Date: Tue, 21 Nov 2006 10:50:00 -0500 (EST)
From: Herb Cat <herb_cat@lycos.com>
Subject: Rip part 2 of 12

Installment 2 Rip Goes to a Funeral

Copyright 2006 Herb Cat. Do not reproduce or distribute this story without
the author's permission.

Please note: this story depicts oral and anal sex between a male adult
and male minors. If this offends you or is illegal to publish in your
jurisdiction, or you are under the age of 18, read no further.

The characters, locations and incidents in this story are fictional. Any
resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.

As an author, I welcome feedback on my writing. Please send any comments
about this story, positive or negative, to Herb_Cat@mailcity.com. Thank
you.

---

Marcus answered the phone, "Oh, Hi, Jeremy."

"You guys busy? I'll call later if you want."

"We were just sitting down to dinner. But that's ok. I can talk. What's
up?"

"Actually, I didn't want to talk to you, Marky. Give the phone to
Euripides."

"Really? OK. Rip, come here please. It's Dr. Wilson. He wants to talk to
you."

"Is he still mad at me?"

"No, Son. Don't worry."

"Hello, Mr. Wilson, er. Doctor. . ."

"It's Jer, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm sorry I touched your balls yesterday, Mr., er, Jer."

"Don't be!"

"Huh?"

"Don't ever be sorry for being nice, young man. I was wrong. What you did
was real nice."

"It was?"

"Yep, in fact it was the nicest thing anyone ever did to me all day!
Really!"

"Wow."

"So, thank you, Euripides, for being such a polite young man."

"Uh, sure, I mean, you're welcome."

"And, Rip. Any time you see me, I want you to come right over and pet my
nuts again, OK?"

"Really?"

"Yep."

"Uh, what if you got pants on next time?"

"Hmm, didn't think of that."

"I know what. We'll just rip 'em. You rippa dese pants, you looka da
cock!"

Neither Mrs. Wilson on one end, or the Sloans on the other knew what had
set off the two on the phone, but both were giggling uncontrollably as
they hung up.

.oOo.

The rest of the Sloans' time in Greece that season was productive and
enjoyable. The parents worked at the dig site through the week, while Rip
spent his days with Cassandra, had his lessons with Demetrius, and his
soccer practice with Alex. His team did very well, making it to the
regional playoffs. On Sundays, unless it was raining, the family went to
the beach where Rip could romp around in his birthday suit to his heart's
content. Jeremy showed up regularly and Rip always dutifully and politely
cupped the man's balls, while Jeremy tousled the boy's hair.

Once Cassandra got a phone call from Mrs. Sloan, that she had lost her
dusting brush and wanted the spare one she kept at home. Demetrius
offered to drive it over and Rip went along for the ride. He rarely saw
his parents at work. The few times he went, he found it tediously boring.
They never seemed to make much progress each day and a nine-year-old's
impatience couldn't take it.

"Hi Mom, Hi Dad." Rip went over and hugged his parents, both full of dust
and sweat.

"Hi Sweetie. Thanks a lot, Demetrius. You're a lifesaver," said Andrea
taking the much awaited brush.

"Hey, there's Jer." Rip ran over to his new buddy and immediate reached
between his legs.

"Hi there, Rip. Heh heh. Having a little trouble getting at my balls
ain't you. Not like at the beach. Here, let's do this right." And with
that, Dr. Jeremy Wilson dropped his pants and underwear so his little
protégé could cup his balls properly. Marcus looked at them and shook
his head. Andrea smiled. The other workers, all Greek locals, stopped
their work and gawked. "You're a great kid, Rip. Thanks a lot, buddy."
Wilson pulled up his drawers and once he was decent, swept little Rip up
off the ground and set him on his shoulder where he could get a birds-eye
view of the site. Wilson paraded him around, pointing out things he
thought might interest the lad, and for his part, Rip, steeped in
archeology textbooks, asked questions far too mature for a nine-year-old.

.oOo.

As their plane took off heading for the states, Rip asked his parents if
Jeremy would be there the next year and was reassured he would. "Great."

Rip quickly made up the first four weeks of school he had missed, just as
he had every other year. Teachers had always vied with each other to have
this bright, enthusiastic, independent youngster in their class. This
year, fifth grade, Mr. Schwartz won out.

One day, as Rip got off the bus, he noticed his parents waiting for him
in the front yard. Usually they were busy all day writing in the basement
office or teaching and going to meetings at the university. "Hi Mom. Hi
Dad. What's up?"

"Come inside, Rip. We have some sad news." Suddenly worried, Rip followed
his parents into the living room. "Grandma called this morning. You
remember Gramps was real sick, right?"

"Yeah, sure, you mean he isn't going to get better?"

"No, Son, Gramps passed away last night." Rip's face showed his
confusion.

"Your father means he died, Rip. Tomorrow we'll drive over to their town.
The funeral is this Saturday."

"Am I going?"

"Yes, Rip, unless you don't think you want to. You can stay with one of
the neighbors if you want."

"No, no, I want to go. I want to say goodbye to Gramps. Please?"

"Sure, Son. Grandma will like to see you. I think it'll do her good. You
always were able to bring a smile to her face."

"And Uncle Malcolm, he'll be there too, right?"

"Of course," replied Andrea as Marcus turned to look out the window.
"Malcolm and I were Gramps's only children. We both want to be with
Grandma now."

"Good. I like Uncle Malcolm. Too bad we only see him on Thanksgiving."

