Sebastian
by Rigby Taylor
Chapter 2
Desolé
Sebastian was late and Desolé fretted. 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 was unwelcome, and negative criticism was counter productive. But when her son irritated her it was becoming harder to keep a lid on the stress and her thoughts to herself. Recently she'd been feeling as if she was walking among eggs; the slightest false step on her part and all her plans would come to nought. Despite their seventeen years together she sometimes felt she hardly knew her son.
Her parents had criticised her constantly, never pleased or satisfied, never made her feel even adequate, so when they threatened hellfire and worse when they realised she would be having a child out of wedlock, she did what she should have done years before. She smiled at the poetic justice of her father falling asleep at the wheel as they sailed off the motorway into a quarry. It was an accident due to their advanced age and poor health, the coroner declared. Because it happened around midday no one bothered to check their blood for sleeping pills. The insurance had been very useful.
Desolé worried about everything. When she wasn't worried she worried that she should be worrying. Sebastian never seemed to worry. As he never tired of explaining, he had a sixth sense that told him how people expected him to behave, so he made himself act like that person, then no problems arrived. Most people create their own problems, he reckoned, by failing to consider the reactions of others, and modify behaviour accordingly.
Desolé hadn't argued because it was true. Sebastian was a different person with everyone he met. She knew 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. 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 frequently hope he'd fall on his face?
Her few friends with teenage boys were at their wits end dealing with their behaviour. One mother had even been violently attacked by her son! According to the books, testosterone was raging through Sebastian's veins, turning him into a sex-crazed, aggressive monster. That he wasn't any such thing she put down to the influence of Jack. But did Sebastian need another mature male role model? Tough luck if he did. Desolé's plans required a dependent young man, not a questioning, independent rebel!
She had enjoyed the first years when the little lad was totally dependent, but once he started thinking for himself, asking questions and arguing, she began to wish she'd aborted the foetus. At the age of two he started throwing screaming tantrums whenever Desolé tried to put clothes on him. Doctors found no skin disorder or other physical impediment, so told her to just let him crawl around naked—he'd start wearing clothes eventually. But fifteen years later he was still rejecting unnecessary clothes.
To ensure there were no other mental disorders, Desolé read every book she could lay her hands on about bringing up children. Especially important, she learned, was that her son should have no guilt feelings or embarrassment about sex. She'd read terrible tales about the harm sexual guilt can do. One case study described a deeply religious mother who, when she caught her son masturbating, forced him to put his penis on the table then stabbed a fork through it. Later in life the young man became 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, she read, and children soon learn 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. As it was seldom cool in this tropical metropolis, she saw no harm in his running around the house and garden naked. Even to school he refused to wear 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 thought he'd become shy, but he didn't, and had no qualms about telling anyone who objected that they had the problem, not him.
Men had always been a mystery to Desolé. 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 like women, but they turned out to be just as incomprehensible. When she refused to have an abortion, Marion, her live-in girlfriend, threatened to leave because she didn't want to live in a house with snotty nosed kids–especially if it turned out to be a male! Desolé's anger at this betrayal was only mollified when Marion accidentally fell four floors from the balcony onto the concrete driveway. 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 kept them 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 by 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 felt privileged to have witnessed her son's first ejaculation, having read that Japanese mothers teach their sons to masturbate, but had not dared to do such a thing 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, as she transferred the video recording of Sebastian's concert and dance to a DVD, 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 looked at the soft, shiny fabric and shook her head. 'It will 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 her son's sexual experiments thanks to several tiny video cameras Jack had hidden in her son's bedroom four years previously. She took a deep breath to quell her irritation. Sebastian was trying to provoke her, and she didn't like it! She smiled tightly. 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 managed to look interested and not yawn while he stroked, fondled and caressed himself until a gob of cum shot over his shoulder and landed on a satin cushion. Hiding her irritation she congratulated him on an impressive display, fetched a damp cloth and wiped the cushion before tossing the cloth to him to clean himself before donning the minuscule pouch, that she duly admired.
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 ideas; primarily economic. Since the video of Sebastian's eleventh birthday concert, which she had shown to her accountant, Jack Abacus, 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 – mainly of 'Far Eastern' origin, apparently.
As long as her privacy at home was assured, Desolé did not want to know about that side of the arrangement. She was intellectually aware of her son's physical attractiveness and smooth bronze skin, but it aroused not a skerrick of sexual or other response. 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, while 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. Edith, a long-time acquaintance once 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! One 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.
Over the last few months Sebastian's suspicions that his mother had secrets were confirmed. He was now certain that she wasn't honest with him. He 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 outlook on 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 an 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. But he'd discovered the joys of independence, 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 young guys 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 a little older than 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 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, armchairs, and a gigantic four-poster bed. One of a matching pair of doors led to a bathroom and dressing room, the other to the lounge. French doors on the south wall opened onto an attractive patio and garden,
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 felt unaccountably irritated. And why wasn't his mother there? Strangers shouldn't be let in on their own! 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 everything on secret monitors in a room off her bedroom, 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 suggested grudgingly. '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 almost in flood 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 lay 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 Okay 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 Okay.'
'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. Okay. I understand.'
Neil had been a little older than Sebastian, leaner, taller, and less self-assured. Not bad looking when he stopped nervously twitching 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?
Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.
[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]
* Some browsers may require a right click instead
