Another tale from the early seventies concerns "Shopper's Paradise." Across the river from the big city, where we are, the suburbs had sprung up in the fifties, continuing their growth with such amenities as shopping malls and discount stores. "Shopper's Paradise" was one of the latter. Acquaintances had led me to believe that assignations could be made in the public convenience therein. That is to say, one could pick up a teen in the tea-room. As I have often said, tea-rooms make me queasy; never-the-less I determined to investigate the "Shopper's Paradise" one warm spring day.

Looking in the mirror, before leaving the house, I encountered a young man in his mid-twenties, slender still, not balding yet, in fact with hair longer than was common for a working man, befitting a former anti-Viet Nam war protester. A bit like a rock and roller in fact, which I was, and still am. It was nearly eighty degrees at eleven A.M., so I put the top down on the old MGA, and pony-tailed my hair.

The large discount store had no windows, only a giant glass and aluminum entrance that must have been about thirty feet high, with ten or so doors across, and an air-break larger than most theater lobbies separating it from the other ten or so doors that led to the store proper. Inside the air-break, or lobby, were a couple of kiddie rides, a pony and an aeroplane, that would rumble up and down on a shaft, carousel like, though stationary, if one could only convince one's parents to cough up a quarter for it's voracious fee. Also, here were rows of gumball and trinket machines, offering treasures for the proper insertion of various nickels, dimes, and quarters. At one end of this lobby there were even two food wagons, one offering large thick Bavarian style twisted pretzels encrusted with crystals of salt, and with optional mustard; the other wagon advertised from it's umbrella Sabrett Hot Dogs, and displayed, as well, several cans of soft drinks as Pepsi, Coke, and Seven-Up. While most shoppers passed these wagons by, there always seemed to be at least one or two availing themselves of this service at any given time. Inevitable unsupervised children careened wire supermarket style carts into consequently out of order gumball machines as I passed through the second set of doors to "Shopper's Paradise" to find myself walking in Women's Underwear, turning left into the 45 RPM Record Department. Besides the rack with the top ten hits, there was a table of 45's under a sign proclaiming "HITS OF THE PAST: 98 cents" which I rifled through. I noticed a chubby boy of about fourteen perusing the top ten. The disks I shuffled through should have been posted as "non-hits by artists of the past." I turned back towards the chubby boy, who wore jeans and tee shirt so tight as to only make him even less appealing. But perhaps he had a brother or friend about somewhere. Just then, the boy took a top ten 45 from it's paper sleeve, and wrinkled the sleeve up. I turned away so as not to see, or let him see me seeing. When I turned back again a moment later, he had gone. If he had stolen it, I couldn't imagine where he could conceal anything, with his stretched attire, and I sort of resented even seeing his actions. I guess they didn't fit my naive concept of boys. But then I had stolen candy bars as a boy, from the local soda fountain; and extra model car parts out of boxes at Woolworth's, too.

Well, off to the tea-room. Past the TV's and radios, men's, women's, and children's clothing departments, past the major appliances such as ovens, frig's, and Hoovers, way in back by the "Employees Only" door, were the rest rooms; and they were always cold, winter or summer. As I pushed the swinging door in, I saw a lovely boy of about thirteen leaning over a sink combing his lustrous dark brown hair. With both hands stretched over his head, his small blue cotton tee shirt rose away from his waist, revealing a flat pink tummy, belly button and all. All too soon, he turned and walked to the exit as I came in. I swear I felt the heat of his rosy pubescence as we passed; and he looked at me directly from under long dark eyelashes with eyes a blue color between the dark of his little shirt, and the faded tones of his snug fitting blue jeans. I started to wash my hands in the same sink he had stood at, and in the mirror I briefly saw him give me one more look as he went out. If only, oh if only he could have been standing at the urinal, cock out, waiting for me to check him out. But would I have had the nerve to even sneak a peek at his prick? Even if he had wanted me to? I think not; I mean I can't even pee when someone stands at the next urinal. I tighten up so much, piss won't pass. I dried my hands on that brown paper they always seem to use, and I looked at the booths. A middle-aged pair of black shiny shoes were visible below one stall door, with grey slacks, black socks, and hairy ankles attached. That's not what I wanted, what I wanted had just walked out. What was I doing here anyway? I knew I wouldn't see anyone as pretty as that boy, much less pick one up. I certainly wouldn't see him again, for how many times had it been this way? I might as well just go home.

