Nevermore!
by and © Henry Higgins
Chapter 1 - A Walk in the Park
Full but not satisfied, I paid Smitty's Diner for a solitary Thanksgiving dinner and crossed the street into the park. I walked up the hill under heavy November clouds - driven by the chill wind and a need that was dulled neither by the gloomy cold nor the risk involved. I crested the hill and headed down towards the squat, cement-block restroom near the park's center. I noticed that further down, except for my white Tercel, no cars were in the parking lot. Small wonder - it was too damn cold. Bare tree branches rattled around me as I neared the t-room.
In the past six months, I'd learned to seek out young men in this park. I shuddered as I remembered the grisly scene that had ripped apart my life and that of a boy who had loved me some fifteen years earlier. How could I ever forget our parting - his face contorted with grief and fear, mine with guilt and sorrow. After I got out of prison, I never could find him. For all I knew, he was dead.
And so, I gradually learned to put my life back together, piece by piece. A therapist helped, along with a very dear friend whom I had known since we were in junior high school. The therapist started out by helping me learn to seek out young men who were 19, 20, and 21. This park and its t-room had been one happy discovery; the local YMCA, another. And yes, I found enough younger men so that I could fulfill most of my needs. Fears of jail and disease kept me obsessively careful, but the promise of release kept me coming back. Today it spurred me on as I gave in to the thrill of the hunt.
I looked around for cops as I went. Only a snatch of movement down behind the restroom caught my eye - too small for a cop, red, and headed the wrong way - probably some kid headed home. Ducking slightly, I entered my dank haven. The aphrodisiac waft of mold and stale urine hit my nose and penis at about the same time. The door on the end stall still dangled precariously from its top hinge. Vulgar scrawls sprawled across the wall opposite the fixtures. The room was cold and still. I stood alone at the far end of the trough, opened my trousers, and hung my penis out. Steam rose from my piss and my breath as I remembered delicious encounters there on warmer days. I finished, shook, and then just let it hang, stroking it lightly as I remembered a boy-man with golden curls on a close, warm day in July and how he had shuddered as he dissolved into loud groans and gushing squirts.
But what was I thinking today? No cars in the lot and the cold, blustery weather meant that I probably wouldn't score. Oh, well - maybe I could just jack off, remembering my Adonis, and be done with it.
Suddenly, I felt someone approaching even before I heard the crunch of foot on pea-gravel outside. My heart quickened. Just as he entered, I swung round to check out the doorway and display my lengthening penis. Bingo! His eyes went right to it as he hesitantly approached the trough, still hooded, and wrapped in a red sweatshirt.
"Hi," I offered.
He didn't reply right away but shuffled on in and then pushed back his hood, sandy blond hair tumbling down around his face. Holy shit! It was a kid! My heart raced, adrenalin surged, and a thrill went from my penis through the rest of me. Alarm bells went off in my head. No! Not a kid - not again! I turned back around, fumbling with my half-hard dick and wondering what to do.
"Uh, hi," he croaked. He just stood there. Despite my best intentions, my penis now stretched languorously for its ultimate reach. The kid stared at it. I stared at the kid.
What could he be? Fifteen? Sixteen? Jailbait for damned sure. Bells still clanged, but I ignored them. I knew I would. I had gotten too close. Like a moth, I fluttered helplessly towards the flame that could eventually consume me. My mind raced. What was he like? Long and skinny? Short and thick? Cut? Uncut?
He shuffled toward the trough, unzipping his thin sweatshirt and undoing his pants to display his penis. Sheesh! No shirt! In that weather? I gawked openly at the slim, smooth belly sliding down into his curly pubic bush. In the half-light I could see that neither was he wearing any underwear - and, he wasn't too badly hung - for a kid. Geez! He smiled crookedly as he saw that he had me hooked and all I could do was let him reel me in. Could he be hustling?
I checked out his face - lean, angular, freckled, flushed - perfect in every way. I stroked slowly.
He croaked, "Um, I could help with that... If ya want. Y'know... For some money?"
"Yeah? What kind of help?" I asked, playing his hustler's game.
"With a dick like that, you can have any kind of help you want!" The ball was in my court. I didn't even worry about price; it would have been worth whatever he wanted - and then some. I started to suggest that we go back to my place, but before I could say anything, his eyes went wide, he gasped and clutched his mouth, bent forward, and then vomited into the trough.
