KIDNAPPING THROUGH THE STREAM OF TIME by Lars M. Culverine (c) 1998
CHAPTER 4. Questions and Answers
When I got up in the morning I recalled everything that happened yesterday and went immediately upstairs to have a look on my little name-sake. He was sleeping calmly, deeply, like a little boy-kitten. When I was watching him I was completely overwhelmed by the marvellous, unique spell he was radiating, by the power that was constantly forcing me to look on and to shyly observe his child-innocence. Now, when he was asleep, the spell was much bigger than ever and I felt I would be able to do everything just for the slightest smile on his face. It was an incredible power, it was making me stun, it was sending me into the highest vertigo, it was so strong that I, completely exhausted and overflooded by its endless glow, knelt silently and, in my mind, I pleaded the boy:
'Forgive me! I couldn't resist to take you to my world with me. I like you, I like you so much, really I do! I'm so scared of hurting you! I wish you were happy in here but I'm afraid I would fail! Forgive me, please!'
What followed after these words was hardly to describe. Even now I'm not sure what that happened. I got a feeling as if from where the boy laid a blinding glare exposed, it took just a little while, I noticed that a silent smile appeared on Michael's face, then I felt the bitter mixture of guilt and shy lust vanishing, fading away and a cheerful wave of joy and happiness overpowered my body instead, a wave that used to be only a part of that mixture but now it has become a mainstream that overwhelmed everything completely and flooded all my mind...
I jerked, my eyes fluttering surprisingly. A bedroom, a bed, a sleeping little boy under the sheet. Was I dreaming or was it a reality? Everything seemed to stay on its particular place but I felt as if something have changed here. But what?
I tip-toed downstairs. It was almost eight o'clock, I felt like having some "little" meal. Well this could make me think about something else, I smiled thoughtfully. I bent down to get the huge frying pan from the cupboard and stretched out for the proper INGREDIENTS, literally licking my lips nibblishly as I imagined I was going to make my favourite pancakes...
To my surprise I managed to make them tasty like never before. I fried some four, five pieces and just as I was about to stretch out for the jar of marmalade I heard the sound of footsteps behind me. It was Michael who was crawling slowly dowstairs, blinking sleepily, wiping his eyes, bare-feet, hair on his head ruffled up. He came to the kitchen where he stopped, surprised: "Hello! What smells here that good?"
"Hi, sleepyhead! It's way past your wake-up time!" I invited him, "it's high-time to have a breakfast!"
Michael beamed: "Yummie! Food! Whudda we gonna eat?" he asked.
"These," I pointed to the plate loaded with pancakes.
The boy looked rather embarassed: "What are these?"
"These? These are pancakes," I answered nonchalantly and invited him: "Come and sit down at the table now so that they won't become cold. They taste best hot, you know."
Michael sat down swiftly, I put the plate with pancakes on the table and just as I was about to get the knife, the marmalade jar and the other 'ingredients', I saw Michael as he was just about to reach out for the plate.
"Hold on," I stopped him, "there's something you'll have still missed on them..."
I took the knife and then I opened the jar of marmalade, dipped some sweet orange stuff, spreading it over the pancake on the top. "Now look," I added, "this is how do we eat it." After these words I rolled the marmalade-spread pancake together and vehemently made a huge bite.
The boy observed me with amusement and then he giggled. Chewing, mouthful, I could only let out an asking "Hmmm?" and, gesturing, I offered him the other end. Hesitantly, distrustfully he nimbled a bit but then his eyes immediately widened: "Yummmiiie! Sweeet one! I love it!" and as soon as I handed it to him he attacked the piece of pancake right at the spot wolfing it completely within some seconds!
"Wait," I tammered him, "don't gulp this much! I know it's yummy but we don't want you to feel sick from it, do we?"
Michael swallowed, popped his eyes and then he chuckled in surprise: "Oh man, you sure are same like the tut's of us. It was all the same: don'hump, don'smack, don'gulp, don'burp..." and the boy couldn't hold it any longer, he burst in a fit of giggles. A while after he stopped and added, conciliatorily: "Oh, I'm... I'm sorry, right? I was just jokin' but it was really funny as'ya were talkin' that way..."
