Date: Sun, 31 Aug 1997 19:31:03 -0600 (MDT) From: Boy-writer <bstory@anon.nymserver.com> Subject: John Allen (M/b) - part 8/8 More continuation of the "John Allen" story. To repeat, this is not a wham, bam, thank you ma'am sex tale, so skip it if that's what you're looking for. Also skip it if you're underage in your locality - but if that's the case, you shouldn't be in this newsgroup in the first place. JOHN ALLEN (M/b) - part 8 Chapter 20 ---------- John was awakened, along with the rest of the household, by a blood-curdling scream. Half-awake, rubbing their eyes in an effort to come to their senses, John, Jorge, Maria, and Carlita came stumbling out into the hall, looking at each other as if to make sure they were not the only ones who heard it. In a moment, there was no doubt, as the scream was repeated. They all ran to Jeremy's room, where the boy sat, the covers pulled up about his chin, seemingly frightened to death. Maria stepped forward to comfort him, but John held her back. He knew a scam when he saw one - at least, he was pretty sure it was a scam. John stepped forward. "What's the matter, Jeremy?" he asked kindly, stroking the boy's dishevelled hair. "W-where am I?" Jeremy asked, still shivering with fright. "You're in my house," the man replied. "Who are you?" the boy asked. This is too much, John thought, not noticing how thoroughly convinced his servants were. "I'm John, your counselor. You're staying with me for the weekend, remember?" "Oh, yeah," Jeremy said. "I-I thought I was kidnapped again." "Well, you're not kidnapped," John replied. "Get up and take your bath. Breakfast is in half an hour." Jorge turned quickly to Maria and repeated what John said, in Spanish. She ran off to get dressed and prepare breakfast. Jeremy looked at John with distaste. "You don't care if I'm scared." "I do care, but you're not scared." "How do you know I'm not scared?" Jeremy asked, his own direct, calm voice confirming John's suspicions. "Well, you're calm now." "I was scared before. I woke up in a strange place and thought I was kidnapped." "Then why weren't you afraid when we came into your room?" Jeremy looked directly into John's eyes. "You can do it too, can't you?" "Do what?" "Nothing," the boy answered angrily, getting out of bed without a further word and walking off toward his bathroom. Once again, John realized that he was in love with this kid. He was adorable - and impossible. Confirming the latter fact, Jeremy slammed the bathroom door behind him. John walked back to his own room, into his own shower. Never a dull moment with Jeremy around, he thought, chuckling, secretly wishing he could have the boy around not just for this weekend, but forever. John washed himself quickly, but as he did so he thought of Jeremy washing him. John stayed soft - it was not an erotic feeling, just a comfortable one. Jeremy was impossible, and it was impossible that John should love him, but he did. John emerged from his room dressed in blue jeans and an olive drab shirt. Jeremy was already standing there in denim knee-length shorts, a white dress shirt neatly tucked in, and sneakers with no socks. It was too cold outside to wear shorts, and John marvelled at the boy's optimism. Whatever - he appreciated the view of Jeremy's legs. John led Jeremy through the labyrinth of the house to the kitchen, where they sat at a small table. Maria had fried eggs and sausage ready, the eggs seasoned in a marvellous way that John had never encountered before. It was, in fact, why he had hired her. Jeremy sat down petulantly, then stared at John, an unanswered question in his eyes. John ignored it and dug into the eggs. "I don't like eggs," Jeremy announced. "Try these," John said. "No." Refusing to give in to a tantrum that the boy was far too old for, John simply shrugged and continued eating, not making a show of liking the eggs, just enjoying them. Jeremy just looked at him, nibbling on some toast. Finally, his curiosity aroused, Jeremy delicately cut off a small piece of egg with his fork and lifted it to his mouth. "These are good," he announced. "Told ya," John said, not looking up. "Need salt though," Jeremy answered. John pushed the salt shaker toward him, still not looking up. Jeremy salted his eggs - not much though, since they didn't really need it. He looked at John with baleful eyes, then started eating the eggs, which were indeed a gourmand's delight. Regrettably, John had only one egg, Maria having taken seriously his desire to lose weight. He also had only two links of sausage, the lack partly compensated by three pieces of toast with low-cal margarine (Jorge had helped select it) and half an orange. Savoring the last of his egg, John set in on the sausage. "Look!" Jeremy said. John looked up, and the boy had a link of sausage in his fingers, slipping it in and out of his mouth in an obscene fashion. John was more disgusted and embarrassed than aroused. "Don't play with your food," he said, returning to his meal. Jeremy put the sausage back on his plate and went back to eating, his eyes on John the whole time. The eggs were actually pretty good, and so was the sausage, which was homemade. But the boy was confused and suspicious, so he didn't really savor the tastes. When John got up, Jeremy did too. "Finish your breakfast, if you want," the man said, deliberately somewhat cold after the trick Jeremy