Date: Sat, 25 Jun 2011 04:16:48 -0700 (PDT)
From: Benjamin Hanson <benhanson1980@yahoo.com>
Subject: Drink

---------Drink
by Ben Hanson

-------------
Disclaimer/Message: It's been awhile since I've written anything and for
some reason I was oddly inspired last night. This story, warts and all, is
the result of that inspiration. While I'm fairly certain this is a short
story, one submission deal, if I get inspired and get quite a bit of
feedback, I may write more! So with that being said send me some comments!
Good, bad, ugly, encouraging, outright condemnation of my skills as a
writer, whatever really... benhanson1980@yahoo.com

As always, the disclaimer. If it's illegal where you are, if you don't
enjoy man-boy love, if you're an evangelical or anything similar, don't
read it!

Now... let our story begin!
-------------


     It couldn't have been any more repulsive.

     At least I keep telling myself that.  Surely there are worse things in
this world, but in those moments afterward, in my silent contemplation even
now, I find it hard to accept that truth.

     "It's fine," he breathed, buttoning his pants and looking up at me
behind flushed cheeks.

--

     Growing up isn't a particularly easy endeavor. I guess it would be
hard to find someone that would disagree with that statement. I can't say
that I had a horrible upbringing, at least no worse than the starving
children infomercials plead you to intercede for, financially. Money.
Money, or so it would seem, was the cause of all of my problems.

     My father was a day trader. I don't really know much about him beyond
that. He had a brief but illustrious affair with my mother, the former
career waitress, that ended with my conception. He had been raised by
strict Republicans, told that it was his goal to dress well, educate
himself well, make money well, and even marry well. Despite accomplishing
the first three requirements with little issue, the last, to marry well,
proved another beast entirely.

     Each day that he finished his work he would head down to the
inefficient diner that lined the streets leaving the business district.
Once inside, a cup of coffee and a piece of cake would be his typical
order. With each, he would gain the energy to go back to the unfortunate
life of golf, country clubs, and familial obligations. With each sip, his
eyes would peruse my mother's backside; her weathered uniform, her loosely
tied hair. She of course was no stranger to failed relationships, and a man
in an Armani suit held a great deal of appeal.

     As luck would have it, for me at least, a quicky behind a dumpster was
really all that it took. His hands had unbuttoned her blouse, clasped
around her breasts, and removed her panties without a second thought. The
lack of a condom wasn't an issue, "birth control" my mother had breathed
into his waiting ear. Of course she had failed to mention her forgetful
mind, the numerous times she had forgotten to take it, and the lack of an
ability to take affect such a tumultuous schedule would provide.

     "I'm pregnant," she said as he took a bite of cake a month later. He
took it in stride, only managing to cough a few times before regaining his
composure.

     "Will you?" He had asked, and she knew what the words had meant.

     "Of course not!" She said in shock.  She was from good Catholic
stock. Abortions were not an option, and even if they were having the son
of a day trader was an exodus from her diner desert.

     "I'll have my lawyers contact you," he said before taking a long gulp
of coffee and depositing the empty cup on the counter. A few clacks against
the linoleum later and he was gone, never to be seen again.

     Thankfully for her, and partially for me I suppose, his promise of
legal contact was kept. In exchange for silence and for never contacting
the son of a senator she was given sole custody, along with generous
financial support on a monthly basis. She accepted it, with little longing
for her backwards dumpster affair, and quit the diner for more meaningful
pursuits.

     And so I came into this world, a bastard of no account, but one that
led a fairly comfortable life. We lived in a cozy home in suburbia, I
attended only the best schools that featured "public" in the name, and I
was given a generally free-flowing existence. When my mother wasn't busy
trying a new major at the local community college she was busy on her knees
in front of some slob that promised rings but provided a void instead.

     With such a busy schedule I was able to determine my own destiny. I
knew that the life she led was not one I wished to continue so I studied
hard and always made good grades.  When the night fell, from thirteen on, I
would drink, smoke, hang with friends who any normal mother would decry and
rebuke. Despite such a life I never managed to lose track of myself. I
never became an addict of any account, when it was time to apply for
college I was accepted at quite a few places, and when it was time to say
goodbye to late nights nestled between the breasts of sixteen year old
girls, I took it in stride.

