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Lucian, Chapter Five. Spring arrived at Norton's Academy of Excellence. It painted the drab lawns with blazing green, causing desolate bushes to burst into a zillion flowers. Chaotic birdsong filled the sky, and Lucian Gaines ran, seeing it all happen - the yellow of daffodils, the purple of crocuses and the pure white of snowbells. Not that he had the faintest idea what their names were. Winter had been fickle. The first snow thawed after a week, followed by a new load that resisted two months of alternate frost and thaw, more snow and chilling rain. Finally, when February ended, all paths and lanes around Norton's buildings turned into slippery mud and soggy brown grass. Lucian kept running whatever the weather. He often returned soaked and splattered from his twice-daily forays amongst ice-bearded trees leaking their chilly melt water down his neck and spine. Most of the time he ran alone, and usually he had to find his way through misty dawn and gloomy dusk. He didn't care. Running was his last resort - the only moments of the day he felt free from the constant pressure Norton's Academy of Excellence had become. Teachers relentlessly pushed and polished, patiently shaping a new standard of normalcy. Looking good and moving graciously became impersonal things, like learning French or history. There was no link to his personal reality. He took it all for granted - as he knew everyone did. And finally it became an unconscious part of his life, conditioning his mind. The routine started each morning, after running. In the end he came to a point where he knew he'd feel bad if he skipped shampooing and blow-drying his curly hair - even if he hated the effect. He'd also feel uncomfortable the rest of the day if he forgot the thorough rubbing of every square inch of his skin with the prescribed lotion. Smelling fresh ensured peace of mind, and it had become virtually impossible to ignore a stray hair or the tiniest stubble on his pale, immaculate skin. His nails on toes and fingers had to be perfect - smoothly polished and spotlessly painted. Sure, part of his brain was still screaming in disgust at what he did to himself, but another part just had to go through the automatic movements. Maybe, he thought, his body had grown its own brain, working separately from the one in his head? Schizophrenia was a word he'd heard about. Sometimes tears spoiled the work he did on making up his eyes. But he soaked them up angrily with a tissue and went on, drawing perfect lines and fattening his lashes with mascara. Breakfast was no longer the raucous affair he remembered from his first days. The yelling and pushing became exceptions; belching or breaking wind was definitely not done. Did the others feel the pressure like he did? Did Harper? Jo? Red haired Kelly had always been the most boyish Bob, always in for a romp, bragging and swaggering. But lately there were changes - physical changes too. The riot of freckles on his skin faded, and the fierce orange of his hair seemed darker. His green eyes were bigger and more intense, maybe because of the subtle eyeliner he used, as they all did by now. The changes in Kelly's face might be from just growing up - wizening up. He looked definitely softer, less edgy, as did most of the Bobs. Even his big, horsey teeth seemed smaller. The most chilling change he noticed was with Charlie - but maybe it was only a change in the way he and the rest of the boys saw him. Little porcelain Charlie seemed to have grown these last months, not so much in stature as in presence. He was still quiet and soft-spoken, appearing and disappearing like a ghost, but the fragile shyness was gone. Whenever he joined them now, a hush descended on the group; his appearance spread a silent wave of smiles on the faces around him. His chair was pulled out for him, and his glass filled with water. Lucian watched the boy carefully. The very outline of his face and body seemed to blur - the soft shoulders, the dainty fingers and the dimpled cheeks. Even the flaxen curls had a velvety halo; the cherry lips trembled, the violet of his gaze seemed to blend with the light. By now it felt silly to call her a him anymore. Time became syrup when Charlie's eyes found his; the long lashes fluttered in slow motion as the violet deepened, pulling him in. Lucian shivered and looked away. But not before the boy's smile melted the air between them. Yes, change was everywhere, but very slow. It was never abrupt or obvious - and never the same for everybody. It might be a sweet and welcome gift for some, Lucian guessed, or a venomous snake in the grass for others. It all depended on your opinion, didn't it? For Charlie it certainly was a gift. For himself Lucian wasn't sure. While picking up his daily pills, he kept watching out for the adder. *** It was on a wet day in March. Lucian returned from another muddy run, having lost the others while doing his second and third lap around the grounds. His top and tights were soaked with sweat and drenched by icy rain. Panting from racing the last three hundred yards he bent over, hands on his knees. Heat steamed from his back while water leaked from his curly bangs. "The old cow needs to see you; nine o'clock her place." Lucian looked up into Harper's grinning face. Ms. Parker had absolute power over her Bobs. But, as things go with dictators, the urge among her subjects to secretly mock her was proportional. 'Old cow' was maybe the friendliest. There also was 'Iron Tits' and 'Panzer Babe' for the severe suits she loved to wear. But there was never a doubt: they would do whatever she told them - and pronto. It wasn't yet eight now. Lucian knew that if he hurried the showering and dressing he might still make breakfast before seeing Parker. So he thanked Harper and ran up the steps to the front door, grimacing as he felt the boy's hand on his damp ass cheek. Before reaching his room, he'd already peeled off the sticky top. Dancing inside on one leg while pulling off his left trainer, he saw the small pile of clothing on his unmade bed. Picking up the uppermost item he saw it was a tiny top, made of lace and satin. It really was more like a bra, although there were no cups - just triangular pieces of flimsy satin, like a bikini top. It had spaghetti straps, but no clasp at the back or front. At first he was puzzled by its obvious uselessness. But as he let it slide through his fingers, memories entered his mind. Things he'd pushed away, but never really forgot. For a woman like his mother bras had a function, both for comfort and beauty. But he knew you didn't have to be a woman to feel other secrets, aspects beyond pure functionality - deeper thrills than just imagining how it held up breasts, hiding them, shaping them, and showing them off. He shivered at the secret, magical signals it whispered to him, the arousing taboo he could sense, just letting it slip through his fingers. He brought it to his face, trying to smell the ghost of a long gone perfume - a telltale scent. Shaking his head he laid the object aside, picking up the next item. It was a white thong made of the same material as the top: a flimsy triangle of satin held up by strings. Next to it he found white nylon stockings with a wide elastic band at the top. The fabric slithered through his fingers. His heart pounded. Then he saw the card. "Please go shower," it read in Parker's business-like handwriting. "Do your make up like Ms. Larue taught you. Then dress up in these clothes and come to my office at 9.00 sharp. Trust me, it's important to look your best. Do us proud." Ms. Larue was Mamselle. Parker was probably the only one ever using her name. Lucian picked up the white dress that lay under the card. It seemed curiously narrow, but was very stretchy. Even hanging shapelessly from his hand he knew it would make him look embarrassingly sexy. He'd worn it in the photo shoot. Letting it dangle from a finger he inspected the final items - a set of heeled pumps, a clutch, bracelets and ear rings, all in silver. He also found a tiny hat, white and round, like a vintage stewardess's cap, and two wrist-long gloves made of white, stretchy satin. Sighing he sank on the bed. 