Dillon

Rules

The man woke in time to see the last of the waif-like form as it disappeared through the door, pulling it silently closed behind itself and taking with it the light from the motel balcony. He lay quietly in the dark, too agitated to sleep, his mind a jumble of thoughts and emotions. The smell of cigarettes mixed with the musty odor of an old motel room, and, though probably his imagination, the man swore he could also distinguish the smell of sex and sweaty teen boy.

The man's mind wandered from guilt, to sadness, to excitement, all overlaid on a foundation of lust. He watched the light from outside wave gently on the wall as the heavy curtain above the air conditioner rolled in the steady current of air and he replayed the incredible evening in his mind. For a brief few hours his monotonous loneliness had been broken.

Outside the motel pool glistened in the light of the streetlamps and the neon of the sign atop the motel office; an island of clean, clear water in a sea of black asphalt. It was that pool, with its gently curving slide and stiff diving board that formed his earliest memories of this place and it was those memories that drew him back to it. He could only have been six or seven when his family first vacationed here. It was out in the country then, the city not yet grown up around it. He had spent hours in that pool, and would have gladly spent each day, all day, in its cool waters; sliding, diving, floating, looking up at the swimmers above him as he kicked his way along the bottom. The owners of the motel, a husband and wife team, had been particularly nice to him. Both took time to learn his name, to greet him each time they saw him, and they always had the patience to watch a new dive or other trick. It was all quite heady for a young boy to get that sort of attention from adults when so many around him found him to be nothing more than a nuisance.

His family had come almost every summer when they were together; their annual visits ending only when their children grew too old and began to go their own ways; to college, to work, to families of their own. Then, a decade or so ago, the man found reason to return to the city; an annual professional conference bringing him back. And, although it would be more convenient to stay at one of the large hotels close to the convention center, the man chose to return here and to re-embrace those years of carefree fun and contentment. He was pleased to find the husband and wife still owned and managed the place and still ran it with the same love and attention to detail. Moreover, they remembered the man from his boyhood visits and eagerly spent time each year learning anew about the family they had adopted as their own.

This year's conference had gone well. The man prided himself on keeping up-to-date in his profession. It was also a great opportunity to make new connections; connections that expanded the business and that expanded the man's own professional opportunities. The man set a goal for himself each year that he came; he brought one hundred business cards with him to hand out and his goal was to leave with just one, one he saved for the journey home should he need it. This year, like most, he had met that goal.

This particular evening started with what the man thought was going to be another lonely, boring meal. He normally ate with colleagues at a downtown restaurant close to the convention center, but tonight was his last in the city, his plane left early, and so, after the last conference session of the day, he had ridden the subway back to the motel, planning on downing a quick burger, packing, watching a movie on TV, and then going to bed. So, after throwing his conference packet on the small desk in his room, he had wandered over to the MacDonald's across the street.

The boy must have been about twelve or thirteen. He was sitting alone at a table by the window; a tray full of food, a king size drink, a few empty sandwich wrappers in front of him. He was in standard tween attire; tee shirt, jeans, and sneakers, one foot curled up under him, the other swinging lazily under the table.

There were some boys that the man could just stare out for hours, and this was one of them. His face was fair and unblemished. His nose was small, well-shaped, and turned up slightly. His hair was the color of straw and cut in typical boy fashion; parted on one side, hanging straight, covering half his ears. A small metal stud adorned the lobe of the one ear the man could see. His tan was light, his figure average. The man's first judgment was that he looked like a boy that Norman Rockwell would paint. But, after studying him some more, he seemed more like a boy that would model underwear for Calvin Kline; there was a definite sensuality to him. He looked like the type of boy that was aware he was sexy. But there was more to the boy that the man could not quite figure out. His face was calm, his body relaxed, but there seemed to be an inner tension, an emotional unrest. Whether it was sadness or an anger of some sort, the man couldn't tell. In fact, whatever the quality, it was a bit chimeric, and the more the man studied him, the less he was sure if that quality was in the boy or in his own imagination.

A connoisseur of boys, and one well practiced at looking without getting caught, the man decided to take advantage and to indulge himself. So, he ordered quickly, got his sparse meal, and found a table that allowed him to study the boy without appearing to. He had been a boy-lover all his life and had come to terms with it early on. Having no interest in women, he had dated infrequently in high school and then only for the sake of appearance. Whenever a relationship began to get serious, whenever there was the first hint that the girl was interested in sex, he would stop calling. As the years went by and he was still unattached, his parents, siblings, and friends wondered if he was gay. And, given the growing acceptance of such things, one or two had tried to set the man up. But, he had as little interest in men as he did in women; and so he remained alone.

There was something about being a bachelor uncle that made him popular with his nieces and nephews. That popularity was cemented by the way he treated them, with the same interest and attention reserved for other adults. While their own parents and extended family treated them with the little interest that most adults show to children, the man was different. He listened carefully, and responded intelligently. The man was particularly good with his nephews. And, by being there as they grew up, by listening and sharing their lives, he had become quite expert at observing them and guessing what was going on inside; he knew when they were content and when they were troubled, and he knew just what to say, or when to say nothing, in order to draw them out.

