Lucretia Pendergast sipped her tea calmly. Her eldest son stood before her, waiting for her to finish. Next to her, Cornelia set down an empty cup on a saucer.

The urge in young Aloysius’ eyes was persistent. She set her cup down prematurely, leaving the tea leaves drifting gently in her unfinished drink. “You wish to speak to me, Aloysius?”

“Yes, mother. May I leave the house and take a walk in the forest tonight?”

Cornelia Pendergast smiled slowly, “I have heard the sky will be clear tonight, Aloysius.”

“Yes, ma’am, I am looking forward seeing the stars, if my mother will allow me.”

“Have you spoken to your father about this?” Lucretia Pendergast seemed undecided.

“No, mother. I cannot find him.”

“I see. Then I suppose you may, but be back by dawn.”

“Thank you. Good night, mother. Good night, ma’am,” he bowed slightly to his great-aunt and left.

“He is such a good boy, Lucretia. You are a lucky woman to have a son like Aloysius,” Cornelia Pendergast refilled both cups of tea.

“Lucky for a boy like Aloysius? I suppose he keeps his manners right, and does well enough in school, but he is so different from sensitive Diogenes. My son Diogenes, he dines with me, and speaks with me, and tells me things. He is a mother’s dream, Cornelia,” her voice was sullen.

“Do not say that. You have two different sons, and you must love each one the way they need to be loved. Aloysius’ only “fault” is his independence, just like his father, and his father’s father. He is a Pendergast, Lucretia!” she gestured wildly as she stood up, “I remember when you loved that about Magnus!” the old woman paused, and turned to walk away, “...I remember when you loved Magnus.”

Lucretia Pendergast put her head in her hands.



Aloysius moved silently through a large field. He ran his hands through the tall yellow grass and found his way by the light of the stars. The night was hot and wet and alive, so much like him. He could hear the long drones of the mating dragonflies, and felt the ground beneath him give a little with each step.

Finally, on the horizon, he saw the faint light of oil lanterns, and surrounding them, the shadow of a cottage against the heaven-lit darkness. His shirt was sticking to his damp body, and his blond hair fell in his eyes. In the cottage, a black shape moved across a lit window; Aloysius’ pulse quickened, and he began to run.



The little carved door swung inward by the hand of a decorated woman. “Aloysius Pendergast,” a small, white smile gleamed.

“Elena,” he breathed, “May I come in?”

“Darling raklo, you may do much more than that,” she stepped aside to let him in.

They watched each other for a moment. “Take off your shirt, sweet boy, let me look at you.” He pulled his sweat-soaked shirt over his head to show off a slender, white body. His skin was soft and creamy, and there was no sign of baby fat anywhere. She smiled with dirty thoughts in her mind.

Elena motioned for him to sit down on a wooden chair at her table. Picking up two large cups that were shaped more like bowls, she placed one in front of him, “Drink.”

The Cajun woman’s eyes were phenomenally green, and watched Aloysius with a sexual intensity. He drank her tonic quickly, holding the chipped wooden bowl with two hands. Instantly, he realized the drink she had given him was to give him an erection.

He already had one, though, and the stress on his loins mounted up into a volcano of pressure. His spine bent backwards and he cried out.

“O Rom, O Nevo!” she cried, running over to him. Her seductive nature melted away as her concern for the boy took hold. She took his hands, and together they pulled his pants down slowly. His confinement was no more, but the pressure remained, and his penis strained. She turned away, squeezing his hand.

After a few minutes, the potion drained away, and his erection slowly fell limp against the chair. He breathed heavily, his hand sweating terribly inside hers.

Slumped in the chair, recovering, he had a chance to look around her home. There was a homemade quilt on the bed, soft feather pillows, and an oak headboard. He pictured her bucking in ecstasy, the headboard slamming against the wall, feathers floating through the air... He turned away from the bed.

He noticed the intricacy of everything he could see. The care that had been given to every aspect of her life. The last time he had come, he was so nervous that he had noticed nothing except the rugged sexuality of the woman Elena. He had been so flustered about his first time, she immediately sensed he wasn’t ready.

