I couldn't think. I couldn't concentrate in class. The solution to my design project was terrible, and even my classmates seemed not to know what to make of me. I was as reclusive as a student who has to go to classes could possibly be. My body was present but my mind was someplace else, worrying about how I could bring myself to talk to someone about my abuse.

Brad, noting my withdrawal, would often sit next to me, giving me his support by his presence. Often, he would ask if he could help in any way, most likely thinking my mood was due to some difficulty Phalen and I were facing. I always shook my head and offered my thanks, attempting to smile. He knew the smile was superficial. I was trying to carry on as usual, without much luck. I was thankful for Brad's concern, and only wished there was something he could have suggested that would help. He could do nothing for me. Only I could begin my healing. I needed to find the courage to take the first step. As bad as it was, I had become accustomed to the bouts of depression, to the feelings of loneliness and of helplessness. I knew how I felt now. I was afraid things might get worse if I released the ghosts.

At home I was moody, staying in my office as much as possible. Phalen knew what was causing my moodiness and didn't push me. He never mentioned my promise to speak with someone. The problem was, by not saying anything, I felt that he was shouting for me to hurry up. He still showed me the same affection he always had, but even his jokes and good humor weren't enough to banish my funk. I had to talk with someone, fast, but how . . . and whom?

'Damn it,' I thought, kicking at a small stone as I crossed the street, trying to vent a little of my frustration. It didn't help that the weather was blistering hot. Heat waves shimmered in the air over the streets and sidewalks, creating imaginary pools which did nothing to cool the air. I was glad there wasn't a breeze. I always likened an Arizona summer-time breeze to standing in front of a body-length blow dryer. Today, the city seemed to be even more quiet than usual. Not even the birds were singing. As always, when it was this hot, very few people were outside, preferring to stay inside until evening. The streets were almost empty. The sidewalks were abandoned, except for me. I was weighed down by the unremitting combination of the heat, my past, and the need to speak with someone.

I was getting worse and I knew it. It was becoming obvious to those around me that something was seriously wrong. I expected Thian and Kerin thought Phalen and I were having some sort of trouble, but didn't know how to bring the subject up. Perhaps they had spoken with Phalen, I didn't know. I had even noticed Larry giving me a concerned look when he thought I wouldn't see. Phalen was right. Things couldn't go on like this.

I hadn't told anyone, but my daytime "nightmares" had become more frequent. Thankfully though, none had been as bad as the one witnessed by Brad. I knew I was also having the dreams at night, and suspected Phalen had not revealed to me how serious those he witnessed had been. I remembered Phalen's telephone conversation I had overheard while I was floating in the pool. The brief pieces of conversation I had heard told me he had indeed seen at least one nightmare and had confided in someone, probably his father, what was happening. No wonder Larry was watching me.

I was also experiencing an increasing number of times when, for a few moments, I wasn't aware of where I was, or whom I was with. The laughter, something I had lived with since I was a child, was becoming louder, and, as with the nightmare Brad witnessed, an unexpected touch could be excruciating and a major source of embarrassment. I wanted to hide away in a dark room. I knew that wouldn't help, though. The laughter was everywhere. The feeling of hands holding me down wouldn't go away.

I didn't know why I had begun having the nightmares again. I'd experienced very few since coming to the States to go to school. Perhaps their reappearance was caused by my desire to have a full sex life with Phalen, or by the pressure I felt to discuss my problems with someone and the overwhelming dread I experienced each time I contemplated that scenario. Whatever the reason, the nightmares were back and were getting worse. I was fast becoming an emotional cripple.

Larry drove past me, tooting his horn and waving as I approached the end of our block. I gave him a half-hearted wave, and continued walking slowly, in no hurry to get home, even though I felt like I was walking through a furnace. When I looked up, I saw that Larry was standing in his driveway next to his car, waiting for me. 'At least he's standing in the shade,' I thought, as I walked faster.

"Hey, Jeff," he called out, smiling, as I approached. " Hey, man, you look beat. Did you have a hard day at class, or has that son of mine been keeping you from getting enough sleep?" His eyes twinkled in amusement when he mentioned Phalen keeping me up late.

"Hi, Larry," I sighed, joining him in the shade. It only made a few degrees difference, but anything helped. At times like this, I looked back on Finland's summers with longing. "Phalen's been great. He comes home and does whatever I ask to help make dinner, then with the clean up afterward. When things are clean to his satisfaction, he goes into his office and does his homework. We usually visit for a little while out on the patio before going to bed. Sounds pretty boring, doesn't it?"

"Knowing Phalen, it's anything but boring," Larry laughed, slapping me on the back, causing me to flinch at his touch and grind my teeth, willing myself not to break down in front of him, and chasing the laughter away by sheer will power. I stood for a moment with my head bowed, debating with myself about whether to talk to Larry. I had to do something to help stop the laughing in my head.

"Larry, if you don't have anything planned, would you come over for a little while? I need a distraction from schoolwork. Besides . . . I . . . I . . . have something . . . to talk about." There! I'd said it! I'd taken the first step down the road to either ruin, or healing. At the moment, I had no idea which would result from my action, but I had at least done something.

Larry hesitated, the smile fading from his lips. He reached out, intending to rest a hand on my shoulder but noticed my steeling myself against the touch, and withdrew his hand before he touched me. His brows drew down in concern. "Sure, Jeff. I always enjoy our visits. When's Phalen expected home?"

