Date: Tue, 3 Feb 2004 10:54:18 -0800 (PST)
From: Wishus Teglin
Subject: Stupid Johnny, chapter 10 (M/b)

Stupid Johnny
A Boylove Romance

Chapter Ten

by Teglin
with the invaluable assistance of  Michael and Kallen

Dedication:

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

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

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

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

As always, this story is also dedicated to Ganymede.  He continues to be an
inspiration, and I will always be indebted to him.  His stories liberated
me and awakened me to The Way.

Copyright 2004 by Teglin.  You may freely copy this boylove romance and
distribute it.  Please have the courtesy not to alter it in any way.


WARNING:

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

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


Glossary:


Jasio = Yasho jasnie panie = yashnee pahnee (formal mode of address,
meaning `my lord`) jasnie panicz - yashnee pahneetch (less formal,
referring to a boy, meaning `young lord`) kochany paniczu - ko-ha-ny
pahneetchu (familiar, to a boy, `beloved lord` or `little lord`) pani, pana
= pahnee, pahnah (noble addressing a servant woman/man) Straznik Drogi -
Strashneek Drowgee (Guardian of the Way) Podhorowski = pod-ho-rouskee Piotr
Ostoja = Pyoter Ostoya Leon Koczurba = Le-own Kotschurba Beskidy = Beskeedy
Jodlowka = Yodlovka Rzeszow = Dgeshow Polska = Powlska Misiu = Meeshoo
babciu = bubshoo babcia = bubsha siusiak = shu-shak (pronounced softly,
tenderly - a boylover`s most loving word for a boy`s penis) moj chlopczyk =
moi hlopsik (my boy) eremenos = beloved of the man erastes = beloved of the
boy Pan = respectful address to a man Pani = respectful address to a woman



Chapter Ten

Straznik Drogi Beskidy Mountains Rzeszow Administrative District, Poland
September 15, 1959 5:25 PM


"What do those letters say over the doorway?" Jasio tilted his head up
high.  I looked up too, but felt his head brush my chest, as he slowly
scanned the letters.  They were chiseled deep into the raw face of the
granite arch capping the entrance to the Straznik Drogi.  Jasio's small
hands reached back blindly, seeking my support.  I took them and felt his
body weighing back against mine, arresting our entry into his palace.

For the first time it dawned on me that he could not read.  Twelve years
since his father left this mountain retreat.  Perhaps less than a year
after that before the young Antoni Podhorowski met and married his peasant
wife.  So Jasio would be 10 or 11?  All his years without a home, without
friends.  He had learned the hard way to toil for the very scraps of food
that the farmers of Jodlowka might throw his way.  What time then would he
have had to learn letters?

I suddenly felt the weight of so much more than his thin body against mine.
He was light as a feather, but what burdens he had toiled against!  I
wanted to take them upon myself.  I would gladly read these words for him.
It had fallen to me to decipher whatever of welcome or wisdom was inscribed
here.  Then it would fall to me to walk with him through this door, into
the home he should have known all his years.

I lowered my gaze for a moment.  My lips brushed the top of his head and I
breathed in the freshly washed scent of his hair.  He lay back within my
enveloping arms.  Feeling him give in to me, I knew - and I was sure he
knew - that we could take up any burden so long as we were together.  I
gently folded his arms up, clasping them across his chest, holding him
tightly to me, till I could loosen my throat enough to speak.

"Mmmm ... let me see ... Misiu.  The words say ...  well, it's something
... rather archaic," I gulped, trying to clear my throat.

"What do you mean?" he asked in his high, sweet voice.

"I mean ... this place was surely built hundreds of years ago.  The words
... they're written in Old Polish.  Some of the words are different than we
use today, but I think I can read it `WNIJDZ JEZELI IDZIESZ DROGA.' it
says."

As I translated the words in my head, they seemed to be a warning, or
rather an admonition.

"'Enter if ... enter if you follow The Way`," I intoned.  "No.  Perhaps,
`only he who follows The Way may enter.'"

"Just like Agata said," Jasio mused.

"Yes.  You`re right."  And he was.  I had not so quickly seen the
connection, but that was exactly the warning the old woman had given us.

"You and me, remember, Piotrek?  We promised, back there.  We promised to
follow The Way.  It means me and you together.  So we'll follow it,
wherever it leads us," he said solemnly, turning his head to look up at me.
The lift of his brow, the questioning behind his statement, seemed to tell
me that he was seeking reassurance.

"Yes, together," I was quick to answer, giving him a confident nod.  "If it
means you and me together, then we'll follow wherever it leads us, Misiu."

I felt his chest heave beneath the grasp of my arms, He gasped for air, as
if he had been holding his breath, still unsure of what my answer would be.
But when I gave it, the relief seemed to shudder through his small
frame. He tried to smile, but his lips trembled.  I quickly kissed his
upraised forehead, wishing I could just as easily brush away all his fears.
Perhaps it worked, because he straightened and seemed to throw his
shoulders back against my chest, looking foresquare up the steps beneath
the inscription.  "So we should ... we can go in, huh?"

"Yes, let's have a look at this house of Jan Podhorowski."

That seemed to do it!  He tilted his head back again, this time truly
beaming up at me with a mixture of sheepishness and pride, then with an
exuberant giggle broke free of my grasp, grabbed my hand, and tugged me
forward.  We held tight to each other as we took the first step, both of us
looking up at the imposing wall of golden-gleaming stone.  The door itself
was massive, and twice my height. It looked to be hewn from two solid
pieces of gnarled and age-darkened wood.  I reached out to take the handle
on the left side and pulled.  It didn't budge.  I pushed, and it slowly,
ponderously gave way to my weight.

We peeked inside as a wedge of light widened and the afternoon sunlight
streamed into the foyer.  It gleamed in there too, just like the palace
exterior - but inside it was the smooth, glassy polish of white marble.  It
was more the opulence of it that dazzled, than the brightness, as we
stepped inside.  Marble columns in the corners, marble pedestals with vases
filled with flowers, benches on either side, and another archway.  Through
it we could see a wide-open great hall.  There was another magnificent
sculpture situated right in the middle of it, raised up on a platform, and
behind that a brightly colored tapestry that seemed to cover the entire
back wall.

Everything was lighted from above - sunlight streamed down from what must
be massive skylights up above.  The mottled white marble of the sculpture
seemed to soak in the light and radiate it anew.  The tapestry flamed with
the life-giving rays.

Boys!  The tapestry was alight with nude dancing boys, their feet
inscribing a circle about a reclining man. And the white-hot blaze of the
sculpture?  Another boy, sword in hand, dwarfed by a menacing multi-headed
dragon.  A boy, defending a man who had fallen.

Half-forgotten images flitted through my mind.  Memories?  Figments of my
imagination?  I had seen these boys before. I had witnessed this battle
before.

"Piotrek?" I heard Jasio's voice echo, but it sounded so meek and tiny.
His hand suddenly gripped mine even tighter than before.

"Yes, Misiu?"

"I'm ... are you sure we should be ...."

The tremble in his voice caught me off guard.  Once more I was forcibly
reminded of his past.  He was more used to shanties.  I at least had
traipsed the blocky concrete palaces of the modern age. I had been through
more than one baptism of fire.  I had met my dragons.  But he had to.

I peered hard at the sculpture of the boy fending off the gnashing, flaring
heads of the bestial dragon, and thought, `he might very well be Jasio."

Quickly I pulled him closer, folding his whole body into mine once again,
grasping him across his chest with my right arm protectively. "It - it's
alright, Misiu.  I know this is all very strange for you, and new, but you
have to remember," I tore my eyes off the sculpture and looked down at him.
He was transfixed. Even with me holding him tight, he stared out over my
shielding arm in wide-eyed fascination. "Just remember, Jasio.  You have
been here before.  Remember?  This is the palace you built in your mind,
stone by stone.  You belong here."

"Oh ... yeah ... yes, it's true.  But I never pictured it just like
... that," he ended, raising one hand cautiously to point into the grand
chamber.

"I think we will both see many things we have never imagined before.  Look!
Above this arch.  Another inscription. It says `What ... what do you seek
here?'"

"I don't know what to seek here.  I'm not sure I expect anything." He said,
pressing harder back against me, as if he were trying to edge us back out
of the doorway.  "Why don't we ... just leave, Piotrek," he muttered
softly.  We can just go somewhere else.  Together.  That`s all I want.  We
don't have to go in, Piotrek.  Just take me with you and let's go ...."

I let him get it all out, all the doubts, all the hesitation, but I didn`t
budge.  "Ah-Ah! Little man," I bent down. placing my chin right on his
shoulder.  I felt his face against mine as we both stared into the palace.
"I remind you again.  You've walked these hallways before.  They're yours.
You belong to them, but they definitely belong to you.  So you decide what
you want here.  We`re not going to let anyone or anything tell us
different.  Ok?"

"Oh.  Ok." he answered me, sounding a bit astonished that it could be so
simple.

The gruff voice of the old woman suddenly resounded loudly from the room
ahead, "Jan Podhorowski will indeed choose what the Straznik Drogi will
mean to him, as will you, Comrade Ostoja."  Slowly we saw her rise from a
chair almost obscured from our line of sight by the wide pedestal of the
sculpture.

She sidled out from behind it.  "Come forward, you two.  You've kept me
waiting long enough.  Now do as you have been told."

Jasio and I disentangled ourselves, and took tentative steps towards her.
The hallway opened up on us, rising to the full two stories of the
Straznik.  It wasn't all that large a room, but the austerity of it made it
seem so.  Entrances off on either side just meters away, and another
hallway leading back beneath the tapestry.  Banisters all around a second
story walkway, but no stairs to get up there.  Just the imposing block of
carved marble occupying the center of the floor, the tapestry upon the
facing wall, and exits to the unknown.

"Well?" the old woman barked out again, looking straight at me, seeming to
have fallen back into character.

"What is it you want us to do, Pani Agata," Jasio's voice was like a song.
It lifted and soared, resonating in sweetest purity, filling the great
room.  To be sure, it wrapped a soothing, healing band about the old woman,
because instantly she shifted her gaze to him and her every feature
softened.

"Forgive this old woman, Paniczu.  As you know by now, I do sometimes grow
impatient with men, however well-meaning and trustworthy they may be." She
glanced meaningfully back up to me briefly. "Our beloved Antoni, your
father, is not here to greet you, so it falls to me to ... in a sense, to
guide you and your man.  As I told you in the gatehouse, the Straznik Drogi
can mean many things to you.  Above all, however, it is the very beginning
of the path you and your man have chosen to follow - The Way.  So I ask you
to think upon what you see here.  As the inscription says over the archway
behind you.  `ZWAZ CZEGO TU SZUKASZ.'  All the men and boys who have lived
here, all the men and boys who have been guests here through the centuries,
must consider it.  Consider, little one, what will you seek here?  You have
many choices, but perhaps these may guide you."

With her cane wavering in her feeble grasp, she nevertheless swept it up
slowly and pointed first to one side of us, then just as slowly and
deliberately to the other.  There were more inscriptions above the doors
leading into each wing of the palace.

"What do they say, Piotrek?" Jasio asked.

I looked from one side to the other, piecing together the Old Polish
wording. "As best I can tell, Misiu, this one over here on our right says,
`to be beloved of a man,' and this one," I turned and waved to the one over
the left portal.  "it says `to be beloved of a boy.'"

"Eremenos ... Erastes ...." the old woman's voice seemed to echo from far
away, but again as with Jasio's, the sound took flight.  Had I not seen her
speak, I would have thought the words had come from the surrounding walls
themselves, or from someplace even more distant.  From a distant time.

"There is no choice to consider, Pani Agato," Jasio's soft voice suddenly
held an edge to it, and knifed through the echoes.  I jerked my head down
to look at him.  Gone was any doubt or hesitation in his bearing.  Once
again he looked the part of the master of this household.  He stood with
his feet spread, firmly planted upon the marble of the floor, facing the
old woman squarely.  The only remnant of his momentary hesitance at the
doorway was the way he so tightly held onto me.  It was only then, as I
looked down to see how he stood so commandingly, that I noticed our feet
were planted just outside the juncture of two great circles inlaid into the
polished white surface.  The sculpture of the boy fighting the dragon sat
at the very center of the ellipse where the circles joined.

"It may seem no choice at first, kochany paniczu, but you must learn all
that it means to be beloved of a man ...," and then she again glanced at
me, "or of a boy."

"That may be true, Babciu," Jasio lowered his tone respectfully, but still
looked at her forthrightly and spoke like he had been groomed for this role
for all his 11 years.  "but you can't really doubt that we have already
made our choice."  He stopped and looked up at me, leaning his head onto my
arm where he held me so tightly.  "Piotrek and me - well, we made our
promise.  I think we both have already made our choice.  There is no more
choice to be made."

The old woman bent her head low to the boy, her acknowledged master.  Once
again she attempted a graceful curtsy.  When she raised her head again, she
was smiling with what had to be pride. "You are so right, Paniczu.  And now
I am doubly certain that you will seek here, in your home, the meaning of
what it is to be Eremenos and Erastes."

She half turned and began a shuffling sidestep, then pointed beyond the
sculpture towards the back wall.  "I'm also doubly certain that when the
time comes, you and your man will understand the final admonition that I
must point out to you."

We followed her to the side of the sculpture, and there above the archway
leading to the rear of the palace, and just below the great tapestry, were
more letters chiseled into the stone.

NIE PATRZ POCZATKU ANI KONCA, JEZELI CHCESZ ISC TA DROGA

"'Seek neither the end nor the beginning, if you would go this way,'" I
read from the inscription.

"I wonder where that leads, Piotrek?" Jasio said.

"Me too," I said, with a glance over at the old woman.

"Everything has to have a beginning and an end," he stated with finality.

"Oh?" the old woman cocked her head towards him, looking very smug all of a
sudden.  "Is there a beginning to time, m`lord?"

