(by Edward Zeusgany and Alex Anders, © copyright 1999, all rights reserved)

If anyone loves summer vacation more than the students, it is Carl. He relaxes in a white wicker chair, on the porch of the cottage he has rented for the season. A glass of iced coffee by his side, he is reading Sarte’s Nausea.

A sandy haired, thirteen year old boy peddles his dirt bike down the hill. He is wearing jeans and a faded green T-shirt under a second, plaid shirt flared out behind him by the air he passes through. He spots Carl and turns into the driveway. Riding furiously up to the porch, the youngster jumps off the bike, runs up the steps, opens the screen door and rushes in, sweaty and dusty.

Carl rises and the youngster throws himself into his embrace. The kid’s arms go around Carl’s neck and he buries his face against Carl’s throat. Carl works his hands underneath the plaid shirt, feeling the lithe body held forcefully against him. He strokes the lad’s back.

They enter the house, where they will have sex and then take a shower. Carl will feed the kid. Then Chris will leave and Carl won’t see him, until the boy decides to return.

On the cool, end of August days, Chris stays longer. He never knocks on the front door or rings the bell, he just barges in. He expects Carl to drop whatever he is doing and pay attention to him. And that is what Carl does. Chris may want to play checkers, on the floor so he can stretch out. Carl always wins, Chris doesn’t care.

Chris lets Carl know when he want sex. Sometimes he is subtle, for him. He will rub himself against Carl, they are standing, or, if the man should be sitting, Chris will get up on his lap and snuggle. Other times, Chris will just take his clothes off or get Carl’s attention and say, “Strip me.”

In bed, Carl gives Chris a light, all over massage. Then he turns Chris onto his back and puts some skin lotion in the crotch between his legs. Carl puts his cock there, Chris clamps his thighs tight around it and they copulate that way. Then Carl gets on his back and Chris has intercourse between Carl’s legs. It amuses Carl to see the kid humping away on his body.

After Chris’s orgasm, they lie still for a while. Then Carl caresses Chris’s shoulders, back and sides. Sometimes Chris wants a head massage or a foot massage. He thinks up different things for Carl to do for him. Carl would say that he loves this youngster with all of his heart, if anyone he trusted actually asked him such a thing.

*****

Two years ago, Chris was recruited into homosexuality by his best friend Peter, a boy ten weeks younger than himself. Constant companions since before first grade, they spent considerable time by themselves, in the woods and fields. They had always been physical with each other and Chris knew that he liked it. Sometimes when skinny dipping, they had grabbed at each other, but nothing more had come of it.

They lived in one of those poor rural towns in Southern New Hampshire that boarder prosperous Massachusetts. With its ponds and streams, it was a vacation spot for the lower middle class, who couldn’t afford the time or cost of the prestigious areas further North. The year round population scraped along, many on a combination of part time jobs and welfare, others on subsistence farming supplemented by hunting.

Chris did not remember his father. His mother was forty-two when he was born and now her frizzy hair was all white. She was short and dumpy. That she had given birth to such an attractive son was a mystery to those few, who perceived the difference between his appearance and that of the inbred louts that proliferated there. Peter was almost normal looking, his head a tad too large for his body, his face too round.

But Chris did not think that he was special. He had an even, non-aggressive temperament. If another boy challenged him, he would walk away with a shrug. He didn’t try to take anything from anyone else, nor would he fight to keep something from a bully. Of course, he didn’t have much to be taken and seemed uninterested in possessions.

One day, while resting in a clearing after an afternoon of climbing over some big rocks that had been dropped by a retreating ice age glacier, when Peter wanted to take Chris’s pants down, Chris saw no reason not to let him. He discovered that Peter had a natural talent with his mouth. First Peter wet Chris’s little rose bud several times, then he took it in and circled his tongue around and around. Peter used the tip to tickle the end of Chris’s, now rigid but still small penis, the hormonal signal to grow having only recently been sent out.

After this, they did it daily. Beside the forest and disused outbuildings or the second floors of barns of friendly neighbors, they often visited the unfinished loft at Chris’s house, where Chris had his little bed, under the dark brown rafters. His arthritic mother seldom climbed the steep stairs from the first floor, anymore, specially in winter, when the only heat was what drifted up from the rooms below. Still, it would be sixty degrees on a sunny day and well above freezing except on a very cold night.

Peter did not expect reciprocation and wouldn’t have received it, if he had asked. Chris was not in love with Peter’s body, but with the pleasure Peter gave him. In any case, Peter was thoroughly obsessed with Chris’s cock and thought of little else. He satisfied himself at night, in his own bed.

But, there came a time when once a day was not enough for Peter. He wanted to do it all the time, even after the shudders had passed through Chris and Peter had experienced that taste, faintly reminiscent of bleach. He didn’t want to stop and, a half hour later, would pester Chris to let him do it again. Chris would change the subject, tell Peter he wanted to do something else, like going to the store for a candy bar. Peter would go along with him, but, in another half hour, would be after him again.

