Message-ID: <014353Z10071995@anon.penet.fi>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
From: an166744@anon.penet.fi
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Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
Reply-To: an166744@anon.penet.fi
Date: Mon, 10 Jul 1995 01:42:16 UTC
Subject: THE PURCHASE (m/b, not explicit)
Lines: 398

THE PURCHASE    (man/boy, not explicit)


Hi, I guess this one doesn't need the standard disclaimer although it
is definitly aimed at mature readers. Is that you?

Not your usual stuff on a.s.s.

I did not write this. I'm posting it for somebody else. Hope you like
it. Send comments to Debonair, an166744@anon.penet.fi


"The Purchase"   written by BASE.               (06/95)


                        THE PURCHASE
                          By Base


   It was like a freight train was coming on, growing louder and more
violent with each breath.  The walls shook and the furniture
rattled. The roof seemed like it was dancing on the four walls. I
looked out of my window over the long lake.  There, on the far
side, a hideous pall of clouds seemed to descend, desecrating the
pure surface. I had never seen one before, but I knew what it was.
A twister! an immense funnel of fury scouring the lake.  I heard it
make landfall, slamming into ancient trees, pushing them over like
a child's dominos.  The shore seemed to screech with anguish as the
angry storm ravaged the earth.  A small, terrified boy was huddled
in the far corner of the room, crying and looking about wildly.  I
ran to him, scooped him into my arms and tried to ease his
trembling.  He buried his face in my chest and howled.  The entire
cabin shook and death rose like a sinister shadow dominating the
airless room.  I fell hopelessly in love with the boy.  The pitch
of the storm suddenly changed, and I knew it was moving off.  I
kissed the child's yellow hair and hugged him dearly.  I woke with
a start, recollecting nothing of the strange dream.

   The old cabin was musty and the fire had long ago turned the sweet
apple wood logs to gray ashes.  The smell of the burned wood still
clung to the stale air from the night before.  I poked my head out
of the front door and greeted the new day jo fully. AH!! clean
mountain air!  A sweet, virgin atmosphere, breathed for the very
first time. It was better than coffee. Instantly, I felt alert and
freshened.  But then again, it was a strange morning.  The long
lake was eerily calm. The sun peeked in and out of high clouds,
mutely. `Where are the birds this morning'?  I wondered.  Usually,
the woods around my cabin were filled with delightful birdsongs.
Not so that morning.  The woods were deathly silent. I looked
distrustfully at the gentle sky.

   I heard a soft splash, and then I saw him.  Fishing quietly, with a
bit of nylon line and a twig for a bobbin.  A magnificent, beautiful
boy, with dark hair.  From a distance, he looked perhaps ten or
eleven years old. I forgot about the missing birds.  This child
instantly captivated all my being.  The only creatures I adore more
than birds are little boys.  I rushed back into my cabin, raced
through a shower, shaved, brushed my teeth and combed my hair.  Geez,
I didn't want to scare the boy!  He was still fishing, peacefully,
enjoying the quiet sunshine and pure morning air, when I reached the
lake shore.  He turned when he heard my foot steps rustle the dry
leaves.  His face nearly bowled me over.  The boy was ravishingly
beautiful.  His blue, nearly violet eyes and straight black hair were
almost surreal.  And his freckles were like the foot prints of
angels.  I'd never seen such a beautiful creature in all my life. The
boy was worshipful.

"Hey mister!"  He squeaked.

"Good morning, little Sir!" I sang to him. "Whats for breakfast?"

"Aw, nothin' yet" he answered in a disappointed tone.  "Not even a nibble"

`C'mere kid, I'll nibble on ya' was what I thought.  But "Ah, its early
yet, the fish'll be along any time now" was what I said.

   Now, it occurred to me, something didn't make sense.  This adorable
child looked awfully dirty and unkept.  He was dressed in a tattered
gray tee shirt and stained blue jeans that were obviously too big
for him. And where were his parents?  No one else lived in the area,
not for miles, so what was this boy doing here??  How'd he get so
far out in the wilderness??  Well, I  HAD to ask.

"Where's your folks little one?" I queried, through a yawn.

"About a mile thata way.." he said pointing vaguely northward.  "Ain't got
no Mom.  Dad an' I drove up last night and camped out. He don't get up
till late...I saw this lake from the hill top and figured I'd catch myself
breakfast."

"Oh, I see!" I said greatly amused. "And now it looks like you're gonna
be hungry till lunch!" The kid smiled, but sadly.  I realized then that
the boy was really hungry.  I felt a tug on my heart strings.


"Hey, why don't we give the fish a break and I'll make ya some bacon and
eggs. Would ya like that??"

   The kid's eyes lit up like I had just offered to take him to Disney Land

"With maple syrup??" he asked, getting all excited.

"Sure thing, kiddo, anything ya like."

   I was formulating a few ideas for condiments myself when suddenly the
kid dropped his line into the water, unabashedly wrapped his arms
around my middle and hugged me like I was his favorite teddy bear. He
caught me totally off guard. I hadn't expected this outpouring of
affection for just the promise of a meal. `I must be dreaming' I
thought `It couldn't be this easy.'

