(by Edward Zeusgany and Alex Anders, © copyright 2000, all rights reserved)

For once it hadn’t been a struggle for Travis to get himself up, dressed in shorts and short sleeved shirt and out on his paper route. He had woken, fully alert, five minutes before the alarm was set to go off at 6 sharp. It only took him those five minutes to make it to the garage, then get his bike, open the double doors and begin the process of folding the papers into tight, assemblages suitable for hurling.

It was a beautiful and sunny, early summer morning. His tire left a track in the light dew that covered the driveway. The way was mostly flat, so the youngster coasted easily along the tree shaded suburban roadway, pausing now and then to toss a newspaper in the direction of a front door. He was better at it than most. His average, when he bothered to compute it, hovered near 60% for direct hits on the steps or landing, 90% for there or at least partly on the walkway, and a measly 10% on the lawn or in the bushes.

Travis came to a transition section formed by a small park between neighborhoods. A shiny, dark purple SUV, the sort he often saw in this area and wished his father would get, passed him and then pulled over to the side of the road. He saw the driver move over to the passenger side of the van and stick his head out of the window. The guy hollered something at him about directions to somewhere. The lad couldn’t make it out clearly.

The head poking out of the window was that of a young man, clean cut like most of the folks in Travis’s town. He was smiling, as though he thought himself an idiot for not knowing where, wherever it was, was. The vehicle was a good yard out from the curb, so Travis glided between the two, preparatory to saying, “What?”

*****

Dwight and Ryan had been given their instructions by Keith, who paid them the cash they needed for drugs. They were to begin their search in an area that was a two hour drive from Keith’s lair. The first stage was to take photos using the camera with a long range lens that the man had given them. Thumbnail descriptions and notations on location were made for each observation. Usually, not more than three could be accomplished during the approximately one hour window of opportunity.

Keith was a pornographer in need of an eleven to twelve year old. His clients tended to have differentiated tastes. In particular, it was a specific age range that appealed to them, though for some even hair color was important. The early adolescent material that the man had on hand was stale.

He didn’t bother with anything older than fourteen. After that, there were too many producers, due to the availability of runaways. And of course, the big money wasn’t in youths around eighteen. Being legal, that was a volume business, dependent on large organization and big investments in the production and distribution of slick magazines.

Paperboys made perfect targets. They were out on the street at an hour when there would be relatively few witnesses. There being a dependable supply, a good choice could be made.

Once the older man had decided on a prospect, Dwight and Ryan returned and checked the consistency of the subject’s route and time schedule. Pictures were taken from every available angle. When everything checked out, they were given the go ahead.

*****

The man’s hand shot out and made a grab for him. He only got hold of Travis’s shirt, but that was enough. At the same moment, the side door abruptly slid open. A much bigger guy jumped out, grabbed him about the waist and hauled him into the SUV. The seats had been removed so there was only a large empty space to receive them.

The driver leapt out of the passenger door, and slammed the side door shut behind them. Returning to his position behind the wheel, the vehicle pulled away. That part of the operation was completed in under fifteen seconds.

The big guy, with his knee in Travis’s back quickly slapped a strip of duct tape over his mouth. It was partly open at the time, but that didn’t matter. The kid couldn’t make enough noise to be noticed outside the vehicle. Then he tied the youngster’s hands behind him before securing his feet. Dwight finished by adjusting the blindfold that had been prepared ahead of time.

*****

The trip back to Keith’s place was uneventful. Ryan drove at the speed limit and with care to observe all the rules of the road. They had checked the car all over before departing. This was no time to be pulled over for a dirty registration plate.

On arrival, they brought the car directly into the garage at the side of the house. The pleated door closed automatically. Their heavy set, middle aged employer met them at the kitchen door that he held open while Dwight lugged in the squirming package held securely under his arm. Ryan had preceded him, passing through the kitchen and opening the door to the room beyond so that his burdened accomplice would have uninterrupted passage.

Much modified, this room had been made out of space once used for dining. It now had only one large window that faced north and was incongruously furnished with a double bed, made up with a light green coverlet on top, a sofa upholstered in a floral pattern of pink, violet and blue hues, and an overstuffed arm chair in off-white corduroy, somewhat yellowed with age. The head of the bed, against the wall opposite the window, was flanked by two closed doors. A third door, also closed, was directly across from the one the party had just entered through.

Dwight deposited his bundle on the bed. Keith lit a celebratory cigar and settled into the chair. “Get the ropes off,” he said.

