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Note from the author;
This story was inspired by the harsh reality, that some people have to endure in this line of work. The story is complete fiction; however, this issue remains a problem all over the world. Innocence is only achievable for a small duration of your life. So, make it last, and protect those who are vulnerable.
Our Little Darlings
Gavin knew his intentions where not the purest tonight. Having babysat all evening, he crept across town in the direction of Wickham bridge. He had a vague idea as to why he was even going there in the first place. Missing out on all the fun adventures he could have been having with his friends. T-peeing houses or getting wasted sitting in the local park on one of the many swing sets. Or loitering under the translucent light reflecting off sleeping cars, drenched lazily with droplets of rain which stopped just before he had left the Millers house.
The streets were deserted, a cold October breeze made him clench his hands under his armpits to gain warmth. He knew a hoodie was not the appropriate attire for such weather. Still, what sixteen-year-old has the common sense to dress suitably when you have to show off your fashion. A skater in his own right, he respected the niche. Using his right leg as a propeller, he thrust himself across the wet tarmac road. The only evidence, which suggested someone was out at this unnerving hour, on a desolate town street was the whir from his skateboard.
He knew winter was rapidly approaching, and was not sure how much longer he could keep this up. In the last couple of weeks his parents had been so na•ve. They partook in a procedural lecture, when they thought that he may have been selling drugs. Gavin hated when people jumped to conclusions without really knowing him. All the kids had disappeared, Halloween was a dying holiday. Parents only allowed their children to trick or treat between the hours of five and eight. As a child, he recalled dressing up and redoubling the block with a fresh bag for more candy after his first run. Though he was not a child anymore, his alter ego, consisted of black skinny jeans, and a white t-shirt hidden under an ashen hoodie.
Scuffing the pavement with his tarnished dc shoes he rolled down the final decent towards the bridge. The eerie chain link fence to the elementary school always unsettled him in a way. That he forced himself harder to flee the scene. And once he was rid of that location, his mood would begin to shift. While his mind would have been cleared of excess worries, he'd usually bring his skateboard to a screeching halt shortly after the school. Dismounting his skateboard, he plucked it up. Looking left, then right like his parents had thought him, he'd drew his hood over his natural black curls. As a child, he always disliked his curls, but once the issue of hairstyling took ahold of him. He found a whole other world of possibilities. He grew fond of his curls once again, he became proud, even at this juncture. To add style, he altered his hair by chopping the sides away. Undercuts where a thing now, so he managed to make that compromise.
The small concrete ramp to oblivion was his steepest climb of all. At this point of his journey, condensation floated from his mouth. It was a stark reminder that he was truly alive under the tungsten lighting. He had never felt nervous roaming this stretch alone, it was having to wait which killed him entirely. He never understood why this appealed to some others. Acceptance was not the issue, it was the brutality of what he was doing which haunted him, it struck him down on a daily agenda. Had he had someone to understand what he was doing, he would not be standing under the hallow-less bottom of Wickham bridge.
As he stood quietly with his back against the bridges thick reinforcement beam. The sounds of rustling trees reminded him he was isolated. He would wait awhile, and if circumstances approved worthy, he would wait a while longer. He could practically feel the cold soaking its way through the thin soul of his shoes as he checked his phone. The contrasted illuminance turned his pale white skin a ghostly blue. The white digital clock burned the back of his eyes, yet told him it was 1:12 am. Soon his sense of seclusion amplified when the chortle of a car cautiously crept up to him, stopping at the edge of the parking lot and waited. Like the food chain depiction, Gavin achieve clarity. If this was anything like the marvellous shackle, his category would be of pray. So, whoever was in the car, with his lights plummeting ahead, blinding Gavin. Would be the predator, the hunter.
The person inside the car killed the engine, and Gavin's heart palpated within his chest as if it wanted to escape. He thought about being at home, in his room, playing world of war craft. This dream was not at home though, he was standing shrouded, under a bridge, with his skateboard in hand and his identity masked. He knew all too well once the stutter of headlights signalled, he would slowly approach the car wearing a brave face. Suppressing his doubts, his fears, he would reach out for that slippery handle and open it. The first thing he would come to admire was the heat coming from within, it reminded him of home. Second was a chubby man, with greying hair and soft hands. The man seemed to be nervous, but from experience Gavin assured the man they were alone. When a customer asked to see his face, he always cringed inside as he pulled his hood down. It was partly from shame, a guilt for what he was doing. Still all that Gavin thought about was the end result, and that seemed to make things happy for a little while. Then he would have the urge to do this again.
This man in particular seemed kind, like a grandparent. Who would treat his grandchildren well, who idolised the ground they walked on. He somehow felt he would be safe with him. His age added security, maturity and understanding. But that had no place in his mind, he just wanted this to be over with, he wanted to go home and go to bed. Then the man spoke softly, "how much do you charge," he asked. Gavin kept his eyes glued to the man and thought of his rates. His vocabulary knew no bounds, he was blunt and always to the point. Blowjobs are fifty, hand-jobs are thirty and to go all the way is one-hundred.
He recounted what he knew before repeating what he had just thought to the elderly man. The man would ponder, linger on what Gavin said, checking around anxiously the man asked how old Gavin was. When the teenager announced sixteen the man asked gingerly, "did you say one-hundred for everything." To which Gavin nodded his head.
