Date: Tue, 11 Sep 2007 21:47:18 -0700 (PDT)
From: Mark Adams <mark.stories@yahoo.com>
Subject: Temptation of Adam - Chapter 3

Disclaimer
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This story is a work of fiction. It contains sexual content between
underage and adult males which may be inappropriate or illegal where you
live. I do not condone the actions or choices of the fictional
characters contained within this story. If you are offended by this or
if it is illegal where you live, please go no further. Why would you?

As several authors have done the same, I feel it necessary to inform you
that by 'fiction' I mean these events did not take place.  I doubt they
could.  I don't believe they should. Any resemblance to any person is
entirely coincidental. Know why?  Because it is fiction.

Oh, one other thing.  This story is probably technically copyrighted,
but I could really care less what you do with it.  Use as you see fit.
Claim it as your own if you find it worthy.  Sell it, earn a million
dollars with it and I'll congratulate your ingenuity...

I expect my stories will almost certainly be painfully slow at times, as
life often is.  But it's the kind of story I enjoy reading, so I hope
this first/second attempt is somewhere in the middle...



....From the last chapter...

"Are you gay?" he asked me, out of the blue, again without any sort of
concern or disgust.

"Well, that's personal," I said, but quickly added "but no, I'm not."
And I guess he just accepted that. He turned off the water, turned
around, and dried his face and hands on the towel.  He then picked up
his shirt. I reached out to help him pull it on to his body.

"Don't take it personally or anything," he said, "but I kinda thought
you were." And I pulled my 'helping hands' back where they belonged.

I was shocked.  "Umm... what do you mean by that?" I asked, incredulous.

"I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to hurt your feelings or anything."  He
seemed sorry.  "I just figured you were by the way you look at me and
touch me all the time.  I'm not scared of you, I just thought you might
be."  He stood, his weight on one leg, leaning against the counter
looking up at me .  His luminous eyes peered into my soul.  And I looked
away.

"Why?" I asked.  "Are you?"  Stupid, stupid, stupid.  I was just trying
to push the awkwardness away.

"I don't know."  And with that he bent down and scooped up Casey (I
didn't even know she was there) and walked out of the bathroom.



Temptation of Adam - Chapter 3
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I turned out the light and exited the bathroom, heading back to the
family room.  I saw Adam crouched on the tiled floor of the kitchen,
playing with Casey.  With his back to me, bending over, I saw the red
waistband of his underwear sticking just a bit up above the wrinkled
elastic on the back of his tight jeans.  I could see just enough of his
underpants to know he was wearing some sort of boy's 'cartoon'
underwear.  You know, the kind with Scooby Doo or whatever printed on
them.  I just couldn't tell what the print was.  Adam swiveled around
onto his bottom facing me, pulling his knees up into his chest.  "So are
you made at me?" he asked, "or are you still offering for me to wash my
clothes?"

"Sure, you can." Despite the awkward feelings I had, I guess I couldn't
really blame him for asking if I were... gay.  Although I had nothing
against gays or lesbians, I didn't consider myself gay.  Not that I'd
really thought about it too much, at least not recently.  I had to
wonder about that later, after Adam was gone.  But for now I would just
let it go.  This boy needed some help and I was determined to do my
Christian duty. "Do you want to go by yourself to get your clothes, or
would you like me to drive you?  I'm just thinking it might look sort of
silly walking down the street with a basket of clothes."

"Yeah," he said thoughtfully. "I guess it would look kinda funny,
wouldn't it?"  He was still sitting on the tile floor, playing with his
cat.  I imagined he was probably still a little embarrassed to have been
crying in front of someone he barely knew.  But, then again, he might
not.  At that age, I find kids tend to live pretty much in the here and
now, not really dwelling on the past.  And only under severe
circumstances (such as Adam's) did they even tend to think much about
the future.

"Alright, then.  Let's get going, shall we?"  I said the last part in my
best British accent and he giggled.  "Is Casey an indoor cat?" I asked.

"Yeah, she is."  He stood and, once again, I noticed just how small this
boy was.  I've seen boys in my youth group at church who were in sixth
grade, not much older than Adam, who looked like they were in fourth
grade while other boys the same age appeared to be freshmen in high
school.  Of course with Adam, he didn't look starved but his lack of
excessive nutrition probably meant his body was just about the right
'natural' size for his age.  Of course, he was a little on the thin
side, but it suited him.  It suited me.

