Maiocxx

Roger's Closet

Chapter 1
A Train Ride Home to London

There, I've said it but I expect you to keep my secret! As sure as my name is Roger Middleton… no, not those Middletons… I'm not at all ready to have that facet of my personality divulged.

It's a secret that has remained hidden from everyone for more than thirty-five years. An ironclad 'look but don't touch' rule has kept me from scandal through a long career as a primary school teacher and headmaster and my more recent job as a purveyor of school supplies and textbooks to primary schools throughout the United Kingdom which allows me to be close to untold numbers of these little angels… or devils.

The one breach of 'look, but don't touch' has been with Brian, my brother's child. A lively, sparkling seven-year-old, he has been my almost constant companion during school holidays. His parents are too busy making money to pay proper attention to the lad, so it has been up to Uncle Roger to provide fun and entertainment for the little tyke.

He's a very affectionate child, but, my touching… at least so far… has been limited to good-night kisses, hugging and tickling, all of which he dearly loves. After all, I do have my scruples. Other than that, I'm quite content to remain deep in the 'closet'.

At least I thought so!

'Flaming June' has arrived, even in northern Scotland, where I find myself at the beginning of the summer school holiday. There will be no school activity for me until late fall when planning for the next school year begins. No matter! I like having the summer to myself. And with Brian.

Whilst I could afford to fly back to London from Wick, I decided to go BritRail. An overnight sleeper from Wick to Edinburgh will put me in good stead for the West Coast Express into Kings Cross (KX) late the next afternoon. It provides me with a restful journey after the excitement of the last days of school.

My coach is ready for boarding at 6:00 PM, although the train won't pull out until later and will lay over at Inverness, arriving in the Scottish capital early tomorrow morning. So I climb aboard, stow my overnight gear in my 'stateroom'… my one extravagance… strip to my boxers and settle down in the lower bunk with a good murder mystery.

Three murders and several hours later, during the layover, there came a tapping at my door. I had already checked in with the train-guard! What could he want at this hour?

"Please, Sir," piped a little voice. "Could I use your WC? The one in the coach is broken."

All kinds of danger flags immediately went up. Ignoring them, I opened the door a crack and a freckled angel stood outside imploring.

"Please, Sir!"

"All right," and I pushed the door further open to admit him.

I judged him to be about nine. He was dressed in a tight tee shirt and very short, shorts that nicely set off his little bubble-butt as he disappeared into the WC across from my bunk. Roger, old sod, I told myself. Have you lost your marbles? Inviting a little boy into your compartment? What if he?

Further introspection was cut off as he exited the WC and stood across from my bed.

He was gorgeous! Slim, without being skinny, well-muscled arms and legs, and a finely developed chest… and nipples… showing through his shirt. I tried to stifle my gasp.

"Thank you, Sir. I really, really had to go! Bad!"

Leaning against the small counter, he chatted like we were old friends. I learned his name was Wilfred, He was ten years old, almost eleven, and he was on his way to spend the summer with his grandmum in Lutton just north of London. He seemed to be studying me and I waited for the outcome.

Then, having apparently made up his mind, he dropped his first bombshell.

"Please, Sir. Could I stay here with you, tonight? It's very lonely up there…" he indicated one of the top bunks in the third-class end of the coach "…and I get cold. I can sleep in the top bunk and I won't be trouble at all?"

Bells, alarms and flags in profusion went off. But, so entranced was I by this finest example of all God's creatures, I simply ignored them and threw three-plus decades of caution out the window.

"All right." I croaked. Why? I'll never know, but reason had apparently fled.

He was back in a flash with a small overnight case. Stowing it next to mine, I watched in thrall as he stripped to white briefs and beckoned me to help him into the top bunk. The feel of his smooth, warm legs as I handed him up, was almost enough! For what, I could not have told you.

"Are you going to kiss me good night?" he asked.

Did I need a further invitation?

He settled into the bunk, gave me a dazzling smile and was off to dreamland.

I thought!

Reading any more mayhem and murder was out of the question. So, apparently, was sleep. My heart hammered like a steel drum orchestra. Why had this lovely little boy picked me? I lay there trying not to disturb the dream when the second bombshell struck.

"Please, Sir! I'm a bit cold. Could I come in with you for a little and get warmed up?"

Taking my strangled gasp for ascent, he swung down from on top and slid in beside me. In a daze, I suddenly realized I had put my arms around him and pulled his almost naked body against mine!

"Oh, that's much better, Sir. It's much nicer here with you."

All I could focus on was how wonderful his naked skin felt against mine. How warm and soft he was. How inviting!

No, wait! What was I doing? What was I feeling?

Next bombshell. "You may touch me if you wish, Sir!"

Taking my catch of breath as 'yes', he wiggled out of his briefs, grabbed my hand and placed it on his boy parts!

My hand had a life of its own. Instinctively, it began to rub his boy pole. My mind registered that he was really quite well endowed for a boy his age, but that was all my mind registered. Shortly, I heard him draw in a deep breath and his little body began to shake. My God! I thought, he's having an orgasm. Oddly enough, I was aroused but not enough to shoot my load.

Floating back to earth from his dry cum, he sighed. "Oh, that was wizard! Thank you for making me feel so good! Good night." And he was asleep.

I was quite a bit later getting to sleep.

When I awoke the next morning, he was gone. Or had the whole thing been just a dream? But, no, there was a warm spot in the bed next to me. Maybe he was real! I certainly hoped so. And then I spied his overnight case still standing next to mine.

Checking my watch, I saw we would be in Edinburgh in about an hour-and-a-half, so I scrambled out of bed, quickly shaved and dressed and headed for the restaurant car.

"Here, Sir. Over here! I saved us a table!" greeted me. He had been talking to the train-guard who nodded his head, tousled his hair and left.

I slid in across from him.

"Did you sleep well, Sir?"

Did I sleep? At all? And yet I felt quite rested and refreshed! "Yes, thank you!"

He leaned across the table to me and whispered, "I did. It was wizard fun!"

If there is one meal we Brits do well, it's breakfast. A traditional one of Weetabix, mostly hard cooked eggs, back-bacon, beans and cold toast was shortly served.

They turned us out at Waverley Station right on the dot of nine. We both had until 2:00 before our next train left and he was of no mind to let me wander around alone. At his appealing request, I reserved a compartment for two on the Express.

Taking his hand, we set off to explore the Royal Mile. To the casual observer, we were father and son, out for a morning stroll. What a wonderful notion!" I thought. As we ambled along from the Castle toward Holyrood Palace, it was evident he knew his Scottish history much better than I. He was a veritable encyclopedia of facts and myths about the historic places we passed.

"Thank you for being with me," he said. "Today is my birthday, but mum forgot all about it. I guess that's why I was so lonely last night. But you made me feel special."

A birthday for this little angel meant a stop at Eccles – Scotland Kilt Company. I thought how stunning he would look in a boy-sized kilt and white boots with his clan tartan over one shoulder. A young Rob Roy! Sorrowfully, I refrained; how would he ever explain all that finery to his grandmum? I did buy him a small silver pin for his jacket. That brought a few tears to his eyes.

Lunch, at The Royal McGregor, which he insisted on buying for both of us, was sausage-rolls, chocolate milk and tiramisu. Stepping lively, we hurried back to Waverley and our south-bound ride. Boarding, we were greeted by the same train-guard from the earlier train. I found that a bit puzzling, but did not pursue it.

Sitting next to the window, he joined me in watching the North Sea… brilliant blue today…slide swiftly past south of Newcastle. But the most beautiful sight was right beside me.

We turned inland again after Durham, and he tossed a blanket over us and snuggled into my arms. I thought he wanted a nap.

Not so!

Seizing my hand once more, he slipped it under his shorts and undies and I once again felt his very hard prick. Once more, my hand acted completely independently of the rest of my body. And, once more, he soon enjoyed a shuddering climax.

This time, as he gazed into my eyes, I felt a small hand grasp my member.

I almost had a heart seizure right then and there. I managed to croak, "Please, Wilfred. It feels wonderful, but I'll make a mess, so you'd better stop!"

Looking a little disappointed, he removed his hand, but then brightened. Before I could stop him, he slid down under the coverlet and took my prick into his mouth. By this time, I was beyond caring who saw us or who knew of my liking for boys. The inevitable came on like a thunderclap and I filled his mouth with my spunk.

He swallowed every drop before emerging from the lower recesses.

"Oh, Wilfred! That was wonderful," I managed to gasp. Truthfully, I had never before had a 'blow-job' although I often dreamed about how one would feel.

Now I knew! "Where did you learn to do that?"

"One of my mates from upper school," he grinned. "He wants to do my bum, too. But I won't let him. I'm saving it!"

"Well, he certainly taught you well."

"I'm glad!" he said. "You've been wicked good to me and I wanted you to feel as good as you made me."

I leaned over and gave him a long, long kiss. For the rest of the journey we were mostly silent.

But, finally, we were approaching Lutton and Wilfred would soon be gone.

"Thank you for an absolutely brilliant time. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did." Another hug and he skipped out onto the platform into the arms of a very adequate grandmum. A wave and they disappeared into the crowd.

Not wanting to return to our compartment, I stood in the passageway for the twenty minutes more into Kings Cross (KX). I had never felt so lonely in my life.

As I was waiting for my luggage from the guard car, the friendly train-guard came up to me. "Well, what did you think of our Douggie?" he asked.

"Douggie? He told me his name was Wilfred!"

"That's a game he plays. His real name is Douglas and he's my nephew, my sister's kid. She sends him south for summer and Christmas holidays and I always work a double shift so I can keep watch on him. He always chooses a grandfatherly type to cozy up to."

Grandfatherly? He at least might have said 'uncle'!

"But how does he?"

"He's a very shrewd judge of people, that one. I've not once in four years known him to be wrong. And he knows I'm about if he should need me."

"And I don't suppose today was really his birthday, either"

"Not unless he has more than one this year. He was eleven two months ago." I had obviously been thoroughly seduced.

By an expert.

I wanted to be angry. But I simply could not. He had filled my every fantasy! And I didn't even know his name!

In the cab, on the way to my flat, I thought about Brian. We would be together for the summer. He was almost eight and up (no pun intended) to try anything I suggested. Maybe it was time for …!

Yes, Brian and I had some adventures that summer. But, I had to limit my affection for him as eight-year-olds like to chatter about everything. But, if his parents suspected anything, they said nothing. They were just happy to have Brian in good hands … terrible pun, I know… so they could continue their quest for riches.

Besides, something about Wilfred… or Douggie or whatever his name was… had awakened feelings in me that I had suppressed for decades. Yes! I was hungry for him, for his delicious body. Alas, I doubted I would ever see him again and he probably would have a new 'friend' anyway.

But, then came an offer from my company.

Bloomsbury Publishing had made scads of money from the Harry Potter books and someone at higher up decided it was time to give back a little. The company entered into a ten-year contract with the Ministry of Education to provide assistance and counsel to local school committees. Yes, Bloomsbury would sell more books, too; but educational materials planning was to be the thrust.

And so it was that I found myself Educational Resource Materials Officer for all of Scotland north of Perth. That meant Dundee, Fort William, Inverness clear to Portree, Wick and Thurso in the north and lots of smaller places in between. I was to be headquartered in Inverness with office space in Cauldeen Primary School. The headmistress there, Charlotte McKenzie, was an old friend and had been recently made head teacher for all the primary schools in Invernes-shire.

The Ministry would provide a car and pay for my lodging. I would keep my flat in London, but it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. No more struggling to meet sales quotas. And I would be expected to observe in classes so I would get to see and be close to many more little angels. That would require self-discipline. It's a tough job, but someone has to do it.

I headed north out of KX in late August, hoping against hope my little friend might have departed Lutton about the same time. Foolish hope! I did encounter the friendly Train Guard again and he told me his obstreperous nephew had traveled home a week earlier. Damn!

"Was he? Did he?" I stammered.

"No, he was with a school mate," he informed me. I wondered if it had been the one… Oh, never mind.

Charlotte greeted me like a long lost family member and helped me to get settled in both home and office in the week before school took in. "It will be nice having the 'expert' on my own home grounds," she told me. Well, I didn't know about the expert title, but it would be refreshing to work directly with a teacher and headmistress whom I greatly respected. Dealing directly with school committees would be a new experience however.

I would spend a few days observing in classes before I held my first meeting with the local school committee. And so it was that I was in Charlotte's fifth-year class one day during the first week.

And there he was!

My heart almost stopped.

He spotted me at once and his eyes got big. Then he tried to make himself invisible.

I sat in the back of the class until they were dismissed for lunch and then asked Charlotte, "Who is the little fellow in the second row between the two girls?"

"Oh," she replied, "that's Douggie, Douglass Guthrie. Why? Do you know him?"

"We met on the train to London at the start of summer holidays."

She was busy all afternoon with math and history as I sat there quaking in my boots. Finally, at dismissal as the children were filing out, she called to him, "Douglass, please come here."

He complied and stood there shaking. For some reason he needed to study his shoes. "Douglass, this gentleman says he knows you."

He finally looked up with an expression of fright. "Yes Miss! Hello Roger," he croaked.

"Douglass!" she exclaimed. "Where are your manners? This is Mr. Middleton."

"That's all right," I interjected. "He has permission to call me that."

"Not in school, he doesn't," she chastised us both.

"Hello, Mr. Middleton."

"Hello Douglass. It's nice to see you again."

"Thank you Mr. Middleton. May I go now Miss?"

She nodded and he took off like the banshees were after him.

The next afternoon I was busy in my office when school dismissed for the day. Shortly, there came a knocking at my door. I expected it was one of the teachers seeking some advice about textbooks, so I answered, "Come in, please."

My mouth stood open, I'm sure, as Douglass Guthrie came in and closed the door. He hung his head shamefully.

"I wager you're angry with me for the trick I pulled on you on the train," he said.

"Not at all," I assured him.

"You're not?"

"No, I had a smashing time and I am amazed you were able to bring it off." I chuckled.

"You did?"

"Yes. Why should I not have? You were sweet and fun and it was good of you to keep company with an old man like me." I had to be careful not to admit what kind of fun we had had.

"It was?"

"Sure, so don't ever think I was angry with you." I could see he was greatly relieved.

"Is it OK that I told my Mom?" I had a moment of pure, cold panic. "Well, not everything, you know. She might not understand how much I liked it."

That soothed my panic somewhat and his next statement assured me that I probably would not be branded as a pedophile. "The secrets we had are for us only, I know. I would NEVER tell another person."

"Thank you for visiting me," I said, "but you had better be getting home now."

"OK," he said, then "Do I get a hug?"

I decided I could risk that, so I motioned and he flung his little body into my arms. Come on Roger. Careful! Careful! But the feelings were rekindling.

The next day I was observing at the start of a second year class when he appeared briefly, handed the teacher a note and disappeared. After he got the children started on some exercises, he walked to the back of the room and handed the note to me. I stuffed it into my pocket and went on with my study.

But, as soon as the class adjourned for lunch, I escaped to my office and eagerly tore open the note.

Dear Mr Middleton, Roger

Mom would like you to come to dinner on Thursday. And so would I. Please say yes.

Your friend,
      Wilfred

I showed the note to Charlotte indicating it was from Douglass Guthrie.

"But who is Wilfred?" she asked.

"That's the name he used on the train," I explained. "But, do you think I should go?"

"I certainly don't see any harm in it. He's one of our students and I have often visited. His mother is an old and treasured friend. Do you know his story?"

"Well, not exactly. I know what he told me on the train and his uncle who was the guard on the train filled me in on his deception, but that's all."

"Well, you should know before you visit."

I nodded.

"He's a foundling. Literally. Left on Harvey and Emily's doorstep in a pasteboard box when he was but a few days old. The authorities could not locate the birth parents, so they allowed Harvey and Emily to keep him. They had been trying to have a child, so they decided to adopt him. They named him after Emily's late father and I've never seen a happier or more loving family."

"Misfortune stalked them, however. Harvey was a railroad switch-man and he was killed when Douglass was three and she has been raising him alone. Fortunately, the railroad pays her a small pension, but it has been tough for her and she has had to work very hard."

"Oh, how sad!" I exclaimed.

"But you haven't heard the worst," she continued. "Emily has leukemia and will probably die within a year."

I gasped!

"She doesn't want to put him into care… I can understand that and you can too… so she is looking for someone. Be careful or you may suddenly find yourself with a son to finish raising. Not a bad situation in my opinion, but that may not be in your plans."

Would that be so bad, Roger? Yes it would be, you nit-wit!

"Thank you for the briefing, Charlotte. I'll watch my p's and q's." I assured her.

The visit was pleasant although I had the impression I was being observed very carefully. Sort of like a prize Hereford being prepared for auction. Actually, it wasn't quite that bad and Douggie was the perfect gentleman. I did find out they were members in good standing of Clan Guthrie but that's about all. In turn, I babbled on about my background… helped along by several glasses of wine. Both Douggie and his mother listened intently, but I didn't detect any note-taking. Maybe I was being too self-absorbed.

After that, I was a somewhat frequent supper-time visitor at the Guthrie household. It was enjoyable, but somewhat nerve wracking. Douggie and I usually sat across the table from each other and I often felt a little foot exploring my crotch during the meal. Afterward, he would often sit in my lap whilst I checked his homework, wiggling his little ass far too much. If his mother noticed anything out of bounds, she made no mention.

To my surprise, I learned that Emily had taught him the rudiments of Christian faith even though they were not 'churched'… nor was I. But he was thrilled by the heroes of our faith, especially those of the Old Testament… David and Jonathan, Solomon, Ezekiel and others. So, when he needed to work on his reading skills, it was often the Bible he brought to me. I hadn't opened one since childhood and I was amazed how much I learned.

One evening, however, he was clearly distressed. "What is it, Douglass?" asked his mother.

"Oh, nothing!" he replied.

"Douggie, it is not nice to fib to your mother," I remonstrated.

He looked at me guiltily, but then sighed. "It's just… Well, tomorrow, Mr. Slackjaw says we have to climb the ropes clean to the top and he's going to punish anyone who doesn't make it." Looking down at his shoes, he confessed, "I don't think I can do it. It's too high!"

