Guidance (closed for ericrodman101) [M/M]

[ericrodman101]

Gerry pretty much carried Toby into the house. The kid was quiet and didn't struggle. Gerry laid him on the daybed in the back room where Andrea had found him only a few short weeks ago. It was dark and Gerry didn't switch on the light. He imagined Toby falling asleep quickly and left the room as quietly as he could.

So the janitor filmed himself raping students. Was that too strong a word after what Gerry and the teachers had done? Maybe. Gerry wasn't feeling clear headed. He sat back in the reclining chair with a beer and closed his eyes. The whole evening had spiraled out of control and he wanted sleep too. Wanted it all to go away. Well, not quite all of it. He thought of the boy sleeping in the back room. Should he check on Toby? No. The kid was fine. He knew where everything was if he needed anything. They could talk in them morning. If the kid wanted to talk. To be counseled. By his school counselor. Who was fucking him.

"How the fuck did this all happen?" Toby had asked in the car. Gerry hadn't replied. He didn't even know if Toby was asking him. And if the boy was asking, what was the answer? What was the professional school counselor's answer? Or the answer of a man who broke every rule, every law, every contract, and fucked a student? Gerry remembered coughing and asking Toby if he needed a doctor. The kid hadn't replied and Gerry imagined him feigning sleep, deciding to go along with that idea in the absence of a better one.

Jesus! The whole thing just kept spiraling as if there was no way out. Did he want out? Did Toby? Don't go there tonight, Gerry thought. The darkness and the tiredness and the beer on an empty stomach was a recipe for melancholy. All would become clear in the warm light of day, in ten hours, in the morning.

 

[tamgreen]

Toby didn't fall asleep quickly. Gerry the fucking coward had rolled him onto the spare bed and disappeared. Didn't even bother helping him clean up or offer a glass of water. He was left here on the daybed - the place where guests belonged, not lovers.

Why not just leave me in a dumpster where I belong, eh, Mr Metzler? Why not just drop me on a street corner? Why not just throw me under a literal bus?

The residue of piss felt like it was burning him from head to toe. Maybe that was why his eyes were watering so much. But it was more than that - soon he was sobbing like a little kid. A kid who'd been abandoned by his daddy, left to the wolves. He knew that wasn't fair since he'd asked for most of what had been done to him today, but that didn't help the way he felt.

Had he asked for it? Everything was cloudy now. He didn't remember walking into that room and proposing a gang bang. Was that what he'd done? He remembered being angry. Yelling. Trying to prove a point. What that point had been, he'd lost track of it somewhere along the line. He sure hadn't asked to be duct taped and railed in the janitor's closet while his ass was still raw, or for that to be filmed. Knowing it was recorded made him feel so vulnerable in a way that wasn't at all sexy.

He felt unsafe, neglected, and powerless. The way he'd felt in his mother's apartment that he'd had to leave behind. This was supposed to have been better. Gerry had called him boyfriend. Was it just bullshit, to get his guard down? He'd looked to Gerry Metzler to be his hero. He wanted to be Gerry's hero in return. Right now he felt exactly like what he'd been called in the principal's bathroom, covered in stale piss and congealed cum.

Slut. Cunt. Whore. Shit.

And Gerry was shit too. Cowardly shit.

He lay there on the bed for some time, too sore to move, wondering what he would do when he eventually got up again. Maybe he'd burn down the house. Maybe he'd just walk away. Maybe he'd steal Gerry's car. Maybe he'd cry to the old man like the pathetic, needy kid he was. In the end, he shuffled quietly to the main floor bathroom, shed his clothes, evacuated his bowels, and gave himself a slow, thorough sponge bath. He didn't get dressed again - the clothes would just make him dirty again, and he wasn't sure he had anything else to wear. Naked and limping, he went to the kitchen to drink some water and get some food into him. He found a packet of cold cuts in the fridge and ate the whole stack as if it were a sandwich, followed by more water. It was the best he could do self-care-wise. Self-care, because who the fuck else was caring for him? Nobody.

Still naked, shivering, he went to the stairs and looked up, considering. He could go to Gerry's bedroom and confront the guy. But then he'd just be tempted to cuddle with him or cry more or even worse, both.

You said you loved me.

No - best not to pull at that thread. He wasn't a dog, that would run back to its owner no matter how badly he was treated. He returned to the daybed and lay on his side facing the wall, shutting his eyes until sleep finally came to him.


He awoke in the morning to the sound of Gerry in the kitchen. Would the old man at least make him breakfast after everything that had happened? Naked and pale except for the dark bruises on many parts of him that he was wholly unaware of, particularly around his narrow hips where the janitor had grasped him with unyielding pressure while pistoning his thick Brazilian cock into his ravaged ass, Toby limped into the kitchen, his backside smarting with every step.

"You're not gonna make me go to school, are you?"

He'd intended to sound defiant, but he hated the way his voice came out - hoarse, weak, shaky, and scared.

 

[ericrodman101]

School? Gerry looked up from the bowl of pancake mixture he was stirring. Toby stood in the shadowed doorway, naked, vulnerable, cute.

"School? No. I don't think so. Glad you've had a wash, kiddo. I didn't know what to do last night, but you were so tired I just put you to bed. You want some pancakes?"

The older man poured the mix into the bowl. He turned back to where Toby stood his ground, cock limp, chest concave, hair flopping over one eye, like some sexy twink from central casting, like some demon sent to torment an old man.

"You wanna sit? No, maybe not. We can stand and eat."

Gerry waited for the batter to bubble.

"I fell asleep in the chair in the living room," he said. "Didn't hear you moving about. Had a wash, I see. Good."

Gerry flipped the first pancake.

"No need for school today," he said. "Not sure I wanna go either. Although maybe I should check on...."

