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

Chet was a stubborn kid. He was smart enough, but did not do well in school. Because he didn’t accept their rule, the teachers did not like him. He would seldom do any homework. He didn’t care how well he performed on their tests. Chet had good athletic ability, but he did not go out for sports. He did not like the routine drill and practice required by the coaches. He didn’t want to have to coordinate his own movements with those of other players.

Some of the kids were afraid of Chet. It seemed to them that he had a mean streak. They sensed that they could not predict what he would do. The truth was that he was merely aloof. He would fight if he had to, and he had had to when he was younger. There were kids who resented his independence and tried to make him submit. He didn’t always win these fights, but he caused enough damage, that the bullies left him alone. As a result of these experiences, he was always ready to fight, if necessary. This was what the kids perceived in him, why they though he was dangerous, even though he never started trouble or went looking for it.

Chet’s parents didn’t know what to do with him. He would not come home on time for dinner. When his mother wouldn’t fix him anything to eat because he was late, he made himself a peanut butter sandwich. They loved him, but he would not cooperate. Finally, they gave up, and let him go his own way. He had a key, he could do as he pleased. When he did not come home at night, they said nothing about it.

The youth hung around with other kids who had no interests. They would get an older person to buy beer for them. In some out of the way place, they would drink and smoke cigarettes. Sometimes they would get pills: stimulants or depressants. Usually these would come from one of their parents’ medicine cabinets. For Chet, this was only something to do, a way to pass the time. Those teenagers were not his friends. He was alone more often than he was with any of them.

It was not that Chet was unhappy, but neither was he happy. He felt that he couldn’t find anything that he really wanted in such a little town. So he decided to go to the West Coast, to Los Angles, where people seemed free to do what they wanted, in a warm climate, and a place where everything was thought to be possible.

Once he made this decision, he got a part time job and found other work, odd jobs in the neighborhood. He saved his money. His parents were pleased with the change. They thought he had found himself at last. One morning he told his mother that he was leaving. He went upstairs, got the suitcase he had already packed, and left. The woman was still quietly protesting as he closed the door.

He thumbed a ride to Salem then took a bus to Boston, where he purchased a ticket to LA. He was prepared to be asked why he was going there. He would say that his Uncle had invited him for a visit. But he wasn’t questioned.

In the morning at the first stop for food, he told the driver that he needed to get into his suitcase. The man was annoyed. “You’re supposed to have a carry-on for things you need to keep with you,” he said. Chet made a little bundle in a sweat shirt; a change of underwear, tooth paste and brush. He went back to the lavatory, but they were both busy. By the time he got in, changed and brushed his teeth, it was too late to go for breakfast.

When they stopped for lunch, he was starving. He had a grinder and a coke. Then he bought some food to take with him on the bus; peanut butter filled, cheese crackers, a couple of candy bars, and a package of salted peanuts. He asked the clerk for an extra bag, but she wouldn’t give him one. He checked the trash can outside the cafeteria and found a bag with an empty coffee cup inside. He emptied the bag and brought it with him. When he returned to his seat, he took the soiled underpants out of his pocket and put then in the used paper bag.

At the St. Louis station, he left the bus and searched for abandoned reading material. There were only newspapers to be had, but he took one anyway. He read the sports section first. As the bus left the city behind, he started on the front page, but fell asleep. He had not slept well up to then. The motion of the bus, stopping at toll booths and bus stations along the way, woke him frequently. Chet had a difficult time getting back to sleep.

By the following morning, there were several magazines left on the motor coach by departed passengers. He collected these and put them on his seat. When the youth got back from a good, but inordinately expensive breakfast, he found that the magazines and the bag with his laundry in it were gone. The bus had been cleaned. Chet had not thought about that. He should have left something like his sweat shirt on top of everything. That was still there on the overhead rack.

Once they got to Kansas, Chet became more interested in the scenery. It was different from New England, flat. He had his first sight of the Rockies rising out of the planes. There was a wonderful sunset as they proceeded toward Albuquerque, the sky all orange, red and yellow, like looking into the mouth of a furnace. Then it was dark.

