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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2006.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  All rights reserved. Thank you for your 
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Puberty Blues
By Ganymede (address withheld)

A man, boy relationship that turns into love. (Mb, ped, 
rom)

CHAPTER 1

My business booms when everyone else's life is in 
shambles. Three years ago I was working more than 
twelve hours a day, often for six days a week. That was 
during the recession, when companies failed with 
monotonous, but for me fortuitous regularity. However, 
despite the ineptitude of the Labor Party and their 
socialist agenda, the Australian economy had to recover 
eventually, and it did. 

Perhaps it happened because of the American recovery 
with no thanks to Clinton, but by the end of last year 
I was down to working a day or two a week and living 
the life of the rich and semi-retired. I was surprised, 
therefore, when my telephone rang at morning-tea time 
on Friday 13th, August 1994. I received an invitation 
to an emergency meeting at 2.00 p.m. sharp with Phillip 
Blake, a vice-president of State Bank. A twenty-page 
fax arrived five minutes later and I spent the rest of 
the morning examining it carefully. I was back at work 
again.

The Sydney office of State Bank is in George Street, 
about a block from Martin Place. Shortly after lunch, I 
left my car in the nearest parking garage and headed 
off to a meeting with a man I had never met. I had 
heard a lot about Phillip Blake during my previous 
dealings with the bank. He was a 'rising star' and 
shared the title "vice-president" with nine other 
rising stars. Not out of character, I made a point of 
arriving exactly on time. When I arrived his secretary 
informed that Mr. Blake was 'down the hall' and that I 
was to wait in his office until he returned.

Blake's office was impressive, as befitting a vice-
president of one of the city's largest banks. It was 
impossible not to feel both overwhelmed and jealous. 
Not for the first time since the mysterious telephone 
call did I wonder what on earth Blake wanted with me. 

I turned away from the floor-to- ceiling window and its 
spectacular view of the harbor and the Sydney Opera 
House and ambled over to the adjacent wall to study his 
display of diplomas and awards. He was locally 
educated--Sydney Grammar School for Boys followed by 
the University of Sydney--typical v-p material with a 
master's degree in economics on top of a bachelor's in 
accounting.

"Mr. Sayd?"

I turned around instantly. "Yes? I'm Peter Sayd," I 
responded quickly. I moved forward guiltily, as if my 
inspection of his credentials was an invasion of his 
privacy. It helped if he thought I was nervous and off 
my guard. "Mr. Blake?"

"Good afternoon, Mr. Sayd," the man replied as he 
crossed the room. His hand extended automatically and 
we shook.

"Let's dispense with the pleasantries," I said 
abruptly. Shock value had its place when it changed the 
situation to my advantage. I turned unpleasant. "You 
called me in here with little or no notice. I've been 
waiting for ten minutes, Mr. Blake, for an appointment 
that was scheduled for 2.00 p.m. sharp."

"I'm sorry," Blake said apologetically. "This entire 
week has been very stressful. I really appreciate you 
coming so quickly. I hope it wasn't too much of a 
problem for you. It couldn't wait until next week."

"I had to rearrange a few things to make this meeting," 
I lied easily.

"Call me Phil," Blake continued. He shifted from 
apologetic to arrogant v-p quickly.

For several seconds he studied me with a banker's eye 
for an investment. I was casually dressed, only my 
lambskin leather jacket gave indication of my past 
successes. My attire was deliberate, expensive but 
relaxed, showing disdain for the formal dark grey 
business suits that dominated the banking and 
investment offices in the City. The sharp edged creases 
in his trousers contrasted with the out-of-the dryer 
jeans I wore. 

I returned his stare, sizing him up at the same time 
and comparing my observations with what I already knew 
about him from others. My outburst had taken him by 
surprise. He was on the defensive. That was one point 
to me, but it was poor compensation for being on his 
turf. There was definitely a home-ground advantage in 
my business. I had a good idea that his opinion of me 
was not what I would have liked. I didn't care, just so 
long as he respected me, better yet feared me.

Blake was, I guessed, in his late thirties. He was also 
about forty or fifty pounds overweight. Beyond the 
expanding midriff, he was showing several visible signs 
of the stress associated with his job--hair thinning 
and pale complexion, among others. He was a candidate 
for an external heart massage before he reached the big 
4-0. This meeting would help him along.

It was time to change color again, like the chameleon, 
friendly. "What can I do for you, Mr. Blake?" I asked 
as I walked forward and away from the diplomas. Like 
every visitor, I was drawn towards the view from his 
window. It was an impressive sight but I wanted to 
appear distracted from the task that had brought me 
here. "Nice view," I commented casually. "I'd never get 
much work done if this was my office."

"It's more a matter of what I can do for you," Blake 
answered. "If you're not interested in listening to my 
proposition, I can always find someone who is. Frankly, 
I'd rather work with you. I believe that you can be 
trusted and that you're fair, if a bit ruthless when it 
comes to taking action. Everything that I've heard 
about you confirms that opinion."

"It sounds like you have a deal for me," I interrupted. 
Now, I wanted him on the defensive. "It isn't a good 
time for making deals right now," I added.

"Doesn't that depend on the deal, Mr. Sayd?"

"Maybe. Is there a deal?" I suggested impatiently. I 
stopped before the window and gazed outward.

"There's a deal, if you're interested." His voice came 
from behind me.

"Why don't we stop the preliminaries and get down to 
business," I said quickly as I sensed his approach.

I reasoned that Blake was trying his hardest to fluster 
me. He was an amateur. I had pulled the same trick 
again and again in negotiating until I had become an 
expert. By the time the other side realized that they 
had been effectively harassed, their strategy had 
become unhinged. Blake was beginning to vex me. I 
needed to further unsettle him. It was all about 
control and power play and I loved it.

"Why don't we sit down?" I suggested. I turned suddenly 
and walked to the chairs near the coffee table, taking 
my seat before Blake could follow. "What's the deal?" I 
asked as I readied myself to undertake the attack 
again.

"Mr. Sayd, can I call you Peter?" I nodded, "The 
deal... well it really depends on the resources you can 
put together by eight p.m. this evening," Blake hedged 
carefully. "If you are interested, I'd like to work 
with you."

"Let's cut the bullshit, okay Mister Blake?" I said 
arrogantly. "I know you don't like me, I'm not blind 
and I really don't give a damn. I'm here for a reason. 
I've read the stuff your secretary faxed to me and I'm 
obviously interested. Why don't you assume I can find 
whatever resources are needed."

Blake laughed. "They told me you were good, Mr. Sayd... 
Peter... but you're better than good. And you're 
absolutely right. I don't like vultures, I never did 
like your type very much."

"It's a job, Mister Blake," I returned quickly. 
"Someone has to do it. When people like you screw up, 
they always call for someone like me to clean their 
shit up again. No one likes to see a business 
destroyed, but I learned a long time ago that some are 
better off that way. It's just a matter of supply and 
demand and bad management ruining what chances there 
were."

We were about even on points. I waited for the next 
round. Jockeying for position at the start was a fact 
of life. Often it was a lot worse than this and 
negotiation took on Machiavellian manipulations. 

"Okay, we understand each other, I guess. I have a 
problem that I need fixed," Blake said calmly. "I need 
to have it fixed very quickly. I need you to fix it."

"Give me the spiel," I said. "Beyond what was in the 
financial report I've already looked at." There was no 
longer any need to unsettle him further. I had him on 
the run, if only temporarily.

Blake shrugged casually. "It's a long story. The bank 
made some loans that on reflection, it would have been 
wiser not to make at the time."

"And now there's an audit," I said. It was impossible 
not to smile. "Let me guess, on... uh... first thing 
Monday, right? That sounds about right for a surprise 
visit from the bank inspectors," I teased. Blake 
nodded. "You want this mess cleaned up by the start of 
business on Monday, with the funds transferred, 
correct?"

Blake nodded again. "I know you can do it. My friends 
tell me you're good at putting a deal together."

"I do my job as best I can," I replied snidely. "So how 
much are we talking about here?"

"The bank is in for more than a million in long-term 
loans. The line of credit is another three hundred 
thousand dollars. We're prepared to roll that over if 
we have an interested buyer."

"Christ!" I chuckled, "That much. It must be some 
business they were in. How much was secured?"

"They were in the clothing business. Mostly kid's 
clothes. They designed and manufactured them, and a few 
years ago they went into retailing as well. The line is 
called KidStuff, you might have seen their stuff around 
in a few department stores."

"It's unlikely, I don't have kids," I interrupted. 
"What's the bank's exposure?"

"Huh?"

"Tell me about the security."

"Security? Uh well... the usual."

"That's not very helpful," I said rudely.

"You want to know how much its worth? Well, it depends. 
Finished inventory is fairly high because of the coming 
winter sales season and the raw materials inventory is 
low right now. That's because their suppliers have 
pulled the plug on them. There's machinery, it's mostly 
computer-driven stuff that's brand new or one or two 
years old. They were trying to bring their costs into 
line by reducing the labor content. 

"Um... and there's a factory in Gosford. They also have 
some stores. I think there are two or three in the 
malls and one is downtown on Pitt Street, I think. 
Those stores aren't covered by the primary loan. The 
machinery has a book value of a bit over one million 
and I'm told that the inventory is worth about six 
hundred thousand. And there are a few other business 
assets we have as collateral, computers and cars and 
such but its chicken feed. And then there's some 
general stuff. The book on all of that is a bit over 
two hundred thousand."

I nodded. "What other creditors are out there?"

Blake's eyes narrowed. I wondered how bad it was. His 
answer surprised me. 

"Only one or two with anything sizeable. They owe a bit 
over a hundred thou' to a fabric supplier and the 
Taxation Department has them down for thirty K. One the 
good side they have accounts receivable of seventy 
plus." He hesitated. The silence hung between us. "The 
bank is looking for a million from you."

I laughed again, this time deliberately. "You have a 
bankrupt company with a total book value of a million-
eight covering a debt of million-three, plus others. 
The fire-sale value of the assets may be worth a half-
million. No wonder you want me to clean it up before 
the audit. The inspectors are going to get someone's 
arse for this. You're about to get well and truly 
reamed, Mister Blake."

"That's about right," Blake smiled. He looked unhappy 
as well he should. It was a bad investment. "Don't look 
at me. It certainly wasn't my idea, and I wasn't 
involved in lending to them. I would have called the 
money in years ago if I had any say in it. 
Unfortunately I didn't."

I ignored his excuse. He was involved, otherwise he 
would not be talking to be now. There was an 
alternative explanation--the loan decision had been 
made at a higher level. That seemed an unlikely 
proposition.

"Let me get this right, Mr. Blake. You expect me to lay 
out over a million dollars to cover you and the unpaid 
taxes, correct? And what I get is a bunch of damned 
near-worthless assets that the bank has been stupid 
enough to carry on its books for the last few years."

The sarcasm in my voice was much stronger than I 
intended and I regretted some of the words as soon as I 
said them. There was no point in being unnecessarily 
rude. It would only make him angry. I needed him 
unsettled to the degree that it clouded his judgment.

"Sorry, but it's not much of a deal," I added 
seriously.

"How about fifty cents on the dollar? We might be able 
to accept nine hundred thousand for the collateral," 
Blake proposed.

I laughed derisively even as I wondered what the bank's 
bottom line was. If they had a million-three 
outstanding, and they were prepared to settle for a 
million right from the start, undoubtedly they would 
need to recover close to it to convince the auditors 
that no problem existed.

"How about twenty-five cents?" I suggested lightly but 
with a serious expression that conveyed my true 
feelings. "Anyone would be a fool to pay more for a 
bankrupt clothing company, even if it does have a cute 
name like KidStuff. The inventory and fixed assets 
might just cover half of my risk if I'm lucky. Besides, 
I'd have to ship the equipment to somewhere in South 
East Asia to even get close to recovering what it's 
worth."

Blake shook his head. "A half-a-million dollars won't 
cut it. I have firm instructions about the amount. 
However, Mr. Sayd... Peter... maybe we can look at this 
another way. What if... now I'm just thinking aloud, 
you understand? What if you transferred some of your 
other assets to the bank to cover us for the million? 
You would have first priority at any time that you 
wanted to call the debt in."

"Great idea! What's in it for me, besides the loss of 
interest, that is?"

"You wouldn't actually buy anything. Your assets would 
be considered as a deposit in the bank. We would pay at 
the going interest rate. It would be a loan in a way 
but effectively you would buy out the bank's 
investment."

"I'm doing it for charity then," I joked.

"No! In return for your loan, you would get a one-third 
share of the common stock and a right to any remaining 
proceeds."

I did not need my MBA from Harvard Business School to 
understand the proposition offered to me. All I needed 
to do was to temporarily cover the bank's loss and I 
would get one-third ownership of a bankrupt company, 
worth a grand total of at least one-point-six million 
dollars if all the assets that were securitized with 
the bank could be sold at close to book value. 

After the 'bank'--also known as my risk-free loan--was 
repaid, I would make at least one hundred thousand 
dollars. Not bad for a few hours work and a transfer of 
stock. The issue in doubt was what the company was 
actually worth, dead or alive. A long time ago I had 
learned that book value didn't mean very much. And that 
raised an interesting question. Real estate? It was 
surprising how many brilliant investors forgot to 
include the value of real estate. Did Kidstuff own the 
factory in Gosford or any of the stores?

"You're digging yourself into a pile of shit, Blake," I 
said rudely. "I hope you boss doesn't know what you're 
up to. He's going to be pissed off to the max when he 
finds out." My vulgarity was not lost on him. "Any 
auditor worth his salt would pick that mess up in the 
first few minutes. Exactly what are you trying to 
accomplish, anyway?"

Blake sighed and shook his head dejectedly. "God, I 
don't know. I'm only doing what I've been asked to do."

"You signed off on the loan didn't you?" I asked. I 
knew the answer to my question even before I asked it 
and the Blake's expression confirmed it. This was 
becoming interesting. He had approved the loans and the 
line of credit because he had been asked to by one of 
his superiors.

I glanced at my watch impatiently. "Perhaps I better 
talk to your boss. Who is it?" I demanded, "Franklin, 
or is it Burnham?"

Blake shook his head dejectedly. "I work directly for 
Arneson. The money was lent to his sister and her 
friend. I signed off... but it was his idea. He 
arranged everything," he added weakly.

"Well! What do you know about that? Arneson!" I 
chuckled. "Maybe you better arrange for me to meet him, 
Mr. Blake. That is if you want any sort of deal at 
all."

Blake smiled. "His office is next door," he said. He 
gestured to the connecting door in the wall with the 
diplomas. "I think he's expecting you."

I started to walk away. I knew that our conversation 
had finished. Only Arneson could make the deal work as 
far as I was concerned.

"He'll be there in a few minutes," Blake called out as 
I opened the door. 

"He's on his way back from an appointment."

If Blake's office was impressive, Arneson's office was 
regally opulent. He had a large corner office, carpeted 
with a thick woolen berber, nineteenth-century 
furniture and leather-upholstered chairs. I walked 
forward and stood at the window for nearly a minute, 
taking in the grand view of Circular Quay, the bridge, 
and the harbour beyond, before I turned away. 

The door through which I had entered the room was part 
of a wood-panelled wall. It was a combination of dark-
stained Australian cedar for the shelving, like the 
other furniture in the room, and mirrored glass that 
concealed the contents of a long row of cupboards. I 
stopped before it, my attention drawn to the half-dozen 
photographs displayed. They were photographs of a boy. 
He was a very attractive blond-headed boy of about 
thirteen or fourteen years. 

Arneson's son, I supposed as I continued to study the 
youth's elegantly defined features. He had a passionate 
mouth that was nicely shaped with full, dark lips and a 
deep cleft that connected to the underside of his nose. 
In one picture he was grinning and I glimpsed perfect, 
pure-white teeth. Several times I tried to transfer my 
interest to other things but each time my eyes were 
drawn back to him. I studied the boy with growing 
fascination, elevating my impression from attractive to 
handsome, to very handsome, to finally admit to my 
growing consternation, that the boy was more than 
exceedingly handsome. He was simply stunningly 
beautiful.

One photograph held my attention the longest. In eight 
inches by ten inches the absolute essence of boyhood 
had been captured. He was at the side of a swimming 
pool and bare from the waist up. In all likelihood he 
was wearing a swimming costume but it was hidden by the 
water that sparkled around his bronzed belly. I fancied 
the boy as he would be when he was naked. Based upon 
what I already knew of him, I imagined the rest of him. 
I anticipated that all of his slender, tanned body 
would be as beautiful as his delightful smiling face. 
He was not far into puberty but he would have a big, 
healthy dick and plump, ripe balls......

"Mr. Sayd? It is you, Pete, isn't it?"

I turned and stifled a laugh. Chris Arneson grinned 
broadly at me and held out his hand. We shook warmly. 
It had been only a matter of months but it seemed a lot 
longer since I was in Thailand. My two-week visit was 
unforgettable and here was the man I owed everything 
to. Chris was really Christian Arneson, senior vice 
president of State Bank!

"Hi Chris," I acknowledged effusively. We shook hands 
warmly, neither of us speaking as we remembered the 
wonderful weeks, the two dark-skinned lads, and the bed 
that we had shared in 'boy-paradise'.

Finally I looked away and my eyes were drawn straight 
back to the photographs. The resemblance between 
Arneson and the boy was strong enough to convince me 
that they were related. My initial guess of father and 
son was confirmed. For obvious reasons, I had never 
thought of Chris as the marrying kind.

"He's a very good looking boy," I said honestly. "I 
guess he isn't a friend of yours?" The jealousy in my 
voice seemed to grate as the words came out. "I didn't 
know you were married and had a son."

It was also a feeble attempt to excuse my distraction 
as I gazed at the lovely face in the photograph. My 
heart felt like it was beating quickly and I could feel 
heat building within me like a fever out of control. 
His eyes were blue and very large. They were innocent 
and at the same time they were intensely arousing. It 
certainly was not the first time that I had looked at a 
boy and felt a sudden thrill, but never before had a 
mere photograph produced a similar reaction in me. I 
did not need to glance downward to know that my penis 
was quickly becoming erect. I turned away slightly to 
conceal the rapidly expanding bulge in my trousers.

"He was a doll when he was younger. Alex was a cute 
kid," Chris said softly. "Those photographs were taken 
before I became V-P. It's been fourteen years since he 
was skinny-dipping in my pool."

I chuckled. "What can I do for you, Chris?" I asked as 
I continued to study the haunting images on the wall.

"I guess you've already talked with Phil Blake. Is 
there a deal?"

"Maybe!" I suggested. I started to walk towards the 
window. My heart was pounding. Even when I was six or 
seven meters from the pictures, I could think of 
nothing else than the boy, his image captured in early 
adolescence. My penis was throbbing as I thought 
insistently about Alexander Arneson. It was a nice name 
for a beautiful boy. I stopped before the window and 
gazed outward.

"It's a good deal, Pete." His voice came from behind 
me.

I faced the window. Strangely, the last thing I wanted 
was for him to see my erection. After spending two 
weeks together in a village in Thailand we had no 
secrets about our sexual inclinations. And yet, despite 
all that had happened, I was embarrassed. If I turned 
around he would have to be blind not to see my arousal 
and know that a picture on his wall had caused it. My 
superior bargaining position would collapse even if my 
penis did not deflate.

"He was a sexy kid," Arneson said quietly. His voice 
was close, no more than a meter away and it came from 
over my left shoulder. "Alex could be a real handful at 
times."

"Huh?" I mumbled awkwardly.

The man's words were puzzling. To me, they were highly 
charged and pregnant with meaning. How many fathers 
referred to their sons as 'sexy' and then immediately 
informed a stranger that the boy could be a 'real 
handful'?

"He's my nephew, my sister Hannah's kid," Chris 
explained as if he realized my predicament. "Alex was 
an unusual boy," he continued enigmatically. 

"Oh!" I spluttered.

"We were very close," he added suggestively. "Very, 
very close."

"He certainly is good looking," I said as I tried to 
calm my racing mind. 

His words had been chosen deliberately to arouse me.

"I was very fond of him," Chris continued slyly. "We 
spent a lot of time together after he turned twelve. He 
used to have the same effect on me when I was around 
him."

"I can imagine. He's a doll," I said with open 
admiration. "What did your sister think?"

Arneson grinned widely. "Of course she knew all about 
Alexander and me. Don't you remember what I said about 
keeping it in the family, Pete? It gets better, but 
that will do for now. I don't want to bore you with the 
juicy details!"

I stifled a shiver as the thrill of knowing the 
intimate details of the boy's sex life faded. I nodded. 
I breathed out slowly. One part of my brain was 
clamoring to know more about Alexander while the rest 
was struggling for control. I reasoned that Arneson was 
trying his hardest to arouse me but I also sensed that 
the beautiful boy was part of the reason why I was 
here. I did not understand the connection but there had 
to be one.

"Give me the spiel," I said brusquely. "About the 
company," I added quickly to hide my interest.

Arneson shrugged casually. "Its a long story. It 
started way back, about fifteen years ago in fact when 
Alex was twelve. I won't waste your time with all the 
dirty details right now, but I was very fond of him. I 
still am. He used to spend his weekends and holidays 
with me. When he was fifteen, about when these photos 
were taken, he moved in with me. We had his mother's 
blessing. She knew I was fucking him from the start."

"Lucky you!" I quipped.

"Anyway, to make a long story short, about eight years 
ago I loaned money to Alex' mum, my sister... and her 
friend, Tricia. I guess I should say that Hannah's a 
lesbian. In fact that was one of the reasons why she 
allowed Alex to move in with me. Well, after Alex was 
in uni', Hannah quit her job at the Art College and 
they went into business together. 

"It didn't do too well at first because of a few 
problems but at least it was in the black. They wanted 
to expand and I arranged for the bank to lend them more 
money. What really caused them problems was the last 
recession. I got them through that by lending them even 
more money and I've carried them ever since on a line 
of credit."

I nodded again as I recollected why I liked Chris 
Arneson. Four months earlier he had dramatically 
changed my life.


++++ Thailand, May 1994 ++++


My life started to change for the better somewhere 
between Sydney and Bangkok. It was low season and the 
747 was half empty, probably not enough passengers to 
pay for the gas let alone the fixed cost of the 
aircraft. It was even worse in the first-class section. 
I had a full row to myself. 

In the row before mine there was a family. Mum, dad and 
two kids--a girl in her mid teens and a boy aged about 
twelve. For a large part of the trip I could not take 
my eyes of the young angel in the aisle seat--the BOY, 
not the girl. He had long brown hair that glistened in 
the subdued light on the plane. He radiated youth and 
vitality.

I stared, unnoticed as I absorbed his every move. He 
was extremely attractive and poised on the threshold of 
puberty. He was still enough of a child to retain his 
high-pitched voice and puerile mannerisms, but old 
enough to be interesting. As the hours passed, I found 
him to be more than just interesting. He was, in a 
word, delightful. 

I listened, entranced by his boyish giggle, his offhand 
comments to his patient father, his verging-on- 
rudeness constant teasing of his sister about her 
boyfriend. When he got up to go the toilet, I gazed 
longingly at him. I hoped he would acknowledge my 
presence, or better still, invite me to go with him. He 
ignored me as he sauntered past without his shoes. I 
focused on his crotch and saw a medium- sized bulge 
that promised plenty but which revealed little more 
than bulk, and then he was gone. My head twisted to 
follow his small, plump bum as he disappeared down the 
aisle.

He was gone a long while in the toilet, or perhaps he 
was entertaining the stewardesses with his witty charm 
and pretty-boy looks. He was gone more than long enough 
to get laid. I wondered whether he was masturbating. It 
was a fascinating idea and I formed mental images of 
him with his shorts at his ankles and his hand flying 
up and down his young, pink penis until he shot his 
load of fresh spunk on the floor. 

Finally he ambled back and dropped into his seat. He 
looked tired. I imagined the pearly droplets of his 
spunk spurting out from a reddened tip, then as he 
flushed the bowl, free-falling from 12,000 meters into 
the harsh desert of Western Australia. As he sat, he 
turned slightly and for the rest of the flight I 
wondered whether he actually smiled at me or if I was 
imagining it.

All too soon we landed at Bangkok. I waited in my seat 
until the boy and his family stood up and I followed 
like a dog in heat, as close to the youngster as I 
could physically get without rubbing my aching groin 
against his firm, little behind. There was a long gap 
between me and the man who followed us out. He had been 
sitting two rows directly in front of me. They stopped 
to talk to the senior steward and I had no choice but 
to continue on, leaving my first love leaning against 
the bulkhead that separated the flight deck from the 
rest of the plane. As I passed I heard his father say 
'Ben would just love to see up front' and then I was 
out of earshot.

'Ben'... Benny... 'Benji'... 'Benjamin'... a cute name 
for a very cute boy, I thought. No, he was a couple of 
years too old to be called Benji or Benny. Ben suited 
him. It was a simple name for an elegant boy. His was a 
name I would not forget for a long while. As I walked 
up the ramp I was aware that the man behind me was 
closing the gap. I glanced behind me, preparing to move 
over and make way for him to pass if he was in a hurry. 
He came up beside me and slowed down. It was the first 
time that I saw Chris Arneson.

"Sexy little thing, wasn't he?" he said quietly. His 
voice was muted but it crackled with lust.

I swallowed nervously. My throat was dry from too much 
champagne and a long flight. The Bangkok heat 
overwhelmed me. It was hot and humid, far worse than 
Townsville in the summer. "Huh? What did you say? Who?" 
I asked.

"The boy, of course. Who else?" the man added. He 
smirked at me and winked knowingly. "You had a better 
seat than I did. I had to keep turning around to look 
at him. I'm sure his father was wondering what was up."

"What are you talking about?" I asked glibly. "Because 
I have no fucking idea what you're going on about, 
mate."

But I could feel my heart pounding and my body seemed 
to tremble despite my attempts to stop it. Every muscle 
was responding to the surge of adrenaline that coursed 
through my arteries. We reached the end of the ramp. He 
turned towards me and shrugged as if it had all been a 
mistake.

"Sorry, I thought I recognized you," he said. "I must 
be mistaken."

"You are," I said flatly. "I've never seen you before!"

"Okay, I'm sorry then. I just thought we had something 
in common, that's all!"

He started to walk away, not going faster than I was 
but taking a diverging path. His words hung in my mind, 
bouncing back and forth until they were clamoring 
loudly. My response was totally unexpected and 
surprised me.

"Hey," I called out loudly.

He turned and stopped and looked at me for several 
seconds. "Yeah?"

"You're right!" I said ambiguously.

"About what?"

I walked up to him. I hesitated and then threw caution 
to the winds. I didn't know the man from Adam, I'd 
never meet him again, there was nothing to lose.

"About the boy. He's very sexy," I answered.

He was at least ten years older than I was but he 
exuded a youthfulness that was disconcerting to me. He 
smiled smugly. "I can always spot a like soul," he 
said. "It only takes one look at a boy like him to know 
exactly what you're thinking."

I smiled back at him. "And what kind of a look is 
that?" I asked softly.

"Lust! Pure unadulterated boy-lust. You looked like you 
wanted to rape him right there in front of his parents. 
Personally, I couldn't blame you, but somehow I don't 
think they would be too keen on little-Ben getting a 
big one up his behind."

I grinned shamelessly, excited by the man's crude talk 
about the boy I had been hungering after from the time 
I took my seat in Sydney. I was also fascinated by the 
fact that the stranger had also managed to learn the 
boy's name.

"Do you think he's gay?" I asked stupidly. Hopefully. 
Curiously.

"Gay? God who knows! A lot of the boys attending Kings 
School are, that's for sure. Little Benny just might be 
one of them. I certainly hope so. He's got an awfully 
cute bum. It's really going to be wasted if he likes 
girls."

I smiled again. I was fascinated by the man's openness. 
He had no inhibitions. He was also very observant. I 
had noticed Ben's school socks too and thought that I 
was particularly observant at the time.

"He was giving his sister hell about her boyfriend," I 
added hopefully and opened the door to the terminal 
building.

"Well just about every boy does that. It doesn't prove 
anything, but we can only hope." The man stopped and 
held out his right hand expectantly. "I'm Chris," he 
said.

We shook formally, I introduced myself by first name, 
and we started to walk again. The immigration desk was 
still a hundred meters away. Other people from the 747 
were beginning to straggle up the corridor behind us.

"And even if he was gay, he isn't the type to do 
anything more than prick-tease you." Chris chuckled. 
"I've seen his kind before. He'll lead you on, maybe 
even let you feel his tool, but when it comes to the 
interesting stuff, he'll up and run."

"You sound very certain," I said. "He looked like a 
nice kid."

"That's my point. The nice ones don't do it. And even 
if Benny was into big dicks, do you really think his 
parents would tolerate anything like that. You're 
better off with one of the runaways up at Kings Cross. 
You might have to pay for it but at least you usually 
get what you want."

I nodded. My thoughts were running wild. The man 
walking beside me seemed to have answers for all of my 
questions. The desire that I had known since my early 
teens seemed to grow more powerful every second that I 
walked beside him. There was a chance, it suddenly 
seemed, that I could find an outlet for my unnatural 
inclinations. I thought of the boys who I had been 
attracted to-- the sun-bleached blonds, the young 
surfer-boys I watched at Bondi Beach, to the pre-teens 
shopping with their parents, to the lonely nights that 
I had spent by myself, wondering if my dreams could 
ever become real as I masturbated feverishly.

"The chance of finding a kid who's attracted to older 
guys is about zero," Chris continued to explain. "Young 
poofs are out there, of course. It stands to reason 
because they grow up to be gay men. The trouble is 
finding one at the age you're interested in. And then, 
once he's interested and likes you enough to get 
involved, you're halfway home. What you really need is 
access."

"Huh?" 

"The young ones need time to work up to getting laid. 
You have to court them, otherwise they'll run screaming 
'rape' to mummy and daddy and you'll find yourself in 
deep shit. Once you're a good friend, getting his pants 
off is relatively easy. I think that's why a lot of men 
get involved in scouts or youth clubs, things like 
that. It's still difficult to meet the right boy but at 
least you have opportunity to get to the next stage."

"Why is still difficult?" I asked ignorantly. "I mean 
if the kid's interested?"

I stooped and picked up my black-leather suitcase from 
the conveyor. I waited for a minute until Chris' bags 
appeared. He seemed to ignore my last question until he 
straightened up and his attention was no longer 
diverted by watching the bags slide past as he looked 
for his own.

"Sooner or later, you have to face up to the fact that 
his parents will kill you if they discover you've been 
fucking junior. Even if he is willing they don't like 
the idea of a man screwing his arse."

I smiled. "I guess that's pretty normal behavior for 
parents."

"Too bad for men like us!" Chris chuckled. "It's a hell 
of lot easier when his mum or dad knows what's going 
down. Maybe up would be more descriptive. And if 
they're amenable to it, wow! But that's a one-in-a-
million chance."

"Oh," I said. "I guess you hit the boy-jackpot then, 
huh? I expect that would be a once in a lifetime 
opportunity. With his parents on side, you get to fuck 
the hell out of him, then?"

Chris smirked knowingly. "Something like that, Peter. 
There are a few boys like that out there. Most boys 
aren't into it. Sucking cocks is one thing but the 
taking a man in through the back door is something 
else. Getting into a young bum is quite a challenge, 
believe me. Don't get me wrong, they're around but the 
trouble is finding them. It's usually family members 
who get the benefits in those situations."

"It sounds like you are speaking from experience," I 
observed.

Chris ignored my statement but there was something in 
his facial expression that said otherwise. A faint 
smile appeared at the corners of his mouth and his eyes 
seemed to flicker as if replaying some long-ago memory.

"I'm here for all of two weeks. How long are you here 
for?" I asked.

"Three weeks. This is my annual vacation in boy-
paradise. I'm staying just long enough to fall in love 
again and then get my heart broken when I leave." He 
studied me for several seconds. "What are you here for, 
business or pleasure?"

"Pleasure meaning... boys?" I ascertained awkwardly.

"That's the only kind worth having, at least in my 
opinion. Thai boys are born to fuck, I think. Even the 
little ones get off on it and the best thing is, no one 
seems to care very much. It certainly isn't like the 
Philippines. Boy has that place changed since they 
threw Marcos out and the new order took over."

I nodded as I absorbed the new information. It was one 
facet of Thailand that the travel agents did a poor job 
of communicating. I would have come years ago instead 
of going to the U.S., Tahiti, or New Zealand. If only I 
had known.

"How can you... uh... tell if a boy's... uh... 
interested?" I asked hesitantly.

Chris stopped and regarded me quietly. The immigration 
desk was less than ten meters away. He was silent as he 
thought. "The question in Thailand is, are you 
interested in boys?" he asked secretively.

I nodded slightly. "I might be... no I would be... for 
a boy like Ben," I answered.

"Good for you, Peter! I'd jump on him in flash as well. 
He's a pretty one, all right. He's the stuff dreams are 
made of. And it would be a dream. His old man's a 
barrister and you know that means trouble right from 
the start. He's a senior partner in one of the biggest 
law firms in Sydney. Ben isn't the type of boy you 
want. Even if he was interested and you were able to 
get him excited, you'd never get his pants down long 
enough to get it inside him. But, take my word for it, 
a Thai boy will do anything you want. And I do mean 
anything."

I shrugged as my hopes were dashed. As quickly as Ben 
had entered my life, he had departed. However, he left 
a void that needed to be filled more than ever before 
in my life. My desire had been escalated to the degree 
of longing. For the last few years I had dreamed of 
meeting a boy who was willing and able to respond to my 
lust. It had turned into an all-consuming hunger.

"What hotel are you staying at?" I asked naively.

"I'm not! The hotel boys are way too old, even for an 
old pervert like you." Chris chided. "And the street 
boys either have the 'clap' or worse. You could try one 
of the gay brothels downtown but the cops watch them 
closely after all the stink in the States about sex-
vacations in South-East Asia. I would say you have a 
fifty-fifty chance of being arrested. You probably 
won't spend any time in jail, but they do report 
incidents to the Australian consulate. I know that for 
a fact."

"I wasn't planning on staying in Bangkok," I said as we 
started to walk again. 

"I was going down to Phuket."

"Even if you go down to Phuket, it's a waste of time," 
Chris replied. He started to move forward towards the 
immigration desk. "The boys will go down on you all 
right for twenty bucks but anything else costs a 
fortune."

He was almost beside the immigration officer when he 
finally turned back and handed over his passport. My 
mind was is turmoil. Boys, boys, boys! It was all that 
I could think about. And then it was my turn. My 
passport was stamped and Chris was waiting on the other 
side. He grinned at me and raised his eyebrows as I 
came.

"See, no problem at all. I was here three years ago and 
a copper found me on the beach doing it with a naked 
boy. He was a ten-year-old, what you might call real 
jail-bait back home in Sydney. I spent all of one night 
in jail before I got out. The judge could have fined 
me, maybe even given me a few months in a cell but 
instead he suggested I give three thousand baht, that's 
about a hundred dollars, to the boy's family. Of course 
they didn't press charges and never intended to, but my 
record still comes up in their computer every time I 
walk through Customs. They don't give a damn. I get a 
warning to behave myself, that's all."

"Thailand sounds like my kind of place," I joked.

"Like I said, Peter, it's boy-paradise here. Thai boys 
are born to fuck. The trick is not paying an arm and a 
leg at the hotels or down at the beach, and staying out 
of trouble."

I followed him out to the arrivals area. Hundreds of 
people milled around. There were a few Thais, but 
mostly, white and Japanese tourists. There were also 
many Chinese or Indian people working the counters, 
giving directions, or otherwise impeding the flow of 
pedestrian traffic. Chris glanced around him with an 
experienced eye.

"I'm still confused," I said. "If not Bangkok or 
Phuket, then where?"

He shrugged as he looked back at me. "I go for a drive 
into the hills north-east of here. It's easy to find 
boys at many of the villages, especially as you get 
closer to Cambodia. I can guarantee that any boy you're 
interested in will never want more than ten dollars a 
day, and then his parents will throw in their bedroom 
so you can be comfortable while you fuck the insides 
out of their son. I know of one village where you're 
treated like part of the family. They'll even serve 
your meals."

"What's the catch?" I asked with disbelief.

"If they're poor enough, a boy's arse is usually their 
only asset. Of course his parents hope you'll like him 
enough to take care of him. It's a pity they can't be 
adopted, or exported back home. Mostly they're really 
cute kids and in fairly good shape, though they are a 
bit on the skinny side sometimes. I haven't met one who 
wasn't great in bed. Even the virgins are good at it." 
Chris turned to me. "If you're interested, there's a 
passenger seat in the car," he offered graciously.

"Are you sure? I don't imagine you'd want someone 
tagging along for a trip like that," I asked 
uncertainly.

"Au contraire. It gets a bit lonely with no one to talk 
to for two or three weeks. Most of the boys don't have 
more than a few words of English." He smiled. "And then 
its only the essential words like 'fuck me harder'. I 
think you'll have a lot of fun if you tag along as you 
put it."

I agreed, of course. We rented a car from the airport, 
put our bags in the back, and headed off into the 
sweltering heat that was Thailand. Chris knew where to 
go without using the map supplied by the car-rental 
place. He drove through the outskirts of Bangkok before 
taking a busy road off to the north. With each 
kilometer, the traffic thinned and the countryside 
became more lush. It was tropical, with patches of 
dense jungle interspersed with lots of carefully tended 
farms.

As the road climbed steadily upward into the hills, the 
farms became fewer and the jungle ever denser. A little 
less than two hours after the plane landed I saw my 
first elephant. By then the road had become little more 
than a single lane. There was no turning back, indeed 
there were no signs marking the direction from which we 
had come or the places to which the road was going.

I sat back in the sticky vinyl seat and watched the 
trees go past. We passed through a lot of villages but 
not the one that Chris was looking for. With each new 
village a horde of kids came out to watch us. His 
observation was correct. Thai boys were very good 
looking. Their features were less Asiatic than most 
people in the region. Their coloring was dark, bronzed-
hued skin, black straight hair. Most of them wore only 
shorts, occasionally tee shirts, seldom shoes. They 
radiated sex at least to my untrained eye and vivid 
imagination. We drove until mid-afternoon.

The terrain had become increasingly rugged as we 
approached Cambodia. Ahead lay the famed Golden 
Triangle, although the amount of opium had decreased 
significantly in the last few years. As we continued, 
road became ever more pock-marked and was almost 
impassable in places. Trees overhung the road so that 
it seemed we were often driving in a tunnel, many of 
them towering high above. These were teak trees, with 
the expensive wood prized by boat builders for its 
durability but no longer cut as world pressure focused 
on preserving the rainforest and eliminating drugs. 

Only a decade earlier elephants had dragged logs from 
the forest while aircraft carried bags of raw chemicals 
from the poppy fields to the processing plants near the 
coast. In one valley we passed a disused saw-mill, its 
two meter diameter saw-blade no longer sharp enough to 
cut. There was a huge diesel engine rusting under a 
Skelton structure whose roof had been stripped of 
corrugated metals by local villagers. 

As the car slowed I saw that parts of the engine had 
been pilfered by a spare parts dealer, leaving gaping 
holes where there had once been mechanical parts. An 
intact generator was attached to a concrete base, no 
longer able to serve its function without the diesel. 

"Kind of sad, isn't it? Convenient for us, though," 
Chris said as he slowed the car. "It used to provide 
jobs for the village. Now the boys work instead of the 
men," he added. "There's a lot more money in letting 
your son sleep with men like us than working in a saw-
mill."

"The economic facts of life! The interaction of supply 
and demand," I mused. 

"Teak one day and selling your son's bum the next."

"Something like that," Chris answered. "Both are what 
you might call nature's bounty."

I laughed. "Only teak lasts longer. With a boy-bum you 
only a have few years before it gets too old."

A few minutes Chris finally stopped the car. I was 
covered in a sheen of perspiration as well as being 
uncomfortably itchy. 

"Okay, this is it!" Chris laughed. "Time to go find you 
a boy, Peter." 

I gazed around as we stepped from the car. From what I 
could see, this village was no different to the dozens 
we had passed through earlier. There were several huts 
close to the road, one with a sign that proclaimed the 
name of the village and 'POST OFFICE' in both Thai and 
English. Beside it was an excuse for a general store. A 
verandah of sorts extended out from an equally 
dilapidated roof of corrugated metal. A naked baby girl 
sauntered beside a scruffy dog, kicking red dust 
between her toes as her grandmother supervised from the 
darkness inside the store. The old woman raised her 
hand to acknowledge our presence.

"I hope Udon is still here." Chris waved to the woman 
absently as he closed the door behind him. "This place 
hasn't changed a bit since I was here last. God, he was 
sexy a year ago. He's probably about fourteen by now, 
but age isn't all that important with a Thai boy. Not 
like your friend, Ben. 

"Give him a few years and he'll have pimples all over 
him and hair from head to toe. You'd barely be able to 
find his dick among the fuzz except for the fact that 
he'll have one about the same size as a horse. There's 
a lot to be said for malnutrition and south-east Asian 
genes--not much body hair and small dicks!"

"Udon?" I said. "It sounds like you have a boyfriend 
all ready to go to bed," I added.

"I had better. I've been sending his family a hundred 
dollars a month ever since the cops caught me with my 
cock up his lovely little arse."

"He was the boy on the beach?" I asked.

Chris nodded. "His father took him down to Phuket just 
after his tenth birthday. It's not that uncommon in 
this part of the country. They appreciate a boy's 
charms, at least the charms that make him a boy, shall 
we say."

He glanced around him as if to get his bearings. 
"Udon's house used to be over here," he said as he 
pointed towards the group of houses closest to the 
river. He started to walk.

"Anyway the trip to Phuket was only for one reason and 
that was to get the boy laid. His father fully intended 
for him to get fucked by a tourist. He was very open 
about it and I was more than happy to oblige at the 
time. Of course I didn't plan on becoming quite as 
attached to the little rascal as I ended up doing. 

"He was absolutely incredible at ten, but you should 
have seen him last year. He had just started to cum. 
Not much mind you, but enough to taste. I sucked him 
dry every chance I got and it still wasn't enough for 
Udon. He used to wake me up and night for more. The 
little poofter couldn't get my cock in him often 
enough, at either end. I got my money's worth, the 
whole year in just the first few days."

"It sounds like a good investment," I grumped tiredly.

Chris laughed. "So how do you like your boys, Pete? 
Young or old, perhaps I should say wet or dry? The 
little ones are prettier but there's something nice 
about it when a boy can spunk for you. For some men, 
boys with sperm can be a real turn off. You can take 
your pick in boy-paradise. Just one word of advice."

What's that?" I interrupted.

"Pick one and settle down fast with him. Their parents 
don't like you trying them out and then moving on to 
someone else's kid. It's bad for the boy's self-
esteem," he laughed, "But it's also considered both bad 
manners and bad business."

"You're the expert on boys. What do you recommend?" I 
asked sarcastically.

Chris smirked. "That's easy. I'd go for a boy who's 
close to starting puberty, just like your friend, 
Benny. They're hot to try everything out. Alternatively 
I'd go for a boy who's just into puberty. That way you 
get a slightly bigger dick to suck, they really get a 
kick out of it when they come for you, and they stay 
horny afterwards. However, its mostly a matter of 
personal taste. If I was in your shoes, Peter, my 
favorite would have to be Udon's brother, Phan. He's a 
real doll, much cuter than Udon and two or three years 
younger. He's probably real close to puberty by now. 
Besides, his parents are used to the idea of a man 
fucking him because of Udon and me."

"He sounds too good to be true," I laughed.

"He is good," Chris added. "If it wasn't for his 
brother, I'd get him in bed by tonight. In fact, I'm 
pretty certain his dad expects me to do the deed this 
trip. He was talking about taking the kid down to 
Phuket while I was here this time. It was a hint to me, 
needless to say, but it'll happen sooner or later if 
you're not interested in him."

"I'm interested, I guess," I replied with much 
commitment. "Do I have a choice?"

"There's another boy, Udon's cousin, uh... Luc. He's 
younger, only about nine or ten, but if you want a boy 
who's on the small side and hasn't been touched yet, 
he'd be a good choice. If you're lucky Phan may still 
be a virgin, in fact I'd be surprised if he wasn't one. 

"Not many tourists get this far away from Bangkok and 
none of the locals can pay the price. And then there's 
the twins, but you'd have to like them very young. 
They're only six, I think. But as I've said, Thai boys 
are sexy, even at that age. Of course, you'd have to be 
careful if you went the whole with them. A boy that 
young is easily hurt if you aren't patient with him."

"What's the price for Phan?" I asked suspiciously.

"Nothing for you. That's not because you're my friend, 
it's how they do business. You won't have to pay a 
penny unless you really like him... enough to want him 
to wait for you to come back. If he doesn't get a man 
in Phuket this year he'll probably go down to one of 
the brothels in Bangkok. I feel sorry for him, but 
there isn't much I can do about it. Even if I paid for 
Phan, there are lots of others just like him." 

Chris sighed loudly and then, added. "They'd all be 
better off with men like us. Most of them have a 
terrible life in the brothels. Some men abuse them 
horribly. Udon told me about one of the boys from a 
village just up the road. The poor little bugger had 
his balls crushed last year when he was taken to work 
in Bangkok."

"God! How did that happen?"

"The brothel owners do it, the miserable bastards, so 
that the boys don't mature sexually. And then his bum 
was mangled by some Jap-fuckin'-businessman who lost 
control with a dildo. Udon's grandfather told me it 
happens fairly often around the brothels, but it's 
usually done when the kid doesn't perform. They 
practically destroy the kid's sphincter and rectum with 
a real whopper."

The boy who came running up and leaped into Chris' arms 
was remarkably attractive and very agile. He was 
slender, weighing no more than forty kilos, but his 
arms and legs were wiry and the long muscles were 
visibly expressed under the dark, satin-smooth skin. 
His arms locked around the man's shoulders and he 
nuzzled him with obvious affection. I watched jealously 
as Chris hugged him back and squeezed his buttocks 
playfully through the thin blue nylon of his shorts. 
Chris kissed him first on the forehead, then the bridge 
of his broad nose, then on his dark, full lips. The 
kiss was returned eagerly.

If this was Udon, and his brother was even more 
attractive, I was enthusiastic. Their kiss seemed to go 
on and on forever. I could see the boy's mouth moving, 
sucking air as he breathed. He panted in quick gasps. 
His cheeks hollowed from the vacuum. Occasionally his 
pink tongue would push out between their lips, smearing 
saliva that lubricated, before returning to Chris' 
mouth. I became impatient after nearly a minute had 
passed. 

People, men, women, and children were watching both 
them and me. One old man was grinning and nodding his 
head with aroused interest. I was soon to discover that 
he was the boy's grandfather, a pederast, and the 
village chief. They parted as Udon's father approached 
but they still stood close together. Like lovers, they 
shared continual sideways glances and their hands were 
linked to openly display the bond between them. 

What I witnessed was almost impossible to believe at 
the time. Chris shook the man's hand. His face was 
covered with the wetness of the boy's saliva. His 
trousers had a huge bulge in the crotch and there was a 
corresponding and considerably smaller bump, albeit 
better defined as the short length of a very rigid 
penis, in the front of Udon's shorts.

Udon's father seemed as pleased with his son's open 
display of affection as the old man standing beside 
him. I was introduced and it was immediately apparent 
to me that I was considered as a likely suitor for his 
second son, Udon's younger brother, the boy who Chris 
called a 'real doll'. But there was no sign of Phan. I 
studied every face we passed on the way to their house 
hoping for a glimpse of a beautiful young boy who bore 
some of Udon's features.

It was an amusing troupe that made its way through the 
agglomeration of houses, fenced-in yards, and 
accumulated junk that passed for a village in central 
Thailand. Two white men, one still holding the hand of 
a very handsome youth, and two Thai men who chattered 
away. Udon acted as interpreter, selecting what he 
considered to be worth repeating to Chris. However, 
interpreter was only one of his roles. His other roles 
clearly elicited more respect from the people we 
passed. Even the women and girls seemed to acknowledge 
his prestige as he flaunted his relationship by dancing 
around Chris exuberantly. Behind us, three young boys 
struggled with our baggage.

We crossed over the river and entered the family 
compound. The signs of wealth were immediately visible, 
or perhaps I should say audible. A boom- box boomed 
'80's rock loudly from one of the three huts. Then I 
saw the refrigerator. It was a new appliance despite 
the fact it was standing on the bare ground and its 
door was wide open. I correctly assumed that there was 
no electricity in the village. It had been purchased 
for status alone and was a direct reward of Chris' 
generosity to Udon and his family.

The hut we stopped before was about eight feet off the 
ground. It was, unlike the other two huts nearby, 
relatively new and in good condition. The wooden 
framework was dark teak, discarded from the lumber mill 
we had passed earlier on the road. The roof was 
thatched with thick bundles of straw. The hut had a 
primitive elegance that was more interesting that the 
artificial rip-offs to be found in the resorts of 
Phuket.

Udon's mother appeared at the top of the ladder. She 
smiled widely as she recognized Chris. I remembered 
what he had said in the airport about the chances of 
meeting a boy whose parents were 'amenable' to his 
having a relationship with a grown man. Now it seemed 
that my own inexperienced remarks had been an accurate 
assessment of the benefits that could accrue under such 
a condition.

I watched with interest as Udon scampered up the 
ladder. Chris followed. He stopped at the top, leaned 
forward and kissed her. She giggled like a teenager and 
said something as she playfully swatted him on the 
shoulder and glanced at her eldest son. Udon was 
smirking. Even the two men standing next to me laughed. 
I wondered what the joke was.

"She said that I should save my kisses for Udon," Chris 
explained jocularly. "It seems he's been driving every 
one mad the last few days while he waited for me. It's 
nice to be appreciated," he added. Then in front of the 
boy's parents and grandfather, he reached out and 
grasped the boy's still rampart penis through his 
shorts. "How sweet it is to love a horny boy like this 
one," he laughed.

I waited for the angry outburst from either or both of 
the two men, or from his mother, but there was none. 
Even as Chris' hand lingered, fondly rubbing the boy's 
sex organs under his shorts, there was no negative 
reaction except from the boy himself. Udon blushed and 
after nearly a minute, as Chris' fingers started to 
worm their way under the loose leg of his shorts, he 
giggled and pushed the hand away. 

It was not an angry push, merely a gentle sign that he 
wanted to stop for the present. At nearly fourteen 
years, he was old enough to discharge his semen if 
excited sufficiently, and more than old enough for 
inhibitions in front of his mother. By then, we had all 
climbed the steps, I had been introduced to the woman, 
and we had kissed. It was a chaste, family kiss that 
was very different to the display of passion that 
continued beside me.

