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

There are no tables or booths at Fred’s Diner, only stools at the counter in front and at the continuous shelf that runs round the inside walls, broken only by the door. Fred starts serving breakfast at 5:00 a.m. and closes at 7:00 p.m., allowing the last supper customer to finish his coffee, while Fred and his employee clean up around him and prepare for the next day.

The paint may be chipped and worn in places, and some of the stools have been mended with tape, but the place is clean. There are no secret rites performed here. The grill that Fred presides over is in plain sight. A little window, just above it, provides Fred a view of the parking lot of the next building; and to the left, the sidewalk. This gives him warning of the approach of half his regular patrons.

One of these usually occupies a stool against the left hand wall, a place not favored by others. He is a big man, about six feet tall, if he stood straight, carrying a little over 200 pounds on a large frame. He is ugly. His thick black hair with streaks of white is matted. The wrinkled flesh droops around washed out eyes and sags from ruddy mottled cheeks. His dark complexion is further marred by warts and brown spots. He wears multiple layers of old and dirty clothing. But, luckily for Fred and everyone else at the diner, he doesn’t carry the stink of his occupation. One of those people, who look like what they do, the man drives the town garbage truck.

Since he and his son are seldom seen together, it often comes as a surprise when someone first learns of the relationship. The fifteen year old boy is short and has a light build. Yet, once the connection is made, the resemblance is obvious. They boy’s head has the same elongated shape as the father’s. The youngster’s short black hair has the same plentiful curls. He has similar eyebrows, although not as bushy. The eyes are identical in shape and position, but the offspring’s color is a deeper gray. The old man must have been beautiful once, when he too had a youthful, unblemished skin of the lightest beige.

The kid, Tony, has a best friend, Bill, who is of the same social class. They like to hang out together at a garage, downtown, where repair work is done. Both are interested in cars and plan futures as mechanics. In the meantime, they get occasional part time work, performing the simplest tasks: running errands, fixing flats, and pumping gas when everyone else is busy. They aren’t paid much for these services, but in return, the real employees permit them to watch the progress of the work and answer their questions with some patience.

Bill, average in height, is taller than his friend. He has a round monkey like face with a mop of straight, dirty blonde hair. When he smiles, he looks like he has teeth that are too large to fit in his mouth. He is lean, like Tony, but more wiry, with long, stringy muscles that can be easily discerned. His golden skin has only a little acne, whereas Tony has none. The only other defect in Bill’s body, Tony knows, is a long, deep scar that runs the length of the right thigh, the result of an accident when he was nine.

Some days, right after school, instead of going to the garage, they head for Tony’s house and stretch out on the floor in front of the TV. The things in the room; the rug, sofa, upholstered chairs; are clean, but very worn. The place is neat except for a disheveled newspaper and a few magazines scattered about. Tony lies in front of Bill and Bill throws his arm loosely around his friend’s waist.

Bill scoots up tight against Tony and his hand starts its wandering, unbuttoning things, loosening things, until the teenager’s clothes are in disarray. Then Bill gets up on his knees and strips Tony naked. After that, he rises to remove his own clothing. Bill keeps a small cold cream jar, now full of Crisco, in his pocket and retrieves it before settling back into his position behind Tony. Bill takes the ankle of Tony’s upper leg and brings the foot up, placing it flat on the floor so that the kid’s knee is pointing upward. Then he anoints himself with the vegetable lard, somewhat warm from its previous proximity to his own body.

Slowly, he works his long rod of average girth into his companion. When its journey is completed, Tony lowers his leg. The position is not conducive to vigorous thrusting, but Tony finds the floor too hard to be on his stomach. Anyway, they like the long time that it will take to complete the act. Bill moves his cock back and forth, restricted to a range of a couple of inches. Both arms around Tony’s chest, his own firm, little butt wiggles, rapidly near the end, before all rhythm breaks down into spasmodic, uncontrolled movement.

Bill cleans himself with Tony’s briefs. He uses them again to clean Tony, after he has brought his friend off. At the same time, two different boys are together at Calder’s Ice Cream Shop.

Calder’s is located on Horton Street, a few doors down from Fred’s Diner. The shop is very plain. It has a large square room, sparsely furnished with a few metal tables and chairs. Along the back wall, there is a simple Formica topped bar with chrome stools and black plastic seats. The overall impression is that Mr. Calder doesn’t have much to sell. Indeed there are relatively few customers there at any time.

Francis, however, is a regular. A recent graduate of the high school, not a participant in athletics, of average intelligence and little motivation, he is the disappointment of his father. The youth is 5 feet, 8 inches tall, thin with short, brown, curly hair. He is not particularly attractive, but he has a car and a little money from his part time job.

Francis sits at the counter in Calder’s Shop, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. He is accompanied, as usual, by a small blond sixteen year old boy, who looks fourteen and goes the by the nickname of Eddie. The younger boy looks and acts as though he just stepped out of the pages of Mad Magazine. He is a cynical and crude, wise ass. While sitting there, a butt between his lips, he puts down everyone and everything that passes before his eyes or across his mind. In contrast, his companion is phlegmatic, seldom saying anything except in response to a direct question.