had played on him that morning. "I have work to do." "Are we gonna do boxing today?" the boy asked. "We'll see," John answered, then, turning and seeing the sorrowful look on Jeremy's face, "yeah, later, in a couple hours. Finish your breakfast and help Maria with the dishes." Jeremy sat back down and finished eating, watching John as we walked out of the room. John walked off, trying to think of some work to do. He came up with some - calling around to the various institutions that dealt with childhood autism. He was convinced that his little patient did not have time to waste and did not want to wait for replies by mail. Jeremy helped Maria wash the dishes as John told him to. And no, he didn't break any. Chapter 21 ---------- True to his word, John came back two hours later. Jeremy was waiting for him in the hallway, his hands curled behind his back, visibly chastened. "You ready?" John asked, and Jeremy jumped right up into his arms. It had become his preferred mode of transport. "I don't think they washed our gym clothes yet," John said. "They did," the boy answered. "They put all our stuff back. They were even sorry about the smell." "You talked to Jorge?" "And Maria and Carlita. They're nice. Jorge is afraid I might break your stuff." "Would you?" "Maybe!" Jeremy answered, that devilish grin John had so come to love on his face. "Well, if you did, I would have to spank you," John replied, now as playful as his young patient. "But you wouldn't do anything to hurt me," the boy answered, stating a fact. "It wouldn't be hurting you if I spank you," John answered. "I did it before, remember?" Jeremy was silent for a moment, remembering. "But it hurts when you do it." John drew the boy's head back so that he was looking in his eyes. "It's only a little hurt. Only when you're bad. So that you won't do bad things." "On the trampoline, that was a bad thing. You slapped me then. That's worse than a spanking, isn't it?" John sighed, stopping for a moment. "Jeremy, I'm sorry I did that. I should never slap you, no matter what you do. I was just so upset. You could have died when the trampoline broke, you know that?" "Yes. I'm sorry." "It's okay. Let's forget about it, all right?" "Okay." But Jeremy couldn't leave it alone. "You put the mats under me so I didn't die." "Yes." Jeremy settled his head back on John's shoulder. "So you knew the trampoline would break?" "I thought it would." "And you grabbed me before I went down the stairs. Did you know I was going to fall?" "No. I just thought you might. The stairs were all covered with dust." "Oh." The boy seemed to be thinking. "You kind of just feel things are going to happen, don't you?" "Not really. I just see the way things are and figure out how they will probably turn out. Like everybody. At least adults. Sometimes kids don't think of consequences." "Oh," Jeremy said, absorbing that information. "Well, sometimes I feel things, or people. Mostly people. I can feel how they feel. Like you." John hugged Jeremy tighter. It was a token of appreciation for the unconscious endearment, though, nothing more. "It's called empathy, when you feel what another person feels." "Em-pa-thy," the boy repeated carefully. "A counselor has to do that, huh?" "Yes. Sometimes it's hard, but he has to try. It isn't always easy." "I know," Jeremy replied softly. "It's hard when they're - when they're bad people." "All my patients are good people," John answered, turning into the final hallway. "What would you do if you had a bad one? Like a boy who killed someone or something?" "I would still try to understand him. Even if he's a bad person, he'd probably still have some good inside." John put Jeremy down and opened the door to the gym. Jeremy kept looking at John, seeking some kind of answer. Unlike the two previous occasions, John walked into the room first, Jeremy lagging behind. "If you felt like a bad person, wouldn't you get mad and stuff?" the boy asked, following John into the locker room. John looked back at him, but only for a moment; the counselor knew this was significant, but it seemed that the best way to bring it out was to act as if it had no significance. "I suppose if I was with a person who felt angry, I would try to feel his anger," he said, opening his locker and removing his sportcoat. "You would try to feel it? Wouldn't that be bad?" Jeremy wasn't getting dressed. John looked at him, and he got started. "It isn't bad to feel angry. Just sometimes it's bad to act on that feeling." John sat down and removed his shoes and socks. Jeremy did the same, though as usual he wasn't wearing socks. "So what do you do when you get anger from someone?" "With a patient? Or just anybody?" "Just anybody, not a patient." "Sometimes I yell at him, but mostly I try to just let it go. I just wait until it's gone. Sometimes later, if I'm really mad, I hit on a punching bag for a while." "So you just don't let it, like, make you mad too." Jeremy stripped off his shorts. "No, you can't let things get to you." John looked at him. "I mean, it's fine to get mad, and sometimes it can be very useful, but you can't let it control you." "Yeah, I see," Jeremy replied. That was the end of the conversation. They both got dressed and walked out into the gym, John's arm over Jeremy's shoulder. The trampoline had been replaced in its previous position and probably fixed, but they ignored