Chapter 7. Patrick day #2.
I got out of bed quietly so Patrick could sleep. We learned in nursing school that adolescents needed more sleep since there's so much growth going on inside them and their brains are still developing, still making connections. They look grown up on the outside but they're still kids inside.
I went upstairs for a while and explained the 'Patrick problem' to my mom, she seemed concerned but not judgmental. She was always polite but I would never have had that talk with Dad at home. She asked to meet him but never said why, she said she caught glimpses of him outside on the driveway.
My apartment in the basement took up about 2/3 of their entire basement space. It sat under their large living room and lavatory. My kitchen was partially underneath theirs. She could hear it if we made lots of noise but mostly they couldn't tell if I was home because I seldom drove my car or made much noise. With the L station less than one block away I could just as easily go shopping anywhere in Chicago and it wasn't much different than shopping in Wilmette. I liked the excitement and buzz in the city, our town was pretty boring. Plus, there were two L stops in Boys Town, Addison and Belmont.
Patrick shuffled out of the bedroom around 10am, wiping his eyes. I offered him food and coffee which he eagerly accepted. He actually looked almost back to normal this morning. His face looked slightly pale and a bit like maybe he lost some weight, his cheeks looked a little sunken. He walked around the kitchen shirtless with my old Chicago Bears sleeping pants on.
I told him I had three more days off, and asked what he wanted to do today. He asked me if I could buy him some warm clothes and minutes for his phone. That's when I remembered the card I got yesterday. I picked it up off the desk in my 'office' and handed it to him. His mouth fell open and looked at me speechless. It was a card for a full year of tracfone service. He'd never seen one before. He scratched the paint and re-authorized his phone then texted me the letters 'ILY-B'. That's the closest he's ever come to even telling me he liked me. We're taking it slowly in small steps, this was definitely one of those. I texted him back 'ILY2-PK'. His phone buzzed, he pushed a button then looked up smiling at me and set his phone down.
Maybe when you said I Love You via text it no longer meant I Love You but more like I Heart You. I had no idea what that meant but it sounded superficial and very insincere.
"Do you have any other relatives around Chicago?"
"My parents are from Indianapolis, I have grandparents there but I never met them I don't even know their names or if they're alive or not. I think mom had a sister in New Orleans but I never met her and I don't know her name, that's it really. Why? You wanna get rid of me already?" He fired back.
"Slow down there friend, I'm just tryin' to see if there's any other resources we might use to help make peace with your family is all. You can stay as long as you want." I was surprised I actually said that to him because I was afraid he'd think I was lonely or desperate or something if I sounded too easy, like asking a girl to get married during the first date or something.
We sat there in silence sort of looking at each other's legs sitting on the sofa, then I gently grabbed his chin and aimed his head so we looked in each other's eyes and repeated what I said, "You can stay here as looooong as you want."
He mumbled, "Thanks Brad." I reminded myself he's dealt with some significant rejection from family and is going to be hyper-sensitive for a while. I needed to be careful what I said until he started to trust humanity again. Unfortunately that was not something I was great at. Nurses tended to be blunt for the sake of clarity and speed.
I brought him into the bathroom and in front of the mirror I checked his appearance then said someone wanted to meet him so we walked upstairs (after I first made sure my Dad's car wasn't here). I also told him I wanted to take close-up photos of some of his burns so he could see exactly what partial thickness burns actually did to the skin.
We went across the basement and up the stairs that ended near the back door.
Mom was at the table and smiled endlessly at the totally adorable Patrick, of course his dimples appeared and he put on the charm school routine that worked well on middle aged women. She asked bullshit questions: his ancestry (Irish Catholic), high school (Niles North), college plans (maybe someday), hobbies (masturbating and attention seeking), interests (his dick, orgasms, and being the center of attention), and future life plans (jerking off tomorrow and the day after that). She never mentioned going to the BVI but assumed he was the one I invited.
As she asked him questions and I answered them in my mind to detect whenever he gave her an honest answer. What he actually said sounded more like: College? Sure - as soon as possible, Future?: I wanna eventually be CEO of a huge company like Walmart. Future plans? Total control of the world's resources or Emperor of North America.
We survived thirty minutes sitting at the kitchen table then went back downstairs. He actually had no comments about her line of questioning. Probably, he'd been through it before with other older people and was used to it. 'Tell 'em what they wanna hear!'
We stopped at my kitchen table which was near my front door and talked briefly.
"Say, let's go outside, it's warmer today. We could walk around the Baha'i Temple, or look around Gillson Park or something." I said with a smile.
