I didn’t intend on writing two stories in tandem, but this idea came out so suddenly it just seemed to write itself. (No worries, ‘Abide with Me’ is still alive and well.) Please enjoy. ~~~ October 13th, 1944 Syracuse, Italy ~ “Sir, please, I can’t-” “Taylor.” I spoke his name harshly and he was instantly silent, watching me with a look of pure terror, disturbingly akin to that I’d seen on faces of soldiers as they lay wounded and bleeding in ditches, pleading for their comrades not to leave them for dead. Christ. Was I really turning into such a monster? “I didn’t call you in here to punish you.” The kid’s childish face relaxed a fraction of an inch, but I could still see the sheen of sweat glistening on his brow. “I only want to talk to you.” He had the most expressive eyes I’d ever seen. His body was stiff, his back rigid, and his hands motionless at his sides, but his eyes were alive and wrought with emotion. I’d known the moment I’d first seen him, upon his arrival three days ago, that he was one of mine. One of my Lost Boys. He was by far the most beautiful boy I’d ever come across, the most desirable object I’d ever laid eyes on. Pure, clear ivory skin, ash gold hair, azure eyes, and beautifully shaped hands. I’d heard the others laughing and sneering at him, calling him ‘The Hitler Youth Gone Good’. But I secretly loved his pure, pale Arian features. There had been five others like him; three before, and two after I’d been posted to this God-awful excuse for a base camp. Now the German army had retreated, the rest of the fucking world had left to pursue them onto the Italian mainland. And I got left I this shithole. Five others. Five other pretty boys who, like me, were inflicted with this cursive blessing, this inscrutable burden. Two Americans, two Canadians, and one Australian- all prisoners of an adversary bullets and firebombs could never defeat. Five other men doomed to walk through their lives with puppet wives they didn’t love and children they didn’t want. Or if they were compassionate enough to spare their women this pain, they were doomed to walk this earth alone, and leave it having never really lived. They had all been young, and all terrified of being sent home; a fact which I played to my advantage. They knew, as I had always known, that fighting to the death on a bloody battlefield was better than what their lives had to offer. A hero’s suicide; that’s what they wanted. If they were lucky, they’d get it. But at least they would die knowing what it felt liked to be desired, to be loved. To show those five boys this, to show them that love was love, no matter where it came from, was the reason I hung on. “Sit.” I ordered, indicating the chair opposite my desk. Everything in here was falling to bits, and the chair squeaked alarmingly as the boy Taylor lowered himself gingerly onto it. He still looked shit scared, and I wondered if I was going to get through to him this time, or if I’d have to try again at some other juncture. “Sir.” He tried again, looking as if he were on the verge of desperate tears, “Please, don’t send me home- I can’t-” “Taylor.” I interjected again, wanting to put him at ease, but knowing I needed to remain in control, “You will only speak when you are spoken to. Understand?” The boy closed his mouth and looked down at his hands, ashamed. Then, seeming to realize I’d asked him a question, he looked up at me and nodded. “Yes, Sir.” It had been cruel of me, perhaps, to tell him I was going to send him back to America because I’d found out he was underage. It was a lie; I had no idea how old he was, although he didn’t look a day older than 16. But I’d needed to get him in here alone with me, and the ‘step into my office so we can discuss this’ excuse had always worked. “How old are you, Taylor?” I asked, opting to start this off with the question he’d been expecting. He was so petrified already, I was afraid that if I were too forward, if I moved too quickly, he might bolt. And that could be dangerous for me. “Nineteen, Sir.” Wrong answer, Kid. “How old are you, Taylor?” I repeated, trying not to look too intimidating, while still letting him know he was under my command. The boy flinched as if I’d slapped him and a blush of humiliation coloured his pale cheeks. I found it so erotic that I had to shift my position slightly to adjust my breeches. “I’m…I’m going on eighteen, Sir. I’ve just gone seventeen and a half.” Huh. That was older than I’d thought. All the better, for my purposes, I suppose. He turned his pleading eyes on me, as if begging with me silently not to condemn him back to his miserable life. He’d work hard, his eyes seem to assure me, and he’d be good and keep out of sight. He just didn’t want to go home. Ever again. “What’s your Christian name, Taylor?” I asked, knowing that this was a crucial step in building the delicate structure I wanted to erect between us. Despite what Juliet may have thought, there was a lot in a name. If someone called you by your given name, it meant they gave a flying fuck about you. Such names were strictly taboo in this camp (hell, they were everywhere). I don’t think anyone actually knew mine, beyond the fact that it started with a ‘B’. I was sure when this war was over, I would have a hard time responding to anything that wasn’t ‘Sergeant Captain Kinney’, ‘Sarg.” or “Guv.” (which is what those fucking limeys instead on). I knew from looking at the black lettering on his kit that this boy’s name started with a ‘J’. Was it just plain John? Joseph or Jacob, may be? Or was it something more exotic like Jeremiah or Johannes? “It’s Justin, Sir.” He replied softly. Justin. It