Billy gilman

The following story contains scenes of some random adult who just happens to look and act like me having an affair, which includes sexual content, with twelve year old country superstar William Wendell Gilman, known more popularly as Billy Gilman. It's just a random fantasy I had after buying his Christmas CD (I didn't /have/ to buy it, I already had most of the songs from Napster, but I /chose/ to support an artist I respected, as much for his work as the fact that he's adorable! See RIAA, we /do/ pay!) and hearing the undeniable passion and spirit in his voice as he made me feel very strongly about the season of giving (and far enough ahead of time that I can still get decent gifts for people, too!)

I do not know Mr. Gilman personally, nor have I seen any concert or interview by him: My entire take on his personality is based on the little sheet on the inside of the CD that lists his favorite things and asks him random questions, his pictures on the CD cover, and obviously the beautiful songs which he has performed. In the highly unlikely event that he were ever to read this fiction, I can only hope that he would take it for what it is: an acknowledgement of his beauty and talent, which of course has something to do with the fact that I find him unbelievably attractive, but is also born of a deep respect for him and his abilities. Mr. Gilman, your songs and your smile brought me, if just for a brief time, an immense happiness: Thank you.

Obviously, the story is fiction, and will remain so unless Mr. Gilman intends it to be otherwise. I'm not a rapist, but I certainly wouldn't say no if he asked! There's a lot of religious overtones to the story, something most are probably unaccustomed to seeing in pedophilic erotica. But hey - both traits are part of me, and both are important to me, and both co-exist within me quite peacefully. You'll just have to cope.

Email opinions to arin@mudnet.net is always appreciated. Merry Christmas! -------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Angels we have heard on high, sweetly singing o'er the plains!

And the Mountains in reply, echoing their joyous strains!

Glooo-ooooo-ooooo-oooooria! In Excelsis Deo!

Glooo-ooooo-ooooo-oooooria! In Excelsis De-ee-o!"

I twirled my body around on the sidewalk as my portable CD player blared young Billy's voice into my ears. It couldn't be loud enough for me. Despite the fact that I was in public, and no one else could hear the cherub's angelic voice, I had to restrain myself from singing along. The recorder had done his job well - it seemed almost as though Billy were floating above me, one of the angels he sang about, supplimenting my desires to give praise in the highest to my Creator. For the first time in months, I slowed down as I walked down the hill towards my apartment, glancing around at the greyish-blackness of a nighttime sky just barely touched by the light of the receding sun, and saw the beauty and wonder in it all. The majesty of God's creation lay out before me, and the youthful passion in the voice I heard told me that I was not alone among the humans who witnessed it. "Glory to God in the Highest", the boy was singing, and there was no doubt in my mind that even though the words were in Latin, he knew what they meant.

I twisted my key in the door to the apartment and was instantly greeted by the smell of really good pasta, my smile broadening. A slightly younger man in his late teens stood over the stove, his smile echoing mine as he saw me enter. "Hey," he said in greeting.

"Hey Reese," I replied, putting young Billy to rest for a moment and laying the CD player on the kitchen counter. "Dinner smells great," I offered.

"Thanks," he said sincerely. He motioned to the CD player. "Whatcha listenin' to?"

I blushed slightly as I smiled. "I got the Billy Gilman CD. You know, the Christmas one?"

Reese nodded politely, turning back to the spaghetti on the oven. "Yeah, the country kid, right? The one that I thought was a woman?"

I silently grimaced at that statement, though in a way I guess it was complimentary of my favorite singer to say that he could hold his own with the adult female country stars. But I could hear the boyish tones in his voice perfectly. "Yup, that's the one."

Reese half-smiled. "You should go look at the computer, there was a story about him on the Yahoo website."

I blinked at him, a bit suprised. "You took the time to look up an article on him?"

He shook his head. "No, it was next to an article on the McLaren F1." This got a smirk out of me, because I knew about his obsession with fast cars. "But I think you'll find the article interesting."

I started for the computer room, idly picking Billy up and carrying him in with me, slipping the headphones back onto my head. I hoped it wasn't another bashing article, like the one I'd read in the Stranger, that implied that the boy was nothing but a music industry sex object because of all the suggestive songs on his regular CD, "One Voice". The author of the article didn't consider Billy worthy to sing such an uplifting song as "One Voice" if he were singing sexually suggestive songs on the same album.

