Date: Thu, 05 Apr 2001 14:30:12
From: Ganymede
Subject: It keeps coming: Pandora's Box XII & XIII

Pandora's Box XII,   by Ganymede and Christopher.


WARNING:

This story contains a graphic description of sexual acts
between a man and a MINOR boy. We do not condone child abuse,  how-
ever boy-love as described in this story is an entirely  different
matter. If the subject of man/boy sex offends you, if this material
is illegal in your place of residence, or if you are under the
legal age for such material, do not read further! You have been
warned! Read at your own risk!

The story is copyrighted under the pseudonym, Ganymede. A copy
has been placed in the Nifty archives for your enjoyment. Feel free
to post it to appropriate newsgroups or send it to your friends. The
story cannot be used to derive monetary gain. It cannot be placed in
archives that require payment for access, or printed and distributed
in any form that requires payment.

THE NIFTY ARCHIVE:

The Nifty Archive needs your support. If you enjoy reading
this story, please remember that it is available only because of the
Nifty Archive. Instructions are provided on the Nifty home page for
how to provide support.

FINAL WARNING:

If you are under the age of 18, if this material is illegal in
your place of residence, or if man-boy relationships aren't your
thing, then exit now and save yourself from a life of sin!


Pandora's Box XII: Sunday Night.


After a few minutes of waiting in line, Keith pulled the lim-
ousine up the curb and we jumped in. Within seconds, Steven had
ripped off his jacket, bow-tie and cumberbund and thrown them onto
the other seat. He slumped back into the seat as the limousine
surged forward and into the departing traffic.

"Thank God, that's fucking over!" he said loudly. He turned to
me, still laughing. "Well. What did you think of your first Academy
Awards, Chrissie?" he asked.

"Cool!"

Steven laughed. "Cool! That's all you have to say?"

"Uh huh." I half-closed my eyes, trying to keep the memories
strong so that they would last forever. "And thank you for the most
incredible night of my life," I added teasingly.

Steven turned to me. "And the night has only started," he said
mysteriously.

"Steven?"

"Yes, Chrissie."

"That movie, the one you made, Pandora's Box, why didn't it
win?" I asked bluntly.

Steven became serious. "There are lots of small reasons and
one big reason, Chrissie. The big reason is the easiest to under-
stand. The people who make the award decisions only want to be
entertained. They don't want to think about the problems of life."

I nodded uncertainly. "Is that what Pandora's Box is about?
The problems of life?"

"I thought you'd seen it on the plane."

"I saw some of it. I didn't understand all of it. I guess it
was too old for me."

Steven thought for a moment. "Do you know what Pandora's Box
was? Where the story came from?"

I shook my head, then after a moment I answered. "Not really.
I guessed it's some old box the lady owned, only her name wasn't
Pandora," I said hopefully, but in the knowledge that I was very
likely going down the wrong path

"In a way, that wasn't all it was about, Chrissie," Steven said.
"It came from a story from a long time ago. The details aren't all
that important. The point was that there was a box that if you
opened it up, what was inside came rushing out and you could never
put it back inside the box again. You had to live with it forever."

"Oh."

"Sometimes life is like that. We have something boxed up and
securely hidden inside us. If the box is opened even a fraction, it
all spills out. Once that happens, it can't ever be put back."

"I guess." I grinned. Suddenly, the movie I watched on the
plane made a lot more sense. "So in the first part, the woman and
Thomas were putting things into the box, well not into an actual
box, but you know what I mean, and during the second part they were
trying to keep it closed?"

"Have I ever told you that not only are you very beautiful,
but you're also a very smart boy," Steven chided playfully. "It's a
pity that a lot of people can't see what an eleven-year-old boy
sees so easily."

I wriggled closer and his arm lifted up and dropped over my
slender shoulders again. For the moment, I wanted nothing more than
to be close to him. I wanted to be held and hugged, and I wanted to
tell him how much I loved him. I could smell the lingering scent of
his deodorant, but after ten hours it was barely enough to hide his
manly aroma. I inhaled, burying my nose into his side. Higher up,
closer to his sweaty armpit, the smell was even stronger. I decided
that I liked that masculine smell much more than the flowery aroma
that came from Bryce's body when he worked in the salon. However, I
wanted to smell like Bryce. I wanted Steven to smell the way that
he did, like a man's man.

I was hungry, and I could feel my stomach growling. At the
same time I felt awake and alive, and I was very happy. I wanted to
do something to show Steven how I felt about him. The only problem
was that I was not at all certain what `something' was. I wanted
Steven to know how appreciative I was. I did not know how that
could be accomplished in a way that he would never forget.

His hand stroked my back, rubbing across the little knobs of
my spine, scratching through my jacket.

"You were so beautiful today, Chrissie," Steven sighed. "When
I saw you standing there next to the limo, dressed in white and
looking so radiant, I wanted to kiss you, right there and then,
right in front of every one. I didn't give a fuck about the televi-
sion cameras."

"You can kiss me, if you want, Steven," I murmured.

Steven's arm tightened on my shoulder, drawing me closer. "I'd
like to kiss you, Chrissie. I really would. Most boys don't like it
at first, you know. They'll do everything else, usually as soon as
they start liking a man, but they won't kiss, not when they first
start out. I suppose it means 'gay' too much," he added moodily.

"I don't mind," I said softly.

I reached up, feeling for his hand on my shoulder. I caressed
his fingers, trying to bring his face down to mine. He studied me,
reflectively, dispassionately, trying to decide if I meant what I
said.

"Have you ever kissed anyone besides your mother, Chrissie?"
He sounded cynical.

"No."

I closed my eyes, wishing as hard as I could for my dream to
come true, to make the evening perfect. Where had that desire come
from? I wanted nothing more than to kiss Steven, and to be kissed
in return. I licked my lips absently. It would be different to
kissing my mother good-night or good-bye in the mornings. I always
kissed her on the cheek, never on the lips. I wanted to kiss Steven
on the lips. There was no sound except the traffic moving around us
and the frantic pounding of my heart.

He crushed me back into the seat, forcing my arms above my
head, pressing his mouth onto mine. His moustache scraped my lips,
then his tongue swirled across them. It forced into my mouth, back
behind my lips, over my teeth. I tried to kiss back. I was shocked.
I was being kissed, ravished. His tongue was ravenous, voracious in
its search for mine, then sucking my tongue into his mouth. I felt
the air being drained from my chest. Why couldn't I breathe? Yet,
surprised as I was, my instincts took over and my slender arms
locked around his neck, keeping us together.

He breathed into my lungs, giving me his air. His tongue
probed my mouth, exchanging his saliva for mine. Hot. Wet. Succu-
lent. Urgent kissing. I hung on to him. Then I realized his hand
was between my thighs, kneading my sex, making it hard again. I
groaned into him, dragging on him, wanting only to kiss and kiss
and kiss. His beard was rough, then smooth against my cheek. This
bear of a man was tearing at my trousers, trying to get inside. His
mouth pulled away, allowing me to gasp for air. My jacket came off,
pulled from my arms, tossed onto the other seat. Then, moments
later his mouth back onto mine again. We kissed until my lips were
sore. We parted, gulped more air, went back to licking and sucking
and kissing, always kissing as his hand worked against my boyhood.

"Oh, Chrissie. Oh, I wanted you so much." Steven sighed.

I moaned as his hand finally tugged the zipper down, reached
in, pushed behind the flap, found my small hard penis. He crushed
it just as he had crushed me into the seat. The ring was already
very tight. My penis was bloated with accumulated blood, throbbing
as the veins held the flow back and made it even stiffer, hotter,
darker, painfully deliciously hard.

Again his lips came onto mine. This time was without the pent
up fury of the first time, but he was still the man and I was still
the boy. Now, we kissed as lovers. I offered myself to him, opening
my arms and legs in the only way I knew, lifting my buttocks off
the seat. He could take my virginity right then and there, here and
now, if he wanted to. I pulled against him, then finally took the
initiative and placed my hand on his trousers, over his groin, feeling
the huge hardness, the proof of his maleness.

"Chrissie, are you sure?"

I nodded urgently. I needed to have his penis inside me. I did
not have a vagina and we would not make babies, but I was a boy who
needed a man's penis. I was not a boy like the boys at the mall,
playing in the street, or at the beach. I was another kind of a
boy. I was a boy who needed a man like Steven. Everything, so long
a mystery to me, suddenly became patently obvious. Those other men
looked at me because they lusted after me. They wanted to be
Steven. They knew that I wanted to be loved by a man. They under-
stood that I needed a man's penis inside my body to make me com-
plete. I kept nodding at Steven, hoping my eagerness would win over
any other plans that he had made to take my virginity.

He smiled ruefully as he made his decision to wait. gently, he
moved my hand to the side. "It won't be long, Chrissie. Not very
long at all. However, this night is so important to me. I have to
do this my way."

Then silence again, sulking and watching the buildings and
cars go past, Steven talking on his cell-phone, telling someone we
were on the way, leaving me in despair and wondering what men like
Steven really did to boys like me. It seemed that everyone except
me knew what was going to happen to me. Certainly, I knew some of
it from Bryce. At least, I knew about the `man's cock in the boy's
butt' part. However, intuitively I realized that there was far more
to it than that. The limousine began slowing down and I glanced out
the window. We were at a dock and an ink-black harbor stretched
before me with a myriad twinkling lights around the edges.

The very second the limousine stopped, Keith jumped out, ran around
the car and opened the door. He smiled when he saw my disheveled
appearance. My hair was messed up. My jacket was off. The front of
my tuxedo trousers was open. I must have looked as if I had just
been raped, and my mouth felt a bit as if it had been raped. I
could still taste Steven on my lips.

"Do yourself up, Chrissie," Steven admonished as soon as he
saw me. He had a knowing smirk that matched our chauffeur's expres-
sion.

Bashfully, I yanked the zipper up and grinned. Keith had not
seen any flesh and I doubted whether he would be surprised if he
did. Outside the limousine, the air was cooler, but there was a
heavy odor of the sea, industry and a lot of people. The smell
could have been from Boston's North End. Steven took my hand, draw-
ing me closer to him. His head came closer and his tongue touched
my ear, swirling around the diamond stud. I giggled.

"No matter what happens tonight, Chrissie my beautiful boy,
just remember that I love you. You might not understand everything
you see, and you might not like it, but this is your life now so
you might as well  start getting used to it."

With that brief admonition, he guided me down the path to the
dock and a long gangplank that connected to the dark blue hull of a
ship. When I say `ship' I really am not exaggerating. Certainly,
there are a lot bigger ships, and since that night I have been on a
few of them when Steven and I traveled, but in my experience, a
vessel of 100 feet long was huge. I was awed. Now, that I've been
on cruise ships, I know it was a large luxury motor yacht.

Our feet clattered on the aluminum decking until we reached
the side of the yacht. A man dressed in an officer's uniform was
waiting there to greet us.

