PUBERTY BLUES, by Ganymede

    PART 1



WARNING:



This story contains a graphic description of sexual acts between men and 
MINOR boys. I do not condone either incest or child abuse, however boy-love as 
described in this story is an entirely different matter.

If the subject of man/boy sex offends you, if this material is illegal 
in your place of residence, or if you are under the legal age for such 
material, do not read further! You have been warned! Read at your own risk!

The story is copyrighted under the pseudonym, Ganymede. A single copy 
has been placed in the Nifty archives. Feel free to post it to appropriate 
newsgroups or send it to your friends. If distributing my story for monetary 
gain, please contribute $50 to a charitable organization providing services 
for boys.

The story is fiction. Any resemblance to any individual, alive or 
dead, is unfortunate.

FINAL WARNING:



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





     PUBERTY BLUES, by Ganymede

     PART 1


++++++++++++++++++++++ Sydney, August 1994 +++++++++++++++++++



My business booms when everyone else's life is in shambles. Three years ago 
I was working more than twelve hours a day, often for six days a week. That 
was during the recession, when companies failed with monotonous, but for me 
fortuitous regularity. However, despite the ineptitude of the Labor Party 
and their socialist agenda, the Australian economy had to recover 
eventually, and it did. Perhaps it happened because of the American recovery 
with no thanks to Clinton, but by the end of last year I was down to working a 
day or two a week and living the life of the rich and semi-retired. I was 
surprised, therefore, when my telephone rang at morning-tea time on Friday 
13th, August 1994. I received an invitation to an emergency meeting at 2.00 
p.m. sharp with Phillip Blake, a vice- president of State Bank. A twenty-
page fax arrived five minutes later and I spent the rest of the morning 
examining it carefully. I was back at work again.

The Sydney office of State Bank is in George Street, about a block from Martin 
Place. Shortly after lunch, I left my car in the nearest parking garage and 
headed off to a meeting with a man I had never met. I had heard a lot about 
Phillip Blake during my previous dealings with the bank. He was a 'rising 
star' and shared the title "vice-president" with nine other rising stars. 
Not out of character, I made a point of arriving exactly on time. When I 
arrived his secretary informed that Mr. Blake was 'down the hall' and that I 
was to wait in his office until he returned.

Blake's office was impressive, as befitting a vice-president of one of the 
city's largest banks. It was impossible not to feel both overwhelmed and 
jealous. Not for the first time since the mysterious telephone call did I 
wonder what on earth Blake wanted with me. I turned away from the floor-to- 
ceiling window and its spectacular view of the harbor and the Sydney Opera 
House and ambled over to the adjacent wall to study his display of diplomas 
and awards. He was locally educated--Sydney Grammar School for Boys followed 
by the University of Sydney--typical v-p material with a master's degree in 
economics on top of a bachelor's in accounting.

"Mr. Sayd?"

I turned around instantly. "Yes? I'm Peter Sayd," I responded quickly. I moved 
forward guiltily, as if my inspection of his credentials was an invasion of 
his privacy. It helped if he thought I was nervous and off my guard. "Mr. 
Blake?"

"Good afternoon, Mr. Sayd" the man replied as he crossed the room. His hand 
extended automatically and we shook.

"Let's dispense with the pleasantries," I said abruptly. Shock value had its 
place when it changed the situation to my advantage. I turned unpleasant. "You 
called me in here with little or no notice. I've been waiting for ten minutes, 
Mr. Blake, for an appointment that was scheduled for 2.00 p.m. sharp."

"I'm sorry," Blake said apologetically. "This entire week has been very 
stressful. I really appreciate you coming so quickly. I hope it wasn't too 
much of a problem for you. It couldn't wait until next week."

"I had to rearrange a few things to make this meeting," I lied easily.

"Call me Phil," Blake continued. He shifted from apologetic to arrogant v-p 
quickly.

For several seconds he studied me with a banker's eye for an investment. I was 
casually dressed, only my lambskin leather jacket gave indication of my past 
successes. My attire was deliberate, expensive but relaxed, showing disdain 
for the formal dark grey business suits that dominated the banking and 
investment offices in the City. The sharp edged creases in his trousers 
contrasted with the out-of-the dryer jeans I wore. I returned his stare, 
sizing him up at the same time and comparing my observations with what I 
already knew about him from others. My outburst had taken him by surprise. 
He was on the defensive. That was one point to me, but it was poor 
compensation for being on his turf. There was definitely a home-ground 
advantage in my business. I had a good idea that his opinion of me was not 
what I would have liked. I didn't care, just so long as he respected me, 
better yet feared me.

Blake was, I guessed, in his late thirties. He was also about forty or fifty 
pounds overweight. Beyond the expanding midriff, he was showing several 
visible signs of the stress associated with his job--hair thinning and pale 
complexion, among others. He was a candidate for an external heart massage 
before he reached the big 4-0. This meeting would help him along.

It was time to change color again, like the chameleon, friendly. "What can I 
do for you, Mr. Blake?" I asked as I walked forward and away from the 
diplomas. Like every visitor, I was drawn towards the view from his window. It 
was an impressive sight but I wanted to appear distracted from the task that 
had brought me here. "Nice view," I commented casually. "I'd never get much 
work done if this was my office."

"It's more a matter of what I can do for you," Blake answered. "If you're 
not interested in listening to my proposition, I can always find someone who 
is. Frankly, I'd rather work with you. I believe that you can be trusted and 
that you're fair, if a bit ruthless when it comes to taking action. Everything 
that I've heard about you confirms that opinion."

"It sounds like you have a deal for me," I interrupted. Now, I wanted him on 
the defensive. "It isn't a good time for making deals right now," I added.

"Doesn't that depend on the deal, Mr. Sayd?"

"Maybe. Is there a deal?" I suggested impatiently. I stopped before the window 
and gazed outward.

"There's a deal, if you're interested." His voice came from behind me.

"Why don't we stop the preliminaries and get down to business," I said quickly 
as I sensed his approach.

I reasoned that Blake was trying his hardest to fluster me. He was an amateur. 
I had pulled the same trick again and again in negotiating until I had 
become an expert. By the time the other side realized that they had been 
effectively harassed, their strategy had become unhinged. Blake was 
beginning to vex me. I needed to further unsettle him. It was all about 
control and power play and I loved it.

"Why don't we sit down?" I suggested. I turned suddenly and walked to the 
chairs near the coffee table, taking my seat before Blake could follow. 
"What's the deal?" I asked as I readied myself to undertake the attack again.

"Mr. Sayd, can I call you Peter?" I nodded, "The deal,... well it really 
depends on the resources you can put together by eight p.m. this evening," 
Blake hedged carefully. "If you are interested, I'd like to work with you."

"Let's cut the bullshit, okay Mister Blake?" I said arrogantly. "I know you 
don't like me, I'm not blind and I really don't give a damn. I'm here for a 
reason. I've read the stuff your secretary faxed to me and I'm obviously 
interested. Why don't you assume I can find whatever resources are needed."

Blake laughed. "They told me you were good, Mr. Sayd,... Peter,... but 
you're better than good. And you're absolutely right. I don't like vultures, I 
never did like your type very much."

"It's a job, Mister Blake," I returned quickly. "Someone has to do it. When 
people like you screw up, they always call for someone like me to clean 
their shit up again. No one likes to see a business destroyed, but I learned a 
long time ago that some are better off that way. It's just a matter of 
supply and demand and bad management ruining what chances there were."

We were about even on points. I waited for the next round. Jockeying for 
position at the start was a fact of life. Often it was a lot worse than this 
and negotiation took on Machiavellian manipulations. 

"Okay, we understand each other, I guess. I have a problem that I need fixed," 
Blake said calmly. "I need to have it fixed very quickly. I need you to fix 
it."

"Give me the spiel," I said. "Beyond what was in the financial report I've 
already looked at." There was no longer any need to unsettle him further. I 
had him on the run, if only temporarily.

Blake shrugged casually. "Its a long story. The bank made some loans that on 
reflection, it would have been wiser not to make at the time."

"And now there's an audit," I said. It was impossible not to smile. "Let me 
guess, on,... uh,... first thing Monday, right? That sounds about right for 
a surprise visit from the bank inspectors," I teased. Blake nodded. "You 
want this mess cleaned up by the start of business on Monday, with the funds 
transferred, correct?"

Blake nodded again. "I know you can do it. My friends tell me you're good at 
putting a deal together."

"I do my job as best I can," I replied snidely. "So how much are we talking 
about here?"

"The bank is in for more than a million in long-term loans. The line of credit 
is another three hundred thousand dollars. We're prepared to roll that over
if we have an interested buyer."

"Christ!" I chuckled, "That much. It must be some business they were in. How 
much was secured?"

"They were in the clothing business. Mostly kid's clothes. They designed and 
manufactured them, and a few years ago they went into retailing as well. The 
line is called KidStuff, you might have seen their stuff around in a few 
department stores."

"It's unlikely, I don't have kids," I interrupted. "What's the bank's 
exposure?"

"Huh?"

"Tell me about the security."

"Security? Uh well,... the usual."

"That's not very helpful," I said rudely.

"You want to know how much its worth? Well, it depends. Finished inventory 
is fairly high because of the coming winter sales season and the raw materials 
inventory is low right now. That's because their suppliers have pulled the 
plug on them. There's machinery, it's mostly computer-driven stuff that's 
brand new or one or two years old. They were trying to bring their costs 
into line by reducing the labor content. Um,... and there's a factory in 
Gosford. They also have some stores. I think there's two or three in the malls 
and one is downtown on Pitt Street, I think. Those stores aren't covered by 
the primary loan. The machinery has a book value of a bit over one million and 
I'm told that the inventory is worth about six hundred thousand. And there's a 
few other business assets we have as collateral, computers and cars and such 
but its chicken feed. And then there's some general stuff. The book on all 
of that is a bit over two hundred thousand."

