Sebastian was late and Desolé worried. It was stupid but she couldn’t help herself. She knew the only way to keep her son was to leave him free to be his own man. She was well aware that possessiveness was poison, unsought advice anathema, and negative criticism counter productive. But when irritated by his increasingly callous insouciance, she found it hard to keep her mouth shut. Recently she’d been feeling as if she was walking among eggs—the slightest false step and disaster would strike and all her plans would come to nought. Sometimes she felt as if she hardly knew her son. She hardly knew herself!
Her parents had heaped hellfire and damnation on her for having a child out of wedlock, so they deserved their timely demise. Brakes failed and they sailed off the motorway exit into a quarry. Too old to be driving at seventy-six, the coroner said. No one checked for sleeping pills as it was around midday. The insurance had been very useful, although not as great a windfall as the rent-free, up-market townhouse with a large and very private courtyard, near the centre of the city. It was just the place to bring up a boy who threw off all his clothes when he came through the door.
Desolé worried about everything. When she wasn’t worried she worried that she should be worrying. Sebastian never seemed to worry. As he told her on numerous occasions, he had a sixth sense and always knew exactly how people wanted him to behave, so he was always the person everyone wished their own son would be and there were no problems. Simple.
Desolé had not argued because it was true. Her son was a different person with everyone he met. She knew immediately who he was speaking to on the phone simply by the way he spoke. He could be noisy and tough, soft and gentle, bored and dull, interested and chatty, and everyone imagined this was the real Sebastian. All his teachers in primary school had adored him and said he was popular, and in the four years since he started high school his reports had been consistently excellent and his behaviour exemplary. So why did she have no motherly feelings for him? Why did she sometimes hope he’d fall on his face?
Her few friends with teenage boys said how lucky she was to have such a thoughtful and well-behaved lad; they were at their wits end. Some had even been attacked by their own sons! Sebastian was seventeen and, according to the books, testosterone was raging through his veins turning him into a sex-crazed, aggressive monster. He was physically an adult male. Did he need a male role model apart from Jack? Tough luck if he did. Desolé had no need of a strange male giving her son ideas of premature independence; she had her own plans for him. Jack already had too much of a hold over him.
It had taken only two years for her to realise she should never have had a child. They were like kittens–adorable when young and dependent, profoundly irritating when they started thinking for themselves, and in Sebastian’s case that seemed to happen as soon as he was out of nappies. He’d let loose with ear-splitting tantrums whenever asked to wear clothes. Since deciding on her plan for Sebastian’s future, Desolé had read every book she could lay her hands on about bringing up children. Her son would have no guilt feelings or embarrassment about sex. She’d read terrible tales about the harm guilt can do. One told of a deeply religious mother who, when she caught her son masturbating, had forced him to put his penis on the table then stabbed a fork through it. Later in life the young man had become a psychopath and murdered seven women.
Following the most enlightened ideas on child rearing Desolé had rewarded ‘good’ behaviour and ignored bad. All humans desire praise and recognition. There’s no point in being a little shit if it’s ignored. Much better to be a well-behaved, quiet kid who looks before crossing the road if that gets you a hug and an ice-cream. It was seldom cool in this tropical metropolis, and she saw no harm in his running around the house naked. Even to school he never wore more than a skimpy pair of shorts. Teachers gave up trying to keep a shirt on him; all agreed he was a beautiful boy and no one complained. As he matured she‘d thought he’d become shy, but he didn’t, and was ready to tell any visitors who objected that they had the problem, not him. So far no one had objected.
Men had always been a mystery to Desolé, a mystery she had no interest in solving. She’d hated her father and grandfather and all her male teachers. The boys at school had teased and tormented her beyond bearing. She had tried to love women, but they turned out to be just as incomprehensible. After two years of acrimony, Marion had left her when she refused to have an abortion. Didn’t want to live with snotty nosed kids–especially a male child! Desolé’s anger at this betrayal was only mollified when her ex lover fell from her balcony and snapped her neck. Drunk, according to the coroner.
