by A M Snead
“Two in the glass,” Daniel instructed the bartender then looked at Jack. “I wanted to talk to you and see if you might consider dancing here at the club. Mostly just on weekends.” He cocked his head and smiled. “The crowd really loved you last night.” The bartender brought back two chilled glasses of beer. Daniel slid one of the glasses over to Jack. “Maybe…” He winked and raised his own drink. “I could even talk you and Garrett into doing a show together now and then? Possibly?” He took a drink of his beer. “You two really burned up the stage. You have some electrifying chemistry.”
Electrifying chemistry. If so, it had burned out last night. “I think last night was a one-time thing,” Jack said quietly. “A fluke. I don’t think I could do that again.” He wondered if he meant the stage show…or what happened later. But it didn’t really matter, because he didn’t plan to repeat either event.
Daniel seemed to pick up on his shift of mood and didn’t push the matter. “All right. But if you change your mind, the invitation to dance is open-ended.”
“Thanks.” Jack smiled weakly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Savoring a leisurely sip from his glass, Daniel studied Jack. “So, how are things going out at Gideon’s?”
Jack wasn’t sure if that was a multilayered question, but he chose the most basic reply. “Good.”
“Are you new to the business?” Daniel asked. “Or have you done this before?”
The casual way that Daniel asked the question put Jack at ease, as if they were discussing any typical career. Jack had no problem with his life choices but was uncomfortable speaking about it to someone who couldn’t grasp the reasons why he would take this path. But it hardly came as a surprise that Daniel talked of it so naturally, considering the man owned a strip club and many of his dancers were porn stars as well.
“It’s all new to me,” Jack said. “I mean, I’d been thinking about it for a while, and I’d watched a bunch of Gideon’s videos on the website. But this is the first time I’ve actually done it.”
A smile tweaked Daniel’s lips as he gazed at Jack. “Is it everything you expected?”
Jack thought about it a moment, then shook his head. “Honestly…it is nothing like I expected.”
“Is that bad or good?”
Had it turned out to be as he had expected, it probably would have been better. This shit with Garrett would have never materialized, and the only relationship he had with any of the guys would have been “sexual.” But he found himself being drawn into the whole “family” atmosphere and beginning to view the other guys as friends. The experience was turning out to be both pleasantly surprising—and a little bit frightening. It was always a risk when allowing one’s self to get too close to others, even as friends. Lovers weren’t the only ones who could hurt you.
“I think…good,” Jack murmured and raised his glass to his lips, taking a drink. “For the most part.”
“You sound a little uncertain there,” Daniel observed. “Is everything going okay?”
“Yeah,” Jack answered a little too quickly. He shrugged and smiled. “Gideon is great. I knew from his website and things he’d posted on there, that he kind of viewed his boys as family. I guess I just didn’t realize how much. His place, it doesn’t feel like a…” He smiled. “…hot bed of porn stars. It feels like…”
“A real home?”
Jack licked his lips and nodded. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Exactly. And that’s nice, because…” He stared at his glass. “No place has felt like home to me in a long time.” His throat began to close. The last time he had felt like he belonged anywhere or with anyone—was before Jill had died. Since then, he had felt like a stranger in a strange land. With Jill gone, there was no one left who really cared what became of him.
Until now. A part of him really wanted to believe that. For a fleeting moment, Garrett had made him believe it. And now, Lucas, the twins, Gideon, and even Daniel…in their eyes was the invitation for him to reach out, to embrace and to trust.
But after last night, was that even possible?
What if he embraced these people as family and friends—and they turned on him as suddenly and carelessly as Garrett had?
31 “The Gift”
“Mom?” The boy had to bump the door with his shoulder to get it to close tight, the hinges slightly off-kilter. Inside the apartment was cold, like always. His mom said it cost too much to run the heater and insisted he wear his sweater indoors as well as outside.
