Although it had been a rocky start, Marcel, Foster, and Rose became the best of friends. Every week they would ask their parents, "Will we meet today? Tomorrow? How about the day after?" After a while, the parents would let them know that it wasn't very healthy to get too attached to a fiancée, especially one from a strange culture. The kids didn't really grasp the concept of "fiancées" and "marriage" for a few years, but even then they didn't seem to care.

"I want to live in a pink house with big yards and lots of ponies," proclaimed Rose one day when Marcel was visiting Foster and her.

"Why ponies?" asked Marcel.

"Because all girls like ponies," snickered Foster.

"Oh," replied Marcel, "but I like ponies too."

"I want ponies because I want to travel the world," said Rose as she sat in her favorite spot in the garden and pulled on a flower. "And I want boats too so I can go across the sea. It's my dream."

That's a nice dream to have, Marcel thought, though he was more of a homebody himself. Unlike Marcel, Rose was a very outgoing and energetic child. He liked that about her. In fact, most Wingsiders would have found it easy to take a liking to her, but she wasn't exactly the ideal young lady of Greythorn. Her pie-in-the-sky wishes were unrealistic. She was just too active.

"Don't you want to want to go on adventures, Marcel?" asked Rose.

"Adventures?" he repeated with a laugh, "that sounds a bit too exciting for me."

"Really? No slaying wild beasts or protecting your cute fiancée?" Rose batted her eyelashes, somewhat jokingly.

"What kind of gentleman would I be if I did that?" asked Marcel.

"A hero, of course!"

Marcel had never thought of himself as a hero before. Of course, he had heard legends of heroes and highly respected people in folktales, but they were all strong and old, ancient women. "I barely even know how to sling an arrow," he said sheepishly.

Foster's eyebrows raised at that. One of the most popular pastimes of Greythorn was archery. Almost every child learned the basics of using a bow and arrow at some point. It was like learning to play the piano or write in calligraphy.

"You don't? Why not?" asked Foster.

Marcel shrugged. "It's just not something boys do, I guess."

Foster made a mischievous grin. He had an idea.

---

"When you pull back, you should feel your back tighten."

Foster poked between Marcel's shoulder blades, making him squirm.

"Ack!"

The arrow was released aimlessly from the bow and went flying off past the target.

"Oh my goodness!"

Foster had led Marcel and Rose into a forest where targets were nailed onto the trees. It was a forest in between Wingside and Greythorn that the farmers found useless, but Foster thought it was a great place to play games.

"I'm sorry. I'm so clumsy," apologized Marcel.

"Sorry about what?" asked Foster. "Just try again."

Foster handed Marcel another arrow. Marcel held up the bow and arrow, and pulled his arm back until he felt his back clench.

"You use your left arm to aim," said Foster, "and when you feel it's close to the bull's eye, let go of the string."

Marcel bit his lip as he aimed. He let his fingers loosen and the arrow flung out with a hum. It went faster than they expected, and in the blink of an eye it was gone. The boys looked around in all directions, wondering where it had landed this time. Behind a bush? Up in a tree? Under their feet?

"Look over there! Look!" cried Rose. She pointed at the target eagerly.

The boys ran over, and there they saw the arrow, shoved between two perfect halves of the target, directly in the black bull's eye. The boys' mouths gaped open. Marcel dropped his bow and they went up closer to inspect it.

"Amazing!" said Foster. "It almost went through the whole thing. How on earth did you do that?"

Marcel shook his head in disbelief. Rose tugged on Marcel's shirt. "Now you can't say no to an adventure!" she said with a cute smile, but soon began to cough uncontrollably.

"Rose!" exclaimed Foster. "Are you alright?" He came to her aid as she continued coughing and hacking.

Foster was very protective of Rose. He didn't like the idea of her being alone, and hated it when strangers were near her. She was the naïve type Foster adored, so he felt the need to keep her on a pedestal.

"I'm fine," Rose managed to say before going through another coughing fit.

Marcel asked what was wrong with her, but Foster didn't know. She began coughing a few weeks before, but the episodes were slowly getting more frequent by the day.

The boys decided to end their archery lesson and carried her back home. By the time she was tucked in her bed, her face and throat were as pink as the flower in her hair. She eventually stopped coughing and fell asleep, so the boys spent the rest of the afternoon in Foster's bedroom.

Foster sat cross-legged on his bed, staring down at the floor with a pensive expression. Marcel sat down next to him.

"I'm not sure why," said Foster, "but I feel like something's wrong with her."

"It's probably just allergies," said Marcel in an attempt to comfort him. "Sometimes they start at strange times if new flowers start spreading."

"I guess...." Foster changed the subject unexpectedly, "Marcel, that thing on your chest has changed."

"My chest? You mean the star?" He looked down at the pin. Rather than the tiny little silver star he wore as a child, this one was gold with a jewel in the middle. "Yes, it has. Now that I'm 13 and engaged, I can wear the same kinds of stars adults have."

"You're an adult now? So, you must think a lot about sex, huh?"

"Oh, well..." Marcel paused. Come to think of it, his thoughts had been circling around sex more than in his childhood. Of course, he didn't know about sex until a couple years ago, so that was normal. His father tried to explain after he had his first morning erection. The way Aimé talked about it didn't sound very appealing; it sounded sort of gross, and like it was just something practiced until the wife had a baby. But then, Olympe had sex all the time, even if she didn't want another child. Marcel thought maybe there was something about sex that was being kept a secret from him, or else he wouldn't be an only child.

His thoughts were interrupted when Foster's hand was placed on his crotch.