Sebastian’s eleventh birthday had been a triumph, proving her success at raising a child without inhibitions. She’d offered to throw a party but he said he saw the other boys every day at school and didn’t want to see them at home as well. In seven years he had never brought a friend home. He said he had friends, but if so they were kept in a separate compartment of his life. Not that he was secretive or sly. Quite the opposite. Sometimes she wished he were a little more reserved.
“Your son is attractive, but maniacally garrulous,” one unkind visitor had decreed after Sebastian had bent her ears about tadpoles for half an hour.
Desolé had made a special eleventh birthday cake, and he put on a concert. He was a great little actor. Requiring no costumes, of course, and using only his ‘wand’, a polished stick in which he had carved symbols, he played every role in a tale about a handsome young prince who battled dragons, wizards, trolls and other weird things, then rescued another young prince and they ruled as joint monarchs. She could still recall the tingle of surprise at how regal her young son looked on his throne. It was indeed magic.
He sang two songs of his own composition, recited a poem, performed a dance he’d made up based on the ballet they’d recently watched on TV, then made her laugh by popping his penis head in and out of his foreskin. She had been delighted with his innocence, especially when he got an erection and demonstrated how he could use it like a catapult, bending it down, placing a little paper ball on it and letting go. The missiles flew several metres.
It embarrassed her to admit it, but her son’s penis was the only real one she had seen in her life. Plenty of photographs, of course, but never a real one. Her rapist didn’t undress, merely opened his flies and shoved it in. She’d been too shocked to do anything except close her eyes and blank the experience out.
The final act of Sebastian’s concert had been a gymnastics display. He stood on his head, did cartwheels and handstands, then lay on his back and held his hips high with his hands, his weight on his shoulders. While straining to maintain the pose he explained that when he did this it felt extra good between his legs. Suddenly he groaned loudly and little spurts of semen sprayed over his chest and onto his face. He collapsed, sat up and looked at his penis in concern.
‘Mummy, Willy’s got a cold. Look at all the snot!’
Desolé had felt privileged to witness her son’s first ejaculation. She had read that Japanese mothers teach their sons to masturbate, but had not dared herself, having no experience. But of course her clever son had worked it out for himself.
After absorbing her lavish congratulations and a detailed explanation of what had happened and why, he asked in innocent curiosity. ‘Is that how I was made? A man pushed his Willy into you and squirted?’
‘Yes, dear.’
‘Who was it?’
‘I don’t know. It was dark and he hid his face.’
‘Did you love him?’
‘No. I hated him! It hurt and…’ a determination to be brave dissolved. Desolé burst into tears and, as he had been trained to do, Sebastian consoled her.
It was later while burning the video of Sebastian’s performance onto a disc that an idea fluttered into her brain, took root and began to grow.
Desolé dragged her thoughts to the present and Sebastian’s lateness. The previous afternoon he had seemed excited when she arrived home. He’d finished his homework, mowed the tiny lawn, taken a shower then helped her prepare supper, chatting constantly. Later, when he was sprawled in his chair in front of television she noticed he had shaved his pubic hair. She said it looked very neat and clean–which it did.
‘Do you want to know why?’ he asked, lazily stroking his groin.
‘Only if you want to tell me.’ She knew he was going to; he was in that sort of exasperating mood. She was wary, however. There was something about this careless insouciance that was different; a shift in the power balance. Instead of her setting the pace and itinerary, Sebastian was in control. Normally he would have asked before shaving his armpits and groin. She had to re-establish her authority. Another guest was due soon and a self-willed Sebastian might be a problem.
Sebastian went and fetched a tiny yellow pouch, hung it by its strings on his erection, and dangled it in front of her. ‘So I can wear this at the public pool.’
Desolé fingered the soft, shiny fabric and shook her head. ‘It’ll never fit.’
‘Not when I’m like this, but when I’m normal.’ He eyed her cheekily. ‘Wanna see it on? I’ll have to release the pressure on Willy first.’
