A N.I.C.E. Boy, Part 5

National Genetic Data Base

New York Times, July 17th 2004

Today, in a surprise announcement, President Holly Denton and the heads of four

of the country's largest health insurance companies revealed plans to use

special research funding from the National Science Foundation and private

contributions to begin the formation of the country's first genetic database.

The database would eventually be used to support the greatly increased level of

health services to be provided under the Healthy Nation Act that was passed six

months ago. The database, which was an important component of the President's

plan, was omitted to overcome some initial resistance in the Congress.

"This is a natural outgrowth of the Human Genome Project that began fifteen

years ago and a crucial component of having a healthy nation. Now that we know

the sequences of genes on the human chromosomes, we can begin to understand how

to improve people's health in ways that have never been done before. The

database is the essential first step to revolutionizing our health systems,"

said President Denton.

While critics continue to express concern about the potential for such a

database to be used to further erode civil liberties, the ability to effectively

identify health problems of a genetic nature will more than compensate,

according to Alan Bridges if Allied Health Insurance. There will be substantial

long term savings in health care costs once the database is in place. Julia

Davies, of the Department of Health and Human Services described how the

nation's schools will play an important role in setting up the database. "It's

called the Stamp Lick Program. Each student will be asked to lick a regular

postage stamp and place it on an envelop with their name on it. It's that

simple. The secretions in saliva will provide the DNA for the database. We hope

to have a completed database for all primary and elementary school children

within six months.

Congressman Lane of Illinois stated that he was not surprised that the

Administration had found a way to achieve what Congress had denied. Lane had

spear-headed the opposition to the genetic database provisions of the Healthy

Nation Act. "This reeks of big government, of the state taking more and more

control of our lives," Lane said. "When I heard about the so-called Stamp Lick

Program, I was appalled. One wonders what the next step will be and the bigger

question, how they will use the information they collect?"

Chapter 5. Hudson Creek, Virginia. July 21st, 2004

The last thing that Lane expected to see outside his euphemistic townhouse at

7.30 in the morning was a little blond-headed boy on a bright-red skateboard

careening down the driveway. As far as he knew, no children of that age lived in

the immediate area. There were a few toddlers and a couple of older teenagers,

but no boy who was worth a second glance. He stopped walking and gave the boy a

long, intense look. It was only to be expected that he looked, even though

seeing the boy there at that time in the morning, or at any time for that matter

was entirely unexpected and reason it itself. However, any boy lover would have

stopped and stared. For a while, not much longer than a few seconds, Lane's

expert eyes examined the boy to find a flaw. He was a skinny thing at first

glance, appearing to be almost a runt by some people's standards, yet what was

thin, was also lithe and agile, and to Lane's eyes, very desirable. There was no

flaw in his judgment, not even a freckle on the young aquiline nose, even if a

freckle could qualify as a blemish. Lane did not avert his eyes as was normally

the case when he was confronted by what he could only think of as a indisputably

sublime boy. Men literally drooled over boys like the one who appeared to be

oblivious to his presence.

However, Lane's attentiveness was due to more than finding utter perfection. The

similarity to his favorite young actor, Ralph Tremaine, simply could not be

overlooked for that equally blond-headed and blue-eyed movie star was Lane's

standard of excellence as far as boys went. There was not much to choose between

them, he decided quickly. Ralph Tremaine was beautiful, but then so was this

boy.

Of course, movie stars, even twelve-year-old-boy-movie-stars, had the benefit of

constant grooming, expertly applied makeup and an array of expensive clothes

that were specially designed for them. The boy in the driveway was dressed in

loose sweat pants and a tee-shirt that looked like it belonged on his father.

His blond hair was so disheveled that it was possible that it had never seen a

brush. However, above all else, the boy was natural and he moved with such grace

that he appeared as a free-spirit, unfettered by the weight of gravity. Lane

could not help staring in unguarded admiration.

The boy began his next descent along the long incline of the driveway. He

zigzagged from side to side, using the full width of the road. Each change in

direction was accomplished with a flourish, a sudden pivot that almost flipped

the skateboard on more than one occasion There was no doubt that he was

performing for his solitary onlooker. And Lane gazed in awe. From his beaming

smile it was obvious to Lane that the boy appreciated an audience, even if it

was a lonely middle-aged man whose motives were questionable at best. Or worse,

for if Lane's thoughts at the very instant that the boy slewed past him were

ever revealed they would have immediately raised the indignation of everyone

within shouting distance and gained the immediate attention of law enforcement.

The boy was `sexy', `drop-dead gorgeous' and `hot', and a few other words that

Lane very nearly uttered aloud. Instead of shouting back `pedophile', the boy

simply smiled sweetly at him as he turned and came closer. At the last moment,

he swerved boldly back across to the right and performed a jump just a few feet

before the driveway ended in the curb. He very nearly made it without a mishap.

The problem came in trying to catch his skateboard as it spiraled up behind him.

The boy, shrieking with glee, made a grab for it, missing his balance as he

landed on his right foot. It did not help that the grass was slippery with

morning dew.

He was agile enough that an otherwise ignominious end was neatly converted to

what was still a less-than-perfect ending. Nonetheless, the ride was elegantly

finished under the conditions. He came to his feet, laughing, both of his knees

showing as wet spots in his sweat pants. Lane grinned openly back at him,

appreciating that in the seemingly innocent situation, there was no reason for

him to be clandestine. He could look at the boy as much as he wanted to. And he

wanted to look.

For a few moments they regarded each other with faint but undeserved

recognition. Lane had never seen him before, although the boy's apparent

familiarity and lack of shyness implied that he had lived in the neighborhood

for some time. Such was not the case for a boy who was that good-looking surely

would have gained Lane's attention long ago had he lived nearby. For no other

reason than it was the first thing that came into his mind, Lane decided that

the boy had to be visiting relatives in the area.

"Pretty cool huh?" the boy muttered as he swaggered past Lane with his

skateboard tucked under his arm.

"Very."

It was all that Lane could manage to say without stuttering or mumbling, or

running after the boy. He was often plagued by `love at first sight,' but that

was normal when he was confronted by a good-looking boy. And this boy was beyond

`good-looking'. He sighed under his breath and turned to watch the lithe-bodied

boy from behind while he tried to convince himself that there was no harm in

just looking.

"Do you live around here?" he finally managed to ask.

That made the boy stop and turn back. His thin, nearly invisible eyebrows lifted

higher. He shrugged, giving the impression that he was not about to answer to a

stranger, but at the same time not breaking eye contact. He seduced Lane with a

modest smile that was more than enough to restore one man's fervent hope that

eventually a boy like this one would become part of his life. The lingering look

from those innocent blue eyes, the slightly parted red lips, a casual turn of

the head, all confirmed Lane's infatuation for a nameless boy that would no

doubt last for the next two or three days, if not the rest of his life. Yet,

despite Lane's longing, or perhaps because of it, the angel he confronted

continued to smile sweetly, leaving no question in Lane's otherwise rational

mind that the boy was there because of some divinely inspired ploy.

"Nope."

He said nothing more as the one word rang melodiously through the crisp air.

