I can’t wait until he turns around and sees me standing behind him with a paddle. He will sure get a change of attitude when he’s locked in a chastity cage, diaper, and mitts for the night.
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Text is fictional.
Tag: gay captions
Booty bounce with spandex for yall.
dec. 2013
“Dammit, David, why does it take you so long to get dressed for work? All you’re wearing is booty shorts!”
He huffed. “There’s a process, Rajeed! And it involves a webcam and some coconut oil.”
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Text is fictional.
(Source: http://bluethongdotcom.tumblr.com/)
Magic Wood barebacks Draven Torres at RawStrokes.com (xox)
Later, after we were snuggling in post-coital bliss, he said: “I’m jealous.”
I tilt my head up and met his dark eyes. “Of what?”
“Other men…the men you had before me. The one night stands in college, the bar hook-ups, the party sex orgies, your boyfriends…so jealous that they got you before I did.”
I smile, crinkling the corners of my eyes. “You love being in me that much?”
“Fuck, you’re perfect. Tight, warm, like velvet, “ Marcus groans and handles his soft cock, as if checking to make sure he can’t squeeze another orgasm out of it. No luck – his balls are empty. “Shit, I can’t even put it into words. The way you smell, the noises you make, the way your beard brushing my face, the texture of your lips…Jesus,” Marcus sighs. “It’s like dying and going to heaven every time. I can’t get enough of you.”
I blush hard and put an arm around him. “Well you don’t have to be jealous.”
“How could I not be, baby?”
I smirk. “You think they all got sex like that?”
He lifts his head up. “What do you mean, baby?”
“You forgot, that before we met I was a slut. A raging, bottom slut. I didn’t care about the fuck as long as someone was on top of me, and made me cum. No one got to make love to me. No one. Especially no one that I wasn’t gonna see again. I thought it was trite. And yeah, I’ve had a few boyfriends. Boytoys, really, but they never turned into lovers, because I wasn’t ready to settle.”
“That means…” Marcus begins.
“I’m an old slut, love. There’s a 3 in front of my age, love. What’s fun becomes exhausting, the hangovers start to last a lot longer, the morning partings become more painful. The loneliness starts to sink in… as does the depression. And then I met you. And it was like I was starting over, and being in love for the first time.”
He blinks at me. “Honey I never knew this about you, how you felt about me.”
I pat his cheek. “You’re getting this old slut to let down his guard. Good for you.”
“You’re not old, and you’re not a slut. Well, you’re slutty, but not a slut. You’re mine,“ Marcus insists. “I like hearing that you want to settle with me, though. I like you. A lot.”
“Me too.”
We kiss.
“So…” Marcus begins. “With me, we’re making love?”
“Every damn time.”
He grins. “How did you know you were ready to share that with me? Cause when we first met, it wasn’t like this.”
“You were right. When we met, we just fucked. But then…then you started putting your hand over my cock when we had sex.”
“….I do?” He blinks.
I giggle. “Yeah you do it every time. You get me spread wide and open, make me impale myself on you, and before I can get anywhere near my needy little erection, you put your hand over it and my balls. Mine, you say. You don’t want me to touch. You don’t want me to focus on any other pleasure except the kind you’re giving me. And at first, it pissed me off, but then we had that night when we got back from the ballet remember?”
“Uh huh,” he replies, mesmerized by the words coming out of my mouth.
“And it was just…so wonderful. So intense. So slow, so passionate. And you did that, and it just felt right. I felt like I belonged to you, I wanted to give myself to you. So, I thought, why not? Why not see where this goes?” I kiss his chin. “It’s been a very rewarding experience. The sex is on another level.”
Marcus works his jaw. I wonder if he knows his eyes look a little wet. “Baby,” he manages. “I had no idea. I am so, so…flattered that you picked me, and let me pleasure you. When I met you, and started dating you, I thought – this guy is really special, but I don’t think he’s going to stick around long enough for me to show him how special he is. So every day to me, it’s like waking up in a dream.”
“It is, isn’t it?” I sigh, content. “Being in love is amazing. Getting fucked by you is amazing. Coming hands-free is amazing. Spending time with you is amazing. But it’s the sum of the parts that make me get up in the morning.”
