The entire crowd was already looking in my direction, tipped off moments earlier by Jack's departure from the hall. It seemed to me that they must all be holding their breaths, so absolute was the sudden silence.
The crowd had now formed two concentric circles around the clear area in front of the stage. The inner one consisted of the eighty-odd guests, dressed in a random assortment of colors. The outer was the one hundred forty boys, the students and graduates, in their class uniforms.
There was a sudden gasp from the audience, followed by a burst of applause louder than I would have thought possible from so few people. I knew Maverick had just appeared behind me in the doorway.
I tried to walk normally but suspected I was giving an impression of a royal procession. I walked between the two lines of ropes from the door to the stage. As I reached the back edge of the crowd, I could see excited students on either side of me. All were cheering happily, some of them shouting Maverick's name. To my right I saw Marcus, Zuchter, and Holden. Zuchter was pumping his fist over his head, a huge grin on his face, while Holden was literally bouncing on his feet, his hands clenched by his sides.
I reached the rope circle, and unhooked one end of it to let Maverick pass through. The shouting grew louder, and I caught sight of Kelly, about a quarter of the way around the circle to the right. The sullen look was gone from Kelly's face. In its place was complete astonishment, as he turned his head left and right, in utter disbelief of the crowd's reaction. He had never expected, never imagined, the level of respect, of honor, that everyone in the room, students, graduates, club members, gave Maverick. I recalled Kelly had been planning to be at a concert right now. Whatever amount of excitement the concert crowd might show at the emergence of the band they had come to see, it couldn't match the adulation being displayed, here and now, for Kelly's own brother.
I smiled, and hooked the rope in place. Maverick, all by himself, walked up the half-dozen steps onto the stage. Outside the rope circle, two students were already pulling back the pylons and ropes that had formed the corridor from the private rooms, allowing the crowd to fill in that space.
Atop the stage, Maverick took a deep breath, and shook his head slightly. He nuzzled his cheek against the noose beside him, a beatific smile on his face. He started saying, "Thank you, really, thank you..." almost inaudibly over the sounds of the crowd, which gradually quieted in response.
As the room grew still once more, he opened his mouth, and seemed unable to speak. One last time, he looked at me for strength. Then he began, in a quiet voice that everyone could hear, turning slowly as he spoke to face all sides, "This room is totally full of people who are very special to me. Everybody here. I mean it. The boys in red are my classmates, and they mean so much to me, but not only them. All of the students you see around you make this Academy what it is. They've learned some things from me, and I've learned so much from them. And all of you members of the club. A lot of you, I've had a chance to get to know a little better in bed," he grinned, "But all of you, including the ones I haven't met, your support of the Academy is so important! I want to thank all of you.
"I want to especially thank Dean Porter, who does so much to make sure all of us maintain the quality of this school — you just really can't know how much he does, but it all works because of him."
He waited as everyone applauded the Dean.
"There's also my dad, of course, who's standing right here, with my brother Kelly. Please help me tell them how glad I am to see them here."
I helped him out by pointing to Mr. Sadler. Kelly, suddenly realizing the applause was now partly meant for him, covered his face completely with both hands, but couldn't resist peeking through his fingers.
"And I want you to know some of the people most responsible for what you'll see me do. There are legends going around that I invented all of this stuff, which is really flattering, but don't believe it, because this place isn't like that. We all work together and learn from each other, and when you watch me today, one person you'll see in me is Shaw. Shaw, raise your arm so they know who you are."
The crowd turned to look and spotted the incredulous Shaw, holding his arm up as he giggled, and gave him a burst of applause.
"Also Marcus, Zuchter and Holden, you'll be seeing some of them in me." I heard a squeak from Zuchter, who held up his hand as the other covered his mouth. Beside him Holden waved his arm and grinned open-mouthed. Marcus also grinned, waved one arm, and hugged Zuchter with the other.
Maverick went on, "It's really not possible to name everyone who helped me do what I do, because there are so many. But I need to say one more name.
