PZA: The New Life of Timothy Greene

It's been four years since the tragic death of Peter, the youngest member of our little family. What had started as a time of sorrow gradually eased as we came to know that Peter had been a gift from God to us 3; a gift that had taught us much and from whom we had received much. We learned to rejoice in the firm belief that 'we would all be together in the sweet bye and bye' as the American Negro hymn goes.

Doug 3; no, he's not my 'little Douggie' any more 3; had got his adolescent growth spurt and, at eighteen, was a head taller than I although I still outweighed him by about two stone (28 pounds). No longer my little boy, our relationship had become more like lovers than father and son. He was still the most exciting being on earth so far as I was concerned and his love for me had matured into something very, very beautiful.

I was now working for the Ministry of Education in London 3; we were still living in Inverness, though 3; doing curriculum development for primary schools throughout the UK in addition to my related writing. One nice thing about the position was that it allowed me to take most summers off.

Doug had breezed through Oxford Prep and was looking forward to 'officially' starting at Kings College Cambridge in the fall. He already had several university-level courses under his belt. His experience with the 'artificial eyes' of his late younger brother had kindled a passionate interest in the marriage of electronics with medicine and he planned to take a dual major in both disciplines. But, somewhere along the line, he had also developed an interest in sports medicine.

We made it our unwavering practice to spend summers at Llanwddyn. It was, in part, honest payment for the loving care we had received from Rosie and Tom O'Donnell when the boys and I had been recuperating from their horrible captivity. They, in turn, had constructed a small cottage and reserved it for our use whenever we were in residence, freeing the main house for the use of the family.

And, it allowed us to visit with Peter and Mr. Jingles as they rested on their little knoll in perpetuity. Tom O'Donnell had never forgiven himself for the tragic accident that had claimed Peter's life and he made it a mission to beautify the little garden on the knoll surrounding Peter and Mister Jingles' grave. It would be a forever unanswered question how long Peter might have lived before the meningioma might have killed him.

Kate 3; Her Royal Highness, the Duchess of Cambridge to you unwashed peasants 3; had arrived with Elizabeth and Rory 3; Will was away on maneuvers 3; and we were all looking forward to a pleasant summer. The two children knew Peter's story and some of the less lurid details of his and Doug's captivity and rescue.

I vividly remembered the first time Kate had taken them to 'visit' Peter and Mister Jingles.

While Elizabeth, at ten, was in the 'horse love' phase of every young girl's growing up, Rory 3; once fascinated by Peter 3; now had a new hero to worship. And Doug genuinely liked the irrepressible little boy 3; he was almost eight 3; and the two of them were buddies. No, not that way! Never!

One morning Kate's driver, Dillon, had ferried us all into Shrewsbury for a day of shopping, giving Rosie and Tom a bit of a break. We were on our way back when the unexpected happened. The road is rather winding with high bluffs as it skirts Lake Vrynwy and an open touring car passed us in the other direction at far too great a speed. We all watched in horror as it failed to negotiate the next turn and went over the cliff into the lake.

Dillon, Doug and I immediately sprang to the rescue. Looking down from the highway, we could see the car at the bottom of the lake.

Doug immediately shed his shoes and dove in while Dillon summoned help on his cell. Rory had managed to escape his mother's clutches and I was occupied trying to keep the wiry youngster from joining my son. In a very short while, Doug emerged with a small body which he handed off to Dillon, before diving again.

"He's alive!" Dillon informed us and set about resuscitating the boy who looked to be about eight or so. Doug surfaced, grabbed a few breaths and dove again. He was down for what seemed ages, but finally came up empty-handed.

"They're trapped under the car and I can't budge either of them. I'm afraid they are goners," he gasped as I hauled him up onto the road again. Kate took her son in hand once more and we sat waiting for the emergency folks to arrive.

By the time they did arrive, the little boy was breathing normally again and Kate had wrapped him in a blanket. Oddly, he seemed to know who had rescued him and clung to my son sobbing.

The Rescue Team efficiently extracted the car from the lake and identified the two remaining occupants as Nick and Nora Greene. The boy we had saved was Timothy, their son. "Horace Greene is a piece of work and he'll be singularly uncooperative and not-at-all appreciative of your efforts," we were told.

"Our place is just a few kilometers further on. Why don't we take Timothy there and get him warm and into some dry things," suggested Kate.

"Right you are, Your Highness. Go right along with him, then. I'll send one of my lads for Horace and we'll meet ye there."

By the time Horace arrived, Timothy's shock had worn off and the little tyke was dealing with the death of his parents in the way little boys do. He was still in Doug's arms crying his heart out.

With not a word of thanks, the elder Greene pried his grandson away from Doug and left.

A police inspector took our statements and we were finished 3; we thought. Kate had some comforting to do with her two, both of whom had showed a lot a maturity for kids their ages. And she and Rosie both heaped praise upon Doug for his bravery 3; as did we all. Doug adopted his 'shucks, ma'am, it warn't nuthin' persona 3; too many John Wayne movies I fear 3; but I knew he was shaken.

"There's something not quite right," he told me later. "The way the old man treated his grandson. The boy was clearly frightened of him. It was spooky!" I had to agree with him; the boy had been treated harshly.

Late the next afternoon, a small boy came dashing into our midst as we sat on the deck enjoying afternoon drinks. "Please, sir," he addressed Doug. "Let me stay with you!" All of us were speechless. What was in play here?

When Horace Greene arrived 3; without even being summoned 3; he stormed in, grabbed Timothy who had a death hold on Doug and snarled, "Stop enticing my grandson, you pervert. If I find him here again, I'll have the law on ye."

Except for Timothy who wailed, "Don't make me go with him. Please let me stay with you!"

"The boy's hysterical," Horace informed us. "Says he misses his parents, not that they were worth a shit. He needs discipline and I'll give him some. You can count on it!"

And he left once more with the sobbing little boy. For some reason, everyone looked at me.

Kate came to my rescue. "There's nothing we can do, although I agree this is horrible. Timothy is obviously terrified of his grandfather, but he has custody. There's nothing we can do."

Elizabeth and Rory had sat wide-eyed through the entire episode and Kate would have her hands full for the balance of the day.

I had agreed to help Tom when he fed cattle early the next morning, so, I was up and ready to leave our cottage before the sun was up. My son wasn't up either as he gave me a sleepy good-bye and rolled over again. But, when I stepped out the door in the darkness, there was a little naked body curled up against the sill. I recognized it immediately.

I stooped down and gathered him up and was rewarded with a scream. Not a scream of fright, but one of pain. And my hands under his behind felt sticky. "Doug! I need your help," I shouted.

He came running, not stopping to even dress. We picked up the little boy by his arms and legs, carried him to our bed and laid him face down. Doug switched on the light and we could see clearly why my hands were sticky.

"My God! Look at his backside," Doug gasped. From the middle of his back to well below his knees, it was a mass of angry red and purple cane cuts, many of them weeping.

"Timothy, who did this to you?" I asked him gently, afraid of what I was sure the answer would be. He simply shook his head and cried harder.

Doug knelt down beside the bed and looked squarely into those red and tear-filled eyes. "Tim, I promise you no one will ever hurt you like this again." How he planned to keep that promise I could not fathom. "But you've got to trust me. Now who whipped you?"

We both sighed. Was this the result of our not pressing the issue? Did we abandon him when he most needed us?

At that moment, Tom came looking for his missing helper, took one look at the damage to Timothy's rear and almost hurled. "That settles it! I'm goin' for the sheriff."

The sheriff and the doctor, whom Tom had called, arrived shortly and both agreed Timothy had been savagely beaten. The sheriff immediately dispatched one of his deputies to fetch Horace Greene while the doctor treated Tim's wounds and we tried to comfort the boy.

The deputy soon returned with the report that Horace had left for an undisclosed location and was not expected to return soon. He had left instructions for his housekeeper to care for the boy, but she had been completely undone by the whole episode and Timothy had escaped.

By this time, the local chief inspector 3; a Mr. Markham 3; had arrived and had taken the sheriff's report. "I shall swear out a warrant for Mr. Greene to be taken into custody as soon as we can locate him. He has quite obviously abused the lad terribly and will answer charges. Pursuant to that, we'll need to find a temporary place for the lad where he can be cared for and recover."

There followed a discussion about where Timothy could stay until his grandfather was found. None of us wanted to see him 'put into care' and it seemed very unlikely the housekeeper would be able to tend to him properly. I could see where this was heading and I was not going to have this poor child terrorized again, but before I could speak, young Rory trumped me. "He could stay with us. I have lots of room in my bed. And then I'll have a new chum!" It was that simple so far as he was concerned.

The Inspector turned to Kate 3; it was her house and her family after all. She hesitated not a moment, but nodded her head.

We set up a day bed in Rory's room and gently moved Timothy to it. He would have to lie flat on his tummy until the lacerations on his posterior healed. "Why can't he sleep in my bed?" Rory wanted to know.

"He needs to be very careful not to disturb his wounds," answered his mother. "Maybe when he's better, you can sleep together. But, until then, you can help take care of him."

I could see what was developing between the two boys and realized it was probably the first time Rory had chosen a friend without his parents' approval. Kate looked at me quizzically and I just nodded. She smiled and told her son, "Yes, you may help take care of him and be his friend."

Throughout this whole exchange, Timothy had lain there quietly, busy with his pain. But now he raised his head and declared, "Thank you, Princess, for letting me stay here. And thank you, Rory, for being my friend. I've never had a friend before."

Later that evening, after the children had gone to bed, Kate knocked on our door and said, "Come and see."

We peaked into Rory's room. He had pushed his bed next to Timothy's and lay there sound asleep, holding his friend's hand.

Several weeks went by with no sign of the elder Greene. Timothy's stripes had mostly healed and it was judged to be a banner day when it was decided the two boys could sleep together in the same bed.

But, several mornings later, Kate stormed into breakfast and announced, "Tom! You will have to find another room for Timothy." I could guess what might have happened and she confirmed it with her next statement. "Last night, I caught the two of them fondling each other."

"I told them to stop it and go to sleep. It was disgusting and it can't continue."

I had to tread very carefully here. "Kate," I said, "you will make both Timothy and your son very unhappy if you try to keep them apart."