The two young men bent to the task and it was soon accomplished. As soon as he could, Travis removed the tape covering his mouth. Out of this issued a stream of invective, directed at all of those present, no one in particular.

“Hold his arm out,” Keith ordered.

Ryan grabbed the boy around the middle with one arm and grasping the youth’s left wrist with his free hand held it out the side, thus extending the kid’s arm. They were both seated now at the foot of the bed. Keith came forward, knocked the ash off the end of his cigar and slowly and deliberately brushed the hot, glowing tip, against the tender, inner part of the youngster’s forearm. He screeched, somewhat louder than the slight burn required.

“Shut up,” the man told him, in an even and quiet voice. He brought the bright red point close to the boy’s face. “If I have any trouble with you, any at all, I’ll stick this right in your eye.”

Travis was instantly nauseous and felt a cold sweat break out on his brow. But the man sat back down and the fellow holding him let go. The sick feeling passed. He remained still, saying nothing more, but taking in everything about his new surroundings.

The view from the window revealed a country setting. The house set back fifty yards from a wide road, that looked new, lined by a few young trees. Across the street, but not directly, Travis saw a white house, two stories at the center with flanking one floor, set back, additions. It seemed to be fairly new construction and was at least a hundred yards away. Further to the right, he could see that the road began an incline as though to a bridge, but over what, a river or a highway, he could not tell.

To the left, after another hundred yards or so, the road came to a T. There was a yellow, ranch style house a little way up the other road and on the far side. He couldn’t see much to the left of the T, as the road entered a wooded area.

Keith saw the boy looking at the window. “It’s double glazed, you’d never get through it alive,” he warned. Travis had speculated about that. It looked to be a half story to the ground below.

Ryan went back into the kitchen. In doing so, he made a show of taking a key from his pocket and unlocking the dead bolt before turning the doorknob. Travis noticed that all four of the doors had the same locks. Escape would not be easy.

“I need to use the bathroom,” the boy announced.

Dwight got up and employed his own key to open the door to the left of the bed. That room turned out to contain a half bath. “In here,” he said.

Travis went in and tried to close the door, but the tall fellow was standing with his foot against it. It did not appear that he was about to move.

There was nothing in the bathroom but a sink and the toilet. The youngster could see where a medicine cabinet had been taken out. There wasn’t even a toilet paper holder. The roll was on the floor to the left of the commode. Luckily, Travis only needed to pee and he could do that from the side with his back to Dwight.

The youth came back out and resumed his seat at the foot of the bed. The big man locked the bathroom again and walked around to the door at the right of the bed. This seemed to lead to a larger space, a closet of some sort. It was dark in there, until Dwight flicked a light switch. He came out carrying an aluminum stand that had a lamp at the top, a very large bulb in an aluminum shade. A second one followed.

While Dwight positioned these at the left and right of the bed, the older man entered the storage area. When he returned he had a camera hung around his neck. The younger fellow plugged in the lamps and Keith adjusted them so that the light fell on the bed from two angles.

“Stretch out on the bed,” the middle aged man ordered. Travis lay down at the foot where he was.

“No, your head on the pillow,” the man directed.

The pillow was under the coverlet, but the youngster did not think that he was meant to uncover it. He rested his head on top and reclined with his feet together and his arms at his sides. It was not the sort of position a boy would assume naturally, when resting or taking a nap.

The man did not complain, however. He bent over the youth and unbuttoned his shirt. Then he folded the material back, neatly and on each side, exposing the boy’s chest. So this is what it’s all about, Travis thought. The first picture was shot from above and at an angle three feet from the right corner at the foot of the bed.

A kid might nap with his shirt unbuttoned, but it would be haphazard, open more to one side than the other. This, the blank expression on the boy’s face, and the artificial posture would signal to an astute observer that the photograph was not candid and probably coerced. A willing model would not seem to be so rigid.

Apparently, the photographer did not mind and possibly may have preferred this impression. For the second shot, the man took off Travis’s shoes and socks and lowered his shorts to just below the knee. It was taken from the same angle but slightly closer to the subject. In the third, the youngster was wearing only his briefs.

This was a standard strip sequence, similar to those one would find in any glossy magazine designed for gay men and devoted to pictures of youths. However, these pictures were not made to be sold, but were intended as publicity shots, for the promotion of other products.

The man took off Travis’s briefs and made him kneel in the middle of the bed. One shot was taken at body height from the right corner of the bed, the other from the left. “Lie face down,” the youth was told. “Put your hands under your face.” The fellow took hold of Travis’s ankles and spread his feet wide. He heard the shutter click from somewhere above.

