shot a glance
towards the study door. Chas had turned around and lifted the shirt to
show his ass, held tight, it was the perfect shape beneath the fabric. My
eyes widened as he worked the tight covering off of his ass, gradually
a but cheek emerged then his fingers slipped in and I could tell he was
probing around his anus. Suddenly he flopped on the floor and spread
his legs, his finger digging into a spot I could not see, his other hand
rubbing his penis. In a moment his movements became jerky and I
could tell he was approaching an orgasm. Then he was bucking and
now both hands were massaging his crotch. Then he was still, and
flushed. He got up, straightened his clothes and sat next to me on the
couch. "No thanks to you." He whispered with a smile on his face. I
leaned over and kissed him.

I left the house with Chas watching me go from his doorway. If I could
I would have run back swept him up and stolen him home with me.
But tonight I needed some sleep.

Six days passed without seeing Chas. He was on some sort of camping
trip organized by the education committee. The weather had cleared
and the days were warm and hazy, so they should be enjoying
themselves. I thought of his hunger for sex and wondered if he
masturbated at night thinking of me. Or, worse, had he found a young
playmate with one of the other boys. My paranoia was my own. I was
aching for him. I became moody. During the nights I envisioned his
hard little body, his ass parted, the taste of him. But I did not jack off; I
saved myself for him, knowing that he would be hungry for me when
he returned. After the storm there was much to repair. On the fifth day,
the day before Chas would be home, I was working late in the shop.
Almost caught up I decided to just finish off.

"Late night, huh?" the familiar voice came from the doorway. I was
slightly startled.

"Al! Where you been keeping yourself?"

"Oh, they've had me at the water plant repairing circuits. They spent
about fifty mil on that place and didn't even bother to check and see if
the electrical was watertight."

"I know." I said, "They've had me repairing filters all week." I
motioned to the corner where a panel from the filtration system lay.

"You working tomorrow?" he asked. I shook my head no.

"No, I'm taking it off. Chas is coming back so I thought I'd get in a
long weekend. Besides I've pretty much finished up here."

"That's good. Tomorrow I hear there is to be a briefing on the weather
we've been having." He said.

"That's odd. I would think they'd wait until a Saturday."

"Go figure." He shrugged. "But I'm interested in finding out if they
have any idea about low cloud cover."

"Why's that?"

"I got my little gadget up and running. And I'm not hearing anything,
too much atmosphere intervention. The best time to listen is at night
when the sun goes down. Back before the dust cloud you could pick up
a skip from China."

"Nothing, huh?"

"Well, there's life out there. Two days ago some ham was
broadcasting country music, but he didn't identify. Just the music. It
could have come from anywhere. I was going to call you, but then it
went off."

"Well that tells us that someone is out there. I mean, his antenna is up,
he has a source of electricity." I suggested. Al nodded.

"Or it could be a she, you know a third of all hams are women." He
corrected me with humor.

"Well pardon me." I said picking up my solder gun.

"Yeah, it does show that the ham has a source of power, but for all we
know he, or she, could be wired to a bunch of truck batteries."

"Don't these short wave users talk all the time? I thought there'd be a
bunch of 'chatter'."

"Me too." He admitted. He rubbed his hand through his salt and
pepper hair.

"It doesn't sound good." It was more of question than a statement.

Al shook his head. "I don't know. There's a reason them hams aren't
talking. Usually you can't shut them up. It could be the dust cloud, it
could be a lot denser than we imagined and out here in the ocean we
just ain't getting the skip. Or."

".It could be something else." I finished.

"But what?" he asked more of himself than me.

"I don't know. It could be anything. Think about it. You're on the
mainland. Civilization has just been wiped clean. You're looking at a
nuclear winter. No food. Maybe no fresh water. Right now the one
concern is the basic needs."

"Staying alive." Al said. I nodded. "I guess we're staying alive. Damn,
I feel so isolated here. I wish I'd never come here."

"I know what you mean. What's worse, being here and knowing
nothing, or being out there?" He nodded his solemn agreement. "Did
you ever figure out anything about that recording device I gave you?"

"Oh yeah! Neat little bugger. Got it recording right away. Plus there's
a program that allows me to go through and listen to data spikes, and
I'm writing a program of my own to see if I can't rig it up to
automatically scan. Right now I have to turn the dial by hand."

"Well we just need to keep our ears open." I said as Al was leaving.

"Yeah, I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'll be there." I said. I packed up shop, shut the lights and locked the
storm door when I left. The night was humid. I looked up half
expecting to see stars. Nothing but blackness. I decided to cut through
the center back to my apartment. There were still people out and about.
Slowly I was beginning to recognize our small population. A few
ladies, I knew them be nurses, were gossiping around a park bench.
The library was still open and a man left carrying a arm full of books.
He was an English professor and I had been meaning to talk to him as
I had an interest in literature, but I let him go as he seemed to be in a
hurry. I mused at our funny little population. When they had gone
through the selection process they had wanted to pick the best of the
best for the great "Arc". I wondered if they took into consideration that
such a group of people had their idiosyncrasies, sometimes antisocial
even?

From the far corner of the square I heard the thump, thump of a drum
and someone playing Counting Crows on the guitar. I strolled over to
investigate a group of two teenage boys and a couple girls. They were
laughing but quieted as I approached. I could smell the distinct scent
of marijuana. It made me sad. Reminded me of Colt and how he would
sit out on my fire escape smoking and watching the city pass. He said
it made him think. He was young and experimenting. A few times I
would take a hit, just watch it with him, but mostly when I was stoned
I looked at Colt. He asked me once why I always stared at him, and I
answered in my drug induced stupor that it was because he was
beautiful. He looked at me like I was out of my mind, then smiled,
blushed and hugged his legs to his chest.

"Hey man." One of the boys said.

"Hey." I said.

"We weren't causing any trouble." One of the girls said.

"Hey," I said lifting my hands up to show that I was innocent, "I ain't
busting your asses. I just heard some sweet riffs and decided to check
it out."

"Oh, yeah?" The kid with the guitar said and played an intro to a song.

"Sweet." I said. "You're good."

"Had a band." He said.

"No shit?" I said. I was still a rebel at my age, never really buying the
maturing bullshit. And with Colt as my teacher I had learned some of
the contemporary teen colloquial.

"Yeah. Buuut it's aaaallll washed awaaaay now." He sang. The other
girl had two bongo drums in her lap and she tapped a lonely rhythm.

"Fuck." I said, "We all got washed away."

"What you do, man?" asked the kid who looked to be the youngest. He
was wearing an NIN t-shirt and had a stud above his left eyebrow that
caught the street light just right and reflected it like a ruby.

"Me, oh, I ain't no one special. I'm a machinist."

"No fucking shit?" said the kid. "That means you can make shit
right?"

"Yeah, I won't brag, but I'm pretty damn good." I said looking at the
kid. My heart went out to him because he possessed the same eager
posture as Colt. He was lean and had fine features, innocent eyes that
sparkled a constant challenge and short hair that was dyed coal black
and held all messy by mouse or gel. He wasn't tall, maybe five-seven,
five-eight, and looked to be no older than fifteen.

"Could you make a piercing?" he asked.

"Like an earring?"

"Yeah. Or a nose ring?" he added.

"Is the pope catholic?" I bragged. "Back in NY they used to call me
Painless Steel." The kid reached into his shirt pocked and pulled out a
joint.

"You dig?" he asked. I looked back over my shoulder. We were safe.

