Date: Thu, 19 Mar 2015 02:58:54 +0000 (UTC)
From: Gaia Farnese <snoringsoftly@yahoo.com>
Subject: Sleep Well, William - part I

Author's note:

I originally wrote this story to practice using the present tense in
writing, retrospection and the combination of the two. I can't say it's the
best I've written. I have done and redone it many times and I'm still not
fully satisfied with it. This is a strongly edited version that I hope to
continue writing. For any comments or suggestions don't hesitate to email
me. If you can get past the prologue, which is not what it seems, I promise
you an interesting trip to Iszaya's world.

Have a pleasant read.

And -- please consider donating to Nifty. We all need it alive and kicking.

Summary: "Up there in one of the booths there is someone who is interested
in you. I've been sent to ask if you would like to join him."

~Prologue~

There will come a time much later, much much later, when I will pick up pen
and paper and sit down to write this petite history that somehow changed my
life.

William died in a car accident last week.

I heard it on the radio and, for a moment, I couldn't remember why the name
felt so familiar. The kind of familiar that makes you think of hazy
mornings, long limbs and hot, lingering kisses.

William was murdered because he was so very out of place in such a mold of
society; he was so different - so completely, unapologetically
unorthodox. Now that I have been given the dubious benefit of age and
wisdom I find it easier to understand him, his needs and his passions. I
find myself feeling very empathic to the libertine soul that was William.

The news transported me back in the distant years of my liaison with him,
my angst-filled puberty and sensual coming of age. I found the flow of
words on paper to be equally captivating and liberating. Not nearly as him,
but just enough.

I am certain that William wouldn't wholly approve of this story I weaved,
if only for my presumptuousness. But I did it. I wrote it. I wrote it for
us and for the far away, yet vivid memory of him, everything that he
was. And he was a lot, my dear reader. He was a lot, and nowadays, I
suspect, he still lives in some stray places of me. That, I suppose, was
his final gift, whether intended or not.

Despite my continuous protests and pretending unwavering indifference, K
loosely tracked William's life during the past few decades.  She kept
telling me he had no one, in a romantic way. Oh, he fucked alright, but
that didn't make the newspapers and that is why, much to her frustration, K
never could find a name or a photo linked to him and his affairs with men.

Or boys. Probably boys. Though never anyone like Iszaya. It's what I would
have done.

Regardless of K's efforts, I was astonished that William actually kept his
promise to me – to keep himself at a distance, meaning not to allow me
to encounter him, bodily or otherwise. It was such a stupid thing to ask
considering our movements in society but it was all so that I could keep
the memories at bay, that restless red river of lost dreams and wrong
ambitions, forever drowned and carried away by the wicked waves of
curiosity, lust and passion.

The sex river.

You must wonder – how do I know that William never got over what we had
back then, never recovered enough to give another young rascal a chance? He
would blame it on my presumptuousness. I blame it on sharing far too many
acquaintances for my liking. And so, irrespective of whether I liked it or
not, I regularly found out things I cared and didn't care to hear. Now that
I look back, William was never truly away, despite all my efforts that
largely comprised of my fruitless attempts to ignore the name and focus on
the information. He probably heard about me too, though I was always
careful not to give away a lot.

I don't want to assume that it hurt. All these years it didn't pain me to
hear about him, although it never ceased to make me long for an era long
past, era unreachable, yet so desired by those blessed with eternally
young, silly souls. Nostalgia, they would say.

I was always quietly amused by the fact that I never saw him after that
last summer in Penzance. But, a kind reminder, it ~is~ what I wished for
and, despite all, I haven't come to regret it – it was a surprisingly
wise decision, considering my age.

But all these years, deep inside, I felt a strong form of sadness – for
what we had and that which we never had; never got to have. I wish we knew,
back then, that some stories are meant to end differently, and that that in
itself, is not entirely bad. It would have saved us the emotional chaos and
unnecessary stress. However, it would never have been able to compete with,
or come close to preventing those marvelous days full of intensity, desire
and a million of good-natured wishes; wishes to make things beautiful and
delightful, to make things right in all wrong...

William made a fantastic story of my life mainly because his fingers often
found themselves among mine, like a phantom limb that helps you touch
certain things and give them life and meaning, and lastly, choose those
things that are worthwhile. He shaped me in a way that gave me freedom; for
that I have nothing but gratitude left for him. That is one of the reasons
I set out to document our little ~joy~, as we once called it, our journey,
our story.

Thus I dedicate this story to our road that ended early and all the fun
rides while it lasted.

I dedicate it to countless hours of pleasure and laughter, and equally
countless hours of desperation, pain and fear. I dedicate it to all our
awkward moments and all the cathartic ones that I can never forget. Or
replace. I dedicate it to his bravado, his will to go to lengths unheard of
to keep me by his side, and to his relentless pursuit of passion and
pleasure.

I dedicate this story to myself too or better said, to the part of my
person for which William remains largely responsible - to all my ridiculous
words and far more ridiculous actions, which gave me the benefit of a
zillion of tears but crinkled eyes as well. I dedicate this story much like
I dedicated that "W" on my right wrist, to a dark stain on my otherwise
unblemished skin.  I dedicate this story to ~him~, to the William I lost
and the infinity trapped in his eyes.

Sleep well, William.



I.

I wake up slowly.

The bed is comfortable, there is soft, warm skin close to me and even
though there are things that I am not yet aware of, I know that I need not
hurry. For a blissful second I get the hazy, pink-tinted impression that I
have all the time in the world.

Time is power.

I open my eyes, grateful for the curtains that darken the room, and they
immediately settle upon his sleeping form. His trust is marvelous. You are
not so languid and relaxed when you're sharing the bed with a
stranger. Well, unless you are used to it. And William is quirky like that.

But stars, is he beautiful. My appreciation tingles near my navel, and my
body comes alive and ready to take in the beauty of those long limbs, pale
skin, the comfort of the earthy tones, softness smoothing out angles
and... fuck. I grab the covers, turn my back to him and throw them over my
head. I don't dare breathe, afraid that my commotion might have woken him;
unless he was awake before, as I shamelessly drooled over him... I hear a
chuckle and tense up. A moment later he's poking my ribs and I know, I can
feel it – he's smiling there, above me. I guess what he's going to say
even before I hear the sound of his voice.

