The Year of the Rat
by Nico Grey
Chapter 3
My breathing had almost returned to normal by the time I was back in the church basement. Once I had time to realize that I was safe, I did worry about the kid with the auburn hair. He hadn't done anything. I was the thief. But I wondered if the store manager had turned his wrath on the kid. Thinking about that didn't help me to feel any better about myself.
Still, I was home safely. I had the medicine that would make Mike feel better. At least I hoped that it would. We still had food for a couple of days. I prayed that somewhere during that brief respite I would come up with answers that would help resolve our difficulties and allow me to bring my criminal career to a close.
I'm sure that Mike knew how I got the medicine. But he was grateful. He took some aspirin and the cough syrup. He allowed me to rub the Vicks on his chest. It made him smile. I was happy.
We both slept.
When I woke in the morning, I was no closer to having answers to our dilemma. Mike sounded a little better, so that was good. He said he was feeling better, and that was even more encouraging. But I didn't know how I would get more food once the groceries ran out. I pretended to eat. I made sure that Mike got the nourishment that he needed.
Three nights later, I found myself wandering about aimlessly near Gateway Park. I was still in search of answers. Rather than stay in the basement, watch Mike sleep, and worry, I was trying to clear my head in the night air.
I was thinking awfully hard. The medicine seemed to be helping Mike. At least it was easing his symptoms. I still wasn't sure it was making him better. And we only had a few days left before I needed to get more.
That wasn't the biggest problem. The food wouldn't last more than another day. And I hadn't eaten anything in three days. It was really starting to affect me. I sometimes had trouble trying to climb the stairs out of our basement.
I was terrified of the idea of stealing again. It was just too risky. But I didn't know what else to do.
From somewhere around me, I heard a voice.
"Do you think Tim could help him?"
I couldn't figure out where the voice had come from. It felt like I had been hearing a lot of voices lately. My hunger-weakened condition was probably making it worse.
"You know we aren't allowed to get involved, Dylan. We've already done more than we should." That voice... well, it didn't sound familiar. It just was familiar.
"They need help!"
I looked around furiously. I couldn't figure out where the voices were coming from. But I did notice three familiar figures. The older two were looking intently away, but the blond boy was gazing shyly at me.
When he saw me looking at him, it was almost like he faded away. It definitely didn't appear that he was completely real. I needed food!
After a few moments, he became more substantial again. He looked determined as he walked cautiously toward me, his bag of Jolly Ranchers extended in my direction.
The boy seemed to understand something about me, about my need. He tried to push the bag into my hands. But I couldn't take all his candy. And as he drew closer, I found that I couldn't bring myself to fully meet his eyes.
"No, thanks," I mumbled. "Just a couple. And a few for my friend, if I could, please."
He reached into his bag and pulled out a handful, pressing them into my hand. His tentative smile felt encouraging, so I smiled back a little.
He reached into his bag again and pulled out another handful. His mood altered slightly, like he was anxious. He slid that handful of candy into my pocket.
"For your friend," he smiled shyly again.
I felt a little teary. I smiled back, before I had to leave.
I didn't get much sleep that night. The candy had been a nice treat for Mike and me. I still had about half of the blond kid's gift among our dwindling food supply. But I couldn't figure out how I was going to get more food. Mike needed it to get stronger. And I couldn't keep going much longer if I didn't eat soon.
Twice during the night I had crawled out of our nest and tiptoed up the stairs to commune with the god of the church. I found a sense of reassurance and peace. But I didn't find answers there.
I thought about begging. I did sometimes see people stationed about the center of the city, with a can or a hat on the ground in front of them, looking for handouts. It wasn't a lifestyle I particularly desired. I also worried about the police if they heard that someone as small as me was out begging and not at home with my parents. But we needed food desperately. I was sure that I could find an empty can or a baseball cap somewhere among our possessions in the church basement.
Some of the more successful vagrants would have a sign near them that said something like, "Will Work for Food". I thought about that. Most people walking past those signs would just drop some change or small bills in the collection can. But I wondered what sort of work might be required if someone wanted to take me up on the offer.
It took me several hours to make the connection.
He hadn't advertised with a sign, but Mike worked for food. On various visits, I had seen more than a dozen different kids working for food in Grant Park. Two or three of them looked like they might be as young as me.