The kitchen was empty, and he dropped his worn school bag on the small red metal table. The once bright paint was now chipped and faded, one corner of the table’s trim jutting out a little, breaking away from the table itself. It repeatedly caught his clothes, at times tearing them if he wasn’t careful. The tiny screw that had held it secure was gone and the screw hole stripped so another couldn’t be inserted. He had tried.
The stove was cold, but he hadn’t expected there to be a meal waiting for him; he made the meals while his mom…
He glanced toward the narrow, dark hall that led to the only bedroom in the apartment. It belonged to his mom. He slept on the couch in the tiny living room. They always rented one-bedroom apartments because they were cheaper than a two-bedroom. It didn’t really matter, he didn’t have anything to put in a bedroom anyway. So, he didn’t argue with his mom about her always taking it. She needed it…
The boy dumped the thought and went to the sink to wash his hands before preparing dinner. They never had anything really healthy to make—mostly they ate biscuits and gravy, sometimes mashed or fried potatoes when they had them. He rarely tasted vegetables or fruit, and only on rare occasions did they have any meat.
He thought maybe his mom wasn’t home. It was too quiet. He preferred the silence to the sounds that usually came out of her room. But if he made dinner and she wasn’t here, it would get cold and she would be upset.
Leaving the kitchen, he ventured down the hall slowly, quietly. Only when he was at the bedroom door did he hear the low voices. He gripped the doorknob then hesitated—his mom didn’t like him interrupting her when she was “working.” But last night he had used the last of their shortening when he made biscuits. He needed money to go buy some more from the small market down the street.
He twisted the knob and opened the door slowly. The boy could clearly hear that it was just one voice and it belonged to a man. Bud. That’s what his mom called him. He came to the apartment a lot more than the other men. Even stayed the night now and then. The boy could tell that his mom liked him more than the others.
“Fuck, baby,” Bud groaned quietly, his voice strained. “Take it all. Swallow my big dick.”
The boy peered through the partially open door. Bud sat against the wall at the head of the bed, naked, legs flopped open. The kid’s mom was naked, too, except for a pair of G-string panties. She was between his legs, head in his lap, bobbing up and down as the man clutched a fistful of her hair and groaned and grunted.
Backing away, the boy carefully closed the door and returned to the kitchen. He knew what his mom was doing, and that that was how she made money. He was thirteen. He knew about sex. He was just confused about why he didn’t think about girls like the other boys did—but instead thought about the “other boys.” No one knew, not even his mom. Especially not his mom. He didn’t know if she would get mad or not, but he didn’t want to take the chance. She didn’t hit him when she was upset, but she screamed a lot and broke things. It still scared him, and there were times when it seemed like she “wanted” to hit him, insisting he was just going to leave her one day like his piece-of-shit dad. Then she would break down and cry and hug him, beg him not to go away. He always promised he would never leave her, but he thought about it all the time. Wished he had a normal family, a real house that was warm, and a soft bed in his own room with all the cool things other kids had.
His vision blurred as he dug into his mom’s purse for a few dollars. She didn’t like him taking money without as
king, but she liked it even less when he walked in on her while she was with a man.
The sounds from the bedroom grew louder as Bud began to holler and yell for her to—"Suck it! Suck my cock! Make me cum!”
The things that erupted from his mom’s bedroom didn’t shock him; he’d grown up listening to them. But when he’d gotten old enough to understand what was really going on behind her bedroom door, it bothered him to hear. Usually he had no choice, but today he could leave, go to the market. He scribbled a quick note and left it stuck to the fridge with an old yellowed and cracked magnet and hurried out of the apartment.
He took his time, walking slow, trying not to think about what his mom was doing to Bud. One of the men she had brought home once, had tried to get the boy to suck him. His mom freaked out and kicked the guy out of the apartment. She always made sure the men knew that “she” was the one for sale…not her son.
But the boy always wondered—fearfully—what would happen if one of the guys “insisted” on doing things to him as well. Would his mom be able to stop them?
Or if they offered her enough money…would she just let them?