It was mid-morning when Chet arrived in Los Angles. He cleaned up in the men’s room, put his suitcase in a 24 hour rented locker, and set out to see the city and try to find a job. He stopped in many stores and fast food places, but none were hiring. At first he liked it, that the city seemed to be filled with kids, but as the day wore on he began to see them as competition.

He stopped his search for a few minutes, standing on the sidewalk looking around, when a youth about his age said, “Go peddle your ass someplace else!”

“What?” he responded.

He must have had a look of genuine surprise on his face, because the other teenager became a little less belligerent. “I’m working. This is my spot on the street.”

Chet did not understand, but he moved on. He went into a burger place a few doors away. Getting a double bacon cheeseburger, fries and cola, the youngster went to sit by the front window. He noticed a number of young men standing around, leaning against doorways or sign posts, not in bunches but alone, and spread out in a nearly deliberate pattern. The kids in groups were all on the move along the sidewalk.

A car stopped in front of a boy on the other side of the street. The youth ambled over to the car, he seemed to be leaning over and talking to the driver through the passenger side window. Then the kid got in and the vehicle departed.

When he left the fast-food emporium, Chet noticed that the kid, who had told him to move on, was gone; but someone else had taken his place. The youth continued his search for work without luck. He saw other young men conversing with older men in cars. Most times the kid would accept a ride, sometimes he would not.

During his walk, Chet had kept an eye out for an inexpensive place to stay the night. He choose a motel near the bus station that looked as though they would not charge much. As the manager handed him the key, he said. “Usually the john pays the rent, kid.”

“What do you mean?” Chet asked him.

“Doesn’t the guy want to be seen?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“OK, kid. Very out of town.”

First thing, Chet had a long, hot shower. He lay down on the bed intending to rest for a few minutes. When he woke up, it was the middle of the night. He got under the covers and slept until morning.

He stayed at the motel for three more days. Each day he looked for work, gradually widening his search. He found nothing, except encouragement to stop back in a month or so. In talking to people, he found out that most jobs were filled by word of mouth. People already employed at a place would often know someone who would want the job. Positions were frequently filled within a few days of the departing employee giving notice.

This made things difficult for a person like Chet, who did not make friends easily. During these few days, some people, men, had tried to make contact with him, specially when he spent time in the park in the evening. The older ones seemed to want sex. The younger ones to sell or buy drugs. He did not have money to buy nor did he have drugs to sell. He was not against sex with guys, although his previous sexual experiences had been with females. He had imagined sexual acts with a guy and thought that he might like it, but his preference would be for someone his own age or younger.

Now that his money was nearly gone, he realized that he had to consider being more flexible. It was obvious that some kids were getting paid for sex. He made an effort to talk to the younger men who approached him. He meant to find out how this business was transacted. One boy, when he realized that Chet was new in town, was willing to play the role of teacher.

The following evening, Chet tried out his new knowledge. Borrowing scissors from the motel office, he cut the legs off an old pair of jeans. He dressed in these, without underwear, sneakers without socks, and a faded blue T-shirt with S.H.S. Athletic Dept. stenciled on it. When he returned the scissors, the manager said, “You’re in business now, kid. You look terrific.”

Chet smiled, he suddenly realized, for the first time in quite a while. It felt good. “Thanks,” he replied.

In the park, near the edge, so that he could be seen by people in passing cars, he found a place to wait where it would be obvious that he was by himself. He did look good, lounging at the end of a bench. Even from a distance, he looked his sixteen years. His sandy hair was short and curly, his height a little over 5’ 6.” He had a natural good build on a sturdy frame. Up close, one noticed a good complexion, smallish features, and a hint of anger in his blue eyes. His expression might be read as somewhat sullen.

The youth did not look around to see who might be cruising him. He appeared to be indifferent, and to some extent he was. The lad had been waiting for about a half hour, when a tall, rugged man in his thirties approached him. Chet took one look at him and said, “Not interested.”

“You will be someday,” the man said in a neutral voice, before walking away.