"Ok, so let's do as we will both cease with it, right?" I suggested, grinning very seriously even though I wasn't angry with him at all.
"Uh-huh," Michael answered, suddenly conspicuously quiet, he took another pancake and without a word spoken he emptied a full glass of milk. "Good boy," I praized him.
We finished our meals, cleared the table, and washed. I observed, smiling, how the boy is eager to oblige. Finally, when everything was done, he took the liberty, asking: "So, whudda we gonna do now?"
"For all I care, we can do whatever we want," I said, "It's Saturday!"
"No, it isn't," the boy denied, "it must'a been Wen'sday, it was Tuesday on yesterday!"
"Well it was but seventy-one years ago, you know," I corrected him, "now it's really Saturday."
"Oh, well yes, I forgot," the little one blurted out in surprise. Then he addded: "Well what do you do on Saturdays usu'lly?"
"Well, we mostly..." I answered slowly, savouring the tension for the expression in my face was still rather serious but I couldn't hold it any longer at last, I smiled and added: "...mostly we used to celebrate our birthdays!"
"Michael's eyes widened and then he almost shrieked out in joy: "We're gonna 'cele-brate' it today?"
"Uh-huh," I nodded, smiling.
"Mine bee-day? Even if it's no 16th August today?" the boy asked in joyful disbelief, his voice shivered with excitement.
"Uh-huh," I answered with even more broaded smile.
I was outflanked again by the boy's wild, restless reaction: "It's great!" he exclaimed and his eyes glowed from astonishment, "thanks, thanks, thanks..." he could only manage to say and then he hugged me fiercely. It was so unexpected that I shuddered. But, to my greatest surprise, instead of the usual embarassing mixture of feelings I could notice only a wave of a crazy, non-measurable happiness, a feeling of sharing and fully experiencing Michael's astonishment, in some way maybe much more intense then the boy himself.
Suddenly the boy stopped and turned to me: "But, what with you? You told you have your bee-day the same day as me! We won't 'cele-brate' yours?"
I tenderly brushed his golden-blonde strands of hair off his forehead and said, smiling: "No, not today. You know, let's make my birthday party on the true 16th of August, right? Besides," I added jokingly, "I have a feeling that you wouldn't be able to manage a birthday present for me!"
Michael stopped again but then he lifted his eyebrows, turned to me as if he wanted to say something but then he stunned and, biting his bottom lip, he turned back again. "What's up?" I asked.
"Nuffin', I just wanted to... Forget it, please, will you?" he pleaded.
"All right," I promised, "but now we'll have to make it all ready... I mean... I will have to make it ready. You just go and sit down to the living room like yesterday and WAIT THERE, OK?!" I said with an exaggerated accent but in a way so that the boy understood that I was not too serious about it. He got it and giggled. "It would be no surprise then, you know?" I said. The boy nodded eagerly. "Fine, so STAY HERE AND DON'T MOVE!" I warned him as I was about to leave the room. Just before I closed the door, I added with accent: "AND DON'T DARE TO LISTEN BEHIND THE DOOR OR EVEN TO LOOK OUT FROM IT!" The boy rolled his eyelids and burst in an audible laugh.
I closed the door and came silently to the hall. I took my cell phone with and tapped the number of our local express delivery service: "Hallo, good morning, this is Michael Gieronyme speaking, 1735 Oak Lane, Hillsbrad. I'd like to..."
When I had it all managed I returned back to the living room. I tried to make much noise on the way so that Michael could hear from behind the door that I'm coming back. He could hear very good. A "'nuff said" proof of it was the damped, frantic patter of bare-feet which I was able to hear from behind the other side of the door...
I playfully smashed the door open.
Michael sat on the sofa, just like before, with an absolutely innocent expression in his face. But his eyes were darting around as if he wasn't sure whether he was or wasn't "caught in the act" of disobedience. I had to laugh.
