Date: Sat, 28 Apr 2012 17:53:34 -0600
From: michaelpete@hushmail.com
Subject: Where There's a Will Chap II

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how they are able to continue their great work. Ten bucks is fine though
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Be advised that in the following one will find graphic sexual depiction
between minors and minors and adults. The story is fiction but based mostly
though not entirely on real characters, events, places and situations.
There is no relationship between the names used and that of any real
person. Send comments to michaelpete@hushmail.com.

Michael Peterson


CHAPTER II

VISITOR


Minutes after Kevin's car pulled away from the front, there was a light
rapping on the rear door of the house. I knew before looking who it would
be. Two voices in my brain battled over whether he should be allowed
in. 'In' won because keeping him out might cause more problems than a
refusal. And, of course, there was that save the child business.

"You gotta let me stay heah a couple days, okay?" was what he said as he
pushed past me into the kitchen. He wearing the same clothes I'd seen him
in Tuesday and Saturday at the Walmart. There was a ragged but full
knapsack on his back.

I followed him into the living room. He stopped and asked, "Wheah'mah gonna
sleep?"

I took a breath and suggested, "We need to talk first."

"Don' worry yo'self none. Ah ain' gonna say nothin' 'bout you. You jus'
gotta let me stay heah fo' a couple days is all. Ah got money so ah kin pay
fo' mah own food."

"Mikey, that's?."

"Don' go callin' me Mikey. It ain' mah name."

"So what do I call you?"

He frowned and shrugged his shoulders. Some of the previous hardness was
gone. It wasn't that he looked like a vulnerable little waif, There was
more a combination of fear and frustration behind a façade of toughness.

"So wheah'm ah gonna sleep? Heah?" He nodded toward the sofa.

"In the guest bedroom but first we have to talk."

"What? Mac's daed. So what. Ah'm, shit, what?"

"You're not shit. And how do you know Mac's dead?"

"Don' worry. Ah jes' know."

"All right. He probably is. Please sit down and try to relax a little. You
can stay here and I'll take care of you."

"Ah don' need nobody takin' cayeh a me!" he snapped and stood up.

"Okay, okay, relax."

"So wheah'm ah gonna sleep?"

I led him upstairs to the guest bedroom. As he passed through the door by
me, there was that unwashed smell again. What kind of hold had Mac had on
him that he didn't have to share the booty?

There was only a spread on the bed so I pulled sheets and a pillow case out
of the closet to make it up. He sat in the chair by the dresser staring
down at hands tucked between his thighs and waited silently.

I debated telling him about the police visit but decided he didn't need any
more worries. I did suggest, "You need to stay away from the windows and?"

"Ya think ah don' know that?"

"All right. The bathroom's?."

"Ah know wheah it is, 'membuh?" There was nothing friendly in his voice.

He said he was going to sleep and that he could make his own breakfast in
the morning. As I was walking out he said quietly but not meekly, "Ya'll
kin blow me if'n ya want."

It wasn't an unexpected remark. I answered, "I don't think that's a good
idea right now. Let's talk in the morning."

He shrugged his shoulders and took off his knapsack. I closed the door
quietly and walked back downstairs. Sleep wasn't on my mind.

Sitting didn't do me any good either so I walked back and forth from the
kitchen to the living room trying to figure out what to do. The boy,
whatever his name, was probably a runaway, likely had been for some time,
perhaps, unlikely as it had seemed to me, actually living on the
streets. If he left in a day or two as promised, he'd probably disappear
from my life forever meaning there'd be no legal repercussions. The police
had nothing they could lock me up for. That, of course, if they didn't find
the boy in my house, or at all. It didn't seem likely they'd have his real
name or a picture though it was possible one of the other victims, if there
were others, would provide a good description. His long hair was a thing of
the seventies, not the twenty-first century, at least not yet. Nonetheless,
even if caught on the streets, the boy didn't seem the type to volunteer
any information, especially since he'd been involved in a serious
felony. There'd be nothing to tie him to the day's events, unless, of
course, one of the other victims was as dense as Mac and identified him.

There was a potential problem in the future. Big money was available suing
former 'abusers' but, under the circumstances, there was too much baggage
that went along with making the charge. I was working out scenarios he
could invent to cover his participation in what had gone on when he
appeared on the stairs, naked and wearing a hard on.

"C'mon, Harry. Blow me."

My frame of mind at that moment made it easy to suggest he try
masturbation.

"Ah already done that an' it din' work. C'mon. You like it. 'n' ah tole you
ah ain' gonna say nothin'."

"Look, son, I am?"

"Don' call me son neither. Blow me 'r I'm gonna go stan' in a winduh jes'
like this." He held his arms out.

I wondered for a moment if he would actually do it, decided he wouldn't and
shook my head..

"Shit! You'll see." He walked quickly back up the stairs.

I began to worry that maybe he was erratic enough to do it. His door
closed. I took off my shoes and walked up the stairs. No light shone under
his door.

It took half an hour for me to get myself into bed, who knows how long to
finally fall asleep. What woke me up not much later was a pair of lips
around my cock. It was a strange sensation. The boy I envisioned wasn't the
kid there in my house but a child actor from an old television show. I
wasn't sure why he was there. When I reached for him, warm flesh
transformed the illusion to reality. The dream raised himself over my face
and pushed its erection down toward my mouth. It hit my chin first. He
reached back, felt for my lips and pulled my chin down. I was under his
control. There were no negative thoughts in my brain. The sensation in my
groin was irresistible. My dick stiffened inside his mouth. His slid over
my tongue, the unwashed taste strangely welcome.

He fucked my mouth slowly and moved his mouth up and down on me in time. I
lightly embraced his rising and falling buns. His was a wonderfully formed
sucking cock with a soft puffed out underside and hard sides and top. The
foreskin had fallen back below the head. There seemed to be a genuine bone
inside the soft flesh at the tip.

His hands gripped the back of my thighs. He sucked hard on the head of my
cock each time he reached it then managed to take in nearly all of me, stay
there for a moment with his tongue and cheeks caressing my shaft, before
drifting back up. He did the same with his cock in and out of my mouth,
staying deep inside after each thrust, then lifting back up.

His cock seemed ready to burst but that's the way it always got. Mine,
however, was nearly there. Then, as his lips reached to base of my organ,
there was no stopping it. There was a quickly passing thought to withdraw
but my body wouldn't allow it. My sperm shot into the back of his mouth.