"Time?  Yes, there definitely is.  And an ending too." Jasio said it
confidently.  If the old woman was playing word games or setting some kind
of trap, the boy hadn't noticed.  To him the answer seemed obvious.  "Time
is something I've had to think about a lot, Babciu.  Time passes.  There's
always an end to everything."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because ...," Jasio started to answer her, but then it was like a mask
dropped over his features suddenly.  He continued in a lower tone, a
flatter tone, quieter, but one no less certain.  "Try sitting with m ...
try sleeping through the night, when no one will let you in for supper, but
maybe you`ll get something in the morning, when the sun comes up.  You'll
learn.  There's an end to everything.  There has to be an end, or ...."

As he spoke I swear I saw tears start to form in the old woman's eyes and
she cocked her head even more, as if to peer beneath Jasio's lowered brow.
Then she too bowed her head, in acquiescence.  "There is indeed an end to
that.  With the help of our Piotr Ostoja, here.  Jan Podhorowski will never
again have to sit outside like that.  But I ask you to think of ... think
of the seasons.  Or a day.  What is the beginning of a day?  Does it begin
with the rising of the sun?"

He looked up again, his face still solemn, but I could see that he wanted
to accept her challenge.  There was the same tautness in his stance, the
same kind of readiness to answer that he had shown earlier, out upon the
courtyard, when we had talked of shadows and colors and things that we
thought were beautiful.  "There IS a beginning and end to every day,
Babciu," he proclaimed firmly.  "You can see it in the stars and the sun.
Even in the motions of the moon.  Even the seasons - I've been marking the
movement of the sun in the sky, from winter to spring to summer.  I place
stones where the shadows from the sun fall each day after a full moon, and
then - well, I was doing that until Leon got mad at me for not working hard
enough - but I've kept track.  I make the marks, and you can study them,
and see ... I mean ... the sun and moon move back and forth over and over,
but there are ... limits ...."

"You look up at the stars at night.  Is there a beginning and end to them
also?  And the sky?  Or the land?"

"Well ... yes.  I think there must be.  Just because I can't see the end of
something, doesn't mean I couldn't measure it.  I've measured how high a
tree is, or how far I can push my cart in one day or ...."

She considered all of that for a moment, and I could see her amusement.
This boy was a tough one to convince, but she wasn`t about to give up.
"When you measured the movements of the sun and the stars and the moon, you
saw the limits.  But did you think about what brought them there, to those
limits?  What about their journey?  Maybe you should look down, Paniczu.
Look down here, beneath your feet.  Where you and your man are standing
now.  Where is the beginning or the end to the circles you see upon the
floor?"

"I ... don't know ...." he answered slowly.  His gaze followed the paths of
the circles, first one way, then another.

"Ahh, and just so," she continued.  "Look to the passegeway again, and
imagine the pathways that brought you and your man to the beginning of it.
Are they not like these circles which join and cross?  Look to the circles,
look ... look at the journey, rather than the beginning or end of that
hallway, if you would follow The Way.  Now look at this boy here," she
said, pointing to the sculpture.  He will die attempting to defend his
companion from the dragon ...."

"But I think that is Michel, Babciu," I broke in.  It finally hit me why
the figures seemed so familiar.  And the tapestry too.  Right out of the
legend of the Mount.  "Michel defeated the dragon, or so the legend of the
Mount says.  This is from the story of Aiden and Michel, isn`t it?"

She appeared to lose herself in contemplating the intricate sculpture, and
then seemed to bow her head in sadness.  "He is Etienne, comrade.  Not
Michel.  Master da Vinci titled this work `Etienne Triumphant.`"

"But the dragon ... Etienne was killed before his brother came to the Moun
...."

"Yes."  she pronounced with finality.  "But tell me, what was there that
ended with Etienne's death?"  She turned back slowly to once more look
directly at Jasio.  "Paniczu, your Piotrek must teach you the story of
Aiden and Michel, and Etienne.  From it you will learn much about the
circles, about beginnings and ends, and all the rhythms of life, including
your sun and your moon.  As a part of your journey, when you are ready, you
will continue on your pathways, and walk through this hall behind us."

She sighed.  "But enough of all these ancient admonitions.  There is much
still to be done this day.  The Straznik Drogi is not only the place where
you may learn more of The Way, but it is your home.  I wish I could show
you more of it now, but the sun will be setting soon.  Both of you will
need to retire to your rooms to dress for your journey to Jodlowka.  I will
also have food prepared.  I did not wish to disturb you too early this
afternoon, and you both missed the luncheon I had prepared for you," she
ended pointedly.

"Now if I can pry you two apart," she said wryly as she reached for Jasio's
arm where he held so tightly to mine, "Paniczu, I will take you to your
rooms.  Urszula is waiting there."

Jasio's eyes suddenly went wide.  From fear, from surprise - I couldn't
tell which.  Perhaps both, because even as he released his hold on me and
allowed her to lead him stumbling away, a plea tumbled from his lips. "But
... but why can't ... why can't you come with me to my room, Piotrek?" He
reached out for me.

I stepped forward, but the old woman just shook her head, leading him
farther towards the door off to the right of the entryway.  She had a look
which said to me she would brook no argument.  She spoke with a bit more
gentleness to the boy.  "Your Piotrek and I have some things to discuss
while you dress, Paniczu.  There really is no time to lose.  Please just
trust me, and do this my way."

"But I can change there, and then we could all go to his room and ...."
Jasio begged.  He was on the verge of panic.  He stopped, not letting our
hostess lead him farther away.  "Why don't I just wear my ol ...," Jasio
grasped for another argument, but his words died in the mid-air.
Unconsciously, I think, he ran his hands over the smooth fabric of his
tunic and his pants.  I couldn't help but think that he was suddenly very
reluctant to don his old rags, after spending the last hours looking and
feeling like a new boy.

"It will all go faster this way, Paniczu," the old woman said firmly, but
softly.  "We still have your dinner to serve too, before you leave for
Jodlowka.  Pan Ostoja can wear his own clothing if he wishes, but we may
have to fit you properly before you set out.  In the meantime I would like
a word with your man, here."

I gulped, not wanting to part from Jasio any more than he wanted to be
dragged away from me, but I could tell the old woman wanted to speak with
me alone.  She must have had her reasons.  I met Jasio's gaze with mine,
beseeching him silently to see that it wasn't my choice.  "Go with her,
Misiu.  It will be alright.  I promise you, it won't be long.  I won't let
it be long."

He seemed to slump, giving in, his hands falling to his side, and let the
old woman walk him towards the door.  She babbled on in her rasping voice -
something about how his maidservants would get him ready.  I hardly heard,
for not once did Jasio let his still imploring eyes release me.  She could
have led him straight into the wall, for all he was aware of his feet
shuffling along at her waddling pace. There was indeed fear there, behind
his resignation.

Who could blame him, I thought, but I just nodded to him reassuringly.  I
even managed a weak smile of encouragement.  He was brave.  He didn't cry,
but as Babcia led him round past the door jam, his lips were trembling
again.  All I could do was hope that Urszula would be true to her word, and
take care of my boy.

And then he was gone.

I think I gasped for air.  I looked around the marbled walls of the hallway
closing in upon me.  The hall now seemed suddenly completely, utterly empty
and lifeless.  The boys dancing upon the tapestry were frozen in place.
The likeness of Etienne was suddenly just so much cold stone.

Panic began to replace my confidence too.

I had tried to reassure Jasio, but little did I know what I would feel when
I could no longer reach out to him.  It was the first time since last night
that we had been apart for more than a few brief moments.  In his presence
I had been transformed.  No longer was I Piotr, lonely Piotr, disgruntled,
disillusioned, disheartened Piotr.  I was a man again.  With renewed
purpose.

Nay.  A completely new purpose.

Jasio!  Little boy!  Come back to me.

I felt disoriented.  Me, carry his burdens?!  It was he who had become my
support!

I literally staggered, feeling weak, and fell against the da Vinci
sculpture, and realized that the man who had almost given up his life last
night, was no more.  In his place was this man whose very heart was on the
other side of these cold marble walls.  Being led away.  To what?

I clambered back upright and started forward towards the same doorway
through which the old woman had taken the boy who had shaped my new heart.
How stupid of me to let her take him away.  "Fuck the Way," I grumbled out
loud, "if it doesn't mean being with Jasio.  Fuck all these plans laid for
us by this wizened old ogre and whoever this Captain Rudenko is.  I ...."

"That's not what he needs right now," I heard a soft, deep voice behind me,
and swirled around in fighting stance, like Etienne who stood fighting the
dragon.

It was the old man, the head of the household staff.  Dominik.

"What do you mean," I demanded, pulling up short before him, as he entered
the hallway from the doorway to the left of the entry.  I towered over him,
even though he too was tall.  But age had shriveled his frame, much as it
had the old woman's.  I could have smashed him to the floor with one swing,
but again - as with the old woman - I felt my sudden anger flee before the
steadiness in his eyes.  "Were you standing there all this time,
listening?" I accused him - one last outburst of pique from me.  I still
seethed inwardly, wondering what I was doing, stopping to listen to this
man, even as my Jasio was being led away.

"No sir," he answered me firmly looking me in the eye, unfazed by my
threatening stance.  "Mistress Agata rang for me from the far hallway.  I
was merely answering her call, when I saw your ... when I saw that you were
in obvious distress here."

"How do you know what I'm feeling?"

"You are not the first man to bring a boy here, sir.  I have seen every mix
of emotions in those men, in my years serving the ... serving the
Podhorowskis, and their cause.  You love him.  He loves you.  But am I
mistaken in suggesting that you have not known each other for long?"

"What would lead you to that conclusion, and what if that is the case?" I
answered defiantly.  Somehow it seemed to come out petulantly.

"Some of the servants are aware of the circumstances of your arrival last
night, sir.  Mistress Agata noted Jan's clothing.  We are all quite sure he
would not have been wearing those rags if a man of your stature had been
his Erastes for long."

I stepped back, letting him enter the hallway.  He strode very deliberately
to the main entryway, and closed the massive door that Jasio and I had left
open.  "That being the case, sir, that you and Jan have not known each
other for more than a few hours, I would ask you to consider something."

"And what is that?"

"Consider what the young lord needs most right now.  He knows that he loves
you.  I suspect he knows quite well the reasons for that love.  However, I
also suspect that he needs to know why you love him."

"I've tried to tell him."

"And no doubt your eyes have told him more?  I am a man too, Piotr Ostoya.
In some ways not unlike you at all.  I can imagine what the last day and
night have meant to you.  I can imagine some of the ways, beyond words,
that you have expressed what he means to you."  He smirked, but there was
no malice in it.  Then he continued with the hint of a laugh.  "I did not
need to be a man to see your condition when you arrived in the carriage."
He glanced down at my crotch and lifted his brow knowingly.

"I ... I ..." I fumbled for words, knowing that my cheeks were reddening.

"Urszula has much experience with boys, in helping them to prepare.  Why
not let her counsel Jan a bit.  Why not let her prepare him for what is to
come tonight?"

"And what exactly is to come tonight?"

"You'll be together, won't you?"

"Yes."

"Well, then Jan will need to know how ...."

"Ahh, Dominic," the old woman interrupted us loudly in her gruff voice.
"please have cook set out a light repast for Jan and his guest."

Dominic immediately bowed deferentially, as much to her as to me, and
backed away. "Sir," he said simply, then turned and walked off down the
corridor beneath the hanging tapestry.

I swung around immediately to face our hostess.  Even before I could ask,
she told me what I wanted to hear.  "The young lord is in good hands.  He's
been assured he will be with you again in just minutes.  So, Comrade
Ostoja, no nonsense from you.  Just follow me and listen carefully."

I took a deep breath and fell in behind her as she shuffled off towards the
door beneath the banner: `enter here if you would be beloved of a boy.'

"Your great coat is washed and pressed.  As is your uniform.  I assume you
will want to wear it back to Jodlowka.  It may help for you to ... Comrade!
Pay attention please!"

"I'm ... sorry, Babciu.  I can't help but wonder about Jasio.  Since we
met, this is the first time we have been separated.  I just don't want him
to worry."

She sighed, then turned back and continued to lead me on. The passageway
into the left wing of the palace closed in upon us.  The walls and
furnishings were much warmer than in the main hallway.  I followed along,
but have to admit that I was not paying close attention to the furnishings.
There were paintings along the walls.  Boys.  Every one of them.  Boys and
men, with them.  Strikingly beautiful boys.  I had no chance to study them,
for we passed only a couple of doors on the left, then she stopped at the
first one on the right.  She turned and opened the door, motioning me to
enter.

 "You and Jan can suffer a few moments apart.  You are not the first man
and boy to have been separated here.  This was last occupied by Lord
Antoni's beloved.  Guiscard Molinoux.  It is much as he left it when he had
to return to France in 1940.  Antoni made sure that we did not change
anything.  He came here often to ... well, to remember.  And hope."

A glance inside, and I knew we were indeed in a great noble's palace.
Everything was as if drawn out of a picture book.  It was a suite of rooms.
The old woman led me through the drawing room, where sumptuous couches
awaited visitors to the great one who must reside within.  A small fire was
lit in a grate against the wall.

Beyond had to be the master's bedroom.  Through the door I saw a huge
four-poster bed raised upon a dais along the far wall.

"Your manservant's station," she waved to an alcove off to the right.
"Call him if you need anything."  Then she led me straight through to the
bedroom.  It was huge.  As big as a whole floor of flats back at my
abandoned apartment building in Warsaw.  The room was laid out facing a
floor-to-ceiling window that opened out upon a private, walled terrace and
beyond that a manicured lawn and garden.  Again, to be expected in a
palace, I supposed.  A whole section of the room was laid out with more
couches, chairs, and a table, but it was the bed that dominated everything.
On one side of it was a low dressing table, mirrors and stools.  On the
other, a small writing desk.  Beyond the sitting area fan-folded doors
revealed a wall-to-wall wardrobe filled with clothes hanging from racks and
pressed in military precision onto shelves.

