The following story is for adults and contains graphic descriptions of sexual contact between adolescent and adult males and the power imbalance of these relationships. Like so many of my stories, this is a voyage and return.
If you are a minor, then it is illegal for you to read this story. If you find the subject objectionable, then read no further. All the characters, events and settings are the product of my overactive imagination. I hope you like it and feel free to respond.
Fourteen runs through five progressions, with frequent interludes. If you would like to comment, contact me at firstname.lastname@example.org
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The Hikari blade hangs on Fourteen’s fingertips. The first half of its length painted wine with Jasper’s blood. Levi was right, Fourteen reflects, but would Levi care? Jasper lies-writhes in the filth beside the blue dumpster, last lights-out-life-flashing moments reflecting in his eyes. Each shudder-quake disgorges another flood of blood through the enforcer’s severed femoral artery. It wells up now like a hot spring. The first strong pulses lava flowed through the thick forest of Jasper’s inner thigh, sucked up by his pants.
Fourteen checks the bright-safety-danger of the beckoning street for inconvenient witnesses, then the other way past Dil to the alley’s end. What would John do next? The answer comes back quickly in Fucking Cordell’s lazy voice. John would’ve taken the bastard somewhere less downtown-obvious. In a dizzy rush, Fourteen is vomiting across the fallen man. I’m not that, Fourteen assures himself, assured by the acid-stink-horror of this necessary now. Not John, not a stone-cold-serial killer (yet). He stares at the body and wonders about Hershey (chocolate one), knowing Patrick would never let John rest. A glance at Dil, This won’t be my after. Fourteen is not stone-cold, but Jasper wanted Dil (like now bitch), so Fourteen needed to tap his inner-John. Jasper never saw the bobcat coming. All Jasper Munoz saw was Fourteen, ready for a cock, doing his whore-thing.
Fourteen squats beside the body, my second murder. First time, hard to remember, Levi’s Beretta Nano trembling in his hand. First time trying to break free. Finally letting the August rolling-thunderstorm, the gypsy winter-seduction-road-trip, desert-desolation-disappointment spurt out in one finger-press ejaculation. Finally telling it like it feels to Patrick and shadow-John. Fourteen’s bobcat-soul-screaming hurt, tearing into Parker’s sad-soiled biker-jacket with freedom-hope. The entry wound was one irrelevant addition to the San Diego biker-punk’s raggedy-ass patchwork denim. Now that was a Sanitized Hollywood death, not this sack-of-meat, copper-tang, vomit decoration. Enough reminiscing, Jasper Munoz lies (pretty much) dead at his feet. Jackrabbit nudges Bobcat’s shoulder, Run you idiot!
“We have to go Jem.”
Fourteen nods agreement. Go now, go where? Think this time! Not the unexpected now-surprise of shooting Elvis Parker. Taking down Jasper Munoz was obvious to anyone except Jasper Munoz. Opportunity presents, Bobcat pounces. No surprise to Dil. This is what Fourteen does. Beretta Nano settle ugly tricks (John grunts).
Now, Fucking Cordell was surprised. He stood gobsmacked froze at his unexpected now. Cool-Judas never saw it coming. The tangerine kid had a magic bullet solution to Cordell’s careful break-the-kid’s heart after plans. Fourteen’s Saturday-Night-Special solution (Stand Your Ground American Dream) so stupidly unexpected. Cordell planned to rip Fourteen’s heart out worse than old Levi. Fucking Cordell did, but there in San Diego, Fourteen, tangerine-innocent, still screamed, “Run (With me)!”
Fourteen ran alone. Levi’s Kale Euller creation works this out later, starscape meditations on the salty brine twixed San Diego and Puerto San Carlos. First time, Fourteen (heartbroken-rage, piss-frightened) jackrabbits unthinking from the biker gang (sure) retribution. Fuck Cordell, Fourteen reflects over Jasper Munoz (inconvenient) dead body. Clear headed Dil reminds, “We have to go now Jem.”
