Date: Mon, 16 Apr 2007 18:44:23 -0500
From: joe w <joewep@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Beauty of a Song

Well, hello there. My name is Joe, a humble servant to Nifty now. The usual
stuff apply with this story:

If you are under 18 you should not be here. Plain and simple. This story
will eventually become sexual between two young boys and that is just not
something you should be reading. Dirty!

Another point of this story, even though it will not be for a while, is that
there are no STIs or AIDS. The people here are magic, unbeknownst
themselves, that they do not need to use the mundane condom and the like.

One last note is that this is complete and utter fiction. Although some
people may be based upon parts of actual people, none of the following
events ever took place.

Enjoy the first chapter below and look out for the chapters that will
follow.

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I think back upon the times that I was able to share with my Steve; lover,
friend, father, family. He will live on. This is our story.

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"Kyle! It is time for rehearsal!" my mom called from the foyer.

I was still mostly naked, having just taken a bath, "I know ma! Jeez, let a
boy take his time!" And yes, I was a boy, a cute boy of 11 years old. Yet,
if you were to have asked me then, I would have corrected you by saying 11
and 3/4 years old. I was almost twelve and I could not wait. My parents had
agreed to buy me a Playstation 2 for my birthday, something they had dreaded
doing for years now.

Now, as for rehearsal, I played the violin. Dorky, yeah, but being a cute
kid with a violin can be something that attracts certain attention. And I
had always played the violin, with a combination of piano, since I was 3. I
loved it ad could not get enough of it. I lived, breathed and even slept
with music. It was who I was at that stage of life.

I quickly rushed down the steps, swinging my case over the banister, most
likely frightening my mother half-to-death. It was still September so the
Minnesota fall weather hadn't come into effect yet, so I was seen in my
normal khaki shorts and baby-blue tank top. Anywhere I went in the summer
consisted of something similar to this outfit, unless we happened to take a
trip somewhere I could wear my bathing suit the whole time.

As I reached the foyer, I took a look around at the house. It seemed
different to me even though we had been in this house for over a year now.
It was such a warm and opening home! You walked into the front door to be
confronted with a savory view of the family room directly in front of you
and a living room on your left, dining room to the right. It was the perfect
home. I loved it.

I ran to the mudroom and slipped on my sandals and ran out the door to the
car. My mom was waiting, along with my younger sister. Even though we did
not get along much, I still cared for her. On top of that, we looked nothing
alike. Her curly brown hair did not match the straight, flowy blond hair I
had inherited from my dad. Our eye color was different also, hers being a
dark green to brown, and mine being a crystal blue. Body wise, we were
similar. I was thin yet could obtain a small tan, while she had skin that
burned a bit more easily in the hot, summer sun.

"Sorry mom," I said, "I had to get dressed. I don't think they would
appreciate me coming to rehearsal naked."

"No, I suppose you are right. Just get in the car so we aren't late."

I got in and thought about the upcoming day. Today I had a small rehearsal I
was chosen to partake in for a local boys-choir was recording an album and
they wanted equally aged children to help with the orchestra parts. Of
course, though, we would not be able to make up a full orchestra, so some
adults would be sitting in.

It was really exciting, in retrospect, for I had never been in a recording
studio before. I had no idea what to expect. Wires being strung all over and
people running all over was what I could imagine. And to play with a choir
is always fun as they have such clear sounding voices. I was looking forward
to hearing this "boys choir" for I had recently realized that I enjoyed
looking at boys rather than girls like my friends had become accustomed to
stare at during lunch time, and in my case, little did I know.

"Alright bud! Hop out, we'll be right behind you," my said as we pulled up
to a small building, clearly in the city for there was graffiti all over the
building and I could hear cars rushing by through the tinted windows of the
back seat.

"Okay ma, I'll see you inside." I hopped out and headed in behind a man with
a cello case.

"Why hello lad, you `ere for the recordin' also?" asked the tall, young
looking man.

I must have stuttered in my answer a little, for he started to talk again
without waiting for my answer. "Well I am too. Ow long you been playing that
fiddle you got there chap?"

"I've been playing for 8 years, sir."

"A polite young chap! Mind getting' the door then?"

I gladly stepped forward to hold open the door. He wheeled his case through
the door, saluting thanks my way. I walked in behind him opening my mouth in
aw.

The inside of the building was nothing like the outside. The walls were
white, as were the floor, and ceiling. The tables and chairs, however, were
black. It was an incredible site and was much different to the schools and
churches I had performed or rehearsed in.

"Laddy-boy! Come this way then," said the cello player.

I followed obediently, not wanting to get myself lost. Little did I know it
was impossible to get lost in a building that looped all the way around,
without many break-off hallways. As I followed my newfound friend, we passed
a room that looked like something I had seen on TV. It was an open room with
a single piano in the center of the room. The piano seemed so familiar, yet
IO couldn't place it. There was someone that had a pink piano exactly like
it on MTV, I could swear.