Then Keith made him get up and sit on the sofa. The man arranged him, one foot on the floor, one drawn up on the cushion. He was told to lean his head over the back of the couch and to put his right hand under his head. The left arm was stretched out to the side, palm open. It was supposed to be a sultry pose. Taken from below it showed the boy’s genitals and anus, and the red mark of a burn on the inside of his left arm.

Then Travis was told to get dressed and the lamps and camera were put away. For a minute he thought, perhaps they were done with him. But Keith went back into the storage room and returned with a video camera. Then Ryan came back into the room, wearing a black hood, like an executioner with eye and mouth holes. Travis didn’t see the point of that because he had already seen the guy’s face.

“Have you ever been fucked?” the young man asked him.

“No!” Travis asserted. This wasn’t intended as an answer to Ryan’s question, even though it was true and fit the question. Forgetting entirely his recent experience with a cigar, he threw up his arms and backed away as the young man advanced toward him.

This is what the cameraman wanted, however; a real struggle. In a short time, perhaps even by tomorrow this tape couldn’t be made. The youth’s reactions wouldn’t be natural. Unlike the still shots previously taken, this had to be totally real and believable to be worth the high price the man expected to get for each copy.

That Dwight wasn’t being employed was because his overwhelming size would make for too short an episode. Keith would have liked the part for himself. But only he knew how to do the camera work, when to move in or move back. Occasionally he would stop recording, change position, and restart. He called this, editing on the fly. As it was, there was little direction, and that only during those briefest of pauses. Keith didn’t want his voice to be heard on the finished product.

*****

Finally, Dwight was brought in to lead a sobbing Travis away. The boy was taken by the wrist down the basement steps. They, like the floor below, were covered, wall to wall, with a green, indoor-outdoor carpeting. The man brought him to a corner of the cellar where a small room had been built out of cinder blocks.

The big man flicked a light switch on the outside and then opened the steel door. Firmly, but without being rough, he pushed the youth through. Inside Travis saw a rubber mat with a couple of blankets tossed haphazardly on top of it. In the far corner there was a plastic pail with what looked like a toilet seat for a lid.

Then the door was shut and the light extinguished. It was pitch dark. Naked, but for socks, he crept onto the pad and huddled under the blankets. Desperate for the relief of oblivion, he cried himself to sleep.

When he woke would be soon enough for thinking. Then he could consider his situation and his options. Perhaps he would ponder the question of how long they might keep him, or the more important one, what would be done with him after that. It would largely depend on him.

For Keith, the best outcome would be to sell the kid to one of his customers, after he ran out of inspiration for further productions. There was a good chance of this, because most youngsters adapt to the situation in which they found themselves. After all, he controlled their lives completely, something this boy would come to realize.

More often than not, after a while, they joined their captors and became willing participants in the group’s enterprise. But sometimes, a youth would resist in every possible way, the difficulties escalating as he found and used the vulnerabilities in the security arrangements. A mistake could be made and a heavy glass ashtray thrown through a window, for example.

Then the end could be quite different. When they had had enough, the youth would be stripped, bound hand and foot with duct tape and gagged. Another bondage film, the kid would think. Then he would be carried into the bathroom and put into the tub with his head at the tap end. He might imagine that he was going to be pissed on again.

Keith would grab the boy by the hair and pull his head back. The youngster would feel the pain of the knife and his eyes would bug out as he stared for ten seconds at the stream of blood running down the drain. Then the mess of disposing of the body, bit by bit.

*****

The light flashed on and Travis scrambled into the corner of the room, hugging the blankets around himself. It was Dwight who opened the door. The man threw his clothes into the room.

“Get dressed and come out of there.” The kid was shaking with fear. “No one’s going to do anything to you. Unless you give us trouble …,” he added.

Travis put his things on. Only the top and bottommost buttons remained on his shirt. Those were the ones that hadn’t been fastened when the other guy ripped it open. The youth fastened only the bottom one now. Everything else was ok, except that he didn’t get his shoes back. Maybe he would later.

“Is there anything in the bucket?” the big man asked him.

There was. “Yeah,” Travis responded.

“Bring it with you. Just the pail, leave the top here.”

The boy came out with his bucket and followed Dwight back up the stairs. The fellow led him to a real bathroom.

“Dump it out in the toilet, then add some water from the bathtub, swish it around and dump that out,” he was told. There were two stools, a little blood and some white stuff. He came in me, but I shit it out, Travis thought. Good.

He had had quite a bit of gas too. Produced by all that pounding, the youngster decided. He completed his task.

