Ganymede

Life is a Ball

(First part)

Shawnee Valley Elementary School. May 15th, 2000

My ex-wife and her husband were one row in front and twenty seats to the right. After a curt acknowledgement of my unwelcome presence when they took their seats, they ignored me. I was 'personna non gratis'. Nothing had changed during the four or five months since I had least seen them. Their two girls, two-year-old spoiled twins with prissy curling blond locks, were whining and wriggling and disrupting the people around them. As usual, their parents made no effort to quiet them. Finally the house lights dimmed. The principal, forty pounds [20 kg] overweight and showing signs of premature aging, came to the front of the stage. She spoke with deliberate slowness, as if addressing a class of fifth graders with short attention spans.

"Good evening. I'd like to welcome you all to the Shawnee Valley Elementary School's Annual Fifth Grade Show. This year, as your program indicates, our students will be performing an original show, 'Enough is Enough'. I think it is undoubtedly the best performance that we have done in many years and I hope you get as much enjoyment from watching as the students did in getting ready for tonight."

She smiled at the audience, showing obvious pride. "Now, while all of the students worked very hard and deserve both your appreciation and applause, I am told that there is one student in particular who I should mention at this time. The theme of tonight's show came from an idea provided by one of the fifth-grade students, Justin Edwards. Justin also worked very hard to develop three of the songs you'll be hearing. In addition, he will be singing the theme song that he composed. Justin is a very talented boy, but he's just one among the many talented children you will be seeing tonight. Ladies and gentleman, the students of the Fifth Grade of Shawnee Valley Elementary School proudly present, 'Enough is Enough'."

I wondered where Justin was as the show progressed from one amateurish performance of nervous boys and girls to the next. He was certainly not among the more than eighty students on stage. There were no less than thirty-five boys in the show, and I could see at first glance that he was not one of them. Still, I studied them closely, lingering on the handsome boys, the slender boys, the boys who exuded character and intelligence in their posture and faces. They were always boys who would be incredibly easy to fall in love with. Despite the enjoyable distraction, I still waited impatiently for Justin to make his stage debut.

It was thirty-five minutes into the show before he entered from stage right. He stepped quickly across the stage, moving with the grace and elegance of a conditioned performer who knew the importance of stage presence and how to make a grand entrance. What was also very clear was that Justin knew how to entertain. In those few elegant steps, not quite running but quicker than a fast walk, he showed more flair than the last three students who had demonstrated the effect of at least a few years of dance lessons in an amusing parody of a number from 'Cats'.

Justin pirouetted, and stopped. For a moment he was frozen, poised with one arm outstretched, legs braced. He leaned to one side so far that his balance would have been lost had his attention waned even a fraction of a second. It was a dynamic moment and it demanded the audience's complete attention. The silence was prolonged. His hair was punk-style dyed in vivid colors, with spikes that were sticking straight up and probably moussed. Under the spotlights, the effect was every bit as outrageous as it was intended to be. His face was vibrant, and his juvenile sexuality was electrifying in a way that took me by complete surprise. Since I had last seen him a day or two before Christmas, he appeared to have changed dramatically. Suddenly, he was no longer a little boy. This was Justin as he really was. If only for a single night, he was 'out'.

I could almost feel his step-father's distaste rising from the row in front of me. However, his appearance not withstanding, his clothes were quintessential boy! He wore a brilliant red shirt, tight blue jeans, and white Nike sneakers. The music teacher at the old black Steinway took his cue as Justin continued to hold his position. He built up to a key-thumping crescendo before Justin moved a muscle. Then, he jerked his arm down, spun around, paused for an instant with his cute bubble-butt presented for the audience's admiration, and then he turned back to face them. Justin leaned into the microphone, swallowing anxiously. His first few notes were definitely uncertain, wavering until he found the key and his exuberant confidence returned in full measure. Then, reassured that he could do this all by himself, he began to sing, phasing each syllable perfectly while he gyrated, his body moving in superb synchronization to the music.

"Enough is enough,
I just wanna be me,
Don't try to make me,
Be something else.
I don't wanna be less,
So don't try to mold me,
Don't hold me back,
Just let me be me,
Enough is enough,
I just wanna be me."

"I want to be me,
I want to learn who I am,
I want to discover it all,
I want to be me,
I want to play,
I want to run,
I just want to be me."

All too soon it was over. It was all I could do not to stand and clap. He deserved a standing ovation, yet no one stood up. However, I clapped as loudly as I could, and then some. I clapped until my hands hurt. Slowly the applause died away. Justin's song was the high point and a brilliant conclusion to the performance. His song had provided the climax, conveying the meaning of a ten-year-old's existence. Without the last few minutes, the show was marginally entertaining. With Justin's stupendous climax, the show was worth paying money to see. My heart was beating quickly, almost as if I was on stage with him. For a few minutes he had soared higher than most people achieve in a lifetime.

He bowed, swooping low and suddenly became a nervous little boy again. He slowly straightened up. For the first time he seemed to become aware that hundreds of people were sitting in the audience. This was no dress rehearsal, this was the performance of his life. His eyes opened wide and he smiled beautifully and flashed brilliantly white teeth. His smile was shy, yet more than enough to show that he was proud and very aware that he had excelled beyond anyone's expectations, including his own.

"He certainly knows what he wants to be. Talk about queer," the man next to me said loudly to the woman sitting on his other side.

"SShhhh. Not so loud, Donald. Personally, I think he's very good-looking."

"He's very pretty, that's for sure. If you ask me, that one's a faggot in the making," the man snorted derisively. "Look at his hair. He's a goddamn homo-sexual. His parents better keep him away from Kevin. That's all I can say."

"Husssshhhh! Some one will hear you, honey."

"Well he's a fag! Look at him! Talk about a little cocksucker. He's got the lips for it. God! He's probably wearing lipstick! It certainly looks like it. Anyway, it's not just me. I bet every man here is thinking the same thing. He's a little queer that would have been happier if he was a girl!"

I shuddered. No matter how much I wanted to deny it, or how much I wanted to hit the man as hard as I could, they were right of course. I recognized it the moment he came onto the stage. In fact, I had known Justin was 'different' for several years. Justin radiated an aura that was anything but that of a ten-year-old boy. On stage, he was in his element, expressing himself and fulfilling a role determined for him by genetic predisposition. Yet, he was also very different to the androgenous boy of several months ago. Then, the signs were evident even though no one had taken the time to listen to him. He was fighting a battle that few boys struggle with before their mid-teens.

I felt uncomfortable, silently accepting responsibility for the unfortunate creature who now joined the other boys on the stage. Beside them, he was slender, and among the smallest in size. Standing beside him was one boy who was at least a head taller, and thirty pounds [15 kg] heavier. Justin looked much younger than ten years old. Almost as soon as the applause faded the overweight principal returned to the stage. She smiled at her students, her eyes lingering on Justin with considerable pride while she walked to the microphone.

"Ah hem 3; Ladies and Gentlemen, the students of Shawnee Valley Elementary School's Fifth Grade thank you for your applause. I hope you enjoyed this year's show as much as I did. In my fifteen years of teaching 'Enough is Enough' is by far and away the best performance I've seen. As parents you should be very proud of what they've accomplished here tonight. And I hope some of your applause was for the remarkable young man who worked so hard to make the show a success. I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot more of Justin Edwards in coming years. But we also need a special round of applause for Mr. McVue, our music teacher who worked so hard to get the show ready. He also provided the piano accompaniment tonight."

She took a quick breath and smiled at the audience as if to confirm the truth of her statement. There was a small ripple of applause.

"Now, before you all leave, there is one more thing we need to do. This year we are especially fortunate to have Caroline Gilly in the Fifth Grade. I'm going to ask Caroline Gilly to step forward and draw the winning ticket for the raffle. Why Caroline Gilly, you may ask? Well, Caroline's father is president of Halcyon Travel, and it is Halcyon Travel that has donated this year's prize for the Fifth Grade Raffle. I know that your sons and daughters have all worked very hard to sell tickets. The prize is an all-expenses-paid trip for two to MOUSEWorld, flying first class with six nights' accommodations at the resort of your choice, and a four-day pass to the park. Think of all the fun you'll be able to have."