"Ok, buddy," I said, "We'll just leave her inside.  There's nothing she
can get into.  Of course, I don't have a litter box.  Is she
housebroken?"  I sat in my chair and pulled on some slip-on shoes.

"Uh-huh," he said, nodding.  "She'll be fine, Mark.  Won't you, girl?"
he asked Casey.  She just sat down on the floor, licked her paw, and
swabbed her face with it.  Cats are so strange.

"Okie dokie."  He giggled again as I stood from the chair.  "Let's go
through here to the garage," I said, leading him back down the hall
where the guest bath was and headed through the laundry room to the
three-car garage.  When I renovated my home, I actually began my design
with the garage, expanding the two car garage, adding a bay and a work
area.  I'd always loved puttering around in the garage.

When we entered the garage and I hit the button to raise the door, light
filled the garage and he saw my little Mazda Miata, which seemed to
excite him quite a bit.  "Cool!" he said, ogling my little sports car.
It's nothing real fancy, but I just loved my little red roadster.  It
was fun to drive, got good mileage, and attracted endless admiration
from the boys in my youth group and Scout troop. "Can we take this?" he
asked, his face lit up and his eyes almost literally sparkling.

"Sure can," I replied.  I was already planning to take it instead of the
Jeep Cherokee I liked to take camping or the less practical Harley
Davidson I liked to ride sometimes, mostly on the weekend.  Of course,
when he went around to the passenger side, he spied the Hog.

"Oh, cool!" he exclaimed upon seeing it.  "Can we take this instead?" he
implored.  He ran his hand along the seat of my Fat Boy as if soaking up
its essence through his fingertips.  I wasn't a tough guy by any
stretch, but I had absolutely loved motorcycles since I was very young.
My parents still liked to tell stories of when I was so little I called
them 'vroom vrooms' and I supposedly (as parents like to embellish
stories of their children) could hear a motorcycle engine before anyone
else.  I would stop whatever I was doing and say "Vroom vroom!?" and my
parents would say, "No, there's no motorcycle."  Invariably, as the
story goes, ten or twenty seconds later a motorcycle would drive up and
everyone would be so amazed.  Well, I'm still a motorcycle enthusiast to
this day, so maybe there's a shred of truth to those stories...

In any case, I told him "Not now, Adam.  It wouldn't be practical for
carrying your clothes.  Maybe later?"

"Yeah, ok.  Maybe later," he said, still eying my bike.  He returned his
attention to the car again, and his smile told me he approved.  He
opened the unlocked passenger door and hopped in, fiddling around with
things a bit.  I entered the car and immediately began to put the cloth
top down and put my belt on.  There's nothing quite like driving
'topless' on a beautiful May afternoon in New Mexico.  He beamed.
"Cool..." he said, completely content.

"Get your belt on," I admonished, and he complied.  I turned it over and
the engine purred, accentuated by the acoustics of my garage. His
smiling countenance just plain made my whole day, his eyes sparkling as
he looked over at me.  I put her in gear and we pulled out, pausing just
briefly to make sure the garage door closed behind us.  As I approached
the road, I checked both directions and while looking left, down the
street, I saw where the field (we called them 'mesas') next to Chelwood
Elementary was.  I asked him if he went to school there.

"Yeah, I'm in fifth grade," he said.  But I just started going there
this year."  I knew he lived south of here, just down the street, so I
turned right without asking directions.

"Fifth grade," I said, almost with a sigh.  "I've got a lot of good
memories of fifth grade." He was listening, but also obviously enjoying
the brief ride.  "School's almost out, right? "

"Yeah, in another week" he answered, grinning either from the thought of
summer vacation or the ride. "I can't wait for summer!"  I knew this
would probably be his last real summer as a child.  Middle school tends
to do that.  I remember how excited I was to enter middle school, and
how much I now miss the carefree days of elementary.

"Where to?" I asked as we approached the various apartment buildings.
The drive was short, only about 500 feet!  I almost felt goofy for
driving, but I also enjoyed seeing him enjoy my car.

"Turn up here, between the two buildings," he said, his youthful
exuberance beginning to evaporate.  I'm not exaggerating.  It was that
noticeable. And his tension seemed to creep into me.