Peter’s mother caught them at it. Banished from Peter’s life for having made her son do that nasty thing, Chris only felt relief. It was not a conscious plan on Chris’s part, getting Peter excited on one of the rare occasions when they were at Peter’s house; although he knew they might be discovered. They had gone there to get a Frisbee to throw around. Peter was searching for it in his closet and Chris went in to help look. He bumped up against Peter accidentally. He meant to tell him to wait, until they were someplace else.

That was in the early spring, just before his thirteenth birthday. Chris did not miss the attention at first. He played with other kids, busied himself with their games. Then something began to gnaw at him, he didn’t know what. He was dissatisfied without an identifiable reason, it was not Peter’s absence that was regretted. He started to spend more time by himself, watching for a sign he could not describe, waiting for something to happen.

By the end of the school year, he was lonely in the midst of comrades who did not interest him. Chris looked a bit down in the dumps on the day Carl said hello to him at the grocery store, which was why he spoke at all. A boy like that should be alive with energy and surrounded by friends, Carl thought. So he said hello, just in passing.

Chris perceived the man’s interest, and returned the greeting. “Who are you?” he asked impertinently. Carl explained that he was in town for the summer, not mentioning that he was a teacher. Kids shouldn’t have to be reminded of teachers in the summer time. Carl smiled, pleased that the boy had perked up a little. Chris smiled back. “Where are you living?” he wanted to know.

A few days later, Chris made his first visit to the little green cottage nearly hidden among the white pines. Almost immediately, Chris knew that Carl wanted him. Carl was too attentive, too interested in what he had to say, too friendly to a mere boy and a stranger. But it wasn’t all that easy. Carl wouldn’t do anything, thinking it not right.

Guided by some seventh, or perhaps eighth, sense, Chris returned every day at about the same time. He made himself at home, asked for soda, made excuses for taking his shirt off. “Boy, it’s hot today!” He touched Carl every chance he got; a hand on the arm, a pat on the back. He rubbed Carl’s cheek in jest, “You forgot to shave today.” Then he insisted that Carl feel his upper lip, where he claimed his own beard was coming in. He pressed Carl’s fingers to his lips They were inside on the couch. It was easy to shift up onto Carl’s lap and lay his head on Carl’s shoulder.

*****

This was an improved arrangement, over that with Peter. Chris could employ his time as he desired, riding his bicycle with friends and, when he tired of that, remove himself to Carl’s. Usually, Carl would be there. If not, Chris could wait for him, swinging on the tire he got Carl to suspend by a rope from the branch of a gigantic tree.

Chris enjoys getting Carl to do things for him, like, when they are in the shower, asking for a shampoo. His eyes close when Carl moves him beneath the water to wet his hair. Chris keeps them shut tight while Carl administers the lotion and rubs it in, working up a lather. He feels Carl’s finger tips on his scalp and their bodies pressed tight. Back under the hot streaming water, while Carl washes out the suds, Chris relaxes completely. Even after his hair is rinsed, Carl keeps him there for a while, touching him and holding him and kissing his eye lids. Chris feels wonderful. He likes Carl, but he isn’t emotional about it.

The summer ends and Carl goes back to his job at Stoneham High School, where he teaches social studies and is considered to be an outstanding teacher. He misses Chris terribly and writes long, but careful, letters to him. In return, he receives brief, scrawled notes that tell him nothing, except that his loved one still breathes

*****

On a mid-September Saturday, a young man stops Chris on the street and says, “So your friend has gone away, has he?”

“What friend?” Chris asks.

“The one you were spending all your time with.” Chris looks blank. “The one living at the cottage.” Chris says nothing. “How much were you getting?” Silence. “You weren’t giving it away, were you?” More silence. “Look, I’ll give you five bucks for the afternoon.” Still nothing. “O.K., ten bucks! Come on.”

Chris went with the man. He didn’t care about the money, but he was bored. This experience was altogether different though. Fred seemed to think that he had the right to determine what they would do together. Also, he drank, which possibly explained his puffy complexion. Fred was only 24, but looked older. He had unruly straw colored hair and was of middle height and weight.

At first, Chris didn’t like Fred’s dick up his rectum, but he got used to it and it was better than nothing, and better than Peter, because he didn’t have to go to Fred’s if he didn’t want to. Later that year, Fred sometimes asked Chris to spend the night with him. Chris liked the adventure. He would pretend to his mother, that he was going up to bed, but sneak back down the stairs and out the front door. She spent her evenings in the kitchen, reading or sewing and listening to the radio. She had a small black and white TV, too, but didn’t use it much.

He soon learned that he could encourage Fred to drink. Then Fred would go into a kind of stupor and forget about him. In the morning, Fred would apologize and give Chris the twenty dollars that he had promised. Chris would tell his mother, if she happened to notice his absence, that he had woken early and gone out quietly, so as not to disturb her. He opened a bank account to hide the money, for which he had little use. Fred told Chris that he could make a lot of money in New York City.