The fading light of early evening was giving way to the blue-gray hue of
dusk on the side of the room near the huge window, but in an opposite
corner a fireplace crackled and cast a ruddy glow to compete with the
encroaching darkness.  I felt the warmth of it too, and knew that the old
woman was right.  Jasio would need some heavier clothes if indeed we had to
venture back down the mountain this night.

"Your room, Piotr Ostoja," she said as she walked to the writing table.
She lit a small lamp there.  "Or it would be your room, if you were not so
intent upon taking our Jan away from us again."

"I suppose Monsieur Molinoux is not expected to return?"

"No.  He was executed in `44, as a member of the Resistance.  Something
Antoni never learned."

"His clothes?"  I waved toward the wardrobe.

"Yes.  He was tall, like you.  You may see what you can use. Tonight, and
when you leave."

"Thank you."

"And these?"  I asked, pointing to papers on the writing desk.

"His also.  A diary.  The few letters - notes - that Antoni received."

"It's like a shrine.  Perhaps we should not be here.  I don't think I
should take any ...."

"Straznik Drogi itself is a shrine, Comrade Ostoja.  You belong here, as
Jan belongs here, precisely because of what is enshrined here."

"And what is that?"

"I think you know much of the answer already.  I wish for you to learn
more.  But for now, we must talk of what you will do this evening."

"Ah yes, the mysterious Captain Rudenko, and his plans."

"Captain Rudenko is but one voice.  He only says what Jan's father would
have said, or Jan's grandfather, or ...."

"I get the picture, Babciu," I cut her off, becoming a bit exasperated
again.  "Look.  you've convinced me. You convinced me a long time ago.  Can
we cut the half-spoken revelations, the hints of ... who knows what, and
just get to the chase?  Why do I have to take Jasio back to Jodlowka
tonight?  What on Earth could you say - what could Antoni or Guiscard, or
the old Count have to say, that would make me risk one hair on Jasio's
head?"

Her visage hardened, but she answered directly.  "You may feel the weight
of a great tradition yet, Piotr Ostoja, but for now I understand that you
are like a child, expecting immediate answers.  Then hear this.  Captain
Rudenko has misdirected the KGB, for now.  He will not be able to keep your
pursuers off the trail for long, however.  Thus IF you return to Jodlowka,
it must be tonight.  Jan has the key that his father placed around his
neck.  Leon Kozcurba no doubt has Antoni's chest, to which that key
belongs."

"What could be so important in that chest that we should risk Jan's life to
get it?

"After the war, the Podhorowski's were stripped of everything - their
title, their lands.  The good Count had prepared as much as he could,
however.  He converted a great sum into dollars.  It was those dollars
which provided Leon the final pretext for betraying the Count and his wife
to the Russians.  I suspect, and Captain Rudenko suspects too, that Leon
found a way to keep that treasure.

I laughed.  "And you think that a hoard of dollars, or even gold, is so
important?  To me or Jasio?"

"That would not be your decision to make for him, now would it, Comrade?"

Now it was my face that hardened.  "I would make that decision for him,
Mistress Agata.  I believe he would accept that decision.  You don't know
what it is that we have together.  You can have no clue what we feel for
each other.  We've found each other, and that's ...."

"The Way!" she shouted.

"What?"

"What you have together, dear Comrade, is nothing less than what Etienne
had with Aiden - do you remember what Etienne dared?  Do you so quickly
forget what you vowed in my presence - in Jan's presence!  The Way,
Comrade.  If you would follow The Way, if you would have the faith to allow
Jasio to follow where his heart and his soul and the tradition of every one
of his ancestors would lead him, then you will return to Jodlowka tonight.
There are more than dollars in that chest.  There has to be.  There must be
another key there, Comrade, and that other key is something that Jan will
come to value as much as life itself.  As much as Etienne or any other boy
has ever valued his own life."

I had no answer.  My ears burned.  I closed my eyes to what seemed a sudden
glare.  I did remember what Jasio and I had pledged in the gate house.
More than that, I remembered the things he had said out upon the plaza in
front of the Straznik - things just between us.  But the old woman seemed
to sense them.  She knew the boy's spirit.

"Why can't the all-powerful Captain Rudenko just go to go Jodlowka himself,
now that he knows about the key?"

She stared at me hard, but finally spoke, "Communist.  You only know one
way, is that it?  The big, bumbling, heavy tread - Captain Rudenko should
just barge his way in to Jodlowka, search the place, and bring back Jasio's
things?  Would the authorities remain blind to that forever?"

"Alright, Babciu," I gritted my teeth.  "I will return to Jodlowka tonight.
I.  Not we."  My heart pounded as I gave in.  "Nothing you or Captain
Rudenko could say would make me take Jasio back there."

She stared at me.  Perhaps it was the blaze in her eyes that had been so
glaring, not the fire.  Her chest was heaving as much as mine, but she
showed no sign of needing to fall back upon the bed or a chair.  If
anything, she seemed stronger.  For the moment, even the palsied shake of
her limbs had ceased.

"You still understand so little, Piotr Ostoja.  I think you may find that,
as the Good Lord has said, `a child will lead the way.'"

And with that, she shuffled past me.  As she left the room, she spoke over
her shoulder, "Check the things here.  See what you may need.  I must see
to your supper.  Your manservant will call you when everything is ready."

I stood there disbelieving, as she simply walked out of the room.  She
couldn't know. She couldn't possibly understand what Jasio meant to me.  I
would talk about all this with him.  She would see.  She and her Captain
Rudenko would find out what was really important.

I collapsed back upon the bed, sitting on the edge.  My arm came down upon
the edge of the bedside writing desk.  My fingers rested upon the opened
page of a book.  The handwriting caught my eye - it had to be the diary.
Guiscard's journal?

Guiscard and Antoni.  A man and his boy, huh?  Tradition.  Guiscard,
beloved of a boy.

The Way.

Just terms.  What could all these terms that the old woman bandied about
really mean against the love that Jasio and I had found?

My beloved boy.

I saw the words even as I closed my eyes.  They were there, before me.

My beloved boy.

Jasio

Antoni ...

To My Beloved Boy

I shook my head and opened my eyes fully, to stare down at the pages of the
journal. The words had not just appeared in my mind, then.  They were
written, in Guiscard's hand.  The book lay open at lines of verse,
something Guiscard must have written to his Antoni.  I wondered if he had
left the journal open at this page when he left to go off to war.

There were marks upon the page, blurred smudges, as if made by droplets of
water that had spilled and left their mark midst the verse.

	Silver strands of purity were notes carried in the wind the day I
met you
	Crystalline chords as rich as the sun's light and as true
	The muses worked their arts with their highest power when they
created thee.
	And when I trailed your divine voice the ice of my spirit thawed
and was freed.

The first verse made my heart begin to flutter again, but it was softer,
steadier beat that built within me, not like the angry pounding when I
spoke so heatedly with the old woman. I gripped the edge of the table and
pulled the journal closer.  `... my spirit thawed and was freed' My god,
that was what happened when I found Jasio last night, both of us standing
there on that lonely road, both of us ready to quit.

	I expected to encounter a giant of musical joy.
	But alone in the courtyard stood the smallest boy.
	Your hair was of ruddy gold, and you gave me a winsome smile.
	I could not believe that the golden notes were from you - such a
young child.

	I begged you to reveal where my diva had disappeared to.
	As I searched your ebon eyes hoping for a clue.
	I had never seen such warmth and beauty in one face.
	You were the embodiment of the song with your innocent grace.

	It was then that you apologized if your singing had disturbed.
	I knew the moment you softly spoke that you were indeed the song
bird.
	You were also my day star, and the beating of my heart.
	For you I stalled the hateful day when I was forced to depart.

	Whenever I shall close my eyes I will hear your song of passion.
	I will see the little admiralty suit you wore setting your own
fashion.
	I will feel your sweet embrace as you clung like a vine to a tree.
	I will taste your honeyed breath as you pressed your lips to me.

	Each day I follow The Way so that I may be with you again.
	Through my tears, I promise you that, my lover and my friend.

Teardrops they were, then, I could well imagine - the smudges upon the
page.  Gusicard's.  Or Antoni's.

The beautiful versed lifted me.  Literally.  I stood and glanced down upon
those pages containing a promise that was fated never to be fulfilled. I
looked around me, and felt my breath come in starts.  Panic suddenly filled
me again.  But more than that.  A need.  I had been wrong to part from HIM.
Guiscard!  Weren't you wrong to have parted from your boy?

I don't know what it was that made me do it, but I reached down and closed
the pages of the journal.  At that instant I did not want anyone ever to
read those words again.  My gut wrenched at the thought of the heartsick
boy who had sat here night after night, perhaps day after day, and read and
reread those verses.

Jasio must never know that kind of hurt.  My spirit called out to him.  I
longed for him.  I would not wait to be with him.

In an instant I leapt through the doorway.  I hesitated but an instant in
the corridor, to make sure of my bearing and turned the way I was sure that
the old woman had led me. I bounded towards the grand hallway and saw that
it was empty, but it wouldn't have mattered if anyone were standing there.
Nothing was going to keep us apart.

I ran right on through, past the sculpture of Etienne battling to save his
Aiden, and into the right wing of the palace.  The corridor there was a
mirror of the one I had just come from, so it didn't take a seer's vision
for me to guess where my boy was.  I stepped up to the door where Antoni's
suite had to be.  Jasio's suite.  I opened it, and my headlong flight was
over.


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

Straznik Drogi September 15, 1959 5:47 PM


Jasio had learned to live outside his body long ago.  The first time he
could remember it, he had been such a little boy.  All the working hands on
the collective were out in the fields that cold, cold day in late winter,
stacking up the irrigation pipes, clearing the way for Spring plowing.
Jasio was there too.  Only five, but he already knew that if he wanted to
eat, his best chance was to work like one of the older boys. It was late in
the day, with dusk already upon them.  Everyone started heading back to
their shacks, when one of the farmers called out over his shoulder, "Glupi
Jasio!  Carry that last fitting over to the pipe rack."

It was heavy.  The icy steel flange cut into his little hands as he bent to
pick it up.  That didn't matter.  Jasio had no choice.  "Yes comrade," he
intoned wearily.  His exhaustion was something he couldn`t mask in his
voice, but he was careful not to show any kind of objection.

He wasn't afraid.  It was dark, and everyone else was walking away across
the field, but he knew his way.  He wasn't afraid until he stumbled under
the dead-weight of the heavy chunk of metal. Trying to catch himself, his
right foot swept right out from under him in the trodden mud around the
rack, and slipped between two pipes.  As he fell over, his foot wrenched
free of the pipes' vise grip.  It wasn't the pain that scared him.  It was
his instant awareness that he was going to end up spending the night out
there.  He knew instantly that he wouldn't be able to walk back without
help.

He called out, as loud as his little boy's voice would let him, but he knew
any sound he made would be drowned in the wind.  Worse, he was quite
certain that if any among the farmers had heard, they would dismiss it.

The cold seeped into him, even when he managed to drag himself in among the
pipes, out of the freezing wind.  The searing pain throbbed all around his
ankle, and spread up his leg.  He cried and cried.  From the pain.  And
from this reminder that he was as alone as one boy could ever be, in the
very midst of all the farmers and farmers wives and farmers children who
lived about him on this place he called ... home.

It wasn't until hours later that he realized, through the numbing cold
slowly deadening his body to the pain, that he had quit crying.  That he
could still feel the cold - yes, he could still feel the tendrils of pain
in his leg - but something else had happened to him.  He realized that he
somehow felt detached from all the pain and the cold.  He began to see the
dark.  Not just as an absence of light, but as an enveloping presence.  How
could that be?  He suddenly sensed things - like the fact that the pipe
felt colder to his touch than the mud.  Why was that?  He suddenly
discovered that the complete silence of this winter night was filled with
sounds!  Why couldn't he hear them before?  It was this night that he first
tracked the path of the Moon as it crossed the sky in inexorable slowness.
Why had he never noticed that trail before!?

He marveled that, through the rest of that long night, he could see, feel,
and touch things at a very raw and basic level, and at the same time think
about those same sensations and observations and analyze them in a very
calculated way.  When he stopped thinking, the pain hurt, but every time he
started wondering that 'why' question, it was like he was able to step away
from the pain and just observe it.

Now, as he let himself be led through the hallways of the Straznik Drogi,
Jasio sought that refuge of distance.  The hurt threatened to overwhelm
him.  The hurt of losing Piotrek.

He didn't want to feel it.  He didn't even want to think about it.

He felt the digging bones of the old woman's gnarled fingers as she pulled
him farther away from Piotrek.  They didn't hurt his flesh, but if he let
himself think about it, it would hurt more that Piotrek had let her drag
him away.  He walked meekly at her side into a long hallway that seemed to
extend forever.  Doors on either side.  Little tables set with vases full
of flowers.  Chairs set against the walls, in a pattern he registered
without even thinking about it.  One on the left, two on the right, one on
the left - and every chair across from a door.  If he sat in this one,
closest to them, he could wait for Piotrek ....

But Babcia pulled him farther.  Past paintings.  Patterns here too.  A boy
standing before a kneeling man.  Each painting - a boy and a man.  A boy
and ... his man.  The closest one - a boy standing before a kneeling man.
They were wearing clothes like he had never seen before So colorful.  And
they both had long, long hair.  The boy was so beautiful - he almost looked
like a girl, the way he was dressed.  But Jasio knew better.

This was not a place for little girls.

The man in the picture kissed the boy's hand, and held up a red flower to
him.

Each painting the same, and yet different too. Another pattern?  Sameness?
Difference?  A boy with his kneeling man.  A man offering a kiss, and a
flower.  A man in some kind of metal suit.  A boy with a collar that stuck
out a foot!  And beyond that ... well, he couldn't make out the details,
but still a boy.  And his man ... perhaps if he could just wait here, just
another boy.  Perhaps Piotrek would come for him.  His man.