She smiled at the audience as two husky boys dragged a large drum on small metal castors across the stage. A pretty dark-haired girl stepped forward from the middle of the front row. She had the 'I'm popular with everyone' look as she daintily walked to the microphone. Her pace was measured and well-practiced. The teacher nodded and Caroline dipped her slender right hand into the drum and felt around for several seconds. Slowly she lifted up a single ticket, pale pink the same color as the one in my pocket. Without a word, she nervously handed the ticket to the teacher. Her moment of fame had passed.

"And the winning number is 3;" The teacher took a deep breath. "One thousand, seven hundred and eighty-eight. That's one-seven-eight-eight."

She gazed around the auditorium as if expecting someone to leap to his or her feet and scream, 'I've WON!' Instead, there was a sudden silence.

"Well, whoever won, I hope they have a good time. The winner should call the School tomorrow to make arrangements to pick up the tickets. Now, I hope you will join me in a show of resounding applause for Mr. Gilly and Halcyon Travel for their generosity, and please do remember to use them for all of your travel needs in the future 3;"

There was nothing like resounding applause, and after a few cautionary notes from the principal about collecting belongings, including Fifth Graders, and instructions about leaving the parking area, the audience rose in mass and departed.

Deirdre was waiting in the foyer. Perhaps she was waiting for me, perhaps not. Robert was standing thirty feet [10 m] away, guarding the precious angels and trying his best to ignore me. The two girls were sulky, evidently envious of their half-brother's success. Whenever I was around they seemed to go to unusually spiteful efforts to let Justin know that they resented him, a condition that his step-father duplicated with insidious charm but less effect.

"Alex, I was hoping I'd have the chance to meet you. I'm sure Justin was glad you managed to take time out of your busy schedule to see his little play."

"Justin was superb, Deirdre," I commented dryly. "What you just referred to as a 'little play' might be apt for what the other kids did on stage, but it's not for him. He was exceptionally good. I think he has a great future ahead of him."

"I'm sure he'd like to hear that from you," Deirdre said snidely. "You who have never been on stage."

"Don't belittle him, or me for that matter, Deirdre. We both know that the kid has talent, and lot's of it. He was by far the best on the stage. For his age, he's simply incredible."

"Come on!"

"Honestly, you should think about sending him to performing arts school next year. I'll even help out with the cost if it's a problem. With some work he might even be on Broadway in a few years. He's got natural talent, and not just in singing and dancing. He could go a long way."

"Okay, I agree he's good. I don't want to fight with you, Alex. Hell, why is it that every time we talk, we end up fighting like cats and dogs."

"I'm an ass, I guess."

I shrugged and turned away. I saw Justin walking slowly towards us, his face uncertain when he saw us together. He glanced around, looking for an excuse to turn back and avoid meeting the two of us together. I waved and beckoned to him.

"Hi Dad," he muttered nervously as he walked up. "What did you think?"

I wasn't his father but I still appreciated the recognition. I ruffled his hair playfully. "In a word 3;" I paused for effect. "I think you were great, kid," I admitted honestly. "I guess another word is awesome, or fantastic, or mind-blowing, or 3;"

Justin smiled weakly. "I was okay. My timing was off a bit at the end. I was going to do two songs, one after the other to finish, but we had to cut the first one because the Principal thought I had too much to do in the show."

I nodded. "One song was more than enough to show what you could do," I said proudly. "You wrote the song, and the music too?"

Justin nodded once. His fingers rubbed together nervously and he blinked rapidly. "My teacher, Mr. McVue helped a bit with the score 3; I guess it was okay. I'm glad you came 3;"

"So am I. Very glad. I like your haircut by the way."

Justin regarded me uncertainly. "You like it?" He asked nervously.

I laughed. "It suits you. At least, it looked just right for the song," I added brazenly. "I expect it's a bit radical for a kid your age, even for your mom."

"Radical? Yeah, I guess you could say that." With a deliberate glare at the man standing near the exit doors, Justin added, "It drives him crazy."

"I expect it would." I glanced at Deirdre. Her expression gave nothing away.

"I can't believe you came all the way from California just to hear me sing."

I smiled. "Well, I really came for the raffle. I won, you know."

"You won?" Justin grinned.

"That's nice for you," Deirdre said snidely. "Who will you take? Your friend Peter, or Paul, or whatever his name is. He's what, eighteen or nineteen now? That's a bit on the old side to go to a theme park, isn't it? Wouldn't it just be a whole lot easier to give the tickets away? I'm sure Robert and I could put them to good use this summer."

I glared at her, imagining the twin girls leading them through the toddler attractions while Justin dawdled behind in an attempt to distance himself. A counter idea formed in my mind. I smiled gleefully.

"He'd be twenty about now, Deirdre, I think. I haven't seen him in two years. Anyway, I was thinking of taking Justin, assuming you'd let him go with me of course?" I added as the expression on her face became one that was less of amusement and more of consternation. "I have some business I need to do in Orlando in June. It'll be a combination business and pleasure trip, but mostly pleasure."

Justin beamed.

First Class Lounge, Pittsburgh International Airport. June 10th, 2000

Justin seemed oblivious to my presence as he picked disinterestedly at the few remaining nacho chips and salsa. He had not changed since I had seen him at his school performance. He had the same pale creamy skin that looked as if the sun had never touched him, a winter 'white' that would probably last through most of the summer. Although I longed to touch him every time I laid eyes on him, since the marriage disintegrated I had yet to find the courage to caress what was I remembered to be very soft skin. I pretended that my feelings were above suspicion while I guiltily consoled myself with longing glances.

I studied him as often and as long as I could without appearing to show more interest in him than was reasonable under the circumstances. When the opportunity arose, we wrestled, and if he was so disposed, I performed the occasional back rub, always clothed of course. He was smooth and hairless and the muscular development of his slender arms and legs befitted a young dancer, lean and unpronounceable. With his narrow waist he appeared almost girlish. The fact was, as his mother once observed, he was much too good looking for his own good. The fact was that he was pretty enough to be a girl and, as others had all too recently surmised, sufficiently effeminate to raise the obvious suspicion that he would be far happier in the role of the other sex. I had no doubts that he was going to be gay when the time came.

I watched him across the table, playing with his food as he excavated a chasm into the refried beans, created a dam, and then, added salsa by the spoonful until it slopped over the edge onto his plate. The burrito dam showed no indication of bursting before the plates were cleared away. He was shy, vague, and frustratingly unhurried at the best of times. He was disturbingly unpreoccupied with the life he led. However, the truth was that his normally tranquil manner also aroused me at the same time as it worried me. Indeed, my own attraction posed a moral dilemma. There was far more to Justin than met the eye and I often caught myself wondering what would become of him if left to his own devices. Certainly, he should be in show-business if appearance and talent were considered, I mused. He was bright enough to do that, and much more, yet from past behavior he gave me the impression that he lacked the dedication to go very far. Perhaps he would become a drama teacher at college like his mother. However, he was very unlike what one would expect of her offspring. She had been a something of a tom-boy for as long as I could remember, while her son was girlish with his long dark locks, curling silken hair that was long enough to reach to his shoulders and always hanging annoyingly in his eyes. Worse still, his step father might guide him into insurance sales or some other mind-numbing line of work. I shuddered at the thought. I suspected that the last four years Justin had spent with his step-father had proven to be very difficult indeed.

"Well, I'm glad you could stay, Deirdre. This was a good idea. I really hate eating airline food," I began as I glanced at my watch.

There was still another thirty minutes before we had to be at the gate. Despite his apparent boredom, Justin was radiant, his excitement building with every minute. He smiled every time his eyes met mine. Indeed, he had not eaten much and he picked at his food only because he needed to divert his attention from the imminent departure.

"We will soon begin boarding for Flight 105 to Orlando. Could all passengers holding boarding passes for Flight 105 please come to Gate 28? If you do not have a boarding pass please come to the check-in at Gate 28. Also, the captain has asked that all passengers check any baggage that exceeds the maximum carry-on dimensions. We will begin general boarding in a few minutes. First class passengers are now being boarded. Thank you."

"I'm not at all certain about his summer," Deirdre said suddenly. I glanced at her, startled from my silent examination of her only child, a bastard in the moral sense of the word if not by character.

