Date: Thu, 28 Jun 2001 21:15:50 -0700 (PDT)
From: Wishus Teglin
Subject: "Stupid Johnny" chapter 2

Stupid Johnny
A Boylove Romance

Chapter Two

by Teglin


Dedication:

Once upon a time, a friend of mine named Michael was driving
along a country road in his native Poland, and came upon a
ragamuffin of a little boy, dressed in tatters, struggling all alone
to push a cart much too big for him.  Looking miserable, hungry,
cold.

It was one of those moments - we all have them - moments we
look back on with such great regret.  Because Michael wanted to
stop.  He wanted to talk with the boy, see if he was ok, if he
could use some food, or perhaps a helping hand, or just a kind
word.  But he didn't stop.

Why didn't he stop?  Why don't we all stop, in moments like
that?  Why do we let convention, or fear, or doubt, or hurry, or
sometimes just plain selfishness keep us from meeting the
moment?

Well, Michael helped me write this story.  It's all about what
might have been.  It's dedicated to that little boy on the roadside.
And every other boy anywhere in the world who might someday
need one of us to stop ... just for him.




Copyright 2001 by Teglin.  You may freely copy this
boylove romance and distribute it.  Please have the courtesy
not to alter it in any way.


WARNING:

This boylove romance contains descriptions of sexual acts
between a man and a minor boy.  Their sexual relationship is
very important to the story, as part of their love-making, but
it is their spiritual relationship that I wanted to explore even
more, as the very essence of boylove.

If this story is illegal where you are, or for your age, or the
concept of a man/boy romantic relationship offends you,
don't read further.




Glossary:


Jasio  =  Yasho
Piotr Ostoja  =  Pyoter Ostoya
Leon Koczurba  = Le-own Kotschurba
Beskidy = Beskeedy
Jodlowka  = Yodlovka
Sosnowka  = Sosnovka
Rzeszow = Dgeshow
Polska = Powlska
Misiu = Meeshoo




Stupid Johnny

Chapter Two



Droga Starego Krola (Old King's Road)
Rzeszow Administrative District, Poland
September 14, 1959  5:57 PM


Stopping for that poor boy had put me behind schedule.  This
was a strange road anyway, and now it was starting the real
climb into the mountains.  Taking those twists and turns in the
dark required all my concentration - but concentrate was
something I just couldn't do!

I kept thinking about him.  Picturing him.

What was his home like?  Where were his parents?  Why did
they have him out on the road at night - or out at all on a day like
this one had been.

Of course life was hard on these collectives.  I'd seen enough of
the poverty and the hunger that was still the lot of most of these
people, long after the way was over - long after our great
worker's paradise should have produced a bounty.

These people didn't hate us for no reason.  Black-coated
commissars made the rounds, setting quotas, taking the harvest.
Stripping the countryside bare.  Yet ... was that boy - his kind of
existence - was that what I had dedicated the last 14 year of my
life for?  So he could starve?  So he would have to work 18
hours a day collecting junk by the roadside?  So he would have
to wear rags?

Alright!  So I was guilty.  I had done my share in putting him on
the side of the road like that!  Yes.  But ... what kind of people
were they - his parents?  Whoever it was that should be taking
care of him.

Taking care!  Hah!  He looked like he hadn't bathed in weeks.
Under the dirt that had etched into his skin, his pallor was like a
death shroud.  His little fingers - those little boy fingers, so soft
and white - had carried the very chill of the night air in them.  He
was wet.  And oh so alone.

God dammit!  What kind of people were these?   What was our
doctrine?  To each according to his need.  From each according
to his ability.

Yeah.  Ability.

I spat.   Right there inside my car, I spat.  From each according
to his ability, bull shit!  What about simple kindness?  The love
of a mom?  The beckoning light from his door?  The tenderness
of a ....

`By God,' I swore to myself smugly, `no boylover would ever
leave a boy like that - any boy - out in the cold tonight.  Or any
night.  No boylo ....

Suddenly my mind reeled, and I stabbed the tips of the fingers of
my right hand like a knife right against my forehead, and
grabbed a handful of my hair.  I felt like pulling it out from the
roots!

I ... ME!  I, Piotr Ostoja, had left a boy ... THAT BOY ... out in
the cold tonight!

I stamped down on the clutch and brakes violently.  The car
skidded to a stop, the rearend swerving fast to the right.  It came
to rest perpendicular to the road, the rear wheels off the
macadam.  I felt them sliding back and sinking into the mud.

Just as violently, I forced the gear shift into low, and gunned the
engine, spinning the wheels, just praying that they would bite
into the shifting ground, and let me turn back around.  I HAD to
get back down this road to that boy!  I could not, WOULD NOT,
do to him what every other bastard in his life had obviously done
- and abandon him!

How could I have left him!  Was I so intent on saving my own
skin?

He hadn't exactly begged me to stay, but what did I expect?!  I
had almost run him over.  I was a stranger.  He looked like he
had seen the point of every boot in the district.  Yet, even then,
there was something in him ... reaching out ... something
seeking, looking, examining ... he was a boy with spirit.   No
matter how many times that boy was knocked down, he got up.
He was still working.  Struggling!

The wheels dug deep into the mud, but hit some hard layer
beneath, and the car jolted forward back onto the surface of the
road.  In an instant I spun the wheel around and got the nose
pointing back in the direction I had come, then I floored the gas
pedal.

How far had I driven?  Ten kilometers?  Fifteen?  Would he still
be there when I got back!?

And if he wasn't there ...?

I felt a sinking in my stomach.  He had to be there!  For some
reason, I now was as certain as I had ever been of anything in my
life, that this little boy needed me.  The KGB and Polish Internal
Affairs might find me tomorrow, but I ... surely there was
something I could do for this boy ... tonight!

I might die trying - but so what.   This long day had taught me
that I didn't have that much to live for anyway.

I sped along the road, exploding out of every turn, with my foot
hard on the gas, abusing the brakes.  The GAZ was a heavy car,
not suited to this mountain road.  It's momentum threatened to
topple me down the side of the steep berm with each curve of the
road.  I didn't care.  It was almost as if I had decided that this
was indeed going to be the end of me.  I was going after that boy.
I had spent 34 years on this planet ... and it was all for this one
moment.  This one hour, perhaps, with this one boy.  He would
have one good meal.  He would have ... whatever I could give
him ... this one night.

Then it might all be over anyway.  So be it.

Finally the road straightened out a bit, as I got the car back down
onto the flatter approach to the mountains.  The turnout couldn't
be more than a kilometer or two ahead.

I was thinking now.   The boy needed reassurance when he saw
me, not another scare.  So I reduced speed, cutting the grinding
roar of my engine to a much less threatening purr, and almost
coasted the rest of the way.  I wasn't exactly sure of the distance,
so each little turn in the road, I held my breath, waiting to espy
the boy's cart.  For that matter he might even be pedaling this
way.

Don't hit him now! I admonished myself, peering ahead into the
blackness of the cloud-covered night.  Full moon or no, the
clouds still blanketed this whole region into stygian darkness. At
least it had stopped drizzling.  I suspected that the clouds would
part soon, and we'd have a frigid night of it, under clear skies.

Without the headlights, I'd never find him ... unless he stayed
put!  Please, please, just stay there for a short while more, I
called out into the night to him.

Him.

I didn't even know his name.  He was ... just ... Him ....

But that didn't matter.  Not in the least.  I would give myself up
to him, and never know his name, if that had to be.

My head was just centimeters from steering wheel, my eyes
narrowed to mere slits as I searched ahead, driving even slower
now, certain that the turnout had to be just ahead.

The headlights spread like a fan beyond the next row of trees
lining the left side of the road, and I could see the dark brown of
the packed earth of the turnout!  I coasted completely now,
letting the engine idle, clutch down, my foot just hovering lightly
on the brakes, to slow the big hulking Russian sedan into the
turnout.  Off to the left, just before overtaking that line of trees, I
saw a road leading off downhill - and a sign - Jodlowka State
Collective Farm.

Then ... there!  Right where I left him, was his cart!  He was there
too!  Below, underneath the cart!   Huddled on his side, under
the cart.

I stopped the car twenty feet away and left it idling, then flicked
off the glaring beam of the headlights.  Leaving just the running
lights to offer some slight illumination, I launched myself from
the car and ran forward.

He hadn't moved, hadn't even twitched, to acknowledge that he
knew I had returned.  Or that somebody, some car, had stopped
again.

I imagined the worst.  That the cold had finally gotten to him.
That the meager supply of sandwiches had been too little, too
late.   He had shown such fire!  Such defiance - his eyes had dug
into me - surely he couldn't have spent all he had left in that
little body of his!

Cautiously, quietly, in case he was just sound asleep, I knelt
beside the cart, and bent down to lean in under it.  The light
from the car was just enough that I could see the gentle rise and
fall of the outline of his bulky coat. So he lived!

I took a deep breath, closing my eyes for a split second, in
thankfulness.  My heart was racing, and not because of the short
run from the car.