Yet, his cerulean eyes did not break away. Lane swallowed, gulped a breath. He

could sense the electricity between them, a potential difference that was caused

by much more than the years that separated them. It was enough to make the body

tingle and goose-flesh to erupt. And still the boy examined him through piercing

eyes, straight at him with that same unsettling silent insolence that dared Lane

to challenge his right to be there. Man and boy gazed at each other, a standoff.

Lane was about to say that the manager of the complex would probably frown on a

non- resident using the driveway for an unapproved purpose when the boy pointed

deliberately to the right. The gesture implied that the direction was where he

came from. It was also the direction of Lane's car, two other cars, the

rain-swollen creek, and a large oak tree.

Lane glanced back. Closer, the boy's legs were less thin than he had first

thought. He was sturdy and strong under the sweat pants. His slender legs were

braced apart. There was a crease in the crotch, the unmistakable but

insignificant bump of boyhood, a long way from the bulging prominence of

puberty. Ten years old? Eleven? No, eleven was too old. The boy smiled slightly

with the realization that he was being studied as studiously as he was examining

Lane.

Lane's next impulse was to tell the boy that he was the sexiest creature he had

ever seen. Not quite in those words, but adrenaline was having the required

effect on his excitement and his inhibition was vanishing with every second. The

thought uppermost in his mind was that the boy was worthy of a lifetime of

adoration. It was with the greatest difficulty that Lane managed to avoid

blurting out what was on his mind, vulgar impetuous words that should never be

heard by a boy whose name he did not know.

"It's cool."

The boy's voice was light-hearted and harmonious, and forever unforgettable.

Lane took a deep breath. The boy tilted his head to one side, watching Lane with

growing amusement.

"What's cool?" he asked awkwardly, because the way the boy was looking at him

left the distinct impression that his innermost thoughts were being heard with

perfect clarity.

The boy ignored him and sauntered slowly up the driveway. His bottom was so

clearly revealed in the loose fleece of his sweat pants that Lane had no other

alternative but to assume the obvious. The boy was wearing nothing underneath.

Having concluded `no underpants', he tried to took away from the crease, but

found it impossible. It was an interesting prospect. He watched the small

rounded buttocks with dreamy admiration. Sometimes, there were boys at the

shopping mall who wore tight shorts, so tight that he was certain there was

nothing between the shorts and the boy. At other times, the legs of the shorts

were so short that he fancied he could see the darkened areas of little scrotums

peeking out from furrowed thighs. Lane swallowed. When boys were in the

vicinity, he was beyond redemption. He knew why he was staring. Two words,

`bubble-butt' clamored through his daze.

Lane licked his lips. He had studied enough pornography on the Internet to be

able to imagine the pleasure and treasure to be found between this boy's firm

taut globes, the crack so precisely revealed in a crease of cloth. He imagined

the boy's small hole. Puckered, of course, because virgins always were, and

clean too, because the boy would have showered when he got out of bed. He had

never licked there, indeed he had never had sex with a boy, but the idea of

performing that intimacy with this boy tantalized him far more than any

photograph that depicted the act. Eyes half-closed, he dreamed, fantasizing of

drawing his tongue downward, pressing the small mounds apart so that his tongue

could go all the way to the start of the boy's tiny wrinkled scrotum. Then,

having sucked what little there was to suck, he would trace the perineum line

back again. He would stop after three of four times, when the boy was trembling

with the sheer thrill of being licked there, there of all places. Still, as Lane

continued to let his imagination run riot, he decided it would be both

interesting and desirable to have the boy shower again with him before they lay

down on the bed. That way they would both be fresh. He would do it in his

bedroom, stretched out on his bed amid the sheets, and the boy would giggle and

writhe, pulling away when the feelings became too good, but always coming back

for more.

After a while, they would have sex, the kind of sex that men and boys were

intended to have. Lane had never done that before either, but he had read enough

to grasp the mechanics of anal intercourse with an underaged boy. Even the

phrases, `anal intercourse' and `underaged boy' made him feel both excited and

intensely nervous. He vaguely accepted that in all likelihood he probably never

would do such a thing because the consequences were unimaginably bad, but it did

not stop him from imagining what it would be like to slowly insert his penis and

take possession, insofar as a boy could be possessed by anyone or anything. The

boy's rectum would be very hot, 98.6 degrees hot. Even without experience he had

read enough to know that it would also be both dry and tight, so he would have

to spend a considerable time with just his fingers and lots and lots of KY to

prepare the way first. He even had an unused tube of KY in his car, just in case

he needed it. It would be painfully tight, but if he was patient, his penis

would eventually go inside. According to what he had read, if he was very

careful, an adult penis could go into a boy with very little pain. The image

grew stronger in his mind, the thoughts more vivid until he fancied he could

hear the boy's groans and whimpers of ecstasy. Fortunately, there were no cries

of pain although reason told him that the first few minutes would likely be

grim. Finally, when Lane's mind was consumed by wicked desires and he could no

longer stand to watch the boy walk out of his life, he turned away and began to

walk to his car.

He resisted turning back for as long as possible, which was not very long

because all along, Lane knew he had to feast his eyes on the boy as often as

possible before he was gone forever. As he continued towards his car, he dreamed

up more obscene fantasies. It was safe to do so because the boy was far enough

away that he would never know he had caused a man's penis to become painfully

erect. Safe, but sad, Lane mused. He would not get to touch that wonderful

specimen of juvenile maleness for a many more years. That was the worst part of

loving boys. By the time they were legally old enough to be touched they were no

longer boys and they held no interest for him. Lane sighed, finally turning

around when he reached his car. He pretended to search for his car keys,

although his fingers touched them every time they ventured into his pocket of

his leather jacket.

The boy had stopped walking when he reached the highest level of the driveway.

With a dramatic flourish he placed the skateboard on the road and began the ride

back down the hill again. He performed as before, but this time it was without

ostentatious exaggeration. Perhaps one humiliating finish was sufficient to dull

his bravado. On second thought, it was almost as if he was a hurry to get back

to the man before he found his car keys.

This time, Lane watched him for the entire show, fascinated by the boy's

agility, the way in which he made it look so easy that a mere child could do it.

Balance, precise control, simultaneous motions, natural grace. Lane exhaled,

appreciating the boy's skill although he had never ridden a skateboard.

What would the boy be like in bed? As graceful as he skated? As sexy as his

alluring smile suggested? Lane hoped he would be aggressive, of course. He liked

boys who knew what they wanted and weren't afraid of doing what it took to get

it. At least for a while, until Lane took the dominant position and demanded

everything that the boy had to give. Then, he wanted the boy to submit

completely to him. He was not sure why, but that was how it supposed to be.

According to what he had read on the Internet, all the best boys were like that

because deep down they wanted to have sex with a man but were afraid of being

gay. Eventually, when the boy's anus bore little resemblance to its earlier

state and it sucked and slid around his penis, he would mount the boy in

different positions. He would take him fast and hard, changing the angle of

attack, pulling completely out whenever the mood was right or he was too close

to orgasm, yet always taking his time to get his penis back in, because the boy

was compact and wiry, and he really had no wish to hurt him. And when he

ejaculated it would be with his penis fully ensconced in the boy's seething

bowels, deep inside and surrounded by quivering, slick flesh; and the boy would

writhe and shriek, and beg for it harder and faster....

