Date: Fri, 28 Jul 2000 21:53:07 -2200
From: Opus J <opusfra@gay.com>
Subject: Steven-Revisited-3

This completes Casper and Matt's story.  My aim was that Casper should lay
his ghosts while giving Matt back his place in a normal world.  True
boylovers give more than they take.  Let's all remember that please.  The
usual disclaimers apply.


Nine

The next night he was standing at my bedroom door, pleading with me to let
him share my bed, saying he was scared that his father would come to take
him back.  I grumbled theatrically but gave in in the end. He flew across
the room and dived deep into the duvet, beaming at me, all trace of fear
gone in a flash.  I suspected that Matt was no mean actor.

Although it was never openly discussed, it became understood that he would
share my bed from that night on.  If truth be told, I came to look forward
to the sleepy conversations that tailed off sometimes in the middle of a
sentence, his words being replaced by soft, boyish breathing.  This was my
favourite time, watching his chest fall and rise rhythmically, drinking in
the sweet smell of his breath, his skin, his hair.  No matter how tired he
was, he always showered before bed.  Then he would come into the room
wrapped in an enormous towel and wait until his hair was dry before
slipping into fresh underwear for the night.  He wore boxers during the
day, but could only sleep in briefs for some reason.  After a week or so, I
noticed that his bruises had all but gone and he was beginning to fill out
a bit.  His ribs no longer protruded so drastically from his chest, and his
arms and legs were adding muscle mass from swimming almost every day.

I had decided that there would be no repeat of what had happened that first
day, however the nightly view of him scrubbed and clean, slipping into his
little white briefs was beginning to make me doubt the strength of my
resolve.  The knowing look on his face when he caught me watching told me
that he knew he was winning the battle, slowly but surely.

One Sunday morning I awoke to see him framed in the doorway, coming from
the bathroom.  The light was from behind him, but as he turned to get back
into bed I could see a pronounced bulge in the front of his briefs. He must
have seen I was awake because he almost leapt the last few feet to the bed
and slid quickly under the duvet as if he was embarrassed. He turned his
back to me and hugged his pillow to his chest.

"It's alright Matt, most men wake up with a hard-on in the morning " I said
gently.

"You're not mad with me then ?" His voice sounded so worried I couldn't
help but put my hand on his shoulder to comfort him. The soft morning light
played across my hand as it rested on his back, golden brown like sweet,
sweet honey.

"I was scared you would think I was being rude and make me leave." Now his
voice was hardly a whisper.  I felt my heart began to pound in my chest.
Something told me my weakening resolve had just given way for once and for
all.

"Oh Matt, don't be silly.  You're in the middle of puberty.  If you didn't
wake up like that it would be more of a worry.  By the way, I wake up ten
minutes before you every day so there's nothing new about what I just saw."
I had barely got the words out when he spun round in bed and started
mock-wrestling with me, squealing with indignation.

"You rotten thing ! You could have told me." He was laughing and doing his
best to pin my arms behind my head at the same time.  I could feel his
hard-on pressing into my chest, slightly damp where he had peed and not
shaken the last drops off.  Suddenly I let my arms go limp and he pitched
forward.  His lips landed full on mine, as I had hoped they would.
Instantly he stopped struggling and began to kiss me passionately, his
tongue pushing into my mouth.  He began rocking backwards and forwards on
me, his rock hard penis digging painfully into my belly.  He broke our kiss
and sat up, looking down at me, panting slightly and shivering with
excitement.  He ran his fingers over my chest, through my few hairs,
touched my nipples, smiled at my sharp intake of breath.  Leaning forward,
he kissed each nipple in turn, sucking them gently into his mouth, rolling
his tongue around them.  I couldn't suppress a low groan of pleasure.  As
he straightened up again his hands moved lower towards the tops of my
boxers.  He moved back onto my thighs and eased my shorts down, giggling
when he had trouble getting them over my jutting cock. He started to run
his hand up and down the shaft of my penis slowly, using the other hand to
work my boxers past my knees and down to my ankles.  Still masturbating me
slowly, he raised himself up slightly and, in one deft movement, slipped
his briefs off. I caught a glimpse of his penis, rigid and bending sharply
upwards, almost flat against his stomach, then all I could see was the top
of his head as he leaned forward and began to lick around my cock and
balls.

