Thursday Afternoon
I stacked the dishes and drink cans from lunch on the desk, and returned to the bed where Maverick waited, relaxing on his back. Maverick's eyes tracked me, his lips curved in a contented smile.
We spent twenty-four hours together in our room, as Maverick did with Shaw a few days ago. Neither of us spoke much. It wasn't even necessary to say "I love you," for now. It was time for touching. We made love twice this morning, and would again tonight, several times.
Lying down beside him, I reached out to roll Maverick toward me. I pushed my right leg between Maverick's, and spread my fingers across Maverick's buttock. I pressed my lips against Maverick's and kept them there, not kissing, just sharing the air Maverick breathed.
I had a very good sensory memory. It always helped me as a Hanging Boy, my body was always able to reproduce the muscular movements that made me feel right in the noose. I would always remember the way Maverick felt against me right now. It was always nice to feel Maverick's chest pressed against mine, feel his heartbeat underneath. But more important, I would remember the feel of Maverick's stomach pressed flat against mine, remember the slow rhythm of pressure as we breathed, sharing it through our mouths.
The taste of his breath.
Breath. Nobody thinks about breath as much as a Hanging Boy does. Most people rarely gave it a thought at all, in fact. Breath is a prime focus of a Hanging Boy's studies. How the respiratory system works in concert with the circulatory system. How to make use of breath as efficiently as possible. Training the body to find breath whenever and wherever it is available. Maverick and I had worked out special breathing techniques for our shows. I didn't think they had ever been tried before.
Breath itself is a lover. A Hanging Boy considers it constantly, responds to the need for it, feels the sweet yearning for it when it is gone, knowing it will return. And willingly gives it up forever when the right time comes, just as any prey joyously parts from his loved ones when it is time move on to his higher calling, to wrap his friends and family in his fur.
I took a long, deep breath, filling my lungs with Maverick. Most of the air I breathed in, I would breathe right back out again. But some would stay.
I would have some of Maverick, to hold and feel against my fur, and part of him would stay touching me as long as I lived. But so much more meaningful to feel Maverick in my breath.
To know, always, that Maverick was with me, whenever I breathed.
Friday Morning
I sat upright on the bed facing Maverick, our legs around each other's waist, arms holding each other.
After a long kiss, Maverick gave me a small smile and suddenly said, "I told Shaw I'd thought about sleeping with him every day, way back then. When we were roommates."
My jaw dropped. "For real?"
Maverick nodded.
"Honey, why didn't you?"
Maverick grinned. "You know why. Tell me why."
"You were afraid getting involved with anybody would take away from your focus on hanging."
Maverick nodded again. "I got pretty good at pushing the thoughts away. I'd think instead about Seymour's hanging, I'd remember early hanging sessions with my coach, and how exciting that was. I'd fantasize about my own hanging." He frowned. "And I got pretty good at pushing people away too. That's another thing you know."
I nodded, then smiled suddenly. "You were sort of half-nice to me. Or at least not insulting. Maybe I should feel insulted about that, now. I guess you didn't feel threatened by any attraction to me."
Unexpectedly, Maverick laughed. "Oh, wow. At least you didn't get everything about me figured out." He looked into my eyes. "It's true I had you in kind of a different category, but you've got it turned around. Ask me what else I thought about when I was trying to get my mind off sex with Shaw or any of the other boys."
I could read it now, in Maverick's face. My eyes went wide. "Oh, come on."
Maverick nodded, his eyes bright. "Okay, now you can see it. At night, while I'd be lying in bed, trying to fall asleep and not think about Shaw over in his bed... like I said, I tried to think about other stuff instead. All that hanging stuff, like I was just telling you, but also, when I wasn't careful, I'd imagine being with you. I tried not to, but I kept coming back to that."
It took effort for me to bring my jaw back up to speak. "When did that start?"
Maverick bit his lip in thought, looking up at the ceiling. "After... about the first week, I guess."