“OK, put some more water in the bottom, a couple of inches. That way it won’t stink so much if you use it again during the night. You can leave it here and take it with you when you go back.”

So that was going to be his room, the kid realized. His cell, except when they wanted him for something. What did they want this time, he wondered with trepidation.

Dwight led the way back to the kitchen, unlocking and re-locking all the doors as they went through them. The other two were seated at the table and it was set for four. The big guy motioned for him to take the seat opposite Ryan. He felt himself flinch when his eyes met those of the rapist.

“I was only doing my job,” the smaller man stated. “Actually, I don’t much care for boys.” Travis, not replying, looked down into the empty bowl in front of him.

Then Ryan got up, taking Keith’s bowl and his own with him, went over to the stove, where he filled them with chili and beans. Dwight served himself. Then they cut into a big loaf of Italian bread that was already on the table and began to eat.

Travis watched for a while, becoming increasingly downcast. In spite of everything, he was hungry. It had been nearly 24 hours since he had eaten anything substantial. Did they only bring him up here to torment him, he wondered. After another minute or so had passed, he spoke up. “Can I have some?”

“Only those who are cooperative get to eat,” Keith informed the youngster. Since the kid’s lack of cooperation earlier had been exactly what was wanted, this was a most unfair pronouncement. But the man was looking to the future rather than the past.

After another minute of silence, “Do you promise me that you will behave from now on?”

“Yeah,” the kid agreed, with what he hoped was the right amount of grudging acceptance of the conditions. He felt that outright lies were entirely justified under these circumstances.

Dwight got up and took his bowl over to the pot. “Do you want milk or coke to drink?” Keith asked him.

“Coke,” the boy decided.

“That’s good,” Keith commented, “because we don’t have any milk.” He and Ryan got a good laugh out of this remark.

For some reason, Travis found this to be extraordinarily sad. Far beyond its real importance, he was hurt that they would make cheap fun of him, given what he had endured. He had to fight back the tears that were ready to well up yet again, this time a struggle that he won.

The big guy returned his bowl, now full, sliced off a big hunk of bread and passed him the plastic container of margarine. The youth ate slowly. Perhaps he hoped, by doing so, to stop the passage of time. The chili was good, hot the way he liked it. Then he saw Ryan looking at him expectantly. The bastard had been hoping that he wouldn’t be able to eat it, Travis could tell.

When the others were finished with seconds, the kid was still nibbling at his portion. “OK, you’ve got two minutes to finish that up or I’m taking it away,” Keith warned him. This had the desired effect and Travis gobbled up what remained.

“Since you’re done, get me my cigars from the counter over there,” the boss commanded him. The youngster got up to do as he was asked. “Bring me the lighter, too,” the man said.

Travis picked up the cellophane wrapped container, noting that three cigars remained in the pack. The light red plastic butane lighter was next to it. These he dutifully, if slowly, brought over to Keith, who took them without comment.

“OK, now I want you to go stand, oh, somewhere in the center of the room and strip,” the chief commanded. The kid blanched. “Relax, no one’s going to stick anything up your ass again tonight.” He added the parenthetic warning, “So long as you do what you’re told,” punctuating this with a slight wave of his cigar prior to lighting it.

When he was in position, the man further ordered, as though an afterthought, “Do it like a strip tease. Let’s see how sexy you can be, if you try. And put a smile on your face, look like you’re enjoying it.”

Beginning with some movement of his legs and hips, Travis undid the only button that was securing his shirt, that at the bottom. “What’s that?” Keith asked, a bit sharply.

“What?” the kid asked, losing the smile and looking worried.

“That hopping about?”

“On TV they do it to music and sort of dance,” he explained.

“Oh, OK. Good,” the man commented. “Button it back up and start over from the beginning.” He made a gesture for the boy to resume the performance.

Relieved, Travis began again. Surprisingly enough under these conditions, the praise actually made him feel better. A more genuinely pleasant expression was restored to his face. He initiated his dance, undid the button and removed his shirt with a flourish.

The man stopped him again. “Let’s try it this way. After you unbutton the shirt, lose the socks next, then your shorts, then the shirt,” he instructed. “From the beginning.”

When the show was over, Keith called him over. “OK, pretty good. This calls for a reward. Get up here on my lap.” Travis didn’t think climbing up on the man’s lap, stark naked, would turn out to be much of a reward, but the cigar smoldering in the ash tray served as a reminder of the consequences of disobedience. Anyway, he did what was required of him.