The men in the park, those who observed this activity, were discouraged from making their own play. They didn’t understand why the encounter had been so brief. The tall man had been moving in on the teenager for some time. Why would he have dropped the kid so fast?

It was quite a while later, when Chet noticed that a certain fellow had walked by his bench at least three times. This person was well over forty, shorter than Chet, on the heavy side. The boy did not feel threatened by him. When the man next passed, he let the guy know with his eyes that he had seen him. He sat up at the end of the bench, so that there would be a place for the man to sit.

“Hello,” the john said.

“Hi,” Chet responded.

“May I sit down?”

“Sure,”

“What does S.H.S. stand for?”

“Saugus High School,” the youth quickly lied.

“Where is that?”

“Massachusetts.”

“You’re a long way from home, then.”

“Yah,” Chet agreed.

“Do you have a place to live?”

“I’m staying at a motel right now.”

“Would you like to come to my house?”

“I’m not gay.”

“I’m willing to pay you.”

“I want a hundred bucks.”

“That’s a lot of money.”

“Forget it then.”

After a pause, the fellow said, “No, I’ll pay it. Come on.”

They drove to the guy’s house. It was a nice place, modern and clean, though small and simply furnished. In the bedroom, Chet took off his clothes. It seemed like the man thought that the youth was a lollipop. He licked most of his body, sucked on his nipples, even tried to stick his tongue up his ass. He finished by sucking the boy’s cock. Chet did not mind the sex. He might have gotten into it more, if he had known what to expect. Anyway, he did his part, shooting his cum into the man’s mouth. He was surprised that the guy ate it, rather than spitting it out.

The fellow was a little disappointed that Chet would not do anything to him, not even jerk him off. “I told you I wasn’t gay,” the kid reminded him. The guy said that he wanted Chet to stay with him, that he could live there and he would provide spending money. The youngster said that he had other plans and asked for his hundred dollars and a ride back to the park. On parting, the man expressed the hope that he would see Chet again.

*****

In the morning, Chet turned in his key. “What’s the matter, didn’t you score?” the manager asked.

“I made some money, but I don’t want to have to do that every day.”

“Where are you going to stay?”

“I’m going to sleep on the beach.”

“Venice is the gay area, that’s where the business will be when you need cash.”

“I’ve heard that.”

“Look, if you ever need a place to crash, come here. I can let you have a room free for a night or two.”

“Thanks.”

“I remember how it was, when I first got to L.A.”

“Could I leave my suitcase here?”

“Sure, as long as I work here. And I don’t expect to be going anywhere else.”

Chet opened his bag and made a little bundle in a towel that he was borrowing. He took his toothbrush, a comb and his sweat shirt. He handed over his luggage. “This way,” Chet indicated the towel, “you get your property back. Eventually.”

The manager laughed. “Right.”

It was a short bus ride to the shore. Chet bought a bathing suit and a pair of sandals. He threw his sneakers away. Too many things would only get in the way or be stolen.

The youth spent most of his time on the beach. Once a week, he would go to the Laundromat, strip down to his bathing suit and wash everything else. He washed his bathing suit every day in the ocean. He brushed his teeth at the same place where he got his breakfast. That was his biggest meal of the day because he could get a lot of food for little money. Around four in the afternoon, he would buy himself a grinder. He tried not to purchase anything else, conserving his funds. Occasionally the teenager would have a treat, an ice cream cone or a bag of chips. Even so, eventually he would need a fresh supply of cash.

As often as not, the trade would come to him, right on the beach. If he did not need the money when someone offered it and the guy was someone he would consider going with, he would tell him that he was not working that day, but would be interested another time. Sometimes a definite date was arranged. Chet did not want to carry much currency on his person. There was too much risk of being robbed.

During the day, he kept the few bills in a clear plastic bag that he placed inside his bathing suit. The suit was tight enough that he was not likely to lose the package. At night he wore all of his clothes.

He slept under a pier, using the towel for a pillow, or as a blanket if it were chilly. There were twenty or so kids; who for reasons of safety, slept there in a little group. Sometimes a generous lad would share some drugs that a john had given him. Chet tried whatever was offered.

