(damaged boys) 15

(damaged boys) 15, a stranger in the house
There were five of them in the row of townhouses, and underneath the sheen of public normalcy and personal success lived the gaping damage within.
a stranger in the house
He was driving in the dark.
There was nowhere else to go but here, into the dark, into the unknown. Corey hated surprises, especially in his new career. He’d been hired to make an appearance way out east, in Claydon, beyond the county line, beyond the sensibilities of anyone mildly urbane. The drive had reached almost forty minutes as he pulled onto Route 44 somewhere in the middle of Crestwood County, somewhere literally in the middle of the dark. There were no streetlights and not even reflector plates running down the centerline. Corey watched the road ahead with intensity, almost the same intensity of learning new choreography or learning the movements of his johns.

Patrice had warned him about indiscriminate hook-ups and unfamiliar men, warned him about the intoxication of fast men and fast money. And he reminded him, above all else, there is the dance. In his own way, Patrice showed the strength, concern and the nurturing Corey wanted, wanted from his own father. But Corey also wanted the intense sexuality, the exquisite physicality of Patrice’s touch, the animal thrill of succumbing completely to desire.
But, that was somewhere else for now. Now, he had to find the next client, located out in this puddle of blackness, this rural nowhereland. Surrounded by quiet farms and cows and other livestock he couldn’t see, he imagined his life in a different context. There were friends and family, lots of family, he’d always wanted lots of siblings, and there was somehow a simpler life. There was support and love and laughter. Not the rigid, impenetrable and shallow parents, the insufferable sister and fucking Jesus. It was the church that really got in the way…destroyed what little hope he had of a normal family.
Especially now. Especially with their gay, ballet dancer son. Their gay, ballet dancing whore of a son who felt like a stranger in the house. The elephant in the room that no one acknowledges. And wouldn’t it just be enough to deliver an unrecoverable blow to both his parents? Maybe an aneurysm. Maybe a stroke or maybe even heart failure. No, not heart failure. Impossible when one has no heart.
And there it was. He’d wished both of his parents dead, or comatose. If he’d have believed in a god, he was sure he’d have been struck down on the spot. But, Corey believed only in the tangible, in the things he could actually see and touch. He believed in sex as religion, and he worshipped often. And it was Good.
Corey arrived at the address quickly scrawled on an old electric bill. He’d grabbed it as he retrieved his messages from the service. Lou. 8462 Fowlers Mill. The house was enormous. Larger than anything he’d imagined for someplace like this, way out in the middle of nowhere. Its outlined loomed large against the night sky. There was only a faint glow coming from a few windows on the first floor.
He stepped up onto the front porch which stretched the length of the house, and wrapped around the corner. He rang the doorbell, which chimed from someplace deep within the house. It was a good 45 seconds before he heard approaching footsteps. When the door swung open, heavy on its own hinges, it revealed a man, no more than 43, towering above him. He was a commanding presence but said very little. He motioned for Corey to follow him inside. The interior was almost all wood, the floors and the walls. He set down his overnight bag.
“Just show me where you want me to dance for you.”
“No dancing.”
“But, you realize, you’re paying me to dance for you, right? That’s what you’re paying me to do.”
“I understand. No dancing, even though that’s what I’m paying for. I want you to follow me upstairs.”
Corey followed him to the second floor and down a long, dark hallway to the master bedroom. Beyond grotesque oil paintings and flickering nightlights near the baseboard. But, in front of him was this man, Lou, tall and quiet and sexy. He was of solid build, few words and intense. Corey guessed ex-military. He had short-cropped hair and a permanent five o’clock shadow. He was rugged and masculine and decisive. Corey was a stranger here, and he felt it with every step.
“Here.” Lou pointed to the bed. “This is where I want you to perform.” With that, he removed his clothes and revealed a physique that rivaled Corey’s.
“Let’s see what you can do.”
And Corey went to work, tearing at clothing and grabbing Lou’s hefty package. He unzipped and practically dove into his boxer briefs. Corey was rewarded with a beautiful, uncut cock that stood rigid as if saluting – and was at least 9 fat inches. A twinge of fear flashed though him – the uncertainty of getting fucked by suck a huge, hard dick. There was no backing out now.
Lou ordered him to keep sucking on his cock and playing with his U.S. Marine bull balls, letting out a low, slow groan. Soon enough, he had Corey completely naked and prepared to take a hard and deep dicking. Lou rolled on a condom, slathered his cock and Corey’s hole with lube, and started to ease the head into Corey’s tight ass.
Slowly, Lou inched his way in as Corey squirmed in pain and ecstasy. After a minute or so, Corey adjusted to the huge size and signaled that it was okay. Lou wasted no time pounding Corey’s ass, sinking the full nine inches to the hilt, then pulling out almost all the way, and pumping it all back in again. Lou was skilled and the fucking lasted over an hour until Corey shot his load without ever touching his cock. Lou pulled out, tore off his condom and blasted his seed all over Corey’s muscular torso.
Remembering nothing, noting no details and closing himself off from the horror of his own making, Corey felt as if he was outside of himself looking back at someone he didn’t recognize. Seeing a whore and a liar and a failure.
Seeing the stranger he’d become to himself.
walking north
There was the inevitable tabloid news coverage of the entire ordeal…his bad choices aired in front of family and judgemental strangers. Kyle found himself not only in intense physical therapy, but the subject of intense scrutiny. He remembered it vividly, the name-calling, the hate and the violence. It was strange how the words hurt worse than the tissue damage, the broken bones and bruises the color of eggplant.
He’d relived the moment a thousand times over in his head. He’d regretted the whole night. He regretted Daniel, regretted his own low self-esteem, his bad choices and his fear of being alone. He regretted a lot of things he couldn’t change. His mother had come right away, of course, and brought with her anxiety, judgement and sadness…as if he didn’t have enough of those things. But, she was there at least, and it was better than no one at all. And, when it became apparent he would make a full recovery, she could encircle him with blame, scolding him like a baby. Maybe he needed to hear it.
Kyle missed Braden. No, he missed being with someone, anyone, who could make him feel loved and wanted. And, with that, Kyle turned a corner and started to understand himself…a little.
The weeks of recovery and rehabilitation were grueling, and he’d promised himself he’d get through it in time for the spring thaw, and a summer full of camping and hiking. He loved the escape from the city, the opportunity to be in the middle of nowhere, responsible only for himself. He kept a picture of the dense green forest in his mind’s eye to remind him what lay beyond the sterility and exhaustion and pain of recovery.
Kyle dreamed of the swallows alight on the evening sky, and the cool trickle of an unexpected spring deep in the pines. He imagined the rolling hills giving way to the mountains and the perfection of the trails in Virginia and North Carolina. He dreamed of hiking north on the Appalachian Trail and making friends from strangers, and being liked for being himself. When he was in seventh grade, he and his best friend Randy Bicking, planned to hike the entire AT when they turned eighteen. They even plotted where they would have mail drops, where they would overnight and how they might make enough money to pay for the five-month excursion. He’d not thought much about it after Randy moved away at the end of their freshman year in high school.
His pulse quickened. It seemed, to him, that this might be the answer…a journey all his own…away from the madness, away from the hurt and the fear, away from the Kyle he’d come to hate. It was a way of sorting out the detritus of his life, shifting perspectives and putting distance between himself and his not-so-distant past. At once, it seemed obvious and absolutely right. If he could get strong enough by early April, he could set off to Springer Mountain near Amicalola Falls, Georgia, and start walking north toward Katahdin.

Dec 16, 2005 By Todd 7 Comments