I gave him a half-hearted shrug. "I never know for sure, probably in about an hour or so. I always get home first. I can usually get in a couple hours of studying before starting dinner." I tried to smile, but was afraid the effort looked more like a grimace. Larry's look of concern deepened as we headed toward the house, Larry carrying his suit coat and briefcase in one hand and walking close-by.

"What have you been up to?" I asked, attempting conversation as we walked the short distance to my house. "I haven't seen you all week. How have you been?"

Larry shrugged, closing the courtyard gate behind himself, and speaking as I opened the front door of the house and held the door open for him. "I spend a great deal of time thinking about Helen and how I would like things to play out. I can't believe she'll just fade away. That's not her style." Larry sighed, as he took a seat in the air-conditioned dining room. "We are still married, after all. That can't last very long though, with things going the way they are. Since she's been gone, I'm becoming accustomed to a new way of living. I really don't think I could go back to the old way."

I brought out a cold beer for Larry to drink. I was drinking my usual, cold water.

Larry continued, as I sat at the dining table facing him. His eyes, full of concern, flicked to me, then away. "One of the firm's partners and I had lunch yesterday. He knows what I've been going through with Helen, so he suggested I take a brief leave-of-absence so I could work through things. I jumped at the chance. I hadn't been able to concentrate on my cases, anyhow. That's why, today, I'm free in the middle of the day. I'm beginning to feel pressured by my own needs to bring this thing between Helen and me to some sort of resolution.

"I even joined a gym!" he added, his mood brightening, a smile causing the appearance of his dimples. "I'm not much of a weight lifter, but they've got other things that will be good for me, and it'll get me out of the house and give me an opportunity to meet other guys. I've always wanted to join a gym, but Helen complained that I already spent too much time away from home. I'm finding I enjoy not having to justify everything I want to do. I'm like Phalen, I like to laugh." He looked down at his beer bottle, moving it in a little circle on the tabletop. "I can do that now," he added, quietly, looking up at me, giving me a brief grin.

"Deep down, I feel as if I'm looking for something, but I don't know what." He grinned. "Maybe I'll know it if it steps on my foot." His grin turned rueful. "I can be pretty dense at times." There was a long pause, full of questions he wanted to ask. "How are things with you guys? Is Phalen feeling any better about his mother?"

"Yes, he's done a lot of soul searching, lately. He told me he initially wanted Helen to come back for him, but now he kind of hopes she stays away, for you, so you'll have a chance to be happy."

"Perceptive boy, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is." We were both quiet for a few moments. I guess Larry was thinking about his wife. I was wondering how to begin.

"What's wrong, Jeff?" Larry murmured, finally breaking the silence, and asking the question he'd been longing to since sitting down at the dining table. "There's more going on than being exhausted from school. You're tired, sure, but you're bothered by something bigger than exhaustion . . . or the heat. I've been wanting to ask for a couple weeks, but I haven't been able to figure out a way, without sounding nosey. I have to face it. I am nosey." One corner of his mouth twitched in a hint of a grin. "Is everything okay with you guys?"

"Phalen's not the only perceptive one in the family," I answered, attempting to smile. "Things between Phalen and me are fine." I paused for a few moments, swallowed, and looked up at him. "I need to talk about something else," I murmured, my voice shaking. "I'd like to take you up on an offer you made once, to listen to either Phalen or me if we needed to talk. I need to . . . but I don't know how to begin." He gave me an encouraging look, but didn't say anything.

"Larry, I need to speak with you about something that's pretty awful. . . . I know I'll cry, but I promised Phalen I would speak with someone before talking to him. It's going to be tough for me to talk about, but would you mind listening? I sort of need a practice run, so maybe it won't be so difficult when I have to talk to Phalen." I was already choking up. It was difficult to breathe, and I was trembling. My world had shrunk to the table in front of me, my glass of ice water, and Larry.

"It's that serious." It was a statement, not a question. All he had to do was listen to me for a moment to know how much effort it was taking for me to speak. He reached across the table and placed his hands on top of mine to give me some support and to help me stop shaking. Even though I knew he wished me well, I flinched at his touch.

I barely nodded to his inquiry, trying to control my reaction to his hands on mine. They weren't really trying to hold me down . . . were they? "Larry." I cleared my throat. "I've held this in for over fifteen years. I don't even know how to begin." Tears began to course down my cheeks. "Damn, I'm crying already." I swiped at my cheeks.

"Jeff, stop trying to postpone telling me whatever it is that's bothering you. Don't worry about the tears. Now, take a deep breath." He waited for a moment, while I took a halting breath. "That's good." He gave me an encouraging smile. "When you exhale, tell me what you need to say, in one sentence. No explanations or anything, just straight out. Okay? Do you mind if I hold your hands?"

I shook my head, feeling like I was going to jump off a cliff. "Larry . . . Larry I . . . I can't do it." I turned my head away, unable to face him. "I'm sorry," I groaned, shaking my head, the weight of my past weighing me down. Larry grasped my hands, preventing me from standing. I looked at his hands covering mine, barely able to keep from reacting to him. 'He's holding me in place!' I struggled to not yank my hands free. I knew Larry wasn't going to hurt me. He was offering comfort. I could barely control my breathing. I began to gasp. . . . Larry was holding me down! I looked, first to my left, then my right, wondering where I could run. I was alternately cold, then hot, trembling with pent up emotions.

