Date: Wed, 11 Jun 2003 17:41:30 +0930
From: andrew staker <mallowisious@hotmail.com>
Subject: "Lolito" chapter 12

LOLITO
Chapter 12

In my dreams, I guess I find myself anywhere. While sexual dreams are fun, I
think the ones that make most impact on our conscious selves are dreams that
help us wake up. I was riding my bike, Lolito by my side. There was rain,
profuse and unyielding, yet I was not getting wet. I continued cycling. The
clouds, the street and Brad all swirled away. I was on a sunny, country
track watching myself ride. Then, high above, a rusty phallic missile, its
hugeness casting shadows, its ethereal crawl disturbingly ominous. It
stopped, letting deadly gravity take over. The pill of death hurtled,
sprouting an apocalypse.

O my God! How good it is to still be alive, to still smell and hear the
ocean. Wednesday, about midday. Understandably, I had slept in. I dragged my
sleep-heavy head into the shower and attempted to clear it out. Today, I
thought, is going to be different. I shall maximise each minute of my
existence. No more meditation, no more contemplation: 'Just do it!'

How is Brad doing? I doubt I'm welcome over there. I went down to the beach,
sipping lemonade. I took Auntie's blanket. Perhaps Zephyrus can blow life
into my lungs. So there sat Peter McMack, still intoxicated from the
previous night's sex and alcohol. This modern life, it's not for me. I had
my go at observing a father and his young boy build a sandcastle. How
naturally he nurtures. Is there really this big evil thing that oppresses
everyone? Or is the current state of play the natural progression of
civilisation? Why liberate the working class when they're happier this way?

A girl--whose boobs were bouncing a la porno--meandered along the sand with
her boyfriend. The smoke of semi-dark hair on his not-too-muscled legs was
divine. Why the hell was I not 'programmed' to respond to her
mini-beachballs? It would be easier for everyone involved. Settle down, find
a girl... if I want, I can marry. Instead, I have become dependable,
clinical, intellectual, cynical. Argh... these questions run too deep.

Eventually, I trudged back into the shack. I had been (virtually) banished
(or self-exiled) from the Winckelmann place. I had no courage... I could not
overcome my fears in one ejaculation of bravado. Go back to sleep, you fool.
And so I tried. To my bizarre delight, what (or who, to be grammatical)
should I spy with my eager eye but little Lolito, lightly napping. If such
be angels, I be Christian! I slipped myself in.

It was rather strange, hearing his boylungs exchange air. What a marvellous,
magical mechanism. Energy (food) enters through here (mouth), is processed
along here (organs), waste removed via this (you know!) and it's all done
under the aegis of his twelve year old cranium. And so I observed this human
machine, as free as the infinite waves and clouds. It's amazing that he
prefers chicken to fish, PlayStation over Nintendo, that he likes riding
along with me and that I now find his tender body heat flowing into me.

As I lay on my left side, my right arm found itself over his upper body,
cradling this blooming homo erectus. But then he lightly woke, and shucks...
he was erectus twice over! Initially he was shy about it, but I reassured
him that I too suffered from this affliction upon waking. "In fact," I said,
"I'm a bit like that now." In my newly formed carpe diem elan, I invited:
"Want to see it?"

"Well, why not..." he smiled. And there it was. Then his joined the party.
It was so thin and juvenile, I initially felt guilty about touching it. Not
he. I daresay he was enjoying the fleshy warmth. "I've been playing a lot
you know... ever since you showed me how it works!" and he smiled, glad with
himself.

"Let me show you something else," I suggested.

"Okay!"

"Lie back on the pillow, and close your eyes," I advised.

So there was Brad: his undulating abdomen, his skinny boypole, his closed
eyes. If only you could see the slight facial ripple that overwhelmed him
when I took his penis in my mouth! Then he sighed. I continued my gentle
motion along it, enjoying his reactions.

"That's so cool...!" he rejoiced. "Can I see what it feels like?" he asked.

"What? I just showed you..." I replied.

"No... what it feels like to do!" he smile. And so his mouth was around
mine. It kind of felt different to last night, when Tom was doing it; yet it
also felt the same. If I close my eyes, I don't suppose I'd know who were
doing it!

"I got an idea," said my ingenou. And he marshalled us into position. After
this most numerical of arrangements, we masturbated each other to climax. I
could not quite bring myself to do 'the deed'. And thankfully, that was one
idea Brad hadn't yet contemplated. "That was cool. I'm going back to bed,"
and he turned over.

"Wait, wait, wait!" I demanded. "What about your mum and dad?"

"Nah, it's cool. I've run away from home."

"You've what...?"

"Well," he said, "I'm sick of mum telling me what to do all the time. And if
it's not her, Katie always picks on me."

"But you can't just run away!" I implored.

"Why not? It happened in that movie."

"Well, where will you live? Who'll feed you, or give you money? What about
school?" (I was panicking).

"Simple," he said, his back still toward me, "I'll move in here. We'll be
boyfriends."

"Boyfriends?" I almost giggled at the sheer hilarity.

And then... yes, then... he turned to me. "I'm sure the police would see it
like that."

