Date: Sun, 24 Aug 1997 22:42:56 -0600 (MDT)
From: Boy-writer <bstory@anon.nymserver.com>
Subject: John Allen (M/b) - part 4/8

JOHN ALLEN (M/b) - part 4

The story continues.  This is a slow-moving story.  Some seem to like it
that way (thanks for your comments), but if you don't, better skip it.

John Allen is an average-looking man in his early forties with slightly
thinning auburn hair, fairly well-built and a little over six feet tall.  He
has inherited a mansion near a large East-coast city and set himself up as a
child and adolescent counselor.  He has three servants, Jorge, Maria, and
Carlita, from Costa Rica; the women speak only Spanish, which John doesn't
understand.  The servants are loyal to John and know that he favors boys,
from working for him in Costa Rica.

Jeremy, 13, is one of John's patients.  He is not fat but well taken-care-of
by his middle-class parents, who have difficulty paying John's fees but are
desperate for some help with Jeremy, whom they can't control.  Jeremy has
brown hair and green eyes.  John has become totally infatuated with him, and
getting a boy hooker from the city hasn't helped any.

Chapter 13 ----------

John fidgeted in his office, waiting for Jeremy's appointment.  He knew he
had crossed the point of no return with the kid, if not in reality then
certainly in his mind.  He was irresistibly drawn to the boy, but had been
unable to break off the counseling - though he knew from here on out there
would be less and less "counseling" involved.  John also knew that he wasn't
being completely candid with the parents any more and that that, if
anything, should have been a red flag.  Still, he felt himself going along,
that familiar sliding feeling in the pit of his stomach, as if he were
pushed by the Hand of Fate.  He laughed bitterly at his own rationalization,
remembering the joke about how God gave Man two heads, but only enough blood
to operate one at a time.

John looked down at the soccer ball he had bought Jeremy, then glanced at
the freshly-mended window behind him.  He winced as he thought of the ball
sailing through the window under the force of a powerful kick.  He rubbed
his shin, thinking ruefully of cowboy boots.  John took off his shoes and
reached into his desk drawer for the knee pads he had purchased, putting
three on each shin.  He put his shoes back on - nice conservative oxfords.

The man wondered how they should sit, or whether Jeremy would prefer (he
hoped) to lie down again.  He would have to hold the boy still as usual. 
John looked down at the pen set that had been retrieved from the garden
below and remembered how Maria had complained about fishing the glass out of
her garden.  It was a nice day; they should go outside.  He called for
Carlita to fetch him some tennis shoes and put them on.

Jeremy showed up with his father right on schedule.  The man had an
accountant's eye for detail, that was sure.  Little details like being on
time.  Funny how such people sometimes can't see larger truths in the world
around them.  The father was wearing his best black three-piece suit, way
overdressed for such an occasion.  Jeremy was wearing cotton bermuda shorts
in a blue pattern and a black t-shirt that was way too big for him.  It
covered up most of his shorts; as usual, he wore no socks under his
sneakers.

Jeremy's father said he needed to talk to John.  John told Jorge to take
Jeremy out in the courtyard.  Jorge took ahold of Jeremy's shirt, tightly
but not obviously, and led him out.  John took the father into his office,
half-fearing that Jeremy had talked about their last session, and that a
lawsuit was coming.  But, then, why did the man bring Jeremy this time?

John showed the man to a chair and sat behind his desk.  Jeremy's father,
Lawrence (you would never call a man like that "Larry"), took off his
wire-rims and looked down.

"I need to tell you that we can't afford Jeremy's treatment any more.  His
mother disagrees, but we have no more money.  We took out a second mortgage
to pay for his school, and for you, but that money is gone now.  Here is a
check for $1200.  That should pay for the sessions he's had, up through
today."

John was completely bowled over.  He should have felt a weight lifted from
his shoulders, but instead he felt betrayed.  All that mental anguish over
the boy's case, and now this?  They were giving up on him?  No, he couldn't
allow that.  He couldn't say it like that either.  He kept silent, looking
for words.

Lawrence continued.  "We need you to tell him.  He won't listen to us.  We
tried to tell him, but you know how he is."  He sighed, absently cleaning
his already spotless glasses with an equally spotless handkerchief.  "When
we tried to tell Jeremy he couldn't see you any more, he threw two of our
dining room chairs into the pool."  Lawrence forced himself to laugh, then
grew solemn again.

John's mind was racing.  He could not, _would_ not, do that to Jeremy.  He
found the words.  "Well, does the treatment seem to be working?"

"Yes, I have to admit it does.  Last time he was quiet for almost three
days.  It seems to be getting longer each time.  I wish we could continue
his therapy, and maybe if we hadn't had to spend so much on the school we
would, but we can't afford it, as I said."  The man drew himself up, seeming
to feel his integrity (or something) under attack.

