Phoenix House

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KurtSilvers@proton.me

This story takes place in the same universe as `Ian's Extra Credit,' also available here on Nifty.

Phoenix House - Chapter 1

The house is strangely quiet. Not unusually quiet, it is always like this but damn it's strange. It's the kind of quiet that smothers you, closing in. In the background I hear hymns playing softly, the same hymns I've heard every day since my birth. Mom is humming along while she prepares dinner and dad is in the living room reading his Bible. Everything is absolutely perfect, ordered, clean, tidy, neat.

It's suffocating.

I sit at the kitchen table with my sketchbook open, trying to focus. Eveything on the page is a blur. I draw to escape, to create worlds where I feel I can breathe. Where I can exist without tiptoeing around every word, every thought I may have. I sketch places as far from here as I can imagine. Places I could be myself.

Liam. I close my eyes, remembering the way his hand felt in mine just yesterday, the way he smiled at me when no one was looking. We've been best friends since we were three years old, but it feels different now. A bit shorter than me with black hair and the bluest eyes he has a stocky, not fat, build. He's the only one who knows, really knows, who I am. That I'm gay. That I've been wearing a mask for as long as I can remember. And that mask is starting to slip. All we've done so far is kiss but I am dying for more.

I look over my shoulder, making sure mom isn't nearby. She's always hovering, watching, expecting to see some sign that I might be straying from the Lord. But she's still in the kitchen with her back to me. I go back to my sketch, shading in the trees, trying to bring the scene to life. I wonder what it would be like to disappear into them, into that other world I've created. To run into the forest, to explore the stone building,never to be seen again.

"Eli, dinner is almost ready," mom says, her voice soft but firm. There's no room for flexibility or discussion in our home. Everything here runs on schedule, regimented, like we're part of some grand plan I don't fully understand but have no choice but to dutifully follow.

"Okay," I mumble, closing my sketchbook. My fingers itch to keep drawing, to finish what I've started, but there's no tolerance for that here either.

As I walk to the dining room, I can hear dad talking with Emma about her Bible study, quizzing her on the verses she's memorized. She answers eagerly, her voice bright and full of pride. She's everything they want me to be. Obedient, faithful, unquestioning. Poor kid.

I sit down across from them, keeping my head low. I've become very good at blending in, at saying the right things at the right times. But lately, I'm finding it harder. Words feel hollow in my mouth. The prayers we say before meals, the Bible studies, the constant talk about sin and salvation. This whole world of bullshit they inhabit is not for me.

"Eli, how are your studies going?" Dad asks, his eyes narrowing. He's always suspicious, always waiting for me to slip up.

"Fine," I say, trying to sound casual. I know better than to complain. The tiniest complaint is a sign of rebellion, and rebellion means punishment. In this house, there's no room for doubt, no room for anything that doesn't fit into their perfect image of faith and righteousness.

He nods but doesn't say anything else. I can feel his gaze linger on me for a moment longer before he turns back to Emma. I let out a quiet breath, relief washing over me. Another day of pretending. Another day of keeping everything tightly inside.

After dinner, I retreat to my room. It's the only place where I can be alone, where I can breathe without someone watching me. My walls are covered with my sketches. If not for them they'd be bare. I can't put up the posters I would like. There is that one painting of Jesus above the closet door. Ironic. Always watching.

Sitting on the edge of my bed I pull out my sketchbook again. I move my pencil across the page, and slowly, the trees representing shelter and division from the world, come to life. The old stone building demonstrating strength and stability. The large oval driveway representing continuity and connection. The place I've been creating for days is almost complete. I imagine Liam there with me, his laughter filling the air, his hand warm in mine. I've seen this place in my dreams and although I have no idea where it is, if it is real or just my imagination, I know in my heart that I will find it one day.

I think about what life would be like if I could be honest with my parents. To tell them I'm not like them. That I don't believe in the same things. That I'm not straight, and I'm not sorry. But I know what my dad would say, it would sound like one of his Sunday sermons. I cringe knowing how he would look at me like I'm something broken that needs to be fixed.

I'd be kicked out. Disowned. No question.