"Huh? Whose summer?"

"Justin's, of course! Who else would I be talking about?"

"I don't know. At Christmas I thought you had it all planned?"

"I did too. I was intending to spend most of my summer here. We have a summer program at the College. Now it looks like I'll be working at Wilford Falls again. A very interesting project has come up. I'm going to spend the entire time with the same people that I worked with last summer. We're working on a new play by Adelman. It's even possible that it might go to New York."

"And?" I prompted.

"There's nothing much for Justin to do within miles of there, and there certainly won't be any kids his age."

"I guess you'll have to stay with Robert and the girls, Justin," I teased mindlessly.

Justin gave me a wry look that conveyed his displeasure. His mother sighed.

"Alex, really! Robert has far too much to do with running the business and everything. And with the girls, well he simply won't have the time."

"So I don't understand why you haven't made other plans for him. It's a bit late to start looking for a summer camp," I said caustically.

"Hell, I just found out on Wednesday! Alex, I can hardly leave him by himself here for the summer, or dump him on Robert for that matter, now can I?"

I shrugged. "What's the problem? Can't you try to enrol him in a summer program in the area or something? There has to be a dozen camps in that part of the country. One has to have an opening even at this late date. They must get cancellations. Kids get sick all the time."

Deirdre nodded and sighed weakly. "I know. I've already talked to most of them about it. Most of them are already full and have waiting lists. I found one, Camp Watchetoochie. They had a last minute cancellation. A boy broke an arm or something like that. They're supposed to be among the best."

"It sounds like Camp Watch-your-tooshie," Justin interrupted. "I might as well be at Wilford, Mom."

"We are now boarding rows 45 through 35 on Flight 105 to Orlando. Could all passengers holding tickets for seats between rows 45 and 35 on Flight 105 please come to gate 28."

Deirdre ignored Justin. "They say they could take him for the whole summer, at least they say they can, even with the short notice. The trouble is, well 3; it's a long time at his age 3; and 3; well 3;" She glanced quickly at her son. "It's just well 3; it's just that I'm not pleased about leaving him alone for that long, that's all."

In the past she had thought nothing of rushing off to some drama capital of the world to study or give a workshop. I wondered what had happened to change her mind. On previous summers she had no hesitation in dragging Justin with her. However, since her marriage to Robert Mackey III, she had mothered him until she became overly protective. Perhaps she was over-compensating for her husband's disinterest in him, or trying to mitigate the competition afforded by the terrible twins. At Christmas when the family gathered, and I dropped by to see Justin, she practically doted on him. Maybe it was just to annoy me. Much to the consternation of her husband, I went out of my way to spend even more time with Justin than I had planned. After two days and witnessing half-a-dozen fights, I presumed that there were problems ahead on the marriage front. Too bad! Robert and Deirdre deserved each other.

Justin brushed his hair back, moving his hand from his forehead to the nape of his neck before he turned his languid blinking blue eyes on me. It was a distinctly feminine gesture, and one that was overtly seductive. He needed a father, not the selfish conceited oaf that Deirdre had married. However, except for me, he had never had a male role model. I stifled a smile when I considered whether I qualified as a suitable role model for a ten-year-old boy given that most parents would prefer to see men like me languishing behind bars.

God only knew where Justin's father, his real father, was because only his mother knew who he was. At least I hoped she knew, for one could never be too certain of anything with Deirdre. I suspected that the Peace Corps harbored him in some remote corner of the world. She had no qualms in admitting that Justin was an accident, a mistake made in the heat of passion in a dry dusty village in Africa or some other God-forsaken place. He was further evidence of my sister's impetuous nature. On the positive side, at least he had not been fathered by some negro villager she met while studying tribal ceremonies. If anything, his genes had benefited by natural selection. He was an extremely handsome boy.

"There's always your mom and dad," I suggested lightheartedly, even though I knew that a summer with his grandparents in Baltimore would be totally unsuitable for the pretty boy sitting opposite me.

"Hardly! He'll have nothing to do except follow them around the golf-course."

"Well take him with you then. If you're afraid he'll be bored, he can take his computer or something."

"It's not just that,' she acknowledged. "I'm not happy about him spending the summer with me. It's a very unusual place where I'm going. Until a few years ago it was strictly by invitation, and then you had to be nominated. It's just not a place where an impressionable young boy should be."

"What on earth are you talking about, Deirdre?"

"She means that just about everyone there is gay," Justin interjected snidely.

"I find that a bit hard to believe," I said testily.

Had I been mistaken in my analysis of Justin? I seriously doubted that I was wrong, but perhaps he was over-compensating, making up for an interest that made him feel uncomfortable. His disparaging tone was unsettling.

"Well you better believe it, Dad Every man there is queer!" Justin added quickly.

"Justin! That was years ago," Deirdre interrupted in exasperation.

Justin shrugged. "It was two years ago, Mom. Anyway, last year was exactly the same the entire time I was there."

I wondered what happened previously. Then I remembered that a year ago Justin had a part in one of the plays they worked on. There are only a few plays with parts suitable for a nine-year-old boy. Suddenly, I suspected that something must have happened that upset him. In all likelihood what had occurred was related to his unnerving comment about homosexuals. Even if the motivation was still lacking because he was still so young, he certainly looked as if he was the sort of boy who not only invited interest, but would say 'yes' if the opportunity presented itself.

"Then do the summer camp thing," I answered blandly, pushing considerations of Justin's sexual orientation to the back of my mind.

She shook her head quickly and I imagined that she had also rejected the possibility for the same reason as I did.

"I expect it'll all work out once things have settled down," she muttered as much to herself as to me.

We watched each other in silence. A minute passed. I emptied the margarita and checked my watch again for the departure time, stealing glances at Justin as he continued to play with his food. Every few seconds he would quickly glance back at me. Again I wondered what had happened the previous summer in Wilford. I had an unsettling sense that both he and Deirdre had something planned.

"I have a favor to ask, Alexander," she said at last.

I smiled, expecting the worst now that she had called me Alexander instead of Alex. It involved Justin, of that much I was certain. I nodded and waited. I suspected it involved summer.

"I'd like you to keep Justin with you for a few weeks after you get back from Florida, maybe as much as a month or more until I figure out what to do with him. In a way, he's as much your responsibility as he is mine."

My mouth dropped open in stunned surprise. Certainly, my income had fed and clothed him for the first six years of his life, but I owed him nothing. Her current husband had become his legal guardian when I moved to California. Justin still called me dad, and tended to say it even more often in Robert's presence.

"I'd like him to spend some time with you in LA anyway. I'm always taking him, Alex. It would only be for a few weeks, and well 3; As soon as I know how things stand at Wilford, you can put him on a plane."

I glanced at my step-son and he quickly averted his eyes to stare at the construction zone on his plate. "Even a few weeks wouldn't be a good idea. There's a problem, and I think you know what it is, Deirdre."

"I don't know what the problem is, Alex. I do know that Justin wouldn't be any problem to you at all. Why, he could move into your place. He would have a lot to keep him busy. He likes you a lot, and he's always well behaved. What's more, he can pretty much take care of himself."

"We are now boarding rows 25 through 35 on Flight 105 to Orlando. Could all passengers holding tickets for seats between rows 25 and 35 on Flight 105 please come to gate 28."

I smiled at Deirdre. "It would be a pleasure, but 3;. well I'm not sure I should. I think you know what I mean."

Deirdre smiled slightly as she indicated she understood what I was alluding to. "I'm certain there won't be a problem as you put it. If I can't trust you with my own son, who can I trust? Besides, he's going to be a hell of a lot safer with you than up at Wilford with me."

"Safer with me? You really think that?" I asked curiously.

"What's the problem, Mom?" Justin interjected.

Deirdre shrugged. "There isn't a problem, Justin. At least not what I would call a problem."

"Deirdre?" I began. She gave me a deprecating look. "A few weeks? That's all I asking, Alex."

"Deirdre," I began earnestly. "I really don't know where I'm going to be in a few weeks."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's more than what you think. I've been giving a lot of thought to quitting the company. I'm tired of the hassles. I've made more money than I'll ever be able to spend in the next two lifetimes," I said.