"Just do the best you are able," counseled Emily. "I'm sure he will understand."

And I thought the matter was closed.

Not!

I was in Charlotte's office the next day going over her list of needed textbooks, when a high-pitched scream rent the building. An instant later, one of Douggie's classmates, still clad in scrips and trainers, came bounding into the office.

"Please, Mrs. McKenzie, he's going to kill him!" After a moment of shock, the scream sounded again and Charlotte and I both took off for the gymnasium on the run.

Entering, we found most of the fifth-year boys cowering in the corner, ministering to two of their number who had been severely caned. Douggie was stretched over a vaulting horse, shorts… but not his jock… at the top of his trainers; a towel about his face to muffle his cries had come loose. From the looks of his little ass, Slackjaw had been at him for some time.

As he wound up for still another stroke, Charlotte shouted, "STOP IT! STOP IT AT ONCE!" But Slackjaw failed to heed her and continued on. I rushed to him, snatched the cane from his hands and gave him my best shot.

I kicked him square in his balls.

I gathered up the hysterical boy and carried him to the clinic room, laying him gently on the bed face down. His buttocks were almost purple with prominent welts, one or two of them bleeding. The nurse took charge and ushered me out of the room, so I returned to the gymnasium.

Charlotte had taken care of the others… the two other miscreants had a few welts, but nothing even approaching Douggie. They had told her how they hadn't been able to make it to the top and then Douggie had told the teacher he couldn't do it either and to leave him be. Whereupon Slackjaw had exploded into unrestrained fury, threw the boy across the horse, yanked down his shorts and proceeded to beat him.

Charlotte was so upset she immediately sacked Slackjaw and had the custodian remove him bodily from the building. Unfortunately, he could not be charged. Teachers are exempt in Scotland. We later heard that he had come into an inheritance and moved to the Orkneys. Good riddance!

The nurse had treated Douggie's wounds and bandaged his backside, so I could be admitted to comfort him.

He was still crying. "Oh, Roger! It's my fault! I shouldn't have told him! I just couldn't make it quite up."

"Did you try your best?" I asked gently.

"Yes," he sniffed.

"Then you are not at fault. No boy deserves to be punished like that and that horrible man will never teach in any school again. I love you like a son, Douggie and you will never feel the cane again if I can prevent it."

He looked at me with his big brown eyes. It was the first I had ever verbalized my real feelings for him.

I personally carried him home that afternoon and listened with embarrassment as he told his mother how I had saved him… the truth being somewhat less, of course. But I was completely unprepared for his final statement.

"He says he loves me like a son. And I love him, too."

Emily looked at me with raised eyebrows. "Hmmmm," she said.

I beat a hasty retreat, chastising myself, All right Roger, you idiot! What is it about that child that causes you to lose your wits?

But, the die had been cast and I was now expected to appear every evening I was in town.

And Douglass Guthrie continued his quest.

And I enjoyed it immensely!

Chapter 3
Fun in Edinburgh

Summer that year with my nephew, Brian was bittersweet. He was now old enough to really enjoy our play together and eager to have those 'good feelings' my stroking produced. Games and outings were enjoyable too, but somehow I was missing something.

I was missing my Douggie!

So, I returned to Inverness in mid July, with a half-formed plan for an 'outing' to explore our relationship further. Not sexually, I assured myself… at least not yet. I do have my principles… don't I?

He had remained at home that summer; his grandmum was poorly and Emily believed he was old enough to shift for himself. I'd never seen him quite so happy as when I appeared for supper one evening.

As he hugged me, he whispered, "Please don't go away again. I missed you sooooo much!"

The 'outing' I had in mind was a trip to the Edinburgh Tattoo. He had never seen it and I intended to make it a special time for us. To my great surprise, his mother readily gave permission. Indeed she seemed almost anxious for us to take this trip together.

Arriving in the Scottish capital shortly after lunch, our first order of business took us to Eccles - Scotland Kilt Company. I had booked us places in the VIP area at the Tattoo and, if we were going to hobnob with the gentry, we had to be properly attired.

His Clan Guthrie tartan colors were navy and dark green with red stripes which looked just marvelous on him, and complimented my Middleton tartan of red and green. After numerous trips to the dressing rooms he finally emerged looking every bit the young laird. At first he hadn't been keen on wearing a 'skirt' but the proprietors soon won him over with tales of Scottish valor while wearing the tartan. When he saw my get-up, his only comment was, "Well, I guess it's OK. But I have prettier legs than you do."

I had booked us a suite at Dunstain House, a small hotel off West Coates and we checked in there after an early supper at the Royal McGreggor.

For some reason our 'suite' had two bathrooms, and Douggie immediately staked out one as his. Sequestering himself, he set about scrubbing himself with vigor. I hoped he wouldn't make too much of a mess for the hotel staff. I took my things into the other bath and enjoyed a hot shower after our long day.

Drying myself, I slipped on one of the nice, fuzzy robes supplied by the establishment and emerged. I had heard him finish up sooner and expected to find a well-pajammed boy waiting for me. But pajamas were farthest from his thoughts.

He was sitting demurely on our bed… just as God made him… with a little crooked grin on his face.

I stared!

I gaped!

I slavered!

"Do you like what you see?" he asked plaintively.

What I saw was a vision from heaven! Even though he had been in bed with me on the train last summer, I had never seen him completely naked before. He had even been careful to hide from my prying eyes at Eccles this afternoon. I had often imagined what he might look like, but was completely stunned by the real thing.

He had grown quite a bit in the last year. Beautifully formed arms and legs with muscles in all the right places. Flat little tummy with a well-developed chest crowned with two inviting nipples. And his boy parts which I had felt but never seen? His twelve-year-old prick was standing tall against his groin with two little hairless jewels below. His skin was flawless; it glowed as if lit by some heavenly fire. The splash of freckles was still there and his still-damp hair hung in bangs.

"Oh, Douggie," I finally managed to stammer. "You are the most beautiful boy I have ever seen!"

He giggled.

Now I should explain. I have a well-hidden, quality collection of magazines and books and the boys pictured in them were magnificent. Truthfully, the only boy I had ever before seen in the buff was Brian, my brother's son. He was a lively, very attractive lad, but neither he nor the boys from the pictures could hold a candle to this perfect specimen of boy-just-on-the-brink-of-puberty.

I continued to stare.

"Well, are you coming or not?"

So much for principles. The robe slipped from my shoulders as I advanced, pushed him down on his back and lay upon him. His skin was like warm silk! He wiggled a bit and then put his arms about my chest as I framed his head with my hands. "Oh, Douggie! I've wanted to do this since the day I met you," I breathed.

"Me, too," he whispered, "but I was afraid you might not like me. I'm glad I waited and I decided tonight was the time. Do you really like my body?"

A hundred-and-one pounds of fun,
That's my little honey-bun!

I sang to him. He just giggled.

"How much of is that in kilos?" he asked

"About forty-six," I answered.

"I'm not that fat!" he protested.

"Your body is just perfect!" I crooned.

"Then I shan't ever hide it from you again!"

Edinburgh was jammed with visitors here for The Tattoo which made it virtually impossible to get around, especially on The Royal Mile. So after luncheon at The Royal McGreggor, we headed back to the peace and tranquility of our hotel. Douggie insisted that lunch there was now 'tradition' for us whenever we were in town… he obviously expected further visits.

So, we lay comfortably together awaiting our evening finery.

The Edinburgh Tattoo is usually a 'must' event for the Royal Family. Most often the Queen, herself, attends. But the state of her health… precarious… precluded that this year. For the same reason, the Prince of Wales thought it prudent to remain at Buckingham, too. So the royal duties would fall to Will and Kate, The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge.

Having spent an enormous sum and twisted numerous well-placed arms, I had secured seats for us in the Royal Box and was delighted that Will would be our host. I wanted to make this outing very special for Douggie and he would likely find it much more enjoyable with the Duke and Duchess. I hadn't told him about our tickets yet as I did not want him to fret. He would be quite intimidated by the prospect.

We donned our outfits and set off in the hired car I had booked and were soon escorted into the box. Looking about, Douggie exclaimed, "These are certainly nice seats. I can see the whole way to Holyrood and we're right in front of the Castle."

"They should be," I explained. It's the royal box and the…"

"Royal box!" he screeched. "Does that mean….?"

"The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge will be our hosts," I told him gently.

"Do I look all right?" he gasped. "What will I say to them? How should I act?"

"Just be Douglass Guthrie, a fine young man and sweet boy and you will do fine," I assured him. I wasn't sure he quite bought that, but at least he stopped shaking and managed to breathe normally.

A few moments later, Will and Kate, accompanied by the Lord Mayor of Edinburgh, swept into the box and greeted us warmly.

"Your Royal Highness, may I present your guests for the evening, Mr. Roger Middleton and Master Douglass Guthrie," announced His Honor.

"Right! Welcome!" said the Duke as he shook my hand.

"You're family!" exclaimed the Duchess. "How nice!"

"Well, yes, I'm a Middleton," I replied bowing deeply, "but of another branch, I fear."

"Nonsense," she admonished me. "There are many of our extended clan who are quite to be honored for their service to Britain, often more so than our small branch. I see you are a distinguished educator and I find that most thrilling."

"And you, my young guest," The Duke addressed Douggie, "Clan Guthrie is it? I recognize the tartan."

"Thank you," Douggie answered, bowing equally low. "But I'm not sure I am really clan."

"How so?"

"I'm adopted."

"Well you carry the surname and you wear the tartan very well, so never doubt you are of the clan, Douglass Guthrie."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Douggie beamed, bowing low again. The Duke would overlook my boy's slight gaffe, but Kate came to our rescue.

"Since we are all family, I suggest we ignore all these fancy titles. Tonight I am simply Kate and my husband is Will. If that makes you uncomfortable young Douglass, 'Mistress Kate' and 'Sir Will' will suffice."

These people are 'royal' in ways most folks would not comprehend. I only hope I may live long enough to see them crowned.

The Lord Mayor had stood beaming throughout this whole tableau, but now became serious. "I beg your leave, Sire, but some nationalists have threatened to disturb the ceremony tonight and I must assure that does not happen."

"You certainly have my leave, Your Honor and I am sorry you just won't be able to enjoy the Tattoo with us." The Lord Mayor bowed and withdrew. "Nice chap!" Will nodded.

The first pipe band had moved into its place and the Tattoo was underway. "Let the 'boys' sit in front," directed Kate as she motion for Will and Douggie to the first row of chairs. Will took the excited boy's hand and led him to their seats. Instantly friends, they would enjoy the spectacle together, plying each other with tidbits of Scottish lore and history.

Kate and I sat behind and she turned to me and asked, "He's not your son, then?"

"No ma'am. The son of a friend." And… for reasons I can't put my finger on to this day… I thought it important she know his story.

"How sad!" she remarked, full of concern, once I had finished. "Will you adopt him?"

She must have immediately seen my panic and was embarrassed. "Please, I should not have asked. You don't have to answer. That was very thoughtless of me."

I smiled, somewhat sadly. "I have considered it. But I'm not sure I am qualified to be his father and it troubles me."

"Roger, from just the wee bit I've observed this night, you have the best qualifications in the world. Your love for him is so evident and he clearly adores you. All the rest is unimportant."

"Thank you, Princess." And seeking to turn the conversation without being rude, I asked, "And how are your young ones?" But Kate's question haunted me.

She smiled and replied, "Well, Elizabeth is six going on twenty, if you get my drift. She thinks she's ready for cotillion any day now. And Rory? Tell me, Roger, from your experience as a teacher, does the 'terrible twos' ever end?"

"Well, usually," I assured her, chuckling. "It's often a matter of parental patience. And I'm sure your Rory will in due course. Although, I confess, certain adults seem to relapse in later life. Many politicians, mind you."

"Yes! Our current Prime Minister, for example."

"Careful, Kate," admonished Will from the front row.

"Sir, I can assure you that nothing discussed here will travel outside this box. Besides, I rather agree with Kate."

We all laughed heartily… confusing the youngest member of our party just a bit… and went back to enjoying the show before us.

When the 'Lone Piper' had pronounced his due, we enjoyed a light supper.

"Will, we must have Roger and Douglass to Balmoral," exclaimed Kate as I was preparing to take my sleepy charge back to our hotel.

"Capital idea," answered Will. "But," he said turning to me, "it won't be for some time. With Grandmother's health… well you can understand." I nodded. "By the bye, do you have transport?"

"I had thought we might walk," I answered. "It will be hell getting a cab just now."

Will walked over to the door and spoke to a member of his party, "Charles, please take one of our spares and deliver my guests to their hotel. That's a good man!"

After handshakes from Will and hugs from Kate… Will surprised us all by accepting a hug from Douggie… we were off. It's amazing what a royal standard on your car will do.

Douggie could probably have floated home without benefit of wheels. He was just about asleep and I had to undress him without much help. (Poor me!) As a traditional Scot would have done, he wore nothing under his kilt, but the rest of his outfit presented a challenge. But, finally he was completely bereft of clothing and I slid him into our shared bed.

Stripping myself, I joined him, spooning his naked body against mine. But Kate's question continued to haunt me.

The morning after our 'family visit' at the Tattoo, the day dawned bright and clear. Douggie was curled naked beside me, so, I slipped out of bed, got out my camera and took several sets of nudes of him, letting the sun and shadow from the overhead skylight fall where it would across his young, voluptuous body. About halfway through, he woke, stretched and decided to pose for me in the most erotic ways one could imagine.

That got us both aroused, so I put the camera on automatic and just let it record our fun. The little ham made sure he was fully exposed to the camera and went out of his way to make sure his pleasuring me was recorded. For my own part, I was a bit more inhibited, even with his prick in my mouth or my mouth on his nipple.

It would be our only set of 'sex pictures'… I preferred to call them 'love pictures'… and we guarded them with security that rivaled that of the Crown Jewels or even America's Fort Knox. They were for us alone although some of the less savory denizens of the Internet would have paid handsomely for them.

Even now, we often pull them out as a prelude to intense lovemaking.

But, all too soon, it was time to head north to Inverness again.

Douggie was very quiet for a while. I chalked it up to pure excitement; it had been a pretty intense weekend. But that wasn't it at all.

"Roger, can we pull over and talk?" he finally asked. I looked at his frightened face and I knew immediately whatever it was that had his knickers in a twist would not wait. So, I found a small pull-off and took it.

"What is it, Douggie?" I asked. "Didn't you enjoy the weekend?"

"Yes, oh yes. 'specially since it was with you. But I'm scared."

"What are you afraid of?" I asked with mounting concern

He sat there with tears welling up in his eyes and I pulled him over onto my lap and put my arms around him. "It's about Mom," he choked. "She's going to die and I'm just a little kid. Who will take care of me?" Charlotte had told me the pension from the railroad would stop once Emily passed on; Douggie wasn't entitled since he had been adopted. The court would probably throw that out, but in the meantime he would be alone and penniless. Well, not quite alone; there was his uncle.

"I know Douggie. I know she's very ill and won't get better. Mrs. McKenzie told me. I can't tell you how sorry I am. I wish there were something I could do."

"But there is," he replied through his tears.

"What is it?" I asked. A bolt of fear shot through me. Was he going to ask…?

"You could be my dad!"

Well, there it was. What did you expect, you eejit? I told myself. You throw yourself at him like a love-sick teen. What's the boy supposed to think?

I simply didn't know how to answer the question. After our glorious time together this weekend…. So, I tried to dodge the question… not a good trick to try with this child.

"What about your uncle?"

"He already has nine kids to feed. But, I don't want HIM. I want YOU! Don't you love me?"

"Oh, Douggie. I love you, yes. But I can't be your father. For one thing, I'm too old!"

He had me right where he wanted me, so he could bore in. "You're not old. You showed that the other night and this morning."

"But I would be a terrible father for you. I've never lived with anyone."

"Don't you stay with your brother's family on holiday?"

"Well, yes. But what do I know about raising a child?"

"You've been a school teacher and a very good one according to Mrs. McKenzie."

"But it's not the same."

He was determined, so he tried another tack. "You say you love me?" he asked.

"Yes, Douggie, I love you like a son!" Oooooops! Convicted out of my own mouth!

"See! And I love you more than anyone in the whole world except for my mom. And that's all that's important. That's all that's necessary."

For him, it was that simple. And that was what Kate had said, too. Why couldn't I have that same innocent faith? Because you're supposed to be an adult, Roger.

I tried one last oblique question. "Why are you asking me now?"

He burst into tears. "Because Mom's gonna die! Soon!"

All I could do was to hold the sobbing boy in my arms. "Oh, Douggie, Douggie! How can I tell you this?"

"You're gonna say no!" he wailed. "Please, please don't say no. I need you so much. I'm just a little kid. I need you to take care of me after Mom…. I need you to teach me how to be a man."

I realized without any doubt that a 'No' would destroy him.

Completely!

"Douggie, I'm not going to say 'yes' or 'no'. I need some time to think. And I need to talk to your Mom, too."

"She wants it, too. That's why she let me come this weekend. To find out how we would get along. It was supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!" Where on earth had he learned that word? Oh, yes… Mary Poppins.

Sensing my confusion, he grinned through his tears. But I had the distinct feeling I was being led along by Douggie and his mother.

I looked directly into those tear-rimmed eyes. "I promise you with all my heart that I will think very hard about it."

"Very hard?"

"Very hard!"

"Then everything will be OK, 'cause I know you'll make the right decision." There was no doubt what he thought the 'right' decision was. "Let's go home!" he said, satisfied. "Don't forget dinner at our house tomorrow night."

I pulled out onto the A9 again and delivered him safely to his mother in a little over an hour. He was still quiet, but had shed the look of fright.

For some reason, I slept like the dead that night. But when morning rolled around, high panic set in. Charlotte was visiting friends in Plymouth and I contributed handsomely to British Telecom's earnings… I spent two and one half hours on the phone with her.

