The second encounter with my boy Justin would change me, my life, and all I stood for forever. I had always thought of myself as the founder and saviour of those who were lost wandering through shadows. But until there was Justin, it had never before dawned on me that I, myself, had been among them. ~~~ October 29th, 1944 Syracuse, Italy It was towards the end of the second week after his arrival that I discovered my golden boy’s horrific secret. Strategic deception had always been key. I was one of the American army’s highest ranking cryptographers, and at the age of 29, was their youngest by several decades. My ability to read people’s words and actions as if they were books had allowed me to rise quickly through the ranks of the establishment. Who’d have thought so much of a humble ad-man? But what the establishment didn’t know was that I was deciphering them in turn, and preparing, for my own survival, elusive cryptograms of my own. I knew I walked a very risky, very thin red line. I knew what I did was extremely dangerous. If I were caught, I’d either be locked up for the rest of my life or, more likely, be shot or beaten to death, and declared ‘missing in action’… And so it was with indifferent glimpses and peripheral glances that I watched my golden boy become integrated into the camp. I longed for more contact with him, but I had to be careful…opportunities could not be made; they had to come up of their own accord. A week went by, and then two and nothing presented itself. Fucking Ada. I found myself growing desperate- a new and distressing feeling for me- desiring something I couldn’t put my finger on. What the fuck had this boy done to me? Was it just that he was beautiful, or was there something inside me that desired more of him- something I’d subconsciously known the others couldn’t give me? He was an enigma. My golden boy was a tireless worker who never complained, qualities that earned him favour among his superiors and respect among his peers. He was accepted, well-liked, and from what I could tell, happy. The taunts about his resemblance to a Hitler youth faded and were replaced by a nick-name derived from his radiant grin; Sunshine. But Sunshine was hiding in his radiance, a menacing black cloud of atrociousness. ~~~ Italy was so fucking hot that, even in October, the sweltering heat drove the younger men down to a nearby waterhole to cool down as soon as they were off duty. They were often joined by women and their dark-haired, brown-eyed children who lived in the neighbouring village. On account of the woman, the boys swam in their underpants for the sake of modesty. On the afternoon that marked the two week point after our first encounter, I’d been walking past the waterhole, immersed in conversation with another senior officer. Without breaking off our martial chinwag, I saw in my peripheral vision, my golden boy standing on the edge of the pond, playfully kicking water at an unfortunate comrade. I would see him again in two days; an opportunity had finally presented itself. ‘Code filing’ was an incredibly tedious, time-consuming task that, because of its vileness, always fell to the most junior recruit. This month, that individual would conventionally be him…and the codes to be filed were kept in my office. Neat, clean, and inconspicuous in any way. Out of the corner of eye, I saw my boy move into a slant of late afternoon sunlight, causing it to fall across the pale skin of his back, and what I saw almost froze the blood in my veins. There was a bruise, not patchy or in blotches, but a single, massive contusion spreading across the whole of lower back and, although obscured by his shorts, I could see continuing down almost to the back of his knees. The light had been bad that night I’d had him in my office, but this bruise was so extensive I didn’t see how I could have missed it. It was not recently acquired; the discolouration was yellow and green instead of blue and purple, perhaps a month or two old. I was sickened and horrified, knowing what it doubtlessly signified. The next day, carefully phrased, seemingly indifferent inquires of his comrades would tell me that ‘Taylor had fallen down a set of metal stairs’ while working at his previous job in an artillery factory in Pittsburgh. The lie was a practical one, and would fit the bill if no one looked too closely. But I saw through the falsehood as if it were glass, and was appalled by what the kid was hiding, what he was too afraid or ashamed to disclose. I knew where bruises like that came from. And I knew why boys like him acquired them. ~~~ October 31st, 1944 Syracuse, Italy “He didn’t know for sure…he couldn’t prove anything.” the boy explained softly, looking back over his shoulder at me, “It guess it was just a impulse. He said…he said he wanted to show me what would happen if I was…one of us. My father’s a proud man.” “So he beat the shit out of you?” I spat, so livid I could barley contain myself. My anger at the sheer appalling injustice of it was fiery, intense, rushing through my veins just below my skin like scorching magma. The boy Justin was laying on his frount on my camp bed, propped up on his elbows, shirtless, the material of his trousers and pants bunched below his knees. I sat