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Subject: The Dangling Cross Epilogue Below is our final installment! Dear readers, thank you so much for all your fanmail and encouragement. This was certainly a very exciting and fun thing to write, especially because it was based on a real life sighting of the most angelic creature I have ever seen; if only my eyes could take pictures. As always, please write comments and encouragement to ail Upcoming I plan on writing a Fantasy epic. Please google, with “” in the search bar, the following things verbatim, and you’ll find the following titles I wrote on under different Pennames: 1. The Lad on the Train 2. Two french boys on the beach 3. The Prince and the Magpie Hope you enjoy, and as always sorry I couldn’t just keep spinning more and more stories with the same characters. I’m always eager to move on to the next fantasy. Epilogue The heat was coming off the pavement in ripples, and the cicadas chattered in the trees. I sipped a boba tea and wished that I hadn’t gotten to the greyhound station so early. There was no telling how long it would take for– There he was. His cheeks sunburned, his hair glinting golden in the July sun. He was lugging a wheely suitcase and crossing the busy intersection between the greyhound station and the convention center where I was parked. Could he see me? I honked. He didn’t notice–the traffic was too loud. Impatience and lust, and pure joy overwhelmed me. I didn’t care. I laid on the horn full force, the blare of my Prius echoing through the summer air. Danny’s hair tossed as he looked over at me, and he broke into a big, pearly smile. He immediately rushed toward me across the sidewalk, and I got out of the car and ran toward him. His delicate arms wrapped around my back and he held onto me like a barnacle, then he jumped up into my arms and wrapped his legs around my waist. He lay his head on my shoulder and kissed my cheek. I squeezed him and rocked him back and forth; to my surprise, tears started running from my eyes. “Oh, Danny,” I said. “I missed you so, so much!” he said; I could hear his own voice crack, not just with puberty but with tearful emotion. “I missed you too kiddo.” We held each other like that a long time, until my legs got tired from holding him up and I could feel his heartbeat against mine, the cotton of both our shirts shot through with sweat. “I missed you so, so much,” he said. He shuddered a little. “Okay kiddo,” I said. “Noooo” he protested, slinking down as I tried to let go of him, refusing to stop spider-monkeying onto me. I laughed, and tried to disentangle from him, but he clung on for dear life through my efforts, until I stooped so low his butt was touching the sidewalk. “I love you so much,” I said, “but we need to get in the car.” “I love you too, daddy.” he said. He looked around. A woman had passed us a moment before, but she hadn’t given us a second glance. To the bums and businesspeople of the financial district, we looked probably just like father and son. And that’s how I hoped we would always seem, for the next few months. Danny climbed into the passenger seat and we sped off–or rather crawled off–through the busy downtown of the city I live in. He kept grabbing my hand and putting it on his thigh; for a moment I was leery of pedestrians looking into the car and seeing me fondle him, but once we were on the freeway it was only moments before I had my hand down the front of his loose basketball shorts. His silky, perfect balls rolled around in my hand. I pulled my fingers out to smell the teenage sweat. Ugh. Ecstasy. I put my hand back down and felt him hardening up as I gently squeezed and caressed his bollocks. “I can’t believe my mom was cool with this,” Danny said. I laughed out loud. “I highly doubt she’s cool with THIS,” I said, squeezing his whole package for emphasis. “She–she just has to know we’re fucking,” Danny said. “She has to.” “I don’t think she does, kiddo,” I murmured. “I’m gonna have to legitimately teach you to chip paint and install drywall and shit this summer. You are gonna do some real work.” “I haaate work,” Danny said. I shuddered and felt his cock throb in my hand; even his whining made me horny. “Small price to pay right? For living with your two favorite people in the world.” “Yeeah,” he said. I felt his clammy grip on my forearm. He moaned a little, and pulled my arm further downward. “Where are you pulling me, kiddo?” I asked, my eyes on the traffic in front of us. “I want you to touch my hole, daddy,” Danny whispered. My cock lurched. I reached down further, sweat dripping down my hand as I felt the smooth, perfect curves of his thighs and taint, and my fingertips found the hairless star