From: an27868@anon.penet.fi (Ganymede)
Reply-To: an27868@anon.penet.fi
Date: Thu, 17 Feb 1994 13:44:08 UTC
Subject: PLATONIC LOVE (man/boy).


WARNING:

This story will contain graphic descriptions of a variety 
of sexual acts between men and MINOR boys. Generally, 
relationships are mutual and are based on informed consent. In 
later chapters, the relationship becomes incestuous. It should 
be noted that the Prologue is used to provide an historical 
perspective for what follows.

If the subject of man/boy sex offends you, or you are under 
18, do not read further! You have been warned! Read at your own 
risk!

COPYRIGHT:

Copyright is held by the author at an27868@anon.penet.fi. 
February, 1994. Fair use consists of copying and distributing 
via electronic means in the public domain only. In printed 
media, copyright protection remains for more than individual 
copies.

ALT.SEX.STORIES.NOVEL OR COPIES OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS:

It is expected that this story will exceed several hundred 
pages and will take some time before it is finished. Obviously, 
I am a frustrated author, but it is difficult to get a publisher 
for this stuff! I apologize for the abuse of bandwidth. Requests 
for earlier chapters etc. will not be met, primarily because of 
respect for the laws of other countries and the desire not to 
excessively burden the anonymous server in Finland. If you are 
missing some part(s), too bad! BTW, don't bother asking for 
other stories I have written!

FACT OR FICTION:

The story is almost fiction. Any resemblance to 
individuals, alive or dead, is either the result of unfortunate 
oversight or fond memories! "Platonic Love" is an interesting 
alternative to Judaic-Christian morality. It needs your support.

REPLIES,SUGGESTIONS,ETC:

 E-mail comments and criticisms to an27868@anon.penet.fi, 
or post to alt.sex.stories.d. I will generally respond to all 
sincere email. Your support and suggestions are both welcomed 
and appreciated. Please do not post here! Please feel free to 
comment or point me towards ftp sites for similar stories. 

The continuation of this story will depend on the level of 
interest of readers. This story takes a lot of work and a lot of 
time. Your support, comments and encouragement are invited.

 FINAL WARNING:

If you're under 18, or man-boy relationships aren't your 
thing then exit now


PLATONIC LOVE.

PROLOGUE. Eastern Europe. January, 1942;

The boy huddled into the distant corner of the basement. He 
waited and listened, pleading silently that they would not find 
him. Above, the jack-boots of soldiers echoed through the house. 
Shouts came quickly. They were loud and shocking and were mixed 
with frenzied screams of pain and terror. The sounds penetrated 
through the thick walls of the house, from the attic all the way 
down to the furthermost recesses of the basement. A frantic cry, 
louder than the rest was followed by the sharp crack of a single 
gunshot. The boy cringed, breathing quickly in short gasps. He 
shivered as he heard the clumping of boots on the stairs. His 
heart pounded noisily inside him and a terrible shudder passed 
through his slender body.

Men shouted in a language he could not understand, even 
though it was much like his own. Bottles smashed as crashing 
sounds indicated that shelves had been tipped over. Laughter 
came echoing through the dark stone corridors, noisy laughter of 
drunken, triumphant soldiers. The sounds came closer. He closed 
his eyes as if to block out the light so that he would not be 
seen. The sounds stopped. A jack-hammer bellowed its mind- 
shattering roar. Bullets ricochetted through the air. The noise 
reverberated in the boy's head, stinging in his ears. Then 
silence again.

Horror descended. He heard the sound of footsteps as heavy 
feet paced across the room. The boy could hear them getting 
closer. The movement stopped. Slowly he opened his eyes. The 
polished black boot was inches away. It reached almost to the 
man's knee. The boy trembled, uncontrollably urinating into his 
trousers. The foot moved back then swung violently forward. It 
slammed into his buttocks. The boy shrieked.

He was dragged out of the house, his arms torn nearly from 
their sockets, his feet dragging on the ground. The front of his 
trousers was dark. There were wet stains down his legs almost to 
his feet. He cried. For some reason unknown to the boy, he 
looked up as he was pulled like garbage across the footpath.

"Fucking Jew boy pissed himself," some one laughed. It was 
a soldier leaning against the brick wall, next to the arch that 
opened into the rose garden.

On the other side of the road, a man was standing up in a 
Daimler. It's long snout was emblazoned with a blood-red and 
black swastika. The man looked at him. For some reason, the boy 
looked back. It was a silent plea for mercy, a look that begged 
the man to save him, a look of hope. The boy's head turned as he 
looked back. The man's eyes followed him as he was dragged to 
the back of the truck, lifted up and thrown into the chaos 
within. He hit the wooden floor hard and blackness settled over 
him.

He regained consciousness as the family waited with a 
thousand other Jews for the train to come to the siding on the 
outskirts of Budapest. Two hours passed before an ancient steam 
locomotive pulled up. There were thirty-two long cattle cars, 
with iron slats covering tiny windows. The floor was of thick 
wooden slabs covered by foul-smelling straw. Chaos ensued as 
people rushed to board, fighting to claim positions near the 
windows, away from the crawling mass of humanity. 

His father carried him aboard. His sisters cried endlessly, 
carrying the few possessions they had been allowed to carry from 
the house. His mother was gone and no one would tell him where 
she was even though he pleaded. The boy knew that something 
terrible had happened to her. He knew she was dead.

For two days and nights the train edged towards the north, 
travelling first towards the northeast and then to the 
northwest. It stopped for long hours as it waited for troop or 
goods trains from to pass from either direction. There seemed to 
be no order to it, except for the fact that the train rolled 
ever northwards, crossing in Slovakia and finally into Poland. 
There was always the sordid stench of urine and feces that 
filled the cattle car. Most of the time people stood as they 
tried to avoid the waste that ran back and forth until it 
finally drained through the floor slabs. Sometimes the boy could 
sit, or even lie down when he took his turn to sleep in the few 
feet they had been able to carve from the melee of fellow 
travellers. Each breath became increasingly difficult in the 
stale, tepid air. The boy wished frequently that it was over, 
sometimes wishing death as his bowel exploded with a shameful, 
foul diarrhea.

Again and again he dirtied himself, releasing his stool 
until he was empty, until his body was purged and he had become 
deathly pale. Occasionally, when he took his turn at the tiny 
window, he could see sparkling streams cascading down the 
Carpathian Mountains whose summits were beyond his view. At 
times, there was snow beside the tracks, vast forests that went 
for mile after mile, stone castles from an era long ago seemed 
to appear out of the mist and then fade away as the train 
wheezed slowly onward.

It was early morning when the train finally stopped on a 
deserted siding carved into the woods. The door slid open and 
the light poured into the dark recesses of the car. It was 
followed by the fresh scent of pine trees. People surged 
forward. The boy struggled over discarded, inert bodies as he 
clambered out and stood, dazed and disbelieving at the world 
around him, astonished by the fact that he had survived. The boy 
collapsed, too weak to stand up until his father lifted him up 
and braced him until he could regain his balance. He tottered 
clumsily and the earth moved under him. 

People coughed in the bitterly cold air. Clouds of steam 
formed, billowing from their mouths with each breath of air. The 
ground was white with needles of sharp, frost-covered grass. It 
crackled loudly as people moved around, trying to become warm, 
their bodies shaking as they adjusted to the cold. It was a 
frigid, almost invigorating contrast to the wet, stinking heat 
inside the cattle cars. 

Slowly, inevitably, lines formed and began to move into the 
woods. Cruel-faced guards with Slavic features were positioned 
every fifty yards. They were impatient. The butts of rifles kept 
order in the flow of frightened people.

It was a death march to a death camp. Rumors were spread by 
whisper. At first, the stories were of relocation to new farms, 
or a modern factory, then a work-farm, finally a concentration 
camp. The word 'Auschwitz' came from one of the guards in 
response to a reward of smuggled chocolate. The word was passed 
back and forth, from one person to another. It came to the ten- 
year-old boy, but like everyone else on that long slow match, he 
had no idea of its meaning.

Two hours later he stumbled through the outer perimeter 
gate. Barbed wire walls, twenty feet high, stretched in both 
directions, as far as the eye could see. The walls were 
punctuated by framed towers that resembled trusses turned on 
end. To the right, a column of smoke rose high into the air from 
a chimney next to a large, brick building. Someone whispered 
that the building must be the laundry, another said that it was 
the kitchen. There was a smell that reminded the boy of roast 
lamb burning in the oven of his mother's kitchen. Men and a few 
women dressed in striped pajamas gathered to watch, a few waited 
at the 'kitchen'. 

Then one of them called out that they were going to the 
'bath-house'. It was, he shouted, necessary to wash thoroughly 
after de-licing. Then they would be issued new clothes. They 
were shepherded together and told to undress since the lice 
would hide in clothing and could not be killed that way.

The boy stayed close beside his father. With his sisters 
next to him, he was very embarrassed and he undressed slowly. He 
folded his clothes neatly and placed them in a neat pile next to 
theirs, then stood shivering in the cold. His hands were 
clenched over his tiny genitals and his shoulders hunched 
protectively. The boy was more scared than he had ever been and 
he trembled endlessly as the family waited in line for their 
turn. Despite his father's gentle reassurance, the boy was 
convinced that it was not a work-farm. He did not say so for 
fear of frightening his little sister.

Slowly they neared the 'bath-house', sometimes moving only 
a few feet before stopping to wait. Too cold to be ashamed, the 
boy no longer covered his genitals and instead folded his arms 
over his chest. He pressed his naked body against his father and 
sisters, very grateful of their warmth. He was very, very hungry. 

As he neared the 'bath-house' he was pushed to one side, 
away from his father and older sister. Now he was responsible 
for his younger sister and he tried to soothe her, reassuring 
her that they would meet them again after they had bathed. The 
two children were formed into another line. A line of other 
children and old people, or people that were sick. Separated 
from their families, many of the children were crying or 
searching frantically for their parents. The old people looked 
bleakly around them as they tried to understand.

For a long while, the movement of the line stopped. Minutes 
passed as the boy shivered, clasping his little sister against 
him, as much for her warmth as to share his own. Then the line 
began to move again.

The boy turned to one side, trying to see his father as he 
stumbled forward. He caught only a glimpse before he was shoved 
forward so hard that he was almost knocked to the ground. As he 
struggled up again he made one last attempt to find his father. 
He looked directly into the cold, blue eyes of the man he had 
seen standing up in Daimler outside his house two days earlier. 
Their eyes met and seemed to lock together. Again the boy looked 
hopeful as he silently pleaded for mercy. He knew that he was 
about to die. He was so cold that he wanted to die.

Unlike the other boys in that line, the boy was fair 
skinned. Often, he had wished to be darker, with the same rough, 
Slavic features as his friends at school. But he was blond- 
headed and blue-eyed, his high cheekbones and finely-chiselled 
facial features providing clear testimony to his German mother 
and Aryan ancestry. The man's eyes seemed to fix upon him, 
watching his every movement as he stumbled forward, getting ever 
closer to the 'bath-house' and further away from his father and 
older sister. The man seemed to smile at him and turned to the 
thin, pale man standing beside him. And then a guard pushed 
forward, thrusting his way past the other children until he 
reached the boy. His shoulder was grabbed roughly and he was 
pushed to the side and out of the line. His sister followed 
silently. The line moved, surging forward into the 'bath-house'.

A few moments later he was standing before the strange man. 
He clasped his younger sister tightly by the hand instinctively, 
knowing that he could not let her go. The man looked him up and 
down, inspecting his naked body critically for imperfections. It 
was the same trained look that the boy's uncle gave to horses as 
he assessed their bloodlines, their muscles and bones, their 
teeth and eyes, even the quality of their hooves. The boy felt 
very naked. He was cold but he shivered as much from fear as 
from the air.

The man's inspection ended. He licked his lips thoughtfully 
as he appraised the handsome, young boy. The child had been 
circumcised at birth. He liked that, he could see the tiny 
bluish tip and it did not seem as sinister as a hooded one. For 
some reason that excited him greatly, the boy's penis had not 
contracted from its long exposure to the cold air. He smiled, 
observing that the boy's penis was short and fat, giving it the 
stubby appearance that had always interested him. It looked like 
a little pink thumb dangling between the boy's slender legs. It 
was very different to his own thin, protracted sex. He could 
imagine sucking on it as he ground his finger into the small, 
highly-sensitive anus. Underneath, he could see the small, 
shrivelled scrotum, like a plump walnut. The boy was still 
young, still hairless, still impotent. The boy was perfect. He 
beckoned to the pale, thin man to come over and interpret.

Despite the fact that the boy was very frightened his quick 
answers to the questions put to him revealed innate intelligence 
of a high order. That pleased the man as much as learning of the 
boy's bloodline. Half Jew, half German, and just ten years old. 
This one was ideal. He ordered a blanket to be brought for the 
boy and then he spoke quickly to the interpreter, his crude 
guttural German rasping in the boy's ears.

The guard stepped forward and grasped the little girl's arm 
at the same time as the other man moved and placed both hands on 
the boy's small, bare shoulders. Firmly, the two children were 
separated. His sister began to cry, her piercing wail tormenting 
the boy as she was dragged further and further away from him. He 
fell to his knees, prostrating himself on the cold, hard ground. 
His small hands grasped at the strange man's boots as he begged 
and pleaded for mercy, snivelling as tears burst forth. The man 
looked down and his lips clenched. He stared at the boy 
severely, a Draconian look that was uncompromising. And yet, the 
man was masterful, realizing the extortionate power of clemency. 
For the first time in many years he showed pity for another. He 
gave the guard a harsh, withering glance, contempt flashed in 
his eyes, and he a barked a single command. 

Instantly, the guard retreated, and took the little girl by 
the hand gently and led her quietly away. The boy was lifted up, 
standing weakly was he watched his sister join the rest of his 
family. He looked up, now shivering uncontrollably, his pale, 
slender body shaking with nervous fear. His eyes were drawn back 
to the man's eyes, into the ice-cold terror that lurked within. 
The man smiled, a sly smile that was as full of terror for the 
boy as the pale-blue eyes. 

The boy forced himself to smile back at the man, knowing 
that there was a price to pay for his sister's escape from 
death, but having no idea what it could be. There was a slow, 
almost interminable change between them as they stood silently 
looking at each other. Then, as the boy's nakedness was covered 
by a thick woolen blanket and he was led away, the man's look 
was as much of lust as it was of fondness for the boy.



Montepulciano, Italy. January, 1946.



Two priests, one tall, the other a full head shorter, 
walked side by side. The priests talked quietly. It was a warm 
day for January, almost as if Spring had decided to come three 
months early to a world that had been devastated by war. They 
stopped to watch several small birds splashing in the water of 
the baptismal font. It was a relic from a time a hundred years 
before the church had been built in the sixteenth century. They 
climbed the stairs and walked through the long corridor above 
the cloister that enclosed the ancient cypress of Sant' 
Agostino. The war was over, but not the pain and suffering. That 
would continue for a long while to come. 

"How is the boy, this morning, Benedetto?" Giovanni asked.

"He's stronger, Your Excellency. He has eaten something and 
his fever has gone down." Benedetto smiled. "I am glad you have 
come from Rome. This boy is unusual. Something about him is 
special. Yesterday, I discovered him reading a book. He did not 
know I was watching him."

Giovanni smiled and teased the older man who had once been 
his mentor. "There is nothing so special about that. I have 
known lots of boys who can read."

Benedetto returned the smile. "That's true. But how many 
can read a Latin text like Plotinius and translate into English 
as fast as they read."

Giovanni laughed quietly. "Yes, I suppose that is quite 
unusual in a child. How old is he, Benedetto?"

The short man shrugged. "He doesn't say. It's hard to tell 
his age. But there is more. Although the boy has said very 
little, there are clear signs that he speaks Italian, German, 
and some Spanish. Some French, too, for that matter. He seems to 
be very intelligent. Other than that, we know nothing else about 
him." They continued walking, sharing the silence. "There is one 
thing more," Benedetto added quietly.

Giovanni turned. "Yes?"

"The boy is,... queer."

The man's face showed immediate surprise. "Queer? Is that 
so unusual! To survive during the war, probably. There are a lot 
of boys like that in Napoli. The streets are full of them. They 
sell themselves for gum, chocolate, or cigarettes. They keep the 
Americans very busy."

"Very likely. I'm sure they don't go hungry," Benedetto 
acknowledged with a smile as he clasped his hands together. 

"But how do you know he is queer?"

"Father Luchiano discovered him,... with another boy. 
Better Luchiano than some others, I suppose, but still. Such 
things are, shall I say, inappropriate, even if they are not 
sinful. But it's more than that. He's been,... used,... 
frequently."

 Giovanni looked around sharply in surprise. "What? Perhaps 
he's been a prostitute? Such things happened during the war a 
lot I expect."

Benedetto nodded seriously. "I thought of that, at first. 
But no, I think not. It has been very carefully done. There is 
barely a mark to be found on him,... but he is,... very loose 
there. Needless to say, the boy will not speak of it."

He stopped momentarily and looked over the courtyard, 
trying to delay the inevitable. In the last few minutes the 
arousal he had experienced the previous day had returned. "I 
have examined him, Giovanni. It appears to have started some 
years ago. I expect even before he started to mature physically. 
It is very difficult to keep him here with the other boys. He 
tempts them,... like a girl would, yet he is too old to be 
placed with the younger boys at Santa Maria dei Servi."

"Yes, I can see how that would be a problem," Giovanni 
acknowledged.

They turned into the large, vaulted room at the end of the 
corridor and climbed the steps to the chamber that had been 
converted to house the dozen boys who had been taken in by the 
church as refugees after the war had ended. Only one child 
remained in the room at that hour of the morning. He lay 
quietly, resting in the bed at the far end of the room. The men 
approached and the boy looked up, no longer afraid. There was a 
sad resignation in his delicate-blue eyes that told of misery 
and pain.

"Good morning," Benedetto said gently. His face showed 
concern as he sat down on the edge of the bed. He pressed the 
palm of his hand against the boy's forehead. "I think you are 
getting better, my son."

The boy looked up quickly, his eyes flicking back and forth 
between the two men. With each rapid glance he seemed to be 
taking in the stranger, trying to resolve some inner conflict. 
The look he gave Benedetto was one of resentment, though he had 
no idea of why he felt that way.

"This is Bishop Orselli. He has come all the way from Rome 
to see you. You may call him Your Excellency, as I do," 
Benedetto said. The boy looked up at him dumbly, just breathing. 
His eyes narrowed with distrust. The priest glanced up to the 
other man, then shrugged. "I know you speak Italian," he added.

The boy ignored him.

Giovanni stepped forward and lightly placed his hand on 
Benedetto's shoulder. "Perhaps you should leave us. I would like 
to talk to him. Alone." Obediently, the other man rose and 
quietly withdrew, leaving them together in the quiet room.

Giovanni walked over to the window, stood for a minute 
looking out into the courtyard, and then turned back to face the 
boy. "Would you prefer if I spoke German?" he asked gently. The 
boy shrugged noncommittally. Giovanni smiled. "Perhaps French, 
or English?" he added. The boy shrugged again. Giovanni's smile 
widened. "Latin?" Again the boy shrugged. "What then?" he 
teased playfully. He looked at the boy fondly. He was a very 
attractive boy, perhaps twelve-years-old, perhaps older. It was 
impossible to tell his age.

The boy's mouth seemed to wince and then he smiled weakly. 
It was a shy smile and then it faded. "Hungarian?" he whispered.

Giovanni laughed. "Hungarian? Hungarian? My Hungarian is so 
rusty, little one."

He paused, trying hard to remember words, phrases, anything 
to help him communicate with the beautiful boy on the bed. 
"Hmmm,... let me think... What is,... your,... name?" he asked 
hesitantly in a language he had spoken many years ago.

The boy smiled briefly, "Karl Gubitowski," he replied.

Giovanni stepped away from the window and came back to the 
boy's bed. He smiled. "Uh! How,... old,... are you, Karl?" he 
continued in a halting, awkward voice as he searched for the 
right words.

As the boy looked at the man, his smile returned and 
lingered. Already he was beginning to trust the tall, dark- 
haired man. "Almost fourteen,... Your Excellency." There was 
immediate surprise on Giovanni's face. The boy shrugged. "I will 
be fourteen in May. I look younger." The man was startled. He 
was uncertain of what to say next. He swallowed, feeling very 
uncomfortable. He glanced away, silently counting the beds in 
the chamber as he avoided the boy's eyes. "That's why I am still 
alive, of course," the boy whispered. "Because men still find me 
attractive."

"I'm sorry," the man said gently. The boy's voice seemed to 
have penetrated to his soul. It was still unbroken. It was a 
soft, mellow voice. It made him feel very sad.

"There's no need for you to be sorry, Your Excellency. It 
started a long while ago. It doesn't bother me now. I am the way 
I am. I can't change that. No one can."

Giovanni looked back at the slender, feminine, ageless boy 
reclining in the bed. It was impossible to believe that the boy 
was nearly fourteen years old. The boy looked back at him. He 
was calm and he appeared to be without regret. Long ago, Karl 
Gubitowski had accepted what had been done to him during that 
stormy night in the mountain retreat outside Auschwitz. For a 
long time he had been both miserable and grateful. It had 
undoubtedly saved his life, and for a short time, the life of 
his younger sister. In a strange, terrible way, the boy 
appreciated what had been taken from by the Nazis. It had also 
given something back to him that had changed his life. There was 
some compensation for what he had lost.

He smiled shyly at the man, enjoying the sympathy. He liked 
the man's voice. It was serene and reassuring, full of 
confidence and obviously interested in the boy. "We can speak 
Italian,... if you wish, Your Excellency," he said with a 
playful grin, adding, "Your Hungarian is very rusty."

"How did you end up here, Karl?" Giovanni asked. He was 
glad the boy had suggested a language other than Hungarian. 
There were so many questions that he wanted answers for.

But there was more. There was something that drew him to 
the boy. He recognized it with considerable reluctance and some 
shock. The strong, irresistible attraction was physical. It was 
sexual. Just talking to the beautiful boy had made his penis 
stiffen and it had become painfully erect.

The boy grinned again. It was a cheeky grin that was 
surprisingly sensuous. It was almost as if he knew the man was 
aroused. The boy stretched his arms back behind his head, 
arching his body slightly as he stretched in the bed. The 
blanket slipped downwards slightly. Giovanni's eyes darted to 
the pale, uncovered flesh. He saw the indentations of ribs, tiny 
pink nipples, and the firm smooth flesh of a young boy. His 
penis lurched involuntarily and jerked several times in quick 
succession in anticipation. Giovanni shuddered guiltily.

"We escaped from Berlin just a month or two before the 
Russians came," the boy began. "For a long while we hid in the 
Alps. There was supposed to a counter-attack, but it never 
happened. When they took Berlin,... we knew we had to leave." 

 Giovanni nodded and the boy continued to talk. "We were 
trying to get to Yugoslavia, to get a boat from there to South 
America, but they closed the border. Then we planned to go to 
Venice, or even Naples, and get a boat from there. The Americans 
caught us near Ferrara, but they let me go. I finally ended up 
here, Your Excellency."

Giovanni nodded again. He could not believe the effect that 
the boy was having on him. He could feel his heart pounding in 
his chest. He abandoned all caution and carefully sat down on 
the side of the bed. He needed to say something but he could not 
decide what it was he wanted to say. The boy's eyes were 
intense. Like his delicate voice, the boy's startling, blue eyes 
seemed to look deep inside him. It was as if Karl was searching 
for something within him. The boy held his complete attention. 
He could not have looked away, even if he had wanted to.

"You're Hungarian, aren't you Karl? How come you were in 
Germany?" he asked.

Suddenly, the boy twisted away and turned on his side. He 
pulled the blankets up over his shoulders and buried his face 
into the pillow. Giovanni reached out, gently brushing the 
small, trembling shoulder with his fingers. The boy was shaking. 
Slowly, he realized that Karl was crying. "It's okay, my son," 
he said gently. "Everything is okay. You're safe now." The boy 
was unresponsive and Giovanni struggled to understand the 
barrier that had suddenly risen up from nowhere. Deep inside, he 
sensed the boy's pain had something to do with his sexuality.

He assumed that the boy had been sodomized by the Nazis. It 
had probably been done first as punishment or even as the result 
of vengeance. After a while the boy would not resist. It was the 
only way for him to survive. Boy prostitutes were not uncommon 
in Africa, even in Italy, in Napoli. The Nazis had been known to 
do such things in Eastern Europe and on the Russian front. He 
had heard rumors of groups of boys who were kept for the 
pleasure of soldiers fighting on the front. Even worse, stories 
had filtered out to the authorities about atrocities in the 
concentration camps. There were stories about sterilization 
programs that had been carried out on young Jews before they 
were assigned to army units. He quivered with growing anger.

He caressed the boy's shoulder with a slow up and down 
motion, letting his hand travelled halfway down the thin arm 
that was concealed under the blankets. Then, after a few 
minutes, Giovanni moved his hand upward. He stroked the slender 
neck, marvelling at the softness of the boy's skin. There was 
still no sign of a beard. Casually, he let his fingers slide 
into the boy's hair. It was the color of corn-silk, and just as 
fine and soft. His fingers traced the small head as they rubbed, 
moving in small circles just behind the boy's ear. Very 
gradually, Karl began to choke back his sobs, sniffing loudly 
and wiping his tear-stained cheeks with the back of his hand. It 
was the first time that Giovanni had seen a fourteen-year-old 
boy cry and it shocked him considerably.

"What's wrong little one?" he asked tenderly. The boy shook 
his head resolutely as he tried to block out the man's 
persistent attempts to help him. "Karl, please? Perhaps I can 
help you."

"Nothing can help me now. Nothing," the boy said feebly. 
"They will kill him. I know they will. I,... I l-l-love him," he 
stammered. "I wish I was dead."

Giovanni sighed as he searched for the words he needed to 
say. It was so much easier in the confessional. There, they 
wanted to tell you everything. Small sins, big sins, it made no 
difference. It all poured out. Stories about rape, incest, 
sodomy, just everything imaginable had been told to him at one 
time or another as he listened against the wall that separated 
sin from absolution.

"Karl,..." he began. "You said you love him?" he prompted 
gently.

"Yes! Yes, I loved him! I didn't want to. I tried to hate 
him. I tried so hard. Every night,... every night I was with 
him... He did it in my bottom with his penis. At first, when he 
started, he hurt me but then it stopped. He taught me how to 
make love. And then,... then I wanted him inside me. I wanted 
his penis in me more than anything else. I didn't care about 
anything else. I just wanted to feel good and make him happy. I 
didn't care who he was." 

The boy fell silent. He huddled up under the blankets. His 
knees were drawn up tightly against his chest. His eyes were 
closed as he tried to block out the thoughts that raced through 
his mind.

"Karl,... I know that such things happen, between men and 
boys. I understand how you feel. Where did you meet him? How did 
it begin?" Giovanni asked gently.

"Auschwitz. I met him there. When the Nazis came into 
Hungary, they took us there, my family," the boy began 
shamefully.

"You're Jewish?" Giovanni asked in surprise.

The boy nodded. "I know I don't look Jewish. My father 
is,... was, but my mother was German. They killed her because 
she lived with a Jew. They murdered her." The boy shuddered as 
he remembered the clamor of gun shots echoing through the house.

"They took us,... my father and my two sisters, to 
Auschwitz." He paused and breathed heavily, trying not to 
remember the details he wanted only to forget. "There was a man 
there. A German. I saw him outside our house in Budapest when 
they arrested us. Even then he was very important. He,...he 
likes boys. Y-y-young boys. Boys like me."

Karl sighed. His tensed body slowly relaxed and 
straightened out on the bed. "He liked to have sex,... with 
boys. For some reason, I really don't know why, perhaps because 
I was blond, but he liked me. He picked me out from all of the 
other boys. He could have had any of them, but he chose me. It 
saved my life, my sister's life too, for that matter. I was only 
ten so I didn't know what he wanted."

"No. No I suppose not," Giovanni agreed. "It must have been 
terrible for you."

Karl nodded. "It was,... at first. I had been awfully sick 
on the train. I could barely stand up by myself. By then we 
hadn't eaten for two days so I was very hungry. He took me to an 
old castle. It was somewhere in Czechoslovakia, I think. it took 
a few hours to drive there from Auschwitz. But it was so 
beautiful. It was on the top of a mountain and there were 
servants and everything. He fed me with his own hands because I 
was too weak and then he bathed me."

The boy's face paled and he shuddered uncomfortably as 
memories returned. "At first he just played with me, down there, 
between my legs. He was very gentle with me and I liked it. It 
felt good. The more he touched me there, on my penis, the better 
it felt. I liked him doing that. Sometimes he would touch it for 
hours at time, sometimes he would rub his penis against mine 
until he made his stuff shoot out over me. Sometimes, he just 
put it his mouth. That felt nice too and I did it back to him as 
well. Then, after a few weeks he fucked me."

Giovanni blanched and he swallowed, closing his eyes like 
the boy had done earlier to block out the pain and horror. Karl 
looked up at the ceiling. "It hurt a lot at first. It took a 
long while for him to get it inside me because I was so tight. 
I'll never forget the first time, I remember I screamed a lot. 
After he got it inside me I was so weak I couldn't move. He 
fucked me again and again," Karl whispered.

"He raped you?"

"NO! HE DIDN'T RAPE ME!", the boy screamed in fury. "Can't 
you understand? I wanted him. I wanted to die, but I wanted him 
there. For a long while I tried to tell myself it was because I 
could save myself by doing it with him,... letting him fuck me. 
I tried to pretend that by doing whatever he wanted he wouldn't 
send me back to Auschwitz.... But it wasn't that. I liked him a 
lot by then. I,... I wanted him to do it."

Giovanni stared at Karl. The boy looked so young and 
innocent lying on the bed. It was almost impossible to believe. 
Something precious had been taken from the boy's body. It was 
more than his testicles. It was more than his innocence for 
whatever had been lost had been replaced by mysterious aura. It 
excited him even as he looked into the boy's blue, guileless 
eyes. It was then that Giovanni realized that the boy had 
imprisoned him.

He clasped his hands together, his fingers locked together 
as if in prayer. Silently, Giovanni pleaded for absolution of 
his thoughts, begging for forgiveness, for release. Unable to 
stop himself, he reached outward. He lifted the blanket away 
from the boy's body. He was naked. The boy smiled sensuously, 
knowingly, hungrily. The man's eyes travelled down the slender, 
pale body until they stopped at the boy's nearly hairless groin. 
The few hairs that were scattered around the base of his penis 
were fine and soft, almost transparent filaments. Small, thin 
fingers enclosed his fat, little penis. It was hard and swollen, 
a crimson-purple color, without a foreskin. For a moment he was 
surprised and then he remembered that the boy had been raised as 
a Jew. He wondered why the small penis was erect even as he 
realized that the boy had been playing with it under the 
blankets most of the time that Giovanni had been there. The 
scrotum was a small, flabby mound of wrinkled flesh. A fold 
began where the boy's penis ended, merged into the rounded 
flesh, and then reappeared as it disappeared between his legs, 
following the line between his buttocks.

Giovanni asked curiously. "How old were you, Karl? When you 
started?"

The boy smiled shyly. "I had just turned ten. I guess I had 
been with him for about two weeks by then. After the first week 
or so, I really started to like him. I liked what he did to me a 
lot as well. It was impossible not to like it. He used to tease 
me about it. I don't know why it felt so good. I just started to 
like it one night.He knew what I liked and he only did what I 
wanted him to do. From then on I slept in his bed every night. 
The servants knew, of course. Sometimes, when they would bring 
breakfast into our bedroom, he would keep playing with me in 
front of them."

The boy paused and looked at the man sitting next to him. 
He knew the effect that his story would have. He knew this man 
was like the other man, the man he once loved, still loved. "He 
didn't care if they saw us. Who could they tell? Everybody was 
scared of him, except for me. He was always kind to me. He took 
me with him when he travelled." The boy smirked. "Not to Berlin, 
you understand. The Fuhrer would not like that at all. Sometimes 
we stayed with Goering. He was very funny and he teased us all 
the time. I was safe there, he didn't like boys, at least not my 
age." He grinned cheekily.

Giovanni smiled. He wondered who the boy's lover had been. 
It would be someone important for him to stay at Karinhall with 
Goering. He wondered how the boy had been sodomized. "How did it 
happen,... the first time, Karl?" he asked slowly.

The boy looked back at the man and returned the question 
with a shy smile. "One afternoon, we were out riding and we came 
to a farm. It was in the mountains behind the castle where we 
lived. The owners were gone and we stopped there for our horses 
to rest. It was a freezing-cold day and it had been snowing. 
After we unsaddled our horses and put them in the barn he took 
me into the farmhouse. It was cold inside and we made a fire and 
we started to,..."

The boy smiled shyly as he remembered. "He took my clothes 
off and sucked on it. It was different to being in his bedroom. 
Why it affected him the way it did, I really don't know. He 
started acting strange. He didn't talk to me much at all that 
afternoon. Usually we talked while we did things,... while he 
played with me. He made me practice different languages that 
way. He got very quiet and it started to scare me. Then he got 
up and found some lard. He put it over his cock and,... and 
inside me,... in my hole. Then he put his finger in there."

The boy breathed out, then in again. It was a long, drawn-
out sigh from deep within him. "He fucked me again and again. He 
did it to me until I was very sore and there was blood coming 
from inside me. He was very angry, at least I thought he was. 
Later on I found out that all he wanted was to be inside me. He 
hadn't realized he was hurting me."

The boy's slender legs moved further apart as his hand 
began to move up and down along the short length of his rigid 
penis. The turgid glans swelled further with each up-stroke, 
becoming darker and more bloated. "We did it all the time after 
that. After a few days it didn't bother me anymore. Then I 
started to like it. Maybe it was because his penis didn't hurt 
anymore when it was inside my bottom. Actually, it never hurt 
all that much, except for the first night of course, because he 
was always gentle with me."

Karl half-closed his eyes. "One day, after about a month he 
took me back to Auschwitz. I couldn't understand why. I had done 
everything he wanted of me. Everything. Even some bad things. 
When we drove up to the gate I started to cry. I thought he was 
going to leave me there. He started to laugh and then he told me 
that he would never do that to me. He wanted me to stay with him 
forever. He wanted me to be his lover forever, he said. I didn't 
understand what he meant by that. When I looked around we were 
already though the gates. There was another line outside the 
bath-house, just like when I was there the first time. There 
were boys waiting there. They were just like me, only they were 
going to die and I wasn't,... if I was his lover." 

The boy sighed, shaking his head slightly. "Somehow, I knew 
that he wasn't going to leave me there. I wanted him to go on 
loving me. Until then I hadn't realized that he loved me. It was 
the first time he had ever said he loved me and wanted me to 
live with him. He took me to the Commandant's office. My father 
was there,... so were my sisters."

Giovanni nodded. He saw the pain in the boy's eyes. He knew 
what had happened. "He wanted it to be your decision, Karl?" he 
said softly.

The boy nodded slowly. "He told me,... it had to be my 
decision,... not his. He said it was 'up to me'. 'I had to 
choose'. He said,... he said I had to want it. I had to tell 
them I was,... I was his lover. I thought he might kill them if 
I said no. I remember that I just nodded and mumbled something 
to my father about loving him. I could see my father was ready 
to cry. I was too scared to say anything else. I could see my 
father was hurt. There were tears in his eyes. I just kept 
nodding my head. I was very scared... I just kept on nodding at 
him and then I started to cry."

The boy's hand tightened on the short, hard shaft of his 
penis as if to squeeze out something. The glans darkened to a 
crimson-purple as it swelled outward. He continued to rub, a 
steady, slow rhythm. "After a while we came back out and got in 
the car. I was very tired and I was asleep for most of the trip 
back to the castle."

Giovanni nodded again. He had heard of the horrors at 
Auschwitz. Few Jews had lived to tell of the atrocities that had 
happened there, of the depraved acts performed on them. But the 
Germans had left meticulous records behind and already the 
trials had begun. As the Soviet Army had rushed through Poland, 
the camp had been abandoned in great haste. Most of the guards 
had escaped. Karl Gubitowski was one of the few witnesses, 
perhaps the only remaining member of his family. 

"What happened then Karl?" he asked tenderly.

The boy shrugged. "For a long while I tried to hate him but 
I really couldn't. After about a year I didn't mind any more 
because he loved me more than ever."

Giovanni rubbed his forehead. The war had been cruel. 
Everyone had suffered, many had suffered much more than the boy. 
At least he was still alive, unlike the rest of his family.

The boy grinned cheekily. "I like having sex," he said 
unashamedly. "And I like being fucked,... I like having his 
penis in my ass more than I can stand."

Giovanni was startled. He swallowed and his eyes opened 
wide in surprise. He shook his head in disbelief. The boy 
smirked at him knowingly, then looked downward towards the man's 
groin meaningfully. Giovanni was erect and his penis was 
throbbing. He had been that way since he had first seen the 
boy's beautiful naked body. Karl's look was intensely 
disturbing. It was a look of compassion, of understanding, of 
arousal. Giovanni closed his eyes to block out the temptation 
that lay naked on the bed beside him. He shook his head as he 
tried to clear his confusion. When he opened his eyes the boy 
was smiling at him. Karl reached out and took the man's hand in 
his.

For an instant, no more than a momentary hesitation, 
Giovanni tried to pull away. The boy held his hand firmly and 
drew it slowly forwards and downwards. He placed Giovanni's hand 
against his hot, hard penis. Again Giovanni tried to pull away 
but his instinct was stronger. His hand closed around the squat 
shaft. His fingers slid downwards, the tips rubbing into the 
small, loose scrotum as he felt Karl's penis flexing. It was as 
if it had a life of its own. But then, so did Giovanni's hand. 
He started to masturbate the boy, doing what he did to himself 
at night.

Karl gave him a look of devoted happiness, a smile that 
conveyed boundless joy, and there was a quick, playful jerk of 
his penis. Giovanni's hand began to move faster and faster. He 
knew he would take the boy back to Gubbio with him. If he was 
discreet, no one would know. He smiled at the boy lovingly. "Who 
was the man?" he asked curiously. "Do I know him?" 

The boy nodded. "I expect so. His name is Adolf Eichman," 
he said simply.


PLATONIC LOVE.

"Lions do not love lions because they do not think speculatively; male 
bears do not seek out their own sex because they do not know the sweets 
of friendship. But human reason, guided by knowledge and long experience, 
has chosen what is most beautiful and gives its sanction to the love of 
boys."

Lucian, Dialogues of Love.

DAY ONE.  Frascati, July 23, 1993.

Jason ambled through the trees, aimlessly scuffing his feet 
in the gravel. He watched the dust rise up and envelop his 
sneakers. He was bored. He wanted to be home. He still had four 
weeks of summer vacation left and he did not want to spend it in 
the dry, parchment-colored hills south of Rome. He thought of 
his best friend and wondered what they would be doing if he was 
home. He smiled weakly. Nothing probably. He would be at home by 
himself and Travis would be out riding somewhere, maybe down by 
the creek. Jason did not like horses, not after he had been 
thrown the first time. Now, he kept well away from them whenever 
he could. That was a problem because he lived on a horse farm.

He glanced around, looking towards the terrace, towards his 
mother and her boyfriend, Carlo Gubbio. Carlo Gubbio, the 
millionaire, the horse breeder, the playboy. He drove a red 
Ferrari Testarossa. Though Jason Anderson was not worldly enough 
to realize that a sixty-one year old man did not have the 
essential qualification of a playboy, Carlo Gubbio had more than 
the necessary charisma. Besides, he looked younger, ten years 
younger. Though his mother was only forty, Carlo looked young 
enough to be Jason's father. He was slender and trim and very- 
distinguished looking in appearance. Once, many years ago, his 
hair had been blond like Jason's. Now it was silver. Jason liked 
him as much as could be expected when there was the threat that 
his mother would marry him.

It was hard for Jason to think of Carlo as his father, for 
that matter, even as his stepfather. He sighed as he wondered 
whether they would have to live in Italy if his mother did marry 
him. There were probably worse places to live, but all things 
considered, he would much rather be back home in Lexington, 
Kentucky. Even if he had to live at Runymede. It would be a nice 
place to live, if it wasn't for the horses. Besides, his mother 
had to work somewhere and Runymede was as good as anywhere else.

Jason kicked at a branch that had fallen onto the path, 
sending it flying into the box hedge. His mother had met Carlo 
during the Spring sales. Carlo had purchased a yearling, 'Funny 
Boy' for four-hundred-thousand dollars and then took them to 
dinner. After that there were other nights though Jason was 
usually left at home by himself, or with a 'baby-sitter'. Even 
when he had returned to Italy, Carlo continued to telephone his 
mother every Friday night and occasionally during the week. Then 
they had come to Italy a week ago, to Carlo's villa outside Rome.

His mother waved at him and he breathed out slowly as he 
returned the gesture. Slowly he realized that she was beckoning 
to him. He began to walk towards the terrace, shuffling 
disinterestedly.

"Hello darling," his mother said with a smile as he came up 
beside her.

He smiled weakly. "Hi mom," he replied. He wanted to ask 
how much longer they were going to stay at the villa but he 
already knew the answer. Jason Anderson was hopelessly trapped 
until school started in early September. "Yeah mom? W-w-w-what's 
up?" he asked impatiently. 

"Why don't you go for a swim, honey?" she suggested.

Jason shrugged again. "B-b-by m-myself? S-s-sure mom!" He 
hesitated for a moment, "Mom, c-c-could you p-p-please stop c-c- 
c-calling me darling, and h-h-honey, and s-s-s-stuff like that. 
It makes me s-s-sound like a baby or s-s-something."

The woman smiled, "Sure sweetie, if you want me to. Oh, I 
just did it again, didn't I? I'm sorry, really I am."

"Mom?..." he began uncertainly.

"Yes?" 

"Are y-y-you and C-C-Carlo g-going out again tonight?" he 
asked.

His mother nodded. The boy compressed his lips slightly, 
feeling a pang of jealousy, overwhelmed by impotent frustration. 
Being ten-years-old in a foreign country was anything but fun. 
Casually, he swiped his hand across his forehead, pushing his 
long, silver-blond hair back.

"I wish you'd get your hair cut, honey," his mother 
observed. "Oh, there I go again. You really do look a mess."

The boy winced uncomfortably and glanced sideways at Carlo. 
"Mom, p-p-p-please, "he mumbled nervously.

 The man smiled at him gently. When Carlo looked at him, he 
felt strangely reassured. Even now, Jason acknowledged the happy 
feelings inside him. He had a pleasant sense of contentment 
whenever he was near Carlo. The man's eyes met his and he winked 
conspiratorially. Jason smiled back. It was impossible not to 
like Carlo. Of all his mother's boyfriends, he liked Carlo the 
best.

"Your mother and I will be going out soon. We have time for 
a drive, if you want, Jason?" Carlo said. The man's voice was 
scratchy, as if someone had turned the treble all the way up and 
the bass, all the way down. But to Jason's ears it was a nice 
voice. It was a friendly voice that calmed him and took away his 
nervousness. His stammering ceased for the moment.

"Yeah? Now?" he asked. The man nodded. "Sure thing," he 
replied immediately.

Carlo stood up and picked up his keys from the table. "Come 
on then. We'll be back in twenty or thirty minutes, Kate" he 
said to Jason's mother. "Besides, it doesn't matter if we're a 
few minutes late to dinner. It's more important that Jason and I 
get to be friends, isn't it Jason?" 

The boy grinned and nodded happily. There wasn't a single 
boy in his school that could say he'd been for a drive in a 
Testarossa. Happily he followed Carlo along the edge of the 
terrace and down the steps to the front drive. The Ferrari 
waited for them. It was low and wide, bright red, and potently 
sexual. Jason slid into the cream-colored leather seat and 
fastened his seat-belt as the V-12 roared into life and settled 
down to a throbbing gurgle. He felt butterflies begin fluttering 
in his stomach. He swallowed and looked quickly at Carlo. The 
man was looking at him as well. They shared a long silence.

"I like your hair long," the man said softly. "It suits 
you."

Jason grinned. "You better not say that near my mom."

Carlo grinned back at him, "You're a very handsome young 
man, Jason."

He turned away and engaged first gear. Jason heard the 
engine whine, the scream of four camshafts and 48 valves only a 
few inches behind him. The car surged forward as the growling 
exhaust turned to a wail. The seat pushed into his back, holding 
him firmly as they descended the long alley that led from the 
town up to the villa.

They took the road into the mountains. It was the perfect 
road for a Ferrari and a ten-year-old boy. As the engine howled, 
Carlo laughed, twisting the steering wheel with just the 
lightest touch of his hands and winding the car through endless 
hair-pin curves as he flicked back and forth through the gears.

"It's called the Via dei Laghi," he said loudly over the 
banshee shriek of the engine. "In a while we'll come to the 
lakes. First we'll see Lago Albano, then Lago di Nemi. That's 
the most beautiful one. It's called the Mirror of Diana. Ah, 
see, Jason, there is the lake. And,..." He paused as he shifted 
down, then continued, "Here is the road to Monte Cavo."

He accelerated, winding the car through the tightly meshed 
gears. Jason gripped the seat and grinned from ear to ear. The 
boys at school would never believe him. At the summit, Carlo 
pulled into an overlook and turned off the engine. The roar died 
away but the boy's heart continued to pound rapidly. Before 
them, the panorama opened to the horizon, all the way to the 
sea. They sat in silence for nearly a minute.

"There used to be a temple here,... to Jupiter," Carlo said 
quietly.

Jason nodded. "He was the chief god, wasn't he?" he asked.

Carlo smiled. "It was right over there," he added, pointing 
to the right. "It was a monastery for many centuries. Now it's a 
hotel for rich American tourists," he teased.

Jason grinned at the playful taunt at his nationality. 
Playfully, Carlo slapped lightly at the smooth, soft flesh of 
boy's bare thigh, a few inches above his knee.

"I guess we had better start on our way back, Jason," the 
man said quietly. The boy nodded regretfully. The man's hand 
remained on his leg. The fingertips barely moved in tiny 
strokes, his thumb gently circling the delicate underside. "Your 
skin is so soft, Jason," he added.

Strangely, the boy shivered. He could not remember being 
touched by a man before. The few memories of his father were 
almost gone, a hazy residue of his first two years of life. The 
touch of the man's hand made him feel funny inside. It felt 
nice. Inside his stomach the butterflies had returned, only this 
time there was no sound in the car. There was no whine of the 
engine, no squeal of tires, just the muted sound of their 
breathing. It made him feel happy but inhibition and instinct 
took over and his leg moved away slightly of its own volition.

Carlo's hand squeezed, his fingers pressing firmly into the 
soft underside of the boy's slender thigh. It was reassuring and 
Jason sighed contentedly as he slowly relaxed. Carlo's hand 
continued to move, caressing the boy's left thigh, all the way 
from his knee to just under the leg of his shorts. Jason looked 
out of the windscreen dreamily, his attention distracted, 
somewhere between the world that lay beyond the closed cabin of 
the car and what the man was saying to him. It would be several 
days before he fully understood the meaning of the words.

Carlo's voice was soft and sincere. "You know Jason, once, 
Jupiter became enamored of a beautiful young boy called 
Ganymede. Jupiter turned himself into an eagle and he flew down 
to Earth and stole Ganymede from his family. He carried him to 
Mount Olympus."

Jason nodded absently, unaware that he did not stutter. 
"Enamored? What does that mean?... What happened to him?"

Carlo smiled. "It means he liked him,... very much. 
Ganymede became Jupiter's lover."

Jason shrugged. "Did he bring Ganymede here? To this 
mountain?"

The man looked at the boy as he answered. "Perhaps. It's an 
ideal place to bring a beautiful young boy."

The boy swallowed. He hesitated for a moment. "Like me?"

Carlo nodded. "Perhaps."

Jason brushed his long, blond hair backwards, then glanced 
down, watching Carlo's hand caressing his leg. "So what 
happened?" he persisted.

"I already told you," Carlo said as he took his hand away. 
"I guess we better start back."

"But,... well Ganymede was a boy,... and Jupiter,... well 
he was a god, but he was a man too,... and,... so how can they 
be lovers and all that?" the boy asked hesitantly.

Carlo smiled as he started the engine. He didn't answer the 
boy's question and after a few minutes Jason gave up trying to 
figure it out for himself. Besides it was more fun watching the 
trees rush by and the road sweep under the car only a few feet 
in front of him.

They were only a few miles from the villa when Carlo's hand 
dropped down gently on his left thigh again. "This is 
Grottaferrata, Jason," Carlo observed as they entered the narrow 
street that led up to a church. "Up there is the abbey. It's run 
by the Greek Orthodox Church now, but it was built in the tenth 
century. The doorway is particularly interesting, Byzantine I 
believe. Perhaps I'll marry your mother there."

Jason started suddenly, his head jerking to look at the man 
beside him. He wondered what he should say. He breathed out. 
"Mom's Catholic," he observed quietly. 

He looked down at the man's hand as it gently stroked the 
silky smoothness of the underside of his leg. This time, instead 
of pulling his leg away, he moved it fractionally closer to the 
man and settled back into the luxurious leather seat. He liked 
the way Carlo touched him. It made him feel pleasantly warm. It 
was a good feeling that he did not want to end. The slow, almost 
loving caress ceased only when the car stopped outside the 
entrance to the villa.



His mother and Carlo left shortly before seven o'clock that 
evening. Unable to derive much enjoyment from watching 
television when he could not understand a word that was being 
said, he gave up and went upstairs to his room. For a long while 
he played his guitar, thinking random, unrelated thoughts that 
were as discordant as the chords he played. Occasionally he 
played familiar tunes and crooned to himself, engaged in a self- 
indulgent fantasy of fame and fortune. After an hour he 
undressed, pulled on his pajamas, got into bed, and read. He was 
asleep by nine o'clock.

When he awoke again it was very late. It was hot and the 
air was still. The thin cotton sheet seemed to stick to his 
body. Even his pajamas felt constricting. Still half asleep, he 
thought dreamily of the air conditioner in their apartment. Even 
the constant buzz and clicking as it switched on and off was 
preferable to this heat. For a minute he lay quietly, trying to 
get back to sleep. But sleep evaded him and he turned restlessly 
from one side to the other so that he faced the windows. The 
room was very dark. Heavy, brocaded curtains blocked out the 
moonlight that might have penetrated into the room. The curtains 
also blocked air movement into the room.

It took a long while to Jason's thoughts to gather and sort 
themselves into an ordered pattern, then suddenly he realized 
that something was wrong. He was absolutely certain that he had 
pulled the curtains wide apart before he had gotten into bed. 
Then he remembered more. He had been naked at the time and the 
cool, outside air had felt nice on his bare body. It was right 
before he had pulled his pajamas on and gotten into bed.

Suddenly, he began to sense that someone was in the room 
with him. He stared into the darkness, trying hard to penetrate 
the blackness that seemed to enclose him. There was no sound. 
There was no movement. He shivered involuntarily.

"W-w-who's there?" he whispered.

"Jason! It's me, Carlo. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake 
you." It was a voice from the darkness, somewhere near the 
window. The voice trembled slightly but Jason recognized it 
instantly from the scratchy inflections.

"W-w-what are you d-d-doing? H-h-here, in my room?" the boy 
asked as he started to sit up, still searching for where the 
voice came from but seeing nothing except darkness.

"I'm sorry Jason. I thought I heard a noise in here. I 
thought perhaps you were having a nightmare, a bad dream or 
something like that," Carlo replied quietly. There was a long 
pause. "I came in to see if you were okay."

The boy nodded, then realizing that he could not be seen in 
the darkness, he stopped. "B-b-ut why did you close the c-c-
curtains for? It's v-v-very h-h-hot in h-h-here." Had he thought 
about it he would have realized that the curtains had been 
closed for a long while for the air to become so hot. He did not 
know Carlo had been there for several hours.

He heard the man's feet moving on the floor as he 
approached the bed. The bed was old, a hundred years or more in 
age, and like beds of that era, was very high. The frame and 
headboard were carved from dark oak with intricately turned 
posts at the corners. The mattress was firm, much firmer than 
Jason was used to. Seconds passed and as his eyes adjusted to 
the dark, he could barely make out the shape of the man standing 
next to him. Carlo looked down at the boy thoughtfully. The 
silence seemed interminable.

"Sometimes, the night air gets chilly, Jason.... I thought 
you might get cold with just a sheet over you," he said 
hesitantly.

The boy nodded uncertainly, wriggling back into the soft, 
down-filled pillows behind his head. "Yeah, b-b-but I've got p-p-
pajamas on. Now it's too hot," he complained sleepily.

Carlo chuckled. "Maybe you should just take your pajamas 
off," he suggested quietly.

"Huh?"

"Perhaps you should start sleeping without them, Jason. I 
do," Carlo said softly. Slowly, as if he did not want to disturb 
the boy, he sat down on the bed.

Instinctively Jason edged away. The room seemed to become 
even hotter with Carlo sitting beside him. "In the r-r-raw?" he 
whispered. The man nodded. "I c-c-couldn't do that. T-that's b-
bad," he stammered nervously.

Carlo laughed in the dark. "Hardly, Jason. There's no one 
to see you. Who would ever know you slept in the nude?"

The boy thought for a moment. His self-confidence seemed to 
build as he considered his reply. "You would," he said shyly. He 
looked up at Carlo and smirked cheekily.

"So? What would I see in the dark? Besides, we're both the 
same aren't we?"

"Huh? The same? Oh! Yeah, I s'pose so." Jason smiled. His 
hand went instinctively to his hair and he brushed it back. 
"Yeah, I guess. But you'd still know," he added uncertainly.

The change that came over Jason during that minute or so 
was remarkable. There was a funny feeling in his belly again. It 
was the same fluttering feeling that he had in the car. With the 
strange feelings inside him came something else. For the first 
time Jason realized that he had not stuttered, in fact he had 
not stuttered once during the entire fifty minutes he had spent 
with Carlo during the afternoon. Then Carlo's hand settled 
gently on his leg, midway along his thigh. The hand squeezed 
into the soft, un-muscled flesh, then began to caress him with a 
light tickle. A tremor ran through the slender body under the 
sheets and he jerked away.

"Don't!" he said abruptly.

"Why, Jason? Don't you like it?" Carlo whispered. Jason 
tried to shake his head but he stopped and looked at the man 
accusingly with a silent glare. Part of him wanted Carlo to 
remove his hand, the rest of him did not. He did not understand 
what was happening. He wondered why Carlo was in his bedroom. 
The man's hand stayed exactly where it was, lightly stroking the 
underside of his leg. "Your skin is so hot, Jason."

"Please don't," Jason pleaded. "I,... I want to go back to 
sleep."

He trembled again. Then he swallowed nervously as he began 
to realize that this was very different to the playful fondling 
in the car. It made him feel funny all over his body but 
especially in his private parts. With infinite slowness the 
man's hand moved upwards along his leg. It moved higher, going 
only a fraction of an inch further every minute. But its 
progress was unstoppable and the boy's pajama shorts were pushed 
upward until Carlo's fingers could sense the soft moist heat of 
his groin. Without warning, the fingers moved sideways and 
brushed against the small rounded hemisphere of the boy's 
genitals. Jason shuddered and tried to push the hand away from 
him.

"You're not s'posed to touch me there," he said angrily. 
"That's my private parts. It's wrong."

Carlo, pressed his fingers firmly into the boy's scrotum, 
feeling the tiny firm eggs under the warm cloth of his pajama 
shorts. Jason shivered again but it wasn't from discomfort. He 
shook his head aggressively, denying the existence on the 
unfamiliar pleasure.

Carlo smiled reassuringly. He spoke softly, caressing the 
boy's genitals with a feathery touch. "No, it's not wrong or 
bad, Jason. It's wrong only if you don't enjoy it. And you do 
like it, don't you? You liked me doing it to you in the car this 
afternoon, didn't you?"

"That's different," Jason retorted. "You weren't doing 
this. You weren't touching me,... there."

"I'll stop if you really want me too," Carlo whispered. 
"But I know you like it. That's why you feel so good inside."

"Huh? How do you know how I feel?"

"I can tell. You're shaking. Every time I touch you, you 
shake. That's how I know. If you didn't like it, you'd scream 
for your mother. Go on, Jason, if you don't like it, why don't 
you call for her to come in here?" the man teased.

Jason shook his head and clenched his lips. He could not 
understand what was happening to him. He knew that he should 
call out and part of him wanted to. He opened his mouth to shout 
but the sound stopped in his lungs. His eyes narrowed and he 
looked at the man curiously.

"Why?" he demanded. There was an urgency in his voice that 
had not been there a moment earlier. It matched the urgency in 
Carlo's fingers as they squeezed gently between his legs, 
compressing his tiny testicles and rubbing them together. Jason 
began to feel very hot and he wriggled uncomfortably as the 
pressure seemed to increase inside him. His hand brushed at his 
long hair again, pushing it aside. He felt feverish and very 
strange.

"Why what, Jason?" Carlo whispered

"Why,... are you doing this,... to me?" he pleaded.

"Because. Because I want you to like me." His fingers 
slipped away from the boy's scrotum and touched the very small, 
very hard penis. He pressed it against the other leg, stroking 
the swollen, thin shaft lovingly."Because I want you to feel 
good. That's why your pee-pee is so hard, Jason."

"Huh? What do you mean?" Jason asked. Suddenly he was aware 
of the tightness between his legs. It seemed to be much hotter 
than any other part of him. It had never felt so hot before and 
it felt strangely hard too. "What do you mean about my penis 
being hard?" he persisted.

Carlo smiled gently. "It's nice and hard, jason. It's 
supposed to be like this. It shows me how much you like it when 
I rub you here."

The boy shivered again as Carlo's fingers squeezed the 
sensitive tip of his penis under the soft cloth of his pajamas. 
It was also protected by his foreskin, but he still jumped. The 
tiny penis flexed and jerked immediately, hungry for more. It 
did not go unnoticed by Carlo. "It feels good doesn't it Jason?" 
he whispered. "I can tell you like this."

"I want you,... to stop," he whined.

"No you don't, Jason. You like it. It feels good doesn't 
it?"

Jason tried valiantly to shake his head in denial but all 
he could manage was to look downward. His squat, thin penis was 
barely protruding out of the slit in his shorts. He watched in 
disbelief as Carlo's finger and thumb gently enclosed it and 
began to move up and down. Uncircumcised and still too young for 
the foreskin to retract over the glans, the fingers moved with 
the boy's skin. Unable to stop himself, Jason sighed softly as 
he breathed out. It did feel good. His penis flexed again but 
this time it was at his instigation as he tightened his groin 
muscles in search of still further delight.

"Let's take your pajamas off," Carlo whispered. "It'll feel 
even better then and you won't be so hot."

For a few moments Jason thought silently to himself. He 
knew he should ask Carlo to stop what he was doing. It was a 
sin. Playing with it was BAD. Every boy knew that. You weren't 
supposed to touch it, except to go to the bathroom. But it felt 
so good, so incredibly good that it was all he could do to stop 
himself from shaking continuously.

The wonderful feelings seemed to begin in his penis but 
they moved outwards in waves. Wonderful waves. The good feelings 
surged from his groin all the way down to his toes so that they 
curled over and his feet began to scrape against the sheets. 
With each successive wave, his hands clenched and he winced 
almost as if he was in pain. His heart began to beat faster and 
faster, growing stronger until it seemed to be pounding loudly 
in his ears. He swallowed and pressed his lips together so that 
he would not make a sound. A cry seemed to build in his throat 
but when it finally broke free it was a long gasp for air. It 
was a moan of ecstasy. Carlo's smile went unnoticed in the 
darkness as the boy's hips lifted upward eagerly, pushing his 
rigid, tiny erection harder into the rapidly jerking fingers. 
His legs began to tremble, then moving of their own will, began 
to jerk and writhe under the sheets.

The pressure built inside Jason's small body until he 
thought he would burst. Unknown to the boy, the sheet was lifted 
back and pushed to the other side of the bed. His breathing was 
frenzied, quick short gasps that barely reached his lungs before 
he sucked in more air to feed his pumping heart. Then he could 
stand it no longer. It started as a quiet, puppy-like whine and 
as the seconds passed it became more stressed, louder, and 
animal-like. His penis began to throb, aching as the delicate 
flesh was abraded. But Jason Anderson wanted only for the 
pleasure to go on forever.

When Carlo's fingers slipped away from his penis, Jason 
murmured something but by then his eyes were closed as he 
absorbed the delightful sensations. He giggled as Carlo 
unfastened the button on his shorts and he lifted his hips 
upward willingly as his shorts were pulled down, all the way 
down his legs and past his feet.

"Let's get your shirt off as well," Carlo urged. "Then 
you'll more comfortable and not nearly as hot."

Jason shook his head. "No,... no I don't want,...." he 
began hesitantly. But resistance was impossible for him and he 
obediently he lifted up his thin, pale arms as Carlo tugged the 
shirt upward. As it came past his head Carlo noticed that the 
boy was gasping, breathing through his mouth as he panted 
rapidly.

Carlo smiled appreciatively as he examined the small naked 
body. Even in the nearly pitch-darkness he could see everything 
he wanted. The boy's body was very pale, almost white. He was 
slender with narrow hips and a taut little belly. His chest was 
thin and with his arms still above his head, the lines of his 
ribs stood out like those of a starving child.

"You're beautiful, Jason," he breathed out. Slowly Jason's 
arms came down and he folded them across his chest protectively. 
"There's nothing to be embarrassed about, now is there, Jason?" 
he added gently. "I bet that feels a lot cooler now?"

Jason nodded absently, becoming more aware of his nakedness 
as his attention focused on his stiff little penis. He looked 
downward and wished that it was bigger. As big as the boys at 
school, as big as Travis. Travis' penis was nearly three inches 
long. It was a lot bigger than his penis was and he was envious. 
But his penis was bigger now than it had ever been in his short 
life. Even fully erect it was still smaller than his thumb. It 
was thinner too and more than a quarter of an inch of it was 
accounted for by the pointed end of his foreskin as it covered 
his glans and formed a tiny puckered hole at the tip.

"Move down in the bed," Carlo commanded. Obediently, Jason 
wriggled downward. "Move your legs apart," he added. Jason 
complied. His chest rose and fell rhythmically as his breathing 
slowed.

Carlo smiled, unseen in the dark, as his hands felt the 
small hips. His thumbs began to circle on the velvet-smooth skin 
of the boy's stomach, coming within a inch of the rigid penis. 
"Legs wide apart," he instructed urgently as his own excitement 
began to increase exponentially. His thumbs moved inwards until 
they brushed against the sensitive flesh where penis attached to 
pubis and scrotum began. With infinite care, his thumbs began to 
stroke up and down, following the rounded curve of the plump 
little scrotum, then along the underside - now the topside - of 
the swollen, short shaft. Jason's eyes closed again. Unable to 
resist the delight that soared outward from his genitals and too 
ashamed to admit that he liked it, he did the only thing he 
could, he began to moan quietly.

Carlo's urgency began to fade. He recognized that the boy 
was now consenting to his caress. He had triumphed again. Soon 
it would be mutual pleasuring. Soon he would savor the other 
pleasures of this delightful boy. He was pleased with himself. 
There was no need to threaten or cajole this time. He began to 
consider the prospect of marriage. This boy was the only benefit 
of a union with his mother.

Slowly he reduced the attention he paid to the boy's 
genitals. He extended his caresses along the slender limbs, 
tickling him and fondling the warm, soft skin. His fingertips 
were the sole source of Jason's delight and they travelled 
everywhere, discovering sensitive places that Jason had never 
realized existed in his body. For the first time his nipples 
hardened, then as Carlo pinched them gently with his thumb and 
finger of his left hand, they began to swell. As he rolled the 
firm bulbs, the boy began to experience the approach of orgasm 
for the first time.

The signs were unmistakable to Carlo. The boy's muscles 
began to tense, tightening as the pulling muscles lifted his 
hips upward. His back arched, quivering as his long thigh 
muscles strained. Without looking, Carlo knew that the boy's 
buttocks were clenching, squeezing hard as his penis stiffened 
even further. Unable to resist the temptation, Carlo's left hand 
moved downward again, tracing the line of the boy's body, 
momentarily circling his little intruded navel, then down his 
lower belly. He continued to squeeze the now-very-hard penis 
playfully. The boy's scrotum had wrinkled as it became taut, 
forcing his baby-boy testicles into the cavities through which 
they had descended eight years earlier. Carlo's left hand began 
to massage the taut pouch, pressing hard into the boy's 
testicles.

Jason giggled and his legs stretched even further apart. It 
served to make his genitals very exposed. They were no longer 
his private parts. Jason's penis and testicles were openly 
displayed. They were now Carlo's property.

"Promise you won't tell," Carlo whispered, "And I'll show 
you something very special, Jason."

Jason nodded frantically. His face contorted in a painful 
grimace of boundless pleasure. "What? Yeah? I promise, okay!"

Carlo grinned in the darkness. His fingers enclosed the 
boy's penis tightly and he began to rub, concentrating mostly on 
the end where he knew the sensitive glans was. He knew it would 
drive the boy wild in only a few minutes.

The first shuddering spasm came in exactly forty-five 
seconds. Jason started to squeal and his legs jerked upward 
without warning. But Carlo had been waiting and he pushed the 
boy's face against the pillow. The cry was muffled and unheard 
beyond the private confines of the boy's room. As Carlo had 
expected, the orgasm was dry. He hoped it would be dry for years 
to come. That would make his marriage to the boy's mother 
worthwhile. He paused, gently stroking the flattened scrotum as 
the boy's breathing slowed again and his tension eased.

Finally, the boy's eyes met his. Carlo saw both 
condemnation and curiosity. "What,... did you do?... What 
happened to me?" he begged between pants.

Carlo squeezed the little penis playfully. It was still 
very hard, ready for more, wanting to go on and on. "Did you 
like it?" he asked gently. "Most boys do."

Jason thought for a moment, shaking his head to clear the 
whirling confusion he felt inside. "It,... It felt weird," he 
responded slowly, "Like something got hurt in me. Kind of in 
my,... you know."

"Does it still hurt?" Carlo asked.

Jason shook his head. Taking his hand away from the boy's 
groin, Carlo carefully eased the slender legs back onto the bed. 
Immediately, his hand moved back to caress Jason's penis.

"What now?" Jason asked shyly. "Is it over now?"

Ignoring Jason's question, Carlo began to rub the now-sore, 
little penis again, pulling downward on the loose flesh as he 
tried to retract the foreskin over the tiny glans. The boy 
winced uncomfortably.

"That hurts," he complained. 

"It just takes practice. Like most things," Carlo said 
gently. "It'll pull back sooner if we practice."

"Huh? Pull what back," Jason asked curiously as he glanced 
down at his penis. He could just make out the man's arm and hand.

Carlo laughed and playfully squeezed the bulging glans. 
"This. When your skin pulls back your pee-pee is even more fun."

"Why?" Jason persisted. "But I don't understand what pulls 
back."

Carlo laughed again, "You will in time. It just feels 
better, that's all." He gave the boy's penis a final squeeze for 
the night. "Lift your legs up boy and let's have a look at the 
rest of you."

The boy was obviously confused. He lay still as he looked 
silently up at the man who leaned over him. Firmly taking the 
boy's ankles Carlo lifted them upward, pushing the boy's knees 
to his shoulders. In the darkness he could barely see the pale 
small buttocks. Keeping one arm locked behind Jason's knees to 
restrain his legs, Carlo caressed the soft, rounded flesh of the 
small cheeks. Gradually his fingertips moved into the crack. It 
was hot within the crevice, hot and slightly moist. He traced 
the center-line, moving backward from the tiny scrotum until he 
found the puckered opening.

He probed with the tip of one finger. There was no doubt 
that the boy was a virgin. But boys of Jason's age always were. 
He grinned to himself as his finger pushed inward slightly. 
There was no complaint from Jason. He wondered whether the boy 
was too tired, but he knew better. He considered going deeper, 
pushing in far enough to see the boy's reaction. He decided that 
it was still too tight without a lubricant but he also knew the 
advantage of regular exercise. A week, two at the most, and he 
could penetrate the boy without too much pain, and not with his 
finger.

 He leaned forward and gently kissed the boy's forehead. 
"If I marry your mother, Jason, we could do this every night. 
Would you like that?" he whispered in the boy's ear.

"I,... I guess," the boy whispered back. "But mom would 
kill me if she found out."

"She doesn't need to know, Jason. This is our secret, just 
between the two of us, okay?" Jason nodded in assent. "Did you 
have fun, little prince?"

"Yeah," Jason said sleepily. 

"That's enough for one night, I think. You need to sleep. 
Turn onto your side and I'll stay here with you and rub your 
back until you go to sleep."

Jason nodded sleepily and twisted over in the bed. He 
curled up, burying his head into the soft pillows as he breathed 
deeply. In a few minutes he was sound asleep again, as if 
nothing had disturbed him during the night.


PLATONIC LOVE.

DAY SEVEN.  Frascati, Italy. 11AM, July 30th, 1993.

 "There is no request, however impossible, that he boy he loves can make 
which the man wounded by love does not regard it as an absolute necessity 
to fulfill."

Libanius



Jason stretched out on the chaise longue, dreaming as he 
looked through the plastic slats at the tiny black ants 
scurrying below. Back home, in Lexington, in Kentucky, it was 
the middle of summer. It was summer here too, but it was 
different. In Lexington, it was uncomfortably hot at this time 
of year, a humid stickiness that was unpleasant in the still, 
brooding heat. Here, the sun warmed his back pleasantly and he 
stirred languidly, shifting his position sleepily with his eyes 
half-closed to block out the mid-morning light. His thoughts 
were unfocused and temporary, flitting from one barely realized 
image to another.

Yet one thought was recurrent, coming back persistently and 
abruptly. Each time he tried to push it away and send it back 
deep inside him. Jason was not frightened as much as disturbed 
by it, by its very presence in his mind. He had discovered a 
strange, joyful excitement attended that particular thought. It 
was not unwelcome, but it was not yet fully accepted. In some 
ways he was still innocent but each night he spent with Carlo he 
became increasingly uncomfortable with his realization of an 
wonderful, though guilty pleasure. However, his thoughts now, 
and the pleasure he had come to know in the middle of the night, 
were accompanied by intense excitement. It was an excitement 
that made him shiver again and again as he contemplated what he 
did with Carlo. It overwhelmed his guilt and shame temporarily. 
Every time he remembered, when he thought of what he did when he 
was naked in Carlo's bed, before he managed to push it away 
again and deny its existence, he felt an incredible excitement 
begin to build inside him.

It would go away, and then, without warning, he would think 
of Carlo again and the excitement would come back with 
frightening speed. It was always a little stronger and clearer 
than the previous time and it lasted longer before he conquered 
it. And now it was worse. Now he thought about Tony as well. Try 
as he could, he could not understand what was happening to him. 
He felt sick inside. He felt sinful, as if it was his fault. 
Endless guilt raged inside him when he was alone. He knew that 
he was condemned to hell every time he sneaked across the hall 
and into Carlo's room, he blamed himself. He was curious too, 
but there was no one that he could ask.

All around, he could hear the lapping of the water at the 
edge of the pool. He could hear the faint rustle of the dying 
breeze in the dark-green, almost-black, cypress pines. It was a 
trembling sound which, like the sounds of birds and insects, 
seemed to rise and fall, undulating in an endless rhythm. He 
breathed slowly, bordering on sleep, still tired from the 
interruption to his night-time sleep. He felt a wonderful, happy 
glow in his body as he absorbed the sun's energy soaking into 
his slender back and legs. He felt the same way when Carlo 
touched him. When Carlo touched his penis, when he touched 
Carlo's penis, he felt alive and very, very happy.

The quietness of ever-present nature on the private 
hillside outside Frascati was shattered by a sudden loud crack. 
It seemed to reverberate through the gentle slopes of the Alban 
Hills, disturbing the quietness of the Roman Campagna, echoing 
across terraces and along the aisles of the vineyards, among the 
twisted plane trees and gnarled ancient oaks. For a moment he 
was startled by the sound, like a gun shot. Then the crack was 
followed by another, staccato-like without rhythm, but 
repetitive. It stopped. His body tensed instinctively as he 
heard the laughter carry down through the trees from the tennis 
court. He heard Carlo's louder voice, rasping as he called out 
to his mother, the words evading him but the tone of command was 
clear. The staccato began one more time.

He closed his eyes, waiting and listening as he strained to 
hear the sound he wanted most of all. It was eleven o'clock. 
Tony would come any minute now. He would come down the ancient, 
stone stairs, carrying a bucket and humming. He would call out, 
"Bon giorno, Jason" as he set up the long scoop and begin to 
remove the debris from the bottom of the pool. It was a job that 
Tony had to complete before Carlo and Jason's mother finished 
their tennis game and came down from the terrace for a swim.

The sun, like his thoughts, was relentless, though not 
confusing. Already it was getting hot, but it was a dry heat 
very unlike the summer back home. It was late July and the sun 
scorched into the boy's smooth, pale body, like a white-hot 
flame on a crucible. His mind became a melting pot of barely 
realized thoughts, emerging desires whose full significance 
still evaded him, and guilt. Always endless guilt from what he 
had done during the night before, and for six nights before that.

Just that morning, after he had dried off after his shower, 
he had examined himself in the full-length mirror in his 
bathroom. It was difficult for him to understand what made Carlo 
so excited. He was skinny and pale, almost white, and his 
genitals were insignificant in size. That morning he had 
discovered little red splotches on his tiny prepubescent penis 
and all around his genitals. They were marks from Carlo's mouth. 
The reddened patches were graphic and undeniable evidence of 
what he had done. He knew that he needed to keep the marks 
well covered, no one could know what he did with Carlo at night. 
They were the evidence of it, those and the dark shadows above 
his eyes, shadows that came from a lack of sleep.

Jason rolled onto his back and breathed out heavily. 
Reddened stripes from the slats of the chaise traversed his 
body, from his chest to just above his knees. His narrow chest 
rose and fell with each breath and his eyes closed again, 
tightly to block out the sun. Drowsily he lifted his right arm 
upward, draping it over his forehead to block out the orange-red 
glow from his eyelids and sink his world into darkness. For the 
first time, he willingly recalled the thoughts back into his 
mind but other than that, this morning was no different to any 
other morning of the last week.

He tried to think back, to remember when he had first 
realized. Not that long ago, just fifteen days since he had 
arrived in Italy with his mother, seven, or was it eight days 
ago since Carlo had come into his bedroom in the middle of the 
night, four days he had first gone into Carlo's bedroom by 
himself. But it was only in the last few days that he had first 
noticed Tony in a way he had never noticed anyone before.



From the top of the stairs, the young man looked downwards 
to the pool. His interest was clearly apparent if anyone was 
watching him. He stared directly at the young boy sunbathing 
beside the pool. He smiled, half-closing his eyes in the morning 
glare. "There's the 'Little Prince'. I bet he's gay," Tony 
decided silently. Again a smile flashed across his face. "Poor 
little faggot," he added, "doesn't even know what he's missing."

Had he said it aloud it would have been with distaste or 
even disgust, because for Tony Carelli, the one thing he wasn't 
now, was gay! That possibility had come to an abrupt and 
painful end shortly before his thirteenth birthday. That was 
when Carlo had informed him that he was not to come to his room 
again. He was growing up, becoming a man, and that was 
unacceptable.

Now, he was nineteen, nearly twenty and he'd been getting 
"pussy" regularly since he was sixteen. He was popular and the 
girls liked him. He was handsome in a dark, Mediterranean way. 
His Sicilian heritage was clearly evident in his tight, black 
curls of hair, ochre complexion, and ebony eyes. He was tanned, 
tall, and muscular. Though his shoulders were not particularly 
broad, his body still tapered down to a taut waist, then bulged 
prominently. He was everything that ten-year-old Jason Anderson 
was not. Tony Carelli was a man.

And yet, as he surveyed the slumbering boy, something 
excited him. It was not the same way that a girl aroused him 
although it was almost the same. The boy exuded the same 
weakness, a fragile softness that bespoke of something other 
than his visible sex. But it was more than the young boy's 
weakness that shifted the scales. A memory repressed from long 
ago, when he was a boy, came back. Tony remembered what was 
required of a boy to become Carlo's favorite. Only, it was more 
so for this boy. Jason was the recipient of one of nature's 
cruelest tricks. He was beautiful.

Jason was gentle and sensitive, with features that denied 
his masculinity, even contradicted his male sex. His hair was 
blond, in fact silver-blond. It was long and wavy, it reached to 
his shoulders and framed his face. His eyes were big and blue, 
very-blue like the pellucid Italian sky, with eyebrows that were 
so thin and light-colored that they were barely visible. His 
mouth was small, with full, perfectly shaped lips - like a 
girl's mouth. Jason Anderson was the image of his mother, except 
for the interest he showed in Tony. The boy was slender, with 
narrow shoulders and hips that seemed to barely support his 
sunflower-yellow swimming-shorts. The elastic waist-band seemed 
to cling to him midway between his groin and navel. It was as if 
the shorts had finally caught on his hips at the last moment, 
just before they slid the rest of the way down and exposed his 
nakedness to an admiring world.

But for the fact that he was attired in shorts and his 
torso was bare, Jason could be mistaken very easily for a girl. 
But then, Carlo's favorites were often like that. It was also a 
comparison that Tony had first made earlier in the week when he 
had first noticed the boy watching him. But it wasn't the boy 
that Tony Carelli was interested in, and certainly not what 
lurked beneath the boy's bright-yellow shorts. It was the girl 
that seemed to lurk within the slender, young body, just beneath 
the boy's skin. It was the way that Jason looked at him. It was 
the same way that most women and girls looked at him. It was the 
way that Carlo had once looked at him. It was a look of 
appreciation tinged with lust, longing looks disguised by 
sideways glances that quickly turned away when observed.

"Little faggot," Tony murmured to himself. "You may be his 
favorite now, but you're still a goddam, fucking faggot," he 
swore in Italian.

He would not admit that the pang he felt inside was 
jealously, though once it would have acknowledged as that. 
Absently, he rubbed his bulging crotch, shifting his genitals in 
the sweat-moistened pouch of his briefs. He smiled, thinking of 
the evening ahead. It was Friday evening and he would meet Maria 
at six-thirty in the village  near the piazza at the front of 
the Villa Mondragone. They would go to a trattoria for pizza and 
by eight o'clock, by eight pm. at the absolute latest, he would 
have his cock stuffed inside her. He had a load saved for her. 
It was a big load from four days of abstinence and he fully 
intended to deposit it in her before he slept that night.

Tony smiled yet again as he completed the thought and 
remembered how they fucked. He wondered whether she would take 
it in her mouth again. Maria wasn't even fifteen years old and 
she fucked like a wild thing but she wasn't interested in 
sucking him. They had fucked for more than six months now and 
Maria was still hungry for his male power though only between 
her legs. She was always eager for his dominance as he slammed 
upward, going as hard and deep inside her as he could. A lot of 
patrician girls were like that. They were well bred and skittish 
like the thoroughbreds they rode. They talked with a precise 
diction that came from private schooling, but they were always 
in heat and ravenous for a man. But they wanted a real man, not 
some piss-head boy of their own class, a man like Tony Carelli. 
Except for her age, Maria was no different to the other girls he 
had known.

Deciding that he needed to go to the toilet before he 
started cleaning the pool, he began to turn away. For a reason 
unknown to him, he glanced back at the young boy thoughtfully. 
"You're just like Maria, kid. Only you're a boy, aren't you? All 
you really want is a man, a real man. You don't want a withered 
old bastard like him. Your old lady's crazy. She could do a lot 
better than being fucked by Carlo. I wonder if she knows about 
you. I bet she'd die if she knew the old bastard was playing 
with your dick." Again he turned away still thinking to himself, 
"When he gets your cherry, kid, he's going to hit the jackpot."

Tony looked up and over towards the Late-Baroque villa. Its 
faded-pink stucco and crimson-tiled roof was barely visible 
through the avenue of majestic oaks along the terrace. "Yeah, 
it'll probably kill the old bastard when he starts fucking you. 
Your ass will be so tight he'll die," he mused. He started to 
walk along the dusty gravel path as he added with conviction, 
"Yeah, the fucking jackpot is right up your cute little ass, 
kid." Again he glanced back at Jason, seeing only the briefest 
glimpse of the boy's small, glistening, blond head as he moved 
out of sight, still musing to himself, "I should take your 
cherry and fuck the shit right out of you. Poetic fucking 
justice for the old bastard."



Jason sat up quickly and furtively glanced around him. He 
twisted back to look at the stairs that led down to the pool. 
Something had startled him, an unheard sound, an unseen 
presence, an undeniable sense that someone else was there 
besides him. He started to call out, "Who's there?" but even as 
his boy-soprano voice started to echo back at him from the stone 
walls, he quieted as the surprise faded. He could still hear the 
repetitive crack of ball against racket, the undecipherable 
sounds of voices carrying from the court. He took a deep breath 
and let it out slowly. It was a sigh of frustration, of a 
petulant young child thwarted, of growing confusion.

Easily he came to his feet and for a moment arched his back 
as he stretched. He walked over to the edge of the pool and 
balanced gracefully on his right leg while he swirled his left 
foot in the cool, transparent water. A tiny shiver seemed to 
ripple through his body, a little tremor of stirring life. He 
was hot from the exposure to the sun and the water seemed too 
cold to him. He turned away from the pool, now wondering why 
Tony was late. A few steps took him to the inflated plastic 
dragon that reclined, bobbing at the edge of the pool where the 
light breeze had pushed it earlier.

The air was still now, not silent, but still. It seemed 
threatening and oppressive as the sun seared into him. It was 
almost as if a storm was brewing. It was a lot like home. 
Absently, Jason kicked at the dragon's head. It had been a 
present from Carlo, one of many during the last few days. He 
knew why he had received it. He turned away guiltily and then 
was drawn back to it, remembering. It was the first time that he 
had voluntarily touched the man's penis. Guiltily, he consulted 
his new, waterproof watch. It was a gift from Carlo as well. It 
came with the dragon. It was eleven o'clock, still half-an-hour 
until his mother and Carlo finished playing tennis and came down 
to the pool.

The over-scaled, oval-shaped head of the dragon seemed to 
smile knowingly back at him. The big red dots on its dark-green 
snout were like oversized freckles. Its eyes were playful, 
enticing and challenging the child that still lived inside the 
boy to accept both it and what it stood for. It was but one gift 
among many. Gently he stroked the satin-smooth skin of his right 
ear lobe, rubbing his finger against the small, pointed stud. It 
was a diamond, a real diamond. No boy at school had a real 
diamond. It had been Carlo's idea when they were in Rome. All 
the boys wore them, he said. Jason smiled as he remembered his 
mother's half-hearted argument about getting his ear pierced. 
Carlo had won, easily.

"It hadn't been so bad," the boy thought fondly as he 
remembered how much he enjoyed what the man asked of him. In 
fact, after the first two or three nights it had become fun! A 
lot of fun. It was so much fun that on the third night he had 
left his pajamas on the chair and got into bed naked. Carlo had 
liked that. He was unable to resist the naked boy and the next 
day Jason received a gold chain and cross, a rich reward for his 
sin. The next night, almost as soon as his mother's door closed, 
he was in Carlo's room. Carlo undressed him, lifted him up high 
into the air, and tossed him onto the bed. That was the night he 
touched Carlo's penis for the first time.

Though he always felt badly afterwards, he was still too 
innocent to see his fascination as depraved or unnatural. He was 
entranced by the peculiar feelings that came to him every time 
he touched the Carlo's penis under the sheets, or for that 
matter, looked at Tony's crotch. There was always a funny 
fluttering feeling deep in his chest that felt like small 
beating wings and a tingling sensation when Tony's eyes seemed 
to reach into his own eyes. Those feelings were identical to the 
feelings that he had discovered and quickly come to enjoy with 
Carlo. In his nightly encounters, what happened was something 
that not only did he want to do and enjoyed a great deal, it had 
become something that he had to do. Carlo expected it of him.

During the long hours of daylight and while he was by 
himself, he always felt ashamed of what he did during the night. 
Each time the guilt seemed to get worse. It wasn't that he 
didn't enjoy the man's gentle caresses. He did. The slow 
stroking always focused on his private places and it always felt 
very nice. But they were places he always kept covered and Carlo 
was always touching parts of his body that he had been taught 
were sinful. Jason was confused. The feelings he had discovered 
for the first time in his own bedroom were at the same time, 
both good and bad.