"Why are you hiding? Did you grow bashful overnight?"

I don't answer. Instead, I try to slither away and curl into myself but he
pokes me again and throws an arm around my middle. His sleep-roughened
voice echoes in my head while his fingers lightly skim over my belly pulled
taut; I imagine him lounging behind me, lazily staring down at my huddled
form; perhaps still smiling slightly.

The truth is... I don't know what to do. What do you do on mornings after?

I can feel my cheeks grow hot at the mere suggestion of a memory. How do
adults manage it? I can't help feel more than slightly embarrassed. He is
quiet for a while and then, out of nowhere, he is under the sheets too,
drawing me closer to him. I'm not used to being the small spoon but it
feels quite food if I'm being honest with myself. He doesn't say anything
to break the silence, just holds me tight, lips only moving to plant a
quick kiss at the nape of my neck.

That's when I start wondering if I'm smelly. Boys get smelly, especially
after lots of dancing and sex and some more sex. But he wouldn't mind it
because he's a guy too, right? "Don't fret," he whispers then and I worry
that he might be capable of reading minds, after all.

"I think I need a shower," I whisper back, grumpiness filling my voice as
he snuggles up to me, all strength and bones and soft hair. He sniffs me
and I fidget uncomfortably. Is he going to be repulsed? He was a boy once
too.

"You smell like me," he says in a louder voice, shattering the haziness of
the morning with the heavy implication of his words. I'm trying my best to
fend off the mortification. I shouldn't feel less of a man because of
this. I wasn't brought up that way. Still, I can't help the cowardice.

" I'd better take a shower," I insist and shift to move out of his grasp,
albeit slowly, unwillingly.

The room is warm and I know that hot water awaits me in the bath but I
still feel reluctant to move, mortification or not. I want to stay close to
him and his stupid strength because I have this feeling I won't see him
again. I grip the edge of the bed as I sit there thinking, pretending to
look for my pants, which I am not sure whether to put on or not, as he has
seen me naked, and more, but I don't know what he expects me to do and what
I'm supposed to do anyway. I keep my mind occupied so as not to think about
the odd feelings. So I sit there like that when he lifts himself on his
elbow and nudges my shoulder with his chin. "Do you want to shower
together?" he asks me, voice seductive and full of promises.

I'm quick to refuse, even quicker to get up. I scratch at the messy
leftovers on my belly and it reminds me of certain things that happened
last night. So I spend my walk of shame to the bath trying not to show my
face, hiding the cheeks which are undoubtedly crimson by now.

When I'm back in the room, softest of towels around my hips, I see him
standing in front of the window, clad in a dressing gown. He's combed his
hair and tied it up in a bun.  He looks as graceful as a woman but as
focused, hard, as a man.

"Breakfast will arrive shortly," he tells me and passes me on the way to
the bathroom. Several minutes later I push in a cart with a full breakfast.

I retrieve my cup of tea from it and sit down. Is he going to kick me out
after I finish breakfast or should I leave on my own? Maybe I should just
sneak out? I dressed right after he was gone, so as to avoid a potential
awkward `I'm-just-looking-for-my-clothes-I'll-be-out-in-a-moment' scene in
case he demands I leave right away. Although, I muse, knowing him and his
manners, it wouldn't surprise me if he offered to drive me home. Isn't it a
pain sometimes, all that politeness?

I shove eggs and tatties in my mouth as my mind goes through several
scenarios of William's goodbye to me. I'm not even sure why it bothers me
so much. Maybe it's the whole being discarded thing. It's certainly more
dignified to walk out on my own than be subjected to William's cold
stare. He must be used to this, but I'm not. Besides, there's the tiny fact
that I might, just might like to see him one more time. If only to confirm
my... recent discoveries about myself.

By the time he comes out of the bathroom I'm still not ready to face him. I
did all right last night in the booth so why can't I do it now?

~You let him in.~

I cling to my empty cup as if that would help me look him in the eye and
ask ~"What now?~".

"Is it good?" he asks as he reaches for a queer serving of peaches. I nod,
still looking down at my shoes. The peaches are cut in pieces and he is
sampling them slowly, seemingly thoroughly enjoying savouring their
taste. He glances at me out of the corner of his eye, much like I'm doing
right now, and I find it easier to breathe. He's not smirking in that
annoying way that makes me feel inferior. He seems serious, but relaxed.

Armed with that seriousness he approaches me and touches a thin slice to my
mouth. I recast my eyes down as my mouth circles the peach and closes down
around it. He touches my lower lip lightly and I wonder if he sees that as
a mimic of something else, the way I do. The way it feels.

I wonder if he's going to ask me to suck him off before I leave; maybe in
the car he will.

I sigh and look at him again, tired of the quiet game and most of all,
tired of my uncertainties, but he only feeds me another slice. It's wet,
solid and juicy, and his eyes are so intense I no longer need wonder about
his thoughts. Yes, he sees it that way, the pervert. I scowl with
indignation, earning a smile. He quits teasing and walks away to get
dressed. I look sideways, tracing the corners of his small, content smile
in my memory.

He does have a lovely cock, I think. Solid and pink and... I close my eyes,
inhale, and try to picture myself the way he must see me. I can't figure
out what it is that he finds interesting in me. I don't even know how to
suck cock. Well. I know the mechanics but I'll surely mess up.

Is it my youth he finds enticing? He might be that way, but he's not very
old himself.  Could it be... my virginity? My inexperienced gaze? Does it
make him feel superior in a way that arouses him and he wants more of it?
He certainly seems to have a bit of malevolent air about him.

"Did you like what we did last night?" he asks me all of a sudden. I
swallow, fighting another blush. I'm awkward enough as it is, I don't need
to give him more than that. Instead, I watch his fingers as they make a
short work of buttoning the grey shirt. I thought that was obvious, I think
instead of answering, but then I remember that he likes to tease me and
make me say embarrassing things aloud. He's just that way.