He wondered about the boy he watched now. It was unusual for a boy his age to be eating alone. Most frequently a boy his age would be with parents; chaffing and embarrassed to be seen with them. If not his parents, he should at least be with friends.

As he watched, he noticed something out the window catch the boy's attention. The boy stared in the same spot for some time, the pace of his eating slowing. The man followed his gaze, but couldn't see what had caught the boy's eye. Then suddenly, as if he knew he was being watched, the boy swung his head around and looked straight at the man.

This was neither a new situation nor a troubling one. It wasn't unusual, after all, for the man to get caught when people watching. He met the boy's eyes – a pale blue, the man observed – then looked away, as if he had only glanced at the boy for a second and really had only a passing interest. Then, after turning his attention briefly to a family coming noisily in the door, he returned to his meal.

He kept his eyes off the boy for few minutes, then ventured a casual glance in that direction. The boy, he saw, was staring out the window again, still looking intently in the same direction. Whatever it was he saw caused the boy to smile. Again following his gaze, the man saw nothing of interest. Then, suddenly, to his horror, he understood. He found the boy's reflection in the glass and met the boy's eyes. The boy had, all along, been watching him as he had been admiring the boy. The boy cast the man a knowing smirk through the reflection and the man flushed with embarrassment.

He debated not finishing his meal but decided he was overreacting. He had only been looking, after all, and there was little chance anyone else noticed. He decided, instead, to just eat and then leave.

He kept his eyes down and forced himself to finish slowly. Still, the beauty of the boy kept calling to him. And, eventually, he raised his head and looked from the corner of his eye. To his surprise, the boy was gone, and before he could stop himself, he found himself looking about for him. The boy's table was cleared, but he was nowhere to be seen; not heading back to the counter, not heading for the restroom, not heading toward the door. Sighing, the man returned to his meal.

What happened next happened so suddenly, the man jerked with surprise. There was a quick movement to his side and an instant later the boy dropped into the chair across from him.

"Fifty or a hundred," the boy said, leaning over the table conspiratorially.

"What?" the man replied, unsure what he had heard let alone knowing what it meant.

"Fifty or a hundred," the boy replied with more insistence.

The man sat back, as if the distance would bring understanding, and stared in shocked perplexity. Could it be possible the boy was propositioning him?

The boy looked on intently, studying the man, then, abruptly he said, "Never mind," and made to leave.

"Wait 3; wait," the man said quickly, almost desperately. "Don't go."

The boy paused, half out of his chair, then sunk back down.

The two stared at each other; the boy with curiosity, the man with a combination of confusion, lust, and fear.

"Do you mean 3;" the man began, his voice fading into nothing. Business in the restaurant was picking up and the noise level was increasing, but the man's world had shrunk to a bubble that included the table, the boy, and nothing else.

"You either know what I mean or you don't," the boy replied calmly. "Interested?"

The man looked about, feeling the eyes of the restaurant on him, wondering if this was either a sting or an embarrassing joke, wondering if a group of the boy's friends were ready to jump out and laugh if he said yes. But, all around him, customers moved about oblivious to the conversation. To them, the boy and the man were probably father and son just having a casual chat.

The man's mouth was dry. If he was right, if he was being propositioned, he should say no. Sex with boys was wrong. He would be a child molester, a pedophile for real, not just in his mind. If he got caught, he would be ruined. Still, if he was being propositioned, this was probably his one and only chance to experience that which he most yearned for.

"Yes," he said fearfully, then glanced about nervously, expecting that the entire restaurant had heard the exchange.

"Good," the boy said. "Go back to your room. I'll be about five minutes behind you."

"I'm staying 3;"

"I know where you're staying and I know what room. I saw you as you left to come over here." The boy waited, watching man's conflicting emotions as they played out across his face.

"Look, if you're not interested 3;" the boy said.

He tried to stand up nonchalantly and take his tray, but his hands shook so that his half empty drink threatened to dance off the tray.

The walk back to the motel was the most difficult he could remember. His legs trembled. His palms were sweaty and he constantly wiped them on his pants. Finally, after what seemed an unending period, he shakily opened the door and closed it behind him.

He was still just barely inside, paralyzed with emotion, wondering if this was real, doubting the boy would even show up, when a knock came. The boy slipped in quickly when the door was opened. He took a moment to size the place up and scanned the man closely. Studying the boy in return, the man again caught a glimpse of melancholy underneath a surface of self-assurance and teen boredom.

"Ok! So what's it to be? Fifty bucks I suck you; a hundred bucks and you can fuck me." He leaned back casually against the door and waited for the man to decide.

"Umm 3; a hundred?" the man asked hesitantly, unable to name the act, itself.

"Hey, it's your money," the boy said.

"Ok, here are the rules," he continued. I don't do kinky stuff or pain. I don't do shit or piss. I don't suck ass. You're free to lick and suck mine all you want but I'm not going anywhere near yours. Next, once it goes in my ass it doesn't go in my mouth. You get one hour or one cum, whichever comes first. I'd suggest you time the two so you get the most for your money. Last rule; no kissing." The boy paused and watched the man, then asked, "We good?"