'Fuck' was the unspoken word lingering in his head where he repeated it for a while. His lips moved, but the only sound came from the bracelets dangling from his fingertips. Another lame charade. Whatever could be the reason this time? Another photo shoot, maybe? He knew the photographer wanted a repeat after that first time, but why meet at Parker's place; why not at the studio? He hadn't seen Bobs wearing dresses and heels since Christmas, and this was just an anonymous day in March. No holiday, no party, nothing. The jingling of the bracelets got on his nerves. He dropped the jewelry. Shivering from the cold wetness of his naked chest and drenched running tights, he rose, pressing his jaws together to keep his teeth from chattering. Well, he had to shower anyway, didn't he? The water fell hot and steaming on his neck and back, soaking his cold core until the muscles relaxed. He shampooed his hair and carefully checked every fold and cranny like he did every morning, soaping his armpits and his loins, probing in and out of his sphincter and rubbing between his toes. The familiarity of the soap's perfume soothed his mind, while the routine of the process relaxed knots and kinks in his muscles. Reassurance replaced anguish, ushering in some confidence. He felt a glow spread from rubbing his skin with the rich fluff of a clean towel. Then he grabbed the bottle of lotion and started to apply it - following the mandatory daily routine. He understood it was hypnosis: the autohypnosis of repetition. He didn't care. It felt wonderfully secure, like standing on an island in the midst of an uncontrollably raging river. Knowing he had no choice calmed his demons, scaring away his fears. But picking up the bra-like top caused them to rush back in with a vengeance. He knew what this so called school was trying to do to him. He'd always known, of course, and nobody ever denied it. Looking down his starved and well-trained body he saw his pathetic little penis limply hanging down on its tight and hairless sac. It had never amounted to much, but it surely seemed smaller lately, as did the balls it rested on. He was eighteen, goddammit. The exposed head wasn't much more than a salmon pink knob against his skin's paleness. Cradling it in the palm of his right hand he knew what they were doing to him, but there seemed to be no sense of panic anymore, no urgency to flee - no horror. Well, maybe that was the horror? But what was new? All his life he'd been flung from one type of horror to the next, hadn't he - running from the neglect of his parents to the negligence of his nannies; from the bullies at one school to the torturers at the next - from the contempt of his father to the ridicule of his mother. And from those to the knives and pills and syringes of Norton's Academy of Fucking Excellence. He picked up the silver shoe, turning it left and right so the light sparkled off its slim curves. His mind traveled back to an afternoon about three years ago. They still lived in London back then, and he'd just returned from a disastrous few months at an upper class boarding school in rural Sussex. Shaking his head Lucian tried to get rid of the avalanche of images the memory caused - the sneering faces, the crude remarks, the spittle dripping from his face, the hits and bruises. Most of all: the utter solitude. He shook his head and concentrated on the memory of the silver shoe, or one almost like it as he sat admiring it on the soft white rug in his mother's room - boudoir she called it. He was surrounded by half of her wardrobe: shining satins, softly knit jerseys, slippery nylons and sensuously smelling leather. He knew he was alone in the house. So he let go of his fear, putting his shame on hold for later. Only wearing his tight briefs he let the silk of a blouse caress his skin - eyes closed, nostrils flaring. Shivering he imagined how it would feel to wear it, back then, together with the nylons and the leather skirt - to put them on and watch himself in them. But he'd laid the blouse down, picking up a tiny lace thong to bury his face in. Back in the present a chilly draft touched his neck. The shoe lay on the bed again, he saw, and his fingers once more fondled the tiny bra thing - the silken spaghetti straps and the filmy triangular panels. The chill came from his still moist hair. He rose and put on a robe. Then he got his blow dryer and brush, turning his hair into a silvery mob of curls that danced around his face. How he hated his hair. How he hated its beauty. The clock said it was ten past eight. He did have to hurry. Or did he? Once again he studied the bra. The boys at Norton's wore tight silk tops all the time, didn't they? They all did. But this seemed different. Seeing his pink nails shimmer through the fabric he wondered what the difference was. The usual tops were, well, like short T's. And T-shirts were all right. Everybody wore them. This... thing, though... it was maybe the most feminine piece of garment. It insinuated something - something altogether different from their daily tops. It suggested as if he ought to have breasts; as if he had them, even though you couldn't see them. But he didn't, did he? No student did at Norton's, not even the Barbs, so what was the point? He dropped the bra and picked up the thong, just another contraption of strings, really. Shaking his head he dropped it on the pile. Then he walked over to the closet and took out a sky blue regular Norton's top and white satin shorts. Completing his outfit with the long dress shirt and ballet shoes, he grabbed his compact to do his eyes - the daily dash of eyeliner; a bit of clear gloss on the lips - it was just lip balm, really. Rising, he decided to go look for breakfast. "Trusting you, Parker?" he mumbled, crumpling the note in his hand. "Fuck you, old cow." The corridors were empty. He guessed most students already were having breakfast as he walked the marble floors of a well-lit hallway. The tall windows on his left gave out on the central lawn and driveway. That's where he saw the limousine. It came to a halt right in front of the entrance where the usual welcome-Barb in tailed jacket waited for it. She opened a passenger door, and Lucian's heart stopped. From the limo stepped his mother. The upturned collar of her mink coat and the brim of a black hat mostly covered her face, but it was all he needed to know it was her. The coat was short enough to show off a knee-length black skirt, dark shimmering nylons and needle-heeled pumps. He recognized the impatience in her movements as she waited for two men who followed her. They both wore dark coats and leather briefcases. One was gray, the other dark haired. 