"You know better than to ask that," I reply. He licks his lips and
smiles... no, smirks.

"Would you like to do more of it?" he asks as he leans on the chair nearby.

"Maybe," I answer after a beat. I bite my lip and pray my heart won't leap
out of my chest.

"Depending on?"

"I'm not sure I'm that gay, you know." I blurt out, without meaning for it
to come out that way. There's something uncomfortable in this conversation
and I can feel it nudging everything in a wrong direction. I want this but
I don't, and now he must think me a Janus-faced brat.

"And what we did last night doesn't qualify as quite gay?"

This time, when I raise my eyes to meet his, they are cold and intense. Not
the best of combinations, if my gut feeling is anything to go by. Did I hit
a nerve?

"Or are you going to deny it?"

I get up and put the cup down. "I'm not in denial. If I didn't... if I
wasn't curious, I wouldn't have come here and spent the night. And I think
you know that very well!" I almost shout, so strong is my fear of losing
everything.

"Then why are you doing this? Why are you acting cool, giving me a cold
shoulder, when it was my body you were clutching last night and it was my
mouth you were kissing like..."

"I don't know how to do some things, okay!? I don't! I'm not
all... experienced, like you. It makes me feel like shit."

There, I said it.

"Why don't you try relaxing and let me show you then?"

His voice sounds softer now, but I don't know how to answer him. It's easy
to imagine yourself doing something but when the time comes it's not so
easy to actually do it. He appears to be finished dressing and I'm afraid
so afraid I fucked this up beyond repair.

I expect to be excused any second now as they tick by and I fail to answer
yet another of his annoying, intrusive little questions. It feels like I'm
being compressed, like a sausage.

"What would you like to do?"

I dare look up at him and note that there is another one of those small
smiles curving his lips. It infuriates me, the way he's carrying himself
now. Like he knows something I don't when we both know I know too. He comes
to stand in front of me and deliberately positions himself so that my eyes
align with his crotch. I try to swallow but my mouth has gone dry.

"Do you want to do it now?" he asks, his fingers brushing my cheek and
moving the hair away from my face.

"No," I reply at last, "no, I don't want to do it. Now or ever." I
stubbornly deny us.

"You do. You want to."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"I do ~not~."

"Don't deny yourself pleasure, Iszaya. Never deny yourself pleasure."

I half-expect him to pull my head forward but he doesn't. He's not like
that. Couple of minutes trickle by without us saying anything else. It
feels a bit like his words are finishing bouncing off the walls and slowly
settling down, falling into the space of the room.

Then he moves away and goes to pick up his phone. Very soon he starts
speaking on it. I guess it's time for me to leave, but before I can get up,
he finishes the call and turns to me. I open my mouth but he's quicker.

"I have an important meeting shortly. I want you to stay here. I'll be
finished in roughly three hours, then I'll come pick you up..."

"Wait a bit. You're not asking me to leave?"

"No. I'm asking you to stay."

I stare at him in response.

"Did you think I was going to throw you out?" he sounds amused.

"I'm kinda sick of this room." That's a lie, a filthy lie. He thinks for a
few seconds and then manages to surprise me one more time. "All
right. We'll go to my flat when I come back."

"Go to your flat?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Are you having a change of heart?"

"Well... my aunt will wonder..."

"You'll ring your friend and continue that little story of yours," he says
matter of factly, as if it's the most common thing in the world to lie to
your aunt about your whereabouts and sneak into expensive hotel rooms to
have sex with significantly older guys, then go to their place for some
more sex. I'm about to protest when he tells me to `not create trouble
where there is none, Iszaya'. He picks up the last slice of peach and chews
on it thoughtfully.

"I'm not sure I want to go to your place, William."

It's such an unconvincing murmur I'd be surprised if he actually accepted
it. I look around the room, avoiding his stormy eyes. I've grown fond of
this room. I stood naked in the middle of it just last night. And even
though I know that he can convince me to do things fairly easy, I'm not
sure I mind it all that much, which makes up the whole issue.

"And why is that?"

Oh, I think you know.

"I think you know."

"I think I don't. Explain?"

I sigh and roll my eyes, just for show. Out of nowhere, he kneels in front
of me, making me forget what I was going to say. William kneeling? He
doesn't look like someone who often kneels, clad in an expensive suit and
looking quite capable in it. He didn't look this way last night, even
though he did. It must be his chameleon nature. Or the daylight. It makes
him look less menacing and more human, albeit like a businessman out to win
a bargain.

Predator, in any case.

"I'm not so sure I want more pleasure, as you already know," I babble
smartly. He smiles, looks down at my lips, then eyes me and deadpans: "You
are going to suck my cock and you know it."

I can't think enough to produce a reply. I stare open mouthed and he seizes
the opportunity - leaning in, he captures my lips with his, then sensually
offers me his peach tasting tongue.  I kiss back enthusiastically,
necessary negations irrelevant. His kisses bring me back to last night and
I can't help but remember how I refused them at first, only to be drunk on
them mere hours later. He deepens the kiss, snogging me hard enough to
convince me, until we both know that I'm going to do whatever he wants me
to do because, really, why the hell not! He feels... he makes me feel free.

I don't count the minutes but I know it's been a while when he finally
pulls back, my mouth going after his to seek out more of it, desperately
wanting him to stay just a bit longer.

More, more, more.

"Stay here and wait, I'll be back before long," he speaks against my
lips. I nod and he's gone.

Sometime later my mind clears up and I bite my lips, tasting him
there. Bastard.

I get up and walk around the room, inspecting the interior. With little
else to do I let my thoughts go back.

~

My name is Iszaya and I am sixteen years old. OK, I'm fifteen but I'll be
sixteen soon so it's no big deal. I like to think I'm rather average
despite my friends insisting that I'm an unusual guy.