Only a few feet past Lane, the boy slewed the skateboard in a vicious revolution

and came to a sudden stop, this time running a few feet to slow his momentum.

Lane laughed.

"Very cool." Lane winked. "I wish I could do that."

The boy shrugged, walking a few paces before he stooped to pick up his

skateboard.

"Thanks." Again, he gave Lane a deliberate `once-over' with his eyes. "You got

the time?"

"Um,.... Yes,..." Lane answered, not looking at his watch, but holding his arm

slightly so that there was no question that he was wearing a watch.

The boy grinned. "Okay, so,.... You got the time or not?"

"Hm. It's time for me to be off to work. Shouldn't you be getting ready for

school or something?"

In the short silence that followed, the boy watched Lane's eyes, not blinking.

He appeared thoughtful, as if he was about to ask a question, but thought better

of it.

"Duh. It's Saturday.... Ah,... Please," the boy added absently after a few

moments.

He looked up at Lane with an expression of recognition. His familiarity was

disquieting. And then he smiled, meeting Lane's eyes with sudden candor that

denied he wanted to know what the time was, but had yet to ask what he really

wanted.

"Ah. It's about five minutes after eight," Lane replied. "That wasn't so hard,

was it?"

"Nope,... but then I'm not the one whose hard, am I?" the boy chortled. Up

close, his eyes were icy blue. Not cold, but the color of hardened steel.

"H-h-huh?...." Lane stammered, and he had never done that before. Had he heard

correctly?

Yet, like an automaton, he glanced down quickly. His penis was erect and

pointing outward to form a substantial bulge in his trousers. At any other time

it would have been impressive. In front of this seemingly adorable boy, it was

shameful.

"Oh,.... OHHHH," Lane groaned

The boy smirked. He glanced around quickly, not surreptitiously, but still

making certain that no one was within hearing. The parking area was empty. The

only other person was a gardener digging among the bushes and he was a long way

away. His voice lowered.

"See,. Mister,... Um,... I guess if you've got the time,... then I've got

the,....ah,..."

He left the thought unfinished, percolating in Lane's mind. Lane's heart began

to pound. Thirty years ago it was a crude school boy joke that was something of

a sexual overture. `If you've got the time, I've got the energy.' At the time,

he had barely realized what the joke was about. Did this boy?

Lane did what he always did when he desperately wanted to stop thinking about

something. He made himself remember a 10-foot tiger shark that he had seen when

he had gone deep sea fishing. It had been several years earlier about twenty

miles off the coast of Georgia, but he could still remember how it had gone into

a feeding frenzy just a few feet off the stern of the boat. He was impressed as

he watched it devouring the huge king mackerel that he had been fighting on 12

pound tackle for the last thirty minutes. This time it did not help. The boy's

eyes were magnetic, his smile captivating. Lane had never seen a boy who was so

alluring, not even in the pictures that crowded the hard disk of his computer.

"What's so funny?" Lane suddenly blurted out.

The boy shrugged. He continued to smile, his eyes bold and enticing, but no

longer making direct contact. Still, the change in his demeanor suggested that

perhaps he had made a mistake. Lane was a stranger once a again. Absently, his

hand raised and brushed across his forehead to push back the strands of blond

hair that had gathered before his brows. After a few moments, when it was

impossible to prolong his silence, he stooped and with a flip of his foot,

brought the end of the skateboard into his grasp. He backed away. Deliberately,

he raised his eyebrows. Simultaneously, he licked his lips, then rubbed them

together.

"Why are you drivin' an old man's car?" he mocked.

"Huh?" Lane responded.

"Caddy, man. It's a grandpa's car."

"Well, thank you very much. You're just full of compliments."

Lane considered telling the boy about the car's refined features. Its engine was

a fourth- generation development of the Northstar engine of the 1990s. It was

sufficient to propel the car to a top speed in excess of 165 m.p.h. and the

suspension and brakes were equal to the finest automobile that German

engineering could produce.

"So what should I buy next time I need a car?"

The boy laughed. "I'm getting a Porsche when I get my license."

"From the look of you that's still a while off," Lane smiled. "I guess you'll

have to ride your skateboard for few years yet."

The boy grinned. "If you want to learn how to ride, I can teach you."

"And spend the rest of my life in hospital?" Lane joked. Finally, he pulled the

car keys from his pocket and as he turned to open the car door said, "If I had

your body, I wouldn't mind."

"You want my body, Mister?" the boy said quickly, his eyes flickering.

The words were ambiguous, but the boy's nervous tone was no longer innocuous. It

was out in the open. Lane froze. He had been waiting all his life to hear. More

than the words, the boy's tone startled him. He had always imagined it would be

silky, sensuous, full of desire. Instead, the boy's voice trembled. He seemed

tense, overly anxious.

"Um,..." was all Lane could manage to get out.

"Well, Mister?"

The boy's voice took on a demanding quality, although by then his eyes were

downcast. Lane was shocked as much by the fact that a young boy would come onto

him as by the realization that the boy's head barely came up to his chest.

"I,... Um,... I,..."

"Do you or don't you?"

Lane stared at the boy, a mere child. Maybe ten, maybe even eleven years old,

but even if he was twelve he was much too young to be standing in a parking area

propositioning an adult.

"What,..."

Lane was going to say `what on earth', or `what in hell', or `what do you think

you're doing'. He was exasperated. He had heard that there were boys in D.C. who

did things like that, who had sex with men for money. He was not so naïve to

think they did it for love. He had even seen what he thought were preteen

hookers hanging around the malls. The boys dressed in clothes that revealed too

much skin, belly skin and thigh skin and they had eyes that communicated things

that were best left unsaid. They always made eye contact with any many who

chanced to glance. Then, not looking away, they smiled and gave quick suggestive

nods of their heads towards the restrooms that never seemed to be very far from

where they congregated. Lane knew the risk and he was naturally careful wherever

he went, although sometimes it was all he could do to continue on his way past

the boys without responding to their shameless advances. It was foolhardy to do

otherwise, if only because there was always the possibility of entrapment. But

here, in the seeming sanctuary of his condominium's parking area, entrapment was

as unlikely as the proposition that had suddenly been laid before him.

Lane was erudite and eloquent, and confident when he addressed groups of people,

but he was tongue-tied before this smirking boy with his flashing lustful eyes.

Lane's throat was parched and his hands, hands that hung down by his sides, felt

like they were physically disconnected from his body. Strangely, he recognized

that there was building pressure in his fingers, clenched tightly against his

palms. Absently, he scanned the back of the building. A setup? The gardener? He

had spoken to the gardener several times over the last few months. Jake

something? Marsden? Something like that.

"I thought you were."

Lane looked down quickly. The boy had backed away a pace. His eyes had narrowed,

not suspiciously but not trusting either. He sounded apologetic.

"I'm going to get some breakfast," Lane began awkwardly. The boy cocked his head

without reply. "Do you want some?"

"Where?"

`Oh God! I asked and now he's going to come,' Lane realized.

