Lucian, Ch. 1 free porn video

Dear reader, For legal reasons I have to assure you that all characters in this story are over 18 years old. For every other reason, though, I must remind you that the law has no jurisdiction over your imagination. Lucian, Chapter One. The black shoe swung in and out of the overhead light. It was a slender-heeled pump hugging a nylon-clad foot attached to a nylon-clad leg. Bent at the knee the leg covered a second nylon-clad knee, swinging softly. He loved the dark, reflecting liquid of black patent leather - it was a pool to drown in and be forgotten. His name was Lucian Gaines; the shoe was on the foot of his mother. She sat next to him, talking to a woman on the other side of a desk. He watched her mouth as she talked. Her lips shone with dark red lipstick. He loved her throaty voice. But he didn't listen. "... are Lucian? Such a lovely name." The woman behind the desk had a much crisper voice. She'd obviously asked him something, but his mind had been elsewhere. It loved being elsewhere. "Lucian?" his mother said. "Yes, eh, yes," he said, clearing his throat. He noticed his palms were moist. The woman at the other side of the desk put a smile on her round, pale face. She wore black-rimmed glasses and her smile was almost real. His mother shrugged. It made her satin top stir; he loved to see her wear it. His eyes lingered. "Eighteen?" the woman at the desk exclaimed. She responded to another question he missed. "I know," his mother agreed with a sigh. He knew what they were talking about; he'd heard it a million times. Looking like twelve when you're eighteen makes people react that way. "No," his mother said, another lost minute later. "His father wants him to, but he bruises too easily." Again he knew what she was talking about. Once more he preferred not to listen - or rather: not to be there at all. *** "Come," his mother had said earlier that day, picking up her clutch and her keys. He'd been lying on a couch, pretending to read a textbook. "Where to?" he'd asked. "Come," she'd repeated. He hated being in her car, not just because he hated her low, silver- gray Mercedes SLS GT - he loathed the way she drove it. Her driving was exactly like her: fast, selfish and inconsiderate. Sitting in the tight bucket-chair, holding on to the sides, he already felt nauseous at the second curve she took. After almost an hour into the journey he asked where they were going. "A new school," she said, talking to the windshield. "Why?" he asked. "I already have a school." She rolled her eyes. He should very well know why, calling in sick three times in the last four weeks. "But why so far from home?" he asked after another three miles of silence. Lucian knew that the word 'home' was relative; he'd spent most of his life in far away cities like London, Tokyo and Berlin. On the other hand, as he was American, Washington must be the closest thing to home, he supposed. Then a sudden thought seized him. "It's not a boarding school, is it?" he asked. He hated boarding schools. He'd never been to one, but the word alone made him shiver. His mother turned down the radio - Mozart or whatever. She still didn't look at him. "This is a special school," she said. "Anton advised it. You're going to like it." Anton was his father's lawyer; he had a creepy moustache. Lucian called him Adolf behind his back. "What's Adolf got to do with it?" he asked." Right at that moment his mother left the freeway, rolling down a ramp to reach a country road that wound into low, green hills. Pennsylvania? Virginia? He had no idea; he hadn't minded the signs. The violins on the radio sawed at his nerves. Iron gates were set in a brick wall that ran along the road both ways. There was a small sign done in tasteful, classic lettering, reading Norton's Academy of Excellence. His mother mumbled something into a little box and the gates opened. A long driveway turned and twisted ahead through clumps of trees. Their leaves were turning into reds and yellows, some already lay strewn over green lawns. On their way to a big, ancient building, Lucian saw several small groups of girls walking, dressed in long, open dress shirts over tight tops and very short shorts. Their ponytails danced, following the rhythm of their progress. "Amazing," his mother said. Did she mean the building, the park, or the girls? He turned around in his chair when they passed a group. One of the girls smiled and waved. "Great legs," he thought. At the entrance to the building stood a girl in similar top and shorts, but she wore a short white waist-jacket over it that had tails at the back. She also wore a white cap on her blond hair. After walking around the car she opened his mother's door. "Welcome to Norton's," she said, smiling. He pushed his door open and climbed out. The girl got into the driver's seat to take the car to a hidden parking place. At the top of the steps to the monumental entrance stood another girl, wearing the same outfit without the cap. She smiled too, calling his mother Mrs. Gaines, and gesturing them in. As she walked in front of them through the wide marble hallway, he saw she wore satin ballet shoes, tied to her calves with shining ribbons. She moved with grace, he thought; like a dancer. The girl brought them to the office of the woman with the big glasses and the pale round face, who came from behind her desk, smiling. It seemed everybody smiled here, and they were all women. On the desk was a sign with a copper plate telling him the woman was called Gloria C. Parker. "Welcome again," she said as she shook his mother's hand. She only nodded in his direction. They sat down, and the woman poured tea. He didn't like tea, but he wasn't asked. After some inane chitchat, the woman opened a file on her desk, and picked up an old-fashioned fountain pen. "What's wrong with a computer?" he wondered. The questioning began. As the woman only asked his mother, Lucian sent his thoughts away, chasing shapeless things that moved from nowhere to elsewhere. His mother sighed after yet another question he missed. But he didn't have to know the question; he knew the sigh. "As I told you, three times in four weeks now," his mother said. It was about the bullying and the beating up. Lucian hated her for telling others. It made him recall the pummeling and the cheering, and the metallic taste of blood. Contorted fleshy faces surrounded him; hard hands rubbed his face into fresh-cut grass. To him innocent things like the smell of freshly cut grass would never be innocent again. Parker - Lucian guessed she was the principal of this school - showed the particular smile he'd seen too often, while penning down what his mother told her. Pity was what the smile said and he hated it. She looked up. "And Mr. Gaines?" she asked. His mother sighed again, another sigh he knew. It didn't sound hurt or sad, but angry. Before she answered, even, Lucian knew there would be words in her response like "manning up," "striking back," and "he has to do this himself." Those words immediately brought his father's face to mind - a hard face, usually covered by a newspaper. He was a diplomat but at home one wouldn't guess. Thank God he wasn't home often. He had a low, rumbling voice that was usually counter- pointed by his mother's shrill falsetto. They hardly ever talked; most often they either yelled or didn't say a word. They fought in front of him and in the bedroom; they