MIKE HENNIGAN - 1, Rev.
Copyright 2008, 2012 by Carl Mason
All rights reserved. Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without the written permission of the author. However based on real events and places, "Mike Hennigan" is strictly fictional. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. As in real life, sexual themes unfold gradually. Comments on the story are appreciated and may be addressed to the author at firstname.lastname@example.org
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This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between males, both adults and teenagers. As such, it is homoerotic fiction designed for the personal enjoyment of legal, hopefully mature, adults. If you are not of legal age to read such material, if those in power and/or those whom you trust treat it as illegal, or if it would create unresolvable moral dilemmas in your life, please leave. Finally, remember that maturity generally demands safe sex.
Sittin' on the Roof
Sitting on the shingled roof next to the dormer window that led to his bedroom, the late teen presented an engaging vision. As the last color of the sunset faded, the whiteness of his T-shirt, stretched tightly over a muscled torso, stood out like a neon sign. Though no "pretty boy," it was just as clear that his wholesome, "boy next door" good looks typified a New World kind of beauty. Indeed, his sturdy 5'-10", 169 lb frame, surmounted by a mop of curly brown hair and set off by a clear, smooth skin with little body hair, fully supported that picture.
Those who knew Mike Hennigan in that town on the Great Plains, however, knew that his beauty went considerably beyond skin deep. Never having known his biological father, the young man who would be 18 in a few short weeks had worked since he was eleven to help keep the family together. Given work and school demands, not to speak of three younger siblings, little time had ever been available for social activities with peers - and his quiet, reserved demeanor around those of his own age, male and female, bore testimony to that fact. On the advice of her older brother, his mother had insisted that he take part in PAL (Police Athletic League) activities since he first approached puberty. As he got older, he progressed to junior leadership positions, especially in exercise and pool programs. Consequently, he developed considerable skill in leading those younger and, though not a bodybuilder, forged a solid physique. Those who praised him for his devotion to family and good health also noted that he served as an acolyte at church - and had even mentioned the priesthood as a vocational possibility.
Few people passing by on the sidewalk that evening would have questioned the future of this bright, personable youngster. Fewer still would have guessed that he had sat on the roof sobbing in the growing darkness since finishing supper and his mealtime chores. Probably no one else knew that a police lieutenant, his PAL supervisor, had caught up with him as he left the market where he worked after school, asked him several questions, and told him to stop by and talk with him at the police station the next morning before going to school.
Although the officer, whom he had known and liked for years, indicated that "nothing serious" was afoot, the young Kansan had been in ever deepening terror since the brief conversation. He was sure that the secret that he had been hiding for years - the secret that had stamped him as "different" and demanded ever-increasing energy to control - was about to come to light. Further, though the Lieutenant had not given him reason for his fears, he believed there was a good chance that he would go to jail. Dear God, only a few weeks before graduation and his birthday...
"Michael! Don't stay up all night! It's not all that hot in your room, honey," he heard his mother call through the open dormer window. "Ok, Ma!" he responded automatically. "Sleep tight!" Once again, retreated into the darkness. Temporarily, he buried his wet face in hefty forearms that rested on his upraised knees. 'There was absolutely no way that he could live at home when people knew,' he thought. 'Maybe the best thing for everyone would be for me to leave here and work on farms - or, maybe, just hike over to the bridge and jump into the river,' he continued. Renewed sobbing interrupted his musings.
Not long after the distraught youth saw the sun peek over the far eastern horizon, he climbed back into his bedroom, grabbed clean clothes, and headed for the bathroom. After a hot shower and other morning tasks, he forced himself to have a skimpy breakfast before riding his bike down to the police station.