Then I thought about what Mike did for work. I spent several hours trying to drive those thoughts from my mind. Watching Mike work had really upset me at times. I really couldn't even think about doing those things myself.
I tried panhandling the next day. Some of the other beggars were hostile. It wasn't like the team of co-workers that gathered in Grant Park at night. I was chased from every street corner where I tried to set up shop.
I ended up moving around, trying locations anywhere there appeared to be foot traffic but no one else was begging. I hadn't brought a sign advertising that I would work for food. The uncertainty about what that might involve dissuaded me.
Anytime I saw a police patrol, or even adults paying too much attention to me, I went looking for a new location. At the end of my shift, I had four dollars and eighty cents in my can. It was barely enough for milk and a box of cereal.
I didn't even bother going out the next day. The milk was gone. Most of the cereal was gone, too. Worse, Mike's bottle of cough syrup was completely empty.
I knew what I had to do.
I tried really hard not to think about it.
Once Mike was sound asleep, I dressed for the night. I kissed him gently on the back of his neck and crept up the stairs.
I strode resolutely down Grand Avenue. I had made my decision. I was firm in my convictions. I would do what I had to do.
Once I turned south onto Columbus Drive, my pace slowed. I tried to steel myself for the night ahead, for my first shift on the job. I had seen what Mike and his friends did for work. I knew that each worker decided what he would do and what he would charge. I tried to think about what I was willing to do.
After months of voyeurism, and some experiments based on what I had seen, I was getting pretty good at playing with my penis. It felt good. I thought I would be okay letting someone else — even a stranger — do that to me. I was also pretty sure that I could do that to a stranger. I'd just have to keep away from the end of his penis. I still wasn't comfortable with the idea of touching that white stuff that came out of it.
As I thought about the services I would offer, I realized that I had stopped walking. Reluctantly, I got myself moving again.
I knew that Mike and his friends usually charged around twenty dollars if they touched a guy's penis or let him touch theirs. If I could earn twenty dollars three or four times, it would buy all the food and medicine we needed for at least a few days.
I knew that they also got around fifty dollars if they let a guy put his penis in their mouth, or let him put his mouth around their penis. I just wasn't ready to go there. I couldn't even make myself think about it.
As I got closer to the park, I became aware of butterflies in the pit of my stomach. I think most of them were armed with machine guns.
I had almost stopped moving again. I had tried to think through everything that I would do on the job, and about anything that might happen that night. I thought I was ready. My feet knew better.
But the thought of Mike sleeping at home, sick and hungry, made the decision for me. I slipped through the hedge near East Monroe Street and reluctantly made my way to the buildings that housed the restrooms.
I recognized three of the guys that were gathered there. Two of them were regulars. One was a red-headed guy, about Mike's size, that I had also seen there several times before.
They noticed me lurching toward them and turned to look me over.
I really wasn't sure what to say. I was new on the job. I needed to introduce myself.
"Hey," I nodded toward them, avoiding direct eye contact. "I'm Rat."
Five sets of eyes continued to inspect me curiously. I thought sure they would introduce themselves. At least one of them. Maybe the foreman. But they were all independent contractors.
"I'm Mike's friend."
There was still no reaction.
"You know. He works here a couple times a week. Long brown hair. A little bit taller than me. He's kinda skinny."
And that was it. They had my name. They knew why I was there. They knew that I understood why I was there. And I had offered bona fides, of sorts. Everyone turned back toward the front of the men's room. A couple guys shifted to make space for me in line.
And that was it. I was a member of the union now. I stood in line with my brothers and waited for my first job. Sometime during that night, while I was waiting to be hired for my first job, I realized that I had turned twelve years old.
The next hour was nerve-racking. More than a dozen men approached our work team. They were all ages and sizes.
Most of them appeared to be really interested in meeting me at first. But when I squeaked out my limited offerings, most were disappointed. It seemed that they were in the mood for more than just "hand jobs", as they apparently were called. So each guy, some with a lingering glance in my direction, found another laborer to supply what was needed.
As the night progressed, I was growing desperate. I needed money for Mike. I mean, I really needed money. We had maybe a bowlful of cereal left at home, some aspirin, cough drops, and Vicks. We were completely out of cough syrup, the medicine that seemed to be helping Mike the most.