"You can do it, Jeff." Larry's soothing voice tried to calm me. "You are going to tell me what's on your mind. You want to, or you wouldn't have started this conversation. I won't take no for an answer. . . . So, try to calm down and tell me what the problem is, in one sentence. Just say it."

The tears were streaming down my cheeks. I took another ragged breath. "Larry . . . I . . . When I . . ." 'I have to tell him,' I thought. I would go crazy, if I didn't.

"Go on, Jeff. You're stronger than you know. You can do this. I'm not going to let anything happen to you?" I hesitated. He was offering me the protection I'd sought as a child.

"You won't?" I whimpered, ceasing my attempt to find a means of escape. I was tired. 'This has to end. I can't continue.'

Larry shook his head. "You're safe. No one's going to hurt you," he murmured softly.

"They did before," I whimpered, one part of me wishing I didn't sound so much like a child. I took a ragged breath. "They told me I'd been . . . bad." I put my head down and began to sob. "That's . . . that's what they always said. I . . . I didn't think I was a bad boy. But . . . but they said I was."

"Who said that, Jeff?" Larry asked, as he walked around the table, pulled out a chair next to me and slowly stroked my hair as I leaned into him. "They said you'd been bad?" he coaxed.

I nodded and sniffed, no longer noticing the tears which were dripping onto his crisp white shirt. "The teachers said it. I . . . I didn't -- didn't want Mom and Dad to find out I was bad. I . . . I was . . . I was a good boy. I didn't do anything wrong!" My voice rose. "I didn't deserve to be punished. Greg . . . my . . . my brother . . . was always in trouble. Mom told me one time that she would scream, if I got into as much trouble as Greg. They always said I was a good boy," I trailed off. "They . . . they didn't know, y'see?"

"I believe you, Jeff." Larry continued to stroke my hair as I nestled my head against his shoulder. "How old were you when your teachers said you'd been bad?"

"Ma olen kuusi. Kiltti . . . kiltti, ala kerro aidilleni," I begged, one part of me wondering who the young boy was, who was in so much pain.

"You have to speak in English, Jeff. I'm sorry, but I can't understand what you're saying."

"But, I'm not supposed to speak English at school. Is it okay?"

"Today you can speak English, to me. It's okay." He tightened his arm around me, intending to be encouraging. "Now, tell me, how old you were, in English."

"I'm six." I grabbed at him. "Please . . . please don't tell my Mom. . . . Okay?"

Larry continued to speak calmly, touching me, trying to calm me. "I won't tell her, Jeff. I promise. What's happening to you? You say you're being punished for being bad?"

I nodded, putting my hands over my face, taking some comfort from the warmth of Larry's body next to mine. "They . . . they . . . make me take my clothes off," I sobbed, "and . . . and they . . . they do things to me. Everyday, I'm punished, . . . and they laugh at me when I cry. I hurt so bad," I moaned. . . . "Can I go . . . go home now, please? You won't tell on me, will you? I'll be good. I . . . I promise.

"Se tekee niin pahasti kipeaa. Saanko menna . . . menna kotiin nyt? Ethan sa anna minua ilmi? Ma . . . ma lupaan olla kiltti!"

"Speak English, Jeff."

"Please, no . . . no . . . no more. I hurt so bad. I won't do it again!" I shouted, trying to get away from Larry's grasp. He wouldn't let go! I couldn't let him hold me! Being touched was bad! It led to pain, humiliation, and fear.

The teachers held me down to keep me from running away. I wanted to run now, but they wouldn't let go of me. I was too small; only a child. I had to get away! "Let go of me!" I yelled, my voice changing from that of a child, to one of a man. I struggled to free myself, knocking over my chair and overturning my glass of water. The glass slowly rolled to the table's edge and fell, shattering as it hit the floor. I stood gasping for breath, looking for a way to escape. I took a step in one direction, then paused, wondering what horror lurked in that direction. I didn't know what to do! No place was safe!

"Jeff? . . . Jeff, you're not six anymore! The men are gone!" Larry shouted, trying to break through my panic.

"No they're not!" I wailed, turning one way, then the other. I put my hands to my head. "They're always here!" I shouted back. "I can always hear them. They're here now, laughing at me," I screamed, trying to drown out the laughter, pressing my hands tighter, and shaking my head. "They're touching me, trying to hold me down! They're always trying to hold me down! They're always laughing! . . . Anytime it's quiet I can hear them," I moaned, sinking to my knees and leaning forward, my head almost touching the floor. A moment later, I sprang to my feet, a renewed sense of panic gripping me. "I feel them touching me, now!" I flinched from the unseen touch, backing away until I was stopped by the dining room wall. "I hurt so bad. I hurt. . . . Don't laugh at me, please. . . . Can I go home, please? Please?" I sobbed, slowly dropping to my knees.

"Jeff, you're wrong." Larry knelt at my side, unsure whether to touch me or not. "They're gone! No one is laughing at you," he continued, attempting to speak in a soothing voice, rough with emotion.

"Gone?" I murmured, crawling into another chair, bewildered. "The men are gone?" I could only hear their laughter in the distance. 'When will they come back?' I asked myself, wringing my hands. "They always come back," I whimpered. "They always do."