His attack on Billy's character annoyed me. I even went so far as to reply to that article, stating that just because a person has sexual thoughts and feelings doesn't mean that they can't also have an aspect of their personality that transcends such base desires and brings the light of hope to the world. Perhaps that was when I first began to feel such a strong attachment to the young artist - I could relate to someone whose name was dragged through the mud by what others judged to be an imperfection on his part, though they simply representated the expression of natural human desires. As someone attracted to beautiful boys like Billy, I felt that judgement every day.

I reached the computer and found that the Internet Explorer window was already open to the article, a fact which made me smile anew. My roommate was so considerate at times that, despite the fact that he was seventeen and way too old for my tastes, there were times when I wished he weren't straight. Certainly I hoped that, should little Johnny Right enter my life, he'd be as thoughtful and kind as Reese could be.

The article was nothing excedingly interesting, it was a bunch of things I already knew about young Mister Gilman. The release of the CD which sat in my player, his performance at the Grand Ole Opry, his duet with Charlotte Church for the song "Sleigh Ride". At the bottom of the page were the words "Tour Schedule", and a list of places and dates. My mouth dropped open in shock and delight.

"He's coming!" I yelled out, my finger touching the panel where the date was as if I needed to hold the pixels in place to make the blessed event real. Surely enough, the schedule showed a performance in Seattle, Washington, scheduled for December the 24th. "And on Christmas Eve," I whispered in awe.

Reese came into the room to stand beside me. "My new girlfriend is into country music, I thought maybe you'd like to double-date?"

My smile faded slightly, my shoulders shrugging. "I don't exactly have a boyfriend. I have a couple of friends who are boys, but they're just friends."

Reese smiled. "So, bring them! I bet Billy would look your way more if he saw people his own age near you."

I thought the idea preposterous - to even have a chance, I figured I had to bring /female/ friends his age - but still, the mere thought of it was enough to bring a smile to my face. "Yeah, okay," I said, "I guess we could try it."

Nearly two months later, I was walking with one of my kid friends through the wild and rampant streets of Seattle. The Pike Place market, the Bon Marche, Westlake Center... even the Space Needle, although no power on this Earth including Billy Gilman was ever going to get me to go all the way up it in a transparent elevator. All of it was there for my young friend to see, and I'd planned this day almost two weeks in advance to make sure we didn't miss anything.

I wasn't dating this young boy, nor did I have any especially obsessive attractions to him. Still, he was admittedly pleasing to look at, and great fun to be around. Most importantly, unlike most of my other kid friends, he had that same kindness that endeared Reese to me so much. Standing barely under five feet tall, his short blonde hair still managed to stick up and flop around as we stopped to gaze at the Christmas Tree at FAO Schwartz.

"Woooow," the boy said, bright smile on his young face.

I smiled down at him. "Isn't it amazing, Christopher? You don't see /this/ in a suburb."

He looked up at me and nodded, light eyes just gleaming with excitement. "Yup," he stated casually, turning back to gaze upon the Evergreen once more. My own head turned off to the side to gaze down the street - I could just make out the building that would, two days later, boast the young William Gilman on stage singing his Christmas masterpieces. I felt goosebumps just in anticipation of the event - I had managed to get tickets which were very close to the front row. The thought that he might smile and wave in my direction was enough to give my heart, even at age twenty, the flightiness of a young girl at a Hanson concert.

I turned back to notice that Chris had moved a few feet ahead, and in moving to close the distance between us I collided with another boy who was rushing out of the shop. I sprawled over him, landing hard on the concrete of 6th Street, with the boy's delicate frame squished underneath me.

I darted my head up, concern for the youth's welfare foremost on my mind. "I'm sorry, Mister.." I began, using the formal title as my own way to show the children of this country some small form of respect for their status as human beings - something they get far too little of. But my voice didn't trail off because I didn't know his name, it trailed off because I knew his name very well. It was a name I had repeated several times in my fantasies, it was a name that rolled sweetly off my tounge and left me with a glow - It was Billy Gilman!

The famous boy looked up at me with a somewhat shy grin, responding in that ever familiar voice "It's okay, it was my fault." His dirty blonde hair was sticking out around him, his baseball cap lying on the pavement next to us. I rolled off of him quickly, holding my hand out to help him up. And he touched it! Electricity flew through me like a mad jolt, though I barely managed to keep the outward signs of it at bay. Billy Gilman touched my hand! "Ohhh, man," he muttered, looking down at his pants. There was a small break in the material at his knee, a rip. He was wearing brown leather pants, and it took me a moment to realize they were probably /the/ brown leather pants - the ones he'd had custom cut, that he was so proud of. A major flash of guilt hit me, and I frowned slightly.

