Don’t send a man to do a boy’s job
Mission: Group Study
Did you want to know who my best friend was? Well, it’s a relative question, of course. Depending on the situation, friends come and go, and the ‘best’ epithet is reserved for the one who presents the most utility at any given moment.
That’s why, right then, my best friend was Google.
“So, Mr. Seichs, can you actually tell me when the Battle of Fort Sumter began? Or are you going to stand there until the class ends? I hardly think fiddling around with your glasses will help you remember what you didn’t study for.”
Haha, joke’s on you, old man. My IGlasses can, in fact, tell me the answer. Just give me a few seconds to search online — there!
“Sir, the Confederacy began hostilities at Fort Sumter on April 12, 1861,” I answered confidently — almost tauntingly as if I was daring my teacher to question my study habits.
“Well said...like an internet encyclopedia article,” the teacher scoffed. He waddled over to my desk and looked around, as if expecting the underside of the table to have a cheat sheet taped on it. He haughtily sniffed the air in front of me, a non-verbal way of promising that he’d catch me cheating someday.
I wouldn’t bet on that happening, though. I wasn’t even taking any of this seriously.
“How’d you manage to pull that answer out of your ass, Gel?” asked the boy who was walking beside me right then. His name was Colin Cress, and we had just left the rather tense lesson with Mr. C. Jung, our supposed History teacher.
“Well, I just remembered it at the last second, I guess.” I shrugged, hoping he’d pick up on how I didn’t want to pursue the topic further.
“Six, how could you? Using the agency’s tech to cheat in school?” Doc Johnson’s voice rang in my ear. He seemed genuinely offended.
“I’m not really in school, remember?” I blurted out.
“What was that, Gel?” Colin asked with a puzzled look.
“N — nothing. Just trying to remind myself why I have to put up with this.”
I put a middle finger up to my face, just so my IGlasses — and Doc — would see it. He’d know better than to talk to me while I was with civvies. Right then my name was Angelo Seichs, 8th grade student at Elizabeth Seton Academy…on paper, anyway.
But really, I’m Agent 69, and I didn’t come here to actually be a student.
I’m a secret agent on a mission.
“That is utterly stupid.”
“No it’s not, I think it’s brilliant.”
“I don’t even know how to pronounce that.”
“You’re kidding, right? It’s ‘Saaahyks’. Just because you can’t pronounce the name doesn’t mean it’s automatically invalid,” Doc said with finality, turning his nose up at me.
“It kinda does, ’cuz I have to be the one to introduce myself with that name to people,” I replied with a smirk.
“The kid’s got a good point, Johnson,” Lemon chimed in from the speakers. I could almost imagine him laughing to himself.
“Fine, team up on me, why don’t you?” Doc’s left eye was twitching like it always did when he was slightly annoyed. “I’ll have you know, it’s the name that’s on the school’s enrollment forms, so there.”
“Johnson, you sneaky arse,” Lemon guffawed coarsely over the speakers.
“Thanks, Lemon Boss — I was about to say that myself. But don’t you think your language is unbecoming of a commanding officer in our prestigious institution?” I asked in an intentionally pretentious manner. I was pretty sure the cameras would have let Lemon see the shit-eating grin I had on my face.
“That’s enough out of you, Angelo,” Lemon teased, placing special emphasis on the name. The CO can be such an ass himself, sometimes.
“Ugh, seriously? You could have at least thought of how I’d feel saying that name out loud.”
“Nope. I don’t understand how you’re not impressed,” Doc began. “It’s the best name I could come up with that sounds almost like ‘Agent 6’.” He puffed out his chest as though he expected us to praise him.
“Did…did his alias need to be similar to his code name?” Lemon asked. “If it did, I missed the memo. I would’ve pegged him as a ‘Jensen’ — ”
“Hey, I’d like that name a lot bet — ”
“Anyway!” Doc interrupted, his voice loud enough to quell both me and Lemon. “You are Angelo Seichs, and you are going to be an 8th grader at Elizabeth Seton Academy.”
“Aren’t I a little short to be an 8th grader?” I asked Doc sarcastically.
“There’s a reason! Besides, you’re biologically fourteen and it’s not unusual for a kid of your stature to be in that grade level, even if you do look like you’d be better off in sixth,” Doc huffed.
“So my mission…is to go to school…?” I gave Doc a dumbfounded look.
“Yes and no,” Doc replied. “This will be your first long-duration mission. Much like a sleeper agent, you’ll be embedded in the population until such time as you can accomplish your mission, which can only be done by immersing yourself and mingling with the target. In the meantime, you will function as a normal student, for all intents and purposes.”
“And what sort of mission needs me to become a normal kid in middle school?”
“That’s my cue,” Lemon interjected a wheezy cough. He might have been having a smoke. “You no doubt have some general knowledge of the Crimean Annexation almost a decade ago, which led to the former Ukrainian state seceding from its mother country and being annexed into Russia. Well, since then, Kiev and Moscow have been at each other’s throats, short of actually waging war on each other. That tension has remained until now.
“There are currently concerns that Russian troops are using Crimea as a staging ground for an all-out invasion, should they find a reason to legitimize such an act. They don’t need much, really. The whole thing is already sitting on top of a powder keg. A single alleged security threat from either side could trigger a war. But there are tremors in the espionage grapevine…it seems that Moscow is planning to manufacture the fuse to blow up the powder keg. A staged terror attack, most likely.”
“And…the next part is how a fourteen-year-old student is going to single-handedly prevent a war, right?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Quite,” Lemon continued. “We want political pressure to ease the hostilities, meaning we need hard evidence to indict Moscow as the agitator. Then we go public with it. As it happens, a retired Crimean diplomat lives near the school you will be infiltrating. The man was formerly a high-ranking member of the Crimean Supreme Council. However, it’s an open secret to intelligence agencies that he still advises the council and is no doubt privy to their military plans.”
“So…I go raid his house…?”
“No, you need to be subtle. A wrong move on our part could trigger the war we’re trying to prevent,” Doc explained as he thumbed through his pad. “If you’re going to get into his house and confront him, he has to welcome you in there himself.” Doc saw my questioning look, and added, “The diplomat, Fokin Anasovich, has a son attending the school you’ll be going to.” He showed me the picture of a blonde-haired boy who looked like his anxiety was reaching me even from the screen. Beneath his portrait was the name ‘Pyotr (Peter) Anasovich’.
“Oh. I get it. I snuggle up with the son, have him introduce me to his dad, then get whatever the dad knows. That about right?”
“That’s the gist of it,” Lemon agreed. “How you do it is up to you. But considering that making friends isn’t an overnight deal, get used to the fact you’ll be staying at that school for quite a while.”
“This sounds…incredibly underwhelming considering the missions I’ve already done,” I complained.
Doc sidled up next to me and put an arm around my shoulder. “Six, think of it this way. You may be in a mission, but think of this as a great way to make friends…and to feel like a normal kid for once. I went to school there when I was younger and I’m sure you’ll meet some great people. You might also get more of your memories back. You owe yourself that.”
But I’m not normal, I thought. All I gave Doc was a dismissive look. But if I were honest with myself, it was more a question than anything. Does someone like me deserve to feel normal?
"Next time, you should study before a quiz.”
“Do I have to take anything seriously here? It’s been a month, Doc. I’m itching to do actual spy things,” I hissed at Doc through my IGlasses. If my voice were any louder, it would have echoed in the bathroom, and other students might’ve heard me. I was very sure that talking to yourself while supposedly on the toilet is not considered a normal thing.
“All the more reason for you to focus on your studies, since you feel like you’ve got nothing else to do,” Doc replied sternly.
“Doc…do you really have to lecture me while I’m on the toilet?”
“Six, I’m just trying to help you.”
“But it’s all just pretend, anyway. What’s the point?” I groaned.