He wished the kid would move, away from the door, into the room, into the light, anywhere. The pancake was ready. He flipped it onto a plate and poured the next batch of batter into the pan.

"You want some clothes?"

Sun streamed into the kitchen. The curtains were drawn wide and Gerry could see the backyard and the windows of the house next door. Maybe they could see in although the glare would probably protect him from discovery. For a moment he contemplated finding Toby a robe, but then he decided if the boy was happy to stand in the kitchen naked, why should Gerry care.

"Maple syrup? Fruit? Chocolate sauce?"

Gerry placed the plate with the pancake on the counter closest to where Toby stood, then fetched all three condiments and placed them alongside. He watched for a moment for Toby to come forward into the room, then returned to the pan.

"Are you hurting?"

There. He'd said it now. The elephant in the room. Of course the boy was hurting. He'd been raped and all Gerry had done was put him to bed. He should report it to the police. Take the kid to the clinic. He'd have insisted on it if a kid showed up at his office with Toby's story. It made Gerry guilty of covering up a crime. And yet Gerry knew who the real criminal was.

The butter bubbled again and he flipped the next pancake over.

"C'mon. Have something to eat. I'll call in sick and then we can talk about what you need....what we both need. Yeah?"

 

[tamgreen]

Toby clenched his jaw, trying to keep everything in. Yesterday had been insane, surreal. He hardly remembered what had happened - the pain in his ass was front of mind. He didn't want to think of Freitas in the janitor's closet with his tape and his camera and sadistic baseball bat of a cock.

So he pushed his mind back further as he started to enter the kitchen, slow step by slow step, his feet cold on the linoleum floor. All the teachers and staff from multiple schools in the principal's office, fucking him, pissing all over him, as if whatever had Gerry interested in him had infected everyone in the room.

Back further. How had it started? He'd goaded the chaplain into touching him, and then blabbed about it to Gerry. He'd wanted to hurt Gerry. Why?

Because Gerry had hurt him. Gerry had hurt him like hell. Getting touchy with that goddamn Henry Merton in the library, and then getting rough with Toby when he'd dared to call him on his bullshit. Toby had felt threatened - threatened by the person he stupidly loved, the one person he had in the world.

Are you hurting?

That question almost broke him. Hadn't that been what he wanted to hear? Even yesterday, after the library, when Toby had been riled up over Henry. Yes, he'd been fucking hurting, and instead Gerry hurt him more.

"Of course I am. Of course I'm hurting."

The words slipped from his mouth like an almost matter-of-fact statement. Almost casual, except for the hoarseness of his voice. He stood in front of his pancake plate and slowly, methodically, began covering it with condiments. He could shove syrup-soaked pancakes down his throat to keep back the hurt. He ate a few slow bites while the old man kept on silently cooking. Typical Metzler - clamming up when he most ought to have something important to say.

"Maybe it would be best for both of us," he mumbled between bites, "if I just left. Maybe you wanna give me some money to help me get started. And we'll be out of each other's hair. You won't be lacking for any boy cunts - I'm sure Freitas can identify all the willing ones. Maybe he'll let you watch his little video catalog and pick one of your choice."

 

[ericrodman101]

Hurting. He knew Toby was hurting physically, for sure. Gerry knew the kid couldn't undergo what had taken place yesterday and not be bruised, grazed, maybe cut. It would hurt. Inside his ass most likely. Gerry knew the consequences of rough, rapid, repeated anal sex. He'd had to counsel students often enough. Girls mostly. They were the ones who made themselves available for anal sex and ended up in his office, or in sick bay, or in the hospital. As school counselor he was usually somewhere in the chain once some stupid slut bent over and got fucked up the ass. And he knew how popular anal sex was as a contraceptive. They told him. You can't get pregnant, they said. That's why I did it. But the leaflet he gave them explained what they could get. It wasn't his job to moralize, but only to counsel and inform. And he knew he went further than the school board would be happy with. Gerry didn't preach abstinence. If they were over eighteen then they were adults and could do what they liked. He just wanted to make sure they were doing it properly, safely, with their own welfare in mind.

Occasionally he saw eighteen year old boys who'd injured themselves having anal sex. They got the same leaflet, the same advice. Is that what he would have given Toby if he'd shown up at the office and told him what had happened? Yes. But would Gerry have referred the kid to the police? Over the orgy in the Principal's Office? Over the rape in the janitor's room? Yes...maybe...but...

But was Toby hurting emotionally? Gerry admonished himself as soon as he even asked himself the question. How could he doubt the kid? Gerry watched Toby picking at the pancakes, thinking that maybe even the kid's throat hurt as he watched the spoon empty across the boy's lips. It wasn't only Toby's ass which had seen action yesterday.

"Maybe it would be best for both of us if I just left," Toby said. The idea hit Gerry like a punch below the belt. Maybe....no. He didn't want Toby to leave. Not like this. Vulnerable. Hurting. With so much anger and resentment. And what if....Gerry almost hated himself for thinking it....Toby reported him. It would be one word against another...except that the kid would be examined and the bruises and who knew what else would be discovered. And the semen. Maybe blood. DNA. Jesus fucking Christ.

Gerry was so distracted he only just heard Toby asking for money. And then referring to the janitor and the tapes and....

The older man opened his mouth to speak before he knew what he was going to say. He knew he must look foolish. What could he say? None of this should ever have happened. Not in his office, in the car, on the hood, in the house, the shed, the Principal's Office. Every incident, every step was a step too far. And yet it had happened, and Toby's story and no doubt, his injuries, were testament to Gerry's betrayal, his surrender to lust, his utter disregard for a student's wellbeing.

And then there were the protestations of love. Gerry could hardly remember what he'd said, but he knew he'd said it. Held the boy close, his old cock deep inside the young ass, desperately lonely and happy at the same time, and whispered about love. 'I love you.' He knew he'd said it. And how the boy would interpret the words. A boy deprived of affection and security. Used and abused by everyone in positions of trust, up to and including and Gerry, and since by the people to whom Gerry had pimped Toby effectively.