The man, caught unprepared for this list, struggled to follow. The practice with which the boy rattled off his rules both bothered and thrilled him. No boy his age should even know about this stuff.

"Umm, sure!" he finally replied. The boy continued to lean against the door, his arms crossed behind his back, obviously waiting for the man to do something. The man began to fidget, uncomfortable with the silence, not sure what to do next, not sure how to start, not sure if he should undress the boy, take his own clothes off, or invite the boy to the bed.

"Cash up front, of course," the boy finally said, breaking the awkward silence.

"Oh, yes, right, of course," the man replied, relieved to have something to do. He removed his wallet from his back pocket and took five twenty-dollar bills from inside. Then, tossing his wallet on the nightstand beside the bed, he handed the boy the cash.

The boy sat down with his back against the door and removed his sneakers and socks, the cash on the floor beside him. He balled up his socks, then shoved the cash into the toe of one sneaker. A balled up sock followed to hold it safely in place. He then arranged both sneakers neatly by the side of the door. He then stood and, in one quick motion, pulled his tee shirt over his head. The boy was small but well-muscled, his dime sized nipples a dark brown against his lightly tanned chest. He folded the shirt neatly and placed beside his shoes. He stood up and his hands had just gone to his zipper when he stopped and looked at the man expectantly.

"Look, mister, I don't know where you cock has been and you don't know where mine has been. So, the rule is we both shower." And with that, he unzipped his jeans, unsnapped them, pushed both his jeans and his underwear to the floor and stepped out of them, then he swept past the man to the bathroom.

"Well 3; come on, you're paying for the time" the boy said, leaning out of the door, he then disappeared back inside.

The water from the shower thrummed against the floor and walls and a thin cloud of steam swirled up over the shower curtain and had begun to fog the mirror. When it had happened, he wasn't sure, but standing in the doorway soaking in the boy's body as he leaned into the shower and adjusted the water, the man had grown rock hard.

Initially unsure of his age, the man now placed him at thirteen. A line of dark blond hair stood like a thin mustache above his cock and balls. His balls had clearly descended, but didn't hang exceptionally low. The man guessed that the circumcised cock the boy sported would be about four inches long when erect. His skin was largely free of marks except for a scar on his left hip. The man watched as a smooth, firm, white ass disappeared behind the shower curtain.

"You coming?" the boys asked poking his head out. "Shit, you're not even undressed!"

"Well, I thought I'd let you finish first," the man replied weakly.

"Fuck dude. In a few minutes we'll be wrestling naked on the bed and you're too shy to get in here with me?" The boy hesitated, then broke into a broad grin. "You're never done this before, have you?"

The man just shook his head as he began to unbutton his shirt while the boy disappeared again under the water.

He was tempted to cover his erection as he joined the boy in the shower. It felt wrong to be there, but he was mostly just embarrassed that his eagerness showed so plainly. He felt like he should be in more control of himself and the situation.

The boy was waiting for him when he stepped in and he stared openly at the man's cock. Then he grabbed the bar of soap, stepped up to the man, and began to wash him.

The boy's touch was light and he worked quickly. The man's hands came forward protectively when the boy began on his genitals which he washed thoroughly. The man thought he might climax as the boy's soapy hands stroked his hard cock and he pushed them away when the boy lingered. Grinning up at him, the boy stepped close, wrapped his hands around the man, and began to wash his back, not hesitating to run his soapy hands in the man's crack. It made the man uneasy to have the boy touch him in a place so private and dirty, but the boy's touch was electrifying.

When he looked back on it later, washing the boy was, for the man, one of the most erotic moments of his life, as enjoyable as the sex that followed. The boy handed him the soap, turned his back to the man, then stepped back against him. The man felt his cock ride up the crack of the boy's ass and nestle itself in the small of his back. Wrapping his arms around him, the man's hands began a slow, sensual dance across the boy's chest. They lingered in the curve of his pecs, tickled the small nipples, gently stroked the bare underarms. The boy leaned his head back and closed his eyes; his sigh sounding almost like a coo. The man watched as the warm water streamed down the boy's otter-like form; flowing over the ripples of his abdomen, into the vee of his pubis, and down his firm thighs. He felt the boy's cock stiffen as he washed it and enjoyed the soft pliability of his scrotum and balls.

Taking the lead for the first time, he turned the boy around and brought him close. The boy wrapped his arms around him in a warm, gentle embrace. He washed across the boy's back, enjoying the bumpy curve of his spine and the small of his back. Finally, his fingers traced the crack of the boy's ass and lingered around his anus.

"Hmm 3; that felt great," the boy said, lifting his face and smiling at the man. Then he pulled back the shower curtain and grabbed two towels while the man replaced the soap and turned off the water.

"Let me do that," the man said, taking the boy's towel from him. He led him over to the toilet where the man sat down and drew the boy between his knees. Once again he enjoyed the beautiful form of the young teen boy, drying him carefully under the arms and between his legs. When he was satisfied, he leaned forward and took the boy in his mouth.