   The boy's name was Douggie, and as it turned out, he was 13 years
old. He was really small for his age and there wasn't a hint of
puberty in his face or voice.  There wasn't even a hair on his arms
or legs.  I'm no professional, but in some ways he kid acted more
like a eight year old than a teenager.  For one thing, he was far
too affectionate for a boy his age.  And I don't mean sexual
affection either.  The boy just wanted to be touched and cuddled.
Teens don't go for that, at least not from adults, especially
strangers.  Well, every time I gave the kid another strip of bacon
or poured more syrup on his plate, he'd want a hug and then he'd
giggle, laugh and pet my arm.  We practically held hands throughout
breakfast. Very strange.  Now, I'll be honest, okay.  I thought the
kid was adorable from the second I laid eyes on him and wanted
nothing in the world more than to suck on his little cocktail
weenier and watch the looks of astonished rhapsody erupt over his
freckly face.  But there was absolutely nothing sexual about our
physical contact that morning.  The kid was just starved for
affection.  Anyway, Douggie and I finished our meal and I was sure
the kid would want to hurry back to his Dad.  In fact, I had been
trying to think of excuses to delay the boy.   But nothing of the
kind was necessary.  The kid seemed to have absolutely no intention
of leaving.  We watched TV together for a while and Douggie got
comfortable, stretching out on the couch.  Now, the kid was grungy,
so much so that I had concerns about my furniture being stained.  I
could have offered the kid a bath, but aside from my own selfish
reasons, I couldn't think of what good it would do the boy.  He'd
just have to crawl back into the same filthy rags. I had no cloths
that could possibly have fit him. So I just enjoyed his company,
laughed at Yosemite Sam and Daffy Duck with him, and watched his
freckles dance.  Let me tell you, it doesn't take long to fall in
love.

   It must have been getting close to noon before I started to worry.
The kid's Dad HAD to be wondering where his son was.  Heck, if this
were my kid, I'd have had the State Troopers out looking for him
already.  But the kid seemed totally unconcerned.  Finally, I
brought the issue up.

"Hey, Douggie, don't you think you owe it to your Dad to at least let
him know where you are."

"Hu?" he said, pretending not to understand.

"Ya know, the guy you send father's day cards to...with the food every
day...DAD!!"

"Oh" the boy said dryly.

"Yeah, maybe he's up by now. It don't matter though. Whenever I get
back, I'm gonna catch it."

"Catch it??" I said, without comprehension.

"Ya know, catch a beatin'"

   My heart stopped in my breast.

"You mean your Dad hits you??"

"Hell yeah, especially when he's sober..which isn't often."

   I was speechless.  My tongue felt like it was tied to the roof of my mouth.

"Thats what all Dad's do, ain't it?"

"NO!" I almost shouted. "Dad's don't hit their sons just like that" I
said, the disgust in voice was hard to conceal.

"How often does he hit you?"

"A few times a day I guess. Especially in the morning.  But he's usually
sloshed by the afternoon, so its not so bad."

"A few times a day!!!" I shouted.

"Yeah, but he only hits until I cry and then he stops...until the next
time he gets mad."

   I felt the anger just building inside of me, like steam in a pressure
cooker. I'm not a little guy.  In fact, I'm young strong and in shape and
I couldn't wait to meet Dougie's father.

"Lets go see your Dad now Dougie..take me to him."

   The kid's face turned pale.

"Oh No...NOOO!  He'll get real mad.  He'll hit me. He'll really hit me. And
then he'll hit you."

   I kneeled down in front of the terrified boy.

"Do you love your Dad, Douggie?"

"Sure I do" the boy said unconvincingly. His eyes began to fill with tears.
"least ways he's all I got since my Mom died. I ain't got nobody else."

"Look Dougie.  I know you don't know me, but do you trust me a little?"

   The kid looked deeply into my eyes.  He shook his frightened head up
and down.

   "Good. Then listen to me.  No one is allowed to hit you. Not even our
Dad, see?  You're a beautiful boy and any real man would cherish you.
Your Dad isn't right in his head if he treats you like that.  I won't
let him hit you again.  And I'm not afraid of him.  Believe me, I won't
let him hit either of us, okay??"

   The boy looked at me dubiously.

"But what if he..."

"You don't worry about that.....you let me worry about `what if'

"Just take me to your Dad, okay? I promise everything will be alright"

"You sure?"

"Very sure"

   I was hardly surprised by what I found.  A beaten up old station
wagon and a fat drunk, already pulling at a can of beer. He was
filthy, half naked and stank of booze. Perhaps he was forty years
old.  He didn't look a thing like Douggie.  A small fire was
burning, the only evidence of effort on the man's part.  He looked
meanly at the boy as we appeared out of the woods.

"You!...where have you..." He began. But then, he saw me. "Hey, man,
what you doin' with my boy?" he asked.

