Date: Sun, 31 Aug 1997 19:30:03 -0600 (MDT)
From: Boy-writer <bstory@anon.nymserver.com>
Subject: John Allen (M/b) - part 7/8

It's been a while since I wrote the original "John Allen" story, and I
thought I'd add some more if I could.  Thanks to Standing Bear for his
support and suggestions.

In earlier postings, I included a summary of the previous goings-on.  I'm
not going to do that any more.  See the previous parts.

As always, don't read this if you're offended by man/boy sex, or if the laws
in your area forbid it.  This story is really about love, not sex, but there
may be some in it.  You are warned.

JOHN ALLEN (M/b) - part 7

Chapter 18 ----------

John was happier than he'd been in weeks.  At times, his feet hardly seemed
to reach the ground.  And he no longer tried to deceive himself - the
upcoming weekend with Jeremy was the cause.

Carlita was only slightly bruised, but she gratefully accepted a few days
off.  At first, she didn't want to leave the house, but Jorge drove her into
the city, finding a neighborhood were a lack of understanding of English was
not a barrier.  The entire family was pleased for her when she found a nice,
older Dominican man in a night club there.  And then there were two people
in the household who were walking on air.

John devoted himself to his work with unprecedented zeal, finding a new
confidence welling up within.  Counseling is at times a frustrating
profession; the counselor does his best, and sometimes the patients improve,
but how does one know that the counseling has helped?  It often seemed that
his patients got better without John's help, or perhaps maybe he had helped,
but he didn't know how.  But now he felt that he could conquer the world,
with Jeremy at his side.  John was in love, and he knew it; furthermore, he
thought that Jeremy, in his own way, felt much the same.  There was a long
way to go, but Jeremy would make it.  With his quick mind, he would conquer
the world.

It was an odd thing perhaps, but John felt no guilt at all about his
attachment to Jeremy, or what they had done in the shower.  Love covered it
all.  The counselor felt no resentment or defiance toward the outside world,
which would denounce him as the worst sort of monster if it knew.  The world
and its opinions did not matter.  There was only the smiling face of Jeremy,
with his devilish grin and the eyes that had looked on John with adoration,
an adoration that John shared.

In this light, John combed the literature, even going to the library at the
local university a couple times, and adding to the list of publications to
which he subscribed.  He found that the best treatment for phobias, with
which the 4-year-old girl and several of his other patients suffered, was to
let them confront their fears, a bit at a time, at first in imagination,
then in reality.  It made sense.  Courage is a habit, as is cowardice, and
each victory over one's fears made one stronger, ready to confront the next
secret terror and defeat it.

With autism, however, the picture was definitely depressing, and John's
heart sank as he read, thinking of the little 7-year-old boy he had
reluctantly accepted as a patient.  It seemed that there were no effective
treatments, that all the psychiatric profession had to offer were drugs and
restraints, and, in the milder cases, "occupational therapy" that amounted
to training the boy to sort returnable cans under close supervision.  In
earlier years, the boy could only expect to spend the rest of his life in an
institution.  Now, at the close of the twentieth century, he would probably
live out his life in a group home, comfortable and well-tended perhaps,
without bars on his window, but never becoming an adult, never taking his
proper place in the world.

The only ray of hope was a treatment that the parents of one autistic boy
had stumbled upon, refusing to accept the grim prognosis that the
professionals offered.  It consisted of constant, one-on-one interaction
with a single person (in this case the boy's mother), in a familiar
environment (in this case the family bathroom).  At first, the woman simply
mimicked her son's actions, rocking with him, imitating his vocalizations,
without touching.  Later, they touched more, she still rocking with him,
playing games on the floor.  Finally, he would join in the games, placing
pegs in the holes she indicated, arranging blocks to imitate her.  The
treatment continued constantly for over a year, with occasional setbacks, as
the boy gradually came out of himself, his sister and father helping the
exhausted mother.  Finally, one time, he asked for a glass of milk at
dinner.  The boy was now a man, perfectly normal.  It was the only complete
cure for autism in the history of medical science.

