Parker’s Love – Scooter and Malachi
Copyright© 2018 – Nicholas Hall
“Who is this that cometh out of the wilderness like pillars of smoke, perfumed with myrrh and frankincense, with all powders of the merchant?”
(Song of Solomon)
Friendship is more than just a word!
In retrospect, our first year of school at Rockville High School went better than I expected. Perhaps it was because of Grandpa Parker’s name and the respect with which he was remembered in the community or perhaps it was because our dad was an attorney; a home town boy who made good, so to speak! Oh, there were a couple of minor dustups but those were quickly and satisfactorily resolved, at least I thought so, although there are others who just might disagree. Perhaps it was how those minor conflicts were resolved which may have contributed to how well this year progressed.
None of us, the six boys, are very big you understand, so we have to rely on our wits and what dad and mom taught us. Mom’s brothers (she has six) and her sister all are well trained in the martial arts, including Mom. They taught Dad and in turn Mom and Dad were teaching us. We aren’t expert, yet, but Seth and I can hold our own against the general run-of-the-mill thuggish characters we’d run into in high school; against an expert at the arts, no way- we’d get our asses trounced; well at least I would. Samuel (Boomer) and Aaron (Buzz), grades eight and seven, are doing quite well, although they still have to rely on their feet to boogey out of really tough situations.
Mom and Dad always told us when we lived in Madison, to use our opponent’s size against them, as well as our wits and our small sizes, in order to catch them by surprise.
The first incident happened on about the third day of school in the cafeteria when the middle school was having lunch. Aaron and Samuel were sitting at one of the cafeteria tables, you know, those metal tables with benches attached that fold up and can be wheeled away so the custodians can mop up all the gooey dribbled from plates, mouths, fingers, and so forth to the floor while middle schoolers eat.
A couple of other boys, thinking they were tougher than sour owl shit, decided to challenge the smaller Parker boys, namely Samuel and Aaron, disparaging their size and color. One of the boys looked at Aaron, threatening,
“Move your little black ass to another table; only white boys sit here!”
Samuel smiled, although the troublemaker wasn’t addressing him, raised his left butt cheek slightly from the metal bench, and rocketed out a thunderous, odiferous, nauseating fart! He’s not nicknamed “Boomer” for his nice smile, you understand.
Samuel jumped up from his seat, feigning horror, and so did Aaron, both shouting their disgust! Samuel however, pointed his finger at the totally mortified thug, and shouted at the lunch room supervisor,
“Mrs. Gladowski, “He farted!” yelled Samuel continuing to point at the boy with one hand while holding his nose with the other; “a big, loud, juicy, stinky, fart, and that’s gross!” causing heads to turn as every kid in the cafeteria just had to see who was being accused!
“Oh, My God!” Aaron screamed, adding to the bedlam by jumping up and down, holding his stomach as if in pain, “I’m going barf it’s so bad,” and began gagging, managing to hack up a couple of snotty oysters as he feigned retching, which caused three girls and two other boys to toss up their accounts on the cafeteria tables, into lunch trays, and onto the floor.
It wasn’t Samuel and Aaron who were hauled to the office!
The other minor incident involved Seth and me. We were standing outside Mr. Taylor’s classroom before school started preparing to go our separate ways when some Neanderthal from the woods, snarled,
“Get the fuck out of the way, nigger!”
Well it worked for Samuel and Aaron, so Seth screamed, “HE CALLED ME A NIGGER!” and pointed at the boy, adding, with me joining in, “SHAME, SHAME ON YOU!” We chanted it a couple of times and soon some of the other kids in the hall took up the chant and pointed at the now red-faced asshole.
He lunged at Seth, Seth muttered, “Big mistake!” and landed an open hand thrust to the nose of his attacker, thumped a knee into his balls, and with a sweep of his feet, Seth dumped him on the ground.
I, ostensibly to assist the ruffian to his feet, just happened to grab his elbow, squeeze the nerve there, bringing more pain to him, and announced softly, “You fuck with us and we cause pain. Parker Boys are not to be messed with, understand?”
Seth and I didn’t have to go to the office that day or put ice on our balls either!
