Sander's Courage

by Cade Jay Hathaway

  Sander said. "Because we all can see that you're not

  yourself. You've been different to the family, and you even

  yelled at Johnnie when he took you to the store..." Jannik

  dissolved into deep sobs and jumped up and hugged me

  tightly, crying into my shoulder. At the moment he was

  inconsolable. Sander met my eyes and nodded, indicating

  that we should just let him cry himself out.

  "I'm so sorry Johnnie... I never want you angry with

  me! I won't do it again!"

  "No worries, Superman. It's not even a thought. I

  love you so much, Jan. You know that."

  That triggered another wave, but now it was all out

  in the open and now the only way to go was up.

  Sander stood behind his brother and gently placed

  his hands on his shoulders. The tenderness between the

  two of them was to be envied. No two brothers loved and

  cared for each other like the Hansen boys. And despite

  their current age difference, they were best friends. In ten

  years time it will be beautiful to see what their relationship

  grows into.

  "Jannik Mads, we have an idea if you'll think about

  it. Do you want to hear?" Pokey asked. Jannik replied by

  reaching for Sander's hand and squeezing it tightly.

  "There's a lady that we've talked with who can

  make things better. She wants to help you, and we'd love if

  you would see what she has to say," Sander explained.

  "Will you go see her?"

  "Is she another psycho, like the one you and me

  goes to sometimes, Pokey? Does it help you from when—

  you know..." Jannik asked, referring to Sander's many

  sessions after his failed attempt to take his own life.

  "Psychologist. She's a doctor who knows how to

  make things good again for you," I said. "And she's very

  nice, just like the one you went with me to see."

  "Am I crazy, guys? Do I lose my brains?"

  "No! No way, man! Your more sane than any of us.

  Smarter, too! But what happens when our car acts funny

  and doesn't run so good?" Sander asked.

  "You fix it." Jannik replied.

  "So, it's just like that." I said. "You just need a little

  tune-up to get things back to how they should be. That's

  all."

  Jannik collected himself, wiping the tears away

  with the back of his hand. After a little bit of silence, the

  hustle of the Market was broken by Jannik's determined

  decision.

  "I will do it, boys. Anything that will help get rid of

  this, I will do. Happy."

  Hope filled the rest of the day, as well as on the

  ride home. When we pulled in the drive, a figure stood in

  the pasture, transfixed by a setting sun playing with the

  high cirrus clouds coming in from the Baltic. It was

  Torben, so alone in his thoughts. The direction the clouds

  were arriving from indicated that a major change in the

  weather was on deck. I didn't mention it to my family, but

  I saw it as an omen. I could only hope it was a good one.

  Chapter 15

  t took three weeks before an appointment opened

  up at the clinic, but when one finally did we got

  I Jannik there right on time.

  He'd asked that we not tell his mom and dad until

  he had a chance to gauge the whole thing. While there's

  really no stigma in Denmark concerning matters of mental

  health—the people view going to a shrink as no different

  than seeing another kind of doctor if you have a broken

  leg—still, Jannik was at the age where he felt defined by

  what his peers at school and in the neighborhood thought

  of him. Best he never give them any ammunition, he

  reasoned.

  Sander and I agreed to respect his request to a

  point. Once we felt that this was the right course of action

  to take, we'd decided to let Niels and Magda in on it, and

  we would pass along Jannik's feelings about not letting

  anyone else know his business. Neither of us thought that

  would be an issue.

  The Hansens raised great kids. They had always

  allowed their children a great degree of self determination,

  and they would know that whatever we would do with

  Jannik, it would be what's best for him.

  "What will she ask me?" Jannik wondered. "Will

  she hook me up to a machine or something?"

  "I don't think so," I told him. "I think she just wants

  to talk with you and find out how you feel about things."

  "And then she'll probably tell you some things that

  you can do that will help you," Sander added.

  "Like what?"

  "We'll find out, won't we, Cracker Jack?"

  "Will you be there too?" Jannik asked.

  "Maybe just for all of us to get to know each other,

  but this is your meeting. This is for Jannik Mads Hansen

  and nobody else," Sander said, as I stopped the car in the

  overflow car park.

  "You guys get out here and walk across the street to

  her office, and I'll find a better place and meet you inside,"

  I said.

  The Hansen brothers hopped out, and my heart

  swelled when Jannik took his big brother's hand. Their

  sweetness showed by the gracious and natural way that

  Sander allowed the boy the comfort of holding onto him.

  He knew what a big event this was in his brother's life.

  "HELLO, I'M JANNIK HANSEN and I am here to see the

  doctor. She is called Helle Sørensen, and the time is now

  that I have the appointment," Jannik stated with surety. "I

  have my medical card and my person number if you need

  these things.

  "Is he your son?" the receptionist asked Sander.

  Jannik burst out laughing and slapped his brother on the

  back. "Hello, Daddy!" he joked.