But the old woman continued to pull him, farther and farther away.  Jasio
felt the pain trying to seep its way into his consciousness, and pulled
back from it even harder.

The air!  It was ... so clean, and smelled neither stale, like Leon's
storage shed, where no one ever entered, nor like one of the farmer's
shacks, with too many people crammed in.  It was as clear and clean as the
air outside, where he had stood with Piotrek ... what was it like where
Piotrek was right now, at this very instant?  Where was Piotrek?!  Right
now!

It was so quiet.  He heard only the sound of their own shoes tapping
lightly. sliding softly, along the polished floor.  He strained but could
not hear the longed-for, manly step that would be Piotrek - if only he
followed them.

There Urszula stood, at the very first door on the left.  A door that must
lead towards the back of the palace.  With her was the girl, Agniezka.
They greeted him, and lowered their heads, and kind of half-knelt - just
like the old woman had done before.  "Young master, we're so pleased to be
able to serve you this afternoon."

He answered.  He heard himself answering, even as he listened, but still
there was nothing from the direction where Piotrek must be.  "Thank you,
Pani."

"Urszula, the young lord will need a change of clothes.  Please prepare him
for a night out with Pan Ostoja," the old woman ordered.

"Yes, ma'am.  Please step this way, Paniczu" Urszula said.  She smiled, and
waved him into the room beyond the hallway door.  It was odd, he thought.
She smiled as if everything was alright.  Couldn't any of them sense just a
tiny bit of what he was feeling right now?  What it meant being separated
from Piotrek?  When he had just found him?!

Jasio knew how this was going to end.  He couldn't hold it back forever.
Sometimes the cold, or the hunger, or the pain, was just too great, and it
weaseled itself back in, drowning everything he tried to see or hear.
There was just nothing about these people - these servants, they called
themselves - there was nothing about the scent of the fresh flowers in the
vases, or the bright color of the red flowers in the paintings, or the
tables, the chairs, the big bed that he could see through another door, the
last of the evening sunrays throwing yellow blotches upon the gleaming
floor beneath the far window ... Jasio's mind reeled. He wanted to take it
all in, to hold off the fear and the pain - the tears - but ....

"You're trembling, Paniczu.  I know, everything is so strange, and you must
be wondering where Pan Ostoja is, what he's doing.  Well, you just let
Urszula and her little Agniezka take care of you, and get you all ready,
and you'll be back with him before you know it."

Just as suddenly as Jasio had felt himself withdrawing, wanting to mask the
pain, so now he rushed back in, focusing on Urszula's words.  Perhaps she
did understand!

"There, that's better.  You must love him very much," she said, her head
tilted to look more closely into his eyes.

"Yes.  I do."

"Then we know exactly what we must do, Agniezka."  Urszula gently took
Jasio by his elbow and ushered him through the ante-room into his bedroom.
He felt the certainty in her bustling demeanor, and for some reason wanted
to give in to it.  If she could do as she promised, then he would gladly
follow her.

"Pull the towlettes over here to the edge of the dressing table, then take
off the young lord`s shoes and socks," she instructed the young girl as she
led Jasio up to stand just before the crackling fireplace.  The dressing
table was situated conveniently to the left of the hearth.  The silent,
snapping yellow flames painted a warm glow across the face of the wide
mirror.  Lamps brightened the corners of the room, each of them flickering
as if in time with the flames.

"You will find that every boy who comes here - and I`ve learned this from
experience, and was taught it first by my own mother when she trained me -
every boy, the kind of boy who comes here, wants to look good for his
man. These are special boys.  And special men."

Urszula spoke as if instructing the girl, but she kept her eyes on Jasio's
down-turned face, wanting to draw him out from all his fear and anxiety.

"Boys like our Jan here - if they didn't want to look good for their men,
well, they would be out in the fields like your brothers, or - well, just
look at the painting there," she waved towards a canvas on the wall next to
the bed.  The boy was a curly-headed fawn, just like Jasio, eyes so big.
They spoke so clearly of love, the way they rested upon the man.  The
inevitable kneeling man.  "There's a glow about such boys, an awareness of
what they mean to their men, and a desire to please them.  Our Jan is no
different, are you, Panizcu," she said as she reached out and started to
unbutton his collar.

As Jasio slowly lifted his head, to return her gaze, he knew she could tell
that her words had sunk deep within him.  She smiled sympathetically.  He
looked at her with his eyes wide and appealing, saying through them that he
was listening, that he did agree.

 "We must find him the finest clothes.  We'll brush his hair just right,
and give him a quick towel bath.  Pan Ostoja will melt when he sees our Jan
again.  That`s so important.  Because they`re going to spend the evening
together, and we want that time to be as special as we can make it."

Jasio stood still, giving in to Urszula's knowing touch.  He soaked in her
words, thrilling to them.  He held his body pliant, like a leaf swaying to
her deft fingers as they fell to the hem of his tunic and lifted it up and
over his head.

He felt himself becoming aroused, but knew it wasn't because of this
woman's touch.  It wasn't even the memory of Piotrek's touch, earlier this
morning, when the man had helped him undress.  It was Urszula's intent - to
get him ready for Piotrek!  Jasio felt his breath suddenly coming in a
rush.  His chest gave a shudder in the intensity of his anticipation.  She
would help him look good for Piotrek, when they met again - let it be just
a few moments!  The businesslike movements of her hands told him that she
knew what she was doing. She had been his own father's handmaiden.
Finally, here was someone who sensed what he needed.  Someone who would
teach him how to please Piotrek.

"Oh, you're so slim!" she exclaimed as she got the tunic off.  "All skin
and bones, if you ask me, but I know most of the men prefer their boys like
that.  Might as well be a girl, but don't say that to one of them.  All
boys, boys, boys to these men."

"He IS pretty," Agniezka finally spoke, looking up from where she tugged at
Jasio's socks.  Without conscious thought he lifted his feet one at a time
to help her, but his whole focus was on the marvelous things that Urszula
was saying.  `All boys, boys, boys, to these men ....'  The thought of it
thrilled him.  It was indeed special, such a world where boys and men could
be together like this.  He was special.  Piotrek was special!

"Our Jan is not just pretty.  He's beautiful.  Like his father," Urszula
continued as she started on the buttons of Jasio's shorts.  "I used to curl
the young lord's hair a bit, because he thought that Guiscard loved it that
way, but with Jan that won't be necessary.  We'll just brush it and fluff
it up a bit."

"Why do all the men who come here only like boys, mama?"

"Agniezka!  Now is not the time to discuss these things."

"Yes ma'am," the girl stepped back, shocked at the vehemence of her
mother's response.

"That's alright, sweet.  Just observe, now. You must learn how to take care
of your little master.  But to answer your question this once, as I said,
boys like our Jan and men like Pan Ostoja share a special love.  It's
something that most of us perhaps don't understand, but when you see them
together, you won't care if you understand it.  You'll just know that it's
important.  You'll want to serve them, to make their time together the best
it can possibly be.  This has always been the way with the lords of this
land, for as long as the Podhorowskis have ruled here."

She was talking about him, Jasio realized.  About him and Piotrek.  It was
obvious, but ... somehow her description of the two of them surprised him.
Am I - Glupi Jasio - like ... could I ever be like the boys in the
paintings?

Piotrek belonged here.  That much was true.  He was just like the men in
the paintings.  Strong, with the same manly look, even as they knelt before
their boys.  The same look of truth in his eyes too, of ... like whenever
he said something, he meant it ... like whatever he said was just .. going
to happen - it was real.  It was an oath!  What the men in the paintings
were doing.  Kneeling, giving a pledge.

And the boys - they knew their men so well - there was acceptance in their
eyes - and trust to match the truth-saying of the men. There was more - a
giving.  Of themselves.  The men knelt, with their hands outstretched in
supplication.  The boys? What was it they gave, in taking the flower held
out to them?

Am I like that?  Have I given anything to Piotrek?  Returned all that was
offered?  I want it to be so.

"Such soft skin," he heard the woman, and realized that again she was
talking about him.  "A scar here and there.  I think you've had a very hard
life, Paniczu, but Aggie and I - we're going to wash each spot and put
soothing lotion on each scar and with just the right shade of cream we can
cover them up so Pan Piotrek will never know they're there.  Not that it
would change anything, if he did see them, but we want our boy to look his
prettiest tonight, no?"

Jasio felt a warmth washing over him.  He had heard mamas talking to their
little boys like this.  All this attention - and he knew she meant every
word of it - it was more soothing than any balm she might apply to his
skin.  He thrilled in anticipation.  Surely Piotrek would be pleased.

Pleased.  Oh please Piotrek, be pleased.

He felt the familiar tingling, centering between his legs, the growing
sense of need, the desire to touch himself.  But no - this was a new
desire.  One he had known only since this morning: to be touched instead by
Piotrek.

And now the swelling desire, the anticipation of fullness, was spreading to
his whole body.  He shivered.  He wanted this woman to touch him too - but
from her, he wanted the lotions, he wanted her creams, but oh God how he
wanted to hear her speak of it - of preparing him to be a better boy for
Piotrek.

"Let's get your pants off now, Paniczu," she continued with her mothering,
and he felt her hands at the buttons of his shorts.  She had to draw the
material together to loosen the first button.  The sudden tightness pulled
the fabric up into his crotch.  He jerked back involuntarily, lifting up on
his toes, but she held on firmly.  His siusiak was growing against the
impossibly tight confinement, and he suddenly felt his balls seeming to
swell too, threatening to burst through the fabric if the woman didn't
hurry.

"Oh don't worry, Little Lord," Urszula said, mistaking his little dance.
"Your father used to get the same way every time I got him ready for an
outing with Pan Guiscard.  I've seen it many times before.  I'll be very
careful."

"Now look here, Aggie," she instructed, "when Paniczu gets excited like
this - here, you can see his siusiak already pushing out," she placed her
fingers lightly along Jasio's imprisoned shaft, outlining the shape for the
girl.  "When he starts getting hard like this, you must be very careful.  A
boy's little siusiak is very sensitive.  As are the little eggs beneath."

"Yes ma'am," the girl answered, leaning in to observe carefully.  She got
down on her knees along with her mother and shuffled forward even closer.
"But the young lord isn't so small down there, is he mama?"  Jasio stared
down at the two of them.  They examined him as if he had a real sausage
within his pants, which had to be prepared for dinner.

"No, he's not.  He`s just like his father was." Jasio heard the pride in
Urszula's voice as she slid his pants and undershorts down off his hips.
They were both staring right between his legs, wide-eyed.  He knew his
siusiak was bigger that those of other boys he had seen.  Would that matter
to Piotrek?

As if his maid-servant had read his mind, she continued in her instructive
way while working his shorts down his slim thighs.  "But you see he is
still smooth and hairless here.  Pan Piotrek will love that.  All the men
do.  They want their boys to be so soft and smooth.  Our young lord's
father always had me keep him shaven after he started growing hair there -
he always wanted to be ready for when Guiscard might return.

"Now step out of your shorts, please, Paniczu.  That's right."

Jasio stepped lightly from the shorts, then stood as still as he could,
wanting to still the bobbing of his siusiak.  It might strike her in the
eye if she weren't careful!  He felt himself beginning to blush.

"Agniezka, fetch me a warm towel from the bowl, and we'll give our Jan a
quick bathing," was her response.  She seemed truly unfazed by his arousal.
Just like a mama would be.

"Make sure it's moist with the rose water.  There, you get one too, and
apply it just so to his shoulders first - look how I start here with his
feet.  Always allow your master to get accustomed to the sudden heat and
wet, but then rub firmly and quickly with the towel.  The wetness will soon
give him a chill on a day like this.

Matching her actions with her words, Urszula expertly molded the steaming
cloth to Jasio's feet and ankles, then quickly washed in circles up the
flesh of his calves.  The trail of moisture did cool quickly, but left him
feeling more refreshed than cold.  The fire in the hearth was filling the
room with more than its wavering glow.  He had a momentary flashback, to a
time years ago, when he had lain huddled in a cold corner of a farmer's
hut, watching as the children of the house - the children that belonged
there - were given baths standing in a tub next to the open fire.  Now he
knew what that felt like too.  It was nothing like this morning, when
Piotrek had bathed him in the hot pool.  He had melted completely into
Piotrek's intimate touch - but letting this woman and her daughter explore
his body just seemed right.  They cared.  They really cared.  He felt a
tightness in his chest and breathed deeply, trying hard not to give in to
feelings that had long lain dormant within him. Glupi Jasio was an outcast
no more.

"Mama, I thought they only got hard when they wanted to stick it ...."

Urszula shushed her, but then giggled softly, looking up with her brow
arched in disapproval.  "Aggie!" she admonished the girl. "Watch your
tongue in front of the young lord.  Just listen, and learn.  No, a boy can
get hard like this for many reasons - I suspect our Paniczu is thinking
some about his Piotrek.  Is that right, my lord?" she looked up at him, but
almost immediately dipped her head back down in obeisance.  She smiled
meekly even as she continued to slowly caress and rub his legs, rising up
along his thighs.

Jasio caught a hint of mischief in her amusement, as if she had revealed a
secret held between just the two of them.  He had been laughed at so many
times before - this wasn't like that.  Urszula wasn't making fun of him.
Not of him, nor of the response that his body was giving to the events of
this magical afternoon and evening.

"Y-yes, I was thinking ... I mean, what you said, do you think he wants
...," he tried to say it, wanting so much to hear again all about the boys
and men of the Straznik.  How he might be like all those other boys.  He
ended lamely, "where is Piotrek now ,do you think ...."

"Ahh, Paniczu," she said looking up again, her eyes softening in immediate
understanding.  "Even now your Piotrek is preparing to meet you.  Now you
just let Aggie and me take care of you, and you'll be with Pan Piotrek in a
trice."

