Alhad

---

Alhad

by
Draeconin Istraith

~ 1 ~

I hadn't had a normal childhood, so I don't know why I ever thought things might be different once I was an adult and running my own life.

I had just turned twenty-two a few months ago. I owned and ran my own company, although I didn't have to. Not meaning
to brag, but I could easily have hired someone to run it for me. Between my parents' life insurance policies and what I was
paid by the airline for my parents' deaths, plus the income from my father's company, I was a millionaire a couple of times
over. Add to that what my parents had been worth on their own - another three million in liquid assets - and I was quite
wealthy. By the time I was old enough and knew enough to take over the company's reins, my guardian had, through investments,
stock portfolios and judicious growth of the company, increased my liquid assets by another three quarters of a million.
That doesn't include the value of the company or other investments. My total worth at age twenty-two was something like eighteen
and a half million.

What? You think I was too young to be running my own company? Normally you'd be right, but I had been being trained for
this since I was twelve years old. What parent would do such a thing? Well, in my case it wasn't a parent. My parents died
just before I turned twelve: a plane crash on their way back from a business trip to celebrate my birthday with me.

Their will named my grandfather as first choice to take care of me, but he had a heart attack when he heard of their accident. He didn't die, but the doctors nixed the idea of his health holding up to the stress of taking care of a twelve-year-old boy.

Their next named choice was an old family friend who was just barely younger than my grandfather. He was John Taylor,
and dad's second in command at the company. Although not gay, he was a confirmed bachelor and didn't have the first idea
of how to take care of a kid: so he treated me like an adult. He took me out to a few ball games and did some other fun
stuff with me, but in the meantime he taught me how to be an adult, and how to take care of a business and make it succeed.

I don't know if it was the way Mister Taylor (I was never allowed to call him anything else) treated me or what, but I
didn't do most of the things that got other boys in trouble. That isn't to say I didn't get in trouble, though: just
not as much or as badly as most other boys. And when I did, boy, did he let me have it! He never hit me, but he could talk
to you in such a way that left you feeling about two inches tall when he was done. I never made the same mistake twice (or
was more careful not to get caught).

On the other hand, he stood behind me and fought for me when I was in the right, so everything balanced out alright. He'd
even comforted me when my grandfather died of another heart attack when I was fifteen, leaving me with no close family.

But with his tutoring I graduated high school at the age of sixteen, and I had a Master's in business by the time I turned twenty-one. He had retired then, a little over a year ago, after spending the previous two years giving me hands-on training in the company's operations in my every spare moment. I guess I was fond of him, but mostly what I felt for the man was a great deal of respect.

We still talked, and I kept him updated with what was going on with the company. He still offered his advice, which was still pretty sound, but we didn't see each other very often. He'd fulfilled his obligation to my father, and it seemed that was about the extent of the meaning those years of me growing up with him had meant to him.

Being rather wealthy, I of course had my fair share of girls wanting the notoriety of dating me, fucking me, or trying
to trap a wealthy husband - and that was in high school. I dated, casually, but never went out with any one girl more than
a couple of times. If they were too forward, I used that as the excuse for breaking up with them. I was only dating them
to protect my secret, after all, and I didn't want to give them hope where it didn't exist.

While I probably did more than my fair share of looking at the guys, especially in the showers after PE, I never had the
courage to do anything about it. It wasn't the thought of approaching someone, so much as the thought of having my high school
life turned into a living hell if I got caught or the guy talked. Oh, I made sure to get martial arts training, and although
I never had enough interest in it to become an expert, I was still pretty good. I just didn't want to have the hassle that
being out of the closet would cause.

I continued the practice my first year in college, until I figured out I didn't have to. The college social system was
entirely different than high school. I didn't flaunt the fact that I was gay even then, though. I didn't go to gay bars,
even though I might have been able to fake my age, but I did cruise a few parks that had the reputation of being gay hot
spots until I gave it up as a bad idea. I got propositioned a few times, but not by anyone I would have wanted to be with:
mostly sleezeballs and old men. I met some nice guys through the college programs though, and I dated a few of them for awhile.
I found out that while bottoming could be pleasurable, I much preferred to top.

