Date: Sat, 25 Feb 2017 01:22:22 +0000 (UTC)
From: helloj1mmy@yahoo.com
Subject: Hunter Gets His Game On

I surveyed Linda, Biff, Willy, Happy and Charley Loman, plus the remainder
of the cast of Death of A Salesman, sitting cross-legged on the floor,
sprawled out - or lying down - on the big purple sofa in my penthouse and
smiled. We were just two days from opening night, and I was pleased as
punch with their performances in the final rehearsals. Tickets were selling
very well, and the two week season looked to become a sellout. Granted,
many of those were the parents, classmates and friends of the cast and
crew, but hey - bums on seats is what it's all about, not just the freebies
handed out at the start of the week. Word around campus was that this would
be a show to remember.

Tears pricked my eyes at how incredible the team was all the way from
auditions to this, the last pep talk after the final tech-dress. Their
glowing faces reflected how I felt.

"Words fail me," I spoke quietly, with my hand literally over my
heart. This brought a chuckle from the group, as I can be pretty
verbose. "Thank you, team; we're really onto something here. I can feel
it." Nods all 'round.

"Everyone has worked their arses off, and you all deserve to be proud of
your efforts. I cannot wait to see opening night." I paused. "There will be
no rehearsal needed tomorrow, so you have the night off. Please be back at
the theatre two hours before curtain up on Friday as per our
schedule. Thanks, guys; thank you so so much."

News of a night off brought cheers, applause, laughter and much
relief. Stoic Biff stood up and embraced me in a bear hug. Happy - who
really lived up to his character's name - kept grinning as he always did,
and slapped me on the back. Even the usually reticent Linda allowed a
gentle hug from me, rather than her customary handshake or curt nod
farewell. Yep, this tight knit group was fast becoming the best I'd ever
worked with, although I'm sure I say that every year, too.

The telephone suddenly jangled. I frowned. My landline was both private and
unlisted, and very few people knew the number, so it was likely just a
random telemarketer. I hurriedly excused myself from the cast to take the
call in my bedroom. I heard the front door slam as they all departed at
once.

"James here," I said into the mouthpiece.

The caller was Mrs Hashimoto. Her son Tadao - who for some odd reason
preferred to go by the name, Hunter - was playing up at home and wouldn't
listen to his parent's advice, much less act on it like all good Oriental
children are supposed to do. Would it be possible to talk some sense into
him, she wanted to know. Tad looks up to you, even though you're not his
teacher this year.

I considered her request for a moment. "When did you have in mind for me to
have a chat to him, Mrs Hashimoto? My diary's pretty full up, what with the
play and all." Hunter was a nice kid - but not a troublemaker in need of my
guiding hand - any more than the kid who wants his parent to still be in
the passenger seat offering advice and instructions, when he solos his
first car ride.

"I'm sorry to do this to you, Mr Lucas, but can you see him tonight? It's
really important."

"Tonight?" I repeated, glancing at the bedside clock. 9:42 pm. "It's rather
late, don't you think?"

She started to sound flustered , and began apologising profusely, but was
insistent that I was the only person to get through to Tadao - and... here,
she hesitated. "He has been embarrassing us for a month, now, James.
Bringing shame to the family name. I don't know what to do. Please can you
speak with him?"

I thought I detected a trace of desperation in her tone. Suppressing an eye
roll at the notion that Hunter was supposedly causing mayhem like some
Japanese devil on the loose, I put my foot down.

"Well, put him on the line," I countered.

"In person..." her voice trailed off.

The silence rolled on. For a second, I thought she'd hung up on me, when I
heard a barely whispered: "Please, Lucas-san. I would really be grateful to
you for helping." I caved in. "Okay, just this one time, Mrs H. Do you want
me to collect him, or..?"

My question was drowned in a volley of thank you's and breathless
appreciation at my generosity; and I'm sure few good luck blessings were
thrown in for good measure.

"How will he get here - train or what?"

"We will send a taxi, James. I would bring him myself, but Scooter is
unwell this week, and I must care for him."

"Of course. Send him over."

She thanked me for the millionth time and hung up.

Wondering what I'd gotten myself into, yet with a hunch something deeper
was going down than what her story was telling me, I set about tidying the
lounge, straightening and plumping the cushions on the giant purple sofa;
binning the empty pizza boxes into the recycle unit, and generally making
the place respectable again. Not for Hunter's sake; just that I preferred
going to bed with the penthouse clean, rather than waking to a pigsty in
the morning.

Of course, Scooter wasn't Hunter's younger brother's real name, either. But
since he was seen practically everywhere zooming around on his Micro blade,
the name had been dreamt up by his dad, and stuck fast. Scooter was proud
of it. Even when I showed him a Youtube clip of his counterpart from The
Muppet Show, it merely served to seal the deal; so Scooter it was. Two
point two years younger than Hunter, and as different to him from the
proverbial chalk to cheese.

