Date: Tue, 12 Dec 2000 22:10:08 -0500
From: beanboy card <beanboycard@goplay.com>
Subject: The Weeks that Changed Cales Life, Chapter One

The following story is total fiction. Any relationship to persons living or
dead is purely accidental and unintended.

This story depicts sexual acts between people of the same sex (male), some
of whom are under age.  If you find this concept distasteful, or if it is
illegal where you live, or if you are underage, please stop reading now.

This story is dedicated to Ganymede, who writes the most complicated and
interesting man/boy stories on the net.  To Wishus Teglin, who wrote the
best long story I've ever read, and made me fall in love with four boys.
And mostly, it is dedicated to my friends and the administrators of
www.boy-talk.com, the best Bulletin Board on the net for men who love and
protect boys.  Special friends, including my technical editor, know who
they are and have my undying thanks.  A copy of this story has been
previewing there for some time, as are subsequent chapters.

If you have comments, I go by the name of beanboy at www.boy-talk.com, and
am a frequent visitor.  Otherwise, you may reach me at
beanboycard@goplay.com.  Enjoy.

The Weeks that Changed Cale's Life, Chapter One

My brother John died today.  It was a sad time for me, though we hadn't
gotten along for a while.  He was in the hospital for a long time with
kidney and liver damage.  Drank himself to death, well, until his son was
born ten years ago.  Then he quit, but the damage had been done.

Cale.  He was so scared.  I had flown in from Philadelphia to be at the
deathbed. I didn't really want to.  OK, my parents needed support, and so
did John's ex-wife Carol.  But I was always upset with my brother for the
drinking, and he did drugs too.  I guess I came to the conclusion that he'd
raised a good boy, so I'd better be there for him.

Cale looked so lost.  I came in the room for the first time and was struck
by all the medical apparatus surrounding my brother.  My parents were off
to the side whispering to one another, quietly taking stock.  It had been a
long time since I had seen them that close.  They'd always denied John's
drinking and drug use, ignored it.  For some reason, he always seemed to be
the favorite.  He was the oldest.  And he did produce a cute and personable
grandson.  To them this was just a tragedy with no cause.

Then I noticed that the monitors were flat-lined.  John was already dead
and I'd arrived too late.  The adults' eyes followed mine.  I was no more
than minutes too late.  Well, John hadn't been awake for days, and I guess
it was more important for me to be there for the living anyway.  I felt
bad, but steeled myself to face my loved ones who were grieving.  Loved
ones?  Well, we all carry baggage.

Carol sat on a chair to the right. I met her eyes and nodded slightly.
Cale's mom had been separated from John for a while, but he'd gotten
custody because she was a drunk too. Then she'd rehabilitated herself.
That was good. I always liked her, the few times we'd interacted: Carol was
a good person at heart, I just wasn't sure she was fit to be a mom yet.
Maybe never.

Cale was up close to the bed in a tall chair and holding his dad's arm. So
that's why they were so quiet, they were waiting to see how Cale reacted.
He turned to me when I entered the room, wiped his face of tears, and
shouted, "Uncle Sean!"

I didn't know he would be that enthusiastic to see me.  He only saw me once
or twice a year since he was born.  But when I did visit I gave it my all.
I changed his diapers when he was a baby, and gave him baths until about
three years ago.  I'm not sure why his parents delegated this to me, but I
had a good time doing it.  He was a real handful, but a lovable one.

When I was his age I wasn't much of a hugger.  It just didn't happen in my
family.  My father was distant and my older brother ignored me.  That's
what three years age difference does.  I'd learned to be a hugger, though,
as life went on.  Since then I'd moved to a city on the East Coast,
Philadelphia to be exact, and everyone hugs there.  So I know how now.  And
even with my prestigious job as chair of the comparative literature
department (and a young Chairman at 38) I lived in a working class
neighborhood and frequented working class restaurants and bars where hugs
were mandatory, if you were to be accepted.  It took eight years, but I was
accepted in the land of the Mummers, South Philadelphia.

Well, Cale jumped off his chair and gave me a stranglehold around my
middle.  Now, I'm only about 5'8", and he was barely 4'6", but he had me
wrapped up quick. I wondered what this was all about, but I held on to him.
It was like I'd just acquired an attractive accessory, an adorable handbag
or something.  It was summer, and he had on baggy tan shorts that hung
below his knees and the Tevas sandals I'd given him when we were in Florida
last year.  He also had on the Hard Rock Cafe shirt I gave him from our
trip to Universal Studios.  (Was he wearing these just for me?)  His hair
was close cropped to his head, but he affected a cowlick up front with some
sort of pomade.  I was reminded of Ingemar from "My Life as a Dog," though
Cale was smaller and more delicate.

I reached down and picked him up into my arms, securing him to my hip.  He
wasn't a heavy load, and he was soft and comfortable, molding in my arms
just right.  The weight felt like heaven, but like a responsibility as
well.  I gave him a quick kiss just off his ear (we folk from South Philly
do that) and turned to my parents to say hello.

"Well its about time you showed up. When did your plane land?"  That was my
mother.

All heart.  I don't remember her being tender since I was eight or so.  She
went through a nervous breakdown I think when I was little, and she hadn't
been the same ever since, but once in a while you can see the tenderness in
her eyes.