"I guess so." He mumbled looking down at the empty table.
"We'll go shopping this afternoon, okay?"
"You da boss." He said with a victim tone in his voice.
"Will you please cut me some slack Patrick. I'm tryin' to be a pleasant host. I'm not the enemy you know. You're safe here. Okay?"
"Sorry, but the last week messed up my head."
"Is there something we can do that might lift your spirits, make you feel better, more loved?" I couldn't believe I used that word.
'Dear God, please help me not be such an idiot with words today, PLEASE!' I shouted inside my head. I had to fight an urge to pound the side of my head.
"Yes but you already got your heart set on goin' out."
"You wanna stay here? We can do that, no problemo! Tell me what you wanna do."
"This is gonna sound retarded." Patrick said with a hint of a smile.
"What?" I questioned.
"Can we just stay here? I need more time." He glanced over at the sofa.
"Oh no, that's cool. Come'on over here." I walked away from the refrigerator and put my arm on his shoulder and escorted him to the sofa where we assumed our spots. We were both wearing t-shirts and jeans, shoes and socks.
This time he got back on the sofa, like in a psychiatrist's office. I got on my knees on the floor next to him and ran my fingers in his hair. Then I slid my hand down over his muscular chest and down onto his stomach. I leaned over pulled up his T-shirt and lowered my face to his tummy and slid it around his belly button, his skin was unbelievably soft. I detected a cheesy smell, so I went to get some Q-tips and hydrogen peroxide. I actually think he liked it when I babied him and cleaned his body parts and was willing to tolerate me walking away briefly right when he wanted to talk and have his hand held. As I walked away I told him to take his shirt off.
I already figured out that touching him seemed to force him to lower his protective shields a little. Cleaning his parts had two reasons, one was obvious (cleaning) the other was my secret (I craved touching his flesh).
I came back with the belly button stuff and worked for twenty minutes to make his wonderfully sexy belly button clean enough to drink from. He lay there not speaking allowing me to do it, just like when I trimmed his toe nails and his finger nails. He was slowly getting used to hanging out with a nurse. After his tummy I sat him up and cleaned his ears, they were full of crud. That took a while to get them both clean. He never said a word but I really liked doing it.
When you cleaned someone like I did to Patrick it made you feel different about them, but it's not something I could describe other than to say it felt nice to both parties.
Then I asked if I could trim his pubes, he said 'fine.' So I got the beard trimmer and walked him out to the garage. With the lights on near the work bench I had him remove his clothes and had him stand on a plastic step stool with his arms up holding onto a ceiling joist and then I quickly trimmed his arm pit hairs. In that position it only took a few seconds each. Then I started on his pubes and did the side of his dick and all around his balls, then behind his balls. I turned him around and had him hold his butt cheeks apart and removed those too, but he didn't have that many behind his nuts yet.
Like most guys his nut sack skin was crinkled and rough, I had to stretch it out with one hand and buzz off hairs with the other.
Doing it that way had little privacy, anyone could walk in our garage but I knew nobody would with it that cold outside. Using a broom I swept up his trimmings and dumped them in the garage trash can. He always seemed to like being on display. I'm sure he knew very well that he had a beautiful young body and loved using it to tease and control. He never got hard the entire time I worked around his crotch. I bet he never had anyone trim his pubes before either.
After trimming was done he got dressed and we went back inside.
After that we went into the bathroom and in the mirror I used a flashlight and a magnifying glass to give him a close look at his burns so he could see there was an actual crater where he lost skin, and said that crater would be there for years to come. Eventually the edges would eventually disappear. But it would be visible to some degree for most of his life. Then I took close up photos of his burns and the spot on his tummy.
After that we went back to silently playing with his soft hairless belly and his protruding nipple mounds too. He finally started talking about his family and childhood. He told me about being molested in 5th grade and again the next year at a two week summer camp down in Bloomington. I hoped my touching him didn't trigger that memory. While he talked and the lighting was right I took close-ups of his tits too (for my screen saver), but he ignored what I was doing.
He told me about how him and Matt did everything together as little kids. He said he was beat by Matt for years now and dearly wanted to leave home and never return but didn't have the money or education to do either and had no idea how to escape that trap. He said he'd been running away from home since 7th grade to escape the abuse. The police always brought him back home and it always eventually started again. Teachers and the cops refused to believe his twin brother beat him.