"When I was a boy, all I could think of, all I wanted to do, was come to the Academy. I thought the only reason was so I could get a chance to the best Hanging Boy I could possibly be. And I've tried to do that with every breath, in every walking moment. But I didn't know there was another reason I needed to be here. I had to come here to meet Wynn."
Tears suddenly welled in my eyes. I had known Maverick wanted to talk to the crowd first, but hadn't expected any of this.
"You all know who Wynn is, because you've seen us do our shows together. But I wish you could know him the way I do, because... he means everything to me. The others I've named have helped me do what I do, but more than anybody else, Wynn has helped me be what I am. And now I'm not going to say anymore after this sentence, because I want the last words out of my mouth to be, I love you, Wynn."
I crouched suddenly, the heels of my palms pressed hard against my eyes, trying to stop the tears. I forced the word professional, professional, professional to echo through my mind, wiped the remaining tears away, and stood. My excitement returned. This is Maverick's hanging!
I walked to the stage and trotted up the steps to its surface, then jumped up atop the hanging platform. Standing beside Maverick, one hand resting on Maverick's shoulder, I looked out at the audience.
This is it; we're doing it; we're really doing it! I smiled, and cleared my throat. "I'm just not really sure why you're all here. It's Saturday, and such a pretty day outside. I'm sure there are things you'd rather be doing." I'd planned this opening with Kelly in mind. I wanted Kelly to see the value everyone present placed on what they were going to witness.
Laughter spread around the crowd, several people saying, "No!"
I made a show of looking at my surroundings. "Well, I've got a boy here, and a handy rope..." More laughter. "What do you suppose I should do?"
Three or four audience members called out, "Hang him!"
I turned slowly to look at all sides, my mouth hanging open theatrically. "You think I should hang him??"
A greater number called out, "Yes! Yes!" From behind the guests, some of the boys, started a chant, "Hang him! Hang him!"
Maverick, his lips pushed out in a pout, shook his head. After watching him for a moment, I turned back to the crowd. "That's one vote against hanging him. How many in favor?"
A loud "Aye!" from the crowd. The chant "Hang him" resumed, growing louder. Even Kelly was caught up in the excitement, shouting with everyone else. His father looked on proudly.
A wave of my arms quieted the crowd, and I shrugged. "Well, all right, then." The crowd cheered once more, then quieted again, intent on watching.
I took hold of the noose, looking at Maverick. "I'm sorry, dear, the vote is overwhelming." I dropped the noose down over Maverick's head and tightened it around his neck, then added a new line to end the script. "But while you're swinging, just keep one thing in mind..." With all of the feeling I could put into my voice, I went on, "I... love... you!"
With that, I stepped behind Maverick, untied the slip knot on the robe's belt, and in a quick motion pulled the robe off his shoulders. Then I jumped backward off the platform, crouching down as I landed to give a clear view to the people behind me.
There was a loud gasp from the crowd, even from the students. Nearly everyone present had seen Maverick naked before, but seeing him now, standing proudly alone on the platform, that beautiful face that always drew attention wherever he went, his perfect body powdered and glowing in the spotlights, inspired universal awe beyond any I could remember at any hanging. Even Marshall's.
I waited until the anticipation led to pin-drop silence. Then, kneeling behind the platform, I pulled the lever.
As the platform slowly sank, it was easy to hear the slight creak and whir from the mechanism, and the slight choking sound from Maverick as he raised himself on tiptoes and, for the last time in his life, hung suspended by his neck.
Maverick rarely took long to adjust to hanging. As Maverick began kicking to establish his rhythm, I quickly spread the robe across the top of the platform, and then backed farther away and slipped off the stage.
I settled myself, sitting cross-legged on the floor looking up at Maverick. He was already starting his hip-thrusting leg throws. I recalled the first time I'd seen Maverick do that, more than three years ago. It was much more polished now. Nearly all of the onlookers had seen other boys do it, boys who had learned it from Maverick, yet it still seemed different watching Maverick do it. Once, in that summer before I started at the Academy, I had gone to a club that featured music and dancing. A boy I knew, a casual friend, was there with his date, a male who danced professionally. The boy had been taking lessons, and it showed in his dancing, but there was still such a clear difference between him and the professional. The boy could do all of the right steps, but it was obvious, in the concentration on his face and his careful movements, that he was consciously working on putting this foot here, that foot there. Watching the professional, however, it seemed to me as though his legs were moving on their own, in exuberant, happy steps that their owner had no need to think about.