Still, my mother likes the martyr role.  No, it can never be a good thing
when one of your own children dies before you do, but she looked
comfortable in the role of grieving mother.  Like it gave her a chance to
be on center stage, so she could wring her hands and wail a little.  The
act would play better if she didn't constantly complain about everything
that intruded on her life.  I know it sounds cruel, but the woman didn't
seem able to enjoy life.

My dad, on the other side of the room, played the stalwart but silent type.
He was rigid.

No wonder my childhood was something I didn't remember well.  My older
brother was a wild one and never paid attention to me.  My mother was
distant, as if my every action pained her, at least after the breakdown.
And my dad worked fifty or sixty hours a week.

I felt pain that they were hurting, but I could not help feeling distanced.

I was not distanced from Cale.  He was still clinging to me, up in my arms
with his face buried in my shoulder.

"How's it going kiddo," I said, as if this were a normal day.  OK, I didn't
show the best of tact.  He and I conversed comfortably in our past, but
only after my initial awkwardness with dumb questions like that one.

"I'm glad you're here," he said, but really quiet and right in my ear.  I
stretched my head back and looked at him in the face.  He had a tear
falling, just barely crawling across his cheek.  I reached forward and
kissed it, sucking up the salty tear.

"It's going to be tough for a while Cale," I said, also quietly and right
in his ear. "I'll be here if you need me, OK?"  I meant it more than
anything else I'd said for several years/ He hugged me and I felt a little
chill in my shoulders and neck.  I hugged him back, not as careful as I
should have been about his ribs.  He yelped, but very silently, and I got a
tear down my cheek, too.

His mom sat up in her chair.  Carol and John were estranged, and I wondered
why she was there, except as Cale's escort.  But she really looked wiped
out.  I couldn't figure out whether she was hitting the bottle again or
genuinely concerned and grieving.  Maybe she cared, or was thinking about
the good times they had.  Where did I get my cynical mind?  We stood around
a bit more, but there was nothing more to do. I still held Cale, and he
clung to me like a monkey on a tree.  When we finally left we all met in
the hall.

Someone came in and covered my brother's face.

We were going back to my parent's place.  But first we were going to stop
for dinner.  It was at Carmine's, a restaurant in the Italian section of
Cleveland and on the way to my parent's home in Cleveland Heights.  There
were five of us, my parents, Carol, Cale and myself.  As we approached the
cars to leave, Cale asked his mom, "Can I ride with Uncle Sean?"

I was surprised, but more surprised because he seemed much more attached to
me than anyone else.  I had a normal rental, a subcompact.  Nothing
special.  And, after all, he was still holding me tight, though not in my
arms anymore.  His hand was hot and gripping mine hard.  I just didn't know
what I did to deserve this devotion.  And I was startled that it felt so
pleasant to have him so close.  His mom said it was OK, and off we went.
She looked downward, but didn't call Cale over before he left with me. She
didn't muss with his hair. She didn't even warn him to buckle up.  She
certainly didn't reach out to kiss him.  It felt odd that she just let him
go with me, but I felt honored.

When we got in the car, Cale sat on the seat next to me but still kept a
hand on my arm as I started the car.  He had his hand on my shoulder, then
on my thigh until I told him to buckle up.

"Hey," I said, "You know I'm going to have to drive here in a moment."  I
leaned over towards him.

"I know you need some contact now.  I know you want to be hugged all the
time.  And I'll do the best I can.  But right now we need to drive to the
restaurant.  So we need to be safe.  Get your seatbelt on and keep your
hands to yourself, OK!"  I winked.

I said it in a joking way, and he almost took it like I wanted, but he
pouted a bit.  So I leaned over, kissed Cale on the forehead, and said,
"We'll be there in a few minutes, are you hungry?"

Now I knew a little bit about boys.  I knew boys didn't generally like
kisses, but I wanted to reassure him.  I knew 10 year olds were always
hungry.  But I also knew that Cale was a picky eater.

"Do you like Italian food?" I asked.

"I like Spaghetti," he answered.  I got just a little bit of a grin.

"So, is that what you're going to order?" I asked.

"Yeah," he responded.  He was a little shy, despite having clung to me like
a Remora eel on a shark just ten minutes earlier.

"So, Cale, do you know I'm an expert on Italian food?  I live in South
Philadelphia and I know some of the best Italian restaurants in the
country.  That's all they are in my neighborhood, a bunch of goombahs.
That's mobsters in everyday language.  We got mobsters all over the place,
and they only go to Italian restaurants that are classy.  And at these
great Italian bistros (I was affecting a 'Rocky' accent now) spaghetti is a
weenie dish that only geeks order.  Let me order you something you'll love,
OK?"

He looked at me, almost afraid to trust, I think, and then he nodded.  I
think he was still shell-shocked, with memories of his dad unresponsive on
the bed.  And maybe he was still upset that I'd broken physical contact.
He was silent, but had just a bit of an expression on his face that I
thought might be interest.

"Have you ever had calamari?" I said, with a wink.

"What's that?" he asked, a bit shy still.

"Well, it's squid, and they clean it and then they fry it and they serve it
with a marinara -- spaghetti sauce.  It's a bit chewy, but really good.
And think, you'd be eating a really disgusting looking creature."