Larry dragged a chair close-by, and sat, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "They can't hurt you any more, Jeff. They're gone. You're safe with Phalen and me. Neither of us will let anyone hurt you."

"Phalen? . . . My dad doesn't know. I can't tell him. . . . Phalen will protect me?" I whimpered.

"Yes, he will, Jeff. He loves you very much. He won't let anyone hurt you. Neither will I. Do you believe me? It's important that you do. You're safe now." Larry gingerly squeezed my shoulder. "The bad people are gone . . . forever. They'll never laugh at you again. Believe me." The words, and the catch in his voice, caused me to look at Larry.

"Larry? . . . Why are you crying? There's no reason for you to cry." I reached out and touched the tears running down his cheek. "Are you crying because of me? I'm sorry. . . . Mom will be mad. She doesn't know . . . "

"You've been a brave boy, Jeff. I'm glad you told me what your problem has been. Thank you for trusting me." He sniffed, rubbed his eyes, and drew me close enough for me to bury my face in his shoulder. "You're safe now, Jeff. Do you believe me?"

I sniffed, and nodded once. "Yes, Phalen and you will help me. But . . . I . . . I can't stop . . . crying. It's like I'm still six. . . . I hurt so bad, Larry." I grasped his hand. "I can't stop thinking about it. All my life I've thought about it. And they laugh at me! Any time I'm quiet, I can hear them laugh at me. . . ." I chanced a look around the room. "The men are gone?" I wondered where they might be hiding. "I can't tell my parents. . . . I cried myself to sleep every night. I think I've been crying ever since. . . ." I turned to him, convinced the men were gone. "Phalen won't mind me crying like this? Thank you for holding me." I leaned into his one-arm embrace. "Dad never holds me. I'm afraid to let anyone get near me. Phalen is okay, though. He won't hurt me. . . . Will he?" I sniffed. "You can hold me too. . . . I don't want to keep crying. The teacher calls me a baby when I cry."

"Phalen won't mind, Jeff. He and I love you very much."

"You do? I've never . . . never had anyone . . . love me before," I whimpered, beginning to hiccough. "I thought Kissa loved me, but she ran away. I talked to her every night, but she ran away. . . . Mother told me cats were like that . . . always running away. I . . . I wanted to run . . . away too, but I . . . I . . . couldn't. I was just a boy. Someone would find me and bring me back, then Mother would be upset because I was a bad boy. I didn't have anyone to talk to. . . ." I looked at Larry, searching his face, hoping I could tell if he was telling me the truth. "Phalen loves me? . . . Will he run away?"

Larry stroked my hair, as I tried to stop crying. It was as if fifteen years of emotions had suddenly been released. "We both love you, Jeff. You've got to believe me. You are a good man. You've done nothing wrong. The men were bad, not you," Larry murmured, sniffing again, and tightening his hug. "Neither of us will leave you." Larry's face was next to mine. I could feel his breath against my ear, and one of his tears as it rolled down my neck. He smelled different than Phalen. . . . Another of his tears dropped onto my neck.

"Thank . . . thank you, Larry," I managed to say, turning to him, and giving him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you for listening to me. I'm sorry . . . sorry, I'm crying so much. I can't seem to stop. I thought Kissa would stay with me, but she didn't. I . . . I'm . . . I'm so afraid."

"Hello, guess who's home?" Phalen shouted as he came inside and saw Larry holding me while I sat at the table.

"Dad . . . Jeff, what's happening? Why are you guys crying?"

As I saw Phalen, I began sobbing anew, covering my face. I felt like a small child who cries over a small injury only when he sees his mother looking at him. Phalen rushed over and bent down, putting his arm around my shoulders. I could feel Larry let go of me and heard him tell Phalen to walk with him a moment.

Phalen seemed reluctant to release me. "Sure, Dad. Is Jeff okay?"

"Yes," I heard Larry say, as he and Phalen stepped into the sunroom. "He's made it over a big hurdle, and he's making up for fifteen years of pain," he continued in a low voice, as they walked out of the house and into the courtyard. "Let him know that you love him, Phalen. He needs to keep being told that, for a little while. That you love him, that you won't let anything happen to him, and that you won't leave him. Okay?"

"Sure, Dad. Will he be okay?"

"Yes, he started healing when he was finally able to speak with someone. We can help him by listening and being there for him when he needs us. This will take a long time. He's not going to get better over night. Now, go back in there, hold him and listen to him. He needs for you to be nearby."

I heard the muffled sounds of the conversation cease, followed by Phalen's slow footsteps as he came back into the dining room. Phalen stood next to me, not saying anything. I had stopped crying for the moment, but still had my face hidden, feeling miserable, embarrassed, because Phalen was seeing me like this.

"Jeff," Phalen said, barely above a whisper. "Is it okay if I touch you? I don't know what I should do. I want to hold you. Is it okay?"

I stood up and turned toward him, extending my arms, inviting him to hold me. I still couldn't bring myself to look him in the eyes.

"Oh, Jeff, I'm so sorry. I didn't know it would hurt so much for you to talk," he murmured, close to my ear, holding me in his arms. "Dad said you're going to be okay."

"Oh, Phalen, I'm so miserable. I feel like I'm still a little boy," I croaked. "I don't want you to feel bad along with me. I don't know what to do to stop hurting."