Marcus wraps his arms around me and nuzzles my neck. “I love you so much, baby.”
“I love you too, Marcus. …Hey, what’s that poking me in my thigh?”
“Huh?” he glances down. “Well, shit, look at that. I don’t think there’s anything left in the arsenal though.”
I wrap my fingers around it. “Why don’t we find out?”
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Text is fictional. Source is below. Black gay porn actors have the best aliases. Magic Wood and Draven Torres are with Lucas Entertainment.
Showing him that I care about about him.
Your dad never did this to you, your teachers never did this to you, and your last boyfriend never did this to you – all the men in your life have failed you, boy. You’re completely out of control and ill-behaved. Lucky for you, you still have 75% of your life left, so there is hope for you yet. It’s up to you how much of that time is filled with me spanking you. Right now, that’s a lot of time. I can’t remember when your butt wasn’t pink! But it’ll get better. I have faith in you. I trust you. I love you, and care about you.
You can start impressing me by taking it like a man. Now count out loud.”
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Text is fictional.
I threw my pen down on the desk. I was never going to get anything done, not with the new poolboy my parents hired parading in front of my window in tiny little Speedos. My parents were away for the summer wintering in Europe. I thought that living in my parent’s guest house in their backyard would be a great way to save money and be close to college, but I was not counting on this beautiful, toned creature with such a delicious butt fishing leaves out of the pool. Goddamn, I hated how beautiful men were in Miami.
I pushed my chair back and stood up. It was annoying enough not being to swim because the pool had to be shocked, so I couldn’t even work off my frustration. I picked up my wallet to go somewhere – anywhere – but then I got an idea.
I strode out to the pool and waited until the man noticed me. “Everything alright Sir?” he asked.
I walked over to him and held up the $50 dollar bill. “If I give you this, will you take off your Speedos?”
He raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Is that what Mrs. Escobar’s son likes?”
“You gonna take it or not?”
He set the pool skimmer on the ground, then shimmied out of his Speedos. I was staring, shamelessly, at his thick fleshy cock. It was beautiful, and jesus, where had he been hiding his balls?
He plucked the bill out of my hand. “Anything to make a customer happy.”
It made me happy indeed. I sat down in a shaded poolchair and massage myself through my pants, watching his muscled body work around the pool. Everytime he squatted down I thought I was gonna nut my shorts.
Eventually, I did, and then he had to leave. I made sure to ask his name before he went, and Pablo became my masturbation fantasy for days after.
It became a ritual – Pablo’d come over once in a while, clean the pool, weed the place, and I’d bring out some snacks and lemonade and watch him work naked. As time went on, he began to refuse my money …if I was naked too. I didn’t need to think about this either. I stripped out of my shorts and settled into the chair to masturbate in the shade of the Florida sun. It felt, frankly, glorious, and Pablo always made my balls shoot out these big, sticky loads.
It was beginning to be harder to resist him. After three months of this, I gave Pablo a new opportunity.
I offered my wallet. “What will it take to get you in my bed?” I asked.
He took one look at my wallet and tossed it onto the patio table. “Don’t insult me.”
He grabbed my chin and brought our lips together. I dove into him. Lips. Tongue. The scent of sun-tan lotion and sweat, his silky skin under my fingers.
“Get in my room,” I demanded, my voice husky and needy.
“About fucking time.”
I dragged Pablo into the guest house and ravished him with kisses. Our naked crotches bumped together and I pushed my cock up against his. I couldn’t ever remember being so hard. He wrapped his fingers around both of our cocks and I moaned loudly as we rocked together. “Fuck,” he grunted, thrusting into his grip.
Meanwhile, I had both of my hands glued to his ass. I was kneading that meat like a cat and tenderizing with smacks like a butcher preparing a cut. I could not get enough of his butt. I squeezed it with a bruising grip. The little gasps and squeaks he made of surprise made my blood run hot.
“Pablo,” I gasped.
“This isn’t enough is it?”
“Can I fuck you?” I pleaded.
To my surprise, I felt his body relax. “Madre de Dios, I was hoping you were a top.”