Rather snap his head back, he stayed where he was and pumped harder into my
mouth. I felt his ass cheeks harden. His thrusting became almost
bouncing. His pubic bone banged against my upper lip. Then he stopped, his
cock pulsing powerfully.

Neither of us moved for a minute or so. His throbbing went on though
slowing gradually. My cock convulsed occasionally, briefly shaking my
middle. He pulled me onto my side, careful to keep himself pressed into my
mouth. One thigh went up and came to rest on the side of my head. One arm
draped over my ass and hugged it to him. My dick deflated but he kept it
inside his mouth, sucking gently or nudging it every once in a while with
his tongue.

Once or twice, he tugged on my ass or pushed his middle at my face but,
within a couple of minutes, I felt his mouth open and heard the heavy
breathing of sleep.

It took a while, but the boy's penis finally began to deflate though it
couldn't slide out of my mouth with his leg over my head holding him in
place against me. I was far too content being able to hold a boy close,
fondle his buns, and slosh his cock around in my mouth to push him off
me. I stayed like that for easily an hour but the need to sleep eventually
overtook my passion. I gently lifted his smooth thigh off my face and fell
asleep against him, my one hand holding onto his leg.

He awakened me in the morning the same way he had hours earlier, with the
same result. The only difference took place a few minutes after he'd
cum. Without a word, he got up and walked out of the room. I watched his
buns go out the door.

Wouldn't it be wonderful, I thought, to have a boy like that living with me
forever.

Mikey or who knew what went downstairs, still naked, and prepared a
breakfast of scrambled eggs and cheese omelet along with four pieces of
toast with peanut butter. He drank milk instead of juice.

I said, "Good morning" but his reply was only a nod.

I made myself the same thing substituting jelly for peanut butter and
drinking a tall glass of orange juice.

When I sat across from him to eat, he picked up his plate, went into the
living room and turned on the TV.

It made for a morose meal. I sought ways to communicate with the boy, maybe
even find out what name to call him. How could he, I pondered, swallow two
loads of my sperm and not speak to me? Was he that much of a prostitute, or
male nymphomaniac as Kevin suggested? Nothing outside his oral ability
indicated he might be gay. Did he see that part of our sex as payment for
mine, or his lodging?

Leaving my dishes in the sink, I went into the living room. He was sitting
on the sofa, his knees pulled up under his chin, his preadolescent scrotum
hanging out over the soft blue edge of the cushion, his eyes fixed on a
child's Sunday morning cartoon show.

I sat in my easy chair and stared at him. The warmth of his smooth boy body
was offset by the coolness of his half shut eyes. There didn't seem to be
an iota of emotion in them. He didn't even smile at the funnier parts of
the Tom and Jerry cartoon.

When the commercial came on, I asked, "Would you like a blanket or
something? It's kind of cool in here right now."

He pushed out his bottom lip and shook his head.

I decided our need to talk overrode any anger he'd have over the television
being temporarily turned off. He frowned and leaned back, dropping his legs
to the floor. I half expected him to get up and leave the room.

"What?" he said with a bored expression.

"Do you have a family somewhere?"

He nodded no.

"Where will you go when you leave here?"

Shoulder shrug, more bored expression.

"Can you at least give me a name to call you?"

He sighed and said, "Jackie, but it's not my real name."

"You don't trust me at all, do you?"

No answer or indication.

"All right. As you know, I'm a boy lover. That means I am able to care for
a boy, you, and that you can trust me completely." I felt stupid saying
that. "All right, you've probably heard that before but in my case you can
pretty much believe it because if I say or do anything against you, it
could put me in prison."

He nodded to that.

"I've got to guess you've had a pretty crappy life, not much happiness. I'm
not sure I can change that but I'd like to try. You're only eleven?"

"Twelve."

"All right, twelve, so there's time to get your life straightened
out. There are foster parents, for example, who are very loving and raise
kids like their own."

He smirked, shook his head and muttered a dragged out "Sheeut"..

"Okay, maybe not that many but there are some. I'm not sure how, but maybe
I could help you find someone decent who really does care."

"Kin ah watch TV?"

"Jackie, c'mon, let's talk. Do you want to keep living like you have been?"

"Yeah! So can I watch TV?"

I handed him back the control. Up came the bare knees, out flopped the cock
and balls.

As I was leaving the room, I turned and said, "I care what happens to
you. You can make me prove it if you want."

Kevin called around midday.

"How you feeling today?"

"I have no idea."

"Read the paper?"

That snapped my mind to. "No. Let me go get it and I'll call you back."

I rushed out then had to look for it. The paper delivery man had teens
tossing newspapers out of the back of a seventies station wagon.  They
didn't pay much attention to where they landed. Mine was in my neighbor's
briar bushes that separated our yards.

I pulled out the comics and handed them to the boy. He forgot the TV,
leaned forward, laid them out on the coffee table and, chin in hand, paged
through.

The headline on the main local news page read, 'Murder Suicide Leaves Two
Dead'. According to the reporter, extortion of some kind, possibly over
sex, was responsible. It gave the names, Mac's was James R. McElhenny,
along with addresses and had both Mac's and Jones' driver's license photos
along with a picture of the Jones house with police all over.

It mentioned that, although it hadn't been officially released, there were
reports that police had recovered information from the shooting victim's
body that had led to the sex extortion theory. I was sure it was some sort
of notebook, the old little black book, containing my name and address
along with those of others and possibly something about amounts paid.

There was no mention of Jones' past with boys.

I occasionally glanced over at my guest. He looked at each strip end to end
but swiftly, too swiftly to be reading the speech balloons. Perhaps he
couldn't read. For sure he wasn't in school at that time, maybe never had
been though it was hard to believe that in 2006 a boy could actually be out
on his own so much that he'd escaped a year or two in a classroom. Where
had this boy been living all these years? He acted as though he'd been
through some unpleasant foster home experiences. There was an obvious lack
of trust, even dislike of adults. He'd been gruff with me even though he
cherished the sex I provided.

I called Kevin back, not mentioning that I had a guest over a telephone
line that could well have been tapped. He didn't answer. The reason became
obvious when he pulled up out front fifteen minutes later.

"Jackie," I said to the boy, "a friend of mine is here. You better go
upstairs until he leaves."