"Yeah, I dig." He patted the bench next to him. They all introduced
themselves to me. The guitar player was named Rick from Philly. The
girl at the drums was Sue from Chicago. The other girl that looked to
be Rick's chick was Andrea from St. Paul. And the boy who reminded
me so much of Colt was Seth from Boise.

"No shit, Boise?"

"Why, you know it?" he asked passing me the joint after he took a
long drag. I took a deep hit and held my breath.

"My dad lives in Montana." I said coughing out smoke. The weed hit
me hard, the music seemed to travel through the air. "Fuck, that shit
dank." I said handing him the cig.

"Yeah. It could be the new currency on this fucking rock pile." I
laughed out loud, mostly because I was getting stoned, but also
because it was true. The little experiment was fundamentally flawed.
So far we had on this island, a single mother who's ten-year-old son
was the willing sex partner of a boylover, an underground rightwing
faction, and now at least one young pothead who looked to be an
anarchist. The joint passed all around, came back and Seth and I killed
it.

"So you think you can hook me up?" Seth asked as we were all getting
ready to leave.

"What you need?" I asked. He leaned over and whispered in my ear. I
almost laughed and then looked at him. He was serious. "Yeah, dude, I
can hook you up. Just come by sometime next week. Friday nights are
best cause I work late and close the place down by  myself."

"Right on dude."

"Later all." Seth and I did the hand thing and parted.

The walk home was much more interesting. The marijuana was
extremely potent and it seemed like it would take forever to get
anywhere. I remember thinking, damn it's going to be a long walk.
Visions of Chas kept popping into my mind. Weed always gave me a
video-graphic imagination. Chas was standing before me in those tight
Speedos and nothing else. He was whimpering and rubbing his crotch.
I shook my head to clear the vision and realized I was at my door.
Somehow I managed to get inside, strip my clothes and fall into bed.

Chas was laying beside me. He was naked except for his shark tooth
necklace. I fingered him and found that he was already lubricated, and
loose. I took my cock and before I knew it I was deep-dicking him. His
legs circled my neck, but when I looked down it wasn't Chas, it was
Colt when he was twelve, and at a stage when it seemed like he
wanted anal sex every night, sometimes all night. "Oh Colt, I've
missed you." I whispered. Chas was looking up at me and asked,
"Who's Colt?" I tried to slip my dick into him but he was too tight.
Then he loosened and I slurped right in, but looking down it wasn't
Chas or Colt. This time it was Seth. Then it turned back to Colt when
he was eleven and the period of time he refused any sexual contact
with me. Then it was a mixture of all three boys. I grabbed my head
and swore never to smoke Seth's weed again. And then I must have
passed out because it was morning and I felt like a train had hit me.

. . .

"Ladies and Gentlemen, please!" Dr. Victor Reed shouted, banging his
gavel on the podium. The CLACK CLACK CLACK echoed through
the acoustically sound meeting room. Some of the people quieted and
those who could sit did. When I arrived at the center of the colony it
had started a drizzle and people were already packing the interior
chamber to stay dry. I could not find Al or Anne so I slipped up the
narrow stairwell that lead to the projection room at the back of the
auditorium. At the top was a locked door. Extracting two pieces of thin
metal I tumbled the lock and slipped inside.

The room was dark, illuminated from the open balcony where a bunch
of electronic equipment sat accumulating dust. Once in conversation I
had learned from Al that this room was just one of the many in the
complex that had not been wired for electricity. Al had grumbled that
this job was on his list, but he had put all wiring work at the bottom,
instead preferring the more creative work that came with his
profession. I made my way to the front in time to see Reed turn and
whisper something into the ear of one of the administrative assistants
who then nodded and exited through a door at the rear of the stage.

"Can we begin?" asked Reed to the audience. "Can everyone hear me
alright?" A murmur went through the more than one thousand present,
perhaps a third of the colony. "OK, as I was saying before the weather
forced our interruption: The General Council has found it necessary to
amend the rules of election. We will be voting three months earlier
than was previously anticipated, but we are sure this will pose no real
setback. Are there any general questions or concerns about this?"

A man from the middle of the crowd stood and introduced himself as a
former high school civics teacher. "I'm just wondering if three months
will be enough time for the colony to thoroughly study and understand
the position of each of the candidates running for the GC?"

Reed nodded at the question. "I understand your concern, sir, and we
foresee no problem in printing the literature on each candidate as soon
as they are announced."

"I agree said the civics teacher, but I was under the assumption,
according to Article Two of the by-laws regarding colonial elections
that an equal amount of time must be allowed for the primary election.
I just don't see how there will be enough time--"

"Your concern is genuine," said Reed, "but as Dr. Mark Hastings will
attest the weather danger is significant. The provisional General
Council has determined it within their power to suspend the primary
elections under the dire circumstances." Reed paused, for a minute
there was little response from the audience, then a murmur swept the
crowd. The voices gradually rising like storm until everyone was
talking or shouting, or even laughing and joking. CLAK CLAK
CLAK, Reed pounded is gavel again. "Ladies and Gentlemen, as you
exit you will find the amended rules in the pamphlets on the back
tables, but I will say now that it is a very simple system. Out of the
candidates the seven winning the highest votes will be chosen for the
GC. Are there any other questions?" Reed looked around, almost with
an attitude of defiance.

"Yes, one." Came a woman's voice. It was Anne. "I'm Dr. Anne
McIntyre, the senior medical researcher for the colony."

"Yes, doctor. Please." Reed gestured for her to proceed. I looked down
and saw Anne standing near the back. Chas was standing on the chair
next to her and looking around the crowed. I wondered if he was
looking for me, but probably a friend. Anne cleared her throat.

"Am I to assume that by-laws regarding the primary election only have
been suspended or are there other rights we no longer have that we do
not yet know." Though her tone was not confrontational, her words
were and suddenly the whispers mounted into a loud conversation that
required Reed to pound his gavel once more.

"Dr. McIntyre, to answer your question, no. Just the laws regarding the
primary election have been suspended, but on a one-time-only basis."
He paused before adding, "And the GC takes offense that you would
frame your question so that to suggest liberties have been violated. I
assure you and the colonists that this is not the case." The crowd was
still, I could hear a pen drop. But instead I heard footsteps coming up
the stairs. Below, as is the case with large groups of people, the silence
broke and conversation again went back an forth. The aide who exited
early came back up on stage and was whispering something in Reed's
ear.

The footsteps stopped at the door and I prepared my self to explain
that I had found the door ajar and thought there would be no problem
in my watching from above. As the door creaked open, to my delight,
it was the boy Chas who entered, his eyes taking in the quarters that
probably looked ever so much like a secret fort to a boy. He must have
spotted me as I had leaned over the balcony to listen to Anne.

"Matt!" he said in his husky soprano, "You're up here, no wonder!"

I put my fingers to my lips. "Shhh, we'll get in trouble."

"I couldn't find you down there, so I thought I'd come up here and
look." He was holding the door as if wary to enter.

"Lock the door and come here." I said. He turned the latch and came
over to where I sat on a folding chair.

"This is cool." He whispered. The boy had to stand on tip-toes to see
over into the crowd. Chas was dressed in a pair of tear-away sport
pants and a t-shirt one size too small for him that outlined his taught
chest and tummy. He somehow looked thinner than the last time I saw
him. I guessed that he must have done a lot of hiking on his camping
trip. He looked at me with a coy eye.

"I missed you." I said, because I did not know what else to say, and
because I had. My palms were suddenly sweaty and my heart beat in
my throat. It was as if I was a school boy, and my crush had just talked
to me for the first time.