Half under his body was the crushed wrapper of the food
package I had given him.  So it seemed he had ... collapsed up on
it.  Yet his body was curled in upon itself, as if he were trying
vainly to generate some heat from within his small frame.
Perhaps he had just suddenly felt the weakness.  Or was the poor
boy so famished that  the sudden presence of food in his
stomach had made him grow feint?

Alright.  He breathed.  He lived.  Now to get him into some
shelter.

I begrudged doing it, because of the obvious cruelty and neglect
this boy had long suffered, but I knew I had to get him to his
home.  I had some money.  Some clothes.  I wouldn't be needing
either in some Moscow rehabilitation center.  Until the KGB
caught up with me, I could bully  this boy's people into doing
right by him.  I looked very much the important, powerful Party
official.  They would feel the lash of my tongue before this night
was out.  Later, I'd have to figure a way to carry out my threats.
Pawel!  He told me not to contact him again, but ... well, perhaps
it was time for Pawel to stick his neck out too.

"Little boy," I uttered, just above a whisper.  He didn't even flick
an eyelid.

"Misiuuuu" I cooed to him.  Still no response, so I placed my
left hand upon his shoulder and gently patted, speaking a little
more urgently this time.  "Misiu!"  He did look so like a little
bear cub laying there, with his heavy wrapping.  Yet he didn't
respond.

His little head lay awkwardly in the wet dirt.  I saw bits of gravel
sticking rudely up into his cheek and forehead.  How my heart
went out to him!  At that moment, I felt such tenderness as ... as
... the image came to my mind so clearly - for the first time in
many, many years - a memory of one time, when Stefan had
fallen asleep in the hayloft, his head laying upon my arm, so
close to mine.  I could easily lean forward to touch my lips to his
- I didn't want to move - ever!  But my poor arm fell asleep, and I
just had to.  So ever so carefully, I drew my arm out from under
his head, laying it upon the bed of straw.  Now, at this instant, I
felt so close to that long ago moment.

There was a connection.  This boy wasn't Stefan.  I couldn't
reclaim that lost love, but the tenderness with which I beheld
them both, transcended the years.  What I could never again do
for that beloved one, now I could do for this ... other.

I hunched down, and placed the fingers of my right hand upside
down upon the ground - just at the top of his head, where it
touched the ground.  In small motions, I pushed and leveraged
my hand under his head, lifting it, balancing it, till his cheek lay
against my warm palm, the side of his head cushioned across my
forearm.  His flesh was so cold!  But the whisper of his hot
breath from those little nostrils brushed my wrist.

He would live.  I would make sure of that.

Hugging his knees to his chest as closely as he could with that
coat on him, he was a tight little bundle, so I simply inserted my
left hand beneath his hip, behind his drawn up legs, and slipped
my right further back to cup his shoulder, and pulled him,
dragged him, out from under the cart, then rose, lifting him to my
chest.

He was so light.  Such a precious little bundle.  I could imagine
his skinny little frame buried deep inside that thick coat of his.  I
gave myself a brief moment, to just stand there and hold him,
cherishing him.  I hadn't touched a boy, held a boy, like this
since ... since the breakup of Tomek's band.  We had been such
a rugged little band of fighters, but we knew our tender moments
too.  Us older boys cared for the little ones.  We were family.
That's what this boy needed ... family ... caring ... cherishing.
Why oh why couldn't I give that to him?!

I looked down at his face.  Only then did I realize that the moon
had finally peeked out from behind the breaking clouds.  Gone
for a moment was the pallor of his skin, to be replaced by a
bright, silvery-burnished creamlike shimmer!  The moon shown
down radiantly, but it was nothing to the haloed aura of this boy!
His ebon hair shone also, with highlights of a dark auburn shade,
that might be more red in the sun.

The KGB be damned.  Suddenly, there was a much more
important reason why my life was bounded by tomorrow.  I had
seen him in the gloom of a cloud-covered evening.  His eyes
staring up at me defiantly, challenging me.  His spirit had defied
the descent of darkness.  Now I saw him as a sleeping angel.
There was more than the moon glow about him.  Much more
than a mere reflection of that heavenly light.  There was a force
within his body, a power - raw energy, even now dampened and
in retreat, but never surrendered.  Tomorrow?   What would the
new day bring?  Surely, if I could just do or be what he needed,
the very sun would have to compete with him.  I ... I had to be
there with him, then!

Him.

Just `him', again.   Him, who now needed me to make tomorrow
come.  Did anything else matter?

No.

Nothing else mattered.  Nothing mattered, beyond that
tomorrow.

In profile, and held so close to me, he was lovelier than even
before.  His little lips were pursed, and lay flaccid against my
chest.  His eyes were closed.  Did he dream?  Whatever his past
had been, I hoped at that moment his dreams were all of little
boy things made up of wondrous and magical imaginings.

How can one being fall in love with another, in a span of mere
seconds?

With Stefan, it had taken years, really.  Years of being together,
and sharing everything - even our awakening to our boyhood.

With Tomek, month after month of his big brutish arms holding
me tight against the pain, or pushing me forward to survive, or
just sharing a moment's forgetfulness.

With this boy ...?

How can one know, as certainly as any most cherished truth, that
he has finally met his reason for existence?  Every fiber of my
being told me so.  I didn't regret almost killing him.  I didn't
regret leaving him, driving away.  I didn't regret not knowing,
that day when he breathed his first breath.  I didn't regret living a
life in total ignorance of his being.  Because now I beheld him!
Now I knew that every second of every moment of my life had
shaped me for this meeting.

"I don't know how long we'll be together, Misiu," I spoke to
him softly.  "I only know that just a short while ago, I needed a
reason to keep living.  Let me live ... even just one day ... for
you."

He shivered.  I felt it travel through his body.

I looked about, trying to think clearly.  Then quickly I nudged
out a place for him on the flat bed of the cart, using the bulk of
his heavily clad body to push back the junk laying there.  I
reached in under his coat then, and felt the chill of his wet
clothing and flesh.  Only near his underarms was there the
slightest trace of bodily warmth.  His body was laboring against
the wet and the cold, and losing the struggle.

I had to get him to his home quickly.  But how?

My car was heated, but if I drove up to his door in my GAZ, my
cover was totally blown from the beginning.  No way then to get
a natural reaction from his people.

I made my decision in a flash.  Quickly I unbuttoned my double-
breasted long overcoat and shrugged out of it.  The residual
warmth from it would have to do.  It would shelter him from the
cold at least, and hold in more of his own body heat.  I wrapped
it around my little boy tightly, tucking him in, leaving only an
opening for his eyes.  Even his breath would serve to warm him
within that cocoon.

Rushing back to my car, I turned the lights and engine off and
locked it, then hurried back to the cart and mounted the rider's
seat.  It was built to the boy's small frame, but carried me well.  I
started pedaling immediately, leaning into it.  The narrow tires of
the big wheels bit into the gravel of the turnout and the cart
rolled forward easily.

Keeping my eyes on him as much as on the way ahead, I skirted
my car and got back onto the road, then turned right just after the
little copse of trees, down onto the farm road.  Too late did I
think about the brakes!  The pedals literally flew out from under
my feet as the weight of the cart, with it's precious cargo, sent us
spinning down the road.  I just gritted my teeth and held firm to
the steering rod, ready at any second to spring from my purchase
onto the flatbed, hoping to cover or catch his body, if the cart
started to careen and turn over.

Thankfully the road leveled out abruptly, and the wild ride was
over almost as soon as it began.  They boy remained still, as if
nothing had happened.

Up ahead I saw a series of cottages lining the road.  No lights.
Just squat, square, stolid little shacks - home for these poor
people - the needed warmth for this poor boy.

I pedaled right up to the door of the first cottage - perhaps 100
meters beyond was the second.  And beyond that a more
substantial residence, with a fence about it.  Hah!  The
Collective committee chairman's abode.  I didn't need anyone to
tell me that.

"Hoaa, inside," I called out as I drew to a stop.  Dogs started
barking down the way.

It wasn't that late in the evening.  These peasant people no doubt
went to bed early, but they should be up now.  Inside, a dim light
suddenly became much brighter, and I heard astonished,
questioning voices.  Another light came on, within the next
cottage on down the road.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" I heard a muffled, yet
obviously nervous voice from inside.

"I ... was on the road!" I called out loudly.  "Had an accident.  I
hit a ... boy.  I've brought him here.  Please open up so ...."

The door latch clicked from within, and a shadowy form pulled
the door in.  The man ducked his head, and peered out grimly,
his eyes narrowed in suspicion, wary no doubt of any stranger.
One hand remained behind the door, but he held nothing in his
visible hand.  I had no doubt, from reading his expression, that
he had not opened the door unarmed.

"What bo ...," he started to say, then continued, "Oh!  Jasio."
The man spat the name.  He didn't say it.

Jasio!  Him!

If I could have, I would have picked my little Jasio up again and
called his name out over and over, letting it spill from me
lovingly, letting him know how I felt!  This man might spit out
the name.  I would make music of it!

"You would do better to take him down the road, mister.  He's
not welcome here," the man grumbled, and started to shut his
door.  He hadn't even bothered to look over the pile of junk in
the cart to see the boy.