My parents don't just believe in God, they live their religion, every second of every day. It's not the kind of faith where you ever feel comforted or inspired. It's rigid and cold, like there's only one right way to exist, to think. My dad is the pastor at our church, so most of what I know about this crap comes from him. Every Sunday, he stands in front of the congregation, eyes blazing, talking about sin and hellfire like it's waiting for us just outside the door, around every corner. Redemption comes with a long list of conditions. Strict, impossible conditions. If you slip up, even just a little, you will spend eternity in damnation.

I don't remember the last time I heard my dad talk about love or forgiveness. Either at home or in the pulpit.

Mom is just as intense, but a little quieter about it. She stays home with Emma, teaching her everything from history to math, but it's all through the lens of the Bible. I just started regular classes last year. Everything here comes back to scripture. Start the day with prayer, end it with prayer, and in between, there's Bible study and constant reminders of the world's dangers. Secular music, movies, books. If it's not sanctioned by the church, my dad, it's poison.

I've heard it all my life. The world is full of sin, and we have to stay pure. But I know there is more out there. It's hard to explain, but sometimes I feel like I'm standing outside my life, looking in. More of an observer than a participant. Everything seems so tidy, so controlled, but I'm barely holding it together. All the prayers, all the Bible verses. None of it seems to be very welcoming of who I really am.

And that's the part that scares me the most.

I stop drawing and stare at the page. My chest feels tight, like the walls are closing in again. I can't keep my secret forever. I've already been pushing my luck. One wrong move, one slip up, and everything will come crashing down. I don't know if I'm ready for that. But I can't keep living like this either. Stuck between who I am and who they require me to be.

I lie back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. The hymns from the living room are still playing, infiltrating through the floorboards like toxic fumes. Soft, soothing, still suffocating. I close my eyes and imagine my forest again, the place where I can be free.

Maybe one day, I think. Maybe one day, I'll have the courage to tell them. But for now, all I can do is wait. And hope.

Oh, I'm Eli. I live in the city and I just turned 15 last week. Kids at school call me Bean' cause I'm six feet tall and skinny. I have sandy blond hair and grey eyes. I get along pretty well with other kids and have a couple of good friends. My grades are mostly okay with a few not so okay but I find school distracting because of all the cock I know is sitting around me in class. I sucked my first dick a few years ago. I loved it and have been looking for it ever since. But other than that one friend at a sleepover when I was twelve I've had no luck.

I hear the phone ring and a moment later my mom is calling my name. I take the phone from her and it's Liam. He is just leaving his place, a few blocks away, and is heading over. My parents and little sister are going to some church meetings before I am to meet them for a midnight service, so I have plans for this evening.

Liam arrives just as my folks are leaving. As soon as they are gone I take him in my arms, embracing him tightly and kissing him deeply.

"Let's go upstairs Liam. We're finally going to do what we've both been waiting for." I say taking him by the hand and leading him up the dark, narrow, creaking staircase.

Moving quickly to my bedroom. The room is dim, the only light coming from the streetlamp outside, casting long shadows across the walls. I put on a tape of a local band that Liam likes. My pulse is loud in my ears as I drop to my knees in front of Liam and begin undoing his pants, one button at a time. No foreplay for me. I'm getting what I want right now. Liam is still questioning himself and I don't want him chickening out.

Pulling down his jeans and Y-fronts at the same time his cock, already hard, waves in front of me. Like mine it is circumcised and about six inches, his tapered head a beautiful pinkish colour as opposed to my more mushroom shaped purple knob. Other than that we are practically cock twins. We both have loose ball sacks but his nuts are a bit bigger than mine.

My mouth immediately engulfes him, my nose is being tickled by his pubes. He lets out a loud moan. To me that is the sound of angels singing. Look dad, I'm on my knees, praying. Happy now?

His cock slides in deep and then pulls all the way out, his head on my lips. He's leaking and it is delicious. He repeats this action becoming a bit more aggressive in his movements. His hands are on the back of my head pulling me into his groin. His groans and moans are a big part of the turn on. I had no idea how that would affect me. He begins to leak more and I feel his head beginning to swell along with an increase in the flow of sweet, crystal clear liquid. He's close.