Behind us there was a small window that looked out over the
courtyard, casting enough light by which to see, but not enough to
detect the blush beneath the swarthy soft cheeks of the ten-year-old
boy.  Right away I detected the stirring between us, the sensation that
with me and him our love was also sexual. As he stood a few feet
away, I resisted the urge to touch him, thinking that in our absence my
lust for him had reached a crescendo and now, now it would be hard to
hold back.

Before me the boy scuffed his small sneaker on the stiff carpet. Now
he was a boy of ten, small-I noticed-then, delicate, yes beautiful,
but was he sexual? Should he be? What we had done before, at that
instant seemed a world away, a fantasy. I had finger fucked him, I had
sucked him to orgasm, I had bathed him in my spit, I had sucked on
his tongue as if it was a nipple giving me sweet milk, but all that it
gave me was his spit across my face. In his ass, dewdrop and pert,
most of all small, I had, actually, rimmed it, sucked his bud until it
sprouted, then wiggled my tongue in him. But now he was innocent.
He smelled of shampoo and the gentle musk of rain and a bit of sweat.

"I missed you too." Said he, regarding me shyly from behind his calico
locks.

"What's your mom doing?"

He shrugged. "She said she was going to announce something this
morning. I lifted my eyebrows. Something must have occurred in the
last few days. I was a little upset with myself for not following closer
the island politics.

"Stand here." I said, positioning the chair at the half wall of the
balcony so Chas could see the events below. He hopped up and I stood
next to him and let him hold my shoulder with a small hand.

Below, Anne still stood and the room was slowly quieting down. The
aide was whispering in earnest to Reed who nodded now and then and
said other things back. Reed stood and regarded Anne with a frigid
stare.

"Are you quite satisfied doctor? If you or any other colonists have
concerns they are welcome to take advantage of our open door policy."

Anne waited a few seconds then said, "I thank you for your assurances
Dr. Reed. But now I would like to take this opportunity under the
public information article to announce that I will be a candidate in the
shortened election."

"Dr. McIntyre, this is highly out of etiquette, I ask that your wait--"

"Dr. Reed," Anne cut him off sharply, "I have studied everything
written on the constitution of our little colony since I was chosen over
a year ago to be a member. I am well versed and assure you," she
emphasized the word "you", "that I am within my rights to declare
candidacy before an official population of the government. I think the
thousand or so citizens here would count." Another murmur went up
among the audience. Reed banged his wooden mallet for silence. I put
an arm around Chas's waste and drew his warmth to me. His fingers
toyed with the hair at the nape of my neck.

Reed said sternly, "Your candidacy is duly noted, doctor. But I
encourage others to file in a more conventional manner if they wish to
appear on the ballot." Anne nodded and took her seat. "OK," Reed
continued, "Mark Hastings is here to fill us in on meteorological
developments. I adjourn myself for today and remind you of the
coming harvest festival, and to grab the documents on the way out--
these will inform you on the particulars of the election." Reed stepped
back through the door and Mark Hastings came on stage. He had
rigged up his laptop to a large television behind him and a map of the
Pacific ocean and the west coast of the United States appeared on
screen.

Hastings entered directly to the point of his presentation like a true
scientist. "There seems elevated weather activity, as you might have
noticed of the rain we've been getting. Without satellite data it is
impossible to say for sure, but we have compiled what we think is a
fairly accurate scenario considering our limited technology. . ." The
sounds below trailed off.

No longer could I ignore the boy next to me. With an almost
savageness I pulled him off the chair and pressed my lips against his.
He tongued my face, all but missing my mouth. I heard the pop pop
pop of the buttons on the legs of his pants and watched in fascination
as Chas ripped them to the floor. It was happening again, a man and a
boy were falling towards a sexual rut. Chas and me, what was to
become of us? Could we not spend a few minutes together without
sexually devouring each other? Somewhere in the back of my mind, in
that shell that used to be a constructed conscience, but since the death
of constructed society it retreated like a whimpering fool. I knew that
the boy and I were increasingly engaging in our sex play at more and
more risky moments.

And there Chas stood, on strong boy-legs splayed wide and nude, and
if there was a hint of wobble in them it was because he was surging
with the early feelings of his sex drive. There was something
Americanly erotic about him clad in sneakers then his nubile, bare
kiddy limbs and his crotch and ass covered in the thinnest, tightest pair
of light blue underwear I've ever seen. And this tight t-shirt that read
"NY,NY" in faded letters. He seemed to be panting as he reached
down to untie his shoes.

"No." I said. "I like you like this." He stopped and looked up at me, a
half smile crossing his lips. That is when I knew that in his mind he
had been seducing me since he had decided to dress as such. "God,
Chas, if you only knew how beautiful you are. . ." I trailed off. And he
was, there was no doubt anymore, "lovely", and his sexuality was
synonymous with his beauty.

Down below the lecture droned on. I heard words like "Storms. More
rain. Hurricanes. Global super-storm. Emergency procedures." But up
in the loft above the thousand or so people chosen to make sure the
human gene continued, I,a man, and Chas, a boy of ten, were about to
engage in sexual congress.

"I, I missed you." He said, stanced receptively like a the drawing of a
Japanese cartoon. He turned showing me his dewdrop restrained in the
brazier of his underwear. I fell to my knees clutching him to me,
dragging my hands from his chest to his ankles, following the natural
tilt and slant of his body, on the way up groping his ass cheeks in my
large hands, feeling him up through his clothes, squeezing his butt,
massaging it. And with that he leaned over taking hold of the ledge in
the position of being frisked by a cop. I nibbled at his butt through his
underpants, soaking them with spittle. I turned him with some protest
coming from him about how he didn't want me to stop, but when my
hungry lips covered the rigid lump of his penis his groan was audible,
his knees seeming to go all knobby as he stooped to hunch into me.

"Ahhh." He squeaked, his lips agape. I sucked him hard, breathing his
clean musk through the filter of what I decided was not cotton but
some sort of silky synthetic. "Suck me, suck my dick, suck my dick,
suck my dick." He kept saying under his breath. In his limited sexual
vocabulary I received the impression that he was implying that I suck
him then and there, in that instant, to orgasm, dry as it might be. It
reminded me of some audio clips I once downloaded from the net.
They were entitled 8YROCUM, 11SUK10CUM, 9RIMby14. . ., in
them the boys' vocal ecstasies were recorded while having sex and
hitting orgasm. While some were probably not authentic there were a
few where one could tell the tyke was a skyrocket about to hit Nirvana,
their cherub voices chanting the allegedly adult lines of lust, suck it,
make me cum, yeah, touch my butt, yeah, fuck me harder, no fuck me
now, it's my turn, fuck me, do me, this is the stuff we use, do me now,
suck my dick.and the boys panting as their small bodies brimmed
over with the urge to finish themselves off. Pornographers aside, the
sexual drive of a boy could not be overlooked, performance or no, the
sex remains a simple biological urge to cum.

But now Chas was verbally mum. He emitted only the occasional hiss
through perfect teeth as my mouth worked him over. He was pressed
hard against the half wall, his butt smashing up against the fake wood
paneling. If anyone noticed him they would only see the back of his
head and a little bit of his shoulders.

In frustration Chas tried to free his cock from the super tight material
that acted as a sort of chastity belt. He was only able to pull aside
enough to show the cleft between his leg and his pubis, this I licked
like a cherry Popsicle. And then it was me clawing to get his wretched
underwear off. He had to pull his legs together and with a major effort
pulled undies to his hips-at the liberation of his sex I sucked in the
proud spike of his cock and he held me for balance. Then he was
shuffling down the elastic cloth and they were at his ankles, but
hooking on his shoes Chas tipped and I had to catch him and lower
him to the carpet. "Help me." He whispered. I eased them over his
sneakers and he lay naked, or at least the part of him that mattered lay
naked.