The boy's cock expanded rapidly. The man enjoyed its silky texture and warmth as it slid in and out of his lips. The boy moaned and balanced himself with his hands on the man's head, then took over the in-and-out motion by rocking back-and-forth on his feet. But, after a few short minutes, he stepped back, pulling free.

"Com'on, let's go lay down where we can be more comfortable," and he took the man's hand and led him to the bed. After pushing the man onto his back he walked back to the clothes he had piled by the door. The man enjoyed the curves and lines of the naked boy as he crouched by his sneakers and carefully folded each item of clothing, but first removing two condoms and a tube of lubricant from his pants pocket. He then stacked the pants onto of his sneakers followed by his shirt and his underwear.

"Another rule," the boy said as he climbed on to the bed and sat cross-legged next to the man, "a condom is must." And he began to open one of the packets.

The man studied each detail of the form in front of him, enjoying watching the boy work. Yet, while there was no denying the beauty of the boy, there was something about him that bothered the man, some quality that was off. It was nothing physical; the boy was, without a doubt, gorgeous. It was, instead, something emotional.

"What's your name?" the man asked curiously.

"Why?" the boy responded suspiciously, stopping his task for a moment.

The man thought about his answer. "Because, when I think back to this moment, I don't want it to be about someone anonymous. I want to know whom I'm with."

"You're weird, you know that." The boy expertly rolled the condom onto the man's cock.

"Elias," he then said.

"How old are you, Elias?"

"You're close, aren't you?" the boy asked.

The man felt his face redden. "God, I am so close," the man replied. "Sorry I'm not a more experienced lover."

"Dude, you're paying me for that. You just lay back and enjoy. Since you're close, let's skip the prelimins and go right to the main act," and the boy lay back, opened the lube, and began to massage some into his anus.

"Scoot into the middle, so I have room," Elias directed as he recapped the tube and dropped it onto the night stand. He wiped his greasy fingers onto one of the towels that had come out of the bathroom with them, then folded the towel and dropped over the side of the bed and onto the floor. He then threw a knee on either side of the man's hips, grabbed the man's sheathed cock in one hand and brought the tip to his anus.

"Fourteen," Elias said. "I know, don't say it, I'm a late bloomer."

The man would have reassured Elias that he was perfect just as he was, but he found he couldn't speak because the sensation of sliding up into the boy was breath taking.

"Oh Fuck!" he whispered. Inch by inch the boy slowly lowered himself onto the man's cock. Elias leaned forward slightly, his hands on the man's abdomen, and he continued his slow slide down, watching the man intently the whole time. Finally, when he was all the way on him, he grinned and wiggled his hips slightly.

"Oh fuck, buddy! I can't help it, I have to," the man cried. He brought his knees up to get his feet under him, bucked his hips three or four times, and felt his orgasm explode over him.

He regained his senses slowly, finding the boy still watching him with curiosity.

"Fuck, Elias, I'm sorry," the man said, running his hands up and down the boy's thighs.

"Hey, no sweat. The point is that you enjoyed it." Elias slowly lifted himself off and, with a quick motion, slid the condom off the man and knotted it expertly. Holding the condom carefully in one hand he picked up the towel and wiped the man clean, then took both with him into the bathroom. The man heard the door pull closed behind him.

The man lay there in a stupor, trying to recapture in his mind the sight of boy riding up and down on his hips. He was disappointed in himself as a lover. With the exception of the quick blow in the bathroom, he hadn't given Elias any pleasure at all. Then he then heard the toilet flush and a moment later Elias reemerged. For a brief moment the man heard the exhaust fan running before Elias pulled the bathroom door shut.

"Hey, can I at least do something for you?" he asked as Elias headed toward his neatly folded clothes by the door. He still could not bring himself to use such crude terms, to suggest a specific sex act in front of the boy despite what they had just done.

"Nope, I'm good," the boy replied in a business like way.

The finality with which he said it was clear and the man didn't insist. Instead he just watched, drinking in the wonderful body for what was probably the last time. He found himself torn; he didn't want the boy to leave. He knew it was silly, but he almost felt like he had fallen in love. He wanted the boy to stay with him, to take him home, to be with him forever. Maybe he could extend his time here, stay a few more days, or even a week, so that he could be with him some more. In a minute or two, the boy would walk away and he'd never seem him again.

"Hey, you'll be careful, won't you?" the man said.

"Always am," came the nonchalant reply. The boy shoved the unused condom and the lubricant back into his pants pocket.

"You took quite a risk coming here with me," the man continued.

"Why's that?" the boy said, grinning at the man once again, as if he knew a secret that the man didn't.

"What if I lured you here just to hurt you? What if I was a gay-basher; one of those guys who lead young men someplace quiet then beats them up?"

The man watched as Elias stiffened and turned angry.