But that boy had only been two and a half years old, three at the time of
his cure.  Then again, his autism had been profound.  Unlike John's patient,
that boy had not been able to speak.  The boy John counseled was less
afflicted.  Perhaps there was hope for him, but John was far out of his
depth.  The boy would need intensive, one-on-one treatment in a residential
setting; fortunately, his parents could afford it.  John sent out several
letters to various institutions, looking for one that used the treatment
method that that determined mother had stumbled upon.  If only every child
had parents with such single-minded devotion to their needs.

It was at times depressing, and not only because of the little autistic boy. 
John felt for his young patients with a new empathy, reaching for a new
understanding.  He had lost a bit of his own fear, ready now to lose himself
for a time in the tortured souls of his patients, confident that he could
come back.  To Jeremy, the little demon that now posessed him.  Fall was
approaching, the air fresh and brisk.  John spent more and more time
outside, inhaling the goodness of the earth.  He noticed with distaste that
he had grown flabby, without the daily workout provided by the building of
his never-finished house in Costa Rica.  Finding a weight set in the
well-appointed gym, he began to work out, informing an amused Maria that he
needed to lose weight and that she should adjust his meals accordingly.

Chapter 19 ----------

Finally Friday came, and John smiled constantly at his staff, ignoring their
knowing smiles at him.  Jorge seemed to like his pocket watch and dispensed
with the old wristwatch he normally wore.  It made him look more
distinguished, as if he were the counselor and not John.

John Allen, Ed.D., fussed with his clothes like a kid going to his first
junior high dance, reminding himself that this was therapy, not a date.  The
goal was for Jeremy to get better, to learn to control his aggression or
channel it in socially-acceptable ways - whatever the fringe benefits to
John might be.  He had a responsibility, gratefully accepted - one that went
far beyond the duty of counselor to patient.  He was to protect his liege
lord and enable him to reclaim the kingdom that his father, the pretender,
had deprived him of.

Jeremy arrived in long khaki pants, as befitted the weather, with the same
red-and-white striped polyester shirt John had seen him in before.  He was
very quiet, looking at the floor, allowing his mother to hold his hand.  She
was dressed for a trip herself, in a soft business suit that fitted her
well, her long hair done up in a bun, with low-heeled, sensible shoes and
tan calfskin gloves.  John didn't think any women in America wore gloves any
more, except in winter; he half expected Lawrence to come through the door
in a fedora and announce that he was taking his wife on the Orient Express.

She announced that she wished to speak to John privately.  Nodding his
assent, he opened the door to the inner office, and she followed.  John
noticed out the corner of his eye that Jorge was quietly backing Jeremy into
a corner.  John closed the door.

"Dr. Allen," the woman said, "I don't know what you did, but the change in
Jeremy has been amazing."  She handed over several sheets of paper, the
journal John had asked her to start making.  He placed it on his desk. 
"Jeremy is like a new boy.  All this week, we've had almost no trouble with
him.  Well, some trouble," she added, smiling mischeivously, "that's in
there," indicating the papers.

John smiled; there seemed to be a smile trying to break out of him all the
time now.  "Glad to hear it," he said, sitting on his desk.

"Jeremy doesn't talk much," she said regretfully.  "He seems thoughtful."
Brightly she added, "But he doesn't break things any more.  He touches them,
it's like he's thinking about it, nearly gives me a heart attack," she said,
laughing, "but then he doesn't.  He just gets thoughtful again.  It's like
he's walking around in a daze."  She looked at him with some worry, but more
relief.

"He's sorting through his feelings, it's a good sign," John answered, not
really knowing whether that was true or not.

"I suppose so," she said, her eyes tearing up with gratitude.  "It's very
good of you to agree to take him for the weekend," she added, her strict
Baptist upbringing making her feel guilty for having duped him.  "We're
going to the Cape.  It's the off-season now, of course, but we spent our
honeymoon there, and it's been years since ...."

