A Canterbury Tale

Refugee's Tale
Chapter Three

When I was a younger kid, I loved to build model airplanes. My dad and I would spend hours in the evening and on weekends putting together a P-51 or a Sopwith Camel or an F-4 Phantom. It was cool because not only did I like airplanes, but I enjoyed the camaraderie and companionship with my dad. But, as I grew older and his career began to take on a more important role in his life, those moments became fewer and further in between until, finally, they ended altogether.

I was walking home from my second day at Mancinelli's. It was hot and I was covered with flour and tomato and anchovy again—I was actually starting to get accustomed to the anchovies, as well as to the hippies—but as I strolled slowly up Main Street, which was almost deserted as everyone in town was having dinner, I passed a Ben Franklin store. Through the window, toward the back, I could see models and I felt a sudden loneliness and nostalgia. I walked in, despite my motley appearance, and went to that section. There were Revell and Monogram models of T-birds and Corvettes and Apollo lunar modules and 747's. I suddenly felt very lonely, almost as if I wanted to cry. Then I saw it. Old Ironsides. The USS Constitution.

I had never built an old fashioned sailing ship. I missed building models, but I didn't want to build something similar to what my dad and I used to make. I had always loved sailing ships, though, and this would be perfect. It would be nice to get back into my hobby and a pleasant way to kill time when I wasn't working. I bought the model, along with the paint and glue and an X-Acto knife. I was excited!

That evening, after I had eaten my cold calzone for dinner, I took my model and supplies outside to the picnic table next to the garage and began to set things up. I had painted a number of pieces and started working on the main deck when I heard the familiar clamoring from the top of the mudroom. I slapped a mosquito on my thigh and found Davy standing silently beside me.

"Whatcha doin'?" he asked quietly. I slapped another mosquito and smiled at his cute face.

"Building a model of the USS Constitution."

"What's it gonna look like?"

I held up the box.

"Wow," he replied. "That's gonna be a lot of work."

He was standing closer to me now, just inches from my left shoulder. He was clad, once again, in his tight skimpy cut-offs and nothing else. His skin seemed a bit redder than yesterday, as if he were starting to get some sun. His shaggy, mousy blond hair seemed a little more out of sorts today as it hung down to his shoulders. I could smell him and it started to make me hard. It was not the unpleasant, dirty, or unhygienic odor of an unwashed urchin; his was just the heady scent of an active summer boy.

As my eyes rose to his and found him looking directly into them, I realized I had been gazing at him and that I hadn't taken a breath. Embarrassed, I turned my head back to the work before me.

Davy leaned against my shoulder and rested his right hand on it as he watched. I was having trouble concentrating as I painted the lifeboats their flat brown.

"Can I help?" he finally asked, in a soft voice. I looked at him and suddenly a warm feeling filled me; I was experiencing a sense of deja vu and roll-reversal.

"I think that would be really cool," I replied. I scooted over and handed him some railings to paint brown. Together, we finished all the items which needed to be brown from the main deck and then began to separate the black cannon from their plastic trees. I carefully used the exacto knife and an emory board to smooth the edges and then handed Davy the glue. With great precision and skill, he attached the cannon to the main deck. When he was finished, I smiled at him and he grinned. It was the biggest smile I had seen on his face since I met him. I put my arm around him and hugged him.

Sensing we were being watched, I turned behind and saw Donald, wearing jeans and another bizarre tie-dye, watching and smiling. He walked over.

"So whatcha building?" he asked.

"Old Ironsides."

"Hum," he replied with a hint of disapproval in his voice. "A warship? In front of the larva?"

Feeling devilish, I replied, "Sure. What not? When I'm done, I think I'll build the USS Enterprise. And, then, maybe, a B-52. I LOVE lots of firepower."

Donald looked at me with narrow eyes and then said, "You're fuckin' with me, aren't ya, Pizza Hut?"

"Of course not," I replied innocently.

"You just wait," Donald said ominously. "We'll get you. One of these days you'll wake up, and you'll be one of us."

"Oh, no!" I said, fearfully. "A proletarian pod person!"

"Good alliteration,” Donald replied with a smile. "Speaking of which, Larva, you want go with me to Brendan's Basement? It’s Friday night. Poetry night."

"Naw, I think I'll stay here and help Stephen with his ship."

"Don't you corrupt my son, Pizza Hut."

I looked back with fear. Had he read my thoughts?"

He continued. "I don't want you turning him into some warmongering bourgeois bastard."

I sighed with relief. Conservatism was his idea of corruption. I wondered what he would think if he knew how I really fantasized about corrupting his son.

"I don't suppose you'd want to hear some really creative, revolutionary poetry, would you?"

"Not tonight, thank you. Maybe some other time."

Donald smirked.

"Yeah, you're probably still into Wordsworth and Coleridge."

"No," I said, feeling obnoxious again. "Longfellow."

"Geeeaaawwwd! Please, I haven't digested my dinner yet!"

When he was gone, Davy and I looked at each other and said, in unison, "Donald HATES to be fucked with!"