*****

Carl was disappointed the following summer, when Chris didn’t spend as much time with him as he had the year before. What was worse, his desire for the boy had increased. He only went out when essential and then returned as quickly as possible. He could not bear the thought of missing a visit. That was why he never saw Chris and Fred together.

Weekends or evenings, Fred would go looking for Chris, when his need was heavy upon him. Often enough, Chris would put him off, so Fred would hang around, until Chris was ready to go. And Peter was back on the scene, his mother having given up trying to monitor his every action. Peter had only to be careful not to let her see him with Chris. But, Fred would chase him off, if he could.

At the end of the summer, Carl got desperate, went to Chris’s house and met his mother. “Oh, you’re Chrisie’s friend,” she said. She gave him coffee and cookies. “I don’t know where he’s got to,” she informed him. “He’s out most all the time these days.”

Carl took a chance and admitted that he misses seeing Chris over the long winter. She said that he’d be welcome to come for a weekend, if he could help out with the food bill. Carl was astonished, and accepted. When Chris got home, Carl told him what had happened and asked him if it would be all right for him to visit. Carl didn’t choose to notice that Chris’s assent was perfunctory and that he was not elated to see Carl there.

*****

Columbus Day marked the first extended weekend of the fall. Carl hoped that, if all went well, he would be permitted to return several more times, before the next summer would give Chris and him two entire months together. His desires seemed to influence events, when, upon his arrival, he learned of the sleeping arrangements.

There were several single beds in the loft, that were kept available for distant family members, on the rare occasions of a visit to this backwater of social life. Only a half share of a double bed in a heated room would have been more satisfactory. He left his luggage there and hurried outside, Chris wanted to take a walk before supper.

The colors of the foliage were at their peak and made magical by the slanting, late afternoon light streaming through translucent leaves. Carl wanted to talk, but Chris insisted on showing Carl his special places in the woods, keeping them busy, until it was time to return.

Chris was subdued over the meal of oven pot roast with onion gravy, mashed potatoes and canned yellow beans. Carl didn’t mind and conversed with Mrs. Clain. He didn’t want to seem inappropriately involved with her son, in which he felt he was aided by paying greater attention to her. The discourse was limited by the narrowness of the mother’s interests.

Carl helped her to clean up and do the dishes, because he didn’t want his presence to be burdensome. Chris was absorbed in a TV show, in any case. They all watched for a while, until Mrs. Clain took out her knitting. She was making a heavy red sweater for Chris in anticipation of the coming winter.

Chris made the first move to go to bed, saying that he was sleepy. Fifteen minutes later, Carl went up, found his bed in the dark, undressed and got under the covers. He expected that Chris would join him, after a short delay.

Something close to a half hour later, Carl was still awake and waiting. Silently he got up and went to Chris’s bed. The deep breathing told him that Chris was asleep. When Carl woke on Saturday morning, he saw that Chris had already gone downstairs. After breakfasting on pancakes, they went to the center of town, Chris riding his bicycle in loops, back and forth, while Carl walked along. Chris introduced Carl to some of his friends and the kids played around together, leaving Carl feeling out of place and at loose ends. The boys headed toward the pond, Carl following at a distance.

He took Chris to lunch at the diner and then suggested that they go to the small bowling ally in town. Chris readily agreed. Some other of Chris’s schoolmates were already there and he asked Carl, if the kids could join them. So Carl ended by funding the whole clan and not having Chris to himself.

That night, Carl cleverly excused himself early, pleading tiredness. He prepared for bed and waited for his love. He had a long wait, for this time, Chris was quite late in ascending to the attic. He inquired about what Chris had been watching, to let him know that he was awake. But, after responding, the boy went to his own bed and stayed there.

Carl paused for what he considered a suitable interval and then went over to Chris. He made his wishes known by lightly stroking the boy’s cheek. In a flat tone of voice, Chris told him that he was tired. Carl was hurt. He returned to his lonely bed and tried to sleep, but he could not.

In the morning, when Carl heard Chris rise he went to him again. Chris raised the objection that his mother might come up. Carl pointed out that they would hear her in plenty of time. Chris said that it was too cold in the loft. But then he relented and allowed Carl to strip him of his pajamas and to masturbate him, while he stood there, impassive. They were facing a dormer window, low to the floor, and Carl could see some fallen leaves on the ground below being blown away by a vigorous wind.

As soon as he came, Chris hurried into his clothes and went downstairs. Using his handkerchief, Carl cleaned his hand and a few spots on the unfinished, wide board floor. Then he followed. Soon after breakfast, Carl made an excuse to leave. Chris did not discourage him.

Carl got all the way to the interstate highway before he had to pull over. There, in a rest area, the tears flowed over his face, but he did not cry aloud. He felt numb and empty. Fifteen minutes later, he dried his eyes and continued on his way.

