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This is a work of fiction.</p> Again my story involves a teenager with post-abuse trauma and with difficulties coping with a brain that works a little out of the ordinary. But it is also a story of love between young and not so young, between related and unrelated males. Love, with all its aspects, does not always like to stay within the boundaries of the volatile laws of any society. Love is the ultimate anarchist. </p> Do not look for quick JO-material in this story. Sex is an undercurrent, and stuff will happen from time to time, but the buildup and the tension is where the focus is. There"s also some father/son eroticism here, so if that"s a no-no for you, go elsewhere.</p> It is my story, it belongs to me. Please don"t steal from it.</p> (And just to mention it, English is still not my first language, and therefore the possibility of faults and clumsiness lurks in the shadows.)</p> Feedback? Yes, please: ota</p> *</p> And remember to support Nifty. http://donate./donate.html</p> *</p> *</p> *</p> *</p> *</p> *</p> *</p> THE CRUSHING COLORS OF LOVE</p> By Magnus Winter</p> *</p> *</p> *
Part Seven: THE MOON GAZES BACK
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He flops down on his bed, hasn"t even taken his heavy jacket off. He is full of beauty, full of joy. He had never known how strangely wonderful being someone"s friend could be, how the loveliest pinks and softest blues would wrap all the threats of bad colors in a thick blanket. </p> He replays the day in his mind again and again: The beaming face of Max when his essay came back with an A on it. The hug that everyone saw, everyone! Their gaping faces! The tingle in his body as anguish left for pride when Max told their English teacher, Mr. Green, that he couldn"t have done it without David"s help. The flood of round and yellow waves that surged through him when Mr. Green"s nods of recognition and words of appraisal hit him. Encouragement from a teacher? Even though he hadn"t handed in an essay of his own? If this is what friendship does to people, he muses, why didn"t anyone tell me? </p> He tries to drum up images of Max in PE, seeing his smooth, brown legs below his big, loose shorts, wanting to touch them, wanting to kiss them. Seeing him drop his shorts and stand with his back to him in his black briefs, wanting him to drop his underwear as well and turn around, wanting to see him glistening and wet in the showers. But Max never showers after PE, and neither does he, so he has to imagine the work of art Max"s naked body would be, and suddenly the sharp splinters of his hopeless anxiety penetrates the softness in him: What if Max has a huge cock, what if he sees David"s cock and laughs? </p> His thoughts are interrupted by the doorbell. Uneasy and bothered by the sudden onset of disturbing colors, he slowly gets up and walks to the door. The bell goes again, impatient, angry.</p> The fog in his head doesn"t get any clearer when he goes to the front door and peeps though the Judas eye. Zita is standing outside, impatiently stepping from one foot to the other. He opens just as her hand touches the button again.</p> "What is it?" There"s apprehension in his voice.</p> She pushes past him, deep frown, no smile. Well inside, she turns and looks at him, he can"t tell whether she"s angry or just upset, but heavy orange turns to red in his head.</p> "What have you done with him?" she almost growls.</p> He fights to get on top of the rush of sharp and pointed black shapes that stick up like nunataqs in the bloodred river. Zita vaguely notices how his face twitches and quivers, too far into her own grievances to care whatever goes on in his mind. He finds his voice.</p> "What have I done with him?" he repeats lamely.</p> She just walks over and flops down on the couch. He remains just inside the open doorway to the hall. And now she turns her head and bores her eyes into him.</p> "That"s what I"m asking. Because he"s not like he used to be anymore, and that"s your doing!"</p> He manages a certain control of his brain. Searches for clues and possible answers. What would Doctor Miller tell him to do now? What would Dad like me to do? But nothing comes to him.</p> "I ... I have ... I just wanted to be his friend. Is that wrong or something?" </p> He"s heart pounds and he"s sweating. He wants to disappear into the black void that threatens to swallow him, but he also wants to be strong, to conquer his impossible brain. </p> She presses her fingertips to her temples, as if to strike a pose as dramatic as possible.</p> "He doesn"t feel like my brother anymore. It"s always been the two of us, but suddenly ... He doesn"t talk to me like he used to. When I ask him if something"s wrong he just looks at me and leaves." Her eyes actually tear up. "And it"s all because he"s started to hang with you!"</p> He has no idea how to respond. He just stands there, like frozen, a slight tremor surges through him. And she notices his discomfort, but her interpretation is all wrong.</p> "Are you ... are you doing fag stuff with him?" she spits out. </p> Suddenly she jumps up, and swift like a wind crosses the floor, puts her lips against his and grabs his crotch. Softly, not hurtfully. If he was frozen before, now he"s a pillar of salt. His brain turns into a black spiral that turns faster and faster, his knees turn to jelly, he crumbles to the floor and curls up in a ball. Closes everything off, doesn"t register that his father comes in, Max close at heel. </p> Daniel stops halfway in, takes in the strange scene in front of him. Hurries over and lifts his son up, holds him in his arms like a child and glares at the girl, lips forbiddingly pressed together.</p> "What are you doing here?" Max enquires, there"s traces of panic in his voice. "What have you done to him?"