"I understand," John said, smiling.  "Jeremy will be fine."  He thought for
a moment, trying to recover something he was supposed to ask.  Glancing at
his blotter jogged his memory.  "Oh, one thing.  I need the number of
Jeremy's pediatrician, in case of an emergency - and a number where you can
be reached."

"Right here," the woman said, proud of her foresight, handing a paper to
John.  "Well, Lawrence is waiting, so I'd best be going."  She started for
the door, then looked back.  "Thank you, Dr. Allen, you're ... wonderful."
Ashamed of her outburst, she hurried out the door.  Jorge quickly stood
aside, and Allison blew a kiss at Jeremy.  "'Bye, honey.  I'll see you
Monday."  Jeremy looked sullenly at the opposite wall.

Allison left, and Jorge went back to his desk, keeping one eye on Jeremy in
case John needed help with him.  Jeremy stayed in the corner, though,
running his finger over the wallpaper.

It was up to John to break the ice.  He held out his hand.  "You want to go
work out in the gym again?" he asked, shadow-boxing a bit.  Jeremy stayed
where he was.  "Or do you want to play soccer?  Or baseball?"  Jeremy
sneered at him for an instant, contemptuous of John's admitted inability to
play baseball, then turned back to the wall.  "What then?"  No answer. 
Playfully, John asked, "Or do you want me to carry you there?"

Jeremy smiled at him impishly, then ran along the wall, careful to stay out
of range of Jorge.  Jorge looked at John, fearful for the safety of his own
office, but John motioned for him to stay seated.  For a while there was a
standoff, Jeremy moving along the wall avoiding his grasp as John slowly
advanced.  Then John lunged, and Jeremy easily slipped past him, giggling
with delight as he ran out into the endless hallways of the enormous house. 
John followed as fast as he could, emerging into the large entranceway.  He
looked down the three hallways in front of him, seeing no sign of Jeremy.

Suddenly John heard the boy giggling down the hallway in front of him, then
just as suddenly the squeak of sneakers on the parquet.  Jeremy emerged from
one of the doorways with a priceless antique lamp in his hands.  He made
motions like he was going to smash it on the floor as John, panicked, ran
headlong to stop him.  Just as John approached, Jeremy let go of the lamp,
not smashing it as he'd threatened but throwing it into the air.  With the
dexterity of a linebacker reaching for a fumble, John threw himself on the
floor, sliding on the parquet, catching the valuable lamp at the last
instant.

Jeremy giggled again and ran off, disappearing into the cavernous hallways
of the great mansion.  John set the lamp down hurriedly and gave chase,
caroming off the walls, careful not to lose sight of the boy.  God, he was
out of shape, and oxfords were not made for running on parquet.  John
regretted telling Jorge to stay at his desk and thought of summoning Maria
and Carlita, then thought better of it.  Jeremy was big enough to escape the
grasp of those petite women, big enough to hurt them without meaning to -
and John wasn't sure that Jeremy wouldn't mean to.

John kept up, though, for the most part not letting Jeremy out of his sight,
and on those occasions when the boy disappeared from view, the squeak of his
sneakers on the polished floor gave him away.  There were some anxious
moments for John when Jeremy slipped on the rugs that were sparsely
scattered about, and some antique tables that clattered to the floor, their
vases thoughtfully removed by Carlita after she returned from her time off. 
John leaped over them like a hurdle jumper, sometimes sliding uncomfortably
as he landed.

Finally, Jeremy turned into a hallway that John knew from his thoughtful
wanderings through the huge house to be a dead end.  Jeremy was trapped - if
he didn't find the stairwell.  John was very worried about that eventuality,
partly because he was almost out of breath, but partly because Jeremy could
easily slip and fall on the steep, dust-covered stairs.  The man summoned
the last of his energy reserve and ran headlong into the corridor, Jeremy's
bottom twisting under the khaki, leading him on.

Turning the corner, Jeremy looked at the end of the hall and realized he was
trapped.  He tried several doors, finding nothing but endless rooms, their
furniture covered with dust cloths.  John was nearly upon him.  He opened
one more door.  Yes! an escape route.  Giggling again, Jeremy looked down
the steep stairway and stepped forward.