"Steven Kaufman and Christopher Faran," Steven announced.

The man examined a list of names. He found Steven's name
because it was third from the top and there was an check mark next
to it. He crossed it off. He glanced at me once, checked the list
of names, then looked at me again as if there was a problem. I
looked up at Steven nervously.

"How old is he, Mr. Kaufman?" the Second Officer asked curtly.

"He just turned eleven."

"He looks much younger than that, Sir." The man's eyes nar-
rowed and he studied me intently. "You know the rule, Sir. No boy
under eleven is allowed on board."

"I know the rule because I helped to make it. He is eleven,"
Steven explained patiently. "His birthday was nearly three weeks
ago, in fact. March 6th to be precise."

The Officer nodded and studied the list of names. I looked
over his arm as the pen traveled through the names. He found mine
close to the bottom. There was a number `1' beside my name.

"It's his first time aboard, Sir?"

"Yes," Steven said in a bored tone of voice. "Like I said,
he's just eleven. It is his first time," he added, emphasizing the
last two words.

"Sir, I am very sorry about this. He looks much younger that
eleven so I have to see some proof."

"I thought you would. I tried to fax his birth certificate to
you earlier this morning. I couldn't get through."

I glanced at Steven. My mother had made a some reference to my
birth certificate when I asked how Steven knew my middle name. Why
did Steven have my birth certificate? Why did I have to be eleven
years old before I could go on board? It was just a fancy dress
party.

"Oh! I'm very sorry. We didn't dock until noon and we've been
having problems with the off-shore connections so it might have
gone astray. I could check the logs, Sir!"

Steven slowly shook his head. "Would you like to call Louis? I
think he'll clear up the problem."

"Mr. Durand is engaged on other business," the Second Officer
said firmly.

"Mr. Durand is not engaged in other business," a voice said
loudly from behind us.

The Second Officer snapped to attention. "Mr. Durand, Sir,
I've been trying to explain to Mr. Kaufman about the age require-
ment."

"Mr. Kaufman is well aware of the eleven-years-old rule." Mr.
Durand came out of the shadows and extended his hand in greeting to
Steven. They shook hands. "This is him?" Mr. Durand asked Steven
even as he studied my face.

"Yes." Steven hugged me. "This is Christopher."

"He's utterly and completely perfect." He sounded awed.

"Yes, he is, isn't he," Steven agreed with an affectionate
squeeze of my shoulder. "I'm positive that he's the one."

Mr Durand examined me with a look that I knew very well. I was
being appraised, but this time it was by a man who appreciated
boys. There was also lust in his eyes, yet it was subdued. If I was
not standing next to Steven I would have run away. Instead, I stared
at the ground and tried to think of something else.

The worst criminals of all were drug runners. They had a reputation
for violence and meting out cruel punishments to anyone who got in
their way. I had to be very careful. I was disguised, but it was
always possible that someone might recognize me. This man, for
example. He was looking at me as if he knew who I was. Try to
stay calm. Be cool! Take control! He expects me to be arrogant.
He thinks I'm a buyer. He doesn't know that he's dealing with
Inspector Faran, head of the Drug Interdiction Unit of the FBI.
With luck I'll be able to destroy his entire operation tonight,
and save the lives of thousands of America's children in the
process. He's sizing me up, trying to figure out how to get the
best deal he can. Do I have a surprise for him.....

"You could not have found a more beautiful boy, Steven," he
said approvingly. He was stilling staring at me. "How old are
you Christopher?"

I looked up, startled. "Eleven, Sir," I answered in my sweetest
voice.

"Oh how charming. His accent is to die for. And he's so sexy,
too." Mr. Durand smiled knowingly. "He'll be wearing white tonight,
I presume Steven? Or have you already done the cherry thing? No, of
course you haven't. He looks much too innocent."

Steven nodded, still keeping a firm grasp on my shoulder. I
stood beside him, my head tilted, looking up at him deferentially,
yet full of pride not only because of who he was but because he
loved me.

"And of course, even for a first timer we must talk about his
health?" Mr. Durand remembered absently. "In this day and age
we have to take precautions."

"I understand perfectly, Louis. It's as much for his protection
as anyone else's. You know how promiscuous some boys can be."

"I'm glad you understand, Steven. I do hope you had time to
have him checked out before you came. We can do a test on-board
but it will take a while."

"Actually, no," Steven told him. "There wasn't time. The Acad-
emy Awards and coming here afterwards was really a last minute
decision on my part. I was thinking it was much too soon." He
smiled absently. "I'm beginning to realize just how mistaken
I was."

"Well, I'm glad you're here, but the rules must be enforced.
Of course, if he's a virgin, the whole thing is probably unneces-
sary. You'd have to demonstrate that he hasn't been exposed, of
course."

Steven nodded. "I did think of that." He reached into his
pocket and withdrew a small envelop. He opened it and took out a
sheet of paper. "This was faxed earlier with his birth certificate.
I brought it with me just in case there was a problem." He held it
out. "Here. I think this ought to cover it."

Mr. Durand unfolded the letter and read aloud.

"I, Katherine Deborah Faran, the mother and legal guardian of
Christopher Bryce Faran, born on March 6th 1990, hereby attest to
the following:

"My son is accompanying his uncle, Steven Gordon Kaufman of
his own free will and volition, and that he has not been subject to
any undue pressure to influence any personal decisions he might
make while in the company of his uncle.

"To the best of my knowledge, my son has not engaged in any
sexual activity that might expose him to communicable diseases,
that he is healthy and in full control of all of his bodily func-
tions. I know of no condition that would preclude him from indulg-
ing in sexual activity if he so desires."

"Well, Louis?" Steven asked. "I had her write and sign that just
before we left Palm Springs."

I looked at Steven in growing confusion. Did my mother under-
stand what she was writing and signing? I was not even sure that I
did. What did 'volition' mean? What were 'communicable diseases'?
And 'sexual activity'? Did that mean what I thought it meant?

"It certainly covers all the bases. Including the age ques-
tion. It's a pleasure to welcome you aboard, Christopher," Mr.
Durand announced. He glanced dismissively at the Second Officer.
"All of my guests are aboard?"

"Yes Sir. We will be departing immediately."

Mr. Durand nodded curtly. "I'll escort you to your cabin
myself, Steven." He smiled at me, almost leering and I cringed
closer to Steven. I hated being looked at by strangers. "It's a
pleasure to have you aboard, Christopher. I hope you'll be joining
us often after tonight. He will, won't he Steven?"

"I definitely have a plan in that regard, but it is still a
distance from being realized, Steven said ambiguously.

Mr. Durand smiled understandingly, again studying me from head
to toe. I was very uncomfortable under his concentrated gaze. I
glanced away, trying to create the solution in my befuddled mind.
There was no fantasy that stepped forward and took over. I stayed
close to Steven. Abruptly, Mr. Durand wheeled away, leading us into
the ship's interior. Behind me, I heard someone say `gangplank
away'. The floor trembled as we walked. I had a vague impression of
movement, not just under my feet but all around me.

"Stern line away," a voice called distantly. "Bow line away."

I trotted next to Steven, amused that I was traveling on a
ship for the very first time in my life. There was a low vibration
coming through everything, the sound of a ship coming to life. From
the foyer, Mr. Durand proceeded to the right, starboard in ship
language, and down a stair. He opened the first door on the port
side and stood to the side to allow us to enter. My mouth gaped and
I stared in wonder at the most incredible bedroom I had ever been
in, even if it was somewhat ornate by comparison with the strict
aesthetic beauty of Steven's house. I was surrounded by burled wal-
nut. It was just like being in Steven's Rolls Royce. The ceiling was
painted in pale blue, tromp d'oeil style, with a painting of a
Greek god, Zeus, on Mount Olympus. Zeus had a beautiful boy sitting
in his lap. Seen from below, with his legs dangling apart, the boy's
small genitals were clearly revealed. Around the divine couple,
half a dozen other boys, naked cupids, danced and sang. There were
mirrors everywhere, huge mirrors with gold leaf frames like those
in art galleries. There were no paintings on the walls, just mirrors.
In the center of the room was a huge bed, complete with a canopy that
was festooned with floral-patterned broccade in red and gold.

"I'm putting you in the stateroom for obvious reasons," Mr.
Durand smiled.

"Louis, there's really no need,..." Steven began.

Mr. Durand shook his head. "I want tonight to be very special
for young Christopher. There'll be another boy wearing white
tonight by the way. It's always a little off-putting the first
time aboard, but especially on the most important night of a boy's
life.

"Really, Louis," Steven began. "It's very nice of you, but,..."

Mr. Durand shook his head with determination. "I'll hear no
refusals. Besides, I already arranged for your costumes to be
delivered here. It's my pleasure and I'll know that both of you
will be very comfortable."

"Well, I must say, I really do appreciate it, Louis," Steven
said jocularly. He rubbed his hand through my spiked hair affec-
tionately. "But you're right, there's only one first time."

"Well, I must be off," Mr. Durand announced. "Oh. I expect
you'd like me to send Antonio along. I know he's very busy, but I'm
sure he'll be able to squeeze Christopher in." Steven nodded. "I'll
send him along shortly. Perhaps Christopher should jump in the
bath right away. We'll be in international waters in an hour."

Again Steven nodded and he glanced meaningfully at me. Mr.
Durand lingered for a few moments, perhaps in the hope that I would
undress in front of him. As far as I was concerned, the only person
who was going to see me naked from now on was Steven. He bustled
out, closing the door behind him. I breathed out with relief and
began to fiddle with the silver studs in the front of my shirt.

"Do you know who he is, Chrissie?" Steven asked.

I shook my head, still endeavoring to get the silver head of a tiny
stud through the hole. How had Steven managed to insert them in the
first place? He beckoned to me with a single finger and I slowly
walked towards him. In that fabulous room, at that enchanting
moment, I had not a single doubt that Steven Kaufman was the most
handsome man in the world. His fingers moved deftly, removing my
satin bowtie, unfastening the studs and cufflinks, easing the soft
shirt from my shoulders. It was like being unwrapped. I giggled.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing. I'm just so happy being here with you," I answered
softly.

He smiled warmly. "I'm happy as well, Chrissie."

Gently he drew my arms through the shirt and let it fall onto
the floor. His eyes feasted on my body, from waist up. I was golden
brown. My skin was smooth and flawless. My nipples were so small and
pale that they were almost invisible. He would have had an impos-
sible task to find a single freckle on me. I liked how he looked at
me. He breathed deeply, unable to take his eyes away.

"Mr. Durand is the head of the studio," he explained absently.

"He owns it?" I asked uncertainly.

"More or less," Steven replied vaguely. "He was the producer
for Pandora's Box, Chrissie."

