His eyes were glued to the white gloves of the elevator operator. Not something you see everyday, he thought.

He first held the door for him. As Day Benjamin was about to enter, he said in a sing song voice, "Your chariot awaits."

"The Trianon Suite." He should have said, please. But, he'd been educated. Be polite to servants but never say "please" and "thank you."

"Yes sir. Second floor," the elevator operator responded as he used his gloved index finger to punch the button on the panel next to the door.

Day trotted off the elevator after the door opened. The elevator operator watched him go.

Not that little. 6'1," as a matter of fact. His medium brown hair a little shorter now after getting it styled. Thick eyebrows, green eyes, square jaw. He worked out daily in spite of the fact that he wouldn't be rowing crew for another year. Gotta keep that sexy bod! He smiled to himself. Yet another peasant had mistaken him for the actor Ansel Elgort on the way over. Pedigree and genetics had been kind to him.

It was a short walk from his parent's townhouse on East 73rd to the elegant and exclusive Hotel Carlyle on 76th.

Orientation meeting for Day's upcoming gap year. His group was going to consist of nine students. Art History Abroad or AHA was the sponsoring organization for the program he chose. Or, rather, the program his parents chose after doing their own research. Ten and a half weeks in Europe. London, Paris, the South of France, two weeks in Tuscany alone, side trips to Naples and Rome. Day wasn't all that interested in art or history. He thought a major in finance sounded right up his alley. But, what better way to broaden his horizons?

The Trianon Suite, one of the hotel's smaller meeting rooms, was elegantly designed and appointed. Creamy white raised panel walls, shiny brass wall sconces, large mirrors, and a couple of magnificent pieces of original art. Gold leaf painted chairs were arranged in three short rows in front of a lectern.

He was met at the door by a pretty assistant and directed to a sign-in table where he had to hand in an information sheet and have his passport examined.

"Andy MacPhail," the good looking man said as he thrust his hand out to shake Day's.

Day recognized his name right away. The tutor for their group. Decent CV, a graduate of three prestigious English universities, currently an archivist with the British Library. Early to mid-thirties, Day guessed. Dark hair and beard, olive skin, brown eyes.

They chatted amiably for a couple of minutes or so. Day knew instantly he was going to enjoy being part of Andy's group. He was easy going and relatable.

The room was fairly full. Parents and students mingled. Lots of laughter and energy in the air. In spite of their enthusiasm, Day's own parents weren't available to join him. His mother was at a yoga retreat in Vermont. His dad was in Dallas on business.

Whitman Van Velsor, a casual acquaintance of Day's, was a great-great-great something or other of Walt Whitman, the poet, essayist, and journalist. Gay as a fruit cake, perhaps the most renowned person to ever come out of Camden, New Jersey, they bestowed his name on one of the bridges crossing the Delaware River from Camden to Philadelphia. Hence, Whitman's nickname: Bridge.

Day was in mid-nod and mid-smile. Frozen, his mouth falling slightly open. The girl was beautiful, to be sure. Perfectly straight blonde hair, blue eyes and a pert figure.

But, it was the guy. Drop dead gorgeous. Impeccably cut and styled long medium brown hair. Kind of a loose Bieber cut, the ends floating off the sides of his head, bangs completely over his forehead and covering most of his eyebrows, well over his ears. Beautiful brown eyes. Luminous light brown skin made him look like he ' d just spent the day on a California beach. Perfectly smooth skin, not a blemish or a mole. So clean shaven it looked like he had yet to sprout a beard.

"Hey!" Liam said, extending his hand to shake Day's. Eyes twinkling, his bangs fluttered as they brushed against his luxuriously long eyelashes.

Quickly recovering. Introductions finished, they made some incredibly stupid small talk. Day felt tongue tied.

The formal part of the meeting mostly covered information Day had already familiarized himself with from AHA's web site and their group's own private portal. But, Andy made it all sound new and refreshing. A fair amount of time was spent on travel logistics. In particular, Andy wanted to make sure everyone knew how and where to hook up at JFK for the outbound flight to London.

During the presentation, Liam sat next to his parents a row ahead and across the room. Day had to keep forcing himself to pay attention to Andy and stop staring at Liam.

As the group broke up, Day wound his way over to Liam. He had to know more. But, just as he got to him, he was intercepted by Liam's dad.