"Um, uh,... there's a place up the street. They have good coffee," he muttered

self-consciously.

"Like I drink coffee," the boy responded with playful sarcasm.

"No, I don't suppose you do." Lane smiled weakly. He tried to think of something

else to say besides `you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen.' "Only I

wasn't thinking of you."

Then, all of sudden, he felt as if there was nothing to be worried about. The

boy had smiled at him. It was a warm smile that changed everything. A boy who

smiled like that was not going to be colluding with the police.

"What about your folks?" he asked.

The boy shrugged. "My mom's at work already."

Lane heard loneliness. "They make a nice breakfast special. A Belgian waffle

with fresh strawberries and whipped cream. You get eggs and bacon as well."

"Sounds good." He did not sound overly enthusiastic, but he had not rejected the

possibility. The warm smile continued.

"It's too far to walk," Lane said pointedly. "We'll have to drive."

"So,...." The boy smirked knowingly. "I've got all day."

Lane used the transmitter to open the car doors and turn of the alarm system. It

was a safe neighborhood, by and large, but it paid to be careful. By the time he

had opened the door and sat down, the boy slid in the other side. He held his

skateboard between his knees.

"You can put that behind the seat," Lane offered.

The boy nodded, but held it nonetheless. It was as if he was not ready to let go

of the one thing that said he was still a child. It was made of what looked to

be a thin metal or some kind of hi-tech carbon-fiber-based plastic and it was

clearly expensive.

"What's your name?" Lane asked as he started the engine.

"Jeff."

Jeff did not follow by asking Lane's name. He stared out the side window as the

Cadillac surged forward and out of the parking area. The gardener lifted his

head and waved as the car passed him.

"You like boys." It came out as a timid, barely audible squeak. "You do, don't

you Mister?"

"Ah,..."

Lane had never admitted it to anyone face to face. The closest he had come was

during online chat sessions with other men, and even then the question never

really came up because it was presumed by virtue of being there in the first

place. His hands were sweaty on the leather and polished walnut steering wheel.

"I can tell by how you looked at me," Jeff explained. He shrugged. "You like

boys and I like men."

"Go figure."

"Why are you doing this?" Lane demanded. He had not intended to sound so abrupt.

"You're cool."

Lane twisted in his seat, looked quickly at the boy, wondered what was going

through his pretty head for a moment and then turned his attention back to the

driving. The boy did not look like a hooker, but there was no other explanation.

He was not at all sure of what he should say. It was an empty silence that

seemed to go on and on.

"Why?"

The boy was startled at the question that came as they turned off the road and

into a small tree-enclosed parking lot. He shrugged.

"'cause I want to?" he said without conviction. "I said I liked you. What more

can I say. Is there a reason you want to hear?"

Lane regarded him for a while. Despite how much he longed to be sexually

involved with the boy beside him, he was reluctant to admit the possibility that

the beautiful boy found him desirable. No matter how much he wanted it to be

true, it seemed improbable. They got out of the car together, still not

speaking, and went into the restaurant. It was one of the few non-franchise

restaurants in the neighborhood that served breakfast. There were a dozen other

cars in a parking lot that usually saw a lot of traffic in the morning. From

Lane's experience, the restaurant filled up quickly after 8.00 a.m. on

Saturdays, yet luckily there was a booth left in the far corner. He led the way

with Jeff close behind him.

"Here we are," he said, sitting down.

The boy slid into the opposite seat and fiddled with his knife and fork.

"Yeah. Here we are." Jeff replaced the cutlery and scanned the menu. "Cool."

"It's very good food," Lane said with a touch of lightheartedness. "Get whatever

you want, okay?"

"Hm,..."

The boy studied the menu and Lane studied the boy. He was startlingly good

looking, with the sort of delicately sculpted features that always drew

attention. For some reason that he could not determine, the boy's red full lips

struck Lane as being very appealing. They were lips that did not belong on a

boy, but which Lane very much wanted to kiss.

"You know, you look a lot like Ralph Tremaine," Lane said wistfully.

Jeff winked. "You think he's real hot, don't you?"

Lane winced at that. Was he that transparent? The boy continued to watch him

with what could only be called increasing confidence. It was the boy's calmness,

his coolness that perturbed Lane.

"Yeah, you do," the boy said knowledgeably. He grinned. "Only it's not him who's

sitting here with you."

"It was supposed to be a compliment."

"Uh huh." Jeff put the menu down, grinning devilishly. "You know, he's probably

got a girl friend or something."

"Probably does." Lane had never considered that Ralph Tremaine would have a

girlfriend. According to his web site he had just turned twelve. "Do you?" he

asked.

"Yeah, for sure. That'd mean I'm bi, wouldn't it?" Jeff smirked. "And there's no

way I'm bi."

The way the boy said `no way' had to mean that he had already had enough sex

with other males to accept that he was homosexual. It was a depressing thought,

but it was one that Lane had to accept.

"Sorry," he said apologetically.

"s' okay. I guess I got used to the idea of being queer a long time ago."

Jeff glanced over his shoulder. It was impossible to tell who was on the other

side of the booth wall. He lowered his voice with experience that belied his

age.

"I'm not wasting my time, am I?" he asked with surprising candor.

"Ah, well, I guess it depends," Lane replied uncertainly. His heart lurched and

began to beat faster with the thrill of what was being suggested. He restrained

his impulse to look around to see if anyone was watching them. His voice was

barely more than a whisper. "On what you want to do with your time," he added

circumspectly.

Using his forefinger, the boy wrote three letters in the air, their invisibility

adding to the aura of secrecy. `S'. `E'. `X'. Lane scratched the back of his

neck. This was it. The litmus test of consent. His hand moved almost of its own

volition, his finger shaping the letters, `Y', `E', and `S'. Jeff giggled. He

looked up, meeting Lane's eyes. He raised his eyebrows, leered, and rolled his

eyes. Lane had to laugh.

"Okay, enough all ready."

"Huh?"

`He has such a sweet voice,' Lane thought, `and he's pretending to be innocent,

but he's not. He knows exactly what he wants and what he had to do to get it.'

"Do you really have to go to work today, Dad?" Jeff asked as the waitress came

to the booth to take their order.

Lane gulped. He gulped again when he felt Jeff's knee push deliberately against

his knee. He barely heard the soft thud as the boy's shoe came free. A few

moments later, as the waitress disappeared towards the kitchen, Jeff's leg

lifted up. Lane felt the boy's bare foot scrape along his thigh. Jeff leaned

back and put his hands behind his head, the picture of virtue to anyone who

happened to glance into the booth. But his foot, his shoeless foot was pushing

against Lane's groin, his toes rubbing into the man's quickly hardening penis.

"Jesus," Lane panted.

To anyone else, Jeff appeared to be engaged in a serious attempt to convince his

father to take the day off from work and spend it with him. Lane barely heard

what the boy was saying. All he could think of was the boy's foot, pushing,

rolling back and forth across his aroused penis. He dreamed of tickling the

boy's feet, with his delicate little toes playing with his adult penis. Until

that moment he had never considered a boy's feet to be objects of sexual

worship, but Jeff changed that forever.

"... So you think we should go to the zoo, Dad?"