All of the club members watching — they all understood what they were seeing here. I could hear it in the gasps. They had never before seen Maverick in a solo hanging. They were all conscious of seeing something special.
Maverick now shifted into a composite dance, combining his own sexual thrusting, Shaw's desperate reaching, Holden's erotic step-climbing, and Zuchter's shimmying, all blended smoothly together. He slowly turned left, away from me, eventually facing the opposite direction, then a full turn right, gradually giving everyone a view from all angles. Moans from the audience were very audible now.
Some of the moans were mine. I found I was rubbing my cock slowly, without being aware of when I started, the electricity of sexual arousal coursing through my body. It seemed no less intense than it had that first time I'd hanged Maverick, in our room. Memories of so many hangings, and of the intense lovemaking that followed, came flooding back, making me even more aroused.
When my own orgasm came, I forced myself to keep my eyes open, watching Maverick for the signal. I had a responsibility here.
After about twelve minutes airborne, as my breathing settled back into a normal rhythm following my climax, Maverick turned again to face me, and gave the small foot-signal that told me to start my own movement. Maverick had needed to work to persuade me to take an active role. He'd eventually convinced me that this was something he wanted very much. Now, still sitting on the floor, I started moving crab-like around the circular stage. As I moved, Maverick turned to face me while doing the leg wraps. The audience, already aware of Maverick's feelings for me, could see that Maverick was now performing for me alone. They could see that he was making love to me, even though we were separated by several feet. As Maverick reached the limits of his ability to turn, he signaled with his foot again. I started moving the other way, as the rope holding Maverick untwisted, then twisted in the opposite direction.
The gasps and moans of orgasm among the audience members were near-continuous now. My internal clock knew that about twenty-five minutes had gone by, and Maverick at last was showing signs of tiring. He had filled up on fluids before the hanging, but the sweat ran in streams down his body. He must surely be dehydrated by now.
Suddenly Maverick began making what seemed to me to be another gesture with his foot, shaking his entire leg. I bit my lip — I didn't recognize this one. I searched through the filing cabinets of my brain, looking for a prearrangement that I had forgotten. That it was a signal of some sort was obvious — Maverick was looking directly at me, blinking his eyes, continuing the gesture with his leg. He seemed to be pointing at something with his foot. I turned to look in that direction.
And I saw. Maverick had been trying to get me to look at Kelly.
Kelly was hypnotically immobilized, his eyes wide and unblinking. His jaw hung slack, his arms were down at his sides.
I had never before seen anyone with such a complete, total concentration on a single visual stimulus. The world at large had ceased existing for Kelly. His universe contained only Maverick.
That is, I hadn't seen that level of concentration in anyone else. I'd experienced it from inside. While I was watching Marshall hang.
With a huge grin on my face, I turned my head back toward Maverick, and pumped my fists — Yes, I see him, I see him! Maverick himself wriggled, nearly bouncing at the end of the rope, his lips curled upward at the corners, his face glowing.
Maverick's excitement seemed to serve as a source of new energy. He signaled me to stay where I was, then resumed his original combination of moves. The only sign that he was tiring was that he seemed unable to turn completely around, stopping about halfway and letting the rope untwist.
At last he ended the program of specialty moves and began basic kicking, of the sort used during the Fifteen to conserve energy.
I couldn't tell who started it — it seemed to come from at least two different directions in the back of the crowd, among the students — but it quickly spread among the students and forward to the club members, a sustained applause louder than any heard before, punctuated by shouts of encouragement. And again Maverick wriggled with excitement, and in a burst of energy that took even me by surprise, Maverick began turning again, throwing his hips and legs forward while facing left, front, and right, as though making love to the crowd.
