Date: Sat, 2 Jan 2010 03:09:27 -0800 (PST)
From: Tim Stillman <novemberhourglass@yahoo.com>
Subject: g/m adult-young friends The Mouse Boys

			      THE MOUSE BOYS
				    By
			       Tim Stillman


The motor boat carried me to the island of Crete. It was summer and hot and
I was tired and I had chase a ghost halfway around the world. Sometimes, I
forgot his name of whether he ever was. As boys, we played together,
studied together, shadow dreamed together; then comes a time and you must
let thought go. We loved each other dearly, when we were children. I stayed
a child. He didn't. You can't fault someone for growing up, for leaving the
Island of lost boys behind. It is man's nature to forget, to be ashamed of
later. For Golden memory to the city for you and in another's mind is shame
is the worst torture of all; it turns to offal everything in your heart.
And it causes you to doubt to your deepest core. There had been others for
him. I came here to find him, because he was ineluctably magician.

He was also a cliche, and a reader. Therefore, the island of Crete. We both
are wealthy; our inheritance let us be free. I pulled my boat onto shore; I
wanted a martini. I wanted sleep. I wanted to let go the fever pitch
session. I don't know when it became known about him at all. I don't know
when I stopped caring or loving him. I remember the night; the first one
had been a part of summer dark, not like this. Late and I said, I said I
love you, and he would turn away and run. He didn't though, he looked deep
into my eyes and he said me too. And we were together.

The sky was a blight dome, the stars were hidden, and also hidden, a
magician of fine credentials. He was literally what he said, I had made him
so. When one gravitates toward a God, the guide itself cannot be held
accountable. I think I worshiped him. The first time I saw him, and I knew
more than I admitted that I was doomed. He ran like summer he contemplated
like winter. He thought before he said word, you see and feel and thinking
considering patient and will of time and kind. When he turned away from
that, he was forever through with you. I got it; it came suddenly,
instantly, but slowly; I gathered he was not however part of a plot by
psychiatrists, putting people through a maze. He was alone here, save, they
were to tell me later, for his boys Greek and Mediterranean features, to
swimming with him, being with him, making love with him, sleeping with him,
caring for him. My fiberglass boat, as still as the wind; I was naked save
for my shorts. I
 was hot and perspiring and for a moment. I wanted to get in the boat go
back to the mainland and forget; but you don't spend money like this. And
just forget. I wish to God I could.

I've never been with anybody but him; the last time I read long was the
last time for me. I saw the shadow boys before I realized what I was
seeing. I was sitting on the beach. Maybe I was crying. Maybe I thought I
could finally give this up, and I looked at them and they were shadows and
shadows don't smile. Night carried in the form of human once upon a time.
There was a certain taste I know, tropical old, rich with history. The
taste of olives wrapped the taste of death the taste of divers and pearls
in memories. Never mine. Dancing women with scarves and stars and Greek
ouzo and pampered men become the islands to orchestrate their own
immortality. The shadow boys moved toward me, imperceptibly, and I cannot
move my body or my eyes from them. They were his; he had given them to me
to keep me away from him. He had enough to spare, and I despaired as I
looked up at the boys in shadows, standing round me, impossibly close,
impossibly fast.

There were naked, the bodies of tight muscular sensuality. The color was
dusk, the eyes were dark and curious, as if I were in a spider's web, their
territory. He sent them to make love to me. And I would feel like death
inside. I was filled with betrayal, which was funny, actually. Betrayal by
me of him. But then he always could play the superior at the game quite
nicely. He always had the power hand over me; rapidly, collectively, the
boys took me in their hands. They touched me. They held me. They made me be
naked as they. They lay on me on the sand beach, and the water was close. I
was crying, because I love them because they were he was always them; it
was always like that I believe. I had always seen him in everyone and by
rejecting them and they me, I was rejecting him. It was a game I played
never alive till now. Now that I realize, what I had been doing all my
life.