Deirdre regarded me with something akin to shock. "What? What on earth are you talking about? Heavens, you're only thirty seven and you're talking about retiring? What are you going to do with yourself?"

I smiled. "For the last few years I've worked sixty hours or more a week. I don't plan to die at fifty."

"You're thinking about what's-his-name?"

"Luke Robinson," I offered.

"You are, aren't you?"

I shrugged. Certainly Luke's sudden death had been on my mind the last few weeks, but I had been thinking about an alternative line of work for several months.

"Not particularly, Deirdre. I miss him, that's for sure. I was thinking of trying my hand at something else."

"Who? You mean get out of real estate? That's somewhat out of character for you, isn't it Alex?" Deirdre said cynically. "Where would you park your Beemer? Or do you plan to just retire to the golf course?"

I shrugged. "Maybe I'd like to see what I can do with my life, Deirdre. I could probably do something else if I put my mind to it. There isn't much satisfaction making deals every day. Only the words and numbers change."

Deirdre looked at Justin and smiled back at me. "Why don't you come to Wilford. You could write that book you were always talking about. You could really achieve something too, Alex 3; if you wanted to."

"I don't think Robert would like that idea at all," I taunted. "Besides, I thought you were worried about Justin's welfare," I suggested lightly. "Promiscuous gays and a ten-year-old boy and all that? You had better keep both eyes and a leash on him all the time."

"Promiscuous gays? Hardly, Alex! You should know better living in California. Most of them aren't at all like that. They're really very nice. In fact, it's a very complex group. They're good people, even if some of their attitudes are a bit unusual."

Justin grinned cheekily. "They're more than unusual, Mom. They're downright weird."

Deirdre raised an eyebrow at her son, threatening rebuke as she turned slightly in her seat to see if anyone was close enough to hear what she said, and then leaned closer to me.

"Just between us, last summer two of the men 3; well, they practically courted Justin, including a man whose name you'd recognize if I told you. He's very rich. Considering who it was 3; well, it would be quite an honor for any boy if 3; Well I'm sure you know what I mean. They're very open about sex up there. No one would have cared."

I gazed at Deirdre and Justin, oblivious to everything and everyone around me. "What? I don't believe what you just said," I said loudly.

"Don't be so surprised, Alex. We both know that pederasty has a long tradition. It's been accepted by a lot of people in the arts for a long while. You should know that from living in LA. Hollywood is full of them."

"So?" I asked uncomfortably. "For Heaven's sake, Deirdre, he's barely ten years old."

"That's why they call it boy-love. If he was fifteen or sixteen he wouldn't be a boy, now would he? Anyway, by the time a boy is Justin's age, if he's interested in it, there's no reason why he shouldn't be interested in doing something about it."

"Practice his technique?" I said sarcastically. "It would be nice if he was mature, at least."

She shrugged. "We both know what's involved. He doesn't even have to be capable of doing anything other than reciprocating."

I glared at Deirdre and considered whether her meaning was the same as my interpretation. I had few doubts that Justin was 'interested', and deep down, even fewer qualms if he chose to do something about it. I would have been blind not to have seen that when he was on stage. But was he really capable of 'reciprocating' at ten years old? A willing participation seemed very unlikely, although from his outward appearance it would not be too long before he was very 'interested in doing something about it'.

"Look Deirdre, I know there are people around who don't have the same hang-ups as the politicians who try to run the country, but it's still against the law. You're talking about the sexual abuse of a minor. That's serious jail time."

"Frankly, that's not an issue for me. I'm not surprised Justin drew some interest from them. I think you know why as well as I do," Deirdre continued unabated.

The word that came closest to describing Justin was 'sexy', but he was not sexy in the way the opposite sex would necessarily find desirable. By the standards of most members of his own sex, he had a real problem. However, for some men he would be very special. Justin smirked and blushed, obviously remembering the previous summer with some accuracy, if not outright enjoyment at the attention he had received. But then, show me any extroverted about-to-be-gay boy who doesn't like being the center of attention. Deirdre laughed.

"What's so funny?" I asked without humor.

"Well, it was funny at times. The one man actually asked me if Justin had feelings for him. He wanted me to know he had strong feelings for Justin. Strong feelings for a nine-year-old boy, can you believe it?"

"Mom," Justin interjected shamefully. "You said you weren't going to tell anyone."

"Okay, but Alex really doesn't mind, I'm sure. He's very understanding. Aren't you, Alex? I think it goes with living in California."

"I think I get the picture. So what about this summer?" I groped.

"It's actually one of the reasons why I'm going back."

"To work with a bunch of gay wanna-be actors, some of whom chase after your son?" I laughed.

"No, not that," Deirdre laughed. "It's true almost all of the men up there are queer, and the women make no secret that most of them are lesbians. One or two of them are beautiful, I mean really beautiful, but Robert would have a stroke if I did anything with one of them. No, I'm going back because they really are talented and I get a kick out of being around them."

"And what about Justin?" I asked. Deirdre grinned gleefully. "Why, I thought you would have figured it out by now, Alex. That's where you come in," she replied.

I took a deep breath and tried to reason that I was jumping to conclusions. "Me? How?"

"After you take him to Florida, I guess I'd like you to spend the rest of the summer with him. After all, you may not be his step-father, but you know, you're still his legal guardian."

Before I could say anything the loudspeaker announced the final boarding call for Flight 105. I nodded weakly and promised to call her from the hotel with my decision.

Room 262 Worldview Hotel, Orlando. June 10th, 2000

The god-damn Mouse was everywhere, it seemed. After the fifth, or was it the sixth channel of 'Mouse', I said 'fuck' under my breath and resorted to looking at the brochures so generously provided by the MOUSE Company. Just about everything was decorated with unmouse-like ears and whippet tail. It was not enough that Mickey's likeness was plastered on the magnetic entry card for the door, the soap, even the two tiny bottles of shampoo. Of forty cable programs on the television, the Mouse and his affiliated enterprises appeared to dominate more than half, and the rest weren't worth watching. Talk about a captive audience. I began to wonder how I would survive four days and five nights without losing my sanity.

The noise from the shower and drowned out much of the sound of the tv and I sat back on the bed and contemplated my predicament. I was bored. I even gave some thought to closing the door to the bathroom, reasoning that there might be enough time to jack off before Justin finished if I didn't postpone my climax unnecessarily. It would be the first time in a long time when I had not ejaculated at least once during a 24-hour period. The alternative was to wait for my turn in the shower. After flying from LA, meeting Justin at the airport, the flight to Orlando, and a bus ride that took twenty minutes less than the wait at the check-in counter of the hotel, I needed to relax. Masturbation would be anything but arousing when all I would hear was the Mouse advertising the attractions of the park or announcing what was on the other cable tv stations he controlled. It was one vast sexless monopoly, an insidious conspiracy that competed with the gross national products of medium-sized third-world countries.

Without reason I caught myself thinking about Justin. He was in the shower and probably soaped up by now. The thought of disrupting his hot-water relaxation was suddenly enticing. I thought of him nude. He would be naked as the day he was born. I remembered him, pink, screeching, and to my eyes at the time, a thoroughly unattractive proposition. Yet, shortly after he came into the world, I began to discover how much I loved him. How quickly things had changed, I mused. The baby became a pretty toddler, became an exceedingly beautiful boy. Now, as in the past, I saw myself in him, even though there was no genetic link between us. He was curious at the same time that he was estranged, seemingly at odds with the world around him until he discovered who and what he was.

Justin was talented. God, was he talented. Each time I visited I looked forward to Justin's singing. His singing was exceptional, made even more enjoyable by his perfect pitch and sense of rhythm. With his movement skills he projected a dynamo that continually made me think of Michael Jackson at the same age. Justin's natural ability often gave me cause to wonder whether he would pursue a career in show business.

Again, I smiled as the idea of seeing him naked in the shower came to me. Despite the fact that to date he had shown no sign of interest in sex, since his performance in the school show I often caught myself thinking he was very sexy. No, not just very sexy. That was an understatement. He was incredibly sexy. His performance had been erotic at the same time it was innocent. I queried my motives and tried to fathom the cause of my conclusion. It was illogical, given my inclinations to teenage youths. Justin was a boy, a ten-year-old boy with a hairless little dick and tiny balls. It was as unreasonable as my desire to interrupt his shower.