I was born in Leeds, spent the first half of my childhood with my paternal
grandparents in Germany, the second half with my mother in Belgium, Dubai
and Croatia, only to go to London briefly before going to live with my aunt
in Bishopbriggs, a town close to Glasgow. It makes for a colourful but
lonely life story. The reason for all that moving and lack of consistency
is the fact that my mother is an architect.  She travels around a
lot. During my younger years I think I enjoyed it too, but after a while
the novelty and the constant need to adapt, settle down and get to know the
environment faded to an annoying buzz. It was a miracle that I met the
friends I have today. It happened a few years ago when I visited my
aunt. It wasn't a small feat to convince my mom to let me live with my aunt
but I managed, and now, despite being estranged from my family, I'm glad I
decided to do it.

I'm Jewish by origin and I'm told that my father and grandparents were very
dedicated to Yahadut. Luckily, my mother isn't. I don't have the patience
for religious nonsense. My grandparents and father died in a car accident
when I was five. I barely remember them. My mother met Julien when I was
seven, gave birth to my sister when I was nine and remarried during our
stay in Croatia when I was twelve. I moved to live with my aunt when I was
fourteen.

It's been amazing since. I don't hate my family but we don't get along
smashingly, and I think it's safe to say that all of us prefer things as
they are now. I'm not as adventurous as they are and they are fine with it,
even though they insist I join them for holidays and such.

I have two best friends – Kalla and Marianne (Marie). I have no idea how
they manage to get along because they are two different universes. I serve
as the common ground but I have a nagging suspicion that they try to get
along solely for my sake. My favourite thing in the world is whenever we
have a sleep-over because we always manage to make it so much fun without
doing anything special. My second favourite thing is going to see bands
live with Kalla. We both like dancing so concerts and clubs are regular
parts of our plans for hanging out. Marie's quieter, preferring to spend a
night reading or crocheting, but sometimes we convince her to join us. We
hang out with a familiar group of friends so it's never over the top. Well,
nearly never.

I also have a girlfriend, Helen. I'm not certain about where we stand
because our relationship is so unconventional, being based on need and
personal space. It's because, quoting Marie, "I'm afraid to connect to
people due to my traumatic childhood and many short-lived relationships".

I always counter it by telling her that I've been friends with the likes of
her for many years. Helen is convinced that we are not passionate enough
and she constantly pesters me to be more intimate. I can't say the thought
hasn't crossed my mind but I've tried number of times and it just doesn't
work out. Marie thinks it's because I "hate forced interactions and social
pressure."

I consider myself lucky to have the friends that I do because I see a lot
of lonely people around. Despite the queer pit in my chest that I call
general boredom, I think I'm okay for now. It used to be worse – I
wouldn't talk to anyone for months. I used to have no friends at all.

Now people like me in general. They say I'm cool and kind, apparently a
wonderful combination. There are some who think I'm pretentious because of
my origins and my traveling. I have heard stories of how I project entirely
different personalities for attention when I actually believe that I am
always partially hidden from the world, not always by choice.

When I'm not facing social challenges I try to read books. Both my best
friends are avid readers and it's a struggle to catch up with them,
especially as I am lazy and a slow reader. Other than that I lead a boring
life. Nothing out of the ordinary happens to me.

My aunt is a Zumba tutor so she's away working most of the time. She
doesn't have any kids though she has this mad, ancient cat called Fedora
and one aloof boyfriend. He doesn't live with us but he may as well say he
does because he's with me most of the time. We usually play games or watch
the telly. I have no idea what he does the rest of the time because he's
not very chatty and I've never quite had the courage to ask him what it is
that he does for a living. Probably something on the Internet, considering
the amount of time he spends online.

As a couple, and my mentors, they are generally pleasant and
reasonable. It's rare that we fight over something and whenever that
happens my mother usually has had something to do with it. My aunt is laid
back and (sometimes disgustingly) optimistic while my mother is rigid and
strict. There would be zero trouble if I didn't go out to stay late,
something my mother doesn't appreciate, especially during the school
year. But I have to go out sometimes and it's not like I do it every
day. My friends like to party until exhaustion but they seldom do anything
risky.

In any case, it's been a while since we last gathered and everyone's been
itching for a good outing. For this very night, Kailan and Teagan, two
friends of mine, somehow managed to get everybody to agree to sneak in an
exclusive 18+ club. Apparently, they had been invited by this DJ who's
having a gig there. I'm not a big fan of those type of gigs - too many posh
people around to have fun the way we `kids' do, but I figure it will do me
some good to get out. It's not like it's a life-changing decision, sneaking
in a club that caters to the crθme de la crθme. It's just a slightly
different version of what I usually experience when I go out.  So when
Kalla rings to invite me and Helen rings to ask me to confirm my presence,
I agree to the mad scheme; I agree to go to The Valley and `party till I
drop'. Oh well.

~

When Helen rings she tells me one more thing that before long becomes the
focus of all my attention and my primary problem – her parents are out
of town. She's home alone. In her mind that translates as: time to have sex
with Iszaya. In my mind it translates to: panic. I like my girlfriend, I
do. I wouldn't be with her if I didn't, but sometimes she's just
overbearing. I don't think that I'm ready to be that profound with
someone. The pressure is nothing but suffocating, and not only when it
comes to Helen. It feels like every single day the sexualization grows, and
now, partying is not about having fun dancing like idiots with your
friends. It's about being noticed, being picked out. It's turned into an
excuse to get dressed up, get drunk, and get fucked. It changes my outlook
on the people I hang out with and it changes my outlook on my own
behaviour. Besides, it's not like I can change it - I can't help but fear
the intimacy myself.

I spend the afternoon trying to think of an excuse that wouldn't sound like
an excuse. I can't think of anything that doesn't sound outright
pathetic. The worst is that she would probably be very cool and
understanding about i. If I were her I wouldn't waste my time with the
likes of me.

My distraction grows obvious throughout the evening. My aunt is performing
in London so I ring to let her know I will be out tonight. I don't notice
and I ring my former art tutor which is a big mistake because she is a very
chatty gossip and wastes twenty minutes of my time.  It's possible to
sleep-over at Marie's afterwards so I ring Ned too, just to check if he's
coming back home because Fedora will need food and attention. I trip over
said cat while talking to him and earn myself a glare worthy of a
full-grown dragon.