“I don’t want you to look at it that way. You know, I don’t plan for you to do this forever, being a spy. I hoped that one day you could go back to living a normal life. A normal kid going to school,” Doc said gently. I could definitely sense the sincerity in his voice.
“It’s nice of you to think that’s possible, Doc, but I don’t know what a life outside the agency is, at this point.”
“But you’ve already made friends, right?”
If I were honest with myself, then yeah, I’ve made a few friends in the month since I enrolled in school. First and foremost was Colin. He was naturally friendly, and had offered to show me around campus the first day that I got here. I guess you could say he was my best friend at the time.
Colin was also intelligent, observant and keen on details. There were times when I thought he’d pick up on me not being a real student, and I actually had to work hard to do real student-things like studying and making other friends just so I could keep up appearances with him. Ironically, that made me more inclined to spend time with him, and he’s one of the few people I’ve been honest with…short of actually telling him I was a secret agent, of course.
“Gel, you done in there? Something’s up. You need to see this,” Colin called out from outside the bathroom.
“Yeah, gimme a sec, I’m done.” I zipped my pants up and hurried outside to where Colin was. The urgency in his voice slightly worried me.
Colin gestured for me to follow him as he ran down the hall and outside to the front grounds of the school. From a distance, I could already see a knot of students gathered near the blacktop. It looked like a fight. That was uncommon, since, with the school’s strict anti-bullying policies, whatever bullies existed had to rely on taunts and mere verbal insults. Physical altercations were few, and severely punished.
“Who’s in for it this time?” I asked Colin as I jogged alongside him.
“It’s your buddy, Peter.”
“Oh no…what have you gotten yourself into, Petey…?” I mumbled as I involuntarily slapped my forehead.
One of my other friends was Petey, or rather, Pyotr. He was a special kind of friend, because he was also the target of my mission. Pyotr Anasovich had quite a rough childhood. An only son raised in a sheltered environment by over-protective Orthodox Christian parents, Pyotr had few friends as a child, and even fewer as a teenager. He was tall and lanky, and his relative inability to do sports made him scrawny and pale. He was extremely awkward and shy, and was deeply afraid of rejection. He was, in short, the kind of boy who always says ‘sorry’ even when nothing was his fault.
Befriending Petey was extremely difficult, since he wasn’t all that receptive to overly-friendly approaches, shy as he was. He wasn’t part of any social clique, and well outside Colin’s circle, so I had to do it alone. But somehow, I managed it.
A few engineered ‘chance’ encounters in the library, cafeteria, etc., slowly made him comfortable with my presence. Then I moved on to carefully measured gift-giving, starting with packets of biscuits at lunch until I was giving him books from his favorite young adult author. I considered it an achievement when he began to crack jokes with me, something he never did with anyone else. It was a sure sign that he considered me a friend.
Colin and I reached the throng of students. In between the much taller people in front of me, I saw Petey actually try to punch Brad. Being a huskier and larger boy, Brad tanked Petey’s hit with derisive laughter. Colin pulled me towards the familiar faces of our other friends near the edge of the crowd.
“Kenny, what the hell is going on?” I asked the brown-haired boy Colin and I approached. Kenny was a member of our group of friends, a Dungeons and Dragons aficionado, and an overall cool guy.
“Hey, Colly, Gel.” Kenny nodded at us. “Just kinda started. Petey got picked on by Brad and his thugs — the usual. But then Petey suddenly got all worked up and started yelling at Brad, and then challenging him to a fight.”
“Petey was never one to start a fight. I wonder what got into him, eh, Gel?” Colin gave me a knowing look. He must have guessed that my influence might have had something to do with Petey’s willingness to fight back. Well, admittedly, I had been giving him advice on how to be more assertive.
Just then, we heard Brad sneer, “Is that all you can do, you scrawny motherfucker? My bulldog punches harder than you.”
Our attention was drawn back to the fight, where Petey was doing his best to land a hit on Brad’s face, but he was failing miserably. Brad bobbed and weaved — I knew he’d been getting boxing training on weekends — and generally made a fool out of Petey and his non-existent fighting skills. Brad caught Petey’s last punch with his fist and used the momentum to throw Petey to the ground.
“You guys saw it, right? He started the fight. I was only acting in self-defense,” Brad announced. The mockery wasn’t lost on the crowd. Though, despite the ugly scene, everyone still stuck around.
Petey got up and attempted to tackle Brad, but the bulkier boy easily threw Petey back to the ground — he no doubt got a few bruises and scratches from that one. He lunged at Brad once more, but Brad viciously clocked him on the jaw, forcing him to fall once more on his ass.
My blood was boiling at that point. I surreptitiously worked the controls on my IGlasses, sending Doc a furtive request to hack Brad’s social media accounts — and that of his family, including their civil and medical records — in order to look for dirt I could use on him.
“I’m going in there,” I angrily said to my friends as I pushed past the crowd.
“Gel, don’t make things worse!” Kenny called out. Colin grabbed my arm, but I brushed him off as well.
I stepped into the bare space in the middle of the crowd, aware that all eyes were on me. I gave Brad a scathing look before I dropped down and used my hand towel to wipe some of the blood and spittle off Petey’s face. The crowd was rendered silent, no doubt waiting for what I might do.
“Congratulations, Brad! You successfully assaulted a boy half your size and with less effort than it takes to screw in a light bulb. But then, I guess a light bulb might be too complicated for you, anyway.”
“What the fuck are you playing at?” Brad snarled. "You’re that new kid, aren’t you? Stay out of this if you know what’s good for you.”
“Nope, been here a month already, Brad. I’m not new anymore,” I jeered as I stared him down with a steely look in my eyes. “I do have a newbie question you could answer, though. So, how many more kids are on your list this week? It must always be a bother, huh? Having to schedule when to terrorize the more helpless guys in school just so people will keep the miniscule amount of respect you think they have for you?”
“New kid, you are so asking for some broken ribs.”
Brad was looking daggers at me. Funnily enough, though, the couple of goons he had with him looked scared, as though fearful they might be caught in the crossfire.
Just then, my IGlasses flashed with Doc’s reports. I had the ammo I needed.
“Oh, you gonna beat me up too, Brad? I wouldn’t dream of fighting you. You’re so big and strong. But it’s only fair you got big muscles, huh, considering…” I held up my thumb and pointer finger and gestured like I was pinching something small. “...you’re just three and a half inches of a man down there,” I finished with a sneer, and pointing to his crotch. More than a few giggles escaped from the crowd.
“You…you think you’re so funny making guesses like that? You’ve never even seen what a real cock looks like, you cocksucker!” Brad yelled, his face reddening considerably.
I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. If only Brad knew about the things I’ve done as a secret agent…but anyway, I already had him in the palm of my hand.
“Are you offering to show us yours, Brad? Like how you keep showing them off to random men online?”
I knew I’d struck a nerve when Brad’s face flushed and his hands balled into fists.
“Those were fucking girls! Girls! And how the fuck did you…” Brad had hushed himself. It didn’t matter what he said at that point. It didn’t matter how I knew or if what I said was even completely true. Brad’s response already sent ripples through the crowd, and the air was filled with the buzzing of more than a dozen teenagers whispering and murmuring to each other. This was a war of public opinion — and I had already won.
“Sure, girls. Because we all know everyone on the internet is completely honest, right? But you don’t mind either way. That’s why you like beating boys up. You like boys.” At this point I felt a savage sort of pleasure just tearing Brad down. Though, if I wasn’t so furious at him, I might have considered my taunts way out of line. Especially what I said next. “Is that why your dad left your mom? Because he found out his son was a fucking faggot?”
