Total Love
by Paul W. Marino
He was so hot and flushed when he came in, she made him undress on the spot and gave him a cold bath. It was not that he looked as if he was about to die from being overheated; quite the reverse. He was the picture of nine year old health, with a bright, carefree smile stuck firmly to his face. He played hard, this one, no matter how hot it might be. But fatigue was swimming in his eyes, and his head, slick with perspiration under her hand, felt feverish.
“Straight upstairs with you,” she ordered. “And get these things off. If you’re going to melt, you may as well do it in the tub.”
“Yes, Auntie,” he replied. She gave his ear a tweak as he passed. He turned and grinned at her, then made quickly for the stairs, as if he proposed to race her. She smiled and followed him at a more sedate pace.
What a sweet boy he was! She knew a lot of children—girls as well as boys—who weren’t a tenth as obedient as this one. She took a measure of pride in that. Apart from his nature, which was quiet and sweet-tempered, she had trained him well in the short period she’d had him under her roof. She treated him just like he was her own, and he’d responded in kind, recognizing that she wanted what was best for him and cooperating.
When she reached the bathroom, he was already there, beautifully naked. Still hot and blushing red with it, but with such a pretty shape. Every limb round and delicately proportioned. It wasn’t always so. He’d been such a scrawny, half-starved little thing when he’d first come to her, arms and legs like sticks, cheeks hollow and pale, and she could count his ribs from across the room. It was good to see him doing so much better now. He ate well, he slept well, and had energy to burn. She put the plug in place and began filling the tub.
“Did you have fun, dear?” An unnecessary question; he always had fun. Even when she’d kept him in bed for a week, he’d been happy. Happy, perhaps, to have someone taking proper care of him, but there was something else, too. There was a joy in him, a joy that kept him smiling even when he was bored. The long hours spent in a darkened room did nothing to dent it, and his eventual release only increased it.
“Yes, Auntie. I found a robin’s nest.”
“Did you? Any chicks?”
“No. Just two eggs.”
“And where was this? Not up that oak tree I’ve told you to stay out of?”
“Oh, no, Auntie!” The quick way he denied it brought a smile to her lips, and she turned to look at him. His face was a mask of studied innocence. Perhaps she was over-protective, but she’d forbidden him to climb the oak in the pasture. It was fifty feet from the grass to the crown, if it was an inch, and exactly the sort of tree a healthy boy would desire to climb. And exactly the sort of tree an unwary boy could fall out of and break his neck. She gave him a knowing look; not a glare, but a look that let him know she was no fool. Even the best behaved children went their own way from time to time. The smile drained from his face as he hung his head.
“How high up was it?”
“Ten......fifteen feet.” She sighed and turned back to look at the water flowing into the tub.
“I suppose it could have been worse. At least the branches are thick enough there. Not as thick as a certain boy’s head.......” She showed him her grin as she turned the water off, and pointed. “Get in here.” He smiled again as he climbed in.
She knelt next to the tub and laved the water over his head and shoulders. He was old enough to wash himself, but she enjoyed bathing him. It was one more way she could show him how much she loved him. And because it was the first way she’d showed him that, it was the one she enjoyed most. When he’d first come to her, he was more than scrawny; he’d been weak and shaky, and dirty as sin. It was as if no one in the world considered him worth caring for. If he’d been embarrassed then to be naked in front of her, he made no sign of it. Perhaps he’d been too tired and hungry to care. In any event, she’d put him in this very tub and scrubbed him as carefully and thoroughly as if he was a newborn child, and maybe he was after that bath. He’d grown very quiet, watching her quick, gentle hands going over his body and limbs. When she’d dried him and went over his cuts and scrapes with lotion, he watched her with the same quiet, detached eyes. And when she’d finally put food in front of him and he started eating, he’d started crying too. She’d held him then, as much with ferocity as tenderness. She didn’t ask anything of him, but offered to him. Offered herself, her home, and her love. He’d been with her ever since, submitting patiently to whatever she asked of him. When she continued to bathe him, he offered no resistance, only trust.
