Date: Mon, 02 Apr 2001 18:25:51
From: Ganymede
Subject: Pandora's Box VI

Pandora's Box VI,   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.

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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 VI: Saturday Afternoon.


"Hello!"

I spun around. Other than he had watched me when Joel and I arrived at
the pool, I did not recognize the man who stood a few feet away. His
eyes gave me the customary appraisal, not looking down and then up
but watching my eyes for a few seconds.

"You're Christopher Faran, aren't you?"

I was not sure what to say to a complete stranger who obviously
knew who I was. I stared back at him.

"My name is Ted Lehr. I'm Steven Kaufman's doctor, and his
close friend and confidant too." He paused. "Do you know what a con-
fidant is, Chris?"

I continued to stare at him, hoping that my silence would send
him off to annoy someone else. At the same time, I had second
thoughts. He had interesting eyes, eyes that had lots of questions
and even more answers. I thought I could see myself reflected in them.

"It must be hard for a boy growing up without a father," he
said softly. "Trying to understand the world all by yourself."

I shrugged. Nothing more. He smiled.

"Can we talk for a for few minutes?"

I shrugged again. "I have my mom," I said pointedly.

"Huh? Oh! Yes, I've met her already. Your mom is a lovely lady.
I was talking with her just a while ago."

"What about?"

"You," he answered with a peculiar smile.

"Me?"

Doctor Lehr held my eyes with his, assessing before he
answered. "Yes, you Christopher."

"Why?"

He smiled. "Because Mr. Kaufman likes you. You're a very spe-
cial boy. I don't think you realize just how special you are."

I narrowed my eyes, turning my head slightly to see where my
mother was, to see if she would validate this person as someone who
I should be speaking with. I did not see her at first. Finally, she
waved. I glanced back at Doctor Lehr.

He was still smiling. "I'll be seeing a lot more of you I
expect, Chris. In a way, I'll be your confidant too, as well as
Steven's. You didn't answer my question about what a confidant is,
by the way. Do you know?"

"It someone you tell stuff to,... stuff that you don't want any-
one else to know about. It's like a priest in confession."

"Very good. Well, I'm better than a priest. I won't make you
atone for your sins. However, you'll be able to tell me things that
you won't be able to tell another living soul, not even your mother,
and what's more, I'll be able to do something to help you."

"I don't understand," I said. "I don't need any help."

I don't think he heard me, because he had already turned and
strode off before the words were out of my mouth. I ambled over to
where my mother was. She was talking with Mrs. Rollman and she broke
off the conversation apologetically as soon as I approached. Mrs.
Rollman headed off to break up yet another fight between the twins.

"Thank goodness you turned up. I was about to send out the
search party. Where on earth have you been, Honey?"

"Sun baking," I answered. I gestured towards the hedge. "Back
there where no one could see me."

"No tan lines I hope, Chrissie?" she said with pretended seri-
ousness.

"I was naked, okay Mom?" I answered with exasperation.

"All that time? Since breakfast, Sweetie?"

"No! Not all the time." I hated being interrogated. "I was with
Joel for a while. We were in his room for a bit of the time too."

"It's time you got changed, Chrissie. There are a lot of people
here who you need to meet so you won't have much time for swimming."

I shrugged and followed her as she lead the way into the house.
I was aware of eyes following me. It was almost as if I was on show,
like I was part of an exhibition of rare and exotic animals. No one
stared, at least not for very long. I ascribed it to my attire or
lack thereof because most of the had clothes on that ensured a modi-
cum of decency. For the moment it no longer bothered me, but I still
pretended that I was a famous movie star at the Club Med resort on
the island of Moorea, of the coast of Tahiti.

As soon as we were in our room I flopped down on my bed and
groaned.

"What's wrong, Chrissie?"

I shrugged. "Mom, I don't want to ever go back to Cambridge," I
complained. "It's so wonderful here."

"Well, Sweetie, you know how it is,..."

"Yeah, I know how it is," I repeated in a disgruntled voice.

My mother smiled and sat down on the bed beside me. Her hands
brushed over my belly and circled around my navel, getting closer
and closer until a finger tip rotated in the little whorled button
that had once connected me to her.

"You have such a lovely tan, Chrissie. There's not even a trace
of a tan line anywhere. It makes you look so sexy."

"I used the oil all the time, Mom," I said absently. For once I did
not feel dorky when she said I was 'sexy'. I smiled slightly. "I was
careful not to get anything too scorched."

"That's good. We wouldn't want you to get sunburned, would we?
Especially on your thingie. It would be so sore." She smiled.
"You're really happy here, aren't you Sweetie?"

I nodded. "Mom, who's that doctor guy? Doctor Lehr I think he
said his name was."

"Oh him. I was talking to him earlier. It was a pity you
weren't there to talk with him as well. I'm sure he could answer
your questions."

I sighed. "I don't have any questions that you can't answer,
Mom."

"None? None at all? Be honest with me, Chrissie."

"Yeah, I guess I do," I murmured. "Mom, they're guy questions,
sort of. I was thinking of asking Bryce about some of them when I
see him again. Like if he comes over to dinner or something."

"And I'm sure he'll do his best to answer them too. I think
it's much better for you to talk with him about sex, Chrissie."

"How,... how did you know?" I asked shamefully.

My mother smiled. "Because you're my little boy, Chrissie.
Because I know you better than anyone else."

"Yeah, I am, aren't I?" I giggled proudly.

"You're eleven years old now, Sweetie. Eleven-year-old boys
are interested in sex, and the kinds of things they want to know
about, well they really can't ask their mothers."

"Thanks Mom."

"Chrissie, I'm sure you'll have a lot of questions after today.
I don't say that just because you started masturbating this morning.
You're at a stage in your life when you need to start understanding
things so you can make the decisions that are right for you." She
paused. "Chrissie, you don't understand it yet but there is a reason
why some men look at you."

"Like what?" I asked disagreeably. Trust my mother to bring up the
one subject that I did not want to talk about again.

"That's not a question for me to answer, now is it Honey?"

I thought about it. She made it sound mysterious. "Is it about
sex?" I asked awkwardly

"Yes, in a way it is, Chrissie. Now you'd better get that butt
of yours into the shower before I have to give it a good hard
whack. And use the apple-scented shampoo. It will make your hair
smell so fresh and clean."