But I didn't like to party - not like college students usually party. I like a drink now and then, but I quickly found
out I didn't like how I felt after I sobered up when I got drunk, so I avoided it. Getting drunk just wasn't worth the aftermath,
to me. You know... Even if you don't wind up puking or having a hangover, which is almost guaranteed, you're dragging the
next day.

I was also too conscientious for my boyfriends tastes. I liked to go out and have fun, but only if I was caught up with
everything else I had to do - another habit drilled into me by Mister Taylor. That wore thin quickly with them, so between
the two things, my relationships never seemed to last more than a few months. And since graduating I hadn't had time, nor
the opportunity to meet someone and date. Running a company part-time as a training exercise is a far cry from running it
from day to day, five days a week, and I was just getting to think I was getting the feel of things, even after a year. (The
company ran seven days a week, but I refused to run myself into the ground, and I had the manager take care of things on
the weekends.)

I ran most of the operations of the business from home. What with everything you can do with computers these days, I didn't
usually have to go to the plant. But I still had enough to do that I needed a secretary, and I had a good one. She was an
East Indian woman in her late fifties, and was extremely efficient - almost psychically so - and so easy to get along with
that after three months I felt like I'd known her for years. She'd picked up on the fact that I was gay within about twenty
minutes or so of working with me - maybe sooner. She let me know in a rather off-hand, roundabout way that she knew about
me after about that length of time. It didn't matter to her, it seemed. She continued to treat me the same, and as time went
on, became almost motherly with me.

We talked about all sorts of things other than business, but the business always got done, and usually sooner than I'd expected it to. Within a couple of weeks I'd found that I'd related my whole life to her - pathetic as I thought it to be - and even shared my dreams of finding someone I could love and share my life with.

She'd informed me that she'd had a divorce a few years ago, and lived with her son. That seemed rather strange to me, but I thought maybe her son was retarded or physically disabled or had something else wrong with him that meant he couldn't live on his own. With her age, the guy must be between maybe twenty-five and forty years old.

One day when she answered the phone, it turned out to be for her. It had happened occasionally, and since it didn't hurt her work performance and she always kept it short, I never said anything about it. This time was a little different, since I could hear her arguing quietly with the person on the other end of the line.

"Priya?" (Her full name was Priyamvada, which I was told means 'sweet spoken', but of course, being an American, I had to shorten it. It would be almost a year before I found out that my foreshortening of her name didn't mean 'sweet', but 'beloved'. It was her private joke at my expense.)

"It's my son, Mister Jons," she said apologetically in her soft accent. "He's locked himself out and wants to come wait for me here."

I thought about it for a couple of seconds. Priya was a very good employee and had become something of a friend. I didn't want to make a decision that would make her unhappy or create difficulties for her. "Of course. Does he have cab money, or will you need to go get him?" If he could use a cab...

"I will ask." A few seconds later, she said, "He thinks he may have enough. If not, I can make up the difference when he gets here. Would that be alright?"

"Yes, of course." Not physically disabled, then; or at least not enough to prevent him from using public transport. And if there was anything wrong with her son's mind, that couldn't be too disabling, either. The puzzle of Priya's son was getting more mystifying - but hopefully it would be solved by his arrival.

About forty-five minutes later, it was. When the bell rang, Priya went to answer it, and came back into the office with a young boy who looked to be about fourteen, and who was looking around him in wonder. I rose to greet him, smiling at his reaction to my home.

Well, my place is rather unusual. It's a monolithic dome house, utilizing three large interlocked domes, and has
two stories in all of them. Being very near the coast and in a wooded area, I had chosen this type of construction for its
durability. It was proof against hail, fire and tornadoes, and was flood resistant; at least the structure couldn't be
hurt. Plus, during construction it could be cut and molded to some pretty fanciful shapes, and I'd taken advantage of some
of those to provide porches and balconies. It had the additional benefit of being very well insulated due to the construction
method, and I don't think my energy bills for heating and cooling had surpassed forty or fifty dollars in any one month.
Extremely good, considering the size of the place.