He sighed and without even knowing it, stepped closer to her, giving her
full control of his body for as long as it would take to make him ready.
The way he stood there, submitting to their unfamiliar touch was all the
answer she needed.  Lovingly she patted the bare cheek of his bottom.

"Good.  Good, Aggie.  Now stand up and finish him there, under his arms,
just one more quick scrub there, then come back down here with me.  That's
it.  Good.  Good."

"Now, "she said, lifting her body straight up on her knees, "as I said, a
boy must be handled with great care when he is in this state.  His flesh is
tender, and incredibly sensitive.  But we must clean him here.  And his
bottom too."

"Make sure your hands are warm - and they should be from the steamed
cloths.  Now make a little cup with your fingers and slip them right up
under his eggs.  You can tell - gently now! - you can tell that the fire is
just right this evening, because the young lord's eggs hang so low and
loose.  Don't rub them together.  That can hurt him.  My lord, it would
help if you stand perfectly still.  Gently now, Aggie, wipe around the
sack. Good.  Then underneath.  Reach back between his legs.  He'll turn
around in a minute, and we'll get his bottom."

It was all Jasio could do to comply with her command.  The girl was trying
to be gentle.  He knew that.  But the way she rubbed was nothing like the
magic of Piotrek's touch.

"Now, the same with his siusiak.  Be just as careful with it, but the thing
to avoid here is the tip.  See, here where it pokes out from his foreskin.
Grasp his shaft behind the head, there and hold it steady while you clean
around it.  Press tightly enough to pull that skin back over the head - we
need to clean in there.  I know some men love the taste there, but if our
Pan Piotrek is like most of the men who come here, they prefer their boys
to be clean beneath their foreskins.  Come on.  You have to tug a little
harder and it should slip right over the rim."

"But mama, I don't think he likes it.  He keeps ...."

"You can pull your skin back, no?  Paniczu?"  Urszula sounded almost
frightened..  "I should have asked earlier."

"Yesss," Jasio almost hissed through clenched teeth.  The girl's grip on
his penis was delicate enough to start with, but with her mama urging her
on, she was squeezing it harder now, and at the same time pulling his
foreskin taut as she tried to tug it back.

He forced himself to watch as the girl stared so intently at his hardened
siusiak.  She seemed so eager to please her mother, and so determined to
clean him as directed, that he couldn't bring himself to pull away
completely, even when the pad of her thumb brushed his bare dick head.

He let out a small wail at the sensations that threatened to arise within
his siusiak.  Again, the anticipation was almost as excruciating as the
real thing, and the sudden memory of this morning, when Piotrek had bared
his glans and jerked up and down on his shaft, overcame his control and he
humped his hips forward, sliding his dick within the tight grip of her
fingers.

"No! No! Aggie!" Ursula admonished the girl.  "You must never do that.  If
our Jan was a bit older, that kind of thing might make him spurt out his
seed. Even as young as he is, we mustn't take a chance of bringing him to
orgasm.  That is something we must respect as the right of his beloved."

"For a boy like our Jan, being hard like this can even be painful at
times. If - and only if - he asks you to help him take the edge off such
pain, because his lover is perhaps not around that day, then you will slide
your finger tips up and down upon his siusiak - just like you've seen your
brothers do it, no doubt.  You must be prepared in such a situation with a
warm, wet cloth like these, to catch the master's seed and to wipe him
clean . But you don't spurt yet, do you Paniczu?"

"No," Jasio growled through clenched teeth.

"Well, someday soon you will.  You siusiak is quite big already and your
eggs hang low.  Your father spurted for the first time when he looked like
this.  Pan Piotrek will be proud of you when you do it, although I'm quite
certain he loves you just as you are now.  You know a boy who doesn't spurt
yet can please his man over and over - a boy like you drives a man wild
with his passion."

"You think .. you think I do that ... to Piotrek?" Jasio asked, for the
moment completely forgetting the girl's rude touch.  His voice rose so
softly and plaintively.  Urszula could only smile knowingly up at him.

"Ah yess, indeed," she chuckled.  "Not a one of us could help but notice
that he's quite taken with you!  He could not hide that, and I dare say he
did not try too hard to hide it, either.  He'll soon learn that we are
quite familiar with the ways of boys and men at the Straznik Drogi."

"Now it's time for us to wash your little bottom, Paniczu.  If it pleases
you, turn right around and lean over a bit."

Her request caught him by surprise even though he had heard her comments to
the girl earlier.  He hesitated in wide-eyed wonder for the briefest
moment, feeling suddenly like one of the little rag dolls that some of the
girls played with back at Jodlowka.  There was no direction that their
flapping limbs would not bend to, no part of their bodies that would escape
invasion by their owners' hands.  He had sometimes longed to play with one
of the dolls, but never had he dreamt of himself as the plaything.  Until
Piotrek.  Until this morning, he had to admit.  To lie before Piotrek and
feel the man's strong hands upon him, dressing him, washing him.  He wanted
that again, to fold himself into the man's arms, to give himself up
completely.  He wanted it with Piotrek.  He could endure it, with this
woman and her daughter.  It was a purifying rite that they were performing.
This was all for Piotrek.  This would make him ready to meet his man again.

He turned slowly, unaware that he had suddenly lifted his arms and rose
upon the balls of his feet.

"Don't fly away, little bird," Urszula laughed softly.

He blushed, and settled back upon his heels, acquiescing silently as the
woman inserted the backs of both her hands between his thighs and gently
pried them apart. "Bend over a little, Dear One, so your Urszula can see
your little rose."

The feel of her hands resting upon his cheeks and her thumbs plying them
apart again made Jasio remember when this had happened first - in the
baths.  It was alright that she see him there.  Piotrek had been first.  It
had been important to Piotrek.  He had lovingly washed back there.  And
Jasio remembered his own feelings, when he felt the man's fingers slip
between his cheeks, felt the trickle of the cleansing waters wash into his
hole.  He had turned his head back to look at Piotrek.  The man's eyes had
met his own, both sensing something important passing between them.  Need,
want ... permission ... Jasio had never felt so sure of anything - even
though he didn't understand it - what Piotrek felt as he washed Jasio's
bottom was very powerful, the emotions that passed between them were so
very important.

So it was important now, to be clean there.  It was important, just as
Urszula had said.  It was important for him to be ready.  For Piotrek.

Again the woman seemed to know without them even speaking of it, what Jasio
was thinking.  She said, "Aggie, this is one of your most important
responsibilities."

Jasio tensed, wanting to shout out, "Tell me, too!  Tell me what all this
means!"  Instead, he shivered again, and strained his ears to hear every
word.

"It's a fact that loving a man can be physically wearing on a boy - right
here," and Jasio felt her place the pad of her thumb right on his hole.

"You must watch for any splits in the skin, or for too much bruising, and
apply the proper ointment if needed.  If the bruising is too much, then I
think it is necessary for you to tell the man.  When they get together,
they are apt to forget caution - but once I told Pan Guiscard that Antoni
needed some rest from being entered so often, and he said he appreciated my
courage."

"Our Jan here shows no such problem, "she said as she dabbed about with her
warm towel. "It must have been some days since they have done it.  Fetch me
that white box, there on the edge of the table."

Jasio wondered what she meant - `some days since they have done it.'  He
craned his head to follow the girl as she brought the box back.  It was a
beautifully polished, creamy-white box.  It looked like it was carved in
two solid pieces from some precious fine-grained wood.

"What size do you normally use, Paniczu," Urszula asked matter-of-factly as
she opened the box to reveal a set of equally polished tubular-shaped
objects - gleaming, solid white, slightly curved.  One end of each object
was honed to a smooth, blunt point.  The other end was flattened or even
flared out wide.  They were of varying lengths and thicknesses.  Jasio
half-turned, to get a better look.  He had never before seen such
treasures, and as was his habit, he immediately wondered what they could be
used for - what he could use them for.  They must be very valuable.  Each
rested in a soft, white cushion, molded to its form.

"I'm - I'm not sure what ... I'm sorry, Urszula, but I've never seen
anything like those before."

"Oh! Just like a man.  So eager to plow a boy's bottom that he doesn't take
the time to teach him.  I'll wager that Pan Piotrek loosens you up with
just his fingers.  Is that right, Paniczu?" her voice was filled with
indignation, but her eyes looked with such tenderness upon him, as if she
might cry.

"His fingers?" Jasio asked, bewildered.

"Before he pushes his siusiak up into your bottom, he must ..."

"Oh!  My young lord! Forgive me, I just assumed ... but of course
... you're still a virgin!  He hasn't mounted you yet, Paniczu?  You
haven`t made love yet?"

Made love?  The images bounded through Jasio`s mind.  He suddenly wanted to
shout out to the woman that yes, indeed, Piotrek had made love with him.
Piotrek had loved him in every way, in ways that he had hardly imagined.
Piotrek had loved him like no other, like no man, woman or child had ever
even begun to love him.

"He loves .. me," he said in a halting voice, wanting to deny any
deficiency that she might be implying about his Piotrek.

"Oh, of course he loves you.  I meant ... Paniczu, forgive me again,
please.  My job, my honor, is to serve you.  Unfortunately, I don't know
that much about the life you have led before coming here last night -
there's so much I don't know about you and your Piotrek.  I had just
assumed ... but it was wrong of me to assume anything.  Please allow me to
ask some very personal questions, so that I can know how best to serve
you."

"Alright, I'm not upset.  You can ask whatever you want."

"Then, well, how long have you known him?"

"Today.  Just today," Jasio answered, knowing even as he spoke that she
would not understand, that no one could understand what this one day had
meant between him and Piotrek.

"Oh," Urszula's brow shot up.  "But you are ... lovers ... but of course
you are," she seemed to be half talking to herself.  "Madame Sokolska told
us that you have accepted the Way, that Pan Piotrek was worthy in every way
... but, Paniczu, has he ... let me just ask you straight out.  Has he
touched your siusiak?"

"Yes.  And I have touched his," he said proudly.

"And perhaps, you've rubbed them up and down?"

"Yes." Jasio felt his chest beginning to heave and his heart beginning to
beat harder, just telling about what he had Piotrek had done together.  He
felt such pride as he had never known before, to be able to proclaim them.

"But he hasn't ... uhh, as you men say - he hasn't fucked you yet?  He
hasn't put his penis inside your bum yet?"

"No," Jasio felt his face flushing suddenly.  Piotrek's thing - in my
... sticking in my ... this is what he meant, when he told me about Tomek.
His man.  Like ... what Leon did with the girls he brought to his shack.
Or the farmers.  Their shacks were small.  Everyone lived together, there
was little privacy.  He had heard things at night - he knew all about
fucking.  He felt the familiar tightness and tingling between his legs that
came from just being around Piotrek, but now he imagined something more -
he imagined the feeling starting behind, inside. Piotrek behind him, close
to him, very close, sticking his hard siusiak up in ...  this was exactly
what Piotrek meant, when he said they would join together.

 He glanced around the room, at the paintings.  Men and their boys.  Had
they known the same kind of closeness that he and Piotrek had shared today?
Of course, they had!  Had they ... fucked? All these boys and men
... fucked?  He felt faint, and suddenly unnerved - an electric shiver
convulsed his body - it was like he felt Piotrek's hands on him, the man's
penis plunging deep within him - he knew what it must feel like.

He steadied himself, forced himself to focus, and looked back down at the
woman, almost breathless, wanting to beg her to tell him more.  "Please
...." he started to implore her.

"It's alright, Paniczu," she said soothingly, mistaking his emotion.  She
patted his thigh.  "You don't have to do it.  You didn't ... uh, want to do
it?"

"No!  I mean, yes!  I - I want it - if that's what Piotrek ... we never had
the chance ... is it something that all the boys here want?"

"Yes, I think very much," Urszula said solemnly, with a nod of her head.
"Your father wanted it.  He described it to me, Paniczu, what it was like
having his man's siusiak up inside his bottom - he said it was his
definition of heaven - being joined with the man he loved."

"I know it's what Piotrek will want.  He told me.  I understand it now.  He
wants me ...  like that."

"Unless Madame Sokolska and all the rest of us are very much mistaken," she
laughed, "I think you can be sure Piotrek will want to - we call it `making
love,' Dear One - he will want to make love with you every chance he gets
and so will ...."

"Then I want it too.  Very much." Jasio breathed the words dreamily, almost
forgetting the presence of the two women for an instant.  Back in the gate
house, Piotrek had tried to tell him.  And he thought he had understood,
but now - it all made sense.  Being separated from Piotrek, even within the
confines of the Straznik, was something he didn't want to bear.  To be
joined with him, the way she described it - it would be like sealing their
union together, like they could never be parted again.

"Then we must get you ready for it, indeed.  I assure you, if you make it
plain to him that you`re ready for it, your Piotrek will not deny you.
Turn back around now, if you please."

Jasio willingly complied, leaning over and propping his palms upon the
wall.  He felt the woman's hands on either side of his thighs, running up
and down slowly, tenderly, caressing him.

"You're so thin, Paniczu," she clucked, appraising his slim form.  Your
siusiak may be one for a big boy, but you are still a small boy indeed.
Pan Piotrek will have to be careful when he enters you," she said,
worriedly.

The concern in her voice only served to tighten the knot that Jasio felt
growing deep within his bowels.  It wasn't akin to pain - it was more like
a hunger, a growing need that demanded to be satisfied.  Like when he
wanted something so bad that his whole body reacted to it.  "It doesn't
matter.  I want him there," he breathed out, feeling his muscles clenching.

"Spread your legs again, Paniczu, and Urszula will choose just the right
wand for you.  Your father used to call them that.  Magic wands, he called
them.  Urszula, fetch me my Magic Wand, he would say.  I must prepare for
tonight."

"Why magic, Tata?" Agniezka asked.  She was still on her knees next to her
mother, following her every movement.