I laughed and pulled him down to the bed. My lips were so kiss-swollen I couldn’t feel them by the time I rolled Pablo over. What a perfect body. Mine, all mine mine mine. I grabbed a wetnap off my nightstand to clean him, before dividing him and pushing my tongue against his entrance.
He hissed, buckling his hips. “Ah!”
I made gentle circles with my tongue, getting him to loosen up and moan for me. The boy was tight. I wondered when on earth he’d last been fucked properly. I rimmed him until he was groaning and his thighs were trembling. I then pushed my tongue inside of him and slowly tortured him from the inside out. I licked my finger and slipped it inside, locating his prostate and stroking it. Soon, Pablo’s erect meat was dripping a puddle between his big, soft legs.
“Please fuck me,” Pablo pleaded. I had to give him what he wanted. I rolled a condom onto my ignored dick and got in place behind. My cock looked so happy rubbing up against that nice bubble butt. It wanted to be in.
“Gladly,” I purred.
I whimpered as I sank every inch into that perfect butt. He was stretched and welcomed me, right to the hilt. I brought his hips up to meet mine and Pablo cried out. “Yes!”
“So fucking hot, Pablo.”
I snapped my hips deep into him over and over. Pablo fisted the sheets and begged. “Deeper!”
“Yes sir!” I fucked him with my eyes rolling back into my head. “God you’re so good!”
The bed began to squeak, louder and louder. Our skin smacked together over and over and over….
“Fuck!” Pedro grunted.
I rested on his back and finished fucking him with jack-rabbit motions as I came, filling the condom with a huge gush of cum. “Ah…ah!” Black spots flashed in front of my eyes.
I reached around for Pedro’s big, impressive cock. I gave a stupidly loud sigh of contentment as I felt Pedro’s cock twitch and tense and then shoot all over my bed. He was gripping me so hard I thought I would never pull out.
We collapsed, chest heaving, our bodies sweaty and sticky. I nibbled on his ear and rested a hand on his hip.
“Pablo?” I managed, still breathing hard.
“What?” he replied, punctuating it with a whimper as I slid it out.
“That. was. amazing.” I tied off the condom and discarded it.
He chuckled. “Tell me about it. Christ. I can’t believe we waited three months to do that.”
“…So….regular thing?”
“For fucking sure,” Pedro agreed. “Christ, I need nap. I’ve worked so hard today.”
I grinned. “I bet.”
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Text is fictional.
Come on, pup, get in your cage! And remember: no barking. The guests are coming in a few minutes and I don’t want you to embarrass yourself by jumping them or humping their legs as they enter the room. Chopchop, off you go, and behave!
Gooood boy! *clicks lock shut*
Good boy indeed. “You can come out once the guests leave. Aw, don’t look at me with those eyes. You haven’t finished obedience school yet. Once you do, we can try socialization. Now, in case you have to pee, there’s a pad in there but try to hold it. You are housebroken aren’t you? I’ll check in on you in a little bit and get you some water. Here’s a Rubik cube to play with. Good boy.”
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Text is fictional. Eeee I love when gayboykink writes pup captions.
Every morning while I make breakfast, Toby pads into the kitchen and wraps his arms around me. I can faintly smell the toothpaste on his breath. Sometimes if I stand in one place long enough, he’ll doze off on me. If I move, he’ll just follow me. It’s pretty adorable.
And to think, I almost made him leave once. I found him on the side of the highway, cold and hungry and scared. He’d gotten into a specialized veterinary-focused community college 300 miles from home, and had no way to get there. His parents found out he was gay and disowned him soon, then kicked him out, leaving him entirely stranded. So, he started walking.
I think the world works in ways I don’t quite understand, because I live five miles from that college. I was on my way back from visiting my parents. Him staying with me was supposed to be temporary until Toby figured things out, but my roommate decided to move in with his girlfriend, leaving me with a vacancy…
I stir the contents of the pot and put the lid on. I’m making him jambalaya with kielbasa for lunch. I check on the bacon draining in papertowel. It’s cool now.
“Hunter?” he murmurs.
“Yeah?” I ask, rubbing his arm affectionately.
“Thank you.”