it. John affixed the catcher's mask to Jeremy as before, and they both donned gloves, then John lifted Jeremy into the boxing ring, following after. They started out with footwork exercises, Jeremy finding that there was indeed method to a boxer's crazy dance. Afterward, they went back to the blocking drills they'd done before. Jeremy was noticeably better, as John kept telling him, but the boy got knocked down twice as often, since John had adjusted his boxing to Jeremy's improved ability. Regardless, Jeremy didn't seem to mind. Finally, John tossed the boy over the ropes onto the mats below, Jeremy squealing with delight. It was a good session. "Where are the punching bags?" Jeremy asked, after John had climbed down. "Over there." Jeremy walked over to one and hit it. It didn't move. His hand hurt. "You use these to practice punching," John said. Jeremy looked at him as if that were perfectly obvious, which it was. The man took Jeremy's hand. "Curl it up as tight as you can. Stiffen your wrist. That's right. Now hit it." Jeremy hit the bag again, but it didn't move. At least his hand didn't hurt, though. John walked around behind the bag and held it. "Hit harder. Remember, keep your wrist straight and stiff, and your fist tight." Jeremy did so, hitting the bag with all his might. It barely moved, but John let out an "Oof," as if the wind had been knocked out of him. "Use your left hand too," he urged. "Same as the right, straight, stiff, and tight." Jeremy let go with a furious flurry of punches, pounding the bag with a violence that went far beyond mere sport. He went on and on, tears streaming out of his eyes, jabbing at the bag as if he meant to kill it. Realizing that things were getting out of control, John came back around the bag and grabbed Jeremy's arms, restraining him. It seemed that the boy could not stop; he went on trying to hit the bag, crying desperately. "It's all right, it's all right, calm down now," John said. "I hate it! I hate it! I hate it! I hate it!!!" Jeremy yelled. "You hate what?" John asked. "Jeremy, what do you hate?" "I hate being like this! I want to be normal!" "Like what? What's so terrible?" "You know!" the boy exclaimed, twisting in John's arms. "You know what it's like! You know how it feels!" he declared, beating on John's bruised chest. That hurt, and John held him tighter so he couldn't hit any more. "You know! You know, you know, you know, you know ...," the boy said, trailing off into a crying fit. Not understanding, John simply held him close. "It's all right. Everything's all right. You're just the way you should be. It's okay, you're fine." "You don't feel like this," Jeremy whined. "No, I don't," John replied honestly. "But it's okay. You feel the way you feel, and you just let it pass. Just let it fly out of you, like it was going out of the top of your head. Just let it go. Imagine the bad feeling just moving up and out of your head." All right, it was hokey, but that's the beauty of counseling children - sometimes the hokey stuff works. Jeremy remained in John's arms, crying for quite a while. I think it's working. It still feels so bad, though." John picked the boy up and carried him into the locker room. Jeremy was limp as John set him down on the bench. The counselor took off his own gloves and set them on the bench, then removed Jeremy's. "We have to put 'em back," Jeremy said weakly. "Carlita will take care of it. She likes you, you know, in spite of what you did to her." Jeremy smiled through his tears. "I know. She's kind of afraid of me, but she likes me anyways." "She's a good woman," John answered, removing the boy's shoes and socks. "I'm sorry I did that, you know, running into her like that," Jeremy said. John lifted the boy's shirt over his head. "It's okay. She forgave you." Jeremy stood up, and John pulled down his shorts. "I'm sorry I hit you before, too, you know, that first time. And about biting your ear too." "It's all right. I forgive you too," John said, removing the jock, and the last of Jeremy's clothing. "I know *you* do," Jeremy said, mockingly, his hands on his hips, his pose lewd. "Get in the shower," John replied, slapping the boy on the rump, wondering how much he had actually perceived. Jeremy ran off, then turned around halfway. "What about you?" "I'll be in in a minute." John removed his own gym clothes, unlike last time having little trouble remaining soft. He had too much to think about. Jeremy hated himself, but why? He said he wanted to be "normal." Was he referring to his lack of control over his emotions? Whatever it was, John seemed able to calm Jeremy whenever he was upset. Why were his parents apparently unable to do the same thing? John wandered off toward the shower with more questions than answers. Jeremy was waiting for him with a nozzle turned all the way cold. Reaching up, he directed the freezing spray at John. Good Lord, is that a way to come out of a reverie! Unable to avoid or deflect the spray, John did the only possible thing - he ran straight at his attacker. Jeremy squealed as John hit him, the force of the man's momentum carrying them back into the opposite wall. At the last instant, John twisted, holding Jeremy in front of him, absorbing the impact with his back. The man's feet slipped on the cold, damp tile floor, and they landed hard, with John grunting from the sudden pain in his