The market was small—just a couple of aisles with a cold case along the back wall. This was a poor neighborhood and the market owner was smart enough to stock the shelves with basic, essential items that poor people needed in order to make the most of their meals. Like shortening.
He grabbed the largest can he could afford, but rather than pay for it and head home, he wandered down the aisle with the baking goods and stopped before the boxed cake mixes. Chocolate was his favorite, but he didn’t like it with chocolate frosting, he didn’t know why. Cherry frosting tasted better to him.
The boy tugged the money from his pocket and counted through it. Even with the shortening, he could still afford a cake mix, though he didn’t have enough for frosting, too. But he didn’t mind just the cake by itself. Would his mom be mad if he got himself a cake for his birthday? Did she even remember it was his birthday?
Squeezing his fist anxiously, he finally walked up to the counter without the cake. It was better to not get it than risk her getting mad. She said every dime counted, and he wasn’t to be spending money on unnecessary things. The cake wasn’t necessary.
At the apartment, he found Bud sitting at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette. The shower was running in the bathroom. The boy took the small paper bag with the shortening and set it on the counter. His back was to Bud and he didn’t speak to the man. They hadn’t really talked before, even when the guy had spent the night a few times.
“Hey, kid,” Bud spoke up. “Do you do the cooking around here?”
“Yeah,” the boy mumbled and lifted the can of shortening from the bag.
“How old are you?”
“Thirteen.”
“Yeah?” Bud cleared his throat. “When’s your birthday?”
The boy tensed; why was he asking that today? Had his mom remembered and mentioned it to Bud? He swallowed thickly and told him, “Today.”
“No shit?” Bud chuckled. “You gonna have a party?”
“No,” the boy whispered.
“You’re not going to celebrate your birthday?”
The kid shook his head.
“Come on, you gotta celebrate your birthday, kid.”
The boy turned around. “Why?”
“Well…” Bud shrugged and grinned. He wasn’t so unpleasant and didn’t look at the boy like he wanted to do things to him. “Because it’s the day you were born.”
The boy’s throat closed. “Why would I want to celebrate that?”
Bud stared at him, his grin faltering. “Hey, kid…I know life seems like the shit right now, but it’ll get better.” The boy just stared at him doubtfully. “Did your mom forget your birthday?”
Shrugging, the boy looked at the floor.
“Are you mad at her?”
“No,” he whispered. Most years, he had to remind her. One time, she had cried when he told her. Another time, she’d gotten mad, as if he expected her to buy him things they couldn’t afford. So, he just stopped bringing it up.
“You’re a good kid, you know that?” Bud murmured sincerely. “Most kids your age, they would be pouting and having a fit if they didn’t get a birthday party.”
The boy shrugged again. “I don’t care about that.”
“Come here.” Bud beckoned to him. The boy frowned and hesitated. Bud chuckled. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I just want to give you something. Everyone should get at least one gift on their birthday.”
When the kid still hesitated, Bud dug into the front right pocket of his faded jeans and produced a small pocketknife. He held it out to the boy. Approaching him uncertainly, the kid looked at the knife then at Bud. He didn’t take it.
“Go on, it’s yours,” he said. “I’m giving it to you.”
“Why?”
“Every teenage boy should have a pocketknife at some point, it’s like a rite of passage or some shit. That’s what my old man told me when he gave it to me, anyway.”
“Your dad gave it to you?” the boy asked. “I…I can’t take it.”
“It’s all right,” Bud snorted. “The guy was an asshole. But it was a good knife, so I kept it. Now I want you to have it.”
The boy stared at the pocketknife, then slowly took it from Bud. He turned it over in his hand, running his thumb across the smooth dark handle. His eyes stung, and he looked up. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Bud smiled and nudged his arm. “Don’t mention it, kid.”
The boy gazed at him and for a quick moment wondered if this was how it felt to have a dad. A smile touched his lips and his eyes lowered to the knife as he carefully opened the blade.