"What they were doing is quite normal for boys their age," I countered. She looked at me like I had suddenly sprouted horns. "It's what little boys do. It's part of their growing up." I assured her. But that was not what she wanted to hear.

"Princess, I'm sure your husband would tell you that he did some of the same things when he was their age. Probably with Prince Harry. Boys of their age are beginning to experience new and scary feelings. And they seek the comfort of a friend 3; a best friend. I can see that Rory and Timothy truly love each other and they want to express that love physically. Right now they are both SGO, same gender oriented. They are both fixed on males. As they grow older, that may change."

"But Rory is third in line for the throne," she wailed. "Don't tell me he might be gay. I don't want to hear it. He can't be!"

"He wouldn't be the first member of royalty to be so," I tried to sooth her. "I know you and Will have the obligations of royalty. But, I firmly believe first priority with you is to be good parents. And as such you will love your son no matter what his eventual sexual orientation turns out to be."

She looked down at her shoes and I could see the shame on her face. "Kate, I'm going to share something with you that I have never told a single soul before. Both Doug and I are gay. And we have expressed our love physically from the time he was a small boy. Yes, I'm his father, but also his lover. His mom knew that before she died, but the most important thing for her was that Doug be happy. I know that many clergy would condemn us, but what matters most is our love for each other."

She sighed. "Roger, you make it sound so simple and I guess it really is. You are right, they love each other; that's plain to see. And I must confess, I've grown very fond of Timothy, too. The last thing I would want is to hurt either of them. And I'm quite sure Rory's father will love Timothy, too. But what happens when we must return to London?"

"It will be painful for them. And, in time their friendship may fade, although I doubt it," I told her. "But, if their love is true, it will survive. So long as they can be with each other from time to time, it will endure."

But as the weeks rolled by, we were no closer to resolving Timothy's status. Free of the pain and terror of his grandfather, he had opened his heart to all of us and blossomed like a cactus flower after a spring rain. I had never seen two boys so giddy with happiness.

But, alas, it was soon time for Kate and her children to return to London. As predicted Rory's parting from Tim was sad, accompanied by lots of tears. And the little boy simply refused to leave until an invitation to spend the Christmas Holidays at Kensington House was given and accepted. Kate watched the byplay with a troubled look.

But when the time was ripe, she extended her arms to Timothy. "Goodbye, my little friend. I hope you will have a much happier life with Roger and Doug. We all will look forward to your visit."

Two more months passed before Horace Greene was finally located and taken into custody. Released on bond, he was directed to refrain from any contact with his grandson.

But, Justice must prevail and we were all summoned to a formal hearing in Shrewsbury. Tim was rather frightened with the prospect of facing his grandfather again and we tried our best to comfort him. "You will have to tell the court what happened," I explained to him. "But he will never again be able to hurt you."

Doug and I simply looked at each other and nodded. "Tim," said Doug, "we are certain the court will rule that your grandfather is unfit to raise you and so you will never have to live with him again."

Taking him into my arms, I said, "Tim, Doug and I would like you to be part of our family 3; Doug's little brother and my son. Would you like that?"

"OHHHH! Yes! Yes! Yes!" he replied hugging both of us. That seemed to seal the deal.

At the hearing, the depth of Horace Greene's abuse of his grandson was displayed for all the world to see. Through testimony from both Tim and Horace's housekeeper we learned of the truly sad life he had led.

His father had married a woman not approved by the elder Greene. Shortly after Tim was born, they both decamped having 'dumped' the boy on his grandfather. Fortunately, the housekeeper cared for him, but he was little more than a toddler when Horace began to mistreat the lad.

Until the day Doug plucked him from the lake, he had never been off the estate, had never been to school, had never had a single friend and had been regularly caned by his grandfather. In effect, he had been little more than a chattel slave, worked to exhaustion and inadequately fed and clothed.

Eventually, his wayward parents had returned to claim their offspring and were fleeing Horace's wrath when their car plunged into Lake Vrynwy. Testimony from the doctor confirmed the grievous physical state we had found him in. Timothy was required to partially disrobe to show the scars left by his grandfather's savagery 3; he managed to avoid breaking down until he was back in my arms again.

Having heard quite enough, the magistrate terminated Horace Greene's custody of Timothy, awarding it me; but required Horace to pay an annual support of twenty-thousand pounds until Tim reached eighteen years of age.

One month later, I formally adopted him and, once more, I had a second son and Doug had a little brother. Surely Peter would have approved.

One afternoon I returned from the fields early, having been working with Tom moving sheep since before daybreak. Hot and tired, I showered and 3; not even bothering to dress 3; I lay down on my bed for a nap. It was a bit cool, so I simply threw a light blanket over me.

I must have dozed, because I suddenly was aware of a small boy, wrapped only in a towel, standing at my bedside.

"I wanted to talk to you," he replied. "May I come in with you? I'm all nice and clean." I nodded and he dropped the towel and snuggled in next to me.

I had not had a naked little boy lying next to me since Doug was that age and I had forgotten how pleasant it felt. Putting my arms around him, I pulled Tim over on top of me. He sighed and lay his head on my chest.

"I'm not sad. It's just so 3;so 3;so," he choked. "You and Doug have given me a new life 3; a wonderful life. And I have a best friend, too! I don't know how to thank you enough."

"Little one," I replied, hugging him close, "just knowing you are happy is payment in full. Every time you give Doug or me one of your hugs is thanks aplenty."

He lay there in my embrace for a bit and then whispered, "Oh Dad, I love you so much!"

"And, I love you too, very much" I replied. I pulled him close and just reveled in the feel of his warm, naked body next to mine. He was so soft and smooth, just like Doug had been at that age.

I let my hands play over that delightful body 3; he giggled every time I touched one of his 'special places'. After a while he whispered, "It feels so good here with you! I never knew someone could love me so much and make me feel so good."

Another sigh and he lay his head on my chest once more. I didn't try to stroke him; just let him cuddle to me as he drifted off to sleep. I could feel his heart-beat and heard the music of his every breath.

Four Years Later – Doug Narrates

Our British Air chartered flight roared down the runway and lifted into a clear blue sky. We were on our way halfway around the world to represent King and country. Not as soldiers, but as sportsmen.

Now, how did Tim and I arrive at this you ask? I guess some explanations are in order.

Tim was now twelve-years-old and a member of the All-England Under-thirteen Football Team, representing England and Scotland at the Junior World Cup Games in Melbourne. I'd completed university and med school and was in the midst of a residency in sports medicine, so I'm along as the team doctor.

The first two years he was with us, Tim had gone to the local district schools in Inverness and had done amazingly well, having caught up to his age mates educationally. Free to grow and explore, he had developed into an exciting, loving boy with a quick intellect and a beautiful preteen body. There was no doubt he was a 'natural' when it came to sports.

But, near the end of his fifth year at school, we bowed at last to many pleas from his best friend, young Prince Rory, and enrolled Tim at the elite Ludgrove School where Rory was now completing his fifth year. It was where Rory's father, Prince William, and uncle, Prince Harry, had been educated and an excellent investment of the annual stipend his grandfather had been forced to provide.

And he and Rory would be 'roomies'. I'm certain Rory's mother might have had some reservations, but she and Will wanted their son to be happy above all else.

She did have some basis to be a bit concerned. At 11-years-old, both Tim and Rory were beginning to develop sexually and, on at least one occasion in my observation, had sampled the delights of boy-sex.

Rory was visiting us for a few days school break and, of course slept 3; if that is the correct term 3; with Tim. One night, I got up to relieve myself and happened to pass their room. They had carelessly left their door ajar and were engaged in a hot 'sixty-nine' session in plan sight. I approached just in time to hear Rory tell his partner, "Get on top of me and wiggle up so you can get mine in your mouth. Stick your ass up in the air a little so I can reach yours. That's better! Now, suck me just like you did last night between my legs. Use your tongue and lick, too. And squeeze my balls a little." His instruction was evidently effective as shortly squeals from both of them signaled their climax. I tarried long enough to hear my son tell Rory, "I'm beginning to like the taste of your juice."

Good Lord! Boy juice at their age? Boys sure start early these days! Must be something in the water!

The next day I cautioned them to be sure to keep their bedtime fun private. The both looked at me in shock. I just stood there with a big grin and answered their unasked question with a nod of my head. Shock turned to panic but soon changed to sheepish grins and to giggles. They knew their secret was safe with me. Had I wished to, I could probably have wangled an invitation to join them; it was very tempting, but I refrained. Drat!

At Ludgrove, of course, Tim would be away from Dad and me once more. Because he would be gone for most of the school year 3; he would spend holidays and some weekends with us or at Kensington House 3; Dad decided we should have a family vacation together before we told him our decision. So, the spring break of my final university year found us at a farmhouse/lodge in the Périgord region of France. It would be a splendid opportunity for three city-boys 3; yes, Dad, too 3; to experience rural life. Granted, our accommodations were not the usual lot of most farm families.

The Montfor's quickly made us welcome, especially their young son, Antoine. I watched him studying each of us and was somewhat surprised that he seemed to fix on Dad rather than Tim. As we walked about that first evening he took Dad's hand and declared "Bienvenue Monsieur Middleton. Je vous aiderai à apprécier votre visite. [Welcome Mister Middleton. I shall help you to enjoy your visit.]

He spent much of our visit with Dad, although he did not ignore the rest of us and seemed quite at home with Tim.

Roger Narrates

I had once asked Doug in all seriousness, "Why are little boys attracted to me?"

He thought for a moment and then said, "Well, I can tell you what attracted me. There I was lonely and sad on that train and you accepted me without any conditions. You took me in and comforted me and made me feel special. And I soon saw that you really loved me even though you didn't realize how much. And, when you gave me that little pin? Well, I knew right then and there that we were meant to be together."

"That's the way you treat every child and they sense immediately that you love them unconditionally and want only the best for them. That's the way God made you and how many little boys 3; and girls, too 3; have benefited from your love, if even only for a short time."

"Do you remember what my friend Samuel said at the end of the camp-out? I do. He wished you could be his father. He wasn't joking, either. You showed him how a father should care for his son. You'll just have to live with your 'curse'," he chuckled.