between his asscheeks. He grunted and spread his buttocks apart to welcome my touch. “You horny little slut,” I said. I glanced around; there were no cars on either side of us who could see in. I felt the boy’s steamy pucker. Rubbed his little taint. He moaned, and leaned over to lay his head on my shoulder, all the while pressing his hard cock against my wrist. “When we get home,” I murmured. The drive seemed to take hours, even though I only live around 20 minutes from the greyhound station. Sam and I lived in a densely-forested suburb called Ashley Park. It was once a thriving little white suburb in the postwar era, but then came the collapse of the rust belt. Houses got abandoned. Houses got demolished. Then, in the 80s, came waves of poor black families moving into the neighborhood because it was affordable. Then, in the early 2000s, gentrification started pushing them out. Now, it was half vacant lots overgrown with saplings and blackberry bushes, and a lot of young white professionals starting families. There, between two vacant lots, in a shitty little victorian house surrounded by blackberry bushes, was my little three story tower of brick. There was a side deck that perched afyon escort over a steep gorge, a one car garage in the basement, and a series of steep concrete steps up to the front. “Whoaaah!” Danny exclaimed, getting out of the car and looking straight up at the attick a hundred feet above us. “it’s beautiful!” he exclaimed, as if it was the palace of versailles. I couldn’t believe any of this was real. I lugged his suitcase–depressingly light–up the front steps, and into the foyer of the house. Bork came boofing and yapping at Danny’s heels, until the boy calmed him down with a lot of petting and excited greetings. Sam came out of the kitchen in a pair of cutoffs and nothing, looking svelte and sipping a margarita. “There’s our boy!” he exclaimed. Danny ran into Sam’s embrace, and the twentysomething twirled the boy around in his arms. “You grew,” Sam said, putting his flattened hand on top of Danny’s head. “Huh? Really?” “At least two inches.” I could see a nervous tremor in Sam’s hand. He was trying to act nonchalant and welcoming, but he had been dragging his feet about this plan for weeks. Our relationship had hardly survived the conflicts of the last six months: the doubt, the guilt, the consternation, the fear. Sometimes it was me who thought what we did in the hotel was insane; most times, it was Sam. Often, both of us would sob together over the ridiculousness of the mess we had landed ourselves in. Because of course, it was no easy path to travel.But there was no turning back. And both of us had to admit–we loved the boy. Loved him heart and soul, loved him from his toes to his cock and balls and ass to his shining golden crown. He had written us letters every week, doing a good job of keeping them totally clean. He had read books we sent him (always safe and unsuspecting titles of course, but nonetheless subversive). He had in general done everything possible to continue a relationship with us that was, from all outside perspectives, wholesome and uncontroversial–if a bit odd. After we had dropped Sam off in Salamanca with his sister, we got a steady series of bleak text messages and phone calls from the boy. Although it made both of us nervous to have him constantly talking about us to his mother and step-sister, we trusted him when he said that he had only disclosed the bare details about us to his family: that we were a kind, generous couple who had driven him over six hours in a winter storm. Unbeknownst to us, Danny had told a bit of a white lie. Or perhaps just omitted an important detail: directly or indirectly, he gave his family the impression that Sam and I were a straight couple. They thought Sam was short for Samantha. His mother, who had continued to relapse throughout the months of winter and spring, eventually spoke with me on the phone at great length. She railed and ranted about her romantic problems, her parole officer, her issues with Danny’s abusive stepfather. The woman seemed to have almost no awareness that her child, a tender 13 years of age, was still dependent on her. In fact, it took very little for her to forget he existed altogether in spite of conversation after conversation with me being supposedly focused on Danny. One afternoon, however, she called with a request. “He keeps buggin me and buggin me,” she said, her voice like the human embodiment of a cigarette, “he wants to come down and stay with you and your girl for a visit. I can’t stand his attitude no more.” “You–you want him to come down here?” I asked. “I mean, I’d give you some money for food, I know he eats like a bird anyway. He’ll