She was right. Instead, she taught him about passion in a relationship, taught him about confidence in himself and his body, and she showed him how to masturbate. Lastly, she told him she cared for him, and wanted to be his first. She told him to come back when he was ready.

“I apologize, Aloysius Pendergast,” Elena put her hand on his thigh. He gave a small utterance, placing his hand on hers. She rubbed his thigh, and he guided her hand. “I should have asked... or assumed that you would have an erection,” she laughed like a breeze through chimes. She was on her knees next to the chair, and leaned over to kiss his taut bicep.

Rising to her feet, she lifted his hand, “Can you stand?” He stood slowly, his bare feet flexing against the dirt floor. They continued to hold hands and walked over to the sink.

She turned on the water, “We will rest now, before we make our love, so you can recover.” Elena filled two more bowl-cups, and pulled off two fistfuls from a giant loaf of grain bread. They sat back down at the table.

“Did you do as I showed you, raklo... did you please yourself?” she asked between bites of the bread.

“I did, and I could not help but think of you every time I did so,” he smiled, blushing ever so slightly.

“Oh, my young lover, I am flattered,” she truly sounded flattered, and Aloysius realized he had said exactly the right thing. “How is your life? I have wondered for the day when you would return to me.”

“My life hasn’t much changed from when I saw you last. I am the same.”

“I would not say that,” Elena reached across the table for his hand, “When you came here last, you were a boy. You are still a boy, Aloysius Pendergast, but you are a boy about to become a man, and that is a very large change from mere boy.”

Her electric eyes wandered up and down his body, and, feeling the heat of her gaze upon him, he felt himself stirring under the table. Elena pulled out her chair and walked over to Aloysius. She pulled out his chair and her eyes fell instantly to his half-erect penis. He tried to stand, but she told him to stay seated. She told him she would help him.

Her hips began wiggling, and the bells around her ankles jingled. She pulled off a scarf and tossed it nonchalantly over the hooded lantern, a purple light was cast around the room from the cloth. Elena slowly undressed for him, until all that was left was a long linen shirt that fell mid-thigh. From her shape under the thin shirt, Aloysius could tell that she wore no undergarments.

Elena sashayed over to him and his full, raging erection, and gently sat down on his lap, facing him. She was careful not to touch or rub up against the erection. Aloysius put her arms around his shoulders, and they watched each other’s faces, studying each feature lovingly. Their eyes lingered on each other’s mouths, and they fell into a kiss, their lips melting together in a deep, passionate catch.

When their lips parted, she set her face on his chest, breathing audibly. Her eyes closed tightly, and she let her fingers play in his flaxen hair.

As she pressed against him, he could feel her nipples against his flesh, the linen damp. Her naked thighs splayed over his, and her toes curled around the legs of the chair. When she breathed, he felt her hot, welcome breath on his tingling skin.

The temperature increased markedly. Elena’s tight black curls were falling out into long waves as their bodies radiated love’s heat.

“Many right things happen during passion, Aloysius, but to make sex properly is an art. Something that needs more than luck,” her lips moved against his bare skin.

He wrapped his arms around her and stroked the small of her back. She shivered in ecstasy, pulling her fingers down tight around his scalp and moaning quietly. “Teach me,” he whispered. Aloysius picked her up cradle-style, and stood proudly, his erection steadfast.

“Outside, lover, out the back door,” she looked towards the second, smaller door. He pulled open the knob and stepped out onto a small porch. There was a large circle of many warm blankets and a few small pillows. He laid her down gently, and then got down on his knees. She sat up and put her hand on his penis. He kept eye contact, waiting for her instruction, and she began tugging gently. He throbbed slowly in her warm hand, and she smiled reassuringly.

“Aloysius, love is something that is entirely in the moment. If I tell you to do something, you must do it exactly then. There is no room for hesitation. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“When you masturbate, that is all for you, and you are pleasuring yourself the way you know you like to be pleasured. It is an entirely selfish act, and many men think the same is true in bed. You will never be one of those men, or my actions are wasted. Love-making is purely for your partner. You should never lay down expecting to come. Everything you do during sex is to make your partner orgasm. And, if you have the right partner, everything they do will be to make you orgasm,” she paused, and spoke again with absolute sincerity, “Aloysius, I will make you come.”