"Just say you don' wan' nobody in heah nayow."

"He's my best friend. I can't do that."

"He give blow jobs too?" he asked as though it was a job qualification
query.

"No," I lied. "Now, go on up, quickly, and don't make any noise. He'll be
here for an hour or two. Take the comics with you if you want."

He paused for a moment, grabbed up the comics and walked upstairs slowly
and deliberately. I watched his backside cheeks all the way up and out of
sight then turned off the TV and waited for his door to close before
letting Kevin in. I was still unsure if I should admit the boy was in the
house. That was when I remembered the extra set of dishes in the kitchen
sink.

"So, what do you think?" Kevin asked as he sat on the sofa, right where the
boy had been.

I sat in my easy chair watching for any curious expression. "Other than
names and addresses, the paper's only got what we heard on TV
yesterday. And we know what the cops found on Mac's body, well, most of
it."

Kevin looked toward the dining room and kitchen then held his hand about
four feet off the floor and raised his eyebrows. I knew what he was asking
and nodded. The sofa I rarely used was warm where Kevin had been sitting. I
held up my finger for silence. There was a definite possibility the boy was
listening, may have been hidden at the top of the stairs, probably still
naked.

Kevin took a breath and wiped his brow. "So, I take it the boys in blue
haven't called.

I shook my head.

"Difficult time for a decent conversation."

I nodded assent, completely unsure what we could talk about under the
circumstances. "I gotta go to the bathroom. Be right back."

I walked quietly toward the stairs listening for any sounds from above. The
kid tried to get back into his room quietly but was too slow closing the
door. I followed him in. He hadn't dressed.

"Just put on your clothes and come on down. My friend knows a lot of what's
happened. He doesn't know we actually did anything. I told him we
didn't. He was here last night when the police came by looking for you."

Jackie, or Mikey, looked up sharply. "Cops wuz heah lookin' fo' me?"

"We think Mac had my name and address in his pocket when they found
him. Look, we need to talk. I don't know what you know about what happened
yesterday. If you like, I'll read you the story in the newspaper then tell
you what the cops said last night and what I said to them. So put some
clothes on and come on down. Just don't say anything about sex in front of
my friend. Like I said, he doesn't know about that."

I left him standing there with one hand around his balls.

It only took him a few seconds to put on a tee shirt and pants. He came to
us barefoot, just like he lived there.

I introduced him as Jackie. He frowned at that but shook Kevin's hand. My
fat friend was kind enough to make the contact brief even though I know
he'd loved to have hung on longer.

I picked up the newspaper and looked to the boy. He gave his standard
shoulder shrug. Sitting on the sofa with room enough for him to sit beside
me, I read it slowly beginning to end. He remained standing against the arm
of the sofa until I held up the paper for him to see the photos. He didn't
sit but put one knee up on the cushion to get closer.

"Last night when the police came, they accused me of having sex with boys
but they were just guessing, maybe because Mr. Jones had a record or maybe
Mac but they seemed to think that sort of thing was going on and Mac was
blackmailing Mr. Jones and me over it. They knew I'd given Mac a lot of
money. I might have to go to the police station and give a statement but
maybe not. If I do, I'm going to get a lawyer to go along and advise me
what to say. The most I will say is that some boy came here from the
Walmart supposedly to help me with the groceries and do some work here so
he could earn some money. Then Mac came in and told the boy to undress
while he held a gun on me. Mac then said the boy would tell the police we'd
had sex unless I paid him twenty-five thousand dollars. I'll tell them the
only name I have for the boy is Norman, unless you have a better idea, and
that I have no idea where the boy or Mac live. I can say I assumed the boy
lived with Mac but I didn't know his or Mac's name or where they came from
until the story on the television and the newspaper article. That sound
okay to you?"

Another shoulder shrug. Then, "How cum they knowed 'bout you?"

"It looks like Mac had a notebook and he wrote everything down."

That seemed to bother Jackie so I added, "But they don't know whether there
was one boy or several. They said 'boys' when they were here so I'm sure
they don't have your name or anything about you. Were you living with Mac?"

He shook his head.

"But you went to his house a few times?"

Shoulder shrug.

"Well, if the neighbors saw you they might get a description, and figure
out there was only one boy. Did they, the neighbors see you?"

Shoulder shrug.

"So, is what I'm gonna say to the police okay with you? Is there anything
that might cause you trouble?"

Shoulder shrug.

"C'mon, Jackie. I want to know what you think. Is there anything in what I
said that could be a problem for you?"

"I's okay, but ah ain' gonna be heah when ya'll go ta the cops."

"That's probably a good idea but you can come back tomorrow night if you
want, just not before about eight or nine. I want you to come back."

The boy pursed his lips and said nothing. I could feel Kevin cringing at
the thought.

Kevin volunteered to go out for lunch. "Whatta you two want?"

I suggested pizza.

For the first time since I'd known the boy, there was a brief look of
enthusiasm, a very brief one, then, "Okay."

Apparently, he liked pizza.

I tried to speak to Jackie while Kevin was out but it was all one
way. After a few attempts at getting him to tell me what his plans were, he
asked to turn the TV back on. Then, out of the blue, the control in his
hand and pointed at the television, he calmly stated, "You lied. That fat
guy's a fag too. If ah asted 'im ta blow me, ah bet 'e would. Home cum ah
cain't stay at 'is house tamorruh?"

I was about to say he was wrong when I realized he was actually asking
permission, not demanding or threatening. I sat at the far end of the sofa
from him. "Why do you think he likes boys?"

"Ah jes' know," he replied with a slight haughtiness.

"Well, unfortunately, he's got to go to work but he probably would let you
stay with him if he was going to be home and it would be fine with me. Do
you have someplace safe to go during the day tomorrow?" I had a very strong
desire to to take him into my arms. "If you like, I can meet you somewhere
after I speak with the police and we can spend the afternoon and evening
together someplace away from here then come back at night."

"Ah got sum place." He turned on the television but moved from channel to
channel far too rhythmically to have been paying it any attention.

Kevin managed to take the better part of an hour to get back with a large
pizza. The boy gobbled his, obviously enjoying every bite he was able to
down until a full tummy forced him to stop. I wrapped the last two slices
in aluminum foil and put them in the refrigerator for later.