"Oh"

Steven's hands had moved to my waist. He unclipped the ruffled
cumberbund and let it fall to the floor. He stopped momentarily,
taking in my slim waist. Then, one silver button opened, then the
second one came undone. The zipper came down and he parted the
front of my tuxedo. His hand squeezed against my still covered sex,
its shape cleverly concealed behind the flap that remained. I
sighed at the touch, a touch that was about ownership, a touch that
was no longer invasive. Had it ever been invasive? Before I started
to harden, he began to work on the clasps holding the flap across
the front.

"Is he rich?" I asked inquisitively. Steve nodded. "Richer
than you?"

Steven smiled. "I have you so I'm the richest man in the
world."

I was not at all certain what he intended by that comment.
Without warning, Steven pushed my trousers down and they slid all
the way to my feet. I enjoyed being undressed so much that I merely
stood there with a dumb expression. He ignored my efforts at temp-
tation, my inept childish efforts of seduction. I tried to signal
my desire with my eyes, a smile that wanted to be wanton but
instead was self-indulgent. Steven stepped closer and pressed
firmly in the center of my chest, above where my heart was. He
pushed me back, until my legs were against the bed and I had
nowhere else to go but to sit down on the red and gold brocaded
cover.

I lifted one foot, letting him remove my sneaker and sock,
then the other one. He tugged my trousers off, dropping them to
join the pile with my other clothes. I was naked. His eyes had not
left me the entire time. I smiled, meeting his eyes.

"You're a very beautiful boy, Chrissie," he whispered. "You're
truly exquisite."

Intuitively, I moved my legs apart, exposing the diminutive
boy-treasure that was hidden between my thighs. The gold ring
encircling my sex flashed its message in brilliant sparkling dia-
monds. I belonged to Steven now. His eyes focused on that part of
me. Unlike anything else, it was the one part that defined me as
male. I lay back, allowing him to gaze in admiration, wanting him
to look at me for as long as he desired.

He took my hands and lifted me, bringing me to my feet and
into his embrace. His sturdy arms wrapped around me, one hand in
the middle of my back, the other hand nearly covering my buttocks.
I felt complete. I pressed against him, still offering myself just
as boys have always offered themselves to men when the time was
right. I did not have to say a word. He shook his head gently.

"Not now. Bath time first, Chrissie."

With that, and a loving tug on my hand he led me into the mar-
ble bathroom. Like the bedroom, the bathroom also had a gaudy air
to it. There were several colors of marble, white variegations over
pink or black. There was a bathtub, not nearly as large the ones in
the bathrooms at Steven's house. He sat on the edge, turned on the
tap, gazed back at me. I was self-conscious now, aware of my naked-
ness, moving from one foot to another while I watched the tub begin
to fill. His eyes never left my body as he committed every detail,
every line and form to memory. When there was a couple of inches of
water in the bathtub be gestured to me to come over.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked as he pointed to the sec-
ond toilet.

I shrugged, having never before seen or even heard about a
bidet before I arrived at his house. I still had not figured out
how the one in our bathroom worked or what it might be used for,
except as a foot rinser.

"It's a bidet," he explained. "Haven't you seen the one in
your bedroom, Chrissie?"

I nodded. "I didn't know what it was called. What's it used
for?"

"For washing behind, for boys, and in front for girls. It's
the easiest way to get your butt clean," he smirked as I subdued a
giggle. "This one has another function a boy like you might find
especially useful. Shall I show it to you?"

I nodded, barely able to keep from giggling. Steven lifted up
a thin cream-colored plastic hose and held it out for me to look at
it.

"Can you guess where this goes, Chrissie?" he asked teasingly.
I shrugged, still confused although he made it sound as if the
function should have been very apparent. "It goes inside your beau-
tiful little bottom."

"Inside it?" I asked uneasily.

"Of course, inside it. It goes in through your anus."

"Why?"

Steven laughed. "My, you are an innocent, aren't you Chrissie?
Tell me, how does a man have sex with a boy?"

I giggled. "You know, Steven," I said shyly.

He laughed again. "Of course, I know. But do you know?"

"He puts his thing in the boy's butt," I replied awkwardly. "I
told you I already knew about sex stuff when we were in the car."

"Then what happens, Chrissie?" Steven asked. "Once it's inside
your butt."

"He moves it in and out?" I answered hopefully.

Bryce had not told me exactly what happened, but he used those
words to describe the sexual act that happened when a man's penis
was placed inside a boy's bottom. It seemed logical enough to me.
If I was going to be `fucked' as he called it, the man's penis had
to move around so that his semen would come out.

"Yes, he does. Now, what's usually in the same place, Chris-
sie," Steven joked.

As he talked he removed the lid from a jar of Vaseline that
had been conveniently left on the vanity. He dipped his finger in
and smeared the yellowish grease over the first few inches of the
tube, making sure that it was thoroughly covered.

"Poop, I guess." I answered reluctantly.

"Exactly. Now, what do you think is going to happen when my penis
pokes around inside you for a while, and there's poop inside you,
Chrissie?"

I blushed. Bryce had said something about accidents. "It gets
messy sometimes?" I suggested awkwardly.

"You're certainly one for understatement, aren't you Chris-
sie?" Steven chortled. "Yes, it gets messy sometimes. So we put
this tube inside you and we flush it out."

"Oh! You're going to do that to me? Now?" I asked uncertainly.

"This time I'll show you how to do it. It's not difficult at
all. There are some things that a boy should take responsibility
for, and making sure he's clean inside and going regularly to the
toilet is one of them."

"You sound like my mom," I countered with a trace of bitter-
ness that result from years of distress.

Steven regarded me with interest. "How so?"

"She's always worried about my bowel movements. And wiping
properly. Stuff like that."

"She has a point in a way. It's going to be especially impor-
tant now that you're with me. Sit down on the bidet, Chrissie, and
bend forward so your head is on your knees," Steven instructed.

I did what he asked and I suddenly felt his hand behind me,
his fingers splitting my cheeks apart, locating my opening, posi-
tioning the tube. With a sudden push, the narrow tube slipped
through my anus and quickly glided deeper. It was a strange sensa-
tion, yet there was nothing that I wanted to do to stop it. It was
all I could do not to giggle.

"These modern bidets are fully automatic," Steven said infor-
matively. He pressed a button on the side panel. "Your body temper-
ature is usually 98.6, so make it a few degrees warmer. Not colder,
not unless you want the shock of your life. And not too hot, not
until you're used to it." He pressed another button. "Can you feel
it, Chrissie?"

At first I was not at all sure what was happening. Then, real-
izing, I nodded urgently. It was filling me up from inside. I could
feel the warm water flowing into me, expanding through my lower
intestines, generating a pleasant glow through my entire body.

"It feels good, doesn't it Chrissie?" Steven asked tenderly. I
nodded. "Most boys enjoy getting enemas if they're given properly.
Did your mother ever do this to you to get your bowels working?"

"No! I don't think so. I would remember if she did. She just
gives me chocolate stuff to eat at night before I go to bed. It's a
laxative," I added.

"My mother did this to me and my brother sometimes," Steven
said fondly. "She used to hang a plastic bag full of water on a
special hook on the wall. Are you feeling full yet, Chrissie?"

"Kind of," I murmured. "It's nice."

"You don't want to do this all the time because after a while you'll
have a problem going, and we wouldn't want that would we? So you
should use it just on special occasions, or when I tell you to,"
Steven said. "Okay, it's stopped automatically. It does that when
the right pressure is reached. Now, move over to the toilet, Chris-
sie, and when you feel like you need to go, just let it out. It
should only take a couple of minutes. Then, I want you to get in
the bath and get soaped up. I want everything clean, but especially
I want you to wash your privates and your bottom. There is some-
thing I need to take care of before the make-up artist arrives. He
should be here any time so I want you to hurry."

He left the room, leaving me sitting on the toilet, concen-
trating on the weird sensations inside. Was I mistaken in thinking
that there was a gurgling sound from my belly? The pressure was
increasing, wasn't it? It certainly felt weird. Then suddenly,
without any more warning than a painful cramp, my bowels released a
muddy mixture in a loud squirt. I was shocked as it splattered over
the porcelain bowl. My mother's laxatives sometimes gave me the
runs, but never like this. I groaned and more gushed out. For a few
seconds it felt as if everything I had eaten in the last week was
coming out through my anus. It stopped as unexpectedly as it had
started.

I flushed, made sure the toilet bowl was as clean as it had
been when I sat down, and finally tottered over to the bath. I
would have liked to stay there forever, relaxing in the warm water.
However, Steven had said to hurry and I did not want to make him
upset. When I was properly washed with the thick bar of perfumed
soap and lots of flower-scented shampoo, I dried myself off. There
was a surprise awaiting me on a knob on the back of the bathroom
door. Steven had placed a white satin bathrobe there, my first name
clearly visible and embroidered in white thread on the left side. I
put it on. It was a short robe, barely coming a few inches down my
thighs, yet it covered the important parts if I stood up and kept
the front closed. It was more like a shirt without buttons than a
bathrobe. I went back into the bedroom just as the door closed.

"Chrissie, this is Antonio," Steven remarked. "He's here to do
your make-up. He's the very best there is in Hollywood. Everyone
knows Antonio DeDroga."

"Make-up?" I asked uncertainly.

Antonio acted like Bryce, even more like Bryce that Bryce did.
He was dark-skinned, not what you would call swarthy, but not
golden tanned like I was either. He smiled as soon as he saw me.
His eyes instantly shifted to my bare legs where they extended
beyond the robe. I wished the robe was longer. I did not like how
he looked at me.

"Yes, Chrissie," Antonio said. "You must be beautiful for your
party. No one should ever go to a party without make-up,"
he added in his foreign accent.

His hands gestured, exactly like Bryce did when he was making
an aesthetic decision. He stepped back, approached me, sidled
around.

"Well, what do you think?" Steven asked.

"Exquisite. Simply exquisite," Antonio said admiringly.
"So seldom does one see such beauty in a boy."

"And?" Steven prompted. "Will the make-up maestro render an
opinion?" he joked.

Antonio flapped his hands. "For me? It is easy. If he is my boy
I must bring out the girl in him. Already, someone has seen that he
is that way, what you call effeminate. His brows are trimmed, just
slightly, but it is enough to say what should be said. I would say
more."

"What would you do?" Steven asked bluntly.

Antonio considered the question for a moment. I stood still,
feeling uncomfortable, excited, confused. I wondered what he was
going to suggest, whether Steven would allow him to bring out the
girl in me.

"The brows, of course. I'd thin them to match the ends. And
eye shadow, a blue with purple, to bring out the color of his eyes
and show their depth." Antonio stopped there, half closed his eyes,
imagined some end result that made him sigh. "Perfect lips on such
a pouty little mouth, but he needs more. If it was me, I'd show his
latent passion. I have a dull red with me. The tone will be perfect
with his suntan. And I'd use the same shade on his fingernails."