"Where is his home!?" I yelled out, trying to mask my anger.
This man might yet pay for his attitude, but right now I needed
some assistance.

"He has no home.  Not Jasio.  Check down the road.  You may
have better luck there."  And with that he did shut the door, and I
heard the latch fall into place sharply.

So much for that.  I didn't waste any time, but pulled the steering
bar to me and turned the cart right back across the muddy cottage
yard onto the road, and made for the second shanty.

The boy - Jasio!  He had not moved, but lay so very still wrapped
in my coat.

"I'll get you some place warm soon, I promise, little Jasio," I
spoke to him again.  No matter what he had heard from other
people in his life, he would hear nothing but my care, when I
spoke to him.

It was indeed getting colder. The cloud banks, brought in by the
late autumn cold front, had been pushed from the skies.  Only
the brightness of the moon and stars shown down to guide our
way.

Again I called out, as I approached this second cottage.  When
the squeak of the wheels stopped, I heard rustling and voices
from within, and this time the door opened quickly.

"Don't open that fucking door!" I heard a loud, drunken voice
yell out from within, but staring up at me from the doorway was
a little girl.  She was dressed in her long nightgown now, ready
for bed.  She giggled when she saw me, ignoring the man's
command, and called back over her shoulder, "It's Jasio, Papa,
and a strange man!"

"Glupi Jasio!" the man grunted, as he came up to the door,
glaring out angrily, leering at the cart, looking as if he would bat
the little boy around if only he could find him.  Instead he saw
me.

"I was driving out ...."

"I don't give a damn who or what you are.  Take this cart away.
It's not our turn.  We had him last month.  Go talk with Leon
Koczurba, our committee chairman.  He'll assign a place for the
village idiot."

"But I only want to know where his home is!" I started to get off
the seat.  It was about time I start to show who I was.  Perhaps I
should have driven my car indeed.

"Jasio has no home.  And nobody wants him.  You take him and
his stupid ideas and stupider notions, and ... and ... just go!"
With that he did shut the door, and I stood speechless.  The
picture of this boy's life was starting to emerge, and it wasn't
pretty.  Well, I had known that already, just from his appearance,
but ... to imagine him passed around from cottage to cottage,
with no place to go to every day ....

I was standing next to the flatbed.  All I could do was reach out
and place one hand upon his shoulder.  I held it there firmly,
grasping him through the cold layers of cloth.

The committee chairman.  Leon something.  A little more equal
than all the others in the collective, no doubt.  So that next
cottage - the big one with the fence - had to be his.  I was
determined to find out, and make an end of this.

The road widened before me, as I got the cart pointed back down
it, heading for that larger cottage.  There were fields on both
sides of the road, up till now.  From this point on to that next
structure down the way, a great shimmering white ... scar ... lay
upon the land off to the left.

I slowed unconsciously, trying to figure out what it could be that
reflected the moon's bright rays right back up with such
brilliance.  There were irregularities on it's surface, but for the
most part it was uniformly flat and smooth, extending well back
from the road, and along it for what must have been easily
another 100 meters.  The larger cottage was situated right at the
far end of this great white expanse.  It too was white and ...

That's when I realized that we were passing the ruin of some
great mansion - the foundation, made of some brightly colored
stone, with a few broken columns here, or a raised landing there.
It was such a melancholy sight.  I speeded up, wanting no
reminders just at this moment of the war - or more likely the
feeding frenzy after the war, when great families lost everything -
when collective farms like this were born, like parasitic growths
upon the land.

At the far end of the barren foundation there was such an odd
series of ... spikes ... or columns ... or ... the image came to my
mind of the great monoliths of the ancient peoples ... for there,
in miniature, was an arc of such stones, laid out with some
precision ... there was a sign posted upon one of the small
columns ... I squinted to read it ... I could see that letters were
scrawled there.

We were almost up to the large cottage before I could make out
the lettering, and when I did, my blood ran cold ....

`Glupi Jasio's Field of Corn!' it said!

Obviously a sign put up there in derision, but ... what could it
have to do with my Jasio?  With this little boy wrapped in my
coat?

Noises from within the nearly darkened cottage interrupted my
musings.  Animal like grunts and higher pitched moans -
rhythmic - obviously this farmer and his wife were rutting.  Well,
I didn't care.  They would have plenty of time for that once Jasio
was situated.  I parked the cart, jumped off of it, and strode to
the door.  My knock was ... perhaps a bit louder than necessary.
The attitude of the other farmers, that crude sign, now my rather
surprising disgust upon hearing a common farmer plowing his
wife - most of all the rising anger within me for what these
people had done to a little boy - and I frankly was in no mood
for pleasantries.

After a moment of silence within the cottage, I knocked again,
even louder.  Hammering at the door.

"Wait!" I heard a man call out from within.   He had a deep,
booming voice.  A big man, no doubt.  I didn't care.  I was a big
enough man myself.

I heard rustling, then muffled voices - both the man's and now
the woman's - hers sounded shrill, his commanding, rude, loud.
And louder as he approached, cursing at the woman, ordering her
to get some clothes on.

Then the door opened wide and Leon the committee chairman
stepped forth upon the porch.  I knew it was him.  He had pulled
on his Party overcoat and hat - no doubt his habit, as first among
equals on this collective.  His appearance would overawe most
men, I suppose.  He wasn't tall, but he was built like a rock -
thick shoulders, neck, arms.  A barrel for a chest.

He started to say something, but hesitated, looking me over.  He
took in Jasio's cart, and the precious little bundle upon it.  There
was no fear on his broad face, but a very ready suspicion.

"What brings you to the Jodlowka State Collective, comrade,"
he said, extending his hand for me to shake. "I am Committee
Chairman Koczurba."

I took his hand, but didn't respond with my name.  I could tell he
had seen my coat.  Saw the way I dressed.  He knew I was a Party
official.

"You no doubt recognize this cart, Comrade," I began.

"I do, indeed.  Ah ..."  he hesitated, then continued in a
somewhat conspiratorial tone, lower, quieter, "I see you've
wrapped the boy's body in your coat."

"He was quite cold."  I said matter-of-factly, refusing to join in
whatever connivance he was apparently preparing for.  "I was
driving along the outer road, and bumped into this boy's cart.
He is unharmed, but weak.  Wet.  Cold."

The man's head jerked to the side a fraction of a centimeter, as if
bemused.  Mere words - I had uttered mere words, but this man
was trained in that esoteric art of wordplay with the higher ups
in the Party hierarchy.  He stared at me, trying to keep his face
blank.

"It has been ... a cold and wet day ... Comrade," was all he said.

"Indeed.  I have been trying to find his home, with no luck so far.
The other farmers," I waved back along the road, "directed me to
...."

>From behind him, I heard the woman's voice.  She suddenly
lurched out onto the porch behind the man, half-dressed,
standing as if half smashed on vodka.  Leon Koczurba could
obviously hold his liquor.  Or else he merely used it to ply the
targets of his affection - because this `woman' was certainly not
his wife.  She couldn't have been more than 17 or 18.

"Glupi Jas ..." she started to slur.

"Mind your tongue!" Leon growled back at her, and with a heavy
hand, not even bothering to look back, he pushed her stumbling
into the house.

"But you said you didn't need the likes of him around if you had
me!" she shrieked out.

The big man stepped back up onto the porch and closed the
door, then turned to me, holding both his hands wide.
"Women," he laughed.  "What can we do?"

He then stepped off the porch again and walked to the back of
the flat bed.  I let him reach in and lift the coat from over Jasio's
head.

I stood back and watched.  The cold must have struck the little
boy's face like a slap, because he suddenly opened his eyes
wide.  Leon turned to me and said, "It's late, Comrade.  I thank
you for bringing the boy back here.  The Collective Committee
will hold a meeting tomorrow and determine where the boy will
reside this month.  He's ... an orphan.  We take care of him.  All
of us.  In the meantime, he can come in with me toni ...."

I was listening, and watching.  Jasio hadn't moved, but I could
see he was straining to hear every word.  The alarm in his eyes,
when he heard Koczurba say that he would take the boy in, was
... knee-jerk. An automatic reaction.  Fright.  Dread.  Whatever it
was, I saw Jasio's eyes search around wildly.

"I think ... not, Comrade Koczurba," I broke in, keeping half an
eye on Jasio.  I wanted him to know that I would stand between
him and any threat.  He didn't need to look anywhere else.

There was something about Koczurba that I didn't like.  His too
ready facade of pleasantness.  The way he kept saying `the boy',
when he obviously knew `the boy's' name.  Perhaps, for me, the
worst thing was that the man was bedding a girl.

No.  I well recognize the natural urge of most men to bed
women.  I never shared that attraction - I realize that I am out of
the norm, not men like Leon.  Yet ... she was obviously not this
man's wife.  She was probably the daughter of one of the
farmers.  He was taking advantage of his position.  And what was
that she had said about not needing Jasio anymore?

The boy was not a commodity!  Not a parcel or a burden, to be
passed around on this collective!