If the boy left and talked, it would a scandal to outrank every school scandal Gerry could imagine, everything he'd read about or watched from the sidelines or mopped up. He would be in the media. He would be tried in public. He would go to jail. Gerry could hear the jeering crowd in his head, calling and heckling and spitting as he was perp-walked through the city. Trusted counselor is child molester. Teacher rapes student. Gay school orgy. Headlines flashed across his brain.

The room filled with acrid smoke. A pancake burned in the pan. Gerry flipped it into the sink and turned on the tap.

"Fucked that one," he said, trying to make a joke. "Do you want any more? Coffee? Bacon and eggs?"

Gerry might as well have said 'my head on a platter'. He was hardly responding to Toby's suggestion of a payoff to leave. What could he say?

He turned off the stove top and sat in a chair, willing himself not to take his head in his hands.

"Just finish your breakfast and we'll have a little talk," he said. But what the fuck about....?

 

[tamgreen]

Toby furrowed his brow, displeased by the response he received - or lack thereof - to his proposal of leaving. Did it just not matter? Did he not matter? He was a walking cunt, with no other purpose, and there were thousands of others just like him. He'd implied as much, but right now he didn't want it to actually be true. He suspected Gerry of bullshitting him with all the lovey boyfriend stuff, but he hadn't wanted to be right.

He shook his head wanly at the offer of more food. He wasn't even sure he could finish the stack of pancakes he'd been given. He did his best and left a few bites behind to soak up the dregs of the syrup and drank a glass of water. At another time, he might have inhaled a dozen pancakes or more, scarfed everything in sight while it was available like a bear preparing for a long winter of starvation, but he didn't feel very good and couldn't manage it. The thought of actually walking out and trying to find some other place to live was tying knots in his stomach.

Toby stepped closer to where the older man was sitting and leaned back against the edge of the counter to face him. He was a ways off from being able to sit in a chair and wouldn't even try. He waited a few moments for either of them to have something to say.

I'm not safe with you.

The words were whirling round and round in his head, on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't say it. Maybe he could, but he felt certain that if he said those words aloud they'd come with tears, and he didn't want to betray that much vulnerability. Standing here naked and bruised with a sore, overworked ass, perhaps he couldn't get much more vulnerable, but he could at least avoid sobbing like some pathetic kid.

"What's on your mind?" was what he finally managed to get out, genuinely needing to know what conclusions the man might have come to after a night's consideration of yesterday's events.

 

[ericrodman101]

"What's on your mind?"

Gerry looked up from the stove top at the boy. What's on my mind, he mused. The boy stood naked in the kitchen, the morning sun catching his body now, highlighting the peaks, shadowing the troughs of this boy, not that any of these undulations were pronounced. In the light Gerry could appreciate just how slight, how waiflike, how breakable Toby was, if he hadn't been broken last night. It was as if the boy was suspended, swinging gently in the still air, to and fro, like a mobile, a doll on a string, time standing still, just the two of them and the sound of the morning in the distance.

What's on your mind....

Toby had never looked more beautiful, from the top of his head, hair still tousled from the shower, to his delicate toes, now flat on the floor, now raised and pointed with the deliberation of a ballerino. Gerry's eyes were drawn to the flatness of the boy's chest, almost no hint of muscle or development, or when he turned, the bony shoulders, the narrow waist, the bluffs that were the boy's hips, prominent as if the boy was a little underfed.

And the cock. Hanging from the meagre bush as if stored away on a rack while unused. Dangling between the boy's scrawny thighs like the last chicken in the window, slender and lifeless, belying the power with which it had grown, swelled, thrust, punched inside Gerry and filled him, made him swoon, made him laugh, made him cum....

What's on your mind....Gerry knew he should speak, but the sight of the boy, so weak and spent and used, made him dumb with love. Paternal love. Concern. Instinctive and warm. And yet, there was another type of love pushing through from deeper inside him. And lower down. Sexual love. Lust. Desire. Selfish and destructive. Proprietorial.

"I don't want you to go," Gerry said. "I want you to stay. You've been hurt, I know. By me. By the other men. And I know it's not just physical hurt. But where are you going to go? Were will you stay? Who will you stay with? Huh?"

Gerry searched the boy's face for signs, anything to show the simple logic behind these questions made sense.

"The best thing, the sensible thing, is to stay here with me. Yeah? Stay until you feel better. Until something better comes along. We don't have to....fuck....you don't have to let me fuck you.....anything you don't want....stay in the dayroom and I'll stay upstairs...just....stay for now...at least."

 

[tamgreen]

Toby cocked his head at the man, narrowing his eyes and looking for signals, trying to read between the lines and interpret the looks. Gerry didn't want him to go - that wasn't all that surprising. But what were his motives?

That lump returned to his throat when the old man acknowledged he was hurt beyond the physical, but he forced it back, trying to keep it deep in the pit of his stomach along with the pancakes he'd just eaten. He was looking for something from Gerry, and he wasn't exactly sure what it was, but he could feel how easily drawn in he was by the man. It made him wary, especially after that moment yesterday in the counselling office when they'd been arguing about Henry, and Gerry had taken him by the neck and grabbed at him as if to take him by force. How soon until that happened again? And next time, maybe the old fart would actually be hard enough and mad enough to go through with it.

You've been hurt. By me.

He'd acknowledged it, but it wasn't an apology, Toby realized. Gerry hadn't even managed to say the words, I hurt you. He used the passive voice, removed himself from it as much as possible. And then challenged Toby on where else he might go. It was almost a threat in the guise of concern.