I glanced around the hut, hoping to see a sign of the 
second oldest son. I heard the foreign chatter of the 
parents and the old man and instinctively realized that 
I was the object of discussion. I was examined, much as 
they would examine a pig or cow but with considerably 
more appreciation such as might be reserved for an 
elephant. Had it not been rude, I am certain that they 
would have asked me to undress so they could inspect 
all of me. For that report they would have to wait for 
Phan's experience.

Even though I had been sitting almost non-stop for more 
than fifteen hours, I was still grateful when we sat on 
the low stools. The trip had been tiring. A long 
distance by plane, then the grueling four hour drive 
from Bangkok. Minutes passed, then a half-hour, then a 
full hour and still no sign of the boy they intended to 
be my lover. Two younger boys, adorable twins no older 
than six, had been promptly dispatched to find him 
almost as soon as we arrived.

While we waited Udon's father served tea, using cracked 
cups that were yellowed with the accumulation of stain. 
It was a ritual, establishing relationships between 
family and visitors. He served Chris first-- a single 
cup that he shared with the handsome boy beside him, 
then the grandfather, then me, then himself. So much 
for the supposed adulation of the Thai for elderly. The 
boy's mother departed in order to prepare for the 
evening meal.

The heat of the afternoon began to intensify. When it 
seemed that it could become no hotter, hot waves of air 
flowed through the open walls of the hut. At least we 
were in the shade. Sweat trickled down my brow and my 
shirt and trousers clung to my body with a wet film. 
Slowly I began to think that coming with Chris was a 
terrible mistake. By now I would be in Phuket, resting 
in an air-conditioned room, with the fresh sea breeze 
blowing across the beautiful craggy islands of the 
sound. 

The heat did not seem to bother Chris. He was 
perspiring as much as I was and he shared his body heat 
with the lithe teenage boy beside him. Sometimes it 
seemed as if Udon would crawl over him and they would 
copulate in front of us. They kissed and hugged and 
fondled each other openly, continually attracting what 
sounded to me like words of encouragement from the two 
men, and several times when she was in the hut, from 
Udon's mother. I was not disinterested when I finally 
stood up and made my way down the ladder. I was merely 
very jealous.

I had watched enviously as Chris' hand slowly inched 
its way under the wide leg opening, pushed the loose 
cloth away and settled over the boy's still prominent 
bulge. I had watched Udon smile shyly, acknowledge his 
father's nod, and part his legs so that the hand had 
unfettered access to his groin. I watched Chris' hand 
enclose, caress, tickle, and finally begin to 
masturbate the nearly naked youngster next to him. 

I had watched the boy become hotter, wriggling and 
twisting as his arousal began to peak. I had watched a 
dollar- sized dark spot appear on the bright-blue nylon 
of his shorts as he liberally leaked pre-cum, a 
surprising amount in one so young and from a penis that 
was still relatively small. He twitched, gasped, and 
shuddered. I had watched as his eyes clamped tightly 
shut and his body arched. The muscles in his slender 
legs became firmer as he strained. His moan of ecstasy 
shocked me. 

The wet patch in the front of his thin nylon shorts 
expanded instantly. It rapidly grew bigger as he 
ejaculated his bountiful juice until it was finished. 
The boy relaxed, his young body's strength spent in a 
stain the size of a saucer. His orgasm was enchanting, 
a captivating crescendo as his young body fell back 
exhausted. He smiled beguilingly at Chris as his penis 
continued to throb. There was nothing but smiles from 
the other two men. In my case it made me feel lonelier 
than I had ever been. When it seemed it could get no 
worse, Udon lifted his slender hips upward and Chris 
expertly pulled his semen-soaked shorts off.

Without a word, Chris inspected the product of his 
young lover's body. He lifted the shorts to his nose 
and inhaled deeply, then turning them inside out, 
examined the copious fluid that now adhered to the 
nylon. There was no doubt that Udon's body had matured 
considerably beyond the stage visibly indicated by the 
size of his penis and his physical stature. The 
abundant seminal fluid was thick and white, like a 
man's. But unlike the after effects of a man's orgasm, 
the boy's penis did not deflate. It remained still 
half-erect, still wanting more pleasure despite the 
fact that it had just climaxed, despite the glistening 
beads of sweat that covered Udon's body.

Chris silently grinned at me as he pulled the now-naked 
boy against him. Any inhibition that Udon had earlier 
had been lost as his body had been drained before his 
father and grandfather. His shorts, the front covered 
with his emission, lay on the floor, a testimony to his 
maturity and sexual prowess. He straddled Chris, 
kissing loudly as I reached the ladder. The last thing 
I saw was Chris arms locking behind the boy in a 
powerful embrace. I heard him call out when I was 
halfway down.

"Hey Peter, try going up river. Udon thinks that Phan's 
probably at the waterfall by now."

I ambled across the courtyard. I was uncertain of 
everything that I had observed. Udon's sexual release 
had occurred not only with the acceptance of the boy's 
family, but with their strong encouragement. What is 
more, the boy had thrilled to Chris' touch, had given 
himself willingly, had shown no sign of shame or guilt. 
He had been intent only on deriving the maximum 
enjoyment from being with the man he desired. 

By the time I reached the river I still could not 
believe all that I had seen and heard. Several women 
and girls were washing clothes at the bank. They smiled 
shyly. The girls, like frightened virgins, hid their 
faces but their eyes followed me as I continued along 
the narrow earthen path beside the river. They held no 
interest for me. The heat, like my own desire for boys, 
had not dissipated, but had grown more intense as the 
day progressed. 

The jungle became thicker, and although the shade 
afforded some protection as I walked, the humidity was 
unbearable. I had been walking for nearly twenty 
minutes when I reached a branch in the path. There was 
still no sign of a waterfall. One way led back towards 
the river, the other seemed to disappear into the huge 
ferns and boulders, that sprouted among enormous trees. 
Now tired of my fruitless search for a boy who did not 
want to be found, I started down the trail towards the 
river. 

I had not gone more than twenty meters when I heard 
high-pitched giggles and turned to see the twin boys 
scampering down the other path. They saw me, stopped, 
pointed up the path they had just came from, giggled as 
they made rude gestures, and ran off at full speed. I 
immediately changed my mind and decided to take the 
other path.

It took another five minutes of climbing over rotten 
tree trunks and boulders before I finally reached the 
end. The path terminated at a waterfall. The water 
cascaded down the rocky gorge, tumbling from one ledge 
to the next until it appeared as a bridal veil. From 
the last ledge the water dropped four meters into a 
deep, dark pool. 

I stopped and stared. The child swimming in the water 
was naked. I assumed its sex to be male, if only from 
the short, black hair. His body was slender and golden-
brown except for a paler band at his buttocks. He swam 
languidly, his body abandoned to the sensation of cool 
water. I longed to join him but I continued to gaze 
silently upon him. As if he knew I was watching, he 
rolled onto his back. My assumption was confirmed. His 
crotch was as pale as his bottom, though both places 
were darker than my own suntanned arms. I stared at the 
delightful child, bewitched by his beauty. I was 
oblivious to the fact that his eyes seemed to look 
directly into mine and recognize the feelings that 
existed within me.

Without any uncertainty, I knew this was Phan. He was 
everything that Chris had said and more, much more. He 
reached the shallow side furthest away from the 
waterfall and came to his feet. Slowly he waded forward 
and for the first time I observed the perfection of his 
young body. My eyes focused naturally on his genitals, 
a task made more difficult by the fact that his small 
hand reached down and enclosed his penis between his 
thin fingers. Like his older brother, he had not been 
circumcised. Similarly, with his small penis and 
testicles, he would never be well-endowed, certainly 
not by European standards and probably not in 
comparison with Asian men.

When it seemed as if I could hold no more of him in my 
memory, I stepped forward from behind the boulder that 
had sheltered me from his sight. Instinctively both of 
his hands dropped to cover his groin protectively.

"Hi, Phan," I said softly. "Don't be afraid."

He trembled, knowing who I was just as I recognized 
him. No words passed between us as we gazed at each 
other. This was the boy who I yearned for. It was as if 
we existed to meet and provide for the other's 
pleasure.


++++ Sydney, August 1994 ++++


Chris Arneson's voice brought me back to the reality of 
his office in State Bank, Sydney.

"I want this mess cleaned up before Monday's audit. 
That means that the funds must be transferred this 
afternoon," he said carefully. "You could say that time 
is of the essence."

I nodded. "I can do it by then. I can put the deal 
together in a few hours if the price is right."

"It's not a simple matter," Chris interjected. "It's 
not a bankruptcy fire sale, you understand. I don't 
want my sister to lose everything she's worked so hard 
for. If you buy the assets I want you to keep the 
company going."

"Jesus! I'm a vulture, Chris. At least that's what the 
jerk next door thinks I am."

"A vulture will kill the company off by next week and 
she'll get sweet fuck all out of it. I don't want that. 
After Thailand, I think that I can count on you as a 
good friend. I trust you to take this on under the 
condition that you try to save the company... and if 
not, then you do the right thing by her. The company is 
all she has."

"This isn't Thailand, Chris," I reminded him. "We are 
friends when it comes to boys, but business is 
business. We both know that there isn't room for 
friends when money is concerned."

"Then you are a vulture," Chris said angrily.

"I might be a vulture but right now that's all you've 
got," I said arrogantly. "How much is the company worth 
is the only question I'm interested in. To lay out this 
much money I need to know how much can I get out of it. 
Right now I don't care that you and I spent two weeks 
fucking a couple of Thai boys. To be honest with you, 
I'm not particularly interested in a minority 
partnership with a couple of dumb lesbians, no offense 
to your sister and her friend, who wanted to make 
kiddies' clothing. That's just the way it is."

Arneson smiled and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. For 
a moment I thought I had gone too far but my doubts 
were unfounded.

"What if I could increase your ownership share, say 
to... well to fifty percent. I own a third of the 
company now which I'm prepared to give up to make this 
work. Maybe I could convince them to give up some of 
their own stock to make the deal fly."

"My loan would be collateralized," I asked casually. "I 
think I'd need more security than what's out there 
already. For that much money I'm going to want 
everything locked in to cover my money. Besides, it 
would have to be fifty-one percent. I don't want to 
spend the rest of my life in court fighting with them."

Now it was becoming a more interesting proposition 
although it was still a long way from happening. 
Perhaps it was time to pull the plug on the whole idea 
and walk out now. I stood up abruptly, a clear 
indication that the negotiation had been terminated.

"Peter...?" Chris Arneson implored. 

I could hear the desperation in his voice.

"I have things to do," I replied. "I have plans to get 
away for some fishing up at Forster for the weekend. I 
really must be on my way."

"We are really alike in some ways and I don't just mean 
because we both like boys," Arneson said quietly as he 
tried to control his anxiety.

"How is that?" I asked. I glanced around the vast 
office. Despite the accoutrements of power I had little 
respect for him in this setting. Like most bankers he 
had grown fat and lazy. It was a lot easier to invest 
someone else's money than your own. If the bank didn't 
make a profit, they merely paid lower dividends and 
continued to make high salaries. We were a long way 
from Thailand, from Phan and Udon, and the bedroom we 
had shared for two weeks.

"You're a hard man to negotiate with, Peter," Arneson 
said flippantly. "You don't listen very well for one 
thing."

I shrugged, readying myself to place my ace. "I listen 
when I have to, Chris. I know I owe you a lot for Phan 
but as I told you then, I keep my business and pleasure 
separated."

"It's not a bad deal I'm offering you, Peter. Half of 
the company and collateral of nearly two million 
dollars, in return for what, a risk-free loan of a 
million at the market rate."

"Did you really fuck your nephew every weekend?" I 
asked obscenely.

Chris snorted as he laughed. He played along. "Every 
weekend, from the time he turned twelve until he went 
off to uni. His mum would drop him off here at the bank 
on Friday afternoon and I would return him on Sunday 
night. He used to spend his holidays with me as well. I 
nearly wore his arse out sometimes."

"You're lucky," I said invidiously. "He was a beautiful 
boy. He puts Phan to shame. In fact he's still movie-
star quality."

Chris smiled. "The photos really don't do him justice. 
Alex was fifteen when they were taken but he was a late 
maturer so he looks a lot younger than he is. He didn't 
start puberty until he was nearly fifteen. His first 
wet one came just in time. I was beginning to worry 
about him. I loved him for six wonderful years. No boy, 
not even Udon, has been the same to me."

"What's he do now?" I asked.

"He's a pediatrician. He's been living with the same 
guy he met while he was at uni. He's a nice guy, a 
minister believe it or not. He runs the gay church, you 
know the one in Kings Cross next to the park.."

"I think so. Even after spending six years with you it 
sounds like you didn't screw him up too much."

"He was a great kid and he's very happy," Chris stated. 
He breathed out slowly. "I owe him and his mum a great 
deal. Unlike you, I don't separate business and 
pleasure, at least not when it comes to Alex." I 
shrugged, not fully understanding his reference. Is it 
a deal?" he asked. "Do you sign on or not?"

"It may be. I will take it off your books. All of it, 
the one million three in return for sixty percent of 
the company and market rate plus one for my loan," I 
said casually. "I want to see the factory and stores 
first. I also want to meet your sister and her lesbian 
friend, especially if you want me to try to save the 
company. I'll need to know if I can work with them. If 
it all checks out, it's a deal. Now, if you could throw 
in Alex at say twelve years old, I would sign right 
now."

It was just after 2.30 p.m. when I left State Bank and 
walked back to the building where I had left my car. 
Every time I thought about Chris Arneson I could not 
help but smile. In Thailand I had only known his first 
name and, from the several hints he had given during 
the two weeks we were together, I had guessed correctly 
that he was involved in investment banking. However, 
his appearance was still very surprising. After my 
return from Thailand I believed that one day I would 
surely run into him again, if not at a bank, then up at 
Kings Cross, or on the beach, or anywhere young boys 
were to be found.

It was turning out to be a pleasant day. The earlier 
threat of rain had disappeared and the sun was shining. 
The air was clear, so clear that I could see the hazy 
Blue Mountains in the distance, some forty miles to the 
west. I treated myself to a convertible, collapsing the 
roof on the XJS before I pulled out of the parking 
garage. My first stop would be at a mall near Hornsby 
for a quick look at one of the Kidstuff stores and then 
on to Gosford to see the factory and meet the two 
lesbians.

While Chris had spoken highly of both of them, I still 
had misgivings. My second thoughts were not about their 
sexual orientation--God only knows my own inclinations 
towards young boys were unnatural enough--but about 
their abilities to run a business. I was apprehensive 
to say the least. I headed out the city, opening the 
throttle in a hectic dash across the Sydney Harbour 
Bridge as I weaved from lane to lane. More than one car 
beeped its horn at me angrily but I was feeling good. 
The thrill of the 'chase' always elevated my spirits.

I left the Pacific Highway at the Gosford turnoff. 
Despite the fact that the town had been growing quickly 
in recent years, the main road had been changed very 
little in three decades. It did not seem much different 
to when I travelled it with my parents to their holiday 
house at The Entrance. As I drove, memories from my 
boyhood returned. In my mind's eye I could picture 
myself with the gangly awkwardness of late childhood 
intermingled with the discoveries of young adolescence. 
The years seemed to rush by, my once- strong memories 
already fading into dim glimpses of the past. There 
were a few times that I recollected with such vivid 
awareness of myself as a boy.

I could remember, for example, my first wet orgasm. 
Back then the boys called it 'spunk' just as they still 
do today. It was a flexible word, a noun to describe 
semen, a verb to describe the act of producing fluid by 
masturbation, and at the appropriate times, 'spunk' 
could even be an adverb or adjective. Boys and spunk 
went hand-in-hand, so to speak.

That my first spunk was so easily recalled was not 
astonishing to me. It had been an awe-inspiring event 
in my life and one that naturally continued to have an 
effect on me from then on. At twelve years old I was 
bewildered and barely able to appreciate the 
consequences of being masturbated to orgasm by my scout 
master, Eric Hanley. My sixteen-year-old brother, 
Martin, and his friend watched and became silent 
witnesses as I lay spread-eagled on the couch of my 
parent's holiday house. 

My suntanned legs were wide apart as I submitted 
eagerly to the adult hand that gripped my penis. I had 
come there with a vague acceptance that I would do 
this. It was an integral part of the scouting motto, 
'Be Prepared'. I was not frightened at the time--
uncertain would be a better description of my initial 
insecurity and hesitancy.

Eric's gentle touch was a source of incredible and 
previously unknown sensations. It was wonderful and 
strange. I remembered breathing faster and faster as 
his experienced hand moved relentlessly. My throbbing 
penis was so stiff that it seemed to ache with the 
pressure that built up inside me. The feelings became 
stronger and better until I could no longer stand it. 
My pleasure was unimaginable but the milky climax that 
spurted over the experienced hand of a man a moment 
later left me stunned. It was part of growing up, just 
as my brother had done with Eric when he was the same 
age.

Afterwards, when dinner was finished and the things 
were put away, I went into my parent's bedroom with 
Eric. If I had been uncertain earlier, now I was self-
assured but a little apprehensive because of the 
privacy afforded by a closed door. But my fearless 
confidence was quickly shaken as I discovered what Eric 
wanted. And yet, as he acquainted me with his penis, I 
remained enthusiastic and very eager to try what he 
offered. 

My ardor faded fast when the moment of truth arrived. 
Sheer size difference alone should have been enough to 
argue for caution and patience. I fought back by 
clenching my anus. Despite my reluctance, he endeavored 
to encourage me and for more than twenty very-painful 
minutes he tried to put his penis in my bottom before 
he finally acknowledged defeat. He left me sore and 
very distressed, with little more than a third of his 
penis forced into my weakened and blood- streaked 
rectum.

Perhaps if he had been more patient, or if I had not 
been the proud, cocky, self-assured boy that I was, the 
outcome would have been different. As soon as I felt 
better I got dressed and went to join Martin and his 
friend in the living room. I never told them what 
happened in the bedroom but they suspected why Eric 
left early. My arse hurt for the rest of the weekend 
but I masturbated again at least six or seven times. My 
parents never pursued the question of why I dropped out 
of the scout troop and merely accepted my explanation 
that I wasn't all that interested.

My Jaguar is not a sports car, at least not in the 
sense of a Porsche or Lotus, but it does handle 
superbly. What it lacks in suspension and transmission 
sophistication it more than compensates for with its 
massive V-12 engine. I powered around the corners using 
the full torque band. The road twisted back and forth, 
making every bend a hairpin turn at nearly one hundred 
kilometers an hour.

After little more than fifteen minutes, the yellow 
sandstone cliffs disappeared, the road straightened, 
and I was on the outskirts of Gosford. The pungent 
smell of Eucalyptus faded quickly as trees gave way to 
suburban houses.

It was not difficult to find the factory from Chris' 
instructions. I parked in the visitor's space and 
entered the building. From the outside it was an 
innocuous, modern design. As I waited in the front 
foyer I tried to guess the value of the building but 
denied such information as its size, I turned my 
attention to other things. There was a display of the 
current clothing lines produced by Kidstuff. Suddenly, 
it was easy to see why they had gone bankrupt.

The clothes were 'cute' but 'sensible' in a middle-
class, professional way. Bright colors, usually 
primaries, were mixed together in an androgynous style 
that denied a child's sexuality as well as his or her 
physical form. All of the styles were loose fitting and 
made of durable materials that could be passed from one 
child to a sibling. The clothes had to be handed down, 
they were too expensive not to be. I supposed that 
there was a market for the type of clothing, only it 
was not a very large market.

Both of the lesbians came out to meet me. Hannah 
Arneson looked a lot like her older brother, a fact 
that explained the similarity between her son, Alex, 
and his uncle. She was in her early fifties and very 
attractive. Her Swedish accent seemed very strong 
compared to her brother's, which had been diluted to a 
clipped smoothness that did not betray his Nordic 
origin. The other woman was remarkably beautiful. 
Tricia Gordon had eyes as blue as the bluest sky and 
like her lover, was blond. Together they made an 
elegant and exceedingly attractive pair. Luckily, my 
interests were elsewhere.

During the drive from Sydney I had convinced myself 
that the deal was not worth taking on. There was a lot 
of risk for a comparatively small payoff, even with the 
bank's support of my investment. Now, faced by the two 
women who had brought their business to bankruptcy, I 
was not so certain. They seemed confident of their 
abilities as they made honest assessments of why the 
business had not succeeded. Asian imports was high on 
the list of reasons but beyond that, they talked of 
their own failures. 

Some of their problems could be directly attributed to 
the fact that they were lesbians. Australian men went 
out of their way to avoid dealing with the company. 
Their sexuality was a major problem for the buyers who 
worked for the big department stores. I was fascinated 
by the close rapport they had with employees, by the 
high level of technology, by the many processes that 
stressed productivity. The company should have 
succeeded.

As they talked and guided me through the factory I 
began to wonder how much Chris had told them about me. 
Nothing was said explicitly but I was perturbed by 
their quizzical expressions. It was as if they knew a 
lot more about me than they were letting on. Throughout 
the twenty minute tour I was agitated. Even though they 
appeared to have few inhibitions, I wondered whether 
Hannah, or her friend for that matter, knew of her 
brother's annual trips to 'boy-paradise' in Thailand 
and that he had met me there on his last visit. I for 
one, had not told anyone else.

And then I considered Chris' claim that he had been his 
nephew's lover with the full support of his mother, 
Hannah. Under other circumstances I would have doubted 
his veracity but after two weeks in Thailand I was not 
so confident. I had personal knowledge that a boy's 
parents would actively encourage their son's homosexual 
relationship. The proposition was no so farfetched that 
it could be discounted. I was distracted. Constantly my 
thoughts drifted to questions of family relationships 
and to the delightful boy who had been the center of 
Chris' life for 'six wonderful years'.

At five o'clock, as the factory shut down for the day, 
Hannah led me back to her office. Her partner had 
disappeared some time earlier. I sat back in her couch, 
sipped some stale coffee and followed up on the dozen 
questions that still remained unanswered. Her responses 
increased my resolve to buy the company. All of the 
clothes were designed by Hannah and Tricia. They also 
managed the manufacturing despite their limited 
expertise with production and distribution. Finally, 
they had become involved in retailing when they 
discovered that it was impossible to find 'some one in 
marketing with half a brain'. Hannah's cynicism matched 
my own in that regard.

During one of the breaks in the conversation I glanced 
at her desk. She was a neat person. The characteristic 
articles and equipment of a business person were 
carefully laid out in regulation position. There was 
even the standard-issue small photograph on the desk. 
From three meters away it was all that I could do to 
make out the picture of a boy. Like the photographs in 
Chris Arneson's office, that single image grabbed my 
attention and held it captive. Or at least I was 
captivated by the young boy captured by the 
photographer. From a distance he looked not unlike 
Alex, only much younger. 

Finally I decided that it was a photograph of Alexander 
Arneson taken when he was about ten years old. There 
seemed no other explanation and indeed, it was the 
explanation that I preferred. He was a beautiful boy at 
fifteen but at ten years old, even the word 'beautiful' 
failed to convey his sublime looks. At ten, his hair 
was longer and much lighter in color. If he was in the 
sunshine instead of a photographer's studio, his hair 
would have sparkled with silver and gold highlights. 

There were other differences between the boy who I now 
gazed at with unnerving frequency and the boy whose 
image was etched into my mind. For one thing the 
younger boy's nose was slightly upturned, his lips were 
fuller, and his face seemed more oval-shaped. I 
wondered whether those features could change over a 
period of five years. I doubted it. They had to be 
brothers, I decided. In my opinion, the younger boy was 
also more beautiful but only a fine line separated them 
and it was as much a matter or personal taste than 
anything else. 

Without a word, Hannah stood up, walked to her desk, 
and returned with the silver frame and the photograph 
that had so consumed my attention that I was beginning 
to appear rude. She held it out, smiling as she offered 
it to me for my inspection. I blushed, wondering again 
how much she knew about me. It seemed unlikely that 
Chris Arneson had told her about me. However, I 
reasoned that he could have easily called while I was 
driving up from Sydney.

"That's Tag. He's Tricia's boy," she explained. "His 
real name is Tristan Alexander... Gordon, like his 
mum."

She hesitated for a moment and left the last sentence 
hanging in the air. It was as if I was supposed to 
glean something of importance from the boy's name but 
for the life of me I could not determine what it was.

"We've called him Tag since he was a baby," she added 
finally. "For the family, it stuck with him. He's not 
keen on anyone else using it."

"Uh... well he's a very nice looking kid," I replied 
with emphasis. It was a gross understatement for the 
precious face with its delicate mouth and fine 
features. Then added by way of explanation for my 
interest, I added, "He looks a lot like Alex... from 
the photos in Chris' office."

Hannah smiled and nodded. "They are a lot alike, but 
then I suppose that's to be expected," she added 
obliquely. "He's just turned eleven, in fact only last 
week. Tag is the reason why Tricia had to go home. She 
always leaves early to pick Tristan up from his 
school."

I shrugged and pretended to be disinterested. His name 
rang loudly in my mind. Tristan Alexander Gordon! If 
ever there was a name for a homosexual, that had to be 
it. And yet it was also a nice name. It was a name that 
fired my imagination. It was a name that seemed ideally 
suited to the outrageously pretty boy I knew only from 
a single small photograph.

"Tell me about the new lines," I asked as I placed the 
picture on the table before me so that it faced towards 
me.

"We have a new style for the Christmas season as well 
as our regular lines. Actually Tricia designed it 
around Tag. He was the model for the brochure as well." 

She passed me a black leather folder from the table. I 
opened it and felt my heart leap. Tristan Gordon was 
stunning. His exquisite face beamed at the camera. His 
long, curling, blond hair cascaded over his forehead. 
His eyes were sublime, his mouth petulantly shy, his 
lips slightly apart to reveal perfect small white 
teeth. The summer clothes he wore were pleasing but 
they did little to accentuate his splendid body. The 
boy was posed elegantly. He was relaxed and casual. One 
arm was braced against a wall, his legs crossed, his 
slender body gracefully at ease. He was a natural 
model.

As I turned the pages of the portfolio it was all that 
I could do not to sigh aloud. The effect of the images 
on me was startling. Strangely I did not feel sexually 
aroused. Instead, I longed to meet the resplendent boy. 
I wanted to hold his hand. I wanted to be his 
companion, to become his best friend, to play with him, 
and when he trusted me to share his secrets I wanted to 
be there with him. I was in love with an eleven-year-
old boy I had never met.

The clothes he wore were eye-appealing with their 
vibrant colors but in my mind they did nothing for him. 
His perfectly proportioned body was concealed under 
loose cloth that became bulky and folded in the parts 
where anatomical form was most important. While the 
clothes preserved his youth, they also denied his 
sexuality. It was a pity that his mother had not 
selected Spandex as the material to adorn her son's 
beautiful young body. I admired the line, building 
Hannah's self esteem as I gazed at the image of 
perfection. She appreciated my compliments and agreed 
with my final comment that the clothes looked good on 
such a beautiful boy.

Our meeting finished shortly afterwards and I walked 
with Hannah back to my car in the parking lot.

"Your car is a nice shade of blue," she said 
admiringly. "What do they call it?"

"Indigo, I think." I replied. "The grey leather is a 
bitch to keep clean, though. They should have used 
something darker so it doesn't show the dirt."

With interest, she leaned over the side and looked down 
into the low blue-grey leather seats. "Tag would like 
this a lot." She looked at me. "You'll have to take him 
for a ride one day. If you buy the company, that is."

I grinned. The pressure was off. There was nothing I 
wanted to do more at that moment than take Tristan 
Alexander Gordon for a ride in my XJS. Actually, there 
were a few other things I could think of that I also 
wanted to do with him, but they could wait a while 
longer, at least until we were better acquainted. It 
was an appealing idea. 

"Its a deal, Hannah. I'm going back to Sydney now to 
get the funds transferred and sign the papers." I 
opened the door and slid into the seat. With the engine 
started, I gave it a few seconds to warm up. "It was a 
pleasure meeting you Hannah, I mean that. I'm really 
looking forward to working with you," I said happily. 
"Say so to Tricia for me... and say hi to Tristan," I 
added as I started to reverse.

She smiled back at me and waved as I pulled away.

As I drove through Gosford, Tristan Gordon was never 
out of my mind for more than a few seconds it seemed. 
He was all that I could think of. Finally I left the 
town behind and with it, my persistent thoughts about 
the exceedingly beautiful boy. The late afternoon sun 
was unusually warm and I drove in heavy traffic at a 
reduced speed all the way back to the freeway. I 
sweated. My thought shifted, away from the long line of 
cars to the rugged landscape of Thailand and a hot 
afternoon that I would never forget. I had sweated 
profusely then as well but it had not bothered me at 
the time.


CHAPTER 2


As Phan stepped out of the water I tried to find the 
words that would convey my appreciation of his 
spectacular young body. He was lithe and like a wild 
cat in the jungle, he exuded a raw, primal sexuality. 
His narrow chest moved slightly with each breath, 
rising and falling rhythmically. His sex organs, still 
hairless and immature, seemed too large for his body. 
His penis stiffened slightly until it lifted away from 
his groin. 

It was a long way from being completely hard but stiff 
enough to indicate his sexual arousal. It was still 
cushioned on the hemisphere of his fat, small scrotum. 
Under the thin membrane of his foreskin I could 
distinguish the rounded head and the distinctive flare 
of his corona before it tapered into the shaft. His 
thin dark fingers continued to stroke, circling and 
caressing the full length of his organ. He smiled 
shyly. I sensed that he was not embarrassed about being 
naked before me, merely unsure of what was expected of 
him.

Phan stopped less than a meter away from me. He was so 
close that I could touch him if I reached out. I 
controlled my initial impulse to grab him, take him 
into the bushes, and rape him, although I suspected 
that it would be more like mutual pleasuring than rape. 
He studied me circumspectly. His dark eyes glistened. 
With every deep breathe his nostrils seemed to flare 
slightly. Instinctively, I realized that Phan was as 
excited as I was. 

Like me, his anticipation greatly exceeded the 
magnitude of what protruded from between his thin 
thighs. Our hearts were pounding as we realized what 
would bring us together. We stood facing each other, 
each reluctant to take the next step that would unite 
us. But it was inevitable. The union of a man and a boy 
was a timeless love that was socially acceptable in 
this part of the world. We existed only for each 
other's pleasure, without the demands of nature to 
ensure the survival of the species. 

"I'm Phan... What's your name?" Phan asked hesitantly.

For a boy from the highlands of Thailand, his English 
was remarkably good. It was noticeably better than 
Udon's. He grinned, visibly pleased with himself.

"Hi Phan. I'm Peter," I replied. My eyes held his 
liquid eyes in a longing embrace. 

"Hi Peter! My brothers tell me you come to find me." 

I nodded and smiled at him reassuringly as he smiled 
back. "I'm very happy to meet you."

We stared at each other for many seconds. I wondered 
what he was thinking. I could not take my eyes away 
from his splendid body. My gaze travelled up and down, 
lingered on his groin, enraptured by the gentle caress 
of his finger tips. They had shifted to stroke the 
junction of his scrotum and thigh. I grinned as my eyes 
finally lifted up to meet his. 

He smiled back at me. Anything but shameless, his 
fingers eased onto the base of his penis and began to 
move towards the tip. I watched his penis shrug off 
what remained of its cold stupor and begin to lengthen. 
It expanded quickly, not an unusual feat for a young 
boy who was intent on pleasuring himself in preparation 
for sexual intercourse.

"You have to undress too," Phan said softly. "Then I 
can see your cock too," he added with a sly smirk. 

His fingers shifted again until they enclosed the thin 
length of his now nearly erect penis. It was almost 
fully contained within his hand, only the head was 
visible.

His fingers squeezed slightly and the head of his penis 
swelled under his foreskin. He continued to fondle 
himself as I undressed. His eyes followed me 
attentively. His small sex organs responded to his 
stimulation and reached full throbbing arousal. The 
time passed in a matter seconds. His little penis had 
lengthened and thickened until it was a hard, pulsing 
projection between his slender thighs. His scrotum 
tightened protectively pulling his immature testicles 
into a tight knot of wrinkled dark skin. Like me, he 
was prepared and ready for what would naturally follow.

"Big cock," he observed as soon as he saw my erection 
come into view. He smirked again, relishing the effect 
that he had produced my erection by merely being naked. 
"I got small cock, see. Not big like yours."

I left my briefs at my feet and stepped away from them. 
I was only a hand's breadth from the naked boy, so 
close that I could feel the heat emanating from his 
bare flesh. My erect penis was so close to him that I 
could feel it throbbing with anticipation of touching 
him at any moment.

"It isn't that big," I said awkwardly. "You have a 
beautiful body," I added. 

"And you're a boy so you're s'posed to have a small 
one."

"Man with big cock usually like boys with small cocks," 
Phan giggled. "We can have sex together... if you want? 
We can have good fun."

After his brother's open exhibition of teenage 
sexuality, I was no longer surprised at by being 
propositioned by a boy who was only eleven or twelve 
years old. During the long trip in the car, Chris and I 
had talked about the role of culture, socio-economic 
status, and moral standards in Thailand. He theorized 
that there was a relationship that extended far beyond 
the problems of poverty. They lived to enjoy life to 
the fullest extent. In this part of the world sex play 
usually began by five years of age. 

By the time a boy was physically mature, he was 
discouraged from seeking out mature girls for 
intercourse. Instead, he would either be a passive 
partner for a man, or directing his affections to girls 
who were too young to become pregnant. Birth control 
was built into the culture and societal taboos had been 
formulated accordingly. Homosexuality continued until 
he was old enough to support a wife and family. Poverty 
simply exacerbated a pre-existing proclivity for a man 
and boy to have sex and introduced appropriate rewards 
for services rendered.

I nodded. "We can have lots of fun, Phan, if that's 
what you want."

Phan nodded eagerly as he giggled. "You're hot from 
walking. First we swim, then we have fun and get hot 
again."

His suggestion was exactly what I needed. My brow was 
dripping perspiration. My shirt, now discarded on the 
mossy ground, was soaking wet. My chest was glistening 
with droplets of sweat that continued to ooze out of my 
skin even though I was naked. I could not remember 
being this hot before. Before I did anything else I 
needed to cool down.

I followed the naked boy to the edge of the pool and 
watched him dive in. In two or three strokes he reached 
the waterfall. I laughed as the water cascaded onto his 
dark head and eventually pushed him under. He splashed 
wildly as he surfaced, swam away from the torrent and 
began to tread water as he shook his black hair. 
Sparkling droplets of water were thrown in all 
directions. He laughed and beckoned to me to join him. 

Unable to resist any longer and knowing that the boy 
was at least partially interested in doing something 
with me, I dived in. Under the water I could see his 
dark form ahead of me, his long thin legs moving back 
and forth. I came closer, momentarily glimpsed his 
small sex, felt cheated that he was no longer stiff, 
considered a playful squeeze. 

The water was pleasantly cool and within a few seconds 
my erection also began to diminish. With it, my 
excitement faded. There was plenty of time for what I 
wanted. I surfaced close to him, directly under the 
waterfall and sighed with relief as the water engulfed 
me from above. After a few seconds I swam away, 
grateful for my escape from the heat and the pent-up 
desire that had raged inside me since I was a teenager. 
Here in Thailand, with this beautiful man-child, I was 
free to explore my interest in young boys at long last.

Phan grinned as I emerged from under the waterfall. He 
swam effortlessly towards me, as if he had been born in 
the water. He came up beside me and giggled cheekily as 
he splashed water in my face. I laughed with him.

"You'll get yours, Phan," I teased.

I wondered how much he understood. He certainly had a 
good grasp of the basics of English, at least as it 
pertained to sex. It was more than enough to accomplish 
what he seemed to want as much as I did. But how much 
did he understand about what I wanted? I did not have 
to wait very long to find out.

"Now we have fun and get hot again."

I raised my eyebrows with an exaggerated interest and 
he giggled again. He turned and swam effortlessly away 
from me. I followed. We reached a shallow part of the 
pond and I stood up unsteadily. I wondered what it 
would be like to kiss him. His mouth was large and his 
dark lips were full and inviting. His tongue was 
delicious, pink and big. I wondered what it would be 
like to suck his tongue as we kissed.

"You're a horny little fucker, aren't you, Phan?" I 
asked.

He looked at me uncertainly, nonplussed by my words. 
Slowly he smiled and glanced around the tropical glade. 
His mouth opened to display the whitest teeth that I 
had ever seen. It was obscenely open, forming a wide 
circle as his lips were stretched into thin lines. 
Chris had reasoned that the boy was still a virgin but 
now I had my doubts. He was anything but innocent. His 
hand came out of the water and he gestured towards the 
bank where we had first greeted each other.

"You really want to do it here?" I asked nervously.

"I suck your cock, okay? I suck good, like Udon does 
with Chris," Phan teased as he met my eyes. "You come 
with me."

It was unlikely, I mused as I glanced down between us. 
Droplets of water sparkled on his body like diamonds 
scattered on brown satin. From the size of his 
testicles it seemed highly unlikely that his tiny penis 
could pass any fluid except urine. I reasoned that 
'come' was intended to mean that I would follow him to 
a place where our privacy was assured. I looked up and 
met his eyes.

The dark pools, like glistening oil, absorbed and held 
my gaze. He was no older than twelve but his look 
conveyed everything that he needed to say. I realized 
again that there was never going to be a problem of 
communication with Phan. One look said it all. Again I 
glanced around guiltily as I remembered the women and 
girls down by the river. Wherever Phan would lead me 
would be secluded and private. No one would see us. I 
nodded cautiously. Together we waded to the edge and 
climbed up the bank. Instantly the oppressive heat 
returned.

I followed Phan deeper into the jungle. He pushed vines 
and broad-leafed ferns away. His small bottom wriggled 
at me temptingly as he clambered over moss-covered 
rocks. His cheeks were firm and pinched, only parting 
when he climbed over the thick trunk of a fallen tree. 
The tree's girth was considerably more than a meter 
across and he lay over it provocatively. 

I glimpsed the full depth of his crack as it split open 
and revealed the darkness of his puckered node. His 
hole appeared bigger and darker than I would have 
expected in a young boy. Perhaps he was not a virgin? 
Perhaps that was how Thai boys were? Perhaps that was 
how all boys were, after all I had no basis for 
comparison. Phan looked back at me and smirked as he 
paused above the log. For a few seconds his hips 
undulated against the rotted bark. It was a lewd 
gesture whose meaning was very clear. Even if he was a 
virgin, he understood the basics of what was required 
of him.

He slithered over the log with snake-like ease and 
dropped to the other side. He turned to face me. We 
were both standing close to the tree trunk but on 
opposite sides. His hand moved to his groin, 
shamelessly fondling his penis again while he 
maintained a steady stare at me. His dark body was 
covered in a sheen of perspiration. The sunlight formed 
strong shadows as it filtered through the leaves. The 
contrast of light and dark and a myriad shapes that 
patterned his naked body added to his allure. 

He was sensual and wild, proudly displaying his sexual 
prowess without appearing crude or wanton. He was an 
animal of the forest, without strict cultural 
conventions that denied his sexuality. In western 
society, Phan was a minor to be protected. Here, in the 
highlands of Thailand, he was at his prime and like the 
fruit of the jungle, ready to be plucked. He did not 
need to be ripe, his hairless body having an inherent 
sweetness of its own. Only the log stood between us and 
our own desires.

His penis hardened almost instantly. His young heart 
pumped blood into the small organ at an alarming rate, 
and then when it was fully erect, it began to jerk as 
he tightened muscles deep within his abdomen. He was as 
ready as he would ever be for me to love him.

I leaned forward and placed my hands on the slippery 
bark. I studied the aroused boy, his own excitement 
visible in his rapid breathing. It galvanized me, 
awakening my body as adrenaline surged through me. 
Unable to resist the desire that Phan had kindled, I 
climbed over the tree trunk. As I reached the other 
side, Phan's body seemed to fall away. I eased downward 
onto the ground, taking my weight on my arms and knees 
as I straddled him. I could feel my heart pounding, my 
penis throbbing with every beat, my mind quickening so 
as not to miss a single thing that happened in the 
glade.

The boy, who only moments ago had been so energized as 
he scampered eagerly through the forest, now lay very 
still. He waited. His lips pursed. I leaned forward and 
gently brushed my lips against his. The sudden heat 
startled me as his mouth lifted up and sealed against 
mine. I felt his tongue pushing forward into my mouth 
and it whetted my appetite. I took him in, sucking on 
his soft wetness as my own tongue found its way into 
his mouth. We kissed long and hard until we were both 
breathless.

My mind was in disarray when we parted. I had never 
kissed a boy before and it was very different to a 
woman. There was at the same time a sense of breaking 
taboos and an overwhelming passion that threatened to 
stop my heart. The stimulation from his small mouth and 
tongue was more than I could stand. I pushed myself 
upward until my arms were straight. Phan smiled shyly. 
His pink tongue swiped at his lips as he prepared for 
the next kiss. We were both panting. Unable to resist, 
I lay down over him. His heated body touched mine and 
we seemed to sizzle as our moist skin united. 

He moved beneath me with feverish desire, wriggling and 
pushing against me as our swollen genitals were 
agitated. His stiff penis rubbed against my belly while 
mine pushed into the firm muscles of his thigh. We 
kissed again and again. Given the difference in our 
heights it was impossible for us to kiss when our 
genitals were together. Something had to give as Phan 
continued to move under me trying hard to both kiss me 
and rub his rigid penis against mine at the same time. 

What happened to solve our dilemma occurred purely by 
accident. By myself, and knowing as little as I did, I 
might not have discovered the advantages of the sixty-
nine position with a boy. An mosquito bit me on the 
back of the leg. I pushed away from Phan and sat up 
quickly as I scratched the bite. He immediately twisted 
around and pushed me back into the leaves where he had 
been lying only a moment earlier. He rolled onto me and 
we wrestled playfully.

When we resumed our exploration, we were no longer face 
to face. Instead, I was greeted by Phan's small, rigid 
penis. The child, for that was what he still was, was 
perfect. He was still hairless. His erect penis was no 
more than ten centimeters (4") long, much thicker at 
the base than at the uncircumcised tip. His foreskin 
still retained its little-boy appearance--it fully 
enclosed his glans and did not easily retract as I 
tenderly pushed down. 

His glans popped out into the light. It was tiny and 
dark, and it glistened with a slight wet sheen as its 
protective membrane peeled back. Upon close 
examination, his testicles were larger than I expected. 
It dawned upon me slowly that Phan was on the very 
threshold of puberty. His testicles were flushed with 
the onset of physical maturity, already churning out 
the hormones that would change his slim boy's body into 
that of a youth.

Taking him into my mouth was the most natural thing in 
the world. At the same time as I devoured him, I felt 
his lips against my own organ. His tongue travelled up 
and down the length of my shaft, dragging his spit over 
it. I felt his warm cheek as he rubbed it against his 
face. I felt the hot moistness of his breath. 

I clamped my mouth around this beautiful boy's penis 
and concentrated on giving him the same pleasure that 
he was providing to me. His mouth settled over my glans 
and his sharp teeth nibbled behind it. His tongue 
slurped over the head, squeezing the tip of his 
wonderful tongue into my slit. I sucked as hard as I 
could, easily taking his penis and both of his 
testicles into my mouth before my cheeks were full.

Phan began to hump against me. His short thin cock 
rammed into the back of my throat. As he pulled out his 
testicles caught behind my teeth. His scrotum 
tightened, then relaxed as he pushed forward again. His 
small head began to move. It bobbed up and down over my 
own penis as his fingers clutched and massaged my 
testicles. Again and again he pumped his mouth over my 
penis, each time cautiously going a little deeper, 
until I finally realized that he wanted, even expected 
me to do the same thing to him. I took over, lifting my 
thighs upwards and driving my erect penis as far into 
his mouth as I dared. 

Phan pleasured me in a way that I had previously only 
dreamed about. As my orgasm approached he allowed by 
penis to go even further into his mouth, almost into 
his throat before his grip on my testicles prevented my 
further inward movement. As the time raced by and the 
moment of my inevitable release approached by I 
wondered what I should do. Should I warn him? Should I 
push his head away and allow him to finish the job by 
hand? I settled for the former course of action. I 
disengaged from his genitals for only a moment or two 
and stopped thrusting upward into his lush, wet mouth.

"I going to do it any second now?" I gasped.

Either Phan ignored me or was so intent on his task 
that my words were lost. His head continued to bob up 
and down frantically. I grasped his dark head and held 
him still. He struggled, his head tore free of my hands 
and continued to jerk rapidly. I shuddered, unable to 
stop the boy, not wanting to stop him. I felt my 
testicles tighten, his little fingers squeezing my 
scrotum as hard as he could. I spasmed, knowing that it 
was too late. 

His teeth clamped against the sensitive flesh of my 
penis at the instant that my semen began to rise 
through the shaft. I felt my penis lurch, throbbing as 
the pressure built up to release. The wonderful all-
too-short time was gone before I was prepared. I 
slumped back exhausted into the moist leaves of the 
jungle floor.

Several seconds passed before I realized that I had not 
actually ejaculated. Phan, darling Phan, was sitting 
astride me, his knees next to my flanks. He gripped my 
penis tightly at the base. His mouth had pulled away 
and he was sucking gently on the end of it. My own 
mouth dropped open in surprise. He had stifled my 
release and contained it within my penis. Now he was a 
connoisseur, savoring each droplet as he allowed it to 
escape onto his waiting palate.

"You were wonderful," I said with uncontrolled 
admiration.

Phan grinned at me sideways and nibbled my highly 
sensitive glans again. His tongue wriggled across the 
tip. He slurped noisily, exaggerating his delight as he 
consumed my seminal fluid.

"How on earth did you learn to do it like that?" I 
asked. "From watching Udon and Chris?" I suggested.

Phan grinned again and shook his head, signaling with 
his eyes that he was too busy to reply. I waited 
patiently until he had milked my penis of its juices. 
Finally he lifted up, gave my penis one final wet lick, 
kissed my glans, and burped. He swivelled around and 
slid off me and onto the leaves beside me.

"I suck you good, huh? You suck real good too," he 
laughed. "Grandfather teach me how to do it like that."

"Your grandfather?" I asked. I thought of the wizened 
little man in the hut. 

"He must be a good teacher," I teased. "You were 
wonderful."

"You come too fast. We have to practice," Phan smirked 
and added, "Then we can suck all day long, okay? I 
drink your milk and grow strong like you."

"Okay!" I replied happily. I could think of nothing 
better than performing oral intercourse on the 
beautiful naked boy beside me. "You want me to finish 
you off?" I added as I inspected his still-erect penis 
and wondered whether it had milk of its own yet.

Phan shrugged. "You can if you want. I'm hungry now. 
Tonight is better. You fuck me then too, okay?"

I nodded. I was no longer surprised by what I 
discovered in 'boy-paradise'. The last few minutes had 
taken care of that. "Tonight, Phan, I'll do whatever 
you want." He licked his lips inelegantly and tasted 
the residue of my semen. "You taste good. Better than 
Udon or Grandfather, I think."


++++ Sydney, August 1994 ++++


By the time I arrived back in Sydney it was past five 
o'clock and the banks were closed. To meet such a 
problem I had agreed to meet Chris Arneson at his 
house. There, he would have the necessary contracts and 
could arrange for the electronic transfer of my assets 
to the bank's account. I brought with me the 
certificates for 100,000 shares of Equitable Mining 
Proprietary common stock, more than enough to cover the 
bank's million dollars at the closing price of that 
day.

The traffic was heavy as I drove through Kings Cross 
and down into Rose Bay. 

Just before the road ascended the hill before Vaucluse, 
the traffic thinned. It was, by the digital clock in 
the XJS, just six p.m. Finding Chris Arneson's house, 
or more accurately, his modest mansion, took a mere 
twenty minutes of careful searching. 

His address gave nothing away and it turned out that he 
lived down a private drive of what had once been a 
mega-mansion on the harbour. As I motored down the 
tree-lined lane it was like going back fifty years to 
the height of the British Empire. Chris lived in 
elegant style, as befitted the senior vice-president of 
one of Sydney's largest commercial banks.

His house was a Mediterranean-style villa of white-
stuccoed walls and large rectangular windows, each with 
a wrought-iron balcony. It was surrounded by the 
ubiquitous gum trees for which Sydney is famous. I 
parked in the middle of the drive, my cavalier attitude 
resurgent after I had finally located the right house. 
My shoes were soft-soled but there was still an echo on 
the dark brown tiles as I walked to the front door. I 
was greeted by Chris, attired in a crimson robe, with 
drink in one hand and his other resting on the bare 
shoulder of a very handsome teenage boy.

Chris' companion exuded the rugged look that is common 
to Australian youth. His appearance was partially in 
keeping either coming straight from the pool or the 
shower, but the plump arc of his semi-erect penis that 
protruded into his nylon shorts suggested an 
alternative pastime. I settled for the 'pool', even 
though his bare torso was spotted with droplets of 
water and his legs were wet, his swimming costume was 
bone dry. It amused me to think that this marvellous 
specimen of Australian youth had been skinny dipping 
with a man who was old enough to be his grandfather.

Already the boy's chest had started to fill out but 
there was still enough of the boy in him to arouse my 
interest. His nipples were very small and pointed and 
looked as if they would be fun to nibble on. He 
squirmed under Chris' possessive hand and gave me a 
petulant look that left me uncertain as to whether he 
found my interested study of his partially nude body 
offensive, or if I had spoiled his fun. He pulled away 
from Chris with a grumbled hello as we were formally 
introduced.

David sauntered back into the cool depths of the house 
while I chatted with Chris in the hall. The house was 
not ostentatious but it exuded wealth. My eyes were 
attracted to the paintings on the wall. One was a 
classic etching by Norman Lindsay of an androgynous 
youth in a garden. He posed with sensual ease beside a 
sculpture of an unidentified Greek god. The other 
painting was a small traditional oil by Arthur 
Streeton. Either painting was worth considerably more 
than my Jaguar.

Chris smiled broadly as I dictated my terms for the 
deal. Since I had demanded all of the major conditions 
when I was with him earlier, there were few surprises. 
Now the issues were of timing and the specifics 
regarding my risk exposure. We were interrupted as 
David appeared in the doorway. He was pouting as he 
beckoned to Arneson impatiently. 

