Stage of Desire - Gay Fantasy and Romance

me.
    Here is a sample from another story you may enjoy:
    Brett was pleased, he was a computer nerd who had
made a fortune before he was thirty, had always loved
working with wood, and now indulged that love with a fully
equipped workshop where he made beautifully crafted
wooden artefacts. The church had been the biggest
beneficiary of his talent, he had slowly replaced all the
wood, the last thing being the beautifully ornamented rails
that surrounded the altar.
    He looked at his watch as the final piece of the jigsaw
slipped into place all dowelled and glued. By the time the
church opened for the first service it would all be set. He
packed his tools and left them in the vestry to be collected
the next day. Turning out all the lights he locked the doors as
he left and slipped the keys in his pocket for later return.
    Instead of leaving by the main drive and gate, Brett
turned left and made his way through the graveyard. By
using the back gate he would save a ten minute walk to his
home.
    He soon learnt the meaning of the expression, 'silent
as a graveyard'. It was a little eerie, but there was a moon
that shed enough light to be able to see. Almost to the gate
he heard a noise, off to his right where there was a small
copse of trees. He stopped and heard more clearly the sound
of someone crying. Moving quietly towards the sound what
he saw was a small body, sobbing its heart out scrunched up
against a headstone. Moving closer he knelt down close
enough to touch it. He spoke quietly as he reached forward
and touched a very thin and bony shoulder. The face turned
to him in shock was a boy, dirty, shivering, quite small.
“Hello youngster, what are you doing here? Shouldn't
you be home in bed?”
    The boy clung to the gravestone as though his life
depended on it and turning his face away continued to sob
his heart out.
    Brett couldn't leave him there, and despite spending a
lot of time during the last ten years sat at a computer consul,
he was tall and well built. Regular spells in the gym had
ensured his body was as good as his mind. He picked the
boy up in his arms, and still speaking gently to him told him
the score.
    “I can't leave you out here all night. I'm going to take
you to my home and we'll think about what to do with you in
the morning.”
    Two things immediately became apparent to Brett as
he continued his walk home. The boy was as light as a
feather and he stank. He also appeared to have a bottomless
well of tears.
    Brett went straight up the stairs to his bathroom when
they arrived home, before putting the boy down. Stood in the
light of the bathroom Brett slowly undressed him telling him
what was going to happen.
“I'm going to bath you, find you some sleep wear and
take you to bed. In the morning we'll talk, ok?”
    The boy nodded but continued to cry. He was so
undernourished he hardly had the strength to stand. Brett
checked the temperature of the water running into the bath
before lifting the boy in and letting him soak. The picture
presented to him was a boy seriously undernourished, no,
more than undernourished, the boy looked starved, about
five foot tall with huge soulful hazel eyes. The shock of hair
was filthy and tangled. The face made Brett gasp. It was
angelic, the child was beautiful, in his eyes. He was like
putty in Brett's hands as he made him stand to be washed all
over, not showing any signs of embarrassment when his
genitals and bottom were washed. Brett used the shower
head to wash the boy's hair revealing the true colour, a rich
almost blond curly mop. It hung to his shoulders and it was
as soft as silk.
    Leaving the boy to soak, Brett stripped and showered
before lifting the boy out and drying him. He found a new
toothbrush and watched the boy clean his teeth while Brett
brushed his hair. The sleep shorts Brett found were, of
course, to big, but they had a waist tie so they would stay on.
Brett put his own shorts on before carrying the boy to his
bed and climbing in alongside him.
“Sleep now boy. We'll talk in the morning.”
     
The boy snuggled in close to Brett and finally cried
himself to sleep.
    The next morning, Brett washed the boy again and
took him through to the kitchen where he asked him what he
would like for breakfast. No answer. He put a glass of
orange juice in front of him and he drank, but cereals, eggs,
toast, each plate in turn was ignored. Brett ate and watched.
The boy never let his eyes move from Brett's.
“You have to eat