It was totally expected when Brad yelled the loudest ’Fuck you!’ I’ve ever heard in my life. He charged at me like an enraged bull, complete with that same murderous look in his eyes. People blinded by emotional fury like that were easily dealt with, though. The moment he was near enough to punch, I gracefully twisted my footing and sidestepped to avoid him, and I stretched my foot out for him to trip on…and trip he did. He fell flat on the ground, face-first.
Brad got up quickly, his nose bloody and his face scratched, and growling every obscenity in the English language. He threw punch after punch at me, but I was more than able to parry each blow with my arms. I made it look ridiculously easy, making it obvious to the crowd that I was toying with him. Brad’s boxing training did him credit, but he was sloppy because of his rage. I wanted to work up a sweat , so I didn’t try too hard to beat him. There was one last insult to injury that I wanted to give him.
I caught one of Brad’s punches and then grabbed his arm to pull him close. I pulled him almost into a hug, and our chests bumped uncomfortably against each other. Both of us paused — Brad because he was dumbfounded at what I had done, and I because it was part of my plan. Using his arm as leverage, I easily threw him over my shoulder. He slammed onto the pavement on his back and I pinned him down with a knee to his chest.
We were both sweaty and sticky all over by then. All worked up, so to speak. And that was when I got my intended result.
“Brad, you’re homo after all! Getting hard just from that? Fucking queer.”
I got off Brad and left him to wallow in his defeat. He didn’t stand up immediately, leaving the crowd a few seconds to stare at the erection tent jutting prominently from his crotch.
No, Brad was not gay. He definitely was not aroused by getting beat up. But he couldn’t have known that he was fighting someone with extremely potent sex pheromones that artificially induced intense sexual arousal. Brad had slowed as we fought, not from fatigue, but by the libido steadily building up in his body due to my pheromones. And when I held him close, that sent him over the peak until he had a rigid boner for all to see. It really didn’t matter what the truth was. What mattered was that the crowd saw Brad pop a woody from physical contact with a boy.
I ran over to where Petey was. Thankfully, Colin and Kenny had taken the initiative to drag Petey away before Brad and I had fought, and were keeping him company as he recovered. I was extremely grateful to Kenny, who with his relaxed disposition and laid-back personality helped to calm the otherwise tense Petey.
“Petey, you okay?” I asked.
Weirdly enough, it seemed as if Petey found it extremely hard to look me in the eye. I looked over at Colin, and it seems like he’d noticed it, too. He gestured that we’d talk about it later.
“Petey?” I asked again.
“Thanks, Angelo. Thanks for everything,” Petey replied miserably. “I just wish you didn’t have to see me like this. Weak and pathetic. I’m sorry,” he sighed.
“What got into you, mate? Picking a fight like that?” Kenny asked.
Petey had no problems facing Kenny, but he still didn’t look at me. “Brad started dissing my family. I couldn’t let that go.” Finally, he slowly turned to look at me, taking care to focus on anything other than my eyes. “I’m sorry you had to fight him ’cuz of me…”
“What was I supposed to do? He was dissing my friend.” I winked at Petey. He didn’t wink back.
“Weird though, how Brad was gay after all,” Kenny began. “I mean, nothing wrong with it, but he’s always been such a homophobe so it was just really ironic.”
“He might not be,” Colin interjected. “Might just have been the heat of the moment or something. Just because you get a boner doesn’t mean you’re interested. Arousal is not consent.”
Colin looked at me questioningly as he finished. I just blinked at him.
“Way to go making things creepy, Colly.” Kenny then helped Petey up on his feet. “Gel, why don’t you take Petey to the infirmary? Mr. Skinner is headed our way, and he’s going to want to ask what happened, so get out of here. We’ll handle this.”
With a nod of appreciation at my two other friends, I put Petey’s arm around my shoulder and escorted him to the infirmary. When we were just outside the door, he stopped me.
“What is it, dude?”
“I’m sorry for what I put you through…I just wanted to stand up for myself, like you keep telling me to.” Petey looked extremely downtrodden as he spoke. "And I still messed up and dragged you into my mess.”
“Dude, I already said it before. You’re my friend and I wasn’t about to leave you hanging like that.”
“I’m sorry. I’m pretty sure I got you in trouble. I’m not worth getting a suspension for…I’m sorry I’m always — ”
“ — I swear to god, if you say ‘sorry’ one more time, I will plant my knee on your crotch.”
Petey was startled. Actually, so was I.
Before I knew it, everything I needed to say started filling my head, as though I were remembering someone else say the words to me from long ago. For a brief second, Petey’s face was someone else’s, and I heard a ringing in my ears — another lost memory? It ended as quickly as it had come, and I began to recite the lines in my mind.
“… never be sorry for who you are. There are others who would be sorry if you were not who you are right now. I don’t hang out with you to hear your apologies. I do it to hear you talk, to hear you laugh, to see you fall and to pick you up after. To see you win and for me to cheer after. You don’t have to say sorry for being my friend. Being friends with you was my choice. ”
Petey didn’t have anything to say. He just looked at me, opened his mouth a few times, but gave up on actually talking. He inched forward slightly, and I understood what was going through his mind. He wanted to give me a hug, but he wasn’t sure if I would be okay with it. I saved him the trouble of asking by wrapping my arms around him. He hesitated before returning the gesture.
After Petey had entered the infirmary, Colin caught up with me and accompanied me as I began to head back.
“How bad is it?” I asked.
“As bad as you might think. I actually came to get you for Mr. Skinner.”
“And here I thought you were just worried about me,” I sighed.
“By the way…Gel? Be careful what you say around certain people,” Colin said perceptively.
I cocked my head at him. I totally didn’t understand what he was getting at.
“Are you going to tell me what you mean exactly, or is this one of those ‘you have to figure it out’ bullshit?”
“I don’t know if you meant everything you said when you fought Brad. I don’t know how you even knew those things or if they were even true. I don’t know if you’re a homophobe or whatever — ”
“ — I’m not a homophobe! I didn’t mean any of it, I was just riling Brad up — ”
“ — point is, I don’t know a whole lot about you yet, Gel,” Colin interrupted. He took a deep breath, then continued, “But what I do know is that there’s someone who thinks the world of you. I hope you’re sensitive enough to know when the things you say might break someone’s glass slippers.”
“If I ask you who the hell you mean, you prolly wouldn’t answer me, huh?”
“No, I probably won’t. You see, my short friend, it ruins the drama…”
I punched Colin’s shoulder. He punched mine back. And with our arms around each other’s aching shoulders, we walked back outside.
After the scuffle, both Brad and I served detention, and were given letters from the school to give to our parents. I couldn’t care less when I gave it to Doc — he just mock-scolded me and we both had a good laugh about it. I bet that Brad didn’t have such a jolly good time, though. I saw his mother accompany him to the principal’s office at least twice in the following days.
Weeks passed for Angelo Seichs. And it seemed as though Agent 69 didn’t really mind anymore. No, the important thing was that I’d done what I could for Petey. I’d come to my friend’s rescue, and everything was right in the world. I didn’t mind the classes, and hanging out with Colin, his friends and mine — Kenny, Tommy, Troy, Espen, and Jenny and everyone else in our own circle — and, of course, spending time with Petey. It was the most fun that I’d had in a long time.
And then Petey had to bring me back down to Earth.
As it happened, Petey’s birthday was going to be on the upcoming weekend at his house, and he wanted me to come along with a few other people he knew from school, including Colin and Kenny. But the real zinger there was that, while the party would only last until dinner, and the guests would get to leave after, Petey had invited me to stay the night. It would be the first time that he’d invited anyone for a sleepover, or so he’d told me.
Doc reminded me that this was the whole point of my mission. It irked me to think of my friend’s birthday party as just a part of my job, though.
I arrived earlier than anyone on the day of the party, with my gift tucked under my arm. Doc insisted that I wrap it myself, which turned out horribly, but he reasoned that Petey would appreciate it more. I kinda agreed.