I nodded. "What other creditors are out there?"

Blake's eyes narrowed. I wondered how bad it was. His answer surprised me. 

"Only one or two with anything sizeable. They owe a bit over a hundred thou' 
to a fabric supplier and the Taxation Department has them down for thirty K. 
One the good side they have accounts receivable of seventy plus." He 
hesitated. The silence hung between us. "The bank is looking for a million 
from you."

I laughed again, this time deliberately. "You have a bankrupt company with a 
total book value of a million-eight covering a debt of million-three, plus 
others. The fire-sale value of the assets may be worth a half-million. No 
wonder you want me to clean it up before the audit. The inspectors are going 
to get someone's arse for this. You're about to get well and truly reamed, 
Mister Blake."

"That's about right," Blake smiled. He looked unhappy as well he should. It 
was a bad investment. "Don't look at me. It certainly wasn't my idea, and I 
wasn't involved in lending to them. I would have called the money in years ago 
if I had any say in it. Unfortunately I didn't."

I ignored his excuse. He was involved, otherwise he would not be talking to be 
now. There was an alternative explanation--the loan decision had been made 
at a higher level. That seemed an unlikely proposition.

"Let me get this right, Mr. Blake. You expect me to lay out over a million 
dollars to cover you and the unpaid taxes, correct? And what I get is a 
bunch of damned near-worthless assets that the bank has been stupid enough 
to carry on its books for the last few years."

The sarcasm in my voice was much stronger than I intended and I regretted some 
of the words as soon as I said them. There was no point in being unnecessarily 
rude. It would only make him angry. I needed him unsettled to the degree 
that it clouded his judgement.

"Sorry, but it's not much of a deal," I added seriously.

"How about fifty cents on the dollar? We might be able to accept nine 
hundred thousand for the collateral," Blake proposed.

I laughed derisively even as I wondered what the bank's bottom line was. If 
they had a million-three outstanding, and they were prepared to settle for a 
million right from the start, undoubtedly they would need to recover close 
to it to convince the auditors that no problem existed.

"How about twenty-five cents?" I suggested lightly but with a serious 
expression that conveyed my true feelings. "Anyone would be a fool to pay more 
for a bankrupt clothing company, even if it does have a cute name like 
KidStuff. The inventory and fixed assets might just cover half of my risk if 
I'm lucky. Besides, I'd have to ship the equipment to somewhere in South 
East Asia to even get close to recovering what it's worth."

Blake shook his head. "A half-a-million dollars won't cut it. I have firm 
instructions about the amount. However, Mr. Sayd,... Peter,... maybe we can 
look at this another way. What if,... now I'm just thinking aloud, you 
understand? What if you transferred some of your other assets to the bank to 
cover us for the million? You would have first priority at any time that you 
wanted to call the debt in."

"Great idea! What's in it for me, besides the loss of interest, that is?"

"You wouldn't actually buy anything. Your assets would be considered as a 
deposit in the bank. We would pay at the going interest rate. It would be a 
loan in a way but effectively you would buy out the bank's investment."

"I'm doing it for charity then," I joked.

"No! In return for your loan, you would get a one-third share of the common 
stock and a right to any remaining proceeds."

I did not need my MBA from Harvard Business School to understand the 
proposition offered to me. All I needed to do was to temporarily cover the 
bank's loss and I would get one-third ownership of a bankrupt company, worth a 
grand total of at least one-point-six million dollars if all the assets that 
were securitized with the bank could be sold at close to book value. After the 
'bank'--also known as my risk-free loan--was repaid, I would make at least one 
hundred thousand dollars. Not bad for a few hours work and a transfer of 
stock. The issue in doubt was what the company was actually worth, dead or 
alive. A long time ago I had learned that book value didn't mean very much. 
And that raised an interesting question. Real estate? It was surprising how 
many brilliant investors forgot to include the value of real estate. Did 
Kidstuff own the factory in Gosford or any of the stores?

"You're digging yourself into a pile of shit, Blake," I said rudely. "I hope 
you boss doesn't know what you're up to. He's going to be pissed off to the 
max when he finds out." My vulgarity was not lost on him. "Any auditor worth 
his salt would pick that mess up in the first few minutes. Exactly what are 
you trying to accomplish, anyway?"

Blake sighed and shook his head dejectedly. "God, I don't know. I'm only doing 
what I've been asked to do."

"You signed off on the loan didn't you?" I asked. I knew the answer to my 
question even before I asked it and the Blake's expression confirmed it. 
This was becoming interesting. He had approved the loans and the line of 
credit because he had been asked to by one of his superiors.

I glanced at my watch impatiently. "Perhaps I better talk to your boss. Who is 
it?" I demanded, "Franklin, or is it Burnham?"

Blake shook his head dejectedly. "I work directly for Arneson. The money was 
lent to his sister and her friend. I signed off,... but it was his idea. He 
arranged everything," he added weakly.

"Well! What do you know about that? Arneson!" I chuckled. "Maybe you better 
arrange for me to meet him, Mr. Blake. That is if you want any sort of deal at 
all."

Blake smiled. "His office is next door," he said. He gestured to the 
connecting door in the wall with the diplomas. "I think he's expecting you."

I started to walk away. I knew that our conversation had finished. Only 
Arneson could make the deal work as far as I was concerned.

"He'll be there in a few minutes," Blake called out as I opened the door. 
"He's on his way back from an appointment."

If Blake's office was impressive, Arneson's office was regally opulent. He had 
a large corner office, carpeted with a thick woolen berber, nineteenth-century 
furniture and leather-upholstered chairs. I walked forward and stood at the 
window for nearly a minute, taking in the grand view of Circular Quay, the 
bridge, and the harbour beyond, before I turned away. 

The door through which I had entered the room was part of a wood- panelled 
wall. It was a combination of dark-stained Australian cedar for the 
shelving, like the other furniture in the room, and mirrored glass that 
concealed the contents of a long row of cupboards. I stopped before it, my 
attention drawn to the half-dozen photographs displayed. They were photographs 
of a boy. He was a very attractive blond-headed boy of about thirteen or 
fourteen years. Arneson's son, I supposed as I continued to study the 
youth's elegantly defined features. He had a passionate mouth that was 
nicely shaped with full, dark lips and a deep cleft that connected to the 
underside of his nose. In one picture he was grinning and I glimpsed 
perfect, pure-white teeth. Several times I tried to transfer my interest to 
other things but each time my eyes were drawn back to him. I studied the boy 
with growing fascination, elevating my impression from attractive to handsome, 
to very handsome, to finally admit to my growing consternation, that the boy 
was more than exceedingly handsome. He was simply stunningly beautiful.

One photograph held my attention the longest. In eight inches by ten inches 
the absolute essence of boyhood had been captured. He was at the side of a 
swimming pool and bare from the waist up. In all likelihood he was wearing a 
swimming costume but it was hidden by the water that sparkled around his 
bronzed belly. I fancied the boy as he would be when he was naked. Based 
upon what I already knew of him, I imagined the rest of him. I anticipated 
that all of his slender, tanned body would be as beautiful as his delightful 
smiling face. He was not far into puberty but he would have a big, healthy 
dick and plump, ripe balls......

"Mr. Sayd? It is you, Pete, isn't it?"

I turned and stifled a laugh. Chris Arneson grinned broadly at me and held out 
his hand. We shook warmly. It had been only a matter of months but it seemed a 
lot longer since I was in Thailand. My two-week visit was unforgettable and 
here was the man I owed everything to. Chris was really Christian Arneson, 
senior vice president of State Bank!

"Hi Chris," I acknowledged effusively. We shook hands warmly, neither of us 
speaking as we remembered the wonderful weeks, the two dark-skinned lads, 
and the bed that we had shared in 'boy-paradise'.

Finally I looked away and my eyes were drawn straight back to the photographs. 
The resemblance between Arneson and the boy was strong enough to convince me 
that they were related. My initial guess of father and son was confirmed. 
For obvious reasons, I had never thought of Chris as the marrying kind.

"He's a very good looking boy," I said honestly. "I guess he isn't a friend of 
yours?" The jealousy in my voice seemed to grate as the words came out. "I 
didn't know you were married and had a son."

It was also a feeble attempt to excuse my distraction as I gazed at the lovely 
face in the photograph. My heart felt like it was beating quickly and I 
could feel heat building within me like a fever out of control. His eyes 
were blue and very large. They were innocent and at the same time they were 
intensely arousing. It certainly was not the first time that I had looked at a 
boy and felt a sudden thrill, but never before had a mere photograph 
produced a similar reaction in me. I did not need to glance downward to know 
that my penis was quickly becoming erect. I turned away slightly to conceal 
the rapidly expanding bulge in my trousers.

"He was a doll when he was younger. Alex was a cute kid," Chris said softly. 
"Those photographs were taken before I became V-P. It's been fourteen years 
since he was skinny-dipping in my pool."

I chuckled. "What can I do for you, Chris?" I asked as I continued to study 
the haunting images on the wall.

"I guess you've already talked with Phil Blake. Is there a deal?"

"Maybe!" I suggested. I started to walk towards the window. My heart was 
pounding. Even when I was six or seven meters from the pictures, I could think 
of nothing else than the boy, his image captured in early adolescence. My 
penis was throbbing as I thought insistently about Alexander Arneson. It was a 
nice name for a beautiful boy. I stopped before the window and gazed outward.

"It's a good deal, Pete." His voice came from behind me.

I faced the window. Strangely, the last thing I wanted was for him to see my 
erection. After spending two weeks together in a village in Thailand we had no 
secrets about our sexual inclinations. And yet, despite all that had happened, 
I was embarrassed. If I turned around he would have to be blind not to see 
my arousal and know that a picture on his wall had caused it. My superior 
bargaining position would collapse even if my penis did not deflate.

"He was a sexy kid," Arneson said quietly. His voice was close, no more than a 
meter away and it came from over my left shoulder. "Alex could be a real 
handful at times."