Antonio glanced at Steven. His professional opinion had been
sought and he had delivered it. He waited for approval. Steven
ignored me. My mother often ignored me the same way when we were in
the salon. I had a vague sense of being his plaything, yet if he
had consulted me, I would immediately have said to go ahead. I
wanted to be played with. For some reason, I did not mind that he
wanted to bring out the girl that had dwelled for so long inside me.

"Do it," Steven instructed as he turned away. "I have to
shower now. Do what he tells you, Chrissie."

I followed Antonio over to the desk and sat down while he
opened his make-up box. He glanced over his shoulder to see if
Steven was watching, then stood still, listening for the shower. He
busied himself by taking trays out, making a selection, examining
the color with the caps off.

"You're going in white tonight I hear," he muttered. "You must
look your very best, Christopher."

I nodded slightly. "I think so. Everyone asks Steven if I
am, and he says I am."

"What are you wearing as a costume?"

"I don't know. He hasn't told me yet."

"Not dressed as a choirboy I hope. We've had choirboys now for
the last two years. It's become quite passé."

"I suppose," I ventured. What did passé mean?

"I just got through doing the other boy, the twelve-year-old.
He's getting dressed right now. I expect he'll be stunning."

"What's he wearing?" I asked nervously.

"It's nice. It's not on the cutting edge of boy-fashion,
that's certain," Antonio simpered. "Still, he'll make a cute little
Dauphin."

He traced his finger over my eyebrow to align the tiny hairs.
I closed my eyes. I tried to tell myself that it was no different
to being in the salon with Bryce. I had to trust him to do what he
thought was right. I was still nervous. Going back to school would
present me with a major problem.

"What's that? A Dauphin?" I asked, nearly getting the French
pronuciation correct.

"I'm not exactly sure. Oh, he'll look appealing enough in his
little satin breeches and broccaded jacket, but there's no flair
except for a few ruffles. He's very conservative."

"Oh?"

I felt the buzz of the small tool as it eased cautiously
across my right eyebrow. It tugged persistently, yet not hurting in
the slightest. Then back again, then just above my eyelid. A moment
later, he carefully did the other eyebrow.

"You have lovely long lashes for a boy. Did anyone ever tell
you that?"

I nodded. That was how my torment at school started, with my
lashes. Then my lips and eyes, then everything about me was `girl-
ish'. For a while I hated my appearance. My mother would not agree
to me having a `buzz', which I was sure would bring out my mascu-
line features.

"Oh! You lucky thing. That is so precious," Antonio purred.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

I opened my eyes. Antonio was staring down at my exposed
crotch. The robe had parted, revealing everything. The ring spar-
kled, seeming to frame all that was male about me, adding immeasur-
ably to its value. That part of me was suddenly very special.

"You have a cock ring?" Antonio smirked. "And gold with dia-
monds no less. Somebody must really love you," he teased.

I shrugged and tried to ignore him. I lifted the robe back to
cover my boy-parts and left my hand there to keep it in place.
Then, I dared to look at myself in the mirror. When Bryce had done
my eyebrows, it was hard to tell the difference without using a
hand mirror. I could definitely see the change this time. My eye-
brows had been reduced to thin dark lines. I blinked, then blinked
again, still disbelieving the effect. Going back to school was
going to present a very big problem.

"Well?" Antonio asked. "What do you think?"

"I look like a girl, don't I?" I could hear the excitement
behind my words. I trembled.

"Yes, you do. And a very pretty girl at that."

I licked my lips. They were dry. I smiled. I did look like a
girl, except that I was far more beautiful than any girl I had ever
seen. He did not have to ask whether I liked the transformation he
had effected.

"I was going to do your fingernails next so they have plenty
of time to dry, but I've changed my mind. I like the plain varnish
look you have already. I've never been one for overkill. So, next
comes the eye-shadow, Christopher. And then we'll do your lips,"
Antonio said proficiently.

I had never worn eye-shadow, or real lipstick for that matter,
although I had often pretended with some lip ointment. I was almost
as interested in seeing how he applied it as in the end result. He
did in much the same way as an artist uses his paint brush to cre-
ate a masterpiece, except Antonio's canvas was my face. This time I
could not close my eyes, so instead I stared up at the ceiling and
tried to decipher the meaning of the painting while he applied the
pastel shade that he had selected. In short order, he completed my
lips and stood back so that I could judge for myself.

"Wow!" I exclaimed, looking into the mirror.

"Wow indeed," Steven said from behind me.

Startled, I spun around in the chair. He was standing right
behind me. He was dressed in a bathrobe that matched mine in color
and embroidered name, except for 'Steven' and the fact that his
was much longer.

"How long have you been standing there?" I demanded.

"Long enough," he laughed. "Long enough to know better." He
hesitated, stepped closer, placed his broad hand on my shoulder.
"Very nice indeed. A true transformation. You've done a superb job,
Antonio," he added.

"Were all boys such delightful creatures as this one?" Antonio
said effusively. "I would steal him in a hearbeat."

"You'd steal my little fairy?" Steven joked.

Antonio laughed. "But of course. If he'd have me, that is." He
ran a brush through my hair, flicking at the spikes with more skill
than even Bryce or my mother had.

Steven turned back to me, ignoring Antonio for the moment. For
a moment he was serious. "Did I ever tell you that you're way
beyond beautiful, Chrissie."

No question, just an honest statement of fact as he saw it. I
grinned at him, keeping quiet as Antonio packed away his things
hurriedly and bolted out of the room to his last customer. With him
out of the way, Steven was ready to deliver the next surprise.

"Close your eyes, Chrissie. And don't open them until I say
so," he ordered firmly.

He walked away from me, leaving me for more than a minute in
self-imposed darkness. I knew he was getting my costume, and that
he wanted it to be a special surprise.

"Okay, you can open them now, Chrissie."

I opened my eyes. Truthfully, I had no idea what it was. It
was white, obviously. I expected that. There was cloth and leather,
some loose straps, silver buttons and buckles.

"What is it?" I asked. "I mean I know it's a costume for me to
wear, but like what it is?"

Steven laughed. "Haven't you seen the new Gladiator movie?
It's not one of my favorites, but there's a boy in it who wears
something like this."

I shook my head. "We almost never go to the movies. Mom let me
choose between cable and,... well when the weather's bad, it's hard
to get outside sometimes," I explained.

Steven did not mind. He dragged me to my feet and led me over
to the bed, still carrying the costume on its hanger. He placed it
down and promptly began to remove the various pieces. He was
excited, much more excited than I was. The first thing he held out
looked like a skirt.

"I'm not wearing that," I warned. "I might look like a girl,
but I'm not going to dress like one, Steven."

"Don't get all defensive, Chrissie," Steven said resolutely.
"I have no intention of making a girl out of you. This is very much
a boy's costume. You'll see that as soon as you put it on."

"Okay," I said skeptically. "I am not going to any party
dressed as a girl. I'm not, okay. I am not wearing a dress. Not for
you, not for anyone!" I added adamantly.

Steven grinned. "Actually, Chrissie, this is called a tunic.
Boys in ancient Rome used to wear them into battle. They wore them
under leather armor."

"This leather stuff is supposed to be armor?" I asked. "Cool!"

"Let's get you dressed. I just hope everything fits, Chrissie.
I had a seamstress working all day on it at the studio. Your mother
had to guess at some of your measurements because you were still
asleep," he added.

"Okay, I'll try it on for you, Steven," I relented, shedding
my under-sized bathrobe. "But if I don't like it can I take it
off?"

Steven did not answer. If he noticed that I was naked, he
showed no sign of it. "Lift up, Chrissie," he instructed with a tap
on my arm.

He placed the bottom opening of the white satin tunic over my
head and drew it down. If I was a girl, it would have been no dif-
ferent to putting on a dress. I seriously doubted that any boy in
ancient Rome would be caught dead in it. When my head appeared
through the shoulder straps I took one look at myself and wanted to
die. For one thing, the tunic had pleats from the waist down. For
another, it only reached about halfway down my thighs. My slender
suntanned legs contrasted sharply and drew even more attention to
what I was wearing, just like a mini-skirt is designed to draw
attention to a girl's legs. However, a girl could wear panty hose.

"Steven?" I whined. "It looks silly. It even feels stupid. It
makes me look like a dork. I look like a girl in this. You know I
do!"

"No it doesn't, Chrissie," he said firmly. "Once you're used
to wearing it, you won't think about it at all."

He straightened the tunic so that it hung down properly. He
picked up the largest piece of leather. It was stiff, almost as if
there was a plastic shape inside it. It looked like a weight-lift-
ers chest, with exaggerated muscles but minus nipples. Actually
there were `nipples' but they were made of silver and had the shape
of little flowers. The belly button was a circle edged in in sil-
ver. Someone had spent a lot of time making it. It was shiny and
white and it was decorated with silver medallions on the sides. It
actually looked cool! Steven held it up to my chest to check the
size. There were small silver buckles on the back with correspond-
ing straps. He began to fasten each one, making certain that it was
tight on my chest.

"How's that, Chrissie? Can you still breath?"

"Yeah." It was beginning to get more interesting.

Steven finished doing the rest of the straps up. I turned and
studied myself in one of the ornate mirrors. The thrill I felt was
immediate and deep down. I licked my lips, and then worried about
smearing the lipstick. The armor made me look very masculine, I
decided. I could be a Roman centurion, a warrior fighting against
the hordes of Goths. I strutted across the room, turned, and
marched back to Steven.

"I think someone likes it?" Steven teased.

"I do. It's cool. Let's put on the rest of it."

There was a lot more to put on. There was more leather that
went over my shoulders, extending out a few inches on either side
of my arms and coming down around my neck to meet the chest armor.
Another piece of armor went in front, from underneath the chest to
part of the way down my thighs. I could not help giggling.

The thigh armor came in two pieces, separated by a metal tri-
angle that was curved in two directions. Like all the other metal
it was silver and very brightly polished. We both laughed when we
realized what it protected. It took Steven a while to figure out
how it was attached behind and then he tightened the strap, bring-
ing it up over my groin so that it was protected by its personal
shield. When it was in place, the leather thigh pieces fit neatly
into grooves on the sides, yet my movement was uninterrupted. I
could squat, stretch my legs, jump around, without restriction.
Since it was the only non-leather part of the armor, it was very
evident what the ancient Romans thought was most worth protecting
on their boys. I pointed this out to Steven and we both laughed.

" I assume this piece covers my dick so it doesn't get cut off
in a sword fight," I smirked as I pointed to the metal piece.

"Yes, I imagine so. We don't want to lose the second most
important part of you, do we?"

"What's the most important part then?" I asked without think-
ing.

"This," Steven said as he playfully slapped my bottom. It was
covered only by the pleated satin tunic and his hand made a loud
noise.

"If it's so valuable then why doesn't it have any armor?" I
chortled, waggling my rear end at him.

Steven laughed. "I expect Roman boys wanted to keep their
options open. If they were about to be killed, they could turn
around and lift up the tunic so they could be fucked instead."