When he got home, he went straight to bed. In the quiet and security of his own chamber, he sobbed aloud for Chris, for himself, and for a future with Chris that would never be.

*****

On arising one spring morning, Chris found his mother slumped on her wooden kitchen chair, her head lying over the back, as though staring at the pattern of old water stains on the ceiling, made by leaks in the patched roof. He asked her what was wrong and she said, “My heart hurts.” He hurried to the telephone and spoke to the operator, who sent an ambulance.

It arrived in twenty minutes and the attendants began treatment at once. They hustled her onto a stretcher. Chris rode to the hospital with them, and they worked on her all the way. He remained in the waiting area for an hour before a woman came for him and took him into an office.

She told Chris that they had been unable to revive his mother, that she had died. She wanted to know who should be notified. Chris could only think of his Aunt Milly, his mother’s older sister. She lived in Worcester with her husband Mr. O’Leary. His first name is Terrence, he told the woman, who then made several telephone calls and finally found Aunt Milly and told her what had happened.

“Can you come out today? ... Yes, Haverhill. ... Otherwise, he’ll have to go to a youth facility. ... I understand that there’s no one else at home to take care of him. ... No, we can’t leave him at a neighbor’s. The State is responsible now. ... Fifteen is not old enough, I’m afraid. ... Not very nice at all, specially under these circumstances. ... Yes, I’ll wait,” Chris heard.

“Your aunt is talking to her husband,” she told Chris. “I’m still here. ... Oh, that’s good. ... Yes. ... At the hospital, the social work office. ... They can direct you at the desk. ... The evening person, Mrs. Olsen, will be on by then, ... Very well. ... We’ll look after him, until you get here. .. Thank you. ... Good bye.”

Mrs. Jones took him to the cafeteria for lunch and he had Mrs. Olsen’s company for dinner. The rest of the time, he had to stay in their office and read magazines or listen to the other disasters they had to help with or just stare at the wall. They wouldn’t let him out of their sight, except to go to the bathroom.

A man came and talked to him for about half an hour. He asked Chris what he was feeling and said that it was all right to cry, if he wanted to. Chris thought that the man was stupid. How would anyone feel, when his mother and the only person who cared for him had died? He felt alone and angry, though not at her, but with these interfering people, and he was concerned about what was going to happen to him now. But he only told that man that he was sad.

His aunt and uncle came for him at a little after seven. Uncle Terry dropped them off at the house at seven thirty. He had to go back that night and would return for the funeral.

Aunt Mildred took care of the arrangements for the service, calling, or seeing to the notification of, those who would likely want to attend. She conferred with the pastor, the funeral director and the head of public works, who was in charge of opening graves. She complained a lot, but was efficient in the accomplishment of her tasks.

Then she turned her attention to her nephew. “Christopher, bring down your best suit, so that I can see if it needs pressing,” she instructed. She had made him stay in the house; in case she required him for something, she said. She hadn’t needed him, however, until now.

She was plainly annoyed, when Christopher told her that he didn’t have a suit, much less a best one. She marched up to the loft to see what might be done. It turned out, that the least objectionable clothes, were those he usually wore to school and which had been new in September. “These will have to do,” she declaimed, sourly. She had not meant to say aloud that her sister, Claire, had been very lackadaisical about things and had neglected Christopher, letting him practically grow wild.

On Tuesday, the day before the funeral, she told Christopher to pack. He asked what for. “You’re coming to live with your Uncle and I in Worcester, of course. It’s my duty to Claire to look after her only child.” Her own four children were grown and had left home, much to their satisfaction and that of their parents. Now she had to put up with one they hadn’t counted on and, he, improperly trained. It was going to be a chore to rectify all of Claire’s mismanagement.

“Don’t take too much,” she told him, “we don’t keep a cluttered house.” Christopher was informed that they would be leaving right after the reception, which would follow the service at the cemetery. He insisted that he had to stay for a few days to say good bye to his friends. Aunt Mildred said that was impossible.

Christopher let it drop for the moment, but did not pack up and repeated his wish at regular intervals. Eventually, he wore her down. I’ll let him have this request and then remind him of it when he’s stubborn about how I want things to be at my house; she said to herself.

The funeral went off perfectly. The caterers did a good job with the cup cakes and coffee and it hadn’t cost a fortune either. Aunt Mildred was very pleased with herself. The only problem had been with her husband, when he found out that they were going to have to drive back on Saturday to pick up Christopher. But when she addressed him as, “Terrence,” he knew that it was fruitless to argue with her.

Mildred had pretty well cleaned out the refrigerator and knew that there wasn’t much in the house to eat. There were some canned goods and dry cereal in the pantry. There was plenty of sugar, but not more than a cup of milk. A couple of days alone will make him all that more tractable when we get him home, she believed.

*****

Peter was sorry to hear that Chris was going away, but he was not alarmed. During his sophomore year in high school, he had branched out. His new nickname, only semi-derogatory and used when there were no adults present, was “fuck face.” All of the groups of kids accepted him, although he had no special friend. The special role that Chris had played long ago had not been recaptured.