“Get out the ice cream,” Keith told the others once the kid was settled. Then to the youth, “What’s your name?”

“Scott,” Travis said, that being the appellation that popped instantly into his head.

“Scott and I will share a bowl, so load it up,” he ordered.

Dwight set the bowl, having been washed clean of chili and now refilled, in front of Keith along with a tablespoon. “It’s cherry vanilla. Do you like cherry vanilla?” he asked the youngster.

“Yeah,” Travis answered. As it happened, he liked whatever kind was available. The man took a bit on the end of the spoon and tasted it. “Mmm,” he commended. Then he bought a similar portion to the lad’s lips. It was too small an amount to contain any of the bright red chunks of maraschino cherry that he saw in the bowl. “Open up,” the fellow said.

Travis tasted the cool sweetness of the ice cream. “Good?” the man asked him, “not spoiled is it?” He laughed at his own joke.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” the boy agreed, going along.

The guy dug into the bowl with purpose and loaded the tablespoon full. “Open up,” he repeated to the kid. Travis didn’t really want quite that much all at once, but he hadn’t been asked. In it went.

The youngster’s face scrunched up in reaction to the freezing cold. It hurt his teeth too much to chew, he could only hold the cold mass and wait for it to melt.

“Heh. Gives you a headache right there, huh?” Keith said and he touched the bridge of Travis’s wrinkled up nose. The boy nodded vigorously in agreement. In a minute the pain passed, the sweet liquid ran down the back of his throat and he was able to munch the delicious bits of cherry.

Meanwhile, Keith had been eating. He put the spoon down. “Now I’m going to teach you how to kiss,” he told Travis.

Yuck, the boy thought, but said nothing. “Open up.”

Travis didn’t know what opening his mouth had to do with kissing, but he soon learned. The man put his own open mouth over his and then stuck his tongue in.

It wasn’t so bad, the kid realized, with both mouths being cold and sweet from the ice cream. And Keith refreshed them with spoonfuls as the lesson progressed. He was not to remain inert, but to work his lips and advance his own tongue. It was sort of like dueling mouths and tongues, he decided.

The fellow was true to his word. No one stuck anything up his ass that night. On some other evenings, however, the guy would come to Travis’s cell for a session without the video camera. In his mind, the youngster provided the man with a nickname, tobacco mouth.

These visits gave the boy his best ideas for escape. Keith had to unlock his door and thus had to have a key with him. This was probably in the pocket of the bathrobe he usually wore on these occasions. It would be hung up on the doorknob. If he could lull the man to sleep, Travis could get the key and just walk out.

*****

It wouldn’t be too strong to say that Warren loved the new video tape that he had acquired. He watched it over and over, and enjoyed it so much that he called his supplier to inquire if the fellow could arrange a rendezvous with the star. The response was that while such an encounter was not possible, something else might be.

Keith told the fellow that he could sell Warren the youngster’s personal services contract upon completion of the current series of projects. That would occur in a few months. The price mentioned, though a lot, was not all that much more than the cost of the tape. And well worth it.

A tentative agreement was reached. The seller provided the prospective buyer with information about the sort of management style the boy was accustomed to. Various options for affecting transfer were considered. That the date was some distance off was a good thing. Warren had a lot to arrange in order to be ready.

He started by calling real estate agents. “I’m looking for something unusual,” he began. “I’m given to understand that in the 70’s and 80’s some survivalists and others fearing imminent nuclear attack, built elaborate bomb shelters on their properties.”

“I’m a wine collector, you see. And I’ve heard that these things are perfect for conversion into wine cellars. Anyway, that’s what I’m looking for. If you know of anything or hear of anything, let me know. I’ll leave you my number.”

It took a while, but eventually someone called him back. The agency was only moderately surprised that the deal would be a cash transaction and handled through an attorney, without their ever meeting the new owner. There were reclusive people with money, odd ducks, who did things in strange ways.

*****

When Travis woke up, he didn’t immediately recognize his surroundings. After a few minutes he figured out that was because he wasn’t in his cell or anyplace that was familiar to him. Where and when had he gone to sleep? He tried to recollect, but his mind was still somewhat groggy.

Let’s see. They had dinner at the regular time, takeout fried chicken. As a treat, Keith had bought him some grape juice. He had a glass of that. Then he had helped with the dishes as usual. But halfway though he didn’t feel too well, not sick so much as just woozy.

Dwight noticed it and said that probably he should go lie down for a bit. He was the only one who ever really looked out for him. The big guy let Travis into the other room. He thought that if he lay down on the coach for a minute, whatever it was would probably pass.