The gist of our conversation… mostly her side… was, "I knew he was going to ask you sometime, but I didn't know it would be so soon. I fear Emily is in worse shape than we thought."

"But…"

"Roger, you would make a splendid father for Douglass. Don't give me that line about not being qualified. Raising a child is on-the-job learning and you'll be good at that. I know you really love the little guy and he adores you. Everything else is irrelevant. You will do whatever is required to keep him healthy and happy. And he will grow into a fine man… just like you. And I know Emily thinks the world of you and will be much comforted if her son is in your hands."

Notice the 'will's? Evidently everyone else knew what my decision was going to be. It's a pity they hadn't asked me first. I confess to being a bit angry… but, then was ashamed.

So, it came down to this: I could make a dear little boy insanely happy and comfort his mother in her final days, or I could be a selfish jerk and destroy both of them… and myself probably, too.

Some choice!

Monday evening, I appeared as directed. Both mother and son were waiting anxiously, I could tell. After dinner, Douggie excused himself and went to his room so Emily and I could talk privately. Looking at this diminishing, yet strong woman, a thousand thoughts warred within me.

"I hope Douggie enjoyed the weekend," I offered up lamely.

"He did," replied his mother. "I've not seen him so happy in a long time. But, I must apologize for using your time together for another purpose, but you see, I have about two more months according to doctor. So, it was important for Douggie to have any doubts assuaged."

"Emily, how sad!"

"Thank you, Roger. But, what will be, will be."

"Why did you choose me to be Douggie's new father?" I asked her.

"I didn't choose you, Roger. He did."

I looked at her with shock.

"When he returned last summer, he was distraught. He had found someone he could love and who loved him, and he didn't know if he would ever see you again. I can tell you when you appeared at his school, there was one very relieved and happy little boy once he found you were not angry at him for the deception he pulled on you. He'd been 'shopping' for some time and finally found the man he was searching for. The key was that little silver pin you bought for him. He sleeps with it under his pillow every night."

"And when you stood up for him against that awful brute, that sealed it so far as he was concerned. He's very much SGO and I believe you are, too. So the two of you fit splendidly."

"SGO?"

"Same gender oriented," she replied sending me into a state of sheer panic. I wanted to bolt from the house. She obviously read my feelings and continued, "While there are those who might object on moral grounds… I suspect, more likely they would simply be jealous… I have no doubts whatever about your integrity and your ability to raise him and your devotion to him. I know it's a huge thing to ask of you, Roger, but he needs a man like you in his life and I can go to God knowing he is in the best of hands." She reached out and put her hand on my arm.

It was decision time!

No, not really. The decision had been made when I invited a cold and lonely little boy to share a lower berth with me somewhere between Inverness and Edinburgh. I just didn't know it then.

I nodded, got up and trudged up the stairs. Knocking gently, I was shocked when the door was snatched open and he stood there waiting for the answer he wanted so desperately.

I held out my arms and he rushed into them. I could feel him shaking and his heart was racing. "I confess, I feel very unworthy and I'm scared to death. But I believe we might be a family, you and I. Douglass Guthrie, I will be your father if you will have me."

He gasped and then nearly smothered me with kisses.

To prepare for what we all knew would soon happen, Emily invited me to move into their house… so I could be close to Douggie and Douggie could be close to her. It was probably the best arrangement, considering, but it was sad to see this vital woman slowly going downhill. There was room in the house for my office and it was only a few doors from the school, so that worked out well and freed up some badly needed space there.

In addition, I let my small flat go and my 'housing allowance' provided a bit more financial security for them now that Emily could no longer work.

The die having been irrevocably cast, she and I met with her solicitor… a Mr. Barnes… and prepared the necessary codicil to her will naming me guardian of Douggie upon her death and trustee of the inheritance that would come to him. Her brother, John Trimble… yes, the friendly train guard… continued as executor and seemed quite satisfied with the notion that I would become Douggie's father. He already had nine offspring in his household and really did not need another to raise.

School started on time, and Douggie was in sixth year, his last with Charlotte before he moved on to upper school. Time seemed to drag as Emily was a little weaker each day. But, in early October, Charlotte called me at home one evening.

"Roger, I can't tell you how much I admire you for the decision you have made. Douglass told me right after school began and I am very happy for both of you."

"I just hope it is the best for him," I replied. "He's had enough pain and sadness for one boy. I just wish I felt a bit more sure of myself."

"And you think every parent doesn't feel the same way?"

"I guess so, but I never…." "Oh, bosh! You'll do splendidly. And I'm going to offer you an opportunity to prove it to yourself and Douglass."

"How so?"

"Each fall, from third year onward, the class goes on a special outing, usually a day away somewhere nearby. But, in sixth year, the outing is a five-day trip to a special place where all the children will be taught about outdoor living. It's held at a place called Lakeside on Lake Windermere in the Lake District. The facility is run by the YMCA and does a marvelous program with schools from all over Britain."

"Sounds like a great idea," I told her.

"Two of my 'class fathers' have always accompanied us and took charge of the boys. One of the class mothers helps me with the girls. But neither class father can go with us because of his job." I knew where this was leading as she continued. "One of them has recruited a neighbor whose son is also in the class, but could you possibly help out?"

"But I'm not Douggie's father… not yet. And who would take care of Emily and how would she feel?"

"My friend from the District Nurses will stay with her and she thinks this is a splendid idea. It might be the last chance before she…."

I like how these friends of mine plan my life for me, I chuckled to myself. "I guess it would be all right." Actually, I was pleased with the chance to be away with him again, even though it could not be quite as intense as our last 'outing'. "When do we leave and what will I be expected to do?"

"The Lakeside staff will do all the teaching and you and Walter will each have a cabin of eight boys to supervise at night and during meals. We leave early next Tuesday and return the following Sunday."

"Wait a minute! That's a two-day travel."

"Not if you go by air," she answered sweetly. "The former chair of our School Committee convinced the RAF to transport us as a practice mission. Sort of an 'evacuation' exercise. Some of the children have never flown before and I wager that none of them have ever traveled by troop carrier." I had to laugh. Our land needs more 'Charlottes'… a lot of them… and then we could all just go on holiday.

"OK! I'm in."

"Douglass said you would be."

The rascal!

The flight really did thrill all the kids… and me, too… and we set down at Lakeside just after noon. The RAF had even provided something called MRE's for the kids to munch on. For myself, I had hopes the food at Lakeside was a bit better… I need not have been concerned, as it was.

We spent the afternoon settling into our cabins. I had seven boys including Douggie and his best friend, Samuel, a polite and thoroughly charming black boy. Where Douggie was starting to put on a bit of bulk, Samuel was small and wiry� reminded me of a young Jaden Smith, the American movie actor. My cabin was short a boy… one had not come along.

"We can be glad his mother said no," Charlotte confided in me. "Dirk is a vicious bully and has probably spent more time in detention than all the rest of the school put together. His mother complains we pick on him because they are Irish. If by that she means my refusal to allow him to beat up younger children… boys and girls… or that I insist he refrain from using the most vile profanity, then I guess we pick on him. He's one of the few kids I have ever had whom I really dislike. He's headed for a life of crime, that one!"

Her outburst surprised me, but belying her emotional words, I could see she was genuinely concerned and sad for this boy. But I must confess I was relieved I didn't have to deal with him.

After a great spaghetti meal, there were a lot of droopy kids… no, they weren't drugged; it had just been a long and exciting day… so an early bedtime was not seriously contested. Our cabin had four sets of double bunks for my charges and a daybed for me. As I was supervising bladder emptying, teeth brushing and face washing and assisting 'uppers' into their spaces, Douggie leaned down from on high and whispered, "I'll be down to crawl in with you later."

"No, you stay where you are."

"Why?" he asked, his face a mask of shock. Then whispering again, "Why can't I sleep with you?"

"You just can't! Not here!"

"Don't you want me?"

"Yes, but we can't do it here. Trust me, please. I'll explain tomorrow." He had obviously thought we would be able to have more bed-time fun and I kicked myself for not being fully honest with him about our relationship and what the vast majority of society thought about men who have sex with little boys. It was a frightening moment, but I was reasonably sure none of the others had heard our exchange.

I tucked him in and withdrew to my day-bed. As I lay awake, I could hear six sets of deep breathing and one set of sniffles.

The next morning, he looked sad and dejected and I knew we had to have a serious talk. But it wasn't until 'quiet time' after lunch that the opportunity presented itself. I asked the director if I might have some time with Douggie and he readily agreed. "I know you are planning to adopt him," he told me, "so I understand completely. Why don't you use the chapel? It's quiet and no one will disturb you.

I thanked him, took Douggie in hand and we made our way there.

It was a sad, almost tearful boy who confronted me. "Why did you make me sleep alone last night?" he demanded. "I though you really loved me and I just wanted to show you how much I love you," he continued with his upper lip quivering.

"Douggie, come here, please."

And I wrapped him in my arms as he sobbed.

"Douggie, I love you more than you can possibly understand. More than anyone else in this whole world. More than life, even." He looked at me, blinking through his tears. "But, I haven't been completely honest with you or even myself."

He looked at me completely baffled.

"Do you know what abuse is?" I asked gently.

"Well, it's when a person hurts someone else without any reason."

"That's right and there are laws which protect young children from being abused by grown-ups, even their own parents."

"I don't understand."

"Douggie, my love, what you and I did on the train and what we did in the hotel in Edinburgh is considered abuse by the law."

It took him a minute to recover from that statement.

"NO! IT WASN'T ABUSE! YOU DIDN'T HURT ME! You made me feel good and I made you feel good and it was beautiful! And, and, and I want to do it lot's more!"

"And I do, too," I told him. "But it must be very private, and no one else must ever know. If they did, you and I could get into a lot of trouble. I would be sent to prison and we might never see each other again."

"Well, I would never, ever tell anyone about us, not even Mom," he wailed. "You can trust me!"

"Douggie, I would trust you with my life. But, that's why we can't do it here. There are too many other people about; people who just don't understand our love for each other. They would think I was evil."

"Well, that's stupid!" he retorted. "They're all a bunch of twits!"

"No, they're not. It's the way they have been brought up. They are pretty much good people. They just don't understand about us."

"Do you think Mom knows about us?"

"She probably does, but it doesn't bother her so long as you will be happy. That's real love, too, you know."

"Gosh! I never thought I was putting you in danger. Does that mean we can never do it again?" he started to tear up again.

"Never fear, little one. We will have our times. But they must be very private."

He sort of smiled. "I can wait, if you can."

I just hugged him.

"I have a question," he said. I nodded. "You know Samuel is my very best friend. Is it OK if we, do….. you know? Would that be abuse?"

"Do you trust him?"

"Yeah."

"Then it's OK. You're both kids and that's what boys your age do and the law doesn't apply if neither of you are adults. But, you still should not tell a single soul. Not me, not his mom or your mom. Just be very private."

"OK., I will. But I hope you and I can sleep together again."

"We will. Just be patient." I counseled.

That night, it seemed to me that most bunks held two boys and there was much whispering and giggling before silence reigned. Bunch of pint-sized studs, I thought. Might be fun to take them all on! I sighed.

But I knew that could never be. There was no way I was going to jeopardize Douggie and me.

The next day was quite warm and the boys were learning to build a bridge using logs and rope. In fact, it grew downright hot and most of the boys shed their shirts. The other class father was Walt and we stood watching our respective charges laboring mightily. He seemed like a nice guy… his boy was well brought up, it seemed… but he was a cop, a full detective sergeant I found out.

So I was a bit wary.

Especially, after he remarked seemingly casually, "Good looking bunch of kids, aren't they." I simply agreed with him and let it pass. "Some nice builds starting, out there. Best age there is, just on the brink. They like to show off at that age." He was right about that, but I wasn't playing his game.

If he was plumbing for information, I wasn't about to give him any. But, I wondered what it was like at home. He sort of tipped his hand with his next statement.

"Course, the girls are cute, too. I should know, I have one a year older and she thinks she's pretty hot stuff."

I let that remark pass, too. But I tried to be a little less demonstrative around my boys. Still, at the campfire that evening, I sat with my arms about the shoulders of two boys… one white, one black.

The rest of the week passed without any more 'cop games' and I really did enjoy myself. I had my doubts about Walt, however. My seven were a lot of fun; they liked me and I liked them. Well, for one boy it was more than just 'like'. Douggie played his role perfectly.

The flight home was a bit of an anticlimax, but the trip had been a smashing success. Was I a good father? At least two of my cabin mates though so. Douggie announced to his mom that I had been everything he had hoped for and young Samuel had confided when we shook hands goodbye, "I wish you could be my dad, too."

I mentioned to Catherine that I was more than satisfied with my time with my soon-to-be son and would be eternally grateful to her for the opportunity. I also told her my misgivings about Walt, even though I had no evidence he had misbehaved with his boys. I just did not like his attempting to 'probe'. She thanked me and said she would be wary of his involvement with the class.

But time moved inexorably onward and Emily's decline became precipitous. True to what she had told me, she passed away peacefully just before the start of Advent.

Douggie spent the next several days mostly in my arms, sobbing. Despite knowing for some time that her death was swiftly approaching, he gave full reign to his grief. Young boys do not easily say goodbye to their mothers. He managed to pull himself bravely together for the funeral on a cold and windy day… typical for December in Inverness.

Emily's brother had come north to be with us during this time and he and I spent many hours together. By the time he returned to London to await the probate court's ruling, he seemed quite sure that I was a good choice to adopt Douggie and he told me so. I wish I felt as sure as everyone else.

With just the two of us in the house, Douggie and I resumed sleeping together. He wasn't quite ready for real sex again, but just the feel of him beside me was quite enough for now. So we confined our activities to holding and comforting… I missed Emily, too.

From Charlotte's reports, Douggie seemed to be coping rather well with his loss and was obviously excited and looking forward to his formal adoption. In mid December, we were summoned to appear before the Probate Court, sitting at Inverness, which was handling the probate of Emily's will. Because of the codicil, there would be a formal adoption hearing and Mr. Barnes would represent us before the Duke of Dundee. John Trimble would also appear in his role as Emily's Executor.

The Duke opened the proceedings and immediately complimented Douggie on his very fine appearance… he had insisted on wearing the formal dress tartan he had worn at the Tattoo. I elected my best business suit. "Because of the codicil in Emily Guthrie's will," His Grace explained, "the court must ascertain that the adoption of this minor child is in his best interest."

John Trimble, Mr. Barnes and I all signified our acceptance and the hearing began.

"As executor, Mr. Trimble, you are the first to testify. Since you are Douglass Guthrie's nearest living relative, do you willingly forfeit your right to adopt your nephew in favor of that of Mr. Roger Middleton?"

"Yes, Your Grace. I am more than satisfied that Roger Middleton will bring up my nephew properly and provide him with a good home and much happiness," he replied.

"And you have no qualms about Mr. Middleton being named Trustee of the young boy's inheritance?"

"No, Your Grace. I am satisfied that Mr. Middleton will manage my nephew's estate for Douglass's benefit and only for his benefit."

"Very well. Thank you Mr. Trimble. Mr. Barnes, I understand you have a witness you wish to present?"

"Yes, Your Grace." A tall, slim man whom I did not recognize at first took the stand and was sworn. "Please state your name and occupation."

"I am Donald Flaharty, so I am," the man answered in a thick Ulster brogue. "I be the building super for Cauldeen Primary School, so I be."

"And what does this gentleman have to do with our proceedings?" asked the Duke, somewhat puzzled.

"Please, Your Grace," said Mr. Barnes, "allow him to tell you what he observed one day." The Duke nodded.

"The physical instructor in our school was a big brute, so he was. One afternoon, me and two other staff came upon him caning the blood out of young Master Guthrie. He was beating him to the inch of his life, so he was. Me and the others was afeared to go to the boy's aid, so we were. Mr. Middleton came on the run and hesitated not, but dispatched the bully and rescued young Master Guthrie with no thought for his own safety, so he did. He was brave, while the rest of us acted the coward. We all saw that he loved Master Guthrie and acted to protect him from cruelty."

"So you believe Mr. Middleton may have saved the boy's life?"

"Aye, Your Grace, so he did."

"Thank you Mr. Flaharty. You have been most forthright to come here and give testimony. You may stand down."

The Duke studied several papers Mr. Barnes had handed him and then announced, "I have here a sworn statement from a Charlotte McKenzie, Head Teacher for Cauldeen Primary School, lauding you as a valued and skilled colleague over many years to her school and many others in the North of Scotland. It is co-signed by scores of other teachers. Very impressive."

"Next, a letter from Mr. J. Nigel Newton, Chief Executive Officer, Bloomsbury Publishing PLC, your employer, Mr. Middleton, attesting to your many years of meritorious service to the firm and recommending the approval of your petition."

"And I am amazed," he continued, "to receive a letter from His Royal Highness, the Duke of Cambridge and Princess Katherine, likewise attesting to your sterling character and the affection you have demonstrated for Master Guthrie. It seems you have friends in high places who think very highly of you, Mr. Middleton."

I was surprised, too, but gratified. "Thank you, Your Grace."

"Now," said the Duke, turning to Douggie, "I call the subject of the petition, Douglass Guthrie, to the stand." My soon-to-be son rose, took his place and was sworn. "Douglass, you are of an age that your wishes must be considered before an adoption may take place. Are you willing to have Roger Middleton as your father?"

"Oh yes, Your Grace!" he replied. "My mom has gone to God and I miss her very much. But Mr. Middleton will take her place in my life and raise me to be a proper person. I know he loves me and I love him very much. No boy could ask for a finer man to be his dad. And I know Mom wanted it to be, too."

"Well said, young man. I would say, Mr. Middleton you have a fine example of boyhood to work with. Are there any others to be heard?"

Walt suddenly appeared on the stand. "I am Detective Sergeant Walter Jenkins of the Inverses-shire Constabulary. I have no objections to the adoption, Your Grace. I personally observed Mr. Middleton interact with his charge for several days on a school outing and found no fault whatsoever."