I shook my head, stunned. "What about after I moved in? You could see how much I wanted you, right? You knew why I had to run into the bathroom after every time I helped you practice hanging." I remembered those post-practice masturbation sessions very well.
Maverick looked away with a rueful smile. "I remember that. I felt so superior about that. I felt like I was handling my feelings better than you were, keeping my focus on hanging better than you. I told myself I'd be a better Hanging Boy, because of that. But I had to really start obsessing about hanging, just to get my mind off you. All that extra reading, and finally..." Maverick blushed. "You know."
I could barely think. I knew exactly what Maverick was referring to. That night, that life-changing night, when Maverick had used me in an ill-considered hanging experiment.
As the memories rolled through my head, Maverick went on, "And you know I was never trying to kill you, right? I was all set to hit the drop button, like I told you. But I just... I wrapped myself up completely in hanging theory, and it led to... that. Just so I wouldn't have to... think about how it would feel to be with you."
I looked into Maverick's eyes, and saw myself reflected there, and I realized how much Maverick and I belonged to each other. I pulled Maverick closer and kissed him, feeling his arms tighten around me.
I broke off the kiss. I opened my mouth, and realized Maverick was speaking at the same time, both of us saying, "This is the last time."
One more time, Maverick occupied all of my senses — the sight of his body, the sound of his moans, the touch of his fur rubbing against mine, the taste of his lips and tongue, the scent of his sweat as the excitement built. And I was plunged back in time, to the first time we made love, the weeks of wanting Maverick building up to the thrill of that moment... I knew now, for the first time, that Maverick had been just as excited, had, like me, come from the joy of union with the object of his fantasies. And the bridge between that first time and this last time made it seem as though we had been making love constantly for three years. And we really have, I thought. There's no first time and last time. Just the one, long time, and the memory of it will be clear enough, pure enough, to last me the rest of my life.
That was my final thought before the sensations of my body overwhelmed all thought.
Friday Afternoon
I looked around the Party Room. Around the sides of the room, some of the underclass boys were draping festive bunting and balloons, readying the room for tomorrow's unprecedented big show. Mr. Bennett, the assistant Dean, was supervising, organizing, offering suggestions on the decorations.
The hanging cage was gone. Members would have an unrestricted view of Maverick, with no interference from metal bars. In place of the cage was a circular stage, four feet high and six feet in diameter, in the center of which the hanging platform was mounted. Surrounding the stage, a dozen metal pylons, each now wound with crepe ribbons of various colors, stood at a ten-foot radius. Angus, one of the Second Years, was securing one of a dozen thick red ropes, with hooks at either end, to rings at the top of adjacent pylons. I would be allowed inside, everybody else would have to watch from outside the velvet ropes.
Maverick leapt onto the stage and up to the surface of the platform. He examined the dangling noose, his fingers running softly along its inside surface.
Maverick frowned. "It's been used. Can we get a new one?"
I turned. "Mr. Bennett? Maverick wants a new rope."
Mr. Bennett nodded, and turned to the nearest boy. "Tracy, would you run and get one from the student store?"
Tracy nodded and ran out of the hall. Mr. Bennett sent Angus to go up onto the catwalk from which the rope hung and untie it.
Minutes later Tracy returned, and handed the new rope to Maverick. Maverick looked it over, again feeling it with his fingers, nodded, and quickly formed a hangman's knot at one end of it. He threw the other end up to Angus, who tied it in place while Maverick held the knot at the appropriate height. Maverick took hold of the rope above the knot, gave it several hard yanks, and used his arms to raise himself off the platform for several seconds, making sure the rope held his weight. He nodded up to Angus, who scrambled down from the catwalk.
Maverick jumped down from the platform and walked out of the clear zone. Keeping his eyes toward the platform, he slowly stepped sideways around the circle. He finally stopped at one point. He said, "Wynn, this is where I want Kelly to be standing..."