“For what? Bacon?”
He chuffs in my ear. “No…for stability. For quiet. It’s s’nice here. I love you Hunter.”
I swallow, hard. I squeeze his hand and press a kiss to his fingers. ‘I love you too Toby. You’ll never be stray again.”
Toby nuzzles me between my shoulder blades. “Good. Cause even if you put me out, I’ll still come beg at your door.”
I smile. “Good. Cause my bed isn’t the same without you in it.”
Toby sighs gently and then I hear his breathing slow. He’s fallen asleep again. Poor thing. He’s just not a morning person. I stand there, patiently, nibbling on my bacon and eggs and checking Reddit on my phone. After fifteen minutes, Toby wakes up just long enough for me to make him eat his breakfast before I have to put him down for a nap.
When I get back from classes at University, I am astonished to find the apartment looking spotless.
I find a note on the counter: “Thanks for lunch and for the nap <3 I needed the rest, I was up so late studying for today’s lab test. I feel like I’m gonna do great. Don’t wait for me for dinner, I’m going to be out in Amerville for farm study, and I have my 8pm make-up lab today. By the way – my teacher is trying to rehome baby bunnies someone left in a box here. Do you want a bunny?”
I run my fingers through my hair and chuckle. Strays taking home strays. I have a feeling by the time Toby becomes Dr. Toby Mallory our home is going to be a zoo. Maybe that won’t be such a bad thing.
I send Toby a text: “Pick the runt.”
An hour later he sends me a photo of him cuddling a tiny black fuzzball. My heart melts, and I set it as my new phone wallpaper.
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Text is fictional.
The Mercedes smells of fine leather and expensive cologne. His suit is expensive, His clothes freshly cleaned and pressed. It’s quite inside except for the sound of His breathing. He’s picked me up here before. i’ve spent many lunches waiting for Him since, hoping to see His car cruising through. He’s handsome and assertive – confident. And married. i have no hopes of being anything to Him other than a release, a casual distraction. I’ve always been attracted to Men of power and wealth, Men of entitlement. It heightens my feelings of inferiority.
I look to Him meekly, wanting desperately to kiss His full lips, knowing that He won’t allow it. He has all the power and He knows it. He strokes the back of my neck as He pulls His swollen cock from His trousers. His cock is hard but not as hard as it will get. He’s waiting for me to take care of it. A glistening drop of precum begins to leak from the swollen tip. His large hand stays on the back of my neck as He slowly lowers my head to His lap. He holds me down as i take Him into my mouth. His crotch smells fresh, clean.
i suck hungrily, shamelessly, like a whore. He exhales deeply and leans back further into His seat. His cock swells and extends to the point where i struggle to take it in. My jaw quickly begins to ache. i will myself to take it, impaling my throat on His throbbing shaft. His grip tightens, His lust peaks. He enjoys the sounds of my struggle – the belabored breathing, the guttural groans, the gagging. He will eventually fill my mouth with cum and i will swallow quickly to keep His trousers spotless. And then i will gently and gratefully suck His softening cock to clean it and drain it of ever last drop so His briefs stay as equally clean as His trousers. His smile will be my reward. And then He disposes of me, leaving me standing alone in the parking where He found me.
It suddenly occurs to me that the one thing I’m dreading the most is not swallowing His massive load while struggling to breathe, but it’s being left there on the parking lot where He found me. I don’t think I can take it anymore, watching his beautiful Mercedes drive off and leave me behind while he goes onward in the distance to his Great Job, his Rich Life, his no doubt Amazing Home. I bet even his wife is beautiful, but part of me wants to vilify her because otherwise He just becomes a douchebag cheating on an undeserving wife.
Clarity suddenly strikes me. I assume if He’s getting blowjobs from me it’s because His wife can’t accommodate His erect size. If that was true, then it means she can’t take him between her legs either. I get that, I mean, if I were a chick, I wouldn’t want that throbbing, veiny cock anywhere near my ladybits. But I am not a lady. I am a whore, and if I have one talent, it’s taking dick. I will always be inferior to this successful man – hell, that’s part of what turns me on and makes me wait for him on my lunch breaks – but that doesn’t mean I can’t leave Him thinking of me. Fuck, the idea of him lying in bed in high-count sheets, in his huge bedroom, masturbating in his silk shorts while his wife breathes slowly next to him…it makes me uncomfortably hard.