So he was spying on me! I could tell by the look on Charlotte's face that she was appalled. But I should have expected it. After all, I was not a relative and could have been a monster just waiting to seduce and bugger the boy. No, I would never have buggered any boy. But seduce? Well, it was Douggie who seduced me.

"There being no objections," the Duke stated, "then I shall approve the petition. Let it be known and so ordered that this minor child is now the legal son and heir of Roger Lawrence Middleton, to be henceforth known as Douglass Middleton Guthrie. God save the Queen!"

He was mine!

All mine!

And I was terrified!

Chapter 5
Life with Douggie

That broke the ice and I answered with a chuckle, "Yes we're still here. It's just a bit unreal, that's all."

Douggie just giggled, but then turned serious. "Are you really my dad, now? Truly, truly, really my dad?"

"Well," I replied, "I've a fancy paper here that says I am," and showed him the court order. "You want to back out?" He showed his disdain at that statement by punching my arm.

"Can I hang it on my wall," he asked.

"No, we'll have to give it to Mr. Barnes to keep safe. I just need to have it for a few days so Mrs. McKenzie can change your school records and I can change my company records."

"Oh," he said, looking disappointed.

"Tell you what." I said, as we approached a shopping district. "Charlotte, please take us round by Mr. Peet's Chemist."

We pulled up and got out as I led Douggie into the shop. "Good afternoon, Mr. Peet. This is my new son Douggie. We've just come from the court and I'd like to make a photo of the two of us."

"Good day to yourself, Mr. Middleton. Surely it would be a bonny day to have a photo made. Just step over this way." His equipment was of the newest type… able to produce finished photos in a matter of seconds.

He arranged us and took several poses and we finally chose one which seemed to capture the moment… both of us looking at our opposite with love and hope. "Would you wish a caption?" he asked.

"Yes," I replied. "FATHER AND SON FOREVER."

"Aye! 'Tis a grand caption." he assured us. "On such a bonny occasion, there will be no charge for the print. 'Tis a wonderful thing you'll be doin' for young Douglass. He's had much loss in his life and now you'll be putting it to rights."

Douggie chose a wooden frame… which I succeeded in paying for… and took home a trophy that he could hang on his wall.

That evening, in celebration, Charlotte took the both of us to a production of Lionel Bart's wonderful musical Oliver. Douggie alternately cheered and wept for the changes in Oliver's life. The young lead was magnificent with a voice like an angel, and when he plaintively sang

Where, oh where is Love?
Does it fall from skies above?

We knew the answer. Love made its home in two frail human beings, a man and a young boy who would love each other forever. We watched the rest of the play with Douggie in my arms.

Even though I had been living with them for some time before his mother's passing, Douggie and I had not had sex together since the time in Edinburgh. With his uncle in the house, I had had to show some propriety, too. And now, our moment had at last arrived but I wasn't at all sure how to proceed. Not for lack of want, I assure you. Should I 'come on' to him or should I let him make the first move?

I need not have worried, for as we were getting ready for bed that night, he came padding into my room… naked as the day he was born… and asked, "Can I sleep with you?"

I was going to refuse?

Once in bed I pulled him close and we 'spooned' We lay with my raging pole nestled in his crack with all that marvelous skin pressed to mine. Smooth and warm like the finest satin. He seemed to be trying to get inside me, as it were. My hands wandered across his chest and down to his jewels… those smooth little gems that hung just below his steel prick. He just lay there moaning with pleasure, completely in my power. To do what, I didn't know.

Pulling myself over him, I used my tongue to trace a path across his chest. His nipples had always protruded enticingly, so I was able to suck one into my mouth as I rubbed and tweaked the other, and he emitted little squeaks.

After a bit, I slid down and lifted those gorgeous boy-legs over my shoulders and went to work on the steel rod poking my chin. I ran my tongue all around his glans accompanied by a squeal… he would be a noisy bed-partner, it seemed. Working his shaft and glans with lips and tongue, I was soon rewarded with his nectar as he screamed his head off and went to some far-off place.

When I was finally sure he would return to Earth… his screams of pleasure gradually subsiding to whimpers… I pulled him over on top of me and let him taste some of his own cum as we kissed deeply, tongues entwined.

Of course, he had to service me… he insisted vehemently… and soon had me at about the same state as he had been. I thought back to the first time he had done me… somewhere between Newcastle and Lutton.

By the time my heart had stopped hammering, he was asleep in my arms. It would be the first of many nights… but not every night… we would lie together.

Christmas! Our first Christmas together. He still grieved for his mother but was determined not to let it spoil the occasion.

We went to Christmas Eve Service at St. Andrews. As he sat with his candle illuminating his face in the dimly lit sanctuary, he seemed to glow with an unearthly light. The boy-choir… part of the National Youth Chorus of Scotland… was superb. But, I discovered to my great pleasure that my son had a truly wonderful singing voice… lovely, crisp, bell-like tones every choir-boy strives for.

And when he took the high-notes in Oh Holy Night it made my hair stand on end. Indeed several of those seated near us turned to see where all the lovely sound was coming from and remarked upon it when we greeted them after the service. Douggie smiled bashfully and thanked them.

Christmas Day, we exchanged gifts… a Dell Netbook for Douggie and a silver cross on a chain for me. It was similar in design to the pin I had given him on that fateful day in Edinburgh. We had not gotten on about an allowance for him, so he had earned the money to buy it by doing odd-jobs about the school for Charlotte. And she went with him to pick it out. I was rather sure she may have subsidized it a bit, too.

I did not restrict his use of the Netbook, so long as his health and school grades did not suffer. After all, what was he likely to see on the Internet that would be damaging, given our sexual relationship? I'm sure he was subjected to the usual lures, but they were of no interest to him and he quickly sent the perpetrators of such filth packing.

But the real gift of that Christmas was that Douggie had given himself to me. He was the son I had never dared to hope I might have, and beautiful beyond description. Yes, his body was beautiful… painfully so. But even more important was the beauty of his intellect, the beauty of his spirit that had transformed me.

New Year's Day, we cuddled together most of the day. But toward evening we discussed… and we agreed… about the chores that would be his about our home. And he would receive a weekly allowance… 1 pound, 50p to begin with… which was his to spend as he saw fit. That was a freedom he had never had before and he never once betrayed my trust. And we agreed, also, on a few simple rules that he was expected to follow… always be truthful with each other and do your very best in school and all other facets of our life together.

The first weeks were difficult ones for him. His grief for his mother was still very much in evidence. That made him moody and sometimes boiled over into outright rebellion. One evening I found fault with a sloppily-written paper he had done as homework and he lit into me with a vehemence that shocked me.

"I hate you! You don't really love me," he bawled. "You just want my body! You just want me for sex!"

I felt as if he had plunged a knife into me.

Seeing my look of distress and shock must have frightened him. It certainly shook him out of his pique. He ran into my arms and cried hysterically, "No! I didn't mean that! Please forgive me. I don't know why I said that! It isn't true! I love you very much and I know you love me. It's just, just, just…."

"I know you miss her, Douggie, and I do too. And I forgive you for what you said. It wasn't the Douggie I know who was talking, it was your sorrow."

"But I…"

I pressed my finger to his lips. "You made a mistake. And your mistakes will always be forgiven, my love." His answer was to simply hug me harder.

Most of the time he was loving and very well behaved. But he did have his moments, culminating in a report from Charlotte that he had been in a fight with the class bully and then called the boy's mother 'a bloody Irish whore' when she intervened. It was probably an accurate description, Charlotte confided to me; but we both knew I had to punish him.

"How should I punish him?" I asked, at a loss.

"Well, a bare-bottom spanking over the lap always worked for my brothers," she told me. "He's testing limits. All children do, especially boys. He's looking for assurance that you love him enough to punish him when he misbehaves. You need to demonstrate this… that you are brave enough to spank him."

Her words gave me comfort, but also fright. Had I been too lenient with him? Was I really brave enough to do what she recommended?

That evening, he was sullen and withdrawn.

After supper, I confronted him. "Douggie, Mrs. McKenzie told me what happened today. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Well he was hitting a third year girl and I, and I, made him stop. Are you going to punish me for that?"

"No. But I am going to punish you for what you called his mother."

"Oh, that," he said, looking down at his shoes.

"Yes, that. Drop your jeans and underpants."

"Are you going to cane me?"

"Douggie, I promised I would never cane you and I will not break that promise. But I am going to spank you and you may wish I had caned you instead. Now get over my lap!"

He complied and I looked down on two smooth melons. Running my hands over them, I kneaded them in preparation.

My first smack on his right cheek made him jump but he did not cry out.

My next on the opposite cheek brought forth a squeak, and I continued on, alternating sides. By the time I reached ten, he was sniffling and when I stopped at thirty he was bawling his head off and kicking. His little ass was bright red, but not bruised.

Pulling him into my arms, I held him until his sobs subsided. "That hurt," he protested.

"It was supposed to," I replied. "But, it's over and done. I know you'll try to be a better boy."

His reply astounded me. He looked up at me, tears still staining his cheeks. "I was bad and you punished me like a real dad would," he said with wonder. "You really are my real dad! I'll never doubt you again, never ever!"

Charlotte had been right.

One Friday afternoon, I took a call from her. "I just wanted you to know," she said. "Douggie is quite upset over something that happened in class today."

"Oh?" I asked.

"In our history lesson, we came upon the mention of 'slavery' in Great Britain. There's a black boy in the class, Samuel Green. He and Douggie are good friends even though they compete fiercely to be the best scholars I have."

"Yes, I've met him." I answered. "During the class trip. He was in my cabin."

"I had forgotten," she replied. "I've met Samuel's mom; she's a single parent who works full time and is going to school to earn her teacher's certificate. She doesn't have a lot of time to nurture the boy, so I try to give him a bit from time to time, too."

"We got into quite a discussion this afternoon about slavery and, to my utter amazement, she had made sure Samuel knew all about his slave roots and he was proud to share his story with us."

"When Samuel had finished, one of the other boys… you can guess whom… made a very hurtful and vicious remark. It drove Samuel into hysterical tears and I had him in my lap for most of a quarter-hour before he recovered."

"I'm sure you have seen that Douggie is very sensitive about his friends. If he perceives one of them being hurt or treated unfairly, he takes it very personally. I was afraid I was going to have a second boy in my lap, but he managed to hold himself in check. But, I think he will need some TLC and I know you are a much better historian than I."

"Well, thank you, Charlotte," I answered. "I can imagine he'll have lots of questions, most of them starting with 'Why?' Be prepared for a history lesson from one of your students, on Monday."

"I will," she chuckled.

I could tell immediately he was 'down'… seriously so. Dinner was silent and he looked drawn and tense. Finally, I asked him, "Do you want to tell me about it?"

He looked at me with surprise, but suddenly realized I had read him like a book.

"In class today, Mrs. McKenzie said that Britain once had slaves. I didn't know we had slaves, but she said that was long ago. My friend, Sammy, said that was how his family came to Britain. His great, great, grandfather was a young boy in Africa when he and three of his friends were captured and sold to slavers to work the tin mines in Cornwall."

"Except, two of his friends died during the horrible trip in a slave-ship. When they got here, they had to work very hard in the mine and were beaten almost every day. They never had enough to eat and nearly froze in the winter because they were kept naked. The work was too hard for his last friend who died, too."

"But, once he grew up, he was sold to a duke and served in his house. He met a woman and they had a son who was Sammy's great grandfather and was finally set free."

"That's a sad story," I told him.

"Yeah, but even sadder was what that bully Dirk said. He said, 'All you niggers should have stayed slaves so you could work hard and the rest of us could have fun beating you.' Can you imagine that?"

"Sammy was really hurt and I was so angry at Dirk! Mrs. McKenzie held Sammy for a long time and he just cried and cried. I almost did, too. But I tried to be brave. I wanted to punch Dirk in the nose, but I knew that would just make things worse. So I didn't. But then, Beth Ann put Dirk in his place. Told him he was a bully and didn't belong with nice people. Dirk just looked around in shock, 'cause we all agreed with Beth Ann."

"You did the right thing, son," I told him. "I'm sorry your friend was hurt so badly."

He was quiet for a bit and I could see the questions coming.

"Dad, why did we have slaves in Britain? Who gave us the right to have other people as slaves?"

"It's a long story, son, but the short answer is 'ignorance and greed.' White people like you and me just didn't think of black Africans as people. They weren't animals, but they weren't people, either."

"Do people still think like that today?"

"Some do, I'm ashamed to say. But parliament abolished slavery in 1834 and our country was one of the first to work to abolish the buying and selling of slaves all over the world. In the United States, they fought a long and bloody civil war before the matter was settled."

"Are there still places that have slaves?"

"Yes," I sighed. "If you were to go to certain places you would see little kids just like you who are slaves. And not all of them would be black. Some would be blond and blue-eyed and red-headed just like you and your friends."

"But why?"

"Douggie, slavery has existed in this world since the very beginnings of civilization. Do you remember the story of Joseph in the Bible? He was sold by his brothers to the king of Egypt. Before England and Scotland were united, English raiders would steal little kids from Scotland to be slaves in England and Scots would do the same to English boys and girls."

"Boys and girls?"

"Yes, and on both sides the little girls were often raped and sometimes the boys, too." I had to be a bit careful, here, as he was close to tears and I decided not to tell him about 'Prima Nocte' either. "Sometimes they were treated kindly, but not often. Mostly, they had to work very hard and were beaten every day."

"I… didn't know… boys could… be raped!" he said with distress.

"They can and they sometimes even are today," I answered.

"But, how?" he asked, his face a mirror of distaste.

I hadn't planned our discussion should take that turn, but I had to be honest with him. "A man or an older boy forces his prick up a younger boy's ass."

"Oh!" he gasped. "Doesn't it hurt?"

"Yes, a lot."

A scene from my past suddenly flashed before my eyes. I was eleven years old and had just joined Boy Scouts at the urging of my dad. The members of my 'six' were initiating me while the rest of the troop looked on. They held me face-down over a barrel… I was naked… and the senior forced his man-sized prick up my hole. I screamed and fought them, but there was nothing for it. He pumped his seed into me and I felt humiliated and used, not to say sore. When he pulled out, I bled for some time.

I must have turned white because Douggie immediately asked, "Dad, are you all right?"

"Yes," I answered. "I once had it done to me. Part of an initiation into a scout troop. And it hurt… a lot!"

"When I refused to return to the troop, my Dad wanted to know why. When I told him, he was angry, but he didn't do anything about it. But I promised then I would never, never do that to any little boy."

"So you would never do that to me?"

"Douglass Middleton Guthrie, I would never do that you and if anyone else tried to, I would strangle him."

"But I don't understand why white people thought black people were only fit to be slaves. How could these men be so stupid and cruel?"

I thought for a minute before answering him.

"There was an American by the name of Thomas Jefferson. He was a very learned man, highly educated and he became one of their outstanding presidents. He wrote their Declaration of Independence and in it he wrote:"

"We hold these truths to be self-evident; that all men are created equal."

"Those words sound might nice, don't they?" Douggie nodded. "But they didn't apply to the black slaves Jefferson owned." He looked at me in shock.

Before my son could ask another 'why' question, I continued.

"That was what people believed in those days. Black Africans were not human, so it was OK to make slaves of them! Most of us would disagree, today. But not all of us. I'm sure the nasty boy in your class is just repeating what his parents say."

"How did kids like me get to be slaves?" he asked.

"Well some were captured in raids, but consider this. In the 19th century, if your parents had died, you would have been sent to a place called a 'workhouse'. It was a polite name for a prison. And there, you would have been treated just like a slave. Do you remember the little boy, Oliver, in play we saw? A famous English writer named Charles Dickens wrote that story, Oliver Twist, about him. You'll probably read it in your class some day. That story turns out happily for the lad, but many children died cruel and painful deaths in those workhouses. But, eventually, we learned better and began to obey Jesus's command, 'Suffer the little children to come unto me, for such are the kingdom of heaven'."

"Will I ever be a slave?"

"Douglass," I told my son holding him in my arms, "I would give my life to save you from that."

He burst into tears.

We spent that night locked in each others arms.

The next morning we lay abed for a while… it was a Saturday and neither of us had to be in school that day. "Are you feeling a bit better about yesterday?" I asked.

"A little," he replied. "But I sure would like to help Sammy. He's a wizard kid and my very best friend and I know he was very hurt. His mom doesn't have much time for him 'cause she works and goes to school. A lot of the time he's home alone."

"The best way you can help him is by continuing to be his friend," I told him. "Show him that you and I think he is just as good as any of us. If he needs a hug occasionally, give him one. If you think he would like to visit, bring him home for supper sometime. Or for a sleepover. I'll wager his mother could use a little 'down' time occasionally."

He was all smiles and we enjoyed the rest of the weekend.

It was several days into the next week when he called me one noon-time to ask if he might bring Samuel home for dinner. "His mom is going to be late tonight," he told me.

"Certainly," I replied. "As long as it is OK with his mother." He assured me it was, so I asked him, "What are you going to make for him?"

"Me? Make?" he stammered.

"Just teasing. Have Samuel tell his mother that I will bring him home right after dinner."

Later that afternoon, I pulled two trays of shepherd's pie from the freezer and set them to warming in the oven as I waited for my son and his guest.

They came skipping in a bit after three, full of excitement. Samuel greeted me politely and thanked me for inviting him as he shook my hand. He stood there fidgeting for a moment looking up at me hopefully.

Suddenly, I realized what he wanted and I extended my arms to him. He flew into them as Douggie giggled in the background. "Thank you, sir. I've missed you since the camp."

Completely shocked, I invited Douggie to join us for a three-way hug before sending them off to Douggie's room and homework.

Dinner was a treat… shepherd's pie was one of my son's favorites and Samuel had never had it before. But it was soon over and time to take Samuel home. Douggie hugged his friend and went off to finish his homework.

When we arrived at his house, Samuel gave me another big hug and then took me to meet his mom. "I do appreciate you taking Samuel tonight," she told me. "I knew class would be late and so often he's here alone."

"My pleasure, Mrs. Green," I replied. "I got to know Samuel during the camp trip and he's a fine young man and a pleasure to have about. You have done a splendid job raising him."