Chris was the most attractive youth he knew, but Peter was not much concerned about looks and other boys were bigger. Not that Chris was little for his size, he was small all over. Of course, Peter would miss him and he would remember with nostalgia how accepting and cooperative Chris had been. Peter would have been afraid to ask anyone else back then.

Next, Chris went to see Fred for the last time. He asked Fred about Worcester and had a lot of other questions, too. Apprehensiveness about the future was new to him. Before his world was unexpectedly altered, no idea that things could change so quickly had stirred his formerly placid thoughts. Even so, he rejected lassitude and accepted responsibility.

Then Chris went to the bank to withdraw his funds. The teller gave him some difficulty. He had to explain matters to the branch manager; that he was to go to live with his Aunt and Uncle. The man remembered seeing the death notice in the newspaper. At the manager’s suggestion, Chris took $100 in cash and a bank check for $817.72.

*****

His mother’s old wind up alarm clock woke him. He looked at it from her bed, where he had decided to sleep that last night. A few minutes later, he was on his way to the center of town, where he caught the 6:14 bus to Haverhill. From there, the made 7:05 connection to Boston and he arrived in New York at 12:55. He carried a paper bag with four changes of underwear, an extra shirt and a pair of pants.

Chris walked through the bus station without stopping and followed Fred’s directions to a rooming house, where Fred had said they wouldn’t be inquisitive. He registered as James Jones. The bank across the street accepted his account, which had to be in his real name, because of the check. Returning to his room, he put the new bank book, a school picture of himself, an envelope with his Aunt Milly’s address in the corner, and the canceled bank book, on the top shelf of the little closet, under the spare blanket. Then Jimmy Jones, or JJ, as he preferred to be called, went out for something to eat.

JJ spent a day and a half in exploration of the surrounding territory, establishing the locations of the essential ingredients of a comfortable life; a Laundromat, a grocery, a luncheonette, a pharmacy and a ‘dime’ store; but what was more important, obtaining a sense of the place where he would now be living and the security of knowing the position of his rooming house from any of these other points. He was pleased that the adults he encountered seemed to be disinterested in him. In fact, except for store clerks, most did not even notice his existence, and, sometimes, even the clerks didn’t appear to see him. Kids were another matter. They observed him closely, sending hostile, suspicious glances. JJ kept to himself and ignored them.

On the third day, he found Times Square. About ten thirty, he entered Ben’s Grill, took a stool at the counter and ordered a breakfast of eggs, home fries and toast and a glass of milk. Only the beverage had arrived, when a man came in and took the adjacent seat, although there were plenty of empty places, especially at the little tables that ran from the door far to the back of the long, but narrow room.

JJ took a gulp of his milk, making sure to wet his upper lip, and then turned to say a pleasant hello to the stranger, who reminded him of Sammy Davis, because he was short, thin and black, but he did not wear an eye patch and his chin was more full. “You’re up early,” the man said. JJ was not sure if this was sarcasm or not, so he just smiled. “Didn’t you get any work last night?” the skinny man asked, although he didn’t see how that would be possible, if the kid had been trying.

He had noticed the boy from across and down the street. Even from that distance, he could discern a trim figure. That the youngster seemed to be strolling rather aimlessly, like a tourist, further raised his curiosity, so he followed along for a while, watching to see what the lad was up to. Danny was always looking for new talent.

He became more interested upon entering the diner and obtaining a closer view. He liked the close cropped hair, a little shaggy, as though cut by an amateur; the hick, school boy outfit. It was a fresh, innocent look. Then, the boyish features and the unaffected friendly greeting demanded further examination. Of course, it was remotely possible that the child really was a visitor, allowed by his parents to walk about on his own in this place, but, more likely, that he is a new arrival and does not yet know what is what. In that case, special handling would be called for.

But JJ then said that he had taken the night off. Fred had told him that he shouldn’t act naive, because people would think that he could be had at a bargain price or try to take advantage of him in other ways. He asked the man, if there was something he could do for him.

Danny ordered a cup of coffee, “Maybe there’s something I can do for you,” he responded. Then he spoke at some length concerning the dangers of working the streets and compared those with the advantages of competent management. “I take care of my kids,” he asserted and he offered to pay for JJ’s breakfast.

JJ questioned the man about the nature of the financial arrangements. “I provide a place to live, food and clothing,” Danny explained, and then added that a boy could expect a tip for good service, which he could keep for spending money. The customers are knowledgeable of the conditions of service, he told JJ. “The Johns know the score,” he said.

JJ told Danny that he already had a place to live and would prefer a fifty-fifty division of the proceeds. Danny declined, saying that he was sorry, but he didn’t do business that way. JJ replied that he guessed that he would continue on his own, in that case. He paid for his food and the man’s coffee, just to show there were no hard feelings. “OK, we’ll do it your way,” Danny conceded.