"Sometimes I take cases pro bono," John said.  It was a lie; he had never
taken a case from a client whose parents couldn't pay.  John did not, of
course, need the money - it just wasn't good for business to let it be known
that you give away your services for free.  Lawrence looked up guiltily,
then looked away.  "Of course, the arrangement would have to be strictly
confidential."  He caught what appeared to be the beginning of a smile on 
the man's face.

The man cleared his throat.  "I'm afraid we can't do that.  I've never taken
charity in my life and I won't start now."

"What will happen to Jeremy then?  Your wife told me earlier that you were
considering giving him up.  Have you thought what that will do to him?  I
would like to continue working with him; I think we're making progress."  It
was below the belt, but John was fighting dirty now.

Lawrence's face was blank.  John knew that look; it was the look of a man
with powerful emotions who was damned if he'd show them.  The best poker
faces are to be found on passionate men.  But what good are those passions
if they can't be shown?  "I have rules I live by, sir.  They are not,
perhaps, great rules or wise ones, but I live by them and try to instill
them in my son.  This family takes no charity."

John felt a wisecrack coming on about Jeremy's rules and bit his lip. 
Another idea came to him.  "Well, look, I have some accounting work you
could do.  Jorge does it now, but he's not very good at it, and I think I'm
paying more in taxes than I should.  You could do that for me, in exchange
for Jeremy's sessions, a sort of barter arrangement."

Lawrence was still for a long time, seeming to struggle within himself. 
John thought he needed another push.  "Your firm does investment management,
right?  Seems like your boss mentioned that when I spoke with him."

"Yes, we do.  I have done some of that myself.  But that is the firm, not
me.  It would be a breach of trust with the firm to take on business on my
own."

Damn, this guy was tough.  John struck below the belt again.  "Well, I think
it is a bigger breach of trust with your son to give him up to the State. 
You need to decide which is more important to you."

It worked; Lawrence wiped a tear from his eye with the spotless handkerchief
and said, "I'll do it."

John held out his hand, and the man shook it.  "We have a deal, then," he
said, smiling.

Lawrence recovered his composure, saying, "Yes, sir, we do.  My wife will be
pleased, you know.  She was very angry with me this morning."  He forced
himself to laugh again.

John decided to press his luck.  "Look, sometimes I have kids stay here for
a few days.  You can see I have room, and my staff are very good with them."
Another lie; no kid had ever stayed overnight in John's house.  "Sometimes
it can be good for the parents and children to spend a little time apart. 
After you get my quarterly returns done, perhaps we could try that with
Jeremy.  It might do him good."

Lawrence stared at John.  John thought he had overstepped the bounds, but
then the man said, "Good God, you haven't got the second-quarter returns
done yet?  You're looking at some interest and penalties."

John started to smile but caught himself.  "No, Jorge is having trouble with
them.  I guess his English isn't that good, but then I can't understand the
forms either.  Can you come by on Sunday, say about 4:00 in the afternoon? 
I don't have any patients then."

"Sunday is fine with me."  Lawrence stood up, obviously pleased.  John shook
his hand again and showed him out.  It had turned out better than John hoped
- not only had he kept Jeremy, but the possibility loomed of having him for
several days.  He was sure Jeremy's parents would agree; from the looks of
them, they would do almost anything to get him out of their hair for a few
days.

Chapter 14 ----------

Much of Jeremy's session had unfortunately gone by.  John took off his coat
and tie and grabbed the soccer ball.  Lawrence followed him out into the
courtyard.  As he emerged into the yard, John saw Jorge holding Jeremy down
on his knees in a sort of headlock.  John motioned quickly with his hand,
afraid Lawrence would see.  Jorge quickly brought the kid up to his feet,
still holding him by the shoulder of his shirt.

"Well, Jeremy, your dad and I just had a talk," John said.  Jeremy looked
ruefully at him.  "It seems we can go on seeing each other after all."
Jeremy started to smile but caught himself, looked off into the bushes, and
started to whistle.  John didn't recognize the tune; Jeremy hummed better
than he whistled.

"All right, Dr. Allen, I leave my son to you," Lawrence said in his best
Chamber of Commerce tone.  "Give your ol' dad a kiss, Jeremy."  Jeremy
turned his head away and continued to whistle.  Lawrence kissed him on the
cheek, then drew himself up and walked away.  Carlita was waiting by the
door to the courtyard to show him out.

"Okay, Jorge, I can take it from here," John said.  Jorge looked uncertainly
at him.  John took hold of Jeremy's right arm above the elbow, and Jorge let
go, walking back to the house.