I jumped up and darted into the bathroom before she had a
chance to catch me. I showered, soaped and shampooed, and then dried
myself off with one of the huge velvety towels from a stack of half-
a-dozen. It felt like my irradiated body was being subjected to a
million caresses. Still naked, I strolled back into the bedroom to
find what clothes my mother had laid out for me to wear to the
party. As soon as she noticed, she glanced up from the desk and
beckoned me over. She had arranged some hair styling things and was
ready to go to work on my hair.

"This is the one time that I could really do with help from
Bryce to get you ready. He is just fabulous in stressful situa-
tions."

"We have a whole hour and a half," I complained. "I just have
to get dressed and do my hair."

"Oh Chrissie, don't be silly."

"I'm not silly," I claimed. "Why does everyone keep saying
stuff like that. Like I am such an innocent, or I'm naïve."

"Because you are, Sweetie. It's nothing to be ashamed off.We
have to get you ready and that's all there is to it. Now,, stand
here in the light and let's decide what needs to be done first."

She smiled sweetly, which immediately gave me cause for con-
cern.

"Mom, nothing needs to be done," I proclaimed valiantly.

"Your skin needs lotion. Is that nothing? No, of course not,
Honey. Just be patient." She interweaved her fingers and rubbed her
thumbs together.

"What's wrong, Mom?" I asked.

"Something Bryce said, actually."

She lifted up my arm and held it to the light. There was a
light fuzz of hair on my forearm that should have been almost invis-
ible, yet it glistened so much that it could be seen in the light.
She licked her lips, rubbed her nose, half closed her eyes. She
thought for a moment.

"He's right, of course. I think it would be best not to shave
it off. It'll only grow back thicker. Not that it's thick now. It's
just like peach fuzz." She smiled at me. "Now Chrissie, I know you
probably won't like this, but,... "

"But what, Mom?" I asked impatiently.

"I'm going to put some cream on you to make you nice and
smooth. You'd like that, wouldn't you? It wouldn't hurt at all."

I frowned at her. "Mom!" I whined.

"Now Chrissie! You know better than that. When have I ever been
wrong? Just tell me one time? Was I wrong about letting Bryce trim
your eyebrows? Or your cute little thong? You didn't want to wear
that yesterday and now you're never out of it except when you're
working on your tan."

"Mom!" I tried to interrupt.

"Was I wrong when I got you to start taking Karate lessons from
Lee? Oh yes, you hated it the first time, but you haven't missed a
single class, now have you Honey? And you already have your green
belt, don't you?"

"Mom! This isn't the same," I said with increasing agitation.
"Sometimes I think you want to make me look like a girl."

"You haven't the slightest idea, do you Sweetie? Honestly, mak-
ing you look like a girl is the farthest thing from my mind. I just
want you to look your very best for the party."

"Mom!" I whined again.

But it was too late. Her mind was made up and she was already
unscrewing the cap to a tall thin bottle.

"Will it hurt?" I asked nervously.

"No, of course not. Of course there are some places where it
shouldn't stay on for too long, like around your thing for example,
but I promise you it won't hurt. It'll feel just like skin lotion."

"What does it do?"

"It's what women use to remove unwanted hair, Chrissie. You
don't have very much, and it's so fine it should come out easily,
roots and all. I'm just going to put a thin coat over your body and
then you can go in the bathroom and wash it off. "

"But I only just had a shower," I complained.

"Oh Chrissie. Don't be so silly! Now hold out your arms nice
and steady. There, that doesn't hurt, does it?"

In truth, the cool cream felt nice after the hot shower. My
skin had been exposed to a lot of sun over the last twenty-four hours
so anything would probably have felt good. I thought I could feel
it soaking into my pores, into my hair follicles. While she smeared
it over my legs and thighs, from my feet all the way to my crotch, I
examined my forearms, half expecting to see the tiny hairs falling
out by themselves. She finished with my legs and began on my back.
There was probably little or no fuzz on my buttocks and back, but
she did them anyway.

"Turn around, Sweetie. We're almost finished," she said with a
playful tap on my behind.

I turned around. I was still pouting. Sometimes it seemed to me
that I had absolutely no say in how I looked, and it was beginning to
wear me down. I grumped at her as she began to apply the cool cream
to my chest.

"I don't even have any hair there," I said bitterly.

"Well, this will just make sure, won't it. There's not just
hair on your arms, Chrissie. You're hardly a hairy boy by any
stretch of the imagination, that's part of your charm, but it will
be much nicer for him if you're absolutely smooth."

"Nicer for who?" I asked irascibly.

"Why, Uncle Steven, Dear. I want you to look your very best for
him. He went to a lot of trouble and expense to bring us all the way
here from Cambridge. Did you know our plane tickets alone cost him
four thousand dollars!"

"No, but I can't see what me being hairless has to do with
him," I retorted.

My mother chuckled. "Oh? Didn't he tell you that you were a
very beautiful boy last night, Christopher Bryce Faran?"

Yes, but,... " I surrendered. What difference could it possibly
make whether I was hairless or not?

"I'm nearly finished. Do you want to do your thing, or should
I? It's probably better I do it because it's already on my hands.
Close your eyes, Chrissie."

"Mom!" I squealed as her hands grasped my genitals and slath-
ered lotion all over them.

"There, that's done. It'll take a few minutes, Sweetie," she
said, reading from the back of the bottle. "While we're waiting I
think I'll do your nails."

"You're not going to put nail polish on them, are you?" I
demanded in horror.

"No. Are you really that afraid I'm trying to make you look
like a girl? You're not a girl, are you Sweetie? Let me check. No,
you still have your little boy's thing so you can't be," she laughed
as she swiveled my body around again to check if my penis was still
there. "Oh Chrissie, I do love you so much. I hope this works out
for us. I really do."

"What works out?" I asked uncertainly.

She ignored my question and I had to stand patiently while she
used her nail file to carefully trim each of my ten fingernails and
reinforce the curved points on the ends. Then, I had to balance on
one foot while I held on to the side of the desk while she did ten
toenails. If I harbored any inhibitions about being naked in front
of her, they were long gone. She discarded the clippings in the
waste basket and smiled at me.

"Now what?" I asked self-consciously.

"Now Chrissie, I know I promised no nail polish,... ."

"NO!" I said angrily. "I don't want it! Mom!"

"What if it didn't have any color in it, Sweetie? I have some
clear lacquer. Your nails would look so much nicer."