     Maybe it had been some feeling of self-imposed guilt for my own mother
that made me choose the major I did. Elementary education, I still feel the
bitter-sweet way it rolled off my tongue when my freshman advisor had asked
if I had chosen a major yet. I knew nothing about the proper way to treat
children, had never given them a second thought after I became a teenager,
but some small part of me felt that it was a way to give back. I wanted to
help the nation's youth avoid the life of abandon I had clung to, despite
my luck in surviving it unscathed. There was also the appeal of weekends
off, a government retirement, and each summer in pursuit of whatever I
pleased. I had discovered soon after applying to college that an attempt to
contact my father had given me what I wanted, paid tuition and a small
stipend to get me by. This was no exorbitant existence, certainly nothing
comparable to my mother's, but it was enough to eat, get a studio
apartment, and pay for my textbooks. I was not to be a millionaire and that
was fine with me, all my basic needs were taken care of, for the present
time at least.

--

     "Are you aware of the basic structure?" my advisor had asked as I
twirled a pen between the fingers of my right hand.

     "More or less," I replied, absently staring at a picture of the
woman's cake-ridden spawn behind her shoulder.

     The woman, possibly the most plain looking individual I had ever laid
eyes on, nodded as she removed a manila folder from her desk. I knew well
what it contained, and I felt certain the assignment would be a good one. I
had continued my studying habits through college, significantly less
partying this time, and had achieved a perfect 4.0 thus far. Many teachers
and advisors, she included, had asked me why I had chosen the major many
times. I never showed any interest in my classes, never participated in any
mentoring projects, and had shafted several departmental invites to faculty
and student's children's birthday parties. Despite that it was a small
school and since the department was desperate for students they had no
ability to question my validity.

     I did have a desire to be a teacher, and I was fairly certain working
with children would be fun, but it was a choice made on a whim and stuck
with. I had no high ambition to save the world, no particular adoration for
children specifically.  For me this major was a means to an end, a
paycheck, some good benefits, and job security. Men were few and far
between in elementary schools, and my cock would provide opportunity. With
an economy like this, who was I to refuse ease of entry into a field?

     "You're Catholic, right?" my advisor, Susan, had asked suddenly,
breaking me from my thoughts.

     "Yes," I said, eyeing her with mild curiosity as the pen slipped from
my fingers and hit the floor below with a clatter.

     "It's a little unusual for us, but St. Bernard's is recruiting for new
teachers and made a sizable donation to the college. In exchange we have to
send a few student teachers over there."

     I blinked, the idea filling my mind along with a flurry of thoughts. I
had expected to be thrown into a public school, complete with the same
heterogeneous of class, race, and behavior that I had remembered from my
youth. Private school would be completely different, complete with rich
children accustomed to a life none of my perceived students would have
enjoyed.

     "Was I selected just because I'm Catholic?" I laughed at the absurdity
of the question as the words escaped my mouth.

     "Oh my, no. I just thought it would be a good opportunity for you, and
we're trying to send the best candidates we can so the donations keep
coming," her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment as she spoke. I knew
she had said too much, but it was good enough for me. Who was I to deny my
soon-to-be alma mater with some much needed financial assistance?

     "It's fine, really," I said as a sly smile spread across my face. I
sat back in the rickety arm chair and crossed my arms in front of my chest.

     "Mary's going too, she's not Catholic," Susan said in a final effort
to save face. Mary was a slender 20-something with raven black hair and a
bit of a wild streak behind closed doors. Despite that, she was second to
me in the department as far as grades were concerned. Perhaps there had
been some truth to her stating they wanted, "the best."

     "When do I go?" I asked as my hand reached for the folder and pulled
it back towards me.

     "Monday, at 8:00 am. They're going to have a breakfast reception for
the incoming student teachers."

     I nodded, stood, and bid my adieu.

--

     "We sure are sorry we couldn't do any better than this, I hope it's to
your liking," the middle aged woman named Mrs. Santos said, staring at me
with the same voracious appetite a falcon has for its prey. I had just
finished eating the generous breakfast provided by the school, on fine
china no less, and was at a loss for words at the difference in
facilities. St.  Bernard's was a monstrous testament to wealth, a large
stone building with ornate windows, an equally impressive cathedral, and
interiors that seemed to be replicas of some lost tutor-age decorator's
imagination. It was beyond anything I had imagined, and I had to say I was
thoroughly impressed.