"First off, I'm not gay, just get that shit right out of your head," Elias said tensely. He stopped for a moment, looked down at his pile of clothes, his breathing rapid and heavy. With an effort, he regained his composure. The man noted his sensitivity to the subject and was curious. Then, with an effort, the boy's cheeky smile returned. "Besides, I knew from looking at you that I didn't have to worry about that. Trust me, I can read men."

"How did you know what I wanted? How did you know I'd be interested?" the man asked.

"Trust me, a boy like me can tell when a man looks at him in certain way."

"What way?"

The boy had finished putting the condom and lube back in his pants pocket, but had remained crouched by his pile of clothes. Now he stared at the man for a moment, clearly trying to decide what to do next. Then he reached into a different pocket, pulled out a packet of cigarettes, and came back to the bed. He paused for a moment, grabbed the torn condom wrapper left on the bed, crumbled it, and dropped on the nightstand. The he crawled under the covers. Propping himself up on one of the pillows, he popped a cigarette out of the packet and lit it with a plastic lighter kept between the cellophane and the soft-sided pack.

"You can't smoke in here," the man said meekly, suspecting it would do no good.

The boy gave no sign of having heard him and exhaled forcefully, two powerful jets of smoke coming from his nose.

"There's a hunger you can see in most men's eyes and it's that hunger that tells you about their interest. Most men will fuck a boy like me given a chance. Most men have that hunger. The hunger is stronger in some than in others. Again, you can see it their eyes. The question isn't whether it's there or not, the question is, how strong is it."

The man looked at the boy incredulously and the boy looked back calmly. He took another drag on his cigarette and nonchalantly knocked the ash off on the nightstand next to him.

"You don't believe me," Elias said with a small laugh.

The man heard the laugh, but saw the sadness that went with it.

"Well, no 3; I mean, I do 3; well, I don't know."

"Listen," Elias continued. "Most men aren't as choosey as you think when it comes to sex. They like girls, women, and boys; and not necessarily in that order."

The man continued to stare, unable to come to grips with what he was hearing. He thought that as a pedophile, he was part of some small minority of sick, deranged men, but here he was being told otherwise.

"What happens during war?" the boy asked rhetorically. "It's the girls, the women, and the boys that get raped. What happens to the cute, young men in jail? What happens in juvie when you put older and younger boys together? My point; put a man in the right situation and break the bonds that normally hold him check, the disapproval of family and friends, the risk of going to jail, do those things and a man will fuck a boy any time he can."

The boy looked resignedly down at his cigarette which had been burning unattended, flicked the ash onto the nightstand one more time, took one last drag, then ground the butt out on the metal base of the small lamp that stood there.

The man stared curiously. Clearly this was a subject that weighed on the boy. At the same time, he was impressed by the clarity of the boy's analysis. He wasn't sure the boy was right, but he certainly thought things through.

"You still haven't explained how you knew you were safe with me."

The boy chuckled but didn't make eye contact, examining his finger nails instead. The smile was a weak one and gave way to sadness once again.

"Two types of hunger in a man's eyes and you learn to tell the difference or you die. The hunger in many men's eyes is a mean hunger. You learn to spot that and stay away." Elias looked over at the man in bed next to him. "With you, and men like you; your hunger is different. It's more a longing. There's a different quality to it something like 3; I don't know, something warm.

"The problem with guys like you is you get too attached. You want to take us home and mother us." He looked away as he said this.

"Did you learn that the hard way?"

Elias looked at the man long and hard, searching his face. He looked away after a time, grabbed his cigarette pack again, shook the last one out, lit it, then crumbled the pack and set it back on the nightstand. Another strong exhalation and the boy studied his fingers again, picking at the cuticles.

"I guessed wrong once. Went with a guy even though he made me uneasy. Should of listened to that little voice inside. Got back to his room and started blowin him. Then the guy started doing poppers and it made him animal. Grabbed my hair and really started to go at me. I couldn't get a breath he was in me so deep and so hard. Thought I was going to have to bite him to get him to stop. Finally, I was able to pull away and tried to lock myself in the bathroom but he broke in. He fucked me pretty hard and knocked me around while he did. Only good thing was it was over pretty quick. Guy had no stamina. Since then I work only by referral."

The man felt the blood drain from his face and felt his guts twist. A blast of anger filled him like a flashflood. As unreasonable and unrealistic as it was, he wanted to hunt the man down and beat him to a bloody pulp. Finally, trying to control his shaky voice he asked, "And, me?"

At this the boy smiled broadly; the first smile the man had seen that extended up into his eyes.

"You? You were an exception. The hunger is strong in you Luke Skywalker," the boy said in a Yoda-like voice, and he laughed. "But," he continued, getting serious again, "there is also a kindness in your eyes. A kindness and 3; I'm not sure 3; a sadness or a loneliness maybe." Elias examined the man carefully as he said this and the man noticed his eyes grow soft and moist. Then he looked quickly away and pulled on his cigarette again.

"Yah, yah! I can't smoke in here!" he laughed, smoke pouring out as he spoke. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the far wall.

"How'd you get started?" the man asked.