I had it built, with advice from Mister Taylor, to provide disabled entry and usage if necessary (one never knows what the future may hold), but I also had a few swirling stairways made of wrought iron, and a couple of swooping concrete ribbons of stairs, both of which I preferred to use. Good exercise. All the windows had camouflaged steel shutters that could be operated electronically or manually, and received an inspection every six months, as did the security system.

The ground floor of one dome provided storage space and a rec room with a pool table, a large video game system, and a large-screen television. Most of the front half of the ground floor of the middle dome was left open as an outdoor covered sitting area, complete with a small waterfall and koi pool surrounded by shade-loving plants. The rear half housed a fairly large lift, the central heating and cooling system, a curving ramp to the second floor, and so on. Most of the bottom floor of the third was my office, although there was also a guest room and a small bathroom with sink and shower. Everything else - except the indoor pool - kitchen, bedrooms, living room with large picture window, and bathrooms, was on the second floor.

The garage for my van, pickup truck (a four-wheel drive model), and car was attached, although not a part of the house itself.

But the boy was what caught my attention. Hell, his very presence seemed to root my every sense to him. As I said before, he looked to be about fourteen. He was about five foot four inches tall, which was about an inch taller than his mother. His hair was unfashionably long and very black; finer than his mother's salt-and-pepper locks, as some of the fly-away wisps attested to. His skin was a light amber color, much lighter than his mother, who was as dark as most East Indians. His face was softly oval, his nose small, and his lips almost overly full, his eyes dark and sparkling, with long, dark lashes. His form was graceful, lithe, and he almost seemed to dance as he moved. In short, he was one of the most beautiful boys I had ever seen.

He saw me and paused, with a smile. Our eyes met, and he froze.

The impact was such that my knees felt weak. I carefully sat down.

"My master," he whispered, a joyous light growing in his eyes.

"Alhad! Are you sure?" Priya asked in a worried tone.

The boy - Alhad, it seemed - was already moving towards me as he calmly replied, "Yes."

Our eyes were locked as he approached. When he was three feet from me, he gave me a half-bow, then stepped to the side of my chair, turned towards his mother and knelt at my side, sitting on his heels and placing a possessive hand on my chair. Somehow I knew it was in lieu of touching me.

"Wouldn't you be more comfortable in a chair?" I asked him. My voice was just a bit shaky, I noticed.

He smiled into my eyes and shook his head. Though he didn't say so, it seemed the chairs were too far away.

Confused, I finally looked away from him to his mother. "Priya?" I asked, begging for help. The meeting had shaken me, but not so much that I wasn't bewildered by the boy's actions.

"May I sit?" she asked in formal tones.

That only served to confuse me further. We had never, after the first few days of her employment, been formal with each other, and she had never asked permission to sit. As far as I was concerned, she never needed to.

With a puzzled frown, I said, "Of course."

After Priya had made herself as comfortable as one could get in that overly formal 'upright, locked and loaded' position, and arranged her hands very formally in her lap, she began speaking.

"When Alhad was four years old, he began telling his father and me about his kind master, and how he was hoping to meet him again. He would not be dissuaded, even by the counselors and psychiatrists his father sent him to over the years. When he was ten, he told us he preferred boys to girls. His father left soon after. Evidently you are the 'kind master' he has been waiting to be reunited with."

I just stared at her in bewildered shock. What was she talking about? Reincarnation? Soul mates? What? I mean sure, there
had been... something... there - between us. But... master? What was he supposed to be, then? A slave? No way! I wasn't
into that kind of scene.

This was going to take some sorting out. I turned to the computer, sent off a bulletin to the company that I would not be available for the rest of the day, re-routed the phone to the office at the company, then shut everything down.

"I think we need to talk," I told her - although I'm sure she knew exactly why I had been doing what I had. But I wanted more comfortable surroundings. I seemed to be the only one who didn't know what was going on, and I needed the comfort of my personal turf. "Upstairs," I directed, getting up.

Alhad instantly rose to get out of my way, stepping back a bit. When I walked towards the spiral stairs at the rear of this portion of the building, he followed a step behind, Priya a few steps behind him. I showed them to the living room, and invited them to take a seat, which they did.