He stopped suddenly, and spun around to look at me. I had no idea what sound I might have made, perhaps a momentary catch in my throat when Maverick mentioned Kelly.
Maverick stared at my face for a moment, reading... everything. Every thought that had run through my mind in response to Maverick saying Kelly's name. At last Maverick broke into a smile, a tear running down his cheek. He put his arms around me and held me close. "Thank you, Wynn. Whatever you did, thank you." Without knowing details, he was somehow able to tell that I had worked desperately, and successfully, to ensure Kelly's presence at his hanging.
I let loose some tears of my own. I thought about reminding Maverick how much I loved him, that I would do anything for him. None of that seemed necessary. I just held him.
Friday Evening
I pulled open the door to the Hall of Honor, ignoring the polite "Cleaning - Please Wait" sign that Maverick had taped to the door.
Maverick had told me he would be spending the night there, and nodded when I asked if I could join him, saying "But give me a couple of hours first."
I understood the significance of the Hall of Honor to Maverick. Maverick wanted some time to talk to the heads. To tell them he had kept the promises he had made to them, so long ago.
I expected to see Maverick stretched out on the mattress he had brought. Instead, he was sitting upright at one end of the mattress, motionless, cross-legged, leaning back against the wall facing a row of heads. His eyes were closed. His uniform lay folded neatly on the floor beside him.
I quietly stripped off my own uniform. Sex was not on the program — Maverick's was now planning for his hanging, and would think of practically nothing else until the show started. I lay down quietly on the remaining portion of the mattress, trying not to disturb Maverick's concentration. Maverick clearly wasn't asleep — not in any type of normal slumber, anyway. Some sort of trance was involved, I was sure. I sensed that Maverick was fully conscious, but not of the outside world. All of his attention was turned inward.
At this close range, I could see a pattern of muscular contractions, suggestive of the rhythms of hanging. A slight flexing of thigh muscles, a twitch of the muscles that would throw his hips forward, a sequence of slight tightening of muscles in shoulder, upper back, neck, that would be involved in the necessary moves for breathing. Maverick was rehearsing his hanging — choreographing in his mind all of the moves he wanted to do, the order he planned to do them. I smiled as Maverick gave a tiny headshake, not as a hanging move but a sign of mental negation, as if deciding to discard one move and replace it with another. While Maverick's muscular movements were purely symbolic to me as an outside observer, I was sure that Maverick was experiencing the hanging in his head, from start to finish.
After a few minutes, I realized I was not entirely correct. Maverick had spared a small space in his consciousness for recognition of the world surrounding him. He was holding his hand in the air, extended partway toward me. Maverick knew that I was there, even if he wasn't sure exactly where I was.
I took Maverick's hand, wrapped my fingers around it, and held it between my face and the mattress, palm cupped against my cheek. Content with that much of Maverick, I fell asleep.
Saturday Morning
I opened my eyes, but I knew instinctively not to move.
Maverick's navel was directly in front of me. I could feel Maverick's head resting on my inner thigh, using it as a pillow. Sometime during the night, Maverick had satisfied himself with his mental preparations, and had stretched out on the mattress in front of me for one last sleep.
That was it, I thought, that's why I didn't want to move. I wouldn't wake Maverick from the final recharging of energy before his hanging. There was plenty of time before the show's scheduled start at 2 pm, and nothing left to do before then, except eat breakfast.
For now, I was content to watch Maverick's navel slowly rising and falling with his breathing.
On any other morning, I would have kissed Maverick there, then moved farther south, to Maverick's crotch, to lick him awake. Maverick was already in perfect position to return the favor. But today was not for taking pleasure in each other's bodies. Today, Maverick's communion with his inner self must be undisturbed.
After about thirty minutes, Maverick began stirring. He rubbed his eyes and stretched.
That shining was there, I saw in each boy on the day of his hanging. So bright, Maverick's eyes, like the sun.