Then, I realized I had erection. I wondered when and why I had suddenly become interested in his body. Without warning I found myself hoping that he might be engaged in the pastime of the pubescent boy, the age-old pursuit of self abuse? Again I smiled. Justin was a long way from being pubescent at ten years old. However, it was possible that he had already discovered how to make his little hand go up and down on that still immature part of his anatomy. An interesting thought, almost interesting enough to lure me to my feet and go into the bathroom for a quick look. The need to urinate would provide the explanation of my visit to the bathroom. Believable, except that I had eliminated the necessity only few minutes before Justin went in for his shower. A pity, I decided. Next time, I promised myself to think first before pissing.

Did Justin know the basic techniques for self abuse I continued to wonder with amusement? I smiled, deciding that it was more than likely given my own natural passion for masturbating. And then, without warning, I again remembered the conclusion that was reached by the stranger at the fifth grade performance. Justin was gay. Suddenly it seemed illogical that he would not be doing it in the shower.

I closed my eyes and began to imagine him masturbating, inexpertly of course, with the unskilled hand of a ten-year-old boy. Definitely no more than a two fingers and thumb job, and it would still be overkill. He was still too young to really get off, yet his penis was big enough to give him all the pleasure he needed at his age. I thought of his little uncircumcised morsel, straining erect, glans bulging and reddened from the hot water. Despite my opinion at the time, and medical claims of improved hygiene, his mother had prevailed in the decision not to circumcise him.

The absence of noise from the running shower entered my consciousness as Justin walked into the bedroom. A towel was wrapped around his waist as if he had something to hide from me. He was still spotted with water where the towel did not cover him. He was not skinny, yet he was certainly a long way from being fat. To my appreciative eye, he was beautifully proportioned. There was just the slightest hint of puppy fat on his chest, the curves of his ribs and belly muscles clearly visible, yet not pronounced like a malnourished waif from a third world country. Nor was he well muscled, although he was certainly physically fit from attending his jazz-dance class. What I could see of his body was pale and unblemished, white and smooth like a polished marble statue in a museum.

I watched him cross the room, moving with such exceptional grace that it made me think his feet were not actually touching the floor. I found myself silently fantasizing about the part of him I could not see. I expected I would get the chance if I played my cards right. During four days and five nights there would have to be at least one opportunity to feast my eyes on his nakedness and revive the memories I had retained from before the divorce. Life wasn't that unfair.

"How's the shower, babe?" I asked as I enjoyed the sight of partially bare boy flesh.

"Okay."

Justin sat back on the other bed, the one nearest the bathroom. He kept the towel wrapped around him and he pulled his legs up so that he was comfortable. Without saying more, he began to watch the television with the mindless attention of his generation. No wonder he still had some puppy fat, I thought critically. He needed outdoor exercise, and while his dance instructor probably worked him out one or twice a week, it was not enough to compensate for a sedentary lifestyle.

"What do you want to do tomorrow?" I asked, still watching him with furtive interest.

Justin shrugged. "Anything's cool." He paused. "I'm just glad to be here with you."

"Me two. I'm glad that you decided to come," I laughed. "It wouldn't be much fun by myself. I think you have to be a kid, or be with a kid to really appreciate this place."

Again Justin shrugged disinterestedly. "I could never have a good time here by myself," I added truthfully. I paused, very aware of the truth of what I was about to add. "I really like being with you. I miss you a lot."

Clearly he was disturbed by what I had said. "Well, I'm here, so you can have a good time, can't you Dad?" he replied flatly and without emotion.

I gazed at him and he stared at the television. He was nearly a stranger to me and the distance between us seemed to be increasing every time I tried to talk to him. I sensed that he knew I was watching him and he was ignoring me because of it. He wanted me to go away so that he did not have to deal with me or engage in meaningful conversation. For the last three, nearly four years I had avoided my responsibility as the only father he had ever known. It hurt me to see him living in Robert's house. I wondered what his relationship was like with his step-father. Not very good I suspected.

"I guess I better go take a shower too," I grumbled. "Otherwise you'll complain about the smell I expect."

Justin gave me a wry smile and did not reply. I eased off the bed, cheated of the chance to see him change into his pajamas. There would be other chances, when we went swimming, when he woke up, when he changed his clothes, when he used the bathroom, whenever. I had four days, and after tonight, four more nights. In fact, the entire summer awaited us.

Having lived by myself for the best part of four years, I was unprepared for bathroom chaos. It was impossible that one ten-year-old boy could get three towels wet and create a puddle on the floor that stretched from the tub all the way to the door. Luckily there was one nearly dry towel left, or at least one towel that had not joined the tangled mess on the tiles. The toilet water was the color of pale chardonnay. Apparently ten-year-old boys did not bother to flush. And not only did they fail to remove their urinary waste, it appeared that their aim also left a lot to be desired. I sighed as I wiped the splatters from the toilet seat, feeling slightly disgusted and even a bit sympathetic for the people he lived with. Justin would require either a lot of discipline or a lot of getting used to, and it would take a lot more time than a mere four days. I considered dragging him in from the bedroom and making him clean up his mess. Then, as I thought about the distance between us, I rejected the notion. For now at least, I would put up with his untidy habits.

I undressed, placing my clothes on the driest section of the vanity. With a towel sandwiched under my foot, I mopped up the floor before turning on the shower. It was only on a hunch did I check inside the shower to ascertain whether I needed more shampoo. A plastic bottle lay in the bottom of the bath. The cap was off and a yellow stain ran towards the drain. I did not need to examine it to know that the amount of shampoo left inside was insufficient to shampoo even the hairless Mouse. I searched the vanity twice while the shower continued to run. There had been two bottles of complimentary shampoo there the first time I had used the bathroom. That was before Justin had showered. It was improbable that he had used both bottles, particularly when there was no sign of the missing bottle.

I lifted all my clothes to check underneath for the missing bottle, feeling increasingly cold and angry while I searched. Without giving more than a moment's thought to it, and oblivious to my nudity I stalked out of the bathroom to confront Justin with his heinous crime. Had I turned off the shower, he would have been warned enough to stop what he was doing. He would have had time to cover himself, perhaps even to pretend he was doing something else. As it was, I caught him in the act. Justin was a long way beyond the basic techniques of self abuse if the finger inserted three-quarters of the way into his anus was anything to judge by!

Perhaps it was only to be expected. I could not remember how old I was when I discovered masturbation, although I expected I was close to twelve years old. It was several years later when I discovered the added pleasure of rectal stimulation. Perhaps boys of Justin's generation started earlier and experimented more. Whatever the cause, he had certainly learned how to extract the greatest possible pleasure from playing with himself. His eyes were closed to slits, his mouth open as he breathed in quick gasps. He lay on his back, one leg bent at the knee and pulled up tightly against his chest, the other stretched out on the bed. His position naturally parted his buttocks and exposed the source of part of his pleasure. He masturbated a small, yet very stiff penis with erratic jerks of his right hand. At the same time, he slowly pushed two of his fingers into his anus as far as he could reach. My mouth opened and I gazed in shock and fascination that a ten-year-old boy was capable satisfying himself in that way. His narrow pelvis twisted and followed a natural motion of its own. His rhythm became faster, taking control only momentarily when the pace slowed, then yielding again to erratic jabbing. His trembling arms and legs jerked, his face contorted, a gasping urgency ran through him and changed to shuddering spasms.

For several seconds he did not realize that I was watching him experience the throes of orgasm. For those few precious seconds I observed his ecstatic joy, abandoned in his private world, deriving shameless euphoria from finger-fucking his own ass. No less surprising, he jacked an absolutely hairless penis with the aptitude of a teenager. He knew exactly what he was doing, and what he needed to do to extract sensations from a body that under normal circumstances should have been innocent of such feelings. My mouth stayed open. I was lost for words. He groaned when he twisted his finger around, pulled it back, pushed it in even further and harder than seemed humanly possible or prudent. He jerked his buttocks with frantic thrusts, becoming almost violent as he drew ever closer to the edge. His hips lifted up high into the air and his body arched, straining hard. His hand was moving with awe inspiring speed. If I did not know better I would have sworn the prepubescent boy was only moments from ejaculation. Perhaps he had already climaxed and was riding the wave of euphoria.