     The children were also completely different from what I had
expected. Each wore a uniform, navy blue slacks or a skirt with a neatly
pressed white polo tucked inside.  They were all very calm, seemingly
mature, and interested in their studies. Also, to my great surprise, there
was no assortment of demonic nuns prepared to punish the children at the
first sight of unwashed palms; instead the teachers came from various walks
of life and seemed as excited about being there as the students themselves.
To be sure it was slightly disturbing, but I couldn't deny how lucky I
felt. I wasn't looking forward to dealing with problematic children, and
here I was, surrounded by angels.

     "Please, please, this is very nice," I said, looking at Mrs. Santos
with as kind an expression as I could muster. Their desire to recruit
young, high-minded students was not subtle. While I wasn't sure parochial
education was my calling, I was sure that I would at least enjoy the luxury
parochial student teaching would provide.

     The rest of the orientation was spent explaining to myself, Mary, and
a few students from surrounding colleges how the student teaching would
go. We would divide ourselves over the next semester between three grades;
first, third, and finally fifth. This would, as they explained, provide us
with ample opportunity to experience teaching children at differing
developmental levels. The first month would be merely observing the three
grades, the next month would be assisting one teacher, of our choosing
amongst whom we had been paired with before, with lesson plans, grading,
and whatever else they needed. The final two months would be spent
teaching, by ourselves, the prior assignment of our choice. This
arrangement suited me fine and I felt certain that first grade would not be
among my top choices.

     When at last I had been ushered to my first observation post, the
third grade classroom of Ms. Arrington, I managed to find a comfortable
place in the corner to observe. The day was fairly uneventful, with the
children shooting curious glances in my direction every now and again. Each
seemed eager to answer questions, worked well together in group settings,
and each carefully crafted bit of Ms. Arrington's lesson plans appeared to
go on without a hitch. There was no way this would prepare me for a real
educational setting, but I was always the sort that did just enough to get
by. I felt I could get used to this.

     When at last the bell rang and the students gathered their belongings
to leave, I stayed behind long enough to thank Ms. Arrington and pile out
into the nearly empty hallway. The children had made quick work of getting
to the front of the building where their parents waited, or to the back
where a few small buses would carry the few unfortunates to their
dwellings. I had decided to head towards a side door so that I could check
out the playground and collect my thoughts.

     As I pushed the door open, the warm summer air wafting its way into my
sports coat, I caught sight of the now dormant playground. The swings
seemed to dance with the wind, gently swaying back and forth beneath their
once crowded presence. I walked over, selected the far right swing for
myself, and sat down.  My hands gently clasped around the chains as I
pushed myself backwards, a feeling of exhilaration filling my stomach at
the familiar feelings I hadn't experienced in years. I closed my eyes for a
moment, letting my mind become as empty as I perceived the playground to
be, when a high pitched voice sounded from somewhere behind me.

     "Aren't you a little old for swings?"

     The voice had startled me and my feet found their way to the ground in
order to cease my movements. I arched my back and swung my head towards the
sound of the unfamiliar voice, my eyes falling on the vacant expression of
an eleven year old with a lit cigarette in his hand.

     "Well," I began, but before I could continue he rolled his eyes,
taking a quick drag of his cigarette before depositing it beneath his left
foot.

     "I was gonna put it out anyway," he huffed, turned, and began to walk
towards the woods behind us. I cleared my throat, stood, and redeposited
myself so that I was facing him on the swing.

     "I wasn't going to say anything about that," I said cooly, watching
his frame tense for a moment before stopping completely.

     To be honest I was too shocked by someone in one of these school
uniforms doing anything other than behaving perfectly. This was what I had
expected at my fantasized public school, and were this any other situation
I would have begrudgingly reported it and gone about my life, but seeing
this here was intriguing. I had no desire to know anything about my
students beyond what was necessary, but I knew that I had to figure this
one out. Who was this black sheep in Mother Mary's fold?

     The boy turned on his heels and glared at me for a moment. His sandy
blonde hair blew across his forehead, shaggy and unkempt. His cool, brown
eyes filled my own with a strange feeling I felt incapable of expressing.
His skin was a pale, milky tone with a light scattering of freckles across
the bridge of his nose. I swallowed deeply, unsure whether I was afraid,
surprised, elated, or turned on. There was something unusual about this
child that I couldn't figure out.

     "What then, my shirt? School's over I don't have to keep it tucked in
anymore!" he said, his hands rising to rest on his hips as he spoke. Each
word that came from his lips was dripping with confidence. This was the
sort of kid I probably would have idolized when I was in school.