"Huh?" I mumbled awkwardly.

The man's words were puzzling. To me, they were highly charged and pregnant 
with meaning. How many fathers referred to their sons as 'sexy' and then 
immediately informed a stranger that the boy could be a 'real handful'?

"He's my nephew, my sister Hannah's kid," Chris explained as if he realized my 
predicament. "Alex was an unusual boy," he continued enigmatically. 

"Oh!" I spluttered.

"We were very close," he added suggestively. "Very, very close."

"He certainly is good looking," I said as I tried to calm my racing mind. 
His words had been chosen deliberately to arouse me.

"I was very fond of him," Chris continued slyly. "We spent a lot of time 
together after he turned twelve. He used to have the same effect on me when 
I was around him."

"I can imagine. He's a doll," I said with open admiration. "What did your 
sister think?"

Arneson grinned widely. "Of course she knew all about Alexander and me. 
Don't you remember what I said about keeping it in the family, Pete? It gets 
better, but that will do for now. I don't want to bore you with the juicy 
details!"

I stifled a shiver as the thrill of knowing the intimate details of the 
boy's sex life faded. I nodded. I breathed out slowly. One part of my brain 
was clamoring to know more about Alexander while the rest was struggling for 
control. I reasoned that Arneson was trying his hardest to arouse me but I 
also sensed that the beautiful boy was part of the reason why I was here. I 
did not understand the connection but there had to be one.

"Give me the spiel," I said brusquely. "About the company," I added quickly to 
hide my interest.

Arneson shrugged casually. "Its a long story. It started way back, about 
fifteen years ago in fact when Alex was twelve. I won't waste your time with 
all the dirty details right now, but I was very fond of him. I still am. He 
used to spend his weekends and holidays with me. When he was fifteen, about 
when these photos were taken, he moved in with me. We had his mother's 
blessing. She knew I was fucking him from the start."

"Lucky you!" I quipped.

"Anyway, to make a long story short, about eight years ago I loaned money to 
Alex' mum, my sister,... and her friend, Tricia. I guess I should say that 
Hannah's a lesbian. In fact that was one of the reasons why she allowed Alex 
to move in with me. Well, after Alex was in uni', Hannah quit her job at the 
Art College and they went into business together. It didn't do too well at 
first because of a few problems but at least it was in the black. They 
wanted to expand and I arranged for the bank to lend them more money. What 
really caused them problems was the last recession. I got them through that by 
lending them even more money and I've carried them ever since on a line of 
credit."

I nodded again as I recollected why I liked Chris Arneson. Four months earlier 
he had dramatically changed my life.



++++++++++++++++++++++ Thailand, May 1994 ++++++++++++++++++++



My life started to change for the better somewhere between Sydney and Bangkok. 
It was low season and the 747 was half empty, probably not enough passengers 
to pay for the gas let alone the fixed cost of the aircraft. It was even worse 
in the first-class section. I had a full row to myself. In the row before mine 
there was a family. Mum, dad and two kids--a girl in her mid teens and a boy 
aged about twelve. For a large part of the trip I could not take my eyes of 
the young angel in the aisle seat--the BOY, not the girl. He had long brown 
hair that glistened in the subdued light on the plane. He radiated youth and 
vitality.

I stared, unnoticed as I absorbed his every move. He was extremely 
attractive and poised on the threshold of puberty. He was still enough of a 
child to retain his high-pitched voice and puerile mannerisms, but old 
enough to be interesting. As the hours passed, I found him to be more than 
just interesting. He was, in a word, delightful. I listened, entranced by 
his boyish giggle, his offhand comments to his patient father, his verging-on- 
rudeness constant teasing of his sister about her boyfriend. When he got up to 
go the toilet, I gazed longingly at him. I hoped he would acknowledge my 
presence, or better still, invite me to go with him. He ignored me as he 
sauntered past without his shoes. I focused on his crotch and saw a medium- 
sized bulge that promised plenty but which revealed little more than bulk, and 
then he was gone. My head twisted to follow his small, plump bum as he 
disappeared down the aisle.

He was gone a long while in the toilet, or perhaps he was entertaining the 
stewardesses with his witty charm and pretty-boy looks. He was gone more 
than long enough to get laid. I wondered whether he was masturbating. It was a 
fascinating idea and I formed mental images of him with his shorts at his 
ankles and his hand flying up and down his young, pink penis until he shot his 
load of fresh spunk on the floor. Finally he ambled back and dropped into 
his seat. He looked tired. I imagined the pearly droplets of his spunk 
spurting out from a reddened tip, then as he flushed the bowl, free-falling 
from 12,000 meters into the harsh desert of Western Australia. As he sat, he 
turned slightly and for the rest of the flight I wondered whether he 
actually smiled at me or if I was imagining it.

All too soon we landed at Bangkok. I waited in my seat until the boy and his 
family stood up and I followed like a dog in heat, as close to the youngster 
as I could physically get without rubbing my aching groin against his firm, 
little behind. There was a long gap between me and the man who followed us 
out. He had been sitting two rows directly in front of me. They stopped to 
talk to the senior steward and I had no choice but to continue on, leaving 
my first love leaning against the bulkhead that separated the flight deck from 
the rest of the plane. As I passed I heard his father say 'Ben would just love 
to see up front' and then I was out of earshot.

'Ben',... Benny,.... 'Benji',... 'Benjamin',... a cute name for a very cute 
boy, I thought. No, he was a couple of years too old to be called Benji or 
Benny. Ben suited him. It was a simple name for an elegant boy. His was a name 
I would not forget for a long while. As I walked up the ramp I was aware 
that the man behind me was closing the gap. I glanced behind me, preparing 
to move over and make way for him to pass if he was in a hurry. He came up 
beside me and slowed down. It was the first time that I saw Chris Arneson.

"Sexy little thing, wasn't he?" he said quietly. His voice was muted but it 
crackled with lust.

I swallowed nervously. My throat was dry from too much champagne and a long 
flight. The Bangkok heat overwhelmed me. It was hot and humid, far worse 
than Townsville in the summer. "Huh? What did you say? Who?" I asked.

"The boy, of course. Who else?" the man added. He smirked at me and winked 
knowingly. "You had a better seat than I did. I had to keep turning around 
to look at him. I'm sure his father was wondering what was up."

"What are you talking about?" I asked glibly. "Because I have no fucking 
idea what you're going on about, mate."

But I could feel my heart pounding and my body seemed to tremble despite my 
attempts to stop it. Every muscle was responding to the surge of adrenaline 
that coursed through my arteries. We reached the end of the ramp. He turned 
towards me and shrugged as if it had all been a mistake.

"Sorry, I thought I recognized you," he said. "I must be mistaken."

"You are," I said flatly. "I've never seen you before!"

"Okay, I'm sorry then. I just thought we had something in common, that's all!"

He started to walk away, not going faster than I was but taking a diverging 
path. His words hung in my mind, bouncing back and forth until they were 
clamoring loudly. My response was totally unexpected and surprised me.

"Hey," I called out loudly.

He turned and stopped and looked at me for several seconds. "Yeah?"

"You're right!" I said ambiguously.

"About what?"

I walked up to him. I hesitated and then threw caution to the winds. I 
didn't know the man from Adam, I'd never meet him again, there was nothing 
to lose.

"About the boy. He's very sexy," I answered.

He was at least ten years older than I was but he exuded a youthfulness that 
was disconcerting to me. He smiled smugly. "I can always spot a like soul," he 
said. "It only takes one look at a boy like him to know exactly what you're 
thinking."

I smiled back at him. "And what kind of a look is that?" I asked softly.

"Lust! Pure unadulterated boy-lust. You looked like you wanted to rape him 
right there in front of his parents. Personally, I couldn't blame you, but 
somehow I don't think they would be too keen on little-Ben getting a big one 
up his behind."

I grinned shamelessly, excited by the man's crude talk about the boy I had 
been hungering after from the time I took my seat in Sydney. I was also 
fascinated by the fact that the stranger had also managed to learn the boy's 
name.

"Do you think he's gay?" I asked stupidly. Hopefully. Curiously.

"Gay? God who knows! A lot of the boys attending Kings School are, that's 
for sure. Little Benny just might be one of them. I certainly hope so. He's 
got an awfully cute bum. It's really going to be wasted if he likes girls."

I smiled again. I was fascinated by the man's openness. He had no inhibitions. 
He was also very observant. I had noticed Ben's school socks too and thought 
that I was particularly observant at the time.

"He was giving his sister hell about her boyfriend," I added hopefully and 
opened the door to the terminal building.

"Well just about every boy does that. It doesn't prove anything, but we can 
only hope." The man stopped and held out his right hand expectantly. "I'm 
Chris," he said.

We shook formally, I introduced myself by first name, and we started to walk 
again. The immigration desk was still a hundred meters away. Other people from 
the 747 were beginning to straggle up the corridor behind us.

"And even if he was gay, he isn't the type to do anything more than prick-
tease you." Chris chuckled. "I've seen his kind before. He'll lead you on, 
maybe even let you feel his tool, but when it comes to the interesting 
stuff, he'll up and run."

"You sound very certain," I said. "He looked like a nice kid."

"That's my point. The nice ones don't do it. And even if Benny was into big 
dicks, do you really think his parents would tolerate anything like that. 
You're better off with one of the runaways up at Kings Cross. You might have 
to pay for it but at least you usually get what you want."

I nodded. My thoughts were running wild. The man walking beside me seemed to 
have answers for all of my questions. The desire that I had known since my 
early teens seemed to grow more powerful every second that I walked beside 
him. There was a chance, it suddenly seemed, that I could find an outlet for 
my unnatural inclinations. I thought of the boys who I had been attracted to--
the sun-bleached blonds, the young surfer-boys I watched at Bondi Beach, to 
the pre-teens shopping with their parents, to the lonely nights that I had 
spent by myself, wondering if my dreams could ever become real as I 
masturbated feverishly.