'Lawyers,' he knew. His mind raced. They were no doubt on their way to Parker's office for a meeting he was supposed to attend. Last time his mother was here she hadn't even bothered to see him, but now he ought to be present - done up like a girl no less, in a dress and heels. What was the fucking purpose of that? What plan did they have? Or was it just meant to humiliate him? Lucian quietly returned to his room. His heartbeat slowed down to normal as he once more fondled the white dress. Sitting on his bed he went through every possible reason why his mother was here. It was all about the divorce, of course. Some decision must have been made; some deal struck - or maybe not. Maybe his mother needed extra leverage to make his father pay for his tuition. Or would she even care? It would be far more probable that she was here to recruit his assistance in securing her future. But how could he ever help with that? Wasn't he just an obstacle? No, she wouldn't be here to take him with her - certainly not if he were all dressed and made up like a girl. Nah... maybe she didn't even expect him at the meeting, certainly not in dress and make up. Maybe Parker deliberately wanted to show him off to his mother, just to prove how irreversibly his progress had become. Progress. He could very well imagine the impact on his mother; it might make her believe he belonged here - that he was happy with it. It would be just like Parker to think that up. But why bother - hadn't his mother brought him here in the first place? For Parker it must be all about money. Maybe the two of them were in this together, planning on making pictures of him to show his father. Seeing him as a girl, he might give up his dream of ever having a son he could send to a testosterone-ridden bully college of his choice. Did she want to show him he didn't have a son anymore? Oh yes, she would. But wouldn't it make him even less inclined to pay? Besides, there were already photos of him as a female model - outrageous shots. Just showing them to his father ought to do the job nicely. But what job? Nah... It must be Parker's idea, just to demonstrate he belonged here, suggesting he was happy. He could see how his mother might be enchanted by it. He remembered Parker and Kurtz telling him how they thought his mother loved him. Maybe they thought she would pay for him? God, were they in for a disappointment. Even if his mother did have any money left at all, would she ever want to spend it on him? He doubted it, but then, why was she here? And if she did consider paying, would seeing him dressed up be the way to convince her? Lucian sighed. What should he do? It wasn't a matter of choice, was it? All he could do was choose between the bad and the awful. Should he refuse Parker's order to dress up and insist on leaving with his mother? Would she even agree to take him? And what then? He'd just be thrown to the lions in one of the deadly boarding schools of his father's choice. He'd sooner die. So should he dress up in order to stay? Without his parents' money he'd be another Drew at Norton's. The 'chores' of Drew and the other poor students came to mind. The known chores were all right, he guessed, but he shivered at the unknown ones - the chores that made Drew's eyes turn away when he asked her about them. So, all in all: wanting to stay here would mean to dress and make up, wouldn't it? He'd have to mince into Parker's office on high heels, and expose himself to his mother and two male strangers as the sissy they'd turned him into. Life sucks when all you have are bad choices. He picked up the bra-like top, softly cursing. Holding the two flimsy triangles in front of his light blue top, he rose and moved in front of the mirror, pushing out his chest. He watched the elastic fabric expand over his protruding nipples. A sudden wave of shame shook him. This was not some imposter he saw, was it? The brushed hair, the made up eyes and the tight, provocative bra didn't make him doubt what he saw in that mirror. There was no charade here, no save distance, no make belief. This was he, and his entire body felt aflame. Throwing the top on the bed he started undressing until he was naked. Once again he picked up the fake bra and pulled it over his curls and bare shoulders. He felt the thin fabric caress his nipples as he moved the flat triangles into place. Two aroused bumps were clearly visible in the tall mirror. He felt as if suspended in un-reality. His entire body was a hovering cloud of heat. He turned and got the thong, stepping into it and pulling it up over his smooth legs. The string crept between his buttocks, and the tiny front panel hugged his package, stretching tightly over it. Looking up into the mirror he saw the clear outline of his penis in the thin material. Stepping closer he cupped it with his hand. It felt hot and definitely firm. He squeezed it, and closed his eyes when a throbbing thrill started spreading. Moving his fingers away he clearly saw the shape of his cock's glans, pressing into the thong. A damp spot made the gill-like underside even more visible, like a pale, silvery fish gasping to get up and out of the net it was caught in. A small fish it was, but very visible. Lucian slid a hand inside the thong's front to tuck down the telltale erection. He only succeeded in making it thrust forward. Shrugging he sat down and picked up one of the nylon stockings, rolling it carefully, bit by bit into a ball, like he'd often seen his mother do. He pushed his pointed toes into the little hollow he'd created, stretching the nylon carefully over his foot and ankle, then over his calf and knee until its wide elastic band snapped closed over his thigh. His hands ran softly up his leg to straighten out folds and creases. Closing his eyes he felt his hands caress his soft skin through the slick material. A puff of stale air escaped his lungs - he'd obviously held it all the while. Picking up the second stocking he repeated the procedure. As he stood straight he sensed the tight massage the sheer fabric gave his flexing flesh. It felt disturbingly good. But then his eye fell on the clock and he saw he had to hurry. Walking over to his vanity desk he noticed a small selection of items that were set aside, with a scrap of paper propped against it. He read the elegant handwriting: 'Soit un ange, ch?ri,' it said. 'Be an angel.' Amongst the items he found a pale foundation, sky blue and pink eye shadow, baby pink rouge and lipstick in soft salmon shades. Even the mascara had a pinkish hue. Reminding how Mamselle had insisted to do his face in similar colors at his last Beauty class, he presumed this wasn't a coincidence. He pulled a wide, stretchy band down his brow and up again to keep the hair out of his face. Five minutes later he removed the headband, allowing the shining curls to drop down on his brow, framing and shading his painted eyes. His sigh was almost one of relief - the creature in the mirror had stopped being him. It looked impossibly young, yet decadently world- wise; at once innocent and depraved, perversely angelic and totally alien. Lucian swallowed and let his pink tongue travel across glossed lips. He understood Parker's intentions, he thought. He also knew they wouldn't work. Once more it amazed him how both she and Dr. Kurtz had this na?ve notion of his mother loving him - or even caring about him. They might hope that changing him into this pseudo innocent, corrupted angel would pull at the strings of her motherly heart - and likewise at the strings of her purse, but he knew they were mistaken for the simple reason that she had no heart. Lucian turned to the bed and picked up the thin white dress. Pulling it over his head he found out it was tight and stretchy - and long. A cocoon it was. Flimsy enough to be almost sheer, it forced him to take small steps as it closed around his knees on its way down to his upper calves. Its tightness felt as if a hundred strong but soft hands caressed him, sending shivers up his spine. He slipped into the silver heels, wriggling his toes to make them fit. The new, steep angle of his feet tugged at his calves and made him push out his buttocks to find a proper balance. He reached for the white gloves, made of the same stretchy material as the dress. After worming his fingers in, he closed the pearly button at the heel of each hand. The gloves were another tight sensation, along with the fake bra, the dress and the stockings. The tightness made him feel self conscious, but it also gave a curious sense of safety. He walked over to the tall dressing mirror, holding the small hat. The light came from behind - drowning details while enclosing him in a soft, bright outline. 