He smiled a bit at that.  I almost got a giggle from him.  Kids that age
love trying to gross out the parents.  But then he got quiet.  We drove on
until we got to the restaurant.  Just before we got there Cale reached out
and grabbed my arm just as I was turning the wheel.

He recoiled a bit as my arm jerked away, and I braked.

"Cale, whenever you need to get a hug, or just need some contact, go ahead
and grab, OK?  Sometimes I might be turning the wheel, or doing something
else, but I've always got time for you, OK?"

We were stopped and blocking traffic in the driveway to the restaurant.
But I stared at him to get an answer.  He was shy, but whispered and "OK."

I finished my turn into Carmine's and looked over to see how Cale was
reacting.  He was staring off into space through the side window.

I parked and thought about fast how to handle this.  I could just clear my
throat.  Or I could say his name.  Or I could just start to get out of the
car.  Damn! I'd always felt so comfortable with Cale and now I felt either
defeated because of his sorrow, or like a guy trying to ask a girl out on a
first date.  (Were those butterflies?)  Whatever.  I remember I thought
just that fast.

After shutting off the car I just reached over and stroked Cale's head a
few times.  He didn't move, but shuddered a bit.  I put my other hand on
him, and pulled him around.

The poor kid was almost at the point of bursting with tears. I pulled him
to me and whispered. "It's OK, cry Cale. Cry!"

We sat there a long time with his head buried in my chest and crying with
huge sobs that lifted his head and banged it into my chest again and again.
It was all I could do to hold on.  I had my hand on his head rubbing his
bristly hair and around his ear, and my other hand was holding onto his
back, feeling his ribs heave and strain through his T-Shirt.  He mumbled a
lot of "whys" and kept going for at least ten minutes.  Then he started to
slow down. He wasn't going to get an answer to the "Why" from me.  I just
didn't know the answer.

For my part, I was happy we'd left the hospital behind the others and that
they were in the restaurant already.  I wanted Cale to have privacy.  Also,
I know I had a shirt drenched with tears and, most probably, snot.  Well,
that could be taken care of - my suitcase was in the back seat.  I turned
all my attention back to Cale.

"Cale?"  I whispered quietly to him.

He moved his head around a little.  He'd stopped the heavy crying but was
still shaky.

Then he turned his head up and looked at me.  Snot was drooling off his
nose, down his chin, and onto his shirt.  I hadn't ever seen a kid so old
look just like a glazed donut before.  Two year olds have runny noses when
they are cutting their teeth, and always seem to have snotty faces.  But a
ten year old?  He was a mess, a very cute mess.  With the glazed donut
image in my head, I couldn't help it, but I started to laugh.  And I
couldn't stop.

Pretty soon my laughter was almost as physically moving as Cale's crying
was just minutes before, but I got hold of myself a bit to check on Cale
again.  His face was a mix.

Still sad, a little worried -- probably about this maniac next to him
laughing -- but with just a little bit of a smile creeping over his lips.

"Why are. . ." he began, but blew up a bubble of snot out his nose when he
did so, causing me to laugh really hard again.  This time he joined me and
we just sat that way for a few more minutes, with him rocking on my lap and
giggling, his face buried in my shirt, all the time smearing the tears and
snot all over our us.

I finally got things under control.

"I think we need to go in to dinner, but we ought to clean up a bit.  Both
our shirts are a mess.  Tell you what, I'll bet you look OK with the
oversized look.  Why don't I get a couple shirts out of my bag and we'll
change, OK?  Don't answer!  We don't want any more bubbles. (more giggles)
Just take off the shirt while I reach back and get a couple replacements,
OK?"

I reached back and got out a couple.  One was green polo shirt for me, and
the other was a Cleveland Indians jersey that buttoned up the front.  It
was what I usually wear to sleep in when I'm visiting people (I normally
sleep naked), along with some boxers, but the shirt had shrunk a bit.  And
I was convinced it would look OK on the boy as if designed to be oversized
and stylish.

I turned back from the back seat and saw Cale in just his shorts with his
shirt held in his hands.  He was tan, and his little nipples stood out a
bit on his chest.  It wasn't cold, so I guess they were standing up from
embarrassment.  I didn't want to accelerate the problem, so I looked away a
bit.  I tried to handle things with some cool.  It wasn't easy.

His brown skin and pointy nipples were not just cute, they were beautiful.

"OK, don't take the shirt yet.  First, blow your nose a bit on your old
shirt. When we get back to your grandmother's house we'll burn the shirts
in a ceremony, OK?  Then, since I'm the one who gave you the shirt, I'll
buy you another.  It looks like you've almost worn this one out anyway.
And don't talk until you've blown your nose."

He smiled, blew another snot bubble, and did as he was told while I
stripped and put on my polo shirt.  Then I reached over after he'd finished
blowing, grabbed his snotty shirt, wrapped it mine, and threw them both in
the back seat.

"Here," I said as I passed him the Indians shirt, "get this on and we can
go inside. We laughed and cried so much there that I'm sure we're both
really hungry."

We both finished getting fixed up, got out of the car, and started in to
the restaurant.  I stopped just before we got to the door.