Not be outdone by a mere boy, we waited until the boy 
came to us. I observed his continuing uneasiness and 
Chris' ready familiarity as he affectionately placed 
his arm around the boy's shoulders and hugged him. 
Again, David tried to pull away but this time Chris' 
hand tightened and held him so that escape was 
impossible. Finally, we both started to laugh as the 
youth submitted tentatively to an embrace.

After having spent two weeks with Chris in Thailand, I 
suspected the nature of David's problem. His tough 
exterior was a veneer that sheltered the boy-chrysalis 
within until he emerged and accepted his role as a 
subordinate in a homosexual relationship with a grown 
man. According to Chris, most boys who had a 
relationship with a man, ended up on the bottom when 
they were older. The need for a 'father-figure' 
persisted, it seemed. 

Accepting that role was difficult as the boy matured 
into adolescence and sexual arousal became ever more 
frequent. It was not surprising that the process of 
'coming out' was an awkward period in a boy's life and 
David's predicament was undoubtedly exacerbated by my 
presence at the very time that he wanted affection, and 
in all probability, sexual release.

"For God's sake, David," Arneson said with growing 
exasperation. "Peter knows I like boys. I'm quite 
certain that he's already guessed that I fuck you on a 
regular basis."

I nodded and stifled my laugh at the boy's 
discomfiture. "What you do is none of my business, 
David," I added. He continued to blush, turning ever 
more crimson. I used my advantage. "I certainly hope he 
fucks you regularly. If you were my boyfriend I'd be 
more than happy to oblige every chance I got."

Suddenly the embarrassed boy became aggressive as he 
substituted deliberate rudeness for his own inability 
to conform to societal norms and accept the undeniable 
fact that he found his own sex more satisfying that the 
other. Not only that but my reference to his 
subordinate position in the relationship could not go 
unchallenged, despite its accuracy.

"Yeah, right on! You wouldn't know where to put it," he 
challenged crudely.

I shrugged and ignored him. David's self esteem was not 
my responsibility.

"Maybe we ought to sit down and work this out over 
dinner," Chris suggested patiently. "What ever has 
gotten David so horny will have to wait until later 
tonight. He knows where the vaseline is if he wants to 
go work it off by himself."

I followed Arneson into the library as David lingered 
behind. His look bordered on revolt as I passed by him. 
Teenage boys, what would the world do without them?

The library was panelled in light-colored maple with 
the shelves full of books with leather-tooled spines 
and gold lettering. A single painting caught my eye and 
for a second I thought of the two boys, Udon and Phan, 
as they frolicked naked and sexually aroused in the 
forested glades of Thailand. But it was not Thailand 
and the painting was not of the boy who I had come to 
love almost as much as I adored his young body. 

The painting had been signed 'D. Friend' and dated 
thirty years earlier, a time when boy-love was an 
accepted pursuit in Bali. The languid bodies of two 
brown-skinned boys had been caught in post-orgasmic 
bliss as they rested on the vines and leaves that rose 
up from the ground to engulf them.

"I can see why Thailand interests you," I chuckled. 
"But I don't understand the attraction to him," I added 
as I gestured towards the open door and the boy who was 
now out of hearing.

"David's okay. He's just going though a difficult 
period right now. He called his mum a few nights ago 
and she wants him to come home. He's not sure what he 
wants to do... except get his arse fucked of course."

"Of course!" I laughed. "Now why doesn't that surprise 
me? How old is he?" I asked curiously.

"He's fourteen. He'll be fifteen next March. But you 
know Peter, the little bugger shoots a man-size load 
every time and his balls aren't even that big yet."

I laughed as I remembered his frequent comments on 
Udon's capacity. Arneson liked his boys with copious 
quantities of semen it seemed. In that way we were very 
different. I much preferred a boy to be immature in the 
sperm department.

"How did you meet him, Chris?" I asked curiously.

"It's a long story. The short version is that his old 
man caught him with one of the neighborhood boys in the 
back of his H-R Holden. Apparently he either didn't 
want the car smelling like a brothel or he didn't like 
the idea of a faggot for a son. The point is that he 
told his son to fuck off, which was, as David tells me, 
exactly what he was doing in the car any way. I picked 
him up at Kings Cross a day or two after he ran away. A 
couple of poofter-bashers had gotten into him down in 
the Botanical Gardens when they caught him sucking off 
some Jap tourist in the 'loo. He was in pretty sad 
shape. I thought he was going to lose a tooth for a 
while."

"Poor kid," I said with understanding. "No kid deserves 
that."

"He's okay. He fucks like the dickens, especially when 
he's like this. A few days ago I almost didn't make it 
in to work. He kept me up all night. When I wasn't in 
his arse he was trying to get me hard. I think we must 
have done it a dozen times, about like you and Phan the 
day before you left Thailand."

"He sounds a lot more like Udon," I joked. "Most of the 
time Phan slept like a log afterwards. That night was 
something of an exception, a nice exception, but I 
still didn't get it in his arse more than two or three 
times a day most of the time. He used to get sore 
because my cock was too big for him. I didn't want to 
hurt him, even though he said it was okay to do it."

Chris smiled. "You should have kept at it. Phan needed 
to be stretched a bit, that's all. Most boys are the 
same way. I would have shown you what to do if you had 
asked."

I laughed with him. "I know you had your hands full 
with his brother. You were always hard at work keeping 
him happy."

Arneson laughed. "Udon I can handle. He's a little sex 
machine. You fill him up and it lasts for a few hours 
before he wants a refill. But David! Jesus! As soon as 
I pull it out, he wants it back again. Talk about 
perpetual fucking motion."

"Maybe he's making up for lost time," I suggested. "If 
he's fourteen now, some might say he was already past 
his prime."

"Only if they were true boy-lovers like you. Personally 
I think he's overcompensating for his father. You know 
Peter, he calls me Dad when we're in bed. At first I 
thought it was a game for him, like he was trying to 
get back at his father for throwing him out of the 
house, but now I think he's got a deep-down desire to 
fuck with his old man."

"You're joking," I said in disbelief. "With his father? 
Don't you think that's unlikely after he threw the kid 
out of the house?"

"Hey, don't be so surprised," Chris laughed. "I think a 
lot of queer kids have the hots for their daddies. I 
know I did. Of course not a lot of boys get to act them 
out, but I suspect a lot more kids do than you might 
expect, Peter."

"So did you get laid by your father, Chris?" I asked 
teasingly.

"I'm afraid it was only wishful thinking on my part. I 
used to think that I almost seduced him once when my 
mother was on holidays in Greece only I lost my nerve. 
Looking back, I'm certain I was barking up the wrong 
tree. I don't think he was particularly interested in 
boys. But I think it happens a lot more than anyone is 
prepared to admit, especially with all the noise now 
about sexually abused kids."

"You make it sound like Oedipus was gay," I said.

"That's what I'm saying, Peter. Who has the greatest 
influence on a gay kid, next to his mother that is? His 
father does, doesn't he? The love is already there when 
the kid is ready to start fucking. In fact it's has 
been there for ten or twelve years. And when the 
hormones kick in at puberty, it's time for a bit of 
incest if his old man is interested. Of course, being a 
daddy usually precludes being interested in boys, so 
the kid looks elsewhere for his fun."

"You make it sound like a it's a natural opportunity 
for sex," I added.

"But like I said, not if his dad is straight. Then 
you've got one very disturbed boy unless he can find a 
replacement father figure. Why do you think boys like 
David are attracted to older men when they could have 
their pick of guys closer to their own age?"

I tried to fit his suggestion into what I already knew 
about Phan. Time and time again I had tried to fathom 
what was the basis of his attraction to me. I certainly 
understood why I was attracted to him. I was smart 
enough to realize that his primary reason for sleeping 
with me was material gain, but he also enjoyed my 
affection. At times I thought that the boy was even in 
love with me from the way he carried on at times.

"I never thought about it like that," I replied. "I 
guess it makes sense when you consider the bonds that 
already exist between a father and his son. Of course, 
Chris, the other explanation is that a kid like David 
is just attracted to men like we're attracted to boys."

I was startled as Chris stood up and called to David. 
Until he appeared I wondered whether Chris was going to 
confront the boy and use the him to reinforce his 
argument that filial love was the root cause of his 
'problem'. A minute later the boy appeared and trotted 
obediently across the room to his 'father figure'. His 
sulky spell had vanished. 

He grinned as Chris peeled three twenty-dollar bills 
out of his wallet and handed them over with 
instructions to order some pizzas. I watched him amble 
out of the room. He was well into adolescence and I 
felt a twinge of regret at not meeting him when he was 
younger. The changes of puberty were now confirmed in 
the faint trace of downy hair on his legs and the ever-
present and very prominent bulge in his shorts. He had 
a splendid body with well-defined muscles and little 
fat. If a man liked mature boys, David would be a 
pleasure to have as a bed companion.

"So what did you think of my sister and her friend?" 
Chris asked.

"I like them," was my honest answer. "I think Hannah is 
a very intelligent woman with good taste."

"So you like Tricia, huh?" Chris teased. "You didn't 
happen to meet Tristan too, did you?" I shook my head. 
"That's a pity. He's an absolute darling. He's one in a 
mullion."

"I saw his photo on Hannah's desk. He's probably the 
cutest kid I've every seen," I acknowledged truthfully.

I silently studied Chris Arneson and tried to fathom 
what he was thinking. He had selected me as his 
sister's partner for reasons far beyond the fact that I 
had experience with bankrupt companies. I knew that it 
had to do with the two weeks we spent together in 
Thailand. During that time we had developed a close 
friendship based on trust, mutual respect, and similar 
interests-- boys. Chris returned my look until he 
shrugged abruptly and began to smile.

"I guess you're trying to figure out why I wanted you 
in on the deal," he said quietly. I raised an eyebrow 
quizzically. "There were really two reasons, Peter. 
First, I needed a man who had the money and know-how to 
put the deal together and make it work. For obvious 
reasons he had to be able to get along with my sister 
and Tricia. A lot of men would resent their 
relationship. I really want you to turn the company 
around."

"That really doesn't explain why you brought me in. 
What was your other reason?"

"And I had to be able to trust him." Chris stretched 
back into the leather lounge and crossed his legs. His 
hands clasped and his fingers interlocked. "I'm very 
interested in young Tristan's future with you. You see, 
Peter, he's very special to me as well as being my 
nephew."

My amused expression did little to convey my confusion. 
Knowing what I did about his predilection for boys, it 
was difficult to conceive of Chris Arneson as being 
even remotely interested in handing his nephew's future 
over to me. Even if he was the uncle of the beautiful 
boy that I was now enamored of, he would still be very 
interested in his 'future'. I pictured the hut in the 
highlands of Thailand in my mind and remembered the 
nights that I had spent there with Chris Arneson and 
two dark-skinned boys. It was impossible to forget that 
he spent almost as much time inside Udon's body as he 
did outside it. By comparison, Phan and I were 
neophytes.

And then I tried to decide how Chris was Tristan's 
uncle when Hannah was not his mother. Given that only a 
few years separated Chris and Hannah in age, my brain 
slowly approached a conclusion that appeared highly 
improbable. Hannah would have to be Tristan's mother, 
instead of Tricia. It made very little sense to me. 
There was no reason why he would lie to me, not after 
what I already knew about him, and what he knew about 
me.

"Tristan is actually Alex's son you see, Peter." Chris 
smiled mysteriously as I stared at the man before me in 
growing confusion.

"I still don't understand," I muttered at last.

Several long seconds passed before he continued. "Or if 
you prefer, Hannah's son, Alex, is my half-brother. You 
see, Alexander is the reason why we left Sweden and 
came to Australia. It was really very upsetting at the 
time, Peter. Our father raped Hannah one night after 
our mother was off on one of her trips to the 
Mediterranean. Hannah was only sixteen at the time. 
After that, well... she hated men. It's probably the 
reason why she became interested in women. Personally, 
I can't blame her. The first time she had sex she 
became pregnant. I wonder what the odds are on that?"

"I can understand that. Why didn't she have an 
abortion?"

"The problem was that she wanted the baby," Chris 
continued. "I wanted to leave Sweden and so she came 
with me. We never told our father where we were going."

"But wasn't there a risk?" I asked.

"Hannah was very healthy and even though she was quite 
young, the baby didn't cause her any problems.

"I mean there is a risk of birth defects and that kind 
of thing, isn't there?" I added.

"I know what you mean. Of course there is always a risk 
of birth defects when the child is conceived during 
incest, but actually, the risk is lower than you might 
expect. Still, she was very lucky with Alex. He was 
perfect."

I regarded Chris silently. A lot of loose ends suddenly 
joined together. The strong similarities between the 
handsome man sitting on the couch before me, Alex, and 
beautiful Tristan, were no longer unexplained. But any 
way that I thought about it, I was still surprised. 

Chris had given me more than enough reason to think 
that his nephew was gay. I suspected that I was about 
to hear an interesting story, particularly when I 
considered that Tristan was barely eleven years old and 
Alex was in his mid-twenties. Tristan's father could 
not have been more much than a boy himself when the 
child was conceived. Chris took a deep breath and 
began.

"I don't know whether Hannah told you how she met 
Tricia but it started when she was teaching fashion 
design at the Art College. Tricia was a first-year 
student when they met. It was the summer of 1982 and 
Alex was pretty much out of the closet by then. We had 
been together for about three years and we spent every 
free moment we had together. I was the obvious person 
that he would turn to as he became interested in sex. 

Of course Hannah knew I was gay, a boy-lover 
actually... in fact the first time that Alex stayed at 
my house was at her suggestion. He was only twelve but 
he was very sexy. He knew what he wanted when most boys 
barely knew that their dicks can be used for more than 
peeing through," he laughed. "But then Hannah and I 
were raised to be very open about sex. I guess it was 
my mother's way of getting us to accept her own need 
for something on the side."

"I can imagine."

"It might sound disgusting because he was my half-
brother, but we were very much in love. It's really 
impossible to convey how much I adored him. He was a 
wonderful boy and he made love like an angel."

I nodded and settled back into the leather-covered 
cushions of the adjacent couch. A few months ago I 
would have been distressed by a man admitting that he 
loved his own brother, a boy who was old enough to be 
his son. But after Thailand, I understood that when 
love blossoms between a man and a boy there is nothing 
that either of them can do to stop its natural course. 
I could understand Chris' love for Alex, just as I 
could understand my love for a boy like Phan, or 
Tristan.

"Anyway, I'm getting away from the story. They fell in 
love and after a few months Tricia moved in with my 
sister. That was when Alex moved in with me full-time. 
It was only about a year after that when they decided 
that Tricia should have a baby. 

"When it came to picking a father, they came to me. 
Alex had been with me for about four years and it was 
perfectly clear he would never get married. He was only 
two years younger than Tricia so he was the logical 
choice for the father. Tristan was conceived just after 
Alex turned sixteen. Actually he'd be twelve now except 
for the fact that Alex was a late maturer and he didn't 
start producing semen until then."

I smiled. "I'm surprised Alex did it. I thought you 
just said that he was one-hundred percent gay."

"Oh, but he is, Peter. That was the big problem until 
Hannah came up with the idea of using a meat baster. 
You know, one of those big, plastic eye- dropper 
things."

"So that's what a virgin birth is!" I chuckled. "You 
just squirt it in there."

"You got the idea! After that, the rest was easy. Even 
Alex liked the idea of fathering a child. I'll never 
forget the night I wanked Alex off and let him squirt 
into the bloody thing. I fucked him first for about an 
hour to get him really worked up but I was still 
surprised how little there was of it. Most sixteen year 
old boys could fill a tablespoon. Poor old Alex 
produced less than a teaspoon but it was more than 
enough to do the job. We gave it Hannah and they did 
the rest. The only real problem was that they really 
wanted a girl and they got young Tristan instead."

There was little that I could say. For the life of me I 
could not understand why anyone wanted a GIRL even if 
they were lesbians and they would be far more 
comfortable with her than raising a BOY. A boy was 
living perfection, created for a man like me for the 
sole purpose of loving.

Just as I finished signing the papers, David returned 
to announce that the pizza man had delivered dinner. I 
had been able to restrain my curiosity about my role in 
Tristan's future but try as I could, it was impossible 
to put the boy out of my mind entirely. Was I as much 
in love with Tristan Alexander Gordon as my confused 
brain seemed to believe? I needed to meet him in 
person. It was impossible that he was as perfect as I 
imagined him to be. I loved him already, and he was no 
more real than a photograph.


++++ Thailand, Four months earlier ++++


For a long while I thought I was in love with Phan. 
However, a single week is too short to establish the 
bonds that bind two people together. I have no doubts 
that I was infatuated with his luscious brown body, 
enamored of his golden skin, perpetually hard penis, 
and ready smile, but if I truly loved him, I would 
never have left Thailand. Still, as we ambled back from 
the secret glade where I discovered my true self, I 
believed that I loved him. 

His small hand fitted within mine as if it had been 
created solely with that purpose in mind. We walked 
side by side, swinging our arms like two boys revelling 
in their friendship and the joyful exuberance of youth. 
The thought of sex with him was never out of my head. 
He radiated desire and my animal lust to possess him 
became stronger with every step we took.

We arrived back at the village before dusk. The stares 
that had followed Udon and the man who had the 
important role of being his lover, were no different 
from the stares that followed Phan and me. Mothers and 
grandmothers averted their gaze, fathers and 
grandfathers smiled, a few young men graciously 
acknowledged the youngster's new status by brief waves. 

I hoped they were jealous of me as I escorted one of 
the most desirable boys in the village, if not in the 
region back to his family. Phan grinned ebulliently and 
clutched my hand tightly. He was proud to show me off 
although his heart beat quickly in nervous anticipation 
of what necessarily followed. Only a few hours earlier 
he had enviously watched other boys with their adult 
companions and wondered when his own time would come.

A feast was being prepared at the family compound. A 
young pig, offspring of a dark, fat matriarch, was 
already hanging over the glowing embers of a fire. The 
smell of pork permeated the rest of the village and 
gave a festive air to our pace. Fronds of banana and 
palm had been placed below the huts and assorted foods 
had begun to collect in the center. People from the 
village and neighboring farms began to arrive, each 
group bringing more food.

I sat by Chris. He could sense the change in me and 
told me so. Boys have that effect on men, he laughed. 
They could take the years away with a laugh and a quick 
wank. He probed playfully, eager to find out what had 
transpired in the jungle. My eyes never left Phan as he 
wandered around, sometimes aimlessly, sometimes 
engaging in conversation with Udon, sharing a shy smile 
with his grandfather as he nodded. I could tell he was 
happy. 

Before his family and their friends, my shameless boy 
had suddenly become too embarrassed to be seen in my 
company. Chris laughed and told me Udon was do 
different at first. It was simply the way boys were 
when they became the focus of a man's attention, before 
they became accustomed to the attention, before they 
learned that there was nothing to be ashamed of because 
almost all of the men in the village had been through 
similar experiences. Doing IT for the first time was a 
cause for celebration, Chris explained. 

"You mean I'm the guest of honor?" I asked. 

Chris laughed. "Well, its hardly likely to be Udon's 
first time. Don't be surprised, Peter. Remember what I 
said about the Thais. They have a very different 
perspective about sex compared to what we are used to. 
Phan losing his virginity is considered one of the most 
important social events in the village. It's on a par 
with marriage." He chuckled at his own joke. "Down in 
Phuket you would be trying to keep out of sight of the 
local cops. Here, you're something of a local hero."

I smiled and felt awkward as Phan came closer. He was 
suddenly a shy little boy as he settled down beside me, 
curling his legs under him and modestly covering his 
bare brown thighs with his tee shirt. His sisters 
served us, bringing food on thin blades of hand 
polished teak. Phan nibbled at his food, now 
continually averting his eyes with demure grace. He was 
poised, possessing a natural dignity that entranced me. 
The light from a dozen kerosene lamps flickered over 
his face. I was enamored of his sensitive features, the 
fullness of lips that I already knew to be passionate. 
I could not take my eyes away from him for more than a 
few seconds before looking back and marvelling at his 
beauty.

The food was excellent. I ate hungrily as I enjoyed 
each new taste. The combinations of fragrant smells, 
spicy-hot delicacies, sweet mixtures of tropical fruits 
were a gourmet's delight. With Phan's company and the 
anticipation of making love to him, I could wish for 
nothing more. Finally, Chris nudged me in the side and 
smirked. 

"Time to do the deed, old man," he laughed. "Take Phan 
to bed and do your best. Everyone is waiting to eat. 
You don't want them to think you're rude or not UP to 
the job, so to speak." 

"What?" I demanded. "You mean? Now? I'm supposed to do 
it now?"

"Of course. I told you it was a celebration. They have 
to have something to celebrate."

I was beginning to wonder why only the four of us had 
been served. Suddenly I understood. I swallowed 
nervously. "Where?" I asked simply. 

Chris grinned. "You're expected to use his parents' bed 
to teach him how to make love. It is his first time you 
know, Peter. Of course after tonight you're going to 
have to share it with Udon and me. It's big enough for 
the four of us although we might keep you awake 
sometimes. Just go with Phan. He knows where to go even 
if he doesn't quite know what to do. Don't take too 
long, but don't rush it either. We're not talking about 
quantity here. He needs a quality fuck for his first 
time okay? I'm sure you'll be UP to it."

I turned slightly, aware that Phan was rising to his 
feet. His outstretched hand reached down and he drew me 
up. With my European genes, I towered over the 
beautiful Asian boy. He smiled, his dark liquid eyes 
absorbing my gaze, his thin fingers squeezing my 
fingers seeking silent encouragement and the strength 
to walk past the forty or fifty people who had gathered 
to witness his passage from boy to youth. 

When he returned, he would not be the innocent child 
who now walked unsteadily beside me. He would have 
taken a man's penis into his body and been filled with 
his seed, an act that would immediately make him the 
social equal of many boys older than him and any woman 
in the village, including his own mother. We climbed 
the ladder into the hut, disappearing into the secluded 
darkness. The aroma of Frangipani came to me as we 
approached the bed. I could barely see Phan but I was 
very aware of his presence beside me. His hand felt hot 
and moist. 

I will never forget the first time I made love to a 
boy. Each second is etched into my mind. I undressed 
Phan, revelling in the touch of his bare warm flesh. He 
felt smoother than I remembered from the forest. 
Perhaps the darkness emphasized my other senses, 
perhaps if was merely the occasion. There was no need 
to speak. I knelt before him in silent homage of his 
lean body, greeted his rigid member with my lips and 
swallowed him until his penis and testicles were 
engulfed. 

I felt his hands behind my head as he began to pump in 
growing excitement. He groaned as waves of ecstasy 
washed over him. I felt the undulations of his hips as 
he plunged his rampart organ into my mouth with puerile 
eagerness. It would be many years before he had the 
right to be the active partner. Until his late teens 
this was as close as he would come. I did not want to 
interrupt his obvious pleasure but Chris' admonition 
not to take too long rang in my ears. I could have 
sucked that delicate morsel all night long. 

I eased him away long enough to unfasten my belt, 
button and zipper. I shoved my jeans down hurriedly and 
sat down on the bed to pull them and my shoes off. Phan 
stretched out alongside me and caressed my bare thigh 
with the tips of his fingers, slowly making progress 
towards my turgid shaft. He stroked it gently with his 
silky, strong fingers, giving me sensations that were 
totally unlike any that I gave myself by masturbating. 

Naked from the waist down I twisted onto my side and 
faced the beautiful child. I could barely see him in 
the darkness. The air was hot and humid and our bodies 
sweated, sharing mutual warmth that was infinitely 
enjoyable. I sensed that my pleasure would be unlike 
any I had known. Phan was an exquisite boy with a body 
that was as close to perfect as I could imagine.

Outside, muted voices reminded me of where I was. I 
inhaled the sweet smells, some of unknown origin, some 
of flowers, the pleasing odor of a young boy's sweat. I 
rolled onto him, submerging his acquiescent body under 
mine. His hands met behind my back as he sought to hug 
me and increase my pressure. He was remarkably strong. 
His head tilted back until his neck was stretched taut. 
We kissed spontaneously, uniting our mouths as our 
genitals were compressed in a loving embrace. 

I moved against him, grinding hard and hot flesh 
together, wanting nothing more than to ejaculate over 
his flat brown body. Still, it was not what I was there 
for. There would be other times and other places for 
that and I slid to one side in order to position Phan. 
To perform the intimate act required of us, it seemed 
that I would need his buttocks uppermost and supported 
by a pillow or two. Later, from watching Chris and 
Udon, and by experimenting with Phan, I would learn 
many other ways of making love to a boy but in my 
ignorance, I had to resort to a well-tried and trusted 
position. 

The need for lubrication had never entered my mind 
before my first clumsy effort to penetrate an ass that 
was a half a dozen years too young by Western 
standards. By Oriental standards, it was a different 
story. A boy was at his prime before pubic hair made 
its first downy appearance. Fortunately, his 
grandfather knew what I did not and he had clearly 
explained to Phan was expected of him. By the side of 
the bed was a small bowl filled with the still warm oil 
from the suckling pig. 

I scooped up all that I could using three fingers and 
smeared it liberally into the small crack. His anus was 
exposed as his hands pulled his firm cheeks apart. I 
added more, working my fingertip around and around the 
puckered orifice, not daring to penetrate the sanctity 
of his virgin body until he gave me permission. I 
worked some into him by rubbing my oil-coated thumb 
along the length of his crevice and then rotating it 
directly over his anus. 

I added more and more, confident that he was enjoying 
every second and knowing instinctively that he would 
need all the oil I could get inside him. By Western 
standards my organ was of average size but to an 
Oriental I was very well endowed. Finally, I greased 
the shaft of my penis thoroughly, ready to take 
advantage of the moment when it arrived. 

After a few more minutes of lovingly caressing his 
nether regions, Phan sighed and wriggled his pelvis. It 
was a clear sign of what he wanted. I took a deep 
breath. It was my job to deflower him without causing 
him unnecessary pain. Chris had explained that a boy 
was injured, he felt not only physical pain. He 
suffered in other ways when his body was violated. In a 
sense, he lost his manhood. 

For at least the next few years he would be treated no 
differently to any of the married women in the village 
although his mother would continue to care for his 
needs. It was much more a loss of masculine prestige 
than it was a change in social status. The taking of 
his virginity was my responsibility and it had to be 
done with honor and respect. My penis came to his 
opening and lodged there, fitting neatly between his 
cheeks like it was always intended to be there. But it 
could go no further. My glans bulged into his anus and 
stopped. 

I pressed firmly, using a resolute pressure until he 
groaned. I eased back and gave him a moment's respite. 
I could feel him trembling as he fought back tears. He 
nodded, indicating that he was ready to try again. He 
was a brave boy. I squeezed forward, wanting to be 
inside his splendid body more than I could stand but 
realizing that I needed to be patient. 

Phan helped as much as he could, pushing back at me and 
trying to relax as he had been instructed to. The first 
few minutes were difficult for both of us and then the 
worst was over. My penis sank into him slowly. We both 
groaned with relief. The heat inside him was like an 
oven, almost enough to melt my penis. And he squeezed 
tightly, like a hand gripping my swollen member as I 
tried with Phan's assistance to get it in even further 
than seemed physically possible given the differences 
in our sizes. 

Finally, I was inside him as far as I dared to go. It 
felt as if another millimeter would cause him to split 
open. I could barely stand the sensations that were 
created inside his rectum. I closed my eyes and waited 
as each spasm made him shudder under me. It seemed 
impossible that his rectum, until now used for the sole 
purpose of defecation, could contain such remarkable 
pleasures. I wondered what muscles and vital organs 
existed in that region of his slender abdomen. 

Surely it was more than the coils of his intestine. His 
bladder perhaps, his tiny prostate for another, the 
wonderful muscles that controlled his bowel movements, 
all of them coordinated with a single purpose, that of 
creating for both of us, the most excruciating pleasure 
imaginable. I harbored no doubts that I was not hurting 
him. It was impossible for me to conceive otherwise, 
but Phan's motions were enough to convince me that he 
was also enjoying his first time. albeit amid waved of 
pain. 

I had barely started to thrust into him when I felt the 
onset of my orgasm. Despite my best efforts, I could 
not hold back. Short of pulling out, the end was 
getting nearer and nearer and there was nothing I could 
do to stop it. I had no interest in sporting my seed 
over his small rump. In slow motion I began to pump 
into him, riding him carefully and attentive to his 
body's needs. After a dozen gentle strokes into his 
clutching bowels the pressure seemed to fade. 

I realized his body had begun to accept me, eventually 
to want my plunging penis as much as I desired the awe-
inspiring combination of his muscular contractions and 
the slick looseness of his well-stretched rectum. After 
another dozen thrusts only his anus remained tight, 
like a rubber band that was dragged up and down my 
penis.

The friction it created was enough to make me insane. 
And to think that only a matter of six hours earlier I 
had been infatuated with a boy on an airplane. I had no 
more chance of getting into his bum than legally buying 
the Harbor Bridge and now I was six inches inside a 
beautiful Thai boy with the full cooperation not only 
of his parents but the entire village. What was the 
world coming to? 

My testicles tightened even further in anticipation of 
impending release. I could not slow down and stopping 
was completely out of the question. Instead I sped up, 
spending the last few seconds that remained to me, to 
plough his tight young bottom with all the energy I 
could muster. It was enough to bring both of us to the 
pinnacle in only a few deep jabs. 

The sounds of grunting startled me as much as the 
realization that Phan was in the throes of orgasm. It 
came on him quickly and he bucked against me wildly. 
Later Chris would explain that he sought even greater 
joy at the end by increasing the pressure of my penis 
into his still immature prostate gland. It was that 
last sudden spasm that caused me to lose control. I 
stuffed all seven hard inches of my throbbing penis 
into him and ejaculated.

I felt my semen exploding into the shuddering boy, 
fulfilling a sacred and ancient ritual that transcends 
cultures. Greeks had done the same to their boys and 
made them the partners of the gods. Man-boy love the 
highest form of love. It held a similar place in Arab 
culture and the Pacific Islanders adopted it as a 
societal norm. Men throughout history have repeated the 
same rite of initiation with boys, both before and 
right after the onset of puberty. 

It was not that a boy like Phan was a substitute for a 
woman--what I had experienced and what those other men 
understood, was that a higher form of pleasure existed 
than that which served to perpetuate the species. It 
was an exquisite joy that contradicted nature's 
intentions for other species. Reproduction was replaced 
by gratification of the senses and the union of two 
bodies. 

My ejaculation seemed to go on and on forever until my 
testicles ached and I was emptied. I fell back 
exhausted, feeling my limp organ slide out of Phan's 
semen-filled rectum. I moaned with joy, knowing the 
true meaning of sexual satisfaction as I hugged Phan's 
equally sweat-soaked body to mine. In the last fifteen 
minutes I had discovered one thing-- love-making to a 
boy in a hut in Thailand that did not have the benefit 
of air conditioning, was very hot work. It was also the 
most fun I had ever had. I knew that I would come back 
again and again to Thailand if boys like Phan continued 
to be available and willing lovers.


++++ Sydney, October 1994 ++++


The sun shone brilliantly and the water sparkled on 
Sydney Harbour. A fleet of thirty or more yachts 
rounded the point as the waiter took our order. Doyle's 
was busy every day, but late on Wednesday, nearly an 
hour after the regular lunchtime crowd had disappeared 
only the three of us and a few Sydney dowagers remained 
to dine on the terrace. I sipped my wine. It was not 
exceptional but it was quite good, as most Hunter 
Valley wines usually are. 

My eyes drifted from Tricia to Alex and back again. I 
tried to imagine the night that Tristan had been 
conceived and I began to smile. Each of them still in 
their teens, with partners of the same sex, creating 
the perfect boy I called Tristan Alexander Gordon with 
a meat baster. Tricia touched my arm to get my 
attention. 

"Now you're starting to become one of the family, we 
thought you should meet Alex, Peter." I nodded. 

"Tristan is a wonderful boy," I began awkwardly. 
"You're a lucky man to have him as a son, Alex."

"My son is something else again, isn't he," Alex 
agreed. "It's a little hard to think of him as my son, 
of course, for reasons I understand Chris has already 
told you about." 

Tricia laughed. "Let's be up-front about this, okay. 
Alex is still Tag's father even though he is gay and 
has responsibilities of his own. Alex has largely 
turned Tag's upbringing over to Hannah and me. And I'm 
quite sure that Alex realizes that your interest in Tag 
is not entirely what you might call platonic. I thought 
it was time the two of you met given that you have a 
shared interest in Tag's welfare. Why don't you tell 
Alex how you really feel about Tag?" 

I nodded. There was no simple or easy way to admit the 
truth to another person. "Okay. The truth is... the 
truth is I'm falling in love him," I blurted out 
awkwardly. 

Alex smiled and glanced at Tricia who nodded back at 
him. "Lucky Tag," he replied. "I always wondered if 
being gay would run in the family given the tock. 
However, there's a much better explanation in his case 
than the fact that his father and mother are 
homosexual."

"Alex," Tricia said softly, "Maybe it's time Peter knew 
what you're alluding to. He has to find out sooner or 
later." 

Alex nodded. His fingers clasped under his chin 
thoughtfully. He waited for several long seconds before 
he answered. 

"Three years ago I gave Tag his annual physical. He was 
just about seven if I remember. His testicles still had 
not descended. That is not all that unusual in itself. 
You probably know that a boy's testicles generally 
descend into the scrotum by the time he's born or 
shortly afterwards, but that's not always the case. In 
fact we've been seeing the problem more frequently 
during the last decade. No one quite understands why 
the increase is occurring. Maybe its the chemicals 
being used in food. That's what I think but anyway, I'm 
getting off the subject." 

He took a deep breath and glanced at Tricia for added 
support. I nodded for him to continue and took another 
drink of the chardonnay, savoring the taste as much as 
the pale crystal liquid, which was beautiful in itself. 

"It's a fairly simple procedure to bring the testicles 
down the inguinal canals and secure them in the 
scrotum. I assisted in Tag's operation myself. Even for 
a seven year old his testicles were extremely small. 
When that happens it is not unusual to find other 
things... so I examined him further. Do you know 
anything about Klinefelter's Syndrome?" 

Only a parent or a lover can know the fear I felt at 
that moment. I had no idea what Alex was talking about 
although the gravity of the situation was obvious to 
me. I needed no medical words to describe it. Something 
was terribly wrong with the boy I loved. I shook my 
head quickly.

"Klinefelter's Syndrome affects about one boy in a 
thousand." Alex sighed loudly. His fingers caressed his 
wine glass, drawing lines through the glistening 
droplets of condensation on the sides. "It's caused by 
a chromosomal aberration. Instead of the normal XY 
chromosome that you or I have, there is an additional 
X, that is, Tag has an XXY."

I made direct eye contact with Alex. "I'm sorry. My 
high school years in biology were pretty much wasted. I 
was more interested in mathematics. You'll have to 
remind me which is which. Is X the male or female one?"

"It's the female one! One effect of having an extra X 
is that it produces some female-like attributes in the 
male," Alex explained carefully. "There are other 
complications but the main problem is that affected 
males are sterile." 

I swallowed, half-closed my eyes against the glare and 
mindlessly watched the sailboats tacking towards the 
bridge. Tristan was sterile! He had female-like 
attributes! I loved him! Nothing would ever change 
that!

"There's no treatment, is there?" I asked nervously. 
"It's not something you could operate on to fix, is 
it?"

Tricia shook her head. "It can't be cured. But Peter, 
you have to understand that it won't kill him or 
anything like that. In a lot of ways, Tag is very 
lucky. He'll have some problems, however... touch wood, 
so far he's okay."

"Let me explain, Peter," Alex interrupted. "During 
early childhood there are few visible indicators that a 
boy suffers from Klinefelter's Syndrome. I had no idea 
that Tag had it until I saw the size of his testicles. 
His condition is not severe. In some cases there can be 
emotional and intellectual problems. He's really a 
lucky boy in that respect." 

I was thinking quickly, trying hard to remember more 
about Tristan's problems at school. It sounded as 
though his so-called learning difficulties were really 
a by-product of a much deeper problem. I had presumed 
that the his inability to concentrate on some things 
was part of a complex and very selective attention 
disorder called pre-teen boredom. I knew him to be a 
very intelligent boy who needed a constant challenge. 

"The primary indication is usually the size of a boy's 
testicles," Alex explained carefully. "They are almost 
always very small and often are undescended like Tag's 
were."

"Is that the reason why Tristan is going to be sterile? 
Because his testicles are too small?" I asked. "Isn't 
there some kind of hormone he can take to make them 
bigger?"

"The size isn't the real problem," Alex explained. "The 
internal structure of the testes are affected so that a 
boy will be unable to produce sperm or testosterone in 
significant quantities. Hormones won't change that. You 
can't put back what he doesn't have. It was necessary 
for Tag to have surgical treatment to lower his testes 
to reduce the chances of cancer when he's older. If 
they had stayed where they were there could be serious 
consequences." 

The waiter stopped by the table and delivered our 
seafood salads and some crusty French bread. We were 
quiet as we began to eat, although eating was not high 
on my priorities at the time.

"What else, Alex?" I asked glumly.

"I don't know how close you are to Tag but I'll assume 
that you're here now because you really do feel very 
strongly towards him," Alex said warmly. He grinned as 
he continued. "You might have already noticed the size 
of his penis?" 

Tricia smiled slyly at me and raised her eyebrows with 
a mock rebuke should I dare to say yes. I was silent 
but both of them suspected that I was fully aware of 
the size, or lack thereof. However, if I was forced to 
tell the truth, the only knowledge I had of Tristan's 
private parts was what I had discovered through his 
shorts when we wrestled playfully on the living room 
floor. From the occasional grab of his boy-parts, I 
would have to admit that he was considerably smaller 
than Phan had been. However, that was the limit of my 
experience.

"As you might expect," Alex said innocuously, "a boy's 
penile development is also affected with sizes 
typically in the lower quartile range. For Tristan, 
that means that he will very lucky to get much beyond a 
hundred millimeters, about the size of your forefinger 
Peter. I don't mean to embarrass you but we are all 
pretty open about sex in this family."

I shrugged. "You're not embarrassing me, Alex."

"Luckily for both of you, he'll be quite capable of 
having erections. You might have already noticed that 
he gets stiff at about the same frequency as any boy 
his age. Impotence is not normally a problem for boys 
with or without an extra X chromosome," he teased 
light-heartedly. "It just means he has a tiny dick!" 

Tricia placed her knife and fork on the table and 
watched me. She could see my pain, the deep sadness 
that I felt for her son was gnawing at me until I felt 
sick. 

"Peter, I want you to realize that we're telling you 
this because of how you feel about Tag. You have to 
know what will happen as he grows up." 

Alex nodded in agreement. "Like I said, Tag will not 
have enough male hormones to develop normally. Delayed 
puberty is observed in just about every boy with 
Klinefelter's. Sometime before he is fifteen Tag should 
undergo prolonged of additional hormones. He will have 
to take several gonatropins... testosterone among other 
hormones to make sure that his physical and emotional 
development approaches something like that of a normal 
boy."

I forked my salad absently. Eating was no longer of 
interest. I wanted to hold Tristan and tell I loved 
him, no matter what! Tricia smiled at my miserable 
expression. 

"Don't worry, Peter. It isn't all bad news. From what 
Alex and Hannah tell me, there are certain advantages 
for a boylover. Isn't that true, Alex?" Alex grinned. 

"What Tricia is referring to is the fact that K-S boys 
generally are fully capable of sexual activity at the 
usual age. Still, you need to realize that Tag probably 
won't experience ejaculation until late adolescence and 
then his emissions will tend to be erratic and of low 
quantity. He'll be very much a boy well into his mid-
to-late teens. That's the good news."

"It gets worse?" I demanded. The perfect boy was still 
perfect in my eyes. 

Nothing would ever change that. I loved him too much to 
think otherwise.

"Okay!" Alex acknowledged. "You want the bad news. Here 
goes. In some cases, hopefully not in Tag's case, the 
female physique becomes very pronounced in early 
adulthood. He may tend to have long legs for example. 
There is also a tendency towards enlarged breast 
development. I'll be watching him closely and we'll 
start hormonal treatment if we need to." 

I sighed inwardly. Breasts, long legs, inability to 
ejaculate until his late teens. "You said he was lucky, 
Tricia! God knows how you came up with that 
conclusion," I said angrily. 

"Oh but he is, Peter." Alex interrupted my outburst. 
"In a lot of cases, mental retardation occurs. Compared 
to the learning problems that are often found, Tag is 
well off. The special education program he is in now is 
really helping him to settle down. You've had a great 
influence on him as well. He's very fond of you, Peter, 
but then I guess you know that already." 

I smiled happily. "I'm very fond of him as well," I 
replied quietly.

Tricia laughed. "That's the understatement of the 
century. I'm not blind, Peter. And Chris is no fool as 
well. He said you were ideal for Tag. I agree with 
him."

"I... I don't understand," I mumbled. 

Now Alex laughed. "There is one thing I haven't told 
you about K-S, Peter, and it's the most important thing 
for you. A boy's natural sexual orientation tends to be 
homosexual in the vast majority of cases. Although most 
parents go out of their way to try to make it 
otherwise, the fact is that it's a ten to one shot that 
Tag is going to be gay. If I was a betting man, I would 
make sure that he meets the right people as he grows 
up. You see, you and my son are made for each other. 
Your reputation precedes you, thanks to Chris. Tricia 
and I both know that you're a boy lover and we both 
happen to think that our son is a very lucky boy." 

I smiled. "I'm the lucky one. Tristan is... well he's 
an incredibly wonderful kid."

"You're preaching to the converted, Peter," Tricia 
said. She lifted her wine glass. "To Tag Gordon and 
Peter Sayd!"

"You make it sound so romantic, Tricia," Alex laughed 
as our glasses clinked. "However, I have to say I 
agree. For some boys, and not just K-S boys, it's the 
best thing that ever happened to them. I'm sure it will 
be that way for Tag, too. I hope the two of you settle 
down together like I did with Chris. They were the best 
years of my life." 

I took a deep breath, still not believing my ears. Alex 
was talking as if I was expected to become Tristan's 
lover in the very near future. The idea, while very 
exciting and something that I would endorse 
wholeheartedly, was so far fetched that it sounded like 
a fantasy.

"Well, lets not rush this," Tricia added. "I'm not 
certain that I'm ready to see Tag move in with him. 
He's got several years to go before that happens."

"I was fifteen remember, Tricia. I started sleeping 
with Chris when I was just six or seven months older 
than Tag is right now." Alex winked at me meaningfully. 
"You might as well start getting used to the idea of 
Tag being his lover, because it won't be that long 
before it happens. Personally, I'd much rather have 
someone like Peter making love with my son than some 
pervert I don't know taking advantage of him." 

Tricia laughed. "You sound like Hannah, Alex. The way 
she talks Tag needs sex education right now because 
next week could be too late. I'm not sure I trust you 
to do it. It would be like putting Hannah in charge of 
making the coffee."

I grinned. "You mean I would be biased if I talked to 
him about sexual orientation?" I asked lightly. "I 
don't want Tristan to be something he doesn't want to 
be, " I said honestly. "Tricia, you have to trust me. I 
would never do anything that he doesn't want. I want 
him to be gay but I would never hurt him. I want him to 
love me more than anything else. I want him to be 
happy." 

Alex nodded. He understood. He had been through a 
similar situation as Hannah came to accept and finally 
to appreciate her son needed an outlet for his emerging 
desires. 

"I'll take care of the sex talk sometime during the 
next few weeks for you Tricia," he offered. "As you 
know, I have first hand experience of the essentials." 

Tricia laughed. "At least he'd be safer with you than 
Chris. Heavens, poor Tag is surrounded by boylovers, 
isn't he?" 

Alex laughed with me. "There are worse things. 
Boylovers are special people, Trish. If you want Tag to 
be truly happy, believe me it would be the best thing 
that ever happened to him. It certainly was for me 
that's for sure. If it wasn't for Chris, God only knows 
what would have happened to me." 

I sipped my wine and took several bites of the salad. 
The yachts were running with spinnakers, their vivid 
iridescent colors making brilliant contrasts. I had the 
sudden thought that I was still in Thailand, except for 
the setting, of course. Tricia seemed to read my mind.

"My son is not some poor little Thai kid who has sex so 
his family can survive," Tricia answered after a long 
pause. "Do you get my point Peter?"

There was no point in my arguing with Tricia. How could 
I ever convince her that Tristan was very different. 
Now, my friendship with Phan seemed distant, so remote 
that I wondered whether I had ever really loved him. 
However, he had been the beneficiary of my affection, 
bringing an asset to the village that would assure them 
of continued riches. 

"Tricia," Alex began slowly, "there is one thing we 
haven't discussed yet and it's time we talked about it. 
Some time soon Tag's going to have to know that he has 
Klinefelter's."

"I know that, Alex. Sometimes I think he suspects that 
he's different to boys. He almost seemed to have 
forgotten about the operation until about a month ago 
when he asked about it. He wanted to know why his 
'thing' was smaller than other boys. He asked if it was 
related to the time he was in hospital. I know I have 
to tell him. I guess I was hoping you would tell him. 
You are his doctor." 

Alex smiled. "You want my advice. Peter should take 
care of telling Tag about Klinefelter's. I've always 
been a bit of a coward. It will be hard for me to look 
him in the eye and tell him he is nearly as much a girl 
as he is a boy." 

I sighed and shook my head. "I couldn't tell him that. 
He's special to me because he's a very special type of 
boy. It's a deal, Alex. You tell him what he needs to 
know about sex, especially what happens when he has sex 
with a man and I'll do the rest." 

Tricia laughed. "I'm sure you will, Peter. I'm sure you 
will."


++++ Gosford, November 1994 ++++


I parked the car in the street and crossed the lawn to 
the front door. I was ten minutes early for my 'date' 
with Tristan--an early dinner at Benjamin's Seafood and 
a movie at the Cinemaplex in Gosford. I planned to have 
him home by nine o'clock so that he would be in bed 
early for a change. I was going to take him fishing on 
Saturday for the entire day. He needed to be well 
rested when I picked up early the next morning.

I had been to the house many times before to collect 
Tristan and take him out for the day, to dinner, or to 
a movie. On many occasions I had been invited to the 
house to have dinner with Hannah and Tricia and to 
spend long, wonderful hours getting to know the boy I 
loved on his own turf. By now, I was considered more 
than a family friend. In their own inimitable style, 
both Hannah and Tricia had let me know that I was both 
liked by them and could be trusted with Tristan. Thus 
it was in early September that my courtship began in 
earnest. 

We began to 'date', much as any normal couple would 
date during the early stages of romance. During the 
first few occasions we were alone together, nothing 
untoward occurred. Indeed, our friendship was perfectly 
chaste, although it was always openly affectionate. It 
seemed as if it would always be that way until two 
weeks ago when I finally got up the courage to hold his 
hand during the last half of the movie. Then, as I 
turned off the engine outside his house it seemed like 
the most natural thing in the world to kiss him. We had 
held hands like two young teenagers the entire way home 
from the theater. It was impossible for the night to 
end like that.

Sitting there, in the darkened car with Tristan only 
inches away from me, was a temptation that I could not 
dismiss again. I leaned towards him and my lips brushed 
his forehead. That was all it took to get my heart 
pounding feverishly. I was never more aware of his 
youth than I was at that moment. His eyes flickered 
uncertainly as he tried to evaluate what I had done. He 
had only been kissed by his mother, 'Aunt' Hannah, 
'Uncle' Chris, and Alex before and yet, he felt an 
intense familiarity with me. He smiled shyly and looked 
deep into my eyes as we both breathed heavily.

I sensed the sudden warmth that flowed through his body 
by the moist heat of his hand that still lay within my 
grasp. I stroked his fingers reassuringly as I wondered 
what he felt inside. Did he feel the same surge of 
excitement, the growing desire, the same wonder of 
being in love as I did? Normally exuding confidence, I 
immediately became uncertain as Tristan's expression 
changed to bewilderment. He was frightened. I realized 
that I had gone too far with him and in my enthusiasm, 
had placed him at risk by kissing him in public.

While it did not matter to me that my 'date' was an 
eleven-year-old boy, until that night two weeks ago I 
was always careful to maintain a comfortable distance 
with him in public. My only goal was to enjoy Tristan 
for the child he was. At any time I could have 
successfully pressured him for a demonstration of his 
affection for me. Instead, I was patient, knowing that 
my time would eventually come and Tristan would be 
mine, all mine.

That I was accepted as Tristan's admirer and confidant 
became ever clearer in the weeks that followed my long 
conversation with his mother and father. As our 
friendship developed, he became even more affectionate 
and constantly demanded my attention with hugs and 
playful wrestling. Our physical contact, while on the 
surface appearing innocent, served to build our 
familiarity as well as keep my penis in a perpetual 
state of rigidity whenever I was at his house. Even the 
mere proximity of his perfect body was enough to fire 
my desire and send my heart into ecstasy and my shaft 
to the apex of erection.

When Tristan was around, my eyes never left him. My 
infatuation was not unnoticed by his mother and I often 
observed her sharing secret knowing smiles with Hannah 
as her son and I romped together on the carpet. 
'Tristan and I', as she confided to me one day at the 
factory, 'were working out great'. It seemed to be a 
forgone conclusion that we would one day be lovers.

**

So given my closeness to the family, it was unusual 
that I did not go to the backdoor that Friday night as 
I normally did. Instead I chose the front door, and 
that set in motion a chain of events for which I will 
be ever grateful. Perhaps the events would have 
happened anyway, or in a slightly different way. 
Perhaps my decision to use the front door was arbitrary 
but maybe, as I chose to believe, it was fate that 
brought me there ten minutes early. The front door was 
open to allow the passage of air through the house. 
Only the screen door was closed. Before I had a chance 
to knock, Tristan ran swiftly across the hall, from the 
bathroom to his bedroom. 

I saw him for a second or two, no more. He was as naked 
as the day he was born. His lean body moved with 
surprising speed as he darted into his room. His blond 
hair was dark, wet, and tousled from his shower. In a 
few minutes it would be blow-dried and neatly brushed, 
but at that moment it was the essence of boyhood. 
Unruly and rebellious, his dark wet hair captured my 
attention even as my eyes frantically sought another 
much more interesting part of his anatomy. It was the 
first time that I had seen him naked and he was a joy 
to behold. I barely had time to glimpse that the boy 
actually had a penis between his slender legs before he 
was gone.

