Save Me



"My one regret in life is that I am not someone else."


This story is completely fictional. If you are under the age of 18, or if it is illegal to read such materials in your country, state, province or county, then please leave. If you are willing to take responsibility for your actions, then be my guest. This story contains descriptions of sexual activity between males, swearing, and some graphic violence. The author retains all rights to this story. Please do not publish anything without authorization.

This story revolves around the problems & desperate

Struggles in 4 people's lives over a hectic 5-hour period:

Julian Lewis, age 16.

Ross Freeman, age 24.

Stanley K. Trent, age 33.

Phillip Gretchen, age 40.


"Turns out that there will be heavy fog tonight, in and out of Hidden Hills, so if you're driving or walking, watch where you're going folks; we don't want an accident in the middle of the night."


Julian Lewis quietly listened to the weatherman, noticing the fuzzy glow of the television beginning to show, as it got darker outside. When he turned to his left to look out the window, he noticed that the weather was perfectly normal.

He smiled.

"Never trust the weather man." He whispered to himself.

He looked outside for a little longer before returning his attention to the TV. It was Sunday, Mother's Day actually, here in Hidden Hills California; a small and quiet community, portraying it's `perfect' stereotypes of problem-free families and flawless gardens. But over the recent weeks, Julian couldn't help but feel as if something strange was about to happen.

Call it intuition if you must, but it is something he had never felt before: a kind of gloomy, and shadowy feeling. But other than that, the place has been quite silent recently. No cars seem to pass as much as before, and not as many children could be seen playing out on the streets.

He stopped thinking when he heard the floor boards creek, as someone approached from behind.

"Julian, could you drop his off at the Gretchen's please? Their mail ended up in ours." His mother said as she handed him a formal, brown envelope, and left him alone to go clean the dishes.

Julian left the house and the feeling of dread returned, lingering in the neighborhood.



"That's $32.40"

Ross Freeman took out his wallet and gave the taxi-man the cash.

"Keep the change" he spoke with a cool & chilled tone.

"Thanks" The guy rolled up his window, waved at Ross and left him in the deserted street.

Ross stole a glance at his watch:

8:01 PM

Sighing, Ross placed his suitcase on the ground and looked up at his stepfather's house. It was a nice house, like all the rest on this street. But it was easy to see that it was not kept tidy; it's neglected garden and rusty gates easily showing to any passers. He wasn't surprised. Ever since his mother's death 3 years ago, his step dad had become severely depressed, and hasn't bothered doing much at all.

It was a hard time for both of them, and they never really supported each other much, not ever since he was told, when he was 14, that his real father had died the day he was born. Therefore, over the years they never really connected together as true father and son.

"Hey you"

Ross snapped out of his trance and looked to his left: a teen with dirty blond hair, and crystal blue eyes approached him.

"Can I help you?" Ross spoke.

"Yeah, do you know the Gretchen's?"

"(Smiles) As a matter of fact, yes, I do."

The teen smiled a boyish smile and grabbed something out of his backpack.

"Could you give this to them? It ended up in my mail box today."

Ross took the brown envelope from the kid and gave him a warm smile after analyzing it for a moment.

"Yeah, I could do that" he nodded.

"Great, well, I have to go buy my mother some flowers, so, see ya"

The moment the kid mentioned mother, Ross' heart sank, but he did not let it show.

"Okay, thanks"

The handsome teen waved at him as he left him alone at the gloomy house.

Ross looked down at the envelope and smiled.

This was it.



Stanley K. Trent sat by the kitchen table, as his beautiful wife Eliza took both of their plates and moved to the sink.

Taking a small sip from his chilled white wine, he stared at nothing and thought of what he would think of every night:


Sex. It was something he would look forward to, all the time. As a matter of fact, it was the only thing he would look forward to every day; he didn't care about the rest of the world, sex was all he needed. Sex. He didn't know why he loved it so much; apart from the pleasure, there was always a hint of control, a sense of life, and most of all, a wave of satisfaction.

"Honey, can you find me the CD that I lost earlier this afternoon, please?"

Stanley diverted his eyes from space and looked at the backside of his wife as she washed the dishes. Placing the glass down, he got up and moved up behind Eliza, grazing her neck with kisses and a smooth and low voice.

"Aww, can that wait? I mean, (kisses her neck) we can do something more productive together."

Eliza removed his hands from her waist with her wet hands and continued washing the dishes.

"Stan, not tonight."

Stanley stopped. She spoke in a manner that would suggest that she wouldn't talk anymore of the subject.

He sighed to himself and sat back down by the counter. He hated it. He didn't get enough attention from his wife... Sure, they would do it 2-3 times a week, but Stanley knew it wasn't enough to cover his animalistic needs. But then again, tonight was a Sunday. Sunday's were always a positive time on Stanley's schedule.

Later tonight, someone else would fulfill his needs.



Philip Gretchen gazed at his tired face in the cracked mirror. Tonight, his stepson would pay him a visit: the first time in 3 years. He turned on the water faucet in the bathtub and left the bathroom for a moment. His room was a mess, but he didn't pay attention. When he got to the kitchen he greeted his best friend. Sitting in the cupboard. He took him out.

He returned to the bathroom, stripped, and got in the hot bathtub with his friend. Turning on the radio, he sullenly sat in the water with his friend and gazed at nothing.

He whispered to himself, and at his friend.

"Why don't you numb the pain as much as before...?"

Silence reined the bathroom, except for the slight sound of the radio.

Sighing, he took a sip of his friend.


He slowly closed his eyes, and dreamt of a yellow taxi riding in the fog as the radio succumbed him to his sleep.

"Turns out that there will be heavy fog tonight, in and out of Hidden Hills, so if you're driving or walking, watch where you're going folks; we don't want an accident in the middle of the night."

To be continued