Most recently, in Carlo's private chambers, he had explored 
those feelings further, each time going a little further until 
he finally had decided that it was mostly good. From the outset, 
he had consented. At first, he needed only to close his eyes and 
let the hands swirl around him, waiting until sleep returned to 
him, until early morning when Carlo would leave him and go back 
to his own room. It wasn't like that any longer. The boy 
shivered as he remembered. Now, he responded to the gentle 
touches with caresses of his own. It was mutual. He had done 
what he knew he should not do, again and again, every night 
since the first night. He enjoyed it too much to stop.

Unable able to resist, Jason grinned. His white perfect 
teeth flashed as his lips parted and he squatted down onto his 
haunches. He held the dragon steady with one hand and 
tentatively slid his left leg and then his buttocks outward over 
the water. He settled down carefully, his sixty-three pounds 
plus swimming costume pushing the green monster downward into 
the water and away from the side of the pool. He crossed his 
legs behind the dragon's neck and leaned back until his head and 
shoulders were supported by its tail. The dragon bobbed up and 
down slightly, assuming a new equilibrium. It gracefully floated 
across the pool as the boy pushed off. Not hard enough to reach 
the shaded end of the pool where the water was deep and darker, 
it stopped midway. It floated where the leaves from the trees 
above merged into blue sky and the shadows danced over the boy's 
body.

He closed his eyes again, discarding the idea of paddling 
further into the shade, now content with even partial relief 
from the burning sun. After a minute, he glanced around again, 
checking the stairs one more time before closing his eyes. He 
tried to recall the thoughts that had most recently been in his 
mind but now both Tony and Carlo were inseparable. This time he 
felt almost no guilt or shame, just a foreign curiosity about 
the part of Tony's body that was like his own or Carlo's, and 
yet - so very different.

 With his thoughts of Tony, there came a nervous quiver and 
a trembling inside his chest. Gooseflesh immediately and 
inexplicably formed on his arms and legs. He shivered 
involuntarily as though he was chilled. But with either image, 
Tony or Carlo, there was the same growing warmth inside him. It 
came not from the heat of the sun but from something that seemed 
to be at the very center of his body. Again and again, part of 
him, that private part that interested Carlo most of all, 
stirred and shrugged of its stupor and came alive. It grew hot 
and hard and it stayed like that for what seemed to be the 
entire time he was awake in Carlo's bedroom. It also became hot 
and hard whenever he watched Tony Carelli cleaning the pool.

Jason could remember when he had first noticed it, every 
minute detail of how it had happened embedded in his 
consciousness. It was there on the first night and it felt 
unbelievably good. It felt very good when Carlo touched it. It 
was, as Carlo told him, the undeniable sign that he liked it. It 
was there now and he could feel it getting tighter and hotter 
under his shorts as it stretched, then shifted, then stretched 
outward again as it moved upwards from between his legs to lie 
against his lower belly.

At night, in the secure privacy of Carlo's bedroom, behind 
locked doors, things happened. Nice things. Things that made him 
feel good all over his body. In the darkness, uncertain, 
frightened, and longing for Carlo's gentle touches, he would 
remember his mother's words; "What he did with his body was his 
business and no one else's." She had said those words in answer 
to his question about whether it was wrong to touch his penis. 
For a short time, her words made his guilt and shame vanish. But 
he knew better. She didn't know what he did with his body. Jason 
longed to tell her the truth. After the first night, he wanted 
to confess but he could never tell her what happened. Similarly, 
he knew he could never tell a priest. It was a secret that only 
he and Carlo could share. His need to tell had eventually become 
overpowering and after three nights he finally broke down. He 
hadn't lied. He told the truth, he just had not told her 
everything.

Jason thoughts drifted back to the present, to Tony 
Carelli. He easily remembered the first time he had watched Tony 
and saw him in a way he had never considered. The feelings he 
had then were not too different to those he had at that moment. 
Only they were stronger now. He could remember vividly the first 
time he had seen the bulging muscles in Tony's arms and the 
sinews tensing as he pushed the vacuum back and forth with 
effortless precision. That morning, just three days earlier, 
Jason had peeked time and time again, each time taking in more. 
Like a drug, he absorbed the man as he watched him. The bare 
chest was bronzed and glowed with healthy vitality and a thin, 
dark line of hair led upward from his shorts to his navel. 
Always his eyes were drawn to the prominent bulge in the man's 
shorts. It was larger by far than his own small bump. It 
appeared to be a lot bigger that Carlo's too.

Images had become embedded in his mind so that he could 
recall them at will. It was always the bulge that he recalled. 
It was the center of his interest. It was the same as Carlo's, 
only he knew that it was bigger, much bigger. It was huge 
compared to his own.

There was a loud bang and Jason jumped slightly, startled 
out of his reverie. He glanced to the side of the pool, then 
quickly looked away before turning back. Through half-closed 
eyes he followed Tony as he descended the steps carrying the 
bucket. The young man stopped, dropped the bucket with an even 
louder bang, and stripped off his tee shirt with the same 
effortless motion that Jason had observed during the last few 
days. He tossed it onto the stone wall balustrade next to the 
steps. Like a male model, a center-fold pose, with golden brown 
skin, firm pectoral muscles, taut belly, and a bulging groin 
concealed behind blue-denim shorts. Ten-year-old Jason took it 
all in eagerly from twenty feet away.

The heat in his young body increased in a rush this time. 
It was not the familiar gradually growing warmth and curious 
interest but a weird, overpowering sense of wanting something he 
could not have. Again, like the last time, and the time before 
that, Jason waited, feeling that private part of him responding 
instinctively. It had a life of its own as it became even 
hotter, then hard, taut flesh that was so stiff and unyielding 
that it almost hurt. It poked rudely outward into his shorts. It 
became so hard that he couldn't think of anything else except 
watching Tony. The image of Carlo, like a fuzzy, grainy, under-
exposed photograph, faded. With each cautious glance, Jason kept 
his eyes glued to the corresponding place on the man's body.

"Bon giorno, Jason," Tony called out with a smirk, "You 
dead or alive, little one?" The teasing note in his voice was 
lost on the boy and Jason smiled back and waved to show that he 
was still alive. He closed his eyes tightly again. As tight as 
he could, trying to block the intense excitement that was now 
growing quickly inside him. He wondered why he did not feel 
quite the same way when he was with Carlo during the night. He 
tried to understand the difference between the two men. Was it 
only a matter of age, or was it more than that?

Only moments passed before Jason peeked again. Tony was 
assembling the scoop, attaching long lengths of aluminum tube 
together with a quick flick of his wrists. Jason's right hand 
dropped down into the water and he paddled once, twice, then 
again, making the inflated dragon twist around as it pivoted in 
the center of the pool. Jason lay still as the inflatable turned 
full circle, almost a minute before he dared to look again. This 
time Tony had moved away and was scooping up leaves from the 
bottom of the pool. Now, Tony's back was towards him and Jason 
grew more confident. He gazed without interruption. Unable to 
see the man's groin, he watched his back, his buttocks, and his 
legs. He watched every part other than the one part he was truly 
interested in.

Tony turned without warning and instantly Jason's head 
twisted away. This was the same game they had played the day 
before. Cautiously, Jason glanced back but Tony was still 
watching him.

"Gotcha kid!" the young man laughed. Jason grinned back. 
For a moment he thought about turning away again and prolonging 
the game but something inside him made him stop and just look. 
His eyes followed Tony's every movement, dropping down again and 
again to the ever-present bulge that loomed between his muscular 
thighs.


PLATONIC LOVE.

"What's the water like?" Tony asked. "Cold?" he teased. 
Tony did not harbor resentment. What he had done eight or nine 
years earlier with Carlo was gone. As a boy, he had been just 
one of many boys who had come into Carlo's private chambers late 
at night. Those times were gone forever. They had departed with 
his youth, gone like his innocence. The desires, the games, the 
passion that had he'd shared in Carlo's bed for those few all-
too-short years had ceased almost as soon as his sexual urge had 
begun to strengthen and seek relief. It was over before his 
thirteenth birthday. His time with Carlo had ended as soon as he 
had started to mature.

"Uh? Oh y-y-yeah, k-k-kind of c-c-cold," Jason answered 
nervously after a long pause. Then he added uncertainly, "I g-g-
guess."

Tony grinned, "Cold water is good for a kid." The grin 
changed to a sly smile, "Takes away life's little problems... 
Know what I mean?" he said slowly. Then the smile became a 
teasing grin again and he brought the scoop upwards, locking it 
under the side of the dragon and behind the front leg. He gave 
it a quick shove so that the dragon rocked precariously.

"Hey! D-d-don't!" Jason shrieked. His voice was high-
pitched, like a girl's voice. "It's too c-c-cold!"

Tony laughed and shoved down again as Jason grabbed for the 
sides of the inflatable and it tipped almost to the point of no 
return. "Next time," he taunted, "Jason gets wet!"

The boy was giggling hysterically as he clung for dear life 
and moved his weight quickly to counteract the bucking dragon. 
"No! D-d-don't you d-d-dare! Carelli! You'll d-d-die! he 
threatened impotently.

Tony laughed with him. He enjoyed Jason's exuberance almost 
as much as his nervous stuttering as he rocked the boy up and 
down, making waves that splashed over him and lapped against the 
edge of the pool. "So Jason? You ready for the big one? You 
ready to go for a swim?"

Amid a torrent of giggles, the boy shook his head as he 
tightened his grip on the handles of the inflatable dragon until 
his knuckles were white. Tony grinned and pretended as if he 
were going to give one last heave. Instead he pulled the dragon 
over to the side of the pool. Without knowing why, the question 
formed in his mind and he blurted it out.

"You keep looking at me! Why?" he asked.

Jason shrugged, thought for a moment and replied. "No I d-d-
don't," he answered emphatically. There was silence between them 
as both realized the lie for what it was. "I d-d-don't l-l-look 
at you," he lied again. His voice trembled with childish 
acknowledgment of his guilt. "I d-d-don't," he added with 
finality.

Tony raised his eyebrows questioningly and smiled serenely 
as he gazed down at the ten-year-old boy. "You like what you 
see, don't you." Like Jason's denial, it was said with 
conviction. It was not posed as a question but as a statement of 
fact, of the recognition of the boy's visible interest in his 
adult body.

Jason was silent. He lay still, staring up at the young man 
who stood at the edge of the pool, barely a foot away from him. 
He shook his head, trying desperately to deny what he knew to be 
true. Lying came hard to him. A lie was a sin and he never lied. 
He blushed, first his cheeks reddening, then as he felt the heat 
growing in his face, his slender neck darkened as well. He 
stared up pitifully. Jason was ready to cry.

Tony shrugged and feigned disinterest as he recognized the 
boy's growing shame and embarrassment. A long forgotten memory 
came back to him. It was a memory of himself as a boy, stark 
naked, on a hot July night. He was lying on the bed in Carlo's 
chamber. At the time he was not even ten-years-old, but he was 
old enough. He knew what to do, even then. Beads of perspiration 
spotted their bodies. He was lying face down, legs splayed 
outward, his hands clasping his buttocks as he pulled them wide 
apart. A finger, a foreign finger, Carlo's finger pressed into 
his anus for the first time. It slid down into his well-
lubricated bowel on a thick film of grease. And then it started 
to move. It stroked up and down, curling and pressing into his 
belly so hard that it was all he could do not to piss on the 
bed. And finally, when the finger had been joined by a second 
and the partnership worked in tandem, his anus became impossibly 
loose. After nearly twenty minutes he had climaxed. It was 
unlike anything he had ever known before. Jolts of electricity 
hammered at his spine with each relentless pump. It went on and 
on into the night, until he was drained and the sheets were wet 
under his belly.

With a strange fascination, Tony wondered whether the young 
boy had found that pleasure yet. If not, then it probably was 
not far off. Until that night, the guilt had been nothing. It 
had not worried him to be in the man's bed at night. It was just 
a game. It was a game that the man like to play with the young 
boys who came to visit and ended up living at the villa. It was 
a game of playing with each other's penises, of jerking off, and 
sometimes of Carlo tasting his small, hard penis.

That night the rules changed and it was no longer a game, 
though he wanted to play more than ever before. Although he 
would always deny it, Tony wanted what came next. He had hated 
himself afterwards. Like Jason, he too had sinned and he could 
never confess it. This beautiful boy would be no different. It 
was a secret that Tony Carelli carried deep inside him. He had 
never told anyone about the nights he spent in Carlo's bedroom 
during those three years. No one would believe him, anyway.



Tony toyed with the boy, wondering how much guilt the boy 
already had, how much he could stand before the dam burst and he 
cried? "You get a hard-on watching me," he taunted. Jason gaped 
at him stupidly. Tony smirked. "Your dick gets hard doesn't it, 
kid?"

Jason swallowed nervously. His body tensed and quivered 
with anxiety. The appropriate response was unknown to him. He 
rubbed at his eyes, smearing the wetness of his now-forming 
tears away. In his confusion he shook his head, then paused 
momentarily. Abruptly, he nodded.

"You like watching me. You like looking at my cock," Tony 
smirked. Again, they weren't questions but statements of fact. 
Jason's jaws clenched resolutely as he reddened even further. 
Tony grinned, "You want to see my cock?" he asked quietly.

The boy's nod, when it finally came, was barely visible. 
Tony smiled reassuringly at Jason. With his foot he steadied the 
inflatable dragon while the boy disembarked. Jason stood before 
Tony, shivering slightly as if he was cold. They were less than 
a foot apart and for the first time Tony realized the true 
extent of the difference between them. Jason was a little boy, 
still ten-years old, still with the fragility of a young child, 
barely four-foot four-inches tall.

For a moment he remembered himself at the same age. 
Silently he turned away and started to walk towards the steps. 
Jason hesitated, then seconds later followed meekly behind him. 
They climbed the stairs. Instead of turning towards the house, 
they turned left and walked towards the pool maintenance room. 
Tony pushed the door open and stood to one side. Jason's eyes 
swapped rapidly between the darkness within and the man in the 
doorway as he evaluated his dilemma.

"You've g-g-got to p-p-promise n-n-never to t-t-tell 
anyone," he whispered awkwardly after a few long seconds. He 
shifted feet, changing his balance nervously as he thought. 
Instinctively, he knew that Carlo would be very angry if he 
found out.

Tony smiled and nodded. "Yeah kid, I promise. You want to 
see or not?"

Jason nodded back and then quickly stepped through the 
doorway. The door closed behind them and instantly the 
antiseptic smell of chlorine came to him. It was a pungent, raw 
smell that was unpleasant. The light was dim, filtered though a 
skylight that appeared as if it had never been washed. Jason's 
eyes moved rapidly around the room. He was nervous, yet curious 
as he saw the chemicals and equipment that littered the space. 
He heard a rustle of clothing, the unmistakable sound of a 
zipper being opened. It was followed by more clothing sounds. He 
wanted to turn around and look at Tony but he dared not.

He winced as he felt a hand on his bare shoulder. It 
squeezed his thin arm, digging into the small shoulder blade. A 
thumb pressed against his collar bone. He trembled, then 
breathed quickly as Tony turned him around. Not gently or 
easily, but with a forceful pressure that frightened him. His 
eyes focused on Tony's bare chest, almost on line with his dark, 
now-pointed nipples. Jason was afraid to look up or down. Unlike 
Carlo, Tony's chest was smooth and hairless, though not as 
smooth as his own.

The hand moved from the boy's bare shoulder, finger tips 
gliding across velvet-like skin to his neck. Then it moved 
upwards behind his head. The fingers stopped, embedded in the 
boy's long, silky hair. Slowly, with a surprising gentleness, 
the hand that cradled the back of the boy's head pulled forward. 
It forced Jason's eyes downward, away from Tony's chest and down 
to his belly, following the dark line of hair to an even darker, 
thicker mass of hair. Jason's eyes stopped there in surprise. He 
saw a man's genitals for the first time.

He didn't breath. He didn't move. He just stared at the 
man's penis unflinchingly. It was very different to touching 
Carlo's penis under the sheets protected by the secure privacy 
of darkness. This was real. It was not erect, though certainly 
not limp. It was elongated and it sprang outward and downward 
with a slow arc that bent back on itself about halfway. Even 
partially aroused, it looked to be about six or seven inches 
long. It was already considerably longer than Carlo's penis when 
it was fully erect. It was thicker too. But it was also similar.

Like Jason, Tony had not been circumcised but his penis was 
very different to a little boy's penis. Jason observed with 
interest, the peculiar fold of skin that he had only known 
before by examination of his own penis. The man's foreskin only 
half-covered the partially swollen glans. His own foreskin was 
much longer, fully half-an-inch of puckered tip pulled over the 
end of his penis when it was limp. And the long shaft of Tony's 
penis was wrinkled, not smooth like his own, not as wrinkled as 
Carlo's. Veins were beginning to stand out as thick, engorged, 
bluish lines. The man's scrotum was barely visible beneath the 
broad, thick shaft and the unruly, wire-like pubic hair that 
sprouted around it.

Jason swallowed in fear as he discovered that a man's penis 
was very different in the light. It was not the disheartening 
comparison with his own small, but very-stiff penis that 
bothered him, or the size that frightened him. In reality it was 
no bigger than he had anticipated or imagined. It was the 
frenzied pounding of his heart that terrorized him. For some 
reason that was unknown to the boy, he did not feel like this 
with Carlo.

Tony's hand held his head firmly. The grip was unyielding, 
though now unnecessary. Jason could not look away. Then the 
pressure on his head increased and forced the boy downward. 
Supplicant-like, as if taking the nourishment of Christ, he sank 
to his knees with his face now only inches away from the half- 
erect penis.

For the first time, Jason saw a man's testicles. They were 
not small, delicate, marble-sized eggs like his own. The scrotum 
was hair-covered with wrinkled, ugly flesh pulled low by the 
weight of two ponderous golf-ball-sized testicles. Hair, thick, 
dark hair seemed to cover the man's thighs and lower belly. It 
was a tangled matt around his genitals, a stark contrast to the 
hairless, soft body of the boy that knelt in silent wonder 
before the naked man.

But try as he could, Jason could not look away. The man's 
penis still pointed downward. It was aimed directly at his 
chest. Unable either to move or to speak, barely breathing in 
the silent, crowded room, Jason stared at it. He absorbed the 
latent power and the life and heat that seemed to grow from it. 
There was a mysterious aura that emanated outward from it. It 
was everything that he was not. It was everything that he 
wanted. Jason shook his head suddenly, then breathed quickly, 
frantically attempting to deny the irresistible need that he 
sensed within him. The hardness of his own small penis seemed 
irrelevant. What he did in the darkness with Carlo was 
irrelevant and no longer of interest to him. He wanted only to 
touch it, to become one with it.

 Tony interrupted the boy's unspoken thought even as it 
formed and strengthened in his mind. The child's head was no 
longer full of the pure, unsullied thoughts of innocence. Though 
he was still inhibited, what remained was the result of 
ignorance, inexperience, or a lack of opportunity. Jason 
Anderson had yet to take Carlo's penis into his body. However, 
he was fully aware of the possibilities since his penis had been 
subject to oral gratification every night since Carlo had found 
him naked and waiting in his bed. He had yet to return the 
pleasure.

Now, his haunting, hungry desire for Tony's penis pushed 
its way to the center of his mind and became the focus of 
everything, his body, his entire ten-year-old life. To Jason, it 
was as if a mystery was unfolding. It was a story whose 
beginning had been started by Carlo, but one whose end he could 
not even begin to grasp. What confronted him now was far beyond 
his initial discovery of the strange desires which were awakened 
inside him. His hand trembled as it reached up of its own 
volition, unguided by the boy as it responded to a far deeper 
instinct, transcending eight years of strict Catholic upbringing 
and his frantic denial of the craving he felt. It had come from 
nowhere, as foreign to him as the thick, lengthening penis 
before him. But in the instant of his realization of its 
existence, it became as much a part of his being as anything he 
had known all his life. The desire to take Tony's penis in his 
hand and into his mouth had taken control of his confused mind.

Jason also wanted to touch his own aching penis, to stroke 
the tiny swollen tip or rub it between his thumb and fingers. He 
yearned to do what Carlo had taught him to do in the solitude of 
the darkness with gentle caresses under the sheets. He would 
have been happy even to rub it against the soft skin of his 
belly, even against his shorts. But he could not, not kneeling 
before Tony, not confronted by the awesome maleness that now 
daunted him.

"Go on, touch it," Tony urged as he breathed out. His voice 
was strangely distant and husky with excitement as he regarded 
the small silver-blond head before him. He watched the soft thin 
fingers of the child's hand reach out tentatively. Like the vast 
majority of young boys, Jason was too inexperienced to make 
contact with the object of his interest. If what Jason had felt 
on his first night alone with Carlo was childish curiosity 
tinged with lust, it was no longer. It was raw excitement, heart 
pounding, adrenaline surging, hand trembling excitement. Jason 
looked up, his large, blue eyes sparkling with youthful 
intensity.

"I can,... touch it?" he whispered uncertainly, afraid to 
break the silent mystery that seemed to engulf the room. Tony 
smirked at the boy's hesitation. At ten, he hadn't hesitated 
very long with Carlo and he knew the boy had already started to 
visit the private chambers late at night. Everybody in the villa 
knew that, except for the boy's mother of course.

"Still", he thought to himself, "the kid seemed younger 
than he had been at the time. He was certainly smaller and as an 
only child, it was likely that Jason's life had been more 
protected. With older brothers, even ten-year-old boys have some 
knowledge of sex games." He smiled to himself, unless he was 
much mistaken, unless Carlo had changed over seven years, this 
was probably the first grown man's penis that the young boy had 
actually seen. Other boys his own age, perhaps but nothing more. 
He suspected that Jason was still a virgin, like he had been for 
the first few weeks with Carlo. The idea of the beautiful, blond-
headed boy being a virgin amused him and again a smile flashed 
across his face as he thought about it.

"If you want," Tony answered patiently though his voice was 
strained, reflecting barely controlled lust. The similarity 
between the slender boy who knelt before him now and Maria was 
remarkable, the comparison between boy and girl being 
unavoidable. The similarity was not a physical one for Maria had 
long auburn hair and hazel eyes but when confronted by his penis 
for the first time, she had been frightened, awed, uncertain, 
and yet irresistibly drawn to it. But unlike Maria, Tony had no 
interest in the small, child-sized appendage that lay between 
the boy's slender legs and now pointed upwards into his shorts.

The boy suddenly looked up again. Now, the strain of his 
unfamiliar excitement showed as nervous blinking. Confusion, 
guilt, and anxiety came in waves that swamped him and threatened 
his sanity.

"I,... I d-d-don't," he stammered awkwardly.

Again, Tony smiled down at him, now no longer seeing the 
boy before him. It was with shock that Tony Carelli realized 
that the soft effeminate features were not those of a young boy. 
The long, blond hair framed Jason's smooth, oval-shaped face. 
Looking upward, with his head tilted back, Tony saw the young 
boy's narrow, lightly tanned shoulders; the thin, graceful neck; 
the large eyes; the delicately sculpted features. There were no 
breasts and his nipples that were all but invisible. He was not 
a girl, but then he was not a boy either. Jason pulled back, 
startled as he saw the expression on Tony's face change, from 
disinterest, to bewilderment, to unconcealed, rampart lust.

Tony's hand moved forward quickly and grasped Jason's right 
wrist. Momentarily, he marvelled at the smallness of the soft 
hand, the slimness of the forearm, the fragile thinness of his 
wrist. The boy's eyes opened wide as he realized that his hand 
was being pulled slowly forward. He felt the velvet heat from 
the man's flesh. It was both hotter and softer than Carlo's 
penis and it seared his finger tips. Jason panicked, wanting 
only to pull away as soon as he understood what the burning hot 
flesh was. His arm was immobile. Just his hand moved, under 
Tony's bigger, stronger hand, closing over the boy's small 
fingers and squeezing them into the now-rapidly-hardening flesh. 
The two hands moved very slowly, going up and down together and 
sliding over the loose skin that covered the shaft of Tony's 
penis.

There was a long, breathless silence until Tony sighed. 
"Yeah, that's good." His arousal increased, making his penis 
flex and tremble as it continued to harden. He glanced downward 
and the boy's eyes followed his eyes, down to the half-erect 
penis held securely in two hands, one small and soft and very 
nervous, the other, large and strong and very rough from years 
of gardening at the villa.

The silence returned. It seemed infinite, unbroken as they 
shared a long minute joined together. The man's penis grew 
thicker and harder, ever lengthening as it stiffened until veins 
bulged outwards and it lifted upwards and became vertical. 
Jason's hand lifted upwards too until the engorged penis danced 
before his eyes. It was fully twice the length of Carlo's penis, 
bigger than his own forearm and longer by at least two inches. 
His hand could only half-enclose it.

Slowly Tony's hand began to move further and further, not 
going any faster but in long up and down sweeps that pulled the 
foreskin back past the glans before pushing it forward again. 
Jason stared at it in mute fascination, watching the fold of 
skin slide back so that it partially covered the swollen, dark 
glans of the big uncircumcised penis. The top of it glistened as 
slippery, clear fluid oozed out of the gaping slit.

Entranced by the heat that poured into his hand, Jason 
moved his hand with Tony's hand gladly. The only sound in the 
cluttered dirty room was the loud slapping as the man's full 
scrotum jerked back and forth, bouncing the heavy testicles 
against Tony's firmly muscled legs. Then, as the huge penis 
attained full erection and strained, flexing and throbbing 
hungrily for more, Tony stopped.

"You want to jerk me off, don't you?" he asked confidently.

The boy shrugged uncertainly, noncommittally, though not 
incompletely disinterested. "Huh?" he murmured. "Do what?"

Tony smirked, realizing that such words were anathema to 
Carlo and that a ten-year-old boy probably had no idea of the 
meaning of the word even though he knew what to do. That meant 
that he, Carlo, would have to provide an explanation and he 
intended to raise the question that most interested him.

"You play with your dick don't you?" he asked quietly. "I 
see you doing it down there at the pool, when you watch me. It 
feels good when you play with it, doesn't it? What Carlo 
does,.... what he does to you at night feels even better, 
doesn't it?"

There was a long, silent pause. Tony could imagine the 
boy's sense of shame and the betrayal that comes with discovery, 
of knowing that another person now knew his deepest secret. 
Jason nodded slightly. Like Maria, he too was unable to resist 
the man.

"You want me to,..." his voice trailed off as he realized 
that Tony knew about what he did with Carlo at night. He 
swallowed back the words he wanted so desperately to speak. "Do 
that to you?" he finished with a faint whisper. Seconds passed, 
long interminable seconds as he tried to gather his thoughts. It 
came almost as an afterthought. "You know,... what I do with 
him?" he added uncertainly.

Tony nodded and shrugged nonchalantly. "Yeah I know. Hell 
kid, everyone knows, except maybe your mother. I don't expect 
she knows, yet!" He laughed. "You sleep with Carlo, don't you? 
You do stuff in his bed at night, don't you? You do it to his 
cock and he does it to yours. Everyone here knows about it. He 
does it to lots of boys.... You want to do it to mine as well, 
don't you?,... Now?"

Slowly Tony's hand backed away, leaving Jason's hand alone 
on the thick shaft of his penis. The boy's hand could not 
enclose it fully, a gap of three inches or more remained between 
the tips of his thumb and fingers. Tony's penis was much larger 
than Carlo's and it was considerably stiffer. He started to 
tremble as he nodded in silent acquiescence.

Jason seemed to stare at his hand for a long while as he 
tried to believe what he saw. The heat from Tony's penis felt 
like it was burning the palm of his hand. He breathed deeply. 
Upon closer inspection he decided that it was unlike Carlo's 
penis in many ways. The first thing he realized shocked him 
greatly. He wanted to kiss the end of it. He had, for some 
reason unknown to himself, decided that Carlo's penis was 
'dirty'. He didn't want it in his mouth. But this was different. 
He wanted to place his lips on the fat, shiny, plum-colored end 
and suck. The boy swallowed comfortably, wondering whether it 
would fit inside his mouth, whether his lips could stretch wide 
enough to take it. It seemed doubtful but the idea was very 
tempting.

Carefully, he began to move his hand back and forth, 
holding the huge shaft tightly the same way that Carlo had 
taught him. The skin appeared to be much looser and it slid 
easily under his hand, not at all like Carlo's penis which he 
had to pump on as hard and fast as he could to elicit the same 
sensations that came easy to his own slender body.

"Not so tight," Tony instructed. "Hold it loose, kid." 

Reprimanded and his self-esteem diminished, he gave up 
trying to do what Carlo had spent long hours teaching him. His 
instinct took over. He relaxed his grip, holding Tony's penis 
the same way he held his own, though using all four of his 
fingers and not just his thumb and first finger that he employed 
on himself. The result was immediate and rewarding. Tony groaned 
as the soft, small hand began to flutter up and down the upper 
half of his now-rigid penis. Under his hand, Jason felt the 
monstrous shaft lurch and quiver each time he jerked the 
foreskin back over the glans.

His teachers had always proclaimed that Jason was an 
unusually intelligent boy, he was also a fast learner. Jason 
went to work. Within moments, he figured out that if one hand 
felt good, two would feel better. Maybe even two times better. 
He brought his left hand forward, placing it directly below his 
right hand but on the other side of the man's now throbbing 
penis. The rhythm came naturally to him.

The smell over-powered him. It was a rich, musky odor 
tinged with the scent of sweat and urine. Strangely, he had 
never noticed a smell coming from Carlo's penis. He decided he 
liked the smell. It was a distinctly male smell, a man's smell 
that was stronger than the aroma of chlorine and disinfectant 
that hung in the air around him. The smell excited him. He took 
deep breaths, lingering over each one as air passed into his 
nostrils, exhaling quickly through his mouth with sudden gasps.

There was a buzzing sound in his ears, a constant drone 
that momentarily confused him before he realized that it was 
Tony. His body had become tense and he emitted low, subdued 
moans of pleasure. Jason's eyes focused on the bulbous swollen 
glans as he leaned forward and licked the slippery, wet end. As 
his tongue pulled back inside his mouth and tasted saltiness, he 
heard Tony groan loudly. The hands supporting his head drew him 
back, guiding his mouth inexorably onto the pulsing, demanding 
penis. 

"Suck it," Tony commanded. "Suck my cock, kid." His voice 
was strained and as tense as his body. The mere suggestion of 
taking it into his mouth suddenly frightened the boy. The taste 
was strong. It was much stronger than Carlo's had tasted when he 
had scraped some of the thin milky juice off his belly  and 
wiped it from his little depressed navel. He had done that just 
the night before. He had tentatively tasted it and decided that 
he liked it. He also decided that he would suck Carlo's penis 
when the next opportunity presented itself.

Still uncertain about taking the huge glans into his mouth, 
he settled for another lick. More slippery, salty juice coated 
his tongue as Tony groaned again. As soon as the taste faded 
from his tongue, he went back for more. This time, instead of 
licking it, he pressed his lips to the very tip of it, and 
kissed. Again his natural inclinations took over and his lips 
parted, letting the blunt, fat end of the man's penis penetrate 
into him until it reached his teeth.

"Open your mouth," Tony gasped. "I won't hurt you, I 
promise."

His hands moved from the back of Jason's head to cradle his 
cheeks. Strong, rough fingers pressed into the smooth skin and 
forced his jaws apart. Jason knew better than to resist. He 
opened his mouth as wide as he could, stretching his lips into 
thin, pale lines. He felt the man's penis filling him, grating 
on his teeth as it pushed inward, going further and deeper. 
Tony's hands moved to the back of Jason's small blond head and 
held him tightly as he pulled the boy forward. His penis pushed 
in further as it rammed the boy's tongue down and out of the 
way. He knew better than to force too much inside and he backed 
away as soon as the boy started to gag.

"You're okay, kid," he whispered urgently. "You suck good. 
Now try to keep it there and jerk me off."

The boy nodded weakly. With his mouth stuffed full of 
rigid, man-sized penis, his head barely moved as he signaled 
that his duty was both understood and willingly accepted. He was 
surprised to find he liked it. He loved it. It was hot and alive 
and it was inside him, not very far, but far enough. It tasted 
endlessly salty as the slimy juice oozed out onto his palate. 
He started to use both hands again, making a loose sleeve from 
his fingers and thumbs that held the man's penis captive in a 
soft, tickling web.

Jason was unprepared for what happened next. He knew about 
orgasms, he had know about them from the first night when he 
gone into Carlo's bedroom. He knew it took time for a man to 
produce his semen and it took work, a lot of work for Carlo. 
After less than a minute, Tony ejaculated. White, thick, very-
hot spurts erupted onto Jason's tonsils without warning. 
Startled, Jason jerked away frantically, gulping as it 
fountained into his mouth. Released from the wet, soft confines 
of the boy's mouth, the man's penis sprung upward, spewing as it 
went. Strands of semen burst outward, flying into the boy's 
face, into his eyes, onto his forehead and nose, over his long, 
blond hair.

Jason's hands kept moving relentlessly as the huge 
testicles surrendered four days of pent-up fluid. It seemed to 
shower down onto his head, stray lumps spitting onto his 
shoulders, some hitting his arms. The last of it dribbled out 
and ran down the shaft. There was still enough to make the boy's 
hands slippery. The aftermath left Tony shuddering and so 
drained that he almost collapsed. He leaned backward to support 
himself against the workbench as Jason's small hands finally 
stopped moving on his penis. The boy looked up expectantly. 
Happiness blossomed in his eyes, conscious pride in his 
achievement. He smiled confidently as semen dribbled down his 
cheek then dripped onto his chest. Like a two-year-old boy and a 
vanilla icecream, he was covered in it.

Jason was also unprepared for what happened after that.

"You're a disgusting, filthy little animal," Carlo cursed.

Both Tony and Jason turned at the same instant, both seeing 
the man framed in the doorway, both recognized the fury in a 
face that was normally kind and gentle. Tony pushed the boy away 
angrily so that he fell back onto the floor heavily, his arms 
and legs splaying out. His still-hard penis made a sharp, short 
point in his shorts.

"It was his idea," Tony blurted out. "He wanted to do it. 
The little fucker made me," he swore angrily.

"I-I-I-I,... N-n-n-no,.... I-I-I,..." Jason wailed 
impotently. He shook his head wildly, then realizing that his 
face was covered in semen tried to wipe it away. His hand, 
covered in dust and grime from the floor, succeeded only in 
turning the wetness into a dirty mess. His eyes began to hurt, 
stinging painfully as he rubbed at them.

"Get out of here, Tony," Carlo ordered. "And you,..." he 
shook his head sadly as he looked at the boy on the floor. "I'm 
ashamed of you. I thought you were smarter. I thought you were 
better than this. Go clean that stinking mess off your face 
before your mother sees you."

Jason slowly got to his feet. What he shared with Carlo at 
night suddenly seemed a very long way away. His knees felt weak 
and he tottered as he stood. He wanted to say he was sorry. He 
wanted to say that he would never do it again. He wanted Carlo 
to forgive him. Tears started to roll down his cheeks, mixing 
with the grey-brown slime and making his eyes sting even worse. 
He staggered blindly from the room and almost tripped as he 
descended the stairs that he had climbed only a few minutes 
earlier. It seemed like an eternity had passed since he had 
climbed off the dragon and followed Tony.

At the side of the pool he squatted down and tried to scoop 
up some water to wash his face clean. He felt the man's semen 
matted in the long strands of his hair, still thick and 
slippery. He took a deep breath and dived into the water, 
cleansing his body, wanting to stay under until he drowned.


PLATONIC LOVE.

DAY SEVEN.  Paros (an island in the Cyclades, Greece).   2 PM, July 30th, 1993.



"A woman, from puberty to middle age and until the wrinkles cover up her 
charms, is a worthy object of man's embraces and tender feelings; even when 
her beauty has passed, her experience tells in her favor. The pursuit of 
a young man of twenty is, in my opinion, an ignoble and perverse 
indulgence. His limbs are the limbs of a man, strong and sinewy; his once 
delicate chin is roughened by beard and his rounded thighs are covered with 
hair..."

Lucian, Dialogues of Love.



I called Jason on his birthday. I always did that, no 
matter where I was. It was the only time during the year that I 
talked to him. The previous year, when he turned nine, I was 
somewhere in the Pacific, about a thousand miles off the coast 
of southern California and headed for the Panama Canal. I could 
barely hear him, but then I had been patched through from my SSB 
radio by a radio ham-operator in Louisville, Kentucky, and into 
the local telephone system. I called him this year by force-of-
habit. Not that we ever had all that much to talk about. Once we 
got past how he was doing at school and where I was, all there 
was left was to say good bye, until next year. Occasionally, we 
got beyond how he was doing at school. Last year I had been 
surprised. He had started singing in the school choir, begun to 
take singing lessons, and had recently started to play the 
guitar.

This year started out in a way that was no different to 
previous years, except that I called him from 'Harry's Bar (and 
Grill)' on Paros, an island in the Cyclades group to the 
southeast of mainland Greece.

I had a hell of a job to track him down. My first call, to 
the number I had called in the States the previous year, was 
wasted. According to the computerized voice, the number was not 
in service at this time. Then, after much searching, I found the 
number for his grandmother in Baltimore. I had not spoken to 
Christina for eight years, since just before the divorce. Much 
though I loathed the very idea of talking to her, I did. Within 
a few minutes I discovered that Jason and his mother had left 
the States a few weeks earlier for an extended vacation in Italy.

According to Christina, it was something to do with Leane's 
work. It sounded more like a new boyfriend to me. I called her 
on it. She tried to avoid answering for a minute then gave me 
the story. No sordid details, of course, but enough to make me 
jealous - she thought. But I did find out what I needed to know. 
Some time early in September, they would be on their way back 
home to the States so that Jason could start school on time. 
That was, of course, unless Leane decided to stay longer 
(whatever that meant). My ex-wife had apparently become friends 
with an 'Italian Stallion', a rich doctor or something like 
that. I finally tracked them down in Rome. Well not quite in 
Rome, but it was close. They were staying at a villa in some 
place called Frascati. The name was familiar and I had to think 
for a few minutes before I associated Frascati with a good - 
well, second-rate - white table wine I used to guzzle. That was 
before I had the money to go up to first-class and drink the 
French stuff from the Rhone that I really liked.

Jason sounded just like he had the year before. Distant. 
His voice was acutely high-pitched, like a girl's voice. It was 
very soft, almost melodious, and carefully modulated. It seemed 
as if the boy was suspended in time and not growing any older. 
He sounded a lot like the little boy I had last seen when he was 
three years old. If the truth be told, I had no idea of what he 
looked like now and I pictured him as he was then. He was a cute 
looking kid at three, a lot like his mother.

 He talked a little bit about his trip to Italy, but beyond 
expressing pride in singing solo in his school's Christmas play, 
he was typically reticent. He still had not received the 
birthday present I sent him, but then, it was on its way to the 
States and he would probably never get it. We said good-bye and 
then his mother came on.

I almost had forgotten how Leane sounded. My most recent 
memories of her were not particularly pleasant ones. I thought 
about putting the phone down and finishing my beer but I 
listened instead. I knew what the problem was. I had missed two 
months of child support. There was little that I could do about 
it. I was waiting for a check and I fully intended to send her 
money as soon as I received it. It would more than cover what I 
owed her and child-support for Jason until he reached eighteen.

However, despite my anticipation, my ex-wife was anything 
but angry, though she was cruelly cynical. Nothing changes. This 
time, Leane came straight to the point. It was unusual for her. 
Typically, she avoided frank discussion - unless she wanted 
something, badly.

"I know it's a lot to ask, but do you think you can take 
your son for a few weeks during his summer holidays? I hate to 
ask, but something's come up. My friend, Carlo, I don't think 
you know about him, wants to spend some time in Paris. I need a 
break, too, once in a while. It's a chance for me to get away. 
He is your son, after all. I hoped you could keep him on the 
boat with you until school starts," she asked.

I did not say a word. Maybe, if I waited long enough she 
would get the point and forget the idea. She waited me out. I 
was paying for the call and I gave in first.

"Uh! Look," I replied as I searched for an excuse, "I 
really have a full schedule the next few weeks. Maybe next 
summer. I'll be in the Caribbean then, and he could fly down for 
a week or two." The first part was a lie. Though she would never 
know it, the only thing I had planned for the next month was to 
do some work on the boat, drink at Harry's place, lie in the sun 
until my check arrived, and then take a slow cruise through the 
Greek Islands for a few weeks before I started the final 
revisions to my book.

"Yeah, I'm sure you do. I know you must be very busy. Too 
busy for your son, I expect. I need a holiday, now!" she added. 
The tone of her voice was turning ugly.

"Yeah, well I can't right now," I replied. "I'm too busy to 
be baby-sitting. How about some warning next time. How soon do 
you want me to take him?"

"In a day or two," she replied quietly.

"A day or two? Get real! You just can't dump him on me like 
that."

There was a long pause. "Well, okay! I'm sorry about not 
giving you more warning. This just came up and Carlo wants an 
answer now. I need to spend time with him. Alone!" There was 
another long pause. "You owe four months of child support. I'll 
call it quits if you take him. Hell, it's not even a month. It's 
just a few weeks. It won't kill you."

Her voice was beginning to show distinct signs of stress. 
It was a clear sign that she wanted Jason out of the way. I 
guessed she had plans for a holiday with her current 'friend' 
that did not include Jason tagging along. Carlo sounded like a 
piece of work. I pictured him in my mind and I imagined why her 
plans did not include a ten-year-old boy. What had 'come up' was 
probably six or seven inches long. More, if she was lucky.

I rose to the challenge of the moment. "It's not four 
months! It's two months and anyway, I'll put the check in the 
mail sometime next week."

I was having fun. I could hear her breathing getting faster 
and heavier and I knew instinctively that her temper was 
building. It was almost funny. No, it was funny. I suppressed my 
laughter and settled for a smile.

"Well, you certainly haven't changed, have you? Mr. 
Selfish, you're just the same. You haven't seen the kid for 
years. If you don't take him, I'll have to send him home to my 
mom's. But you'll be hearing from my lawyer."

"Is that a threat?" I said as I stifled another laugh. I 
also felt badly as I thought of poor Jason spending a month of 
his summer holidays stuck with Christina - the snot - in 
Baltimore. "Jesus! Lighten up a bit, Leane! I really do have a 
lot to do in the next few weeks. I'm leaving here in a few days."

"What in the hell is so important that you can't spend a 
few lousy weeks with your own son?" she asked.

"Actually, I'm writing a book. I've got a final draft due 
to the publisher in a month," I answered. That was a lie but 
Leane would never know. I had two months to look over the 
editor's changes and sign the final contract.

"How thrilling for you. More of the cheap-thrill detective 
tripe you write?"

"No! It's about a president, an ex-governor from Iowa. It 
starts out when he's a draft-dodging, pot-smoking hippie who 
goes to England on a scholarship. He ends up being recruited by 
the Soviets, goes to Moscow for training and then goes back to 
the States as a sleeper. He's also a profligate womanizer, a 
fact that becomes increasingly evident when he's governor. After 
he's elected, the future of the capitalist world ends up 
depending on a fourteen-year-old hooker," I said, thinking as I 
said it that the plot wasn't a bad one at all. 

"It sounds like a lovely story," she said rudely. "You 
going to take him, or not?"

"I'm trying to tell you, Leane. I'll be leaving here in a 
few days. I don't have the time to hang around Paros for the 
next three or four weeks." I paused as an idea formed. "The best 
I could do is take him with me and drop him off when the time's 
up. Uh,... maybe at Rhodes, it's near Turkey - if you didn't 
know. He can get a flight from there I think, but it's pretty 
expensive this time of year. We might even get all the way over 
to Samos. If so, there's a problem because I don't think there 
is an airport. He'll have to get a boat back to Athens. He can 
get on a regular flight back to Rome from there. It would 
probably be cheaper."

"How much will it cost to get him to where you're at now?" 
she asked.

"Hell, I don't know. I'm at Paros. It's a few hundred miles 
south of Athens. I don't think there's an airport here, at least 
I haven't seen one. He'd probably have to fly into Athens and 
get a sea-plane down here. I'm not in the airline business, but 
I think it's going to cost at least a few hundred bucks this 
time of year. And then there's the cost of his flight from Rome 
as well. This is going to be one expensive little jaunt. Of 
course, he could take a boat from Athens, but it takes a few 
days," I replied.

"Okay!" I heard her sigh loudly. "I'll pay to fly him down 
to you and home from wherever you leave him. If that's what it's 
going to take, I'll do it." I shook my head in resignation. 
"Will he need a passport?" she added.

"Huh? Oh, yes! Probably better send a letter as well that 
says something like it's okay for him to be with me. Otherwise 
someone might think I kidnapped him."

"Very funny. Ha! Ha!" she said with a derisory tone, 
clearly not amused at my feeble attempt at levity. "What else 
will he need to bring?"

"You better send a coupla hundred bucks for his air fare 
back to Athens, I guess. Just in case he can't get a boat back 
in time."

"You can be a real shit. What about clothes?"

"Whatever! It's a pretty constant temperature this time of 
year, 80 to 90, and we're well out of the rainy season. It can 
get cold at night though. I can give him some money if he needs 
to buy anything else," I volunteered generously, wishing that 
she would hang up and leave me in peace.

"What number can I call you back on when I have his flight 
booked?" she asked. 

I sighed and gave her the phone number for Harry's Bar, 
relenting even further at the last moment. "You better book it 
into Athens. I'll have the boat up there for some work on the 
engine in a day or two so I can meet him there. I'm leaving here 
tomorrow morning. Early! Call tonight with his flight number," I 
said before I put the telephone down. We didn't say good-bye.



I dropped the phone down and turned back to the bar. Harry 
gave me a reassuring grin and passed me a cold beer. 

"Looks like you really need this," he said. "It sounds like 
your kid is coming down for a holiday."

I nodded. "Yeah! Sure sounds like it, doesn't it? I haven't 
seen the kid in years. Not since the divorce. Jesus, that must 
be at least seven years."

Harry leaned on the bar. "He's ten, right? That's a fun age 
for a kid. Not old enough to be a pain in the butt but old 
enough to enjoy life. Like Jeff."



Jeff was Harry's kid, by his second marriage. At least that 
was what I had been led to believe at the time. Jeff was one of 
the few kids I liked. He was twelve years old. Rugged, funny, 
and good looking, he was everything that a father would want in 
a son. He was constantly hanging around my boat when I was in 
town and between books. Once I had gotten to like the kid, I 
began to enjoy having him around. Jeff provided company to me 
and we went fishing together quite frequently. On more than one 
occasion I had caught myself thinking that I hoped my own son 
had turned out a lot like Jeff. I couldn't tell very much about 
my own offspring when we spoke on the telephone, but he 
certainly lacked Jeff's confidence and geniality. Sometimes 
Jason stuttered so badly that he was incoherent. Unless she had 
changed dramatically, my ex-wife could do that to a kid without 
too much difficulty.

"I like Jeff," I laughed, "but then he hasn't been hanging 
around my 'ex'."

We both laughed. I took another swig of my beer. "I hope 
not," Harry added as he shook his head. "She sounds like a piece 
of work."

"I guess she's okay! We just didn't get on, that's all. So 
what in the hell do I do to keep the kid happy?"

Harry grinned. "I'm sure you'll think of something. Go 
fishing with him. Treat him just the same as you do Jeff. There 
isn't a boy alive who doesn't get off on fishing. Besides, I bet 
the kid will wet himself when he sees the islands. He's from the 
States isn't he? He probably hasn't seen anything like this 
before."

I wasn't about to disappoint Harry. He was more 
enthusiastic than I had seen him before. "Maybe!" I observed 
uncertainly. "Shit, Harry! I was looking forward to running down 
the islands. I was planning on a whole month alone to finish the 
book, maybe get all the way over to the coast of Turkey. Damn, I 
wanted to take my time finishing it off. Now I've got to drag 
the kid along. I should've just paid the alimony." I added.

Again we both laughed and I stood up, guzzled the last of 
my beer, and headed back to the boat.

My ex-wife called in the evening, gave me the boy's arrival 
time into Athens and a description so that I would have half a 
chance to identify him. Early the following day I left Paros and 
headed north. I followed the compass due north-west, hitting ten 
knots most of the way and anchored for the night in the harbor 
below Cape Sounion. I had a nice north-easterly reach for most 
of the next morning and motored into Piraeus harbor just after 
lunchtime.

The rest of the day passed quickly. Luckily, the hoist at 
the marina was working and it wasn't being used. I both 
supervised and helped once the boat was on dry land. For a while 
I considered re-launching Apollo with new anti-fouling but 
decided to wait until the check cleared and I had the money to 
pay cash. For once, everything went smoothly. It was an atypical 
experience in Greece. The parts had arrived, the workers turned 
up, nothing was too badly damaged.

Day Ten.   Athens. August 2nd, 1993

I was dead tired at the end of the day. I fell asleep by 
eight PM. The hours passed quickly, so quickly that I almost 
forgot to meet my son at the airport. We re-launched Apollo, 
complete with new propeller shaft and cutlass bearing early in 
the morning. While the finishing-off work was being done I set 
to work to tidy up.

Down below things were a mess. I started tidying my cabin 
up and collecting papers to throw out when I found my hand 
written notes that I had taken two days earlier during my ex-
wife's last phone call. It's not unusual for me to lose track of 
time on the boat, sometimes for days at a time. Often alone, I 
tend to get into a rhythm, a pattern of activity that varies 
very little for day after day. It took nearly five minutes for 
me to find a a map of Athens and environs. I finally found one 
in a drawer under the chart table. Jason's plane was due in at 
Athens International in less than an hour.

I called a taxi from the dock-side telephone and took a 
quick shower. I expected that it would take about thirty minutes 
to get to the airport since the traffic probably was headed in 
the opposite direction at this time in the morning. I pulled on 
a tee-shirt and a pair of shorts and met the taxi in the street 
outside the marina.

The taxi pulled up outside the terminal with just five 
minutes to spare, assuming that the plane was on time. I hurried 
into the terminal, passing quickly through the metal detector 
and all but running to Gate 13 (a bad sign), where his plane was 
due to arrive any moment. People were already disembarking. From 
the look of them, mostly men in business suits, and a few over- 
dressed women, I decided that so far only the first class 
section was coming out. I moved over to the wall, leaned against 
it, and pulled out the notes I had taken during my ex-wife's 
last phone call.

Even I have trouble reading my own handwriting and this was 
worse than most of my scrawl. It looked a lot like 'blue or 
white shirt, blue jeans'. That attire could describe half of the 
children in Greece and most of them now seemed to be 
disembarking from the plane. I would have to watch for him with 
care. I wondered if he was still blond, the way he had been when 
he was a toddler. That would make my task a lot easier because 
most of the Greek kids were both dark-skinned and dark-haired. I 
started studying the faces of the boys who looked to be about 
Jason's age. There were quite a few. I should have felt ashamed 
that I needed a description to identify my own son but I did 
not. This excursion certainly wasn't my idea and already it 
seemed to be off to a bad start.

 As it turned out, the boy spotted me first. He waved 
casually, neither exuberantly or particularly pleased to see me. 

"Hi Jason," I said as I started over to meet him. He was 
good looking in a girlish, though very startling way. His looks 
were not mine. Clearly, he still took after his mother.

He stopped in the middle of the walkway, momentarily. It 
was the wrong thing to do and the mass of people behind him 
pushed past him, eager to get out of the airport and on their 
way home. He received more than a few shoves from behind. By the 
time he finally got himself out of the stream of people he had 
been carried fifteen feet past me. His ego had been bruised and 
he was angry. 

"Hi," he said abruptly as I came up to him.

I smiled at him, a clear demonstration of my desire to be 
friends with him. Jason did not smile back. "I gotta get my 
bag," he said.

"Sure thing. It's on the way out," I said. "So, how was the 
flight?"

"Okay. Long and bumpy," he replied. He looked at me 
pensively, then with distrust, then with boredom.

I smiled again, attempting to rebuild the bridge that 
seemed to have just collapsed into a bottomless chasm of 
unfriendliness. Me on one side, this strange, very-attractive 
boy on the other. "What's in the bag?" I asked as I glanced down 
at the guitar case he was carrying.

"Guitar! What's it look like?" he retorted rudely.

We were off to a great start. I had three or four more 
weeks of this to look forward to.

"I didn't know you played. Well, let's go get your bag." I 
said, eager to get the hell out of the airport.

"I already told you, on the telephone," he said abruptly. 
"Don't you listen?"

I hate crowds, and airports on weekday mornings airports 
are close to Hell. The noise bothered me, the people bothered 
me, the sullen boy bothered me. I led the way down the long 
corridor that I had come running up only a few minutes earlier. 
The baggage claim area was on the lower level and we took the 
escalator down. The first of the bags, those belonging to first 
class travellers, were just beginning to come up the conveyor 
and slide down onto the carousel.

"How many bags do you have?" I asked.

Jason looked at me as though I had lost my mind. "I can get 
them," he said abruptly.

I backed away, lifting my hands as I pretended that I 
wasn't going to defend myself, or attack him. He turned away and 
moved closer to the conveyor. I scratched my head thoughtfully. 
He was ten-years-old and he was acting like a snotty teenager. I 
watched as he picked up a large, nylon-covered suitcase. It was 
obviously heavy and he struggled to lift it. Finally he dragged 
it over the side of the carousel. It thumped onto the floor. He 
continued to pull it along, dragging it by the handle, until he 
came up to me. 

"You want me to carry that?" I asked. "It looks pretty 
heavy."

Jason gave me a killer-stare. "I can manage," he grunted.

"Please yourself," I said quietly. I led the way outside 
and over to the taxi area. I walked as slowly as I could, 
knowing that the boy was laboring beside me as he dragged the 
case with considerable difficulty. 

He stopped a few feet away from me as if he didn't want to 
be seen in my presence. "Where's your car?" he demanded.

I grinned. "All my cars are chauffeured," I replied. "But 
sometimes they're a little beat up."

"You don't have a car?" he said in disbelief.

I shrugged. "There's no point. I'm never anywhere long 
enough to need one. Didn't your mom tell you, I live on my boat? 
Hell, I know I told you myself a few years ago."

Jason glanced away. It was almost as if he was so 
disappointed in me not having a car that he couldn't stand to 
look at me. "Yeah, sure. I know that," he said softly.

As we stood together waiting for a taxi I had a chance to 
look the boy over. He didn't say anything and appeared to be 
deep in thought as he stared off into the distant parking lot. 
Clearly, he was not happy. Again I found myself admiring him. 
Even though he had a slender body and appeared to have none of 
the muscular development that I adored in Jeff, I found him both 
appealing and repelling. For the second time in ten minutes I 
thought that he could have easily passed as a girl. His hair was 
too long for a boy. And it was shaggy, perhaps dishevelled from 
the flight, perhaps unkempt. He was a pretty boy. But his hair 
was not what bothered me the most. I voiced my concern 
diplomatically.

"I like your earring," I chided.

Jason's head swivelled around and his hand automatically 
reached up to touch the lobe of his ear. "It's not an earring!" 
he retorted hotly. "It's a stud! Don't you know anything?"

I shrugged and, being a responsible parent, sensibly 
decided to pursue the issue further. "I stand corrected but it 
makes you look like a faggot," I observed perceptively.

"A what?"

"A faggot. A queer!" I explained tactfully. I watched as 
his face reddened in embarrassment. "Well it does! You want to 
look like you're gay?" I added bluntly

Jason's face darkened even further. Fortunately for both of 
us, a few seconds later, a taxi cab pulled up. A Greek 
stereotype came round to open the passenger door. He was slick, 
sweaty, and swarthy. He refused to negotiate a price and flashed 
a smile, showing bad, cigarette-stained teeth, as he put Jason's 
bag and guitar in the trunk. The boy slid onto the seat and 
moved into the far corner, as far away from me as possible. This 
was going to be a wonderful time, real father and son stuff. I 
could just tell.

The taxi ride from the airport was a high point. My son sat 
back in his seat and stared sulkily out the window. He said 
exactly one thing during the seven mile ride to the marina on 
the eastern side of Piraeus harbor. 

"So, what am I s'posed to call you? Dad?" he asked 
insincerely.

How are you supposed to answer a question like that. 'Oh, 
Dad will be fine, son!' Before I knew it I said, "Whatever! Call 
me whatever you want." He didn't seem like my son, not after 
that long and I guessed the feeling was mutual.



The taxi pulled up at the marina almost two hours to the 
second after I had left to pick up Jason. Something seemed to be 
bothering the boy, consuming him until all he had left was 
resentment towards me. I wondered what the problem was. My guess 
was that he was either angry at me because I had avoided him all 
the years he was growing up and he knew that I didn't want him 
with me even now, or because I had taken him away from his 
mother for the rest of his holiday. I could not have been 
further from the truth, but my impression was based upon the 
boy's behavior towards me. He had an 'attitude problem' and 
short of giving him a couple of cold beers, I didn't know what I 
could do about it.

Somehow I had expected that the boy would be excited and 
happy to see me. I was naive! He got out of the taxi on his side 
of the car and looked around. The wind was blowing over from the 
dock where the big trawlers come in from fishing expeditions. 
The air was heavy with the rank odor of fish.

Jason looked around, then wrinkled his nose in disgust. 
"Man, it stinks! How can you stand it? Is it always like this?" 
he asked rudely.

I shrugged. "You get used to it pretty quickly when you 
live on a boat. It doesn't bother me."

"Well it stinks!" he retorted. He walked over to the 
railing and looked down into the green, oily water as he leaned 
up against the rusted metal rail. He scuffed his shoes against 
the wood planks of the wharf. After I had paid off the ransom 
demanded by the driver, heaved Jason's bag out of the trunk and 
placed it on the curb next to his guitar, I ambled over to him 
and stood a few feet away, leaning against the rail. I looked at 
him, wondering again what his problem was. I knew it was 
important to be patient with him, to give him the time he needed 
to adjust to me, to accept me as the father that he had last 
seen shortly after he stopped filling his diapers.

"What's up with you?" I asked. 

"None of your business!" He breathed out angrily. "Look I 
don't want to be here with you anymore than you want me here. 
Why don't we just forget it, okay?"

I tried to be more patient and understanding. "Listen, 
Jason. You're right. I did have other plans for the next four 
weeks besides entertaining you."

"Then why don't I just get out of your way. Mom gave me 
some money. I can stay here in Athens until it's time to go 
home. You can just go do whatever it is that you want to do," he 
shouted. I could hear a nervous tremor in his voice. Somewhere 
amid the tension and anger was an ten-year-old boy who was very 
unhappy and probably scared. I reacted in a mature and 
responsible fashion.

"The hell you will!" I replied. 

Jason looked at me again, angrily. "Fuck off," he said 
softly. But while it was barely more than a whisper, it was said 
with such vehemence that it sounded hateful. The two words from 
the angelic mouth of a very attractive ten-year-old boy were 
particularly obscene.

I breathed out slowly, trying to count to ten to control my 
temper. I got to five. I lost control. "Fuck you!" I returned 
quietly. 

I looked at the boy silently. He turned away and looked out 
towards the ancient oil tankers anchored out in the harbor. He 
ignored me as I continued to watch him. One of us would have to 
apologize. The kid was a lot like me. He was proud, too proud to 
give in and accept defeat. In the bright morning sun, I half-
closed my eyes. Side on, he had a nice profile, though he looked 
skinny and underdeveloped for a ten-year-old boy. When it was 
apparent that neither of us were going to lose, I shrugged and 
shook my head. 

"I'm going on board." I said. "When you feel like it, it's 
down there on the first dock. Third boat on the left, it's 
called 'Apollo' by the way. Don't forget your bags, Jason," I 
added.

I started to walk away. As I reached the ramp I thought I 
heard a choking sound that was well on its way to becoming a 
sob. I glanced behind me. At that instant, Jason twisted away. I 
wondered if he was crying. He even looked like he would be a cry-
baby. I was not surprised.

Aboard, I returned to tidying up. I tend to live in a 
perpetual mess until I go to sea. I've learned to change my 
habits when I need to. More than a few times I've placed my life 
at risk when I have been offshore and not been able to find 
something that was critical. Once, it was as simple as a 
screwdriver. I needed to get into the back of the compass, one 
of those new flux-gate things, and replace a fuse. Now, I carry 
two compasses, the high-tech flux-gate and the old-fashioned, 
reliable, magnetic kind. I also check my tool box every time I 
leave port.

I started cleaning up in the darkroom, making sure that 
everything was where it belonged, secured tightly, and 'ship-
shape'. I moved into the galley. My breakfast things were still 
lying in the sink. The residual grease and yellow scrapings of 
my scrambled egg, coffee cup, frying pan, and cutlery were an 
unwelcome sight. My dinner things were there too and looking 
even more unpleasant. I had been too busy the night before to 
clean up. I set to work washing up, making a mental note to 
check the water tanks one last time before we left the dock. 
Fresh water on the Greek islands was a precious commodity and 
buying it was both a pain in neck and expensive.

I was about halfway through washing the dishes when I heard 
a sound behind me. I turned around. Jason had come down the 
stairs and was standing at the bottom of the companionway. We 
glared at each other silently.

"You wanna be friends, Jason?" I asked. My son nodded 
shyly. Okay, then help me clean this mess up so we can get out 
of here tonight," I teased.

The boy gave me a winning grin and eased his guitar down so 
that it rested against the port settee. "What do I do?"

"You want to dry this stuff here?" I suggested as I 
gestured to the freshly washed utensils next to the sink.

He nodded. "Yeah, I can do that. Don't you have a 
dishwasher?"

"Yeah, me! It takes too much electricity to run one of 
those on a boat," I said. "It would be nice though, wouldn't it? 
Where's your bag, by the way?"

"Up there," he replied pointing diffidently upward as he 
trying to recover his sense of direction. "I left it on the what-
do-you-call-it, the dock? I tried to lift it up onto the boat 
but its too heavy."

"I'll go get it." I grinned at him. "Welcome aboard, 
Jason," I added. I found his bag at the boarding ladder and 
swung it up and onto the deck. It could not have weighed more 
than forty pounds.


PLATONIC LOVE.

DAY TEN.   Cape Sounion. Late Afternoon, August 2nd, 1993

"A lion does not love another lion, nor do male bears and boars seek out 
their own sex, but the love of the female reigns alone in their hearts."

Lucian, Dialogues of Love.



He was born and raised as a typical, late-twentieth-century 
child in America's heartland. The more I got to know him during 
that first afternoon we spent together, the more I came to 
realize that my son was a spoiled, petulant, selfish, precocious 
brat. As we motored out of Piraeus I quickly discovered that the 
boy had never been on a yacht before. In fact the biggest boat 
he had been on was a friend's speedboat on a lake some sixty 
miles south of where he lived in Kentucky. I knew, without being 
informed by anything other than my own eyes, that he had few 
friends and he was probably lucky to have the one who took him 
on the speedboat. Who could stand him long enough?

His awkwardness on board my boat was to be expected but I 
was not prepared for his unwillingness to even try to help. From 
the outset, I sensed that he was lonely and I could easily 
understand why. Although I was no psychologist, one did not need 
a college degree to see that he lacked both self-esteem and self-
confidence. He was an exceptionally nervous child. His 
stuttering appeared to be even worse than it sounded on the 
telephone. It was saddening to watch as my son stammered and 
stuttered, desperately trying to communicate, then giving up on 
partially finished sentences as the effort and embarrassment 
became too much for him to bear.

We had a short, though very pleasant sail that afternoon, a 
broad reach under full sail for about two hours on the sparkling 
deep-blue Aegean Sea. However, I did not want to leave the 
mainland so close to evening so I decided to run back to the 
coast. We would spend the first night at Cape Sounion.

I dropped the sails by myself as Jason sulked by himself in 
the cockpit. We had enjoyed another fight when he had hesitated 
in untangling the main-sheet for me. I tried to impress upon him 
the fact that his tardiness might one day be the cause of an 
accident. It was like talking to a rock. I gave up on him and 
motored in to a little cove and dropped the anchor by myself. It 
was nice to relax for a while, swinging lazily at anchor below 
cliffs that sprang from the sea and rose vertically until they 
towered two thousand feet above us.

A normal kid, like Jeff, would have been jumping up and 
down at the chance to be swimming in the azure-blue bay where we 
anchored. But not Jason. He sat in the cockpit and read a book. 
When I suggested that we hike up to the top of the cliff and 
look at the Temple of Poseidon in the sunset he gave me a 'drop-
dead' stare, shook his head, and went back to reading his book. 
Where was his appreciation of history, his sense of romance, his 
youthful energy? He was in the cradle of western civilization 
and he was bored. At first, I thought that he might be fatigued 
from his journey but he did not look tired. Palled, yes, even a 
little sea-sick, but he did seem to be engrossed in his book! It 
was with some surprise that I recognized it as one of mine. I 
decided to indulge him for one more day.

As I tidied up on deck, I began to think that he regretted 
his decision. I observed him sneaking quick glances at the 
cliffs that towered around the bay, at the majestic, pure-white 
marble temple glowing in the late-afternoon sun. It was postcard 
material. Even for a disagreeable, whiny, little boy, it was an 
awesome sight.

As the sun moved steadily closer to the horizon I began to 
think of dinner. I remembered Harry's advice; 'take the boy 
fishing' even as I heard fish breaking the surface. I picked up 
the binoculars and searched the water between the boat and the 
shore. A school of whiting were in the shallows near the beach. 
It was as good a chance as any that I would have to breach the 
chasm between us. Jason was still absorbed in his book when I 
reached forward and pulled it from his hands. 

"Come on, it's time to put the book down, Jason. We're 
going fishing." I took the book with me as I went down the 
companionway to get some bait from the freezer as my son 
complained loudly behind me.

"W-w-what if I d-d-don't w-w-want to?" he griped as I 
disappeared down the hatch. "I think I'd r-r-rather stay h-h-
here and read. That is, if you d-d-don't mind!" A few seconds 
later I reappeared. He was still upset. "I w-w-want to stay 
here, thanks. You go f-f-fishing, if you w-w-want to. I'd r-r-
rather not."

I stopped in front of him. "Sorry, it's not something that 
you have a choice about, kid. What I said was 'we are going 
fishing'. We, Jason! That's the plural form, you know."

The boy shrugged disinterestedly. "There's n-n-no need to 
get p-p-pissed at me."

I sighed and stepped out of the cockpit and began to 
unfasten the straps that secured the rubber dinghy. I glanced at 
Jason from the corner of my eye. he stood still, considering his 
options. He was visibly pouting. "You want to give me a hand 
with this?" I asked.

He shook his head and I continued by myself. I had a system 
and it wasn't all that difficult to attach a pulley to the 
dinghy and lift if up by the mizzen boom, pivot it out over the 
water and ease it down. I guided it around to the stern swim-
platform and held it steady while Jason slowly and very 
reluctantly boarded. I started the outboard on the second pull 
and chugged over towards the beach. Jason sat silently on the 
center thwart, his baby-ego thwarted. I was frustrated too. He 
showed no interest as I pointed out the shapes of the fish 
running just below the surface and even less interest in putting 
bait on a hook. For his first time, I did it for him, after that 
he was on his own.

If it wasn't for the little shit in the dinghy with me, it 
would have been one of the best times I have ever had. The dying 
sun left red trails across the almost-still water. Seagulls 
wheeled and dived, screeching plaintively. The fish were biting 
aggressively. I caught two within ten minutes and then settled 
back and listened to the water lapping against the hull. It was 
an easy life, a good life, except for Jason. Curiously, he had 
risen to my challenge. I had two fish, he had none. My ten-year-
old son was not to be outdone. He tried as hard as he could. 
With fish practically jumping out of the water in their 
eagerness to be caught, his inability to catch anything at all 
was very telling.

The peculiar thing was that I liked watching him. I enjoyed 
his quirky movements, the shyness, the timid care with which he 
baited a hook, only to feel a sharp tug and miss yet again. As I 
contemplated the little boy, I conceded that while my son was 
effeminate, he was also extremely attractive. He was so good 
looking that I found it impossible to be angry with him. 
Somehow, deep inside me, I knew that he needed a friend. 
Finally, I decided to accord him some companionship. I also 
needed to apologize to him.

"Jason,..." I began slowly. He looked up from peering over 
the edge of the dinghy. "I,...I want to say something."

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry,... about what I said at the airport, about your 
earring thing. I didn't mean it."

He smiled shyly and blinked. He swallowed and pressed his 
lips together. For a moment I thought he was going to start 
blubbering, but he began to smile. Jason's smile widened even 
further. "I-I-I think your tee s-s-shirt s-s-sucks. You l-l-look 
like a queer, too," he replied cheekily.

I was wearing my favorite tee-shirt, the one with a big, 
bright-yellow, stylized sun on it and 'APOLLO' printed 
underneath and 'SUN GOD', on the back. I liked it a lot. I began 
to laugh. "Okay! We're even now. But I am sorry, Jason. It was a 
mean thing for me to say."

He nodded as he continued to smile, then brushed his golden 
locks back by running his fingers through his hair. "Okay!" He 
started to laugh with me. His boyish giggle was infectious. 

I started to tell Jason the story of how the Aegean Sea got 
its name. He listened intently, his interest clearly visible.

"Theseus was the son of the king. He was sent to Crete as 
part of the sacrifice to the Minotaur. The Minotaur was part-man 
and part-bull, according to the legend. He had told his father 
that if he was successful in killing the Minotaur he would sail 
home using white sails, instead of black ones. Anyway, Theseus 
killed the Minotaur,"

"Yeah, I know the story," Jason interrupted. "He used a 
ball of string to find his way out again."

"That's right. Well, he was so happy that he forgot about 
the sails. His father was waiting up there on the cliffs and 
when he saw the black sails he believed that his son was dead so 
he jumped over the edge."

 I grinned as Jason made a "wheeeeeeeee" sound from the 
back of his throat. 

"Oh! I forgot to tell you, his father's name was Aegeus, 
hence we get the Aegean Sea."

Jason grinned back at me. He had a happy look about him.

All too soon it was time to go back to the boat and get 
dinner. Them as I started to pack the fishing gear away I saw a 
look of disappointment on his face. I wanted to hug him tightly 
and tell him I still loved him. I wanted to tell him that I had 
never stopped loving him. The words stuck in my throat, my 
thoughts unspoken.

"I guess we better head on back," I said quietly.

Jason smiled. "At l-l-least I t-t-tried to catch s-s-
something."

"You will next time." I started the outboard and began the 
trip back. "How do you like, uh, what's his name, Carlo?" I 
asked.

Jason shrugged. "He's o-o-okay. I l-l-like him, I guess. I 
was s-s-supposed to go with them to P-P-Paris, you know. B-b-ut 
we had a f-f-fight."

"What about?" I asked curiously.

"N-n-nothing. You w-w-wouldn't be interested. C-C-Carlo 
changed his m-m-mind, Mom too. I g-g-guess they both w-w-wanted 
me out of the w-w-way for a w-w-while. I s'pose, they..." he 
murmured. It was obvious that Jason had no desire to talk about 
it and no intention of telling me. I let the subject die.

During dinner, he became quieter and the ray of hope I had 
for something approaching a normal relationship was slowly 
extinguished as the evening progressed into night. He missed his 
television, or his mother. I wasn't certain which but I assumed 
that was the problem. He was agreeable enough, for a while, 
because I had a vcr on board and he was able to watch a pirated 
tape of The Never-Ending Story, Part 2. I had purchased it as a 
Christmas present for him and forgot to send it. But it went 
downhill from there. There was nothing else of interest to him 
on the television and even though we still had some reception 
from Athens, all the programs were in Greek and the picture was 
fuzzy.

As I sat watching him, I decided that, all things 
considered, I didn't like Jason very much. And he was my son. If 
the truth be told, I didn't like him at all. I tolerated him, 
barely. He was a spoiled, unpleasant, joyless, little shit! He 
whined endlessly. He communicated by grunts. He rolled his eyes. 
He was rude. He was exactly like my ex-wife. If he had one 
redeeming feature it was that he was good-looking. But even then 
it was in a cute, girlish way. The first time I saw him, as he 
walked off the boarding ramp at the airport, I noticed his hair. 
The boy is fair-haired and curly, just like his mother, but his 
hair on top looked like it had been moussed. No wonder I made my 
comment about his likely sexual orientation. Jason is my only 
offspring, he's barely ten, and he looks like a faggot. I 
thought that it would drive his mother crazy. It was poor 
compensation, but the possibility gave me some amusement and a 
little revenge.

From the moment he stepped off the airplane in Athens and I 
saw him for the first time in seven, or was it eight years, he 
sulked continuously. He didn't want to be with me. Fine, I 
didn't want him around. It certainly wasn't my idea to have him 
stay with me. He didn't want to talk to me. Fine, I didn't want 
to talk to him. He probably thought that I had walked out on his 
mother. If only he knew the truth of it. Other than the 
inescapable fact that half of him had come shooting out of my 
dick a little less than eleven years ago, we had absolutely 
nothing in common.

 I scrutinized him closely as he watched the television. 
From the look of him I didn't think he had ever been outdoors. 
Kind of skinny, practically no muscles, a wimp of the first 
order. At least he wasn't fat, another redeeming feature. The 
first time I showed him how to winch in the genoa he gave up 
after two-and-a-half turns and left it flapping wildly. That was 
the first time I noticed how skinny he was. He had a waist that 
couldn't have been any more than twenty-two inches and hips and 
chest that were only a few inches bigger. Like any true wimp his 
shoulders sloped downward from a scrawny thin neck.

In an ill-conceived attempt to get through to him, I told 
him that he could even call his mother every day, if he wanted 
to. Collect, of course, or by SSB if we were away from a phone 
box as we were now. I thought that the suggestion of a radio 
call to his mother might have provoked some excitement. My 
suggestion raised little more than a shrug of his shoulders as 
he told me he didn't think she was still in Italy and he wasn't 
certain how or where to contact her. I felt sorry for him then. 
He had abandoned by the one person who he knew with certainty 
loved him. Even as a baby he had been fanatically possessive and 
naturally, he missed his mother. I also suspected that it would 
be hard for him to accept her relationship with a man. I 
anticipated that Jason had a very rude shock awaiting him when 
he next saw his mother and her new boyfriend.

I gave up trying to be friends with him and started to 
revise my manuscript. Shortly before ten o'clock he angrily 
turned off the television, gave me another 'killer stare', and 
grumpily went off to his cabin. I sat outside for a long while, 
gazing up at a pitch-black sky and a myriad stars. Below, I 
could hear the faint sounds of his guitar and his sweet high-
pitched voice as he played and sang. Strangely, I felt a 
romantic urge, a bizarre need to share the spectacular sight 
with my son. I knew he had never seen a night-sky as awe-
inspiring. Instead, I left him alone.


PLATONIC LOVE.

DAY TWELVE.  Aegean Sea, in the Cyclades.  Mid-day, August 4th, 1993

"There are two opposing kinds of love, and each ignites a different flame 
in our souls. One is like a child, interested only in childish things; it 
cannot be guided by reason; foolish men are swayed by its violence; it 
produces the desires that drive them into the arms of women... The other is 
sincere and serious-minded and everything about it proclaims its healthy 
origins; it engenders virtuous feelings and its influence greatly 
penetrates our souls; when it favors us, we enjoy sensual pleasure combined 
with virtue..."

Lucian, Dialogues of Love.



Apollo heeled over to port and dipped the lee rail in the 
water. White foam and crystal, azure water swirled past the 
stanchions. The water scooped the foot of the genoa, turning the 
bottom five feet of the sail darker. It splashed over the 
straining sheets and the boat groaned slightly. Forty-four 
thousand pounds of wood and aluminum, fifty-three feet of yacht 
accelerated. The mast and shrouds reverberated with increasing 
stress, humming in a perfect equilibrium of tension and 
compression. Then as the gust strengthened, over eleven hundred 
square feet sail filled to capacity. The boat heeled even 
further and plunged into the waves. There was a crash against 
the hull and spray burst outward thirty feet. The same wave sent 
a cascade of water rushing past the coaming. Five or ten gallons 
surged over the side and into the cockpit, sloshing back and 
forth until it found the drains.

The wind had swung further to the east and within seconds 
had strengthened by at least ten knots. Well balanced, Apollo 
swung closer into the wind, tracking the change in direction as 
the pressure increased on the wind vane. A moment later, the 
luff of the genoa began to shiver, breaking into a tremble, then 
backwinding with a frenzied, whip-like cracking.

I waited for a few more seconds, hoping that the wind would 
shift back to the south or that the gust would pass. It didn't. 
I tossed my book into the open locker and went to work.

With a sideways glance I saw Jason scrambling away from the 
port seat. I held back a laugh. It would have been easy to laugh 
at his discomfiture, the look of shock and anger, the 
embarrassment like a crimson shame that flushed across his face. 
Jason was suddenly one wet, little boy. For just one or two of 
those few seconds that passed as I scrambled back to the helm I 
saw him looking at me angrily, as if it was MY fault he was wet. 
I was far too busy releasing the wheel and disconnecting the 
self-steering to worry about a wet, ten-year-old boy who was 
still pouting from an argument we had two hours earlier when I 
had finally given him his breakfast at ten o'clock in the 
morning. Still, I was sorry for him. I suppose I should have 
warned him. Too late now. He had been soaked.

Seconds earlier he had been dozing, half asleep on the 
seat, curled up slightly and braced securely in the curve 
between the seat and the coaming, enjoying the warmth of the mid-
morning sun on his bare legs. Now he was wide awake and soaked 
to the skin. Thoroughly drenched. His white-cotton tee-shirt, 
one of the few pieces of sensible clothing he had brought from 
with him, was clinging to his chest and belly. His shorts were 
similarly wet. Jason was saturated, from head to toe. Water 
drained in rivulets down his arms and legs and his long hair was 
bedraggled as he shook himself like a wet puppy. 

"G-g-goddam! Shit!" he swore loudly.

Two days out of Athens and he still didn't have his sea 
legs. He staggered everywhere, grasping in a frenzy every time 
Apollo rocked. Most of the time the boy looked as if he was 
scared, scared absolutely 'shitless'. He looked awfully pale as 
well, though fortunately not too green, yet. I suspected it 
wasn't far away, but at least he hadn't been sick, so far. Thank 
God for that small mercy. If he ran true-to-form he would save 
it for down in the cabin. Kid-vomit, I knew it would stink for 
days down there, if he did. The thought grossed me out.

How in the hell did I ever get tricked into this mess? Two 
days down, twenty-five more to go. Twenty-five more days of this 
complaining ten-year-old baby before I could ship him home, 
collect. Having Jason on board had become a pain. I had been 
planning to run down through the Cyclades, spend for a few weeks 
bumming around on a few of the islands like Lindos and 
Santorini, then head on down to Crete. I needed to be there 
sometime during September to work on a photo assignment for a 
few weeks. I was looking forward to diving on the ruins of a 
Roman galley off the coast. The marine life was supposed to be 
something else. With luck, I might get enough material for an 
article in a diving or sailing magazine as well as complete my 
contract with The Geographer.

The problem with having Jason on board was that I really 
didn't like kids very much, especially my own kid. With the 
single exception of Harry's son, Jeff, I tolerated them, ideally 
at a distance. Jason, and his mother, screwed both my schedule 
and my life up. She wasn't very happy about my idea of taking 
her precious little boy to the Greek Islands. When she had come 
up with the idea that I keep Jason for the holidays I think she 
expected that I would stay around Athens, certainly no further 
than the adjacent coast of the Peloponnesus. I didn't see what 
the problem was. Precious, little Jason could easily fly or take 
a ship from Rhodes, or where ever it was where we were at the 
time when I packed him back off to his mother.

On the bright side, I was headed on my way back to Paros 
and Harry's Bar. At least there, Jason could hang around with 
Jeff (poor Jeff) and leave me alone. It was a pity Jason was ten-
years-old and equipped with a dick and balls, and not fourteen 
or fifteen and furnished with tiny tits and a hot little pussy. 
Now, that might have been fun.

I started getting an erection even as I remembered Tina. 
For a few months about three years earlier, I had operated the 
boat for private charters in the Caribbean while I was waiting 
for my publisher to accept my first book. The second charter I 
had taken was one that I picked up at the last minute from 
another boat when it was damaged in a collision at the dock. Two 
days later, Tina and her mother and stepfather stepped on board. 
Tina was cute and I ogled her from the moment I saw her. It was 
impossible not to. Tina was a real 'Barbie-doll'.

Within ten minutes I found out that she was fourteen years 
old. She was into puberty by maybe a year. Her tits were tiny 
and pointed and they stuck out like little, ripening hemispheres 
under her flowered sun-dress. The straps of her training bra 
showed through the thin material. What followed was absolutely 
Freudian. It was pure, unadulterated depravity. Tina flirted 
with me in front of her parents and with what appeared their 
complicity. From the time she reappeared on deck, to the time 
she stepped off the boat a week later, she wore a micro-bikini. 
The bottom halves were mere patches of neon-orange nylon 
attached by black cord. The sides of her nicely shaped, little 
butt bulged out of the back end but the front was even more 
revealing. When it was wet, the thin nylon clung to her body and 
her pussy was defined and clearly revealed. Not only that, her 
crotch was barely covered and the still-hairless sides of her 
pubic mound were always openly displayed because she insisted on 
sitting with her legs splayed out. A red-blooded male could 
never get tired of gaping at the wonderful view.

By the third day, things were getting out of control. 
Tina's voice teased me the entire time and her parents did not 
'bat an eyelid' when their daughter nestled up to me and did 
everything except curl up in my lap. That was the day they took 
off for a few hours in St. Martins. I took Tina and the dinghy 
over to the other side of the lagoon.

How was I to know it was a nude beach? Tina lost no time 
getting her bikini off and I wasn't far behind. We swam for a 
while before we went up into the sand hills. The kid fucked me 
into exhaustion. Tina was anything but a virgin and I filled her 
up three times that afternoon. I thought that it was an 
acceptable performance for a forty-year-old man. That night, 
Tina and I slept in her bed and we fucked again. In fact, we 
fucked every day and night for the rest of the week. Her parents 
knew that tiny-tits-Tina was getting screwed and they gave me 
the biggest tip of the three months I was in the charter 
business. Two hundred dollars. I figured that each orgasm I had 
with Tina was worth about ten bucks apiece. I didn't hear from 
Tina again and for a while I wondered if she got pregnant.

I switched my mind back to the present and gazed at my 
soaking-wet son. It was hard to believe that Jason was my son. 
The fact that he was so pale that I insisted he keep out of the 
sun did not help matters. Perhaps I did him an injustice. He 
needed fresh air, sunshine, and exercise. The only problem was 
getting his head out of his book. The wave that came over the 
side and soaked him solved that problem. His book was as 
drenched as he was.

Jason stared at me indignantly. He was enraged and 
obviously affronted. His self-esteem reached its lowest level. 
He shivered with cold as the wind blew through his wet clothes. 
He looked very unhappy and truly miserable. I watched guiltily 
as his jaws clenched tightly together, either resisting the 
temptation to cry or preventing his teeth from chattering. I 
heard him snivel as I refastened the steering lock and reset the 
wind vane of the self-steering mechanism. He sniffed again as I 
turned back and sat down again. Water was still dribbling from 
his clothes.

"I-I-I,... w-w-want,... t-t-t-to g-g-g-go g-g-g-get ch-ch-
changed," he spluttered falteringly.

I wanted to hug him. He looked so devoid of warmth and 
vitality that I loved him. He was mine. I had to love him.

"You can't go down there like that," I warned him. "You'll 
get water everywhere. I don't want things soaked."

"I-I-I'm c-c-cold," he whined.

"I'm sure you are," I observed. "You're wet! Get your 
clothes off."

Jason looked at me uncertainly as if taking off his clothes 
was prohibited. At the time I thought of the boy as being 
undersexed, almost to the point of being asexual. I shrugged. 
"You can stand there shivering if you want, Jason. Or you can 
take your clothes off and get dry. Take your pick. There's 
nothing to be embarrassed about. I'm your father, remember. You 
might not like the idea, but I am. It wasn't all that long ago 
that I used to change your diapers and wipe the crap off you."

The boy blushed shamefully. It was, at least, a sign of 
some life. It was followed quickly by another. "You're a real 
shit, you know that!" he said under his breath.

"Why Jason, because I don't put up with your whining, 
stupid nonsense? You're a boy, you ought to grow up and stop 
trying to be a damned girl."