I look up at him as I alternate between deep throating and giving his head a tongue bath. His eyes are riveted on the action. His virgin cock humping my mouth. Then with a whole body shudder he blasts into my throat and my mouth, coating my tongue and tonsils. As I watch him he looks up, his face changing suddenly to one of horror rather than the ecstasy I saw a moment ago. He pulls back, still unloading. "Oh fuck." he says as I take several more large shots of thick cum on my lips and face, getting a bit in my hair. What's wrong?

His eyes are still locked on the door behind me. He looks like he is about to cry. The door behind me. Oh god no.

I didn't hear the front door open. I didn't hear my dad's footsteps on the creaky stairs or in the hall. But suddenly, there he is, standing in the doorway like a statue, frozen. His eyes are wide, his mouth a tight, hard line, and for that moment the room feels suffocating. My heart stops in my chest. I can feel Liam pull away, but it is too late. The truth is already out, hanging between us like a weight, heavy and unforgiving. And very unforgettable. My face is covered in and dripping with Liam's load. I swallow the copious quantity still in my mouth.

"Dad?"

"Eli," my dad's voice is a low growl, thick with disbelief and something far worse. "What is this? How dare you bring this into a home of the Lord? You are an abomination." I feel my whole body go cold. I can't speak, can't move. Dad doesn't even look at Liam. His eyes are locked on me, and they are filled with something I'd never seen at this high a level before. Disgust. Hatred.

"Get out," he spits at Liam, pointing toward the door. "Now."

Liam hesitates, glancing at me, his eyes wide with fear. I want to say something, to tell him it is okay, that he doesn't need to stay. But I can't. My throat is too tight. Liam grabs his bag and rushes out of the room, the door slams shut behind him.

For a second, I thought maybe it was over. Maybe my dad wouldn't say anything else. Maybe this was just a nightmare, and I'd wake up any second.

But then he steps toward me, his fists clenched at his sides, his face red. "You're disgusting," he hisses. "Is this what you do when we're not here? You bring perverted boys into this house? Under my roof? Under god's roof?"

I swallow hard, trying to steady my voice. "Dad."

"Don't you dare `Dad' me," he cuts me off, his voice rising. "I knew there was something salacious going on. Do you have any idea what you have done? What you have become? A filthy sinner, Eli. You're living in sin, and you think I am going to let that pass? In this house? No. No, not in my house. You should be ashamed. Beg the Lord for forgiveness."

"I'm not..." My voice cracks. "I'm not ashamed of who I am and I'm not going to beg for forgiveness. From anyone."

His eyes flare, and he steps even closer, his breath hot against my face. "Not ashamed? You should be on your knees begging for God's forgiveness."

I shake my head, the words catching in my throat. "I'm not sorry."

For a moment, I think he might hit me. His hand twitches at his side, and his face twists with fury. But instead, he steps back, shaking his head like he can't believe what he is seeing.

"If you are not sorry," he says, his voice dangerously low, "then you can not stay here. I will not have a son who chooses to live as a sinner. You will either repent and get right with God, or you are leaving this house tonight."

My stomach twists, but I don't back down. "I'm not going to apologize for who I am."

His face hardens. "Then you are no longer my son."

The words hit me like a slap, and I feel something inside me break. My mom appears in the doorway, her face pale and tear-streaked, but she doesn't say anything. She can't say anything. It isn't her place. She just stands there, wringing her hands, like she is waiting for me to give in, to say the words that will fix everything.

But I can't. I won't.

"Pack your things," my dad says, turning away, "and get out of here."

I look at my mom, hoping, praying she'll say something, anything, to stop him. But she just shakes her head, her eyes full of pain. "I'm sorry, Eli," she whispers. "But we have to do what's right."

What's right. I nod, feeling numb. They think kicking me out is what's right. They think losing their son is better than having a son who is gay.

I turn to my room, grabbing the backpack I use for school and stuffing it with clothes, my pencils and sketch pads. I can hear my dad pacing in the hall, muttering under his breath, and my mom's soft sobs. It feels like I am floating, like none of this is real. But it is. This is happening. I am leaving.

When I walk out of the house, the air is cold against my skin, but I barely feel it. I don't look back. I can't. All I know was that I have nowhere to go, no one to turn to. All I have is the truth of who I am and for now that will have to be enough.