The intercom buzzed.

"Come on up, Hunter." I pressed the entry button.

Minutes later, a soft tap on my door announced his arrival.

A quick peek through the peephole viewer confirmed it to be him.

I swung the door open and bowed with an elaborate flourish.

"Entre," I intoned.

Hunter stalked inside my apartment, and hovered by the kitchen island
bench. Okay, usually my tomfoolery earned a giggle if nothing else. This
had to be serious.

I closed the door, and returned to tidying up. "Drink?" Hunter shook his
head. He took in the surroundings. "I'd offer you a bite to eat, but as you
can see, the cast cleaned me right out. I have some miso soup in the
'fridge if you want me to heat that for you. Or I can order up some
takeout."

Another shake of his short, spiky hair.

I glanced at him. "You're allowed to speak, you know, Hunter. This isn't
Sunday school."

That brought a wan smile. He was one of the few Japanese teens I'd met who
didn't wear glasses or contacts.  His jet black eyes seemed to have a
permanent twinkle to them, and reminded me a lot of a Magpie. But unlike
that notorious bird, I highly doubted Hunter was a thief.

I gave the lounge a once-over; sank gratefully onto the sofa, and waited
for him to say something. I could see him wrestling with his thoughts,
sparking ideas, discarding them, weighing up other options.

"Hunter," I spoke softly, "are you in trouble with the law?"

A third head shake. I mentally struck that off the list.  Truthfully, if he
was, I would've been surprised, but not too shocked. Teen years can turn
the politest boy into a raving idiot, sometimes.

Seeing his mournful expression, I patted the cushions near me, and tucked
my feet up under. Hunter took the hint and came and sat down - close, but
not intimately. I secretly hoped this wasn't going to be like wheedling a
pearl from a clammed up oyster shell... okay, lame analogy, but it's late,
and I'm tired. Which I told him.

He nodded vigorously, then unexpectedly began to weep silently.

I kept myself in check, and waited patiently for Hunter to open up in his
own time.

His pale cheeks shone with tears.

I thought about passing him some tissues from the box at the other end of
the sofa, but he pulled out a Spongebob kerchief and blew his nose into it.

Unlike a lot of his contemporaries, Hunter wasn't really into anime‚ -
much less hentai, I presumed - but did have a love of Cartoon Network, and
Harry Potter. His creative writing was better than his science and
mathematics, that I was aware of (mostly because he'd confessed it last
year), and he liked to cosplay more than computer play, even though it took
months of planning and work to make his costumes. Hunter's sense of humour
was impish, fun, and rapid-fire. I used to joke that he could make a living
as a stand-up comedian, even at twelve years and something-months.

"Mr Lucas -"

"- James -

" - James. Why does everyone think all Asian males have mame chin? Small
penis."

To prevent myself from busting out in laughter, I switched on my poker
face. "Who says that? your schoolmates?"

"Some of them," Hunter stared at the carpet. "But other boys, too, on our
swim meet competitions. Why?"

"Well..." I considered some answers. "It's a huge myth, perpetuated by
society at large, aided and abetted by TV programs and other media - even
the news. In the same way that they believe that all African-Americans and
Latinos are hung like a horse - yes, some are, and so are some Asian boys."

"Really?" He looked up at me.

"Yes, really, Hunter."

He looked downcast again. "You're just saying that to make me feel better."

Smart guy. "Well, yes and no. Yes I'm saying it to try and make you feel
better about yourself; no, I'm not making it up - there ARE those who are
big, just as there ARE those blacks and Mexicans who are not.  Why are you
asking?" I prodded him. "Has this got something to do with you acting out
over the past month?"

"They bully me in the locker room, and sometimes shove soap in my mouth and
up my ass crack," he went on.  "Insisting that I must be gay because it
hasn't grown like theirs' and I can't cum yet. So I report it but nothing
ever happens." His voice wavered.

"Bully you?" Mine rose in anger. "Why?"

"Because I am Mr Small Penis."

"Hold on a second, Hunter. You're what - twelve years, some months?"

"Twelve years, two hundred and forty one days."

"And your swim buddies give you a hard time because you're smaller than
they are, or what?" More nodding.  "Hunter, not everyone starts puberty at
the same time, you know. My younger brother didn't have a hair in sight
till he was almost sixteen. Ditto one of my best mates in school. I didn't
care; we'd masturbate together in a hut in the bush at his place, and smoke
cigarettes - horny is horny, and dick is dick - big, small, fat, thin,
curved, pudgy, veiny - or whatever."

Silence.

For a minute, I thought I'd taken my passionate discussion of my favourite
topic too far. Then I saw that enigmatic smile creep back on his weary
face. The way the dimples still formed at either side of his mouth, was
bound to be part of the teasing as well - no doubt, for being too cute or
something like that. Especially when paired with his button nose and
half-moon eyebrows.