There kisses wet and boy and warm on me and mine on them without the
flights direction. I surrendered myself to them as they kissed me all
over. And I kissed them the same way. They lay with me. I felt their
penises all over my body, an estimate of me, an estimate of them. We came
together. We all came together after that, and all I could think of -- --
here that showed it's hilarious -- -- it wasn't them. It was a miracle, was
life. I was with naked boys who would do anything I asked; because that was
his magic; his magic was negation. I felt I was on a desert with me in a
boy oasis. And my God I hate them at that point; all those memories that
time so long ago. We were together never but even then, for him. It was a
release for me; it was everything. He had been tawny and blonde. These boys
were dark as night. These boys tread softly. They were sensuous in that
they knew everything to do and would turn me over in gentle hands and never
miss a spider stitch, and I cried out in pain and pleasure in agony, and I
call his name over and over again. And I was ashamed. It was wrong, without
him. It was wrong with him.

Did you send me a canvas to draw on? -- -- was a drawing always to be of
you? Did your ego have to be that huge, are you just a cat with the mouse?
We are the mouse boys, they thought, and I turned around and looked at
them. And I said, he deceives you every step every turn. He deceives you
because that is what magicians do. I can't help you; you have got to break
away from him yourself. And they rolled away from me. One said in a squeaky
kind of voice, He won't let us go he won't let us ever see someone we care
for he won't let us go home. We have to pleasure him, actively him, be at
his service always. And a boy was idly stroking my cock. I stroked his
night hair. I traced his face. I looked up at the night sky that was so
dark and they said run with us, forever more.

I said, that casinos give you better odds, saltwater gives you better
drink; the wine flows yellow trees blossom. The roads are narrow dirt, you
can dive for second treasure masturbated by clams, prepared well in
everyday dress. The seasons never change, you have Minotaurs and Gypsies,
who will seduce you as soon as look at you. You won't have to pay money for
them, because you're perfect, because you form the boy always. They said,
but asleep with you till sunrise and we cuddled. I caressed the bodies of
dust and used and savor. They kissed my mouth, a taste was all; the soul
was endless. And they were his.

Our bodies left impressions in the sand and the wind was 1,000,000 miles
away and the water lapped and customs the cultures and traditions library
books, in another world in another time, because we were our own books. I
don't think the mouse boys as they later told me he called them talked to
me verbally. It was all transmuted thought and desire, because suddenly for
the first time in all these years since he since he went away without a
word, I had desire. I had lost lust return to me as a favor, as I pushed
the mouse boys off me and screamed out to where he was on this island tell
the Minotaur. I'm not falling for this. I will not be played as a joke the
clown a fool a patsy a sucker born every minute. The fight you took like it
was up to you, like always.

I looked at the heart of the world inside you. They were mouse boys, and
nothing ever else they would be. They were mouse boys, and they trembled
warm eager on top of me. And they turned me over, and they slept next to
me. Like a God. But, who was God? Me them or you? And your magician friends
had gone away, because you pushed them away because you want your servants
to be your lovers. Have you not noticed the passing of time? Is everything
secure with you? Are you your own bar sinister? Your own sinecure? Do hands
that touched flesh whenever they need kill the flesh or feel as though all
were grains of sand? The boys slep, I kept watch over them, because the
night was long and the sky was hollow. They silently dreamed and their
bodies. They tightly on me as if I was finally found freedom and saying in
their dreams. Don't go away. Don't go away.

I stroked their thick hair, their thin smooth bodies. I kissed their
cheeks. One broke out in cries, and woke up, and I held him. Especially
tightly, and I said, it's only a dream. Don't worry, he thought -- said --
it seemed the nightmare went on forever. I said it did not my love, was
only for a second time. He held me round the shoulders, and he muffled the
word into my chest. I kissed him, I held him. I loved him. Mice I thought
do sometimes, indeed roar; and there are human Rosetta stones to dream
on. At the time, I didn't know what was meant.

Early morning, before sunrise, the mouse boys and I had dressed in shorts.
They had food and wine for us to put it in my boat. Then, we boarded, the
sky was turning pink and the depths full of life. But never for us to see
or know or touch. I looked at the island as we sailed away.  All white
chalk to the magic carpet blue taking us home, taking us away. The mouse
boys had their eyes on me, suspicious, their long tails quavered. Their
mouse ears trembled. Their bodies were hairless and pink, their penises
were small and the testicles too and different. Their teeth were mouse
teeth that chatted.  My friend, remember, and I remind you, was a
magician. Who would do anything, utterly anything, to make a person feel
like a fool of the world. I heard a sound like a trap being sprung and one
more mouse trapped.

Me. Again.