"Hi Tristan," I shouted as he disappeared behind his 
door.

I knew that he both saw and heard me. It would have 
been impossible for him to miss my silhouette framed in 
the doorway. I heard his bedroom door slam shut. 
"Hello! Anyone home?" I called out.

Hannah came to the door and smiled widely as she saw me 
behind the mesh of the screen door.

"Hi! I thought Tristan was going to let you in," she 
said as she unlatched the screen door and pushed it 
open for me to enter.

"He was in the bathroom. The little flasher just went 
into his room and left me standing out here," I 
laughed.

Hannah winked. "Well boys will be boys, won't they? 
Trish and I have always encouraged Tag to be relaxed 
about his body. So many parents raise their kids to be 
uptight about being naked and having sex. They're going 
to have sex anyway so they might as well start out by 
enjoying it and being open about it."

"It sounds like a good idea to me," I said agreeably.

"I've always felt that a boy should have fun while he 
can still take advantage of his youth," Hannah said 
playfully. "There's no point in wasting the best years 
of your life and you're never too young to start having 
fun."

"As young as Tristan?" I asked awkwardly. Hannah 
studied me with a sideways glance but said nothing. 
"Maybe it's a good idea for a boy to be a bit inhibited 
sometimes," I said flippantly. "Especially when there's 
a man like me around and the boy is as cute as 
Tristan."

Hannah looked at me again, more seriously this time, 
and shook her head as if she could not believe what I 
had said. her expression was not one of distaste, 
merely disbelief. I followed her into the hall and past 
Tristan's bedroom. His muffled voice bellowed 'hi', as 
I entered the living room. 

"You're early, Peter," Tricia observed with a glance at 
the clock on the mantle. "He'll only be a few minutes. 
He just got out of the shower a few seconds ago."

"He knows! Tag just gave him an eye-full on the way 
back to his bedroom," Hannah said with amusement from 
my reddening face as much as the boy's nudity in the 
house that he shared with two lesbians.

"I'm sure he did," Tricia said. "Tag's always been a 
little nudist, ever since he was a toddler." 

Her voice was not critical but it was often difficult 
to know when she was not being sarcastic. I had already 
discovered that Tristan had something of her dry sense 
of humor at times. Hannah stepped in to defend me and 
raise the stakes as she often did.

"Anyway, it's probably about time he started relaxing 
around Peter. It's been ten weeks, you know Trish. It's 
about time they became closer, don't you think? "

"I know, Hannah. I realize that you've been through 
this before with Alex but I'm not as liberated as you 
are. You know he's also a year younger and there's no 
need to rush into this. I've talked with him like you 
suggested." Tristan's mother smiled at me and slowly 
shook her head as if the outcome of her talk was 
inescapable. "Normally I can't get him in the shower 
for more than a minute or two, but when you're coming, 
he'll stay there for twenty or thirty minutes. I can't 
imagine why," Tricia teased. "One might even think he 
was in love with you the way he's constantly talking 
about Peter this and Peter that."

I sat on the couch directly across from the two women 
and grinned stupidly. I was certain that I loved 
Tristan but I had yet to tell anyone, not even Tristan, 
although his mother and father certainly suspected that 
my fondness for their son was already well past the 
stage of mere affection.

"So it sounds like I'm not the only one, then," I said 
meekly. I realized that I sounded lovesick but I could 
not help it. I was. "You two continually tell me that 
I'm always talking about him at work."

Until now, I had not observed any display of affection 
between them. This time, Hannah's arm draped around 
Tricia's shoulders and gently stroked the side of her 
right breast. It was a clear sign that my own sexuality 
was accepted, just as I accepted the fact that they 
were lesbians.

"Trish has something she wants to tell you, Peter," 
Hannah began.

Tricia smiled and nodded. She was visibly embarrassed. 
"Well... Peter I wanted to talk with you again about 
Tristan. You've been very good with him. I'm so glad 
that you haven't rushed him into things he doesn't 
understand yet. Anyway, I know how fond of him you've 
become the last month or so. I also know that my son is 
very attached to you.'

Hannah laughed. "What Trish means is that Tag's in love 
with you Peter. And unless I'm mistaken, the feeling is 
mutual."

Tricia nodded in agreement. "For some reason I thought 
it would take longer, I expected a year or something 
like that, but... I guess there's no reason why it 
can't happen in ten weeks. Remember what I said about 
knowing when the time was right for him... well to 
start becoming more involved with you. Because of well, 
you know, the K-S thing he's got, I think it's 
important that he takes it one step at a time. Just in 
case, well... he might not be gay."

Clearly one person besides me was contemplating Tristan 
losing his virginity in the foreseeable future. It was 
a thought that often entered my mind but I intended to 
do nothing about it until the time was right. If I 
loved him and he loved me, did it really matter when we 
chose to take that first step together to become 
lovers. 

But there was a question of far greater importance that 
was never far from my mind. When that blessed moment 
finally arrived, I wondered whether we would know if it 
was right or wrong. It was certainly wrong by social 
standards which deemed sex between a man and a boy to 
be evil. But I could not see myself as depraved or 
immoral by simply loving an eleven-year-old boy when 
the attraction between us was so strong. It was natural 
even if it did not conform to the laws of Australia.

"Oh!" I swallowed. "I don't know how long it's supposed 
to take. I think it just happens when it happens. I've 
been in love with him from the first day."

"She means it's about time you started having sex with 
Tag," Hannah interrupted with a wicked smile. 

"That's not what I mean," Tricia denied hotly. "Well... 
I suppose it is. Tag is awfully fond of you and I fully 
realize that it's probably only natural for him to want 
to have sex with you. I expect that the feeling is 
mutual?" she added with raised eyebrows.

"I love him, if that's what you mean? Of course I want 
to make love to him," I said simply. "I would be crazy 
if I didn't want to have sex with him . But I want him 
to love me back before anything like that happens."

"I think he does only he may not realize it yet. Tag 
told me that he felt very lonely whenever he wasn't 
with you. For what it's worth, he was very upset when 
you went to Melbourne last weekend with Hannah."

"I'm glad I wasn't the only one who was sad," I 
admitted honestly. "I missed him too."

I breathed out and sighed, knowing that I was again 
sounding too much like a love-sick teenager. Sometimes 
I wanted to find the words to tell Tristan that I lived 
for him and that I loved him so much that my heart hurt 
every time I left him. But it's hard to tell an eleven-
year-old boy that a man who was old enough to be his 
father was in love with him. 

"What Trish is trying to say," Hannah intervened," Is 
that it's really okay with us if you and Tag have sex."

Now it was Tricia's turn to blush. Her embarrassment 
turned her face a scarlet hue as I grinned like a 
Cheshire cat. "I don't mean going all the way... you 
know what I mean, Peter! But... well getting to know 
him better, uh... I guess I mean playing with his cock 
and that sort of thing, but, well nothing that could 
hurt him."

I grinned still wider. "I think I know what you mean, 
Tricia. I really love him a lot. I think you know that 
I could never do anything to hurt him."

"Never?" Hannah teased slyly. "Come on, Peter. You 
really don't expect me to believe that do you? The way 
Alex tells it, it hurts when a boy goes all the way, 
especially with a man. And you will want to go all the 
way with Tag sooner or later, won't you?"

I shrugged and pretended to be nonchalant as I 
concealed my desire. "I s'pose so. There's no rush for 
that. Tristan and I have a lot of fun just being 
together. I don't think that the idea of sex, let alone 
having sex with me, has even entered his head yet. 
There is no rush to start either."

Tricia smiled her Mona Lisa smile. It was the all-
knowing smile of a mother who knew from long experience 
with her son, exactly what he thought and felt.

"Don't be too sure of that, Peter," she said absently. 

Her voice was quiet and conveyed an ambiguity that 
suggested that Tristan was interested in the idea of 
sex, although whether I was to be the intended 
beneficiary of his desire in the near future, it was 
impossible to tell. It was as if she did not want 
Tristan to hear as he bounced into the room. He dropped 
onto the couch next to me and gave me his 'hello' grin. 

Words were almost always unnecessary to convey his true 
feelings. I could read his face like a book. He beamed 
at me as his day suddenly became wonderful, much as 
mine had improved as soon as I saw him in the hallway. 
His leg brushed against mine as he settled back in the 
cushions and stayed there with a firm warm pressure. I 
was not about to let him escape so easily.

"Hi Tristan," I said. "Have you taken up streaking 
since I was here last?"

"Huh? What's streaking?" Tristan asked sweetly.

"It's a 60's joke, Tag," Hannah laughed. "Back then 
people would run in public without clothes on and try 
not to get caught, They used to streak for the heck of 
it."

"That's crazy!" he giggled.

"Crazy, but it's true," I added. "I didn't streak 
myself but it happened a lot at the uni when I was a 
student. It looked like a lot of fun if you enjoyed 
taking your clothes off with other people around."

"Where are you guys going tonight?" Tricia asked. "Not 
streaking through Gosford I hope.".

"We're going to Benjamin's. Then I thought we'd go to 
the movies," I replied.

"I want to see WaterWorld, Mum," Tristan announced. 
"Can we? Please?" 

"Don't you think he's a bit too young for all that 
violence?" Tricia asked as she glanced at me 
meaningfully.

It was a test and we both knew it. How responsible was 
I going to be if I was entrusted with Tristan's 
welfare? It was always easier to give into him and 
accept his appreciative hug, than to thwart his plans 
and have him moody, even if it did last only a few 
minutes. I settled for a compromise.

"I haven't seen it yet, but I've heard that it's very 
good. I don't know about the violence. I think we'll 
wait until I've had a chance to see it myself, Tristan. 
If it isn't too violent, then maybe all four of us can 
go."

Tristan rolled his eyes like a normal eleven-year-old 
boy and snorted with exaggerated disgust. However, his 
outrage aside, it was the right answer, at least as far 
as Tricia was concerned. Her sense of right and wrong 
was fascinating. At one moment she had suggested that 
it was my responsibility to introduce her young son to 
sex, and in the next breath she was worried that a 
movie might have too much violence for him. But I could 
also understand her fears at the same time as I 
appreciated her progressive attitude to my relationship 
with Tristan. 

Sex was a part of nature, and an essential part of 
being alive. That Tristan was gay and his sexual 
initiation would probably occur with a grown man was 
neither right nor wrong, it was simply how it was going 
to be for her son and she had come to accept it long 
before I arrived on the scene. Her only true fear was 
that I did not cause him any distress.

"How about the Indian in the Closet, Tiger?" I 
suggested as I thought about bringing Tristan out of 
the closet to meet my 'Indian'.

"Aw come on, Peter! That's for little kids," he groaned 
as he stood up.

At full height, his head was no higher than the top of 
mine when I was seated. It made me very conscious of 
his tender age. Although his childhood was fast 
disappearing, he was still in the precious-boy stage. 
Tricia was right-- there probably was too much violence 
for him, but then he was also too young for the 
emotional ties that were forming between us.

He reached for my hand and pulled me up by leaning over 
backwards to lever me out of the couch. "Well, let's 
get a move on, then!" he added brusquely but 
lightheartedly. "I'm starving. Bye Mum! Bye Hannah!" 

Tristan grinned cheekily. I was hungry as well, but not 
for food. I glanced at his mother, still uncertain 
about her earlier suggestion that Tristan and I become 
better acquainted. Sex, even in its simplest form, with 
her eleven-year-old son suddenly appeared to be more 
than a remote possibility. I sensed mischief in the air 
as the urchin squeezed my hand tightly.

Tricia smiled at me and then glanced uneasily at her 
son. Her intended message was clear to me if not to 
Tristan. "Bye Tag-honey. Have a good time," she said 
lightly.

Hannah smirked wickedly. "I'm sure there's more than 
just an Indian in the closet for the two of you to look 
at. You two boys have lots of fun together," she added 
obscurely as Tristan and I started for the doorway. 

Her parting comment was less than obscure. In fact it 
was depraved.


CHAPTER 3


But Hannah's parting comment was nothing compared to 
the open acceptance of man-boy love in the highlands of 
Thailand. When Phan and I had finally recovered enough 
strength to rise from his parent's bed, the 
perspiration that previously glistened on our naked 
bodies had finally evaporated. I sat on the edge of the 
bed and surveyed the beautiful young body I had been 
united with. Had both of us been virgins? A man and a 
boy, neither experienced before they lay down together, 
had taken their first steps towards becoming lovers. 

I admired his body, the slenderness of his hairless 
brown limbs and narrow torso that seemed to defy the 
possibility of intercourse by size alone. There were 
blemishes here and there, though none of them were 
unsightly. They were the marks of boyhood, small scars 
some still reddened, typical of a child from a third 
world country and a tropical climate. 

As I held him, my hands on my hips, he grinned 
cheekily. A wet fart gurgled from behind him. A moment 
later a dribble of my milky fluid trickled down the 
inside of his thigh. It was something he would have to 
get used to if I continued to be his lover. Depositing 
my seed in any other orifice seemed highly unlikely, 
although his pretty mouth was also well suited to the 
role. I wiped my fingers through my expelled juice and 
smeared the wetness over his leg. It was hot and the 
slipperiness was increased by the absolute smoothness 
of his silky skin. 

"We go down now. They wait for us still. We go down, 
before it all come out," Phan said hesitantly. 

I regarded him as my curiosity was piqued. He 
apparently did not care to elaborate further. I pulled 
up my briefs and jeans and straightened my tee shirt. 
Phan had not started to put his shorts back on. They 
lay on the floor ed where I had tossed them in my 
eagerness to see him naked. Only his tattered white 
tee-shirt covered his naked sex organs. For some reason 
I understood that it made no difference to the guests 
whether Phan was dressed or nude on this, the most 
important event of his young life to date. 

I embraced him, cupping both firm cheeks of his bottom 
in my hands and he stretched on tiptoes to bring his 
soft lips to mine for our first real kiss. His tongue 
pushed forward, seeking entry into my mouth as his body 
squeezed against me. My fingertips pressed into his 
slime-filled crack, marvelling that only a few minutes 
earlier my thick penis had been entirely contained 
inside him. Now, only the looseness around his anus and 
my fluid was left as a reminder of what we had shared, 
that and the memory of a writhing Thai boy as he 
reached the pinnacle of existence and discovered the 
ultimate pleasure of his first orgasm from anal sex. 

The kiss we shared went on and on until our saliva 
mixed together like the fluids that existed within his 
lower abdomen. His kiss, like his coupling, was 
infinitely better than any woman I had been with. 
Finally we parted and after I gently wiped the 
accumulation of juices from his crack and the inside of 
his thighs, I kissed him again. With me leading the 
way, we climbed down the ladder into the family 
compound. 

It was obvious that the guests and Phan's family were 
waiting for us to return after the unwritten contract 
between man and boy had been sealed. Like my new found 
friend I had become a benefactor, not only of the young 
boy who had given me his virginity but for the entire 
village as I contributed to his welfare until he 
reached adolescence. 

Chris waved in friendly recognition of my new found 
self. Like him, I was also a boy lover with an 
important social role in the poor Thai village. I had 
partaken of the joy only known to others like 
ourselves. In the culture in which I had lived in all 
my life, only a few lucky men have experienced the 
wonderful joy of loving a young and eager boy. It was 
very different in the highlands of Thailand where man-
boy love was a common occurrence. While accepted, even 
openly endorsed by the boy's parents, it was still a 
special relationship when his partner was a westerner 
of great wealth. Then the union took on greater meaning 
as the boy became a source of income. 

My friend and co-conspirator in this place of socially 
sanctioned pederasty inned triumphantly as I passed by 
him and Udon. Younger brother and older brother 
exchanged a knowing look and Phan smirked lewdly at his 
sibling, proudly walking with his knees apart to give 
him a distinct bow-legged gait. They had become equals 
again, a condition that had not existed since Udon had 
become Chris' lover. 

Phan's father led us towards a group of men who had 
gathered around his grandfather. They parted as we 
approached and then closed behind us. We moved with the 
uniform mass of a Rugby scrum towards the meeting place 
that was reserved only for men. Only minutes earlier 
Phan had gained the right to enter the most sacred 
place in the village. This was as new for him as it was 
for me. As was my right, I was the honored guest. 

Phan walked unsteadily on my right, his small hand held 
firmly in mine, his legs apart as if he had just spent 
the afternoon on horseback. Indeed, he could not have 
been very comfortable. My penis had bruised his tender 
body, abrading delicate and untouched flesh as I forced 
my way into him.

Just as I assisted him to climb down from his parent's 
house so too I had to help him climb the nine feet into 
the air when we reached the men's hut. I carefully 
supported him from behind to make sure that he did not 
fall backwards as he tried to lift each foot to the 
next rung. There on the steps I finally glimpsed his 
small bottom and realized the extent of the injury I 
had inflicted. What should have been a small puckered 
opening was no longer small and anything but puckered. 

His anus was wide open, still dilated from my thick 
penis and glistening with the greasy paste of fat that 
I had rubbed into him. For a few seconds I could not 
understand why there was wetness on the inside of his 
cheeks and on the underside of his small scrotum. And 
then I saw even more of it on the insides of both of 
his lean thighs. Slowly it dawned on me that my semen 
was still dribbling out of him despite the quantity 
that I had already wiped from his body earlier. 

There was a large woven cane seat in the center of the 
hut and Chris indicated that I should stand beside Phan 
while he sat down. I did not understand what was 
happening but it was clearly part of a local tradition 
that celebrated the arrival of manhood, even if it was 
still hairless. Phan sat obediently, waiting as the men 
gathered around him. His grandfather, as village elder 
and oldest relative, stepped forward and knelt before 
Phan. He smiled at his young grandson, gently placed 
his hands on the boy's ankles. He lifted them up and 
pushed Phan's knees to his shoulders before positioning 
the thin legs over the arms of the chair. 

Another boy from another culture would have been 
embarrassed by the men's leering stares as they looked 
at his exposed bottom. Phan smiled shyly as he father 
came even closer and peered at his son's opening. It 
still bore the unmistakable signs of our love making 
although the small anus had begun to close up again. 
Perhaps I should not have felt proud as I observed the 
dark ring of flesh that encircled the entrance to his 
rectum but there seemed to be reason why I should feel 
guilty. He had submitted willingly and I had known more 
pleasure within its tight confines than I had ever 
experienced. 

No woman had been able to give me the same joy. I had 
been initiated just as Phan had been initiated by me. 
While I could not speak for Phan, I realized that I 
would never be able to have sex with a woman again. 
Together we had savored every precious moment of it, in 
every sense of the word I had discovered how to make 
love. However, my penis was abnormally large by Asian 
norms and Phan's tender body had been subjected to 
considerable stress. 

What was depressing to me was very much the opposite 
for the men gathered around us. They talked softly in a 
language I did not even begin to understand. Their 
smiles and frequent gestures towards Phan and the 
obvious references to his exposed rump and my 
comparatively large anatomy provided adequate 
communication that made words unnecessary. However, 
even if I could not understand what was being said, 
Phan certainly did. He smirked at his brother and in 
front of his audience began to become aroused again. I 
looked on in fascination as the short shaft that was 
already familiar to me achieved full erection.

"He's quite the show-off," Chris said as he leaned 
towards me. "There is a lot of interest when a boy from 
the village loses his virginity, especially if he is 
good looking. It's also considered to be particularly 
good luck if the man is well endowed."

"I can't believe this is happening," I replied. "Back 
home they would lock you up and throw away the key for 
even touching his dick, let alone what I did to him." 

Chris nodded sagely. "Thank God there are still places 
left like this. These men understand what it's like to 
love a boy. Most of them have watched Phan grow up and 
I dare say they have all thought about being in your 
position at one time or another. If you hadn't come 
along I imagine one of them would have had the honor of 
deflowering the kid."

"Well, I certainly count myself lucky after this." 

After a minute or two, Phan's grandfather knelt before 
the now uninhibited boy who was revelling in the 
attention being paid to him. His little hairless penis 
was completely erect but it still did not reach beyond 
halfway to his navel. In the ways that counted, he was 
still a young boy. By now I was becoming used to the 
morality of these Thais. They were completely 
uninhibited about sex and the sexuality of their 
children was openly accepted, even endorsed when the 
partner was wealthy. However, even knowing that Phan's 
parents had accepted me as his lover did little to 
prepare me for what followed.


++++ Gosford ++++


"The movie was okay," Tristan acknowledged dubiously.

I smiled as I walked beside Tristan as we went up the 
path towards his house. At eleven-years old it was 
socially unacceptable for a boy to be enthusiastic 
about enjoying a movie that was intended for younger 
children. But Tristan had enjoyed the movie as much as 
I had, although for different reasons. About half way 
up the path he stopped and turned to face me. He smiled 
and swallowed nervously. His hand moved slightly, 
tentatively seeking mine again.

We had held hands through most of the movie, and the 
entire way in the car, parting only to get out our 
respective doors. I met him in the middle, the boy's 
thin, warm fingers brushing mine as my hand closed 
around his. I squeezed tightly as if to convey my 
greater strength and then relaxed so that our fingers 
were intertwined. Tristan breathed deeply and his eyes 
flickered as he looked behind me.

"Someone will see us," he whispered urgently. "I guess 
you better go. I'll see you tomorrow," he added 
guiltily.

Already he knew enough to realize that what he felt was 
wrong. I could try all I could to protect him from the 
shame society would place on him, but I would fail. 
Like me, he could not help the way he was. Had it been 
inside him from the day he was conceived, had it 
emerged because his mother was a lesbian, had it been a 
voluntary action on his part? His longing was part of 
him as much as any other part of him. 

He was the way he was and it could not be changed 
merely because some righteous souls thought love like 
ours to be wrong. What right did society have to 
condemn this boy to shame for feelings he could not 
help. And my feelings were more despised than 
Tristan's, a function of age but exponentially worse. 
Despite my misgivings, all those people I knew who said 
it was evil, I could not leave him easily. 

"I want to say goodnight before I go," I said. "I had a 
great time. I hope you did too."

Tristan nodded. "I always have a great time with you, 
you know that. Thanks for everything, Peter."

"There's nothing to thank me for. I really enjoy having 
you with me. Besides, you didn't eat that much at the 
restaurant, and you still get into the movies for half-
price. You cost me all of about ten dollars tonight, 
kid."

"That wasn't what I was thanking you for. I think you 
know what I mean. I really like you, Peter," Tristan 
murmured.

"I like you too... a lot," I replied. I was very aware 
of how stressed my voice was and what an understatement 
the six words were for my true feelings.

Again Tristan looked behind him. "I guess you had 
better go, before someone sees us standing here."

I smiled at the visibly anxious boy. "They'll only 
think that we're friends, or maybe that I'm your uncle, 
or a friend of the family, or something like that."

"I want to... I want to say goodnight... but well... I 
want to go somewhere private, Peter," Tristan whispered 
as his nervousness increased.

I glanced over my shoulder. There was no one on the 
street that I could see and it was unlikely that there 
would be for a few more minutes at least unless a car 
pulled up at one of the nearby houses. If anyone saw us 
standing there in the middle of the front yard it was 
likely to be his mother or Hannah and the consequences 
of them seeing me with Tristan did not bother me. And 
yet I understood the need for privacy, even if it was 
for his confidence and self esteem.

One the side nearest the driveway, a large dark tree 
loomed close to the house. Light spilled from the 
kitchen window but in the shadows it was impossible for 
any one to see us. Gently I led Tristan forward, 
walking towards the discreet darkness that offered 
anonymity in a vigilant world. I recognized the moment 
for what it was. This was the turning point in a young 
boy's life. It was the time when Tristan would take the 
first difficult steps to assert his individuality and 
express that part of him that brought his guilt..

He came hesitantly, dragging on my hand and uncertain 
of where I was taking him, yet reluctant to hold back 
for fear of being left by himself. The desire that had 
been dormant within him for eleven years was beginning 
to surface. He was overpowered by an insistent need to 
be with me and to discover why he was different to 
other boys. I stopped in the darkness with the tree 
trunk behind my back. It was quiet and private. The boy 
looked around furtively and then his eyes came back to 
mine.

"You wanted to say goodnight?" I suggested softly. "No 
one can see us here."

Tristan nodded shyly. "I didn't just want to say 
goodnight, you know." He paused, shifting his feet 
unconsciously in the grass. "Uh... well I do want to 
say goodnight, of course, but not like right away, 
okay?"

"What do you have in mind then?" I teased. I sensed his 
excitement building like a volcano that could explode 
at any second. But Tristan was a very unassertive boy 
sometimes and he needed my help now more than ever 
before in his eleven years.

"I don't know," he shrugged uncertainly. 

"I'd like to keep holding your hand," I said gently, 
"Forever and ever. I want you beside me more than 
anything else."

"I like holding your hand too," Tristan murmured. He 
sighed, consciously aware of what he wanted to say but 
unable to make his request. "Can I ask you a question, 
Peter? It's sort of, well it's personal."

"Of course. Don't be timid, Tristan. You don't have 
anything to be worried about."

"Well it is... you know... it's about us. I don't want 
you to stop liking me."

I nodded slightly. "There's nothing that you could say 
or do to make me stop liking you, okay? Don't be 
bashful, Tristan."

Tristan glanced sheepishly down at his feet as he 
mumbled. "If I wanted... well if I wanted to kiss 
you... would you get angry? Would you be mad? I know 
most people think it's wrong for two guys to kiss but 
Mum said it was okay... if I wanted to kiss you.... Do 
you mind?"

"Of course I don't mind. Besides it isn't wrong for two 
guys to kiss."

"It isn't?"

"Not really. Would you mind if I wanted to kiss you?" I 
answered.

He looked up again quickly as he heard my own 
awkwardness as I asked the same question. Our eyes met 
as we exposed our souls. I wondered whether he could 
hear my pounding heart. He had to, it was loud enough 
in my ears. Tristan seemed to tremble slightly as he 
continued to gaze into my eyes. His hand suddenly felt 
hotter and wetter, as if he was perspiring in the cool 
night air. He was nervous, but then, so was I.

"I want to kiss you, Tag," I said softly. "It isn't 
wrong if we both want to, you know. It's just the way 
we are. Neither of us can help it." 

That was the first time I used his 'pet' name. Until 
then his mother, and sometimes Hannah, called him that 
and no one else. He smiled slightly, accepting my 
familiarity. Slowly he nodded, moving his head back and 
forth three times in slow motion. Each nod was a 
deliberate acknowledgement of the fact that he wanted 
to kiss me. His mouth appeared to quiver with 
anticipation as my head lowered. 

Reassuringly, I placed my hand around his lower back 
and I held him gently with my fingertips pressed into 
his knobbly spine just above his tailbone. I guided him 
forward, or rather restricted his instinctive need to 
back away as our heads came closer. With his head 
barely reaching to my shoulder, there was a long 
distance between our mouths. But Tristan reached up, 
standing on his toes as I bent forward and suddenly our 
noses brushed clumsily together and our dry lips 
touched.

It was a chaste kiss that lasted only a second or two 
before we were apart again. My heart rate surged again 
and Tristan breathed out with relief. Either it had 
been easier than he had expected, or perhaps he had 
been afraid that I would reject him, but it was a long 
sigh. My left hand came to his cheek and I caressed his 
smooth skin. For nearly a minute he stood absolutely 
still, absorbing the gentle touch of my fingers as I 
stroked from his jaw to his temple. My fingers drifted 
aimlessly, sometimes touching his soft ear lobe or 
pushing into his silky hair.

He needed time to think. Finally, after what was an 
interminable silence, his face looked up and he beamed 
happily. His solution was right before him all the 
time. Unlike me, he had not realized it until that 
moment.

"We love each other don't we, Peter? That's why it 
isn't wrong for us to kiss," he asked demurely.

I nodded, my head moving with deliberate care just as 
his had done a minute earlier. "I know it's hard to 
understand, Tag, but it's true. I know I love you."

Tristan smiled shyly, ever the modest boy. "Mum said I 
would feel funny inside when I told you that I loved 
you and she's right. She said I would know I loved you 
only when I said it aloud to you. I feel so weird all 
over."

"You mum is right, Tag. I think it's because you feel 
so happy. I feel the same way. You feel like you're 
trembling and you can't stop it. I know I feel like I'm 
ready to burst." 

It was the truth. Not only was I shaking but my penis 
had never been as hard as it was at that moment. Not 
even Phan had produced an erection that physically hurt 
me with its stiffness. I ached for relief but realized 
that it would not happen tonight, not unless I took 
control or waited until Tristan went inside his house.

"Being in love is one of the most wonderful feelings... 
no it's definitely the most wonderful feeling in the 
world," I added.

"Uh huh. It's not like I'm cold, but there's goose 
pimples all over me." Tristan murmured contentedly.

I pulled him closer into my warmth and held him tightly 
with my hand around his back, my fingers riding over 
the curve of his firm buttocks. He wriggled slightly, 
pressing his chest harder my stomach and offering 
himself to my enveloping arms. He wanted to be hugged.

"I had a really nice time tonight, Tag."

"I did too."

"I really like being close to you."

"So do I. It's nice hugging you, Peter."

"I enjoy your company," I said innocuously but I knew 
exactly what I intended. "I like holding your hand, 
Tag. It makes me feel even closer to you, even when 
your sitting beside me, I want you to be closer."

"I don't think anyone saw us in the movies," he said 
guilelessly but already well aware of the need to guard 
his relationship with me from the watchful eyes of 
others. There were too many people who would destroy 
what we felt for each other.

"I want to kiss you again, Tristan Alexander Gordon... 
and I mean really kiss you this time," I said slowly.

"You mean with our tongues don't you?" he asked 
uncertainly. "Mum told me that's how people kiss when 
they're in love."

I nodded as I wondered how much his mother had told him 
about what happens when two people fall in love. I 
began to suspect that Tristan knew exactly what being 
in love with me would involve. He had been well 
prepared by his mother, at least in terms of 
theoretical preparation if not practical experience, 
and that was my job. I relished the thought as we gazed 
deeply at each other.

The next kiss came without the awkwardness of the 
first. It is surprising how practice improves one. He 
puckered, instinctively closed his eyes, and lifted up 
on his toes. His lips were soft and dry only for an 
instant. I moistened his lips as I pulled him closer. 
Hot and wet, lips far softer than Phan, gentle kisses. 
Warm air exiting from his nose streamed across my 
cheek, sighs from deep in his chest like a cat's 
purring as we parted. He smiled shyly, his eyes now 
open. Breathless, he touched his lips with the tip of 
his tongue as if tasting me, the lingering wetness we 
had placed there together. He quivered as a thrill of 
understanding rippled through him.

"You didn't use your tongue," he admonished playfully.

"Neither did you, Tag," I replied. My hand caressed his 
firm bottom, squeezed gently on one side, my fingertips 
venturing into the crease between his small, fat 
cheeks.

"I was waiting," he teased. "I wanted you but I was too 
scared."

"You weren't going to bite were you?" I asked.

"'Course not! I don't mind if you put your spit in me. 
It's just like drinking from the same bottle."

I grinned. The last time, only the week before, Tristan 
had assiduously wiped the top clean before drinking 
after me. How quickly he forgot! I squeezed his 
buttocks again, then cupped the firm flesh in one hand 
as I wondered whether my answer to his mother and 
Hannah had been honest. One day the prize of his virgin 
body would be mine for the taking and I would hurt him 
because that was what happened when a man loved a boy 
like Tristan.

"You like playing with my bum, don't you?" Tristan 
giggled.

"You have a beautiful bum young man," I laughed as I 
wondered again just how innocent this eleven-year-old 
boy really was. At times he surprised me. "And yes, I 
like playing with it. I like boys with cute bums."

I reached with my hand and slowly lifted his chin 
upward so that our eyes met. He gazed back at me, 
neither innocent or wanton, merely curious. A slight 
smile flickered across his mouth as his lips came 
together and his eyelids sealed. I kissed him tenderly 
at first as I clutched him tightly against me. Then, 
only a moment before we parted, I licked his lips with 
my tongue and darted inside his mouth as his teeth 
parted in surprise. The rest of my tongue followed 
quickly and I pushed into him. He sucked. 

God only knows where he learned how to do that. Perhaps 
it was a natural response, perhaps a conditioned 
reflex, but Tristan pulled me in and held my tongue 
deep within his mouth. Young lips moved urgently 
against mine, rubbing frantically before his own tongue 
sought to penetrate my mouth. We embraced, kissing 
deeply, tongues fully extended, writhing, licking, 
sucking with earnest affection. His tongue made love to 
mine.

I should not have been surprised when I felt his sudden 
motion, humping his aroused sex organs into my thigh as 
his lower belly pressed tightly against my own rigid 
member. Our kiss ended, other pursuits more demanding, 
both panting, trying to get off. I could feel the 
spike-like stiffness in his young penis, poking and 
prodding me and then sliding against my thigh like a 
little sausage. I grasped his cheeks, pulling his 
agitated body closer as I felt the gradual building of 
my climax. 

I wondered whether Tristan knew what was about to 
happen to me, if not to himself. The thought of cumming 
in my briefs did not bother me but the urgency with 
which I was now thrusting against Tristan perturbed me 
greatly. Hesitantly I eased him away and gave his 
forehead a chaste kiss.

"You better go inside while you can. You have a big day 
tomorrow," I gasped.

"Aw... Please?" he whined. "Do I have to?"

I grinned. "Yes you have to. I'd like to stay out here 
with you all night, but you have to go to bed."

"I'd like you to come inside. You could go to bed with 
me," Tristan whispered conspiratorially. "I could sneak 
you past Mum and you could sleep with me tonight."

"What about Hannah?"

"She won't mind. Hannah's cool. She teases me about 
playing with it all the time," Tristan admitted shyly.

"And do you?"

He smirked and shrugged. His answer was a slightly 
raised eyebrow, a mere hint that he did. "She talks to 
me a lot about sex and stuff as well," he added, I took 
the bait. "So what has she told you?" I asked.

"Oh... stuff about my thing... my penis. And semen, and 
all that stuff."

"Hmmm," I mused innocuously. "That's all?"

Tristan giggled. "Nope. She told me about why it gets 
stiff sometimes. I have a stiffy now. So do you. I can 
feel it. Yours is really big. It's huge compared to 
mine."

I nodded. "I'm a man, Tag. It's supposed to be bigger. 
Yours will get bigger during the next few years too. 
You have to be patient."

Tristan grinned. "I know that. You know what else 
Hannah told me?" I shook my head. He paused. "She said 
it was normal for guys to play with them." He smiled at 
me and then decided to answer my earlier question. "I 
play with mine in bed all the time. It feels nice when 
he's hard."

The image of Tristan in his bed with his pajamas hiked 
down to his knees fascinated me. I could imagine his 
fingers caressing his hardness, stroking against tender 
skin, his scrotum drawn up tightly. Too young for his 
orgasm to release semen I reasoned, but the pleasure 
would still increase the same way that Phan experienced 
until his body was racked with spasms of joy. 

How I had delighted in taking Phan to that same point, 
watching his brown body contort, gasping for air as he 
bucked against my jerking fist. It amused me that the 
aftermath was always so short lived, sometimes a matter 
of minutes before he was hard and ready for more. I 
wondered whether Tristan was the same way. I grinned at 
the boy I loved more than life itself.

"Is that why you want me to go to bed with you?" I 
teased. I regretted the words as soon as I had uttered 
them. I had no intention of coming onto Tristan like a 
dog in heat, or worse.

"Well..." Tristan smiled. "Kinda, if you wanted to, 
well I'd like it too, I guess... Sometimes... when I 
play with him... I pretend you're touching me there," 
he admitted shyly.

"Sometimes?"

"Okay, most times if you must know. Are you mad, 
Peter?"

"Well hardly, Tag. It would be an honor to touch you 
there. There is nothing I would rather do, in fact."

The eleven-year-old boy grinned in the darkness. His 
heart was beating quickly and he shivered, not from 
cold but from excitement that rose up inside him and 
threatened to consume him. "You can, if you want, 
Pete..." he whispered nervously.

My ears heard the words and my mind reeled under their 
meaning. I could not have heard him clearly was the 
only thing I could think. He had just offered his 
beautiful young body to me. I stared at him in 
disbelief. My dreams were coming true as I gazed down 
into his perfect face. "I'd like that very much... 
Only..."

"Only what?" Tristan asked as his voice quivered 
nervously.

"Only we don't have to go inside to do it. You don't 
have to be in bed."

Gently I eased him into my warm embrace, closing both 
arms around him in a loving hug. He was at his most 
fragile, exposing a desire that society deemed wrong in 
one so young. He relaxed slightly but I could feel the 
tension in his limbs. Although he was frightened he 
made no effort to pull away. He wanted what I wanted. I 
rubbed his back lovingly as we stood together. 

I felt his chest moving against me, his firm belly 
pressed tightly into the heat of my crotch, his stiff 
sex squashed into my thigh. I could feel his hot breath 
through my shirt. He was mine. I kissed the top of his 
head and brushed my lips against his silky hair. He 
wriggled slightly, rubbing his genitals harder, pushing 
his belly forcefully against my erection. For a pre-
pubescent boy he was very excited. Each movement seemed 
to be charged with a sexual intensity that was quite 
out of character.

"You shouldn't do anything you don't want to do," I 
cautioned lamely. 

That provoked a soft giggle and he wriggled again. 
"That's okay. Hannah said you might want to stick your 
hand down my pants. It's okay with me if you want to 
play with him. You can... if you want."

My mind raced. My hand slid between us and for a 
moment, as I lingered at his belly, I considered going 
no further. Temptation was overpowering. My fingers led 
the way until I reached the waistband of his jeans. It 
was decision time. It was enough to bring on a stroke. 
Again lust won out over reason. In one way at least 
Tristan was no different to Phan. I felt his flat belly 
pull in to give me room to slide my hand under the 
denim. 

Thank god he was not wearing a belt. His loose shirt 
moved away as Tristan's arms locked around my neck. My 
fingers touched warm, alive boy-belly. The skin was 
softer than anything I had ever touched. He sighed 
softly as my finger tips passed under his waistband, 
then the palm of my hand pressed into the firm muscles 
of his belly. His stomach pulled in again and my hand 
slid down further. I reached the elastic of his 
underpants. It was decision time. This time restraint 
ruled.

There was little room to move my hand. His underpants 
felt strange. The pointed projectile was taut in the 
soft cloth. And it was hot. Hot and moist, and very, 
very hard. Tristan sighed again. I wanted to ask him if 
it was okay to touch his penis but words failed. My 
fingers enclosed the rigid shaft. I marvelled at the 
small size of it. It felt a lot like a finger without 
any joints, a bone covered by hot sweaty skin. I 
squeezed gently but firmly, then drew back to stoke the 
tip. I wondered whether he was circumcised. 

As stiff as he was, it was difficult to tell under the 
cloth. At his age I suspected that the foreskin would 
still cover his glans even when he was erect but I 
could not feel more than the tiny bulbed end. There was 
only one way to find out for sure. I moved my fingers 
along the little shaft, noting the free movement. 
Though much bigger, Phan's prick had the same 
flexibility. Perhaps Tristan wasn't cut after all.

"Ohhhhhh..." Tristan moaned. "Hannah said it would feel 
good... but it feels incredible. Oh Peter... it feels 
awesome."

"Hm, you like that huh?" I teased. Tristan nodded 
urgently. I eased him away slightly and withdrew my 
hand from its heated prison. He was startled, 
momentarily dismayed as his pleasure was rudely 
interrupted.

"What's wrong?" he demanded. "I don't want you to 
stop."

"Who's stopping, Tag." I said softly. My fingers tugged 
at his zipper. It opened easily.

"Not here! You can't take my jeans off here."

I finished opening his zipper. "I'm not taking anything 
off. All I'm doing you dummy is improving the access. 
Besides, even if I stripped you stark naked, Tag, no 
one would see you here under the tree. No one that is, 
except me."

It was true. We were concealed from sight. The moon had 
disappeared behind a bank of clouds. In fact it was all 
I could do to make out the boy's features in the 
darkness. He grinned and I saw the white of his teeth. 
My fingers tugged at his underpants and pulled them 
down until the elastic was looped under his scrotum. 
His little penis pushed forward and brushed my hand. 

My fingers gripped him, holding the bare smoothness for 
the first time. I held his manhood, more accurately his 
boyhood for he was a long way from becoming a man. I 
expected it to be small, my discussion with his mother 
and father had prepared me for the physical 
characteristics of Klinefelter's as much as the 
emotional problems I might find with Tristan. But other 
than the small size of his sex, it was a perfectly 
normal penis. 

Under the sensitive thin skin I could feel the firmness 
of his penile shaft, the sponginess of his urethra as 
it coursed beneath. What he lacked in size he more than 
compensated for in sheer stiffness. I wondered whether 
it was simply a matter of less volume resulted in 
higher pressure inside to accommodate the blood that 
flowed into an erection. I touched the tiny glans. He 
was circumcised. No surprise there for a boy born in 
the 1980's, I figured. 

My fingers drifted down the thin organ to the base and 
followed a natural path to his scrotum. Despite what I 
knew of the side effects of Klinefelter's, I still 
expected to find a plump little ball-sac such as I had 
grown used to with Phan, only smaller. Not so with 
Tristan. By comparison, his testicles were tiny. Even 
if one was ignorant of the effect of an extra female 
chromosome, the size could not be dismissed as a simple 
indication that Phan was further along the road to 
puberty than was Tristan, who was still very much a 
little boy.

Sometime, sooner or later, I knew that the 
responsibility to tell Tristan the details of his 
condition would fall to me. For good reason, his father 
had never fulfilled the parental obligations due to his 
offspring. His Uncle Chris, while being someone who he 
loved dearly, was not in the position to comfort and 
support him through the process of coming to grips with 
being what his mother once referred to as 'almost as 
much a girl as he is a boy.' Her assessment was very 
close to my own observations.

My fingers eased back onto his penis, already cooler 
from its exposure to the night air, but certainly no 
less stiff than when I had first unveiled it. I had a 
faint recollection of how soft Phan's hard cock had 
been, almost impossible to believe that a thing so 
stiff inside could be so smooth and delicate on the 
outside. My fingers floated across the sensitive 
tissue, scratching gently with my little fingernail at 
the rippled skin at the junction of his penis and ball-
sac. 

Remarkably, the perfect little instrument of passion 
seemed to grow even stiffer. It stuck straight out from 
his groin like a little thin key waiting to be turned 
to unlock Pandora's box. Gentle stroking was in order 
and Tristan sighed as I began to rub him. Perhaps he 
had done this before in the sanctuary of his own bed, 
but under the dark sky, there was an added allure than 
intensified our mutual enjoyment to the degree that it 
might as well have been the very first time that he 
experienced such indescribable pleasure.

For one so young, Tristan really got off on being 
masturbated. Two or three minutes of slow rubbing was 
enough to get him to the point of shaking 
uncontrollably. His head flopped back and forth as I 
elicited groans of delight until it finally found a 
resting place against my chest. His hips moved 
rhythmically as he aided my motion with his own 
instinctive humping. God only knows where boys learn 
how to fuck. 

I swear it must be inherent within everyone of them. 
Tristan needed no direction and certainly no 
encouragement from me. He understood exactly what he 
needed and the back and forth movement of his slender 
body was precisely what was needed. At times he 
alternated with a change in rhythm, rotating his pelvis 
and driving his aching little prong hard into my palm. 
I could tell he needed the relief that only orgasm 
would bring but I held him off. 

Ten minutes or so into our nighttime escapade, I 
stopped and went back to kissing him. This time our 
kisses were very different. It was remarkable how a 
little prior experience plus getting one's dick rubbed, 
added to affection. His kiss was nothing less than 
passionate at it took me quite by surprise. Not even 
Phan at his very best kissed like Tristan that night. 
Full tongue kisses that went on and on until we were 
both breathless and our lips were raw. It was as if we 
were making up for lost time. 

I lost complete track of time. Holding his penis and 
scrotum comfortably cupped under my hand, I sucked, 
licked and kissed just about every square inch of his 
face. Finally I moved down his neck and nestled into 
the softness just above his collar bone. Now Tristan 
just wanted to be held tightly. His sexual frenzy had 
dissipated and his erection slowly deflated. He was 
content to be loved and kept warm in my embrace. In 
some ways, important ways for both of us, I had become 
the male parent that he had never known.

As that realization came to me, I carefully extricated 
my hand, lifted his underpants up, and closed his 
zipper. There would be plenty of time for dick games 
but this was not one of them. Now I was more than happy 
just to kiss him.

It was sometime later, much later, that I finally 
gathered my senses and realized how late it was. "It's 
getting late, Tag," I whispered. "maybe we better say 
goodnight."

"You could come inside with me," he grinned. "I wonder 
if Mum would mind if you stayed a while in my room."

"I wonder," I mused, highly appreciative of the 
possibilities.

"Hannah wouldn't mind." Tag grinned again. "She'd 
probably want me to brush my teeth first but I don't 
think she'd care if you slept all night in my room." 

"Oh!" I chuckled. I gave his bottom a parting squeeze 
and then a playful swat for good measure. "Well not 
tonight, Tag. I want you up and ready to go by seven 
tomorrow. Now off you go."

Tristan grinned cheekily. He was as happy as he had 
ever been, perhaps more so now that he knew his love 
for me was returned. "I love you, Pete," he 
acknowledged softly. He turned as he started to back 
away into the light that spilled from the kitchen 
window.

"I love you too, Tag," I whispered in reply.

He grinned and covered the next few meters in a few 
joyful bounds until he reached the steps at the back 
door. "Not as much as I love you," he called back as he 
disappeared inside and the screen door slammed behind 
him.

The next day:

The sea was relatively calm, only a gentle swell from 
the offshore current made BOY-O-BOY rock to and fro. I 
cut the engines back to idle to save fuel. The early 
morning breeze had faded during the last hour until it 
was barely more than a few knots. It was just enough to 
carry away the sweat on our bodies as it formed under 
the hot sun. Tristan yawned, not bored with the 
activity of fishing as much as by the dearth of fish. 
There had been all of one strike since we had motored 
out of Gosford three hours earlier. He smiled as he 
looked at me.

"Can I sun bake up here?" he asked with a playful grin 
and a sideways look that appeared to convey more than 
his request.

I returned his smile. "I thought that's what you've 
been doing for the last few hours," I replied.

I turned slightly and allowed my eyes to travel along 
the full length of his glistening, brown body. Tristan 
reclined in the seat adjacent to mine, the back tilted 
into the last position so that it became a couch. He 
was stretched out in the sun with only his neon-blue 
swimming costume to protect him from the usually hot 
sun. It was seldom this hot in Spring. His thick, 
curling blond hair sparkled and long unkempt strands 
glistened like gold threads is disarray.

"I mean SUN-BAKE, you know?" Tristan smiled shyly. 
"Like as in all- over," he added as he realized that I 
still did not grasp the meaning of his request.

"You mean all-over, like as in the nude, Tristan?" I 
asked, too quickly.

I left my heat jump. I had known Tristan Gordon for ten 
weeks now and the precocity of this uninhibited eleven-
year-old boy still surprised me. But so much had 
happened in the space of the last two weeks that it was 
hard to believe. No, it was impossible to believe.

From the very first time the subject of my friendship 
with Tristan was broached, I had been stunned. With 
disbelief, I had listened to his mother and her friend 
as they discussed his future. In the course of two 
months I had found the two women to be open-minded on 
most subjects, but as they talked I discovered that 
they were even more progressive than I realized. Our 
long conversation centered around the idea of Tristan's 
latent homosexuality and my own inclinations towards 
young boys.

It was impossible not to admire their honest and 
forthright approach to the difficult and vexing problem 
of raising a gay boy in the 1990's. Beginning that 
afternoon, it was apparent that a change had occurred 
between us. I was a business partner and CEO of the 
company they had started, but I was also the man they 
now trusted with Tristan's well-being. From that time 
on, I became less of a family friend and more of a 
potential suitor for him. It was a role that I wanted 
more than anything else.

Although little was said about the desirability of me 
having a sexual relationship with Tricia's son, there 
was an implicit recognition that it would occur in the 
near future. For one thing, they actively supported my 
relationship with Tristan. Of course they counselled me 
to proceed slowly and not take advantage of his 
innocence and inexperience. He was, after all only 
eleven years old and he needed time to discover his 
true feelings. Until then, it was entirely appropriate 
that I was his close friend and confidant. 

But while they encouraged me to 'date' him, for that 
was what I was doing when we spent time together, they 
discouraged any opportunities that might provide more 
than mere 'necking'. During the times that we were 
alone together, there was little possibility that 
Tristan would not be in control. His safety was 
assured. If anything happened with me it would only be 
because he wanted it to happen. And it would happen in 
due course, of that I was certain.

Both Hannah and Tricia knew that the seeds that had 
been planted when he was many years younger were now 
close to fruition. They had watched him grow from a 
baby to a pre-teen boy; and during his eleven years, 
they had deliberately shaped and moulded his psyche 
until his sexual orientation would be a forgone 
conclusion by the time he was physically mature. In 
time, Tristan would come to understand his own feelings 
and appreciate who and what he was. His words brought 
me back to the present.

"Of course I mean in the raw," Tristan said petulantly. 
"I said SUN-BAKE, didn't I?"

"Yes, I guess that's what you said. No one's going to 
see you out here," I added.

"Except you!" Tristan smirked. We looked at each other. 
"And you don't count," he added with a teasing smile.

"Well thanks a lot," I grumbled playfully. "I take you 
out fishing and show you a good time and the best you 
can do is insult me."

Tristan giggled boyishly. "You know what I mean," he 
returned. "I don't have to worry about you seeing me." 
He raised his eyebrows suggestively. "Not after last 
night, anyway."

"What did your mum say when you came in so late?" I 
asked teasingly.

Tristan shrugged as he started to unfasten the cord of 
his swimming costume. 

"It wasn't all that late," he said mischievously.

"Come on! I know they were still awake when you went 
inside," I added. "What did they say?"

He grinned again, still refusing to provide information 
on what was said when he went inside his house and left 
me standing, still very aroused outside the back door. 
My young friend lifted his hips up, and tugged his 
shorts down his slender legs. He was a small boy, 
slightly built with thin arms and legs, a narrow chest 
and a slender waist. He was tanned from head to toe. 
Like the rest of his body, his genitals were similarly 
small and brown from exposure to the sun. 