"No, Mom!"

"Chrissie, please. For me?"

"No!"

"Sweetie? Please?" She used her charming voice. The voice that
she used whenever I was angry and frustrated with her.

I pursed my lips. I was not going to give in, not this time. I
even shook my head. She simply kept looking at me. Finally, I gave
my hand to her, resentfully, but ever obedient. She applied the lac-
quer with a tiny brush, sweeping across each finger nail so quickly
that I was surprised when she reached out and took my other hand.

"I can't see the point in doing your toenails. Not unless you
want me to, Sweetie. It'd be different if you were going to wear
sandals tonight."

"No Mom! I want to wear my new shoes, okay?"

"I suppose so. I think the polish is dry. Now, into the bath-
room with you and let's wash you off."

This time she led the way and I followed meekly behind her. She
turned on the water in the world's largest shower and stepped aside
for me to enter. She handed me a coarse sponge. I began to sponge.
Although the shower water didn't wash the fuzz off my arms, it took
only one sweep of the sponge to see the difference. I went down my
legs deriving a strange thrill as the tiny silvery hairs disappeared
quickly. I turned around and she rinsed off my back. I turned off
the shower, toweled off and went back into the bedroom again.

"Well lets see, Chrissie. Did it make a difference?" she asked
as she lifted my forearm again. She ran a finger along my arm, and
then back again. "You're so smooth, Sweetie. I can't remember you
ever being so smooth, except when you were still a baby, of course.
What you think?"

I swallowed. I hated to tell her that she was right, yet again.
But she was! She was always right. I studied my arms, then dropped
them to my sides and glanced down the length of my body. I looked
smoother.

"It's okay," I admitted moodily.

"Chrissie?" she persisted.

"Yeah, it's cool," I gave in and grinned. "My skin feels really
different too."

"Different how, Honey?"

I giggled. "It's like I feel really, really naked. My skin is
all tingly too."

"Good! Now you'll listen to your mom from now on, won't you?"
she teased. "You know we should have used the hair cream on you yes-
terday. I wished I'd thought of it then. You would have looked so
much sexier at the pool."

She handed me a tube of skin lotion. I was used to putting in
on by myself although I much preferred my mother to apply it as part
of a massage. Not that my mother did it very often. She was usually
too tired at night, and I didn't like putting it on in the mornings
because the scent would draw attention to me. I flipped off the cap
and began to apply some to my legs, doing only one area at a time
before I stopped to rub it in. It was even better that the hair
cream for relieving the soreness of too much exposure to the sun. By
tomorrow the reddish-hue would be replaced by a golden brown tan.

"Chrissie?" my mother said. She turned around from the built-in
make-up counter.

"Yes?" I was almost finished and my skin was beginning to loose
its tenderness.

"Chrissie,... about this morning, Honey. I did have one thing I
wanted to talk to you about."

"Uh huh?" I answered absently.

"It's only normal that people have thoughts when they mastur-
bate. I know I do, and I'm sure you did too when you were doing it,
Sweetie. It's called a fanstasy by the way. You kind of invent peo-
ple or situations that excite you. It makes doing it even better.
Sometimes people have them about quite strange things, but it's only
because it excites them sexually. There's nothing at all wrong with
it." She hesitated. " Well, Chrissie, what I wanted to ask you,...
when you were masturbating, Sweetie. What were you thinking about?"

I dropped the tube of skin lotion and stared at her, trying to
understand how she could possibly know what thoughts had been in my
mind at the time. She could do that sometimes, read my mind, I mean.
But this? This wasn't like that. She was asking what I had been
thinking about. I felt a cold chill and I shivered. Why did she
have to bring that subject up again in the first place? I glared at
her, feeling ashamed, not only of what I had done, but what I had
been thinking about at the time.

"Oh Chrissie, Dear, it's nothing to be ashamed of. We've talked
about other things that are just the same."

"I can't!"

"Of course you can, Honey. I'm your mother."

"No, I can't. You don't understand. If you knew you'd under-
stand," I groped.

"You weren't thinking about me, were you?" she asked nervously.
"I mean I know some boys think about their mothers, but you? I
never would have thought so. David, maybe, but you? You're not like
that."

"Mom!" I beseeched. "Please? Okay?"

"Now, now Chrissie. There's no point in getting upset." She
sighed. "You weren't dreaming about Cynthia, were you?"

"NO!"

"Chrissie, I don't want to play guessing games with you all
night. Why don't you just tell me?"

"Because I can't! Okay?" I groaned miserably. "I can't help
it!"

"Oh Chrissie, I hate to see you so upset. Please tell me. You
know I won't be angry. Listen, let me help you. You just say yes or
no, okay? It'll be just like a game."

I shrugged, planning on not responding to her questions or her
game.

"Were you thinking about a girl? Maybe someone your own age?"

"No, Mom," I said impatiently.

"Another boy perhaps. I know a lot of boys your age get crushes
on other boys. It's perfectly natural. David perhaps?"

"No, Mom."

"An older woman then? Boys get crushes on women too, some-
times," she suggested.

"No Mom!"

She seemed to be getting increasingly distracted. She stopped
there, giving me the impression that she was reluctant to go on. I
silently prayed in gratitude and breathed out in sullen relief.

"Chrissie, I don't want you to get embarrassed or anything. You
know, there are times when I really wish Bryce would talk to you. He
has such a better understanding of these things."

She stopped again. Again I breathed out and considered how much
simply it would have been if I had lied to her. I should have said
`Cynthia' and it would over by now. She contemplated me in silence.

"Chrissie, now I know this is difficult, but some boys,... well
they have sexual feelings for men, and,... "

"MOM!" I wailed.

"Is that it Chrissie, because if it is I don't want you to
worry? It's perfectly okay with me if you did."

She rested again, but not for long. I could see her summoning
her thoughts and organizing for the next round.

"Chrissie, you haven't said `yes' or `no' yet. Should I take
it as a yes?"

I nodded slightly. It was all that I could do. I gazed at her
with tears welling up in my eyes. I was eleven years old and my life
was ruined. I had just told my mother that I fantasized about men
when I masturbated. She opened her arms wide and I stumbled forward
and into her loving embrace.

"Oh Honey, Sweetie, it doesn't matter. You'll see soon, it
isn't something bad. There's nothing to be ashamed about. Not for
you. Everything will work out, I promise."