*****

They retired to Danny’s base of operations to discuss the details. Danny cautioned JJ in advance not to talk money in front of the other employees. It was an apartment on the seventh floor of a large and anonymous complex. They took the elevator to the eighth floor and walked down one flight. JJ waited at the stairway entrance, until Danny had gone in to his place of business. Then the youngster followed, when he was sure that no one was in the hall. Danny did not want the neighbors to see the boys with him or too many comings and goings.

Three other kids were in the apartment. Danny introduced them as Todd, Jonathan and Albert and himself as Sammy Davis. JJ smiled at this and Danny laughed. “I know I look like him. It’s good for business. Your name will be Oliver, ... um, Oliver Alden, if anyone wants a last name. Sometimes they ask.”

Todd was fifteen, but looked older than JJ, who seemed to be about the same age as the fourteen year old Jonathan. Albert, at thirteen, appeared to be much younger, due to his slight build, baby face and straight blond hair that was kept rather long and neatly trimmed. Jonathan was the ragamuffin type in worn jeans and plaid shirt. He had thick brown hair in bangs and was taller than JJ, as was Todd. This latter lad had abundant curly black hair, an olive complexion and a solid build, plainly visible under tight fitting T-shirt and pants.

Danny and JJ went into the kitchen to talk, leaving the boys lying about the sitting room, viewing television. JJ was told that he was to be at the apartment by noon, because some clients arrived during lunch time. The economy plan included a half hour and the use of one of the bedrooms for fifty dollars. House calls were one hundred plus cab fare, two hundred for all night.

The object, Danny instructed, is to figure out what the customer wants and provide it. The exception is when fellatio is being received. The boy should fake an orgasm, if possible, so that he will be ready for the next engagement, unless it is the last date of the night, when it doesn’t matter. This and various other lessons were imparted.

*****

Some time later, there was a knock at the door and Albert admitted a balding, heavy set man in a brown suit. The boys put on their professional demeanor. looked up, smiled nicely and said, “Hi,” to their guest. Albert led the man by the hand to Danny in the kitchen for a brief conference. Then they returned for Mr. Brown to make a selection.

The boys had arranged themselves in lounging positions that they considered flattering. Jonathan was sprawled on the floor playing solitaire, Todd slouched on the couch smoking a cigarette, and Albert sat primly in a chair reading a book. Oliver stood in profile, looking out of the window. Mr. Brown asked if the boys could disrobe for him. “Show time,” Danny called out.

Albert rose from the chair and undressed shyly, carefully folding his clothes. Jonathan sat on the floor and pulled his things off. Todd flexed his muscles and admired himself as he stripped. Oliver wet his lips before turning and seemed almost in a trance, as he removed his clothing, revealing an adolescent body type that Danny or Mr. Brown might have recognized as being similar to garden statues that were popular in ancient Greece, the torsos of which can still be seen in the better museums around the world, had either of them ever been to such a place.

Oliver was blessed with a good skeletal structure that gave him a full chest and narrow hips, to go along with high cheek bones. He had the form of a gymnast, but with less muscular development. There was no defect as the other boys had. Albert was too well endowed for the little boy he pretended to be, Jonathan’s body was essentially shapeless, and Todd was too think in the middle. Oliver resumed his position at the window, displaying his finely shaped posterior.

But Mr. Brown picked Todd, nevertheless, and could have chosen without seeing the other boys, because Todd was the type he preferred. He had merely wanted to get his money’s worth. After the man left, Todd was angry because Mr. Brown’s technique had to be remediated. “He kept trying to jab it in, for Chris’ sake,” Todd complained. And he only got a five dollar tip.

It was the next customer, a Mr. Gray, who was Oliver’s first. Everything went well. Danny asked him if anything was amiss, when Oliver called him into the bedroom, but he only wanted to settle accounts. He showed Danny the ten dollar bill that had been presented to him. Danny had not expected a share of tips, but took his half and felt better about the deal he had with the boy. He decided not to pressure him to reconsider, as he had planned to do. Oliver might make him a lot of money, anyway.

*****

A house call was assigned to Oliver for eight the next night. The place was located in one of the better parts of Manhattan. The elder gentleman, who opened to Oliver’s ring, was nicely dressed in gray slacks and a light green turtleneck jersey. The apartment was expensively and conservatively decorated. The man said that his name was Harlan.

He was very taken with Oliver, who addressed him as, “Sir,” or, “Mr. Green.” Harlan chuckled when Oliver explained why he called him by that name. He thought he saw a spark of intelligence and subtle dignity in the charming boy’s eye and bearing.

Oliver gave Mr. Green a Peter special, but he didn’t call it that, because it might sound crude to Harlan, and to explain would give away the credit. He was clever enough to be a little awkward, so it would appear that he was making things up as he went along. It was a delightful evening for Harlan and Oliver enjoyed himself, as well. Mr. Green was quite affectionate. Oliver began to think that he might like New York.

