Date: Sun, 18 Mar 2001 22:50:15 -0500 From: joey178 Subject: Runaway ME: I'm 16 years old, 5'8, short brown hair (dyed blond), brown eyes. (i dont get a chance to describe myself in detail till later on) ------------------- This is a mostly fictional story involving, involes teen male/male exploration, but the story is supposed to have a plot, hope you enjoy, any suggestions, please email me at joey178@hotmail.com ------------------ 1:15 AM " Rrrrrrrriiiiiiiinnnnnnng , Rrrrrrrriiiiiiinnnnnnnnngg,, " "Pick em the phone you f**king loser" yelled my father, as I sliped out of the last shower at home, "Hello?" broke my voice as I picked up the phone "You ready?" came through without any restraint "uh yeah, we've got till dawn" I managed to say calmly, but my heart was beating at the speed of sound, I was running away with a kid I got to know for a brief month. He was my only hope in the world; we both knew it. Before I go any further, let me introduce my old life and get you better acquainted with the whole damn picture. ------------ 11:30 PM Garbage flying through the sidewalk edges while the cold wind of February struck through me as I made my way against it for my daily deliveries. I worked for ten dollars an hour, delievering packages to certain places in the city, while riding on my old rusty bike. I never knew what was in the packages but knowing that it my father was once a client, I was almost positive that it was cocaine, but never had the guts to poke through the secure envelopes. It was harder and harder to get on time as my destination points got farther and my time got shorter. I would often be blamed for most of the small company downfall. The company, which consisted of 3 large italian men who considered themselves all being the boss. Only problem was one of them would constatnly abuse me for being late with the deliveries, he was enjoying it too. My own mother and father were alcoholic and 2 pack/day smokers, along other illegal pleasures. We lived in a small, two-room apartment building on the first floor. I had to attend school and work nights. I would often be blamed at home for every problem they faced, "Why are you home?" my mom's shrill like voice on saturdays, as she lighted another cigar and quickly ploped it between her lips. that was home life, but I quickly got used to it as neither would even try to physically abuse me as they were both consumed and intoxicated. ---------------------------------------- to be continued soon!! (probably tomorrow or the next day) any comments, mail, suggestions or anything, email me at joey178@hotmail.com thanks