That seemed to use up his last reserve, and finally he began working the toward his final orgasm. The applause grew still louder, despite the number of audience members whose hands were otherwise engaged. I was afraid for a moment that he'd waited too long and wouldn't be able to bring himself off, but Maverick suddenly stiffened. His body rippled like a flag in a stiff wind, and he spurted his cum onto the platform. I felt a tiny orgasm flow through my body. Years of love and shared sensations told me this was but a tiny reflection of the huge orgasm that Maverick would be feeling right now.
Hanging nearly limp now, Maverick continued a listless kicking with his feet, no longer able to manage sufficient head movement to breathe. I blinked as Maverick suddenly made a joyful little double kick. Seconds later, above the applause, one club member shouted in an awestruck voice, "Forty minutes!" I understood, now, that Maverick had not wanted to say so, unsure that he could make it, but that forty minutes, an unimagined, never-before-approached hanging time, had been Maverick's goal, that the timepiece in his head had told him he reached just before it was audibly verified, and that he had arranged his program with that goal in mind.
I jumped to my feet with a victorious fist pump, and shouted, "Best ever!! Best ever!!" Instantly the chant was taken up, first by the students, then by the members. Maverick's feet were still kicking slightly, and I knew that Maverick could still hear.
Seconds later, Maverick was still. So little fluid remained in his body that his bladder let out only the smallest trickle of urine. I turned to look at Jack, holding the heart monitor. After a time, Jack looked up and nodded.
I jumped up on the stage, then onto the platform. Jack, Marcus, and Holden joined me. I pulled the lever, and the platform rose until Maverick's knees and calves lay limply on top of it. Jack and Marcus held up Maverick's body, and I removed the noose from his neck. We lowered the platform again, and lay his corpse on the stage. I stroked Maverick's hip lovingly with my free hand, and whispered, "You did it, honey. Everything. Everything."
Jack handed me the sword. Zuchter held Maverick's head. I swung the sword up, and brought it down. Maverick's head rolled to the middle of the stage. I reached over, took it, and held it up for the audience to see.
I withdrew to the edge of the rope circle, leaving Maverick to receive the continuing applause he could no longer hear. I felt peace filling me like a soft, warm blanket. The undercurrent of worry that had built up for days, for weeks, the concern that everything should go well and nothing must go wrong, was gone.
As the applause died down, I found I had instinctively stopped in front of Maverick's father. I smiled at him, absently rubbing my fur smooth where a little of Maverick's blood had spattered. "I'm not sure what you were expecting, sir. But you can see nobody here thought your son was just an average Hanging Boy."
Paul Sadler was shaking his head in amazement. "Yes, I see that. I'd been telling myself that, but a voice inside kept reminding me I was probably biased."
My attention was attracted to Kelly, not by anything he was doing, but by what he wasn't doing — moving. His eyes were still glued to Maverick's limp form, rarely blinking, his mouth still half-open.
I passed my hand slowly in front of Kelly's eyes. He didn't seem to notice. I moved my hand back in front of Kelly's eyes and held it there, blocking his view of Maverick.
Kelly gave his head a brief shake, and seemed to come out of the trance. He spun toward his father. "Daddy, I heard somebody say they'd send us some of Buddy's fur later. Can I have a little bit? Please?" I blinked. I couldn't recall Kelly calling Maverick "Buddy" at their home — nor anything else. Nor had Kelly really given more than minimal attention to Maverick's presence.
"Of course, honey. Wouldn't want to deprive you of that"
"I'll do better than that," I interrupted. "Maverick left me his tail and part of his chest fur. I'll arrange to have the chest fur sent directly to you, Kelly. And I'll make arrangements so, when you're 18 and come here, you get his tail."
Kelly's eyes were wet, and a little teardrop escaped to roll down the left side of his face. He grabbed his father's hand, with an intense look in his eyes that I instantly recognized. I'd never seen Kelly look so much like Maverick. "Daddy... Buddy's coach. Do you still have his phone number?"
"I... somewhere, yeah. Or I can look it up."
He gripped his father's hand tighter. "Tonight? Can you call him tonight?"