"Mom, I can't help it," I said despondently. "The thought just
came into my mind and it wouldn't go away. And I liked it so much. It
made me feel so good inside. It was like everything I ever wanted.
Something kept on telling me to go faster because it would feel
even better."

"It's okay Honey. You're so special. I know you're upset now,
but there's no reason to be. Not really."

"I didn't want to think of him, Mom. It just happened," I
admitted wretchedly.

"Who was it? Chrissie, can you tell me who you were thinking
about?"

"Uncle Steven, Mom. Mom? You aren't going to tell anyone are
you? Not Aunt Sue! Please not her?" I begged miserably.

"Chrissie, I would never do anything that wasn't in your best
interests. You ought to know that by now."

She eased me back and placed her hands on my slender hips. "You
are so beautiful, Chrissie. It's only natural, you know."

"What's natural?" I asked awkwardly. I felt my face to see if it
was still flushed.

She smiled lovingly. "You'd better get start getting dressed,
Honey. We don't want to be late, do we?"

"No, I guess not." I sniffed loudly and reached for one of her
tissues to blow my nose. "What about my hair, Mom?" I remembered.

"How forgetful of me. Well sit down, Chrissie and let me get to
work."

She applied the mousse expertly. She used just enough to do the
job, not so much that it would look artificial. Most mothers would
not have known where to begin. She brought out her styling comb and
brush and started to reshape my hair into the same style that Bryce
had used before we left Boston. She was meticulous and I had to be
patient, but the results spoke for themselves. Finally, she stood up
and turned me around to face the mirror.

"Thanks Mom," I muttered.

I grinned at myself. I turned my head from one side to the
other, studying the reflection, admiring how she had managed to form
each blond-tipped spike so that it was perfect. I don't think even
Bryce could have done such a fabulous job.

"Now run and get your clothes on and don't mess it up," she
scolded. "Chrissie, did I ever tell you how absolutely beautiful you
looked?"

"Mom!" I whined as I walked carefully across to my bed and
where she had aid out the clothes I was going to wear.

One of the packages of micro briefs was already opened and I
pulled it on hurriedly to see how it looked. Strangely, I was not in
the mood for boxers. I wanted to wear the little red pair of briefs.
It looked hot even before I put it on. I wanted to show off my body.
It fit perfectly, with a little pouch to hold my penis and testi-
cles. It came mid way between my penis and navel, contrasting viv-
idly with the brown-hued skin of my lower belly. It was tight on my
behind, making me aware that there was something behind me as well
as in front. It offered support where there was none in a boxer, and
it gathered my genitals to make a little hemisphere that appeared
larger and much more interesting than if they hung freely. I won-
dered why boys wore boxers in the first place when they concealed
the most interesting parts of a boy's body.

The leather pants felt unusual as I carefully pushed my legs
through. The leather was clammy, almost sticky at first, but I
remembered that Bryce had once told me that if they were properly
styled, wearing leather pants felt like having a second skin. After
a minute of adjustment I agreed whole-heartedly. I belonged in them,
almost as if I was naked. I strutted around the room, flaunting my
slender body to no one in particular and enjoying how my body's
shape was accentuated by the leather.

"You're very sexy," my mother announced when I posed in the
mirror for the tenth time.

I grinned back at her, for once not feeling ashamed when she
called me `sexy'. "Maybe I should go like this, Mom. Topless?"

She laughed. "No, not tonight, Honey. Save that for tomorrow
when most of the guests have gone home."

She held up a black shirt. It was shiny and very delicate.

"Is it silk?" I asked curiously.

It was too good to be true. I had wanted a silk shirt like the
one that Bryce wore for Christmas Dinner. I had asked and asked, but
to no avail. We didn't have the money for luxuries, and while I was
disappointed, I understood.

"Yes, it's silk. It's a present from Bryce, Chrissie. He knew
how badly you wanted one. And the leather pants are too. You'll have
to send him a thank you card at the first opportunity, Dear."

I stepped up to her and allowed her to put the shirt over my
shoulders and guide my arms through the delicate material. If felt
as light as air. I folded my arm, then straightened it out again.

"It's so cool," I said admiringly.

"Bryce gave me strict instructions about how it was to be worn.
Now, what did he say, Honey. I think he said your should skip the
buttons down to your belly button. I think that's too much tummy
showing though, don't you. Let's try one less. Here let me do it.
What do you think, Sweetie?"

"It's great either way," I said admiringly.

It felt like I was wearing nothing on top at all, it was so
light and flimsy. I pushed the ends of the shirt carefully under-
neath the waist of my pants so as not to damage the material and
stepped back to look at myself in the mirror. I was dumbfounded. Was
that really me? I looked like Bryce, a younger, more attractive,
version, but undeniably the same. I felt strange in ways that I
still did not understand.

"Oh Honey," my mother said softly. "You can't believe how fabu-
lous you look," she murmured.

I grinned. She was right. I did look fabulous. I looked like a
boy-movie star, no better than that. I looked like something out of
a dream, a dream whose meaning escaped me, but which I knew was very
special. I hurriedly slipped on my socks and shiny new shoes, equally
black. I was dressed all in black and the effect was stunning. Even
Bryce would have been surprised.

Like an obedient puppy, I followed my mother from the room and
down the loggia to join the guests in the living room. There were a
lot of people there. Immediately, I could feel eyes on me. This time
I like being looked at. There was something to see. Me! The new me!
I walked as elegantly as I could, not too exaggerated, but enough
that I expressed the poetry of movement. My mother went directly to
Aunt Sue with me in tow.

"Oh! Oh, he's simply gorgeous," Aunt Sue purred. "Christopher,
you look wonderful."

I gave her a cold stare. I definitely did not like her very
much.

"My boy cleaned up quite nicely, didn't he," my mother said
proudly. "It's quite a transformation. The last two days have been
like watching a butterfly emerge from its cocoon."

Aunt Sue smiled. "He's absolutely perfect, Kate."

My mother smiled back at her. "What we were talking about ear-
lier, Sue. I did ask him," she said ambiguously.

"And," Aunt Sue prompted eagerly. "Not a older woman, I hope.
He's really much too close to you. I'd hate for you to have to deal
with a bad case of puppy love."

My mother gave her sister a withering look. I thought `good for
her', yet I knew what was coming. Despite my begging for her not to
tell, she was going to tell. I signaled with my eyes, imploring
silently, but she told anyway.