Danny was distressed that Oliver did not return that evening. Thoughts of losing the boy through harm or flight kept him unsettled. The rest of his flock were safely tucked way, Albert on the couch in a sleeping bag and Todd and Jonathan together in one of the beds. Todd had given Jonathan one last bit of attention, just in case he needed more. Danny knew, that in a year or two, Todd would be too old and would have to join an agency with a different clientele. Sleep denied, Danny considered how to improve personnel supervision.

Oliver appeared before noon and handed Danny a one hundred dollar bill. “I don’t have change,” his agent said, pocketing the money. But Oliver told him that was the commission due. Danny wanted to know if he had spent the night, then. When the answer was in the negative, he required the boy to explain why he had not returned straight away. There might have been other duties to perform. Oliver’s position was that one engagement a night was sufficient.

Danny maintained that Oliver might go as long as a week without offers and that he should not let any work slip through his fingers. This argument was undermined, however, when a day later, Oliver was already scheduled for the better part of the next two weeks, two of those bring repeats with Harlan.

*****

When Mildred O’Leary discovered a note and the house empty, she sought the aid of the town police, who made her furious by telling her that they could not do anything. No crime had been committed, they said, and the note was proof. Christopher apologized for inconveniencing her and Mr. O’Leary and did not wish to upset anyone, but explained that he needed to be alone for a while. He begged his Aunt’s forgiveness.

The police checked with the bus driver and he remembered a youth of Chris’s description traveling to Haverhill. The Haverhill ticket agent also recollected the blond boy, who had taken another bus, alone, to Boston. The Boston police were asked, as a courtesy, to inquire at the station there. They reported that no information of the whereabouts of one, Christopher Clain, had been obtained. No one thought to check on a bank account.

The police in a small town know a goodly amount about the doings of the residents. They usually keep this to themselves, unless there is evidence of criminal conduct or a complaint is made. So, they went to see Fred, to find out if he knew where Chris was. They did not believe or disbelieve his story that he had seen Chris the day before he left, but that the lad had not said anything about running away.

Meanwhile, Carl had decided that the debacle at Chris’s house that past fall had been his fault, by pushing himself on the boy. He did not attempt to correspond, but hoped to set things right by apologizing directly to the youngster. When he did not see Chris around, during his first two weeks at the cottage, he went by the house and saw a realtors’ sign. He asked a neighbor what she knew of it, and she reported the death of Mrs. Clain. Pressing further, he found out that Chris had been supposed to go to live with relatives in Worcester, but had run off instead.

Carl was terrified when the police came to ask him about the disappearance. He lied concerning when he had last communicated with Chris and said that it was during the previous summer. Then Carl packed up and left, losing the money had had paid in rent, which gave the officers at the station a good laugh about how he had bolted like a frightened rabbit. They knew that if Chris had come to him or he had done anything to the boy Carl would not have returned that summer.

*****

Over the next year, Oliver was content and busy. Most of his clients kept him for the whole evening. This often involved accompanying them to a restaurant, an entertainment or a party. For these engagements, he required suitable clothing, to which Danny was unwilling to contribute, because Oliver had refused to attend, any longer, to drop-in, noon time customers at the apartment.

Then he needed a better place to live, because there were men, who could not have Oliver come to their residence and did not find his agent’s apartment or a hotel room satisfactory. One of his regulars helped him find a furnished studio apartment in a good building, which the man rented in his own name and Oliver paid for. So his expenses were increased, but he still was able to save some money.

Oliver enjoyed the improved accommodations. He bought a few small objects that pleased him and made the place more of a home. He received some gifts, as well, and he was able to store the props and costumes that some of his employers found stimulating. However, he resolutely declined any rough handling and would not see a person again, if his rule was violated. He did not object to other unusual tastes.

One man, who called him Olives instead of Oliver, liked him to sit on his chest. He would dip the boy’s testicles in a glass of gin and then lick and suck the liquor off. He seemed to think this a great joke. Oliver did not mind. It was harmless enough and kept Mr. Maroon amused; although Oliver felt that the humor had been long since exhausted.

*****

A particularly wealthy man, who liked to dress up, had Oliver come to a suite at one of the more expensive hotels. In the bedroom, Oliver undressed and put on a simple one piece garment with a cloth belt. Mr. White wore a gown of that color. They went into the other room, where there was a long marble top table. Mr. White spoke in a foreign language and drank some wine. Then the man took off Oliver’s robe and put some liquid on his forehead. After this they had anal intercourse on the floor.

On the second and quite unhappy visit to Mr. White, something new is added to the rite. Upon disrobing, Oliver is told to kneel and whisper into the man’s ear an accounting of his recent exploits, beginning with the sexual act they had shared last week. Oliver protested on grounds of confidentiality. Mr. White countered that the lad could obviously edit the material to suit himself, but to tell him as much of it as he thought proper and, in any case, he was interested in events not names or identifying characteristics. So he told his story and at the conclusion, Mr. White took hold of the boy’s scrotum and said, “You’ve been a bad boy, Oliver Twist,” and with that gave a wrench that caused the youngster to shout with pain.