"Sorry," I said sadly, wanting to suck myself up into a black hole and hide. What a lousy first impression! "I didn't see you there." I picked up his hat and handed it to him.

By then Chris was at our side, staring between us. Not the Billy Gilman fanatic that I am, he thought it was just a regular boy. "Maybe Scott could fix them for you? He's pretty good at sewing."

That made me blush nervously. I was okay at sewing, but I couldn't make a decent repair to custom-tailored leather. "I don't think his parents would want some strange guy mending his pants, Chris," I said carefully. I was uncertain about whether or not to let Billy know that I knew who he was. I'd always felt that if /I/ were a celebrity, I would quickly get tired of having everyone know who I was and treat me like some porcelain vase that would break at a wrongly uttered word. There was no denying I /felt/ that way, because making an impression on him was even more important to me than it would have been if he was some unknown beautiful boy, but I wanted him to actually feel like just a boy with me, too.

I decided to take away the advantage I had over him. "I'm Scott," I said, holding out my hand again, this time for him to shake. "Scott Pizham."

He shook it gently, but not unfirmly. "Billy Gilman," he said, as if I needed to hear him say it to know.

"Nice to meet you, Billy," I said modestly, releasing his hand reluctantly. I stood there uncertainly for a moment; I knew it was time to just move away from him. It had been twenty seconds already since I mauled him, so I expected some parent or bodyguard to be at his side shortly.

But Chris caught on, and opened the floodgate with the carelessness that only he can exhibit in delicate situations. "Hey," he asked innocently, "isn't he the kid you listen to all the time on your CD player?" I saw Billy's eyebrow quirk upward, surprise registering in his greenish-blue eyes. I didn't have to say anything to confirm Christopher's statement, the look in my own dark brown eyes gave away the truth.

"You knew who I was?" he asked unneccesarily.

I was about to begin a modest reply, but Chris cut in, blabbering "Know you? He's got your poster on his wall, he's got tickets for us to see you on Sunday, he's like your biggest fan!" I was turning increasingly red as Chris rattled off my homage to the musician, waiting for him to slip and say that I was attracted to the boy. He knew - I tend to be more open about my orientation than I should be, considering the legal climate - but through the grace of God he didn't bring it up. Either he had enough common sense to realize that that should stay quiet, or he simply forgot.

I looked sheepishly at Billy and shrugged, nodding slightly. "It's no big deal," I said honestly, "No reason to treat you different from other people, right?"

That statement brought a small smile to the artist's lips. Just then, another gentleman appeared at his side and placed a suited arm between the boy and me. "I'm sorry, sir, Billy is not giving out autogr--"

The child interrupted his escort, saying "It's alright, Charles. This is actually a friend of mine."

Both the gentleman and I blinked in surprise, but once I got over the euphoric bliss of hearing William Wendell Gilman call me a /friend/, I was quick on the uptake. "Yeah," I said in agreement, "I used to live on Rhode Island when I was younger. I babysat for Billy once or twice."

The youth's smile broadened, a sense of comradery already built up between us. We were partners in crime, at the very least. "Yeah, I used to call him Uncle Scott when I didn't know any better." He turned his gaze back to me. "Hey Scott, why don't you and your new little friend there join us for dinner tonight? I don't really know anybody else in Seattle and my friend Tommy had to go back to Rhode Island for Christmas."

I was inwardly doing somersaults at the suggestion, but somehow I managed not only to keep from passing out but also to consider the potential consequences of extending the ruse with Billy. "What about your parents?" I asked, figuring that the guard would think I was trying to be a polite friend and not interfere with the holiday. Billy realized I meant that I was worried about them knowing that they'd never hired me as a babysitter.

The boy gave a casual shrug. "They couldn't make it to Seattle. Colin caught sick and they're taking care of him. I really miss them but I'm glad that they're there to look after him."

I frowned. "You mean you're all alone for Christmas, except for your bodyguard here?"

The boy nodded. "Actually, Charles is just going to drop me off at the hotel after the concert and then see his family for Christmas Eve."

Chris said what I would never have had the guts to. "Why doesn't he just spend Christmas with us?" He turned to Billy as if both me and his bodyguard had immediately given the idea our blessing. "You're gonna love his new place, we've got a playstation and two computers that we play Warcraft on and lots of toys and movies!" I was proud of him for treating Billy like just another kid, although to Chris that's really all Billy was - he hates country music.

I looked to Charles, the bodyguard, and shrugged as if I weren't about to check my pulse to see if it were still there. "It would be nice to spend time with him again," I said, as if it were a casual wish.