Below Hastings was taking questions and answers.

I had no romantic ideals for Chas at this time. To me it was a simply
equations: boy of ten + naked + erection + cute little nose = needs
orgasm. I scooped him up, which was difficult because his body first
was stiff and then fish like. His sneakers had mud on the bottoms and
some of it got on my shirt. I decided that the back of the room by the
little window afforded the necessary light to appreciate him, and was
safer being at the far end of the low-ceilinged chamber so that if he did
cry out there was less of a chance of being heard.

There is a not a metaphor to describe how I feel carrying Chas in this
position: one arm under his back the other under his knees. It is a
paternal method of carrying the sleeping child to bed, pre-sexual, but
not asexual. In me is a powerful need to protect that is almost closer to
a desire to possess. Chas submits to this naturally, as if I am his
mother, or the mythically lost father-but only "as if", for there is
another source of our mutual feeling, this air that now surrounds us
both charged and neuter. This is one of the many techniques, but
among the most common, that men use to take boys to bed to be
fucked. And boys the world over, or before the world was destroyed,
relent or relented to this. Whether it is the parent retiring the sleeping
child to his dorm or the lover in transit with his beloved to the bed, the
fact that the ultimate destination IS the bedroom should not be
overlooked.

What Chas at this moment is thinking I do not know. He looks up at
me with large passive eyes, his mouth revealing pearl white teeth and
the pink tip of his tongue. I am in such a position to lift him to my
mouth and kiss him, but he does not kiss back, he just stares at me. In
part he must be thinking that he feels ridiculous still wearing his tight
t-shirt and his dirty shoes. He must feel utterly exposed, perhaps
realizing that below us is a large representative of the general
population, his mother, and his friends. But up here in our attic hideout
he is absurdly naked, more naked than if he were completely nude for
the juxtaposition of fabric and flesh leave exposed, really, the only part
of him that we both need be concerned about. It occurs to me that Chas
might realize this is his first "quickie".

But that is to assume what the boy of ten is thinking. At ten, if I had
sexual thoughts, and I know I must have, they have long since receded
into that wondrous abyss of memory that feels, of all things, dark. Me,
a man holding the boy-I am conflicted. I am large and he is small.
Not merely by grace of our ages, but incidentally I am well built,
sturdy, if you will, what women call "hunky", and in my arms is the
fawn: himself, though athletic for his age, still delicate, in the full flush
of being just a kid, but with the advantage of having been introduced
into raw unopposed sexual conduct.

I feel gritty, dirty, like a grainy film, a character in a poorly rendered
piece of child porn featuring pretty boys of nine through fourteen
(small and large cocks, respectively). I did not shower this morning
before coming to the meeting so I smell, too, of yesterday's work, and
of last night's herb, and somewhat groggy due to the linger effects of
THC. Not thinking clearly at all about the risk we are taking. Then
there is fact that though I am erect, I'm not interested really in being at
this moment sexual with Chas. Yes, he is lovely beyond expressions,
even if up here it is chilly and humid and I can tell that he is cold,
almost shivering, but our meeting up here has an ulterior motive, I
feel-but whose I'm not certain.

Separated for the last few days it could have been either one of us who
was unfaithful to the other. How am I to know that in the woods Chas
did not have sex play with a little friend of his, or that some teacher or
older boy did not engage him? Or if it was not him who instigated the
"molestation." Knowing sex exists and that he likes it, but not that I
was culturing him in our own relationship, would he have given the
sign boys give to men and youths that they are they are young and ripe
for the picking? And then, Chas, familiar only with my methods, with
"my way" of bringing him into sex, being ultimately naive that the act
of sex, for most, is a simple beginning and end. The result: Chas
getting screwed without much pleasure for twenty minutes one
evening, or maybe over the course of a few days. So I am here to
brand him as mine. This time up here him saying he's sorry with his
body, a bath of sorts to wash whatever it is that makes him feel
ashamed away. Or, that is just my paranoia, natural speculation that is
aroused with the lacunae in the absence of my boy lover. Perhaps it is
Chas who fears me unfaithful, assuming that just any piece of kiddy-
ass could take his place rushes back and at the first opportunity inserts
himself as the preferred object of my affection.

On another level it is just the latent urge to make him cum. There is
nothing romantic or sexual about this at all. No, it is merely a
fascination with the mechanics of the body, like one is fascinated by
an intriguing toy or gizmo-my interest is to see if the trick will work
every time I push the buttons. There is no mutual need for release, I
have no plans on cuming up here with Chas. I'm just going to suck
him off and watch him orgasm. It probably won't even be very good
for him, but at least I'll be able to fondle him, squeeze his balls a little
too hard, nip his navel with my sharp teeth, play with his butt and his
asshole by lifting his legs up and having him hold them while I munch
for a few minutes on his bud.

A few minutes later I helped Chas put on his pants. He said he was
going to go play hide-n-seek with some other kids. He said this while
walking across the room fingering curiously his yawning hole that
drooled my saliva down his bare leg, a distinct streak that almost
reaches his shoe.

Despite my own ideas of his camping trip and the way I just got done
gnawing on his ass until he started whimpering louder than was safe,
Chas is still, technically, as virginal as the day he was born. I had to
swat his own fingers from trying to slip into his butt until he had
settled down and allowed me to suck him to a cum. After he stood
looking out the window, his bare ass thrust back as an invitation to,
FINALLY ALREADY!!!, do him. When he realized this was not to be
he dressed and would not bestow me a kiss. I do not blame him.

The crowd was in the stages of leaving the auditorium into the dismal
day. I told Chas to go down first and act like he had been there all
along. I watched out the window as he emerged and greeted a boy who
looked to be his age. As they ran off somewhere he stole a look up at
me and then darted off.

I relocked the door on leaving and slipped into the restroom at the
front of the building to rinse the smell and taste of Chas off my lips,
not that I would mind it, but I wanted to talk to his mother.

I did not see Al, but made a note to stop by his quarters later in the
day. As I hurried through the streets in the light drizzle I felt
enlivened. Chas was still on my breath, but only the essence of his
taste caused more by the soreness in my lips and the stiffness in my
jaw. It was the pain that every boylover longs for but far too few ever
know, the side affects of having a willing young lover.

"Anne!" I shouted. She turned and waved to me, stopping until I
caught up with her. She looked exhausted.

"Did Chas ever find you?" She asked.

"Yeah, he found me." I had to suppress a guilty look.

"He's quite fond of you, that one." She said.

"Yeah, I know." I felt myself blushing. "That was some presentation."
Said I, hoping the steer the subject to one less incriminating.

"I was going to tell you but you've been absent all week."

"Busy I guess. Since the storm." I said.

"Well, I was going to wait until Reed announced his candidacy, but
then they sprung the thing about changing the bylaws, so I figured I
should strike while the iron was hot, so to speak."

"That surprised me when he said that." We were walking again and
approached her apartment. At the storm door she stopped to key in her
code.

"Yes, I understand about the urgency of the weather, but I don't know.
Something in my gut tells me. . ." she trailed off.

"What?" I urged. She was far away in thought.

"I don't know. Maybe it's just me, but, something fishy is going on."
The large storm door slid up and we entered. She pulled the internal
glass door closed behind us. "Coffee?" she asked.

"Sure." I said, still tasting the salty fresh musk of her son in my mouth.
As the coffee maker percolated and chirped we sat down at the table.
Anne opened a pack of coffee cakes, the kind that have a shelf life of a
couple hundred years. "My favorite."