"Haha, because with such a tool, a boy can pretend he is with his man.
Antoni used to tease Pan Guiscard about it.  `Which will go deeper?  Which
is bigger?'  he would ask.  Your father was such a scamp when it came to
teasing his man.  I hope you won't be so cruel to Pan Piotrek, Paniczu,"
Urszula laughed.

"No. Never," Jasio answered solemnly.  He couldn't imagine joking about it,
this thing that he now wanted so badly.

"Well, Guiscard loved it all the same, I think.  And for sure Antoni never
chose his magic wand over the real thing as far as I know!"

As she continued her chatter she also continued her examination.  Jasio
felt her lightly massaging his cheeks apart, then felt her fingertips
pressing tentatively all around his hole.  "Your rose is so tight.  I can
see now that no man has ever opened you here.  Definitely the smallest plug
will have to do. It's thick enough to stretch you if you keep it in long
enough, but it won't hurt you.  I'm sure Pan Piotrek's penis is much bigger
around than this, " she said as she lifted the smallest of the cylinder's
from the box and held it for both Agniezka and Jasio to see.  He half
turned again, but kept one hand on the wall.

The magic wand that she had chosen looked to be no longer than his middle
finger, but it was thick - as big around two or three of his fingers held
together.  It looked so hard and cold.  The smooth, blunt point on one end
was just like all the others, but unlike most of the longer wands, one end
of it was flared out in two directions - almost like a handle, to hold it
with.  Surely that wasn't supposed to go up his bottom!

"This will loosen your ring, Paniczu.  We insert it right up to these
flanges here.  They will keep it settled right between your cheeks, and
won't let it go any farther inside you. And you see, it's a bit thicker
right in the middle, so it won't slip out of you, either.  Antoni used to
wear it for hours.  He said it felt ... well, he called it `delicious.'
But your father was a naughty little boy, let me tell you.  He did like to
play with his wands!"

"Is it naughty t ...."

"Oh no, I am just joking.  Having you here, and being able to talk about
your dear father like this, just makes me feel so happy.  Of course it's
perfectly alright for you to use the wands.  And to experiment with them,
even when you don't expect to be with Pan Piotrek."

"Now watch. If you ever do want to play with them, you will need to do
this.  And Aggie, you must always do this if the young lord asks for his
magic wands.  See here, you lift up the cushion at the end, and here is the
lubricant.  Just a dribble from the vial, spread especially around the tip
of the wand, and it will go inside you so much more easily, Paniczu."

"Now touch it." she held up the dildo for him.

Jasio put out one finger to touch the wand.  It was slick with the oil,
smooth to his touch.  Not at all cold, like it looked. But not hot, either,
like Piotrek's siusiak.  Slick as it was, it was easier to imagine this
thing slipping up into his butt than Piotrek's huge thing, but it was the
man's that he wanted - he could imagine it, too.  Hot, thick, pressing up
against his hole, Piotrek holding him tight so that they could become like
one living being.

He moaned at the thought, and instinctively clenched, then released his
butt cheeks, swaying his hips back ....

"I know it must be frightening at first," Urszula consoled him, again
mistaking his response to feeling the hardness of the dildo.  "I'll be
gentle, Paniczu, just like your Piotrek.  He'll be gentle too, and this
little wand will make it easier for both of you.  It - it really is what
you want, isn't it?"

"Yes!" he breathed out, not trusting himself to speak, for fear of shouting
it.  Again he shivered.

"Are you cold, Dear One?  No, I see, you can't be. Your skin is flushed.
Hot.  Yes.  You want it. You're ready.  Aggie, watch carefully now, you
will be assisting the young lord in this in the future, if he needs help.
Paniczu, lean forward again.  Loosen up, now.  That's it.  I'll just
separate your cheeks - there, loosen up.  Good.  Good.  Now I'll just nudge
the tip of the wand ... right there.  Steady. Steady. You can tell me if it
ever hurts.

The woman's cooing voice was calming, and Jasio held onto the sound of it
like a lifeline, but he quickly lost any sense of what she was saying.  It
was all he could do to force himself to breathe as he felt the rounded head
of the wand circling and pushing against his hole.  Connecting with his
hole - pressing, sliding ... searing, firing ... entering now ... he felt
himself stretching, but more - he felt his very being centering upon his
hole - he had never dreamed it could feel like this ... it hurt, but it
didn't hurt ... he tried to make himself breath, but the air entered his
lungs only in gasps, and he felt himself becoming faint .. it was only the
wand - that solid, hard, invading thing that held him up, that made him tip
up upon his toes as if to get away from it - but no!  He didn't want to get
away from it!  He consciously lowered back down, meeting the thing,
inviting it in, willing his bottom to open up, willing the sensations to
spread, then willing his arms to stop trembling, to hold him steady, so he
could take it even deeper, and higher, and ....

"Ayhhhhheee!"  He screamed in a voice trembling no less than his limbs.
The wand had suddenly slipped deeply within him, as if it had passed a
barrier, and he felt it lodged up in him - he could actually feel it's
solid presence inside him.  He had to be still!  Every movement he made was
sending stabbing currents through him - the thing kept touching something -
some ... spot, within him.

"Hold him, Aggie.  On that side," he heard Urszula command loudly, and felt
her now standing beside him, one hand holding him beneath his arm, the
other at his thigh, holding him steady, holding him upright.

"Does it hurt so much," he heard the girl's voice this time.  She seemed on
the verge of tears.

"It can hurt a boy ...."

"No!" Jasio interrupted the woman.  She couldn't know what she was talking
about this time.  "It - it doesn't - hurt!  It's ... incredible!  I think -
you can let me down.  I can ... stand," he said, as he stepped back upon
his tiptoes again, and pushed himself off from the wall.

He tried walking about, on stiff legs, still on just the balls of his feet,
as if by lifting himself he might keep the wand from impaling him even
deeper, but he knew that it was lodged inside him up to its full length.
It would go no farther - he could feel the flanges, settled firmly along
his butt crack, forcing his cheeks unnaturally apart.

The girl giggled now, but her hand flew up to her mouth, and she stifled a
sob.  Urszula held out her hands helplessly, wanting to hold him, but
wanting to obey him even more.

"It's alright, don't cry, Agniezka," Jasio said.  "It feels ... so goooood!
It never hurt.  It wasn`t hurt ... it was ... I can`t even describe it."

"Like the stars had suddenly fallen from the sky and every one of them
entered into your body, and you couldn't contain them all ...."

"Yes!"

"Your father's words.  When I asked him, one time, why he loved it so
much."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Jasio grabbed for her, and held onto her
hands to steady himself.  "If this is what it will feel like with Piotrek,
then I may die of it.  Please, let's hurry.  I want to ... tell him ...."

"Yes, of course.  Aggie, pull out the stool, by the dressing table.
Paniczu, can you sit?  The wand won't go any deeper."

"Yes, I think I can.

Jasio allowed them both to help him sit.  Very gingerly he settled himself
upon the cushion of the stool, slowly adjusting to the pressure as the wand
pushed up to it's maximum depth inside him.  It didn't hurt at all.  It was
just ... what were his father's words?  Delicious.  Yes.  That described it
perfectly.  He squirmed a bit, allowing his cheeks to compress against the
flanges, feeling the shaft of the wand move back and forth against the
walls of his hole.  Every movement sent little shudders of pleasure through
him, and the ache that had started the very moment that Urszula began
talking about preparing for the evening with Piotrek just grew and grew.
With a shock he realized that the center of that ache was no longer his
siusiak and his balls.  It wasn't even from his bottom hole.  It was
... just ... deeper - deep within him, and it throbbed, and when the wand
moved just right, it struck like lightening, in an excruciating flash of
pleasure that was almost as good as when Piotrek made him cum in the baths.

Delicious.  Delicious . Delicious ....

"Now to just apply some cream here and there, Paniczu," Urszula startled
him from his dream, and Jasio opened his eyes fully.  "I think you will be
even prettier if we can soften and cover up some of the abrasions - like
here, on your arm, and your legs.  It won't take much.  You really are a
lovely boy," she prattled on as she dabbed here and there on his face, his
tummy, along his arms and legs.

He followed her expert hands, and when she took a fluffy pad and plunged it
into a bowl of white powder, it was like entering into a cloud - she patted
the sweet-smelling powder all over his body.  All across his chest,
circling his neck.  Under his arms, down over his stomach.  It almost
tickled, but he didn't laugh.  He held his breath, focusing on the feel of
the infinitely soft pad.  He closed his eyes and spread his legs upon the
cushion as he felt Urszula go lower and lower.  The impossible happened -
the plug settled into him even deeper, resting directly against the
unyielding cushion.  He almost lifted up then, to close his legs, but then
Urszula dabbed quickly, with such a sensitive touch, around his balls and
along his still-hard shaft.  He felt the pad envelope his siusiak - and he
had to breathe, suddenly - had to gasp.  Then he felt her fingers
leveraging his siusiak back even farther - felt the pad running up and down
the underside.  She settled it back softly, expertly, as if she had done
this many times before, as if she knew without him telling her, just how he
wanted her to treat him.

He opened his eyes as he felt the soft touch of the pad circling his hips,
then upon his thighs.  He watched as she applied the sweet-smelling fog to
legs, to his ankles, along his feet, all the time swaying ever so slightly,
testing the object that invaded his bottom, experimenting with the
sensations.

She left no part of his body untouched - except where the wand lay embedded
in him.

"Lean forward, Paniczu, so I can get your back."

"Mama!" Agniezka cried out.  She pointed to Jasio's back as he obediently
leaned forward over the table top.

"My young lord!" Urszula exclaimed too as she finally saw the ugly welts
that criss-crossed Jasio's back.  Hesitantly, she reached out to touch
them.  "You were ... beaten?  Whipped?  Who did this to you?  Does it
hurt?" Her questions tumbled over each other.

"No, it doesn't hurt anymore, Pani.  But let's not talk about it right now,
alright?" Jasio answered, not wanting to dwell on such things.  He felt too
good.  He felt that all was becoming right.  Leon and Jodlowka - none of
that mattered anymore.  None of that belonged here. "Just ... can you put
some of that ... can you put it there too?"

"Yes, of course," Urszula answered.  She wiped tears from her cheeks with a
cloth that hung at her waist, then dabbed the powder puff gently across his
shoulder blades, then down across the scars.  "You can lean back now, my
lord.  I'm ... I'm so sorry ...."

"It's nothing, now," Jasio answered almost absently, looking down the
length of his body.  As the cloud of powder settled, he saw that his flesh
looked somehow smoother.  He touched his stomach - it felt so smooth and
soft.  His rigid siusiak was now a pale shade of pink, even the head where
it peeked out from the circle of foreskin.

Then to his amaze, Urszula took a soft, fine brush and proceeded to whisk
the powder away!  Everywhere she had coated him in the white, dusty cloud,
she brushed him just as thoroughly clean.  With a gentle pinch of her thumb
and forefinger around the head of his penis, she quickly lifted the skin up
over his meatus and like magic, the fiery, raw, aching head of his siusiak
was revealed again.  He couldn`t help but jump, raising his little bottom
off the cushion, then impaling the wand back again when he sat back down.
He let out another aching groan.  Urszula giggled.  "Sorry, Paniczu, but I
know Pan Piotrek doesn't want a mouthful of powder when he kisses you," she
was quick to offer in explanation.  The powder will leave your skin so
fragrant - like a flower - and soft.  You'll feel like any fabric you wear
is silk ...."

"What's silk?" he asked dreamily, his mind half lost in the new sensations
- the plug that continued to send spasms of pure pleasure through his body;
the feel of the cool, white powder, that somehow made him feel comforted
and cared for; the scent, that made him indeed feel like a flower just
opening.  Fresh.  Clean.

"Here, let's brush your hair, and let you select from some bracelets -
perhaps a necklace would look just right?  Then I'll show you what silk is.
Your father used to love to wear silk."

Jasio stared at the image in the mirror that rested upon the dressing
table.  He saw two women take up brushes and begin to draw them expertly
through the curly hair of a boy.  A very beautiful boy.

Outside, before they had climbed the steps into the Straznik, Piotrek had
asked, "What do you find beauty in, Jasio?"  They had talked of the flowers
that lined the plaza, they had strode over to contemplate the man and boy
frozen for all time stepping into the fountain.  He had admitted to feeling
beautiful himself, whenever he felt Piotrek's eyes upon him.  He understood
beauty even better when he saw the paintings that hung everywhere upon the
walls of the Straznik.  Beautiful boys dressed in clothes that adorned
them.  Young boys, older boys, some with hair flowing to their chests, some
wearing their hair shorter, boys who had walked these halls - when?  Last
year?  A generation ago?  A hundred, two hundred years ago?  Next to the
dressing table was a photograph of his own father, when he was just a boy.
And oh yes, he was beautiful!

And the boy in the mirror?  Glupi ... no.  Never again, that name.  Jasio.
Jan Podhorowski.  He really was beautiful.  With a tightening in his chest,
he knew for absolute certain at this moment that he would be pleasing to
Piotrek.  He would be worthy, if ever Piotrek were to kneel at his feet and
offer him a rose.  Everything he had ever sensed in himself - his
abilities, his intelligence, his unfailing curiosity - his goodness!  For
he was a good boy.  He had always been a good boy.  No one else had seen
it.  No one till Piotrek.  Everything that Piotrek had seen in him was a
part of his beauty.

 The women were combing his hair to a lustrous glow, fluffing it, giving
each curl a life of its own. He wondered - if he had known all these years,
if he had been able to understand or comprehend his own beauty, would
things have been different?  His hair - he had rarely combed it.  His
clothes - he had cared more for their encompassing warmth than their style
or color.  Perhaps he could never have done anything different, not in
those circumstances.  But now Piotrek had found him.  Piotrek had seen all
the worth in him.  Piotrek had made something else possible.  So if these
women would make his hair shine, if they knew how to scent his body, if
they could show him how to wear the beautiful clothes that the other boys
here had worn - if ... if they ....