Petey greeted me at the door of their modest estate. He gave a surprised, open-mouthed smile when I handed him his present, and just like that time at the infirmary, he teetered on the edge of giving me a hug and pretending to be a statue. He settled for grabbing me in a one-armed hug that seemed a few seconds longer than usual. Then he invited me to meet his dad.
“So…uhm…just be natural when you meet my dad,” Petey began. He seemed very nervous.
“Is there something about you and your dad?” I asked carefully. “You look almost scared.”
“No, nothing like that. I love my father. But he is a very strict man. It’s a rule that I must introduce any guests of mine to him, and I have to prove that I keep good company.”
“That’s, fair, I guess.” I shrugged as I followed Petey across the living room and to one of three branching hallways.
Being a former diplomat seemed to have its advantages, as the manor I was in would attest. For a family of just Fokin Anasovich, Petey and his mother Talia, and a maid, the house was obscenely huge, and I could easily picture it being more suited to a family of eight or more.
Aside from being located in a posh suburb, the house was lavishly decorated, mostly with handsome furnishings I imagined were the vogue in Crimea. Every other surface had a golden sheen to it, and the drapes and upholstery seemed to be of royal silk. There was a modestly-sized pool in their backyard, and even a gazebo that housed a barbecue grill. But despite its aura of luxury, the presence of such a small number of people in such a huge estate made it seem a rather lonely place.
We reached a small study at the end of the hallway. Petey peered inside the half-opened door and entered, and then I heard a deep voice in what I assumed was their native tongue. A moment later, the door opened fully and a tall man with salt-and-pepper facial hair appeared with Petey at his side.
“Good afternoon, sir!” I greeted him, as politely as I could.
“Good afternoon to you, young man. I’m Fokin, Pyotr’s father.” He bowed and then looked me in the eye, as though sizing me up. “You must be Angelo — my son has told me much about you. It is a pleasure to meet with his friend at last.” I courteously took his hand and shook it. The man’s grip was firm and the gesture was quick, an almost accurate measure of his personality, and I hoped, not of his temper.
“The pleasure is mine, sir.”
“Indeed. Very few children are as polite as yourself, these days. I am glad my Pyotr found a friend like you,” Fokin said with an approving nod.
“Thank you, sir.”
Just then, the doorbell rang and the sound of a gate being opened brought the three of us back to the front double doors. The maid came first, carrying some grocery bags, and then came a strikingly beautiful woman with long, flowing hair. Her sculptured face wouldn’t have looked out of place in an expensive shampoo ad. She carried with her a covered tray that smelled of baked spaghetti.
“Welcome home, Talia, my dear.” Fokin kissed his wife and took the tray with him to the kitchen. Petey likewise gave his mother a quick peck on the cheek.
“Mother, this is Angelo, the friend I told you about,” Petey said as he gestured to me. I gave his mother an awkward half-wave, enamored as I was with her figure. She wore some nice-smelling perfume, too.
“Welcome, my dear. ’Tis a pleasure to meet a friend of my dear Pyotr.” Quite unexpectedly, she leaned down and brushed her cheek against mine. I sincerely hoped it wasn’t obvious that I’d blushed. “Pyotr, would you kindly help me with the rest of these bags?”
“Yes, mother.” Petey moved to grab a couple of the bags when I tapped his shoulder.
“Dude, I can help,” I insisted. I then smiled awkwardly at his mom.
“It’s okay, Angelo. You can check with my father if he needs help in the kitchen, though,” Petey replied as he hauled off the bags.
Silently cursing Petey for missing the point, I headed to the large kitchen to find Fokin. I came in just as he was adding what looked like extra parmesan on the spaghetti. He waved me in when he saw me watching him.
“I used to be a chef, you know,” he began. “Cooked for Talia as my hobby when we first met at the University. But the Orange Revolution happened and I’ve needed to devote my time to politics ever since. It is good when I get small chances like this to serve food again, instead of laws.”
“That’s pretty amazing, sir. It must have been quite an interesting time, helping shape your country. Pyotr told me all about your job. I think it’s an incredible opportunity to be able to help your people like that.”
I was in full suck-up mode right then. I already had a good idea of what Fokin wanted to hear.
“Well, I am retired, so that’s all in the past. But I am very glad you think so,” Fokin chuckled. “I only wish my son took as great an interest in history and politics as you do. But he needs to grow in confidence…to believe in himself. Make himself his own man.”
“I agree, sir. I’ve actually been trying to help him with that.”
“I know. He has been telling me about that. And I thank you for it,” Fokin said with a smile.
“It’s inspiring, though, how you helped your state stand for itself when you pushed for Annexation.”
This was the part where my mission began. I was planting the seeds for what I had to do later.
“Ah, yes. It was a troubling time, but we became stronger for it,” Fokin paused, then gave me a kindly smile. “Again, your interest flatters me, young man.”
“Sir, if you don’t mind, maybe I can ask you more about what happened back then? I won’t get very many opportunities to talk to someone who was actually there. Books can only teach so much.”
Fokin gave me another wide smile. “Certainly! Though perhaps we can discuss after the party, yes? My son would not be pleased if I stole his dearest friend away from him.”
Somehow, him describing me as Petey’s dearest friend — and knowing what I might have to do to him afterward — gave me a bad case of butterflies in my stomach. Not the nervous kind, either.
It was more of guilt.
The party was a lot more fun than I’d thought it would be.
While it wasn’t the loud, music-blaring-out-of-the-stereo-and-jumping-on-the-couch kind of party you’d expect kids like us to have, it was still very enjoyable. The food was awesome, and to Fokin’s credit, his little touches and garnishes on the side made even simple fried chicken sublime. What made it even more fun was that Colin, Kenny and the gang were with us. Even though Petey wasn’t as close to them as I was, there was still this unwritten agreement that Petey was already a sort of part of our group. I guess the incident with Brad really got us all together.
After the initial cake-and-candle routine — where we tried, and failed, to coherently sing Happy Birthday — we went around playing video games, watching Blu-rays and messing around in the pool, not necessarily in that order. It was particularly funny when we found out Colin had forgotten to wear trunks, and got accidentally pushed into the water by Kenny. At least, I think it was accidental.
All too soon, it was already nine in the evening, and both Petey and I were bidding goodbye to our friends. Everyone gave their thanks and best wishes to Petey, with Colin promising to return the clothes he was forced to borrow, and that he’d also wash the underwear. The house went back to its usually languid state. The feel of the place seemed miserable without the noise of several teenagers filling up the empty spaces.
Petey and I retreated to his room, where we spent a couple of hours playing the gift that I’d given him — a newly released multiplayer shooter video game. His mother, Talia, who looked splendid in a nightgown, had dropped by to remind us not to stay up too late. We gave her a non-committal nod before going back to blasting each other to digital hell and back. Another hour later, we agreed to turn in for the night. I’d have actually wanted for us to keep on playing…once he went to sleep, I’d need to commence my mission.
“Angelo, are you sleepy yet?” Petey asked quietly a few seconds after he turned off the lights.
“Petey, I’ve barely put on the covers, and you’re already asking that?” I replied from my mattress on the floor.
I heard the rustling of bed sheets and blankets, and then I saw Petey get off the bed and head toward the desk where his flat screen was. He retrieved a key from somewhere and it sounded like he’d unlocked one of the drawers. He returned with a plastic Blu-ray case and then plopped down to my mattress with sheepish grin that I could see even in the dark. I sat up, waiting for him to speak.
“I wanted to show you something…” Petey explained, and then handed me the case.
Was I surprised? No, not in the least. When a boy does practically anything in the dead of night, tries his best to hide it, and then gets all embarrassed about it, it can’t be anything other than porn. Although, I had to give him props for replacing the front image with a completely different one from a documentary about rhinoceros…ses? Rhinoceri? How do you even say that in plural?