"That would probably be a lot more fun than being killed,
especially if I was fucked you," I taunted gleefully.

Even saying the word, the `f' word that I could never say with
my mother anywhere within hearing range, gave me a feeling of
excitement. Steven moved and I jumped back out of arm's reach.

"Okay, what now Chrissie?" Steven asked impatiently.

"So,... Do you want to fuck me?" I mocked.

I was enjoying our game even if I was completely out of my
depth. Steven looked down at me, almost fatherly, as I bounced up
and down on my toes. I stepped to the side, then back, springing my
tendons and muscles. I could move very quickly when I needed to.

"Why would I want to do that, Chrissie?" he queried. There was
a hoarse tone in his voice, his excitement barely restrained.

"Because I'm a boy?" I suggested lewdly.

I breathed out. I could feel it, the powerful urge that drives
people to have sex. It was becoming stronger, feeding on itself,
taking over my mind. The more I thought about Steven, about being
his boy, about having his penis inside my body, the stronger the
need became to actually do it. I trembled, waiting for him to
answer, wanting him to take me in his arms and teach me everything
that I needed to know.

He laughed. "Chrissie, if we had the time I'd pound your beau-
tiful little ass so hard you wouldn't be able to walk for a week.
However,..." He glanced at the clock on the wall, "we have five min-
utes before the party starts and I need to finish getting you
dressed and then get dressed myself."

The game ended there, temporarily halted, both of us knowing
it could resume at any second. He sat me down on the bed and took
hold of my right leg. The shoe was the strangest I had ever seen.
It was more like a sandal, but it didn't end at the ankle. The
straps were very long, perhaps even coming as high as my knee. I
wriggled my foot down through the white leather bindings.

"I can't believe how smooth you are," Steven observed as his
ran his hand from my calf up to my thigh. "There's no hair on you
at all, is there Chrissie? Most boys your age have at least some
peach fuzz on their arms and legs, but you're as smooth as a baby."

I grinned and thought about telling how my mother applied hair
remover to every part of my body except the top of my head. How-
ever, a boy had to have some secrets.

"Chrissie, listen to me, before we go upstairs to the lounge,
I need you to understand the rules."

Steven began to fasten the straps, carefully laying them in a
woven pattern as they ascended my leg. I wriggled my toes against
his bare thigh, trying to push his robe away so I could finally see
what was there. He slapped at my foot playfully until I stopped.

"Now, rule number one." He paused. "You can never tell anyone
what happens tonight, not your mother, not your friends, no one."

"You're going to do it to me tonight, aren't you Steven?" I
asked happily. I assumed that he was asking for me to promise never
to tell. He did not need to ask.

"Yes, Chrissie. In just a few hours. They'll know you aren't a
virgin when you get home, but none of what you'll see tonight you
can talk about. It isn't like you sucking Joel's cock. This is not
about two boys experimenting. They could put me in jail."

I nodded. It was straightforward. As far as I was concerned,
it was no one else's business.

"There are twenty very important men on board tonight, that's if
you include me," Steven said patiently. I grinned. Of course,
Steven was important. He was just trying to amuse me and relieve
some of the pressure I was feeling.

"They all have two things in common. They love boys and they
want to help less fortunate boys, particularly those boys who are
struggling with being gay."

"Like me?"

"Yes, Chrissie. Most of the boys are a lot like you. Except
they aren't nearly as beautiful as you are. There are a couple of
men who are very rich. Two have flown in from Europe and another
one has come all the way from Saudi Arabia. There's a state gover-
nor too, and unless I'm mistaken, there's a Congressman who's made
a fortune in real estate. They'll all have boys with them, except
for one man and I'll get to him in a second. You'll be the youngest
boy there."

"That's because all the boys have to be over eleven, and I've
just turned eleven?" I asked confidently.

"Yes, Chrissie. The one man who's without a boy I like a lot.
He actually wrote the script for Pandora's Box for me. He used a
false name so no one knows who really did it."

I nodded uncertainly. "Why doesn't he have a boy with him?
Doesn't he have one?"

Steven shook his head and tightened the straps of my sandal.
The white leather straps against my slender brown leg looked very
daring. I moved my foot around. It was quite comfortable, although
it looked as if it should have been otherwise.

"He has a boy of his own, Chrissie. He's a lovely little
pixie. He's only nine, though, so he can' come on board yet."

"Why is there a rule about a boy being eleven?" I asked curi-
ously.

"Hm,... A couple of years ago, we had two Japanese men on
board, Chrissie. They brought two boys with them from Mexico where
the company they owned had just opened a manufacturing plant."
Steven reached for my left foot. He tickled it and I giggled and
kicked at him until he stopped.

"What happened?" I reminded him.

Steven turned back. "It wasn't nice, Chrissie. What happens
here isn't supposed to hurt the boys. It's supposed to be good for
them. It's a way of giving them a start in life that they would
never have had otherwise. We only pick the boys who have the most
to gain and nothing to lose."

"Like me?" I asked awkwardly.

Steven smiled. "You're the most effeminate boy I think I've
ever seen, Chrissie. As soon as I saw your mother's photographs of
you I realized you were the one. It's a million to one chance that
you aren't gay. I can give you things that no one else could. You're
a very lucky boy."

Even at that time, I still had no idea what he was alluding
to. I did not think of myself as being lucky. I was an ordinary
boy with a single mother, and not a lot of money to spend on things.
I assumed that he was talking about where we were at that very
moment, or attending the Academy Awards. Perhaps I was lucky.


Steven sighed, remembering what had occurred a couple of years
earlier.

"Anyway, the Mexican boys were eight or nine years old,
Chrissie. It might seem too young to some people, but they were,..."
He paused and smiled ruefully as he continued. "A boy is perfectly
capable of having sex with a man at that age if he's careful. Any-
way, it's too late now." He smiled at me, less sorrowful. "I guess
you're going to use dirty words sooner or later. All boys do, I
think, so you might as well start learning them now."

He took a deep breath, still considering. "Afterward a while they
were taken down to the men's cabins and brutally fucked. It was
terrible, simply terrible that men who were supposed to love boys
could do that. One boy had a badly lacerated anus and the other
boy's rectum was ruptured in two places."

I could feel Steven's sadness. It was in his eyes, the slow
movement of his fingers as he began to lace up the straps of my
sandal. He rubbed his hand along my upper thigh, stopping just
short of the moist hot skin of my crotch. I could feel his finger-
tips reaching out barely a half an inch away from my soft scrotum.

"After that, we made the rule about being eleven. A boy could
still be badly injured if the man was bad with him, but it's far
less likely. Plus a boy that age is likely to scream his head off
if he's being hurt instead of muffling his cries in a pillow
because he thinks it's his fault he's bleeding."

"Yuk!" I squirmed uncomfortably. I hated the sight of blood,
especially my own.

"Yes, Chrissie, that's exactly what it was. `Yuk!'." Steven
pulled the straps tighter and began to make the final loop at my
calf.

"Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, I was telling you the rules. We
can do it later. We really have to hurry. It wouldn't do for us to
be late."

Steven stood up, took my hand and pulled me to my feet. "You
look superb, Chrissie. You really do. Everyone will notice you."

"That's just what I need. I'm scared stiff," I complained.

"What you need is a glass of champagne, something to eat, and
some boys your own age to talk to," Steven said with amusement.
"Later on, not your first time, but once you've settled in to being
gay, you'll find it's a lot of fun being with other people who
understand because they feel the same way. The boys play with each
other all the time and no one minds in the slightest, Chrissie.
It's all about having fun and meeting people."

"You mean the boys do sex stuff," I asked in awe.

"Yes, but only with each other. Most of them don't get past
cock sucking. You might get rimmed by one of the older boys. I've
seen a few of the younger ones going at it, but it doesn't happen
very often." I must have looked nervous, because he quickly added,
"No one will try to fuck you tonight, Chrissie. Except for me that
is. And if you're worried about something else happening, just stay
close to me."

I giggled, wondering how much longer it would be before I was
`fucked'. I was looking forward to the idea more and more. If I
tried hard I could do more than imagine what it would feel like to
have Steven's penis deep inside me.

"What does rimming mean?" I asked curiously.

"My, but you still have so much to learn, don't you, Chrissie.
I'd quite forgotten what it was like to have a virgin around, espe-
cially a young one. Even David was into rimming before I met him."

"David? You mean the David who we just met?" My eyes were
wide.

Steven laughed. "Of course, that David. Who else would it be?
You're not thinking of your cousin are you? I hope not.
He got his start in the industry with Pandora's Box. Before that he
was a skateboard bum who was sniffing glue every other day. The
only problem was that he was already thirteen when we met. He grew
up much too quickly."

"You did that with him?" I asked in amazement. "Sex stuff I
mean?" I added, still awed by the remote possibility that it was
true.

"Yes. And lots of other things too." Steven winked secretively.
"Are you sure you don't know what rimming is?" I shook my
head. "Bryce didn't tell you?" I shook my head again. Steven
smiled. "Well, the best way would be to show you."

"Okay," I said eagerly.

"When you're hot, you're certainly a hot little pussy-boy,
aren't you?"

I was not certain what Steven intended by my being 'hot'. It was
actually refreshing in the room with the air conditioning going
constantly. And I was totally confused by what a pussy-boy was. It
seemed like a contradiction in species.

"Okay," Steven said good-humoredly. "We don't have much time.
You'll have to make do with a sampler. Get on the bed with your
butt in the air, Chrissie. Put your face carefully against the pil-
low so you don't ruin your make-up."

He sat down on the bed beside me and rested his hand on my
back. "Now, I know you're clean because you just flushed and took a
bath afterwards, Chrissie, but you probably shouldn't do this oth-
erwise. At least not until you've had your Hepatitis shots."

"Shots? What kind of shots?" I asked nervously over my shoul-
der.

"Don't worry your pretty little head about shots," he said
reassuringly.

His hand moved from my lower back onto the fluted pleats of my
tunic where it covered my posterior. His hand rubbed gently over my
buttocks, playfully squeezing one cheek and then the other. He
tickled me through the tunic and I giggled. A moment later I trem-
bled as he lifted the skirt of the tunic up and onto my back. His
hand settled onto my bare bottom, caressing lovingly. Even his tone
was soothing.

"Remember what I said about your butt, Chrissie? The night
when we went skinny dipping?"

"Uh huh," I murmured. I wriggled, spreading my knees further
apart. I would never forget to always keep my legs apart! "You said
I had a beautiful little butt that you wanted to get to know very
well," I answered.

Steven was pleased. "My little fairy has a good memory,
doesn't he?" He laughed. "Do you know the best way to get to know a
little boy's butt?" he said teasingly.

"No! How?" Call me dumb, but I fell for it.

"By kissing it. Would you like me to kiss you on the butt,
Chrissie?"

"Uh huh," I replied eagerly.