He said when Matt saw him down the alley leaning against a garage getting blown (six years ago) by a neighborhood kid it was like something snapped in his brain and Matt hated him ever since. I told him that was rare for identical twins. He said he thought it was actually jealous rage because Matt always assumed only an idiot would let a guy suck his dick, therefore Patrick must be an idiot and it was Matt's job to control him. He saw oral sex as if it was rebellion, disrespect of the King.
He said after that his father and brother called him 'fag-boy.' He's never really dated girls because he always got dumped after they saw how inexperienced he was. He said his body was the only reason anyone ever wanted to have sex with him or his brother. I reminded him he had a rare and beautiful body that he should be proud of and use it sparingly for the greatest benefit.
Just because I was curious I asked him how similar his dick was to his brother's and he said they were the same, just like their nips but their belly buttons were a little different. He said he could never bring a girl home out of fear what his family would say to humiliate him.
"So how am I supposed to know if someone wants me for me or just for my body?" He asked.
"I guess you have to trust your ability to read people and trust that your heart won't lie to you."
"So what about you, why do you like me?" He asked looking me in the eye. I sensed this was an important question to him.
"Patrick, I was drawn to you at work because you made a pass at me. Several times you went out of your way to make me look at your dick. Then you called me after you got out of the hospital. Why?"
"I felt you were different. You looked at me and saw me and looked at my body and thought `Wow ain't he hot!'" We both chuckled.
"Well yes and yes, both are true. In you I saw the foundation of a great man with a great mind but some troubling anger to resolve. My story is very different, I sort of coasted through life and right into college and into nursing and my job at the University but God puts us where he needs us and that's where we met. There was something that told me you needed my help. Something told me to help you get back on your feet and find your purpose in life. In the mean time I dig your body and love touching and looking at you as much as I can but there's nothing wrong with that, is there?"
"No, I think you're legit. After I left here I had to do some thinking about being straight or gay. I made up my mind about some stuff."
"Do tell!"
"I decided my brother's right, I'll never be hetero. I was born this way and I'll always be this way. I have no regrets about the stuff I've done. I wanna live a life some day with someone that I loved and was faithful to and came home every night and raised a dog and kept the house clean and paid my bills on time and was honest with everyone I know."
"Wow, that's a mouthful! Well spoken! One thing I've learned about goals is to not discuss them with people too much because the more you talk about them the less likely you are to achieve them. Talking too much about goals makes them run out of gas."
"Okay, thanks for the advice Uncle Brad."
"Let me ask a question, I want you to tell me: what is love?" I asked him with my hand on his tummy.
"I've no clue." He said with a straight face and explained he quit trying to figure it out years ago.
"Well don't confuse fucking with love because they're two totally different things. One of the design flaws of the human male brain is we confuse sex and love like they're the same thing when they're not at all."
After a short pause I told him I felt God gave each creature one fatal design flaw, for the dog it was putting the nose on the front of the animal, for the human it was putting the dick on front. For the cat it was a sense of curiosity that outweighed the animal's keen sense of self protection.
"Maybe we could change the subject for a while?" He quietly suggested.
"Fine." I said still on my knees in front of the sofa while he was now on his side facing me, our faces were about two feet apart in my somewhat sunny basement living room. I looked at the clock it was now 11:30am, I was pretty hungry.
I told him I still had something to tell him, "When I first met you at the hospital I didn't like you, especially when you called me Dude, especially after I told you my name, twice. That's rather disrespectful of someone trying to save your life."
He looked at me then looked away and mumbled, "Sorry..." then I saw the corner of his mouth twitching and he softly mumbled, "...Dude," again. I grabbed his sides and squeezed then ran my fingers into his arm pits while he struggled and laughed loudly for a few seconds. Good to know he's very ticklish, and that was the first time I heard him laugh loudly.
I put my hand back on his flank, he was lying on his right side facing me with his arm lying on top along his side. Patrick asked, "What would have happened if I hadn't gone to the hospital?" I told him bluntly he ran the risk of dying from an overwhelming infection, but it might have taken a few days.
"So when you arrived at the hospital with the entire entourage of people aside from family the rest of them were body worshipers?"
"Yes, but that was a beach party for the senior class swimmers from all schools, I was cooking their burgers and they felt responsible." He answered as the smile left his face.
Then he said that sort of attention happened too because he was a twin, you got used to being treated like royalty.
Patrick moved a little then got on his back with his head facing me. He whispered at me, "Can you do me one favor?"
"Sure. What you need?" I asked.
"Can you make us lunch?" He asked with a dimpled smile then added, "Pizza and beer?"