She managed a half laugh. "What can I say? I'm a lousy chef. In fact,
without you cooking so much, I think Chas would loose weight."

"Really, I mused. I read somewhere that the most erotic smell for a
man is the smell that resembles his mother's cooking."

Anne groaned. "So you're telling me that every time Chas smells
something burning he's going to get horny?" We both laughed at that,
I a little more self-consciously than I hope she detected. Not only was I
the prime sexual initiator of her son, but I was fast discovering what
seemed to be an endless field for the little boy between the sheets.

She poured us both a large cup of the strong coffee and we ate the
sweet cakes. I noticed she liked to dip hers until it was soggy then stuff
it in her mouth. I had witnessed Chas performing the same feats on a
number of occasions.

"So what's your hunch on Reed?" I ventured after a long silence. She
shrugged her soldiers and seemed to be searching a database in her
head.

"Well, tell me if I'm wrong, but he just seems far too involved with the
GC. It's almost as if he's become their de-facto spokes person."

"But isn't that one of his official roles?"

"No. He claims he's volunteering but there is not a real position for
someone like him. I guess I might be speculating, we'll just have to
wait and see, but I for one am going to watch how this election works
very carefully." She said grimly.

"There's a lot of room for corruption." I said, almost to myself, but an
issue we both knew to be fact.

We drank another cup of coffee. "Say, you wouldn't have some
medical alcohol and iodine, would you?"

"Yeah sure, what for?"

I was a little embarrassed about the purpose, but I figured if I was
going to get any I'd have to tell her the truth. "Well, I guess I'm going
into the body piercing business." I told her about how I met the
teenagers and agreed to fashion a piercing for the boy named Seth,
leaving out the part about the weed. Anne laughed and got up to fetch
her medical kit. She kept an old fashioned calling case like they used
back when doctors still made house calls. From this she extricated
three small bottles.

"Make sure to fire the instruments and then douse them with the
alcohol. Then swab the area with iodine after you pierce. This, "she
said, holding up another small bottle, "is a epidermal anesthetic for
local procedures. Swab the skin with it ten minutes before you pierce.

At that the door opened and Chas came bounding in from his play. His
face was flushed and he was panting for air. His clothes were wet from
the rain. "Look at you!" exclaimed Anne. He tried to hug her but she
held him off due to his wetness. I could clearly see the erection of his
little nipples under the fabric, and new well that beneath the
breakaway sport pants he, erect or not, was tightly constrained by the
fabric of his underwear. It had taken us almost a minute to pull them
on to his body up in the projection room, but amazingly his supple ass
fit well, and the little bump of his sex was endearing, his balls smashed
into his scrotum. "Go put some dry clothes on!" exclaimed his mother.
The whole time he said nothing, just bashfully watched us, looking
from me to her. On his exit he turned and regarded me as if to tell me I
was about to miss a nice little show in his bedroom.

"Do you think Reed and Phelps are checking up on you right now?" I
asked after watching my little lover disappear down the hallway.

"I wouldn't doubt it." She said. "Back during those days after the
eugenics project was made into law they started training special units
to look into family genetics of each person in the United States. The
project was flawed, scientifically and ethically, but the fact that they
took it so far scared the hell out of me." She stared down into her
coffee, again lost in her complicated and educated past.

"How do you know so much Anne?" I said bluntly. I did not want to
push her, but something was not adding up on her end. "I know you've
done research, but, still you seem to be holding back. You don't have
to tell me, but I'll let you know that I have no one to talk to, and
maybe I can help some, if just to listen." At this she gave me a
discouraged smile.

"Matt, I'm sorry. It must seem like I'm full of secrets. I guess I do
have one or two." There was silence as she looked at me, her eyes
were kind. "But don't we all?" She added.

Her question was rhetorical, but the verity of it hung in the air. For
each one of her secrets I had one as well, and I think she knew that
somehow. If she didn't know specifically that I was a boylover, that I
was currently involved in hard-core sex with her beautiful young son,
she knew at least that I was not like other men, and not once during the
course of the relationship did she pressure me on this account. "Yeah, I
said, we all have secrets."

"I was working as chief research officer at NSA. . . the National
Security Administration."

"Like the CIA?" I prompted.

"Yeah, but I wasn't even involved with spying, well, not at first.
Spying was my husband's job." She stopped when Chas came in the
room. He had changed into a light pair of cotton underwear and my
baggy sweat shirt which he held up briefly so I could see his lovely
body, but dropped it before Anne could turn around. He went over to
the couch and sat down with a book. "We're going to need more
coffee." Anne said and went into the small kitchen. Seeing her absence
Chas lifted up the sweatshirt again giving me a nice show of smooth
legs and undie-clad bottom, then settled down to read, content that he
had demonstrated his lingering sexual need, one that, no doubt, I
would have to soothe in due course. The thought occurred to me that I
had turned him into a sex starved little monster, remembering all the
hype back in the 90s and 00s about how kids were being "sexualized"
by the media. But then a giant space rock slammed into the Earth and I
suddenly didn't have to worry about what the evangelical Christians
said. Fuck them!

Anne returned with some tea instead of coffee, and a cup for Chas
which she took over to him and set on the small coffee table along
with a few of the little cakes. She leaned down to kiss the top of his
head and swat his pert little rump. At this he squealed and giggled and
seemed to pull his entire body inside the sweatshirt like it was a snail
shell.

"I met Michael, Chas's father, at Bethesda while I was doing my
surgery internship. He was a hospital administrator." We were sipping
tea and munching cakes. It was raining outside. "Well, you know, I got
pregnant and we got married, and after my internship I moved with
him to DC where he had another job. By and by he came to reveal that
he worked for the NSA, but never really mentioned what he did. Then
one day, I think I was in my sixth month, he told me there was a
specialized opening in the department and if I wanted it it was mine.
The rest is, as they say, history.

"Most people don't know this, but the agencies that existed before
9/11, the CIA, FBI, NSA were not the same after the neo-cons got
done with them during the Bush years, and then it spiraled out of
control. The Department of Homeland Security was a good cover for
consolidation of power but that meant that all the old spies, if they did
not have a history of being Christian and conservative, were fired.

"Back when Porter Goss took over the CIA he leaked the names of
over a hundred NSA agents that were undercover in China because he
assumed they were not neo-con flunkies. These were people who had
been undercover for more than half their lives, they had families in
China, businesses. A few weeks later we found out from the inside that
they all had been imprisoned, some even killed. I didn't get much
news then because of the Patriotism in Media Act that prevented any
coverage of anything that might be considered un-patriotic. So all
people ever found out was what Fox News said about a few agents
being arrested. But it was a lot bigger than that. Their families and
friends, too.

"But that's just background information. I was only involved in a
research project on foreign medical services. My job was to analyze
medical response in "terrorist" countries to see if they could respond to
biological or nuclear attacks. Needless to say, it was a lightweight job,
but it paid well and Michael and I had time together. Back then they
still encouraged spouses to work in the same agency. I guess you could
say it was the kind of job that got lost in bureaucracy.

"What the neo-cons like Porter Goss didn't figure, though, was the
backlash from career personnel. They could get rid of the leaders who
didn't agree with them, but they couldn't get rid of all the grunts. They
needed us to do the dirty work. Internally it was called 'trickle down
morality', make the guys at the top religious zealots and maybe,
eventually, the guys at the bottom will follow the example. It was
anarchy, what they call 'internal bleeding', meaning information from
one department is leaked to another, memos from the admins that were
supposed to be confidential were taped on bathroom stalls. Rumors
spread. The whole works. Moral was low.