I could hardly breathe as he sucked each testicle into his mouth, rolling
them lovingly on his tongue , before continuing on towards my waiting hole.
I pulled my legs up to my chest to make access easier.He flicked his tongue
around the puckered skin a few times, as if trying out a new flavour of
icecream.  He must have found the taste more than agreeable as he began to
push his tongue into my hole, slowly at first then more and more
insistently.  I felt two thumbs prying my hole open wider to allow his
jabbing tongue to continue its journey of exploration.  The sensations from
my anus were spreading through my whole body now, each part of me beginning
to tingle with pleasure.  It was almost a relief when he pushed my legs
back down to the bed, but that was short-lived as he took the head of my
quivering cock into his mouth, then more and more, rubbing the base of the
shaft with his left hand while his right continued to finger my hole
maddeningly.  I was shaking uncontrollably now, my orgasm just seconds away
when he pulled his mouth away and shoved my legs roughly back up to my
chest again.  Using his saliva he began to lubricate his prick and I
realised he wanted to fuck me.  I was just about to stop him when I
realised in turn that I wanted him to as well.  This was no longer Matt,
this was Stevie and Matt in one body.  I looked into Matt's eyes, and
silently told Stevie to enter me.  I closed my eyes as I felt the thin,
sharp head of his prick push past my sphincter and enter me almost
painlessly.  In one movement he was deep inside me and his hairless balls
were tight against my bottom.  He remained motionless for a few seconds
then began to fuck me slowly, lovingly.  Although my eyes were squeezed
shut, tears began top roll down my cheeks, hot and stinging.  His movements
were fluid, comforting. It was as if he was scratching an itch that I had
had for years, always just out of reach.  Gradually I drifted away into a
haze of ecstasy, feeling only the gentle friction of his cock moving inside
me.  Minutes or maybe hours later he began to breathe heavily and each
thrust was punctuated with a small sigh.  I kew he was close and I took
hold of my cock and pumped it in time to his rhythm.  Somehow he managed to
keep back his orgasm until I was almost ready, then he pushed deep into me
and we both cried out as we came together.  He fought to stay in me as I
bucked and, as we finished together, he collapsed onto my semen-soaked
belly, his penis still deep inside me.  I wrapped my arms around his back
and held him tightly against me until we stopped trembling.

"I love you, Casper James" He whispered into my chest.

" I love you too, Matt Taylor." I murmured into his hair, not afraid to say
words that I meant with all my heart.

Ten

We went to sleep like that, wrapped up in each other's arms, and it was
after noon when I awoke, starving hungry.  I gently slid him off my belly
and he mumbled petulantly, not wanting to be woken from whatever dream he
was having.  I made a stack of cheese and ham sandwiches and a fresh pot of
coffee, and when I got back to the bedroom, I found he was awake.  He fell
on the sandwiches as if he hadn't eaten in a week and after devouring four
he sat back with a contented sigh.

"Tell me about Steven" He said suddenly. I looked at him in surprise.
Could he have known that I had thought about Steven just hours before,
while we were making love ?  He was fourteen years old.  Could he have
understood what had made me weep even as he was deep inside me ?  I thought
carefully before I spoke.

I told him everything. . How Steven and I had made love that first night,
carefully so as not to make a noise and wake my parents. How my parents had
let Steven stay, building a makeshift second bed in my bedroom. How we had
made love the next night, and the one after that, how finally we had got
careless and fallen asleep in each other arms, innocent and happy.  The
next morning, a towering figure at the bedroom door, roaring with rage,
pulling me from the bed as my mother shrieked in the background, unable to
prevent the first of many beatings, vicious kicks and fists sending me back
into a corner, the belt buckle biting at the backs of my hands as I covered
my head, fearing for my life.  Finally rising on shaking legs to see Steven
outside in the road, his father dragging him back to the house in ominous
silence.  Weeks later, Steven calling me from the bus station, begging me
to go with him to Birmingham, Newcastle, anywhere but here. And I told Matt
about my fear, my awful cowardice, telling Steven I would join him when he
got settled and had a job, to write and tell me where and I would be there
the next day.  The cowardice of not wanting to be queer, not wanting to be
different. The cowardice of wanting my father's love more than Steven's.