His foot never landed on the tread.  John, desperate to save the boy from
the treacherous stairwell, leaped into the air, clutching Jeremy just above
the knees, hoping to catch himself in the doorway by his feet.  It was a
forlorn hope.  John's right foot slipped over the open door, and he started
sliding down the stairs on his chest, Jeremy on his back.  Bam! bam! bam!
bam! bam! they went down, Jeremy's eyes wide open in shock, John absorbing
repeated, painful jars to his chin and chest.  They fell onto the landing,
and John, carried by his momentum, rolled onto his side, pressing Jeremy
into the wall.

Recovering as fast as he could, John pulled away and sat up, gasping for
breath.  He pulled Jeremy away from the wall, distracted with concern.  "Are
you okay?" he asked.

Jeremy sat up, staring in wonder.  "Wow!  Can we do that again?" he asked.

John didn't answer but grabbed the boy's head in a vise grip, smothering his
face with kisses, then took the very surprised thirteen-year-old in his arms
and squeezed the breath out of him.  "Never," John said, panting, "never do
that again.  Too valuable" - *gasp* - "too important."  He kissed Jeremy's
head repeatedly.  "Never" - *gasp* - "never do that.  Stairs" - *gasp* -
"dangerous.  Never do that again."

Jeremy struggled, and John let him go so he could breathe.  He looked at
John in what looked like shock and fear, the same look the boy had had in
the shower when John let go.  John grabbed him again, more softly this time. 
"Jeremy," he said, "you're very important to me.  I never want you to get
hurt."

"I'm not hurt," Jeremy protested from John's shoulder, not understanding the
man's effusive affection, not really minding it either.  "I'm okay.  It's
okay," he said, rubbing John's back, trying to comfort him.

It was wrong for both of them.  It was John's place to comfort Jeremy, not
the other way around.  John let him go, surprised at the tears that had
begun to form in his (John's) eyes.  "Well," he said, "we're off to the gym,
that is, if you have any energy left."  He smiled, his eyes sparkling.

Jeremy got up, as usual refusing assistance.  "I have plenty of energy -
you're the one who's old."  He returned the smile.

"We'll see who's old," John replied, lifting Jeremy easily, placing one arm
under the boy's bottom, the other across his back.

Jeremy nestled into the man's chest, putting his skinny arms around John's
neck.  "Don't slip on the stairs," he said, laughing.

"I should," John teased, starting back up the stairs.  "Slide down on top of
you this time."  He pretended to slip on a stair tread, and Jeremy jumped.

"Don't do that," the boy said, "it's not a good idea," smiling again as he
realized it was a trick.

"Why not?"

"'Cause you would crush me."

"Well, I suppose I shouldn't do that.  Then you couldn't be my patient any
more."

"Oh, you have other patients," Jeremy said, teasing, nestling back into
John's shoulder.

"But you're my favorite," John said, honestly.  Jeremy didn't know what to
say or how to respond.  He remained still as he was carried down the
hallway.

"Really?" the boy finally asked, his voice very soft.

"Really," John said, squeezing tightly with his free arm.

Jeremy didn't say anything.  John heard a sniffle.  He didn't inquire;
Jeremy was at an age where such things were embarrassing.  John's left arm
was getting tired, but he was filled with joy.  He felt like dancing. 
Jeremy wiped his eyes with one hand, then resumed his comfortable position
in his counselor's arms.

John carried the boy down one flight of stairs, then walked down the
first-floor hall to the gymnasium.  As he descended the stairs, Jeremy
perked up.  "Are we gonna do boxing again?"

"Yeah.  Do you want to?"

"Yeah.  I want to go on the trampoline too."

"Okay," John said, putting the boy down as he opened the door and turned on
the light.  His servants had cleaned the room even better than before,
getting out the cobwebs between the hanging fluoroescent lights.  The room
smelled of disinfectant.

