(by Edward Zeusgany and Alex Anders, © copyright 2000, all rights reserved)

Georgie had been in foster care since he was three. Now he was living in Hyannis, but they told him he was born on Martha’s Vineyard. He didn’t remember that or his parents. They had been young, poor and troubled, and couldn’t keep him. No one knew where they were now, his social worker said.

The first family he had lived with in Mashpee had been fine. But they didn’t feel they could cope with the sort of rambunctious teenager that Geogie showed every sign of becoming. The reassignment came shortly after his tenth birthday.

The new family had no other kids, a man and his wife only, both in their early thirties. They would have liked to have more foster children, but it was a small house. There was only one extra bedroom and the state required that a foster child have a room of his own.

They were glad for the extra income and it was a good match. His new parents were nearly as irreverent and carefree as he was. And they had a lot of friends who visited often, so it was a lively place. Georgie thought this was a fine improvement over the rather staid bunch he had been living with.

Frank, one of the first people he met there, was an old school friend of his new foster dad. The man’s eyes lit up when he saw Georgie. “What’s this?” he asked, pretending insolence. “Hey, I thought you guys were going to get a dog!” He grinned at the kid.

Georgie laughed gleefully, and wiggled rather like a puppy. The fellow grabbed him, mussed his thick brown hair and playfully mauled him. “I ought’a pee on your leg,” the boy threatened, quietly enough that only the man could hear. Frank wrestled the youngster to the floor and held him so tight he couldn’t move. The young man was the wiry type, thin but strong, with hair a little lighter than Georgie’s and rather shaggy.

Then he let Georgie up and sat on the coach. But the kid jumped on him and kept at him until Frank could get the boy’s arms pinned and hold him still. “Go get me a cup of coffee,” the man told him after a while. He let the lad loose and Georgie went into the kitchen to ask his foster mom if it was all right for him to bring Frank a cup from the pot that was always keeping warm in the machine.

“Sure,” she told him.

“Thanks, kid,” Frank said when the boy bought him the steaming, bright red mug.

“My name’s Georgie,” Georgie announced with evident pride.

“I know. They told me,” Frank acknowledged.

The youngster didn’t know what to do then, so he just stood there for a few moments, turning one way and then the other. Finally he got the remote for the TV, plopped down on the floor and started flipping though channels. But the pattern of casual familiarity in their relationship had been established.

*****

“You here again?” Georgie might say when Frank entered the house without knocking. Then they would proceed to the opening romp. Wrestling matches were a staple of their interaction. Since tickling was often included, the man’s hands were often put to use in the youth’s armpits and on his sides or midsection. Sometimes, in the course of the struggle, a hand might briefly and by chance land in his crotch or pass across his bottom. “Mmm,” Georgie would think. He specially liked these little accidents.

“You got any hair yet?” the man would taunt the youngster. Georgie knew what was meant. He was fascinated by the men and older boys he saw in the showers at the Y.

“You bet,” he would fib.

“Where?”

“Under my arms and the other place,” the kid claimed, then laughed uproariously when Frank said that he didn’t believe him and pretended he was going to see for himself. He also knew the young man’s meaning when he was challenged with, “You getting any?”

“More’n you!” the youth would routinely answer.

Georgie looked forward to Frank’s visits. No other adults ever really played with him. His foster parents were fine but tended to ignore him. They were busy with their own activities.

These were things that might have interested the youngster had they made an effort to include him. Chris spent a lot of time on Stephanie’s car, his own pickup truck and making home made beer. She made her own clothes, curtains and slip covers and sewed for others in between or during devotions paid to certain daytime TV dramas. Other friends of his foster parents visited frequently, but Frank was the only one who gave him much attention.

Frank would take the kid with him on errands, a trip to the hardware store for his foster dad or to pick up something for his foster mom at the grocery store. Sometimes he took Georgie to the mall where he might buy him a treat, a soft drink or an ice cream. They were pals.

It was around this time that Georgie discovered masturbation. More often that not, it was Frank he thought about when doing it.

*****

One day, when Georgie was twelve and a half, Frank said he was going for a drive and asked the kid if he wanted to go along. He drove a pickup like his foster dad, but a newer one.

“Yep,” the youngster happily agreed. Frank always said, “Yep.”

“Go ask your folks,” he was told. He did and was given permission to go.

The young man drove out to some back roads that meandered through scrub and dunes and where houses were scarce. After a while, he found a place to park and admire the view. They sat quietly for a while, until Georgie got bored and began to squirm in his seat.

Frank pounced, messing with the youngster like always, fooling and tickling. Georgie was wearing his shirt tail out and the young man got his hands inside. The kid knew the fellow was snuggling with him as well as manhandling him. He tried to give his friend sexy looks and must have succeeded.