For the second time I saw his sex organs. Now, in the 
daylight, I was overcome by the brief glimpse before he 
twisted onto his belly and lay down. Twelve hours 
earlier he had been charged with sexual excitement. His 
boy's body was galvanized with prepubescent ardor as he 
allowed me to fondle his erect penis. He trembled as my 
hand squeezed between his belly and the waist-band of 
his shorts. Finally, overcome by the waves of delight 
that surged outward from his groin and desperate for 
more stimulation, he granted me access. I opened his 
zipper and exposed his sex organs to my devoted hand. I 
adored the boy and my zeal was apparent as I brought 
him ever closer to an elusive orgasm.

"I ought to throw you over the side, Tristan. Maybe if 
I'm lucky the sharks will nibble on your dick," I 
laughed.

Tristan giggled again. "Maybe! We could use something 
better. The bait that we've been using isn't working, 
that's for sure," he teased playfully.

"Boy-dick is the best bait available," I added 
playfully. "But it does depend on what you're trying to 
catch." I watched his amusement change to shock. "We 
might be able to use yours to catch a small shark."

"Yeah, a very small shark," Tristan grumped.

"You have a nice tan, Tristan," I admired as I changed 
the topic.

Suddenly embarrassed by my crude comment about his 
diminutive sex organs and disturbed by my constant gaze 
that focused emphatically on his groin, he rolled onto 
his belly. Even his small bottom was tanned a delicious 
golden-brown. Perhaps it was because of his father's 
Scandinavian genes, but Tristan Gordon had the kind of 
skin that tanned easily and stayed that way for a long 
time. This boy had spent a lot of time in the nude and 
I was curious to find out more.

"So what did your mum say, sardine-dick?" I teased 
persistently.

Tristan turned to look at me over his shoulder. It was 
a sour expression that first greeted me. But I had been 
around him long enough to know that he was never angry 
for very long and even then it was often pretended. 
After a moment he smiled again, becoming increasingly 
less inhibited before me as he grew accustomed to my 
humor.

"You gave me a hickey on my neck," he complained 
cheekily. He tilted his head to the side and pointed to 
the left side. "See!"

"Nice one! Are you angry because I made fun of your 
penis, Tristan?"

"Of course I'm not angry. It just bugs me a bit. I'm 
just, well,.. I don't know... Sometimes I wish that I 
had a bigger one."

I grinned. "Every boy alive wishes he had a bigger one, 
Tristan. You're not going to change the size of it by 
wishing it was bigger so you may as well enjoy what 
you've got. So tell me what happened when they saw your 
hickey last night."

"Hannah saw it and she was surprised, that's all. All 
Mum said was that she didn't have to ask me whether we 
had a good time. It was pretty obvious what my answer 
was going to be."

I laughed. "Did you tell them what happened?"

"Hardly!"

Tristan raised his eyebrows and sighed with 
exasperation. He was fast approaching the stage of 
infatuation. With love came loyalty but he was still 
too young to realize that I cared what his mother 
thought. He sighed again as his allegiance yielded.

"I told them I had a good time, okay?" He watched me 
cautiously as I nodded. "Anyway, you know as well as I 
do that they expect us to do things when we're 
together. Mum said it was okay if we do stuff. Well, 
not EVERYTHING, but you know what I mean."

I knew what Tristan did not know. Sooner or later 
either his mother or me would tell him that he was 
suffering from Klinefelter's Syndrome but by then my 
courtship would be over and we would be lovers. Until 
then, it was enough that he knew his mother accepted 
his relationship with me. He was still too young for 
EVERYTHING, anyway. EVERYTHING would happen in due 
course and at the appropriate time when he was ready. 
Meanwhile, as Tricia observed, there was still a lot we 
could do together without doing that.

"You better put some lotion on your bum," I observed. 
"Or you won't be able to sit down later on.

Tristan nodded and glanced around the bridge for the 
sun-tan lotion. "I can't see it."

"That's because I've got it here," I taunted as I held 
up the plastic bottle and shook the dark-brown fluid 
back and forth inside it. "What's it worth to you, 
babe?"

The boy grinned and reached out his hand towards me. 
"Come on, hand it over."

I shook my head with pretended resolution. I tossed the 
bottle up in the air and caught it again. "That sun 
sure is hot. I can see your bum getting redder every 
minute. Ouch! You won't be able to sit down."

"I don't really need it with my skin. I don't use 
lotion that often when we go to the beach and I almost 
never get sun burn."

Cheated of my victory, I handed the bottle over. 
Tristan smirked contentedly, flipped back the plastic 
cap, and squeezed some onto the palm of his right hand. 
I watched as he smeared it over his small buttocks. Now 
they glistened like the rest of him.

"You ought to let me do that," I suggested 
mischievously. "It must be hard to reach back there."

Tristan's head jerked as he turned to look at me. The 
expression on his face was fascinating. He was both 
surprised and disturbed that I had suggested such an 
overt intimate contact with him. Until that moment, my 
suggestions had been covert and implied intimacy rather 
than outright acknowledgement of the desire which had 
yet to surface and insistently demand his attention. 
Although he smiled shyly, his eyes sparkled with 
increased interest. It was the same interest that had 
been present twelve hours earlier.

"No... I don't... think... so," he answered with 
tempting slowness.

His hand lingered on his firm cheeks, moving in slow 
circles that providing a sybarritic pleasure as his 
fingers trailed across his lubricated flesh. Once his 
fingers dipped down into the recess of his crack. It 
was only for a second and his eyes flickered as he 
peeked at me to see if I had been watching. I wondered 
again just how much his mother had told him about sex. 
I knew that the topic had come up, but no more than 
that. I winked meaningfully and Tristan turned away 
quickly. He appeared to have a well-founded grasp of 
the importance of that part of his anatomy and it was 
clearly off-limits to me.

I tried to imagine what it would feel like to replace 
his small hands with my own hands. I would feel the 
twin globes of his bottom, full and rounded and very 
firm. I would massage him and gradually work my fingers 
into his crack, going ever deeper until my fingers 
touched his anus. Eventually I would do much more than 
merely touch that prized orifice. Both it, and his 
innocence would be mine when I finally took his 
virginity. With Tristan, I was learning to be patient.

***

He lay so still that I thought he may have dozed off. 
For a long while I motored slowly, enjoying my long 
stares at the naked eleven-year-old boy beside me. 
Without his clothes and half asleep, he seemed both 
fragile and strong. Long minutes ticked by as we 
motored across the verdant ocean. I watched seagulls 
rising and falling in the distance and I lifted the 
binoculars to my eyes. With the swell it was impossible 
to see what was in the water but it could only be one 
thing, a school of fish. I opened the throttle and the 
twin diesels came back to life. Thirty-eight feet of 
motor yacht surged forward and within a few seconds 
BOY-O-BOY was up and planning.

"It looks like it's time to get the boy-dick on the 
hook," I chuckled.

"Huh?" Tristan said sleepily as he lifted his tousled 
head up. 

"There's a school of fish about a kilometer ahead. And 
you wanted to go fishing didn't you?"

"Yeah!" Tristan exclaimed as he leaped to his feet.

Standing only a foot away, Tristan presented me with my 
first close-up view of his genitals in the light of 
day. Very unlike the previous night, his penis was 
limp. Small and slightly retracted into the soft puppy-
fat of his groin, it was still more than enough to make 
my heart beat faster. 

My silence concealed most of the surge of excitement 
and awe that passed through me, but I still trembled. 
He was a beautiful boy, smaller than most boys his age, 
and almost unblemished in his perfection. Also unlike 
the night before, his scrotum was now relaxed from the 
heat of the sun. No longer a wrinkled little lump under 
his penis, the soft skin was folded and formed a silky 
pouch. But despite its looseness the rounded shape of 
his tiny testicles could only be discerned with 
difficulty.

"You have a nice tan, babe," I repeated. "All-over is 
an understatement, I think. Even your bum is brown."

He laughed and twisted his head around further to look 
down his body. His bottom was small and rounded and 
brown like the rest of him.

"Aunt Hannah, Mum, and I go to a nudist beach. 
Sometimes Mum and I go by ourselves." Tristan admitted. 
"It's up the Hawkesbury a bit. I think that's where Mum 
went with Hannah today."

I nodded with interest as I studied the naked boy. "I 
don't know of too many beaches up there. You'll have to 
show me one day. Maybe we can SUN-BAKE together," I 
suggested wickedly.

"It's not really a beach, like at the ocean. You can 
swim there but mostly people just lie around and sun-
bake without anything on. Hannah says that people do 
that all the time in Sweden."

"Well, I love your tan, Tristan. What can I say, even 
the sardine is tanned," I laughed. 

Tristan smirked and inspected his front with a quick 
downward glance. "I don't want to use him for bait, 
okay?"

"Okay!" I replied playfully.

I eased the throttle to slow the engines back to idle. 
The boat settled down from the plane and the bow wave 
disappeared as we motored up towards the diving 
seagulls. Every few meters the water was churned by a 
sudden movement below the surface.

"What kind of fish are they?" Tristan asked.

"Barracuda I'd say. There must be a few hundred of 
them, babe. They're feeding on a school of something or 
other. Tailor, if I had to guess."

"Do you think we'll catch one?"

Quickly I pointed to the middle of the disturbed water. 
"Look there!" I shouted. The dorsal fin of a shark 
broke the surface. It moved sinuously across the water, 
running parallel to the boat. "That's a shark! It must 
be about three or four meters. A grey-nurse by the look 
if it."

"Wow! I've never seen a shark, except at Taronga," 
Tristan said effusively.

I could see his excitement. Tinged with fear, he had a 
good grasp on the railing as if the shark could leap 
three meters feet out of the water and swallow him 
whole. There was no doubt that the shark would make a 
quick snack out of my thirty-five kilo young friend if 
he fell overboard. Extra caution would be the order of 
the day if we went fishing.

"He could eat you, couldn't he?" Tristan added as if he 
read my mind. 

"The ones at the zoo are a lot smaller than he is," I 
observed. "But to answer your question, yes. He could 
take an arm or a leg off in a second. Do you want to go 
back?" I asked.

Tristan glanced at me. "I'm not scared," he said 
simply. "I want to catch something before we go back."

"Even a shark?" I challenged.

He grinned cheekily. "Not if we have to use my dick as 
bait."

"No... I don't... think... so!" I said. His earlier 
teasing was still strong in my mind as I eyed his 
groin. As Tristan giggled, I added, "Let's go catch 
some fish, sardine-dick."

I shut the engines down and stood up. BOY-O-BOY rocked 
in the ocean swell, now drifting. Tristan followed me 
down the ladder to the aft deck. He was oblivious to 
his nudity as he watched me bait a hook by deftly 
sliding the small fish through the curved barb. I 
opened the bail, lifted the rod back, and cast some 
twenty meters into the melee of fish. I passed the 
fishing rod to Tristan.

"Why aren't we going to use those?" he asked curiously. 
He used his left hand to point towards the outriggers 
set up for big fish.

I chuckled. "We don't need them. You better hold the 
rod with both hands and sit down."

I placed my hand on his bare shoulder and guided him 
into the nearest chair. For a boy with Tristan's slight 
build, barracuda were big-game. I stood behind him and 
rested both hands on his shoulders. He felt warm and 
alive. His slippery oil-slicked skin was very soft. I 
was very aware of the bones of his shoulders. His 
shoulder blades stuck out like tiny wings as he gripped 
the rod tightly. Only seconds passed before the first 
fish struck. 

In one motion the line became taut and the reel 
screamed in protest even as the tip of the rod went 
into an exaggerated arc. The fishing rod seemed to jump 
as if it was alive and Tristan's body moved forward 
with it. I grasped his shoulders as hard as I could and 
pushed the naked boy down into the chair. His thin arms 
had as much as they could do just to hold onto the rod 
as the line shrieked out of the reel.

"Jesus!" Tristan squealed. "I got the shark I think!"

If the barracuda went more than ten kilos I would have 
been surprised but Tristan's excitement was 
overpowering. His effervescent enthusiasm was equal in 
magnitude to my own when I caught my first swordfish. 
He shouted effusively as I helped him work the fish 
towards the boat. He almost had the fish beside the 
boat when the shark approached. I had been watching it 
on and off the entire time during Tristan's five-minute 
battle and now that the fish was tired, the shark was 
ready for lunch.

"Damn!" I swore loudly.

There was no way I could get the fish aboard in time. I 
contemplated cutting the line but one look at the boy's 
triumphant grin squelched that idea. At the worst he'd 
end up with the head and nothing else. It was a pity we 
hadn't used the outriggers and the high-strength 
fishing line with a wire leader. Then Tristan would see 
some real fishing. Instead, I picked up the gaff and 
moved to the side of the boat nearest the struggling 
fish. As if the barracuda sensed the approach of the 
shark, its panic increased and the water was churned 
into turbulence.

"The shark!" Tristan bellowed as he saw the shark's fin 
surging closer.

We watched the dorsal fin sweep nearer and then, only a 
meter or two from the stern, it slid under the water. I 
swung the gaff into the water in a broad sweep, aiming 
for the leaden grey nose of the shark. Its mouth was 
wide open and its teeth were like daggers. I saw the 
small, ferocious eye staring at me as the shark rolled 
onto its side. An over-used hyperbole perhaps, but it 
was the pure distillation of evil. I missed by a hand-
breadth. The shark turned away and for a second it swam 
parallel to the boat. It was so close that I could have 
leaned down and touched it.

"Jesus! Did you see it?" Tristan's cry interrupted my 
thoughts.

"I'd be hard pressed to miss seeing it." I aimed the 
gaff and snagged Tristan's still struggling barracuda 
behind the gills. "Nice fish, babe," I said with open 
admiration.

I lifted my boy's catch from the water, heaved it over 
the side, and let it flop onto the deck. A myriad 
droplets of water splashed over us as it flopped 
around. Tristan lifted his bare legs up onto the seat 
as the fish squirmed and jumped with slowly decreasing 
energy.

""Wow! Just look at him! Wow! He's huge! I can't 
believe it! Wow!" he gushed.

"Yeah!" I laughed. "Your first fish is a beauty. I 
guess you don't want to throw him back, do you?"

"No way. He's awesome. I thought the shark was going to 
eat him," Tristan gasped as the thrill faded and his 
adrenalin reduced to more normal levels for an eleven-
year-old boy.

At that instant, perched on his chair with his knees 
against his chest, Tristan was the sexiest thing 
imaginable. His little penis was pointed upwards and 
for the first time I realized that he had become erect 
sometime during his battle with the fish. His scrotum 
had shrivelled again until it formed a crinkled mound 
that was flattened to the underside of his penis. There 
was no sign of his testicles, so tightly was the flesh 
contracted.

His arousal excited me and I felt my own penis lurch 
and begin to harden rapidly. I wanted to lift him out 
of the chair and take him in my arms. I wanted to carry 
him into the cabin make love to him. It would be a 
celebration of his first fish with an initiation of my 
own. His eyes followed mine and he blushed as he 
realized the source of my fascination.

"I got a stiff one again," he mumbled.

"A real stiff one by the looks of him. He looks like a 
little spike," I teased.

"Why?" Tristan demanded all of a sudden. "My mum says 
its because..." he hesitated and added, "... because my 
body is ready for sex."

I swallowed. "Uh, well that's true most of the time, 
babe. Boys can get erections for other reasons too."

"Like what?" Tristan asked "He only gets stiff when I 
play with him." He giggled. "Or when you play with 
him."

"Sometimes it happens because you're excited," I 
answered. I guess your body feels good because you're 
naked and you're happy about catching a fish. And even 
it wasn't for those reasons, having an erection at odd 
times is pretty normal at your age. Besides it's good 
for you to feel sexy," I added.

Tristan blushed immediately. I chuckled at his 
discomfiture. It was interesting to see him 
embarrassed. He very unlike the aggressive boy who had 
proudly displayed his erection to me only twelve hours 
earlier. But then, he had been sexually aroused for the 
first time in his life by another person. He was 
aroused now and by implication, he had assumed it to be 
sexual in origin.

"So having an erection doesn't always mean that you 
want to have sex," I continued patiently. "At least now 
I can't call you sardine-dick for a while, can I? Spike 
maybe but not sardine."

"No, I guess not! Can I ask you a question?" Tristan 
asked uncertainly.

"Of course," I nodded, suspecting the nature of his 
question had to do with what was projecting upward from 
between his legs.

"Doesn't it... well like... you know... bother you?"

"What, that you get an erection from being stark-naked 
when you catch your first fish? Of course not, babe! I 
think it's nice that your penis got stiff. It was 
certainly nice last night and it's definitely nothing 
for you to be embarrassed about," I added reassuringly.

Tristan grinned as he remembered. "Yeah, it was fun 
last night, wasn't it?"

"And you know we're friends, so we can always talk 
about things like this. If your penis gets stiff while 
we're together, I really don't mind. In fact, I rather 
like it when its sticking out. If it's hard because you 
want to have some fun with me then so much the better. 
I certainly enjoyed meeting Tag Junior last night."

"What do we do with him now?" he asked as he blushed. 
He glanced down at his groin momentarily and then 
thinking the better of it, then slowly pointed at the 
now inert fish.

"Unless you want to use it to catch the shark, I 
suggest we put it in here," I replied as I lifted up 
the hatch that covered the port tank. "It'll also save 
on using your dick for bait ."

We caught, or rather Tristan caught three more 
barracuda before I called a halt to the carnage. The 
shark disappeared, also having eaten his fill. I rinsed 
off the deck, put the rod away, picked up two cans of 
soft drink, and led the way back up to the bridge.

Still on an excitement high, Tristan bubbled as he 
reviewed his fishing exploit. He stopped just short of 
wild exaggeration. The shark grew from three or four 
meters, to five meters, to six or seven meters, until 
it approached the length of the boat-twelve meters. He 
slumped back into his seat. His legs fell on either 
side, opening wide to display his boy-genitals to the 
invigorating warmth of the sun. Tristan smiled 
gleefully, now less inhibited than I had ever seen him. 
He was totally ignorant of his immodest pose and the 
effect that it was having on me. I gazed at him in 
silence as I absorbed the slender naked body and fixed 
him in my memory forever. Infatuation for both of us 
was the order of the day.

"That was fun!" he exclaimed. He interrupted my silent 
reverie and I looked away from him. It was more fun 
than I had ever had before, and not only the fishing. 
"Could we do it again sometime?" he asked sweetly.

I nodded as I started the engines again. "You better 
put some lotion on now," I teased. "Otherwise you're 
going to cook the sardine down there."

"Oh, he's okay. I thought you liked me tanned all-
over?"

"I do. The sun is much stronger out on the water, 
that's all," I explained.

"Why were you staring at me just then?" Tristan asked 
uncertainly.

"Because I think you're the most beautiful person I've 
ever seen," I answered. 

It was an honest answer.

"Oh! I thought... maybe you wanted to..." he suggested 
uneasily before he stopped himself in mid-sentence.

"That I wanted to what?" I prompted casually. My heart 
leaped. It would be the perfect ending to an already 
wonderful day and after what had happened the night 
before, it seemed like a natural continuation.

"I dunno." He smiled shyly, ever the embarrassed boy. I 
could sense his increased excitement as he continued 
towards his unknown goal. "Maybe... well... like you 
wanted to put lotion on me down there, that's all."

Tristan's head lowered all of a sudden as he avoided my 
eyes. As before, when I had suggested that I apply the 
suntan oil to his bottom, he was surprised and 
disturbed. This time, however, the suggestion had been 
his own. That he had suggested physical contact with 
him made my adrenalin surge as much as his own. 
Suddenly I was aware of my promise to his mother to go 
slow with him. He was, after all, only eleven years 
old.

"No... I don't... think... so," I said gently. "We 
better get back."

"Are you angry at me?" Tristan asked. He was nervous as 
he spoke.

"No! of course I'm not. We're friends remember, 
Tristan? I thought that maybe we could go up the 
Hawkesbury and look for your mum and Hannah."

Tristan giggled boyishly. "You mean we're going to sun-
bake? You and me, in the buff, together?" he asked 
enthusiastically.

I did not answer his question. Instead, I engaged the 
engines and began the trip back to Gosford. Other than 
two weeks in Thailand, I had never been naked in public 
but the idea of being naked with Tristan for the rest 
of the afternoon was extremely enticing. I wondered 
what his mother would say. I suspected that she would 
not be overly perturbed. In fact, I suspected that she 
had something of the sort in mind when I talked with 
her during the previous afternoon.

Several Weeks Later:

"Peter?"

I looked up quickly and smiled as Tristan's mother 
stopped in the doorway to my office. During the last 
few weeks I had become increasingly fond of her, a 
condition that stemmed as much from my growing 
affection for her son as a direct result of an 
appreciation for her skills as a fashion designer. 
Under her aesthetic guidance I was beginning to believe 
that there might actually be a hope for the company to 
survive beyond Christmas.

"Hi! How's it going?"

"Good! I've started doing some mock-ups for the new 
beach line."

I nodded agreeably. As always, Tristan kept me well 
informed, even to the details of modelling his mother's 
trial creations whenever I was available. The latest, a 
line of kid's fashions for the summer of the following 
year, I had seen only three nights earlier as he 
paraded half-naked around his bedroom. A few minutes 
later we were wrestling and I nearly tore the swim 
shorts off him as I undressed the wriggling youngster. 
My excuse was that I was getting him 'ready for bed', 
although at the time my intentions were considerably 
more like trying to get into bed with him.

"So Tag was telling me," I grinned. "Did he tell you 
that there's still too much cloth for me."

She raised one eyebrow questioningly. "Until he's stark 
naked, I'm beginning to think there's always going to 
be too much cloth for you."

"You're right about that. Actually Tricia, I really 
like what you did with the trunks. It really suited 
him."

"I cut them pretty tight on his bum, didn't I?"

"Uh huh! But he has the body for it. I like it when he 
shows what nature gave him. And not only the back end 
for that matter."

She smiled and sat down in my spare chair. "It wasn't 
how I first designed them, you realize, Peter. I was 
going for the sloppy look that all the kids seem to 
want nowadays. It was Tag's idea. Do you know what he 
said to me?" I shook my head. "The little bugger said 
you wouldn't think he was very sexy if he wore them to 
the beach. The way he put was, let me think, 'Peter 
says I have a sexy bum and these make me look like I 
don't have a bum at all!"

"Boys will be boys!" I joked. "But he does have a sexy 
bum."

"I'm sure he does! Every boy likes a compliment, 
especially boys like Tag, I expect. Anyway, I gave him 
a slap on his bottom and it started me thinking. So I 
took a handful out of the rear."

"And?" I prompted.

"I was... well I was shocked. You're not wrong. He is 
sexy, and especially his little bottom. Anyway, I 
started thinking about what you said last week about 
developing a market niche for us and..."

"And you agree with me about putting together a new 
line of clothes that emphasize the essentials," I 
finished boldly.

"Well, I don't think that's necessarily true... but it 
makes for an interesting possibility, doesn't it? If 
you look at the latest things coming out of Paris, then 
it might be worth making our lines a bit more avant-
garde."

"Meaning what Tricia? We add a few more colors, take 
out a centimeter in the crotch, put another crease in 
the leg? I'm not talking about following Paris. I want 
to break some rules and set the fashion Down Under. I 
want us to do an entire wardrobe for boys in their 
preteen and early teen years and I want the clothes to 
shriek BOY-SEX!"

"Somehow I doubt whether their parents will buy them," 
Tricia returned. "A little hint of what's underneath 
might work, but not an outright display."

I chuckled and locked my fingers together as I studied 
her across my desk. I wondered where I was headed. 
Without market analysis there was no way of telling 
whether markets existed or not, but it was an 
intriguing possibility. I would buy them if no else 
did.

"How about a line of clothes just for boys who want to 
look sexy. Something like the trunks Tristan had, only 
more daring. I don't mean more skin necessarily, but a 
bit more wouldn't hurt. I guess I'm thinking about 
conveying more of the interesting shapes underneath."

"We could modify one of the existing summer lines. 
Tighten the seat a bit, I suppose," Tricia volunteered 
uncertainly.

"No, that's not what I'm after. This would be a special 
line. There would have to be two sizes, say tens and 
twelves."

"We could market them for active boys, so we only have 
to do a slim and regular fit," Tricia suggested. "Fat 
boys are not all that sexy so we could skip the large 
sizes."

"Maybe we have just one color range, something that we 
could make up on a single production run when we get 
past the Spring lines. I'm thinking about some trunks, 
shorts, and a casual shirt. And maybe some slacks, and 
a dress shirt. Say six items max with a lot of nice 
clingy silk for the dress clothes and spandex for the 
rest."

Tricia smiled. "I'm sure Tag would like the idea even 
though he hates spandex. 

Maybe we ought to include some underpants as well."

"Not underpants, micro briefs! But they'd have to be 
very sexy! Throw in nylon so they can double for a 
swimming costume and we'll be set."

"So where do we sell them, Peter?"

"They'd have to be exclusive, very exclusive, and 
naturally very expensive. How about a special display 
in our stores? We need a name too, something like 'Boys 
Will Be Boys' or 'Only Boys'. No, I have it! How about 
'ALL BOY'?"

"You sound a lot more like me every day, Tricia," I 
laughed. "You're on the right track! Something to 
capture the fleeting moments before puberty sets in and 
destroys perfection."

"Be serious with me Peter for a moment. Just who do you 
think is going to buy them? I don't think there are all 
that many pedophiles around."

I continued to laugh. "Well, for one, I certainly 
would! But jokes aside, I suspect that a lot of parents 
would be interested in dressing their little Johnnys or 
Jasons to attract girls."

Tricia nodded thoughtfully. "It might work, you know. 
After all the fuss about Calvin Klein in the States, it 
makes you think, doesn't it?"

"They hit trouble with their adds. We don't have to put 
out kiddie porn to sell them. The name alone might be 
all we need. In fact, I really like 'ALL BOY', although 
Tristan doesn't exactly fit the name."

"He's still a boy," Tricia said flatly.

"I've noticed," I grinned. "You know something? The 
color should be blue, not just any blue but that shade 
you were showing me last week."

Tricia smiled. "Indigo? The one that's almost the same 
color as your car?" I nodded. "That's Tag's favorite 
color. I can't imagine why."

"Neither can I, Tricia." I grinned. "And that gives me 
an idea. I have the perfect name. We could call the 
range... wait for it... 'PUBERTY BLUES'!"

"You're joking!"

"No I'm not. It says it all, Tricia. Blue for boys. And 
puberty... well, a boy of ten or twelve is a fleeting 
memory for his parents. And along with puberty 
comes..."

"SEX! Okay, I get the idea. You haven't convinced me, 
and don't get your hopes up, but I'm starting to like 
the idea."

"Why don't you design the line around Tag?"

"I'm not sure he needs any encouragement. From the way 
he's carrying on, I'd say he has a very bad case of 
puppy love right now. The last thing he needs is to be 
wearing sexy clothes around you. I'd like to keep him a 
virgin for a while longer."

"He's a very sexy boy," I admitted. "He won't be a 
virgin forever."

"And you love him so much that it would be sooner 
rather than later," Tricia teased.

I signed in exasperation and smiled at her. While 
Tristan's mother knew exactly how I felt about her son, 
I was uncertain whether he did. At times we were very 
close, much closer than mere friends would be, but at 
other times, our relationship bordered on ambivalence. 
I sensed that we had reached the crossroads. The 
thought greatly depressed me.

"Why don't we sleep on it?" Tricia suggested.

I nodded. "That's probably a good idea. But it's about 
time we did something to make a change in what we do 
around here," I said ambiguously.

Tricia examined me carefully as if searching for some 
sign of what I was thinking. "That's probably true. 
Don't you think it's about time you slept with Tag?"

"Huh? W-w-what?" I stuttered in shock.

"Don't pretend you didn't hear me, Peter. You and Tag 
have been friends for six months now. You were friends 
at first but now it's a lot more than puppy love for 
him. Now he loves you. There's no point in trying to 
hide it. I've even come to understand it."

"Understand what?" I asked quickly.

"In your own way you love him as much as I do. Maybe 
it's time you became lovers in the full sense of the 
word."

"Tricia, I... I want to be Tag's lover more than 
anything else."

"Peter, you also know about his problem. Sooner or 
later Tag's going to have to find out why he's 
different to other boys. I'm sure he already suspects 
that something is wrong with him. I know you can help 
him through what lies ahead, especially if... well if 
you're his lover... then he'll accept that he can still 
be happy."

"I know I can make him happy," I said agreeably.

"He'll be happy just being with you, I'm sure of that. 
Alex wants to arrange for Tag to go to a specialist, an 
endocrinologist, in a few months."

"Why?"

"Because he'll need hormone injections in order to go 
through puberty. I think Tag should know that he has 
Klinefelter's by then. He has to know what it means for 
him... for the two of you. I want him to know that he 
can still have a very happy life."

"Do you want me to talk to him?" I offered.

"Someone has to! He won't start the injections for a 
few years yet so there's no rush. However, it's 
important that some of the tests get started."

I nodded. "I think he has to know the truth, Tricia."

"Alex thinks you should be the one to tell him because 
Tag thinks so much of you. He also trusts you... 
because he really does love you, Peter. He's more 
likely to understand that it really isn't a big problem 
if you tell him."

"I'll try," I said uncertainly.

I wondered about my own ability to convince Tristan 
that having an extra chromosome was not a problem. How 
did one tell an eleven-year-old boy that he was nearly 
as much girl as he was boy?

"Before you tell him, Peter... I want you to be 
lovers... I want you to have sex with him. I want him 
to know it doesn't matter to you."

"You do?"

"Tag already knows that he's gay because we've talked 
about it several times, but if he knows that he can 
have a good life with you..."

"Then...?" I murmured.

Tricia smiled and nodded. "We've talked and we think 
it's the best thing that could happen to him."

"We?" I prompted.

She smiled. "Hannah and I have talked about it with 
Chris and Alex, of course. Hannah, Chris, and Alex were 
in favor of the idea, needless to say. I'm not sure 
that I was for or against it. I don't to lose Tag, 
Peter. But if I do, I guess I'd prefer it was you who 
he went to."

I smiled and swallowed self-consciously. "I'll share 
him with you," I said lightheartedly. "I don't plan on 
taking him away from you, Tricia. I only want to love 
him and have him love me back."

She returned my smile. "That's all that I want too, 
Peter." 


++++ Thailand ++++ 


"You guys are loud enough to wake the next village," I 
said with mock anger.

On the plus side, the motion on the other side of the 
bed was a reassuring sign that our own lovemaking was 
appropriate, but it also kept us awake.

"I already told you that Udon and I have sex at every 
opportunity." Chris laughed. "Sorry about keeping you 
awake. Just go back to sleep. We're almost finished!"

"Yeah right!" I hissed. "The bed is bouncing like a 
trampoline and you're rutting like the world is about 
to end. For God's sake, it's past midnight."

Although his English was barely enough to understand, 
the action beside him, it was enough to elicit muffled 
giggles from Phan as he heard, felt, and smelt his 
older brother submitting to his lover with surprising 
ardor. It aroused him and he rolled into my arms, more 
than prepared to set up a similar rhythm on our side of 
the bed.

"And just what do you want?" I teased.

Again he giggled, reached down and wrapped his little 
fist around my penis and squeezed meaningfully. "I want 
you stuff me with him!" he demanded in a voice that was 
loud enough to be heard across the room.

His use of an expression I had not heard since I had 
arrived in Thailand surprised me. I wondered whether he 
had picked up the colloquialism from his brother. He 
certainly had enough experience at being 'stuffed' by 
Chris.

"Boys will be boys," Chris laughed. "I told you he was 
going to be as horny as Udon."

I grinned in the darkness and kissed Phan, thinking 
that I could never be happier than I was at that 
moment. Even squeezing his hand tightly, he was unable 
to make his fingertips touch his thumb and yet my penis 
could pass through his opening with comparatively 
little difficulty now. His anus was resilient, 
stretching wide to accommodate my girth, closing up 
only a few minutes after I had withdrawn from the mushy 
heat inside his rectum. 

My hand glided over his flank and followed the ridge of 
his spine to the beginning of his bottom. Phan purred 
as my hand followed the firm roundness of his upper 
cheek, pulling my fingers along his well-greased crack 
until I touched his anus. His hips pushed back against 
my hand and I started two fingers into his slick 
passage. 

I could hear Udon groaning as Chris pumped into him and 
I longed to share the same pleasure with Phan. I 
dispensed with the preliminaries and advanced to the 
next stage by rolling Phan onto his back. He needed no 
encouragement. He was a remarkably limber boy, able to 
lift his knees up by grabbing both ankles until they 
touched the bed on either side of him. Thus positioned, 
Phan's crack was wide open and presented to me, 
although I could barely make out the shape of his body 
in the darkness. 

My fingers brushed against Phan's fingers as I 
positioned the tip of my penis at his orifice. He was 
masturbating with one hand and used the other to center 
my glans. I pushed forward firmly and felt Phan push 
back at me. I heard a sharp intake of breath as my 
penis pierced him. For several seconds his anus gripped 
my glans with surprising strength and then he relaxed. 
My penis eased into him, sinking another inch into his 
tight passage before I paused. Phan moaned, reaching up 
to place his arms around my neck to pull me down.

We kissed, allowing nature time to do what needed to be 
done. I felt his muscular spasms, his sphincter's 
valiant struggle failing before my persistent 
onslaught. The pressure faded and was replaced by a 
fabulous moist heat as my penis penetrated deeper and 
deeper. The bed creaked loudly, ancient springs 
protesting as Udon and Chris reached a crescendo, 
oblivious to us as they neared orgasm. Excited by their 
frenzy, I started to thrust into Phan, taking gentle 
stabs into his willing body before easing away again. 
He loosened quickly.

I hear Udon's nearly incoherent babbling, urging his 
lover on to greater pace. Chris was gasping, his body 
glistening in a sheen of sweat as he jerked and 
shuddered. No longer able to control their passion, 
they were like two wild animals focused on a single 
purpose, that of ejaculating simultaneously before 
their bodies were exhausted. 

I became inspired, using the full length of my penis 
for the first time to give Phan pleasure in ways that 
he had not experienced. The effect was nothing short of 
a miracle. Underneath me, I could sense Phan's joy 
building like a volcano ready to erupt. He became 
hotter, writhing as perspiration flowed from him and 
moistened his body until he was drenched. His anus 
dilated, accepting my penis without difficulty, basking 
in the mutual sensations of movement. 

Suddenly I became aware that Chris and Udon were still 
and I glanced to the side. In the dim light I could see 
that they were watching, smiling, moving pelvises in 
slow motion, extracting every feeling from the orgasm 
that shared.

A minute later I came in Phan's bowels for the fifth, 
or was it the sixth time? It was every bit as wonderful 
as the first time and I thought I could never be 
happier. He lay quietly under me, too drained to move, 
too content to want more than to share our sweat-
covered bodies and the slimy stickiness between my 
groin and Phan's buttocks.

**

"There's nothing like a good fuck to get you to sleep," 
Chris announced loudly. "You slept like a log, Pete. 
Boys have that effect on me too. I don't know whether 
it's the sex or the body heat."

I raised myself up on an elbow. He lay on the other 
side of the bed, his body partially covered by a sheet.

"Good morning mate," I said sleepily. I glanced around 
the hut. "Where's Phan... and Udon? After last night 
I'm surprised you aren't screwing him again?"

"I got him already," Chris laughed. "Like I said, you 
slept like a log. The lads said they needed to pee. I 
expect they really wanted to wash the cum out of their 
bums. The bed was wet under Phan's bum. I can't imagine 
why," he guffawed.

"Oh! I guess there isn't a toilet, huh?" I asked 
absently. Chris shook his head. "That's a real shit," I 
added. "Maybe I should have gone to Phuket instead."

"If you had a choice between an en-suite bathroom and 
what you did last night to young Phan's bum, what would 
you take?" Chris asked crudely.

"Last night?" I returned innocently. "Oh that? Hmmmm, 
let me think about it for a few minutes. 

"Christ!" Chris laughed. "You fell asleep with your 
tool stuck all the way up a boy's arse and you want to 
think about it."

"I did?"

"It was still in him this morning. Udon thought it was 
pretty cool!" He pushed the sheet away and came to 
feet. "Well, time to go see the jungle," he added as he 
pulled on a pair of shorts.

For a moment his meaning escaped me. I followed him out 
of the hut. We were barely halfway out of the compound 
when Phan and Udon came back. Like us they were dressed 
only in shorts, not like ours with legs that nearly 
reached the knees but soccer-style with loose short 
legs that exposed most of the upper thigh. Each boy was 
grinning broadly but as they approached Phan's 
expression became shy. He stood several feet away as 
Udon came up to Chris, wrapped both arms around him, 
and gave him a very affectionate hug. 

After a moment, the hug became more passionate as Udon 
rubbed his belly against Chris' crotch, and his own 
groin against Chris' leg. It was overtly sexual and 
clearly intended to arouse. Chris leaned down and 
kissed the top of Udon's head, cupping the boy's behind 
with his hands to lift him higher so that they could 
kiss properly.

I grinned at my own bashful boy, still uncertain about 
his new role as my lover. Around us, the village was 
awake and yet no one paid us the slightest notice. It 
was as if a man hugging and kissing a nearly naked boy 
was a common sight. 

Finally they parted and Udon smirked at Phan. The 
younger boy shrugged and his eyes flickered as he 
looked at me. He would need a few more days to get used 
to his new position in the village and I knew exactly 
how to help him. I reached for his hand and held it 
tightly in mine.

"I'll see you in a half-hour or so, Chris," I muttered 
self-consciously. "Phan is going to show me where the 
toilet is."

"I assume that means that you're going to piss in his 
bum," Chris laughed.

"Who said anything about pissing?" I asked. 

"I guess this means you'll be coming back here with me 
next year, huh?" Chris asked. I nodded and placed my 
arm around Phan's shoulders possessively. "Good! I need 
the company. You'll have to start a savings account for 
him, you know Peter. I think I already told you what 
the deal is. Even a hundred dollars a month helps a 
lot, and he's worth every penny of it."

I nodded agreeably and followed Phan. With little 
difficulty he understood that I wanted to return to the 
same place where I had first met him the day before. 
Although the morning was still early, the sun was very 
hot. It was a long walk down the path I was glad when 
we were far enough into the jungle to take off our 
shorts. 

Phan scampered along beside me, shamelessly naked and 
oblivious to the leaves and branches that flicked 
against his bare skin while I cautiously picked my way 
through the tangled foliage, very content to watch his 
little bottom wriggling in anticipation until we 
reached the waterfall. Every step of the way I 
fantasized about what I would do with him, secure in 
the knowledge that my fanstasies had a 100 percent 
chance of being realized.

**

When we returned to the village two hours later my 
entrepreneurial spirit was in overdrive although my sex 
organ had been thoroughly deflated for more than 
fifteen minutes after two incredible orgasms. Sex with 
Phan was becoming a habit. I was beginning to realize 
that I could not live without a boy in my life and from 
my limited experience and biased perspective Phan was 
the ideal companion. My idea was an interesting one and 
it dawned on my while we lay locked in each other's 
arms beside the splashing waterfall. Like Phan, it was 
a constant source of energy.

As it turned out, it would have been far cheaper to 
send Phan's family a hundred dollars a month. The pipes 
and electric cables alone cost much more than three 
thousand dollars, but it had to be a very cheap price 
for the pleasures I experienced at night with Phan, and 
frequently during the daytime as well. During the day 
we sweated as much as when we were in bed next to Chris 
and Udon. My idea caught on with his family slowly but 
they helped as soon as they realized the benefits of 
hydro-electric power. 

From the top of the waterfall I diverted a steady flow 
of water through a 20 centimeter pipe. Below, on a base 
of crudely cemented stones, was the generator. The 
water wheel was made from the saw blade, with fins made 
from scraps of steel welded to the circumference. The 
power supply varied erratically from 130 volts to 200 
volts depending on the water flow and the distance from 
the generator. It was enough to run twenty lights and 
three refrigerators, and provide a hazardous power 
supply for radios and televisions if anyone was brave 
enough to plug into the circuit.


CHAPTER 4


For the tenth time in ten minutes Tristan sighed. He 
was bored and he stared out the rain-spotted window as 
the guard posts flashed by. I had never seen him remain 
quite this moody before and it bothered me, but then, 
it was his first time away from home and the company of 
the two women who had ruled his life until I came 
along. The wipers swiped back and forth making a 
swishing sound that was slightly louder than the quiet 
purr of the engine. There was a long incline as the 
road climbed into the hills north of Port Macquarie and 
I pushed the accelerator down. 

The cat's purr began to increase as the car rocketed 
forward. Pussy-cat quickly became ferocious Jaguar as 
the red needle lifted with past 100 kilometers per 
hour. I did not ease off until we were past 180 (about 
110 mph for you Yanks) and the guard posts were zipping 
past in a fuzzy blur. At the top of the slope the road 
turned sharply to the left and began a series of 
sweeping bends as it approached the top of the hill.

I backed off and braked as the sign indicated that I 
was going about twice the desirable speed in dry 
conditions. The car slewed a meter or two to the left 
as it skidded in a stream of water that cascaded over a 
rock face and raced across the road. A quick 
correction, a little more on the brakes, and a sharp 
dab at gas and I recovered from what was rapidly 
turning into a spin. I backed off further, my heart 
pounding with its second thrill of the day. It paled in 
comparison to the joy when Tristan slid into the car 
and we left for our week-long holiday together. But was 
it holiday or honeymoon? Only time would answer that 
question.

Tristan sat quietly and as I peeked surreptitiously 
downwards at the slender form beside me, I was awed. 
During the last few seconds his legs had moved apart 
slightly and although he was not fully erect, there was 
definitely a small bulge over his sex organs. More 
accurately, what I observed was a fold in his shorts, 
where the cloth had tightened into his crotch. As I 
drove, I constantly peeked at the delicious sight, not 
caring that Tristan noticed my interest. As the minutes 
passed it appeared to get no larger and I finally 
decided that the bulge was nothing more than a fold in 
the material.

I easily imagined the small treasure concealed under 
his shorts. Tristan-junior and I had become 
considerably more than good friends during the three 
months that followed my first tentative exploration. 
Like Tristan, I would never forget that warm spring 
night as we stood under tree outside his house. Like 
the rest of his beautiful body, I knew that his sex 
organs, although very small, were perfect. His manhood, 
what there was of it, was ideally suited to his 
precious young body but then, I have never appreciated 
big cocks, especially on small boys. And if I ever 
harbored any doubts about the advantages of boys with 
big cocks, they had been effectively dispelled during 
my two weeks with Phan.

"What did your mum say to you?" I persisted after 
several minutes.

We had the same conversation five hours earlier when we 
left Gosford and headed north. He had been in a funk 
since we left.

"Nothing!"

"That isn't an answer," I prompted. "You don't have to 
tell me if you don't want to, Tag."

"I know!"

His Adam's Apple bobbed as he swallowed dryly. His 
tongue licked absently at his bottom lip and then he 
chewed on it thoughtfully. "I can't tell you, okay! I 
don't want you to get mad at me."

"Okay, Tristan. I know something is bothering you. 
Maybe I can help, that's all. Besides, when have I ever 
gotten mad at you?"

"You haven't! But this is... well it's different okay?"

"I understand. Sometimes it helps to share your 
problems with someone else."

"You sound like my mum again," Tristan snapped 
petulantly. "I can't tell you what she said, Peter."

"There's no need to get upset, Tristan. Like I said, I 
understand. I just want to help if I can. Maybe I 
can't."

"You got that straight at last." Tristan smiled weakly. 
"It's private, okay?"

"Okay Tag, I'm sorry," I answered calmly. It was time 
to change direction. "So are you excited about spending 
the next week away with me?"

"What do you think?" Tristan grinned. "I've been so 
happy. It's all I thought about all week."

I laughed and shook my head. "You did? And I thought it 
was just me. I wasn't sure you even wanted to come," I 
teased.

"No way! Don't be a dope, Peter. I wanted to come more 
than anything. You don't have to do this, you know?"

"Do what?" I asked innocently.

"You know!"

"Huh? What ARE you talking about, Tristan?"

Tristan gave me a shy smile that bordered on a blush. 
His eyebrows lifted slightly as he glanced up at me and 
then quickly looked away again. I took the opening that 
he had provided. It was about time that I showed some 
initiative.

I spoke quietly. "I'm excited about spending a whole 
week alone with you. I guess I'm really a dirty old man 
at heart."

Tristan smirked as he glanced at me for a second. His 
eyes crinkled. "Tell me something that I don't know, 
Peter. Anyway, you aren't so old. I happen to know you 
can still get it up."

My first reaction was that I heard him incorrectly but 
as I glanced sideways, he grinned cheekily. He was 
fully aware of the effect of his obscene comment 
although it was quite out of character for him. 
Accordingly, my second reaction was disbelief and my 
mouth dropped open with surprise. It finally changed to 
sexual arousal and I felt my penis lurch and start to 
become taut in my jeans.

"Uh, well... sometimes... I guess," I said awkwardly.

Tristan smirked crudely and his eyes dropped down with 
deliberate interest. He intended to harass me.

"Like right NOW, huh?" he asked in a husky voice that 
was so much deeper than his usual boy-soprano that it 
contradicted his age.

"Uh, yeah... I guess."

He turned away and gazed out the window for almost two 
kilometers. It was a full minute later before he spoke 
again. This time his tone was quiet and uncertain. His 
voice quavered as he spoke.

"When my mum told me about sex, she told me what guys 
did together." He glanced at me expectantly and I 
nodded seriously.

"When two people love each other they show their love 
by having sex," I said gently. "It doesn't matter if 
they're guys, or even a man and a boy, like us. Just so 
long as they love each other."

Tristan's shoulders hunched and his hands clasped 
thoughtfully. "Mum said it was okay if we... If I 
wanted to... If we love each other then it isn't wrong 
to do it. That's what she was saying to me when you 
pulled up in the driveway."

"Uh, yeah.... I kind of thought it was something like 
that," I answered as I spoke my thoughts aloud. "I love 
you. I love you very much, Tag." I watched him 
cautiously, understanding that this was the moment that 
I had been waiting for nearly six months. It was about 
time that we took the final step to becoming lovers. 
But he was still an eleven-year-old boy and that, 
compounded with my other knowledge, produced an 
insurmountable problem for me. No matter what, I would 
not seduce the first boy I loved.

"Do you love me a lot?" His voice was stressed and he 
quivered uncertainly, as if he was very afraid of my 
answer.

I nodded. "I love you very much."

I wondered where Tristan was leading to with his 
question. "Mum said you've had sex with other boys," 
Tristan said flatly.

"There was only one boy. His name was Phan. He was 
about twelve or so," I said.

"Did you like doing it with him?" Tristan asked with 
casual but disturbing interest.

"It was okay, I guess," I volunteered. "I didn't love 
him, at least not the way that I love you, Tag. A long 
time ago I decided that you were going to be very 
different to me. Does it bother you?"

"Because you did it with him? No, it doesn't bother me 
but only because you love me."

"I met him in Thailand a long while ago." Eight months 
seemed like an eternity. "I was there with your Uncle 
Chris," I added absently.

Tristan smiled. He was unperturbed, but he was curious-
-his uncle's prediction for Asian boys was common 
knowledge.

"My uncle does that stuff with boys too, you know?" 
Tristan offered gratuitously. "Mum said he used to do 
it with Alex, when he wasn't much older than I am now."

"Some boys start earlier than others. There's no rush 
for a kid to lose his virginity," I answered slyly. 
"There's plenty of time for that."

"Yeah, I guess! Hannah said Alex did it with Uncle 
Chris just after he turned twelve! So that means he 
wasn't much older than I am. I'm old enough!"

That sounded a lot like something Hannah would say. I 
took a deep breath and tried to control my thoughts 
from coming to the inescapable conclusion that 
Tristan's statement implied. There had to be an 
alternative reason, but for the life of me I could not 
fathom it. Part of me believed that Tristan was still 
too young to know that such things could happen. But it 
was as if he understood my consternation.

"You're like Uncle Chris, aren't you, Peter? You want 
to have sex with me, don't you?"

"Uh... I... I don't know.... Maybe!" I said with such 
hesitation that I could not believe my nervousness.

"I know you do," he added confidently.

"You come you're so sure of yourself all of a sudden?"

"Mum said it was OKAY! Mum said she was sure you'd want 
to have sex with me. If I know what I want to do, and 
you do too, then she said we should just go ahead and 
do IT!"

I laughed. "What happened to Tristan-the-innocent?" I 
teased.

He smirked. "Go figure, Peter. I don't plan to be a 
virgin forever. Isn't that why I'm here with you? I'm 
going to have sex sooner or later and Hannah reckons it 
might as well be sooner as later."

"Uh, I suppose so." I grinned at the boy I loved more 
than anyone else in the world. "I love you, Tag. I want 
to be the man who teaches you about sex, how to love 
someone, but more than anything, I want you to love me 
back."

"Okay! I love you, Peter. I thought you realized that. 
Even my mum knows I love you. We talk about it a lot. 
And Hannah's always teasing me about it. Uncle Chris 
and Alex know as well so just about everyone knows we 
love each other."

"Oh! And what does your mum think about you being in 
love with me?" I asked gently.

"It's okay by her because she really likes you a lot." 
Tristan giggled boyishly. "You want me to get naked?"

"Here? Now? Uh... I don't know," I replied.

I was extremely worried as I wondered whether Tristan 
really understood what the love between a man and a boy 
entailed. That would come, I thought to myself. I 
voiced my thoughts aloud.

"Do you know what it means to make love... for a boy to 
be with a man?"

"Huh?"

"Do you know what it means to make love?" I repeated.

"What are you talking about?" Tristan demanded. And 
then he grinned. "Oh! That! I reckon I do. Mum and I 
talked for a long while about it. I know what happens 
when two guys do it, okay? Mum said if you wanted me 
real bad, then you'd probably want to do IT to me and I 
could decide for myself when the time came."

"What... er... what did she say about IT?" I asked 
awkwardly.

"I know what guys do. I know where your thing goes, if 
that's what you mean, 

Peter"

I swallowed. "Huh?" I repeated dazedly. "What goes 
where?"

"Your thing goes in my bum!" Tristan answered proudly. 

"What goes in your bum?"

"You know!... She said you'd want to put your dick 
inside my bum, at least I s'pose that's what she was 
talking about. She said you'd want to do that because 
you loved me. It's how guys make love to each other, 
she said."

"You want me to do that to you?" I asked in disbelief.

"I guess so. Only..."

"Only what, Tag?" I continued unabated.

I was increasingly excited, both by the boy's sexual 
overture and the understanding that came to me in a 
flash of inspiration. We were going to do IT! And, IT 
would be sometime soon, IT would be sometime very soon!