So I walked through the children's, women's, and men's clothes; fiddled with a stereo for a few minutes, turning up the bass and attenuating the treble, until a salesman eager for a commission tried to help me. No thanks is what I told him, just looking, and we each went in different directions. I walked out the first set of doors to the lobby and was struck by the scent of hot dogs. I looked over towards the wagon, but immediately saw instead the chubby boy from the record department racing a wire cart perilously toward the gumball machines, and squatting in the cart was the pretty boy from the washroom. Just as the cart crashed into the gumballs, the lovely lad leapt like a leopard ten feet or more directly onto the black rubber pad that caused the electric "out" door to open and out he went, running around the aluminum hand rail and back in the electric "in" door, over to the little painted pony, perching, grinning like a Cheshire cat, only slightly out of breath. I couldn't help but grin, too, and he saw me.

"Hey, Jerry!" he yelled to the chubby one, who went running to him. They both trotted off outside by the rightmost door, while I then exited by the leftmost door, which was nearest my car. I couldn't look back at him, afraid he would know I was a queer and had the hots for him. Sadly, slowly, I got in my car and started the engine. Then I heard the padding catpaw sound of small sneakered feet run up to the car, and as I looked to my left, there was his cute little nose and sweet smile insinuating himself, leaning on my car, into my heart, and hopefully, my life.

"Hey Mister, this your car?" his still treble voice piped.

"No, I'm just stealing it," I grinned, adding "Yes, it is my car." It was difficult to joke, being so gloriously excited, and terrified at the same time.

"Can I have a ride? Aw, come on, please? I never rode in a sports car before," he rattled off, as if to stop any negative argument I might come up with before I spoke it. But I had none.

"Get in," I said. "Where to?"

"Oh, see that fat kid over there," he asked, "drive over there first, I gotta tell him something." He pointed to Jerry, by the bike chained to the sign. Just as he settled in the bucket seat, I roared the engine, and we took off, over the empty parking lot lines to where Jerry stood. This slender boy all dressed in shades of blue reminded me of that one other time, that one other boy who looked as if this seat, this car were made just for him. This boy threw his head back, smiling contentedly, as a true prince ascending his rightful throne for the first time. "Hey Jerry," he yelled, "Keep my bag 'til tomorrow. You can take your record out of it, but don't steal nothing of mine!"

"Where you going?" Jerry asked, but got only a smile in response. Jerry just shook his head as we drove off onto the highway.

"What's your name?" I asked first.

"Jurgen," he replied, adding, "with a 'J'." although he pronounced the 'J' like a 'Y.'

"Jurgen with a 'J', I'm Will." I told him.

"It's just that every year, at the beginning of school, some jerk teacher, calls out 'jerg-in?', and some jerk kid says 'jerkin' and I gotta pop him."

"Really?" I asked.

"Nah, I don't wanna mess up my fingers for my piano playing." He grinned that sly Cheshire grin again, and I didn't know if he played piano or not, if he popped kids or not. This and not that, that and not this, or neither, or both; he wasn't saying, and I didn't ask.

"How far do you want to go?" I asked; my best attempt to be clever, but he beat me again.

"All the way."

"All the way to where?" I asked more specifically.

He shrugged, still smiling, "I don't know, where were you going before I got in?"

"Well, I was going to go home, but I can take you somewhere else," I replied, tentatively.

"Yeah? What town you live in?" he asked, turning toward me and folding one leg under the other. When I told him what town my house was in, he continued, excitedly, "Yeah? By the Marina? You got a boat?"