Phalen tightened his embrace. "Jeff, on some level you've been miserable since I met you, and I bet for a long time before that. You're only going to make me feel bad if you keep things bottled up like you have been. By talking to Dad, you've taken the first step toward getting better. It's that first step that's such a bitch." He backed away, taking my hand. "C'mon, let's go lie down so I can hold you. It's better than standing up. If you want to talk, I'll listen. If you need more time, that's okay too." Phalen took my hand and led me to the bedroom. He slipped off his shoes and climbed onto the bed, sitting with his legs crossed, his tanned legs a sharp contrast against his white cargo shorts. "C'mon, Big Man. Get up here so we can cuddle." He patted the bed, at his side.

"Phalen, I'm sure I'll cry," I mourned. "I can't seem to stop."

"Good! You've kept things bottled up for too long. Jeff, you don't have to be embarrassed to cry in front of me. I live with you because I love you, and I want to help you in any way I can. Like Dad said, you're safe now. I'll do whatever it takes to protect you, just as you would do for me. C'mon, Big Man," he urged, as I lay down on my stomach beside him. He put his arm around me and held me, slowly rubbing my back as I cried into my pillow. I was crying for the little boy I once was, for the childhood I never had, for my missing cat, the lack of feeling I had for my parents . . . all the things I had kept bottled up since I was six.

We lay there for a long time without speaking. Phalen snuggled close to me and continued to rub my back, until I finally cried myself out. We both must have fallen asleep. I woke up as it was getting dark, desperately needing to pee. Phalen groaned as I tried to move.

"Are you okay?" he mumbled, still not awake.

"Gotta pee." I scrambled over him and into the bathroom. I finished, splashed some cold water onto my face, and went back into the bedroom. Phalen was sitting with his legs crossed in the center of the bed, yawning and rubbing his eyes. He looked up as I came in.

"Better?"

I nodded once, knowing I looked a mess. "Yes, better, and thank you . . . for holding me." I sat down on the bed, facing him, and took his hands.

"Phalen, I'm going to tell you a story. Don't interrupt, okay?"

"K"

I took a couple breaths to steady myself. "I knew a little boy once. He was the happiest guy I had ever known." I stopped a moment in an attempt to prevent my emotions from overcoming me again. "He had nice parents, a brother, and a cat named Kissa. He and his cat were best friends. The cat liked to play in the snow, and the little boy was always afraid that he wouldn't be able to find Kissa when she went outside in the winter, because she was white.

"When the little boy was old enough, his mother took him to school. He had fun at school, because there were lots of other boys and girls to play with. He had always dreamed of going to school, and of all the fun he would have.

"But not everyone at the school was nice." I paused again, and looked down, not wanting to watch Phalen as I continued. He gave my hands a squeeze.

"I'm here Jeff. It's okay."

I nodded. "One day, the little boy's teacher made him stay after school, saying he had been bad. The little boy didn't think he had done anything wrong, but the teacher said he had, so it must have been true. . . . He didn't want his mother and father to know he'd been bad. His brother was always bad, but he never was.

"When all the other children had left, another teacher came into the room, and they spanked the little boy. They . . . they had him . . . had him take his clothes off, so they could spank him.

"Then . . . then." Phalen, held my hands tighter. "The teachers did things to him that hurt. He cried, and they held him down and laughed. They told him if he told anyone about what they had done, they would tell everyone what a bad boy he was. He didn't understand what they were doing to him, or why. He knew he hadn't done anything wrong.

"After they finished with him, he got dressed and walked home, trying not to cry. If his parents saw that he had been crying, they would wonder what was wrong . . . and he couldn't tell them. . . . He didn't want them to know he'd done something wrong . . . that he was a bad boy. When he got home, he told his parents he didn't feel well, then went to bed and cried himself to sleep. His bedroom door opened once, allowing his father to check on him and ask if he was doing better. He told his father he was. But, he wasn't. He tried to think of ways to keep from having to go to school. He pretended he was sick. He even tried to hurt himself, so he wouldn't have to go to school and see his teachers. But, whenever he came back, they hurt him more than before.

"Each day, when he came home, he would sit alone in his room with Kissa on his lap, petting her, telling her how he felt and what was happening to him. She would listen to him, and the little boy knew she would never hurt him. They were best friends.

"As time went on, the little boy became more afraid. He was afraid of what the teachers would tell his parents. He even stopped playing with Kissa, so . . .so, she ran away, to find . . . find another boy to play with. Then he was really alone. . . . Even Kissa had hurt him."

I paused again. "The little boy was sad all the time. When the boy entered school the following year, he was afraid his teachers would be just like the ones from the year before. They seemed to be nice though, and never did hurt him. They never laughed at him. He never let them touch him though; he tried to never let anyone touch him. The two teachers who had hurt him before were gone somewhere. The teachers were gone, but the memory of what they had done was still there.

"As the boy got older, he realized he had been lied to. He realized he had done nothing wrong. It was the teachers who were bad, not him. They had used his fear that his parents would be displeased by something he had done, as a means of controlling him. Even though the men were gone, he was still afraid he would meet someone else who would hurt him. He was always on the defensive, always wondering when someone like those men would attempt to hurt him. He thought if he stayed away from everyone, he wouldn't be hurt again. He built imaginary walls around himself to keep other people out. Those walls isolated him, which is just what he wanted, but they didn't stop the boy from hearing the cruel laughter or from remembering the pain he had felt. Now, on top of everything else, he felt anger at himself, for not realizing how his fears of displeasing his parents had been used against him."

