Date: Wed, 2 Apr 2008 15:43:46 -0700 (PDT) From: Story Teller Subject: Whore-boy, Chapter One: Growing up Ben For the record, this all came out of my head. It does draw from some personal experience but the basic core of the story is all imagination. If the exploration of budding sexuality is offensive to you please do not read on. Please do not use this work as an excuse for illegal activities. The opening chapter is a lot of background, meant to provide a stage for the future interaction between my main characters. I hope that you enjoy it and will look forward to the development of the racier and more physical aspects of the story. Story.Teller99@yahoo.com My mom and dad met in college and married after they had gotten through law school. They were both really smart and attractive in totally opposite ways. My dad was six foot four, 205 pounds of hairy muscle with dark hair and bright blue eyes. My mom was small, five four and 125 pounds with blonde hair and green eyes that bore into you even from photos. Soon after they were married my mom found out she was pregnant with me. When I was born they were both 26 years old. At first everything was great. My mom worked part time for a law firm and my dad worked as little as he could get away with. Since they were both entry-level attorneys there was a lot of work, but my dad was committed to being around for his kid as much as he could. My grandma used to watch me when my mom worked, so I didn't spend any time with strangers when I was a baby. By the time I was four my folks were pretty well established. My dad was an up and coming young lawyer in a large New York firm and mom had picked up some extra hours and started doing some pro-bono work for charities in the city. Just before my fifth birthday my mom found out she was pregnant again. They were thrilled! I remember how excited they both were, especially once they found out that my new little sibling would be a girl. My mom and grandma would take me with them shopping for new clothes and furniture for my little sister. By my fifth birthday I remember my mom's belly sticking out. She looked impossibly huge to me, as small as she was. I had started preschool and made some friends and the folks had some of them and their families to a party in Central Park. It was a lot of fun. It is the last thing I remember being fun. My mom had gotten really big over the course of the summer. She took a lot of time off work over the summer, working mostly from home. I remember my gramma at that time as a huge presence in my life. She had always babysat for me but now she was at our flat daily. It was with her help that my mom found new, bigger apartment just off Central Park with three bedrooms and a large living room and an open nook for her to work from. It seemed really huge to me when I first went there with my dad to see the place. He instantly loved it, it had a view over the park and a lot of light, so it was easy to love. We moved in there just before school started. I went to kindergarten that year. My mom had found me a full-day program with a teacher I liked a lot. She was tall and pretty but plump and a bit older than my folks, closer to my grandmother's age. She wore glasses, something that I found utterly fascinating. One day while I was at school the principal came to the classroom. She spoke quickly and quietly with my teacher, glancing my way a couple times while she spoke with a worried look on her face. The teacher started looking more and more upset while the principal talked and asked couple of questions, also looking my way. I was afraid I was in trouble, but didn't know what I might have done. I was basically a good boy, not getting into any more trouble than you could imagine a curious and smart kid would. My teacher came over to were I was coloring and asked me to come with her to the principal's office. The aide in the room looked up curiously as the teacher spoke to me but didn't leave the story corner where she was reading to some of the other kids. Still trying to decide why I was in trouble I went down to the office with the two women. My teacher put her hand on my shoulder and she was trembling a bit. When we got to the office we went straight into a conference room and the principal sat in a chair, and invited me to sit next to her. My teacher sat on the other side of me, still looking very concerned and a little watery. "Ben," the principal started "I have had a phone call from your grandmother. She is coming to pick you up now. I'm afraid there has been an accident and your mom is hurt. Your gramma is going to take you to the hospital, your daddy is already there." I was confused, I couldn't think what could have happened to hurt my mom so badly. My teacher hugged me and told me that she would send my book bag down to the office and told me to wait there. I just nodded, still confused by the news I had heard. The aide came down shortly and gave me my book bag. She looked like she was going to cry any second as she gave it to me. I waited a short time before my grandmother got to the school. She had obviously been crying, her eyes were red and puffy and her nose was bright red. That was when I got upset for the first time. I had never seen my grandmother cry. I never knew my other grandparents, just her and she had always seemed the strongest woman alive. She explained to me in the back of a cab that my mom had fallen on the stairs in the new building. She had been on her cell phone on the