"It was a man, just like you said," she said in a hushed voice.

"Oh, how wonderful. I am so excited," Aunt Sue gushed. "I could
only hope. I thought about it all afternoon. I know some boys are
like that. David is. Well, some of the time he is. Of course, from
what I've seen so far I'm sure he's bi." She smirked. "He'd be so
shocked if he heard me say that, but it's true. Did he tell you who,
or was in men in general?"

I groaned and tried to block out what I was going to hear. It
would not have made any difference, but I tried anyway. I wished I
had not told her. A lie about Cynthia would have been so easy.

"Steven," my mother said simply. Then she smiled slightly. "He
didn't want to tell me, but I dragged it out of him. Can you believe
it?"

"Steven? I suppose I can. I'm surprised though. He's only seen him
briefly. Still, how long does it take? It's even better than I'd
hoped. It is so right! Now, I know it's going to work out," she said
with deliberate emphasis on nearly every word, but in a way that
said that I was not supposed to understand.

"What's going to work out?" I asked awkwardly.

"Nothing, Sweetie."

"Where were you earlier by the way?" Aunt Sue asked pointedly.
"Your mother and I searched everywhere. There was someone who wanted
to meet you."

"Doctor Lehr?" I suggested helpfully. I could tell by the
expression on her face that I was right.

"Well?"

"He was sun baking behind the pool somewhere." My mother nodded
at me. "You ought to see his tan now, Sue. It's simply delicious,
and not a line in sight. And then he was with Mrs. Meier's boy," she
added flippantly.

"His name is Joel," I mumbled.

Aunt Sue scowled. "Christopher, do you really have to play with
him? It's like Beauty and the Beast. It isn't that he's fat. He's
so dull. I don't see how you could have anything in common with
him."

"I like him," I said flatly. "At least he's someone my own age
who I can talk to, and he isn't mean to me," I added deliberately.

"Hello to my brother's side of the family," boomed a voice
behind me.

I spun around again. It seemed like I was always doing that
when Uncle Steven was around. I grinned stupidly, leaving my mouth
hanging open for a few seconds before I remembered to close it.

"We haven't been properly introduced," he said sardonically to
me.

His eyes showed interest as he looked at me. I could feel them
traveling over me, taking in the curve of my neck, the shape of my
lips, my smooth brow, the style of my hair, even the delicate form
of my ears. Then down to my neck again, taking in the thin tendons,
the prominent bones where my collar bones ended, then lower, follow-
ing the exposed `v' of my brown chest until it disappeared a few
inches above my navel. He smiled slightly. He liked what he saw.

"Steven, this is my son, Christopher," my mother stated for-
mally. "And this is your Uncle Steven, Sweetie."

I swallowed and awkwardly lifted my hand into his bear paw.
Strong, oh so strong. It was like being squeezed to death. Vaguely,
I wondered what it would be like to be hugged by this man. He would
squeeze the life out of me and I would die happy. I tried to ease my
hand back, but he held on, releasing the pressure but still keeping
my hand in his. He was preoccupied, still talking to my mother. I
could hear nothing. All I knew was that my small fragile hand
belonged in his hand, as much by softness overwhelmed by masculine
strength as by some other power that he exerted over me. How did I
know that?

"It's a pleasure to meet you properly at last. I've heard so
much about you, Christopher," he said pleasantly.

"It's a pleasure to be here, S-s-s,... " I stopped myself in time.
"Steven," I managed.

I had started nearly saying `sir'. I intended to call him Uncle
Steven. I ended up calling him by his first name. It sounded very
bold and it took him by surprise. He nearly stepped back. Then he
smiled.

"Steven?" he repeated. "Yes, you of all people should call me
that, I expect. What have you been doing since you've arrived,
Chris?"

"Well, he's been swimming a lot, haven't you Chrissie?" my
mother answered for me.

I shuffled my feet. I would have liked to answer him for
myself. I nodded slightly.

"And he's been working on his sun tan," my Aunt added gratu-
itously.

"So I see. Mrs. Beaton tells me you're nice and brown all
over," Steven chuckled. "She knows I like a boy with a tan. It's so
healthy looking, despite what the doctors say. If they had their way
we'd be lily white and never outdoors. She also told me there were
no unsightly tan lines. I hope that's right," he teased.

I blushed.

Steven laughed. "Don't worry about Mrs. Beaton. She's seen so
many bare boys around here that one more makes no difference. We're
very liberated in California. Not at all like stuffy old Boston. I
don't expect you'd get many opportunities to sun bake in the nude
where you're from."

I swallowed and tried to think of something to say to change
the topic from naked boys and suntans. He read my mind.

"Now what else did say say about her favorite guest. Oh, of
course. The paintings. How could I forget that. Which one is your
favorite, Chris?"

"The Durer," I said quickly.

Steven inclined his head and thoughtfully stroked his beard as
he watched me. I felt so small standing before him, far smaller than
the night before. I had a vague notion that if he lay on top of me,
he would crush me. Now, why did I think of that? Because it would be
natural, if he did lie on top of me. How bizarre?

"Why it? There are a lot better pictures."

"Because it's so beautifully drawn. The boy is nearly alive. He
looks like he's moving. There's no color in it, but it makes you
think that there is. You like it too, don't you?" I muttered.

Steven smiled slightly. "For the same reasons, and one other. I
bet you can't guess what it is?"

I shook my head once. From the corner of my eye I observed my
mother and Aunt Sue. They were watching me, and him. I could sense
my mother's pride in me. I was talking with Steven Kaufman about
something she could not even begin to understand. And there was fas-
cination too, beyond a mother's appreciation of her son finally
unfolding and stretching his wings. I was ready to soar.

"So, can I borrow this wonderful young man from you for a
while," Steven said to my mother and Aunt Sue. "There are some peo-
ple I'd like him to meet."

"By all means," my mother said with a big smile.

Suddenly Steven's arm dropped onto my shoulders. His hand play-
fully gripped right arm and squeezed. I was sheltered, almost pulled
into his side. I could feel his warmth pouring into me, right
through my silk shirt like it wasn't there. I felt weak, fragile,
very protected. He escorted me away, following the line of windows.

"What do you think of the view, Chris?" he asked. He gestured
with his left hand towards the mountains.

"It's incredible," I said softly.