I've heard a lot of phrases to describe situations like mine. I think I like "desperation is the mother of bad decisions" best. I knew what I had to do. I simply wasn't sure I was ready to do it.
He was a big guy; kind of tall, very fat, balding, with a thick moustache and some stubble on his chin. At least he was dressed fairly well.
He came around the corner of the building and eyed the six of us. He seemed to latch on to me right away. He walked up with a grin that I found unsettling.
"I think you just might do, shorty. So what's on the menu tonight?"
My stomach rose, and not in a good way. I wasn't entirely sure what he meant. But I recalled what the other guys told customers, so I mumbled, "Hand jobs are twenty. I can do you, or you can do me." I had a real hard time getting the rest of my new spiel out. "I can suck you or you can suck me. That's fifty dollars, however you want it."
"Are you sure that's all, kid?" It seemed like this was a game he'd played before. "You look like a pole jockey."
I must have appeared puzzled because he kept going. My confusion seemed to encourage him. "You know, kid. Do you like to ride the ponies? A little guy like you? I bet you'd be pretty good at it. Great weight for some bareback riding. And I gotta tell ya, kid", he was looking somewhere just behind me, "I really like your form".
I tried to process what he was saying. It sounded like he wanted more than hand jobs and sucking. In my mind, I could see him hiring one of my co-workers. And Mike was depending on me. But what was a pole jockey? Riding ponies? Bareback riding? Could I do that?
I almost panicked and said something I would have regretted. Fortunately my tongue knew that.
I had no idea what the guy wanted, but I knew why I was there. I hoped it would be enough... or that someone else would come along and find what I offered acceptable. "I told you what I can do. Twenty for a hand job. Or fifty for the other, mister, either way. What would you like?"
The guy looked a little frustrated, then he grinned again and got a snotty look in his eyes. "Okay, kid. Have it your way. But believe me, you're really going to earn your money tonight."
I cringed, but I stayed focused on my task. I led him behind the building and out into the bushes a little way, just like Mike did. The turmoil in my stomach was growing. I wondered what would happen if I couldn't contain it. But we needed the fifty bucks. We really needed it.
The guy reached out and grabbed my shoulder, turned me around and positioned me roughly in front of him. He was smirking now, like he already knew something that I really didn't want to know.
He reached down, unzipped the front of his pants and pulled himself out and pointed to the ground in front of him. I knew what that meant. My stomach rose again. "I guess this will have to do for tonight, kid, since you don't have anything better on the menu."
I looked at what was sticking up from his pants with disgust, but I didn't know what else to do. Remembering what I had watched Mike do, I got on my knees and leaned in tentatively, figuring I should make contact with my lips first and that things might work out from there.
"Hurry it up, kid", he snapped. "And make damn sure you keep your teeth out of the way. Now open wide". And I did.
He grabbed my head roughly and just rammed himself into me. I don't know if he was a doctor, but for a second I thought he might have given me a tonsillectomy without anesthesia. I gagged and struggled, trying to force him out of my mouth, but he kept pressure on the back of my head.
It's a wonder I didn't bite the guy. But it was fifty dollars. Mike was waiting at home. And we needed the money badly. I closed my eyes, kind of left my body there while I drifted away a bit, and just waited for him to get done using me.
I guess I must have been doing something right, because after a couple minutes of having my head bounced up and down on his penis like some sort of very disturbing carnival ride, he thrust my head firmly into his crotch — or his crotch into my head, I really wasn't able to follow the whole process very clearly — and held me there. His hips were bucking weakly, his penis started throbbing, and I wanted to retch. Suddenly I felt something else in my mouth.
I was choking. God help me, it felt like I might be drowning! And the guy just pressed my head roughly into his body. I had to swallow. Aaaaagh! I had to swallow!
It probably wasn't another fifteen seconds that he held me there, but it felt like an eternity. The guy started to relax a bit and I was finally able to draw enough air through my nose to fill my lungs.
I was struggling and gasping, and he eventually let up the pressure on the back of my head and took a step away from me. I fell forward onto my hands and started to heave.
The guy's shoes disappeared from sight and it sounded like he was walking away. I wasn't paying much attention. My stomach was contracting in rapid pulses and my throat was convulsing like they were both trying to get back at me for what I had just put them through.