"You want me to stay for now?" Toby repeated softly, keeping his voice neutral for now as he crossed his arms over his skinny chest. "The sensible thing. Yeah. Feed me pancakes so I don't go off somewhere and tattle on you. You and everyone else. Your whole secret team of boy fuckers. Are you even sorry about anything?"

He clenched his jaw for a few moments, trying to steel himself against the emotions roiling beneath the surface. He took a couple of cautious closer to Gerry.

"Did you ever mean it when you said you loved me? Was that just your dick talking? Or maybe it was just your way of playing a dumb kid. Tell him what he wants to hear, and he might not squeal. Just tell me something true, for fuck's sake. Something real."

 

[ericrodman101]

Gerry wasn't surprised how hot Toby was when the kid got cross. As the teen raged the older man had to keep reminding himself that this was serious. His career was in jeopardy. Even as he contemplated how to reply to Toby it suddenly occurred to him that he had no guarantee that the janitor had properly cleaned the Principal's office, if at all, and made a mental note to phone someone. Anyone trustworthy. The chaplain....

"Did you ever mean it....?" Did he? Well of course, but saying you love someone in the moment happens for lots of reasons, not least because the words are on your tongue and across your lips before the consequences of uttering them are clear. Or even opaque for that matter. And the kid was eighteen years old, an abused runaway. What the fuck did little Toby know about love that didn't involve cocks in holes?

Little Toby. Love. The twisted angry face, standing naked in Gerry's kitchen. Fuck!

"Of course I meant it. Who says 'I love you' and doesn't mean it?"

Gerry baulked at his two-facedness and the ease with which he said what he had.

"I love you. That's why I bring you home, feed you, care for you. Why I've sent Andrea away. Why I'm staying home with you today. Why I want to have a good look at your asshole like a good Daddy to see if you need the doctor."

He walked across to Toby, purposefully, before the kid could back away, placing his hands on Toby's bare shoulders. Didn't the kid realize looking up assholes was an act of love?

"Bend over for me," Gerry said. "Or lie on the daybed and spread your legs. You're obviously uncomfortable and I want to see how bruised you are or if there's a cut."

He manoeuvred Toby about and pushed him towards the door, hoping against hope he was still taking the kid by surprise and wouldn't meet resistance. But if he had to throw Toby on the couch and open his legs forcibly, Gerry was prepared to do it, more to regain control than check on the kid's welfare although that was part of it. They'd grappled physically before, on the mat in his office for one, and Gerry was fairly sure that Toby felt comfortable being manhandled, soothed even in the arms of a stronger person or someone taking charge. He patted Toby's shoulders and cooed 'there there' and 'let's have a look at you' as he steered him the couple of feet between the kitchen door and the daybed where the boy had spent the night.

 

[tamgreen]

Toby's breath came in short, tense, uncertain huffs. The soothing tone the man spoke with and the words he used were what the boy wanted to hear, but he remained wary. He could imagine many people said they loved someone and didn't mean it. Hadn't Gerry and his wife allegedly loved each other? Hadn't his own mother said it to him hundreds of times, and then abandoned him? Was he going to go through that same awful cycle with Gerry - believing there was real love, and then being cast aside for some shiny new vice?

It was the hands on his shoulders that suddenly brought him to a place of unexpected acceptance. Strange how he could argue with any statement but be so defused by a touch. Just the right kind of touch in just the right moment. There was authority in it, without cruelty. Authority that promised to look after his needs and make the problems go away for a little while, as opposed to the authority of locked doors, duct tape, and violence. Gerry guiding him back to the daybed, coaxing him into position, ready to have a look at where he was hurt. He needed someone to take control, and he hated it when Gerry was cowed and useless. Needing a Daddy was so much more than just the desire to be fucked by a bigger, older man.

He could still argue, sure. Be suspicious. Be contrary. But he was tired and full of pancakes, and Gerry was at least right about there being no better option for him.

"If you have to call the doctor in," he murmured into the pillow while Gerry gently spread his bruised cheeks, "just tell him not to fuck me. Not today."

He sighed and shut his eyes for a while, feeling a little like Hansel, being lured into a candy house. If the witch intended to devour him, at least there would be candy in the meantime. He was beginning to believe there was no outcome for him wherein he wouldn't get devoured in some way. How much could one resist one's destiny? He was born to be used.

"Am I still your boy?" he whispered. "Not Henry. Just me. Tell me. Even if it's a lie. Just tell me."

 

[ericrodman101]

"Am I still your boy....?"

Gerry pulled Toby's legs open as the kid pushed his face into the pillows, his words muffled, but still clear. His eyes were drawn to the bruised asshole, angrily red inside a ring of blue.

"Toby, you must hurt so bad."

Gerry ran his fingers round the ravaged asshole, gently massaging and probing, causing Toby to wince and pull back.

"You're still my boy, kiddo," Gerry said. "Always my boy, yeah?"

The older man's fingers found themselves gently pushing into the teen's ass, opening him just a little. Toby reacted again, obviously in pain.

"You're not bleeding, kiddo," Gerry said, massaging the boy's back with his other hand, "but you're so bruised. I might have a chat to the school nurse and see if she thinks I should call the doctor."

Gerry wasn't sure he would raise anything with the school nurse, but it was protocol when a kid presented with an injury and the words came out automatically.

"And I think I need to make a quick trip to school anyway. Just to check on things after last night. You just lie here and rest. No one's gonna fuck you, today." Gerry laughed warmly. "Not even your best Daddy."

He leaned down and placed his face against the pillow, alongside Toby's head. Gerry kissed the boy's cheek, breathing in a heady mix of freshly washed skin and pancakes with syrup.

"OK, kiddo, I'll be back soon."

 

[tamgreen]

Toby gnawed on his bunched fist during the examination of his battered hole, trying to choke back his whimpers but failing. He let himself be soothed, shutting his eyes while the older man rubbed his back and reassured him.