"No, I don't have a boat, I live on the other side of town, about two miles from the Marina." I explained.

"Let's go there! To the Marina; I like boats." he said, straightening up in the seat, and facing forward. So I caught the next jughandle and headed back down the highway in the opposite direction.

"What kind of car is this?" Jurgen asked me, as we drove along.

"It's an MG... a nineteen fifty nine MGA, to be exact." I told him.

"Wow, that's older than me," he laughed.

"How old are you?" I asked him.

"Guess."

I guessed "thirteen."

"Aah, I gave it away when I said I was younger than your car," he complained.

"Nope, I guessed it when I first saw you, in the men's room."

"That was you," he turned toward me, then turned back, adding "I thought so."

We turned off the highway, and drove to the Marina, and as I drove slowly by all the different boats, he kept saying things like "That's a big one!" or "Look at that!" until we came to the end of the piers and turned back towards the highway.

"Show me where your house is!" he suddenly pleaded.

"Alright," I agreed, for we were almost there already. It is a small town. I turned the MG into the driveway and parked. "This is it."

"I'm thirsty, you got any Cokes?"he asked.

"Sure, come on in," I said. He looked at the car door for a second, and then at me, but didn't say anything. So I got out, but he couldn't see my hand on the cable to open the door.

"How'd you do that?" he inquired.

"Inside the door pocket, there's a cable running from the front of the door to the back of the door, and it's wrapped in leather. Pull it straight down, and push the door." He got it , and hopped out following onto the front porch. I unlocked the door and we went in. He plopped on the couch, and I said "I'll get those Cokes."

"It's hot in here," he said, just as I headed for the kitchen, "can I take off my shirt?"

Could he ever. "Sure," I shouted from the kitchen, grabbing two Cokes from the frig. I brought them in and placed one in front of him on the small coffee table, and I took a swig and put mine on the opposite side of the table, by the chair, where I was about to sit.

"Sit over here, by me," he said, "I want to ask you something."

"OK," I complied, only too happily, sitting down by him. "What would you like to know?"

"Do you believe in yin and yang?"

"Well, I don't know; I sort of know what it is, but I don't know if I would say I believed in it," I said, "it's sort of like opposites like light and dark, wet and dry, right?"

"Yeah, but it's more than that, it's like the dark and light are equals,too, and that within the dark is the light, and within the light is the dark. I mean, like take a clown, right . He takes off his make-up and he's a man, right, but inside the man is the clown. That's why he wants to be a clown, to put the make-up on, because it's inside of him. And that's why he takes it off, because he's a man, under the make-up. So like the actions of his life are inevitable because he's always becoming the other, you know, the man or the clown."

"Well, Jurgen, you're really into this," I said, "I mean, what could you ask me that you haven't already thought of?"

"I don't want to ask you a question, I want to ask you a favor," he replied, gulping more Coke, "for you to do."

"Okay," I said, "but what can I do? Tell me."

"No, I think you're already doing it," Jurgen said. "I mean, like what did you go shopping for at 'Shoppers Paradise'?"

"Nothing really, just something to do," I offered.

"Not-ah," Jurgen disagreed, "I think you were shopping for me." I smiled, and he continued, "I don't mean to insult you or anything, but when you walked by me in the men's room, and you looked into my eyes, and I looked into yours, and out by the doors when I was up on the horsie saddle and you looked at me, and I looked at you, and a couple of times in the car, I mean I felt chills all over and it felt good. See, you saw something in me and you wanted it, and I want it, too. It's my other self. You're bringing it out in me," he grinned and shrugged his shoulders, "and it feels good." We had both finished our Cokes. "Speaking of feelings, this couch does not feel good when you have no shirt on. What is this material that makes my back itch?"

"Want me to scratch it?" I asked.

"OK," he said, "but no fingernails."

"I don't really have any to speak of," I said, as I caressed and scratched his back with my fingertips and palms, spiderlike, tenderly.

"Ooh," he shook his head, "that feels good."