A few of his customers had given him cocaine. He liked it, but Chet had no intention of getting into drugs. That would mean he would have to make more money, loosing his relative freedom. It was independence that he desired above all else. The teenager would have preferred not to hustle at all, but he had not found any way to live with less encroachment on his liberty.

This was as happy a time as he ever had. The beach, the ocean, the sun, the days of drifting thoughts and few cares, warm nights spent listening to the sound of surf; all melted together in a pleasing way. Some of the kids were not as lucky as he.

One day, Chet saw a new boy on the beach. He was younger, smaller too. He did not have the deep brown tan that Chet’s sponsors admired in him. It was the kid’s mound of blue-black hair, that had an unusual shine, almost a luminescence, that Chet first noticed. The kid’s build was not unlike his, but there seemed to be a trace of delicacy that the older lad did not posess. The youngster did not appear to be with anyone. Chet thought that odd, because this was the sort of boy who would be kept by someone.

One of Chet’s pastimes was to watch the activity on the beach. There was a lot going on; the bodybuilders lifting weights; pairs of lovers; groups of friends; men looking for free sex, a fair exchange of value; the hustlers; the johns; the pimps; and best of all, the naïve tourists who arrive not knowing what they are getting into. Chet observed the new boy several times leaving the beach and returning an hour or so later.

That night, the new kid was with the others under the pier. Within the group there were clusters of youths, friends, though not cliques exactly. Exclusivity was not an admired trait. A few pairs were lovers, most were not. Some boys, like Chet, kept to themselves, but within the general area occupied by the group.

Chet was lying on his back, listening to the waves break at the shoreline, when he heard someone come near him. It was the kid with the unusually handsome hair. “Do you mind if I sleep here, near you?” the boy asked.

“What for?”

“So I don’t get robbed? So no one comes on to me?”

Chet knew that some of the kids in the group might steal, if they thought they could get away with it. This boy, being younger and smaller than everyone else, could be an easy target. But, he was not convinced. Maybe the kid thought that he could rob him.

“Why me?” he asked the youngster.

“Just a feeling that I’d be safe. I don’t think the others would want to mess with you. And, you’re not queer for boys. Are you?”

“I don’t know. Probably not. What about yourself?”

“I guess I’m queer all right, but that’s how I get money. I don’t want to do it 24 hours a day, and I don’t want to have to fight guys off all the time. Look, I know that you’d rather be alone, but I promise not to be a pest. And if it doesn’t work you can tell me to get lost.”

Chet relented. The kid settled himself on the sand next to him. The teenager did not say another word. In the middle of the night, Chet woke, went down to the water and took a piss. When he returned, he did not go back to sleep at once. Looking at the sleeping boy’s back, the older youth felt a stirring of tenderness, of affection. He felt a physical stirring, also.

In the next few days, bit by bit, Chet heard Brendan’s story. He had lived in a poor section of L.A. A couple of years ago his friends started going to a certain man’s house on Friday and Saturday nights. This guy let the neighborhood teenagers hang out there. They would drink, smoke, do drugs, have sex. The man would give booze and drugs to his favorite boys. The other boys and girls did not care that the gay was gay. He provided a place where they could do whatever they wanted.

Brendan already had a taste for liquor. His parents were both alcoholics and there was plenty of booze around. Furthermore, they did not notice there being less in the bottle. He accepted liquor from the man, but did not permit his touch. He was not attracted to the guy. The man offered drugs, but Brendan did not accept them. He was satisfied with drink.

One night, Brendan got blasted at the man’s house and fell asleep in a chair. The man rolled up the kid’s sleeve and gave him a shot of heroin. Brendan floated off to never never land, warm and blissful.

He stayed away from the man’s house for two weeks, but that was where his friends were. When he went back, at first Brendan was careful about how much he drank. The fellow was nice to him, didn’t try anything, didn’t press him for sex. Then the same thing happened again. He got drunk, nodded off and woke to feel a sharp prick in his arm. By the time he realized what was going on, he was full of dope.

