reface
This story features among other things love and intimacy, both emotional and physical, between two men. This by definition makes it a gay story. If you are offended by or not interested in this, or if reading this is illegal at your age or in your locality, please leave now. I am not going to bail you out of jail for it unless you're cute. All the usual disclaimers apply.
This story is a work of fiction. As a work of fiction, this story depicts the world not as it is, but perhaps more as the author would like it to be. Any and all similarities with actual people and/or events are purely coincidental, although the events of some key scenes are unfortunately all too common. Most places actually do exist, although in cases where the story significantly involves local people the locality will be fictitious, too. Certain actions or lack of actions, born of narrative imperative, should not be attempted at home:
If someone is badly beat up, get a paramedic crew in. Right away. Don't treat it as a DIY project.
If someone is suicidal, or if it's you who is suicidal, GET HELP. Despite the song, suicide isn't painless. Not for those left behind, and if you don't succeed, not for you either.
This is it, my first attempt at writing a longer story. These are the first two chapters. Feedback highly appreciated, let me know what you think of it. email will be answered: ct@fangorn.xs4all.nl .
(C) Copyright 2003 by the author, reachable as ct@fangorn.xs4all.nl. A non-exclusive license to display is granted to Nifty Archives and its mirrors. Copying and format conversions are allowed for personal use only provided this copyright notice stays intact. You are not allowed to repost or reuse this story outside the Nifty Archives without the authors explicit written persmission except as allowed by the fair use clauses of US copyright law and the Berne convention.
Always remember: Keep it Consensual, Safe and Sane out there...
To start off right, here is a double-length pilot episode.
CT
Road Trip, chapters 1 and 2
1.1 Pete
I hear the boys come running down the street and mentally prepare myself to get hurt -- again.
1.2 Micha
The road is quiet and the rain has finally subsided. The moon is full. The roads are empty and winding. This night is too good to waste sleeping.
1.3 Pete
What? Where? How? These questions are slowly asserting themselves in my head as I come to, bruised and cut, in a pile of garbage bags behind what smells like a fast food restaurant. OK, that's one question partially answered at least, not that it makes me particularly happy. A few minutes later as the worst of the headache subsides and I look at myself, as far as my aching body allows, the what becomes painfully clear. I've been beaten, kicked in the stomach and head, gotten some seemingly superficial cuts, and been left behind a restaurant, hopefully the one I was about to enter before this happened. My clothes are nowhere to be seen. Across my body someone has written "putting out the fag trash" with a black marker pen. The how so far remains a mystery to me, I can't remember anything after being about to enter a restaurant. Not that it is a novel experience, I've been attacked before in this hellhole of a smallminded town, although never this savagely. Thanks Roger, you just had make my life a living hell, didn't you? So much friendship and trust. This can't go on, and dark thoughts I've been having for nearly a year finally come to fruition. It won't go on, tonight this is going to end, once and for all. Ten more minutes see me slowly getting on my feet, and I discover that it is indeed the same restaurant. Or is it? I don't remember the signs and windows moving in that strange way.
1.4 Micha
The one thing we don't have any of back home is mountains. Mountains and places without too much light pollution. The two things we don't have any of are mountains and places without too much light pollution. Mountains and places without too much light pollution, and narrow winding mountain roads. The three things... Oh well, it's an old joke.
1.5 Pete
Cold. Dark. Splitting headache. Blackness.
Very cold. Dark. Headache. What? With these thoughts I wake up in a pile of garbage bags behind what smelled like a fast food restaurant. As I lay there, devoid of the energy to do much about them, the memories slowly come back. I'd woken up before, and realized I'd been beaten, cut and left for dead. I must've gotten up, passed out again, woken up again, passed out again and now, some time later, woken up again. Judging by the cold it has probably been some time, and the dark makes me realize it is most likely after midnight, when the restaurant closes. I slowly get up. The signs seem to be more or less stable in my vision. Good, I suppose. Leaning against the wall I slowly stumble around the restaurant to the parking lot. I suddenly realized I don't have any clothes on. Now that also explains why I am so cold. Christ, I hope noone sees me like that; if my life has been hell before, that would certainly fan the flames a lot higher.