The missing bottle of shampoo was lying beside him. Except that it wasn't shampoo, it was body lotion, compliments of the MOUSE Company. Further, from the apparent ease that he guided his finger relentlessly back and forth within his tight orifice, he knew exactly what to do with it besides putting it to a more socially acceptable use. I stared at him, stunned that he was so absorbed in what he was doing that he was unaware of my presence. His other hand held his penis, but not the way one would expect from a young boy. His fingers and thumb made a sheath with his fingertips, enclosing his hard little organ at the base. He attacked it with rapid jerks that had advanced far beyond juvenile inexperience. He masturbated like a well-practiced teenager. His erratic pumping motion was lubricated by a liberal coating of the hand lotion applied to both front and back. His rhythm was barely interrupted as his fingers suddenly pulled away from his bottom and grasped the plastic bottle. Quickly he brought it between his cheeks, replacing the void where his fingers had been a moment earlier. He pushed both up and down at the same time, straining anxiously and hurriedly. He forced it through his anus, seemingly oblivious to any pain. It slid in quickly, penetrating until only the tips of his fingers prevented it from disappearing all together. It was perhaps an inch [2½ cm] in diameter and less than four inches [10 cm] long. It was about the size of a typical ten-year-old boy's penis I thought irrationally, but it still looked much bigger than Justin's small member. Without warning he looked up and blanched when his eyes met mine. Terror instantly supplanted the boy's overpowering joy.

"NO! NO! GET OUT!" Justin shrieked. "GET OUT!"

I backed away out of sight. My heart was pounding. In the space of a few seconds I had witnessed his most intimate activity, an unwelcome spectator to his secret pleasure. I hesitated, listening to Justin's shameful sobs over the noise of the shower behind me.

"Justin 3;" I implored. "Justin, it's nothing to feel ashamed about. Please Justin 3;. please don't be upset. "

"GO AWAY! I HATE YOU!"

I sighed. The distance between us had suddenly become a chasm that was as wide and hard to cross as any geographical separation between people. I went into the bathroom and turned off the shower. Through the cloud of steam I saw my reflection in the mirror. I owed him my understanding and I had a responsibility to him that was unavoidable. I walked slowly back to the bedroom, accepting the undeniable truth of a stranger's observation overheard in a high school auditorium.

"Justin," I began again, calmly. "It's okay!"

"Go away," he hissed, his face buried in his pillow. The towel that had earlier covered his thighs and lower abdomen when he came from his shower had been hastily pulled over his naked body.

"Can we talk for a moment?"

"I just want you to leave me alone," he sobbed. "I hate you, I really hate you."

"Justin, what I said about it being nothing to be ashamed about 3; I meant it. There's nothing wrong with making yourself feel good. It's your body. It's yours to enjoy."

"Go away, damn you."

"I'm sorry I surprised you, Justin. I really didn't mean to disturb you. When I came out all I wanted to do was ask you if there was any more shampoo," I said shaking my head. "If I'd known, well, I would have respected your privacy."

"I hate you."

"I love you, Justin."

"You have a real funny way of showing it," he retorted grumpily.

"Justin, you have a right to be angry, but I wish you'd listen to me."

"I'm listening. Say what you have to say and then leave me alone."

I smiled. At least I had a chance to talk at last. I desperately wanted to get it right the first time.

"Just about every boy plays with his dick at one time or another. When I was a boy I did it too, you know Justin," I said quietly. "It feels good and it's a very natural thing to do. It's also perfectly normal to explore the rest of your body as well. You're lucky. You've discovered how to make yourself feel good long before most boys do. Touching your bottom is also nothing to be ashamed about."

"I know what it is. I'm not stupid. It's dirty and disgusting."

"If that's the worst thing you do, then you're okay, Justin."

"It's bad to do it," he retorted adamantly.

"So is farting, but everyone does it," I countered. Justin suppressed a giggle by grunting into the pillow. "What makes you think it's bad 3; or dirty and disgusting for that matter? Is it because you poop from there?"

"No. He said it was evil. That's why!"

He? It wasn't hard to guess who he was. "Robert?" I inquired. Justin nodded slightly. "He's an idiot, Justin," I replied. "Jesus! There's absolutely nothing wrong with doing it. It's a butt. if you want to and you enjoy it, then you should do it. It's no different to playing with yourself in front."

"He said 3;" Justin stopped. "He said playing with myself was really bad. It'll make me sick if I do it!"

"That's an incredibly dumb thing to say. If that was true just about every boy would be sick non-stop. Sex can't hurt you if you're careful. Okay, so there are germs back there, but so long as you wash your hands afterwards you'll be fine. And in front, well it'll be a bit messy when you're older," I joked, "but, other than rubbing until it gets sore, it's absolutely harmless."

"He didn't say that. He didn't say anything about germs," Justin admitted between sobs. "He doesn't even know I put my finger in there. He said if I play with myself 3; I will be 3;"

"You'll be what?"

"I won't be normal!" Justin's lips tightened and he hesitated again. "Because it's what faggots do, that's why," he blurted out. "That's what he said. He said it would make me gay."

I expected something like that to be the reason based just on the few times I had met Robert. He was a Christian conservative, as inflexible and overbearing in his opinions as a Jesuit priest. Loving your fellow man apparently did not extend to homosexuals. He had zero tolerance for anything other than white, middle-class, conservative family values.

"Oh! He did? Well he's a much bigger idiot than I thought he was."

"That's easy for you to say. He's not your stepfather!"

"It doesn't matter. People do things because they want to. You get nice feelings from doing it, that's all. Playing with yourself, front or back, won't make you gay, Justin. Trust me."

"Then why would he say that?"

"I already told you," I grinned. "He's an idiot. Joking aside, he's probably afraid you'll like it and you won't want to stop. In fact, in my opinion you'd be strange if you didn't like it," I ventured. "Most boys will never know how nice it feels to do what you were doing."

That provoked a slight another slight smile from Justin. He regarded me curiously. Not many fathers openly discussed sex with their sons, and even fewer endorsed a boy's intimate explorations, especially through the back door. In my mind it was part of growing up and discovering one's self.

"Can you tell me why were you doing it?"

"Because it feels good," Justin said simply. "You were right about that!" He smiled slightly and breathed out slowly.

"Of course it feels good," I added. "Playing with yourself, either in front or behind, is guaranteed to feel good," I smiled." Actually it's is probably the nicest feeling there is. No, not probably, definitely. It's a very special feeling."

"Why?"

"Why is it special?"

"Yeah. Why does it feel so good?"

I grinned, gleefully aware that Justin's shame was being replaced by an infectious need to understand his feelings.

"You know what nerves are?"

Justin nodded and lifted his head away from the pillow. His cheeks were still red and tear streaked, but at least he had stopped crying. "I guess."

"If you put your finger in a flame it would hurt, wouldn't it?" I asked. Again Justin nodded. "And if I tickled you under your arms, more than likely you'd giggle. The reason is that nerves connect all the parts of your body to places in your brain. Some places register pain while others make you feel good. Think of your private places, your dick and your butt, as having a big bunch of nerves that are joined to a special place in your brain that likes to feel especially good. Making that part feel good makes the rest of your body feel nice as well. How does it feel by the way?"

"It feels funny."

"Funny?"

"Like I'm doing something that will hurt me. It's like I'm going to explode."

"That's the way it's supposed to be, Justin. If you do it for a while the feelings become so good it makes you feel like you're going to burst."

"That's exactly how it feels sometimes," Justin admitted shyly.

"When you're older white stuff will come shooting out of your dick."

"Why?"

"Right now it doesn' matter. I'll tell you all you need to know. However, trust me that's the best part. You'll have to wait a few more years for that I expect, but it's worth the wait. Until then you'll have to be content with the nice feelings."

He pursed his lips ready to say something. Instead, he regarded me curiously. The gap between us had suddenly shrunk to manageable proportions. I wanted to touch him, the physical connection bridging the emotional gap.