It was clear that young Antoine was attracted to me. He got along well with Tim and Doug, but it was very evident he was much more interested in me. It was he who usually sought out my lap as we sat enjoying the evening while Tim cuddled with Doug. But it seemed Antoine wanted more, much more. Except for his dark hair and flashing black eyes, he reminded me very much of Doug when I had first met him

The last full day we were there, the Montfor's wished to take us truffle hunting. I really needed to pay some attention to the galley proofs of my latest book, so I begged off and the rest left promising delights for our last dinner. I was sitting on the upper deck outside our room, when I suddenly noticed Antoine standing on the other side of the short barrier that separated our deck from his parents. I hadn't known that he was not out with the rest.

I was a bit startled and didn't answer immediately so he implored again, "S'il vous plaît, m'sieur Roger!" I nodded and he leaped over the barrier and stood beside my lounger, his dark eyes sparkling.

I assured him I had enjoyed our stay very much and he replied, "Oh! C'est bien!"

He stood looking down at me and then asked whether I liked boys and whether I liked him

In my best French I managed, "Oui, Antoine, je t'aime beaucoup. Vous êtes un petit garçon doux et j'aime tous les garçons. [Yes, Antoine, I love you very much. You are a sweet little boy and I love all boys.]

"Veuillez avoir le sexe avec moi et montrez-moi comment aimer un autre garçon" [Please have sex with me and show me how to love another boy The others are gone and we are alone and you may do anything you wish to me.] Les autres sont allés et nous sommes seuls et vous pouvez faire quelque chose que vous me souhaitez."

OK, how far was this going to go? Here was a perfectly delightful little boy standing next to where I lay and inviting me to ravish him. Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound. I nodded dumbly and he took my hand, pulled me to my feet and led me to his bedroom.

He stood in the center of the room and implored, "Veuillez me dépouiller." [Please strip me.]

He was wearing only a tight tee-shirt and very short shorts. He raised his arms as I slipped the shirt over his head to reveal a perfectly proportioned little boy torso. He was very well-built for a boy his age; nicely developing pecs and two protruding nipples surrounded by dark brown aureoles. I simply had to rub and tweak them a bit.

The shorts came down and I ran my hands down his lovely long legs as they did and he stepped out of them. Lack of a tan line testified to his time out-of-doors au natural.

He stepped back for a minute and went to his closet. Retrieving a box, he handed it to me and proclaimed, "Maintenant je suis nu. Font vous aiment mes pièces de garçon?" [Now I'm naked. Do you like my boy parts? ]

I assured him I did and he responded, "Font vous aiment mon pénis? Veuillez le frotter ! Et mes petites boules. Jouez svp avec elles." [Do you like my penis? Please rub it! And my little balls. Please play with them.]

I set the box aside, laid him down on his bed and proceeded to have my way with him. Starting with his nipples, I began to suck and nibble on them accompanied by his yips and moans. "Oh oui, léchez mes mamelons et sucez-les!" [Oh yes, lick my nipples and suck them!]. After a while, he gasped, "Touche moi ici!" indicating his cute little package.

I obliged him and soon had him gasping and squirming. "Oh! C'est bien! Ce se sent si bien!"

After a while of that, he told me to look in the box. To my astonishment, I found an assortment of sex toys 3; blindfolds, ball gags, a few sounds and nipple clamps, and a set of butt plugs. And some other things I don't want to mention. Most everything was boy-sized. I looked at him in astonishment.

"Papa!" he confirmed. He told me his father had said he would soon be ready, but he was clearly not the innocent I had supposed. I wondered if he was provided to other guests. Or, perhaps he was just beginning his 'training'. I would never attempt to use the sounds on his little 3; well, not so little 3; prick, but I might try some of the other things.

I blindfolded him, rolled him over, fastened his hands behind his back and pulled him into a kneeling position. I selected the smallest of the butt-plugs, coated it well with the KY from the box and positioned it at his rear entrance, telling him what it was.

"Il entre dans votre abruti assez petit." [It goes in your pretty little ass-hole.]

"Il se sentira un peu inconfortable au début." [It will feel a bit uncomfortable at first.] As gently as possible, I worked it into his hole until it was fully seated. He squeaked, but did not resist.

"Il se sent si étrange avec cette chose dans mon abruti." [It feels strange with that thing in my ass.] Vous avez mis le votre piquez là. Les garçons à l'école disent que qui est foutue et elle fait très mal." [Will you put your prick up there. The boys at school say that is called fucking and it hurts a lot.]

"Oui, il fait très mal. Mais je ne ferais jamais cela à n'importe quel petit garçon." [Yes, it does hurt a lot. But I would never do that to any little boy.]

But I needed to find something out. Leaving the plug in I rolled him over on his back. With his hands tied behind him, he lay there with his chest thrust out. Selecting a small nipple clamp 3; the kind with teeth 3; from the box, I applied it to his hard right nipple.

His reaction was instant. "Mon mamelon ! Il blesse ! Veuillez l'enlever!" he screamed. [My nipple! It hurts! Please take it off! ] I immediately did as he asked and kissed the hurt away.

"Je suis désolé que j'aie été un tel des wuss, mais il a vraiment blessé!" he bawled. [I'm sorry I was such a wuss, but it really hurt.]

"Vous n'étiez pas des wuss. Vous étiez très courageux!" I assured him. [You were not a wuss. You were very brave!] And I held him close until his tears were past. He was clearly not a 'pain pig' and I was happy he was not.

It was time to give him some pleasure. Laying him back down, I stroked him and then plunged his prick into my mouth.

He responded almost at once, "Ce se sent si bien!" After a bit his body began to shake and, emitting a scream, he thrust into my mouth. " Je suis cumming! Je suis cumming!" And he collapsed onto his back, gasping like a beached fish.

I removed his blindfold, released his hands, and asked him whether he liked it. "Il a appelé une blowjob."

I could oblige him. Little boys have tremendous recuperative abilities 3; they don't have to make any cream. And, after his second orgasm, he just lay there in my arms, half asleep.

Finally, he roused himself and announced, "Je sucerai votre grande piqûre et jouerai avec vos boules jusqu'à ce que vous injectiez dans ma bouche." [I will suck your big prick and play with your balls until you squirt into my mouth.]

And, by God, he was true to his word and we finished the afternoon with a spermy kiss.

"No, Dad," he replied, "he did. The only thing I was asked to do was to make sure we stayed away long enough. Honest! It was all his doing."

"It was wicked fun," I assured him as we rolled together. "Did he tell you about it?"

"He told me you stripped him naked, tied him up and played with his little cock and balls. Then you sucked him off and he sucked you and swallowed your cum," retorted my grinning son.

Well, that was mostly accurate, and nothing more was said until we were ready to leave the next day.

Antoine asked for a hug and I took him into my arms. "Au revoir Monsieur Roger. Merci de m'enseigner au sujet du garçon-sexe," he whispered into my ear. [Good-bye Mister Roger. Thank you for teaching me about boy-sex.]

"Bien, vous étiez le petit garçon le plus sexy que j'ai joué avec depuis de nombreuses années. Presque aussi sexy que Douglass." [Well, you were the sexiest little boy I have played with for many years. Almost as sexy as Douglass.]

Douglass resumes the narative

See! What did I tell you. There's life in the old guy yet. But don't tell him I said that. It's been a good many years since I had a spanking.

We told Tim about our plans for him on the way home and he almost jumped out of the car with excitement. We had to clamp down on him a bit. He could only smother the one who was not driving with hugs and kisses.

When he joined Rory at Ludgrove in early September, I have never seen two more excited and happy young boys. He was quickly assigned as Rory's 'roomie' and the two got along fabulously. He had made sure it was OK with both Dad and me if he and Rory had sex together; so I'm sure there were many nights of torrid love. I'm quite sure Rory did not ask his mother's permission. She seemed to grit her teeth and forbear, just waiting for her young son to find girls.

To afford us more access to Tim, Dad and I moved to Workingham. He could do his writing most any place and I was in my final year at university, so the arrangement was quite satisfactory.

Tim's first two years at Ludgrove went by swimmingly. Not only were both boys at the top of their classes academically, but they were also starting to be outstanding athletes, especially on the football field. Tim played forward while Rory excelled at striker.

By the time they were twelve, two important events had happened: even though they continued to share each others beds on occasion, they had both discovered girls 3; much to Kate and Will's relief, I'm sure 3; but remained fast friends.

And they were both chosen for the All-England Under-thirteen Football Team, to represent England and Scotland at the Junior World Cup Games in Melbourne, Australia. Their heady excitement was short-lived however as the King decided that Rory could not travel with the team.

There was, in Australia at the time, a small but vocal minority that was viciously anti monarch and would not miss the opportunity the presence of a possible heir to throne gave them. They gave every assurance they would disrupt the games by any means to make their stand known. Unwilling to subject Rory to possible abuse 3; verbal and physical 3; it was decided that Rory could practice with the team and was considered a full member, but simply could not go to Melbourne.

They were, of course, bitterly disappointed and Dad and I spent several evenings trying to console two young preteens who had reverted to little crying boys. Tim even threatened to quit the team; but, in time they both came to grudgingly understand the wisdom of Charles's decision. And our coach came up with a solution that served to ameliorate most of the sorrow and hurt.

Rory was appointed captain and coach of the 'blue team' 3; the team which scrimmaged every day with the 'red team' who would ultimately travel to Melbourne. He rapidly took on an almost maniacal glee in punishing and driving his friends to exhaustion. The result was a 'red team' that was honed to perfection. All of us were sure it would take an act of God to prevent us from winning the Cup.

Nonetheless, I could see the tears in his eyes 3; in both sets of eyes 3; as the team boarded our chartered jet.

On take-off from the Israeli capital, a problem arose with our aircraft and we were forced to return. It turned out to be one which would take several days to remedy and, by that time we would have missed the opening matches.

The Israeli Prime Minister was scheduled to leave on a diplomatic mission the next day and generously offered us his personal aircraft to ferry us to Capetown where a replacement British Air craft would meet us. So, with many thanks we herded our charges onto the El Al craft and set out once more.

Out flight plan took us down the Red Sea and over the Gulf of Aden, staying well off-shore from Yemen as that sorry nation had fallen under the sway of Israel's most virulent enemy, Iran.