With my guest watching television, Kevin and I sat in the kitchen. My
friend was concerned the police were going to find the boy with me. "Harry,
I know you. You're getting attached to that kid but I hope you realize he's
not getting attached to you. This is one really dangerous situation, one
very dangerous kid. You've got to be realistic. Let him go tomorrow. Give
him some money, a few hundred dollars and he'll probably leave the area. He
gets found with you and, even if he says nothing was going on, they'll
convict you of something, maybe even kidnapping. No matter what, you'll go
to prison and if you get out, and that's a big if, you'll go on the sex
registry, probably have to go into one of those really nasty therapy
programs and never be able to get a decent job again. I know guys on that
list. It's the pits. It's what keeps me from getting anywhere near kids."

"He says he knows you're a BL but that's probably just because you're my
friend."

"Maybe, but he caught me looking at him a couple of times. The kid's no
dummy. He's probably been with a lot of different guys. He tell you
anything about where he's been living?"

"Nothing but I think he's been on the streets, on the run, maybe living
with different guys like you said, maybe BL's, maybe others. He's not
ematiated or anything so he's been eating fairly well, maybe money from
Mac. He can't read so he's probably never been to school meaning he hasn't
been in any homes for more than a few days or weeks at a time. He says he
has no family and maybe that's true.

"Last night, after I turned him down for sex like three times, he waited
until I was asleep them sneaked into my bed and started blowing me until I
did him too. Took my cum down his throat, and again this morning. He's
experienced and I suspect he's not gay or anything but who knows. Maybe he
is. Maybe he just does men so they'll do him, or, well maybe, it's the only
way he knows to get some kind of physical closeness with someone, comfort.

"Christ! Poor kid. He won't allow any other closeness. He won't even talk
to me."

"Harry! Listen to yourself. You're getting attached like I said. Stop
it. You're gonna end up in jail. Back off. Let him go. That kid scares the
shit out of me. He oughta be doing the same to you."

Kevin was right to fear the boy, more so about the riskiness of my having
him right there in my house when cops had already been knocking on the
door. I steeled myself to give him all the cash I had before light in the
early morning and let him go.

Kevin left, leaving me alone with a boy who seemed more and more in
desperate need of my help. I made sandwiches for the evening meal but he
wanted the two remaining slices of pizza in the refrigerator. I heated them
up in the microwave. They, along with a glass of milk, seemed to satisfy
his hunger. There wasn't much in the way of conversation. I tried to get
him to open up several times but was completely unsuccessful. When I asked
him where he planned to go the next day, he just insisted he knew where to
go. I didn't ask him if he would be back.

"Do you need any money?"

"Nah, Ah got plenny."

I hadn't thought to ask him if he knew what had happened to the tens of
thousands of dollars he and Mac had collected. I'd just assumed that Mac
had taken charge of it and, with him dead, it was lost to the boy. His
bursting full knapsack popped into my mind.

"You aren't carrying some of the money you got from me and the others, are
you?"

He frowned.

"My God, son. If anyone figures out what you're carrying, you could get
killed, or at least hurt badly."

"Ah kin take caeah a mahself."

"Not with that kind of cash you can't. How much are you carrying?"

He looked down at his toes. "Nuff fo' me."

"Have you counted it? Do you know how much there is?"

He looked up sharply. "Ah kin cayunt money."

There it was. He probably couldn't get past a hundred if that, had no idea
how much he had, hadn't understood the huge numbers Mac had been
demanding. It was probably one way Mac had been deceiving him. I felt I had
to do something. At some point out somewhere, maybe in front of others,
he'd be going into his knapsack and pulling out stacks of cash. Or he'd be
paying for things, food most likely, with hundred dollar bills. Whatever or
wherever, it was going to attract the wrong kind of attention. A terrible
self serving thought passed through my mind, bothering me instantly for
thinking it. If he were to be killed for his money, I'd be completely out
of danger.

That wasn't something I could be part of.

"Look, I'm not interested in getting my money back. I just want to see how
much there is and see if there is some way you can protect yourself. Maybe
I can get you smaller bills, hide some of the money for you, I don't know
but, believe me, carrying around large amounts of cash and trying to use
hundred dollar bills is going to get you hurt if not killed, and you'll
lose all the money. Come on upstairs with me if you want. I'm only going to
count it right now, nothing else."

I expected a flat out refusal to allow me to touch his things but he stood,
followed me up the stairs and into his room. The knapsack was sitting
beside the bed. From its appearance, he must have had one hell of a time
zipping it closed. Considering the condition of the thing, it was
surprising it hadn't started to pull apart.

I was careful opening it. Fortunately, it had a good quality zipper. Inside
were dirty clothes including the torn shirt and threadbare pants I'd first
seen him wearing. Under the clothing was money, lots of it, certainly tens
of thousands of dollars. I guessed they must have gotten to at least four
of us. The boy sat on the bed as I laid stacks of bills out on the
floor. That and the counting took the better part of an hour. He was
carrying eighty-four thousand six hundred and forty dollars, all but eleven
hundred and forty in hundred dollar bills, a death sentence were the wrong
street person to learn of it.

I told him how much was there. It didn't appear that he had any concept of
the enormity of the sum.

"You kin have yers if'n ya want." I think he remembered the manila envelope
he'd received and expected me to take out a relatively small amount. And,
it was the first even remotely kind thing, that wasn't part of the original
con, he had uttered since we'd known each other.

"I'd love to but it's almost a third, well, let me show you." I separated
twenty-five thousand dollars out from the rest. "It's a lot."

He stared at the money and shrugged his shoulders. "It's okay."

I looked into his face hoping to discern something of his real attitude,
the real motivation for his generosity. What I saw, or seemed to see, was
resignation. Or was it defeat? Did he expect to be robbed, hurt, killed?
Wish for it?

I went to the bed and sat near him though leaving space between us. I'd
have loved to put my arm around him but didn't believe he'd accept
it. Physical closeness with this boy was reserved, it would seem, for sex.

"You know, this kind of money could put you through school, private
school. I'd consider it a good investment if what you and Mac got from me
was used for that, I mean, I think it would be very well used and for
something a lot more important than anything I'd use it for."

It didn't seem I was getting through.

"If you were to live in some kind of good foster home, we could use this
money to put you in a special school for kids your age who never studied
before."

"Shit. They ain' no good foster homes. Ah know. Ah been in plenny."