It must be long after midnight. The streets are deserted and I finally stumble and crawl across the parking lot to my truck. Every bone in muscle in my body hurts. It won't be much longer, so I ignore it. The keys are still in the ignition. With some effort I manage to get the truck started. It's an old truck, and I hope it makes it through another winter. Why, I don't know, it won't matter very much. I guess I've gotten attached to it. Despite its flaws and difficulties, it alone in my life has never let me down, and many happy and sad hours I have spend in its cab. I slowly head out of the parking lot. The street wasn't that twisty earlier this evening, was it? I certainly don't remember it being two lanes in each direction. It is difficult to keep right of what looks like the center line, let alone keep a steady course. Please let there be no cops out tonight.
God-fucking-damnit. Of all the times it could have, this is the night that bloody truck quits on me. I try restarting it, but it seems dead. Swearing, I stumble out and try to pop the hood. My fingers don't want to cooperate. Eventually I manage, and notice the battery wire has fallen off. My anger now includes myself and the truck, and I grab the wire to put it back on. I shouldn't have, a burst of pain courses through my arm and down my back, up my spine and to my head. I double up over the fender and gasp for breath. A few minutes later I fell slightly better and try again, more slowly now, to put the wire back on. I get it, and hoist myself back into the cab. My destination awaits.
1.6 Micha
Just as I power around a blind corner that the GPS tells me should bring me to the river I see something on the road ahead of me. I hit the brakes and come to a stop about a foot short of hitting a decrepit old truck parked across the road. Now I'm not a particularly law-abiding person myself where it comes to traffic, but this kind of thoughtless endangerment just riles me, and I get out to give whomever is in that truck a large piece of my mind.
1.7 Pete
How I made it to the bridge I don't know, but suddenly there I am. I open the door and slowly get out. Every part of my body now aches and seems reluctant to respond. I make my way around the truck and stumble across the rest of the road to the railing. Gasping for breath forces me to pause a while. Having regained what little strength there is left in me, I climb up on the railing and say a last prayer. Funny, I've been a devout atheist all my life. That seems to have been a lie, too, then. Leaning against one of the girders I look out across this land that, despite some of its inhabitants, I still love.
2.1 Pete
What? Where? How? These questions are becoming awfully familiar to me, and every time the outlook is bleaker, the answer less appealing. The headache seems to have subsided to a dull throbbing. Opening my eyes and looking around comes the next surprise. I had never expected Hell, or just maybe Heaven, to look like a cheap chain motel.
"Good, you're waking up" says a voice with a strange accent somewhere to my right. Turning my head a beautiful face comes into view. Maybe not beautiful in the Playgirl sense, but between a rugged look, wide smile, long dark hair, a beard, and a total absence of horns, it's the most beautiful face I have ever seen. "Arrrrghosprr" I croak. That's not quite how it was supposed to come out, but the face comes closer. "Hey, easy does it, you've taken some nasty damage."
The face leaves my field of vision and I feel an inner emptyness. I don't ever want to lose that face. Oh god, what's happening, I don't even know who he is. At least I can still hear his voice.
"Can you tell me your name?" he asks
"Peehhr" my voice rasps.
"Here, let me hold up your head a little and see if we can get a few drips of water into you. That should make you feel better". I brace myself for pain, but the face and hand go gentle and slow. After my head being raised the barest minimum I feel a glass being held up against my lips, and with some effort I swallow a little water. Never before has water tasted that good to me, and immediately I try for more.
"Sorry son, lets see if that stays down for now. Wouldn't want you heavin' your guts out again, don't think that'd be very comfortable now that you're awake. You can have some more in a few minutes." Gently my head is lowered to the pillow again.
My throat feels better, but my mind hasn't really caught up yet. "Are you Saint Peter? Is this heaven?" The face looks surprised and amused.
2.2 Micha
"I'm Michael, my friends call me Micha, definitely not a saint, and this is not heaven, nor is it hell." The boy, I suppose he really is a man but he looks young, sags with what seems like a combination of relief, disappointment and resignation. "Then I failed", he whispers.
"Easy son, I'm not at all sure what you're talking about, but I don't think failure is an appropriate word for almost anything. Here, lets try some more water, and after that you might want to sleep. Proper sleep this time, not unconciousness." Repeating the procedure I raise up his head and feed him some more water. He looks tired, and is asleep before I have lowered his head back to the pillow.