Shortly after Easter Break, Mr. Taylor called our house to explain he and Mr. Allison were called away suddenly on family business. A friend would be staying at the house to take care of any reservations which might come in and watch over the cabins. However, if the friend had any problems he was to call our house. They were gone for about a week and a half. Two weeks after they returned, Mr. Taylor asked me to deliver some books and an assignment sheet to his house after school. The courses were the same as mine, except there was no music. As he explained it, his nephew would be living with them and he’d like me to deliver the school assignments and books so he could keep up with his studies.
I furled my eyebrows in curious concern, but when Mr. Taylor explained his nephew met with an accident and was housebound, I understood and quickly consented, offering any assistance I could. After all, wasn’t it just being neighborly?
It was after school, when I delivered the books, I met Malachi Duranleau.
Parking my truck in front of the owner’s residence at “Cayden’s Cottages,” I couldn’t help but notice the afternoon sun lingering longer, casting its warm, late spring glow on the windows of the front porch. After the darkness of winter, the longer summer days would be much appreciated with day light beginning sometime around four in the morning and lasting until almost nine-thirty or ten o’clock at night at the height of summer.
I thought the long winter nights would be depressing, perhaps I’d suffer from SAD (seasonal affective disorder), but we were so busy at home, I guess I really didn’t notice. Our house, well lighted by solar power and heated with wood from our stacks of dry, split wood kept us cozy throughout the coldest and darkest days of the winter. Besides our school work and activities, practicing our instruments and martial arts, we ice skated, cross country skied, and were introduced to ice fishing. We weren’t ones to sit around and mope! Grandpa Parker said more often than not, “live the life you have, it’s the only one you got!”
I stopped off at the little cemetery on my way to “Cayden’s Cottages” to say hello to Grandpa and Uncle Grant. I know it sounds weird, but it does comfort me and remind me how much Grandpa loved me and I loved him.
Sighing, I gathered up the books and other materials Mr. Taylor asked me to deliver, exited my truck, and started up the walk to the house. I was a bit apprehensive since I had no idea who Mr. Taylor’s nephew was or why he was here; what type of character he was, student, or personality. Perhaps he was a big gruff football jock who’d delight in sneering and teasing a small multi-racial gay boy! But, I reasoned, why would he since he was living with a gay uncle and his husband?
Maybe this nephew was fresh out of the reformatory at Lincoln Hills and was sent here since Cayden worked for the Sheriff’s department?
All sorts of imagined scenarios zoomed through my mind as I neared the house. The only consolation I had was I was confident Mr. Taylor wouldn’t sent me into danger, I hoped!
Taking a deep breath, gathering my strength of resolve, faking confidence with every step I took, when reaching the door, seeking a door bell but finding none, I thumped on the door frame strongly. Instead of “come in” or “just a moment” or the pattering of feet coming to the door, I heard a sharp whistle, almost a wolf whistle such as one would spout out at a good looking girl (if you were straight, which I’m not) or a good looking boy (if you were gay, which I am), followed by someone or something with a horrible shrill voice, shriek out in an attempt to sing, “Who’s that knocking at my door?”
Now, spending as much time as I did with Grandpa Parker, I heard a thing or two so I know a thing or two and one thing I did learn was the song “Barnacle Bill the Sailor!” I know the next line in the song is “it’s only me home from the sea!” I waited, but only heard a muttered,
“Shut up, Percy or I’ll pluck your tail feathers out!” followed by a “Come in; the door’s unlocked!”
Cautiously, I opened the door, not certain what I’d encounter upon entering. Stepping into the porch, I was greeted with another whistle, followed by a squawking, “He’s a keeper,” another whistle, and “He’s a keeper” again, followed by a threatening voice, “Percy!”
My attention was drawn first to a large cage containing a rather large and colorful parrot perched on its perch off to my left, near a corner of the porch. I turned my attention toward where I thought the other voice came from and saw a young man or boy, about my age I thought, sitting in a wheel chair. He looked in sad shape; his right foot and arm were in casts, left hand was bandaged, with only the fingers exposed, his face colored in varying shades of black, purple, blue, and yellow bruising, and several bandages on his shaved head. He looked as if he’d been in either a terrible accident or one hell of a fight!
