(damaged boys) 20

(damaged boys) 20: pas de deux
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.
pas de deux
Corey was looking backwards, maybe for the first time in his life; he was considering the choices he’d made, wondering if it made any difference at all. He often thought not. But today, sitting in a holding cell in the county court house, there was nothing to do but consider. He’d been sitting in the little mint green room for six hours, since he’d been processed and booked. There was little left to do but make the telephone call to his friend David, and to wait to make his appearance in court.

He met the john in the Market Square area of town, normally a safe and discreet place for such transactions. It was well lighted and highly trafficked. It was not the typical place he’d make the connection. This, perhaps, was his major mistake. If he’d only suggested a meeting among the warehouses along the wharf. If only he’d insisted on a reference, or something…anything, he might not be in this situation.
It was true that most sex workers are arrested at least once, if not many times in the span of their “professional” careers. Corey had stupidly bet against the odds. He was, after all, a legitimate entertainer, and being legit, felt he could fly just beneath the radar. He’d been stupid about this, and greedy.
Corey was escorted down the hallway by a bailiff when the court docket was set for the day. He’d be seen by Judge Mathis. Ironic, really, because he’d voted for him in the last election. At least, he thought so. There were too many judges to keep track of in the city, but Corey was sure he’d voted for this guy. Not that it would help him here.
Something clicked inside of him. He could see out of his eyes, like lenses at the end of a tunnel. It was like he had retreated inside of himself. He could see everything going on around him, but it was distant and loping. There was the bailiff and the clerk and a large assembly of other people like him and their families.
His father had all but disowned him when he’d come out to them in college. The shock of the prostitution charge would most likely destroy what was tenuous, at best. No, there would be no revelation to his parents about his legal matters. Better to keep that safely tucked away for as long as possible…forever, if possible.
The judge asked him for his plea. He looked at the floor in front of him as he declared his guilt. Corey received a two-thousand dollar fine and 100 hours of community service and a terse admonition. He was processed and released within an hour.
When he reached the outside, it was gray and drizzling rain. He relished in the freedom he’d taken for granted only a few hours before, and promised himself to figure out a better way through life. If there ever was a red flag, this was it. He was determined not to let it pass without action.
Inevitably, there would be the police blotter and the court records, all a matter of public information. Would most people put together that he was a dancer with the ballet company? He was not a principal dancer and, most likely, would not be noticed by most people. This time, it paid off not to be a celebrity, no matter how small.
Corey returned home just as Jeanine was getting ready to leave for work. He tried, unsuccessfully, to avoid her gaze. She’d been watching him lately. He knew she suspected something…all the coming and going at odd hours, contrary to his fairly regimented rehearsal schedule. She knew…something. And she’d most likely find out when the report was published in the blotter. Then they’d finally have something to talk about. He waved and darted into his house, locking the door behind him.
Here there was nothing but space. Here, there were no walls painted institutional green. Here, there was no one to look at him or judge him or buy him. Here, there was only Corey. Here was a place to reconfigure the pieces, to sort and discard and organize into something new.
He ran the water, deciding on a steaming hot shower. He thought about the Marine, and his cock stirred to life. The thought of fucking and getting fucked by that rock-solid man was too much to resist. He reached down and started stroking the full length of his nine inch shaft. It sent electricity through his body. He imagined the Marine forcing his uncut cock into his mouth, shoving it in to the hilt and pulling back slowly. Corey wished he could reach out and pull back the foreskin and lick underneath the head…it drove the Marine crazy. He would moan and shove his hot meat back down his throat, and start fucking Corey’s mouth.
Corey let out a moan as the water sprayed over his shoulders and back. He pumped his cock a little faster, thinking about the whole scenario, savoring it. His cock felt hard and heavy in his hands. It seemed to stiffen even more as he pictured the Marine shooting his load into his mouth, gobbling up every sexy drop. Corey brought himself to the brink, but pulled back a little – wanting to wait until he could switch scenes in his mind. He imagined the Marine pushing his hard cock up against Corey’s hole. With a decisive shove, he was in and Corey writhed from the pain and pleasure. He pushed his cock up even further and Corey realized that this was what it must feel like for the guys on the receiving end of his cock, painful but unbelievably hot. He whimpered as the Marine fucked him, thrusting his steel hard cock in and out of Corey’s tight ass. It seemed to go on for hours. He picked up speed, pounding Corey like a rutting bull.
Corey shot his load in five or six long spurts that landed on the clean white tile on the opposite wall of the shower. He spasmed involuntarily and shuddered to a halt. His cock dripped with cum, and he turned into the streams of the hot shower water to start washing himself.
Maybe he would no longer turn tricks, but there were no rules about the searing hot memory of it…

Sep 01, 2006 By Todd 2 Comments