"Urszula," he uttered her name softly, almost absent-mindedly, still
looking at his own visage in the mirror, "necklaces, bracelets - what are
those things?  Can you show me?  Did my father have them too?"

"Bracelets, Dear One.  Necklaces.  They're ... well, why try to describe
them? Agniezka, go into the wardrobe and fetch the jewelry box.  There, you
can see it on the second shelf, on the right."

Jasio looked where Urszula pointed.  "Oh!" he exclaimed and like a
lightening bolt jumped up from the stool and faced the wardrobe.. He hadn't
noticed before!  Never had he seen so many clothes!  They were hanging from
long rods that stretched from one side of the closet to the other, or
folded in neat rows and piles upon shelves and cubicles that lined each
side.  Colors!  Every color he could imagine.  And shoes!  More than enough
shoes and clothes to fit every man, woman, and child in Jodlowka.

"All that ... for me?" he choked.  He stepped towards the wardrobe in slow
motion, like he was drawn to it by the steady pull of some unseen magnet.
With one hand he unconsciously reached back behind himself, feeling for the
crown of the wand, assuring himself that it would stay lodged within him.

Urszula could not help but laugh, but she protested unconvincingly, "My
Lord!  We must finish with your hair ...."

Jasio glanced back at her, his eyes looking dazed, his jaw slack in
astonishment, but he might as well not even have heard her, because he
turned back towards the closet.

"Oh alright, your hair is just perfect anyway, even without brushing.  You
certainly did inherit your fathers curls," she said, placing the brush back
upon the dressing table.  "So we'll choose now what you'll wear this
evening."  She took him by the arm to escort him into the wardrobe.

>From within, Aggie called out, "but mama, some of these look like girls'
clothes in here - dresses, blouses - here," she pointed to one shelf.

"Never you mind, Agniezka," Urszula responded almost defensively.  "Those
aren't all girls' clothes.  Who says a boy can't wear a frill or a bit of
lace?  And besides, I never thought there was any thing wrong when my young
lord Antoni would sometimes choose to pretend ... well, his Guiscard
certainly had no objection to a little play.  It was a game for them both.
There are just a few things like that.

"But here, Paniczu, " she led Jasio straight into the closet.  "Hats,
shoes, shirts, slacks - we have your socks in the drawers, and your
underclothing."

Jasio stopped, suddenly transfixed, hardly listening.  On the low shelf
where Agniezka had found the girls' clothing was a dark, dark cloth, so
rich in color - a deep, shade of red, almost purple. He didn't even have a
name for such a color, but he had seen it before.  Quickly he turned,
searching through the doorway of the wardrobe.  There!  On the wall, the
picture.  His father!  Antoni, standing with the man they called Guiscard,
and he was wearing ... it must be this very garment.  A shirt, but ... like
none he had ever seen before.

"This ...," he muttered, kneeling down upon the hardwood floor, reaching
for the cloth.  "this must be silk ...," he pronounced.

The fabric glistened, even in the subdued light from the lamps in the other
room.  It caught a subtle remnant of the ruddy glow from the fireplace and
seemed to undulate before his very eyes.  Soft ... smooth....  He almost
hesitated to lift it from the shelf, imagining that it might flow through
his fingers.

"My father wore it?" he whispered reverently.

"Why yes, he did, Paniczu.  How did you know?  Oh!  The painting, of
course.  And yes, it is silk."

"Can I wear it?"

"But of course, it's yours now, but it's a blouse, and we have shirts of
silk, boys' shirts, and over here ...."

Urszula fell silent.  She watched as Jasio took the blouse in both hands
and lifted it slowly to his cheek..  She signaled to Agniezka to withdraw
from the wardrobe.  She understood.  It was different with her.  She had
come to this room more than once, since Antoni departed.  People forget.
The years had softened her own memories.  But Jan had no memories.  He had
only such treasures as this blouse.

"Of course, my lord Jan," she said softly, hoping to steady her voice.  "We
can select something else for this evening, perhaps, but of course you must
try this on now."

Jasio stood up, holding the silken blouse to his chest.  It did flow like a
liquid, draping down through his clutching fingers heavily.  It was cool
against the skin of his chest and stomach.  Another definition of beauty,
he thought.  It was beautiful to his eyes, beautiful to his touch,
beautiful in its essence - a fabric so soft and smooth, but with the weight
almost of some kind of spun metal.  He had made things himself.  He was
always coming up with some idea, then finding a way to fashion something
useful from his thoughts.  What a joy it would be to fashion something like
this, just for the ... just for the beauty in it!

It was beautiful for more than its weave or its color.  It was special
because his father had worn it.  Would it look the same if he were to put
it on himself?  Would it fall from his shoulders in the same way -
outlining them, adorning them?  Would it take the light upon his form in
the same way, soaking in and then spilling back the shimmering glow?  Would
its magic remain through all the years since his father had worn it
... would it draw Piotrek's eyes to him, as it had drawn Guiscard's.

Jasio turned back to seek the picture upon the wall, wanting confirmation,
wanting reassurance that his man would feel the same as his father's -
sensing the beauty, sharing in the beauty ....

But it wasn`t the decade-old image of Antoni Podhorowski and Guiscard that
he saw through the doorway, for framed there was a living, breathing answer
to his questions.  He saw it instantly in his own man`s eyes.
Confirmation.  Reassurance.  Certainty.

"Piotrek!" he exclaimed.



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


Straznik Drogi September 15, 1959 6:31 PM


I don't know what he saw in my eyes.  I hope my emotions, my every thought,
were written plain, so that he could read them without mistake.  My joy at
standing in his presence again.  The relief, now that I knew for certain
where he was.

My renewed, fevered, desperate longing for him!

I don't think I even saw the maidservant and her daughter.  They were but
floating impressions at the edges of my vision - not because I held them in
any disdain, but because HE was there.

Jasioooooooo .... my spirit called out to him!

He stood facing me, a look of astonishment, but also gladness, brightening
his face.  My God he was beautiful!!

He stood there as naked as I had seen him in the baths this morning, but
now I saw him in a different light.  In the glass hothouse he had become a
jewel - the diadem, the very focus of every ray of crystalline light.  Here
he became another expression of light - a softer, warmer radiance
surrounded him.  No.  It came from him.  From within him.  A burnished
radiance, muted, married to the flickering light from the fireplace.

"Piotrek!" he called to me.

"My Jasio," I finally answered.

I could hardly say more.  Such a vision he was.  He held a luxurious,
maroon-colored fabric to his chest, his fingers clenching it tightly.  A
shirt, I guessed.  Was that what he wanted to wear tonight?  Perfect.  I
could imagine him wearing it - something so soft and elegant.  I would hold
the image of him in it, as I drove down to Jodlowka.

"Good evening, Pan Piotrek," I heard the maidservant say.  I heard her.  I
even saw her as she slipped past me out of the closet.  It simply didn't
register until she said, "Agniezka and I will withdraw now.  Please call us
if the young lord requires further assistance getting dressed."

"Oh.  Yes - yes." I mumbled, half-turning in my confusion.  "Thank you."  I
heard their hushed voices as they quickly left Jasio's suite even as I
turned back to face him.

"Do you ... like it, Piotrek?" Jasio held up the shirt difidently, letting
it hang from his fingers at each shoulder.  He looked almost sheepish
asking it.

"It's lovely, Misiu.  Is that what you will wear tonight?  It will be even
lovelier if it's - if it's on you," I fumbled, and blushed immediately.
Was that all I could think of to say?!  I suddenly felt like a nervous
schoolboy, as unsure of myself as he looked, not knowing the right words to
say - how could I convince this boy that anything he wore would be
beautiful, just because it was on him. I must admit that not a little of my
stupefaction stemmed from the fact that with the exception of the flimsy
cloth covering just his torso, every other part of his body was bare,
naked, gleaming.  Just like the silken fabric, his skin held the lustre of
the fireglow.  The soft light seemed to course up and down his bare limbs,
drawing my eyes first to trace the lines of his arms, then just as
demandingly to his legs, and to those two slim little feet.  And then up
and up, my focus centering between his legs, to his dangling boyhood.  His
dick and balls were slack in the warmth of from the fire.  They hung to one
side languidly.  He stood with one foot just slightly raised, the other leg
stiff, bearing his full weight.  But what weight could there be?  He was
indeed but a waif.  So slim.  The delicacy of the luxuriant garment was as
nothing to the delicacy of his frame.

What man would not want to enfold this boy into his arms!?

"I ... didn't know if you would like it," he averted his eyes.  And it was
a blush I saw upon his cheeks too.  "It's a .. girl's blouse, but my father
once wore it, and I wanted - I wanted ...."

He was so innocent and meek.  I gave in to my urges and stepped forward.
Very deliberately I brushed the smooth flesh on either side of his bare
shoulders.  Then I allowed my big hands to envelope them - holding him
there, just inches from me, feeling his radiance.  Feeling the heat from
his flesh.  He was so slight, I knew that if I stepped closer, he would
seem to disappear in my arms.  I drew him to me nevertheless.  He was like
a little doll in my arms, but he fell into my embrace, wanting me to hold
him.  I caressed his scarred back, feeling each of the welts in turn as was
my wont, and lowered my head to breath again of the scent of his hair.

"You smell so wonderful, Jasio," I breathed.  "Like ... I don't know
... like Springtime."  More trite phrases!  Our moments separated had
certainly done nothing to improve my way with words.

"Like flowers," he mumbled.  He drew back, and still clutching the shirt to
his chest with one hand, he waved down his body with the other, "Urszula
put some white stuff all over me, so I would smell like flowers.  Even my
siusiak," he giggled hesitantly.  Again, nervously.

I raised my brow.  "She obviously didn't know that smelling and ummh
... tasting like a boy is far better than smelling like flowers."

"You don't like it," he lowered his head so quickly, as if ashamed. I had
thought to make a little joke that only he and I would understand. His
reaction took me by surprise.  But I wasn't so dense that it didn't begin
to dawn on me that he had been a willing partner in his maidservants'
ministrations.  My little boy wanted to look his best, wanted to be
perfumed.

"Don't mistake me, Misiu.  I definitely didn't mean it that way.  Ohhhh
yes, it's ... a beautiful scent, and I`m happy that you ...  I mean, I`m
pleased that you ...."

"I was afraid you wouldn't like it.  Or this blouse," he said, looking up
at me with more confidence, but there was still a question in his eyes.
"maybe you wouldn't like it, since it's a girl's.  I ... I kind of liked
it, but ... I wondered if you would.  The boys in the pictures here, they
all look so ...."  And again he started to hang his head, but I wouldn't
let him this time.  Quickly I put my finger under his chin and lifted his
face back up to me.

"Well, I'm not much like that boy with the sword out there, am I?" he said
dejectedly.

The boy with the sword.  The boys in the pictures.  They were everywhere in
this palace, and I knew immediately what he was trying to say.  Every boy
here was a little god.  And for every boy here, there had been a man.
Beautiful boys, and the men who loved them.  And this boy wanted us to be
just like all the others who had stepped through these halls.

"No, Misiu," I answered, still holding him firmly by his shoulders, staring
straight into his eyes.  "You're not at all like the boy with the sword.
He was so brave.  Why - what have you done to show your bravery - oh, hmmmh
... let's see, did you work hard, alone most of the time, sometimes into
the dark of night, just to try to please those farmers back at Jodlowka?
With only your own spirit to keep you going?"

"Well, yes." he answered quietly.

"That boy with the sword, he was so strong.  But what have you done to show
your strength?  Let`s see.  I wonder, did you ever give up?  Did you ever
just quit?"

"Well, only once," he admitted, finally looking up at me.

"All these boys, in the pictures.  So beautiful, every one of them.  Now,
what would you know about beauty?" I smirked, knowing that he had caught on
to my sarcasm.  The gleam in his eyes told me that.  He was smirking too,
now.

"Jasio, every boy, every man, is different.  You're you.  The boy I love.
You never have to be ashamed about anything you do or want, as far as I'm
concerned, because I know the goodness and the beauty that are inside of
you.  Yes.  I do think you are the most beautiful creature that I've ever
seen.  Yes, just being in your presence makes me hard, makes me want you."

I pushed my pelvis forward just in case he hadn't yet noticed the hard
ridge of my penis as it swelled out the fabric of my pants.  He giggled
again, and pretended to step back from it, but just as quickly he stepped
forward again, pushing his own pelvis out towards mine.  His dick had hung
in that half-hard state, pliant yet full with potential.  Now it lifted as
if by magic, stiffening faster than I thought possible -and I've seen randy
boys get hard almost instantaneously before.

"Oh!  Now I understand everything.  I know what's bothering you.  All these
pictures.  You just want me to get down on my knees before you and ...."

Midway through my statement it hit me - I was laughing, I was joking, I was
just trying to make him see that he was as good as any boy who had ever
graced these hallways, but suddenly it hit me, and I wasn't joking anymore.
I didn't want to make merry of it, anymore.

Perhaps there was some spell that cast its aura over every man who entered
the Straznik Drogi.  Perhaps that`s why every one of them ended up on his
knees before his boy.  Perhaps.  Or maybe ... maybe it was ... just the
magic of the boys themselves ....

It was Jasio, for me.

I was suddenly short of breath.  I suddenly felt my heart pounding in my
chest, I felt its beat resounding in my temples.  I looked around in
desperation, and pulled my boy out into the bedroom, still looking and
... yes, there they were - the flowers.  A vase filled with flowers.  I
turned to face him squarely, still holding his hand, and stepped backward
slowly, making his way, till we stood next to the flower stand.  Both of us
noticed the painting on the wall just above the flowers.  Of course it was
of a boy and his man - his father!  Wearing that same maroon blouse.
Jasio's father - the boy - stood regally, but smiling his permission,
smiling his acquiescence.  The man was on his knees.  Guiscard.  The man
whose journal I had just closed.  Was that an ending?  In this picture,
there was a beginning, for Guiscard knelt offering his beloved a rose.  His
entreaty - his pledge - was written plain upon his visage.