"Would you let me look around? See what I can find? I'll bet there are some
good ones, maybe only a few, but some. We just have to find one."

"Shit, they jus' gonna sen' me back wheah ah cum from an' they ain' nothin'
good theah."

He was talking, for the first time. I wanted it to continue. "Can you tell
me where you're from? I promise I won't say anything. It's just that I know
so little about you and?"

"Mis'sippi. An' mah name's William."

The urge to hug him overcame me. I slid beside him and gave him a one armed
embrace. He didn't budge.

"Thank you for that confidence, trust, William. I won't let you down." I
let go of him and moved slightly away.

He said nothing so I went on. "Do you have a family back there?"

He shook his head.

"No uncles, aunts, grandparents?"

A shoulder shrug then, "Ah wanna go ta bed. Gotta git up early."

"But you can come back tomorrow night." Even though I knew inside me how
dangerous that was, there was no way I couldn't say it.

"Okay if ah take a shar?"

"Of course, I'll get the water so it's just right."

I went into the bathroom and turned on the water, adjusting it not too
hot. William came in naked but soft. I'd half wondered if bed meant sex but
the soft peter dangling between his legs dispelled that notion. He wanted
it a touch warmer. He was only in there for ten minutes or so then quietly
went into the room and turned off the light.

After a few minutes, I went in to say a last good night. I really didn't
expect him back the next day. The little bit of light from the street
through the curtain illuminated enough of his face that I saw the shine of
wetness on the side of his nose. He was crying.

Of course, that melted me like the cheese on his pizza. I put my arm around
him and said, "I'm here for you if you want me." It quickly occurred to me
that could mean sex. "You need help, I'm here. No strings attached. You
don't have to do anything but be willing to help yourself. I care about
you."

Feeling any more said would be too much, I kissed him on the head and left.

He didn't come into my bedroom until around five and that was to say
goodbye and ask, "Kin ah leave some a mah money heah? The paht that ain'
yers? Ya'll kin take that."

"Of course. I'll put it in a bank if you like or hide it. Whatever you
say."

"Bes' jes' hahd it. An' don' go tellin' the cops nothin' ah tole you."

"Nothing. I know nothing about you."

I got up and had to hurry to keep up with him. His back pack didn't seem
nearly as full as when he came in. He went out the kitchen door without
looking back.

What had happened? What was he crying about the night before? Did he
believe that I might be able to change the direction of his life?

I went upstairs to see how much money he'd left. There it was on the
bed. It looked like most or all of it. It was easier to count since the
thousand dollar groups were still in their cross stacked positions. He'd
taken one thousand six hundred forty dollars with him, all the small bills
plus five hundreds. The first thought that came to me was that the amount
wasn't just for one day. He wasn't planning to come back that evening, or
that week, maybe never, in reality, hopefully never.

Did he distrust me? Or was it just that he didn't believe that I, or anyone
for that matter, would be able to find him a happy home. So many thoughts
about so many possibilities went through my mind, I forgot most of
them. What I was left with was a great emptiness. Something that could have
been wonderful had come and gone, probably for good. There was no way at
that time I could see the positive side of things.

The money, all but Kevin's ten thousand, went into the floor of the storage
space over my bedroom. I'd kept some kiddie porn there years earlier but
decided to burn it New Years Day 2000. It had been part of a ritual purging
of any thoughts of ever having a boy again.

Kevin called at eight forty-five. He'd gotten the name of a local lawyer
off a BL internet group's site. I called but was told he wouldn't be in
until sometime after eleven. After calling my boss' secretary to say I
wouldn't be in that day, I got hold of the policeman who wanted to speak to
me and let him know I'd decided to bring a lawyer along. He said, "Your
choice," and hung up.

When I finally got hold of the lawyer, we arranged a lunch meeting downtown
near the courthouse.

I told him the sanitized version of what had happened, that is, no sex had
taken place, the kid had taken off his clothes to pose beside me while the
photographer held a gun.

"Then, Mr.Frysdale, my advice is just not to talk to them at all. It sounds
like all they have is your name and address in the dead man's pocket. Even
if they can prove you took fifteen thousand dollars out of the bank,
there's no crime that you've committed. No, just call the detective back
and tell him you've decided there's nothing you can add to what he knows
and hang up. In fact, don't even call. They'll call you, or maybe they
won't. Without the boy, and even if they did, he'd have to make an
accusation which, under the circumstances he's unlikely to do, there's
really nothing for them to charge you with."

The attorney accepted lunch as payment, possibly expecting a fat fee if
things for me went bad.

The detective didn't call. He must have figured out the lawyer had given me
good advice. Kevin came over after work. I gave him the ten thousand he'd
loaned me.

"Harry, I know you're suffering but you know damn well there's nothing you
can do for that kid without putting yourself in prison, probably for the
rest of your life."

That didn't help.

"You see, Kev, that's what really pisses me off, really! I'm probably the
only chance William, or whatever his name is, has, maybe ever had. He's
apparently been through the system, you know, group homes, foster parents,
all that, and, for whatever reason, and maybe it has a lot to do with him,
it hasn't worked out. I got the impression, and it might just have been me
being naïve, I'll admit it, but I think what that kid needs is what they're
not allowed to do any more: give him hugs, be physical and I don't mean
sex, but get really close. Okay, before you say it, I know I sound like
some Looney Tunes tree hugger but, I think he somehow knows that, or maybe
just senses it. I think that's what he was crying about last night. Maybe
somebody's already gotten into trouble doing just that. I mean, the kid has
had sex with men long before he did it with me and the others he seduced to
blackmail. No, he knew how to do it. That's why they were able to pull this
shit off. I'll bet someone's in jail right now because they loved him, and
he loved them and that's why he hurts so much. Christ! What a piece of shit
country we live in!"

Kevin sighed and shifted his weight back into the sofa. "All right. Maybe I
agree one hundred percent with what you're saying, but the fact is, there's
nothing you can do. I know you don't drink but let's go somewhere and have
some wine or something, get a little silly. You've gotta get past this
kid. God, I hope he doesn't come back."

I said, "If he does, it won't be anytime soon. He took over sixteen hundred
dollars so he could get far away and stay there. Who knows where he went?
But you're right. I know you are, but it doesn't make me feel any better."

We went out to a nice bar with great burgers, and wine.