Singin' the Blues
"It's early, Mike. Would you like a cup of java?" Lieutenant Benson asked. "Yes, sir," the youth answered snappily. "Thanks!" Going over to a small table in the interrogation room, the officer poured coffee for both of them, put one cup in on the large table in front of the boy, and sat down across from him with the other cup. After an exploratory sip...and an habitual grimace...the Lieutenant kicked things off. "Mike, have we worked together for, maybe, five or six years as friends?" "Yes, sir," Mike answered firmly. "And are we friends at this very moment?" Benson continued. Hesitating but for a second, Mike answered, again firmly, "Yes, sir, I believe we are...right now." "That's good news, my friend," the plainclothes officer said, his serious expression showing his fatigue. "It means that I can help work out a difficult situation." He continued, "Ok, one more thing before we get down to brass tacks. Although I've always thought that you were the greatest, Muscles, I'm also a police officer. Every now and then I may have to follow the rule book and say something officially that may seem frightening...or even unfriendly. Take it in stride, ok? Purposefully forging ahead without arresting the boy or placing him in custody, asking if he wanted his mother present (inasmuch as he was still a juvenile), or reading him his "Miranda Rights," the troubled policeman asked Mike if he still wanted to talk with him about a problem that had developed. Tears very close to spilling down his cheeks, his face and voice quivering, the sturdy 17 year old said that he did.
Standing, going over to the small fridge, and removing a soft drink, which he placed in front of the young man, the Lieutenant set about finding out if there were any way that he could ethically assist the lad without breaking his oath (and the law) or violating the rights of others. Prefacing his questions by saying, "This won't be easy, Mike, but I AM your friend and want to help. The questions I am going to ask are as difficult as any you will ever be asked to answer. Answer me with COMPLETE honesty - and I'll take it from there." For a good forty-five minutes, the good officer was anything but gentle.
"Day before yesterday," Benson began, "Dr. and Mrs. Anderson over in Greenville called and asked me to stop by. Their ten year old son, Timmy, had reported some sexual action over at our pool that morning." Putting his hand on top of Mike's he asked, "Big Guy, did you masturbate Timmy's penis in the dressing room after the others had left?" His shoulders shaking, Mike's chin dropped onto his chest in abject shame. Completely choked up, he nodded through his tears that he had. "Why, Mike?" his questioner asked. The youth explained that Timmy was an extremely early developer. His genitals were already quite well developed and he was experiencing erections throughout the day. Worse, he didn't have Idea One about reducing the pressure, and the less well developed boys in his classes (at school and at the pool) were raking him over the coals as "different"...weirdly different. Mostly, he just wanted to teach him one way to handle the problem. "You said 'mostly'," the Lieutenant interrupted sharply. "Were there other reasons?" His face turning a brilliant red, Mike hesitated before replying and then somewhat reluctantly said, "Yeah, I guess so, sir. At the end of the class, I didn't see Timmy come out of the dressing room with the other boys. When the lifeguard had the exit check under control, I went in and found him lying naked on the floor and crying. As I lifted him up and helped him over to a bench, he developed a hard-on that most thirteen year olds would have been proud of." (He choked, but kept going.) "When he snuggled up to me and begged me to help him, I guess... Well, I didn't resist even though I knew I shouldn't touch him - or even be in the dressing room alone with him. The complete truth, sir, is that I really wanted him to do it to ME...but I didn't ask. I couldn't. He was too far into his new toy to think of anything else."
"Are you gay, Mike?" the officer abruptly asked his longtime assistant. Had the youth looked up, he would have seen the pain that was carving furrows into his mentor's face. When the sturdy youth began to tremble, he wished that he could be anywhere other than in the chair facing him. If he hadn't believed that a promising youngster's life was in the balance, he would never have moved in the directions chosen. "Come over here, Mike," he said as supportively and with as much kindness as his soul could muster. Other than the fact that his trembling increased, it didn't appear that the youngster could move. Benson rose, slowly went over to the lad's chair, knelt, and placed an arm around his shoulders. Though his face was still mottled with crimson and gray splotches, the boy swung his torso towards the man, reached out his arms, and hung on for dear life. Placing his lips near the youth's ear, the officer whispered, "There's nothing wrong with being gay, boyo. I pray that you will work your way through it. Know that I'll do everything for you that I can.
After talking (less intensely) about a host of related topics for another half hour or so, Lieutenant Benson rose and, looking down at Mike, said, "Now, I have some things I've got to do. Until I return, I'm going to put you upstairs in our small medical section where you can rest. If it's alright with you, I'll let your mother know that you're ok and will be in touch." The young man seemed completely played out, but he said, "It's ok, sir. I'm really grateful." Escorting him upstairs, he left him with the medic, asking that a sedative be administered and that he remain with him until he returned. If Mike got upset and wanted to leave, he should contact him on his personal cell phone. Walking down the stairs, he shook his head and sighed deeply. Sentiment in the community with regard to the sexual molestation of their children was red-hot and raw. They'd even had prisoners viciously attacked in the cells, and God help the pedophile who was sent to a State prison. Further, it was difficult to believe that a seventeen year old in the 21st Century was as naive sexually as Mike appeared to be. And yet he presently believed it to be true.