It had been two years since Sebastian had masturbated in front of her. She never mentioned it in case he thought she wanted him to–which she certainly didn’t! She was privy to all his sexual experiments thanks to several tiny video cameras Jack had cleverly concealed in her son’s bedroom four years previously. Sebastian was obviously trying to provoke her, and she didn’t appreciate it! At least he hadn't become inhibited, that would really put a spanner in the works. But now wasn’t the time to make a fuss so she squeezed a tight smile and managed not to yawn while he stroked, fondled and caressed himself until a large gob of cum shot over his shoulder to land on one of her satin cushions. Hiding her irritation she congratulated him on an impressive display, fetched a damp cloth and tossed it to him to clean the cushion and himself. After a quick wipe, he donned the minuscule pouch and paraded, choosing to ignore his mother’s lack of enthusiasm.
Desolé had not the slightest sexual interest in any man, least of all her own son! Her current desire for him to be free of the usual inhibitions sprang from an entirely different set of desires, primarily economic. Since the video of Sebastian's eleventh birthday concert, which she had shown to her accountant, photographs and videos of her naked son in an interesting variety of poses and activities had earned her many thousands of dollars, thanks to Jack’s contacts with foreign magazines and other people prepared to pay for that sort of thing.
As long as her privacy and financial security was assured, Desolé did not want to know about that side of the arrangement. She was obviously aware that her son was physically attractive, but she found his charm, smooth bronze skin and obvious fitness irritating rather than seductive. She only wished she could have been so self-assured. Men really were different from women. Increasingly, she felt she would have been happier as a man.
To Desolé’s relief, Sebastian had never shown an interest in girls. Females were far too clever at ensnaring stupid men–and all heterosexual men became stupid when faced with female wiles. Women never lost sight of the main game–money, power, prestige. The employment agency she managed for Mr Farzdbuk saw a constant flow of silly young things who thought that simply being a woman was enough to demand respect, love, presents, and the fawning admiration of men. None seemed prepared to put themselves out for others–certainly not for their boyfriends or husbands. To listen to their gossip you’d think they despised the young men who took them to parties and bought them presents.
Adult females were no better. As Edith, a long-time acquaintance had remarked, ‘If I don’t know within five minutes of meeting a woman how often her husband wants sex, how good it is and the size of his cock, then she’s a lesbian.’
If the men in their lives knew that their spouses and partners betrayed their personal details to the slightest of female acquaintances, they’d probably suicide. Just this afternoon a very ordinary young lass in the waiting room was regaling a dozen complete strangers with intimate details about her husband’s tiny penis that she could hardly feel, his difficulty in gaining an erection, the rash he’d developed under his testicles and the size of his haemorrhoids that popped when the piano she’d asked him to move fell on top of him. To everyone it was a great joke and proved the inferiority of men.
Desolé hoped Sebastian would be gay; she wouldn’t be able to tolerate another female in the family! Once had been enough. She liked the word, Gay. He was usually happy and gay. However, he still never brought anyone home. Went to the pictures and bush walking with a friend on weekends and was always talking about what a great guy his wrestling teacher was, but he wasn’t a friend, thank goodness. Friends can be nosey and demanding.
The front door slammed. Desolé relaxed. Sebastian was home. A few seconds later he burst into the room, gave Desolé a wave and ran off to shower.
For several months Sebastian had suspected his mother had secrets; that she wasn’t honest with him. Increasingly he’d realised there was something very odd about their relationship and the way he’d been brought up. As he’d grown older the similarities between his life and that of other guys his age had shrunk, and differences grown. Emotionally and socially his peers already seemed like old men; riddled with inhibitions about what they could and couldn’t do, say, think, believe. Their futures appeared to be inscribed indelibly on both their and their parents’ hearts. Get a steady job, be respectable, marry a suitable girl, breed two or three children, work till sixty-five, retire and die in a nursing home.
They seldom questioned anything political or social, wore whatever was in fashion, got drunk on weekends, and thought it was sissy to enjoy reading, singing, dancing, talking and chatting. Cars, football, cricket and rating the sexiness of girls walking past, were the topics of conversation. They told their parents nothing–for there was nothing to tell. Sebastian told Desolé everything because in the telling he sorted out his ideas, values and hopes, and her reactions gave him an insight into her mind–a mind he was beginning to suspect was not as he had been led to believe.