"Would you like some coffee or tea, Priya?" I offered. "Or perhaps a glass of wine?"

With a glance at her son, whose eyes were following my every movement - a fact I was all too aware of - she replied, "Wine, please, sir."

"What's your preference; white, red, rosé?"

"White, if it's no trouble."

"None at all," I replied.

"Alhad, would you like a cola, or would you prefer something else?" He seemed to be worshipping me with his eyes, which was making me very uncomfortable; especially in front of his mother. It should have been me worshipping him - or at least his beauty - but again, not in front of his mother. I was glad I had enough self-control not to stare back at him.

He dropped his eyes as my attention focused on him, and a faint blush colored his cheeks. "I'm fine, thank you," he murmured.

I frowned slightly. That sounded like a polite lie, and that wouldn't do. But I wouldn't push it and make him more uncomfortable;
I'd just take care of it myself.

I must admit that my education in wines is lacking. I just drink what I like, and stock my wine rack accordingly. Scanning what I had, I called out, "I have Zeller Schwartz Katz, Chenin Blanc, and Liebfraumilch - Blue Nun."

"If you don't have anything open, I'll just have a nice cup of tea," she replied.

She was being polite to the point of being difficult. Rolling my eyes, I grabbed a bottle of the Zeller Schwarz Katz, tore off the plastic cork protector, and removed the cork. I poured a glass for both her and myself, grabbed a coke out of the 'fridge, filled a glass with ice from the 'fridge door dispenser, and returned to the living room with the drinks and the glass of ice on a tray. I set the coke and glass of ice on the coffee table in front of Alhad, and politely handed Priya her glass of wine.

"It's the Zeller Schwarz Katz," I told her. "It's slightly more crisp than the others, but not too much so. I hope you like it."

When I sat down in an overstuffed chair close to Priya so we could talk, Alhad got up from where he'd been sitting to kneel by my side again. I was a bit exasperated; not only because I had no idea why he was acting that way, but because he couldn't possibly be as comfortable as sitting where he had been. Not thinking of what I was doing, I acted on my impulse and stroked his hair, drawing his startled eyes to mine.

"I don't know why you're acting like this - you don't even know me - but if you must sit close to me, please drag a chair over. You can't possibly be very comfortable like that," I told him.

He smiled at me and did bring a chair over, although he carried it rather than drag it. I just shook my head in bewilderment at him, then turned to his mother. Then I realized that he'd left his drink behind, unopened. I went over to it, opened the can and poured it over the ice in the glass, then set it down in front of him.

"There," I told him. "Now if you truly don't want it, you don't need to drink it, but I won't have you going thirsty because you don't want to put me out."

Again, I turned to his mother.

I was pleased, a minute later, to see him pick the glass up and take a drink.

After about two hours of talking, arguing, and pleading, trying to understand what was going on and arguing about it,
I finally gave up. I couldn't dissuade Alhad from his belief now any more than the professionals or his parents could when
he was small. The only difference now being, from what I could understand, that instead of saying 'I belong with my kind
master' when he was young, he was now saying, 'I belong by your side'. He refused to meet my eyes during any of this discussion,
and he never got emotional about it. It was just a calm statement of fact, as far as he was concerned.

As for Priya... Well, she was no help at all. She'd been through this for years with him, and although she'd passively supported her husband's efforts to dissuade Alhad from his course, in her culture such things happened from time to time, and their tendency was to just accept it. She loved her son, a 'change of life' child, and was going to prevent erecting any barriers to him getting what he wanted in this regard. She stated the facts as she knew them, told me she wasn't going to interfere, and then proceeded to knock down every objection I could come up with, except those that she just ignored, such as when I kept saying 'he's too young'.

"He has wanted his 'kind master' for over ten years. He now says that's you," Priya told me stoically before again anxiously turning to her son.

"You are sure he's the one, Alhad?" she asked for what must have the sixth time.

"I'm sure," was his shy, but undoubting reply.

