Rated M for explicit sex
Part III
Chapter Forty-seven
I've Sunk So Low
Sam had come so far in the span of a year. A few cracks in his life however sent him right back to the beginning like a rewind button. Every accomplishment erased. George would probably roll over in his grave. But Sam stopped giving a shit a few days after Alyssa left him.
Now there was nothing he wouldn't do to escape. Even if it meant whoring himself out to gay pedophiles. Last time he ran. But this time there was no police car to scare him out of his senses.
The man knew he was scared. He almost felt bad for the kid. Not enough to let him off easy, of course. He had a few OC's that he charitably let the boy take. He even waited until Sam was at the peak of his high.
The man was unusually gentle with him. Normally he would fuck his teenaged whores roughly. They rarely left without bruises.
But something in Sam's eyes convinced him otherwise. He looked at the man with an empty stare like there was nothing that he could do to him that hadn't been done before. That he couldn't go any lower than he was.
The man didn't have too many preferences, just that the boys he screwed had to be younger than 20 and not horribly ugly.
Sam was possibly the most beautiful he'd ever seen. There was something quite childlike about him. He had the strong jaw line, broad shoulders, and looming height of a MAN, no doubt.
But his face alone looked about fourteen. And he was slightly androgynous, so thin and graceful looking. His features were delicate, a fringe of thick, long lashes around wide set eyes. His nose wasn't crooked, but a bit slight and rounded at the tip. There wasn't even a hint of stubble. He probably couldn't even grow a mustache.
And he had the prettiest lips that the man had ever seen on a boy, lush and full. He belonged in an editorial fashion magazine somewhere along the lines of Vogue. But he was even too pretty for that. He'd make all the wiry male models look like they had gotten a vicious beating with an ugly stick.
And this graying middle aged man had the luck, the privilege to fuck him. Maybe if this suburban town wasn't so straight-laced and conservative, so right wing he'd take the boy as his lover. Something in the boy's eyes told him otherwise. Even through the high he could see that the boy was not doing this willingly. So maybe if he was gentle with him he would have the privilege of fucking him on a regular basis, convince him not to take other clients.
Sam's eyelids were heavy. He closed them and braced himself and tried not to think about what was going to happen to him in a few minutes. He felt the bile rise up in his throat as the man lifted his oversized t-shirt and pulled over his head, his finger's brushing Sam's skin as he did so. His mouth swept over the base of Sam's throat and Sam facial features twisted as he tried not to scream. The man's aftershave smelled expensive and made Sam more nauseous. He kissed Sam, prying his mouth open and forcing his tongue inside.
He was stoned, but even that couldn't him forget, ignore what was taking place. A tear slipped out from beneath his lashes.
The man felt the warm liquid under his thumb and pulled away. "Kid, you're making this difficult for me. Now stop crying. I haven't fucked in a week and I'm backed up."
Sam stopped crying and started vomiting all over the man's expensive suit. He looked up at him shamefully. "I…I'm sorry."
"Get out!"
"I need the money." He said in a hoarse voice.
The man wiped the vomit off his otherwise pristinely white dress shirt and took it off. "Get in the back seat and take your pants off." He hissed.
Sam fumbled with his belt and pulled down his baggy jeans and boxers.
"Now get on all fours."
It was the most degrading thing Sam had done. So much so that he sat paralyzed for a moment.
"Look, kid I tried to do this the easy way."
Ten minutes, but more like an eternity later Sam was lying lifelessly on his stomach, his tears dried on his face, his face pressing into the leather seat repeatedly as his client finished. He had bit his lip so many times to combat the physical pain of being fucked that he could taste blood.
He felt the weight lift off him but he lay there still. The man went back to the front of the car and counted bills silently. "Now you did ruin my designer shirt, but because you were so quiet and because I like you more than the others I'll give you a hefty bonus. 500."
Sam rolled onto his side and looked at him with half lidded eyes. "Thanks."
"I hope to see you again."
Sam sat up and pulled his pants over his knees and back up to his hips. He took the money and rolled it up, tucking it inside his pocket. The car sped off and the cool autumn air felt good on his skin. He walked slowly and aimlessly. When he saw a tree he collapsed. He buttoned his jacket and curled up slightly, his knees raised to his chest. He started to shiver. It was beginning to feel too cold outside.
It felt like days went by and his shaking was beginning to subside, the early stages of sleep calming him. He heard a car roll up and he prayed it wasn't the police.
Amber thought she was seeing things, but sure as the day Sam was sitting against a tree. She rolled her window down. "Sam? Is that you?"
He opened his eyes with difficulty and looked up. "Amber? What the fuck are you doing driving around at 2 in the morning?"
"What the hell are you doing sleeping in an abandoned parking lot?"
He smiled without his eyes. "I must look pretty fucking retarded, huh?"
"Yeah." She looked at him the way a concerned mother would look upon their child. "Are you okay, honey?"
He looked everywhere but in her eyes. "No."
"You want me to drive you home?"
"No. Thanks, though."
"Sam. You're worrying me. I can't just leave you here."
"I'm not going home."
"Well then you won't. Come over and spend the night at my house."
He looked over at the ocean and looked haunted for a second. "Alright."
He got in and rested his head against the glass of the car window, closing his eyes.
Amber frowned and ran her fingers through his hair. "What happened tonight, Sam?"
"I don't wanna talk about it. I'd rather forget."
She turned shifted into drive and drove off into the night.
The emptiness in his voice was a cause for worry. He wasn't psychologically sound.
Amber sat in a chair in the guest room he was sleeping in just to make sure he'd make it to morning. A few cups of coffee and she was set.
He slept to noon. And after. At 3 in the afternoon he finally woke up. Amber was going through her mail in the kitchen when she heard footsteps. She looked up.
His hair was disheveled and she saw the red fracture in his lip. "Hi."
She let a stretch of silence pass. "Hi."
"Could you make me some breakfast? I'm really hungry."
It was the first she had to prepare a meal for someone else in years and for some odd reason it touched her. "Of course, pumpkin. It 's afternoon, but whatever you want."
"Do you have pancakes?"
"Yup."
"Thank you."
"No problem, cutie."
She put the Eggo pancakes in the toaster oven . She turned around and he was standing barely a foot away from her. "What?"
"Can I have one of those suffocating Amber hugs?"
She looked into his eyes with sadness. "Yeah."
He buried his face in her terrycloth robe.
Amber stroked his hair and then rubbed his back comfortingly. "You're scaring me, Sam." She said softly.
"Don't talk. Please…just be my friend."
She furrowed her brows. "Okay."
She held him until the buzz of the toaster rang. Then she kissed his cheek and tried to figure out what happened to the blissful young man from a few months ago. What had happened to Sam in those few months? Why did she feel like this was the last time she'd ever see him? Why did she feel like the next time she'd see him would be at his funeral? Why was it that this boy could never seem to get what he deserved? A happy life. She didn't really know the answer, she just knew that it was the same reason that her husband died in his car that morning in '98.
Life was a game of luck and sometimes you braked fast enough to avoid whatever it was you were going to crash into. But sometimes you drove 100 miles an hour in the wrong lane and you crashed head on into a six wheeler.
Some people would never get to choose which car they were in.