And this place is where the boy came to, in a sleeping bag and wearing only his briefs. The sleeping bag was on a foam pad mattress and that was on top of a built-in cement bench or box, he wasn’t sure which. The whole room was cement, like his cell but bigger and poured not blocks.

Instead of a bucket, it had a real toilet with a sink and shower. There was a little kitchen, or what had been. Now the only appliance was a small refrigerator. There were shelves with paper cups and plates and plastic knives and forks. Travis helped himself to a soft drink.

He found his clothes, that is, the costumes that Keith had brought for him to wear for various scenes. His real clothing had long since been dispatched to the trash. Among them he had schoolboy clothes, pajamas, speedos, artfully ripped jeans, a tank top, cut off pants and Ts, and a little league baseball uniform. The youngster put on a normal kid outfit of chinos, T-shirt, cross trainers.

There were some other built-in furnishings that were obviously storage cabinets, because Travis could see the doors. They were of various heights. Some went up to the ceiling, others were waist high. One of these also had a pad on top of it. The youngster couldn’t see why anyone would want to sleep there and have to jump up at night and down in the morning. All of the other cabinets and counters were empty, except for a TV that was on top of one of them. There was a remote beside it.

Travis switched it on before returning to his bench and using the sleeping bag for a back rest. From the programs he deduced that it was mid-afternoon, and he verified this with the time given on an all news channel. The youth surfed to a network and waited for the local news. Then he would have some idea where he was. It turned out to be the same newscasters he used to see at home, so he still hadn’t been taken very far away.

The national news was just coming on when he heard a noise at the door that he presumed to be the entrance to his new, more lavish prison. The guy who then entered was someone Travis had never seen before. He would have remembered. Though short and misshapen in some way the boy could not quite put his finger on, the fellow was not exactly a dwarf.

For one thing, he didn’t have the sort of heavy build and thick legs that the youth associated with dwarves. Perhaps the fellow’s torso seemed too short for the rest of his body and the head a little oversized. But he also appeared to be bandy legged and chicken breasted.

The man’s face was longer than it was wide and he had thick, curly black hair. He looked to be about 40, though Warren was, in fact, five years younger than that. He was neither ugly nor good looking. The gait, when he walked toward the kitchen, carrying a plastic grocery bag, was uneven, but not in a very pronounced way.

He set about putting the things he had brought into the refrigerator and on the shelves. There were a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter and a two liter bottle of cola among the items. Everything was in plastic or paper containers. “My name’s Jake,” he said. The youngster did not reply.

The funny little man, not all that much taller than Travis, came and sat beside him. He took the remote and turned the TV off. “Keith sold you to me,” he announced. The youngster stared blankly at the odd fellow, who seemed, at first, to take this for a lack of intelligence.

“Are you a mental defective, or something?” he asked. Later, Travis came to learn that the misfit had a nasty disposition that was most apparent in his discourse. He took every opportunity to make a snotty remark or a cutting rejoinder in response to anything the boy might say. It was obvious that he considered himself to have a very superior intellect.

“No,” the lad asserted. He was angry now, as much for being “sold,” as because of the way it was done, and at this obnoxious gnome.

Rather long fingers touched the bottom of his T-shirt, the guy’s hands were man sized for length but not width. Blue veins showed themselves though ashen skin. Reflexively, Travis pulled away.

The little man got up immediately. “OK, we’ll try it again tomorrow.” He left by the door he had entered through. A second later the lights went out.

*****

Travis knew about pitch dark, his cell was like that at night. He felt around for the remote for the TV. It didn’t work, not that the youngster had expected it to. He spent a few hours crawling around in this much larger space, orienting himself to the bathroom and kitchen. At least he didn’t have to use a pail.

There was no light in the refrigerator so the old bottle of cola wouldn’t be staying cold. He drank some then and there. His search yielded the bread and peanut butter and he made himself a sandwich. Then he got back to his bed or couch or whatever it was and waited for sleep to come.

When Travis woke he had no idea what time it was, but supposed that he had slept through the night. He dreaded the troll coming back. Ryan had been awful, and Keith disgusting, but this guy gave him the creeps.

It was only Dwight who had he liked at all. The big man would stick up for him if the others began to go too far. Except that first time with Ryan, but Dwight hadn’t been in the room at the time. And when Dwight touched him it felt different, like the guy wanted it to feel good to the boy.