Priya sighed, and looked at me again. "You see?" she asked. "And I can see that you're attracted to him. Don't try to deny it, Bradley," she interrupted as I opened my mouth to do just that. It was the first time she had ever called me by my first name, but considering the circumstances, I figured she had the right.

But what man in fear of imprisonment for his feelings for an under-aged boy wouldn't deny such a thing? Although this was certainly the oddest thing that had ever happened to me. To begin with, I'd never felt this way towards someone this young before. Oh, I'd certainly appreciated their beauty, form and grace, but in the abstract way one appreciates the beauty of a painting. Never with lust. And I had to admit that I wanted to possess this boy. But he also elicited feelings of tenderness and protectiveness from me. No, I couldn't say that I loved him. I'd just met the boy, and we hadn't even really spoken yet. But there was fertile soil for love to grow in. It would be easy to love him, if his personality was as sweet as the rest of him.

I closed my eyes and leapt into the abyss. "Okay, Priya. Yes." I glanced at Alhad to see how he'd taken that admission. His face was glowing happily. "Yes, I'm attracted to him. But what the hell is all this 'master' shi- stuff?"

"That word bothers you?" she asked.

"Hell, yes, that word bothers me!" I exclaimed strongly. "I don't want that kind of relationship
with anyone! I want a loving part-"

"Good!" she said triumphantly, interrupting me with a broad smile. "In that case, I give my blessing!"

It was a second before I realized that she'd addressed that last sentence to her son.

I looked at him. His face was a bright red now, and he was still staring at the carpet, but his pleased smile reached ear to ear.

I was in 'way too deep over my head, and I now had the feeling that the walls were closing in. I needed a break; some time to absorb the situation and try to find a way to deal with it.

The pangs of hunger had been gnawing at me for awhile, now. I looked at the clock over the mantle. It was getting close to six. Another dilemma. Ordinarily I would have thrown a steak on the char-broiler or gone out to dinner, but I had company - of a sort - so should I order out, invite them to a restaurant with me? Send them home and then do something about... No. That one wouldn't do. It would be rude.

"It's getting late, and I'm sure you're both as hungry as I am. Let's go out to a restaurant, then we can try to figure more of this out," I suggested.

"I really should be getting home," Priya said.

Something was wrong with that sentence. "You mean you and Alhad?"

Priya pointedly looked at her son, directing me, with it, to look also. Alhad was still looking at the carpet, still not meeting my gaze, but he had a rather stubborn look on his face.

"Alhad?" I said.

"My place is by your side," he said, leaving no room for argument.

"He won't change his mind," Priya told me gently.

"Alhad, people will ask questions if I'm living alone here with someone as young as you," I told him, trying to reason with him.

Alhad looked up, and my heart just about broke as I saw the fear and unshed tears in his eyes. "You would send me away?" he whispered almost soundlessly.

"Only at night," I told him, making an on-the-spot compromise. "And you still need to go to school."

The tears fell, and were followed by others. I looked at his mother helplessly.

I saw pain, helplessness, and a little anger in her eyes. 'Hold him,' she mouthed at me, before turning away to look out the windows.

By the time I looked back to Alhad, he had slid out of the chair into a heap on the floor.

I got down on the floor with him and gathered him into my arms, where he huddled, clutching my shirt and pressing into me closely, as though I was the only thing that could save him from certain harm.

I looked back up to Priya, who had looked back and was now looking at us with sadness in her eyes.

"What do I do?" I asked her.

She just shook her head, leaving the decision to me. "He needs you," was all she said.

"How?" I demanded. "We just met!" I got no answer. After all, we'd already been over all that.

It sounded like she was saying that he needed to live with me - be with me. But there was no way that could work. Not unless...

"Do you own your home, or do you have an apartment?" I asked her. I knew that if she lived in an apartment the number would be on her job application, but I didn't recall.

"I rent," she said somewhat accusingly, as though I should have remembered.

I shrugged it off. "That will make it easier."

"What?"

"For you to move in here," I told her as though it was obvious. It was, to me.

Her 'what' was a bit sharper this time, and seemed to question my sanity.

I don't know why I was even considering giving into this situation, but I was reacting on other than a logical level.