We had been airborne about an hour, when the captain came on the intercom with this disquieting news. "Those two aircraft that are flanking us are Yemeni, no doubt piloted by Iranians. They have forced me to follow them and are jamming my radio so I cannot call for help. I don't know where they are taking us, but I suggest you all buckle in and prepare for a rough landing."

We banked sharply to the left and were soon over Yemen. Heading inland toward the city of Ariquim, we were forced to land at a decrepit airstrip lust north of the city. Surrounded by armed soldiers, we were forced to disembark and were taken to an open-air shelter at the side of the airstrip.

The officer in charge 3; a Yemeni captain 3; was stunned when he became aware of the passengers and he began to rant over his radio 3; one of the French boys understood Arabic and Farsi and gave us a rather literal version of what the officer was screaming into his mike. "You stupid fleas on the balls of a donkey have intercepted the wrong aircraft. Instead of high Israeli officials I now have in my custody scores of children and their teachers. What am I to do with them, you piles of camel shit? What am I to do with an aircraft full of children?" He stood there glaring at us waiting for some sort of answer.

We sat there in the broiling sun for several hours before he had his answer. He was still fuming, but had calmed down sufficiently to tell us, "Your fate is out of my hands. My superiors will be here tomorrow to deal with you."

That pretty much indicated we would be here all night. The soldiers passed out water to us, but no food. We bedded down as best we could, hugging one another to ward off the chill that descended upon us as soon as the sun went down. The boys were frightened and we adults were too. What were these bastards going to do with us?

It was mid-morning the next day until we had an inkling. The sun was up broiling us again when a convoy of trucks appeared on the scene. Out of the cab of the lead truck climbed an Iranian colonel who began to berate our friendly captain. With him was another man, dressed in traditional desert garb who stood watching the two military men argue with a resigned smile on his face.

Our 'translator' began to tell us what was being said but suddenly stopped with a gasp. "He has sold us to the other man and we are to be slaves!"

Hearing that, the French coach jumped up and confronted the colonel, "Que voulez-vous dire qu'ils sont d'être des esclaves?" [What do you mean they are to be slaves?] "Ces garçons ne sont pas des esclaves, ils sont des équipes de football sur la voie d'un tournoi." [These boys are not slaves; they are football teams on the way to a tournament.] ?Vous n'avez pas le droit de traiter ces jeunes garçons comme esclaves!" [You have no right to treat these young boys as slaves]

"Je dois protester plus énergiquement!" [I must protest most vigorously.] "Je demande que nous soyons libérés à la fois!" [I demand that we be released at once!]

For his pains, he got a rifle butt across his head and several of us were summoned to carry him back to the group.

The colonel informed us that word had been put out that the aircraft had crashed into the sea and all had been lost. The adults were to be taken to Sana'a and he had sold all the boys to a desert chieftain. It took some time for the soldiers to quiet the uproar.

The Swiss coach quickly gathered his team about him and I heard he tell them, "Es ist schrecklich, was diese Monster euch antun. [It is terrible what these monsters are doing to you.] Aber ihr müsst tapfer sein. Seid junge Männer, keine Buben!" [But, you must be brave. Be young men, not boys!] Ihr müsst Euch umeinander kümmern! [You must care for each other!] Nie die Hoffnung verlieren! Wir retten euch alle 3; alle Jungen!" [Never lose hope! We will rescue all of you 3; all the boys!]

Physically separated from our young charges 3; I had only had time to whisper to Tim, "Be brave."

"We will be," he promised, "'cause I know you will save us." And, with that we were loaded into the trucks for the hot, dirty and seemingly endless trip to the capital.

Before I tell you anything more about our treatment, you need to know how the boys fared once we grown-ups were taken away. It's not a pretty picture and it's pieced together from what Tim told us at the time and later. Much of it he told us while sobbing 3; often having to stop when he was simply was too upset to continue. I've tried to clean it up a bit.

As all the grown-ups were loaded into the trucks, we began to feel the absolute terror of our capture. Many of the boys started to cry 3; I managed not to, barely. Where were they taking them? What was going to happen to us? We were going to be some man's slaves?

We had been told to stay where we were and none of us moved 3; almost.

With the French team was a younger boy 3; about seven, I would guess. His brother was the team goalie and their father was the coach. As the truck started to pull away, he managed to break free of his brother and ran after the trucks, screaming, "Papa! Papa! Papa! Ne moi quittez pas!" He got about 50 meters when two of our guards leveled their rifles and fired.

Both bullets struck the little boy, spinning him into the dust. He lay there thrashing in pain 3; we could see the blood 3; crying and moaning. After a while he lay still and whimpered. Then, silence. The guards made no move to remove him.

His brother was too shocked to even cry as we all sat there in the broiling sun, waiting for our fate. The Swiss boy who understood Farsi, overheard the guards saying we all had been sold as slaves to a man named Sidi Mohamed ben Arafa, but that meant nothing to us 3; except despair.

Finally, from around the rocks at the end of the runway came a group of riders and small boy in traditional desert clothing riding a donkey. The donkey had several large bundles and when these were unpacked, we saw they contained a lot of handcuffs.

We were all lined up and our hands were shackled in front of us. Then a long chain was passed between our legs and our shackles hooked to it. The boy got back on the donkey, fastened the front end of the chain to his saddle and started to move toward the passage in the rocks.

Of course we had to stumble along after him. It's very hard to keep your balance on uneven ground with your hands fastened in front of you and many of us fell and were dragged along until we could get to our feet again.

After several hours, we stopped and were each given a sip of water. Then we started up again. Before long, two of the younger boys fell 3; probably for the third or fourth time 3; and simply could not get up again.

Our guards cut them loose and we moved on leaving them lying where they had fallen in the heat and dust. We never saw them again.

That night we were given some more water but no food. As soon as the sun went down it got cold and we were allowed to cuddle together to keep warm, but they didn't release our hands. Most of us were so exhausted we slept if only for short times. By the time the sun came up we were back on the trail stumbling ever deeper into the mountains which we learned were called Jabal Mahra.

More stops that day 3; water, but still no food 3; two more boys lost, one French, one Israeli.

That night our guards took several of the Israeli boys 3; they seemed to treat the Israeli boys with the most cruelty 3; and brutally raped them. We could hear their screams most of the night. Three of them were 'back on line' the next morning, but we never saw the fourth one again.

Finally about noon on the fourth day we crested a small hill and looked down on a town which they told us was called Sharif. We were driven into a dusty stockade and our hands were finally released. Then we each got a bowl of some kind of stew and all the water we wanted. All of us were terribly sunburned and they gave us some kind of fatty grease to coat ourselves.

That night, we slept in a sort of barracks inside the stockade 3; two or three to a bunk. At sunrise, we were rousted out and forced to line up while we were told, "You are now the slaves of Sidi Mohamed ben Arafa, May He Be Forever Our Guide To The Prophet. He is the Amir (chief) and the master of all. If you work hard, you will be allowed to live. If not 3;"

That didn't sound too hopeful.

A group of ten or so teen boys 3; seventeen or eighteen year old 3; appeared on the scene and we were told, "They are your guides. You will obey them without question and at once. If you fail to do so, let me show you how you will be punished."

Two of the 'guides' seized the youngest Israeli boy and carried him struggling to a rack in the center of the stockade. They fastened his wrists to a bar above his head and pulled his legs far apart, tying them to a lower bar and leaving him hanging just off the ground by his arms.

One of the guides then took a whip and began to methodically beat him, both front and back. At first he screamed and bucked every time the whip made contact. But, after fifteen minutes or so, he simply hung limp, his body a mass of bleeding cuts. His team-mates were finally allowed to take him down and treat him with the sunburn grease, while the rest of us ate another bowl of stew. He survived, but with terrible scars to remind the rest of us what would happen if we disobeyed.

We were put to work, a few of us carrying water to irrigate the sparse crops grown in the fields surrounding the town. The rest were made to dig in the mounds of earth that surrounded the town and fill wheelbarrows with the gray dirt and haul it up to a factory of some sort that stood on a hill overlooking the town. The work was backbreaking, but we older boys tried to help the younger ones. So, we lost no more boys from that time on.

What they were digging was an ore that contained both silver and chromium and the 'factory' was a smelter of some sort. The refined product was taken out on camels, would you believe?

The food wasn't too bad 3; but I'll never again eat lamb stew 3; and there was enough to around. Once a week, we were allowed to bathe in the small river, but our clothes were in shambles. In fact, quite a few of us were naked.

The only really bad part was that several boys 3; always the youngest from any of the teams 3; were taken away each night to be used as sex slaves 3; both men and women participated. They were always back the next morning, usually with blood running out of their asses.

We had been there about a month when one morning I was pulled out of the line and taken to the chief's house. Before entering, what was left of my clothing was taken and I was washed down with cold water. Inside, servants completed my cleansing with scrub brush and soap, removing the grime and 3; I thought 3; most of my sunburned skin. But then they oiled me all over before dressing me in an outrageous costume so I looked like a bloody dancing girl. The only part of me below the neck left uncovered was 3; yeah, you guessed right 3; my boy parts. They put a ring around the base of my cock and balls to make them stand out from my body.

In that condition, I was taken to the chief and forced to my knees.

He sat on kind of a throne, wrapped in his robes, and studied me carefully. About fifty or so, he had steel-gray hair and his whole person spoke of power and riches.

"Stand up, boy." I stood and he continued, "What is your name?" I answered him and he told me, "No! Your name is Slave. You have no other name from this moment forward." I suddenly realized he had spoken to me in perfect English. He was obviously well-educated. "I am the Emir of Sharif," he informed me.

"You are much too pretty to labor in the fields and ditches, so I will give you to my daughters as their sex toy."

Now wait a minute; I had often been told I was good looking and girls seemed to like me, but I had never been called 'pretty'. And he was going to give me to his daughters as a toy?

"You will obey them strictly. You know what the penalty is for disobedience and if you fail, your entire team will go to the rack. If you please them, you will live until Allah sends for you." At that point, I had no idea what that meant.

I guess I had no choice.

"You are fortunate indeed," he continued. "I most always take the balls of my daughters' toys, but they have persuaded me to make an exception in your case. So, I will not make you into a eunuch. You make keep your balls so long as you behave yourself."

I gulped. I had just narrowly escaped having my balls cut off.

"Take him to my daughters," he commanded to one of his servants and several burly men dragged me away.