I emptied my mouth, a disgusting mixture of saliva and something else. Seeing that on the ground in front of me only encouraged my outraged stomach. More fluid came up, followed by what remained of my last meager meal. Eventually I was reduced to heaving in short bursts, each one finding something that didn't want to remain in my stomach with whatever that guy had just put there.
And then it hit me: The money! I didn't have the money! Mike was lying at home ill, I was sick on all fours here in Grant Park, and I didn't have anything to help Mike get better. I started to cry. How could I screw things up any more? How could this evening get any worse?
Out of the corner of my eye, my vision distorted, I noticed a slender figure coming around some tall bushes a few yards in front of me. And somehow the evening did get worse.
Oh, God, no! Please! Not Mike! Please don't let him be a witness to my humiliation!
And that one prayer, at least, was answered.
The kid approaching wasn't very much bigger than Mike, but his hair was blond. It was blond! And I was saved that final measure of shame.
But that's all I was saved, because the fat dude chose that moment to come out from behind some bushes off to my left, his pale little part dangling limply from his fly but still grotesquely aimed directly at me. There was no way this kid wasn't going to notice and figure out why I was on the ground, leaning over a puddle of my own vomit.
I saw the kid hesitate as I crawled toward the fat man. And whatever else was going on in my mind, and however much I understood that it would confirm any unfortunate impressions in the mind of our unexpected visitor, I knew there was one thing I still had to do. I reached up toward the guy and he seemed to understand.
"I told you I was cumming", he snarled. "I don't know why you tried to take it all." He reached into his pocket, took out a twenty dollar bill, and threw it on the ground next to me. His foot pushed against my shoulder to keep my away from him. "Here, I'll give you twenty. That's all you're getting."
No! I lifted my head and reached toward the guy again, my breath coming in short gasps. "Wait... wait... you said fifty." He had said fifty. I was sure of it. I mean, I know I had told him it was going to cost fifty dollars. "I need fifty. Please, mister. Please don't stiff me."
The fat dude wasn't impressed and he certainly wasn't moved by my plea. "I'm not paying you to get sick all over yourself! You ruined the whole mood for me now. I'm not into this shit." He started to turn away.
"Please! Wait! Don't!" I cried. I was ashamed and humiliated. But worst of all, my heart was breaking because I knew I had failed Mike. I couldn't let this guy get away!
I staggered to my feet and tottered toward him. When I got close enough, I lunged, trying to get at his wallet. But the guy just shoved me to the ground.
I got up again and the guy backhanded me effortlessly into the dirt. "Stay down, kid! I'll fuck you up even worse if you keep at it!"
I could feel pain radiating out from my jaw. I could taste blood in my mouth. I felt all the forms of degradation I had experienced in this one miserable night. Worst, I could sense Mike waiting sick at home, and I understood that I really had failed him. I started to sob.
Then I saw our unwelcome visitor move. The kid stepped out of the shadows.
The guy noticed him. He glanced down to make sure he wasn't still exposed. "I can explain this," he said.
"What's to explain?" the kid asked. His voice was mellow, pitched just a little lower than I'd expected, and it was somehow arousing. "You paid good money to be satisfied. You don't look very satisfied to me." He smiled and walked toward the guy, stepping right over me.
The fat guy licked his lips and got a greedy look in his eyes. "I'm not sure I know what you mean, kid."
"Then perhaps you need a demonstration," the kid whispered. His voice sounded sultry. He reached out and grabbed the front of the guy's pants. "I'll tell you what, why don't you give me a try instead? And if I do a better job of putting a smile on your face, you pay me double what you paid him."
It was a proposition. But his body language said that he already knew what the answer would be. I wondered if the kid knew how to ride the ponies.
The fat dude looked around furtively, then pulled the kid up against a tree and lunged toward his neck. "I like the way you think," he moaned.
His lips were slobbering all over the kid's neck and his hands started to grope the kid's butt. It looked even more invasive than when Mike's butt was being grabbed that last time I saw him. And this kid was still wearing his pants! He just accepted it all. His grin was fiendish.
After a few moments, the guy's hands worked around to the front of the kid's pants. I noticed the bulge straining under the fabric. The guy started to pull at the zipper and the kid just thrust his hips forward. And the fat guy's efforts were rewarded. His hand dived inside the kid's pants, fumbled a bit with the opening of his boxers, and then he roughly pulled out his prize!