"Then it got dangerous. News started spreading about a new Internal
Affairs or IA squad. Their job was to find the rabble rousers and fire
them or, it turns out, make them disappear.

"One day, probably about a year after I had Chas, I came to know
Phelps, but by reputation only. Phelps was already well known for his
work on proposition H and as a White House insider. One day I walk
into my office and on my desk was a brief in a red folder. Red folders
were only for the top intelligence officers, those who worked directly
with the Oval Office. I was fairly low level, so you can understand my
shock at what I saw. I locked the door and scanned for bugs. Michael
taught me to be pretty paranoid about privacy when I was in my office.
Mike wasn't a neo-con, he hated politics and because of that he
thought that they might fire him if they found out he didn't tow the
party line."

Anne paused her story as Chas came over and set his cup on the table,
and without shame came over and gave me a hug and kiss on the
cheek. I was a little shocked and blushed. Anne smiled and then Chas
blushed suddenly realizing what he had done. He skipped back over to
the couch, his sweatshirt jumping up and giving me glimpses of his
cotton dressed little ass

"What was in the brief?" I asked.

"Well," Anne said, "Regaining her train of thought. At first I thought it
was some mistake, you know, maybe an official mistook my office for
another. I wasn't going to read it, but then I remembered how nervous
Mike had been acting, he was really unsure about our future and we
had been discussing leaving the agency. It wasn't easy to do,
especially if we wanted to go cold turkey, then they would suspect him
of being anti-conservative and anti Porter Goss. So I figured anything
in a red folder would give me more info on what was going on
upstairs. When I opened it I found that it was a confidential part of the
Patriot Act written by Dr. Phelps. The part that outlined the plan that,
and I quote, made 'it a fundamental American value to eliminate all
carries of un-American genetics.' "

"You're kidding!" I said in a horse whisper. Anne just nodded, almost
pale.

"No, it's real, or was real. I read the entire document, some two-
hundred pages that explained, using the rhetoric that became common
when Karl Rove started campaigning for the amendment to ban gay
marriage. Rove said once that to make it un-constitutional for gays to
get married would give new 'hope' to America."

"I remember that." I said. "It made me ill to hear it back then."

"Yeah, I know. Michael was upset about it because he'd worked all his
life for civil liberties and then this sort of language started coming out
of the White House." Anne chuckled ironically, "I remember he called
it proto-nazism, you know, the type of philosophy that lead to killing
the Jews under Hitler, suddenly they wanted to put this language into
the Constitution.

"The brief was the same way, citing Roves famous 'hope' speech on
Fox News, it said something like, 'to give true hope to the American
people and promote moral values.' It was deemed ethical to eliminate
the 'defective' genes wherever they were found. It effectively merged
medical science with the war on terror. It never said kill gays, but it
wasn't hard to figure out where it was going. When I reached the
document there was a note that said 'burn this'. Matt, it was in
Michael's handwriting. So I incinerated it.

"That night I was going to talk to Michael about it at home, but when
he came through the door he put his finger to his lips swatted his hand,
the sign that our house was probably bugged. We spent the next few
hours handwriting notes to each other and then burning them in the
small fireplace. It turns out that the brief was given to him by someone
he would not name. That person wanted him to give it to someone who
could understand what it meant. Michael didn't know anybody but me
with a medical background, or anyone he could trust, at least. We sat
at the table until the early morning exchanging ideas. He wrote that he
was getting one more package from his source and he would directly
bring it to my office.

"The next day he came by and dropped off a DVD. I used my laptop
because I thought my office computer would be bugged as well. They
were bugging everyone back then. There were two files one was the
genetic research, about two-thousand pages. It was cutting edge
science, but I could tell it was biased. They never did really find the
gay genes or the pedophile genes or anything else, they could only
assert a strong probability that someone would have a 'disorder', but
that was enough, it would turn out. The research was already written
into the secret amendment to the Patriot Act.

"And so here we are. They didn't expect a fucking rock from heaven
would kill their little Nazi America, but it did." Anne laughed bitterly.

"And what happened to Michael?" I asked, then realizing she probably
did not tell me for a reason added, "Or how did you get to be on
Noah's Arc?"

"I guess I might as well tell you. It doesn't matter anymore." She
poured us some more tea.

"When reports from NASA started coming in that a life ending event
was inevitable, the intelligence community new about it first. Chas
was five, and we had five years before impact. Christmas of that year
Michael got sick. We took him to the hospital, but it was hard to get
medical help. It turned out he had blood cancer. But there was no
chemo, people were busy trying to move into the mountains and
everywhere. The world governments agreed that they would not tell
where the rocks would hit, but leaks happen and pretty soon everyone
had a good idea where not to be. But Michael wasn't convinced. Some
of his early work had to do with FEMA, and he knew something like
this was bigger than anyone suspected. He made some phone calls to
friends who were working on the Noah's Arc. But it was supposed to
all be done by lottery so we weren't sure. He died in early January."
Anne's eyes started to water. I reached over and held her hand. "Thank
you." She choked.

"With my medical skills I could go anywhere, but when the lottery
was being announced I got the phone call that we were chosen because
we were a family. You see, I didn't tell anyone that Michael had died.
No one was keeping death records in those days, it was chaos. And
then the White House shut down elections and gave marshal law to
religious organizations. It was scary. So I figured we'd just come, and
if they asked about Michael I'd tell them that he died. They couldn't
turn me down then. I guess the rest is history, here we are. But now I
don't know. I almost wish we wouldn't have come."

"Yeah," I said, "Out of the frying pan and into the fire."

"I guess it was worth it if only because we met you, Matt. Chas is very
fond of you." She said.

I blushed. "The feelings mutual. He's given me hope."

"He told me about your pledge to protect him, and me." She said. "I
can't tell you what that means to me. No matter what happens I feel
like he's safe." She squeezed my hand. "Matt, incase anything should
happen to me, I want you raise Chas. This is a crazy world these days,
nothing is for sure. There is no law, really, except for here, and I don't
trust this damn island. But you and Chas have my blessing."

What was I to say. Tears streamed down my cheeks. Chas realized
something important was happening and came over to me and hugged.
I lifted the boy, light and delicate, on to my lap and hugged him to me
as if he was going to be pulled away by some dark force.

"I, I-- I've already talked to Chas about this, so he knows he can trust
you. If the worst happens I want you to say that Chas is your son, so
that no one can separate you." I nodded.

The warmth of the boy child spread through me. In my arms I knew
that he was young and alive, and for the first time in years I felt a
small spark of hope, a happiness about the future, however bleak it
would turn out to be. And with that Chas turned to me and kissed my
lips with a quick boy peck that made me blush and his mother laugh. I
playfully swatted his bottom and sent him over to read his book.

"Anne," I said after awhile, "that DVD, you said there were two files
on it. What was the other one?"

Anne had sadness in her eyes. She got up and went to her bedroom and
came back with a brown package. "It's in here," she said. "I guess I
should have destroyed it but some last call for justice made me keep it.
Here, watch it when you go home, then promise me you'll destroy it."
I took the package from her, nodding that I would do as she asked.

We passed the afternoon talking about old times. I told Anne of my
life and of my father in Montana, leaving out direct reference to my
sexuality, but for some reason I don't think she would have cared.
Then Chas managed to convince her that he was going to spend the
night at my house. We made plans that she'd come by in the morning
and have breakfast with us, then we'd go down to the beach and look
for shells and roast hotdogs in the evening.