I shifted the books under my left arm to get a better grip and was going to introduce myself, when the parrot wolf whistled again, and screeched, “Nice Ass!” another wolf whistle, and followed by a parrot’s version, pretty risqué I might add, of a George Cohn favorite, only the parrot slightly revised it to “Yank my doodle, it’s a dandy!”
Glancing over my shoulder, uncertain what the feathered beast might say next, wondering where he may’ve learned such language, and finding it difficult to imagine Mr. Taylor keeping such a critter. Deciding to disregard the bird, I again stepped closer to the boy in the wheelchair who was watching me intently, almost suspiciously, perhaps with just a little fear, from what I do not know, but the dumb bird howled, “Fuck-em hard bucko!”
The boy in the chair, evidently having heard enough, growled, as best he could with his lips somewhat swollen as well as parts of his face, “Throw that sheet over his cage and he’ll shut up!”
I did as I was instructed and although “Percy” squawked his displeasure in the most colorful of terms, he did calm down, bringing some semblance of order to the porch and our meeting.
“Filthy bugger, isn’t he?” the boy in the chair advised.
“A foul fowl,” I said, agreeing with him.
“Scooter Parker,” I added quickly before the boy could change the subject, and waited for him to respond with his name; I waited and waited! When he didn’t reciprocate, but eyed me carefully and the books I carried, looking me over as if I was some Jack-pine savage fresh out of the woods in the spring hunting for someone to ravage, he asked hesitantly,
“Did Uncle Dave send you?”
Assuming he meant Mr. Taylor, I responded, “Yeah, he told me to drop off these books, assignment sheets, and work sheets. I guess he’ll be a little late; teacher’s meeting or something. Where should I put them?”
I hoped he didn’t respond with, “Shove’em up your ass,” but instead waved me toward one of those hospital tables which can be wheeled in front of a patient so they can eat or read or something. Leaning over him to put the books and things there, he sort of sniffed me, and mumbled, “You smell good!”
Taken somewhat by surprise, I could only respond, “It’s my cologne!”
What the hell did he think; I was some sort of woodsy wild character that didn’t bathe all winter?
He looked at me again, apprehensively, when I straightened up, asking, “You Indian?”
I don’t know if he expected, if I said “yes,” me to puncture him with arrows, slice off what little hair he had on his head, or burn him at the stake, all of which non-Indians could do just as readily.
Angered, I waggled my head “no” and answered rather brusquely, “Multi-racial!”
As if it was any of his business; “My father was bi-racial white and black and my mother Asian. How about you?”
“Not a fucking clue, but white Mediterranean I think, maybe Welsh, on my father’s side.”
With that we heard Percy mutter, “Well, shit!” from under his cover!
Flicking a thumb over my shoulder in Percy’s direction, I asked, “Where did Mr. Taylor get such a vulgar pet?”
“Uncle Dave didn’t; Uncle Cayden acquired the filthy beast sometime before Christmas as I understand it.”
“Why would he want to buy such a lewd and degenerate creature?”
“He didn’t; seems like there was an old retired, sea-going man, lived somewhere out there in these god-forsaken woods, dying of cancer, and he willed the feathered potty-mouthed creature to Uncle Cayden.”
“You alone all day?” I asked, curiously.
“No; Mrs. Kearney comes around nine in the morning after Uncle Dave and Uncle Cayden get me ready for the day. Uncle Cayden doesn’t leave until about eight-thirty so I’m only home alone for a half hour. She usually leaves around three in the afternoon and Uncle Dave usually comes home around four. I have the cell phone so I can call if I need help.”
Mrs. Kearney, his caretaker, lives on the lake between “Cayden’s Cottages” and our house. She’s widowed and her children all live away. During the winter, Dad and I (so did Seth although he didn’t have his license yet) kept her drive plowed out and planned on doing her lawn this coming summer. I thought she might be able to use the extra cash so it was nice Mr. Taylor thought of her.
I nodded thoughtfully, but said, “I’ve got to go home. I didn’t tell the folks I’d be coming over here.”
He looked up at me with his strange grey-green colored eyes, questioning, wanting; “You coming back tomorrow?”
“Only if you tell me your name.”