"Much though I like boys with sun tans, you've had enough sun
for a while. I'd like you to see something of Palm Springs besides
my swimming pool." He chuckled. "We'll have to find some other
things for you to do. We could go up there the day after tomorrow,
if you wish in the four-wheel drive. There are some very interestng
places, but they are very hard to get to."

"That would be cool," I answered nervously.

We stopped by an elderly woman. She had hair that was dyed and
she wore so much make up that it was obvious that she was trying
desperately to preserve her younger life.

"This is my mother, Chris. Mother, I'd like you to meet Chris-
topher."

"Christopher? You're one of Richard's boys?"

I glanced at Steven uncertainly.

"I'm Steven," he said patiently.

The old woman wrinkled her nose. "Then he's one of your boys,
isn't he?" she replied bluntly.

"Christopher is my nephew. Mother. He lives in Boston. Actu-
ally, he's Richard's wife's sister's son. Did I get that right,
Chris?"

I nodded.

"Well, it's better if it's kept in the family, I think. He's
much prettier than some of your strays, Steven. He has such nice
blue eyes." She turned back to examine me closer. It was like being
under a microscope.

"You aren't Jewish."

"No, Mrs. Kaufman," I answered nervously. "I'm Catholic."

"I'm Mrs. Meier now. That can't be helped, I suppose. How old
are you, child?"

"Eleven," I replied warily.

"You look younger. I hope you're gentle with him, Steven."

"Yes, Mother,' Steven answered pleasantly.

I turned and looked up at the man standing behind me. He
reminded me of Sean Connery with his rugged features. He was very
good-looking, I decided.

Mrs. Meier cackled as she tried to laugh. "There's no need to
look quite so besotted, boy. You do know what that means, don't
you?" She did not wait for me to answer. "Besotted. It means infatu-
ated."

"I, I, I,... ." I stammered and she cackled again.

"Don't be ashamed of it. You aren't the first boy who's fallen
in love with a man, and I'm quite certain you won't be the last."

My face was getting redder and redder. How could she say such
things? I felt Steven's hand tighten and pull me closer. I wanted to
disappear. The only thing I was grateful for was that my mother and
Aunt Sue weren't nearby to hear what she said.

"Now Mother, don't go jumping to conclusions," Steven inter-
rupted firmly. "He's known me for all of five minutes."

"How long does it take, Steven? A year? A month? One day? Five
minutes?" The old lady gave a quick shake of her head as if trying
to clear her mind. "He has such an endearing quality. I can see why
you're smitten," she added absently.

Then she smiled and the corners of her eyes wrinkled up and
stretched into her temples. Her claw of a hand, withered with skin
that was like parchment, reached out and her thumb stroked across my
right cheek gently. It was a grandmother's caress, the touch of
someone who understood the confusion that I was feeling.

"So soft, so very soft. If he ever hurts you Christopher, you
tell me okay?" she said tonelessly.

I nodded slightly. For the first time I noticed the butterfly
brooch that was attached to the lapel of her dress. It was the kind
of thing that you might see in the costume jewelry department at
Filenes. At first glance it was gaudy, but the delicate gold fili-
gree contained what might have been hundreds of minute diamonds,
rubies, sapphires, and emeralds. It was not only beautiful, but also
very valuable.

"That's awesome," I admired.

Startled, she stopped stroking my cheek. Her eyes followed
mine, realized what I was staring at appreciatively.

"That's just an old lady's trinket," she said. Her hand moved.
Her fingers touched the lobe of my right ear. "You've just had your
ear pierced, haven't you boy?"

I nodded. I had been religious about using the antiseptic oint-
ment that Bryce had given me in the salon and my ear lobe had nearly
healed. In a day or two I hoped my mother would take me into Palm
Springs to buy a ring. I was tired of the plastic garnet.

"A boy needs ornamentation too, doesn't he?" she commented.
"Such a beautiful face deserves something very special."

She turned away and quickly whispered a few words to her aide,
a middle-aged Hispanic woman. She promptly darted away, obviously a
woman who had been sent on an important mission.

"Tell me about yourself, Christopher."

"There's not a lot of to tell, Mrs. Meier. You know all the
important stuff," I said.

"Now, I know that's not true. You just take the time to think
what is really important to know about you."

"Well, I go to Harding,... " I stopped. She would not be inter-
ested to know which school I went to. It was even boring to me. "I'm
in the Fifth Grade." I thought for a second. "I don't know there's
much more to tell."

"What's your best subject?" Steven prompted from behind me.

It felt good to know he was so close. I pressed back slightly
to increase the contact between us. It was just like leaning against
a rock. He was secure and strong, and so reassuring that I could do
nothing wrong. He stayed there, completely immovable.

"I'm not very good at math," I ventured.

That was me, always self-deprecating. I took a deep breath.
`Why me?' I thought. Why shouldn't I tell her what I am good at?
Why shouldn't I be proud of what I can do instead of being ashamed
of what I can't do?

"My best subject is probably Art. I'm not all that good at
painting or drawing, but I love the other stuff."

"Who would have guessed," Steven chuckled.

"I don't get the best grades in Writing because my spelling
isn't very good. I don't have a computer at home with a spell-
checker like most of the kids at school." I stopped feeling sorry
for myself. "But I usually have the most creative stories."

"Usually?"

I turned around and glanced up at Steven again. How he said
that one word made me realize that he knew otherwise. However, there
was no possible way that he could know that. I grinned as I
turned back to Mrs. Meier.

"Yeah, well,... " I began bashfully. "I got an award for a story I
wrote before Christmas. It came first in a state-wide competition,
only I didn't get any prize money."

"How wonderful. Will you tell me about it, Christopher?" Mrs.
Meier said admiringly.

"It was about,... well I kind of got the idea from a painting I
saw at the Fogg. That's an art gallery at Harvard. You know how say
people say that everything you do is destiny?" I paused and she nod-
ded supportively. "Well, even if you changed what you do from what
you thought you were going to do, even at the last minute, what hap-
pens is still destiny. It's like you can't change it."

"And you wrote about that?"

"Uh huh. My story was about a boy who wanted to be someone who
he wasn't. So he tried to change."

I realized then, and I suddenly fell silent. That was exactly
what I was trying to do. I was trying to be someone who I wasn't sup-
posed to be. It wasn't my destiny to standing in this magnificent
mansion beside Steven Kaufman. That belonged to some other boy. It
was not my destiny. My life was in Cambridge, in a squalid little
apartment two blocks off Brattle Street.