</p> She just glares back at them, clenches her fists. Then a shudder passes through her body.</p> "He"s just playacting", she snorts, then turns on her heels. </p> "Fuck you!" she yells and runs to the front door, turns and screams another invective as she slams the door behind her. Max looks bewildered at Daniel, he has no clue what is happening. But something touches him inside, something he doesn"t understand, something dangerous and haunting. Something he wants, something he"s afraid he can"t have, something he needs to have, but he has no clear picture of what it is.</p> He sees Daniel whisper in David"s ear, sees him move over to the wing back chair in the corner where he sits down, still cradling his son. A flash of clarity explodes in Max"s head. I want to be David, he realizes. I want to be the one in those arms. I"ve wanted that since I first saw this man. And this sudden insight, this knowledge of what he wants, exhilarates him. It doesn"t scare him, it doesn"t seem strange to him, everything falls into place in his rather pragmatic mind, and he just wonders how he"s going to get what he wants.</p> *</p> *</p> *</p> Daniel leans back and squints at the doctor across her desk. Inger Miller feels a sudden discomfort, her hand involuntary comes up and clutches her open shirt collar. Shit, that man! Pull yourself together!</p> "He"s been having a lot of those ... I don"t know, blackouts or something lately. I don"t seem to be able to handle them properly."</p> She reflects for a moment. Folds her hands in front of her.</p> "Have you noticed anything specific that triggers these collapses?"</p> He sighs, scratches his neck behind his ear.</p> "I think it has to do with this new situation for him. I mean, wanting to be friends with someone and not quite understanding how it works. Maybe he"s trying to put too much into what friendship is about, and feels some kind of failure whenever something he doesn"t expect happens?"</p> "Does he talk to you about it?"</p> "A little. Sometimes he seems to control himself, or maybe I should say manage himself fine ... and then suddenly those black holes sort of swallow him for reasons I"m never quite clear about. It"s really incomprehensible, because a lot of the time he seems so much happier than he"s been for years."</p> Doctor Miller looks down at her hands, then up again. Clears her throat. </p> "I think we need to regard a rather complex picture here", she begins. "It may be difficult to separate the factors, but let"s try. Now, I believe part of it is simply puberty and the quite normal confusion that ties up with that. And then there"s what I will diagnose as PNES, or psychogenetic non-epileptic seizures. No unusual disorder in the wake of a traumatic experience, but combined with David"s synesthesia, more than normally heavy. The interesting part, of course, is not the diagnosis, but the reason for it, and the treatment."</p> She pauses, searches the man"s face to see if he follows.</p> "And with treatment you mean ... what? Medication? Electroshock?"</p> She shakes her head and smiles, rather overbearingly. </p> "Not at all. That just takes care of the symptoms, not the root of the problem. No, we"ll continue to talk, talk, talk. I"m starting to get a clearer picture of the reasons for his behavior, and the only treatment I"m offering is to give him opportunity to face his demons, so to speak. And his demons aren"t exactly few."</p> He scrutinizes her, looking for clues, for answers. </p> "Ok, I"ll specify to some extent here. The main pieces in this puzzle are his past and present relationship with his mother and with you, his father, and of course the main issue, the sexual abuse he suffered."</p> The discomfort in his face is clear to read. But she doesn"t want to put him at ease. Now, she feels, she needs to be direct and honest and drop all sugar coating.</p> "His mother first." Her voice is firm, unfeeling. "There is what I would call a temperamental incompatibility between David and his mother that has escalated over the years. From what David has said, and also what I have observed, there"s a mutual distrust and a gap between them that neither seem capable of, nor even interested in, bridging. For David then, to conquer the feeling of failure as well as the feeling of loss that no child has the ability to understand or call by its name, the easiest way to deal with this is to despise her and dismiss her from his world, but you don"t do that without conflicting emotions."</p> He nods slowly. Breathes sharply through his nose.</p> "And then there"s you. I believe he"s always sought to you and felt a deeper connection with you, helped along with the feeling of distance that I think he always sensed with his mother. And then he experiences that you also become distant, that you aren"t there, and again he feels some sort of undefinable failure, and he has to deal with the imagined suspicion that nobody really wants him. And even though David is a very intelligent boy, there was no way for him to understand or rationalize this. I think his longing for you, or for your closeness in his early childhood, couldn"t be dismissed, but instead was put in some safe and untouchable place inside him and left to grow there to compensate for the increasing hostility towards his mother, and the loneliness he felt, but couldn"t remedy. I believe he turned you into an imaginary playmate of sorts. And with the onset of puberty, I suspect this longing and need for your love turned into a yearning that is also sexual."</p> He stirs in his chair. His face is flushed, his lips move like he whispers something to himself. She goes on.