ass, Jeremy sitting in his lap laughing happily. "Oww!" John said. "You must want to kill me." "You're not dead," Jeremy said, squirming around to face him. "You're not really hurt. You don't get hurt like other people." John lifted the boy to his feet. "What do you mean, I don't get hurt? I'm not some kind of superman, you know." John rubbed his butt, mainly for effect. "No, I know you get hurt," Jeremy said, "it's just that, you know, you can take it." "Oh, I can take it, is that it? Well, let's see if you can take this!" John lunged forward, grabbing Jeremy by the hips, quickly pinning him with his face to the wall, then began to tickle him. Jeremy laughed uncontrollably, his legs giving way beneath him, so that he was soon sitting in John's lap again, this time under the boy's lukewarm spray. John reached up and grabbed the soap, then slid back further so that they were directly in the stream. He tried to wash Jeremy that way, but it didn't really work; nevertheless, the boy sat patiently through the attempt, squinting in the spray, breathing through his mouth. John lifted Jeremy to his feet, then stood up himself. They moved a little out of the spray, and this time it worked much better. Jeremy held out his arms as John washed them, then giggled and twisted a bit when the John soaped his underarms. The counselor marvelled at the feeling of the boy - so soft and slippery, and when he moved, so wonderfully alive. John quickly soaped the boy's neck, thinking how fragile it was. It made John uncomfortable, as if he ran the risk of breaking it if he lingered there, so he didn't. He then turned to the little shoulders, which seemed no less delicate. Ruefully, John remembered grabbing them in his fright and anger, shaking them. He inspected them for bruises. There were none, but the thought was more horrifying than anything John had ever experienced, this realization that he could have hurt the boy. It would be the basest act a human being could commit, harming such a wonderful creature. Damning himself to the lowest circle of hell, John's hands began to shake. Jeremy leaned his head back to look up at John. "I'm all right," he said simply, counseling his counselor again. It was just the right thing to say, and John's eyes misted up with gratitude. Unable to respond verbally, he leaned over and kissed Jeremy on the forehead, marvelling at his perceptiveness. John soaped up his hands again and sandwiched the boy between them, washing his chest and back at the same time. John was amazed that so much life could fit in such a small package; his fingers on either side were a mere hand's breadth apart, yet he could feel Jeremy's chest rise and fall with the breath of little lungs, the rapid heartbeat of a bird. Too rapid for a moment of relative repose - and, sure enough, looking down, John could see that the boy was aroused. Looking at himself, John could see that he was also; this time, Jeremy would not be afraid of it. Which erection came first? the man thought, a true chicken and egg problem. Or rather a very pretty chicken and four eggs, two large and two small. Get ahold of yourself, old man, John thought, you're getting silly. He did, soaping both hands again and washing Jeremy's stomach and lower back. The boy giggled again, but this time John knew it was for effect since Jeremy really wasn't that ticklish. More teasing. John knelt down behind the thirteen-year-old, that cute, white little bottom in his face. He lifted Jeremy's right foot and quickly soaped it as Jeremy balanced precariously on the other one, then let it fall and started washing the leg. Jeremy's calf was smaller than John's forearm, and incredibly smooth, its little muscles twitching as the boy shifted on his feet. Jeremy was getting restless. John hurried up, not lingering at all as he quickly soaped the boy's right thigh, then lifted his left foot to wash it. Jeremy teetered a bit, and John pulled his hands away quickly to catch the boy if he fell, but he didn't. Jeremy put his foot back down and John did the other leg rapidly, committing to memory the touch he did not have time to enjoy. At this point, John wasn't sure how to proceed and paused. Jeremy turned his head to the side. "Aren't you gonna do the rest?" he asked. With that, John pressed on, starting with the smooth white cheeks in front of him. No way he was going to rush this. John did not wash them so much as massage them, did not massage them so much as worship them. He started at the boy's hips with his fingertips, adding more fingers as he moved inward, then turned his wrists upward, cupping the bottom of each cheek with three fingers as he worked slowly down the crack from the base of Jeremy's spine with his thumbs. Jeremy didn't seem to mind; he just stood still and let it happen. "You like my butt, don't you?" he asked, not turning around. "Don't call it that, call it your 'bottom,'" John replied. Jeremy giggled. "'My bottom,' like a little kid?" "You *are* a kid, and I *do* like your bottom." John went on with his worship, spreading the cheeks a bit when he came to the boy's pink little hole, running the tip of one thumb around it. "Mmm," Jeremy said, and John couldn't tell if it was for effect or not, but if it was, the boy didn't realize what kind of game he was playing - it was taking all of John's self-control not to toss Jeremy onto the cold tile floor and