Stunned, stunted, startled. "Hey, Brad... what do you mean?"

All so calmly, he continued: "Well, the man on the phone last night..."

"What man, on what phone?" (tremble, tremble).

"I was feeling a bit confused last night... so I rang the Kids Help-line,"
he said.

"You mean that dodgy counselling service thing they advertise on the telly?"
He nodded. "And what the fuck did you say?"

"The truth," he smirked. "So anyway... the man, he told me to run away. He
even gave me his number. Said he lives in Sydney. And he'll give me a place
to stay."

"That's stupid Brad; it's crazy!" I protested. "I mean, how will you get to
Sydney?"

"He said he'd buy me a plane ticket. I've never been on one," he smiled.

Christ. What was going on? "Nah, that's absurd. I'm not letting you go," I
said.

"See, so we ARE boyfriends," he said. He then hugged me. "I'm not going back
there," he said. "They're pigs. You're not. You're cool."

O great. Exactly what I didn't want! Too much of a good thing.

"Brad, this is crazy," said again. "You're getting up and going across the
road to people who love you."

"And the tomorrow they're gonna drive me back to Adelaide."

After some more questioning, it became obvious that the Winckelmanns were
planning to depart from Maslin Beach early tomorrow morning. And I was not
supposed to know about it. Brad had defied orders and come over. The only
reason the parents weren't there ripping him from my grasp was that they
were out and about. Katie had been charged with keeping him home. However,
with her ankle in that condition, Lolito was free to wander.

"So you see, I can't go back. They'd kill me!" he begged.

But as is oft the case with these things, a brusque doorknock--followed by
window knocking--ended our colloquy. We both dressed as quickly as possible.
Brad hid in Auntie's closet... yelling "It's them, it's them" and began
sobbing. One loud knock, which I thought might break the aged door, forced
me to let Mr W in. Mrs W overtook him, charging hatefully past me.

"Where's my son? Where's my boy?" she demanded. The father was more
composed, preferring to stare sternly. Mrs Winckelmann even obnoxiously
ruffled through papers, vinyl records and so forth. The couple finally
uncloseted the boy. He was dragged yelling and trying to repel his
overlords. They pulled him into their house, shutting the door with one
huge, terminal thud. Adieu, Lolito.

This event got me thinking. What would I be prepared to do for the lad?
Those shouts he expelled, they were more like bellows of despair. I hopped
on the phone and persuaded mum to give me $500... saying that I'd found an
ideal place to move into once uni commenced: but that I needed the deposit
immediately. She contemplated briefly, then assented.

Next I opened the window, so I could hear any movements from across the
road. I was determined to see my boy at least one more time before they
left. There was no action for a few hours, during which time I tried doing
something but ended up hawking their shack instead.

Finally, around nine PM, under the streetlight, I could see daughter, mother
and father scramble into the station wagon. I sat poised by my darkened
window. When the sea-wave quiet came back, I trepidated across to their
shack. The door was locked, yet I knew Brad must needs be inside. So I tried
the window, then another one to the side of the structure.

I whispered "Brad" then tapped the glass. Slowly, a yelp could be heard.
Then it became louder. This was followed by the peculiar sound of a chair
banging across a hard floor. I shone my torch through. What a ghastly sight.
Tender Lolito tied to a chair in a musty room, lit only by some candles. I
resolved on the spot, then and there, to rescue my beloved. I went round the
back, broke in and rushed to him.

"Hey..." Brad said, slightly shaking. I untied him and we rushed back to
Auntie's.

"We can't stay here," I said hurriedly. "When'll they be back?"

"Um, not sure. They went to get some stuff... to teach me a lesson?"

"What?" I asked.

"They said I've been naughty and they need to beat me... dad said I needed
to be 'disciplined'."

"So they tied you to a chair?" I exasperated. "I can't believe this!" I
gazed around my bedroom and said, "Put some clothes on, we're going!" I
hopped on the phone and when Tom answered, I simply told him: "Hey, Tom,
there's been a huge emergency. I need you to come here, now!" And we sorted
out the necessary details. Hang up. "Right, he'll be here as soon as
possible!"

We had arranged to abandon the shack, in case they'd come searching. Rather,
we would scurry across the dark beach to its southern extremity. So we fled.
It was, by most definitions, kidnapping. For some obscure reason, it excited
and thrilled me like almost nothing else. It had been a warm day, so the
breeze was not chilly. The water even appeared welcoming. We had to be
careful not to appear to quick, for there were still nudist bathers on the
sand.

We finally reached the southern end of the beach, which was bordered with a
cliff to the east and south and the sea to the west. "Okay Brad. I reckon
we'd be safer if we go to that cave... remember the cave?" The boy nodded.
"And my friend Tom will come and meet us in there as soon as he can."

So, carrying our shoes and socks, we clambered across the often-nasty rocks
into the safety of the cave. It was hugely peculiar actually. There were
three men there too, toward the back. Their activities were anything but
Platonic. But I huddled my Brad and reassured him all would be okay. I was a
pile of nervous shit as the minutes ticked on. I half expected that his
parents would materialise behind us and yank my lad from me. Then I'd be
sucked into the swelling sea and choke on some kelp.