I bent down a little and looked in his eyes, blue, clear eyes, and just a
little watery. "

They're going to ask why we're late, Cale. I'm going to tell a little lie,
but I'll bet neither of us could tell the truth without going through that
all over again, right?"  We both got lumps in our throats and started to
giggle, too.  "I'll just tell them we needed to talk, OK?"

He answered, "OK," and we opened the door and walked in.

After I told the hostess who we were with, we were led over to the table
where everyone looked like they were tired of waiting.  Here we were,
wearing different clothes since they last saw us, and Cale's shirt was very
much too big.  (OK, it just barely made the "oversized look" standards -
the neck of the shirt kept trying to slip over his smooth tanned shoulder.)
And I kept staring at the shoulder, too!  My mother was the first to say
something. "Where have you two been?"

"We've been catching up on things.  We needed to talk a bit. I haven't seen
Cale in five months.  Sorry to be a bit late, but it was important."  I
hoped my explanation would cut off questions.  Boys are usually embarrassed
about crying, and I didn't want to explain too much.

"And why have you changed?"  My Mom was not going to be easy to keep quiet.

"Well, I gave Cale a gift of my old Indians shirt, and he wanted to wear it
in.  And my T- shirt was smelly with sweat.  The plane was very stuffy."  I
was really thinking on my feet.  I looked down at Cale as if to say "isn't
that right."

"Yeah," he said.  "Doesn't it look great?"  He stuck out his arms and did
an impromptu pose to show off his "new" shirt.  Meanwhile, I was having a
lot of trouble keeping a goofy grin off my face.

We sat down next to each other at the round table.  Mom and Dad sat
together, and Carol sat next to my Dad.  My dad wasn't judgmental like my
mom was, and he didn't have bad feelings towards Carol like my mom did.  He
just took life like it came to him, but sometimes with little emotion, or
so it seemed to me.  Then came Cale and I, with an empty chair between my
mother and I.

"Look at your menus, we're hungry."  My mother just wouldn't let up.

"Cale and I already talked.  We're going to each have a small salad and a
side of spaghetti with marinara, and we're going to split an order of
calamari."  Then I turned to Cale and said, mimicking Mr. Rodgers, "can YOU
say 'calamari'?"

He giggled and tried, then giggled some more.

Carol interrupted.  "Cale's never had calamari, and he doesn't like fish
much."  Well, this was a good sign in a way.  She was either concerned that
by not finishing his dinner Cale would be embarrassed, or she was concerned
about what he liked, or something. I was just encouraged because she seemed
concerned.

Then I realized for a moment just how concerned I was all of a sudden.  It
hit me. I'd known Cale, of course, even given him baths, but all of a
sudden it seemed like we were old and very close friends.  Before I'd
focused again on what Carol had said, my thoughts were interrupted.

"I want just what Uncle Sean said.  He said I'd like them and that they
look real gross!"

Cale was smiling, and just the hint of a snot bubble came out.  I think he
noticed too, as he sniffed it back in.

The waitress came over, took our order, and then left.

I turned to Cale and said, "Well, my boy, I think we'd better head to the
gentleman's room.  Hope nobody mistakes you for Sandy Alomar, Jr."  I
thought it was funny. After all, here was a white boy about 4'6" and I'd
hinted that he could be mistaken for the Indians' 6'5" black all-star
catcher.  My dad smiled, and so did the two women, just a little, and we
got up and worked our way through the table to the rest room.

By the time we were passing the hostess station we were holding back
giggles again.

And as we pushed our way into the rest room Cale burst out, "Nobody would
mistake me for Sandy Alomar!"

I responded, "That's why it was funny. But since you have his name on your
back, well..."

We walked up to the two urinals, and I whipped out my penis, aimed it, and
started in.  I guess it had been a few hours.  I really had to go.  Cale
was a bit slower, but since I was doing the whole thing like we pissed
together every day of the week, he just opened his pants, reached in,
pulled out his penis, and started in as well.  I stole a quick glance down
(bifocals come in handy) and noticed two things.  First, his penis was
small, uncircumcised (but I knew that, as I'd seen him naked three years
ago or so) and very soft looking.  I also noticed he was staring at mine,
though he could only see the head the way I was holding it.

Heck, since my penis was flaccid he wasn't going to see much even if I took
my hand away.  My penis was small when flaccid, but a respectable and
sturdy six inches when hard.  I'd gotten teased when I was a kid, and even
in the showers during high school gym classes and after sports, but no
woman had ever teased me, because the first time they ever saw or felt it
was when it was hard.  I was comfortable with it at this time of life.  I'd
even been to a nude beach with an old girlfriend and didn't feel
self-conscious about my stubby flaccid penis at all.

Wow!  He was looking at the circumcised head of my penis. All this ran
through my head as I finished at the urinal, then, as I started shaking off
the drops I noticed I was starting to get an erection.  I put it away,
turned toward Cale, and, looking down I noticed that there wasn't as much
foreskin at the end of his as there was just a moment before.  He was
getting an erection, too.

I pointed down.  "Aren't you going to put that away?  And didn't we come in
here to wash our hands?"  I gave him a small punch on the arm and went over
to the sink.