"Why thank you, Mr. Middleton."

"Please call me 'Roger'.

"And you must call me 'Melinda'.

"I shall be honored. And I must tell you how much I admire your efforts to make a better life for you and your son. I know how hard it must be both working and studying for your certificate and I want you to know that Samuel is welcome for dinner at our house whenever the need arises. Just let me know so I can put a bit more water in the soup," I teased.

We both laughed

After that, Samuel was a rather frequent dinner guest, much to the delight of my son.

It was a month or so later that Melinda Green called me one day. "Roger, I have a terrible favor to ask of you. I have an interview for a position on Friday for which I shall have to be away overnight. Would it be too much to ask if you might look after him while I'm gone?"

"Not at all, Melinda. And I think Douggie would be very happy to have an overnight guest."

By the time Friday came around, my son was bouncing off the walls with excitement.

After dinner, we watched some movies on the telly before the boys adjourned to Douggie's room. I had equipped it with bunk-beds in anticipation of a sleep-over although it was likely the top bunk would be hardly used. True to my prediction, I heard lots of giggles and moans from within their lair before sleep finally took them.

When I was ready to turn in, their door was slightly ajar and I peeked in. Yep! Two boys in the bottom bunk, fast asleep with their arms around each other.

With a guest in the house, I decided I best sleep in my boxers and t-shirt, even if it did feel a bit strange. Thank heavens I did for when I awoke early the next morning, I was surprised to find two pajama-clad bodies snuggled next to me.

Melinda's interview yielded results and she accepted a position in Manchester for the next term. That, of course, meant she and Samuel would be moving away. Both Douggie and I were happy they would have a better life even though we were sad to say farewell to this wonderful mom and her outstanding son.

Douggie was a bit 'down' at missing his best friend, but a new challenge soon thrust itself into our lives. My position called for me to travel throughout northern Scotland to meet with teachers and school committees. Who would care to him while I was away? In the excitement of his adoption, I had not even considered that aspect of our lives.

Fortunately Charlotte stepped forward and I was able to plan a two-day swing to Aberdeen and the east of my territory.

When I arrived home the second day, Douggie dashed from the house and nearly bowled me over with his emotional greeting. "Oh Dad! You've come back!" he sobbed. "I missed you sooooo much!"

I looked over at Charlotte completely mystified.

She shook her head sadly. "He's lost his first father and his mom and he's been terrified that something awful would happen to you and he would lose you, too. But for that, he was no trouble at all and I enjoyed having him, but I don't think it will work."

It took me most of the night holding and comforting him before he recovered his equilibrium once more.

The next morning, I sat down with Charlotte. Clearly we needed to think this situation through. "Charlotte, I have to travel in my job. What am I to do?"

"Well," she answered, "even though I would love to have him, it's clear he isn't comfortable staying with me. I suspect you'll have to take him with you."

"But how can I do that? He'll miss school."

"I've thought about that," she answered. "Where are the places you would normally overnight?"

"Aberdeen, Pitlochry, Fort William, Dundee, Wick, Thurso and Portree," I answered, "but I usually stay several days at each place and visit schools in nearby towns."

"If I remember rightly, you are usually away about a week, except for your swing north."

"Well, yes, but I can't have him missing school for that long."

"All those places you would stop in have good public libraries. I know most of the librarians and I'm sure they would welcome him. I'll send his schoolwork along and he can use his computer and work at the library while you are making your calls. They all have Internet connections, so he can send his completed work to me for corrections."

"In fact," she continued warming to the subject, "we might even be able to set up a few on-line sessions with the rest of the class."

I was flabbergasted. "Do you really think that would work?"

"Roger," she replied, "you do such good work with all of us, I would hate to see you leave your post. And we can't have Douglass sad and frightened every time you go away."

"But what happens next year when he goes to upper school? Surely they're not going to permit such an arrangement."

"Let's solve this year's problem," she answered. "Perhaps by next year he'll feel a bit more secure."

So we agreed to try the great experiment. Douggie was game, even excited.

Our first swing was to Fort William and Portree, staying three days at each. The arrangement with the local librarians worked well; they were quite happy to have an enthusiastic student in their midst and both complimented me on his behavior. Our nights were spent together practicing other lessons. I had never seen him quite so happy.

I planned our route home so we could spend the weekend at Cairngorm Mountain Ski Area just east of Aviemore. It was an introduction to the sport for both of us.

After our return to Inverness, Charlotte reported that Douggie was the envy of all his classmates, but he seemed to be thriving.

I made several other short trips, but the 'big one' was coming up as soon as the weather broke… the far north, including the Shetlands, and Orkneys. We would be gone for almost three weeks and I decided to make Thurso our headquarters. I booked us rooms at the St. Clair. The library in Thurso had been recently refurbished and Mrs. Hannah, the Senior Network Librarian for Caithness, Sutherland and East Ross greeted us warmly.

After we had settled in, I insisted Douggie take Mrs. Hannah to lunch each day and he felt and acted very grown up to be entrusted with that task.

Chapter 6
Disaster

The first weekend, I decided we would visit Orkneys. It was a good lesson in geography and natural history for him. We would stay in Stromness and I would meet with their school committee before we returned to Thurso on Tuesday.

On our way back to the ferry, we passed a large sort of castle surrounded by a high stone wall. Consulting our guide book, Douggie informed me, "It was once a monastery, but now it's owned by a rich man. He allows tours, but I don't think I'd want to go there." From the forbidding look of the place, I was inclined to agree with him.

A similar trip to the Shetlands over the next weekend gave my son still another glimpse of the sometimes hard life in the north of our land.

Wednesday of our third week, I had a long meeting with the school committee in Wick and it was after dark when I retrieved my student son from his 'classroom'. As we walked toward the car park, we were suddenly confronted by a man brandishing a pistol.

"Give me the boy!" he ordered.

Pushing Douggie behind me, I told the man, "No, I will not!"

"By God, you will!" the man snarled.

I saw the flash from the muzzle of his gun and felt a searing pain at the side of my head before everything went black.

The next thing I remember was a constable leaning over me while Mrs. Hannah stood nervously in the background. "Easy there, sir. You've a gunshot wound but it just grazed your head. The ambulance is on the way. Lucky for you Mrs. Hannah found you afore you bled out."

I struggled to look about, but did not see Douggie. "My son? Where's my son?"

"Yes!" she said. "He had his son with him. They left the library together."

"I'm sorry, sir. But we found no boy."

"Constable, it's just like the others," said Mrs. Hannah, gripping his shoulder.

"Just be still!" he admonished her.

At that moment, the medics arrived, gave me a shot and loaded me into the ambulance. "Where's my son?" I cried weakly as the shot began to take hold.

When I awoke, a doctor in scrubs was looking down at me. "Well Mr. Middleton, you've been very lucky. A bit to the left and you would be gone. Bled like the devil… head wounds always do… but you'll be right as rain."

"Please doctor," I managed. "Do you know where they've taken my son?"

"I'm afraid not. You'll have to ask Inspector Short about that. Now you just rest. He'll be wanting to talk to you later this morning."

I lay there and the cold truth dawned on me. Douggie… my Douggie… had been taken! Abducted! But why? And sorrow engulfed me. Who had taken my precious boy and what did he want of him?

Mrs. Hannah slipped into the room. "They won't let me stay long, but I wanted you to know how horrible I feel about Douglass. He's a fine boy and to have this happen… it's too much to bear! I did give the constable the picture from your son's library card."

"I thank you for your concern," I told her, "but I'm sure he will be found shortly."

"I'm very much afraid that might not be!" she answered, starting to cry. "There have been others, about four or five in the past several years. And not one has been found. Their parents were shot, too, just like you, only they died."

A police inspector entered and made Mrs. Hannah leave so he could talk to me.

"Mr. Middleton, I'm Inspector Short. I'm terribly sorry for your mishap and I assure you we will try to find your son. But you must understand we are woefully understaffed and much of our time is spent on matters of state security." As it turned out they had completely missed a small boat the night before that had put out from Crosskirk only five kilometers [three miles] away and headed north into the open sea.

"But I understand, my son is not the first."

"Well, no he is not."

"And the others have not been found."

"That's true, but we will do our best. Now I suggest you try to rest. The doctors want to keep you for a few days and I'll be by with some papers for you to sign before you leave."

"I'm not going to leave until my son is found," I informed him.

"That might not be wise," he replied, showing his annoyance with me. And he left.

I asked the nurse for my cell-phone and put in a call to Charlotte. Once I had explained what had happened, she was as horrified as I was. I promised to keep her informed.

The next several days were some of the worst of my life. The Inspector assured me they were diligently searching for Douggie, but I had the distinct impression it wasn't high on their list of priorities. When the doctors finally released me, I stormed into the Inspector's office and demanded action.

After listening to my intemperate shouting for some time, he finally silenced me. "Mr. Middleton, go back to Inverness and let me do what I think best for you and Thurso. I will not have any more of your interference!"

I don't remember much of my drive back to Inverness, but I don't think I caused any roadway mayhem. I had advised Charlotte I was coming home and she was waiting at my house.

I cried on her shoulder like a little child for most of an hour. I was lonely for my son, terrified at the thought of what might be happening to him and angry for what I perceived as a 'brush off' by the Thurso authorities. She was all of these things, too, but did a better job controlling it. She, too, was incensed by the cursory investigation by Inspector Short and his minions.

I did try to do some work over the next several days, but was completely ineffectual. The first time I tried to visit a classroom, the sight of those eager faces sent me fleeing in tears, leaving behind a chaos of frightened children. My meetings with teachers and school committees were equally unproductive. The flame of my very existence… certainly that which drove my professional life… had been all but extinguished.

To their very great credit, Bloomsbury kept me on for some months and I was grateful for their support. But, finally they needed to cut their losses and I was forced to take a redundancy.

After that, I simply sat in my house and stared at the walls. If it had not been for Charlotte's care and concern… and sometimes angry prodding… I literally would have starved to death.

It had now been four months and there had been no sign of Douggie.

One morning I received a surprise telephone call.

"Roger, this Will. I can't begin to tell you how sad Kate and I both are. One of my aides is from Thurso and he told me about Douglass and the others who have mysteriously disappeared there. I made inquiries and found, to my dismay, all the cases… including your son's… had been marked 'unsolved' and closed."

"I immediately went to my father and he was livid. I was present as he called in the Prime Minister and the Director of Scotland Yard for an explanation. I have never before known him to be quite as angry with a public official as when they tried to weasel out of what he termed their abject dereliction of duty. When the Prime Minister tried to cite 'national security concerns', the King almost exploded. 'If our children can be randomly plucked off the streets and their parents murdered in the process, all your efforts at national security are simply twaddle. I strongly suggest you reorder your priorities, Prime Minister, lest I be forced to discuss this matter with the gentlemen from Fleet Street.' And his glare rivaled that of the Greek gods."

"The Prime Minister actually wilted. I'm told the Director was sacked before they were clear of the palace grounds."

"The upshot is a new director who has appointed Chief Inspector Arthur Owenby and given him full carte blanch to pursue the matter. I've met Owenby and he is the very best. I'm sure he will be in touch with you shortly."

"Oh Your Highness, how can I ever thank you?"

"Roger, it's 'Will', please. As for thanking me, both Kate and I are as anxious as you are to have Douglass back in your arms. Don't lose hope. We know he's been gone for some months, but there have been several cases in America where the child was found and returned after quite a long time."

"Thank you, Will," I gasped and he rang off.

Owenby appeared the very next day. "I want you to know how truly sad at your loss and angry at the travesty of disinterest that has taken place. I assure you I have the full backing of my superiors and… even His Majesty… to pursue all matters. I have ordered a score of airborne search teams into action and we will search under every bush and tree in all of Scotland if necessary. I have the full cooperation of the authorities on Shetland and Orkney for diligent watch to the north."

I thanked him for his concern and was relieved by his professionalism. We spent most of the day as I reviewed in meticulous detail what had happened. By the time we had finished, I felt marginally more hopeful.

But as the weeks… no months… dragged on with no results, I began once again to slip into depression. The seasons passed and it was spring once again and my beautiful son… my reason for life… was still missing. Owenby was doing his best. But was his best going return Douggie to my bosom?

Then suddenly one day came the telephone call I had wished so fervently for… and feared equally fervently. "Mr. Middleton, this is inspector Owenby. We've found your son."

Fear coursed through my very being. After all this time was he?????

At last one day came the telephone call I had wished so fervently for… and feared equally fervently. "Mr. Middleton, this is Inspector Owenby. We've found your son."

Fear coursed through my very being. After all this time was he?????

"Well, actually he found us," continued Owenby. "He's alive but very poorly. There was another little boy with him and we're transporting both of them to Royal Sick Kids in Edinburgh. I suggest you may want to go there quickly, but I don't have any transport available. If you can drive, we'll send an escort to meet you on the A9."

I somehow mumbled that I would leave immediately and he rang off, leaving me holding the silent phone, sitting on the floor in shock.

With shaking hands I rang Charlotte. "HE'S ALIVE!" was all I could gasp into the phone when she answered. We both sat there crying. "They've taken him to Edinburgh and I'm leaving at once." At that point I was oblivious to the fact that I no longer had a car.

"How will you travel?" she asked.

"I'll drive, only…"

"Roger, you have no car and you are in no condition to drive. I'll be there in ten minutes."

"Charlotte, I can't ask you to…"

"Nonsense! Now just be patient for a few moments."

We started down the A9, Charlotte dodging traffic and screaming through the lay-byes like a grand prix driver. Our 'escort' met us a bit south of Dunfermline and we roared into Edinburgh and up to the hospital.

Literally pushing me out of the car, she admonished me, "Go to your son. I'll park and find you."

I staggered into the building and up to the security guard on duty. "I'm Roger Middleton and they've brought my son here."

"Right, sir! Inspector Owenby said to expect you." He summoned another guard and told him, "This is the boy's father. Please take him to Dr. Cromie's service."

Owenby was waiting for me outside an intensive care unit. "Mr. Middleton, I can't begin to tell you…"

"How is he?" I interrupted.

"Rather badly battered, I'm afraid," he answered. "There was another little boy with him who is even in worse condition and they were both on Orkney. We strongly suspect the local constabulary was complicit in hiding them and perhaps the disappearance of the other boys as well. They've all been detained."

"Does he know…?"

"That you are alive? Yes. He was told during the flight here once we discovered he thought you dead. Once he heard that, I believe he decided to live once more. Up to that point, he was most concerned about the other little boy and the two of them were very depressed even after being rescued."

At that moment a doctor in scrubs came out of the ICU and over to us. "Mr. Middleton, I'm Doctor Cromie. I've just finished with the two boys and I want you to know first off that I found no life-threatening conditions. Lots of grievous wounds, but your son should heal physically in time. I know that must be a comfort to you."

"Yes doctor, Thank you," I replied. "How badly is he?"

"Let's go into my office," he suggested. And Owenby left us so we could discuss Douggie's condition in private.

"First off, he's terribly malnourished. He's been beaten repeatedly and there are numerous cuts over his face and chest; I'm afraid there will be some scaring. We removed rings from various parts of his body including his genitals, but I don't expect any long-term effects from those."

"Yes, he was raped… repeatedly, he told us… and I mended several tears in his colon. But, somewhat miraculously, there was no infection. They apparently used paraffin like an antiseptic… not terribly effective, but in this case kept the nasties at bay. I'm afraid much of it soaked into his skin, however. We'll do our best to clean him, but it may take a while. Aside from a badly bent nose which I straightened, there don't seem to be any broken bones."

Doctor Cromie's description gave me some comfort, but not much. "And the other little boy?"

"Much the same, I'm sorry to say. With one major difference. His eyes were burned out with acid." The good doctor tried very hard to control his grief, but I could tell we thought alike…what kind of perverted monster could do that to a little boy?

"May I see him?" I asked hopefully.

"Yes, of course. We've put him to sleep for the night and we'll keep him in ICU overnight, but come along. I warn you, however, you will not like what you see. Physically, he looks much worse than he really is."

Cromie outfitted me in scrubs and I was soon at my son's bedside.

He looked gaunt and shrunken… the year-and-a-half of near starvation all too evident. Those gorgeous boy-legs that I had so often lovingly caressed looked like gnarled sticks. The cuts on his body stood out and his once prominent nips were red and inflamed where the rings had been forced through them. His prick was swathed in dressings… probably best that I could not see the damage there. But he was catheterized and there was a feeding tube in his nose. He had a number of deep lacerations on his groin and the tops of his legs, inflicted during his escape, I was later told.

But his face! Despite the scars he would carry forever, it was still the most beautiful face in all of Christendom! He was my Douggie! And he was back with me again!

I simply put my head down into my hands and bawled as Doctor Cromie gently led me back to his office.

He gripped me by my shoulders, "I know it's tough to see him that way, but everything visible will heal… not without some scaring, however. But it's the invisible… his emotional injuries, and they are considerable, I fear… that will require all the love and strength you can give this boy."

"Doctor, I will give my very life for him. He is my son and I will do whatever is needed to make him whole again."

"Good man! I was sure you would. Tomorrow we'll move him to a regular room and you will be able to be with him constantly. We've set aside a room for you next to his and it's yours as long as you wish. Your meals are also taken care of. So I suggest you get some rest."

Charlotte was waiting when we left Cromie's office. She looked at me expectantly and held out her arms.

"He's in pretty bad state," I told her from the comfort of her embrace. "But I believe he's going to be all right. I don't know how to thank you for all you done for me over the months, especially today."

"Roger, consider it repayment for your courage to love this lad who has suffered so much and courage to face whatever is ahead. Very few men could have done likewise." And she left to return to Inverness. I promised to keep her informed.

Sleep did not come easily that night.

Owenby met me for breakfast the next morning while I waited for the medical staff to move my boy into his room next to mine. "He escaped by climbing a high stone wall… getting some pretty bad lacerations in the while… and was, fortunately, found by a postman. He immediately called his superior… thank heavens he did not notify the local constable… and the postmaster informed me. We had asked postmen throughout all of Scotland to keep an eye out, never expecting it would be on Orkney."