</p> "And then the part that really tipped him over: The violation of his body. What those people did to him. Apart from the physical pain, the humiliation of rape, and the degradation, is the most scarring experience anyone can undergo. The worst part of it for him, however, was the feeling that he was now unworthy of you, of your respect, your love. That izmit escort bayan he was robbed of something he in his confusion felt he had saved for you. Mind you, it"s not by any means unusual for a boy with a homosexual disposition to have fantasies about his father when he starts to discover his sexuality, but I"m inclined to think that in David"s case, this is more than a fleeting fancy. And I think it will be impossible to help him master his PNES unless we recognize this. </p> He is breathing heavily, tears roll steadily from his tightly shut eyes.</p> "I don"t know how to deal with this", he whispers.</p> "Your job as I see it, and mine too, is to help him sort his feelings and understand them and find constructive ways to handle them instead of the somewhat self-destructive way he has been going at it. Talk to him, listen to him. Be there."</p> Daniel hides his face with his hands.</p> "You don"t understand!" he almost growls. "You don"t understand!" </p> He abruptly gets up and hurries out.</p> *</p> *</p> *</p> "Scuse my sister for being a cunt", Max says as he opens his lunchbox. He"s plopped himself down beside David in that far corner where the boy usually hides. </p> David doesn"t look up, blushes slightly. Fights the memories of last week that try to enter his brain and disturb his colors. </p> "It doesn"t matter", he murmurs. It does, though, and they both know it.</p> "Well, I"m not gonna hang with her when she gets like that. No fucking way."</p> David thinks. His thinking-tics move up and down his face, and Max has now learned that this normally means some strange uttering is on its way. However, what comes out is easy to get.</p> "She"s jealous because she"s no longer the sole owner."</p> They eat in silence for a while. Each in their own way they feel like they"re in a conspiracy together. David feels torn between the joy that somehow seems to stick to Max and the unpleasantness of sensing that his sister has become his enemy. Why it bothers him, he doesn"t understand. Almost everybody has been his enemy until now, so why should this feel different? Could it be he feels guilty for inadvertently coming between the siblings? But how can it be his fault that Max now chooses to sit with him instead of her?</p> "Wanna do homework together tonight?" Max suddenly asks.</p> David"s heart picks up speed. What does he mean, tonight? </p> "I could maybe sleep over? If you promise not to go weird on me?" </p> David"s whole body stiffens into defense mode, ready to kill the slowly creeping danger of expectations and hopes. And that terrifying possibility of screwing up.</p> "I don"t know", he mumbles tentatively. "Don"t you have to ask your parents first?" </p> "Nah. I"ll text `em and say I"ll stay over at your place. Oh, if it"s okay with your dad? Wadda ya think?"</p> "Dad ... well, you see, Dad"s wants me to be part of the real world. And you"re the real world."</p> Max doesn"t consider this statement at all. He"s now full of the prospect of getting even closer to David and David"s father, maybe get to feel those strong arms around him again, and maybe even more, maybe he would be able to feel the man against his crotch, like that one time when he got scared for David ... and in his fantasy there"s now kissing. And touching. And he has to adjust his dick in his jeans.</p> David notices what Max" hand does. His heart is pounding harder, his whole being feels like glass on the verge of breaking. But then it all passes, and his brain swathes him in a soft, golden cloth. And Max" light voice blends into his feeling of pleasure. </p> "Wadda ya say I cook some Ethiopian food at your house? Then my dad is sure to agree to my staying with you, cuz he"s such a pushover when I go ethnic. Think your dad would like that?" </p> His thumbs now hurry across the keyboard on his phone. David looks at him, like in wonder, then smiles and nods.</p> "Let"s go shopping after school!" Max says enthusiastically. "I need a toothbrush anyway. You got any money?"</p> And David smiles in his flow of gold and nods again. </p> *</p> *</p> *</p> He watches Max. Sees his purposeful fingers peel onions, sees the concentrated furrow between his eyebrows as his quick hand wields the knife, reducing the shapes of vegetables and chicken breasts from whole to chopped. His brain is enjoying the peace of soft colors and roundness that comes from watching this strange elegance.</p> "Der tanzende Adler," he mumbles without really thinking.</p> Max stops, knife in the air. "What?" </p> David is snatched back into the angst of dealing with the real Max, and as usual the war of colors threaten to throw him into a hole. But no, he won"t let it happen. Not now. Not anymore. </p> "I first thought crane," he explains, "but then I realized it"s eagle, and the images sort of merged."</p> Max looks bewildered. "What? You talkin" about the chicken?"</p> "No. You. You are the eagle." And he whispers to himself: Du bist der Adler.</p> Max starts to laugh. It seems the best way to escape from this unfamiliar situation where he has no idea how to respond. And there"s a weird and almost arousing feeling in his stomach from the suspicion of being given a compliment, although a strange one.</p> "Is that nice? I mean, they kill little animals, right?"</p> David is on his way into the inevitable. He wants to take Max with him. Wants him to see. He swallows hard and tries as hard as he can to coat the sharp, blood-red tacks that hover along the edges of his mind with the imagined softness and beauty of Max" golden skin. He gets up, comes over and lightly touches the hand that holds the knife.</p> "You ... It was like a dance. The way you used the knife. I got sort of lost in it. And ... There was no killing in it. Just dance."