In return for providing him with coffee and cigarettes and driving him around, Eddie permits Francis to kneel in front of him, take down his pants and suck on his penis. This occurs about every other day, in a public lavatory that can be locked from the inside. It never takes long, because it is only when Eddie has an urgent need that he agrees to enter the toilet with Francis. Eddie does not reciprocate in any way, there, or in any other place. There is no reason why he should, as he sees it.

Francis lives for these moments, but right now Eddie is telling him that he has to go with his stupid, boring parents to visit his senile, deaf and slovenly grandmother for the weekend. Francis mumbles something unintelligible, his heart sinking at the prospect of two days without his buddy.

*****

Early that Saturday evening, Francis, masochist that he is, not having thought of something different to do, wanders into his usual haunt. It is at Calder’s where Eddie’s absence may be felt most keenly. He sits there for quite a while brooding, when Tony comes in alone. Bill has been grounded for the night for failing to do his chores and then talking back to his father.

Francis had not suspected the nature of Tony’s relationship with Bill, until Eddie began referring to them as, “the newly weds,” whenever he saw them together. Tony takes a seat at the other end of the counter, so Francis moves to sit beside him.

“How are you doing?” Francis asks.

“OK,” the youth responds. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” answers Francis.

Tony orders a coke and sips it. There is no further conversation for a while. Then Francis says, “Want to go for a ride?”

“Where to?”

“Just around.”

“Sure,” Tony agrees, without enthusiasm. He finishes his drink and they go outside into the slowly cooling air of early fall.

Perhaps, Francis thinks, this quiet boy will provide him with a greater satisfaction than he has experienced up to now. The mostly uncooperative Eddie has him so frustrated that he has a nearly palpable desire for a more complete intimacy. It is not that Francis expects or wants reciprocity. Instead, he wants to have full access to a boy’s body, to be allowed to touch him everywhere, for as long as he likes. And only after that to bring Tony to orgasm with his mouth. This is what Francis hopes for.

And so, after they settled themselves in the old Oldsmobile sedan, Francis headed toward Salem on the way to the outskirts of Beverly to find a secluded spot, where he might park and there attempt to realize his wishes. They made small talk on the way. Francis pretended indecision as to their route, whether to turn left or right, “… just driving around.” It was fully dark when Francis found a suitable location, a sparsely settled street off route 1A. “Let’s park for a while,” Francis said as he brought the car to a stop at a wooded section between two houses, several hundred yards apart. Tony offered no objection to this or to the suggestion that they move to the back, where Francis wouldn’t, “… have the steering wheel in the way,” while he enjoyed his cigarette.

Francis offered one to Tony, who accepted it. Francis lit his own and then shifted toward the boy proffering the flame. Their knees touched. Tony leaned forward. Francis rested his other hand casually on the boy’s shoulder. They blew smoke into the air. Francis moved closer and slid his arm around the youngster.

He felt at once the compliance of the teenager’s body. Emboldened, he continued with his plan. Tony, for his part, thought that he knew what Francis wanted and relaxed, enjoying the sensations of the older boy’s caresses.

The cigarettes were put out. The closed automobile was just enough protection from the cooler air outside, their bodies providing the right amount of heat. Tony stretched out on the back seat. His clothing was slowly removed, piece by piece. Tony shut his eyes. Time passed pleasantly, until the car was suddenly flooded with light, the doors flung open, words shouted, “Get out of there!” and, “This is the police!”

He is stunned. Someone strong grabs his arm and pulls him from the back of the vehicle. Two police cars, flashing their lights, converge on them from opposite directions. Tony is blinded by the headlights shining in his face at the moment that he is handcuffed.

Only some of the words get through to him. “Was he sodomized?” He feels a hand on his rump. “It’s dry.” Then he is pushed, still naked, into the back seat of a squad car and the door is closed on him. He is frightened. He has never felt so alone, so cut off. He doesn’t know where Francis is. After a long wait, the police car pulls away.

A few minutes later, they arrive at the parking lot of the police station. The driver gets out and opens the trunk of the car. Then, carrying a blanket, he opens Tony’s door. The blanket is placed on the boy’s shoulders by the officer. The rough macadam, broken up in places, hurts Tony’s feet as they make their war to the entrance of the station.

Once inside, the officers, talking among themselves, seem to ignore Tony. Then he feels the blanket slipping from his shoulders. He shifts his weight in a vain effort to keep it from falling. The police officers notice his plight and laugh at him, calling him rude names, like “tinkerbell” and “the pansy.” After a few minutes of this, a younger officer covers him up again and takes him to an empty room.

Tony is left alone for a while in the nearly empty room. There are a few chairs against the wall, next to the door, and then some locked cabinets and a vinyl upholstered table with a paper covering. The place reminds Tony of the examining room in his doctor’s office.