He wailed. A sob started deep inside him and burst out of 
him. He rushed forwards, his small fists clenched tightly and he 
began to hammer impotently on my chest. He tripped on the sheets 
that were coiled in the cockpit and started to plunge towards 
the lee side as the boat heeled over in a sudden gust.

After years at sea, responses become automatic. I lunged 
after him. If I had not caught him by the legs, the lifelines 
might have stopped him, but I doubt it. The boat was moving in 
excess of ten or twelve knots and the wind was gusting over 
twenty knots. If he had gone overboard it would take several 
minutes to get the boat turned around and back in the same spot. 
With the waves increasing in height, I would have been lucky to 
find him, assuming of course, that he had not drowned by then. I 
locked my arm around him as tightly as I could and hung on to 
the binnacle. For about a minute he struggled violently against 
me until the gust passed and the boat righted itself. He seemed 
to want to go over the side.

He was hysterical. Tears poured out of him, in a howling 
wail. He sobbed incoherently but between gasps I managed to 
catch a few words. He repeated the same thing over and over. 
Simply, he wanted to know why I hated him so much. I didn't know 
the answer to his question. Maybe it was the fact that he looked 
so much like his mother to my eyes. Maybe it was because he 
appeared to be so little like myself. Maybe it was because he 
was not what I expected him to be like. He was small and 
sensitive, he was beautiful, and he was not at all like Jeff.

 But, if he had been cold before, now he was freezing. I 
held his small, shaking body against me and pulled his tee-shirt 
upwards. It peeled away, clinging wetly to his skin. As I 
reached his arms, he obediently lifted them upwards so that I 
could pull it up and over his head. I reached down and placed my 
hands on his narrow hips as I gently eased him away from me. He 
was still blubbering, endlessly, as I unfastened the button at 
the front of his denim shorts and tugged his zipper open. I 
stripped his wet, dark-blue shorts off him with a quick, 
downward motion and dropped them in a sodden pile with his tee 
shirt.

Except for his little, white jockey-underpants my son was 
naked. It had the most disturbing effect on me. I looked at him 
long and hard and it started to make me hard. Other than the 
occasional erection when I wrestled with Jeff, I had never been 
aroused by another male. My eyes travelled down Jason's pale 
body. He was lightly tanned and he appeared to be devoid of 
hair. There was not even a trace of the soft 'peach fuzz' that 
most children have. It was the total absence of hair and the 
fact that he was perfectly formed with the elegant, classical 
proportions of a master sculptor that made his smooth body more 
like marble than living flesh.

His underpants clung to his body. To me, that last vestige 
of my son's modesty was more exciting than if he had been naked. 
I shuddered as I realized that my own son was infinitely more 
arousing to me than Tina had been, in her bikini, or out of it. 
In the wet, thin cotton the outline of his small genitals was 
clearly visible. The shape of his tiny penis and testicles held 
my eyes riveted. He was wearing high-rise briefs that started 
above his navel. Then, unbelievably, the urge built within me, 
the urge to take his underpants off and see all of him.

He looked up at me, still shivering as his skin started to 
become pock-marked with goose-flesh. His lips were compressed 
tightly, tears still trickled down his soft, small cheeks, he 
looked at me desperately, anxious for my sympathy, still 
wondering why I despised him so much. Without thinking, I pulled 
off my own tee shirt and began to dry him. I wanted only to take 
my mind of the fearful thoughts that were forming in my mind. 
Even as I dried him down I realized that my goal had not been 
solely to make him warm. I had wanted to touch his perfect, 
little body. More than anything, I wanted to pull his underpants 
down.

I moved back guiltily, wanting to feel revulsion for 
thoughts that should have been repugnant to any normal male. My 
tee shirt was damp but my son was dry. Well, most of him was dry 
because I had not dared to touch the part of him that was still 
covered by his little, wet underpants.

"You feel better," I asked softly.

"Yeah. Th-a-a-nks," he shivered.

"You better go put some warm clothes on, Jay-boy," I 
suggested. 

Jason's head jerked as he looked at me uncertainly. I had 
startled him. "Y-y-you used t-t-to c-c-call me that w-w-when I w-
w-was a b-b-baby," he stammered painfully.

"Huh? Oh! Yes, I guess I did. You used to be my Jay-boy, 
remember?"

My son nodded slowly. "Do you still feel cold?" I asked 
gently. Instinctively, my hand reached forward and despite the 
frenzied warnings from my left brain not to, I touched him. My 
hand brushed the small, slender body, feeling the smooth skin of 
his belly immediately below his ribs. Suddenly, my feeling that 
the boy was inert and made of marble vanished. I felt live, warm 
flesh. The impulse to tear my hand away came back but by then it 
was too late. My fingers caressed him, pressing into the silky 
skin as they stroked back and forth.

I glanced up at him, finally taking my eyes away from the 
tiny bulge between his legs. "Do you still feel cold?" I 
repeated.

He was startled out of his own reverie. "Huh?" he said 
absently, then after thinking for a moment, shook his head. 

"Do you want to go put some dry clothes on?" I asked 
gently. The idea that lurked at the back of my mind sprang 
forward. "Or, if you want, you can stay up here and warm up in 
the sun. You've only got to lie here on the seat and stay out of 
the breeze and you'll be fine." 

"M-m-may I? D-d-don't you m-m-mind?"

I grinned at him. Why would he think that I would mind if 
he lay around the cockpit naked all day? Suddenly, I felt very, 
very hot. I swallowed nervously. I wondered if Jason sensed my 
desire. It was over-powering me and it seemed to be so obvious 
that it would be impossible to miss. I tried to think of Tina. I 
tried as hard as I could but each time my thoughts were pulled 
back to the present. My penis lurched as it tightened still 
further in the confines of my shorts. Already I could feel it 
bulging as it became harder. What was happening too me? Was I, 
what I had accused him of? Was I the queer, the faggot? I wiped 
away the sweat that formed on my brow. I nodded. I would do 
anything to keep him here on deck with me.

Slowly my courage returned. "Of course not, Jason. Why 
would I mind?" He smiled shyly and shrugged as he settled back 
on the leeward seat. There was still a risk that another wave 
might come over the side, but he was safely out of the wind and 
in the sun and no matter how far the boat heeled he would not 
slide more than a few inches at most.

He gazed back at me as I started to pick his wet clothes up 
from the cockpit floor where I had dropped them. I squeezed out 
as much water as I could and placed them over the wheel so they 
would dry off. I met his eyes with mine and I smiled at him 
reassuringly. He gave me a slow, shy smile in return as he 
curled up in warmth of the sun.

 I found his book in the corner of the cockpit, next to the 
drain hole. It too, was soaked from cover to cover. I picked it 
up and a stream of water trickled out it. Playfully I squeezed 
it out the same way that I had squeezed his clothes out. Jason 
started to giggle as the water dribbled down my forearms. In all 
likelihood the book was ruined but I placed it over the wind-
direction indicator.

"It'll be a while before you can read that," I laughed, 
then added, "Unless you don't mind peeling the pages instead of 
turning them." My son gave me a big grin. It made me feel 
happier than I had been for a long, long while. It also made me 
feel braver. Before I could stop myself I had said what I had 
wanted to say for the last few minutes.

"If you take off your underpants I'll hang them here to dry 
out as well," I said in barely disguised innocence.

Jason still grinned at me. His big, blue eyes were 
magnetic. They reflected the innocence of childhood and I felt a 
rush of adrenaline as I realized that he was considering my 
suggestion.

"M-m-my underp-p-pants," he asked. "Then I w-w-won't have 
anything on."

"So? I have seen you naked before, you know." I smiled at 
him teasingly as I added, "Lots of times. You used to like 
running around in the raw when you were younger. For a while I 
used to think you were born to be a nudist."

Jason regarded me uncertainly. This close, I wasn't 
prepared to stop. I continued to smile at him. "I have seen it 
all before. I even know you aren't circumcised. But do you know 
why you aren't?" His eyes flashed downward momentarily as if 
trying to remind himself whether his foreskin was, or was not 
intact. He shook his head slightly. "Because I said no. Your mom 
wanted you cut and I wanted you natural. That was one fight I 
actually won." 

His grin widened as his perfectly white teeth appeared. 
Unless I was mistaken he still had some baby teeth and there was 
a gap on the right side where he was waiting for a replacement 
model. "Yeah?" he said curiously. 

Emboldened, I persisted in my recollections of my two years 
and seven months with Jason. "Really! I used to give you baths a 
lot too. Back then, you were my favorite person in the whole 
world Jay-boy." I began to laugh as I remembered more details.

"W-w-what's s-s-so funny?" Jason demanded.

I shook my head as I tried to restrain myself. "I was just 
remembering something. Just about every time I bathed you, you 
used to get an erection. It was the tiniest little thing but it 
would stick up so hard and proud. You used to lie in the bath-
tub and play with it." Jason reddened slightly. I enjoyed the 
boy's discomfiture as I wondered whether he could remember the 
games he played. I decided to help him along. "Your favorite 
game was to tie your toy boat up to it. Now let me think, what 
was the name you called it. It wasn't pee-pee or anything like 
that. Uh! Hmmmm! It was a name you made up for it and it was 
really funny at the time. Well I'm sure it will come to me 
sooner or later."

"W-w-why d-didn't you w-w-want me c-c-c,... c-circumc-c-
ised,... l-l-like you, Dad?" he asked with a curious expression 
on his face. He twisted onto his back and put his hands behind 
his head.

I thought for almost a minute before I answered. "I guess 
because that's the way we you came. I couldn't see the point in 
cutting off part of you. Anyway, you were mostly foreskin, back 
then." I grinned, "You wouldn't have had much left afterwards. 
Besides I think boys look better with it on. It looks a lot 
sexier."

Then his words hit me. How dumb could I be? My beautiful 
young son had just called me 'Dad' and I hadn't noticed. I 
stared at him in disbelief. The smile on his face was almost 
mystical. Without a word he arched his back and lifted his 
buttocks up off the seat. He pushed his wet underpants downward 
to his knees before he settled back on the seat. I turned away 
deliberately as soon as I realized he was undressing completely. 
I saw only the briefest glimpse of bare, alabaster-white flesh. 
I gazed out over the ocean, examining the horizon for signs of 
other boats, for floating debris, for anything to take my mind 
of the fact that my son was probably naked on the seat only a 
few feet away from me.

"Heh, Dad!" he called out suddenly.

I reacted by turning back, just in time to catch his 
underpants was they came flying through the air in a wet, sodden 
ball of cotton. I grinned at him as I tried hard to keep my eyes 
from searching out and focusing on the one part of him that I 
wanted to see more than I could stand. Again, I endeavored to 
keep my mind on other things, to avert my eyes from what was now 
definitely very naked and grinning as he lay on the seat next to 
me.

I carefully unfolded the balled-up cloth. They were turned 
inside out and as I flipped them out it was impossible not to 
marvel at the small size. To my eyes, my son's underpants seemed 
no larger than they had been when he had first stopped wearing 
diapers and started wearing 'big-boy' pants. In a rush, my 
memory came back to and I started to laugh. 

"I remember now," I finally chortled. "I started calling 
your dick a puppy. After all, if a girl has a pussy, then a boy 
has a puppy, right? Actually, I think it was kind of appropriate 
as well. He was always getting into mischief in the bath-tub."

My son smirked cheekily. "S-s-so w-w-what did I call it?"

"Let me think. It was a doggy name, from one of your books. 
Uh! Yeah! I know! Pokey! Boy, was that ever on the money," I 
laughed, "He was always poking his head up." Jason blushed 
slightly. "He was, Jas'. It was pretty funny at the time, but 
it's only natural for it to happen. It's nothing for you to be 
embarrassed about, now, or then. It used to happen all the 
time." I grinned. "At least when you were with me. I don't think 
your mother liked it when Pokey stuck his head up. And she 
certainly didn't like either of us calling him Pokey."

 I turned his underpants around. There was a little brown 
'skid' mark in the seat. It was an enchanting reminder of the 
way he had once been. Just before he was out of diapers his 
bowel movements had become quite substantial. He used to 
regularly be covered from his spine to his fat, tiny scrotum. On 
some occasions, it went all the way up his belly and over his 
back. There had been what I could only describe as an intense 
closeness to him, almost an enjoyment in cleaning him up, wiping 
the smelly mess that fouled him, ensuring that his scrotum and 
penis were absolutely clean of it. I even wenet to the extent of 
folding a point in the toilet-wipe and inserting it into the 
tiny opening of his foreskin as deeply as possible. That used to 
bring forth a fit of wild giggles, and frequently, a nice, 
little erection.  Even at two-years-old, Jason was a sensuous 
and erotic child. 

Then, unable to resist the temptation a moment longer I 
took my first long look. I had not seen my son naked for more 
than seven years. I had adored him as a baby. Even the 'terrible 
twos' were wonderful. He was wonderful. How could I have ever 
left him alone for all that time? The beauty of his face was 
reciprocated in his perfect young body. He was lightly tanned 
except for his middle section. There the skin was all but pure 
white, a deliciously soft, creamy-pink color. It was the color 
that Fraggonard used for flesh. It was a delicate tone that 
bespoke of the fact that this part of him had never witnessed 
the rays of the sun. 

No, that was a lie. As a baby I had often let him play 
outside in the yard. I would watch him splashing in his paddle-
pool or covering himself with sand in the sand-box. On most days 
he would be naked. The summer he turned two, he had the most 
gorgeous tan from head to toe. What had happened to the 
confident little boy? He had never stuttered then. I could 
remember those afternoons we shared vividly. He had been so 
happy and playful as we frolicked in the grass, wrestling, him 
cool and wet and naked, me hot and sweaty and clothed.

I wonder whether my astonishment was revealed on my face. I 
felt it with a sudden jarring shock. In one way at least the 
passage of time appeared to have stopped. My son's little penis, 
his testicles too, for that matter, seemed to be no larger than 
they had been more than seven years earlier. Now, his genitals 
looked disproportionately smaller as the rest of him had grown. 
My eyes were riveted to his groin as I stared, lovingly. His 
genitals were, like the rest of him, perfect. His foreskin still 
appeared to be inordinately long relative to the short length of 
his penis. His scrotum with its tiny precious cargo was tight. 
It formed a little wrinkled lump between his thighs. The skin 
was somewhat darker and it emphasized that wonderful part of him.

Even though I had no basis for comparison, I knew that his 
scrotum was small for a boy of his age. It had been small when 
he was young and now with the retarded growth of his genitals, 
it appeared even smaller. In that respect, my son was similar to 
me. For most men, the scrotal pouch hangs at least as far as the 
penis. In my case, the scrotum is compact and when fully 
relaxed, barely comes past the halfway point of my penis. In 
Jason's case, his scrotal development was further restricted so 
that his testicles were so close to his body that they were 
barely visible. I realized instinctively and sympathetically 
that he would be the brunt of more than a few 'locker-room' 
jokes as he grew up. But in its smallness, his little scrotum 
was jewel-like. Like the sparkling, diamond stud in his ear, it 
held my full attention. I breathed slowly as I gazed upon the 
naked boy, marvelling at his beauty. I could never hate him. 

I looked too long, too hard. Jason began to blush. Suddenly 
filled with embarrassment, his hand moved downwards and covered 
his exposed sex organs. His eyes met mine as we glared at each 
other silently. I needed to say something, anything to divert 
both his attention and mine from what confronted us.

"Like I said, Jay-boy, you were mostly foreskin," I said 
softly. I smiled weakly and breathed outward and then forced 
myself to turn away. If I had not been standing behind the 
binnacle, Jason would have seen my erection. I busied myself, 
tidying the sheets, taking in a little more of the genoa, giving 
more tension to the back stay, adjusting the helm.

The rum-line from Cape Sounion was 75 miles, almost a 
direct line southeast between the islands of Kea and Kithnos. 
The wind had definitely changed direction by nearly twenty 
points to the east. If I wanted to reach Paros by nightfall I 
would have to beat into the wind. The waves were starting to 
build and I knew that it would be a rough ride. Personally I 
enjoy a rough sea. There is something very satisfying about the 
power of a yacht as it surges from one wave to the next and 
white spray cascades outwards. I also knew it would probably 
make Jason seasick very quickly.

I considered the options. The best idea was to ease off the 
sheets and take the less demanding course towards Mykonos. It 
was too far to go to tack down to Paros today. If the wind kept 
swinging to the east, there was a strong probability that it 
heralded the meltemi. That was an unpleasant thought. The winds 
could reach fifty knots as hot air swept down into the 
Mediterranean from the Russian steppes. Sometimes it lasted for 
days at a time. The forecast had not mentioned a meltemi but my 
experience with Greek forecasts was not reassuring. We needed to 
be 'holed up' somewhere in the lee of an island before dark.

I eased the sheets and reset the self-steering for a course 
that would take us eastward towards Mykonos. For a moment I gave 
some thought to staying at Siros. It lay off the port beam, 
about three or four miles to the north. I took a quick peek at 
Jason. He seemed to be doing fine, almost enjoying the rise and 
fall of the boat as it lifted up into each wave and rushed down 
its face into the next one. For a while at least, seasickness 
would not be a problem.

 I stepped into the cockpit and examined the chart. On our 
current course, nearly due east, was Mykonos. I guessed the 
distance to be about twenty five miles, certainly no more than 
thirty miles. I checked the log. We were making over ten knots. 
Three hours at most, we could be there by three o'clock at the 
latest. The chart showed that there were some protected 
anchorages but one in particular caught my eye. We could stay at 
a cove near Super-Paradise Beach for the night. I glanced at 
Jason, wondering what he would think if he knew what was in my 
mind. If the wind abated tomorrow we could head for the village 
of Mykonos, or if it swung back towards the west again, we could 
go south to Paros. If it strengthened, we could stay over on 
Mykonos for a few days.

 Slowly my aching-hard erection subsided. I felt relief. I 
also felt disbelief. Looking at the slender, naked body of my 
own son had made me hard. I had been much harder than I had ever 
been before and considerably more that I had been with Tina. It 
was an intensely disturbing thought. It was a thought that made 
my heart beat faster even as I tasted bile in my throat and 
guilt settled over me like a furtive cloud.

For the next ten minutes I kept my eyes averted, stealing 
only an occasional glance and always avoiding the one place that 
I wanted to feast my eyes on. Jason had stretched out on the 
seat. One arm was crooked under his head providing a pillow of 
sorts. His other arm was above his head, his fingers hooked 
around the drum of a winch. The effect was startling. It 
stretched the skin of his chest and belly taut. Thin, sharp 
lines marked the position of every rib. Slender, gently swelling 
muscles of his belly formed a flat groove from his chest to his 
groin. Again I forced my eyes away.

I reached into the side locker and extracted a plastic 
bottle of suntan lotion. It was the amber, oily type with an SPF 
close to zero but it was all that I had aboard. I made a mental 
note to buy more. I should have done that in Athens, the price 
doubled in the islands and from the look of his skin he would go 
through a few gallons by the time he left for home. I leaned 
forward and passed the bottle across to Jason. Fortunately, his 
right knee was drawn up so that I saw nothing beyond his 
slender, beautifully shaped thigh and leg.

I grinned at him as he reached forward to take it from me. 
Already his body looked warm and dry. "You better put some of 
this on, Jay-boy," I said with a wink. "And make sure you put a 
lot of it on all over you. If you get Pokey sunburnt you'll know 
it."

My son giggled as he flipped the cap off. He squeezed the 
bottle over his chest and the amber oil squirted out into a big 
puddle on his pale flesh between his nipples. He began to 
massage it into his skin. It was about the sexiest thing I have 
ever seen. My penis lurched again as my heart rate surged and my 
normally low blood-pressure doubled. I forced myself to look 
upward. I gazed at the sails. The main mast towered more than 
seventy feet above me. The sails seemed vast from the 
perspective that I had and the glare was intense. I closed my 
eyes and willed my thoughts away from Jason, trying hard to 
think of anything else but him and the motion of his small deft 
fingers rubbing into his belly. I tried to think of Tina, of the 
soft brown triangle of hair between her legs and the narrow, 
very wet, slit that had sucked my cock in and held it tightly.

But the desire to look at my naked son became stronger and 
stronger. A minute passed. I opened my eyes and turned to him. 
He was sitting up, rubbing both hands against his legs. He 
glistened with a lustrous, oily sheen. He worked intently, 
absorbed in his self-indulgent self-pleasuring. Because that was 
exactly what it was. His eyes were half-closed and his mouth was 
half-open as he soaked up the life-giving energy from the sun 
and radiated his own vibrant energy. Jason was every bit as hard 
as I was. Casually his right hand slid from his legs to his 
groin and I watched, mesmerized as his fingers stroked against 
the tiny rigid shaft that lay flat against his lower belly. 
After only a few moments of gently fondling himself, two of his 
fingers encircled his scrotum and he began to rub at his 
testicles. His thumb and one finger, his first finger remained 
looped around his little, hard penis.

Without warning, his eyes flashed open, met mine, and his 
hand jerked away. Instinctively both knees came up to his chest, 
blocking my view of his tiny boy-penis. He blushed self-
consciously, visibly embarrassed. That he had been so engrossed 
in achieving his own pleasure as to be unaware of my presence 
both excited and fascinated me.

"It looks as though Pokey's up to his old tricks again," I 
teased gently.

Jason reddened slightly but I smiled reassuringly as I 
added, "I bet it felt nice. It's nothing to be ashamed about, 
Jay-boy. Every boy does that, you know. That's one of the 
reasons why its there."

He swallowed nervously and he considered my smile for a 
moment or two. "Yeah?"

I nodded. "It's certainly a whole lot more fun than just 
peeing through it, isn't it?"

He smirked and nodded back at me. Slowly he settled back 
down on the seat and stretched out, though he was careful to 
keep his right leg crooked and the knee lifted up to ensure his 
privacy.

For the next two hours I stole quick, surreptitious 
glances, peeking at him when he was absorbed in reading his book 
or dozing, catatonic in the warmth of the sun. He was very 
careful not to touch his penis again while I was near him. By 
two o'clock, Mykonos was fast approaching. I went below and 
retrieved a navigation guide and a pair of bright-yellow 
swimming shorts that I found in Jason's cabin. His cabin was a 
mess. The motion of the boat had tossed his suitcase to the 
floor and it had opened. Clothes, books, and toilet articles 
littered the floor. I shrugged. A day earlier, even a few hours 
earlier, I would have shouted at him to clean it up. It wasn't 
his fault, if anything, it was mine for not having told him to 
make sure that everything was secured down. He would clean it up 
in his own good time.

I started back up, climbing the stairs carefully since I 
had only one hand free for the boat and it was still heeling 
considerably with each strong gust. I barely suppressed a heart 
attack. Jason's head was towards me and I looked along his 
slender, young body to his groin. He was playing with himself. 
His penis was hard again and his fingers grasped it tightly. He 
was trying to pull the foreskin back, endeavoring to retract it 
past his glans. It was nearly past the head but the last eighth 
of an inch was still too tight to pull past. He breathed heavily 
as he pushed and pulled at it.

I could have stood there on the second step and watched all 
day. And during the night too for that matter. He was obviously 
enjoying himself. His penis was oil-slicked and glistening and 
it was evidently slippery as his fingers kept losing their grip. 
It was only the overriding importance of making a safe approach 
into Mykonos and avoiding the rocks around Delos, that demanded 
my attention and took my interest away from him. I ascended the 
stairs, making as much noise as I could to give him warning and 
then tossed his shorts at him. They landed over his genitals. He 
jumped as if I had given him an electric shock. He had been in 
another world, living in a fantasy of his own making. His hand 
instantly dropped down and covered his aroused genitals as I 
came through the companionway and stepped into the cockpit.

"You better put these on," I grinned, "Before the locals 
get a look at Pokey. They might arrest us," I teased.

He smirked at me with a mysterious beguiling shyness and 
for a moment I wondered whether Jason had known that I had been 
watching him from the companionway. He slipped his feet through 
the legs of his shorts, pulled them along his legs and thighs, 
then came to his feet to finish the job. I caught a last glimpse 
as 'Pokey' disappeared behind opaque, bright-yellow nylon. It 
probably saved me from a stroke.

He dropped back onto the seat and resumed his shy, knowing 
smile. His blond hair was radiant in the bright afternoon 
sunshine. Again, I gazed silently, captivated. I was enchanted 
by his beauty. He was still the wonderful little boy that I had 
loved so dearly, seven years ago.

"We have a choice, Jay-boy," I stated. "No, this time you 
have a choice. We can go round to the other side of the island 
to the town or we can find a nice, quiet cove on this side and 
stay there. You pick."

"W-w-hat would we do if w-w-we went to the town?"

"Well, I guess we'd tie up at the harbor and walk around. 
Maybe get dinner at a restaurant. Most villages on the islands 
are very pretty and Mykonos is one of the best. It is real 
touristy, though," I answered.

Jason grinned. "Hmmmm! I d-d-don't know. The c-c-cove, I 
guess."

I nodded. "Good choice. We can go swimming if you want." I 
changed course to take us in closer to the coast. "Jason?"

"Yeah, Dad?"

My heart leaped again. "Jas',... when did you start 
stuttering?" I asked gently.

I saw Jason's lips press together. He breathed out slowly. 
"I-I-I d-d-don't remember, b-b-but it w-w-wasn't long after y-y-
y-y-you left."

I shook my head sadly. "God, I'm sorry Jas'. I loved you so 
much. I wanted to take you with me. I really did. I've missed 
you so much."


PLATONIC LOVE.

DAY TWELVE.  Super-Paradise Beach, Mykonos.  Afternoon, August 4th, 1993


"Not only was he fair of face but if he could be prevailed upon to disrobe, 
you would have no more eyes for his face, so perfect is his beauty in every 
part."


Plato.

It took nearly an hour to find a place to anchor. I wanted 
to be close enough to Super-Paradise Beach that we could use the 
dinghy to motor to the beach while still being far enough away 
from other boats so that we were ostensibly by ourselves. But 
even as we approached the coast, even as I lowered the anchor 
into the crystal-clear, aquamarine water, I could not admit to 
myself why I had come here with Jason and why I had searched to 
find a secluded spot. Super-Paradise Beach is a nudist beach. It 
is also a gay beach. What I had in my mind, I dared not admit. 
Not to myself, and certainly not to Jason, for such an 
acknowledgment of my prurient desire would be tantamount to a 
confession. I began to wonder what I would tell him when the 
time came. The 'moment of reckoning' was fast approaching and I 
had a dilemma.

As we neared the coast of Mykonos I placed Jason in charge 
of the helm and went forward to drop the sails. His face lit up 
with a beaming smile that was wide and wonderful. I squeezed his 
shoulder and said, "Just keep the compass needle right on 85 
degrees, son."

I felt a thrill as I acknowledged Jason as my offspring for 
the first time since I had deserted him all those years ago. He 
didn't say anything but his smile changed to become even wider - 
if that was possible. I left him standing by the wheel, his 
slender arms stretched wide apart as he gripped it hard, 
concentrating all his attention on steering exactly 85 degrees. 
Occasionally, I glanced back at him. He appeared to be doing 
very well. Like most people at the helm for the first time, he 
went too far, then over-corrected. It's a natural mistake 
because it takes time for a fifty-three foot yacht to respond to 
a change in direction, no matter how small. With each minute 
that passed he became more confident. I began to realize that my 
son was also a very fast learner as he began to gauge the helm 
movements that were necessary in the long swell that rocked the 
boat back and forth.

I lowered the main-sail first and then went back to the 
cockpit to see how he was doing. He looked at me expectantly, 
still partially afraid that I would shout at him. Instead I 
squeezed his small, bare shoulder again. His skin was 
deliciously warm to touch and its softness defied description.

"You're doing a great job, Jay-boy," I observed as I peered 
at the compass. "The next stage is a bit harder. I want you to 
line up with that point, the one with the olive trees. Yeah! 
That's it, a bit more, not too far. Good! Now just keep that 
dead ahead, straight in front of you, so it's in a direct line 
with the pulpit."

"The what?" he asked nervously as he trembled slightly with 
growing tension.

I smiled. "The railing at the bow - that's the pulpit. 
You're doing great, Jas'. Don't be so afraid."

He nodded and I went aft to lower the mizzen sail. When 
that was secured safely, I went back to the cockpit. The speed 
of the boat had decreased and it no longer heeled dramatically 
with each strong gust. I stood behind him and started the 
engine. The starter whirred and eighty horsepower of diesel came 
to life. As I pushed the gears into forward, Jason's warm, 
almost-bare body pressed against mine. I felt an involuntary 
quiver as his back touched my chest. His soft, long hair brushed 
my nose and as I took my hand away from the engine controls, I 
lifted it up and placed it around his chest so that my fingers 
pressed into his ribs, and hugged him. 

"You're doing a great job," I said lovingly. My penis 
lurched immediately. It was getting to be a habit, though it was 
no longer a response that frightened me. In fact, with practice, 
it could become a very enjoyable habit. For a few seconds I held 
him tight, feeling the young warmth of his bare skin against 
mine. He seemed fresh and innocent and his silky-smooth body 
felt absolutely delicious against mine. As that thought came to 
my mind I jerked away guiltily, for it had been accompanied by 
another that was far more shocking. He felt better than any 
female I had ever touched. Tina paled in comparison. He was 
radiant and brilliant, she was dulled and tarnished.

With the boat finally anchored by both bow anchors a 
hundred yards off shore, I felt confident that it would be safe 
even if the meltemi did blow in during the night. It was 
increasingly unlikely that the wind would strengthen during the 
coming hours because already it seemed to have eased off by five 
knots. Howevr, anchored where we were in the cove, it was 
difficult to be sure simply because we were protected from the 
east by high cliffs. It would be a different matter if the wind 
swung around to the west, though such a change was very unlikely.

I went below, changed into my swimming costume, checked the 
Radio MYKONOS weather-report on the VHF radio, grabbed two 
towels, and started on my way back up. I was halfway up the 
stairs when I thought of taking my camera on the 'excursion' I 
had been planning for what seemed most of the afternoon. Even if 
things did not turn out quite the way I hoped, it would still be 
nice to have some pictures of Jason. In fact, it would have been 
wonderful to get some while he was lying naked on the cockpit 
seat earlier in the day. I had thought about it continuously 
during the several hours that he laid there sunning himself but 
I could not find the courage to get my camera and suggest that I 
photograph him, naked. I intended to remedy that situation as 
soon as possible. I suppressed a smile as I picked up my old 
Nikon and a spare roll of film.

Jason was waiting for me beside the dinghy. "Ready to go, 
Jas'?" I asked.

He nodded happily. I noticed that he was carrying the 
bottle of suntan oil with him. Jason learned quickly.

But I was taking advantage of him. I knew I was embarking 
on what I would later reflect back on and conclude was the most 
despicable thing that I had ever done. It would have no equal. 
Not even when I took Tina to a nude beach on St. Martin and took 
advantage of the peculiar laws of France and the Netherlands as 
they pertain to sexual intercourse with minors, had I reached 
such a low. With Tina, I had zig-zagged from one island to 
another, always staying overnight on a Dutch Protectorate; Saba, 
and St. Eustatius, so that I had not committed an illegal act. 
With Jason, I planned to take him to a gay, nude beach. Ashamed, 
I stopped unfastening the dinghy and stood up. I let out a slow 
breath, a sigh of anger at myself, hating the feelings that 
seemed to rise up, like bile in my throat.

"Jas', I,... I think we should go to Mykonos, to the town 
for tonight," I said dejectedly.

"Why Dad? Don't you think it's safe here?" Jason asked.

He was closer to the truth than he could possibly imagine. 
Too close for comfort. I shook my head, resisting the impulse 
that lurched inside my shorts. I wiped the sweat off my brow. I 
gazed around the cove. It was very private. Unlike the coves and 
bays closer to the beaches, this was deserted. But a few hundred 
yards away I could see a collection of masts of small yachts. A 
group of charter boats that gathered like a flock of birds 
around a water hole, indicated the approximate location of the 
'action'. I decided silently, unable to resist the temptation 
that was foreign to me but now seemed as if it had always been 
part of my psyche.

"Do you think the wind will get stronger, Dad?" he 
persisted.

I regarded him quietly. He was too young to understand the 
feelings that I had discovered in myself only a few hours 
earlier. He was too young to bear the guilt that I felt, too 
young for the emotional demands I would place upon him. And he 
was my son, my own flesh and blood. Unable to look at the small, 
perfectly beautiful face any longer, I closed my eyes. I tried 
to drive out the thoughts that dominated my consciousness. I 
longed to escape the pain of unfulfilled lust that had been with 
me ever since I had removed his wet tee shirt and shorts.

There was only one course of action that was open to me. I 
took it. "Jason,..." I began slowly, "We have to talk."

My son grinned cheekily. "Sure Pop! You want to tell me 
about the birds and the bees, huh?"

I felt my heart jump, skip a beat, and begin to pound 
frantically. I tried to reason with myself, unsuccessfully 
attempting to convince myself that it was impossible for a ten-
year-old boy to have any comprehension of the loaded meaning of 
his words. But it was exactly as if he had read my mind. I 
stared at him mutely. In mind-befuddled disbelief, I watched his 
grin change to a teasing smirk. 

I shook my head to clear the ranging confusion in my head. 
"Kind of," I said awkwardly.

"I already know all about it, Dad. They tell us that stuff 
in the fourth grade, this year at school. It was just before we 
went on summer vacation. I guess so we don't get into trouble or 
anything like that," he giggled.

I looked at the boy uncertainly. Slowly the realization 
dawned that for the last few minutes he had not stuttered once. 
Not once. I wondered whether he realized it. Then I put two and 
two together and came up with an explanation that 'floored' me. 
Just steering the boat for a ten minute period, helping me set 
the anchors and tidy up, had boosted his confidence to an 
unprecedented level. 

"So what do you want to tell me?" he persisted. 

Now it was my turn to be nervous. "Jas' I really think we 
should leave here," I repeated.

The boy shrugged. "Okay, if you want to. I do like it here 
but we can always come back again, can't we, Dad?" I swallowed 
and nodded weakly. "It doesn't look quite so windy," he added 
hopefully.

"I noticed," I said. I paused and decided to tell him what 
I felt. I did a poor job of it. "Jas', I want to tell you 
something." He looked at me expectantly. I gestured towards the 
north. "Over there, about where those masts are, there's a nude 
beach."

My son giggled. "A nude beach. You,... you mean people 
don't wear anything? Like no swimming costumes,... or anything?" 
he asked. "Man, that's wild."

I nodded nervously. "I,... I came here,... because,... well 
I thought,... well maybe you'd like to go."

"You mean go swimming without any clothes on?" he asked 
uncertainly. I nodded in confirmation. "There'd be other people 
there?" he continued. I nodded again. "Gee, well, I guess. I've 
never done anything like that. Swim in the raw, but if you want, 
I guess it would be all right with me."

There was a long silence between us. "We'd,... would both 
of us be naked?" Jason asked hesitantly. I nodded slowly. He 
smiled shyly. "Both of us?" he repeated, then slowly added, 
"Yeah? I guess so. It would be kind of fun, wouldn't it, Dad?"

I was caught. Trapped by my own perverted lust, I was 
confronted by a desire that was so depraved that most people 
would be more than willing kill me to rid the world of another 
child abuser. I was a pederast, the carrion of human sexuality. 
Even worse, I lusted after my own son, far worse than a 'love 
that could not speak its name.' I shuddered guiltily and tried 
to turn away, no longer able to look at the object of my 
concupiscence.

"It's a gay beach," I muttered, hoping that the boy would 
not hear me.

"Gay? What do you mean, Dad?" he asked uncertainly.

"It's,... it's just for men, Jason. Only guys go there. Gay 
men,... homosexuals," I mumbled as I stared down self-
consciously, guiltily examining the deck caulking.

Suddenly, I began to wonder what on earth I was doing 
there. What did I expect him to do? To acquiesce? Did I really 
think I would hear his sweet, high-pitched voice say, "Yeah, 
Dad, that'd be loads of fun. And then you can screw me 
afterwards." I felt disgusted. I was a pervert, a depraved and 
sick person who needed to be locked up, or worse.

But Jason heard me and I heard a a sudden intake of breath, 
then silence. Long awful seconds of silence then Jason screamed 
at me. "God, I hate you! I hate you! Why d-d-d-did you h-h-h-
have t-t-to ruin everything? Why c-c-c-can't you l-l-leave m-m-
me alone? I-I-I h-h-h-hate you?"

As I turned around, the boy began to sob loudly, jerking 
back and away from me as he trembled uncontrollably. His face 
distorted in terror. His head shook in frantic denial. He 
twisted away as I reached for him and he ran. Within seconds he 
reached the bow and he squeezed behind the roller-furler and 
into the pulpit. He was as far away from me as he could get.

I have never hated any person as much as I hated myself at 
that moment. I stared at him silently. My fist clenched and in 
self-loathing I pounded on my forehead. I slumped down onto the 
teak deck as my knees weakened. At that moment in my life, I 
wanted only to die.

The seagulls wheeling overhead brought me to my senses. 
Their strident cries as they dived into the water for fish 
finally penetrated my consciousness and I staggered upward. I 
could not remember how much time had passed. Perhaps minutes, 
perhaps much longer. At the far end off the boat I could see 
Jason. He was huddled up, his head between his knees, he was 
distraught and from the faint sounds I could hear, he was still 
crying in his endless torment.

I could remember part of a line from the movie I had 
watched with Jason. It was something about darkness and light. I 
tried to think back, picturing the closing scenes as the 
beautiful castle was disintegrating and the Princess was talking 
to Atreyu, the handsome warrior. The exact words avoided me but 
the essence of their meaning did not. In the darkness, it took 
only a speck of light to rebuild the wonders of Fantasia. That 
speck of light came as a sudden intuition as I wondered about 
the boy's horrified response. It far exceeded what I expected 
and with almost mystical insight, the reason was transparently 
clear to me. The only explanation I could think of was that 
Jason believed himself to be gay. My senseless, stupid teasing 
of my son had been only barbs, mere pricks of his delicate flesh 
compared to the sword I had just thrust into him.

If ever there was a time I needed to find the right words, 
this was undoubtedly it. If ever there was a time that a son 
needed his father, this was it. Slowly, I walked towards him. 
Each step seemed impossible as my feet dragged with a ponderous 
weight that threatened to drag me down. From the stern to the 
bow, fifty-three feet, each foot further into the pain that 
awaited me, ever closer to my distressed son. With each step, I 
started to comprehend the damage I had done to the most 
wonderful boy in the world and a curious sensitivity came to me. 
I did not speak until I was only a few feet away from him. He 
was still crying.

"Jason,..." I said quietly.

"I h-h-hate you. Leave m-m-me the f-f-fuck alone, okay," 
the boy gasped out.

I grimaced. One day I would have to do something about the 
boy's bad language. That was the problem with sending a boy like 
Jason to a city school but I could remedy his situation with the 
check I received from my publisher. I owed him that, if nothing 
else. But even as the idea formed in my mind, I knew that I owed 
him far more than mere money. I owed him seven, long, lonely 
years. They were years that I should have been with him, ready 
to support him when he needed it, ready to hug and kiss him when 
he felt down, ready to tickle and wrestle when he was 
rambunctious, ready to teach him all that I knew.

"God, I-I-I h-h-hate you. I'll g-g-g-get off your f-fucking 
b-b-boat."

"Jason,... Jason, I love you," I pleaded. "I didn't mean to 
hurt you."

And then I couldn't think. I could not find the words that 
I desperately needed to say to him. I hammered my forehead again 
with my clenched fist, angrily. I ground my fist against my 
forehead. "Jason, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I hurt you. Please 
forgive me. Please," I begged.

I pushed the back of my thumb against my eyes, realizing 
that there was wetness, that like my ten-year-old son, I too had 
been crying, though I could not remember when.

"Y-y-you h-h-hate me,... a-a-and I h-h-hate you," the boy 
breathed out.

I regarded him quietly. Again I saw the light, the minute 
speck of light that faltered but still burned, if somewhat 
unsteadily. All said and done, he was still my son. He was 
growing up, albeit slowly. In a few years the little boy would 
be gone and my son would be a young man. I wanted to hug him.

"I,... Jason,... I'm sorry. I really am. I don't hate you. 
I love you."

"Y-y-yes you do. Y-y-you hate g-g-gays," he blurted out.

I shook my head. It was unseen by the boy because his head 
was lodged between his knees. "I love you, Jason. I don't hate 
you," I said gently. "I could never hate you. You're my son and 
I love you."

"Y-y-you h-h-hate m-m-me," he stammered as his slender body 
shivered. "I-I-I'm g-g-gay and y-y-you h-h-hate me."

"No! Jason, don't ever think that. Please?" I begged. 
"Maybe you are gay,... It doesn't matter if you are. All I want 
is for you to be happy." 

I paused wondering whether I was even close to penetrating 
the boy's armor. I sensed he was resisting, fighting against me 
with every ounce of strength inside him. I wanted to take away 
his pain. I wanted to make everything better for him. I wanted 
to love him and have him love me in return. I stopped just short 
of saying that 'maybe I was gay as well'.

"You really think I want to take you to a gay beach just to 
make fun of you?" I asked abruptly. "Is that what you think, 
Jason?" He nodded with a twitch of his pale, slender neck. I 
lied, partially. "Jas' I thought you,... I thought you might be 
embarrassed if there were girls around. That's all."

I studied him quietly for a moment, hoping that he was 
listening. "Most boys at your age don't like girls very much. It 
doesn't mean they're gay though, Jason. Almost every boy gets 
embarrassed if a girl sees him naked. I know I would have when I 
was your age. Even now, I'm not sure I'd like to parade around 
in front of women who I've never seen before," I acknowledged. 
"I think it's different if we're all guys. I mean if everyone 
there has got the same, well, I guess there's nothing to lose, 
is there."

Jason's eyes flicked upwards momentarily. There was no 
trust in his eyes, not like there had been earlier during the 
day. Now there was only suspicion and pain that I had put there.

"Yeah?" he whispered. Then he comprehended what he said 
only moments earlier and he began to cry again. Little more than 
four hours earlier I would have condemned him as a cry-baby, as 
a spoiled, whining faggot. Now I wanted him to love me. Nothing 
less would suffice.

"I don't hate gays, Jason. I was wrong to make fun of them. 
I love you. I would never hurt you." I pleaded. I stepped 
forward, reached down, and gently stroked his head. His hair was 
like silk; long, fine, golden strands of hair.

"So w-w-why,... d-d-do you m-m-make f-f-fun of them?" he 
breathed.

"Jason, I promise I won't ever do it again. Ever!" I said 
gently. I tousled his head lovingly. "I promise," I added.

Jason looked upward. His eyes were red and his soft cheeks 
were wet, glistening with the trails of where his tears had 
travelled. Like a two-year-old boy, his bottom lip came forward 
over his upper lip. He observed me critically. He was trying to 
decide if I was sincere, whether he could trust me, whether he 
could ever like me again. I smiled at him reassuringly. I 
watched as his lips compressed into a thin, hard line. There was 
no sound between us, but I could hear the thoughts whirring 
through his head. He was frightened as he wondered why I had not 
said something about his affirmation of being gay. I decided to 
ignore it, at least for the present time. In his own time, when 
he was ready to discuss it, I knew that he would come to me.

"I'm sorry, Jason," I said. "Can you ever forgive me?

My son's mouth faltered, his determination gradually 
weakening as a smile began to form at the corners of his mouth. 
"Yeah, you're f-f-forgiven," he teased as he wiped the wetness 
from his cheeks and sniffed loudly. His smile increased as he 
began to relax. In those few seconds, I realized the extent of 
the similarities between us. In one respect at elast, he was 
very unlike his mother. When we had fought, which was quite 
often, she harbored a grudge that lasted for days at time. 
Sometimes a week or more would pass before she would speak 
civilly to me. Jason, like me, was strong-willed and proud, and 
prone to verbal disagreements, but he was over them in only a 
few minutes. If the other party made a bona fide offer of 
friendship, the fight ended even sooner. Now our fight was over, 
it would be forgiven and quickly forgotten.

"You want to go for a swim?" I asked.

Jason regarded me uncertainly, still unsure of his position 
though wanting the fight between us to be ended. "At the n-n-
nude b-b-beach?" he inquired nervously.

I glanced over to the collection of masts beyond the rocky 
foreshore. "If you want. Or we can stay right here. It's up to 
you."

The boy followed my gaze into the distance, then sighed as 
he thought. "I w-will, if you will, Dad?" he replied with a 
cheeky grin. "I guess I d-d-don't w-w-ant girls seeing me in the 
raw, either. We c-c-can go there if you w-w-want. It might be 
fun."

"Of course you can still wear your swimming costume, if you 
want to," I said reassuringly. "You don't have to be as naked as 
a jaybird,.... Jay-boy," I teased playfully. 

Jason giggled. "Maybe Pokey likes b-b-b-being out in the 
sun?" he said. "Maybe h-h-he w-w-wants to have a sun t-tan." 

I grinned back at the boy happily, glad that our fight had 
ended. "Well we better get a move on then, 'cause there's only a 
few hours of sunshine left."

Jason walked before me as we went to the stern. My eyes 
never left his body. He was deliciously slender. From his neck, 
all the way to the start of his swimming costume, his spine was 
evidenced in a trail of small, knobby bumps. His shoulders 
sloped downward, still the shoulders of a young boy without the 
muscle and bone development that accompanied adolescence. His 
shoulders and hips were narrow and his waist was tapered, 
accentuating his slim body. He was a boy, pure unadulterated, 
100 percent boy. He was prepubescent and to my perverse desire, 
perfect in every way.

This time Jason helped me get the dinghy unstrapped from 
the deck and into the water. The change that had occurred in 
just the space of a few minutes was both a little frightening 
and miraculous. It was not that he was strong enough to really 
contribute any leverage, but that he tried to help with all his 
might. Jason needed six months in a gym to build his muscles. I 
smiled to myself as the thought came to me.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

My heart leaped. He had not stuttered. It was difficult to 
believe how he changed so quickly. "You are," I laughed. "You 
were awfully cute when you were mad at me but I think I really 
prefer you like this. A couple of weeks like this and the next 
time you beat-up on me I'll probably lose."

My son giggled. "So what makes you think you'd win now," he 
said with mock bravado as he clambered down into the bobbing 
dinghy and assumed his position on the center seat. I passed him 
the camera and beach towels and followed him before casting off 
the line. I pushed the dinghy away from the side of the boat, 
selected neutral, pulled the starter twice, and revved the 
throttle.

"Okay, Jas'! It's all yours," I said.

"Huh?" 

"Well get back here. You can't steer from back there," I 
laughed.

"Steer?" he repeated as he swallowed nervously. "Steer 
this?"

I nodded. It was a calculated risk on my part. It was 
unlikely that he could do any real damage, unless he managed to 
flip it over. It would also provide an enormous boost to his ego 
and confidence. Besides, Harry was wrong. If there was one thing 
a boy liked more than fishing, it was running an inflatable 
dinghy with a twenty horsepower outboard - flat-out.

We exchanged places cautiously. I settled down on the 
plywood floor, keeping my weight low and towards the stern so 
that the dinghy would quickly come up on a plane. Jason was 
trembling with excitement as he pushed the gear lever down and 
the propeller chewed into the water. The dinghy jumped and began 
to accelerate. The engine was barely beyond idle but to a ten-
year-old boy it was fast. I allowed him to motor slowly until he 
got used to the 'feel' of it.

"Okay, now you can open it up," I instructed. "Twist the 
handle a little bit."

The engine roared and the dinghy took off. Within seconds 
it was planing, zipping across the small wavelets with loud 
smacks as it leaped from one wave to the next. "What's its 
name?" Jason shouted in boyish glee.

"Argos," I shouted back.

He thought quickly and I watched as he beamed in 
unparalleled delight. The wind rushed into his face, blowing his 
glistening, golden hair back freely. "That's the name of Jason's 
boat," he shouted over the roar of the engine. He was still at 
less than half-throttle and the dinghy was rocketing over the 
water.

"It is now," I laughed. "As long as you're here with me, 
Jay-boy, it's all yours."

"How fast can it go, Dad?" Jason bellowed.

"This is fast enough for now," I laughed. "I guess you're 
doing about fifteen or twenty. I'll show you how fast on the way 
home, maybe."

I directed him over towards the shore, staying well back 
from the waves as they rolled onto the beaches and rock 
outcrops, but close enough that the waves were bigger and the 
dinghy jumped from one to another with loud splashes. Jason was 
having the time of his life. For the ten minutes that it took us 
to motor from the boat to Super-Paradise Beach, he was the 
happiest boy alive.

As we approached, I suggested that he ease off on the 
throttle and we ran down the beach looking for a good place to 
land. Several couples were close to, or in the water while 
others sunbathed on the sand. With few exceptions, all were men 
in their twenties and thirties, though sometimes older. But 
independent of their ages, all of them were naked and to my 
eyes, obviously gay. Strangely, the sight of them did not excite 
me. If anything, the sight of thick, long cocks and low-hanging 
balls turned me off. I wondered what effect it had on Jason. I 
did not turn around and see. This time, Jason needed his 
privacy. If what I thought was correct, he needed time to accept 
and understand who and what he was. If I could, I would help him 
understand. If he allowed me, if he wanted, I would help him 
accept what it meant to be attracted to his own sex.

 I leaned back and helped Jason beach the dinghy by running 
it up on the sand and pulling the engine out of the water at the 
last moment as I 'cut' the gas. We had picked the quietest end 
of the beach, well away from other people. I had observed the 
stares as we motored down the beach and I wondered if Jason had 
noticed the stares as well, since they had been focused on him. 
Though I did not know it at the time, it wasn't often that a 
young boy came to Super-Paradise, and very seldom one who was as 
beautiful as the golden-haired boy beside me. I felt proud. I 
also felt very threatened. Any of these men, the vast majority 
younger than myself, could take my son away from me.

We stepped out the dinghy together. Jason was flushed, not 
with only with the excitement of the ride, but a sudden, 
shameless, enjoyment of being the center of attention of over 
twenty naked men. Lust had been in their eyes and the boy had 
not missed it. Then, as his eyes met mine, he looked away, down 
at his feet. He reddened further, now embarrassed.

"They thought you were hot stuff, Jason," I teased, "but 
they were really looking at me, you know."

 The boy looked up and he smiled shyly, "Yeah, I guess. You 
are good-looking, Dad," he teased playfully. "So now what?"

"So now you do what you want to do, but I'm taking my 
shorts off," I laughed. I began to unfasten the nylon cord at 
the top of my shorts. I sensed that Jason was watching me even 
though he stood beyond my view. I pulled my shorts off and 
tossed them into the bottom of the dinghy, right into a puddle 
of water that had probably splashed over the side when we came 
into the beach.

"Oh shit!" I laughed. "So much for dry clothes on the way 
home."

I heard my son giggle as I knelt down and lifted my sodden 
clothes up, squeezed out the water and spread them out on the 
seat to dry. I was naked and the sun and breeze felt wonderful. 
The sense of freedom and of being alive, was greatly magnified 
by nudity. It was a pleasant feeling. I stood up and turned 
around. Jason was standing quietly, staring at me fixedly. I 
noted the instinctive flicker of his eyes as they dropped down 
to my groin, then self-consciously, dragged away, only to 
return, drawn back irresistibly by a force beyond the boy's 
control.

"He's so big! He's huge compared to mine," Jason breathed 
out in awe.

I shrugged. I wasn't all that big, five inches now, seven-
and-a-half inches hard, eight inches on a good day, but I was 
enormous compared to Jason's small appendage. I was big enough 
for Tina, way too much for the slender, young boy before me, but 
compared to some of the well-hung studs further up the beach, I 
barely had the equipment of a young teenager. 

"He's grown up," I grinned. "You have to give Pokey some 
time to grow up, too."

"Will I be as big as you?" my son asked shamelessly.

"Maybe," I replied. "But you're going to have to wait a few 
years to find out. But you know Jas', the size doesn't matter 
one bit. It's what you do with it that counts."

The boy smirked, still staring at me in obvious 
fascination. I began to wonder whether Jason would undress in 
front of me. He was obviously stalling, the usually deft fingers 
of both of his hands were at his waist but he fumbled with the 
cord of his swimming costume. He was not untying it, his 
attention was elsewhere, his eyes scrutinizing my groin. Within 
seconds, my blood-pressure increased and I could feel the 
delightful growing sensation in my penis that heralded the start 
of an erection. I smiled at my son, captivated by the mix of 
inhibition and curiosity that constituted a ten-year-old boy. It 
seemed as though his curiosity was winning.

"You don't have to strip off, Jas'. Not if you don't want 
to," I said gently. I turned, and leaving him alone, began to 
walk down towards the water. By the time I was ankle-deep, a 
pale, very-naked boy came running from behind me, whooping 
loudly and leaping high into the air as he shot past. I glimpsed 
a small, almost-white bottom and long, slender legs before he 
dived into the shallow water, splashing head first into the 
foamy chaos of a breaking wave. The exuberance of the adorable 
young male was awe-inspiring and I chased him into the water.

 Any inhibition that plagued my son seemed to have 
disappeared in the few seconds that my back was turned to him. 
He went wild. We swam side by side, raced until we were 
breathless, dived under each other, and ran through the shallows 
like two savages. I felt like a ten-year-old boy myself, 
relieved of the seriousness of life and knowing only the halcyon 
and untroubled pleasures of youth.

Throughout the year, the Mediterranean is relatively cold 
but on that afternoon, with the hot sun still blazing down on us 
and sheltered from the wind by the cliffs, it was almost tepid. 
It was thoroughly refreshing, cold enough to shrivel my dick and 
postpone any visible arousal that might have bothered Jason, or 
scared me. Jason became almost sexless as his penis all but 
disappeared as it retracted into his body. His tiny scrotum 
contracted into a taut, inflexible swelling underneath it, until 
little more than his foreskin and a wrinkled patch of darker 
skin was visible. Like me, he was divorced from the reality of 
everyday life. He radiated intense happiness and a fresh, 
youthful vitality that I absorbed. My son was a squealing, 
giggling cherub. We romped and wrestled together for nearly an 
hour, until I worshiped him.

"What's the time, Jay-boy?" I asked, still laughing after 
we had fallen together into the water after one delightful, 
protracted struggle.

He consulted his watch. It was a fancy waterproof one, an 
expensive Swiss watch worth several hundred dollars. "Nearly 
five," he giggled as he squirmed away. He assumed an offensive 
posture and prepared to attack me.

"Nice watch," I observed. "Birthday or Christmas present?"

He answered honestly, without thinking. "Carlo gave it to 
me."

"Oh!... That's nice! It looks very expensive," I said 
glumly. "... He must really like you, Jason."

"Huh! Yeah, I guess," my son said. A change came over him 
and his sweet face clouded. He pulled away from me, almost as if 
he was frightened by the loving embrace we had just shared. But 
we had hugged again and again during the afternoon as we 
wrestled and played together. It was innocent and unsullied, 
devoid of lust or passion, the touch of our bodies was nothing 
more than the filial and familial contact of a father's flesh 
against his son's flesh.

"Yeah,... I,... g-g-guess," he stammered hesitantly.

It was the first time he had stuttered in more than an hour 
and it sounded strangely foreign. Within seconds his teeth 
started to chatter, until he clenched his jaws and then he 
shivered as if he was cold. His face blanched. Jason sat back on 
his heels, his knobby, little knees were pressed together hiding 
his genitals from my view. He was suddenly a very pitiful, 
little boy, ashamed and inhibited about displaying his naked 
body to me.

"Are you cold?" I asked concernedly. "Maybe it's time we 
got dried off?"

My son nodded and slowly got to his feet. "Dad?..." he 
asked quietly as he looked down at me. His attention focused on 
my genitals for the first time since we had run into the water. 
It was very apparent that something was bothering him.

"Yeah?"

His lips compressed thoughtfully as he gazed down at his 
feet self-consciously. "N-n-nothing," he mumbled. "Yeah, I guess 
I'm cold."

I nodded understandingly as I stood up. Lovingly I placed 
my arm around his small shoulders and gave him a quick, fatherly 
hug. "You really are cold aren't you. Let's go get warmed up."

With my arm around him, I escorted him from the water. His 
cold body brushed against mine as I gave him one very playful 
hug as we reached the sandy beach. I felt very close to him, so 
close in fact, that I began to think I could never let him go 
back to his mother. I wanted him to stay with me, forever.

We paused at the dinghy and I picked up the towels, tossing 
one to Jason and putting the other around my shoulders. Out of 
the water and with the sun steadily sinking into the western 
horizon, the breeze became colder. Jason's arms and chest were 
pitted with goose-flesh and he wrapped himself up in his towel, 
winding it around his body so that he was encircled from his 
shoulders down to his knees. I picked up my camera and film from 
inside the dinghy and he followed me up the beach and away from 
the water.

Beyond the narrow, sandy strip of beach lay huge boulders 
that had crashed down from the cliffs above. They were scattered 
around like giant's marbles, their surfaces etched into delicate 
sculpture by years of wind and salt spray. I edged my way 
between them, picking a cautious path upward. At the time I was 
not thinking of my son in a sexual way; I intended only to find 
a place that was enough out of the wind so that he would be warm 
and dry. Yet, instinctively and without willful deliberation, I 
searched for a private place, a place where Jason and I would be 
alone. My son followed, never more than a few feet behind me as 
we climbed steadily higher. After little more than a hundred 
feet we were hidden, concealed behind rocks and low, scrubby 
trees.

After another twenty or thirty feet, we emerged into a 
wider space. It was almost enclosed by a cleaved fragment of a 
boulder and the face of the rocky cliff, but there was an 
overhang that looked down onto the beach and the grounded dinghy 
below. It was warm and sunny. Screened on all sides, it was a 
very private place that had shielded lovers in the past. A cream-
colored condom, it's latex tip still filled with watery semen 
lay in the sand, abandoned. Unseen by Jason and unwilling to 
explain it's function to a curious, ten-year-old boy, I 
surreptitiously scooped sand over it with my foot until it was 
buried.

Jason grinned at me cheekily as he looked around. "This is 
neat, Dad. No one would ever know we were up here. Do you think 
anyone else has ever come here. I bet we're the first. We can 
pretend that nobody's been here before us. It's our secret 
hideaway."

I smiled enigmatically and raised my eyebrows. He was no 
longer clutching his towel to his chest and it had parted to 
reveal his front. I gazed upon his almost-nude body. He was an 
inspiringly beautiful child. Sunlight grazed his body, leaving 
strong, dark shadows that accentuated his contour and gave form 
to him. It was a magic moment. The image of my slender, young 
son standing shameless and unabashed, revelling in his natural 
state, would stay with me forever. Despite that I still wanted 
to capture him on film.

"Jason,... would you mind if I took a photograph of you?" I 
asked quietly.

"In the raw?" he asked uncertainly.

I smiled, "Of course. It's been a wonderful day, Jas' and I 
want to remember you just like this."

He smiled shyly back at me, quickly becoming bashful as his 
youthful modesty intruded between us. However, if he was not 
just ten-years-old, I would have been convinced that his look 
was coy. Slowly his smile changed to a mischievous grin.

"You promise never to show any one?" he said with feigned 
reluctance. "I don't want anyone else to see the pictures, okay?"

"Never! I promise."

Jason nodded and I unfastened the cover of my camera, 
lifted it up to my eye, quickly focused and pushed the button 
before the magic faded. Through the lens, I saw a lewd, 
audacious boy, an urchin whose sexuality was disguised by the 
tiny, limp penis than protruded downward from his groin. But as 
I wound the film on to the next frame and pressed the button I 
did not think of myself as depraved or as being engaged in the 
debauched corruption of a child. In a court of law, the 
photograph would be found immoral and pornographic, but in the 
enchantment of the warm, quiet hollow, it was both bewitching 
and magnetic.

Without a word, Jason shrugged his shoulders and his towel 
dropped away and fell to the ground exposing all of his young 
body. Divested of his mantle, he became a vulnerable, little 
boy. My finger pressed again, securing his shy, demurring pose 
forever.

He smiled at me sheepishly. "You want me to pose, Dad?" he 
asked timidly.

I nodded. He began to change his posture with rapid, 
imaginative moves that startled me. For the first few pictures 
he was awkward but with each minute he became more daring and at 
ease in front of the camera. Halfway through the first roll, he 
was relaxed, pretending to be a Greek hero as he reclined 
against a rock or stretched and arched his back as though he was 
waking up. The time, like the film in the camera, passed 
quickly. Before I knew it I had loaded the second roll of film. 
With each picture he was liberated further until he became a 
peacock, strutting elegantly with affected, rampart sexuality. 
Another stance was mannered and faked as he pretended to be 
scanning the horizon while he casually stroked his penis with 
his other hand.

The camera was like an aphrodisiac but I was nearly at the 
end of the roll. The boy was earthy and natural, then carnal and 
sensuous, then grinning lasciviously into the lens as he 
caressed his now-erect penis with abandon. My own penis was 
rigid and I moved about him like a randy satyr, focusing 
pruriently on his genitals as I clicked again and again. If my 
aroused state bothered my son, he did not mention it. Before I 
knew it, I had come to the end of the roll. Jason was breathing 
heavily, his chest pulsing with each quick, excited gasp as he 
trembled with juvenile lust.

"Do your dick now, Jay-boy," I instructed. I was 
intoxicated and my young son was similarly stimulated. His body 
galvanized and his interest piqued as his hand returned to his 
diminutive erection. He grasped it firmly between his thumb and 
a solitary finger and began to rub, quickly. The expression on 
his face changed, from elation to bliss, to the euphoria that 
precedes ecstasy. His little hand moved with a mad frenzy and 
his thighs pushed forward with unrestrained glee. Within seconds 
my ten-year-old son was orgasmic, transported beyond both time 
and place into the delirium of passion that existed within his 
mind.

I took the last photograph.

Then, as I lowered the camera, the sight of my beautiful 
son masturbating shocked me. He was enraptured. His hand jerked 
with deranged zeal as his muscles strained. My son was possessed 
by a demon, my presence irrelevant and extraneous. I was 
unimportant, spurned by the boy I loved. I was offended and I 
turned away, repulsed, but the disgust that I felt was not 
focused on the beautiful, little boy; it was on me and what I 
had become. Only a few moments later, the affront to my ego had 
vanished and my desire had overpowered my reluctance to watch 
the rhapsody of his young body. I turned back. Jason was no 
longer there.

I followed the sound of his movement, the motion of small, 
bare feet running in the sand and a little, naked body pushing 
through the salt-encrusted bushes. He led me on quite a chase. 
Sometimes I glimpsed a pale, slim body leaping from one rock to 
another, then long minutes would pass before I heard the 
slightest noise that told of his location. He was agile and 
healthy despite his slender body and he moved quickly, darting 
swiftly from one hiding place to another. It was a game of hide 
and seek with no rules except that I should catch him.

The shadows lengthened as the red sun moved ever closer to 
the sea. A minute passed without a sign of him, then another, 
and another. I began to worry. It was a father's worry for a 
missing child and my search became frantic. I scoured the beach, 
then backtracked, following my footprints until I found his. He 
had branched off, squeezing his slim body between two huge 
boulders. I followed, barely managing to get through the narrow 
gap. As I rounded the corner I saw Jason. He was kneeling in the 
sand, peeking over a low rock and watching something with 
obvious fascination. I crept up beside him and knelt down next 
to him in the sand. He was surprised, his face registering first 
shock, discomfit, and then ardent enthusiasm. He held his finger 
to his lips and pointed towards the right. I followed his 
example and peeped over the rock. I was stunned and I watched in 
silent amazement beside my stupefied son.

A dark-haired youth, somewhere in his late teens, was lying 
on his back. His ankles were pushed behind his head and his 
buttocks were lifted high in the air. An older man knelt behind 
him, grasping the youth's hips tightly as he stuffed his thick, 
long cock deep into the buttocks presented to him. The sound was 
wet and sucking as the thick cock pulled back and almost out, 
then a gasping moan as it stabbed forward again. The man pumped 
rapidly, his body moving erratically as his orgasm approached. 
He grunted, making animal-like and wild noises as he grasped the 
bronzed body before him and pounded even harder and deeper. The 
youth babbled incoherently, his own release imminent. Then, 
dumbfounded, I watched as his legs wrapped around the older 
man's hips, pulling him down and squeezing so that the full 
length of the cock was rammed down inside him. He moaned and 
spasmed even as the older man forced the legs away from him and 
began to slam down as hard as he could.

"Julien, Ohhhh! Julien," he gasped as he collapsed, 
exhausted.

Jason was shaking, one hand was clenched tightly into a 
small, impotent fist, the other hand was cupped over his 
genitals. It was impossible to determine whether he was aroused, 
but it was impossible that he was not excited by what he had 
witnessed. He was visibly agitated as his fingers squeezed into 
his groin. I placed my hand on my son's thin arm and tugged him 
after me, leading him away from the chance encounter that had 
bestirred him and whetted his young appetite.


PLATONIC LOVE.

DAY TWELVE.  Mykonos, Midnight, August 4th, 1993

"The need to perpetuate the human race has driven man to marriage, but 
pederastic love alone exercises its noble sway over the philosopher's 
heart."

Lucian, Dialogues of Love



That what we had seen together behind the boulders affected 
us, could not be disputed. Jason was confused and I was 
confused, perhaps even more than he was. I was also worried. The 
effect on Jason had been frightening. He had been both 
captivated and obviously excited by what he had observed. We did 
not speak as we walked back to the dinghy, and during the trip 
back to the boat, we spoke only once and that was when I asked 
Jason whether he wanted to steer. It was already beginning to 
get dark and even as I asked, I knew that it was not advisable. 
But Jason had no interest, his mind was on other matters and he 
shook his head. Within his inner turmoil, conflicting emotions 
and emerging desires struggled against his innocence. The victor 
would have as his spoils, the body and mind of my son. His 
battle to understand who and what he was had begun. It was a 
battle whose outcome had been pre-destined at the time of his 
conception.

I cleated the line from the dinghy and followed Jason up as 
he scrambled lightly up the ladder and onto the deck. During the 
trip back he had pulled his swimming costume back on and wrapped 
his towel around his shoulders to protect himself from the now-
cold wind. He was chilled and he shivered. Momentarily, he 
glanced at my still naked body, again his pure, pale-blue eyes 
dropped downward, glimpsed my genitals and darted away.

"You cold, Jas'?" I asked. It was a dumb question that did 
not require an answer. He nodded and swallowed self-consciously 
as his eyes flickered downward, then back up again to meet mine. 
"I am. I better get some clothes on before I freeze," I added. I 
led the way down into the main cabin and left Jason alone while 
I went to my own cabin to get dressed.

Jason was sitting on the settee when I returned. He 
concentrated on rolling the black-plastic cylinder that 
contained the film from my camera. He looked up absently. "Put 
this on Jas'," I said as I tossed him one of my old well-
stretched sweat shirts. He caught it and pulled it on. It was a 
dozen sizes too large but it looked far better on him than it 
did on me. It accentuated the shape of his slender body as the 
soft cotton hung from his small shoulders in loose folds. The 
arms were far too long and the sleeves came several inches past 
his fingertips. The waist was halfway down his legs, covering 
his shorts so that one could easily think that he was naked 
underneath it. My son looked very, very sexy and I expected that 
with the soft, fuzzy material against his skin, it probably felt 
sexy as well.

"That feels better, doesn't it Jay-boy?" I laughed as I 
turned to the galley and shifted my attention away from the 
beautiful boy to preparing dinner. He was silent. I glanced at 
him several times as I worked. He appeared to be deep in 
thought, his brow furrowed pensively as he studied the small 
black canisters that held the film. 

"You look very thoughtful," I said gently.

He looked up quickly, smiled weakly and licked his lower 
lip. He swallowed, blinked, and licked his upper lip. "Dad?...." 
he began cautiously. His voice trembled nervously and as he 
spoke, it was barely more than a whisper.

I suppressed a smirk, knowing what question he was about to 
ask. It came with a candid innocence that caught me unawares. 
"They were fucking, weren't they?" he asked suddenly.

"Huh? Oh!..." I nearly cut my finger off. "Huh? What did 
you say?" I asked, stalling for time as I tried to frame my 
answer.

"You heard me, Dad. I know you did. I asked if they were 
doing it. You know, having sex."

"You asked if they were fucking, Jason?" I laughed. "And 
the answer is yes. Of course that's what they were doing, you 
dope. What did you think they were doing? Playing ping-pong?"

Jason grinned and commenced tossing one of the film-
canisters up into the air with one hand and catching it with the 
other. Except for the sound of bacon sizzling in the frying pan, 
the cabin was silent. After more than a minute, my son smirked 
cheekily.

"I was pretty sure they weren't playing ping-pong," he said 
in his boy-soprano voice. "The old guy had his penis-thing 
inside his bottom, didn't he?"

It was my turn to swallow. "Uh huh!... I believe that's 
where it goes," I answered.

Jason grimaced. "Don't you think it's gross? Doing that? I 
mean it's dirty back there and,... well,... you'd get poop on 
it, wouldn't you?"

"I guess. Yeah, I s'pose so."

"Dad?...."

I glanced up from slicing tomatoes. "Yes, Jason?"

"Dad,... do you think it feels good? You know, doin' that? 
Wouldn't it hurt a lot?" Jason asked quietly.

I shrugged and tried to quell my rising excitement. My 
excitement wasn't the only thing rising at that moment. "I don't 
know. I guess. I expect that they wouldn't do it if it didn't 
feel good."

"Yeah, that's what I thought." He began tossing one 
canister into the air and catching it with same hand. He started 
using the other hand, playing a game with himself, testing his 
reflexes and the speed of his hand. Finally he added the 
remaining canister to the action. With a little more dexterity, 
and a few hours of practice he would be juggling.

"But it is gross though, don't you think?" he said to 
himself as much as to me.

I didn't answer his question or acknowledge his opinion. It 
was something he needed to work out for himself.

I carried four bacon-cheeseburgers over to the table. "Roll 
the sleeves up, kid and start eating," I laughed. "You must be 
famished."

"Huh? What's famished mean?" he asked as he began to push 
the sleeves up his thin, pale arms.

Surprise was evident on my face as I picked up Jason's 
orange juice and my beer from the counter and walked back to the 
table. It wasn't a particularly difficult word, it was one that 
an intelligent boy like Jason should understand. It was another 
reason to get him into a good private school and away from the 
city school he currently attended.

"It means hungry. Very hungry. About as hungry as I am 
right now," I laughed as I slipped into the seat next to him and 
gave him a firm, though loving shove to move his butt over about 
a foot and make room for me to sit down.

"You like school, Jas'?" I asked between munches.

"No! Not much!" he replied.

"You're not doing very well at school, are you Jason?" I 
asked gently.

My son shook his long mane of golden silk, "I'm doin' 
okay," he replied with his mouth full of half-masticated burger. 
"I s'pose it's because I don't like it much. Some of the kids 
are mean to me."

I nodded understandingly. For a quiet, sensitive boy like 
Jason, school could be an unpleasant experience at the best of 
times. "You get into fights a lot, don't you?" I questioned. It 
was hard to imagine him winning any of them.

He nodded and took a bite out of his burger. I watched his 
small jaws chewing. He had delicate and perfectly shaped lips 
like his mother. But unlike his mother, I could already sense 
the boy's potential for passion as I studied his pretty mouth.

After Jason was conceived in a night of clumsy love-making 
and sometime before he was born, my wife and I ceased conjugal 
relations. Kissing became an unpleasant chore for her, at best a 
quick peck on the lips and a hug. At first I thought it was 
because she was pregnant with my child and that the hormonal 
changes she was going through had unbalanced her, but I slowly 
came to realize that the romance had gone. For a while, her 
swelling breasts became the center of my interest until she 
rejected even my loving caresses with a plaintive objection that 
I hurt her nipples. At night, I would lie beside her, resting my 
hand flat against her belly and feeling the sudden kicks of the 
child inside her; pressing knees, elbows, hands, and feet 
against the constricting sides of her womb. Then, even that was 
rejected. Our marriage was failing as Jason's life began. It was 
just a matter of time after he was born before she asked for a 
separation, and shortly after, demanded a divorce.

But beautiful Jason was so different to the woman I had 
come to despise. Unlike her, his entire being seemed to me to 
have been created for one purpose, love. It was impossible for 
me to watch him and not be taken back by his beauty, by his 
perfect body, by the smouldering sensuality that he exuded from 
every part of him. Even as he chewed, swallowed and bit again 
into his burger, as his small, razor-sharp teeth sliced into his 
food, I admired him. As the mustard smeared over his lips and 
left bright-yellow streaks, as his little, pink tongue pushed 
forward between his lips and licked, and he slurped noisily at 
his juice as only a ten-year-old boy with bad table manners can, 
I loved him. I loved him dearly

As I watched, enthralled, I imagined my tongue probing 
inwards. I sought the soft, wet heat inside him, it would a 
loving kiss as I tasted his sweet breath. I wondered whether he 
would return my kiss eagerly, or be repulsed. I tried to imagine 
his tongue meeting with mine in a slippery union, then sucking 
him back until I could nibble on his squirming, alive flesh. I 
constructed a mental image of our lips together, of our saliva 
mixing freely, of the quirky smile and the teasing, boyish 
giggle, as he became heated and our embrace grew more and more 
passionate. 

My penis hardened. I took a deep breath and bit into my own 
burger. My mind raced ahead, constructing more fantasies, each 
one more daring that the preceding ones. And then, for some 
reason unknown to me I thought of him fighting at school, 
scuffling in the dust of a playground. The other boy was the 
same age, though larger, and he easily dominated my son, forcing 
him back supine and impotent, then hitting him. A fist punched 
into Jason's small nose and blood poured out and he cried 
miserably. My erection faded.

I remembered how Jason had straddled me as we wrestled 
playfully in the shallow water at the water's edge. He was 
physically weak and his efforts to side astride my chest had 
been feeble. When I wrestled with Jeff, I was often all that I 
could do to toss him off and then it was with loud squeals as I 
tickled him furiously. But it was more than the two years that 
separated the two boys for Jason was a very different kind of 
boy. He was less male in some way, less aggressively masculine 
and I loved him the way he was.

Life had been very unfair to my son and I was responsible. 
I had been unaccountable for more than seven years, it had been 
my decision to bringing him into the world. My failure was a 
failure that I fully intended to correct though I was unsure of 
what I would do to achieve it. At the least, I would send him 
home to his mother as a stronger, happier, healthier boy.

"Eat up, Jas'," I teased, "I think it's time we put some 
meat on those skinny ribs of yours."

But already, with only one burger little more than half-
finished, Jason was picking at the remains. He peeled away the 
bread, lifted off the bacon and pulled up the lettuce and 
tomato. With gobs of melted cheese covering his fingers, he 
nibbled at lettuce and tomato and I started to laugh.

"So? What's funny?" he demanded.

"You are Jay-boy. You look like a rabbit. An awfully cute 
rabbit, but still a rabbit. How on earth do you plan to get big 
and strong eating like that. You should be starving."

He shrugged. "I never eat that much. I guess I don't want 
to get fat or anything. I'm just not that hungry anymore."

"Do you want something else to eat?" I asked concernedly.

Jason shook his head. "I'm full, really I am, Dad. Mom says 
I'm a picky eater. I've never been a big eater. But the burger 
tasted great," he said happily.

I didn't want to pick at him. I was pretty sure that he was 
nagged at home enough. He didn't need me on his case as well. I 
changed the subject.

After dinner we cleaned up and I led him back to the 
navigation area. There was only one seat and it was mine. I 
grinned at my favorite boy in the whole world and patted my leg. 
Jason grinned back and straddled me. His firm little bottom 
pressed into my thigh as he sat down. His bare legs were against 
mine. He felt soft and warm, and very cuddly. Unable to resist, 
I gave him a playful hug. He responded immediately by settling 
back against me and wriggling to become comfortable. I locked my 
arms around his chest and squeezed tightly. Jason felt good. I 
needed to hug him. I wanted to tell him I loved him, but not in 
the way he expected.

Lovingly, my fingers stroked his smooth hairless leg, just 
inches above his knee. There was a little sigh, a small, audible 
sign of contentment. I began to massage his leg, lifting my hand 
ever-upwards as I went, until I reached the bottom of his 
shorts. Jason's eyes were nearly closed and he breathed heavily, 
taking deep, slow breaths and sighing loudly as he exhaled. I 
went too far, too quickly. Deciding that the time was now or 
never, I leaned forward and lovingly brushed my lips against his 
forehead. Jason smiled shyly. His eyes opened and sparkled with 
an intensity that excited me and my hand moved upward into 
forbidden territory. My son jumped and jerked back, pulling his 
legs tightly together as if he'd been subjected to an electric 
shock. He looked at me angrily, then shook his head abruptly in 
a silent warning to me.

"I'm sorry, Jason," I said softly. "I didn't mean to 
frighten you."

He regarded me suspiciously and then he relaxed again. "s' 
okay, Dad. It surprised me, that's all."

I breathed out, feeling as though my world had come to an 
abrupt end. My shame grew until all I could feel was disgust at 
what I had tried to do. But within seconds, Jason had forgotten 
and he settled back against me and pushed his silky hair under 
my nose.

 I watched his eyes light up as I switched on the SSB 
(Single Side Band) radio and tuned in the frequency of 22.4 M 
Hz. The speaker hissed and crackled, then amid the fuzz and 
static, I announced my call sign and asked for Charley-Four-
Alpha to reply. More static, then a crackling, distant voice 
connected. Jason beamed as I exchanged pleasantries with an 
Italian sailor over 850 miles away in Portofino, on the western 
coast of Italy. Within ten minutes the telephone rang in Carlo 
Gubbio's villa in Frascati. My son was shaking with barely 
contained excitement as he listened to the ring. It was answered 
on the third ring. A minute later his hopes were dashed. He 
sighed, visibly depressed as I disconnected. His mother had 
already left for Paris. She had departed only hours after he had 
boarded the airplane in Rome 

There wasn't much that I could say or do. For a moment I 
considered getting the phone number in Paris but I decided not 
to. My son had enough disappointment for one night. He started 
to get up out of my lap as I continued to turn the frequency 
dial.

I did not expect to hear anything. Even though sunspot 
activity was high, there was seldom much radio traffic this far 
up the band. Still, the range was the greatest above 22 M Hz, 
reaching out for eight thousand miles or more into the night. 
Then the speaker crackled again and a foreign sounding voice 
broke through the static. Jason grinned at me as he recognized 
the strongly accented voices of two boys of about his own age.

"Where are they?" He asked excitedly.

"Australia, I think. It sure sounds like it, mate!" I 
laughed as I increased the power output to 100 watts. "Why don't 
you ask them? It's kind of rude to eavesdrop."

"You mean I can speak to them?" Jason asked excitedly.

"No you ding-dong. I thought I'd send you down there on an 
airplane. You ready to go Down-Under, mate?" I teased. I pressed 
the transmit key and gave my call sign.

Jason nearly peed his pants as the one of the boys replied 
with a broad, "G'day mate. Where'ya callin' from?" I was very 
glad he didn't, because he was still sitting on my lap. I handed 
the microphone to Jason and leaned back. He looked at it 
nervously for a moment then lifted it to his mouth the same way 
as he had watched me do.

"Hi," he said boldly before releasing the transmit button.

"Hi y'self, mate. What's y'name? Mine's Bruce, but my nick 
is Boxy. Y' s'posed to say over y' know, 'fore you transmit. 
Over."

Jason looked at me wide-eyed confusion. I pulled the mike 
to me and said, "Hi Boxy. You're speaking to my son, Jason. It's 
his first time on the waves so go slow for him till he gets the 
hang of it, okay? Over."

"Sure thing man. Hi-ya Jason! Where-ya callin' from? Over."

Jason's hand closed around the microphone as I passed it 
back to him. I held up my hand, "Five minutes," I said, "Then 
you get off. You need a license to use this thing."

He nodded and stood up so that I could escape from under 
him.

"Uh, Mykonos. Uh, over," Jason said uncertainly. "Hey, Dad. 
This is really cool."

 "Hi-ya Jason. I'm Josh. I'm at Wilcannia, at Coonawarra 
Station. Over."

Boxy crackled over the speakers. "Hey Josh, get off and let 
me speak to Jason, will-ya? I'm at Tibooburra. Well kinda. I'm 
at Callabonna Station. Tibooburra's 'bout fifty miles away, I 
guess. But it's the nearest town. Over."

"He lives in the desert, man. Over," Josh laughed.

Jason glanced over his shoulder at me. I smiled back at 
him. I did not think he would have as much fun talking to his 
mother. "What do I say, Dad?" I shrugged. "Uh, hi Josh. Hey 
nobody lives in a desert, 'cept in Africa, of course. Uh, over," 
Jason added.

"Get real. He lives in the Sturt. That's a desert, if you 
didn't know. Over," Josh continued to laugh between the 
crackling static.

 I waited for a minute as the three boys took turns to 
exchange information. Ten minutes later I finally interrupted 
the conversation of three ten-year-old boys. They were thousands 
of miles apart and they had become instant friends. Jason 
followed me back into the main cabin.

"You won't believe it, Dad. It's the end of winter down 
there. They're supposed to be in school, right now because it's 
just nine o'clock in the morning there. They do it by radio, 
their school stuff, and they only see their teacher once or 
twice a year. It's wild, Dad," he bubbled enthusiastically.

I passed Jason a can of Coke from the refrigerator and 
pulled out a beer for myself.

"Dad, do you mind if I have a diet," he asked as he saw the 
red and gold label.

"Diet? You? With your skinny body?" I teased.

He smiled. "You don't want me getting fat now, do you?" he 
said. He bulged his cheeks outward like a little, chubby boy 
with a mouthful of food. He was irresistible. I wanted to kiss 
and hug him. I passed him a diet Coke and replaced the other 
can. But he was right, I did not want him fat. I wanted him, 
though not quite in the way he had in mind, and slender as well.

 Like a puppy dog he followed me on deck, still enthusing 
about his new friends in Australia. I sat back on the cockpit 
seat and gazed into the night sky. It was identical to the 
previous night. It was both romantic and awe-inspiring. Jason 
dropped down onto the seat beside me and snuggled up, resting 
his small head against my shoulder and pressing his bare legs 
against mine, ostensibly for my warmth, but sending a thrill 
through me nonetheless.

We gazed intently up at the sky. I knew very little about 
the formations though I pointed out the few that I did 
recognize. The wind had died away as it often does at night on 
the ocean. The only sounds were the lapping of waves on the 
hull, the occasional sounds of wildlife ashore, and our rhythmic 
breathing. The boy's sweet breath was warm and moist as I felt 
it against my chest. Lovingly, I caressed his hair, brushing it 
first away from his forehead and then running my hand back 
though it. He needed a shampoo after the afternoon in the ocean 
but he still smelled fresh and clean. Jason stretched out, lying 
back on the seat with his head cradled in my lap. He looked 
peaceful and content, secure in his father's arms.

The sweet smile on my son's was all the reward I needed. He 
was mine, to love and cherish. I stroked the soft cheek, 
silently marvelling at how smooth it was. My fingers caressed 
his small ear, brushing against the hard point of the stud in 
his lobe. Try as I could, I could not imagine that his mother 
would ever buy him jewelry. I contemplated the possibilities 
until one stood out. 

"Did Carlo give you this?" I asked jealously.

"Huh?" Jason was suddenly quiet.

"Well? Did he?" I persisted.

"Yeah," Jason admitted after a long hesitation.

It sounded wrong though I could not put my finger on what 
bothered me. "What did your mom say?" I asked curiously.

Jason looked uncomfortable but he answered honestly. "I 
guess she was pissed. She didn't like me getting my ear pierced."

I chuckled. "No, I bet she didn't. Did it hurt?"

"Yeah, kinda. Later in the day it was sore till I got used 
to it. It's a real diamond," he offered.

I wondered how much it was worth. At least as much as his 
new watch, I suspected. I could imagine just how pissed Leane 
was. I bet she didn't like her new boyfriend buying her son's 
affection.

"Well, it sounds as though Carlo likes you," I said 
grudgingly. "He must be very rich to be able to buy you such 
nice things."

Jason nodded. I watched his adam's apple bob in his neck as 
he swallowed nervously. "Yeah, he's pretty rich, Mom says. 
He,... bought me a lot of stuff. Toys and things mostly. When 
Mom got angry about the stud and all, he was sad."