I couldn't believe my apparent good fortune. Whether he really believed in this philosophizing, or if it was just a line, I didn't care; for he was obviously trying to seduce me, and I determined to let him do exactly that. As I gently rubbed his back with fingertips, and then my warm palm and forearm, he turned slightly now and then to indicate a new area of divine flesh hungry for caress, guiding my hand with a small thrust of a shoulder, a raising of an arm, and little ooh's and aah's; until I had come around to his chest as he threw his head back and softly closed his eyes. I maneuvered myself on the couch so that I could use both hands and arms, one for his back, arms and shoulders, one for his magnificently hairless adolescent chest, wondering if I dared to place a kiss on a darling alizarin tinted dime sized boy nipple. No, not yet, just a loving thumb twirl on each stiffened little point, and a glide of both hands down towards that other, hidden stiffness, past his charmingly indented belly button.

"It would be better if I could lie down," he whispered, and, opening his eyes, added, "and not on this scratchy couch."

"Would you like to go in my bedroom?" I offered, barely finding my voice, and still not sure that what was happening was what he wanted. Surely, it must be.

"Where is it, over here?" he asked, getting up from the couch, and heading towards the bedroom. Clever boy. Actually, there isn't much to my house. Since I had already demonstrated that the one doorway off of the living-dining room was to the kitchen, obviously the other doorway must lead to the bedroom. Actually, there are two bedrooms, the first being mine, and down the hall, I used the other as a kind of office. He led me to my bed. He kicked off his sneakers before lying down. He grinned up at me, placing his hands behind his head, sinking into my pillow. It may be silly of me to say, but his armpits were hairless, too.

"Should I take my shirt off, too?" I asked.

"Go ahead."

I quickly pulled my shirt off, and sat on the edge of the bed. I placed my hands on his sides and slid them up to his armpits and then over his slender boy arms, and as I did, my chest came into contact with his, and I nestled my face against his tender neck. I licked and kissed him there, and over his fineboned shoulder, to lick his armpit, and taste the sweet oil of adolescent summer perspiration, and savour the salty tang of his taut boy chest, and tingle his tiny nipple with my tongue. Momentarily, I backed away as a concession to focused sight, and beheld an angel face in the throes of ecstasy. I couldn't begrudge his seeming lack of response as I observed his childlike nostrils panting passionately. I was thrilled to be the supplicant at this altar of sacredness. His eyes opened briefly, fluttering closed. I imparted a kiss upon one eyelid, then a cheek, and then his full, pouty lower lip. Again I opened my eyes to guage his response, venturing another kiss to that same lip, licking it, sucking it, pulling it into my mouth, between my lips, and gently letting it go, a gossamer thread of our mixed saliva stretching, snapping softly back upon our lips, as cool, wet baubles. As he opened his eyes again, a delicate smile said yes, yes, more. Wordlessly, I propped myself up on one elbow, and ran one finger of my free hand down his chest and abdomen, swirling filigrees about his navel, and resting my hand on the zipper of his blue jeans, pressing my palm against the risen rod. Glimmers of noonday sun snuck past the blinds and bushes beyond that blessed us with privacy, and struck the copper button that begged to be undone. It was his hand that reached the shiny copper button first, nimble fingers releasing it to reveal the thin blue pinstripes on the elastic of white briefs. The rest would be up to me. I pulled the unzipper. I placed my fingers into his front pockets and tugged towards his toes. He raised his fanny to assist, plopping down against the white sheets, wrinkling the belt loops under his slender thighs. In deference to his adolescent polymorphic sensuality, and mine, I resolved that this would be no quickie. I jumped up and hopped to the foot of the bed, grabbing the cuff end of each jeans leg, and pulled the denim enslavement clear off of him. I also removed his white socks, for they would be out of place on a completely naked boy, as Jurgen was shortly to become. I quickly delivered myself from jeans, shoes, and underwear as well, laying back across his thighs to cuddle the white briefs and the treasures within. I tenderly stroked the throbbing member that strained beneath the sweet smelling cotton, it's tip nearly lifting the elastic waistband, oozing a clear pre-joyous puddle that soaked through the white fabric. Gingerly, I lifted the elastic band to free the tender column of ecstasy, licking the glistening droplets that remained as if they were delicious egg drop soup. Once past the proud prick, the briefs slid to Jurgen's thighs as he raised his fanny again to assist. My arm under his knees, the briefs were liberated completely, and I tossed them to the floor atop his recumbent jeans. I proceeded to massage, caress, kiss and lick every part of him known to sun or moon, as well as places known to neither. His skin was strangely pale in the filtered daylight, showing no tan lines at hips or thighs, in fact, he was all of a color, even his cock and balls, save for those stiff little nipples sticking up like rusty thumbtacks. His paleness was radiant, however, a rosy warmth that glowed from within him and felt so good to absorb. I felt like I was destined to absorb his radiance like a steel rod in a nuclear reactor, despite it being an already warm day. As I loved his wholeness, making my wholeness make love, with one hand I began to tickle his balls and squeeze his cock. He would occasionally hug me or squeeze my shoulder. That was enough for me, for there was only one god in my universe, and it was he. I was but his supplicant, his novitiate. I slithered my octopus arms and insatiable tongue down upon his groin. The urgent stiffness of his slender cock was graceful in it's soft curve and hard throbbing. Above this treasure a few soft willowy hairs sprouted from his pubis mons to tickle my nose as I slid my face over his entire penis. It slid into my mouth so easily. It throbbed so insistently, and more rhythmicly, until he suddenly said,