Frank paused, looked at him. “So, you got any hair yet?” he teased.

“Lots!” the youth boasted.

“Yeah? Where?”

“In my pants and in my pits.”

“Show me,” the young man challenged.

“No!” Georgie giggled.

“Show me,” Frank repeated, more insistently. Grinning, the youngster put his hands over his crotch, as though to prevent any attempt to take an uninvited look. Frank scooted over, grabbing the boy about the upper body. Georgie resisted and tried to wiggle free, until he felt the man’s fingers on the buttons of his shirt. Then he stopped struggling and remained still.

Frank’s hand slid underneath Georgie’s arm. “There’s nothing there,” he asserted.

“There’s some the other place,” the kid insisted. He moved his hands away, then watched as the man's fingers opened his pants and pulled the elastic band of his briefs forward so he could look inside. “Nothing,” Frank reported in mock disgust.

“Show me yours then,” Georgie dared him. The fellow unzipped his fly and lowered his boxer shorts, showing not only a thick bush of wiry, hair but a six inch erection as well. The boy’s eyes got wide.

“Give me your hand,” the man instructed. The kid complied and Frank guided it to his cock.

“Wow, it’s kind’a hot.”

“Let me touch yours,” the young man proposed. He put his hands on the youngster’s waist and turned him in his seat so that he was facing away. Encircling the lad with his arms, he put both hands into his briefs. He felt the youth’s testicles as well as his penis. Their cheeks were touching. From there it got “lovey, dovey” as Georgie liked to call it, and they ended up doing “jo.”

*****

The two friends spent more time together. Frank lived near Georgie’s school and worked sporadically. So the boy could often visit on weekday afternoons in addition to weekends.

Then they could get naked together. Frank drove Georgie nearly crazy with his mouth, licking him everywhere, giving him love bites and sucking. Under the young man’s tutelage, the kid learned how to give fellatio. It pleased him to see and hear how much the fellow enjoyed it. That the things the guy did to him, that felt so good, also gave Frank such obvious pleasure, was truly wonderful to the boy. He got all these great feelings in his own body and immense satisfaction in pleasing his friend. God, life is good, he thought.

The youngster met other guys at Frank’s house. Some of these had an interest in Georgie and he had dates with several of them. One of them was married but his working wife occasionally had to go out of town on business. The kid nicknamed him his “once a month guy.” This was the fellow who showed him another whole set of feelings when the youth, now thirteen, got screwed for the first time.

He had dates with other men. Some he saw only once at a motel, others three or four times in a short span and then not again. It was different with each of them, and that was interesting in itself. From these fellows the lad learned about cruising malls and public toilets.

Georgie’s school attendance suffered, though he still earned his usual Bs. He was frequently tardy, left early or skipped all together. Sometimes he forgot the time and didn’t get home before his eleven o’clock curfew. His foster parents minded mostly because these were rules that the social worker insisted be maintained. So they tried to enforce them. The kid was contrite about his errant behavior and promised to do better. A whole week might go by before the youngster slipped back into his old ways.

In the summer the youth found it useful to hang out around some of the larger and busier motels. Finding guys on his own, had its down side. Sometimes he wasn’t treated all that well. Although he wasn’t harmed, some men took what they wanted from him without giving anything back.

If he had taken money or expensive gifts from these guys, that might have justified it. But Frank had told him not to for that reason, so he hadn’t. He also wouldn’t allow the taking of pictures. Frank said they could end up anywhere, including some policeman’s desk. Nor would he drink liquor or take drugs, except for sharing a little marijuana now and then. Frank said.

*****

Georgie turned fourteen in December. In March he met a man at the home of his “once a month guy.” Jack had a lot of interesting things to say, things that he thought Georgie might like to try, like getting tied up. The youngster said that he might, but only a little and only if he was told ahead of time exactly what would be done and for how long. If Jack abridged the agreement that would be the end of it, the youth insisted.

On that basis, they arranged a few dates. Jack kept his word and Georgie did find these new experiences exciting. Some of the other things, the youth put off, not saying no, but “not yet.” He wanted to go slowly, taking small steps.

After a few weeks, Georgie agreed to go with the “tie up guy” to visit a friend of his in New Hampshire. It would be the boy’s first experience with group sex, a twosome. He arranged to tell his foster parents about a fake Saturday night sleep over with a school chum.

But when he got there, there was more than one guy and they wouldn’t let him go. Any notion of small steps was abandoned, not that it was all bad. Georgie enjoyed a lot of it. What he didn’t like was how frightened he was at first, being held against his will, and the spankings.