He touched his lips to my cheek nearest to him with a soft
warm kiss. I quivered with anticipation of the next kiss lasting
even longer. It came immediately and lasted longer. That kiss was
wet, turning cold as his lips broke away. He had licked me? I gig-
gled.

"That felt funny," I said softly.

His lips returned, wetter, more agitated, massaging my other
cheek with the palm of his hand. His fingers extended into the
groove between my cheeks even as he kept kissing, Wetter and wet-
ter. I kept giggling. Steven's fingers parted my cheeks carefully.
His kisses began to move inwards into that area of extra warmth,
into the concealed place where my anus was. He kept kissing, lick-
ing, probing into my crack with his tongue. It was an incredible
sensation. At once invasive, I never felt so exposed, and then so
delightful that I wanted him to never stop doing it.

It was about then that I realized where his tongue was. The
spongy heat, slippery and squirming, remarkly strong for what it
was, began to push into my little opening. I was shocked that he
would do that, yet I was no more about to ask him to stop than leap
off the bed and fly around the room. I groaned when his tongue
finally penetrated.

It was not difficult. One moment it was licking outside. I
could feel it there, making little hot sloppy circles around and
around my anus. Every lap I trembled and tried to push back at him.
The next moment I could feel something that was inside that had not
been there a moment earlier. I was lost for words. Steven's tongue
was inside my anus.

Almost immediately his tongue swept out again. It swirled
around the rim of my anus for another few laps then back in again.
This time it tried to punch deeper. Steven's nose squashed against
my testicles as he endeavored to get even more inside. I gasped as
his tongue started to jab, back and forth plunging through my anus
until I could no longer stand it. This had to be one of life's
great moments. I could not stop trembling. All I wanted was more of
that wet wriggling thing inside me.

"Oh Steven," I moaned.

Steven's head lifted up instantly. "What's up, Chrissie? Have
you had enough, Sweetie?"

"God no! Keep doing it! Just keep doing it," I growled.

"You must really like it. Getting rimmed is cool, isn't it?"
he teased, using my words instead of his for dramatic effect.

"Very cool! Do it some more. Please. Please Steven?" I begged.

However, enough was enough and he stopped there before I had a
chance to turn into a spoiled whiny brat. He placed the pleated
tunic back over my now wet little rump and gave me another playful
whack. There would be more to come. I just knew there would. It was
far too nice for there not to be more to follow.

"That was rimming, Chrissie. There's really only one way to
explain what it's like, and that's to do it," Steven laughed. "I'm
glad you liked it."

"I did. It was cool! It was incredible, Steven. It felt like
your tongue was going way up inside me right before you stopped," I
gushed.

He laughed again. "That's how it's supposed to be. It's the
best way I know to get a tight little butt loosened up. Now run
into the bathroom and brush your teeth, Chrissie. I want you to be
absolutely perfect tonight. Not a hair out of place."

I scampered off to the bathroom, leaving Steven to get dressed
by himself. For some reason, I expected he would have a larger ver-
sion of my costume. I don't know why I thought that. It just seemed
logical. When I came out of the bathroom Steven was dressed in a
totally bizarre robe, a long red and purple robe that came down to
his ankles. I had no idea what or who he was supposed to be. In
some ways he looked like a magician, mysterious and very powerful.

"Okay, I give up," I said perplexed. "What are you?"

Steven laughed. "It's an inside joke. It doesn't matter what
I'm supposed to be. It's a reference to what was once called the
Cult of Mithras. Anyway, it's my opinion that men are supposed to
have plain costumes with appropriate themes while the boys should
be able to let go and express themselves. Let's get the rest of the
your costume on."

"There's more to come?" I asked in astonishment.

Steven took me by the hand and led me to the closet, telling
me to close my eyes. I realized that he was putting something
around my waist and on my head.

"Now open them, Chrissie," he instructed.

My costume was complete. Around my waist was a thick white
leather and silver-ornamented belt with a jewel encrusted buckle.
On my head was a silver helmet with a shape that was vaguely remi-
niscent of a certain small and usually hooded part of my anatomy,
but minus the hood. Steven grinned when I made the association.
>From the top of the helmet was a plume of long white feathers that
went from the front all the way down the back.

"Wow!" I murmured. "It's,.... It's,.... It's incredible. WOW!
Steven! Thank you! Oh! It's beautiful."

Steven laughed. "Well, Chrissie, I'm glad you like it because
it's yours. The entire outfit is yours."

"Mine? Why?" I asked in confusion.

"I would have thought the answer to that was very obvious,"
Steven said patiently.

"Why are you giving it to me? I'll never be able to wear it
where I live. There's no way!"

He grimaced, still holding back. "It's time to go, Chrissie."

With my hand held securely within his grasp as if I was going
to bolt for cover at the first sign of meeting someone, we left the
room. It was strange not that that he understood how scared I was,
but that he knew exactly what to do about it. I wondered if this
was what it was like to have a father.



The first person we met was a boy about twelve or thirteen
years old. He emerged from a room two doors down the corridor. He
saw me before I saw him and he darted back inside the room. He was
not dressed in white. In fact, he was barely dressed at all. All he
wore was a loincloth made from chamois-the soft cream-colored cloth
that is used to polish cars. There was a necklace of shells around
his neck. He was suntanned from head to toe, much darker than I
was, almost bronze-colored. His bare chest was ornamented with red
and white lines, like war paint or some sort of tribal markings.

A moment later he re-emerged, pulling a middle-aged man
dressed in a plain business suit by the hand. I didn't recognize
the man right away, but I stared as I tried to decide. A single
image went back and forth in my mind until I remembered. This man
was an actor in the last movie I had watched on cable before we
left for Palm Springs. And the boy beside him? Surely, that nearly
naked boy who was dressed like Mimi Seku in the Jungle to Jungle
movie couldn't possible be?... Was it possible?...

My questions were answered immediately as Steven changed
direction, turned, stopped, and waited for them to catch up to us.

"Hello Tyler," he said cheerfully. "And Mark, you're looking
very sexy tonight."

Mark giggled like I did when Steven shook hands with the man,
and then with him. Steven's eyes traveled over the half-naked boy.
I assumed he was dressed that way to attract attention to himself
so there was no reason why Steven shouldn't look. Then, I realized
that both of our new acquaintances were staring at me fixedly,
obviously as interested in my fancy costume as much as by the fact
that it was all white. Steven hastened to make introductions.

"This is Chrissie," he said proudly.

They both said hello at once, and I did my usual self-effacing
greeting with a whisper. I was promptly encouraged by Steven by a
squeeze on my shoulder to repeat it again, this time a little
louder.

"Hey Chrissie you want to go check out the food?" Mark asked.

He had the energetic bravado that all young boys have when they
are full of confidence and the world is awaiting them. I could tell
just by looking at him that nothing scared Mark. He bolted up the
stairs, knowing exactly where he was going. I hung back, shyly
awaiting Steven's permission. My school principal would probably
have called what Mark possessed in abundance, `self-esteem', that
enviable quality which according to my teachers, I had in very low
measure.

With a playful push and a reminder to behave myself and not
fall off the ship, Steven sent me in hot pursuit of Mark. I smiled
contentedly as I trotted after him, very pleased that I was not
going to be left out of the night's adventure. It seemed that I
already had a friend.



How to describe the lounge on Mr. Durand's yacht? The question
is less about how to describe or what to describe than where to
start. It was big. No, make that enormous. Most of the lounge was
enclosed by windows, with especially large windows looking out over
the stern deck. There were couches, on the sides and in the center,
and a huge fireplace. Don't ask me why there was a fireplace on a
ship? I never did find out, although I asked the Second Officer
before we disembarked. According to him, it was there because `Mr.
Durand wanted a fireplace.' The carpet felt like it was two inches
thick. At the other end of the room there were a tables laid
out with more kinds of food than I'd seen in the market at Faneuil
hall, in Boston. There was an ice carving of a shrimp that were
bigger than I was, and hundreds of shrimp in crushed ice all around
it. Next to it was an ice carving of a lobster and there were lob-
ster tails in small curved plates layered around it as well. My
mouth watered. I finally remembered how long it had been since I
had last eaten. I was ready to 'chow down'.

It makes my mother upset that I can go full speed all day just
on a bowl of cereal in the morning. It's only when I eat a lot that
I get constipated, and then she makes me eat the little chocolate
squares that look like but aren't Hersheys. There was a good reason
why I was loosing weight rather than gaining weight like other kids
my age. Sure, I told my mother that it was due to the exercise I
got with Lee at Taekwondo, but the real reason was that over the
last few months I had realized that I wanted to be skinny. I
dieted, but I had no idea why I wanted to have a nice body, only
that it was important for me to stay slender. As I looked around
the room and nibbled at a scrumptious shrimp, I was finally begin-
ning to understand why the appearance of my body had taken on a new
meaning. I also worried that shimp, like lobster, might not be
`kosher'.

At first glance, it seemed that every boy in the room was like
me. Only older. I was definitely the youngest and smallest boy
there. No one was over weight. Not even the older boys, boys who
were obviously in their late teens. By my reckoning there were
twenty boys, including me. I counted again, just to make cer-
tain. Mark wandered over to where I was standing. He was eating
from a plate of delicacies that he had picked up from one of the
other tables.

"Are you allowed to have champagne, Chrissie?" he asked mis-
chievously.

"I suppose," I answered. "It's probably okay because Steven
gave me some in the limousine on the way from Palm Springs."

"Let's go get some then," Mark suggested with a gleeful spar-
kle in his eye.

The bar was set up adjacent to the grand piano. After waiting
for the couple in front of us to be served, we both took glasses of
champagne, each drinking an inch or so before we had moved more
than a few feet. I grinned at Mark and he grinned back. We felt
very grown up.

"Doesn't it make your nose tickle?" I asked as I tried not to
giggle.

"More than that," Mark broke down first and giggled. "It tick-
les somewhere else too, if you drink enough of it."

I followed, giggling uncontrollably, caught up in his infec-
tious humor rather than by any appreciation of what else might
tickle besides his nose. I ended up almost losing control of my
glass. I was embarrassed as champagne dripped from my hand. I
looked for Steven, hoping he hadn't seen me. He was on the other
side of the room, talking to a man who was dressed as a `super
hero' with a taut black-nylon body suit and a long black cape that
was metallic-looking on the under side. But for the black bat
emblem emblazoned on his chest I would have been uncertain as to
which super hero he was supposed to be.

Mark sipped some more champagne and winked meaningfully at
me. "He'll be over to get you when the time comes, Chrissie. Just
be patient. There's two hours yet, so he won't come for you for
at least another hour. You might as well relax and have some fun."

He could tell I was nervous. I could tell I was nervous. It
was more than anticipation or excitement. I shifted my feet the way
I did when I was anxious about something.

"Are you scared?" Mark asked gently.

I glanced at him. "Huh?"

"Well are you?"

"I guess," I answered hesitantly.