I take a shower, and then I put on the wrong clothes as I slowly prepare
for going out. On my way out I forget to lock the door so I suffer walking
back from the station to do it, then walk back to catch the train to
Glasgow. It doesn't take very long to get to Glasgow from
Bishopbriggs. I've had people ask me how I manage but really, it's only 7km
and trains are fast. I can't say I wouldn't live in the city centre but I'm
satisfied with living in Briggs.

It's too early to meet up with the rest of the group, but I'm meeting Kalla
earlier for a cup of coffee at Starbucks. We seem to have made it a point
to meet before the rest when we go out.

I meet her at the same spot where I met her the first time; it's become our
customary meeting point, no matter where in the city we're going.  I'd love
for Marie to be with us but sometimes it's better when it's just me and
Kalla. We both laugh loudly when we notice we're both wearing black
clothes. Another trademark and another tradition Marie doesn't really like.

"What is the colour of your panties?" I ask Kalla in a conspiratory whisper
as I approach her. She giggles some more and answers: "Simply – black!"

"Wow, what a surprise!"

"What are yours, Mr. Know-It-All?"

"I'm a disappointment to the cause. They are grey."

"Silk?"

"Why, of course! My bottom can stand no other inferior material."

We spend much of our time being witty and giggling. Kalla's very relaxing
to be around – she rarely interferes, rarely asks questions and likes to
keep to the lighter topics when we're out like this, preferring to leave
the `deep stuff' for when we're having sleep-overs. We talk about school,
books and her dance lessons. Kalla is a professional dancer, having spent
most of her childhood learning ballet and capoeira, but she doesn't want to
make money that way. We also make it a point not to discuss money because
we tend to get in heated discussions about its benefits and the downsides.

An hour and half later we meet up with Kailan and Teagan, then with the
rest of our group of friends. By 9:30 we number 15 and we are slowly
progressing towards The Valley. Halfway through, by common consent, we sit
down at McDonald's and make a racket until we get kicked out. It's always
noble intentions before we get in, but it always ends badly because
someone's been too loud and obnoxious or someone's got into a fight. Not
everyone's that way; most of the people tagging along are not into heavy
drinking and stuff, especially not before the party has even started, but
there are always exceptions.  I don't understand the whole acting like
grown-ups thing my peers do. It doesn't suit them. It doesn't suit us. Why
not enjoy what we have while we have it? As Daria says: I don't want to
wake up one day with the bitter realization that... I have spent my youth
pretending to be something I'm not just because of this or that.

Shortly after midnight we find ourselves queuing up to enter The Valley
from the back entrance. There seem to be a number of reasons why people
queue up at the back door, but I don't understand what Teagan's saying
because everybody is speaking at once and the music is loud. I pay the sum
to get in and wait for a signal to enter. Kailan seems to know the bouncer
well if their animated conversation is anything to go by. Judging from the
people waiting to get in with us, the back door exists to give entry to
those who pay yet aren't supposed to be in the club (basically, ourselves),
those who are invited to serve as numbers and fill up the club (apparently,
there aren't enough elites some nights) and those who are too unsightly to
enter the prestigious club through the front door (prostitutes and various
other entertainers). They aren't bad and I'm not one who judges people by
their choice of clothes. It's just that people speak – they whisper and
point, which is ugly, but it's not like I can stop it. I'm here to get in,
not to cause drama.

Kalla, Kailan and I get in among the first ones, mainly because we're quiet
and unobtrusive, unlike the rest who can't conceal their excitement at
being at the entrance of The Valley, a club with unprecedented
reputation. We're all excited to play against the rules but there's no need
to be so loud about it. One very important lesson that I learned back when
I was a small kid.

I don't pretend to know just how our group managed to get in a club that
is, rather exclusively, for people older than 18, but I'm curious, and I
have several interesting theories. Kalla is convinced it's the money we
gave them.  "Money's power," she says and the idealist in me struggles not
to rebel. The club is half empty when we step in so we use the rare
opportunity to explore it. You'd think there would be more people inside
already, considering its popularity. We get our customary Daiquiri
cocktails and wander through the maze of booths, trying to find our friends
and a good spot for the night.

In the next half an hour we find out several things. One of them is that a
lot of socialites, business-people and politicians are expected to come in
for the gig tonight. Another is that there are actually four or five
entrances to The Valley, and they are used according to one's
status. Before long everyone's in and we are connecting to another group of
15 which occupies one of the larger booths on the lower level. That's where
we have to stay so we accept their offer to join. It turns out that they
are a group of American tourists over for a festival. I have brief but
hilarious time with one of the guys but, before I start questioning my
sexuality again and possibly question my loyalty to my girlfriend too,
Helen arrives and drives him away.

She snogs me soundly upon arrival. It feels nice but forced, and I can't
help but wish she didn't come. It only reminds me that I have another
excuse for her. Fortunately, I don't have to linger around her once I
notice the club is getting busy. The music is good and Kalla is waiting for
me on the dance floor so I grab Kailan's hand and mingle with the hundreds
of bodies ahead.

I don't really mind the crowd because I've learned that dancing is a very
solitary experience, despite the bodily contact. The anonymity helps too,
especially if you find yourself wanting to dance with someone who's
nearby. We dance together, but we also dance with strangers. It's a strange
mix of connection and disconnection with the people close to you.

~

Everybody says that when you're clubbing you lose the sense of time. I'm
surprised to find out that only an hour has passed when I sit back in the
booth and cheer on my friends.  I take a sip of Daiquiri and wave to Kalla
and Kailan. They are performing all manner of funny dances and everyone
around me laughs.  My eyes stray to my left and that's when the surreal
begins.

There is a man in there staring intently at me. I stare back for several
seconds before I notice the small circular movement of his hand – he's
calling me to him. I know I'm not really in danger, and I can choose to
ignore him. But I wouldn't be Iszaya if I did that.

He's a perfectly nondescript man that blends in with the crowd. Except for
his eyes – they are focused, like a predator's, and it's me who seems to
be the prey this time.

Feeling my heart ascend slowly to my throat, I stand up and walk towards
him. No one notices because everyone thinks I'm going back to
dance. They're all tipsy, which reminds me that I can't expect help if the
guy were to make a sudden move.