"Well, that's it," I said, "it's all managed now!"
"How 'managed'?" Michael asked curiously.
"Nothing important for you! We just have to wait for a while!" I said conspiratorily.
"Aw, wait?" Michael extended dissapointedly. "How long?"
"Oh, just a bit," I teased, "An hour, two hours, three..."
"C'mon! No fair!" the boy protested.
"All right, I'm sorry. But now we really have to wait, just for the little while. You know, I have managed something. Well, why don't you change your clothes now? You don't want to run around dressed in your pj's all day, do you?"
"No, I don't," the boy smiled.
"Right, so I'm going to pick up your clothes now, I'll be right back." I said and dismissed downstairs to get Michael's clothes that I have put into the dryer yesterday...
"Here you are, it's all dry now," I said and handed him his things, "I'll wait on the corridor until you put it on."
"Thanks," the boy answered, "but you can stay here anyway. I don't mind."
Whoa?!
I observed the scene that was almost beyond my wildest dreams: little Michael stretched the pajama-top over his head, then he threw it on the floor and took off his pants.
My heart began to pound...
He stood there, completely naked, facing side-away from me as if he didn't want neither to show off his marvellous little body too much nor to shyly over-cover it. It was something really wonderful, just to watch as he pulled up his yellow gyms over his smooth, slightly tanned legs, as he playfully struggled with his socks, as he was buttoning solicitously his shorts and then as he slid under the cross-belt of his suspenders with a single movement of his both slender arms. I have never seen any little boy taking off and putting on his dress from THIS close. His movements were simple and natural but nevertheless, it fascinated me in an incredible way. I couldn't have enough of watching him...
When he finally got dressed I breathed out in relief. He looked very good, even in his contemporary, rather worn-out clothes.
"My, I never noticed how much does your clothes suit you," I said.
The boy blushed slightly, his sight aimed down, and whispered only a silent, blurted: "Thanks..."
An embarassing silence settled around the room.
I added quickly: "Well, I would think I have an idea. It might have lasted long before they arrive to us with all those surprises, so... why don't we just have another chat before they appear, what do you say? If you want to..."
"Like what 'bout?" Michael asked.
"About whatever you want," I shrugged with an unconcerned expression in my face like as if I was ready to talk really about everything.
The boy hesitated for a while: "And can I... could I ask you something, too?"
"Sure," I shrugged again, "just go on!"
Michael's eyes widened: "Can I? Really about ev'rything, really?"
"Really about everything," I agreed.
The boy fidgeted for a while, he was encouraging himself, his sight aimed to the ground, he didn't dare to talk open. Finally, rather embarassed from his courage, he almost whispered with an uncertain little voice: "You know... I'd like to ask when... when did you found out... you know... that you like little boys...?"
And it was spoken. I breathed out in relief. I didn't think long though and I answered quite open-minded: "Well, it has been already long time before, I could be no more than fourteen, fifteen."
"And... as'ya were a bit younger... about like me... have you dreamt about it som'times or..." then he stopped and paused.
"Or?" I asked.
The boy blushed: "Sorry, I just... I just wanted to ask more but it's... you know... it's a bit dirty, huh?"
"Just keep on asking, I'm sure I won't mind," I encouraged him.
"Uh... I just... you know... as'ya were the same young as me or younger... you sure had a whole lotta friends..."
I nodded, expecting curiously, what would come next.
"And... you had som' best friend between them..."
I nodded again: "Yes... I think so..." I slowly began to suspect something.
The boy's face and ears become dark-red. He whispered, shyly and so silently that I could barely hear: "...and when you both were playing... did'ya do... you know...things...?"
"What things?" I asked curiously but then I got it. The good old hot wave of mixed lust and guilt flooded my inner self again. My mouth got dry, my heart pulsed wildly, my eyes widened...