John turned to Jeremy and said, "I got you a soccer ball.  I thought we
could play some soccer, seeing as you like to kick."  He held out the ball. 
Jeremy batted it out of John's hand with his left.  "Hey!  No hands in
soccer!"  He laughed.  Jeremy didn't.

John continued.  "Those two trees back there are my goal.  Those two over
there are yours."  Jeremy didn't say anything but looked at the trees.  John
still held his arm.  "Have you played soccer before?" John asked.

"Yes, I've played soccer before," Jeremy said disgustedly, as if it were the
stupidest question in the world.  "You don't play it with just two people."

"Well, I've played it with just two people.  Let's try it.  Okay?"  John
looked at the boy, wondering if this would work.  Jeremy didn't say anything
and looked up.  "Okay?"

Jeremy sighed.  "Okay I guess."

John let him go and ran backward toward his "goalpost."  He still wondered
about the kid, feeling he would never be sure what he would do.  Jeremy
walked around in a circle, then slowly came up to the ball.

The courtyard was a perfect place, John thought.  Big enough for any outdoor
activity, but surrounded on all sides by (mostly) unused wings of the
mansion.  Jeremy would get to use up his energy without causing damage.

Jeremy gave the ball a strong kick, obviously aiming for a window, but
falling short by several feet.  Clearly there could be no "out of bounds"
here (the walls surrounding the courtyard were the bounds), so John ran over
and kicked the ball back to the boy.  Jeremy smiled and moved the ball
downfield toward John's goalpost, expertly shifting it between his feet. 
The boy was really good at this.  John moved in front of his goal.

Jeremy let fly with a huge kick that sailed over John's head and between the
trees, knocking down leaves.  "One point for you!" John said.  He took the
ball back in front of his goal and started to move downfield with it.

Jeremy closed in quickly and tried to take the ball away.  He pushed at John
with his hands, technically a foul, but the man decided to ignore it.  The
rules were not important.  John was afraid of kicking the boy accidentally
and held back, and it cost him, since Jeremy soon had the ball and was
moving towards John's goal with it.  John chased after him, kicking the ball
between Jeremy's legs.  John ran after it, Jeremy got in front of him, and
soon they were both on the grass, John lying on top of the boy.

John got up and held his hand out to Jeremy.  "Are you okay?" he asked.  The
boy ignored the man's hand and got up on his own.  There seemed to be a
smile there, but it didn't last.  Jeremy ran off after the ball, which was
under a tree to the right of his "goal."

John ran after the kid, breathing faster.  This was hard work for a man of
his age.  Jeremy moved about halfway downfield, shifting the ball expertly
as before.  John blocked him.  Jeremy ran straight into the man, and this
time they were on the grass with the boy on top.  Jeremy smiled, stood up,
and held out his hand.  John grabbed it and the boy pulled with all his
might.  As John was almost up, Jeremy let go and laughed as John fell back
to the ground.  Jeremy ran off to get the ball, which was stuck under some
bushes by the side of the "field."  John strugged up and ran after him.

Jeremy was faster and soon scored another goal.  John decided that while it
would be good to let the kid win, he didn't want to be humiliated - their
whole relationship seemed to be based on John being the stronger of the two. 
John was breathing hard as he moved the ball downfield, keeping it just out
of the kid's reach.  Jeremy ran at John with his hands outstretched, trying
to push the man over.  It didn't work; John grabbed the boy by his left arm
and pulled him past.  A nice judo move - Jeremy's momentum carried him right
past John, and the boy did a somersault in the grass, landing on his back. 
John ran forward and scored a goal.  He left the ball back behind the trees,
waiting for the kid to bring it out.

John leaned over in midfield, holding his hands on his knees, as Jeremy
slowly got up.  The boy came over to John.  "I don't want to play any more,"
he said.  John looked down at his slacks, at his grass-stained shirt.  He
wasn't dressed for this anyway; it had been a spur-of-the-moment thing. 
Still, he wanted to know if the kid was mad at him.

"Don't think you can beat me, huh?" he said, smiling.

"I can beat you.  You're slow.  I can beat anybody at soccer," Jeremy said. 
"I just don't want to play any more."

Thank God, John thought.  He would have a heart attack if this kept up.  He
stood up and said, "Okay, we can talk then."

"No way!" Jeremy said, and ran off laughing.  He stood still in a far corner
of the courtyard, held his arms out, and shook himself, sticking his tongue
out.  "I bet you can't catch me!" he cried.

John knew a challenge when he saw one and secretly doubted he was up to it. 
Still, he knew he had to meet this one, though he was already winded.  "Oh,
yes I can!" he yelled, running straight at the boy.

Jeremy darted off along the wall, and John followed along the trees in front
of it, several steps behind.  The man's larger steps, though slower,
eventually began to tell, though, and the question became whether the boy
would run out between the trees, giving John a chance to catch him, or
whether he would stay behind and wait, requiring the man to take the first
move.  They stood still for a few moments, John leaning against a tree,
Jeremy standing against the wall several feet away.