When he’d been in the tub for twenty minutes or so, she caught him by the neck and kissed his baby-curved cheek. It was cool and firm under her lips, and no longer flushed red, but its normal healthy pink.
“Have you had enough?” He laughed.
“I could stay here all day!”
“I suppose you could. But then you wouldn’t get the nice snack I made for you.”
“Good point.” He pulled the plug and watched the water swirl out of the tub. When he climbed out she had a towel ready for him and wiped him down. Then she went over him with a puff laden with talcum powder; no chafed skin for her baby! He put his arms around her, embracing her with childish passion.
“Thank you, Auntie.”
“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” she replied, embracing him in return and kissing his damp hair. He reached up and kissed her, then drew away.
“I’ll get dressed.”
“Oh, don’t bother. It’s still dreadfully hot, and you look so pretty with nothing on!” He blushed, smiling, but it was true. He was—now—the prettiest child she’d ever laid eyes on. He wouldn’t be for long, she knew. Such beauty was possessed only by the very young, and had to be enjoyed while it lasted.
“What’s for snack?”
“Oh, something nice. I think you’ll like it. And if you don’t, I’ll eat it.” He laughed, bringing the dimples to his cheeks. She patted his back companionably. “Come on down to the kitchen.”
He went with her, slipping his slender fingers into her hand. She smiled at the gesture. She enjoyed holding his hand, almost as much as she enjoyed holding him. Of course, he was too big to sit on her lap, but in the evening, when she was soothing him for bed, they’d sit down together on the sofa and she’d hold him close, pressing his small warmth against her own. They would sit that way for hours. She sat him down at the kitchen table and brought out his snack with a flourish: A cupcake and a small glass of milk.
“It’s not much,” she said, caressing him. “But it’ll be time for dinner before you know it.”
“That’s all right, Auntie,” he replied. “This will be plenty.” He started eating the cupcake with small, interested bites. She went to the sink and started washing potatoes.
“Can I help you with those?”
“No, no, my lamb! Drink your milk.” She watched out of the corner of her eye as he took a gulp.
“I can do both.”
“Yes, you can, but not at the same time. By the time you’re done with that, I’ll be done with the potatoes and will be peeling the onions, and I don’t want you doing that.” This was also true. He was willing and eager, but much too young to be handling a knife. And then there was the onion juice that would irritate those soulful eyes. He drained the milk from his glass and watched her peel the onions with quick, deft movements of the knife. When the onions were done, there would be herbs to rinse and chop and meat to be cut. The boy yawned. She heard it and turned to smile at him.
“Sleepy, are you?”
“No. Just tired.” He yawned again, and she chuckled.
“You sound sleepy to me. That’s what you get for climbing trees and running around in heat like this.” He didn’t reply. He was starting to nod. “You can sleep if you want to. We have plenty of time before dinner.” He mumbled something and put his head down on his arms. By the time she was rinsing the herbs, he was snoring softly.
The knife whisking over the steel made a fresh sound, one of thrill and promise, as if the knife was eager to do its work and was happy to prepare for it. She’d always liked that sound. Perhaps that was why she always saved the meat cutting for last, though there was certainly a more practical reason as well. Whenever she prepared a meal, if there was meat to be cut, it was cut just before cooking. Everything else could wait a while, but meat had to be fresh. Cut fresh, and cooked fresh. She put the steel away. No need to test the blade with her thumb; the knife was kept sharp, and only needed a few strokes on occasion to restore its razor-fine edge.
Oddly, she found her eyes misting over with tears this time. Though it wasn’t really odd when one stopped to think about it. She looked toward the table and the child that slumbered there. She was glad he was asleep. She generally made sure they were asleep at this time, to spare them the pain and the horror. But she was especially glad that this one was asleep. He was such a good boy; submissive, cheerful, and loving. And she loved him, more than any other child that had ever come into her care. She walked to him and caressed his slim back and shoulders, consoling herself with the knowledge that what she was about to do was nothing more than another way of loving him.
by Paul W. Marino
He was so hot and flushed when he came in, she made him undress on the spot and gave him a cold bath. It was not that he looked as if he was about to die from being overheated; quite the reverse. He was the picture of nine year old health, with a bright, carefree smile stuck firmly to his face. He played hard, this one, no matter how hot it might be. But fatigue was swimming in his eyes, and his head, slick with perspiration under her hand, felt feverish.