This had figured in Travis’s second plan of escape. He hoped to persuade Dwight to take him away. At the right time, the youngster would propose that if the fellow did, he could stay with Dwight and be his boy. That is, he would if his plan to allay Keith’s suspicious nature and get lax about security didn’t work. Meanwhile, he did whatever was possible to respond positively to Dwight’s developing affection for him.

Now time dragged. The youngster napped as often and for as long as he could. Keith had never left him in his cell during the day. There was work to be done.

When the lights finally came on, they were so bright that Travis couldn’t see any better than he could in the dark. With his hands, he covered his hurting eyes. He heard the door open and knew without looking who had come in.

The kid opened his lids slightly, and allowed a smidgen of pink light to flow in through his fingers. The mattress pad sank slightly as the man sat down next to him in the same place as the evening before. This time Travis didn’t move when he felt the hem of his T-shirt touched and then raised, not until it was necessary to take his hands away so that it could be pulled over his head. Then he shut his eyes tight again while his pupils slowly adjusted themselves.

*****

It was the same every evening, starting at seven. The troll undressed him and led him over to the other, higher bed. Travis got up and lay on his stomach, his hands above his head. Every part of his body was touched in the most thorough of epidermal examinations.

Then he was turned over and the process continued. The man finished by masturbating him. As soon as the youngster ejaculated, the follow left. This guy never stuck anything up Travis’s ass or put anything in his mouth. The fellow never took off his own clothes, or even touched himself as far as the boy could tell.

Then the youth had 23 hours to fill until the next visit. He watched a lot of television. One day Travis happened upon a karate lesson. Instantly he had a plan and plenty to do, embarking as he did upon a program of physical development and martial arts training.

There were lots of programs for getting into shape and when there weren’t the youth could do pushups, isometrics and other exercises. He memorized the times and channels for these shows and those that would teach him fighting skills. Now his days were filled.

The time would come when he had grown as big as the man. He would have the strength and knowledge necessary to defeat him in an unexpected, sudden and overwhelming attack. Knowing that it would be disastrous to attempt this prematurely, he would wait until he was sure that he could succeed and then free himself. In the meantime, he accommodated himself to the ogre’s creepy practices.

*****

The neighborhood speculation was that Warren’s aged and feeble mother must live in the house. They saw him arrive with groceries every evening about six and leave by nine. No one laid eyes on the old woman, or disabled relative, but it had to be some such thing. There wasn’t any trouble and various service companies took care of the yard and the trash.

After he arrived, Warren would watch the video of Ryan and ‘Scott.’ The way the boy had been used excited him and justified him in what he was about to do. It was proof that the boy was damaged goods and it didn’t matter what he chose to do with him.

When he returned from the subbasement he put on a second video. In this one a boy in pajamas with hair damp from his bath came to say goodnight to his daddy. The big man, wearing a Pat Robertson mask, sat in an upholstered arm chair. The boy climbed up onto the fellow’s lap and into his embrace. While they exchanged hugs and kisses, Warren lowered his pants and shorts.

Then the ‘father’ unbuttoned the boy’s pajama top and fondled him. After the ‘son’ was naked, the kid got down and knelt between the man’s legs. Daddy unzipped and displayed a huge, erect penis. Not until this part did Warren begin to stroke himself. The kid took it in both hands and started making love to it. He kissed it and licked it, rubbed it against his cheek and under his chin. Into his mouth the large phallus went, as far as he could manage, that being not so very far.

It looked like the youngster was thoroughly enjoying himself. His expressions alternated among rapture, passion and delight. There were changes in the camera work to catch different angles of the boy’s face, his pink tongue and lips as they performed their work. Warren never got to the climax of the film, his own always arriving well before that moment.

He would have liked to have Scott do the same to him as he had done in the film, but he was afraid. He was afraid that the boy would ridicule him for his diminutive instrument that was only a little larger than the youth’s pudgy three inches soft and four and a half hard. That and the fact that he had lost a testicle to cancer. Warren couldn’t stand the thought of derision, a prospect that was certain if the boy were at all similar to himself. Like liars and other vile types, he believed that everyone was base and used this as self justification for his own revolting behavior.

*****

Travis was looking forward to his fifteenth birthday in six months time. This was the date he had set in his mind to implement his plan. He had worked hard on building his physical strength, fighting skills and psychological resolve. By then he would be ready, and confident in his ability to succeed. Finally he would give himself the gift of freedom.

He often thought of this in anticipation, during the lengthy commercial breaks so frequent on TV. When the local sports was nearing its finish, Travis began to expect the telltale noises that would signal the man’s arrival. It wasn’t until the first break for advertisements in the national news that he began to wonder what was going on.