And I thought to myself.  What was that all about?  I hadn't gotten hard in
front of another man in my life.  At least that I remembered.  I'd done a
bit of the jack-off thing with other boys when I was a boy, so I'd gotten
an erection in the company of 11 and twelve year olds, but that was 27
years ago.  And what about Cale's reaction?  I was sure that was the start
of an erection.  I guess I got an erection all the time when I was a kid
once I'd learned that erections were more than a nuisance and could feel
really good.  Did that mean that he was already playing with his, even
though he was barely 10?  By this time we were beside each other at the
twin sinks and lathering up.  This time Cale spoke up to break what seemed
like a bit of tension.

"Do you know what I say if I forget to wash my hands in the bathroom and
another boy reminds me?"

I answered with a brief, "No, what?"

"I tell them that my dad taught me not to piss on my hands.  What did your
dad teach you?"  As he said this, he knew he'd touched on a tough topic.
He knew his dad was dead.  A cloud of pain crept over his face.  I leaned
over and put my hand under his chin.

"I like that.  Even as bad as it is right now, you remember to talk about
the best things about your dad.  You remember how funny he was.  You're
going to get through this in fine shape, Cale.  It won't be easy, but you
just showed you have all the right stuff.  And tell you what, I'll try to
spend more time with you and we'll get through this together, OK?"

I turned to dry my hands, but he grabbed me, pulled me into a hug, and
said, "Thanks."

He choked a little, but composed himself quickly.

"OK, I don't want to have to explain another delay.  Let's get our hands
dried and get out of here."  I winked and dried my hands.  Then I rubbed
the top of Cale's head while he finished drying his, and we left the rest
room.

Back at the table our salads had arrived, and we dug in.  There wasn't much
discussion.  I told everyone about how I had three weeks before I had to
prepare for the school year, and that I'd be doing some of that here.
There's extra preparation when you run a department, so I had brought my
laptop.  (I forgot to tell them I'd only planned to be here a few days, and
I'm not really sure why.)  Carol talked about her job running a medical
office.  She was an office manager.  My mom talked about how lousy the food
was at the hospital.  And my dad asked me if I wanted to go golfing.

"Well, dad, I'd love to go.  You've got clubs for Cale, haven't you?  I
haven't played in about two years, but I guess I could borrow John's.  (A
slight chill passed over the table) I'll bet Cale has a chance of beating
me."  Cale's hand reached over and tightly gripped my thigh for a brief
moment.  (This kid evidently craved physical contact!)  Before my dad could
answer, Cale chimed in, "I'm not that good.  You'd probably have to wait
for me."

"Then, it's settled.  At least there's someone I could beat."  I was proud
of him for keeping strong.  I looked over and gave him a bit of a smile and
his mouth struggled to one in return.  I reached over, rubbed his short
hair, and the waitress walked up, placed a small plate of spaghetti in
front of each of us, then placed a heaping plate of fried calamari between
us.

Again there was silence.  Cale's dad John and I were famous for eating
anything exotic we could find, but the three other adults at the table knew
Cale better than I did.  After all, Carol was Cale's mother, even though
she almost recoiled when he came close, and my parents had helped raise
Cale during the last three years of John's illness.  Again, I got the
silent death grip on my thigh from Cale. (I was starting to like the
touch.)  And again it was Cale who rescued the situation.

"They look like fried spiders!  Yum!"

I could have kissed him.  Everyone had a little chuckle, and we all dug in.
Except for my mother.

"Cale, if you don't want to eat that you don't have to," she said.  "I'm
sure your Uncle Sean can eat it all."

At that, Cale reached forward, grabbed a batter-covered 'spider,' and
shoved it halfway into his mouth, splitting his grin almost exactly in the
middle.  I reached for one and did the same, but after only a brief moment,
sucked it in my mouth and chewed it up.  Cale did the same, and we both
giggled as we chewed and swallowed.

Staring at him, I asked, "was it good?"

He nodded.  And I continued, bending over towards him.  I almost didn't
notice but unconsciously I grabbed his thigh lightly and, as if plotting a
conspiracy, I told him, "Next time, dip it in the spaghetti sauce.  It
tastes even better that way.  And use your fork or I'll get in trouble for
teaching you bad manners."

We both ate with gusto.  And the conversation at the table stopped while we
all enjoyed the food.  Carmine's had a good reputation for their Italian
food, and they didn't disappoint.  Every once in a while, either Carol or
my mother would look over at Cale and see if he was eating his calamari.
He noticed, too, and when he could he'd reach for a spider and, after
dipping it in the marinara, heartily stuffed it in his mouth.  I grinned.

The kid was eating more calamari that he was spaghetti.  Maybe I should be
teaching fourth grade instead of graduate students.  (Come to think of it,
they probably weren't all that different.)  And the fourth graders seemed
like a whole lot more fun.

When we all started pushing back our plates, my dad spoke.

"Sean, it's about 8:30, and it will be 9:00 before you get to the house.
Can you take Cale back there and put him to bed?  Your mom and Carol and I
have to make some arrangements.  We'll probably be 11:00 or so before we
get home.  Here's an extra house key"

My mom added, "You'll be sleeping in the other bed in Cale's room.  The
only other one is John's and the bed hasn't been changed in there."  It
would be a little creepy sleeping in my brother's bed anyway, so I didn't
mid.  Besides, I'd be near Cale.