"Misiu."  I said to my beloved solemnly.

"Yes, Piotrek?"

"Just stand here for a moment.  Let me do something.  Let me do what I
feel, at this moment."

"Oh.  Yes, I will," he conceded as I let go of his hands.  I took a flower
from the vase - I don't have any idea what kind of flowers they were, but
at this moment it didn't make any difference.  They weren't the roses in
the pictures, but they would symbolize the same to me, and Jasio.  I knelt
before him.  He looked down at me questioningly.  The shimmering blouse
trailed down below his knees as he stood still holding it in one hand.

"What?  What is it ... that you want to do at this moment?" he asked.

"I want, dearest Jasio ... I want to kneel at your feet," I said.

"But why, Piotrek?"

"Because ... you're you.  We are so high up here upon this mountain, on top
of the world, for a purpose, Jasio.  All the world is at your feet, here.
As it should be.  For what you have endured, for what you have made of
yourself, for who you are - for what you mean to me - I want to offer this
simple gift to you," I said, holding out the flower by its stem.  "It must
be a long tradition here - we've seen so many portraits like this one - I
can only imagine what it all means - but I do know what it means to me.  We
already did this once, in front of Babcia, in the gate house.  But this
time, it's just the two of us.  Jasio, let this single flower symbolize
what we share, you and me.  I pledge to you my life.  I pledge to you,
everything that I am."

He stood looking down at me, wide-eyed, his expression so solemn.  The
maroon blouse slid down his leg and puddled on his foot.  With both hands
he took the flower by its stem.  "I-I'll take it, Piotrek," he answered,
holding my offering like it was a treasure.  "and I pledge everything I am
to you, too.  I love you, Piotrek.  I always want to be with you."  He
brought the flower to his breast and held it there, safeguarding it.

I couldn't contain my emotion.  I just had to hold him tight again.  My
hands shot out, encircling his thighs.  I swear I didn't even think about
it, but as I pulled him to me to hug him, his penis and balls smashed into
my face.  My cheek was turned and my eyes closed, but I felt them against
me and nuzzled in them, feeling the hard ridge of his shaft pressing into
me. I cloud feel the spongy mass of his testicles too and I rolled my cheek
over them.

He moaned, and I knew now was my time to meet his need, just like he had
taken care of me out by the fountain, but first I just had to try to put it
into words, "I will always try to show you, Misiu, what you mean to me.
I've waited all my life for you.  Just the few moments we were apart just
now were like agony to me.  It's taken me thirty-eight long years for me to
climb this mountain to be here with you, and this is the way I always want
us to be."

"And I waited twelve years for you to bring me here!" he cried out to me,
through his moans.  He was smashing his dick into me purposely now, meeting
my pressing cheek with the work of his pelvis. Then with a gasp, he pulled
back, jerking his body back.  He stood looking down at me, his fingers
outstretched, fingertips resting upon my shoulders, his body stiff upon his
tiptoes. I felt the flower there, pressed into my shoulder.  He hadn't let
it go, but I don't know how he managed to hold onto it.  He suddenly seemed
like one mass of nerve ends - one mass of smoldering boyflesh just waiting
for a spark to ignite him.  The need in his eyes electrified me too.

I tried to lunge forward again, my mouth open already, wanting to take him
in.  I went down on all fours, but he pushed me back up upon my haunches.
"Not yet!" he commanded, sounding almost angry, but when I looked up at him
again, it wasn't anger I saw there, but something like ... like he hurt - a
hurt.  "Don't let them ... I mean, Piotrek ... we're here together, now,
but, they might try to ... I think all this talk - about me being a
Podhorowski, or me coming here to take back what is mine, or all the things
every one is saying - none of it changes the fact that up until I met you
last night, I was better dead than alive.  Now I want to live every moment
with you.  It's you and me, together, Piotrek.  It's `we' and `us,`
remember?  Remember what that boy, your friend, taught you.  And remember
what Babcia said to us, what you have to do, what I have to do.  We're
doing this together - you lead me, you teach me, you take care of me - I
... I don't know what I can do for you, but I'll try.  I'll just be your
boy.  I know you love me. Just don't let them take me away from you again,
ok?"

"Jasio!  Nobody or no thing will separate us again," I answered
immediately.  Instantly I felt shamed and hypocritical, because I had just
declared to the old woman that I'd go down to Jodlowka, but only if I could
leave Jasio up here at the Straznik.  She had tried to get me to take him
along.  It was me, not her or anyone else, who was threatening to separate
us.  US.  WE.  How could I have forgotten so quickly?

I felt like I had suddenly found myself standing at a precipice, stupidly
determined to step over it, but the tug I felt behind me - saving me from
my own mistake - instantly made me realize the rashness of my intention.
Dammit, I couldn't even bear to be separated from Jasio by the intervening
walls within this palace.  How cruel of me not to think of what it would do
to him if I left him here.

"Nobody, and no thing, will separate us, Jasio.  Not now, not ever.  OK?

"OK," he said, and I knew he believed me.  Every taut muscle in his body
relaxed.  He sat back down upon the flats of his feet.  His hands melted
down upon my shoulders, all the tension gone in his fingers. The flower,
like the silken shirt before it, slid to rest upon the floor at my knees,
and I felt his hands slide back and forth, massaging me as he took little
baby steps closer to me.

His need was still evident.  His dick was stretched rigidly up from his
loose-hanging balls, the tip of his glans just peeking from the tight
encirclement of his foreskin.  It swayed with each step, hypnotizing me.  I
felt my own body swaying in sync.

Again I lifted my hands, to take his flesh in mine.  I sighed loudly,
feeling the softness of his skin.  I placed my palms flat against his hips
and registered each of my fingers in turn as they pressed into his pliable
flesh.  So smooth and soft he was to the touch of my hands, and yet so hard
he looked to my eyes - but my hands had reached for him blindly, they had
found their resting place on their own - my eyes were riveted to his dick.

I steadied his swaying motion, allowing my eyes to center upon their
target.  Slowly I slipped my hands behind him, letting them slide across
the globes of his clenched cheeks.  Just as slowly I leaned forward,
opening my mouth, wanting to take him into me.

His sway from side to side ceased, to be replaced by a lewd in and out
motion as my grasp grew more insistent.  My fingertips kneaded his bottom,
walking across his flesh inexorably, towards their own target.  He joined
in, taking control of every lunge, in and out, letting his dickhead come
tantalizing close, then drawing it back again, letting me press his butt
tighter, then forcing my hands apart by pulling back.

I stuck out my tongue, hoping his next lunge would let me taste the little
slit at the tip of his dick.  It glistened so hot and red.  Even as I
judged my prize to be within reach, I dared to slip my finger tips into
that heavenly crevice between his cheeks, feeling the hot moistness in that
secret part of his body, probing for another, just as prized a target.

"What on Earth?!" I exclaimed as my fingers came into contact with
something else, something smooth, but something hard and solid, lodged
within his crack.

He froze instantly, his dick wobbling to a quivering stop directly in front
of me.  I looked up with raised brow, even as I continued to feel along the
surface of the object that was planted in his butt.  I had never seen one
in real life, but I had watched several smuggled boyporn films in which
dildos were used, so I knew that's what this had to be.  But how, and why,
it had gotten there?!

"UMmmh.  Uhhh, it's ... a wand."

"A what?" I asked, trying not to sound too astonished.  There had to be a
good reason for this, and I certainly didn't want to scare him by my
reaction.  Certainly there was no real danger of me sounding upset about it
- the very thought of my little boy standing before me with a butt plug
lodged inside him put me on the verge of cumming . My dick pulsed harder
than ever inside the confinement of my pants.

"It's a Magic Wand.  That's what my father used to call it, Urszula said.
She said I should put one in me, so ... so it would be ...," his voice
trailed off.  He was hesitant to tell me, whatever the reason was.

"So it would be what, Misiu.  It's alright, you can tell me."

"But I don't know if you really want to, you know ... to do it with me
... she said you would want to, and I thought you said it, you know, when
we were in the gate house, but ...." he was fumbling all over himself, the
words spilling out nervously.  He still stood tensely before me.

I took hold of the hard ridge of the plug and pulled on it gingerly.  It
resisted my tug, drawing back with a force of it's own - or rather a force
imparted to it by Jasio. By his anal ring, I knew.  He moaned again, and
again he rose involuntarily upon his tiptoes.  I imagined what it must look
like.  What it must feel like!  But I admit to thinking about what it would
feel like to me, not to him!  What if it were my penis lodged there?

"You wanted it in there for me?"

"Yes."

"And your maidservant told you about it.  About ..." and this time it was
my own words that trailed off.

"About what you would do.  What you would want to do.  To put your siusiak
in me.  To ... fuck me.  To make love to me."

"Oh God! Yes!" I groaned it out before even thinking about it.  I didn't
need to think about it!

"You do?  You want to fuck me?"

"Yes!  I want to ... do that with you, Jasio.  It's the way ... it's what
we can do to ... It's one way I can truly show you how much I love you,
Jasio, it's like ... if I can show you how wonderful it can be to make love
like that ...."

"We'll do it then, Piotrek!" he said so excitedly "That's what I'm wearing
the wand for.  It's supposed to make me ready for it, when you put your
thing inside me.  Oh thank, thank you, thank you.  You make me so happy,"
he was almost dancing around now, but I still hadn't let go of the plug,
and it was obviously jolting my little boy with his every move.

"When ... can we ... do it ..." he squeaked.  "I think I'm ... ready now
...."

"No," I laughed.  "Not now.  Not just yet, dearest." I desisted pulling on
the plug, and caressed his buttocks tenderly, slowly pulling him towards me
again. He stumbled forward unresistingly, still high up upon the balls of
his feet.  Only when his dickhead brushed against the side of my nose did
he stop, and let himself rest back upon his heels.  By then I had him
firmly in my arms, running my hands up and down his thighs and buttocks.

"My Jasio.  I will make love with you, in so many ways.  I will fuck you.
Soon, dearest.  When it's the right time.  When we can be sure of some
privacy.  But now ...."

Further words were impossible, because I made a circle with my lips and
leaned forward to envelope the tip of his dick.  The tip of my tongue was
ready - pointed, prepared to dock with his foreskin.  I had no patience,
this time, but hungrily burrowed with my tongue around his meatus, pressing
hard against his glans.  He moaned again, and again I felt his hands upon
my shoulders, this time digging for a perch.  He needed to steady himself.
His legs were trembling already, and this time when he stood up upon his
toes, instinctively attempting to lift away from my assault, he might have
collapsed had I not continued to hold his bottom firmly in my grasp.  I
squeezed his cheeks again, forcing the butt plug deeper inside him - he
jerked forward.  I was merciless - determined to slip beneath his foreskin,
to force it to retract.  I wanted him bare!

His taste was just as I remembered him from this morning.  That very basic,
earthy taste, just tinged with the faintest tang.  There was something else
- perhaps the trace of powder that Urszula had dabbed upon his flesh, but
it didn't detract.  It just fired my passion.  To think that he had yielded
his body to her sweet lotions and powders, that he had allowed her to push
that ... Magic Wand ... deep inside him - all for me!

I continued to slither my tongue round his glans, oblivious to his cries,
knowing that it was a sweet torture that I was inflicting on him.  His body
convulsed, he jerked every way imaginable, but every movement was
undirected - he didn't want to pull away consciously.  He dug his fingers
into my shoulders, holding on for dear life.  He rested his full weight
upon me, stiff-armed, grunting, groaning, almost growling as he submitted
to me.

The perfume that Urszula had scented him with complemented his natural
fragrance.  It was subtle, and nothing of girl in it.  It was all boy.  As
everything about the Straznik Drogi was all boy.  Proof just like the
blouse, that the beauty of a boy could be accented, but never changed.  It
was evident in every one of the pictures that hung upon the palace walls.
Through the centuries, in whatever dress, no matter how they expressed
their beauty in the style of the day, their spirit of boy was plain to see.

My boy could allow his hair to be curled and brushed, he could allow women
to bathe him and scent him, he could allow they to adorn his body with rich
clothes, but he was still all Jasio.

His foreskin became slick with my spittle, and in the end there was no
contest at all, as it surrendered to me.  I didn't hesitate even a split
second, but followed it down his stalk, sucking him into me.  I'm sure it
was a relief to him, in a way, because I was no longer in direct assault on
his tender glans.  I didn't leave it alone however, for with each in and
out stroke of my mouth upon his dick, I made sure to graze his frenulum
with the rough surface of my tongue.

 I suctioned too.  Literally.  Pulling him into me.  Not just his penis.
His whole body!  I didn't have to do all the work, either, because he was
like a pistoning machine, slamming his siusiak as far as it would go into
my mouth, then pulling back out in perfect timing with my own sucking, all
to the accompaniment of his now panting, gasping moans, and the sloppy slap
of my face against him.  I felt his balls flopping hard against my chin
with every stroke, and I know he did too, because his voice rose in little
shrieks in rhythm with the punishment they were taking.

It couldn't go on for long, but while it did I felt so powerful.  I was
giving my boy feelings to match those he had experienced for the first time
just this morning.  I was giving back just a little of what he had given
me.

I felt supremely powerful!  But with a clarity that began to bring into
focus everything the old woman had tried to tell us about The Way, about
what it meant to follow The Way, I realized the source of that power.  It
wasn't in me.  It wasn't even within Jasio.  It was the two of us.  It was
in what we felt for each other, but even more it was in the commitment we
had made to each other, and even to something greater than ourselves.

At the instant that Jasio cried out the loudest, his body exploding from a
million little centers of pleasure - at the very instant that he slammed
himself into me, fell upon me, collapsed upon me - in that instant I knew
that we, he and I together, had truly set our futures upon the right path.
We had set out upon The Way.  And we would walk that path as One.