</p> Max looks like he expects more. Like he wants to be taught something. Like he"s eager to peep into a secret chamber.</p> "It"s the myths, you know. It"s Zeus, and it"s John the Beloved Disciple. It"s the soaring on top of the storm, and it"s the solitude of being majestic ... That"s what makes it such a powerful symbol. The eagle, I mean."</p> Suddenly he"s gripped by the fear that he"s now doing exactly what Doctor Miller has warned him about, dumping his thoughts over someone"s head. He wants to make his thoughts smaller. And he takes one step away from Max.</p> "I"ve always wanted life to soar like the eagle, and instead it"s crept along more like a rat", he muses. "So when I watched you with the knife, the skill and the beauty of it made me a little ... maybe jealous? And I had to think of other beautiful things ... I"m not making sense, am I?"</p> Max is quiet for a long time. Then he visibly pulls himself together and continues with his practical tasks. Oil in skillet, heat full on, onions starting to sizzle. He stirs, and then he turns to face David.</p> "So I know how to use a knife. And you know how to use words. And jeezes, I don"t know which is most intimidating!" He snorts a small laugh.</p> David feels his chest constrict.</p> "I"m sorry", he says quietly. "I just wanted to explain. I"m sorry, everyone always says I"m a freak, and maybe I am."</p> "No!" Max" smile is wide open and unguarded. "I like you!" </p> David, unprepared for this, feels goosebumps rush all over his skin, lovely pinks and blues wash over his anguish. He searches for words, but there aren"t any right ones. Be content, he persuades himself, let everything just rest in silence.</p> *</p> *</p> *</p> Daniel suddenly jerks awake in his chair. The TV is on, showing a blazing fire consuming a house. He shudders from the slight cold he feels from waking. He"s alone in the room.</p> There"s a full moon rising, pale and cool in the dark sky outside the large window. He stares at it for a while, feeling tranquil, almost happy. </p> The surprise when he got back from work to find those two boys, obviously now in some sort of harmony, or concord, and that foreign and spicy smell that permeated the house. He smiles at the moon. Wouldn"t it be just wonderful for David if this friendship could bring him joy instead of fear, relaxation instead of anguish ... His own worries would certainly be diminished, and who knows, maybe David"s issues would consume him less. </p> Where are the boys? Gone to bed? He looks at his watch. It"s not yet ten, so probably not. And they haven"t resolved the question of where Max is going to sleep. The guest room? Or maybe they want to put an extra mattress in David"s room? He needs to find out.</p> He gets up and goes to David"s room, expecting them to be in there. The door is only pushed shut, not really closed. He shoves it open and begins a sentence with "Hey, guys ..." as he enters.</p> There is sharp and fast movement inside, but not fast enough. What he sees sends a tingling little shock through his body: Two naked asses, one golden brown, one snowy white. Two pairs of boxers around knees. A ruler in one of the hands. </p> "Oh God", he bursts out. "I"m so sorry! I should have knocked! Please forgive me!" </p> He hurries out, his side vision registers underwear being hastily pulled up. He feels terrible, fearing that his disturbing them may put David into one of his states, even destroy something in this frail friendship. He curses himself. How can he repair this? What should he do now?</p> He goes back, knocks on the door.</p> "Can I come in, please?" </p> He hears a grunt from inside. He re-enters the room, finds David seated on his bed, Max standing at the window, his back to him, embarrassment written all over him.</p> He jumps right into it:</p> "That was unforgiveable of me, David. That was invasion of your privacy. I just wasn"t thinking. Please David, please Max, don"t let my transgression become a problem."</p> Max turns his head, partly shamefaced, partly quizzical. As if he wonders why the father is so apologetic, and not ragingly mad. David looks stunned at his father, mouth slightly open, uneven breath. </p> "I wanted to find out if my dick is too small", he finally says.</p> Daniel sits down beside him, puts his arm around his shoulder. </p> "I know", he assures his son with a smile. "And did you find out?" </p> He hears Max gasp. So he fixes him with his eyes and pats the bed beside him.</p> "Come here, Max. Sit down."</p> Max hesitates.</p> "Aren"t you mad?" he says incredulously. "My dad would"ve gone berserk."</p> "Oh, I don"t think so. He would have understood, I think. There isn"t a man on earth who"s never wondered about the size of his penis compared to others"." </p> Max keeps his distance. His eyes look moist. </p> "You don"t know my dad", he whispers. "He"s not cool. Not like you." A tear rolls from his left eye.</p> Daniel ponders if he should elaborate, but David breaks in. As if he wants to test how cool his father really is.</p> "Max is thicker, but I"m longer", he states almost stubbornly.</p> "Shut up!" Max yells, and pinches his eyes shut, hard against the tears that threaten to force their way out. </p> Daniel sees what is going on with him, but finds it best to leave him alone. </p> "I really came to talk about sleeping arrangements. Do you both want to sleep in here, so we should get the extra mattress in, or do you Max want to sleep in the guest room?"</p> David looks at Max. Max looks at Daniel, unmoving, but still with tears rolling down his cheeks.</p> "Mattress", David says. </p> "Okay", Max mutters.