"Well, you deserve nice things, Jason," I admitted 
invidiously. I tried to hide the covetous sound in my voice. "So 
what else did Carlo buy you, Jason?"

Jason hesitated. "He bought me a Cross. That didn't bother 
Mom," he answered.

 "No, I don't suppose it did. Why aren't you wearing it?" I 
asked.

"'Cause Mom told me you weren't Catholic and I thought you 
wouldn't like it. I took it off in the airplane," he answered 
quietly.

"Oh! Well, I really wouldn't mind," I said generously, and 
then added begrudgingly, "If you want to wear it, you should."

"I didn't want it in the first place," Jason admitted 
quietly.

I continued to brush my fingers through his hair, stroking 
him until his hair was sleek and untangled. His small head 
rested on my groin and a delicious warmth spread between us. I 
gazed down at his perfectly beautiful face and smiled. He smiled 
back, his eyes flickering sleepily. I could feel my penis 
flexing, struggling out of its limp stupor as the minutes 
passed. Then, no longer able to control the demanding urge 
within me, my right hand gently slipped under his over-sized 
sweat shirt. My fingertips caressed his bare, hot skin, grazing 
over sensitive, velvet flesh as I neared his tiny navel. I 
touched against the tiny fold of skin that covered the top half, 
circled round it and playfully pressed the tip of a finger into 
the little indentation.

I remembered the night he had been born. I had been there 
in the delivery room as he came bloody-red and bawling into the 
bright lights of the world. I could remember the thick umbilical 
cord, still pulsing with his life-blood, the only connection he 
continue to share with his mother. I remembered the pride I had 
felt as I scrutinized him, fascinated by the swollen, bluish 
scrotum between his little legs, in every way he was perfect. 
Then, as the cord was clamped off and I took the cold stainless 
instrument in my latex-gloved hand and severed it, he became 
mine. All that remained of that magical time when he became my 
son was the perfect, little button of his navel.

My hand began to move in ever-widening circles, tickling 
with a feather touch, from his chest to the waist of his shorts. 
I fondled soft, sensitive boy-flesh, stroking the indentations 
of ribs, lightly massaging the firm muscles of his belly. Jason 
sighed and closed his eyes, abandoned to his sybaritic pleasure.

Finally he giggled as he squeezed his head down against my 
rigid penis. "You've got a stiffie, haven't you Dad?" he 
observed playfully.

My heart did a double somersault and I took a deep breath. 
"Huh," I winced self-consciously. I glanced down and saw the 
little pointed tent between the boy's slender legs. The thin 
nylon was lifted up and folded over it. I was not the only one 
responding to the enormity of what lay around us. "by the looks 
of you, I'm not the only one either," I mumbled.

Jason tittered teasingly. "So? Your hand feels nice on my 
tummy." Suddenly guilty and ashamed that I had aroused my son, I 
started to pull my hand away. "No, Dad. Please don't stop. I 
like it there. It feels yummy."

I looked up at the night sky. Its vastness was 
overwhelming. There was no limit to it. Against a myriad stars 
and the timelessness of the universe we were insignificant. I 
continued to caress my son's chest, aware that I was exciting 
him sexually as my fingers travelled up to the minute, firm 
points of his nipples, then down to the edge of his shorts. 
Jason's breathing quickened.

"Dad?..." he whispered.

"Yeah, Jas',"

His eyes opened and he looked deeply into mine. I could see 
the boy's uncertainty, his growing understanding, his longing to 
express his confused desires. "Dad,... when you were a kid,... 
did you do stuff?"

"Stuff?"

"You know,...Dad,... sex stuff?" he asked awkwardly.

I grinned as I nodded affirmatively. "Yeah. I think just 
about every boy does that as he grows up, Jason. It's nothing to 
be ashamed about. It's part of growing up." My hand moved down 
his abdomen, tracing his slender form as I followed the perfect 
contour. My fingertips touched the wrinkled, elastic waistband 
of his shorts and stopped. I wanted to go further. I felt my 
penis growing harder and harder and I knew that he could not 
possibly miss the increasing stiffness and growing mass under 
his head. The heat between us increased as my erection flexed 
and jumped, seeking to escape from the confines of my shorts and 
to press against him. His head moved slightly, pushing pack 
against it as his eyes closed sleepily. He sighed quietly, a 
little whimper of growing delight. Silently, his knees lifted 
up, drawing his legs higher. His knees parted, stretching wide 
apart.

"Dad,... if you want,... you can play with Pokey," he 
murmured.

My hand trembled nervously and I brushed lightly across the 
thin nylon. Underneath, I felt the rigid projection of his 
penis. It was finger-sized, a little shorter than my little 
finger, and certainly no thicker. Jason quivered and stirred. He 
sighed again, this time a little louder than before.

"That feels nice," I said softly. My son nodded slightly 
and his mouth opened partially as he breathed deeply. His 
enjoyment was obvious and satisfying.

"Dad,..." he began uncertainly. "Dad, when you started 
doing sex stuff, how old were you?"

"A bit older that you, maybe eleven. I don't think I had 
turned twelve," I said. I stared at my hand as I tried to 
control my demanding urge. The desire to touch his genitals 
raged in my mind. Lying there, relaxed and happy, the boy was 
irresistible. I forced my hand away from him, clenching it 
tightly to stop the endless trembling, before I returned to 
caress his flat, soft belly. His disappointment was both audibly 
and visibly expressed as he opened his eyes.

"You can,... if you want?" he breathed out sleepily.

I smiled and shook my head. It was too soon. My head was 
spinning in shock. The social barriers, the taboos against 
incest arose within me and denied the urge, quelling my hungry 
desire for the boy as my erection faded and became soft, limp 
flesh. Slowly his eyes closed and he dropped off to sleep.

A few minutes later, confident that he was sound asleep, I 
leaned forward and gently pressed my lips to his. Our first kiss 
was stolen from the sleeping boy.

An hour or more passed before he finally struggled away, 
rubbing at his eyes as he yawned and stretched his cramped, sore 
muscles. I helped him to his feet and guided him back down into 
his cabin in the bow. Then as he continued to yawn, I lifted his 
sweat shirt up and over his tired arms. He smiled, barely 
conscious and slumped down onto the bunk. I lifted him back so 
that his head was on the pillow and straightened his legs, then 
with a sleepy, though not-unwilling consent, I untied his 
swimming costume cord and gently pulled the thin nylon shorts 
downward. For a few seconds I feasted on the beautiful curves of 
the young body, the small, firm bottom, the taut belly, the tiny 
organs of his sex. I lifted the sheet up to cover his nakedness.

I worked late into the night, writing and rewriting the 
sections of my new novel that I was least happy with. A curious 
eroticism began to appear as I worked. My sentences became 
longer, more graphic, using more adverbs and adjectives that I 
had ever used before. It seemed as if I was closer to the 
emotions of my characters, as if I could feel what they were 
feeling, or supposed to feel. Time and time again, my thoughts 
drifted away, back into the cabin in the bow, back to the beach 
and the fun we had during the afternoon, to the pictures still 
undeveloped in the little black-plastic canisters, to the sexual 
act that we had witnessed together. I went to my own cabin 
shortly after midnight.

I could not sleep. For a long while I lay, half-awake, half-
asleep, restless in a silent fantasy. I dreamed of the little 
boy asleep at the other end of the boat as I listened to the 
hollow slap of the waves against the hull. By blocking out all 
of my other thoughts I willed him to come to my bed. I sent a 
message of love and lust, of longing, of desire, of needing the 
soft warmth of his young body against mine. It was a fruitless 
message. Minutes passed, and hour, into the early hours of the 
morning.

My mind drifted, recreating images of Jason, naked. 
Refocusing, editing, reinterpreting every action that had 
occurred in a vain effort to convince myself that his small body 
hungered for mine as I ached for his. My dream shifted and 
changed direction, boy became girl, Jason became Tina. My 
arousal faded. I twisted, turned, rolled onto my back and stared 
at the ceiling. Through the hatch above the bed, I watched 
clouds rolling across the sky, blocking out the firefly stars.

Jason returned inside my head, a boy again, this time as 
the naked youth lying on his back on the sand. A strange man was 
kneeling behind him, a long cock, like a tube, was sliding back 
and forth. the boy's mouth opened in a shrieking cry of joy as 
he orgasmed and writhed in ecstasy. He moved relentlessly, 
grinding his buttocks into the man's belly as huge, hair-covered 
balls swung and slapped against his small cheeks. White-hot 
sperm oozed out from their union. I turned onto my face, feeling 
revulsion, trying to block recurring, tormenting images of the 
boy's laughing face.

I forced my mind to encounter more pleasant thoughts. 
Memories of Jason as we romped and played together in the water, 
of my beautiful young son proudly displaying his body as I 
photographed him, of the sleepy boy with his head in my lap as 
we gazed at the universe. I could still feel his hair beneath my 
hand, the silky softness of his skin, the moist heat of his 
breath, the warmth of his young body pressed against me, the 
hardness between his slender legs. 

My hand reached down and enclosed my growing erection. My 
fingers began to move, stroking gently as my thumb encircled the 
glans, squeezed out a slippery bead and smeared it over the 
sensitive skin, then becoming harder and longer as my hand moved 
faster and gripped tighter. My eyes closed, blocking out the 
world and concentrating only on the image that danced in my 
mind. Jason, naked and beautiful. Jason, aroused and wanting to 
be loved. The pressure eased in my hand as my erection became 
tight and hot, lightly sliding my fingers up and down rapidly. I 
closed my eyes tightly as the pressure began to climb. I felt my 
scrotum tighten, pulling my testicles upward. I started 
squeezing my bowel to tense the muscles deep inside me and make 
my penis twitch and jerk as it began to swell with the approach 
of ejaculation. I did not hear Jason's approach as he padded 
into the bedroom in his bare feet.

"Are you jerking off, Dad?" he giggled.

I pulled my hand away, guiltily. I stared into the night, 
barely seeing Jason standing a few feet away in the dim light. I 
felt ashamed. My young son had caught me in the reprehensible 
act of self-pleasuring. Then realizing that he could not see 
under the sheets, that he had not seen my aroused penis, that he 
not observed the intimate act of which I was culpable, I grinned 
in the dark. There was no reproach in his voice, only a 
nervousness that was born of childish curiosity and the 
discovery of an illicit recklessness on my part.

"Uh, huh! What did you think I was doing, you dummy?" I 
asked lightheartedly.

I heard another small, boyish giggle. "I kind of guessed 
that's what you were doing, but I wasn't sure. I didn't think, 
well, that you'd do that stuff."

"Well, I do," I laughed. "It's not a sin, Jason," I teased.

"I know that," he replied seriously. "I just didn't think 
you'd do it at your age."

"I'm not that old," I said. "You make me sound like an old 
man, Jason."

I turned onto my back and looked towards my son. My heart 
leaped and pounded in a raw frenzy. The moon was half-full and 
it penetrated the clouds, pouring down through the open hatch 
with an ethereal glow. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I 
realized that Jason was naked. I also observed his right hand. 
It was cupped over his genitals as his fingers squeezed his 
little testicles relentlessly. He grinned at me knowingly and 
stepped closer to the bunk. He was so close that I could touch 
him if I reached out to him. His hand moved, his fingers 
scooping under his scrotum and his thumb looping around his 
short, very-hard penis as he pulled it down, stopping only when 
it was perpendicular to his belly.

"Dad?..." he whispered.

I feasted my ravenous eyes on his naked body. In the dark, 
I knew he could not see the rapacious look in my eyes and it 
calmed me. "Yes, Jason?" I said softly. 

I heard my voice tremble with excitement, knowing the 
question that loomed in my son's mind. All afternoon, all 
through the evening it had been brewing. Like an impending storm 
gathering on the horizon, until finally a plume of clouds rose 
high into the sky. It's approach was heralded, it was just a 
matter of time. Jason's question was inevitable. Since midday, 
my own conclusion had been inescapable.

"Dad,..." he repeated, "Can I get into bed with you?"

I lifted back the solitary sheet. Jason stepped forward. 
Not reluctantly, not hesitantly, just shyly. He was breathing 
deeply as he tried to control the rush of emotions. As he 
reached the side of the bunk I reached out to him. Lovingly, my 
hand closed on his. It was small and soft and hot to touch. Like 
my son, it was alive and his fingers tightened possessively on 
my thumb.

I drew him forward and he came willingly, of his own 
volition. He knelt on the bunk beside me, trembling with 
uninhibited desire as he gazed down at me. It was as if we had 
been emancipated, freed of the restrictions of an orthodox 
society that condemned our love. I surveyed the young boy, 
wondering if we were overstepping the bounds so far that he 
would be distraught and devastated. I could not stand to hurt 
him. Prudently, cautiously, reassuringly, I smiled. I would do 
no more than the boy wanted, he was free to chose how far he 
went. But I knew that he was compliant, like any western child 
of the late-twentieth-century he had been raised to obey and not 
to question the rules established by society.

"What do you want to do, Jas'?" I whispered.

He hesitated as he deliberated. "Can I lie down on top of 
you?" he asked sheepishly. Another long pause. "Can we put our 
things together?" he added shyly.

I smiled and lifted him forward. His knees straddled my 
thighs and he settled down, wriggling for a moment to become 
comfortable. I felt the trembling shiver run though him as our 
hot genitals came together. For those few wonderful seconds as 
our bodies united for the first time and we shared our warmth, I 
was filled for a new appreciation of my son. He was very, very 
sexy. Society, with all its exalted rules deprived the boy of 
what he was, and what he wanted to be. By those grand rules, I 
was corrupt, leading the boy in depraved and degenerate acts of 
lust. It angered me.

Jason moved against me easily. Unhampered by clothing, he 
sighed effusively as his hard penis merged into mine, his 
testicles squished against mine. Slowly his head lowered until 
his cheek was on my chest. He was relaxed and very, very happy.

"You feel good, Jas'," I sighed.

"Yeah, so do you," he breathed out in relief as the tension 
faded in his limbs. "Your thing is sticking in my tummy," he 
murmured.

"Is it uncomfortable?"

"No. It feels good. It's so big and hot." He took a deep 
breath and exhaled slowly. "Dad, can I move,... you know, up and 
down on you."

"You can do whatever you want, Jay-boy," I answered softly. 
"It's up to you to decide what you want."

He began to move his body gently against mine. His genitals 
were pushed to one side so that they lay along side mine and my 
rigid penis was squashed into the velvety skin of his belly. He 
began to move his hips, gyrating and oscillating them in a 
swaying motion as if he was dancing. Long, wonderful minutes 
passed as his movement became more agitated. I felt him 
stirring, wavering as his tempo increased. His rhythmic 
breathing became strained, turning to quick gasps as his small 
body approached a crescendo. On his upward movement, my erection 
rubbed against his, downward, it reached to his chest, to the 
start of his rib cage.

My excitement knew no bounds. Already close to orgasm, I 
pleaded for it to wait, grasping his body tightly to stop his 
movement every time I felt the pressure building in my 
testicles, the familiar painful pressure that signalled orgasm.

He moaned and shuddered, his breathing becoming frenzied as 
he twitched and writhed. His climax was dry and painful and I 
felt him wince uncomfortably as his body recoiled. His mouth 
came down onto my breast, sucking, kissing, licking as he 
strangled the cry in his throat.

For a minute I allowed him to lie still, hugging his hot, 
bare body tightly against me, tousling his mussed-up hair and 
saying his name over and over again as he settled down. Then my 
hands glided down from his shoulders, following the graceful, 
fluid curve of his slender back until I reached his buttocks. 
Each hand cupped a small, firm cheek. I began to move him by 
guiding his hips as he squirmed and wiggled in order to 
reposition his genitals comfortably next to mine. He squeezed 
against me in a loving embrace and nuzzled my shoulder with his 
lips. My penis gouged into his belly, the swollen, sensitive 
glans bearing the brunt of our passion. Within seconds I felt 
the pressure building inside me. My testicles ached as my 
scrotum became impossibly tight.

"Jason, we better stop,... before I make a mess on you," I 
gasped.

My son giggled, shook his head defiantly, and began to rub 
his body harder against mine. He sensed my orgasm and his 
movement became faster, furiously pushing against me until I 
moaned deliriously. Then, as my semen spurted out between us and 
he felt the hot wetness of it flooding out, he went wild. I 
spasmed and he pumped, frenetically.

"Do it! Do it!" he gasped enthusiastically. "Oh! Yeah! Do 
it! Do it all over me!"

His frantic energy disturbed me. For those few brief 
seconds he was insane, wanting only to be drenched in my fluid. 
He humped his narrow thighs, slamming his groin into mine, 
grunting wildly as the dying spurts emptied onto our bellies. 
And then he collapsed.

I hugged him tightly, squeezing the madness from him as our 
violent passion faded. His body was feverish, still provoked and 
excited as only a prepubescent boy can be after an orgasm. I 
kissed him fiercely on the top of his head, burrowing my nose 
into his long hair and grasping his small cheeks tightly, 
preventing his movement by inserting my fingers into the deep. 
hot crevice between them.

My semen covered him, from his neck, all the down to his 
thighs. I had never produced so much in my entire life. He kept 
on wriggling, squirming on the slippery film as his slender body 
writhed against mine, still intensely excited and ready for 
more. Unable to do more, too sleepy to continue, I moved one 
hand upward and held his head and restricted any more movement 
until he finally submitted.

His breathing slowed, becoming long, shallow breaths. He 
was asleep. For a long while I lay awake, covered by a hot, 
alive boy-blanket. Then, as the need to sleep came to me, I 
carefully eased him away. His flesh had stuck to mine, glued 
with the sticky mess of semen that coated both of us. I broke 
the seal and eased my lover off me, positioning him on his side 
so that he faced towards me. Not waking, he cuddled closer into 
my warmth, snuggling his head onto my shoulder and draping his 
slender right leg possessively over my legs. I caressed his 
silky hair, wishing that I could reach to kiss him, wanting him 
to be awake, desiring more of him. I closed my eyes and slept.


PLATONIC LOVE.

DAY THIRTEEN.  Mykonos.  Early morning,  August 5th, 1993.

"Beware of condemning as a bad invention something that was not always 
known, and do not despise our type of love just because heterosexual love 
has a longer history. You mustn't forget that, while the earliest 
inventions were born of necessity, what man's genius has since discovered 
at leisure is of more value in our eyes."

Lucian, Dialogues of Love



For several long seconds, I thought Jason was dead. It was 
only when I touched his small, bare shoulder did I realize that 
he was very much alive. It was the warmth of his body that 
convinced me and set my fears at rest. He was sound asleep, so 
deeply asleep that his breathing was erratic. Each small breath 
came at such irregular intervals that it raised a profound fear 
in me that he would not take another breath. But he was 
breathing, quietly and inaudibly, taking small lung-fulls before 
exhaling. It was very disturbing.

Asleep, my beautiful son was an angel. In the first dim 
light of the new day, his blond hair was so dark that it looked 
brown. It was unkempt, tousled and bedraggled like a little waif 
His hair fell forward and partially covered the side of his face 
and most of his forehead. My consciousness returned slowly as I 
drifted in and out of sleep. It seemed to take several minutes 
for me to fully grasp that Jason was lying naked beside me. At 
first there was confusion in my muddled mind as to why he was in 
my bed, then amid the disarray of thoughts I wondered why he was 
naked. And then I remembered what had happened during the night 
and I tried to decide whether the perfect boy was an angel, or a 
demon, or both.

What I had longed for during most of the previous day had 
happened during the night, or in the early pre-dawn hours. I 
could not remember when he had come into my room, only that he 
had come sometime during the night and what ensued was more 
wonderful than anything I had ever imagined was possible. I 
smiled at him fondly. At some point during the last two days I 
had realized that I loved him more than I had loved anyone 
before in my entire life. But when that blessed moment had 
occurred I could not be certain. Only it had happened, and all 
the love I had stored within me had burst out and enveloped him. 
I smiled again, more than love had burst out of me. I thought 
back, revisiting every action of the day before. Each act seemed 
predestined, all leading inexorably to the present and to the 
fulfillment of a love that had started ten years earlier. I 
lingered, concentrating on the events of the night and on the 
intimacy we had shared, the brief skirmish on the bed amid 
rumpled sheets, the brush of his small body against mine, the 
onslaught of passion as our bodies came in combat, the discharge 
of my semen as our encounter ended.

I recalled the boy's sweet softness, treasuring each 
childish gasp and whimper of pleasure I had elicited, or rather 
that Jason had attained, until I came to the present. The next 
thought I had was unpleasant. Any way I looked at it, the 
conclusion could not be avoided. My son was not innocent. He had 
not come to my bed as an inexperienced ten-year-old child, but 
as a boy with a rampart lust and desire that contradicted his 
tender age. He had come with the knowledge of what he needed to 
do, he had positioned his body to give me pleasure, he had 
understood the sensations I felt, and he had accepted my orgasm 
as an everyday occurrence. But even as I gazed at him, sound 
asleep and emanating the purity and innocence of childhood, all 
the while reminiscing on the slippery wetness that had covered 
his body, it was impossible to feel anything less than the 
deepest love for him. I stroked his soft, dry flesh and 
marvelled at the silky warmth that flowed from him. I did not 
care that Jason was no longer innocent. I loved him too much. 
But I was jealous. I wondered who had initiated him, who had 
taken liberties with his young body, who had taken his innocence.

The more I thought about what had happened during the night 
the more confused I became. Jason, sweet Jason, beautiful Jason 
had become my lover. I breathed out heavily. He was a little boy 
but he knew what exactly what he was doing. He was as willing as 
I was. Despite all the laws of society I did not think that we 
had done together was immoral or evil. He was a sensual boy, 
with a carnal lust that matched my own. But he was also my son 
and we had committed incest. I stroked the boy's cheek. It was 
impossible not to love him. How could anyone not look upon him 
and feel deep love? Tenderly, I brushed the soft hair back from 
his forehead. He was blameless. Perhaps it was because he was 
asleep, perhaps it was because of what had transpired between 
us, but he seemed more beautiful that ever.

He stirred and whined, not even close to waking up as a 
dream descended on him. His eyelids, so thin that they were 
nearly transparent, fluttered peacefully. Not wanting to wake 
him up, though the temptation was very strong, I carefully eased 
his arm off my chest where it was casually draped, and settled 
his leg back on the bunk as I moved away. I regarded him 
closely, examining him the way I used to when he was a baby. 
Sometimes I would sit for hours and watch him sleep, forgetting 
the things I needed to do, wanting only to observe him and be 
close in case he woke up. His dream intensified and his mouth 
opened slightly as he began to breath deeper. He sighed again, 
squirming slightly as he pulled the pillow into him and wrapped 
his arms around it like a big teddy bear. I recalled the lewd 
grin on his face when he felt my semen spurting against him. 
Then, he had been my teddy bear.

I stood up, still reflecting on the events of the night as 
I remembered the boy's frenzied movements; the wet, hot fluid of 
our passion making a slippery lubrication between our bodies and 
his playful bites on my shoulder as he became more aggressive 
and greatly excited. Suddenly, feeling very naked and exposed 
before the sleeping child and awed by the absolute beauty of his 
naked body that both confirmed and controverted the picture of 
innocence, I picked up my shorts from the floor and hurriedly 
pulled them on.

Quietly I withdrew from my cabin and went on deck. It was 
cool but the sky was clear. The sun was breaking the horizon, 
and though I could not see it, the creamy-pink color of the 
water and the pale-grey-blue sky told of a beautiful day to 
come. Another yacht had moored in the cove, perhaps a hundred 
yards off the starboard bow. It was a thirty-footer, or 
thereabouts. Judging by the size of it and the name 'Lindos 
Dream' that was plastered in ugly black letters over the stern, 
I was confident that it was one of the charter boats that ply 
the islands. There was no sign of life aboard. Still, it was 
early, too early for the tourists to be awake. That was the only 
problem with sailing in the Cyclades during summer. There was no 
privacy because there were simply too many tourists. I wished 
they had picked somewhere else to 'park' their confounded boat, 
instead of interrupting the idyllic serenity that Jason and I 
had discovered.

I breathed deeply, feeling life surge into me with the 
tangy smell of the sea. The freshness of the cool, salty air was 
invigorating. Dawn was the best time of the day, I decided. I 
felt more alive that I had been in many years. I felt a warm 
glow of happiness that originated from a lingering memory of my 
son's naked body and his hot, bare skin pressed tightly against 
mine as he moved in my arms.

I ambled forward, going to the bow, to the pulpit where 
Jason had run to the previous day when all had seemed lost. For 
a while, I had been devastated and I vowed never to let it 
happen again. Some how, some way, I would find a way to keep 
Jason with me when his holiday ended. I sat down on the 
stainless steel railing of the pulpit and stared over the side 
into the dark water below. Thoughts, ideas, plans, came and 
went, each discarded, each leaving me empty and frightened. 
There was no way that I could convince his mother to let him 
stay with me. She would say no if only to aggravate me and 
impede any happiness I might derive from him.

It was impossible not to think about Jason. He was down in 
my cabin, not very far away, but in just twenty-four days, 
little more than three weeks, he wouldn't be there. He would be 
gone for good. Maybe I could get him to visit during his summer 
vacation the next year, perhaps over his Christmas holidays, 
anything would do. I wanted him by me. I wanted to hold him and 
hug him and do what we did during the night, again and again. I 
was so engrossed in my longing, that I did not hear him.

I looked up suddenly as I sensed his presence. He was only 
about three feet away and he observed me silently. Like me, my 
young son was also deep in thought. He was dressed in my 'Apollo-
Sun God' tee shirt. Like the sweat shirt he had worn during the 
evening, it was far too large for him, though he looked 
wonderful in it. It came halfway down his thighs and hung in 
loose folds over his slender body. The neck opening was 
stretched wide and revealed his bare, narrow shoulders. He had 
pulled the tee shirt on in my cabin before he came upstairs and 
his modesty suddenly seemed out-of-character after the fun we 
had shared together. I thought for a second and realized that 
underneath my tee shirt, my son was naked. There were no 
underpants or shorts there that would fit him and it was very 
unlikely that he would go forward to his cabin to get some. The 
thought that Jason was bare-assed gave me a sudden, and powerful 
thrill. He also looked very sexy in my tee shirt.

However, as I looked at his small face and tried as hard as 
I could, I was unable to stop the feeling of revulsion that came 
from knowing what I had done with him. My own role was 
repugnant, though I was uncertain as to the extent of my 
responsibility. Had I led him on, had my playful caresses in the 
cockpit been 'fuel on the fire', had I allowed it to happen, had 
I accepted the boy's advances with complicity, had I been the 
seducer of a lonely, little boy. I felt sick inside.

"I'm sorry Jason," I said softly. "I shouldn't have done 
that last night. It was wrong of me."

"Wrong? Why was it wrong?" he asked angrily. "Because I did 
what I wanted to?" I shook my head slowly. "Because that's what 
gays do, is that it?"

I shook my head again. "No, Jason. Honey, its not that. 
You're a kid and I'm so much older than you, and well, it just 
isn't fair to you. With a boy your own age, it's different. Then 
you're friends as well. Besides, Jason, I'm your father."

"We can be friends too, Dad. Can't we?" Jason retorted. "I 
can't help that your my dad, you know."

Then, as I continued to observe him, his lips compressed 
pensively and he sniffed loudly, wiping the back of his hand 
over his nose. He shuddered slightly, visibly upset.

"You've been crying?" I asked. "What's wrong, Jas'?" I 
asked as I saw the wet marks on his cheeks. 

"I,... woke up,... and you weren't there,... I was afraid 
you'd gone somewhere.... It scared me," he said hesitantly.

I smiled at him lovingly. "I always get up at dawn, Jay-
boy. It's the nicest time of the day. Everything is so fresh and 
clean. It's fun to see the sun rise."

My son smiled weakly back at me and said, "Sure. But it's 
more fun to stay in bed."

I raised an eyebrow curiously, doubtful that the boy was 
old enough for such innuendo. "What's that supposed to mean?" I 
teased hopefully.

"You know!" he retorted as he pretended anger. "You know 
it's more fun in bed!"

"Huh? It sounds to me like you're getting lazy in your old 
age. I think it's time you started getting up earlier, Jason. I 
was thinking of scrubbing the decks down today before 
breakfast," I added with a straight face.

He giggled and his hand moved downwards suggestively. It 
crept towards his groin as my eyes followed it longingly. "Scrub 
the decks, huh? Boy, that sounds like a lot of fun, Dad. Just 
what I had in mind, before breakfast."

"It sounds like you got out of the wrong side of the bed," 
I teased. "Maybe you didn't get enough sleep last night."

"I slept okay," Jason smiled wickedly. "So what do you do 
for fun on the old tub? Besides scrub the decks, that is."

"What else have you got in mind?" I asked suggestively. "We 
could polish the hull, I suppose." He glanced around pretending 
to ignore my ribald suggestion. He shrugged. "Well, Jason?" I 
persisted.

"You put stuff all over me," he said petulantly. He smirked 
cheekily, finally unable to continue his game. "You slimed me 
good, Dad."

"Slimed?" I questioned. "That's a new word for it."

He giggled. "Slimed. You know, Dad, like in Ghostbusters. 
You sure made a bunch, though. You got it everywhere. Pokey 
almost drowned in it."

I laughed. "I think you had something to do with it too," I 
said. "I seem to remember a naked boy who was bouncing around on 
top of me. Now I wonder who that could have been?"

Jason blushed an shook his head in mock defiance. "I 
wouldn't do a thing like that."

I started to laugh. "No, of course you wouldn't. Not a nice 
boy like you. Where on earth did you learn to do that?" Jason 
looked downward in shame. I had gone too far again. "Is that 
what they teach in your sex education class now?" I asked 
quickly and then added teasingly, "Maybe I should go back to 
school?"

Jason's head lifted up again and his eyes sparkled. "You'd 
be surprised to know what we learn in the fourth grade, Dad. I 
know why you get an erection, and everything."

"Everything?" I taunted. 

"Well almost," Jason replied. "Dad,... can I ask you a 
question?" I nodded. "Dad,... when you were a kid, you did it 
with other kids, right?" I nodded again. "Did,... did you ever 
do it with a older person?"

"You want to know how much older?" I challenged as I 
grasped where my son was leading the conversation.

"Yeah! Like the two guys we saw yesterday, remember?"

I nodded, "It'd be kind of hard to forget."

"Well, the older guy was a lot older wasn't he? And the one 
in front,... well he wasn't that much older than me."

I grinned. "Well, Jason. The one in front, as you call it, 
looked to be about seventeen or eighteen, I'd guess. That's 
about eight years older than you."

"Yeah, I s'pose so, but the older guy was a lot older than 
you are," Jason reasoned with a shy smile. "And well, the older 
guy could have been his father, couldn't he?" 

"Maybe? I don't think that's something that fathers 
generally do with their sons."

"I guess so. But I don't think that most fathers would take 
their kids to a gay beach and take a bunch of photos of them in 
the raw." Jason taunted. I smiled enigmatically. "Or play with 
their dicks either," he continued, now smirking widely.

I didn't reply. He was right and we both knew it. There was 
nothing I could say. I had enjoyed what happened more than 
anything else I had done in forty years. Both of us stared 
silently at the sea as it rippled into the cove, deep in our own 
thoughts. The sky was becoming lighter. Although the sun was 
still hidden by the headland, the light was changing to a rich-
golden glow. It was the most beautiful time of day and the most 
beautiful boy stood only inches away from me, recollecting what 
we had shared. But after only a few moments I was unable to 
stand the silence. I was afraid that it heralded a break down of 
the strong feelings between us and the love that both of us 
wanted to share with the other.

"There's a lot of things you and I haven't done, Jason. I 
owe you seven years. I can never make it up to you. But I wish I 
could, son."

"I don't want to go back to Paris," Jason said sadly. 
"I,... I want to stay here,... with you, Dad."

"Paris? I don't understand. What do you mean go back to 
Paris," I questioned.

Jason giggled as he comprehended my mistake. "Not in 
France, silly. In Kentucky! That's where we live. In Paris."

"Oh! I thought you lived in Lexington?"

His giggle changed to a laugh. "Kind of. Paris is near 
there. I guess about twenty miles or something."

"Oh!" I gazed into my son's pale-blue eyes. "Well, I don't 
want you to go back there either. I want you to stay here with 
me, Jas'."

Jason grinned ebulliently. "And have sex?"

I nodded, thinking of the slender, bare body under my tee-
shirt. I would have to domesticate him; his language was 
shocking at times and his table manners were atrocious. But he 
was fun and I loved him. He was more than a temporary diversion 
and much more than a brief fling that provided entertainment to 
an aging man. He was my life.

With concealed mirth I recalled Tina. Now that had been 
recreation, more like a competitive sport, as we romped in bed. 
I indulged her, delighting in her girl's body, relishing her 
pleasure as I savored her flesh. I entertained her during the 
day and fucked her delectable body at night, all to the 
amusement of her parents. It was a crazy world. While my crude 
lust for Tina might evoke some distaste from most people, my 
love for Jason was evil.

I nodded again, still thinking of the slender body under my 
tee-shirt. My penis started on its way to erection as the first 
rays of the sun came over the rocky headland. The seagulls were 
startled and they rose up in a white, flapping cloud, filling 
the air with the strident sounds of their screeching. We watched 
them racing across the water, diving and swooping in random, 
chaotic patterns. It was then that Jason noticed the other boat 
as it swung lazily at anchor.

"There's another boat, Dad," he observed. "They weren't 
there yesterday."

"Yeah, I know. I think they came in while we were at the 
beach. We wouldn't have seen them when we came back because it 
was getting dark by then."

He sighed. "I wish it was just us here and nobody else. Why 
did they have to park so close for?"

I shrugged. "You don't park a boat, Jason, you,..."

"Yeah Dad, I know, you moor it, or anchor it, or something 
like that," he interrupted querulously.

Jason stepped closer and slid between my knees and the 
forestay. He leaned back so that the roller-furling foil pressed 
into the center-line of his body. He stretched his legs apart to 
brace himself. His legs pressed into my knees. He smiled shyly.

"It is beautiful in the morning, Dad. Even with them 
'parked', okay, moored so close," he acknowledged quietly.

I nodded. "It's especially beautiful with you here to share 
it with me. I get lonely by myself, Jason."

"But you wouldn't get lonely with me here, would you Dad?" 
he asked confidently, knowing the answer to his own question. I 
answered with a smile. "I could take care of you. I could help 
out a lot," he suggested.

I smiled. "Can you cook?"

Jason giggled and shook his head, then pushed his hand 
through his long, golden strands to brush them back from his 
face. He needed a haircut, but I liked his hair long. It suited 
him in a way that previously had never appealed to me.

"Okay, well we can't make you the cook. Uh, can you fix 
diesel engines and stuff like that?"

He grinned and shook his head again. Again his fingers 
moved back through his blond, girlish locks. "Okay, well you 
can't be the engineer. So, what's left? How about navigating? 
Can you plot a course or get a fix? No, forget it, we don't need 
a navigator because we have GPS."

"What's GSP?" he asked curiously.

I laughed. "That's GPS, Jas'. It stands for Global-
Positioning-System. We can find our location just about anywhere 
in the world to within a hundred feet of accuracy by getting 
radio fixes from satellites."

"Oh," he said. He pondered the issue for a moment, clearly 
interested in the technology. "So, I would know whether I was on 
your boat or, uh, that boat over there," he observed.

"Right on. So you can't be a navigator. Hmmm,..." I said 
thoughtfully.

"I can use a computer," he volunteered helpfully. "You have 
one on board because I saw it, and you could teach me things. 
Like how to use the radio and stuff like that. And you could 
teach me more about steering. You did say I was doing it okay, 
yesterday. I could be useful to have around," he suggested 
hopefully.

Playfully I shook my head. "I don't eat very much," he 
added as his puppy-dog eyes looked up into mine. Again I shook 
my head, and then I raised my eyebrows meaningfully. "Yeah?" he 
asked.

"Well, I could make you a cabin boy. But you're too 
smelly," I teased.

"I could take a bath?" he responded immediately.

"Gee, Jason, I don't know. It takes a lot of skill to be a 
good cabin boy and you're really smelly." I said, tormenting the 
boy.

He gave me a grieved look but I knew that our game wasn't 
finished. He continued to harass me. "So tell me what a cabin 
boy does?" he asked suggestively

I took a deep breath as Jason grinned at me cheekily. 
"Well, all sorts of things, Jas'. He cleans up the cabin and 
serves coffee or cold beer to the captain. He helps scrub the 
deck, washes up the dirty dishes, helps sail the boat, and he 
runs errands. Oh, and he goes to the top of the mast sometimes 
when there's a problem that needs to be fixed."

His head swivelled around and he looked up, following the 
forestay behind his head, upward to the top of the mast. From 
the deck, it was a dizzying height.

"Up there?" he asked nervously.

"Yep. About once or twice a week," I said to the now-
beleaguered boy.

"It's a long way to climb. You would die if you fell, 
wouldn't you" he said in mock seriousness. "Like King 
Aegeus,....Ahhhhhhhhhh, splat!"

"Something like that. Actually, I do have to go up there 
sometimes. I use a harness thing called a bosun's chair. It's 
pretty safe. There's a great view from up there. You ought to 
see it."

Jason smirked as he continued to bedevil me. "Yeah, I can 
just imagine. So what else does a cabin boy do, Dad?" he asked 
slyly.

"Hmmm! Let me think! I mentioned everything I think."

"After we have sex,...I could make the bed," he suggested 
with a lewd smirk. I looked at him with pretended shock. Jason 
started to giggle. His mirth was infectious and I started to 
laugh. His giggle changed to a belly-laugh and within seconds, 
we were hysterical.

"You're hired," I finally gasped. "When do you want to 
start work?"

Jason finally managed to take a deep breath. "Now!"

"Right now?" I challenged, not expecting him to do anything 
except say yes.

"Yes!" he said quickly.

The immediacy of his response, together with a sudden 
tremor, revealed his enthusiasm for the position as offered. As 
our game had progressed, I fathomed that Jason was about as 
excited as I was. We both appreciated the significance of what 
had transpired between us during the night. Everything had 
changed between us. I was his father and Jason was my son and 
yet, in the space of just a few hours he had become infinitely 
more than that to me. I also knew that I had become profoundly 
more than simply being his father to him. What we had shared 
during the night was much more than the depraved and sinful 
coupling of a man and a boy, infinitely more than the unholy 
union of father and son. Simply, it had been the exploration of 
our love.

"Here?" I harried as I glanced bashfully around me.

Jason gave me a dirty leer, "Yeah!" he whispered 
salaciously. "You're the captain and I'm the cabin boy." He 
paused momentarily as another thought came to him. "But aren't I 
supposed to be in the cabin?" he quipped.

I reached forward slowly until my hands contacted the soft 
cotton of his/my tee shirt. The closeness between us was 
frightening. I had not touched his actual body but the mere 
proximity to him sent my penis into raging stiffness. It did not 
go unnoticed.

"You've got a stiffie again," my son observed cheekily. "I 
wonder why?"

"And you've got a filthy mind, Jason. Besides, I'm not the 
only one."

Although I had no way of telling, it was a good guess. My 
son's eyes flashed downward to evaluate his 'condition' and to 
see what I could see. He giggled as he looked up again. "So why 
is your's stiff?" he taunted playfully.

"Why do you think?"

Jason shrugged. He pretended to be vexed by the difficult 
problem. "Because of me?" he asked shyly, still pretending to be 
innocent.

I nodded. "You're not wrong about that. So why is Pokey all 
hot and bothered as well?" I asked.

Jason giggled, placing his small hand over mine and slowly 
guiding it downwards. "Because of you. Because he wants to do 
stuff with your's."

My hand slid over his taut belly, stroking the warm, firm 
flesh underneath until my fingers contacted the glowing firmness 
that stabbed outward as his groin jerked into my hand. I cupped 
his genitals firmly, palpating his testicles roughly until he 
sighed, then squirmed and pushed forward even harder.

"Feel good?" I teased.

My young son nodded. The nearness of our bodies had 
vanished, replaced by a oneness, a wonderful feeling of being 
joined and inseparable.

"It feels real good," Jason sighed.

"It feels great from my end too," I said. 

And as I remembered, seven long lonely years vanished. I 
smiled as the image danced in my mind. Only at that time, when 
Jason was a toddler, it had been harmless play and now, it 
wasn't a game any longer. I squeezed firmly but gently, rubbing 
his tiny, marble-sized testicles between my fingers and the 
underside of his urethra. He sighed again. With the tip of my 
thumb I began to stroke the short, very-hard length of his penis.

Except for the very-aroused and unyielding indication of 
his male sex, the only thing that separated Jason from Tina were 
the two minuscule eggs that rolled back and forth under the 
pressure of my fingers. They seemed awfully small to do the 
important job required of them in coming years. He was male, and 
yet he was not male. The long hair, the baby-soft skin, the 
long, thin eyelashes, his effeminate, delicate features, all 
contradicted the boy in him.

"Yeah," Jason murmured. "That feels so good when you do it 
like that."

"I guess some things never change, Jas'," I stated 
emphatically.

"What do you mean, Dad?" he asked as he breathed out slowly.

His small hips were already beginning to respond to a 
natural rhythm with a motion that was primal and instinctive. 
Like his movement as he lay above me during the night, he began 
to hump against the hand that both restrained his genitals and 
controlled his pleasure. At first the rhythm was barely 
noticeable with tiny forward jerks, then becoming stronger 
thrusts as he tightened the muscle of his bowel to make his 
little penis dart and bob. All his movements were synchronized 
with his breathing. Each quick, increasingly shallow breath was 
matched by a forward pulse and a tremble as he drew back.

"You always liked this, Jay-boy," I whispered. "Even when 
you were little, you liked this. I used to do this to you a lot 
back then. When you woke up crying, I used to do it to calm you 
down. And every time I gave you a bath you wanted me to play 
with Pokey. Every time I changed your diaper as well, Jason. I 
don't think a single time passed when you didn't want your balls 
rubbed."

Jason grinned. I wondered how much he could remember. Not 
much, if anything. There was a look of disbelief on his face, 
and then a smile appeared very slowly.

"I still like it when you rub my balls," he said quietly. 
He swallowed, still not comfortable with the strange desire that 
grew ever-stronger inside him. He observed me nervously, 
glancing downward with quick peeks at my hand, watching with 
utter fascination as my hand stroked and caressed him lovingly.

"Dad,... you want me to take off my shirt?" he asked 
huskily. Within the last few seconds, the motion of his hips had 
become more pronounced, pushing harder into the cup of my hand, 
his breathing straining, his heart-rate accelerating. His hips 
began to rock and swivel and his thighs tensed, bringing his 
body forward and away from the forestay. The movement in his 
body began to quicken, his belly jerking as it too contributed 
to the erratic undulation of his pre-teen body that signified 
the increase in his enjoyment.

I lifted up his tee shirt, tugging a handful of cloth 
upward with my left hand all the way to his shoulder. I grasped 
his exposed, excited genitals with my other hand. Jason moaned 
lightly and his rigid penis tensed and flexed, jumping happily 
under my fingers as our flesh made actual contact.

"Take it off, Dad," he demanded urgently between child-
sized gasps for air.

I showed remarkable self-restraint that morning as the 
first rays of the sun struck our bodies and began to warm us. My 
son was highly aroused and he wanted to be naked. I wanted him 
naked. I wanted to see him revelling in his natural state, 
aroused and uninhibited as his immature body became more excited 
and sought its nourishment. If it hadn't been for the other 
yacht moored a hundred yards away, I would have stripped him 
with pleasure. In fact, I would have undressed my ten-year-old 
son with great pleasure and it is likely, indeed highly 
probable, that I would have done much more than simply massage 
his genitals. As things turned out, I was very glad that I did 
nothing more than fondle him. But I certainly did that and he 
was more than willing for me to do more.

Jason's penis was very different to mine. His penis was 
very short, certainly no longer than two-and-a-half hard, little 
inches and it was as thin as a finger. His penis was exceedingly 
smooth; the skin was stretched tightly and still no veins showed 
on the surface. The thin tube of his urethra was barely 
discernible on the underside. The foreskin covered the glans 
completely and gave him a stream-lined appearance that excited 
me considerably. The smooth, little-boy's penis contrasted 
sharply to my wrinkled, gnarled, old dick. I found the 
difference fascinating since my son carried half of my genes and 
yet there appeared to be very little of me in him.

After a minute I lifted my hand away from his now-throbbing 
penis. It had swelled slightly, still no longer than before, but 
a little thicker as it engorged with blood. The silky skin had 
became so taut that it was almost translucent. In the 
strengthening light, I could see a fine web of blue veins just 
below the surface. My fingers brushed along his flat, bare 
belly, stroking upwards from his genitals until I reached his 
tiny, soft nipples. The heat in his body had faded, exposed to 
the cool morning air it had become warm and dry. His skin was, I 
decided, as soft as it had been when he was a baby and I cradled 
him in my arms.

I transferred my attention back to his rigid, little penis, 
unable to leave it alone any longer. He sighed again as my 
fingers resumed the gentle stroking of his testicles, then moved 
upward and lovingly enclosed the small shaft, no less stiff than 
it had been before I had abandoned it. The length of his 
foreskin was more than enough to completely cover the head of 
his penis and have almost a half-inch to spare, as much as when 
he was limp. It formed a point, like a little cylinder of 
puckered skin, with an opening that was perhaps as wide as a 
pencil lead.

"Can you get the foreskin back yet, Jas'?" I asked 
curiously. I placed my left arm around his waist and gently 
turned him side on, drawing him back so that he leaned against 
my left leg, cradled between my thighs. His tee shirt slipped 
downward and covered his stomach but stopped at his hips and 
left his genitals exposed to my expert ministrations.

He shook his head. "I didn't know it was even s'posed to 
pull back until I asked the teacher from our hygiene class." I 
must have looked confused because he smirked cheekily, "Sex-ed 
and that stuff. I was kind of worried up till then because mine 
was different to every other boy I'd ever seen. I thought 
something was wrong with it. I was pretty embarrassed about 
asking him, but he was really nice."

"Oh!" I mumbled. The idea of another man, a stranger to me, 
telling my son about sex and about the function of his body was 
depressing. That role was mine by right. It did not belong to a 
grade-school teacher who had his own hang-ups and a 
scientifically correct textbook to avoid explaining the wonders 
and delights of sex, in all its forms.

"I started trying to get it back, you know, retract it, but 
it doesn't want to," he admitted. "I almost got it down 
yesterday, but it stops right at the end and it hurts," he added 
shyly.

"I know, I saw you. I guess it just takes practice, Jason. 
I wouldn't know, though," I said cautiously.

"Because you don't have one, right?" Jason teased. "See if 
you can pull it back," he suggested.

I pushed downward on his penis gently. The silky skin moved 
under my fingers and I watched as some of it was pulled back 
over the glans. But as the little opening reached the tip it 
stretched and then, being unable to go further, stopped. I 
pushed a little harder, grasping his tiny penis tightly between 
my thumb and two fingers as I tried to wiggle the skin downward. 
I could see the rounded head of his glans peeking out at the 
outside world. So close, I squeezed his penis tighter and pushed 
down, hard. Jason winced and gave a little yelp of pain. The 
acorn-shaped glans of his penis pushed outward into the morning 
light and greeted the sun for the first time.

There is something magical when a boy's foreskin is first 
retracted. A part of his anatomy, a very important part of his 
body is discovered for the first time. Jason stared intently at 
the one part of his body that he had never seen before even 
though he had always been aware of its existence under the thin, 
soft skin. My son's glans was very small and slightly pointed, 
though the ridge flared outward mostly because of the foreskin 
that was now bunched up behind it.

Like a girl's body, my son's 'hooded' penis had an aura of 
mystery, it's secret shrouded by delicate skin that now 
revealed, like a precious gem, the bluish-pink glans. The slit 
in the tip was barely discernible. That the never-before-touched 
glans was highly sensitive could not be disputed. The skin was 
delicate and slightly moist as it glistened in the morning sun. 
I licked my fingers and cautiously touched it with a tender 
squeeze. Jason shivered and began to giggle as my fingers 
lovingly manipulated the swollen bell-shaped head with 
considerable care.

"That tickles," he said as he tried to express the sudden, 
very-nice feelings that I had elicited just by squeezing on the 
tiny bulb. "I think Pokey likes that a lot, Dad," he said 
provocatively.

"I hope so!" I laughed.

His right arm wrapped around my neck as he snuggled closer, 
pressing his hip firmly against the bulge in my shorts and 
absorbing the heat that flowed out of my groin and into his own 
bare flesh. I continued to caress him, alternating my attention 
between his sensitive glans, the moist, inflexible shaft of his 
penis, and his shrivelled scrotum and the precious cargo that 
was squeezed inside.

Each time when my hand returned to massage his testicles he 
whimpered. He wanted me to squeeze harder, shamelessly jutting 
his genitals forward as he arched his back. Then, as the 
pressure built and the delight hovered between ecstasy and pain, 
I moved my fingers to my mouth, wet them thoroughly, and went 
back to squeeze on his swollen glans. It was impossible to tell 
what he like the most, though it was patently obvious that mere 
masturbation of his penis ranked a distant third to the other 
pleasures that I gave him.

I was fairly confident that my son had achieved an orgasm 
during the night, though it had certainly been dry if he did. 
The way his movements had become frenzied, his body had become 
tense and hot and, as he writhed and jerked, his breathing so 
strained that it was disconcerting, were clear signs that he had 
reached a pinnacle. From that evidence, the brief, wild spasm 
that had shaken him at the end could only mean one thing. And 
now, as I began to focus on the bulbed tip of his penis, the 
signs returned. Jason began to gasp and whimper continuously, 
arching his back and shaking as if he was trying to expel some 
mystical force from his loins, then grunting as it failed to 
come. He tried again, and then again, until his mouth was opened 
wide to suck in air.

"Do it, Dad," he moaned quietly. "Do it right on the tip. 
Yeah, there! Do it,... do it real fast."

And I did. I did it so quickly that my rubbing fingers were 
a blur and he began to tremble uncontrollably. The saliva that 
lubricated my fingers began to dry from the friction and I 
needed to rest my hand, but I did not. I wanted to see what 
happened. I wanted to watch my son achieve the ultimate 
pleasure. Somehow, I managed to rub and squeeze even harder and 
faster. His orgasm was preceded by a little yelp of pain which 
changed immediately to a squeal of unparalleled delight. And 
then his hand grabbed at mine, pushing it from his aching penis 
as he pulled away. His blue eyes flashed at me, condemning, 
challenging, then thanking me as his frantic movements faded.

He was breathing hard and fast through his mouth. It was a 
sight I would never forget as the dying spasms exhausted his 
slender body and he slumped happily against me. He said only one 
thing. "WOW!" Then he half-closed his eyes and sighed.

I had a lot to learn about prepubescent boys. The first 
thing I learned from Jason was the most surprising thing of all. 
Prepubescent boys don't stop being excited until they are 
physically exhausted. Jason's erection faded slightly, just 
enough to ease the tension in the stretched skin of his penis, 
but he stayed erect. Two minutes later he was humping into my 
hand again, ready for a repeat performance, my tired hand 
notwithstanding.

What was I to do? I was hungry, the day was getting older, 
and Jason gave every sign of being able to go on forever. He was 
smirking as I lifted him into the air, convinced that I was 
going to carry him down to the cabin and do disgustingly 
wonderful things to his body. So much for a child's trust. I 
lifted him up and tossed him. Sixty-one pounds of squealing, 
naked boy, arms and legs flailing, splashed into the water. It 
was better than a cold shower. I leaned over the side and 
watched as he rose spluttering, and angry to the surface. He 
glared at me.

"Ass-hole," he shouted crudely. But it was impossible not 
to laugh. I laughed and he laughed and he tried desperately to 
splash me from five feet below in the water. Unable to resist, I 
dropped my shorts amid a loud cat-call from Jason and dived into 
the water. When I emerged, we were face to face. We trod water, 
still laughing. I leaned forward and gave him a long, wet kiss 
hard on the lips.

Jason gave me a shocked look, visibly astonished that his 
own father would kiss him on the lips. His mouth was agape. The 
boy was dumbfounded and he stared at me as he pondered what to 
do. Then, his little tongue poked forward and he licked his 
bottom lip tentatively, tasting where my lips had touched his.

"You kissed me," he said reprovingly. "On the mouth!"

I kept on laughing. The boy was aghast that I could be so 
intimate with him as to kiss him. But only moments earlier I had 
been masturbating him and he had been perfectly content to let 
me do it. This was confusing.

"You want another one, cabin boy?" I teased.

Jason shook his head and wiped the back of his hand across 
his mouth as if to remove all traces of our contact. "You're not 
s'posed to kiss guys," he chastened. "I mean, well guys don't 
kiss other guys, okay!"

"Oh! Well I'm sorry," I said meekly, accepting his 
chastisement. "So, Jason, what do guys do?" I asked innocently.

He thought about it for a few seconds and then started 
paddling back until he could grab hold of the anchor chain. 
"Well they don't kiss for one thing!"

I swam up beside him. He was very sexy when he was angry. I 
puckered up, pretending to be getting ready to kiss him again. 
He was hard to fathom. He was more than simply compliant, he was 
very agreeable to sexual contact, but he did not want to be 
kissed. 

A thought came to me. "Your mom doesn't kiss or hug you 
very much, does she Jason?" I asked.

My son shrugged. His lips compressed. He regarded me 
suspiciously. He did not answer the question. He let go of the 
anchor chain and started to swim beside the hull, following it 
back to the stern boarding ladder. I watched his small, wet, 
dark-blond head bobbing up and down as he swam slowly. I felt 
very sad, something was very wrong in Jason's life and it was my 
fault. I followed Jason back to the stern, ready to start the 
day, ready for breakfast, ready to give him all the love he 
needed.


PLATONIC LOVE.

DAY THIRTEEN.  Mykonos. Mid-morning, August 5th, 1993

 "After diligent study of the sciences, he develops his body by noble 
exercises. He tames the chargers of Thessaly and, practising the arts of 
war in time of peace, he throws the javelin and perfects his skill in 
archery. Then you can see him at the gymnasium, his body exposed to the 
heat of the sun, covering himself with sand and hardening himself for his 
labors. Weariness makes the sweat trickle down his limbs; he plunges 
briefly into a bath, sits down to a frugal meal, and shortly afterwards 
returns to his exertions....

Lucian, Dialogues of Love.



Long before the time I had prepared breakfast, Jason had 
returned to his normal, cheerful self. In fact, he was downright 
cheeky as he compensated (or over-compensated) for the unspoken 
problem that continued to plague him. I did not pursue the 
matter. In his own good time, I knew he would come to me and we 
would talk about it at length. Call it a father's intuition, but 
I was convinced that his 'problem' involved his mother. She had 
never been very affectionate to me during the years we were 
married, and the more I thought about it, the more likely it 
seemed that Jason had born the brunt of her wrath towards me. If 
that was true, it was exceedingly likely that Jason's home life 
had not been particularly pleasant. I felt very sorry for him.

Breakfast was about half-over when our visitor arrived. 
Well mine was; like dinner, Jason picked at his food, nibbling 
on the things he liked. Like his mother, he liked fruit and I 
gave him enough to feed half-a-dozen boys. He informed me that 
his 'normal' breakfast at home consisted of half-a-grapefruit, 
skim milk, and a slice of toast. We had no grapefruit but a lot 
of grapes - the big, green ones that the Greeks use to make 
their wine, Retsina with its unpleasant urine-taste. His 
scrambled egg was swapped for my banana, which he devoured 
obscenely.

It was hardly an appropriate breakfast for a growing boy 
and I began to understand what Jason's life had become with me 
around. He ate what his mother wanted him to eat and he did only 
what she wanted him to do. Even when she wasn't around she 
continued to dominate him. It was a wonder that he wasn't more 
'messed up' that he already was. But I knew he'd survive; ten-
year-old boys have a habit of doing that despite their parents.

Our visitor announced himself with the roar of an outboard 
engine as a dinghy approached our boat. I guessed, correctly, 
that he had come from the nearby charter boat. His arrival 
interrupted my second cup of coffee. He arrived just before ten 
o'clock. By that time, the events of the morning were a pleasant 
memory that lingered on for both of us.



Following our unplanned morning swim we had gone into the 
cabin and dried off. By seven o'clock I have generally finished 
breakfast and started on the day's activities. But my son had 
another idea that was a lot more fun than cleaning up or working 
on the draft of my book. It was Jason's idea to develop the 
negatives before breakfast. He announced that as far as he was 
concerned, breakfast could wait. He wanted to see the 'dirty' 
pictures of himself that I had taken the previous afternoon.

His suggestion was easier said than done. The pictures that 
I had taken were color slides on high-resolution film and needed 
to be processed in a laboratory to get the best results. 
However, these pictures could never go to a lab. The actual 
processing involved ten steps, only thirty minutes per roll, but 
mixing the chemicals and getting the temperatures correct seemed 
to take forever. After fifteen minutes, I took the stool and sat 
down, making Jason stand up. After all he was the kid and age 
does have its benefits. But Jason was excited, and watching his 
beaming face, and answering his endless questions made the work 
worthwhile. That, plus the fact that I was securing a memory of 
him that could never grow dim with time, kept me working quickly.

The fact that I had a stark-naked ten-year-old boy standing 
only inches away from me in the dark was never far from my mind. 
That I could not see him probably saved me from making a ruinous 
mistake and spoiling all of the pictures. Finally, I opened the 
metal developing-tank and carefully extracted the first roll. 
Thirty six wonderful pictures of a very naked and beautiful 
young boy greeted us. Jason closely scrutinized the pictures, 
making appreciative comments about the model (himself) and the 
skill of the photographer (me).

"I wonder who the cute kid is?" he teased.

"Yeah, I wonder," I said as I looked at Jason in awe.

In the dim light afforded by the 12-volt battery power, my 
son was every bit as beautiful as he was in the tiny frames. 
Even without the spectacular back-drop of the Aegean Sea or the 
towering cliffs which gave a dramatic power and intensity to the 
erotic poses of the small boy, he was beautiful. The pictures, 
when viewed sequentially from the first tiny frame to the last, 
provided a chronicle of his emerging sexuality in the fading sun 
of a hot summer afternoon. In the first few pictures he was an 
innocent waif, the child cast ashore on a rocky coast, 
frightened, uncertain of his nudity, and overpowered by the 
world around him. By the last few pictures, he was confidently 
exposing his body, exhibiting pride and satisfaction in the fact 
that his small body could arouse mine.

"He's got a pretty tiny dick, whoever he is?" I teased 
playfully. "You can barely see it in this one," I added as I 
pointed to one of my favorites.

Jason snorted, "Well it's hidden by his leg, isn't it." He 
started to giggle. "I do look pretty nice don't I, Dad?" He 
smirked. "So, do you think I'm really sexy? I did turn you on, 
didn't I?

I grinned. "You look wonderful, Jas'," I observed as I 
looked him up and down. "I'm starting to get really hungry. And 
you, my son,... you look good enough to eat. Besides, I've never 
had boy for breakfast."

"Not me, silly. In the photos," he corrected as he noticed 
me examining his body hungrily. "You'll have to wait for 
breakfast, 'cause I want to do the other roll next and you've 
got to show me what to do. They're the really dirty ones. 
Anyway, there's no room to play around in here." He gave me a 
big, teasing grin and then added, "Besides, you kissed me!".

"I did? No, you must be mistaken Jas'. I wouldn't do a 
thing like that," I laughed.

"Yeah, sure. I believe you, but no one else would!" he 
replied emphatically. "Please, Dad? Can't we do the other roll 
too? Please?" he implored.

When Jason says 'please' and pretends to grovel, he is 
impossible to resist. I don't know where he learned to do it but 
Jason had it down to a fine art. It was particularly vexing to 
me because the word 'please' was not in his mother's vocabulary. 
I gave up without a fight, figuring that I could wait another 
thirty minutes or so before I starved to death.

"You really think my dick is tiny, Dad?" he asked 
uncertainly.

I was faced by a dilemma, the truth and hurt his feelings, 
or a lie and save his ego. I chose the absolute truth. "Yes! But 
I wouldn't want Pokey any other way, Jas'. He's beautiful, just 
like the rest of you. Besides, some boys have big ones and some 
don't. It really isn't important. Only stupid boys worry about 
the size of it, or make fun off other boys. The smart ones enjoy 
what they've got."

Jason smiled, happily reassured that all was in order. "So 
let's do the other roll, Dad. It'll be fun," he suggested.

I took the boy's suggestion at face value. That was how the 
fun usually started with Jason, innocently. I switched off the 
lights again and closed the door, making sure that the rubber 
seal blocked out any stray light from the main cabin. I pulled 
Jason around and repositioned him so that he stood before me. He 
faced the bench with his back to me. He was awfully clumsy in 
the dark, fumbling forever as he tried to insert the strip of 
curling plastic into the metal tank. Finally, afraid that he 
might damage the film, I took over and reached around him to 
finish the job. After I had handed the loaded tank back to him I 
turned on the lights.

I kept my right arm locked around his narrow waist, a 
possessive hug that claimed ownership of his body, while still 
giving him the freedom to move. It was very obvious that Jason 
liked it. He snuggled closer and wriggled his back against me. 
With my right hand I casually stroked the velvet, warm skin of 
his flank, running my fingers from his thigh to the barely 
discernible swelling of his breast and into his armpit. 
Occasionally he brushed my arms with his hands to encourage me 
to remain 'attached' to him. In that intimate contact we were 
establishing bonds, forging a link that physically and 
emotionally connected us. As each minute passed I felt closer 
and closer to my son, until it seemed as if we were one being. 
There was, remarkably enough during that time, nothing of a 
sexual nature beyond the contact of our bare flesh.

Pouring in the chemicals and timing the process was a lot 
easier for him to do because he was no longer working in the 
pitch dark. Well, it should have been easier except that I 
started to distract him. No, to be absolutely honest, Jason 
started it. Having my naked son pressed against my stomach and 
chest was intensely satisfying though nothing more than that, 
but as time passed, the glowing warmth of his body and his 
gentle squirming against my genitals became incredibly 
stimulating. Without warning and within a few seconds, my 
erection was pressing into Jason's buttocks. It could not go 
unnoticed and Jason began to squeeze back against me, moving his 
hips so that my rapidly growing penis was rubbed against the 
baby-soft skin of his firm cheeks. It had the effect he desired 
and my penis quickly became rigid.

"Hey Dad," he said in a teasing sing-song voice. "I think 
you've got a stiffie again."

"I wonder why?" I teased back. "You'll ruin the pictures if 
you're not careful."

"We can always take more. Lot's more. I had fun yesterday 
doing that, didn't you?"

He wriggled again, now tantalizing my penis directly and 
shamelessly, without any attempt to camouflage his movement as 
something innocent. As my erection reached its apogee, it 
pressed back into the crevice between his cheeks, into forbidden 
and virgin territory.

Jason giggled. "Hey, your dick's sticking into my butt, 
Dad."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Jay-boy," I 
pretended. Then, unable to control myself, added, "I don't think 
anything is actually inside your butt."

"It feels really funny," Jason said awkwardly.

Fortunately, the timer beeped and he had to concentrate on 
pouring out one chemical and replacing it with another. By the 
time he finished, the demanding excitement that had suddenly and 
frighteningly surged between us had faded.

"Dad?..." he asked quietly

"Yeah?"

"Dad, you remember the man we saw yesterday? Well he had 
his dick inside the young guy, didn't he?"

"I think we both saw the same thing," I teased. "What did 
it look like to you? Keep agitating that tank, Jas'," I 
instructed.

"That's what gays do, isn't it? The guys at school tell 
jokes about 'butt-fucking' all the time. And, well I was sure 
that's what they were doing."

My right moved down and gently brushed against Jason's 
genitals. As I had anticipated, he was erect, as stiff and 
aroused as his father. I squeezed the short hot shaft of his 
penis gently and he breathed out with a sigh.

"I expect so, Jason. I really don't know though," I 
answered honestly.

"Dad?... Do you think it feels good? You know,... doing 
that?" he asked nervously.

I was not at all sure of how to answer my son's question. 
The idea of inserting my penis into another male's anus was 
disgusting. If there was any pleasure, if would have to be a 
perverse, sick enjoyment. After all, the male anatomy was not 
designed for such a role. Jason's little anus and rectum could 
hardly be expected to compare favorably with Tina's vagina and 
clitoris, even if it could be made to accommodate my penis. I 
answered honestly, suspecting that his next question would raise 
an issue that was particularly unpleasant.

"I really don't know, Jas'. Maybe. Like I said last night, 
it must feel okay or they wouldn't do it, right?"

Jason pondered that for a moment or two. "Yeah, I guess so. 
I thought the young guy looked as if he liked it and I couldn't 
see the old guy." There was another long silence as he agitated 
the tank again. "Dad?.... Are you,... are we gonna do that?" he 
asked quietly. His high-pitched voice trembled nervously and I 
felt a shiver run through him. Intuitively, I knew that the 
shiver was not one of excitement. Jason was scared.

"All we'll ever do is what you want to do," I said gently.

"Are we gonna do that?" he asked persistently.

I shook my head, knowing that he could not see my response 
with his back turned to me. I wondered how could anyone do that 
to a beautiful boy like Jason. The thought was repelling and 
quite sickening. "Do you want to do that?" I asked at last.

"I,... I don't think so. Wouldn't it hurt? And you'd get my 
poop all over him. I kinda think it's gross."

I smiled, strangely grateful that his response was still as 
negative as it had been during the prior evening. The possibly 
that Jason was interested in that awful and perverted act had 
frightened me. Then, just as I started to relax, Jason 'floored' 
me.

"It kind of feels nice with your penis rubbing in there 
like that," he whispered. "It feels great when you play with 
Pokey at the same time."

Saved by the bell, the timer beeped again and Jason had to 
concentrate on exchanging the chemicals again. That was the only 
problem with using reversal film, processing had to happen 
twice, effectively doubling the number of steps required over 
simpler color negatives. Still, the quality of the results more 
than made up for it. 

A minute later we opened the film tank and carefully 
extricated the roll of film. I held it by the edges and examined 
it carefully. The pictures, like Jason, were perfect.

"They're good!" he stated objectively. "The boy is really 
sexy, don't you think?" he added playfully.

"The photographer had a great model," I replied self-
deprecatingly. "And yes, you are a very sexy, young man."

"The photographer is really sexy too. And he takes a great 
photograph," Jason complemented. 

He was right. Even at 35 mm. size, it was easy to see that 
the photographs were of publication quality. I imagined a book, 
full of 'Jason' pictures, titled appropriately: 'Jason at Ten'. 
Jason did not think much of that idea, though he was certainly 
proud enough of his body as he cavorted shamelessly across the 
celluloid. I hung the film strips up to dry just after eight 
thirty. I was famished.

As I opened the door into the main cabin the light 
increased dramatically. The sun was coming in through the 
portholes and hatches and bathing the teak finish in the cabin 
with a golden glow. I regarded Jason silently as he stood in the 
light. He was so close to me that all I could see was his torso, 
from his neck to his groin. His naked body was startling for an 
instant I was confused as I tried hard to remember. The image 
came first, followed by the title of a classic photograph, 'Neil 
Nude' by Edward Weston. The similarity between the two splendid 
young bodies was unmistakable. With a little grooming, my ten-
year-old son could easy be a model, with or without his clothes 
on. There was only one difference. Jason's foreskin was still 
retracted and the tiny bulbed head of his penis was inflamed. 
The swelling of his tiny, reddened glans was exaccerbated by the 
encircling foreskin which was now pinching it from behind. I 
regarded it guiltily, knowing that my rough fingers had damaged 
his delicate body.

"Is it sore?" I asked concernedly.

Jason nodded. "It hurts a little bit but I don't mind."

"Well I think it's time for Pokey to pull his head in for w 
while," I said softly.

Gently I clasped his little member and wrested the tight 
skin back over the glans so that it was enclosed and safely 
protected again. It had only been exposed for two hours and 
already I was getting used to seeing that wonderful and highly-
sensitive part of him. I was very glad that I had opposed his 
mother when she had wanted him circumcised at birth. I followed 
him out to get breakfast, ready to 'kill' for a cup of coffee.



"You better get some clothes on, Jason," I said as I heard 
the gurgling roar of the approaching outboard. " It sounds like 
we have some visitors."

"I'm not the only one who's naked," he laughed as he 
pointed at me. He was right. We were both without any clothes. 
It was amusing to think that we had both been naked and we had 
become so used to it that we didn't think about it. My shorts 
were still in the bow where I had left them and Jason's tee 
shirt was hanging over the boom waiting to dry as the day became 
hotter. Neither of us had bothered to put on any clothes after 
our swim. There didn't seem to be any point in it, there was no 
one to see us and it was natural. Besides, it was fun being 
naked together. I felt like a little boy again. He started 
towards his cabin and I went into mine. I had barely pulled on a 
pair of shorts when there was a loud rap on the hull.

"Ahoy there, Apollo. Is anyone aboard?" a male voice 
shouted loudly.

I went up on deck and received my second shock of the day 
(waking up with naked Jason was number one). "Hi! I guess you're 
from the boat over there," I asked.

"Yes. My uncle sent me over here to find out if you know 
anything about diesels. Our engine won't start," the youth 
replied.

He was a handsome sixteen or seventeen-year-old, with the 
kind of lithe, well-proportioned body that late adolescents tend 
to have. He appeared to be fit and trim, having a well-developed 
figure with broad pectoral muscles and muscular thighs. He was 
well tanned, all the way to the beginning of his bikini-style 
swimsuit. Until a few days ago I had always considered the low-
cut Euro-style to be vulgar and something I associated with 
primarily with faggots, but as I studied the prominent bulge in 
the gaily striped nylon, I began to think that they would like 
rather nice on Jason. It was enchanting to think of him 
'strutting his stuff', even though his 'stuff' was far less 
impressive in magnitude.

"I know a bit less than I need to," I smiled sweetly. 
"What's your name?" I added, knowing the answer to my question: 
Julien.

"Julien."

"Hi Julien," I said warmly. I turned to Jason as he ambled 
up self-consciously and stood beside me. He was not at all 
pleased that our privacy had been interrupted by an intruding 
boat and a visitor was clearly distressing to him.

"This is my son, Jason and I'm John," I added as I placed 
my arm possessively around my boy's shoulders. I felt Jason 
startle as he recognized our visitor, though he concealed it 
very well.

"Hi! Do you have any ideas about what we should look at? 
What the problem might be and all that?" he asked.

"No idea, Julien. You generally start at one end of the 
engine and work your way to the other. That way you get it 
worked out and still have a few days left for a holiday. You got 
gas and compression?" I asked.

Julien looked at me uncertainly. "I don't know. I s'pose. 
We filled up the tank yesterday in Mykonos."

I felt Jason tug at my arm and I leaned over to listen as 
he whispered.

"Dad, that's the same guy we saw yesterday. You know, the 
one who was getting his butt fucked."

I choked back a chortle. My son needed his cute, little 
mouth washed out with soap. But he was 'right on the money.' I 
wondered who the older man was. His uncle seemed to be an 
unlikely proposition to me, but Jason was my son and we were 
well on the to a relationship that would be condemned by all but 
a few people.

"I'm not sure I can do a whole lot to help," I said.

I glanced sideways at Jason and observed him staring 
fixedly at the older boy. I felt an immediate pang of resentment 
that threatened to become an agony of envy and jealousy as I 
wondered whether Jason was interested. He seemed to be staring 
directly at Julien's bulging groin, though perhaps it was merely 
my rampart imagination tinged with an ever-present fear that 
someone would take Jason away from me.

Julien grinned. "Anything you could do mister, er John, 
would be great. My uncle is kind of a klutz with this kind of 
thing."

Jason giggled and pushed me playfully with his hand. "Aw, 
go on Dad, please help," he teased. His growing confidence was 
quickly turning him into a precocious kid; very cheeky and more 
than a bit crude when we were alone. I raised my hand as if I 
was going to give him a swat. "Child abuse," shrieked Jason as 
he ducked and pretended to cower.

Julien laughed. "We'd really appreciate any help you could 
give us. We got the boat from Athens and we'd have to wait here 
for help for days if we can't get the engine going."

I laughed with him. "There are worse places to spend a few 
days. But okay, I'll see what I can do. You got any tools on the 
boat?"

"Yeah, but my uncle doesn't know what to do with them," he 
answered.

Jason smirked as we climbed down into our dinghy. "That's 
him, Dad. I know it is. He's the guy we saw behind the rocks," 
he whispered. 

"You like his swimming costume, or what was in it?" I asked 
jealously.

Jason looked surprised and then he smiled slowly. "He's 
big, isn't he? But mostly I liked what he was wearing. Mom would 
die if I wore one of those 'round the pool."

I decided I would buy my son one at the earliest 
opportunity. I started the engine for him and then settled back 
as he took command. He grinned happily as he opened the throttle 
as far as he dared and started to race the other dinghy. After a 
wide, fast lap around the other yacht, it was rocking wildly 
from the wake of two outboards. The older man came up on deck 
and waved. Since Jason still needed some practice at docking, I 
moved back and took over from him. We motored up to the swim 
platform at the stern and I cut the engine and drifted up to the 
yacht.

"Hi," I said as I tied secured the bow line to a cleat. "I 
hear you have a few problems with your diesel."

The man nodded. "Yes, you could say that. I'm Paul," he 
said, reaching forward and shaking hands with me as I climbed 
onto the swim platform. Jason followed right behind me. "I'm 
John and this is my soon, Jason," I said hearing the intense 
note of pride in my own voice.

"Pretty boy," Paul said admiringly, "He's a real cutie. 
Howdy Jason."

I glanced quickly at Jason to see how he was handling the 
'pass' that had just been made at him. He was in the process of 
turning a bright shade of crimson, reddening from his neck out 
to his ears until his blush suggested that he had too much sun 
the day before. I gave him a reassuring smile and turned back to 
Paul.

"He is a cutie," I acknowledged honestly, though not 
concealing the note of distaste in my voice. "So, what's the 
problem?" I asked.

Paul smiled. "Sorry! I didn't mean to embarrass him, but he 
is awfully good looking." His smile became suspicious as he 
contemplated the two of us, standing on the swim platform 
together. We were moored several hundred yards away from one of 
the few gay nude beaches in the world. Both of us knew that it 
was more than mere coincidence.

"He's your son?" he added, with undue and obvious emphasis 
on the word 'son'. Then realizing that he might have gone too 
far, retreated to safer ground. "He doesn't look much like you, 
but then Julien here is my nephew and he looks more like me than 
his own father. I guess that's genetics for you."

I raised an eyebrow quizzically, not intending to pursue 
the conversation any further. "He looks a lot like his mother," 
I stated flatly.

That appeared to satisfy Paul's curiosity and I followed 
him into the small stern cockpit. It was very crowded, without 
the space that Apollo provided with its center-cockpit design 
and much larger hull. He cranked the engine over for me to 
listen to.

"You better lay off that. The batteries are already getting 
flat," I observed. "You sure there's plenty of fuel?"

"The gauge shows it's full. We filled up yesterday, before 
we motored around the island. We came in fairly late yesterday 
afternoon. I guess you guys must have been away somewhere. I 
hope you don't mind us mooring so close?" Paul replied.

I caught Jason's wicked smirk and I shrugged. "Plenty of 
room here for both of us," I said expansively.

"We were thinking of moving a bit closer to the beach," 
Julien said. "But the stupid engine wouldn't start."

I nodded, as I made sure that neutral was engaged, the 
throttle opened slightly, and the fuel-cut-off switch closed. I 
cranked the engine over, unsuccessfully. So much for the easy 
approach.

"I think you're probably better off here anyway. You'd only 
have to anchor with all those boats in the next cove and its 
nowhere as nice as here." I checked the fuel-cut-off switch 
again by pulling it out and then pushing it back in. "If you 
want privacy, well Jason and I won't bother you."

"I was thinking of mooring off the beach, down at the 
eastern end, near the headland," Paul replied. "There aren't any 
boats there at all."

"Oh! That's probably not a good idea. From the chart it 
looks as if the current swings in pretty close there and you're 
likely to drag if you're not careful," I answered as I gave the 
engine another quick turn. Still nothing. "Well, it looks as 
though you have a problem, Paul," I added. "You want me to take 
a look at the engine?"

"Uh? Well,... it's a bit messy in the cabin, but if you 
don't mind that. Yeah, I'd really appreciate it," he replied 
with a quick sideways glance at Julien.

I followed him down the stairs and into the cabin. Jason 
stayed outside and I could hear him talking to Julien about 
something or other. Paul wasn't wrong about the mess, but then 
it is much harder to keep a small boat tidy than one the size of 
Apollo. The double bunk in the main cabin was formed by 
converting the table. It was still converted and sheets and 
pillows were strewn over it and onto the cabin sole. Its 
appearance was a little disconcerting; hardly 'ship-shape' and 
poor testimony to their nautical skills. There was, however, 
ample evidence of another skill.

That Jason had elected to stay on deck was somewhat 
perturbing at first. He was talking to a teenage 'hunk' who had 
obvious 'boy-appeal'. To my inexperienced eye, he had the 
potential to be very upsetting to me, but despite that I was 
suddenly very glad that Jason had decided not to follow me down 
into the cabin. The first thing I noticed was a jar of Vaseline 
lying on the ledge beside the bunk. Its lid was not in sight and 
its purpose was patently obvious. Paul caught my stare and moved 
to interpose himself in front of the object of my attention. But 
even without the Vaseline, there was clear and convincing 
evidence of what had transpired in the cabin earlier in the 
morning. There was a fecal smell in the air, but it was not the 
foul stench that comes from an abused head or when the holding 
tank requires treatment. It was the residual smell of a night of 
lust and debauchery, a slightly sweet smell, not unlike a yeasty 
bread dough.

I tried to block the smell out but, while it wasn't strong, 
it was pervasive and it seemed to become stronger as I knelt 
down to look at the engine. But what affected me most of all was 
the fact that the smell was not repulsive. It was, my misgivings 
and repugnance of the act that produced it to the contrary, not 
unpleasant. In fact, I found myself wondering whether Jason 
would smell the same before I forced myself to concentrate on 
the problem at hand.

"Make sure the boys don't crank the engine," I laughed as I 
started to wriggle into the confined space.

Fortunately it was a Volvo engine and I had some 
familiarity with it. Like any charter boat, it had led a hard 
life and was desperate for maintenance. But in poor condition as 
it was, it was not bad enough to explain why it would not start. 
The first thing I checked was the compression, then started 
working my way through the fuel system. The filter needed 
cleaning sooner or later but it did not appear to be the cause 
of the problem. I checked the air filter. It too could do with a 
thorough cleaning.

I was just about out of ideas when I discovered the 
problem. The retaining screw in the fuel-cut-off lever had been 
stripped in its thread and the control cable from the cockpit 
was having no effect at all. It was a relatively easy problem to 
'fix'. All I did was to force a slightly larger screw into the 
hole, tear up the threads some more, and grind it down hard onto 
the control cable.

After a bit less than half-an-hour, I wriggled back out of 
the confines of the engine compartment. At least the odor had 
disappeared, though whether its absence could be attributed to 
the linger smell of the bilge and diesel fuel, or ventilation, I 
could not be certain. I took a deep breath and straightened up. 

"Crank it over and we'll see if it starts," I suggested.

The engine cranked and fired immediately, gurgled as it 
cleared out the cylinders and settled down to a slow idle as it 
began to warm up. I yelled out to Paul to cut the fuel flow. The 
engine coughed and stopped a moment later. I glanced around the 
cabin. While my head and half of my body had been stuck in the 
engine compartment there had been considerable effort expended 
in cleaning it up. On deck, Jason was sitting on the seat 
adjacent to Julien. He smiled as he saw me.

"See, I told you he could fix it, Julien. My dad can fix 
anything," he announced proudly. 

To me, the smirk that Jason and Julien shared was sheer, 
unadulterated lust. As I squinted at Julien in the bright summer 
light, his countenance reflected a lascivious libido whose only 
goal was to get Jason hot-blooded and itching for sex. It was 
impossible for me not to notice the bulge in Julien's groin. It 
had swelled noticeably larger since I had seen it earlier. Not 
erect, but certainly a promise of things to come - so to speak. 
It was also obvious to me that the older boy's arousal was of 
considerable interest to Jason since every few seconds my son 
peeked downward as if to ascertain the extent of his companion's 
interest.

That my ten-year-old son was flirting with a youth at least 
six or seven years older than he was would have been amusing if 
I did not have the strong feelings for him that I had. Was it 
simply a matter of curiosity about the body of another male? I 
hoped so, but Jason was fascinated.

Paul beamed at me. "I don't know how to thank you. There 
was no way I could that myself. Can I pay you for your time?" I 
stared at him as if he was out of his mind. "Well dinner then? 
Julien and I invite you two to dinner. There's a very nice 
restaurant I believe, just up the road from Super-Paradise. We 
can walk there from here."

Jason looked at me excitedly. "Please Dad? Please? Please?"

For the second time that morning he was impossible to 
resist. The last thing I wanted to do was to expose Jason to 
more of Julien's rapacious lusting. I intended to say that we 
had other plans but I 'caved' in without a fight as soon as I 
saw the excited expression on Jason's face. I would have to risk 
losing my son's affection sooner or later. We agreed on seven 
pm. and Jason and I headed back to our own boat, leaving uncle 
and nephew to their own devices - probably another trip back to 
the beach, if I wasn't mistaken.

"Hey Dad?" Jason asked shyly as soon as we were clear and 
motoring slowly back to our boat.

"Yeah?" I replied doubtingly. My mind was still focused on 
the 'teenage hunk' that Jason had spent nearly half-an-hour 
with, alone. I was covetous towards my son and my suspicions 
were aroused. After only two days, trust and deep affection, 
perhaps even love, had developed between us, but my grudging 
resentment of the older boy and his closeness to Jason's age 
threatened to cast it asunder. I regarded my son, guiltily aware 
of the envious and invidious feelings I harbored towards his new 
friend.

"Dad, do you like Julien?" he asked.

"He's okay. I haven't really talked to him like you have," 
I replied. 

"He's a neat guy. I like him." Jason paused. "Did you like 
his swimming costume?" he added shyly. "Dad,... do you think I'd 
look good in one?"

"Huh? It's pretty tiny. It doesn't cover very much but I'm 
sure you'd look great," I answered.

"Dad,... do you think I could have one of those bikini 
things like Julien's got?... For my birthday?"

"Huh? Oh! Yeah I guess so," I murmured absently. He was 
right, I had not given him a present yet, at least not one that 
he had actually received.

"Julien said you can buy them in town. He got his yesterday 
at a shop on, uh,... Adrious Street, or something like that. 
There's a bus stop just over the sandhill, Julien said. It goes 
all the way into town." Jason pointed vaguely towards the 
headland, towards Super-Paradise Beach. "Can we Dad? Please?"

"Now?" I asked.

"Yeah! Please, Dad?" he implored. I nodded. "ALL RIGHT!" 
Jason shouted in glee.


PLATONIC LOVE.

About thirty or forty minutes later we were riding in a bus 
as it clattered its way along a macadam road that was in very 
poor condition. Rocks thrown up by the tires ricocheted under 
the roaring, groaning bus combined with a blaring radio and the 
loud shouts of Greek peasants to make a cacophony of noise that 
prevented any conversation. Jason and I sat side by side, 
watching the scenery pass, small farms with buildings hundreds 
of years old, on farms that had existed a thousand years before 
Christ. Everywhere grape vines, olive trees and sheep abounded. 
Pastures were separated from orchards and vineyards by rough 
rubble-stone walls that had been constructed by the ancient 
Greeks. Everywhere there was a sense of history, of a world that 
time forgot, of a culture and civilization long past but whose 
traces remained upon the landscape and in the minds and hearts 
of the farmers. 

As we approached Mykonos, the town, the road began to 
improve, the potholes filled, the houses becoming newer and 
closer together, until finally we saw the first signs of 
tourists; the ubiquitous, white hotels that lined the beaches to 
the south and east and looked towards the sacred island of Delos 
(Dhilos). Now, instead of the clatter of stones, the air was 
filled with the clamor of horns and the noise of a town as it 
prepared for the noon siesta. Motorcycles, cars and trucks 
seemed to pour out of the narrow streets and tear headlong along 
the minor road on which we were arriving. Ten minutes later we 
pulled up in front of the town square and disembarked, sore and 
somewhat weary from our hectic ride.