     "I guess I really don't care about that either," I replied. I wanted
to keep his interest, but I wasn't entirely sure of what to say.

     "Oh...," the boy said, finally sounding a bit unsure of himself. He
stooped down for a moment, his eyes finally falling away from mine as he
fiddled with his shoe laces.

     "I guess I was just wondering what you were doing here." I finally
settled on that. It was stupid, I knew, and probably a bit too
authoritarian, but what other options did I have? The boy shrugged before
standing back up to his full height.

     "Smoking I guess."

     I laughed a little at the reply, placing my thumb and forefinger
around the bridge of my nose as I shook my head.

     "Cute," I said.

     "Are you a teacher? I ain't never seen you before," he said, walking
over to the swings and depositing himself right next to me. He pulled a
pack of cigarettes from his pocket along with a lighter. He offered me one
which I politely declined. He pressed one of the cylinders into his mouth
before lighting the tip and taking a deep inhalation.

     "Not exactly. I actually go to college but I'm student teaching. It's
sort of like practicing to be a real teacher before I graduate and get a
real job," I said, hoping that I had explained myself well enough. The boy
giggled a little, shaking his own head before responding.

     "So you're just a kid too? Wow, and here I was worried I was gonna get
busted!"

     I grinned, blushing a little at being called a kid and slightly
embarrassed for having not turned him in. I was conflicted, but I had
already gone down the rabbit hole. What use was there trying to be the
disciplinarian now?

     "I'm Sam," I said, extending my hand and causing the boy to stare at
it with a confused expression on his face.

     "Travis," he laughed, not shaking my hand in return as I let it rise
and rest on the chain once more.

     "How old are you?" He asked, breaking a moment of uncomfortable
silence, although I was sure it was only uncomfortable for me.

     "Twenty one, you?" I looked sideways at the top of his crown.

     "Eleven... so like, you can buy beer and stuff?" His head turned and
he stared at me with wide eyes. I had to contain my laughter before I
responded.

     "Yeah, something like that," I said in reply. I felt I knew where the
conversation was going. Travis looked ahead of himself for a moment before
he finished the cigarette and threw it on the ground. He pushed back on his
heels and began to swing.

     "Cool," he said simply.

     Cool? I had expected a child that smoked at eleven to be pleading for
alcohol. Maybe he was testing the waters, or maybe he knew it was a futile
endeavor. He didn't seem the type to not pursue what he wanted though. I
struggled for something else to say when a pang of remorse at my
non-teacherly behavior rose inside of me.

     "Do you live around here? Do you need me to walk you home?" I asked,
wanting to at least make sure that Travis was alright.

     "Why, are you gay?" The words didn't seem to phase Travis at all as he
just kept swinging back and forth. I, on the other hand, felt my cheeks
turns beat red. I wasn't gay, at least not by any traditional definition. I
had asked Travis that question because I felt guilty for not doing anything
about his smoking.

     "N..no!" I managed to spurt out, completely taken off guard by the
question. I was always in control of myself, always self-assured and in
control of my surroundings.  This kid was something else.

     "It's cool if you are, I've met tons of gay people." Travis said,
still swinging and staring off into space as he spoke. I swallowed deeply
and regained my composure before continuing.

     "That's nice of you but I'm not gay," I said simply.

     "That's cool," Travis said as his heels met with the ground and began
to slow his swinging. When at last the swing kept his feet firmly on the
ground he stood to his full height, turned, and stared at me. I looked up
into his eyes, unable to blink.

     "You're not that ugly," Travis said, the expression on his face
unreadable. I blinked finally, trying to find saliva in my cotton mouth.

     "Thanks, I guess..." my voice trailed off, my hands falling to fiddle
with themselves in my lap.

     "Walk me home," he said, extending his hand so that I could grab it. I
stared at the small digits before looking back into his eyes. I felt my
stomach churn, an uneasy excitement building up inside of me. Whether it
was his confidence or this power he seemed to hold over me, there was
something incredibly appealing about him. I had never been attracted to a
guy before, let alone a small boy, but I was suddenly putty before him. My
hand rose, grasping his small one as he made an effort to help me onto my
feet.  Once I had reached my full height, he let go and began to walk. I
followed, silently watching him in bewilderment.