'No shit,' he thought, turning left and right, wondering at the mirage. He was very aware of the suggestive tightening around his chest and hips. The fingers of his free hand touched the little cup between his clavicles, trying to still the hammering throb that rose from his ribcage. Then he saw the bulge. It was an insistent presence right at the center of his crotch pushing out the flimsy fabric of the narrow dress - like a finger; like the digit of a finger. And around it spread a small, wet spot. "Fuck." The clock's big hand crawled to the top; it was almost nine. He couldn't really walk over to Parker's office with that, could he? Cupping the protrusion with his gloved hand only made it stiffen more. What was going on? It had been ages since his penis had been hard. Even when he masturbated of late, all it did was swell into a soft, pink ball of goo-spewing flesh. He pulled up the tube of the dress and saw that the thong's damp panel was totally transparent, showing off his erection. Lucian shuffled over to the toilet, holding up the hem of the dress with his chin. He pulled the thong down his thighs and took the slender stem of his penis between a gloved thumb and finger - starting to jerk. Closing his eyes he felt the pressure of time, but none of the usual urges of an impending orgasm. His pink, glossy lips murmured a string of silent curses, but nothing happened. Why did the fucking, useless thing suddenly have to be hard? Why now? He'd dressed and made up his face before, and the thing never bothered him this way. What was different today? Suddenly the hard stem pulsed in his grip, and as it did the pink head gushed a clear, slimy liquid that ran down his gloved fingers and on to his inner thigh where it soaked the elastic band of his stocking. At once the penis shrank and was soft again - almost retreating into his body. Lucian shuddered, although there had hardly been any sensation. He grabbed a tissue and cleaned up the mess on his scrotum, stocking and glove. Then he removed the soaked thong and pulled the dress down over his bare crotch. The wet spot was still there. He smelled at the thong; there was no scent at all. After pinning the silly white hat to his curls and donning the earrings and bracelets, he picked up the silver clutch. Covering his crotch with it he minced out of the room - holding his breath. His heart beat like mad. *** The satin glove muffled the sound of his knuckles as they knocked on Parker's door, but the shaking of his wrist made his bracelets jingle loudly. He waited for an answer. Walking the corridors on pumps, hindered by the awkward dress hadn't been easy. The heels sounded uncomfortably loud on the marble, but thank God the hallways had been deserted. Classes must have kept most students and teachers away. He rapped on the door again; this time he didn't wait before opening it. There were four people inside: the headmistress herself, the two lawyers he'd seen, and a woman who sat with her back to the door. She still wore the wide-brimmed hat, but had opened her fur coat. Hanging over the back of her chair it showed its lovely silk lining. His arrival stopped their conversation. Parker looked up and smiled. The two lawyers turned his way, but their faces held a frowning expression. Seeing the reaction of the others, the woman also turned in her chair. Of course it was his mother, but her face held a blank expression of puzzlement. She didn't recognize him. "Lucian," Parker said, rising from behind her desk. Her suit was a dark blue and as severely cut as ever. "Of course I don't have to introduce your mother," she went on, her smile vintage Norton's, "but there are these two gentlemen who are her legal consultants - Mr. Kargosian..." - she waved to the elder lawyer in a striped suit - "and Mr. Bronstein-Cohen, please meet Lucian Gaines." The younger man just nodded. His pale-olive face contrasted sharply with his black, slick hair and heavy eyebrows. He was attractive in a cold and arrogant way. But Lucian hardly looked at them. His attention was focused on his mother's face. The moment Parker mentioned his name it turned even whiter than its natural paleness. As she rose from her chair, her blood red lips stammered something that must have been his name, while her narrow hand fluttered over the front of her silk blouse. "Hi mom," he said, forcing the standard Norton smile through his tumultuous embarrassment. At last he understood why they trained that smile so much - it was a marvelous buoy to cling to at moments like this. 'Mom' he'd said, knowing she hated the word. "Glad you finally had time for me," he went on in the low, breathy voice Ms. Fontaine taught them. He cranked up the Smile a few more Watts, very aware of the tight bra and the stockings and the heels - and their threat to throttle his confidence at any moment. He pressed the clutch into his treacherous crotch, squeezing it with white-knuckled fingers. "Lucian," his mother said, finally able to add sound to her miming lips. "Oh God, Lucian, honey, is that really you?" He'd never seen her like this - stammering as she searched for words. It made his growing confidence overwhelm his old timidity. Looking down on her from his enhanced height he felt the Smile grow. He also noticed her clothes. The mink coat was glorious. He remembered her getting it on her birthday, what, ten years ago. He also remembered the white silk blouse, almost feeling it on his own skin again. The dark jacket and skirt were Chanel, and at least five years old. That stopped him. His mother didn't do old. It was one of the things his parents always fought about - she had to have the newest from Paris, Milan and London. A year old was ancient in her eyes, an affront and a humiliation. Not being on top of the latest fashion was unthinkable. He'd often wondered why his father always went along. And now she wore old things; even the hat was ancient. He searched for her genuine pearl necklace and the priceless platinum Rolex on her wrist - the silver bracelets, the diamonds on her fingers - but they weren't there. His gaze returned to her face. He had been right: his dressing up must have been entirely Parker's idea; his appearance was an absolute surprise for her. Maybe she hadn't even expected him at this meeting at all. "Please sit with us, Lucian dear," Parker said, indicating a chair next to his mother's. Careful not to stumble he minced past his mother, bent his captive knees and slid his ass on the chair. Then he moved his legs together, one knee into the hollow of the other inside the stretchy skirt, feeling the alien but arousing friction of nylon on nylon. He straightened wrinkles and folds with his daintily gloved hand. Finally he turned towards his mother and smiled. Her face looked flushed and her eyes were restless. Yes, he thought, I was never meant to be at this meeting. And to his surprise he added: good for you, Parker. Even more surprising he reached out and laid his left hand on his mother's, nodding as he smiled and squinted his eyes. The woman pulled away her hand in a reflex. Ignoring her, Lucian turned around to observe the lawyers. Shit, he thought, there must be a lot at stake to employ two sharks like these. No wonder there was nothing left for new couture. "Ms. Parker," the older lawyer said, after clearing his throat. "Let's agree that everyone's time, yours and ours, is precious..." Lucian felt a chuckle rise. Precious indeed, he thought, but I bet the old greedy bastard wouldn't mind a few extra billable hours to be wasted. The man looked and sounded distinguished with his deep voice and silver hair. The other one, with his slick black manes and olive skin, looked... attractive, Lucian thought - surprised by the word he found. Dark eyes and a full, sensual mouth - was that it? And anyway, why would he find the man attractive? An uneasy feeling crept into Lucian. He was way too experienced to not smell a bully from far away - the self-evident arrogance, the shameless eyes, a subdued sneer eternally present at the corners of his mouth. He tore away his eyes. "Of course, Mr. Kargosian," Parker said, smiling wider than ever. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, but I really think it is important for Lucian to be present when we discuss his future." Her eyes were on his mother when she said that. She didn't respond or even react. So it was true: his presence was Parker's doing. The younger lawyer opened his briefcase with a click. He took out a set of papers, handing copies to Parker, to his mother and his colleague. He kept one to himself; there was no copy for Lucian. "Ms. Parker, Mrs. Gaines," he started with a deep and mellifluous voice, "as you can see in paragraph four, right at the bottom of page one..." "Mister Bronstein," Parker interrupted, "I see you don't have a copy for Mister Gaines?" Her smile must be infuriating, Lucian thought. For a second he saw the easy arrogance falter on the younger lawyer's face. Then it returned as annoyance, poorly covered by a smile. "As we didn't know you would invite ehm... Mister Gaines, Ms. Parker, we couldn't properly prepare," he said, his contempt palpable. "Ah well," the headmistress said, shrugging and smiling sweetly. "I guess that's easily repaired." She reached for old Kargosian's copy, pulled it from his grip and handed it to Lucian. She chuckled. "I bet you know it by heart anyway, Mr. Kargosian." Kargosian took it in stride, never losing his benevolent expression. Young Bronstein still had a lot to learn from his boss, Lucian thought, looking down on the piece of paper. The firm's logo at the top was impressive. The indicated paragraph contained a lot of legalese, but its content was clear, even to him. If his mother wanted his father to pay for his tuition, Lucian would have to accept one of four schools his father had chosen. The list was obvious - he knew two of the schools; one he'd left the year before, bruised and humiliated. He looked up and realized that Bronstein had just read the same paragraph out loud. Parker stared at him. "What do you think, Lucian?" she asked. She knew what he thought, and so did his mother. This whole meeting was a fake, whether he was attending or not. Why did his mother even come here with these two clowns? She'd selected this school for him, hadn't she? She had dragged him here, had him injected and brainwashed without ever asking him. She'd done everything to ensure his permanent unsuitability for any school other than Norton's. Parker made him dress up, so he would virtually scream that unsuitability by only walking in. He stared at his silly little gloves and didn't respond. Then a hand covered his. It was pale and narrow; its fingernails were long and wore a dark red polish. The hand was his mother's. He looked up, meeting her eyes. The rim of her hat shaded them. Her blood red lips moved. "I'm sorry," she said. The hand was cool and light as a feather, hardly touching his. But it seemed to radiate warmth into his skin. He shivered; his smile faltering. Cringing inside, he looked out from his painted fortress - still vulnerable, so damn vulnerable. Maybe his lips trembled; maybe his lashes fluttered, but his mind was elsewhere, hovering over these scheming, insincere people in this godforsaken office in this godforsaken school. His mother was lying; her hooded eyes couldn't hide it. "So sorry," she repeated, almost squeezing his hand. "You must believe me," she went on. "I fought for you, for us, but he is so cruel. He's an animal. Why do you think I left him?" Observing her as if from a backbench he wondered how many exclamation marks she'd use if she had to write her words down. "As you know," she went on, "he has Anton - the one he makes you call uncle." The one I call Adolf, he thought. The one she used to get him imprisoned here. He could see how he might help his father to leave her penniless. But did he? He tried to read her face: the dramatic eyebrows, her almost-moist eyes. Then she went on explaining how her life had turned into hell. "H?llll," she called it. How his father had accused her of cheating. "Cheeetinnnggg? Me?" she yelled, suddenly all but ladylike. "And that from himmmm!" She went on summing up the endless number of affairs his father supposedly had. It might have been the only time she spoke the truth. But he knew she'd matched him one for one. He might have been small and quiet and easily overlooked, but that was exactly the reason why they didn't hide their obnoxious affairs from him. Looking away as she ranted, he met Parker's eyes. They rolled behind her glasses, and he knew she was learning fast about the sweetness of his loving mother. Old Kardosian cleared his throat. "Ehm... Mrs. Gaines," he said, reaching over to his colleague to catch his copy of the papers they'd brought. Waving with it he said: "Shall we go on?" His mother fell silent, wringing her hands in what she must believe to be an expression of despair. Then she nodded - a nervous smile touching her lips. Kardosian read on. "If, er... your son decides not to choose one of the suggested colleges, Mr. Gaines will stop paying for tuition by the end of this school year. He also stipulates that the eh... boy won't be welcome at what used to be his house - the townhouse Mr. Gaines has the sole title to and expects to sell before the year is over." He looked up and over the small reading glasses he'd donned. "Of course," he said to Parker, "Mrs. Gaines will go on fighting Mr. Gaines on this subject, but to be quite honest, we don't estimate her chances very high. The... boy's being past eighteen won't give her much leverage either" 'To be quite honest,' Lucian repeated in his thoughts. He had a hard time believing any of what the man said. Imagining his mother as poor and bereft was like imagining a peacock without tail feathers - or a leopard without its spots. He chuckled at the thought, seeing his mother lift her eyebrows at that. Her hand had gone. "So after June there is nowhere your son can go but here," Parker said. The silence spoke for itself. "Lucian?" the headmistress went on, turning to him. "Please rise and undress, sweetie." He sat straight, his eyes wide - not able to move. Had the woman gone mad? Undressing in public might be common at Norton's. Since joining he had been stripping for classes, for gym, two, three times a day. But in front of his mother and these two strangers? "Please, honey," Parker went on. "It's important. Trust me." Trust her again. Why would he trust the bitch? She'd lied to him from day one, ridiculing him when he complained about abuse and rape. And most of all: she'd done it with his mother's blessing. He slowly shook his head 'no,' feeling the soft curls of his hair hit the sides of his face. "Trust me on this, Lucian dear, please," Parker repeated, nodding and frowning. As he sat in silence, many things went through his mind; things from the past and the present. Only very few were pleasant. There were images of the doctor and her practice - the syringes and the blue latex gloves. There were also images of a drunken Dr. Kurtz, shedding tears over her son's suicide. There was Drew, of course, the photo shoot and the anonymous Halloween rapists. Most of all there was a feeling of being trapped. He looked around, meeting the bored face of Kardosian. How could one be bored at a moment like this? His colleague, what was his name? Bronstein; he didn't look bored at all. His dark eyes were already doing the stripping for him, it seemed. And then there was his mother. She looked shocked, or did she? There hadn't been many times he'd seen her shocked by anything. And right now he had the feeling the shock was just a fa?ade, covering something else... something like curiosity. He rose from his chair, slowly not to loose his balance. God, did the dress feel awkward - and the fucking heels. The upturned faces brought memories of the photo shoot back to him. Back then the faces had been hidden by spotlights, creating a kind of fence between himself and his nakedness; a save distance. Here it was different - there was no distance. Here he felt naked even dressed - and the people watching him were his enemies, showing hostile faces. To his mother he was just an obstacle on her way to freedom, wasn't he? For the two men he wasn't more than an annoying part of their job. And Parker? What was he to her? He watched her round, pasty face with the black-rimmed spectacles and a never leaving smile. He knew his fate was in her hands. Without her he was homeless, penniless. Running off wasn't an option anymore, if it had ever been. Whether he even could stay was entirely dependent on the woman's benevolence. So why did she want him to strip? Was it just for the kick of it - the humiliation? Did she want to impress her visitors with a demonstration of her power over him? Was it just that, cruel amusement? 