"Thank you, James. I feel better now." He swept a hand through his hair,
spiking it.

"Crisis averted, and you're welcome."

Hunter didn't move.

I could almost see the cogs turning over in his head as he plucked up the
courage to further speak his mind. I knew better than to interrupt, and
waited for him to come out with whatever was bothering him still, in his
own time. I didn't have to wait long.

"But is mine really short?"

"I have no clue, Hunter."

He stood up.

"I want to show you. Can I, please?"

"Not a good idea, dude. I like my job; I love my life, and am in no hurry
to see the rest of it behind bars."

"I won't tell anyone," he spoke firmly.

"That's not the point, Hunter. It can happen by accident - or if you get
mad at me, and want revenge some day in the future for whatever reason."

"Please, James. I just want to know that I am okay," he implored.

"No can do, Mister." The tears welled up once more. " I don't fall for
emotional blackmail, either," I said. "Sorry, mate.  I think you'd better
leave. I'll call a taxi."

I got up. Hunter blocked me, and pressed his hands on my arms.

"I have no one else to turn to, and I trust you completely. Please, just
this once for me," he quietly insisted.

"Don't beg; it's demeaning."I scolded him.

"Does that mean you'll look?" he slyly cornered me.

I let go of the breath I was holding.

"Okay, just this once - and only if you promise to behave at home, and not
make a nuisance of yourself to your poor mother."

"I promise," he said instantly.

"Wait, that was a bit quick."

"I promise," he said, deliberately elongating the word. "I Harry Potter vow
to commit hara-kiri if I ever say to another person."

"That's unnecessary, but I accept the sincerity of your statement."

"So...?"

There goes my lifestyle, I thought as I waved a hand at him.

He stepped back, peeled off his trousers, then Spiderman underwear in quick
succession.

His penis looked to be about four inches, flaccid. His balls were still
developing and hanging halfway down behind his cock, and his small cluster
of pubes at the base of his shaft stood straight out, like they do with
most Orientals.

My gaze met his intensely searching eyes. Hope for acceptance and needing
to belong were in there, of course; fear of rejection and being thought of
as 'less than' was visible, too. When a boy trusts you with his whole
heart, it's hard to refuse. I nodded my approval. His grin lit up the room.

"For what it's worth, Hunter, you have a good size for your age. Most boys
your age are about an inch or so less when soft, let alone erect. I don't
see what the fuss was all about."

He tried to interrupt. I held up my hand, forbidding him. "But I understand
how as a young teen, you could get upset over something most adults would
think is a minor issue - a mountain out of a molehill, so to speak."

He came closer and hugged me.

"Thank you, James-san. I knew I could count on you."

"Little rascal," I said as I tousled his spiky hair. "You sure know how to
push your luck."

"Can I see yours?" He immediately shot back, pushing it even further.

I cracked up with laughter.

"Oh my gosh. That's a step too far, even for a horny teen."

"Not horny. Just curious."

"Curiosity killed the cat."

"Satisfaction brought it back," he retorted.

"Not gonna happen till the Good Lord puts down his flock and fucks his
sheep."

The grin returned. "Then after that?"

"Cheeky monkey."

"Well, you know that's my Chinese zodiac sign, so what do you expect?"

"Touche." He was back to his former self. "Now scram. I need to get some
shut eye, and you need to say sorry to your family. And no, you're not
staying the night on the giant purple sofa, either."

"You read my thoughts." His shirt was the last item to be tucked in.

"They're kind of an open book, Hunter."

Nodding. "Yeah, I'm not the typical inscrutable Japanese. Half Japanese...

"That's a relief to know." I gave him a compassionate hug, then broke off
to call him a taxi.

"Thank you for letting me know that I'm normal, James."

I barked a laugh. "Normality has much to answer for, Hunter, but I get your
point. And you're welcome."

I caught the naughty look in his eye. "Before I go to sleep, I'm going to
--" And he made the universal sign for jerking off.

"You do that," I replied, not rising to the bait.

"Only a few drops of cum," he continued.

"Yeah, yeah," I answered, wishing the taxi would hurry up.

Hunter gave me a quick peck on the cheek. Very un-Nihongo
gesture. Whispered: "Arigatoo gozimasu."

"Do, itashi maste."

My mobile beeped with the taxi alert. I saw Hunter out to the elevator,
then returned to my penthouse. It was ten-thirty, but felt like twenty-four
hours later.

I quickly rotated through my nightly ablutions. Shutting off all the
lights, except for the Himalayan salt lamp on the corner table, I pondered
the night's events, as I stripped off and clambered into bed, nude. I had
no idea just how much his reliance on me as a mentor and friend, was going
to matter in his young life. I was soon to find out.