Date: Tue, 25 Aug 2009 18:26:31 -0400
From: Cole Angicent <colebph@gmail.com>
Subject: Unintended Consequences Part 2

"There he is again," Chris said into his cell phone, pushing his
grocery cart down the aisle at Safeway. "I swear if I didn't know
better, I'd say the kid was following me."

Of course, Kyle was, in fact, doing exactly that. Though certainly
desperate, he wasn't /completely/ being led around by his dick, and
the thought that Chris might be violent had certainly crossed his
mind. So he played it smart - that first Monday night, he walked the
few blocks from his house to Chris' apartment and, noticing a couple
of younger kids playing basketball in the street, wandered over to
them and struck up a conversation, offering to teach them how to play
"Around the World". Fortunately for him, the kids weren't very good at
keeping control of the ball, and he was able to "accidentally" let it
roll towards Chris' apartment a number of times. After about half an
hour, he was rewarded with the sight of Chris stepping out from the
apartment, earplugs in his ears, connected to some unseen music device
in his pocket. He was dressed in some kind of a convenience store
clerk's uniform, suggesting that he was heading to a job - did he work
second shift? Kyle frowned slightly. His plan had depended somewhat on
the man being home at times when he wasn't in school.

For a moment, their eyes locked, and Kyle could feel Chris' eyes
instinctively roaming, checking him out, one brow rising at the
conclusion. He smirked. Perhaps if he hadn't been looking for it, he
might not have noticed, but of course, he already knew that he was
likely to be appealing to Chris, and the man's assessing gaze all but
confirmed it.

This was going to be easy.

Still, for the next few days he was cautious, an ironically reverse
picture from the societal expectation. It was he who was the predator,
parking himself under his prey's window and listening to snippets of
conversation. Watching his comings and goings. Of course, in the end
it was pointless - what did he expect to see, the silhouette of an ax
in the window? Strangled corpses tossed out the back? But the more he
watched, the more he was fairly certain that this wasn't a violent or
dangerous type, just some perv who got his rocks off on little kids.
Well, Christmas - and Kyle - were about to come early for this guy.

--------------------------

"I need a favor," Kyle said, leaning against the locker next to Joel's
and giving the other boy his oh-so-famous 'desperate but determined'
stare. It wasn't a conscious manipulation, but it did have the effect
of rendering those who cared about him incapable of seeing the
requests that followed from any perspective other than that of an
ally, eager to help him succeed.

Joel's response was, therefore, unsurprising. "Name it," he said
simply, putting away his math book and digging around for his gym
clothes. He grabbed the shorts, which hadn't seen a laundry bin in
well over a month of gym classes, and gave them a hesitant sniff,
wrinkling his nose. "Ah well, no choice," he murmured to himself,
flinging it over his shoulder and reaching in to pull out a sweaty
black t-shirt, which he held at arm's length with two fingers, as
though he were afraid to touch it. "You don't happen to have a spare
shirt, do you man?"

"Yeah, sure," Kyle said absently, waving a hand dismissively. "I need
you to cover for me tonight. Call my mom, ask if I can go to a movie
until 10 or something."

Joel grinned. "That's all? Geez, I thought you needed something
important." He threw his foul-smelling shirt into his locker and
closed it, walking towards Kyle's. "What are we seeing?"

Kyle rolled his eyes. "We're not seeing anything, dumbass. It's called
'covering' because you're /covering/ for the fact that I'm doing
something else."

"Oh," Joel murmured, pausing in his stride as he digested the concept.
Kyle half-grinned, watching him, musing to himself that it's an odd
friend who finds himself feeling a wave of affection because his
friend isn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he had to admit
that that was how he felt at that moment. Sometimes it was so...
endearing... how long it took Joel to grasp a concept.

Finally, Joel's brain finished integrating this new knowledge into
it's larger worldview, and like clockwork, Joel began moving forward
again. "So what are you /really/ doing?" he asked curiously, stopping
in front of Kyle's locker.