There were a few two-story buildings arranged in a square, with the
parking area forming one quarter of that square.  I think there was
another building back behind those buildings.  They looked decidedly
poor, in my snobbish opinion.  Brown siding, thin windows, and tiny
brown-fenced patios on the ground floor and smaller balconies on the
second.  I pulled my car into the parking lot and there were several
spaces.  The vehicles in the lot all looked ancient next to my Miata.
Adam released his seatbelt and opened the door, getting out of the car.
I put the top back up and got out of the car.  This neighborhood, a
scant 500 feet from my suburban bliss, looked rough.  I wasn't taking
any chances, and I made sure to lock both doors.

He led me through the courtyard area and we approached what was
obviously his front door.  No screen door, just  a faded door, the paint
peeling in places.  There were no plants, no trees, no welcome mat.
Mini blinds covered the windows.  There was no pride here.

He reached into his tight pocket and fished out a key, unlocking the
door.  "My mom's name is Ana," he informed me as his hand settled on the
doorknob, briefly glancing over his shoulder at me before he turned the
knob.  I was impressed by his thoughtfulness. As the door opened, I
could see all the lights were off and, with the blinds drawn, it was
pretty dark inside.  I didn't hear any music, no air conditioner, or any
other signs of life.

As I entered the compact living room, I could see it was clean, but not
overly so.  To my left was a small kitchen, a couple dishes in the sink
and a tiny table with two chairs.  Directly in front of me, beyond the
living room, it looked like there was a bathroom and a bedroom to the
right and left.  "Is your mom home?" I asked.  The apartment was warm
and I figured the air was off for financial reasons.

"Yes, she's probably lying down," Adam answered. "Let me go check on her
first."

"Adam?"  I heard someone call from the bedroom to the right in a
not-so-thick Mexican accent.

"Estoy aqui," I heard him say.  His slip into Spanish, while natural to
him, caught me off guard.  His accent, not present before, only endeared
him to me.  He moved toward the bedroom door and looked in.  "Mama,
tengo un amigo conmigo." I knew he was telling his mother he had brought
a friend.

"Quien?" she inquired, wondering who he'd brought home.  I could hear
the squeak of an old bed as she got up, with some effort it seemed.

"Mark," he told her.  I could hear her shuffling toward the door, and
for some reason I was nervous.  I doubt she expected a fully grown man.
He stepped into the room, apparently to help her.  A moment later, she
turned the corner and stepped into the living room.  She seemed a little
surprised, but not shocked to see me standing close to the entry.  Her
eyes were almost certainly adjusted to the dim lighting, but she still
squinted a tad, as if making sure she saw correctly.

"Hello.  My name is Ana," she said in perfect English.  I was obviously
not Latino.

"Hello," I responded, stepping toward her and extending my hand. "My
name is Mark. But I suppose you know that."  Duh...  She stepped forward
and shook my hand very gently, still checking me out. I could tell she
was once a lovely woman, but age and disease, it seems, had taken away
her luster.  She was somewhat thin and short, but that could be because
she was stooped over a bit.

"Come," she said, waving her hand toward the sparse seating in the
living room.  "Sit," she commanded, but not in a forceful way.  I waited
to see where she would sit, but she stood, waiting for me to pick a
seat.  I chose the chair and she moved slowly toward the love seat. To
my surprise, Adam didn't take the seat next to his mother, but moved
over to me and climbed into my lap.  Well, that was sure awkward...  I
wondered if he was trying to show his mother he liked me or if he just
didn't think about it.  I adjusted my position to accommodate him. He
fit perfectly into my lap and it felt right.  He reached down to my
right hand and brought it across his tummy.  Rather than jerk my hand
away, I allowed it to remain, but made sure not to rub his belly or
anything.  I knew the bottom edge of my palm had to be resting just
above (or just on) his package, but I couldn't feel anything but the
denim of his little boy jeans.  My penis began to swell, not getting
hard, but expanding.  I wondered what, if anything, was going on here.

So far she hadn't said anything.  She was just watching the two of us.
Her eyes were just as intense as Adam's, but their deep brown color made
them seem even more so, in a way.  She seemed to absorb... everything.
Her facial expression appeared almost amused.  Almost.  She wasn't
grinning, but neither did she seem appalled that her son had invited a
stranger, a grown man, into their home and unashamedly hopped into his
lap.  In fact, I think I felt more confused by the situation than she.

The silence was killing me and so I began to speak.  "So, Adam and I
just met today, actually."

"Did you?" she asked.  Was there some accusation in that response, or
was it my conscience?  She shifted her body on the love seat, taking up
some of the space I suppose she had expected Adam to occupy.  I could
see pain etched into her face at times, but she remained dignified.
"And so you are friends now, yes?"  She chuckled softly, and I wanted to
jump up and leave.