I answered, "I think we can handle that."  The last few mentions of
"arrangements" and John's name had sent another one of those chills over
the table, and Cale's hand was once again gripping my thigh.  "We'll
probably both be in bed when you show up.  It was a long flight for me."

We left the restaurant, got in the car, and headed out.  I had to force
Cale to buckle up again, as his preference was to sit almost in my lap.
But after that things were OK.  He still tried to keep a hand on me.  I let
him.

I thought to myself for a couple minutes.  Why was he so instantly attached
to me?  Yeah, my brother and I looked a bit alike.  We had the same
coloring and hair.  He was a bit taller, and a lot heavier.  But looks
surely wouldn't account for this.  Was I just in the right place during a
time of trauma and pain?  I couldn't believe he was clinging to me rather
than to his mother.  Yeah, she was a drunk once, but I think she had worked
to become a good mother, as far as I knew.  Sure, my brother had custody,
but that was because three years ago she had parked her car one morning on
the lawn of the law office she worked for at the time.  Then went to sleep
with her head on the wheel.  Even then, it wouldn't have been so bad if she
hadn't shifted just as a cop drove by and set off the horn.

Well, I guess I wasn't going to figure out why Cale was clinging.  I liked
it.  I'd never had a child, and it was only recently that I'd been
regretting it.  I'd never married, but had had a few close calls.  The last
few years I hadn't even dated.  So getting a little quality time over the
next couple of weeks would be a good thing.

I turned a bit, and Cale was looking up at me.  He had a concerned look on
his face.

I guess I'd been too quiet...

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"Well," I said.  "I just was thinking about how I get to put you to bed.  I
don't think I've done that since you were six, and right after giving you a
bath.  Remember how you used to make me put on your pajamas for you and
carry you into the bedroom, but not before inspecting to see if you clean
after your bath?"

I guess I did remember how he liked attention.  But Cale just blushed.  I
guess my reminding him of that was akin to how one gets a teenager to blush
- by showing off naked baby pictures.

"Well, what are you thinking about, Cale?"  I asked, trying to keep the
ball rolling and brush by his embarrassment.

"Well, I was thinking maybe you could read to me.  Nobody reads to me
anymore.  They think I'm too old.  And I am too old, but I still like it."

I was proud.  Cale was opening up to me.  I doubt he was this honest about
his feelings to anyone.

"Sure, I'll read to you.  What do you want me to read?"

"Harry Potter!"  I should have expected that reply.  I'd gotten him the
first three books, and he was wading through them like every other kid in
the world who didn't have born- again parents.  I'm in the literature
business, after all - I knew that the kids with the fundamentalist parents
were sneaking the Potter books as if they were Playboys.  The books were
that popular.

"OK, but only a chapter.  We've got a few weeks of reading ahead of us.  I
don't want to run out of stuff to read to you every night.  By the way,
aren't the books cool?"

I got a weak, "Yeah," in return.

We arrived and I pulled up and parked next to the garage with enough room
to let my parents park.  We both got out, I got my luggage and two very
snotty shirts, and we went into the house.

We trudged up the steps and down the long hall.  Cale's room was at the
end, and it was actually two rooms.  Right before the first room was a full
bathroom.  Then came his bedroom, which was huge.  As you enter there were
two beds, larger than singles, and a dresser on the left, with a closet and
a pretty big play area on the right.  The toys in the play area were piled
tidily next to a bookshelf.  I looked, and noticed that about half the
books were gifts from me.  Maybe that's why he was clinging.

Beyond this bedroom was a storage room.  It was probably another bedroom
once upon a time when the home was built a hundred years before. But now it
stored John's stuff that didn't fit anywhere else when he divorced his
wife.  Even here, though, the boxes and other items were neat and piled in
rows in a room that was about as big as Cale's.

I put down my things by the closet door, and then turned and caught Cale
watching me.

"What?" I said.

Shy again, he responded, "How do you like my room?"

"Well, it looks like you did a good job cleaning it up.  I guess you must
have known I'd be sleeping in here with you, huh?  So, how do you like
snoring?  I'm told I'm pretty good at it."  I was getting good at being
playful with him.

"I did clean it just for you, and not just because grandma told me to.  And
I don't care about snoring.  I'm glad you're here."  Then he blushed again,
as if he was saying more than he meant to.  My mother had said several
times over the past few years since she'd been part of Cale's care-taking
team that Cale was a bit of a loner.  That he had few friends.  That he
sometimes tried to fake being sick to keep from going to school.  Was he so
desperate for someone to connect with that he was making an effort at
befriending a 38-year old man?  I thought so, but couldn't imagine why.

"So," I began, "do you usually take a bath or a shower?"

"I take a shower," he said, "and I do it all by myself."

"Well," I responded, "unless you get in there quick I'm going to scrub you
within an inch of you're life.  And get behind your ears, I think there's
probably some snot there.  Do you need me to inspect them afterwards?"

"Nope"

"Then hurry back so I can take a shower."  Off he scampered, and pretty
soon I heard the shower running.