"Shit!" he sputtered, coughing, "Sorry mister," (another heave), "I didn't mean to do that." The acrid smell of his puke mingled with the usual moldy aroma of the place. He bent down again to heave some more. "Um, where's m' puppy?" he muttered.
I began to see the situation moving swiftly beyond him hustling and me trimming my horns. It looked like this kid needed some serious help - and soon. I stuffed my hard dick back into my pants and reached over to hold his shoulders. He bent over, gasping and coughing. I ignored the demands of my stiff dick and let my big head drive for a change.
"That's okay," I said. "Take your time and get it all out; I can help you. You'll be okay." He couldn't say anything then; he just coughed and gasped and heaved. Later, he was still - panting, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. As he straightened up, I turned him around and wiped a trickle of pukey saliva from the corner of his mouth with my handkerchief. My hand brushed his cheek, and I felt the heat of a fever.
"M' belt... Gotta get m' belt." His eyes were wide as he pled with me, pants now around his ankles, dick and balls dangling and swaying slightly with his movement. Could he be high?
"You have your belt right here," I said, as I pointed to the floor to show it to him. "Are you okay?"
"No, man, I'm not okay. I gotta find m' fuckin' belt." The boy swayed unsteadily as he looked at me through narrow, glazed eyes.
"What about your puppy?" I asked. "You mentioned something about a puppy."
"Huh? I did? I gotta find m' belt."
He was trembling now, teeth chattering. No wonder! Dumb little shit was wearing only that thin sweatshirt in this weather, and with no shirt. Of course he'd be cold.
"Here, let me help you get yourself back together," I said as I stooped to pull his pants up and found myself staring right at his rather ample penis. I could almost taste it, it was so close; but I had regained enough control then to stifle the impulse to take it into my mouth and instead, fastened his pants and cinched his belt. Finally, I zipped his sweatshirt back together in front and straightened up.
I put a hand on each shoulder and looked at him. "You don't seem to be in any shape to be out here trying to hustle," I said. "It looks more like you need some help and I'm happy to offer it. Would you like to come with me? I could take you home."
The kid stared at the floor as he trembled uncontrollably and nodded his head. I put an arm around his shoulders to steady him and we headed for the door when it occurred to me to check around outside again for cops.
"Wait here just a minute," I said. "I want to make sure there's no cops."
The kid nodded and then leaned up against the wall near the door as I peered out into the dusk. No cars, no uniforms. I hoped that equated to okay. As I turned back inside, I found him slumped onto the floor.
I reached down to pick him up and muttered, "Looks like you're in worse shape than I thought."
Before I could lift him, he came to. "Wha... Wha happened?"
"Looks like you fainted." I slipped an arm under his and gently brought him back to a standing position. He felt so light.
With me propping him up, we made our way out the door into a small finger of golden light from the setting sun and back down to where I had left my car. Every few steps, he stumbled and lost it again, falling into me as I then supported all of his weight.
"M' belt; I still gotta get m' belt," he mumbled as we made our way out of the park.
"Yeah, we'll get your belt," I tried to reassure him. "Don't worry; we'll get it."
When we finally reached my car, I zapped the electronic key, opened the passenger door, lowered him to the seat, and buckled him in. Then I went around, got in on the driver's side, buckled myself in, and started the engine. All the while, my little head was screaming for satisfaction. But by then, my big head was even more fully in charge. Not there - not a kid - not again!
"Where can I take you? Do you want to go home?" I asked.
He sighed a long, tired sigh. "No, man. I can't go home. I jus' need t' rest a little. Could I go with you?" His eyes began to close as he leaned back into the seat.
The kid was sick. I know, I could have called 911 and let the paramedics take over, but something stopped me. Was it fear for my own safety? Concern for him? Somehow, I couldn't just leave him in the park or turn him over to the System. There was some reason he couldn't or wouldn't go to his own home. Did his family know he was hustling? I doubted it. But if I turned him over to the System, his parents would be sure to find out. No, I couldn't let that happen - not yet, anyway. Taking him to my home seemed the right thing to do. I'd just have to be very careful. It was getting dark out and that helped - less chance of neighbors seeing me bring a kid into my house. Hell, they wouldn't see him anyway; he was slumped over against the door and on his way to dreamland.
"Yeah. You can come with me. We'll have some heat out of this thing shortly," I said. "What's more, I don't live too far."
"Yeah, I know," he mumbled.
Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.
[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]
* Some browsers may require a right click instead