"Mum said it would probably hurt me a fair bit even if 
you were careful and tried not to hurt me, Peter."

I smiled with as much reassurance as I could manage. I 
had no intention of lying to him. "She's right. I would 
try to be gentle but it still hurts until you get used 
to it. You want to do it too, don't you Tristan?" I 
asked gently.

Tristan's head nodded slightly. "Last week, Mum 
suggested that I talk to Alex about it. I went over to 
his place for dinner and we talked for a long while."

"What did Alex say?" I prompted.

"He said it hurts pretty bad, but he expected I'd be 
okay if you were really careful. It doesn't hurt that 
much after the first few times. He said I would get 
used to having your penis inside me and then it would 
stop hurting, except when you first start, of course. 
It hurts pretty bad going in, but that's all."

"Alex is right," I acknowledged as I remembered my 
experiences with Phan. The pain of my entry faded 
quickly once he was used to having my penis inside him. 
With a young boy, 'IT' didn't hurt as much as some 
people believed.

"My mum says I'm gay," Tristan volunteered seriously.

"I think you are too... but that doesn't mean you are 
gay. Only time will tell. What do you think, Tag?" I 
asked.

It was a strange question to be asking an eleven-year-
old boy and he shrugged as he considered it. "I don't 
know, Peter. I've never really thought about. But if it 
means that I'm gay because I love you and I want us to 
have sex, then I guess I am."

I needed time to think, to plan, to accept the offering 
that had suddenly been placed before me. But there was 
little I could do to interrupt the powerful urge that 
arose within me. Months of longing, tortured 
frustration, hungry desires, came to the surface. 
Tristan was impossible to resist. I wanted to do 'IT' 
with him and I wanted to do it NOW!

A minute later I reached an unmarked road, braked 
quickly as I approached the intersection, and turned 
off. I braked the car again as we fishtailed on the 
loose gravel. The road was deserted. There was no sign 
of human habitation. The rain had slowed to a steady 
drizzle.

"I know what I want to do... if you want to that is," 
Tristan said suggestively. "It's really okay, Peter," 
he added quietly. "I love you and I want to have sex 
and everything."

I glanced at the young boy beside me and he smiled back 
at me. His eyes held mine as I waited at the start of 
the road that led into the bush. It was a decision of 
monumental proportions. I could easily turn the car 
around. We could continue on our way, postponing the 
decision to another time and content with our 
fantasies. We were still a long way away from where I 
planned to stay for the night, but I was also an hour 
ahead of schedule. I wanted to make love to Tristan. I 
nodded.

"Let's go," Tristan added.

He was silent as he watched the unfamiliar landscape 
pass by as we crawled along the dirt road in low gear, 
turning one way and then the next and splitting off 
into unmarked tracks that all looked the same until I 
was hopelessly confused. Without Tristan, I would never 
find my way back to the highway. After the sixth turn, 
all resemblance to a drivable road surface disappeared. 
The road was dotted with water-filled potholes and I 
slowed the car to a crawl as I negotiated my way around 
the side of the hill and descended into a confined 
valley. 

At the end of the road was a wire-mesh gate. Beyond the 
gate I could see piles of sawdust and long pieces of 
wood. I had brought Tristan to an abandoned saw-mill. I 
thought of Phan and my visit to the mill in Thailand 
and for once I did not get an erection thinking about 
him. I had other things on my mind and a boy who I 
truly loved. Still, it was a remarkable coincidence.

For an instant I thought about turning back but as I 
stopped the car, Tristan jumped out and, without a 
word, ran over to the fence. As the engine idled, he 
opened the rusted latch, and swung the gate back on 
noisy hinges. He jogged back to the car and dropped 
into his seat. His pretty face was dotted with 
raindrops and his long silver-blond hair was suddenly 
bedraggled.

"This is it, Peter!" he said with a cheeky smirk.

"Are you sure, Tag?" I asked as I drove through the 
open gate and into a yard littered with decrepit 
machinery.

"It's what I want. It's what we both want, isn't it? Go 
over there," Tristan added as he pointed between two 
jumbled heaps of wood.

I continued to follow his directions, going past more 
machinery and then a large pipe perhaps a foot in 
diameter. Tristan's slim body seemed to tense 
momentarily and he turned away quickly and looked down 
into the car as if he did not want to see me. Perhaps 
he was having second thoughts. The last thing I wanted 
to do was to force him into something he was unprepared 
for. 

I squeezed the car between the two piles of lumber off-
cuts and then cautiously continued over the bumpy 
ground down a narrow path that led towards a creek. As 
soon as we left the yard, the path was completely 
enclosed by trees and the light level inside the car 
decreased as we entered the gloom. It was a beautiful 
place despite the unattractive entrance and the rain.

"You can stop over there, Peter," Tristan said quietly.

He pointed to a clearing that was no larger than my 
car. Indeed, from the tire marks I could see that other 
cars had parked there. The trees parted and the view 
opened onto the creek as it dropped over several rock 
ledges with small waterfalls from the continuing rain. 
I turned off the engine, put the car in low gear, and 
pulled up the parking brake for added security. I was 
not going to depend on the engine compression to stop 
us. I breathed deeply and then looked at Tristan. He 
fidgeted uncomfortably.

"You want to get naked, Peter?" he asked uncertainly.

"I only want you to do what you want to do." I wanted 
to reassure Tristan that I wanted him, but I wanted it 
to be his decision.

"Great answer!" Tristan said impatiently. "Do you want 
to do it or not?"

"Why are you doing this, Tristan? What are you trying 
to prove?"

"I'm not tryin' to prove anything... except that I love 
you!"

"I already know that. You don't have to do this to 
prove you love me, Tag. And I don't want you to do it 
because you think it's what I want."

"I'm doing it because I want to, okay! Well are we 
going to do it or not?" he demanded anxiously. 

His frustration was disconcerting to me for in all the 
months that I had known him, he had always been passive 
and quiet. But, more than that, I had never encountered 
a sexually aggressive boy before. They existed only in 
my fantasies. Not even Phan came onto me like this. And 
he was older by two years. He had been in my bed often 
enough and he could be very aggressive during sex, but 
during my experience with him I had always been the 
dominant partner. An eleven year old boy was supposed 
to be innocent, wasn't he?

In every way Tristan was the boy I dreamed about. He 
was a beautiful boy, an effeminate boy-child who so 
often dominated my thoughts that he was part of me but 
I had yet to learn how difficult it was to anticipate 
what he would be like from moment to the next. I would 
discover that while Tristan generally passive and 
withdrawn--perhaps by nature or because of the side 
effects of Klinefelter's Syndrome, he is sometimes 
aggressive. Thus, it was fortunate for both of that 
Tristan was aggressive when I finally stopped the car-- 
otherwise nothing would have happened because I was far 
too much of a coward to take the lead.

But despite his swift denial, I suspected that Tristan 
was seeking to prove his love to me. There was no other 
explanation for the way that he was coming on to me. 
That he was sitting in the car next to me wanting to 
have sex was both a positive and a negative. Perhaps I 
would have felt more amenable to the situation if I 
could be certain it was a matter of making love to 
fulfill an inner need, but neither did I want him to 
give his wonderful young body and innocence to me or 
anyone else merely to make me happy. He was far too 
precious for that.

"Tristan," I began awkwardly, "You don't have to do 
this. I want you to do only what you want to do."

"Are you deaf or something, Peter? Listen to me. If I 
didn't want to do IT, if my mum didn't want me to have 
sex with you, would I be here now?" he burst out. 
"Think about it. Even Hannah knows we love each other."

His voice faltered, breaking stressfully as he avoided 
my eyes. I thought about what he said and his words 
bothered me terribly. I could sense the anxiety in his 
young body, the need for love , and the urge for 
gratification deep within his consciousness. I realized 
that his mother's analysis of the boy's sexual 
orientation was one-hundred percent accurate. Tristan 
was gay, perhaps because of genetic predisposition, but 
what he wanted was a fundamental part of him.

"Sorry," I mumbled.

I looked past him, watching the water cascading down 
the rock ledges. Even the enclosing bush seemed to 
protect us as it offered a degree of privacy equal to 
that in my own bedroom. No one would see us here. No 
one would know unless Tristan or I told them. We were 
together with his mother's blessing. Finally, I 
withdrew back into the closed cabin. Tristan was still 
glaring at me. His lips were pursed and he tensed as he 
spoke.

"Well if you're not interested then we might as well 
go."

"I didn't say that, Tristan. Maybe you should get 
naked, just in case," I added.

"Get real! If I strip off, then so do you," he answered 
cheekily.

"I guess that's fair. So who goes first?"

"You do!" Tristan said quickly. "I asked first, 
remember!"

His eyes never left me as I clumsily unfastened my 
belt, opened the button, and slid the zipper down. It 
took nearly a minute before the bright red of my bikini 
briefs came into sight and it was among the most 
exciting minutes of my life. I could tell that Tristan 
was similarly excited as he stared at me. He was almost 
unmoving as he concentrated. His lips were apart as he 
breathed through his mouth. 

Each deep breath made his slender chest rise and fall 
dramatically. Just as my jeans opened up, his pink 
tongue licked at his bottom lip. It was impossible for 
him not to see the huge bulge that my erect penis made 
in my briefs. My glans was poking into the thin nylon 
and it was pulled taut, all the way to my navel. With 
slightly more than seven inches in the erection 
department, I was not overly large. However, given 
Tristan's visible awe, I was more than sufficiently 
well endowed for him.

"Okay, you're next!" I said playfully.

"You haven't stripped, yet" Tristan pointed out. "I 
still can't see your dick, Peter."

"Oh! So that's what you want, huh? You want to look at 
my dick, kid?"

Tristan shrugged and pretended to be disinterested but 
his body still trembled at the very idea. He could not 
conceal his enthusiasm as his excitement increased. I 
lifted my hips up and tugged my jeans and briefs down 
until my groin was exposed. My thick cock flopped out 
and lay half- erect against my thigh, protruding 
outward and towards Tristan with growing interest in 
his slim young body. Within the space of a few seconds 
it reached full erection.

"You have a real big one, Peter," my young companion 
said shamelessly.

He sounded impressed and he gazed wistfully at my 
thick, rigid penis as it bobbed up and down. It 
certainly was not the first time that Tristan had 
viewed my anatomy, but this time was very different to 
all of the others. Quick glances as we undressed 
together, even casual caresses or rough grab-fights, 
paled in comparison as we neared the moment for which 
we both existed.

My penis jumped as I instinctively flexed my muscle. It 
was hungry for him and I wanted him to know what I 
wanted even as I wondered whether it would ever fit 
inside his lean body, if indeed that was what he had in 
mind. It seemed highly unlikely that his narrow pelvis 
could accommodate my penis, let alone stretch his anus 
wide enough to allow my entry.

Even if he was willing, with Tristan's lean body it was 
likely that he would be injured by the brute if he 
engaged in the type of encounter that he now seemed to 
be proposing with me. Getting my penis into Phan's 
larger body was problematic the first time. It took 
forever to get him to relax enough to allow the head to 
penetrate his anus and then he did not enjoy it until I 
had been there for some time. I shuddered to think what 
it would be like for Tristan.

"It's probably going to hurt like hell. You don't have 
to do this," I acknowledged. I hesitated, thinking that 
I may have gone too far. "Unless you want to," I added.

I wanted to give him a way out from what I expected was 
about to happen. It was not fair otherwise. He was too 
young and I loved him too much to take advantage of 
like that. I waited.

Despite what one reads in sex stories, my own 
experience as a boy, and what happened in Thailand, I 
have long known that most boys do not engage in anal 
intercourse until their late teens, and sometimes 
never. Perhaps the desire for anal penetration comes as 
the boy matures, loses his inhibitions, and begins to 
seek pleasures that offer greater satisfaction than 
mutual masturbation or oral sex. 

I have also wondered whether nature intervenes to 
protect the easily damaged body of a young boy--
instinctively he realizes that his first experience 
will be very painful. Thus, he approaches anal 
intercourse with suspicion, reluctance, and in some 
cases, dread and if he has any measure of control of 
what he does, anal sex is at the bottom of the list. I 
was surprised, therefore, when Tristan appeared to have 
few reservations about taking my penis into his eleven-
year-old body.

"I want to, okay? I want him inside me," he said with 
some uncertainty. He hesitated as he gathered his 
confidence. "I guess it will hurt a lot but I don't 
mind. Alex said that you would try to not to hurt me."

"I'll try to be gentle, Tristan. I promise I won't go 
in all the way. The thickness of my penis is the 
biggest problem and I'll go very slowly," I said 
reassuringly. Tristan shrugged as he contemplated my 
penis bravely. "You don't have to do this you know."

"Yeah, I know that. I want to, Peter!" Tristan looked 
at me and I could see the reluctance in his large sad 
eyes. His lips compressed thoughtfully.

"It might be too big, Tag."

"I bet you'll still get it in back there if you go real 
slow. Alex said that the size was a problem only if you 
had a really big one. He's big, but he's not that BIG! 
Alex showed me some pictures of men who had really big 
ones."

I had to laugh, it was impossible not to even though he 
had handed me what most men would consider to be an 
insult. From Tristan, and considering the reason why he 
mad the comment, I was anything but insulted. In a way 
it was a compliment, a young boy's admission that I was 
more than big enough to keep him very happy for years 
to come. 

Still, despite his words, he stared at my rigid penis 
fixedly as if assessing its size and the pain he would 
have to suffer if I tried to put it inside him. He was 
silent and I suspected that he was even more uncertain 
than he appeared. As he contemplated what it would be 
like, he trembled and breathed heavily. Tristan was a 
courageous kid and he was quickly becoming more 
excited. Already his arousal was overwhelming his 
reason and that could only mean one thing. We were 
going to do it!

"Are you sure you want this?" I asked again. I knew the 
answer to my question even before I asked it. 

He nodded slightly. "Alex said we had to use something 
to make me slippery."

He seemed to blush slightly as he spoke, well aware of 
the depravity that his question revealed. He was not 
the shameless, brash boy his words conveyed, but he was 
both sensuous and sexually aroused. His sexual desire 
had been present from the time I had first kissed him 
under the tree. And now his excitement was beyond his 
control. His embarrassment contradicted his question, 
which interpreted by my logic could only mean that he 
fully intended to go all the way. The moment of truth 
was fast approaching and deep inside I was glad that 
Alex had instructed him in what to expect should that 
moment arrive.

"You do have something we can use, don't you?" Tristan 
asked hesitantly. "He said it would hurt terribly 
otherwise. 

I shook my head dumbly. That Tristan and I would have 
sex during the drive north had not occurred to me. If 
we were going to have sex, I needed something with 
which to lubricate him. I silently reprimanded myself 
for my forgetfulness and lack of foresight.

"Do you have something in mind?" I asked with interest.

"What did you use in Thailand with uh, Phan?"

"We mostly used some of his mother's cooking oil," I 
admitted.

"You're joking!" Tristan said with unconcealed shock 
and some amusement. "Like peanut oil or olive oil?"

I shrugged absently. "It sounds gross, doesn't it, but 
it does the job okay. It goes up a whole lot easier 
than using pig fat, which is what they generally use 
for boys in Thailand."

At the time, the thought of using pig fat as a 
lubricant for the rectum of a young boy like Phan had 
been nothing less than shocking but it was a common 
occurrence in his village. It was also very exciting 
and I had fond memories of the first time I had 
penetrated him using the still warm oily fat of a 
recently cooked suckling pig. It was both highly 
inventive and strangely appropriate given the poverty 
in that part of Thailand. 

However, cooking oil made an excellent lubricant in my 
experience with Phan and much better for him than the 
questionable use of animal fat that could easily be 
tainted by the endless heat. It was also in keeping 
with my general belief that nothing should go in the 
bottom end that did not go in the top end as well, a 
consideration that was especially important if one 
indulged in oral-anal love after the primary activity 
was completed.

"Yeah? Uhgg!... That's really gross, man!" Tristan 
wrinkled his little nose in disgust. "You're not using 
pig fat on me, that's for sure Peter."

I grinned. "You know, Tag, I never thought about using 
it for that purpose until the need arose for something 
slippery. You learn to make do but cooking oil works a 
lot better and it's not as smelly afterwards."

"That still sounds pretty gross if you ask me."

"There is special stuff available for guys to use, you 
know Tristan. It's called K-Y. It's sort of like a 
jelly and it's very slippery."

I did not tell him that it also tasted terrible. 
Although I preferred one of nature's lubricants, Phan 
also used the greasy fat of a roasted pig for the one 
time when he was the dominant one. It was not a 
particularly pleasant experience and for good reason we 
did not repeat it.

"That's what Alex said. How slippery does my bum have 
to be?" Tristan asked curiously.

"Cooking oil makes it pretty slippery. It's okay," I 
answered. "Any kind of oil would probably work I 
imagine but his mother had an oil made from local 
flowers or something."

"It isn't as greasy as fat either," Tristan volunteered 
with a sly grin.

"Well, I don't have either with me. But I think I've 
got some suntan oil behind the seat. It probably isn't 
too different to cooking oil," I acknowledged as I 
laughed.

"Okay!" Tristan smirked. "I guess that will have to do. 
If it isn't slippery enough then we can buy some at the 
next town. I'm game to try it if you are!"

"I bet you are. You better be sure you want to do this 
before we start something that you don't want to 
finish," I said cautiously.

"I'm sure! I've wanted to do this for a long while."

"Okay, then it's your turn to strip, Tristan." 

I reached behind me and searched in the bag I had 
placed in the rear seat before I left on the drive 
south. If it was not for the rain I would have the top 
down and then we would need the protection the suntan 
oil provided. Now it would serve an even more useful 
purpose. I found it easily and turned back in my seat. 
Tristan had not started to remove his clothes. Perhaps 
he was getting scared? I hoped not for my excitement 
had reached unimaginable heights. I longed to be deep 
inside his slender body, to become one with him.

"I thought you'd be stark naked by now," I laughed.

"It's going be darn near impossible to do anything in 
here," Tristan answered. 

"There's no room to move."

I grinned. Tristan seemed to have a more accurate idea 
of what sex between a man and a boy involved than I 
did, and I wasn't the virgin. Of course he was right, 
but it was raining outside and there was no where else 
to go unless we waited until we arrived at the guest-
house later in the day. I wasn't in the mood for 
waiting more than a few minutes. 

"You may want to get soaked, but I don't," I said.

Tristan smiled. "I guess not. Maybe we could drive back 
up to the shed," he suggested. "It looked pretty dirty 
in there but at least there's room to move."

I shrugged. I wondered whether this was the excuse that 
he needed to not have sex with me even as I remembered 
that he had also offered a viable alternative. The shed 
offered an interesting possibility should the car prove 
completely impractical. He sighed and licked his bottom 
lip and I sensed that he as aroused as I was.

"There's no room in here to do ANYTHING," he stressed.

Tristan was right. My XJS coupe was a great car but it 
was next to useless for doing anything like this. At 
least I had never tried to do anything in it with 
Tristan. Beyond the occasional heavy 'petting', I 
always transported my young friend either back to my 
apartment and the comfort of my own bed, or returned 
him to his own house. I contemplated the problem and 
tried to invent a way in which a physical union might 
be achieved. There was no immediate solution which did 
not require impossible contortions from both of us.

Firstly, there was the transmission hump and console 
that provided a barrier from one seat to the other. The 
bucket seats themselves were closely sculpted to the 
human body and were far too small to accommodate two 
people side-by-side at the same time. And even with the 
steering wheel tilted up, there would still be 
insufficient room in the driver's seat for Tristan to 
straddle my hips. To make matters worse, the rear seats 
were barely big enough for young children and the trunk 
was filled with our bags. His seat offered the only 
possibility but a cursory study was enough to tell me 
that his head would be hitting against the lining of 
the roof. He was right, there was no way we were going 
to have sex in my car.

"I think you're right, Tristan," I acknowledged 
lightheartedly. "Maybe we better go up to the shed. It 
can't be that dirty and if it is, well we can always do 
it standing up."

I tried to be graceful and not allow my disappointment 
to show through. I was more excited than I had ever 
been and it was next to impossible not to convey my 
agitation. There had to be a way, given that we had 
come this far. My penis throbbed with anticipation of 
plundering Tristan's buttocks for the first time. I 
could almost feel my engorged organ pushing resolutely 
forward as I penetrated his fabulous body to the hilt. 
Even the potential for stains on the butter-soft 
leather did not bother me. And then an idea came to me 
that was so elegantly simple I was surprised that it 
was not included in the owner's manual.

"I've got it!"

"How?"

"Never you mind. Just get naked, Tag."

I flipped the cap off the bottle of amber-colored 
suntan lotion, squeezed a liberal amount into the palm 
of my hand, and transferred it to the swollen length of 
my penis. I was going to fuck Tristan, no matter that 
it was ergonomically impractical, it was certainly 
possible.

Without a word, Tristan began to prepare himself. He 
wanted to be fucked and he was not reluctant to let me 
know. He grinned lewdly as he watched my hand sliding 
up and down my now-glistening, oily shaft. Even before 
he lifted his buttocks up and began to drag his shorts 
down, he conveyed both his fear and what he wanted. He 
looked at my penis with a furtive hunger, his eyes 
narrowed and focused on the stiff organ that jutted 
upward from my groin.

"You have to promise to stop if it hurts bad, Peter," 
he said flatly as he settled back into his seat.

"I'll go real slow," I promised. "And I'll stop as soon 
as you tell me to. I don't want you to be hurt either."

His shorts and brilliant-white underpants were bunched 
up and still several inches above his knees. He was a 
long way from being naked but I could see all that I 
needed to. With slightly more than two inches in the 
erection department, Tristan was unusually small for an 
eleven-year-old boy, but normal enough for a 
Klinefelter's Syndrome victim. His small size was not 
an imperfection in my eyes, given my predilection for 
small cocks. Tristan Alexander Gordon was perfectly 
endowed for my needs.

His penis was tiny, a delicious morsel of highly 
sensitive pink flesh that pointed abruptly into the 
air. It was shorter than my little finger and only 
slightly thicker. His darker glans was no bigger than 
my fingernail. Below, his scrotum valiantly attempted 
to compensate for the size-deficiency of his penis. 
While still not large by any stretch of the 
imagination, Tristan's soft pouch was 
disproportionately bigger than his penis, although it 
would be dramatically smaller when the skin tightened 
and it was drawn up. His testicles were immediately 
noticeable by virtue of their small size, their 
presence observed only as two tiny jelly-beans.

The vast difference in size between our penises excited 
me to a degree that was impossible to believe. While 
Tristan's diminutive sex organ was not the first boy-
sized penis that I had seen since I was a boy myself, 
it completely fulfilled my fantasies. That was the 
trouble with mature boys like Udon--his cock was a man-
sized instrument that demanded satisfaction, while 
Phan's barely pubescent cock was a promissory note for 
things to come when its owner was old enough and mature 
enough to provide visible evidence of manhood.

My experience with Phan and all my intuition told me to 
go slow, letting Tristan direct the pace at which our 
love proceeded. The thrill I experienced from seeing 
Tristan's bare groin and compact genitals overpowered 
me. I grasped Tristan's slender hips and lifted his 
slight weight of no more than seventy pounds up from 
his seat. I repositioned him as easily as one positions 
a pillow under a lover's hips before fucking him. As 
soon as I moved him into the intended position I 
realized immediately that it was an ideal posture for 
what I had in mind. It would be a very different story 
had Tristan been of the opposite sex.

His buttocks were placed over the console, itself 
several inches higher than the seat I was sitting in. 
One of his long, hairless legs lay across the seat 
extending beyond the edge bolster and down under the 
dashboard. His other leg was bent under him and his 
foot was braced against the knee. His torso was pushed 
down so that it was against that leg and his head was 
tucked in against his chest. All in all it was an 
uncomfortable position that could not be achieved 
easily, if at all, unless one had the limber body of a 
healthy young boy.

It was, however, an ideal position for what I wanted. 
Only his buttocks, two well-tanned globes of smooth, 
firm flesh projected across the console. His position 
naturally levered them apart and exposed his crack in 
its entirety. I had only seen one boy's anus before and 
I was considerably surprised by what I saw. I expected 
to find a smaller version of Phan but what I observed 
was very different indeed. As a boy begins grows into 
manhood and he experiments with sex, something which is 
quintessential to his perfection is lost forever.

The first thing I discovered was that Tristan's anus 
was even smaller than I expected. At first I ascribed 
this to the fact that he was a virgin but in truth, and 
on closer inspection, his anal orifice was not that 
small. It appeared smaller only by virtue of its 
proportional relationship to his small bottom. It 
presented a distinctly interesting possibility, that my 
large penis might actually fit inside him if I was both 
lucky and patient.

The second thing that struck my attention was that his 
opening, unlike Phan's hole the last time I had seen 
it, was still puckered. His anus appeared as a tiny 
node enclosed by minute folds of dark, pink skin which 
disappeared into his very core. That the opening was 
surrounded by a band of darker, browner, skin that 
approached a width of two centimeters, was equally 
fascinating. It was that ring which made his anus 
appear small as much as anything else.

Perhaps because it was not as dark as the band on 
Phan's anus, but to me, Tristan's desirability was 
multiplied a hundred fold by it. I was also amused by 
the delicate line that traversed the length of his 
perinaeum. It connected his small scrotum to his anus 
like a well-marked trail that one could follow in the 
dark from one place of pleasure to another. Without 
even the slightest trace of hair, it was very different 
to anything I had ever seen before.

Tristan's body was so beautiful that I found it 
difficult to believe that he was still a virgin. I 
wondered why my penis had not already penetrated his 
tiny orifice and taken his innocence. Had I done so, I 
would have marred his perfection forever. In time, a 
pathway would be beaten to Tristan's back door but for 
now, beyond the normal darkness that surrounded his 
anus, there was no discoloration or signs of bruising 
or rupturing of the skin. I took a long look, thinking 
how he would appear after I had finished and he was no 
longer a boy-virgin.

Unable to say anything in those first few magic 
moments, I brought my still oil-slicked finger to the 
line of his crevice and pointed it at the small target 
that stared back at me. I touched the very center of 
the crinkled indentation and like a reflex, it softened 
and then grasped at the tip.

I inserted my finger into Tristan's anus with 
comparative ease. Even as it pushed inside I thought of 
Phan. I remembered the first time that his young boy's 
anus was pierced by my finger, and then minutes later 
by my penis. How many times had I remembered that first 
inexpert entry as a painful and difficult insertion? 
How wrong I was now, at least as far as Tristan was 
concerned because my slick finger slid in to the second 
joint before either Tristan or I realized it. But while 
my entry was a relatively simple matter, my efforts to 
expand his stimulation by massaging his tiny prostate 
was considerably more difficult.

I prodded around inside his hot tube, feeling the 
delicate structure of the inside of his rectum as I 
went deeper. Before I knew it, my knuckles were 
compressed into his crevice and my finger could go no 
further. Barely more than a minute had passed since I 
had brushed his anal node. There was a wonderful heat 
inside Tristan's bowel that made my finger itch to go 
deeper, if that were indeed possible. But the pleasure 
for Tristan was closer to the surface and I cautiously 
probed his lower abdomen like a doctor examining for 
prostate lumps.

My problem lay in locating his prostate in the first 
place. There was no problem when I had performed the 
identical procedure with Phan. In to the knuckle, curl 
my first finger so that it was curved back towards his 
pubis, and rub the 'hell' out of the first, firm, 
chestnut-shaped lump that my finger came in contact 
with. It was impossible to miss the target on the very 
first try with Phan. But as I twisted my finger I found 
that there was no lump to rub, or if there was, I could 
not find it. At the same time, I began to wonder 
whether Tristan was experiencing any pleasure from my 
anal massage. He lay very still. Even his breathing was 
slow as he took deliberate breaths. 

"It doesn't it hurt too much, does it Tristan? I'll 
stop if you want me to," I asked with concern. "Are you 
sure you want this?"

There was no answer for several long seconds but 
finally Tristan's mussed-up head moved slightly, which 
I presumed to be an affirmation although it was 
difficult to tell what he wanted me to do. However, I 
knew what I wanted to do. Most boy-lovers, both 
experienced and inexperienced, would recommend that one 
finger, then two, and perhaps even three fingers should 
be used to loosen a boy's anus before anything larger 
than a finger is placed inside. It sounds like good 
advice, and it is, although it's probably unnecessary 
once a boy has become accustomed to having a man's 
penis inside him.

In the heat of the moment I found that I was suddenly 
impatient. Six months was simply too long to wait to 
act out one's deepest desires. I had no thoughts of 
causing pain to the boy I loved, just a demanding urge 
to be inside his sweet, young body. I brought the head 
of my penis forward. Just as I had hoped, the console 
positioned Tristan's bottom at the ideal height. His 
anus was in a direct path and at a perfect angle. I 
placed my hands on his hips, securing his movement by 
placing my fingers into his pelvic ridge and parting 
his smooth brown cheeks with my thumbs as I guided my 
penis between them. 

There was a brief period when I honestly thought that 
my penis could never penetrate his slender body. I used 
to have the same feeling with Phan as my glans squashed 
into his crack and snuggled into the indentation of his 
anus. After that, no matter how much pressure I brought 
against his unyielding hole, I made no progress until 
his sphincter had the time to relax and he submitted to 
my advance by pushing back at me. Then, my inward 
movement was both hesitant and awkward, no more than a 
fraction of an inch at a time until my glans was 
contained inside him.

So I was unprepared for the suddenness with which the 
head of my penis and the first inch of my shaft popped 
through Tristan's muscle and into his bowel. Judging 
from Tristan's quick gasp, he was also surprised. Every 
time I did the same thing to Phan he would complain how 
much it hurt when I broke through his resistance. 

Similarly, the one time when Phan's penis entered me, I 
have to admit that the feeling is considerably less 
pleasurable than I would like it to be. But there was 
no complaint from Tristan as my cock sank into him. I 
rested with the head fully inside him. His body 
responded of its own accord, following its natural 
inclination to expel foreign objects as they came to 
the muscular ring of his inner sphincter. He squeezed 
down on my penis with savage cramps that stopped almost 
as soon as they started. 

I could not believe my luck. It look forever to get my 
penis inside Phan's rectum and within only a few brief 
minutes, Tristan's body had yielded to accept my penis. 
I pushed forward gently, my mind whirling with 
enthusiasm and fascination as I found no resistance 
ahead. His looseness had to be explained by more than 
the fact that Tristan was incredibly excited. I could 
not imagine that an eleven-year- old boy would accept 
three or four inches of penis with such speed and 
apparent ease. It did not seem to hurt him at all.

There was only one explanation beyond Tristan's 
eagerness and the position in which he was placed and 
it amused me as I thought of it. An eleven-year-old boy 
lacks the muscular development of a thirteen-year-old. 
And the internal sphincter is neither more nor less 
than a muscle, albeit one that is involuntary in most 
of its actions. I moaned softly as Tristan's body held 
mine for the first time, gripping me with his lust as 
his intense internal pressure consumed my penis. It is 
no wonder that pederasty has prevailed throughout the 
history of mankind. A boy like Tristan was created for 
the single purpose of fucking.

The wonderful wet heat inside his body was awe-
inspiring. So very different to Phan, his young slender 
boy's body exerted the most delightful pressure along 
the four inches of my penis inside him. His bowel 
engulfed me, holding me possessively even as I 
possessed him. Occasional tremors surged between us, 
tightening cramps as his body locked onto mine and then 
relaxed, constant flexing of my penis as I tested him. 
Every minute that I stayed within him loosened his 
quivering rectum until I discovered 'paradise'.

Now completely dilated, his body absorbed mine and my 
penis felt less like it was impaled than it was 
enclosed within a living sheath of sensitive, nerve-
filled boy. I had not even begun to move when I felt 
Tristan orgasm. Pure anal pleasure swept through his 
lithe body and he spasmed on my cock as he groaned 
loudly. One, two, three, four swift cramps came as he 
shuddered and groaned out his relief. I could not see 
his penis but I did not need visual support to know 
that he had not ejaculated. Gratefully, that messy, wet 
pleasure would largely be denied to him. Unlike Udon or 
Phan, Tristan would never ejaculate copious quantities 
for me, or anyone else.

I continued to rest inside him, poised halfway within 
his body as I waited for my time to come. He would need 
several minutes at least to recover his strength and he 
would need all of it for what I intended to follow. His 
initial orgasm had opened the way and I felt the 
pressure on my cock fade. He was now much hotter 
inside, and before, where his bowel had resisted my 
penetration, there was now a lush juiciness that 
invited my penis deeper. He bathed me with his rich 
fluids, occasionally squeezing on my shaft as if he 
wanted to be certain that it was still inside him. I 
had little fear that he could not take all seven inches 
of my penis and I was determined to try.

As Tristan's breathing slowed, my penis began to move. 
Short movements at first, using only the slackness in 
the skin. My glans squeezed forward no more than half 
an inch before easing back again. My movement was 
concentrated somewhere in the region where I expected 
his prostate to be because Tristan began to writhe. He 
wriggled, shifting his buttocks as he rearranged 
himself and secured an alignment that was both 
conducive to further penetration and greater 
stimulation of the very core of his body. He pushed 
back slightly. It was an unmistakable sign, one that a 
boy gives when he wants more. It was not the savage 
rearward push that Phan gave me, but a slow backward 
pressure that made my heart leap with joy.

I complied with his unspoken request and for the next 
two strokes, I did not pull back. Another inch sank 
into his hot body and again it felt as if I could go no 
further. Tristan's sigh was more than enough to inform 
me that he was a very happy boy.

"You doing okay, Tag?" I asked softly.

"Yeah, its good, Peter. It only hurts a bit. Just go 
slow, okay."

"Okay!"

"You sure feel nice back there but I wish it would stop 
rainin'," Tristan breathed out. He breathed out. "I'm 
getting a cramp in my leg, lying like this."

"You feel great too, Tag. You still want more?" I 
asked.

I was not expecting an answer. The answer came as 
Tristan groaned and again squeezed back at me 
deliberately. He wavered and then nodded slightly. Like 
me, he had passed the point of self-control. All he 
wanted now was to continue the sensations that 
possessed him, as his trembling rectum joined my 
throbbing penis and demanded even more of it inside 
him.

"You feel so big inside me," Tristan whimpered as I 
eased back slightly in preparation for my next advance. 
"Is it nearly all in me? It feels like it is."

"Uh! yeah, you've got most of it. You're a brave kid, 
you know that, don't you Tag?"

"It doesn't hurt that bad any more. I just wish we 
could do it outside. It hurts me being cramped up like 
this. My leg has gone to sleep."

"Sorry, but it's still raining, Tristan. We'd be soaked 
in a few minutes. If you want, I can finish up 
quickly."

"No! I want you to go nice and slow. I like it much 
more like this, especially when you take it the whole 
way back. It's really not that bad," Tristan gasped. 
"I'll live!"

"Are you sure? I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm okay! You feel so good even though your dick is 
hurting me a bit." Tristan sighed again from deep in 
his chest. "I thought you would hurt something awful, 
but you feel really nice."

"How does it feel?"

"Good. It feels cool, like I'm filled up with your dick 
but like I still want more of it inside me. It feels 
nice, Peter. I like it slow like this."

"You're a great kid, Tag. I mean that! I think I'm know 
why I'm so much in love with you."

Tristan did not answer and after a few more seconds I 
took the initiative and began to fuck him. I did it 
slowly, exactly the way he wanted. I worked him over 
slowly, using the head of my penis to massage his 
prostate before I tried to do deeper. With every 
forward thrust I tried to come back a little less 
before I pushed my penis deeper into him. Nearly two 
minutes later my pubic hair brushed against his cheeks 
and a minute after that I could go no further. All 
seven hard inches were somewhere inside his wonderful 
body. It was the ultimate disappearing trick. Like 
magic, my penis vanished as the round rim of his anus 
closed around it.

What lay within Tristan's wonderful body defied 
description. At once hot and wet, and soft and firm, 
the slick velvet walls were unbelievably smooth as my 
penis slid back and forth. Little puppy-dog whines came 
from the boy's mouth, expelled as each breath was 
exhausted and synchronized with each time my cock 
reached into his belly. Some writers have described the 
experience of anal sex as the uniting of two souls and 
I could not agree more. The sense of being joined 
together cannot be stronger. There is no higher form of 
love, no greater pleasure than the physical union of a 
man and a young boy, penis and bowel inseparably joined 
until their love is exhausted. 

The texture of Tristan's insides were like no other I 
had ever experienced. Each sensation was magnified a 
hundred-fold over what I felt with Phan, each year that 
separated them in age contributing to the special joy I 
discovered that afternoon. Continually I wondered why I 
had not had sex with Tristan before. So many months had 
been wasted.

How often with Phan had I experienced that final minute 
of frenzied fucking, my man's penis throbbing and 
pounding inside his tight bottom until I delivered what 
felt like a liter of semen to his hungry body? The 
first time I had sex with Tristan was absolutely 
nothing like that. How could I miss the essence of boy-
love? For the first time in my life I placed my 
partner's satisfaction above my own. I fucked Tristan 
the way he wanted to be fucked-- slowly and 
deliberately working my penis into his sensitive body, 
taking what pleasure I could find as I revelled in his 
continuous ecstasy. It was the first time that I had 
truly made love to boy and not just fucked him.

Every few minutes Tristan came to a peak, often staying 
there for a minute at a time. So often did he shudder 
and writhe on my penis that I began to wonder whether 
he was actually orgasming or merely experiencing some 
lesser form of heightened pleasure. Although his tiny 
testicles had been drawn up protectively to form a 
tight little knot, they continued to protrude from 
between his thighs. The wrinkled, rounded lump 
cushioned my groin as his cheeks greeted my pubis. I 
pumped into him relentlessly, never going faster than I 
did when I masturbated. But the feelings I derived from 
being totally inside the youngster I loved were 
infinitely better than any which I could achieve from 
another person's hand, even Tristan's.

As my orgasm welled up inside me I resisted the 
temptation to increase the speed. Tristan wanted it 
slowly, and slow it would be. My pace tortured my 
already aching penis until I was desperate for release. 
Every nerve begged for relief from the delight that 
abounded within the small body before me. Instinctively 
I realized that when my orgasm finally came, it would 
be nothing short of a miracle. Tristan seemed to sense 
that the moment was upon us and he squeezed his rectum 
down, tightening his body around my penis by using all 
the strength that remained to him. It was enough to 
take me over the precipice. My juice gushed out.

I stopped moving with the first involuntary spurt, 
silently pleading for it to stop but knowing that it 
was over for me. The second spurt came as Tristan's 
bowel gripped my cock and then there was nothing I 
could do. I pushed into him, shoving my penis to its 
full depth so that my semen would be deposited deep 
within him. I felt my testicles triumph as more of my 
blessed seed squirted into him, joining with his own 
succulent juices and mixing as I pumped again and 
again. Then I stopped moving, very aware of Tristan's 
gasping, his body shaking and trembling as my penis 
continued to jerk of its own accord.

I lifted away, leaving my penis impaled between his 
small pale buttocks. I gazed downward to see the last 
half inch of my penis, glistening with oily wetness as 
it exited from his well-stretched anus. From the 
scarlet lip of Tristan's anus my semen was already 
escaping. I saw a creamy white dribble ooze out and in 
a wonderful way, it consecrated our union.

"Are you okay?" I whispered at last.

"Yeah! Peter, I felt you cum. You put lots inside me," 
Tristan breathed.

Already his breathing was beginning to return to 
normal. He sighed softly and wriggled on the seat again 
as he tried to find a more comfortable position. Still 
holding one hand on his hip, I placed the other around 
his chest and lifted him up. I pulled him over the 
console and onto my lap. He was exhausted, a limp teddy 
bear that I wanted to cuddle until his strength 
returned. He flopped against me and groaned. My penis 
was equally limp and lifeless. It stayed within him as 
he relaxed into my enclosing arms.

I did not care that my semen was leaking out of him. I 
felt the warm wetness increasing on my groin. It was a 
good feeling to hug and hold him. I wanted to kiss him 
but his mouth was not where I could reach, and like 
Phan, he would probably not want me to. After sex, all 
Phan wanted to do was be quiet until he fell asleep. I 
was surprised when Tristan's head swivelled around and 
his eyes, now wide open, greeted mine.

"God, that felt so good, Peter," he murmured.

"You were wonderful, Tag. I can't believe we just did 
that. I love you so much."

"I love you too. It was fun, wasn't it?" Tristan smiled 
knowingly. He playfully squeezed that marvellous muscle 
inside his bowel. "I was really afraid he wasn't going 
fit at first. Then when you got the head in, I knew we 
could do it. I was surprised that it went in so 
easily," he said.

"I was surprised too. It didn't seem to hurt too much."

"I was worried you know, Peter. I was sure it was going 
to hurt real bad. I shouldn't have been. I guess it 
makes sense," he added. 

I hugged him again, wishing as I did so that I had 
taken the time to remove all of his clothes so that I 
could feel the rest of his hot naked body against mine. 
I contented myself with the warmth of his thighs and 
buttocks and the heat that drained from his body 
through the length of my penis. He felt good, very 
good.

"Why does it make sense?" I asked.

"Because Alex told me what to do, I reckon," he 
answered.

"What did Alex tell you to do?"

"He said to put my fingers in there to make it looser. 
He told me if I wanted to do it, then I'd have to get 
my hole bigger for you." 

"So how long do you do it for, Tag?" I continued. 

The thought of Tristan inserting his fingers into his 
beautiful body so that he could accommodate my penis 
depressed me but I wanted to know.

"Pretty long," Tristan admitted guiltily. "I do it at 
night, when I'm in bed. I pretend I'm with you only 
it's not my fingers in there.... Well you can guess 
what I pretend you're doing to me."

Lovingly my fingers moved towards his groin, sliding 
over the bare warm skin of his hip and following the v-
groove between his lower belly and thigh. My fingertips 
brushed against the velvet skin of his hairless pubis 
then followed the gentle swelling of his small scrotum. 
Under my fingers I felt his tiny testicles move away as 
I pressed into the silky folds of skin. The skin was 
softer than anything I had felt before, so soft that I 
had to concentrate just to feel it. It was warm and 
cool at the same time. Tenderly I massaged his little 
eggs, fondling the delicate structures carefully so as 
not to cause him any discomfort. His testicles were so 
much smaller than Phan's that I was stunned. So small, 
so wonderful, so much a part of his fabulous young 
body, so unlike Phan's nearly pubescent balls.

My fingers moved slightly, transferring their attention 
to his penis. He was still limp, as limp as he had been 
almost from the time I had inserted my penis into his 
tight rectum. When I fucked Phan he stayed erect, 
rubbing his penis as I pumped into him. No so with 
Tristan, his erection disappeared as more engaging 
pleasures took control. Now I stretched his small penis 
outward by pulling gently on the fat little glans. I 
stroked the soft skin with more love that I could ever 
imagine having for another male's organ. 

It began to stiffen almost as soon as my fingers moved 
across the stubby shaft and across the sensitive head. 
As it lengthened and hardened, his small size became 
even more apparent. I began to masturbate the 
youngster. I held his small sex between one finger and 
my thumb, concentrating most of my movement of the 
rigid shaft and occasionally lifting up to agitate the 
swollen, darkened head until Tristan began to squirm 
with growing discomfort. 

I stopped and returned to fondle his testicles until 
his agitation faded. I masturbated him for a long, long 
time. He approached orgasm on several occasions, but 
each time I allowed him to ease back down and recover 
his control. I could have easily taken him to the peak 
but rubbing on his beautiful erection was of far more 
interest to me.

One too many times I went back to his glans and rubbed 
it between my finger and thumb. The tip remained dry 
but its sensitivity was infinite and each time Tristan 
became increasingly excited. This time, he shifted 
suddenly, almost as if he orgasmed and his movement was 
enough to pull my penis free from its captivity. 

Now I held him tightly, replacing the attachment with 
his body with a close embrace. If I masturbated him any 
longer his penis would become too sore to touch. Gently 
I kissed his neck, savoring the delicate skin behind 
his ear with a playful nibble down to his shoulder. I 
wanted to turn his head to mine, to kiss him on the 
mouth and taste his lips, hopefully even his tongue. 
Tristan was a great kisser.

"How long is pretty long?" I whispered.

"About an hour a day I suppose. Alex said the more I 
did it in my butt the easier it would become and the 
more I'd like it."

"An hour a day is what I'd call pretty long, especially 
at your age. Did it hurt you, Tristan?"

"Not any more! But you know, it used to hurt at first," 
Tristan answered sulkly.

He left the obvious unstated but he did not need to say 
more. I understood his feelings and the discomfort he 
had suffered at his own hands. He had a reason to sulk. 
I understood how he had learned to give himself 
pleasure. Each night alone in his bed his fingers had 
found their way to his anus until his discomfort had 
ebbed until there was only delight. Then, this 
delightful eleven-year-old boy would have been overcome 
by joy. He had continued his private pleasure until 
now, until he finally accepted who and what he was and 
I became his lover.

I nodded understandingly. "You liked it, didn't you 
Tag?"

"I didn't say that!" he retorted angrily. "It doesn't 
hurt, that's all."

"Don't be angry. It's okay, I understand Tristan, 
really I do. You feel bad because you don't want to 
like it."

"I-I guess. But I love you and I love what you did to 
me. Only I don't want to be gay. Kids s school make fun 
of me already."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Because... because... I'm different to 
the, Mum says. I know she's right. I'm gay, aren't I?" 
he asked bitterly.

"I'm sorry, Tristan. No one should make fun of the way 
you are, especially when you're only eleven. It doesn't 
matter whether you're gay or straight, no one should 
make fun of something that you can't help. You're too 
young to have to face that kind of cruelty."

I paused and took a deep breath, wondering whether 
being gay was truly one of life's cruelties. For this 
young boy it seemed appropriate but given the extent of 
his other problem, his sexual orientation was natural. 
This was the time I had hoped would never come. I 
dreaded what was to follow.

"Tag, remember when you and I first became really good 
friends? Do you remember when your mother and I talked 
with you that afternoon after we went fishing?"

Tristan shuddered. I could feel the tension in his 
slender body as he remembered what had happened only 
five months earlier. It was a very painful memory for 
him.

"I remember! Mum said I had a kind of sickness and it 
would get worse and worse as I grew up. Only it 
wouldn't kill me or anything."

"But you would be different to other boys," I finished. 
I took a deep breath. This was IT.

"Tag, you have a condition called Klinefelter's 
Syndrome. Only males get it. 

It started a long time before you were born, while you 
were inside your mum. To make you part of her and your 
father joined together. Normally the sex of a baby boy 
comes from what's called an X and a Y chromosome, an X 
from his mum and the Y from his father. A baby girl has 
two X's. For some reason, Tag, you got two X's and a Y 
instead. That means you have some qualities that are 
less male than other boys."

"You mean I'm as much girl as boy?"

"Not exactly! You are a boy, only you're a very special 
boy. It's one of the reasons why you love me and why I 
love you so much. It's because you have this condition 
that your mum wanted you to come away with me."

"If it won't kill me, then what does it do to me?"

"Compared to other boys who have it, you're very lucky. 
Most kids are retarded."

"So! I know I have a learning problem. It's hard for me 
to concentrate."

"That's true, Tag, but you're also very intelligent. It 
is the reason why you like to do things that most other 
boys aren't interested in. You're sensitive in ways 
that boys generally aren't," I smiled reassuringly. 
"The other problems are physical. Your dick is a lot 
smaller than other boys, and so are your balls. When 
other boys start to grow into men, then the differences 
will be even stronger. You won't be able to have 
children when you're older."

"So!"

"There are other problems as well that we will talk 
about later on." Tristan slumped against me and I could 
feel his thin body quaking as he sobbed. "I'm really 
sorry, Tristan. Really I am," I said helplessly. 

It was not difficult to imagine the shock that Tristan 
felt. I could imagine his fear, the terrible anguish as 
he slowly realized that he was more different than he 
had realized. Unless I was mistaken I had introduced a 
complication of devastating proportions, one that was 
far worse than some viral infection that would take his 
life.

"I hate being like this!" Tristan added vehemently. "I 
want to be like other boys. I want to be normal."

I nodded and held him tightly, wishing that I could 
squeeze out his pain with my hug. But I could never 
make him normal.

"I love you, Tag. I love you, not only because of what 
you are, but If anything, what I had just done to this 
eleven year-old boy was to reinforce the damage that 
his had already done. I felt ashamed. I had taken 
advantage of a little boy at a time when he needed 
protection. And then I smiled, unseen by Tristan as he 
settled back against me. Had I really taken advantage 
of him or had I given something that he wanted instead?

I had often wondered whether I took advantage of Phan. 
He was an intelligent boy but he was still relatively 
immature in many ways. He was also impressionable and 
easily overwhelmed by my western sophistication. Easy 
pickings with a few well-placed words and some 
attention. At least that was what I had decided was the 
formula for success the next morning after I had taken 
him back to his parents' bed and fucked him for most of 
the night. 

Phan had been an easy conquest. But by the following 
week I was not so confident and I was beginning to 
suspect that Phan had seduced me instead. If he did, 
then it was to no avail as far as explicit rewards were 
concerned because unlike Chris, my relationship with 
did not involve either an opportunity for future 
financial aid or a reward for past services.

**

I nuzzled the back of Tristan's neck, rubbing my nose 
in his soft long hair. He needed me now more than ever 
before. His face turned slightly so that his cheek 
brushed against my own. We sat together quietly and 
breathed as one, each treasuring the wonderful shared 
intimacy that accompanies intercourse and its 
aftermath. Again I felt the urge to kiss him. Now it 
would be a relatively simple matter to turn his head 
and guide our lips so that they met. I resisted 
temptation with great difficulty.

"It sure stinks in here," Tristan giggled softly.

Suddenly I was aware of the smell that filled the 
closed car. It was a pleasant aroma, a sweet dank odor 
of boy-funk such as I had never known previously. Not 
from Phan, not from the hundred or more times that I 
had sex with him, could I remember such a delightful 
smell. There was, of course, always a musky smell in 
the hut after anal intercourse, but never one so 
fascinatingly sweet. This smell came from deep inside 
Tristan's virgin bowel and it was entrancing. I inhaled 
again and again. My penis had brought this nectar to 
the surface and like ambergris, what should have been 
unpleasant, yielded the most admirable perfume that a 
man could smell.