I unpacked onto the shelves at the top of the closet.  I'd brought a suit,
but only casual clothes beyond that.  I'd also brought a swimming
suit. Maybe I'd take Cale to the pool later in the week.  Maybe to the
beach, or to Cedar Point.  I shook my head.  I'd been dreading this trip,
and had only scheduled for a week.  Then at dinner I'd promised three weeks
(I'd have to change my flight back in the morning.) And I'd changed my
plans with almost no deliberation.  This is uncharacteristic.  I usually am
the type to deliberate over something as mundane as a grocery list.  What
was coming over me?  I was smitten with my own 10 year old nephew!  A cry
brought me out of my musing. "Uncle Sean!"

"What?" I said, as I moved towards the door to the bathroom.

"I forgot my clothes. Can you get them for me?"  His voice sounded a little
nervous.

"Just wrap a towel around you, Cale.  Remember, I've got to inspect.  Then
I'll go in the bathroom to get a shower and you can dress in here."

I moved back, grabbed a pair of silk boxers and a T-shirt, and moved back
towards the bathroom door.  It slowly opened and there was a vision that
rocked me on my heels.

Cale came out with a towel inexpertly wrapped around his middle and a hand
gripping it like death itself. He had a sober look, and was looking at my
feet.  He'd missed a spot up on his shoulder, and the drops pearled up on
his skin.

"Cale," I said, "You look sad, what's wrong?"  I said, somewhat
concerned. I bent down, took his chin in my hand, and lifted it until he
was looking at me.  "You OK?"

"Yeah."  He said it steadily, so I relaxed.  "Are you really going to
inspect me?" His voice seemed a higher pitch than usual.

"Well," I continued.  "That's what we used to do, right?"

"But," he started.

I figured it out.  Boy was I slow.  He must have thought I wanted him to
drop the towel.

And he was shy.

"Cale, keep the towel on.  We won't inspect those parts tonight."  Still
looking him in the eyes, I said, "There comes a time when a guy inspects
those parts by himself, right?"

I got a smile and a nod for that.  I guess I was getting better at humoring
little boys.  He looked up at me, and still clutching the towel with one
hand, Cale held out the other arm and spread his legs a bit.  I bent down
and poked at his toes.  I felt the backs of his knees and he wiggled around
a bit.  And then I stuck my finger in his bellybutton to check for lint.
(This was an old game.)  I got more giggles and even more wiggling.  Cale's
towel slipped a bit, so I stopped.  I didn't want a red-faced boy on my
hands.

Then I went up and checked his fingers, his elbows, and bent my head down
and looked up into his armpit.  More giggles and wiggles, and the towel
slipped a bit further.  So, I straightened up a bit more and checked first
one ear, and then the other.

"Aha!" I said loudly.  Cale jumped, and the towel didn't.  It slipped down
his front and dangerously close to revealing his penis.

"Sorry," I said, "You want to adjust that?"  He reached down with both
hands and recovered his dignity.

"So, what was the 'Aha' for?" he asked.  He sort of looked up at me
sideways while he said it, almost squinting his eyes.  He had a little sly
grin on his face.

I leaned forward and whispered, "I found snot behind your left ear."

I got more than giggles for that, and by now I was reaching behind Cale to
grab my T- shirt and boxers.  I caught about a quarter moon peeking up from
above the towel.  It was very cute, the globes looking like virgin earth,
or maybe two big butternut squash resting together.  (I may teach
literature, but I never could build the right metaphor.)  Without thinking
very much, I reached over and tugged the towel up. "Don't want to show off,
now do we Cale?"

He blushed a lot, and I just said, "Go in there and get dressed.  I'll make
it a quick shower, and then we can read and go to sleep, OK?"

"OK," he answered.  "But, can I ask you a question first?"  I was almost to
the bathroom door and he had turned towards me.  He still had one hand on
the towel, and it wasn't holding up well. It was parting at one hip where
the ends came together, and the other side of the towel was drooping down
to where you could see the "V" where his hips curved in towards his
genitals.  I was taken aback.  His body was a lovely sight.

"Ask away, Cale.  But I should tell you, that towel is about to fall off.
You might want to adjust it, or you're going to give me a free show."  He
looked down, and then placed both hands on it, but only messed it up
worse. The towel was still in front of him, but wasn't covering his behind
at all now.  I could see his bare hips. He was giggling a little, so I
didn't worry too much about teasing him.  It was a great sight.

"Well, ask your question."  He backed up against the bed and then spread
the towel again so he was covered.  His bare butt must have been cold
against the brass at the foot of the bed.

"What do you sleep in?" he asked.

"Well, I've got these with me, a pair of silk boxers and a T-shirt."  It
seemed like a simple answer to me.

"That's what I usually wear, but what do you wear at home?"  He smiled a
little slyly at this question.

"Well, Cale," I answered.  I decided to be open and honest.  "I usually
sleep in my skin.

Naked.  Nude.  Bareback.  But I can tell by your smile that you knew that."

"Yeah," and then his smile wilted, "Just like my dad."  The last was just a
whisper, and he got a little sad look on his face again.

I leapt forward and hugged him.  "You're going to be OK, Cale," I said.  He
buried his head in my shoulder and wrapped his arms around me and shuddered
just once, and then stiffened.  When his emotions had gotten the best of
him, the towel had dropped to the floor.  I kissed his ear.  He seemed to
like my kiss, but he stiffened at being suddenly bare.

"OK," I said, "we're going to take it really slow here."  I kissed his ear.
"I'm going to bend down with you while keeping my head right where it is.
You'll pick up the towel, and cover up.  OK?"