“Elena, I will make you come,” his voice quavered.

She shook her head with a sad smile. She pressed her palm to his cheek; his face tingled with anticipation, and her thick, luscious lips kissed him just below his right eye. “Aloysius, I will make you come.”

He slipped his hand up her shirt, and simultaneously caressed an aureole with his thumb and buried his mouth in the tender flesh just behind one of her earlobes. “Elena, I will make you come.”

When he pulled away, her face was stricken with a look of sheer rapture. She pulled herself to him, eyes blazing. Their upper bodies became entwined, and his erection leaned against her hip. Reaching down with her gentle hand, she took his penis in her hand once more. She guided him to where he needed to be.

“I ya... kori kathal minge...” Elena was speaking in Romany. He knew she could not find the words in English, but he did not understand her. “...kori...” she pulled slightly on his penis, looking up at him with a needful smile. “Do you understand, Aloysius?”

“Ah... ah...” he breathed, drinking in the feeling of her hot, sweaty hand pulling on him. She felt his need pulsing inside her hand. Quickly, she guided him into her, gasping lightly as she did so.

She watched his face as he entered. His face clenched up at first, then blossomed into a wide, fawned expression. He was painfully amateur, but Elena knew how he would flourish under her instruction.

Aloysius Pendergast was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a chiseled statue of a man, but he was soft and tender, and you could tickle him or play with him easily. His stomach was tight and modestly defined and he had small but powerful muscles that pressed up against Elena’s skin, tightening and relaxing with each spasm of ecstasy. She curled up in his arms, relishing how he felt locked fast and deep within her.

Her weight shifted and she felt his presence inside her even more so, fluttering against the walls of her inside body. She let out a satisfied moan, and her hips began bucking involuntarily.

He struggled to move, but quickly realized they were fixed together; fixed together more tightly and more intimately than anything he had ever known. He clenched his legs, squirming inside her.

She winced painfully, feeling his legs cramp and constrict against hers. Carefully, she lifted his face to look into his eyes, and she spoke reassuringly to him, her voice small against the roar of their passion. “We are together in soft, warm blankets beneath the clear Louisiana sky. You are inside me. Doesn’t it feel wonderful?” she breathed, holding him tight. She felt his pelvic muscles slowly relax, and she felt a soft, apologetic kiss in her hair.

“Will you finish this, Aloysius?” she whispered.

He broke her gaze, “I don’t know how, Elena,” his face was flushed red with embarrassment. She considered him for a moment, and kissed his neck.

“Pull out of me, just the smallest little bit,” she whispered. He did so. “Jam it back in me now.”

“I can’t do that, Elena,” he said quietly, “Won’t it hurt you?”

“No, no, raklo, it will feel like heaven,” she laughed kindly and he slowly put the rest of himself inside her. She shook her head. “Aloysius, do you feel the thump of your need in the center of your penis?”

He concentrated for a moment, “I—I feel it.”

“I want you to pull out and push in on those thumps. You won’t hurt me.”

“Are you sure?” he gulped.

“If I am hurt, I will pull on your ear, and you will know to stop. Are we in agreement?”

“Yes,” he said, pausing and building up his courage. “Are you ready?” he asked meekly.

“I am ready,” she positioned herself below him, patiently waiting.

He slid out, and after a second, slipped back in. He looked down at her eagerly. “Harder, raklo,” she touched his face. He complied, but his actions were jerky and robotic. He was still nervous. To boost his confidence, she pretended to groan as he entered her. “Faster,” she cried huskily.

His actions became smoother and slicker, and she began to feel their friction together. Time for the next lesson: “Everytime you enter me, Aloysius, enter me deeper. As deep as you can reach. Thrust a little more each time,” for a moment she surrendered to his plunge inside her, “Fill me up,” she whimpered.