Gavin, he had always preferred oral as opposed to getting it on with a stranger. But he knew there was no going back once he excepted any kinda of payment. Asking for payment first was his main concern, sometimes men where not as eager to hand over there hard earned cash until they had finished with him. But Gavin saw this as fair, as collateral. Luckily the man sitting in the front seat fished out his wallet, and counted five twenty dollar notes and held them out for the young skater to take off him. In doing so, Gavin would safely finger the notes into his tight jean pockets before stooping low and taking his place in the passenger seat beside his client.
Pulling the heavy door shut, he would position his skateboard between his wishbone legs and sit back in the seat. Slowly he would begin to panic from the inside out, but he didn't want them to know that. He would keep his eyes directed at the blinking traffic lights across the parking lot. Not long after he sat back. He would make up his mind and block out the entire experience. He did not want to know what was really happing. Somehow the distraction of the men groping him would be to great, he would be able feel them pulling at the zip of his best jeans and loosening the belt. Some men would be firm with him, but he found the delicate touch of the man he was with, caring and compassionate. Trying to speed things up, he gently tilted his pelvis toward the roof of the car. He gave the gentleman access to loosen his jeans.
Like every fiddler, this man was no different. He was just like the rest, he slowly stroked Gavin's flaccid penis to an erect state before going down on the boy. Gavin would let his head wobble back and forth undecidedly. Should he rest his head against the head rest or watch the man pleasure him, he wasn't sure either way, he was more confused than anything else. His muddled thoughts, sought a way out. But the sensations, the man was giving him made him feel nice. Instead he tried to focused on the dancing lights off in the distance. To him they felt like lighthouses' guiding him to the shore.
His eyes would be closed when he drew near, splotches of harsh yellow light would colour his skin and his breathing would become ragged.
Then at last, he became sensitive to their sweet sucking. Glorifying his sweet nectar, they would torture his member into submission. They would always say something to compliment his taste or his beauty. Which in a way made him feel happy, it boosted his confidence, even if it was just for a minute. For those couple of minutes these men would obsess over his young body. Until it was Gavin's turn. In some instances, Gavin hated having to finished what he had started. At some point, he just wanted to bail out and run home. But not when they hurried him down by latching on his neck and forcing him onto their laps. He would try to please them, he would try everything in his arsenal to make it happen as quick as possible. But sometimes for Gavin this took courage he didn't know he had.
In this case, the man would stop him in mid-act, and set his chair back. While Gavin would be climbing over onto the man's lap he could not help but marvel at the condensation that built up on the windows within the car. He always wondered how long they had been in the vehicle, and how much longer was left to go. Then just like that, he felt a sharp sting in his bottom. This was his least favourite thing, he much preferred going the easy route but most men only wanted his cherry. Somewhere between his whimpers and moans the men would smile back at the beauty performing in front of them. While all that Gavin could conjure up was static mindlessness. Like a Tv switched on in the background.
Then suddenly these wicked beasts would grunt, buck and then soil themselves inside him. They would make him wait for a moment or two before he would be allowed to slide off their members. The fullness that was once inside him left an empty feeling. The confined walls of his hole would burn uncomfortably. And for the time since he opened the door, Gavin was content that nothing was going on. The greasy bags under his eyes expressed tiredness. A light shimmer of a passing car would gracefully illuminate his pathetic emerald eyes. He looked nothing like a rent boy. He seemed like a fragmented boy, one who has been ruined by persuasiveness.
What could have been equally as pleasing, was equally as horrifying. The dark urges men harboured, cracked the shell this young boy desperately held onto.
As he reassembled himself, the men would say, "thank you." In this instance, nothing had changed. The older man held out his hand with a curious expression and spoke, "I'm Tom." Indicating that the man wanted to know his name. The boy took ahold of the mans wrinkled hand and murmured, "Gavin." To which the boy would grab his skateboard, pop out of the car and begin walking the way he had come.
As the damaged boy walked down the stretch of declining ramp. He had reduced himself to the belief that he was lesser of a person. He readjusted his belt when he turned back onto the main street. Laying down his skateboard, he thought of one thing and one thing only. It was, `why do I do this,' to which he answered subconsciously. `I just do.' His repercussions where forfeited when he left the Millers house. He knew exactly where he was going and what he was intending to do. He just simply did it because he could do it, and that was the most harrowing sadness of it all. He had no linked emotion or reason to do it. He just craved understanding in the wrong kind of places.
Thank you if you made it this far, if you have enjoyed this experimental idea and would like to hear more of the short story then please let me know. I will only write more if I receive some reception. I don't want to waste time on something that people are not reading.
Lastly for anyone that has read my story Even If We Tried. I am taking a short break and adapting it into a full-scale novel for kindle. Thanks for the understanding. The book will include, new characters, scenes and all errors will be corrected.
Danny (Your Writerly Friend)
Contact and find me on these sites. I'll be posting
updates on Twitter and Tumblr regularly -
Bibliography; of LGBTQ stories by D.K. Daniels, on Nifty.
Even If We Tried (First Draft) - Gay Male, Young friends
Spring Tide (Unfinished)- Gay Male, Young friends
As They Say (On-going) - Gay Male, Young friends
Our Little Darlings (Stand-Alone Edit)- Gay Male, High School
Bibliography; of LGBTQ stories by D.K. Daniels, on Iomfats
Who We Are - Listed Under D.K. Daniels Pen Name