"What are you doing?" Marcel asked.

"All the other boys talk about sex like they've had it before," said Foster. "You're an adult, so I want to do it too."

"Wha--now wait a minute!" Marcel pushed him off. "If you want to know, don't try it on me! I've never done it!"

"But you said you're an adult now that..."

"I know! That has nothing to do with it! Besides, don't you need a girl to have sex?"

Unlike Marcel, Foster didn't learn about sex from his parents. They only bothered explaining to Rose since she was the only one who was engaged. Instead, Foster learned about it on the streets where the neighborhood boys would talk. Newspapers were littered with articles on rape and pedophilia. Once Foster happened to spy on two young men doing it while hiding between buildings.

"Why a girl?" asked Foster, "I've seen guys have sex before."

"Then how is there supposed to be a child? You need both!" Marcel told him.

"A child?"

It was then clear to Marcel and Foster that their views on sex were strikingly different. Foster tried to explain that sex wasn't just for reproduction--there were emotional reasons as well. Sometimes people did it simply for the feeling of happiness or power. It could also be a way of gesturing one's love, like a kiss.

Marcel realized that maybe this was why his mother had sex so often and with more than one person. He also understood why his father resented that.

"So then, you want to have power over me?" asked Marcel.

"What? No!" Foster laughed at Marcel's misconstruing. He said with more sincerity, "I just wanted to know what it was like, and, well, I feel really comfortable around you." Foster stood up, about to leave. "But if you're not comfortable, there's no point."

"Wait," Marcel grabbed Foster's shirt sleeve. He cleared his throat and mumbled unsurely, "I admit, I'm also somewhat... curious..."

Foster sat down on the bed again, but they were unable to do anything when Lolicia knocked on the door.

"Foster," she said, "I think it's time for Marcel to go home now. It's almost sunset."

The tense mood was now broken. Marcel prepared to leave. After they said their goodbyes, Foster requested, "If you don't mind, meet me by the archery targets tomorrow."

So, the next afternoon Marcel skipped his bi-weekly etiquette lessons on how to be a proper husband, and instead stole one of his mother's horses to meet Foster. To a young teenager, there was something slightly mysterious and taboo about sex, and in turn this made Marcel interested.

When he got to yesterday's make-shift archer's court, the targets had since been neatly piled in a stack on the ground. Foster greeted him and led him to a spot in the sun where the ground was dry.

"How is Rose?" asked Marcel casually.

Foster pouted at her name. "She is still in bed," he said sadly. "I've been praying almost every hour for her to get better, but it's only made me grow more impatient." He changed to a lighter note. "Are you ready for this?"

Marcel was a little nervous because he didn't know what to do. Nevertheless, he was eager to know what was in store for him.

"I don't know how to explain it," said Foster, "so please just follow my lead."

He undid Marcel's clothes, though frequently confused by the unfamiliar stitching. Underneath was pale skin, considerably lighter than his face which had been growing darker since they met. Foster had seen his own body numerous times, but for some reason the sight of Marcel's made a wave of heat flush to his cheeks.

Unknowing of the entire human body's sensitivity, Foster went straight for the penis and rubbed it with his hand.

Marcel, who had never been introduced to the concept of masturbation, found the new sensation unlike what he expected. "It feels strange," he whispered.

"It's fine," Foster assured him. He used his free hand to unbuckle his own belt and pull his pants down half-way. "Marcel, do the same to me."

Marcel found it somewhat difficult to imitate Foster's movements while there were such intense feelings and heat accumulating from below.

Foster emitted a moan that alerted Marcel. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, just keep going," ordered Foster.

Marcel was beginning to get urges to hold on to something- the grass, his knee, the nape of Foster's neck. He felt a tingle from inside his groin.

"Something's happening," he told Foster. "I feel like... I don't know."

"Don't hold back."

Slippery white liquid spurt out from Marcel's penis and landed on the grass. He continued to pleasure Foster until he too ejaculated and ended the session. It was not a romantic time, but Marcel was secretly enthralled by it. By now they sported a fine layer of sweat even though the air was chilly. Foster re-buckled his pants and helped Marcel re-lace his clothes.

"That was only some of what guys do," Foster informed. He admitted softly, "I was too nervous to do anything else."

It was unusual for Foster to share his weakness like that. He always tried to act tough and confident, especially in front of Rose and other boys. However, faking "manliness" to impress Marcel was useless because he could see right through it. Instead, Marcel was the one person who allowed Foster to genuinely be himself. In turn, Marcel was also allowed this freedom of self. He was given the opportunity to be mentally stimulated and express his energetic nature without restraint from his family and neighbors. When these two boys were together, nothing was ever wrong. Unfortunately, when they separated, trouble would often brew.

Marcel returned home with numerous grass and mud stains, only to find Olympe and Aimé waiting for him at the door with their arms crossed.

"And where have you been?" asked Olympe. She began tapping her foot.

"I-I was just..." Marcel couldn't decide whether to make up a story or tell the truth. He surely couldn't say what he did with Foster, but creating a story would only further the punishment and lectures if they discovered he was lying. He made his answer short. "I was visiting Foster."

"That disgrace of a boy? I just don't understand those dirty, piggish...no, beastly men of Greythorn!" Olympe nearly spat on the ground. "Marcel, I don't want you hanging around that boy! He's a bad influence on you! You hear me?"

Marcel nodded humbly. He did not agree, but he knew better than to argue.

"Also," Olympe took a whiff of air, "go get one of the butlers to prepare a bath for you. You look and smell like you've been rolling around on the ground." She left him, and Aimé followed quietly as he always was.