"The chance of finding a kid who's attracted to older guys is about zero," 
Chris continued to explain. "Young poofs are out there, of course. It stands 
to reason because they grow up to be gay men. The trouble is finding one at 
the age you're interested in. And then, once he's interested and likes you 
enough to get involved, you're halfway home. What you really need is access."

"Huh?" 

"The young ones need time to work up to getting laid. You have to court 
them, otherwise they'll run screaming 'rape' to mummy and daddy and you'll 
find yourself in deep shit. Once you're a good friend, getting his pants off 
is relatively easy. I think that's why a lot of men get involved in scouts 
or youth clubs, things like that. It's still difficult to meet the right boy 
but at least you have opportunity to get to the next stage."

"Why is still difficult?" I asked ignorantly. "I mean if the kid's 
interested?"

I stooped and picked up my black-leather suitcase from the conveyor. I 
waited for a minute until Chris' bags appeared. He seemed to ignore my last 
question until he straightened up and his attention was no longer diverted 
by watching the bags slide past as he looked for his own.

"Sooner or later, you have to face up to the fact that his parents will kill 
you if they discover you've been fucking junior. Even if he is willing they 
don't like the idea of a man screwing his arse."

I smiled. "I guess that's pretty normal behavior for parents."

"Too bad for men like us!" Chris chuckled. "It's a hell of lot easier when his 
mum or dad knows what's going down. Maybe up would be more descriptive. And if 
they're amenable to it, wow! But that's a one-in-a-million chance."

"Oh," I said. "I guess you hit the boy-jackpot then, huh? I expect that 
would be a once in a lifetime opportunity. With his parents on side, you get 
to fuck the hell out of him, then?"

Chris smirked knowingly. "Something like that, Peter. There are a few boys 
like that out there. Most boys aren't into it. Sucking cocks is one thing 
but the taking a man in through the back door is something else. Getting 
into a young bum is quite a challenge, believe me. Don't get me wrong, they're 
around but the trouble is finding them. It's usually family members who get 
the benefits in those situations."

"It sounds like you are speaking from experience," I observed.

Chris ignored my statement but there was something in his facial expression 
that said otherwise. A faint smile appeared at the corners of his mouth and 
his eyes seemed to flicker as if replaying some long-ago memory.

"I'm here for all of two weeks. How long are you here for?" I asked.

"Three weeks. This is my annual vacation in boy-paradise. I'm staying just 
long enough to fall in love again and then get my heart broken when I 
leave." He studied me for several seconds. "What are you here for, business or 
pleasure?"

"Pleasure meaning,... boys?" I ascertained awkwardly.

"That's the only kind worth having, at least in my opinion. Thai boys are born 
to fuck, I think. Even the little ones get off on it and the best thing is, no 
one seems to care very much. It certainly isn't like the Philippines. Boy 
has that place changed since they threw Marcos out and the new order took 
over."

I nodded as I absorbed the new information. It was one facet of Thailand 
that the travel agents did a poor job of communicating. I would have come 
years ago instead of going to the U.S., Tahiti, or New Zealand. If only I 
had known.

"How can you,... uh,... tell if a boy's,... uh,... interested?" I asked 
hesitantly.

Chris stopped and regarded me quietly. The immigration desk was less than 
ten meters away. He was silent as he thought. "The question in Thailand is, 
are you interested in boys?" he asked secretively.

I nodded slightly. "I might be,... no I would be,... for a boy like Ben," I 
answered.

"Good for you, Peter! I'd jump on him in flash as well. He's a pretty one, all 
right. He's the stuff dreams are made of. And it would be a dream. His old 
man's a barrister and you know that means trouble right from the start. He's a 
senior partner in one of the biggest law firms in Sydney. Ben isn't the type 
of boy you want. Even if he was interested and you were able to get him 
excited, you'd never get his pants down long enough to get it inside him. But, 
take my word for it, a Thai boy will do anything you want. And I do mean 
anything."

I shrugged as my hopes were dashed. As quickly as Ben had entered my life, 
he had departed. However, he left a void that needed to be filled more than 
ever before in my life. My desire had been escalated to the degree of longing. 
For the last few years I had dreamed of meeting a boy who was willing and able 
to respond to my lust. It had turned into an all-consuming hunger.

"What hotel are you staying at?" I asked naively.

"I'm not! The hotel boys are way too old, even for an old pervert like you." 
Chris chided. "And the street boys either have the 'clap' or worse. You 
could try one of the gay brothels downtown but the cops watch them closely 
after all the stink in the States about sex-vacations in South-East Asia. I 
would say you have a fifty-fifty chance of being arrested. You probably 
won't spend any time in jail, but they do report incidents to the Australian 
consulate. I know that for a fact."

"I wasn't planning on staying in Bangkok," I said as we started to walk again. 
"I was going down to Phuket."

"Even if you go down to Phuket, it's a waste of time," Chris replied. He 
started to move forward towards the immigration desk. "The boys will go down 
on you all right for twenty bucks but anything else costs a fortune."

He was almost beside the immigration officer when he finally turned back and 
handed over his passport. My mind was is turmoil. Boys, boys, boys! It was all 
that I could think about. And then it was my turn. My passport was stamped and 
Chris was waiting on the other side. He grinned at me and raised his 
eyebrows as I came.

"See, no problem at all. I was here three years ago and a copper found me on 
the beach doing it with a naked boy. He was a ten-year-old, what you might 
call real jail-bait back home in Sydney. I spent all of one night in jail 
before I got out. The judge could have fined me, maybe even given me a few 
months in a cell but instead he suggested I give three thousand baht, that's 
about a hundred dollars, to the boy's family. Of course they didn't press 
charges and never intended to, but my record still comes up in their 
computer every time I walk through Customs. They don't give a damn. I get a 
warning to behave myself, that's all."

"Thailand sounds like my kind of place," I joked.

"Like I said, Peter, it's boy-paradise here. Thai boys are born to fuck. The 
trick is not paying an arm and a leg at the hotels or down at the beach, and 
staying out of trouble."

I followed him out to the arrivals area. Hundreds of people milled around. 
There were a few Thais, but mostly, white and Japanese tourists. There were 
also many Chinese or Indian people working the counters, giving directions, or 
otherwise impeding the flow of pedestrian traffic. Chris glanced around him 
with an experienced eye.

"I'm still confused," I said. "If not Bangkok or Phuket, then where?"

He shrugged as he looked back at me. "I go for a drive into the hills north-
east of here. It's easy to find boys at many of the villages, especially as 
you get closer to Cambodia. I can guarantee that any boy you're interested 
in will never want more than ten dollars a day, and then his parents will 
throw in their bedroom so you can be comfortable while you fuck the insides 
out of their son. I know of one village where you're treated like part of 
the family. They'll even serve your meals."

"What's the catch?" I asked with disbelief.

"If they're poor enough, a boy's arse is usually their only asset. Of course 
his parents hope you'll like him enough to take care of him. It's a pity 
they can't be adopted, or exported back home. Mostly they're really cute 
kids and in fairly good shape, though they are a bit on the skinny side 
sometimes. I haven't met one who wasn't great in bed. Even the virgins are 
good at it." Chris turned to me. "If you're interested, there's a passenger 
seat in the car," he offered graciously.

"Are you sure? I don't imagine you'd want someone tagging along for a trip 
like that," I asked uncertainly.

"Au contraire. It gets a bit lonely with no one to talk to for two or three 
weeks. Most of the boys don't have more than a few words of English." He 
smiled. "And then its only the essential words like 'fuck me harder'. I 
think you'll have a lot of fun if you tag along as you put it."


I agreed, of course. We rented a car from the airport, put our bags in the 
back, and headed off into the sweltering heat that was Thailand. Chris knew 
where to go without using the map supplied by the car-rental place. He drove 
through the outskirts of Bangkok before taking a busy road off to the north. 
With each kilometer, the traffic thinned and the countryside became more lush. 
It was tropical, with patches of dense jungle interspersed with lots of 
carefully tended farms. As the road climbed steadily upward into the hills, 
the farms became fewer and the jungle ever denser. A little less than two 
hours after the plane landed I saw my first elephant. By then the road had 
become little more than a single lane. There was no turning back, indeed there 
were no signs marking the direction from which we had come or the places to 
which the road was going.

I sat back in the sticky vinyl seat and watched the trees go past. We passed 
through a lot of villages but not the one that Chris was looking for. With 
each new village a horde of kids came out to watch us. His observation was 
correct. Thai boys were very good looking. Their features were less Asiatic 
than most people in the region. Their coloring was dark, bronzed-hued skin, 
black straight hair. Most of them wore only shorts, occasionally tee shirts, 
seldom shoes. They radiated sex at least to my untrained eye and vivid 
imagination. We drove until mid-afternoon.

The terrain had become increasingly rugged as we approached Cambodia. Ahead 
lay the famed Golden Triangle, although the amount of opium had decreased 
significantly in the last few years. As we continued, road became ever more 
pock-marked and was almost impassable in places. Trees overhung the road so 
that it seemed we were often driving in a tunnel, many of them towering high 
above. These were teak trees, with the expensive wood prized by boatbuilders 
for its durability but no longer cut as world pressure focused on preserving 
the rainforest and eliminating drugs. Only a decade earlier elephants had 
dragged logs from the forest while aircraft carried bags of raw chemicals from 
the poppy fields to the processing plants near the coast. In one valley we 
passed a disused saw-mill, its two meter diameter saw-blade no longer sharp 
enough to cut. There was a huge diesel engine rusting under a skelton 
structure whose roof had been stripped of corrugated metals by local 
villagers. As the car slowed I saw that parts of the engine had been 
pilfered by a spare parts dealer, leaving gaping holes where there had once 
been mechanical parts. An intact generator was attached to a concrete base, no 
longer able to serve its function without the diesel. 