He knew he was grasping at straws. Toby wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but he wasn't a complete idiot. Gerry's promises might be paper thin, but he grabbed hold of them for now, needing even a few hours of believing in Daddy and Always. Even just having his hurt acknowledged was deeply validating and comforting in ways he could hardly understand. Even if it was pretend or at least temporary, he took what he needed. He was being heard, acknowledged, granted a little respite. He was a person - he mattered.

And Daddy had things under control. Daddy would take care of any problems at school.

"Thank you," he murmured pathetically. "Okay... I'll rest here. Maybe... I could sleep with you, in your bed tonight? And we could cuddle? And... maybe... when you come home... you could bring me some clothes? I don't have much, and I don't know if I could figure out laundry today. It hurts to walk."

 

[ericrodman101]

When Gerry walked into the school he couldn't help but feel surprised that the place wasn't in uproar. The halls were quiet, the sounds of lecturing echoed from the rooms, the dodgy strip lighting flashed annoyingly. Just a normal day to follow yesterday.

The chairs in the hallway outside his office were vacant. He fixed the sign to his door indicating he would be back tomorrow, and went to the Principal's Office. The secretary informed him that Principal Grey was at a conference today and let Gerry inside when he said he'd mislaid something yesterday. The office was clean, orderly, nothing out of place. He checked the bathroom and found the same. The janitor had done an amazing job. For an instant Gerry imagined thanking him, but just as quickly wondered what price the janitor would extract in exchange for his effort, assuming he hadn't extracted the price already.

Gerry decided to go find the chaplain. He couldn't remember in what state Gabriel Dance had left the orgy last night. Perhaps the chaplain hadn't made it in today either. But when Gerry knocked on the door, Gabriel invited him inside.

Gerry closed the door behind him and stood, trying to look impassive. The chaplain, seated behind his desk, half smiled, half grimaced back.

"So...."

"So...."

Gerry couldn't help but smile. He didn't want to, hoping to maintain an air of authority even where there was none.

"I enjoyed myself yesterday, Gerry. Got something out of my system."

"Good," Gerry replied, taking a seat opposite the chaplain, "because we'd be crazy to let it happen again."

Gabriel leaned back, crossing his hands behind his head.

"How long have you been fucking Toby Keller?"

"How long have you been fucking Henry Merton?"

Gabriel smiled.

"I score that one all."

Gerry stood again and walked to the window. A group of boys were litter picking against the fence.

"Do you wanna make something of it, Gabriel?"

...............................................................

Charlotte Metzler walked the last three blocks from the bus. Neither of her parents' cars were in the drive, but it was a working day. She'd thought about letting them know she would be home for a few days, but then decided to surprise them. Maybe cook something fragrant to greet them when they opened the front door after a hard day. She'd see what provisions were in the fridge.

College had kicked into gear for her. The first semester of Charlotte's junior year had been a blaze of drinking and snorting and fucking, but little if any study. She'd been lucky not to be sent home or asked to explain herself. Perhaps it was only how prevalent had been the same behavior amongst her peers which had saved Charlotte being singled out. And why the fuck had she studied English literature?

The second semester was completely different. She had no explanation. Something in the water? Maturity? So much coke and weed that a switch in her brain had flicked? It didn't matter. Changing her major to photography had made all the difference. The artist in Charlotte hadn't waited to be discovered, but rather had burst out with a theatrical 'Tada!' and taken over her life. She'd already had one successful show and was being discussed by her tutors as the talented newcomer. The confronting nakedness of her subjects caused a stir, but who made a name for themselves with still life?

Charlotte fitted the key in the door, stepped into the hallway and dropped her bag. The familiar homely smell greeted her. Dust, cooked meat, detergent. The scents of home. The college dorms smelled of fast food and cum. She hummed to herself. Tunelessly. 'Shower then fridge.' For some reason she said it out loud. And as her voice echoed softly the door at the far end of the hallway opened, and a naked youth appeared, hair over one eye, thin almost to the point of emaciation, limp cock swinging.

"Hello," Charlotte said. "Do I know you?"

 

[tamgreen]

Toby had been drifting in and out of consciousness for most of the morning. He got up a couple of times to drink a glass of water and piss - input, output - but he mostly moved as little as possible. Aside from the aches and pains in his body, he felt numbed over, as if he were in limbo, in suspended animation, until Gerry came back to give some context to his existence.

He eventually awoke to quiet noises. Was that a door?

Daddy.

He had no idea what time it was, and didn't even pause to consider whether it might be Andrea or someone else entering the house. Anxious to find out how things had gone at school, and to see if Gerry had brought him any new clothes, he shuffled gingerly to the door and looked out into the hallway.

Toby tensed up and gasped, trying to hide most of his body behind the door when he was confronted by someone who was neither Gerry nor Queen Bitch, but a girl not much older than him. His face went beet red.

"Omigod! Omigod, I'm sorry - I... no. I'm... I'm... Toby. I'm, uh... um... I go to the school...?"

He winced, trying to find some coherent explanation for his existence. He was panicking, thinking of how Andrea had reacted to him, and he wasn't keen on getting screamed at and insulted again.

"G... Mr. Metzler was letting me... stay here for a bit. I'm allowed, I swear - you can ask him! Um... who are you?"

 

[ericrodman101]

Charlotte smiled. The kid was so nervous and vulnerable looking. Already she was sizing him up as a photographic subject now that was how she saw the world.

"Hey Toby," she said, showing her teeth in a broad grin. "It's OK. I'm Charlotte. Gerry and Andrea's daughter. I guess they're at work, yeah?"

She walked down the hall, shepherding Toby in front as she entered the dayroom. The covers on the daybed were crumpled.

"So you're sleeping in here?"