  "Uhmm, no. Uh, do I look old or something? he's

  my little brother."

  "I'm sorry!" she apologized. "It's just that—oh, I

  guess it's been a long day."

  "I saw there's an eye doctor next door if that will

  help," Jannik teased. Sander bopped him on the head with

  a knuckle and reminded him to be polite; he wasn't

  helping the situation.

  "You can't blame me," Jannik said as they sat down

  on the rigid sofa. "I'm crazy, remember? I can't be held in

  any trouble for my actions."

  "You have it all figured out, don't you Mr.

  Hansen?" Sander smiled. "But just remember, I'm the one

  who says if we go to get a pizza to take home afterwards."

  "Yes sir."

  The extremely loud clock on the wall above their

  heads gave off a particularly annoying combination of

  ticking, along with an underlying hum. Jannik stared

  straight ahead at the tropical fish loping about the office

  aquarium.

  "Uh oh," Jannik said under his breath.

  "What is it?"

  "You know that time I was at your confirmation at

  the church, and I started to laugh and I couldn't stop?

  "Yes. And you'd better stop. This isn't funny. You

  can't laugh here," Sander told him. "I mean it."

  First came the shaking shoulders moving up and

  down. Then the kid looked at the w
all to his left, a septic

  yellowish color that was about as appealing as the droopy

  fern plopped onto the children's play table in the opposite

  corner, Legos covered in eight layers of grubby hands and

  kid spit. A Thomas the Tank Engine had been jammed rear

  first into the planter. He was going to lose it any second.

  "Stop it! I mean it!" Sander hissed.

  "The more—that you—" His belly hurt, he was

  trying so hard to curb the laughter building up inside of

  him.

  "Jannik!"

  "I'm—fuck! I'm trying, but you don't make it easy!

  Where's Johnnie?—I think he parked the car in France..."

  he said, the laughter poised to erupt at any second,

  "...where they don't wear underpants!" And that was the

  camel's straw. Both broke out in peals of laughter, which

  proved very embarrassing, I was later told.

  "What's so funny?" I asked upon entering the

  waiting room. They just shook their heads and tried to

  shush themselves. Thank goodness the doctor arrived

  from her office to collect Jannik.

  "I think you have to be Jannik," she said to him,

  offering her hand to shake his. "Good grip there. And who

  are these guys?" she asked.

  "Never seen either of them. They both look like

  trouble waiting to happen, I think," he grinned.

  "I'm Sander Lars Hansen. I'm his brother. And this

  is Johnnie Allen. He's my boyfriend."

  "Helle Sørensen. Mind if I borrow Mister Jannik for

  a little while?" she smiled. "Is that okay with you,

  handsome?"

  "Oh, yes. It's why I am here, so let's get the show on

  the road, I think."

  They disappeared down the hall and I took the seat

  where Jannik sat. "He's nervous," I said. "It takes guts for a

  little guy like him to do this."

  "Yeah. I hope she helps him," Sander sighed.

  "Did yours help you?"

  "Oh yes. But I still have times that are not so good,

  you know? Since we are together it doesn't happen so

  much, but there are times that I wonder why...why

  anything, yeah?"

  "We all have our shit. That's for damn sure. But

  same here; since I met you—and I'm going back to the

  beginning, even before we became us—I've felt better.

  More secure, anyway. Thing is, he doesn't have a Johnnie

  or a Sander like we have each other, so it'll be different for

  him," I said.

  "What would have happened if we never found

  each other?" Sander asked. "I can't even think of it."

  "Don't think I haven't wondered that a million

  times. I still think it's a miracle that I fly six-thousand miles

  and get off the train at the wrong station, and stumble onto

  the apartment listing for Emma's building, then meet

  Emil—who's Georg's brother—who then brings you into

  the picture. That kinda shit ain't by accident, Pokey. It just

  can't be," I explained. "I think when you were born, and

  when I was born, it was just a matter of time and we'd find

  each other."

  "I love you, tall man with yellow hair," Sander said,

  giving my thigh an affectionate squeeze.

  "I love you, Pokey Hansen, Man of My Dreams."

  We sat shoulder to shoulder; soon our breathing

  was in sync.

  So, uh, here's the thing, and I've done personal

  research on the subject on numerous occasions. And as a

  result of this self-funded study, this is what I've

  discovered. Horniness is a multi-step process that begins

  the first instant that your mind jumps from whatever the

  matter is at hand, to a quick jolt of erotic thought. Then

  you immediately return to whatever the previous activity

  is.

  Maybe you're at work talking with the boss and—

  zing! —horny thought. Then you're back in Limp Dick

  Land

  while

  he

  blathers

  on

  about

  quarterly

  whatchamafucks. Half an hour later: Zing! again! Then at

  about the twenty minute mark. The seventeen minute

  mark: There's another one! Zing! Until finally, for the final

  six-and-a-half minutes—which ironically corresponds to

  the length of your dick—you change course and take care

  of business.