"Kind of sad, isn't it? Convenient for us, though," Chris said as he slowed 
the car. "It used to provide jobs for the village. Now the boys work instead 
of the men," he added. "There's a lot more money in letting your son sleep
with men like us than working in a saw-mill."

"The economic facts of life! The interaction of supply and demand," I mused. 
"Teak one day and selling your son's bum the next."

"Something like that," Chris answered. "Both are what you might call 
nature's bounty."

I laughed. "Only teak lasts longer. With a boy-bum you only a have few years 
before it gets too old."

A few minutes Chris finally stopped the car. I was covered in a sheen of 
perspiration as well as being uncomfortably itchy. 

"Okay, this is it!" Chris laughed. "Time to go find you a boy, Peter." 

I gazed around as we stepped from the car. From what I could see, this village 
was no different to the dozens we had passed through earlier. There were 
several huts close to the road, one with a sign that proclaimed the name of 
the village and 'POST OFFICE' in both Thai and English. Beside it was an 
excuse for a general store. A verandah of sorts extended out from an equally 
dilapidated roof of corrugated metal. A naked baby girl sauntered beside a 
scruffy dog, kicking red dust between her toes as her grandmother supervised 
from the darkness inside the store. The old woman raised her hand to 
acknowledge our presence.

"I hope Udon is still here." Chris waved to the woman absently as he closed 
the door behind him. "This place hasn't changed a bit since I was here last. 
God, he was sexy a year ago. He's probably about fourteen by now, but age 
isn't all that important with a Thai boy. Not like your friend, Ben. Give 
him a few years and he'll have pimples all over him and hair from head to toe. 
You'd barely be able to find his dick among the fuzz except for the fact 
that he'll have one about the same size as a horse. There's a lot to be said 
for malnutrition and south-east Asian genes--not much body hair and small 
dicks!"

"Udon?" I said. "It sounds like you have a boyfriend all ready to go to 
bed," I added.

"I had better. I've been sending his family a hundred dollars a month ever 
since the cops caught me with my cock up his lovely little arse."

"He was the boy on the beach?" I asked.

Chris nodded. "His father took him down to Phuket just after his tenth 
birthday. It's not that uncommon in this part of the country. They 
appreciate a boy's charms, at least the charms that make him a boy, shall we 
say."

He glanced around him as if to get his bearings. "Udon's house used to be over 
here," he said as he pointed towards the group of houses closest to the river. 
He started to walk." Anyway the trip to Phuket was only for one reason and 
that was to get the boy laid. His father fully intended for him to get 
fucked by a tourist. He was very open about it and I was more than happy to 
oblige at the time. Of course I didn't plan on becoming quite as attached to 
the little rascal as I ended up doing. He was absolutely incredible at ten, 
but you should have seen him last year. He had just started to cum. Not much 
mind you, but enough to taste. I sucked him dry every chance I got and it 
still wasn't enough for Udon. He used to wake me up and night for more.The 
little poofter couldn't get my cock in him often enough, at either end. I 
got my money's worth, the whole year in just the first few days."

"It sounds like a good investment," I grumped tiredly.

Chris laughed. "So how do you like your boys, Pete? Young or old, perhaps I 
should say wet or dry? The little ones are prettier but there's something nice 
about it when a boy can spunk for you. For some men, boys with sperm can be 
a real turn off. You can take your pick in boy-paradise. Just one word of 
advice."

What's that?" I interrupted.

"Pick one and settle down fast with him. Their parents don't like you trying 
them out and then moving on to someone else's kid. It's bad for the boy's 
self-esteem," he laughed, "But it's also considered both bad manners and bad 
business."

"You're the expert on boys. What do you recommend?" I asked sarcastically.

Chris smirked. "That's easy. I'd go for a boy who's close to starting puberty, 
just like your friend, Benny. They're hot to try everything out. Alternatively 
I'd go for a boy who's just into puberty. That way you get a slightly bigger 
dick to suck, they really get a kick out of it when they come for you, and 
they stay horny afterwards. However, its mostly a matter of personal taste. If 
I was in your shoes, Peter, my favorite would have to be Udon's brother, Phan. 
He's a real doll, much cuter than Udon and two or three years younger. He's 
probably real close to puberty by now. Besides, his parents are used to the 
idea of a man fucking him because of Udon and me."

"He sounds too good to be true," I laughed.

"He is good," Chris added. "If it wasn't for his brother, I'd get him in bed 
by tonight. In fact, I'm pretty certain his dad expects me to do the deed this 
trip. He was talking about taking the kid down to Phuket while I was here this 
time. It was a hint to me, needless to say, but it'll happen sooner or later 
if you're not interested in him."

"I'm interested, I guess," I replied with much commitment. "Do I have a 
choice?"

"There's another boy, Udon's cousin, uh,... Luc. He's younger, only about nine 
or ten, but if you want a boy who's on the small side and hasn't been 
touched yet, he'd be a good choice. If you're lucky Phan may still be a 
virgin, in fact I'd be surprised if he wasn't one. Not many tourists get 
this far away from Bangkok and none of the locals can pay the price. And 
then there's the twins, but you'd have to like them very young. They're only 
six, I think. But as I've said, Thai boys are sexy, even at that age. Of
course, you'd have to be careful if you went the whole with them. A boy that
young is easily hurt if you aren't patient with him."

"What's the price for Phan?" I asked suspiciously.

"Nothing for you. That's not because you're my friend, it's how they do 
business. You won't have to pay a penny unless you really like him,... 
enough to want him to wait for you to come back. If he doesn't get a man in 
Phuket this year he'll probably go down to one of the brothels in Bangkok. I 
feel sorry for him, but there isn't much I can do about it. Even if I paid for 
Phan, there are lots of others just like him." Chris sighed loudly and then, 
added. "They'd all be better off with men like us. Most of them have a 
terrible life in the brothels. Some men abuse them horribly. Udon told me 
about one of the boys from a village just up the road. The poor little 
bugger had his balls crushed last year when he was taken to work in Bangkok."

"God! How did that happen?"
 
"The brothel owners do it, the miserable bastards, so that the boys don't 
mature sexually. And then his bum was mangled by some Jap-fuckin'-
businessman who lost control with a dildo. Udon's grandfather told me it 
happens fairly often around the brothels, but it's usually done when the kid 
doesn't perform. They practically destroy the kid's sphincter and rectum 
with a real whopper."



The boy who came running up and leaped into Chris' arms was remarkably 
attractive and very agile. He was slender, weighing no more than forty 
kilos, but his arms and legs were wiry and the long muscles were visibly 
expressed under the dark, satin-smooth skin. His arms locked around the 
man's shoulders and he nuzzled him with obvious affection. I watched jealously 
as Chris hugged him back and squeezed his buttocks playfully through the 
thin blue nylon of his shorts. Chris kissed him first on the forehead, then 
the bridge of his broad nose, then on his dark, full lips. The kiss was 
returned eagerly.

If this was Udon, and his brother was even more attractive, I was 
enthusiastic. Their kiss seemed to go on and on forever. I could see the boy's 
mouth moving, sucking air as he breathed. He panted in quick gasps. His cheeks 
hollowed from the vacuum. Occasionally his pink tongue would push out 
between their lips, smearing saliva that lubricated, before returning to 
Chris' mouth. I became impatient after nearly a minute had passed. People, men, 
women, and children were watching both them and me. One old man was grinning 
and nodding his head with aroused interest. I was soon to discover that he was 
the boy's grandfather, a pederast, and the village chief. They parted as 
Udon's father approached but they still stood close together. Like lovers, 
they shared continual sideways glances and their hands were linked to openly 
display the bond between them. 

What I witnessed was almost impossible to believe at the time. Chris shook the 
man's hand. His face was covered with the wetness of the boy's saliva. His 
trousers had a huge bulge in the crotch and there was a corresponding and 
considerably smaller bump, albeit better defined as the short length of a very 
rigid penis, in the front of Udon's shorts.

Udon's father seemed as pleased with his son's open display of affection as 
the old man standing beside him. I was introduced and it was immediately 
apparent to me that I was considered as a likely suitor for his second son, 
Udon's younger brother, the boy who Chris called a 'real doll'. But there 
was no sign of Phan. I studied every face we passed on the way to their 
house hoping for a glimpse of a beautiful young boy who bore some of Udon's 
features.

It was an amusing troupe that made its way through the agglomeration of 
houses, fenced-in yards, and accumulated junk that passed for a village in 
central Thailand. Two white men, one still holding the hand of a very handsome 
youth, and two Thai men who chattered away. Udon acted as interpreter, 
selecting what he considered to be worth repeating to Chris. However, 
interpreter was only one of his roles. His other roles clearly elicited more 
respect from the people we passed. Even the women and girls seemed to 
acknowledge his prestige as he flaunted his relationship by dancing around 
Chris exuberantly. Behind us, three young boys struggled with our baggage.

We crossed over the river and entered the family compound. The signs of wealth 
were immediately visible, or perhaps I should say audible. A boom- box 
boomed '80's rock loudly from one of the three huts. Then I saw the 
refrigerator. It was a new appliance despite the fact it was standing on the 
bare ground and its door was wide open. I correctly assumed that there was 
no electricity in the village. It had been purchased for status alone and 
was a direct reward of Chris' generosity to Udon and his family.

The hut we stopped before was about eight feet off the ground. It was, 
unlike the other two huts nearby, relatively new and in good condition. The 
wooden framework was dark teak, discarded from the lumber mill we had passed 
earlier on the road. The roof was thatched with thick bundles of straw. The 
hut had a primitive elegance that was more interesting that the artificial 
rip-offs to be found in the resorts of Phuket.

Udon's mother appeared at the top of the ladder. She smiled widely as she 
recognized Chris. I remembered what he had said in the airport about the 
chances of meeting a boy whose parents were 'amenable' to his having a 
relationship with a grown man. Now it seemed that my own inexperienced remarks 
had been an accurate assessment of the benefits that could accrue under such a 
condition.