I continued to walk, however, not wanting to get myself lost. The next room
we came to we entered. It was an enormous room and took up the entire center
block of the building. And it was filled with people! Tons ^Ö I could tell
who the singers were for all of the boys had black T-shirts on. There was
also a crowd of adults, dressed in a wide assortment of clothing, of who I
took to be the parents of the choir. In the other half of the room were
chairs with microphones and amps to hook up to the instruments. There were
few kids on the instrumental side and I did not see anyone from my orchestra
present.

I walked in, almost in a daze, still trying to take everything in. "Lad,
come on then, get yo'self set up and all. Gotta be ready on the drop of a
dime here! By the way chap, what's yo' name then?"

"Oh, umm, Kyle sir."

"Kyle. Nice name. Mine be Cornelius," I must have laughed a little, for he
continued with, "yeah, tis' a family name. My rents back in the UK `cided a'
give to me. Most o' me mates call me Neil though."

"Okay, I have a friend named Neil, but he just has Neil, nothing `special'
like you."

"Ah, I see what yo' mean. They mean da' best, the `rents I mean. Just trying
their best. And yo' best be a getting' unpacked a'fore the `ductor gets all
up in yo' hair!"

So, following what Neil had to say, I started to unpack my small violin. In
case you wonder, its name was Gloria after my great-grandmother. I did love
her so. She enjoyed baking pans-upon-pans of cookies for us
great-grandchildren until she passed a few years ago.

Once I had Gloria out of her case, I started to tune her up. My small, yet
skilled, hand flowed over the strings while my other hand controlled the
bow. The one good thing about Gloria was she never seemed to become too much
out of tune, no matter how long I hadn't played her.

I continued to play al the way up the fingerboard until I could go no
further and had to continue back down. I started to play a song that I had
been practicing the night before. It was some Vivaldi piece, which is
eluding me at the moment, but I can remember I was shredding a high lick of
notes I knew there were a pair of eyes on me. I continued to play, yet
started to search with my eyes. That was the first time that I saw him.

He was a boy about my size. Calm skin, most similar to mine yet his hair was
a small bit darker from mine. He had one of the black shirts on so I knew
that he was one of the singers. He was sitting in his chair, among his
peers, ignoring the conversation and staring at my hand move across the
strings. Never would I think that my musical talent could catch the
attention of another boy my age.

When he noticed that I was staring back at him, he looked into my eyes and
smiled, albeit blushing a bit. He turned back to his conversation and
excused himself. I could feel my fingers start to slip as he walked across
the room to talk with me. I stopped so as not to make a fool of myself.

"Hi," he said, as he came closer to me.

"Hi back," I said, not knowing what to do.

"You sounded amazing when you were playing. I hope you don't mind that I was
watching you play."

"Oh no," I started, "it is fine. I am used to the attention. Not many eleven
year olds can play a song like that."

"So, you are pretty good then?" he asked, seeming skeptical, "because people
tell me that I am good too."

"Cool, so we have something in common!" I pointed out. "What is your name?"

"Steven Esquire Belefonte-Clark. My father is American and looks like me,
while my mother is French and looks like my sister."

"Well, now that I know your family history^Å" I started, but was cut off.
"Sorry, I am used to being interviewed so much and that is the only time I
meet new people. All of us have school together through private tutors. We
don't have much time for social except for between us."

"Oh I see," I said, "Well my name is Kyle Frederick Jonason. I look like my
father also, but my sister looks like my mother."

"Everyone! Take yoru seats and make sure you are warmed up. We start in five
minutes!" called a man wearing a suit.

"Well nice to meet you Kyle. I'll look for you on the break in an hour and a
half. You can meet the other guys."

"Alright, see you then Steven!" I called after him.

He turned around then and mouthed, "Steve," at me. That was when I knew that
we would end up being close friends.

As he returned to his seat, he started to sing. And boy, he was right. He
could sing. It sounded like a version of Ave Marie, which it was, for he
started low, singing, "Ahhh-ahhh-veee Maaahhhh-rrrrriiii-ahhhh," slowly
getting higher and higher.

I was stunned. This was the boy of my dreams. As he was singing, I could
tell he was constantly glancing my way, making sure that I was listening.
When he finished, he looked me in the eyes and smiled that beautiful, white
smile.

"Alright everyone, turn to page two of the music. We are starting with Ave
Maria. Don't bother with the amps and all, we have plenty of work to do
before we start recording," started the director. "For those who do not know
me, I am Paul, the director. That's about all I got. Steven, if you don't
mind could you start by singing your solo entrance for us? The orchestra
comes in on beat 3 for now, but let's just listen to this and we can fiddle
with it later."

Steven began to sing again, and even more clear, for he knew all eyes were
on him. In Steven's mind, the only eye's he cared about were mine. This was
going to be a great rehearsal.

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Thanks for reading chapter one. You can reach me by the email posted at the
top. Stick around for chapter two shortly. They will hopefully all stay
around this length; I hate long chapters. Hope you enjoyed!