Hi, my name is Duncan, and this is my story; it's not real glamorous although there are some nice-looking guys in it. I have a weird sense of humor that some won't understand.
Of course, there are no real names of people in this story, that wouldn't be right. Certain institutions are not named either. I have my reasons.
I guess this goes back to when my Mom left her job in L.A. to move us to a small town in Utah. I was nine at the time and my only close friend had moved to a nicer part of town away from the Valley which had become overrun by Hispanics and Asians and they were either in gangs or on very short leashes.
Hey, here's a little insider view of L.A. and its' inherent prejudice. Whitey does not own racism; Hispanics and Asians are some of the most bigoted, prejudiced people you'll ever meet. Mexicans hate everybody from south of their border, Salvadorans hate Hondurans and vice versa. Koreans hate Japanese and Chinese and they all hate the Armenians. It's more complicated actually, because there are groups within groups that hate each other. I just tried to keep my head down.
Utah was a strange experience, to say the least. There was one Asian kid and two Latino's in the entire elementary school, and I Spoke better Korean and Spanish than any of them. I discovered that I was actually a pretty good student when I didn't have to worry about getting between any of the gangbanger's crossfire.
At my old school, I had actually belonged to our own little gang that allowed us a certain amount of safety.
Well, it was not a gang as such, just a loose affiliation of what you might call militant nerds.
Fuck with one of us and suddenly your grades get changed from passing to "enjoy summer school, asshole." Or you might have to worry about everything in your locker bursting into flame or maybe your backpack if the offense was grievous enough. And I'm not talking about some lame-ass lighter fluid and matches type crap. I'm talking about a proper time delay device with chemical or metallic fuel. A little titanium powder and a four-ounce plastic vial of water and you get an intense flame. There's more to it but I don't want to start a plague of arson. Think about that if your brand of fun runs to messing with guys who appear weak.
My counselor in Utah, Mr. Breeding, was very concerned that I might be behind because of his perception of California schools. He didn't bother to test me he just plunked me into a few remedial classes. It kind of pissed me off and I made it a point to move to the top of the class as quickly as possible. To be fair, Mr. Breeding recognized this and put me in the Advanced Placement group. I settled in there quickly and rose quickly in classroom ranking. My mom had always stressed using my mind to solve problems which is good because I wasn't suited for fighting. I was strong enough I guess although I lean towards being thin, but I have good muscle tone; some would say wiry. I just don't like hurting people, even jerks, at least physically. I have no problem with causing lasting emotional trauma if I think it's warranted.
I enjoyed the A/P track and our classes were a mixture of younger and older boys and three girls. I speculated that college and a successful career was the only way out of Utah for them.
We were friendly enough in the classroom but only a couple of kids lived close to the school, the rest of us endured some very long bus rides to and from school. It made it hard to make friends. I would occasionally take a different bus when invited by a classmate to visit his home. Sometimes I would help them with their chores before we could goof off and I learned a bit about livestock as a result. It was always so much better than sitting around the house doing homework or building snowmen; well snow creatures. I once filled the yard with little snow people with torches in their hands and I lit them just before my mom got home. It really looked eerie and she loved it.
The best friend I had was the piano teacher's son. He was my age and since I took lessons a short distance from the school every Tuesday and Thursday, we saw each other regularly. We never stayed at each other's houses overnight like a lot of kids. His parents just didn't want him doing that. It didn't stop us checking out what each other had in his pants but that's as far as it got.
So, home life for me was my mom and I bantering back and forth; I didn't realize it but she was pumping up my vocabulary and my ability to use it.
We took short trips on weekends and went to local celebrations and parks. We also did camping trips in her pickup truck. It was a four-wheel drive and we went to several national parks with it during the summer. That at least got us away from the Utah fly plague for a couple of weeks.
When I was eleven and a half, I had my first wet dream. The dream that accompanied it was vivid and explicit but also vague. It bothered me that the other person in the dream was a boy and I remember thinking how beautiful he was. I couldn't describe him now to save my life but trust me he was gorgeous. And so, puberty was upon me and though I had paid attention in sex ed. it didn't really prepare me for the emotional aspects. I desperately wanted someone to bounce stuff off of and there just wasn't anyone. I didn't even see Vincent anymore because I had changed piano teachers. I had learned all Vincent's Mom had to teach and been recommended to a new instructor. She had no kids or sense of humor. Mrs. Rauss was a single-minded tyrant, but I did learn a few things and I improved my skills with the piano.