They blindfolded me and took me to another room. There they ball-gagged me and fastened my hands behind me back. An additional strap at my elbows forced them together so hard they touched and I thought, for sure, my shoulders would pop.

I stood there shaking, just waiting for the witches 3; I was sure they were just that 3; to come and torture me. A door opened and I heard several footsteps approaching me.

"Oh! Isn't he pretty!" a young voice exclaimed. There was that word again. "Yes, much nicer than the last one," answered another, older voice.

I felt a small hand cup my balls and a still younger voice piped, "And he still has his balls. Papa left him keep them. He'll be lots of fun!"

"Yes," replied the oldest one, "but we must be more careful."

All this time they had been speaking very good English. 'Well, at least they're not uneducated,' I thought to myself.

"Do you think he can make boy juice?" asked middle voice.

"Let's find out." giggled the youngest. They led me over to some sort of bed, released my shoulder strap and forced me to lie on my back. A small hand took hold of my prick and began to stroke me. I got hard almost at once and, despite fighting against it, I soon answered their question with the most intense cum I had ever had.

A finger scraped up some of my stuff. "Tastes nice," was the verdict from youngest. She smeared the rest on my lips and I got to taste my own jizz for the first time. I knew what Rory's tasted like, and he knew what mine tasted like, but I had never tasted my own. I can't say I was impressed.

"Get up," commanded oldest, "If you promise to behave, I'll release you." I nodded and she released my hands and removed my blindfold and gag.

And I got the second shock of the day! Standing before me were three blonde, blue-eyed angels!

Angel number one gave me some water and my dry mouth and throat improved enough for me to say, "Thank you, M-m-mistress."

"Put your hands in back of your head." I complied, and she went on, "I am Yana and these are my sisters Malia and Tara, but you must always call us 'Mistress' ." Tara 3; the youngest 3; reached out and grabbed my prick and I was soon hard again.

"You must always do exactly what we tell you," instructed Yana. "You belong to us! You are a sex toy and nothing more. If you behave, you will find that life as our toy isn't too bad. If you fail to do what you are told, this is what you will feel," And she brought the short whip she had been carrying down hard across my erection.

I screamed! I couldn't help it. Even my evil grandfather had never whipped me there! It had two results: my boner deflated like a popped balloon and I made my mind up I was going to do whatever they asked. I didn't want to have another red welt across my prick.

After that, things got interesting. The littlest one stripped me and then the three of them had me strip them and took me over to the bed so we could 'get better acquainted'. They examined me very closely 3; mostly with their hands 3; and even encouraged me to do the same to them.

Yana, at about fifteen, was quite mature for her age, with a pair of breasts that were huge. Her slit was covered with blonde hair, so she was a natural blonde 3; as were the others. With her supple ass and well-developed body she could have been a model. Her voice was that of a mature woman and you had better listen and behave. But she had a musical laugh and was very outgoing.

Malia was my age and just starting to show the curves of womanhood. She was quiet and studious, but still pleasant. While her body was in good shape, she was obviously not the athlete her older sister was. She had a little fuzz on her mound.

At nine, Tara was a bundle of energy looking for an outlet. Except for the missing parts, she looked like a skinny little boy.

We spent the rest of that day exploring each other. They seemed to be ignorant of the fact that a boy's balls will eventually run dry and I was plenty sore before the day was out. At noon, and again at evening I was given a bowl of stew which Tara insisted on feeding me. Their meals looked very tempting, but I wasn't offered any.

When it was time for sleep, they brought out a small cage. "You will sleep here," Malia informed me. They brought out a device made of leather and straps. Part of it was a sheath that went around my prick and was cinched tight to prevent me from peeing. A penis shaped object was forced into my ass and both parts were fastened together with straps. "This is so you won't soil your bed."

I crawled into the cage and they closed and locked the gate. There was a padded mat in the bottom, but the space was too small for me to stretch out comfortably. I didn't sleep much the first few nights, but gradually got used to sleeping curled up.

The next morning my 'training' began for real.

My sexual activities with girls to that time had been limited to a bit of French kissing and some boob feeling. Rory claimed to have gone farther, but I was inclined to disbelieve his boasting. I knew lots of ways to drive Rory out of his mind, but I knew little about pleasing a female. I was about to get a thorough education.

Licking and sucking tits and nipples was the first course. Both Yana and Malia enjoyed this activity. Little Tara was mostly indifferent, but careful to ape her older sisters.

But the best was yet to come.

They cuffed my hands behind my back and I was made to lick and suck their pussies. Each girl positioned herself so my head was at the top of her legs and I was told to stick my tongue into her slit. I got the hang of it after a while and both Yana and Malia coated my face with their juices. They particularly liked it when I licked that little thing at the top of their slits 3; Yana called it her 'clit' 3; and even little Tara went bonkers when I did that.

They must have jerked me off at least four or five times a day. And, believe it or not, Tara liked to blow me and fill her mouth with my jizz which she pronounced 'delicious'. Her sisters humored her.

From there it was a small step to fucking 3; for the two older girls. They were careful to use double-weight condoms. Tara watched them wistfully.

Finally, one afternoon they decided she, too, was ready to be drilled. They spread her out and held her arms and legs and I was told to go ahead. I wasn't to stop no matter how much she screamed. She insisted on sucking me until I was hard and then I proceeded to open her up.

Her scream rent the room, but somehow I managed to break her hymen and she shortly subsided into sniffles. After a while, I withdrew 3; having done my part 3; and she exclaimed, "Now I'm a real woman!" much to her sisters' amusement.

After a few weeks, I was invited to share their meals and my sleeping cage was removed. The four of us slept together on the big bed, but I was still obliged to wear my apparatus to prevent accidents. That is, they slept. I was usually awake much of the night servicing one or the other of them.

I suppose I should have been grateful to have been chosen, but I was concerned about my mates. They assured me all the boys were doing well and I just had to be satisfied with my lot.

Once they were thoroughly used to me being around and always naked, the two younger girls also went naked in the quarters. The sight of them was quite enough to keep me aroused almost all the time.

Yana went to class most the mornings leaving me with the Malia and Tara to have their way with me. After I had 'entertained' them enough, Malia usually read quietly while fingering herself. I never knew girls could be such sex muffins.

Meanwhile, Tara often used me as a sleeping pad, making me lie on the floor on my back while she lay, face down, on top of me. She would doze with her little head on my chest and the feel of her bare skin against my body reminded me very much of the times Rory and I had laid together. And then sadness would almost overtake me. Still it was pleasant with her there and I often rubbed her back and those smooth, supple ass cheeks. When I did that, she would purr almost like a kitten.

In the afternoons, Yana had exclusive use of her 'toy'. After I had thoroughly sucked and fucked her, we would lie together and just talk. I came to enjoy those times and she told me about her life and I about mine. Their mother was from England where her family had emigrated from Norway 3; that accounted for their blonde hair and deep blue eyes. She insisted they learn to speak good English, because she hoped they might go to England one day and marry a rich duke. Unfortunately, she died bearing Tara, but she had made the other two promise they would take care of Tara and see that she was educated, too.

I told her about my grandfather and how I had been taken away from him after my parents died and raised by the man I now called 'Dad'. How my big brother had saved me from drowning. How I had met Prince Rory and that he was my best friend. And how sad I was for me and my mates to be slaves.

"I so wish you were not a slave," she told me one afternoon, "then we could be friends and even lovers."

"Can't we be friends anyway?" I hated myself, but I was falling in love with her. She looked at me quizzically, but said nothing. The next few days, she seemed to be watching me all the time.

It was few days later that she decided to take our relationship further.

"I want to carry your child."

"What?"

"I want your child in my belly."

"No, please. I'm only twelve. I'm too young to be a father! Besides, you could have your pick 3;"

"What, of those stupid boys in the village? Who can't even piss straight?" she interrupted me. "No! I want your child. I want a boy who is brave and compassionate to be my mate. A boy like you!"

Despite my pleading, she was determined to have her way. While the other two held me spread-eagle on the bed, Yana straddled me and rode me like a horse. There was nothing I could do but pump my seed into her.

My 'rape' was repeated three times, before I succumbed to her charms and my nascent feelings. That night, we made tender love while her sisters stood guard.

One noon-time shortly afterward she returned from her lessons in tears. Malia and Tara knew immediately what was going on, but it was some hours before Yana was able to gasp out the situation to me. "Papa says that Allah has called you!"

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"Papa will take you to the sacred mountain and you will not come back!" wailed Tara.

It was a sad and frightening night and I spent most of the time trying to comfort them.

The next morning I was taken from them and shackled to a pole just outside the stockade. My team-mates were lined up to watch while I was beaten bloody across my back. I'm sorry, but I wasn't very brave; I screamed at every strike of the whip. Finally, the guard left me standing there in the broiling sun.

Once I had recovered a bit, I noticed that Ernie 3; the striker who had replaced Rory 3; was missing. "Where's Ernie?" I asked.

"He got punished for spilling a load of ore," replied our team captain.

"Yeah. He's in a bad way," one of the others told me. "If he doesn't get some medical help, he might not make it."

Just what I wanted to hear.

I sat there fastened to the pole all night without food or water.

Early the next morning, my hands were cuffed in front of me and a long rope fastened to the cuffs.

Master rode out on his stallion, fastened the end of the rope to his pommel and started to lead me stumbling out of the town.

As I was led past the main house on the way to the town gate, I saw the three girls watching sadly from the deck outside their quarters. Despite my fright and sadness, I raised my hands to try to wave to them.

Tara immediately burst into tears and fled to the comfort of Yana's arms. Malia was also crying openly and Yana drew her close, too. Big sister stood there bravely watching my departure with tears streaming down her cheeks. It was the last time I would ever see any of them and I wondered what their fate would be. And the fate of my child, if God granted Yana's wish.

Outside the gate as I stumbled along behind Master's horse, we started up a dusty trail, climbing into the wilderness. Even though I had been barefoot for months, the rocks on the trail were cutting my feet to ribbons.

We had gone a short distance when he reigned in and faced me. "Slave boy," he addressed me, "you have brought much joy to my daughters. They begged me long and with many tears to allow you to remain. But that is not possible. Allah has called for you and your time of trial has now been set."