“Boy?” he growls, feeling me still.
I pull my mouth off His twitching cock and cough, working my jaw. This is a bad time; His penis is close to spurting. The fingers dig into the back of my neck. “I didn’t say you could stop,” He rumbles.
I pet his thigh. “I have a better idea…”
“I didn’t say I was open to ideas.”
When I hear the tone of his voice, part of me wants to just beg for an apology and stuff his prick back between my lips. But then I think of being left on the curb and disposed of and I just can’t, not when I know this Man deserves more.
“I want to give you a present. You’ve used my services so many times, you know, you get a freebie on the house.”
Now that gets His attention. He raises a well-manicured eyebrow and studies me.
“Punch your seat back,” I instruct.
He reaches down behind him and the seat slides backwards with a whir. His eyes never stop boring holes into me, reminding me that I am never not under his scrutiny.
With a quick, practiced motion, I lift my ass and slide off my shorts. I’m wearing something underneath that can barely even be called underwear, this tight white elastic thing that cups in the front and leaves the ass cheeks bare except for two straps crossing the globes.
He opens his mouth to say something, because he’s figuring out what I’m doing, but before He can growl at me to stop I swing my leg over and mount his lap. Being so close to him is terrifying, and his cologne is making me dizzy and horny. His pale eyes are ice cold, even though his brow is slick and his scent is warm.
“Boy,” he warns. I try not to cum myself.
When I wrap my fingers around His cock, He moans low and hard. His vulnerability gives me a moment to impale myself with cock. It stretches me fuller than any cock I’ve taken before and tears spring to my eyes, but I work past it, and force myself to relax. I make myself keep going until I’m sitting in his lap. He hisses and grabs my arm. His mouth makes an ‘o’ shape and his Adam’s apple bobs in His throat.
“Holy fuck,” He yells, overwhelmed by the vice around his prick.
“I – I-” I stammer.
“Holy fuck,” He says again. I’m trembling on his lap. It feels like I’m sitting on the stove, this solid hot thing under my bottom. His dick feels monstrous in me, and my cock is leaking wet spots through my jockstrap. “…Good?” I manage, my voice tight.
“Ride me,” He commands.
My eyebrows go up. Yes, I will ride you! Yes, it is my duty to service you, Sir.
I begin to rock and he begins to fuck me with intense, impatient hunger. I watch the arousal and need flash across his face. I know then that my assumption was correct. He hasn’t fucked in a long time. It angers me a little, that no one else is servicing this superior man regularly. He deserves a lovely, horny houseboy to keep his life in order and tend all his needs.
When he finally, finally comes, after fucking my ass numb, I fear for a moment he’s going to lose consciousness. His head hits the back of the seat cushion and his eyes roll back into his head. He doesn’t move.
“Sir!” I cry, alarmed.
He jerks forward and grabs my arm. “Wha – what?”
“You passed out, Sir, are you alright?”
He takes a deep breath then feels with his soft manicured fingers for where we’ll still connected. I can feel Him softening in side of me. “I love that you call me Sir. And goddamn, I feel like I’ve wasted so much time just using your mouth when I could be getting this.”
Pride flourishes in my heart and my cheeks turn pink. “Anything to please you, Sir.”
He smirks. He then hands me a tissue to press to my ass when He pulls out. My hole is so tight that almost nothing has leaked out. A little does drip on his slacks and I sigh. “Oh dear…”
”Don’t worry about it,” he mutters. “My building has a dry cleaner.” He opens the driver-side car door and I slide out. He stuffs money into my shorts and tosses them to me. “Be here tomorrow, same time. Go buy condoms.”
Before I can manage a reply. He drives off in His Mercedes, leaving me standing there in my underwear, tissue pressed to my ass, shorts in one hand. There’s a cluster of other boys standing on the corner, watching me, gossiping. I am not looking at them though. I am watching the Mercedes drive off. I smirk. I feel triumphant. I feel high. I was born to service that man.