"I came by to inform you, Chairman Koczurba, that the Ministry
of Internal Affairs will be investigating the apparent neglect this
boy has suffered," I stated in my most officious voice.  I stepped
closer to the cart and placed my hand possessively on Jasio's
shoulder again.  I looked down at him - he was staring up at me,
his eyes like bores, piercing me, searching again - even as he had
early in the evening out on the road.  I gave him a slight nod, and
squeezed his shoulder, rearranging the coat back around his
head, just praying he would go along with me.

"I ... we ...," Koczurba stuttered.

"I'm sure he deserves much better.  As an agent of the State
Committee on Inspections I will be taking temporary custody of
the boy. Papers will be issued ... tomorrow."

I regretted saying that last.  Damn.  It was something I wouldn't
be able to fulfill, and would cast doubt on me.

Koczurba looked taken-aback.  Certainly caught off guard.  He
was a cool customer though, I give him that.  No doubt used to
getting his way on this collective, he now swallowed his pride.
Hah!  It's a time-honored technique in our Worker's Paradise.
When you aren't sure exactly who you are dealing with, stall for
time.

I let him stew in his juices for a moment, while I looked around.
More than once I've heard of Party officials going missing after
trips into the countryside.  I wouldn't put it beyond the realm of
possibility that the close-knit community of a collective might
rally around their local leader, just out of personal self-interest.

Even as Koczurba started to reply, I gave Jasio one more firm
squeeze on the shoulder, and mounted the bike seat.

"I assure you that we here ... Comrade!  Uh ... where will you
stay for the night?   I mean, we can provide ...."

"The State Committee has provided travelling accommodations, I
assure YOU, Comrade.  Expect to be ... contacted ...," I ended
lamely, as I pedaled away, turning the cart in a tight little circle.

"I assure you ... Comrade!..." he raised his voice even louder, to
keep me from going, but I just ignored him and kept pedaling.

We couldn't wait to hear any more.  Better to get away before he
had time to consider his situation.  We wheeled on past the arc
of columns, and the cruel sign posted there,  past the old
graveyard of a mansion that once stood so majestically over this
land, then past the two hovels where the farmers had so viciously
spurned the boy.  I was glad he hadn't been awake to hear that!
Then I realized, he had no doubt heard it many times before.

So furiously was I pedaling that I had momentarily forgotten my
charge.  He was up on his shoulder now, staring at me, the wind
from our fast getaway fluttering the coat lapels around his head.
I saw his jaw quivering - whether from fright or the cold, I
couldn't tell.  His eyes might be so wide because of terror ... or
just plain wonder at this new turn of events in his life.

"I ... hope you'll trust me ... Jasio," I spoke to him loudly, over
the rushing wind.  "I will .... I WILL take care of you.  I
promise!"  My heart pounded!  This was like the moment of
truth.  Would I see that tomorrow that I had imagined?   Would
he believe me?!  Would he ... trust me?


-----------------------


6:46 PM


For answer, Jasio simply collapsed back into his protective shell,
still curled about himself, and started shivering.  I could see the
rigid line of his jaw as he tensed himself against the convulsions.
If I had expected thanks, or ... eagerness, or just plain
acquiescence - I guess I got something else instead ... perhaps
resignation?   Chilled to the bone, wet, and exhausted - perhaps
this little boy just didn't care anymore.

All the more reason for me to take care for him.  My legs burned
as I struggled up the incline at the juncture of the two roads, but
I made it, knowing exactly what I had to do next.  Half a minute
more, and I had pedaled the cart right up to the back door of my
car, then I leaped off the seat and unlocked it.  Swiveling on my
heels, I quickly slipped my hands up under my little frozen
bundle of boy, and settled him gently onto the wide cushion.

Now.  First things first - get the engine going, and start the
heater.

I got in at the driver's seat and got the car started, and set the
blower to high.  Then out again.  I stood for a moment looking
around at the trees and underbrush lining the turnout.  Jasio
treasured that cart.  I couldn't just leave it out in the open.  So I
ran it into the thickest part of the dark woods, behind some
undergrowth, and hoped that would do.  Then back to the car.
We couldn't just sit here at the turnout, but neither could we risk
driving to the nearest town - too many people knew of my
whereabouts already.

I drove it up the road a bit, counting the wasted moments
impatiently, starting to feel desperate, when I espied just the
place, where an older road forked off and ran parallel to the main
route for a bit.  Trees and a high berm separated the two roads.
If some farmer needed this passageway, he'd think twice about
disturbing a government car.

I locked the far doors, then leaving the engine in idle, and the
heater on full blast, I got out and back in next to Jasio, edging in
and gently taking his head up into my hands, lifting him, to rest
on my thigh. There was no light other than the moon, but that
was like a bright flashlight beaming in through our back
window.  Both my coat and his own had fallen away from his
face, and I was shocked to see how pallid his complexion was
now. His lips had lost their vibrant red blush - they were drained,
as all his flesh was.  His heart was beating inside that frail body,
but it was struggling just to keep his brain and his vital organs
alive now.  Even his shivering was erratic.

There was no time to lose.  I started rubbing his forehead and
cheeks, even while I locked the doors on my side.  Little enough
protection, if the farmers found us.  I wished I had a gun.

My rucksack was laying on the floorboard, just at my feet.  I
reached down into it blindly, rummaging around for some
clothing.

Damn.  So much for advanced notice.  I had just returned from
the road trip when Pawel's warning call came.  I had dumped out
the dirty clothes from the trip, then stupidly filled the bag back
up with books and papers.  A lot of good my birth certificate was
going to do to warm up this little boy!  Maybe my prison guards
would have fun with it - a worthy target for their darts.

I came up with one pair of socks, balled up in the corner of the
bag.  Looking around inside the car, there was nothing.  No
blankets.  Nothing.  We had the clothes on my back, my big
overcoat, and Jasio's own soaked clothes.

The heater was just beginning to blow warm air.  That would
help for a while, but this boy's chill was seeping into his very
bones.  I wanted to get him wrapped, warm and dry, against my
own body, as quickly as possible.  Anyway, we couldn't leave
the engine running for long.  Gas was hard to come by out here
in the countryside, and this GAZ-13 was a guzzler.

Alright.  So we would just have to make do.   I put the socks
down on the seat, to my left, and then slipped my left arm up
under Jasio's back.  Then I reached down with my right arm to
get a purchase behind his legs, and pulled him bodily onto me,
his head lolling onto my left shoulder.

My hands paused in mid-air for a split second, when I reached to
peel the layers of clammy clothing from him.  They may have
trembled a bit.  I was cold too - had been for the last hour, after
bundling Jasio up in my coat, but that wasn't the real reason for
my nerves.  Fifteen years - that's how long it had been since I
had touched a boy like this.  Fifteen years of ... true and
unremitting cold.  That's what it's like to a man such as me,
remaining alone through all the years.  Cold.  Seeing boys by the
thousands.  Everyone else had their boys - even slugs like these
farmers here who had turned Jasio away.  Everyone but men like
me, who wanted them ... hopelessly.

By the Holy Black Madonna, how I wanted this boy to ... just let
me ... help him ....

I would give my few remaining hours of freedom to him.  I HAD
committed myself to him!  What would I give to have him take
my hands, and guide them to warm his flesh ... perhaps to simply
pull my arms about him, and fall into my embrace.

Acceptance.  Perhaps that's what I wanted.  Or acknowledgment.

I knew he was just too far gone for that right now.  Maybe later,
if ... if I could prove to him that all men aren't like those others,
who had mistreated him for so long.

I took a deep breath, steadied my hands, and then went ahead
and pried the layers of cloth from his left shoulder, pulling them
off.  They fell back heavily, sodden.  I shifted him them, letting
him fall across me to the right, where I propped him up with my
arm, so I could drag the coats off his right shoulder.

He had a tattered white shirt on underneath, yellowed and
stained with dirt, buttons half missing, but clinging to his body
with the wet.  The collar was torn on his left side, and the shirt
just lay open there over his left shoulder.  What a vision there in
the silvery light of the moon, seeing the narrow curve of his
naked flesh, the delicate lines of his collar bone, but ... even as I
thought it, I felt ashamed.  That same lovely bare shoulder was
ice cold to my touch as I laid him back into the crook of my left
arm.  This was no time to admire him, but ... how could I help
it?!

I busied myself with he buttons of his shirt.  Just get him dry.
Get him warm.  He's a boy.  There is no reason for shame.  Just
do what needs to be done at this moment.

As I fumbled with the buttons, I looked down where his coat lay
open.  He had literally laced the inside lining with pockets, and
loops, and ties.  He was carrying a veritable trove around with
him!  Everything from bits of string, to heavier rope, to broken
knife blades, to rubber bands, to ... to things that I couldn't
imagine a name for - bits and pieces of machinery, penciled
drawings on paper, torn pictures from old magazines - a cup, a
broken ruler, a ... I was amazed.  I looked from his face, to the
little treasures that he had stowed away, and back again,
wondering at this little boy!

Junk.  It was all just pieces of junk, but somehow, after seeing
his cart - well, if he actually built it - somehow I knew that each
item here was more than scrap, each item was a ... a part!