even fought when they fucked. Lucian knew; his bedroom wasn't far from theirs. "My husband doesn't know we are here," his mother said. It caused the principal's eyebrows to rise. "But I don't think," my mother went on, "that he will notice the boy's absence when he returns in two weeks time. He'll be too busy getting away again." His mother often said 'the boy' when talking about him to strangers. The principal had other worries, though. "But Mr. Gaines has signed the permit," she said, producing a piece of paper. "He signs a lot," his mother answered. Her red lips stretched into a smile. Only then did Lucian realize what she said: 'absent, two weeks.' This wasn't an informative trip; things had already been decided. "But...," he said, raising a hand. "Lucian," the principal said. He saw both her and his mother's eyes trained on him. "I want you to meet Dr. Kurtz. She will be here any minute." What more had been decided? "I," he said, "I don't agree." He turned to his mother. "Let's get away from here. I won't do this." Both women sported a smile on otherwise frozen faces. Especially his mother's bothered him. She never smiled as much as she did today. "I'm afraid you have no say in this, honey," she said. "You see, both your father and I signed for you to be here the next four years. We asked Anton after the first school you failed how we might keep you from dropping out once you turned 18. He drew up a legal thing we signed. Don't ask me how it works, just remember you can't run. Anton wrote it, so don't even try. Consider yourself fourteen, honey; you look the part. And remember too that this is not just your best chance; it is your last one." He stared at her, speechless. Her continuing smile brought nausea to the pit of his stomach. "I'll still run off," he said, hating the childish whine in his voice. He had no idea how to pull it of. "I'll get a lawyer too!" "Of course," she said, chuckling as she exchanged a look with the principal. "We'll see about that when we get there." The door opened and a woman came in. She wore a white coat. "Meet Dr. Kurtz, Lucian," the woman behind the desk said, rising. "Dr. Kurtz, this is Lucian." The doctor was in her early forties, he estimated. Her dirty-blond hair was up in a loose bun and her grey eyes looked tired. She also smiled, of course, but her weak, full lips gave the smile a crooked trace of sensuality. It took away from her professional coolness, even in her white doctors coat. Her hand felt soft. "Call me Vivian," she said. He decided he never would. "Dr. Kurtz will take you to her office for a medical check-up," the principal said. He felt trapped in a triangle of women, all clad in some sort of authority: headmistress, mother and doctor. "Do I need one?" he asked. "I had one only last year." Dr. Kurtz smiled. "Just a formality," she said. "It will be over in no time." *** There are people we trust because we owe our lives to them; like mothers. Others we trust because they swore to guard our health, like doctors. Who can we trust if not them? Dr. Kurtz's office was like most doctors' practices: a desk, two chairs, and an examination corner, separated by a curtain. Walking past him to her desk, she said: "Please undress, Lucian." He knew it was a perfectly normal request for a doctor, but he hesitated. Every accumulating minute of his visit to this school made him feel less comfortable. The doctor sighed. Then her smile returned, the weak, sexy one. "I am a doctor, honey. I have seen hundreds of boys naked. And yes, I know you are all special, but please undress, so I can examine you." His hair rose in his neck. He hated being called 'honey,' even by his mother. He also knew he was being childish about the stripping. He pulled his T-shirt over his head, taking his white-blond curls with it, before they bounced back. Then he kicked off his sneakers and peeled down his pale blue jeans. They were skinny jeans, hugging his legs tightly. He'd been teased and ridiculed for wearing them. "Nice jeans," Dr. Kurtz said. Lucian mumbled, reaching down to pull off his socks. Then he stood in front of her, only wearing his Calvin Kleins. "Come on, Lucian," she said. "I haven't got all day." Turning away, he pushed his briefs down his thighs and calves. Picking them up, he rose slowly until he stood. His hand automatically cupped his penis. He'd been teased about its size but right now it seemed even smaller. It must be the damn airco. He slowly turned around, letting his hand fall away. His ears burned; he knew he was blushing like mad. Dr. Kurtz let her eyes travel down his exposed body. Her hand went to her mouth. It was wrapped in a blue latex glove, he saw. "Oh God, honey," she whispered. "You are perfect." Lucian didn't know where to look. Was she mad? Everybody knew he was anything but perfect. He looked ridiculous for an 18 year old - weak and skinny, his ribs showing. He was sickly pale; his shoulders were too narrow. What was this woman thinking? Was she mocking him? She walked up, asking him to breathe deeply as she put her stethoscope to his chest. In the next ten minutes she listened and probed, checked his joints and reflexes, his throat and ears and eyes. She took his blood pressure and had him bend and stretch in all directions, feeling his spine. Then she asked him to climb on the examination table. The fresh paper rustled under him as he stretched out, closing his eyes against the bright neon lamp. He felt her hands on his thighs, spreading them slightly. Then she pulled out his penis, rolling back its foreskin. She felt his balls, probing his loins. His blush must be crimson by now, but all he heard was how perfect he was. "Please, honey, pull up both knees and spread them." He did as she asked, despising the endearments. A slick object entered his anus; it must be her gloved finger. He yelped in surprise. "Beautiful," she said. He tried to relax his sphincter to relief the stretching. The finger went deeper; could a finger be this long? It suddenly touched a spot that made him flinch. It felt like an electric current shooting up his spine. He moaned; the doctor chuckled. "So healthy," she mumbled, touching the spot again. By now his back arched and his toes clawed the paper cover. He felt his penis twitch as the probe relentlessly hit the spot. He wanted to cry out to make her stop, but there was no sound. "Do you often masturbate, Lucian?" she asked. Her voice was cool and matter of fact. He couldn't answer. Then he felt an object closing over the head of his aching penis. He tried to look, but the blue-gloved hand obstructed his view. Another jolt hit his body and he knew he was coming. It was an entirely new sensation - not at all the sharp and short-lived climax he was used to, under showers or in toilets. This was a stretched-out rush of heat, rising from his feet, stretching his calves, spreading through his lower body. It made him tremble all over. Sperm seared through the shaft; he shook with the impact. "Healthy indeed," he heard a distant voice whisper, as dark blotches danced before his eyes. "You may get up now, honey, if you can." Lucian tried to sit up, using his elbows. It took him two tries. When he at last stood beside the table, his knees wobbled and his head spun. The woman in the white coat held up a small container. "I took a sample, if you don't mind," she said, smiling. He looked for his Calvin Kleins. "Not yet," she said. "Please sit