Maverick smiled at me. "Hi, honey."
I grinned back. "Hi, yourself."
Maverick sat up, put his arms around me and kissed me, then reached for his briefs and began pulling them on. "Let's get some breakfast."
There were only a few boys in the caf — most of the students slept in on Saturday. Maverick picked out a high-energy breakfast, not overly filling. I ate a little more than usual, enough to make it through to tonight's banquet.
I watched Maverick as he ate, memorizing behavior I had never really watched consciously. The way he chewed his food. The way he brushed his hair aside when it fell in the way. I would never eat with him again, so I wanted to complete the "Maverick" I would hold in my mind until it was my own time to go.
Taylor, one of the Second Year boys, approached the table shyly. Not sure whether he should interrupt Maverick's internal focus, he bit his lip and paused. I nodded for him to go ahead. "Okay to wish good luck?" he asked.
I looked at Maverick, who apparently hadn't heard Taylor. I stroked Maverick's hand. He blinked, and seemed to play back a recording of Taylor in his head. He smiled warmly at him. "Sure." He reached out, and Taylor bent to give him a hug, whispering, "I'm really excited. I know you'll be great."
Maverick gave him a squeeze and patted his back.
One by one, each of the other boys present came by for a few words and a hug. I watched. Another Maverick memory to hold onto.
Saturday Afternoon
I sat on the bed behind Maverick. My legs were wrapped around Maverick's waist, as I gave Maverick a neck massage. Maverick had already shed his uniform for the last time, and was wearing only a choker — he'd chosen to wear the symbolic red slave collar of the Academy graduate, displaying his pride in reaching his goal. Sewn within its fabric was the heart monitor that would signal his death. Maverick's eyes were closed, and he was working various muscle groups — not a hanging rehearsal this time, just making sure he stayed loose while waiting for his show to begin.
I was wearing my graduate's uniform. I had considered wearing something more party-like, but I wanted to blend into the background, as much as I could, considering my own prominent place in the show. There would be a number of other identical uniforms around the hall.
I could hear the rising murmur of conversation from the main Party Room. It was going to be crowded. Despite the high ticket price — I wasn't sure of the exact figure, but the Dean had hinted each ticket cost several thousand dollars — a little over eighty had been sold. I shouldn't be surprised. In spite of, or perhaps because of, the number of hangings all of the members had seen, the chance to see Maverick hang meant that much to them.
All of the students would also be present, along with the graduates, the first time they had ever all been allowed in the party pavilion at once.
I leaned forward to kiss Maverick's neck, and said, "I should get out there for awhile, and greet your dad. And Kelly."
Maverick twisted around to kiss me on the lips, with a slightly absent smile. In the last twenty hours he had spared a minimum of attention to the world outside his body. "See you in a little bit."
I walked into the party room from the hallway where the private rooms are. Two lines of velvet ropes created a pathway from the door to the hanging stage in the center of the room. The buzz of conversation rose momentarily — every member present knew who I was, and my connection with Maverick. I smiled and waved away their attention with a negative gesture — No, not time yet. I ducked under one of the ropes and started weaving through the crowd, looking for Maverick's father.
It was very colorful. As always, the walls were hung with draperies in vibrant colors. In addition, the students and graduates were there, in uniforms of white, aqua, deep blue, and red. Some were standing together in knots with friends, some mixing with the guests, chatting or answering questions. People were still entering through the main door. I couldn't spot Paul Sadler. I bit my lip, hoping everything would still go as it needed to.
I did see the Dean, attending his first party since before I had arrived as a student. I walked up to him, and waited for him to finish his conversation with the guest beside him. Smiling, he turned to me and asked, "Is Maverick ready? No cold feet, I assume."
I laughed. The idea of an Academy graduate backing out of his own hanging was almost the most ludicrous thing I could imagine. "I believe he'll manage to go through with it, Sir." My stomach tying in a sudden knot, I asked, "Is Maverick's father still coming, Sir? As far as you know?"