Those were administered to obtain his submission to or active participation in certain activities that would otherwise have taken a lot of time to persuade him to do. Anus licking and water sports were among these. Fist fucking was not, nor was anything else required that would do any permanent physical injury beyond some temporary discomfort, discounting the risk of HIV. They did not use condoms.

The youngster was not used without regard for his own physical satisfaction. He was licked and kissed, stroked and fondled, sometimes by three mouths and a half dozen hands at once. Perhaps the teenager didn’t get enough sleep, but he was well fed.

Jack had left after two weeks, returning only on the weekends. Other guys arrived for varying periods of time, a few for as little as one evening. There were always several men at the house and he slept in restraints. After the third week passed, Georgie began to think that this situation might never end.

*****

But it did. When he woke up one morning he found that everyone had gone except for Jack and the guy who owned the house. The mood was noticeably changed. The two men were subdued, not at all their boistrous, energetic selves. They had Georgie put his clothes on.

Shortly after noon, the youngster watched as Frank’s truck pulled in to the driveway. He was encouraged to run out to greet his friend. After throwing his arms around the young man, Frank had him get in the passenger seat of the pick up. The youth waited while Frank went into the house. Whatever discussion there was inside, it took fifteen minutes.

On the way back home, there was a much longer conversation. When the teenager had failed to return from his sleep over, the police had been notified. They quickly found out that he had never arrived at the home of his school friend. His pal had told his own parents that Georgie had changed his mind. From this they deduced that the sleep over had been a ruse and that the youth had planned to run away.

Georgie’s foster parents had called Frank to see if he had any idea where he was or where he might have gone. Frank said that he didn’t. Instead he went to see every guy who he knew Georgie had been with. He was certain he would have sensed something, if Georgie had been thinking of taking off. That was what worried him, he said.

Eventually, Frank got around to the “once a month guy.” He mentioned that Georgie had been seeing an acquaintance of his by the name of Jack. And he was somewhat uneasy about this because Jack was a bit kinky. It took him quite a while to find out much about this Jack. But Frank did discover where the guy worked and where he lived.

Jack was on vacation, he was told. Frank kept checking until Jack returned. Then it took a little while to persuade the man to assist Frank in recovering the boy. The alternative, Georgie’s friend told him, was to report his suspicions to the FBI and let them follow up. That would be messy all around, so Frank offered to smooth things over as long as he got the youngster back safe and sound.

Now they had to cook up a story for his foster parents that would keep everyone out of trouble. If his social worker knew the truth, the teenager might be sent to a group home or, at the least, to a new foster family in a different part of the State. The youngster acknowledged that he didn’t want that to happen.

“I’ll help you,” Frank told the kid, “but from now on I don’t want you going with anyone I don’t know about and approve of. This happened because you got bored. Now, I knows some guys who are OK, who I can fix you up with.”

That seemed like a good idea to Georgie, and he agreed.

*****

The youth told his foster parents, and everyone else, that he had run away to Portland. There, he had lived on the street by panhandling. A few weeks later he got homesick and called Frank. It took Frank several phone calls to eventually persuade him to come back home. Then his friend drove up to Maine and got him.

He was sorry and would never do it again, he said. The worst part was school. Because of his poor attendance record they required him to go to summer school. Only then, if he did and without unexcused absences, would they promote him to the next grade.

His social worker and his foster parents grounded him, except that he could go to Frank’s. And it was agreed that he could spend weekends at his friend’s house. After all, Frank had been the one he had called and the one who had brought him back.

In order to keep Georgie content, Frank arranged dates for him. Usually one during the week and others on the weekend. Sometime just one guy would spend the whole weekend at Frank’s, but usually it was one fellow on Friday night and another on Saturday.

Some of these fellows liked to play the kinds of games Georgie had learned in New Hampshire with Jack’s friends. They often brought him little gifts. Gradually the teenager accumulated leather ankle and wrist straps, a collar, ropes, tit clamps, an old ping pong paddle (just wood without its rubber pads), a cock ring, two dildos, and assorted other toys.

The guys from New Hampshire all claimed to be HIV negative. Frank arranged for Georgie to be tested for the disease by a doctor friend of his. The kid was negative then and again in six months. So they didn’t have that to worry about any more.

*****

When Georgie was sixteen, one of the fellows he had been dating decided that he couldn’t live without the youngster. This guy stayed at Frank’s for half a summer and one weekend a month for a whole year. That was how the lad happened to move to Chicago, after graduation from high school.

The youth loved the excitement of the big city. It’s like this place was made just for me, he thought.

As luck would have it, a rich relative of Frank’s passed away around that time and left him some money. Chris and Stephanie got another foster kid, an eleven year old by the name of Derrick. That was the news that Georgie got from home the one time Frank wrote.

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