Date: Tue, 28 Jul 2009 22:20:59 EDT
From: Park517@aol.com
Subject: As Flies to Wanton Boys 2

"As Flies to Wanton Boys," the story that follows in multiple episodes,
appeared first in July 1999 as my first submission to the Nifty
Archive. Its 46 pages are still there:
/nifty/gay/adult-youth/divine-neglect under the title "Divine Neglect" for
readers who want to consume the whole thing in one sitting.  That 1999
version, slightly edited and revised, will now appear in shorter takes and,
because several readers were unhappy about the way things ended, new
chapters follow.

[DISCLAIMER: The following completely fictional story, the sole copyright
for which belongs to the author and translator, contains explicit
depictions of sex between men and should not, therefore, be read by anyone
under the legal age of consent in whatever jurisdiction or by anyone
offended by homoerotic and/or pornographic material.  It is forbidden to
post the text electronically or disseminate it in any manner without
permission of the copyright holders.  The author welcomes comments which
the translator, -- park517@aol.com -- will forward at his discretion.]


DIVINE NEGLECT      Chapter Two


I don't know when the screaming began, only that it jolted me awake and
disoriented until I remembered where I was and realized that the fearsome
noise was coming from Rifat.  Groping for my flashlight but without taking
the time to turn it on, I stumbled across the room to the boy's bed and got
a terrific blow to my chest from his flailing arms.  For a second or two I
thought he meant to attack me but as his incomprehensible, high-decibel
keening went on, I realized he was deep in a nightmare.  Extending my arms,
I grabbed his and started to shake them.  "Wake up, Rifat.  Wake up for
god's sake!" I yelled.  "You're all right.  You're all right."

	The screams stopped.  The boy sat bolt upright.  "Momma," he said.
"Momma."  And then something in Albanian.

	"Rifat," I let go of his arms and crouched down.  "It's me.  Mitya.
You were dreaming.  A nightmare.  Are you awake?  Are you okay?"  I managed
to turn the flashlight on and saw that his torso was glistening with sweat
and his face with tears.

	"Oh, Mitya," he reached for my neck and wound his arms around it.
"It was awful.  They were killing my dad and my brother, and I was hiding
in the rafters of the barn and I couldn't move.  I was frozen with fear.  I
was a coward."

	"No, boy.  No." I loosened his grip on me.  "You were a witness,
and you are a survivor.  Sometimes, that can be worse.  I'm not going to
lie to you.  But over time, Rifat, those memories will get less awful, less
precise."

	I was going to mouth more platitudes, but someone started pounding
at the door.  "Lieutenant, lieutenant, sir are you all right?  What's all
that noise?  Did he try to kill you?"

	It was Voinovic, and I went to the door to reassure him and to
compliment him for being so alert.  "Thank you, sergeant," I said.  "The
boy had a nightmare.  I can handle it.  Go back to sleep, please."

	"Yes, sir."  I listened till I heard his heavy steps on the stairs.

	Returning to Rifat's bed, I found him toweling himself with his
quilt.  He seemed calmer.  "Rifat," I asked, "do you think you can go back
to sleep?"

	"I'll try."  A small voice.

	"All right, then.  Good night.  Tomorrow we'll see what we can find
out about your aunt and uncle."

	"Thank you."  A pause.  "Your honor?  I mean, Mitya.  At home I
always slept with Alif, my brother.  I'm not used to being alone.  Could
I...?  Would you mind?"

	I hesitated.  My bed was big, but the last male I had shared a
mattress with was Ivo, and we didn't use it much for sleeping.  I
temporized.  "Do you think it will keep the nightmares away?" I asked in
the dark.

       "It should help.  I hope so, sir.  Mitya.  Maybe."

	"All right," I said.  "Bring your quilt and stay on your side of
the bed.  And no farting."

	He giggled and hopped up.  A flashlight beam showed him a path to
the bed, and soon we were stretched out side by side.

	"Thank you, Mitya."  His hand groped for mine in the dark, found
it, grasped it and released me.

	"Sleep well, Rifat.  Shake me if I snore."

	Another giggle and we were both quiet.  I found it hard, though, to
surrender myself again to unconsciousness.  I wanted terribly to touch this
appealing boy next to me and not just touch him on the hand.  I wanted his
arms around my neck again, but in passion, not in desolation.  I wanted the
warmth of his sleek, fit body pressed against mine.  I wanted his love.  To
quench my desire and put me back to sleep, I started silently reciting the
Latin names for all the bones in the human skeleton, terms I had memorized
for a long-ago examination.  After perhaps ten minutes of very mixed
results, I became aware of snuffling sounds from my bedmate.  He was
sobbing but trying to muffle the noise under his quilt.  I didn't hesitate
as I had when he cried in the yard.  This time, I simply reached for him
and pulled him tightly to me.

	"You poor, poor kid," I whispered into his ear.  "Go ahead.  Cry.
It isn't a cure, but it is a release."