Day looked at Liam who, at the moment, was in mid-blush. Back to Brett. He quickly saw where Liam's good looks had come from. Medium length salt and pepper dark hair, oval face, strong jaw, piercing eyes. An obviously well crafted physique. The way he looked at him, though. Odd. Day felt a shiver run up and down his back.

Terminal 7 at JFK, the British Airways terminal. They all met up late in the afternoon of the appointed day at the exclusive Concorde Room. Huge chandeliers, luxurious furniture, like the lobby of a five-star hotel.

Even though they would be traveling coach, the dress code was "smart casual." The collar of a pink polo shirt peaked out from under Day's blue oxford cloth button down. Savage! Day's thoughts as he spied Liam wearing a crisp white shirt, the perfect contrast to his tan skin. Loose hanging dark patterned tie. Black pants. Almost like one of those Mormon missionaries.

Day was assigned seat 39d, middle section on the aisle. The others were sprinkled throughout the coach cabin of the Boeing 777-3r. Glancing to the left and behind him, he was dismayed to see Liam and Bridge occupying window and middle seats, 40a and 40b. As the flight attendant was making last minute announcements prior to the doors being closed, Day unbuckled himself.

Standing and leaning over the back of the seats in front of Liam and Bridge he said, "Bridge, you wanna switch with me, don't you?"

"Bridge," Day said sternly, "You can have an aisle instead of a middle." Both Bridge and Liam stared at him, mouths open.

A bit of shuffling around, carry-ons and laptops moved over, and Day fell into the seat next to Liam.

Liam remained sort of slumped in his seat, hands between his knees, mouth remaining slightly open.

Between announcements and the noise from the jet engines, it wasn't possible to really say anything until the plane had taken off and reached cruising altitude.

The spell broken, Liam opened up. Not really from California, just lately from there. He'd moved out there with his family when he was 13 years old. After appearing in national ads for some big stores, he was invited by an agent to go to Hollywood for some TV and film auditions. So, his family just up and moved there. He auditioned for numerous parts, finally landing a small role on a pilot. It was never picked up so that didn't lead anywhere. In the meantime, he got some one-liners in a few shows and was cast in non-speaking roles in some movies. Modeling for print ads continued.

"Ya." Liam looked down at his hands. "I've always looked way younger. They were still casting me as a 14-year-old when I was 18."

From there, some light conversation, dinner was served, and the lights turned down. It was approaching midnight eastern time. They'd be touching down at Heathrow at 6 am local time.

In the meantime, Day had to resist just turning to stare at his seat mate. How could someone be so perfect? So beautiful! Randomly, Toby came to mind. Not nearly as pretty, but cute in his own special way. He felt himself getting hard as he recalled their intimate moments on the beach at Montauk. Since then, some random IM's. A couple of FaceTime calls. During one, he had tried to get Toby to jerk off for him. Nothing doing. But, he smiled to himself. At least he got him to take his shirt off while they were chatting. That was enough to get him off.

Fast asleep. Sometimes when you dream, it's a fantasy or a nightmare. Other times, you just sort of relive parts of your life. Like, this time.

Liam was 12 years old, asleep in his bed. He felt cold. His covers had fallen away. He started to open his eyes to pull the blanket up but something stopped him. He realized that his pajama bottoms had been pulled down to just below his knees. As he lay on his side, he could see the faint outline of his dad standing in front of his bed. The door to his room was slightly ajar, leaving just enough light from the hallway to illuminate him in silhouette. His dad was naked, pulling on his thing. It was big, fat, and scary looking. Suddenly, he gasped, threw his head back, and went pee in his hand. Except it wasn't pee. It was milky looking.

Liam and his dad had played Cowboys and Indians once before. His dad was the cowboy; Liam was the Indian. He talked Liam into wearing nothing but a loincloth and a headdress. His dad was naked except for the gun and holster hanging off of his hip and a cowboy hat. They ran around their basement rec room shooting at each other for awhile until Liam's dad caught him in a bear hug. He dragged him over to a hook sticking out of the ceiling where he bound his wrists and hung him up. Arms extended overhead, his dad stripped the loincloth off of him leaving him completely naked. Using a toy whip, he pretended to beat Liam with it. They both laughed and giggled. Liam knew he had a hard-on and he could plainly see that his dad had one, too.

Now, 13 years old. Liam had brought Carey and a couple of other boys home to play. His dad joined them all when they were in the kitchen eating milk and cookies. Somehow, he knew. Carey was really cute and Liam knew his dad would like him. Sure enough, he sat down right next to Carey. As they were talking, he and his dad sent silent messages back and forth to each other with their eyes.