I watched with interest as Udon scampered up the ladder. Chris followed. He 
stopped at the top, leaned forward and kissed her. She giggled like a teenager 
and said something as she playfully swatted him on the shoulder and glanced at 
her eldest son. Udon was smirking. Even the two men standing next to me 
laughed. I wondered what the joke was.

"She said that I should save my kisses for Udon," Chris explained jocularly. 
"It seems he's been driving every one mad the last few days while he waited 
for me. It's nice to be appreciated," he added. Then in front of the boy's 
parents and grandfather, he reached out and grasped the boy's still rampart 
penis through his shorts. "How sweet it is to love a horny boy like this one," 
he laughed.

I waited for the angry outburst from either or both of the two men, or from 
his mother, but there was none. Even as Chris' hand lingered, fondly rubbing 
the boy's sex organs under his shorts, there was no negative reaction except 
from the boy himself. Udon blushed and after nearly a minute, as Chris' 
fingers started to worm their way under the loose leg of his shorts, he 
giggled and pushed the hand away. It was not an angry push, merely a gentle 
sign that he wanted to stop for the present. At nearly fourteen years, he 
was old enough to discharge his semen if excited sufficiently, and more than 
old enough for inhibitions in front of his mother. By then, we had all climbed 
the steps, I had been introduced to the woman, and we had kissed. It was a 
chaste, family kiss that was very different to the display of passion that 
continued beside me.

I glanced around the hut, hoping to see a sign of the second oldest son. I 
heard the foreign chatter of the parents and the old man and instinctively 
realized that I was the object of discussion. I was examined, much as they 
would examine a pig or cow but with considerably more appreciation such as 
might be reserved for an elephant. Had it not been rude, I am certain that 
they would have asked me to undress so they could inspect all of me. For 
that report they would have to wait for Phan's experience.

Even though I had been sitting almost non-stop for more than fifteen hours, 
I was still grateful when we sat on the low stools. The trip had been 
tiring. A long distance by plane, then the grueling four hour drive from 
Bangkok. Minutes passed, then a half-hour, then a full hour and still no 
sign of the boy they intended to be my lover. Two younger boys, adorable twins 
no older than six, had been promptly dispatched to find him almost as soon 
as we arrived.

While we waited Udon's father served tea, using cracked cups that were 
yellowed with the accumulation of stain. It was a ritual, establishing 
relationships between family and visitors. He served Chris first-- a single 
cup that he shared with the handsome boy beside him, then the grandfather, 
then me, then himself. So much for the supposed adulation of the Thai for 
elderly. The boy's mother departed in order to prepare for the evening meal.

The heat of the afternoon began to intensify. When it seemed that it could 
become no hotter, hot waves of air flowed through the open walls of the hut. 
At least we were in the shade. Sweat trickled down my brow and my shirt and 
trousers clung to my body with a wet film. Slowly I began to think that coming 
with Chris was a terrible mistake. By now I would be in Phuket, resting in 
an air-conditioned room, with the fresh sea breeze blowing across the 
beautiful craggy islands of the sound. 

The heat did not seem to bother Chris. He was perspiring as much as I was 
and he shared his body heat with the lithe teenage boy beside him. Sometimes 
it seemed as if Udon would crawl over him and they would copulate in front 
of us. They kissed and hugged and fondled each other openly, continually 
attracting what sounded to me like words of encouragement from the two men, 
and several times when she was in the hut, from Udon's mother. I was not 
disinterested when I finally stood up and made my way down the ladder. I was 
merely very jealous.

I had watched enviously as Chris' hand slowly inched its way under the wide 
leg opening, pushed the loose cloth away and settled over the boy's still 
prominent bulge. I had watched Udon smile shyly, acknowledge his father's nod, 
and part his legs so that the hand had unfettered access to his groin. I 
watched Chris' hand enclose, caress, tickle, and finally begin to masturbate 
the nearly naked youngster next to him. I had watched the boy become hotter, 
wriggling and twisting as his arousal began to peak. I had watched a dollar- 
sized dark spot appear on the bright-blue nylon of his shorts as he 
liberally leaked pre-cum, a surprising amount in one so young and from a penis 
that was still relatively small. He twitched, gasped, and shuddered. I had 
watched as his eyes clamped tightly shut and his body arched. The muscles in 
his slender legs became firmer as he strained. His moan of ecstasy shocked me. 
The wet patch in the front of his thin nylon shorts expanded instantly. It 
rapidly grew bigger as he ejaculated his bountiful juice until it was 
finished. The boy relaxed, his young body's strength spent in a stain the size 
of a saucer. His orgasm was enchanting, a captivating crescendo as his young 
body fell back exhausted. He smiled beguilingly at Chris as his penis 
continued to throb. There was nothing but smiles from the other two men. In my 
case it made me feel lonelier than I had ever been. When it seemed it could 
get no worse, Udon lifted his slender hips upward and Chris expertly pulled 
his semen-soaked shorts off.

Without a word, Chris inspected the product of his young lover's body. He 
lifted the shorts to his nose and inhaled deeply, then turning them inside 
out, examined the copious fluid that now adhered to the nylon. There was no 
doubt that Udon's body had matured considerably beyond the stage visibly 
indicated by the size of his penis and his physical stature. The abundant 
seminal fluid was thick and white, like a man's. But unlike the after 
effects of a man's orgasm, the boy's penis did not deflate. It remained 
still half-erect, still wanting more pleasure despite the fact that it had 
just climaxed, despite the glistening beads of sweat that covered Udon's body.

Chris silently grinned at me as he pulled the now-naked boy against him. Any 
inhibition that Udon had earlier had been lost as his body had been drained 
before his father and grandfather. His shorts, the front covered with his 
emission, lay on the floor, a testimony to his maturity and sexual prowess. He 
straddled Chris, kissing loudly as I reached the ladder. The last thing I 
saw was Chris arms locking behind the boy in a powerful embrace. I heard him 
call out when I was halfway down.

"Hey Peter, try going up river. Udon thinks that Phan's probably at the 
waterfall by now."



I ambled across the courtyard. I was uncertain of everything that I had 
observed. Udon's sexual release had occurred not only with the acceptance of 
the boy's family, but with their strong encouragement. What is more, the boy 
had thrilled to Chris' touch, had given himself willingly, had shown no sign 
of shame or guilt. He had been intent only on deriving the maximum enjoyment 
from being with the man he desired. By the time I reached the river I still 
could not believe all that I had seen and heard. Several women and girls 
were washing clothes at the bank. They smiled shyly. The girls, like 
frightened virgins, hid their faces but their eyes followed me as I 
continued along the narrow earthen path beside the river. They held no 
interest for me. The heat, like my own desire for boys, had not dissipated, 
but had grown more intense as the day progressed. 

The jungle became thicker, and although the shade afforded some protection 
as I walked, the humidity was unbearable. I had been walking for nearly twenty 
minutes when I reached a branch in the path. There was still no sign of a 
waterfall. One way led back towards the river, the other seemed to disappear 
into the huge ferns and boulders, that sprouted among enormous trees. Now 
tired of my fruitless search for a boy who did not want to be found, I started 
down the trail towards the river. I had not gone more than twenty meters 
when I heard high-pitched giggles and turned to see the twin boys scampering 
down the other path. They saw me, stopped, pointed up the path they had just 
came from, giggled as they made rude gestures, and ran off at full speed. I 
immediately changed my mind and decided to take the other path.

It took another five minutes of climbing over rotten tree trunks and 
boulders before I finally reached the end. The path terminated at a waterfall. 
The water cascaded down the rocky gorge, tumbling from one ledge to the next 
until it appeared as a bridal veil. From the last ledge the water dropped four 
meters into a deep, dark pool. I stopped and stared. The child swimming in the 
water was naked. I assumed its sex to be male, if only from the short, black 
hair. His body was slender and golden-brown except for a paler band at his 
buttocks. He swam languidly, his body abandoned to the sensation of cool 
water. I longed to join him but I continued to gaze silently upon him. As if 
he knew I was watching, he rolled onto his back. My assumption was 
confirmed. His crotch was as pale as his bottom, though both places were 
darker than my own suntanned arms. I stared at the delightful child, bewitched 
by his beauty. I was oblivious to the fact that his eyes seemed to look 
directly into mine and recognize the feelings that existed within me.

Without any uncertainty, I knew this was Phan. He was everything that Chris 
had said and more, much more. He reached the shallow side furthest away from 
the waterfall and came to his feet. Slowly he waded forward and for the 
first time I observed the perfection of his young body. My eyes focused 
naturally on his genitals, a task made more difficult by the fact that his 
small hand reached down and enclosed his penis between his thin fingers. 
Like his older brother, he had not been circumcised. Similarly, with his small 
penis and testicles, he would never be well-endowed, certainly not by European 
standards and probably not in comparison with Asian men.

When it seemed as if I could hold no more of him in my memory, I stepped 
forward from behind the boulder that had sheltered me from his sight. 
Instinctively both of his hands dropped to cover his groin protectively.

"Hi, Phan," I said softly. "Don't be afraid."

He trembled, knowing who I was just as I recognized him. No words passed 
between us as we gazed at each other. This was the boy who I yearned for. It 
was as if we existed to meet and provide for the other's pleasure.



++++++++++++++++++++ Sydney, August 1994 +++++++++++++++++++++



Chris Arneson's voice brought me back to the reality of his office in State 
Bank, Sydney.

"I want this mess cleaned up before Monday's audit. That means that the 
funds must be transferred this afternoon," he said carefully. "You could say 
that time is of the essence."

I nodded. "I can do it by then. I can put the deal together in a few hours 
if the price is right."

"It's not a simple matter," Chris interjected. "It's not a bankruptcy fire 
sale, you understand. I don't want my sister to lose everything she's worked 
so hard for. If you buy the assets I want you to keep the company going."

"Jesus! I'm a vulture, Chris. At least that's what the jerk next door thinks I 
am."