As the night went on, an angry wind picked up. The cave cooled down to an
uncomfortable temperature. The three men, by then exhausted, offered to warm
me and Brad up before leaving around 22:30. Then, on midnight's doorstep,
Tom's voice sounded. Alas! "Hey, guys, you there?"

I ventured out first. There he was, in the water. "We're coming!" I said. I
took out my boy and we precariously descended from the cave into the furious
sea. Tom guided us along. Finally touching the sand, he said, "There! Now
tell me, what's all this about?"

"Later. Where's the car? Let's go!" I begged of him. We scaled the hill
along some wooden steps. There was a car park at the top. In my paranoia, I
saw the only car there as the Winckelmanns'. But Tom's white convertible
soon spoke for itself.

Brad remarked "Cool car" as we got in. Tom turned and we sped out. "There
were a few police cars near your house," Tom said.

"Shit! Stop the car, stop the car!" It halted.

"What the fuck's going on?" Tom asked. "I'm not gonna drive you unless you
tell me!" Faced with such a dilemma, I had to let him know. After my
compressed narrative finished, he thought briefly, then agreed to aid us.
"Well, there's another way. We'll keep going south, then turn around later."
And he smiled. The car was once again in motion. "A chair? Really?" and he
shook his head.

And so we bypassed Maslin Beach. We headed north, toward the twinkling
lights of Adelaide. It was exciting. Brad coughed a few times. At every big
intersection, or whenever a cop car was nearby, I had the urge to push Brad
down. By the end, the poor kid was making himself scarce without my asking.
What a good boy.

We finally turned up in the centre of Adelaidean nightlife, Hindley Street.
There were numerous 'hotted up' cars, running on a mix of petroleum and
testosterone, thumping along the street. The lights, the sounds, the smells.
A cornucopia of confusing pleasures: ho megas polis! After parking his
(actually, it was one Mr Douche-Ampere's) car, Tom carefully led us to his
loft. It was a crumbling, urban dwelling. It had more character than ten
'out of a box' houses out in the suburbs.

We were getting comfy on the sofa and out of some room wafted Miss Phigg,
the drag queen. "Hey, guys, this is Alex," quoth Tom. Naturally enough, Miss
Phigg was mortified. She thoroughly corrected him. She rouged herself and
headed out. "She's got a big night... her first solo performance."

I turned on the TV: a late night news update: nothing about Brad. Thank God.
Perhaps it had something to do with the police waiting three days before
listing someone as officially missing.

"That's pretty screwed up," Tom remarked when we finally all sat down. "And
I thought my parents were mean!"

We tried to talk for a while longer, but Brad tapped my leg. "Peter... I'm
sleepy..." he said. We arranged a place for him to sleep (in Miss Phigg's
bed) then Tom and I went back out into the kitchen. I could see the busy
traffic below, under the orange haze of mercury lights.

"Is he asleep?" Tom asked. I said he was. "Good. Now, what the hell are you
gonna do? Have you realised what you've done? You kidnapped a boy... a--How
old did you say he was?"

"Twelve."

"Twelve! Fucken twelve. Man... that's insane!" and he rubbed his
due-for-a-shave chin. "So what you want me to do?"

"Well, maybe, we could live here. I've got money for rent and stuff..." I
gambled.

"Nah, that's fucked. Won't work," and he banged loudly on the table. "Alex
won't have it. You realise, the police could crash through the door any
time."

"Who's Alex?" I asked.

"Sheesh. The drag queen you saw leaving--Miss Phigg," he informed. He
thought for a while, then came up with a solution. "I can't have you here.
No way I can afford it," he said, punching in something on his Nokia. "But I
know who can!" After a brief discussion, I was informed that Brad and I
would (apparently) be warmly welcome at Mr Douche-Ampere's house. "I told
him you were my friends," Tom stated. "It'll work out."

This was the path I had carved for myself. Returning would mean possible
arrest, and God knows what ungodly things for Brad. Tom took my hand. "Gee,
thanks Tom. This means a lot," I told him.

"That's cool," he said, extending his grip on me. "Anything for you..." We
began kissing. He led the way to his room, on the threshold of which, I
enquired if he had any clients. "Oddly enough, no!" and he smiled.

Into the bed, under the covers. I did not want him. I wanted the boy in the
room next door. But the language of gratitude is not always verbal. So I
sucked his cock for him, I rimmed his arse and I took his cum on my face.

Tom fell asleep before me. I lay there, thinking, listening to the trickling
rain. I got up, and walked naked to the kitchen. There I sat, eyeing the
carefree youths who trotted on the footpath below. That could have been me,
I thought. Instead, I am in a dank, inner-city apartment with a run-away 12
y.o. and I have no idea what to do. I've been passed on like a grocery item
to a sleazy old 'phil-anthrop-ist'. The boy's parents were probably raiding
Auntie's shack.

These were heavy thoughts of conscience. Yet when I strolled into the room
and saw Lolito's yellow head, quietly and safely asleep, a warm, sweeping
emotion filled me. I had done something for him, something for me, something
for us. Sleep tight, my precious.


Andrew Staker
http://www.geocities.com/adonipolis