Charlotte sat on the daybed and almost patted the cushion beside her, but stopped. Something told her she would prefer to sit with Toby standing naked in the room before her. He was very pretty, slender, sticklike almost, without a hint of muscle. Heroin chic, they called it in the lectures. Is Toby on drugs, she wondered.

"So tell me all about yourself, Toby." She laughed. "Like do you have any clothes?"

 

[tamgreen]

Toby nodded faintly when she asked if her parents were at work. He felt like he was dreaming. This couldn't be happening. Gerry's daughter? His actual offspring? What a mindfuck. The person who'd probably called him Daddy because Gerry was her literal father. Toby had known there was a daughter, but he'd been able to put that out of his head, assuming she wouldn't ever be a factor since she didn't live with them anymore.

Jesus fucking Christ.

He was afraid of girls. He could admit that to himself, at least, in the privacy of his own head. And girls who acted sweet were much scarier than ones who just shrieked right off the bat like Andrea. They were scarier because you never knew when or how they might turn on you. They were crafty... fickle... vicious. It might have been only boys who beat him up at school, but girls had been far crueler to him. Boys hurled whatever loud, dumb insults came to mind, forceful verbal blows with little aim, while girls always seemed to know how to hit where it hurt, reaching carefully for the weak spots in others' armor.

And Charlotte was even more of a wildcard! Andrea had already walked in on her husband right smack in the middle of a wet and wild gay threesome - it was only a matter of time before mother and daughter communicated.

Charlotte was so calm. It was deeply unnerving. He could hardly believe she'd just accepted his simple explanation without bothering to check with her dad. Toby had no roadmap for this situation. All he could do, he supposed, was attempt the same story they'd fed Andrea, which was basically the truth - just with some salient facts redacted.

"Um... sort of. I have... some clothes. But... they're not in a very good state right now. I, um... well... some bad stuff happened. And that's kinda why I'm staying here. For... safety. And recovering."

He swallowed back a lump in his throat and looked down at himself, his hands anxiously cupped over his genitals. Hiding his essentials meant he couldn't hide anything else. The bruises on him, especially at his hips, advertised pretty clearly what sort of "bad stuff" he might have experienced. Maybe there was a chance she'd actually have a grain of compassion in her, unlike her mother, rather than just assuming - however true it might be - that he was trash.

 

[ericrodman101]

Gerry stared at the kids picking up litter in the playground, his words hanging in the air between them. He wasn't sure why he was being so belligerent. Fear mostly. Fear about what had already happened and what might happen, would happen in the future. His conduct with Toby was probably criminal and certainly morally reprehensible, and not just Gabriel Dance, but way too many people now knew about it, not everything, but enough. And he knew about them. A cold war, he mused, if that's what they wanted.

"Gerry," the chaplain said after a long pause. "No. Nothing. I don't want to make anything of it. I want...."

Gerry stayed focused on what was happening outside, trying not to speak.

"I want it to happen again," Gabriel said. "There. I've said it now. That's what I want. I just want you to know that and not to fear me. It's just..."

Gerry turned back as the chaplain turned his laptop round to face him.

"It's just that I've been sent this video and I think I might need your help."

.......................................................................................

Just like Dad to help out a desperate kid, Charlotte thought, wanting to give Toby a big hug and wondering if that was an appropriate response. She found it hard to imagine that her mother was pleased to have one of her husband's hard cases staying in the house. And if she thought back on the last few years, her parents had grown wildly apart. Gerry had always been the breadwinner and the leader and the role model, but now it was Andrea who'd assumed those roles. Charlotte had sometimes wondered if they'd even stay together. So many of her friend's parents had split up that her parents were almost unusual.

"Well, don't mind me, Toby," Charlotte said, smiling as broadly as she could while she walked right up to him. "I've seen naked men before and if that's what makes you comfortable, just do it."

She so wanted to place her hands on Toby, to turn him about, examine him, find the best angles for the light on his body and where the shadows were. The subjects in her show had happily let her photograph them naked, but they'd all been at least her age and mostly a lot older. When she asked for volunteers it had been mostly the graduate students and the faculty who'd wanted to get involved. And that was great, but naked men weren't really what she was looking for. Too hairy, too wrinkly, too saggy, too imperfect.

Charlotte willed Toby to turn and walk away from her so she could assess his ass. To walk up to the window where the light was strongest and turn about a few times, slowly, stopping when she asked, maybe cocking his head, flicking his hair, posing.

"Oh, what the fuck," she said. "Just turn and walk up to the window and turn about. I'm a photographer. I like naked bodies, Toby. Does that embarrass you? Surely not. And you're simply beautiful. Just let me see how you look in the full sun. Maybe we should step outside into the yard. Would that be OK? Have you ever been photographed before?"

 

[tamgreen]

Toby was still struggling to come to terms with the existence of a being that was half Gerry and half Andrea. The way Charlotte talked to him, he supposed, was far more Gerry. He wanted to relax and believe her, but he was confused, off guard.

He was beautiful? What did that even mean? Why would she say that? He couldn't manage to accept it as a simple compliment. He was looking for the trap. Girls didn't like him.

He shrugged at most of her questions, and shook his head at the last one. "I dunno why anyone would want pictures of me except...." He trailed off and gulped, thinking of the janitor and his private little films.

Despite his hesitation, he turned to step closer to the window, bathing himself in sunbeams as he lowered his hands. He closed his eyes for a few moments, absorbing the warm glow. He couldn't deny it felt good, but he wasn't sure about actually going outside.

"I don't wanna get in trouble," he mumbled as he turned back to face Charlotte. "I dunno what the neighbors would think if they saw. What do you wanna do with pictures of me? And can I see other ones you've taken?"

 

[ericrodman101]

Charlotte watched enthralled as Toby turned in the sun. He was heartbreakingly nervous and hesitant, all big feet like a Labrador puppy, she thought, clumsy and awkward and no doubt wondering what the fuck this strange girl was up to.