He intrigues me. It's certainly not a daily occurrence in my life that I find a beaten, naked kid standing on the guardrail of a bridge. The careful approach didn't get any reaction, and when I got to him he seemed to be almost unconcious, barely staying upright against one of the girders. Grabbing him off the guardrail before he could take a dive and putting him, for the time being, in my car, solved the immediate danger, and gave me some time to consider the next step. The obvious thing to do would be to call the police and a paramedic crew, but in a small town like this they might not be all that friendly. Lets face it, someone doesn't drive to a deserted bridge at 2AM, beaten, naked, and with slurs written across his body, because he trusts the emergency services. Oh well, spending more than half my life on the internet with a motley cast of characters, not all of us on totally good footing with the law ourselves, at least gave me a well filled address book. Time to cash in some favors. A phone call later I had the name of a nearby doctor who could be trusted, and the promise of a prearranged motel room where they wouldn't ask too many questions. "Now don't screw up Micha, don't forget to get that truck off the road in a way that won't attract attention for a couple of days, and check it for personal belongings or papers that might give some clue to who this kid is" I told myself.
A quick pre-dawn trip to the doctor confirmed my initial diagnosis that there probably wasn't too much damage done, but that the kid would be pretty sore for a couple of days. I checked myself and the kid into the motel, put him to bed, and generously tipped the night clerk to get me some badly needed supplies and make sure we weren't disturbed.
At least I could now get my laptop on the internet again to contact some more people. Over the course of the day I found out a little more about this boy. He was indeed gay, was regularly in hospital after beatings, don't expect any sympathy from the police force, and don't expect his family to look for him. Privacy? Not in this day and age there isn't, not with the right skills and contacts.
2.3 Pete
I woke up. The headache was now only a nagging feeling in the back of my head, but my body hurt all the more for it. Still, a priority call of nature isn't to be ignored, and I tried to get out of bed. As I slowly slid my legs over the edge of the bed and tried to sit up a sudden burst of pain slammed me doubled up into the little table by the side of the bed.
2.4 Micha
I startled awake at a noise. Hmm, I must've fallen asleep. Grmph, I'm getting older, a decade ago when I was 16 staying awake wouldn't have been a problem. Looking at where the noise seems to have come from I see Pete half out of bed, doubled up over the little nightstand. That fool must've tried to get out of bed. I quickly make my way over to him, and gently help him back to the bed.
"Now Pete, you have taken a bit of a beating, so take it easy. What were you trying to do anyway?" I ask him. "Bathroom," he whispers. Makes sense, he probably hasn't relieved himself for over a day now. Amazing really, and fortunate that he didn't mess up the bed. I carefully pick him up and carry him over to the bathroom to put him on the toilet. He starts blushing and asks if I would mind waiting outside. "Sure, no problem. Call when you're done, don't want you falling over again." Grinning inwardly I leave the bathroom and close the door most of the way. He'll figure out by himself that there's nothing I haven't seen before; after all he was naked as a jaybird when I picked him up, and I got him cleaned up and into bed. And apart from the damage I don't mind saying that what I've seen looks damn good to me. Longish blond hair, about 5'10 and 150 lbs, smooth but not overly muscular body and a nice package. Not bad at all.
After taking one last look through the gap I go to the other side of the room and quickly fix up some food. It may not be fine cooking - I never got the hang of that - but it should go down easily and be light enough to digest, making it perfect to see if it'll stay down.
By the sound of it Pete's about finished answering natures call, so I head back to the bathroom and enter after briefly tapping the door to let him know I'm coming in. That blushing is really cute, and although he has regained enough speed to cover himself with a towel before I entered the tent in that tower indicates another need in need of or in the process of being taken care of.
"Hey Pete, finished? Now get rid of that towel and let's get you cleaned up, after sleeping for more that a day you do smell rank." His blush turns from mild red into deep red. "Don't be shy now, although I'll say that blush looks really cute on you." His blushing spreads beyond his face, and I wasn't lying when I said he looked cute. "You're a guy, I'm a guy, you were naked as the day you were born when I grabbed you off that bridge, and I've cleaned you up when we arrived here. Nothing I haven't seen before." He buries his face in his hands and starts sobbing.
"Who are you? Why are you doing this for me? What are you going to do to me?". Hmm, I suppose I could've put that a bit more tactful. Oh well.