rape him on the spot. As it was, that brief moan coaxed a substantial bit of clear fluid from John's cock. Quickly, John reached between Jeremy's legs to wash there, making the boy jump. Jeremy pulled his legs apart, improving access, but John didn't linger. The man moved forward on his knees, holding Jeremy across the belly with his left arm, nestling his drooling eight inches between the boy's soft, soapy legs so that the tip of it just touched the bottom of his crack. John took the bar of soap and worked a bit of lather over the front of Jeremy's pelvis, then dropped the bar and went to work with his right hand, teasing the boy, running his fingers all around Jeremy's hard little cock, not touching it. Finally, John's hand arrived at its destination, squeezing the boy's four-inch manhood lightly with his thumb and forefinger. "Mmmm," Jeremy said again, and this time John was pretty sure it was not just for effect. He left it and massaged the tightly-drawn, hairless little ball-sac. With his left arm, John could feel that Jeremy was breathing quickly; a rapid heartbeat was also apparent through the boy's skinny middle. They had both been tortured long enough. With a single up-and-down movement, John soaped up Jeremy's hard little penis, then began to masturbate him. Finding John's movement too slow, Jeremy rocked on the balls of his feet, thrusting himself in and out of John's fist, inadvertently also moving his soapy, soft legs over the the man's erection. John, already close to the edge, began to thrust with his hips, nearly ignoring his hand closed over Jeremy's dick - but then Jeremy was already doing most of the work anyway with his feet. It took several awkward seconds for them to get the rhythm right. John's cock shifted slightly forward between Jeremy's legs and was held between them for most of its length. Finally, they got it. Jeremy moved himself up and down on his toes, fucking himself in John's largely stationary hand. John pulled his hips back slightly when Jeremy went up, then pushed forward and up when the boy came back down, impacting soft flesh behind Jeremy's balls. Jeremy set the pace, moving faster and higher each time, tottering on his soapy toes so as nearly to make them both fall over. At last the boy came with a gasp, his knees buckling in a tremendous orgasm, falling back against John as he released one good spurt of watery cum and one following dribble. John's cock, compressed painfully by the sudden impact, slipped out between Jeremy's legs, its engorged head seeming like a second scrotum on the boy. Jeremy's toes being out of commission, he took over with his hips, continuing to fuck John's hand through several dry releases as he rested lightly on the man's lap. When he sensed that Jeremy was done, John, by now very close himself, pulled his hands away and used them to compress Jeremy's thighs together, commencing to fuck himself between them. Jeremy bounced up and down, spent and happy, his head tilted back and resting on John's shoulder, as the man held him, fucking the boy between the legs, until at last John let go too, his semen flying out in a great arc in front of them, then several more such arcs, each depositing itself nearer, so that a dotted white line of semen stretched from the wall of the shower room, up to Jeremy's knees, then between his legs to a puddle gathered there. John fell back in pure bliss, his arms outstretched, and lay on the tiled floor. Jeremy, of course, fell back too, but, finding that position uncomfortable, turned over, resting his head on John's chest, by now a favored position. John absently stroked the boy's back and bottom. "You're still soapy," John finally said, comically opening one eye. Jeremy lifted himself by the arms. "Someone distracted me before I got rinsed off." He grinned. "Well, you need to take care of it, then," John replied, giving the boy a swat on the rear. Jeremy got up, displeased, and walked over to the shower spray, rinsing himself off, craning his head to look back at John, who struggled to his feet with considerably less dexterity. John made Jeremy wash his face and hair, telling him to wash his ears especially. Jeremy looked at John when he said the ear thing, but John warned him that if Jeremy didn't do it, he would. Jeremy washed his ears with great show, exaggerating his compliance, and John inspected them with equal showmanship, playfully turning the boy's head far to one side, then the other. After that, Jeremy said it was John's turn and washed him, disappointed that John did not get hard so that Jeremy could repeat the masturbation trick. Nevertheless, it was pleasurable for both of them as John pretended not to understand Jeremy's instructions on how to position his body so the boy could reach. After an inordinately long period of playing around, they left the shower room thoroughly clean and somewhat pruned. They styled each other's hair again at Jeremy's insistence, the blow-dryer having been left in the locker room by John's thoughtful staff. John teased Jeremy by offering to put his hair in pigtails, and Jeremy retaliated by pointing out out good John's hair would look all piled together on top. Jeremy decided to walk back to the inhabited part of the house, though he did agree to hold John's hand. By now it was past two in the afternoon, and they were starving. Maria was waiting for them in