I had undertaken a program whereby I documented the changes in my body. They just didn't happen very quickly. The first tiny hairs were a great surprise to me.
I did a lot of related research on the internet such as it was. We lived beyond the maximum distance for both DSL and Cable, so I had a 56k modem. That's right; they're still in use in some backwater locations. I mentioned Utah, right?
We had no extended family; My dad had been killed during the war in Afghanistan and none of my grandparents were still living. It was quite literally just Mom and me. We had some really nice friends in California, but we had lost touch with them.
I occupied myself with exploring the surrounding area, we lived in a rural area but there were no other kids around. Just trees, birds and a few other animals to watch.
And then Poof! I heard the doorbell one afternoon and everything changed. I thought Mom had her arms full so I opened the door. There stood a State Policeman and a woman who looked like she needed a bathroom really bad.
The Officer told me that they needed to come in and talk. I knew that moment that I'd never see my mom alive again.
I backed away until the couch tripped me, and I fell back into it.
The State trooper explained gently that there had been a traffic accident and Mom had been badly injured and didn't make it to the hospital. I was surprised when I didn't go to pieces, I heard the woman say that I needed to gather up some clothing since they couldn't let me stay here alone. They asked about relatives, but my dad was killed in Afghanistan right after I was born, and he was an only child. Mom had a brother, but he was a jailbird and not a good candidate for custody, more than that I didn't know. I was numb, there actually was someone to call but I didn't know how to reach them. I packed some clothes and school stuff and they took me away. I rode with the woman, Barb, she said to call her, but I called her Ma'am. It was a long drive because we had to go to the county seat.
After answering a couple thousand stupid questions she introduced me to a guy that would take me somewhere to get dinner and a place to sleep.
When I saw where we were going my guts twisted up. It looked like a prison which in a sense it was. It was the County Juvenile Detention Facility. I told him I didn't do anything wrong and asked why I was being locked up. The guy assured me that it was temporary, and I probably would only be there one night, Hah! The rest of that evening was kind of a blur. The driver handed me off to a guy at the desk and I was led down a hall. They put me in a shower room and told me to strip and get a shower. Then they gave me a blue jumpsuit and some Walmart underwear and led me to a glassed-in cubicle with two beds, a toilet, sink, and a table and stool mounted to the wall. They called it a room, but it was a cell; worse, it was the type they kept Hannibal Lecter in in that movie, and I felt a panic rising in me.
Later they brought me a Deli sandwich, chips and a soda; the guy said to eat fast or I'd be doing it in the dark. The lights went out at nine and came on again at six although it never really got dark in the "Room."
About an hour after the lights came on, a guy showed up with a tray that had a sort of breakfast like substance on it. Corn flakes, two pint cartons of milk, an orange and a single packet of sugar for the cereal.
I asked the guy where my pack was but all I got was a smirk that said, "Good luck with that, kid."
After another two hours, the intake counselor made his appearance. He asked most of the same questions from the previous day and told me I was going to be there until the judge decided what to do with me.
I asked about my backpack and was told that I would get it back when I left. But I couldn't have any of it in the custody area. By then I was pretty pissed off and asked when I would see a lawyer.
He told me my "Advocate" would contact me when it was time. When I asked about our house and our stuff, he was even less helpful.
This went on for a month and change, and except for a shower every other day and an hour in the gym twice a week I stayed in my cell. I got to go to what passed for a library and at least got a couple of books to read. I was in a weird place psychologically; I couldn't figure out what I had done to make them treat me like a criminal. I hadn't even tried to deal with the grief of losing my mom. She was everything to me. Literally, she was my handle on the world and I was lost without her. I kept wondering if I did something wrong, did they think I had something to do with the crash? It hurt so much to think about it so I finally just stopped.
One evening I heard footsteps and when I looked up there was the guy who checked me in with a little blonde boy in tow. He opened the door to the cell and told the boy to take the free bed. The kid stood there a couple minutes until we couldn't hear the guy's steps anymore.
I introduced myself and he said his name was Timothy and to please don't call him Timmy. He asked which bed and I pointed to the one I wasn't using, and he sat down.
I asked him why he was here, and he told me his mom had been arrested and no one else would take him so he was here until she makes bail.
I said, "That really sucks man" kind of loud and the kid jumped like I threatened to hit him. I wasn't used to talking with others anymore and had trouble keeping my voice at an acceptable volume.