Paul Sadler looked at his younger son for a long moment, then nodded. And looked at me.
I felt so buoyant with joy I was sure I would float to the ceiling if I let go of the pylon. It would have been enough that Maverick had realized his dream of being recognized as the greatest of all Hanging Boys. He had accomplished a forty-minute hanging time that no other boy would approach for years, if ever. But beyond that, I saw the proof now that Maverick had achieved the one goal more important to him than any other. I had only to look into Kelly's eyes to see that.
And I have something too, I thought. I'll never have to think Maverick is gone from the world. Maverick is standing here right in front of me.
I grinned at Paul Sadler. "You know what you're seeing, right, sir? You've seen it before."
He nodded slowly. "Uh-huh."
Behind me, I saw that the staff was moving Maverick's body onto a gurney, getting ready to take it to the furrier. And I suddenly realized Kelly had spoken to me. I turned back to look at him. "I'm sorry, what?"
Kelly looked a little less hypnotized than earlier, but no less intense. "I was just saying, it's like college, right?"
I didn't need to ask what he was referring to. "Well, yes and no. Education is more general at a college. At college you spend some time studying a little of everything, language arts, general history, math, science, social sciences... The Academy is at the college level, but it's a lot more specialized. It goes way beyond just practicing hanging, but everything you study has some connection with hanging. It's more like... a professional school. Law school, medical school. That kind of school. There's a science of hanging, and that's what you learn here." I somehow wasn't surprised Kelly had never drawn this information out of Maverick. Until he had begun hearing his inner Hanging Boy voice, he'd had no curiosity about it.
Kelly nodded. "How do you get in?"
"That's one way it's just like college..."
After about forty minutes, trays were wheeled out on carts. Maverick had arranged this, too. He'd known that the guests would be exhausted, sexually spent and barely able to stand. So instead of a formal meal, the staff was bringing in trays of little appetizers, sliced meats, sandwich fixings, and a whole lot of little tiny pastries for dessert.
Kelly ate a little, then stopped with a pensive look. "Is it weird to think that wearing Buddy as a choker will help me be a better hanging boy?"
I blinked back a new flow of tears. "Not even a little weird. I think the same thing myself."
Saturday Evening
The cafeteria seemed a little subdued for a post-hanging party — partly because there aren't many of us left. Only the graduates were present, and three guests invited by Maverick — Marcus, Zuchter, and Holden. In the student dorms, tables with pizza were set up at the ends of the corridors, but here in the caf, the dining was a little more formal.
But it wasn't just the small number. Everyone was a little drained from watching Maverick's hanging. All of us had had at least one orgasm, and beyond that, there was the awe factor. We understood hanging like nobody else in the world, and we all knew just how amazing Maverick's performance had been. We were just a little too much in awe to talk very much.
Saturday Night
Marcus kissed Marshall's head, as he always did when he spent the night in my room. Then he turned to face me. "You want to watch a movie or something?"
I shook my head. "I'm so tired, I'd sleep through it anyway." I started stripping off my uniform. "Mind if we just hold each other until morning?"
Marcus walked up to me, and stroked my cheek softly. "I'd really like that." He started taking his own clothes off.
I turned down the covers of the bed. "How are Zuchter and Holden getting along? Sexually, I mean?"
Marcus laughed. "Can't you tell? Zuchter really adores Holden. Holden keeps coming up with these new positions to tie him up in. It's a good thing there's no classes tomorrow. Zuchter's going to be completely worn out."
I smiled sleepily, and lay down on the bed, holding my arms out to Marcus. Marcus climbed into the bed beside me, and wrapped his arms around me. He pushed his right leg between mine and gave me a kiss. "Maverick was just fantastic today."
I nodded. "In more ways than you even know. I am just... I don't even have words for how happy I am for him. Everything was perfect."
"Like for Marshall?"
I nodded thoughfully. "A lot like Marshall. I know you've heard this before, but let me tell you what Marshall did for me. Like he was passing the torch. Then I'll tell you what Maverick did."
Marcus snuggled closer, his body pressed full length against mine, as I tightened my arms around him. "Listening."