Phalen had loosened his grip on my hands and was now holding them loosely, slowly rubbing a thumb over the back of each hand. He remained quiet, but when I stole a glance at him, his eyes were full of sympathy. . . . I didn't want sympathy. I wanted him to understand what I had gone through, and why I was behaving as I had been. He must have realized how I felt, because the next time I flicked a glance in his direction, the sympathetic expression had changed into one of grim understanding.

"When the boy became a teenager and started thinking about sex, he became even more frightened. He realized that he was sexually attracted to other boys his own age. He was afraid he had become just like the teachers who had hurt him! Those walls in his mind had prevented him from knowing any other boys like himself, so he didn't know of anyone else who felt the same things as he was feeling. He felt as if he was completely alone. He worked hard in school. He exercised hard. He swam; anything to keep him from thinking about sex. He vowed he would never, never get close enough to someone to hurt them, and that he would never have sex, because he knew sex was a way to hurt people.

When I paused, I saw Phalen watching me, the muscles of his jaw flexing as he ground his teeth together in anger. His eyes and his touch though, held nothing but love.

"Phalen, those walls the little boy built are still inside, here." I touched my chest, then my forehead. "They've kept people away from me, and me away from anyone else, for fifteen years. They've also kept me isolated. The isolation wasn't something someone else forced on me; it was something I wanted . . . in order to be safe, and to keep those around me safe from what I thought I might do." I took a deep breath. The worst of the story was past. Now, I could breathe more easily. "When the boy, now a young man, went away to school he met another nice young man, who he had lots of fun with, but, to this day, he doesn't know how to break down those walls to let his new friend in. The walls have become a part of him. He's frightened of doing the things which hurt him when he was little. He doesn't want to hurt, and he doesn't want to hurt his friend. The only problem is, he doesn't know how to tell his friend what the problem is . . . so he told him a fairy tale, and hoped his friend would understand how much he wants to do those things, but can't . . . because he's afraid." I took a halting breath. "The End." I finished the story, still holding Phalen's hands with my head bowed, not wanting to see his reaction.

"Jeff," Phalen said, softly, "that's not the end of the story." He reached up to touch my tear-streaked cheek, tilting my head up, so I could see him. "You didn't turn to the last page, Big Boy. . . . It says that the little boy's friend wouldn't ever do anything to hurt him, and that all he wants is for the two of them to live happily ever after. That's the way fairy tales are supposed to end, and I know that's how this one will." Phalen's thumbs continued to rub the back of my hands as we sat in silence.

"It's okay?"

"Of course it's okay. I can't begin to imagine what you've gone through. You never told anyone?"

"No, not until your father. It was harder to tell the first time, and I wanted to be able to tell you without crying. I did pretty well." I gave Phalen a crooked grin, my tear-stained cheeks belying my words. "At first, I didn't tell anyone because I didn't want my parents to know I had caused some sort of trouble. Later, I didn't know who to talk to, or even if talking to someone was necessary. I seemed to have everything under control. After all, I had built those walls. I didn't think I needed any help. I didn't know any other people like me." I huffed a disbelieving laugh. "I wouldn't allow myself to know anyone. I was really convinced that those guys had made me gay, and that being gay meant being mean and hurting other people. When I got older, I realized I had to be wrong. But, by then, I was embarrassed by my fear of having sex, and by never having had sex.

"I've lived my whole life in fear, it seems. Those men are always with me, Phalen, even today . . . right now . . . they're looking over my shoulder, laughing at me." I bit my lip, managing to not look behind me. I could almost feel their breath on my neck. "Whenever things are quiet, I can hear them. Sometimes I think I can even feel them touching me. Right now . . . right now, I can feel them breathing on my neck, waiting to get me alone." I closed my eyes, welcoming the tightening of Phalen's grip on my hands. "I think the only reason I could have any kind of sex with you was because you had as little experience as I. You also weren't threatening to me. You're also younger than me, you didn't pressure me to do things I was afraid to do . . . and you laughed a lot . . . not at me, but with me. There's a difference. I couldn't imagine you being violent. Sometimes, when you touch me unexpectedly though, I have a tough time not flinching, because when I feel the touch, I know it's one of those teachers. I know your touch is okay . . . though when you mentioned you could be a bad boy and might like to be spanked, I began to wonder," I said, attempting to grin.

"Oh geez, Jeff. I'm sorry. I should have realized I was doing something . . . "

"I was teasing you, Phalen," I interrupted. "Don't start trying to censor what you say to save my feelings, okay? Now that I've sort of 'come out,' I'll be sure to let you know if I can't handle something, so don't try to be someone other than yourself. It's just that now, you, now you know what my behavior means. Your teasing and laughter are two of the things I love about you."

"Sure, Jeff. I'll try, but this is going to take some getting used to, for both of us, I think." Phalen and I sat cross-legged in the center of the bed, lost in thought. "Jeff, I love you so much," he finally said. "Thank you for trusting me with your story. C'mere, let me hold you." We lay back on the bed and cuddled. Phalen ran his fingers through my hair, or over my chest, as I told him about growing up in Finland. It was the first time I had been able to talk to anyone about where I grew up since coming to the States.