"Will it make me gay?" he asked nervously.

"Touching those places makes you feel good, that's all. It will not make you gay, Justin," I answered. "Being gay isn't caused by playing with yourself."

"I don't want to be gay."

"I don't think any boy really wants to be gay, Justin. It's something you don't have a lot of say in. If you're genetically set up that way, there's not much you can do about it."

"I guess 3; Am I? Do you think I am?" he asked even more nervously.

I smiled reassuringly, remembering the pretty boy on the stage. He was in his natural element. The man sitting in front of me, and probably many others in the audience, had seen the same signs. Anyone who saw Justin that night had good cause to think if not speak the obvious comment. I sighed inwardly, knowing how accurate the comment had been and feeling a surge of resentment. Justin would suffer if he followed a path different to the one his step-father laid out for him. The man was inflexible and demanding. I resented that I had allowed myself to be pushed out of Justin's life. I could help him understand. In that instant, I realized that my successful career accounted for nothing when I lost the one person I truly loved.

"Does it matter what I think? You can't change the way you were born. Besides, you're way too young for something like that to be certain. You won't know if you're gay until you're a lot older."

"How old do you have to be?" Justin asked nervously.

I thought for a moment and considered saying that sometimes a gay boy knew what he wanted when he was younger, even by Justin's age. There was no point in telling him what him already knew, or what he didn't need to know.

"Usually by the time you're in your mid teens it's usually pretty clear what turns you on. For most boys it's girls of course, but for some boys it's other boys." I don't know why I added the next two words except that it seemed right under the circumstances, "or men."

Justin sat up slowly, pulling the towel across him to make sure that he was respectably covered at all times. I smiled again. He seemed to know instinctively that at least for the present, he needed to conceal himself from me.

"He hates gays, Dad."

"I'm not surprised."

Justin wiped his fingers against his cheeks, wiping away the drying tears of his fading guilt. "He makes fun of people who might be gay all the time. Like my music teacher, Mister McVue. He only met him once and he calls him names. Do you know what he says? He says 'Watch out for McVue or he'll catch you in the john.' And when he drops me off at school, sometimes he asks if I'm wearing clean underpants. I know what he means. Mom doesn't like him saying things like that, but he still does. He does it all the time, especially when I'm alone with him. And he calls me Wooz-boy because I don't like sports all that much," Justin said sadly. "I know he hates me. I hate him back!"

"Remember what I said about him being an idiot?" I joked. "You're a beautiful, intelligent boy, Justin. I was so impressed at the show. I couldn't believe how good you were. Everybody clapped louder for you than any of the other acts."

Justin glared at me. "He didn't clap!"

I stared back at Justin, feeling my anger growing. Not much escaped Justin.He was not merely precocious. He was highly intelligent.

"I watched him. Mom clapped almost as much as you did, but he didn't, not once!"

"I'm sorry," I said regretfully. "I thought you were fantastic."

"I saw you clapping. You were louder than anyone else," Justin said proudly.

I remembered how I clapped, thinking how much my hands would hurt if I kept it up for much longer. I was his number one fan. He was destined for great things.

"Justin, I want to ask you a question. You don't have to answer if you don't want to, okay?" I said. I didn't wait for his answer. "You said he told you it was dirty and disgusting, or something like that. How did he come to say that to you?"

"There was a bottle of hand lotion under my bed. He didn't even ask what it was for. He gave me a long lecture about playing with myself."

"I can imagine. Did he say you'd go blind?"

"Huh?"

"Nothing. It's an old joke about masturbation," I replied wryly. "It's a fact of life that boys jerk off. Justin, I did when I was a boy, and all my friends did it too. I know you're embarassed and all right now, but you shouldn't be. I don't want to make things worse, but I think we should talk about this."

"I 3;" He bit his lip.

"You don't have to if you don't want to. If you want we can forget it totally."

Justin regarded me uncertainly. He swallowed and let out a long sign. "I don't 3; I don't want to be gay. I can't help it," he murmured.

I nodded reassuringly. "It's okay, Justin, really it is. I mean it when I say there's nothing to be ashamed about. What were you using the hand lotion for?"

"Jesus, what do you think?"

I smiled. "Maybe you had rough hands?" I teased. Justin gave me an exasperated look. "For the front or back?" I asked.

He shrugged ambiguously. I sensed his shame. The question did not need to be answered. It would not have taken him very long to realize that lubrication increased the sensations in either area.

"It's good that you've discovered what to do," I said gently. "Without the lotion, your butt might get sore, although probably not with just your finger in there." He avoided my gaze, again answering my unspoken question. I decided to take the bull by the horns.

"Of course, it's an even nicer feeling when you use something bigger than your finger, Justin. Don't be ashamed of enjoying it."

"It's wrong, and not just because gays do it," he retorted angrily. "It's bad."

I was not surprised. Justin had spent the last four years of his life living in the same house as a Christian Fundamentalist. He did not need to finish the sentence for me to understand the reason behind his shame.

"Oh come on. Do you really believe God cares whether you stick things up your butt?"

He watched me sullenly, his silence answering where he could not. Finally, his answer came. "No!"

"You do, don't you?" I grinned at him. "That's why you're ashamed of it. Trust me in this. There's nothing wrong with doing it. You have to be a bit careful with what you use, but other than that, it's okay."

Justin grunted in frustration. Months of internalized confusion was coming to the surface. His fears, his guilt, his desires burst to the surface like a breaching submarine. He nodded slowly, silently acknowledging what he had known to be true from the third grade.

"I'm gay. I know I am, Dad!"

"I don't how you can be so sure, Justin? Personally, I don't know if you are or not. I don't mind either way, of course," I added quickly.

"I 3; I am. That's one thing I'm sure about!" he said softly.

"Yes, I know."

"Y-y-y-you kn-kn-know," he stammered almost incoherently. He took a quick breath. "How? H-h-h 3; How do you know?" he demanded.

I studied Justin's terrified face. How could I tell him it was obvious to anyone who looked at him? Even though he was ten years old, an age when a boy was more interested in toy cars and trains than anything else, he had discovered his own 'anything else'. What was worse, not only was he interested in his anatomy but he had already begun to radiate his sexuality towards other males. He was 'coming out'. The hair style, the ear ring, the gestures were intended to arouse interest. He just did not realize it. I shuddered inwardly.

"Because," I countered, trying to stall.

"Because of what I was doing just now?"

"Yes. That among other things."

Justin was silent. I waited. Nearly a minute passed. I thought he would ask 'what other things'. he didn't. "How long?" I finally asked.

"What?"

"How long have you been doing stuff?" I explained.

I readied myself for an answer I didn't want to hear. I really didn't want him to tell me he had already had sex with other boys, perhaps even with men. Under the circumstances it seemed unlikely that he had not begun to experiment sexually with other people. He stalled, visibly disturbed, but anxious to tell someone.

"If I tell then you have to promise not to have a fit," he demanded awkwardly.

"I won't. I want to help you," I added reassuringly.

I wondered what help I could provide to a frightened boy who had embarked on a course that was calculated to lead to a lifetime of social hatred.

"I've know about few years I guess," Justin began awkwardly. "I remember starting just after he married Mom. I wanted you to come back. I wanted things to be the way they were before you left. I was so angry. Some nights I couldn't sleep so 3;"

I nodded reassuringly, imagining his failing self esteem, anger replacing affection, his urge becoming stronger as his curiosity grew.

"At first I only did it in the bath. I used to rub the soap around there first, so it was clean."

"And I guess it was a bit slippery?" I suggested lightheartedly.

Justin smiled. "That too. I liked how it felt, I guess. It felt even nicer with my finger inside," he admitted.

"No kidding? Then after a while you started putting things in there," I prompted.