Jasper’s billfold maybe, the guy’s gun would be a mistake. Fourteen pockets a thick fold of bills. Jasper moved in a cash-barter-favour tax-free shadow-world. Fourteen does not know if he and the fourteen-year-old boy waiting were sold for cash, barter or a favour. It does not matter now. It is finally time for Fourteen to go his own way. Take everything, Fourteen reasons. Life offers get-out-of-jail-free cards only so many times.
“Where are we going Fourteen?” There is always Dil now. Fourteen is three paces toward the sunlight before the teenager’s alto sweetness throws a wall across the alley. He turns to his partner. Fourteen is heading for his before, or whatever he can find of it. The pair need a different now, preferably one far away from Jasper Munoz’ sticky execution. Fourteen has no plans to self-check out like Tuan or trade this prison-odyssey for Patrick’s after. Fourteen plans his own tangerine after with Dil somehow in the mix (Mom, dad, this is Theo).
“We’re heading home.” Pick my name up off the street along with my scattered things, maybe. Dil stands ethereal fingering his floral pack. These two were never John and Patrick, Levi and Fourteen (nor Levi and Tuan). Am I Anton, maybe? Suddenly, Fourteen feels Levi-old. John-hard, he looks at his young lover-brother. He just killed for Dil. Dil stands pensive, working out his own place in Fourteen’s after. The abrupt ending of Jasper Munoz opens possibility-doors.
Fourteen always assumed they would be jackrabbiting together. Fourteen needs his own name back, Dil cast his away willingly. They both want a better after. Dil is Theo and only fifteen, seeing the right now in Fourteen. Fourteen does not want to get all Levi Fisher with Dil, all Anton Schroeder certain-demanding. It is not like that, never has, never could be.
Dil is all mango sweetness and his sticky self clings (healing) to Fourteen’s bruised heart. Dil is Caribbean-clean in a wash of soul-changing filth. It has been that way since their first caribbean sun-sparkle ride. All the flawed afters Fourteen passed through. Everyone he met struggling to make a good now. Not Levi-seducer, Fourteen reminds himself, not kill-cold John. Jeremy Gates could have his there’s-got-to-be-a-morning after shadow-freeing sunrise. Not arrogant-insecure Anton, Fourteen assures himself. Never a Saturday-Night-Special-Silver-Threat between us.
“Come (run) with me.” Fourteen stretches out a hand, smiling. The invitation is marred by gore.
“The knife Fourteen.” Still blood-paint lethal in his fingers, Fourteen closes the Hikari blade, apologizing to Levi for its Jasper-crusted disrespect, wishing Levi a Tuan-mingled-Nirvana-absolution despite everything. Sleep well you old fart.
Dil’s fingers seek his ready palm and close tight. The emo-boy has a grip that says, I won’t let go. Theo-Dil smiles mango-sweet, boy-salty. “Thanks Jeremy. Even when you were throwing up, I knew you cared.” Dil quips from his movie obsession, obsessively.
“No problem Theo.” Out of the dead-end alley into the bright Alabama street. Now there is sunshine. Step away boys, Dil and Fourteen jackrabbit north seeking shadows, all the lost befores and ambivalent nows trailing after.
Patrick and John 1
Fourteen wanders the midway on a sweltering August night. The air prickles with an approaching storm. The roll of thunder can not be heard above the discordant battle of the manic music and the fuming generators. Fourteen and his friends waste their allowance on cheap tricks and antiquated rides satisfied that the best ride of all is being fourteen in summer, chasing skin-tight shorts. Wolffish eyes glued to sun-kissed legs. Each step offers a glimpse of tight pale cheeks. Zippered flies cup torturous female curves like bandaids screaming to be ripped off by fumbling fingers. Then the heavy penis agony of those uncharted depths between silky thighs.
The boys walk half hard because, well, because they are fourteen, and what else matters except the girls and each boy’s faith that as apples fall in the orchard, there will be sex after fourteen. The primal electricity is fed by this brazen girl-boy-boy watching and the sympathetic radiation amongst them. It passes back and forth between the boys like jolts of electricity each time a lean shoulder brushes a sweaty tee-shirt or an encouraging hand flutters across a flexing back. Tired dads pause to envy them as the pack dances by, and mothers eye them with a mixture of trepidation and nostalgia.