"Stop!"

"Did I do something wrong?" I asked, letting his glistening cock drop from my mouth.

"No, but I was about to come." he said.

"Is that bad?" I inquired, fearful of some new strange idea.

"Nah," he breathily replied, "I just gotta relax." I stretched my body alongside his, as he quietly added, "I don't want it to be over yet." Neither did I, actually, so I touched and tickled his wonderful nakedness as he caught his breath. I gently sculpted his dark chocolate hair, and peered from an angle into his ultramarine eyes. He smiled, and I couldn't resist running my fingertips over his shapely alizarin tinted lips.

"Phuh! Cut it out," he giggled, "that tickles!"

The sweetness in his smile graced me, as if it were from heaven, if there is such a place. I felt blessed. I felt lucky. Yes, there is such a place. It is right here with him, now. I looked down at our crotches. Both our boners were waiting for more.

"I just didn't want to be fucked after I already came," he abruptly said, continuing, "My asshole gets too tight after I come."

"I won't fuck you if you don't want it." I said, secretly amazed at his seeming knowledge of the physical effect of experiences. I didn't get a chance to think about that, though, for he suddenly rolled over onto his belly.

"But I do want it," he said, facing the headboard. Turning a conspiratorial grin towards me, he repeated softly, "I do want it."

I knew it was possible, I had done it once before. That other boy, who had left me with a vacant seat in my MG, and who had taken a piece of my heart with him. I looked at Jurgen's round little fanny, at the slenderness of his hips. It's true they both were built the same, that's how I liked boys. After so much time, I was lucky again.

"Okay," I said, and kissed his lips before clambering over him. Being more of a yogi than an athlete, I sat over his thighs, putting my weight on my knees rather than on him, but spread eagled like a lotus position turned upside down. This left my hands free, and I kneaded his small white buns like two raw balls of bread dough, and massaged his back, then scooting down so I could kiss his thighs and balls from behind, and what the hell, I rimmed him. In those days before disease, such a sweet butt easily overwhelmed me. I brought my knees back to the mixed up lotus position, so that my balls were directly over his puckered little hole, backing up just enough to rub the tip of my cock deeply in his crack. I rubbed it up and down, from his tail to his balls. This caused my pre-come to flow , which was good, since I didn't have any KY around, and also caused his hole to relax a little. The tip went in, but I didn't push any further. I was afraid I'd hurt him. I pushed just the tip in and out for a while, pressing this side, and then that side as I went and then I pressed my cock towards his balls as I went in and out and he relaxed more and I slid halfway in, then all the way in.