"A vulture will kill the company off by next week and she'll get sweet fuck 
all out of it. I don't want that. After Thailand, I think that I can count 
on you as a good friend. I trust you to take this on under the condition 
that you try to save the company,... and if not, then you do the right thing 
by her. The company is all she has."

"This isn't Thailand, Chris," I reminded him. "We are friends when it comes to 
boys, but business is business. We both know that there isn't room for friends 
when money is concerned."

"Then you are a vulture," Chris said angrily.

"I might be a vulture but right now that's all you've got," I said arrogantly. 
"How much is the company worth is the only question I'm interested in. To 
lay out this much money I need to know how much can I get out of it. Right now 
I don't care that you and I spent two weeks fucking a couple of Thai boys. 
To be honest with you, I'm not particularly interested in a minority 
partnership with a couple of dumb lesbians, no offense to your sister and 
her friend, who wanted to make kiddies' clothing. That's just the way it is."

Arneson smiled and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. For a moment I thought I 
had gone too far but my doubts were unfounded.

"What if I could increase your ownership share, say to,... well to fifty 
percent. I own a third of the company now which I'm prepared to give up to 
make this work. Maybe I could convince them to give up some of their own stock 
to make the deal fly."

"My loan would be collateralized," I asked casually. "I think I'd need more 
security than what's out there already. For that much money I'm going to 
want everything locked in to cover my money. Besides, it would have to be 
fifty-one percent. I don't want to spend the rest of my life in court fighting 
with them."

Now it was becoming a more interesting proposition although it was still a 
long way from happening. Perhaps it was time to pull the plug on the whole 
idea and walk out now. I stood up abruptly, a clear indication that the 
negotiation had been terminated.

"Peter,...?" Chris Arneson implored. 

I could hear the desperation in his voice.

"I have things to do," I replied. "I have plans to get away for some fishing 
up at Forster for the weekend. I really must be on my way."

"We are really alike in some ways and I don't just mean because we both like 
boys," Arneson said quietly as he tried to control his anxiety.

"How is that?" I asked. I glanced around the vast office. Despite the 
accoutrements of power I had little respect for him in this setting. Like most 
bankers he had grown fat and lazy. It was a lot easier to invest someone 
else's money than your own. If the bank didn't make a profit, they merely paid 
lower dividends and continued to make high salaries. We were a long way from 
Thailand, from Phan and Udon, and the bedroom we had shared for two weeks.

"You're a hard man to negotiate with, Peter," Arneson said flippantly. "You 
don't listen very well for one thing."

I shrugged, readying myself to place my ace. "I listen when I have to, 
Chris. I know I owe you a lot for Phan but as I told you then, I keep my 
business and pleasure separated."

"It's not a bad deal I'm offering you, Peter. Half of the company and 
collateral of nearly two million dollars, in return for what, a risk-free loan 
of a million at the market rate."

"Did you really fuck your nephew every weekend?" I asked obscenely.

Chris snorted as he laughed. He played along. "Every weekend, from the time he 
turned twelve until he went off to uni. His mum would drop him off here at the 
bank on Friday afternoon and I would return him on Sunday night. He used to 
spend his holidays with me as well. I nearly wore his arse out sometimes."

"You're lucky," I said invidiously. "He was a beautiful boy. He puts Phan to 
shame. In fact he's still movie-star quality."

Chris smiled. "The photos really don't do him justice. Alex was fifteen when 
they were taken but he was a late maturer so he looks a lot younger than he 
is. He didn't start puberty until he was nearly fifteen. His first wet one 
came just in time. I was beginning to worry about him. I loved him for six 
wonderful years. No boy, not even Udon, has been the same to me."

"What's he do now?" I asked.

"He's a pediatrician. He's been living with the same guy he met while he was 
at uni. He's a nice guy, a minister believe it or not. He runs the gay church, 
you know the one in Kings Cross next to the park.."

"I think so. Even after spending six years with you it sounds like you 
didn't screw him up too much."

"He was a great kid and he's very happy," Chris stated. He breathed out 
slowly. "I owe him and his mum a great deal. Unlike you, I don't separate 
business and pleasure, at least not when it comes to Alex." I shrugged, not 
fully understanding his reference. Is it a deal?" he asked. "Do you sign on or 
not?"

"It may be. I will take it off your books. All of it, the one million three in 
return for sixty percent of the company and market rate plus one for my loan," 
I said casually. "I want to see the factory and stores first. I also want to 
meet your sister and her lesbian friend, especially if you want me to try to 
save the company. I'll need to know if I can work with them. If it all 
checks out, it's a deal. Now, if you could throw in Alex at say twelve years 
old, I would sign right now."



It was just after 2.30 p.m. when I left State Bank and walked back to the 
building where I had left my car. Every time I thought about Chris Arneson I 
could not help but smile. In Thailand I had only known his first name and, 
from the several hints he had given during the two weeks we were together, I 
had guessed correctly that he was involved in investment banking. However, his 
appearance was still very surprising. After my return from Thailand I believed 
that one day I would surely run into him again, if not at a bank, then up at 
Kings Cross, or on the beach, or anywhere young boys were to be found.

It was turning out to be a pleasant day. The earlier threat of rain had 
disappeared and the sun was shining. The air was clear, so clear that I 
could see the hazy Blue Mountains in the distance, some forty miles to the 
west. I treated myself to a convertible, collapsing the roof on the XJS before 
I pulled out of the parking garage. My first stop would be at a mall near 
Hornsby for a quick look at one of the Kidstuff stores and then on to 
Gosford to see the factory and meet the two lesbians.

While Chris had spoken highly of both of them, I still had misgivings. My 
second thoughts were not about their sexual orientation--God only knows my own 
inclinations towards young boys were unnatural enough--but about their 
abilities to run a business. I was apprehensive to say the least. I headed out 
the city, opening the throttle in a hectic dash across the Sydney Harbour 
Bridge as I weaved from lane to lane. More than one car beeped its horn at 
me angrily but I was feeling good. The thrill of the 'chase' always elevated 
my spirits.

I left the Pacific Highway at the Gosford turnoff. Despite the fact that the 
town had been growing quickly in recent years, the main road had been 
changed very little in three decades. It did not seem much different to when I 
travelled it with my parents to their holiday house at The Entrance. As I 
drove, memories from my boyhood returned. In my mind's eye I could picture 
myself with the gangly awkwardness of late childhood intermingled with the 
discoveries of young adolescence. The years seemed to rush by, my once- strong 
memories already fading into dim glimpses of the past. There were a few 
times that I recollected with such vivid awareness of myself as a boy.

I could remember, for example, my first wet orgasm. Back then the boys 
called it 'spunk' just as they still do today. It was a a flexible word, a 
noun to describe semen, a verb to describe the act of producing fluid by 
masturbation, and at the appropriate times, 'spunk' could even be an adverb or 
adjective. Boys and spunk went hand-in-hand, so to speak.

That my first spunk was so easily recalled was not astonishing to me. It had 
been an awe-inspiring event in my life and one that naturally continued to 
have an effect on me from then on. At twelve years old I was bewildered and 
barely able to appreciate the consequences of being masturbated to orgasm by 
my scout master, Eric Hanley. My sixteen-year-old brother, Martin, and his 
friend watched and became silent witnesses as I lay spread-eagled on the couch 
of my parent's holiday house. My suntanned legs were wide apart as I submitted 
eagerly to the adult hand that enclosed my penis. I had come there with a 
vague acceptance that I would do this. It was an integral part of the scouting 
motto, 'Be Prepared'. I was not frightened at the time--uncertain would be a 
better description of my initial insecurity and hesitancy.

Eric's gentle touch was a source of incredible and previously unknown 
sensations. It was wonderful and strange. I remembered breathing faster and 
faster as his experienced hand moved relentlessly. My throbbing penis was so 
stiff that it seemed to ache with the pressure that built up inside me. The 
feelings became stronger and better until I could no longer stand it. My 
pleasure was unimaginable but the milky climax that spurted over the 
experienced hand of a man a moment later left me stunned. It was part of 
growing up, just as my brother had done with Eric when he was the same age.

Afterwards, when dinner was finished and the things were put away, I went into 
my parent's bedroom with Eric. If I had been uncertain earlier, now I was 
self-assured but a little apprehensive because of the privacy afforded by a 
closed door. But my fearless confidence was quickly shaken as I discovered 
what Eric wanted. And yet, as he acquainted me with his penis, I remained 
enthusiastic and very eager to try what he offered. My ardor faded fast when 
the moment of truth arrived. Sheer size difference alone should have been 
enough to argue for caution and patience. I fought back by clenching my 
anus. Despite my reluctance, he endeavored to encourage me and for more than 
twenty very-painful minutes he tried to put his penis in my bottom before he 
finally acknowledged defeat. He left me sore and very distressed, with 
little more than a third of his penis forced into my weakened and blood- 
streaked rectum.

Perhaps if he had been more patient, or if I had not been the proud, cocky, 
self-assured boy that I was, the outcome would have been different. As soon as 
I felt better I got dressed and went to join Martin and his friend in the 
living room. I never told them what happened in the bedroom but they suspected 
why Eric left early. My arse hurt for the rest of the weekend but I 
masturbated again at least six or seven times. My parents never pursued the 
question of why I dropped out of the scout troop and merely accepted my 
explanation that I wasn't all that interested.



My Jaguar is not a sports car, at least not in the sense of a Porsche or 
Lotus, but it does handle superbly. What it lacks in suspension and 
transmission sophistication it more than compensates for with its massive V-12 
engine. I powered around the corners using the full torque band. The road 
twisted back and forth, making every bend a hairpin turn at nearly one hundred 
kilometers an hour.

After little more than fifteen minutes, the yellow sandstone cliffs 
disappeared, the road straightened, and I was on the outskirts of Gosford. The 
pungent smell of Eucalyptus faded quickly as trees gave way to suburban 
houses.