</p> *</p> *</p> *</p> Daniel"s sleep eludes him. His whole brain is relentlessly full of the image of the two boys with their pants down. His cock is stiff as a board, screaming to be taken care of. But he will not. He will not jerk off to that image. He gets izmit eve gelen escort out of bed, pulls on his boxers, his cock is almost in pain as the stretchy material covers it. He tip-toes out of his room, goes to the kitchen, pours himself a shot of vodka in a water-glass and takes it to the livingroom. The moon is now almost out of sight, but still there"s a pale belt of light across the floor in front of the window. </p> He kneels down until the moonlight shines across his lap and puts down his drink. His fingers almost automatically pull at the elastic waistband, and now his hand pushes down and lets his raging cock out into the light. He holds it there and looks at it. Remembers how he used to measure it, how old was he? Thirteen? Fourteen? Almost every day at that time, always disappointed that it hadn"t grown more since the last time ... </p> Suddenly the urge to measure it again hits him with a ridiculously strong force. He gets up, walks over to the open-plan kitchen, cock and balls out on top of the elastic, and rummages through the drawer where he knows theres a fold-out ruler. Sniggers at himself as he thinks: What if it"s grown a centimeter? But no, it"s still the same, just shy of eighteen centimeters.</p> He instantly starts from a little noise behind him, turns around like a flash and sees the brown skinned legs and torso of Max disappear into the hallway and then hears the bathroom door close. His heart jumps and then sinks like a stone. He has been watching me! And what on earth will the boy think? His cheeks burn and his hands shake. And his hard-on instantly dies down. With blood pounding in his ears he hurries into the sanctity of his bedroom. </p> </p> *</p> *</p> </p> *</p> Part Eight: PLAY IT AGAIN
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*</p> It"s been almost a month since the last session. Inger Miller"s office has been redecorated. New desk, new shelves, new picture. The blue chair is gone, instead there are two grey leather ones. She watches him take it in, curious about his reactions. Those tell-tale twitches almost flutter across his face. He moves uncertainly towards one of the chairs, then changes his mind and chooses the other. Twists his body a couple of times, then rests. She tilts her head, and the bird is back in his vision.</p> "Comfortable?" </p> His face settles into a slight frown. </p> "Sell your clothes and keep your thoughts", he answers. "Thoreau, I think? I don"t know why that popped up in my mind."</p> She smiles. Reassuringly, but he misinterprets it as overbearing. She observes a flash of hostility cross his face. </p> "Oh, but your right", she remarks. "It"s all about what matters, isn"t it?"</p> He doesn"t question her recognizable strategy to put him at ease anymore. She is the still the white and pleasantly soft spot in his motley brain. </p> She, on the other hand, sees a slightly different boy in front of her, like he"s also been through a renovation. His auburn hair has grown out, his forehead is almost clear of acne and his light skin has a faint glow. Yes, she thinks, this boy is coming into his beauty. His faded jeans has a long, wet spot from thigh to foot on his left leg. She looks at his face and his leg and raises her eyebrows. He giggles.</p> "I don"t always know where my feet are", he explains. "Combination of hurry and stupidity, I guess." He holds out his hand, his palm is scratched. "I was looking at something and I tripped on the edge of the fucking sidewalk, and typically there was a puddle there." </p> "Apart from that, how are you? It"s been a long time now, but I hope you"ve not had too much to bother you while I was away?"</p> What is this, he thinks, an exercise in small talk? Well, so be it. </p> "I"m okay", he replies. "How was Namibia?"</p> She smiles, appreciates his efforts at normal conversation. She ticks her fingers:</p> "Heat. Poverty. Terrible work-conditions, corrupt officials, and beautiful children. I guess you can imagine. But we"re here to talk about you, right?" </p> His frown is back. Then he looks up, penetrates her with those greenish eyes.</p> "I"m not being anyone else. I"m being just David now. All of the time."</p> "Good? Or bad?"</p> He looks at the new painting, it is just as vague and unimportant as the older ones were. Like an effort at neutrality.</p> "It"s not like I can qualify it", he says, a note of irritability in his voice. "It is what it is. It"s just something gone, like seasons, or a favorite shirt that doesn"t fit anymore."</p> He rubs his wet thigh, then smells the palm of his hand.</p> "It"s hard to give up the escape. There"s no dressing up to avoid the cracks. So I fall. Or it feels like falling, because of the nakedness."</p> "I"m not quite sure I understand what you refer to now."</p> He doesn"t want to elaborate. He wants to talk about something else, something she won"t question.</p> "Max is with me a great deal. He comes to our house a lot. His father is not very nice ... not close to him, I think, because he very often tries to come close to my dad, and he sort of stares when dad and I hug. Which we probably do a lot the way he sees it."</p> She gives him a smile and a small encouraging nod. </p> "He likes computer games. I watch him play them. I watch him a lot, he"s like art, see? Not that kind of art", he says, indicating the picture on her wall, "but art that makes you feel connected and makes you feel that maybe your life isn"t wasted after all."</p> "Don"t you play together?"</p> "I"ve tried, but I suck. I can"t get into it. There"s no room for me in those games, it"s all someone else"s world. It"s more fun to watch his face when he plays. And he is so beautiful when he sleeps, even when he breathes through his open mouth, which I"ve heard other people say looks ridiculous or stupid. He doesn"t look ridiculous at all. He looks real."