suited him. I came slowly out from behind my desk and moved towards his chair. He drew away from me, as if I was something emitting scorching heat. His expression-filled eyes were wide with unease and fear, but had an edge of curiosity in them, and a speckle of what I hoped might be lust. They had all done this at first. I knelt beside his chair and he went rigid all over, staring down at me, the terror suddenly spreading all across his face and into the very depths of his eyes. I put a soft hand on his knee and he actually jerked, but I was immensely relieved to find it was not away from my touch. “Easy now. Why don’t you want to go home, Justin?” I asked gently. The boy let out a small sound- the muffled hiccup that preceded a sob. Shit. I didn’t want to make him cry, not before I’d given him something to cry for. I think it may have been the use of him name; a safe, homely, maternal affect that he hadn’t been ready for. I moved in frount of him and put one finger on the side of his cheek. He froze again, his face a white mask of terror and anguish and confusion. “I know why you don’t want to go home, Justin.” I told him, trailing my finger down his face and putting it beneath his chin. He beautiful eyes, now shimmering with tears in the light of the gas lamps, looked into my face. He looked so very young- little more than a frightened child. “You’re afraid they’ll find out. They’ll say you’re sick, that you’re diseased. That you’re evil and blasphemous. You’re afraid if they find out; they’ll lock you up or kill you. And if they don’t find out, you’ll never be happy anyway. That’s right, isn’t it?” The boy clamped his eyes shut suddenly and the tears that had been building behind them came cascading down his face. Tears had always been a part of this, all my lost boys had cried at first. I knew at that moment that it didn’t matter to him who I was, or what I would do with him. I’d just told him I knew and understood that burning, caustic truth that had been destroying him inside since God knows how long. He was trying hard not to sob, not to make any noise, but he couldn’t stop the tears; that liquid emotion erupting from deep inside him. It was too soon yet to comfort him- I would eventually, but now wasn’t the time. I stood by patiently and let him cry. “Justin,” I used his name again once the tears had ceased in their surging torrent somewhat. “It’s not right, what they do and what they think. It’s wrong. You’re not alone in this- there are lots of us, from every corner of the world. We know we’re not evil or sick, we’re just misunderstood.” He looked up at me, his eyes swimming, but the expression within them one of earth-shattering shock, a look of such enormous, thunderstruck realization that his face suddenly looked as if it had been carved out of marble. I felt the burning, fiery anger ebb and surge within me. Why did it have to be like this? It was so deeply, profoundly unjust. Why couldn’t the fucking world see? A world that was so goddamn horrified by tales of the Jewish genocide- why were they so blind to what they were doing to these boys, right in frount of their own eyes? This boy was beautiful, he was perfect, but no one would ever see that because of what he was, what he had no choice to be, what he had been born as. I resolved then, as I had with the others, to give him what he deserved as a human being. What he would find no where else; respect, lust, compassion, sex and love. Before it was too late for him, or me, or us all. “It’s alright, boy.” I assured him, touching his face again. He hadn’t spoken or made any sound, but again, it was his eyes, filled paradoxically with relief and anticipation, that encouraged me on. I moved away from him, and sat down in the chair behind my desk. “Come here. I want you to sit on here, on the edge of the desk.” I was indicating the spot on my desk directly in frount of me. He would either come now or this would be over, and I’d have to try again another time. I knew he must be shit scared, so I wouldn’t have blamed him if he wanted to leave this time. But he didn’t. He did as I ordered and came to perch in frount of me, looking anxious and expectant. I knew now that he would be pliant and obedient in my hands, and I talked to him gently as I removed his boots, his fraying old socks, his regulation uniform trousers, and finally his thin, greying underpants. “I want to show you what it’s like for us, I don’t want you to die not knowing. I won’t do anything that will hurt you, not this time. I need you to trust me. Do you trust me?” I looked into his face searchingly and I didn’t need the small nod to tell me he did. His eyes said it all. It was a strange phenomenon. To all of these boys, I’d been a stranger- just another senior officer who wasn’t supposed to care if they lived or died. But they had all let me do these strange things to them without question. And all because I knew, because I’d been the first one ever to tell them they weren’t alone. “Good boy. Now I want you to lie back and close your eyes. Keep ‘em shut. This won’t hurt, but it might feel strange at first.” “Sir, I…” he looked at me troubled, and I stopped immediately to address his unease. I had seen excitement and anxiety clashing in the depths of his eyes. But he was now looking embarrassed and a bit ashamed. “I…I don’t know what to do.” “It’s alright.” I assured his again, pressing on his chest gently to get him to lie back. “This is a natural thing for us to do. Your body will do everything it needs to. Just relax and concentrate on the feeling.” He nodded, still looking a bit scared, and lay all the way back, his closed eyelids