the kitchen with a pot of green chili. John had originally taught her how to make it, a relatively simple recipe with chicken, broth, green peppers, jalepeno peppers, tomatoes, and salt, but she had vastly improved it. He was somewhat worried about how Jeremy would react to it since it was very spicy, but as it turned out he loved it; Maria, bless her soul, had anticipated the problem and toned down the spices, without, however, reducing the pleasure it brought to John's palate. He told her as best he could in his broken Spanish that it was a great meal, bringing a smile to her lips. One brief squabble arose when Jeremy wanted a Coke but Maria refused to serve him one, though John knew they had them. "Leche, leche," she insisted, till John was finally forced to go along with her. Jeremy would not eat or drink anything remotely unhealthy as long as Maria was around, it seemed. Jeremy actually helped Maria with the dishes without being asked, and John was briefly jealous as he saw how the woman doted on the boy. Nevertheless, it was a relief for John, who needed time to collect his thoughts. He walked out into the courtyard, kicking the now-partially-flat soccer ball around a bit, then inspecting Maria's herb garden. John was happier than he could ever remember being, but something was bothering him. Jeremy had been trying to tell him something. It was not the boy's furious, uncontrollable anger, though that was part of it. It wasn't the way he hated himself, though that was part of it too. Nor was it the way he didn't seem to care about dying and only lived for the moment, though that was part of it. There was something more there. After all, all those things had standard psychological explanations, taken one at a time. The anger was a child's way of dealing with the sense of betrayal he felt regarding his father. Self-hatred is common enough in people with emotional problems, stemming from their own inability to deal with their feelings; in Jeremy's case, it could also be an internalization of the rejection he felt from his parents. Disregarding the consequences of one's actions, including the consequences to oneself, was simply infantile, and regression is a common symptom with virtually all emotional disturbances. But it didn't fit. Jeremy's father had not betrayed him in any perceptible way; on the contrary, he obviously loved the child dearly. Nor did Jeremy seem to hate himself, most of the time; in fact, he was obviously proud of himself and his athletic ability. And he wasn't regressing, notwithstanding the fact that he obviously liked to be carried. He acted like a normal thirteen-year-old boy - well, maybe somewhat younger, but that could be attributed to the fact that he attended a school for disturbed children, where his social development would necessarily be stunted. No, there was something more, and the standard psychology texts didn't cover it. But then, John thought with a chuckle, they seldom did. The deep, dark secret of psychology is that it's all just someone's guess. Nobody knows why it works, if it does, or what the meaning of it is. There is more true understanding of the human condition in a single Dostoyevsky novel than in a dozen psychological texts. But Jeremy expected John, his counselor, to understand, the man realized. It was as if Jeremy were sharing secrets with him that he expected John already knew. The horrifying thing was that he did *not* understand, though Jeremy clearly understood *him*. John felt inadequate, indeed useless and perhaps even harmful to the child he loved - for what would Jeremy feel when he realized that his confidant wasn't really in on the secret? At that point, John's ruminations were abruptly interrupted, as 105 pounds of flying, giggling boy hit him square in the back, dumping him face forward into the grass. Recovering quickly, always a necessity with Jeremy around, John turned over to wrestle, tossing the boy about as if he were a doll. Jeremy was clearly outmatched, but he was game, coming back from each indignity with a new assault. John tired after a while and pinned Jeremy to the ground to end the match. He struggled for a bit, ineffectually of course, then laid back and smiled. John leaned over and kissed him on the nose, thinking as he did so that he'd never kissed the boy on the lips. But that was serious, this was a game. Jeremy wanted to explore the mansion and dragged John off by the hand, leading him through the labyrinthine hallways. Jeremy was constantly asking John where this or that hall or stairway led, and when John didn't know, or sometimes if he did, they would explore it. Along the way, Jeremy would lead John on short chases, always allowing himself to be caught in short order. They found a stairway that led up to a widow's walk, which provided a terrific view. Jeremy complained that he was tired, and John took his hand and started to lead him back. Jeremy complained again, and John picked him up. The contented way that Jeremy settled against John's chest made clear that that was the point of being "tired" - Jeremy wanted to be close. The feeling was immediately mutual, as soon as it was realized. Well, Jeremy then said he wanted to keep exploring, but John said they should go back if he was tired. It was one thing to pretend to be tired so that you could be held, quite another to do so, then want to continue the