‘I met Massive Martha at the pool,’ Sebastian began while they were doing the dishes, ‘and…’
He was a great storyteller and they laughed at Martha’s debut as a topless bather. Desolé hid her irritation at his meeting a young man who was going to watch Sebastian run at the School Athletic Sports. He hadn’t even told her it was on, or that he was likely to win the hundred metres! Her brain drifted off while Sebastian regaled her with a deliberately unnecessarily detailed account of his dalliance with the handsome pool-guard.
‘Goodness,’ Desolé smiled tightly. ‘How nice.’
She blew her nose then burst into tears. ‘I’m happy, Sebastian. Really, darling. So happy for you. I just hope you know what you're doing…sex with strangers can be dangerous. I know you can tell a person’s character in the first nanosecond, whatever that is, I just want you to live a few years longer, that’s all.’
Sebastian looked at his mother. She was good, he gave her that. The tears looked real. She wanted him to live longer to look after her, that’s what it was all about. Well, she’d brought him up to be independent, and independent he would be.
‘By the way, darling,’ Desolé sniffed while patting her eyes, ‘Mr Farzdbuk rang to see if we’d take another guest next Friday. I said if he was as pleasant as the others, there was no problem. He assured me he was. Are you fine with that?’
‘Sure, why not?’ Sebastian shrugged as if it was of no consequence. This was another thing that had been bugging him lately. All those young homeless guys his mother’s boss dumped on them for a few days or a week. Apparently people were streaming up from the South to laze on tropical beaches, but when their unemployment cheques stopped they were abused, assaulted, and even abducted. Mr Farzdbuk was a benefactor. If he heard of such a case he’d rescue him, have him repaired and checked for bugs and diseases, bring him to Desolé’s to recover his sanity and looks, then when he was presentable and stopped bursting into tears every five minutes, he’d find work for him.
Sebastian did not like Mr Farzdbuk. He was overweight, had too many chins, smiled too much, had clammy hands and, despite a drenching of cologne, smelled sour. The guest’s were always potentially good-looking young men about the same age as Sebastian. Desolé was well paid for her trouble and the visitors assisted with house cleaning and cooking, which pleased Desolé who hated housework. Complaints about wearing no clothes soon stopped when they were told they were free to go back on the streets.
Desolé’s house was large but had only two bedrooms, one at either end. Sebastian's was huge with a desk and armchairs, an en-suite bathroom and dressing room. French doors opened onto the patio and garden, and a gigantic four-poster bed, the sort usually seen in raunchy, romantic French period-films, dominated one end.
The weekend before the first guest had arrived, Desolé prepared the way by arranging for fifteen year-old Sebastian to meet her accountant, Jack, a youthful looking thirty-one year old who could easily pass for Sebastian’s brother. Slightly less than average height, Jack was tough with a muscular, sun dried body, and thinning hair. Fighting had donated a broken nose and prominent ears; features that added interest to an otherwise plain countenance. A beguiling smile assisted in the manipulation of others, but Desolé worried Sebastian would see through his superficial charm and refuse to cooperate.
Having been told to expect Jack to be there when he arrived home from school, Sebastian had peered through the French doors at a man sunbathing by the pool. He was used to being the only naked person in the house and felt irritated. He studied the fellow, unable to decide if he was angry or interested. He still hadn’t decided when he wandered out and introduced himself.
Jack stood and Sebastian was pleased to see he was a few centimetres taller than his visitor, who appeared shy and diffident. Jack’s arms, chest, groin and legs were sprinkled with short brown hairs. Not like an animal, though. Muscular definition was clear. The effect was sexy and Sebastian wondered what it would feel like to stroke him.