"What an interesting idea," Steven said distantly.

I did not hear what he said next, or his mother. I felt stupid
being there. I was dressed like a,... I don't know what. I was misera-
ble. I was surrounded by people who were incredibly wealthy. You
could tell that simply by looking at them, how they were dressed,
how they acted. This world belonged to them, not to me.

"Christopher?"

I glanced up again, aware that my forehead was hot and I had
been staring at my feet.

"Uh huh?"

"I'd like to give you something Christopher," Mrs. Meier said
gently. "You deserve something special. Think of it as a reward for
your story, if you want."

She held out a small dark-blue box. It was covered with velvet.
Carefully, she lifted back the lid. Inside, was a black satin cush-
ion, and sitting on the satin were two diamonds. I had never seen
diamonds, not real ones, except in a jewelry store. They flashed,
brilliantly reflecting the light. They were much larger that the
cubic-zirconium-pretend-diamond stud that Paul wore in his ear. I
stared at them, non-plussed.

"They're really much too plain for me to wear," she explained.
"But they're perfect for a boy like you. You have such pretty ears,
doesn't he Steven?"

"Huh?" I said, still baffled.

Steven chuckled softly. "I think she means for you to wear
them."

"I, I can't," I said nervously. "They're real diamonds, aren't
they?"

"Don't be silly, Christopher. I'm giving them to you because
they'll look much better on you than on me." She smiled and one of
her eyes gave a nervous flutter. "And because I like you. You take
good care of him, Steven. I don't want to hear any complaints about
you hurting him."

"Now, Mother," Steven intoned. I could hear the warning in his
voice, yet I could not understand why.

"Well, at least he should try one of them on," she said
brightly. "He'll have to have his other ear pierced so he doesn't
look lopsided. I expect you can have your friend, Ted Lehr, do that,
can't you? I really don't understand how young people today can go
around with just one earring, can you?"

Steven grimaced. "Mother, Ted is a doctor. I don't think he
pierces ears."

"He does circumcisions, doesn't he?" Mrs. Meier simpered.

"Mother, that's hardly the same thing as piercing an ear. But
yes, I expect that Ted is quite capable of doing the Bris Milah."

"How interesting. I didn't know he was a Mohel. Baruch HaBa."

"He's not, Mother."

"Are you circumcised, Christopher?" she queried haughtily.

I gulped. "Uh,... I'm not Jewish, Mrs. Meier," I answered meekly.
I knew I had not answered her question.

"Well are you, or aren't you, child? I don't expect you to show
me. Lots of boys are circumcised and they aren't Jewish."

"I, I, I'm not," I stammered.

She looked down her nose. "Well it doesn't really matter. It's
very easily remedied."

"Mother, I do wish you'd mind your own business," Steven said
testily.

"Steven, there are some things that are more important, and
cleanliness is one of them," she lectured sternly.

Again, she held out the little box for me to take. I extended
my hand guiltily, yet not reluctantly.

"Why, Christopher, your nails are varnished. How delightful. I
don't know of any boy who'd go to the trouble of doing that to make
his hands look nice."

I tried to pull my hand back. She peered at my hand, her hand
holding the box closer. "He had beautiful hands, doesn't he Steven?
Such lovely long fingers."

"Yes he does indeed, Mother."

I closed my long fingers around the velvet covered box. She
started to turn, looking for her aide to support her in case she
fell down.

"Steven, take care of this one. I don't want to hear that he's
been hurt in any way."

"Yes, Mother."

It sounded the same that I spoke to my mother when I thought
she was being ridiculous. Patient, yet resigned. Anything to get it
other with.

"Christopher, it's been a pleasure to meet you. You have really
brightened up my day. Now take yourself off to a bathroom and put on
one of them on. I do want to see what it looks like before I have to
leave."

She wandered off with geriatric aimlessness, going nowhere in
particular. I felt sorry for her.

"Don't mind her, Chris," Steven said comfortingly. "It's so
sad, watching your own mother grow old and become, well, the nicest
word is forgetful."

It was a nice way of saying she was as crazy as a loon. I smiled
weakly, wondering how much was craziness and how much was not. Why
on earth did she care if I was circumcised or not? I glanced down at
the small blue box in my hand. They were very valuable. My hand
trembled and I had to close my fingers to keep the box from falling
to the floor.

"What's wrong?" Steven asked soothingly. "Did she scare you?
She's really not that bad."

I turned and looked up at him again. His eyes were brown and
reassuring. His expression was calm, faintly curious, benign. I felt
safe again. Nothing else mattered if I could just stay close to him
everything would be all right.

With his arm still around my shoulders, he guided me away from
the window where we had been standing. We passed some people I did
not recognize. Steven introduced me again. His nephew, Christopher.
I shook hands. We continued on our way. The Rollmans came next. The
twins were still misbehaving. They whined worse that I did. It was
obvious that Steven didn't like the family very much even if they
were relatives. He was courteous, but curt. A minute later we were
on our way again. He stopped next to the fireplace.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he grinned. "Now, why don't you
go to the guest bathroom next to the kitchen and put one of those
diamonds in your ear. You don't need help, do you?"

"No. I can do it by myself, I think," I answered.

I was becoming quite practiced at removing the plastic stud. I
could do it with one hand and with my eyes closed.

"Okay. Then give the other one to Mrs. Beaton. She'll take care
of it for you. Make sure my mother sees it before she leaves. Then
go off and play with the other kids for a while. There's no point in
you staying with me and being bored the entire time. I'd like you
spend some time with me later on, if you'd like that is."

"I'd like that. Do you want me to come back and show you what
it looks like?" I asked hopefully.

Steven winked. "I already know it'll look very beautiful,
Chris, simply because it will be in your ear."

He turned and pointed me in the direction of the kitchen and
gave me a light whack on the rear to get me started moving, other-
wise I think I would have stayed there until the next day. I walked
dreamily, trying to understand what was happening, the situation
around me, the people and what they said, and my feelings, my very
confused feelings. There was one thing that I could not get out of
my head, no matter how much I tried. Something was bringing Steven
and me closer together, and it was like everyone around me expected
it to happen.