With my penis under Tristan's squirming buttocks, it 
was only a matter of time before my semen began to dry 
out. No longer slippery, it became sticky, and then it 
began to itch. For a few moments I contemplated getting 
it hard again and trying for a repeat performance. I 
wondered whether Tristan was up for an encore if I 
could get it up again. Alternatively, perhaps I could 
persuade Tristan to clean it off. 

Phan had few qualms about sucking my cock until I had 
been inside him. It was a different story then--even 
the boldest of boys become inhibited sometimes. I was 
intrigued by the possibility that I might convince 
Tristan to take my penis into his mouth. So far he had 
needed little encouragement to do what most boys 
required long cajoling for. When I had penetrated his 
beautiful bottom, he had most definitely pushed back at 
me to aid the inward progress of my glans. 
Unfortunately, Tristan glanced at my watch. A moment 
later he gasped aloud and tried to climb off me. 

"What's wrong, Tag?" I asked. 

Then I glanced at my watch as well and I could not 
believe the time. It was impossible that I had been 
parked there for nearly two hours. One hour and fifty 
minutes to be precise but it had been the best time of 
my life.

"I don't know about you but I'm starting to get 
hungry," Tristan whined.

"What's really the matter, Tag? You're not worried 
about your mum are you?"

"No! It's okay with Mum if I do it with you. She wants 
me to do it with you, especially well... if I want to 
do it."

"Is it because we're both gay?

"You don't understand, Peter," Tristan choked.

I swallowed. I understood what was bothering him and I 
was unable to avoid my responsibility. I owed Tristan 
something for the joy I had discovered inside his 
beautiful young body. For the first time since Tristan 
had taken his shorts and underpants down I could see 
his face. He turned enough so that I could see his 
face. His large eyes were marked by wetness that 
heralded tears and he sniffed loudly.

"You don't understand," he repeated with difficulty. "I 
don't want to be different!"

I needed time to think. My feelings came honestly. "How 
can you be so dumb?" I asked naively.

"I'm not dumb!"

"I didn't mean it like that, Tag. I mean I don't care 
that you're different. I love you just the way you 
are."

"Yeah, right!"

"I love you, Tristan," I added gently. "I don't how 
else to say it. I love you the way you are."

Tristan appeared to ignore my claim for nearly a minute 
but he could not deny that he had heard it. His 
response took me by complete surprise.

"I want to live with you, Peter. Please? Please let me 
live with you," he implored.

"Uh... I-I-I don't know, Tristan," I stumbled. "I 
mean... well I'd like to say yes, but... well what 
would you mum say. I don't think she'd agree, at least 
not until you're a lot older. What would people say?"

Tristan shrugged nonchalantly. "No one would know! 
Anyway, who cares what other people say! We wouldn't do 
anything for them to find out. And Mum did say I should 
do what I want to do. I love you. I want you to do it 
to me whenever... whenever we want."

"Tristan, you can't live with me. You don't even."

Tristan's head swivelled around on his thin neck and 
his eyes met mine, albeit from side-on. I could see the 
worry in his face. He was a boy who was tormented by 
something beyond his control. Being gay was one thing 
but the added complications of Klinefelter's Syndrome 
was likely to be a singularly unpleasant experience 
that would only become worse as he grew older. That 
problem, combined with his natural inclination would 
provide many opportunities for other boys to ridicule 
him openly. Living with me could only make the 
situation unbearable.

I shook my head firmly as Tristan's eyes searched mine. 

"Please?..." he implored. "I can't leave you. I don't 
care what happens to me after this. I have to. I love 
you! I... I want to kill myself."

I shuddered. He was not joking. How many gay boys 
attempted suicide. Too many. Too many boys like Tristan 
had relinquished their young lives when they could not 
accept the torment of being homosexual in a world 
little changed from that of Oscar Wilde. It was still 
the love that dared not speak its name. 

"You said you loved me," Tristan stressed. "If you 
really loved me as much as you say you do... We could 
say you were really my father?"

"For God's sake, it isn't that simple," I reacted. "I'm 
not your father, Tristan. Even if I tried someone would 
eventually report us to the police."

"So!"

"So I'd be in jail and you'd be sent back to your mum, 
or worse, they might take you away from her and put you 
in some kind of home."

"Then you don't really love me."

"I do love you, Tristan. I think you're a wonderful 
boy."

"Do you? Do you think I'm cute? Do you think I'm as 
sexy as your boyfriend in Thailand?" Tristan asked 
quietly. His tense voice quivered and then raised 
without warning.

"I'm really sorry Tristan," I answered apologetically.

I sighed again from deep in my chest. How different I 
felt to only a few minutes earlier when the beautiful 
boy in my lap was under my complete control and my only 
purpose in life was to give him pleasure. How could any 
man not admire his perfect body and reward him with 
loving caresses and lots of wet kisses among honest 
words of endearment. With a boy like Tristan Alexander 
Gordon a man had a special responsibility. However well 
intentioned my affection was, it fell far short of what 
he needed. He needed a father who loved him without 
question and who did not place the demands on his young 
body that I would.

Tristan read my mind.

"If you let me live with you... you can do it whenever 
you want. You can fuck me all day and night if you want 
to," he offered.

"That sounds like a nice idea." I grinned. It was a 
nice idea, a very nice idea indeed. It was a pity that 
it was so impractical. We sat silently and listened to 
the erratic fall of raindrops on the roof. The drizzle 
was steady but by the time the rain fell from the thick 
canopy of leaves, it had formed large droplets. I don't 
know how long the silence lasted but it seemed like an 
hour. I was thinking as hard and fast as I could. 
Certainly I could ask Tristan's mother whether her son 
could live with me. After a week, maybe I would have 
solutions to the other problems. I spoke carefully as I 
outlined my plan.

Even before I had finished Tristan agreed. It was a 
promissory note of things that might eventuate if all 
went well. As soon as he said 'YES!' I hugged him 
tightly. I wanted to be inside his body again, to feel 
him squirming and writhing as I possessed his young 
body and took advantage of his offer. It would complete 
our love, the small deposit of my semen deep inside his 
bowel would be the final seal. But no matter what new 
position I invented, the cabin of a Jaguar XJS is too 
small for want I had in mind.

I lifted Tristan up and dumped him, still with his 
shorts at his knees, in the seat next to mine. He 
grinned cheekily as I lifted up and pulled my jeans 
upward, closed my zipper and secured my belt. Tristan 
got the message and dragged his own clothes up as I 
started the engine and began to back out of the narrow 
hollow in the woods. I reversed all the way up to the 
shed before I finally located a place to turn around.

We left the gate wide open. By the time I got back onto 
the highway it was nearly three p.m. I was hungry and 
so was Tristan but I had no intention of stopping for 
lunch. I cruised at just over 120 kilometers per hour 
(70 mph), fast enough to avoid attracting the attention 
of the constabulary. As we drove, I developed my plan. 
Tristan Alexander Gordon could become my son.

At Coff's Harbour, I finally got the urge to pull into 
Wendy's on the main street and order from the drive-
thru. We were both famished. A couple of burgers and 
fries later and I felt replenished and ready to go on. 
But where to go to? Our plans called for us to be two 
hundred kilometers further north for the evening, but 
that was before I spent two hours fucking, fingering, 
and feeling up the beautiful boy beside me. To make 
matters worse, I was expected at Jacaranda House, a bed 
and breakfast-come guest house where Chris had 
suggested that we stay the previous evening before we 
left. Its manager, sixty-year-old Ms. Anna Broadley, 
now held a single room with a queen-size bed, awaiting 
my arrival that evening.


CHAPTER 5


Tristan snoozed from just outside Coffs Harbour, 
awakening only as I shook him a few kilometers north of 
the city. The happy smile he gave me was worth every 
second of the long drive I had that day.

We arrived much later than I had planned. Dinner had 
already been served and the guests were finishing their 
meals by the time Tristan and I checked in. Through the 
glazed door we could see the plates being cleared away 
as the last few stragglers ambled out of the dining 
room on their way to other destinations. Anna Broadley 
expected us so there really was no need to explain 
Tristan's presence. However, I told her that his mother 
was going through prolonged business difficulties and 
that he needed a holiday.

Tristan hung back quietly, his head down as he scuffed 
his feet on the rug. To me, his silence and dejected 
shoulders were depressing evidence of the anguish of a 
pre-teen boy who was suffering emotional turbulence. 
One look at Tristan's sombre expression was enough to 
convince her that he was a troubled boy, although the 
true source of his problem was entirely different to 
the tale I told. Tristan, with his beautiful face and 
slender, young- boy's body naturally appealed to her 
maternal instinct and she agreed with me that he needed 
to get away from the situation at home.

At that point, Tristan gave a loud sigh that conveyed 
all the sadness in the world. He was quickly turning 
into a fine little actor. Anna Broadley smiled broadly. 
If she had not been on the other side of the check-in 
counter she would have hugged the little wretch. She 
handed over the key as she continued to smile 
innocuously. In return, Tristan gave her a shy, 
disarming smile that brought dimples to the corners of 
his mouth. It melted her heart and the ingratiating 
rascal had her fawning all over him. Tristan now had an 
additional admirer.

Carrying just my overnight bag and a case with 
Tristan's clothes, we followed her directions to our 
room. Down the hall, around the corner, and up the 
stairs to the third room on the right. We stopped 
before a glossy blue door. Tristan followed me inside 
and I closed the door behind me and put the chain in 
place. Inside, I was not surprised. After all, Chris 
had prepared me for my stay at Jacaranda House the 
previous evening. But Tristan's mouth dropped open in 
awe. For him, the room was out-of-this-world with its 
tasteful 'House-and- Garden' Colonial decor. He gazed 
around him, entranced by the plethora of dark cedar 
furniture and traditional decorations before hesitantly 
approaching the huge bed.

It was an old bed with ponderous carved cedar legs. 
With two mattresses on an already high frame, the top 
of the bed was about the same height at Tristan's 
crotch. It was covered by an old-fashioned lace cover, 
itself worth many hundreds of dollars and far more 
elaborate than the gaily decorated young-boy cover that 
he had grown up with. Tristan leaned back against the 
bed and smiled at me. We were alone again and no longer 
in the tight confines of the car.

My mind immediately turned to unfinished business, or 
if it was finished, then starting again from scratch. 
The strange thing was that just the five minutes I had 
spent talking with Anna Broadley, had so interrupted 
our closeness, that I had felt distanced from the 
beautiful young boy who in actuality, stood no further 
than two feet away from me at any time during the 
conversation. And now, while physical distance was even 
less, the separation continued. I resented her 
intrusion and resisted the possibility than any one 
besides myself and his mother, could show any interest 
in, let alone affection, for Tristan. I wanted him 
totally for myself. As I watched him I sensed that my 
feelings were not unique. I wondered whether he was as 
reluctant to share me as I was to share him.

"Are you hungry, Tristan?" I asked.

Tristan shrugged and continued to hold my eyes. His 
hand brushed his forehead to sweep away long strands of 
hair. He moistened his lips, sucking the bottom lip in 
first, and then deliberately wetting the upper lip with 
his tongue.

"She said she'd make dinner for us whenever we're 
ready," he answered absently. His mind was a long 
distance from food but I could not determine what held 
his attention. "I guess I'm hungry," he added.

"We have time for a shower. You can put some of your 
new P-B clothes on for dinner if you'd like?" I 
suggested. "Or if you're really hungry, I say we go 
like this."

"If you want," Tristan said obliquely. "I don't care."

"What do you want to do?" I asked. I wondered what was 
bothering him. Clearly something important was on his 
mind. However, I had no experience with pouting eleven-
year-old boys and few ideas on how one got through to 
them when they carried on like this.

"Whatever! We can go eat if you want, Peter" he 
muttered. His eyes narrowed as he brooded.

"Why are you angry, Tag?" I continued patiently. "Is it 
something I said or something I did?"

"No! I'm not angry!" he said sulkily. "Don't worry 
about me, okay!"

"Well what's the problem then, Tag?" I asked. "You're 
mad about something? Are you worried about something I 
said? Did I say something to her that you didn't like?"

"It's not something you said, okay! And you didn't do 
anything, got it?" Tristan glowered. His lips 
compressed into a thin, hard line. His bad mood was 
very much out of character that it left me astounded.

"Then what's bugging you, Tristan?" I asked seriously. 

Tristan shrugged again. "There's nothing bugging me. 
You wouldn't understand if I told you, Peter."

His emphasis on my name was unmistakable but then my 
own use of his name, without recourse to the diminutive 
form which I had been using for several months now, was 
also unmistakable. I tried to relief the tension that 
seemed to arc between us like positive and negative 
charges seeking to collide. I took a deep breath as I 
wondered what was bothering him.

"Try me, Tag," I suggested lightly.

"If you must know... okay, it's being here with you. I 
feel like I shouldn't do it but I want to be with you. 
I want us to be lovers like my mum said we could be."

"We can be lovers, Tag," I sighed.

"I won't ever be able to go back to seeing you on 
weekends after this," Tristan said mournfully. "Mum 
better let me live with you otherwise... well, I don't 
know what I'll do."

I stepped forward and placed both of my hands on 
Tristan's thin, bony shoulders. There was little meat 
on his lean body and what there was felt like one-
hundred percent muscle. My libido got the better of me 
at a time when virtuosity was in order. Still, it 
worked.

"We can only try, Tag! If she says no, we'll still be 
able to see each other on the weekend."

"I know, but it isn't the same," Tristan whined.

"You know something? I don't know why but I'm 
absolutely positive that your mum will agree to you 
moving in with me," I said.

If Tristan asked why I was so confident I could not 
have told him the basis for my statement, but inside I 
was certain. Perhaps it was because I have become so 
accustomed to understanding risk and uncertainty, 
perhaps because during my discussions with Tricia, she 
had given me ample reason to believe that she was on my 
side, but I expected her not to be averse to my, our, 
proposition. I changed the subject.

"I still haven't told you what a beautiful, sexy boy 
you are today, have I?" I said truthfully. "Because you 
are, Tag. God, I want to make love to you. Tristan, I 
love you so much. You are one incredibly sexy kid, you 
know."

"You sound like my Mum," Tristan admitted. "Do you mean 
it, Peter? Do you really think I'm sexy, even with this 
dumb Klinefelter's thing I have."

"Of course I mean it," I said plaintively. "It's part 
of why I find you so sexy, you dodo! Don't you 
understand? I love you because you're not like other 
boys. I love you the way you are, tiny dick and all."

"You don't have to lie to me to get me to do it," 
Tristan stated flatly. His eyes met mine wantonly 
expressing his emerging attraction to his own sex. Pure 
lust looked steadily back at him.

"Who's lying?" I teased. "I just want to fuck you."

"I'll do it whenever you want, just like I said. If you 
wanna do IT, you know, fuck me, then just say so. You 
can do it right now, if you want to."

"I think you're the most wonderful boy in the world," I 
said reassuringly. I paused and breathed out slowly. I 
nodded and caressed Tristan's shoulders lovingly. I 
glanced at my watch as I wondered whether we had the 
time to do what was rushing towards us. "And yes I want 
to fuck you," I added lewdly. "I want to fuck you so 
much I can barely stand it."

"Okay," Tristan smirked cheekily. "Then what are you 
waiting for. Just do IT, Peter."

**

That evening I came to appreciate the fact that a man 
and a boy can make love at the same time as they have 
great sex together. I also realized that while 
intercourse would not be the most important part of our 
relationship, it would be the tie that bound us into an 
inseparable entity. For those readers who think that a 
sexual relationship between a man and a boy is 
repugnant, I suggest that you do not know what you are 
talking about. And for those people who think that an 
eleven-year-old boy is too immature to both consent to, 
and enjoy such a relationship, I can only say that you 
are wrong. With Tristan, sex was for pure unadulterated 
fun, considerably more fun than I have had with another 
person, male or female.

While he was still too young to experience the ultimate 
delight of ejaculation, Tristan's enjoyment of the 
physical act of anal intercourse was every bit as great 
as my own pleasure once he had recovered from the 
initial pain of my penetration. However, what made that 
first evening even more memorable was that we made love 
to each other.

He stood passively before me, yielding to my embrace 
with diffident casualness but with a teasing smile that 
invited me to undress up. Then as I removed his clothes 
he gradually became excited. Finally he was naked and I 
gazed at his splendid body with overwhelming awe. He 
was so different to Phan that I was speechless. Other 
than his undersized genitalia, there was no flaw on his 
lithe form. His young boy's body was divine perfection 
and I worshipped his immaculate flesh with impure 
thoughts. 

He was unblemished by even the faintest trace of body 
hair, so soft and smooth that it was almost immoral to 
touch him. But I did touch him. I gently stroked his 
flat, tanned chest and belly, eased my fingers down to 
encroach on his private region, then finally took 
possession of his tiny boy-treasure. At my first 
grazing caress, the nubile boy surged into my arms and 
we embraced. The longing which had existed since 
earlier in the afternoon and had never been fully 
satisfied poured out of us. Naked Tristan leaped into 
my arms. I held him tightly, cradling his splendid body 
in my arms. I wanted to be inside him again more than I 
could stand. It was his indecent grin that provided the 
last straw.

I dumped him back on the bed, standing over him in a 
threatening posture as I clumsily fumbled with my belt 
buckle and opened my zipper. His grin remained, 
widening as my sex organs came into view. I undressed 
completely, dropping my clothes onto his by the foot of 
the bed. His prurient penis matched my own for 
stiffness, if not for size. And then I was naked as 
well and only one thing remained to be done. Hurriedly 
I picked up the overnight bag and ransacked it as I 
searched for the suntan oil. It would work as it had 
worked in the car but I would need to get something 
else before too long. He needed the added slipperiness 
of a proper lubricant.

My cock glistened with the thick sheen of oil. It 
pulsed hungrily as I came back to the bed and I gazed 
down at the naked boy stretched out before me. There 
was no need to invent a special position for this time. 
I took him naturally, in the position which was easiest 
for me. I grasped his ankles and pulled him towards me, 
lifting his feet up as he came down the bed. 

As his buttocks reached the end of bed I pulled him 
over the bottom rail, and then shoved his feet back to 
his shoulders. His bottom was lifted up onto the 
delicately patterned lace cover that had been dragged 
with him over the brown cedar rail and his cheeks 
parted to reveal the inside of his crack. His little 
dark anus winked at me invitingly. It had tightened up 
considerably since I had last seen it.

Getting my penis inside Tristan was more enjoyable than 
in the car because I could watch the expressions change 
on his face. At first there was uncertainty and 
reluctance as my cock poised at his threshold and 
tentatively advanced to meet his dimpled opening. It 
changed as my glans began to squeeze inside, switching 
between pain and eagerness as he twitched 
uncomfortably.

The suffering was still no more than a sharp twinge at 
this stage compared to what came next. Even before the 
flared head penetrated, his face contorted as he winced 
in pain. I pushed against him forcefully and he pushed 
down. Tears formed quickly in his eyes as agony 
descended. I ached to be inside him and I kept up a 
relentless pressure. Tristan's distress peaked and then 
the torture was over even as I stopped pushing forward. 
The head was just inside his anus and he needed a 
break.

"God it hurts," Tristan complained.

"It's worse than in the car, isn't it? You feel so 
tight back here. Try to relax, Tristan."

"Yeah it's a lot worse! I'm trying real hard to relax 
the way Alex told me, but you put it in quicker this 
time. I can feel his head in me already," he added.

He was right. I had penetrated him quicker than in the 
car, but I was hungry. I paused, letting Tristan's body 
accept mine before I dared to go further. I had no 
desire to hurt him. He nodded after a few minutes had 
passed. He was ready to continue.

"Okay?" I queried. "Are you sure you want me to try 
again?"

Tristan nodded in assent. He wanted only what I wanted. 
We worked together, a team of man and boy seeking to 
accomplish what appeared impossible at first glance. I 
entered inch by inch as Tristan squeezed down in his 
bowel and forced his anus down the length of my thick 
shaft. We stopped only when five inches were deep 
inside his body. Five wonderful inches of his hot 
rectum locked on my cock and squeezed it like a vise.

He felt full, so full of my engorged, throbbing penis 
that it did not seem possible for me to stuff any more 
inside him. And yet Tristan continued to work his 
sphincter muscles, shoving his rump against me as I 
kept up the pressure by pushing my pelvis forward. 
Miraculously, another inch disappeared into his anus. 
Enough was enough, I decided. I backed away, pulling 
Tristan's compliant body with me until my cock was 
released from the tortured constriction offered by his 
bowel. 

"Oh God," he moaned.

So low and stressed was his voice that I thought that I 
had caused him grievous injury. Tristan's head shook 
wildly, sending his long locks across his face as he 
shuddered.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Just do it!" he begged urgently. "Please!"

I pushed back into his enclosing heat, all the way back 
inside him, back into the succulent depths of his 
rectum until we were one being again. Like that, joined 
so closely by penis and bowel, I felt very close to 
him. He was the extension of my body, a part of my 
penis that existed only when I was fully inside him. I 
could go no further. In one single thrust I had 
achieved the impossible of inserting seven hard thick 
inches of man-cock into the ass of a slender eleven-
year-old boy. Being inside Tristan felt unbelievably 
good, or rather his body felt as though its sole 
purpose was to be a receptacle for mine, ultimately for 
my seed.

"Oh God, Peter, I can't stand it," he groaned again. 
"Do IT!"

He felt fabulously hot and wet inside and my penis made 
a squelching sound as it bottomed out. I felt the 
wetness oozing between us. Most of the fluid inside his 
young body was my semen but some may have come from 
deeper within him. It coated my penis and escaped the 
seal of his well-stretched anus. 

The sweet aroma of boy-funk drifted out from between 
our bodies. I inhaled the musty smell of forbidden love 
and glanced down between us as I withdrew my penis 
until only the glans remained captured inside him. My 
shaft glistened under the light from the ornate 
candelabra above us. It was streaked with the yellowish 
fluids that I had placed in the void of Tristan's 
rectum.

As I gazed at his contracted genitals and little anus 
surrounding my penis, I wondered how his body could 
accommodate my huge organ. His pelvis and waist were so 
narrow that it defied all logic. My penis was like a 
wedge that had been driven into his living flesh. His 
anus was nothing more than a pale, thin lip that was 
stretched tightly around a thick pole. I felt Tristan's 
bowel spasm, an involuntary shudder as he farted wetly. 

His gas escaped between us, squirting my groin with the 
fluid we had made together. Some trickled between his 
cheeks and stained the white lace cover under him. 
Gently I slid back inside him, floating on the slicked, 
oily flesh of his rectum until the thickness at the 
base of my penis prevented further progress.

I pumped into him with deliberate long thrusts that 
pulled my penis almost free of him before slamming back 
into his welcoming heat . Tristan squeezed on my shaft, 
holding me captive until I jerked free. Again and 
again, ten or twelve thrusts in total before he lost 
control. Each thrust loosened him further and brought 
him closer to the precipice. He grunted and spasmed 
with the throes of imminent orgasm. His mouth opened 
and he panted for air as his eyes closed tightly. I 
felt his body shuddering uncontrollably as his 
sphincter clamped and released again and again, like a 
seizure that sent a trembling paroxysm from his body 
directly into mine.

I stopped myself only seconds before I climaxed as 
well. With my cock deep inside his young body, I could 
feel his agony. Tristan was gasping for air and there 
was little I could do to help. I stayed absolutely 
still, afraid to provide even the slightest stimulation 
to either of us, wishing to cause him no further 
distress, or to produce release for myself. His torment 
lasted nearly a full minute before he slumped back on 
the bed, physically drained and unable to do anything 
beyond open his eyes, look up at me, and give me a 
delightful but very tired smile.

His penis was smaller than I had ever seen it. Tag-
junior was not only limp but had partially retracted 
into his groin as if to seek protection and his 
shrivelled up ball-sac made it appear even smaller. The 
tip of his tiny sex organ was dry, not even the 
slightest trace of fluid had been released despite the 
intensity of his orgasm. I gazed at him in sincere 
affection, still not believing that I had discovered 
this wonder of wonders in the as a direct result of a 
chance meeting with his uncle in Thailand. My youthful 
lover was barely male but he was more than enough to 
satisfy my unnatural lust for beautiful, prepubescent 
boys.

I do not remember how long we stayed there, breathing, 
gazing, absorbing the intimacy of two lovers united 
together, but it was delightful to watch his slow 
recovery. Then in the most natural and unfeigned 
gesture, Tristan's hands weakly reached up for my neck 
and he pulled me forward over him. His lips touched 
mine. Taking the initiative, my tongue pushed into his 
mouth just far enough for him to sense the 
possibilities that awaited us. 

At least for now, we were finished. We parted and I 
felt strange, barely recognizing my spontaneous kiss 
less as a candid expression of my affection than as a 
delayed response to my deep-seated appreciation for the 
prize of his virginity. Until that moment I thought 
that I loved Tristan but with sexual union came 
impulsive and instinctive knowledge that it was 
entirely right for us to be joined together. I was in 
deeply in love with Tristan.

As he seemed to have little intention of getting up, I 
lovingly scooped my hands under his back and levered 
him upwards. His legs automatically locked around my 
pelvis as his arms came to meet behind my back. 
Carefully I lifted him and with my penis still within 
his rectum, carried him into the adjoining bathroom. 
The feat that followed was also something of a miracle, 
not only because I continued to fuck Tristan while I 
was standing up and he orgasmed again within a few 
minutes, but because I had never washed another body 
while my cock was still inside it.

Beyond the immediate attractions of the smooth, 
hairless skin and slender body of an eleven-year-old 
boy, there was another quality that dawned upon me as I 
stepped under the shower with Tristan still wrapped 
around my body. Seventy pounds of boy offered 
particular advantages over a boy like Phan who weighed 
in at least eighty-five pounds. Tristan's weight, while 
noticeable, was not that much of an encumbrance to make 
me put him down. Instead, I bounced him up and down, 
moving his abdomen on my still-erect cock. Positioned 
like that, I had to be very careful to restrict my 
upward thrust to less than five inches. More than that, 
my shaft would be yanked free and it would be difficult 
to both support him and reinsert it at the same time.

Now, not only did my penis slide inside him with 
consummate ease, his slick, relaxed rectum exerted 
increasingly infrequent attempts to expel the invader. 
More often than not, his muscular contractions tried to 
draw me in deeper. While our position prevented me from 
going the full depth, enough was enough and I settled 
for the five or six inches he could take without 
difficulty. He was perfectly content to let me fuck 
him, he was too exhausted to do anything to stop me 
even if he wanted to.

After only a few minutes his rectum defied all logic 
and loosened even further. The slackness inside him was 
awe-inspiring. He was wet and juicy, and wonderfully 
soft as I probed into his bowel. His rectal lining, 
already sloppy with the slimy juice of my earlier 
ejaculation was no longer the firm, sleek tube that I 
had initially penetrated. Now he was mushy and the 
sound of my penis moving inside him was clearly audible 
over the loud noise of the shower.

The warm water cascaded over us as I bounced Tristan 
with increasing ferocity. He rode my cock like a boy on 
a bucking stallion, never losing his grip around my 
shoulders and hips and spontaneously moving to position 
himself where the feelings were best. For Tristan, that 
meant locking his legs around my hips and firmly 
pressing his heels into my buttocks and thighs. By 
doing so, he lifted his bottom upward so that my cock 
reached only halfway into him. My glans pounded into 
his immature prostate and it drove us both to 
distraction until we could stand no more of the 
heightened stimulation and I forced him down again.

We were oblivious both to the shower water and time as 
we worked together. As our motions became more urgent, 
Tristan's head came to rest against my shoulder as he 
became physically drained. I fucked into him wildly, 
plunging my cock all the way inside his shuddering 
rectum as I rammed him downward. At the bottom of the 
stroke his body jarred as the cock inside him ground 
into his colon. He gasped and groaned as I jerked him 
away, only to shove him down even harder the next time. 
It would have been impossible to fuck Phan the same way 
or with the same intensity for my own strength would 
have been expended long before now. 

I felt Tristan's moist mouth sucking on my shoulder. 
Then he began to nibble my neck, quickly becoming more 
aggressive with ferocious nips as his orgasm neared. He 
sucked on me as my cock sucked loudly inside him. It 
was only a matter of seconds. I started to grow tired 
towards the end. It had been a long day and seventy 
pounds of boy was becoming too much to toss around. I 
put all my effort into finishing with a mind-shattering 
crescendo. Undoubtedly, it was the best orgasm that I 
had in my entire life. The last few thrusts were 
unforgettable. Tristan climaxed again, moaning in 
uncontrollable ecstasy as his body finally reached the 
pinnacle of its tender, eleven-year existence and he 
gave himself to me.

Each thrust produced a violent contraction in his 
sphincter that gripped my cock and tried to throttle 
the life out of it. Compared to the sudden strength he 
exerted, his earlier spasms had been mere ripples in 
his velvet- textured bowel. It was impossible to 
believe than anything so soft and loose could squeeze 
so tightly. Unable to restrain myself, I groaned and 
climaxed with him. I felt a fabulous deep opening 
inside him that my semen spurted endlessly into until 
my glans was submerged in my own seed. Thick, hot 
gushes exploded from my loins. My cock pulsed 
frantically within Tristan's welcoming embrace and I 
ejaculated copious fluids into the beautiful boy.

Slowly his tousled head looked up. Even though I had 
done all the work, the expression on his face was 
startling. He had a sleepy, blissful look. With glazed 
tired eyes, a thoroughly contented boy smiled weakly at 
me and half- heartedly tried to compress his sphincter 
around my shaft. His feeble effort was amusing. He was 
impossible to resist as streams of water dribbled down 
his face. 

I raped his pretty mouth as I had raped his young boy's 
ass with my penis. He took all of my cock and he now 
took my tongue deep into his mouth before his lips 
began to work feverishly against mine. We kissed with 
abandon, secure in the privacy of the small shower 
enclosure and released momentarily from any 
inhibitions. Unknown to me, a smear of Tristan's 
bright-red blood washed away in the shower, his 
innocence now replaced by lust.

When we parted I tried to find the words I wanted so 
badly to say. How could I convey my complete and utter 
satisfaction with what had transpired between us? I 
settled for another kiss, every bit as passionate as 
the one which preceded it. Tristan kissed back eagerly, 
taking my tongue again and substituting his own in my 
mouth. His energy began to return.

I began to soap him as he clung all naked and giggly to 
me. He wriggled and writhed so much that I considered 
putting him down for fear of dropping him on the tiled 
floor. Instead I gripped him tighter and used one hand 
to work up a thick, white lather. His thin arms locked 
around my neck as his legs clamped around my pelvis. He 
was as slippery and smooth as an eel as I soaped him up 
and down. As my hands worked around his butt he 
squirmed. The tips of my fingers felt my penis as it 
exited from his nether opening, no longer squeezed by 
his soft insides but still held within him.

My hands travelled everywhere over his body, 
symbolically washing away the guilt I had. I had soiled 
him and now I was expunging the evidence of our union 
even as my cock remained inserted inside him. His mouth 
continued to suck absently on my shoulder as I massaged 
his bumpy spine and caressed his flanks. Long, 
wonderful minutes passed until my limp penis finally 
pulled free of its comfortable abode and dropped away. 
Like his own small sex organ, it too was temporarily 
discarded until our desire resurfaced.

As soon as there was no reason to continue to hold him 
up, I eased him to the floor and I knelt down and 
commenced to wash his lower half. This half became even 
more interesting as I worked upward from his feet. It 
was a pleasant task of constant rediscovery and open 
admiration. Above his knees the view was clearly 
superior to anything offered by the top half of his 
bare body. His groin captivated my full attention and I 
studied his sex organs with the appreciative eye of a 
boy connoisseur. 

Without a doubt, Tristan's penis was the smallest cock 
I had seen on an eleven-year-old boy, However, my basis 
for comparison was limited to a sample of one. Barely 
more than his tiny glans and a fraction of an inch of 
his shaft was visible. His belly tapered in a V-shape 
formed by the furrows of his thighs until it was almost 
to the base of his penis. Then it swelled and rounded 
to form a soft mound through which his penis exited. 
The underside of his mound became his little scrotum. 

I soaped his diminutive sex organs and massaged them 
gently, eliciting continuous giggles and muted squeals 
of delight as I playfully rolled his balls between my 
fingers. His penis stayed limp the entire time although 
he enjoyed my attention. At other times he was always 
so quick to present me with his boy-projectile that 
even his very softness excited me.

I twisted his compliant body around and parted his 
rounded cheeks to wash his anus. As I expected and 
fervently hoped, he was uninjured. Although his tiny 
orifice was still partially dilated from a good long 
fuck, it was nothing out of the ordinary as far as a 
young, gay boy was concerned. His little anus was, like 
my favorite pair of Nikes, well used. Other than the 
distended opening it showed no adverse impact of my 
ill- use. I was very glad that I had been both patient 
and careful in the bedroom.

I resisted temptation to try a finger, or two, or three 
inside that luscious boy-hole. I rinsed him off, gave 
him a playful slap on his firm, small bottom and 
followed him out of the shower. Anna Broadley would 
wait only so long before we would have to make other 
plans for dinner. Tristan dressed quickly in his new 
clothes, putting them on as fast as I could tear off 
the labels and hand them to him. As I dressed, he stood 
in front of the mirror, 'checking himself out' with 
visible pride at his stunning appearance.

He was a fortunate lad with considerable natural beauty 
but dressed in new clothes he was absolutely adorable. 
With careful steps and graceful movements, he paraded 
like a model. 'Puberty Blues' enhanced an already 
perfect body. The clothes fit exactly, elaborating 
Nature's wonderful form and exaggerating his figure.

"You're sexy," I said in awe.

Tristan grinned cheekily. "Even with clothes on?"

"Yes! With those clothes it doesn't matter that much." 
I grinned and admired the enhanced bulge of his crotch. 
"Your mum did a great job."

"I know. Hannah said I would be so sexy that you'd want 
to do it as soon as you saw me! She said you wouldn't 
be able to keep your hands off me," he added gleefully.

"She's absolutely right, Babe. I could take your 
clothes off right now."

He smirked as he inflicted his punishment. "Yeah but 
I'm starving so you'll have to wait for a while won't 
you?"

**

Tristan led the way to the broad expanse of windows and 
smiled cheekily as he glanced around the empty dining 
room. I sat down and he took the chair beside me. Not 
the chair opposite me, but the one that placed his back 
to the view that had drawn him to the window in the 
first place. The view was spectacular. The sun was 
setting and we looked towards the east. Long dark 
shadows emphasized the flowing procession of hills. 

Each tree was perfectly outlined against the horizon. 
Fences stretched into the distance as they followed 
gentle undulations. There were half a dozen cows 
grazing on the side of the nearest hill. It was both 
beautiful and romantic. One could not ask for anything 
more. Well, one could I suppose, but it would have to 
include Tristan being naked and in the privacy of our 
room.

"Nice view," I heard Tristan say.

I turned back and smiled at him. It was a wonderful 
view, made even better by the tousled-headed, sensuous 
boy who dominated my existence. He was beautiful, 
considerably more rugged than the manicured landscape 
beyond the windows, but equally perfect in my eyes.

"Uh huh," I murmured. "It's a very nice view, 
especially with you to look at."

That brought an instant smile and he hushed me with a 
quick motion of his eyes even as I heard Anna Broadley 
approach from behind me.

"Good evenin' again," she said loudly. "I hope the room 
was everything you expected. I thought you might take 
some time to clean up and relax a bit before you came 
down for dinner."

I glanced swiftly at Tristan and he stifled a peal of 
laughter that threatened to break out at any moment. 
His amusement was expressed in his suddenly prominent 
dimples of his cheeks. he smiled sweetly at Anna 
Broadley.

"I needed a shower pretty bad," he said and then added 
with a fixed glance at me, "it was a long drive from 
Gosford."

"Well then, I bet you're starving young man," she 
replied. "Now we're right out of the chicken but I do 
have some pork ribs left. You look like you could use 
some rib-meat," she laughed. "What say I cook up a load 
of ribs, You'll have a wait a while but I'll be faster 
than a rabbit under a fence."

"Anything is fine with me. I've got a big appetite 
tonight," I said.

Tristan cackled and tried to match her accent with one 
of his own. I had no chance against the two of them. 

"I'm starving. Ribs will go down great," he replied.

He smirked wickedly at me, clearly in his element and 
certainly more comfortable that I was. What I felt was 
a sudden pang of jealousy. It came out of nowhere and 
if I had not been hungry, I might even have dragged 
Tristan to a restaurant back in town instead of 
exposing him to this old woman's affection.

However, my ill will was unfounded. A moment later Anna 
disappeared into the kitchen and Tristan and I were 
alone again. His eyes sparkled happily. Momentarily I 
tried to ignore him as I endeavored to deal with my own 
problems first. He gave me no opportunity for self 
abuse. His leg moved to the side until his knee rested 
against mine. It stayed there, exerting a warm pressure 
of its own and preventing me from forgetting what we 
had just shared just a few minutes earlier. 

"She's cool," Tristan said with admiration. 

"I think she likes you, Tristan," I sighed absently. 
"God, I want you so bad." It was becoming increasingly 
difficult to keep my mind off Tristan. He was a 
distraction that I had no experience with beyond two 
weeks in Thailand and a boy whose parents welcomed my 
affection for their son.

"You're gonna screw up," Tristan said critically. He 
grinned cheekily. "You're gotta be more careful talking 
about 'your appetite'."

I nodded and gazed into his magnetic eyes for the 
thousandth time that day. Again I heard Anna approach 
and I turned around to see her carrying drinks to us. 
After she left I turned back to Tristan. He smirked 
cheekily as he sipped his coke.

"You were pretty incredible in the bedroom," he 
whispered.

I grinned back at him. "So were you, kid. I don't 
believe we did that."

His head bowed and his mouth came closer 
conspiratorially. "That was the best! I'm still shaking 
inside. If feels like there's a great big hole in my 
butt. I can't believe how good it felt at the end."

"I know, I can believe it either," I answered. "I 
thought I might have hurt you when we were doing it so 
fast at the end. I was all the way inside you."

"Na! It was great." Tristan paused and giggled. "You 
know what, Peter? I think I'm still horny."

I was surprised. With no prior experience with a 
prepubescent boy, I had yet to learn that his recovery 
time was measured in minutes instead of the hour or two 
that it took me to get interested in sex after an 
orgasm.

"There's not much either of us can do about it now. 
You'll have to wait until after dinner. Then I'll take 
care of our little friend."

Tristan continued to giggle. "He likes yours... a lot. 
Maybe they can play together after we go back to our 
room."

He glanced down and then his eyes lifted back up from 
his crotch he was smirking. The lewd expression could 
mean only one thing.

"You got a hard on, haven't you?" I asked quietly. 

The youngster nodded shamelessly. "I didn't put any 
undies on remember? It's itchin' like mad against my 
zipper."

I raised my eyebrows slightly. The very thought of 
Tristan sitting beside me dressed only in shirt and 
jeans made my heart rate rocket into overdrive. He was 
right, I realized. I remembered him dressing, pulling 
up his new slacks over his freshly washed pink penis. I 
hoped nothing leaked out the back-door. I jumped when I 
heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper being opened 
slowly.

"Yeah!" Tristan croaked. "That's better now."

I wanted to look under the table. It was impossible to 
believe that a boy would expose himself in public and 
yet the sound, although muted, had been his zipper 
opening. I relaxed into my chair and tried to focus my 
mind on the view outside.

I was never any good at keeping my New year's 
resolutions and I was a lost cause even as I tried to 
resist temptation. My hand dropped under the table and 
slid towards Tristan. I touched the soft brushed cloth 
of his new pants. His thigh felt warm and he trembled 
slightly at my touch. Three more inches and my 
fingertips brushed the jagged edge of his zipper. 

Without underpants to provide a covering of last 
resort, I stroked his hot hardness. Tristan sucked in 
air as he quaked under my fingers. His little rigid 
cock quivered as my hand trembled. I held the precious 
little sausage, more like a cocktail frank, between one 
finger and my thumb and mused at the extreme softness 
of his delicate skin and the bone-like stiffness 
underneath.

"Yeahhhh!" he breathed out. "Jerk me off... pleasseee," 
he begged.

I nodded quickly, grinning with the sheer perversity of 
illicit contact. It so excited me that normally 
rational action was overcome by lust and eroticism.

"Tell me if she comes through the door," I demanded. 
"She won't be able to see you but she still might 
realize that I'm still playing with your dick."

I went to work, fondling his sensitive organ gently 
until we both became braver. He was deliciously stiff, 
his little ramrod boy-cock standing up proudly to 
attention as it received my affectionate caresses. If 
there was any doubt that Tristan did not enjoy sex, it 
was swiftly dispelled as I rubbed his tender member. He 
wriggled in his seat and his knees moved apart as wide 
as they could go. 

My access was unfettered and one small hand helped to 
pull his slacks open at the crotch. With my fingertips 
I could feel the wrinkles forming in his scrotum as it 
drew up underneath. Now that it was much smaller it was 
more suited to his little penis. He was undeniably 
ready for sex. I rubbed his balls lovingly and he 
sighed as I squeezed them with gentle presses of my 
fingers. Little whimpering sounds began to emerge from 
his throat, mixed with heavy breathing and frequent 
gasps.

Long wonderful minutes passed before Tristan jerked 
upright in his seat. 

"She's comin'," he breathed.

My hand darted away and I casually inspected the 
silverware as she came to the table with our dinners. 
Dinner was excellent considering that we were more than 
an hour and a half late although a slab of pork ribs 
was difficult to eat with only one hand. The quiet 
sound of Tristan's zipper closing was heard only as 
Anna Broadley returned to clear the dishes and bring 
desert. He coughed loudly to give me warning and 
squeezed my hand tightly as I gave his little cock and 
balls a last playful tug.

And then it was back to our room and off with our 
clothes. For once, Tristan undressed himself but my 
eyes never left his thin body for more than a few 
seconds. He yanked back the top sheet and jumped onto 
the bed. Against the pure white of the sheet, his 
tanned lean body looked particularly inviting and his 
meager sex was the stuff of my dreams. I yearned to 
pick up where we had been interrupted at dinner, or 
even better, a repeat performance of what we had done 
before dinner. I decided that it would be Tristan's 
decision this time. It was his holiday as well as mine.

I approached the side of the bed and looked down at his 
fabulous naked body. 

"Well," I asked. "Should I get the suntan oil again or 
what?"

Tristan grinned and his head turned slightly. The 
bottle of suntan oil was already beside the bed. This 
boy apparently thought of everything.

"If you want... I know I promised and everything, but 
it kinda hurts inside. I like doing it as much as you 
do but Alex said I had to be careful because I'm new at 
this and you're a lot bigger than I am back there."

I smiled reassuringly. I expected as much. My penis 
was, according to the youngster, not only much bigger 
than his rectum, but he was unused to having it inside 
him. Without doubt, I had obviously caused him pain. In 
the nicest way possible he was trying to tell me that 
he needed a rest.

"Okay! What then? What do you want to do, Tag? Tonight 
we're going to do whatever you want."

"Whatever I want......" Tristan thought aloud. "I-I-
I... I want you to do it... but I think it's going to 
hurt a whole lot more than before dinner." He smiled 
shyly and casually scratched his breast just below his 
nipple. "I don't know what else there is to do except 
that!"

"Oh! So you haven't sucked another guy's cock yet?" I 
asked teasingly. "And with a pretty mouth like yours, 
it's about time you started."

Tristan smirked. "Will you suck mine as well?"

I nodded as I started to settle down on the bed beside 
him. I took the tried and tested position of sixty-
nine. He was uncertain of what I was about but as he 
quickly caught on I elicited a soft sigh. He was in 
rhapsody as I went down on him. I took his cock all the 
way into my mouth on the first attempt. He was the 
ideal size for this, his erection barely noticeable as 
my tongue swirled and swooped over the delicate organ. 

He trembled instantly and his narrow hips lifted up 
with more strength that I anticipated. He wanted to 
drive his hungry little dick right through the roof of 
my mouth. He was impossible to resist as I sucked 
feverishly. His balls followed of their own accord, 
taking their natural and rightful place inside the 
safety afforded by my equally hungry mouth. Tristan 
tasted a lot better than pork ribs with Jacaranda House 
sauce.

I could hear his soft moans as I engulfed him and bit 
lightly on his balls. He writhed under me, squirming 
and wriggling as if he wanted to escape. In reality all 
he wanted to achieve was to fuck his cock into my 
tongue and make himself more aroused. I easily managed 
all of his sex organs and some of the soft, smooth 
flesh that would, when his puppy fat disappeared, 
become his pubis. 

Still, Tristan had not returned the favor, but I was in 
no rush. Just being able to satisfy his young lust was 
more than enough for me. There was no threat of 
imminent orgasm for me, and even if he did climax, it 
would make no difference for several more years to 
come. There was plenty of time to do what I really 
wanted and I resolved to take my time and enjoy every 
moment of it. 

Just when I had given up all hope of Tristan accepting 
my penis into his mouth, I felt his first tentative 
touch. His tongue was wet as it swiped slowly across 
the engorged head of my penis. Then his lips touched my 
glans an I felt his first passionate kiss. It did not 
end until he had kissed every part of my cock at least 
two times. No part of my organ remained untouched from 
his soft, moist lips and then he gradually took me 
inside his lush soft mouth and bathed me with his 
saliva. It took all my self control to avoid humping 
his pretty face as I became increasingly excited.

Whenever Phan and I sixty-nined, he never took more 
than about half of my penis before he stopped. On the 
other hand I lived to deep throat him. Admittedly his 
penis was only about four and half inches when it was 
fully erect, a lot smaller than my much thicker seven 
inches of manhood. But then I have always been 
attracted to smaller organs. As soon as my glans was 
past his lips, Tristan stopped. His mouth seemed to be 
stretched open as wide as it could go. He looked a lot 
like a little boy sucking a lollipop that was far too 
big for him. However, he felt very good indeed.

The sensations of a young boy's lips clamped tightly 
around my penis is impossible to describe but I will 
try. At first there was a sense of awe at what Tristan 
was doing. He was without inhibitions, or at least he 
had very few hang-ups that plague most boys of his 
generation. His tongue took over with instinctive moves 
of its own as it slurped and licked across the 
sensitive tip of my cock. Every few seconds he sucked 
as hard as he could. Tristan truly understood the 
meaning of the expression to 'suck cock'. He created 
the vacuum deep in his chest and tried to pull me into 
him while he held my cock firmly between his sharp 
teeth. 

It was at one time both considerably pleasurable and 
quite painful. I expected that he was trying hard to 
simulate my mouth as I pleasured his penis, testicles, 
and groin area, or perhaps even trying to encourage me 
to be more aggressive in how I sucked him. At first the 
latter was more unlikely but gradually I began to think 
that young Tristan needed greater stimulation. Finally, 
uncertain of what he really wanted I lifted away, gave 
his little rigid tool a quick, wet kiss, and held its 
saliva covered length between my fingers as I looked up 
at him.

"How does it feel so far?" I asked.

Tristan nodded slightly and tried to smile around my 
penis. Then he too pulled back, and grinned as he 
rubbed my cock with his fingers, sliding up and down on 
the slippery film of spit.

"This is the best, Peter. I could do this forever!"

"So could I. You're a natural cocksucker, Tag." I 
grinned back at him.

"What happens now?" Tristan asked gleefully.

"What do you mean?"

"You know! Can we keep sucking each other?"

"Of course! You can suck mine whenever you want. Do you 
mind the taste?"

"Huh? No, it's kind of salty, isn't it? You can suck 
mine too, whenever you want, Peter, just so that I get 
to do the same to yours."

I laughed and playfully shook his hand. "It's a deal." 
Tristan giggled and started to lower his head towards 
my rigid penis. Gently I stopped him. "Not so fast. If 
you keep doing that, I'm going to do it... you know, my 
semen will come out."

"So! I don't mind. I've seen it before. It looks just 
like milk."

I cuffed him lightly on the shoulder. "When it comes 
out you have to decide what you want to do. I'll warn 
you beforehand so you can take your mouth away if you 
want." 

"Do you want to do it in my mouth?" Tristan asked 
uncertainly. "I don't mind.

You can if you want."

I nodded slowly. I wanted to fill his body with my 
seed. It mattered not one bit to me which end of him I 
used. I reached up and placed my hand behind his 
dishevelled head. His hair was already mussed up as 
though it had not seen a brush in years but he had been 
perfectly groomed for dinner. With his lean body, the 
wild mass of unruly, long hair made his head appear 
disproportionately large. He was a very sexy boy in my 
eyes. I drew him towards my groin and his mouth opened 
as his fingers lifted my cock up. It melted into his 
mouth, sucked into his throat as he gagged. 

His teeth were well back out of the way. Tristan deep-
throated me, insofar as an eleven-year- old boy can 
deep-throat a seven-inch penis. There was a period of 
several seconds of extraordinary surprise and delight 
as he stayed there with the head of my cock pushing 
into his tonsils. My hand gripped his head and pulled 
him forward as I willed him not to stop. My fingers 
twisted in his tangled locks, my cock pulsed in erotic 
joy, and I stabbed further into him with a restrained 
push. He felt unbelievably good as he swallowed me. 
Quickly I eased him away before he puked.

Tristan gave me a teasing wink as he glanced up to find 
my approval. I nodded happily and his fingers tickled 
my balls as his lips kissed around my glans. He went 
down again without my guidance and did what comes 
naturally to every boy when he is given the 
opportunity. He understood how far he could take my 
cock before it blocked his airway and he pushed the 
limit a little further every time. 

No matter how hard he tried from then on, he seldom 
progressed further than half of my length. However, 
what he did have inside his mouth was more than enough 
for me. The other half, he rubbed by using his thumb 
and three small fingers. It was infinitely superior to 
masturbating myself and a lot better than anything Phan 
had managed to do in the two weeks that I had spent 
with him.

Tristan brought me to the edge in less than five 
minutes and sucked the life out of me. My orgasm 
arrived just as Tristan's head came away. He had gone 
down too far and he was gasping for breath as I 
spurted. He tried to take my spasming cock back inside 
his mouth but the next two blasts of semen splattered 
over his face. He pumped my shaft vigorously, 
extracting the last of it with demonic fervor. It 
dribbled down my cock, lubricating his flying fist with 
slippery juice. His expression was lewd and triumphant 
as he sat up and smirked at me proudly.

"Pretty good huh?" Tristan asked. "I wanted you to do 
it in my mouth," he admonished. He giggled. "But YOU 
missed!"

"That's right, blame it on me. You must like the taste 
of it a lot," I chuckled. "Most guys don't like it at 
first but I guess you're the exception, I guess. It's 
all over your nose, Tristan."