But then, I think I know what it is that this man does. It hasn't happened
to me yet, but it has happened to some of my friends. I mean, I've been
approached by creeps before, but this one doesn't strike me as the sort who
will ask me to have sex in the toilet.

Once I'm within several footsteps he moves back into the crowd. I pause,
growing unsure. I don't want to get lost in there. He nods his head as if
trying to reassure me, and I make a few slow steps forward. That's when he
turns around and motions for me to follow him. It takes me about ten
seconds to understand that he's leading me towards the bar. Negotiations
then.

We stop at an empty corner and he motions for the barman to serve him. I
shake my head when the guy looks at me – as clichι as it sounds, I
know better than to accept drinks from strangers. The man eyes me for a
long time, his gaze not limited to my face. He eyes me like a cow on sale,
which further confirms my suspicion as to what he might want from me. He
takes a sip of some amber coloured liquid and makes a face. Then he speaks
up.

"Up there in one of the booths there is someone who is interested in
you. I've been sent to ask if you would like to join him."

I don't miss the use of a male pronoun and that piques my interest more
than anything. I lean in closer. There aren't many men who have the
audacity to approach a boy as young as I am. The action itself doesn't
surprise me because I already suspected that it's an arrangement that could
be at play but the fact that my age is of no concern is very, very
curious. It means that the person is either half-blind because I'm
convinced I look every inch the teen boy I am, or that he is simply above
petty concerns such as sleeping with minors.

I shouldn't be this interested. I should say no and go back to my
friends. Oftentimes, these types of arrangements end badly. A rich man or
woman pays for a night with an eye-candy, in cash or favours, depending on
the details.  Most are too drunk to remember or paid for their
discretion. When something leaks out, they are quick to move out because of
the dangers involved with airing some influential person's dirty
laundry. And to think all they wanted was a night of fun and pleasure.

It's just the novelty, I try to tell myself as I struggle to contain my
curiosity. I'm not really interested in spending the night playing
someone's lapdog.

"Naturally, you will be compensated for your efforts," he continues, eyeing
me speculatively. He's a surprise in itself, this man. He doesn't once
motion to touch me and his interest in me seems far from lacking
professionalism. I haven't seen these types of men at play because if they
are good at anything it's staying hidden, but I've heard they are all
rather sleazy. The way he speaks leads me to believe that he works for
someone above the average, filthy rich socialite.

I test him, unwittingly betraying my ignorance. "And what would be required
of me?" I ask.

He looks at me like I've grown a second head. Then it seems to
click. "Never made an arrangement before, have you?"

"Hmm..." I hum, but it's lost in the loud echo of the music.

"It usually entails sexual favours. You will be rewarded handsomely, don't
you worry."

"I'm not interested in the money," I confess and almost chuckle at the way
his eyes widen in alarm. "I'm only curious about who sent you to get a
minor for him to fuck."

I bet he didn't see that coming. He swallows as I lean in a bit, careful to
hear what he has to say.

"That's not any of your business, unless you agree to join him. In any
case, you're expected to be discreet about it, minor or not."

Well, that's several suspicions confirmed, I conclude darkly. They don't
really care that I'm a fifteen years old boy, or that I've sneaked into The
Valley. Instead of sending me running off, it sparks my interest even
more. But I don't want to do anything stupid so I'd better retreat.

Marie often tells me that my curiosity is a crazy thing and that, one day,
it'll undoubtedly get me in trouble. Perhaps the day has come.

"Can you take me to see him?" I ask the man. "I'd like to discuss this with
him... personally." He gives me the ~`Just how dumb are you?'~ look again
but asks: "So you'll join him, right?"

"No. I'm just asking to see him before I make any decision," I explain.

I know that look he's sporting now too. It's the look of teachers who ~have
to~ write down the lower grade; the look of clerks when they realize that
you aren't going to buy anything; the look when mother used to say that she
didn't have time to go to the cinema with me. That's why his next words
don't surprise me.

"I'm afraid that's not possible. You can't see him unless you accept his
proposal."

I stare at him until there's nothing else to do but turn around and walk
away. I almost reach Kalla, who looks slightly worried, when I notice that
he followed me. He approaches me again, but this time Kalla's close enough
to hear him too.

"I hope you know that you are missing a great opportunity," he tells me. I
don't have anything to say to him so I don't. As he turns around he looks
up towards the booths upstairs, and I follow his gaze. It looks like he
shakes his head but I don't know if that is a signal or just exasperation.
The booth is identical to those around it – curtains drawn just enough
to create shadows and make it impossible for you to see who's
inside. However, it's designed so that it enables those inside it to have a
free view of everything going on down on the dance floor.

Well, my mystery man is in for disappointment. Kalla scowls when I turn to
her.

"He wanted me to sleep with his boss," I tell her. Her eyebrows arch. "Are
you going to?"

"No, no. I'd be a fool to do that, wouldn't I?"  She only shrugs and offers
me a sip of her drink.

~

Barely fifteen minutes pass when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn to see
the same man from before standing there, a disgruntled look on his face. I
see more than hear him saying "Come aside,", but Kalla has me by the wrist
before I can make a step towards him. They exchange withering looks before
he realizes that I'm not going anywhere. So he moves closer to us.

"He asked to see you," he almost shouts.

"You mean he's agreed to me asking to see him?" I shout back, a small smile
on my lips.

"Come with me," he says, ignoring my question, and vaguely motioning
towards the stairs. I turn to Kalla but, before I can say anything, Helen
moves between us and reaches for my face. She kisses me lightly, then tries
to coax my mouth for a snog. I can't give in, not now. I push her away
gently and whisper in her ear: "I have to go for a bit. I'll be back right
away!"

She grimaces by an answer. "I miss you, Iz. You're always off spending time
with somebody else," she tells me; both Kalla and I can't ignore her pointy
looks. "See now, you're even starting to spend your time with weird old men
that you should avoid."