I explained my tardiness when I arrived home to Mom, but she already knew since Seth rode the school bus home instead of riding with me. She nodded her approval when I asked if I could go over after school the next day explaining I’d explain to Malachi I couldn’t drive every day as long as a bus came by our lane so I’d be late in stopping over if he wanted me to.
Mom was especially interested in Malachi’s injuries, wondering how he sustained them and how severe they might be. I had no idea and decided to wait until he was ready to tell me. Mom thought it was a good idea since, as she put it, “it may involve something quite personal or an unpleasant incident he may wish to forget or not discuss.”
Her reasoning puzzled me somewhat and my curiosity increased when Dad came home and I retold him of my meeting with Malachi. He said little, listened intently, and finally said, “He may need a friend, Scooter, a friend he can trust, and a friend who can accept him for all he may’ve been through.”
They both knew more than they were saying; I could tell by the way they reacted. Perhaps Dad was involved as an attorney in whatever it was causing Malachi’s plight.
In my discussion with my parents, I failed to mention Percy the Perverted Parrot; probably a wise choice on my part. Dad did give me permission to drive the rest of the week so I could go to Malachi’s right after school. However, it was just for the rest of this week; we’d have to discuss it further later on.
“You’ll have to explain it to Seth,” he noted, since usually wherever I went, Seth went along.
Homework and music practice for me was after dinner since the younger boys practice before dinner so Mom could supervise while Seth and I helped her in the kitchen. All of us started on piano, but I was the only one, so far, who stuck with it. Well, not really, since Seth also played, but also played the trumpet and the guitar. He was well talented when it came to music.
Bedtime found Seth sitting cross-legged on his bed facing me, sitting cross-legged on my bed, firing questions at me concerning Malachi Duranleau. I answered as best as I could but I didn’t have many answers to his questions. Seth wasn’t only my brother, but my best friend and we had few secrets from each other. He was as straight as a yard stick, but loved his gay brother as much as I loved him.
“So,” Seth began, fidgeting, “What’s he like? Good looking? Tall, short, fat, thin? You find him, shall I say, more than just interesting? How did he get hurt? Why’s he here?”
“Whoa!” I said giggling. “You’re asking too much, too fast and most I don’t have an answer to.”
“First of all, he seems quiet; somewhat fearful or apprehensive concerning me and my visit. He looked at me like I was something that crawled out from under a rock or some wild woodsman come to butcher him; like he expected me to be some savage far removed from civilization. Don’t know he’d think that unless he’s some big city kid never been anywhere outside the city limits. It’s a sure bet, I think, he’s never visited the north woods!”
I couldn’t tell Seth if Malachi was good looking or not since his face was so bruised, although I did admit I didn’t find his features unpleasant, almost attractive, I’d say. I couldn’t say how he was injured or why he was here, all I knew, at this point in time, was Mr. Taylor seemed to think I could help him with his school work and Dad suggested Malachi needed a friend.
“Dad knows something!” Seth declared and I agreed with him.
“Okay, then what don’t you like about Malachi? You know, what put you off about him?”
Now it was my turn, yet I was uncertain how I should answer his question. I decided just to say how I felt.
“I’m not certain if he’s racist or not,” I began. “He asked if I was Indian and when I told him I was multi-racial, he asked which races. It sort of pissed me off, so I answered and asked him the same. He said he was white Mediterranean or Welsh or something. I’m not convinced he wouldn’t fit in with some of the rednecks up here, but only time will tell!”
“Does he know you’re gay?”
I shrugged; “Don’t have a clue and I’m not going to announce it, yet.”
“Well,” cautioned Seth, “don’t go and fall in love with a straight guy, okay?”
The next afternoon, after school, carrying my own knapsack with my own homework in it (I figured Malachi and I could work on our assignments together since we had the same classes), I rapped on the porch door and was met with Percy squawking, after a whistle to announce his presence, “Open the door, I’m a whore!”
He was back to “Barnacle Bill the Sailor” with variations.
“Cool it, Percy!” shouted (sort of) Malachi.
Percy immediately whistled again and shrieked, “flop it out big boy!”
Shaking my head in disbelief, I commented, “How does Mrs. Kearney take the smut spewing forth from the beak of the beast?”