A cop did call later on in the week. I told him there was nothing I could
add to what I'd already said.

For a week or so, I considered moving to another part of the city. Kevin
started watching for available homes out his way though the idea of that
long commute didn't appeal to me at all. I spent some time with the real
estate classifieds and made a couple of calls. One agency assured me that
with my home as a down payment, I could move into something very nice. I
was more interested in a trade.

That led to thoughts of a more pronounced move: out of the country. The
United States of America, my homeland, was treating my kind worse than
serial killers or terrorists. As a matter of fact, the anti-terrorism
Patriot Act included us, put us in the same rightless category of
individuals who murdered thousands at a time, even went one step
further. The so called Protect Act, part of the Patriot Act, allowed us to
be tried in the U.S. for having sex in another country with what the
U.S. considered a minor even if the other country didn't, even if and after
the other country had tried, convicted and imprisoned us, or not.

Men in the U.S. were being convicted even if the prosecutor's case fell
completely apart and the proof against one of us was virtually
non-existent. The often coached testimony of an adult former child 'victim'
was enough no matter how implausible.

 The children of my country were being abused horrifically in the name of
protecting them while those supposedly doing the protecting raked in
enormous amounts of money. Hugging a child was a crime. Providing damaging,
abusive so called therapy was accepted, even admired. Six year olds who
playfully patted the backside or kissed the cheek of an opposite or same
sex classmate were being labeled sex offenders.

Kevin survived by eating too much and beating off to kiddie porn he had
encrypted on hidden hard disks. I read, went to the movies and watched
TV. We were both lucky that we loved the work we did.

But, there was always that huge black hole in our lives that sucked up so
much of the joy and satisfaction we might have felt. I had been getting
desperate for a boy well before the appearance of my young extortionist on
that parking lot.

So, the thought of moving out of the country was hardly new.


Kevin, bless him, belonged to a couple of internet BL discussion groups. He
contacted a few friends and acquaintances to see where life might be less
oppressive. I was afraid to use the internet for anything other than
shopping and work related research for fear that I was being
monitored. Requests for warrants to read the Email or check internet
activity of an accused or merely suspected pedophile were routinely
approved. Proof could be nothing more than the capricious suspicions of a
cop or federal agent, even an anonymous tip.

Asia used to be the place to go but religious fundamentalist groups, many
NGO's and UNICEF were spending fortunes of government and donor cash to dig
a handful of us out of the woodwork. Parts of Latin America were a bit less
of a problem in that certain classes of people there seemed less concerned
about male male sex at any age as long as it was hidden and, possibly of
greater importance, were more likely to mind their own business. However,
one needed to speak the language and know how to behave in their culture.

Then there was the problem of earning a living. Even skilled persons
working for local employers didn't make very much. English teachers earned
starvation wages. Foreigners working for international firms did better but
were expected to live in certain areas and be part of the company social
scene. And, such jobs tended to be short term.

Nothing sounded very promising.

By the middle of June, moving became less urgent. Apart from all the
problems attached to doing so was my quiet hope that the boy would come
back one day and I'd be there when he did. Of course, I hoped he'd still be
a little boy, not some pimply faced, changed voice adolescent.

Kevin introduced me to another BL, an older man who'd been around when my
city was a virtual paradise of available boys. Rather than help, he regaled
me with stories of boys chasing him down the street to be the one chosen
for a fling in his bedroom. After our second meeting, Kevin apologized for
the hook up.

Then, on Sunday, June 17th, at a few minutes after eleven PM, there again
was a soft wrapping on the kitchen door window. I was watching a movie I'd
brought home from Blockbuster but I must have been listening for it. Well,
I had been for the better part of a month. I jumped up and ran to the
door. It was him, with no knapsack and a dirtied yellow tee shirt with the
collar torn loose on one side. At least he was dry. It had rained most of
the day.

Rather than accept the proferred embrace, he pushed past, head down, and
went into the living room. There, he stood sideways to me as though he was
looking at the television. I could tell he wasn't.

"Ah need sum mo' money," he said hardly audibly. It was obvious he was
hiding something about himself. Since it was hard to believe a twelve year
old street kid could have gone through sixteen hundred dollars in a month
of simple eating and maybe clothing expenses, either the money had been
gambled away or stolen.

I almost turned on the overhead light for a better view but decided he
didn't want to be seen that clearly so I just walked to within a few feet
of him and asked, "Are you okay?"

He didn't answer, just lowered his head and repeated, "Ah jes need sum
money is all."

"And some new clothes and a bath and probably some food. You can sleep here
if you want." I wanted to say much more but worried he might think it was
sex I was after.

"Ah caint. Ah gotta go. Jes' gimme sum a the money."

"Why can't you?" I moved to in front of him. His lower lip was puffed out
and his head was bruised over his left eye.

"William, son, what happened to you?"

"Nothin'. Ah jes need sum money."

"Or somebody will hurt you?" It looked to me as though this time he was on
the receiving end of extortion. "I can protect you if you let me. Do they
know you're here?"

"Please, Mr. Harry, jes' gimme a couple thousand an' ah'll go on."

He wasn't threatening, didn't sound as though that was something he was
ready to resort to. "William, son, I care about you." I'd wanted to say
love but was afraid to use the word. "You can stay here where nobody can
hurt you, as long as you want." It scared me that I'd said that but I
didn't regret it.

William lowered his face and remained silent. I squatted in front of him
and said, "Stay here, William. You'll be safe."

"Ah jes' need sum money is all."

"Son, someone beat you up. I don't want anyone to hurt you."

He took a breath and repeated with a slight increase in frustration, "Then
jes' give me sum a the money."

"Do you need it because they'll hurt you if you don't give it to them?"

"Ah jes' need it."

I was losing him and knew it. "How much do you need?"

"Same as befo' is okay. Tha's all ah need."

I took him upstairs with me though mostly to keep him from letting someone
else in. I didn't really think he would but there was a possibility that
someone was waiting outside and might insist on it if they knew I wasn't
near him.

He waited in the bedroom while I climbed into the crawlspace with a hammer
to pry up the floorboards hiding the eighty plus thousand dollars. I
counted out sixteen hundred dollars and took it to him then pulled out my
wallet and added all the smaller bills from there.