"He wants me to talk to somebody he knows," I explain, taking in the man's
apparent irritation. "It's nothing dangerous. I'll be back before you
notice." I lie, fully aware that I might not come back. She looks like she
has more to say but I disentangle from her and step away. I'll deal with
her anger later. Hopefully that will give me the opportunity to cancel our
plans for later.

Kalla mouths "Be careful" before I turn around and I try to carve her worry
in my brain; if nothing else, to remind me that I can't just abandon
myself. The man walks several steps ahead. I'm careful to keep my eyes on
his head because The Valley is a big club and you can easily get lost in
the mass of bodies on the floor. We're to take the grand staircase leading
to the upper floors where the curtained booths host the rich and
mighty. There is a basement under the dance floor too, but my friends were
warned from before not to step in that `realm' unless they are into heavy
fetishism and orgies.

I lose him twice, causing my heart to beat nervously, but I find him within
seconds. It takes more than five minutes to reach the staircase – there
are a lot of people dancing with abandon, their bodies heavy with alcohol
and who knows what else. When I reach the base of the spiral staircase I
stop to reconsider my decision. I'm going to meet a man who wants to fuck
me for some reason and I'm going there all alone, in a curtained booth
surrounded by loud music. Even if I scream no one would hear me. But I
can't give it up now. I have to know.

I don't consider myself a pretty boy. I'm short and scrawny; I can't
imagine someone being attracted to me because of my appearance. Maybe he
liked the way I dance. In any case, I haven't got the time to weight this
decision. Led by insatiable curiosity, and a tiny dose of wonder, I plunge
myself into the unknown, risking more than just my security with that one
step.

There are twenty eight steps that lead to the upper platform which hosts
those exclusive booths. Twenty eight seconds to rethink my plan, or its
lack thereof, and get the hell away from there.

According to my rough estimation, the booth we're headed for is halfway on
the platform, the second of the series of curtained spots; the one of three
with the best view of the floor below.  It takes us barely a minute to
reach it, the traffic being considerably lighter, the old money and
socialites happily seated inside their booths. Before I know it I'm
standing next to the entrance, feeling far from ready to meet him. I expect
the man-procurer to turn around and warn me or tell me something like: "Be
polite!" or "Remember discretion!" but he doesn't, he only signals me to go
in, without even looking at me. I barely have the time to ponder the silky,
violet material that serves as a curtain when I step in and find, much to
my shock, five people in the... cozy booth.

My eyes instantly land on the person across – a dark, slim figure of a
man with a very long ponytail, whose eyes slide from his conversational
partner on his right to scan my face, then drop lower, as if he's checking
me out. I can hear chuckles mixed with the beat of the music. A shrill
voice is saying something that sounds like: "Right on cue."; it causes
laughter to erupt and he moves his head swiftly, a smirk blossoming on his
otherwise blank face. I follow his gaze and find the owner of the voice on
my right, seated in the lap of a man who fits my image of the mystery
man. The meaning of my presence there slams into me and I meet his beady
little eyes with fear, hoping that the disgust won't show as well.

He sits with his legs spread open, the girl occupying only one of his
legs. She is so small - a petite blonde and a direct contrast to his burly
figure clad in a poorly fitting suit.

He wipes his shiny forehead and smiles in my direction, showing me teeth
yellowed with time and consumption. His smile is suggestive and
horrifying. I can't help but mentally whine as I compare the elegant Adonis
I first saw to this caricature of decadence that wants me to fuck.

"What's your name, rabbit?" I hear from the other side.  I break eye
contact with the man and turn to see two girls on my left. They are very
pretty and they are smiling at me, but even that doesn't comfort me.  I
shift uneasily before I answer. "Iszaya. Izzy." The man who brought me is
nowhere to be seen and I'm horrified to see the gathered stand up. When I
look back to my right he's still smiling at me, a big, lascivious smile. I
wonder if I can manage to sneak out and run back to Kalla, to Helen, to
safe ground. But knowing them, knowing their ways, I would be bound and
dragged away before anybody noticed anything out of place. It helps that
the lights are dim and the music is overwhelming. In the midst of all that
panic I look ahead and find the long-haired man staring at me intensely.

Out of the corner of my eye I notice the pretty pair of girls stand up too,
preparing to leave. Our eye contact breaks when one of them steps in the
line of his vision to kiss his cheek. He doesn't return the kiss, nor the
smile, but merely inclines his head. The other one waves to him and even
though he acknowledges her, he doesn't wave back. He doesn't move a
muscle. I wait for him to get up too but he just keeps sitting there, his
legs crossed, hands in his lap. One of the girls, the one who kissed him on
the cheek, catches my eye and smiles at me again. Bald man and his girl
push me to the side and I almost turn to follow them dazedly, but just
then, the smiling lady approaches and pats my shoulder, mouthing "Have fun"
with such enthusiasm I'm still thinking about it when they're all
gone. When the first semblance of understanding hits me I'm too shocked to
do anything but look up and meet a pair of unblinking eyes that seize me on
the spot.

"Hello Iszaya. You asked to see me."

~

My mind is presently trapped in the middle of a cacophony of "What?"; I
suppose it doesn't give the best of impressions, especially after I tried
so hard to be sure of myself when I spoke to the man working for him.

 ~He~ asked for me. This man, seated across, asked for me. Asked for me to
spend the night with him. To have sex with him. ~This man.~

I wet my lips and make an effort to collect my bulging eyes before greeting
him.

"Um... hello..." I say, wondering about his name for the first time.

"You may call me William."

"Right. William." I like the way it sounds when I say it. William, I repeat
in my head.

I'm still struggling to accept the truth when nondescript man appears at my
side and offers me a Daiquiri. I have my doubts about taking the drink but
William smiles slightly, guessing my thoughts. "It has no drugs in it, I
assure you. Why don't you take a seat?" he offers. His voice is so flat I
wonder how he manages to make himself heard despite the music in the
background. I'm still lost to his small indulgent smile and the perception
behind it when I take a step forward and walk to the plush seat previously
occupied by that horrid-looking man and his small lady..