We both broke down into hysterical laughter and I put my arm around him. Davy smiled up at me and cuddled in close to my body. I thought I was heaven.

For another hour, Davy and I worked on the model and by the time dusk was settling over the yard and the fireflies were darting around us, we found ourselves more than halfway finished.

"Well, I think that's enough for one night."

Davy looked disappointed.

"Hey," I continued, "I passed a Baskin-Robbins on the way home this afternoon. You want to go for some ice cream?"

Davy's face brightened considerably at that!

"Yes! I never get ice cream!"

"Cool, let’s go ask your Mom."

"We don't need to ask," he replied matter-of-factly. "She doesn't care."

It would not surprise me if that were the case. Nothing about this town surprised me anymore, but I thought it prudent to check in anyway. Davy shrugged as if I were delusional, but tagged along as I went up to the back door.

He led me into the house and the now familiar odor assaulted my nose. We came into the living room. It was dark and lit only by a candle on the coffee table. The stereo was playing some eastern string music that I didn't recognize and Patience was lying, rather than sitting, in a chair by the window with a seriously zonked out look on her face.

"Patience, do you mind if Davy and I go to Baskin-Robbins?"

She looked at me uncomprehendingly for a moment and then smiled.

"You're sweet," she replied.

I took that as a yes and led Davy from the room. I didn't care if this was the way "liberated" people lived. If something had happened to Davy, she would have been totally incapable of doing anything about it. I was angry.

I marched down the steps in front of the house. Davy sensed my mood.

"What's the matter?" he asked as we reached the sidewalk.

I didn't want to bad mouth his parents in front of him, but I had to know.

"Don't you parents watch out for you at all?"

Davy shrugged. "They let me do what I want because they don't want me to grow up to be a slave to the system. They want me to be free."

"Well, there's freedom and there's neglect! Don't they take care of you?"

"I take care of myself."

I looked at the sweet little angel before me and love filled me. Bless his heart, he did take care of himself and probably better than THEY could. I put my arm around him.

I had fond memories of the ice cream parlor from my childhood. One of my favorite memories was going with my dad to the local shop on hot summer nights, barefoot and wearing only my Bermuda shorts. I LOVED the delicious cold feeling of the air against my hot body as we entered, the freezing sensation of the tile against my bare feet, the hum of the display cases and the way everyone had to talk over the sound. Most of all, I loved to see the dozens of cardboard buckets of ice cream and all the wonderful colors and designs. I never got the same flavor twice and it was always an adventure. Davy had a look of rapture on his face as we entered, and I knew he was experiencing for the first time what I had loved as a boy so often.

I ordered chocolate mint and Davy ordered chocolate strawberry. We went outside and sat on a bench in the heat of the night to enjoy our ice cream.

Davy was quiet, but I could see he was studying me. After a few minutes, with pink running down his chin, he asked me, "Your parents didn't take care of you, did they?"

I was surprised. "Why do you ask that?"

"Because you ran away."

I thought about it.

"Well, Davy, it’s complicated. In some ways, they took care of me too much and in other ways, they didn't take care of me enough. Does that make sense?"

"I guess so. They told you what to do all the time, but they didn't really love you."

I smiled at his discernment. "Something like that. When I was little, they loved me a lot and did things with me and took me places and everything was wonderful. But, then, when I got older and they made more money, their attitudes about things changed; I became like one of their possessions. Dad had his vintage MG and Mom had her porcelain collection and they both had me."

Davy was thoughtful. "You mean, you were like one of the things they used to show off?"

"Uh huh. I was the perfect son. I had perfect grades, I went to the perfect school, I had the perfect looks. I played lacrosse, which was the perfect sport because I wasn't a Neanderthal. I was everything they could show off. They made sure I was the perfect show piece."

Davy looked sadly at me.

"If everything was perfect, why'd you run away?"

I looked off down the street at the tower of the county courthouse, a tall, overly ornate example of late Victorian gingerbread.

"Because everything wasn't perfect. They didn't love Stephen. They loved the perfect son. And, then, they found out I was gay and they freaked out."

"What'd they do?"

"Mom wanted to send me to a shrink. Dad wanted to send me to military school. They wanted to `fix me.' I wasn't perfect."

I wanted to cry all of a sudden. Davy scooted close to me. He was finished with his ice cream and threw the cup in the trash can beside us. He wiped his mouth and then cuddled up to me. I put my arms around him and we sat there for quite some time.

After a bit, I decided it was late, so I declared, "Hey, we gotta get you home, Larva."

"Don't call me that."

"Why not?" I asked as I pulled him to his feet. He looked at me solemnly with those big brown eyes and said, "Because Donald calls me that."

"You don't like him?" I asked as we started for home.

"No. I like him alright. He's my father. But, you're different. You're special. I don't want you to be like them."

"You don't want me to be a `proletarian pod person?'"

Davy giggled.

"I saw Invasion of the Body Snatchers on TV once. It was kinda lame."