Michael evidently didn't feel any better. His face dark red, he was completely confused from his assurance, from what else he dares to ask not managing (and maybe even not wanting) to control himself. Finally he spoke it out: "Well... you know... like if you and your friend... maybe in shower... when nobody else was there... like if you touched each other and so... well..." he stopped, embarassed.
I couldn't believe my own ears... I sat in the chair, stunned. My face must have turned to a very surprised expression for the boy looked at me, just a brief shy look, then he aimed his sight down to the floor again and asked in a shaking voice: "Are you angry with me?"
"No, should I?"
"Well 'cos I'm askin' that way. You know I'd like to know so much, becuz..." he stopped and carried on again with his known barely-audible whisper as if he was afraid that someone else could hear: "...'cos I'd like to know if this is really any wrong... they all say it is... 'cos I..." and the boy stopped again and felt ashamed so much that I was really sorry of him.
Little pieces of the unknown puzzle from the boy's past started to fit into each other. But lots of pieces were still missing. The boy was ashamed, he was ashamed of something that has been apparently attacking his mind for longer time. And I felt I was starting to understand it. I had to encourage him, I had to help him dispel the thoughts, evidently the same ones whose had been tormenting my mind almost a decade before. Doesn't he helped me like that on his specific way as well?
I said: "Don't be afraid. If you are ashamed to tell me about it, it's ok. I can understand. Really. And I can help you with it if you want me to. I'm gonna tell it out loud instead of you, do you want me to?"
The boy just nodded shyly without a word spoken.
"Right," I breathed out, "so... you'd like to know if there's something wrong when two little boys touch each other, fondling each other doing things... that only they both know about, am I right?"
Michael nodded again, speechless.
I breathed out in relief again: "I'm glad you asked me about this. You know, if you would keep this as a secret you might have been worried about it for long, long time until you finally knew all the true, like me. Because I..."
Michael's eyes widened in surprise: "Whoa? You too...?" but in the next moment he startled, panicked, because he suddenly realized he has let slipped out his tongue. I noticed he turned his face away, I observed, worried, that he inhaled for air with his mouth partly open, I could hear something like a sob, oh God, no! You mustn't cry because of it! I had to act, I had to tell something right now, to help him fade away his feelings of guilt and shame for I have known very well what kind of mental tortures I had to suffer because of it personally and I wished, no, I longed to spare the boy from it.
I said: "Yes, me too. I'm going to tell you about. But first I want you to know something. Listen to me carefully, Michael! Those things you were talking about lots of boys of your age, sometimes even younger, usually do. And the point is that if a boy is ten, eleven, twelve, to do those things is quite normal. Boys just start to find out that their body develops and as they have lots of friends around this age, they wonder if their friends develop the same way. And so they want just to look at each other, to touch, and they realize it's fun and pleasure and exciting and so on. What is the most important is that there is nothing to be ashamed of about it!"
Michael gave me a very strange look and asked in a shivering voice: "Not... not even if a boy with 'nutha boy do things like that? Doesn't it mean they're... you know, like they're gay? And if they both haven't been gay, can be that this changes 'em into gay forever?"
"I don't think so," I said, "when boys about that age try to do those things together it doesn't have to mean anything and it's quite normal, trust me."
The boy hesitated for a while and then he asked: "So... If I would do this with a boy... it isn't a shame, is it? Doesn't it mean I was gay?"
"You know," I said softly, "it's still hard to say if you are gay or not, because you're still so young. Only after you'll grow up, you will see whether you like boys or girls. And whatever the result will be, there's nothing to be ashamed of, you see? It's your life and nobody has the right to be angry with you for that. Besides," I added, "if being gay would be what you like...?"
"I'm not sure if I wanted to like it..." the boy objected hesitantly, "I'm so scared becuz... you know... I sortta... sortta like it..." the boy confessed and blushed, adding silently: "Sorry, I... I'm so ashamed..."
Just before I could say something he suddenly caught an idea and his eyes widened: "Say can... could a doctor help switch me back to girls?"