The officer returns fifteen minutes later with another man. Tony is told that this is the police doctor. The blanket and handcuffs are removed and Tony is told to sit on the table. The officer watches as the doctor uses a swab to collect any material that might remain between Tony’s gums and lips. Then Tony’s body is checked and the doctor makes a note of a couple of bruises that Tony got accidentally, while working at the garage. His is told to turn over and spread his legs. He feels another swab probe his rectum.

Then he is brought to another room and is seated at a table. Tony asks for his clothes, but is told that they are evidence. The officer, who brought him to the police station, enters and takes the blanket away. “This belongs in my cruiser,” he tells the other policeman. Tony starts to shiver, more from fright than the temperature. “I’m sorry,” the young officer says, “there isn’t anything I can give you to wear. I can get you some coffee, though. If you’d like some.”

The hot liquid helps a little, but then two other men enter and sit opposite him. One readies a tape recorder to take down what is said. The man in street clothes says he is Lieutenant Reynolds. He asks Tony to tell them what happened that night, but the youngster only talks about what occurred after the police came, and how he hurt his feet in the parking lot.

The man holds up his hand stopping the recording. He gets red in the face and angrily knocks Tony’s empty coffee cup across the room. “You’re wasting my time,” he yells at the boy. “You must want to be locked up until you’re twenty-one.” He storms out of the room, the man with the tape recorder follows.

The young officer remains. He goes over to Tony and puts his arm around the kid’s shoulders. He tells the boy that he is in a lot of trouble and had better cooperate with the interrogator. Unless the Lieutenant gets what he wants, Tony could get hurt. He would hate to see that happen, he says. He tells Tony that, unless the other boy made him go with him and do the things they did, he would end up in a youth detention facility. That is not a nice place. There would be older boys, who would do far worse to him than anything he could ever imagine. “And it would be a waste, because the other kid is blaming everything on you. So he doesn’t deserve your protection.”

“Let’s try it another way,” the Lieutenant says, when he returns. “What’s the other boy’s name?” Tony answers that and a lot of other questions. “Do you hang out with this guy? Where did he find you? He offered you a ride, didn’t he? He didn’t tell you where he was taking you, did he?” The interrogating officer’s tone changes.

He isn’t so much asking questions as making statements that he expects Tony to confirm. “Then he made you get in the back seat. He warned you not to resist. He held you by the arm. That’s how you got those bruises. He took off your clothes. He touched your private parts with his hands and his mouth. He said he was going to fuck your ass.” Tony resisted on this last one. The Lieutenant got angry again. “You thought he was going to, didn’t you?” he shouted.

Tony was left alone for a while, When the officers returned he was handed a statement. He was told to read and then sign it. The Lieutenant said that they would call his parents to come and get him, as soon as he had signed. So he did.

Tony’s father arrived about an hour later. He had been instructed to bring clothes, but he hadn’t thought about underwear or shoes. The youth’s father carried him across the parking lot. In silence they drove back home.

*****

As soon as Tony and his father had left, Francis was brought to the interrogation room, from the cell where he had been placed several hours earlier, after having his rights read to him. They showed him Tony’s statement. At first, Francis said nothing, but then the younger officer hauled him out of the chair and pushed him against the wall, yelling something about how he hated what Francis had done to that innocent kid. The older man, Lieutenant Reynolds, had to restrain the uniformed policeman and made him leave the room, “… to cool off.”

Then the Lieutenant spoke to him a quiet and fatherly way. “Let’s get this over with, shall we? If I can’t take your statement, I’ll have to let the other man do it.” Francis admitted to what he had done. His confession was tape recorded.

Francis’s father arranged for a lawyer, through the firm that handled his other legal business. The lawyer asked Francis to tell him what had happened. The youth did so. After a family conference, it was decided that Francis should plead guilty and avoid an embarrassing trial.

There was no trial, but Tony did have to testify in court at a sentencing hearing. Refusing to lie before the judge, he told only what had really happened. He had not been threatened or forced. But he was under age and Francis was not. What was done was enough. It was plain to the judge and to anyone who took a good look at Tony, that this gentle boy, perhaps a little slow, was easily led. He had not had sense enough to protect himself from the young man or the police. Clearly, Francis had taken advantage of a naive and simple youngster. And the judge knew nothing of Bill.

The doctor’s report had not included the observation, that Tony’s sphincter was stretched, indicating the probability, that he had engaged frequently in anal intercourse in the past. However, no evidence had been found to indicate that he had done so recently. The physician knew against whom the case was being made.

Francis was remanded to the Program for the Sexually Dangerous at MCI Bridgewater for an indefinite period. Nothing at all happened to Tony. His parents never mentioned the incident to him and did not treat him any differently than they had before. Of course, the word of what had happened got around town. However, no one seemed to care much about it. He and Bill continued to see each other through high school and beyond.

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