“I’m guessing this is actually porn,” I smirked at him.
“That obvious?” he asked as he awkwardly scratched his head.
“Dude, we’re boys. It’s obvious for us. Besides, I didn’t think you were much for the conservation of rhinoceroses…rhinoceri...whatever.”
He chuckled a bit before reverently opening the case. “I bought it online recently. This is the first time I’ve ever done anything like this at all. And well…you’re the only one I’ve ever told it to. I haven’t watched it, though. I was planning on saving it for my birthday…”
I couldn’t help but giggle a little at just how bashful Petey could be. “Dude, you don’t need an invitation. Just put it on already so we can watch it!”
Petey’s eyes practically glowed, then he excitedly crossed the length of his room in almost a single bound to where his flat screen was. As the movie began to play, he sat beside me on the mattress. I felt the subtle jittering of his body as his bare arm rubbed across mine.
Objectively speaking, the movie had fairly good production value — as far as porn goes, anyway. It at least had some inane plot about a bunch of high school seniors going to a mountain cabin for a winter vacation and they had to stay there until dawn. It had this faux horror appeal where something was apparently stalking the teens, and that its mere presence made them all frisky and stuff. When the shadowy figure finally came into contact with a couple of the cast, they were suddenly overcome by pure lust and began fucking each other’s brains out. So I guess the ‘monster’ was a sex-crazed ancient fuck demon thing…or something.
I was suddenly reminded of the fact that Petey was still beside me. I guess I was too absorbed with objectively reviewing the porn flick to notice what he’d been doing while I was watching. He looked extremely anxious, like he’d done something he’d just begun to seriously regret. He wasn’t even looking at me when he called my name. Instead, he was looking at the very pointed tent jutting out in front of his shorts. I guess I couldn’t blame him. The movie was right in the middle of a sex scene, after all.
“Dude, if you need to rub one out, I don’t mind. Things are getting really hot, anyway…” I said as nonchalantly as I could, while nodding at his crotch.
Angelo’s ‘hard’ problem wasn’t something I expected to happen that night, but it wasn’t altogether unwelcome. The movie did get me a bit horny myself, and I was becoming steadily more curious about what Petey looked like down there. Besides, I thought to myself, I’ve been dealing with adult cocks for so long that it was actually refreshing to see someone my own age for once. And it was really cute how Petey had asked for my permission first.
Slowly, Petey slid his shorts down to his knees. Once his boyhood was in full view, he looked up at me expectantly, almost as if he was asking for my approval.
Petey’s dick appeared to be a good five inches, and a little less than two inches around. A single vein ran up its length, and it was capped by a rather large head. At the base, he had a blond bush that was oddly perfectly-shaped into a cone. He no doubt liked to keep tidy down there. More importantly, I’d only had the opportunity to assess his member in detail because he’d let me, and he’d made it obvious that he did. He wanted me to.
“Man, looks like you’re all raring to go! Pretty huge cock you got there.” I winked at him.
He gave me a shy grin in return. At that point, I would’ve expected him to start jerking off, but he didn’t. His hand hovered hesitantly above his lap, even though his attention was back to the movie — which by then was featuring the shy nerdy girl and the awkward geeky guy getting it on, complete with over-the-top moaning. It took me a few seconds of intently staring at Petey’s twitching boner to realize that he was actually waiting for me. I swear, he was absolutely the most sexually polite person I have ever met.
Without further ado, I whipped out my own quickly-hardening member. Without looking at Petey, in case he was nervous, I let my erection hang out in the open for a few seconds, enough for him to take a good look at it if he wanted. And from my peripheral vision, I saw that he did.
Back at headquarters, my medical assessment revealed that my erect pole was about four inches, and about as big around as a nickel. My balls were only slightly dropping, and totally hairless. For all intents and purposes, I still had a kiddy package, aside from the sparse strands of pubes at the base of my dick that didn’t seem like they ever wanted to grow any longer. I just comforted myself with the fact that my juvenile stature was more useful in missions — and that, with my shorter than average height, it looked proportionate. That is to say, it fit me.
Right on cue, the current couple boning on-screen reached their very noisy climax. I took it as my go- signal to begin stroking. From the corner of my eye, I saw that Petey was also doing the same.
Funnily enough, I felt very good. Happy, even. And it’s not often I get to say that. Watching porn with a close friend while you’re both wanking side-by-side had this indescribable feeling of rightness. It felt natural, like this was what normal fourteen-year-old boys should be doing at this point in their lives. Right then, I really was just another fourteen-year-old boy.
It must have been another unspoken rule of wank etiquette that we both needed to remain silent as we beat our respective meat. Petey’s room — which he assured me was far enough from his parents’ bedroom and that no one could hear us — was quiet save for the slapping sounds of our hands hitting the base of our cocks after each furious stroke. Well, that and the ridiculous moaning noises of the porn flick.
I could tell Petey was stealing glances at my quivering dick as I did the deed. I was doing the same to him. The look of pleasure on his face every time he peeked was just precious. It made me even hornier to know he was my audience. I was even convinced that my pheromones didn’t even have anything to do with the moment. We were just a couple of very horny boys enjoying the view.
By then, the movie had eschewed any pretense of plot and just shoved all the characters into a large room, all naked and sweaty. It upped the ante by featuring lesbian pairings and even all-out gay pairings as the group engaged in a massive, audible orgy. It was obvious that Petey was breathing heavily every time the camera focused on the gay pairs. He’d also wank himself more vigorously during those scenes.
It was then that our eyes met for the first time since we started wanking. A wordless agreement seemed to have formed between us as we both began to exclusively watch each other stroking our cocks. Knowing that Petey was getting turned on by my pleasure was extremely sexy. Moments later, I was panting, and I knew I was about to pop. A second before the fated moment, however, I clearly saw Petey’s hand dart toward my dick and stop midway. It was exactly like how he’d hesitate to give me a hug earlier. I could see the longing in his eyes.
The moment came and went. That is to say, I came a lot. My seed splashed messily on my torso, and half of it landed on my hair. Petey’s hand seemed to sag in despair as I came, as if regretting a lost opportunity. He abandoned wanking himself altogether as he let me finish all six spurts of my climax.
“Damn, Angelo…you jizzed like crazy…” Petey exclaimed in an awed voice.
“Well…I was watching something really hot,” I replied as I gave him a wink.
From the light of the TV, I unmistakably saw Petey blush.
“What about you, though?” I asked further as I examined the white gloop between my fingers. Petey’s dick was already half-flaccid.
“Oh, uhm…I’m good. I don’t really cum as strong as you, so you just didn’t see, but… I’m good.”
What I did see was Petey trying his best to avoid looking me straight in the eye. He might be ‘good’, but a good liar he was not. Why would he lie about cumming, of all things?
“Well, you sure?”
“Yeah,” Petey replied with a faint wisp of a smile.
It was the saddest smile I would ever see on his face.
After that spirited wank session, I cleaned myself up and joined Petey to finally sleep. I waited about twenty minutes before checking my watch, and then pressing one of the many buttons it had on one side.
Heavier than most watches, it was a new addition to my gadget arsenal, which among other things, had a sweet taser, a single tranquilizer dart and a bio-scanner that measured breathing and pulse. I ran the scanner over Petey and confirmed that he was truly asleep. Then I slipped out of bed as quietly as I could and headed outside.
“Doc, commencing mission,” I whispered after I’d activated my IGlasses.
“Copy that, Six. This should be a relatively easy data gathering mission. Once we’ve determined you’ve obtained the data we need, an extraction vehicle will immediately arrive for evac. Good hunting.”