Knocking on the Chief's door and entering, the officer sat down heavily in a chair facing the boss' desk. "Damn," he puffed..."what a mess." "Yep," replied the Chief, "I watched some of your interview. Unfortunately, Roge at the Capital made it even worse. He's convinced that the story is bound to get out no matter what we do. When it does, WE'LL be lucky to escape being charged for a shitload of crimes! He thinks we must stand back, wash our hands of the boy's troubles, and let him drop into the sexual offender system."
"Great choice!" Benson growled. "He goes into a State hospital on an indeterminate sentence after having his story splashed all over the media in as lurid a form as those bastards can manage. Over a couple of years, he gets a total of about ten hours of individual attention in group therapy...a fantastic learning environment! The boy comes out thoroughly bent sexually rather than naive! We protect our asses."
"How else might it conceivably work out...realistically?" the Chief asked. "Well, take a look at what we know," his lieutenant replied wearily. "The Andersons don't want to prosecute. In fact, Dr. Anderson, who is a therapist, thinks that Mike helped his son! According to him, the boy seems more than fine. He doesn't think that innocents should be listed on the National Sex Offenders Registry. Further, he accepted a job up in Michigan some time before this happened and is moving his entire family within the week! It's also time for Mike to leave home. After all, if he weren't around, the story couldn't get out! So... (Pause.) How am I doing, Chief?"
The Chief sat back in his chair and grumbled, "If Mike were merely naive sexually, I could understand what you're saying. But let's face it, this young man jacked a ten year old's cock. If we let him go, wouldn't we simply be putting the problem off on others, others who would have no record of his prior sexual misconduct? That's harder for me to understand."
"Well, he's gay, boss...something that I would never have believed. Focusing on my job as the County PAL Coordinator, I missed all the signs. Truth is, though, that I've worked with him - hell, I've DEPENDED on him - for nearly six years. I just don't believe that he's a pedophile. What if he were able to get therapy where he moves? The question then becomes whether we can get him somewhere where he could get help. May I follow this case a bit further?"
"Run with it, Lieutenant. Just remember that we also have an obligation to the community, not to speak of needing to keep an eye on the large axe that is swinging... back and forth...back and forth...right over our heads. Keep me posted."
The interviews continued for a full week. Despite Mike's extreme distress, his mother was brought into the case. (Given others in the home, discussions with her was held at the station. Mike was allowed to go home, although he could not leave the premises other than in the company of a policeman.) The Andersons did move without filing charges, and the police continued to resist charging him for molesting Timmy. Increasingly, the despondent youth felt that he couldn't continue in a situation where the details of the incident came out through gossip or in a court of law. Over many painful discussions, his mother came to realize that losing him (while giving such help as was possible) was inestimably preferable to his running away...or taking his own life. She also realized that having a sexual offender record would markedly limit his life possibilities. Although, there was no way that she would kick him out of the family for being gay, it was true that his departure might allow her to do a bit better by her other three children...especially if Mike wasn't there to be perceived as a pariah in the community.
It was finally agreed - though no one was particularly happy with, or proud of, the decision - that Mike would permanently leave Kansas. His mother had a younger sister, Laura, in Southern California. She was willing to provide shelter and necessities for him until he could finish high school and get a job. Mike would be responsible for seeking someone with whom he could vent before rising pressures resulted in getting into more trouble. In the course of giving the lad a rather thorough education in what could happen were such an incident to be repeated, Lieutenant Benson suggested that a local LGBTQ (Lesbian, Gay. Bisexual, Transgender/Transsexual, and Questioners) Center might be able to help.
On a beautiful spring day, Mike boarded a bus that would eventually take him to Playa de Oro [pronounced "PLAH-yah-DOR-oh" by the locals; also referred to simply as "PLAH-yah"], a city of sixty some odd thousand inhabitants on the Southern California coast between Los Angeles and San Diego. To some extent, Mike was relieved. By the time he left, he was convinced that no one in town would ever look at him without disgust. A new beginning was necessary. Besides, he was old enough to handle his own life. He was determined to do just that!
(To Be Continued)