drink you bankrupt in soda though.” “Oh no, I’m not worried about that,” I said. “We’d love to have him visit. He’s a great kid. I could use some help anyway, I guess.” I was trying to sound unattached. Casual. Was it working? Did I sound casual? My heart was pounding. “You take him off my hands for a couple weeks, you’re a fuckin saint.” “I mean, me and Sam wouldn’t mind at all. We’ve got this big old house, I could use some help with repainting the front porch.” “No shit? He could use to have a man teach him to be handy. He don’t know shit about a hard days work, do ya?” I heard Danny murmur, in a sullen tone, “no, mom.” “I didn’t think so. You go down and stay with Sam and Simon, you better be on your best behavior.” “Yes, mom.” “Good boy,” his mother said. I could hear the snap of a lighter as she lit another cigarette. Good boy, indeed. It was all part of an elaborate plan on my part, and Danny’s–we knew that once we got him down here, his mother would very quickly lose all track of time, and she wouldn’t give a god damn if he was with us for 2 weeks or 12. Or hell, maybe even longer. It was all a matter of getting him on a greyhound, and making it happen. It took a week of agonizing and uncertainty for Sam–and to be honest, me–to warm up to the idea of harboring a 13 year old laborer for the summer vacation. We had lengthy, deep talks about it, nearly all without Danny. Both of us, of course, desperately wished it was possible. Danny was gung ho about it. His mother wanted to get rid of him for a while. The rest of his family didn’t give a God damn what happeend to him. Our neighbors all lived practically out of sight of the house. We had nobody to answer to but God and our own consciences. And the Law. God, we were agnostic about. Our consciences–well, we were troubled but lust and romantic fascination overwhelmed us. The Law was the only thing that really mattered. And with an opportunity like this seeming more uncanny than any event that had ever occurred in our lives–we decided it was worth the expense. We paid for a consultation with a criminal defense attorney. In an extremely awkward phone call to a law firm in California, we haltingly described our hypothetical situation: that a minor was coming to live with us for the summer, potentially, agrı escort and we were concerned that it might arouse suspicions or cause us trouble. We expressed, probably unnecessarily, the deep willingness Danny had for a relationship with us. “As far as the most state laws are concerned,” the attorney said, “there is absolutely nothing going on, I would imagine, that could be prosecuted. At worst, if there was evidence that you had supplied the minor with alcohol or drugs, you could face corruption of a minor. If there was evidence of sexual misconduct, same deal. But essentially that would only happen if one of the parents was concerned and brought a suit against you, and you’re telling me Mom is actively seeking this arrangement, correct?” “Yeah.” “And the youth in question is also seeking cohabitation?” “Yes.” “And, let’s just speak in the hypothetical, even if this youth was to engage in inappropriate conduct with one or both of you, there would be no other witnesses in the household to corroborate that correct?” “Correct,” Sam said. “Even in the unlikely event that you had a neighbor or another person in the community raise questions to local law enforcement, the burden of proof would be on them to…do what? Prove what?” “Sure,” I said. My voice was shaking, I felt deeply unnerved by the entire process. It was so strange, so unsettling. “Best precaution you can have is a notarized letter from the parent that says the child is staying with you with her consent. But to be completely frank, such a letter is almost absurd because minors travel around to different family members, summer camps etc. with no particular need for such documentation. Mr. X, believe me when I say that nobody is nearly as worried about this as you are.” “I hear you,” I said. “I believe you probably are just suffering from the prick of conscience, so to speak. Not to make a double entendre.” I laughed now, sincerely. “Listen, I have represented some of the most appalling sleazeballs on the planet. Men who were related to the child in question, men who impregnated said child, men who used the child’s mother as a pawn to gain access to the child. On and on and on.” “Yeah,” I said. “Believe me, Mr. X. The vast majority of men who are in similar situations as you have no qualms about it, no hesitations, and no sense of restraint. They take few if any precautions, and that is what gets them in trouble. And even then, if they have my help, they rarely if ever face the music. So long, and