“Oh! By the way, Six…?” Doc sounded very excited as he continued. “I’ve just finished uploading a new system firmware update for your watch scanner. Now, you’ll be able to monitor how much a person is being affected by your pheromones. Anything above 0.8 is borderline intoxicated, and 1.7 onwards is complete intoxication. Complicated bit of programming but I’m proud to say I managed it in record time.”
“Why do you automatically assume I’d go the sexy route?” I asked Doc, annoyed. “Fokin is a really nice guy. What if he just tells me what I need to know with plain old polite conversation?”
Doc paused for a while before he answered. “It’s…highly unlikely, Six. I’m just trying to be realistic here. A word of advice: don’t get your hopes up. Missions are easier to do if you accept the worst case scenario as a certainty. Johnson out.”
I made my way along the dark halls until I was just outside Fokin’s study. Petey had told me that his father often liked to work late, compensating for the time difference of his contacts on the other side of the world. When I knocked and entered the partially-opened door, Fokin gave me a very surprised look, but waved me to a seat all the same.
Fokin’s study was a simple small room with brown wood panels as floorboards, and mahogany bookcases lining the walls. There were shelves full of magazines, old newspapers and several political and history books. A single heavy desk stood in the middle of the room, and on top of it were more newspapers, a clipboard, a laptop and a grimy yet expensive-looking globe. The lights on the ceiling gave the room a strange glow, making everything seem warm, wooden, and old.
“I did not expect you to come so late in the night, Angelo. I would have thought you would be sleeping,” Fokin remarked as he returned to the winged armchair behind the table.
“Forgive me, sir. I had to wait for Pyotr to fall asleep. I would still very much like to talk with you,” I replied. I mentally sighed as I put on my best fake-submissive personality. My mission had truly begun.
“No matter.” Fokin shook his head and flashed me a warm smile. “Ask away, dear boy.”
I began by asking him what the Crimean Council was up to recently, and exactly how closely they were working with the Russian government. He insisted on being retired from politics, and gave vague non-answers. Doc was right…being polite would not accomplish my mission. I stopped being optimistic — I began to flirt with him. I was Agent 69 once more.
The beginning of any flirting exercise was careful flattery. Everything escalates from there. My mere interest in his past flattered Fokin greatly, and it took very little for me to coax him into talking about it. Very soon, I had him chatting away, smiling and laughing as he regaled me with his escapades as a Crimean politician.
“By removing Yanukovich, Kiev pandered to the western powers, to the EU. They forget that Crimea has a sizable population of ethnic Russians,” Fokin explained in earnest, some twenty minutes after we began talking.
“I agree sir…how could they marginalize their own people?” I replied with a voice smooth as silk. I stole a glance at my bio-scanner while he was distracted — pheromone intoxication was at 0.9, just the right level for me to begin my erotic assault.
I stood up and glided over to Fokin’s chair. He stared at me intently and I could see his eyelids drooping slightly. I then unceremoniously sat myself on his table directly facing him, my legs dangling comically above the floor because the table was so high — or I was so short. He opened his mouth as though to say something, but he abandoned the attempt with an audible gulp.
“Please tell me more, sir!” I encouraged him. "Do you think all you did for your people was worth it?”
Fokin began to sweat uncomfortably, stuttering and blinking several times. It was as if he was trying to remember something he was forgetting. “Ah…yes. Because of that, we had to…secede and…” he paused as he stared at me again, this time taking in my whole body. He was checking me out.
“We…only gave our people a voice. A choice. And I am…proud to have been part of that.” Fokin shook his head like a man trying to clear cobwebs from his mind. A furtive glance at my bio-scanner told me that Fokin’s intoxication was at 1.1 — still a little lower than I’d have preferred, but I needed to make my move.
“I really admire you, sir. You are a hero to your people…” I cooed as I got off the table and knelt in front of Fokin’s trousers.
“Yes, I…oh…what are you…oh…” Fokin’s weak protests were devoid of any real conviction as I systematically stripped off his lower garments and began caressing his engorged member. I rubbed it against my face, and his long curly pubes tickled my cheeks.
“This is how a hero should be rewarded…” I whispered seductively. I began licking his length, slowly at first, but quickly progressing to a very thorough tongue bath. When I finally suckled on his bulbous reddened head, Fokin yelped and involuntarily bucked his hips. I bet not even his wife blew like I did.
“No…this is…but my wife…my son…how could I…” Fokin continued to stammer pathetically as I slobbered all over his manhood.
My reply was the wet, slick popping noises my mouth would make every time that I let his cock slide out of my mouth, and every time I engulfed it to the root once more. “Don’t worry about them. You deserve this.”
I sincerely hoped that he would stop worrying so much. Not verbally, at least. I was beginning to feel awkwardly guilty for having to do this to such a nice man — never mind having images of Petey and his mom swimming in my head.
Truth was, the sex was a necessary distraction. When I’d sat myself on Fokin’s table, I’d already stealthily inserted a modified data cloner into his laptop. The data cloner would instantly copy and upload all of the computer’s contents to HQ in real-time, and I only needed to wait for Doc’s signal that they’d received all the files.
“Oh my…! That’s…oh…why are you...ahh!” Fokin tried his best retain some measure of control, but moans slipped out every now and then. I was genuinely impressed with his staying power, though. Most men would have yielded to my oral arsenal in about five minutes. Fokin had still been going strong at more than twice that time.
Just then, a message flashed in a corner of my IGlasses. It was from Doc:
The files we need are not on the computer. Seems to be stored in the Cloud, protected by IP keys and voice recog. We have the IP from the comp, now we need a sample of Fokin’s voice pattern to bypass the recog. Keep him talking. Moans do not count.
I rolled my eyes at nothing in particular. I guess nothing is ever easy as planned. I gave Fokin’s rod one final slurp before detaching my mouth from it completely. The man was proving to be incredibly resilient, so I’d need to go all out. I shucked my bottoms off and eased his moistened member into my hole. It was at times like this — when I had little time for prepping — that I was thankful my medical augmentations allowed my ass to be very accommodating.
“О, Боже!…!” Fokin gasped as I finally slipped his frenzied cockhead into my chute. Every other breath he took was sharp and sudden as I diligently inched my bared bottom lower and lower onto his pole until I got it all the way inside. I was sitting on his lap with my back to him, except with the additional six or so inches of man-cock lodged up inside me.
“Fokin, you’re a good man,” I assured him as calmly as I could. “You’ve been a servant to your people. I need you to serve them again, right now. I am going to ask you a few questions. It would be in everyone’s best interest for you to answer them.”
“Wh — what do you wa — ahh!” Fokin gasped as I clenched my well-practiced butt muscles on his cock at the same time as I was lifting my ass, providing an intensely pleasurable suction.
“A war is coming, Fokin, and your land will be the battlefield. Tell me why Russian troops are massing at Sevastopol. How are you planning on legitimizing an invasion?” I asked urgently, all subtlety gone. It didn’t matter if he told the truth or not — I just had to keep him talking for as long as I could.
“No…! I cannot…I will not betray — ahh!”
The rest of Fokin’s reply ended in a moan as I clamped my anal muscles on his cock once more. He placed his hands on my thighs, as though he was attempting to stop me from moving my hips further and torturing him with pleasure. But his arms were weak, and his grip barely had any strength at all. The bio-scanner clocked his intoxication level at 1.7 — fully under the spell of my pheromones.
“By consenting to their plan of invasion, you were a traitor to your own people — the ones who saw you as their hero. They will all get caught in the crossfire, because of you.”
“No! I never consented!” For a moment, Fokin’s voice regained clarity, the kind he’d possessed before he was thoroughly influenced by my sex funk. “The Kremlin wants a proxy war with Washington through Kiev. I never consented. My…my people have been through enough.”
“What are they planning?”