Elias ignored the question for a moment. Then, taking another drag, he chuckled, "I knew that question was coming. I always get that one. Someone always wondering how I got led down this evil path. Wondering if I can be saved"

"Well, yes, exactly," the man laughed. "I would like to save you. I'd take you home and mother you if you'll let me." With this, they both laughed weakly, aware it was impossible.

There was a silence in which the boy ignored both his cigarette and the man. The man could tell Elias was weighing both the question and his answer. Suddenly he stirred, made himself more comfortable in the bed, and rearranged the covers in his lap.

"Ok," he said, "here are the rules. I'll talk about it in general, but you can't ask for details. The minute you ask for details, I'm out the door. Agreed?"

The man nodded.

Elias reached for the cigarette pack again, realized it was empty, then realized he had a cigarette still burning. Shrugging, he tossed the empty pack back on the nightstand. His voice was quiet when he began.

"I really can't tell you when it began. It seems like sex has always been a part of my life. You see," and he trailed off. "No, that's not right, let me start again."

"I'm a throw-away, a cast off. My folks are addicts and alkies. They live for one thing, and one thing only; their next high."

"I'm not sure how mom got pregnant. They're usually too fucked up to make dinner, clean house, or even to shit in the toilet. I'm even less sure how she carried me all the way through. What I do know is that I was a nuisance, an unwanted detail in their lives. My earliest memories were about fending for myself, about scrounging food, about finding a safe place to curl up and sleep. But, like all kids, I craved attention and affection. I wanted someone to listen to me, to put a band aid on a scraped knee, to hug me."

"Kids like us are pedo-magnets. I don't remember who was first or how old I was. I think it was an older cousin. He was eighteen or so. He'd wrestle with me, chase me around, and cuddle."

"I don't remember how our clothes came off, but that became a regular part of our play. And, I liked it; liked it a lot. It felt so warm, so intimate. I mean, I knew it was naughty. He taught me that. Not that he taught me it was dirty, but he taught me it was our special secret and that I could never tell. That's how I knew it was wrong. But the touch felt so good that I would do anything for it."

"The game began to include things I didn't like. He'd put his prick in my mouth and make me suck it. He started playing with my ass, sticking his finger in, putting other stuff up there. Still, his attention to me and the cuddling I got more than made up for the bad stuff. Plus, he was teaching me the pleasure that came from my body. So, I went along, still feeling like I was getting the better of the deal."

"Remember when I told you I could tell when a man was interested by the hunger in their eyes?" Elias looked at the man with an intensity that was almost frightening. The man nodded quietly, knowing not to interrupt the boy's story.

"Well, kids like me, kids that 3; that 3; have been seduced to the dark side, well, we give off signals of our own. I can't quite explain it but it's there. I lived in a group home once or twice, and when a new kid would arrive, the rest of us could tell within five minutes if they'd been diddled with. Well, pedos can pick that up, too. They can tell."

"It wasn't long before other men came into my life; friends of my folks, neighbors, whatever. They could tell. Some would ask; some wouldn't. Some were nice; some weren't." Elias was speaking faster now, his voice growing shaky. The man saw the boy's eyes get moist again. "It worked for me when they were nice. I was willing to put up with the bad part if they listened to me, cuddled with me, gave me pleasure, too. But, when they weren't nice or when they didn't ask, just took, it left me feeling 3; I don't know, out of control, if that makes any sense. It also left me feeling lonely and cold."

He went silent for a moment, his head hanging down, his arms limp. The man reached over, removed the last of the cigarette butt from his hand and put it out on the lamp on his side the same way he had watched the boy do earlier. The boy never moved when he did. Elias sat still for a moment more, then sighed heavily, lifted his head and continued.

"I'm one of the lucky ones. I learned to control it. I learned they were vulnerable. They were vulnerable to being caught. And, I began to use that; used it to stop the ones I wanted to stop and to control the ones I was comfortable with."

"Don't get me wrong. Most really did care about me. Most were happy that I was willing and they enjoyed giving me pleasure as much as they liked being pleased. Plus, they were interested in me as a person, not just for sex. And, I needed that in my life."

"As I got older, gifts started to come; clothes, toys, games. Things that I needed, things that made me smile; all things I would never get from my parents. And, eventually, when I turned about ten or eleven, I began to ask for cash, instead."

Elias, having finished his narrative, looked at the man and smiled, but the smile was a sad smile.

"Can I ask how often you 3; umm 3; meet with clients?" the man asked gingerly.

"Usually three or four times a week. I could do more, but that's enough for me."

The man did the math in his head, he couldn't help it, it was part of what made him good at his job. When he did, he sat back stunned. "Elias! You must be making close to fifteen thousand a year!!"

"Yep! And I have been for the past couple of years."

"You must live pretty rich!" the man exclaimed.

"Nope," Elias said proudly. "Saved it all. Well, not all of it. But I've always been careful. I've spent a small amount when I had to. Opened a bank account to keep it safe."

"What are you saving all that money for?"

"College."

The man looked at Elias with surprise. "Wow! Elias, I'm impressed." The boy smiled broadly under the praise. "I know you've got a lot of time to decide, but have you thought about what you might study?"