Sitting on the bed with him facing me, I handed him the money and said,
"Please be careful. You are very important to me, no, not just that, I love
you. I want to protect you, teach you to read and write, take care of
you. If things get bad, you come back here. Okay?"

The expression that built on his face wasn't anger or frustration, just a
deep sadness. He sighed and raised his eyebrows in a brief assent, turned
and left the room. He didn't look back until he was headed out the back
door but, even then, he stopped short of looking directly at me.

Many years before, a man who worked with street kids told me of their
intractability, their unwillingness to leave the life they'd left their
unhappy homes for. Apparently, I was getting a first hand look at that
phenomenon. William had been beaten up, had his new clothes tattered, and
from what I could see of his body, he wasn't eating very well. That same
street worker had also told me about the incessant gambling and drug use by
those kids. Gambling may well have been how William had lost the bulk of
his money. It was strange, though, that he hadn't asked for more. He knew
how much was there, knew how much more there was beyond what he'd asked
for. It was from that fact that I held onto a glimmer of hope that the boy
would come back to me, that we'd be together again.

Of course, there was the question of how in the world I'd be able to keep
him without someone calling the police about the single man with a boy
whose face and speech clearly indicated they weren't father and son and
that the boy didn't attend school. Even if they couldn't get a sexual abuse
charge against me, they'd probably convict me of kidnapping and who knew
what else.



Monday night, I drove straight from work to Kevin's house. He wasn't home
yet but had warned me he might be a little late. As the city photographer,
he'd had to go to a reception with the mayor and president of the city
council. His understanding was that he'd be free to leave by six at the
very latest. So, it would be forty-five minutes or so before he arrived. My
little Triumph wasn't designed for a comfortable wait so I took advantage
of the ample open space and freshly planted corn field out behind Kevin's
house for a relaxing walk. It had been relatively cool that day after a
couple days with rain.

The ground was soft in the cornfield. I was careful to walk between the
foot high stalks. The area was sparsely populated considering how close it
was to a major city. It was well off the interstate. Farms still dominated
the area. Could I live with William in such a place and not attract
attention? Twenty some years before, Kevin had had young rambunctious
teenage boys out here regularly. Other than a few new homes here and there,
there hadn't much of a demographic change. There was the problem of how to
acquire a home where people had lived in the same house for great lengths
of time, often generations. It was something to discuss with my friend.

He arrived a mere ten minutes later. We ate microwaved fish sticks and
French fries for dinner. I told him of William's appearance Sunday night
and my thoughts about living in a rural community.

"I could do a lot of my work from home via the internet. A number of other
employees are doing it. They've all got family excuses, you know, wife
working, small children to watch, an ailing grandmother, that sort of
stuff. But, I've got the seniority and type of job that would lend itself
to my being allowed to work at least three days a week out of a home
office."

Kevin finished off his last fish stick and leaned back in his chair. When
he opened his mouth, the flesh of his jowls drooped like a frog about to
croak. He was slow to speak, then, "You're thinking about how I had boys
out here twenty-five years ago, aren't you?"

"And times have changed."

"In spades, my friend. In spades." He leaned forward. "For instance, the
farm behind me. It's still owned by old Mr. Sparks, one of the founders of
the town up the road, a town he now lives in with his daughter and
son-in-law, said son-in-law being the mayor of said town. The farm is run
by a cooperative which is a part of a corporation or something like a
corporation, I don't really know what it is, but the people who work it are
employees of said cooperative. The folks living in the farm house over
yonder are college professors who go into the city each day to profess. She
teaches psychology and stuff like that. Need I say more about her likely
attitude toward a single man with a kid who obviously wasn't his and wasn't
going to school?

"Then you have that new house across the road and up a couple hundred
yards. He runs his father's hardware store in town. She is what God made
her to be, a housewife, or so says their evangelical pastor.

"I would not call this a friendly place for you with your little friend. I
doubt there is any place in these unfortunately United States outside of
somewhere deep in the Rocky Mountains where you two could live together
unmolested, no, uninvestigated for more than a few weeks."

I sighed and shook my head.

"Have I been dispiriting?" he asked glumly.

We looked at what little he'd found out about other parts of the world,
particularly Latin America.

"What you'd need is a country like Guatemala where corruption is the norm,
where you could probably buy papers for the both of you. I doubt anyone
would care whether he went to school or not, perhaps not even what you did
in bed together so long as you didn't do it on the front lawn.

"The problem is how you'd get him there. Nowadays, taking a minor into a
foreign country is a major undertaking. He'd need a passport and some sort
of documentation that he had parental approval, no, I'm wrong. If I'm not
mistaken, and I rarely am, I believe only a parent can take him across
international lines. I read that somewhere."

I commented, "If it's so easy for illegal immigrants to get into this
country, it shouldn't be that hard to get someone out."

"You'd sure think so but if you got caught, slammo! The list of charges
against you would take seven pages of court jabberwocky. Unless, of course,
if he was Mexican. Then, you'd be repatriating him. However, I doubt anyone
would take your little good old boy for a Latino.

"Might've been a better idea for you to have given him all the money. Then,
he'd have nothing to come back for. You've got to worry now that his
friends will learn where you live. Or you could move to another part of
town."

He was right about one thing. He had dispirited me. I didn't finish my
fries.

I did decide to see what the possibilities of working at home might be.



"Christ, Harry," snarled my boss. "You live alone. At least there are other
humans here. Why in the world do you want to spend more time alone?"

"Well, for one, I hate the commute. I hate sitting in traffic with the
carbon monoxide fumes. Secondly," and this was the crux of my pitch, "I
think I can be more productive at home. You value my imagination. Here,
there's so much going on, people wanting to talk, you looking over my
shoulder?"

"I never look over your shoulder."

"Okay, figuratively. You like to see what I'm working on before it's done."

He raised his eyebrows and said, "What else?"

There really wasn't anything else but I managed to add, "Well, I eat
healthier at home."

"Eat healthier. Christ! Look at you. You're one of the fittest looking guys
in the office and you don't even go to a gym. Whatta you want to eat,
Brussels's sprouts and broccoli? Hell, you can get that down the street at
the eatery or whatever it's called."

He finally agreed to think about it.