Billy seemed just as glad about the arrangement as I was. "What do you think, Charles? I could call my mom and let her know."

The bodyguard shrugged. "'S alright with me, I guess. I didn't really like the idea of leaving you alone on Christmas Eve anyway. Truth be told, I was going to invite you over myself." He looked at me. "But I guess you have family here after all."

Billy smiled at his success. "Yep, I had no idea you moved to Seattle, Scott!"

I shrugged, smiling. "Actually, I moved to Federal Way, it's up the road. I'm just giving Chris here the grand tour."

Billy turned to look at Chris. "You like swimming?" My friend gave him an enthusiastic nod. "Well, they've got an indoor pool at the hotel, wanna take a dip? You look like maybe one of my shorts would fit on ya, if we tied the string tight." Looking to me, his grin grew, and he said "We'll have to get you a pair."

I smiled and shook my head, pulling up the band of my green shorts underneath my jeans. "I was cold this morning so I threw 'em on as extra."

The famous youth giggled. "Same old Scott," he said, punching me on the arm as if we were old friends. I /felt/ like we were old friends, now, so I playfully poked him back.

When we reached his hotel room, I felt a new surge of pride in my new friend. One would expect someone of his quick wealth to be living it up in an extravagant suite, but Billy's accomodations were very casual - a single bedroom with two beds, a dresser and a TV. A quart of ice cream, pistachio flavor, sat half eaten on one of the end tables.

"Well," Charles said, "if that will be all for now, Master Gilman?"

The youth smiled coyly, responding "Why yes, Mister Toorin. Thank you kindly," in his best 'refined' voice. Apparently the use of formal names was a joke between them.

"Take care, sir," he said, nodding to Christopher and myself. "I'm glad you found your friends." With that, the door closed and we were alone.

"You little /goofball/," I said, playfully poking Billy as much as I could. "'Oh, he's an old friend'," I mocked, making my voice high and squeaky like his.

He laughed and smiled, poking me back with just as much enthusiasm. "/Babysitter/?!?" he asked loudly. "Do I look like I need a babysitter to you?"

I smirked. "No, just a severe tickling," I said, closing him into the corner. He howled with gleeful laughter, beautiful boyish laughter, as he tumbled against my attacks, fell against my arm while I held him up. <Glory to God in the highest,> I thought.

Chris stared at us sheepishly as we calmed down a moment, the beautiful blonde nestled against my arm. He stared from one smiling face to the next and said, "You don't really know each other, do you?" This caused the two of us to giggle insanely.

Billy turned to me through the giggles. "Geez, were we /that/ good?"

I nodded, huge smile still plastered to my face. "You weren't kidding on the CD cover when you said you liked to be creative." I held out a hand for a highfive, and my new friend eagerly delivered. For a fleeting moment we just gazed into each others eyes, uncertain smile matching uncertain smile. The warmth of his body on my arm was wonderful.

"Well," he said, slowly breaking the connection as he got up and walked over to his dresser, "I'll be right back." With that, he took out a pair of swim trunks and went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. On his way he said, "Go ahead and pick out a pair of swimmies, Chris."

I slowly stripped down to my green shorts, a little disappointed that he hadn't chosen to change in front of me - for a moment I'd had the irrational thought that I had a chance in hell with him. But, of course, that was merely wishful thinking, and something I could never pursue. The child had taken a great risk, trusting me the way he did, and I was not going to be the one to violate that trust.

Chris, eternally shy about his private parts, waited patiently for Billy to finish changing. When the boy came out, I thought I was going to pass out from the sight. Even though he'd chosen to wear a T-shirt, the bare pink skin of his arms, covered with just the lightest wisps of white hair, were mirrored by his perfect, skinny long legs. The only mars on skin that I expected would be silk soft to the touch were a small birthmark on his right calf, and the scrape I had caused on his left knee.

Chris didn't waste any time noticing the stare, moving past Billy and into the bathroom himself, leaving me alone with my young idol for the first time. Billy moved to the bed and sat down next to me, his expression still jovial but also somewhat more serious. "You should wear a shirt in the halls," he said, pointing at my undershirt on the floor. "You know how the old fogeys can get. They'd never be able to handle your manly chest."

I quickly bent over to pick up the shirt, so that Billy wouldn't see the amazing red blush on my cheeks at that statement. I wasn't exactly what I would call "manly", with a somewhat hairy physique and a little bit of a pot belly. "Well, you should take yours off, then," I kidded. "Obviously not a problem for you."