     Each nuance of his movement was captivating to me; the way his hair
bounced as he walked, his slender arms swinging by his sides, the shape of
his legs as they walked inside their navy blue tombs. I even felt my eyes
fixated on his bottom, the way it sat inside his pants. I felt dirty
staring, lusting after one so young, but each moment of fixation felt
unearthly, foreign. It was almost as though the boy had turned me into
this, irresistible to his form, his presence, his self. I wanted more than
anything to fulfill his every desire, to protect him from ever being
punished for his misdeeds.

     I had lost track of myself, the direction we were going. Soon the
familiar larger homes had given way to smaller, less grandiose
dwellings. In due course those gave way to mere hovels, to an obviously
poorer neighborhood. When at last I became cognizant enough to notice it, I
finally understood why he was so different. He wasn't one of the rich kids
that was afforded a private education. Somehow, and how I was completely
unsure, he was taken by chance into a place that he wasn't meant to
be. Without warning he suddenly stopped, making me jump back a bit due to
my not having paid much attention to anything else other than the
surroundings.

     "Shit," Travis breathed, staring at a house with a blue pickup truck
in the driveway.

     "What?" I asked, trying to figure out what was causing him so much
concern.

     "Richard's home, come on." He grabbed my hand with haste and began
walking down another street. I nearly protested, wanting to ask who this
Richard person was and why we couldn't go, but instead I decided to just
follow his lead. His hand on mine had caused my heart to race, and I was
fairly certain I couldn't have said anything comprehensible anyway.

     Within minutes we arrived in a shabby business district, and we made
our way down an alleyway that was lined with dumpsters and debris. When we
reached a dead end, encased on one end by a large dumpster and on the other
by a tall brick wall, Travis released by hand and leaned against the wall,
staring up at me.

     "Who's Richard?" I asked, finally feeling my heart slow a bit and my
mind increase in response.

     "Do you have any money?" Travis asked, either avoiding the question or
not caring about my concern. I swallowed before looking down at the
pavement. I wanted so badly to pry, to find out more, but I knew that I
couldn't. Despite my desire to be of assistance in any way, I decided
against answering his question. Unfortunately, I couldn't bring myself to
look up at him again.

     I heard Travis let out an annoyed sigh as I watched his feet walk
towards me. Within moments his arms had found their way around my backside,
and his hands were wrestling my wallet from my pants.

     "H..hey!" I protested, finally looking at him in shock but unable to
move.

     Travis smirked up at me as he opened it and peered at the contents. He
grabbed a twenty and slipped it into his pocket before handing the wallet
back to me.

     "Thanks," he said, leaning against the wall again and crossing his
arms in front of his chest. I knew that I should be furious, but I was too
surprised to feel it. I stared into his face as his eyes surveyed the
ground, never once betraying his feelings.

     "Do you need a hug?" I asked. I turned red as soon as I said it, but I
didn't know what else to say.  Although I couldn't read his expression I
could assume that he was upset, or confused, or frightened. Whoever this
Richard person was, was not someone he wanted to see, or at least not
someone he wanted to see me. Travis' eyes shot up towards mine again.

     "So you are gay?" He asked, causing me to turn even redder in
response. I wasn't, but he was captivating.  The hug hadn't even meant that
anyway, but it seemed as though any suggestion of assistance or physical
contact immediately brought him to that conclusion. I wanted to protest,
but I couldn't. I just sighed and leaned against the dumpster, my head
hitting the back a few times in frustration.

     My ears were met with a familiar jingling sound. At first my eyes were
focused on the blue sky above us, but quickly they fell on the young boy in
front of me. The sight that I beheld caused my breath to catch in my
throat. His polo was caught beneath his chin, exposing a perfectly formed
stomach. His hands were making quick work of unclasping his belt. My
esophagus was frozen solid. Any desire I had to stop him, to protest, was
impossible.

     His hands quickly unbuttoned his pants, pulled the zipper down, and in
tandem, his hands pushed both his slacks and boxers to his ankles. They
rose to grab the shirt, holding it up enough to keep his young, undeveloped
member exposed. His eyes looked directly into mine as I couldn't help but
observe him in his glory. His soft, perfectly milky skin, the light
sprinklings of baby fat on his hips and thighs, the hairless facade. I had
never felt a desire for a man before, but in those moment I felt lust much
more powerfuly than I had ever felt before.

     "I think you are," Travis said cooly, observing me with the same
unreadable expression that he seemed to always wear. I swallowed, still
unable to speak, and simply nodded. If I wasn't gay before, I was now. If I
wasn't gay, then I at least wanted him. Whatever he wanted to call it was
fine with me. My mind was too lost to argue at any rate.