I used the time in the bathroom to empty my bladder, wipe my
face with a small linen towel that was intended to be discarded
based upon the sizeable stack on the counter, and to install the
diamond stud. The plastic one was easy to get out because the clasp
was sized for children's fingers. The new stud was more difficult
because the clasp that held it in place was so small. The diamond
was very large, with a solid gold mount that merged into the stud
that passed through my ear lobe. I examined myself in the mirror and
could not help smiling. That one stud had to be worth thousands of
dollars and Mrs. Meier had given me two of them with instructions to
Steven to get my other ear pierced before I left Palm Springs to go
home. I wondered what I would look like with the second one. Some of
the boys at my school said that two studs were girlish, but I didn't
think so. If one stud was cool, two had to be even cooler.

I headed back to the party and handed the small box to Mrs.
Beaton on the way past the kitchen. She was very busy orchestrating
half a dozen other people who were busy at work fixing platters of
food for the guests, yet she still took the time to talk to me. She
was glad that I was having a good time. Then she noticed the new
stud and her eyes boggled, just like mine had. I grinned at her
proudly and scampered out of her way. She was very busy.

I had a single mission and that was to find Mrs. Meier. I would
liked to have showed Steven first, but he was busy talking to a
group of people, so I walked around until I found her. She was sit-
ting down on a stool next to the grand piano. She was visibly
pleased to see me.

"Why Christopher, it's you again. I'm so pleased. Come here,
let me see you. Oh my, but it suits you so nicely, doesn't it Dear?"

I grinned and nodded effusively while I thanked her for all I
was worth, which wasn't very much unless you counted the two dia-
monds that I had just been given. I had no idea what my mother would
say. All I could do was hope that she wouldn't make me give them
back. That diamond sparkled so much that it seemed to have a light
flashing within it. By comparison, Paul's stud was dull. And then I
noticed. The entire center of the room seemed to be staring at me. I
wondered what I had done wrong. I shrank behind the piano and tried
to hide myself.

I had to decide which jewels were worth stealing. There was a brooch
that was worth at least a quarter of a million dollars. And there was
one woman who had a necklace with a diamond the size of the Hope, even
if it lacked the color. Beside the window was another woman wearing a
ruby the size of a bird's egg on her finger. value, approximately two
hundred Gs. Big ones were worth more. I would steal them all tonight.
The only decision was when to do it. Now made no sense at all. I would
have to wait until everyone was asleep. Then I could go from room to
room at my leisure. With my skills at opening safes, it should not
take very long at all.

Mrs. Meier cackled again. "Now don't you worry about them."

"Every one is staring," I whispered.

"Well of course they are. Most of them are jealous and the rest
of them are too stupid to breath."

"Why would anyone be jealous of me?" I asked nervously.

Mrs. Meier smiled faintly. "You really don't know?" I shook my
head slightly, nervously. She nodded understandingly. "Everything is
going to turn out okay, Christopher. You don't have to worry."

"I don't understand what you're talking about," I said meekly.

"You will in time, Dear. You might not know it yet, but you're
a very lucky boy."

I shrugged. "Everyone keeps saying that about me. I don't know
why. Except for this, and the other one of course," I added quickly
as I touched my ear lobe with the diamond stud.

Mrs. Meier's expression became curious. She continued to exam-
ine me through her fine-rimmed glasses, looking at me as if her eye-
sight wasn't very god, which it probably wasn't.

"Yes, I can see why now. You're different to the others. You're
quite a catch, aren't you?"

"I don't understand," I said patiently. "I'm sorry, Mrs.
Meier."

"Oh, I expect you will soon enough. Now, why don't you go and
show your mother. She's right over there in the dining room. That is
her, isn't it, standing next to Richard's wife Susan?"

"I was going to show Steven next," I said.

"Mothers are more important than friends, even boyfriends," she
replied. "They know things about their sons that no one else knows."

For some reason her comment reminded me that I had not seen
Joel. I glanced around the room. He was talking to Cynthia and
David, which was enough to make me feel sorry for him. And there was
Steven, still standing next to the over-sized fireplace. He was so
handsome he could easily have been a famous actor instead of a
director. I stared at him, wishing that he would look my way. I
heard Mrs. Meier's aide say that she should be leaving soon or they
would miss the flight back to Florida.

"Christopher? It's time to wake up."

I swiveled and looked back down at the old lady. I grinned. I
had been caught day dreaming again. That happened a lot to me. It
also made my teachers at school very angry.

"Don't look so forlorn, boy."

"Forlorn?" I repeated.

She touched my bare skin, right over where my heart was. It was
beating fast, but she wasn't to know that.

"It's in all here, isn't it Christopher? How you feel about
things? I may be old and my eyesight isn't as good as it used to be,
but I can still see some things that other people can't."

"Huh?"

"Good bye, Christopher. And remember what I said earlier. If he
ever hurts you, I want you to let me know. You're much too special
to be hurt like that."

She slowly came to her feet, shrugging off he aide's attempts
to assist. Her finally gesture was to stroke the side of my cheek.
Her arthritis gnarled fingers drew slowly across my lips and then
pulled back.

"Imagine, all this is for you, Christopher," she said softly.

I watched her leave. In a way, she was a friend, even if she
was crazy.

I glanced around the room to find Steven. He had moved on to a
different group of people and was talking to a man who articulated
everything he said with elaborate gestures. I spent a lot of time
with a group of children who were as out of place at the reunion
party as I was. I was confused in other ways as well, but I knew
loneliness when I experienced it. I followed a few of them down to
the screening room and watched `Star Wars I' on the big screen. Joel
was there already, eating from a plate that had been brought to him
by one of the waiters. All he seemed to do was eat.

With a little manipulation of one of the younger kids, I man-
aged to avoid sitting next to Joel. I felt very self-conscious about
what had happened earlier in the day. It wasn't that I hadn't
enjoyed it, because I had. I had enjoyed it very much. It wasn't
even that I felt cheated because he did not do to me what I had done
to him. Nor was my reaction because we were both boys. I was
strangely comfortable with that aspect of what had happened. Other
than being made fun of at school, I could not think of a reason why
two boys should not have sex, if that was what they wanted. Time had
allowed me to think about it. Maybe it was because Catholics were
different to Jews. We were friends, and I liked him, but I certainly
did not love him. Unlike other boys in my Church I had been raised
to think of sex as part of being in love, and not something that
only happened after you were married. I was very confused.