The awakening.

But, it looked like something HAD been. There were wires hanging in various places, which I photographed, but they didn’t look as though they had been ripped out nor that it had been done within the couple of hours since I had been there. I had to continue my search. It took a while, but I finally found what I was looking for. After exhausting every sensible thing of which I could think, I turned toward the mirror to check my beautiful face and immediately slapped my forehead. I hadn’t even thought of that. AND I was just in a fucking police station. It was goddamned two-way mirror, but how was I going to prove that without breaking the damned thing?

Then, something else caught my mind. I didn’t really care any more. I had made my point and had gotten out of whatever the cops thought they were going to do, so… They may have wanted to do something to the kid, but I wanted to wash my hands of his stupid ass anyway. AND, there was nothing he could do that would send any repercussions my way. It was at that moment that I realized how much time I had wasted on this moronic little endeavor, though in the grand scheme it had not been all THAT much. A couple of months out of my plan to conquer the section of the world I wanted to take was time I was not willing to waste, usually. I needed to get back on track.

After coming up with some bullshit story about having a sudden excruciating headache, I got the teacher dude to take me back to my vehicle. It was nothing new, and he expected it, but he rolled his eyes none-the-less along with mumbling under his breath something about how I always did things like that and never gave anything back. Well, no fucking shit! I never said anything different nor gave anyone any reason to think it ever would be different.

I spent the next few days reconciling some of the things I had let drift, including trying to find a guy willing to give me some money without need for any long term return. Yes, this is to say I kinda started whoring again because I needed to do so, or at least felt such. Oh, and that guy, the teacher dude, I told you all about just recently… he was the same one I used way back when with the bullshit bicycle accident. I had done that to him probably a hundred times or so over the years but this was different, somewhat.



As I have already said more than once, maybe not in so many words but shall I say I have at least alluded to the fact… I was a very desirable human being. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that there was a niche I could fill in the older dudes young guy portion of the market and it was time I started using my God given abilities to get what I so rightly deserved. Yes, you read that right. DESERVED! Why the hell wouldn’t I deserve something? I was, after all, blessed (or cursed) with these incredible looks that never allowed me to be left alone. Everywhere I went, people of all ages, sexes, races and creeds stared at me as if I were nothing more than an object. Most of the time they didn’t even try to hide it, for fuck sake. So why shouldn’t I use what they started to my advantage? I had already done some of that, but it was now time to take it to a much more interesting, if not dangerous, level.

I knew there was a finite amount of time in which to do an infinite number of things. Back on track was where I need to be. I realized that my complacency with Lake County was going to have to be overcome if I wanted anything exciting to happen, so I decided to take a trip. There were myriad logistical things to ponder but I decided to fly by the seat of my pants, in more ways than one.

I looked up the number to Greyhound and called to find out what the bus schedules were for places warm. I really wanted to go to New York or somewhere like that, Maybe San Francisco, but it was winter and I wanted to be sure that if I couldn’t find anywhere to stay some night I wouldn’t freeze to death, though I figured my wiley ways SHOULD prevent any such thing. My two favorite choices were Southern California and South Florida. East Coast vs. West Coast. Since the venue really didn’t bother me, I decided to find out which one would cost less and, shockingly enough, it turned out the San Diego was cheaper than getting to West Palm Beach, so off I went to get myself a ticket, one way.

I stopped off at the homestead to tell my mother and her dude, the same one she had recently been in jail with which had to have been some kind of record for her (yes, I realize it is a cliché, but it was true damn it), that I wouldn’t be around for a while to which she told me to be careful or something inane of the like. I told her I loved her and opened to the front door to the sight of the youngster smirking in my direction. Fucking HELL that boy was hot! I wanted nothing more than to cover his face with wet sloppy kisses and slide my tongue slowly down his perfect body, you get the picture, right then and there, but as a seasoned veteran, I kept myself in check and just gave him a hug and a cheek kiss. Even the smell of him turned me on. He smelled so fresh and…I don’t know, just innocent, though I absolutely knew that NOT to be the case. I told him my plan, somewhat, and followed him into his house where I finally met his mother and father. They were exactly as I thought they would be, very good looking but very aloof. They didn’t talk to me but talked to him ABOUT me as if I were not there. They then blew us off, within a couple of minutes, at which time we climbed to his room and did what comes natural to people like us who are very sexual beings. That which I had help back in the recent past I had no reason to do any longer. I considered it my going away gift to myself and my gift to him as well.