The kid laughed. "Hey, I've got three whole armpit hairs, I'm a /big/ boy now." He pulled back the sleeve of his T-shirt and held his armpit out for my inspection, the very light must of boy odor hitting me suddenly. Sure enough, two almost invisible blonde hairs were visible upon closer examination. I stuck a finger there and tickled him, making him close his arm down on it and giggle more, pushing my face playfully away.

I threw my shirt on. "Well, well," I said, "hair in funny places." I shook my head as if he were committing a crime by growing them - actually, as far as I was concerned, puberty /was/ committing a crime by trying to ruin such beauty.

The boy gave me an almost dirty look and said, "Oh, there's /five/ down /there/." My eyebrow quirked in anticipation, wondering excitedly if the young cherub were going to give me a glimpse of that which I most craved.

As usual, Chris could be counted on to spoil it, coming back out into the room dressed in Billy's shorts. Billy repeated the suggestion of throwing a shirt on for the walk to the pool, and Chris readily agreed.

"Be careful," I said, just to move the subject to something more discussable in front of Chris, "that means your voice is going to change soon."

It was a foolish thing to say, and I knew even before Billy's face showed it that I'd placed his good mood in jeopardy. His smile faded, and with it my own inner joy. "Yeah," he said somberly, "I know."

Chris was a big help on the way down to the pool, ranting on about things which could make Billy feel like a kid again. Chris was good at that - sometimes, spending time with him, /I/ almost felt like a kid again. We could get into huge debates on whether Mighty Mouse could beat up Superman, how long it would take to tunnel to China, whether it's more fun to prank call a pizza place or a bar. And there was no better Monopoly partner in the world.

I decided to give the boy a sideways hug as we reached the pool room, for no real reason other than to be affectionate. After all, it was supposed to be his day, and now we had someone else along - even if that someone else /was/ Billy Gilman. Chris smiled up at me, appreciative of the gesture.

"Hey," Billy asked with a mock pout, "where's mine?" I was all too happy to oblige, giving the boy an equally affectionate hug. I left an arm over each youth's shoulder.

The pool itself was nice, for a hotel pool. It wasn't that big, but it had an eight foot end and a shallow end. Billy was the first to peel off his shirt, and the sight of his broad shoulders and the clavicle muscles on his back were enough to make me a little weak-kneed again. I also had less covering underneath, and my erection was a more visible bulge than it was before.

I peeled off my own shirt and, hoping the water would be warm, jumped in immediately to cover it up. But the knowing smile on Billy's face when I looked at him next suggested that he might have seen it. I smiled back, blushing slightly, and then the world became splotchy and distorted as Chris jumped between us, sending water through our eyes.

We splashed around and frolicked in the water for a little over an hour, first swimming laps and then wrestling around. It wasn't until we were getting out that it really occured to me that I'd been able to hold the young artist's bare skin in my arms - at times more of a hug than a wrestling match. His skin was as smooth as I'd expected and then some, and looking at him with the flecks of water making his bare chest shine in the light it was hard to restrain from going after his virtue right there - but still, I held back. Honor and respect for him demanded that I do so.

Towels wrapped around our shorts and shirts over our heads again, we headed back up to Billy's room where he ordered room service for all of us (we fought consistently about whose treat the meal was going to be, but he eventually beat me down by pointing out that there'd be a homecooked meal for him before his concert that Sunday). Naturally, it was Chris who suggested Monopoly all around, and Billy and I were both more than game. He gave me more of a run for my money than Chris usually does, but by the time we finished our meals I had hotels on all Pennsylvania, Pacific, and North Carolina Avenues and they were down, almost literally, to the shirts on their backs. Sometime during the game I gave Chris's mom a call and alerted her that we would be staying at a friend's house, grateful once again for the trust I'd endeared with her.

Chris yawned and mumbled, "You win," before crawling up onto one of the beds and wrapping himself tightly in the covers. Neither Billy nor I was especially sleepy.

"It's a little cold in here," I said casually.

Billy smiled. "Hey, come check this out." He led me out onto the dark little patio and there was a small sort of outdoor fireplace and a few pieces of wood. He put one of the pieces in wood and expertly lit it. I chuckled.

"What?" he said, looking at me curiously.

I shrugged. "Just seems to me that every kid I know these days has a passion for fire is all. Chris loves it, his older brothers get in trouble with it, and you're practically an expert there."

Billy smiled. "I'm from Rhode Island," he said, winking. "It's either learn to start a fire or die in the cold."