"Pew," Jeremy declared, walking in.  "What did they do to it?"

"I think they cleaned it.  The fan will take care of the smell in a while."

"It smells awful."  He wandered off toward the trampoline.

"Jeremy," John said in an authoritative voice.

"Yeah, I know, we have to get dressed," the boy replied disgustedly.  John
held out his arm, indicating the locker room.  Jeremy walked in.  John
followed.

They went back to the same two lockers.  "It smells in here too," Jeremy
observed, peeling off his shirt.  "Even worse than out there."

"I'll turn on the shower light.  The fan will help remove the smell."  With
a wary look back, John walked off to do so.

When he got back, Jeremy was sitting on the bench in his boxers.  "Where's
my gym clothes?" he demanded.

"Oh, that's right!" John said, walking away again toward the office, which a
locksmith had opened.

"What's right?" the boy asked, following.

"I got you some new ones.  I hope they're the right size."  He emerged from
the office holding a brown paper bag.

Jeremy took the bag and pulled the new clothing out, a piece at a time.  He
held up one item wrapped in plastic.  "What's this?"

"A jockstrap.  A man should wear one when he's working out, so he doesn't
get injured."

"Oh."  John walked back to their lockers and began to remove his clothes,
hanging them carefully.  Jeremy followed and sat down on the bench,
unwrapping things.

John was almost fully dressed when he noticed that Jeremy was still sitting
there, holding the jockstrap in his hands, looking at it.  "What's the
matter?  Aren't you going to get dressed?" the man asked.

"How do I, um, how do you put this on?" Jeremy asked, ashamed of his
question.

"Didn't you watch me?"

"No, you're not s'posed to look at other guys when they get dressed."

John looked at the boy, surprised at his modesty.  It certainly didn't fit
with everything else he knew about Jeremy.  He took the jock.  "Stand up and
take off your underwear," the man said.

Jeremy smiled at him and turned around, pulling down his underpants.  That
smile told John that he'd been had - again.  The kid was flirting!  Well, it
may be a game, but it was one John was perfectly ready to play.  His cock
was ready too, quickly swelling to its full eight inches.  The two soft
globes of Jeremy's behind loomed before him, seeming ready and waiting for
John's cock.  But no, it was too soon.  When John took Jeremy that way, if
he did, it would not be a rape but with the full, informed consent of both. 
Jeremy was too precious, too valuable to be treated otherwise.  John quickly
donned his own gym-shirt, covering his arousal.  Jeremy stood up again and
turned around, his lips no longer smiling, his eyebrows, however, lifted
mockingly.

John gasped once again at the beauty of the form before him.  The only hair
below the boy's head was the slight little moustache above his semi-hard
cock.  That moustache, though, John knew, was all-important.  It gave Jeremy
the ability to enjoy sex in a way that younger children could not.  Those
little, low-hanging eggs, the man knew, could produce the fruit of life -
and love.

John did not realize he was staring until Jeremy jogged him out of his
reverie.  "What now?" the boy said.

John kneeled down on the floor and held out the jockstrap.  Jeremy pretended
not to know where to put his feet, and John had to correct him, grabbing a
slender ankle and directing it to the correct hole, afraid all the time that
the boy, tottering on one foot, would fall and injure himself.

He didn't.  The right feet went into the right holes, and John pulled the
jockstrap up, harder perhaps than he needed to, but then Jeremy deserved it
for his little teasing game.  "Too tight?" the man asked innocently. 
"Yeah," Jeremy said, wincing a bit.  John lowered the waistband to a more
comfortable level.

After that, Jeremy dressed quickly, and to John's relief, the clothes fit
perfectly.  They were a pair of powder-blue shorts and a white shirt with
blue trim and an outer-space design on the chest.  Knee socks, white with
blue stripes at the top, completed the uniform.  The shorts were short and
slit up the sides, with white trim, the shirt well-fitting, not long, ending
slightly below the waistband of the shorts and framing the boy's shoulders
well.  Unlike the clothes that most boys wear these days, these ones
actually fit, and fit well.  Jeremy looked absolutely adorable, the compleat
boy so to speak, active and ready for the athletic field, his own dirty
sneakers only adding charm to the ensemble.