I ended up staying with the boy for a couple of days before I could break myself away, but the time had come to embark upon my journey to the sunny beaches of what I soon found out was more like INSANE Diego than Saint Diego as the name suggests. We arrived at the bus depot sometime around midnight-ish, I think, and had no real time to think about what to do, at least I didn’t. The bus was to be put out of service for cleaning and maintenance so we had to vacate rather quickly. I had only a large duffle bag like those you remember from military movies, so baggage and what to do with it was not the problem. The problem was that I didn’t really have any fucking clue what-so-ever where to go and what to do. I hadn’t thought out the possibility of arriving so late that nothing was open. My first thought was to go to the beach and hang out all night but I knew that back home the beach at night was the first place the cops looked and THAT was not something I wanted to deal with ever, let alone on the first night I was in this paradisical land. So I tried to get my bearings.

As is the norm, the bus station was in a very run-down feeling part of town, again, at least as I saw it. I guess it makes sense that the stations were some of the worst looking buildings in any town. After all, they were open for 24 hours a day seven days a week and had some of the poorest people in the country using them on a daily basis. And, because of the ease of access, many of those without a place to call home often ended up using the various facilities available. You know, like running water and such. Anyway, due to the dingy look of the building, staying there all night was not going to happen. I figured I would do so for a short time, enough to read through some of the flyers sitting around, and then venture out to the nearest hotel or whatever. You already know what happens next, don’t you? Well you damned well should by now, but I spell it out for you.

While looking at a flyer on the Red Roof or Holiday Inn or Quality Inn or whatnot, I felt the stare I always noticed when in public, so… I knew my sleeping arrangements were not going to be a problem for long. I tried to avoid direct eye contact with my latest mark but had to see what he looked like so I could determine his status as a viable alternative to spending some of my hard earned money. He was a bit rumpled, but he looked as though he would do.

We went through the regular preliminaries, though shortened because I was a bit wiped out. I told a story of woe and he acted as though he were the most altruistic person in the entire world, yaddha, yaddha, yaddha, blah fucking blah. Soon we were sitting in the most typical of all places, the all-night diner. I do not know why it is, but everyone you meet thinks you need food or drink or some other, though I don’t know what other there might be, type of sustenance if you are young. It is as if they expect you to be completely helpless. As you all well know that was absolutely NOT the case with me, but, as my past had already shown, I was never one to look the proverbial gift-horse in the mouth. I wasn’t really hungry, but I could eat, AND that way I would save even more money. I did suspect, though, that I would be getting some (get your fucking mind out of the gutter, though you’re probably right about that, too) from this dude later.

Anyway, we went back to his place and I was completely enthralled. I had never seen such a beautiful sight before. To this day I cannot tell you exactly where we were, but I do know it was much higher than the city proper. We went out to the patio in the back yard and could see, forever, it seemed. There were lights for miles then absolute darkness, which I had to believe was the ocean. For some reason, Lake Erie never really seemed quite as dark, at least to my recollection at that point. I think someone said we might be in La Jolla looking over the city of San Diego, but, again, I can’t be sure. All I can say is that is was incredible and very comfortably warm. In fact, I decided to just sit there until the sun came up, all the while my host was trying to ply me with wine, weed, and food, which I politely refused, though I did request a can of pop. He laughed, of course because the word pop is such a Mid-western term. The rest of the country calls it soda, which I must say really does sound better for some reason.

In case you aren’t following my reasoning, I will spell it out for you. I fully expected to have to pay, in some way, for my board, but it was going to be on my terms. I was NOT going to make the mistake of trusting this guy, not that I had ever trusted anyone in the past. So… a GLASS of wine or CUP of coffee or a joint, which I didn’t smoke anyway, was not going to be touching my lips. There would be no chance that anything could be laced so as to have me in any way incapacitated or even slower to react than normal.

Soon enough it was morning and actually beginning to get quite warm. My host offered me a bed, which I started to decline, but realized was something I definitely needed. I was lead to a very nicely appointed room with a four-poster in the center and tasteful art adorning the walls. He very gently “helped” me out of my clothes and ran his hands lightly all over my body. Though I was incredibly tired, his touch was incredible. It was so soft yet urgent that it sent chills from my head to my toes that just kept on coming. In fact, he had barely touched my dick before I was spurting all over the place. I wanted to remember that feeling so I could use it on my future conquests. If this feeling could do what it had done to a jaded little fuck like me, God only knew what I could use it for with them. Anyway, thankfully, the dude was content with what he had accomplished, so he left me alone to sleep, which I did until nearly 5PM. When I awoke, I was refreshed and ready for adventure.