I nodded, getting up to the fire and holding my hands out for warmth. "Sooo," I said, for the sake of small talk, "your brother took ill?"

Billy nodded. "My parents wanted to come with me anyway, but I insisted that it was important for Colin to be cared for by his family and not some dumb doctor." He looked sadly into the fire. "I'd have stayed myself, but I didn't want to disappoint people like you."

I smiled, giving him a conciliatory hug. "Hey, we'd have understood. Or I would have, anyway."

Billy hugged me back, grateful for the comfort. "I'm glad you're here. I didn't want to be alone. I miss them so much."

My hug got tighter a moment, then I released him. "Want to call them?"

He shook his head. "In the morning, maybe. It's midnight for them now."

Without really thinking about it, I ran a hand through his silky blonde hair and down his cheek. "Such a considerate son they have," I complimented.

He blushed, shrugging. "They're important to me is all."

"Well," I said, trying to change the subject, "what're they gonna think about you hanging around with me?"

He giggled, poking my arm. "I'm not /really/ gonna tell 'em, silly... could you /imagine/ that conversation?"

I nodded, serious. "Yeah, I could. It wouldn't be too hard."

"I can't tell them the truth," he said sternly.

"They're important to you," I repeated, gently but firmly. "Besides, what're they going to do, fly out to Seattle to kidnap you back?"

He bit his lip, nodding. "Point," he admitted. "But who would I say you were?"

I considered that for a moment. "Old babysitter?" I joked, winking. Billy punched me lightly on the arm, but he was smiling.

"I suppose Chris could always have been one of my old school friends, and you could be... well, whatever you are to him."

I chuckled. "I'm just a friend of him and his family. You'll like them, although I think one or two may have been plotting your death." I blushed a little bit. "I tend to overplay your CD," I admitted.

"Really?" he asked, clearly flattered.

I nodded. "Well, no, not really the whole CD. Just a song or two. Mostly 'Angels we have heard on High'."

Billy smiled brightly. "I loved doing that song. It felt so powerful, leading that large group behind me."

"Yeah," I said, nodding again, "that was part of it. But it's more than that - I believed you. The passion of true Faith showed through in the way you sang."

He smiled. "Yeah, well, I /did/ mean it." He leaned forward a bit. "Miss Bacari, she always tells me it's important to be believable. And usually I pick songs I can ident..." He trailed off a bit, looking between me and the fire, an awed expression on his face.

"What is it?" I asked, curious.

"I'm really doing it," he mumbled, smile appearing slowly on his face at first, but then more broadly than I'd ever seen it.

"What?" I asked again.

"Well, in 'Winter Wonderland'," he said. "The words 'Later on, we'll conspire, as we dream by the fire.' I'm sure you noticed how I rushed that part a bit?"

I shrugged. "Didn't seem rushed, although it didn't have the same feeling, I agree."

He motioned to our surroundings. "Well, look at us. Conspiring and dreaming by a fire." It wasn't until after he said it that he really realized the comparison he was making, smile replaced with a look of worry about my reaction.

My expression, too, had gone somber. The thought wasn't spoken aloud, but it lay in both of our heads - that song referred to a couple. Lovers. I'm not certain who leaned forward first. It may have been him, more likely it was me. But we leaned forward. In sync, each person's right hand went to the other's left cheek, and suddenly we opened our mouths just a bit and he was kissing me and I was kissing him back.

It wasn't a rushed kiss, and neither of us seemed really aware that it was actually happening. It was the dream, the longing for one another suddenly and almost unwillingly manifested in our physical forms. Each of us just gently moving our lips wider apart and closer together in slow rythym, eyes gently shut in savorance of the experience. It wasn't until our lips parted and we gazed uncertainly, hopefully into one another's arms that we acknowledged the event as reality.

"Did that just happen?" I whispered gently, awed.

"Yes," Billy whispered back, just the faintest hint of a smile on his lips as he leaned in and we kissed again. This time there was a little more passion, as his boyish tounge ventured out of his mouth and rubbed gently against the underside of mine. I returned the dance in kind, stroking the top of his tounge with mine, then darting underneath him to feel his tounge over mine. Slowly, my arms enveloped him into an embrace, and I held him close in the kiss.

Again we parted, this time with my hand moving up to his hair and brushing back a fleck. "You're beautiful," I admitted, although that opinion was likely obvious.

Billy smiled, gently poking my nose with one hand while his other explored my hair, smile wide. "New plan."

I awoke the next morning with Billy snug in my embrace. We were both still dressed, as we had decided not to consummate our budding love for each other. Not that night.

