Current mood:	worried
Current music:	The Turtles

a short story (505 words -- so please read)
EDIT MAY 2008: I would no longer write the story as I wrote it here. I've thought this for a couple years now, but have decided to leave it as it is.

He sat in the booth at a fast food joint, determined not to leave. He knew what awaited him if he left, waiting like a patient companion, waiting like a ravenous wolf. The man could be so kind and compassionate one minute, and a sadistic monster the next. He wondered what side he would see today.
When the man was kind, the boy wanted to be with him. Yes, he had sexualized the relationship, but the boy wanted, needed, even loved him. Secretly,confusingly sometimes—just sometimes, he told himself—he liked it. At times, he wanted the man to go on, to not stop touching him like that. In a way he enjoyed the sex, when the man decided to concern himself with the boy’s pleasure. It was this secret shame that kept him from telling.
Other times, he hated it, hated the man with a rage and sorrow that went so deep, it threatened to destroy him. This emotion came over him at times when the man was cruel, when he hit him, threatened him, was inside of him.
Before the boy could stop them, memories of the last time flooded his mind.

When they were in his car, the man placed his hand on the boy’s upper thigh. The boy knew they were not going to the movies in that moment. Part of him was hurt; part of him wasn’t surprised.
“Why don’t we pull over?” the man said. It wasn’t a request.
“Why don’t I just put my hand here...” He undid the boy’s zipper. “See, I knew you’d like it.”
Why did the boy’s body insist on betraying him?
“Just look, he wants it, doesn’t he?”
The boy looked away, staring out the windshield.
“I’m talking to you,” the man said angrily. “Tell me you want it.”
The boy knew that beneath the anger lay a threat. “Yes,” he whispered.
“Yes what?” The man grabbed the boy’s face so they were eye to eye.
“I want it.”
` The man placed the boy’s penis in his mouth. Sensation flooded him. “Yes,” he moaned. Then began to cry. The man was right. He was bad; he deserved this. He wanted this; he was bad.

The boy snapped back to the present. He wiped his eyes, feeling the hot tears; surprised that they were streaked down his cheeks.
“Are you alright?”
He looked up. A young woman, about 25, was standing before him. “Do you need help, or anything?”
Part of him wanted to just spill his guts out before her, to tell her the truth. She looked like she’d understand, maybe she'd even help him; why, he didn’t know.
“No, I’m fine,” he said. He had said it so many times before, the words just slid off his tongue.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Take care.”
Before anyone else noticed, he decided to leave. Not knowing where else to go, he decided to go to the man.

Steeling himself, the boy entered the room.
“Finally, you’re here. I’ve been waiting,” his father said.