Patrick Hunter considers the pack of boys with a strange intensity. The young teenagers flaunt an innocent confidence snatched from him years ago. He knows the demon is on him. Patrick has a rusted out Bronco, a dead end job promised three states over, and the after. John Canon’s cigarette coils around them both: second hand smoke, second hand misery. “Have you seen enough?” John asks, Is it enough just to see?
Patrick has definitely not seen enough. “Aren’t you tired of driving? Do we really have somewhere you’d rather be?” Patrick replies absently, eyes drinking in the kaleidoscope of hometown fair.
“Well, I’m not interested in fried Mars Bars or the Ferris wheel. I’m thirsty. I need a cold beer.” The treakle heat makes them both quarrelsome. Tough breaks make them quarrelsome.
Patrick has a thirst too, “Okay.” It will be a few beers at a plastic table speckled with dying flies before they push on through the sameness of their lives. Take a last look at innocence.
A brash decision by a girl and Fourteen’s exhilarating trip on the interstate swerves abruptly onto the twilight back roads of America. Patrick sees a blond cheerleader turn on the boys. Who is prey and predator, boys or girls? The cheerleader flirts with Fourteen’s friend then turns it all on Fourteen, catching up his tangerine tee-shirt playfully. Twisting the hem up just so Patrick can examine a drumhead torso. Fourteen’s cock is desperately trying to nose its way free of his pocket. Fourteen knows it too. A hand that wants the girl’s hip slips fingers over the evidence.
Fourteen is spinning around a cheerleader somewhere with his forever friends. Patrick is spinning a beer bottle as John takes a cheap holiday from their long drive. John’s mind is on the too drunk farm girls primed with lager sitting around them. They can be his cheerleaders till the beer garden closes. Then what? John figures nothing will happen, but for the moment, the beer is better than the road. John is measuring Patrick’s itch.
Patrick is spinning Fourteen around in his mind. Fourteen’s a nice boy, a good boy. So are his bro-friends come to that. Patrick knows the nuclear family wraps round these boys good and tight, but not tonight. Tonight’s the freedom-fair and even good boys have to prowl. Patrick slaps John’s arm. “Time to jet.”
John is on about his past. Something about this Ray Bradbury slice of the Midwest reminds him of home. John’s personal merry go round is spinning him back to his own before. Patrick listens to him talk. Fuck the before, Patrick stays in the now, because the future is always going to be a grey zone. Gunmetal grey rusting away to fuck all. Not pulsating tangerine nights of hot August wonder, Patrick knows. Sheet lightning takes an Instagram of four boys wrestling each other through the gate at fair closing. They break away from the strollers and couples strolling arm in arm. They could be playing two on two with a fantasy ball of dreams as they head off across the darkling parking lot.
The Bronco coughs like an old man before settling into a soft rattle. John grows silent. It comes to John that the car is barely moving behind the boys. Patrick has a hand at six o’clock. He is gnawing at a knuckle. John let’s the storm breeze wash across his face, beginning to sense the aliveness of Patrick. The trip has been a lazy toke, so boys blocking the road is copacetic. Too hot for getting riled, too beer sleepy, John sighs. Just watch Pat. Let the urge pass tonight. John figures they will drive a while, pull off the road and doze.
No parent pick up on the road, Patrick taps the wheel. The boys have bikes. Ass lifting pumps and they are moving now. Midnight’s coming and you want to slip in just early enough, all angel-like. Innocent eyes for mom and covert smirk for dad to let him know the horn dogging has been good. Patrick remembered the before. Midnight and the rain would cascade down the bedroom window. Maybe there is no air conditioning, so you leave the window open. Let the storm sprinkle cool drops across your face and abs while a practiced hand reminds you how you felt cock heavy when the cheerleader tugged your heartstrings.