I looked over at the clock on his nightstand. It read 9:30am. I shook my love awake slowly. "Hey, Billy? Wake up."

His bleary eyes opened slowly, still lost in sleep. When they locked with mine, his smile returned, and his arms squeezed me tightly. "Oh good, it /wasn't/ a dream."

I started gently stroking his hair. "Nope, no dream," I confirmed. "I sure as hell thought it would be. You didn't know me yesterday, but I've had this dream about you long before now."

He shrugged, cheeks slightly red. "I had this dream, too. May not have been you, per se, but it was the idea of you, at the very least."

I smirked. "What do you think of the real thing?"

He smiled. "Better than expected," he said, poking up at my nose. "What about you, am I the way you imagined?"

I gave him a small peck on the lips. "Kinder," I replied. "I always knew you were kind and gentle, but I figured you'd have a whiny streak too, like most kids."

He chuckled. "You should see me when I /want/ something," he said.

I motioned towards the TV. "Saturday morning cartoons? There's probably tons of Christmas specials."

He rolled around in the bed, head still resting between my arm and chest. "Mmmm, heaven."

We sat there like the oldest of friends, watching "Charlie Brown Christmas" followed by "How the Grinch Stole Christmas". Chris woke up just in time to watch Billy do a pretty impressive Snoopy dance, joining me in my fits of laughter. In the early afternoon, he called his family and checked in with them. They were glad to hear he'd been reunited with his friend, and were completely okay with our plans to have him spend Christmas Eve with us. They told him Colin's health was improving and that they should be able to meet him at his next tour stop in Portland. Mushy goodbyes were said, and then we went out on the town and hit an arcade.

For the most part, Billy was able to walk around unmolested, and Charles was there for the one or two people who did recognize him. We played a virtual fighting game that he kicked my ass royally on, mostly because the machine didn't interpret my moves correctly. Just wasn't meant to be played by any /real/ martial artists, I swear. Fortunately, Chris was able to avenge my death, wiping the floor with the young artist every time.

Finally evening came, and we decided to stay at the arcade and eat at it's attached restaurant. While we were eating, one of his Christmas songs started to play on the radio, and I sang along with his former self, holding his hand under the table. He complimented me on my singing voice, though I'm certain it was merely a polite compliment. I'm good, but, well, I'm not /him/.

That night, with Chris dropped off back at his home, Billy and I held hands and looked out at the stars together from his hotel patio. "Beautiful, aren't they?" I asked, motioning to the stars.

"Yes, they are," he agreed, taking a deep breath of the cool Seattle air. The silence stretched between us for more than a few moments, but we were comfortable with it. The night, mingled with each other's company, brought both of us a kind of contentment that I know I'd been lacking before he came into my life, and from the way he soaked it in I imagine he hadn't known much of it either.

I pointed up at one of the brighter blue stars on the horizon. "You think that's what the star looked like, two thousand years ago?"

The youth gave a somber smile, shrugging his left shoulder. "I always imagined a closer one, maybe like a nearby star going nova or something."

I stroked his hair gently with my free hand. "You don't think it was something supernatural?" I asked, just to test him.

"A supernova isn't supernatural enough?" he asked, gazing back out at the stars. "Everyone always makes such a fuss about the extraordinary... the virgin birth, the magical star... they're missing the point."

I nodded. "I know. They need to feel like these events were spectacular, larger than life."

Billy looked at me warmly. "You don't, though. You see the beauty in the ordinary. You see God working /through/ people, not to them."

Again, I nodded. "God does bring the extraordinary sometimes, though. He brought me you." With that, I leaned in and kissed him gently, like our first kiss on that very spot had been. The mask of darkness kept me from worrying about my legal safety, and fortunately Billy wasn't /that/ popular that we had to worry about paparazzi or anything. For one night, at least, we were free amongst God's creations.

Billy was the one to break the kiss this time. "You know.. about tommorow... you know I've never..."

I shrugged. "I haven't either."

He blinked, surprised. "Really? But you're twenty, I'd have th--"

"Oh, no," I interrupted, stroking his hair again, "I've had /sex/ before. But tommorow night isn't about sex, it's making love. And I've never done that." Billy was silent for a few long moments as he absorbed my words, the gentle motion of my hand and the cool night breeze the only distractions. Finally, I asked, "Have you ever had someone sing for /you/? Just you?"

He shook his head. "Just my parents. I don't suppose they count, not in the sense we're talking about."