this is the key, so long as the minor in question does not testify against them.” That was several weeks prior. The idea that we could have our cake, eat it too, and pay nothing but a small legal fee for peace of mind? It all seemed far too good to be true. And yet, of course, it was too good to be true. This whole thing, this whole scenario, was far too good to be true. Because, as I’m sorry to remind you, this is fiction. None of this ever happened, nor will anything like it ever happen in my life or yours. At least, I pray. Now, in this lovely fantasy I have spun for you, replete with plausible scenarios and the palpitations of human guilt and trembling, it is July 3rd, 2022. And the three of us, after a sweaty embrace in the kitchen, sat down on the side deck with a citronella candle burning and three ice-cold sodas, and watched the fireworks way in the distance over lake Ontario. “So, is it gonna be weird for you guys?” Danny asked. “Like won’t your friends ask questions?” We looked at each other, then back at Danny. “We don’t have many friends, Danny,” Sam said. “When we started dating,” I explained, “it was already a kinda scandalous age difference. Sam was only 18. I was 38 or something. A lot of my friends stopped talking to me. A lot of Sam’s friends thought he was being groomed or whatever.” “Groomed?” Danny asked. I sighed. “Yeah,” I said. “It’s a word that describes when an older person…kind of seduces a younger person. Uses tricks and manipulation to slowly get the trust and intimacy of the younger person.” “Oh,” Danny said. “What if the younger person wants it?” “That doesn’t really matter to these people,” Sam said. “I was really attracted to Simon, and I wanted to be his boyfriend, but all my friends thought I was like. Brainwashed, and a victim.” “That sucks,” Danny said. “Yeah,” said Sam. “I only hang out with a few of my old friends now. The ones who know that Simon is awesome.” Sam squeezed my hand. I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You guys are so hot,” Danny whispered. I glanced down, and saw his shorts bulging. Of course he was hard. In fact, he might have never stopped being hard since the car ride over. “Danny,” I said. “Before anything else happens, we gotta lay some ground rules.” He rolled his eyes. “Whaaat?” “No nudity outside. No nudity in front of windows. No talking about anything sexual that happens here. No social media,” “I don’t even have a phone,” Danny said, his voice chock full of exasperation. “We do,” said Sam, “and don’t give us that tone.” Danny wasn’t used to Sam holding boundaries; he looked checked, and a little sheepish. “We have to keep up appearances at all costs that you are, on our end, a cousin of Sam’s who is staying for the summer. And on your end, you need to talk about this place like Sam is a girl and you are doing lots of hard work with me finishing the attic and spending your free time at the city library and chasing girls at the YMCA or some nonsense like that.” “My mom is barely gonna talk to me,” Danny said. “We know that, babe,” Sam said. “Just when you do talk to her, make sure you keep it vague and plausible.” “Plausible?” “Believable. Easy to believe.” “No problem,” Danny said. He looked back and forth from one of us to the other, then, waiting for more. “Is that it?” he asked. “I guess so. For now.” “Can we like,” Danny said, “go upstairs?” I akdere escort got up, grabbed my soda, and walked inside. Minutes later, I was entangled with both my boys. Sweaty, smelling them, feeling their lips on my throat. Looking into their eyes. Giggling. Putting my hands through their hair. Locking lips with each one in turn, and feeling both of them suddenly shift their focus from kissing me to kissing my nipples, grabbing my cock through my shorts, and then… Both of them buried their noses in my crotch. I grabbed both their heads; Danny’s was so small I could neatly fit it in my hand. I felt somebody unzip me, and then free my aching, precummy cock. I looked down to see Sam jerking me and looking up with flared nostrils and a look of pure lust as Danny stuck out his tongue to flick at the bead of precum oozing from my slit. “Suck me baby boy,” “Yes, Daddy,” Danny said, voice rasping. He put his mouth over my head, and I sighed as six months of pent up sexual anticipation melted. Danny slurped and sucked and squeezed my balls. Sam sucked the shaft, and both of them moaned and alternated between cleaning my bollocks and slurping up and down the length of my cock. All at once, Danny broke away and stood up, shucked his pants off; his cock bounced out, gorgeous and perfect, but I had no opportunity to put it in my mouth. “I want you, Daddy,” he said. “I want you too, baby boy.” “I