Kyle smirked, quickly twisting the combination lock and opening the
door. "Gettin' a blowjob." He reached in and pulled out his own
t-shirt, a green one with a plain stripe design on the front.

Joel snorted, taking the t-shirt. "Hah. You /wish/."

"It's true," Kyle said tersely.

"Yeah, right," Joel said, backing away from his friend and heading
towards the gym. "You'd have to blackmail someone really hard to get
'em to go for /you/, man."

"I won't have to resort to blackmail," Kyle called out after Joel's
back. A smirk spread across his face as Joel melded into the chaos of
students coming and going. "But if all else fails," he muttered to
himself, "it's a pretty solid plan B."

----------------------

Chris let out a sigh, tossing his apartment key on the endtable in the
front of the living room. He wandered over towards the computer in the
corner, a derisive grunt escaping his throat as he considered, not for
the first time, how lucky he was to even be allowed unrestricted
access to one. He pulled up YouTube on his browser, searched the words
'jonas cry for you', and clicked on the first link. As it was hardly
his first time doing so, the video, already cached, loaded up
immediately, and a young german boy's somber singing voice cut through
the silence of the apartment.

Chris spent a few moments looking at the boy on the screen. He wasn't
a perfect ringer for Darwin, but he had the same blonde hair, the same
german features. And the song, well... his heart sang the refrain to
Darwin all the time, and it was comforting, on a selfish level, to
imagine Darwin singing the song back to him.

"Of course in reality I hope you don't feel that way," Chris murmured
aloud, once again finding himself talking to Darwin's memory. "I hope
you've forgotten me. Or, well, no. Not really. It would hurt too much
if you forgot me. I just hope... I hope you don't miss me as much as I
miss you. I hope you think on me fondly." He sighed, getting up and
away from the computer, walking to the refrigerator. "Had therapy
again today. It's still Tom's turn, so... yeah, that was fun. It's
strange, how he is now, so calm, so slow to anger, to think he could
wrap a phone cord around a girl in a back office and rape her. Kinda
pisses me off that a crime like that and what we had are treated the
same."

Chris grabbed a soda from the fridge, heading back to the couch. "You
can tell when he talks about it that he's ashamed, which, y'know...
good. That's another part that sucks. His circumstances are so
clearly.. well, so clearly /wrong/... that he can breeze through the
therapy. Me, I have two choices - fake remorse for the best, most
loving relationship I'd ever had in my life, or flunk out of therapy,
get a probation violation for it and go back to prison. Charming
justice system, isn't it?" He sighed, looking at the boy on the
computer screen. Listening to the words 'I cry for you' repeated, over
and over again, oddly giving him the strength to keep from fulfilling
those words himself.

Still, it was a voice choked with emotion that whispered, "I miss you,
Darwin. I... I don't want to talk about us like it was wrong, like you
were just some dumb ki--"

Chris' words were cut off by the sound of a knock on his door. His
heart fluttered a moment, and the first thing he did was go to the
computer and kill the browser window with the boy on the screen. Even
a fully dressed, professional singer boy who was probably in his early
twenties by now would still evoke suspicion from a police or probation
officer, if that was who the knocker was. It was in this,
quasi-I'm-in-trouble mindset that Chris opened the door, and he felt a
chill of fear run up his side.

Because standing at his door was the boy from the supermarket.

Kyle interpreted the man's stare as lustful rather than fearful, and,
truth be told, it was very hard for Chris to ignore the form that was
displayed in front of him. Kyle had chosen his outfit well. A shiny
nylon pair of green soccer shorts (from last year so they clung
tightly to his slim frame) with a light yellow jersey and white
stripes, combined with his flaming red hair to make him look like some
kind of distorted traffic light (it was not lost on him that the
"green means go" color was covering his crotch). Greyish-green
athletic socks were pulled up ridiculously high on his calves, leaving
only a small patch of skin below and above the knees visible. Around
his neck was a coach's training whistle - partly for the costume, and
partly in case he was wrong about the man before him.