     "Do you want to fuck me?" Travis asked, still looking deeply into my
eyes. I winced at the sound of the word as it echoed through my mind. Had
any other action he committed today not affirmed his absence of innocence,
this had confirmed it. I was at once turned on and repulsed at the sound of
it.

     "I... I can't..." I managed to say, finally looking away from his body
and into his eyes. Travis laughed a little, letting his hands fall to his
side.

     "It's okay, put it in me," Travis said, turning around and exposing
his bottom for the first time. I stared at the supple mounds before me,
perfectly symmetrical, perfectly inviting. They were beautifully shaped,
like tiny globes in perfect proportion to the rest of his frame. I wanted
nothing more at that moment than to ravish him, than to feel what it was
like to be inside of him. I pressed myself back into the dumpster more,
unable to speak once again.

     Travis, perhaps sensing my hesitation, turned around and walked up to
me. His hand immediately reached out and clasped around the confines of my
semi-erection through the material of my pants. I let out a gasp, my own
hands rising to grab his shoulders.

     "It's okay," he said again, this time his voice a more soothing tone
than the one I had become accustomed to. He reached out, undoing my belt
with familiar mastery, and began to fumble with the button. I reached down,
grabbing his own hands in mine and stared down at him as his gaze met mine
once more.

     I nodded.

     The moments that followed passed like a hurricane. I don't recall how
I managed to remove my pants, but when my hands first met with his sides,
pressing myself closer to his frame, I knew that I was no longer in control
of myself. I spit in my hand, applying the wet residue to the tip of my
cock before pressing it inside his self-spread cheeks. When the tip met
with the resistance of his hole, I felt a longing rise inside of me that
was more bestial than sexual.

     I let out a moan, my legs trembling in their bent state from both
pleasure and the need to accommodate his height. With quite a bit of
pressure I managed to slide inside, the warm glove his sphincter accepting
my girth with no small amount of hesitation. The warmth of his body was
more intense than anything I had felt before, and the grip on my member was
intense enough to finish me off immediately. I managed to hold back, my
hands gripping his hips as I thrust myself inside, bottoming out against
his backside. I looked down at the boy, staring into the crown of his head.

     "A..are you okay?" I managed to ask, perhaps regaining a little bit of
my self control in that moment. I heard him giggle a little, seemingly
unfazed by the task he was performing.

     "Do it," he said, his voice possessing an innocent quality I had never
heard before. I swallowed, my hands increasing their grip upon his hips as
I began to pull backwards. Soon I began on a steady pace, which then
hastened into a medium pace. Without any sounds of discomfort, and without
any more mental resistance to the intense pleasure I was experiencing, I
began to pound in and out of the child as though my own life depended on
it.

     I moaned desperately, wanting to quiet myself but finding it
impossible. The sound of each movement was sloppy, even, and only increased
the eroticism. My right hand fell, allowing itself to freely feel the
hindquarters of the young child.  The softness of the skin was
incomparable, softer than any girl I had ever been with. I bit my lip, my
eyes tightening, my face in a painful grimace as I began to feel myself
hastening towards the end.  Before I had a chance to ask if he would
receive it, before I even had a chance to realize it myself, I felt the
most intense ejaculation of my life rise inside my groin. I yelled out,
nearly tumbling forward and causing Travis to reassert his grip on the
brick wall behind us. My cock pulsated inside, its movements slowing, as
stream after stream of warm cum gushed inside of him. When at last it had
subsided, and I managed to back away, I fell onto the ground. I was
exhausted, and I was in control of my emotions.

     "What have I done?" I wandered aloud to myself.

     I managed to stand, my legs wobbling from the exertion that had been
placed upon them. I stared at Travis as he turned.

     "I'm... I'm so sorry," I managed to say. It couldn't have been anymore
repulsive.

     At least I keep telling myself that.  Surely there are worse things in
this world, but in those moments afterward, in my silent contemplation even
now, I find it hard to accept that truth.

     "It's fine," he breathed, buttoning his pants and looking up at me
behind flushed cheeks.

     "Do you need me to walk you home still?" I asked, raising my own pants
and buttoning them once more.

     "See you," Travis said, a smile crossing his lips when he finally
managed to refasten his belt. I watched in confusing as he ran from the
alleyway and back towards the street.

     "What in the world..." I said to no one in particular. I still had no
idea what had happened, but one thing was sure. I needed a drink.