'Trust me on this,' she'd said. He didn't, but what was the alternative? Was there one? His right hand went to the inner wrist of his left, nervous fingertips undoing the tiny button of the satin glove. Bringing a finger to his mouth he pulled it free with his teeth. The others followed while he kept looking at Parker, remembering how to do it with elegance. Throwing the glove on her desk, he started undoing the other. The room was dead quiet. Reaching down he lifted the hem of his dress, slowly exposing his thighs. When his eyes disappeared behind the white, almost transparent tube, he heard sharp intakes of breath. It must be the fact that he didn't wear panties - showing off his naked crotch. He didn't know what they'd expected. First, when he'd entered the room, they didn't even recognize him. Now, because they knew who he really was, the exposure of the truth must shock them even more. His slick, hairless body, his pale, tiny sex, the mocking bra. He peeled the dress off his chest and over his head. Then he gathered it into a ball, throwing that on the desk as well. Standing back he closed his eyes, listening to the blood pulsing in his temples. He tried to imagine the impact on the people in the room - on his mother, and the young lawyer-creep. It sent a hot flash up his throat. Finally he opened his eyes again and looked down past the tight, shameless top. His nipples pushed at the sheer panels. Further down, his shrunk penis rested nude between the hairless folds of his crotch. Its head tried to hide like a shy, blushing girl. He noticed that he'd automatically adopted one of Ms. Fontaine's gracious stances - one foot square in front of the other, one hand on his hip, one arm bent at the elbow, hand open, wrist turned upwards. 'Voil?,' he thought. Raising his eyes, he found Parker's smiling, nodding face. At least she was happy. "Now please," the headmistress said in a low voice, addressing the others. "Wouldn't it be an act of premeditated cruelty to send this amazing creature out amongst the wolves and the savages? We might have murder on our conscience." Lucian turned his head slowly to find his mother. Yes, he guessed she was a wolf, a she-wolf, and her lawyers were her pack, looking after her interests. She'd set them loose on her husband's pack, and if Lucian happened to be in their way, they would tear him up amongst them. A sense of abandonment chilled him. He watched the younger lawyer and took a step back from the almost physical rape of his eyes. Were those fangs really drooling? "My God," he heard next to him. "What did you do to him?" Parker snorted. "Just what you asked for," she said. "Remember?" She opened a drawer in her desk and produced a set of papers. "Please, you can dress again, Lucian," she went on. "You may want to listen to what I have to say; it concerns you too." She handed out copies to Kargosian and his mother, ignoring Lucian and the young lawyer. "Let me remind you, Mrs. Gaines," she said, looking over the paper's upper edge to his mother, "about what you signed when you brought Lucian here, last summer." She lifted another piece of paper. "With this paper," she went on, "you gave us full custody of your son for the duration of his study right up to graduation at our Academy against a tuition fee of two hundred thousand dollars, payable in yearly parts." The amount made Lucian reel. Parker droned on after a short pause: "Whether you've read the small type or not, Mrs. Gaines - which I would find hard to believe - you are still bound to what you signed about half a year ago at this same desk." She adjusted her big round glasses. "Now whatever dispute you and your husband may have," she went on, "please understand that I shall never sacrifice the best interests of your son, whose life has been irreversibly altered at your request. His future is our responsibility - and so is the financial wellbeing of Norton's Academy of Excellence." Lucian was stunned. Sitting bare-assed on the cold, hard chair he pushed his shoulders forward, arms wrapped around his naked body. He pressed the ball of satin that was his dress against his belly, hugging it. Kardosian coughed. "Ms. Parker," he said, his voice dripping with the honey of reason, "Please understand that my client is very well aware of all that. She would never dream of abandoning her child or running away from the responsibility she has signed for." From the corner of his eyes Lucian saw his mother's head nod vigorously at the words of her legal champion. "But," the gray lawyer went on, spreading a new layer of honey, "we have to be reasonable. The conditions of my client's divorce, as we - notwithstanding the prenuptial agreement - have been able to negotiate, will hardly cover the basic costs of her future life. It'll be utterly impossible for her to find the extra funds for her eh... son's ongoing education." Lucian tried to imagine what 'basic costs' might mean in the eyes of his mother. Slightly shivering he eyed her warm fur coat, draped right next to him. "Mr. Kargosian," Parker replied, drawing from the same pot of honey. "Of course you are well aware that Mister Gaines has the exact same obligations his wife has. His signature is also on the agreement." She held up the paper, pointing out where his father had signed. Lucian recognized the boldly scribbled name, overflowing the assigned box. "Oh, but naturally, Ms. Parker," the old man said, smiling a condescending smile as he shirked in his chair. "We wholeheartedly agree that he should make it part of the divorce regulations, but he won't. We 'fought hard over it,' to quote my client, but he denies any responsibility. 'The boy is over eighteen,' he says, and he never wanted him to go to 'that sissy faggot school' anyway - sorry, his words. He claims that the signature was either forged or illegally retrieved. We regret having to admit our failure in this respect, Madame. Maybe you, as the duped party might succeed where we failed? We heartily recommend that you take it up with him. You might even use our services?" His last remark clouded Parker's eternal smile for a second. "Thank you," she replied, allowing her sunny countenance to return. "We are very content with our own legal council. And I can assure you they are quite optimistic about our chances of getting what is our perfect right. Be assured that this... quibble isn't our first little affair to bring to a satisfying solution." Lucian's mind escaped, as it usual did when people droned on about things he had trouble caring about. He wondered at the two hundred thousand dollar. Not so much because he doubted Norton's had given him his money's worth; he mostly wondered why his mother had set aside so much money for him when she could have used it for herself. Could he really be that wrong about her? He looked over his pulled-up shoulder at her, but her attention was on Parker and her lawyer. She looked tired, he thought. It must