Seeing John's smile, Jeremy did not wait but ran out toward the trampoline. 
John ran after him.  Jeremy climbed up onto the trampoline and began to jump
up and down.  John yelled at him to stop, but he only jumped higher.  The
old springs twanged, and John stared in horror at the many hooks that were
undone.  There were no mats on the floor, and if Jeremy missed his mark he
would land on cold linoleum, with hard concrete underneath.  John ran about
frantically, yelling at Jeremy to stop, knowing the only way to get him to
stop was to climb on the trampoline with him, knowing that that would
probably break the few remaining springs.  The man ran around madly, pushing
mats under the trampoline, yelling at the boy to stop as he jumped higher
and higher, trying to touch the fluorescent lights high above.  The springs
creaked threateningly, and John's voice rose into a higher octave as he
tried ineffectually to get Jeremy to stop jumping.

Jeremy didn't care; he was in a world of his own.  He seemed destined to
fly, turning somersaults in the air, twisting with giddy delight, landing
alternately on his back, his stomach, his sides, and his feet.  Finally,
there was nothing John could do but watch Jeremy as he flew, touching, then
kicking the lights above, wincing each time the boy came down, afraid that
the creaking springs would finally give way.

And at last, as Jeremy came down on his stomach in a swan dive, they did,
sounding a metallic cannonade as they gave way, miraculously doing their one
remaining duty, that of saving the life of the giddy thirteen-year-old who
fell through them onto the three wrestling mats that John had hurriedly laid
beneath the old trampoline.

Wrapped in canvas, the boy laid motionlessly, seemingly lifeless.  With the
kind of sudden strength that enables a mother to lift a small car off her
child, John tossed away the heavy steel trampoline frame as if it were made
of toothpicks, sending it clattering against the wall.  He swiftly pulled
away the canvas, finding Jeremy inside, lying completely still.  It was too
much.  Twice within the hour, John had been confronted with the death of the
sweetest boy on earth, only this time it was a fact.  Jeremy was dead.  He
broke down and cried like a baby, kneeling over the inert body, burying his
face in the broken, lifeless back.

Then Jeremy stirred.  "Wha?" he said, turning his head to the side.  "Whoa,
what a rush!"

John sat up, stunned.  It was a miracle.  "Oh, God," he said, offering a
silent prayer of thanks, and lifted himself to a kneeling position.

Jeremy sat up too.  "That was rad," the boy said, feeling himself to make
sure nothing was broken.  Nothing was.

"Are you all right?" John asked softly.

"Yeah, I think so," the boy replied, moving his legs to make sure they still
worked.  "Wow, that was great!"

"Great?" John said in disbelief.  "GREAT??!  YOU ALMOST KILLED YOURSELF, AND
YOU THINK IT'S GREAT??!!!" he screamed.

"Well, it was, and I didn't die," Jeremy replied, taken aback.  He smiled. 
"Like on the stairs.  You thought I would die then too, huh?" He grinned
again.

John didn't know what to say.  His guts were churning.  He slapped Jeremy,
hard.  Jeremy's hand went to his cheek, tears filling his eyes.  "What were
you thinking?!" John demanded.  "Do you want to die, is that it??!"  He
grabbed the boy's thin shoulders and shook him forcefully.  "Don't you
care?!"

"No I don't!!" the boy exclaimed, angry now, tears streaming from his eyes. 
"If I died it wouldn't matter!!  Everyone would be happy!!"  He paused to
gather his breath, then screamed again.  "So what if I die!!  I just make
trouble for people!"

Perhaps John should have held him then, but he was still too angry himself,
out of control.  "I care!!" he screamed back, shaking Jeremy violently.  "I
care!!  I love you!!  Doesn't that matter?!!  I don't care how much trouble
you are!  You can't die!  If you do, I'll, I'll - die myself and chase you
down and kill you all over again!"