perched on the cot by his waist, holding the swinging oil lamp steady with one hand and surveying the horrific damage that had been done to him. It made me want to weep in empathy. Whatever the instrument had been- a strap or a paddle, I guessed- had been applied most viscously to his buttocks, and the bruises there were still dark, brown and black, with blood blisters still oozing yellowy pus. I knew from the placement and the extent of the bruising that he’d probably been tied down while it was done. The thought made me physically nauseous. I ran my hands softly over his otherwise perfect, smooth skin, wishing with all my heart and soul that I could erase this evil, could make it fade and disappear. “I think he was afraid,” Justin explained, his voice so bitter and regretful it stirred something deep inside me. The boy hadn’t been afraid or ashamed to show me his aliment when I’d asked him, but he had been a bit cagey about telling me the story behind it. “I’m…I’m his only son.” “Don’t!” I exploded, making him flinch visibly. I swung myself off the bed and knelt by the head of the cot so that my face was inches from him. “Don’t you DARE make excuses for him! There is no excuse for what he did to you- none! You didn’t deserve this, Justin. No one fucking deserves this! But especially not you, not for this reason.” The boy looked straight back at me, his eyes blazing with something I hadn’t seen there before. Bravery, defiance, a scorching fire of passion that had seemed to be kindled by my words. The look was so intense I could almost feel heat radiating from it. “I know.” He replied, his voice soft but ringing with resilience. “I knew he was wrong. Two days after- when I could walk- I got up and told him I was leaving forever. I left everything I had and joined up for overseas. That was a mouth ago, and I’ve never looked back. I’m not going back.” “You’re a brave boy,” I told him, unspeakably impressed despite myself. My anger had melted away with his words, knowing I didn’t need to take vengeance on the man who had so grievously harmed him. Justin had done it for himself. “You’re braver than anyone out there in the frount lines, Kid, remember that. It’s so much harder to stand up against an enemy with a face.” I think it was then that I first ceased to be his superior officer, and had become…what? A friend? A confidante? An equal, at the very least. I would have to be very careful that that stayed within the confines of this room, but some unexplainable desire wanted us on this equal footing, at least for now. “My name’s Brian.” I told him, thinking that my name sounded oddly tarnished with neglect. I put a hand out to his cheek, cupping it softly and stroking the delicate, high cheek bones with my thumb. He leaned into the tender contact, nuzzling into my palm, drawn to the warmth of my body and gentle demeanour. I wondered how long it had been since anyone had loved him with their touch. I knew suddenly that I wanted him to be mine so desperately I would do anything. The thought was frightening, but somehow deeply alluring. I felt as if I were suddenly wading out of my depth, as if the boy were a siren and I a sailor; he was singing and calling me deeper and deeper, away from the land, and under the mysterious waters. That was the moment that the realization came upon me. The earth-shattering comprehension of what I was and had always been. A lost boy. Pulling myself out of my reverie, I stood up and went in search of something in my medicine chest. Feeling those intense, curious eyes following me, I brought what I had collected over to the cot and showed the little metal tin to him. “Its witch hazel,” I explained, opening the tin to show him the colourless gelatinous cream inside. “I want to put some on that contusion of yours. It’ll help lighten up some of the bruising and it will stop the blisters getting infected. It’ll make it feel better.” When the boy nodded to give me his consent, I took up my place on the edge of the cot by his side again and began to work the aromatic gel over his lower back, buttocks, and the back of his thighs. His skin was soft and warm under my fingertips, and I could feel all the ridges of his muscles and the protruding lumps of his spine and tail bones. He relaxed under the caress of my fingers, and I realized suddenly that he was trembling ever so slightly. “Am I hurting you?” I asked, concerned, thinking the shivers may have been of suppressed pain. The boy didn’t answer for a second, and then twisted his head around to give me one of his wide, sunshine smiles. When he spoke, his words went straight to my dick, and it suddenly seemed as if that smile were filling the room with dazzling light. “No, don’t stop. I like it.” I knew that he was not referring to the soothing quality of the witch hazel. Christ, the kid was a natural. An enigma. I was way out of my depth now, the waves crashing over my head, but I found I didn’t give a shit at that moment. I couldn’t help myself from grinning like a fucking circus clown. “Do you now?” I asked playfully, concentrating my attentions on his ass because I knew that was what was turning him on. He nodded and shifted slightly under my hands, making a soft sort of whimpering noise. Fuck, he was divine. “Roll