over here." She led him to a stool; he sat down, still feeling too dazed to wonder. The wood pressed cold against his burning skin. "We need a sample of your blood too," she said. "You know: to do tests?" She took a ball of cotton and rubbed disinfectant into the crook of his arm. A needle slipped in. "Nice veins," she said. The door behind him opened; he sensed the draft on his naked back. There were heels clicking on the floor; warm hands rested on his shoulders. He didn't have to look up; he'd pick up her perfume anywhere. "Is everything fine, darling?" his mother asked. Lucian turned his face around to see her. Through the curls dangling in his eyes he saw her smile. Her hands squeezed his shoulders; her eyes seemed to focus on something. Then he felt a stab in his thigh. Swerving his head back he saw a large syringe sticking out of his leg, held by a hand in blue latex. "What..?" he cried, trying to jerk away. The hands kept him firmly in place. "It's all fine, darling," his mother said in her breeziest voice. "It's all for the best." A cloak of soft darkness sank over him. Loving hands caught him as he slid off the stool. *** You never really know when you wake up, do you? You know when you've woken up. It is like falling asleep in reverse - first you drift off, and then you drift back again. It takes a while for the cobwebs to disappear; but then you remember. His world was white and misty. It took a while before Lucian knew he was on his back, on a bed. It took another while to distinguish the several whites around him: the white of the walls against the whites of the closed curtains; the whites of the ceiling against the white of the sheet covering his body. 'Hospital' entered his mind. 'What the fuck?' followed suit. And then he felt the throbbing. It wasn't pain, really, just a humming in his groin. He slid a hand under the sheet; his chest and belly were naked. Then he felt a slick, stiff fabric over a soft, yielding bulge. Lucian screamed. He didn't know why he screamed. It might just be a ball of air wanting out, and it made no sound. Then memories rushed in and he screamed again. This time it was an audible croak - air tearing open his throat to prepare the world for his real scream. He pulled back the sheet and saw his groin. It looked silly enough - frilly plastic panties you use to cover a baby's diaper with. It even had little pink flowers. But he didn't think it covered a diaper. Feeling inside, he found bandages. That was when he screamed for real. It destroyed the silence, making the water glass on the sink jingle. He twisted his body and slid off the bed, his bare feet reaching for the floor. "Don't!" The voice was clear as a bell. It belonged to a blond girl in a long white shirt reaching halfway down her thighs. She was tall and thin and she smiled. On her feet were ballet shoes. "You must stay in bed, Lucian, just for another day." She took his legs and pushed them back on the bed. Doing so, her face came close to his; she smelled good. She also had lovely grey eyes and a generous mouth. How did she know his name? "I'm Drew," she said, covering him with the sheet again. Then she fluffed up his pillows. "Can I get you anything? Water? Tea?" "What did they do to me?" he asked. She fluttered her eyelashes, never losing her smile. Goddamn, did they all have to smile like that? "I can't tell you," she said. "But the doctor will be here any minute. I can stay with you, if you want?" He didn't know if he wanted her to, but he didn't mind. "Are you a nurse?" he asked. She giggled. "No," she said. "I just happen to have hospital duty this week. You are my only patient so far." "Patient?" he echoed. "I'm not ill." She shrugged; it made a few strands of hair fall out of her cap. She pushed them back in. "My mother brought me here to enlist me, you know, for this school. And then I had a medical check-up with the doctor, and then..." he remembered the syringe; his mother's hands holding him down. "What did they do to me?" Right then, as if on call, Dr. Kurtz rushed in, bringing a breeze of fresh outside air with her. "Lucian, honey!" she said, way too loud. The girl rose and left the room. The doctor took her place on the edge of the bed. "How do you feel?" She was all business, except for her lips; those would always betray her. "What did you do to me?" he asked, ignoring her question. He pushed away the sheet, once more exposing the ridiculous nappy- panties. The doctor blushed; she really did. "Sorry for those," she said. "They always seem the most practical solution." Always? "Don't treat me like a child!" he yelled, hating the way his voice broke. The doctor laid one hand on his leg; with the other she lifted the frilly edge of the plastic cover. Her fingers squeezed the bandages. "Does this hurt?" she asked, squeezing harder. It didn't, but there was the dull throbbing. "It's a dull pain," he said, insisting on the word pain. "Good," she said. "That's normal." "Normal for what?" he yelled again. "Don't tell me you... you..." The doctor paled as her hand went to her mouth. "Oh no! Not at all, honey!" she said. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry I made you think that. No, we just circumcised you, that's all." Dizziness attacked him. "T-that's all?" he stuttered. "You cut my cock without asking me and you say that's all?" Her smile had gone now. "Your mother," she began, "I mean we, we circumcise new students as a matter of routine. It is for health and hygiene. Your mother allowed it. I wanted to inform you, but she said there was no need. I'm sorry, honey." "Don't you honey me!" he yelled again. "And fuck your sorry's." Lucian turned away from her, feeling utterly alone. "Where is my mother?" he then asked, talking to the wall. "I must see her." There was silence. "She left," the doctor said. "She left," he echoed. "Yes, right after you, ehm... passed out." Lucian pushed his face under his pillow. After a minute he felt her weight lift from the bed. "Sorry, Lucian," she said, her words muffled by the pillow. *** He must have lain there for hours, finally falling asleep. The girl Drew tapped his shoulder; she gave him a glass of water and two pills. Lucian sat up. His hair stuck to his skull from the sweltering heat under his pillow. He asked her what the pills were for. "Sleep," she said. "You'll sleep and heal." He studied the pills; they were small and white, no markings. He'd seen her take the water from the tap. "You can trust me," she said, smiling. "Like I could trust the doctor?" he asked. "Did she lie?" He shrugged. "She ehm... circumcised me without telling, let alone asking," he said trying not to pout. "Ah, that." The girl shrugged as she said it. "That's a rule; all boys get it done if they haven't before." "For hygiene," he offered. "Yes, that's what they say." Lucian sulked. Anger still raged inside him, but it turned slowly into the stifling emotion he knew better: frustration. Why did things always happen to him? "She should've asked," he muttered. The girl smiled. "Take the pills," she said. "You need to sleep." He didn't know how long he slept. The lights were on when he woke again, the curtains closed. "Ah, you're awake. Good morning." The girl looked fresh; her hair was still damp where it peeped from under her cap. On a tray she had a glass of fruit juice and a container with a straw. It looked like a milkshake. There were crackers and also a small white