"Dad, this is my friend.." Douggie began sheepishly

"We ain't go no extra food" he said.

"I'm not hungry" I assured him.

"An' why you bringing strange people here....I oughta.."

   He raised his hand to the boy.  Douggie ran behind my legs.

"I don't think that would be a good idea" I said calmly.

   The drunk pulled up short.  He eyed me more carefully.  Beating up
a helpless little boy was one thing, but he didn't have the belly to
tangle with me.

"Thats MY boy." He slurred. "Got his birth certificate right in the car".

  I could hardly conceal the utter repugnance in my face.  The boy
trembled behind me.

"I don't care if you're Jesus Christ.  You're not gonna hit the boy
again" I was nearly snarling.

   "Hey man, whats it to you..." Then the drunk smiled an evil smile.
"Oh..I get it." he said gleefully "You like him. Yeah, lots of guys
like him, man.  He's real pretty....Fifty bucks and he'll do what ever
you want..right boy?" the child didn't answer

"RIGHT BOY?!" The drunk yelled.

"Right Dad" Douggie squeaked.

   I though I would throw up.  I had never wanted to kill another human
being in my life, but this thing in front of me had small claim to that
title.  Hell, it would have taken me less than ten minutes to squeeze
the life out of him and dump him in th lake.  It would be the best
thing for his son and probably for him too.  But then, like a
bulldozer, the gravity of his proposition slammed into my soul. An all
too familiar voice whispered in my head  `Fifty bucks!  Geez, this
drunk doesn't even know what he's got.  I'd pay a few hundred for half
an hour with this kid.' All at once, as I stared at this vile bit of
human flesh in front of me, a hideous parade marched before my mind's
eye.  All those trips to Germany, all those magazines I'd found
shopping in secret places in the City, the GIFS and JPG's on the net,
all of it,  flashed in my brain.  `Oh God...sweet Jesus save me.  What
have I become'  This drunk in front of me....how much difference was
there really between him and I?.  And in my breast, an instinct, more
powerful than the sex drive stirred, as if for the very first time.

"Ten thousand" I said.

   The drunk just stared at me, astonished, for a few seconds digesting
my offer.

"Ten grand for the boy..??" he asked in an incredulous whisper.

"That's right"  I pulled out my wallet. I always keep a spare check in
my bill fold and showed it to him.

"Man, you must like him alot or maybe you know some one who'll pay more."

"Thats my business"

   The drunk turned, stalled as if he were thinking it over, but then
reached through the open window, into the glove compartment of the car.
He pulled out a tattered bit of paper, unfolded it and held it up for
display.  It was the boy's birth certificate.

"How do I know that check is any good?" he asked.

"How do I know that birth certificate is any good?" I countered.

"Hey, its got the seal and no father's name on it" he said, pointing to
the blank line.

"Well, my check has got MY name on it.  It's good." I said.

   The drunk smiled at me sinfully.  I wasn't sure if I was going to
heaven or hell for this little purchase.

"Looks like we gotta trust each other" he said.

"Not very far.  Its a local bank...just up the road" I said, writing
out the check.

   We made the exchange and the drunk immediately climbed into his car
and started the engine.  The roar seemed to profane the quite woods.

"G'bye Da.." the boy squeaked pitifully. I turned to him.  God help me.
It was all so callously negotiated right in front of the child.  Tears were
rolling down his sweet face.

"Take good care of my boy, Man." The drunk laughed as he sped away into
a cloud of dust.

   Douggie grabbed hold of my legs desperately.  I reached down and
hugged him. He was trembling. `God, what must this poor boy be
feeling'? I thought. `Fear? Relief? Abandonment? Anger? All at
once'? I knelt down in front of the boy and wiped the tears from his
cheeks.

"Are you gonna be my Dad now?" he asked pathetically.

"I love you Douggie.  I'd love to be your Dad if you'll have me." I
said softly.

   The boy looked at me dubiously.

"I never had a Dad who loves me before"

"Well, ya got one now...forever." I assured him.

   But the boy backed away, like he needed time to think.  Hell, I had
just shelled out ten grand...why wasn't this kid rushing into my arms
thanking me profusely??


"Are you gonna hit me? or sell me?" he asked. "Or make me do things...."

   I felt nauseous again.

"Oh God, no Douggie.  no, no, NO.  I swear. NO."

   The boy began to cry.  His tears were like some heretical rain.

"`Cause I don't wanna do things like that anymore...it hurts so bad..."
he wept.

   The child's sobs were like battering rams on my heart.  Was this the
same little boy who had been so affectionate with me, seemed so happy
and naive, only a few hours ago? But I was "Dad" now. And "Dad" had
done horrible things to him.  So much had hanged in just a few moments
and I realized that I had a lot to make up for. `God' I prayed
silently `make me an instrument..' I pulled out my wallet, whipped out
my gold American Express card and flashed it in front of the boy.

"Wanna meet Mickey Mouse, kiddo?"


                           The End












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