</p> "So he sleeps over at your place? I think it is a very good thing that you have a close friend now. Tell me more about it."</p> He"s silent for a while. Leans back, seems lost in thought. She observes those familiar tiny contractions in his face. He sighs.</p> "Dad asked me if I was in love with Max. How do you know if you"re in love? If it"s supposed to be mushy like in those soppy movies, or desperate like in literature ... I mean, what"s it like?"</p> She suddenly feels she"s on thin ice. She needs a certain distance.</p> "I know I"ve told you it"s important to recognize and sort your feelings, David, because they so often confuse you and you get them tangled together. But that doesn"t necessarily mean to label or make rigid definitions. Love, I think, is one of those rather huge concepts that defy definition, because it contains so many different emotions. Why don"t you give me some examples of what makes you feel good, over even bad, in your relationship with Max, and maybe you can come to your own conclusion of what is going on?" </p> He closes his eyes. Takes his time. Wonders if this way will take him into another storm of bad colors and end in that awful nameless abyss. But no, he wants to talk. Wants her to see the marvel of it all.</p> "I feel good when I can help him be happy. Like in school. I feel good when he doesn"t feel stupid. I feel good when he sits with me at lunch. I feel good when he wants to wrestle and cuddle with no clothes on. I feel good when we masturbate each other and come at the same time. I feel good when I hear him sleep next to me. I feel good when I watch him cook, and when I watch him play his games, and when I watch him pee outdoors."</p> He pauses. Pushes his lower lip out. Frowns again.</p> "I feel bad when he talks about his father. I feel a little bad about his sister because she hates me. I feel bad when he talks about porn and wants to watch because I just can"t watch people fucking, it brings on all the wrong colors. I feel very bad when people call him names because I can"t do anything about it. I used to feel bad about him seeing me when I have those ... blackouts, you know ... but not so much anymore, because he knows about them and sticks around anyway."</p> He lights up suddenly. The flaming clouds drift off to the corners.</p> "Oh, I forgot. I feel good because my penis isn"t smaller than his. And please don"t tell me that"s silly, because ... those words and that smell can"t be undone."</p> Oh fuck. Why did he have to mention it? Now fighting the shit in his brain has to start all over again. He puffs and snorts like a horse.</p> She"s alerted. There it is, she thinks. Now is the time to bring it up again. </p> "Yes, I understand what you refer to. I think it"s important that we talk about what happened to you that time."</p> But he knows he can"t. His body starts to tremble, and the satisfaction he felt from managing to keep all the bad stuff at bay vaporizes and leaves him wide open and vulnerable for the burning tornado of razor-edged memories.</p> "No!" he shouts. "I ... I ... I will not! I want it to die! Die! They shouldn"t win!" </p> He sits there, wild-eyed and shivering, and she knows it"s useless to push him further. She resigns, tells him they don"t have to go there, waits and hopes he"ll calm down. </p> It takes almost a quarter of an hour before his head clears. And finally his eyes focus again. A little shameful, and more than a little tired, he apologizes and leaves, not waiting for a new appointment.</p> She sighs. Feels inadequate. Sighs again.</p> *</p> *</p> *</p> "David?"</p> The light tenor voice burgles his sleepy brain. He turns slowly toward the sound. Opens one eye and sees only darkness. The warm smell of musk and spice tickles his nostrils. Yes, Max is here. He sighs in contentment.</p> "David, are we gay?"</p> He sits up in bed, rubs his eyes. </p> "I don"t know. Why?"</p> "Cuz we"re doin" all this so much. I mean, touchin" each other"s cocks and huggin" and stuff ... isn"t that kinda gay?"</p> He yawns and stretches, falls back on his pillow. Shuts his eyes.</p> "Does it matter? Do you feel bad about it if it"s called gay?"</p> He can feel Max move in the darkness beside him, and he reaches out. His hand meets silky skin.</p> "It"s scary. I don"t wanna be gay. I get nuff shit as it is."</p> "If it makes you scared, the logical solution must be not to do it anymore," he says hesitantly, not wanting this to happen.</p> He can sense Max" quandary more than he can see it. And since Max is usually the one who initiates their somewhat innocent and not very experimental ... well, lovemaking, he doesn"t really understand how to solve his dilemma. Orange waves start swashing his inner vision. </p> Max is quiet for long time, David thinks for a moment he"s fallen asleep. He is relieved, he knows the bad colors would increase if this continued. But now the voice is here again, almost a whisper.</p> "But I don"t wanna stop. I wanna do more. And that"s scary."</p> He tries to concentrate on breathing, slowly in, slowly out. Just let Max pour out his worries, maybe he needs to empty himself. It"s not dangerous, there"s no need for the red tornado that"s brewing, or the blacks, or the blades and the shards or ...</p> "It"s like my skin needs to ... like it screams to be felt. Not just my cock, my whole skin, like all of me. And I wanna touch everybody. No, not everybody, just guys. I keep thinkin" what it"s gonna feel like to sorta rub my skin against guys I see. And I always sorta think ... what will their dicks look like? Or feel like? So I"m I fuckin fag, ain"t I?" </p> Max sounds like he wants to cry. He knows he should say something, comfort him, defuse him, but he has more than enough on his plate keeping his head above water and not drown in the swells, not give in to the almost unbearable izmit otele gelen escort need to dive into darkness. </p> "And I envy you every time your dad holds you. I wanna be held like that. I wanna touch him too."