I got some garbled instructions on how to find Adrianos 
Street (as it turned out to be) and we headed off, hoping to 
catch the proprietor before he left. We came into the store just 
as he was closing up.

There was a small rack of merchandise, micro-costumes that 
were little more, and sometimes even less than two tiny patches 
of nylon held together by brightly colored string. I let Jason 
pick through them as I watched him, wondering what he would 
choose, trying to imagine what color would look best on his 
beautiful, little body. After a minute, the proprietor came over 
and asked us in halting combination of English and French what 
we wanted. He explained that the smallest size he had available 
was a 28-inch, 70-centimeter size that was obviously way too big 
for Jason's slender hips. I watched as Jason's excitement and 
boyish merriment faded.

Then, as the man observed my son's melancholy, he weakened. 
Like me, he was the victim of love for a beautiful boy, only 
more so since his was unrequited. He guided Jason and me into a 
back room and closed the door. It was cool and dark and a faint 
smell of cooking lingered in the air, floating down from the 
residence above.

"It can be made quickly," the man said to me. "After lunch, 
I will have my wife sew it." He smiled at Jason as he considered 
the price. "Very petit," he said with a wave of his hand, "Ten 
dollars, US." He smiled at me, identifying me correctly as the 
deep pocket. He was also a good business man. "Two for eighteen 
dollars."

I nodded. The price was high for a few tiny pieces of nylon 
and some string, but this time of the year in Mykonos, the word 
of the day was 'rip off the tourists."

"Please remove shorts, mon garcon," he asked as he picked 
up a tape measure.

Jason glanced sideways at me. He looked shocked. I tilted 
my head encouragingly, "If you want one, I guess it will have to 
be made to order, Jay-boy" I said patiently.

He swallowed nervously. Hesitantly he fumbled at his navel 
as he unfastened the thin, white cord that secured the waist-
band of his swimming costume. He glanced at me again, still very 
uncertain as he cautiously eased them downward, peeking down 
suddenly as his little penis, fortunately limp, came into view. 
The man looked at him approvingly, assessing the slender hips 
and firm bottom, capturing his genitals in one brief, and to me, 
overly-loving look.

"His size is 22 inch, ah, 55 centimeters, n'est pas. Never 
before have I made one so petit, but he is magnifique. Like a 
little faun," he said admiringly. "Mon petit, I need 
measurements from you. Please, don't be embarrassed. Lift up the 
shirt, please."

He wrapped the tape around Jason's waist and eased it down 
until it lodged on the boy's hips. Jason shivered slightly as he 
felt strange hands caress his sides and then, he glanced at me 
shyly as he slowly lifted his tee-shirt upward until it was well 
up his chest. I regarded my almost-nude son silently, watching 
with the shameless, perverse excitement of a voyeur as the 
stranger stroked my son's thighs and gradually pressed the tape 
downwards until the upper part of Jason's buttocks prevented 
further movement. The front of the tape was barely more than an 
inch above the junction of his very small penis and pubis.

"Yes, see 55 centimeters exactly. You want it low-cut, like 
this," he asked, tracing his finger at the line of the tape. He 
grinned. "With a young boy, it's much better to be low down. He 
needs just enough to cover just his manhood and no more. There 
is no hair for him to worry about and he is still so petit."

Jason blushed immediately. The thrill that exploded through 
me was so intense that it left me quivering and feeling 
strangely, not sick but with a pleasure that was so overwhelming 
that it was quite disturbing. Holding the tape firmly between 
one finger and thumb at a point slightly to one side of Jason's 
belly (rectus) muscle, he took the other end and draped it 
downwards between Jason's legs. He picked it up behind the boy 
and tightened it as he lifted it up into the crease between 
thigh and torso until it was snugly against Jason's skin and 
tucked in closely to his scrotum. He carefully turned Jason 
around and moving the tape back and forth over his bare buttocks 
until he decided on the appropriate position. From its location, 
little more than the outward swelling from the crevice between 
his firm, small cheeks would be covered. The man peered at the 
boy's rounded behind and noted the measurement. 

His fingers expertly checked to make sure that the tape was 
lying in the right place. As he did so, his fingers brushed 
lightly against Jason's tiny scrotum. I watched as Jason 
quivered. He turned to me quickly and then looked away, blushing 
as he felt his little penis begin to harden. The man smiled up 
at the boy, almost as if he relished my son's discomfiture.

"The little man is waking up," he observed quietly. Jason 
swallowed, not moving as the fingers continued to stroke the 
wrinkled side of his small pouch with a feathery motion. "Don't 
be embarrassed, mon garcon. This way we see how big the front 
piece must be to cover it. Such things will happen to a pretty 
boy at the beach and you do not want to embarrassed."

My son blushed even more, pressing his lips tightly 
together as he fought back somewhere deep inside himself, a vain 
unsuccessful attempt to restrain his body's arousal. Within only 
a few seconds, Jason's penis was rigid and protruding outwards 
and upwards, nearly parallel to his lower belly.

"Very petit," the man observed to no one in particular. 
"Now you may dress, mon garcon."

I needed to sit down and catch my breath. I watched 
reluctantly as Jason pulled his shorts up and re-tied the bow at 
his waist. It had taken little more than a few minutes but I 
could feel the wetness in my briefs as pre-seminal fluid oozed 
out of my throbbing penis. I had been aroused the entire time. I 
breathed deeply, trying to control my confused thoughts, still 
in stunned disbelief of the overwhelming surge I had known for 
the short time that my own son was partially naked in front of a 
complete stranger.

Now properly attired, Jason followed the proprietor over to 
a rack of colorful bolts of nylon. The array of colors were 
dazzling, everything from the hottest neon pink, to the wildest 
yellow imaginable. Jason went straight to the yellow. Therein 
lay a problem. He liked yellow, it was his favorite color and he 
did look great in it because it accented his silver-blond hair, 
but frankly I was ready for something with pizzazz. Two for 
eighteen dollars suddenly sounded like a great deal. For 'mine', 
I chose the vivid neon-pink and blue, then I had to decide 
whether I wanted pink in front, or blue. I went for the blue, 
Jason was a boy after all, though the significance of the hot-
pink on his beautiful, little bottom seemed very appropriate too.

We walked out of the store a few minutes later after 
leaving a deposit. Mykonos was 'locked up tight' for the next 
two hours and we headed off towards the harbor hoping to find 
something to eat in the areas where the tourists 'hung out'. 
Jason settled for an ice-cream, or what passed for an ice-cream 
in Greece. It seemed almost unlike him when he asked for a 
double scoop of the honey and nut variety. I watched, captivated 
as his little, pink tongue protruded beyond his perfectly shaped 
lips, swirled around the creamy mound and disappeared back into 
his mouth. He could turn even the simple act of eating an ice-
cream into a sensuous experience; at times it bordered on being 
obscene as he slurped, then licked, then swirled his tongue 
around and around again.

I didn't say anything but I was beginning to get worried. I 
loved the slenderness of his body, the narrow hips and shoulders 
and the deliciously shaped belly and chest, but his reluctance 
to eat heartily, frightened me. It didn't seem natural that a 
ten-year-old boy could exist on a few handfuls of grapes, a thin 
slice of toast, and an ice-cream for lunch. However, at the 
time, I didn't know very much about boys, just Jeff and at the 
time he was in a growth spurt of early puberty.

We ambled along the harbor wall looking at the yachts that 
had come from over the world. Like me, Jason showed little 
interest in a boat if it's primary means of propulsion was not 
the result of sail and wind. It was the start of a wonderful 
time that we would spend together, though neither of us grasped 
its full import at the time, there was an intensity that surged 
between us and brought us together. My fear of Julien somehow 
seducing Jason drifted away and I felt closer to him than I had 
ever dreamed or realized was possible with another person.

I teased Jason as his ice-cream melted and dribbled down 
his hand, leaving little, creamy trails on his bare arm. He was 
not a 'messy eater', but it was good to tease him. Then his 
little tongue would poke out and lick away the spill, until the 
next one happened, which usually didn't take very long. Finally, 
as we laughed together, I grabbed his arm, pulled it towards me 
and licked the sticky stain away. He tasted good. In fact, to me 
he tasted better than the sweet, honey taste of the ice-cream. 
There was a delicious and unforgettable saltiness, not strong 
like sweat, though we had both been sweating profusely by then, 
but a sweet, tangy taste of a young body whose sweat glands were 
unfouled by maturity.

My 'lick' set us both off and we laughed. It was a magic 
moment, one that would be forever memorable for both of us. Then 
without warning, the boy's beautiful face darkened and he jerked 
his arm back angrily.

"What's wrong, Jason?" I asked gently.

The boy avoided my eyes. "Nothing!.... This is,... wrong! 
That's all!" he blurted out suddenly.

"I can't help the way I feel, Jason," I said quietly.

I sensed the boy's anxiety and pain and it overwhelmed me. 
I reached forward and pulled him against me, pressing his small 
tousled head against my chest. I felt him shudder, the 
unmistakable tremor of a crying boy. "I know that! I know that, 
Dad," he sobbed. 

"I love you Jason," I whispered comfortingly. "I love you 
more than I've ever loved anyone else."

But the words sounded hollow, awfully hollow. I wondered 
how I could possibly communicate the depth of feeling that had 
come into my heart during the last few days. I wondered what my 
son meant when he said it was wrong. Did he mean what I had 
thought him to mean? Was it guilt and shame and self-loathing 
that made him turn away from me? Was this the pain of coming to 
know he was homosexual? Was he learning to hate me?

"How is it wrong, Jason?" I asked gently.

The boy sniffed loudly. I could feel the wetness of his 
tears through the thin cotton of my shirt. "It is!" he retorted. 
"I can't stay here with you. I have to go back. I want,... to 
stay with you," he pleaded between desperate sobs.

I thought as I breathed, taking slow deep breaths as I 
tried to search for the words, wanting to make promises I could 
never keep. I wanted to keep him with me more than he could ever 
know.

"It's not wrong because you're gay? Or because I am, too?" 
I asked nervously. I waited for the answer, ready to reject 
everything except the words I needed and now longed to hear.

He shook his head furiously. "I'm glad, Jason. Because that 
is one of the reasons why I love you," I admitted.

"I,... know that, Dad," he whispered. His voice trembled 
and cracked with growing tension. "I want,... to too.... I just 
don't want to leave you. I don't want to have to go back 
there,... to him."

"Jason, what do you mean? To him? Jason what's wrong? 
Please tell me?" I begged. Again, his head shook furiously 
against my chest. I stroked his long, glistening hair gently, 
feeling the small skull beneath his scalp. Such a small head, I 
mused, for such a remarkable mind. 

"Jason," I implored," please tell me? You can trust me. I 
won't be angry."

The boy was silent. Slowly, resolutely, his small, blond 
head shook. He backed away, pulling from my embrace as he 
disengaged. Absently he smeared his right hand over his eyes, 
rubbing away the wetness of his tears, replacing it with a smear 
of melted ice-cream. He looked so pitiful standing there, his 
face stained and still so painfully disconcerted that I had to 
smile. He was beautiful and I loved him so much that it hurt to 
see him sad and upset.

"What's so funny, Dad?" he demanded.

"You are, Jay-boy," I grinned. "Did I ever tell you how 
incredibly sexy you are?"

He smiled slowly as his cream-stained hand brushed at his 
long hair. Then, with hesitating progress, his shy smile became 
a cheeky grin. "Not as sexy as Julien, though?" he teased.

"Much more!" I replied honestly.

And that was it all it took for Jason's pain to vanish. He 
smirked as he observed his hand and arm, covered with the cream 
drips of his icecream.

"You gonna lick it off again this time, Dad?" he teased.

I started to nod and say 'of course' as Jason ran down the 
dock, jumping with almost cat-like skill over the mooring lines 
that stretched from the boats to the huge ship-sized cleats and 
bollards. I watched in fear, hoping that his graceful sprint was 
not doomed to end in failure by tripping. He turned around, a 
hundred feet away, still chortling loudly as he backed up 
against a concession stand that had closed for lunch.

I loped up to him and he smirked cheekily. "I spilled some 
more, Dad," he announced as he moved away a few more feet from 
me.

I examined him carefully. His arms seemed clean, so did his 
legs. This was a game and I was expected to play along. I did. I 
took two or three steps closer.

"I don't see any, Jay-boy," I said patiently. "You must be 
mistaken."

"No I'm not, you just have to guess where it spilled, 
that's all," he replied with a mischievous grin. "So guess, Dad?"

I returned the grin. Suddenly, everything was wonderful 
between us. I could sense the boy's affection for me, as deep 
and strong as mine was for him. Julien could try all he wanted, 
but I was supremely confident he wasn't going to 'score' with my 
boy. And, if I wasn't mistaken, Jason was 'testing' my love for 
him. For Jason, though still immature, was playing a game, using 
Julien as a pawn in the juvenile parry and thrust of emerging 
puppy love with no hesitation is sacrificing his 'piece'.

"Hmmmm? So where could Jay-boy have spilled ice cream?" I 
wondered aloud as I pretended to be mystified. I looked him up 
and down several times. "Well there's none on your arms or legs, 
is there? Most of it is on your tee shirt, now. And there's none 
on your face, except around your mouth,... and I know you don't 
like kissing,... so that's not it. Hmmm? I wonder where?" 

Jason giggled sheepishly and glanced downward. I suspected 
what he had in mind but I wasn't falling for it, not yet anyway. 
"Maybe it spilled on your tummy while you were running?" I 
suggested. Jason shook his head quickly. This was going to be 
fun, I decided. "What if I don't believe you, Jas'?" I said 
slyly. "Maybe you better prove it," I suggested.

"How?" he taunted with giggles that threatened to burst out 
and engulf him.

"Show me, of course. So, take off your tee shirt, Jay-boy," 
I demanded. I had increased the stakes beyond what Jason had 
expected. Now it was my game.

"Here?" he asked uncertainly.

I shrugged absently and he grinned slowly as he lifted his 
arms up over his head. He pretended to become stuck, knowing 
full well that I would come to his 'rescue'. I did. I took the 
remnants of his ice-cream in my left hand and with the other 
hand gave one quick tug of his tee shirt upwards and over his 
head and Jason was half-naked, though not inappropriately so 
since he was still attired in his swimming costume.

I scanned his bare flesh with interest. In the bright, mid-
afternoon light, he was utterly magnificent. His nipples were 
soft and very small and I reached forward and lovingly brushed 
them with my fingers, teasing them gently between my fingers 
until they were hard, tiny points. Jason regarded me guiltily, 
aware that he was exposed to the world, and yet, he too was 
excited by the elicit and lewd display of our affection. It had 
been brooding since earlier in the morning, and like the heat of 
the day, was approaching the point of no control. Slowly, as my 
fingers continued to manipulate his little hard bulbs he began 
to breath slower and deeper, holding each lung-full for long 
seconds before he exhaled.

"I don't see any ice-cream spills on your tummy, Jas'," I 
whispered. My voice trembled.

He shook his head and then looked around him furtively. 
"There isn't Dad," he whispered back suggestively.

"I wonder where then? Hmmmm?" Jason moved slightly, 
repositioning his slender body with his groin pushed forward as 
his back arched sensuously.

Suddenly I was aware that Jason was erect, the distinctive 
little tent poking outward between his slender legs. "Look who's 
got a stiffie, now," I teased quietly. I brushed it with my 
fingers, feeling the inflexible, little shaft resist me. The 
boy's instinctive quiver revealed his arousal as much as the 
warmth that flowed out of his private place and into my 
fingertips. I turned around, looking for anyone in the vicinity 
that could see us. On that hot mid-afternoon in Mykonos we were 
the only two people alive it seemed.

I pushed him gently, guiding him forward so that we moved 
behind the concession stand. Long stands of dry grass, burned by 
the intense sun and reflection from the metal panels of the 
stand, enclosed us. It was hotter there, away from the gentle 
breeze, in the full and unmitigated heat of the sun, but it was 
private. I knelt down before Jason and placed my hands on his 
narrow hips. I looked up, uncertainly. He was smiling and he 
nodded earnestly. His small chest rose and fell with each quick, 
excited breath. My right hand moved from his hip to his thigh. 
His leg seemed very hot under my fingers as I stroked it 
tenderly. I heard a small, barely audible whimper from Jason as 
my fingers pushed upwards and into his crotch. He quivered as my 
finger tips caressed the tiny pouch of his scrotum.

Unable to resist, I withdrew my hand, then lifted the leg 
of his swimming costume higher, upward and over his aroused 
genitals so that the material was bunched on the other side and 
he was exposed to all the world. His knees seemed to tremble 
slightly as he stood before me, looking down as I regarded his 
wonderful body.

"I don't see any ice-cream here, either, Jason," I breathed 
out in awe.

"Yeah, you do," he corrected plaintively. His hands dropped 
down and, holding his little rigid penis with his left, so that 
it pointed downward, he brought the ice-cream, cold, creamy and 
sticky, to meet it with the other. He had eaten it down to the 
crown of the cone so that all that remained was the soggy cone 
and a sloppy mess inside. The uncircumcised end of his penis 
pushed into the creamy fluid. He giggled as the residual cold 
ignited a little shiver and his buttocks tightened 
instinctively. He pushed further into the cool mess until most 
of his penis was covered and then he lifted the cone away.

"See, Dad," he said teasingly.

"I see, Jason," I said in mind-numbing excitement. Had I 
won the game, or Jason. I stared at my son's little erection, 
coated with a thick layer of light-brown cream. Never before had 
I seen such a tasty morsel!

"So? You gonna lick this off, or what, Dad?" he challenged.

I glanced upward at the smirking boy. "I don't think you 
could reach to lick it off by yourself," I teased. 

"I don't plan on trying," Jason giggled.

His buttocks pushed forward crudely as he offered me his 
extended penis. I took a quick breath, swallowed, and licked 
him. I licked from the junction of his penis and scrotum all the 
way to the taut, pointed, little tip. I tasted honey; sweet, 
wonderful nectar of the gods and a deliciously hot boy-penis. 
For a moment I toyed with the tip, holding it between my lips 
and tickling the pucker of his foreskin with my tongue.

I heard Jason murmur 'yeah', as I took him in. The honey 
taste filled my mouth for a few seconds and then, as I bathed 
him with saliva, I could sense it fading. Only the taste of the 
boy was left, though in reality there was no taste at all, just 
the presence of his very hard penis inside my mouth. I tried to 
look upwards to see how he was responding but the angle was 
wrong, all I could see was his panting belly.

I held his rigid penis tightly between my lips, nipping 
lightly on the sensitive skin, rubbing the silken shaft with my 
tongue, pushing it to the roof of my mouth, and sucking. Mostly 
sucking. I tried to suck his beautiful penis off. I suctioned as 
hard as I could, trying to draw him ever deeper, aware that each 
sucking pressure seemed to make him tremble and push ever harder 
into my mouth. And each time, his penis seemed to get harder, 
blood flowing into the vacuumed spaces and causing him to swell 
and stiffen until the short shaft was throbbing and painfully 
stiff. In those few wonderful minutes, I thought that there was 
no possible way than we could be joined so intimately.

I was distracted from my task as I felt Jason's small hands 
meet and cradle behind my head as he pulled me closer to him, 
forcing my nose into the baby-soft skin of his belly. I realized 
that he was making a low crooning sound, an almost animal-like 
whimper of pleasure that was so intense that it approached pain. 
Slowly, with barely perceptible movements of his thighs and 
legs, he began to thrust. At first only his penis moved inside 
my mouth with fractional jerks, brief spasms of delight before 
he calmed himself, then gradually, a natural rhythm took command.

I ceased his motion by grasping his hips and steadying him. 
Despite my firm grasp he persisted in trying to lunge forward in 
a vain attempt to continue his enjoyment. 

I heard a distant moan as I pulled my mouth away, reached 
up and fumbling, untied the cord of his swimming costume. I 
pulled them downwards to his knees, then pushed them all the way 
to the ground. Jason was now naked and exposed and exactly the 
way I wanted him. I took his penis back into my mouth, 
marvelling momentarily at how much larger it now appeared, 
swollen and engorged with his blood. It was slightly purplish in 
color instead of his usual reddish-pink, with tiny, bulging 
veins. I took him all the way in, then still hungry for more of 
his fabulous flesh, pushed my fingers into the firm little pouch 
between his legs and guided one tiny testicle, and then other 
into my mouth. His heat excited me as I engulfed him, saliva 
coating his rampart genitals and forming a slippery, throbbing 
union with the soft tissue of my mouth.

Within seconds, Jason began to thrust again, resuming his 
rhythm as if unbroken. This time his breathing was strained, 
coming in quick panting gasps as he pumped his tiny penis into 
me. His entire body seemed to exist for only one purpose, every 
action dedicated to one result, to derive the maximum enjoyment 
from the mouth that enclosed and held him safe from the world 
around us. Again, I clasped his hips, but this time not to stop 
him, My hands moved around behind him, feeling the smooth, small 
hemispheres of his buttocks as I pulled him into me with as much 
suction as I could manage and forced his rigid shaft against the 
my palate with my tongue. Jason moaned and quivered as my 
fingertips pushed between the firm, rubbery flesh of his cheeks, 
touched the inner sanctum of his crack, penetrated a single 
finger into the lush, moist heat of his anus, and held him 
tightly.

I took over, pulling and pushing my naked son back and 
forth as his penis pumped inside my mouth. I felt the heat 
building in his body, a curious trembling and gasping that left 
me thinking that perhaps he would orgasm, wetly instead of what 
I knew would be the case. His slender legs moved even further 
apart, giving me unfettered access to his genitals. I devoured 
him, relishing every precious moment before the inevitable 
happened. His frenzied thrusting at the end was inspirational, 
though especially so for a sexually immature, ten-year-old boy. 
Jason's energy seemed inexhaustible as he approached his peak, 
and then as he gasped out in painful ecstasy, his legs weakened 
and he collapsed onto his knees, shuddering violently as he 
spasmed. After a moment he looked up at me and smiled weakly.

"I think your ice cream melted, Jas'" I said playfully.

"Yeah, I guess so," he acknowledged as he looked at the 
discarded cone lying in the dirt a few inches from his right 
knee. I hugged him to me lovingly, still caressing his small 
buttocks as I kissed the top of his head. I didn't think he 
would mind that too much.

"It didn't taste all that good anyway," he sighed as his 
excitement began to abate.

"It sure tasted good to me," I laughed, "though maybe it 
was something else I could taste."

Jason smiled. I felt very close to him and I helped him 
stand up on legs that were still wobbly and uncertain. I pulled 
his shorts upwards, dusting off the dirt and grass that had 
collected on them before I reached his knees. Finally, when the 
boy's nakedness was covered, I got to my feet and pulled him 
tightly against me. With his face pressed into me, his muffled 
voice was barely audible.

"That was nice, Dad," he whispered.

Nice was an understatement of the wonderful feelings that 
had blossomed inside me. For in attaching my body to his, I had 
come to understand something. Certainly, most people would be 
horrified, disgusted at the intimacy we had shared, but it 
seemed to me that it was impossible for two people to be closer 
than we were as we slowly walked away from the concession stand. 
We walked side-by-side, my arm draped possessively over his 
small, bare shoulders, pulling his hot body to me with playful 
hugs as I steered him one way and then the other.

We went down to the beach, past the tourists, past the 
parents and their innocent children playing in the sand, past 
flirting teenagers, to the far end of the beach. There, 
sheltered from the broiling sun by an overhanging rock, we sat 
side by side. At first, we communicated not by talking but by an 
inimicable closeness that was born of deep feelings. There was 
little that we could say to each other following what had 
transpired between us. There was too much too think about. There 
was too much conflict for us to simply resume a familial 
relationship. But slowly as the afternoon wore on, the dread 
that oppressed us departed and we became light-hearted and 
increasingly jovial. The threat to our mental well-being faded. 
For that was what it was, in those few minutes both of us had 
been brought to the 'point of no return' and we were confronted 
by our true selves.

There is no father who would ever voluntarily position 
himself as the seducer or abuser of his child, but no one can 
say with absolute certainty that he would not have done a 
similar thing under the same conditions. Was I wrong to love 
Jason in a fashion that was deemed unacceptable by all but a few 
elements of society, those elements being pederasts themselves 
in all likelihood? I had not set out to seduce Jason, but each 
event, every action, had brought us closer and closer until such 
an outcome was unavoidable.

If anything my guilt was vastly greater than my son's and 
at first I attributed that to the difference in our ages and my 
greater responsibility as his father, but as the time passed I 
came to think more and more of the boy's response. Then I 
thought back, remembering the ease with which he undressed 
before me, a relative stranger in a way; the shameless 
exhibition of his body as I photographed him; the experienced 
motion of his slender body as he moved on top of me during the 
night; the almost accustomed ease with which he offered my his 
sex organs. The conclusion, as before, was unavoidable. If 
anyone was the innocent virgin, it was me and not Jason.

Jason's words, 'I don't want to have to go back there,... 
to him.... to him.... to him.... to him' rang endlessly in my 
ears and I knew that a man had taken advantage of my son, old-
fashioned and inappropriate as the word 'advantage' may be. 
Perhaps unreasonably, I immediately suspected a man who had easy 
access to him, a friend of his mother's, an employee from the 
farm where he lived, a teacher, even someone from his church. 
All told, there were too many opportunities. As I sat under the 
sheltering rock, listening to Jason talking about his life and 
asking endless questions about mine, there was one question that 
came back into my mind again and again. It was a question that I 
could never ask him.

As the heat of the sun reached its maximum, even the shade 
afforded by the rock seemed insufficient compensation. I took my 
shirt off and followed Jason down to the water's edge. It was 
not as cool as I would have liked but it helped. I followed 
Jason out into deeper water. Unlike the previous day, the wind 
had faded to a slight breeze and the waves were small. My son 
became a boy-dolphin, like the wonders of Crete not far to the 
south. He gambolled and romped beside me, extolling the virtues 
of youth and the ravages of age. He teased me endlessly, 
taunting me until I lifted him up and tossed sixty-one pounds of 
squealing, yelping boy into the water. For a boy who ate next to 
nothing, I could throw him a considerable distance.

Jason's energy was inexhaustible. He could have easily 
played that game all day, or until I dropped. But fortunately, 
the cold water of the Aegean took its toll on both of us. When I 
picked Jason up in a scooping bear-hug and found goose flesh 
over his arms and legs, I knew he had been in the cold water 
long enough. We made our way closer to the beach, and upon 
discovering that it was comfortable at slightly more than ankle-
depth, we lay down side by side and let the water wash over us. 
But even then Jason was not content and within five minutes we 
were engaged in a playful fight, tickling each other furiously, 
with hands often straying to places that fathers generally don't 
tickle their young sons.

We were far from prying eyes, and half under the water as 
we were, I doubted that much could be seen, so I resolved to 
enjoy myself. I did. If one has never tickles a giggling, 
excitable, ten-year-old boy into a frenzy, it is an experience 
that I can highly recommend. It was made even more enjoyable by 
the ever-present and very comfortable pressure of his small hard 
penis against mine.

By three o'clock, on Jason's handsome, waterproof watch, it 
was time to leave. We spent additional time ambling back to the 
store on Adrianos Street, wandering through the gradually 
awakening streets and gardens, arriving at the store shortly 
before four pm. The briefs (for that is what they were - very 
brief) were finished and waiting for us. Jason took one, the 
yellow one needless to say, into the back room to try it on 
while I paid the proprietor and purchased one for myself.

Only seconds before Jason emerged from the 'fitting' room, 
a woman came into the store followed by her son and daughter. 
They were easily identified as Americans and I guessed their 
accents to be from somewhere in the south. The boy was at least 
a year or two older than Jason and still carried his puppy fat. 
The girl was in her early teens, already blossoming into woman 
hood with the appearance of budding breasts in a bright red 
halter top. It appeared that the reason for their visit to the 
store was to purchase a swimming costume for the boy, who had 
lost his, as boys of that age tend to do. Interestingly, my 
attention was drawn to the boy and not the girl and I gave her 
no more than a passing glance. I assessed him, making a quick 
comparison with Jason. There was no comparison!

They searched through a rack of costumes, the long-legged 
kind that shows nothing except the top of the knee and the first 
inch or two below the navel. Even the vibrant colors of 
'Adrianos Street Swimming' could not prevent the waste of 
beautiful flesh that was covered up. As the woman held up an 
orange and black patterned costume to her son's waist, out 
paraded Jason.

He redefined the word erotic! He also provided a new 
definition for the word 'shameless' as he swivelled around in 
front of me, oblivious to the onlookers. I almost choked as I 
watched the woman shudder and try to avert her eyes from my 
son's ostentatious display of his sexuality - what there was of 
it. The costume fitted him like a glove, revealing his small sex 
organs as much as hiding them, to the extent that even the 
pointed taper of his foreskin was discernible under the thin 
nylon. What it left to the imagination - at least to my 
imagination - was not worth having. But I was one of the 
privileged, not so the son and daughter. The boy's mouth dropped 
open as he gaped.

I heard him murmur something like 'How 'bout one like his, 
mom?' before she replied haughtily, "Little whore. Of course 
not."

But most amusing off all was the daughter's countenance. 
She was captivated by the parade of the nearly-naked boy, her 
eyes followed his every languid movement as I nodded my approval 
and Jason disappeared back into the changing room.

"I don't see how you could buy something like that for a 
boy his age?" the woman rasped in my ear. "It's its,..."

"Indecent?" I finished. "Frankly, I don't think it really 
is any of you business what my son wears. But I'd appreciate it 
if you didn't call him a little whore."

"Well!" she said indignantly. "I mean, its just not 
appropriate for him to dress like that. There are supposed to be 
a lot of faggots on Mykonos and,... well at his age,..."

I turned to her and smiled sweetly as Jason came skipping 
merrily out of the 'fitting' room, obviously still wearing his 
new attire under his old costume.

"Well, you'd do better to keep an eye on your own little 
faggot, then!" I said quietly as I led the way out of the store, 
much to the amusement of the proprietor.


PLATONIC LOVE.

DAY THIRTEEN.  Mykonos. Late afternoon, August 5th, 1993

"Who would not love a boy like that? Who would be so blind in body and 
soul? How could anyone help loving him? In the gymnasium he is Hermes, he 
is Apollo touching the lyre, he is Castor taming the chargers. Inhabiting a 
mortal body, he follows in the footsteps of the Gods."

Lucian, Dialogues of Love.



We were lucky to catch the four pm. bus back to Super-
Paradise Beach. In fact, if we had not run flat-out for the last 
few hundred yards and if it had left according to schedule, we 
would have missed it by several minutes and had to wait until it 
returned about an hour later. But, like everything else in 
southern Europe, the buses always seemed to run a few minutes 
(or more) late. Unlike the trip into town on the crowded bus, 
the trip back was considerably more enjoyable. Aside from the 
driver and a two elderly Greek women in the front row of seats, 
the bus was empty. I followed Jason to the back of the bus. I 
guess the habits of young boys on buses, whether yellow school 
buses, or cantankerous buses in the Cyclades, never change. He 
selected a seat second from the back and slid in first, taking 
the window seat for himself.

The bus lurched forward at the instant that Jason sat down. 
I was caught unprepared and I was barely able to grab the rail 
to prevent myself from falling hard onto the sticky, food-
stained floor. As it was, my miserable performance was saved 
from complete ignominy only because I toppled into the seat next 
to Jason. Looking back, one could easily see why Jason burst out 
into laughter, though at the time it was hardly funny to me. A 
ten-year-old boy who has ridden school buses for the last few 
years should be considerably more skillful on his feet than a 
forty-year-old man, particularly one whose only recent 
experiences with sudden movement consisted of riding a lurching 
deck during a wild storm, and then with the advantage of a life-
safety-harness and life-lines.

I gave Jason the 'killer stare' to save my hurt feelings. 
It made him laugh even harder. A giggling boy is infectious, a 
hundred times worse than any virus known to science and Jason, 
with his beautiful face and high-pitched laugh was irresistible. 
I started to think what he would do if I leaned over and kissed 
his too-pretty-for-a-boy lips and stuck my tongue between his 
perfect white teeth and I started to laugh. We were both 
breathing heavily as we settled in for the trip, the bus 
gathered speed and began the bouncing thirty minute 'bronco-
ride' back to where we had started from.

"So, Dad?..." Jason demanded between gasps for air, "So 
what,... did you say to the lady,... in the store?"

"Huh? Oh, her! She didn't like you new costume."

"So what's it to her?" he asked.

"I guess she thought that a boy your age shouldn't be 
showing so much flesh," I replied. I glanced at Jason, both of 
us still trying to control our inflated pulses and rapid 
breathing. "There wasn't much you couldn't see, you know."

"But you couldn't see anything. I checked in the mirror to 
make sure before I went out to show you," Jason retorted 
guiltily.

"I don't care if you came out naked, Jay-boy. It wasn't any 
of her business what you were wearing," I said to placate him. 
He was right, you couldn't see anything exposed, but I could 
certainly see what nature had endowed him with. It wasn't that 
big but it was 100-percent boy.

"So what did you say to her?" Jason persisted.

"Hmmm? Maybe I'll tell you in a few years," I teased.

Jason giggled. "Did you tell her to 'fuck-off'?" he 
whispered conspiratorially.

I stifled another laughing fit. "No I did not! But you're 
close, Jas'."

"So what did you think? Pretty sexy huh?" he grinned.

I played dumb. "Huh? What?"

"You know, Dad! My new costume. Did you like it?" he 
persisted.

"Yeah, I guess so," I teased. "I really didn't see much of 
it."

"There isn't that much to see, Dad. It's really tiny. It 
feels like I'm not wearing anything down there," Jason smirked. 
He glanced up at the front of the bus surreptitiously. "You want 
to see now?" he whispered.

My heart did leap and my blood pressure went into 'lift-
off'. "Here?... I don't think so, Jas'. What about the driver? 
I'm sure he can see."

"He can't see 'squat' back here. He's only got the one 
mirror and it's outside, Dad," Jason stated expertly as he 
started to untie the cord of his swimming costume for what 
seemed to be the millionth time that day.

There was little I could do, or even wanted to do to stop 
him. This was fun, sheer, unadulterated fun. I felt like a ten-
year-old boy myself, engaged in 'show-me' or something even more 
elicit. I pretended to stare out the window at the passing 
buildings, at the cars, at the huge, ostentatious motels, 
anything to keep my mind and eyes off what Jason was doing. But 
it was impossible not to sense his movements next to me, the 
reduced weight on the seat as sixty-one pounds of boy lifted up 
and a pair of bright-yellow shorts came down. Not to his knees, 
he went all the way to his ankles before he straightened up 
again. The cheeky smirk on his face was unforgettable.

"Well Dad? You like it?" he whispered.

I glanced downward. I was prepared for a pleasant surprise 
and I got it. Close up, and in the sunlight that streamed 
through the window onto Jason's lap, the costume was obscenely 
small but it was made even more so by the little, bulging 
erection that was already well underway to achieving greater 
prominence

"The old ladies up front would die," I replied. With a tan, 
Jason could cause serious accidents. "It's very sexy," I agreed, 
"Just like the rest of you, Jas'".

Jason was right. With the road noise and the lack of an 
inside mirror, it was impossible for the other passengers to 
know that Jason and I were doing anything other that looking at 
the scenery - which in a way was true. I dropped my hand down 
onto Jason's thigh, midway between knee and hip. Jason exhaled 
and his knees parted further, pressing one very-bare leg against 
mine. I tickled the smooth, soft skin lightly, running my 
fingers around and around as I drew ever closer to his now-
obvious bulge. The thin nylon above his rigid penis became 
stretched tightly, and then as he flexed his inner muscles, it 
jerked, straightened and poked it's tiny head out from under the 
neon-yellow covering.

My fingers glided upwards, towards their ultimate 
objective, still circling in a last ditch effort to convey an 
objective other than their intended target. Jason smiled 
sensuously. My fingers brushed lightly against the small taut 
lump still imprisoned under the nylon. Jason quivered. My 
fingers moved a little higher and I stroked the rubber-like, 
pointed tip of his foreskin. Jason sighed and gave me a 
lascivious grin as he settled closer against me and gazed out 
the window.

I squeezed my finger and thumb together over his tiny, hose-
like end and rotated them, rolling the sensitive skin of the 
prepuce. Jason whimpered slightly and his hips pushed upwards 
eagerly. I traced the contour of his penis downwards, sliding my 
thumb and finger under the nylon of his costume. I felt my son's 
rounded glans as a small, but distinct swelling in the elongated 
shaft, it's delicate form protected by its thin covering of 
skin. My finger and thumb gripped tighter and then pushed down 
firmly, gently retracting the skin back and exposing the tiny 
bluish-purple knob yet again. I glanced at Jason. His eyes were 
half-closed in a contented bliss, relishing my loving caresses. 
His little hard penis flexed hungrily under my fingers, 
demanding more attention and not at all satisfied with my mere 
stroking. 

For a moment I considered the embarrassment and the 
potential problems that would ensue if we were discovered. Again 
Jason's penis jerked, like a hard little prong pulsing with life 
and energy of its own. It was as if it was unattached to its 
young master who seemed to be barely awake and basking in the 
warmth of the sun. I hesitated to go on, the fear of discovery 
was precipitous. It was as if Jason read my mind.

"Go on, Dad," he hissed urgently, "Do it!"

I choked back a laugh, fascinated by the extent of his 
arousal, disbelieving that a ten-year-old boy could be so 
depraved as to want me to 'jerk him off' in the back of the bus. 
He looked as me with an expression of pure, carnal lust. There 
was no innocence in his pale blue eyes.

"You want me to take it off?" he whispered suggestively. "I 
will if you want me to."

I thought for a second and shook my head. "No!" I replied 
quickly. There was a chance that the bus might stop to pick up 
passengers as it had on the trip into town. It was not difficult 
to pull the nylon of his costume down far enough to expose his 
genitals. I looped the thin cloth under the little, rounded 
pouch of his scrotum, kept it there by pressing my little finger 
into the wrinkled, firm mound amidst his testicles, and went to 
work. Masturbating Jason had become my favorite pastime and one 
which apparently he also enjoyed and did not tire of easily, if 
at all.

It was, of course, impossible to use my saliva to lubricate 
him since it might be seen, or though remote, heard. I 
concentrated my efforts on the short, thin, very-hard shaft, 
knowing the pleasure it would give him. Much to Jason's delight, 
I did not want, or intend for him to orgasm quickly. I prolonged 
the pleasure and alternated the motion, ranging from playful 
tickles and gentle tugs, to rapid jerking, with generally much 
more of the former and less of the latter.

The trip into town had taken nearly thirty minutes in the 
morning and I was surprised when the bus finally stopped and the 
driver twisted around in his seat and called out 'Super-
Paradise'. Hurriedly, I reached down to the floor and grabbed 
Jason's shorts. There was a momentary panic as I realized that 
one of Jason's feet was no longer in his shorts. That quickly 
straightened out, both of us tugged them upwards frantically. 
Only seconds had passed in a frenzied scramble to cover his 
exposed body but it seemed much longer. We stood up together, 
both blushing, both cheated by the interruption to our play. 
Jason had been mere seconds away from orgasm when the bus had 
stopped. The expression on his face had been one of sheer joy as 
the pressure increased inside him exponentially.

But Jason had not been the only person close to orgasm. 
Under my shorts, my own briefs felt as though they were soaked 
from the constant flow of pre-seminal fluid that had leaked from 
my straining penis. As Jason had neared climax, so my own 
arousal became so strong that orgasm was imminent. I had never 
felt so close to achieving a climax without direct stimulation 
of my penis. We staggered down the aisle, our legs unsteady and 
trembling from still-continuing excitement and the constant 
vibration of the bus.

Outside the bus, we walked about fifty of sixty feet before 
we gave in and started laughing. Whether our joy was fueled by a 
sense of relief, or merely an outburst of strong bonds that were 
forming between us, I don't know, but it lasted the entire ten 
minutes that it took to walk down to the beach where we had left 
the dinghy many hours earlier. On that sunny afternoon, Jason 
and I provided an entertaining sight; father and son with arms 
wrapped around each other, mine around Jason's shoulders, 
occasionally giving him playful 'head-locks'; his around my 
waist or hips, giving me 'mock-tackles' as we surged drunkenly 
from one side to the other of the narrow lane, still laughing 
hysterically. That I tickled Jason furiously the entire time, 
served to perpetuate the fun.

By the time we arrived back on Apollo it was nearly five 
o'clock. Although the sun was moving steadily lower in the 
western sky, its rays were still intense. The horizon was clear 
and the continuing warm temperature suggested that the wind 
would be back by the next morning. We slumped onto the cockpit 
seats, tired from our excursion, each vividly remembering the 
fun we had experienced together and not wanting it to end, ever. 
Only three days had passed since I had met Jason at the airport 
and I was surprised by how much I liked him. It did not seem 
possible to me that I had not liked him right from the outset. 
What was wrong with me? My son was the most wonderful person on 
the face of the earth and I didn't like him? Had I really made 
comments about him being gay? Had I really thought his beauty to 
be objectionable?

The only things about Jason that still bothered me were the 
diamond stud, the fancy watch, and the mysterious man. Because 
there had to be a man, there was no other way that a ten-year-
old boy would do the things that Jason did. Even sex games with 
boys his own age could not account for his uninhibited and 
wanton desire. And so we sat there on the cockpit seats, 
regarding each other affectionately, closer than a father and 
his son should naturally be, feeling the pangs of love that 
society had decreed in its wisdom to be tantamount to unholy 
acts.

 We had plenty of time to get ready for our dinner 
engagement, which by now even I was looking forward to, so I 
suggested that we get some sun. There wasn't time to back to 
Super-Paradise Beach, appealing though the idea was to both of 
us, so we stripped off and lay down in the cockpit. But there 
was a fundamental difference between this time and the first 
time that Jason sunbathed in the nude in Apollo's cockpit; this 
time I applied the suntan lotion to him!

Putting suntan lotion on a child can be an unpleasant 
experience for both parties or it can be heavenly. With Jason, 
it was undeniably the latter. He didn't wriggle or try to pull 
away; he lay quietly over my lap as I rubbed the amber oil into 
his back and shoulders, his legs and thighs, and finally into 
his buttocks. I oiled him until he glistened like a polished 
marble statue. Jason became a little Greek god, his slowly 
tanning skin burnished and lustrous with the oil. Even as I 
massaged him gently, tiny beads of perspiration formed like 
jewels all over him as the still-sweltering sun beat down. I 
could not take my eyes away from him as he stood up and moved 
across to the other side of the cockpit and lay down on his 
towel. With his thin, still-pale torso and 'break-marks' of 
already brown arms and legs, Jason appeared to be two boys; one 
a pale, soft-skinned, innocent child; the other, a rugged, sun-
drenched urchin. I was beginning to be more excited by the 
urchin but I loved them both dearly.

I oiled myself up and lay back on the seat. It was very 
pleasant. Half-awake, half-asleep, baked with a deep, 
penetrating glow from the sun as it touched places seldom seen 
before, but what made it truly enchanting was that Jason, stark-
naked and salubrious, was only a few feet away. Any time that I 
desired, I needed to turn my head slightly to one side and be 
met by the most wonderful sight in the world; a naked, very 
beautiful, ten-year-old boy. But the sun was in my eyes and 
instead of long, loving looks, all I could relish were brief 
glances. It was barely enough to keep me satisfied.

Any number of times that I peeked at him, Jason was looking 
at me. Each time he grinned playfully, disturbing his thoughtful 
expression with a tantalizing smile that seemed to welcome me 
over to his side of the cockpit. Each time, his right hand was 
resting on his hip, his fingers lazily stroking his little, limp 
penis with a casual familiarity that revealed my son no longer 
had any inhibition in front of me. Again and again I 
contemplated crossing the few feet between us and sharing his 
seat. Time and time again, I resolved not to, simply because I 
was afraid that he would think I was over-sexed, or something 
worse - a dirty old man. The day still was not over, and 
counting the times since just before sunrise, my hand had been 
on my son's genitals on four separate occasions. Somehow, that 
seemed too much, even to me.

I tried to think of other things but my thoughts always 
drifted back to Jason. As my longing increased, I accepted the 
inevitability of thinking about him and began to invent 
scenarios that involved him, though my fantasies were mere 
adventures of the things we might do during the coming weeks. I 
planned to leave for Paros the following morning. Even though I 
knew Jason would love Delos with its phallic symbols, the long 
avenues of crude, over-scaled, erect man-cocks, I wanted to 
leave Mykonos. I wanted to find a deserted island, impossible of 
course, but one at least where we could be together without the 
crushing pressure of other people. I wanted Jason for myself. I 
did not want to share him with anyone else.

My possessive thoughts suddenly turned to a mental picture 
of Jason as he flaunted his young body before my camera, dancing 
like a wild satyr against the rugged cliff. His little penis was 
so hard that it stuck out from his body like a lever jammed in 
the 'up' position. That was all that it took for my penis to 
shrug off its sleepy stupor and shudder awake. I closed my eyes 
and let the dream take me further and further away from reality.

But my dream was reality. I did not hear Jason until his 
hot, oily body touched mine. He straddled me, grinning cheekily, 
every bit as stiff and excited as I was. His little penis 
protruded abruptly from between his legs, arrogantly and openly 
displayed for my enjoyment. And then he leaned forward and his 
slick, glistening flesh pushed down onto mine. He was 
tantalizingly hot and lubricious and covered with a sheen of 
sweat, and he felt unbelievably good. He felt alive and sexy and 
he moved with a gentle eagerness as his little penis nestled 
tightly against mine. His testicles were squeezed to either side 
of my penis as it squashed into him and I could feel them, like 
tiny marbles against my own huge eggs. His arms locked around my 
neck as my arms enclosed his slender back and I hugged him 
desperately, so hard that he could be crushed as I strained to 
merge his body with mine.

"You feel so good," I whispered.

"So do you. It feels wild, Dad. We're both so slippery."

"You feel like an eel when you squirm like that," I gasped. 
"Keep doing that and I'm going to slime you again."

Jason giggled. "That's the whole idea. You haven't done it 
yet! I owe you!"

"I thought you didn't like getting it on you," I teased.

"I never said that," Jason retorted hotly, though still 
continuing his erotic writhing on top of me. "It's just slimy, 
that's all."

"Well, another two years of so and Pokey will be making his 
own slime," I added.

"Yeah, I guess," Jason acknowledged slowly. He paused 
thoughtfully as he pondered an important question. "Dad,....?"

"Yeah!"

"Dad, when they told us about puberty and all that stuff at 
school,... you know about growing up and the changes in our 
bodies...." I nodded patiently. "Well the teacher said that it 
happens mostly when we're like twelve or thirteen,... and well 
if that's when my dick gets bigger and I start producing sperm 
and everything, and I get hair down there, like you have,... 
well,..."

"Yes Jas', so what's the question, honey?" I asked gently.

"Will you still love me as much as you do now,.... or 
more,... because I can do it to you as well?" Jason asked 
uncertainly. He stopped moving and lay very still as if his 
entire existence and everything we now shared hinged upon my 
answer.

I was taken back for a moment. The possibility of loving 
Jason either more or less than I did at that very moment seemed 
remote. No, it was inconceivable to me. But then, I had never 
really thought about Jason growing up. I could imagine him only 
as he was now, the sensitive, slender boy-god whose deliciously 
smooth, young body lay draped over mine in an forgettable 
embrace. That Jason would become a teenager in three years was 
so farfetched an idea that it seemed impossible. But he was 
right and his teacher was right. His tiny testicles would sooner 
or later respond to a timely surge of some ten-syllable hormone 
from somewhere in his brain and his boyhood would be no more 
than a fleeting memory. It was just a matter of a few short 
years.

It was not a pleasant thought. A picture formed in my mind 
off an awkward, pimply youth with a long, thin penis that 
spurted gobs; thick twisting hair growing over his groin, then 
his thighs and legs, on his belly, and chest, on his back, and 
even over his buttocks. It was a gross, ugly image of maleness. 
It wasn't Jason and it never would be him. Like me, he would 
never be a 'hairy man', but he would eventually become a man. I 
framed my answer cautiously as I suddenly understood the boy's 
fear, or at least one of them.

"I'll always love you Jason." I said emphatically. "We 
might not always touch each other like this, but there will 
always be love between us."

For a moment that seemed to satisfy him. He started moving 
against me gently, lifting his hips upward with little jerks so 
that our genitals were rubbed together in a wonderful symphony 
of slippery flesh.

"You feel good, Jay-boy," I breathed out. The next thing I 
said slipped out before I could stop it. "Where on earth did you 
learn to do this?" Jason stiffened and pulled back slightly but 
my arms tightened around him as I recovered my senses. "Yeah, I 
know, your hygiene class. Boy do I have to go back to school."

He lifted his head up and smiled slowly as he looked into 
my eyes. "No!", he corrected playfully. "I learned this in cabin-
boy school, last night. Neat, huh?" he teased.

"Very neat! But much more of it and I really am going to 
slime your belly again."

Jason giggled. "So! I told you I don't mind. It's just 
sperm! You made me with sperm once, remember, Dad?"

I squeezed him tightly again. "Yeah, I remember. But it was 
never like this, believe me!" 

Having a slippery, oil-covered boy humping on top of you 
has to be the most incredible experience that a human can have. 
Each gentle, sliding movement send tremors racing through my 
body and adrenaline pounding into my blood. I began to take 
deeper and deeper breaths as my muscles searched for more 
oxygen, unbending and then tensing, waiting the moment to take 
over, to take control away from the little boy and lift him high 
into the air as I drenched him in semen. It seemed only seconds 
away but I forced myself to stop his motion. I did so by 
grasping his buttocks, pressing my fingers into his crack and 
squeezing his small cheeks tightly. For a few seconds he 
struggled to continue, bent only on relieving his own impending 
orgasm, and then he stopped.

"So what's the problem?" he demanded angrily. "You were 
going to do it. I could tell! Why did you go and make me stop 
for?"

"Because I'm the captain, cabin boy!" I teased. "We're 
going to be late if we don't start getting ready soon. We both 
need a bath. You haven't washed since you left Rome."

"So! Neither have you! But we went swimming, so there!" 
Jason retorted defiantly.

"Now its bath time, like it or not," I said sternly. "I'm 
not taking you to dinner smelling like the Aegean Sea."

Jason's anger passed. He smirked cheekily. "I probably 
smell more like your slime than anything else, I bet."

I laughed and twisted him away, easing him carefully down 
onto the teak grating of the cockpit floor as I stood up. "If 
you're not careful, it's cold shower time and I don't think 
little Pokey will take to that very happily," I teased as I 
flipped playfully at Jason's inflexible little penis. I jerked 
it downward as he struggled to escape and then let it go. It 
snapped back upright and made a rude slapping sound against his 
firm, little belly.

"Ouch! That hurt!" Jason bellowed in feigned pain. "Just 
wait until I get yours, Dad."

I backed away, and kept my eyes locked on his, preparing 
for an attack from a naked boy intent on vengeance to his 
wounded pride. I could see the muscles in his legs tense, 
stretching the long thin tendons from his thighs, to his knees, 
all the way to his ankles. He took his last breath before the 
attack, bringing his weight forward as he poised to spring. His 
lunge never came. Instead, we heard the roar of an approaching 
outboard engine and we both turned. Paul and Julien rocketed 
past our stern, fifty yards away. I didn't need more than a 
glimpse to guess that they were on their way back from the 
beach. They waved at us and we waved back. Like us, they were 
also naked.

The heat of the moment passed and Jason relaxed with a 
casual grin, aware that both Paul and Julien had seen him stark-
naked and not much caring. We had about thirty minutes to get 
ready and meet them on the beach. I opened the port hatch by 
lifting the curved, teak-planked seat upwards. Inside I kept the 
accoutrements of everyday living on board, from the gas-fired 
barbecue, to fishing tackle, to bathing things. When the weather 
was nice I often bathed in the cockpit - it was a lot more 
enjoyable than down below if only because the air was fresher 
and it was a lot roomier.

Fortunately, I had filled the five-gallon, plastic 'sun-
shower' with water while we were at the Piraeus dock and in the 
confined locker, it had become quite warm. It was not as warm as 
it would have been if I had left it lying in the sun for an hour 
or two, but it was certainly comfortable. I lifted it up and 
fastened the straps around the boom, directly overhead. Jason 
caught on quickly and pulled out the bath things, a clear 
plastic bag with soap, shampoo and shaving equipment, and closed 
the hatch. He grinned at me cheekily.

"We really gonna shower up here? In the raw?" he asked in 
disbelief.

I shrugged as I finished tying the straps. "You can shower 
below if you want. There's one in my cabin, and one next to 
yours as well."

He smirked. "We gonna shower together, Dad?" he asked, now 
becoming more interested. 

I glanced at the naked boy and smiled back at him. "If you 
want. I don't want to waste water, Jas'. It costs a fortune to 
buy more on the islands. I keep planning to buy a desalinizer - 
but I keep putting it off because the prices are so high for a 
good one." 

Jason smiled again though his look was still uncertain. I 
could tell that he had never bathed with anyone else before, not 
even with a boy his own age. When he was younger, when I bathed 
him, his bath seldom stopped before some innocent sex-play had 
occurred. Pokey was a regular participant in games of 
'submariner', 'pirates', and just plain tickling. On more than a 
few occasions I had even bathed with him, and I guessed 
correctly that such things had terminated the day I left the 
house.

"There's nothing between your legs I don't know about, 
Jason," I teased playfully.

Jason grinned and peeked downward. His erection had faded 
and his little penis glistened in the sun. "So where's the 
soap?" he demanded.

I opened the black-plastic faucet as we stood closely 
together. Pleasantly warm water sprinkled down lightly and as 
soon as we were both wet, I turned it off again. I picked up the 
soap and placed my free hand firmly on Jason's shoulder. "Let's 
get this smelly boy cleaned up," I taunted. 

I sat down on the seat and positioned my young son before 
me. I had not planned to wash Jason, but as soon as I started I 
had no other choice but to continue and complete the job. He 
certainly didn't complain. He stood still as I pushed the big 
bar of lime-green soap over his back. At first I found it nearly 
impossible to create a lather since there was so much oil on 
him, but gradually the soap cut through the film, breaking it 
down, and building a thick, white foam over his back. I moved to 
his flanks, carrying the soap in one hand as I massaged his lean 
body. I soaped his belly and chest up thoroughly and then moved 
down his legs. I was intent on cleaning every wonderful part of 
him, even between his toes - which produced a riot of giggles.

As I worked my way up the back of his legs Jason started to 
get into the fun as well. By now, the vast majority of his body 
was covered with white, foamy suds. The motion of my hands made 
both of us as hard as we had ever been. Jason was warm and 
slippery and his soap-slicked skin felt incredibly smooth and 
soft. His body was firm and lean and wonderful to touch as my 
hands slid up and down and rotated all over him. As I reached 
his buttocks Jason giggled wildly as he realized that I did 
intend to 'clean' everywhere. I rubbed the rounded end of the 
soap into the crack between his cheeks but he clenched them 
protectively. His cheeks pinched inwards and the rubber-like 
flesh resisted the soap's entry. I was not about to be denied 
that part of him. He was as dirty there as anywhere else, 
probably even more so.

He struggled valiantly and giggled, yelping and squealing 
playfully as I grabbed him around the waist and pulled him 
downward so that he lay face-down over my legs with his buttocks 
directly under me. I could feel my erect penis sticking into his 
soapy belly and his own aroused genitals squashed hard against 
my leg. He squirmed as he tried to get away, but his efforts 
only served to increase my resolve. He tightened his buttocks as 
I ground the soap hard into the hollow between his cheeks and 
made as much soapy foam as I could ever use. And then I started 
to wash him. I started with his scrotum. The boy's ball-sac was 
so small and wizened that it was impossible to tell whether it 
had balls in it or not.

They were there of course. Pulled up hard against his body 
like a frightened, little animal, all but withdrawn into the 
inguinal canals through which they had descended only a few 
months before his second birthday. It made Jason appear to be 
almost sexless and it excited me greatly. I explored him gently, 
pulling the wrinkled, tight flesh outwards with my fingers and 
rubbing the sensitive skin. After a minute or so of gentle 
teasing it started to relax and stretch and I could feel the 
fine tubules of his spermatic cords and the minute, egg-shaped 
gonads to which they attached.

Jason had given up all resistance. He lay very still, one 
soapy leg still stretched out on the seat, the other lifted up 
at right angles and braced against the floor grate. He was 
intent on enjoying my fingers on his balls.

"You like this?" I asked gently, preparing for my next 
mission by gradually working my soap-covered fingers along the 
short length of his loose, little scrotum and following it back 
into the start of his crack.

"Uh huh!" he purred. "It feels soooo nice..." he murmured.

"How about this?" I whispered as my fingers pushed into the 
beginning of his crack. He stirred, still enjoying the residual 
and tantalizing pleasures that continued to come from his 
sensitive testicles. My fingers pressed further, sliding on a 
film of soap into the untouched sanctum of his bottom. He 
shivered slightly, no longer able to, or wanting to resist. My 
fingers followed his crack, rubbing gently until the tip of my 
forefinger pushed into his anus. I felt it as a tiny, puckered 
softness, almost like lips around a little mouth. With all the 
soap, my finger simply slipped inside him and up to the first 
joint. 

He tensed slightly as he felt the intruder but I kept my 
finger still, letting him become accustomed to its presence 
before I eased it back out. I began to circle the opening, 
rubbing into the little anus gently. With every lap I could feel 
Jason relaxing even further.

"How does this feel?" I asked gently, pretending sincerity. 
I knew exactly how it felt because Jason was purring with each 
labored breath he took.

"'s goooood." he drawled.

I laughed as I brought my other hand down on his slippery, 
rounded butt with a sharp, but-not-too-painful slap. "That's 
good, Jas' because you're finished," I said as I playfully 
pushed him down onto the floor and stood up.

He looked at me with obvious hurt in his eyes, annoyed that 
I had deprived him of something that he was very much enjoying. 
"You're mean!" he indicted.

"Yep! And we're going to be late." I picked up the soap and 
started to soap myself up. As soon as I had a good lather I 
passed it back to my son. "Now you can get your foreskin back, I 
think it's time you started washing underneath it, Jay-boy."

"Huh?" he asked.

"Your dick is hard enough to kill someone, so pull the skin 
back." He complied slowly, still confused as to why he needed to 
wash something that he had never needed to wash before. I 
watched, fascinated as I saw the tiny, swollen head pop into 
view. "That's right. Now I want to soap him all over and make 
sure that you get under the skin. Yes, exactly like that."

Jason grinned shyly as he soaped up 'Pokey's head'. "So 
why've I got to wash it like this. I didn't use to do this 
before. Like I've only ever washed him on the outside."

I laughed. "Jason, your English is atrocious sometimes. I 
want you to wash Pokey from now on like this. As you get older, 
you need to wash there to remove sweat and secretions from your 
penis."

"Oh!" 

"Now, starts washing your hair. The shampoo is over there," 
I ordered.

"Yes Captain," he grinned, giving me a cheeky mock salute.

It was impossible not to love him. I watched his soap-
slicked butt as he scrambled over and got the shampoo. He was 
unbelievably sexy. All I wanted to do was to rinse him off and 
take him down to my cabin. To save water I had started using a 
combination shampoo-conditioner made in Europe that was able to 
lather in sea-water. I glanced sideways as Jason flipped the lid 
back and squirted some into the palm of his right hand. He 
looked at it suspiciously, paddled an inquisitive finger in it 
for a moment, and he smirked cheekily. 

"Hey Dad?... What's this stuff remind you of?" he asked 
with a sly smile.

He held his hand out, palm upwards, the white, creamy 
shampoo smeared like copious man-semen over it. I was taken 
back, suddenly realizing that Jason must have seen enough semen 
to be able to make his crude analogy. The thought both depressed 
me and excited me. 

"Yeah! But I don't think you usually put it in you hair," I 
laughed, belatedly trying to stop my shock and make light of 
what I recognized as the result of Jason's prior experience.

His smile widened. "Don't be too sure of that, Dad. It 
could be great for dry hair, like mousse, maybe?" he chortled. 
He reached up and began to rub it into his hair, working his 
fingers against his scalp as it started to lather. I looked 
away, feeling more than a bit depressed and angry, and very 
jealous.

After I had washed, though not as thoroughly as I had 
washed Jason, I took the shampoo from him and quickly did my own 
hair. Then I turned on the faucet and let the water sprinkle 
down over us again. The floor of the cockpit was filled with 
white suds by the time we were both clean and Jason scrambled 
down the stairs to get dressed as I replaced the bath things and 
used the deck hose to rinse away the soap. I followed him down 
and went back to my cabin to get dressed.


PLATONIC LOVE continued.

About five minutes later I met him in the main cabin. He 
was a boy-transformed, no longer the little boat-urchin but a 
young 'gentleman'. He was handsomely attired in a crimson-and-
blue patterned silk shirt and natural-cotton slacks. His hair 
was still moist but it was combed nicely. He was very beautiful 
and I stared at him in surprise. I had become very accustomed to 
Jason being either stark-naked or dressed in his yellow swimming 
shorts. To see my son wearing clothes that were clearly much 
more expensive that the clothes I was wearing was distressing, 
to say the least. He looked wonderful and I could not drag my 
eyes away.

"Carlo give you those too?" I asked jealously.

"Oh! Shit! I'm sorry. I'll go put on something else, Dad," 
he said innocently.

I shook my head, wondering why I should even care that 
Carlo had given him such nice things. I suspected that Carlo 
would do anything to screw his mother and giving presents to her 
son was only one way of getting it.

"Don't worry about it, Jas'. We're going to be late as it 
is." I sighed sadly. "Carlo must be awfully rich to be able to 
buy you such nice things."

"Yeah! He's a doctor," Jason answered. "He's very rich."

"Oh!" I said and then generously added, "Doctors aren't all 
that rich."

Jason shrugged absently. "I know he owns a bunch of 
companies as well. He's always on the telephone, even in his 
Ferrari."

"Ferrari huh? I guess he must be rich. You certainly look 
cute, though," I said disconsolately.

"Cute?" Jason asked with surprise. "You really think I look 
cute, Dad?"

I nodded. He was infinitely more than just cute but how do 
you tell your ten-year-old son that he's 'drop-dead gorgeous'?

"Come on cutie, let's get our butts in the dinghy," I 
laughed as I wrapped my arm around him and gave him a hug.

His silk shirt felt like silk; so thin and light that it 
was barely noticeable and under my fingers I felt warm, alive 
boy-flesh. I chased him up the stairs and into the cockpit. In 
the short time we had been in the cabin, the dying sun had all 
but evaporated the water from my hosing-off. There was little 
evidence of the fun that had transpired in the cockpit only 
minutes earlier.

Paul and Julien were waiting for us on the beach. Once our 
dinghy was secured moored we started the walk up to the 
restaurant. It was quite a distance and I was glad that the sun 
was setting at last otherwise I, for one, would arrive damp with 
sweat. The heat had intensified during the day until it had 
become almost unbearable. But it was a good sign. If the weather 
followed its usual predictable pattern, a steady westerly breeze 
would be blowing by early morning, ideal for the run down to 
Paros. I wanted to be away from Mykonos and the hordes of 
tourists. I wanted to find a quiet, private beach and get to 
know Jason, very, very well.

We were fortunate in arriving at the restaurant during a 
lull. A table on the deck was quickly prepared and we were 
seated within a few minutes of arriving. For most of the half-
mile walk, Jason had been talking earnestly with Julien. They 
walked some fifty or sixty feet in front of us. Paul and I 
talked about boats and life in the Greek Islands. To my great 
surprise I discovered that he lived on Naxos, only a short boat 
trip across from Paros. He was a teacher at a private academy 
there, an exclusive school for about a dozen or so boys aged 
from ten to seventeen. It came as no surprise to me that it was 
a very small school, few Greeks had the money or the inclination 
to send their offspring to a private school.

There were perhaps thirty people in the restaurant, none of 
them women except for the two waitresses. The sexual orientation 
of the clientele was markedly displayed. The woman in the store 
was absolutely correct; there were a lot of 'faggots' on Mykonos 
and thirty of them were sitting at tables within a few feet of 
me. Jason was the object of many interested looks. Within a 
minute of sitting down, I don't think that there was a single 
male there who had not gazed at him for an indecent period. For 
myself, the period was the full minute because I could not take 
my eyes off him. He was undeniably beautiful and his expensive 
clothes only drew more attention to him.

To my possessive eye, he flaunted his young sexuality, 
seeming to sense that the interest of the other patrons was much 
more than mere curious interest or casual fancy. He glanced 
around and smiled at me shyly as he became aware that everybody 
in the restaurant, men as old as myself, older men, younger men, 
even teenagers were giving him the 'once over'. With me beside 
him he was perfectly safe and he appeared to understand that 
immediately, though if I disappeared, I suspected he would not 
last more than a minute before someone went after him.

It was an illuminating experience. He squeezed his slender 
leg firmly against mine and started to flirt with Julien as he 
asked him endless questions about one thing and another. By the 
time our appetizers arrived he had quietened down somewhat, 
though he was still visibly excited and fascinated by the fact 
that he was the ongoing center of attention.

There might have been a lot 'faggots' on Mykonos, but they 
certainly knew how to eat well. Our first course consisted of an 
array of treats; tiropites (cheese-puff triangles), slices of 
kolokithpitta (zucchini pie), and dolmadakia (rice-stuffed vine 
leaves) washed down with a retsina that was actually palatable, 
for once. I watched Jason with consuming interest and ever-
growing affection as he daintily picked up and tried one of 
each. There were more than enough to gorge on and the rest of us 
did exactly that.

This was a special night for Jason and me; almost like our 
first date because it was the first time that we had formally 
dined together, and the first time that we had openly 
acknowledged our sexual attraction. For in sitting together in 
that restaurant, our hands seldom apart and often clasped 
together as if to seek security or solace, and our seats placed 
close together, that is exactly what we were doing. Our open 
display of what was obviously more than father-son affection did 
not appear to bother Jason and it certainly didn't bother me, in 
fact I felt a sense of awe in doing what I had to longed to do 
for the last two days and had discounted as being impossible. He 
needed no encouragement and neither did I. In the restaurant, 
surrounded by like souls, it was both natural and necessary.

As the last of the sun's red glow faded from the water and 
the restaurant flickered from the lights of candles on the 
tables, the feeling of attachment I had to Jason seemed 
overpowering. I stared into his big, sensitive eyes as my 
fingers played teasing games with his. His hand seemed so small 
within mine, his fingers thin and weak and powerless by 
comparison. He wanted to be held and touched and under the 
table, my leg stroked against his constantly. That we were in 
love seemed obvious to me. Slowly Jason's flirting stopped and 
he became very pensive. He balanced his head on his left hand, 
supported by his elbow, and gazed at me silently. I wondered 
what he was thinking. His moodiness was quickly picked up on by 
Paul and Julien and they shared knowing looks and smiles, unseen 
by the love-sick boy.

A musician, playing a guitar and singing ballads began to 
move around the tables. We watched the stars appear, increasing 
points of light until the sky was ablaze. He drew ever closer to 
our table, until finally he stood behind Jason. Then he sung one 
of the most beautiful love songs I have ever heard. My knowledge 
of Greek is poor-to-fair, and I understood only about one word 
in three or four, just enough to know that the song was about a 
boy who died after he had fallen in love with a fisherman. The 
eyes of every person were upon Jason, fixed on the beautiful 
boy, not even in his teens, not understanding a word of the 
song, but absorbed by the wonder of the precious moment. The 
song finished and the troubadour gently ruffled the boy's hair 
before he moved away to another table.

The main course was exceptional and may well have been the 
best food I have ever eaten in Greece. Jason and I shared our 
food, primarily because there we each had a secret longing to 
share everything, secondarily because he couldn't have finished 
a single portion by himself in a week. Anginares me avgolemono 
(artichokes with egg-lemon sauce), psari ladorigano (fish with 
tomatoes, wine and oregano) and the ubiquitous, but still 
excellent, salata, made an unforgettable meal. For the 
'celebration', I gave Jason a glass of retsina. He wrinkled his 
little nose up and sipped at it like a mouse, bravely washing 
every mouthful down with copious gulps of water to clear the 
sour taste.

By the end of the main course the restaurant had emptied 
out, most of the 'faggots' driving back to their luxury hotels 
in town or walking down to the campground that was on the other 
side of Super-Paradise Beach. Paul and I were starting our third 
bottle of 'horse-piss', which evoked wild squeals of glee from 
Jason and more mature laughter from Julien, when it came time 
for desert. Jason looked 'stuffed' and very happy. The older boy 
liked him and he glowed with heightened self-esteem and pride. 
It was time for desert. I ordered baklava for my son, knowing 
his affection for the taste of sweet honey, as well as for 
placing it on certain parts of his anatomy.

About this time, the dinner conversation became fun; the 
topic under discussion was sex. Jason's little ears pricked up 
and he blushed. Paul was 'sozzled' enough to admit that he and 
Julien were lovers (no surprise to Jason and me) and had been 
'attached' since Julien was fourteen. I was 'sozzled' enough to 
admit that we had 'inadvertently observed them behind the large 
boulders at the beach some 24 hours earlier. The fact that we 
had spied upon them was easily overlooked and Paul asked Jason 
what he thought. Jason turned 'beet-root' red and clammed up, 
concentrating on ignoring the rest of us and finishing his 
desert. He was about a quarter of the way through his baklava 
when it was time to leave.

The walk down to the beach was enjoyable. Jason and Julien 
lead the way, a long way in front, and Paul and I tagged along 
behind, a long way behind. We talked about the boys.

"You've uh, known Julien since he was fourteen?" I asked.

"Yes. They've been truly wonderful years, the best years of 
my life. He's a wonderful boy. It's gone past very quickly. He's 
almost a young man, next year he'll be going off to college. I'm 
going to miss him."

"I guess they all grow up sooner or later," I sighed, 
thinking of my own little lover. There was a distinct freshness 
in the air, the heat was fading, the breeze was on its way. By 
midnight I expected.

"They do grow up too quickly. It's sad in a way, but it 
also makes life interesting."

Though I disagreed, I nodded anyway. All I could see was 
the sadness at the end of the 'line'. "How did you meet Julien?" 
I asked in a half-hearted attempt to change the subject.

"He grew up." Paul smiled. "Some men prefer younger boys, I 
much prefer them like Julien. Harry, that's the man he loved 
before me was the other type. Julien started with him when he 
was about ten. Now Julien's younger brother lives with Harry. 
He's nearly twelve and by the looks of him he's getting ready to 
start puberty. Jeff's been with Harry since he was about nine I 
guess."

My mouth dropped open. Harry and Jeff! It could only be 
them but it seemed too farfetched to be true. Not Jeff! Somehow 
it was impossible to imagine him being gay, let alone him being 
Harry's lover. He was Harry's son! At least that's what I had 
always thought, though upon reflection there was no 
justification for it. Jeff and Harry? It was an interesting 
thought.

Paul smiled. "But if you think Jason's a flirt, you ought 
to see Jeff. He drives Harry wild. He flirts all the time, 
apparently with some sailor-type, an author I believe. Young 
kids are often like that!"

"Like what?" I questioned, still trying to break though my 
own wine-dulled brain.

"They flirt a lot. Mostly because they don't understand 
what it means to be in love and they're still trying it out, 
sorting out their feelings, trying to understand what it means 
to be gay, I guess."

I nodded, wondering what Jason was feeling. We hadn't 
talked very much about it. We needed to talk more. I wished 
Jason was next to me at that moment.

 "Sometimes I think it's a matter of experimenting, I guess 
you could say," Paul continued. "It's usually harmless. As soon 
as they start getting laid it usually stops. They have other 
things on their minds then. Sometimes, like Jeff, I expect, they 
keep on with it as a way of maintaining control, or trying to."

I nodded dumbly. "Oh! And Jeff's a flirt still even though 
he's getting laid,... by Harry?" I asked.

Paul laughed. "Hell yes! Jeff's been getting it regularly 
since he turned ten. He was off school for a week when he 
started."

"Oh!" I replied as I tried to marshall my thoughts from the 
liquor cabinet.

"Jason's still a virgin, isn't he?" Paul asked suddenly.

"Huh? Oh! Yeah,... well I guess he is,... as far as I 
know," I added. Was he, I wondered? Or had the unknown man taken 
that from his as well?

"He acts like it," Paul observed. "But he won't be for much 
longer, I bet" he added with conviction.

"Maybe? He doesn't seem very interested in that kind of 
thing so far," I replied. "I'm not sure I am either," I added.

Paul laughed. "Oh he's interested all right. He's even 
talked about it a bit with Julien. He wanted to know if it hurt 
a lot."

"Oh!... Does it?"

Paul laughed again. "You haven't loved a boy before, have 
you?" I shook my head. "That depends on you, mostly. If you're 
not too large and you take it slowly, then he'll be fine. Of 
course there's always some pain for the first few times at 
least, if only because he's a kid. His ass will hurt until it 
gets stretched out a bit. It always does."

"Oh!"

"Don't worry! He'll survive. You just need to be careful 
with him, that's all."

I swallowed awkwardly, barely able to believe that I was 
staggering down a dirt road with a man I barely knew, talking 
about fucking my son. "I don't think I could do that to him," I 
announced quietly. "I could never hurt him, Paul. Not like that."

"When the time comes to love him, you will. He'll want to 
as well. That's the way it is. It's just part of loving each 
other," he said quietly. "He's a beautiful boy. He'll be a 
wonderful lover."

"But I'm his father," I said angrily.

"So what's that got to do with it. You brought him into the 
world and you love him. There's absolutely no reason why you 
can't be more than that to him," Paul answered. "He needs you, 
you know!"

I stumbled as we left the road and staggered onto the 
beach. Fortunately we weren't singing or I think the two boys 
would have left us there and taken the dinghies back to the 
boats without us. We said good-bye and I explained that Jason 
and I would probably be leaving Mykonos early the next morning. 
I watched as Jason solemnly shook hands and Julien and Paul.

My son stood quietly and watched as Paul and Julien walked 
to their dinghy. Even in the faint light I could see Jason's 
slight body tremble, aware of his building nervousness and 
sadness as a friend departed for as far as Jason knew, he would 
never see Julien again. Little did he know that I had plans for 
him to meet Julien's little brother, Jeff, and unless I was 
sadly mistaken, Jeff and Jason would become best friends 
overnight. I saw Jason's lips clench tightly together as he 
fought back tears and I heard his little sniffle followed by a 
slow, pained sigh.

I watched silently as he observed Julien and Paul kissing 
at the side of their dinghy. It wasn't a brief kiss but a long 
kiss. It was a deep, hard lovers' kiss, tongues and all. It went 
for a full minute and were well into the second before they 
broke apart.

"They're kissing!" Jason blurted out in dismay.

"Of course they're kissing," I said gently. "They're 
lovers, Jason. That's what people do when they're in love. They 
kiss!"

Jason was very quiet and he scuffed his feet in the sand as 
he continued to watch them fixedly, his attention focused on 
Paul and Julien, engrossed in their open display of love. It was 
good for him to watch and I sat down quietly on the 'port tank' 
of the dinghy and waited. A few minutes later Julien and Paul 
parted, and still holding hands, ambled away from their dinghy 
and into the darkness. I knew they went to find a quiet place 
that was away from the prying, curious eyes of a little boy.

"Where are they going, Dad?" Jason asked awkwardly.

I suspected that he already knew the answer to his 
question. "I guess to make love, Jay-boy. That's another thing 
lovers do."

"Oh! Yeah, I guess. But on the beach, at night?"

"I think it's kind of romantic. Unless Julien gets sand in 
his butt," I laughed."Come on young man, I think it's time we 
went to bed ourselves."

I kissed him on the top of his head as I lifted him over 
the side and dumped him on the plywood floor of the dinghy. 
There was no point in ruining his nice clothes with a salt-bath. 
I pushed the dinghy back into the water, turned it around, 
started the engine and toppled in as Jason headed back to the 
boat. My son was getting to be quite accomplished at handling 
the dinghy and in my half-drunken state I had no qualms about 
letting him take the helm, even in the night. Although he was 
probably a lot less safe than I was, I felt lazy and it wasn't a 
long swim to the boat. He bumped heavily into the side of Apollo 
but the rubber dinghy bounced off without leaving a mark. We 
clambered aboard and I collapsed into the cockpit, flat on my 
back. Jason stood silently, watching me with fascination.

"You're drunk!" he censured, sounding a little too much 
like his mother for comfort. "You were even too drunk to handle 
the dinghy."

"Am not!" I retorted. "'m just a bit s-s-sleepy, that's-s-s 
a-a-ll," I said, slurring my speech in a playful tease. "I can 
always handle the dinghy without bashing in the side of the 
boat."

Jason pretended to lurch forward, staggering with 
inebriated clumsiness. "I didn't make even a scratch on it. You 
said yourself, it's much harder in the dark. You're as drunk as 
a skunk, Dad!" he laughed.

"'m not!" I replied. "Just a bit high, but not drunk." I 
shook my head as I tried to clear the 'cobwebs' yet again. "Not 
really drunk. 's none of your business anyway, cabin boy. 
Anyway, it's not always harder in the dark - you've already 
proved that several times today, if I remember correctly."

"You're pissed! You're pissed at me, aren't you? What did I 
do wrong?" he demanded. "I didn't mean to hit Apollo," he added.

"I'm not pissed at you, Jason. You're a dumb, little shit, 
aren't you? I love you." I said angrily.

"You are drunk!" he denounced, returning with what seemed 
to me to be increasing disdain.

"Come here and say that," I challenged and then added very 
quietly under my breath, "You'll soon see how drunk I am."

He regarded me suspiciously for a moment and then slowly 
stepped forward. Another step and he was beside me and close 
enough to grab. I hesitated, tensing slightly as I wondered 
whether he knew I was playing with him.

"You smell like a wino," he taunted, convinced of the 
ability of his young reflexes to avoid trouble and effect his 
escape, should he need to. I grabbed his right hand without any 
warning and jerked him forward abruptly so that he toppled onto 
me, his slender arms and legs scrambling and struggling 
frantically to escape. But it was too late. I locked my arms 
around his back and held him tightly.

"Do you know what winos do to little, blond boys who are 
rude to them?" I whispered in his ear.

Jason shook his head as he continue to wrestle with me, 
though his efforts were now less about escape and more directed 
towards increasing bodily contact than anything else. I grinned. 
"They take his clothes off, first," I said softly, "They take 
all of the boy's clothes off and they do things to him."

Jason guffawed as he realized that I was not nearly as 
drunk as he had believed. "Then what?" he demanded. "What do 
they do to the boy when he's naked?"

"They do dirty, disgusting things to him."

"Like what? Do they play with the boy's dick?" he persisted 
with an obscene snicker.

"Hmmm! Let me think. Yeah, I guess they do that sometimes! 
But ah,... mostly they just rape him!" I teased playfully as I 
twisted my now-struggling son onto his back. I wrapped my leg 
around both of his and used my left arm to envelop his chest, 
confining his body against mine and easily subduing his 
energetic resistance. My other hand was free to do whatever it 
wanted. It danced gaily down Jason's abdomen, prancing my 
fingertips across his flat, taut belly.

"You really aren't going to do anything to my butt, are 
you? Jason asked uncertainly. "You're really teasing, aren't 
you, Dad?"

"Hmmmm? Well,.... maybe I'll just rape you a little bit," I 
smirked as I started to unfasten the sculpted metal clasp at the 
top of his slacks. "But first,... I have to take all your 
clothes off, don't I?" I added as I grasped the end of his 
zipper and gave it a sharp tug downwards.

"Hmmmmm, and what do we have in here?" I asked as my hand 
pushed through the opening in his pants. I grabbed his small 
genitals through his underpants, tightly, but not hard enough to 
hurt. "It feels like a,... yes,... I think it is.... Yes, it is 
a dick. It's pretty tiny but that's what it is."

Jason yelped as I gave his penis a quick, hard tug. For a 
moment he struggled harder but to no avail. It was my turn to 
extract punishment appropriate to the crime. But other than some 
cheeky behavior that was perfectly normal for a young, excitable 
boy, there was no crime. It didn't bother me, this was fun!

"Y-y-y-ouch," he squealed as I jerked his little penis 
again. "Hey, that hurt Dad?" he cried.

"It's supposed to Jas'. You were pretty cheeky weren't 
you?" I laughed. "Maybe I should just pull Pokey right off."

"Then you'd really be pissed because you'd have nothing to 
play with, now would you?" Jason replied immediately. 

His logic was irrefutable. I let go of his penis and 
continued to undress him. I pushed his slacks downwards, tugging 
them to get past his buttocks and then shoving them all the way 
to his feet. Jason assisted by kicking off his sneakers and then 
wriggling his feet so that his slacks dropped to the floor of 
the cockpit. I returned to tickle his belly, still holding him 
tightly against me and enjoying the squirming pressure as his 
half-naked body writhed against me. I pushed his silk shirt 
upwards until it was gathered under his armpits and then started 
in to give him 'hell' and collect retribution. By now I knew 
exactly where my son was most ticklish and I gave him no relief. 
He laughed, he giggled, he gasped, he panted, he begged, he 
pleaded. I did not stop until I thought he might lose control of 
his bladder.

Jason is exactly like any ten-year-old boy, get him 
laughing and excited by well-placed tickles and he will quickly 
become hysterical with uncontrolled mirth. I pulled his shirt 
downward and started to unfastened the small buttons, one at a 
time, from top to bottom. By the time I had finished, Jason had 
regained some control though he was still very close to the 
edge. He leaned forward to allow me to take his shirt off and he 
was still breathing heavily and stifling giggles. Then as he lay 
back down against me he lifted his hips upward by arching his 
back so that I could take his underpants off. If I was going to 
'rape' him it would be with his full consent. I obliged with one 
quick tug, knowing that he wanted to be naked as much as I 
wanted him to be.

And then he was naked and I wrapped both arms and legs 
around him protectively and 'wrapped' him into the cocoon of my 
body. He was small and soft and very delicate as I enclosed him 
against me. His weight was barely noticeable as he lay above me. 
I could feel the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest under my 
arms with each small, deep breath he took. His very life seemed 
to be mine for the taking and the naked heat from his young 
alive body flowed into me. I resisted the temptation to take his 
little penis between my fingers again, knowing instinctively 
that he was rigid, just as I was rigid. I could feel my penis 
compressed and hard under his back, somewhere in the vicinity of 
his buttocks. Paul's words returned. I had no doubt that Jason's 
virginity was mine for the asking and it was just a matter of 
the right time and place before we took that step together.

I caressed the side of his face, musing to myself about how 
long it take before he would need to start shaving. His cheek 
was incredibly smooth; the soft, sleek flesh of a pre-pubescent 
boy, so smooth that the mere suggestion that it would ever be 
coarse and rough like my own was ludicrous. That time was years 
away, but it was still too close. I wanted Jason to stay the way 
he was forever.

My finger brushed against his lips. I touched his perfect, 
small mouth, feeling the pucker of his lips that were soft and 
sweet and so unlike my own salt-and-sun-dried lips. In its own 
way, his mouth was too perfect to be soiled by mine and I 
lovingly brought my finger up to my mouth and kissed it before 
placing it back on Jason's mouth. He kissed it back with a 
little, slightly moist kiss that was more passionate that I 
could ever imagine he was capable of. All he had done was to 
kiss my finger and I felt a surge of emotion unlike I had ever 
known. Tina had never kissed me like that. I lifted my finger 
back to my mouth, and kissed it, trying to taste the boy, to 
find the trace of his saliva that remained from his kiss. Jason 
reached up behind him and took my hand and pulled it downward, 
bringing it back to his lips. He kissed my finger again, longer, 
harder, wetter, hotter, than before. My son was going to be a 
very wet kisser.

He released my hand and I recovered his kiss, finding that 
my finger was now wet with Jason's saliva. There was, of course, 
no taste to it, but I licked my finger eagerly, wanting only to 
have Jason's fluid within me. The desire to kiss him became 
intensified and it was all I could do to prevent myself from 
taking him by sheer force. I wanted to kiss him, I wanted him to 
kiss me, I wanted him to want to kiss me. I wanted to join our 
bodies together in a union that matched the tug on my heart, 
even if it was only by our mouths. He kissed my finger again, 
this time sucking on it lightly as he nibbled the tip of my 
finger between his lips like a little, wonderful rabbit and then 
grazed it back and forth against his teeth.