The following night he felt ill. He knew what it was, having lived where he did. He was junk sick. The cure was more heroin or suffering and waiting for it to pass. Brendan held out for one day. The following evening, he went to the man’s house. The guy asked what Brendan wanted. Brendan told him, and he said, “Sure.” He told the kid to come upstairs.

When they got to the bedroom, the man told Brendan to take off his clothes. Although Brendan had half expected this, he showed his anger and demanded a fix. It was the man’s fault that he was sick. The fellow did not respond in kind. He merely said that if Brendan was going to get what he wanted from him; he, Brendan, would have to provide what was wanted. Then the guy went back downstairs, leaving the boy by himself.

Brendan knew that he had no where else to get heroin and he knew that he was not prepared to do without and stay sick. After a few minutes, he followed the man back to the first floor.

It seemed to Brendan that the man was determined to have him under his control. He refused to return to the bedroom without a sign of Brendan’s submission. The fellow ordered the boy to strip, right there in the den. He held out his palm, waist high. The teenager was required to step forward and place his genitals in the guy’s hand. He made the kid climb up on his lap and give him kisses. Then he carried Brendan upstairs and fucked him.

The next two weeks were bad, specially Friday and Saturday, when the other kids were around. The man insisted that Brendan follow him around like a puppy. He fondled the boy in front of the others, putting his hands inside Brendan’s clothes whenever he felt like it and kissing his open mouth.

Brendan learned that, if he got the man excited, he would fuck him, give him his shot, and then Brendan would be free until the next day. The youth became adept at arousing the man in the least amount of time. Even so, his new duties and his new habit resulted in Brendan missing a lot of school. His parents scolded him a little, accusing him of drinking and running around with girls. They did not really seem to care very much, and even to be somewhat amused.

Things got worse when the man was arrested for stealing cars. The police searched the man’s house and found the drugs. He was charged with possession with intent to distribute as well as felony auto theft. Why a drug dealer would be stealing cars, was a question that did not trouble the police.

Now Brendan needed to find another source of supply and the money to pay for it. He knew right away what he would have to do to earn the money. He had nothing else of value. Raising that much cash every day, meant completely turning his back on school. Someone told his parents that he was on heroin and how he was paying for it. They threw him out of the house. That was when Brendan came to the beach and met Chet.

Brendan’s clients were different from Chet’s, they wanted dissimilar things. Brendan had to suck cock and accept being screwed, while for Chet it was the other way around. Of course, that meant that Brendan could do a larger volume of business than Chet; but he needed to, and the older teen did not want much trade.

Although he didn’t show it, Chet became bothered by the thought of all those men having Brendan. He realized that he wanted the kid himself, but what could he do about it. He could not earn enough money to pay for Brendan’s habit. He couldn’t ask the boy for a free roll in the hay. The youngster had enough to deal with without Chet making demands on him. He could earn enough money to pay for a trick, but he did not want to be Brendan’s john.

When Chet became more friendly toward, him, the youth responded. They would take a swim together at the end of the day. Brendan would sometimes touch him as they played in the water. Some of the other kids kidded them about being in love. Neither denied it, since that fit in with Brendan’s plan to be left alone.

After a while, Chet started to feel that it would be better, if he were by himself again. It was difficult for him to want the boy and not be able to do anything about it. Then he got his wish. Brendan left the beach one morning and did not return.

Chet found this to be even worse. He did not know if Brendan had found someone to keep him, taken an overdose or been beaten to death by some maniac. He invented a story about a young, handsome, rich man; who fell in love with Brendan and carried him off. This was the better thing to imagine. For a time, he looked into the back of passing limousines, in case Brendan might be there, waving to him as he was driven away in luxury.

At first, there was the prospect that Brendan might return, but this passed. Chet was angry that he would probably never know what had happened to the youth. Gradually the hurt and anger faded, but he was not able to regain the good feeling he used to have about being on the beach. He thought about going home.

One day a man asked him if he would go to an entertainer’s house for the weekend with a bunch of other boys. He was offered five hundred dollars. Chet had refused these kinds of propositions previously. This time, he accepted; because he could make enough money to return home and because the entertainer had been a favorite of his when he was a kid. His prospective host had been a child star on a family situation comedy and was making a comeback as a rock and roll performer.