"But I will make your trial as painless as possible; I will use only rope." Then he turned and we continued on.

If his words had been to give me comfort, they had the opposite effect. I have never been so frightened and almost sank into the dust. I did not know what was in store, but I was sure of several things: I would never see my family again! I would never hug Dad or my brother again! And I would never hold my very best friend, Prince Rory again! Thank God he wasn't here to share our fate.

I was frightened, but the sadness nearly drove me to my knees because I was sure of one thing more.

I was sure I was gonna die.

But, at least we had water to drink and were fed some kind of stew twice a day. Both were delivered via a slot in the bottom of the cell door and the empties were picked up the same way.

The cell I was in had a barred window which looked out, below street level, on a broad, heavily-traveled road. It provided the only light in the cell and, even at night, afforded me some light. I wondered if the others had any kind of light in their cells. Aside from a sleeping pallet and a hole in one corner in which to relieve myself, the cell was bare.

We had been there about a week with no attention from anyone except our guards, when one night I suddenly was aware of someone outside calling me.

Wary of some kind of plot designed to get me killed trying to escape, I decided to play along. "Yes, I promise." How I might keep that promise was farthest from my thoughts. My only aim was to escape and save the boys. "How are you going to help me escape?"

"Guard always eat food you leave," he replied. "I give you something put in food. Make guard sleep. I take keys and unlock cell door."

I thought about this for a while. It was a crazy scheme, but what did I have to lose? Yeah, I know, my life; but that wasn't first on my list 3; saving Tim and the other boys was. It's strange how several weeks of absolute horror can alter your perspective. "All right," I told my unseen benefactor.

A scrawny arm reached down through my bars from above and tossed a packet of some kind of powder onto the floor. "Put in food tomorrow morning. I come back then."

I made sure not to eat very much the next morning and stirred the powder well into the food and sat back to await developments. The guard picked up the bowl with the half-eaten stew in the usual way and for the longest time all was quiet.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps outside the door and the jangle of keys before the door swung open. There stood a boy about fourteen, thin and scrawny, dressed in tattered clothes.

Throwing caution to the winds. I followed him along corridors and up a flight of stairs, emerging in a courtyard. Parked to one side was a tracked armored vehicle called a personnel carrier. "Why are you doing this?" I asked him.

"You promise take me to America if I help you escape," he answered. Pointing to the APC, he asked, "Can you make go?"

"Good! We go to Swiss Embassy!" he informed me. I knew the Swiss were handling British affairs since the British ambassador had been expelled when the Iranians took over, but I was not at all sure how we might be received at their embassy.

Climbing into the cab, I studied the controls. It didn't look too much different from one of our lorries. Sasha sat there looking at me expectantly, so I decided to see if I could make it go. After three or four unsuccessful attempts, the motor started and we were off. Smashing through the gate to the compound, I turned onto the road, almost forgetting that traffic drives on the wrong side here. Sasha found the switch for the siren and we roared along scattering pedestrians, donkeys, carts and bicycles and even heavier traffic.

He led me through a maze of streets until, at last, I saw the Swiss flag on a building inside a walled compound. The gate was open but patrolled by Yemeni soldiers. "Go in! Don't stop!" yelled my small tour-guide, so I nearly ran down the astonished soldiers and plunged into the compound. Quickly surrounded by Uzi-totting Swiss guards, both Sasha and I emerged with our hands in the air.

"Please, we mean no harm. I am being held prisoner and this young man helped me to escape. I am from the aircraft full of young footballers that was forced down."

The guard corporal looked at me with doubts, but sent one of his men for the Embassy Secretary. I told him briefly what had happened to us and that the rest of the adults were still being held and all the boys had been sold into slavery. Apparently, the Yemeni version of the story was widely disbelieved and we were soon closeted with Ambassador Joliet where I told him, in detail, what had happened to our flight.

"That corroborates what our intelligence has been able to uncover," he assured me. Turning to Sasha, he asked, "And who are you and what part do you play in all this?"

"My name Sasha and British doctor say he take me America, so I help him get away from prison."

The Ambassador nodded knowingly. "I suspect I will shortly be getting a visit from the Foreign Ministry. In the meantime, you both look as though you could do with showers, rest and some clean clothes. And, afterward we will have dinner together. I think my attaché has something that might fit you, Dr. Guthrie and my son is in Geneva visiting his grandmother, so I don't think he will mind if I borrow a few of his things for you, my boy." Sasha looked shocked, but then he beamed.

We were escorted to a guest suite and there I had my first opportunity to really talk to my young savior. "My name is Douglass and I was the team doctor for some of the boys on the flight that disappeared. You were very brave to help me escape."

"I will do everything in my power to get you to America, Sasha. Now, why don't you get out of those dirty things and have a good shower."

He hesitated for a minute and then shed his clothes. He was small for his age and still showed many of the marks of childhood. And other kinds of marks 3; bruises, scrapes, lacerations and welts 3; all mute testimony to the hard and difficult life he had led. Skinny from obvious lack of food, he stood before me and trembled. "Please, friend Douglass. You go with me?" he asked, pointing to the shower.

This is a kid who has suffered and who needs some love, I reasoned. So, I quickly shed my clothes and led him into the shower. For a while, we just stood there, arms about each other, letting the warm spray play over our bodies. Then I soaped him and he returned the favor, albeit somewhat clumsily 3; he had never done this before.

Drying us both off, I laid him on the bed and crawled in beside him and took him in my arms. Sleep soon came to him as he rested his head on my chest. But, it was a fitful sleep as he whimpered. I sensed there were things he wanted to tell me, but would not or could not just yet. And I? His presence in my arms painfully reminded me of my little brother, now enslaved and lost to me.

When we had emerged from the shower, there were clean clothes laid out for both of us. And, shortly, we were invited to dinner.

Thus began more than a month residence at the embassy while the ambassador and the Yemeni Foreign Minister sparred over our fate. We were fed well and made comfortable, but the waiting was getting on my nerves.

During the day, I tried to keep busy by working with Sasha to improve his English language skills and he displayed a bright, articulate persona. But, at night, he reverted to the frightened, unhappy boy he had shown me after our first shower together. Some nights he clung to me desperately and sobbed. And others he simply spooned to me. But, again I could sense demons hiding there, demons he was not quite trusting enough to banish.

He did tell me about the hard life he had had on the streets of Sana'a 3; including having to sell his body a few times. A gang of older boys had preyed on him and beat him if he did not obey them. His young and attractive body was theirs to sell they believed.

But he would not tell me how he came to be in the city. I could tell, however, he was not your typical street urchin.

I didn't press him, believing he would share with me when he was ready. But, one thing was certain; I had come to love the lad deeply. And I would do everything in my power to keep my promise to him.

Finally, one afternoon, Ambassador Joliet had good news 3; of a sort 3; for us. The adults were all going to be released and flown to Geneva. The 'hooker' was that we were forbidden to tell anyone 3; governments, press, anyone 3; about what had happened to us. If any word leaked out, the boys would be killed. While the other coaches readily agreed, I refused. Joliet tried to reason with me, but I was adamant. "I'm going to see they are rescued," I told him.

He looked at me for a moment and then smiled. "Yes, you just might succeed," he said. "But hurry! Time is not on your side."

There was another complication. Sasha could not go with us. "No way!" I replied. "He's coming or I don't go," I bluffed. In the end, we sneaked him aboard the embassy aircraft in a duffel bag.

Dad, Kate and Will were all at RAF Farnsworth to meet our diplomatic flight from Geneva. We taxied to a remote hangar on the base and I told them all my story and introduced them to Sasha.

"We've known for some time they did not go down with the aircraft," Will assured me. "We will keep everything you've told us under very secret wraps so as not to endanger the boys, but we've already started planning to rescue them. The problem is, we don't know exactly where they are."

He studied his feet for a few minutes, but then sighed and continued 3; his facade had cracked a bit. "I be from Sharif and I know man who buy boy slaves, Sidi Mohammed ben Arafa, the Emir of Sharif," he confessed. A few things began to be clear to me 3; among them the realization my meeting him was not purely chance. But, I would keep my counsel on that.

That night the three of us, Dad, Sasha and I slept together. I marveled at my dad's willingness to show my young friend the same kind of accepting love that he had shown a lonely little boy on a train between Inverness and Edinburgh so many years ago.

The next day we met for the first time with the team which would attempt to save all the boys. The meeting was held at an estate outside London normally used by MI5. Included in the group was the Duke of Cambridge and a US Air Force Major General and a colleague, Colonel Dugan, who had been chosen to lead the mission.

"We need to be very clear," said Will. "There is no chance the story of what happened will stay secret. So, the longer we tarry, the more danger the boys will be in. We need to move quickly. I understand the carrier Forrestal is ready to launch a recovery mission as we speak."

It was soon clear that success depended heavily on some kind of device called a 'Dragonfly'. And Dugan was against using those resources for this purpose.

The General rebuked him saying, "The President and Prime Minister Cameron are in complete agreement. As the President has said, 'We did not spend several billions to equip and train your force so you could dazzle people at air shows.' The Dragonflies are ideal for this type of operation. It is not a question whether they will be used, but how they can be best deployed."

The Colonel gulped once and replied, "Yes Sir!" The he faced the rest of us and said, "I want everyone in this room to understand that I share your desire to bring these kids safely home. And I assure you I intend to do just that." I recognized a consummate professional who would give his all to the mission and I was impressed and hopeful.

"I knew I could count on you, John," said the General. "Now, since I have nothing further to contribute to this effort, I shall leave you to your plans." And he rose and left the room.

Dugan thought for a few minutes and then turned to me and said, "I appreciate your willingness to work with us, Dr. Guthrie as you know the boys and what we might expect of them." I nodded and he continued, "Well, let's find out what your young friend can tell us about this Sharif."

I rose and went to get Sasha who had been sitting in the reception area with Dad. Dad had declined being included in the planning group saying, "The fewer people who know what you are hatching, the better." And now we were about to involve young Sasha. Somehow, it seemed a bit unfair.

Leading Sasha into the room, I introduced him to Colonel Dugan who wisely shook his hand enthusiastically, putting him at ease.

"Before we go further," spoke up Will, "it would be wise to tell Douglass and young Sasha about Dragonflies."