	At that, he started wailing in earnest.  "Oh, Mitya," he gasped,
"why didn't you just let them kill me?  I don't want to live.  I don't have
anyone any more."

	"You have us, Rifat.  You have me.  I'll take care of you."

	"But I loved my dad and my brother and my sister.  I don't have
anyone left to love."

	That's when I went over the cliff.  "Could you love me, Rifat?  I
could love you."

	Silence.  Chilling silence.  But the sobbing stopped.  Two strong
arms went around me and a pair of lips flicked over my own.  "Do you mean
that, Mitya?"  It was the softest whisper.  "Do you really want to love
me?"

	"Yes," I said.  "I do.  God help me, I do."  I let one hand go
exploring down his back to his rump.  He had shed the panties.  He was
naked in my arms just as I had wanted him.  I clasped him to me so that our
crotches met.  His cock was hard.  So was mine, making its blind,
single-minded way out through the fly of my Army-issue drawers.  I tried to
pull back a bit, but his arms and his grip on me were powerful.  His lips
came to mine again, and our tongues jousted and locked.  My erection and my
spirits both soared.

	Rifat was the first to break the kiss, but only so he could move
the soft warmth of his mouth to my ear and then my neck and onto my chest.
He stopped in the patch of hair between my nipples and began tugging at it
gently.  At the same time, one of his hands went into the crawl space below
our waists and took hold of my straining, rigid organ.

       "Allah Akbar," he exclaimed with a laugh.  "Your honor, are all
Montenegrins so, so big?"

	"You are to call me Mitya, you randy Albanian pup, but at home my
nickname is Pee-wee.  Does that answer your question?"

	"May I take your pants off, Pee-wee?"  The laugh was a guffaw.  "At
home, my nickname was Big Mouth.  Let me show you why."

	I rolled away from him and sat up.  He followed suit, releasing my
cock just when I wanted the heat and pressure of his fingers to intensify.

	"Mitya," he said, suddenly serious.  "You feel sorry for me, don't
you."

	"Of course."

	"And you're horny."

	"So it would seem."

	"But, Mitya, that's not love.  It's all right.  Sex is fine, but we
shouldn't fool each other."

	"Rifat, when I looked into your incredible eyes for the first time
this afternoon, I started to fall in love.  When I washed your body, I had
to work hard to hold back my desire.  And when I held you while you cried,
I knew I wanted you to belong to me.  I loved a boy like you once when I
was a boy, too.  We grew up.  He went away.  You bring him back to me.  I
call that love.

       "What about you?"  I turned the tables.  "Why would you love me?
One of the oppressors.  A uniformed killer."

       "You're a doctor.  Mirko told me.  Not a killer.  And you saved my
life.  Your hands washing my body nearly set me on fire.  You are
beautiful.  You are strong.  You are smart. You are loving.  I can beat you
at chess.  Why shouldn't I love you?"

       "I'm not a doctor, just a medical student.  I'm only 25.  I was
concentrating on you, not the game.  And you don't love me.  Not deeply,
you can't.  Not yet."

       Moving his body so close that our hips touched, he put an arm around
my waist and the other behind my shoulder.  His face came to within a few
centimeters of mine.  "You're right.  Not yet," he said, "but what I feel
for you and you feel for me can grow.  It's like a field of sunflowers.
They need fertilizer and weeding and time to become tall and strong and
beautiful like that big pole of yours.  I can't see it in the dark, but it
is beautiful, Mitya, like the rest of you, isn't it?"

	His hand dropped from my shoulder into my groin and imprisoned me
again.  Then his head followed and moist, warm lips gathered in the head of
my cock.  I shuddered.  "Rifat, Rifat, lover, be careful.  I am horny.  Go
slow."

	He raised his head.  "Please, your honor.  Unless it's against your
religious beliefs, Big Mouth would like you to be naked.  I still want to
take off your underpants."

	"I will have to get a wartime dispensation from the Metropolitan,"
[bishop - Trans.] I chuckled and paused, "after the fact."  I raised my
hips and tugged at the waistband of the shorts.  Rifat took hold of the
pants legs, guided them over my ankles and then, his hands pale birds of
prey in the darkness of the room, waved the garment like a captured flag.
He tossed it away, pushed me flat onto the bed and stretched himself on top
of me flattening my aroused member and his side by side into our bellies.
The pressure was a little bit painful and very exciting.

	"Careful, you impetuous puppy," I warned.  "You could bring me off
like this."

	He seemed to consider the danger.  "I wouldn't want to do that," he
decided, rolling off me onto his side.  He laid his head on my chest and,
avoiding the upright shaft of my penis, began to caress the inside of my
thighs.  "Mitya," he took a deep breath. "Lieutenant, sir, would you like
to fuck?"

	I reached for his hand and stilled its exploration of my crotch.
"I'm happy just to hold you," I said.  I kissed his forehead.  "I don't
want to hurt you.  I can love you without doing that."