"Look," I said, trying to be as convincing as possible, "what you're saying - what I've heard from the
both of you - well, it sounds like you're saying he needs to live here - be near me. It doesn't make any sense. By all rights
I should be calling the men in white coats. But somehow... Well, something strange did happen, and... Okay, so maybe
I'm crazy, too. But he and I living here alone would raise too many questions: questions that couldn't be answered, even
with you working for me. So the easiest thing would be for you to move in here, too."

She was smart enough to fill in the blanks in that, and I was counting on her wanting to be near Alhad.

Alhad had quieted quite a bit during that little conversation. I had no doubts that he was listening very closely.

"Mom? Please?" he said, not loosening his grip on me one bit.

Maybe his brain had finally kicked into gear as well, instead of just running on instinct, as it seemed he'd been
doing.

"I... You're right, of course," she said hesitantly."But what would be my excuse for moving in?"

I shrugged. "Housekeeper, personal assistant... We can come up with something."

She looked thoughtful, and then said, "I would insist on paying rent."

It seemed the decision was made. Now it was just down to haggling.

"Not a chance," I refuted. "I might not understand what's going on here, but the two of you make it sound
like Alhad and I are supposed to be together. If it works out that way, you would be like my mother-in-law; and I don't
charge relatives to live with me."

Alhad giggled and snuggled into me, the picture of contentment now that we were working to accommodate him. Too strange. I felt like I was in one of those episodes of that old TV show "Twilight Zone" that they show on Nick at Night. In less than four hours my life had been turned completely upside down. What was even more strange is that I'd forgotten for a moment that Alhad was in my arms. Well, not forgotten exactly, so much as not really conscious of it. He felt completely natural there.

I kept thinking of this boy as a liability - something that was going to get me thrown in prison - and I didn't even know for sure how old he was.

"How old are you?" I quietly asked him.

"I'll be sixteen in two weeks," was his equally quiet answer.

So. A young man, rather than a boy. Not quite as bad as I'd thought, but the law of the land wouldn't care if those two weeks were before his eighteenth birthday, if we were caught. I'd need to cover my ass, legally, as much as possible. I knew a gay-friendly lawyer - a former boyfriend. I didn't think he'd gone into this area of law, but I could ask him for references about who to contact for advice about this.

My stomach grumbled, reminding me we still hadn't eaten.

"Look, let's all go out to eat, first. It's getting too late to cook, Priya, so let me treat you. Then you can go home, and we can discuss this further tomorrow. Alhad can sleep in one of the guest rooms for tonight." I felt him tense a little at this, but I'd fight it out with him after we'd eaten. As tempting as he might be, I wasn't going to jump his bones before getting to know him at least a little. Then...? We'd see.

I took them to a 'surf and turf' style restaurant where Priya ordered a seafood platter. Alhad, my golden boy, ordered a shrimp basket, and I got a sirloin tip and lobster plate. Alhad busied himself getting our drinks from the self-serve drink and deserts island while his mother and I visited the salad bar.

While we were doing that, Priya told me a little more about Alhad's father, and her life with him. He had been a British
soldier (which explained Alhad's light skin) on leave in India when they met. After a whirlwind romance, she had run away
from home to marry him, and he had taken her with him back to the UK. He'd become a tradesman after leaving the military,
but had thought he could do better in the Americas. So they packed up the two children they had by then and everything they
owned, and off to America they went.

Unfortunately he hadn't done any better here than he had there, and had taken to drinking. He wasn't a mean drunk, but
the habit had done nothing to improve their situation, depleting their resources instead. Despite that they'd raised their
two children, and sent them off into the world. Alhad had come along just as they were settling into a rather gloomy middle
age, surprising them.

It was then that I learned the meaning of Alhad's name - 'joy'. He had brightened up their lives. But Albert - Albert Lee (I'd mistakenly assumed that 'Lee' was an Indian surname as well as being popular in other cultures under different spellings) - had become more withdrawn from first the boy, and then from her when Alhad had started talking about his missing master. Alhad's announced sexual orientation had been the last straw for Albert, and he'd simply packed a suitcase, and left. The divorce papers had arrived a few months later.