"Isn't there anything you miss about Finland? Anything that was good?"

I thought back, searching for a fond memory. "Yes," I finally answered. "I miss the Northern Lights. They're called revontulet in Finnish. They're one of the most beautiful sights I've ever seen." I paused, seeing the lights in my mind's eye. "It's funny, when I was younger I always thought they should be accompanied by music." I smiled at the memory of sitting on the wide ledge of my bedroom window, looking out into the night sky and watching the dancing wisps of light. "One night I listened to Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony as I watched them. Phalen, I don't think I've ever been so moved. It was like I was watching my own private light show. I thought at the time that there was probably no one else in the world who was seeing the Northern Lights with Beethoven accompaniment." I was pleased to hear humor coloring my voice. "I miss revontulet . . . and on days with temperatures like we've been having, I miss the cooler temperatures."

"I thought Finland was a beautiful country," Phalen added, trying to coax other memories from me.

"It is, very beautiful, and to be fair, I'm sure there are lots of things I'd miss, if I thought about it. I grew up there. It's a part of me. It's like the sauna across the hall that we've never used. I'm Finnish. I had to have one, even though it would have been easier to step outside. The heat's the same." I grinned him, as I turned on my side and ran a finger along the length of his nose. "I'm much happier here though," I added, grinning, when he licked my finger tip as it brushed his lips. He smiled at me and winked.

We spoke of many things while Phalen either held me or slowly rubbed my chest. Eventually, we both must have drifted off to sleep, my slumber blessedly free of nightmares.

I gradually became aware of my surroundings, and that it was morning. My eyes were crusty with dried tears. Phalen and I were still dressed, lying on top of the bedclothes. After talking late into the night, both of us had been totally spent. I was worn out from the outpouring of emotions, and Phalen, from trying to console me. I was stiff, my head ached, and I needed to pee again, in the worst way. I also decided I was starving.

"Phalen," I murmured, trying to gently awaken him. When that didn't work, I moved his arm off of my chest, slid off the edge of the bed, and limped to the bathroom. I hadn't moved in such a long while, my legs were slow to wake up. The returning circulation prevented me from moving as quickly as I would have wished, so I limped as I tried to hurry. I felt much better after relieving myself and washing my face. I knew that Phalen would be awake before long, so I hustled into the kitchen to begin some coffee. As the coffee maker spit and sputtered on its way to filling the pot, Phalen came in and wrapped his arms around me, giving me a brief nuzzle against the back of my neck.

"Better today?" he asked, tightening his grasp.

I nodded. "Thank you, lover . . . for being so understanding and everything. I doubt I could have done what I did yesterday without your and Larry's help."

"It's still not over, Jeff." Phalen turned me around and tilted my head up so I wasn't staring at the floor. "You know that, don't you?" I reluctantly nodded, answering his question. "You've taken the most difficult step. Now, the others will be easier . . . for sure. You just have to remember one thing."

"What's that?"

"You're not alone. Dad and I are both here to help you, and I'm more in love with you today, than ever. I'm also proud of you. But mostly, I love you."

"Phalen, I was afraid you couldn't handle all the stuff you learned about me last night."

"Listen to yourself, Jeff! You're acting like you were one of the bad guys. You didn't do anything wrong! You were the victim. There is nothing to apologize for. My love for you is unconditional. My feelings for you aren't going to change because you've been abused as a child. You still haven't begun to believe that I love you, have you? Do you think you're not worthy of my love because of what you've been through, or is it because you think no one has ever loved you, therefore, I can't?"

"I don't think anyone has ever loved me," I mumbled. "I have a difficult time believing it, when you tell me that you do. I don't have any frame of reference to go by. I think I'm also afraid of becoming too attached to someone. I think I've already done that, though," I grinned. "In fact, I think I'm quite a bit more than attached."

"You're damn right, and that's just the way I want it! We're very much alike, aren't we, Big Man?" Phalen said, holding me at arm's length, so he could look into my eyes. He was quiet for a few moments, until I raised my eyebrows, asking if he had something more to say. "Damn, you've got beautiful eyes," he grinned. "I never realized how green they are."

"You were saying we're alike?"

"Oh, yeah." He drew me close once more. "I'm afraid I'm not loved, because Mom's having problems of her own and decided to leave, making me think she had abandoned me because I had done something wrong. You think you're not loved because you've been abused. We both have to remember that us being loved has nothing to do with those things. We are both good people. Nothing I do is going to change my mother, and nothing you do is going to change your past. We have to face that, and appreciate what we have today. We have each other. That's important. And we have my father.

"I also have to believe that your parents really do love you. If they knew what you'd been through, they'd feel terrible and would try to help you in any way they could. You told me yourself how your father said he hoped you wouldn't shut him out. A man who doesn't love his son wouldn't say something like that, would he? When you were a young child, maybe your folks were dealing with your brother and with their own problems. It only seems as if they don't love you. Don't give up on them before giving them a real chance to know you . . . their adult son. You may be surprised at how you feel about them changes."

"I don't know . . . You're probably right. I can't deal with my parents right now, though."