elevator and stepped off a floor early to clear her reception up. When she got off the phone she decided not to wait for the elevator and again and walk up the last flight. She slipped on the steps about half way up and fell backward, rolling past the landing and to the floor she had started from. There was damage to her tummy, my gramma told me, they weren't sure what would happen. What happened ended up happening was that mom's placenta tore, something I could never have wrapped my mind around then. She lay on the floor unconscious for some time before one of the neighbors heard her cell ringing in the stairwell and went to investigate the noise. By the time my mom was at the hospital she had lost huge amounts of blood. The baby was swimming in blood, basically and getting no nutrients from my mom at all. My dad had been called and asked for permission to perform an emergency Ceasarian section on my mom to try to save the baby. He told them "yes" over the phone and sped toward the hospital, calling my gramma en route. They had already told my dad that mom would probably die, but they kept her alive with machines to support the baby until surgery. My sister was born before dad got to the hospital and the doctors had performed an emergency hysterectomy on my mom to try to save her. Even t that they weren't sure she could recover from so much blood loss. They were also dubious about my sister's chances. She had only been carried 32 weeks, a whole month short of normal term and had sustained a serious mechanism of injury herself in the fall. she had also aspirated blood from the amniotic sack and her less-than-perfect lungs were struggling with that. They wouldn't let me in to see my mom.. She was in the Intensive Care Unit and on a ventilator. My dad and grandmother took it in turns to sit with me in the waiting room for two days before my mom finally died. Her little body just couldn't recover from the huge trauma she had suffered. My dad was distraught as he explained to me that mommy had gone to sleep and couldn't wake up again. He cried and I was totally freaked out by that - my dad never cried. My gramma was a total mess. My mom was her only child, she was inconsolable. The next blow fell the following day. We were heading back to the hospital in a cab after making my mom's funeral arrangements when my dad's mobile phone rang. My sister had gone into respiratory failure and was on a ventilator now also. My dad almost broke down again then. He told my gramma in the seat on the other side of me and she started to cry all over again. I was upset because I didn't know what it meant. In a week my sister was dead too. My dad had chosen to name her Lana Ellenore, after my mom and gramma. The service that had been planned for my mom was expanded to a double event, a tiny casket bought for my sister. My gramma sold her place and moved with us to take care of me and the apartment while my dad worked, which he did with a vengence. I almost never saw my dad. My gramma did everything for me, and dad rarely was home before I was in bed. That is how we lived until I was 12: my gramma taking care of me and my dad working all the time. He never took time off, he never came to school events. He almost seemed not to remember that I was in his home. It was the exact opposite of when I was young and he did his best to be around as much as he could. My gramma didn't spoil me, she was pretty strict actually, making sure I did all my homework and studied hard. She went to every school event, watched all my soccer games and was at the school play when I was the ghost of hamlets father. If anything my gramma sheltered me a bit to much, I never knew anything she didn't want me to know, as smart as I was. I found language easy, but my real passions were science and math. Part of the reason I think I did well in math was that I had a total crush on my seventh grade math teacher. Mr. Wilkins was amazing, tall and slim and handsome. He was about my dad's age, maybe a little older. His hair was a fawn brown with a little bit of grey in the temples. He smiled a lot and his sparkling hazel eyes crinkled up at the edges when he did. I knew I shouldn't have been so attracted to him but I was totally enthralled with Mr. Wilkins. This new-found attraction to guys startled me. I was on the edge of puberty, kind of a late bloomer, sure, but cute enough. Girls looked at me but did nothing for me. I knew though from my gramma that it wasn't "normal" for me to like other guys, especially not a Man like Mr. Wilkins. In my looks and build I took after my mom, I was small and blonde and got her bright green eyes. I knew I was cute, maybe even bordering on pretty. My gramma made me keep my hair cut high-and-tight, but that suited me well and looking at my school photos I really was a beautiful kid. One day when I got home from school I found my gramma laying on the floor. She was cold and pale and wouldn't respond to me. I called and ambulance and they came and took her to the same hospital my mom had died in. then I called my dad. He picked me up in a cab and took me over to the hospital. The doctors told us that gramma had a massive stroke and that we shouldn't expect her to ever regain consciousness. She didn't and died about two weeks later. My dad was stoic this time but I was beside myself with grief. My gramma had been my whole world since mom died and I was utterly stricken. Here I was, almost 13 and at a total loss of what my life would be like.