be the fighting with his father, or maybe not getting things to go her way. Or whatever. His eyes once more went to the fur coat. "Mom," he whispered, repeating it when she didn't react. She turned her eyes to him, producing an absentminded smile. "Could I have your coat for now?" he asked, rubbing his upper arms to suggest he was feeling cold. "Oh God, but yes. Sorry honey, of course!" she said, turning in her chair and handing him the fur coat. He rose and draped it around him. It felt gloriously - the slippery lining, the quickly spreading warmth and the soft hair against his neck and cheeks. He inhaled the scent, a perfume he knew well. Then he felt his mother hugging him. "I really fought for you, Lucian," she whispered in his ear. "You must always believe that. Promise me you believe that." He looked down and found his nylon-clad knee peeping from the fur. He followed his leg down to the silver pump. Tears pressed against the back of his eyes. *** May gave way to June, bringing that first magical day of the year when you know spring has definitely turned into summer. The crowns of the ancient trees were heavy with leaves, and the lawns had acquired a springy quality under their velvet coat of freshly clipped grass. The lazy breeze was as warm as the skin it kissed. Lucian Gaines lay in the shadow of an umbrella, only wearing black tight boys' briefs and Ray Ban glasses. He shone with oil; even staying out of the sun he had to protect his pale skin. As a small child his mother and his nannies always kept him inside when the weather was fair. He supposed it had been easier for them than always having to guard him and protect him from the sun. So, like a child kept away from sweets, he ran off into the sunshine in his early teens, every chance he got. Of course he ended up punishing himself with severe sunburn. Wincing at the memory Lucian reached for his oil bottle to add a new layer. "Let me do that." Looking up he saw two long, bare legs against the glaring sun; two hands rested on narrow hips. The umbrella covered the head, but when he went down on his haunches, teeth shone white in a darkened face. The voice was Harper's; so was the face. Lucian remembered their first awkward meeting, last autumn on the park bench. How na?ve he'd been that day, and how rude. Fear guided him, fear and ignorance. Friendship had only been a word, an abstraction. How was he to know it could be a real, living thing? How could he know that people might feel love for him, or friendship? No one had shown it to him before, had they? Not his parents or his nannies; not any of the boys or the girls at school. He'd felt love for Drew, he thought. That had been a nice disaster, hadn't it? Maybe Kurtz meant to tell him she loved him, that weepy instance at Christmas Eve. But hadn't she cut his penis and injected him, toyed with his diet without ever asking? He'd called Harper a faggot on that bench, when the boy offered his friendship. Lucian only saw sick lust back then; his ignorance closed himself down against any other possibility. And then there was Drew, grabbing his hand and riding it; there was the rape at Halloween; the near-rape by the truckers when he ran off, and the awful brute feeling him up in the snow. In a flash he relived how Drew sucked the man's cock. Experience had only fed his fear. Everybody wanted to use and abuse him. To Parker he was a bag of money, to his mother an obstacle, and to his father... So why would he ever believe someone might want to give him something, anything? He remembered the day he fled the meeting at Parker's office, naked but for the silly fake bra and the stockings, hugging a ball of flimsy silk to cover his crotch. Voices called after him, but he kept running until he reached his room and the dark cover of his sheets. Lying in a ball he listened to his racing heart until a weight lowered the side of his mattress. He felt a hand travel from his shoulder to his hip. "I'm here," a voice said, too muffled by the cover to be recognized. Was it his mother? Parker? Curiosity won out; he pushed his smeared face through an opening in the bed gear. A figure sat on his bed, only a silhouette, but he knew who it was. The hand kept stroking; the face came closer. "They are all the same," Harper said, his voice a whisper. "They just want and need and grab and take." His face came closer. His free hand removed the blanket and his lips found Lucian's. Pulling away, Lucian pushed Harper back. The boy sighed, but he kept smiling. "You look like shit," he said, and chuckled. "Who cares?" Lucian answered. He sat and moved up against the headboard of the bed, blanket and sheets wrapped around him. Harper never lost his smile. "I care," he said. "We Bobs all do. We are proud of you, you know? You are the most beautiful of us all." Lucian snorted. "You all need your eyes looked after," he said. Harper chuckled. He crawled onto the bed and sat beside Lucian, his long toned legs stretched out. The pale satin of his ballet shoes shone against his olive skin. "I saw your mother," he said. "The beautiful woman - she is your mother, isn't she? In the limo?" Lucian nodded. "She made you cry." Harper reached out for Lucian's messed up curls, touching them with his slender fingers. "Stupid people." The boy's face was close to Lucian's, his liquid eyes enhanced with eyeliner. There was a spicy edge to his sweet scent. A sudden surge of tears choked Lucian's throat. He fought to keep them down. "We all cry," the boy said, removing a tear that started running down Lucian's cheek. "It helps, you know?" All dams broke, and Lucian cried like he never did before. He sobbed helplessly, his chest heaving. His world drowned in mist and pouring showers. He felt arms close around him, his wet face sinking into silk and skin. Someone held him; cried with him. Soft lips found his open mouth - slick with tears and snot. Everything was soft and yielding, allowing a tongue to dance around another, roaming rows of ivory, caressing vaulted pink roofs, and plunging into gasping depths. They kissed with ravenous hunger. And then they stopped and gasped. Overwhelmed by what happened they separated, leaving strands of saliva dangling between them. Eyes widened in wonder, red rimmed and darkly smudged. Mouths trembled, smeared with forgotten lipstick. "God noooo...," Lucian panted. Then the two mouths touched again, softer now and sweeter. Fingers got lost in silver curls and blue-black locks. Sheets slipped off; bodies touched. Once more the kissing stopped, leaving the room filled with heavy breathing. "What are we doing?" Lucian asked through his gasps. He brushed the drool off his mouth and shirked away from Harper. His clear blue eyes danced with confusion. "I never did this before," he went on, trying to find answers in the other boy's face. "Never with... with, I mean... knowing..." Harper just shrugged, pulling at his silk top where it stuck to his chest, soaked from Lucian's tears. "I never did either," Harper answered. "I mean I did, but never as wonderful as this." He smiled wide, brushing the bangs from his brow. Then his smile vanished as he studied Lucian's eyes. "Don't say it," he said, his voice a whisper. "Say what?" Lucian asked, still breathing hard. "What you said on the bench, remember?" Lucian knew what he meant. He slowly shook his head no. "I would never say that again," he answered, wondering why he was so sure. Maybe because it would be a lie. He didn't shy away when Harper's hands returned to cup his face. The next kiss was different again from the first and the second. It was like the brush of a feather, and yet it set off a firework of titillating sensations in every pinpointed nerve's ending across his lips and tongue. At the same time little jolts of alarm kept plaguing the back of his mind, but they were muffled more each second the kiss lasted - until there was nothing left but