The house was large and beautiful. There was plenty of food, drink and drugs for the assembled boys, all in bathing suits and arrayed around the pool. The star appeared from time to time, to swim a little and flirt with some of the kids. He was taller and older than Chet’s remembrance of him, but he had expected this. Even so, there was still something cute and youthfully mischievous about his smile.

Once in a while, the star would lead one or two boys off to another location. Chet’s turn came early Sunday morning. His host, reading him right, wanted the youth to fuck him. This Chet accomplished, putting a little extra into it. for the cute kid he had admired on TV reruns, but thinking of Brendan. Chet could tell that the star was not impressed, although he said nothing.

Sunday evening he got his five hundred dollars and, at his request, a ride to the motel in L.A. where he had left his suitcase. The manager did not seem surprised that Chet was retrieving his luggage. “Where are you going now, kid?” he inquired.

“Back home.”

“There’s other places beside here and there.”

“It’s lousy everywhere.”

“Why home then?”

“I can live in a house, without having to do anything.”

“Makes sense. So long kid.”

Chet got on a bus headed east. His parents were not overjoyed to see him again, but he was their child and they accepted him back. He was, if anything, more aloof than before, but changed in other ways they liked. He got a part time job and enrolled in night classes to finish high school.

A family in the neighborhood, for whom he had done chores, before he left for California, asked him to baby sit on a regular basis. The parents liked to go out most Friday and Saturday nights. They had two boys, five and seven.

The kids were crazy about Chet right from the beginning. They rushed right past his distant demeanor to climb all over him. He was just eighteen, a teenager, exactly what they looked forward to being themselves someday. They could not imagine attaining their father’s age. And they could tell that Chet accepted them as they were, that he had no plan for molding them into a form of his design. Perhaps they knew that Chet craved the same sort of simple undeserved affection, without associated obligations.

When Chet arrived, the boys would have been fed, bathed and in their pajamas. They could stay up for a while and watch TV. Chet was unconcerned with getting them into bed at the time that the parents had set. When they got sleepy, he would take them upstairs.

Until then, they would all be on the sofa. It was natural for Chet to put his arms around them. The boys would sometimes hug his neck and kiss him. Chet’s hand might stray underneath a pajama top to caress a little back. He might kiss them on the lips, sweetly, softly.

In the summer, when it was hot, Chet would strip down to his briefs. When he asked the boys if they would like to take off their pajamas, they thought that was a good idea. He touched their little bodies tenderly, gently. They were more vigorous with each other and with him.

They were curious about the bulge in Chet’s underpants, so he removed them. The five year old grabbed his cock with both hands and exclaimed about how warm it was. Chet told them that they would be big like him someday. They were impressed.

Chet told the boys that it was his magic twanger and that he could do a trick, something would come out if it. The older boy said that it would be pee. Chet told him that a white rabbit would appear, but only if his twanger was rubbed the right way. They wanted to know how to do it and Chet showed them. When only a white liquid was produced, he said they could try again another time.

The older boy told the younger that Chet was fooling them, but he still thought it was a good trick. He wanted to know if his twanger was magic too. The little one wanted to know when they could try again to make the rabbit come. Chet told the former that his would become magic, when he was Chet’s age and that he would let them know when they could try again.

A few weeks later, on a Friday night, shortly after Chet and ejaculated and before he was ready to clean up, the front door opened. Two naked boys ran to greet their parents, the seven year old’s little hand dripping with jism. The confused parents looked for Chet. Then they saw him, rising from the coach, his cock still hard , a dangling gob of semen breaking free and dropping to the carpet.

The mother screamed and herded the boys upstairs. The father took two steps toward Chet, but saw the clenched fists. Thinking better of it, he went to the phone and dialed the police.

The teenager got dressed and sat back down at the far end of the sofa to wait for the cops. He could hear the mother upstairs, still screaming. He heard the two boys’ frightened crying and bewildered questions. He felt numb.

Chet was sentenced to an undetermined term in the unit for the sexually dangerous at Bridgewater State Prison.

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