Her head began to spin, and her thoughts fogged up. “Rom bevo,” she panted as his instinct took over. She felt wet lips on her face, and she opened her eyes. His face was screwed into an expression of painful bliss. In the years that followed, she came to love that face and to recognize it as an illustration of his encompassing affection for her.

His movements were full, long, sensuous thrusts, completely pulling out before he entered her. As something of his own creation, he began to rotate his hips slightly. He imagined that this small shift would magnify inside her, and his assumption proved correct when he saw the look on her elated face.

After a moment, he began to feel light-headed, like he was floating away from her. He held tightly, sinking deeper and deeper into her sweet velvet body. Feeling his penis swell inside her, he moaned with a raw, imbedded frenzy.

Elena felt him grow against her, and her body grew limp with pleasure. She began to contract the muscles in her lower body, and became conscious of the effect it had on the boy. His breath was deep and wet and his clenched eyes shot open in wild delight. He thrust his mouth to her face, kissing her compassionately.

The friction between her legs became sorely intense. His plunges began to ache as his testicles swelled fat, getting ready to come. Each time he hit that spot inside her, the spot where she knew he could dip no further, it was all worth it. The dull pain washed away to a wave of roaring, breaking ecstasy.

She began to buck against him, waiting for the moment when their mutual climax blossomed into orgasm. His cries sounded of tarnished innocence and his guttural moans of towering, trembling pleasure.

He ripped himself from her opening and thrust furiously, digging through her yielding flesh with his raging mast of masculine virility. He reached the point where he could pour no more of himself into her. She felt the leathery flutterings of his tip far up inside her, and she came. The unfamiliar quiverings and the involuntary shudder of her tiny body under his sent him over the edge. He orgasmed, feeling the rush of his need fall out from under him. His mind emptied, and the feeling in every part of his body gave way to the sprouting of his need, washing away through her.

The air smelled of sweat and come and purity. Sounds and lights faded back into his consciousness. His aching body collapsed against hers. They lay there, his newly flaccid member still in her. They let their passions ebb into quiet bliss, their brains thoroughly sedated. Aloysius pressed his lips against her breast, idly exploring this uncharted territory with his pink tongue. Once in a while, he would lick a particularly soft, ample part of her breast, and she would smile like a dream.



Elena stroked his matted hair while he slept. Aloysius clung to her, naked and sweetly sprawled across the bed of blankets. She tried to ignore the light that was creeping along the horizon, but dawn would not be denied.

“Aloysius,” she stroked his cheek, “...Aloysius?” He stirred slowly.

“I love you,” he yawned, taking her hand.

“Oh, stop that, you’re making me blush,” she laughed.

He sat up and kissed her hand, eyes to the fading sky.

The horizon was a pinkish-yellow in the direction of Ravenscry. Morning would break there within half an hour.



The long grass slapped his body wetly, heavy with dew. He raced towards the manor house, smelling breakfast already. His face was dirty, and his mind dirtier. Mother would not even let him sit down at the dining table without a bath and some new clothes right down to the socks. Yes, he would surely have to hurry if he was hoping to eat at all this morning.

She leaned against the doorframe, watching his figure fade into the grass and eventually out of her sight. Elena shut her door and sat down at the table, a wide smile plastered on her lovely face. For the next few nights, she woke up in hot sweats, dreaming of him, waiting for him, wondering of the day he would return.



Aloysius visited her often, sometimes five nights in a month. And even after he had learned all she had to teach him, he would go back to her. They grew close, and as their relationship progressed, the intensity of their love-making increased, as if the small details and the budding friendship raised the intimacy they could share in the bedroom.



He left her one year, in early autumn. They made love all night long, and the next morning she woke up cradled in his strong arms. He was rocking her gently and gazing out across the fog-draped forests and fields and streams.

The last time she ever saw him was that day, but until she died, she thought of him often, picturing the exquisite emotions always painted so clearly on his open face. Wistfully, she felt her thoughts draw back to that first night, time and time again, when he was so young and fragile. She recalled so dearly his gentle nature, his timidity, and his quiet intelligence. Coming to her, he had given her a gift. His virginity.

He was a beautiful boy, and she made him a beautiful man.

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