Well... that was my Christmas Eve. I've been on the streets for a couple of months now and yeah, it gets easier but never easy. I had heard about kids turning tricks for food but never thought I'd be one of them.

I'm just leaving the home of one of my regulars. He's married, in his 60s, and picks me up when his wife is out of town. All he wants to do is fuck me. I'm not really into that but if a cock in my ass means food in my mouth then no problem. And he has a small dick so not much effort for me. Plus I get to sleep in a nice bed, get good meals, shower and wash my clothes. In addition to my pay today he gave me some McDonald's certificates so I rush off for breakfast before they stop serving.

Always a refuge from any kind of weather I embrace the warmth as I enter the restaurant. The smell of coffee and breakfast in the air. As I sit with my tray I notice Jesse just walking in. Jesse is only fourteen and has been on the streets for almost a year. He's a pretty small guy, really, really cute with jet black hair and deep dark brown eyes. His mom is from Vietnam, his dad's a white dude. He always has a broad smile even when everything around him is shit. He doesn't notice me as he passes my table.

"Hey Jesse." I call out to him.

He turns towards me and that is when I see the huge bruises on his face. His delicate features are completely hidden by swelling and puffiness. There is no smile today.

"Jesse, what happened to you? Sit down." I say to him seeing a fragility he has managed to keep hidden as long as I've known him.

"Hi Bean. Fuck. Sorry it hurts to talk. A bad trick. The guy said he just wanted a BJ and then he raped me, my fucking ass is still bleeding, and then he beat the shit out of me. On top of that he stole what little cash I had. I just came in here to use the can. There has to be a better fucking way Bean. Funny isn't it how society shudders at the thought of an adult having sex with a kid but that same fucking, shitty society gives kids like us no other fucking choice."

"Here," handing him some cash. "Go grab yourself breakfast and come back and chat. I could use someone to talk to right now."

Jesse is really bright, he was a top student until his dad decided that "No fucking faggot is living under my roof." No religious issues in his family really. Just bigotry and hate. Now, like me, he has been reduced to selling sex to survive. He would easily have gotten scholarships to any school he wanted. Why do kids like us get tossed aside like garbage? He could have had an amazing life. Now he fights just to keep his.

"Fuck thanks Bean. I am starving. I owe you one." Jesse says as he begins to scarf down his breakfast.

"Naaahh. Remember, you brought me lunch a couple of weeks ago. It's all good." I tell him.

"So how have things been with you?" He asks. Not just conversation, this guy is really interested in people. What a waste. Society lost more with him than with me. I'm just an artist. He could have been something amazing. You can see it in his eyes. I used to have hope but not anymore.

"Okay, you know, the usual. I forget what day it is sometimes. Doesn't really matter much does it? Money has been okay but that's today right? Who knows about tomorrow. I found this little place under some stairs at the back of the printing plant. It's dry and there is a vent that provides some heat so I've been staying there. Not many people around that part of the building so I'll probably make it my camp for now. How about you, where are you staying?" I ask noticing a really good looking guy, mid to late twenties, sitting a couple of tables away. He has been looking our way but trying to not be noticed. He's close enough to hear our conversation. Damn he is gorgeous. I'd throw him a freebie.

"Nowhere. A different place each night. I always get chased away. And it looks like today is going to be a shitty day." he comments as I notice the wind and rain battering the windows.

"Is that all your stuff?" I ask, pointing at his tattered backpack.

"Everything, my whole life." he says with a heavy sadness.

"Grab it and let's go. We can be roommates, or under stair mates. Come on before it gets even worse." I tell him.

We gather up our things and practically jog to the plant, just a few blocks away. We can't however avoid getting soaked.

"Around here," I instruct, gesturing to the back corner.

"And under here." as I escort him into my little safe space. High enough to stand comfortably and almost completely enclosed. I have some blankets tucked away in the corner and some cleanish clothes hanging from a length of rusty rebar. There is a semi translucent window to the building that provides some light. When I first discovered this place I gave it a good cleaning and it is better than a lot of places I've slept. Kind of cozy.

"Hey this is nice. Warm and dry. You're sure it's okay if I stay here?" he asks.

"No problem, but no tricks here. Let's not bring our problems home okay?" I say. I can't believe that this is `home.'