Lane glanced at the teasing boy. His heart was thudding. Jeff's toes were

squashed over the head of his penis, relentlessly squeezing what was surely the

most sensitive part of his entire body.

"Um,..."

Lane would have groaned when Jeff's foot slipped lower, flicking his big toe

directly into the man's scrotum, but the waitress approached carrying a glass of

milk and a cup of coffee.

"Come on Dad," Jeff continued with mock persistence. "They won't miss you at the

office for one day. We can spend the whole day together. Just you and me. We'll

have lots of fun."

"Jeff,...." Lane attempted to speak but Jeff's heel pressed harder, compressing

the thick shaft of his penis back into his groin.

"I never get to have any fun," Jeff pretended to whine.

"You,... Aren't we having fun now?" Lane managed to get out before the foot

inched upward and the boy's toes pressed against his glans.

"Yeah, I guess." Jeff rolled his eyes. "Do you have to go to work?"

"Keep doing that and you're going to spill the milk," Lane admonished quietly.

"That's the idea," Jeff said under his breath.

His sock-covered foot began to move slowly. It rubbed back and forth, moving

awkwardly but as stimulating as if he used his hand. Lane breathed out and

promptly inhaled in a gasp as Jeff leaned closer.

"Open your zipper," he whispered.

"What?" Lane struggled to ask.

"Go on."

"Okay."

He was consumed by lust, beyond stopping, willing to do anything that the

blond-headed boy desired. Jeff regarded him with a taunting expression that made

Lane's heart beat even faster. He hurriedly glanced around, trying to decide if

anyone would be able to see. As things were, it was possible, but not if he

moved his jacket onto the seat. Circumspectly, with Jeff's sprightly foot moving

casually against his hard penis, Lane moved his jacket from the peg at the side

of the booth to the seat beside him. His hand slid to his lap. Only for an

instant he considered the ramifications of what he was about to do, until he

observed the gleeful smile on the boy's face and the encouraging nod. Lane

swallowed, put his anxiety to the side, and cautiously opened his zipper so that

the front of his jeans were open.

Immediately, Jeff smirked lewdly. That was the only way to describe it. His eyes

flashed knowingly.

He mouthed the words. "Take it out."

Lane obeyed. He was so caught up in the situation that he could not have stopped

himself even if had wanted to. His hand shook as he reached in past Jeff's toes,

levered his boxers down and out of the way. The hardness astounded him. Equally,

the tantalizing touch of the boy's toes. He trembled as the cool foot grazed the

heated shaft, his smooth bare skin against the boy's rough sock. The sensation

made his penis quiver. He glanced up as he heard Jeff's voice, remote, husky,

telling him to take his sock off. Again, Lane complied. He pulled his hand back,

stuffing the small sock in the pocket of his jeans. Jeff grinned crudely,

leaving little to the imagination as to his next move. Yet, he made Lane wait

before his toes touched again. The muscles in Lane's groin, solar plexus, even

his sphincter tightened in response to that first brushing contact. As if to

deny the impossible, his penis stiffened even further.

The boy's toes were as capable of providing pleasure as any manual stimulation

that Lane had given himself. More so, because they were small and wriggling and

always on the move. The boy explored him, even using his toes to massage the

man's full scrotum. Lane simply sat there in awe, pretending to drink coffee,

even to read the newspaper. He recognized the change in sensation when the boy's

supple toes skimmed across his moistened glans. There was enough secretion to

provide a slippery trail most of the way back along the shaft. He squirmed when

the toes returned, somehow managing to concentrate their delirious torment on

the very tip while the heel squashed into his scrotum. The boy's right hand

disappeared from sight at some point, but his eyes signaled what Lane could not

see. He smiled back at the boy, vaguely wondering whether the boy had opened his

zipper and was masturbating, or was he merely kneading his young penis through

his clothes. They made eye contact often, barely talking because there was not a

lot either of them had to say and opening their mouths risked everything

Jeff stopped only when the waitress returned with their breakfast.

"Pretty good huh?" he asked teasingly.

"Yes."

"It's a nice way to start the day. Bet you it's even better than Folgers," the

boy joked. "Even without milk," he added enigmatically.

"Yes it is," Lane acknowledged with growing amusement. With every minute he

found that he liked the boy more and more. He was obviously no stranger to sex

and he seemed to understand the use of innuendo. He was precocious in an

exciting but reassuring sort of way. The waitress gave both of them a strange

look before she departed. Jeff's foot was back in place before she was out of

hearing range.

It was all Lane could to do to muffle his groan of ecstasy as the little foot

began to rub up and down. The movement was slow and erratic, and very different

from the rhythmic stroking that Lane preferred to use when he masturbated. For a

long time he even thought that he would not achieve orgasm. In fact, the last

thing that Lane wanted was to achieve climax. He was perfectly happy just the

way he was. The boy seemed happy too, eating his waffle and drinking his milk

with his left hand, while his little foot went up and down and around and his

right hand was busy under the table. And then suddenly, without any warning

except that it had been building up for nearly ten minutes, Lane's testicles

drew taut and his penis began to throb and he was too close to the edge to stop,

or to want to stop.

In fact, he was halfway through a blueberry muffin when Jeff whispered something

about him being `close'. For no other reason than the obvious, that excited him

beyond his ability to contain the rising flood. He tensed, desperately trying to

hold it back, to stem his ejaculation mid- stream while the boy's foot continued

to agitate the source. The toes were the culprit. They were slippery and hot and

so different to fingers in their ability to kindle sensations in his most tender

places, perhaps because toes were less sensitive in the first place. And that

grinning lascivious boy, flirting openly as the man strained down almost in

agony to interrupt the inevitable explosion. Jeff made a face at him as if he

was having his own juvenile orgasm, and that was the last straw. Lane's semen

splattered all over the bottom and side of Jeff's foot. Considering that it had

been about ten hours since the last time, there was a surprisingly large amount

of it. Not only did it appear to cover most of Jeff's foot, but an ample amount

continued to ooze out and dribble into Lane's pubic hair. All told, it was

something of a mess in Lane's crotch and both the man and the boy grimaced at

each other with expressions that were in one case shame, and in the other

verging on revulsion.

Nearly a minute spoke before anyone spoke. It took that long for Jeff to wipe

his foot clean with his napkin and for Lane's penis to soften enough that it

could be tucked away and his zipper closed. His boxers felt like they were

soaked. They both looked up at the same time and Jeff began to giggle. It was

also funny to Lane, if only because it was the first time that he had

experienced sex with something other than his hand. He had just enjoyed what was

debatably one of the best, if not the best climax of his entire life and it had

been brought on by a boy's wriggling foot. Lane began to laugh, almost knocking

his cup of coffee over in the first place. He could not remember being so happy.

And the boy, Jeff, erupted into what might have been endless giggles had he not

started to choke on his milk.

When they finally were able to look at each other and not break into

simultaneous laughter, Lane turned around in his seat and beckoned to the

waitress for a refill of his cup. She ambled over, giving him a presumptuous

stare that communicated `you are disturbing the other customers.'

"I'm sorry," Lane explained, trying hard not to break into another fit of

laughter.