John looked down for a minute, hoping Jeremy would take the chance.  He
didn't; the boy was still there looking at him when John looked up again. 
John decided that once more it was up to him as the adult to take the
offensive.  It was a mistake.  As John ran forward, hitting the wall hard
where the kid had been, Jeremy ran out between two trees a few yards away
into the open.

John was feeling this was an unequal combat, but he wasn't giving up yet. 
Jeremy stood in the middle of the courtyard, kicking the grass disgustedly;
he was obviously disappointed in John.  John walked up to a tree and leaned
against it again.  Jeremy spotted a branch under some bushes on the far side
of the yard and ran over to it.

John started walking over toward where Jeremy was pulling the branch out
from under the bushes.  Jeremy pulled the branch out in one mighty jerk and
fell flat on his behind.  John ran forward as Jeremy got up, pulling the
branch after him, moving toward a window.  The man ran forward and caught
the boy just as he was swinging the branch.

John took Jeremy's arms behind his back and crossed them, holding them with
one hand.  Jeremy started kicking, and John was glad for the kneepads as he
dragged the kid back to the middle of the field and lay on top of him.

"I caught you now!" he said playfully.  Jeremy laughed and kicked some more,
then John scissored his legs and put him in a headlock.  "Admit it!  Say I
caught you!"

Jeremy laughed again and said, "Never!"  He struggled and tried vainly to
scratch John on the stomach.

John tightened the headlock so it hurt, but not too much.  "Admit it now!"

"Ow!  Okay, you got me!"  Jeremy was still laughing.

"Will you be good if I let you go?"

"No!"

"I'll have to tickle you then," John said, and proceeded to to just that. 
Jeremy was squirming and laughing hard, trying to catch his breath.

John let up a little, and Jeremy said, "That's nothing.  I can take that! 
You can't do anything to me!"

John tickled him harder, not letting up.  The boy was screeching loudly,
gasping for air.  "I'll do it again!" Jeremy cried, catching his breath
momentarily.

"Well maybe I'll have to spank you then," John said.  "You know it's bad to
break windows."  He thought that would take the boy aback.

He was wrong.  "You can't do that to me!" he said, laughing.  He struggled
hard in one spurt and John almost lost hold of him, but not quite.

John sat on the ground with his legs crossed and put the boy across his lap. 
"Oh, yes I will!  You better say you're sorry!"

"Well I'm not!  I'll do it again as soon as you let me go," Jeremy said.

"I have to spank you then," John said, feeling himself getting hard.  No way
the boy could avoid feeling it - it was poking right into his stomach.  John
brought his hand up and came down, but not hard, a baby-pat.

"Hahahaha," Jeremy laughed.  "You hit like a girl!"  He squirmed off of
John's lap.  John still had hold of the boy's arms, though, so he wasn't
going anywhere.  He pulled Jeremy back onto his lap and hit him again,
harder this time.

Jeremy yelped and stopped laughing.  Oddly, he stopped struggling too.  John
asked, "Will you be good now and not break windows?"

"No!" Jeremy screamed.  John put his hand up and swatted the boy for all he
was worth.

"Ow!" the boy cried.  John tried again:  "Will you be good?"

"No I won't!" Jeremy declared.  John hit him again, just as hard.  He heard
sniffles.

"Will you break windows any more?" he asked.

"Yes I will!" Jeremy said through gritted teeth.  John swatted him two more
times.  Jeremy didn't say anything, but John heard him sniveling; the boy
wasn't laughing any more.  John hit him again.

"Ow!  Stop!" Jeremy cried.

"Will you break windows any more?" he asked again.

"Yes - but not yours," Jeremy said.  John laughed to himself.  Well, it was
a start.

"Will you be good if I let you up?"

"No!"

John swatted him two more times.  Jeremy was crying hard now.  "I'll let you
up if you promise to be good."

"Okay."

"Okay what?"

"Okay I promise to be good if you let me up."

John let the kid go, but to his surprise, Jeremy didn't run off or even
stand up.  He threw his arms around John's neck.  And he didn't stop crying.

John wondered what he had done wrong.  Probably everything; none of this was
in the manual.  He looked at his watch.  God, the session was over fifteen
minutes ago.  He stood up with Jeremy and put his arm around his shoulders. 
They walked into the house.  Carlita was there, dusting a potted plant.  She
looked concerned.  John ignored her.

Jeremy's mother was waiting to pick him up.  She was surprised at John's
somewhat ruffled appearance, and at Jeremy's tear-stained face, but she
didn't say anything.  Neither did Jorge, who looked up from his paperwork
and stifled a smile.


More later ....