I shook my head, and pulled myself back to the immediate task.
I would set aside all his little treasures.  He could have them,
when he wanted them.  In the meantime I had to get these wet
clothes off.  His constant shivering told me that.

I started peeling his shirt off.  It came off dripping and running
with the wet across his narrow chest.  His tiny little nipples were
raised, taut with the cold.  His little tummy rippled convulsively,
suddenly naked to the air.  I needed a towel, and quickly!  He
was suffering.

The socks were dry, but I didn't want them wet.  For half a
second I looked about, slack-jawed.  Was I growing dense?  Or
was I just besotted with the cold myself?  Finally I realized that
the only relatively dry cloth available was what I was wearing.

"My shirt," I said out loud.  "It's ... warm, and ... dry ...." I
muttered, as I scooched him down a bit, letting his bottom rest
on the car seat again.  I laid him down in my lap, and then leaned
forward over him so I could get my shirt off.   I don't know what
made me do it, but ... it just seemed such a natural thing to do ...
you take care of a boy, you cherish him - you kiss him - let him
know how you care - well, I just ... picked up his hand and
kissed it!  "We'll get you good and dry, Ja ...."

I had thought him completely unconscious.  His body was as
limp as a rag.  I feared he was comatose.  But suddenly he lifted
his lids and looked me straight in my eyes!  He didn't say a
word, just kept his lips tightly closed, his face practically
expressionless - only his eyes spoke - just as before - opening
wide, staring, inquiring of me. Even in the light of the moon I
could see them as deep, glistening pools, with such intelligence
behind them!

I was stupefied!  I had kissed him, as if it were the most natural
thing in the world to do at that moment, and he must have felt it!
For a moment I returned his gaze, my eyes wide too.  I had no
idea if he could read my expression.  If he did, he must have seen
my amaze.  I just hoped he saw the other, too - that dam just
bursting to overflowing with love, ready to spill over on the both
of us ... if he let it.

Just as suddenly, he closed his eyes again and lay totally supine
again.  My hands moved feverishly then.   Quickly I unbuttoned
my own shirt, and pulled it off me.

I gathered it as a towel, and dabbed it across his chest first, then
under his arms and along them - lifting each one, drying him
completely, noting a little scratch here, a tiny scar there, or a
bruise.  His flesh was as smooth and soft as any boys, but ... I
sensed a story in each of those little wounds.  His life had never
been easy.

Quickly I patted his hair with the shirt, and lifted the strands,
folding them within the cloth and drying them.  Then I lifted him
upright again, and peeled all the wet clothing from off his back,
and started to dry him there too.

I felt something as I held him up - something soft, pliant, cold
under my fingertips.  Cold like all his flesh, but somehow
different - raised, glossy smooth ridges under the pads of my
fingers.  I traced one ....

Wide-eyed again, but now with horror, I pressed him to me,
almost afraid to look down at his back.  Knowing what I would
see.

The moonlight cast crisscrossing shadows below the slightly
raised welts ... they were deathly pale and translucent scars upon
the purist white of his skin.  He had been beaten.  Lashed.  Not
recently - the wounds were healed.  But he was scarred for life.
I closed my eyes momentarily, feeling tears wanting to form in
the corners of my eyes.

What he must have endured in his short life!  For a brief moment
I was lost in the enormity of it, unconsciously running my
fingertips along the welts.  Wondering how he had been scarred,
and whether the wounds reached deeper.  Was that a part of the
rage I felt, when he ran up and attacked me this evening?

I choked back the tears and opened my eyes, letting him fall back
away from me again, so I could look him in the face.

"Never again, Jasio," I whispered to him, shaking my head from
side to side slowly.  "I don't know what I'll do, but ... no one ...
should ... ever ... will ... nnnhh" I almost wailed, letting the tears
flow now, wondering how I'd ever be able to keep such a
promise.  Better that I didn't say it.  Better that I never add a lie
to all the other hurt in his life.

He opened his eyes again, this time as mere slits, peering up at
me, his brow pursed.  Puzzled.

I didn't know how to answer him.  No use trying to stop the
tears, though.  He just barely turned his head and seemed to look
at my hand, where I had crossed his chest to just hold him by his
arm for a moment. Then he looked back up at me.

Whatever it was he sought, he seemed too weak to do anything
more than just let his lids droop again, and fall back into his
sleep. His eyelids closed slowly, his body melting against me
again, weightlessly.  He was indeed a mere waif.  So thin. I
figured he might be nine or ten, by his lines - his arms were
slender and unmuscled, his chest sunken, his ribs and breastplate
practically visible beneath the anemic pallor of his skin.

Feeling the shivers ripple through his body again, I got back to
the task, drying every part of his upper body, holding his head
close to me, nuzzling him, caressing his narrow little shoulders,
murmuring to him, "you'll soon be warm, Misiu.  I'll make sure
of that."

He still smelled of days-old stale boy sweat, which would have
been a perfume to me if not mixed with mustiness of his damp
clothing and his heavy coat, and ... who knows - perhaps he had
been rummaging in the farm's trash dump.  He was unwashed.
Streaks of dirt came off with the droplets of water onto my shirt.
The heady aroma of his wet overcoat was a powerful potion, but
I didn't mind!  This was all my Jasio!  This smell was what he
had lived.  This was part of his past.  Something I could finally
share in.  I would make it better for him, I would bathe him in
sweet-smelling salts if he wanted, but for now, as I peeled his
wet clothing off and dried him, it was like peeling away those
foreign scents, to get to his own essence.

I worked quickly, knowing I was still taking too long.

My coat had fallen away from his body, so I pulled it completely
from under him, and stretched it over the front seat to dry.  When
I released the buttons holding his own coat closed around his
waist and legs, it fell open too.  He was wearing long, dirt-
splotched pants of some light color - impossible to tell which
with all the grime - ripped and frazzled at the ankles.  He had on
a pair of woe-begone canvas shoes, around which he had
wrapped some rags, to plugs holes, or merely to hold them
together.  No socks.  Nothing to insulate his little feet from the
cold.

Nudging, prying with one hand, while I held him to me, I got the
shoes off ... in pieces.  I should have been more careful. I
managed to pull the sole away from the canvas upper covering of
one.  With the other it wasn't so bad - with the rag untied, the
shoe literally flopped open and fell off.  In the light of the moon,
his feet looked as ghostly pale as the rest of his body.  They were
frigid to my touch and his toes were crinkled from being wet so
long.  Propping him up against it, my left arm didn't have much
freedom of movement, but I held him close, and started trying to
untie the knot in the rope that held his pants up, with my left
hand, while rubbing and drying the bottoms of his feet with the
other, moving the toes about, hoping to get a little circulation
going there.

I'd have to get his body warm - his head, his vital organs.  The
socks would help a little, but until I could get his heart to
pumping fast and furious to his limbs, they would have no
warmth to hold in.

I lifted him bodily again, and unceremoniously started tugging
his pants down.  They were wet and sticking to his legs.  I
shifted first one side down a bit, then the other, struggling to get
them down over the sharp protrusion of his hipbones.  Then they
slid off much easier.

He was suddenly completely naked in my arms.  It all happened
so fast, that I hardly allowed myself to think about it.  With all
the shifting about, I realized my left hand now cupped his little
bottom.  I felt the twin mounds of his buttocks, so cold and
clammy.  Yet so soft ... my fingers would slip into the vale
between them, if I just let it happen.

How many years since I had touched a boy like this!  Or even
seen a boy in all his perfection?  Pawel occasionally smuggled
boy porn in from West Germany - we would sit together and
pour over those pictures, masturbating feverishly - now I had
such a beautiful little boy laying nude in my arms.  I guess I kind
of ... let my eyes graze over his midsection, to avoid looking
directly between his legs.  It ... just didn't seem the right moment
to ravish him with my eyes.  I saw his penis there - in my
peripheral vision - even as I concentrated on his feet, or his
calves - I saw it.  The white swell of his pubis, and at its peak
that glorious little shaft of his boyhood laying over against the
purest white of his inner thigh.

"I need to ... get your toes all dry, little boy.  Then I'll have to
dry your legs, and ... everywhere ...," I said, almost shyly, in a
hushed voice.

I kept talking to him, distracting myself, wiping the moisture
from his feet, from between his toes, talking my way on up his
legs - even then, my mind was half focussed - almost guiltily -
upon what I wanted to look at most.

I swiped the shirt up and down his legs, drying him, cleaning
some of the grime away.  Then awkwardly, not wanting to let
him fall away from my body, I reached across both of us with my
right hand and retrieved the dry socks.  They were long and
thick, the way I liked them, and woven from wool.  It was easier
than I thought to pull them over his much smaller feet, then up
his calves all the way to his bony little knees.  With each motion,
his penis flopped one way then the other, still on the periphery
of my vision - so clearly there, but not yet ... seen.

"Soon your toes will be toasty warm, Jasio," I cooed to him.

My motions rose higher, to his thighs, and when I reached over
both his legs to dry his left thigh,  my wrist, and the soft flesh
under my forearm suddenly brushed across his penis!
Unconsciously I felt myself slowing my motion, feeling it - soft,
yet rubbery from the cold.  I deliberately allowed myself to see it
then,  removing my arm.