“Straight upstairs with you,” she ordered. “And get these things off. If you’re going to melt, you may as well do it in the tub.”
“Yes, Auntie,” he replied. She gave his ear a tweak as he passed. He turned and grinned at her, then made quickly for the stairs, as if he proposed to race her. She smiled and followed him at a more sedate pace.
What a sweet boy he was! She knew a lot of children—girls as well as boys—who weren’t a tenth as obedient as this one. She took a measure of pride in that. Apart from his nature, which was quiet and sweet-tempered, she had trained him well in the short period she’d had him under her roof. She treated him just like he was her own, and he’d responded in kind, recognizing that she wanted what was best for him and cooperating.
When she reached the bathroom, he was already there, beautifully naked. Still hot and blushing red with it, but with such a pretty shape. Every limb round and delicately proportioned. It wasn’t always so. He’d been such a scrawny, half-starved little thing when he’d first come to her, arms and legs like sticks, cheeks hollow and pale, and she could count his ribs from across the room. It was good to see him doing so much better now. He ate well, he slept well, and had energy to burn. She put the plug in place and began filling the tub.
“Did you have fun, dear?” An unnecessary question; he always had fun. Even when she’d kept him in bed for a week, he’d been happy. Happy, perhaps, to have someone taking proper care of him, but there was something else, too. There was a joy in him, a joy that kept him smiling even when he was bored. The long hours spent in a darkened room did nothing to dent it, and his eventual release only increased it.
“Yes, Auntie. I found a robin’s nest.”
“Did you? Any chicks?”
“No. Just two eggs.”
“And where was this? Not up that oak tree I’ve told you to stay out of?”
“Oh, no, Auntie!” The quick way he denied it brought a smile to her lips, and she turned to look at him. His face was a mask of studied innocence. Perhaps she was over-protective, but she’d forbidden him to climb the oak in the pasture. It was fifty feet from the grass to the crown, if it was an inch, and exactly the sort of tree a healthy boy would desire to climb. And exactly the sort of tree an unwary boy could fall out of and break his neck. She gave him a knowing look; not a glare, but a look that let him know she was no fool. Even the best behaved children went their own way from time to time. The smile drained from his face as he hung his head.
“How high up was it?”
“Ten......fifteen feet.” She sighed and turned back to look at the water flowing into the tub.
“I suppose it could have been worse. At least the branches are thick enough there. Not as thick as a certain boy’s head.......” She showed him her grin as she turned the water off, and pointed. “Get in here.” He smiled again as he climbed in.
She knelt next to the tub and laved the water over his head and shoulders. He was old enough to wash himself, but she enjoyed bathing him. It was one more way she could show him how much she loved him. And because it was the first way she’d showed him that, it was the one she enjoyed most. When he’d first come to her, he was more than scrawny; he’d been weak and shaky, and dirty as sin. It was as if no one in the world considered him worth caring for. If he’d been embarrassed then to be naked in front of her, he made no sign of it. Perhaps he’d been too tired and hungry to care. In any event, she’d put him in this very tub and scrubbed him as carefully and thoroughly as if he was a newborn child, and maybe he was after that bath. He’d grown very quiet, watching her quick, gentle hands going over his body and limbs. When she’d dried him and went over his cuts and scrapes with lotion, he watched her with the same quiet, detached eyes. And when she’d finally put food in front of him and he started eating, he’d started crying too. She’d held him then, as much with ferocity as tenderness. She didn’t ask anything of him, but offered to him. Offered herself, her home, and her love. He’d been with her ever since, submitting patiently to whatever she asked of him. When she continued to bathe him, he offered no resistance, only trust.
