This is rated R.

If things seem vague, don't worry, they'll be explained later.

Seth wrestled with his feelings for two weeks before he finally owned up to them. When he went back to Chino for the third time it was with a heavy heart. As bad as he felt, he knew it must have been ten times worse for Ryan. And he only wanted Ryan. It was all he could think about.

There had been another boy working the street-attractive, early twenties, pale skin, green eyes-but Seth wouldn't settle. He waited around and when Ryan didn't show up he went home.

Ryan hurried down the street, a bag of groceries in each hand. A container of juice had busted open and was trickling out of the bottom of one of the bags. Not bothering to find keys, he kicked at the bottom of the door.

Theresa opened the door, taking the bags from him. "You were gone a long time."

"Careful, that one's leaking. Yeah, uh, I've got to get going soon." He didn't offer any further explanation.

Going grocery shopping was one of the few times that he was allowed to feel normal. There were no expectations, no demands on him, and he preferred to keep that to himself.

Ryan looked at the clock, it was nearly nine. The streets would be starting to get busy soon.

"Why don't you stay in tonight? You look tired. How's your stomach?" He smoothed back the hair on her forehead and felt for a temperature.

Theresa batted his hand away. "I'm fine."

"You don't have to do this anymore, I've got us covered."

"You shouldn't have to; I'm the one that screwed up."

"It's not your fault."

"I thought he loved me, Ry."

"I know." Ryan looked at her sympathetically. Leaning over, he kissed her forehead and tried to smile. He stood to his full height and pulled off his shirt, leaving him in a wife-beater and slightly ripped jeans. He grabbed a few condoms from the cabinet and messed up his hair in the mirror. "I'll be back later. Heat up some soup and eat some crackers."

"I will. Be careful."

Ryan nodded and was out the door.

Monday nights were the worst. The cops were always on top of their game at the start of the week and Ryan couldn't afford to be get arrested. There was too much at stake. He had to keep a low profile.

Ryan spotted Gwen and took a minute to wave to her. "Hi, honey," she greeted. "Where's Theresa?"

"Sick," he said and kept going.

Ryan walked further along the street running into Monique, one of the hookers he knew of with a severe drug problem. She'd been on the streets a long time and it showed.

"Did you hear Bambi and Missy got busted last night? A lot of pigs out tonight."

Ryan was quiet. There was something unsettling about being around the girls that did drugs, mainly because he'd been tempted to do them himself before... One time and only once he'd let that temptation take over. The ultra-fine powder had burned just a little and his eyes had teared before everything turned smooth and silver and wonderful. It was beautiful.

He'd learned that it wasn't quite so magical when someone got a bad batch and overdosed, almost dying right in front of him. The hookers that used were always messed up. They were always so out of touch with reality. It seemed to help get them through at first, but by the time they were addicted they had to hook to keep themselves in drugs instead of for survival. The fix became more important. And they always looked so much older than they were, not that he was vain, but it wasn't appealing to him. And he could live without the paranoia.

"'Scuse me a second, sugar. Hey baby, you want a date?" she called to a passing car. The car stopped and she walked over to it, doing her thing. She got in the car and he watched them pull away.

Ryan stood back, leaned against the brick wall and waited.

Most of the girls used lines like 'cutie' or 'hot stuff,' 'big boy' or 'handsome' when they were trying to attract a John, especially if he was old or bald or fat and ugly -they needed to hear those type of things to make them feel important. Ryan didn't work that way, the potential client either liked what they saw or didn't and he wasn't going to butter anyone up; he still had some pride left.

His clients were predominately white, married men. The older men, the ones that could barely get it up, just liked to look at him. Mostly. They liked the company and listening to themselves talk. They liked to see a nice young body and they liked to touch. It sounded more pleasant than it was. Their fingers were always cold and clammy like doctors' hands and some of them were. Doctors. Lawyers. Judges. Respectable people in the daylight -some monsters by night. Some liked to hit him and when he'd first started out he didn't do much about it, didn't know how to, but now he fought back. The worst beating he ever got was from a Methodist minister that claimed he was trying to beat the devil out of him, which really didn't make sense because he'd spent the previous minutes rutting into him like a dog. People were full of contradictions and hypocrisies; Ryan could smell it on people now.

A Lincoln pulled up. The seats were leather, the windows tinted. Ryan snapped to attention. The driver looked to be in his late forties-salt and pepper hair, neatly trimmed mustache, light brown eyes.

Ryan approached the car, leaned against the side. "Hey," he drawled.

"How much?"

"Depends on what you're after."

"I want to fuck you."

Ryan tried not to cringe. He always tried to get a little extra from the rich ones. "Seventy-five bucks."

"Get in," he said and flipped the locks.

Ryan opened the door and slipped into the car. There was no pretense like there was with some of the girls. The men, his clients, didn't wine and dine him.

When the man asked Ryan his name, he told him it was Joe. Guys like him always wanted a name. He didn't know why. It wasn't like they wanted to know him.

They pulled up to the cheap motel around the block. Ryan waited in the car while the man got them a room. He was glad he wouldn't have to turn into a contortionist in the backseat of the car for once.

Five minutes later, the man he'd been told to call Phil, came back with a set of keys in his hand. They drove to the front of the room and went into it. Ryan stayed standing while the man sat on the bed watching him.

"Hey Joe, why don't you take off your clothes?" he said.

From the corner of Ryan's eye, he could see 'Phil' twisting around his wedding band and slipping it off his finger. That always made him laugh. A lot of men did that. It wasn't like the ring had eyes or was going to whisper all the man's dirty little secrets back to his wife. Whatever worked.

Ryan started to strip, consciously making himself go slow because he knew that was what was expected. He made more money that way, too.

"Come over here," Phil said, trying to sound as sexy and flirtatious as he could at forty.

Ryan obliged. He all ready felt dirty and used. He closed his eyes and blocked everything out.