“She doesn’t,” Malachi answered. “The first time Percy shrieked ‘nice ass’ at her, she wheeled around, got face to face with him, pulled open his cage door, reached in shouting ‘you’re going in the stew pot!’ Percy screamed for help, shouted rape, and finally shut up when she didn’t throttle him. Now he just sort of mumbles whenever she’s around!”
“The only time he really cuts loose is when you show up; must have some kind of thing for you,” he added with a wink.
Evidently, Percy didn’t want to be either left out of the conversation or felt he was being ignored so broke out with one line of the song “Roll Me Over in the Clover!”
“Percy,” Malachi shouted (sort of), “Little Boy Blue,” and Percy responded with,
“Come blow your brother,” and whistled a wolf whistle in my direction.
“Perverted!” I stated emphatically.
“Worse than a sex-maniac with a credit card in a bordello!”
“Vulgar!” I emphasized
“Filthy!” I grimaced!
“Pigs in a hog-wallow are cleaner!”
“But funny,” I mused and we both laughed! Percy just muttered something incoherently.
Over the next two days I learned very little concerning Malachi, how he was injured, or why he was living with his uncle, apparently his legal guardian with full parental rights. When I casually inquired where he was from, he answered, “Recently, Georgia” and changed the subject! If I asked or sought any more information, he either ignored it completely by referring to our school work or changed the topic of conversation to me; where I came from, how it was to live up north and how we came to be here, or what were the kids at school like including how was I accepted and the activities I participated in.
He really seemed interested in the antics of my brothers and me, the fun times we had together, Seth as my best friend, our relationship with Mom and Dad, and my relationship with Grandpa Parker. He wondered how I got the nickname “Scooter” so I relayed the story how I was named after Grandpa Parker and Uncle Grant and Grandpa telling of me “scooting” around the floor, hence “Scooter!”
Malachi asked if Uncle Grant was Grandpa’s brother. I never hesitated when I told him, “Grant Hoffman was my Grandfather’s lover and life-partner.”
“If your grandfather was gay,” he asked, “then how or why did you, your father or whoever, come to be?”
“The usual way,” I began, “a male has intercourse with a female, the sperm fertilizes the egg, and nine months later, a baby is born, right?”
“NO; you dipshit!” he snorted with a laugh, “I mean what happened to cause him to go ‘straight’ long enough to make a baby.”
I spent considerable time telling him how my grandfather and Grant Hoffman met, the problems they had with his family, the welcoming the Parker Family gave both of them, and their intense love for each other! I teared up, telling of Uncle Grant’s death, as retold to me by Grandpa, and the intense loneliness Grandpa felt when Uncle Grant died.
“He ended up married to the woman who was my dad’s mother,” I said sadly. “Grandpa said the only good thing that came of the mismatch was my father, his marriage to mom, and all of us boys! Grandpa didn’t even know he had a son until one day Dad showed up on the doorsteps of what is now our house. Dad was about our age at the time.”
Malachi’s questions led to the initial meeting between dad and grandpa, the bear, the fall in the bathroom, how dad lost a leg, and eventually our life here.
Before we left the topic, Malachi, with a worried look on his face, asked, “Are there really bears up here?”
I shrugged and answered, “Bunches, but they won’t bother you unless you leave garbage out for them to maraud or purposely feed them, which some of the tourists do.”
The topic changed to skinny dipping with Grandpa when Mom went to town and left him in charge of us. I explained, during the summer when we came to stay, Dad stayed in Madison to work and came up on weekends. We’d usually stay through the Parker Family reunion in August and return to Madison for the school year, although we did come up for some Christmases and other holidays.
With Mom gone, Grandpa would let us swim, supervised of course with him joining in, all of us stark naked! We were just delighted in the freedom to swim with nothing on, letting the water bathe us, refresh us, swirl around our male parts and crevices, and not be hindered with clothing.
“You all were bare-assed naked?” exclaimed an astounded Malachi.
“Yep, even the Minx!”
His “who” led to a full discussion and explanation of our nicknames, which he found hilarious.
“Weren’t you guys embarrassed?”
“Well,” he said hesitantly, “your grandfather was naked too and he’s older and all.”
“Nope, as he said, we’re all boys; some younger, some older, some more wrinkled, but added conspiratorially to me, the wrinkles still smooth out!”