His lips smacked as he tasted my juice and decided that 
he liked the flavor of adult semen. He grinned widely, 
leaned forward over me, and began to lick up all that 
he had missed when I ejaculated over my belly. In a way 
it was better than doing it in his mouth as I watched 
his small pink tongue dart out and return inside 
carrying its slimy coating of semen.

Finally finished, he gave my penis a long wet kiss by 
slurping over it with his soft, pink tongue fully 
extended and settled back down beside me. Even though 
Tristan had not orgasmed, for the moment my lust was 
satisfied. I stroked his head lovingly as I ran my 
fingers through his unmanageable hair. I wanted to tell 
him that I loved him but the words would cheapen what 
we had shared. 

I believed that I did love him more than was humanly 
possible but after the intimacy of being sucked, I 
could not even begin to convey my affection for him. I 
sighed and pulled him closer against me so that we were 
firmly pressed together. His groin was hot against my 
thigh and his little hard penis poked crudely into me. 
Slowly his own excitement evaporated and it became 
limp. He felt warm and wonderful as he snuggled into my 
protective embrace.

Slowly his small hand slithered across my belly until 
his finger tips brushed my saliva-moistened penis. He 
smiled shyly and his big blue eyes looked into mine. 
What I saw was 100-percent boy and I felt pure 
unadulterated lust.

"Do you want to?" he muttered self-consciously.

"Again?"

Tristan's head rocked on my shoulder as he nodded 
slightly. "We can... if you want to," he added. He 
sighed sleepily.

"I thought you wanted to get something better than 
suntan oil, horny-bum."

"I could do it all night if we had some of that K-Y 
stuff you told me about in the car," Tristan giggled 
softly.

He yawned. I kissed the top of his head and smelled the 
apple-blossom fragrance of the shampoo he had used 
earlier.

"You going to fall asleep before I finish, Tristan," I 
teased.

He squirmed and wriggled closer. "This bed is so soft, 
and you feel so nice to sleep on," he murmured 
dreamily.

"Are you happy?"

"Uh huh... Hmmmm... He's getting big again... Hmmmmmm," 
he sighed drowsily. "We can... if you want... I love 
having him inside me, Peter."

We shared a knowing look as he yawned again. He was 
heavy-eyed and ready to drift off to sleep at any 
moment. Lovingly I eased him off me. He moved 
sluggishly and I helped him to turn over onto his other 
side.

"Are you sure?" I asked. "There's always tomorrow.?

Tristan nodded somnolently. It was late and we both 
moved listlessly. He was passive as I gently lifted his 
legs up to his chest and settled behind him. There was 
no encouragement from the inert boy as I lovingly 
pulled his small cheeks open, drooled spittle over my 
fingers, and guided my penis to his waiting orifice as 
I wet the head of it. 

Even my penetration was lethargic. I pulled Tristan 
onto me with a slow, deliberate pressure that enabled 
my penis to enter his dazed body without difficulty. My 
penis moved forward at a snail's pace until my hair-
covered pubis squashed into his baby-soft buttocks and 
then I stopped. Perhaps he was already asleep, or 
merely in the fading stage before slumbering, but there 
was no indication of consciousness. With my penis fully 
ensconced inside him, I possessed him insofar as one 
person can possess the body of another. He was mine.

We fell asleep like that, joined together but unable to 
conclude our union.

**

With dawn came another day and the undeniable 
realization that we were truly in love. I awoke before 
Tristan with a morning erection and a sensation unlike 
any that I had ever known. My penis was rigid and as 
hot as molten metal. Impossibly, my penis had remained 
deep inside Tristan's body during the night. I did not 
stir and resisted the temptation to move my aroused 
organ even a fraction of an inch. Even the slightest 
motion would disturb the sleeping boy. He snoozed into 
the crook of my arm and his hot, moist breath drifted 
across my forearm as a repetitive reminder that he was 
very much alive.

He stirred slightly and I felt the fluctuation of his 
rectum as he started to awaken. A little firm squeeze, 
a restrained sigh, a slight oscillation of his hips as 
he wavered on the edge of consciousness. The 
tranquility of early dawn was interrupted by a loud 
pandemonium of kookaburras outside. Tristan whimpered 
as the commotion arrested his sleep.

"...feel soooo goood..." he slurred.

"Damn birds," I crooned in his ear. "I was going to 
fuck you while you were still asleep," I added.

"You're soooo big." He blinked his eyes and rubbed his 
fingers into them. "You didn't... last night... You 
fell asleep too."

"Uh huh! I was in you all night so don't be too sure 
young man."

"Yeah, I know. I woke up hours ago and you had a hard-
on then as well."

"What happened?"

"Hmmmmm... What do you think happened?" Tristan asked 
in a lewd undertone.

"I... I don't know."

"Move your dick around a bit," he instructed 
innocently. "I want to feel him inside me."

Slowly I eased away from him and gradually pushed 
forward. He felt wonderfully hot, loose, and very 
succulent, much more so than he had been when my penis 
had last entered him. More of my sap was inside him.

"You little butt-fucker," I grinned. "You did it while 
I was asleep, didn't you?"

"Uh huh! I did it just by squeezing on him. I didn't 
want to wake you up. 

And you came bunches in me, Peter."

"Well, I'm sorry I missed all the fun, Tag," I laughed. 
"Maybe I can make up for it now?" I suggested.

"I guess. If you have to," Tristan said mock 
reluctance.

He started to giggle and I began to tickle him by 
forcing my fingers under his arms and reaching into the 
cavities of his arm pits. I moved down to his ribs and 
he became hysterical as I prodded him without mercy. 
But all the time his buttocks stayed firmly compressed 
against my groin. He was taking no chances. His 
frenzied movements excited both of us.

Finally I began to hump against him. Holding his left 
hip with one hand and using the other to alternately 
tickle and caress the upper flank. He writhed against 
me, rhythmically driving his bottom into my crotch as 
he jerked his pelvis with relentless desire. My penis 
surged into his constricting body as it glided in the 
lubricious tube of his rectum. Within a minute we were 
fucking wildly, abandoned to the overpowering delight 
that consumed us. Nothing had changed while we had been 
asleep except the ease at which Tristan's body 
responded to mine. Sex had suddenly become much easier 
and even more enjoyable as his discomfort evaporated.

The sheets and blanket were pushed away as we sought 
other positions. Gripping Tristan's slender body, I 
rolled onto him and pounded into him with desperate 
lunges that I would never have imagined possible given 
the difference in our sizes. He groaned and whined 
beneath me as he tottered on the edge of orgasm.

Again he was the taciturn pre-teen boy. He said nothing 
but communicated his desire with monosyllable sounds 
that told me to go deeper, harder, and faster. I 
vacillated between gentle loving strokes that focused 
on his immature prostate, to frantic plunges that 
engaged the entire length of my penis. I fucked my 
young boy sex-fiend exactly the way he wanted to be 
fucked.

Then suddenly his animal-like sounds became urgent and 
I was unable to hold back any longer. Thirty minutes 
had passed since we started and it came to a swift and 
disagreeable end. Just seconds before I was going to 
explode into Tristan's straining, shuddering body 
someone knocked on the door. 

I gripped Tristan tighter and fucked into him with 
corybantic dives that propelled my penis deep inside 
him. He grunted and heaved against me as his 
approaching orgasm charged his body with fearful 
energy. His rectum locked onto my penis, wrenching my 
aching penis as I began to ejaculate. In twenty seconds 
it was finished and I slumped back, twitching as the 
last spurts were yanked out me by Tristan's wresting, 
quaking bowel.

"Oh God," I moaned deliriously. "I think I'm dying."

Tristan's recovery was not instantaneous but it was a 
lot faster than mine. 

"You're okay," he teased cheekily. "But someone is at 
the door, you know."

I nodded. "They can wait."

The knocking sound came again. It was not impatient but 
it was persistent. There was no choice but to get up. 
Playfully, Tristan used the remarkable muscles inside 
his body to exert a delightful pressure on my softening 
penis. It was a fond farewell and as the muscles 
slackened he cautiously pulled away. My limp penis 
slithered out of his fabulous cavity and into the light 
of day.

I lurched to my feet and swayed as I searched for 
something to wear. I settled for a bath towel that lay 
discarded on the floor and I clumsily wrapped it around 
my waist. I careened towards the door and the insistent 
knocking of our early-morning visitor. 

I was greeted by the smiling face of Anna Broadley as 
Tristan quickly pulled the sheet up to conceal his 
nakedness. The rich aroma of anal sex was not hidden so 
easily. She carried a large tray suitably laden with 
coffee, milk, and four of the biggest scones I had ever 
seen.

"'Mornin," she announced. "I hope you slept well. It's 
a big bed so I'm sure there was plenty of room for you 
and young Tristan." 

She smiled widely as she looked past me to the bed, to 
Tristan, to the boy I had been making love to less than 
a minute earlier.

"We both slept great, Missus Broadley," Tristan 
cheekily grinned back. "He snores, but I always sleep 
like a log."

"I don't snore you little rascal," I laughed. "Well, I 
might, but I don't think so. If I do it's only because 
he wriggles around."

Tristan raised his eyebrows as if I was telling a lie. 
"He does," he confirmed. "Uncle Peter snores like a 
chain-saw."

Anna chuckled. "That's more like it. I hope he treats 
you right, young man"

Tristan nodded and looked at me uncertainly. Tristan 
was silent but he stared at her with dogged 
perseverance. He was steadfast as he slowly sized her 
up. 

"He does!"

"Well now, Tristan, I hope so. A boy like you deserves 
the very best."

I nodded agreeably.

"Your Uncle Chris used to sleep in this bed," she added 
ambiguously. "Fact is, the cover that was on this bed 
last night was one he brought me for a gift a few years 
ago."

Now it was my turn to be unremitting. In the instant 
that it took me to realize that the lace cover that had 
been over the bed rail before dinner was no longer 
there, I understood what was unspoken. She KNEW!

For the moment I decided to ignore the facts. "It looks 
like a nice day," I said. "Maybe we can go for a walk 
along the beach this morning," I suggested.

"Oh? I expected you to stay around here day. Young 
Tristan here reminds me so much of my son when he was a 
boy," she said. She glanced at Tristan and smiled 
reassuringly. There was along silence. "Your Tristan is 
a LOT like my Kevin. Probably more then you realize 
Mister Sayd."

I stared beyond the window as I considered what she had 
just said. The emphasis 'lot' was unmistakable. She was 
telling me that she knew.

"I'm sorry about the cover, Missus Broadley," I 
mumbled.

The cover had disappeared after she had come in to turn 
down the beds. She would have been blind not to see the 
yellow smears. The signs of our love stained it, 
unmistakable shared juices of my semen and the oil I 
had used to lubricate Tristan's body.

"I was going to clean it... but we went to dinner first 
because I didn't want to keep you waiting."

The woman smiled at Tristan gently with a reassuring 
look. "You're so much like my Kevin. But you're still 
so young." Her voice was sad but it was also full of 
sympathy as if she understood our love. "In this 
business one sees just about everything. A long time 
ago I decided that whatever my... my guests do in 
private is not my concern. Sometimes a boy needs 
someone he can talk to and be with as he grows up. When 
he needs a grown-up friend, its best that I mind my own 
business."

Tristan blushed and glanced at me for support. I 
stepped forward protectively and placed myself between 
them. "He has a friend, a very good friend," I said 
simply.

"I know!" The woman shrugged. "I know you're his 
friend. Maybe lover would be more accurate. I suspected 
something like this when Chris called me to make the 
reservation. Besides... well he has the look."

"What look?" I demanded.

"Some boys are different. My Kevin was different. It 
was the way he was born.

It's just the way some boys are. They like men. They 
can't help it." 

One finger brushed against her lips thoughtfully. 
"Kevin was very special. 

It was right for him and I think it's right for Tristan 
as well. I hope so."

"Right?" I asked uncertainly. "How do you mean right?"

"When Kevin was about a year or two older than Tristan 
he fell in love...with a man. Chris Arneson came up 
here to look at some land for an investment Land prices 
were high and resorts were springing up all over the 
coast back then. They met and one thing led to another. 
When Kevin came to me, I was shocked. They were a long 
way past friendship... and we were poor and Chris was 
very rich. He wanted Kevin to go away with him. He 
wanted them to live together."

"I know the feeling," I admitted as I gazed at Tristan. 
He was listening attentively, as if hearing his own 
story.

"It was a hard decision but I agreed. It was the best 
thing for Kevin but I couldn't stand to lose him. It 
was very hard on Kevin. Anyway, eventually Chris 
brought us here. The following year he bought this 
place for me so that he could be with Kevin whenever he 
wanted."

Her voice trailed off in a distant memory. "And?" I 
prompted.

"Kevin died a few years later. He was in Vietnam. He 
was nineteen and he stepped on a land mine."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"So you see, Mister Sayd, I do understand about you and 
Tristan. Not many people would of course, but when 
you've lived through it like I have and seen the 
happiness my son had before he dies... well, it makes 
you think it shouldn't be against the law. Love is a 
beautiful thing. It doesn't matter if it's between a 
man and a boy."

I nodded in agreement. "I'm sorry about Kevin," I said 
softly.

Anna Broadley smiled at my young friend. "I thought 
about you, Tristan, all last night. It was like hearing 
and seeing my Kevin again after all these years. You're 
a lucky man, Mister Sayd."

"Yes, I know," I admitted as I beamed back at Tristan. 
"I guess I'm the happiest man alive right now thanks to 
Tag."

Anna Broadley paused as she looked from Tristan to me 
and back at Tristan again. "He's a lucky boy to have 
you, Mister Sayd." She started towards the door. "After 
you've finished your hike, I hope you'll come back and 
spend a few days here with me."

"Missus Broadley?" Tristan began awkwardly.

He sat up in bed uncertainly and the sheet dropped to 
his thighs. That he was naked did not bother either him 
or the woman but I swallowed nervously as his young 
body was displayed. His small sex organs lay exposed 
between his slender brown legs. Against the virginal 
white of the sheets, he looked both innocent and 
intensely sensual. I stared at him with carnal lust and 
remembered the erotic fervor with which we had been 
fucking before we were interrupted.

"Yes, Tristan?"

"I'm sorry about making a mess on your cover."

"Kevin used to do the same thing. Over the years I 
reckon he must have left his stains on all of the seats 
in the house." She shrugged nonchalantly, accustomed 
both to naked boys and the results of their sexual 
activities. "It easily comes off with a little soap and 
water. Whatever goes in has to come out eventually."

I laughed, feeling a strong sense of relief. Tristan 
smiled at me wantonly. 

"We'll try to be more careful next time, won't we Tag?" 
I said.

She stopped in the doorway and regarded us 
thoughtfully. If she had any reservations about what 
she saw she did not voice them. She smiled and left.

"Well!" I exclaimed in disbelief as the door closed 
after her.

"S-hh-eee-t!" Tristan guffawed. "I thought we were in 
deep shit for a while there."

"Me too! We were lucky, Tag. We're going to have to be 
more careful."

"Yeah, I know."

"The bedroom smells like a whorehouse," I chuckled. 
"She must have known we were having sex just before she 
came in."

Tristan sniffed and smiled. "I never noticed it before 
now but you're right. I bet she could smell it as 
well."

I laughed. "I could see her nose sniffing like a dog. 
Ummmm... what is that nice smell. Ummmmm smells just 
like... BOY BUM!"

I jumped onto the bed and pushed Tristan to the side. 
He struggled as I dragged him lower, kissing his bare 
chest and shoulders as I went. I ravished his bare 
skin, licking, sucking, biting, like the famished beast 
that I was. It sent him into fits of laughter as he 
writhed and wriggled and tried to escape. Finally I 
pinned him down and stuck my tongue in his mouth and 
tried to get it part of the way down his throat. He 
kissed me back with more passion than seemed possible 
for an eleven-year-old boy, even one who was as randy 
as Tristan.

When we stopped playing around my coffee was cold. 
Fortunately, the milk and oversized scones (and Tristan 
and his undersized penis) tasted great. As soon as we 
finished our breakfast, we showered. Needless to say 
our second shower together was not quite as much fun as 
our first shower. We soaped each other up and I goosed 
his little bum hole as he humped his hard miniature 
cock into my thigh. All covered with foam and slippery 
as an eel, Tristan revelled in the physical contact as 
I pummeled him playfully. As he became more 
rambunctious, I began to take control. I ended up by 
pushing him against the tiled wall and pinning him. I 
groped his naked, wriggling body wildly as I kissed 
him. He squirmed, giggling uncontrollably as he fought 
back.

But it was all a game and all he really wanted to do 
was rub his body against mine and try his hardest to 
get me to ejaculate over his flat, brown tummy. I 
responded by sticking my soap-slicked finger into his 
anus. I inserted it with a single hard thrust and 
Tristan gasped as it surged through his sphincter. 

I placed the tip of my finger into the marble-sized 
lump of his prostate and tantalized his inner nerves 
with frenzied stabbing. Within seconds he was overjoyed 
and he moaned as successive waves of delight flooded 
over him. As his orgasm approached his face elevated 
and as he gazed into my eyes, I saw unbridled passion. 
His smile gladdened my heart. I existed only for one 
purpose; to make him happy. We kissed like two wild 
animals.

He encouraged my thrusting finger by jerking his pelvis 
back and forth, fucking himself onto my digit with 
abandon. The soap provided more than enough lubrication 
for him to pull completely away and then slam back down 
and plunge my finger through his nicely dilated anus 
and all the way into his rectum. When he began to gasp 
for air I knew that it was time to finish him off. 

My finger touched the very center of his being and it 
was only three inches inside him. His prostate was a 
nucleus for the sensations that overpowered him. He 
came closer to the point of climax and as he used all 
of his strength to shove against my finger, he began to 
shake with the intensity of it. His nipples, tiny hard 
nubs, rasped against my chest as he propelled his body 
to the limit of his young straining muscles.

The cry of ecstasy, when it came from deep in his 
chest, echoed against the tiled walls. My finger was 
embedded in his core and I felt the instant pressure as 
all of his energy was exerted. He squeezed with all his 
might, still impotent, his shrivelled penis dry as he 
slumped back. I withdrew my finger and kept the tip at 
his opening, exerting the slightest pressure on his 
anus as he subsided. The look on his face was one of 
rapture, transported beyond the reality of his young 
life to the intoxication of sexual euphoria normally 
reserved for adults. I shared his bliss as the steaming 
water cascaded over us and kissed him until my lips 
were sore.

Finally Tristan recovered and with a joyful smile began 
to repeat his delectable movements against me. This 
time he was careful not to bring his genitals into 
contact. Similarly, I avoided his raw anus. He was 
intent on pleasuring me. I erupted quickly but in such 
great quantity that my testicles ached. As he felt the 
erratic jerks of my penis he started to giggle and his 
driving body moved with less force as he smeared my 
semen over us. He continued his gentle undulation until 
the last of it was washed away. 

He grinned at me triumphantly as my throbbing penis 
slowly subsided, reached forward and gave it a 
deliberate tug, and then tilted his head back so that I 
could kiss him. He stuffed his tongue into my mouth and 
I sucked as hard as I could while I clasped his firm 
bottom tightly. For the zillionth time that morning I 
thought about how I was able to penetrate him and 
marvelled that it was actually possible to get my penis 
so deeply inside his slender body, so far that it 
actually felt as though it would pierce his belly.

We dried off hurriedly, snapping our towels at each 
other with painful flicks at exhausted sex organs. But 
for the present, there was no arousal beyond the 
titillation of already exalted spirits and tingling 
bodies from a hot shower and orgasm. His recovery was 
nothing short of spectacular. It was difficult to 
imagine Tristan physically exhausted as he had been 
only minutes earlier. We did not talk as we dressed and 
with regret I watched his beautiful body disappear 
under his clothes. 

We needed some essentials before the weekend and we 
went shopping. It was an hilarious expedition was as we 
cruised the aisles behind a careening cart steered by 
Tristan Alexander Gordon, race-car-driver. He took 
corners at death-defying speed and braked so hard that 
there may have been skid marks on the vinyl floor. All 
the while we bickered about what to buy. 

Trying to convince Tristan that dried fruits were not 
only better for him but more likely to survive the 
rigors of a day at the beach than Violet Crumble bars 
took several minutes. It was only one of our playful 
disagreements as Tristan became more relaxed and 
boisterous. We both won. I added two boxes of raisins 
to the cart and Tristan got his dozen candy bars. His 
allowance would be one per day if he 'behaved'.

At that, Tristan giggled and nudged me. His lewd look 
conveyed exactly what he intended. There was no doubt 
in my mind that for Tristan, 'behaving', was construed 
to mean having sex at every opportunity. And if there 
was any doubt, it was quickly dispelled when we came to 
the aisle with pharmaceutical products. Three large 
tubes of lubricant, a tube of Preparation H, and a box 
of suppositories would be enough for our needs. Again 
we looked at each other and our mutual lust was enough 
for me to send Tristan back to pick up a carton of 
prunes. Unless I was mistaken, he was going to need a 
little assistance with nature's calls before long. 
That, and a sore bum were the price of being in love 
with a man.

With a bag full of groceries we headed back to the 
guest house. It was time to load up my small backpack 
and to make sure that we had everything that we needed. 
Tristan stood by and watched, placing himself in 
control of the entertainment as he fiddled with the 
stereo in my car and cavorted happily. He asked endless 
questions, such as why I placed things where I did in 
the back- pack, and why didn't I place the K-Y closer 
to the top. He left the obvious unstated and grinned at 
his own crude innuendo. I was nearly finished as Anna 
Broadley came up carrying a small metal cake-tin.

"I baked some cookies for you," she announced as she 
offered Tristan the tin. "Kevin used to like them. 
They're oat-meal and raisin."

"Thanks Missus Broadley!" Tristan replied ebulliently. 
His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, as if his gratitude 
was an intense emotion.

"Well, you're very welcome Tristan. You'll need to keep 
your strength up for what's ahead." She smiled at me 
and Tristan started to blush. Her meaning was obvious. 
"A couple of hours without home-cooked food is a long 
time for a growing boy."

"Yeah, I know. This morning I kept telling him to buy 
things I liked, Missus Broadley, but he insisted on 
stuff that was good for me."

I laughed as I pushed the towels into my back-pack. I 
remembered that one thing we had not bought out of the 
room was his swimming costume. He could do without it, 
and we could both go naked. It was a pleasant thought 
although it would mean finding a very private beach. 
The idea of being naked with Tristan appealed to me.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of him. He won't go 
hungry. He can probably survive for days on what he ate 
last night and we'll only be away for a few nights. 
That was a superb dinner, Anna."

"Why thank you. And Tristan, for heaven's sake please 
call me Anna too. Missus Broadley makes me feel so, 
well so old." She smiled happily. "You will be back 
here for a few days, won't you? I'd like to get to know 
both of you and after the weekend the place will be 
empty."

I nodded. "I really do appreciate you driving us up 
there."

"It's no problem. It's only ten miles. By the way, 
Peter, you can leave your car in the garage behind the 
house if you wish. It'll be safe enough here but it's 
so nice that it really should be inside."

"That's very nice of you, Anna. I was worried about 
leaving it outside with all these trees around. I 
expect there would be bird shit all over the top by the 
time we got back."

Tristan opened the tin as I was talking and pulled out 
a cookie for himself. He grinned at the woman as he 
nibbled around the edge. His too-pretty-for-a-boy mouth 
was a delight to watch. Only two hours ago his full, 
passionate lips had been locked around my penis. That 
my sex organ was still covered with the rich-smelling 
juice from inside his bowel did not faze him. He had 
slurped over it as eagerly as I tongued the loose 
opening where it had come from. That morning I had done 
something that I had always dreamed of doing with a 
boy. I tasted my own semen as my tongue entered his hot 
hole. It was not something that I would have cared to 
do with Phan. 

**

I tightened the straps and lifted the pack out of the 
trunk. "Here you go, Tag," I said as I handed it to 
him.

"Well, I guess we're ready to go,"

He happily carried the back pack and followed Anna 
Broadley to her car. 

Despite his slender prepubescent body he was both 
remarkably strong and agile. His muscles were long and 
thin, his tendons like narrow cords that stretched the 
smooth skin of his limbs. He looked so good in the 
'Puberty Blues' shorts and shirt that I wanted to kiss 
him right there. I resisted temptation because it would 
only embarrass him.

**

For the first few miles the beach trail did not live up 
to its reputation as presented by Chris. It followed a 
line of hills as it traversed an area of forest from 
the road to the beach. But it was easy going as we 
picked our way through often dense stands of trees. 
Some trunks were several feet in diameter and they grew 
so thickly in places that it seemed impossible for them 
to find the necessary nourishment in the sandy soil. I 
appreciated the slow introduction for it had been a 
more exhausting morning than I was used to. 

The trail wound around one hill and down into a 
secluded Eucalyptus-scented valley before it ascended 
the next hill. The ground became pebbly and several 
times only good luck saved us from spills as we slipped 
on rolling stones. However, as the morning wore on and 
the heat increased, the air became thick and humid. The 
moisture on the ground evaporated and drenched us with 
sweat as we labored on into the day. 

It was always the same once I started on a hike. I 
wanted to get as far away as possible from 
civilization, and now that Tristan was with me, my 
motivation was increased several-fold. The previous 
year I had been enraptured by the beautiful places I 
had discovered on a hike through the Blue Mountains. 
Some of the secret glades, the ones that lay off the 
beaten path, had not been seen by human eyes for many 
years and I was left with the impression that only the 
early explorers had been there before me. 

They were places for a man to be alone with a boy like 
Tristan. I longed to find another of those secluded 
spots before it was too late in the day. I could 
imagine spending my first evening in the bush with 
Tristan. The thought excited me and I scanned the 
forest as we passed, hoping to find a place to stop for 
the night where special memories would be made.

From eleven in the morning to four in the afternoon, 
less a half-hour break for lunch, and three ten-minute 
rest stops, Tristan carried his forty-five-pound load 
like a trooper. There was no complaint as he followed 
beside me. Whenever I chanced to look at him, he merely 
grinned happily and plowed on enthusiastically. His 
wiry frame seemed unaffected by the humid heat and the 
weight on his back, although I noticed that he 
gradually slowed as the afternoon progressed. I reduced 
my own speed to match his and stopped more frequently 
to let him rest.

At times the bush parted and we crossed sand hills, a 
precursor to the Pacific Ocean that we glimpsed 
frequently as we approached. At such times, we felt the 
full force of the afternoon sun. After a long passage 
across a tea-tree dotted ridge, we dropped our packs 
and slumped onto the ground, leaned against our packs, 
and took a well-deserved break. I estimated that we had 
walked between ten and twelve miles and I pulled the 
map from the side pocket of my pack to check our 
location.

"I gotta pee," Tristan announced.

I ignored him for several seconds as I tried to get my 
bearings. The compass needle swung slowly, as if tired 
of the heat or unsure of which direction to point to. 
It seemed to point the way towards a small fold in the 
hill that was marked by a depression in the line of 
trees before it came to rest at magnetic north. It was 
perhaps half a mile ahead.

The map was not helpful beyond an indication of an 
erratic blue line of a stream and a small black square 
that could mean anything from a holiday cottage, a 
farm, or even a deserted ruin, the latter being more 
likely given the date at which the map had been 
prepared. Also, there was no road in the vicinity, 
suggesting that it was not a house. It looked promising 
as a place to stop for the evening if there was fresh 
water there.

I glanced up as I heard the sound of water dribbling 
onto the ground no more than a few feet away. I 
suppressed a smile as I gazed at him. Even the simple 
act of urination excited me, or perhaps it was the 
sight of Tristan's tiny penis, barely poking through 
the open slit in his shorts. It was an entirely natural 
thing to him to do and he exposed himself to me without 
a second thought. Indeed, the look on his face was as 
one of blissful relief from emptying his bladder as it 
was of innocent eroticism. After twelve days alone with 
Tristan, without his mother and Hannah around to keep 
us in check, I suspected that we would have few 
inhibitions. 

"What are you looking at?" Tristan demanded haughtily 
as he smiled cheekily. 

"Haven't you seen a guy pee before?"

"No! At least not an eleven-year-old boy with a 
beautiful dick like yours," I laughed. "Come here, 
sexy!"

Tristan smirked as he shook the last droplets away. He 
left his zipper open as he walked the two or three 
paces necessary to bring us together. Tristan Junior 
peeked out at me as he came to stand only a foot away 
from me. His penis could not be more than an inch long 
and fully half of that was his helmet-headed glans. It 
was a precious treasure, a perfect adornment for his 
superb, young body.

"You really think I got a nice dick?" Tristan blurted 
out self- consciously. 

"I hate being so small. My mum..." He stopped suddenly 
and sighed loudly.

"What did your mum say, Tag?"

"It doesn't matter, Peter."

"Yes it does," I prompted. "I don't care that yours is 
small, I really like you the way you are and the size 
of your penis isn't important to me."

"She said... well she said it was small because of what 
I have wrong with me, Peter. I'll always have a small 
one, won't I? It'll never be big like yours."

I nodded understandingly and wondered why the fetus 
that had eventually become the beautiful boy before me, 
had been affected by a condition that affects just one 
boy in a thousand. But that was exactly what Tristan 
was, one boy in a thousand, a hundred thousand, a 
million. I knew enough about him to be certain of that.

"It doesn't matter, Tag. No guy can change the size of 
his penis. We're all stuck with what we are born with. 
Some guys have ones that are bigger than average and 
there's an identical number who are smaller than 
average."

"Is yours bigger or smaller?"

"About average, I guess. I'm just an average kind of 
guy," I answered playfully, although uncertain as to 
what the average size of a man's penis was. I had read 
somewhere that it was in the region of six or seven 
inches. If so, I was in one of the higher percentiles.

"It's just too small," Tristan complained. "I can't 
even do it properly, you know, like rub it the normal 
way."

"The size doesn't matter," I began again.

He looked at me. "It's what I do with it that counts. 
At least that's what Alex said. If you really loved me 
then you would care whether I had a big one or a little 
one. You would love me for who I was, right?"

"Alex is absolutely right," I acknowledged. "I love you 
just the way you are."

I placed my hand on Tristan's knee. He was a scrawny 
thing. I felt his small kneecap as my fingers encircled 
his leg. Behind the knee his skin was soft and warm 
with a moistness that came from perspiration. My hand 
slid slowly down his smooth calf.

"You skin is so soft, Tag," I mused aloud. "You have 
nice legs... no you have wonderful legs... and strong 
too. You've kept up with me nicely."

I glanced up and saw Tristan's proud smile as he basked 
in my affection. He needed my enthusiastic support to 
make up for the emotional distress of Klinefelter's 
Syndrome. 

"I'm starting to feel a bit tired," Tristan admitted. 
"The last hour was pretty hard."

"I was hard most of the day," I laughed. "Not just the 
last hour. Every time I look at you I get the biggest, 
stiffest erection."

"Because you think I'm sexy? You just want to stick him 
in my bum, don't you?" he asked teasingly.

"You got it, Tristan. I think you're incredibly sexy."

I brushed his thigh as my hand started its trip upward. 
His leg was smooth. He was not only without even the 
soft downy fuzz of a child, but his skin was softer 
than anything I had ever touched. It was so unlike 
Phan's leg that I could not take my hand away. My 
fingers stopped at the hem of his shorts. I wanted to 
go higher. 

The afternoon sun beat down on us through the dappled 
filter of the leaves above. Patterns of random light 
and shade danced across Tristan's thighs as I placed my 
hands on his narrow hips. My thumbs caressed the gentle 
bulge of his lower belly as it swelled down from his 
hips and led towards his crotch. Through his open 
zipper I could see his penis begin to grow. It 
lengthened as his blood rushed into it. It came to full 
erection during the few seconds that I was transfixed 
by the miracle of Tristan's burgeoning sexuality. 

"I'm gettin' one too," he tittered. "Like you."

Even though I had not seen any one since we had said 
our farewells to Anna Broadley, I still scanned the 
bush and the beach that we had just crossed. There was 
no one to be found and with trembling hands, I began to 
unfasten the belt buckle at Tristan's waist. He grinned 
cheekily.

"What are you doing, Peter?"

"What does it look like, Tag?"

"You're going to take my shorts off?"

"Not wrong, Tag! I'm going to take your underpants off 
as well."

"Why?" Tristan smirked as he saw the tent in his blue 
nylon briefs. 

"Because I want to. Because you can't have sex with 
your pants on."

Tristan giggled and his head swivelled around as he 
looked behind him. "You want to do IT here.? Someone 
might see us, Peter," he cautioned.

"No one's around to see us." I lifted the elastic 
waist-band of his briefs outward and over his rigid 
cock before slowly dragging down his slender, suntanned 
thighs. 

"Peter, you aren't jokin' are you?"

"No!"

"I guess I better get the K-Y out of my pack, huh," he 
chortled. "I'm going to need it by the sound of it."

"Either that, or I'm going to use spit."

"Should I get naked first?" He asked sheepishly.

"If you want. You're bare-assed and that's enough for 
what I have in mind but I think I'd always prefer to 
see more of you instead of less."

Tristan raised his eyebrows temptingly, still uncertain 
whether I was teasing him or actually intending to do 
what I had said. Unconvinced he waited until I brought 
his briefs all the way to his feet. He lifted one foot 
as he balanced with his right hand on my shoulder and I 
tugged his shorts and underpants past his shoe. And 
then the other foot and for my purposes, Tristan was as 
naked as he needed to be. His tee-shirt came off as he 
stepped back. His thin arms lifted up and in a single 
graceful swoop, the vibrant blue shirt came off to 
reveal the lithe, well-defined abdomen of an eleven- 
year-old boy. 

I stared as Tristan held me entranced. Only his socks 
and shoes remained and I was truly able to appreciate 
his beautiful young body. In the cramped car my view 
had been limited and later in the evening, it had been 
rushed and the light from the overhead fixture could 
not compare with the golden sunshine that illuminated 
his glabrous flesh. His navel held my attention. In his 
flat, lean belly, his navel was a knot that both bulged 
outward and pulled into him. Neither outie, nor innie, 
it was flush with his stomach and partially covered by 
a thin fold of bronzed skin. 

I watched his thin chest rise and fall with each 
labored breath. His penis quivered expectantly, pulsing 
with a strong young heartbeat as Tristan became 
increasingly excited.

"Well, get the K-Y while I get naked too," I laughed as 
I fumbled at my waist.

Anticipating that something of this nature would occur 
at some point during the afternoon, I had placed the 
tube in a convenient location--one of the pockets on 
the side of Tristan's pack. He came back with it even 
before I had my shorts past my knees. By the time I had 
my clothes at my ankles Tristan had the top off and a 
big lump scooped out on his forefinger. He approached 
until he stood over my legs and grinned like a cheeky 
sprite as he placed his K-Y coated finger in front of 
my face, then callously moved it behind him as he 
continued to grin. He wiped his small finger between 
his cheeks and transferred as much as possible of the 
clear jelly to the vicinity of his anus. He was ready 
for me to do as I wished.

"How are we going to do this?" I teased. "How about you 
lie down in the grass?" No, the ants might have you for 
dinner. Hmmmm, let me think. Do you want to do it 
standing up? Not a good idea because you're not that 
tall. Any ideas Tristan?

"Me? We could go down to the beach but I don't want to 
get sand in there. Ummm... I guess I could kneel down 
and you could get behind me," Tristan suggested 
admirably.

"I guess... but... I... have a BETTER WAY!" 

I grabbed his legs and yanked him down. He tottered, 
struggling playfully before he lost his balance and 
fell into my lap. We ended up face to face, both 
breathing excitedly, both wanting to share a kiss as we 
had when we had taken our first shower together. As we 
studied each other, Tristan's lips pressed forward, 
puckering instinctively as his need became ever 
stronger. His lips brushed mine and I pulled him into 
me as my tongue surged forward and forced its way into 
his mouth. He kissed back urgently as he settled into 
my lap comfortably and secure in my embrace. I sucked 
his tongue into me and held it between my teeth as I 
grasped his small head tightly.

"You feel so hot, Tag" I whispered as we parted to 
breath normally. "You feel like you're burning up."

"This is ultimately awesome! I'm shaking all over. I 
want you in me again," Tristan moaned into my ear. 

"How?"

"Any way you want! I just want him in me, Peter," 
Tristan growled. "Now!" he added with emphasis.

I implemented my planned method with the same urgency 
that his stressed voice demanded. With my hands on his 
sides, one in each armpit I lifted up seventy pounds 
above me. My penis rose to the occasion, ready and 
willing to plunder the firm buttocks directly overhead. 
I lowered him, positioning him as he took the 
initiative of guiding my cock-head to its target. His 
legs braced and he leaned back against my knees as he 
felt the tip press into his anus.

"Yeahhhh!" he growled, now louder as his voice trembled 
with excitement. "I want him right there."

I could sense his enthusiasm as he pushed downward. 
Tristan grunted once as he shoved against me. I felt a 
distinct forceful squeeze over the head of my penis and 
then the heat quickly increased as it penetrated him. 
He gasped with the suddenness of my entry and then 
tried to pull away as his body involuntarily endeavored 
to reject me. But I held his shoulders firmly and 
within a few seconds he relaxed again. His leg muscles 
quivered as he hesitated. He crouched above me, his 
legs straddling my hips as he squatted. It was a 
balancing act as he waited, poised, eager, and wanting 
to feel my penis deeper inside him. He knew he should 
be patient for a few minutes until his muscular 
contractions ended but it was difficult to wait that 
long.

"You got it, honey-butt," I said with my mouth close to 
his ear. "It's inside you now, Tristan."

"Yeahhhh, I know," Tristan responded. "You always feel 
so big at first, until I get used to him... It kind of 
hurts." He took a deep breath. "On the count of three, 
okay?"

I nodded and counted with him. His voice trembled as 
much as his slender body until the moment came. At one, 
Tristan filled his lungs with a deep, strong breath. 
His eyes closed tightly in anticipation of the pain he 
would feel as we reached two. At three, he strained 
with all his might. His sphincter, prepared to eject 
the empty contents of his bowel, strained down 
forcefully and opened and my cock rammed into him. One 
inch, then two, then three inches slid ramrod-stiff 
straight into his rectum. Tristan's eyes opened wide in 
amazement and upon discovery that my entry had been 
nearly painless.

"Wha..." he began. "Ohhhhhh! Oh! Oh God! Awwwww!"

His moan was torn from his lungs. It came as my penis 
continued to push forward, momentarily grinding into 
his baby prostate before shoving it aside to slam into 
his bladder. His legs weakened and he dropped onto me, 
completely inserting all of my cock as he collapsed. It 
plunged full-length into him and I gripped his writhing 
body and lifted up with all my might. Perhaps I was too 
aggressive but my motion had the desired effect of 
bringing my pubis against his crack with a loud slap.

"Now," I gasped, "you have all of him in there, Tag."

He whimpered as his body struggled to adjust its 
internal dimensions and accept the unyielding presence 
of an adult penis that was lodged deep within his 
pelvis. His belly churned as his organs were displaced. 
There was sharp stabbing pain as my glans entered all 
the way until it wedged against his colon. It could go 
no further. He choked back a sob and swallowed bravely 
as tears began to form in his wide, panic-stricken 
eyes. A cry burst from his throat before it was 
truncated to a frightened gurgling noise. Several 
painful spasms cramped his tortured sphincter and then 
he groaned.

I held him with crushing strength as his panic faded. 
His body trembled erratically as muscular spasms 
returned again and again. He gasped and panted as he 
closed his eyes and waited for the misery to stop. 
Nearly two minutes passed before the miracle was upon 
us. I diverted Tristan's attention from his distress by 
gently caressing his chest and shoulders, occasionally 
rubbing the tiny points of his nipples. At some 
undefined and unrealized point, pain changed to 
pleasure and agony became delight. His eyes opened and 
joy was evident in the slow smile that appeared on his 
face.

"God, you feel soooo big."

"Does it hurt a lot, Tag?"

He shook his head slightly. "'s okay. Better now... 
he's all the way in me... so fast this time. I wasn't 
ready."

"I'm sorry. It seemed to go in so easily." I said 
apologetically. "It'll feel better in few more minutes. 
Just relax and it will stop hurting."

"It feels better already. It still hurts but mostly it 
feels weird. It's like I'm goin' to pee, I think any 
second now."

"Do you want me to take it out?" I asked gently. "I 
don't want to hurt you, Tag."

"It's not that bad. He just feels so big. Will you be 
angry if I pee on you?"

I grinned and shook my head. Already I could feel the 
pressure reducing as the last resistance of his boy's 
body was overcome. Carefully, indulgently, I flexed my 
cock so that it lifted inside Tristan's rectum and 
exerted its own small pressure on the sensitive walls 
of his rectum. Tristan's reaction came instantly as he 
gasped.

"Oh shit! Oh God! Oh! Don't doooo that!"

"Does it hurt?"

"I can't hold it back... ohhhhh, nooooo...I'm sorry."

Pale urine dribbled from the end of his little penis 
and splattered on my belly as Tristan watched in 
disgust and disbelief. In a few all-too-short years, he 
would ejaculate like Phan and his juvenile orgasm would 
be long forgotten as he spurted thick gobs of semen. 
But for now he responded to its over-stimulation in the 
only way that it was capable of when his immature body 
could take no more. Frantically he tried to stem the 
flow but short of squeezing the end of his penis, it 
was an involuntary release and his efforts succeeded 
only in reducing it to a slow trickle.

"It's okay, Tag. I don't mind," I said sincerely. 

As the last of his urine dripped out, I regretted that 
he had urinated only minutes earlier. My belly was wet 
with it and the sweet-sour odor wafted up between us. I 
wondered whether it was the result of orgasm, a release 
of fluid that signified his sexual climax. It certainly 
seemed to have affected his internal muscles. Within 
his tight, hot tube, I felt a wet looseness that had 
not been there before. Tristan noticed it as well.

"It doesn't hurt as much now." He smiled weakly. "Okay? 
On the count of three."

Exactly what Tristan intended to do on the count of 
three was unknown to me. Like before, he began by 
taking a deep, long breath. He nodded eagerly and 
raised his hips higher, then on three, he began to fuck 
himself. At first his movements were clumsy and 
inconsequential but after half-a-dozen well- placed 
strokes he began to undulate his pelvis. His rectum 
rotated and pulled on my cock as he moved rhythmically. 
Slowly he started to increase the length of his upward 
strokes, pulling away until several inches had been 
dragged reluctantly out of his fiery canal.

Sometime during the next few minutes I decided that K-Y 
was always going to be my lubricant of choice. Despite 
the fact that it quickly felt less like lubrication 
than a water-based jelly, K-Y greased his slippery 
flesh until it became a slimy, oozing hole that easily 
consumed my shaft. It was much better than either 
suntan oil or the oil from cooking a pig over an open 
fire.

It was the first time that Tristan took the active role 
(while I was awake) and it affected him dramatically. 
He rode me like a boy on an untamed stallion, jerking 
his hips back and forth as he worked my cock deep 
within him. He grinned ebulliently as my thick shaft 
stabbed, prodded, and pounded away into his 
increasingly loose flesh. He rode me right up to the 
minute preceding my orgasm. When I took over, Tristan's 
wide grin revealed the thrill he had obtained by taking 
the lead. I promised myself that we would repeat the 
experience as often as he wanted as we worked to the 
finish together.

With me thrusting up into his bottom at the same time 
as he punched downward, Tristan began to orgasm. We 
were fucking wildly as my penis plowed into the furrow 
between his small cheeks. He drove his body to 
accomplish wild gyrations, often almost yanking my 
cock-head out of him. Sometimes he moved too far and 
our union was broken. Frenzied efforts returned our wet 
suction as my penis was swiftly reinserted. 

My first spurts were extracted before I could stop him. 
I tried to hold back but resistance was impossible as 
his rectum gripped me in its overpowering heat. His 
insides twitched and he squeezed, wrenching my 
throbbing cock deep inside him. Another spurt was 
dragged out of me as I pulled him onto his back. I felt 
my penis lurch violently inside his bowel at it was 
repositioned. My penis jerked, evulsing semen into my 
stripling lover as he tottered over the edge and began 
to shudder convulsively. I wrapped my arms around his 
chest and hugged him tightly as his dry orgasm peaked 
and began to fade.

"That was wild," Tristan finally acknowledged in a 
broken whisper. "I thought... I thought I was going to 
die. My butt is still shaking."

"You were incredible."

"Was I okay?" Tristan breathed. He gulped more air.

"You're wonderful. That may be the best fuck I've ever 
had. I think I'll have to adopt you, and call you 
Tristan Sayd from now on ."

"I'd like that. Only then I'd have to call you dad 
instead of Peter."

"I wouldn't mind calling you son," I said truthfully.

He grinned happily. "You could still call me Tag, too. 
If you wanted?"

Playfully, I cuffed his bare shoulder. But my fingers 
stayed on his smooth skin and became increasingly 
affectionate as I traced ever-widening circles over his 
chest and belly. He was sticky and hot, no longer the 
silky, warm boy of the early morning, but like me, he 
was flecked with beads of sweat and particles of grass 
and leaves. He was very alive despite his lethargy. 
Tristan smiled at me and sluggishly sighed as he sat 
up. His buttocks rested against my pelvis and fitted so 
neatly into my groin that he seemed to be designed for 
that purpose alone. We were joined the way that nature 
intended for us to be joined. Gently I began to massage 
his back and sides, moving with unhurried caresses as 
he squatted above me.

His small hand moved down between us with a languid 
slowness until his fingertips touched my penis where it 
exited from his anus. There was a space of several 
inches between Tristan's tiny sex organs and my penis 
but it was covered with slime that had formed between 
us. So positioned, my still- partially erect cock was 
contained in the innermost sanctum of the supine 
youngster. I could have remained on the grass like that 
all day.

But all good things have to come to an end eventually 
and we still needed to get back to the guest house 
before night. He sensed the need to dismount from his 
appointed perch as I shifted beneath him. With a 
playful smirk his fingers flicked at my shoulders, he 
leaned forward to kiss me, and impassively pulled away 
from my cock.

"You were wonderful," I sighed as he stood up on 
weakened legs above me.

"That was fun," Tristan said with a big grin. "I like 
being on top!"

"Is it more fun that being on the bottom?"

He giggled. "It's okay either way, just so he's in my 
bum. But you like being on top of me more, don't you?"

I nodded calmly. He extended a hand and grunted as he 
tried to pull me to my feet. But seventy pounds of pre-
teen boy could not have lifted me. I came to my feet 
slowly. Sex with Tristan usually left me satisfied but 
this time he had a remarkable effect on me. I wanted to 
fuck him again, right then.

"Maybe we should do it my way now," I teased as I eyed 
Tristan's nearly naked body with a look that 
transcended the boundaries of human decency.

Tristan shrugged and smiled slightly as he casually 
inspected his rump by swiping his right hand between 
his buttocks. His fingers came away coated with the 
same greasy slime that matted my pubic hair.

"You sure made a real mess in my butt," he giggled. "I 
don't I'll ever be the same again."

"I know you won't! You better get used to it." He 
nodded agreeably and bent over to pick up his clothes. 
"Don't worry about getting dressed, Tag," I added.

"Huh?"

"There's no point in getting MY MESS all over YOUR 
underpants. And besides, we aren't going that far from 
here. Just over there, beyond those rocks, is where I 
think we can find a place do it again. And then we 
won't have to worry about anyone coming along and 
seeing us."

"You mean, uh, like I should stay like this? I'm almost 
naked, Peter."

"So! No one will see you. No one that is... except me. 
And it's about time you got used to being naked. 
Besides, I thought you were used to being nude around 
your mom?"

"Yeah, but not like this," he giggled. "It's really 
gooey back there."

"Well get used to it Tag, because that's the way it's 
going to be from now on. 

I plan on keeping you naked and doing this as often as 
we want."

So with a shy but accepting grin, Tristan stayed the 
way he was and I helped him into his backpack. It was 
such an incongruous sight that it brought immediate 
laughter to both of us. Wearing only his tee-shirt, 
shoes, and socks, and carrying his shorts and 
underpants, Tristan was the quintessential boy. We 
walked side by side, keeping well into the trees in a 
delayed aftermath of excess inhibitions from our prior 
overexposure. Then, leaving the bush behind, we turned 
towards the beach and carefully picked our way between 
the rocks and scrub. Halfway up the beach I found the 
spot that I had been looking for. It was a beautiful 
place, full of the quiet solitude that we needed to 
fall hopelessly in love with each other.

Tristan took his pack off and we ambled down to the 
water, to an area where a rock ledge ran out into the 
breaking surf. The water was a meter deep close to the 
shore. We had time for a swim before putting up the 
tent and preparing dinner. I squatted and sampled the 
crystal-clear water with my hand. It was warm enough to 
swim. Tristan knelt down next to me and leaned forward 
as I settled back on my haunches and watched him 
splash. 

His little bottom was directed at me and his cheeks 
parted to expose his wide-open and very-inviting anus. 
It was still wet from our love. His distended opening 
was surrounded with a foamy paste, of K-Y and semen 
that had leaked out of him. His crack glistened with an 
oily sheen. He was very inviting and I felt my penis 
begin to stiffen again. Only ten minutes had passed and 
the urge was upon me again. I felt like a teenager 
again!

"All in good time," I mused aloud as I tried to control 
an urge that was all too persistent and fast getting 
out of control. "All in good time."

"What's all in good time?" Tristan chirped as he 
straightened up. He grinned cheekily. "I know what 
you're thinking! You're just a dirty old man, Peter!" 

"And what do you think I should do about it?" I teased.

"I know I said you could do it whenever you wanted to. 
And you do want to do IT, don't you, Peter?" Tristan 
laughed as he pointed at the erection rising between my 
legs. "At least HE wants to do IT!"

"I love you so much, Tag! I love you! I love you!" I 
laughed

"And I love you back!" Tristan said softly as he leaned 
up to kiss me.

THE END

Two years have passed since Tag and I celebrated our 
love. No one other than his family and one other person 
knows that we are lovers and that we share a bedroom 
every night. Instead, they think that I am happily 
married to his mother and that I am his step-father. 
However my vows were to Tristan and were for him alone 
as he stood beside me in the small chapel in Kings 
Cross. 

Other male couples have been married there before us, 
but Tristan is the first boy to stand proudly beside 
the man he loved. Tricia, Hannah, Alex, and Chris were 
behind us all the way. A boy like Tristan could ask for 
nothing more, and a man like me could know no greater 
happiness than loving Tristan Alexander Sayd.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 48