“Be careful, now,” Bud said. “It’s razor sharp. Don’t want to cut yourself.”
♦ ♦ ♦
The path was so familiar to him now, that if necessary he could have followed it with his eyes closed. He wasn’t out here to meet up with anyone though, not today—he just wanted away from the house. Away from Bailey. Scotty had noticed the way Bailey’s gaze had shifted to his long sleeves. Would Bailey ask to see his arms? And when he saw the cuts…would he suggest to Gideon that Scotty be sent away? Perhaps locked up somewhere until he got “better”?
Gideon wouldn’t send you away. Anymore, though, he wasn’t certain of that. What if he was just looking for a legitimate excuse? Scotty cast a dark cloud over the house…maybe everyone would be better off if he went away.
He was nearing the “meeting” place when he heard someone on the path behind him. When he’d left the house and walked across the back lawn toward the trees, he had felt eyes watching him. After only a moment of searching, he’d spotted Garrett watching him from his bedroom window. Had he come out here to…
Shoes scuffed the dirt path but Scotty didn’t turn around. He wished the guy hadn’t followed him today. Sometimes…he just wanted to be left alone.
“Isn’t that shirt a little warm for such a beautiful day?” the man spoke low with the hint of a sneer in his voice.
“You know why I’m wearing it,” Scotty whispered without turning around.
“And you’re fooling…who?”
“I’m not trying to fool anyone,” Scotty said quietly. “But if they don’t see it…they can pretend there’s nothing to see. And that’s how they want it. They don’t want to see.”
The man snorted. “Why would they? You cut yourself open to release the pain. Seriously, how fucked up is that?”
Stopping at the edge of the small opening in the trees, Scotty’s arms curled slowly around his waist and he stared at the fallen log where the man had fucked him just yesterday. Pain coursed through him now at the man’s words.
“You know, any normal person would just drown their pain in a bottle of liquor—not take a fucking knife to themselves.”
Tears rose and blurred Scotty’s vision. Why are you so mean to me? He wanted to cry. “I didn’t use a knife,” he said thi
ckly.
“Fucking semantics. You still cut yourself. Does it really help?”
“Yes!” Scotty choked on a sudden sob and hugged himself tighter. “It does. It…it makes the pain go away…for a while.”
The guy chuckled and stepped up behind him. Strong arms slid around his chest. “Oh baby.” He kissed Scotty’s cheek. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”
“You think I’m…I’m crazy?”
“You always have been, as long as I’ve known you.”
Scotty tried to draw some measure of comfort from the arms that were holding him, but there was none, not this time. “Do you want me to go away?” he whispered, trembling.
“What do you think?” Warm lips brushed Scotty’s ear then dragged down the side of his neck. Wrapped tightly in his arms, Scotty could feel the man’s cock, hard inside his pants, pressed firmly against Scotty’s ass. If he was hard…didn’t that mean he wanted Scotty? And if he wanted him that way…didn’t that mean he loved him?
But still…there was Jack. Rather than answering the question—he didn’t want to think about the true answer—he asked one of his own. “Do you still want Jack?”
“Of course, I do.” No hesitation. Not even a fleeting one.
A sob stuck in Scotty’s throat. “But…but he doesn’t even like you.”
“Doesn’t matter,” the man murmured and sucked Scotty’s neck. “I don’t need him to like me. I’ll still get him.”
Scotty ducked his head, tears draining down his face.
“Does that hurt you?”
Trembling, Scotty nodded. Like a living alien parasite, the pain crawled through his veins…and it hurt.
“I believe you. And to show you that I care…” The man tugged something from his pocket. “I have a gift for you. Your own special”—he reached around and slipped a small, weighted object into Scotty’s hand—“pain reliever.”
Scotty opened his hand, his vision blurring as he gazed numbly at the pocketknife lying in his palm.
He acts mean sometimes…but he doesn’t want me to hurt. Scotty slowly closed his fingers around the knife. He does love me.