"I'm Micha, you're here because you seemed to be in more trouble than you could extract yourself from and didn't seem to have much faith in the emergency services, and I'm not planning to do anything to you. Depending on your wishes I may do things for you, and getting you cleaned up and fed are probably going to be the first of those. After that, we'll see. The world usually looks a lot better on a full stomach anyway." His sobbing continues, but he drops the towel.
"Why?" he asks. "You must hate me." His face is still buried in his hands as he sits on the toilet. Grabbing an extra towel I start the water running and adjust it to temperature. No way with those cuts is a shower going to be enjoyable, so I wet the towel and start rubbing him down.
"Why would I hate you?"
2.5 Pete
"Why? You must've seen what was written on me. I'm trash. Worse, I'm gay trash. I think I heard tires squeal, I almost caused you an accident. Now you're taking care of me. I'm crying like a sissy boy. I'm nothing but trouble. Can't you see that?" I can't stop crying. He, Micha, continues to gently wash me with a wet towel, but leans back so he faces me and lifts my head up with his free hand. I can't help but look into his eyes, and I don't want to stop looking into them.
"No, what I see is a fine young man. You're not trash. Don't ever think of yourself as trash, `cause you're not. Being gay isn't worse. It's what you are. If you're religious, it's what the Lord, or whatever god or power you believe in, made you. You're gay, I'm gay, 5 to 10 percent of the population is gay whether they admit it even to themselves or not. I stopped in time, so better me than someone who wouldn't have. Yes, I'm taking care of you. You didn't look as if a hospital was high on your mind, so it's the right thing to do, although if you want me to I'll be happy to get you to one." I shake my head.
"People have taken care of me when I needed it. Crying is OK, everybody does. Doesn't make you any less of a man, just less likely to internalize your problems and become a serial killer. Trouble? Just a bit of work, and that's OK, I'm in a position that I can."
My heart did a backflip. Did Micha just say that he was gay? That it was OK? That he didn't mind? He certainly speaks his mind. Is he after me? I'd do anything he asks me. Oh god, he must've seen my erection. Speaking of which... I looked down and realized Micha had actually washed it, too. He seemed to be cool about it. Who was this Micha? Where was he from? I couldn't place the accent. Not anything I'd heard before, except... I realize that somehow I've stopped crying, and am reduced to the occasional sob. After carefully drying me he picks me up and puts me back on the bed.
"However, if you feel up to it, would you mind telling me a little more about yourself? And while you do, how about some food? You must be a bit careful, your body is still recovering, but I've got some food here that shouldn't cause problems I hope." I look up as Micha approaches with a plate of soft toast and various kinds of fruit, mostly melon slices. Food. It's what I was about to get before I was attacked, and I suddenly realize I'm hungry. I nod, and reach out for the plate. "Hey, take it easy, don't wolf all of that down right away or I can almost guarantee you will fell sick. Just take it easy, and don't forget to chew. Here's some water to wash it down with."
"Yes mom," I reply while eagerly taking the plate and starting to chew on a slice of honey melon.
Micha sits there grinning. "Good to see you haven't completely lost your sense of humor. Enjoy the food. Don't mind if I grab some for myself, do you?" I manage to smile at him as he walks back to the desk and gets some fruit for himself. We sit together, eating in silence.
"So far we've established that you're Pete, that you're gay, that you were beaten, that you don't fancy checking in to a hospital, and that you were about to jump off a bridge. Mind filling in the gaps? I can't and won't make you, but you might feel better getting it out, and I might be able to offer advice or help."
I look up and tears well up in my eyes again. Why is this man, Micha, whom I've never met before, being so kind to me? And why is the rest of my life so messed up? Oh well, whatever's gonna happen's gonna happen. Might as well give him the full story, my life's pretty much over anyway. I sigh.
"That almost sounds like a bloody AA meeting. `Hi, I'm Pete, and I'm a fuckup!' But yeah, I guess you're right, and I do owe you an explanation. My full name is Peter Jacob Ryder, I'm 21, dropped out of CU-Denver, just got fired from my job. Used to live with my parents, 9 year older sister and 11 year older brother. I was a bit of a mistake. When my parents found out my older brother was gay my old man beat the shit out of him, and when he was released from hospital a month later he refused to press charges, left home and I haven't seen him since."