"Don't be," Mark said firmly. "It's nowhere near as bad as you
think. It hurts a bit at first, but it doesn't last long. You'll be
okay. I lost mine last year," he added. "It was kind of fun, all the
hoopla and stuff. I was dressed as a page-boy."

"Did you cry?" I blurted out.

Mark smirked. "I don't remember all that much of it. I got
really drunk that night."

"Why?"

"Because I just did." He paused and shook his head slowly. "I
guess I was scared. I hadn't done it before, not like some of the
other kids. Some aren't even virgins. I mean Ty and I had sucked
and stuff like that before hand, and I was pretty much used to hav-
ing one of his fingers in there, but that's all." He sighed rue-
fully. "I was twelve and I didn't know all that much. How old are
you, anyway?"

"I only just turned eleven."

"You're young," Mark said. I could tell he was impressed.
"What have you done already?"

I assumed he was talking about sex stuff. I expected that it
was only natural for boys to compare experiences. I shrugged, hop-
ing that was enough to answer, wondering what I might say to divert
his interest. He continued to look at me with a questioning expres-
sion.

"Okay, out with it," he teased. "Boys don't have secrets from each
other."

"Um,... well,..." I giggled. Sex was sort of funny when you
stopped to think about. "Steven sucked me in the car on the way
from Palm Springs," I volunteered.

"That's it?" Mark was surprised. "And you're Steven's boy?" he
added suggestively.

I wasn't sure what he was suggesting, but it seemed like he
was saying that I hadn't done very much. I didn't know why, but
there was an implication that my inexperience reflected badly on
me. I shrugged, trying to stay calm and not reveal how perturbed I
was. I wanted Steven to be proud of me more than anything else in
the world.

"He rimmed me for a couple of minutes right before we came
upstairs," I added, hoping that I had gotten the terminology cor-
rect and my deficit knowledge was accounted for.

Mark turned around and leaned back on the baby-grand piano. He
was in the mood for some fun. He eased his hand down inside the
front of his leather loincloth and began to fondle himself openly.
He smirked at me, then deliberately lifted his penis up so that it
pointed outward. The distinctive shape was clearly revealed. While
I couldn't see any flesh, one thing was clear. His penis was much
larger than mine, and from what I could I tell, it was probably
even larger than Joel's. However, he was thirteen so being bigger
was only to be expected.

"For the first time?" Mark smirked.

"Uh huh." I answered without thinking.

"Man, it sounds like you really are one."

"I don't know. I guess so," I answered uncertainly. One what?

"You ought to know if you're still a virge," Mark grinned.

"Huh? A what?"

"A virge. It's short for virgin. He hasn't fucked you yet, has
he?" I shook my head. "I didn't think so. You're going to be sore
tomorrow."

"Why?" I asked innocently.

He looked at me with wide eyes. Then, he grinned again. "I'm
just teasing you. It isn't that bad. I kind of liked it the first
time."

"But you were drunk," I reminded him.

He shrugged. He appeared to be distracted. As he glanced
around the lounge. "Come on, let's go meet some of the other guys.
They're almost all cool."

He led me towards a group of boys who were gathered around a
disco sound system in a heated discussion about what music should
be played. I recognized David immediately and managed not to laugh
when I realized that he was supposed to be Peter Pan. In my mind,
he was too old for the costume. It would have looked better on
Mark. I was amused even more when I saw the man who was standing
next to him. The man was dressed like Captain Hook. He wore a long
burgundy coat, a shirt with the largest ruffles imaginable, so
large that they concealed his neck almost entirely, long polished
boots with enormous gold buckles, a swashbuckling hat with a plume
of feathers and a curved sword that looked like it might be real.

He had a hook, but what a hook it was. It wasn't the hook itself
as much as what Captain Hook was trying to do with it. Peter Pan,
aka David, was trying to have a serious conversation about music
while his companion was using the curved hook to rub the very prom-
inent bulge in David's green tights. It was impossible not to laugh
as David's hands kept trying to push the hook away.

"This horny old pervert is Gary," David chortled. "And this is
Steven's new boy, Chrissie," he added with a great deal of merri-
ment. "Chrissie meet Gary, but just remember who belongs to who!"

He made yet another unsuccessful attempt to divert the hook
from its intended target. This time the hook landed right over
David's bulge. It was exactly the right size to go around it. Gary
smirked and wriggled the hook in David's crotch so that it appeared
even larger. All the boys laughed, including me. There he was, if
not the most popular teenage actor in the country, then very close
to it, being tantalized by a man who was old enough to be his
father.

"Whoa, looks like we're having doubles tonight," one of the
other boys guffawed when he finally realzied  what I was wearing.

"There's two?" someone else asked.

"Sure looks like it. There's the French prince over there with
Senator Carter, and this one. What a cool outfit!"

"It's just what you'd expect from Steven. Talk about a pixie
losing it in style," David smirked.

"He'll be sitting on a cushion for the next week."

"Huh?" I asked. I knew they were talking about me.

"How old are you?"

"He just turned eleven," Mark answered.

"He's still a baby." That from one of the older boys. "You
don't look anywhere near old enough to be on-board."

"He looks like he's nine or ten, doesn't he?"

"Don't let them bug you," Gary said gently. "They're just like
this when they get excited. You're really a very lucky boy, but
then I expect you know that already, don't you?"

"Me? Lucky?" I asked uncertainly.

"Yeah, you," one of the boys said. He sounded a bit disgrun-
tled.

"Well you are," David answered with a reassuring smile. "You
just have to look around you to see it."

I lifted my eyes and glanced around the lounge self-consciously.
People, both men and boys were looking at me. Everyone was staring
at me. By then I should have been used to being looked at. I
guess I will never really be used to it. My first thoughts when
I felt their eyes on me was that I had done, or was doing something
wrong. I could not imagine what that might have been, except per-
haps being there in the first place. I went to my second option.
Something was wrong with me. Usually, I worried that I had spilled
something on my clothes, my socks or shoes didn't match, or my zip-
per was open. None of those explanations worked now.

I was dressed differently to everyone there. As far as I could
see I was the only Roman centurion, man or boy, present at the
party. However, everyone was wearing some sort of fancy dress,
droll in some cases like the matching alien costumes, or lackluster
in other cases. There were a few costumes that were both creative
and daring. I suppose my costume stood out because it was pure
white and splashed with polished silver.

I shrugged and pretended to be indifferent. Finally, I could
stand it no longer. I was always self-conscious when men stared at
me like that. I was ill-at-ease, and as awkward and embarrassed as
I had ever been.

David and Gary shared a knowing smile.

"You do know why everyone is watching you, don't you?" David
asked after a while.

"Because of how I'm dressed," I replied. I wanted to find
Steven.

"Partly. There's not a boy here who wouldn't want to be in your
place." David nodded reassuringly as if that was explanation
enough.

"I don't understand," I said nervously. I thought of my life
in Cambridge and made the obvious if unpleasant comparison with
where I was at that very moment.

"A few men might not agree with me," Gary began, "but I think
most of us are attracted to boys like you more than any other. We
talk about a boy's boy, because that's the normal thing, but when
you get down to the sex part of a relationship, men like pretty
boys the most."

"Pretty boys?" I asked awkwardly.

"He means boys like you," David elucidated. "Because of how
you look and act. It turns them on. You're hot, Chrissie."

"Hot?" I swallowed.

"He's a fairy and he doesn't know it," someone chortled from behind
me. I resisted turning around to see who had said it.

"He might not know he's a fairy, but he's sure taking advan-
tage of something he doesn't know about," someone else added.

"I don't understand," I said. My face was getting red. I was
beginning to feel angry as much as pitiful. I was surrounded by
boys, all of them older than I was, and they were making fun of me
because I didn't understand what they were talking about.

"Don't be mean to him," David interrupted. "He can't help
being a pixie."

"What's a pixie?" I asked David uneasily.

"A boy like you!" Mark interjected and promptly laughed.

Asking Peter Pan what a pixie was, was probably amusing, but
it wasn't funny enough to account for the laughter that erupted
around me. I shuffled my feet, wanting to disappear and never be
found again. Fortunately, Gary asserted himself.

"Okay that's enough guys. Leave him alone. You don't want to
make him more scared than he already is. David, put on some music
and let's get this party going."

He winked at me secretively. "I'll talk to Steven, if you'd
like, Chrissie? I'm sure he can pass the word around that you're
embarrassed when people give you the look. Most of us can behave
ourselves if we're asked to."

I shrugged. I wanted so badly to understand. "But what's wrong
with me?" I entreated.

"Wrong? For heaven's sake! Nothing's wrong with you! You're
the perfect boy! That's the problem, well it's not a problem
really. It's the reason why we look at you."

"Huh?" I mumbled.

Already the other boys had dispersed onto the raised wood-pan-
eled area that was the dance floor, leaving David and another boy
to get the disco going.

Gary regarded me patiently. "Eleven years old huh? Maybe we
need to increase the age limit to twelve," he suggested gaily. He
smiled slightly. "Every so often a boy comes along who is like you.
He's beautiful to look at, he has a magnificent body, he's charming
to talk to, and he radiates sex. But the best part is that he's
effeminate. He's special because he bridges the gap between boys
and girls. Do you understand what I'm talking about?"

I thought for a second. For the life of me I couldn't under-
stand why it was a good thing to be girlish because I had always
been tormented about how I looked and acted. I had come to hate it.
However, Gary was trying to tell me that the thing I hated wasn't
necessarily a bad thing. In fact, it was beginning to appear as if
being girlish might even be a good thing in some ways. I had heard
this from my mother, from Bryce, from Steven, and now from David's
adult friend. Perhaps there was an advantage to being 'effeminate'
that I had never realized. I nodded slightly, beginning to
understand more and more.

The music started and Mark walked over to join us. He smirked
at Gary. He tried to be serious. "I'm to say that Peter Pan wants
Captain Hook to dance with him," he announced as he burst into a
fit of uncontrollable giggles.

Gary laughed. "He'll want more than that before tonight is
over, believe me, Mimi Siku."

I watched him leave, feeling a sense of approval from him that
I had only ever had from Bryce and Steven. At least I felt more
comfortable about my appearance now, even if people were still
staring at me every time I dared to lift my head and look around.

"Hey, Chrissie?" Mark said loudly to get my self-absorbed
attention.

Startled, I turned to him. "Yeah?" I mumbled.

He laughed. "Even for a pixie you sure are acting weird."

"Huh?"

Mark smirked. "You pixies are all alike. You tease guys until
they're all over you and then you pretend to be so innocent."

"I do not!" I rebuked heatedly.

"Yes, you do."

"Don't!"

Mark smirked again. "You flirted with Gary until he got a
hard-on, didn't you?"

"A hard what?"

Mark snorted as he tried to drink champagne and laugh at the
same time. When he finally calmed down and wiped the dribbles from
his mouth and nose he gave me one of those `you-must-think-I'm-
dumber-than-a-rock' looks that kids do when they want to appear
astounded.