  "Pokey?"

  "Johnnie?"

  "Uhmm... By any chance do you have to go use the

  bathroom?"

  "No, I already—" And the light bulb went off in his

  very naughty noggin. "Come to think of it, I could use a

  piss."

  "Me too." And we both left the sofa in the direction

  of the hallway men's room. The best bet was the disabled

  one because it was a good-sized room and it had a lock on

  the door.

  "Darkroom?" Sander asked, kicking off his shoes

  and yanking off his shirt.

  "Fuck yeah!"

  I switched off the light and it was a race to get

  naked. I felt his warm body knock against mine, and his

  already

  hard

  cock

  brushed

  against

  my

  thigh.

  "Whoa! You're ready for action!" I whispered. Then

  I dropped on my knees, my clothes and Sander's jacket as a

  barrier against the frigid tile floor. Believe me when I say

  that the floor was the only frigid thing in the room.

  I breathed him in, my lips caressing his thick cock,

  his warmth pressed against my face.

  I massaged his ass and he took the cue to face fuck

  me. I just held my mouth at the perfect height, my lips and

  tongue as a barrier against my teeth, my mouth filled with

  saliva, so he could make things happen the way he wanted

  to. I would just be the still receptacle, providing him

  immense pleasure as I got to feel him moving that

  beautiful part of him in and out, in and out...

  "Fuck, Johnnie! This is fucking great!" he

  stammered, thrusting his heated cock faster and faster,

  deeper, and then holding it in as long as he could stand it.

  Then, as he would quickly pull back to begin another

  thrust, I would tense my lips just the slightest so he would

  feel a stronger pressure on the sensitive foreskin and

  underside of his cock.

  Fuck! .... Oh my God, how do you fucking do this? "

  he whispered to me in extreme pleasure. "I don't want to

  cum too quick, but..."

  "Go ahead!" I spoke, then tapping his ass to

  indicate that it was fine. He damn well didn't have to

  always think about me. This was for him. Besides, I was

  happy as could be, with his incredible cock working my

  mouth while I furiously jacked my own stiff dick. I wasn't

  too far away myself.

  "Johnnie... My God, Johnnie... I'm gonna cum...

  Sorry! I'm gonna cum!" he told me. I just nodded my head

  without missing a beat.

  My cock was ready to deliver as well, so all in all,

  this little visit to the toilet was proving very productive.

  My swimmers were ready to jump off the high dive, and

  Sander's were already on their way. I could feel his cock

>   stiffen and pump, stiffen and pump, and then a moment

  later my mouth and throat were filled with his wonderful

  load. Once again, Sander Lars Hansen became a part of

  me, and the itchy saltiness of him oozing down the back of

  my throat was such a fucking turn-on that when I came, it

  landed all over his kneecap.

  "Aaaggghhh! Oh, fucking awesome!" I exclaimed,

  as he quickly moved his knee to my face and neck, rubbing

  my load all over me. The sweet/savory smell of our cum

  was the signal that heartbeats would soon slow, and we'd

  have to turn the light back on to find our clothes. But I've

  got to say, for a less-than-ten-minute-quickie, this was one

  fine notch on our sex belts!

  "Close your eyes before I turn on the lights," I

  warned him. "It's gonna be really bright after our cool little

  darkroom!"

  "Okay, Johnnie! I'm ready! Flick that fucker!"

  Sander laughed. And I did. And, fuck, was it bright.

  We gathered our clothes and wiped up the stray

  swimmers, and did a quick onceover in the mirror for the

  hair and the reddened cheeks, took a breath, and opened

  the door.

  "It's about fucking time, you perverts!" said the

  gray-haired octogenarian gentleman planted in his

  wheelchair. "I gotta go!!!"

  "Oh, damn, we're so sorry, sir!" Sander declared.

  "Can we help you at all?"

  "You ain't getting a piece of this ass, kid! Clausen

  don't swing that way!" he grumbled, as he bumped and

  rolled himself into the bathroom. "Oh, for fuck's sake, it

  smells like teen spirit in here! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! It's all you

  kids ever wanna do! You never get enough!"

  He let the door shut and made sure we heard the

  slide and click of the door lock. "Go home, you cocksucks!"

  We headed back to the waiting room with the

  biggest grins ever, the two cocksucks doing all they could

  to keep from busting out in some very inappropriate

  laughter.

  Chapter 16

  annik shuffled uncomfortably in the black,

  obviously IKEA sofa that was arranged diagonally

  J across the center of Dr. Helle Sørensen's sparse

  office.

  Every wall, surface, the flooring, even the ceiling

  was covered in a shade of flat, dead green. The kind of

  green palette similar to what I term as Martha Stewart

  Green. That ghastly, institutional green that is found

  painted in places like the interior of school buses, mental