"Good evening, sir," Kyle said sweetly, trying to make his voice sound
even more innocent and cherubic than nature had. He lifted one arm,
which held a few magazines and a clipboard. "I'm trying to raise money
for the Oak Street Middle School soccer team. Would you like to
support us by ordering a magazine subscription?" And then he waited...
all of *half a second*... before sliding past the man, practically
knocking him over to get inside.

Chris, for his part, was too stunned to react at first. Outside of
brief encounters at work, he'd not spoken to a real live boy since the
day he lost Darwin. Years of therapeutic brainwashing had told him
that boys were paradoxically sub- and superhuman, creatures to be
avoided so fervently that he should cross the street if one was
walking his way. Creatures who were so much more worthy than him to be
alive, and yet completely submissive, such that any prolonged time
around him would taint them somehow, turn them into the rotten thing
that he was.

Chris had thought he was resisting, that none of those horrible,
torturous lessons would affect him because he knew differently. But
two seconds alone in a room with Kyle showed the truth - he was like a
deer in headlights, exposed, vulnerable. "You, ummm... you shouldn't
be here, it's not safe."

Kyle pretended not to hear him. "This is a nice place," he commented,
looking around the living room. "Little bare, but...  hey, you've got
a Wii? Sweet." With an air of casual comfort, Kyle put down the
clipboard and magazines on the coffee table and opened the glass door
of the entertainment center, flipping through several of the white
game boxes.

Chris sighed. When he'd mentioned in therapy that he'd bought that
Wii, the therapist - and a few of his fellow group members - had made
a big stink out of it, saying that it was "grooming behavior" to keep
around items that would be of interest to young boys. Chris had
defended himself ardently as someone who was simply a gamer by blood,
someone who enjoyed the pasttime and had a right to it without people
thinking his every motivation was something nefarious. And yet there
Kyle was, giving them vindication with every last tap of one box on
another as he searched through the collection.

"Ooooh, Super Mario Galaxy," Kyle commented, holding the title in
question out and smirking. "You ever notice how when you look at just
the letters with stars under them, it says 'Mr. Gay'?"

"Look, I'm serious," Chris insisted, though his voice couldn't find
anything that even remotely sounded like an authoritative tone. "I.. I
don't have time right now, that's all."

"Oh?" Kyle asked, one brow rising. "Expecting company or something?"

"Well, no," Chris replied.

"Webcam meeting?" Kyle suggested, jerking a thumb towards Chris' computer.

"No."

"Favorite TV show?"

Chris bit his lip, wondering if perhaps he should just say yes. But he
could already see the beginning of the trap, and was pretty sure that
a 'yes' would only earn him questions about what type of show it was
and whether he minded company to watch it. Of course, he still figured
the boy's objective was simply to sell magazines and collect money,
and resolved that the only way out of this trap would be straight
through it. "Okay, maybe I /can/ buy a magazine or two. What've you
got?"

"Excellent," Kyle said, putting down the Wii games. He did not,
however, pick up the clipboard - instead he crossed right past Chris
and, with supreme audacity, closed the front door. "Have a seat, I'm
sure you'll love the selection I've got for you."

There was something about the way the kid said it... something, what,
almost seductive? Chris brushed that thought aside, wondering if
perhaps his therapist's claims of misreading sexual intent into
ordinary boyhood activities didn't have some merit after all.
Wordlessly, he complied, moving over to the couch and taking a seat.
How, he worried, would he explain all this if a police officer burst
through the door at that moment?

Kyle seemed intent on making sure that 'that moment' would soon be the
least of his worries, kicking off his shoes near the doorway. "Say,
you mind if I get a soda? It's been wicked hot today and I've been
walking around a lot."

Chris would have given the kid a hundred dollar bill to go away at
that moment; a soda seemed a small price by comparison. "Help
yourself."