The Dean smiled again. "Stop worrying, Wynn. I'm sure he would have called if his plans had changed. We're going to wait until everyone is here — including Mr. Sadler. Tina is checking off names at the door. I think..." He looked around. "...about two thirds of the guests have arrived." He turned again to the guests around him. I turned the other way, and saw Marcus, Zuchter, and Holden together.
Marcus hugged me when he arrived. "This is probably a little different from my brother's hanging, huh?"
I shrugged. "Well, there are more people here. Andrew could never have managed to have this many friends." I grinned as the other boys laughed. "And it was outdoors, of course. The general excitement level was pretty similar. Marshall just looked so beautiful." I sighed, remembering that day, as I did so often.
I suddenly noticed Ted, about twenty feet away. I kissed Marcus and gave Zuchter and Holden quick hugs. "I'll talk to you later. I need to go see Ted."
I greeted Ted with a very fond hug. "I just wanted to tell you again how grateful I am, for all your help."
"Any time." Ted looked around. "I see he's not here."
I was momentarily puzzled, wondering how Ted knew Paul Sadler, then realized he would be referring to someone else. "Andrew? No, I wouldn't think he'd be here. Members aren't getting private sex sessions with the students today, and he wouldn't come just to watch a boy hang. And I'm sure he's saving his money for whatever Big Thing he has in mind for me." I flashed Ted a bitter smile.
"Apparently he hasn't put any plan into action."
I shook my head. "He hasn't had a chance. I haven't been off the grounds since you told me. I will eventually, but the Dean is working out what steps to take." I looked toward the main door, and gasped, temporarily forgetting about Andrew. Paul Sadler had just entered... with Kelly behind him. I reached out vaguely for Ted and patted his arm. "I gotta go! Sorry, talk to you later." I suddenly realized I was being abrupt, so I gave Ted a warm kiss, said, "I mean it, I do want to talk to you. And thank you again," then sprinted toward the door.
Almost breathless, and not from the run, I grinned as Maverick's father heard me coming and turned toward me. He matched my smile with one of his own. "Wynn, hi! Big day. I didn't realize there'd be so many people."
Kelly stood with his arms folded and a slightly bored, sullen expression, of the type only teenagers can manage when they would rather be somewhere else. He grudgingly gave me a "Hi," and then gave the crowd an uninterested look.
I said eagerly, "Mr. Sadler, if you'll follow me, I'll show you the best place to watch from." I wove my way through the still-growing crowd, to the rope circle around the hanging platform. I walked about a quarter of the way around and stopped. "It's kind of front-row-center. Maverick will be facing this way to start with. As it goes on he'll twist around to face all directions, but this is sort of the... untwisted direction, and he'll always come back to this."
Mr. Sadler nodded his appreciation. Kelly stood on his father's right; I drifted slightly left and gestured for Mr. Sadler to move slightly that way. "There, this is the perfect spot." It was now Kelly who was centered. Kelly had turned to look back toward the entrance, as though trying to judge how long it would take to get back to it.
The Dean took note of Mr. Sadler's arrival and approached from my left. I backed away and let the Dean offer his hand to Maverick's father. "Thomas Porter. It's very nice to meet you."
Mr. Sadler gave him a hearty handshake. "Paul Sadler. So you're the head guy here."
The Dean smiled. "Indeed. And in some ways one might say your son is the head boy. I can't begin to tell you the significance of the contributions he has made to this establishment. It's enough to say..." he gestured around him, "...we've never done anything quite like this, and few students we've ever had would merit it."
The Dean leaned a little and smiled at Kelly. He held out his hand. "And you would be Kelly. Thomas Porter. Good to meet you."
Kelly gave him a tiny bored smile, shook his hand, said vaguely "Hi," and went back to his inner brooding.