Jeremy was the first one to start laughing, then John started laughing too,
both through their tears.  "You can't kill me if I'm already a ghost,"
Jeremy explained, unnecessarily.

John grabbed the boy again and held him, the pain in his chest telling him
that perhaps Jeremy could survive another of these episodes, but John would
not.  They had to have it out.  "Why do you want to die?" he asked the boy.

"I don't want to die!" Jeremy protested.

"Then why don't you care of you die?"

"Because it doesn't matter.  Nothing matters.  Everything is a game."

"Everything is a game?  It's not a game when you die."  He released the boy,
retaining his hands on Jeremy's shoulders.

"Everybody plays games," Jeremy said with disgust.  "People say things, and
they don't mean any of it.  It's sickening.  If we all just died, it would
be better.  No more games.  No more lies.  I hate 'em all.  Even you play
games."

John's heart sank.  He had, in fact, played games with Jeremy - counselor
games.  "Well, Jeremy, why don't you take a seat and let's talk a bit?" -
how phony, how scripted.  "You're right," the man admitted.  "But I'm not
playing any game now.  I love you.  I don't want you to die."

Jeremy turned his tear-stained face upward and looked deep into John's eyes. 
The look made John uncomfortable, as if the boy were seeing every bit of
evil he had ever committed, but he held Jeremy's gaze.  Perhaps he was not
good enough for this boy - but that was for Jeremy to decide.  "It's not a
game, is it?" the boy asked, his face stern, looking carefully for any sign
of deceit.

"No, it isn't," John answered.  He hoped that the truth of what he was
saying would somehow shine through.

"Why do you love me?" Jeremy asked, his cross-examination not yet complete,
his eyes narrowed in skepticism.

"Because you're the most wonderful boy I've ever met," John said, realizing
as he looked into the tear-filled eyes that it was an inadequate answer. 
"Because you make me run and catch you; it makes me feel young myself."  The
eyes were not satisfied.  "Because of the way you laugh at me, and your
beautiful face.  You are beautiful to me."  John was beginning to feel
uncomfortable; this was getting into territory he didn't want to explore
just yet.

Jeremy looked skeptically at him a bit more, then smiled.  He threw his arms
around John and hugged him.  John, embarrassed at his admissions, returned
the hug with hesitation.  "I believe you," Jeremy said.  "I don't think I
love you yet, though."

"That's okay," John said, wiping tears from his eyes.  He was beginning to
feel like *he* was the one being counseled, not Jeremy.  "I-it doesn't
matter if you love me, I'll love you just the same."

"I guess you don't want to teach me boxing now, huh?" the boy inquired.

John cleared his throat.  "Um, no, I guess not.  We can do it tommorrow, all
right?"

"All right."

John stood up and held out his hand to Jeremy, who didn't take it.  The man
realized that this boy would never accept help if he could do for himself. 
It was the kind of pride that John had seldom seen and always hated, but now
he respected it.  He understood it.  It was Lawrence's pride.  There was, at
least, one thing the boy got from the father he disowned.

Then John held out his hands and Jeremy, the gymnast, jumped into them,
easily finding his place on John's shoulder.  John gasped at the impact, his
bruised chest beginning to pain him.  Jeremy gave no sign of noticing.  John
walked toward the door of the gym.

"Don't we need to get changed and stuff?" Jeremy asked.

"We're not that sweaty," John said.  "You take a shower every morning
anyway, right?"

"I take a bath."

"Same thing.  It's pretty late anyway.  We should get ready for bed."

"I guess," Jeremy said, nestling into John's shoulder, enjoying the feeling. 
"Um ...."

"What?"  John had closed the door to the gym behind them and was climbing
the stairs, carrying a boy who weighed over a hundred pounds but never
seemed to weigh anything when he was in the man's arms.

"I won't try to kill myself," Jeremy said.  He remained on John's shoulder,
not looking in his eyes.  John paused for a moment, then walked on.  "I
wasn't trying to before, not really.  I just didn't care."