cup containing pills - two green ones, a red one, and four huge beige-like ones. "Breakfast," she said. "What is it?" She grinned. "It won't kill you," she said. "This is fresh orange juice, with mango and pine apple. And this is a vegetable smoothie. You know what a smoothie is?" "Health food," he said. "Vegetarian. And the pills? For sleep again?" She once more chuckled. "The green ones are vitamins," she pointed out as she leaned over him. "Don't ask me the letters and numbers. The red one is antibiotics for your ehm... operation. And the beige pills are food supplements. We hardly eat meat here, you see." He stared at the pills. Then he looked up to find her eyes. They were lovely and very close. "Look me in the eyes and tell me they are good for me," he said. She smiled, opening her eyes wider. "You'll feel reborn," she said. He took the red one and chased it down with fruit juice. Closing his eyes, he swallowed it. The girl Drew softly clapped her hands. After breakfast she took him to the shower. Standing alone under the hot, cascading water he wondered what was happening to him - and if he should keep thinking it was a bad thing. He ought to be shocked, he knew, by what they did to him - his mother, the doctor. He was upset, of course. They invaded his privacy without even knocking. And yet - he had to make an effort to really feel insulted. Maybe it came from lack of alternatives; or maybe it was in the pills. Taking the pink container that stood on the ledge, he squeezed a large dollop of shower-lotion into the palm of his hand. It smelled like Drew did, and it slithered on his skin. He hated his skin; it was soft and translucently pale. It bruised when only stomped or squeezed. And it burned in the sun. Lathering his arms and belly, he arrived at the silly plastic nappy- holder. They said they'd circumcised him; snipped the loose skin off the tip of his penis for better hygiene. If so, then why did he feel this numb throb in his balls? Maybe he should get the bandages off and take a look. Being kept in the dark gave him every right to do that, didn't it? He shrugged and picked up the blue container. It said 'shampoo' and it smelled like the lotion. He built a nice tower of suds on his head, rubbing it into his skull. He hated his hair too; it made him look like an angelic little pre-teen - the silver blond color, the abundant curls. Every woman said he looked cute. His father had once taken him to a barber, who almost shaved him bald. It made him look even younger, and a cancer victim. His mother had had a fit. "Are you done yet?" The shower's rain almost drowned out the girl's voice. She tapped on the glass door. "Hurry." He rinsed his hair; then he picked up a fluffy towel, rubbing himself dry. When he stepped outside, there was a white robe on the bed. Next to it stood Drew with a grin and a big white container. She squeezed a blob of cream on her palm. "Turn," she said and started rubbing it into his back. She took another helping and told him to do his front. The lotion made his limbs shine until it was absorbed. It smelled good; his skin felt like a baby's. Lucian grabbed the robe and wrapped it around his body. It fell halfway down to his thighs and was made of fake satin, he guessed - some slippery fabric. "Wow... you look good enough to eat." He looked up. She giggled, but she meant it. He supposed she meant it. "Let me take you to the doctor," she said, presenting something on the flat palms of both hands. They were white ballet shoes with long satin ribbons hanging down from them. He frowned. "Well, it beats walking barefoot," she said, grinning. The shoes looked comfortable, but the thought of wearing them sent flashes of embarrassment to his face. "I can't..." he started, not knowing what he couldn't. "I never...," he went on, meaning he'd never worn things like that before. "Oh, but you can and you will," she said, smiling wide. "I'll help you." She pushed him, so he sat down on the bed's edge. Then she knelt and lifted his right foot, rubbing its sole and toes. "I love your feet," she said. "Beautifully narrow, with long toes and a nice arch." He felt her fingers massage it, shooting electric arrows up his legs. She opened one shoe and slid it over his foot. The satin felt great, more like a glove than a shoe. The girl crisscrossed the ribbons over his ankles and calves. Then she did the left one. "Look," she said, " so you can do it yourself." He rose to his feet, trying a few steps. The shoes were incredibly light and supple, with a firmer sole. The girl clapped her hands. "Lovely," she said. "I'm proud of you. Let's go!" Walking down the corridors was an exercise in self-consciousness. They met a group of girls like Drew, wearing the usual long dress shirts, all buttons undone, over flimsy camisoles and pastel colored short shorts. They walked on ballet shoes like his - they danced on them, rather. Three were blondes. He saw two Asian girls and a black one. They laughed, greeting Drew. When they passed them, one of the blondes said: "Love your hair, Lucian." "They know me?" he asked. "Of course," Drew said. "You are famous." She grinned; she must be joking. Dr. Vivian Kurtz was all smiles. "Good morning, Lucian," she gushed. "I hope you slept well; I wish I did. Now undress; let's get you out of that baby thing." He undid the sash of his robe and let the satin slide down to his feet. Instead of feeling exposed he felt silly, looking down on the frilly monstrosity. The doctor pulled it off; a damp clot of bandages slid down with it. His penis looked an angry pink. First thing he saw was its exposed head - permanently exposed now - and the fine dark line that ran around its rim - no doubt where the skin had been cut. The blue of the doctor's gloves contrasted nicely. She lifted the head on two fingertips. "Good," she murmured. "My balls look swollen," Lucian said. They did. The ball sac was like a puffed reddish pillow supporting the pink snail of his penis. "That's just irritation from the bandages," Dr. Kurtz said. "It will be gone in a day." "They throb," he went on. "The balls I mean. They have been throbbing all day yesterday." "Throb?" she asked. "You mean hurt?" "Well, ehm, no," he said. "More of a dull ache, really. I don't know." The doctor rose from her squatting position. "You'll be fine," she said, squeezing her eyes in a reassuring way. "But let's be careful. Here, put this on for another day or two." She handed him what looked like a codpiece, but it wasn't hard and it had been stuffed with fluffy material. "It's sterile now and you can keep it on while washing," she said. Then she gave him a box. "After going to the toilet, you must change the cotton lining." The piece felt snug around his genitals. The elastic bands ran high over his hips. As he moved he knew he'd have to get used to the string that ran down his crack. The thing gave the rather sexy impression of a bulging thong. Anyway, he thought, it beats wearing napkins. Drew waited for him to take him back. She insisted on seeing his latest accessory, and said it looked gorgeous on him. Then she followed a different route from how they'd come. She brought him to a tiny bedroom suite, the suite being a shower stall, a toilet and a walk-in closet. "Welcome to your place," she said. "It's all yours, you lucky bastard." Beside the queen sized bed was a small desk-like table, a chair and another desk with a lighted mirror and a stool in front of it. On the desk were papers. Drew told him to look into them after she left. Next to the bed he saw a suitcase. It bore stickers he recognized; the suitcase was his. Then Drew said she'd leave him alone. Lunch would be brought, but tonight she'd pick him up for dinner. "Don't go anywhere," she said, smiling. When she was gone, he threw the suitcase on the bed and opened it. On top was a letter next to the teddy bear he'd had as long as he remembered. Seeing it brought a sting to his eyes. He dropped down on the bed, feeling the string press into his flesh. The letter was on his mother's stationary. He recognized her loopy handwriting. "Sweet, sweet Lucian!!!" the letter opened. Ah, the exclamation marks. "Please don't be mad," his mother wrote. "This really is the best solution." Solution, he thought. So he was a problem. "We could no longer stand aside and watch you being destroyed, honey," she wrote. 