"That means no driving the rest of the day y'know."
"I know. We can get clothes tomorrow but we can't go to Old Orchard, my brother works there."
I raised up, leaned over and licked one of his nipples for about three seconds then got to my feet heading for the kitchen. I turned on the oven to 420 (215c) and pulled a pizza from the freezer. I got the extra stuff from the fridge to add more cheese, olives, onions, pepperoni, and tomato chunks. We took turns slicing and cutting stuff to stack on top of the pizza.
"Why don't you just buy a bag of grated cheese?" He asked.
"Because they add crap so it doesn't all stick together and turn back into a lump of cheese, that stuff ain't good for you, it only takes a few seconds to grate our own." Patrick just said, "Oh."
We discussed who would slice what and the toppings we wanted to add. Somehow my mind got stuck on the idea of him having a twin brother and what it would be like in bed with both of them. Wow! Before I made it to the kitchen my dick was hard.
To help snap myself out of it I told him to look at the ingredients list on those bags of shredded cheese at the store and you might not buy it any more.
Within ten minutes the pizza was ready to bake. I changed out of my clothes into sleeping pants only, just like Patrick. He set the table and got out two beers and glasses. He fired up my stereo and played WNUR (it came from Northwestern University, where I worked), the music had a particular mood that was great right now.
After the pizza was in the oven I went to the bathroom to pee, he stood in the doorway and watched. He mumbled, "Nice dick." I pushed down the front of my pants and flashed him again and he whistled at me. Nobody had ever whistled like that at me before in my life. He got out paper plates, I got out the pizza cutter and set a roll of paper towels and two hot pads on the table.
We went back to the sofa in our old spots. Slowly, the room filled with the wonderful aroma of baking pizza. I sat on the floor beside the sofa with my hand on his tummy. Sometimes I strummed it, other times I strummed his tits, and for a little while I gently rubbed his limp dick through his pants. He lay on his back and talked but ignored what I was doing, he definitely enjoyed the attention.
In no time at all the pizza was cooked, sliced (four large slices) and on the table, we were both on our second round of beers. We sat across the table from each other telling stories of unsuccessful dates and other horrible times with people we pretended to like.
Eventually the last bite was inside his mouth, crust and all. We both drank three beers each. The table was cleaned, bottles were in the trash and everything else was put away. While I scrubbed the pizza pan he opened the bed and lowered the shades. Being a day sleeper I could make my room very dark during the day.
After clean-up we took turns using the bathroom again. Patrick walked up behind me (at the sink) and started massaging my shoulders ran his hands across my rather flattish chest. I've told him before that rubbing my tits made me horny.
After I dried my hands I had an obvious tent pole in my shorts, he grabbed it and slid his hand end to end while we looked in each other's eyes trying to gauge our desire.
Patrick pushed my pants down and I stepped out of them, then he put his hands on my ribs, his thumbs on my tits and gently moved me around the kitchen table and over to the sofa. I sat down with my legs spread wide. He got on his knees and took me in his mouth and using his hand and mouth he slowly stroked me. I didn't last long.
I felt a wave of affection for him as I bent forward wanting to kiss him for what he was doing to my dick. I watched the top of his his head move up and down as he pumped my dick.
When I got close to starting I lifted his head and we deep tongue kissed while he tightly held my boner, which was drenched with his pizza flavored saliva.
It's a fault of mine whenever someone sucked my dick I always felt a strong desire to kiss them because I always felt powerful feelings of affection, too bad you cant kiss someone while they're blowing you.
Patrick suctioned my tongue inside his mouth then pulled back which hurt, then he went back to my dick and in a few seconds I was fully back inside his mouth, his hand gripped the shaft as my body ached with a strong need for a grand finale.
He teased the crap out of the head of my dick which drove me nuts, literally to tears. I got emotional and begged him to let me come, so he pulled off and slowly stroked me end to end. My nuts pulled up and disappeared leaving my nut sack looking empty! Then it started.
He was on his knees with his right hand around my dick, I was seated on the sofa with my head forward closely watching what happened. I had a tremendous pressure in my dick that felt like I was trying to piss with the piss hole pinched shut.
At first thick semen oozed out then a huge glop shot out and landed on my thigh. The top of his right hand was covered in thick white goo. The next spurt was a fat drop that flew up and hit my chest because Patrick aimed it. It sprayed out several drops which landed on my legs, got Patrick on his chin and his arm.