I barely made it to the end of that as tears welled up in my eyes as memories of John Jacob flooded my mind. I had been 11 when I last saw him, limping out of hospital on crutches. I had gone there even though my dad had forbidden me to, and I still cherish that time, dearly paid for later. We went to the ice cream shop at the mall, and after talking about this and that, and getting back to his car, he hugged me and told me that we couldn't risk seeing each other anymore. To always remember that he loved me, and to be careful out there. Please be careful out there. I still wonder how much he knew or suspected then. Then he got into his car, and drove off. What had become of him?
As I slowly emerged from my memories I realized Micha was sitting on the bed and holding me, gently stroking my hair. It felt good, safe, warm. Please don't let it stop. I wiped my eyes with the sheet and continued. "Around 8th grade one by one my friends started dating, and by 9th grade I realized that girls didn't do anything for me, and that my best friend Roger meant a lot more to me than I had previously realized. I remembered what had happened to JJ, my brother, so I threw myself into schoolwork and withdrew from the social scene. Got me a great GPA, my folks loved it. Kept saying how lucky they were to have a smart son. That must've been around 11th grade. When I blurted out that JJ had been smarter than me and didn't have to work as hard... It wasn't the smartest thing I've said. After I managed to escape I spent the night at Rogers house. Nothing strange about that, we'd known each other since kindergarten and must have spent half the nights at each others house. There I made a second mistake and confided in Roger. I told him everything. My feelings, hopes, dreams, love..."
I shuddered at the memory of that night, the night things had really started going wrong. The tears over that had long been shed, so I continued. "Feeling may have been too frivolous a word. I was infatuated with him. And he realized it, and played into it. The bastard told me he'd had the same feelings, but had been even more afraid of them. He had dated about every girl in our year, plus a couple from the year above us, for gods sake! He was beautiful, he was popular, and after that night, he was fucking me on the side. Oh yes, mister wonderful convinced me that to keep up appearances we couldn't be seen together more than we had been, and he had to keep dating, or suspicion would fall on us. And that's the last thing you want in a small Colorado town. He was by then mainly hanging out with the jocks, above suspicion. So we continued spending nights at each others houses, and he fucked me. And after a while, much longer than it should have, I started realizing that it was always him fucking me, and not too gently at that. When I tried to talk to him about it he went ballistic, shouted about not being a goddamn faggot like me and not taking it up the ass from any man. A lot of things were said that night, all of them in anger or fear. That was the end of that friendship.
"I had by then, 12th grade, already been accepted to CU-Denver, planning to live at home to save money. Just another 4 months of high school to get through. Of course Roger had planned a little surprise party for me, so a week later I got beat up by about half the football team while an anonymous note was posted on the notice boards at school and to my parents. Imagine my dad when he read that his favorite son, the good student who didn't get into trouble, was a goddamn faggot too. He didn't beat me up too badly that night. He didn't want to put me in hospital too. He may be an asshole, but he was too smart for that. He realized how lucky he was JJ didn't press charges. And he got the balance many times over later. So did the football team. So did others. What little money I had saved I had to spend on tuition, so I had no choice but to live at home. My dad eventually kicked me out anyway. I knew someone at a local company so I managed to get a part time job and a cheap apartment, but between rent, gas and tuition money ran out. That was the end of university for me, at the beginning of my junior year. And of course people don't forget, the result of which you've seen. Basically my life's fucked up, I'm broke and I'm faggot trash. You should've let me jump and saved me and you the trouble."
I felt exhausted. I'd never told anyone the full story before, abbreviated though it was. I suddenly became aware that Micha was still holding me and telling me that one way or another it would be all right. Somehow just being held felt right, comforting. Exhaustion overcame me, and as I drifted off to sleep my last thought was that maybe, just maybe...
2.6 Micha
I'd gotten myself a right mess on my hands here. Some things didn't add up. Why didn't he want to go to hospital, why didn't he press charges, and most important of all, why didn't he hightail it out of there? Did he have any more information on his brother? What kind of work did he have, anyway? Those questions would have to wait for later, right now he was out like a light, still in my arms. Come to think of it, I hadn't done much sleeping myself lately. I'd had a long day before I found him, then settled in to the motel and got set up, did my research, watched him. It must have been more than 60 hours, not counting the little catnap I inadvertently took. I started to put Pete to bed, but as I was about to tuck the blanket around him he clung to me with unexpected strength. OK kid, if that's what you want. Still holding him I moved around a bit to get more comfortable on the bed, and dozed off.