Later, after Rip was tucked into bed, and they were alone in their
bedroom, Andrea said to her husband, "You know he's right."

"Who, Rip? Right about what?"

"About Malcolm. It is too bad Rip only sees him maybe a couple times a
year, when the whole family gets together, all of Mom's and Dad's
siblings, all the second cousins. Rip should have some time with just his
uncle. Malcolm's great with kids, you know."

"I know. That's what frightens me. I think it's better with a crowd
around."

"For God's sake, Mark. What do you think my brother's going to do? Kidnap
him? Lock him in a basement?"

"I don't know."

"The guy loves Rip. He'd never do anything to hurt him, and you know it."

"Yeah, but you know. His history."

"My brother loves little boys. So what? They love him too. He has a real
way with them."

"Yeah, and it nearly put him in jail."

"Dammit, Mark. He was sixteen. He made a mistake. Can't you ever forget
it?"

"Yeah, but that kid wasn't the last. He's had a whole parade of little
boys going through his bedroom. And what is it now? He has two little
brothers."

"Yeah, that's what I hear, but their parents are happy about it."

"Well, that's what Malcolm tells you."

"And my brother doesn't lie, Mark."

.oOo.

Marcus Sloan escorted his son into the funeral parlor, resting his
fatherly hand on the boy's shoulder. The first hour was going to be only
the family. Rip kissed his grandmother.

"Your dress is pretty, Nana." Sure enough, this innocent comment about
her new black dress, brought a smile to her drawn face.

"Thank you, Euripides. You're the first one to even notice."

"I got a new suit. You like it, Nana? Mom says I should keep it clean for
the funeral tomorrow."

"You look very handsome. Did you have a good trip?"

"Yeah, we saw three cows and a white horse and seven McDonalds and this
guy in your town, well, I guess it was a guy, but he was wearing a
dress."

"That's Jacob. He likes to wear dresses, Euripides. He's a good man. A
loving husband and a great father. We always see him at the basketball
games. Your mother went to school with him."

"Really, Mom?" Andrea nodded.

"Cool." Again, his grandmother smiled, having been taken out of her pool
of despair, by a boy with a fresh young outlook on life.

"I want to say goodbye to Gramps now." Andrea sat beside her mother while
Marcus brought his son over to the open casket.

"Dad, he looks like he's just sleeping."

"Yes, the funeral director works to make him look nice. But, you know,
he's really dead, don't you, Rip?"

"Yeah, I know. But he was happy right?"

"Yes, Rip, Your grandfather lived a long, happy life. He had Nana, and
your mother, and of course you were his only grandson. You all made him
happy."

"And Uncle Malcolm. Don't forget him. He made Gramps happy too, right?"

"Yes, I guess so," Marcus mumbled.

"Does he have pants on?"

"What? Who?"

"Gramps. The cover hides his legs. You think he has pants on?"

Marcus almost lost it then. The momentary image of his half-naked
brother-in-law quickly replaced by the ludicrous idea that his
father-in-law was now lying barelegged in his coffin. "Yes, Rip, I'm sure
Gramps is all dressed up for his trip to Heaven."

"Good." Assured that the old man was decent, Rip whispered, "Goodbye
Gramps. Thanks for everything." Rip turned away from the coffin. "Hey,
look, there's Uncle Malcolm."

He skipped back to the door, took his Uncle's hand and escorted him up
front. "The family gets to sit here in the first row. That's my seat."

"Thank you, Rippy. Man, you are getting to be such a big boy. Hi, Sis.
Good to see you. You too, Mark. Mom, sorry I'm late. I was on the phone
with the boys and couldn't get away. You know how they are."

Marcus stood there slack-jawed. The boys, he thought. The guy talks about
it so casually. And Mom knows "how they are." What, does he bring all his
little love muffins to see her? The guy sure has balls.

Grandfather's brothers and sisters began to arrive with their children,
and Rip listened as stories were related to illustrate that yes, the man
did have a long and happy life. When he and his brothers used to sneak
behind the barn to smoke cigarettes. When he ran the old Studebaker into
the ditch and had to be pulled out by a girl in a Buick. When he'd take
off work early to attend his children's school events. When he and Rip
would conspire to play complicated practical jokes on the rest of the
family at Thanksgiving, and when he would recite "Jest 'Fore Christmas"
by heart. He would never truly be dead as long as there were loved ones
keeping these happy memories alive.

Later came the friends and neighbors, the business associates, and the
old schoolmates who traveled hours to bid their classmate farewell. Jacob
arrived with his family, wearing a trim black dress.

And then the Johnson family walked in. Billy Johnson, age 12, his brother
Joey, 10, followed by their parents. The boys politely shook hands with
everyone in the front row, until they reached Malcolm, whom they kissed
on the mouth. Marcus studied, but could not detect any sign of resentment
on the parents' face. They took their seats in the back, but of course,
the boys couldn't help fidgeting. The funeral director whispered
something to their mother and the boys quickly ran out the door.

The director then came forward and spoke to the Sloans. "You have a fine
boy here. Very well behaved. But sometimes, these events can be a bit
trying for a youngster his age. We have a playground behind the building.
The other boys are there now, and I thought perhaps your son might want
to join them for a while."

"Do you want to do that, Rip?"

"Do you think Nana would mind?"

"No, not at all. You go and play a while. We'll be right here."

"OK, then."

"Here, give me your new suit jacket. And try to keep your pants clean,
OK?"

"Sure, Mom."