"Ooh," he moaned.

"Does it hurt?" I asked.

"No," he mumbled, breathlessly, "it's just big."

"It's okay?" I whispered, hoping because it felt so good.

"Mmmn..." was the affirmative reply, his lips parted.

I brought my knees back so my thighs pressed against his, and my hips squished his soft round fanny as I drove my dick in as far as it could go. My chest pressed against his back and I licked his ear and face as our perspiration made us slide together. I wiggled my hips side to side as I plunged in and out of his hole with longer and deeper strokes, pressing heavier to make us one. I felt like I was going further into him, fucking into his stomach, fucking into his heart. I heard him moan. It was a good moan. I had heard that moan before, and it thrilled me. Oh my. His hole started to tighten. Oh my. I delivered a last couple of shuddering thrusts, and collapsed on him motionless, in sacred afterglow. After several moments, his tightness expelled my now limp member, and at last his eyes revealed their moist blueness accompanied by an exhausted DaVinci grin as I slid off to contemplate his beautiful face. As he stretched his adolescent limbs like a cat, he rolled away casually, revealing a creamy pearlescent puddle, a testament to our mutual ecstasy and joy. I felt so happy.

"You came, too," I observed. He just lay there grinning, like that Cheshire cat again, his lapis like eyes staring into my thoughts, my happiness. Finally his lips came together to make a sound.

"Mmmm." he murmured, eyes fluttering closed again, as he rolled onto his back. I pressed one ear to his chest, and we rested like big cats after a feast.

"I've got to go," he said, after awhile.

"Let's get something to eat," I suggested.

"No, I've really got to go. I have to mow the lawn, or my father'll kill me."

"How dare he!" I only half joked. "Well, let me drive you home, then."

"Okay," he said, and we hopped to, cleaning up in the bathroom, and returning our attire to our immodest bodies, him grinning all the while, and saying "stop looking at me, you're making me stiff again."

"Good." I replied.

"Oh, no you don't," he laughed, "or I'll never get out of here."

"Good." I replied again. He just kept laughing, all the way out to the MG, and I followed. I asked, "Where am I driving you to?"

"Shopper's Paradise," he said, "I live in the apartments behind there, but it's better to drop me off at the parking lot of Shopper's Paradise. You know."

I didn't know, but I didn't want to make an issue of it, because I desperately wanted to see him again, tonight, tomorrow, next weekend, whenever. I had written my phone number on a slip of paper before we left the house, and I gave it to him as we pulled into the lot at Shopper's Paradise.

"Call me whenever you want," I told him. "Really. Just to talk, or I can pick you up anytime you want, anywhere you want." In my desperation, I even added, "I can teach you how to drive this little monster."

"Yeah? Cool," he responded, but followed with, "well, I really got to go," and sticking out his hand, said "see ya."

I grasped his hand in both of mine, and whispered, "Do me a favor, pretend I'm your favorite uncle and give me a kiss." He kissed me quickly, and his hand slipped out of mine as he slipped out of the MG. He shut the car door and stayed, leaning, pressing both his thighs against the car for a moment, then he backed away, waving.

"See ya. I'll call ya. Maybe next weekend."

"Take care, Jurgen," I said, waving too, "see ya."

He kept backing away, then spun on the balls of his feet, still waving as he walked away, and shouted one more time from a distance, "see ya."

I had to go, too, something told me I had to drive away, quickly, so I slammed the gearbox and rode off, waving between gears, and when I looked in the rearview mirror, he was gone.

Perhaps some of you know the special pain of waiting for the call that never comes, I spent the next several weekends alone that way. I even drove over to Shopper's Paradise many times, looking for Jurgen, but no luck. Although the few moments of pleasure can't make up for the long days of pain, those few moments make life livable. So I truly owe my life to Jurgen. And a handful of other boys.

Oh, incidentally, after a great long while, I did finally see Jurgen again, but that is another story, for another day.