"Well 3; I do pretty good in math and science, so I was thinking about engineering. I want to build bridges and skyscrapers and stuff. I like to build things and all and I'm pretty good at solving problems. One of my teachers said I should look into it." Listening and watching, the man thought it interesting that the boy so much in control when it came to sex became much more like a typical young teen when talking about school. And, while he liked the in-control Elias, the man found he liked the normal teen Elias better.

"Looks like you've got everything under control," the man said.

"Yep!" Elias answered, but his voice was weary.

The man waited, letting the silence linger, then repeated a bit more softly, "Yes, looks like you've got everything under control."

Elias shot him an edgy look. "You said that already. You being sarcastic?"

"No, not sarcastic."

"Well, what then?"

The man held the boy's eyes and shrugged. "Just saying."

"Just saying what?"

Again the man shrugged. "Just saying that if you've got everything under control, why are you so unhappy?"

"Who says I'm unhappy? I'm happy."

"You don't sound that way to me."

"I'm happy, alright! Life's great!" Elias said, forcefully.

"Ok! Ok! I believe you."

"Quit fucking with me already!" the boy said angrily.

"Ok! Ok! Relax Elias."

"Don't tell me to relax. I'm not upset."

"Yes you are, but that's Ok," the man said calmly.

"I am fucking not!" Elias said, his voice rising. He sat forward in the bed, his breathing quick. The man watched him relax with some effort, then slowly unfold and lay back against the headboard. "Ok, maybe I am upset, and maybe I am unhappy. But you would be too."

The man sat quietly, watching attentively, unsure if Elias would continue on his own.

"Life is so fucked up!" he exclaimed sharply.

"Why?"

"I don't know. Why do you care?"

"I want to mother you, remember?"

Elias chuckled. "Yeah, I forgot, you're one of them."

"I don't know; I'm just so tired all of the time. Tired of getting fucked, tired of sucking cock, tired of working to get some else's rocks off while they don't give a shit about me."

Elias sat silently for a moment and picked at the bedspread while the man lay in embarrassed silence. When he continued, his voice was quiet again.

"Mostly I'm tired of my home and my 'rents. Do you know what it's like to have complete losers for parents?" Elias gesticulated in exasperation. "Right now they're laying on the couch, fucked out of their mind; can't even get up to change the channel on the TV. I'll walk in and the first thing they'll do is ask me to change the channel from one program of mindless shit to another. Won't even ask where I've been or what I've been doing. Then they'll ask me to get them something from the kitchen. Shit! It never even occurs to them to wonder where that shit in the refrigerator comes from. It's like the fuckin food fairy makes a nightly visit or something."

Elias' voice was rising, his hands beginning to wave about with barely contained agitation. "I have to cash their fuckin welfare checks, pay their fuckin bills. Fuck! If I didn't push'em out the door and go with them to the Social Security Office, if I didn't fill out the fuckin forms for them, there'd be no money for anything, let alone their vodka and their drugs."

Elias was quiet for a moment, then continued. "School was a nightmare when I started. I never took a bath. Mom never washed my clothes. I'd wear the same stuff for days-on-end. I stunk so bad none of the other kids would play with me. And they'd torment me without end; raze me, shove me around. No one would sit near me, never had a partner on school projects."

"My folks wouldn't make me lunch or even give me money to buy something in the cafeteria. So I used to steal food from other kids; even from the teacher. I got pretty good at it; never got caught, but everyone knew it was me. That just made things worse; made me an outcast. Even the teachers didn't like me. I could tell."

"It was the men around me who would clean me up, make sure I had decent clothes. Taught me to wash myself and to keep my clothes clean. I eventually figured out that I was the only one who was going to keep the house clean."

Elias went quiet again. He had picked one thread clean from the bedspread and was working on another. The man sat quietly watching, knowing he wasn't done. And, when he continued, it was with an explosion.

"FUCK! Why do I have to be the adult?" he proclaimed loudly. The man saw the tears in his eyes, poised to fall like rain. Elias sat quiet again, then closed his eyes tightly and began to sob lightly.

"Fuck! Why can't I just be a kid? Why can't I go to a sleepover? Why can't I spend all night playing video games? Why can't I look at porn with friends and laugh about our boners? Why can't I be on the soccer team? Why can't I spend a Saturday afternoon hanging out at the mall?

"Why can't I have a girl friend? Why can't I take her to the movies? Why can't I make out with her; why can't I sneak out after bedtime and talk to her through her bedroom window; why can't I meet her in the cafeteria for lunch; why can't I walk her to class?" The man watched as the first tear broke free from Elias' long, wet lashes and blazed a path along the boy's downy cheek for the others that would soon follow.

"Fuck! I'll bet I've swallowed more jiz than any girl in school. I'll bet I've been fucked more than even the biggest slut there." His voice was strained. It cracked with his tears. "Shit, I have so much cum in me, I smell like it. I piss cum! I shit cum! Hell, I even sweat cum! What girl would ever have me!" And then the storm broke.