over, Sunshine” I offered, trying out his newfound nickname. He seemed to like both the offer and the name, and grinned as he shifted himself over onto his back. He planted his feet on the boards at the end of the bed, knees slightly bent, legs narrowly spread out. He looked up at me and smiled again and my stomach did a back flip. I leaned forward and placed my index finger softly on his sternum just below the dip of his throat. He shivered as my sleeve brushed against his exposed nipple. “They say that men can’t be beautiful,” I told him, drawing my finger down his chest to his navel. “But they’re wrong. You’re so beautiful, my golden boy.” I knelt by the cot and leaned over his midriff. This time he knew what was coming and was ready for it, pushing his hips up towards me and arching his back before I’d even touched him. Feel ridiculously pleased with my boy, I began my administrations slowly, but sped up when I realized that if I drew this out too much longer, I would cum before he did. I felt his hands pulling at my hair as his body gyrating in a way I’d never seen before. It was such an incredible fucking come-on; he was so angelically beautiful and yet so devilishly wicked. He was a bit too eager though, and again, it took less than three minutes before he was gasping and shuddering in ecstasy. He tried to pull away from me as he had last time, but this time I held onto his hips and eagerly swallowed the measure of liquid Sunshine. His taste was unusual; sour and slightly acidic but not all that unpleasant. I looked up to find him gaping at me and had to admit to myself that swallowing someone else’s cum might seem a bit unusual the first time around. I laughed softly, pushing myself up with a hand on him knee. I’d thought, when I undid my own trousers to see to myself (it was very nearly too late), that I’d left the boy lying on the cot. So I was a bit shocked to suddenly find three hands on my leaking cock where there had previously just been one. I glanced down to see his arms around my waist and felt him push his head up under my arm. I was so absolutely thunderstruck that I couldn’t do anything but let my hand drop and watch him with a kind of stupefied fascination. He was obviously pretty experienced at this activity. Unlike what I’d just done to him, one didn’t have to be tremendously flexible to jerk oneself off. I was so close it only took him about thirty seconds to complete the task, but I don’t think I even noticed. No one had ever done that to me before. It had always just been ‘me’ and ‘them’. There had never been an ‘us’; never been an exchange. It had always been about what I could do for them, never the other way around. This boy was shaking the very foundations of my life. He was ripping up the stone blocks that surrounded my personal fortress and was hurling them pell-mell into an ocean of want and desire. He was the first human being I had come across in a very, very long time, who had given me real warmth and affection, not just mine diluted, and reflected back at me. Having lost my foothold on reality, I was a loss of what to do. The boy Justin was looking up at me from under my arm, looking apprehensive. I could see the questions scrolling before his eyes; Had he done the right thing? Had he been any good? Was I angry at him for taking the liberty? I took him back to the cot, lay down on it and pulled him down to lie beside me. After a moment’s hesitation, the boy laid his head on my chest as I ran my hands gently up and down the bare skin of his shoulders and back. I wanted to forget the outside world, forget everything and just lie here holding him, forever. This was a new world. It was if we had torn open the fabric of this cruel, contorted, dangerous world that existed outside these four walls, and had stepped past it into a world of perpetual warmth and peace and everlasting sunshine… But it came at a deadly cost. “Justin,” I looked down on his blond head and he turned his eyes upwards towards me. “You know this is perilously risky, don’t you? You know if they find us they’ll kill me, and probably you, too. I’m putting you in terrible danger.” I was giving him an out, letting him know he could escape this now if he wanted. “I know.” The boy replied softly. “But if I were afraid of loving someone, someone I wanted to be with…I would have let my father’s fear and anger break me.” He shifted onto his side and looked into my face. His expression-filled eyes were full of the passion of determination and certainty. He put a hand out to my cheek and caressed it with the back of my hand. I felt a lump rising in my throat, thinking that the last person to touch me so tenderly was my grandmother, twenty-some years ago. “This is worth dying for, Brian. I’d rather die for this than for my country or my honour or my name. And if they hate me and kill me, I don’t care. Our lives are too short for anything but love.” ~~~ And so my golden boy conquered me, branded my soul and my spirit as his own. The path before us was dark and perilous, wrought with hidden dangers and lethal traps. But he went before me always, calling me on, and I wasn’t afraid. There was still so much I could teach him. So much more I could give him. I had yet to show him the best part.