activity. John could play Jeremy's game, allowing him the petty deceits of a child, but he could not allow Jeremy to set the rules. A fundamental rule of lying is that you have to live by the lies you tell, and that was something that Jeremy would have to learn if he was to grow up to be a normal, dishonest adult. John accordingly carried Jeremy back to his (John's) room, both of them regretting the shortness of the trip. John set the boy down carefully on the bed. "Do I have to put on my pajamas again?" Jeremy asked. "What? No, of course not. It's only three-thirty. I thought we'd watch a movie and rest a while. You can take a nap if you want to, though. Just take your shoes off." But the thought of Jeremy in his thin little jammies was arousing. Jeremy grinned in what seemed to be a knowing smile and kicked his shoes off. John put the tape in the VCR, the Bruce Willis movie that Jeremy had requested but not stayed awake to watch the previous night. John removed his jacket and settled back, propping himself up on both pillows, noticing with distaste the grass stains on his suit pants. He had to start dressing less formally with Jeremy around. Jeremy did not need a pillow, resting up against John, who folded his arms across the boy's middle. It was of course one of the "Die Hard" movies, one of the sequels. Chases and car crashes and fights of various kinds - standard action movie stuff. The only line of it that John remembered was when Willis' character was caught in traffic and was cut off by a female driver. "Who does she think she is, Hillary Clinton?" he said. John chuckled at that since it matched his own low opinion of America's First Lady. Jeremy seemed to like it a lot, though, especially the fights, and John watched Jeremy rather than the movie, which was much more entertaining. The thirteen-year-old was completely engrossed, his eyes wide when the hero faced danger, narrowing with rage when he fought the bad guys. It was entrancing. John only hoped that Jeremy wouldn't want to talk about the movie afterward, since he had watched hardly any of it. Partly to forestall that possibility, when the movie ended John announced that he needed to go to the bathroom. It took an unusually long time in there since he kept picturing Jeremy in his PJ's, interfering with the normal flow of things, so to speak. When he came back into the room, John noticed that Jeremy had placed another tape in the VCR, but John didn't recognize it at first. He recognized the sound before the picture. "I'm Lawrence," the tape said. John stared in horror at the pictures Jeremy had chosen to watch, momentarily paralyzed. Onscreen, a mock- threatening black boy of 15 displayed his sizeable cock. There was a bit of blank tape, then a black-haired boy of perhaps 12 came on, wearing a short white nightie, swaying his hips in an exaggerated manner as he walked. "I'm Stanley," he said with a slight lisp, lifting the nightie to show his panty-clad behind to the camera. John wanted to turn the tape off, but the TV and VCR were a single unit, a recent model with tiny buttons instead of knobs. He didn't know how to operate it without the remote control, and Jeremy had that. For his part, Jeremy was reclining against the pillows, his shirt lifted above his nipples, one hand down the front of his denim shorts. John walked towards him, his mouth agape, his cock responding eagerly, watching Jeremy watch the tape. John climbed onto the bed next to Jeremy and rather half-heartedly reached for the remote, reponsibility struggling with horniness. Jeremy rather easily kept it away from him. John climbed on top of the giggling, struggling boy, an answering smile spreading across his face. The video was all but forgotten as they wrestled. Then, just as John about had Jeremy pinned, he shoved the remote down the front of his pants. A long, silent moment ensued during which John considered his predicament and Jeremy smirked at him. No doubt at all that this was a come-on, that Jeremy wanted John to go after the remote. The only doubt was whether John would take the bait, whether he felt that Jeremy was ready to take this next step. The temptation was too much. John reached for the top button of the boy's shorts, and Jeremy squealed and began to struggle again. It took both of John's hands to get the button undone, which gave Jeremy an advantage. He pressed both of his hands into John's chin, forcing his head back uncomfortably - but it only delayed the inevitable as the button finally gave way. It was time for a new tactic, and Jeremy flipped over, arching his back and lifting his legs, pressing his pelvis into the mattress so that John nearly had to pick him up to get at the remote, which would be difficult in this position. Undeterred, John leaned forward, pressing his forehead between Jeremy's shoulderblades, shoving his fingers in at either side. Jeremy squealed again, trying to push the hands down and away from their target, succeeding, however, only in pushing his shorts down a couple inches. After that, the outcome was a foregone conclusion, as it had been from the start. John's hands finally met underneath Jeremy, trying to pull down the twisted zipper, then finally giving up and ripping the zipper open. John pulled the boy's torn shorts down below his butt, taking his underwear along about halfway, then emerged triumphant with the