I smiled. "Yeah, a lot of those fifties sci-fi flicks were lame. But, that's what made them so good!"

When we got back to the house, Patience was passed out on the couch. At the foot of the stairs, I kissed Davy on the forehead, the most adventurous thing I had done with him and told him good night. He reluctantly trudged up the stairs and I went out the back to my own room.

Apparently, Alex and his girlfriend were at it hot and heavy again. I left the light off and in the dim light of the night, I stripped naked. My dick was throbbing  rigid as I listened to the hot sounds emanating from the other side of the wall. But, they were only an adjunct to my real turn-on, the memory of touching, cuddling, being with the most amazing little boy.

I could never actually have sex with Davy. But, he was so cute, so precious, so lovable. I stood naked in the middle of the dark room and looked out the window and across the yard. There was a light on in Davy's room. I saw him walk by the window and stop at the foot of his bed. I thought I might die. Davy reached down and unsnapped his shorts and dropped them down to the floor. He stepped out of them and turned, naked to the window.

There he was in all his unclothed splendor, his slim, pale body, his shaggy long hair, his... yes, his rigid little erection.

I could not believe what I was seeing. The boy who seemed to captivate me with his perceptiveness, his empathy, his haunting nature, stood naked in his window, in full view with a complete erection.

Was he purposely displaying himself to me? He seemed to be looking toward the garage, but he was at an angle. He stood for a moment, looking intently in the direction of the garage and then turned and walked out of view. A few seconds later, the light in his room went out. I continued to look at his window and, sure enough, I saw him in the shadow reappear in the window, his naked body dimly illuminated by the blue-tinted street light in the alley behind the garage and by the light from, yes, from Alex's window. That was it! Alex must have had his light on and the little peeping Tom was getting his jollies by watching the spectacle. From the sound of it, he was audience to quite a spectacle, too!

I stepped forward to the window and crouched down on my knees. I sat back with my butt on my feet, my knees spread out wide, my hard seventeen-year-old's boner standing up vertically. I stroked myself gently, watching as Davy reached down and began to squeeze his own little erection. From what I could see, it was a fat little boner, not very long, but certainly wide enough to be noticed. It seemed to curve upward, though I could not be certain from this distance and in this faint light. It also seemed to be uncircumcised, though, once again, I could not be sure.

I had never had a sexual experience in my entire life, aside from solo masturbating and fantasizing. Oh, and listening to Alex and his girlfriend getting it on next door. Now, I was crouching in the dark, a peeping Tom, watching a twelve year-old peeping Tom getting off on watching my neighbors get off. This was the hottest thing I had ever experienced in my conservative, sheltered, parent-dominated life. And, it involved a twelve-year-old boy that, yes, I just might have been falling in love with!

Davy was openly fondling his little boner now, his face locked on the window next to mine. I saw him glance over at mine every once in awhile, but seeing nothing, he would quickly turn back.

After a moment, his masturbating began to take on a beautiful urgency. I could see his arm moving much more rapidly now and he seemed to be working his hips around a bit more. Then, suddenly, his whole body shuddered and jerked and then it was over. He stood there for a moment doing nothing. I was amazed. I supposed that little boys didn't have the stamina that teenagers did.

Then, I got a devilish idea and felt an incredible feeling of lust and nastiness. I would never actually do anything with Davy, but...

I stood, my boner sticking up from its nest of red pubic hair at a forty-five degree angle. I stood by the other side of the desk, in full view of the window, and turned on the desk lamp.

I had never felt so horny in my life. I was naked, with the hardest erection of my life, in front of my window, in full view of Davy. I pretended to be occupied with something on my desk and then walked over to the couch, giving him a good view of my back and butt. I pulled the hide-a-bed out and pulled back the sheet and blanket, puffed up the pillows, and returned to my desk. There, I felt my dick, slowly moving my hand up and down a few times, and then turned off the lamp, plunging myself back into darkness. Across, the way, I could see Davy in the window again, though this time he was not turned toward Alex's window, but toward mine. His arm was rapidly moving back and forth. And, then, he seemed to quake again. It was SO beautiful. He disappeared into the dark and I was left alone. I turned to my bed and grabbed my dick as I heard both Alex and his girlfriend almost yelling, she moaning, "Fuck me hard!" and he groaning, "Oh, baby! You are so hot!"

I pumped on my boner as hard and as fast as I could. This was no ordinary masturbation session, one when I would get close, then ease off to make it last. I needed to cum! And, I did. As I imagined Davy's overly freckled face, his shaggy, unkempt hair, his round, brown eyes, his thin, sweet lips, his slender pale body so beautifully exposed around those tight, skimpy cut-offs, I shot wad after wad of my hot teen sperm. I even cried out as I did so, my orgasm apparently coinciding with the lovers' next door.

When I finished, I collapsed back on my bed and lay there panting in the dark. In the heat of the late June night, serenaded by the crickets and frogs outside, the scent of cum and sweat about me, I fell asleep to images of the strange enigmatic little boy who so captivated my lonely, love-starved, seventeen-year-old mind.