When the letter came, I burned it.

I told Matt all of this, knowing how painful it was for him to hear, but he
had asked, and he had to know and understand.  He had to see that I was a
coward, but that I would not make the same mistake twice.

"Did you make your Dad love you ?" He wanted to know the end of the story ,
even though he probably knew it already.

"No, Matt.  I tried as hard as I could.  I played the tough guy, getting
into fights, getting into trouble with the police, always out with the
lads, always bringing girls home, but it was no use.  Nothing I ever did
was enough. When he died I didn't even go to the funeral.  Mum died a
couple of months later.  My sister told me I had broken her heart. Stupid
cow. It was cancer. Nobody dies of a broken heart."

When I finished we both had tears in our eyes.  I ruffled Matt's hair and
kissed him lightly on the lips then went downstairs and dived into the
pool, swimming length after length, letting the water wash away my tears.
Matt left me alone for the rest of the day.

Eleven

The visit from the police came as no surprise in the end .  Matt and I had
become a source of much gossip around the town and our shopping trips were
becoming legendary. If Matt wanted to pay back his 'loan', it would take
him a long time to do so, which was just fine by me.  We had developed a
very basic cover story revolving around him being my godson and having
problems at home with a drunken father. It was close enough to the truth
and highly plausible. PC Aldridge was certainly able to confirm the last
part of the story.

"He's a nasty piece of work, sir " the young constable warned me. " In and
out of the nick for grievous bodily harm, drunk and disorderly - you get
the picture."

"I worked that out by the bruises on the boy when he arrived, constable."
I had already told the PC the almost-true story of discovering Matt in my
garden, filthy and starving. I sensed that he didn't particularly want to
see Matt returned to Mr Taylor any time soon.

"I don't know the father, to be honest.  It was his mother, Susan, who was
my friend.  We lost touch after the christening and I didn't see Matthew
again until he turned up at my door two weeks ago.  Matthew told me she
died several years ago and he has had to fend for himself pretty much ever
since.  After the last beating he couldn't stay there anymore.  He found my
name amongst her things and looked me up in the book.  Unusual name, you
see. "

"Nevertheless, Mr James, he is the boy's father, and therefore by law
Matthew must be returned to him.  Unless the social services become
involved, which could take months or even years.  Perhaps it would be
better if the boy came with me now." I could tell that PC Aldridge wasn't
any happier with the idea of Matt being forced to go back to his father
than I was.  I had to think fast.

"How about if the father agreed to let Matthew stay here with me ?" I
asked.

PC Aldridge nodded slowly.

"That could work.  A sort of guardianship." My heart was pounding in my
chest as the constable continued to mull my suggestion over.

I could have hugged him when he leaned over conspiratorially and said,

"It's definitely worth a try"

"I'll tell you what, " I suggested, "give me the man's address and I'll go
and see him - ask him if he'll let Matt stay awhile. A sort of cooling-off
period for both of them."  I had asked Matt for his address before, but
always met with a stubborn refusal. He didn't want me coming within an inch
of his Dad if it could be avoided.

PC Aldridge had to interview Matt as well but the story was true enough
that Matt didn't have to lie or embellish to any great extent and ten
minutes later we were all shaking hands.  The policeman left to go about
his business, leaving Matt and I high-fiving in the hall.

Matt was my responsibility for now.  It was up to me to see if I couldn't
make the arrangement more permanent.

Twelve

"MATT" I bellowed down the hall over the sound of the Red Hot Chilli
Peppers.