As he lay back in my loving arms, abandoned to the mounting 
pleasurable excitement, I felt his breathing become faster and 
faster. He seemed to be trembling, not with cold but unbridled, 
quivering energy. He was hot to touch, not unlike the way he had 
been when he was much younger and ill with a fever. I remembered 
late one night when he had a bad bout of roseola and he had 
cried into the earlier hours of the morning. His tiny two-year-
old body had been racked with fever then and I had undressed him 
and held him in my arms until the fever had passed. His mother 
had slept, or pretended to sleep the entire eight hours.Now he 
was mine.

He kissed my finger again with increasing urgency and I 
wondered which of us would break first. He kissed my finger 
again and again, often taking it right inside his hot, wet 
mouth, and each time I transferred his kiss back to my own lips. 
But it was a poor surrogate for the sweetness of his perfect 
mouth. My resolve strengthened. I wanted Jason to kiss me first. 
I felt his body wriggle slightly and he twisted around quickly, 
turning over as he settled his body back over mine. His lips 
came to mine with surprising speed and his first kiss was a 
flashing memory. It happened without warning and very quickly.

He lifted his body up by placing his hands on my shoulders 
and he straddled me. He smiled shyly. He swallowed nervously. He 
looked deeply into my eyes. He smiled again, now very nervous as 
his lips pressed together. He was ready for another kiss. I 
watched in silent wonder as my son sought all his courage, 
bravely overcoming ten years of negative conditioning and his 
upbringing, fighting against the moral standards that had been 
ingrained into him; boys did not kiss other males, just girls. 
He leaned forward hesitantly and formed his lips as he drew 
nearer to me. I allowed his lips to brush against mine as he 
tentatively tried to kiss me, lingering a little longer this 
time but his inhibition quelled his passion swiftly. He 
straightened up again and regarded me pensively. This time I 
smiled up at Jason and he gazed down at me, now tasting his lips 
with the pointed end of his tongue. 

"You kissed me," I whispered.

"Yeah, I know. It's not so bad, is it? It really isn't all 
that wrong," he replied. "It's not like it's dirty or anything." 
He gazed at me mutely as he tried to articulate the thoughts 
inside him. He surrendered and smiled shyly. "It's fun, isn't 
it."

"I like you kissing me, Jay-boy. Do it some more," I 
instructed.

He grinned cheekily. "Okay but you gotta close your eyes 
first. I'll close mine as well."

I obliged. He leaned forward again and his hot, moist mouth 
settled over mine and stayed there. Our kiss lasted for a long 
time before we surfaced for air. I hugged him as hard as I could.

"You were wonderful. That hygiene class must be something 
else," I whispered.

Jason giggled. "You put your tongue in my mouth a little 
bit," he reprehended. 

"You didn't seem to mind all that much. That's how Paul and 
Julien were kissing."

I smiled as Jason took a deep breath and let it out slowly 
by blowing hot, moist air over my cheek. "I didn't mind," he 
whispered. "It just felt funny, that's all. I don't mind sharing 
spit, do you?" he asked with the hygiene interests of a ten-year-
old boy.

 I shook my head. My hands stroked his flanks, gliding over 
his smooth young body with loving strokes. His mouth came back, 
this time with his little tongue already protruding and ready to 
attack. He was a fast learner. I felt the satin smoothness of it 
as it licked over my lips and slipped inside. I sucked him in 
and our tongues embraced for the first time. My hands moved to 
his small, rounded buttocks and began to massage his cheeks with 
firm squeezes. When we parted, it was only after several minutes 
had passed and we were both breathless.

"It's not fair if I'm the only one who's naked," he 
announced.

"Well, you can always take my clothes off, whenever you 
want," I replied.

Jason sat up, his buttocks directly over my enlarged penis, 
and he grinned like a little satyr. "I can undress you?" he 
asked uncertainly.

"Of course! I undress you, don't I?"

"Yeah, but,... well you're the captain," he smirked as he 
started to unfasten the buttons of my shirt. "We've both got 
stiffies, haven't we?" he giggled. I nodded as I glanced down at 
Jason-junior and marvelled at the tightness in his penis. "I can 
feel yours under my butt," he added. 

With my shirt buttons undone, Jason pushed the cloth to 
either side, exposing my chest. "You have a nice tan, Dad," he 
admired.

"You'll have a tan in a few more days too, Jas," I said as 
I reached forward and lovingly caressed his chest. I pressed my 
thumbs into the soft spots of his nipples and rubbed my fingers 
into the concavities of his armpits. Lovingly I pulled him back 
down on top of me and we embraced with a 'bear-hug' that was 
almost strong enough to crush his ribs. Slowly I relaxed my hold 
and he lay over me speechlessly, intent only on absorbing the 
closeness we shared. His head lay on my chest as he cuddled into 
me. I could smell the orange scent of shampoo, the fresh, clean 
aroma of his long soft hair as it tickled my nose. My fingers 
traced gradual circles over the velvet-smooth hemispheres of his 
small bottom. We were both very happy.

For what seemed the millionth time, my thoughts drifted to 
a consideration of the ways and means by which I could manage to 
keep Jason with me. It was infeasible as best and absurd at 
worst. Even if I could convince his mother that Jason was'better 
off' with me, an unlikely event in itself, the problems of 
having a ten-year-old boy living on board seemed insurmountable. 
What would we do about his schooling?

"How's school, Jas'?" I asked.

"Okay! I guess it's okay," he murmured sleepily.

"You don't like school very much, do you?" I persisted. 
Jason shook his head and then rested it back against my 
shoulder. "Why not?" I asked.

"'cause it's boring, I guess. The last few years they've 
wanted me to go ahead an extra grade. They say it's because I'm 
not challenged enough. Mom won't let them," Jason said sleepily.

"Why?"

"She says it's because I'm small for my age and I wouldn't 
get on well with boys who are older than I am. I'm already the 
youngest kid in my class. I think I'm the smallest as well."

"She might be right, Jay-boy," I said thoughtfully. In a 
private school Jason would probably be okay but in the rugged, 
demanding environment of a city school he would always come off 
badly. What he really needed was a private tutor, me.

Jason yawned sleepily. "I wish I could stay here forever."

I grinned. "You'd get very hungry," I teased.

He giggled. "I didn't mean here like this, lying on top of 
you. It's nice though, isn't it? You want me to take off the 
rest of your clothes?"

"You want to have sex?" I asked Jason.

He nodded and quietly climbed off me, now yawning 
continuously as I stood up. We left the clothes we had discarded 
in the cockpit and he followed me down the stairs and into my 
cabin. That Jason would spend the night in my cabin was a 
foregone conclusion. There was nothing to discuss. It was 
Jason's choice and he smiled shyly as he wandered over to the 
bunk, sat down, tugged off his socks and lay back. I undressed, 
watching Jason as he reclined drowsily, naked and sexually 
aroused on my bed, though heavy-eyed. His slender legs were 
stretched wide apart and his small penis was very erect. His 
fingers fondled it absently with a sluggish, listless interest 
as he observed me silently.

But Jason was tired and he yawned sleepily several times 
even before I turned off the lights and joined him on the bunk. 
He cuddled up to me again as I pulled the sheet up to cover our 
naked bodies. By the time I had settled down and kissed him on 
his forehead, my son was sound asleep. A minute later, so was I.


PLATONIC LOVE.

DAY 14  Mykonos.  August, 6 th, 1993

"Those whose fertility is physical will be attracted primarily to women; 
for them, love will be an attempt to secure personal inmmortality, 
lasting fame, and happiness for all eternity by begetting children...

"... There are some whose souls are more fertile than their bodies in those 
spheres in which the soul can be creative.... search for beauty everywhere, 
for he will be able to create only with beauty, never with ugliness. He 
will feel more tender towards a beautiful body than an ugly one. And if 
it contains a fine, noble and high-born-soul, his tenderness will reach a 
peak; he will forthright be inspired to discuss worthy thoughts and right 
behavior, and to undertake the education of the loved one. It seems that in 
the latter's presence his soul brings forth all that it has long been 
harboring.... what he thus creates is nurtured by him and his partner, 
and the bond between them is infinitely closer and more genuinely 
affectionate than that between parent and child because the unison has born 
such beautiful and indestructible fruit."

Plato, Symposium.



When I woke up it was early morning and Jason was sucking 
my penis. Actually, he was licking it. I don't know whether he 
had produced my erection by himself or if it had occurred 
naturally, but it was certainly hard enough and he certainly was 
taking good care of it. Jason was sitting on the bunk, his legs 
folded under him like a little, naked Buddha. He leaned forward 
over my hips, his pink tongue poking crudely out his mouth as he 
licked at the bulbous tip of my penis. He firmly held the shaft  
close to the base, partially enclosing it in his right hand. The 
fingers of his other hand were lightly stroking my scrotum and 
pushing my testicles back and forth. Even with his tongue 
hanging out, I could see he was smiling. He was entranced and I 
was in heaven.

The first light of the rising sun penetrated the cabin, 
making a golden glow as rays came though the porthole and 
reflected off the wood panelling. My son was god-like, a 
beautiful, naked boy-god. His long, blond hair cascaded onto his 
shoulders, his pale body was almost surreal, unearthly, and yet 
remarkably erotic. I loved him, I loved everything about him and 
everything that he was.

I lay very still, afraid to interrupt him, wondering how 
far he would go. There didn't seem to be any reason to stop him; 
he was doing only what he wanted to do. Of course, I wanted him 
to keep on doing it as well. It seemed very natural and as if we 
existed only for the moment with our bodies created for the 
singular purpose of each other's enjoyment. I tried to quell my 
rapidly building excitement but the surge of adrenaline gave my 
heart no mercy. It was only a matter of a minute or two before I 
would climax. I wanted to make it last longer and have every 
memorable second incised into my consciousness before it was 
gone forever.

I watched in silent amazement as his little tongue pushed, 
prodded, and probed, licking with quick darts, licking with long 
slow drags, always breathing hot, moist hair over my genitals. 
It was barely believable as I observed him, curiously exploring 
the taste of me as he slurped over my glans. The salty taste of 
my pre-cum did not appear to bother him as he licked and licked 
without restraint. My penis kept flexing involuntarily under his 
firm grasp, pulsing between his thin fingers and trying to 
squeeze into his mouth. I endeavored to resist the urgent desire 
I felt to push forward and watch his little body engulf mine.

Each playful lick of his tongue sent shivers through my 
body, making my penis impossibly stiff, becoming so hard that it 
throbbed painfully. It felt as if pre-cum was oozing out of me 
in gallons. There was a constant ache in my testicles as they 
tightened and knotted, almost as if they were squeezing the 
slippery fluid out for his nourishment. Then his mouth opened as 
wide as it could go and he took my glans between his lips and 
with a gentle sucking action began to pull it into him. He 
stopped as his lips settled into the groove behind the flared 
head, using his lips as a kind of restrictive seal so that I 
could neither enter further, or leave.

I could feel his small teeth lightly grazing my sensitive 
flesh with gentle nibbles. His tongue swirled back and forth, 
flicking into the ridge of the underside, busily inspecting, 
testing, playing, ever-moving around and around. His tongue felt 
wonderfully alive. His little fingers began to massage my right 
testicle, squeezing it as he rolled the skin of my scrotum over 
it. After a minute, he shifted his attention to the other side, 
palpating it gently with his thumb and fingers. His tongue 
pushed back into the slit in my glans, pushing as hard as it 
could. If felt as though it might actually go inside if he 
pushed just a little harder, and indeed, the pointed tip of his 
tongue was slightly inside. Occasionally, his right hand would 
slide up the length of my penis, coming all the way to his mouth 
before pushing down again. He would do it once or twice as if he 
was testing the quality of my erection, and then he ceased.

And then, with my penis still inside his wonderful mouth, 
his eyes moved to the side and he glanced up at me. In slow 
motion I could see the boy's sudden embarrassment as he 
discovered he was being watched. He was startled and his mouth 
jerked away and his hand instinctively flew up to smear away the 
wetness of his saliva. His mouth and chin, even his cheek had 
become wet as he drooled over my penis. I grinned at him 
reassuringly as he blushed.

"Looks like you were having fun, Jas'?" I said gently. He 
smiled and glanced back down at my saliva-soaked penis. Not only 
was the head thoroughly wet, but the entire shaft was, all the 
way down to where his fingers had been. Not that much of my 
penis had actually been inside him, in fact only the glans had 
penetrated his beautiful lips, but his lips had formed an 
imperfect seal. Then I realized why he had wanted to make my 
penis wet. My son intended to masturbate me and I did not intend 
to stop him.

"Keep doing what you were doing, Jas'. If you want to, that 
is?" I whispered.

"You don't mind?" he asked nervously.

I smiled back at him. "Of course not. You feel wonderful. 
Besides I've already done that to you, haven't I?"

"Yeah,... but that's different.... Well you're a grown-up 
and everything."

I shrugged. "You don't have to. You should never do 
anything you don't want to do. And for the same reason, you 
should never let anyone to do something to you that you don't 
want them to do. I want you to keep on doing, but it's up to 
you, Jas'."

He smiled shyly, now visibly embarrassed at being observed 
in an act that would under most circumstances be considered 
obscene and depraved. "Dad?..." he began.

"Yeah?" 

"I,... don't want you to watch me," he mumbled self-
consciously.

I nodded. "Do you want me to put a pillow over my face?" I 
teased.

He giggled and glanced down at my erect penis. His little 
tongue pushed forward and moistened his lips. He regarded my 
penis pensively. "I just don't want you to see me,... doing it. 
I want to,... do that to him, but you can't look," he demanded 
unreasonably.

"What if I close my eyes?" I offered.

He considered it and nodded hesitantly. "But you gotta 
promise not to peek?" he stipulated.

"Okay," I smiled, still not believing that Jason was 
actually going to suck my penis.

"He's awfully big so I won't be able to get all of him in," 
he stated flatly. I nodded absently. "You want me to go the 
whole way?" he asked suddenly.

"Huh? Oh! What do you want to do?" I suggested, uncertain 
as to what Jason meant by 'going the whole way'. It was 
inconceivable that Jason intended for me to ejaculate in his 
mouth. I planned to stop him long before that happened.

He blushed and turned his head towards my feet. I lay 
still, waiting for him to either explain what he intended or 
decide what it was that he wanted to do. "You won't get angry, 
promise?" he finally said quietly.

"I'll never get angry again with you about anything," I 
promised. "Especially about what we do together. I want you to 
trust me, Jas'."

He continued to stare at my feet. "What if I want him to do 
it in my mouth?" he whispered.

I gulped air in shock. "You want me to slime your mouth?" I 
teased, my ears burning in absolute disbelief that he had 
suggested it. "Is that what you want me to do?" I asked gently.

Jason nodded cautiously, still not brave enough to meet my 
eyes. I reached out and lovingly caressed his back. My fingers 
gently scratched his spine, rubbing against the tiny bumps and 
tracing the lines of his ribs where they attached.

"Do you want me to warn you, Jas'?" I offered. It seemed 
impossible that a ten-year-old boy would want my semen in his 
mouth. "I don't think you want my slime in your mouth," I 
suggested.

He glanced back at me quickly and then he smiled shyly. "I 
know it isn't dirty or anything like that. It's just sperm, 
that's all. It's what you made me with so how bad can it be."

"And you're wonderful," I admitted incredulously. "I don't 
think you'll like the taste very much."

"You don't have to warn me it's coming unless you want to. 
It just tastes a bit salty and I don't mind it."

"Okay," I murmured  with growing skepticism. I closed my 
eyes. "Do your thing, kid."

I waited for several seconds, realizing that Jason was 
summoning all of his courage before he 'took the plunge'. I felt 
a delicious, wet warmth settle over the head of my penis and his 
succulent lips began to nibble and tease the highly sensitive 
tip. Then his tongue, wet, slippery, and alive, pushed against 
it, probed back into the slit and swirled around the glans. His 
mouth opened and my penis pushed forward, sinking into a 
wonderful, enclosing heat that was softer than anything I had 
ever known. Even the young softness of Tina's vagina paled by 
comparison with the velvet-texture inside my son's small mouth. 

This time it went in further than I expected. There seemed 
to be a lot room inside his mouth, considerably more than the 
small cheeks and jaw suggested. His lips were stretched wide and 
his jaw was all but unhinged as he opened his mouth to take me 
into him. The band of his lips crept slowly down the shaft of my 
penis as he lowered his head with a deliberate, cautious 
pressure. He stopped only when the tip of my cock reached the 
rear of his mouth and squeezing hard into his tonsils, blocked 
his throat. He stayed there for long seconds, about half of my 
thick, engorged penis impaled inside him, and then he bravely 
backed away, withdrawing until only the glans remained between 
his lips.

His head tilted and he peeked up at me. Of course my eyes 
were half-open and I quickly closed them but not before Jason 
had seen me watching. His fingers playfully flicked at my 
testicles and his mouth pulled away.

"You said you weren't going to watch," he said plaintively.

I smiled. "You felt so wonderful, Jas'," I sighed.

He grinned cheekily as he wiped some spit from his chin. 
"He's pretty big, Dad."

"You don't have to do it if you don't want," I cautioned.

Jason shrugged. "I still don't want you watching," he 
demanded.

"What if I suck your's at the same time? I won't be able to 
see then," I suggested.

Jason licked his bottom lip thoughtfully and then lifted it 
up over his top lip. It was an intensely sensuous action "We 
suck each other?" he asked uncertainly, "At the same time?" he 
ascertained cautiously.

"Yeah! If you want?"

He nodded and I turned onto my side as Jason twisted around 
and lay down beside me. His head was adjacent to my groin, his 
genitals only inches from my mouth. As I expected, Pokey was 
'doing push-ups'. My son's little rigid penis was jerking 
happily as it throbbed between his smooth, slender legs. His 
foreskin had already been pushed back and the tiny glans was 
purplish and swollen with blood. I extended my tongue and 
lovingly licked the wonderful morsel so willingly presented to 
me. I felt Jason's instinctive shiver of delight as my tongue 
slid over his penis, a quick tremble as my lips closed over the 
shaft and I started to suck as hard as I could.

My entire being concentrated on one goal, that of giving 
Jason pleasure. My own pleasure was irrelevant. I sucked and 
sucked, easily taking all of Jason's penis, and creating a 
powerful vacuum as I suctioned my mouth. Like before, I felt his 
penis becoming impossibly, painfully stiff as his blood surged 
into his erection. It felt bigger and so inflexible that it 
might even snap off if I moved the wrong way. Jason's hips moved 
relentlessly, pushing forward to get even more of his body 
inside me. His bony, little pubis crushed into my chin, his 
scrotum and its precious cargo compressed into my nose until I 
could not breath. Finally, in an effort to secure some air, I 
guided his testicles forward and sucked them in, filling my 
mouth with his wonderful boy-genitals. My mouth contained 
everything, penis, testicles, his entire scrotum. I felt very 
close to him.

I rested, lovingly stroking the soft skin of his buttocks 
as my fingers caressed his small cheeks, probed into the narrow, 
hot crevice and fingered his tiny anus. I could feel Jason's 
mouth over my penis, his lips enclosing just the glans, his 
tongue rolling and wetting, teasing and tickling the head. His 
small hand pumped up and down, moving gently with a fluttering 
motion that threatened to drive me insane. His grasp was light 
and his fingers barely touched the skin as his hand slid on the 
rigid shaft. He made Tina look like a rank amateur.

I pulled my mouth away momentarily and his saliva-coated 
genitals came free of their prison. His little penis appeared to 
be a little bigger. It was certainly fatter as it was bloated 
and swollen with tiny blue veins standing out of the otherwise 
smooth skin. I sucked him in again, this time taking just his 
testicles and the loose, delicate folds of his scrotum. There 
was no taste to him, but a feeling of unparalleled joy swept 
over me as I touched against skin whose softness defied 
description. The tiny eggs inside my son's pouch felt exactly 
like marbles in a silken bag.

I began to chew, biting lightly into the soft flesh while 
keeping his testicles inside, behind my teeth, and massaging 
them with my tongue. I had no intention of physically hurting 
him and yet, deep inside, I wanted to. I wanted him to squeal 
and yelp with a pleasure so intense that it bordered on pain, or 
a pain that was so wonderful that it bordered on pleasure. I 
kept control, resisting the temptation to cross the threshold 
between pleasuring him and hurting him. Time and time the desire 
welled up inside me and I fought it back. His penis, still 
slippery with my saliva, lay against my cheek, the tiny, plump 
head pushing into my eye.

As my own orgasm approached, so did Jason's. His movements 
became frantic, the chaotic pounding of his hips matched mine, 
thrust for thrust. His hand began to move with increasing speed 
and his lips seemed to close even tighter around my glans, 
digging his teeth into me with a firm bite so that I could not 
force my penis any further into his mouth. I could easily choke 
him. I grasped his cheeks, squeezing the rubber-like flesh 
tightly in my hands, warning him that my explosion was imminent 
as I strained forward seeking to get more of my penis inside him.

I felt Jason's body shudder and then jerk as a painful 
spasm came quickly. And then another, even stronger only a few 
seconds after it. And then I erupted. I felt my testicles 
contract, the explosion of seminal fluid as it ejaculated, 
squirting like a high-pressure hose as thick gobs spurted out 
into Jason's mouth. I felt his body struggle, recoiling in shock 
as my fluid poured out and into him, his surprise at the hot 
saltiness, then he swallowed. And he sucked, and he swallowed 
some more.

His little hand kept pumping, almost as if he was milking a 
cow, extracting the very last drops of creamy milk, before he 
stopped. He continued masturbating me at the same furious rate 
for several seconds and then gradually his rate slowed, until 
his hand was moving very slowly, squeezing lightly as if he was 
afraid to hurt my penis. A minute later he stopped and his 
tousled, blond head finally pulled away from my penis. He smiled 
shyly as he sat up, rubbing his fingers through his hair in a 
vain effort to straighten it and regain his composure. A little 
dribble of white fluid ran from the corner of his mouth to the 
bottom of his chin.

"You okay?" I asked gently.

Jason nodded, touching his semen-stained lips with his 
fingers as he remembered what he had taken inside his mouth. He 
nodded again. I reached for him and gently took his arm, pulling 
him upwards and guiding him to lie down on beside me. He was 
very nervous. I kissed his forehead and licked his brow lovingly.

"You were wonderful," I whispered in his ear.

He swallowed, still tasting the semen in his mouth and the 
fuzziness over his tongue. He examined the tips of his fingers, 
still moistened from my semen and he licked at them. I grinned.

"Taste okay?" I asked.

He smirked. "It's okay. Dad, why does sperm taste so 
salty?" he asked.

I shrugged. I had no idea and I had never thought about it 
for one very good reason; I had never tasted it before. That it 
tasted salty surprised me. I kissed him gently on the lips and 
his arms locked around my neck. His mouth opened up to mine. Our 
teeth clicked in a clumsy kiss, then our tongues came together 
and it was suddenly, hot and wet and passionate. There was 
indeed a salty taste inside his mouth. It wasn't unpleasant but 
it was different to anything I had ever tasted. It was also a 
taste that Jason appeared to be quite familiar with. Again, I 
could not help but wonder who the man was, for it had to be a 
man and not a boy his own age that had taught him this.

Within minutes, Jason was asleep again. He snuggled up against 
me, his head cradled on my shoulder, his right arm draped casually 
across my chest, his fingers just touching my moistened penis. I 
smiled as I breathed deeply, not wanting to move in case I woke him 
up. He needed his rest after what he had done and I needed to think.

My thoughts were anything but random. I wanted to keep Jason 
with me forever and I needed to find a way to convince his mother 
that I was by far the best person to raise him. Unlikely though the 
probability was that I could convince her, I fully intended to try. 
For a long while I considered ways to 'kidnap' him or even to force 
her to give him up by some form of blackmail or bribery, but always 
I surrendered. I could not win a fight like that, even with Jason 
as the prize. It was horribly clear to me that he loved his mother 
as much as he loved me and it would only hurt him. There had to be 
a better way.

There seemed to be no solution. Any way I examined the problem 
I came up with the same result. In less than three weeks Jason would 
leave me and there wasn't a thing that either of us could do about 
it. I gave up after twenty minutes and carefully eased Jason onto 
his other side. I pulled on a pair of shorts and went up on deck. 
It was the start of another beautiful day, made even more wonderful 
by the beautiful boy asleep in my cabin and the love we just shared. 
The little bay had become an unforgettable place.

Paul and Julien's boat swung lazily at anchor and there was 
still no sign of life aboard. The wind was blowing with a freshness 
that promised stronger winds as the air warmed. I went forward and 
raised the anchor, allowing Apollo to drift away from the beach for 
a few minutes before I returned to the cockpit. With the genoa 
unfurled and filling, the boat slowly turned, then gradually picked 
up speed as it passed to the stern of the other yacht. Julien's 
head and shoulders appeared through the companion way, then the 
rest of him. As I expected, he was naked. He grinned and waved as 
I saluted him.

I raised the mainsail and mizzen as Apollo cleared the point 
and headed into the Aegean. The wind was less than eight knots and 
the boat barely heeled. I reclined in the cockpit, dreamily 
thinking of naked Jason, Jason's penis, Jason's mouth, Jason's 
beautiful buttocks.... Nearly an hour passed before my little lover 
showed his tousled head on deck. He grinned cheekily and stretched 
sleepily, arching his slender back until every rib was standing out 
on his chest and his belly was taut and deliciously thin. He settled 
back onto his seat, stretching out like a little cat in the morning 
sunshine. He didn't need any suntan oil for another hour at least 
and I feasted my eyes upon him. Unless I was mistaken he was already 
a little darker than he had been the previous day.

By my calculations it was exactly thirty miles on a 
southwesterly heading from Mykonos to Paros. For a while I 
contemplated stopping at Delos to show Jason the sight of his young 
life; the gigantic phallic symbols and the lions that dated from 
the Mycenaean era but I decided otherwise. I would bring him back 
in a week or so. I left Delos and the neighboring island of Rinia 
to port.

By midday, the wind picked up and I sent Jason below to make 
some sandwiches for a combination breakfast-lunch. He grinned and 
disappeared into the galley. He was a good little cook, though he 
was heavy on the peanut butter and light on the jelly. We romped 
into Paros Harbor before a fifteen knot breeze, getting Jason into 
his yellow swimming costume as soon as we were close enough to be 
seen. I gave my son the helm and dropped the sails, getting back 
into the cockpit with barely a minute to spare as we came past the 
breakwater. He grinned at me triumphantly. He was very different 
to the scared little boy of two, or was it three days earlier. Time 
had lost its meaning to me now that I had Jason with me.

Mooring at Paros was a 'pain in the ass' since they used the 
European-style, stern-first arrangement and the harbor front was 
always crowded. I motored around until I located a berth that was 
close to Harry's Bar. It was barely wide enough to accommodate 
Apollo's fourteen-foot beam but it would have to do.

"You really aren't going to park it in there?" Jason asked in 
awe as I spun the wheel and ran the engine in reverse to turn the 
boat. "It's never going to fit!" he added expertly.

"What's never going to fit?" I laughed. "It fitted fine this 
morning. You just had to stretch a bit, that's all."

Jason giggled. It was the first time that either of us had 
discussed what had happened in the cabin nearly seven hours 
earlier. He smirked cheekily as he gazed up at me shamelessly. 
"Well you aren't all that big," he taunted playfully.

"Bigger than you, Honey-sucker," I laughed. "Give me a hand 
here, Jas'."

"Sure, Dad. What do I do? But this time I'm not steering," he 
threatened as he continued to smirk at me knowingly.

I grinned and told him to go up to the bow. When I called he 
was to drop the anchor, keep well back, and let the chain run free. 
He nodded and headed off to his assigned task. For once I docked 
with precision, a good thing too because there was no room for 
error, even with the fenders out.

As soon as we were secure and the sail covers over the main 
and mizzen sails, I took Jason off to meet Harry, and hopefully 
Jeff, if only for Jason's sake. He was still a young boy and he 
needed a friend to play with.

Paros. Mid-afternoon, August, 6 th, 1993

It was mid-afternoon and close to the busiest time of the day 
for Harry as tourists and locals descended for serious drinking and 
talking, the primary activities at Harry's Bar. He still found time 
to talk to me. I introduced Jason with considerable enjoyment. I 
was intensely proud of the beautiful ten-year-old boy by my side. 
He grinned at Harry, shook hands and after a few more minutes later 
disappeared with Jeff. It was clear that Jeff had just found 
himself a devoted friend and admirer.

"He's a real doll," Harry said quietly as we sat on the shaded 
terrace under the ancient wisteria. It was my favorite seat, 
commanding a view of the harbor where I could keep and eye on 
Apollo, and on the two boys as they ambled around the harbor.

I looked up suddenly, surprised by Harry's candid and very 
admiring statement.

"They make a good pair," he observed.

"Jeff and Jason?" I asked. "Yeah, they do, don't they? I think 
they're going to be good friends."

"I hope so. Well, how is everything going. It looks like you 
and your son have survived a few days together," Harry smiled.

"He's a wonderful kid, Harry. I never dreamed I could love him 
as much as I do. He's,... he's so unlike her that it's a shock. He 
looks like her in a lot of ways, but he's smart and nice, and,... 
well he's just a wonderful kid."

Harry smiled and raised his eyebrows as he watched me. "He's 
sexy too," he said gently. He studied me carefully. "Well, isn't 
he?"

I swallowed nervously and breathed out. For a moment panic 
filled my mind as I wondered how Harry could read my thoughts, how 
he had picked up on the signs that expressed how I really thought 
about Jason. I stared off into the distance, focussing on the two 
rambling boys, one taller and more rambunctious; the other, more 
slender and sensitive.

"It's nothing to be ashamed about," Harry said quietly. "He 
is sexy."

And then my fear vanished as I understood. Harry knew. Somehow 
he knew about Jason and me and he was trying to tell me. Harry was 
right, there was nothing to be ashamed about. I loved my son, that 
was all there was to it, the rest of the world be damned.

"Harry, I ran into Julien and Paul on Mykonos," I said as 
relief settled over me. "Julien's a nice boy," I added.

"Paul is good for him. Like you're good for Jason," he added 
as he sipped his beer.

"And you and Jeff?" I prompted.

"Of course. I love Jeff...." He sighed and smiled at me as we 
shared a long silence. "Julien radioed me this morning. He always 
calls when he's away with Paul, so I know everything's okay. He 
told me about meeting you. There aren't that many boats around here 
with the name Apollo."

I smiled. "No I guess not. So how much did he tell you?" I 
questioned.

"Enough to know how you feel about Jason. Like I said, it's 
nothing to be ashamed about. I feel the same way about Jeff. I've 
loved him since he was Jason's age. It's been almost two years."

I nodded. Jason and Jeff were almost out of sight but I could 
still see Jason's little, blond head as it glistened in the bright 
sun, bobbing amongst the fishing boats at the far end of the 
breakwater.

Harry looked around him, making certain that we could not be 
overheard. "Loving a boy is different to loving anyone else," he 
confied. "The ancient Greeks knew that when they said pederasty was 
the highest form of love that could exist between two people. You 
know, before I came here I used to be a professor at Oxford. I met 
Julien when he was eight years old and living in a lousy, rat-
infested tenement in Liverpool."

He chuckled to himself as some distant memory floated back. 
"I fell in love with an eight-year-old boy. It's still hard for me 
to believe. He was a skinny, grubby, little thing; but I loved him. 
He was a cute kid then, and so was Jeff for that matter. Even though 
Jeff wasn't even four years old it was apparent to me even then 
that he was going to be gay. And Julien already was, if you can 
believe it. Their mother was a bitch, a drug addict. She was never 
home, and when she was she used to beat them. I paid her ten 
thousand pounds for the two of them. I adopted both of them, legally 
of course, and then left England."

Harry paused for a minute and drank deeply, savoring the cold 
beer, "When I first came here with the boys I knew it was where we 
were going to stay. I bought the bar and the rest is history."

I sat quietly, barely able to believe the story, though 
knowing it was true. "You and Jeff are lovers?" I asked 
uncertainly.

"You mean do I fuck him in the ass?" Harry grinned. "Of course! 
I've been doing it since he was Jason's age. He wouldn't have it 
any other way. It's nothing to be ashamed about. He loves it and 
so do I." He stretched back in his seat. "The Greeks understood 
things so much better than us, you know."

"How so?"

"When a boy turned ten they used to take him away from his 
mother. He lived with the men after that. I don't expect there were 
many ten-year-old virgins back then. A good father used to go to a 
great deal of trouble to get the right person for his son's first 
lover," he explained confidently.

It was almost as if he was lecturing me. "Well ten is awfully 
young to be doing that," I said awkwardly.

"You haven't loved Jason yet, have you?" he asked.

"Huh? Loved him? You mean have I fucked him in the ass?" I 
replied crudely. "No, I think he's way too young for that. In a few 
years maybe,... if he's interested."

"Oh he's definitely interested right now, don't worry about 
that. It's written all over his pretty face," Harry laughed. I 
smiled as our eyes met and locked together.

"How can you tell? I know he asked Julien about it. I guess 
he is interested," I acknowledged.

"How would you feel if Jeff had sex with him?" Harry asked 
curiously.

"You mean anal sex, don't you?" I challenged. "I don't know," 
I answered honestly. "I guess,... well if someone had to, I'd 
rather it was Jeff, I think."

"Why?"

I half-closed my eyes against the glare, no longer able to see 
Jason. "I think it's different if two boys play around. It's okay 
even if they go that far."

"But why Jeff?"

"Because I like him and he's a great kid. He's good looking 
and fun to be with. I guess also because Jeff's not big enough to 
really hurt him."

"And Jeff likes him?" Harry prompted.

"Yes, of course. And because Jas' likes him as well," I 
answered

"What if Jeff was a few years older, say fourteen or fifteen. 
Big enough to hurt, but not if he was careful," Harry persisted.

I thought for a moment. The idea of Jason and Jeff, even an 
older Jeff was not at all objectionable. It was strangely exciting 
to me. "I guess so. Only,..." I breathed out slowly, "Only I would 
want them to be very close friends."

Harry nodded. "Let's say Jeff is even older now, say in his 
early twenties."

My heart sank and yet the idea was still acceptable to me. 
"I,... I guess so but I would want them to be in love," I 
stipulated. Then suddenly I realized where Harry was heading to 
with his questions and I steeled myself for what came next.

"Now, what if Jeff was much older, say about your age," he 
smiled teasingly.

I swallowed hesitantly as I tried to formulate an answer that 
wasn't a lie. The mere idea of Jason loving a grown man, an older 
man, a man like myself, was repellant, or should have been. But I 
loved him. The answer was surprisingly simple.

"Yes, but only if the love between them was something very 
special. It would have to be very strong. The sex part would have 
to be unnecessary as well."

"And that, my friend, is what the Greeks called platonic 
love." Harry regarded me confidently. "Platonic love is the highest 
form of love. Its the love that exists between an older man and a 
boy. And you're exactly right, the sex part is unnecessary, though 
it's certainly a lot of fun once the boy is used to it."

I laughed. "You could sell the Brooklyn Bridge, Harry," I 
admitted.

Harry smiled and then studied me for a moment seriously. 
"Don't make him wait. He's young and healthy and ready. A year lost 
now is a year he'll never have again. Even a week is wasted."

I sighed. "I'm going to really miss him when he goes back to 
his mother," I admitted. "I really do love him, you know."

"More than tiny-tits Tina?" Harry chortled.

I remembered the night several months when I was drunk and 
stretched out on Harry's couch, blabbering away about Tina while 
Jeff reclined in his 'father's' embrace. "You're right, you know 
Harry. It is different. I never loved anyone else the same way. 
It's as though Jason is all I live for now. But I couldn't hurt him 
like that,... never like that."

"It only hurts for a short time," Harry said quietly. "He'll 
be very different afterwards. He'll know how much you love him and 
he'll love you back. He'll probably get very possessive. Jeff and 
Julien did."

I laughed. "I guess you are the resident expert on boys," I 
said. "After two of them I'm sure you know what to do."

Harry wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. "It isn't that 
hard. You just have to be gentle and take your time. Nature does 
most of the work for you." He smiled as he looked around the 
terrace. There were at least a dozen extra people there since we 
had started talking. Our privacy was fast disappearing.

"It looks like I better get back to work, business is picking 
up." He held out the keys to his car, offering them to me. "Take 
the Fiat and drive over to Andiparos Beach. Go for a swim with him. 
Better still, take Jason up to Mount Paros. There should be some 
breeze up there."

I nodded uncertainly. "How about Jeff?" I asked.

"Send him back here. He can help out for a while," Harry 
replied.

I nodded and thanked him for the loan of his car and headed 
off to find the boys. They were down at the far end of the harbor, 
skipping stones over the sparkling water and laughing like two old 
friends. It was a pity to break them up but I wanted Jason to myself 
for a while. We walked back to the Bar and the boys teased me 
constantly with constant jibes and jokes. It was very enjoyable.


PLATONIC LOVE.

I decided to take Harry's advice and go to Mount Paros. It was 
something over two-thousand-feet high but the road ended only about 
half of the way up. We locked the car and started out on foot. I 
carried a small back-pack with a few cans of drink and a towel that 
I found on the back seat of Harry's car. It had been frequently 
used and seldom washed. Only a few days ago I would have thought 
that the stains in the center of it had been the result of spilled 
food or drink. Now, I knew better. It carried the evidence of 
Harry's love for Jeff, perhaps even of Jeff though he still seemed 
to be too young to procure a wet orgasm. The stains were from semen 
and I could only imagine what else.

The path was well-travelled, though in poor condition and we 
had to be careful as we climbed. There was more breeze as we 
ascended and it cooled us. We removed our tee shirts and pushed 
them into the back-pack and continued onward. It took nearly an 
hour to reach the summit, after lengthy stops to admire the 
spectacular view of Naxos and catch our breaths. The summit was 
little more than a collection of huge boulders and long grass, and 
a view that had few equals anywhere in the world. The island of 
Naxos lay eighteen miles to the east, it's sole mountain some 
three-thousand-three-hundred feet, clearly defined on the horizon. 

We were in our own private world, just the two of us, secure 
from invasions of others, alone. I unfastened the back-pack, spread 
out the towel and passed Jason a diet Coke. He drank first, long 
thirsty gulps before he returned it to me. I sipped slowly, 
captivated by my son's beautiful, half-naked body. Beads of 
perspiration sparkled on his skin, glistening droplets of his sweet 
sweat. I wanted to see the rest of him. I wanted to flaunt his body 
at the world around us.

"You can take your pants off, Jas', if you want to. It'll be 
a lot cooler," I suggested.

Jason grinned at me. "I will, if you will," he said teasingly.

He mimicked my actions, undoing the cord at his waist as I 
unfastened my metal clasp and zipper. We dropped our shorts at the 
same time. We were both naked. We studied each other's bodies 
silently, filled with a wonderful awe, as if we were seeing each 
other for the first time. At almost the same instant our genitals 
began to respond to the heightened stimulation that attended being 
naked. My penis lurched at the sight of the naked boy and began to 
stiffen even as Jason's small sex organ slowly responded to his 
budding desire.

"You have a nice tan, Dad," Jason finally said. He tried to 
look away but his eyes were drawn back to my gradually swelling 
penis. "We're both getting stiffies," he observed.

I nodded, aware that I was staring at his young body with an 
animal lust. Harry was right, he was sexy and he was interested. 
In fact he was considerably more than interested.

We looked at each other quietly. It was the moment we were 
both waiting for. The time was right. I gently pressed him on the 
shoulders and guided the boy back towards the towel. When he felt 
the cloth under his feet, he carefully sat down, looking up at me. 
Then silently he lay back, wriggling away to one side so as to make 
a space for me beside him. I sat down next to him and I pressed my 
nose to his head as I lay down beside him. I smelled the sweet-
orange fragrance of his silky, soft hair. He smelled good, so young 
and fresh and clean. His skin was hot to my touch. It was almost 
as if he had a fever. He was so smooth that my fingers trembled as 
I caressed his hip, slid downward to the flat velvet-soft belly and 
touched his belly button.

Cautiously my fingers eased downward, moving slowly towards 
to the object of my desire between his legs. I touched his penis 
with two fingers so lightly that all I could feel was his soft 
warmth. I became braver. Tenderly I stroked the sensitive skin as 
I marvelled at the delicious heat that continued to come from it 
until my fingers were trembling.  My son sighed and stirred ever 
so slightly and my fingers moved downwards and lightly brushed 
against his small, plump scrotum. It too was hot, but it emanated 
a moistness that the rest of his body now lacked. The skin was fully 
relaxed and I could feel the intricate web of tissue and the firm, 
small eggs that seemed to be just inside the delicate skin. It was 
almost impossible to believe that anything could be as soft as 
Jason's tiny scrotum. That perfect and very tender part of his 
young body seemed to defy the fact that it could tighten up into a 
tiny, wrinkled pouch that squeezed his balls until they were almost 
inside his body.

"You're beautiful, Jas'," I whispered in his ear.

He smiled shyly and moved his legs further apart to give me 
unhindered access to his genitals. "Your fingers feel good, Dad," 
he sighed quietly.

But there was another part of this beautiful boy that was 
almost as soft, and my other hand moved lightly over his waist, 
then down to caress his penis again. His erection had faded and his 
penis had become soft again. I smiled happily, musing as I touched 
the tiny, puckered tip formed by his foreskin as it drew to a point. 
The warm skin was incredibly soft. We were both breathing deeply 
as I leaned forward and kissed him. He giggled and pulled back 
first. His pale-blue eyes glistened, sparkling with a mixture of 
anticipation and young, vibrant life. My son rolled over on his 
back and moved his legs so that his knees were apart. I didn't need 
a degree from Harvard to know what Jason wanted me to do next.

"What do you want me to do?" I teased playfully.

"What do you think?" he replied. "You can suck me if you want. 
You can do anything you want," he volunteered.

"Anything I want huh?" I asked. Jason nodded. "Anything?" He 
nodded again. "Can I tickle you?"

"Absolutely no tickling," he ordered. "Just sex stuff!"

I was surprised that his penis was still limp. It seemed 
almost unnatural for him to be lying beside me, both of us naked, 
both willing and excited, me as hard as steel and Jason soft and 
limp. Understanding came to me slowly. He wasn't afraid, though he 
was nervous. He was a young boy, he was tired after the long climb 
up the mountain, and this was the biggest thing in his life. It was 
at one time, the confirmation of his sexual identity, his 
awakening, and his loss of innocence. He wanted to be good at it. 
Jason was anxious and he needed my reassurance.

I smiled at him and moved closer so that my groin was pressing 
into his hip. I began to caress his penis as he lay back in silent 
submission. I teased the silky-smooth, limp organ into erection 
again by stroking on the short, delicate shaft with the tips of my 
fingers. Every few seconds I stopped. I wanted this to last. I 
needed my son to be every bit as hard as I was and I wanted it to 
be as memorable for Jason as it was going to be for me. In those 
breaks between teasing his penis into erection, I caressed his tiny 
balls and squeezed them gently. I wanted him to know that every 
part of his body could feel wonderful.

"That feels soooo good," he sighed. "Don't you think it's 
weird that a dick can feel like this, Dad?"

I smiled. It wasn't weird, it was wonderful, but I knew what 
he intended. I held the essence of his body, his entire being was 
concentrated between my fingers. "You have a beautiful dick, Jas'," 
I whispered and I gave it a loving squeeze.

Slowly, very slowly, I felt his penis begin to lengthen as it 
started to respond to my caresses. I felt the boy become slightly 
hotter as his penis began to fill with blood. I felt the gradual 
stiffening and thickening as his penis became harder and harder. 
When he was nearly rigid, I carefully eased the foreskin back over 
the head by pushing my hand firmly down on the short, stiff shaft. 
The taut foreskin bunched around the tiny glans and made it swell 
and darken, forcing the rim of it to flare out. Within moments, he 
was fully erect. He gave a little sigh of appreciation and flexed 
his penis so that it jumped away from his belly. It was intended 
to show that he was more than willing for me to continue.

"Now we're both stiff," he observed.

"I think yours is a lot harder than mine," I said. "Oh to be 
young again."

"You're not that old," he smiled. "I just have higher blood-
pressure, Dad. Besides you've been playing with it. That always 
makes it stiffer," he added expertly.

It had taken more than five minutes from the time we had 
undressed but I would never feel so close to Jason. I was filled 
with wonder as I gazed at his young, slender body and the beautiful, 
now-very-hard, little cock that was sticking out along his belly. 
It was about the size of my thumb, though considerably thinner. 
While still very smooth, a tracery of tiny blue veins indicated 
where later changes would occur.

I wondered if I should masturbate him even though I knew that 
it would bring him little relief, or just enjoy the feeling of his 
small, hot cock throbbing and pulsing between my fingers. For the 
moment I settled for the latter. My fingers tentatively enclosed 
his little shaft and moved up and down, once. Uncircumcised, his 
foreskin provided a looseness in the skin that was unbelievable and 
until a day ago had been previously unknown to me when I masturbated 
myself. I did it again, feeling the silky skin under my fingers as 
they moved up and down. There seemed to be no friction at all on 
the outside though I was very aware of the blood-engorged flesh 
within as it rippled under the delicate skin.

It was all I could do to restrain myself from masturbating 
him. I continued to stroke his penis, though I did it slowly and 
very lightly with my fingers, just enough to keep him hard. Then, 
after a minute or two, I changed to rub the reddened, little tip 
between my thumb and forefinger and give it the heightened pleasure 
it demanded. The swollen, rounded glans was incredibly sensitive. 
Immediately, Jason sighed and I went on and on, alternating from 
the boy's glans, and testicles, and then back to his penis.

After about ten more minutes I grew more adventuresome. By now 
Jason's legs were wide apart and his breathing had slowed. Clearly, 
he liked what I was doing. Frequently, he sighed and his penis 
flexed and shifted under my hand as he squeezed downward. Each 
time, his scrotum tightened fractionally, lifting his testicles 
higher. His eyes were half-closed in concentration, as if he wanted 
to memorize every wonderful moment. There was, I realized, really 
no point in masturbating him because there could be no orgasm and 
all that I would succeed in doing was making him sore or frustrated, 
or both.

However, from the boy's motions I knew he wanted more. I knew 
I did. The question was what. What else could one do with an ten-
year-old boy to make him feel good, and me too for that matter? I 
twisted him onto his side so that he faced towards me. He gave me 
a beautiful smile. He was obviously quite content to let me do 
whatever I wanted, at least for a while.

"I want to touch your bottom, Jay-boy," I whispered as I 
continued to gently massage the little, now-taut scrotum, rolling 
his testicles back and forth between my fingers. "Is that okay?"

"I might be dirty back there," he answered. "You want me to 
go wipe it first?"

"No, of course not. I'm sure you're clean, and it doesn't 
matter if you're not," I said gently.

"You going to put your penis in me now?" Jason asked 
curiously. "I guess you can,... if you really want to," he offered.

I smiled. "No Jas'. I'm not going to do that. At least not 
right now, anyway."

He nodded and I moved my hand from his genitals and over his 
hip, around to his buttocks. Carefully, gently, lovingly, I eased 
the firm, small cheeks apart with my thumb and fingers and gently 
inserted my forefinger down into the deep, hot crevice. Even though 
it was not the first time I had touched him there, the feeling that 
I had committed the unforgivable sin of violating of his privacy 
was overwhelming. Jason didn't seem to mind. 

With infinite slowness, I lightly ran my finger from the start 
of his crevice, beginning at the base of his spine, downward until 
I reached the loose, moist folds of skin where his little scrotum 
began. I barely touched the boy's flesh and I nearly climaxed when 
my finger tip brushed against his anus. The intimacy was 
unimaginable. There was a hot moistness in his crack that was 
totally unlike any other part of his perfect body. While I still 
had a guilty feeling that I was intruding on his most private place, 
Jason was silent. Silent that is except for his ragged breathing. 
He was panting.

The thrill I felt from touching the boy's crack made me 
tremble. There was a sense of discovery, of sharing something, of 
possessing him, that was far stronger than anything I had known 
previously. I lifted my finger away and brought it to my nose. My 
son giggled as I smelled. He looked at me hopefully. I grinned.

"Clean as they come, Jas'." I said.

"You sure?" he asked anxiously. "I can go wipe if you want me 
to. I could even wash it with some of the Coke," he suggested

I shook my head. "No way, kid. You're staying right here with 
me." To prove the point I put the tip of my finger in my mouth. He 
giggled and I began to laugh. It was infectious and I began to 
tickle him until we were both laughing and giggling and almost out 
of control. It was the most wonderful moment I had shared with Jason 
that day.

My hand moved downward. Again my finger stroked the length of 
his crack. This time a little harder and I felt the slight 
indentation of his anus. The tiny, puckered hole seemed to be the 
very source of the boy's heat. I rubbed it lightly, not daring to 
push hard enough, too afraid to go inside him, perfectly content 
with feeling just the minute wrinkles of the puckered lip. But even 
as I touched him, he seemed to relax and the crinkled, little mouth 
began to loosen.

Again I brought my finger back to my nose only this time the 
boy beamed at me. He could see that my finger was clean. The aroma 
was there and a slight trace of fecal odor lingered. It was Jason's 
smell, a boy's smell, a wonderful, earthy smell.

"You want to lick it this time?" I teased.

"No way."  He shook his head with a smirk and watched as I 
placed it in my mouth, wetting it to the first joint before I licked 
downward, moistening my finger so that it would be more slippery.

 Jason watched my in silent fascination. Already, in just 
those few moments his penis had started to subside again as other, 
more enticing interests took over. I turned my beautiful son onto 
his back again and then onto his other side so that he faced away 
from me. I knew what I would do next. For the first time I felt 
afraid. My life would never be the same after this. But the 
knowledge of what we had already shared together during the last 
few days, Jason's obvious eagerness, and the fabulous heat of his 
body kept me there, fingering ever so gently at the tiny button.

With my finger coated in saliva, I began to press a fraction 
deeper, not hard enough to penetrate, but enough to burrow into the 
opening. Like his little penis, his anus was a source of infinite 
and indescribable pleasure. A million nerve-endings responded. He 
sighed as he shivered, then wriggled back at me. He wanted more, 
much more.

I edged downward on the towel until my face was next to his 
small buttocks. I leaned forward and prised his small, soft cheeks 
apart and smelled the boy. Even close up, the aroma was barely 
noticeable and it was certainly not unpleasant. There was the 
residual, earthy smell of feces of course, but also a captivating 
sweet smell. It was not something I had smelled on my finger. It 
was a slightly musky odor that was reminiscent of bread dough. I 
lay quietly, breathing him with my face burrowed into his buttocks. 
My nose pressed into his tight boy-sized opening. My mouth was 
between his cheeks and my tongue caressed the beginning of his 
scrotum. My hot breath made the boy's crack even hotter and wetter.

"You're blowing up my ass," he said plaintively.

"So?" I murmured. "Don't you like it?"

"Yeah, of course I like it. It just feels funny, that's all. 
Does it smell bad?" he asked nervously.

"It smells nice," I admitted.

Finally I could not stand it any longer. The boy's smell was 
intense in its effect on me and overpowered any inhibitions I had. 
I moved upward slightly and licked the inside of his crack. I licked 
from one end to the other and back again, again and again until he 
was wet with my saliva. The feel of his hot, slippery flesh drove 
me wild. There was a sweetness in the boy that I did not expect to 
find. His young body had a taste that was succulent and pure. The 
tip of my tongue stopped against his barely-puckered hole and I 
probed into him with a gentleness that made Jason gasp, then quiver 
with excitement. I wondered if my son was aware that the sanctity 
of his virgin anus was being slowly but surely violated.

At first it seemed as it his body would not admit me, but after 
a minute or two, my tongue was able to slip inside him. It slid 
past the boy's tight, little sphincter without any difficulty.

"Ohhhh...man...that's sooooo gooood," he whimpered as he 
shifted restlessly and began to turn around. He looked over his 
shoulder at me as he whispered, "Ohhhh yeah, that feels nice."

I sensed him pause as he realized what I was doing to his 
bottom. His sudden shock was tinged with embarrassment as he 
shivered with delight.

"Isn't that dirty?" he asked.

His voice quivered with an excitement that matched the 
trembling surges in his young body. I shook my head, never taking 
my mouth away from him, keeping my tongue lapping at his anal 
opening. He stirred slightly and whimpered in delight and he 
shifted his legs again and again as his body began to respond. His 
rigid, hungry penis demanded more of my hand as it throbbed, hot 
and hard between my fingers. His little anus was eager for more of 
my tongue and he trembled and twitched on my tongue as it moved 
relentlessly inside him. I could the tension in his body fading 
quickly as his sphincter relaxed and loosened.

My tongue surged into him again and again, wriggling and 
stabbing into the loose, soft hole as I tried desperately to get 
just a little bit further in and reach his immature, little 
prostate. His penis started to get harder again until its short 
rigid shaft was inflexible and unyielding. I stroked it, feeling a 
wonderful awe, wanting to make Jason feel what I was feeling.

I was in an awkward position with my hand under him so I 
couldn't rub very fast, but his swollen little penis was throbbing 
between my fingers as I worked the foreskin back and forth over the 
sensitive, bulbed head. Then, pulling his prepuce all the way back, 
I returned to squeezing on the glans. He was very sensitive there. 
He quivered, gave a quick gasp, and began to hump into my fingers. 
It greatly increased the pressure and I started to roll the tiny 
head between my thumb and first finger, almost twisting it off. 
Again, it was easy to tell that Jason liked it.

I paused for a moment and pulled my face away from his dripping 
crack. Immediately, I replaced my tongue with my forefinger, 
sliding it down into his rectum and pressing back into his belly 
about where I thought his prostate was. It caught him unawares, his 
anus weakened and already loose, did not resist and I was in to the 
second joint with just one quick, hard push. He shuddered and 
jerked his legs up as I hit the target on the first try.

"Holy shit! Ohhhhh!...Ohhhh! That's soooo gooood..." he 
muttered. He gave a little yelp as I pressed harder into him and 
began to stab my finger at his prostate. After a few seconds he was 
gasping for air and whimpering. His orgasm came to a sudden peak 
and he let out a squeal of unexpected and all-but-unknown pleasure.

My finger slowed and I let him come down from his ecstasy. I 
slid up behind him and pressed tightly to his shivering, hot body, 
still moving my finger back and forth inside his quivering anus. 
My other hand still stroked his rigid cock.

"You like this huh?" I teased as I kissed and licked his neck 
and shoulders, then nibbled and sucked on his small ears.

He giggled. "Heh, that tickles! Yeah, I like it! Do it with 
your finger some more... I like it a lot. You made feel weird all 
over when you were doing that," he commanded as he pressed his 
buttocks back against my finger inside him. "Isn't it dirty to do 
it with your tongue? Can't you get sick from my poop?" he asked 
nervously.

"Maybe, but I want to do it. You like it don't you?" I asked 
gently.

My son nodded and I pushed my finger back into his prostate 
and began to rub him, wriggling it against the sensitive barely-
noticeable spot just behind the lining of his rectum. He trembled 
as soon as he felt it back in the right spot and I teased him, "Is 
that where you like it, tiger?"

He nodded and moved his head urgently as his young body began 
to shudder again. The boy had been right on the edge of another 
orgasm and he convulsed with a sudden, painful spasm. I knew that 
spasm meant only one thing. It passed in seconds but I sensed that 
the boy was eager, even hungry for more, as his bottom squeezed 
back at me. I held my hand there and let my finger push further 
into him as I wondered how far the boy would go. He didn't stop 
pushing back at me until my knuckles were squashed against and into 
his crack. My finger could go no further.

"Is that what you want, Jas'? Is it better than my tongue?" I 
teased playfully.

He nodded again, slowly descending from his excitement. "No, 
no... I like your tongue in there too. It's so soft and hot, but 
your finger feels great, 'specially when you rub it just inside. 
Yeah, right there!"

He gasped as I pulled my finger back about halfway and pressed 
it firmly into his prostate. "Ohhh! Shit! That feels goood...Right 
there...." I relaxed the pressure and allowed him a moment's 
respite. "But isn't it dirty.... when you use your tongue in there? 
I don't want to make you sick or anything?" he asked hesitantly.

I eased the pressure inside his rectum still further by 
pulling my finger back and slowly running it around the now-loose, 
little opening. The tautness of his once-puckered hole had vanished 
completely within just the last minute or two. He was soft and wet 
and nicely loosened up. For a moment, as I remembered Harry's 
advice about losing even a week, I thought I should try to fuck him.

Jason had exactly the same idea. "Are you going to put him in 
my bottom now? You can if you want," he asked. His voice showed 
obvious enthusiasm but it was still tinged with the fear of the 
unknown, of his instinctive caution and the ever-present threat of 
pain.

"No," I whispered in his ear, as my tongue licked the soft 
small lobe. "Not now. Not yet. You're not ready for that. Besides 
we haven't finished with my finger. Or my tongue for that matter."

He nodded, relieved slightly. He was scared that the pain 
would be terrible and he was very afraid of taking that one last 
step that he knew would confirm that he was gay. As I took my finger 
away from his anus he moaned slightly. He looked around 
questioningly as I sat up and twisted the naked boy onto his back. 
Then I knelt between his outstretched legs and lifted his knees up 
so that they were next to my shoulders. I dropped forward so that 
my face was only inches away from his still-hard penis. It really 
was about the size of his thumb, and it was beautiful. It was 
perfectly shaped, unblemished by even the faintest trace of pubic 
hair, smooth and slightly pinkish-brown.

"What are you going to do now?" he whispered.

I grinned and slid my hand underneath him. I playfully 
squeezed his balls as I passed them. My fingers slid up his wet, 
hot crack until I reached his dilated opening. This time my 
forefinger slid in easily and he sighed as he felt it pierce his 
flesh, sink into his juicy heat, and then twist and press back into 
his prostate.

"Ohhhh yeah, that's goood," he groaned.

"I can't believe how hot it is inside you," I whispered. "It's 
like a little oven in here. It's really tight."

"Dad?..."

"Yeah?"

"Could you like do it up in front. No! Deeper.... Yeah! That's 
it! Ohhhh Shit" he moaned. "Stop! You gotta go slower for a bit, I 
think."

He lifted his hips higher so that my finger's movement was 
less restrained. With his upward motion, his penis came within 
reach of my mouth and I licked it. I licked from his testicles all 
to way to the tip, before sinking down on it and taking it all the 
way into my mouth. Jason needed no encouragement from me. His legs 
hooked behind my shoulders and his hips began to thrust forward 
instinctively, beginning a natural rhythm that had existed inside 
him from the day he was born.

He whimpered as he became even more aroused, making puppy dog-
like sounds from somewhere in his throat. The movement of his hips 
served to drive my finger back and forth into his rectum as his own 
penis pumped into my mouth. His less-than-three-inch penis barely 
reached to the back of my mouth and I used my tongue to force it 
against the roof of my mouth. Both of us began to breathe heavily, 
gasping for air as our bodies became wildly excited. We worked in 
shameless unison; my forefinger fucking into his bowel while the 
fingers of my other hand squeezed, rubbed, rolled, and tortured his 
balls; his slender, still-pale body strained, arched and demanded 
more of me inside him.

The smell that drifted from under his buttocks grew stronger. 
It filled my nostrils and excited me. It was a wonderful, rich 
smell, a sweet, musky odor from deep within him. It was a smell 
that I recognized, or seemed to. From long ago, when he'd been very 
sick with diarrhea, there had been a similar smell. When his body 
had finally emptied, all that came from his bowel was a pale, watery 
slime, the mucus that lubricated his lower intestine smelled 
exactly the same.

Within less than a minute, his leg muscles were taut and his 
small chest was heaving with each struggling breath. He gasped 
frenetically and he quivered with the building orgasm. After only 
a minute more he was bucking wildly and lifting his body up to meet 
me, taking his weight on his arms and shoulders and on his feet as 
they dug into the grass. After already having two orgasms in only 
a few minutes, the ten-year-old boy went on to show me that he could 
have one dry climax after another. In a way I was surprised that 
he had to work so hard for the next one, but when it came it was 
the most wonderful orgasm he had ever had.

Up to this time, Jason's orgasms had been generated entirely 
from his penis, but this one built from deep inside him. His heart 
was pounding in an erratic frenzy as the explosion from within his 
clutching, sloppy, little rectum joined with the surge from his 
knotted testicles, to take him to the brink of his sanity. He 
shrieked, not with pain but with the terror that comes with losing 
control. His bladder muscle failed first as his urine leaked out, 
then started to dribble into my mouth. There were little squirts 
of it as he tried to ejaculate and his penis jerked with tightening 
spasms, jumping again and again of its own accord.

Inside his bowel I felt a sudden looseness and a ripe, 
slippery juiciness that hadn't been there before. Strands of rectal 
mucus coated my finger and lubricated it so that I could jab my 
finger into him even faster, harder and deeper that I had dared 
without the help of lubrication.

I sucked on his throbbing, little cock until my mouth filled 
with his pee and I had to swallow, then I pulled away. His rigid 
penis slapped loudly on his belly and allowed the rest to trickle 
out onto his body. With his thighs lifted high into the air, his 
pee ran downward. It followed the groove in his stomach muscle, to 
his belly button and filled it quickly with the almost-clear fluid. 
Then it continued down his chest, between his flat breasts until 
it reached his neck where it ran either side and dribbled down his 
shoulders onto the towel.

Seeing Jason like that, naked and on the very edge of losing 
consciousness with his slender, young body exposed to my mercy was 
more than I could stand. I tasted the sweet-sourness of his pee in 
my mouth and it made me want him until I was filled with a desperate 
longing to be inside him. My own penis was stiffer and bigger than 
it had ever been before, not even when I was a teenager. My scrotum 
was tightened right up and my testicles ached painfully, demanding 
to release their juice into Jason's rectum. I wanted only to fill 
him with my penis and empty my seed into the depths of his young, 
beautiful body. I wanted to possess him totally and absolutely and 
claim his virginity for my prize. I wanted to take him as my lover 
and satisfy his body with my own.

Jason began to writhe with a fearful madness, building up for 
the next orgasm and unable to satisfy the frightening hunger that 
dwelled inside him. His urgent hunger made him keep on bucking his 
body up and down, even though he wanted only to stop and sink into 
the darkness that seemed all around him. Still more pee dribbled 
out of his penis making a dark strain that expanded and grew ever-
wider on the towel. He wanted the feeling to go on forever. He 
wanted to die like this. He wanted to be fucked.

The thought, once ignited in the distant recesses of his mind, 
took possession of him. It was all he had to live for and he cried 
his desire out to me. The desire had been submerged inside him for 
ten years. The desire had been present from the moment he was 
conceived. It came from deep inside his body as a low hiss that 
forced past whatever his guilt and shame remained in him.

"Fuck me... Ohhh god... Fuck me...Pleassse?" he pleaded.

I knew that it would probably never be easier for me to take 
his virginity. My penis was throbbing and pulsing with 
anticipation. It would be so easy to lift his slender, brown legs 
up to his shoulders, lift his buttocks up, and part his mucus-
smeared cheeks. It would be so easy to guide my penis forward to 
the now-very-loose, sucking hole and gradually enter his body until 
we were joined as one. He was ten years old and he was as excited 
as any teenager. He was as ready for sex as he would ever be. It 
was a pity that I had not thought to bring some lubricant with me.

I lifted his legs up and pushed his knees all the way to his 
shoulders to expose his buttocks. His mucus-coated crack was ready 
and waiting for me. Jason looked up at me between his legs, his 
pale-blue eyes were wide open, willing me to penetrate him. His 
mouth was open as he gasped for air. His expression was one of utter 
abandon.

"Are you okay?" I asked gently.

 He nodded. "I... felt like I was coming... over and over 
again. I... never... never thought anything could feel like that. 
It was awesome," he gasped between deep breaths.

I grinned, raising my eyebrows at him, "Did you like that? Was 
it nice?" I teased

The boy grinned cheekily. Already he was over the frantic 
hunger that made him want my penis deep inside his young body. "My 
turn now, okay. Do you want me to suck him?"

I grinned, "I guess. He's yours to do what ever you want."

The boy thought for a second then he smiled shyly as the urge 
rushed back into his mind. "I really do want to do it, you know. 
What Paul and Julien did on the beach,... what we talked about,... 
I want to...fuck okay?" he pleaded.

I solemnly shook my head again and pulled back, moving away 
from him slightly. I kneeled behind his buttocks, almost but not 
quite out of reach. A crystal droplet of pre-cum oozed from my glans 
and hung by a silvery thread as it descended onto Jason's wrinkled, 
little scrotum. It lay there on the boy's crinkled, flattened bulge 
like a glistening diamond.

But it was getting late and if we didn't finish soon we'd 
be descending the mountain in the dark. It was time to get 
dressed and leave. There was always the next day, or the day 
after that. It was just a matter of time. Jason was not happy 
about leaving. Like me, he was perfectly content to stay there, 
for the entire night if need be. Like me, he wanted to continue 
what it meant to be in love. But he aquiesced without a fight, 
knowing that he would spend the night with me aboard Apollo in 
the considerably greater comfort of a bed.  However, both Jason 
and I knew that sooner or later I would put my penis inside him. 
The only reason for our existence was to be joined together, 
with my penis deep inside that wonderful, little bottom of his.


PLATONIC LOVE.

DAY 14, Paros. August, 6 th, 1993

"Intercourse with women procures the reciprocal pleasure of shared 
enjoyment; each partner brings the other to the extremes of bliss and 
both end up equally satisfied. This cannot happen with boys. The 
paederast thinks he is savoring a perfect pleasure; but the outraged object 
of his lust experiences only pain and tears; and even when in time he may 
not feel so much, you still bring him only discomfort and not a grain of 
pleasure..."

Lucian, Dialogues of Love.

Jason and I returned to Paros just as it was getting dark. 
We were both sweaty and more than a bit dirty, but we were also 
hungry. I dropped off the car and Harry convinced us to delay a 
much-needed shower in lieu of dining at his restaurant, dinner 
as his guest. I never turn down a free meal and I escorted Jason 
onto the terrace and resumed my position in my favorite seat.

We were almost finished with the excellent repast that 
Harry's chef provided when Jeff ambled up and interrupted our 
privacy by sitting down and talking to Jason. The boys sounded 
different with their English and American accents but in many 
ways they were similar and they got on well together. Although 
neither of them fully realized it at the time, they had a lot in 
common. They were both gay and both in love though they only 
talked about school and holidays and the things they did, not 
unlike any 'normal' pre-adolescents. The subject of sex was 
lurking in the background but it was never raised directly. And 
yet, I knew that Jeff was aware of my affection for the younger 
boy, my son. He glanced at me and smiled suspiciously as I hung 
on Jason's every word, unable to take my eyes away from his 
beautiful face. Jeff knew what I was feeling!

As the evening trade lessened Harry joined us and Jason and 
Jeff went off to wherever ten-and twelve-year-old boys go to 
when they're bored with adult talk. I told Harry what happened 
on the mountain. He beamed at me and promptly suggested that I 
needed to finish what I had started. It was an awesome 
responsibility and a course of action, that while enticing, also 
frightened me. I told him as much. Harry agreed; 'breaking-in' a 
boy, as he called it, was always like that. It wasn't something 
to be taken lightly.

As the evening wore on we became less restrained, talking 
openly and honestly about our young lovers. I knew that Harry 
was right (again), it was just a matter of time until I took 
that final and irrevocable step with Jason and we truly became 
lovers. It was Harry's cautious suggestion that Jason and I come 
with him to Naxos, to a special place where, as he put it, 'men 
and boys can love each other without shame'. 

When I pressed him, he refused to elaborate. It was a 
secret, and only if I was pledged to secrecy, could he tell me 
more. I agreed, made a solemn promise, and he unfolded a story 
of archaic origin. At the time I was not sure that I believed 
him though there was no reason why he would fabricate the tale. 
That the men of ancient Greece had taken their young boys to a 
secluded place for initiation into homosexual love was not so 
extreme that it was improbable. But the fact that the same place 
had been used consistently and secretly for the same purpose 
over two-and-a-half-thousand years was.

I agreed to go with him and Jeff on Saturday, two days 
away. It was not hard to convince Jason, though I did not 
mention the intended purpose of the trip, beyond camping out and 
taking photographs of both him and Jeff. He was excited as we 
returned to the boat.

That night was a night of love and lust and wonderful sex. 
Almost as soon as we were naked and in bed together, Jason 
wanted to have sex. The memory of what happened on the mountain 
was paramount in his mind. He wanted to go the whole way this 
time and it was difficult to resist his attempt to 'seduce' me. 
Finally I pushed him to one side and lay half-over him, making 
any further movement all but impossible until he quieted down. 
We were both breathing heavily, frightened by the hungry passion 
that threatened to conquer our remaining reason.

"Not now, Jason. Not yet!", I gasped. "I know you want 
to,... so do I,... but you're still way too tight inside. My 
dick would tear you up inside. I know it would. It'd hurt real 
bad, you'd bleed too." I breathed out, still shaking my head. 
"So we'll practice, Jay-boy, we'll practice until you're big 
enough, and when you are, I'll love you as much as you want, 
whenever you want, and however you want."

Jason nodded his head and pushed his bottom lip forward as 
he pouted in disappointment. There was a long silence that 
filled the cabin, pervading the night with a sadness that seemed 
interminable. Both of us breathed deeply as we pulled back from 
the precipice that had loomed up and suddenly confronted us. In 
the dim light, he appeared dark and mysterious and very, very 
sexy.

Finally the boy, knowing that there was nothing he could do 
to convince me, whispered, "Okay, yeah I guess. So how do we 
practice?"

I grinned at him, "Well,... what we have to do is make your 
ass bigger,... so I guess I use my fingers and tongue inside 
you. Don't worry,... I expect the practicing is almost as good 
as the real thing."

"Okay!. I guess so. Can I suck him while we do it?" he 
asked sullenly. "I guess it would hurt pretty much because my 
hole back there is so small, and your dick is really huge."

I laughed, "You're not wrong there, Jas'. It will hurt, but 
by the time we do it, your hole's going to be a whole lot 
bigger. It won't hurt nearly as much as it would if we tried 
now.... You want to keep doing it? Now?" I asked calmly.

He nodded eagerly, no longer angry at me and relieved that 
the pressure had gone. Inside he felt afraid, he knew it would 
hurt when I put it in him. I grinned and turned around and 
positioned myself so that I straddled his head. My thighs were 
over his face and my face was above his groin. I placed his legs 
wide apart, leaving his small, very-hard penis standing exposed. 
It was so hard that even lying down the way he was, his penis 
still didn't lie against his belly. It stood up, nearly parallel 
with the tip about an inch away from his belly. He reached up 
and took my penis in his right hand and pulled it down to his 
mouth. I felt the velvet wetness of his tongue caress it, then 
his lips sucked on the swollen glans and he tried to insert the 
tip of his tongue inside my shaft by pushing it into the slit. 
His other hand went for my testicles. He grasped them tightly in 
his hand, massaging them as his hand squeezed and teased me, 
then used his teeth to nibble behind the swollen bulb of my 
glans. He sucked it inside his mouth and tantalized it with his 
probing, writhing tongue until I felt I was going to come any 
second.

 I pulled back suddenly as I felt the building pressure 
approach the 'point of no return'. Jason giggled. "You were 
going to do it in my mouth, weren't you?" he teased.

"If you don't behave yourself, young man, you'll get a 
mouth full and that'll be all for the rest of the night," I 
replied with pretended seriousness.

We both started to laugh and I went to work on Jason's 
cute, little butt. Jason behaved himself as best a young, gay 
boy can with a penis a few inches in front of his face. I placed 
my hand under his buttocks and parted the small, rounded cheeks 
as he lifted up his pelvis using his legs. I licked my finger 
thoroughly and then cautiously pushed it inside his taut hole. 
He sighed as he felt it sink into his rectum, and began to lick 
and suck my penis ever faster until I dragged it away from his 
mouth.

He giggled again, "I'm sorry, Dad. I'll behave. Come on 
give it back to me!... Pleassee? Your finger feels soooo good in 
there. Do it really fast like before, okay?... You know where I 
like it the most... just inside... but do it deeper too," he 
pleaded.

Laughing, I settled back down over his face and took his 
stubby, stiff penis into my mouth as my finger began to wriggle 
and twist and probe, moving around easily in the loose flesh 
inside his rectum, squelching quietly as it began to stir up the 
boy's mucus and mix with my saliva. This time he held back, just 
licking, and kissing, and sucking on my penis like it was a 
honey-flavored ice-cream. Every few minutes as he felt my body 
tense up and he sensed my orgasm approach, he transferred his 
beautiful mouth to my testicles, sucking one, then the other 
into his mouth, where he performed the most incredible acts 
imaginable.

His own enjoyment was another matter entirely, because I 
took young Jason to the point of orgasm and kept him there for 
long minutes at a time, until I was afraid I'd physically injure 
him, then I'd allow him to slowly back away from the precipice, 
recover his senses for a brief moment before leading him back. 
Jason was in boy-heaven. My forefinger was right up his now-
gaping anus, massaging his prostate into uncontrollable ecstasy. 
My mouth sucked hard on his cock and I used my tongue to torment 
the sensitive, tiny top until he trembled and quaked and his 
little body jerked and writhed relentlessly in a frantic attempt 
to 'fuck' my face. My other hand clenched his tiny testicles, 
squeezing them beyond the threshold of pain and into previously 
unknown delirium. I did it until his tiny eggs felt less like 
firm, little marbles and more like rubber.

The sense of power over him was overwhelming. Jason was my 
beautiful, young catamite who had only one purpose. His body was 
at my total command, every inch of his flesh was mine to enjoy, 
to scintillate, to devour; and I did. After a few more mind-
shattering convulsions, I lost count of how many times he 
shuddered and squealed, and bucked his pelvis upwards, clenching 
my face with his thigh muscles while he drove his hungry, little 
butt down hard onto my finger. The boy craved my mouth as well, 
but his rectum was ravenous. Unable to decide between the two he 
would simply cry for more, harder and faster and deeper, sobbing 
as he gasped for air, unable to stop himself.

After an hour I stopped. It had been unbelievable. Jason 
was on the point of exhaustion. He'd given up on my penis 
earlier, his own raging body demanding his full attention. Now, 
his glistening, naked body was reddened with splotches from my 
love-bites and covered with a sheen of perspiration. There were 
beads of sweat on his belly and chest. His legs were loose and 
flopping, jelly-like on the mattress. His breathing came in 
short pants and his tongue hung out like a dog. His eyes were 
glassy.

Occasionally his penis had begun to subside, but not for 
long because I always went right back to work on it. Now it was 
swollen and puffy and its sensitive, little shaft was visibly 
sore. The silky skin had been rubbed until it was inflamed and 
ruddy-pink. His testicles had no feeling left in them and his 
anus was fully dilated. The mucus that had oozed slowly out of 
his rectum covered the insides of his thighs and buttocks and 
there was a big, dark, wet stain that spread outward on the 
sheet under his back where he'd lost control of his bladder. 
Between his still-twitching legs, tiny stands of mucus coated my 
fingers and hand. I could easily insert two fingers all the way 
inside him and with a little difficulty I could get three 
fingers inside him. My son was as ready as he would ever be.

That he had become so loose as to easily accommodate two of 
my fingers was a surprise in itself. At first, I had not 
expected to even get one finger comfortably inside him, but 
three? If I pushed forcefully, my fingers could penetrate well 
past the second joint until they were lodged like a huge spike 
inside his rectum. The added mass inside him did not appear to 
bother him. When I finally stopped, my wrist was aching and for 
a moment I wondered if he was conscious, but as soon as my 
fingers withdrew just a fraction of an inch and the pressure was 
relieved he whimpered for it to return.

"So what are we gonna do now?" Jason gasped as he smirked 
cheekily.

"Now, it's sleep-time," I laughed as I inspected his watch. 
"Your mom would kill me if she knew I kept you up until way past 
midnight."



The next day I spent with Jason and Jeff at the beach. 
Again, I borrowed Harry's car and took the two boys around to 
the southern end of the island. For the first time, Jason wore 
his new swimming costume and, much to his delight, Jeff was 
quite envious. After a long swim the boys followed me up into 
the woods behind the beach and we sun-bathed for several hours. 
We returned to Paros just before sunset to prepare for the next 
day.

DAY 16, Naxos. August, 8 th, 1993

Harry led the way. I followed. Jason and Jeff followed us. 
We made our way through the thick brush and low scrubby trees. 
Branches scratched at us as we ducked under them and thin, razor-
like grass scraped against our jeans. It was too hot to wear 
jeans but it was better than having our legs cut to ribbons. 
Under the hot, thick denim, I could feel the prickle of the 
heat, the cloth sticking to my legs on a film of sweat. We 
scrambled over huge rocks as we began to descend. The cliff, 
more like an escarpment, seemed very high but was not 
inordinately steep as the path, or what passed as a path, wound 
back and forth and snaked from one side of the gorge to the 
other. The only relief from the heat was the faint breeze that 
lifted up from the sea, far below us.

As we neared the bottom, the trees became taller. Unlike 
the dry heat of the highlands a thousand feet above us, we had 
entered a different world. It was twenty degrees cooler and 
noticeably more humid and the air was filled with the pungent 
odor and the endless sounds of life. The droning hum of a myriad 
insects, the raucous noise of shrieks and screams of birds 
surrounded us. At the top of the cliff, huge cacti abounded, but 
as we descended the plants seemed to be almost of prehistoric 
origin. Out of the rock-face grew ferns that were lush, lime-
green, and abundant. The rock face glistened with a sheen of 
trickling water and the path became muddy.

Nearly at the bottom, the path all but disappeared, then 
turned sharply to the right. It twisted away from the cliff, and 
began to rise again as it penetrated into the high, enclosing 
rock walls of a ravine. After several hundred very-difficult 
yards it appeared to terminate in a wall of solid rock.

Undaunted, Harry moved closer to the cliff, seeking a 
passage that was invisible to the rest of us. There seemed to be 
no way to continue on. Without warning he stopped and unclipped 
the belt of his backpack. He eased it to the ground, then 
stretched, relieved of the heavy load. Without a word, I knew 
that the boys and I should do the same. We had not spoken for 
nearly twenty minutes. It was as if we were afraid that the 
sounds of our voices would destroy the growing sense of awe that 
we felt. He moved closely growing bushes apart and revealed a 
rounded boulder which he rolled to one side. It had concealed a 
narrow trough that darkened quickly as it disappeared under the 
rock.

Dragging our backpacks behind us, we followed Harry down on 
our bellies and into the shallow crevice below a huge boulder. 
Eons ago, it had crashed down from the towering cliffs above us. 
We crawled on our hands and knees pulling and sometimes pushing 
our backpacks though soft, dry sand that was a pale, yellow 
color and finer than any that I had ever seen.

Gradually the roof of our 'cave' became higher and within a 
few more yards we were able to stand. Beyond the boulders, we 
had discovered a secluded clearing. One all sides, rock walls 
towered above us. The fourth side was enclosed by high trees and 
dense, dark-green undergrowth and the rock under which we had 
passed. It was a captivating place, full of timeless mystery. 
For more than a minute we stopped at the cave-like opening 
beneath the vast boulder and sensed the magic. It was a sacred 
place. The sounds of the bush were muted. Except for the splash 
of water trickling into a large, dark pool of water and the 
sound of our own breathing, it was silent. We had gone back a 
two-and a half thousand years, to Hellenic times, to the chaotic 
world of the Greeks, of Plato and Socrates.

We had left the rest of the world behind us. Here, there 
was just the four of us, two men and two boys. I wondered 
whether Greek warriors had come here with their young lovers for 
a long-forgotten rite of initiation and lust. I smiled as I 
mused whether the ancient Greeks had circumcised their boys. 
Many ancient cultures had inflicted terrible and painful rituals 
on their young boys as a rite of manhood. In the silence and 
mystery of the place, one could almost hear the muffled gasps as 
boys stifled their screams of pain. It was easy to imagine razor-
sharp, bronze knives cutting into tiny, tender foreskins, 
incising into small, brown penises, bringing each boy into the 
world of men. Then I remembered the statues I had seen in 
museums and it was impossible not to smile at my own stupidity. 
Greek boys were never circumcised. They were far too civilized 
to inflict that barbaric custom on the boys they adored.

No, I decided, the cries were from other tortures, not of 
pain as much as pleasure, the insurmountable, unimaginable, and 
unforgettable joy that comes from being loved. That realization 
came as I saw the phallus. It was carved from stone and as tall 
as my son. Dominant and aggressively erect, it was a triumphant 
symbol of manhood that was frightening in its simplicity. It was 
the only sign that others had been here before us. It was 
positioned before the entrance to a cave, a dark grotto whose 
interior contained the secrets of two-and-a-half-thousand years. 
That the grotto harbored mysteries within and had always been 
associated with the gods of ancient Greece, was not a question 
for mere mortals such as ourselves.

"Neat place, isn't it?" Jeff observed with a knowing smirk.

But despite his cheeky playfulness, his voice was filled 
with awe. It was the same awe that the rest of us felt, but 
could not find the words to express. It was a "neat" place. Jeff 
grinned at Harry and they exchanged knowing smiles. Harry turned 
towards me and raised his eyebrows quizzically. I appreciated 
that he knew what transpired between us, a father and his son, 
just as I knew the true relationship between him and his 
grandson. I breathed out slowly, gaining confidence and losing 
some of my fear. With shock, I realized that my sigh was not of 
exhaustion but of relief. He knew. Jeff knew. We all knew, 
except for Jason.

"You boys know what happens now?" Harry asked softly.

Jeff and Jason exchanged looks. Jeff clearly understood why 
he was here. It was far more than simply posing for a few 
photographs. Jason, naive, still largely innocent, looked 
baffled. Jeff nodded, catching his 'father's' eyes shamelessly, 
then smirking as he acknowledged the role he filled. He knew 
exactly what happened in the grotto. He had been here many times 
since he was ten-years-old.

I laughed. "How about you, Jason?" I queried my son. 

"I guess. Like you said. You take photos of us in the raw." 
He shrugged. "I'm game, I guess," he added uncertainly.

He shifted on his feet uncomfortably and more than a bit 
awkwardly. He swallowed, glancing at Jeff and Harry. His 
inhibitions gathered, fighting against his natural inclination. 
He had enjoyed being photographed during the long hours we had 
spent together the previous day. He had enjoyed being naked, he 
had relished the freedom and the shared intimacy. He had 
scampered and frolicked with gay abandon at Super-Paradise 
Beach. He had enjoyed every second of what had happened after 
that, from later in the evening as we sat outside to now. What 
had begun sometime in the early hours of the first morning had 
changed him forever. It had happened again and again during the 
five days and nights that followed. In those all-too-short days 
he had been transformed from a little child to a lusty boy. He 
had discovered what love was.

 But this was different. This was very different. This was 
in front of Jeff and Harry. They would see him naked and they 
would see what he had been doing with his own father. They would 
know he had sinned and it would no longer be a secret. The 
little reddish marks on his buttocks and thighs were the 
evidence of my love bites, of what we did together.

Harry smiled at the boy reassuringly, then at me. He looked 
at my son objectively and then he took a deep breath. "Maybe 
when he's a bit older. Perhaps a few months would be better. 
There's no rush for a boy to grow up. He's only ten, isn't he?" 
he asked.

I nodded and looked at Jason lovingly. So much had happened 
during the last few days. He had changed so much. He had started 
to grow up but he was still a little boy at the same time. In my 
memories he would always be a little boy in the ways that 
mattered.

"I'm sure you've got nothing to be ashamed of, Jason," 
Harry teased gently. "Besides, I think we've all seen dicks by 
now. Yours is just one dick among many and no one is ever going 
to see us here."

Jason giggled and looked down at his feet self-consciously. 
I knew exactly what was bothering him but I didn't know what to 
do about it. Jeff grinned at his friend's embarrassment. "So do 
we strip off now?" he asked. He answered his own question as he 
began to undress. With expert movements that seemed effortless, 
he lifted up his arms as he drew his white, cotton tee shirt 
upward. He grinned again, cheekily, as he tossed the balled-up 
cloth to his 'father'. Jeff glanced around at the three of us, 
still dressed, watching him undress in obvious and unhindered 
fascination. He was a beautiful boy with a perfect body. He was 
tanned, a luxurious, golden brown, his back a little darker than 
his front.