Normally, Sebastian’s knack of putting people at ease meant that within a few minutes whoever was basking in his attention imagined he was the friend they'd been searching for all their lives. For Sebastian, though, it was but a game, a game that wasn’t working this time. Jack appeared impervious to Sebastian’s chatter and charms, remaining politely impassive. In a last ditch effort to make the muscled runt take a shine to him, Sebastian asked if, seeing he was an accountant, he would help him with his maths homework.
Jack shrugged pleasantly and trailed the young man to the bedroom, gazed vaguely around and asked if the bed was as comfortable as it looked. Sebastian told him to try it. Jack neatly folded the cover down and sprawled over the sheets.
‘There’s enough room for several people in this bed.’
‘Yeah.’
‘You’d never know the other person was there.’
‘I would. I like to sleep alone.’
‘So you can wank?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s more fun to share.’
‘Wanking?’
‘Lying on a bed with someone.’
‘Doubt it.’
Jack patted the bed. ‘Try it and see.’
Curious, but unwilling to seem like an obedient puppy, Sebastian shook his head.
‘Frightened I’ll bite?’
Reluctantly, Sebastian lay on the edge of the bed.
Jack bounced up and down, making Sebastian roll towards the centre. Then Sebastian bounced and they ended up lying side by side laughing, thighs touching. Sebastian suddenly didn’t like it any more but Jack felt playful and shoved Sebastian off the bed. Sebastian’s wrestling skills apparently surprised Jack who found himself on his stomach, one arm up his back, Sebastian astride, demanding submission.
At that moment, Desolé, who had been watching on the monitors, came in and plonked herself down in an armchair.
‘Oof! It’s great to be home. The traffic was horrendous. You’ve met, I see, that’s excellent. Are you staying to dinner, Jack?’
Jack hesitated.
‘Yeah, stay,’ Sebastian insisted. ‘You haven’t helped me with my maths homework yet.’
During the meal Jack told them about a great spot beside a river a few kilometres inland, and invited Sebastian to go camping with him that weekend. Sebastian failed to hide his pleasure.
A two-man tent was erected, they stripped and sunbathed while Jack talked about the history of the area, then they clambered up a steep rocky escarpment for a view over the plains. The river was full and they swam in a series of deep holes scoured out between giant granite boulders. A whirlpool dragged Sebastian under. He surfaced and grabbed a lungful of air and water, but the rock was too smooth and slippery to grasp. He sank, surfaced again and took another mouthful of water. As if in a dream he could see the bank and Jack standing with his back to him. Down for a third time. No panic, merely resignation. He was going to drown. The realisation was oddly relaxing and he released the air in passive acceptance of his fate.
Suddenly a strong hand grabbed at his hair, hauled him out and held him upside down. The water gurgled from his throat and he coughed violently. Jack laid him on his side and stroked his head.
‘Lucky you’ve long hair, Seb.’
Sebastian was shivering violently from cold and a sudden fear that seemed to clutch at his belly. Jack placed him gently on the sleeping bags in the tent, lay beside him and wrapped them both in a blanket. After several minutes of gentle massage, stroking and comforting words, the shaking stopped and Jack unwrapped himself.
Sebastian was relieved.
Later, Jack taught Sebastian how to spot dangerous currents, apologised for not warning him, and, courage restored, they swam again and enjoyed the rest of the weekend.
On the way home Jack brought the incident up.
‘You OK after your brush with death?’
‘Yeah! Sure. Thanks to you.’
‘We don’t tell Desolé.’
‘No, she’d have kittens.’
‘That’s right…but it’s more important than that. Always bear in mind that it is stupid to tell people about your woes and problems, accidents and fears. Not because you’re ashamed of them, but because it gives them ammunition. Some time in the future–you never know when, someone will want to hurt or damage you and they’ll use the information you carelessly let slip against you. It’s the way of the world. Trust no one, keep your secrets, and you’ll not get hurt.’
Sebastian thought for a bit. ‘Yeah. I can imagine several kids at school who’d love to sneer at me for nearly drowning and having to be rescued. Thanks. Good advice.’
‘Well, here’s some more. The young man who’s coming to stay with you has suffered far more than you. He was kicked out of home, hitched north, was seriously beaten up, then locked, blindfolded in a room for a week. He was on the verge of madness when Mr. Farzdbuk found him.’