His dad came into his bedroom that night and told him what he wanted to do. The next day, Liam invited Carey into coming over and playing Cowboys and Indians. After talking him into getting undressed, he got Carey to wear a loincloth, too. The same scenario unfolded, this time with Carey ending up suspended from the ceiling and getting whipped by his dad. Unfortunately, Liam's mom came home before things could get really interesting.

Liam's dad really wanted to get Carey back for some more fun. Liam told him as much in school the next day. But, something must have happened. His mom and dad held whispered conversations after which his dad started making a lot of phone calls. Before he knew it, they were packing up for a move to Los Angeles.

Over the next three years, Liam was trotted out to auditions and photo shoots, acting lessons and modeling school. When he was younger, he was blithely aware that he was good looking, cuter than almost any other kid. Now, he was just another beautiful boy, one of hundreds he encountered when he was up for jobs. The pressure grew. Both of his parents were supportive but his father just pushed, pushed, pushed.

A few parts here and there, both on TV and in some movies. It was tough going, though. Expensive, too. Liam could tell the family's finances were under strain.

It started with a photo shoot. Some guy who had Liam dress in all kinds of tight clothes, posing mostly without a shirt on. He was ok with it, though. His dad was happy. The guy paid him a lot of money. The next photo shoot, more money, less clothes. His dick and butt were partially exposed for a lot of those photos.

Before long, some movies. He had a bigger part in these but they weren't exactly meant for wide release.

One movie was kind of like an interview. He was introduced to a guy named, Ed, a kind of greasy guy with glasses and a pony tail. The first part of the movie was shot on The Strand, a long ribbon of sidewalk running along the beach in South Bay. Wearing a tank and shorts, Liam was supposed to roller blade down the sidewalk until Ed flagged him down. Using some friendly language, Ed talked Liam into following him to a secluded area with a bench surrounded by some high bushes. During their conversation, Ed talked Liam into taking his shirt off. The language he used was so weird.

Next, a couple of tickling jabs at the waistband of his shorts. He even pulled the waistband out so he could get a peek at the goods underneath. Eventually, Liam was talked out of his shorts and underwear.

Now, naked except for the skates, Ed had him lift one leg up and put his foot on the bench. Clearly, his butthole and balls were on full display. Some more persuading and Liam was talked into jerking off for the guy.

Another movie was shot in a gym. A man playing a fitness instructor supervised Liam lifting some weights and riding a stationary bike.

A couple of minutes later, "Lay on your back. Let's make sure you haven't strained any muscles."

Dutifully, Liam complied. His shoes and socks were removed and he was directed to place his arms over his head. The instructor rubbed his chest, paying special attention to his nipples. When his tongue slurped on one of them, Liam jumped. It hurt and tickled at the same time. Before long, he was sucking on one nipple while flicking the other one with two fingers. Liam writhed and gasped at the touch.

Moving downward, his shorts were soon off and the guy's mouth was drinking in Liam's now hard cock. At one point, his legs were pushed up and out, knees bent. The guy rimmed him deep. The camera not only focused on his butt but captured long shots of the bottoms of his feet dangling in the air.

He liked the attention and he enjoyed being admired. Laying there naked, he gazed down at his sides and hips. Smooth and tan. Arms overhead, his armpits even looked sexy. It was weird and uncomfortable but normal, too. At least, in his world. Liam's dad just stood in the back and watched. And collected the money.

Most of this tawdry activity took place after Liam turned 18. Eventually, even this work dried up. He was fresh meat for awhile. Until he wasn't. Attention was turned elsewhere. Then, the opportunity to go to college. His parents offered the gap year sort of in payment for everything else.

Stroking. Mmmm. Good. He loved having his hair stroked. A loving, caring kind of thing. Slowly aware of the airplane noise, then someone's soft breath against his eyes. A clammy feeling. Liam's eyes fluttered open. He realized that he'd been sleeping in Day's arms, his head tucked into his neck. His right arm felt numb. He'd had it around Day's back.

Sitting up and rubbing his sleep swollen eyes, he looked up to see Day smiling at him.

Day drew Liam's chin to his mouth with two fingers and kissed him softly on the lips.

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Like Dust in the Wind

by Jack Lynch

Chapter 16

Liam.

September.