As soon as I got out to the spacious living room, and it looked all the more impressive in the light, I found about ten thousand, I am exaggerating a bit here, photographs of what appeared to be me all over the place. I was caught with my mouth open in the throes of a wild dream. I was lying there with one leg out of the covers looking as though I had nothing at all on, which I probably didn’t. One photo was of me on my back and the covers all the way down to the base of my dick where you could see the top of both of my legs but not quite the rest of me. There were also tons of others, but they all had the same look to them, though slightly different in pose. I was astounded, yet intrigued. AND, upon more stringent examination, I found they were not all of me, but of guys with a VERY similar look. All the while, I could feel his eyes upon me even though he said nothing.

He had food prepared and ready for my consumption, and I politely refused, for the same reason I had told you before. I was absolutely ravenous and really needed sustenance, so I suggested a trip to go looking around. He didn’t even pause while going to get the keys and told me to get ready to go. I brushed my teeth, with my own brush, showered, with my own soap, and was ready in about ten minutes, by which time most of the pictures were gone. I didn’t ask and he didn’t offer anything. So, off we went.

Truthfully, I cannot remember much about that trip to the west except that I was unimpressed with ocean, I had grown up next to a large body of water of which I could not see the other side and the colors were not as everyone had said about the ocean. It was just as muddy looking as Lake Erie, except at this one place by some river or other inlet. I DID love Ocean Beach. It was a great expanse of white sand, somewhat like Headlands in Mentor, with a concrete sidewalk built in. I believe there were shops on the east side of the beach, but can’t really remember. I had a bit of a freaky experience there, as well. I was walking in the Pacific when suddenly something kind of tubular, all I could think of was a snake of some sort, wrapped itself around my foot and just as quickly let go. That was the end of my NEED to walk in the Pacific Ocean.

I was there for about four months before I had gotten my fill and needed to move on. My original pick-up and I were together for about a week of that time. I allowed him to take tons of pictures, and he gave me money and a place to stay, it was a bit different than what I had used before, but there was, of course, some sex. It was strange with him, though. Where every other guy I had seduced was more than willing to fuck around, this dude seemed to really not want to do anything BUT take pictures. In fact, I had to MAKE him let me suck his dick. Odd, I know, but it definitely made it easier to leave and find someone more sexual. Hey, come on now, you all know it wasn’t all about conquest and money after all, which I must say I had made quite a bit in that seven or eight days, I needed to get my rocks off, too.

So, after a couple more weeks in Insane Diego, I decided to move south. Most of what you have heard about Tijuana is the absolute truth, except that most of the people I know have never heard of the proliferation of the boy trade. There are so many guys down there for the taking that I didn’t even stay 24 hours. Some of these boys were so disgusting I didn’t even want to be near them and here were these older folks not only getting near, but paying them for various sexual favors. FUCK!

I decided, next, to set my sights on the northern realms. I figured Los Angeles would be the perfect place for me. Oh, of course I knew of the millions that had come before me, every pun possible intended, but I was much more special than them. The Hollywood Strip, Sunset Boulevard, and all the rest were exactly as I had hoped, but they were also exactly as I had heard. Once again, there were too many boys like me to allow for me to be in any way special. When every body and his brother are looking for action and willing to sell it on the cheap, the market is overcome and someone has to lose. I was not about to be that person, so, after a couple of quick hundred, which took longer than I had hoped, I moved on again. I decided the West Coast was already, too commercialized and well know for my trade, so I headed back eastward. I stopped in Reno, on my bus trip back to Cleveland, and actually had quite a good time. There were tons of guys around just salivating, literally and figuratively, for a boy like me. I had no problem living, eating, or even do anything I wanted. A couple of the guys just wanted me to be there for them when they woke up, not even wanting me to share a bed, which by now you all know is usually something I wanted as much if not more than them. I even left there with about eight hundred bucks in my pocket. I was feeling quite full of myself, I must say.