“Who are…why do you — gah!” Fokin gasped as I rammed his rod into me again. “Please! Please…”
“What is Moscow going to do?” I asked insistently.
“They have inserted foreign extremists into Ukraine, manipulated them to attack on the anniversary of Euromaidan…they — ahh! They will…be supplied with weapons that will arrive from the Black Sea via submarine a week from now! Kiev will be blamed for security lapses…and the troops will storm the border towns in response!”
“Is that all?” I asked imperiously while pumping my butt down on him again.
“Yes, yes…please. I never consented to their plan…I beg you…” Fokin pleaded. Just then, another message flashed on my IGlasses.
Voice sample obtained. Recog wall bypassed. We have access to the details of the weapons drop. Evac incoming.
I craned my neck to glance at Fokin’s face. He was completely lost in his intense lust, his breathing was uneven and he had a feverish look on him. I decided that it was time to satisfy his longing. I clenched my butt once more, then impaled myself on his angry rod like a furious piston. The chair creaked with each downthrust, and Fokin almost slid off his seat at one point. The man was barely breathing and couldn’t even moan — he was now gasping, either for pleasure or air, I couldn’t tell.
I felt his cock spasm, so I used all of my strength to grip his manhood with my insides and waited anxiously for his cum. He shot five warm jets up my hole, giving me that familiar, unnerving feeling that reached almost to my belly. After he seemed fully spent, I gently slid off his cock and let his own juices dribble out my hole onto his slowly softening shaft.
“Who… are you?” Fokin asked breathlessly.
“I’m Angelo Seichs…someone who doesn’t exist,” I replied with my back turned to him.
Fokin sighed one last time as he passed out due to exhaustion. Out of some bizarre feeling of ‘moral obligation’, I replaced his discarded clothing on him, so that he looked as dignified as when we’d first met. For once in my life, I felt some serious misgivings about having done my job.
Just then, a sudden feeling of panic and urgency overwhelmed my senses as I felt like I was being watched. Or rather, I felt like I had already been watched for a long time, and that I was just too distracted to notice it until now.
I snapped my head to the direction of the door. It was half-open, just the way I had left it. But the light of the study happened to subtly illuminate something beyond the door — a pair of wet, glistening eyes.
Petey had just watched me having sex with his father.
“Six, mission accomplished! Your evac is nearly there, why aren’t you prepping to go to the rendezvous point?”
“Doc, I need to take care of a loose end. Petey saw me.”
“Christ! Fokin’s son? What do you plan to do? You’re not going to…you know…are you?” Doc asked very hesitantly.
“Fuck no! I’m a spy, not an assassin! Petey’s a kid, and what’s more, he’s my friend!” I shouted, dashing through the hallways back to Petey’s room as I argued the matter.
“Then make it clear next time!” Doc retorted. “Anyway, what do you plan to do?”
“I just…I need to make things right.”
“What about evac?”
“Just buy me some time, Doc! Please!”
I was practically begging Doc. He said he’d do what he could, and told me to leave when I was ready. I thanked him as I steeled myself for what I had to do. I was already in front of Petey’s door and I was afraid what I would find inside.
The lights were still switched off, the same as they’d been when I’d quietly slipped out nearly an hour earlier. I closed the door behind me, relying on what little light that came from Petey’s bedside window. I saw him there on his bed, hugging his knees and fixing his gaze on me. His breath pierced the deathly quiet air, ragged as though he had been sobbing a short while before.
I approached Petey and sat on the edge of his bed. To my dismay, he scurried away from me with the frantic motions of someone who was clearly afraid. I bit my lip and summoned all my willpower to think of what I could possibly say. It did not help that I had this severe sinking feeling, a voracious black hole that made my chest hurt.
“Petey…you saw, didn’t you?”
“I saw my best friend getting fucked by my dad, yeah.” Petey sounded oddly calm, the kind of calm that comes with resigning oneself to a tragedy too horrible to comprehend — blind and unwilling acceptance.
“I can — ”
“ — explain?” Petey finished for me. “Can you? You interrogated my father for secrets. My dad asked who you are and you said you didn’t exist. Who are you really, Angelo?” he asked. The accusation stung me to my core.
“I’m…I’m your friend…” I answered, but my voice sounded pathetically hollow.
“My friend doesn’t exist.”
What was I supposed to say? That I was a secret agent out to prevent all-out war? That I was a spy whose primary weapon was sex? That I sullied his father against his will? That I really didn’t have a name, and that I was only ever a codename — Agent 69? Was I supposed to say anything at all? I wished there was training for this sort of thing.
“I guess nothing I say will ever matter now,” I sighed. The knot in my chest just got tighter. I needed to accept that my friend was gone. “Angelo Seichs was the name of a boy who had the chance to live like a normal person for a while. I was his shadow, and it was my mission to get information from Fokin Anasovich to prevent a war, and I accomplished my objective. Angelo Seichs had a life. I had a job.”
Petey remained silent, but stared at me all the while. I guess it was unreasonable for me to have expected him to say anything at all. Why had I even talked to him in the first place? I couldn’t ask for his forgiveness. I wasn’t here to justify my actions. I didn’t return to Petey’s bedroom to confirm our friendship — I wanted to, but I knew it was impossible. So…what then?
“I guess all I came back here to do is to say goodbye.” A deadened tone was all I could manage as I dejectedly looked down at the floor. “Petey, you were a true friend. I…I mean, Angelo really did consider you a true friend. I only wish I had the right to say the same.”
I retrieved my pack and headed towards the door. Just as I turned the knob, though, I heard the rustling of sheets. Suddenly, I heard Petey’s voice.
“When we moved here years and years ago, it was the worst time of my life.” Petey cautiously approached me as though trying to decide if I was dangerous or not. “Growing up in a different culture, with no friends, with barely any English and with an accent…it wasn’t easy.
“Then a boy comes up to me in school, teaches me to believe in myself and makes me think that there might be at least one bright spot in my life.”
Petey then gingerly pulled at my arm, forcing me to face him once again.
“Then I find out that the boy only befriended me because it was his ‘mission’ or something, and that he had sex with my dad for some top-secret government conspiracy.
“So, yeah — it turns out the only friend I had in the world was a fake. I wanted you to know that’s how I feel, before you go away forever.”
Petey stared coldly at me, and it felt like his eyes were boring deep down into my very soul.
He deserved to be angry. He deserved to hate me. Petey could’ve punched me in the face and I wouldn’t have minded. I would have actually preferred that he had — rather than continue talking — because each word that he spoke was like an icy dagger stabbing into my conscience.
“Was it all a lie?” Petey asked finally.
I gave him a genuinely agonized look, and I hoped with all my being he understood the absolute sincerity of what I’d said. “I had a mission, yeah. But if there was just one real thing about everything I did, it’s the friends I’ve made…especially you.”
Unexpectedly, Petey squeezed me in a tight hug. He was much taller than I was, and the top of my head barely reached his nose so I rested my head against his chest. I could easily hear his quickening heartbeat.
Petey sniffed a couple of times as he held me before he broke the silence. “Bastard. I loved you. I fucking loved you.”
Something finally clicked in my head and I responded in the only way I felt was right.
We stayed like that — him hugging me — for a few more seconds. Then Petey held my face, looking intently at my eyes.
“I was so nervous. I didn’t know what would happen if I told you how I felt. I even thought you’d hate me for it. But now…you don’t exist. So I guess I won’t regret doing this.”
“What do you — mmhhm!” The rest of my reply was silenced as I found my mouth enveloped by Petey’s warm lips in a deep kiss.
I suppose it was partly because of guilt and partly because of relief that I allowed Petey to give me the most intense Frenching that I’d ever experienced. Our tongues intertwined like long-lost friends in the moist caverns of our mouths. He firmly held my shoulders as we locked lips, and the next thing I knew, he was already pushing me onto the bed.