fluttering gently, his hands twitching slightly at his sides. I sat down between his legs and gently took hold of his ankles, positioning his feet on the edge of my desk. His far too skinny, they all were, and I noted that his spindly legs had an abnormally large number of bruises and cuts on them. But perhaps that was because he was so pale. He really was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I laid one gentle kiss in the hollow where his thigh met his pelvis. His leg twitched, but he didn’t make any sound. I began to lick and nip at the skin there, and as I did so, I saw his toes curl around the edge of the desk. I ran my hands up his shins, over his knees, and down his thighs soothingly, trying to ease his taut muscles into relaxing. I continued to restrict my attentions to his inner thighs until I heard him give and almost unperceivable whimper as he lifted his hips from the desktop slightly. He was completely hard now, and I couldn’t help smiling as I remembered what he’d told me about not knowing what to do. “You’re doing great, kid.” I assured him, as he smiled a Cheshire-cat grin so wide I actually heard myself laugh. There was something about this boy that I loved in a way I hadn’t with the others. I took the tip of his cock into my mouth and began to slowly apply my expertise, taking him further and further inside, inch by inch. The effect on him was electric. He mewed like a cat and arched his back off the desk, clearly absolutely unprepared for the sensations I was eliciting. I put my hands on his hips to restrain him, and continued in earnest, finding myself enjoying this far more than I’d expected to. Perhaps it was just his radiant smile, or perhaps it was the way he was pushing himself up against my mouth, silently begging for more, unafraid, bold and unashamed. The other five had been great, but this boy- Justin- was magnificent, stunning. It was all over too fast. Of course, he’d never done this before- had never knew it could be done- so his inability to moderate and contain himself was understandable. As he approached his climax, he arched so high off the desk that I had to stand up to keep him in my mouth. He pulled out of my mouth a second before he came, not knowing that I had actually intended to swallow what he could’ve offered me. If there was a next time, I could explain that to him. As he lay, twitching and panting with the aftershocks, I turned quickly, undid my own breeches, and jerked myself off. I’d been so close already it only took a matter of seconds. None of the others had made me feel this way. This boy- my golden boy- was something special, something unique. He was desirable, erotic and compassionate. He was a keeper…as long as I could keep him. When I’d cleaned myself up and composed my features, I turned to find him standing by my desk, dressed once again in the dark green military uniform. The smile was gone, and had been replaced with a look of anxiety, the fear creeping back to underlie the expression of disquiet and fretfulness on his face. “Didn’t you like that?” I asked, wondering if I’d done something wrong. “Yes!” he burst out, and I didn’t miss the quaver in his voice. “It was…the best thing I’ve ever felt…I just…I don’t know…what to do, or feel…” I went to him then. Went to him and took him in my arms. These boys- not just my five and this one- but all of them, had never been held by anyone, not since they were small children. Those others would someday have wives to hold them, and later children to hold. But my boys, my lost boys, would never be held. It was too much for this one, my golden boy, and he began to weep, letting the tears and the sobs come this time. I held him to me, to comfort him, but also to muffle the sound of his crying. I wondered what he was crying for; himself, his empty future, or the knowledge that there was a love out there for him, however unattainable. After a time, I led his back to the desk and sat him in the chair- the one that didn’t squeak- handing him one of my last clean handkerchiefs. He tried to give a stammering explanation for himself, but the words failed. I rubbed his back gently to let him know I understood. Fuck. I really liked this kid. I’d make him happy as long as I could. As long as he was here, I could do that for him. If it was the only bright spark in his life, he would still die happy. “Now you need to go, Taylor.” I told him a few minutes later, leading him to the door. It was important to bring these boys back to reality afterwards, and to remind them I was in change. It was for my sake, but for theirs as well. “Go down the washhouse and clean yourself up, then report for your night duty. And Taylor? I want no tears where I can’t see them, do you understand? If you are going to cry you’ll have to do so in frount of me. That’s an order.” It was a policy of mine. Tears were dangerous. They could give him- and by extension, me- away. But more importantly, they would make him look weak, could make him a target. And for people like us, the enemies did not restrict themselves behind the Axis lines. Death was waiting in the shadows for us, and we had to be wary. “And you’re not to look for me, or address me, under any circumstances. When I want you, you’ll be called for. And you are to come when I call for you, understand?” For a brief second, he flashed me that Cheshire cat smile, before he sobered and gave me a curt nod and a salute, and disappeared into the night, now as black as pitch with the blackout boards up. Yes, my golden boy, I thought. There is so much more I can do for you. So much more you deserve. And you shall have it, God willing.