His muscles, still boyish, were much better developed than 
Jason's. He looked much stronger than my son though Jason was 
only a four or five inches shorter. Jeff was sturdy, almost 
stocky, not fat but lithe like a tiger. He was wonderfully sexy. 
I watched his brown chest rise and fall with each increasingly 
excited breath. He was very aware of the effect that he had on 
me. It was the same effect that he had on his 'father'.My penis 
became harder and longer as I anticipated seeing the rest of his 
body.

His jeans hung low, gripping his hips several inches below 
his navel. For a moment he fumbled with the metal button and 
zipper. I watched in mute disbelief as he opened the front and 
tugged his jeans downward to his feet. I watched as he pulled 
his shoes and socks off his feet. I watched trying to glimpse 
his genitals, wondering how big he was, but I saw nothing as he 
leaned forward. I watched the boy pull his jeans off as he 
balanced himself by leaning against his 'father'. When he 
straightened up again, he was naked except for his underpants. 
The difference between Jeff and my son was now very, very 
obvious. The nearly naked boy smiled at us teasingly. I knew I 
was erect. I would have been surprised if Harry was not. I 
wondered about Jason. There was a small, but very prominent 
bulge in the Jeff's underpants. It was a promissory note of 
things to come.

It was a beautiful sight. Strangely, the twelve-year-old 
boy had not become aroused. He breathed slowly, rocking to and 
fro on the balls of his feet, and he smiled slowly, knowingly 
looking at Harry. Again, with a well-practised motion he slid 
his briefs down his thighs, then pushed them downwards, until 
they fell of their own accord to the ground. He stepped out of 
them. Now naked. Now free. Now irresistibly and intensely 
exciting. It was all that I could do to drag my eyes away from 
the warm, brown body only a few feet away.

Jason was still dressed. He looked at me helplessly, 
visibly embarrassed. I knew he was thinking of the little 
reddened marks that I had left on his belly and thighs. Marks of 
love, of passion, of unbridled lust. I also knew that he was 
thinking of his immature sex organs. He was ten-years-old and 
still a -little- boy. 

I smiled weakly. "I think old Jason is a bit embarrassed," 
I said quietly. I realized that it was a stupid thing to say 
even as I said it. "He's still pretty small down there," I added.

"Huh?" Jeff asked playfully. He smirked cheekily.

"He's a bit worried you'll laugh at him," I added. "I think 
he's also worried you'll know he's been having sex." There it 
was. Out in the open at last. Almost a week, six days of shame 
and guilt laid bare. If I guessed right, it was anything but a 
shock for Jeff and Harry.

Harry grinned. "I doubt whether Jeff cares and, for that 
matter, I certainly don't." He playfully tousled his lover's 
hair. "I don't think he's particularly interested in girls. At 
least not yet. And he won't be if I have anything to do about 
it."

Jeff smirked back at Harry with a broad cheeky grin. It was 
a knowing look that conveyed an unnatural intimacy. I paused, 
searching for the words that I really needed to say, realizing 
as I did so that both Harry and his grandson had come to the 
'natural' conclusion that Jason had sex with another male. I 
knew I was the only candidate and it made me feel strangely 
proud. A week earlier I would have been appalled at my reaction.

"This is different. Jason is pretty sure he's gay." I 
paused again and caught my son's eyes. I sensed his shame. I 
knew he was afraid of being rejected.

"So what, that's nothing to be ashamed about," Jeff giggled 
teasingly. "I might be too. I probably am and it doesn't bother 
me. It's still too soon to tell, but I hope I am."

I nodded as I placed my arm around my son's small shoulders 
protectively. "So why is he embarrassed?" Jeff asked.

I smiled. "He's only just turned ten. He knows boys at the 
school he goes to will make fun of him if they find out he's 
gay. Sometimes there are fights. Even if a boy is suspected of 
being gay, they beat him up."

"Yuck," Jeff breathed out. "They're dumb, Jason. Don't 
worry about what they think. Just do what you want to do." 

My son nodded slightly. It was impossible not to look at 
Jeff. He was naked, shameless, and uninhibited. His brown, 
smooth skin was exposed in its entirety. His body was on the 
verge of puberty with just the faintest downy fluff on his 
groin. His testicles were flushed, ready for the coming 
onslaught of manhood and the demands of maturity. In the next 
few months the changes would be nothing short of miraculous as 
the boy began the process of becoming a man. Already his 
testicles looked heavy in the pale, pink folds of his small 
scrotum but his testicles would get bigger and bigger until they 
could fulfill their mission, sending testosterone surging 
through his body and his seed spurting out of his penis.

Jeff's penis was becoming harder and longer and ready for 
action even as I looked. The boy giggled as his small fingers 
expertly retracted the well-stretched foreskin past the still-
tiny pink tip by pushing down on his fat, swollen shaft, feeling 
it throbbing, quivering, and very alive under his fingers. 
Instinctively, his small buttocks clenched as he tensed in 
anticipation. His scrotum began to tighten despite the heat 
until it was a rounded, delicate lump beneath his now rigid 
penis. Like his penis, he was substantially larger that Jason in 
the testicle department as well. The bronzed body was 
uninterrupted and it was very apparent that Jeff spent a lot of 
time without clothes on.

Jeff glanced at Jason who was now undressing slowly, 
removing his tee shirt with deliberate caution. He smiled at the 
younger boy encouragingly. "There's nothing to be ashamed about, 
Jason. You're going to have to show us sooner or later so you 
might as well get it over with. Show us your dick, come on. 
Don't be a baby, huh?" he teased.

Bare to the waist, the difference between the two boys was 
even more apparent. Jason was slender with narrow hips and 
shoulders. His navel seemed to be lower on his belly than Jeff's 
and it changed his proportions dramatically and to great 
advantage. The gentle contour of his body was timeless. He was 
ethereal Ganymede, beautiful Hyacinthe, young Adonis. His soft 
skin was several shades lighter than Jeff's and his buttocks 
were pale.

Both Harry and I laughed. "He's right, you know Jason," I 
added. 

Harry nodded. "We understand you know. These things happen 
and it's nothing to be ashamed about. You're really no different 
to any other boy. I bet it's just a bit smaller, that's all."

Jason nodded, reassured somewhat but still very reluctant. 
He sat down clumsily on the ground, trying to delay the 
inevitable as he fumbled with his shoelaces. It seemed to take 
forever for him to remove his socks and shoes. Unlike Jeff, who 
had left his clothes lying where they happened to fall, Jason 
fastidiously rolled his socks up and inserted them into his 
shoes. He looked up at me uncertainly, his eyes pleading for me 
to help him. His small fingers seemed to shake nervously as he 
tried to unfasten the button. It took forever. He pulled the 
zipper about half way down and stopped. He was unwilling and 
unable to go further. He swallowed. His toes curled over and his 
knees drew together, instinctively protecting himself, yet 
serving only to draw attention to his groin.

There was little that i could do to help short of leaving 
with Jason. Sooner or later the boy would have to accept what 
had been done to him and go on with his life. I nodded gently. 
"It's okay," I said quietly. "You don't have to undress if you 
don't want to."

Suddenly, forcefully, Jason tugged his jeans down his 
slender legs and past his feet. I could see the boy's face 
becoming redder as he realized that both Jeff and Harry were 
staring fixedly at the small bulge between his legs. I smiled 
and extended my hand to my son. Gratefully, he accepted it and I 
lifted him up so that he stood before him. Except for his briefs 
he was naked but those few square inches of bright red nylon 
were the most important inches of all. 

I squatted down before him and placed my hands on the boy's 
small hips. I could feel the bony mounds with my finger tips. My 
thumbs stroked his lower belly soothingly, barely an inch or two 
away from the boy's groin. I felt very close to him. I smiled at 
him reassuringly and then slowly worked the boy's briefs 
downwards with small playful tugs, revealing just and inch or 
two until I was halfway down his thighs. I pushed the last 
vestige of my son's modesty all the way to his feet as he 
blushed bright crimson. 

Harry nodded appreciatively as his eyes ran over the naked 
boy. Up and down, expertly assessing, examining, drawn back 
again and again to his groin. "He's perfect,... absolutely 
beautiful..." he breathed out in open admiration.

Jeff looked at the younger boy. Unable to quell his rising 
jealousy, he blurted out, " But his dick, it's pretty small, 
isn't it."

Harry laughed. "With his looks he doesn't need anything 
down there." Jason reddened even further and Harry laughed again 
at the boy's discomfiture. "Well you are beautiful Jason. Do you 
think it really matters that you're gay? Because I'm glad you 
are."

Jason pursed his lips, then compressed them tightly. "You 
don't think it looks too small. I've got the smallest dick of 
any boy I know. I don't even look like a boy, well at least not 
like him,... down there," he added glancing at Jeff's thighs.

Harry looked towards me. "I don't think it's small at all," 
he answered. "I think you're very lucky."

"Lucky?" Jason asked. "I hate being like this," he said 
resentfully. "Why does it have to be so small? Why can't it be 
bigger? Well, like his is?" he added, pointing at Jeff's groin. 
"Why does mine have to be the baby one? I wouldn't call me lucky 
at all."

Harry nodded reassuringly. "I know how you feel, Jason. In 
a way that's very important to me, you are lucky. Right now I'm 
sure you hate being small down there but not every man likes a 
boy to have a big penis. Sometimes being small is special too, 
in fact very special. In a few years when Jeff matures, he'll 
have a much bigger penis than you. But not only that, his 
testicles will be much bigger too and he'll have orgasms that 
make a real mess all over the place. That in itself isn't bad, 
but he'll probably have hair all over him and pimples 
everywhere. Unless I'm much mistaken there'll be a lot of hair 
around his penis. Personally, I don't think that you'll be like 
that when you're older. Then you'll understand why I think 
you're lucky." He looked at me meaningfully. "I think your dad 
understands."

I nodded, wondering how long it had been, a bit less than a 
week since I had first seen Jason at the airport. 'My son the 
wimp'. How could I have looked at the beautiful, little boy and 
been so wrong. The softness, the gentleness, the quiet, fragile 
boy, all the things that drew me to him and made me hunger for 
the touch of his body against mine. "He understands," I said 
simply, acknowledging the undeniable truth of Harry's 
observation. 

"So what? So what if I don't get lots of hair down there," 
Jason persisted. But now he was curious. Perhaps there was 
something to it. Perhaps his diminutive penis and testicles had 
an unrealized value. It could never be more than poor 
compensation, but anything was better than nothing.

"So what if my penis doesn't get a lot bigger. Why is that 
important?" Jason asked curiously.

"Because a lot men who like boys like them like that. It's 
because,... well they are attracted to them because they are 
boys and when a boy starts to grow up, they usually lose 
interest. A boy isn't as interesting,... sexy if you like, when 
he looks more like a man than a boy." Harry answered, then 
added, "Personally, I like my boys to look like boys, not 
gorillas."

Jason giggled and blushed slightly as he looked sideways at 
me. I knew what he was thinking. I smiled at him. "He's right," 
I said quietly.

I swallowed, remembering the very first night I had spent 
with Jason. The very first time, in the middle of the night, 
when I awoke to find Jason standing by the side of my bunk, 
drawing his smooth, naked body down beside me, embracing him 
with a hug that revealed more passion than a father should ever 
feel for his son. I remembered how my hands had stroked his soft 
back and thighs, getting ever nearer to his buttocks until my 
fingertips had brushed lightly against the warm, soft cheeks. 
The thrill returned and I knew an unbridled, uncontrolled 
excitement as I caressed his tiny scrotum. I was never more 
aware of the pounding of my heart as I carefully eased his 
little white underpants over his thighs.

"Hey Dad! Can we go explore the cave? Please?" Jason asked 
as soon as he stepped free of his underpants

I shrugged and glanced at Harry. It would be nice to a have 
a little privacy from two inquisitive boys while we undressed. 
Harry shook his head. Jeff interrupted before Harry could reply 
to my question.

"You can't go in there, Jason," Jeff stated. "Not yet! 
You're still a virgin and it's not allowed."

I saw Harry smirk. "What's the deal?" I asked.

Harry nodded. "Jeff's right. There are a few rules here. 
One of them is that boy-virgins aren't allowed to go past the 
guardian. Until he loses it, Jason can't go inside. Jeff's been 
inside many times, of course. It's quite,... uh,... interesting."

"The guardian?" I questioned. "Oh! So that's the guardian," 
I said as I recognized the function of the enormous phallic 
symbol. "So what are the other rules?"

"So what's a virgin?" Jason demanded. "How come Jeff can go 
inside but I can't?"

I smiled as Jeff began to grin. "Because he hasn't put his 
dick inside your ass, yet, that's why. You're a virgin until he 
does," Jeff teased the younger boy.

"What are the other rules?" I persisted.

"Jeff's right," Harry acknowledged. "Maybe tomorrow 
morning, you can go in Jason," he suggested as he glanced 
knowingly at me. "The other rules. Hmmmm! Help me out Jeff. The 
first rule you both already know. You can never tell anyone else 
about this place. The second rule you also know now. The third 
rule is pretty simple, no one can wear clothes beyond this 
point."

"You come as nature made you," Jeff interrupted again with 
a cheeky grin. "And a boy must leave a gift of great value after 
he comes here for the first time,... that is if he's not a 
virgin any longer."

"There are a few others as well," Harry added, "but that's 
enough for now."

He started to unfasten his belt and zipper and I followed 
suite, undressing before two very-interested boys. A minute or 
so later we were all naked and our natural state was exactly 
that, natural. I was surprised how quickly I got used to be 
naked before Jeff and Harry. There was no shame or 
embarrassment, just a very pleasant and relaxed sense of 
freedom. We folded our clothes, placed them on a rock shelf and 
went out into the sun. The heat of the long walk down the side 
of the mountain had made us all hot and we followed the 
whooping, screaming boys into the pool. It was remarkably 
refreshing.

Boy watching was quickly becoming by far my favorite 
pastime. I could easily spend the rest of my life watching 
Jason. Even Jeff was worthy of my attention, but having the two 
boys together was an added bonus since they interacted and 
prompted behavior that would have been unlikely from either one 
alone. They swam and chased each other, they played in the sand, 
they sun-bathed, they swam some more. As the heat of the day 
began to fade, they wrestled. They wrestled with a crude, raw 
sexuality that was increasingly uninhibited as they become more 
used to the contact of their naked bodies and the admiring looks 
of two men.

Jeff was careful never to hurt Jason and always held his 
strength back. He never lost a fight, but he never used more 
strength than was necessary to subdue my son. I was proud of 
Jason nonetheless. He fought valiantly, returning to be defeated 
and thrown onto his back within a few minutes of commencing 
every attack. It was good for him. He needed the company of a 
boy who was close to his own age and the opportunity for 
physical contact allowed him to 'burn off' excess energy, both 
as calories and sexual interest.

"They're good together," Harry observed. "Have you ever 
noticed how a boy craves to be touched when he's excited. Look 
at Jason, Jeff too, for that matter. The only reason they're 
wrestling is to be able to touch each other. It's a nice way to 
get rid of their hang-ups. They can feel good without the 
pressure of sexual feelings. It's good for them, but if we 
weren't here, they would be having sex, you know."

"How can you be so sure, Harry? It looks to me as if 
they're just having some fun together," I said innocently. "I 
don't think Jason is interested in Jeff like that."

"You're probably right. Jason's love-sick, if ever a boy 
was. But watch him, he still doesn't mind when Jeff touches his 
penis. See, there, he's smiling while Jeff's pushing it against 
his belly."

"You know, Harry, it really doesn't bother me like I would 
expect. I mean, well,... I should be jealous. If it was Tina I 
would be furious, but Jeff and Jason, well I don't think it's 
not wrong."

"What if they had sex?" Harry teased. "Do you think you'd 
mind then?"

"I don't know. We've already discussed that, I think," I 
counteracted.

"In a way we have. For some boys, for a boy like Jason it 
may even be better for him if his first experience occurs with 
someone his own age. The emotional stress isn't there and he's 
free to explore how he feels. I guess it's better for him 
because he learns at his own rate."

"You're probably right. I'm still not certain that I could 
do that to Jason, even if he was older. He trusts me, Harry, and 
I love him too much to hurt him," I acknowledged.

"There's a saying, it goes something like 'it's better for 
a boy to learn to ride the colt, before he rides the stallion.' 
Those aren't the exact words but you get the general idea."

"Jeff and Jason, and Jeff's the colt, huh?" I mused, "You 
know, Harry the idea isn't a bad one... Would Jeff?"

Harry shrugged. "Probably, if I asked him. I know he's 
played around with some of the other boys at school. It's only 
natural for him to be curious, though he was younger then. He's 
quieted down a fair bit since then. Remember what I said about 
what it meant to love a boy? In fact, you said it as well. Sex 
is really unnecessary if you love him. Just being with him is 
enough if the love between you is strong."

"Huh? Oh! I know I said that. It's really all about the 
depth of one's feelings isn't it? I guess the test is whether I 
love him enough to give him his freedom. Whether I can stand by 
and know he's having sex with someone else because it's better 
for him. Like with Jeff."

"That's the question in a way. It reduces to that because 
if he really loves you, then he won't want to have sex with 
anyone else," Harry said quietly. 

"But you just said that Jeff,..."

"I said he did when he was younger. In the first year, he 
was free to do what he wanted. He roamed a bit and then he 
settled down. The worst he does now is flirt a bit, but most 
boys do that. I think it's his way of testing himself, of 
finding out how much he loves me."

I smiled. "So I've noticed. It doesn't annoy you, Harry?"

"To be honest? Of course it does. I'm scared I'll lose him. 
He's growing up so fast. The last year has been wonderful. 
Unfortunately his hormones are getting ready to kick into high 
gear. He'll be a young man in a couple of years. It's rather 
sad."

"Yeah, I couldn't help noticing his balls. He's going to be 
quite a stud in a few years from the look of him," I laughed. 

"Well, if you find you can't do the deed, I guess Jeff will 
do it. Jason's old enough and I think he's probably big enough 
to go the distance, that is if you're careful with him," Harry 
said as he studied the two boys with visible affection.

I knew that Harry was right. Of course, he had to be right 
because he had a lot more experience that I did. Jason was 
smiling, grinning actually, as Jeff straddled him and his thighs 
were moving as he pumped his hips back and forth. His partially 
erect penis was rubbing against Jason's stomach. The difference 
between the two boys had never been more visible. Jeff was the 
one on top. He was dominant and aggressive, his male sexuality 
openly and proudly displayed in his thickened penis. Even half 
erect, it was every bit of four-and-a-half inches long, and much 
thicker than Jason's so that it appeared several times larger. 
Unlike my son, Jeff was a well-endowed boy, and proud of the 
fact.

Jason, perhaps by virtue of his age and size, but more 
likely because of his true nature, was the subordinate partner. 
What he lacked in aggressiveness and masculinity, he more than 
compensated for with his gentle and sensitive nature. He was an 
easy boy to love. I watched in mute amazement and with 
considerable enjoyment as Jason's small hands caressed the older 
boy. I was fascinated by my son's playful exploration of his 
friend's body as much as by the sheer enjoyment that the two 
boys shared. Unable to resist the temptation any longer, I 
picked up my camera and began to photograph them together.

Through the lens, the boys' innocent touching took on a new 
light. It was a game to them, as only young boys can invent, but 
I was the interloper, spying on their gentle play. Each little 
penis became larger and harder and the game became more 
stimulating as the minutes progressed, until finally Jeff 
twisted onto his back and Jason straddled him. Shamelessly 
ignoring both Harry and me, Jason leaned forward and licked the 
tip of Jeff's now-rigid penis. It was harmless fun, the 
culmination of a long battle between the boys, a fight that 
Jason had lost and his punishment was Jeff's gain. It was a fair 
trade.

Both Harry and I laughed as Jeff flipped him over to one 
side and sharply slapped the younger boy's buttocks several 
times. Jason yelped and pretended to be injured though only his 
pride had been wounded. He brushed himself off and wandered over 
to where we sat in the shade. He smiled at me shyly, a little 
embarrassed at having been watched as he performed Jeff's 
playfully imposed penalty. I shrugged and then smiled at him 
reassuringly. He needed to be friends with a boy like Jeff. He 
needed to be drawn out of his 'shell' and to accept who and what 
he was. He needed someone close to his own age who he could talk 
to, who could understand his feelings and help him deal with the 
problems of being gay. He was gay and Jeff was gay and between 
the two of them they could hold the world at bay.


PLATONIC LOVE.

I knew that there were times that a lover, or a father, 
could not substitute for a young friend. I wanted Jason to love 
me as much as I loved him but I also knew that I would have to 
share him. When we were together I wanted to possess him 
totally, still, I did not want him to depend on me totally. He 
had to have something to call his own. I sighed as I regarded 
Jason carefully, scrutinizing his young body. Perhaps it would 
be better as Harry had suggested, to let him 'ride the colt 
before he rode the stallion'. Afterwards, if he was still 
interested, then maybe we could take that step together. But 
then he would know the consequences of our love and I would not 
be taking advantage of him.

"You angry?" Jason asked nervously.

"Me? Angry? I thought you and Jeff looked great together. 
The two of you make a good pair. I'm glad you're friends with 
him, Jas'."

"Yeah?" he asked uncertainly. "I thought you'd be angry 
with me for messing around with him."

I shook my head in denial. "I could never be angry with you 
for enjoying what nature gave you to enjoy, Jay-boy. That's the 
reason it's there for, you know."

Jason smiled as Jeff ambled up and put his arm around the 
younger boy's shoulders. It was a naturally affectionate gesture 
from one boy to another, but, unlike my loving hugs, it was 
devoid of real intimacy. I realized then that the possibility of 
Jason discovering his true self with another boy, of losing his 
virginity to Jeff, was very remote. No, it was impossible. Jeff 
liked him, he did not love him, and the feeling was mutual. The 
best the two boys would ever be was close friends and 
confidants. That was enough.

"How about you two boys gathering some wood for a fire," 
Harry suggested. "It'll be dark shortly and we need to get 
dinner ready."

Jeff and Jason nodded as one, any sexual arousal replaced 
by a close familiarity with each other's body and the desire to 
accommodate Harry's request. Obediently they went in search of 
firewood. 

Harry and I started to inflate the air-mattresses. It was a 
thankless task at the time, though one whose benefits would be 
realized during the night. The thought of sleeping on the rough 
ground, even on the sand, was not attractive to me. I huffed and I 
puffed for all I was worth, lowing into the metal valve until I was 
breathless. Oh how I wished I could have brought the air pump that 
I used aboard Apollo for inflating the rubber dinghy. Still, there 
was some enjoyment in is, watching the two naked boys dragging back 
large dry branches from their forages into the bushes, returning 
with armfuls of twigs and sticks of all sizes. The boys were in 
their element and I resolved to spend as much time with Jason naked 
as I possibly could.

As darkness began to settle, the boys constructed a fire. 
Rather, Jeff, ever the expert, instructed Jason, ever the neophyte, 
in the ritualistic laying of grass and twigs. The act of lighting 
was performed by the older boy, needless to say. Harry began to 
prepare dinner and I settled back and enjoyed the pleasant warmth 
of the crackling fire. Both boys were dirty and needed a bath as 
much as any other time in their lives. There were streaks of dirt 
on their legs, even muddy smears on their bellies, and a thin, dusty 
layer of grime from head to toe. In the idyllic, arcadian setting, 
there was an ethereal and primitive aura about both boys. Their 
nudity was unpretentious, all signs of society stripped away until 
only the primal child remained. For the first time I was 
overwhelmed by Jason's innocence. He was guileless and ingenuous, 
his unadorned body a sublime study in form. He was a splendid 
creature of nature. I loved him dearly.

Dinner consisted of thick, spicy sausages and fresh tomatoes, 
washed down by cold beers we retrieved from the pool. Even Jason 
drank, finishing half of my can before he burped loudly. The next 
two hours passed quickly as we lounged before the fire. Jason lay 
before me on our air-mattress, his little buttocks pressed back 
against my groin, his head snuggled into my shoulder as my arm 
provided his pillow. He was content just to lie still and feel the 
warmth of my body.

The same could not be said for Jeff. Ever audacious, 
profligate, and outrageous, Jeff set about seducing Harry in front 
of us. His display was lewd and calculated, a blatant display of 
young sexuality as he cuddled, petted, dandled and burrowed against 
Harry. Harry indulged him, obviously proud of his lover's 
attentions and not afraid to return his caresses with pampering 
fondling of his own. 

Yet it was impossible not to recognize Jeff's coquetry for 
what it was. It was more that mere flirtation, his wanton actions 
were intended to excite both Jason and myself. Speaking for myself, 
he was very successful and my penis grew harder and bigger with 
every minute until it snuggled comfortably into Jason's crack. 
Finally, even Jason's inhibition collapsed and his hand tugged on 
mine, leading it down to play with his little, very-aroused 
genitals.

It was an archaic ritual, a process of eliminating societal 
taboos until only the raw and unrestrained desire remained and 
intercourse was no longer prohibited. Jeff's sexuality became 
increasingly brazen and crude, though never vulgar. He straddled 
Harry, grinding his excited genitals against the man's belly and 
chest as he moved with unabashed desire. In the flickering light 
from the fire, it was like a rite from a ceremony of initiation, 
though devoid of liturgy, it was a celebration of man-boy love.

Jason and I watched silently, as Jeff reached behind him and 
covered Harry's now-huge erection with olive oil, moving his hand 
expertly up and down the swollen, glistening shaft until it 
attained the apogee of stiffness. Then Jeff, not even twelve-years-
old, still immature like Jason, knelt over Harry. He pushed 
backwards, wiggling his pelvis as the enormous penis forced its way 
into his rectum. I felt Jason's body shudder, a sympathetic 
response to his friend's impalement. Like a lance, it skewered him, 
piercing his anus swiftly and then punching upward as Jeff's gasped 
and labored, straining as the inflexible monster was driven into 
him.

"Is it hurting him, Dad?" Jason whispered.

"I,... I don't know, Jas'. It doesn't look like it," I replied 
softly.

And then it was contained inside the handsome boy, the boy 
whose company I enjoyed so much. He looked fatigued as he sat 
astride his 'father', his expression solemn as he struggled to 
accept its presence, to adapt to the demanding pressure in his 
bowel. There had been no coercion, no commands, he had been 
compelled only by his own desire. He rested for a full minute and 
then he began to move, riding like a jockey on a powerful stallion. 
At first just his pelvis moved, rotating slowly and then 
vellicating as the tension faded in his anus.

"He's doing it," Jason murmured. "He's doing it, isn't he, 
Dad?"

I nodded and gently squeezed Jason's penis between my fingers. 
His erection was very stiff, unyielding to the pressure in my 
fingers. Jason's hips eased backward, compressing my penis firmly 
into his crack and his upper leg lifted up, giving me free access 
to his genitals. Gently, I began to masturbate him, tugging the 
skin back and forth over his swollen glans with each jerk.

We watched together, engrossed in the wonder of what 
confronted us. We saw Jeff's motions become faster, each lunge back 
more intense than the preceding one, increasingly desperate until 
Harry took his intended role and began to thrust into Jeff's body 
with forceful, vicious jabs, lifting Jeff into the air and 
eliciting long cries of unparalleled ecstasy. Their orgasms came 
with seconds of each other, their sweat-slicked bodies straining 
into a frightening, frenzied orgy. Jeff collapsed, breathless and 
exhausted, his body shaking feverishly as his excitement subsided. 

 Silently, Harry eased Jeff forward. There was a distinct, 
loud, sucking sound as his penis pulled free from the spent boy, 
his energy consumed, his urge depleted. Harry smiled at me as he 
stood up. It was a smile of triumph, of complete and utter 
satisfaction. He leaned forward and pulled Jeff to his feet. The 
boy teetered precariously, enfeebled his arm sought Harry's, and 
together they left the circle of light. 

Jason and I were alone. The fire crackled noisily, sending a 
myriad sparks into the darkness. There was nothing I could say to 
Jason. He needed to make up his own mind.

"Dad?...." he whispered after long minutes of shared silence.

"Yes?" I said softly.

"It was beautiful, wasn't it? What they did wasn't wrong or 
bad was it?" he asked uncertainly.

I shook my head. "Most people would say that it was, Jas'. But 
it really isn't any of their business what Harry and Jeff do 
together." 

"Or us too, right Dad?" Jason asked. "You want to do that to 
me, don't you?"

I breathed out slowly. "Maybe, when you're older."

"Jeff told me Dad,... he started when he was my age. He did 
it on his birthday."

"Well, you're not Jeff, and I'm not Harry," I replied.

Jason twisted away from my and rolled onto his back. The 
golden glow of the fire made his slender body appear mysterious and 
very appealing. It was an aphrodisiac that aroused the most intense 
passion with me. He was like a young, beautiful animal, he exuded 
a carnal sexuality, his intentions clearly amorous as he gazed at 
me with a lascivious grin. He was a sensual boy, his ardent desire 
revealed in his very-hard penis. He breathed slowly, his eyes 
locking on mine, willing me to take him, to love him, to penetrate 
him.

"Jason...." I whispered uncertainly.

I could not find the words I needed. He reached out to me 
fervently, the look on his face impassioned, a prurient grin as his 
hands closed on my wrists. He wanted what I wanted. I lifted his 
legs upward, pressing his knees into his shoulders. He nodded, 
taking one deep breath after the other as his excitement increased.

Then even as I started to bring my penis closer to his uplifted 
ass, wondering whether I should lubricate it with the olive oil 
that Harry and Jeff had left next to fire, I realized shamefully 
that if I did it would be impossible for me not penetrate him. I 
also knew that I could never leave my son torn and bleeding. I 
glanced down at Jason's throbbing, little penis as mine pushed 
between his cheeks and brushed against his hot, sweat-moistened 
hole. I knew I couldn't do it, I could never hurt him like that, 
and I knew it would hurt him because he was obviously way too small 
to do it without a lot of pain.

"Go on," he prompted. "I want,... you to."

I smiled at him reassuringly. "I do too," I said gently. "I 
just don't want to hurt you," I added nervously.

"It's okay... If it's too bad, I'll tell you,... and you can 
stop."

I drooled spit onto my fingers and pressed them into his crack 
and then I rubbed my penis around the boy's hole and covered the 
tip of it with the slick, slippery juice of my saliva. Jason 
grinned, a weak, almost senseless grin, then his teeth clenched and 
his face contorted as he waited for the pain to begin. He wanted 
my penis inside his body but he was horribly scared of being hurt 
by it. I moved my glans around his anus and pressed forward slightly 
into the soft, loose button to test the elasticity of his anus. 
While the boy's opening was not as tight as it had been only a day 
earlier, there was no way my penis was going to go easily into him.

Jason looked at me, his eyes questioning mine as he searched 
for the answer he wanted to hear. I shook my head and the boy's 
eyes flashed as he angrily grabbed for my penis and tried to pull 
it into him. I reached between us and held his small hand in mine. 
He calmed down as his urgent desire faded. Little tears formed in 
the corners of his eyes and threatened to become bigger. He 
tottered at the brink.

"Do it, please Dad? I want you to put it up me...now...okay? 
I don't care if it hurts. I'll be okay. Just put him in me," the 
boy sobbed as he felt despair growing in his belly as his desire 
was thwarted.

He stretched back into the pillows, his small penis was limp 
and lying soft and relaxed against his smooth thigh but his desire 
was still strong. Playfully, I lifted his slender legs upward to 
his chest. The two globes of his buttocks parted slightly and 
revealed his deep crack glistening with the wetness we had made 
together. I slipped my hand down between his legs and my fingers 
pressed back into the warm, enveloping heat of his crack, probing 
the dilated hole cautiously. My thumb gently rubbed his tiny, 
wrinkled pouch.

 Jason grinned his little-boy smile again, "You want to put 
him in back there?" he asked nervously.

"Why? Are you afraid I'll hurt you... or afraid you'll like 
it?" I teased.

He looked at me angrily. "It hurts... I know it does... when 
a man does that to a boy."

I smiled my most reassuring smile. "Did your teacher tell you 
that, in sex education?" I asked playfully.

He shrugged as he grinned cheekily, "He didn't have to. You 
don't have to be a brain surgeon to see that your cock is so big 
and I'm not. My hole.... you know... it isn't that big back there." 
He added meeting my eyes. "So I know it'll hurt...it will, won't 
it? Julien told me I won't even be able to poop like normal for a 
while.... I don't care."

Even as he spoke I could see the curiosity in his eyes, the 
temptation growing as he considered the idea.

I nodded, "I'm sure it'll hurt quite a bit at first Jason, but 
you know... after a few times... well it isn't supposed to hurt 
that much. Even for a skinny, little runt like you." My son giggled. 
"Paul told me that most boys, sometimes even younger than you, get 
to like it pretty fast. A few days is all it takes."

Jason nodded, his vibrant, blue eyes meeting mine. He was 
still excited, even more than before as adrenaline surged through 
him and his reluctance was replaced by a strange desire for what 
he knew only in theory. The primal urge of his body had been 
awakened again as he contemplated the idea. He tried to calm his 
racing mind, wanting to resist the hunger that seemed to rise up 
inside and consume him. He felt his penis begin to stiffen again, 
shrugging off its stupor instinctively. He swallowed and looked 
away, but irresistibly his eyes were drawn back to mine. Nervously 
he chewed his bottom lip. 

When he spoke it was barely more than a whisper. "Yeah... I 
guess.... So how far in does it go?" he asked before looking away 
again.

I smiled reassuringly again and stroked the soft smoothness 
of the boy's inside thigh. Instinctively his penis flexed, nearly 
erect again, and my hand slid gently upward so that the tips of my 
fingers brushed against his balls. He swallowed and looked back at 
me, "Well?" he demanded.

"At first we'll just put the tip in."

"Just the tip? He's too big to fit in me all the way, isn't 
he?" he asked as his eyes glanced rapidly at my erect penis, so 
much bigger than his own small appendage.

I shook my head. "I guess your body stretches inside. Like 
when you poop. What comes out is pretty thick sometimes isn't it?"

He smiled shyly. "Yeah, well sometimes, but then it hurts. 
Will it hurt a lot?" he asked as the ache in his belly and the 
terror of the unknown began to grow.

I shook my head again, "We'll be very gentle and slow. I'll 
stop whenever you want. I expect it takes some time for your anus 
to loosen up and stretch enough for it to go inside. Harry told me 
that sometimes a boy bleeds a little bit. Jeff did, he told me," I 
added. "But he said it'll stop as soon as we take it out."

Jason looked at me as I unscrewed the top from the bottle of 
olive oil, now breathing deeply as his excitement built to fever 
pitch. His small, reddened dick was rigid against his belly. "Do 
you really need to use that stuff?" he asked looking at the amber-
colored oil.

I poured a liberal amount out onto the fingers of my other 
hand and smearing some onto Jason's fingers. "Uh huh. It makes you 
slippery inside. It's a lot easier then for my penis to go inside 
you. Feel how slippery it is. Rub some on your dick, Jas'."

The boy smirked and straightened his legs out a bit as he 
swiped his fingers over his rigid cock, smearing the oil along the 
length of it. His hand closed around his penis and he began to 
masturbate very slowly. He giggled as his eyes half-closed in 
instant gratification.

"Wow! It's really slippery. It feels really nice," he sighed 
contentedly. "It's like when you use spit on him, only better." 

I moved my left hand slowly to the boy's hand and lifted it 
away to stop his gentle masturbation. "Don't waste it Jas'," I said 
gently as I lifted his knees upward to his chest.

Then my right hand moved down until it was underneath his 
buttocks, the tip of my finger stroking rhythmically, around and 
around his anus, rubbing into the boy's most private place as I 
smeared the lubricant into and around his opening. It was 
remarkable what a difference the generous coating of oil made. His 
anus felt much looser, almost as if it could be entered by my penis, 
if I was careful. My finger slipped inside without any difficulty. 
Jason gasped as he felt his bowel penetrated again, instinctively 
pulling back and tightening, or at least trying to tighten his 
sphincter to resist my entry.

"Just relax Jas', it'll feel just like before, only now it'll 
go in deeper," I reassured him.

The boy nodded. His breathing slowly became faster as my 
finger began to explore deeper inside him. My finger twisted and 
rubbed gently into his prostate until his knees bent and his toes 
curled into the mattress, getting leverage to raise his buttocks 
upward. I watched mutely as his muscles began to strain. The long, 
thin tendons in his legs became tense and I saw his brow glistening 
in the moonlight as sweat came. He began to whimper, then making 
an animal-like moan that came from deep inside his chest. His mouth 
was open as he breathed heavily. Every few seconds his hips were 
jerk with sudden spasms, pumping down onto my finger with a fearful 
violence.

It took a few minutes and two or three squeezes of olive oil 
before I had two fingers inside him and he was ready to go the rest 
of the way. The minutes passed, the biting squeezes of his 
sphincter muscle lessened until they became merely uncomfortable. 
His anus, previously so small and tight, felt exactly like a thick 
elastic band, resilient and stretchy. I pulled one finger back and 
began to use the other against the Jason's tiny prostate again. A 
minute later and he was humping against my finger. His eyes were 
closed tightly and his breathing became ragged. Jason gasped and 
writhed. Jason purred and trembled. Jason moaned and shuddered. The 
boy was abandoned to his ecstasy, unable to understand or control 
the intense feelings that surged through his body. He was 
completely at my control. I had a sense of power over him that was 
satisfying in the extreme. He depended upon me for his very 
existence.

Finally I stopped and rested my finger inside him with the tip 
pressing firmly into his sensitive, little prostate. The boy was 
shaking, his knees trembling with an uncontrollable urgency. His 
pale-blue eyes, no longer quite as angelic as they'd been earlier, 
were wide open in disbelief. He nodded wildly, eager and compliant 
for what for he realized must follow, then looked at me 
questioningly as I withdrew my finger.

"That was wild! Are we going to do it now, Dad?" he asked 
hoarsely. He was no longer afraid. He was confident in his body's 
ability to give him pleasure. His sphincter was about as dilated 
as it would get using my fingers alone and I nodded. "Just the tip?" 
he added.

"As much as you want, Jay-boy. I'll stop whenever you say 
okay?"

Jason smiled, "You can go further if you want to. I don't care 
if it hurts a bit, okay?"

I grinned as I began to lubricate my cock, then changed my 
mind. I passed the olive oil to Jason. He grinned at me eagerly. 
His eyes were full of affection and admiration, tinged with desire 
that was fast becoming an overwhelming hunger. "How much do I use?" 
he giggled.

"I don't know. A lot, I guess," I said, then added, "Get it 
real slippery and real hard. Okay?"

He smirked, "'Cause he goes in easier then?"

"Uh huh." I said absorbing the delicious sensation as the 
boy's small hand enclosed the shaft of my cock possessively. He 
stroked it gently as he worked the transparent oil over it.

"He's bigger than before... and really hard," the boy observed 
after a minute. His voice trembled nervously. "Now what?"

I smiled. "He's bigger because he wants to be inside you, 
Jas'. He wants to make love to you. Now, I guess you lie on your 
side and pull your knees up as far as they can go. Yeah, that's 
right. And I lie down behind you like this," I said, settling down 
behind him. "Now Jas', I want you to relax, that's right relax. 
Don't panic okay, you can feel my cock pushing into you a little 
bit, can't you?"

"Uh huh. Is he in yet, Dad?"

"No, not yet. Just relax, try to push back against me gently."

"Is he in now?" he asked again. "Dad, it's starting to hurt a 
bit more," he warned nervously.

"Now I'm going to push a bit harder, okay? It'll start to hurt 
a bit and you'll want to pull away but I want you to push down like 
you're trying to poop. You ready?'

"Yeah,....Ohh shit! Ohhhh... that hurts. Man that hurts. Stop 
a second. Please, Dad."

"Take a deep breath Jas'", I said, easing off the pressure a 
fraction. "Now push down as hard as you can."

"Ohhh! Ohhh shit... Jesus that hurts".

"Take a deep breath again. Okay? Now try again, that's better. 
Harder! Yeah... again!"

"Owww... Stop!... Stop... it feels awful. Like it's tearing 
inside.... No... no don't take him out. I think I'm gonna be sick. 
Just stop a bit.... I think I'm gonna throw up.... Man that hurts. 
Is he in yet?" he sobbed.

"Yeah, it's in. The tip's in almost the whole way. Now just 
relax for a while. I think you have to get used to it."

"It feels like something is stuck in there. Am I bleeding yet, 
Dad?"

I held the boy tightly. His body trembled continuously and I 
waiting until he calmed. Each second the pressure and tension 
faded. "No,... no you're okay. Is that getting better?"

"Bit better. Is he really in me, Dad?" he asked anxiously.

I reached for the boy's hand, pulling it down between our 
bodies and placing it on my cock. His fingers traced along it, 
feeling where it disappeared into his own body. "He's only in a 
little bit," he observed with obvious disappointment.

"Huh huh, but that's the hardest bit. Once we get a bit more 
in you it'll slide in the rest of the way."

"The whole way? You mean all of him?" the boy asked.

"If you want Jay-boy, I'll try. I don't know how far up it's 
supposed to go."

The boy was silent for a few seconds, "Yeah!" he whispered. 
"The whole way in is okay with me. But you've got to stop when I 
say so, promise?" he added as he stroked my cock with his finger 
tips.

"I promise. You take a deep breath and push down again 
whenever you're ready."

"Okay, here goes, Dad. Ohhh... Ohhhh shit... NO! STOP! 
No...no, don't stop."

I paused as I felt the boy's naked body convulse and shudder. 
"You okay?"

He paused a moment, "Okay... I'm okay now... that's better... 
Shit that hurt! Did he go in much further? Can I feel? Wow... he's 
about half of way in, isn't he?"

I smiled, "Just about. You okay? How does it feel? Does it 
hurt bad?"

"Huh? I'm okay I think. I feel like I'm gonna explode or 
something. It feels like a huge wedge is stuck up me. It hurts, 
kinda. But not real bad, it's like I want it out... but I want it 
in too... I,... I think I want him in me even further. Am I bleeding 
yet?"

I grinned, "No! No you're fine." I said glancing downward, 
"You really want it in further Jas'?"

"Yeah... real slow but I gotta get my breath.... Okay, just 
go slowly!... Ohhhh ohhhh shit!... Ohhhh!... Shit it feels like 
it's comin' out my belly!.. Ohhh man! He's in isn't he? Not all the 
way but he's in pretty far... Shit I can feel him in there. This 
is awesome. I gotta pee and I can't stop... Hell, it's dripping out 
of my dick. No! No don't take him out yet."

I pulled back a few inches and then gently squeezed forward, 
grinding the length of my cock into his prostate so that the head 
forced into his bladder. Jason shuddered, trembling and shaking 
uncontrollably as I began to fuck him. 

After a few slow thrusts being very careful with each forward 
motion he began to sob, "Stop... please!" he begged. "Just a 
bit,... I can't breath. Just till I get my breath."

"You okay?"

"Yeah... yeah I think so... I gotta get my breath. I....it... 
it's unreal. I can barely breath, Dad... My dick keeps leaking pee. 
And it sort of hurts in my belly, like I've got to poop,... Okay... 
that's better," he panted.

"I'm going to move as gently and slowly as I can Jas', but say 
if you want me to stop." I said

"No... No, not now! I'm okay... I think... that's if you don't 
mind me peeing on the bed?" he murmured.

My son smiled weakly, trying to find some humor in his 
predicament. He was incorrigible, his young strength already 
draining as his body quickly became exhausted. Jason looked at me 
with his eyes half-closed, with something approaching admiration 
as I pushed forward gently into the marshmallow-like tissue inside 
him. We were both breathing heavily. Slowly, surely, I felt his 
young body accept mine and the warmth gradually crept up the length 
of my cock as it sunk deeper and deeper.

"It's going in now, Jas'," I whispered. "I think the worst 
part is over."

Jason gazed up at me silently. His eyes were open wide in fear 
and in awe. His numbed body sensed its violation and instinctively 
made one brief attempt to fight back and preserve what little still 
remained of his virginity, but to no avail. His sphincter was in 
no shape for anything but a token struggle. As soon as it came I 
saw the pain in his eyes and I instantly stopped pushing forward. 
I held his hips and it was over within a second or two.

"Just relax, Jas'. It's okay my beautiful boy... Ohhh Jas'... 
you feel so good and hot inside", I whispered as I resumed my 
downward pressure.

As he felt my cock fill his rectum and push up into his belly, 
Jason smiled weakly back at me, now breathing through his mouth in 
slow, heavy pants that made his chest rise and fall rhythmically. 
"Shit! Dad,... I can feel him going inside me...it feels soooo 
big.... God he's big, how far... how much is in me now,... is it 
in all the way yet?" he murmured.

I grinned down at the boy, keeping the pressure on him until 
my rigid penis could go no further and my pubis squeezed up tightly 
against his cheeks. The soft wet heat seemed to flow out of his 
body, along my penis and into me. I stopped and tried to fight off 
the orgasm that I knew was just around the corner. I lifted up his 
hand again and drew it downwards, between his buttocks and my 
thighs, guiding his fingers to where my body joined with his body. 
For a moment I felt the boy's fingers on my penis, touching right 
where my testicles began, where it disappeared into his anus.

His mouth opened in surprise, "It's...all the way in there... 
It is! He feels so big. It doesn't hurt at all. It just feels big 
and nice,... really good. Can you move it? It feels really tight 
inside," he whispered.

I nodded and gently pulled back, taking some of the pressure 
with me, then as soon as Jason sighed, I thrust gently forward, 
slowly replacing the void in his belly with nearly-eight-inches of 
rigid, hot penis.

"Ohhhh...." he groaned as it filled his tortured cavity again. 
I paused, looking at the boy lying before me. His young, immature 
body seemed so small and weak, so fragile, that the possibility of 
my penis ever fitting inside him seemed very unlikely. That it did 
fit inside him with no with almost no pain to the boy, made it 
remarkable.

"Do... that... again...okay! Really slow like that....  Ohhhh 
man, that's good," he breathed. "Yeah, do it slow.... It feels,... 
like he's comin' out,... my belly," he added between gasps.

"You're doing great Jas'," I whispered. "It doesn't hurt too 
bad does it?"

He shook his head and smiled weakly. "Sure is tight,... in 
there, isn't it?"

"Uh huh! You're getting looser though. I'm going to do it a 
little bit deeper. You ready?"

"Yeah! Oh s-s-h-h-i-i-t-t," he moaned loudly.

We were both on the brink of orgasm after only half-a-dozen 
slow careful thrusts. On the seventh, the boy's legs began to 
quiver, tensing as yet another orgasm came. When it hit on my next 
thrust down into his bowel, Jason moaned again and his rectum 
spasmed on my penis, tightening just enough to increase my own 
pleasure to the point of no return. That was all it took for me and 
I felt the seed boiling up my throbbing shaft as my testicles 
knotted, squeezed, and emptied. Desperately I slammed into the boy, 
driving my straining penis into him to the hilt, then pulling back 
out about halfway, then again and again, back and forth. Even as I 
pumped, I desperately flexed my penis in a vain attempt to hold 
back the rising seed as I felt the impending explosion. It was an 
impossible task. I wanted only to empty my seed into him, to fill 
him with my love and claim his body as my receptacle.

"I'm coming, Jas'," I groaned as I found I could not stem the 
bursting any longer. "Ohhh! I love you."

The boy shrieked with what I thought could only be terrible 
agony as another orgasm came, stronger than the last, stronger than 
any he'd had earlier. We came together, at exactly the same instant 
and my semen spurted deep into the boy's loose, clutching bowel as 
Jason convulsed wildly beneath me. As soon as the last of it was 
out I dropped forward over the still-shuddering boy, taking my 
weight on my elbows. My penis was still contained deep within him, 
floating in a sloppy mess of semen, mucus and olive oil. It felt 
very nice indeed. It took a long while for us both to calm down and 
our breathing and hearts to return to something approaching 
normalcy.

"Well", I whispered as I kissed the boy's forehead, "I know a 
boy who's not a virgin any more? What's your Mom going to say, Jay-
boy?" I teased playfully as he slowly twisted his head around to 
meet mine.

He opened his lips, pressed his tongue forward and we kissed 
and sucked, now joined in two ways. When we parted he grinned 
sleepily, but already his strength was beginning to return.

"You wanna do that again in a bit?" he whispered.

I nodded then eased myself off the boy and, holding his hips 
rolled him onto his side and lay down next to him and he cuddled 
up, pressing his back into my chest, "We'll see Jay-boy, we'll 
see."

"You really slimed me back there," he smirked. "It feels 
really sloppy inside me. I think it's even running out a bit."

He giggled playfully and reached his small hand to caress my 
limp, sticky cock as it exited from his anus. He tugged it gently 
with his fingers at the base and suddenly felt the hot, slippery 
slime that we shared as the thick shaft of my cock disappeared into 
him. His soft thumb massaged my balls as he gently squeezed his 
tortured rectum on my cock.

"There's stuff all over us," he whispered."

"What did you expect?" I teased. "I think that's what happens 
when you get your ass fucked," I laughed.

"They're watching us, aren't they?" Jason whispered as he 
glanced towards Harry and Jeff.

I nodded. Jeff was sitting up, leaning back against his 
'father', his arms wrapped around his legs as he gazed into the 
darkness. Strangely, the fact that my love for Jason had been 
witnessed, no longer bothered me. I felt intensely proud of what 
Jason and I had shared. Our bodies had been joined together, for a 
while we had known an ecstasy that few people could understand, we 
were still united.

"Do you mind?" I whispered.

He smiled, his cheeky grin barely visible in the darkness. 
"Not any more. We saw them doing it, I guess it's only fair, isn't 
it. Jeff was right when he said there was nothing to be ashamed 
about."

"I could never be ashamed of loving you, Jas'," I admitted.

He tightened his rectum again with a playful squeeze. "I love 
having him in me," he sighed. "He feels so big and nice inside me. 
I never dreamed I could feel like this, Dad."

"Neither did I," I said softly. "I really didn't think we 
could do it. You feel wonderful too, Jas'. I love being in you." 

We lay together, joined inseparably, as much by the union of 
our bodies as by the knowledge of the love we shared. Again Harry 
was right, Jason had become a different boy. I kissed him again and 
again, our tongues merging and coalescing into one, our saliva 
intermingling freely as we became increasingly passionate. We were 
both tired but sleep evaded us. I could hear Jeff and Harry 
whispering, the sounds of flesh moving against flesh, the sounds 
of lust as Jeff gasped, then moaned, and then the rhythmic, wet 
sounds of intercourse. 

"They're doing it again, aren't they Dad?" Jason whispered.

"It certainly sounds like it," I answered. 

I peered into the darkness. I could barely make out Harry's 
silhouette as he knelt behind Jeff. Jeff's legs were up in the air, 
his knees at Harry's shoulders, his feet clasping around Harry's 
back. I watched silently as Harry lunged against him, listening as 
the wet sounds became louder and faster, and reached a crescendo 
as Jeff groaned in shameless ecstasy, abandoned to the agonized joy 
that came from being fucked.

"You want to do it again, Dad," Jason offered shyly.

"Do you?" I asked. "I think you've had enough for one night. 
At least you're not a virgin any more."

"I'll make him hard again, then you'll have to do it again," 
he teased.

I laughed and hugged him tightly to me, "You'll be so sore 
later on, you'll wish you hadn't, Jas'," I teased. "You'll be 
walking like this", I laughed, walking two outstretched fingers 
over his hip and down his belly towards his still-half-erect penis. 
"You'll be bow-legged, but if you keep doing that, I won't have 
much choice, will I?"

"It really didn't hurt very much, you know. Just a bit when 
you first started putting it inside me. After it was all the way 
in I liked it. It was kinda nice!" Jason giggled and squeezed his 
rectum even tighter on my shaft. "If I get him hard again, can we 
do it again?" he added, "It doesn't hurt at all now, if fact if 
feels really great having him inside me".

I kissed him behind the ear and nuzzled his silky hair with 
my nose. I tickled the boy's soft ear lobe with my tongue as my 
fingers gently stroked his tiny penis. I had to marvel at the extent 
of the boy's desire. His little penis was about as hard as it had 
been when we had first started. I knew his young body was on the 
verge of physical exhaustion but I wanted to fuck him again. "Okay, 
we can do it again, Jas'. If you can get him stiff enough."

Immediately, the young boy started to pull away from my penis, 
but I grabbed his hips and held him before it slid out of him, "But 
Jason, you can't use your mouth, or your hands, okay?" I teased.

The boy twisted around and glanced back at me and grinned 
crudely. "Is that because he's dirty from being inside my butt-
hole? I don't care if he is. You already put your tongue in there 
before anyway."

"No," I laughed. "He's not dirty from you, but you need the 
practice. Use your muscles inside to squeeze on him. Yeah, that's 
right Jas'. Just like that! Not too hard. Just squeeze down on him 
as if you were trying to poop, then try to pull him back inside 
you". I felt the boy's sphincter begin to do its work, the weakened 
muscle alternately tightening and loosening.His slender body 
visibly trembled with the effort. Still it felt good, real good and 
within a minute I could feel my penis growing again and filling the 
boy's body as it hardened. Slowly it became tighter again inside 
him. My son noticed it too.

"He's getting bigger again, I can feel him getting stiff," the 
boy murmured as he rocked his pelvis gently and cautiously tested 
his body's resistance as my growing penis moved within him. It 
sucked against the tight, slippery walls of his rectum. In the few 
minutes since I'd stopped fucking him he seemed to have tightened 
up considerably and his rectum now felt like a taut tube around my 
penis. There was a delightful pressure running from the base all 
the way along to the tip. It was obvious that Jason was enjoying 
it too. "It doesn't hurt... anymore. He's getting bigger, I can 
feel him. He's getting so hard," he hissed. "He feels so good in 
there. Do you think he's stiff enough now?"

"What do you think, Jas'?" I asked, taking over the rhythm and 
beginning to thrust harder and deeper into the boy. "Is this what 
you want?"

He nodded and pressed his buttocks back to force my erection 
further into his body. He gasped suddenly as I kept the pressure 
on and began to surge harder, deeper and faster.

"Yeahhhh!...Ohhhhh!... Do that!....Ohhhhh.....Ohhhhh....Fuck 
me... Do it faster, pleaseee", the boy pleaded.

Where did my son learn such words, I wondered. He whimpered 
and trembled, immediately coming to the very edge of orgasm. His 
breathing accelerated until he was gasping frantically for air.

"I'm gonna...Ohhhhh yeah! Do it to me!" he begged as he 
writhing shamelessly on the bed. His thighs jerked and his pelvis 
twisted as he worked his ass on the big penis pumping inside him. 
I thrust into him as hard as I could, taking the boy right to the 
brink of his sanity before backing off again.

 No longer feeling the need to orgasm, I took my time with my 
son. We were all but oblivious to the presence of Harry and Jeff. 
That they were watching and listening was a foregone conclusion. 
At some point I was aware of Jeff coming closer, standing only a 
foot or two away as he studied us, shamelessly writhing, and moving 
in unison as we tottered on the edge of orgasm. I grinned back at 
him like a satyr, full of lust and boundless passion as I pushed 
into Jason, going the full depth as my son's body twitched and 
shuddered, and then pushed back for more.

I led Jason up to the precipice of orgasm time and time again. 
Finally, after more than 30 or 40 minutes I stopped. He was barely 
conscious. His arms and legs twitched and quivered endlessly and 
his slender, brown body glistened with a sheen of perspiration. 
Easily I lifted his naked, trembling body up and pivoted him around 
on my cock. He moaned deliriously and I held him tightly to me, 
placed him back on the mattress and I rolled onto him, so that he 
was under me. I pushed his legs wide open with my knees, then 
kneeling above the small, barely conscious body, lowered myself 
down onto him, driving the full length of my cock into him.

"Oh God!," he wailed. "Do it harder!"

"Take it easy, Jas'," I gasped out in disbelief. "Does it 
hurt?" I demanded urgently as he shook uncontrollably.

His head jerked, neither affirming or denying his pain, merely 
an indication that he wanted me to continue and not stop. Then, he 
seemed to find strength and he hissed, "Do it faster!"

The boy's body was slammed into the air-mattress with each 
powerful thrust of my thighs. I pulled back so that only the 
engorged tip of my cock was still embedded in his anus before 
sliding back in. It forced his bowel open even further. Jason 
wailed into the air-filled pillow again as one intense dry orgasm 
was followed almost immediately by another, endlessly climaxing. I 
felt my own orgasm building. My testicles tightened and the huge 
swollen tip of my penis throbbed in unbelievable ecstasy as I 
pounded it into him. The tension built as I felt my semen rise up 
my shaft and explode into my son. Both of us gasped for air and 
shuddered as we convulsed together. Jason's body spasmed wildly as 
I spurted what seemed at the time to be endless gobs of sperm into 
the boy's fully dilated rectum. There seemed to be no tension left 
inside him, just the wet, spongy heat that we shared.

 I collapsed on top of the unmoving boy, taking some of my 
weight on my elbows and knees. I kissed his neck and shoulders 
lovingly, murmuring, "Ohhhh Jason....Jas' you were 
wonderful....Boy you were soooo good. Did I hurt you? I'm sorry if 
I did, I couldn't stop. You okay?" I begged concernedly.

The boy's blond head was dark on the pillow, but it moved 
slightly. His cries were muffled in the pillow or strangled in his 
throat before they reached me. All I could hear was a rasping sound 
as he gasped for air. Gently I lifted his face up, letting it rest 
on the side. His cheeks were flushed and wet with tears. His breath 
was ragged and coming in short spurts as he panted. If the boy had 
any strength left in his body before his last orgasm, the last few 
minutes had drained him completely as I had fucked him nearly 
senseless. After a minute or two, my own strength began to return 
and I carefully pulled back, withdrawing my softened cock from deep 
inside the boy's rectum. It sucked loudly as the head popped out 
of his anus and I rested back on my knees. I glanced and saw the 
limp shaft of my cock was streaked with dark, red blood; my son's 
blood. His little, pale buttocks were smeared with it and there was 
a darkness in his gaping crack from blood that had begun to ooze 
out of the boy's well-stretched hole. It formed a little trail 
across his wrinkled, tiny ball-sac and then trickled downwards to 
the mattress. The evidence of the loss of his virginity was a vivid, 
bloody red.

I picked up the corner of the sheet and tenderly wiped away 
the boy's blood and my semen. In the darkness, the red stain was 
barely visible on the white cotton, but the wetness provided 
another sign of the loss of his innocence. The opening into my young 
son's body seemed impossibly large. His little anus was stretched 
to the limit and I could see straight down into his rectum, into 
the crimson of his bowel, then the darkness deep inside his narrow 
pelvis. I suppose that I should have feel ashamed of hurting the 
ten-year-old boy but all I felt was an overwhelming triumph. I had 
possessed him and taken both his 'manhood' and his virginity. I had 
shown the boy that would he could never be the same again. He had 
tasted lust and discovered the terrible hunger that now came with 
his body's desires. I wondered what his mother would say?

After a few minutes I realized that Jason had fallen asleep 
and I lay quietly beside the boy and lovingly caressed his bare 
shoulder and back for what seemed several hours. It was much later 
when he finally awoke, just an hour or two before dawn. I knew right 
away that he wanted to do it again.


PLATONIC LOVE.

DAY 17.   Naxos August 9th, 1993

"Of course it wasn't a tiresome job yet, so somehow, riding out the panting
and sweating, he got what he wanted and I fell back asleep, exhausted with 
passion. Less than an hour later he began pinching me and saying,
'Why aren't we getting on with it?'"
Petronius, The Satyricon.

We made love again for the third time early the next 
morning. The sun had not risen when I gently eased my penis into 
Jason's body, applied a firm, though very careful pressure and 
after a few painful minutes, entered him again. My penis 
progressed forward barely a fraction of an inch at a time, 
embedding itself at a snail's pave into his tortured body, as 
Jason's bowel loosened. The tension within him faded slowly as 
cramping muscle spasms racked his body. Finally, after several 
minutes there a last ditch effort by his sphincter to preserve 
the sanctity of his bowel, a half-hearted attempt to resist my 
intruding penis, and then he was mine. I pushed carefully, 
feeling the oil-slicked sides of his rectum sliding down my 
shaft.

He was still very tight inside but the pressure he exerted 
on my penis was not in the least uncomfortable. In fact, it was 
entirely enjoyable for me, though noticeably less so for my son. 
As my powerful sucking had served to intensify his erection, so 
hid the pressure inside Jason serve to harden my organ. I could 
not remember my penis ever being so stiff before. I penetrated 
him as deeply as I dared, until I hit something immovable inside 
his colon. It resisted as I pushed up against it, a resilient 
barrier that caused Jason to whimper and try to pull away as I 
forced into it. By then I had at least six good inches inside 
him. I let him rest for more than ten minutes, absorbing the 
fabulous sensations that flowed out of his body and into mine. 
Every little squeeze of his well-stretched sphincter muscle made 
my penis dance and throb, exciting his own movements until his 
body could take no more.

Jason initiated intercourse. It was to become a familiar 
pattern in our love-making. I would wait, content just to be 
inside him, patiently resolved to let nature undertake the 
preparation of his young body for copulation. When he was ready 
and the pain was bearable, Jason took the lead, if only for the 
first minute or so. But I was still surprised as Jason began to 
move his pelvis, just an inch or less, back and forth, pushing 
my penis harder into him, then pulling back slowly. Each time, 
his rectum seemed as if it was attached to my penis until the 
adhesive pressure broke and I slid abruptly back. As soon as it 
pulled free, even by an inch, the void opened in his belly and 
he pushed back again, seeking only to fill himself with my penis.

After a few minutes, nature and Jason had performed the 
impossible. It was a task for Hercules to stretch his little 
bowel to the point at which it accepted, with bearable pain, the 
presence of my penis. I began to move cautiously, pumping no 
more than an inch, sometimes two, with gentle thrusts. He was a 
little boy and I took him gently, ever careful as I knew 
intuitively that the slightest, rough movement might injure him, 
and that was something which I could never do.

It was a cold, grey morning. The air was damp and laden 
with fine mist, and we were chilled as we waited for the warmth 
of the sun. Our nakedness was covered by a blanket I had brought 
from Apollo and the warmth of our bodies was shared between us 
as we lay like two spoons, fitting together as we were intended 
to be. Gradually the light strengthened, until I could easily 
see the silky-blond hair on Jason's head, his smooth, pale neck, 
and the gooseflesh on his shoulders. He whimpered, moving gently 
as he rocked his hips in synchronized movement with mine. 
Sometimes he squeezed down, tightening his distended rectum on 
my penis and sending the most wonderful sensation through me as 
he gripped my penis deep inside his body and sent ripples of 
delight along the shaft.

He was learning to love me just as I was learning to love 
him, and like all things, we needed to practice our art. That 
morning was the first of many wonderful morning sessions. 
Refreshed by sleep, though still sleepy, we began slowly, barely 
moving, content just to be joined together with my penis largely 
contained within his young, tight bowel. As our sleepiness left 
us, our movements became more excited. My penis travelled deeper 
and with longer strokes, from an inch at first, to two, then 
three, then all the way to five inches as I withdrew until just 
the swollen glans remained inside my son's small body and then 
plunged back in with a forceful, though very restrained thrust. 
It was fun to practice with Jason.

Unlike the night before, when Jason had astounded me with 
his ability to orgasm repetitively, this morning he did not, 
though he was perpetually close to it. I supposed that it was a 
combination of factors; but most likely was the fact that Jason 
was still sore and bruised from the night before. His tender, 
young body had been initiated, abused in a way that it was not 
yet accustomed to. He was not tired, but it seemed to me that he 
was physically detached from the feelings I created inside his 
body. I realized guiltily that he was experiencing some pain and 
I slowed my stabbing penis to a gentle rhythm, leaving it 
embedded and unmoving often for a minute or more at a time 
before driving forward again with cautious prodding.

In the ever-increasing light it was likely that both Jeff 
and Harry probably were watching us, cause enough for some 
nervous trembling but Jason was cold. I held him tightly and 
ensured that his naked body was well covered, he still shivered 
continuously. It was, as I later discovered, a reaction that was 
not unusual in a boy. That morning Jason experienced an 
unpleasant and uncomfortable combination of shock, self-doubt, 
shame, and guilt; as well as the delightful feelings that came 
with the realization that he was homosexual. His discomfiture 
that were exacerbated by the knowledge that my penis was inside 
him, providing feelings that were both frightening in their 
intensity and delightfully wonderful. They were feelings that he 
could not no longer deny.

As Harry explained later that day, the moment at which a 
boy discovers that he enjoys anal intercourse is the time he 
accepts, or begins to accept, that he is homosexual. Until then, 
a boy can deny it and pretend that it is a game, a harmless 
pursuit that is nothing more than a brief interlude in his 
growth to manhood. That moment for Jason, occurred at about six 
o'clock that morning as he was transformed, reborn even as the 
sun was reborn. That morning I realized that Jason's love for me 
was every bit as strong as mine was for him. He would never be 
the same innocent, little boy again. But unknown to me there was 
more that bothered Jason, but those concerns were things that I 
could not begin to understand until several more weeks had 
passed.

Afterwards, as we lay pressed tightly together, still 
connected by penis and rectum and floating in a slippery, oozing 
film, he cried softly. I comforted him as best I could, 
whispering words of endearment in his ear as I kissed his neck 
and shoulders and nuzzled his hair. I heard Harry and Jeff 
moving behind us and I twisted over. Both of them were naked, 
hugging to keep warm as they stood before the fire, now 
beginning to blaze with the sticks and grass they had placed 
upon the remaining embers. It was a beautiful sight, an 
unforgettable image of two lovers, a man and boy entwined 
together as they share a passionate embrace in the morning light.

I smiled at Harry and he playfully squeezed Jeff's penis. 
Jeff grinned at me knowingly and raised his eyebrows with 
malicious interest in Jason's virginity. I nodded and Jeff 
smirked, giving me a triumphant 'thumbs up' for victory. He 
sauntered around the blazing fire until he stood before Jason, 
still huddled up under the blanket, still a willing prisoner in 
my clasping arms, enfolded securely in my embrace, my penis 
still imprisoned in his rectum.

"You feel okay, Jason?" Jeff asked concernedly.

Jason nodded abruptly, sinking into a lonely silence. Jeff 
grinned. "Does it hurt bad? I know it sometimes it hurts pretty 
bad afterwards. It's like it's on fire in there or something. It 
goes away in a bit," he added reassuringly.

"'s okay," Jason said. His voice quavered as he spoke so 
softly that he was barely heard. "It hurts a bit,... I guess."

Jeff squatted down, spreading his knees wide as his heels 
squeezed into his buttocks. His small genitals, so much larger 
than Jason's were openly and shamelessly displayed.

"I hurt too for a while when I first started. It stops in 
a few days. But it sure sounded like you enjoyed it last night," 
he teased the younger boy. "I bet you're pretty sore up there 
now."

Jason nodded. "It hurts in my tummy. It hurts back there 
too."

Harry knelt down next to Jeff, facing Jason and me. He was 
oblivious to the fact that his penis was still moist, glistening 
with a wet slime that represented the visible sign of his union 
with Jeff. "It'll feel better in a few hours, Jason. You need to 
get up and try to go to the toilet."

I nodded and carefully pulled back away from Jason. As my 
penis sucked free of his body, there was a distinct 'pop', not 
unlike the sound of a cork being extracted from a bottle of wine.

Jeff giggled. "Jason sounds pretty tight," he teased.

I lifted back the blanket that covered our bodies. The 
sweet, pungent aroma of boy-funk drifted out from underneath. 
For the first time I saw the streaks and stains of bright-red 
blood on the sheets and I felt appalled that I had done that to 
my son. Jason saw them too but he didn't seem to mind as much as 
I expected him to. I felt quite sick.

"I bled some, didn't I," he observed curiously. I stared 
at him with surprise. "Julien told me I would," Jason explained. 
"'cause I'm a kid still."

"And you're a virgin," Jeff interrupted. "I bled a bunch 
too my first time. It stops pretty quickly," he added expertly.

Harry chuckled. "He was a virgin, Jeff. He's not any more, 
I don't think."

I helped Jason stand up on very-wobbly legs. He teetered, 
weakly holding my arm as I guided him over to the fire and eased 
him down to his knees. He breathed heavily, clamping his arms 
around his bare chest to warm himself. Harry placed some more 
sticks on the fire and poured me a cup of coffee as Jeff 
retrieved our blanket and passed it to me to place around 
Jason's back. He shivered, his flesh almost blue with cold. I 
knelt behind him, giving him whatever warmth I had. I sipped 
some of the life-giving coffee and then held it for Jason. He 
didn't like the taste much but he swallowed a mouthful or two, 
glad of the added warmth. Slowly his trembling stopped and he 
began to relax.

"Dad, I think I have to poop," he whispered shamefully.

"That's okay, " I said as I helped him to stand up. "I 
expect that normal after what we did last night and this 
morning," I added gently.

He wobbled uncertainly, lurching as he tried to take the 
first step towards the bushes that we had designated as the 
latrine. I smiled at him reassuringly, accepting full 
responsibility for what I had done to him. I placed my arm 
around his shoulders and helped him take the sixty-five foot 
trip away from the warmth of the fire. I lowered him carefully, 
following him down as he squatted over the sand. I knelt before 
him, supporting his still-weakened body by holding his arms and 
bracing his head against my chest. I felt him wince as his 
rectum took the strain of squatting, then saw a grimace of pain 
on his face as he pushed downward.

He strained for a full minute, contorting his face as the 
pressure increased in his bowel. One little, wet fart followed 
another, gurgling out of his distended anus like tiny 
explosions, as the air and fluid inside him was expelled. My 
semen dribbled out, oozing and yellow-brown in color, with tiny 
strands of mucus that had mixed into a thick slime. I watched 
between his legs, feeling surprised that I had deposited so much 
inside him. I had three orgasms during the night with the last 
only a matter of minutes earlier and while there had been a 
strong feeling that I was drained from each one, I had not 
expected to find so much inside him.

As the last of my love-juice trickled out, his expression 
became pained as a vicious cramp tightened his bowel. He 
shuddered as another came, even more violent. Tears appeared in 
his eyes as he clung to me and trembled. I held him tightly, 
sensing what was about to happen only moments before his body 
gave way and emptied. Steaming, dark fluid squirted like muddy 
water out of him, splattering into the sand and over his feet. 
He groaned, then tensed again as another spasm caught him 
unprepared and he emptied his innards. Oblivious to the foul 
smell and the mess on the ground, I clutched him to me, hugging 
the crying, shocked boy fervently as I stroked his head.

"It's okay, Jay-boy," I whispered. "I'm sorry. It's okay."

He cramped again and gasped as another spasm came. It was 
followed almost immediately by another, now frightened as he 
anticipated yet another terrible, gushing release. But it was 
over and only the last residue was expelled, dribbling from his 
weakened body into the spreading puddle underneath him. When I 
was certain that he was finished, I helped him stand up. He was 
pale and barely able to support himself, his body exhausted from 
being drained so mercilessly. I pushed sand over the mess and 
with my arm around him, helped him back towards the fire. He was 
shivering again and every inch of his naked body was puckered 
with gooseflesh. His cheeks were streaked with tears and he 
sniffed loudly. 

"You okay?" Jeff asked with concern as we approached.

Jason's mouth was clenched and resolute and his lips were 
compressed in shame, embarrassed by his body's natural process 
of cleansing itself.

"I think he's okay, Jeff," I answered for my silent, very-
tired son. "He has diarrhea. It took a lot out of him I expect."

"It's probably the oil," Jeff said. "It's like that 
sometimes when it goes too far down you. I do it too," he 
admitted. "You don't do it with KY, but then you get constipated 
at lot. You get used to it after a while, Jason. It isn't that 
bad," he added.

Jason regarded him quietly, still reluctant to talk. I 
moved him closer to the fire, and placed the blanket around him 
again, then held him close to me, supporting his weight as he 
leaned back against me. He breathed weakly, each breath was 
strained and a considerable effort for him. After a minute, 
Harry came over and handed me a warm, wet cloth. I knelt down, 
accepting my responsibility as I gently sponged him clean. I 
wiped into his crack, removing the brownish fluid that still 
remained, washing away the dried blood and semen that was 
smeared over his buttocks and the inside of his thighs. I worked 
my way down his legs slowly until he was clean. My careful 
ministrations seemed to ease his shame but it was apparent that 
he was still in pain, the residue inside him continuing to 
irritate the bruised lining of his rectum.

"It hurts, Dad," he whimpered. "Back there, it feels 
really hot and itchy."

Harry knelt down between Jason and the fire and placed his 
hands on my son's small hips. He turned him around and lifted up 
the end of the blanket. I watched Jason's face blanch as Harry's 
fingers parted his cheeks and his anus was subjected to close 
inspection. I kissed Jason lightly on the forehead and whispered 
to him that Harry knew what he was going. A moment later Harry, 
looked up and glanced at Jeff and said something that I didn't 
hear. Jeff nodded and headed off at a jogging run towards the 
place where our back-packs were standing.

"He's okay," Harry observed. "He's a bit raw back there, 
but considering, he's in good shape."

He gently slapped Jason's small bottom with the palm of 
his hand and stood up as Jeff returned. He passed a small tube 
of ointment to Harry, who in turn, passed it to me. 

"This will make Jason feel better," he said. "You can do 
the honors. All you need to do is get some of it inside his 
anus."

"Uh? What is it?" I questioned uncertainly as I turned the 
tube around to read the label. "Oh! Preparation H! Will that 
really help?"

"It's great," Jeff stated expertly. "It'll make his hole 
feel a lot better."

Harry laughed. "He's right. It's still the best thing 
around for a boy, and you can buy it almost anywhere."

"Does he really need something like this?" I asked. "It 
says here it's for hemorrhoids."

Jeff grinned at Jason and nodded impatiently. "I still use 
it and I don't even notice it afterwards any more. I guess I'm 
used to having his cock inside me but I feel funny if I don't 
use some."

"But why?" I persisted ignorantly. "Why does he need this 
in his ass?"

Harry smiled as he turned Jason around so that back faced 
towards me. He nodded reassuringly to Jason as he stood up. 
"Because he's a boy. It helps to protect the lining of his 
rectum. It's very sensitive. One of the reasons why he's sore 
inside is because his mucus makes the oil less slippery. With 
this inside him, he'll feel a lot better and he won't be nearly 
as sore the next time."

I nodded and unscrewed the cap, squeezed some of the 
yellowish gel onto my finger and placed the tip against my son's 
distended opening. He whined, then murmured as the cool, 
glistening grease soothed his raw flesh. Within a few moments 
the discomfort was alleviated and it helped to placate him. I 
probed into his anus carefully, penetrating him as he relaxed 
and became calmer. I inserted my finger well past the second 
joint, until my knuckles compressed into his crack, rotated it 
gently and then withdrew. I squeezed more onto my finger and 
continued to massage the tortured little rectum.

"How much should I use?" I asked.

"That's probably enough," Harry said. "You feel like some 
breakfast now, Jason. Or would you rather see what is inside the 
cave?"

Until that moment the cave had provided a source of 
mystification to both Jason and myself. That it existed at all 
was something of an enigma but now it exuded an aura that could 
only be described as sacred. It invoked the most intense feeling 
of deja vu that I had ever known. It seemed as if I had been 
waiting my entire life to pass beyond the phallic symbol and 
enter the inviolate chambers beyond. We were participants in a 
ritual that had existed since before the time of Plato.

During the night I had worshipped at Jason's body and we 
had loved as two neophytes, now we would enter as initiates. I 
wondered what secrets lay beyond the guardian. Jason nodded with 
a shy smile at Jeff. I lifted the blanket away and let it fall 
to the ground. He was naked and perfect, and at that very 
instant that his body was exposed, the first rays of the sun 
penetrated the grotto and illuminated his splendor.

We approached the entrance to the cave, drawn onwards by a 
numinous power that extended outward from the darkness within. I 
held his left hand in my right hand. We paused at the guardian 
statue, awed into silence by the majesty of a beautifully carved 
marble penis, towering above Jason's head by more than a foot. 
It was, I realized, the height and girth of a man. Jason smiled 
at me, his pale-blue eyes shining with excitement and 
anticipation of what lay beyond. Unlike me, he remembered Jeff's 
earlier statement about the need for a boy to leave a gift of 
value. He was naked except for the sparkling diamond stud in his 
ear. In mystic concentration, subdued by the arcane and esoteric 
magic of the moment, Jason reached up with his right hand, 
unfastened the tiny gem and threw it into the dark waters of the 
pool. We went forward together.

(Author's note: What occurred inside the cave cannot be 
told because of our pledge. Suffice it to say we did not emerge 
until late in the afternoon. Jason was a very tired boy when I 
carried him out into the light.)
DAY 29, Gulf of Euboea, August 21, 1993

Jason never did get to see Delos. We left Paros four days 
after we arrived and headed north to Siros, and on to Andros. 
From there, one day later, we sailed northwest and into the gulf 
of Euboea after a brief re-provisioning stop at the town of 
Karistos. Our cruise was into unfamiliar waters. It was a region 
of Greece that I had never visited, though Harry had given it a 
strong recommendation when I asked about somewhere to take 
Jason. I wanted somewhere very private, romantic, and without 
the hordes of tourists that swamped the islands at this time of 
the year. Everywhere we went there were tourists; mostly 
Europeans, Germans and Scandinavians, a few Americans and 
'Brits', and many more Japanese than were desirable.

And so we sailed for Euboea and the rugged coast on the 
western shore. Mile after mile of inlets and bays and craggy 
cliffs that plunged into the sea and deserted beaches where 
Jason and I could spend long days naked together. And we were 
naked; day after day, from sunrise to sunset and from sunset to 
the following dawn. Jason got browner and browner, his once pale 
skin becoming darker and darker with every day until he was a 
delicious golden-bronze from head to toe, from front to back.

In his natural state, Jason returned to the primal boy 
that had always dwelled within him. He was shameless in the 
exhibition of his nude body, oblivious to what appeared to me to 
be constant arousal, if gauged by the flexibility of his penis. 
I did not languish far behind him, usually matching him erection 
for erection, though often with a momentary delay. With every 
day our love became stronger, the sexual act ever more intimate, 
and increasingly frequent. On some days it seemed as if all we 
did was have sex in one form or another. Mostly our love 
occurred the way that nature always intended for a man and boy 
to join together and increasingly, I came to realize that 
Jason's body was as suited to intercourse with mine, as mine was 
with his. I discovered that my penis fitted perfectly, exactly 
as Harry had promised. He was tight, of course. He'd always be 
tighter than a girl and he'd never be entered easily like Tina, 
but at the same time (after the first few days) it wasn't a 
painful tightness.

Being inside Jason was like being inside a very slippery, 
very smooth tube, only two sizes too small. His little rectum 
squeezed on me with a pressure that made my penis impossibly 
stiff. Every motion of my body flowing directly into his, even 
the pulsing of his arteries tingled, or as he became more 
excited, throbbed against my penis. We were well matched. When I 
was horny, Jason either was, or became horny just by knowing 
that I wanted him. It goes without saying that the reverse was 
also true.

Even the pain he experienced upon my entry into his body 
disappeared after an initial unpleasant period four or five 
days. He was very brave and he bore his discomfort well. No boy 
likes to see blood coming from his anus and for the first few 
days it was upsetting to both of us. I coddled him and followed 
Harry's advice to the letter using my fingers in him as often as 
I could, lots of salt-water douches and a copious amount of 
olive oil. After each time we liberally applied Preparation-H 
inside him, discovering that it was very beneficial in reducing 
the discomfort.

For the first week, his innards were bruised, stretched 
wide open and pulverized at intervals that often were less than 
a few hours. When he sat down he winced in discomfort from the 
change in position and for a while his movements were 
considerably slower. But with time and gentle loving, even that 
disappeared. Everything was wonderful, except the first few 
minutes as I forced him open and sank slowly into him.

We were both relieved when, after a few days, there was no 
trace of bleeding, a situation I ascribe to the fact that I was 
always careful to be gentle with him and be patient until nature 
readied his young body for intercourse. The ability of his young 
body to quickly accept my penis never failed to amuse me. I 
timed it once, three minutes almost to the second, but always 
less than five minutes, for him to loosen up enough to want me 
to start thrusting slowly. In the two wonderful weeks since I 
had first entered him, claimed his virginity, and in a way 
usurped his manhood, we had become lovers in every sense of the 
word. I began to understand how much love Harry felt for Jeff 
after two years. Our love became stronger with the passage of 
each day.

With each new day there came greater familiarity between 
us, giving me a greater understanding of the workings of my 
young son's body and mind and his need for me to love him. We 
talked, often for hours at a time, about what it meant to be 
gay, about people's misconceptions, and why they hated our type 
of love so much. The more-than-seven years that Jason and I had 
been apart, gradually faded until it seemed as if we had always 
been together. I knew him intimately, far closer than any father 
could ever know his son.

I came to have a sixth sense about him, often thinking the 
same thoughts as my son at precisely the same instant and with 
each realization I began to appreciate the similarity between 
us, recognizing that although he looked very little like me, he 
was every bit mine. The genes he had inherited from me were not 
the physical genes but the ones of his psyche, his mind, his 
heart and soul. He was undeniably my son. He was also my little 
lover, a fact that he delighted in proving to me on every 
possible occasion and in ways that reflected an eagerness to 
please and a vivid imagination. He was the instigator more often 
than not and he delighted in discovering new ways, or improving 
old ways of doing 'it', or 'poking' as he started to refer to 
anal intercourse, for want of a better word.

The days passed too quickly. One day after the other 
disappeared until we were beyond the halfway point. Every minute 
of the day that I was not loving Jason, I was trying to discover 
a way by which I might keep him with me. My search was 
exhaustive but fruitless. The days were too short and the nights 
even shorter. Jason became browner and browner as his young body 
became stronger and stronger. Still slender, his thin frame 
hinted at the development of muscles that, with only a few 
months of exercise would make his young body become lithe and 
agile. But despite his increased appetite, his body still burned 
calories faster than he consumed them. Jason lost weight, a 
pound every week as his flesh tightened and the soft, puppy fat 
on his body disappeared and his skin became taut and firm.

Our life followed a regular pattern, from the time we 
awoke and made love, to eating an early dinner and making love 
immediately afterwards as we watched the sun set. Sometimes, 
unable to resist the desires we shares, we went to bed hungry, 
then late at night we would snack in the bed. But more often 
than not, we ate dinner on deck as the sun set. They were 
romantic meals, sharing hugs and kisses, before we went down 
into our cabin, or lay down on the cockpit seat and shared even 
more. Afterwards, when the longing to be joined together had 
faded enough for us to separate, Jason would use the radio to 
call his friends. Usually Jeff was waiting for his call and 
sometimes it was a four-way, two boys in the Greek islands, two 
boys in Australia. At those times, I worked on my book, making 
good progress with what I considered to be significant 
improvements. I hoped the publisher agreed.

It ended all too quickly. I was unprepared and the last 
night came unexpected and with devastating pain. Both of us were 
unprepared, neither of us ready to be separated, even for a 
single minute. The evening began as any other during the last 
two weeks. Immediately after dinner, we went to our cabin and 
made love in the position that we had come to cherish the most. 
I would lie on my side, Jason on his back, positioned with his 
legs wide apart and hooked over my hip so that he was 
perpendicular to me. I held his shoulders with my left arm, 
restricting his movement. Though now unnecessary, I hugged him 
closely as I tried to merge his body into mine.

With my right hand I was free to do whatever needed to be 
done. Sometimes I masturbated him as we moved together, but 
mostly my fingers massaged his little testicles or caressed his 
thighs and belly. Having my penis inside him was more than 
enough stimulation for Jason so that he did not care for the 
added excitement of being masturbated. He was content just to be 
'poked'. In this position, we were equals. Jason could control 
the rate and depth of my penetration, positioning my penis where 
he wanted by shifting or rotating his narrow pelvis, tightening 
his bowel as his orgasm came, or pulling away when he needed to 
catch his breath.

I could watch the absolute joy in his face, a study in 
juvenile ecstasy as initial discomfort became utter, joyful 
abandonment and finally lewd triumph as he felt my seed empty 
into him. And then we would kiss, joined mouth to mouth, his 
tongue swirling deeply into me, as my penis stayed deep inside 
his bowel. Our juices intermingled and completed the union that 
our bodies established. Unlike my first clumsy try at loving 
him, we were now experts at delaying the inevitable wet 
conclusion while giving Jason one dry, pre-pubescent orgasm 
after another. For that was the wonder of our love-making. Each 
time I found it remarkable; Jason could do 'it' time after time 
and other than breathing hard, showed no decrease in interest as 
I continued to 'poke' him. According to Harry, it wasn't 
unusual, in fact it was perfectly normal for a pre-teen boy. 
With pride he informed me that Jeff was the same way though, he 
added regretfully, it would not be long before the boy was 
having wet orgasms.