"Right you are, Your Highness. The Dragonfly," Dugan informed us, "is a new breed of aircraft. It's not exactly a helicopter, but it somewhat resembles one. It can fly at very high speeds and at very low altitudes, is highly maneuverable and is entirely silent. It's designed to carry a small force of highly-trained troops to an inaccessible area and depart again before the locals even know we've been there."

Warming to his subject 3; I could tell he took great pride in the capabilities of his team 3; he continued, "We've used them to snatch a few of our people away from certain African war-lords without them even being aware of it. So far as they are concerned, their valuable hostages simply disappeared. We will make these forty or so boys disappear in the same way." He was satisfied that we all now shared his enthusiasm for the Dragonflies, but I would spend that evening explaining things to Sasha who had been left bewildered.

The rest of the day he gently probed Sasha's knowledge of Sharif and the surrounding countryside. He called a halt about mid afternoon and allowed the rest of us to depart while he put his cartographers and other experts to work.

Sasha and I discovered we would be staying at the estate for the duration of the 'mission'. It would be nice to be indulged a bit, but Dad had been banished to Workingham. I spent several hours after an excellent dinner helping Sasha understand what Dugan had told us about the Dragonflies before we took to bed. Now that he was involved in an exciting venture, Sasha seemed to set his inner sorrows aside. That night he gave himself to me and I accepted his offer unconditionally even though his naked body next to me served to heighten my feelings of loss for Tim. But, he understood and his love making was gentle and comforting.

Dugan was not a happy man the next morning. "Sharif is surrounded by mountains and we would have to fly up the mountain passes to get there without being spotted. I don't see how we could do that." Another air force member, had joined us and the Colonel introduced him as Master-Sergeant Delbert McGuire. Noting an unusual ribbon on his tunic, I was about to ask about it when Dugan said, "Yes. Medal-of-Honor. Equivalent of your Victoria Cross. Sometime you must get him to tell you the story behind it."

"Just doin' my duty, Sir. You would have done the same. And you did exaggerate terribly on the citation."

The easy banter between them illustrated the deep friendship 3; personal and professional 3; they shared and gave me cause for still more hope.

I brought Sasha back into the room 3; he had been watching the telly in the reception area 3; and introduced him to McGuire. "He is a highly honored warrior among his people," I explained to the boy.

McGuire strode over and shook Sasha's hand and clapped him on his shoulder. I could tell he was a master at putting young troops at ease and getting the best from them. "I understand you showed great courage and foresight when you rescued Dr. Guthrie," he told my awed young friend.

"First off, you may call me Sergeant if I may call you Sasha." The smile on Sasha's face said it all. He had made a new friend, one he could trust as he had trusted me.

"Tell me about the mountain ranges between the seacoast and Sharif. Are their passes?"

"Yes, many. But they turn about and is not hard to be lost unless have guide. Easy to take wrong way if not know."

"Wide enough, but not good for lorry. Too much sand. But wide enough for two mule carts at once."

McGuire opened his tablet computer and quickly brought up a picture of an ox-cart and added a second one beside it. He showed it to Sasha who nodded. "Space for caravan boy on either side. But much slow."

Turning to Dugan, he said, "I make it about 25 feet [7½m]. Are these passes wider at the top?"

"Colonel, with a good guide, I think we could make it. Just have to keep our fingers and toes inside."

"Del, if you're satisfied we can make it, then it's a go," replied his boss. He punched a number into his cell and ordered, "We'll need two squads and four empty." He looked at me. "That will hold forty-eight kids."

"Is there some way you could include a medical craft as well?" I asked. "We might have injured."

He nodded, "Add two med-evacs. That makes total of eight. Yeah, I know. Put it on the President's tab. We're on our way."

We were immediately flown to the Forrestal where we got our first look at these strange and amazing aircraft. A bubble cockpit at the front held a crew of three. Just to the rear of it was a disk-like structure which powered the device and the rest of the craft was payload. No wonder they were called 'Dragonflies'. The troop-carrier version had two rows of six seats each and the outside of the craft cantilevered to allow the troops to be on the ground within seconds of landing. "We can drop from 1000 feet [300 m], have our troops engaged and be back in the air in 15 seconds," Dugan told us proudly. "In one of our operations, we snatched six persons and were back in the air with them in under a minute."

As the Forrestal steamed slowly north off the coast to Aden on her way for 'refitting' at Alexandria, the four team coaches were spirited aboard to be there to receive the rescued boys. Both Sasha and I would be in the Dragonflies with the shock troops; Sasha in the lead craft with Colonel Dugan to give directions and I would be following with Sergeant McGuire and the rest of the squad.

Dugan outfitted me in a camouflage suit called a 'BDU' and even managed to find a pint-sized one for our diminutive guide.

Streaking across the open water we were over land and into the fist mountain pass in less than two minutes. I must confess, I was terrified by the rock walls flying past so closely. I later learned that Sasha whooped like a kid on his first roller-coaster ride, but performed his duties as scout flawlessly. I could tell because we all made it in one piece and broke out of the mountains with Sharif dead ahead.

The 'battle'', if you could call it that, was over in five minutes with all the men and boys of the city disarmed and herded into an enclosure which I was told was where they kept their slaves. We began loading the freed boys almost at once. I didn't see Tim, but was tied up for a while with a few of the boys who were injured. Especially Ernie from our team who had been badly beaten. His spine had been injured 3; alas, he would spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair 3; and we sent him out in one of the med-evacs.

I finally got to look closely for Tim, but still couldn't find him in the crowd. I asked our team captain, Nick, about him and he told me tearfully, "Master took him to 'The Mountain of Grief'".

Sasha grabbed my arm, "Friend Douglass! I know where is. If we hurry, he may be saved!"

By that time all the boys had been loaded and some of the Dragonflies had started to lift off.

"We can't wait for him. We've got to leave, NOW!" And he climbed into his craft and took off.

Sergeant McGuire came over to me, carrying a pack. "Never sure when one might need a survival kit," he told me. Retrieving a map and GPS, he spread it out and showed me. "If you can get your boy and meet us here," he indicated a city called Habarut, just over the border in Aden, "I'll have some friends standing by to meet you there."

"Well, let's say I have a few contacts Colonel Dugan doesn't know about." he grinned at me. Clapping me on the back, he climbed into his craft and was gone.

"Come, Friend Douglass, we must hurry!" And he started toward one of the trails that led north-east from the city.

As we passed by what I judged to be the Emir's house, I noticed a trio of blonde young girls standing there and the skinny, littlest one came running to meet us. "Please, Sir! Don't let him die! Save him and take him home!" she wailed.

I nodded to her and continued on after my 'guide'. "What was that all about?" I wondered.

Sasha set a blistering pace and I was hard pressed to keep up with him. Finally, at nightfall, we halted to rest for a bit and I examined the contents of the pack Sergeant McGuire had given me. In addition to the map and GPS, there were emergency food rations and water, a blanket, first aid supplies and a fully loaded 45calibre pistol and a spare clip. I put the pistol in a pocket in my BDU and we pushed on.

Just as the sun was coming up, we crested a hill and looked down upon a horrifying sight. In the clearing a short way below there were nine crosses, each one holding the remains of a young boy. The Emir sat on a carpet in front of the last cross holding aloft a long ceremonial knife of some sort.

Throwing off the pack and dashing down the slight rise, I yelled, "STOP!" Drawing the pistol, I aimed and fired.

"No! Don't kill him!" Sasha begged me. His shout disturbed my aim and the bullet struck the seated figure in the shoulder, sending the knife flying and spinning him into the dust.

"He's alive!" I shouted. "Get the knife!" I ran to the foot of the cross and supported Tim's body. By some miracle, while all the other bodies had been nailed to their crosses, Tim had been tied to his. His wrists were bloody where the rope had cut them, however. The Emir had been on the verge of giving him a killing stroke.

I sank to the ground with him in my arms and assured him, "Tim, it's me, Doug. You're safe. No more pain!" He seemed to understand, but then slowly slipped 'under'. Except for the lacerations on his back and where the ropes had cut his wrists and the cuts on the soles of his feet 3; no doubt from his journey up the trail from Sharif 3; he was in fair condition, although badly dehydrated.

"Bring me the water from the pack," I called out to Sasha. "Then, get that monster back on his horse and out of my sight!" He did as I asked, even bandaging the 'monster's' wound before he set him back on the trail we had just come up. "Go back to Sharif!" I screamed at the man. "Read your Qur'an! Allah does not accept human sacrifice and you should have a fatwa set against you."

When Tim regained consciousness, his first words were a question, "The other boys! Are they????"

"They are safe and on the way home. And we soon will be, too," I told him with some doubts. We had a fair piece to travel to get to Habarut and the border.

"He's badly off," I confessed, "but the medics on the ship will take good care of him." It would be a while before I told him about the Dragonflies. I simply spent the rest of the day holding and comforting him, giving him sips of water and treating his cuts.

As I sat with Tim in my lap that night, Sasha crawled next to me trying ward off the desert chill. I put my arm about his shoulders and I could feel him sobbing. I was indebted to him for leading me to the Mountain of Grief in time to rescue Tim and I had come to love this child-on-the-brink-of-manhood, so I asked him, "What is it, Sasha?" He seemed to be struggling. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I just so sad that you and brother and all other boys suffer. I was coward and almost Tim die because."

But I could sense there was more and, as we sat waiting for the dawn of a new day, Sasha made an astounding confession to me.

Stifling his tears, he told me, "Sidi Mohamed ben Arafa is uncle. My tribal name Sasha Mohamed ben Yousef and I am next to be Emir of Sharif. He want me to marry daughter. But, I not taken with girls."

"Uncle sees I am educated, but poorly. But, I speak your tongue well, do I not? He is good man at heart but superstitious. He brings many boys here to sacrifice to Allah."

"When he find me lying with another boy when I but eleven years, he punish other boy and bring him here. And he make me come and help boy's death. I made to hold friend while he drove nails in wrists and feet and help raise cross."

"I know friend in great pain, but he look down upon me and say, 'I forgive you, Sasha.' It more than I can stand and I run whole way back to Sharif and hide among caravan boys."

"I join caravan to Sana'a and live on the streets until I see you and other men brought in. I dream to get to America, and maybe, one day, return and free my people from uncle's superstition and no boy go to Mountain of Grief again."