I think I froze there, for a moment, my hand still poised to rub
and dry him some more.  His penis lay shrunken, curved over
towards his right leg - but even cold like that, it was longer,
thicker than I had expected.  And so gorgeous!!  At least six,
maybe seven centimeters long.  His foreskin was spread wide at
the end, and his blood-drained pale-pink glans peeked through -
its whole shape was outlined beneath the foreskin, the coronal
ridge, the flare of the glans back from the meatus - everything so
delicate looking, a white-washed bluish tint to it, frigid and
looking so fragile in the moonlight shining along the shaft.

Beneath his penis, his scrotum and testicles were almost
invisible.  His little balls were drawn up tightly inside him, just
the barest outlines of their twin globes showing where his tightly
protecting ballsac had scrunched them up.  His little sac was icy-
blue too, looking deathly, and too exposed.

Delicate, soft and smooth, sleek, as perfect as any boy I could
imagine, as desirable as any boy I could imagine, yet the instant I
saw his little testicles blue with the cold invading his body, I
reached out and cupped my hand over them tightly, willing the
warmth of my body into him there.  They were his very essence.
They were what I had peeled his layers of wet clothing off for -
so I could protect them - protect him!  I didn't want to fondle
him.  I wanted to certify, by my every act, that this boy had a
future, with or without me!

I had to release him.  Just for a moment.  Gently I lifted him up
and sat him down next to me in the car seat.  I got up then,
reached over the back of the front seat and turned off the ignition
key.

Silence.  The stark shadows of the window frames against the
bright light from the moon.  The glaring, empyreal silvery wash
within.

And Jasio.

That was my world now.  He was my world.

Quickly I retrieved my overcoat from the front and sat back in
the car seat.  I lifted Jasio again and scooted him back into my
lap, then draped the coat over the both of us, his right side
against my bare chest, my left arm his backrest.

"Sweet, sweet boy," I murmured to him, as I tucked the collar of
the coat about us, up to my neck - covering his head completely.
I made sure his arms and legs and feet were securely within our
little tent.  Then I withdrew my own into it, and just held him
there then, my arms wrapped about him, rubbing, caressing.

Strands of his wet, tangled hair straggled up out of our
wrappings, some lodged between my lips and tickled my cheek
as I held his head just beneath my chin. I started to sneak my
hand out to brush them away, but stopped.  That was not what I
wanted ... I wanted to taste him.  I wanted him to feel my lips
press into his hair, wanted him to feel the warmth of my cheek
against his scalp.

I was a man who cared too much, Tomek told me.  He was wrong
about that.  For too long, I had cared too little.  This little boy -
his life up till now - was proof of it.  The old man was right
about one thing, certainly.  I couldn't let them beat me.  Us.
Him.  It was all about him now, the little boy in my arms.

I touched my tongue to the wayward strands.  They tasted of ...
of his days and days with no one else to care for him - of
saltiness, and the grit of the soil that he toiled upon.   They
tasted of loneliness.

I wondered.  How would my hair taste?   Of someone who cared
too much?   Or of my own long sojourn with loneliness.

I kissed him lightly on the top of his head, through the fabric of
the coat.  "If only you'll let me, I'll take care of you, Jasio.  I
promise."  I couldn't see his eyes, couldn't tell if he had heard
me.

There wasn't much room for maneuver with my left hand, so I let
it roam up and down his left thigh, and underneath his bottom.
Goosebumps rose there, then gradually fell, leaving his skin so
smooth and soft.  When my fingers would slide over the cleft
between his buttocks, I couldn't help but let them dip lightly
into it.  Almost touching his tenderest, most private parts.   It
was clammy there, and cold from the rain and exposure.

Just as the rest of his body was.  I drew my right hand
everywhere, always rubbing, kneading so very lightly, hoping to
bring his blood to his skin.  Every part of his body needed my
attention, and at first I had no thought to anything other than
getting him warm.

There came a point, though, when my always moving hand
started to caress, rather than rub.  When it started to feel, to
touch, to sense, rather than to merely massage.

I would cup his cold-hardened penis beneath my palm and make
sure my fingers warmed his balls - just feeling the cold, only the
cold - worried for him, praying that I could impart to him all the
warmth that he so desperately needed ... then at some point, I
began to feel the softness of his skin there, or the way his
forsekin would glide over the flesh beneath with my slightest
touch ... at some point I began to lightly separate the washboard
folds of his scrotum with the tips of my fingers, feeling for the
shape of his little eggs within ....

I would round all the corners of his cold, bony little knees,
letting the friction between my hand and his flesh start to bring
him back to life ... but at some point my palm began to sculpt
those boyish corners ... at some point my fingers began to trace
the crease behind his knee, and explore his lines, as if
memorizing them by touch ....

I would brush the flat of my hand all the way up his taut little
tummy to his chest, letting my fingers dip into each of the little
valleys between his ribs - always kneading, always rubbing and
pressing - all the way up till I felt my fingers curl around and
massage his little neck - then back down again ... then at some
point I began to sense even that infinitesimal difference between
the softness of his skin, and the tenderness of his little nipples ...
at some point ... at some point I ... began to stroke there, wanting
to make them harden ....

So very gradually did it happen - it seemed so natural - his
body's response to mine - mine to his - my warmth spreading to
him, giving him life - every curve, every contour of his, every
taste, or smell, giving me what I had dreamed of for so long.

So very gradually did it happen - I felt the cold and unnatural
wetness of our chilled bodies give way to the moistness of our
own natural bodily exhalations within our coverings.  I felt the
heat within that most secret, and to me most sacred, place
between his buttocks - I felt his penis grow even softer, more
flaccid - felt his testicles loosen within their pouch ...

And then so very gradually did it happen - with each return of
my hand to caress his little tool - it began to grow hard and hot
to my touch, lengthening, straightening, pulsing ... at some point
my penis grew hard too - lengthening, straightening, pulsing
within my pants, pressing up against his little bottom ....

It all seemed such a natural progression.  Wasn't this what I had
always wanted?  To care for a boy?  Wasn't this what he had
always needed?  A man to be here, just for his needs?  I had
saved him.  He had ... saved me.  Given me back my purpose.

"Thank you, Jasio," I lowered my head, so that my cheek rested
against the top of his head, and spoke through the fabric of the
coat.  "You are my salvation.  I ... didn't know where I was going
... now I know ... I'm already there."


----------------------------------


7:28 PM


Dreaming about dreaming.

Why not? Jasio thought ... or dreamed ....

Was it possible to think in a dream?  To think about the dream?
Even while dreaming it?

Had to be.  Because he felt warm.

Warmth was only the stuff of dreams.  Or of longing.  Standing,
unwelcome, outside one of the farmer's shacks, looking in
through the window, where the little ones sat next to the stove,
listening to stories.  That was warmth.  But also reality - his
reality.  Warmth was for everyone else ... or for his dreams.

So this was what it was like ... sensing that it was cold out there,
but in here ... all warmth ....

... and comfort ... for once he didn't have to tense his muscles
against the cold, or clamp his jaw shut to stop the shivering.

Haha. Final proof that this was a dream.  And that he could think
about his own dreams.  He felt someone's arms about him.  A
man's strong arms ... and ... that was ... where the warmth came
from ....

No man would ever do that for him ... and yet ....

We only dream about what we know, or have seen, or have felt,
Jasio mused - still bemused that he could think of all these
things within a dream ....

... and so how did I imagine this man's arms?  How did I imagine
... warmth ... spreading from his body to mine, when it's never
happened before, he wondered.

Am I imagining that his hand slides along my arm, and seems to
so carefully mold itself to the shape of my elbow, then down,
feeling the ridge of that bone in my arm ... there are two long
bones there, connected to ... and he feels where they meet ... why
does he ... why does he lift each of my fingers ... and hold them
....

Is it just my imagination that I feel a weight against the top of my
head ... it doesn't hurt, it ... is warm too, and soft ... not his hand,
his ... why does he make that sound, when that soft weight
touches the top of my head, like ... a mother, blowing a kiss ...
lips ... his lips pressing down upon ... me?...

Jasio's heart fluttered ....

The man's hand went everywhere ... and suddenly ... he placed
his hand so carefully, gently, right over Jasio's ... thing!... then
he caressed there, pressing his palm firmly against the softness
of his cock, and his fingers played around Jasio's balls, lifting
them, squeezing ever so lightly, sliding one against the other like
little marbles!...

Jasio felt his member growing hard, like it did so often in the
mornings, or when he touched it for a long time.  He had learned
just where to touch it, so that it would get hard quickly, gliding
the pads of his first two fingers along the underside of the cock,
always grazing across that most sensitive part, near the tip.  Leon
had forced him to jack up and down on the man's huge cock.  So
Jasio had tried it on himself when he was alone.  It was an
escape ... something he could do for himself, that would let him
forget, just for a moment.  Something that would let him ...
escape from his reality ....

Now the man ... did the same, and it ... oh the sensations!...

No, this had to be a dream, because no man would ever touch
him there.  Leon had said a boy's cock was useless.  Too small
to do anyone any good.  A boy was only good for sucking a
man's cock ... and yet ... this can't be a dream, because I feel it,
he mused.