can’t wait,” Danny said, “Is it okay, Sam?” “Please,” Sam said, standing up. “Do you want to be alone with Simon?” Danny blushed. “Yeah, just for the first one.” “I’d love nothing more than to give you two a few minutes.” Me and Sam kissed, long and sweet. He looked flushed, excited. I knew there was no jealousy in him–maybe just a bit. But we would repay him tenfold for this moment of one-on-one intimacy. Danny crawled onto me and put my cock between his pert cheeks. His petit body was so compact, so muscular, so lithe. I could wrap both my hands around his waist and my thumbs touched my middle fingers. His nipples were smaller than dimes; they were small as the tiny little euro cent I had carried in my pockets in France. “You need lube,” I said. “I wanna try without,” the boy said, pressing my cock head against his sweaty hole. “Don’t,” I said, laughing, “you’ll tear both our skin off.” I reached for a bottle of astroglide on the side table, and slicked up my cock and his hole. My little boy was moaning at the slightest touch. He sank backward, with no prep, and winced as my cock pierced his sphincter. He breathed deep, sank backward further and further, and I felt inch after inch of my cock plunge into his tiny, tight body. At last, I was buried. “You been practicing?” I asked. “I stole my mom’s dildo.” I laughed. He laughed too, leaned down. Our noses touched. We kissed. His sweet little lips, the taste of coca cola in his mouth. I pumped myself in and out of him slowly, gently. I grasped his narrow shoulders, I caressed the back of his neck–so smooth! So, so, so, so, so so smooth! He was soft, now; my cock was too much for him to take and still maintain an erection; every once in a while he still winced at the pain of taking my dick. I normally needed my partner to be excited, hard, and thrilled with taking me in order to cum. But not with Danny. Not with my sweet, sweet boy. For him to merely accommodate me, and allow me to use his tiny body for my pleasure–that alone was enough for me. More than enough. “I need you on your back,” I said. Without asking, I got up, holding him, never breaking our union, and lay him down. I began pumping in and out; his legs wrapped around my torso, his hands in my hair, my nose in his neck. My cock plunging in and out of his tight, tiny hole. He grunted and grunted like a filthy little bitch, high pitched and certainly enjoying every moment; before long, I noticed that he was touching himself and he had returned to a rigid erection. “It feels good daddy,” he whispered. I kissed his ear, and continued to use him, and felt my orgasm getting closer and closer. “You want daddy’s cum?” He just nodded. He nodded and wrapped one arm around my neck, and breathed little mewing noises into my ear. I flooded him. My cock spasmed and I spilled a hot, frenzied load deep in his tight warmth. The noises I made were animal, loud, almost embarrassing. I clung to him so tightly that I didn’t notice as I collapsed on top of him, that he was still rubbing himself. As I panted and my cock throbbed in his tight clench, I felt his anus clench, clench, clench; I looked down and saw jets of delicious Danny cum spurt from his cock. He kissed my ear as he came, and gripped a fistful of my hair. “Good boy,” I said, coaxing the cum out of him with a squeeze of his balls. He gasped as the last droplets spilled forth onto his tight, flat abdomen. “Good boy,” I said. “Such a good, good boy.” We kissed. We kissed more. I ate the cum off his perfect tummy, and then we went up to the shower. In the steam and fragrance of the eucalyptus soap, we embraced and leaned into one another. I held him, and soaped up his armpits and his delicious little boypussy, and shampooed his hair, and gave him endless kisses. He fell to his knees and sucked my cock in the full spray of the shower and I moaned and revelled in the sight of him worshipping my cock as water ran down his face and perfect body. That night, we all slept together for the first time since the hotel in the snowstorm. This time, however, there was a struggling window air conditioner trying to keep us from intolerably sticky-sweaty heat. My two boys clung to me, one on either side, and I lay on my back cradling both of them in my arms. I was hot; so hot that sweat ran down my temples and clung to the t-shirt that provided a barrier between me and Danny’s youthful soft skin. It was midnight, and the heat was almost unbearable. But I didn’t care. I held my two little babes as closely, as tightly as I could. Nothing was worth breaking the embrace of these two boys I loved. Not even the promise of an entire summer of love, lust, and laughter.

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