It didn’t take Malachi a nano-second to catch that, turn somewhat pink with embarrassment, and laugh at the thought of my grandfather with a hard-on!
“Did you ever see your grandfather with a ….?”
“Nope,” I answered, before he could complete the sentence and changed the subject back to swimming naked.
“Minx was probably five or so and we were swimming when he let out a shriek, ‘something nibbled on my wiener!’ Grandpa laughed, reassured him it was probably only a sunfish thinking the Minx’s foreskin was a little worm.”
“Are you all uncut?” Malachi inquired, sort of shyly.
He just nodded, but asked no more questions. Strange, I thought at the time!
During our conversations, I did learn Malachi was leaving early on Saturday, sometime around four in the morning, for a check-up at University Hospitals in Madison.
“If all goes well,” he said, “I’ll be back home Sunday night, minus some casts, I hope!”
Beyond that statement, he offered nothing else and I didn’t press him on anything, remembering Mom and Dad’s advice regarding Malachi’s possible need for a friend and their concerns he had issues he might want to forget and not talk about. It was obvious to me, in the short time I’d known him, the circumstances surrounding his injuries were clearly something he didn’t wish to discuss. Oh, well, I’d be patient!
School was dismissed an hour early on Friday for a teacher’s meeting. With the end of the year rapidly approaching, I assumed the administration felt there was a need to take care of some loose ends, in other words, get their shit together, before kids went home for the summer. I was assured by Mr. Taylor this meeting was one the school had each year in order to bring one year to a successful end and prepare for the opening of school in the fall.
I told Mr. Taylor I’d head over to his house right after school was dismissed when I learned Mrs. Kearney had a doctor’s appointment at one o’clock and Malachi would be left alone for over an hour. He had my cell phone number as well as the numbers for both of his uncles’ phones so I figured if anything went wrong, he’d call one of us.
A relatively large black bear, probably between two hundred fifty and three hundred pounds bounded across the road, coming from Malachi’s yard and heading for the timber, when I drove up. I parked, opened the truck door, and heard Malachi screaming and Percy shrieking like his tail feathers were alight!
Definitely, there was a problem! Leaving my knapsack on the seat of the truck, I raced to the front door, threw it open, and saw Malachi, sitting in his wheel chair, crying for help and sobbing! Percy kept squawking as I ran to Malachi, fearful something tragic happened.
“What happened?” I asked frantically, fearing the worst!
“Scooter,” he cried, “I dropped my phone and I couldn’t call you! A big, black bear was on the step and it looked mean! I was so afraid he’d come in and attack me!” sobbing even harder, his fear evident, but relief visible on his face at the sight of me, standing beside him!
I put my arm around him, carefully pulling his head to rest against my lower chest and abdomen, comforting him the best I knew how.
“It’s gone, Malachi,” I said murmured softly, slowly and gently smoothing back his hair and wiping the dripping tears from his cheeks with a finger. “It ran away when you began screaming. You frightened it. Most times they’re more afraid of you than you are of them.”
“But, I’ve never seen one up close, only in pictures or on television. He really scared me Scooter!”
It was then I noticed a strong, familiar smell of shit, as if in someone’s pants.
“I guess he did, Malachi,” I said, wrinkling my nose and sort of holding my breath.
“Oh, my god!” he moaned embarrassed when he realized what he’d done. “I’ve shit myself! What are you going to think of me now? I can’t even control my own asshole when I’m scared!”
“What I think,” I stated matter-of-factly, “we need to get you cleaned up, that’s what.”
“Why would you?”
“’Cause I’m your friend, that’s why! Now, where’s the bathroom and clean clothes for you?”
“It’s a little more complicated than that!” he responded, suppressing a sob. “You’ll have to wheel me to my bedroom and believe me, you won’t like what you see.”
His bedroom was the family room on the first floor, just off of the living room. The regular bedrooms were on the second floor and there was no way his uncles could get him up the stairs. They had a hospital bed placed in the family room, but left the television, couches and other furniture there. In addition to the hospital bed, there was also a table, sort of a gurney which could be lowered or raised with an electric motor. On the gurney was a light mattress, a rubber sheet, and a large disposable, absorbent pad on top of it.