"I understand, Sasha, and I will do all I can to make that dream come true," I assured him.

But, then he broke down again and sobbed again. "If I only not coward and hide from uncle, friend not die on cross. If I refuse to obey Uncle 3;"

"Sasha!" I interrupted him, "you were just a young boy. You did what you could. And I believe Allah blesses you. You will be a great ruler of Sharif one day. Guiding the Dragonflies to Sharif and showing me the way here needed much courage. And you, my young friend, have courage that is boundless. Do not ever think that you are a coward."

His sobbing slowly stopped and he whispered, "Thank you, friend Douglass. Thank you for loving poor boy."

The next morning we started for Habarut. Tim was simply too weak to walk and the lacerations on his feet precluded that anyway, so I carried him 'piggy-back' and Sasha carried the pack. The going was rough, although we made good time. But by nightfall, we were both exhausted and Tim was still somewhat delirious.

We had left the mountains and canyons and our way 3; according to Sergeant McGuire's GPS 3; led across a vast undulating plain of scrub-grass and sand dunes. That night, we camped in the shelter of a huge rock and ate dried rations, although I managed to get Tim to take some of the energy drink I had mixed. I slept with two young bodies snuggled up against both sides of me.

Late the next day, we saw Habarut shining in the distance. To get to it, we had to cross a wooden bridge that spanned a dry wadi, which evidently marked the border. In the center of the bridge was a gate with soldiers on either side.

As we stepped onto the bridge, an officer hurried out of the town on the Aden side and spoke to one of his guards. The guard called to one on the Yemen side and the gate swung open. As I approached, the officer beckoned me through with my burden, but he stopped Sasha. "Only two!" he said.

"Is OK," cried Sasha. "You go! I be OK, Friend Douglass." And he scampered back the way we had come and soon disappeared among the dunes.

"You come quickly," commanded the officer, grabbing me by the arm and leading me into the city. At the end of the bridge, we were loaded into an APC and driven through the city to a small airfield .

Waiting there was an executive jet with RAF markings and we quickly boarded. I surrendered Tim to the care of a flight surgeon, and quickly strapped in as we rolled down the runway. We were going home, but my heart was heavy that Sasha was not with us.

We had been aloft about a half hour when the flight surgeon made his way back to me. "Your son 3;"

"Well he told me you and another boy saved his life and I'm very much impressed how well you were able to treat his wounds with only first aid supplies. I think they will all heal well, but there may be some scaring on his back. But I'm puzzled about the cuts on his wrists and arms; they look like rope burns."

"They are from rope," I confessed. "He was tied to a cross and was about to receive a killing stroke when we made it to him. A few minutes more and he would have died on that cross."

"A shame," he agreed. "Anyway, why don't you go forward and sit with you brother? He shouldn't need anything more from me."

"The boy who helped you. Sasha was his name?" I nodded. "He didn't make it, did he?"

"No, they turned him back at the border. He was the one who helped me escape and guided the rescue team to Sharif and me to you. So we both owe him a lot."

We both sat quietly for a while holding hands. At last he looked at me with a mixture of fright and sadness and asked, "Will Dad be there to meet us?" I nodded. "And Rory?" I nodded again. I could tell he was struggling with something.

He began to cry. "Doug, there's something I have to tell you, but please don't tell Dad or Rory!' He sobbed for a minute and then continued. "I, I, I was given to the Emir's daughters as their slave and I put my seed into the oldest one."

"I didn't want to, but they forced me! Three times! I don't know whether you or Dad can love me or whether Rory will still be my best friend. I might be the father of a child! I'm dirty! I'm not fit to be your brother! I'm not the same boy you knew."

"God, they raped my little brother!" I thought. "How will he ever recover from that in addition to everything else?"

"Tim," I told him, "Dad and I will always love you and so will Rory! You are NOT dirty or unclean. You were forced to do that and you are not to blame." And I leaned over and put my arms about him. I could not even begin to understand how we would be able to help him overcome his self loathing. He had impregnated a girl he would probably never see again and the result might be a child he would never see again.

"Absolutely, Tim. I agree you are not the same boy who started for Melbourne. You have had a frightening and painful experience and lived through it with honor and courage. But, unclean? Never!" And I just hugged him for the rest of the flight. By the time we landed at Farnsworth, he seemed to have put his dark thoughts aside.

The reunion with Dad and Rory and Will and Kate was quiet and loving. He seemed particularly to appreciate Kate taking him into her arms and just holding him with his head against her breast. He's never really known his mother and, at that moment, Kate supplied the 'mothering' he needed. We menfolk can't do it all.

But starkly apparent was my realization that I would be the one who could most closely identify with the tragedy he had just undergone. No, I don't mean I blamed myself for what had happened 3; although I did feel some responsibility. For, I too, had been kidnapped and abused and knew firsthand what it was like to have no hope. So, much of the healing he would have to undergo would be my most precious gift to him 3; indeed to the whole family.

And it would take quite some time before he was once more the exuberant, happy kid we all remembered. But, gradually he would. Although lurking in the background, was what he had done with Yana 3; he had told us all about what had happened 3; and we were careful to give him the love and comfort he needed to move beyond.

At the first of the year, he returned to Ludgrove, but as a 'day student'. Rory was becoming much more involved with royal duties, so it really would not have been practical for the two of them to be 'roomies' any longer. But Tim did tell him the whole story of his time in Sharif.

He slowly resumed the routines of school and seemed to be putting the terror of his captivity behind him, but I knew, in my heart, there was part of it he simply could not shake. Even Rory could tell that he was not the friend he had once known.

The Prince came to me one day, "Uncle Doug, I don't know how to help him. He's so depressed over the thing that happened with that girl. Twice now, I have found him hiding in the bogs and weeping. How can I help? What can I do?"

"Rory," I replied, "just be the friend you have always been. I know it's tough. Give him the love you are so good at. When he's down, let him cry on your shoulder. I know you two don't share a bed any longer, but you can still hug him and tell him you understand." Rory nodded sadly and went on his way.

It was just after Easter, when we received a summons 3; it was a bit more than an invitation 3; to the Foreign Office in London. There we were pleasantly surprised to find all the members of his team and their parents gathered for what we had all been told was an important announcement. All the boys, except for Ernie, seemed to have recovered from their trial and even he was excited to be there.

The Foreign Secretary, Sir William Hague, threw a big party for all the first evening, giving both the boys and their parents time to get reacquainted. The next morning, however, we were ushered into a big conference room in the ministry.

Sir Anthony, along with another man and some aids, entered and stood before the podium. "Ladies and gentlemen, young men, it is my pleasure to introduce His Excellency Suleman ben Haroon, the Foreign Minister of the Republic of Yemen."

Haroon began to speak. "I come to you today to beg your forgiveness for the savage and hurtful way certain elements of my people have treated you. That they were under the dominion of a foreign power is no excuse and they have been held accountable to both our government and to Allah. I would want you to know that we are not monsters who imprison and molest young boys. A suitable means of compensation for each family will be negotiated."

"I wish you also to know that I am here to sign a treaty reestablishing diplomatic relations with your country and we have severed all relations with the Islamic Republic of Iran and have expelled their lackeys. I should now wish to meet each of the boys 3; no, young men 3; who behaved so courageously during their painful captivity. I wish each of you to know of my personal concern for you and that of my people. After which, it is my understanding, you will go to see a team called Manchester United battle against the Yemeni all-star team."

He stepped down and began to greet and shake hands with each of us. Tim kind of held back so he was the last of the boys, but he didn't seem overwhelmed. By the time Haroon came to me, most of the others had filed out and he drew me aside.

"Doctor Guthrie, I have been appraised of your role in securing the freedom of these young men and I thank Allah the Merciful for your courage and vision. I have a surprise for you." He motioned to an aid who left the room and returned with a young teen.

"If you will have him, he wishes to stay in England with you." Haroon informed me.

"I change my head," he replied. "Not want to go to America. Want to stay with you, but 3;" and he hung his head and looked down at the floor. "Maybe you not want stupid boy who cannot read much, who cannot count much, who only know how to herd sheep and find way between rocks. Maybe I should go home!"

Tim walked over to him and took Sasha's head between his hands. "Look at me, Sasha!" He looked up, his eyes full of tears. "Sasha! You are home!"

Epilog

And so Sasha came to join our family. We took him home to Workingham and did our best to make him comfortable and know that he was both welcome and loved. He would need schooling and the opportunity to practice his faith. We found a madras that seemed to be more appropriate than sending him to district schools. The Imam there was both wise and demanding and we were pleased at his progress.

The first evening, after supper, however, he had delivered a letter to Tim. Tim read it and broke down into sobs. He handed the letter to me to read to the others.

"What am I to do?" he sobbed. "I can't be a father to this child! I'm just a kid! I know he's my son, but 3;"

Dad took Tim in his arms. "Tim, whatever happens to you and your son in the future, know that we will love you and him forever. The boy's mother has pledged to nurture and raise him and I believe she is honorable. All of us must wait to see how God will lead us in this quest. The most important thing for you, now, is to finish growing up. Yes, you are still a kid, so you have some years of growing ahead of you. But know that your brother and I will support you and help wherever you can."

Then, one day nearly three years later, we were summoned once more to the Foreign Office in London. But that is a tale for another day.

Maiocxx

The New Life of Timothy Greene

A Roger & Doug Story

Summary

Characters

Category & Story codes

Disclaimer

Author's note

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1
Timothy Bursts Upon Our Scene

Chapter 2
The New Life of Timothy Middleton

Four Years Later – Doug Narrates

Roger Narrates

Douglass resumes the narative

Chapter 3
Captivity

Chapter 4
Rescue

Epilog

The End 3;

Maiocxx

The New Life of Timothy Greene

A Roger & Doug Story

Summary

Characters

Category & Story codes

Disclaimer

Author's note

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1Timothy Bursts Upon Our Scene

Chapter 2The New Life of Timothy Middleton

Four Years Later – Doug Narrates

Roger Narrates

Douglass resumes the narative

Chapter 3Captivity

Chapter 4Rescue

Epilog

The End 3;

Chapter 1
Timothy Bursts Upon Our Scene

Chapter 2
The New Life of Timothy Middleton

Chapter 3
Captivity

Chapter 4
Rescue