I throw away the tissue and put on the shorts. I hum to myself as I count the money, all the while imagining what it’d be like to be His live-in slut and houseboy.
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Text is fictional. Hope the original writer doesn’t mind me story-jacking their hot prompt.
He came by to help you close up the store. Your sister runs the place, selling very nice bath products and tattoo care, soap and candles. She wanted a night off, so you worked her shift. By closing time, the place was dead, so you invited your boyfriend to keep you company.
Recently, you can’t seem to get enough of him. You’re still not really sure what happened, because he was a friend for the longest time and you were pretty goddamn sure he was straight. Apparently he’s just got the best gaydar cloaking technology in existence because you found his stash of your stolen undershirts and underwear when over at his place. You just had to take one look at this miserable face and incredibly hot body, and you know you were going to give him what he wanted instead of leaving him. Heck, you wanted him since day one but thought you were being the good gay friend by keeping your hands off. Now that the barrier had been broken, the mattress was not going to get a break.
Now, you could hardly go anywhere or do anything without thinking of him. And since you were alone and bored, of course you called him, and of course he came over with the promise of dinner after. But first – you were going to eat him. You locked the doors and shoved him against the wall. You were aware your sister probably had a security camera in place here, but dammit you could not resist him.
His taste, the fullness of his lips, the way his hard muscles trembled under your roaming fingertips. The boy liked to be kissed and you were happy to indulge him. You were slowly realizing that his alpha straight boy act was a cover too. You were always the one that pushed him back and lifted up his shirt, waiting for him to spar with you, but he just melted and let you take control. Surrendering to you came naturally to him. You rewarded him for his piety by tonguing his nipples while massaging his erection through his pants. He lifted his hips and moaned out your name, making your own cock ache.
There were glass windows on the storefront and you didn’t want anyone to call the cops, so you took him to the back room where there was a nice packing table waiting for use. You bent him over and got his pants down. That herbal spice body oil your sister created made for some damn great lube. It occurred to you that she should probably start selling it as such. You teased his hole with your slick fingers until he was pounding the table, begging for you to fuck him, but you waited until his cock was a tight, straining mess in your hands on the brink of spurting before you dove into him.
Your hands left oily marks on his hips as you set a relentless place, fucking him hard and sweet. You pressed kisses down his shoulder and licked the shell of his ear to make him insane.
The orgasm came far too quickly, and you wished you had a plug to hold in all the mess. You settled for cleaning him with warm, damp paper towels and kissing him until he was unmistakeably ravished. If it wasn’t for your grumbling stomachs, then you were sure you were going never going to stop making out with him. You reminded yourself to be careful and not go too fast, not taken advantage of him, because this boy just might be the love of your life and you had to remember he was a person and not just a vessel for sex, even if he wanted to be thought of that way. He had an amazing sex drive.
And taking care of your man meant feeding him after fucking him.
“Come on love, let’s get you some protein before we get carried away again. I much rather make love to you on a soft bed than a wooden table.”
And he gives you this heart-melting smile and slinks an arm around your waist. “Late night tonkatsu ramen?”
You groan. “Sounds fucking delicious.”
He kisses your cheek. “Not as delicious as you.”
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Text is fictional.
When you move into a new building, every face is a new face. When you see a face again, you assume they live there, as opposed to being a guest. You make snap judgments about people, cause you only see them for a second. Oh, this person is cranky, this guy talks too much, that girl is always covered in cat hair, this dude never leaves the building…. etc. Struggling families. Single guys. Ambitious corporate types. Lonely old people. Every building has them. I began to notice this young man that lived on my floor. I normally saw him taking out trash or fetching mail. I never saw him with a school bag, but grocery bags, or baskets of laundry. What I found to be odd though is that he never looked at me. He always looked down, away, as if he couldn’t see me, I couldn’t see him. When we got stuck in an elevator together, he would always move far away as possible.