I smiled, stroking his cheek as I began to sing. "Siiilent niiiight, hooooly niiiiight, allll is callllm, alllll is briiiiight..."

Billy insisted on the rich treatment, just this once. It was something he had to do anyway, and he wanted us involved. So Reese, his girlfriend, Christopher and I all got into the stretch limousine from his hotel room and headed towards the concert hall. Naturally, Chris was having a blast opening and closing the sunroof and the fridge. Billy and I couldn't help but chuckle, watching him.

Reese's girlfriend was definitely awed by the star's presence. I couldn't blame her - dressed in a fine tuxedo, young Billy looked even more attractive than normal. "It's such an honor, Mister Gilman," she had sprouted, more than once, shaking his hand. I think Reese actually got a little jealous.

"Any friend of Scott's," the boy said, and my heart fluttered in my chest yet again. I wondered if Billy had even the faintest clue what effect he could have on a human heart, even /without/ singing. I thought that once I heard him sing on stage, I'd be able to do nothing but stare at his form and think of the night that lie ahead.

It turned out I wasn't giving my friend enough credit. He wanted us to get out with him right there, but I insisted that we get out in the lot afterwards to avoid the publicity and questions. We barely had enough time to get inside and seated before another child singer had taken the stage, opening up for Billy. A local kid, he wasn't bad, but he wasn't Billy either. I imagined the young Billy Gilman at the Washington County Fair, and wondered if someone had been in the audience thinking the same about him. It's a strange thing about life - not being able to tell who's going to be suddenly elevated along the path of stardom. I had no doubt that, this time last year, the thought of being a household name was the farthest thing from Billy's mind. He took it pretty well, all things considered.

Then he made it on stage. His stage presence was something many a critic had written about, but most of his songs from the "One Voice" CD were upbeat and bouncy... they required him to strut his hips and cut loose. The concert he was doing tonight was more formal, almost of the level that one would expect of one of the famous Three Tenors.

His voice cut across the silence the way it did on the CD, opening with "Angels We Have Heard on High". The choir joined in, followed by the orchestra, and once again the meaning behind the words hit me. Once again Billy took the focus off of himself and became the messenger, the humble worshipper of the Almighty. With each song, I focused more and more not on my relationship with him, but on our combined relationship with the Higher Power. My faith grew stronger, silent prayer upon prayer offered up in unison with the young artist's words. The people around me were similarly moved, and I couldn't help but feel that one of the keys to peace on this planet was being revealed in all it's majesty to us.

When it was almost over, Billy looked in my direction. "I had a discussion with someone last night," he said, "that made me think about the power in the ordinary. The fact that Jesus not only came to save us, but came to us at /our own/ level, becoming one of us. And so, taking a suggestion from my friend, I'd like to ask everyone to join me in offering our Lord the observance of a humble, human tradition."

He turned away from the audience and kneeled on the ground. Looking skyward, he and I began to sing first, because, of course, no one but us knew what song was about to be sung. But after a note or two, everyone in the audience had joined in.

"Happy birthday to you,

happy birthday to you!

Happy birthday dear Jesus,

Happy birthday to you!"

Billy finished by adding, "And many more," and the audience roared with laughter. Then, they offered the young artist a standing ovation which he richly deserved.

I won't describe what Billy and I did that night. Graphic details would only cheapen what will forever be one of the best memories of my life. It will have to be left up to the imagination.

I will tell you that we began with little red bowties around our necks, each with a tag that bore the other's name on it and said "Merry Christmas." And as we unwrapped our gifts, so to speak, we offered up a prayer of thanks to our Creator for bringing us together and allowing us to share in each other's love. "What God has joined," we said, repeating the words of a priest in marriage, "We must never divide."

When it was over, and I held Billy's nude and sleeping form close to my own, his body in an exhausted sleep after being pleasured several times, I repeated the prayer one last time. And though he wasn't conscious, the boy smiled his agreement as I finished.

The next morning, after breakfast, a limousine was in front of my apartment to take young Mister Gilman on to Portland. I wasn't sad about his departure, because a part of him was now and ever would be with me. We shared a bond that no distance could ever break.

Besides, he'd agreed to come back as soon as possible.

At the door, before opening it, we held each other tightly and exchanged one more warm, gentle kiss.

"Until we meet again, my love?" I asked, hand in his hair behind his head.

"And every moment in between," he answered, patting my heart with one hand and his own with the other.

I nodded, smiling. "I'd better let you go, then."

He opened the door and started out towards the limousine. But before turning away from me, he said, "I guess /two/ voices were heard."