"Fine, but don't begin thinking that no one loves you Jeff, because you'd be wrong. Maybe your parents never told you how much they care about you, but that doesn't mean they don't. Right now though, all I want is for you to actually start believing me when I tell you how much I care. I plan on hanging around for a real long time, and I wouldn't do that for someone who didn't mean the world to me. Dad thinks you're pretty special too. I think he feels like he has a second son whenever he's around you."

"But, Phalen, I don't know if I can ever have real sex with you."

"What!" Phalen held me away from him, his eyes flashing. "What do you think we've been having, two or three times a day? It's certainly more than masturbation!"

"You know what I mean. Anal sex."

"If that ever happens it will be nice, I'm sure. But if it never does, so what? In fact, if we couldn't have sex again, I wouldn't love you any less. I'd have to get my hand back into shape, but I would still feel the same about you."

"Listen to you. Have to get your hand back into shape."

His lips twitched, as they often did, before he launched into a story. "Well, it's true. My baseball coach has been complaining that I'm not gripping the bat as hard as I once did. That's because I'm not getting the practice with that hand that I used to."

"You made that up," I laughed.

"Well, maybe, but you know what I mean. I'd also have to have some sort of pacifier made, so I'd have something to suck on, to keep a smile on my face. . . . I know!" he grinned, stepping away and beginning to pace, eyes sparkling. "It could be a pacifier which looks like your dick, only smaller, of course." He paused. "Much smaller." He grinned at my amused snort. "Think of it! I could be the first gay man on our block with a Jeff Layson penis-pacifier! Maybe I could apply for a penis-pacifier patent, you think?" He took two steps, then turned. "I could get rich! Every gay man I know would want one! Well," he added, looking slightly abashed. "I don't actually know of any other gay men than you, but I'm sure they're out there, and once they saw the penis-pacifier, they'd want one . . . for sure.

"I can hear it now. Nosey Mrs. Callahan across the street asks Dad, 'Larrrry, tell me,' she says, in her frail voice. "How did Phaaalen become a millllionaire over night?" she would ask, blinking up at him over her glasses, from under the brim of her big straw hat, urging him to answer with an impatient tap of her cane against his leg.

"Well, Ethel," Dad would say, enjoying what was to come. "It's like this. . . . Phalen struck it rich when he invented the penis-pacifier." I couldn't help myself. I burst out laughing, both at the ludicrousness of the idea, and his delivery. "What's so funny?" he asked, turning to me, wearing an ingenuous expression, and quirking his eyebrows at me. When I didn't answer, he continued the story, with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "I can almost hear her gasp." Phalen giggled. "I bet she'd even drop her binoculars as she covers her mouth in shock!" He shook his head in disbelief. "She carries those binoculars everywhere!"

"You're funny," I laughed, reaching out for him to return to my embrace. "That's one of the things I love about you. You're crazy."

"And handsome, and witty, and look great in a jock," he added, turning around and wiggling his butt, looking back at me from over his shoulder.

"Yes, and totally lacking in humility."

"What's that?" he laughed. "Seriously, Jeff, are you feeling better now?"

"Yes, thanks to you and Larry. . . . I don't think it's possible for me to recover from what happened to me, completely, but perhaps I can learn to live with it, and we may be able to have a full sex life, sometime. You'd be willing to help me out with that one, I'm sure."

"You bet, Big Man. I'm looking forward to it. If that's what you want, we'll work on it slowly. Maybe we could rent some dirty movies and play show and do."

I must have looked puzzled because he continued, offering an explanation. "You know. The guys on the screen show us how it's done, then we try. . . . But that's in the future," he said quickly, making a dismissive hand gesture. "I bet we can come up with a bunch of ways to help desensitize you. It's probably like getting over a fear of snakes or something. First you look at pictures, then you talk about snakes. After doing that, you look at actual snakes, and wham," he concluded, clapping his hands together, "before you know it, you have 'em crawling all over you and want one for a pet! We're at the talking stage right now, huh? Once, you're over that, we can go on from there.

"Now, would you believe it, I haven't had any coffee this morning? And, I'm starved! We missed dinner and breakfast. I'm 'bout ready to stop talking, I'm so hungry," he groaned, raising his hand to his brow, and staggering around the kitchen, miming an imminent bout of dizziness.

"Is that what it takes to make you stop talking?"

"Better watch it, Big Boy, or I'll pinch your wanger," he laughed, grabbing for me as he staggered past. He giggled, as I scrambled, trying to keep out of his grasp. Maybe my past was something I could recover from.

---

Translations:

Ei! Lopeta! (No! Stop!)

ala . . . ala (Don't . . . Don't)

revontulet (Northern Lights)

Ma olen kuusi. Kiltti --- kiltti, ala kerro aidilleni." ("I'm six. Please --- please don't tell my Mom. --- Okay)

"Se tekee niin pahasti kipeaa. Saanko menna --- menna kotiin nyt? Ethan sa anna minua ilmi? Ma --- ma lupaan olla kiltti." ("I hurt so bad. Can I go --- go home now please? You won't tell on me will you? I'll be good. I --- I promise.")

My thanks to Larry in Helsinki. for his assistance with the Finnish language.

---

A number of readers have written asking for the correct pronunciation of the character's names. They are:

Phalen (FAY-lin)

Kerin (KEAR-in)

Thian (THE, as in Theater (THE-in)

Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to comment on this story. I love to hear from you and appreciate your input. If you'd like pics of how I envision the characters, please ask. Thanks for reading.