	"But I want you to love me the way men love.  And I don't think
you'll hurt me that much.  I have been with someone else before."  Rifat
swallowed noisily.  His voice was choked, but he went on. "Maybe he wasn't
quite as big as you, but he taught me about making love.  I liked it when
he put himself into me.  A lot.  I'd like to feel you in me, too.  Please."

	"A school friend?" I asked.

	"No.  He was older."  He stopped.  His fingers encircled me and
lightly stroked me.  "Mitya?"  Again that gulping sound.  "Promise not to
hate me?"

	"I've just begun to love you.  Of course, I won't hate you."

	"Mitya, this sounds awful, but it wasn't.  It was natural.  My
friend... no, my lover... was my brother, Alif.  He was beautiful, but not
as beautiful as you.  And he didn't force me or bully me.  We both wanted
it.  We loved each other."  He sobbed a few times and then collected
himself.  "Can you still care for me," he asked, "now that you know about
me?"

	For answer I kissed his mouth and ran a hand down his firm, smooth
chest and belly until I found his cock.  Holding it, I bent my head over
his crotch and put out my tongue to lap at the mushroom cap that thin
streams of bitter fluid had made slick.  My lips pulled the tip into my
mouth and then rode down the pulsing column of heated flesh until they
brushed his silky pubic hair.

	Rifat gave a little squeal.  "Pee-wee, I'm horny, too."  His hands
clasped the sides of my head.  "Don't make me come."

	I lifted off him, giving a parting swipe of my tongue to the
underside of his glans.  Pulling him into a sitting position, I then
plunged my tongue into his mouth and kissed him with all the passion I held
and all the joy I was feeling from having another man's warm, strong, naked
body in my arms again.

	"Who is whose prisoner, here?" I asked, relaxing our embrace.

	His lips stopped nibbling on my neck.  "I am yours.  I belong to
you."

	"And do you know the Geneva Convention?"

	"No, your honor."  An anticipatory little giggle.  Enchanting.

	"It explicitly provides that prisoners who are going to be raped in
the ass have the right to a blow job first so that they will be more
relaxed when they are penetrated.  Do you wish to exercise that right?"

	"I shouldn't violate the Geneva Convention, should I?  Not if the
big old Convention," he found my penis and squeezed it, "is going to
violate me."

	It was my turn to giggle.  "Rifat, Rifat, you're so like Ivo."  I
hugged the boy hard.  "That was his name.  He taught me how to suck a cock
and how to laugh about sex.  Please, let me bring you off in my mouth.
I've never tasted a Muslim boy."

	"I have.  It's a good taste if you love the boy."

	"I do."  I pushed his shoulders back onto the bed, raised his hips
and spread his legs apart.  I put two of my fingers into his mouth and
waited while, at first surprised, he realized what I wanted and coated them
with his spit.  Once they were slick, I felt behind his testicles for his
anus and, finding it, cautiously pushed a wetted finger in.  Rifat gave an
involuntary twitch, but of pleasure, not pain.

	"That's nice," he whispered.  "Do you treat all your prisoners this
way?"

	"Just the sexy ones," I answered.  "The ones I plan to keep
prisoner for ever."  I inserted a second finger, and the boy gave a long,
deep sigh.

	"What a lucky prisoner I am," he said.  "Did they teach you this in
medical school?"

	"As a matter of fact, yes.  But not this."  I lay down more or less
perpendicular to Rifat's body and, holding his throbbing penis at its base,
I brought my mouth down on the head of the sturdy organ.  It swelled
between my lips and, driven by the boy's rising hips, its turgid length
went seeking my throat, almost cutting off my breath.  Trying to control
the straining youth, I put my thumb and forefinger around the top of his
scrotum and attempted to pull the heavy sac downward and away from the
fleshy tower it was trying to hug.

	For a blissful interlude, my strategy worked.  I was able to engulf
him, free him, lash his cap with my tongue and draw him back deeply into my
mouth.  But all good things have to end. "I'm not going to last much
longer," he moaned.  "Not long at all."  The last word was dragged out, and
as the sound died away, he began to thrash around noiselessly in my grip.
His balls escaped from between my fingers, and his cock nearly escaped from
my lips as it began to jet his blistering seed in burst after burst into my
mouth.  I agitated my fingers in his ass, stroking his prostate and making
him gasp and writhe through multiple climaxes.  One of his hands fell on my
neck and combed up through the hair along the back of my head until he
reached my forehead and gently levered my face out of his groin.

	"Doctor lieutenant, sir," he was whispering.  "That was amazing,
wonderful.  I do love you.  I love you.  Please, love me."

	I swallowed as much of his seed as I could, but he had given me so
much that some dribbled out of my mouth.  "Rifat," I murmured back, ranging
my body alongside his and slipping an arm under him, "You were right about
the taste of a Muslim boy.  I love you the way I have not loved in years.
I wasn't even sure I could love anyone again, but I do.  I do."  I kissed
his chest and finding an erect nipple, I sucked on it.  He lifted my face
to his and kissed me, tasting himself on my lips and then using his tongue
like a cat's to clean my chin and neck.

(To be continued)