I look at Jesse. I've always thought he was really cute. He is going to be a very handsome guy. He has perfect features. Yeah we've fucked. But now he sits there, bruised and battered. I can see the split in his bottom lip. A gift from his last bad trick.

"I'm out of commission for a while." Jesse says pointing at his face. "I don't even want to think about the kind of John that would hire a kid looking like this.

"Yeah we get enough freaks as it is. Does it hurt Jesse? Are you in pain at all?" I ask him.

"My whole face hurts and look," unbuttoning his shirt to show me more bruising.

"Here," I hand him a soda and a couple of aspirin.

"Gee thanks. This day is turning out a lot better than I thought it would."

I bring out some of the blankets and a roll of carpet and padding I scrounged out of the dumpster. Laying them out on the floor we can actually get quite comfortable. We sit quietly, huddled together, sheltered from the wind and rain. Two different guys with one similarity that resulted in our having to fight for survival. We are just kids but both of us know that we probably won't be around for too long. Kids like us don't really live on the streets. We die on them. In spite of that knowledge being part of our day to day existence we take comfort in each other's company slowly drifting off to sleep. Remember, we work nights.

Suddenly we are awakened by a voice calling to us.

"Hey guys, hello, are you in there? Can I come in?" a masculine, kind sounding voice asks politely.

"Ummm...yeah." I say nudging Jesse awake. "I think we are getting kicked out Jesse."

A face appears as a tall man enters our space. Hey, it is the gorgeous freebie guy from McDonald's. I am a bit nervous as we are kind of cornered. He must have followed us.

"Hey guys, no worries, I'm not here to kick you out. And I won't intrude on you now but I would like to talk with the two of you maybe later if you have a chance. Lunch or dinner, my treat. Here's my card. Just give me a call. See you later I hope." and he was gone.

"What the fuck was that?" asks Jesse. "Who was that?"

I glance at the card. `Michael Roberts - Clinical Psychologist.'

"Some psychologist, probably wants to pick our brains or fuck both of us, who knows. Oh well, we will at least get a good meal out of this. Let's call him later. We lay down and cuddle as we doze off again, catching up on some long needed rest.

I wake up and check my Timex. 5:14. We slept the whole afternoon. I look at Jesse sleeping. He is so small and vulnerable. God his face. How could anyone do that to him? He really is just this nice kid doing his best to survive. Just like me. I've been pretty lucky so far. Sure I've taken a couple of beatings but nothing like what Jesse took. One time a guy tied me up and held a knife to my neck. I never thought I would see the next day. Luckily the drunk bastard passed out and I was able to escape, along with the contents of his wallet, his watch, rings, everything I could grab.

Call the cops? Why bother? They don't care about us either.

I pick up the business card that Mr. Hottie left earlier. Sorry, it's Dr. Hottie, sorry, Roberts. I know what psychologists do but why would he be out trolling for chicken? Most Johns don't hand out their business cards. So it is probably not for sex. Not that I would mind with him. Jesse begins to stir beside me.

"Hi gorgeous." I say to him.

Jesse releases a small laugh but a large amount of tension.

"Thanks Bean. You are one of the good ones." he tells me. "I gotta piss."

"There is a porta pottie just behind that small fence over there." I point it out to him. He makes a quick dash to the pottie and is back in a flash.

"We even have our own bathroom. We are living in the lap of luxury." Jesse jokes.

"Yeah, I'm really glad I found this place. And I'm glad you're here now too. I still get a bit freaked out sleeping alone here." I confess. There are a lot of dangerous guys out there.

"So should we give this guy a call and enjoy dinner on him?" I ask showing him the card.

"Sure, like I said I'm not working for a while so money is going to be tighter than my ass. And you know how tight that is. Give him a shout." he replies handing me a dime.

"Be right back, there is a pay phone at the front of the building." I tell him before running to the phone.

I drop in the coin and dial carefully. Can't waste a dime. "Hello," the voice answers.

"Hi is this Dr. Roberts?" I inquire.

"It is, who's calling?" he asks.

"My name is Bean. You gave me your card under the stairs at the printing plant." I answer.

"Oh hi Bean, thanks for calling, and it's just Mike. Are you and your friend free for dinner?"