I couldn't resist looking at Kelly. Now that he was here, it was one burden off my mind, but that weight had been replaced by a new one: is he going to keep wearing that expression throughout?
The Dean took his leave of Mr. Sadler, and moments later was in conversation with an unusually wealthy looking couple.
The arrival of people through the main entrance had now slowed considerably. Nearly everyone must be here, I thought. I turned back to Maverick's father. "If you'll excuse me, sir, I need to go see how Maverick is doing."
"Sure." He grinned at me.
I ducked back under the rope line and went back to the Ready Room.
Maverick was facing away from the door, stretching one leg. As I watched, he switched to the other leg. I cleared my throat. "Honey? It's about time to finish getting ready."
Maverick stood and turned to me. His gorgeous face seemed almost to vibrate with happiness. He had done all of the preparation he needed to do internally, and was open to the outside world once more. And still reading. "Kelly is here." He frowned suddenly. "So what's wrong?"
I took a deep breath. "Well, he doesn't exactly want to be here."
Maverick stepped toward me and wrapped his arms around me, rubbing the side of his head against mine. "He's here. That's all I want. Thank you so much for that. The rest will happen or it won't. I know what I'm hoping for, but I can't control it. I can just do what I do, and see what happens."
I held Maverick tightly, loving the feel of Maverick's arms around me one last time. I kissed Maverick on the cheek, then on the lips as Maverick turned his head toward me. We held the kiss several minutes, until Maverick broke it off at last with an excited grin. "Gotta stop that or I'll never get hanged."
I smiled. "One more." I kissed Maverick again, just a brief peck. "So I won't keep feeling like I want one more. I'll just tell myself I got one."
"Spray first? Or rope?"
"It works better to do the rope first, before my hands get all sticky."
Maverick nodded, and turned away from me, his hands behind his back.
I picked up a short rope from the bed, then quickly tied Maverick's hands behind him, tight, but not enough to cut off circulation. Maverick would never need his fingers again, but any unusual feelings of numbness would distract him during the hanging. "How's that," I asked, "Lower? Higher?"
Maverick tugged at the ropes briefly. "It feels fine." He chuckled. "I better not do too much of that. It's getting me excited thinking about it. I'll get myself off before I even go out there."
He remained facing away from me as I grabbed a can of sticky spray and started spraying his fur. I worked meticulously, starting with the back side of his body, and dusting on the metallic powder as soon as I finished each area. I started at his shoulders and worked down, so that any powder that drifted down could be combed into the newly sprayed area. As I reached Maverick's heels, he turned so I could do his front. He sighed as I combed the dust into his chestfur, and jumped slightly as spray cooled the tip of his penis, already swollen and sensitive with excitement.
I stood upright in front of him and took a deep breath. "You tell me. Are we ready? Are you ready?"
The shiny sparkle of Maverick's fur still couldn't match the glow of his eyes. "Absolutely, totally ready."
I laughed. "Well, we still have to wait. The Dean would be pretty pissed if we marched out there before everybody was there."
Maverick laughed too. "I just thought, why should I care about that, but then I remembered you still have to live with him."
I went to the bed for the white terrycloth robe, hung it on Maverick's shoulders, and tied the cloth belt. There was nothing left to do, so I stood beside Maverick, my arm around his waist, watching the door, as Maverick rested his head on my shoulder.
I looked up at the sound of footsteps near the door, my heart suddenly pounding.
Jack looked around the doorframe. "Dean says it's a go."
Maverick closed his eyes and took a deep breath, a smile curling his lips. At the start of every show, I wondered, what does it feel like, what does it feel like, what is it like to take that last walk. I took advantage of my ability to read Maverick, more than I could anyone else, and came closer to knowing the feeling than I ever had before.
Maverick looked at me, and gestured with his head. "You go ahead."
I nodded, my legs briefly trembling with excitement. My inner voice insisting be professional, be professional took control. I walked through the door, down the short corridor, and out into the main Party Room.