</p> David surfaces through his flooded brain.</p> "But you touch him all the time, whenever you can", he says.</p> "I wanna touch him there." Max" voice runs over with tears, but also defiance. "I wanna ... I sometimes imagine I"m a girl and he"s on top of me and puts his cock in my cunt!"</p> There"s no escape. This is the last thing he hears before the black gale sucks him into that protective nothingness. </p> He finally works his way back into lucidity. He"s alone in his bed.</p> *</p> *</p> *</p> The picture burns into his retinas: The white sheets, the dark skinned nude backside of the boy between the paler legs and wrapped in the arms of the man sitting on the edge of the bed. Waves of tiny needles prick his skin, his feet feel paralyzed, his mind is overrun with sharp, black blocks of stone in a flood of red glowing lava. His ears feel like they"ve been filled with concrete, no sound reaches them. </p> There is no sound, is that why? Not from them, not from him. Everything is dead quiet. But the brown shoulders seem to shiver like they sob, so why can"t he hear it? He withdraws noiselessly from the open doorway, mindless of his surroundings, oblivious that he"s just in his underwear, conscious only of one thing: Everything is lost, everything is destroyed. The secret dream that maybe some time he would be purified, be whole again, be reinvented and completed, be fulfilled by the man he loves so much ... that dream crumbles in front of him. He will never be healed, he will forever be contaminated. He will never be loved completely and unconditionally, he will never, ever, ever be where he has always yearned to be: as one with his father. His handsome father. His unachievable, glorious father. His father that chooses his friend over him because he is ruined, soiled, impure. That must be why. That must be why his father has been so ... reluctant with his hugs lately, so awkwardly cautious not to touch his skin too much, so distant and sometimes so anxious in his eyes when he wants to snuggle close to him ... </p> They took it all! his mind screams. They won! But they cannot win just like that, they must not win! </p> Blindly he gropes through drawers. Stupefied and stunned he finds his coat, and like in a coma he silently leaves the house. Then he starts to run.</p> *</p> *</p> *</p> Daniel is slowly waking with a vague feeling of something being different. He turns in his bed and is jolted fully away when his arm hits something solid and warm. First he feels an attack of panic, but everything comes back to him in a whirlwind. The fearful and worried boy crying by his bedside, asking to be held. The impossible feelings that raced through him as he hugged the naked boy to calm him, to make him feel better. Troublesome, but how could he not have held him?</p> And the boy crying and sobbing and talking incoherently of fathers that never touched or held their sons, and of kids that bullied others and left them scared, and of not wanting to be the way he was afraid he was, and please, let him sleep in Daniels bed because David had totally zonked out on him ... And he had let him crawl in under the sheets with him, thankful that he had kept his boxers on, painfully aware that the beautiful boy was naked and also scared to death of giving in to temptation as the boy had crept close to his back, almost spooning him, and the eternity of anguish and distress waiting for the boy to fall asleep. And finally be able to go to sleep himself.</p> "Max, wake up. You shouldn"t really be here, you know."</p> He leans up on his elbow and gently nudges the sleeping boy. That lovely chocolate skin seems even darker and warmer in contrast to the white sheets, the neck and shoulder in sight seem to shout for his fingers to touch them. He gets out of bed on the opposite side of the still sleeping boy, dons his dressing gown and goes to the bathroom to relieve the pressure on his bladder.</p> He stares at his image in the mirror without really seeing it. Wonders what has been going on with Max and his son to bring about last nights situation, guessing that David must have had one of those seizures Doctor Miller talked about. He needs to talk to his son to find out, to make sure he"s all right.</p> He looks in to see if David is awake. His bed is empty, the sheets are crumbled, the mattress on the floor looks tidy, almost pristine, in the mess of clothes strewn about. He walks into the livingroom, cuts across to the kitchen. </p> "David?"</p> No one there. Unease starts to grow in him. Hurries to the guestroom, throws open the door. Empty. His study, also empty. Warning lights flash, alarm bells go off in his head. He shouts David"s name again.</p> He runs to the hall. David"s shoes are there, where they should be. But not so his coat. His panic is now in full bloom.</p> He yells angrily at Max to get up and get dressed, sees the brown shadow speed from his room into David"s, runs back to his room, dresses in a hurry and comes out, almost colliding with Max.</p> "David"s gone!" His voice reveals his distress, it now infects Max, too. </p> "But ... his clothes are here?" Max stutters. </p> Daniel grabs him hard by the shoulders. Maybe too hard, but he"s starting to feel desperate.</p> "Get your stuff! Fast! We"re going to look for him. I need to know what happened yesterday, but you can tell me in the car."</p> *</p> *</p> *</p> They"ve been driving around for an hour when Daniel"s cell startles them with its shrill tones. Max, who has been sniffling and whimpering all along trying to explain, trying to understand, lets out a small involuntary shriek. Daniel pulls up to the curb.</p> "Yes."</p> Pause.</p> "Yes, I"m Daniel Hovland"</p> Long pause. Max frets. Daniels silence seems to go on forever.