remote, which he quickly used to turn off the TV, then threw across the room. Jeremy lay silent, his face turned to the side, breathing heavily, wondering what would happen next. John put his hand in the small of the boy's back and pushed it up under his shirt, then brought it back down the side to one partially-exposed cheek. Jeremy's behind twitched slightly, not enough to indicate fear or disapproval, merely sufficient to indicate that he felt the caress. John pulled Jeremy's shorts and underwear down and off, kicking down between the boy's feet to get them over his ankles. Now naked from the chest down, Jeremy tried to turn over so he could look to see what was going on, but John pushed him back down, and he lay quietly while the man unbuckled his belt and lowered his pants. Slowly, John lowered himself onto the half-naked boy, resting his hot, hard penis between Jeremy's soft cheeks, supporting the weight of his chest on his elbows. John's head hung down onto Jeremy's. They were breathing the same air. "I feel it on my bottom," Jeremy said softly. "Shhh." John kissed him, then began to hump the thirteen-year-old, driving Jeremy into the mattress with slow, powerful thrusts that steadily quickened. Jeremy lay still, his eyes glazed over, breathing rapidly, shifting on the sheets with each push from the powerful man above. This was not just playing around in the shower; this was the real thing, and they both knew it. John threw his head back and humped faster, deeper, all along Jeremy's crack and onto his back, the path of his cock now lubricated with sweat and precum. "Yeah, Jeremy, so good ... such a hot little bottom," he whispered. Jeremy tensed his gluteus muscles and seemed to shiver. John intensified his humping, holding Jeremy by the shoulders so that he would remain relatively stationary on the sheets. At last, the man released his load, depositing, then smearing, a thin white line between them. "So good ...," he gasped, collapsing. John had entered Valhalla, lying as he did in post-orgasmic bliss against a smooth, soft, pretty boy, but the situation for Jeremy was far less comfortable, since he could not breathe with the man atop him. After a few anxious seconds, John finally noticed that Jeremy was struggling again and rolled off. Jeremy lay gasping for a while, then rolled over to confront the man who had conquered him. John smiled at him, and Jeremy smiled back for a moment, then lowered his eyes, seeming uncharacteristically shy. "Is that what your sister liked?" John asked playfully, pressing his advantage. He loved this new submissive aspect in the boy. "Yeah," Jeremy replied, looking up briefly, then back down again, as if embarrassed. He looked too cute to resist. John rolled back over on top of him and held Jeremy close, kissing him on the lips, tasting them. Jeremy's eyes looked somewhat surprised and fearful, but he reached up with his hands and held John's back. The man backed off somewhat, telling Jeremy to open his mouth. The boy looked at him, then complied, opening his mouth wide as if he were at the dentist's. John smiled and leaned over again, shoving his tongue into Jeremy's mouth, exploring it. "You're scratchy," was all Jeremy could say when the kiss ended. "I haven't shaved since this morning." "Oh." It was Jeremy's turn, though he didn't know it; it would have been enough for him to remain this way. John, however, had other ideas. He began to stroke the boy's four-inch cock, which was not only hard, but sticky - too sticky. Jeremy had cum while being humped. "You gonna pull on my dick again?" "Maybe, maybe not," John replied, smirking. Then, without warning, he lowered his head and took Jeremy's cock in his mouth in one gulp. "Uhhh," the boy grunted, twisting upward in a panic to look, afraid that John would bite him. He didn't. On the contrary, John was an accomplished sucker of boy-cock, having practiced his craft to great advantage in Costa Rica. Jeremy's little penis was just the right size, too - long enough to reach the back of John's mouth, yet not so long that he could not take it all in. From John's point of view, Jeremy behaved just as a boy should when being sucked, as well; he simply laid there, absorbing the feelings, not attempting to thrust or rush things in any way. And they were powerful feelings. Waves of pleasure emanated from Jeremy's cock, curling his toes, making him grasp the sheets with his hands. He closed his eyes, absorbed in a private feeling so powerful that, for a time, it crowded out the feelings of everyone around him. He wanted to tell John how good it was, to give him some token of appreciation, but he could not speak. It was too long, and it was too brief. John was rewarded with the token he sought, a symbol of gratitude that Jeremy did not know the man wanted. Jeremy's abdominal muscles released, and he fell back against the pillows, drenched in sweat. John released the boy's softening member. Then something happened that, in a way, surprised Jeremy most of all. John came back up, took the boy in his arms, and held him tight. The surprising thing was that John seemed to be grateful to Jeremy, rather than the other way around. After a while, John removed the boy's shirt and resumed hugging him. And Jeremy rested naked in the man's arms, feeling something he had never felt before, discovering a perfect place he never knew existed.