"Thanks," Kyle responded, moving out of Chris' view as he approached
the refrigerator. Safely out of sight a moment, he took off his shirt
and tucked it halfway into his shorts, reaching into the freezer for a
moment and grabbing a piece of ice. He let the ice drip five solid
lines of water along the smooth, hairless skin of his chest, rubbing
the ice around his nipples to give them a particular glisten, before
reaching into the refrigerator and pulling out a can of Sprite.

Chris nearly orgasmed the second the boy walked back into view, eyes
widening in shock.

Kyle pretended not to notice, as much as he could - the wickedly large
grin at seeing his plan progress so well was too hard to keep
completely off his face. "Boy, it sure has been hot out there,
mister," he commented, dropping the shirt on the coffee table and
picking up the clipboard and magazines. He took a seat right next to
Chris, so close that their legs touched, which made Chris scoot
backward instinctively in fear. "So, these are the magazines," he
said, sure to leave the clipboard low enough on his lap that his naked
upper body remained very much in Chris' line of sight. "We have lots
of categories. Sports, animals, kids' stuff... you got a kid, mister?"

"Umm, no," Chris replied, eyes constantly moving between the boy and
the door. He pinched himself to be sure he wasn't dreaming. It HAD to
be a dream... boys didn't just walk into sex offenders' homes and
strip off clothing, did they?

"Wow. Didn't think you were old enough to, but figured you must've,
with those games you've got." Kyle's grin widened. "You must be pretty
cool to hang out with, huh..."

"I knew a boy who used to think so," Chris admitted, the compliment
easing him just a bit.

Kyle pulled out a Highlights magazine and held it across to him.
"Well, if you're into Kids' stuff, this is the way to go. Lots of
puzzles and stories about kids doin' stuff." He put the magazine on
Chris' lap, reaching out to get his Sprite can... and then
'accidentally' spilling it on the front of his shorts as he was
reaching for another magazine. "Oh, shit!" Kyle cried out, not
entirely in jest - the Sprite had been colder than he'd expected.
"Sorry, mister!"

Chris hopped up out of his seat, heading towards the closet to get a
drying towel. Why did he let the kid have a soda! He nearly tripped
over the broom as it came flying out of the closet, reeling from the
speed of a VERY fast opening of the door. He grabbed the towel, and
turned around... and found Kyle right there in his face.

Holding his shorts out for the man to take.

"I'm awful sorry about that, mister, can I wash them here? Do you have laundry?"

Chris couldn't help but look, of course, and even in his half-panic,
what he saw took his breath away. (Interesting side note, here: most
sex offender therapists claim that arousal and anxiety are
incompatible feelings. Their entire approach to the therapeutic
process is based on this assumption - aversive therapy to associate
unpleasant events with the arousal, for example, in order to give
anxiety a free pass to slam daggers into the boylover's mind. Chris
often considered this logic inherently flawed, particularly in light
of the fact that some people seem to derive extra pleasure from the
fear of getting caught. Those who side with the therapeutic community
on this are challenged to imagine the above scene with a straight man
in Chris' shoes and Katherine Zeta Jones playing Kyle. No further
rebuttal would be required.)

Kyle's inner thighs, now visible without the sleek material of the
shorts in the way, bordered along the top by the enticing curves of a
pair of Hanes underwear with a light blue stripe and no obvious upper
band. Like the shorts, they were somewhat tight, outlining a package
that was alluring in it's tenderness. Chris could practically /see/
the soft texture of Kyle's scrotum through the shorts, and the boy's
penis was already beginning to firm up at the inspection. It took the
man five solid seconds to pry his eyes away from the treasure and
refocus on the boy's own face, which showed no sign of embarassment or
fear. He tried to speak, but words failed him.

His young seductor shrugged. "Sorry, I didn't think you'd mind. I
mean, we're both boys, not like you don't know what a boy looks like,
right?" Still, Chris remained still, and Kyle had decided that this
deception had gone on far enough. Dropping his shorts to the ground,
he inched closer to his near-catatonic host and, ever so gently, took
the man's hand and placed it on his bulge. "Not like you don't know
what a boy needs..."

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:)