'We?' Surely she couldn't mean she and that man he saw ten times a year? Or the consiglieri with the creepy moustache? "Your father doesn't know you are there," she went on as if she could read his thoughts. "He never accepted the person you are. But in time he will!!!" Lucian groaned. He remembered the day his father took him to a boxing match. He was ten and shrinking away from the sheer aggression around him, not just in the ring. The screaming, the jostling and the violence: he had nightmares for weeks. When his father wanted to take him there again, he fled screaming, locking himself in his room. His father never stopped teasing him about it, and not in a playful way. "I know you, Lucian," his mother wrote on. Ah, she'd better; she was his goddamn mother, wasn't she? "I know you'll love the place. You'll meet children like you, talented, sensitive children needing a safe place to blossom." So now he was a child, and a flower? Nice. He imagined his mother writing the letter, sitting at her elegant little desk, about noon, freshly showered, a towel around her hair, like a turban. She'd wear a silk robe, real silk, the dark red one that set off her pale skin - the skin he'd inherited. She'd smoke a cigarette, no doubt still slightly hung over from a champagne-filled night before. There would be a cup of cappuccino. He imagined her bare leg peeping out of the robe, slick and shining, a silver Jimmy Choo sandal dangling from her foot. He'd looked it up; it was silly expensive. If he wanted to go on with the letter, he'd have to let go of the image. He didn't want to. Then he did. "I won't be visiting for quite a while," her bold, round letters proceeded. "Not because I don't want to, please don't ever believe that!!!!, but because it's against the school rules." The 'don't ever believe that' had been inserted later, wedged between the lines. One of the exclamation marks had gone right through the paper. "So, please don't think we dumped you, honey!! It is all for the best. Be strong! Kisses, kisses, kisses, Mother." Tears ran down his cheeks. He should be glad, she said. He wasn't dumped; it was all for the best; kisses, kisses, kisses, little hearts and three fat crosses. He took the letter between fingers and thumbs and tore it right down the middle. Next he turned the parts and tore them again. Then he stopped. He stuffed the pieces back into the envelope and put them in the bottom drawer of his desk. He grabbed the teddy bear from the open suitcase and pushed his face into its threadbare belly. *** Some people think schools are there simply because they're there - and always have been. Others think they are part-time prisons. And then there are people who believe schools give you an education. It was past 8 p.m. when Drew knocked on his door. Lucian felt hungry; his lunch had only been a green salad with some cheese and nuts - and pills of course. The fruit juice contained no sugar. He started to see why everyone was so thin. Later, just out of boredom, he'd leafed through the papers on the desk. Some listed titles of textbooks. He assumed they weren't complete, as he didn't see any books on math or physics or even history. Maybe they would be taught through computer programs. He did see French textbooks, and English grammar. There also were books about fashion and beauty. He guessed the list was general, or the titles got mixed up. Other papers were mostly schedules like he knew from his former schools. FR and EN, GYM and ATHL were pretty clear, but he wondered about BE and BAL and GRA. He also saw that the schedules for math and physics hadn't been included yet. Drew wore a dress. It was a short summer thing that had a low back and flared out high on her thighs. It was pale yellow cotton, printed with peach-pink flowers, setting off her tan. Her hair flowed in waves to her shoulder blades. On her feet were flowery flip-flops. She looked beautiful. "Ah, is it still warm outside?" he asked. "I haven't been outside in two days." "It's lovely," she said. "Did you shower? We all shower before we change for dinner." He showered and used the lotion. When he returned, he went to his closet to pick up the jeans that had been in his suitcase; and a T-shirt. "You can't wear that." He looked up, surprised. "Why not? They are new - well, clean anyway." "You must wear these," she said, throwing items on the bed. He saw it was a thin, salmon-colored top and silky salmon short shorts. The top had spaghetti straps. There also was a long, sky-blue buttoned dress shirt, like he'd seen on the girls. He stared at the bed. "Those are for girls," he said. "Are there boys at all at this school? I still have to meet any." She smiled. "Plenty of boys," she said. "And the shirt is a male dress shirt, for your information. Now put these on, time is running out." "But..," he said, helplessly holding up the shorts and the top. "Problems?" she asked. "It's not rocket science: the top goes over your head and the shorts up your legs. I do hope they fit over your interesting little cod piece." She laughed and reached out to grab his groin. He jumped back. Feeling the flimsy material of the top on the back of his hand brought secret memories, and sensations that went straight to his carefully packed penis. It created a confusing cocktail of thrill, fear and embarrassment. "I really...," he began, knowing his face was aflame. "Humor me," Drew interrupted. "Just for the fun of it. I bet it looks cute on you." Cute; the girl said cute. Lucian sighed, picking up the long shirt. It was an oversized man's shirt, just like she said. Maybe he could cover the damn top with it, and the girly shorts too. He dropped the shirt and grabbed the shorts, pulling them over his legs. They were very tight, firstly because they were, and secondly because of his artificial package. "Ooooh, sexy!" the girl mocked. "You pack a nice bulge, mister." And she broke down giggling. Lucian shrugged, picking up the top and letting it slide over his head. The liquid slickness made him shiver. The camisole fit snugly over his chest, betraying the contours of his nipples. The hem stopped right over his belly button. Deep, forbidden feelings surfaced as he saw himself in the dressing mirror next to the closet. Drew clapped her hands. "Gorgeous!" she exclaimed. "God, you make me feel jealous." There was no mocking in her voice now. "Wait," she said, picking up a brush. She started brushing his curls, making them fluff out in a silver halo. "Oooh," she