I didn’t know much about this guy, not even his name. I could see he was young, in his late teens maybe. I knew he lived with an older man, a real stern guy about ten years older. Maybe in his 40s. Ramrod straight posture, ice grey eyes. He was well on the path to be the quintessential old-white-guy stereotype: loud, angry, and racist. And his voice – he had a big, booming voice he used to scare anyone who didn’t agree with him into submission. It was also the voice he used to yell at Obama on the TV. At least, that’s what I thought he was yelling at, until I started listening. Then, I realized it wasn’t the TV the old guy was screaming at – it was the young man.
The more I began to pay attention, the more I saw things I don’t think I was meant to see. Or maybe I was. I assumed the kid was kind of a klutz, but I slowly realized that I never saw him without a mark. He always seemed to have a bruise on him. Once it healed, it’d be replaced by a split lip, then later with another bruise. A cut on his hand. A limp to his walk.
About seven months after I moved in, I came home one night and found him sitting outside their apartment door, naked, all crouched up into a ball. I begged the kid to tell me what was going on, but he refused and insisted I leave. My noise caused commotion, and the old guy came out and threatened to call the cops on me. He dragged the kid back into the apartment and slammed the door.
I didn’t see the kid for like a week, and when I saw him in the elevator that next Saturday, he had white bandages under his shirt, all up his neck.
It was a strange situation, because you know something bad is happening, and you know you should say something. But you also know reality, and you know the cops will come, the old guy will say nothing is a matter. He was fighting with his grandson or something, trying put his “mouthy” troublesome grandson in place. Without a complaining witness, the cops would leave…and that kid would probably get hurt more.
I began to dread seeing that kid around the building, because it was just a reminder that I couldn’t stop what was happening to him. I finally hit my breaking point after the kid got the bandages off. I spotted him in the laundry room in the basement in this old white T-shirt. Where the bandages had been now revealed fresh, pink skin. He’d been burned. White heat coursed through me. We were alone, I had to say something. So, I did. I said, “If you need me, I’m in apartment 10J. Don’t let anyone hurt you again.”
The kid furrowed his brow at me, then looked away, his face a mask of shame. He gathered his things and left the laundry room without saying a word.
I hadn’t expected him to take my advice to heart. I expected to come home one day and find cops in front of the door, the door blocked off with yellow crime scene tape. I learned to not hear the screaming or the fights.
One spring night, about a year or so after I moved into the building, there was a knock on my door. It was just after dinner time, and I was headed to the kitchen for ice cream when the knock came. I figured it was the lady in apartment 10K telling me she had my mail again. I was surprised to find the kid standing there, white as paper. Blood was pouring out of his nose, marring his handsome face, and pooling in his hand.
“Jesus, shit,” I gasped. The kid was too frightened to say a word. We both heard the old guy turn the knob and come out of his apartment. I grabbed the kid’s sleeve and pulled him into my apartment, then slammed and locked the door. The old guy began to beat on my door, accusing me of “kidnapping his houseboy” and that I should “give him back so he could take his punishment”.
Instead, I called the cops. The rest of the evening melted together. The old guy was arrested, the kid had to be taken to the hospital. He told the EMTs his name was Trevor.
I made sure Trevor got a good lawyer. I later found out that I was the only one that visited him in the hospital. On one of these visits, Trevor told me everything one night. He grew up in foster care. His last foster family used to “loan” out the kids as maids, essentially, for money. When Trevor turned 18, he was turned out of the foster care system with no GED (missed too much school), no money (not allowed to work), and no family. So, when his family offered him an opportunity to be a live-in houseboy for Mr. Erickson, Trevor felt he had no other choice.
Trevor broke my heart when he told me he didn’t leave at first because he assumed the abuse was normal. It was only seeing an article in the newspaper about a Filipino woman kept as a sex slave did he realize what was happening to him, but he was completely trapped.
I told Trevor he was not going to be alone anymore. I stood by his side the whole time. When my lease in the building came up, I declined it, and Trevor and I moved into a new building together.
I was worried though that Trevor would think of me just another man wanting to monopolize and abuse him, so the first thing I did was give him a promise gift. Inside the box was the key to the front door on a chain and a new cell phone. He would always be a free boy now, but I was offering him a home if he wanted one. Someone needed to love and take care of Trevor. If he trusted me, I
promised myself I would do that and more. I would never let him feel
unwanted again.
______________________
Text is fictional.