Then he said, "I might as well get this over with now; I know how it works here. Some older boys told me, as long as you promise not to beat me up, I'll suck your dick anytime you want just please don't hit me."
It felt like he punched me in the face.
I asked him, "Why would you say that man? I haven't done anything to you. Do I look like the kind of person that would do that?! Have you had to do that before?"
Timothy began backpedaling and told me "No, those guys told me what I'd have to do in Juvy. I'm sorry man. I didn't mean to piss you off; I don't know, I just don't want to get beat up."
"It's okay," I told him, just no more talk about sucking my dick okay? At least until you buy me dinner or something." Timothy looked at me, scrunched up his face, and then laughed. My sense of humor is a bit weird and way too weird for my Utah school mates. They did not get me on any level.
But Timothy was a city kid and not a dummy, just a little frail-looking. Blonde, fair-skinned, pretty face and small for his age, he would have been very popular among the Orange jumpsuit crowd. They would occasionally blow kisses at me when we passed in the corridor. Not a good feeling.
"So, do you mind if I call you Tim?" I asked him and he said it would be okay, just not Timmy.
"SouthPark?" I asked.
"Yeah," said Tim, "I hate that fucking show."
"Well, at least your name's not Kenny; that would really suck!" I said.
Tim actually giggled.
I was feeling a little better, so I said, "Shall I give you the grand tour, of course, you've already seen the grand foyer and the ballroom. This area," I said, pointing to the beds, "is the boudoir and of course beyond this curtain is the library," I said, referring to the commode and sink. "Do remember to draw the curtain when doing research. I'll be happy to show you the other floors in the morning."
Tim grinned at me and said, "Thanks Duncan, I've been really trying not to cry all day and now I don't feel like I need to."
"Did you get dinner?" I asked him.
"Yeah, the bailiff brought us burgers and fries and something that almost tasted like Sprite." The lights went out just as he said that.
"Bedtime," I said, "they'll be around to check pretty soon and they don't like you out of bed except to use the toilet."
"Do you sleep in your suit?" Tim asked, but I was already out of it and pulling back my covers.
"Oh," he said, "Um, I don't have any underwear on, they took mine with my clothes, and said they were out of my size and they'd get me some in the morning."
I reached under my pillow and pulled out my spare t-shirt.
"This ought to do for tonight," I said as I tossed it to him.
I watched as he slipped out of his jumpsuit and noted how pale his skin was and when he put his arms over his head to put on the t-shirt, I saw him in profile. I could make out his penis and small scrotum. His penis appeared to be in the process of becoming erect and the hem of the t-shirt caught on it. I hadn't really seen other boys naked before, a glimpse of a penis at the urinals in school or occasionally a kid would change at the public pool but never this close to me. I felt a sudden twitch deep in my groin, it felt good.
Tim smiled at me and pointed, "Caught ya lookin' and it seems like you liked it."
I looked at where he had pointed to find my own dick had poked through the fly of the cheap underwear and it was standing straight up.
"Sorry, Tim," I said. "I didn't mean to stare, I just haven't seen many other boys like that before, it kind of caught me off guard I guess."
"It's cool, there's lots of boys my age in our neighborhood and we do stuff together. You know, with our dicks?" Tim said.
I was a bit stunned and I must have looked it.
"Hey, it's okay; my Uncle said it was normal for boys to fool around. It's how we learn what gets us off.
"Um, I kind of lied a little, No one ever made me do it, but I have sucked a couple of my friends and they did it to me. There's an older boy in our building that has been nice and sticks up for me. He walked in on Tommy and me in the Janitor's room while we were sucking each other. We got real close after that and I sucked him one night while he was sitting me. It's different with him; it's nice and kind of tender."
"He tried to get his mom to let me stay with them, but she said no. I guess his mom doesn't like my mom."
"Anyway, I'll probably just be here a couple of days, it's just traffic tickets. Last time I stayed with a neighbor, but they moved."
My mind was really having a problem processing the sex stuff he had told me. I had been having feelings for a boy in AP and didn't know what to make of it.
Suddenly out of the blue Tim asked, "Duncan, why are you here?"
It was like throwing a car into reverse at sixty miles per hour. My brain could no longer cope with the isolation, grief, and loneliness I had been feeling and I collapsed in on myself and passed out and fell to the floor.
That believe it or not, was when things started to improve.