‘Jake’ had skipped visits before, but they were for punishment and the lights would be extinguished. The idea that the man might have had an automobile accident flashed into his mind. Maybe he was killed in it. For a second the youngster experienced an intense feeling of satisfaction. It’s odd that Travis had never before considered what would happen to him if something like that really happened. He did now though.

He pushed impending fear out of his mind by telling himself that such a possibility was very unlikely. He had only to wait. The fellow was delayed at most. And he got to watch the news at seven for a change.

Around ten p.m. the worry built. How would he get out of there if something really had happened to Jake? But what good did worry do. Travis resolved to get a good night’s sleep and consider his situation more carefully in the morning. He didn’t sleep well.

By six a.m. he couldn’t pretend to be resting any more so he got up, brushed his teeth, washed his face and got dressed. How long could he survive in here? An inventory of the food indicated a few days supply at best. There was plenty of water and air, so he would starve to death in about thirty days.

Seeing nothing practical to do, he uselessly and foolishly went to the door and tried turning the knob. It opened. Travis rushed through the three foot space that separated the first from the second door. He had been shown this security arrangement before, so that the teenager would know not to bother trying to rush past Jake when he was departing. The man might have simply forgotten to lock the one. But no, the second opened as well.

The youngster went up the stairs and through the opening at the top, where a trap door leaned against the cement wall. He saw at once that he was now in an ordinary looking cellar with its furnace and pipes. There was a set of wooden steps, not even boxed in, that he presumed led to the first floor of a house.

So they did. The place was nearly empty and looked vacant, except for the living room. An easy chair faced three TV’s all in a line. The two on the ends were on and showed views of Travis’s prison. One took in the door-less kitchen and bathroom. The other showed, among other things, his bed with its mattress and sleeping bag. He had never spotted the cameras. The man must have seen him training and known what it was for.

Next to the chair there was a stand and on that a telephone. The kid picked it up and heard the tone. He dialed the only number he knew. He recognized the voice of the person who answered.

“Mom, it’s me Travis.”

*****

An hour later the police arrived. They had Travis show them where he been kept and did their first interviews there. That way they didn’t have any inference from the boy’s parents.

They wanted to know how ‘Jake’ had managed to kidnap him. He hadn’t, two other guys had. If the youngster had been able to tell them everything from the beginning it would have been less confusing. But his mind wasn’t that well organized and they were in charge with their own ways of finding out the facts of a case. It was mid-afternoon before they got to the station.

A week after Travis got home his parents began to wonder who this boy was who said he was their son. He looked so different and acted strangely compared to the boy who had disappeared two years ago. And the youngster wondered about them as well. They appeared to be the same, but weren’t.

Almost every day the boy was returned to the police station to assist in the investigation. He told them everything he could remember about Keith and Ryan and what had been done to him. When he was asked about the big man in the video, he said he didn’t know who that was, just a guy in a mask. As the questioning proceeded the detectives seemed to become increasingly disgusted with him.

Ryan was dead from an overdose but they caught Keith. The fellow plea bargained to avoid consecutive sentences. He got life but would be eligible for parole in fifteen years. So there wasn’t a trial this time. The youth didn’t have to testify and the two tapes were not shown to a jury. But the police told Travis’s father that they had something that he had better take a look at. The youngster began to notice a look of distaste on his dad’s face whenever they were together.

Every once in a while someone got caught with yet another of the video tapes that Keith had made and sold. There were many more than two. Travis was dragged into court to prove once again that there was a real victim in child pornography. In order to protect Travis, they said, the tapes weren’t played in open court. But his father insisted on seeing each of them as they turned up.

A year later, Travis’s parents got divorced. It was a household full of bitterness, and remained so even after his father’s departure. The youngster was behind in school and not doing very well. So the kid finally took off himself. He went looking for Dwight. Not the actual Dwight, he knew finding him would be unlikely. Instead, Travis went looking for a big man with a big dick and a big heart.

Some real estate agents in the Southwest began getting an unusual request. A wine collector was interesting in finding a house with a wine cellar. “I’m given to understand that in the 70’s and 80’s some survivalists and others fearing war and other sorts of disasters, built elaborate bomb shelters. I’ve heard they are perfect for conversion, recycling as it were. Anyway, that’s what I’m looking for. I’ll leave my number.”

Where is Travis now? Well, here and there. But those first stills that Keith shot are still floating around the internet. Someday, unbidden, someone may send you one of them. And if you hit the print button and after your printer whirs and clunks, there you will have him in front of you, a paper boy.

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