Chad, the Ideal Lad

©2009 Herb Cat. Do not reproduce or distribute this story without the author's permission.

As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herb_Cat@mailcity.com. Thank you.

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Our narrator meets the boy who will be changing his life over the next few months. I think by the end of the story you will agree this is the ideal lad.

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We were basking in the sun, feeling very lazy, just sitting and reading out back. Well, I was reading; Barney isn't all that into books. And to be accurate, he wasn't sitting either, or basking, but lying on the grass in the shade beneath my bench. Barney felt more secure in this cave behind my legs, where he could ignore the raucous cackles of the kids in the swimming pool. Though I couldn't see him there, I knew he was curled up, eyes closed, nose tucked into his tail.

The late morning sun was getting hot, even for July, and I was glad I was wearing only my khaki shorts and olive green T. I turned the page. I had already read Three Cups of Tea when it first came out, so this time I didn't need to concentrate too closely. I had a manuscript back on my desk written by an Afghan woman who went on to college and eventually became a doctor. Before looking at her autobiographical account, I wanted to take a second look at Mortenson's book.

I could see why it was the #1 New York Times Bestseller. It's a gripping tale. Although I knew how it all turned out, it still captivated me. That's why I was startled to hear quiet giggling beneath my ass. I knew my ass didn't usually giggle, and neither did Barney. Both had other ways of showing their pleasure. In fact, I now felt Barney's tail lashing my shin, and I realized he was awake, content, and had company.

"Hi, there," I said as I peered over the back of the bench to see a skinny bare wet bony spine, and the waistband of a bathing suit. The legs were folded under his chest, and the head was out of sight.

"He's a nice dog, Mister," replied a voice under my ass.

"And you must be a very nice boy. Barney doesn't usually warm up to strangers." I wasn't naturally a dog person. But Phillip was and I learned to love his dogs as I loved everything else about that man. Phillip had a soft spot for strays, which was why at 23 he let a mixed-up sixteen-year old into his home and heart. We were together almost twentyfive years. Jake, his last mutt, a bulldog, died two months before Phillip. Desperately lonely, I visited the shelter soon after and adopted Barney, a beagle mix. That was two years ago.

"What's his name, Mister?"

"Barney. What's yours?"

"Chad. Hehe. He's licking my face."

"He must like the way you smell." Wisps of chlorine had by then entered my nostrils. I closed my book, and sat there listening to the sounds of boyish and canine glee and trying to picture the scene under me. I took another peek over the back of the bench and assumed, judging from his upper back which was all I'd seen so far, Chad was between eight and ten. The boy was bony, every rib and vertebra clearly defined, which reminded me of Jefferson, even though this boy was white and Jeff was black.

I remembered the day Jefferson's mother walked into my music store, trailed by this skinny eleven-year old carrying a beatup trumpet. It had belonged to his late grandpa and the mother wanted to know if it could be fixed up. It had no mouthpiece, one valve was stuck, one slide was missing, the bell was misshapen and the cork on the spitcock was dried out. But it was a Hohner, so the parts would be easy to replace, and it seemed to be otherwise sound. It was obvious the family finances were tight, so I offered to fix it for free and give Jefferson a few lessons, but only if he promised to practice every day.

By the end of the third lesson, we'd established a routine. Jefferson would arrive at the shop, trumpet in his hand, and a big toothy grin on his face. We'd go into one of the soundproofed windowless booths and both strip down to our undies and sit with our butts abutting on a piano bench. I turned the music and pointed out things with my right hand while my left arm went around his shoulder or his waist. After an hour during which I kept praising his progress, we packed up the music and the instrument and then helped each other out of our underwear which were both well filled by then. We kissed, fondled each other, and finally sucked each other off. I can still picture those big white eyes looking up at me and those black lips working on my cock. After six months, we had progressed to rimming each other, and fingering each other's anus. I promised him if he did well at his first recital, I'd let him fuck my ass. We were both looking forward to that day, but a week before the recital he moved away.

I recaptured mental images of other boys who had entertained Phillip and me over the years. Scott, Marshall, Aidan, Bobby. I still remember each one by name. And I can remember each one's favorite sports, foods, and games. And of course I can remember each one's lovely prepubescent body, how it looked, smelled, tasted and felt. Our shared love for young boys was one of the many things that bonded Phillip and me together. But since he left, I had not been with any male, young or old. That hot July morning, Chad began to rekindle an inferno of repressed feelings.

I could have sat there the rest of the day, lost in my memories and listening to sweet innocent chortling and canine slurping. I'm sure neither Barney nor Chad was anxious to have the moment end either. But our reverie was suddenly interrupted.

"Muffin! There you are! I've been looking all over for you!"

Chad's head hit the underside of my bench but not enough to 'cause either trauma or tears. He wiggled out and I felt Barney's body pressing tighter against my ankles in the presence of this new stranger. I kicked myself for not asking the boy immediately if his parents knew where he was.

"Hi, Mom! This is Barney!" I was glad to see Chad didn't feel he had to apologize for following his young inclination to investigate the local wildlife.

The woman was in her mid to late twenties and attractive, but her rumpled hair and disheveled jeans and sweatshirt indicated she had just been in the midst of some household project. She turned to me, brushing her long brown bangs out of her eyes with the back of right hand. "I'm sorry. I hope Chad wasn't being a bother to you, Barney." Chad giggled.

I stood and smiled. "Hi, I'm Foster. The dog is Barney." I could see she was ready to issue another "I'm sorry" so I cut her off. "And Chad has certainly been no bother. Barney was enjoying his company." Chad knelt down again and tried to coax the dog back to play, but Barney was too concerned about Chad's mother. He cowered in his makeshift cavern.

"Mom, I'm gonna go back in the pool now." He was polite, but this was a statement, not a request for permission. By now, I had had a good look at this fine specimen. His hair was somewhat lighter than his mother's, close cut around his ears, but long on top and back. When combed, I was sure it would make him even more handsome than he was. His eyes were brown and large, ready to discover all the wonders of this world. He had a diasma in his teeth, a definite asset in my book. A bony lad, he looked about four feet and 50 pounds. I now guessed him to be about 8 or 9. His swim trunks, reaching down to his knees, had mostly dried since his last dip, and he had nothing else on. His bare feet went skipping off.

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As an author, I welcome feedback from readers. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herb_Cat@mailcity.com. Thank you.