"OK! I'm ready!"

I started to giggle.  We bent down, and I got a good look at his butt while
he picked up the towel and covered up.  Then we parted.

"Cale, if you wanted me to inspect the rest you should have told me." I was
ready to tease him unmercifully, but held back and said, "I'm going to the
shower."

I turned, opened the door, and then as I turned on the light, he shouted to
me.

"Hey, Uncle Sean!"

I turned back and there he was, between the beds, with the towel over his
head. He brought it back quickly to cover back up, but not before I got a
glimpse of his entire naked front.  He was very cute.  His penis was about
three inches long and a bit higher on his balls then I expected.  Again, he
was starting to get an erection.  I smiled back at him.

"You little flasher," I said.  Then I turned and shut the bathroom door.

I took a while to compose myself.  What was this, a little horny boy?
Don't get me wrong, I knew that his actions excited me.  And I knew that I
had to think about this a lot.

I'd never been excited by a boy since I was a boy.

I shook it off a little, got undressed, and stepped into a hot shower.  It
felt good to just get the stink off my body from the plane flight and the
sweat that accumulated from dealing with my parents.  Why is it that they
could make me feel so small?  Then I thought about Cale.  What a cute boy.
I never thought of him like that before.  He had such a sweet but impish
grin.  A cute little butt as well.  Like he was ready to pinch you or
something, or be pinched.  . But his face gave off this innocence that
wouldn't quit.  Just a hint of freckles on his nose, and it was a small and
pointy nose at that.

Damn.  My erection wouldn't quit either.  I'd washed myself really quick
and while doing so had been daydreaming about Cale.  Down Boy!  Sheesh!  I
couldn't go in the other room with a boner.  I rinsed off, got out of the
shower, and dried off.

It was still pretty big, but I put on my T-shirt and my boxers.  I placed
the elastic over the top of my penis, and figure it wouldn't show.  What 10
year old is going to look that close?  OK, I wasn't completely confident,
but I had to go out and read to a little boy, so I opened the door.

Cale was lying in bed with the sheet over him.  He was snug in his bed, but
staring at me as if he was waiting for me to get out of the bathroom.

I moved out of the bathroom and over to my bed, walking between the two,
and asked, "Do you still want me to read to you?"

He nodded.

I climbed in and said, "well, get over here."

He looked stricken.  He shook his head a little.  And he said, "No, you
read from there."

I was clueless.

"C'mon, we always snuggle when we read, don't we?  Get over here!"

"But," was all he said, and he shivered a bit more.

All of a sudden I realized.  He'd asked me what I wore to bed, and now he
was doing the same.  But, in my ignorance, I called him on it.

I turned away from him, slipped my boxers off, and then my shirt, and
crawled into the bed.  Then I turned towards Cale and said, "Well, I'll
turn my head."  I lifted up the sheet.

"I know us guys got to sleep in the nude.  Come on over and I'll read to
you."

I turned my head and reached for the book.  As I was turned I felt him
snuggle in and I reached over without looking and covered us with the
sheet.  I was more than a bit flustered.  Here I was in a bed naked with a
naked 10 year old.  And he was snuggling up beside me.  was excited, and my
penis was getting stiff.  But I kept my cool.

"So, Cale, what chapter are you on?"

"Well,' he said.  He snuggled even closer to me. I cold feel his little
penis against my hip, and it was hard.  "I left off on chapter three."

I opened the book to chapter three and started reading.  Soon we were deep
in the story, and both immersed in magic and Harry's school.  I had enough
awareness to know that Cale was really caught up in the story.  His penis
wasn't throbbing on my side anymore, and he started breathing regular.
Pretty soon I was nearing the end of the chapter and I glanced over.  Cale
was asleep.

I closed the book without moving.  Then I scooted over and looked Cale in
the eye.  They were closed, both of them.  My boy had fallen asleep.  And
that little hard penis that was pressing against my hip was as soft as a
q-tip.

I was a bit tired too, but I struggled up and got in position, and cradled
Cale in my arms.

His hot buns were searing my palms as I scooted over and carried him over
to his bed.

Harry Potter was in another fix, but Cale was out of it.  I set him on the
bed and looked at his small chest, his sweet little tummy and his gorgeous
little penis.  I couldn't believe this was happening.  I pulled the covers
over my darling Cale and bent over and kissed him on the cheek.

He woke up for a second.  "Uncle Sean?"

"Yeah, big boy?"  I just couldn't stop with the pet names for him.  I was
sunk, totally infatuated with this boy.  But right then, at 11:00 on a
night when I'd had no sleep the night before, that was OK.

"What," I said.  Here I was, just setting a naked boy into his bed and I
was naked myself, with most of an erection, though it was hidden from him
by the side of the high bed.

"Can't I sleep with you?" he said softly.

"No, I want you to sleep over here," I said as I laid him down and covered
him up. "If you have problems during the night, come on over, and I'll hold
you, OK?"

I tucked him in and gave Cale a kiss right on the lips. It felt warm, but I
didn't linger.  I then kissed him again on the forehead and backed away.

"Good night, my boy," I said. I' don't think I'd ever meant a phrase so
much in my life.

I crawled into bed and, with a bit of a struggle, went to sleep.