Finally, the last shot came out like a white line across my stomach and my chest, it was over a foot long. Each shot hurt because it came out with force, like the strongest contractions I ever had before. Then it oozed again and we both watched as semen dribbled off his hand (like chocolate poured onto a bowl of ice cream) and dribbled across his finger and into my pubes.
He didn't let go but sat there smiling at the scene. I was exhausted and my balls ached. My upper body was entirely wet with sweat.
Patrick bent his head over and licked it off his arm then he leaned in and licked it off my tit. With both of us huddled around closely watching, he very slowly opened his hand. Nearly his entire hand was coated in semen. He raised his hand up in the air and we watched it drip onto my lower belly. Like he was carrying a leaking can of beer he carefully got to his feet and ran to the kitchen sink, ran the water briefly and raced back with the roll of paper towels from the table. When he came back I said we should leave one by the sofa!
"And one by your bed too." He added while he tore off sheets and started wiping up the puddles.
He carefully cleaned up all of it, I leaned back on the sofa and wiped the tears off my face, he said he'd never seen someone get so emotional like that before.
I repeated something I told him before, "Honey, we're just gettin' started."
Patrick stared at me as if he didn't like being called `Honey,' then reconsidered what I meant and he smiled and went back to digging semen out of my belly button with a paper towel wrapped around his finger. I had to assume he never cleaned someone's belly button before, except maybe his own.
I could stuff something like a cigar in his belly button and it would stand sort of upright, mine could just about hold the bottom of a shot glass, but it would probably fall over unless I held my breath. He said he liked mine because it didn't trap lint.
After that was over I got on my side on the sofa and positioned him in front of me so I could press my face into his hair and we could snuggle and talk or nap or whatever we wanted.
By the time we both recovered from that show I was feeling restless. We'd been inside most of the day and I needed some air so I asked him if we could take a short walk down the street. At first he was quiet, then I told him we needed some fresh Lake Michigan air, it would do us good.
We got dressed in sleeping pants and zipper hoodies and went outside. Since it was pretty dark we could hold hands.
My home town had antique street lights that used to be plumbed for gas in the days before electricity. They didn't put out a lot of light but they looked nice (to some people). We walked east along Linden Avenue.
It was cold and breezy outside, which was kind of normal for this close to the lake. It's about 500 feet to the grassy park along the Chicago River, it was pretty dark out there but we crossed it going north to Sheridan Road then got on the sidewalk and walked around the temple.
We walked up the stairs to a higher level outside the building. It was well lit at night, we sat on the steps pressed into each other and shivered and talked for a while. He asked about the religion and I told him I knew nothing about Baha'i. But this place drew visitors from all over the world. I told him it was common to see a long line of tour buses parked on Linden Avenue during the summer.
"And here it sits 900 feet from your home and you don't know anything about it." He kidded me.
"Yep, that's pretty much it, nothing at all. Of course I don't know much about Judaism, Hindu, or Islam either. We never go to church, even on the holidays." I added.
"We were raised Catholic, I went to Catholic school until ninth grade." I thought about asking him about the very long history of the Catholic Church but decided to avoid trouble and let the subject drop. But I told him that what turned us off about Christianity was all the commercial bullshit, like Santa Clause, Christmas, Easter Bunnies, Peeps, and Easter Egg hunts.
Patrick said he liked Peeps and chocolate bunnies. I stared at him and he felt my stare.
"What?" He demanded.
"Nothing. Let's go home, I'm freezing, these marble steps are crackin' my ass."
We got up, still holding hands and quietly walked home. Nobody else was out walking, it was just us. An occasional car ran down Sheridan Road. We heard one train arrive at the L station.
"Wow, these old brick streets are something."
"Yep, they last forever but they're slick as ice when they're wet. I bet those bricks are over 100 years old. Problem is what happens if a pipe gets busted under the street, who knows how to fix a brick street?"
I told him that big pumping station on the river was the primary inlet for the Chicago River so it always flowed downstate instead of towards the lake. I told him the river was totally man made, that's why it was straight.
"You like living here?" He asked.
"Yes and no, crime is low but Wilmette is totally paved and lit but if you're a boy that wanted to play in the dirt with your Tonka trucks you were pretty much shit out of luck living here. Ride a dirt bike in the woods? Not here! People here tend to stay indoors and not do much with the neighborhood: cold climate, cold people. Hot and humid in the summer and ice cold and windy in the winter, and the taxes are super high."
"Huh." He was surprised by my confession.
"Yep, in Chicago being homeless is a problem they deal with, here it's a criminal act, its not allowed. Get the fuck out." I told him I thought the treatment for homelessness in Wilmette was a one-way train ticket to Chicago, and the cops made sure you left on the train.