"Sorry," she said when he murmured about not going outside. "I'm going way too fast. Let's sit for a bit and yeah, you can have a look at some photos I've already taken. I'll just fetch my laptop and you can see my whole exhibition. Wanna make me a coffee while I'm setting up?"

Charlotte smiled warmly as she left the room, Toby still standing in the window, face downwards a little, hair across his eyes, demure and shy like those waiflike underwear models who she had in her head as the look she wanted to capture. Or even twink porn models. Sometimes when she was feeling really excited and confident, Charlotte wondered if that might be her other ultimate goal, highbrow award winning rule-breaking photographer by day and raunchy depraved porn producer by night. She shivered with excitement as she walked back along the hallway to fetch her bag. This kid was so her type....

.........................................................................................

Gerry watched as Gabriel clicked on the mouse and opened the video file. The setting was unmistakable. The janitor's room down the hall from which Toby had been unceremoniously ejected yesterday. The wide angle of the camera, wall mounted. It was a side view, a man in a shirt but no trousers bent over a chair and a much younger man, naked, fucking him from behind. The older man was Gabriel, of course, but for a moment or two Gerry didn't realise, drawn as he was to the action on screen rather than the identities. And the contradictory notion that what he would observe was the older man fucking the younger one and not the other way round.

Gabriel kept turning to the camera, wide eyed, grimacing as his partner thrust inside him, not quite expressionless but looking into the lens, searching for it almost, as if he knew it was there. The younger guy kept his face hidden, mostly concealed by his luxuriant crop of hair which fell forward with each body movement. Gerry noticed that he was more heavily built than Toby, and then noted how he'd immediately settled on that comparison. Toby versus this guy. This kid. More heavily built he may be, Gerry thought, but it's one of the students. He was sure.

And then the kid turned. Henry Merton. Hardly surprising given everything Gerry had observed and their discussion prior. So it wasn't so much that Gabriel Dance was fucking Henry Merton, but the other way round.

A movement caught Gerry's attention and he looked down to find the chaplain had unzipped himself and was stroking his cock. Gabriel looked up, not smiling, but the same expression he had on film, like searching for the camera, for exposure, as if he wanted to make sure he was being captured. Gerry had the distinct impression that far from being alarmed at receiving the video film, Gabriel Dance was enjoying every second of the viewing and showing it to his colleague.

 

[tamgreen]

Still Toby felt like he was inside a dream as he stepped away from the window and drifted to the kitchen.

Coffee. Charlotte wanted coffee. Toby didn't drink the stuff, generally, but he'd learned how to make it as a kid. Mom had plenty of late nights drinking and partying and called for her wake-up juice. They couldn't always afford it, but when it was around, he liked the smell. It meant that she was there. That she was home, and intending to function. There hadn't been enough days like that.

The coffee maker in the Metzler kitchen looked space age compared to what he was familiar with, but the concept was more or less the same. Pretty soon the machine was percolating, and Toby leaned against the counter while he waited for Charlotte, in the same spot he'd been leaning earlier today when he'd challenged her father's love for him. What would happen when she found out? He shivered, wishing he had more time so he could call Gerry's office and beg for guidance.

Soon the girl joined him in the kitchen with her laptop bag, and Toby drew curiously closer as she set it up on the table.

"You said something about an exhibition. Does that mean like... you actually get your photos printed big and put them in a gallery or something? Like real artsy-fartsy stuff?"

 

[ericrodman101]

“Artsy-fartsy!” Charlotte laughed loudly. “Yeah. Stuff like that. Here look.”

She took the coffee from Toby and set it beside the open laptop, and waited for the boy to seat himself beside her. The first image appeared on the screen.

”Just the pics, yeah?” she said. “I won’t show you the publicity shots from the event itself. Unless you’re interested later.”

The first photograph was of a blonde youth, maybe a little older than Toby, lounging on a daybed much like the one in the back room. He looked a little sullen, a little expectant, clean shaven and wide eyed, and completely naked except that his cock was just hidden behind a rug draped across his groin.

”That’s Tristan,” Charlotte said. “He’s a freshman, so eighteen or nineteen. He’s simply beautiful, don’t you think?”

Without turning her head, Charlotte sensed that Toby was examining the photo. She leaned into him a little so that they touched, barely, just the faintest hint of fabric against skin. She wondered if Toby felt it too.

“This is Cam,” she said, scrolling to the next one. The boy in the next pic was dark haired, stubble on his face. He was naked too, leaning forward on his arms, perched over a fence. His lower body was shadowed by the railing but his cock was visible in the dim light, slightly out of focus at the base of the picture.

”I have to blur them like that,“ she said, “if I want to show them. Even at college. How crazy is that? Fucking first amendment and artistic freedom and all that.”

The third pic was two expressionless black youths standing in water. The mounds of their cocks and their frizzy pubic hair was visible, but the low water line just ensured their modesty.

“Had to take that one quick before the tide went out.” Charlotte laughed. “Don’t you believe me?”

She turned to Toby and held his gaze.

”So you see why I want to photograph you? Pretty boys. Candid pics. It’s all above board. No funny business. Artsy-fartsy, yeah?”

 

[tamgreen]

Toby leaned over the back of the chair next to Charlotte rather than sitting. In this position, partly bent over, someone standing beside him might be able to see just how much of a battering his little asshole had taken, but he felt safe from prying eyes for now.

He scrutinized the images of good-looking young men, licking his lips now and then, examining in particular the just-out-of-focus groins. He knew it was supposed to be art, but the images were inescapably sexy. Being able to almost, but not quite, see their young cocks encouraged a certain yearning.

"So... you really think I'm... photograph-able? As much as them?"

Her sleeve brushing against him didn't escape his notice. It was just the tiniest tickle. He might have shied away, put some more distance between them, but he didn't want to make it more obvious than it already was that he was terribly nervous around girls. He did his best not to react at all.