"I had a search group in the air not far away and they immediately invested the compound after your son gasped out a few details. It was a former monastery."

I shuddered, remembering when we had passed the forbidding place.

"My men were just in time to prevent the owner from emasculating the other little boy. But in the confusion he escaped into the bowels of the building. By the time they found him, he had taken his life. Unfortunately, we found the remains of four other boys in a pit within the cell in which your son and the other little boy were held."

An orderly, approached and told me I could now be with my son.

"Go to him!" Owenby implored me. "Love him! Comfort him! And I will pray for you both!" And he wiped a tear from his cheek.

Doctor Cromie met me at the door to Doggie's room. "I should caution you. He says he doesn't want to see you. What he really means is that he doesn't want you to see him in his state. Just be prepared for some confusion. He believed you were dead and has had to get used to the idea you were alive and searching for him."

I nodded. He squeezed my hand and I entered my son's room.

"Oh Douggie, my love!" I gasped as I stumbled over to his bed.

"How can you love me?" he croaked. "I'm ugly! I'm dirty. He used me like a whore!"

"Douglass Middleton Guthrie, when I promised to be your father, it was for all time. You are still the beautiful boy you have always been. And, together we… you and I… will recover from this terrible calamity. You are alive and we are back together again and that is all that's important."

I reached out and took his hand, blinking back the tears.

He sighed. "You're my dad. And you are right. That's all that's important." I leaned over and kissed him. "What about Peter, the other little boy?" he asked.

"I don't know? We'll have to ask Doctor Cromie."

We were still there with our hands locked together when Doctor Cromie came in later.

Before the doctor could even greet him, Douggie asked him, "How is Peter?"

"Well, much the same as you, I fear. And, of course he's terrified… his blindness and all. One of the nurses is with him at all times. Now, young man, how are you feeling this morning?"

"Like shit!" I winced at his choice of words, but did not correct him. "But my dad is here and everything will be all right." That brought forth my tears.

The Doctor examined the dressings on his prick and the other open wounds on his face and body and was satisfied with their condition. "I'd like you to remain flat for the rest of the morning," he told him.

Douggie nodded, but asked him, "When can I see Peter?"

"We're keeping him sedated, so he isn't quite so upset. If he has a good night and you have a good night we'll see tomorrow." And he removed the feeding tube.

"He's such a wizard little guy," Douggie told me after Cromie left. "And he's the only reason I'm still alive."

I spent the rest of the day at his bedside… mostly we just quietly held hands but I was given the signal honor of feeding him his supper… soft boiled eggs and gelatin. No matter, Douggie scarfed them down with relish… the first real food he had had in over a year.

I slept much better that night and awoke to find a clean pair of scrubs waiting for me. I phoned Charlotte and updated her on my son's condition. For her part, she offered to pack a few things from my house and send them down by express bus… for which I was grateful. I didn't really want to wear hospital scrubs any longer than the staff felt was necessary, but they would have to do for today.

Douggie's breakfast was oatmeal which he had never much liked but was devoured quickly. His appetite was certainly returning and that was a good sign. With Doctor Cromie's blessing, we did go to see Peter right afterward… myself and an orderly on either side of my son as he clutched his 'bag'.

"Who's there?" screeched the obviously frightened little boy.

"It's me, Peter." Douggie answered him reaching for his flailing hands.

Clasping my son's hand to his face, Peter asked, "Where am I? What is this place?"

"You are in a room in Royal Children's Hospital in Edinburgh. And the bastard is dead. He can't hurt either of us any more."

"They told me that, but I was afraid to believe them," blubbered the little boy. "Oh, Douggie, you did save my life after all."

"Yes, and my dad is here. He didn't die after all."

"Hello, Peter," I said taking his other hand. "Thank you for saving my son. He's told me how much you helped him." Peter just clung to my hand and wept.

We spent a goodly part of the next few days with him and gradually Peter became less frightened of his surroundings and the people who ministered to him. A breakthrough was achieved when, with Douggie's help, he was able to feed himself.

My daily calls to Catherine kept her up-to-date.

It was close to a week before my son's catheter was removed and with that came another breakthrough.

Each morning a covey of cute student nurses had descended on him to give him his daily bath. They were both gentle and thorough much to Doggie's embarrassment. But now… no longer dependent upon his 'bag' he could have a real shower.

To the nurses' chagrin, I shooed them all out of his room and helped Douggie into the small bathroom. I undressed and we both stood with my arms about him, letting the warm water play over our bodies. His back was to me so I wouldn't aggravate his healing wounds, but it felt sooooo good to have him in my arms again, even if I couldn't touch his sexual places. He wanted to bring me off, but I insisted we wait until both of us could enjoy coupling once more.

I thought back to the last time we had made love. It was the night before he was taken. As we had lain there in the warm haze, he sighed and remarked, "I wish we could stay like this forever."

After a time we both soaped and rinsed each other and I dried us off, carrying him back to his bed in my arms.

Owenby looked in almost every day, but as yet made no attempt to seriously interview us. We spent most of every day in Peter's room… not talking very much, just holding the little boy and comforting him.

One evening after the three of us had had supper together and we had returned to Douggie's room, he asked me, "What's going to happen to Peter? I mean, when all this is over?"

I had been expecting that question. "I don't know, Son. We'll have to ask Inspector Owenby."

"Do you think we might?" he asked. "He's like a little brother to me and I owe him big for everything."

"We'll have to see," I replied. I knew what Douggie's wishes were… it was very plain he saw the little boy as now part of our family. But, I really did not know how Peter would be treated under the law. Owenby had asked for a meeting with Douggie and me and perhaps we could find out more then.

That afternoon, the Inspector paid us a visit. The three of us sat in the hospital conference room. "Well, as we feared," he told us, "the entire constabulary� or most of it� seems to have been in on the whole caper. It�s a sad, sad day for our whole nation to have high police officials implicated in such monstrous crimes. They are all still being detained and most will be charge with accessory to murder."

"Meanwhile, how are you feeling, Douglass?"

"Still pretty shaky, Sir."

"As you can imagine," I added.

"Do you feel strong enough that you can tell me in detail what took place? I know it must be painful for you, so if you are not yet able, I understand. But, I�d really like to further my investigation."

I was about to protest, but Douggie waived me off.

"Dad, I think I might feel much better if I told the story. Told it to someone who will listen and it might help to set things right."

"All right, if you think you�re ready," I cautioned him.

"Yes, and if it becomes too much for you, you can stop," added the Inspector.

Douggie nodded and began.

When the Man attacked us in Thurso and Dad tried to push him away, I saw and heard the 'pop' of the gun and freaked out as Dad jerked back and fell to the ground. I was sure he was dead! I tried to hit the guy but he clubbed me across the face with his gun; I guess he broke my nose. He must have knocked me unconscious 'cause the next thing I remember was being carried somewhere.

I was naked and hog-tied and in some kind of sack. My head and nose hurt something fierce, but I could feel it when he put me down on a hard floor. After a bit, there was a rocking motion like I was in some kind of boat. That went on for quite a long time and then I was lifted into kind of a cart and bounced around for a while.

It was getting hard to breathe in the sack and the pain from my nose made me feel faint and I must have passed out again, 'cause the next thing after that I remember was being dumped out of the sack onto a cold rock floor of some kind of cell. Before I could even yell, the door was shut and I was alone in the darkness.

Or so I thought.

"I struggled for a while and managed to slip my hands and untie my feet and then I heard something. It was like someone breathing and I suddenly realized I wasn't alone. "Who's there?" I yelled.

"I'm Peter!" came the reply. It was another kid!

"Where are you?"

"Don't move," he answered. "I'll find you! Don't try to find me; you might fall into the pit." I heard him moving about and coming closer and then a hand found me and he crawled next to me.

"What is this place?" I asked him.

"You're going to be his toy, his plaything to hurt," he sniffed, "just like I was."

"Why are you here?"

"To die. Just like you will. What's your name?"

"Douggie," I answered. "And why are you going to die?"

"'Cause he got tired of me and he got a new boy. You! He doesn't give me any food no more. But he'll feed you… until he gets tired of you. And then you'll die and go into the pit, too."

"No!" I shrieked.

"I don't want to go into the pit with the others," he wailed, "but he'll put me there when I'm dead."

I suddenly felt this boy's terror and made a decision. "I'll share my food with you."

"It won't do any good. I'll die anyway. Besides, I'm hurt bad and I might as well get it over with."

"What do you mean?" I asked. But that was all he would tell me. I held him while he cried and shook until he was asleep. And I was so tired that I finally went to sleep, too.

The next thing I knew, he… the Man… was in the room… well it was a cell with a tiny window and strong door. "Isn't that precious?" he sneered. "You think you can help the little one?" And he laughed.

"Let us get things straight," he informed me. "You are now my boy-toy. Mine to do whatever I want to. And, I can promise you, you won't like what I will do to you, will he Peter?"

Peter just sobbed, nearly choking.

"Did Peter show you what happens to naughty boys who fail to please me?" And he switched on an electric torch and shown it on Peter's face. Once my eyes get used to the bright light, I wished I hadn't looked. Peter's eyes were not there, just two eye sockets surrounded by puffy red skin.

Douggie began to weep. "He was a neat kid! I couldn't believe someone could do this to him!" And I held him in my arms until he could continue.

I shook with terror, but the man wasn't finished yet. "Did Peter tell you where he is going?"

Not waiting for an answer, he dragged me by my hair over to one corner of the cell where there was a large, square hole. Shining the torch down it, he said, "Behold! Your final home."

The smell from the pit was awful, but it wasn't that which made me hurl. At the bottom of the pit was the body of another boy. No, wait, several boys. I wasn't even sure they were boys at first as they didn't have anything between their legs… just a gash. And then the complete horror struck me.

Someone had cut their parts off! I made a hurried glance at Peter. No, his were still there.

"You see, Peter will starve eventually, and then I'll take my trophy and put him with the others. And, some day you will follow him," he cackled as he pulled me back away from the pit, dumped me in the corner and left, slamming and locking the door.

I crawled to my new friend. "Oh Peter, I'll share my food and water and you'll not die. I'll keep you alive, I promise. How could he do that to you!"

"It hurt a lot at first, but now not so much. I wish I could see you. You sound like a nice boy." And he ran his hands over my face. I hadn't noticed them before, but he had a ring in his nose and one thru each of his small nipples.

"How old are you Peter? And how did you get here?"

"Nine, I think. And he took me from my mom and dad and killed them. It's hard for me to remember."

Later that day, I was given a small bowl of porridge to eat and a jug of warm, foul tasting, water to drink. I fed Peter almost the whole bowl and then sat with my back to the wall and let Peter sleep with his head in my lap.

And that went on for a couple of weeks… I forget how many. But the second week, the Man came into the cell after I had finished eating and forced himself on me. Yeah, I was raped every night after that. And then, Peter and I could sleep.

He had to know that I was feeding Peter, but he just snickered and said nothing.

After he had pounded my ass one night, he sneered, "You're much too pretty for a boy." and he took a knife and cut my face and my chest and my ass. They weren't deep, just enough to mark me, but they hurt like hell.

The next morning, he dragged me out of the cell and strapped me to a table with my arms over my head and my legs spread wide apart. A tight strap over my belly and my shoulders held me so I couldn't move at all.

"I think I'll make you into a girl," he told me.

"NO! PLEASE! NOT THAT! I'LL DO ANYTHING YOU WANT!" I screamed.

"All right," he replied. I'll leave your useless cock and balls alone. I'll just decorate you." And he slashed my face a few more times.

Then, he got out something that looked like a leather punch, shoved it up my smashed nose and cut through the skin. He took a ring, pushed it through and tightened it with a clamp. Whilst I was still locked in pain from that, he went on.

From his pocket, he took two large fish-hooks. My nips have always stood out some, and he had no trouble stretching the right one out and forcing the hook through it. The pain was horrible and I bled a lot and he speared my left nipple, too. I thought I would never feel pain worse than that and I yelled and cried.

"Oh what a lovely scream!" was his only comment.

Using the punch, he made a hole in the bottom of my ball sack and put a ring there, too. After that I hoped he was finished. But, no, he wasn't.

From his pocket, he took the largest hook I had ever seen. It was barbed and must have been used to catch sharks. When I suddenly guessed where it was going, I lost it.

He pushed the barb down my pee-hole and then, with a twist, forced it out through the head of my prick. I only felt the pain for a bit as I passed out.

When I came to, Peter had me with my head in his lap and was trying to comfort me. While I was 'out', I had got a ring through my tongue and two through my lips and a tight ring around the base of my cock and balls.

The next several days were a haze of pain as Peter was instructed to douse all the places with paraffin [kerosene] as an antiseptic. And I faintly remembered a small hand trying to stuff some porridge into my mouth.

During the days and weeks following, I was given a lot of tasks about the house cleaning up the Man's mess, often with my mouth. The hook in my prick gave him a convenient way to tether me to wherever he wanted. And he forced me to run naked outdoors… even after it got real cold… pulling me along by my ring with my hands chained behind my back and my ankles fastened by a short chain. If I could not keep up and fell, well, too bad. The wound in my prick never did get to heal very much.

I shortly discovered what one of the 'crops' of the place was. Boy cum! In fact, it was Peter's inability to produce that had 'displeased' the Man and led to his blinding. I guess the Man never considered it was his stupidity for choosing a boy so young.

But, I was a 'cash crop' for him. Taken to another room weekly, I was strapped face-down on a special table with my whole groin area over a hole. He first attached wires to my prick-ring and the ring in my ball-sack, pushed a tight hose over my whole prick down to the base and stuffed a large vibrator up my sore ass. Then, he turned on the 'juice' and left me. The jolts of electricity thru my parts and the buzzer pressing that thing in my ass soon made me cum… and cum and cum and cum. Even after my balls had been drained, the 'milking' continued until I had screamed myself hoarse. And, then still longer.

By the time he released me, it took all of Peter's love to save me. The Man collected what I had spewed and sold it, or so he told me. I think he mixed some of it in the porridge, too.

Every few weeks, the Man would have his friends in to play with us.

"No doubt some of the senior officers," Owenby observed, as Douggie began to cry. "Sorry! Didn�t mean to interrupt."

"That�s all right, Sir. I needed to catch my breath."

"Are you sure you want to continue?"

"Yes, Sir. I�ll be all right."

I marveled at his courage and let him just lie in my arms until he was ready to continue.

Then, there were the tourists.

"Tourists?" Owenby and I both asked.

Yeah, the place used to be a monastery and was full of all kinds of ancient shit. And he liked to dress up in the priest's clothes and pretend he was the abbot.

"But how did he keep you hidden from sight?" I asked.

He just chained us up in the cell and gagged us so we couldn't yell. But one time I managed to pull my hand free. I could hear the visitors in the next room, so I banged on the wall. "What was that?" I heard one of them ask. "Oh, just the ghost", he replied and they all laughed. I knew I had failed!

Once they had gone, he came storming into the cell. "So you thought to give me away!" he snarled. "Well you will have time to repent your hasty actions," he told me.

That night, we were each given a bowl of porridge and forced to eat it. It tasted strange, but so what.

Then he tied us back to back…Peter's arms around my belly and then tied to… yeah, you guessed it… my prick ring. My arms went around Peter's belly and tied off to his little balls. Every time either of us moved… well, the pain was awful.

He left is that way in the dark for I don't know how many days. Whatever was in the porridge gave us both the skitters, so before long we were sitting in each other's shit. By the time he finally released us we were both so dehydrated and weak, neither of us could even hold our heads up… we just lay there in our shit and piss.

I guess he realized he almost lost us, 'cause he brought each of us a cup of water and held our heads so we could drink. And then he fed each of us a bowl of porridge. It was the only kindness he showed either of us the whole time I was there.

It was almost a week before either of us could act normally.

"Did he ever cane you?" I asked.

No, but he made me cane Peter one time. He chained him up on the wall with his feet off the ground and made me do it. Said he would throw Peter in the pit if I refused. I didn't want to, but he made me keep hitting him until his back was full of bleeding cuts. By that time Peter was out after screaming until he was hoarse. Then he just dumped him in my lap and told me to take care of him.

Lots of paraffin. And just holding Peter until he recovered.

The man simply liked to invent new ways to torture us. Like, he would chain us to the wall, make us drink lots of water and then clamp our pricks so we couldn�t pee. The pain, after a day or so, was enough to set us both screaming. Finally, he would let Peter loose, force him to stand in front of me and release the clamp. Of course, he peed all over me� in my eyes, my nose, everywhere. The he would force Peter to lie in front of me and release my clamp. And Peter would get my pee all over him. Neither of us were strong enough to even sit up for a few days.

The short winter days of abuse and the long winter nights of more abuse about drove me bonkers. I really did think about dying. My dad was dead, I was locked up by a madman… and would probably die here anyway… so what did I have to look forward to except new ways he could inflict pain on me. But, I knew I had to live for Peter. If I didn't take care of him, he would go to the pit! And I vowed… I guess I was foolish… I would not let that happen. I would escape somehow and free both of us.

And then I would sink into a funk and only Peter's love could bring me out of it. I found out later that, whenever I was 'out of it', Peter's little ass would bear the nightly rape. And, that made me feel like shit all over again.

Once the weather got a little warmer, I was put to work outside… hoeing rows of black oats. But I was getting weaker day by day and I had to find a way to escape soon. The place was surrounded by a high stone wall and I could hear the traffic on the road that passed by. But I was tethered by my prick and how could I possibly climb that wall.

One day I noticed a tree growing near the wall. Now, if I could only get free, maybe I could climb it and get over the wall that way. Usually the Man left me alone while I was hoeing, so I concentrated on trying to free the chain from my prick.

And, using the blade of the hoe, I was successful. I put the chain back so he wouldn't know. I would have to wait until I was put to hoeing nearer the tree.

I told Peter what I was going to try to do. And then I had a frightening thought: what would happen to Peter once the Man discovered I was gone? I almost abandoned my plan, but Peter urged me on. "If he kills me," he said, "at least you will be free and can tell everyone about this place and stop him." I bawled with him in my arms for hours that night.