After a few moments of nearly silent walking I told him some day I'd love to move to a warmer climate, but I got no idea where, except the southern tier of states.
I asked him how he felt about warmer weather, like maybe Texas or along the Gulf coast, he said he didn't know.
He asked if my nursing license was good everywhere. "No, I tested in Chicago and Illinois is a nursing compact state, so I'd have to move to a compact state or one that accepted my license or I'd have to test all over."
"Compact State?"
"Yes, the Nursing Compact are a group of states, maybe thirty of them where if you test and get licensed in a compact state your nursing license is valid in all the other compact states, sort of how your driver's license is valid in any state and some countries too."
Back in our driveway I moved his bicycle inside the garage and turned on the lights and checked the tires and chain, he had one flat. I told him I'd fix it tomorrow.
"Whose car is that?" He asked pointing at the burgundy Mercedes.
"That's belongs to the company, Dad drives it. Look at the plate. Sure enough it was some kind of commercial vehicle plate. I told him it had 240 thousand miles on it already, he drove it all over the country. He bought it in Germany and sailed home with it like it was a race horse.
"Oh brother." He rolled his eyes and I told him both Mercedes and BMW did that for high end models. Vacation in Germany, buy one from the factory and they'll ship it to the states and you can ride along on the cargo ship. Its a special program that's expensive and very popular with a certain class of people.
"Are they rich?" He asked.
"I don't know what they're worth but the company is super busy and everyone in the office drives a Bentley or a Mercedes.
"What do they do?"
"Remember in the hospital your IV tubing and the dressings?"
"Yep."
"They make that stuff and sell it by the ton every day to hospitals all over the world. They make plastic tubing all over the world and it comes here to get sterilized then packaged and shipped worldwide."
I shut off the garage lights and we went back in my apartment. I told him it was a major upset to my parents when I told them I was gay, they were counting on the grand kids I'd make for them. It was a major disappointment and probably derailed their life plans too. They probably already tuition savings accounts established for my kids!
"Why don't you work for `em?" He asked.
"I'm not sure, they never invited me. Maybe they're ashamed."
Patrick looked into my eyes like he was deep in thought about his own family problems.
We went into my bedroom and slowly undressed, I told him about the schools I went to and some of my friends.
"Where I went to high school I had friends that came from very wealthy and famous families, but the thing I learned was it seemed like the kids that were lavished with everything they wanted ended up being totally messed up by high school age, drugs, crazy, and suicidal. The best kids were the ones where they got jobs at age 16 and earned their way. One of the richest kids at New Trier drove his motorcycle into a big fucking tree on Forestway Drive at 70mph when he was 17. We had two overdoses that died, and who knows how many pregnancies of girls under age 16 happened. Money ain't everything."
Patrick was quiet for a while. I sort of figured out when he stared downward he'd probably deep in thought, trying to decide what to say.
He started to tell me about being molested. He said he was selling large chocolate bars for his mother's ladies group that were raising money to build a Vietnam War Memorial near near the expressway at the Dempster Street interchange.
He went inside one house a few blocks over where some old guy lived and he invited him in so he could get the cash. It was ten bucks for a large private label dark chocolate bar and they went into the kitchen. The guy went into this bedroom and came back with his wallet and asked if he could see the entire selection, so he spread them out on the table. The guy carefully picked one but he was staring at him the entire time and with his other hand he was itching his crotch.
He grabbed Patrick's arm and pulled him closer, Patrick said he didn't struggle because he'd been grabbed before but nothing came of it.
He said the guy grabbed his shorts and yanked them down and rubbed his dick and slid his other hand across his butt, then Patrick tried to pull back but couldn't get away.
Patrick nearly cried when he said the guy pulled him to the floor and pushed his finger inside his butt as far as it would go and moved it up and down for a couple minutes then finally let go. Patrick scrambled to his feet and pulled up his jeans then zipped-up his pants. He walked back and gathered his chocolate bars and put them in the bag. He left his one bar, took the cash and left. He said the guy had his dick out and was stroking it when he ran out the door.
He went home and cried and told his mother he quit. His father got mad, slapped him across the face, and sent him to his room without supper but his brother smuggled him some food and two bananas.
I had no words to say after his story, I felt sad and angry at the same time and I remained silent but I held him until we both fell asleep.
The thought crossed my mind that we should go back and see if that mother fucker still lived there, put an end to his freedom.
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