I didn’t even realize that I’d become hard until his tongue left my mouth, allowing his lips to latch onto my throbbing member. I moaned louder than I had ever before. He sucked deep and hard, almost as if the suction was pleading with me to stay, his mouth never wanting to let go. I involuntarily bucked my hips toward his eagerly-sucking mouth as my pleasure reached an all-time personal high.
Why did it feel this good? I wondered. I’d been sucked a lot of times in my missions, but they’d never felt like this — intense, emotional, and sublimely passionate. The sensation filling my body wasn’t just the pleasure Petey’s mouth was giving me — it was also emotion, it was also joy.
I supposed this was what real sex actually felt like. It was the sum total of all pleasure and happiness. I wanted Petey to know that, I wanted to share with him this epiphany I’d just had. I wanted to tell him how I was the fuckboy spy who only knew sex as a job, and that he was making me feel what it truly was to be loved for the first time. But my voice had all but betrayed me, leaving me to gasp and moan instead.
An agonizing feeling of abandonment washed over me as Petey let my dick slip from his mouth. The cool atmosphere of the room felt chilly and uncaring with my boyhood exposed and coated with Petey’s spit. My questioning look was answered when I saw and felt Petey climb on top of me so that he was facing me while my dick was directly below his hole. I wanted to warn him that anal needed preparation, especially since it would be his first time. But my voice had already given up.
I think we both moaned at the same time, in the same way. My dick felt impossibly hot, and the soft, firm flesh enveloping it sent waves of intense pleasure throughout my body. Petey was tight — so tight that the sensation was overwhelming. It occurred to me just then that this was truly my first time to fuck someone, because in my missions, I’d always be the one getting fucked. I expressed my gratitude by gently rubbing both of Petey’s shaking hands.
Petey’s face was lined with sweat. His expression was that of intense concentration, no doubt working through the initial pain of being penetrated. But it was surprising how quickly he’d adapted. It took only a few seconds for him to begin moving his hips up and down, riding me gently at first, and then steadily increasing his pace to a regular rhythm. His eyes were closed, but the look on his face had already relaxed by then.
For a few very good minutes, the only sounds in the room were our labored breathing, occasional moans and gasps, the creaking bed, and the sound of Petey’s butt slapping back down on my pelvis. His hard dick comically bounced on top of my belly, and I might have giggled if my senses weren’t already overloaded. Our love-making was on another plane of reality. Every time Petey thrust down, I mentally replayed the times we would eat together at lunch. Every time I bucked my hips, I saw all the times he laughed at my jokes. Every time that we moaned, I’d see every single smile we gave each other. We fucked with increased urgency until we both reached our limits.
He came first. His dick was just at the right angle to blow his load all over my face. Getting creamed — with his warm jism running down my cheeks — was so incredibly hot that I unloaded my boyjuice in him only moments later. We were both panting like we’d just run — and won — a marathon. With my steadily-softening member still in him, Petey gave me a tender look, and then dove right back down to my cum-splattered face for a wet, sloppy kiss. Our tongues danced once more…one final performance to conclude a night I would never forget for the rest of my life.
“I should have known that you’d be in here,” Doc began, as he closed the door behind him. He looked more stern than usual. “It’s almost funny. Had I been present when you arrived back from your mission a few days ago, I would’ve told you to go to your room…but now you’re already here.”
“Are you going to scold me now, dad?” I replied scathingly. Seeing Doc’s disappointed face wasn’t very pleasant, so I chose to stare at an unremarkable spot on the bare, metal wall.
“Six,” Doc sighed as he composed himself. “I just want you to understand the gravity of what you did. For the past few days, not only did Lemon and I need to attend the UN Security Council’s resolution on the Crimea debacle as consultants, we also had to argue our tongues off just to protect you from our own higher-ups. Revealing your mission to Anasovich’s son like you did was a major security risk and showed a complete and utter disregard for not only the safety of our organization, but also that of Pyotr and Fokin. You are a spy. And spies do not tell other people they are spies.”
My stomach was churning by the time Doc had finished. He was right, of course. I didn’t deign to reply, feeling as guilty and miserable as I did.
“However," he continued. "It’s also true that your mission was successful and you did stop short of telling Pyotr anything that would have required drastic action. We’ve also completed erasing your records and your digital footprint. Angelo Seichs officially doesn’t exist anymore.”
My throat tightened at Doc’s words. I actually stopped breathing. Ever since I became a spy, I’d been fully aware that it was protocol to ‘ghost’ agents after they’d finished assuming an alias — that my prior identity would be scrapped in a very terminal sort of way. I knew all this, but I still couldn’t help but feel extremely frustrated…and maybe a little heartbroken. There was a severe sense of loss that was now aching inside of me.
“Doc, that was beyond cruel, what you said before.”
“What’s this now?” Doc asked, completely nonplussed.
“You told me I could live like a normal kid. Go to school, make friends. And I did make friends, Doc. Good friends. You made me hope. You got me so into it that I believed it was all real. But now that I’m ghosting and losing all that, it’s a lot harder to lose it than if I’d never experienced it in the first place.
“And yes, I totally know that it’s protocol and all that. And it’s not even your fault,” I continued, quickly enough to prevent Doc’s imminent retort. “It’s cruel to Petey, too. My fucking pheromones messed him up so bad that he was forced to have sex with me. You know what? Fuck my pheromones. Fuck being a ghost. I just feel so messed up.”
Doc removed his eyepiece and leaned against the wall. “I’m sorry that you feel that way, Six. However, I can’t say anything about it other than ‘it’s part of the job’.” He then walked over to me and took the chair next to my bed. “You’re wrong, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“I took the liberty of examining your bio scanner after we got back from kowtowing to several European intelligence agencies,” Doc explained. “The last automatically-recorded subject was Pyotr; when the two of you were having sex. The scan showed that he had barely any points of intoxication — in other words, he wasn’t affected by your pheromones at all. What he did and what he said — that was all him. This is just a theory but…I believe your pheromones can’t affect someone who has already become naturally and genuinely infatuated with you.”
The realization of what that meant hit me like a ton of bricks. I blinked at Doc several times, and opened my mouth to reply — but I couldn’t even manage a sound.
Doc stood up and retrieved something from an inner pocket of his labcoat. It was a small framed photograph — the one of me and all my friends at Petey’s party, smiling as if we were the happiest teenagers alive.
“One of your friends posted this photo onto your social media accounts. I retrieved it before we purged everything. I’d thought that you might like to keep it.”
He placed the photo on my bedside table.
“Listen, Six…you know this job has its unpleasant sides. This is one of them. But whether everything that you experienced was fabricated or not…that is for you to decide.” He then walked out of my room, each footstep of his leather shoes echoing in my mind.
I let Doc’s words simmer in my head as I slumped back onto my pillow. When I got back from my mission a few days ago, both Doc and Lemon had already left to go help contain the fallout. And meanwhile, I’d been left alone to deal with the thoughts that had been messing with my head…and one question kept haunting my every waking moment:
My life in school, and the friends that I’d made — was it all a lie?
Every day since I got back, I would go through regular training with all the motivation of a zombie who’d decided that un-death was boring. Then I’d spend the rest of those days just staring up at the ceiling of my room, trying to arrive at some sort of answer.
But what Doc had just said to me sparked the kind of realization I wish I’d had a few days ago.
No, it wasn’t a lie. The life of Angelo Seichs, his all-too-brief stay in school as a normal 8th grader and the friends he’d laughed, played and learned with — that was one very elaborate story.
The difference between a lie and a story?
Stories do not compel you to believe.
And maybe that was why I felt so bad. I’d desperately wanted to believe that it was real. And I’d wanted it to be real even if it never had to be.
For Angelo Seichs, it was the only real thing in the world.