"He doesn't usually do that," Jeff commented, with exaggerated seriousness. He

looked up from Lane to the waitress, carefully choosing his words, pretending to

be the mature adult. "He kind of lost control, I guess. I'm sorry too." He tried

to sound apologetic as he held out his napkin, but unseen by the waitress, he

was smirking obscenely at Lane. "Could I have another one, please? I got

something all over this one."

As the waitress reached for it, Lane stiffened, staring in disbelief. He could

see a streak of his semen that had not been absorbed by the cloth. It was a lot

like egg-white, thick and slimy.

"Jeff! I don't think you need to...." he said menacingly.

The boy glanced back at him, smiling, his hand pulling back slightly so that the

waitress would have to lean far over the table to take the napkin.

"Yeah, Dad?"

"She's much too busy to be running around fetching you clean napkins."

Jeff hesitated before he looked back at the woman who was starting to become

impatient.

"It's okay." Jeff's voice squeaked up an octave so he sounded much younger.

"Sure? It's no bother, sweetie."

"Nah, it's okay." Jeff smirked at Lane. "It's only some of Dad's cream, mam.

From when he spilled his cup. Anyway, I didn't get that much on it."

"Jesus," Lane groaned in inaudible but undiluted exasperation.

He glanced at the bill, vaguely aware that it was double his usual amount.

Without thinking, he hurriedly placed his credit card where she could pick it

up. Only as she took the card and the bill did he realize that he was leaving

far more signs in the woods than a prudent man should. He wondered whether he

should have paid in cash as the busy waitress turned away to her other

customers.

Jeff watched her leave and then he grinned impertinently.

"Jeff, really!"

"Actually there wasn't as much as I expected," he said defiantly. He lowered his

voice. "I think most of your cum is still on my foot."

Lane shook his head in disbelief and wondered if all boys were as uninhibited

and oblivious to risk. It was almost as if Jeff was tormenting him with the

possibility of exposure as a pedophile. Yet, if he had to answer, at that moment

he would not have changed anything about Jeff.

"Did you like it,... Dad? I bet you did, didn't you?" Jeff whispered.

There was an urgent tone in his voice almost as if he was worried that he had

not pleased the man. Lane absently stirred his coffee. Not much confused him,

but this boy with his brazen attitude and shameless act, left him perplexed.

"Yes I liked it," Lane answered. "What's not to like. You do this for kicks?"

The boy shrugged mischievously. "It's cool, Mister. You want to go somewhere

quiet after we're finished here and I'll show you what else I do for kicks?"

His tone left nothing to the imagination. Lane's imagination went into

overdrive. He had to think in order to breath.

"Um,..."

At that instant, Lane wanted to say no. Although he was something of a

daydreamer, he also was interminably logical. He was logical to a fault, and

logic dictated that he distance himself from the boy as quickly as possible.

Something was wrong, Very wrong. It was all too easy. However, logic and denying

himself pleasure was the furthest thing from his mind. In fact, he tried to

decide where he would take the boy. Not right away, of course, because he did

not want to appear to be interested only in having sex. Even if that was the

primary item on the boy's agenda, Lane wanted to get to know him first, but

after that.... If had to be somewhere safe, definitely not his townhouse. It had

to be a place where the boy would feel comfortable. Wherever it was, it would

have to be somewhere private. A motel? There were some on the way into town that

looked sleazy and probably did not keep records. But perhaps he was misleading

himself. It was too good to be true.

"I really don't have to work today," he said suggestively. "So,... if you wanted

to,..."

"Yeah?" Jeff prodded eagerly.

"I suppose,... If you wanted,... um,... we could go,.... somewhere."

In response, Jeff raised his eyebrows with mock interest. He waited for Lane to

expound on what he had in mind. Inside, he felt a surge of excitement. His

reluctance had vanished some time earlier. Now, he was beginning to think that

he had a chance of saving his uncle from a prison sentence. He might even be

successful at doing what he had thought to be impossible. The man was definitely

interested. That was good. Maybe all he needed a prod was in the right

direction? He smiled knowingly. It was much easier than he had hoped and the man

was much better looking than he had been expecting.

"Not my place," Lane added hastily when he saw Jeff's lips purse and form a

pucker as if ready to kiss. "Um,..."

He considered the possibilities. A motel room was probably the best idea, or a

room in one of the downtown hotels. It was unlikely that anyone would recognize

him, but the further away from his usual domicile the better.

"How long do you have?" he muttered.

Jeff smirked. He held up his hand, his thumb moving away from his first finger

until some four inches separated them. Lane rolled his eyes and shook his head,

although he was not disputing the boy's claim to size. From what he had read and

seen on the Internet, three to four inches was about average for a prepubescent

boy. Instead, he found it hard to believe the boy's blatant sexuality.

"I wasn't asking how big," Lane countered, "but it's nice to know anyway." Jeff

grinned back at him. "How long before you have to be home? When do your parents

expect you back?"

Jeff shrugged. "My mom's at work. I guess we have as long as you want."

"Look,...."Lane began uncertainly.

Finally, common sense had taken effect. He had been cautious all his life when

it came to boys, and now this, this opportunity of a lifetime. A beautiful boy

with a body to die for, a boy who was wanton and willing, and who wanted to have

sex with him. He was lost for words. He was not certain of anything at that

point except that the boy, a complete stranger until a half-hour earlier, had

seduced him. It was entirely possible that the boy was a hooker, or even part of

an entrapment scheme. Or he could be a young homosexual who was struggling to

explore his sexuality. There had to be boys like that, he hoped, because that

was what he wanted Jeff to be.

At the same time as he started to become aroused again, Lane was confronted by

the reality of what confronted him. Just one arrest for pedophilia and he would

be a ruined man. A search of his townhouse would reveal a collection of child

pornography that had taken years to amass. He would be convicted even without

the boy's evidence. A first offense for possession of pornography, let alone

committing a sexual act with a minor, not only carried a mandatory fine and ten

years imprisonment, but his name was placed on a register of known pedophiles.

Yet, with all that, he wanted to make love to a boy, not just any boy, but this

boy.

"Do you want to go to the zoo?" Lane asked nervously.

"The what?"

"The zoo. You know, zoo, as in z-o-o. The place where they keep animals?"

"Duh." Jeff shrugged nonchalantly. "I guess. I'd rather do something else," he

added quickly.

"Like what?" Lane asked boldly, but regretting the question as soon as the words

left his mouth. It could only get worse if the boy thought he was in control.

"Laser tag?" the boy suggested hopefully.

"Huh?..." Lane had to think. He was unaware of a laser-tag operation anywhere

close. "Around here?" he asked dutifully.

Jeff shook his head. He pushed his plate away, leaving a neat quarter of waffle

but nothing else.

"It's a ways from here. It's cool. It doesn't get much business this time of day

so you can usually get a game by yourself. I go there all the time with,..."

Lane sat up, suddenly attentive, but there was nothing more. He waited for the

waitress to return with his credit card, wondering who the boy usually played

laser tag with. He had a strong feeling that he was on someone else's turf, that

there was another man who was probably very much like him, a man who had

sexualized the boy years before his time.