As abandonment stories involving gay children go, this one was almost a non-event - but it still made me resentful that
it could happen. But we were back at the table by that time, and I didn't want to upset Alhad by talking about it, so I let
it drop.

The rest of the meal went pleasantly enough, and I did get to know Alhad a little better. For one thing his mother had
learned the fine art of mothers everywhere - how to totally humiliate their children through telling tales of their childhood.
Among other things, Alhad, it seems, had been a diehard nudist who hadn't given up going naked in their home until he was
almost twelve, and starting puberty. In a perfectly audible whisper she told me that she suspected he still did it when she
wasn't home.

My speculative look at him didn't go unnoticed by either of them, and he and I both blushed fiercely while Priya smirked at us.

The thing is, I rather liked to feel the air on my skin, too. And since I didn't have any close neighbors, at least not any close enough to see through the trees, I'd even wandered around my small yard a few times, letting the breeze caress every part of me. If Priya moved in, and that seemed to be the way things needed to work, then that would have to end. Unless we set up schedules? But she'd need access to the kitchen. Perhaps I could move her into the guestroom off the office and convert part of the office into a kitchenette? It wouldn't take much room, and...

"Mister Jons!"

I blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"You should be, if you were thinking what I think you were thinking," Priya teased me.

I blushed hard again, but said, "Actually, I was thinking that we could convert the guest bedroom off the office
into a small apartment for you. The office is sprawled all over the place and really doesn't need that much room, so if we
condensed it into a smaller space, we could put a small living room and kitchenette in there."

Priya looked at me blankly for a few moments, then a slow grin overtook her face. "And this would be in pursuit of what, exactly?" she asked me knowingly.

Damn. Maybe I should just get a can of red paint and save my vascular system the trouble.

"Er... Freedom of expression?" I replied sheepishly.

A quick glance at Alhad showed me that he might appreciate a gift of a can of paint, too, if of a slightly different tint.

Priya didn't quite roar out her laughter, but even with her natural restraint it appeared to be a close thing.

Well, at least there was the enclosed pool where we could go skinny dipping. I still meant to have that apartment built
- just in case.

Ah, yes. I've mentioned the pool a couple of times, haven't I? The swimming pool was a largish kidney-shaped affair in
its own dome to the back of the house, reached through a short buried tunnel from the central dome of the house. One entrance
was at ground level. A spiral staircase from the second story deposited you in the tunnel next to that door, and there was
a door from the dome itself to the outdoors that could be used in case of emergencies.

The pool area also contained a couple of large-ish changing cubicles, a sauna, a large four-man shower (in case of parties),
a small wet bar that I would only stock when I had a party (none, yet), a hot tub built into the shallow end of the pool,
and a bathroom with both a toilet and a urinal. And there were large panels of UV-cutting bullet-proof glass (because it
was strong and would stand up to hail, wind-blown debris, and so on) in the roof that could be opened to the night sky on
warm days and nights.

Finally Priya relented of her teasing, and we relaxed with a final cup of coffee for me, tea for her, while Alhad helped
himself to the dessert bar. I must say that the concoction he came up with looked good: a brownie topped with caramel sauce,
topped with vanilla ice cream, more caramel sauce over that, and sprinkled liberally with nuts. I do think the candy sprinkles
were too much, though.

When he was done, and had assured me that he had eaten enough, I took them both back to my place so Priya could retrieve
her car. She started to give Alhad the usual 'you be good and do what you're told' speech that all mothers give their children
who are staying overnight away from home, then stopped. It was too dark to know for sure, even with the baby spotlights that
were illuminating the area, but I think she blushed when she realized what she was doing, and realizing just what I might
be having him do. I do know
that she stammered a second or two before she recovered and said her goodnights.

"I'll take good care of him, Mrs Lee," I told her, "and I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, Mister Jons." She hesitated and looked as though she wanted to add something else as she glanced from me to her son and back, but she just said, "Good night."

'Liebfraumilch' literally means 'free wife milk'. A loose translation might be 'mother's milk'.

Copyright © 2006 by Shamyn Whitehawk