said, biting her lip. "Give me your hair, Lucian. Give me those curls, please!" He gently pushed her away and picked up the shirt, pulling it over the damn outfit. When he started to button it up, Drew protested, but he ignored her. He laced up his ballet shoes, and they left for dinner. It was almost 8:30, dinner obviously over. The dining hall was empty -- tables had been cleared and chairs piled on top of them. The stone floor shone, still damp in places. The room looked grand with its tall windows and huge chandeliers hanging from a distant ceiling. Drew took him past the empty tables and through glass doors onto a small patio. They'd met nobody on their way here and he was thankful for that. He sure must look ridiculous with his bare legs and ballet shoes sticking from under the blue tent of his shirt. It wasn't dark yet, but in the gathering dusk a few lamps had been lit. Even this close to autumn the air was balmy, sweet to inhale after having been in airco-land for two days. At the center of the patio stood a small, round table. Two women in light linen suits sat on either side, leaving room for two more to sit. They turned their faces to them. One was Parker, the principal; the other Vivian Kurtz. Of course they both smiled. Parker rose. "Hello Lucian," she said in her crispy voice, looking at him from inside her big round glasses. "How are you, darling? Settling in nicely?" Both women stood now. Lucian saw there were three plates on the table, not four. Parker gestured him to the third plate, on the opposite side. He waited behind the chair, looking where Drew was. She still stood where he'd left her. "Thank you, Drew, for taking care of our Lucian," Parker said. "You may leave now." The girl hesitated; she obviously didn't know she wasn't invited. Doing a small curtsey, she turned and left. Lucian wondered if she would have dinner at all tonight. He suddenly felt alone. They sat down, and Parker sounded a small bell. A girl came in, wearing a floor-long apron. He thought he'd seen her before; she was maybe one of the Asian girls he met in the corridors. She did the same kind of curtsey Drew had, and asked what the ladies wanted to drink. The top of her apron opened a bit and he wondered if she wore anything under it "Ah, Nico," Parker said, "I guess Dr. Kurtz and I will go for the Chablis, and sweet Lucian here will have water of course. Did you already meet?" The girl blushed. "Yes, Ms. Parker," she said. "We met in passing. Hello Lucian, I'm Nico." And she curtsied again, graciously. As she turned away to get their drinks, he saw she wore similar shorts as his. Hers were baby blue and moved with her ass cheeks. While she was leaving, Dr. Kurtz asked him if he felt chilly. It was a strange question, as the evening was mild and he had his shirt buttoned up to his chin. He denied feeling cold. "Well, honey," she said, smiling. "You seem a bit over dressed for a fine balmy evening, so I thought..." The 'darlings' and 'honeys' started to wear him down. So did the constant urging to strip. "I'm fine, thank you," he said, feeling hot flashes rise under his collar. He took the carafe of water that was on the table and filled his glass. Then he took a series of impressive gulps, ignoring the chuckling women. He put down the glass and said: "Why did you want to see me anyway?" It successfully brought their giggling to a halt. He felt a hand on his wrist; it was the principal's. "I'm sorry," she said. "I guess we should be more sensitive. These must be hard days for you." The girl returned with a bottle and two glasses. She poured the wine and set the bottle in a cooler. "I'll be right back with the entrees," she said, curtseying again. She had strong, toned legs; tanned too. "Hard days or not," Ms. Parker resumed after the girl had left, "there are things we have to talk about. And you, no doubt, have questions too." She picked up her glass, saluted Dr. Kurtz and took a sip. "I don't want to be here," he mumbled. The principal set down her glass, and said: "Oh, but you do." Confused, he looked at her. She smiled, of course. "But I just said..." he started. She interrupted him at once. "I know what you said. But that is not what you want." This was a weird conversation, he thought. He looked from the headmistress to the doctor and back. It was Dr. Kurtz who went on, laying her hand on his. "If not here, honey, where would you be?" she asked. He took away his hand. It didn't stop her. "Would you really go back to your old school? I guess not; nor to any other so-called normal school. You can't even go back home." Lucian jerked his head up from staring at his plate. The woman nodded. "Why can't I go home?" he asked. The hand returned. "Because your mother will send you back at once. She signed you into this school because she is convinced this is where you must be; and we agree with her." Of course they agree, he thought. She's paying. He looked at Ms. Parker who was sipping her wine. At that moment the Asian girl returned with their salads. She said there was bulgur in it, with roasted eggplant, peppers and salty lemon. Then she curtseyed yet again and wished them "bon app?tit." He'd never eaten bulgur before, or even heard of it - nor had he tasted roasted eggplant or salty lemon. He tried a bite; it was good. Of course it was good: he was hungry. "Why does my mother think this school is my best choice?" he asked, after swallowing his third bite. Parker smiled. He started fearing that smile. "Because she knows," she said, "that this is the only place where someone like you is appreciated - your interests and your talents." Now he laughed. "She told you I have talents?" The doctor's fingers squeezed his hand. "My God," she said. "They really destroyed you, didn't they?" "I'm fine," he muttered, embarrassed by what she said. "No, you're not," she replied, her smile gone now. "You are a beautiful young person. You are smart and sensitive, and just because most schools ignore your talents, that doesn't mean they don't exist." Oh God, he thought, so it's that kind of school: pimping up a fantasy- curriculum for parents with too much money who want to buy a degree - whatever degree - so they can finally boast about some success of their disappointing offspring at their get-togethers. He just stared at the doctor; then returned to his plate. At least the food was good, whatever it was. Ms. Parker pushed away her plate, half-empty. There was no smile on her face - and quite a bit of steel in her voice. "I bet you see yourself as the fashionable little cynic, Lucian, don't you? Maybe you would even call yourself realistic and me na?ve." She caught his eyes. "Yes," she went on, "I thought so. But you should know that you are all wrong. It only shows how damaged you are. As an 18 year old you should be the na?ve one - we the cynics. You should believe that the world is there for you to grasp - that anything is possible." Lucian shrugged, looking away. Sermons like these always embarrassed him. "Don't look away, Lucian," the woman said, her voice warmer now. "I know this makes you feel awkward, because you'd feel awkward saying it about yourself. Well..." she lifted her glass, "I guarantee that you will be saying it all, long before you leave this school - and believe it. I drink to that." Dr. Kurtz picked up her glass and nodded that he should too. He looked at the half-empty glass. "It's half full, Lucian," the woman