“That’s the changing table,” Malachi announced, clearly embarrassed. “You’ll have to lower it,” pointing at the controls, “and get me on it somehow.”
Up to this point in time, I’d only seen Malachi in his wheelchair, his lower torso, except for the leg in a cast, covered by a light blanket, and his upper body covered with a large, button up flannel shirt, except for the arm in the cast. I took the blanket away and noticed Malachi was diapered in one of those disposable adult diapers advertised on television.
He looked at me, tears began flowing again as he said, “Scooter, I was so afraid, I shit myself.”
“You’ve already told me that.”
Malachi was clearly uncertain how I’d accept him after he’d done it and how in the world I’d manage to clean him up.
“No sense crying about it,” I quipped, “at least it wasn’t spilled milk.”
I lowered the table, located the disposable plastic gloves, the wet-wipes, toilet tissue, and fresh diapers. Between the two of us, we managed to get him onto the table and positioned him on his back. He was considerably taller than I realized since I’d only seen him seated before. Malachi was probably six to seven inches taller than me. His body was trim, lean, with narrow hips (much like me), and the overall physique of a distance runner, not an ounce of fat on him. Malachi’s body was covered with fading bruises, small, fresh scars from recent cuts or abrasions, and his chest wrapped in a large elastic bandage.
“Broken ribs,” he announced noticing my gaze resting on it.
His face showed a combination of fear and distress when I began to remove the soiled diaper.
“Don’t fuss about it,” I commented reassuringly. “I have five younger brothers and I’ve seen my share of boy asses and dicks,” pausing as I saw exposed a rather long, thick, uncircumcised penis, languishing across his crotch, the nozzle of this wondrous male part pointing toward his right hip, emerging from a dark, black bush of pubic hair, where it was anchored over a set of large egg-sized balls, hanging in a testicular sack between his legs, “but not quite this size,” and whistled!
I gulped in amazement as I slowly pulled the soiled diaper free, noting I’d have to clean not only his butt, but his balls and cock as well! I could only hope he wouldn’t notice the erection I was starting to sport in my own jeans. I folded up the diaper, disposed of it in a plastic bag, grabbed some tissue, and began wiping away the mess from his balls, cock, and crotch. I cleansed the area with a wipe, carefully lifting his balls to clean there, then his cock as I wiped it clean. He never objected when I pulled back his foreskin and cleaned there as well.
I helped him turn to his side so I could clean his butt and noticed his back and butt cheeks were covered with fading bruises as well. Spreading his ass-cheeks in order to clean between, I noticed his anus was not only bruised, but there were stitches around the anal sphincter muscle, indicating serious injury repaired by surgery. His asshole wasn’t fully closed, although it was slowly doing so.
“Be real careful back there,” he murmured over his shoulder, “I’m still pretty tender!”
Carefully, slowly and as gently as I could, I wiped him with tissue and then cleansed him with a wet wipe.
“There’s some medicated cream on my bed stand that’s supposed to be put on each time,” he sighed.
I found the cream and began applying it around and on the anal ring muscle.
“Some has to go inside as well,” he groaned.
I blobbed some on a finger, inserted it in his rectum and spread it around.
“Someone or something put some major hurt on you Malachi!” I said once I’d put down a fresh pad, lay out a diaper, rolled him over on it, and began fastening it in place, making certain his cock was contained within.
Malachi began crying again, I bent over, took in him my arms, raised him to a sitting position, and began cooing comforting words to him!
“I was abducted, Scooter; sold, and raped and raped and raped, and left for dead!”
To be continued:
Thank you for reading “Parker’s Love- Scooter and Malachi- Chapter Two.”
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I find the “n” word derisive, humiliating, degrading, personally insulting, and extremely offensive. My readers will note I use it seldom. However, there are times, such as in this story, when I find no other racial slur more defining of the character of a white bigot or racist when they use it. It truly states how they feel concerning people of mixed race or a race other than their own or their own perceived inferiority or inflated superiority, failing to understand all of us, no matter our race, ethnicity, religion, sexual orientation, place of national origin, or gender identity are equal under the law and under the umbrella of human rights and dignity. How sad!
Many thanks for your understanding,
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or locales is entirely coincidental or used in a fictional content.
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