But finally I was close enough to the tree to make a break for it.

I slipped the tether and used the hoe to pull myself up into the tree. There was quite a gap to the wall but I jumped for all my worth and managed to get hold of one of the sharp stones at the top. I almost didn't make it… the stones ripped my belly pretty bad. But, at last I was on top.

I could see a police lorry in the distance, so I jumped and fell into the dry moat beside the wall, all grown up with nettles. I must have knocked myself out and the lorry was gone by the time I managed to crawl up onto the road. I must have lay there for a while until a post lorry came along. I tried to stand, but couldn't. The postman saw me and stopped in time.

The last thing I remember was screaming to him that we were being killed by the Man.

"What an incredible story!" gasped Owenby. We were both crying openly by that time.

"Thank you for listening," said my son. "I do feel better now that I have told you."

All I could do was hold Douggie in my arms and weep.

"Inspector, what will happen to Peter?" he asked him.

"What do you mean?"

"When this is over. Where will he live? Who will take care of him?"

"Well, I guess they will put him in a home for blind kids. There are several fine…"

"Suppose we wanted to have him in our family?" interrupted Douggie. I had known that was coming and had the same feelings of inadequacy that I had when he had asked me to be his father.

"Well, I don't know." Turning to me, he asked, "Would you be willing to have him? Even with his handicap?"

The die was cast and it was decision time. I simply could not break two… no three… hearts. "Inspector," I replied, "we'd like to adopt him." I heard my son's breath catch and then he reached up and hugged me, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"There is some kind of aunt," Owenby continued, "but she has made it quite clear that she wants no part of a blind child. You would have to wait for three years to be sure there were no claims for him, but I could probably get the court to grant you provisional custody in the meantime."

And so, I acquired another son and Douggie a little brother. When we told Peter, he just bawled with happiness.

Another visitor appeared one afternoon, Marcus Jameson, a Crown Solicitor. His news had to do with the property at which the boys had been captive.

"The National Trust plans to purchase the property and develop it. They tell us it is the best preserved example of a late eleventh-century monastery in all of Britain. The proceeds will go into estate and, under the Criminal Forfeiture Acts, they will be divided among the six boys who were captive there. For the four who are deceased, the funds will divert to their families even though the boys, of course, died intestate. In the case of your two sons, the funds will be held in trust until they are of age although you will be named conservator and may draw upon the earnings for their benefit. The share amount is almost six-hundred thousand pounds, each. In addition, you will receive a like share in recompense for the shabby way you were treated when your boy was first taken."

"Now, if you will just sign a few papers…"

Not only had I acquired a son, we were suddenly well-to do.

Little more than a week after our decision to press for custody of Peter, Inspector Owenby stopped by with the news that the court would grant our petition. "I know you are happy and I admire your forbearance to take this damaged child into your home. I wish you all the best."

"Tomorrow evening," he continued, "there will be a memorial service for the four boys who died in the pit. They are to be buried in the garden at Holyrood and the King will give the eulogy. He wanted to pay respects to all the boys, but I asked him not to name your two so they can continue to recover away from the glare of publicity."

"Thank you Inspector," I told him, grateful that he continued to guard our privacy.

The next evening, the four of us sat together in the hospital conference room to listen to the memorial service… Peter sitting securely in my lap.

This is the BBC Edinburgh.

Where tonight four young boys who were recently found dead in a crime that has shocked the nation will be buried in the garden at the Palace of Holyroodhouse. His Majesty, The King, has traveled from London to give the eulogy and they will be interred with all due ceremony. We take you now to Holyrood Palace and His Majesty.

"We gather this evening with heavy hearts to remember four young boys… David Cassedy, Brian Williams, Sean Lovett and Andrew Pickens. Four young boys who were victims of a heinous crime in which their parents were brutally murdered and they themselves carried off into a captivity in which they suffered unspeakable acts of sadistic cruelty before they perished."

"In time, other young boys might have suffered their fate had it not been for the courage and determination of another young boy who managed to escape, suffering grave injuries in doing so. In that selfless act, he saved not only himself and a younger companion, but he brought to an end the perverted acts of this madman."

"I will not name these two boys… ages fourteen and ten… or where they are located because I wish them to be able to continue the long road to recovery away from the glare of publicity. I am certain you join me in wishing them and their father all Godspeed."

"The perpetrator of these acts lies dead by his own hand and is now before the righteous judge of heaven where he will answer for his acts. But the fact that high police officials abetted and even participated in these unspeakable crimes leaves an open wound on our nation that will take generations to heal. They will, in due course, answer for their perfidy before the high courts of our land."

"The four boys… at their families request… will rest here in this hallowed space as a constant reminder of our duty to protect and nurture the children who are our future. That we here highly resolve these lads… little more than bairns… shall not have died in vain. I ask each of you to join me in prayers for them and for our nation. May God save Great Britain and all who join us in sorrow."

Several weeks passed and both boys started to look 'human' again. His physical wounds were almost healed and Douggie's body was starting to fill out nicely again. Peter was making strides, too. Except for the ruin of his face, he was a very attractive lad. So it was time to think about the future.

I raised the subject with Dr. Cromie during one of our short daily meetings.

"You are quite right, Roger. We have done all we can for their physical wounds," he agreed. "You are all welcome to remain here as long as you see fit, but a hospital is a poor place for young boys to heal emotionally. Do you have anything in mind?"

"Not specifically," I replied. "I just thought I should begin planning. I have a friend who has been taking care of our house in Inverness. I suppose we should go back there."

"Well, take your time," he admonished me. "Don't forget you have some healing to do also. You did not have their physical wounds, but the trauma to your emotional health was just as severe as theirs. And bear in mind that no matter where you decide to relocate it will be important for you to engage a good physical therapist for both boys. They still have a lot of healing to do."

When I emerged from the meeting, I was surprised to find the Duchess of Cambridge waiting to see me. "Roger, it's good to see you again. I can't tell you how thankful and excited both Will and I were when we heard Douglass had been rescued."

"Thank you, Your Highness," I replied. "Your concern and assistance is ever-so-much appreciated."

"Oh Roger," she snorted. "Did you forget we're family? It's Kate and Will. Now, I have an offer that I want you to consider. Can we go somewhere private to discuss it?"

"Yes, certainly. But first, I'd like you to see Douggie again and meet Peter, the other little boy."

"Capital!" she replied.

We walked into Peter's room and she immediately swept my son into her arms and held him like the mother she was. After introductions, Peter received the same treatment. Following that she needed a bit of time to recover, so I led her to my room, saying I would join her in a minute or two.

"Is she really a Princess?" asked Peter.

"Yes, and one day she will be our Queen," Douggie assured him.

I left the two of them in their characteristic position… Peter in my son's lap with his arms about his young friend… and returned to Kate. I could tell she had been weeping.

"I can see the effects of the captivity," she said, "and it makes me sad to see Douggie in this state. And to see what that monster did to poor Peter breaks my heart. You're going to need all the help you can get to love and care for them."

"You are quite right, Kate. I have a huge job ahead of me."

"Do you have any specific plans?" she asked.

"No, not really."

"Then, perhaps, Will and I can help. My family has a hunting lodge in Wales at Llanwddyn west of Shrewsbury. It's a completely self-sufficient farm-hold and they raise several crops as well as keeping both sheep and cattle. Will and I plan to visit from time-to-time once the children are a bit older, but most of the year it will just be on its own."

"The couple who manage it… Rosie and Tom O'Donnell… have been with the family for many years and would be delighted to have the three of you there. I asked them both; I hope you don't mind."

"Oh Kate," I replied, "I really couldn't…"

"Roger, please don't be too proud to accept our offer. I think you might find it just what you need. And you once told me that you wanted to write. So it would be perfect for all three of you. Don't worry about expense. I'm sure three of you will more than be just visitors."

"But…"

"Roger! After the way you and the boys have been treated, this land is forever in your debt."

Somehow I could tell I wasn't going to win this argument. And, then I was ashamed. These wonderful people were offering me a priceless gift and I was not going to be pig-headed and refuse it. So, once again, I swallowed my pride and allowed my life to be directed. A sudden though struck me. Was this God at work?

"Your offer leaves me breathless, Kate. Yes, I'll accept your offer."

"Capital!" she replied. "Will and I are just happy to have been a help to you."

We began at once, to lay our plans to quit the hospital. Owenby arranged for discrete transport and we hoped to be able to leave without attracting the attention of Fleet Street.

On the day before our scheduled departure, I met with Doctor Cromie one last time. "Physically, I believe both boys are good to go," he told me. "We've been gradually withdrawing the sleep help we've been giving them. But I should warn you to expect some rough days and nights. Peter has grown used to his space here, but the outside world will be hard for him at first. But, I have watched you love them both and I am sure you will do splendidly. Just don't push yourself too hard."

"I did some checking, by the by, and it turns out that the Sacristan's wife, Mrs. O'Donnell, is a trained therapist, to your very great fortune. And you know you will have all our attention should you need assistance."

The next day we left quietly by a hidden entrance. Both Douggie and Peter were excited and it was hard for me to be anything else. Douggie… the rascal… had conspired with Owenby to keep our 'tradition' intact. We actually had lunch in a private room at The Royal McGregor!

It was late-afternoon when we arrived at Llanwddyn west of Shrewsbury on the shore of Lake Vrynwy. The lodge was located on a spur of the lake north of the town and would surely offer us quiet refuge from the world that had dealt with my sons so harshly. The house might be a 'hunting lodge' to the Middleton clan, but it was a 'castle' to us.

We quickly met the Sacristan, Tom O'Donnell, and his wife Rosie and then were introduced to the being who really was in charge… a ginger and white striped tomcat named Mister Jingles. That worthy studied each of us intently before sidling over to Peter and allowing himself to be picked up. Somehow he knew the boy would need extra help and affection and he was going to provide it.

And, indeed, those first few months we often found Peter and Mr. Jingles cuddled together on the veranda that overlooked the lake where the feline could ply his human friend with his description of the scene before them. The relationship between them was a complete mystery to the O'Donnell's… the cat had never paid much attention to family or anyone else during their infrequent visits. But it was no mystery how much Mister Jingles contributed to Peter's eventual rehabilitation.

Rosie swept both boys into her more-than-ample embrace. "And these are the wee bairns who were so badly used by that awful monster." If Douggie was embarrassed to be considered a 'wee bairn' he made no mention of it. "We Welsh have a saying "Adfyd a ddwg wybodaeth, a gwybodaeth ddoethineb… Adversity brings knowledge and knowledge wisdom. So, Croeso… Welcome!"

"Please Mistress O'Donnell," said Douggie. "We don't want to be a burden to you."

"Ooch, nay, young sir." There, that was better! "Ye'll not be a burden a'tall. Our children and grand-babies are all grown up and fled to America and Australia. It will be a bonny thing to have young'ns about once more."

And all of us felt loved and cherished at once by these salt-of-the-earth people.

I was given a large room with a huge bed that would be ample for the three of us if needed… it was. There were two smaller rooms adjacent that would be Douggie's and Peter's when they were ready.

True to Doctor Cromie's prediction, the first several weeks… and especially the nights… were difficult ones, most of all for Peter. Without the sleeping drugs, both were haunted by nightmares. That first night, we slept together, Peter nestled between Douggie and me. All went fairly well until about two AM when Peter awoke screaming. By the time we got him comforted and settled down, it was near time to arise. Such was the pattern for many nights.

Douggie's nightmares were less spectacular and he quickly he responded to my comfort. And, by the end of the first month, he was over that phase of his healing. But poor Peter… crushed by the blackness of his world and faced with new and unknown surroundings… continued sporadically for months. But, he too, finally made peace with his surroundings and his condition.

Rosie and I began physical therapy for both boys almost at once. She taught me the techniques that my son needed and I could soon take over his therapy, leaving her to concentrate on Peter. And you can imagine how much I really enjoyed rubbing and exercising those beautiful boy legs as they once again began to take on the comeliness they had formerly.

Douggie struggled mightily with exercise and weights, determined to rebuild his wasted body… so much so he was often exhausted and in tears. "You need to slow down a bit," I remonstrated him.

"I just want to be the boy you remember," he assured me. That statement drove me to tears. As it turned out both of us should have taken my advice.

Given that exertion plus trying to be of help about the farm and the many sleepless nights I spent consoling one or the other of my young charges, I began to feel overwhelmed, and one afternoon it caught up with me.

My next recollection was waking in my bed and I heard a voice asking, "Well Roger, old sod, have you decided to join the living again?" I knew that voice but for a few minutes couldn't get my head on straight. Finally, the fog cleared and I saw Will, the Duke of Cambridge, looking down at me.

"How long have I been out?" I asked.

"Better part of two days. But the doctor said to expect that. We had just arrived when you took your tumble."

"What happened?"

"Well," he replied, "from everything your sons and the O'Donnell's have said, you've been going a bit too much at it."

At that moment, Douggie and Peter dashed into the room. Peter crawled up on the bed and put his arms around me. "You have been working too hard, Dad, and it's our turn to help you!"

Douggie gripped my hand and said huskily, "We were worried about you, Dad."

"Kate and the children are out on the patio. Do you feel strong enough to join them?" asked Will. I nodded and he and Douggie helped me put on a dressing gown and supported me as I stumbled out onto the patio.

Kate immediately rose and came to me. "Roger," she said, embracing me, "your boys have been telling us how hard you have worked to get them on the road to health again. Now, you just sit quietly here. Lunch is ready and you must be famished."

I hadn't realized how hungry I was and lunch was fabulous.

I guess that was really the tipping point for our road back from the horror of the captivity. Things would be less frantic from that point. And I could begin to write, too.

It was our first introduction to Kate and Will's children. Despite Kate's sometimes concern, they were normal kids and quite charming. It was soon evident the Elizabeth was quite smitten with Douggie and, to his everlasting credit, he endured her flirting with grace. Rory was fascinated by Peter, a boy who could not see and yet could get about quite handily… escorted by Mister Jingles, of course. And Peter was quite content with the little boy on his shoulders as they explored together.

After about a week, I guess Will considered me sufficiently well, to discuss a very serious matter affecting Peter. "I don't need to ask you if you would like if Peter's sight were restored."

"It would be wonderful, but…"

"Hear me out, Roger. Two doctors in America have developed an artificial eye. It shows great promise and they have been looking for a suitable recipient."

I was gobsmacked! "Oh, Will, that would be wonderful!" I gasped.

"They have a few more tests to make before they are ready, but it could be as early as this fall. Would you like me to introduce you?"

Two days later, Doctor Richard Johnston from the Wills Eye Hospital in Philadelphia flew in. After a preliminary exam of Peter, he met with me. I hadn't told either Douggie or Peter about it, not wanting to get their hopes up.

"Mr. Middleton, you need to understand a few things before you consent to be our test. We have tried the technique on primates and believe we have been successful in restoring sight. What kind of quality, we have no way of knowing for certain as they can't tell us. So that's an unknown."

"As you may guess, the surgery required is very intricate. I'll be honest with you. We've lost a few subjects. But we believe we have the experience necessary to avoid harming Peter. It's always a possibility, nevertheless. There's always the possibility, too, that the test will be a failure and Peter's sight will not be restored. I don't mean to be a pessimist, but I want you to know everything from the start."

"I understand, Doctor," I replied. "And I am pleased that you feel comfortable to be so candid with me. But Peter will, of course, have the final say. He's a good lad and I'm confident he'll make the decision that is right for him."

That evening after supper, we brought everyone along.

"Sech a wonderful thing that would be!" Rosie summed up for all of us.

Peter was quiet and thoughtful.

"You don't have to decide tonight," the doctor told him. "Take a month or even two and think about it."

"Thank you, Doctor sir. I will think very hard." Peter replied.

"You've a fine boy, there," Johnston told me when I bade him goodbye the next morning. "After hearing what he's been through, I can't think of a more deserving person."

We resumed our usual routines and soon it was time for the Duke and Duchess and their children to return to London. The place was almost too quiet with them gone. And I could tell that Peter was doing what he promised… thinking hard.

Both Douggie and I wished we could have helped him, but we knew it was struggle he had to face alone. All we could do was show our love to him. Which we did in bed each night.

What the Yanks call 'Indian Summer' was now in full blossom and the warm sun invited us outside often. The calm serenity of this place had worked their healing powers on Douggie and he had almost fully recovered from both the physical and emotional injury of his captivity. Indeed, he was almost the little boy I knew so well… fun, mischievous, and OMG so sexy. But, truthfully, he was a bit more reserved that he once was… except when we were making love.

So, one afternoon… his chores and lessons done for the day… Douggie dragged me away from my writing and out onto a very private, secluded spot where he spread a blanket. A quick bout of strip-wrestling left us both naked and aroused and we proceeded to make boisterous love. I had to be a bit careful not to touch his rose… his boy pussy was still sore from repair of the ravishing of his captivity and he winced every night when I rubbed the healing ointment on it.

He flipped me on my back, climbed on top of me and we enjoyed a long, sensuous sixty-nine until we had both pumped our loads into waiting mouths. Despite the scaring from his cuttings, his naked skin still felt fabulous against mine. I had assured him from the very first day in hospital that he was still… to me… the most beautiful boy on earth and would always be. Actually, his facial scars gave him a somewhat 'rugged' look and he had almost come to accept them as marks of honor achieved during his fight against a great evil.

The breeze was a bit cool on our naked bodies, so we pulled the blanket up about us as we lay there in the afterglow of our coupling, his head on my chest. Suddenly, we were both aware of a figure standing over us.

"Peter!" I exclaimed.

"How did you get here? How did you find us?" asked Douggie.

"Mister Jingles brought me. He knew where you were. And what you were doing," Peter giggled. A few yards away sat Peter's 'buddy' vigorously polishing paws and whiskers. "May I join you? I have something to tell you."

"Sure," replied his brother. "But not with all those clothes on."