Oliver demanded that Mr. White not repeat anything like that again. “You don’t tell me what to do, boy,” Mr. White said, in a quiet, but threatening voice. “You’ll do what I say or regret it. You can be sure of that.”

Oliver ceased to protest and they continued on to the same ceremony as before, except that there was no anointing. Instead, Mr. White placed a cracker in his mouth and instructed Oliver not to chew it. It was still there while they were fornicating on the rug.

As soon as he could, Oliver complained to Danny about the treatment he had received from Mr. White, and maintained that he would not accept any more assignations with “that bastard.” Danny became quite agitated and insisted that Oliver must see Mr. White again, if asked for. Mr. White was too important and too well connected to think of crossing, Danny said.

Oliver asked if the man was a member of an organized crime family. He was told that it was worse than that, that one word from Mr. White and he and Danny would be in jail. Oliver’s suggestion that they could tell a lot about Mr. White to the police was swept aside. “Nobody would believe you,” Danny said. “And we’d be murdered in prison for sure.” He had never seen Danny afraid before and that was what convinced Oliver. His associate was plainly scared of Mr. White.

Even so, Danny had to go over it all again, to persuade Oliver that he had to keep the next appointment that Danny made for him with Mr. White. Oliver asked, to no avail, a lot of questions about the derivation of the man’s power. He asked for the man’s real name, but Danny, resolute in his refusal, would not reveal even that.

****

At the suite the next day, Mr. White again required Oliver to tell him of his transgressions, those committed since their last conference. He tried saying that there were none, but Mr. White would not have it. So, he reported a few minor misdeeds. The man gave him a solid slap across the face. “Who do you think you’re fooling. You’re to tell me the complete truth about every vile act that you’ve done.”

Oliver complied, whispering into Mr. White’s ear as before and looking with fear upon the gray hair and the bright edge of the little red skull cap that the man always wore with his outfit. He knew what was coming and this made it worse. He felt a violent wrench in his stomach and nearly vomited, when Mr. White administered his punishment, all the while telling him that he had done terrible things.

But this time there was more. After the ritual at the marble top table and after Oliver had cleared away the implements, Mr. White removed Oliver’s robe and tied his hands behind his back with the belt. He used his own to secure the boy’s feet. Then he lifted a terrified Oliver onto the stone surface.

With wide eyes, Oliver followed as Mr. White went to a box that had been place on the seat of a chair, and removed a dagger. Returning to the lad, Mr. White lay the flat of the blade on Oliver’s neck, then on his breast, then on his abdomen and finally on his genitals. He took these up in his hand and made as though he were about to slice them off. Oliver could feel the sharpness of the knife pressing against his flesh.

He thought of screaming, but elected to be still, fearing that an outburst might be counterproductive. Mr. White moved the weapon to the boy’s stomach preparing, it appeared, to eviscerate him. Then the point was placed where it would pierce his heart, if plunged into him. Oliver wondered if the man was pondering how to kill him and had decided against the first three plans. Mr. White seized Oliver’s hair and drew back his head. The boy gasped as the instrument of death was applied to his throat.

Then Mr. White paused and spoke some words in that language he often used. He cocked his head, as if listening to something, whereupon he turned Oliver over and cut off the bonds. Raising the lad up, Mr. White told him that the Lord had said that he need not be sacrificed. He made Oliver kneel by his side and offer a prayer, giving thanks to God for his mercy.

*****

A warm summer rain was falling, when Christopher arrived, the next evening, on his Aunt Mildred’s doorstep. She was relieved to see him, and Christopher, who had been apprehensive about the kind of greeting he would receive, understandably mistook this for concern for him. His mother, her sister, had, surprisingly enough, prepared a will and named Milly executrix and guardian for son and heir. The attorney she had consulted informed Mildred that she could use the funds from the estate for Christopher’s needs, to include providing a home for the boy.

While Claire’s house had not sold for much there were few debts. There had been enough money to remodel Mildred’s kitchen, put in a downstairs half bathroom and laundry, and redo the upstairs bathroom as well, using a nice pink tile that she was particularly fond of. Her only fear had been that Christopher would return as an adult and demand an accounting, but that concern was now assuaged. There was easily enough left to feed and clothe her nephew for the two years it would take him to finish high school. Then he could get a job and pay rent and board, if he was inclined to continue to live on Sutton Street.

So Chris found himself installed in the little bedroom over the dining room, with a dormer window looking out to the street and another window giving a view of the side of the neighbor’s house on the left. There was also a large closet with a ceiling that sloped to the floor and turned left into a little alcove. It was mostly filled with things belonging to the O’Learys, items that were not good enough to use, but too good to throw away. However, he had a place to hang the clothes that he had brought in the two brand new suitcases.

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