overwhelming intoxication. Back in the now, lying under the umbrella by Norton's pool Lucian handed Harper the bottle of sunscreen. He stretched out on his belly, feeling the cool grass tickle his skin. The hands were strong; long fingers kneaded his muscles as they rubbed in the oil. Lucian just lay with his eyes closed, the lazy buzz in his head mixing with the sound of insects and the splashing in the nearby water. Drifting off he remembered those same hands wandering down his chest, slipping into the bra-like top. Fingertips teased his nipples, making them yield and rise, causing hot sensations to radiate as he sank deeper and deeper into the distraction of the lips and the mouth, and the tongue. One hand stayed, tweaking and kneading a nipple, while the other slipped down his belly and into his crotch where nothing hid his weeping penis. It cupped him for a second, squeezing in time with the pulsing, before going further down, finding his anus between his spreading thighs. And entering. Harper silenced the voices of alarm and disgust in Lucian's mind as he created a rhythm of tongue and finger. Smiling he noticed Lucian's responses - his hips pushing up to meet the probing finger. And soon gushes of pre-come coated the hand that moved in and out now like a piston - faster still, and deeper. Lying down at the pool with his face in the grass Lucian relived the waves of heat as the same hands now slid into his tight briefs to massage the muscles of his ass cheeks. He pulled them in, turning them hard as stone. From far up he heard a sharp intake of breath, as the hands intensified their kneading. He remembered, after coming that first time with Harper, how utterly weak he'd felt, letting his limp, spent body fall back onto the bed, melting into the mattress. When the light returned to his eyes, he felt an intense glow around his cock. Someone was sucking it. Looking down, his view was blocked by a black mob of hair. It rose and fell, making wet sounds fill the room. Lucian laid his hands on the hair and groaned. The head came up, showing a shining, smiling face. "I love you, Lucian," he said, and returned to sucking the penis. Lucian recalled letting himself be fucked by Drew, and he had even sucked her tiny knob. But Drew wasn't a boy, was she? Okay, she wasn't a girl either, but somehow there was a difference. The exact same difference that made Lucian shirk up against the bed's headboard, pushing away Harper's head. There was a little plopping sound when his penis slipped from the tight lips. Harper's eyes were huge. "Please," Lucian said. "You must understand." Harper crawled up against Lucian, making his naked, glowing body slide along bare skin. His wild hair and blushing face made him look completely vulnerable. "Tell me," Harper said, smiling as his fingers cleared the curls out of Lucian's face. "Tell me which I should understand: your words or your body?" "Because," he went on, now touching Lucian's lips, "they say quite different things, you know?" Once more his mouth closed over Lucian's and they kissed. And again it felt as if Harper's lips sucked the conscious responses out of Lucian's mind, making the unconscious ones surface. The wet, yielding lips started their journey down, sucking his throat, shoulder, nipple and belly button until they closed once more around the penis and balls. "Turn around." Back at the pool Lucian did as the voice said, and turned around to have his front oiled. He recalled how Harper sucked him to a second orgasm back then in his room, in his bed. It had been as slow as the first one had been, endless, overwhelming and totally different from any climax he'd ever jerked himself into. Returning from his gasping climax, he felt two, maybe three fingers up his anus. He also felt shame - a sudden, surprising embarrassment. Harper had used his weakness, he thought. He had used his utter loneliness. 'They all grab and take,' he'd said, but hadn't Harper just as well taken him when he felt low? 'I love you,' he'd also said. Love. Turning away on the bed, he rolled into a fetal ball, his back to the boy. There was silence, only broken by the soft sound of breathless panting. "You know, Lucian," he remembered Harper saying after a while, his voice a mere breeze. "We are not responsible for all this." The words dripped into Lucian's ears, obstructed by a multitude of shapeless thoughts that blocked his thinking. They weren't real thoughts at all, just lumps of fear and panic, regret and disgust. "No one ever asked our consent," the voice went on, as a hand touched Lucian's pulled-up shoulder. He shook to get rid of it, but it returned and stayed. "You think I'm gay, and maybe I am, but that isn't the point." The voice never rose or even changed. The hand glowed. "I watch you every day, Lucian," Harper went on, his voice trickling through the panic's plug. "I loved you the day we first met, but that isn't important either." Lucian turned around, looking up. Harper sat on his knees on the bed, his hands folded on his thighs. His lower arms framed a dark, swollen penis. It was the largest Lucian had seen at Norton's. Of course he'd noted it often enough, just like those of the other Bobs, but now Harper's seemed bigger than he recalled. A clear, slimy liquid drooled from its exposed purple head. "You see, Lucian," the boy proceeded, "you called me a faggot, remember? That wasn't just rude, it was crazy, and wrong too. Nobody can be a homosexual here at Norton's. Being homosexual is a thing of nature, a thing you are born with - but nothing is natural at this school, you understand? They make you what they want you to be, Kurtz and Parker and all the rest." Lucian sat up and moved away from the boy. He felt empty and exhausted, foolish and ashamed. "Bullshit," he said, having to force the word out. "Nobody can turn you into a homo if you aren't already. Anyone can tell you that." Harper nodded. "That's what I said!" he agreed vehemently. "They can make you into anything, but not into a faggot. You're gay or you're not. I am not a homo and never will be; neither will you." Lucian laughed. He tried to express his incredulity. "You just kissed me," he said, throwing up his hands. "And I responded. You sucked my cock, goddammit, and I came. That's not gay?" The boy made a dismissive gesture. "We are teenagers," he said. "We love sex. We take it wherever we can - especially with someone as beautiful as you." Lucian groaned. "Stop calling me that," he said. "I'm skinny, pale and ugly. Anyone knows that. I'm an albino freak with no muscles worth mentioning, and a pathetic little penis." He spread his thighs to show the drooling worm. The angry pink of the head and the ball sac stood out against his pale skin. Harper's eyes opened wide. "Are you mad?" he asked. "I'd kill for a clit like that, and so would any Bob you'd ask. My God, it's perfect!" He also spread his thighs, lifting the dark, swollen cock on the palm of his hand. The head was exposed and purple; the shaft showed visible veins. A slow pulse made the penis twitch as it rose further. "Look at it!" Harper exclaimed, slapping the cock left and right with clear disgust. "I'm a Neanderthal, an elephant! I have a black, monstrous trunk. Kelly measured it, you know? It's more than four inches when hard. And it goddamn gets hard every time! Every time." Lucian saw tears running down the boy's face. He felt confused. He'd never cared about inches. Aware of how much smaller he was than the classmates at all the schools he'd been to, he'd never felt the urge to measure his penis. He just knew bigger was better, and biggest was best. Everyone knew that. And now this handsome, athletic boy cried because his cock was too big. He watched it rise and sink like a snake dancing to music. It was dark and stiff, and menacing. Lucian reached out for it, hardly aware that he did. The skin on the shaft was hot to the touch. It fe