I have no idea what I want to say to him so I keep sipping my drink,
fervently hoping that he didn't lie when he said it has no drugs in it. The
silence is oddly comfortable. I sit down, enraptured by the lights throwing
shadows over William's face. It's a very pretty face, thin and oval, rather
androgynous. I notice an empty glass of wine in front of him. It makes me
wonder just how drunk he might be, even though he gives the impression of
unnerving clarity.

"Is it good?" he asks. "Mhmm," I nod as I move my face to look at him more
closely. His eyes are bright but I can't see their exact colour because his
lids are drooped and he is overall distracting. Especially when he smiles.

I have a thousand inappropriate questions on the tip of my tongue but I
don't dare ask them. It's different here, inside this booth. It's not just
about my curiosity.

"I'm glad," he replies and inclines his head to the side, as if he can read
my mind, as if he is preparing for my questions. I swallow and look away.

"You must have a lot of questions."

"Yes. My first is: can you hear my thoughts somehow?"

Another small smile. "Perhaps."

I manage something akin grimace in return.

"Why did... why did you let me come here?" I ask him, daring to look him in
the eye.

"Didn't you want to see me?"

"Yes, yes I did. I just didn't think you'd..."

"Allow you to see me? Why, don't we want to be certain your mysterious
gentleman is not like my dear acquaintance Paul?" He gestures with his
hand, indicating that he's talking about the bald man from before. Oh. So
he's even more perceptive than I thought. Suddenly, a horrible thought
comes forward and I ask before I can stop myself.

"Are you going to share?"

"Excuse me?"

"I mean... he's not... are you into... that sort of thing?"

"Depends on what you mean."

I swallow again. "Sharing... he looked interested. Are you planning to
share me with him?"

His eyelids rise a fraction.

"No."

I exhale with relief and close my eyes. I feel more than see him smirk.

"I actually expected that kind of man. I mean... I didn't give it much
thought, but when I saw him I was sure he was the one."

"Are you disappointed?" he mocks.

"Don't. Just... don't."

He sits back and he's a statue once again.

"I don't do this, all right," I continue agitatedly. "I don't... make
arrangements." The words are heavy on my tongue, sounding dirty and more
than a little accusatory.

"How old are you Iszaya?" he asks after the immediate silence.

"Sixteen. In a week," I mumble. He doesn't fidget, change colour or show in
any way that he is affected by my small admission. He just sits there, cool
and calculating, peering at me in a detached way. And to think I suspected
he'd start seducing me right after I sat down. All the more danger then, my
mind concludes. A very dangerous man in a very attractive form.

"What brings you in The Valley at fifteen, Iszaya?"

I answer before I can think things through. "The same thing that brings
you, I imagine."

"I cannot imagine our definitions of having a good time overlapping... or
do they?" he asks, ending the question in a new tone, a tone which feels
like nails scrapping my belly from the inside. I inhale when I understand
the implication of the question. No more skirting the issue.

"So... you want me..." I start.

"Quite."

I resist the urge to shiver. The path of our conversation starts to worry
me, especially because I still have no idea what it is that I'm doing here
and just how I plan my night to end.

"...for the night?"

"That depends on you."

"I'm a virgin," I blurt out. Of all things that I could say, this is what
draws a reaction out of him.

"My performance can't be measured," I continue quietly, wondering, no,
hoping that my words will go unheard. William shifts to lean closer to me,
hand under his chin, elbow resting on his leg. He's looking at me in the
same intense way he first used when I entered the booth.

~Inspecting me closely.~

He's quiet and calm, this William. He doesn't hurry to say things. His
movements are slow and measured. I can't say I like it, but it's certainly
different from everything I know.  I briefly think about my friends out
there, and Helen, but they seem so far away and unreal when it's only me
and William in this `room'. Negotiating sex. Battling wits, I prefer to
say.

"Don't lie to me." I can hear it in his tone. ~"I've seen you with that
girl. With that boy."~

"I'm not! I've never... look, I don't think I can do this."

I feel the need to tell him that I've already made up my mind. I did it
before I saw him. I'm not going to do it. I can't. It's fucking insane. ~I
don't want to tangle myself in his net.~

"Why not?"

Why not indeed? He's attractive. He's careful. I don't think he wants to
hurt me. He just wants to have fun with somebody younger than his
friends. He doesn't have to pay in cash.

~I could enjoy.

I could learn some new things.

But I don't want to have sex with my girlfriend, much less a complete
stranger.~

"Why do it?"

"I was under the impression that you weren't disappointed with what you
get, or were you?"

Oh, I give up. I can't win this game. I smile bitterly, causing him to
raise his eyebrows. They are thick, but trimmed. Under them rest a pair of
eyes that remind me of Fedora's. The straight, thin nose seems a natural
extension of the carefully arranged features of his face.

His lips are weird. They are so full it doesn't make sense. He's noticed me
staring by now and he's starting to curve them in a slight smile. It's a
smile that tells me he knows things. Subtle, elegant and mysterious, much
like the man himself.

"I don't really think I want this," I tell him, hoping he won't do
something horrible, like lick his lips.

"Are you certain?"

He does that precisely. Just as my mind starts contemplating
`what-if-I-lean-in" I move back jerkily, putting some much needed distance
between us and taking my eyes away from that cunning mouth. I take a
calming sip and struggle to find the right words.

"I have this feeling that you're capable of manipulation and I..."

He cuts me off before I can start on why I feel it's dangerous to accept
his gracious offer.

"And how does that relate to you ~choosing~ to spend your night with me?"

I have no answer for that. It's such an example.

"I don't feel comfortable. I don't feel safe," I blunder. He only blinks
and pulls back smoothly. It irks me that I can't see a normal reaction from
him. Not a single muscle seems to be moving for a long minute, then he
arches his eyebrow and makes a face that is supposed to convey his regret.

"I regret causing you to feel that way."

No, he doesn't. He has no regrets and I'm aware of that. But I know a
polite dismissal when I see it so I stand up, thank him for the drink and
awkwardly step out of the booth. The music slams into my ears and the
lights make me feel dizzy for a moment. I'm not disappointed. I know I made
the right decision. I walk back to my group of friends, confusion trailing
every step I take.

*~End of part one~*