He felt the man's cock too - getting harder and bigger underneath
his bottom.

"Thank you, Jasio.  You are my salvation.  I ... didn't know ...."

The man's voice!  The Party man's voice!

Jasio's whole body went rigid with the shock - this was no
dream!  The man was holding him!  The ... man had returned to
him!

The dream was reality!  And all of it ... letting the man undress
him ... staring at the man from the bed of the cart ... hearing Leon
and the man talking about ... him!  All of it was real!

Jasio felt his skin burning all of a sudden.  It was all real, but for
the gentleness of the man's touch, the softness of his ... lips ...
even the assurance in his voice now ....

Probably Leon had sold him to the man for the night. Soon he'll
want me to suck him, just like Leon  makes me do.  Then he'll
kick me out of his bed, just like Leon does.

The man held his hand motionless now, still cupped around
Jasio's dick and balls, but just as rigidly still as Jasio held his
own body.

"I'm sorry, Jasio, I just wanted to get you warm," the boy heard
the man say. "You were cold ... everywhere.

A pause.  Jasio listened, but it was if his whole being was in
some kind of lost slice of time - like standing on that line again,
but going neither forward or backward this time ... just waiting,
wondering ... doubting ...

...hoping ....

Oh it hurt so bad, what this man did to him.  What he said!
That's what hurt.  Jasio was so used to every nuance of rejection
and spite and just plain not caring ... but what this man said was
....

Jasio couldn't help it.  His whole body convulsed with a
desperate sob, a crying gasp ... he wanted to remain just as rock-
solid still as he could - to deny the man's words ... don't let him
get to you!  Don't let any of them get to you! He wanted to
scream it out loud, he wanted to jump out of this man's false
embrace and ....

"I touched you there, because ... you were so cold," the man
spoke again.

His voice was so ... kind.  Why, why, why, Jasio screamed to
himself.  Why can't I let myself believe that the man spoke from
his heart!?

Because he's ... he's just like ... they're all alike ....

Jasio felt his halting breaths, as he tried to hold back his tears -
NEVER LET THEM GET TO YOU AGAIN!  But his body was
betraying him.  No, it was his mind ... or ... his heart ... that
wouldn't leave him alone, that kept telling him to listen, to let
the man speak, to believe the man ....

"I kept massaging you, and ... and later you seemed to sleep so
peacefully ... when I rubbed you ... down there ...."  The man
withdrew his hand.  Jasio felt the cover, or the blanket, or
whatever it was surrounding the both of them - he felt it lift, as if
the man had raised his hand, and it hovered there, above the
boy's body, as if he didn't know where to rest it ....

Through his choking gasps for air, fighting what he knew was
coming, Jasio listened to the man's voice ... there was no anger
in it!  There was no disgust, or hatred, or belittling, or contempt,
or selfishness, or ... why couldn't it really be true that he was
different from all the others!?

No one had ever cared?  Did this man really care?

He had come back!

No one had ever sheltered him, willingly ... but this man ....

No one had ever shared their food with him, without resentment
... but this man?

No one had ever spoken kind words to him ... without a price ...
why couldn't this man be different?

Wasn't he different?

Jasio's whole body shuddered, and the tears and sobs claimed
their release ... and yet he felt the man place his hovering hand
upon his bare thigh, and pull his body in even tighter, holding
him like a ... baby ....

"I'm so sorry," the man muttered.  Jasio felt the man's lips
moving against the top of his head.  "I'll never touch you there
again ...."

No one ever did before, Jasio thought.  Why did you think to
touch me there, where I've rubbed myself by the hour when I felt
the most alone ?...

"Just ... just let me ... take care of you, Jasio.  I'll ... do whatever
I can ...."

But no one ever did before!  The boy wanted to scream out.  He
wanted to stop his whimpering cry, and shout out his questions!

"Then ... I'll get out of your life, if that's what you want ...."

Get out of my life!?  I called you back.  You came.  Why?!

"Just let me take care of you ... tonight, at least ...."

And tomorrow!?  Are you like the others?  But no, you can't be
like the others!

"I promise I ... didn't touch you there because I ... I wouldn't do
that without your permission, Jasio, I just wanted to make you
feel better.  I thought it made you feel ...."

You thought it made me feel better?!  And your own cock - why
does it soften now, when you think I'm sad?  Why do you
withdraw your hand, when you think I don't want it?  Why do
you care, when NO ONE EVER HAS BEFORE!?

Jasio suddenly just wanted to BELEIVE!  Why couldn't ALL of
this be real?!  The man's very presence.  The food he had given
as a gift.  The protection from Leon.  The blanket that he had
draped over them both.  The caresses.  The kisses.  The words!
All of his words ... that he wouldn't have hurt him for anything
... that his cart was magnificent ... that he just wanted to help
him, at least for tonight ... that he had touched him down there,
just to make HIM feel better!!

This can be real! He screamed to himself.  I want someone
finally, truly, to care for me!

Like lightening, he shot both his hands down and grasped the
man's right arm and pulled his hand back up to his crotch, and
forced the man's hand to cup him there again!

Let me feel it, for once in my life!  He wanted to tell the man.
Make ME feel good, for once in my life!  Do something, do
anything, do this!  Just for me!

He held the man's hand over his pubis with both hands, pressing
down hard, feeling the man's resistance - refusing to say the
words out loud through his sobs, but wanting the man to show
him, wanting to beg the man to prove to him, that the man would
do this just for him!


------------------------


7:29 PM


No sooner did I say the words, and Jasio suddenly came to life in
my arms - but not at all like I had hoped.  I felt every muscle in
his small body tense against me.  He had awakened, recognized
my voice, and was either frightened or ... repulsed by the thought
of me holding him.  Maybe sickened by the way I was groping
his privates.

I feared that I might have misread all the signals, that his body's
response to my caresses was nothing more than some kind of
automatic physical reaction, rather than that sense of coming
together, that I had felt before.

I held my hand motionless now, still cupped around Jasio's dick
and balls, but just as rigidly still as Jasio held his own body.

"I'm sorry, Jasio, I just wanted to get you warm," I said, trying to
excuse myself. "You were cold ... everywhere.

It was as if he didn't hear me - not a change in the way he was
laying, so tense - then he let out the most pitiable little gasp - it
was like a spark, igniting me - I had to say something.  Now.
And I couldn't stop, I couldn't let there be just silence, I had to
somehow tell him.

 "I touched you there, because ... you were so cold."

It was true.  That was my first reason for touching him there.

"I kept massaging you, and ... and later you seemed to sleep so
peacefully ... when I rubbed you ... down there."  I spoke so low,
my lips grazing the fabric of the coat, pressed so firmly over his
head.  He was crying still, but in almost soundless jolts, the side
of his chest heaving against mine erratically.

Why couldn't I tell him the rest?  How to explain to him that I
had felt us almost becoming one being under our coat, sharing
our warmth.  How could I get through to him?!

Still no response - I was at a loss - I lifted my hand from his
privates, and for a moment was unsure what I should do next.  I
felt a flush run through my body; I was appalled at the thought
that he might think I was indeed groping him - what if that had
happened to him before, and ... but I wasn't groping him.  I was
nursing him, caring for him.  Surely he would sense that.

Tentatively, I let my hand fall back to his thigh, and I pulled him
a bit closer in to me.  If he was frightened, then let my embrace
show him that he need not fear.  If he was repulsed by me, then
... oh please, let him feel the true me.

"I'll get out of your life, if that's what you want," I muttered
reluctantly, hoping against hope suddenly that he would make no
move to accept that promise.

"Just let me take care of you ... tonight, at least ...."

I guess I became desperate, starting to repeat myself, pleading
now, wanting so much to be understood by him, fearing that if I
quit talking it might all of a sudden all be over.  "I promise I
didn't touch you there because I ... I wouldn't do that without
your permission, Jasio, I just wanted to make you feel better.
I'm so sorry.  I'll never touch you there again - just ... just let me
... take care of you, Jasio.  I'll ... do whatever I can, then ... get
out of your life, if that's what you want - just let me take care of
you.  Tonight, at least ...."

Jasio moaned so pitiably all of a sudden, sounding so desperate
himself, and I felt his hands suddenly strike out and grasp my
arm, where I held it tight against his thigh.   With a kind of a
mewling grunt, like he was defying any resistance, he jerked my
hand off his thigh right up to his crotch, and forcibly pressed my
hand over his penis and scrotum.  He tugged and pulled at my
hand, placing both of his over it - whimpering louder with each
jerk of his hands, as if commanding me.

He seemed like a baby crying out for comforting, unable to
express himself in words, but begging me to care for him.  And
wasn't that exactly what he was!  I understood it instantly, and
just as instantly knew he had given me his answer.  He would
accept my embrace.  He would curl up upon me, and let me
impart the very life-force from my own body into his, he would
lay with me inside our private shell - just the two of us against
the whole world - he would let me care for him.  He would let me
prove the truth of the words I had repeated to him over and over.