That last night was a particularly nice 'poke' that lasted 
probably forty minutes or more, if we had timed it. There was no 
rush and we copulated gently, with slow movements, relishing 
every loving thrust. As usual, I left his penis alone. Jason 
preferred it, if only because it allowed him to concentrate on 
more profound pleasures. His little penis contracted, 
shrivelling up and withdrawing into him, a condition that was 
matched by his scrotum, tightening until his testicles were 
compressed into his inguinal canal. Like that, his foreskin was 
longer than the rest of his penis and his testicles were 
invisible. It was hard to conceive of Jason as a boy, the 
attributes of his male sex being insignificant. His genitals 
appeared to be no bigger that they had been when he was two-
years-old.

 Afterwards we kissed, making up for our gentle love with 
deep, long, hard kisses. Breathless, we finally collapsed, 
locked in each other's embrace and afraid to break the silence 
and the wonder we shared. As usual, Jason's limited attention 
span proved our undoing.

"Can I call Jeff?" he asked softly.

"Uh huh!" I answered as I brushed his long, blond locks 
back from his forehead. "You don't need to ask, you know that, 
Jas'. You going to tell him about tonight," I teased. "You must 
have climaxed half-a-dozen times."

Jason smirked, squeezing his rectum tightly so that it 
compressed on the limp penis that was still embedded within him. 
He shook his head. "He's probably doing the same thing with 
Harry, don't you think?"

I smiled. "Not unless they did it in the bar,... maybe 
they did it on the terrace. Do you think it'd be good for 
business?"

Jason giggled. "I'd go. So would you!" he teased, knowing 
that I was very fond of Jeff. He tightened his sphincter as his 
body tensed and strained downward. The stress inside him 
increased and I felt a sudden rush of blood impelled into my 
penis. He was a wretched, little rascal sometimes. Jason smirked 
at me again, squeezing even harder as he felt my penis begin to 
swell again.

I smiled again and lifted his legs up so I could withdraw 
my penis before Jason provoked it into erection again. My wet, 
slippery penis eased out, like a worm being pulled out of its 
hole, it stretched, then as the head came free of Jason's anus, 
it sucked wetly and loudly. Jason giggled again.

"Pretty messy back there, huh?" he asked.

I picked up the hand towel from the shelf next to the bunk 
and lovingly wiped his crack clean, dabbing the corner of it 
into the distended, little hole. Already, it had started to 
regain its proper composure, closing as the foreign invader was 
extricated and the pressure relieved.

"You're clean," I said after I wiped the last of the 
glistening olive oil away from his scrotum.

"Thanks. You were great by the way," he smirked. "That was 
maybe the nicest 'poke' ever. I like it when you do it slow like 
that."

"So were you. You feel okay?" I asked.

He nodded. "I feel fine." He giggled. "I'm a bit sloppy 
inside from you, though."

I laughed. "I can't imagine why?"

He twisted away and lay down over me, giving me a full-
body hug as he rubbed his little genitals hard against mine. The 
rate at which he recovered fascinated me. One moment he would be 
barely conscious, his young body drained and on the point of 
physical exhaustion. A minute later he would be 'back to 
normal', ready to go swimming, wrestle with me, talk to Jeff on 
the radio, eat, or, even do 'it' again. He lifted his hips up 
and felt between our bodies. The slimy fluid of our love covered 
both of us and he grinned cheekily as he felt it on his own 
little penis.

"Sex sure is messy, isn't it?" he observed cheekily.

"I guess, but it sure is fun making the mess. You going to 
call Jeff?" I asked. "It's nearly eight o'clock."

Jason nodded and kissed me again. It was a sweet, tender 
kiss, almost chaste except for the presence of his tongue in my 
mouth. He lifted his body up, straddled me, with a grin leaned 
forward and licked my mouth with a wet swipe that went from chin 
to brow, and slid to the floor. He was tanned and beautiful and 
it was all I could do not to drag him down onto the bed again. 
He smiled at me knowingly. It was obvious that Jason had the 
same idea. 

"You wanna 'poke' again?" he asked. "I don't have to call 
him."

I grinned, trying hard to resist the temptation. More 
often than not I succumbed but tonight I would wait until we 
were back in bed again. It was only another two hours to wait. 
My hesitation answered Jason's question. He smirked.

"You owe me one later tonight," he said shamelessly. "I 
guess I better hit the can so I don't leave slime marks on the 
seat again."

I grinned as I watched his cute little bottom disappear 
into the bathroom, still feeling the longing to be back inside 
it. I heard a wet, little fart gurgle out of him as he expelled 
some of my semen, 'slime' as he persisted in calling it, and 
then he came back into the cabin. He gave me a shy smile, a 
little embarrassed as always after he found my semen inside him. 
For the white fluid that came out of him was the unmistakable 
evidence of our love, proof positive that a grown man's penis 
had been inside his bowel.

He picked up the hand towel on his way to the navigation 
area. I watched through the open doorway as he spread the towel 
over the seat and carefully eased his body down. The soreness 
inside his body would disappear in a short while but I still 
felt responsible. Other than the occasional pained expression, 
it did not appear to bother him and he accepted the raw 
stretched sensation as the price of being my lover. Besides, it 
didn't last very long. I watched him proudly as he switched the 
radio on, dialed in the frequency and gave the call sign for 
Apollo. He was as good with the radio as I was. In fact my ten-
year-old son was good at lots of things. I had no qualms about 
letting Jason dock the boat, he had the makings of a great 
helmsman and he learned as a rate that seemed impossible. Even 
the most complicated activities he grasped easily.

I listened to the playful chatter of the two boys, a 
hundred miles apart and two-years difference in their ages, but 
they could have been twins in the same room the way they carried 
on. I picked up the manuscript and started in on the second-to-
last chapter. My work was interrupted by Jason's shrill voice.

"Hey Dad, Harry wants to speak with you," he announced.

I placed the manuscript back on the shelf and went out to 
the main cabin. Naked-Jason was sitting cross-legged on the 
settee, the microphone stretched to the limit of its cable. I 
smiled at him, observing his small hand as his fingers casually 
stroked his limp penis. His foreskin retracted easily now, as 
well it should for the amount of practice it had received.

"Hi Harry, how's the weather in Paros. Over," I said.

"Oh fine. Listen, is Jason there with you now?" he asked.

I glanced down at my son and he grinned up at me cheekily 
as he shook his head playfully. I tousled his hair lovingly as 
he leaned forward and planted a wet little kiss on my now-slime-
encrusted penis.

"Yes," I admitted.

"You might want him to leave for a few minutes. This is, 
well,... it's kind of personal and it involves him," Harry 
explained.

I nodded and pointed upstairs. Jason pouted for a moment, 
realized that he wasn't going to win this battle no matter what 
he did, and headed off silently. I waited until he was in the 
cockpit and out of audible range.

"Okay Harry, he's gone. What's the problem?" I asked 
seriously.

"I'll get straight to it. His mother just called. She's on 
the telephone right now. She wants him back,... right away."

"What the fuck are you talking about, Harry? I still have 
five days with him. He's not supposed to leave until the 27th," 
I responded angrily as a terrible panic came over me. I trembled 
as I felt my happiness die. "What do you mean, right away?"

"I don't know. Listen I'm just the message bearer. I can 
patch you through to her now. She's waiting on the phone."

"Fuck her, Harry. I've got five days still. I want to keep 
him forever, Harry. I love him!" I gasped.

"Hell I know that. I know you love him. Let me patch you 
through to her. You can tell her to fuck off."

I waited for a few seconds as Harry made the connection. 
"Leane, is that you? What do you mean, you want Jason back right 
away? You're crazy, I've got five more days still!" I said 
abruptly. We were off to a good beginning.

"I know that's what I said. He has to come back now. 
Tomorrow morning at the latest." Leane said angrily. "You didn't 
want him in the first place. I expect I'm doing you a favor."

"I can't send him back tomorrow! You'll have to wait until 
the weekend, he'll be on the flight he's supposed to take. 
What's the big problem anyway?" I demanded angrily.

"I want him here, tomorrow. I'm marrying Carlo then and 
he's got to be here."

I took a deep breath and sighed. "Leane, you don't need 
Jason there for that. I don't think he'll even want to be there. 
Leave him with me, how about a few more weeks, until he can get 
used to the idea. You can have a honeymoon. Don't you think he's 
going to be shocked by you remarrying?"

"You don't have a choice in this. I've already re-booked 
his flight. Your friend in wherever, Paros or something told me 
you were fairly close to Athens. You could be at the airport by 
tomorrow morning."

I studied the chart. "The hell we are, Leane. It's ninety 
miles away and the winds are light up here, it's at least two 
days back to Athens," I retorted.

"You don't have a choice in this," Leane said angrily. "I 
want him here with me."

I paused for a moment, realizing that we were getting 
nowhere fast. "Leane, I want Jason to live with me. I think,... 
no I'm sure, that's what Jason wants as well."

"I don't care what Jason wants, and I care even less what 
you want. You said last time, that you might take Jason next 
summer. Good, if you want to see him again, then you'll get him 
to Athens Airport by eleven o'clock tomorrow morning," she 
demanded.

"You're crazy, Leane. Even if I left right now and motored 
the whole way we wouldn't get there until tomorrow afternoon. 
Besides, it's goddam dangerous to be sailing around here at 
night." I said angrily.

"If you want Jason next summer, you don't have any choice."

I snorted angrily. "Christ! Why is it so important for you 
to have Jas' at your wedding?"

"I want him to be with his father and me. It's an 
important time in his life."

I blew up. "He's already got a father, you bitch. You 
never wanted him before."

"Well, neither did you. I'm not the one who pissed off and 
left him for eight years, am I?" Leane said angrily.

"Well I'm not the one who wanted to abort him," I said 
softly. "You never loved him, Leane. Jason was an inconvenience 
in your life."

"You bastard. You had to bring that up, didn't you? Yes I 
wanted an abortion! I didn't want any part of you inside me."

I sighed in desperation. "He's a wonderful boy," I said 
quietly. "Leave him with me, please. He's been very happy these 
last few weeks. I love him, Leane."

"If you want him next summer, you'll get him to Athens by 
eleven, tomorrow," she replied unreasonably.

I studied the map again. "I'll try, okay. I think I can 
get to Khalkis by tomorrow morning and I'll take by bus into 
Athens. It's still unlikely we'll make his flight, but I'll try. 
Listen Leane, I know you hate me, but please listen. I want 
Jason with me," I pleaded. "I want him to live here, please. Not 
next summer, but from now on."

"This call is costing a fortune. Just get him on the 
plane. We can talk next week," she replied and then the phone 
clicked and the static came on the line from the broken 
connection.

Jason cried. He wailed, he sobbed, he screamed at me, at 
his mother, at the world around him. I tried to comfort him as I 
started the engine and commenced the thirty mile trip to 
Khalkis. He could not be comforted. He was heart-broken, his 
young life, only minutes before so complete and happy, had been 
devastated in seconds. Finally he fell asleep in the cockpit and 
I covered him with a blanket as I cautiously navigated Apollo 
through the night. He slept fitfully, crying several times in 
his sleep, once sucking his thumb the same way he did as a baby 
when he was sick or upset.

It was along, slow trip, travelling at half-speed, just 
five knots because I was afraid to open the engines up for fear 
of hitting floating debris. We arrived in Khalkis as the first 
rays of the sun appeared in the east. I was tired, my energy 
drained not by the long night but knowing that I was losing 
Jason. 

We didn't have sex again. There was no time and the desire 
to join our bodies together was not present. Both of us felt our 
hearts torn apart, each time I saw Jason's sullen, saddened face 
as he packed his bag, I wanted to cry. He did cry, little tears 
trickling down his cheeks constantly, though, like me he could 
not find the words to express what he felt inside. 

We had to hurry. We caught the first bus out of town, an 
ancient tour bus converted to local use. It was crowded and we 
found seats in the middle, between two overweight Greek women 
dressed in black and two elderly men. We didn't speak more than 
a dozen words during the three hour trip. From the bus stop we 
took a taxi to Hellenikon Airport. Jason cried as I tried to say 
good-bye. All he could manage was 'I love you, Dad' before the 
hostess escorted him away. I stayed in the airport for nearly an 
hour after his plane departed. I had no where else to go. I 
hoped that maybe his plane would turn back, I'd see him walking 
though the crowds, grinning cheekily, he'd appear like a 
wonderful apparition. 

Finally I left, walking mindlessly, unthinking, unseeing 
as I left the airport and began the long trip back to Apollo. I 
wanted to die. Only the thought of having Jason with me a year 
from now, kept me going. By the time I arrived back at Khalkis, 
my mind was made up. The next morning I would leave for Italy. 
The trip to Rome, actually to Ostia or Lido, was a long one; a 
rhumb-line of almost a thousand miles if I went by sea, passing 
south of the Peloponnesus and through the Straits of Messina. It 
would take at best seven days, and more than likely ten days. I 
would do whatever was necessary to get Jason back again.


PLATONIC LOVE.

DAY 30.   Frascati.  August 22th, 1993

"Oh, the gods, the gods cheat us!
Our Youth's first glories are Youth's first forfeits."
Petronius, The Satyricon.

Leane placed the June issue of "Bella" on top of the 
magazines that were piled neatly on the delicately carved Louis 
XIV table. Absently, she picked up Jason's book. It was the book 
that he had discarded as he had gone sleepily off to bed only a 
few hours earlier. It was Thomas Mann's 'Death in Venice'. Not a 
book for a young boy, especially not a book for a boy like 
Jason. It was a very sophisticated book for a boy who was just 
ten-years-old. But then, Jason was intelligent. He was very 
intelligent, perhaps too smart for his own good.

She sighed in desperation, then shook her head in 
frustration, wondering if she should have married Carlo. The 
trip to Pais had been disappointing and it appeared that Carlo 
would show little interest in the most important of his 
matrimonial responsibilities. During the three weeks they spent 
together she had gradually realized that not only was Carlo 
disinterested in sex, but his mind appeared to be elsewhere. At 
least her mother was at the villa now and she provided some 
company.

Leane opened the cover of 'Death in Venice'. It was a 
first edition and she immediately assumed that Jason had taken 
it from the family library. Its pages still as clean and crisp 
as the day it was printed. On the second page she realized that 
it was a gift and it had been signed, "To Jason, I will always 
love you, Dad. August 14th, 1993." She dropped it on the coffee 
table as if it had burned her hand. Thoughts of Jason and his 
father came to her. She could still hear her ex-husband's 
demanding voice from the previous night. She could hear his 
voice breaking as he begged her to allow Jason to stay with him. 
She smiled smugly, enjoying her position. It served him right. 
He deserved nothing. He had no rights to Jason. Even though in 
many ways it would be considerably more convenient for her if 
Jason was to live with his father, she would never give the man 
what he wanted. She would never give him the opportunity to be 
happy.

Leane glanced around the room, barely recognizing the 
intricate, green patterns of the vast, 17th-Century Flemish 
tapestry that adorned the wall, the Italian-marble fireplace, 
the soft, leather couches. Her son was the only male link left 
in a family that could trace it's roots back to Bavaria and more 
than three hundred years ago. 'Male', that was a joke, she 
thought cruelly. But then, why should she expect anything else?

"Yes," she thought to herself, Jason Anderson had always 
been different to other boys. In many ways, he was a truly 
remarkable boy, though few people would ever come close to 
understanding what made him so special. There was a familiar 
pattern to Jason's life. People, both young and old, were 
immediately drawn to the overly-handsome boy, attracted to his 
delicate, finely-sculpted features, the graceful, young body, 
the quick and ever-cynical wit, the precious, boy-soprano voice. 
But lasting friendships never formed. Jason was doomed to 
loneliness, it seemed.

She had always known that her son was a very sensitive 
boy. He was too sensitive to life around him and, afraid of 
being hurt, he quickly erected a barrier against all whom he 
came in contact with. He stood aloof, avoiding the rugged 
demands of young males to the point where he was unable to 
relate to boys his own age. Without the protection and nurturing 
of a father, Jason had become effeminate, developing epicene 
qualities that identified him as a sissy. Though Leane did not 
appreciate the extent of Jason's problem, she was well aware 
that he was not popular at school and subjected to snickers and 
jokes behind his back. As far as Leane knew, only Carlo Gubbio 
had been able to penetrate the boy's shield. Somewhere within 
Jason was a lonely, ten-year-old child who was at one time 
curious, extremely complex, and desperate for a man's affection.

Leane switched off the lamp and walked into the hall, not 
even glancing at the Uccello and Fragonard paintings on the 
wall. She smiled and shook her head at the maid as she came out 
to wish her good-night and to ask whether 'Signore' needed 
anything for the night. But what 'Signore' needed, the over-
cute, but not-over-bright, Sicilian maid was unable to provide. 
Tonight, Leane needed a hot, hard penis; unfortunately it could 
only be Carlo's penis.

She went up the stairs slowly and stopped at the landing. 
Leane turned and looked behind her. Sophia was still standing at 
the bottom of the stairs, sensually running her hand over the 
intricately carved newel post of the banister as if she were 
caressing a woman's breast, Leane's breast. For a moment Leane 
considered inviting Sophia to come to her bed again. The young 
woman, still in her teens, had an attractive body and was 
exceptionally skilled in its use. Leane shook her head slightly, 
not tonight. Tonight she needed a man. Tonight she needed a 
man's penis inside her, pounding inside her until the thoughts 
of Jason and his father were pushed from her mind. She also 
needed to consummate her marriage, undesirable though the 
thought of it had become to her. Tonight she would sleep with 
Carlo.

She yawned sleepily. It had been a long day but at least 
she was married again to a man who had an abundance of money. 
But the best thing about the marriage was Carlo's age. He was 
still good-looking in a refined, gentlemanly-like manner, but 
old enough not to have a sexual desire that demanded her 
attention. Just once a week, she expected. One time every week 
she would 'service' him. It would be enough to keep him happy, 
enough to meet her obligations under canon law. In fact Carlo 
had already hinted that her relationship with him need not be 
exclusionary. She wondered whether Carlo knew about Sophia. 
There seemed to be very little that he did not know about. She 
paused for almost a minute on the landing, wondering whether 
Carlo had an ulterior motive for his statement. There was a 
hint, no more like a strong suggestion, that their marriage was 
one of convenience, that their vows, barely ten hours old, were 
never to be given their full import.

And then there was Jason. Jason was the source of her 
problems and the heart of her suspicions, at least as far as 
Carlo was concerned. He had insisted that Jason return for the 
wedding, contriving arguments that demanded the boy's attendance 
because he was an essential part of the 'new family'. Carlo 
would not go forward with the wedding unless Jason was there 
beside his mother. While that in itself was not cause for 
suspicion, when considered in conjunction with the preceding 
events of which she had knowledge, it opened a frightening 
possibility; Carlo was sexually attracted to Jason, to her son, 
to a ten-year-old boy.

Leane walked slowly, reluctantly moving towards Carlo's 
bedroom, soon to be her bedroom. The mere idea of intercourse 
with the man was repugnant to her. When she remembered Sophia's 
firm, young body she wanted nothing else. Sophia's grasping legs 
had held her head so tightly than Leane had been unable move, 
except to give succor to the vagina presented to her and to 
accept the pleasurable manipulation of her own. Momentarily, she 
paused outside Jason's door. It was closed, for the first time 
ever, it was closed. It was so unlike him. Without knowing why 
she tried the handle carefully and was not surprised to find it 
unlocked. He was only ten-years-old, still too young to need 
such extreme privacy, though old enough not to allow his mother 
to observe him naked. He had not done that for many years.

All day, from the time his plane had landed at Fiumicino 
until he had finally gone to bed, Jason had sulked. He had 
surveyed them critically during the wedding ceremony, fulfilling 
his duty to his mother by standing by her at the wedding, but he 
had done so with a miserable, almost sour expression, and 
unconcealed disinterest, even mutiny. Later he had wandered away 
during the celebration on the terrace. All through the day and 
into the evening Jason had observed his mother with reluctant 
affection and Carlo with something that bordered on outright 
dislike or disdain.

Leane wanted to talk with him. She did not intend to put 
up with a spoiled, wretched child, even one of her own making. 
Jason would have to grow-up quickly and adjust to her changed 
expectations. His life had changed and if he did not behave, her 
solution was already formulated. Jason would go home with her 
mother and spend the next few years in a boarding school.

Again, without knowing why, she opened the door cautiously 
and stepped inside. The light was off and for a fraction of a 
second, in the darkness and silence of the room, she thought 
that Jason was asleep. But he was not asleep. Neither was Jason 
alone. The light from the hall spilled through the open door 
behind her and illuminated them. She gasped in shock, her mouth 
dropping open in sudden dismay.

Carlo was sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand between 
Jason's bare legs, the sheets and boy's pajama pants discarded 
at the end of the bed. He was half-naked and Carlo was playing 
with a small, very-rigid penis. That Jason had become erect 
through no fault of his own, that he had fought valiantly, 
though ineffectually against his body's instinctive response, 
was of no importance and of no interest to his mother. The 
undeniable fact was that he had stiffened and lengthened until 
his penis throbbed from the very hardness of its erection.

More lonely than he had ever been and with his heart 
cruelly 'broken', Jason had tried desperately to resist. He had 
tried to beg Carlo to leave him in peace, pleaded for him to 
stop, and lost. His traitorous penis decided an outcome that 
would be otherwise. It responded to Carlo's gentle touching even 
as memories of the things he had done in Carlo's bedroom came 
rushing back and he submitted unwillingly. Leane's hand flew to 
her mouth, stifling another gasp. A scream of rage welled up 
within her.

"My God, Jason what in the hell are you doing?" she 
demanded.

Jason felt a hot flush burst through him as he twisted 
away, burying his shame in his pillow. He sobbed as his mother 
stepped closer. She saw his immature, but very-aroused genitals 
displayed between his wide-stretched legs and watched as Carlo's 
fingers continued to grasp his undeveloped scrotum, still 
squeezing firmly on the tiny, highly sensitive testicles inside.

"You disgusting little pervert," Leane shouted angrily at 
Jason and then she turned to the man who continued to fondle 
him. "How could you? Tonight, Carlo, of all nights? Couldn't you 
leave him alone for just one night."

Carlo smiled enigmatically, almost unseen in the darkness. 
"Why Leane? Why should I? What did you expect?"

"What do you mean, what did I expect? I expect you to 
leave my son alone. I expect you to be my husband! We were 
married today, damn it, I expect to be fucked. Not my son, 
Carlo, me!" she swore furiously.

Carlo scratched his cheek thoughtfully. "I might have 
married you Leane but I fully intend to consummate it with 
Jason. Tonight! " 

"You're crazy. He's a boy! I,... I won't allow it. It's 
obscene! It's unnatural! It's,... it's against God!" she argued 
foolishly.

"Perhaps, Leane, but little Jason doesn't appear to be 
averse to the idea, now does he?" Carlo taunted as his fingers 
squeezed harder on the boy's testicles. Jason winced, 
momentarily trying to pull away from the strong hand that 
possessed him. Leane glanced downward, seeing again the small, 
still-very-hard penis. It appeared to be very exposed as it 
protruded from the boy's groin. Instinctively, protectively, 
Jason tried to bring his knees together and hide his genitals. 
As his knees lifted up, Carlo firmly pushed them down again onto 
the bed.

"Look at him Leane. He wants it just as much as you do. 
Only he wants it in his ass while you want it in your cunt. And 
personally, Leane, I prefer his ass."

"You,... You,... bastard. How could you?... How could you 
marry me? How? It was only to get him in your bed, wasn't it? 
All the presents, everything, were for that weren't they. You 
don't want me! You don't want a woman, what you want is a ten-
year-old boy! You're sick, Carlo," Leane sobbed.

Carlo shrugged. "Maybe, Leane. There isn't much you can do 
about it, you know."

"I can go to the police. It's child abuse. They'll put you 
in jail," Leane said triumphantly.

Carlo laughed. "You're joking. Not in Italy they won't. 
You really don't understand do you. With my money they won't do 
anything. What's more likely is you'll be deported." He laughed 
again. "Perhaps I could have you declared an unfit mother, or 
even insane. I would get guardianship of my little prince."

"Never! I,... I'd kill you first."

Carlo grinned, now rubbing Jason's penis between his 
fingers. The little foreskin retracted easily and the tiny glans 
pushed forward. It went unnoticed at the time and Carlo did not 
pay any attention to it.

"As I see it you have a choice, Leane. It comes down to 
leaving tomorrow, and ending our marriage with an annulment, or 
accepting that Jason sleeps with me," he offered graciously. 
"Under the first choice, you'd get nothing at all. Under the 
second, well it will all be your's and Jason's one day, won't 
it. Your son still has a few years left to share with me,... 
when he's older he'll go his own way. Till then, you go your own 
way, with Sophia or whomever you desire."

"You're asking me to consent to you fucking my son," Leane 
said angrily. "You're crazy!"

"If you wish to be crude about it. Yes! It's a price he 
doesn't mind paying, so why should you? Look at him, Leane, Try 
to tell yourself your precious little boy isn't queer. Of course 
he is. He probably would be happier being a girl." Carlo 
grinned. "It's your fault he's like this. It's your fault he 
wants it in his ass, Leane. Believe me, I know," he added.

"Hardly. I don't know how you can say such a terrible 
thing. How is it my fault?"

Carlo rubbed his hand slowly over Jason's thighs, then 
back against the small, slowly softening penis. Within a few 
seconds its stiffness returned, responding of its own volition 
to the man's exploring fingers.

Carlo smiled. "You've as good as emasculated him, you 
know. You've made him the way he is. You've ruined him with your 
nagging and your hatred for his father. And now your little boy 
needs a man, Leane."

"And that's you, I suppose. You're sixty-one and you want 
to have sex with a ten-year-old boy. That's disgusting!"

Carlo smiled slowly and then glanced at Jason, his face 
still buried shamefully in the pillow, still sobbing.

"Disgusting? No, I don't think so. Jason and I are old 
friends. He's a sexy boy. He likes it, Leane. He's as queer as 
any boy I've known, probably even more so than most because he's 
younger. Look at your little boy, Leane. Look at his cock. He's 
embarrassed in front of you but he still likes it. He's always 
liked it, right from the start, a month a ago."

"He might like it but that still doesn't make it right!" 
she exclaimed angrily.

"But why do you think it's wrong, my dear? He wants to 
learn about sex and I want to teach him. He's old enough to get 
laid. God knows, when I was ten I was fucked often enough. For 
him, well it's a natural part of growing up, isn't it?" Carlo 
explained with a surprising calmness.

Leane sighed and shook her head in despair. "So I married 
a goddam boy lover. Do I have a choice, Carlo?"

"I think you're smart enough to chose the best for Jason, 
Leane. With me, both of you will be very wealthy. Jason will go 
to the finest school in Rome. He will want for nothing. Neither 
will you for that matter. When he's older he'll go to whatever 
college he wants. He'll have opportunities that other boys will 
never have. He's actually very lucky. He'll be a lot happier 
living here than in that dump in Kentucky."

"He,... he could live with his father," Leane retorted. 
"He said he wanted Jason to live with him! His father has enough 
money to give him most of those things and he wouldn't be 
screwing his ass either."

"But then you'd get nothing, Leane. You'd go back to that 
dump and work. You'd still have to take Lockley's shit. You'd be 
still driving that old car. You'd still have nothing."

"And what do I have to do, Carlo?" Leane asked 
suspiciously. "I have to agree to let you screw his ass, is that 
it?"

"Nothing so vulgar, leane. I expect you to consent to 
Jason being my friend, let's call him my companion. What we do 
together is our business," Carlo said quietly.

For some time, though uncertain as to when the thought had 
first occurred to her, Leane suspected that Carlo Gubbio had 
exploited his relationship with her son. In some undefined way, 
though visibly evidenced in the boy's increasing indifference 
and disturbing remoteness, Carlo had taken Jason's innocence in 
return for friendship. In fact, as Leane reflected on the signs 
she had observed, she came to the inescapable conclusion that 
she had managed to almost avoid for a month. However, her 
conclusion was so far fetched at the time that it was 
unbelievable. Such things could not occur in front of her nose 
and go unnoticed. It was simply impossible.

But things had happened during the week before Jason had 
left to visit his father. There were things that could not be 
easily or simply explained away. There were Carlo's gifts to 
Jason for one thing; endless gifts from Carlo, expensive 
presents that were undeserved; a gold Cross, a watch, a diamond 
stud, clothes and toys of all types and sizes. Rewards, or 
tokens of Carlo's affection for the boy? She shuddered as she 
wondered. Rewards for what? Leane clenched her hands together. 
Again, the same conclusion came. 

And then there were the daily trips with Carlo in the 
sports car, disappearing for hours at a time it seemed, and the 
quiet, retiring boy, so shy and sensitive and becoming colder 
and more distant after they returned. It was as if Jason was 
ashamed as he ambled off impassively, seeking the seclusion of 
his own world of fantasy. What had happened in the car? Again, 
she reached the same conclusion. But with all the evidence, she 
was still uncertain. It could be an innocent manifestation of an 
old man's delight in her son, or confirming testimony of gross 
and deplorable behavior.

But there was one thing that had happened whose 
significance was painfully and brutally clear even at the time, 
though she had chosen to overlook it. It had happened on the 
night before they left for Paris and Jason left to visit with 
his father. It was the night that she had spent so recklessly 
with Sophia. That was the night she knew, but still refused to 
believe. Or had she known then and merely accepted the truth of 
it. She shuddered.

She remembered the night in vivid detail, just a few hours 
before dawn when she returned to her own bedroom, physically 
exhausted and still trembling from the passion that Sophia had 
aroused in her. She had heard the unmistakable click of a door 
handle as he stood in the shadows at the end of the hall, hidden 
from sight. She had watched in grim disbelief, at first 
rejecting the evidence of her own eyes. Little, naked Jason had 
appeared through the door to Carlo's room. He carried his 
pajamas in his hand. He stopped, turned, took a step forward and 
stood on tiptoes. Who he hugged, the person he embraced, was 
unseen, but there could only be one man who held the boy. It was 
a simple act that was too heinous to be believed.

No, she decided, she had not overlooked it. She had simply 
chosen to ignore it. Her life would change, Jason's life would 
changed with her marriage to Carlo. If there was a price to be 
paid, then she would pay it and Jason would pay it. She could 
never return to the squalid, little apartment in Paris, Kentucky.

 She shook her head resolutely. Strangely, she did not 
feel revulsion. Instead, there was a curious freedom as if a 
load had been lifted from her shoulders. It was attended by an 
almost mystical fascination with her son's sexuality, he was so 
small and fragile, yet his body was desired by the same man she 
had married. It did not seem obscene, merely unpleasant and 
distasteful, perhaps even convenient if examined in a particular 
way. It would remove her from certain 'obligations'.

Leane looked at Jason uncertainly, weighing the facts as 
she considered the opportunities inherent in a relationship 
involving Jason and Carlo as well as herself. All said and done, 
she had to agree to it if she wanted to maintain the standard to 
which she had now become accustomed. If it was what Jason wanted 
as well, then there was no 'problem'. She could live with it. 
Slowly she nodded, still stroking the boy's head.

"Jason,..." Leane began. She paused for a moment. 
"Jason,... is this what you want?" Jason, sweetie, honey, do 
you?" she coaxed. She leaned forward and reached down an stroked 
the boy's small head. "Jason, answer me, please darling," she 
said.

Jason shook his head slightly. "I-I-I w-w-w-a-n-t t-t-to l-
l-live w-w-with D-D-Daddy," he wailed, stuttering with a 
frightening nervousness. He shook his head again, this time more 
vehemently.

Carlo smiled at Leane. "The little prince is ashamed. I 
should think his answer is obvious," he smirked as he stroke the 
rigid little penis. 

"Jason, honey,... it's your body,... you can do what you 
want with it, understand. If this is what you want, then it's 
your business and no one else's. What you and Carlo do in 
private, well,... it's up to you to decide. Do you understand? 
Jason, answer me!"

Jason, curled up in a little, fetal ball, nodded 
fractionally, his breathing strained as he struggled within 
himself. "M-M-Mom, p-p-please,.... d-d-don't be angry. I-I-I c-c-
can't h-h-help it," he implored. "I-I-I w-w-w-want m-m-my Dad," 
he cried.

Leane breathed out and shook her head. It was Jason's 
decision, after all. "You might see him next summer. If you're 
good and he still wants her, perhaps you can spend a week or two 
with him.... Good night, honey," she said softly.

"M-M-Mom, p-p-please," Jason begged.

But Leane had already turned away and was almost to the 
door.

"Lift your legs up, Jason," Carlo commanded.

"M-M-Mom, p-p-please," Jason whimpered. "D-d-d-don't,..."

For a second Leane paused in the doorway. "Higher!" Carlo 
ordered. "Show me your ass, Jason! Yeah! That's better. Now pull 
you cheeks open.... Further,... wide apart."

Leane quickly pulled the door closed behind her, uncertain 
as to the nature of the sound she heard, though it came from 
Jason and sounded a lot like an animal-like squeal of terror.


PLATONIC LOVE.

DAY 31, Frascati.  August 23th, 1993

"The testicles are even more important than the heart, since, besides the 
heat and strength they give to animals, they are responsible for the 
continuance of the species, for they impart to the whole body a power 
similar to the sensory and motor power which the brain communicates to 
the nerves, and to the pulsatory power that the heart communicates to the 
arteries, and this power causes the male's vigor and virility."

Galen

"God Mom, I can't believe he's dead." Leane sobbed. "I 
don't understand why he isn't here, now, with us. Why was he 
driving in his car in the middle of the night. And Jason! What 
did he mean about Jason? I'm so worried. I,... I don't know what 
to do."

Leane looked over towards the telephone. In shock, she 
could not focus on it. She shook her head wildly. "It can't be 
true! I don't believe it! Carlo's not dead! He can't be dead! We 
were leaving on our honeymoon today."

She shuddered constantly as the pain came in terrifying 
waves, still trying to decipher the meaning of what she had 
heard only minutes earlier. "What did he mean, Mom? What he said 
about Jason. He said that Jason's recovering. It just doesn't 
make any sense to me? He said something about an operation? 
Jason's in Ravello, at Carlo's villa there, he said." She leaned 
down and tore a tissue from the silver box and wiped her tears 
away. "I don't understand? Where in hell is Ravello? What 
operation? Jason wasn't even in the wreck? Mom, I'm so worried," 
she gasped.

Christina came over to stand beside her daughter, placing 
her arm around her daughter's shoulders. "Honey you're not 
making any sense. Tell me what he said. Who were you talking to 
on the phone?"

"I was talking,... Cardinal Orselli," Leane said dazedly. 
"I don't believe it. It can't be true."

"What can't be true? What did he say?"

"Carlo's dead, Mommy. There was an accident,... on the 
freeway. A car wreck, and Carlo's dead. It happened early this 
morning,... south of here. Carlo was on his way back from a 
place called Ravello. That's where Jason is now."

"You're still not making any sense, Sweetie," Christina 
interrupted. "Why is Jason at Ravello?"

"Christ, I don't know. Orselli said something about an 
operation. I don't understand. Why would Carlo take Jason 
anywhere at night, I don't understand."

"Yes, I'm sure it's very confusing."

"Mom,... Carlo was having sex with Jason," Leane breathed 
out.

"What? You must be joking!"

"No Mom! Last night, when I went to bed,... I found Carlo 
in Jason's bedroom. He was, he was playing,... with Jason's 
penis. I was angry, of course. He's my husband and he was 
playing with my son's penis. He was rubbing it."

"Leane, I,... I'm sure it's nothing to worry about."

"Don't be stupid, Mom! I married a goddam faggot. He 
married me only to get at Jason. He told me that. It's very 
simple, really. Jason sleeps with him at night, instead of me. He 
intended to consummate our marriage with my son, with Jason."

Christina regarded her daughter with visible shock. "You 
can't be serious?"

"Oh yes! I'm serious! You better believe it, Mom. Either that or a 
divorce, and then I get nothing. The papers I signed before we 
were married are explicit. Carlo knew exactly what he was doing. 
He said that Jason will sleep with him, maybe for a few years, 
until he's thirteen or fourteen, and after that everything will 
work out fine. There's no problem! All I have to do is put up 
with it until then."

"You mean you agreed?"

"Yes, in a way, I guess I did. I,... I told Jason it was 
his body and he could do what he wanted with it... I said it was 
his business,... what he did with Carlo at night. I didn't want 
to know about it."

"So Jason's gay? Well, well. I guess it isn't a surprise 
is it? I always knew, I always said that he was effeminate," 
Christina said cruelly.

Leane shrugged as she tried to appear unconcerned. "So 
what if he is, does that make it any better? And what if he 
isn't?"

"Well, I'm sure he'll grow out of it, then. And if he is 
queer, then what's the loss? As far as I can see, all you can do 
is gain, Leane. In fact, both of you are better off living here 
than in that dump in Kentucky. You won't have to work and you'll 
get everything sooner or later, as soon as Carlo dies. I mean 
he's sixty-one, he can't last forever, can he?"

"Mom, I thought about that. It seems so selfish of me,... 
to allow Jason to do it so that I benefit," Leane said quietly. 
"It's wrong and we both know it. I ought to call the police."

Christina smiled. "It's a bit late for that now, isn't it?"

"I guess so. Mom, what about Jason? What operation was 
Cardinal Orselli talking about?"

"I'm sorry about Carlo, honey. Really I am. But I'm sure 
Jason's fine. It can't be anything really serious, can it? He's 
not at a hospital, Lee, now is he? Didn't Orselli say he was at 
Ravello, staying at Carlo's villa?"

"So where in the hell is Ravello, Mom? I didn't even know 
that Carlo had another place besides this. What goddam operation 
was he talking about? Jason was perfectly fine yesterday. 
There's nothing wrong with him." Leane turned away from her 
lover and stalked over to the telephone. "I'm going to call the 
police and find out what's going on!" she said angrily.

Christina shrugged, " Good luck, kiddo. Dealing with those 
clowns will be an experience, I'm sure. Look, Jason's got to be 
okay. Maybe he broke an arm or something. Or cut his knee, who 
knows. These people could mean anything when they say 
'operation'. God only knows what Jason's doing in Ravello, 
though."

"But where in hell is Ravello?" Leane demanded. "God I'm 
worried, Mom!"

Leane stood before the telephone, considering the problems 
and the vagueness of the replies she expected, that she knew she 
would get at eleven o'clock in the morning.

"God, how I hate this country. What did he mean about 
Jason being better in a week, or so? About being able to come 
back here at the end of the week. Christ, that's six days away. 
What operation were they talking about? Mom, I'm scared, really 
I am."

There was a long silence as Leane walked back over the 
window and stared out at the countryside that opened outward 
from the terrace. She turned back to the other woman and spoke 
hesitantly. "Mom,... do you think,... it has anything to do,... 
with what Jason was doing with him at night?"

Christina shrugged, "Maybe. But I'm sure he's fine. Like I 
said, it's probably just a broken arm or something like that."

Leane swallowed nervously and looked back at her mother 
angrily. "What if he's been hurt? What if he got hurt inside? 
From doing those things, well maybe he was injured. He's just a 
boy and,..."

The other woman shook her head and interrupted. "I think 
that's silly, Lee. I'm certain they were still just playing 
around together. I'm sure it's harmless and Jason's okay."

"Don't be stupid Mom. I know he was going to do it with 
Carlo. What do you think 'consummate' means for Christ' sake? If 
he's hurt Mom, its my fault. I let him do it. God, I told him it 
was okay. I told him it was his business what he did at night 
with Carlo. I said,... Mom, I even said it was his decision,... 
what he did in bed with Carlo."

Christina nodded sympathetically. "It's too soon Lee. 
Believe me, honey. There's just no way he's going to get hurt 
enough to need an operation by playing a few dick-games with a 
sixty-one-year-old man."

Leane looked back at her mother. She was still frantic as 
she brooded on her son's fate, now regretting her decision to 
bring the boy with her to Italy, let alone condoning his illicit 
relationship with Carlo. Christina moved towards the door, 
neither enjoying her daughter's pain or appreciating the 
interruption to her planned schedule of shopping in Rome.

"I'll get Tony. He'll know where Ravello is. He may even 
know what happened to Jason. I'm sure he's fine!"

Christina left the room, glad to be free of her daughter's 
problem, but knowing inside that it wasn't over - it wasn't over 
by a long way. As she walked down the hall she couldn't help but 
smile to herself as she thought. She expressed her contempt for 
her grandson in an unheard whisper. "I always knew he was queer, 
a stupid, goddam faggot. I wonder what trouble the little shit-
head's got himself into now."

She found Tony in the kitchen eating an early lunch. With 
no Italian beyond the few simple phrases that every tourist 
picks up, conversation was impossible for Christina. Finally she 
managed, "Ravello? Dove Ravello, Tony?" It produced a long 
discourse from the young man and much gesticulation. She pulled 
him after her, back to the library, back to Leane. Ten minutes 
later, after many attempts and raised voices, they were still no 
closer to understanding where Ravello was, what had happened to 
Jason, and Leane was barely able to avoid crying.

It was the sound of tension and worry in the mother's 
voice that finally convinced Tony to bring a map. They unfolded 
it on the ancient oak table where the fate of many had been 
decided over the centuries. Tony stabbed his finger on the map, 
at a point several inches below Rome. Ravello was clearly shown, 
a small town on the Amalfi Coast. Within a few minutes, the two 
women were able to convince Tony of the need to take them to 
Ravello. Tony was very uncertain. He was convinced that Cardinal 
Orselli would not be pleased. It was in direct violation of the 
orders he had received earlier that morning, but then Tony had 
never been one to follow orders and he owed no allegiance to the 
old man now that Carlo was dead. He brought the Mercedes 
limousine to the front door and was waiting when the two women 
came out. They had changed from tennis clothes to something more 
suitable for the journey south.

The road from Rome to Naples was busy but they still 
travelled quickly; 209 kilometers on the A2 autostrada at a 
speed that was often in excess of 140 kilometers per hour. A 
little more than halfway, they crossed the Liri River and then 
after another ten kilometers or so came to Monte Cassino. They 
looked, but there was no sign of an accident having occurred 
there only twelve hours earlier. There was no sign of the 
remains of red Ferrari Testarossa. However, it would have been 
on the other side of the autostrada, heading north, back to Rome.

Tony stayed on the autostrada all the way to 
Castellammare. Uncertain of the best route, the fastest route, 
he stopped the car and leaned over the seat, pointing at the map 
with his finger. One way was via Sorrento and Positano, the 
other was more direct, though on bad roads over the mountains. 
They took the shortest route, one leg of the triangle, up into 
the Monti Lattari. Tony was an aggressive, but skilled driver, 
wielding the wheel with two hands and using the accelerator to 
power the heavy car through the sharp bends of the steep ascent 
into the mountains. It seemed to take forever. The road was 
narrow and it twisted and turned, sometimes one curve after 
another in endless succession.

They reached the summit in the mid-afternoon, just after 
three p.m. and started the descent. The huge Michelin tires on 
the Mercedes limousine howled, the engine roaring as the car 
hurtled downward. The noise echoed off the rock walls and seemed 
to bellow back at them as the car raced across narrow bridges 
that spanned deep gorges and through the tunnel outside Agerola. 
The road became even more torturous as they came closer to the 
coast.

On another day, Tony would have stopped the car, letting 
his passengers enjoy the spectacular view of the Amalfi Coast. 
The mountains came right down to the sea, cascading into azure 
water with unbelievable drama. Christina and Leane had been 
silent for almost two hours in the car, the tension building 
until the air seemed to crackle. 

"It's so beautiful," Leane said at last.

Christina smiled and lovingly placed her hand on the other 
woman's thigh. Carefully, so that Tony would not notice. "Yes, 
Lee! Yes, it is beautiful," she agreed softly. 

Leane smiled, stroking the hand tenderly. "I'm sure he's 
okay," she said quietly. "Thank you for coming with me, Mom. I 
couldn't stand this by myself."

Christina nodded, now caressing Leane's thigh slowly with 
her fingertips. It was an indecent touch, couched in the 
intimate contact of mother and daughter. Tony glanced in his 
rear-vision mirror and smirked knowingly, thinking of the many 
jokes that the servants had about Jason's mother and the 'little 
prince', as Jason was affectionately called. Tony swerved 
violently as the mountain road joined with the coast road at 
Vettica Minore. Now the road became a corniche, the most famous 
road in all of Italy. It followed the coastline, twisting back 
and forth as it snaked from one mountain to another. In places, 
it was incised into solid rock, with glimpses of the ocean still 
far below and wild-shaped rocks that plunged into the crystal 
waters. The road leaped deep gorges on narrow bridges that were 
made even more dizzying by the speed of the car. They raced 
through Amalfi and for a few moments a police car gave pursuit 
until the driver saw the plates and recognized the owner. 
Immediately the police car pulled over, giving up the chase.

Only a few minutes later, the Mercedes began the steep 
climb to Ravello, winding its way through a series of hairpin 
bends along the Valle del Dragone. Vineyards and olive trees 
lined the road and both sides of the gorge. Above them, the 
white walls of the village seemed to grow out of the hillside. 

Just before the Cathedral, the car skidded to a halt, 
squealing tires as it accelerated up a narrow lane that skirted 
around the village. A few more minutes and Tony pulled up and 
stopped the car in front of a large rusted gate. He turned the 
engine off and twisted around, now-smiling with a twisted, 
knowing smirk. Now, the boy was most certainly 'the little 
prince' in more than name only.

"We are here!" he announced. "Villa Pallavicino. It 
belongs to Carlo. Your son, Jason, is here!"

Leane turned to Christina. "Come with me, Mom?" she asked 
quietly, her voice breaking with the tension of the last few 
hours.

The two women got out and walked up to the gate. It was 
locked. Christina turned to the small metal grate in the wall 
and impatiently pressed the buzzer, demanding admittance. 
Minutes passed and there was no answer. Again, Christina pushed 
the buzzer and an angry, ancient voice called out loudly. "No 
tourists. This is private property."

Leane looked at Christina uncertainly. "Is this the Villa 
Pallavicino? Do you have my son in there? My boy, Jason, is he 
in there?" she demanded. "My husband is Carlo Gubbio!"

This time the voice seemed angrier. "Private property. No 
one is here. No boy is here."

Leane looked at her mother with desperation and shook her 
head. "He's here, Mom. I know he is."

At that moment, a telephone rang somewhere inside the 
house. It seemed to come from the left of the gate. The minutes 
that passed seemed like an eternity. Finally an old woman came 
out of the house and shuffled slowly up to the gate. She was 
old, perhaps sixty, and stooped from years of hard, back-
breaking toil in the vineyards. She looked though the crack 
between the two gates suspiciously.

"Signore Gehring?" she asked in a voice that scratched 
with harsh, angry tones. Both Leane and Christina nodded. The 
old woman appeared confused for a few moments. "Signore Gubbio? 
Jason's mama?"

This time only Leane nodded and she stepped forward so 
that she stood before the old woman. She watched watching her 
fumble at the lock on the other side with gnarled, arthritic 
fingers. One gate swung open, just wide enough to admit her and 
she stepped through. Christina stepped forward too but already 
the old woman was closing the gate. The lock clicked as 
Christina reached it.

The old woman smiled slyly as she pointed, "Her! Just the 
mother is allowed in! She is the boy's mother!" She turned and 
shuffled her way back towards the house, expecting Leane to 
follow her.

Leane stopped in silent amazement. She was standing in the 
most beautiful courtyard she had ever seen. It was cool and 
shaded and planted thickly with hydrangeas and tea-roses. Three 
sides of the house formed a U-shaped cloister. Above the 
colonnade of Romanesque columns, pointed arches gave a 
distinctly oriental appearance to the building. A marble 
fountain provided the centerpiece. Water splashed from a 
beautiful, bronze statue of a naked boy. Except for the short, 
tight curls, the resemblance to Jason was remarkable, though it 
could have been any ten-year-old boy who provided the model. The 
boy's body arched back, feet planted apart, legs braced, two 
tiny hands guided a small penis, directing a stream of water 
that splashed into the pool below.

The woman stopped and turned back again. She sighed 
impatiently. Quickly, Leane caught up. They walked into the 
colonnade. At the corner of the cloister, the inside wall 
stopped and formed a doorway. Leane looked though into another 
garden. Like the courtyard, this too was richly flowered, one 
side lined with an avenue of box and cypress trees, leading to a 
belvedere in the distant corner. Beyond the rotunda, the blue 
ocean and sky merged. She turned back to the old woman, not 
wanting to be left behind again and antagonize her even further. 
The woman was observing her curiously.

Leane shivered involuntarily. "Jason,... my son, is he 
okay?" she asked nervously. 

There was nothing but silence. Leane asked again. Again 
silence. Then, after nearly a minute the old woman spoke. 
"Cardinal Orselli will explain as soon as he arrives from 
Napoli, Signore."

"Damn you," Leane swore. "Is my son all right? For God's 
sake, answer me! What's Cardinal Orselli got to do with my son?"

"Cardinal Orselli will explain... The boy is,... okay." 
She stopped, knowing that she was forbidden to say more. For a 
reason beyond her grasp, she was strangely drawn to the mother's 
frantic worry. "He will be all right. He is a good strong boy," 
she added.

"For God's sake, please? Please tell me what's wrong with 
him?" Leane pleaded.

"He is better, Signore. He has woken up once and eaten 
already. He is asleep now. The boy will get his strength back in 
a few days." She paused, unwilling to continue the explanation. 
"He's young. I'm sure he'll recover quickly."

"Recover from what?" Leane asked loudly. "Tell me, what's 
wrong with my son."

"Castrato." The old woman said the word so softly that 
Leane could barely hear it. For a while she did not grasp the 
meaning of the word. Slowly the full import came to her and she 
stared at the old woman in disbelief, dumbfounded.

"What,... do you mean? Castrato?" she gasped.

The explanation was everything Leane sensed and 
anticipated in a quickly growing horror. "Si Signore, gelded. 
Like a capon. You understand, his eggs are gone?"

Leane felt her legs weaken and she swayed, nearly fainting 
as she leaned heavily against the ancient stucco wall next to 
her. "Why? Was it an accident?" she asked in a trembling whisper.

The old woman shrugged. "Why does it rain? It was not an 
accident. These things happen, Signore. Cardinal Orselli will 
explain. He will be here soon, within the hour. He called from 
his car. I should have said nothing."

"But why? Why do that,... to a little boy? To my son? To 
Jason?" Leane murmured in disbelief.

"You answer your own question, Signore. He won't miss what 
he doesn't know. He is still too young to know what he had 
there."

"Where is Jason now?" Leane asked weakly. She was no 
longer able to deal with the implications of her son's injury. 
The shock grew until she felt very faint and she shivered as she 
realized the terrible implications of what she had heard.

The woman looked upward, identifying some remote, unseen 
part of the villa that was above them. "The little prince is 
sleeping, signore. It is good for him to sleep. He will forget 
sooner. He will forget what was taken from his body last night."

"But why my son? Why him? Who would do that to my son? To 
any boy?" Leane questioned with growing annoyance.

The old woman merely shrugged. "You must wait for Cardinal 
Orselli. He will explain but you should understand one thing. It 
was not forced on the boy, Signore." Leane's jaws clenched in 
anger and she breathed deeply as she tried to control her rising 
panic. "Wait here, in the garden, Signore. He will be here soon 
enough."



Obediently, Leane waited in the garden for Cardinal 
Orselli to arrive. Somewhere in the ancient villa lay her son. 
Her instinct, all reason, the special bond of mother and child, 
all told her that she should go to him, but the old woman had 
been adamant. The old woman, Maria, had said that the boy was 
sleeping and could not be disturbed. She would see him as soon 
as Cardinal Orselli arrived and had talked with her. Leane felt 
impotent, suddenly very alone in the foreign country that at 
first had seemed so much like her own. Again and again she 
looked back at the villa. Its white stucco was fading in spots 
though it still gleamed in the brightness of the late afternoon 
sun. She walked up and down the avenue, following the box hedge. 
There at least she was shaded from the dying heat of the sun as 
she tried hard to understand what Maria had told her.

Alone, she decided that none of it made any sense. There 
was no reason why her young son would ever do such a terrible 
thing to himself. Maria had spoken as if the boy had come 
willingly. But that seemed most unlikely, and the fact that he 
had some how agreed to be mutilated like that; that was simply 
impossible.

And yet, despite her anger and shock, she also felt 
strangely relieved. Her son was, had been, very close to one of 
the most important men in Italy and she suspected that if it had 
not been for Jason, Carlo would not have married her. Now, she 
would, according to her marital right and the will that Carlo 
had made the day after the marriage, inherit everything. And 
then, only hours earlier her marriage had been abruptly and very 
successfully terminated. She had, within a period of only a six 
hours, become very, very rich.

Perhaps she should had been more assertive when she 
discovered that Jason and Carlo were becoming 'close'. Perhaps 
he was too young to be the man's 'companion', but it was too 
late to worry about that now. However, what she felt was more 
than relief from what had promised to be an unfortunate liaison. 
Despite her misgivings, almost in direct contradiction to the 
disgust she felt, there was an intense, possessive pride in her 
son, in the fact that Carlo Gubbio had not only befriended the 
boy but had been intimate with him as well.

There was a curious fascination in that fact that although 
her son was physically and sexually immature and emotionally 
still a child, he had been Carlo's lover every bit as much as 
she had been his lover. It was difficult for her to imagine what 
Jason had done with her husband, but he did have the 
intelligence of a boy in his mid-teens. He was intelligent 
enough to understand both what the man expected of him and what 
he needed to do to enjoy himself. It both depressed her and 
fascinated her. Jason was an unusual boy, a truly remarkable 
boy, whose young life had been destroyed by the abomination that 
now dominated her thoughts. The horrible mutilation of his body 
seemed to have no cause beyond the undeniable fact that it was 
her fault. She could only blame herself.

For a long while she thought about asking Maria to bring 
her mother in. She did not. In some strange way she knew that 
this was her problem. It was something that she would have to 
face alone and not with her mother beside her. It was something 
that she would soon have to face with Jason. The few things she 
knew were unbelievable, yet she also knew that the old woman had 
spoken the truth. She knew it instinctively, from deep inside 
her. It was a 'gut feeling' that was unimpeachable.

Fifty long minutes passed before she finally saw the man 
framed as a dark silhouette in the doorway of the villa. He was 
talking with the old woman and although Leane was nearly at the 
distant belvedere, she recognized the tall, distinctive figure 
of Cardinal Orselli. For a moment she thought about going to him 
but she hesitated. For some reason that nagged at her mind, she 
knew that he should come to her. She must not be the frantic 
mother of a little boy whose life had just been devastated. She 
waited in the dark coolness under the rotunda at the belvedere, 
enjoying the cool breeze as it swept upward from the ocean far 
below and swirled around the marble structure.

The man approached. He was well-dressed, bearing himself 
proudly. His clothes were from the finest tailors in Rome. He 
stopped as he reached the belvedere. "Bon giorno, Signore 
Anderson," he said gently.

She nodded her head, a life of respect for the clergy was 
instantly revealed in a gesture of acknowledgment, "Your 
Eminence," she breathed out.

The man smiled reassuringly. He was old but he was still 
unusually handsome, not unlike the parish priest she had known 
as a young girl in Baltimore. "I am sorry that we have to meet 
again under such circumstances."

Leane nodded and returned the smile weakly, obediently 
submissive. She swallowed and took a deep breath as she prepared 
to release the torrent of words she had prepared in her mind. 
Cardinal Orselli anticipated her attack. "Maria has told me that 
you know what has happened to your son. I am sure you have many 
questions and that you are very angry. Your son, Jason, is a 
wonderful boy."

Leane nodded and released the breath with a nervous 
tremble, her right hand clenched. "Your Eminence,..." she began.

The man smiled again, still reassuring, still calming her. 
He spoke very quietly, his soft voice penetrating to the core of 
her being. "It was what the boy wanted. Jason requested it,... 
that it be done to him."

Leane shuddered. "He's only ten,... Damn it! He's ten 
years old." She shook her head, still disbelieving. "Ten-year-
old boys don't request that,... that they be castrated. How 
could you do that to him?" she begged.

"I did not do it, Signore."

The silence that ensued was intense as they stood only a 
few feet apart, glaring at each other. "How could you allow it 
then?" Leane added.

The man shook his head with dismay. "Signore Anderson," he 
began gently. "You knew that Jason was with Carlo Gubbio at 
night. You must have realized that your son was doing things 
with him, things that ten-year-old boys generally don't do with 
men. How could you allow your son to do that?" he concluded 
quietly.

Leane spun around angrily. "That's different," she 
retorted. "That's very different to this. Jason was,..." She 
paused looking for the appropriate word, "agreeable."

Cardinal Orselli smiled slightly, "But Signore, he's still 
a little boy, isn't he? Does it matter if he was,... agreeable 
to the arrangement?"

She sighed, wondering why she had ever agreed to bring 
Jason to Italy and to take up residence in the beautiful villa 
at Frascati. Bringing Jason had been Carlo's idea and now she 
understood why. She wondered why it had been so easy to give her 
consent, even if it had occurred simply by accepting the 
'arrangement' and by telling Jason that 'what he did with Carlo 
Gubbio was his business.'

"What's Carlo got to do with this?" she demanded angrily, 
glad that she could find a way to shift the focus from her 
irresponsibility and away from her culpability.

The man moved away from her until he stood with his back 
against one of the eight columns supporting the dome of the 
rotunda.

"The accident is most unfortunate. Carlo Gubbio should be 
here now, explaining this. He understands better than I do,... 
better than all of us. He should be here to comfort the boy."

The man looked away towards the horizon, following the 
rugged coastline towards the Isle of Capri, where the sun was 
slowly sinking closer to the sea.

"I expect that he made the boy aware,... of the 
possibility, say we say. The decision, ultimately was Jason's. 
However, I'm certain that your son understood the consequences 
of it. I'm sure he knew of the,... uh,..."

He stopped, searching for the right word. "... uh,... 
ramifications of the operation and how it would affect him 
later. In my opinion, the boy's reasons are probably the same as 
those when he went to Carlo Gubbio at night. You know he went 
willingly." He turned back to face Leane. "Your son is a 
homosexual. But it's not only that. You know as well as I do, 
Signore, that Jason is a girl living in a boy's body."

Leane shook her head, trying to deny the fact that she had 
already come to accept long ago. She had known it to be true 
ever since her mother had first observed the quintessential 
differences between her beautiful, slender, blond grandson, and 
other boys of his age.

"But how could you agree to it?" she repeated. "How could 
you allow the mutilation of his body?"

The man shrugged. "It's not my right to agree or disagree 
with what was done. Besides it's done now, anyway. You may now 
want to accept that Jason requested it, but that is the truth." 
He gestured out towards the water. "It's not something that you 
can put back, or make better by being angry. This thing, this 
mutilation as you call it, is not that terrible for him. Simply, 
it makes him less of what he is and more of what he really wants 
to be."


PLATONIC LOVE continued.

Leane nodded slowly. In a strange way it made sense to 
her. She looked out towards the ocean, silent in her own 
confused thoughts. It was, she realized, like a tragic comedy. 
At first the entire world had been so different for the two of 
them when they left the States and came to Italy. It was a vast, 
barely-believable change from the apartment outside Lexington to 
the beautiful villa overlooking the Roman Campagna. Was this the 
price of it?

"Who,... who did it?" she breathed out. She feared the 
answer even as she spoke the words.

"Carlo."

"Oh God! No! I don't believe you! Carlo wouldn't do that. 
Not to Jason! Not to us," she screamed. She sagged back against 
the column behind her as her knees weakened. There was a 
terrible pressure in her bladder and she fought for control.

The old man nodded sagely. "You know that Carlo is a 
doctor. Is it such a surprise? You know that he loved the boy, 
don't you?" 

Leane pushed her fingers through her hair, clasping them 
tightly as she fought against overwhelming misery. "NO! No! No, 
He,... he he wouldn't do that to Jason. It's a lie," she sobbed.

"Carlo is,... was,... very,..." He paused, half-closing 
his eyes thoughtfully as he searched for the words he needed. 
"demanding. Sometimes he was irrational. He was not,... not 
insane,... but confused about his feelings for boys."

"You think he was crazy don't you?"

Cardinal Orselli shrugged. "I don't know. Perhaps 
sometimes he was. You knew how he felt about your son but you 
didn't stop him."

"I tried. I found them together,... last night." Leane 
shuddered. "I, I didn't think he would hurt Jason. Not like 
this!"

He pressed his hands together and interlocked his long 
fingers. "I know that he was very careful not to hurt the boy 
more than was,... necessary."

Leane closed her eyes as clenched her fists powerlessly. 
She felt impotent and sickly, her rage surging helplessly within 
her, unable to find an outlet. Her son, her beautiful son had 
been sterilized. "Is Jason all right?" she finally asked with 
motherly concern.

"Yes! Of course, he's sore, but otherwise he's okay. The 
boy is still weak, needless to say. Even though it's a minor 
operation, always there is some weakness that follows. The boy 
needs to rest and regain his strength. In a few days, he will be 
up and walking around."

"A few days! Could I stay here with him?" Leane asked.

Cardinal Orselli smiled warmly. "I think it would be 
better for all of us if you went back to Rome. Jason needs time 
to understand and to accept his loss. This is not a time when a 
mother's comfort can help him. I will send for you when he is 
ready to see you."

The woman nodded, accepting that she could not help her 
son in this problem that seemed to be of his own making. She had 
nothing to offer Jason.

"He's okay then, except for...?" she asked again, still 
very uncertain. She was unable to say the words. They stuck in 
her throat, unspoken. Leane took a deep, long breath. "Yes, I 
suppose it would be better if I went back to Rome. I trust,... I 
trust that you will help him through this."

The man nodded gently. "Would you like to see him, 
Signore? He's still asleep, from the medicine for the pain."

Leane nodded and walked beside Cardinal Orselli, back 
towards the villa. Each step seemed to take all her strength.

 "You must decide what to say,... to others," he continued

"What do you mean? What I should say?" Leane asked 
uncertainly.

The man gestured to the world beyond the confines of the 
villa. "You cannot say that he was castrated simply because 
Carlo did not want your son to become a man. I think it would be 
best if you said something else. Perhaps that he had a tumor. 
With cancer, I believe that removal is the only treatment."

He paused thoughtfully. "Carlo, before he left last night, 
told me that there will only be a little scar and it is 
underneath so it will barely be seen. You might even choose to 
say that he was born without testicles."

"What?"

"Some boys are born without testicles. It happens 
sometimes. There is a boy at my school in Naples who is like 
that," the old man explained confidently.

Leane swallowed and shook her head with a dull, slow 
motion. "A tumor?" she said.

Cardinal Orselli gestured with his hand. "Perhaps that is 
best. You should decide. Your mother will certainly ask and 
there will be many other times as well, I'm sure." He took 
another step forward and then stopped. "It is a pity that Carlo 
cannot be here with us to explain things to you. His death is a 
great loss. Naturally, as a doctor he understands this thing so 
much better than I do. I believe he intended to tell you that 
the boy's testicles had become twisted during the night. Ah,... 
a torsion I think it's called. That too, usually results in 
removal. Perhaps that explanation is even better. It's your 
decision."

They were halfway to the house, next to the stairs that 
led up to a terrace, when they stopped again. "It's still not 
right," Leane said, "but I think I understand why now. It's 
because,... because Jason wants to be with a man,... but he 
really doesn't want to be a man."

Cardinal Orselli nodded affirmatively. "I think that is 
right. I have known of other boys who are very much like Jason. 
They exist as males because they are born like that, though they 
would be far happier to be of another sex," he said 
emphatically. "Most of them don't have the opportunity available 
to them at the time when it's right for them. Some have surgery 
when they are older."

"What do you mean, the right time?" Leane asked.

"It depends. I expect that before puberty has started is 
probably best. But not too soon, certainly not before they 
are,... interested," the man replied softly. "After puberty, 
it's too late to stop the changes and the boy often becomes fat. 
Then, he must take drugs as well."

"It's beautiful here, Your Eminence," Leane observed 
quietly. She needed to change the subject. She needed time to 
think and to gather her strength for what she would see inside 
the villa. Her son was asleep in a room somewhere inside but 
despite the nerve-racking drive from Rome and the long anxious 
wait, she did not want to see him.

The man nodded. "Please. Please call me Giovanni, Signore. 
Perhaps I can call you Leane?"

Leane smiled weakly and nodded as the man gestured to the 
villa. "It was built in the thirteenth century. Over there, 
behind the trees is the Villa Rufulo. Several popes have lived 
there in the past. And Charles of Anjou, even Wagner, the German 
composer. Sometimes, boys were brought there too,... as well as 
here."

"I don't see what that's got to do with it."

"The Villa Pallavicino is still kept for that purpose, you 
realize. It belongs to Carlo, he acquired it many years ago, 
to,... uh, entertain his boys. As you can see, Signore, it is 
very private here. Before the Great War, choir boys, only 
castrati, were brought here. Sometimes it is still referred to 
as the Villa Castrati." He smiled. The operation was done up 
there," he added, pointing to a small window of a room on the 
third floor.

"Is that where,... Jason is?" Leane asked awkwardly.

Cardinal Orselli nodded, "Next door, in the corner room. 
That is where the boys recovered. There is a beautiful view from 
there and it is very quiet."

Leane shivered uncomfortably, imagining the bed, the boy 
lying in it, the mutilation between his legs. The man continued. 
"It was done often enough just a hundred years ago. Many boys 
from across Europe were brought here. It was done to preserve 
their voices for the choir, you know. The other changes in their 
bodies, were of value too, of course."

"He can't be a father!" Leane said with painful finality. 
"He can't have children can he?"

"No, of course not! But then," the man shrugged, "Jason 
wouldn't want to have children anyway, now would he? We both 
know that. You knew that when you came here, when you allowed 
him to sleep with Carlo Gubbio."

"Yes! Yes, I suppose you're right. Is it very painful, 
Giovanni?" she asked after a long, guilty silence.

"The operation? No, it wasn't painful at all for him. Of 
course, he was unconscious. Afterwards, I am told that there is 
always some pain until the wound heals. A few days." The man 
started to lead the way again. "Please come, Leane. I would like 
you to see him before he wakes up. It would only upset him more 
to see you."

Leane followed Cardinal Orselli into the villa and along 
the cloister that enclosed the courtyard until they reached the 
entry hall. Maria opened the door. "Your Eminence, the little 
prince is still asleep," she said quietly. She watched Leane 
curiously, now glad that the brewing anger within the boy's 
mother had been dissipated. "He is a beautiful boy," she said 
with open admiration. "He has your looks, Signore."

Leane smiled slightly, then followed Cardinal Orselli up 
the stairs. She was oblivious to the beautifully carved 
balustrade, the works of art and other ecclesiastical artifacts 
that covered the walls. At the top of the stairs, the man turned 
to the right and led the way along the corridor.

Leane looked into an open doorway and stopped. She 
trembled visibly. This was the room that Cardinal Orselli had 
pointed out to her from the garden. The room was painted white. 
The floor was covered with large, square red-ceramic tiles. In 
the center of the room was a bed. No, it was not a bed. She 
shuddered. This was where Jason had been taken during the night. 
The purpose of the leather straps was obvious. Straps for his 
legs, for his arms, for his abdomen. Straps to hold him in 
place, to force his legs wide apart, to secure his hips. He 
would have been immobile, even if he was conscious. His groin 
would have been directly over the shiny metal pan. Once the 
incision had been made into his little pink scrotum, his blood 
would have dripped steadily down into it, collected before it 
splashed on the floor.

Leane shook her head relentlessly. She was startled as the 
man came back towards her. She closed her eyes, wishing that she 
was elsewhere, away from the terrible place, anywhere. Giovanni 
shuffled uncomfortably, waiting for the outburst of anger.

"In the past, it was called 'the throne' and the boys that 
were gelded became 'little princes'," he said softly. 
"Afterwards, they were treated very well, like royalty you might 
say."

Leane felt the bile rise in her throat and she swallowed. 
In her imagination she heard a loud plop as one of her son's 
testicles fell downwards. It was a cruel, metallic sound, of 
life ending. In the silence that followed she heard the steady, 
dripping sound of blood escaping from tiny, severed arteries. As 
she stared miserably at the ancient artifact she saw tiny dark 
spots on the wooden frame. 

"That's,... that's Jason's blood,... isn't it?" she 
demanded. She did not want to hear the answer. "But why are 
there blood spots?" Leane asked as she pointed to the one on the 
wood frame, and then saw another, and another. They were fresh, 
still dark red, not black like old stains would be.

"Yes, I expect so. Sometimes, there is a lot of blood. In 
Jason's case there was some, though not as much because the 
incision was so small. He was asleep when it was done," he added 
gently. "The boy saw none of this. It's better that way. In the 
old days, before anesthesia, the boys were given wine. A lot of 
wine, I imagine."

The man looked away. She heard him sigh sadly. "I'm sorry, 
Leane, I cannot lie to you. During the operation, Jason woke up. 
The drug had worn off enough for him to feel some of the pain, I 
expect. For a minute or so, he was very upset, until Carlo could 
give him more and put him back to sleep. I'm sorry. I did not 
want you to know that."

"Jason was in pain wasn't he? He saw what was being done 
to him?" Leane asked concernedly.

The man nodded.

"How,... how can a man, a man like Carlo do that,... to a 
boy?" she murmured hesitantly.

The man looked back along the corridor, towards the end 
room. "In a way, he was lucky. A hundred years ago, it wasn't 
done by a doctor unless the boy came from a rich family. Then, 
everything was cut off, even most of the scrotum. Now,..." he 
took a step away, moving steadfastly towards the one place that 
Leane did not want to go to. "Jason will still have a lot of 
feeling. A lot has been left, and as I said earlier, there will 
only be a tiny scar to show for it."

The next twenty feet seemed infinitely long. Reluctantly, 
Leane walked beside Cardinal Orselli. His arm was around her 
shoulders comfortingly, almost protectively. Again, the room was 
painted white, but the floor was covered by a thick rug with 
intricate patterns that were woven in dark red and green. The 
bed was in the center of the room, though this time it was a bed 
in the usual sense. Leane walked quietly over to the side and 
stopped. She looked downwards at the small, fragile child lying 
back in the pillows. He was asleep. His silver-blond hair was 
freshly brushed. As she looked down at him, Leane was stunned by 
the child's beauty. His eyelids seemed like thin veils over his 
eyes, his lips were paler and fuller than she remembered. His 
nose seemed very small.

White sheets covered him almost to his chest. Cardinal 
Orselli came up beside her quietly. Then, as if he could read 
her mind, observed softly, "You son is a very beautiful boy."

She glanced back at him. "He seems so innocent," she said 
quietly as she turned back to look at the serene child. "Yes, he 
is beautiful isn't he?" she added.

The man stepped forward and cautiously lifted the crisp 
sheets down to the boy's knees. The boy was naked. He was naked 
except for the thin, gold chain around his neck. The small, gold 
cross hung between the tiny, pink dots of his softened nipples. 
It seemed to make him even more beautiful. He was pure and 
immaculate, perfect in every way.

"You will need to bring some clothes for him, when you 
return," the man whispered. "He came here almost naked. Except 
for a tee shirt, he has nothing to wear. Bring loose clothes, 
shorts that are cool on his legs, with room down there, between 
his legs."

Leane nodded. Slowly she forced her head to turn, for her 
eyes to travel down the slender, brown body to her son's groin. 
His small penis poked through a slit that had been cut in a 
triangular-shaped bandage. It was secured to the smooth, small 
body with adhesive tape, joined by pink strips to his belly, and 
to the groove that marked the beginning of his thigh. There was 
nothing to see, no sign of the operation, just a flat, white 
bandage that followed the contour of his body. It covered the 
small pubis and tapered downward over the curve of his urethra 
as it passed between his legs.

Leane breathed out silently. She was eternally grateful 
that the boy's wound had been covered. She could not have faced 
that. Not yet, perhaps not ever. Then she shuddered as the 
realization came to her. The problem was what she hadn't seen. 
Where there should have been a plump, little bulge made by the 
boy's testicles, there was no bulge. There was just an empty 
flatness. She turned as the thought struck here, looking deep 
into the man's eyes for the first time and seeing sincere 
compassion and understanding within.

Leane looked down again at the naked body lying on the 
bed. For the first time she noticed her son's suntan. He was a 
tanned to a delicious, golden-brown color from head to toe and 
everything in between. Even the tiny penis that poked from the 
slit in the bandage was brown and the bronzed skin disappeared 
from his belly and thighs, unbroken by even the faintest 
variation in hue or shading. That Jason had been naked most, if 
not all of the last few weeks was patently obvious.

Giovanni smiled. "He has a wonderful tan, doesn't he?" 
Leane glanced up quickly, suddenly aroused from her private 
reverie.

The man raised his eyebrows, "He looks as though he hasn't 
had any clothes on for some time, perhaps several weeks."

She returned the smile. "I would say that's probably 
true," she answered even as she wondered how her young son came 
to be so tanned. Jason had spent almost four weeks with his 
father on the boat. He must have been naked the entire time.

But there other changes in Jason as well. Beyond the fact 
that her son was considerably more confident and had not 
stuttered once since he came home, there were changes that only 
a mother (or father) would notice. The boy seemed happier than 
he had been in a long while. The rich, brown body was very 
different to the pale, awkward boy who had left on the airplane 
nearly a month earlier. She had noticed her son's bleached 
silver-blond hair and his healthy, dark tan as soon as he 
stepped off the airplane, but she had not conceived of the fact 
that it extended beyond his face and limbs. Even lying on the 
white sheets, even knowing the injury that had been done to 
Jason's body, she still found that the golden lustrous flesh to 
be intensely erotic. He radiated unbridled energy and life that 
was, in many ways, distinctly sexual.

For a moment she wondered whether Carlo had seen the boy's 
tan in the darkness of his bedroom. The question formed in her 
mind as her eyes looked downward again. "What happens to him 
now, Giovanni?" she asked quietly.

"Pardon?"

"Now that Carlo is gone,... what happens to Jason?"

Giovanni lifted his head up and stepped back slightly as 
he brought his hands together, pressing thumb to thumb and 
fingertips to fingertips. "That is difficult. If Carlo was still 
with us, there would be no question of it. The boy's welfare is 
the most important thing. There is, of course, prostheses for 
such an injury. His physical appearance, the,... aesthetic loss 
can be corrected with ease." Leane looked at him uncertainly. 
"His eggs would be artificial, of course. But there would be no 
need for anyone else to know. The development of his body, 
similarly, there are treatments available. Hormones can 
compensate for what he cannot produce for himself."

The woman nodded. "He would grow into a man, then?"

"If that was what he wished. Except, your son could not be 
a father, of course."

"No, I understand that."

"Your son can decide what he wants to happen. It is a 
matter for him and his lover to decide," Giovanni said quietly.

"His lover?" Leane questioned. "But Carlo? Carlo's dead?" 
she acknowledged with finality.

The man tilted his head slightly. "Yes, that's true. But 
Carlo was not your son's lover. He had yet to savor that 
pleasure with him."

"Then what do you mean about Jason having a lover?" she 
persisted.

"Your son has not been a virgin for quite some time, 
Leane. Perhaps since he started getting suntanned. He's been 
very active for a few weeks at least."

"What? What do you mean? Active?... Oh! I see! But,... 
well, how can you tell? But Carlo?..." she asked awkwardly.

"Carlo did not,... penetrate the boy. That would have 
happened soon enough, I'm sure. There are signs,... that are 
unmistakable,... that Jason is not a virgin."

"Signs? What kind of signs?"

The man breathed out slowly. "Leane, when a boy begins to 
have sex with a man, it's very painful. The man is big, the boy 
is small. A small body has to stretch and become accustomed to 
its presence. At first there is considerable bruising there and 
the flesh is very raw. Then, with practice, the opening is 
enlargened and becomes easier to penetrate."

"And Jason?"

"There are no bruises on him. Not anymore," Giovanni 
answered.

"But! Then who? If Carlo didn't?" Leane asked suspiciously.

The man shrugged. "I don't know." he paused for several 
seconds. "It made Carlo very angry."

"Yes, I'm sure it did," Leane snickered. "The old bastard 
got what he deserved."

"Perhaps? Carlo is,... was always very possessive of a boy 
he had,... befriended."

"That's one name for it. He was crazy, wasn't he?" Leane 
asked.

Her mind seemed numbed to the sadistic pleasure of her 
husband. Any love she had felt earlier had now evaporated. The 
old man nodded.

"You're not even sure that,..." She bit her lip. "That,... 
that Jason... wanted it, are you?" Leane sighed deeply and shook 
her head. "If he was drugged when he came here,... then maybe it 
wasn't his decision. Oh God, I hate him."

"Leane, please. It's too late now. The fact is, it's done 
and there's nothing that either you or I can do to change 
things. All that must matter now is the boy's happiness."

"I know. I still can't help feeling sick inside. It's 
terribly wrong."

Giovanni gestured towards the sleeping boy. "It depends. 
One might even say that it brings him closer to God." Leane's 
mouth opened to respond, but in surprise she was lost for words.

 The man continued. "A priest practices abstinence, does 
he not, to bring him closer to God?" The woman nodded 
uncertainly.

He smiled reassuringly. "The search for eternal life is at 
the heart of all Christian theology, Leane. But, by producing 
children, a man assures himself of eternal life since the child 
will carry the father's life forward. Similarly, the experience 
of orgasm and the sex act itself, heightens the body's pleasure 
and denies the realm of divine mystery. Abstinence interrupts 
the natural condition so that a man's eternal life can be 
attained only though God."

He paused and looked at Leane thoughtfully before he 
continued. "Abstinence, as part of Christian theology, dates 
from the Coptic era. There are many examples of hermit-monks 
living in the desert to avoid temptations, primarily of the 
female sex. For example, John Chrysostom is only one of many who 
tells us of this. Do you understand?"

"Yes I think so," she said uncertainly.

"That is also why a vow of celibacy is taken by a priest. 
Such vows have existed since the third century, and were much as 
those that are taken today. But even with total abstinence, 
nocturnal emissions and dreams of the flesh, were presumed to 
lead one away from the Divine Spirit. Abstinence alone was 
unsuccessful and for many centuries the act of castration was 
the practiced. Its precedent came from the Cult of Attis and the 
religions of Syria and it was the same as abstinence, except 
that it was irrevocable and therefore provided stronger evidence 
of the sacrifice necessary to attain eternal life. We can find 
ample proof that even the Gnostics performed self-ablation. It 
was a last resort perhaps, but frequent none-the-less."

Leane appeared surprised for a moment. "But a child, 
Giovanni? Jason's only a child."

Giovanni nodded. "According to the early texts, castration 
was even more effective then. Choir boys were castrated up the 
beginning of this century but it was done for reasons much more 
important than merely preserving the quality of a boy's voice. 
Puberty is the time at which the salvation of the individual, 
his eternal life, is assured. Therefore, preventing the 
occurrence of maturity ensures that eternal life must come from 
God." Giovanni smiled as he warmed to his topic. It was, after 
all, an area that had consumed his interest over the last fifty 
years or more.

Leane nodded. "What you're saying is that the goals have 
not changed in two thousand years. Merely, the way in which we 
go about achieving them."

"Yes. I think that's correct. In one way, the difference 
between celibacy and castration is a simply matter of degree."

Leane nodded again. "This,... makes him,... I don't know, 
special in a way, doesn't it? In a way that is beautiful but 
very sad."

"He is a beautiful child with a very beautiful body," 
Cardinal Orselli observed gently. "In some ways he has lost 
something very precious, in another way, he has gained 
immeasurably."

"Now?..." She breathed out, a long painful sigh. The next 
thing she said stunned her as the words formed in her mind and 
she whispered, "Now he's even more beautiful, isn't he?"

Cardinal Orselli nodded as he carefully lifted the sheet 
back so that it covered the boy's body again. "Yes, much!" he 
answered as he led the way out of the room and back down the 
corridor. "In a few days, the bandage will come off. He will 
heal faster when the air and light can reach the wound. In a 
week, it will be hard to tell that happened to him. In a 
month,..."

His voice trailed off, leaving the obvious unspoken. They 
walked silently along the corridor, then down the stairs. At 
they landing, Giovanni stopped, examining a small painting. It 
was a pencil sketch of a young, naked boy, a detailed execution 
of smooth contour and slender limbs, a masterpiece by Durer.

"Leane,... there is,... one more thing," he said slowly.

Leane regarded him silently. "Late last night, before he 
left here, Carlo prepared a codicil to his will. Marie and I 
witnessed it. It was after,... he had finished with Jason,... I 
suspect it was because he endured some guilt from what he had 
done."

Leane silently stared out the window. The spectacular view 
of the Amalfi Coast was fractured and distorted into a hundred 
little pieces of leaded glass. The ancient walls of the villa 
seemed to echo with the sounds of boys. She wondered how many 
boys had been brought there, how many had climbed the stairs and 
gone into the room where Jason had been taken.

"Leane, in the new will, Carlo left everything to Jason. 
You are to have nothing."

"What?" Leane gasped in disbelief.

"Jason is the sole heir," Giovanni said flatly.

"I don't believe you!... He left everything to Jason?" she 
questioned.

The man nodded slowly. "He provides for you only until 
Jason is twenty-one, at which time he inherits everything."

"Oh my God! The bastard! Is it legal?"

Giovanni smiled. "It's perfectly legal. We have both lost 
more than Jason in a way, haven't we? Under the old will, the 
will he made when he married you, you received everything except 
for this villa and an endowment, which were to be mine, of 
course."

"What are you suggesting?" she asked suddenly.

"I think you understand as well as I do. If the boy 
receives his inheritance, you and I get nothing."

"Where's the will now?" Leane asked.

"I have it. It could easily be lost," Giovanni suggested.

Leane took a slow, deep breath. "Then,... lose it," she 
said quietly as she turned away, adding under her breath, "What 
he doesn't know, he won't miss."

 They descended the stairs and walked through the loggia 
and out into the courtyard. Leane still struggled to understand 
but in a strange, terrible way, it seemed very right for Jason. 
She stopped to look at the courtyard again. Her sigh was full of 
regret but it also was pensive. She glanced over at fountain and 
saw the small, bronze statue of the boy urinating, a splashing, 
sparking fountain arcing into the water below. The similarity to 
Jason appeared even stronger now than it had been when she had 
first seen it. It was difficult not to smile when she realized 
the detail she had missed earlier. The little bronze boy was 
exactly like Jason. He too had been castrated. She turned 
around. Cardinal Orselli nodded reassuringly. Nothing was said 
but Leane's faint smile grew stronger as she sensed that 
everything would be all right. In one way at least, even without 
his inheritance, her son had gained as much as he had lost, 
perhaps more.

Maria came out with them to open the gate, smiling as soon 
as she saw the mother's growing acceptance of her son. As the 
gate swung wide, Christina got out of the car. Leane turned to 
Cardinal Orselli. Their eyes met again. Recognition, 
understanding, appreciation, passed silently between them. Leane 
started to walk towards the car. She turned once and briefly 
looked up at the third floor of the villa, at the end where her 
son lay sleeping. She smiled and nodded her head at the man 
before she turned away. 

"Is Jason all right?" Christina asked.

The other woman's voice seemed to startle Leane. "Uh! Oh! 
Yes,... I guess. Yes, Mom, he's,... he's okay."

"What took so long in there? What happened to him?"

Leane paused uncertainly, then took a deep breath. She had 
decided. "Mom, he had an accident. Jason's balls got twisted 
somehow."

Christina smirked and shrugged nonchalantly. "Probably 
from having too much sex with Gubbio! We came all the way down 
here for that?"

Leane half-closed her eyes thoughtfully. "Mom, they cut 
his balls off," she said quietly.

Christina's smile disappeared. "You're joking?" There was 
a long silence as they stood next to the limousine. "They cut 
his balls off? The poor little bugger! Why? What's his father 
going to say?"

Christina opened the car door and stood to the side as 
Leane settled into the seat. She followed, pulling the door 
closed after her. The Mercedes pulled away quietly as the 
ancient rusted gate closed with a noisy squeak.