
The Nature of Man

By Kenn Ghannon



The Rules

I thought, before we got to the actual reading of this story that we should
set down a couple of ground rules:

1) This story involves frank and explicit descriptions of sex.  If it is
immoral or illegal in your area to read about topics of this nature, please
quit reading here.  If you don't want to read about topics of this nature,
please quit reading here.  (I don't, by the way, agree with the legal
aspects of this.  I believe that the United States, as a society, has gone
too far in putting the onus of maturity on a rather arbitrary physical age.
I've known 13 year olds who were far more mature than some 40 year olds.  Of
course, this may be the exception to the rule, but still.)

2) If you are looking for a story where everyone is always happy all of the
time, please find another story.  If you are looking for a story where
everyone is always sad all of the time, please find another story.  Reality
is somewhere in-between these two extremes and I try to write as near to
reality as an erotic fantasy can get.  Do I succeed?  Only you can tell me.

3) If you are looking for a story that absolutely revolves around sex, sex,
and more sex, please find another story.  I *WON'T* write one of those.
There is sex here, but only as a function of the story.

4) Everything you read hear is fiction.  It never happened, so I am
definitely not writing about YOU.  J

If you've read this far, I hope you enjoy this.



Author's Note: I owe writing this story, and you owe reading this story, to
Frank Downey.  I've often read the stories in the erotic newsgroups -
usually one-handed as most males do - but I've never found one that
particularly satisfied me or made me WANT to read further.  That all changed
after reading Frank's "Naked In School" series.  For the first time, I
actually nearly skipped the sexually detailed writing in order to find out
what happened next.



To put it mildly, I was HOOKED.  I've since read ALL of Frank's stories
including his novel - and I've fallen in love with every one of his
characters.  I know it is impossible, but I hope that Frank never finishes
his novel.because the thought of not being able to read more of Sophia and
Warren's life is a horrible, horrible thought.



However, it was his stories that made me realize that it was possible to
write erotica where romance was more important than sex and story
development more important than anything else.  I will never be able to
bring characters to life as well as he can; I only hope that you might enjoy
my story/stories nearly as much.



--Kenn Ghannon, 06 Jun 2003.



Chapter 2

Jean and Tom Wagner called Dr. Presman almost as soon as Eric had left the
door.

"Dr. Presman's office, Laura speaking."



"Laura, this is Jean Wagner.  Is Dr. Presman available?  It's really rather
urgent."



"Of course, Jean.  Let me get her on the phone."



Jean held the phone worriedly as the obligatory muzak came pouring through
the handset.  Her eyes were nearly in tears as she looked at her husband,
sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter, his head in his hands staring
mournfully out of the nearby window.



"Hi Jean, this is Angela.  What can I do for you?"



"I'm sorry to bother you, Angela.  It's Eric.  Again," the exasperation in
the pretty auburn haired woman's voice was unmistakable.  Tears hovered in
her brown eyes.  "He's just stormed out of here after screaming at us.  We
don't know what we're going to do.  He broke one of Christina's china dolls
and then ran into his room.  We forced him to come out, like you told us to,
but he just started screaming about how unfair we were and how we just didn'
t understand.  Then he stormed out of the door.  Honestly, it's killing us,
but we just don't know how much more of this we can take."  Her hand twirled
a lock of her hair in nots.



"Jean.  I understand.  You have to realize, it's going to take some time."



"I know, I know, and I KNOW," Jean interrupted.  "It's just really hard.
Tom and I are at our wit's end."  She looked over at her husband, still
sitting with his head in his hands staring out the window.  His light brown
hair was just beginning to show touches of gray, and his normally strong
shoulders had a sunken, despairing quality to them now that she didn't like.
"I know it's asking a lot, but could we come and talk to you tomorrow.  We
have to do something.  I don't want to send him away, but we may have no
choice."



Angela sighed, but covered the phone with her hand before doing so.  She
looked absently at her schedule book, but she didn't open it.  "Alright,
Jean.  Bring Eric by tomorrow at four o'clock."



"Thank you, Angela.  Thank you."  The line went dead and Angela Presman hung
the phone back in its cradle.  She sat for a moment staring into space, then
opened her appointment book to August 25th - the next day.  Robert Anton was
scheduled to see her at 4 o'clock.  Bob, as his friends called him, was a
lovable old guy who really didn't need her services anyway.  He just needed
someone to talk to, and she provided that.



Absently, she thumbed her intercom button.  "Laura, please re-schedule
Robert Anton for sometime later in the week.  The Wagners will be here
tomorrow at 4, okay."