"Hard-on, as in stiff dick, as in erect cock, as in,...."

"Okay, I get the idea," I retorted guiltily. "If I did, I
really didn't mean to." I smiled shyly. "I did that to him?"

Again Mark started to giggle. "Sheez, you even did it to me.
You've probably given every man here a hard-on by now," he said
jokingly.

However, there was something in the way that he said it which
wasn't funny. I detected a note of jealousy.

"I can't help it," I said apologetically. "I don't mean to."

Mark shrugged then, leaving me with the strange feeling that
he was sorry he had brought the matter up in the first place. Worse
still, everyone was still watching me. I lowered my head and stared
at my sandaled feet, seeking solace in the only way that I knew
how.

It was a trap. There were Goths hiding everywhere. I could
feel their eyes, their blood-shot, glaring, pig-like eyes. They had
set a trap for me, Christopherus Faranus, Roman centurion, luring
me away from rest of my soldiers into this hidden glade deep in the
woods. I knew I would be cruelly tortured if they caught me. I had
killed too many Goths to be held prisoner until my father could
raise the money for my ransom. It would not matter even if it was
paid immediately. The Goths wanted revenge. I had to escape and
find a hiding place. But where? They were watching me closely. Even
the slightest movement on my part might cause one of them to throw
his spear.

"Chrissie, it's not your fault," Mark said slowly. "You're
just lucky, that's all."

"Huh?"

"Hey, there's Peter. You want to go talk to him?"

"Why? Who is he?" I asked nervously.

Mark grinned. "Boy, do you have a lot to learn. Peter's cool!
He's the only man here without a boy so you'd better be careful."

Then I remembered that Steven had mentioned someone who had
come onboard alone. Was Peter the only man who had not brought a
boy with him?

"Steven told me about him. What's his boy like?" I asked
absently.

Mark laughed. "He's a pixie, just like you, except you're
prettier. I think he's from Mexico. He's only nine, so he isn't
allowed on-board even though he's been having sex for at least a
year now."

"Oh!"

"Of course, his real name isn't Peter. He's just very secre-
tive about who he is, so everyone here calls him Peter or
Ganymede."

"Why?"

"I don't know. All I know is he writes really cool stories
using that name." (That is a matter of opinion--Ganymede)

"About what?" I asked curiously.

"About us. He always writes about boys and men being in love
and having sex and stuff. I think he also writes other stuff, like
books and plays, but not using the Ganymede name of course."

I giggled. "Steven said he wrote the script for his movie,
Pandora's Box, but he used a false name."

"I've read almost all of them on the Internet." Mark said
proudly. " Some of them are a bit weird. Like there's one story
about a boy and some aborigines in Australia and they split his
wiener open like a sausage. It's part of his initiation. My favor-
ite is about a boy and his father and a Christmas they spent
together in a cabin. There's another story I liked too. Only Ty
wouldn't let me read all of it because something bad happens to the
boy's balls. I forget what it's called."

We walked over to where Peter was sitting. He was seated next
to the window, watching the men and boys with detached amusement.
He seemed about the same age as Steven, and although he wasn't as
large, he was still a big man. He glanced up at us as we approached
and smiled. It was only then that I recognized the man who had been
sitting across the aisle from me on the flight from Boston to Palm
Springs. I swallowed nervously as I came nearer.

"This is Chrissie, Peter," Mark announced in a quiet voice
that contradicted his brash boldness.

"Yes, I know," the man said. "We've met before. Steven suggested
that I keep an eye out for you, Christopher. He wasn't wrong
in his description. What did he say? He's so beautiful you might
mistake him for a girl."

He smiled at me. I didn't feel insulted. I did feel a nervous
flutter in my chest as I regarded the man who had spent the best
part of seven hours staring at me and making me feel uncomfortable.

"You have a delightful costume, Christopherus, just perfect
for a Roman warrior," he said as he gestured for us to sit down.
"It's not only nicely made, but it's also very appropriate for
tonight."

I gaped at him, wondering how he could possibly have read my
mind from a few minutes earlier. Was I that transparent? Still, his
smile made me feel relaxed. He turned to Mark with a twinkle in his
eye.

"And as for you, Mark? If you show any more of your beautiful
flesh, I won't be able to control myself."

Mark giggled. He drew his right leg up and onto the seat. For
the first time I noticed the thick gold chain around his ankle.
Still giggling, he playfully lifted back his loincloth to expose
even more of his body. From where I sat, I could see all of his
right thigh, right up to where his scrotum started. I realized that
like me, he had nothing on underneath the loincloth.

"That's quite enough," Peter chuckled. Yet, despite what he
said, his voice said something else.

"You got me so hot when I was reading Merry Christmas," Mark
whispered teasingly. "I had to stop reading all the time so I could
jack off."

"Oh?" Peter said blandly. "You're supposed to keep reading.
You can always use your left hand to turn the pages."

Mark giggled. "I was on the computer. At Nifty," he added. "I
loved the part when Grant blew his father in the car on the way to
skiing. I've done that too," he added with pride. "Not with my Dad,
of course. He'd kill me if he even suspected I was gay. He actually
thinks I have a thing going with Sandy when we're off the set."

"Be careful doing that," Peter chuckled.

"Why? Because I might start liking her? Like that's going to
happen. Even Sandy thinks I'm a fag."

"Not that. You don't want Tyler losing control of the car when
he comes in your mouth."

Mark laughed and glanced over his shoulder surreptitiously,
and ascertained where his friend, Tyler, was standing. I could not
believe my eyes as Mark's hand peeled back the loincloth. There was
a long silence. I feasted my eyes on the second boy penis I had
ever seen at close range. There was no longer any question that
Mark's penis was much bigger than Joel's. He was circumcised like
Joel, making me feel quite out of place. Just about every boy I had
ever looked at was the same way. None of them had the extra skin on
the end. I began to think it wouldn't be such a bad idea if the
next time Steven said something about doing that to me, if I said I
didn't mind.

There was also some hair around the base of his penis, not
much hair, but enough hair to see without needing to use a magnify-
ing glass. It was very fine and straight. I had never seen a boy
with hair around his penis. For that matter, I had never really
seen a man's penis either. My quick glimpse of Steven's manhood in
the dark had not helped to relieve my growing curiosity.

As we watched, Mark's penis, already half-erect, finished
growing the rest of the way until it stuck out at an oblique angle.
By then it was a respectable five inches long, fully twice the
length of my penis. It was so much wider than my penis, that mine
looked as if it was one tenth of the size. Mark's penis gave a cou-
ple of small jerks as its proud owner flexed his inner muscles.

"What a nice dick," Peter winked. "You've grown quite a lot
since this time last year, Mark. It looks like someone has started
puberty."

"Yeah, I know. I started getting hairs there a few months ago,
I can shoot loads now." He looked sad. "It's fun and all being able
to come, and I know Ty likes sucking it more, but I wish it didn't
have to happen so soon."

"You're thirteen so you're really right on schedule."

"Yeah, I know. Ty said the same thing," Mark said forlornly.
"I guess I'd like to stay a boy for a few more years, that's all."

"Well short of getting your nuts cut off, there's not a lot
you can do about it," Peter joked.

I really wasn't paying much attention to the conversation. By
then the music had started and about ten boys and a few of men had
formed into couples and were dancing. My eyes opened wide in disbe-
lief and I stared at what was happening right before my eyes. It
was almost impossible to believe.

"They're dancing," I finally blurted out.

Mark looked up suddenly. "Oh? Yeah, well what did you think
they were doing? Having sex?" he chortled.

Peter was smiling. "You haven't seen guys dancing before?" I
shook my head. "There's no reason why they shouldn't, you know.
It's just a matter of what you are used to."

"I guess," I said awkwardly. "It's just, well it's sort of
bizarre."

Perhaps it was bizarre, but the track that was being played
was a gay disco song, `It's Raining Men' and all the boys were
singing along and doing the wildest moves imaginable. I grinned. I
was beginning to enjoy the freedom of being able to do things that
I had wanted to do for a long time and couldn't. Did I really want
to dance with another boy? Or Steven, if he could keep up the pace
with some of frenzied moves that were going on in the middle of the
room? My answer was an unequivocal `yes'. I started tapping my feet
on the floor, thinking of how I would contrive my own moves out on
the dance floor.

"I even asked my doctor about it," Mark continued. He
shrugged. "He said there are pills I could take to slow it down. He
won't prescribe them for me unless my parents agree. I've asked
Mom, and she's interested because everybody knows that if I look
younger the show will more likely keep me on longer. My dad has to
agree too, but he's never liked the idea of me acting. He says that
because of how old I am, I might end up stunting my growth, or not
be able to have babies, or something."

Peter nodded thoughtfully. "Well Mark, you wouldn't be the
first kid-actor to take that stuff. There aren't many boys who last
more than a year or two past the cute kid stage."

"Yeah, tell me about it. Look at what happened to JTT. Here
today, gone tomorrow," Mark said wryly. "I have heard there are
doctors in Mexico who'll do things that doctors won't do in the
States. I've talked to Ty and he said might take me down there if
my parents end up saying no."

At that moment, David and another boy about his age left the
dance floor and came over to us. The other boy was dressed in a
sleek body suit, the other half of the Batman and Robin super-hero
team. David said hello to Peter and then turned to Mark.

"Hey, Mark, do you think you and your friend would like to
join us and dance for a while," David asked.

Mark glanced at me and I nodded enthusiastically. We jumped up
and followed them onto the raised dance floor. It seemed like our
dance partners had already been chosen because David grabbed me by
the hand and started to dance around me. I think it was an old
Rolling Stones song. It was loud with a powerful beat that went
right through me, until my heart was pounding and I was totally
carried away. It was a lot more fun than dancing at home to the
Backstreet Boys.

It was a bit difficult dancing in the armor and I had to keep
my moves fairly simple, certainly no leaping around like Mimi Seku
and Robin were doing next to us. It was funny seeing Robin's elon-
gated teenage penis sticking out into his body suit as he cavorted
around with a boy who was probably three years younger than he was.
After a while, I began to realize that Mark was flirting with the
older boy, because every so often he would brush up against Robin's
crotch or turn and wriggle his barely covered buttocks at him.

I loved dancing with David. He was a fabulous dancer with
incredible moves that kept me on my feet trying to match them. He
was also the best looking boy on the floor. If I was interested in
boys not that older than myself, I would have picked him in a sec-
ond. We danced and danced, mindless of the time, aware only of the
fun we were having. Between songs, or when we didn't like the song
being played, we'd head off for something to eat and drink. It was
an experience of a lifetime, a very vibrant lifetime.

The interesting thing was that Steven did not seem to mind. If
anything he watched me closely and clapped every time a song fin-
ished. I could tell he was proud of me. The only thing that would
have made the night more enjoyable would have been clothing that
was easier to move in. I was working up a sweat and I could feel
beads of perspiration breaking out all over me.