"I know," the man said softly.

"Well, I care now," Jeremy said from John's shoulder, this being obviously a
difficult admission for him.  "I know you do too.  If you tell me to stop
something, I will."

"Okay.  It's all forgotten," John said, stroking the boy's back.  "Just
never say die, okay?"

Jeremy sat up and looked at him.  "What's that?"

"It's a saying they have in the Army."

"Were you in the Army?"

"No."

"Oh.  Well, it's a cool saying anyways."  He settled back onto John's chest,
trustfully allowing the man to carry him to the destination he chose - a man
Jeremy knew loved him and would do him no harm, a strong man who could back
up his love with powerful fists.  Jeremy had never felt more secure, more
happy.  And John, too, never felt more satisfied with his life.

At length, they arrived in John's room, and he set Jeremy down on the bed
carefully, as if he would be broken by a hard landing on a soft mattress. 
He wasn't.  Jeremy looked up at John with the same adoring gaze he had
offered before, and John was struck with a feeling of shame, knowing he did
not deserve it.  Something had to be done to lighten the mood.

John got up and turned on the large TV.  "What to you want to watch?" he
asked.

"What time is it?" Jeremy asked.

John looked at his watch.  "Eight."

"The Simpsons.  Channel five."

John selected the channel and watched the stupid cartoon.  Perhaps Jeremy
enjoyed it, but it was still stupid.  John wound up watching Jeremy rather
than the TV.  It was a good show.

"You have any videos?" Jeremy asked when the show was over.

"Yeah, let me see what I have here," John said, walking over to the cabinet. 
"I have all the Star Treks," he said.  He did not want to mention the other
videos he had, the ones that had not entered general circulation.

Jeremy looked at him with those amazing eyes, seeming to detect the
deception.  "Do you have any Bruce Willis movies?" the kid asked.

"Um, no," John answered, still somewhat put off.

"Well, Star Trek IV, then."

John put the tape in the VCR and rang the bell for Jorge.  He ordered his
manservant to go out and get a Bruce Willis movie.  Jorge left without a
word.  The ads for future movies were still rolling when John rang the bell
again.  Carlita appeared.

Her English had progressed, but not a great deal.  With some shouting and a
great deal of gesturing, John was able to make her understand that he wanted
Jeremy's pajamas brought to the room.  She seemed surprised but assented,
smiling on her way out.

"What'd you tell her that for?" Jeremy asked.

"You need to have your pajamas on in case you fall asleep during the movie."

"I won't fall asleep," Jeremy protested, but seeing it was useless, fell
back onto the pillow.

John and Jeremy had both seen the movie several times before.  Still, the
special effects were enjoyable.  Carlita came back with the pajamas, and
John paused the movie and pointed at the bathroom.  Reluctantly, Jeremy went
in and changed.

The change in him was as amazing to John as when he'd seen the boy in his
new gymsuit.  Jeremy looked several years younger and much cuter in his thin
little pajama suit, bedecked with airplanes.  He seemed embarrassed by his
appearance, though, and John restarted the movie, focusing on the screen. 
Jeremy resumed his place next to John, John's arm around his shoulder,
Jeremy's head on the man's bicep.

Jorge came back with the Bruce Willis movie about half an hour before Star
Trek IV ended, but by that time Jeremy was fast asleep, exhausted by the
evening's activities.  John turned the video off with the remote and picked
up the sleeping boy.  He carried Jeremy to the room that Maria and Carlita
had prepared for him, not far from John's room, and tucked him in.  John
kissed the boy on the forehead, saying, "Good night, sweet prince, a flock
of angels fly thee to thy rest."

"What is that?" Jeremy said, apparently awake.

"Shakespeare.  It's in Hamlet."

"'S nice," the boy replied, turning over on his side.

John kissed him again, this time on the cheek, and left the room, Carlita
holding the door.

"Not so bad when he sleep," the woman observed with a smile, trying out her
new English.

"Not so bad at all," John answered.  He slept well that night, more content
that he could ever remember.