"No problem, Angela.  I'll call him now."



She leaned back for a second to collect her thoughts, then opened the right
hand drawer of her desk and pulled out Eric Wagner's file.  She opened it,
though she knew it almost by heart.  Still, maybe something could give me a
clue, something could show me how to break through to this poor kid.



He was an extremely bright kid, that she already knew.  A strong genius, if
you put much stock in the IQ tests.  She didn't, out of habit, but there WAS
something about Eric that made you wonder.  He had been raised by a
submissive mother and a physically abusive father.  He had a sister named
Gwen, 10 years old now.  She was completely catatonic and lived in the
Ashland Mental Hospital.  They had both come upon the murder-suicide of
their parents.  Both had fallen into a repressive mind-set, Gwen much worse
than Eric.  He had the lowest self-esteem of any person she had ever seen,
however.  His self-image was almost non-existant, and that in itself was
form of catatonia.  He was imaginative, of course.  Most abused children
classically nurtured their imagination to allow them an escape from reality.
However, from what she could see, he had been beaten down so much that he
believed himself worthless.



Of course, his recent height gain wasn't helping matters any.  He had gone
from a perceived worthless small kid of about 5'3" to a perceived worthless
tall one of nearly 6' 5" in almost 6 months.  Doctor's tests had indicated
that he might have some back problems in the future, but he should be fine
now.  That height gain was a mixed blessing, of course.  Now, he not only
was withdrawn, but he wasn't comfortable in his own skin because he wasn't
used to being tall.



Thinking about his physical side brought a thought floating through her
sub-conscious.  She strained at it for a minute struggling to grasp it
fully.  With a slight grin, she closed the file, an inkling of an idea
flitting through her head.  It might just work.



Jean hung up the phone and turned to her husband.  "Angela will see us
tomorrow at 4."



Her husband just sat there, not saying a word.  She looked at him
concernedly, wanting to reach out to him, but not sure if she should.
Finally, she walked up to him and put her arms around him, hugging him
close.



"I just wish," Tom Wagner began, his voice rumbling from deep in his chest.



"You wish what, hon," Jean prompted him, never allowing her head to leave
his broad back.



"I just wish I could have been there to help my brother when he needed me
the most," Tom finished his thought with a sigh.  "I knew he had started
back with the alcohol.  I guess I just hoped he'd stop eventually.  I should
have called him, should have visited maybe. I could've..."



"Done what, Tom?  There was nothing you could do.  You haven't talked to
David in what?  18 years?  What could you possibly have done?"



"Nothing.  Something.  I don't know.  If I had only not been so bull-headed
and apologized, maybe this wouldn't have happened.  Maybe I could have
stopped him from beating Louis and Eric and poor Gwen.  Maybe I could have
brought him back from the abyss before he killed her and then himself.
Maybe."



"Maybe nothing, my love.  There was nothing you could have done.  He didn't
want you to talk to him, remember?  As long as we're getting in to maybes,
maybe if I had chosen him over you, he wouldn't have become so bitter.  Then
again, maybe I would be the one dead now, you know?  You can't live on
maybes honey.  This happened.  It's a horrible, horrific shame, but it
happened.  It can't un-happen, you know?"



Tom sighed.  "Yea.  I know.  Still."  He sighed again.  "Jean, I know this
is hard.  I know that you and Christine are suffering.  I'm sorry, but I
will not let this kid go.  Eric needs family, and we're it.  I wish we could
get through to him.  I wish we could make him be happy.  I feel as if we let
him go now, he'll just continue down that long spiraling abyss that claimed
my brother."



Jean closed her eyes.  Her face was a mask of resignation.  It would
probably take all of her strength, all of her stamina, but if this was
something her husband felt so strongly about, she knew that she would get
through this.  Somehow.  "Baby, it's going to get tough.  But you're
probably right.  We can't abandon him now.  Eric will stay.  We'll get
through to him somehow."



Tom turned in his seat and embraced his wife.  She could feel the shakes of
his sobs against her shoulder.  "I couldn't save my brother, Jean.  I've got
to save Eric.  Somehow."



"I know, my love, I know."



Christine stood, her back against the living room wall.  She had been
eaves-dropping.  Not very polite, of course, and she really hadn't meant it.
She had never met Uncle Dave, of course.  She wasn't exactly thrilled when
her mom and dad had taken in her cousin Eric several months ago...but she knew
that they had to.  She wondered briefly what had caused her father and his
brother to become estranged, then realized it didn't really matter to her.
If they were going to try to help Eric, then should would, of course, try to
help them.  Whatever it took.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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