Peter giggled again, jumped out of his clothes… his little prick standing straight out like a small lance… and slid his naked body between us. Snuggling down, he sighed, "Nice!"

"Meow," confirmed Mister Jingles.

While Douggie and I again engage in a full repertoire of sex, we had limited Peter thus far to cuddling and stroking. So we relieved his 'hard' problem before proceeding, bringing him swiftly to a squealing climax. He was a noisy sex partner.

But he was rapidly becoming of an age where he would enjoy more exotic activities and we were not going to withhold them. But this was not the time as evidenced by his serious expression.

"I want to have the operation," he told us.

"Are you sure?" I asked him gently.

"Yes. I know I might die or it may not work. But I want to be able to see you both. And to see the world again. And I don't want to be a burden." That was a very grownup statement for a little boy and it brought tears to my eyes.

Chapter 9
Risking it all

The operation would be performed at the Wills Eye Hospital in Philadelphia. Located in the center of the city, it would be our first foray away from Llanwddyn. Will and Kate insisted in providing our transportation and smoothed the process of passports and visas. So it was that our Royal Air Force jet… opulent to say the least… landed at McGuire Air Force Base from where an embassy limo conveyed us to the hospital.

The hospital, unfortunately, had no facilities for housing family members while one of them was undergoing treatment. And the space at nearby CHOP… terrible name for the Childrens' Hospital of Philadelphia… was filled to capacity. So, Dr. Cheryl Marcus… the other member of the team… had made arrangements for us to stay with the family of a colleague, Dr. Terrance Malone. We were welcomed heartily by Terry, Mom Deidra… better known as 'Deedee'… and their thirteen-year-old twins, David and Tommy. An older son, Christian, was away at university in France.

Author's note: If this family sounds familiar, see Chapter 3 of The Neuro-stim

The Twins and Douggie became immediate friends and Deedee, in addition to spoiling us outrageously, would be our transport to and from Wills as needed. No way was I going to attempt driving… these folks don't drive on the proper side of the road. For that matter, neither does most of the rest of the world!

The nature of Peter's 'treatment' meant that he would be kept heavily sedated for days at a time while the Wills team made tests and adjustments to their 'product'. It would be more than two months before any surgery and we were all impressed with the care and thoroughness with which they operated. Since Peter would be largely comatose we were not encouraged to be with him most days.

So, we spent a good bit of time being 'tourists' although it wasn't quite the same. David and Tommy acted as good hosts and showed us all about the Philadelphia area. Of course, we were taken to Independence Hall and to the Liberty Bell. I must say I was impressed by this failed piece of English bell-maker's art that is so much a part of the American psyche. It is, by all accounts, revered by all, not only in the United States, but throughout the world where liberty is valued. Pity our two nations could not have separated amicably.

We did some fun things, too. Took in two professional baseball games… baseball being a national mania in America. The first one between two major league teams, Philadelphia and Los Angeles at a stadium called Citizens' Bank Park, ended with a five-to-one rout of the visitors. The twins quickly assured us that it was a sloppy performance by both teams. How were we to know?

On another afternoon, we journeyed by 'tube' [subway] across the Delaware River for a game between the Camden River Sharks and a team with the unlikely name of the Lancaster Barnstormers. The players on both teams seemed eager to impress us… perhaps they thought major league scouts were present… and the contest was hard fought before the visitors eked out a one-run victory.

We returned to the west bank of the Delaware by walking across the great Benjamin Franklin Bridge, named of course for that eminent inventor and statesman of the colonial era. Parliament and George III should have listened more carefully to him and avoided a sad and costly war.

In the course of that evening's trek we were plied with a local delicacy, soft pretzels. Even though both Douggie and I liked them, I'm not sure they would ever catch on at a Scottish pub… well maybe in England where they don't know much better.

But, at last the testing and preparation were over and Peter was 'paroled' to us for a weekend. The surgery would be on Tuesday.

The twins had told Douggie and me about their brother Christian… how he had come to join the family after the death of their older brother, Pete. It was clear they idolized 'Chrissie', as they called him. And we were accorded a singular honor… an outing to a place called Sixpenny Lake. It was the first place that Christian had gone with the family. The little sunfish nibbling at your legs sent both Douggie and Peter into gales of laughter, just as they had done to the twins on that first outing. The lake has a natural beauty that apparently hasn't changed… the sunfish still nibble.

David had supplied both Douggie and Peter with swim togs… well, almost swim togs. While Peter's was too big for him, they covered him adequately. But I told my other son, "You might just as well have gone starkers."

"Why, Dad? They're called Speedos and they are boss cool for swimming." Yikes, was he learning all their lingo?

"Well, maybe so, but they show everything you've got. Admirably!"

"I once promised you," he replied, "that I would never hide my body from you again." I hadn't thought that pledge applied to public display.

"Well you had better not get a stiffie," I advise him, "or you will be arrested for public indecency. Americans are a bit strange about that sort of thing."

He wasn't much hidden from all the young girls at the lake either. I must admit he looked splendid.

And the sunfish, I suppose, are still nibbling.

The operation took over twelve hours… twelve of the longest hours of our lives for Douggie and me and the entire Malone household keeping vigil. But, at last, Dr. Johnston emerged with good news.

"Well, we didn't lose him and the tests look promising. Cheryl is just finishing up after which we'll keep him under for about twenty-four hours. I suggest you all get some food and rest and be back here tomorrow at this time."

We attempted to take his advice at a local hotel, but I'm not sure there was much sleep for any of us. So all were gathered again the next day when Peter's new 'eyes' were switched on.

At first he seemed to be searching for something. And then his gaze settled on his brother. Sitting up, he reached out for Douggie as he breathed, "Oh Douggie! You look just like I pictured you!"

And then the room dissolved into chaos as all of us mobbed him, much to the doctors' dismay. When they finally managed to restore order to their domain and shoo out all but Douggie and me, we had our first opportunity to see the wondrous device they had wrought.

A transparent mask covered Peter's face where his ruined eye sockets had been cut away. It held the tiny transceivers now wired to his brain and was painted to resemble a fairly normal set of eyes. So, Peter would never appear grotesque. A tiny switch behind his left ear allowed him to turn off the device when he would want to sleep. Simple tests indicated the color was acceptable although some additional adjustments to saturation and contrast were needed. He would need to wear sunglasses, although they soon taught him how to control the intensity of the light, adding another control behind his right ear for that purpose.

It was truly a miracle!

But there was a cloud on the horizon.

"Peter has a meningioma on his brain stem," Doctor Johnston confided to me.

"And that means?" I asked, full of trepidation.

"It's a very slow growing tumor that could some day be a problem for him," he replied. "I say some day, as the rate of growth is quite unpredictable. Many people have one all their lives and are not bothered by it. Peter's is at a place we dare not disturb, so hopefully his will be of that nature. Your physicians at home will monitor it when they do their monthly check on his sight."

"So how long?" I asked.

"We really can't say, Roger. Could be five years, could be fifty years. I'm sorry I can't be more definite. But I think both Peter and Douglass should know about it."

I agreed and, to their great credit, both boys took it in stride. They were far too busy reveling in Peter's new sight to let anything interfere.

The next several weeks passed in a haze, but suddenly we were back at Llanwddyn again and our delight in Peter's new sight was thoroughly matched by Tom and Rosie. Even Mister Jingles seemed impressed. Somehow he knew and accepted that Peter had now become his his helper. It was as if he could now relax and allow his human friend to minister to him… he was almost twenty years old.

Peter's blossoming over the next few months was nothing short of miraculous. And my Douggie played no little role in that. Physically and emotionally both of them had largely thrown off the trauma of those months of captivity. And so had I.

Up to this point, both Douggie and I had limited our sexual contact with Peter. We had taught him the 'grown-up' words… penis and prick, orgasm and cum, among others… but that was as far as we had gone. But he was getting pretty big 'down there', so we agreed it was time for something a bit more exotic than simple rubbing and stroking. We had been sleeping together naked for some time and, as 'big brother', Douggie claimed the right to be his 'instructor' and I accepted.

So, one evening, I propped myself up with pillows at the head of my bed, spread my legs and pulled my junior son into my lap. "Just lean back and relax," I told him. "We're going to show you another way to have fun in bed."

"OK," he answered a little hesitantly.

"And I want you to turn your eyes off."

"Why?"

"Because I want you to concentrate on your feelings."

"Are you going to hurt me?" he asked, quavering just a bit,

"Peter, neither Douggie nor I would ever hurt you in bed," I assured him. That seemed to assuage his fears and he relaxed in my arms.

At my nod, Douggie crawled between his legs and, lifting them over his shoulders, took his little prick… well, not so little any more… into his mouth.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh!" groaned Peter in ecstasy. "What's he doing? Ohhhhhh it feels so good!" I began to rub and pinch Peter's nipples as Douggie used his lips and tongue on cock and balls. The result was a shattering orgasm for Peter, accompanied by his loud squeal of pleasure.

"I think a little moisture came out, Dad," Douggie informed me.

"Not too surprising. He's got the equipment for it," I chuckled.

By this time our boy had regained his senses again. "That was the best, most splendiferous, most wizard, most, most, most…"

"So you liked it?" Douggie asked him.

"Oh, yes. Will you teach me how to do it to you?"

I had them switch places and told him, "Just do what Douggie says."

"Lick the head of my prick, like you would a sucker. That's it, now take me into your mouth and keep using your tongue. Ohhh! You're doing great! Take your hand and squeeze my balls a little, not too hard." Meanwhile I was working on Douggie's nips.

"You better pull off," he gasped. "I'm going to squirt!" But Peter would have none off it. He continued to suck his big brother until he had emptied his balls, swallowing gamely and never spilling a drop.

"You don't have to swallow my cream," he told him, coming down from his high.

"But I want to! I want your stuff inside me! Was I good? Did I do it right?"

"The best!" his brother agreed. "Guess you'll have to compete for me, Dad," he giggled.

Of course, the next order of business was for them to do me. Peter didn't quite make it with all of my cum, but who cared. The boy definitely had a talent.

It wasn't long before we introduced him to sixty-nine and even three-way and most nights were junior orgies. But, occasionally, Douggie insisted on having Peter to himself in his bed and I had to suffer alone.

That season, too, we were treated to a visit from another old friend, Charlotte McKenzie. And she insisted I make more effort to restart Douggie's formal education. And to begin Peter's… he had lost almost everything during his long captivity. So, with the cooperation and help of the local school committee, I began to home-school both boys.

Among his other considerable talents, Tom O'Donnell was a gifted photographer. And he turned his talents to recording the lives of my boys. Out of his hundreds of snaps… in a few of them my boys cavorted sans clothes… he chose the best ones and had them bound into a book which he presented to us. It reminded me of something that had happened during my first year as a primary school headmaster.

I had on my staff that year a freshly-minted university graduate named Colin Davis. He had jumped mid-term into a fifth-year slot when the serving teacher had been taken seriously ill. A talented and enthusiastic teacher, he soon had both the hearts and minds of his pupils in his hands.

Unmarried, he roomed with one of his student's families, and soon became quite close to young Eli Wallich, but was very careful to show no favoritism in his classroom.

One evening, he knocked on my door in tears.

"I just wanted to give the Wallich's something special in return for their kindness to me," he explained. And he showed me a book of photographs that he had taken of young Eli, arranged by season.

The photographs were very good… even outstanding… and they accurately and tastefully chronicled the life of this exuberant ten-year-old.

But, some of them were nudes.

"How did they receive your gift?" I asked him.

"Mr. Wallich was upset. He seemed to think I had abused Eli. He asked me if Eli and I had ever done anything nasty together. I swear, I never touched the boy, Sir. And I told him that."

"But I don't think he believed me!" he sobbed. "Now he says I can never have Eli in my class and if I so much as speak to him, he will file abuse charges against me. And I must leave his house at once. I swear we did nothing wrong!"

Colin was clearly in torment and he would certainly not be the first teacher to be bewitched by the charms of one of his students. But I believed him.

"Colin, your photographs are superb. The series of Eli romping naked in the fresh snow is exquisite. But, not everyone is quite as open about nudity… particularly of young children… as you or I might be. I'm going to have to relieve you of your classroom duties until I can work this out with Henry Wallich. I assure you, I do not think you have done anything immoral. I have room here so you can stay with me until you get resettled."

I met with the Wallich parents the next day. It was a tense meeting and the result was their promise not to prosecute Colin in exchange for my permission to transfer Eli to another school. They shortly moved out of the district and Colin, at my urging and with my firm recommendation, sought a position in Canada.

I still have Colin's book.

***

A year sped quickly by. Both boys now seemed to have fully recovered from the nightmare they had shared on Orkney. My writing was progressing slowly. Indeed, it appeared we all basked in God's love.

But, life is full of surprises, some of them sad.

One fine fall morning found me in my 'study' reviewing the notes I had made for a new chapter to my book. The boys and Tom O'Donnell had gone off to see who was stealing Tom's prize plover chicks. As I sat there pondering, I heard a shotgun go off followed by a piercing scream.

Despite the scream I wasn't particularly aroused until Tom came dashing into the house yelling, "Rosie… oh Rosie! Call doctor. I accidentally shot young Peter and he's hurt bad." That was enough to send me running.

When I got to the coot, Douggie was kneeling beside Peter, his head in his hands sobbing. "Oh, Peter! Why? Why?" I dropped to my knees beside him and gazed upon Peter's shattered body. The blast had struck him at the waist and almost cut him in two.

There was nothing for it. He was not going to survive.

His mask had been dislodged and lay crumpled a short distance away and his breath came raggedly. "I'm here, Peter," I told him picking up one of his bloody hands.

"Ohhhhhhh" he groaned. "It hurtsssss!" But then, "Did the fox get away?"

"Yes," Douggie bawled.

"That's good!"

"Oh, Peter," cried his brother, cradling Peter's head in his arms. "Why?"

"He was too beautiful to shoot." He hung on for a few more breaths before he whispered, "I love you Douggie. I love you Dad." And his arm went limp.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" Douggie screamed. I pulled him back a little ways and the two of us sat there clutching each other and cried until neither of us had tears left.

Doctor came and went and finally the Medical Examiner knelt beside us. "Can one of you tell me what happened?"

"It was an accident," gasped Douggie. "We were seeing to the chicks, when a red fox stole out from under the coot with one of them in his mouth. He dropped it and just stood there looking at us. He was, was, was, beautiful! Mr. Tom was carrying his shot gun and he was for shooting the fox, but Peter said, 'Please don't Mr. Tom. He's beautiful! Let him go free.' I tried to stop him, but he ran between Mr. Tom and the fox, and, and, and…" He couldn't go on.

The ME looked sadly at Peter's body and said, "So it was an accident. You have my deepest sympathy." And he left.

We continued to sit there until two of the farm hands came with a blanket.

We carried him up to the house and laid him on one of the beds. Two of the kitchen girls washed off as much of the blood as they could and covered him, while Douggie and I sat quietly with him. Douggie was mostly incoherent and non-functional and continued to sob… great racking sobs from his very heart. I wasn't much better.

Finally Rosie came out from the kitchen, crying and holding another small, limp body. "Sure and it's a terrible, terrible thing that has come to us. But another soul has left us this morning." And she tenderly placed the little body of Mister Jingles in Peter's arms. "They were sech good friends, I fear he's gone to be with Peter. May sweet Jesus welcome them both to his bosom."

The ME completed his work and left and Rosie packed Tom off to bed. Like many of her sex, her's would be the strength that held us together through this crisis.

Of course, Kate and Will had been notified and Her Royal Highness arrived early the next day. "I can't begin to tell you how sorry both Will and I feel at this tragedy," she embrace both Douggie and me. "After all that each of you have been through to have this happen is just unbelievable! Will and I both wept when we learned of it."

"Thank you, Your Highness."

"Please! It's Kate. We're family, remember."

"Thank you, Mistress Kate," replied my son. "From the very first time we met at the Tattoo, you have loved us and we hold you in our love, too." She was the only 'outsider' who knew about Peter's meningioma.

Tom went to his knees before her. "Mistress it is my fault. I should have heeded the boy. I'm not fit to be sacristan any more. Please send me away."

"Tom," she replied gently, pulling him to his feet, "Will and I need you here. We would like to bring our family here for holidays and we need you to take care of this place and our people. Will you do that for me? And for Will and our young ones?"

He straightened up, tears streaming down his grizzled cheeks, and replied, "I am unworthy of your confidence in me, but I will, Your Highness. I will dedicate my work to young Peter." And he withdrew.

We buried them that afternoon… Mister Jingles nestled in Peter's arms… on a small bluff overlooking the lake, near to the spot where they had so often been together in life. Kate stood with her arms around Douggie. He might be teen-aged, but he still needed some serious 'mothering' just now. "Always keep in mind," she consoled him, "for a few short years, you gave Peter a family where he was loved and cherished and where he could begin to recover from the horror you both went through. You were… and will always be… his big brother and that was what he treasured most."

"Do you remember the parable Jesus told of the servants who received the talents to invest?" she asked him.

NB: See Matthew, Ch25, 14-30

"Well, I believe God gave you Peter and you have invested wisely. With love and comfort and understanding. And, now he has called Peter to himself and you will be found to have been a wise and faithful servant. You are a very, very special young man, Douglass, and will always be to Will and me. And I know how much you mean to your father and how much he means to you. Take good care of him for me. The two of you will need each other more than ever."

For some time, Douggie and I had had serious discussions about our family's future. Last night, we agreed that this tragedy sealed the discussion. So after the short service, I sought out Kate. "I think it is time for us to leave," I informed her. "I can't tell you how much we have appreciated your kindness. We have loved this place and its people and I don't know how we might have made it otherwise. But, both Douglass and I need to start afresh."

She placed her hand gently on my arm. "I can understand your feelings, Roger. Go, if you believe you must, but know that you will always be welcomed here."

"Thank you, Kate. I knew you would understand."

"As I told Tom, Will and I intend to make this our holiday retreat. And when our Beth and Rory are a bit older, I will tell them about a brave little boy who gave his life to save a beautiful, wild creature."

I thought for a minute. "Yes! He would like that!"

The End