Where was Gerry? Couldn't get come home soon? If Toby was actually going to model for photographs, he would have liked Gerry to be there. Of course, he could only imagine the potential psychological weirdness of a father watching his daughter take pictures of a naked boy. A naked boy he happened to be fucking.

This presented an interesting question, however.

"Does your dad know you do this kind of photography?"

 

[ericrodman101]

The image of the kid fucking the chaplain froze on screen. Gabriel Dance held Gerry's gaze as he lifted his cock out where Gerry could see it clearly and stroked himself. Gerry was unsure what to say. His colleague had sure fooled him, all that floppy-haired innocence, the feigned piety, the suggested struggle to control himself. Gabriel Dance wanted to fuck students, or be fucked by them. He was just as debauched as Gerry. This wasn't a moral struggle the chaplain was engaged in, but only one to avoid detection. And showing Gerry the video was equal parts bravado and bringing Gerry inside an orbit which made him the chaplain's accessory.

Except that after last night's incident in the Principal's Office the two men were accessories, enablers, daddies, corrupters of boys. The video and the stroking were just the lock on the gate. Gerry was already inside the fence.

He didn't wait for Gabriel to bring himself to orgasm. Or wonder if his colleague was offering the cock for him to stroke or suck. Gerry felt a revelation that he wasn't especially attracted to Gabriel, and that they were simply co-conspirators, never to be lovers.

"Who sent you the video, Gabriel?"

The chaplain was close to cumming and struggled to speak.

"No idea," Gabriel blurted as he came in his hands. Gerry watched the man's creamy spunk ooze between his fingers onto his clothing. He'd need to wash or change his clothes.

"Of course you do. Who sent it? Was it attached to an email?"

"It wasn't an email," Gabriel said, recovering slightly, but making no attempt to hide his cock. "It's a USB." He pointed to the side of the laptop. "It was in my machine when I sat down."

"Is it Henry?" Gerry asked.

Gabriel smiled at the mention of Henry's name. "He's beautiful, isn't he Gerry? I bet you want to fuck Henry now. No idea, but I'll ask."

Whether or not it was Henry who supplied the USB, the tryst had been filmed in the janitor's room. So the janitor was in the frame too.

"What do you want me to do about it, Gabriel?"

The chaplain looked up at Gerry quizzically.

"Do? I don't want you to do anything."

"I thought you said you might need my help."

Gabriel laughed. "Your help to get off," he said. "I thought you might enjoy watching it. And maybe showing me what you've got on film."

...............................................................................................................

"Does your Dad know you do this kind of photography?"

"He knows I take pictures," Charlotte said, continuing to scroll through the website. "I'm not sure what you mean by 'this kind of photography'. It's just art. Nudes. People painted nudes throughout history and now they photograph them. No one gets shy anymore. These are just bodies. We all have them."

Charlotte laughed at the old joke.

"You know, I remember how prissy we all used to be about bodies growing up. Always covering yourself up. Always being told our bodies were bad or shameful or dirty. No wonder we're all screwed up. I mean, who wouldn't be? There's this point on our bodies where our skin goes from being OK to obscene? Really? How fucking stupid. And then sex education. Who ever thought anyone would believe you had to wait until you were married to fuck? I mean, the people telling you that didn't believe it either. Maybe nuns and priests, but look at what priests do. Fucking kids all the time, the lot of them. Perverts. All because bodies are shameful. Well, Toby. Bodies are beautiful. Your body is beautiful. You know that. Why else would you be going round my house naked?"

She stood and lifted her Tshirt over her head, exposing her lacy bra.

"And mine is too, Toby. I'm going to get naked with you."

 

[tamgreen]

Toby could acknowledge she had a point about societal hangups around nudity. All those old Greek statues with dicks on them and Baroque paintings of pale chubby girls lying across couches were real art. But she probably didn't understand the reasons behind his hesitation. Or she did, and this was some sort of deliberate manipulation. He crossed his arms and shifted uncomfortably.

When she started undressing, he took a step back and looked at the floor, trying not to panic. Why was he suddenly feeling like she might duct tape him and fuck him in front of the camera? He shook his head at the intrusive thought.

"I'm naked because I don't have clean clothes!" he blurted out. "I was waiting for... for your dad to.... Don't you even care if your dad sees? That's fucking weird. I get that we all have bodies, but that's fucking weird. He might be home soon. I've seen my mom naked, and definitely not because I wanted to - because she's a bad mom, and that was just scarring. She's a fucking horrible parent and I can't live with her anymore. I just needed a safe place to stay, okay? If you want to take pictures of me you can take pictures, just... you don't need to be naked, and I'm not gonna have sex with you, okay?"

 

[ericrodman101]

Charlotte watched Toby take a step back as she undressed, and stopped.

"I don't have clean clothes," he said. "I was waiting for your Dad....he might be home soon....and I'm not gonna have sex with you, okay?"

She smiled, not sure how to process Toby's long speech. The poor kid was obviously scared of something. Of her maybe?

"Sorry, Toby, sorry. I guess I am coming on a bit strong. But then you were the one already naked in my house."

Charlotte decided just to make it the Tshirt for now and leave her jeans on.

"How about like this?" she said. "I love going topless. It's just wrong how boys can do this and girls can't. I mean if we were Europeans..."

And somehow for the first time Charlotte noticed the bruising, on the top of Toby's arms, and below his hips. Where else, she wondered. She touched him lightly on the left arm.

"Who did this to you?"

Strangely perhaps, Toby looked even more photogenic bruised. Which made sense. Vulnerable, waiflike and bruised. Like pictures from the frontline.

"Hey, let me take some pics of you. It won't hurt and it might even be fun. And then you can get dressed, yeah? I'll find you something of mine to wear. What do you say?"