Town boys splitting off in pairs. Patrick pulls a lazy turn and follows Fourteen. John glances at his friend, knowing where Patrick is taking him, starting to catch the feral vibrations. Patrick is not sure how he is going to play this. He is just letting it must-happen. Life is a toss. You put some money down on 14 red and zone out in the now while the indifferent wheel spins and the ball starts its roll. Patrick is just a small white ball rolling against the spin hoping chance drops Fourteen in the right slot. Another sheet of lightning then a long roll of theatrical thunder. With a last wave, Fourteen peels off down a long stretch of park toward home. John has to let this happen because Patrick’s after is on him. He has to help Patrick bring Fourteen into the shared after.
Fourteen races the storm, but that is just for fun. Getting drenched will be fine. Feel your shirt cling sopping to your flesh. Wash the fair grit free. An engine warns you you’re not alone. Fourteen showboats for a moment, riding hands free as he lets the car pull past. A cool wind blasts him with a shotgun spread warning of what’s to come. He drops his hands back onto bar as the car redlights up the way.
Two young men step out. Two slow turns of the gear while one kicks a tire. Fourteen is swinging out to pass them when the blond one flags him down. Tangerine flashes by leaving Patrick in its wake. Fourteen slows, feeling bad. There is home, just up the way. The rain tears down his face now. His phone weighs down on his pocket like a bad conscience. Dad would stop, Fourteen knows. Leave them in the street while you take a shower with memories of Emily? Not right, Fourteen takes a u-turn.
Patrick wipes the film across his face and grins. “Thanks for stopping.” All fresh-faced responsible, Fourteen hops off his pedals and leans forward on his handlebars.
“Are you lost?” No smoke charred voice this. Sunshine sparkling off the the darkling raindrops. Fourteen is just asking for it. “I’ve got a phone. My dad is just over there.” Graceful twist to point the way. Fourteen turns back to Patrick. 185 pounds of backyard angry bench press strips 105 nature’s-gift pounds of Fourteen off the mountain bike and drag-slams him against the driver’s door. Patrick loves the heart pounding strength of the boy just beyond his clenched fists. He loves the flash of strong white teeth in Fourteen’s surprised mouth. Only, suddenly he has 105 pounds of tawny bobcat on his hands. Hard fists are flying at him and there is a wail building behind Fourteen’s hard chest. Patrick can feel it coming. The boy’s blows are nothing to Patrick. He is in the after and no before time boyish scrapping can hurt him now.
“Hurry it up.” John urges. John has come alive now that the nick is on. He starts around the Bronco to lend a hand, or get in on the action. Fourteen breaks Patrick’s iron grip. Patrick knows Fourteen will jack rabbit away from him in a twinkling, but the cornered bobcat is still stupid-strong in him. Park stranded as he is, Fourteen will start to howl down the sleepy neighbourhood. There is nothing for it but to damage the goods.
Before he is left with nothing but tangerine shreds between his claws, Patrick drives the howl right out of Fourteen. His knuckles rabbit punch below the flat pans of Fourteen’s adolescent chest and just above the taught bands of his torso. Patrick feels the boy’s pain. There was no time to let Fourteen fall. Patrick hustles the stunned boy to the back door. “You drive.”
“Grab his phone.” Press the wobbly load against the door, fish for keys, wallet, unused tokens, and an expensive phone. Let the riches fall at Fourteen’s feet. “Clean?” John asks. Patrick grabs a shock of Fourteen’s hair and turns the head. Running snot mingled with the tears and rain can’t mar the Fourteen dazzle. “In the car.” Patrick needs this, but John can’t push passed the sick making fear each time the demon is let loose. John waits for Patrick to muscle his new rag doll onto the seat.