‘Why did someone do that?’
‘No idea. The point is, what did I do to calm you after your near drowning?’
Sebastian blushed. ‘You cuddled and stroked and massaged me.’ He blushed and added, ‘We were naked and I got a hard on, but you ignored it as if it was normal and that made me feel it was OK.’
‘Why did I do it?’
‘To make me feel safe?’
‘Right. And believe me, the young man who’s coming to stay with you is going to need a great deal of that sort of attention. Can I trust you to give it to him if you think he needs it? No embarrassment; just make him feel safe?’
‘As long as he’s clean and isn’t covered in sores…’ Sebastian looked at Jack who wasn’t smiling.
‘That’s very wise. Your own health must always come first. But I assure you he isn’t. He’s been in hospital for a week where he was checked for diseases, sanity and drugs. He’s clean and healthy–but emotionally scarred. He needs a week with someone sane like you before starting work.’
‘He’s got a job?’
‘Yes, Farzdbuk’s arranged it.’
‘I don’t like that man.’
‘Well, don’t tell him that. He’s…’
‘What?’
‘Nothing. So, are you going to do the job properly?’
‘Yes! I’ll look after the guy for you.’
‘No. You’ll do it because it is the right thing to do.’
Sebastian blushed again. ‘Yeah. OK. I understand.’
Neil had been a little older than Sebastian, but leaner, taller, less sure of himself. Not bad looking if he stopped that nervous twitch of his nose. Farzdbuk was standing beside him in the entrance hall. Neil was wearing a short towelling dressing gown and looked embarrassed. He had good calves. No sores. Desolé invited Farzdbuk to stay for dinner, but he shook his head brusquely. He turned to go then swung back and held out his hand.
‘The gown belongs to the hospital.’
Reluctantly, Neil removed it and handed it over, then held his hands in front of his groin, embarrassed. An upwelling of sympathy for the young man coursed through Sebastian’s young veins so he put an arm round Neil’s shoulders and led him to the dining room, telling him gently not to be embarrassed, he had a great body and…
Desolé was friendly and relaxed, the meal was tasty, Sebastian chattered constantly about life’s banalities, and Neil relaxed sufficiently to fall asleep in front of the TV. Sebastian woke him gently and led him to the bedroom where a second bed had been placed a metre from Sebastian’s. He tucked Neil in and settled into his own to read. All was peaceful until the lights went out. Neil sat up shrieking. Sebastian turned on his light and raced over. Neil sat, rigid on the edge of the bed. Shivering.
‘Sorry…I…I spent too long in the dark, I…’
Sebastian took the unprotesting guest to his own bed, left the light on and massaged him until he fell asleep. That was the pattern for the first three nights, so the spare bed was removed and Desolé got some fine videos for her collection during the rest of the week.
During the day, Neil spent time with Jack, telling Sebastian it was just boring stuff. Sebastian didn’t probe.
That had been 18 months ago. Sebastian let his thoughts drift over the events of the last few days and his suspicions about his mother and the bizarre set-up grew. He didn’t believe she didn’t know who had raped her, but it was impossible to broach the subject without a screaming tantrum. It remained a festering sore in his heart. He had a right to know who his father was. He had no idea what he would do if faced by the man who had forcibly squirted semen into his mother, but it would be memorable. Kill him? No, too easy. He wasn’t jealous of his school friends for their fathers. They seemed cold, irritable and unfriendly. One guy in his economics class often had red welts on his legs thanks to a length of electricity flex wielded by his loving father. When he thought about it, which was increasingly often, he was pleased to have only one parent to irritate him.
He wondered if he'd see Ari the pool guard again. He'd been so proud to be Sebastian’s first sexual partner. That little white lie had given pleasure to all nine of the guests who had slept in his bed since Neil. It was strange, though, that although they'd all promised to keep in touch, none had. Desolé said it was normal; that was how humans were. Never to be trusted. But this was yet another mystery that rankled. Another thing that needed explanation.
What had happened to those guys?