</p> "Yes, I"ll be right over. Ten minutes."</p> He closes the phone, stuffs it in his breast pocket. Looks hard at Max.</p> "That was the Police. They found him, and they"ve taken him to the hospital. I"m going to get him, but I"m going to drop you off first. Where do you live?"</p> Max sobs quietly all the way. Daniel bites his teeth and curbs his impulse to tell him to stop, realizing that the boy probably feels as bad as he does. He takes Max"s hand and squeezes it lightly before he sends him out of the car and watches him stumble onto the porch.</p> *</p> *</p> *</p> An officer in uniform awaits him in the hospital lobby, escorts him to the emergency room. Daniel impatiently demands to know what"s happened. The officer looks unfriendly at him, almost annoyed, holds up one hand as if to calm him. </p> "We had a call from the North Star Motel reporting vandalism or burglary. When we got there, we found your son collapsed in front of one of the cabins, barefoot and just in his shorts under his coat, a window broken and both his hands bleeding. His feet are also scratched and bloody, we guess from kicking the door. There was a carving knife plunged into the wooden door as well."</p> Daniel hides his face in his hands and groans.</p> "He seemed to be in some sort drugged trance or epileptic seizure, so we brought him here right away, couldn"t risk taking him to the station in the state he was in. We found his school ID in his coat pocket, and the hospital had him registered already. So we got to you as quickly as we could." </p> Daniel moans loudly. "Oh, God! The poor boy!"</p> The officer looks sinister and not very understanding.</p> "He will be charged with destruction of property and probably also use of illegal drugs once the doctors have seen to his wounds and he"s woke from whatever drugs he"s on." </p> Daniel flares up.</p> "You ignorant idiot! He"s not on drugs, never has been! He suffers from PNES after some bastards molested him some time ago!"</p> The officer doesn"t look satisfied. He actually poohs at Daniels outburst.</p> "PNES? What kind of half-baked diagnoses is that? Never heard of it. You"re just trying to get him off, aren"t you?" </p> Daniel stares daggers into the officer"s face. </p> "Please give me your name, officer." </p> The man seems to hesitate, but knows the rules. He shows Daniel his ID badge, and Daniel immediately types and saves the name on his phone.</p> "You will hear from me, be sure of that. Your attitude is not one I will let pass. Now I need to see my son. Good bye."</p> Eventually he finds the doctor, a hefty, no-nonsense woman with quite a different perspective and approach than the officer.</p> "The simple side of this first", she says reassuringly. "Your boy needed a couple of stiches on his right hand and just some cleaning of the bruises on his feet. His body temperature was a bit low when he came in, but nothing critical. Understandable, considering it"s almost at freezing point and he seems to have been outdoors half naked for some time." </p> There"s a question in her eyes as she looks at him.</p> "If my suspicion is correct", Daniel answers, "he must have been out for several hours. If he walked from our house to the motel, that"s about seven miles. And I don"t know when he left home, and how long he was at the motel, so ... When was he brought in? </p> "Around five this morning." She checks her watch. "So almost four hours ago. My shift ends soon, so it"s good you"re here."</p> "Has he said anything?"</p> "We haven"t been able to communicate with him. He closes us off. There is obviously some serious trauma here. Can you enlighten me?"</p> He tries as best he can to describe David"s background, stumbling through events and occasions, trying not to be irrelevant, but his emotions cloud his clarity. But the more he informs her, the more he becomes aware of something. </p> "I wondered why he was found at the motel, but now I"m fairly certain that must have been the cabin where he was raped. I told you he never talks about that incident, so I"m guessing. But fear I have no clue why he has reacted this way now. I"ll refer his psychiatrist to you, she understands him better than me, I"m afraid. Is he under arrest?"</p> "No, but it"s fairly certain he will be charged with vandalism or something. He"s underage, so Child Welfare Services will poke their noses in. They always do." </p> "If there are no restrictions, I would like to take him home, please."</p> She gets up and signals for him to follow. They enter a room two doors down the corridor, seems to be a waiting-room as there are several armchairs and a couple of small tables in there.</p> In a chair in the deepest part of the room David sits, wrapped in a hospital rug, hand bandaged in white gauze, band-aids here and there on his feet. Staring into emptiness. No reaction or recognition of the two who enter the room.</p> Daniel"s heart aches. His eyes start to flood as he crosses the floor, squats down and grabs David"s unbandaged left hand. Lifts it and holds it to his cheek.</p> "Oh, David! How you scared me", he says softly. He rises, pulls the boy up with him and wraps his arms around him. The boy is stiff and unmoving, the only thing Daniel perceives is a slight tremor, like a cold shudder. There is no eye contact, there are no words. </p> "David", Daniel whispers. "My David. We"re going home now."</p> *</p> (To be continued.)</p> *
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My other stories on Nifty:
"My Blood sings in Bendik" fty//gay/incest/my-blood-sings-in-bendik/
"The Sound of his Footsteps" fty//gay/adult-youth/the-sound-of-his-footsteps/
"The Tower and the Maze" fty//gay/adult-youth/the-tower-and-the-maze.html </p> *</p> *</p> *</p> *</p> </p> </p> </p> *</p> *</p> </p> </p> </p> *</p> *</p> </p> *</p> *</p> </p> *</p> *</p> </p> </p> *</p> </p>