But Adam broke the tension by piping up.  "Mama, I was playing in the
park and some older boys were picking on me, trying to take Casey," he
began, lying his skinny ass off, as natural as can be. "Mark was walking
by and saw the boys picking on me and so he yelled at them and scared
them off."  I, of course, nodded in agreement. My angel had a tarnished
halo, it appeared.  "I was crying like a little bebecito, but Mark took
us to his house so the boys would leave me alone."  Yep.  He remembered
every detail except the truth, it seemed.

"You must have been so frightened, mi hijo," she said, obviously teasing
but he didn't know.  She looked up at saying, "And you.  You're
practically a hero."  I gulped.  "How ever can I repay you for saving my
boy?"

I couldn't just tell her Adam was lying with him sitting there on my
lap, and I supposed she knew that.  "It was nothing.  Really."  She just
shook her head. She caught my drift, and he didn't. Everyone seemed
happy but me.

"No, no.  You are to be commended."  She was enjoying this too much.
Returning her attention to Adam, she asked "So where is Casey, hmm?"

"She's back at Mark's house," he replied, certainly believing he'd
pulled the wool over mama's eyes.  "He fed her tuna and gave her milk.
And you should see his car, mama."  He was positively gushing now.
Liar, liar, pants on fire.  Speaking of which, the warmth of his buns
was radiating pleasure through my groin, the grilling by his mother the
only thing keeping things at rest.  At this point, Adam scooted up a bit
on my lap, which pushed my hand nearly halfway over his groin.  It
didn't seem intentional to me, but now I was doubting the innocence of
this little bullshitter.  "Oh, also.  Mark says I can take some laundry
to his house if I like.  I know we don't have much..."  He cut himself
off.  He almost slipped.  Talking about money in front of someone else
was a no-no. His mother didn't seem embarrassed but I knew she would be.

"Adam, you can't ask that of Mr.," she paused, waiting for my surname.

"Adams.  Actually, it's Mark Adams," I answered.  "It's not a bother,
really."

"Mr. Adams," she continued and then paused.  "Puedo tutearla?"

"Por supuesto, Ana," I responded without thinking. And she smiled, a
true smile for the first time.  Perhaps it was flattering to know I
cared enough to learn Spanish. Perhaps she now knew she could not speak
privately with Adam in Spanish.  Perhaps it was both.

"Would you like some coffee, Mark?" she asked.

"Yes, please.  Por favor," I continued.  She waved her hand, as if to
say, "No, English is fine."

"Adam," she said, directing her attention to her son.  "Go play.  Let
the adults speak."  He turned to look at me and I nodded slightly.  Adam
slid off my lap and padded off to his room.  "Outside, Adam."  He
stopped in his tracks and turned, going toward the door.  "Stay close,"
she commanded, and he opened the door slowly, pausing a moment as he
exited the house.  As she stood, I did as well, pressing my groin
surreptitiously as if brushing something off my lap.

***

As Ana brewed a pot of coffee, I gave her a slightly watered down (but
true) version of the events of the day, including his disclosure of her
illness.  "He is such a young boy to have such fears," she said. "I just
don't want him to have to grow up too fast."

"I agree, but he knows. You can't protect him with ignorance," I said,
hoping that didn't sound too harsh. But she didn't take it that way.
She was no fool, but she was being foolish by keeping the status of her
health from him.  And she knew it.

"True."  She thought a few seconds before continuing.  "Mark, I don't
know you, but my son is a good judge of character.  Yes, he's only ten,
but believe me he is no ordinary boy.  And that's not a mother's love
speaking."

"I believe you."

"So I will tell you. I am terminal."  I suspected, but it still hit me
like a punch to the gut.  "I have maybe 6 months, maybe more and maybe
less."

"I'm so sorry to hear that.  Are they sure?"

She waved her hand, dismissing my condolences.  "They are sure.  I am
sure."  She began pouring two cups of coffee.  "How do you take it?"

"Black is fine," I replied.  She handed me a mug and I sipped at it.
"So does Adam have any family here?"

She sighed.  "No.  And if I didn't know better, Adam has been shopping
for a father."  The thought hadn't crossed my mind. She interrupted my
thoughts by asking, "So what are your intentions with Adam?"  She was as
direct as her son.

"I... I don't know," I stumbled.  "I hadn't really thought of it, to be
perfectly honest."

"To be perfectly honest," she inquired "with me?  Or with yourself?"


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To be continued...
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