It was not difficult to find the factory from Chris' instructions. I parked in 
the visitor's space and entered the building. From the outside it was an 
innocuous, modern design. As I waited in the front foyer I tried to guess 
the value of the building but denied such information as its size, I turned my 
attention to other things. There was a display of the current clothing lines 
produced by Kidstuff. Suddenly, it was easy to see why they had gone bankrupt.

The clothes were 'cute' but 'sensible' in a middle-class, professional way. 
Bright colors, usually primaries, were mixed together in an androgynous 
style that denied a child's sexuality as well as his or her physical form. All 
of the styles were loose fitting and made of durable materials that could be 
passed from one child to a sibling. The clothes had to be handed down, they 
were too expensive not to be. I supposed that there was a market for the 
type of clothing, only it was not a very large market.

Both of the lesbians came out to meet me. Hannah Arneson looked a lot like her 
older brother, a fact that explained the similarity between her son, Alex, and 
his uncle. She was in her early fifties and very attractive. Her Swedish 
accent seemed very strong compared to her brother's, which had been diluted to 
a clipped smoothness that did not betray his Nordic origin. The other woman 
was remarkably beautiful. Tricia Gordon had eyes as blue as the bluest sky and 
like her lover, was blond. Together they made an elegant and exceedingly 
attractive pair. Luckily, my interests were elsewhere.

During the drive from Sydney I had convinced myself that the deal was not 
worth taking on. There was a lot of risk for a comparatively small payoff, 
even with the bank's support of my investment. Now, faced by the two women who 
had brought their business to bankruptcy, I was not so certain. They seemed 
confident of their abilities as they made honest assessments of why the 
business had not succeeded. Asian imports was high on the list of reasons 
but beyond that, they talked of their own failures. Some of their problems 
could be directly attributed to the fact that they were lesbians. Australian 
men went out of their way to avoid dealing with the company. Their sexuality 
was a major problem for the buyers who worked for the big department stores. I 
was fascinated by the close rapport they had with employees, by the high level 
of technology, by the many processes that stressed productivity. The company 
should have succeeded.

As they talked and guided me through the factory I began to wonder how much 
Chris had told them about me. Nothing was said explicitly but I was 
perturbed by their quizzical expressions. It was as if they knew a lot more 
about me than they were letting on. Throughout the twenty minute tour I was 
agitated. Even though they appeared to have few inhibitions, I wondered 
whether Hannah, or her friend for that matter, knew of her brother's annual 
trips to 'boy-paradise' in Thailand and that he had met me there on his last 
visit. I for one, had not told anyone else.

And then I considered Chris' claim that he had been his nephew's lover with 
the full support of his mother, Hannah. Under other circumstances I would have 
doubted his veracity but after two weeks in Thailand I was not so confident. I 
had personal knowledge that a boy's parents would actively encourage their 
son's homosexual relationship. The proposition was no so farfetched that it 
could be discounted. I was distracted. Constantly my thoughts drifted to 
questions of family relationships and to the delightful boy who had been the 
center of Chris' life for 'six wonderful years'.

At five o'clock, as the factory shut down for the day, Hannah led me back to 
her office. Her partner had disappeared some time earlier. I sat back in her 
couch, sipped some stale coffee and followed up on the dozen questions that 
still remained unanswered. Her responses increased my resolve to buy the 
company. All of the clothes were designed by Hannah and Tricia. They also 
managed the manufacturing despite their limited expertise with production 
and distribution. Finally, they had become involved in retailing when they 
discovered that it was impossible to find 'some one in marketing with half a 
brain'. Hannah's cynicism matched my own in that regard.

During one of the breaks in the conversation I glanced at her desk. She was 
a neat person. The characteristic articles and equipment of a business 
person were carefully laid out in regulation position. There was even the 
standard-issue small photograph on the desk. From three meters away it was all 
that I could do to make out the picture of a boy. Like the photographs in 
Chris Arneson's office, that single image grabbed my attention and held it 
captive. Or at least I was captivated by the young boy captured by the 
photographer. From a distance he looked not unlike Alex, only much younger. 

Finally I decided that it was a photograph of Alexander Arneson taken when 
he was about ten years old. There seemed no other explanation and indeed, it 
was the explanation that I preferred. He was a beautiful boy at fifteen but at 
ten years old, even the word 'beautiful' failed to convey his sublime looks. 
At ten, his hair was longer and much lighter in color. If he was in the 
sunshine instead of a photographer's studio, his hair would have sparkled with 
silver and gold highlights. There were other differences between the boy who I 
now gazed at with unnerving frequency and the boy whose image was etched 
into my mind. For one thing the younger boy's nose was slightly upturned, 
his lips were fuller, and his face seemed more oval-shaped. I wondered whether 
those features could change over a period of five years. I doubted it. They 
had to be brothers, I decided. In my opinion, the younger boy was also more 
beautiful but only a fine line separated them and it was as much a matter or 
personal taste than anything else. 

Without a word, Hannah stood up, walked to her desk, and returned with the 
silver frame and the photograph that had so consumed my attention that I was 
beginning to appear rude. She held it out, smiling as she offered it to me for 
my inspection. I blushed, wondering again how much she knew about me. It 
seemed unlikely that Chris Arneson had told her about me. However, I 
reasoned that he could have easily called while I was driving up from Sydney.

"That's Tag. He's Tricia's boy," she explained. "His real name is Tristan 
Alexander,... Gordon, like his mum."

She hesitated for a moment and left the last sentence hanging in the air. It 
was as if I was supposed to glean something of importance from the boy's 
name but for the life of me I could not determine what it was.

"We've called him Tag since he was a baby," she added finally. "For the 
family, it stuck with him. He's not keen on anyone else using it."

"Uh,... well he's a very nice looking kid," I replied with emphasis. It was 
a gross understatement for the precious face with its delicate mouth and 
fine features. Then added by way of explanation for my interest, I added, 
"He looks a lot like Alex,... from the photos in Chris' office."

Hannah smiled and nodded. "They are a lot alike, but then I suppose that's 
to be expected," she added obliquely. "He's just turned eleven, in fact only 
last week. Tag is the reason why Tricia had to go home. She always leaves 
early to pick Tristan up from his school."

I shrugged and pretended to be disinterested. His name rang loudly in my mind. 
Tristan Alexander Gordon! If ever there was a name for a homosexual, that 
had to be it. And yet it was also a nice name. It was a name that fired my 
imagination. It was a name that seemed ideally suited to the outrageously 
pretty boy I knew only from a single small photograph.

"Tell me about the new lines," I asked as I placed the picture on the table 
before me so that it faced towards me.

"We have a new style for the Christmas season as well as our regular lines. 
Actually Tricia designed it around Tag. He was the model for the brochure as 
well." 

She passed me a black leather folder from the table. I opened it and felt my 
heart leap. Tristan Gordon was stunning. His exquisite face beamed at the 
camera. His long, curling, blond hair cascaded over his forehead. His eyes 
were sublime, his mouth petulantly shy, his lips slightly apart to reveal 
perfect small white teeth. The summer clothes he wore were pleasing but they 
did little to accentuate his splendid body. The boy was posed elegantly. He 
was relaxed and casual. One arm was braced against a wall, his legs crossed, 
his slender body gracefully at ease. He was a natural model.

As I turned the pages of the portfolio it was all that I could do not to 
sigh aloud. The effect of the images on me was startling. Strangely I did 
not feel sexually aroused. Instead, I longed to meet the resplendent boy. I 
wanted to hold his hand. I wanted to be his companion, to become his best 
friend, to play with him, and when he trusted me to share his secrets I wanted 
to be there with him. I was in love with an eleven-year-old boy I had never 
met.

The clothes he wore were eye-appealing with their vibrant colors but in my 
mind they did nothing for him. His perfectly proportioned body was concealed 
under loose cloth that became bulky and folded in the parts where anatomical 
form was most important. While the clothes preserved his youth, they also 
denied his sexuality. It was a pity that his mother had not selected Spandex 
as the material to adorn her son's beautiful young body. I admired the line, 
building Hannah's self esteem as I gazed at the image of perfection. She 
appreciated my compliments and agreed with my final comment that the clothes 
looked good on such a beautiful boy.



Our meeting finished shortly afterwards and I walked with Hannah back to my 
car in the parking lot.

"Your car is a nice shade of blue," she said admiringly. "What do they call 
it?"

"Indigo, I think." I replied. "The grey leather is a bitch to keep clean, 
though. They should have used something darker so it doesn't show the dirt."

With interest, she leaned over the side and looked down into the low blue-grey 
leather seats. "Tag would like this a lot." She looked at me. "You'll have 
to take him for a ride one day. If you buy the company, that is."

I grinned. The pressure was off. There was nothing I wanted to do more at that 
moment than take Tristan Alexander Gordon for a ride in my XJS. Actually, 
there were a few other things I could think of that I also wanted to do with 
him, but they could wait a while longer, at least until we were better 
acquainted. It was an appealing idea. 

"Its a deal, Hannah. I'm going back to Sydney now to get the funds transferred 
and sign the papers." I opened the door and slid into the seat. With the 
engine started, I gave it a few seconds to warm up. "It was a pleasure meeting 
you Hannah, I mean that. I'm really looking forward to working with you," I 
said happily. "Say so to Tricia for me,... and say hi to Tristan," I added 
as I started to reverse.

She smiled back at me and waved as I pulled away.

As I drove through Gosford, Tristan Gordon was never out of my mind for more 
than a few seconds it seemed. He was all that I could think of. Finally I left 
the town behind and with it, my persistent thoughts about the exceedingly 
beautiful boy. The late afternoon sun was unusually warm and I drove in 
heavy traffic at a reduced speed all the way back to the freeway. I sweated. 
My thought shifted, away from the long line of cars to the rugged landscape of 
Thailand and a hot afternoon that I would never forget. I had sweated 
profusely then as well but it had not bothered me at the time.