When he’d been in the tub for twenty minutes or so, she caught him by the neck and kissed his baby-curved cheek. It was cool and firm under her lips, and no longer flushed red, but its normal healthy pink.
“Have you had enough?” He laughed.
“I could stay here all day!”
“I suppose you could. But then you wouldn’t get the nice snack I made for you.”
“Good point.” He pulled the plug and watched the water swirl out of the tub. When he climbed out she had a towel ready for him and wiped him down. Then she went over him with a puff laden with talcum powder; no chafed skin for her baby! He put his arms around her, embracing her with childish passion.
“Thank you, Auntie.”
“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” she replied, embracing him in return and kissing his damp hair. He reached up and kissed her, then drew away.
“I’ll get dressed.”
“Oh, don’t bother. It’s still dreadfully hot, and you look so pretty with nothing on!” He blushed, smiling, but it was true. He was—now—the prettiest child she’d ever laid eyes on. He wouldn’t be for long, she knew. Such beauty was possessed only by the very young, and had to be enjoyed while it lasted.
“What’s for snack?”
“Oh, something nice. I think you’ll like it. And if you don’t, I’ll eat it.” He laughed, bringing the dimples to his cheeks. She patted his back companionably. “Come on down to the kitchen.”
He went with her, slipping his slender fingers into her hand. She smiled at the gesture. She enjoyed holding his hand, almost as much as she enjoyed holding him. Of course, he was too big to sit on her lap, but in the evening, when she was soothing him for bed, they’d sit down together on the sofa and she’d hold him close, pressing his small warmth against her own. They would sit that way for hours. She sat him down at the kitchen table and brought out his snack with a flourish: A cupcake and a small glass of milk.
“It’s not much,” she said, caressing him. “But it’ll be time for dinner before you know it.”
“That’s all right, Auntie,” he replied. “This will be plenty.” He started eating the cupcake with small, interested bites. She went to the sink and started washing potatoes.
“Can I help you with those?”
“No, no, my lamb! Drink your milk.” She watched out of the corner of her eye as he took a gulp.
“I can do both.”
“Yes, you can, but not at the same time. By the time you’re done with that, I’ll be done with the potatoes and will be peeling the onions, and I don’t want you doing that.” This was also true. He was willing and eager, but much too young to be handling a knife. And then there was the onion juice that would irritate those soulful eyes. He drained the milk from his glass and watched her peel the onions with quick, deft movements of the knife. When the onions were done, there would be herbs to rinse and chop and meat to be cut. The boy yawned. She heard it and turned to smile at him.
“Sleepy, are you?”
“No. Just tired.” He yawned again, and she chuckled.
“You sound sleepy to me. That’s what you get for climbing trees and running around in heat like this.” He didn’t reply. He was starting to nod. “You can sleep if you want to. We have plenty of time before dinner.” He mumbled something and put his head down on his arms. By the time she was rinsing the herbs, he was snoring softly.
The knife whisking over the steel made a fresh sound, one of thrill and promise, as if the knife was eager to do its work and was happy to prepare for it. She’d always liked that sound. Perhaps that was why she always saved the meat cutting for last, though there was certainly a more practical reason as well. Whenever she prepared a meal, if there was meat to be cut, it was cut just before cooking. Everything else could wait a while, but meat had to be fresh. Cut fresh, and cooked fresh. She put the steel away. No need to test the blade with her thumb; the knife was kept sharp, and only needed a few strokes on occasion to restore its razor-fine edge.
Oddly, she found her eyes misting over with tears this time. Though it wasn’t really odd when one stopped to think about it. She looked toward the table and the child that slumbered there. She was glad he was asleep. She generally made sure they were asleep at this time, to spare them the pain and the horror. But she was especially glad that this one was asleep. He was such a good boy; submissive, cheerful, and loving. And she loved him, more than any other child that had ever come into her care. She walked to him and caressed his slim back and shoulders, consoling herself with the knowledge that what she was about to do was nothing more than another way of loving him.