"I HATE MY USELESS FUCKING LIFE!" he screamed and slid quickly under the covers, his hands clutching the sheet and bedspread over his head.

The man watched and waited. He saw the knuckles of the boy's hands turn white as he clenched the sheets and watched the bedspread convulse with the boy's sobs. Then, when he thought he had waited long enough, he reached for the soft shoulder and brought the boy close. Unresisting, the boy slid over and rested his head on the man's chest and the man felt the hot tears pool before running down his side.

Looking up, the man saw himself reflected in the mirror above the small desk on the opposite wall. He saw in the figure in the mirror, the same figure that lay across his chest, a person feeling isolated and alone. And with that recognition, the man saw his image grow blurry with his own tears.

***

After some time, after the sobbing stopped and the boy had lain quiet, Elias pulled the bedspread from over his face. His eyes were red and puffy; his cheeks were streaked. He sniffled, then said in a small boy's voice, "It's a bit rank under there. I think I need some air."

"Sorry, must be me," the man said apologetically, stroking the boy's soft cheek.

"Nah, it's me," Elias said. "I farted." And he gave a small, embarrassed laugh.

The man smiled and ran his hand affectionately up and down Elias' arm. They lay like that for a bit more; the man admiring the handsome boy beside him in bed; Elias looking nowhere.

"Fuck me again," Elias said suddenly and softly. He then twisted his head and looked up at the man with an expression that was both hopeful and fearful, as if the man might say no.

"I don't know. Are you sure?"

"I want you to fuck me so that I cum."

The man realized for the first time that he could feel Elias' erection pressed against his thigh. "Is that possible?" he asked. He had always thought it was just the fodder of gay fiction.

"Yep! If you do it right." Elias was getting enthusiastic now.

"You think I can do it?" the man asked, still embarrassed by his last performance.

"Hey, whose the expert here? Huh? Leave it to me."

What happened next was closer to ballet than to sex. The recently stowed lube and condom reappeared from Elias' pants pocket. Then Elias carefully positioned himself at the edge of the bed on his back, his butt propped up on a pillow. Last, he carefully guided the man inside of him, working to get just the right angle between them.

Again the man experienced the constricting, moist heat that enveloped his cock. Again he felt himself eager to thrust away frantically at the shapely and strong ass underneath him but Elias held him in check, and, instead, they began to move together in a gentle and sure rhythm. Several times Elias brought them to a stop, prolonging the pleasure, but to the agony of the man.

"Fuck, Elias, I can't do this. You have to let me cum," the man exclaimed during one of their pauses.

"Yes you can. You have to," came the reply, a soft smile on the boy's face and they continued their dance together.

Elias had begun to moan now in time with the man's inward thrusts. The man laid over him, eager to be close, loving the feel of the warm, silken body against his own. Elias's breathing was growing ragged, his moans taking on a desperate note.

"Ok, now's the time," the boy said hungrily and the man began fuck in earnest.

"Kiss me, please! Kiss me," the boy cried and the man gladly covered the boy's mouth with his own, their tongues thrashing together wildly. Then, just as the man's orgasm neared, the boy's hand shot down to his crotch and he stroked himself furiously. At the same time, his mouth broke the seal and the man felt the boy's hot breath on his face. One last pitiful cry came from the boy and the man felt a sticky warmth growing between them. And that was the last he felt as his orgasm shook him.

***

He was up when it was still dark, his flight time nearing. He went into the bathroom to pee and to shower feeling empty inside. There he was surprised to find the notepad with the motel emblem and a pen on the bathroom counter. With a brief surge of hope he searched his room for a note from the boy but found none. What he did notice was that the debris from the night before, the cigarette butts and condom wrappers, was cleaned up.

He finished his shower and packed his last things with an aching in his heart. He stood by the window waiting for his taxi, scanning the shadows for a slim figure that he knew wasn't there. For one brief moment, he considered asking the driver to circle the block, but he knew the boy was gone. He realized that he had never told the boy his name and it doubled his regret.

About an hour later he stood in line for airport security, his coat over one arm. His mind kept wandering back to the evening before and he explored each sensation like a new sip from a glass of expensive wine. He remembered the taste of cigarettes when he had kissed the boy. He remembered the exciting feel of Elias' legs locked behind his back. He remembered the taut thigh muscles under the warm, soft skin when the boy had ridden him. Several times he had to shake the memories from his head, they were still so real that they threatened to give him an erection.

Nearing the front of the line, he reached into his back pocket for his wallet and for the driver license that would serve as his ID. Opening it, he noticed a scrap of paper in the fold where he kept his cash. Pulling it out, his heart leapt. It was a sheet of small paper from the motel notepad. He unfolded it eagerly and read.

Hey Mike. Hope you have a great trip. By the way, here's another rule for you. Never leave your wallet out with a stranger in your room.

He chuckled at that, knowing, there was no need to count his cash. Then, noticing there was writing on the back, he turned the note over.

Thank you for being there and for noticing that I am someone. Love, Elias

Then he saw that his last business card was gone and he knew that he would hear from the boy again.

The End