He nodded, looking down shamefully as his secret was revealed. He had forgotten how he made the transition from fingers to foreign objects. It had happened quickly. First he experimented with the soap bar. It was too big by far, but the feelings were strangely better as soon as he tried to push it inside. Over a short period of time he tried many other things, from tightly rolled toilet paper, to a pencil, even the end of a spoon. As soon as he had experienced orgasm, his experimentation went in different directions. There was nothing too unusual if it filled the basic criteria of size, shape, and surface. His technique advanced rapidly when he discovered where he liked it most was just beyond the reach of his finger. The objects needed to be rounded at the end and at least four inches [10 cm] long. His tools of pleasure were carefully selected for function, yet reflecting imagination and an anatomical perspective that pursued ways to feel even better. Slowly the size increased. Four inches eventually became five [12½ cm], then six [15 cm]. The increase in thickness was even more dramatic. A diameter of less than a quarter-of-an-inch [½ cm] quadrupled. His body adjusted, still wanting more mass to achieve sensations that always seemed just out of reach. The objects became even thicker. It was like a competition he could not win. It did not matter that sometimes he was sore afterwards, that occasionally there was even streaks of blood, that the hand lotion he used left greasy marks on his sheets and underpants. He could not stop. He had given up trying to stop.

"I can't help it," he said guiltily. "I tried to stop a few times. I can't."

I smiled reassuringly. "What else, besides this?" I asked as I picked up the small plastic bottle from beside him.

"Other stuff 3; you know things I find 3; like I have this toy hammer from when I was little. It came in a tool set. It was one of the things you gave me for a birthday present when I was about four or five."

I nodded vaguely, not remembering the gift but imagining its size. The length and diameter of a plastic handle designed for the small hands of a toddler would probably be more than ample for his needs for several years to come. I smiled fondly. No wonder the plastic bottle had gone into him with such apparent ease. It was certainly no thicker than the handle of a toy hammer, but it lacked the advantages of length and variation of thickness. I decided to pursue the subject.

"And what else?"

Justin pursed his lips, resisting the impulse to tell all now that he had started to unload his guilty load. Intuitively, I sensed that what he was holding back had to be worth hearing.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't feel comfortable about it," I suggested blandly.

Justin rolled his eyes in exasperation. My comments sounded like the soft sell of a school counsellor and we both knew it. I waited, knowing he would come around quickly. I was curious, and excited. I was also trying to help him understand. He was full of questions that he needed answers for, and I was the one person who had the answers.

"You won't tell?"

"Hell, who am I going to tell? Your mom? Get real. It's really none of her business."

"But it's bad to do stuff with your butt," he said guiltily.

I regarded him seriously, considering whether 'stuff' was really sex with someone else. Was Justin still a virgin? Certainly, it was becoming increasingly doubtful. With his exceptionally good looks there would more than a handful of boys who would be attracted to him, and plenty of men too for that matter. As I pondered the thought uppermost in my mind, I decided to allay his guilt, even to press the issue and find out exactly what 'stuff' he had been doing. As I phrased my thoughts, I realized that it sounded a lot like a lecture.

"Sticking the occasional thing in your butt is nothing to be ashamed about, Justin. What you do with your body is your decision." I took a deep breath. "I want you to be clear about one thing. No one else has the right to tell you not to something that you enjoy and really doesn't hurt you. Do what you want with your butt. If it doesn't affect anyone else, it's okay."

"What if it's not occasional?"

"As long as you don't injure yourself, I can't see that anyone is really hurt by it. Just try to do it in private," I chided. "I don't think Robert or your mom would be quite as understanding as I am about it, so they probably shouldn't find out."

"What about sex?" he asked boldly.

I tensed. Justin was opening up to me as trust began to grow. He sensed my uncritical acceptance. I was of two minds about the answer I would give him. At that moment, he was almost sexless. The fear and shame of discovery had made his penis retract upwards into his groin so that it was only partially visible. It was difficult to imagine him have sex with another male, man or boy. It was impossible to imagine him having sex with a girl.

"What about sex?" I stalled. Did I really want to know whether Justin had acted on his desires with another person?

"Sex! You know when two people do it!"

"Um, in what way?"

"The usual way, I guess."

"Do you know what gay guys do?"

"Dad, it's the end of the twentieth century, not 1960. Hell, every boy in my class makes jokes about what gay guys do together."

I grinned, slightly perturbed by his implied comment about my age. "I guess that's the difference between growing up watching the Simpson's compared to the Donna Reed Show."

"Huh? What's the Donna Reed Show?"

"Nothing. It isn't important." I thought for a second. That was two points for Justin. "Have you?"

"Have I what?" Justin rejoined.

"Have you done it?"

"You mean 3; sex stuff?" Justin asked awkwardly. "Kind of. I haven't 3; you know, done anything behind." He smiled slightly, then glanced away. "At least not with someone else."

The concealed lie was obvious. Already, he had learned to tell just enough of the truth to hide what he did not want to tell.

"What do you do to him?" I asked.

"I can't tell you. Just some stuff in front."

I nodded gently. "That's okay. I understand. Do you want to tell me what you do when you're by yourself instead?"

"I told you already. Like 3; when I jerk off, I like it 3; with my finger in there 3;"

"Is that all?"

"Sometimes I do other stuff."

"Such as?" I persisted.

Justin breathed out heavily, a long frustrated sigh. "Mostly I just do it with my fingers. Sometimes, like I said, I put other things in my butt to make it feel even better. I can't help it. At first I just did it a little bit at a time, but now I can't seem to stop."

I smiled. Perhaps he was still a virgin in the only way that counted for a boy. And if he wasn't, this was not the time for him to tell me. Patience was a virtue in my business, and it took all of my experience to be patient. In time he would tell me.

"It's okay Justin, really it is." The expression on his face was still one of disbelief. I wondered whether I would be able to get through to him, to break down the barriers that society threw up for boys like Justin. "One day," I began reassuringly, "one day when you're older, you'll meet someone who you really like. You'll fall in love with him. You'll have sex with him, and you'll be incredibly happy. But you have to learn to be patient until you meet the right person." I took a deep breath. "Being gay, Justin, well it's very different to being straight, apart from the obvious fact that you have sex with guys. You have to be very careful, especially with someone older."

"Because of aids?" he asked.

I nodded, grateful that he knew some of the dangers. "Partly because of that. aids is a big problem but you could be hurt in other ways as well."

How?"

"For one thing, when a man does it with a young boy like you, for example, there's a good chance you'll be hurt."

"Why?" Justin asked nervously.

"Well for one thing, because your anus is very small compared to the size of a man's penis, it might be torn. Even though it sounds like you've been putting things that are fairly large in there, you still have years to go before you try it."

"I kind of figured that out already for myself," Justin smirked. "Sometimes there's a bit of blood that comes out."

"That's my point. If the man has aids, then if you bleed, it's very likely you'll catch it. If he's using a condom it's a different matter, but you could still be hurt by it."

"I knew that already from health class," Justin said confidently.

"And there's other reasons you have to be careful," I explained. "I'm sure you know what people think about gays. You've probably heard other boys at school talk about gays so you know what they think about them."

Justin regarded me, visibly worried. "Yeah. I know. No one I know likes them."

"I expect that's right, especially for boys your age. Mostly because they don't understand, or don't want to understand. It's a different way of living, and most people don't like that."

Justin nodded his head sagely, sucking on his lower lip. "It's the same as racism. It's why white people don't like black people."

"More or less," I agreed. "And Arabs don't like Jewish people, and so on and so on."

Justin nodded again. His breathing was very hesitant, leaving me with the impression that he was close to tears. "I think I understand. But 3; well, I'm gay 3; I want to know 3; you know 3; what it's like to have sex."

"That's normal," I admitted. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"But how do I?"

"How do you what? How do two males have sex?"

"I know about that already. What I want to know is how do I find out if I like it, you know, do that stuff without, you know, doing it with a man?"

"Like I said, it's only natural to want to know. In time you will find out what it's like," I said patiently. "There's no rush at your age."

"I don't want to wait forever," Justin replied bitterly.

I laughed. "Maybe you should try it with a boy your own age first. That's how most boys start. Eventually you'll do it with someone older."

"Eventually?" Justin repeated with a slow sigh.

I nodded. "You have to be patient, and when the time does come, you'll have to be very careful. In the mean time, I want you to know that it's okay to put things in your butt if you want to." Playfully I ruffled his hair. "But right now, it's bedtime, Justin. You have a long day tomorrow. We'll spend the morning at the pool. I have to be at the mall in Orlando for a lunch meeting for a few hours in the afternoon. Then we'll come back here and take in one of the parks until closing time."

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