"Yeah we are but, ummm...this is just dinner right?" I ask somewhat on edge.

"Oh god Bean, yes. Just dinner. Well and some conversation. I'm not interested in either of you for sex Bean. This is not a working dinner if you get what I mean." he tells me.

"Okay then sure, thanks. Should we meet you somewhere?" I inquire.

"No the weather is still shit. I'll pick you up in say an hour? He asks.

"Great, see you then." I hang up the phone and dash back to our little shelter.

"Well he will pick us up in an hour. We should get showered and changed before our date." I say causing Jesse to laugh at the absurdity of our situation.

We do try to make ourselves as presentable as possible and a short time later I hear a car horn in the parking lot. Heading outside I see Mike in the driver's seat and another really good looking guy beside him who I would soon learn is Mike's boyfriend, Blake.

Jesse and I climb in the back seat and Mike introduces Blake. What a cutie. He looks a bit shorter than Mike and has a baby face. Brown hair, green eyes and he looks built. "Is Italian okay guys?" Mike asks.

"That sounds great." Jesse responds.

Within a few minutes we are at Angelina's. One of the best and most expensive Italian restaurants in the city. Luckily it seems Mike is in good with the Maître d', as we get some rather unwelcoming looks from the clientele. I have to give them a bit of a pass though. The way Jesse looks right now attracts attention. And Jesse and I are not really dressed for an upscale place like this.

We are seated in a cozy banquette. Mike gestures for me and Jesse to sit first and then he and Blake take up the ends. Are they trapping us in? Shit, the streets have made me paranoid.

The aromas in this place are so tantalizing. The acrid smell of garlic permeates the air. Fresh breads and pizzas baking. My tummy growls in anticipation.

"Order whatever you want guys and then Blake and I will tell you why we asked you to dinner." Mike says.

The menu is brief but inviting. I order a Caesar salad and spaghetti bolognese. Jesse has the same salad and a three meat pizza. Blake and Mike decide to share an enormous salad and a huge bowl of ravioli.

While waiting for our food to arrive Mike explains why we are here. He and Blake are going to be running a home for gay street boys. I look at Jesse. We've heard these kind of things before.

"Sorry guys, I don't know about Bean but I've been in shelters before and I'd rather take my chances on the street." Jesse says as I nod in agreement.

"Same for me. The last time I got raped by two big guys. Those places aren't safe." I tell them. "I don't think you really know what they are like, for us.

"I spent two years on the streets Bean, when I was your age. I've been raped a dozen times. Nearly beaten to death double that. And this," lifting his shirt to show a large scar on his tight abs, "was when I was stabbed and left for dead on some railway tracks." says Blake to my utter amazement. "Believe me I know."

"This place is not like that, I promise you." Mike implores. "It isn't in the city. It is in a small town about a half hour, forty minutes away. We can only take ten boys right now and we want to make sure that the boys we take in will be able to follow the simple rules and use this opportunity to take back control of their lives. I don't know if you are aware but the two of you have it together a lot more than most of the guys out there.

We've been asking around, beat cops, people in the community, social workers. We told them our plans and asked them for two kids that would be a good start to our team, kids that could be trusted to help lead the other kids. Boys that have demonstrated genuine kindness. And consistently two names came up. Bean and Jesse.

I've looked at your school records. Jesse, you are brilliant and your academic skills would come in handy helping some of the kids who really struggle. Also I understand you worked in your mom's restaurant. Those skills could come in handy too."

"Bean, I've seen some of the drawings you have made for local merchants. You have real talent."

I do these sometimes as a barter for food and shit.

"And your old teachers tell me you have a real future there. You won a number of awards. Apparently you ended up teaching art to some of the younger kids after school. Out of kindness. That is a gift." Blake says.

"It all sounds good but out in the country? What if they cancel the program? These things are never important to anyone." I lament.

"This isn't a government program guys. It is a new foundation that Blake and I have been chosen to run. This has been a dream of ours. We have a very wealthy benefactor and the plan is to use this as a pilot project. If all goes well the foundation has enough funds, and land, to expand.