Rather than go home, I stopped off at an internet café that served
sandwiches and pies. I looked up Guatemala. The age of consent was
eighteen. Homosexuality was illegal. None of the Gay sites recommended
it. Our infamous city's crime and homicide rates palled along side
theirs. And, I assumed it was worse than published. Other than the Mayan
ruins at Tikal and the four hundred year old city of Antigua, there didn't
seem to be much for tourists other than a stern traveller's warning from
the U.S. State Department.

Going to Yahoo news brought up little more than tragedies: more crime,
multiple deaths in bus accidents, drug trafficking and money laundering,
kidnappings, and government corruption. The Guatemalan police department
seemed about as useful as a pea shooter in combating heavily armed criminal
gangs. Worse, a goodly percentage of local cops seemed to be involved in
the crime they were supposedly fighting. A website placing countries
between one and ten based on their level of corruption placed Guatemala
along side Haiti, the Philippines and much of Central Africa in the nine
bracket.

However, there were no stories of anyone being arrested or even accused of
sex with boys or having kiddie porn on their computers. It looked as though
if one could avoid being robbed or murdered, a dubious proposal, a
reasonably cautious BL wouldn't be of concern to local law enforcement
officials.

But, how the hell could I get a twelve year old white, hillbilly English
speaking boy through Mexico and into the country.

Then, I remembered reading or being told that a non-Spanish speaker would
have a difficult time getting along or arranging anything. William couldn't
even read or write his native tongue.

I went by a Blockbuster, well, the Blockbuster since all the others I knew
of had closed due to internet competition, and picked up a copy of
Casablanca in hopes it might take my mind to an entirely different
place. It did allow me to get to sleep by twelve thirty.



It only took three days for William to reappear though this time it was
much earlier at six forty in the evening, and he came in a taxi. The cabbie
got my attention by tooting his horn. William was in the back, trying to
open the door. The cabbie waved me to him. I ran out. William was in
obvious pain.

"Kid's hurt. I think he needs to go to a hospital. He said you'd pay. It's
twelve seventy-five."

"Nyuh uh," grunted William as he pushed the rear door open with his foot.

I fished a handful of bills out of my pocket and handed the driver a
twenty. Ignoring the proferred change, I helped William out.

"What happened?"

He was cradling his right hand in his left. He fell into me.

The cabbie suggested, "Why not let me take the both of you to a hospital?
Kid's hurt bad."

"I've got a car," I answered. "I'll do it. Thanks."

"Ah don' need no hostal. Jes' lemme lay down fo' a wahl an' ah'll be okay."

The way he was holding himself, his virtual struggle to stand, the hand,
all indicated serious injury.

After a few steps, I couldn't stop myself from picking the boy up. He cried
out in pain so I put him back down. "Jes' lemme go insahd."

I worried neighbors might be observing the scene but didn't look for fear
it would make it seem I was doing something wrong.

We finally got through the door. "William, what happened to your hand?" His
face showed no damage."

"It jes' hurts is all," he said with great strain in his voice.

"Come on over here to the sofa and let me look at it."

When he went to sit, he groaned and stayed upright.

"Where else do you hurt?"

"Is jes' mah sahd."

I was sure I knew what happened. "They beat you up again, didn't they?"

"But ah din't tell 'em nothin' 'bout wheah you lived."

I felt like crying. "William, I've got to get you to a hospital."

"No, ah don' need no hospatal," he fired back. "Jes' lemme stay heah fo' a
wahl an' ah'll be okay."

"William, you hand's broken. A doctor needs to fix it."

"Nyuh uh. It'll be okay. Ah don' wanna go ta no hospatal." He bent over
slightly, groaned and began to cry.

"William, I'm going to help you lie down, okay?"

He nodded a painful assent.

I got on my knees, slowly picked him up, keeping him as straight as
possible, and lay him on the sofa. Tears fell off the side of his
face. "Did they hit you in the ribs?"

The crying increased. "They kicked me theah, mothafuckuhs."

I put my arm under his head and kissed him on the forehead. "William, son,
you have to go to a hospital?"

"No! No! They gonna call the pohlice an', oh?"

I was then sure his ribs were badly damaged if not broken. The heavy
breathing caused by his crying and protests was very painful. I frantically
sought words that would convince him of his need for medical help.

"William, look, we can make this work. Sure, they'll call the
police. Someone really hurt you. Just tell them a gang of teenagers grabbed
you and beat you up for your money. Don't tell them you had a lot, just a
few dollars." Where did he live would be their next question. "Tell them
your parents abandoned you and you've been living on the street trying to
find them, uh, for a few weeks, that you begged money from people to feed
yourself." His clothes were relatively new. "And one woman, say it was a
woman, bought you new clothes. And don't say any more, just that. They'll
put you in a home somewhere. They're not going to lock you up or
anything. Then you can escape."

"Ah wanna live wif you."

That brought on my own tears. "Oh, William. Nothing would make me happier
but you know they're not going to allow that."

He wiped his face with the good hand. "Mothafuckas." He winced when he
sobbed. "Ah ken stay inside. Ain' nobody gonna see me. An' ah won' steal
nothin', ah promise. Lemme stay heah."

I wasn't going to deny that. "Then you come back here when you can." I
sniffed and wiped my dripping nose and eyes on my sleeve. "William, I love
you. I don't know how, but I'll find a way. You can come back here as soon
as you're able but right now, son, right now, you have to go to a
hospital. You're hurt badly." I was looking at the discoloration on his
left side. "You might be bleeding inside. You could die."

"No, no. Ah ain' bleedin' nowhere. Jes lemme lay heah an' it'll git
bettuh."

It took half an hour of talking back and forth, promises and plans but he
finally agreed to let me take him to a hospital. I think it was the pain
more than my words that did it. He had a story for the police, as simple as
I could put together and a twenty dollar bill in his sock, along with a
cover story for its presence, for a taxi if he got a chance to use one. I
had no illusions that they wouldn't take all his clothes off at the
hospital and the money would be handed over to the police with his
belongings. But, William was certainly resourceful if nothing else.

With the passenger seat of my two seater back as far as it would go, I
carefully laid William on it and drove quickly to a suburban state
hospital. There, I helped him out and handed him over to a nurse in the
emergency room.

When asked, I said, "Look, I saw him on the street walking like he was
hurt. This is all I'm willing to do. He's yours." I turned and walked out
with her asking me to come back and at least leave my name. The rest was
lost when I passed through the door.

It didn't look as though anyone was interested in my license plates.