Just as quickly as he had reached out, and cried out to me, he fell
silent and motionless again.  He sniffled, and I felt him turn his
face directly against my chest, wiping his tears against my mat of
hairs there.

I pressed down upon his head again with my lips, then turned my
cheek to rub against it firmly.  "Yes Misiu, that's my boy, let me
hold you, let me take care of you.  You show me what you want
me to do for you, always.  I will do it.  I will take care of you,
Jasio."

In answer, he nuzzled into my chest even more firmly, and I felt
his hands upon mine again, gently but firmly nudging me,
pulling my hand up across his softened penis, pulling his ballsac
up, then back again, pushing my hand down.

I hesitated, wondering if he really meant that.

We were communicating at the level of our hearts now.
Expressing ourselves with our touch.  Again he pulled my hand
up, forcing it harder into his penis, squashing it, stretching it
with my palm.

I knew what he was saying, just as clearly as if he had said it in
words.  `Pleasure me.  Pleasure me, Party man. Show me.  Prove
to me.  Me!  No one has ever offered me anything before.  Show
me that you will do this just for me!  Solely for MY pleasure!"

I understood.

I obeyed.

With my hand held open wide, I glided it to the left, then to the
right, in slow, gentle strokes, grazing his penis, but also sliding
my hand down along his inner thighs, telling him with each
stroke that I wanted him to spread his legs just a bit - telling him
that he could open up for me, trust me.

He seemed to resist just for a few strokes, then gave in,
extending his legs and opening them wider, letting his bottom
slide down in my lap slightly, pushing his hips and his whole
mid-section up - telling me that he would invest his trust in me.

As I went back and forth, left then right, I let my palm roll his
still soft penis from side to side.  My finger extended down over
his little scrotum, and further - down along his perineum all the
way to the beginning of the part between his buttocks - down
along his inner thighs - grazing the most soft and sensitive flesh
of his body.

At first his little dick lay dangling down, but with each glide I
felt it responding, stiffening - still rolling from side to side under
my hand, but now resisting, hardening and lifting - I let it flop
up under my palm as it stiffened to full erection so that now I
brushed the underside of his shaft.

His balls were full extended now - as much as a prepubescent
boy's balls would - hanging loose within their infinitely soft and
pliable sac.  With each crossing stroke, I pulled his little
testicles across to one side, pressing down, massaging them, then
curling my fingers sometimes to pull them up, or extending my
fingers to push them down.

He started to moan quietly, as I tested his limits - never hurting
him, but taking him to the brink with his testicles - one more
fraction of a centimeter down - one more millimeter up - just the
slightest bit more pressure and he would have to cry out - instead
he had to catch his breath, had to anticipate.  The sensations
were wrapping around his little eggs and stabbing deep up into
him - he lifted his bottom in random, jerking motions, untimed,
uncontrolled.

I let my hand suddenly slide all the up along his penis, then up
and up across his tummy till it glided over his narrow chest,
brushing both his little nipples to tautness, then escaping back
down immediately all the way to his dangling pearls, then back
up again in broad caresses, around and around his tummy, across
his chest, then back down again.

His body was undulating with each broad stroke, anticipating my
direction, lifting into each swipe of my hand - he opened himself
wide to me, letting his arms just dangle to his sides, turning
himself so that his back was against my chest.  I felt his head
move in lazy, gliding motions against my chest, in timing with
each soft moan - more like whispered, whimpering sighs - telling
me what he was feeling.

Within our blanketing coat, he felt warm enough now to totally
relax against me.  I made sure that he remained covered
everywhere, from head to toe, varying my stroking caresses with
a tuck here, pulling the coat to the side there, adjusting it
wherever his erratic motions pulled it.

I narrowed the range of my gliding hand, centering slowly but
surely back upon his penis, starting to grasp it as my hand
passed, pressing it fleetingly between my fingertips, then letting
it go to slap back against his tummy.  I marveled at how hard he
was along the full length of his boyhood - the two hard-swollen
columns on either side of his shaft - so familiar, just like mine,
but in miniature - barely yielding to the pressure of my fingers,
yet the incredibly soft skin there practically slid from underneath
my fingertips, gliding in perfect ease along that inner hardness.

I stopped stroking, letting myself just fondle him, letting my
fingers wander in exploration of his treasures.  Each part of him
was so different, yet all the same in tenderness, smoothness,
purity - from the frenular opening of his foreskin, where the tip
of his glans kissed my fingertip, down along the flare of his
glans - the foreskin so tight around it - across the coronal ridge
of it, down along the shaft, feeling the infinitesimally small veins
beneath the skin - to the little collar of pubic flesh at the base of
his shaft - I traced it all the way around, and down below that to
the almost imaginary substance of his scrotum - so light to the
touch that it offered no clue to it's purpose, with his balls
hanging down so loose underneath.

I knew what it must be like to be blind, with so much of one's
perception focussed on touch.   I couldn't see his eyes - they
couldn't guide me.  I couldn't see his body.  I only felt it against
mine.   The harmonic melody of his moans told me that my hand
was where he wanted it.  But only through my touch could I read
each nuance of his pleasure - the lifting of his buttocks, when I
slid my finger round the base of his glans - the jerking response,
when I tapped my fingertip upon his pee slit - the sudden
stiffness of his thighs and tummy, when I rolled his balls
together and pressed them harder.  And then ... I suddenly
thought that I felt something else in the way he was relaxing
against me, giving in to me.

He was hard.  I was becoming hard again.  I could have taken
him all the way to his orgasm, and probably had one of my own
too, but I sensed something.  In both of us.  Like ... this just had
nothing to do with wanting to share in that kind of release.

He kind of curled himself in on me again, snuggling against me -
not trying to force my hand from between his legs, but as if
saying to me `you did it right.  You proved yourself to me.  Now
could you just ... hold me?'

We had a baby once, in Tomek's little band.  Found him
abandoned beside a railroad track - thrown out at a siding, out of
one of those cattle cars filled with Jews.  I guess his mother
decided the little thing would have a better chance at the mercy
of the elements than at the mercy of the Nazis.  We kept him for
a while, until we could find him another mom.  He used to cry
and cry - would drive Tomek mad - but then one of us would
pick him up, and he'd let out the most
 expressive, shuddering sigh of satisfaction, completely content
within his little world.

Jasio suddenly did the exact same thing.  I felt like the long
lonely years were stripped away in an instant, and I was holding
a little baby in my arms again.  Jasio sighed, releasing a great
breath that whooshed in  hot waves against my chest - it was like
he had finally reached some very real point of satiation - he was
ok.  He was safe.  He was cared for.  He felt good finally.  He
could rest.

I think he was asleep in an instant.  I felt every bit of tension in
his body just evanesce, his hands dangled upon me like dead
weights, his shoulder melted against me, and his head lulled
over, tipping against my chest.  His little penis softened right
beneath my hand, where I held it motionless.

Mine did too.  It just shrunk beneath his bottom, till it was lay
flaccid and still.  Yet I felt suddenly more like a man than I had
ever felt in my entire life.  Perhaps I felt like a man for the very
first time in my life.  I had been a grownup for a long time.  But
a man?

Now I was a man.  I came back for him.  I took care of him.  He
lay in my arms

If he was content, then I was ecstatic.  I gave his little dick one
final soft caress, then gathered his legs up as gently as I could,
pulling him back into my lap so I could just hold him.

No telling how long I sat there just cherishing him after that,
feeling his body enfolded against mine, feeling his very
heartbeat, and his every breath.

Finally, I drifted off to sleep too.


----------------------------------


8:40 PM


It must have been an hour later when I woke up - the moon had
sunk below the tree-tops, leaving only the glittering stars of our
galaxy up above us - my head had fallen back wearily against the
top of the cushioned backrest, and when I opened my eyes, I was
looking right up into the heavens.  I could trace the Milky Way -
I followed along it dreamily.  "Would that you could light our
way," I mused, murmuring out loud, remembering our plight.

Then from out of some dim recess of memory, a bit of verse came
so clearly to my mind - I was never one to wax eloquent, but at
this moment I felt the power of the words - words that I hadn't
heard since before the war, when my mother would read to us
from her catechism. I just had to say the words now, for never in
all my life had I felt them as I did now, for Jasio.

"Lord make me an instrument of thy peace," I began.   "Where
there is despair, let me bring hope ... for this boy.  Where there is
darkness, let there be light ... for this boy.  Where there is
sadness, let there be joy ....

I felt Jasio move, heard the rustle of the coat.  I held my breath,
wondering if I had awakened him.

Seconds later I felt the tips of his fingers touch tentatively upon
my arm where I held his legs up against me. His fingers were so
warm now, with our shared life.  I waited, wondering - would he
push my arm away?  He had every reason to.  The way others had
treated him, why should he trust mere words, or even a few soft
caresses?  Was it too much to hope that he would trust me?  That
he might believe me?  That he might let down his guard, feeling
my arms still around him?

I waited.  It was totally silent in the car now.  His fingers made
no more noise as they reached out within the coat a little farther
....

He ... hooked them around my wrist ... and pulled my arm in
tightly against him ....

I lifted my head again, till I felt my lips once more against the
top of his head, and let them rest there in answer.