Fourteen is searching for the right signal to draw the next breath. Wires are crossed somewhere. He literally has no idea what hit him. He’s resting on a litter of sweet and salty filth. Sediment laid down over six days of addicting drive throughs. A cascade from the seat above patter across his face, as Patrick slides in. Fourteen does not notice. The knack of breathing still eludes him. It is too tight to curl around the pain. “It will come, trust me.” The blond guy offers with a clinical detachment. Fourteen struggles to turn over. Face planted in greasy wrappers smeared with condiments, his shattered diaphragm reboots. There is a steadying hand on the exposed small of his back. Fourteen wants to smack it away, but bobcat and the jack rabbit have a consensus that all his energy should go into this breathing thing. The Bronco jerks into motion leaving Jeremy Gates behind.
Body of Work
If you are here on the midway then you have come to the carnival seeking entertainment, company and of course excitement. There are a dazzling array of rides suited your every mood. There are gentle rides that conjure up soft memories of youth and rides that lift you from the dreariness of your grind and send you flying ageless through the night. There are also the side shows…
If you are here then you are in the house of mirrors captivated by the reflections around you. They are all curved in some way. Every mirror is imperfect and every mirror draws your attention to something new. The mirrors magnify or diminish parts of what we think is real. Sometimes you like what you see and sometimes you don't. Sometimes you believe what you see and sometimes you can't be sure what has been distorted. The distortions are intentional and we flatter ourselves into believing the mirrors only stand arrayed like this in such places as the midway. Before you go back to the mirrors of your life step closer to this one.
Eliot Moore, 2007
Here is a summary of the wide variety of other stories I have published.
Dark Thoughts Rising: This story was posted to Nifty in April 2017. Keegan Bressler (14) and his best friends Rey and Davon rape Keegan’s stepbrother Rowan Pense (12) during the course of a drunken party. The three boys embark on a desperate struggle to keep the shattered and confused Rowan from revealing their crime. As events unfold, Keegan and Davon fail to fight their inner demons. Rowan begins his own journey, hiding the truth from his closest friend, Hayden, until he reaches the breaking point.
Awakenings: This ghost story was posted to Nifty in November 2016. Middle aged divorcee Jake begins renovating a 1900’s Craftsman home in an old neighbourhood. He becomes entangled with Will, the 18-year old ghost of a Great War veteran and Chris, a 15-year old homeless addict on a desperate quest. As Jake’s failed life is rejuvenated by his love affair with Will, he slowly pieces together the hundred-year-old connection that has brought the three of them together.
For Your Eyes Only: This novella was posted to Nifty in November 2010. Simon meets Glyn and his younger brother James one August evening during a neighbourhood game. Simon and Glyn become fast friends but it is Simon's secret game with James Fleming that helps Simon accept his hidden self.
A Fragile Light: This story was posted to Nifty December, 2009. Graham (28) goes to the Christmas Eve service to be with his husband John. He is alienated from his deeply religious family and detached from the warmth of the service. He identifies a kindred spirit teenage Theo and learns they have more in common than he thought as Theo is joined by Jesse. Graham leaves strengthened by the encounter.
Janus: This story was posted to Nifty July 2009. Michael (18) is coaxed into attending a summer party by his older sister. He is college bound and uncertain about the choices he has made. At the party, his encounters with Lauren (19) and Scott (20) help him discover himself and make a decision about his future.
Hound: This story was first posted to Nifty the summer of 2008. The first draft was completed in 2005 and in truth I sat on it a long time before I decided to post it. Six-year-old Ethan Yates is abducted off the streets by a pedophile ring. Cast into a nightmare world he struggles to hold on to his identity. Isolated and confused, he clings to fourteen-year-old Peter. As the years pass their mutual need develops into an indestructible bond.
http://west.nifty.org/nifty/gay/highschool/turbulence/ (first edition) and
http://www.dabeagle.com/storymainpages/turbulence.html (second edition)
Recovery: This story was first posted to Nifty in January 2007. Sixteen year old Greg Cox reluctantly joined his father in a small rural village in Saskatchewan. There his life becomes entwined with fourteen year old Seth Patterson. As he is slowly drawn closer to Seth he struggles with the memories and guilt associated with the loss of his mother, brother and sister while coming to terms with his promiscuity.