We need two sharp young guys to help us. And I haven't even told you the best part. Each boy has a private room with a private bathroom. And a door that locks. You have your privacy and your dignity. And these rooms are like five star hotels. The place has a games room and Jesse, it has a commercial kitchen. Maybe you could share your cooking skills with the other boys. When these kids need to find work, restaurants are always hiring." Mike explains.

Jesse has told me before that although his parents were really pushing him to go to university after high school he really wants to be a chef. Is that what is bringing the smile to Jesse's bruised face?

"It does sound pretty good. What do you think Bean? Do you want to give it a go?" Jesse asks, obvious that his mind is made up.

Perhaps unknowingly, Mike has dangled the perfect carrot.

"Sure, why not. It's not like we have anything to lose. Mike, Blake, we accept your offer." I tell them, beginning to feel a bit of excitement. After all, almost anything is better than the way we've been living. Change can be good, right?

After finishing our meals, and it was the best food I have ever eaten. In my old house too much flavour was considered sinful. We sit back, fully satisfied.

"So when is all this happening?" I ask.

"We can head up this weekend. They are just finishing up readying the place and our final permits just came in. We will start bringing new boys in two at a time. We want this to be a real home for these boys and not feel like a temporary shelter." Mike says with a look of exhaustion and satisfaction. "And we are going to ask for your help in choosing the boys. Not everyone will fit in and we need to ensure a safe, comfortable environment. We aren't looking for angels, obviously. But we need kids that will work with us, drop the chip on the shoulder attitude and be proud of who they are. You know a lot of these boys. We don't. It was a struggle to find you two."

"Okay, well that sounds great. Ummm. Should I call you or what?" I inquire.

"What do you mean Bean? You and Jesse are staying with us until we leave." Mike informs us.

The paranoia starts again. They seem like two decent guys but I've been fooled before. And I would fuck around with either one or both but I don't like to mix business with pleasure. I like to know what I'm facing.

"Well, maybe we should just meet up on Friday." I suggest.

Mike and Blake look at each other, obviously something has not been said.

Mike begins with a sigh, "We wanted this dinner to be a positive thing. Something of a celebration, but, guys, do you know Andy Wilson?" Jesse and I look towards each other shaking our heads no.

"Doesn't sound familiar." I say.

"Little guy, twelve years old. Button nose. Blue eyes. Blond." Mike continues.

"Oh, you mean Squirt." Jesse realizes.

Squirt is a great little guy. A sweet kid. Bright and funny. More streetwise than Jesse and me put together but you would never know it to see him. He looks like some innocent little boy you'd see in a cereal commercial. I felt so bad when I first met him, him being so young and all but he always seems to be doing okay. He is very popular for obvious reasons, he even looks a couple of years younger than his age, so he always finds a decent bed for the night. And luckily his tricks tend to treat him fairly well.

I've spent a couple of nights with Squirt and he has a very talented tongue, the kid is one of the best cocksuckers I've ever had, and a fist tight ass. Most surprisingly, at twelve, he is the best kisser I've ever met. And hey, no judgement okay? We street kids often sleep with each other. It is the only real affection we get. I'm always very gentle with Squirt. I love falling asleep with him in my arms, cuddling. It's been a while. We have to find him and bring him with us. Get him off the streets before it's too late.

"His body was found this morning in a dumpster behind the Fifth Street Mall. Someone raped him with a baseball bat, carved the word `FAG' on his chest, slit his throat and threw him away like trash." Blake says as he tears up.

Jesse and I look at each other in shock, tears welling up in our eyes. I just saw Squirt a few days ago, smiling as usual. How? I mean yeah this shit happens but he was a baby. Oh my god. Fuck, not Squirt. Dad where was your fucking god when this happened?

The four of us leave and climb into the car in silence, tears all around.

"You're staying with us until we leave on Friday." Blake insists. "We'll pick up your stuff on the way."

Neither Jesse or I are in the mood to argue. It could have been either one of us. I can't remember ever feeling this somber and Jesse looks the same. This was too close to home. We all worked the same neighbourhood. I still can't believe that sweet little boy, kind of a baby brother, is gone.

Maybe this project will help save some other kid from the same fate. I'm a city kid but as I hear the constant wail of sirens I realize maybe it is time for a change. Maybe it'll be worth it. I'll do this in Squirt's honour.

Yeah, it'll be worth it.