said, softly. He couldn't help smiling. Raising the glass, he touched Parker's with it, and the doctor's. "To your future, Lucian Gaines," the principal said. They drank. He swallowed, feeling the water struggle past the angry lump in his throat. *** Lying in bed, later that night, Lucian tried to process what he'd heard over dinner. Were the two women really as driven as they let on? Or was it just another P.R. story, meant to make them feel good about their precious rich man's institute? And if so, why would a doctor be as involved as Vivian Kurtz was? The food was good, although it had been served in very small portions. In the main course he'd found slivers of white chicken meat. There had not been sugar, nor cream in the skimmed-dairy dessert. And he'd been the only one having pills on the side. Of course he'd asked Dr. Kurtz about them. She gave the same response as Drew - antibiotics, vitamins and supplements. She could be lying, of course. But wasn't she a doctor? He asked Parker about the schedules with their puzzling abbreviations, and the lack of textbooks on math and science. She hadn't really answered; she just told him everything would be explained when he started taking classes. "When will that be?" he asked. "Soon. Tomorrow the boys will show you around." "Boys?" "Your classmates. There are eight of them. They'll pick you up at seven and take you to breakfast." Small classes, he mused. His parents must be paying a lot for this. It was his last thought before waking up at 6:30. *** Stepping into the shower, he took off the codpiece. The swelling was gone, he saw, and so was the dull throbbing. His cock had regained its usual paleness; the exposed head was a shade pinker. The thin line of the cut seemed almost natural. Passing water didn't hurt. He felt his testicles; they were there, snuggly packed inside their sac. Its skin seemed to feel smoother, and tighter. 'The boys' were like a crushing springtide when they hit his door, beating on it with their fists. Lucian yelled for patience, pulling up the codpiece with its fresh lining. The baby-blue shorts he found in his drawer closed snugly over it. Then he grabbed the white robe and walked to the door. There were supposed to be eight of them, but it felt like twenty - a pastel-colored ball of energy that suddenly froze when he opened his door. After a startled second they resumed pushing and jostling, but not to get in. It seemed they were mostly trying to hide behind each other, which, of course, left one boy to be in front. He looked fourteen, maybe fifteen, but who was he to estimate correctly? The boy was exotically beautiful with dark eyes under thick, long bangs of blue-black hair. The olive skin of his face looked flushed with excitement. He was skinny, of course, but his bare arms and legs were tan and toned. His maize-colored top left his waist bare, right down to cognac-colored short-shorts. There was no shirt. "Morning," Lucian said, pulling the robe around him. "I'm Lucian." He offered a hand, but it was ignored. "Hello," the boy said, smiling broadly. "I'm Harper, and these are your classmates." He stepped aside to present the boys behind him. There was muted giggling, until a redheaded boy cried out: "I'm Kelly; and he is Madison. He is Jo," he said, pointing at a butterscotch boy, "and he is Mu, mooh-mooh!" It must have been an old joke, but it set off more giggling and pushing. The Chinese boy didn't seem to mind. "I'm Cassidy!" someone cried from the back, a blond boy taller than the rest. "Taylor here!" Then the group separated, leaving a path towards the sweetest girl he'd ever seen. Her huge violet eyes were set in a frame of bushy lashes. Flaxen blond she was, and her body must have been sculpted from Meissen porcelain. She was a doll and she blushed like the setting sun. Lucian smiled at her. It made her turn away, hiding behind one of the boys. "He is Charlie," the boy Harper said. "He's a bit shy." Lucian saw one of the boys hug the girl - the boy? *** It was like being moved instead of moving, when they took Lucian to the breakfast room. The heads of the ever-swirling group circled around him like a flock of birds. He now saw they all had bob-style hair - it was cut and styled similar: shorn at the back to leave their slim necks free, thick long bangs to almost cover their eyes, and swashes down their cheeks. Some had straight and slick hair, like Harper and the Asian boy called Mu. Jo's were kinky, and the angelic girl-boy Charlie carried his bob like a fluffy cloud of spun silver. As they walked, Harper explained about the building, pointing out where the classrooms were, mixed with anecdotes of teachers he still had to meet. The boys threw in details to add color. Not all of them had their own room, like he did. Five shared a kind of dorm - Harper and the redhead among them. Most of them had been around for at least half a year or longer. The breakfast room was small and obviously just meant for them. They sat around a big table, sipping glasses of fruit juice and spooning granola and yoghurt. Girls like the pretty Chinese from yesterday served the food, wearing long aprons over tiny shorts. They scolded the boys in a friendly way. "They're Barbs," Harper said. "Barbies." He wiggled his limp wrist, closing his eyes as he kissed the air. "Who are?" he asked. "The girls serving. We are Bobs." "You are?" he asked. "What about me?" His question caused silence. Harper pulled up his bony shoulders, spreading his fingers. "You're a Bob too, of course," he said. "Juniors like us. Don't you know?" "I guess I know nothing," Lucian said. He picked up the small bowl filled with colorful pills. "For example," he said, "what are these?" "M&M's!" the redhead yelled. Giggles came from all around the table. Lucian saw the boys pick up their pills and flush them down with water. "You can take them," Harper said. "We all do." Finishing his juice, he rose. "Come," he said. "Let's show you the place." *** The school was bigger than Lucian imagined. Behind the ancient main building was a modern extension with straight and simple lines and a lot of glass. An open corridor connected both buildings. Upon arrival they were welcomed by piano music, loud stomping noises and voices. "Ballet classes," Harper said. "Let's have a look." One side of the huge hall was completely mirrored with a long bar in front of it. The other side gave out on the park and had ceiling-to- floor windows. They let in a sea of daylight. On a vast wooden floor girls were practicing. They wore tights hugging their long, toned legs, and woolen calf- warmers. Their bodies bent with easy grace, doing impressive things to their spines. A woman in black played a piano while yelling instructions in a clear, high voice. "Aren't they great?" Harper asked. "I'm so jealous." Lucian looked from the boy's radiant face to a girl standing on tiptoes, folding her leg upwards until her heel rested on her head. Jealous? "Come!" the red headed boy cried out, pulling on his arm. Running and jumping, pushing and pulling all the way, they reached tall doors that opened to what obviously was a gymnastics hall. Smelling the usual cocktail of rubber, leather and old sweat, Lucian's memories turned dark. Places like this were temples of humiliation and ridicule, where jocks were the high priests and the likes of him the adoring altar boys. It was where the big guys with the butchers' faces flexed their