When I left the rain had settled to a humid mist. At four it was already
dusk out. Chas was going to finish some chores and then go to my
apartment, I had given Anne and him the code weeks ago. Meanwhile
I was interested to find Al and see what sort of trouble the mousy
electrician was getting himself into.

. . .

When Al opened the storm door to his apartment he was standing there
with electrician's goggles and a smoking solder gun. "Welcome to my
humble abode." He said, and I entered what must have been the most
cluttered compartment I had ever seen. People who work with their
hands are not known for being the most organized, which is odd when
compared to people who work with concepts and papers usually are
overly organized, is if their lack of hardware needs to be substituted by
the semblance of control.

We walked through the piles of electrical circuits, wafer boards, and
wires to what was once a living room. "Have a seat." Said Al. I looked
around for a place to sit but there was no couch to speak of, no chairs,
so I pulled up the tower of an older computer and gently lowered my
weight. Al had a little work table that he sat at and where he must have
been working before I interrupted him.

"Al, where the hell did you get all this crap."

"The refuse of mankind." He said, working on the project before him.
"You would not believe the stuff they throw away around here."

"Maybe 'cause it's all broken." I said. He looked up at me sharply.

"And how pray tell does anything get broken?" he said almost
defensively. "What most people consider ruined, I know, is actually a
minor ailment.

"What are you working on there?" I asked.

"This is camera number twelve of a twenty-four camera network that I
am planning on setting up in this little community of ours."

"Is that legal?"

"Well, it's not illegal." He said, a thread of smoke rising from the tip
of his gun as he worked. "I am simply going to piggyback on every
camera that security has set up here, and I figure if they can see it so
can I."

"Won't they notice your cameras?"

"Maybe, but I doubt it. You see," he said working diligently on one
particular circuit, "you see, it is I who am responsible for installing and
maintaining their cameras, so until I loosed the job, and I don't know
anyone to take my spot, I am safe and-there, got it-sound!"

"I didn't see you at the meeting this morning." I said.

"That's because there was breakdown over at the docs and I had to flip
a few switches on one of the boats. Did I miss anything important?"

"Not really. Anne announced that she is going to run for council. Dr.
Hastings talked about the prospects of super storms or something. I
really wasn't paying attention." I said, thinking of what I had been
doing with a little boy.

"Interesting developments all the time, it seems." He said.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I have recorded something from the radio that you might want
to hear." Putting down his work he led me to his bedroom where
various computers worked. On the largest screen there was a blip, blip,
blip, like a heart monitor in a hospital.

"What's that?"

"That's a visual of the scanning program I wrote. Every ten seconds it
scans the major channels and every twenty seconds it does an entire
band search."

"Have you caught anything else?"

"I have so far cataloged three radio stations playing blue grass, one
playing classic country, and one playing jazz. As far as I can tell they
all originate from the pacific northwest."

"Any people?"

"Not on the radios. It seems the stations are just broadcasting and
that's all. But!" he said tapping rapidly on a few keys. "Listen to this."

The computer speakers crackled and I could make out a weak voice
but not the words. Al did something to enhance it and almost instantly
the voice was legible. "This M.O.M. station 3 broadcasting. For all
who are receiving this, Interstate 90 is now under control of the
M.O.M. from the MT/ID Border at Lookout Pass to the
MT/WY Border near Aberdeen, MT for 551.68 miles.
Please expect to stop at various Department of Transportation toll
booths to pay a traveling tax. If you happen to be summoned by a
M.O.M. cruiser, pull over and keep your hands on the steering wheel.
If you. . ." and the voice was lost in static.

"That's all I have said Al?"

"That people survived, especially in Montana!" I almost shouted.

"Yes. But I don't know what the MOM is, but whoever it is has taken
control of I-90. You can bet whatever is going on there is not
government sanctioned. In fact, I would bet to say that the political
situation is very dubious." He wiggled his ears and nose as he said
this.

"The MOM, the "mom", is the Montana Organized Militia." I said.
"And you're right, it sounds fishy, but now we can confirm people are
alive."

"For now." Said Al.

That the MOM was in control, at least to some extent, of one of the
major roads in Montana was not surprising to me. I remember my
conversation with my father about how, if need came to worse, he
would join up with one of the splinter cells of the MOM. Radical
rightwing philosophies aside the militia movement was the perfect
substitute for an organized police force. Like organized crime thrived
under communism in the Soviet Union, para-military groups thrived
under the national police state of America during the Bush years. If
they shared Bush's radical view of the Bible, that was it. Beyond
religion these people who dressed in camouflage, hunted illegally, and
squatted on national land harbored what was almost an irrational fear
of any type of government body. Indeed, in the last couple years
leading up to the catastrophe, their paranoia was reified by the national
government's move, under the neo-con cabal, to crush any individual's
hope of survival.

I remembered, and had on my hard drive, underground news reports of
federal agents raiding farms in the mid-West where they suspected
farmers of stashing grain for the coming famine. I saw pictures of one
family in Idaho lined up executions style for hording grain. It never
made the national news at the time-of course Fox News would not
show anything that made Bush look bad. I cried at that story because
the youngest son of the farmer, a beautiful boy of twelve, at the last
minute, tried to rush the soldiers to save his family. The cameraman
who must have been hiding, using a telephoto, caught almost frame by
frame the small supple body being ripped apart by machine gun fire,
the hapless family dying in the crossfire.

The news of this spread fastest through the militia wire, a loose
organization of ham radio ops and the internet. Radio shock jocks of
the far right who one would have thought might have swung to the
militia movement under the criminal military tactics against American
civilians actually aided Bush. Host Michael Sauvage of the 'Sauvage
Nation', broadcast out of San Francisco turned out to be one of the
neo-con's cum Nazis biggest supporters. A boylover friend of mine
told me once that he always suspected Sauvage of being a Nazis
sympathizer, and he was. As soon as word hit that the state National
Guard units were rounding up and even executing people who were
planning for life after the impact of the rocks, Savage went live and
put callers on the air who would give away hideouts. I remember
listening in on his shrill voice once, 'The fags! The fags are hiding
corn in their bathhouses! The one on Milk Avenue! These faggots
want to kill America!' and as if on cue the gay bathhouse on Milk
Avenue, I learned the next day, was raided by the California Highway
Patrol, all twenty gay men were shot at pointblank range. Later it was
a theater group in Berkley. Savage: "This is Michael Sauvage of the
Sauvage Nation broadcasting live. We have a caller on the line who
says he thinks this group of thespians in Berkley has a stash of food. Is
that right caller?"

Caller: Hey Michael, I love your show!

Sauvage: Thank you, you're a great American. Now the thespians?

Caller: Yeah, it's actual a group of women who put on the Vagina
            Monologues.

Sauvage: Women! You didn't tell me they were women! What are
they,
               The lesbian thespians? *Laughs*

Caller: Yeah, they're a bunch of dykes.

Sauvage: Do you hear that police, we have dikes, lesbian thespians, in
             Berkley, on 8th Street, lesbos who are stashing food.

The next day the underground news reported that the theater in
Berkley was raided. It was reported that the police never found food,
but they did find and eliminate the "lesbian thespians", actually a
group of college girls who worked with children from poor families.
When it was over, seven nine-year-old girls lay dead on the stage, and
two of the students shot behind stage. It turns out they were practicing
the Nutcracker ballet for a Christmas program.

But the madness did not stop there. Sauvage and others started turning
in Jewish synagogues, mosques, and then he somehow got a list of
Mormon families. The poor Mormons, all the time and effort they
spent supporting the rightwing causes, only to find out in the end that
their custom of storing food in their basements was subversive to
American patriotism.