When that fat dude pulled this kid out, I couldn't look away. There was something about the way he stood up there, something fierce that seemed to tell the rest of the world that he really didn't give a fuck. It was an attitude reflected in all of his body language.
The fat dude didn't seem to notice. Or maybe he didn't care about it. His tongue was working over one of the kid's ears and he was whimpering. "So young... mmmm... so tight... "
But I could tell that this kid was angry. His fierce smile was angry. His rigid shoulders were angry. His hands were bunched into angry fists. His penis was more than angry. It was enraged.
There was even a red glow that I could see reflected in the lenses of the kid's sunglasses; something almost unnatural in its ferocity. And that distracted me from my fascination with his personal stuff.
Where was that glow coming from? I looked around to see if it might be a reflection from the Buckingham Fountain, but those distant lights were now gold, and the angle was wrong for a reflection.
Something very disturbing, something very not right, was going on here. But I still couldn't bring myself to look away.
The kid turned away from the guy, looked directly toward me, and actually grinned at me! Except it wasn't really a grin. It was terrifying. And still I couldn't look away.
The guy lifted up the kid's shirt and started to sink to his knees, but the kid stopped him. "Hold on there, cowboy", he said as he lifted the man back to his feet.
He lifted the guy? The dude was huge and this kid wasn't all that much bigger than me, but he pulled him to his feet! He looked the guy in the eye, took him by the right hand, and brought the hand to his mouth. He kissed the back of that hand, then the knuckles, then turned it over.
I couldn't help but think that this wasn't anything I'd ever seen Mike do with a customer. It was... seductive? But it was seductive in a very creepy kind of way.
The fat dude paused and looked at the kid appraisingly. "If you want romance, why don't we go back to my house?" he offered.
But the kid just kept looking at him, like he was measuring him or something. "No thanks. I can get what I need right here." His body trembled and he became even more rigid, if that was possible, his personal part visibly pulsing right in front of me. He kissed the palm of the guy's hand and then started to suck on his wrist a little.
"Are you sure you don't want to go back to my place where we can get more comfortable?" The guy was almost pleading. He was quivering — quivering and leering, not an attractive combination. "I can make your hot little blond boy pussy feel so good. Would you like that? Huh? You want daddy to stretch you out, and fill you up with his hot cum, don't you? You can be my little boy-bitch all night long."
At least that's what I think he said. My mind started to black out a bit as I struggled to comprehend the actual meaning of his words.
The kid flipped his sunglasses back on his head, looked into the guy's eyes, and his grin was huge. It was wicked.
"Sorry, daddy... wrong fluid", he said as he bit into the guy's wrist!
Drops of blood spattered my face! I could actually hear bones breaking as the guy recoiled in pain! He was shaking violently. Then he started to scream.
The kid quickly glanced my way again. He really had a beautiful face! His eyes pierced my soul with an intense crimson glare. And for the second time in less than a few heartbeats my mind went black, then completely blank. This time it didn't recover for a while.
I think I sensed a struggle. Running. Screaming. Maybe that was me. I heard shouting, followed by the sound of flesh on flesh. I heard a few hard blows being exchanged; bones breaking, maybe; something awful, like flesh being ripped from a carcass; then an intense slobbering, sucking sound.
Finally I heard an agonized shout of triumph, although that might have only been inside my head. There was a voice in my head telling me that this guy really did deserve what was happening to him. It was the same voice that was telling me I ought to stick around to see what this kid wanted to do to me. That thought was entirely too much for my mind to contain.
My eyes opened — or perhaps they'd been open all along and simply started working again — just in time to see the kid get up off a bloody pile of meat and start to walk toward me! His shirt was covered with blood. He was stained all down his front, although the broad stain on his pants wasn't crimson. Why were my eyes still drawn there?!
I jumped to my feet.
"No! No, it's okay", the kid said. "I promise, I'm not gonna hurt you."
I backed off a few paces and stopped.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
There was no way I could answer. I glanced at the front of his shirt again, covered in blood. I tried to process the fragments of the encounter that my mind could recall. I couldn't come up with anything rational.
I glanced one more time at this beautiful, blood-covered boy and, when he stepped toward me again, I did the one thing I could do. I ran.
Two things. I screamed.
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