Both the drive from the restaurant to the laser-tag business, and two of the

three games that they played were largely uneventful, insofar as driving twenty

minutes with a beautiful boy next to a boy-loving man, and then competing for

almost another half-hour in a hectic, neon-lit, spooky setting could be called

uneventful. Indeed, it seemed almost ordinary, a father and son enjoying a

Saturday morning together. However, Lane was of two minds about the situation he

found himself in. Not that he was a worrier, for he tended to accept the events

in his life as they occured and not fret about outcomes once his mind was made

up. His decision was made, but during the drive halfway across town he began to

wonder whether the decision had been made for him. All Lane could think of was

the boy's foot rubbing his penis, going up and down and back and forth, and the

obscene smirk when he asked for a new napkin.

It was just a matter of time until they had sex, not weeks or months, or even

days, but hours and minutes. They conversed about nothing in particular, mostly

about the Olympics in Greece since it was safe territory for both of them. It

was followed by a desultory and sporadic discussion about school and friends,

during which Lane managed to find out the boy's age, `a few months away from

twelve', but not which side. He was glad when they pulled into the strip-mall

parking lot of a middle class neighborhood not far from the beltway. Yet, as

they walked into the foyer of the laser-tag place, he realized that this was

very much Jeff's turf and he was an intruder. This time, the boy introduced him

as his mother's friend.

Lane was a fast learner although at he was a disadvantage because of his age and

size. His earlier opinion of Jeff's agility was revised again and again as the

boy ducked and darted, leaping from one tortured surrealistic sculpture to

another. Lane tripped several times, resisting the urge to abuse the proprietor,

the inventor of laser tag, and himself for playing in the first place. Each time

he heard Jeff's infectious laughter in the gloom. He was very close, but he was

always out of sight when Lane scrambled to his feet.

The score on the first game was pitiful, but then Lane barely grasped what he

was supposed to be doing. By the end of the second game, the technique was less

foreign and he managed to finish only a few hundred points below Jeff's score.

However, while the boy's breathing was barely changed, Lane was gasping for air.

As a means of cardio-vascular exercise, he ranked it close to racquetball.

"You're wearing me out," Lane growled.

Jeff grinned. He bounced on his toes. "You ready for more?"

"You're supposed to have shoes on," Lane complained half-heartedly.

He pointed to the sign on the wall. Midway down the long list of rules was

something about wearing shoes. Jeff shrugged nonchalantly.

"You didn't mind when my shoes were off before," he replied in a sensual voice

that mocked Lane's adherence to rules.

"Um, well,.... No wonder I can't hear you creeping around."

Jeff grinned and tightened the straps on the back-pack and vest that came with

the laser gun. A moment later the green light came on again and the music

started. This time, instead of punk- rock, the music was ethereal, with

screeches and whines that were supposed to sound as if they had come from outer

space. Lane glanced to the side where Jeff had been standing only seconds

earlier. The boy was gone.

"Vis time vu die, extra-terrestrial," came from the looming darkness.

Lane smiled, thinking how ridiculous the game was as he headed off in the

opposite direction to where the boy's voice had come from. At least Jeff was

having fun. He skirted the central sculpture of elevated platforms, aware that

his rubber-soled shoes squeaked on the artificial material. A neon beam flashed

erratically, pulsing through the darkness. His white shirt lit up and he heard

the crackle of a hundred points being scored. Yet, he could not see the laser

light, not until he turned around and saw an apparition slinking back into the

gloom.

"Jesus," he said aloud.

He stopped to gain his bearings. Somewhere to his right was his `command center'

where he had to return when he needed to recharge his battery or whatever it was

that the laser gun fired. He crept to the left, keeping low to the ground and

listening as best he could over the cacophony of electronic wails and mechanical

squealing. He stopped, sensing a presence ahead, moving sideways to come up from

behind him again. He backed away, returning the way that he had just come with

the plan of putting as much ground as possible between them until he could

decide what to do.

"Here I come, you ugly mother-fucker of an alien. Ready or not."

Lane grinned. Although he was not at all certain of where the voice had come

from, he appreciated the boy's humor. He backed away a few more paces and ducked

behind one of the stalagmites that was almost as tall as he was. He waited

there, realizing in the interval that the boy was probably executing some sort

of strategy that would be completely unexpected. But what? There was no point in

staying where he was in a defensive posture.

Cautiously, Lane began to move towards Jeff's home base. He came within

half-a-dozen paces before he took cover and waited, settling on one knee to

minimize his target while retaining the ability to rise quickly and escape if he

needed to. Sooner or later Jeff would return. He heard the clatter of points

being scored at his `command center' as the boy fired directly into his scoring

zone. Then, nothing except the unpredictable music, if the discordant clash of

sounds could be called that. He stared into the darkness ahead of him, darkness

that was intermittently exploded by vivid shafts of light that hurt his eyes. A

minute passed before he spotted Jeff's figure moving from one stalagmite to

another. By then his knee ached. Lane smiled and took aim. His first shots were

high, but then a stream of laser dots bounced off Jeff's vest as brilliant red

flashes. The neon lights pulsed around them, illuminating both of them with a

ghostly glow. Lane's eyes bulged. Jeff's penis was pointed up, sticking out from

his opened zipper.

For a moment, Jeff's laser gun pointed at Lane before it was lowered to the

floor.

"Shoot my dick! Shoot my dick," Jeff chanted.

Lane aimed and fired off a half-dozen rounds, until he was out of power. He

watched the painless dots dancing across the boy's bare member.

"Sexy, huh?" Jeff remarked in a muted voice as he teasingly wrapped his fingers

around the small hard shaft and made a slow sensuous up and down motion. Just

watching made Lane's finger quiver on the plastic trigger.

"Very sexy," Lane agreed lustily.

He yearned to reach out and touch the luscious flesh. The spotlights pulsed

again, making the boy's flesh suddenly become native-brown. Yet, on the short

stalk, the tip glowed purple and Lane immediately realized it was like that

because there was no foreskin to get in the way. Suddenly, Lane had no interest

in finishing the game. It seemed that Jeff had the same idea as he extended his

left hand and used a finger to beckon, although it would have been far easier

for him to move than the man who was kneeling on the floor. In response, Lane

nodded slowly and gestured back to him. Instinctively, Jeff hesitated, knowing

what came next. He had always been faithful to his uncle, just as his uncle had

always been faithful to him. According to what he had been told, there was no

other way of saving him. He was there to do a job. He had to have sex with this

man in order to save his uncle, but that was not the motivating force behind his

actions.

Despite his lack of experience with other men, he was fully aware of the effect

that his uncovered penis would have on a man who was supposed to be a pedophile.

However, he had exposed himself, not as a last resort to disrupt the man's

concentration, not even as a belated attempt at seduction, but simply because he

wanted to see what would happen. Yet, as he stood there with his unwavering

erection, he felt the familiar surge of excitement. It was as strong as it had

ever been, a thrill that made him feel weak in the knees. He stayed still, his

fingers lightly stroking along the short length, his eyes fixed on the man who

knelt before him. The man excited him the same that his uncle excited him.