muscles and almost accidentally showed off their fat, long penises. It was where they laughed hard at the spindle-armed wannabes trying to hang on to rings or climbing ropes but never reaching the elusive ceiling. It was hell. As his eyes roamed the space with dismay, the boys sprinted past him to the torture devices that were all over the place. The brown boy called Jo took a few high-legged strides, then jumped and did an easy somersault on a vaulting-buck, landing soundlessly on his feet. Others were on the trampoline, jumping till they touched the ceiling; vaulting and flying. The tiny porcelain girly boy Charlie ran to a balance beam, jumping onto it like a feather, and starting a series of elegant high-steps, turns, rolls and flips, ending with a somersault and a slow, total split, crying out with pleasure. Lucian saw two boys doing high jumps, clearing a bar level to their heads. Harper danced in front of him, whooping and waving his arms like a bird. Then he turned, running to a vast mat, starting a series of jumps, flips and a double, screw-like thing before ending perfectly on his feet. "You do gymnastics?" he asked Lucian, hardly panting. Lucian shrugged. "Are you training for the circus?" he asked in response. The boys laughed out loud, ignoring the sarcasm. "You'll be doing this next year," Harper said. "Easy." They left the gym and ran down a corridor. After a few steps Lucian stopped to stare at a row of framed photographs on the wall. They were professional fashion photos and covers of well- known magazines - Vogue he saw, and Harper's Bazaar. He'd seen quite a number of them; his mother's room had always been strewn with fashion magazines. "But that is Bobbi Sheering," he said, pointing. "And isn't that Campbell Laurie?" He recalled his mother's amusement when she found him leafing through her glossies. "Don't you have Playboys to jerk off to?" she'd asked, following up with her throaty laugh. "What are they doing here?" he asked, walking slowly to take them all in. The models were wonderfully dressed - some outrageous, some half naked. "Wow, Andrea Pecci," he said, stopping to study a wraithlike, pale blonde in a wispy silk outfit, leaning on a stuffed tiger. "They graduated here, don't you know?" Harper asked. "Except for Andrea, who's still here, once in a while." Lucian stared at the pictures, his head spinning. "You mean they were students here?" he asked. Harper studied his face. "You have no idea what school this is, do you?" he said. Then he turned and walked on, leaving Lucian wondering about his remark - staring from the boy to the photographs and back. "Come on," Harper urged. "Coach is waiting; can't be late." The sun felt good on his skin; so did the soft breeze. Summer still lingered. Conflicting feelings washed over him as he inhaled the scent of freshly cut grass - sweet air mixed with awful memories. Harper took him down a path that split the vast lawn in front of the main building. The rest of the boys stayed back; they had classes. There were clumps of trees and shrubbery. He also saw small groups of girls walking around or sitting on the grass. Some of them waved. Coach was a giantess - a huge Nordic blonde wrapped in athletic spandex. She stepped out of the darkness of a small building - a shack, really - her body lighting up as the sunlight caught her. She was tall, way over six feet, her frame stacked with muscles. "Is this him, Harp?" she asked, extending a hand. "Sure, Coach," Harper said. "He's Lucian." The hand was big and dry and warm. Her voice boomed. Lucian felt intimidated. He hated coaches with the same fearful disgust as gyms and physical education in general. The woman took his bony shoulders in both hands, looking him up and down until he started sweating. "I bet you hate sports," she said, feeling his biceps - or the lack of them. She didn't laugh; she not even smiled. Lucian shrugged. Her face softened. "Most boys here do," she said. Lucian recalled what he saw in the gym. The coach stepped back, letting go of him. "That is," she said, grinning at Harper, "they do when they arrive." The boy laughed, pumping his fist. "Please tell me, Lucian," she went on. "I guess you hate the ropes and the rings and doing push-ups - and football, of course. But there must be something you're good at - maybe gymnastics, like Harp here, or dancing? There always is something, you know... do you run?" Did he run? He always ran, he guessed - away from things mostly. But really running? "You seem to have a runner's body," the tall woman said. "Let me see. Strip." She folded her arms under her tightly packed bosom, stepping back. Lucian looked from her to Harper. Undress - here? Did it ever stop? "You're shy; of course you are," Coach said. "They all are at first, remember, Harp? No need for that, honey. Please show us." The soft breeze cooled his exposed skin after he took off the top and shorts. "You still need that?" Coach asked, pointing at the codpiece. "How long has it been on?" Lucian shrugged. "Two days, about," he said. "Take it off and let me see." Stripping in public was one thing, but stripping naked? The woman seemed to loose her patience. "Come on, boy," she said, reaching out and grabbing a strap of the piece, pulling it down. "I bet you think you're the only one with a cock?" Standing naked, Lucian automatically hugged himself, looking away from the woman's stare. He felt her fingers touch his penis, lifting it up. In the distance a group of girls jogged across the lawn, their ponytails bobbing. "Looks healed to me," the woman said. "Now put those arms down." Lucian obeyed. His eyes returned to the coach; he felt his face burning. "Great legs, honey," the woman said. "Raise the right one." He did, standing on one wobbly foot. "Now the other." He felt her hands kneading his calf and thigh, plying his knee. "Get out of the dance shoes, please." Lucian did. The prickly grass insinuated itself between his spreading toes. "Now run to the gate over there and back." Lucian looked over his shoulder to the gate. It must be at least 200 yards, mostly open terrain. "Just jog to it," Coach said. "Then come back running as fast as you can." "But I'm..." He stopped. Coach had resumed her mighty stance, looking down on him. Lucian started jogging, very much aware of his naked body and his free flopping penis. Shaking his head he fought the embarrassment, letting other feeling in - good feelings, and then amazing feelings - the spongy grass, the crunchy leaves, the breeze kissing his crotch. He felt... light, free, open. He felt like a bird. Lucian threw back his head, crying out as he increased his speed. Curls whipped his face; his arms and legs moved in a blur. When he reached the gate his bare feet hit the smooth pebble stones, making them fly. He touched the gate and turned around. Throwing his legs higher he ran now as fast as he could. He closed his mind to distant whoops and cheers. His heart pumped and his lungs worked like bellows. He gasped and wheezed, feeling pain spread from his chest to his legs. But still he ran and ran, focusing on the tiny figure beside the shack - watching it getting bigger with every step, every leap. Then the world got dark. His legs pumped on until he fell down, bouncing on the merciful bed of grass- right in front of the mighty woman's column-like legs. "Yes," he heard her say from an increasing distance. "We'll make a runner out of you yet, boy."