Then one day there was no more Michael Sauvage. Other rightwing
radio jocks thought he was assassinated by one of the groups he helped
persecute, others speculated he went under ground.

But by then the catastrophe was a matter of weeks away. To say that
the Neo-Cons had an organized method of hunting down people who
did not support "American Patriotism" in whatever manner-storing
food etc.-would be to give them too much credit. Much of the
military would not obey the crazy orders. There were stories, like in
Montana, of Guard units simply joining various militias. Police
wouldn't show up for work, and as I found out, foggy bottom, the
CIA, was in chaos. Chaos is an operative term during those last two
years leading up the great impact, in the face of death and the death of
your family, things like "country" and "patriotism" mean nothing.

So it did not surprise me when Al played that clip that good old loving
MOM was running amok in Montana. I thought about my dad and
brother. I wondered if they had managed to survive. I was sure my
father had, Montana was untouched by the impact. I, a veritable
atheist, prayed that he had made it somewhere safe. I pictured them
both now, hunkered down in the old farmhouse we were raised. Eighty
acres of fertile ground separating us from the closet neighbor. Behind
us a forest and a river. If they farmed it right, they would, maybe, be
able to get one more year's crop out and stash that. My dad, like many
independent Montanans had guns and ammunition for hunting. We had
poached in the woods behind our place before, they could do it again.
And the Flathead River from the great Flathead Lake, the largest body
of fresh water west of the Mississippi, had fish aplenty. How many
long summers had my brother and I passed down by the river, naked to
the waste, pulling out trout and salmon and cutthroat? Something in
me yearned be back in those northern wilds, even at the prospect of a
nuclear winter, there was a protection in the rugged land, in the rugged
people, a place where a man, and maybe a boy could hide themselves
away.

Then I thought about Colt. Young and streetwise. So full of love for
everything, even things he hated he hated with a passion that betrayed
the poet in him. But Colt, for all I knew, had stayed in New York,
ground zero of the second impact. In my mind's eye I see him, his
skateboard in hand. He has made it to the top of the tallest building to
watch the spectacle of the giant rock slamming hundreds of miles out
in the ocean. Colt, so full of spunk and adventure would never miss
that, not in the world. It must have been a terrific fireball, come out of
heaven like the hand of God himself, and the boy whom I once fucked
for five hours straight, who whispered he would never love another
person (anal orgasms do that to a boy!), is up there with his shirt flung
open, maybe he talked that Abbey girl into going up with him to
watch. He said he loved me, but he was sweet on her. Or maybe he
was alone, for even a boy of fourteen knows it is important to be alone
at the end of the world. And then the ball of fire coming down, lighting
the evening sky like a second sunrise, then blinking out into the ocean.

After impact Colt would have had twenty-five minutes to himself
before the monstrous tsunami wiped away the great city as if it were
nothing but a proud sandcastle. If he were down by the docks he would
have watched the water of the bay being sucked out to fill that great
void created when the flaming rock evaporated and plunged into the
depths. And the wall of water thrust up and pushed outwards. Boats on
the ocean would have barely felt a bump, but as the wave came to the
east coastal shallows it would have nowhere to go but up. Maybe Colt,
in those last moments went home to be with his chair bound mother,
holding the hand of the Madonna who brought him into the world. But
if he looked up, right then, at the last minutes, that sound like the
grinding of metal on metal would have blocked out everything in its
path, all the lights of the city going dark like one blows out a candle.
And then a few seconds of conscious death, and then forever the
beautiful darkness.

. . .

It was pitch dark when I left Al's. I had stayed longer than I intended.
We fell into a friendly conversation about how we thought people on
the main lands were going to weather the next few years. Al, an
amateur mathematician had calculated that the chaos following the
impact was a parabolic function. Building up as we saw during the few
years preceding then peaking, he figured, about a year and half to two
years after, then slowly returning to an equilibrium as people got fed
up with insecurity. Government, he said, was a natural phenomenon of
the human condition. He considered it the collective equivalent of
"wiping your ass." "You just don't run around without some system
for cleaning up the messes we are bound to make."

"Al, my friend." I said jokingly, "I didn't figure you to be such a
philosopher." He laughed at that, telling me that he once read
extensively on social anthropology.

The night had an foreboding to it. The streets were dark and empty, the
community deciding not to brave the cool humidity that imposed itself
so suddenly on the island. Then I remembered the boy who would
meet me at home. I picked up my pace, sprinting the last hundred
yards to my door.

Entering my apartment it was dark. But from the bedroom I detected a
dim glow. Silently I made my way and peeked through the door. I
don't know what jumped farther, my heart or my cock. The boy Chas,
lay naked on the soft blankets, a dozen candles burning low around the
room. His unruly hair splayed out on the pillow, his dark skin a deep
amber gold in the flickering light. He was turned at such an angle, half
on his side half on his back, that I could see the perfect ass, his foal-
legs, soft and sinewy at once, but so very childish, boyish, his little
cock, all proud, uncut, three inches of it, flopped over in the crevice of
his hip joint.

In all the world, I was the handsome king come back to his castle to
find his page and lover fallen asleep before the love making. How
could I ever dream of living without this child, so young and smooth,
so bright and fresh to a world gone to hell. A boy who in one breath
wants to watch a cartoon or the X-men movie, and at the same instant
exposes himself to the sexual fondlings of his adult lover.

I am naked. I have extinguished the candles and now are the shadows
that replace them. Laying on the bed I pull the sleeping catamite, boy,
child, lover, barely virgin, into the moon crescent curve of my body. I
am so happy I want to cry. Chas stretches against me and turns, half
waking I can smell the honeydew of his breath, a hint of chocolate and
mint and something else.

"You're late. . ." whispers the boy somewhere between a dream and
sleep.

"I'm sorry. . ." I say so soft that I'm not sure if the night said it for me,
making my thoughts words, then I add, "my love." I feel child burrow
into me and murmur something.

"s'ok." I think he says.

And the same dark that takes my heart and gives it words whispers into the
boy's dream the true heart of a man, a lonely, lonely, man. I love you
Chas, more than life itself. You are a flower. You are my sun.  I need no
sunrise, no sunset. I need no warmth except for yours. You are my dream
boy, a spirit come to take me across the desert, for I need no water but to
drink from your kisses, I need no food but the salt of your body. Chas, you
sleep in my arms, you are my lover and my child. My hand on your chest can
feel your beating heart. And the only thing I know for sure is that you are
life. If there is a god, he would be kind to let me enter your dreams, so
that we can find each other in that vast wasteland of sleep... sleep ...
like in the beginning ...  making love...my lips on yours ... love... that
is all... yes... I will... so tired now... yes... yes ... yeah...  been so
tired... for so long... sleep... and in the morning... the story... bad
story... bad dream... will ... better... be ... I'd take you...  woods...
hunting... in ...the ... woods...  Chas... Green... the woods... you must
see the woods covered with... sleep?...  no...?  snow... and ... .tell you
poems... men... boys... . poetry... hardly ... any room ... for
poetry... readers take it all... heard ... the ...  coming... storm
... storm... boy... storm ... man... warm ... with a...  boy... in a storm
...  In Montana... an old truck... on an ... empty highway... me ... and
Chas ...  we laugh and cry...  Yes... sleep...  I'm afraid... of my love
for you ... my lips... Taste of salt... so tired... my lips on yours
... love... that is all.. yes... I will... so tired now...  yes...  yes
... yeah... been so tired... for so long...  sleep... and in the morning...
the ... story


End, The Island (Part 2)

To be continued...