Suddenly, Jeff walked forward and into Lane's open arms. His laser gun lifted up

and pointed to the concealed ceiling. Lane's gun swung uselessly from his

shoulders as his hands clutched the boy's bottom and pulled them tightly

together.

It was a day of firsts for Congressman Lane. He had never played laser tag. He

had never clasped a boy's buttocks in his hands. The first thought in his mind

was how firm the hemispheres were, and small. They looked bigger in the illicit

photographs that he gazed at in secret admiration, sometimes for hours at a

time. His hands rubbed gently, feeling reassuring human warmth beneath the

denim. Jeff took that as his cue and pressed against Lane's shoulder, his stiff

penis poking into Lane's breast.

The minute that followed was unreal. In that bizarre environment of eerie sounds

and sporadic blinding lights among weird-shaped outcroppings, Jeff began to

thrust against the man. Lane felt it, a stiff little poker stabbing deliriously

at his chest. Instinctively, his hands moved to Jeff's hips, slowing him just

long enough to bring his mouth down and onto the throbbing organ. What had

previously been abraded against his shirt and the harness straps of the laser,

was now within his mouth. The boy jerked, stopped, shuddered as he realized what

had happened. He started moving again, jabbing cautiously as if afraid that the

man might actually bite him. Lane used his tongue sparingly, agitating the tiny

glans, laving the hot hardness that pumped between his lips until it was

slippery and it moved easily in and out.

Only seconds passed before Jeff's movement became regular, following a natural

rhythm that is inherent in every boy. Lane's hands eased back until they rested

on the boy's bottom. He felt the flesh tensing with every inward push, relaxing

on the out-stroke. His hands grasped the fleshy globes and massaged as deeply

into the crevice as the denim would allow. He sucked earnestly. It was his first

time and his exuberance compensated for his inexperience. Jeff's penis surged

deeper, seeming to stiffen even more as it slid against the inside of Lane's

cheek, against his tongue, penetrating almost to his throat. Lane sucked harder

and hoped that he was doing the right thing for until then all he had to go on

were stories he had read and the fantasies created by his overactive

imagination. He was barely conscious of the increasing pace until he felt the

boy's hands grip his head. Close, so close that both man and boy could feel the

pressure building like lava ready to burst from a volcano. In the last few

seconds it was a race against time. The noise had grown steadily louder as if to

match the urgent pounding of Lane's heart, of Jeff's increasingly frenzied

thrusts. The crescendo started, like Dante's Inferno rising up to consume the

heathens, a high pitched keening that made the Lane's eardrums vibrate. Or was

it Jeff who had stiffened like a board before quaking violently?

Lane clutched the boy even tighter, recognizing the moment for what it was. He

felt the small penis pulsing between his lips. Again and again, as if there was

no end to its ability to ejaculate. He tasted nothing except the sweet

smoothness of a hot throbbing but still immature penis.

Then silence pressed down upon them like the world had come to an abrupt end.

Both were startled by the unsettling awareness that the game was over and if

they did not leave there would soon be someone else coming in the game area to

find them. Hurriedly, Lane came to his feet as Jeff, still shaking from the

sheer intensity of his juvenile orgasm, tried to close the zipper of his jeans.

They glanced at each other before they began to walk towards the exit that was

now identified by a flashing red light that had been turned on to inform the

players that the game had officially ended.

As he unfastened his vest and laser pack, Lane could not help glancing at the

boy. He was met with a rueful smile, yet the boy's expression as much as it was

guilty, also showed the lingering traces of ecstasy. It had been good for him as

well.

"I beat you again," Jeff remarked as he deposited the last of his equipment on

the rack.

He pointed to the television screen on the wall. There was a picture of the two

of them, taken from behind Jeff. Lane saw himself kneeling, his arms

outstretched, his face side on, his eyes wide. The score was 3,580 to 370. He

wondered who had won even as he recognized when the image had been recorded.

Jeff smirked at him, leaving the impression that he had known all along that a

camera was recording the game.

"You can buy the picture. It's like ten bucks. It's a pity you can't see my

dick," Jeff said with a bold smirk, thereby removing Lane's last remaining doubt

that the boy would be willing to have sex with him. The thought excited him at

the same time as it frightened him. He resorted to an adult reaction.

"Jesus!" Lane protested.

He was almost as glad to leave the laser-tag facility as he was to see the image

and their low score disappear off the television. Once outside, he felt as if a

load had been lifted from his shoulders. He breathed deeply, much easier as the

threat began to diminish. Still, he urged Jeff to hurry across the parking lot

and get into his car for no other reason than he was worried about hearing a

siren in the distance. If there had been a person behind the camera it was

likely that they would call police to report `suspicious activity'.

"Where to now, Dad?" Jeff asked teasingly for the adjacent seat.

He turned his supposedly innocent blue eyes on Lane. His slim legs were wide

apart, exposing a pronounced bulge between his thighs. Lane took a deep breath

and started the engine. A million thoughts clamored in his brain for available

neurons. However, one thought, depraved, illegal, overpowering, took charge. The

boy's eyes imprisoned him. There was no way out, not now, not ever. The demon

had been unleashed. He felt like he had finally opened Pandora's Box only to

find that instead of horrible and fearful things, there was a wonderful,

intensely sexual boy inside it.

"Where do you want to go?" he muttered.

Jeff gave his familiar offhand shrug. "The zoo?" he suggested lightheartedly.

"Very funny."

"I beat you all three games," Jeff bragged. His knees dropped even further

apart, luring Lane's eyes to glimpse again and again.

"Yes, I know," Lane replied good-humoredly. "But only because you cheated the

last time."

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

They both laughed.

"You're crazy, you know that don't you? What if someone had seen us?" Lane

demanded.

"No one did. You got what you wanted," Jeff rebuked. His hand dropped to his

crotch and cupped the small hemisphere there. "You liked doing it, didn't you?"

he asked suggestively.

"Of course. But,..."

He was going to say that it was too risky, that if the police had been called he

would have been arrested, that he would spend the next ten years of his life in

prison. Instead, he shook his head in frustration. It had been a long time since

he had been around a boy, too long. Perhaps all boys were like Jeff nowadays.

The possibility thrilled him. He could not remember having so much fun.

"Well, what happens now?" Jeff said abruptly.

"Huh?"

"We going to the zoo or what?" Jeff queried. His hand moved as his fingers

curled underneath. His thumb rubbed across the top of the lump.

"Jesus," Lane exhaled.

"Yeah, you keep saying that. He's not here to help you decide. You into boys or

what, Mister? 'cause if you aren't, I might as well go home and jack off by

myself."

Lane took his eyes off the road. Jeff grinned at him. Then, Lane glanced down.

There was no doubt that the bulge was bigger than it had been a few seconds

earlier. He could even see the domed form of the little glans as it poked

upward. The boy was without shame. His very boldness excited Lane in a way that

he had never dreamed possible. He swallowed, putting the consequences aside. He

had worried about this moment for as long as he could remember. What would he do

if the opportunity arose? However, there was no room for reason when lust was

out of control. He nodded fractionally. It was enough to show what he was

interested in.

"We could go to my place." The boy spoke softly. "It's real close and my mom

won't be home until six."