Of course, that’s always when the shit hits the fan. I wasn’t paying attention, because everything had gone so well up to that point, and I was rolled when I was drunk. I had found a couple of compatriots and we had gotten a few bottles of rot gut wine and just got completely fucked up. I think I was smoking some pot as well, but I cannot be totally sure. The next thing I knew I woke up under a bridge with nothing on but my shirt and blood on my legs. My first fear? Yep, you guessed it. I felt my face to see if there was anything wrong. Of course I couldn’t see it, I know I didn’t have to tell you that, but… Oh well. As far as I could ascertain, there were no extraneous bumps, so I had hoped I was all right. The next thing I had to do was get somewhere while walking around with my dick flopping around. That didn’t take long because as soon as I left the cover of the bridge, my best friends the fucking cops where there.

After a few go-rounds with the men in blue, I finally admitted to my identity, and, to my great surprise, found out there was a missing persons bulletin out on me. For the life of me, I couldn’t imagine who would have given enough of a shit to do something like that. I knew, unless by some outrageous turn of events and change in fortune, it would never have been my mother, she was too into whatever she was doing at the time, and, she, I don’t think, would have ever meddled in the affairs I considered my own. Of course she would have helped if she could, but I can’t image she would have called the police. For Christ’s sake, that would have brought attention to her, and I KNEW that wasn’t about to happen, but more on that later.

The immediate problem was one of trying to explain what had happened, when, as I already told you, I didn’t really know. My second problem was figuring out how to get some damned clothes and get my shit back together enough to make my next move. Well, I have to tell you, my guardian angel, or fate or whatever else you might want to call it, decided to intervene in my favor once again. Due to the missing person’s thing, I was going to be provided a bus ticket and some clothing for a trip back home. But, once they talked it over, the cops decided it would be better if I were be put on a plane, as I HAD “run away” already and would have many chances to do the same again if I took a bus. Little did they know I actually WANTED to return, but, hey, now I could fly for my first time without having to pay for it. BONUS! So, from the Reno airport to Cleveland Hopkins International Airport, a flight of about four and a half hours, I gazed at the passing landscape feeling all at once, all powerful AND insignificant. It gave me a new outlook, an epiphany actually, which I wasn’t really sure I liked.


Upon my arrival at Hopkins, I disembarked (for some retarded reason people seem to like to add stupidity to some words like for example they call disembark “debark” which sounds like taking the ability to make a barking sound out of a dog or tearing the covering off of a tree, sorry about that, but, hell, what are these people thinking?) to find no one I knew waiting. Oh, the cops had definitely made sure I was to be met by someone, I heard the plan, AND, since it was a non-stop, they knew I was pretty much a captive, though in no trouble per se. I looked around, almost hoping to see one of those signs you see on the TV shows like Magnum, or whatever, and was just about to have a seat near the concourse windows when, out of the corner of my eye I saw who had instigated the entire thing. I was all at once thankful and irritated, which seemed to be happening quite a bit lately.

Standing near the door to the outside deck, which I only knew because there was a sign that said, “outside deck,” was a familiar face, with a damned shit-eating grin plastered thereon. My old teacher buddy was back in my life. I guess it was only fitting in a way. I had fucked up his life in ways I have never before really explained, but will, so he had turned the tables and done the same to me. In truth, he had probably saved me from a much more horrible end than what I had begun to plan. I am sure there was a bit of a control aspect to it, but underlying, there was definitely his love for me. I really think I would have liked to reciprocate, too, but it just wasn’t something in my make-up, so, being the little fucking shit I was, I scowled at him and walked the other way.

As I began to turn I saw, out of the corner of my eye, his look of dejected resignation. He knew full well I was not going to be happy about his interference, and he also knew I only wanted him when I wanted him, so his dejection was… oh, shit. His look was as much a ploy as my feigned disgust. Holy hell, I had taught him not to feel, or forced it upon him which ever was closest to the truth.

He came after me as he usually did and, after my latest slap of understanding, I stopped. I didn’t turn until I heard the unmistakable slap of his shoes, I knew his gait well because when I would be at the house, I always knew where he was, not that I ever really had to hide except when I took money from him, coming very close to me. I slowly turned and looked him in the eyes. He attempted to hug me and I just glared at him. He knew I never liked that either so why, in his mind it would be OK here in a busy airport was beyond me. I asked him why he had gotten into my business in the way he had and he said it was a must. He said he had begun looking for me about the time I left because something had come up from the past that had to be dealt with.