I shook my head no: "I'm afraid not. Being gay means that you have been already born as gay. There isn't much to do about it. Imagine it like this: most of the born boys got a secret command from the Mother Nature: >>love girls!<< right at their birth. Since then this command sleeps in their mind until a boy is about ten, eleven, twelve and older. Then the command wakes up and calls his secret: >>love girls!<< and the boy starts to be interested in girls, he wants to meet them, make them happy, to become their closest friend and many other things. Do you understand?"
"Uh-huh," said the boy, shivering voice evident.
"Right. Now imagine that sometimes, not very often, the Mother Nature, or God or whatever else, changes its mind and changes also the command into: >>love boys!<< And the boy will be interested in boys, then. Unfortunately, whichever turn it would take, boys or girls to love, we cannot do anything about it."
"'Tis ain't fair, but," Michael whispered, "now I'm gay and I can't do anything 'bout it."
"Well, not definitely. It's hard to say if you really are gay just now. Doing things you were talking about doesn't have to mean you're gay. Even if you like to do those things it doesn't mean you're gay. And what's the most important, you never have to be ashamed of it!"
"Really?" Michael beamed, "you're not jokin', are'ya?"
"No, I'm not. I'm telling it to you because..." I hesitated, "because I was doing things like that, too." Which was true, I could remember the unforgettable experience with one of my friends, a year younger, when I was a six-grader.
I added: "But I was so ashamed and I was so afraid to ask anyone that I was always keeping it as a secret for myself and I was worried so long until I managed to read some stuff about it and learnt there was nothing to be ashamed or to be afraid of. I don't want you to be worried about something like that, too. As I said, you're too little to find out if you're gay ot not. But with me it is a bit different, you know. I... I've been born that way...", I confessed and aimed my sight to the floor. A wave of guilt, shame and self-pity flooded all my insides again.
The boy stunned, dumbfounded: "So you're a true..." and he stared in awe, unable to move.
"Yes, you have already found out for yourself. And that's what I'm afraid of. I'm scared. I'm scared that I would hurt you, I'm afraid to touch you, I'm scared that I'll fail and something terrible would happen. And I'm glad at the same time, I'm so glad that you're here with me, I... I just COULDN'T stand that such a beautiful little boy like you had to die and when there was the chance to take you with me... I... I just HAD TO do it. Forgive me, please! Forgive me if you can!"
And then happened something absolutely unexpected. The boy cuddled close to me, he placed his glaring golden-blonde head on my chest and looked at me with his extremely serious, honest sight: "You don't have to worry becuz'o'me! You sure gonna hang on and you won't do anything I don't want to! I know you won't hurt me. I'm so glad you saved me. Really I am!"
I swallowed bitterly and turned my face away so that the boy couldn't see hot tears running into my eyes.
"What's wrong? Did I say som'thin' wrong?" the boy asked, startled.
"Oh no, not at all," I whispered through tears, "Mikey, you poor little boy, you have NO idea what this means to me!"
Both ices were broken. We haven't already no secrets. The boy knew that I know and I knew that HE knows. We started to talk quite spontaneously about our most innerest feelings and about our deepest secrets. I learnt about what had happened during the ugly event with Mikey's tutor and what happened then in the shower-room between Mikey and his little friend. To get even, I told him about my experience with the fifth-grader and about the boy I was talking about at the beginning of the story, all those were quite long stories and lot of time could have elapsed but we both didn't notice. The time caused no existence. We hadn't any idea about it.
We both were connected virtually like two diminutive lonesome beings in the deep, endless space, two beings that have found each other after million years of seeking. Each of us situated on the other side of the Galaxy had a sudden fix on the distress signal, he heard a lonesome call of the other and answered. What happened in their minds after that were the same things we were experiencing now.
Michael and me.
A lonesome guy who was playing lifeguard and who became a kidnapper in the stream of time. A little orphan, saved from certain death, deported through time and space into another world and in spite of it grateful that he could escape from his own.
Only those who experienced something similar could understand. Nobody else could personifize the Right to denounce this...