I heard him turn the music down and next thing he came flying into the hall
like a fourteen-year-old dervish, sliding to a halt in front of me on his
bare feet, grinning in anticipation.

"Well ?" I could almost hear his heart pounding.

"Bad news, Matt " I said forlornly. "He wouldn't give me guardianship of
you."

His smile crumbled. Suddenly he looked like a little boy again, small and
vulnerable, just as he had on that first day.  He hung his head and raised
a hand to wipe his eyes. I reached out and lifted his chin.  His eyes were
brimming with tears and he was fighting to control himself.  He pushed my
hand away sadly and turned to go to his room.  I followed him in silence
and stood in the doorway as he began to pack his things. I noticed he took
only the clothes he had arrived in. Within a few minutes he was ready to
leave.

I smiled at him in bemusement.

"Are you going somewhere special ?" I asked innocently.

"Don't make fun of me, Casper. You just said you can't be my guardian.
That means I have to go back there until I'm eighteen, doesn't it ?"

"Not quite, Matt." I forced myself to keep a neutral expression on my face.

"Your father showed me your bedroom at home.  Why didn't you tell me you
could draw and like that ?"  The walls had been filled with beautiful
line-drawings and watercolours.  I had known instantly that they were his
work.  Just as Steven had managed to survive the beatings his father had
inflicted on him by switching off the part of his mind that felt pain and
misery, Matt had done so by drawing, painting.  He had taken his father's
destructive violence and used it to create.  When I had seen them, my heart
had almost burst with pride.  I had known instantly that Matt would make
it, that I could help him.  He had won the most important battle already.

"I was a bit embarrassed, Casper.  I didn't want you to think I was a
sissy." He smiled ruefully. "When I draw, I...it's as if I..." words failed
him.  I stepped forward and placed a finger on his lips to show that I had
understood.

"There's an art school here.  I contacted them. I showed them your work. "
As I spoke, his eyes went wide with surprise.

"They'll accept you when you are sixteen.  Until then your father has
agreed that you can spend your time here at the local grammar school. I
believe they have an excellent art department."

I waited while Matt took in what I had said.  His lips moved but he didn't
speak, then an enormous smile split his face and he leaped into my arms
with a whoop of delight, smothering my face with wet kisses.  He jumped
down and began to run wildly around the house, hollering at the top of his
lungs.  After about ten minutes he calmed down enough for me to grab hold
of him and give him a proper, serious hug.

"I love you very much, Matt Taylor."  I whispered gently. He hugged me so
hard that I thought my ribs would break.

"I still dont understand, Casper.  Why can't you be my guardian ? Why will
he let me stay here but not let you be my guardian ? " he asked
plaintively.

"Because he wants to get better, Matt. He wants to get help, but that takes
time.  He doesn't want to lose you completely." I said, running my hand
through his hair.

"He's a bastard.  You should be my Dad, not him." There was no anger in his
voice, just a deep sadness.

"He's willing to try, Matt.  Wait and see what happens.  Not everyone is
lucky enough to get a second chance." I thought of Steven and his dad, me
and mine, and finally Steven and me. No second chances there.  No happy
endings.  This one would make up for all the rest, I was sure.

Epilogue

Matt's been gone a few months now. He completed his studies at the art
school in spring and won a scholarship to study at the Sorbonne in Paris.
He calls me a couple of times a week. His father came to his graduation
exhibition, looking awkward in an ill-fitting suit, nervously drinking
orange juice.  They shook hands, as they always do when they meet
nowadays. I watched across the room as they talked self-consciously, then
turned to look at the people admiring his work.  I moved closer, studying
the rich colours and confident strokes.  His main piece was an
extraordinarily vibrant work in oil, beautiful and moving.  I studied the
information card and couldn't suppress a smile of triumph.

"Second chances" (Oil on canvas).  Artist: Matthew James Taylor.

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Opus likes to get emails at <opusfra@gay.com>

He doesn't like people who dont like him for WHAT he is, without knowing
WHO he is.