Date: Tue, 17 Aug 2010 10:40:25 -0400
From: Cole Angicent <colebph@gmail.com>
Subject: Unintended Consequences Part 5

As it turned out, Kyle was perhaps a bad influence on Chris. Knowing
that the boy wouldn't be waiting for him on Friday night, Chris took
the opportunity to stay out after work, breaking what had to be one of
the stupidest rules involved in his probation: the prohibition against
alcohol. The rational part of his brain understood it, of course -
many sex offenses, the ones that didn't involve the consent or
affection of the younger partner, were all about loss of impulse
control. He'd heard the story almost a dozen times in therapy, over
the years, of the guy who'd tried to fight the desire for a child
partner for years and then suddenly found themselves in a situation
where a child was available and just went for the child's body the way
a guy trapped on a desert island without food for ten days would grab
at the first meal in sight - without regard for the meal's owner or
desires or preferences. Alcohol being something that tends to inhibit
control in general, it was often involved in such offenses, and
therefore prohibiting it's intake from those who are still learning
how not to repeat said offenses made perfect sense.

And naturally, if they wanted to prohibit one sex offender from
drinking alcohol, they had to inhibit all of them, in order to ensure
that "everyone was treated equally under the law". That concept had
always made perfect sense to Chris, growing up. Now it just seemed
like the crux of the problem with society: an "equality" that didn't
have room for common sense or individual variance. What good was an
equality which perpetuated injustice? What good did it do to take
something like a "sexual offense", which varied so broadly in cause
and scope and damage done, and apply the same "remedy" regardless of
the circumstances? Where was the justice in treating Darwin himself
"equally" to other kids, when his heart and mind had been so clearly
advanced, so clearly ready - sometimes, Chris mused ironically, even
more ready than he was - to make the commitment to a mature romantic
relationship? Where was the equality in treating kids as subhuman in
the first place?

Such philosophical questions were weighing heavy on Chris' mind that
night, the tenth anniversary of the day he had been ordered stripped
of his every reason for waking up in the morning, and like most great
human philosophers, Chris was well aware that such philosophical
questions were best pondered with at least three shots of tequila in
the mix. And so he spent the night indulging in potions of mental
clarity, the sacred elixirs brewed since the dawn of time so that man
could traverse dangerous emotional pitfalls without aid of a friendly
ear or a logical solution, neither of which Chris really had. Sure, he
could talk to Paul about some things, but there were some things a
non-boylover just couldn't really understand. And so it was that he
wafted drunkenly into his apartment at just after 10pm, his mind
sufficiently numbed from liquor, and stumbled right into bed, where a
sleeping boy was waiting.

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

If someone asked Kyle why he did it, he would have probably fed them
some random bullshit about placation and the ease of manipulation.
Anything to admit that, in fact, it was his guilty conscience that was
nagging at him to find some small way, any way, to make amends to
Chris for raping him. Of course, he didn't feel guilty enough to
actually /stop/ that behavior, especially not now that he'd had a
taste of the sweet rewards of fulfilled sexuality. Far from calming
him down as he'd expected, he found that the contact had only served
to make him hornier, such that he'd popped boners in every single one
of his classes during the week at the thought of getting sucked off -
even his Science class, where a single look at Mrs. Hatchett's
cat-shaped head and wrinkled face had, until then, been able to
staunch even the most raging erection instantly. But faced with the
prospect of actually spending Friday night without Chris, he suddenly
found that he'd miss the man himself far more than the sexual release,
and that led to the realization, dancing just at the edge of his
conscious mind, that he'd actually come to /like/ the man over the
last couple of weeks. The mastrubatory movie in his head when he
pleasured himself (for truly, one orgasm a day in a man's mouth was
wholly insufficient to assuade the hormonal rage of a teenage boy)
focused less on the memory of ramming his cock down Chris' throat and
more on what it might be like to play Wii games with him, or chess, or
go fishing. And of course, more than once, it was imagining that he
was Darwin that brought him over the edge.

Perhaps, he reasoned to himself, he could /be/ Darwin for Chris... at
least for one night. And so it was that he slipped into Chris' house
on Friday night with a Walgreens bag hooked around one wrist and $20,
half his life savings to that point, absent from the little ceramic
piggy bank he'd made for himself as a school project in third grade.

He knew little of Darwin, save a few details he'd picked up here and
there from context, but he was confident that he knew enough to make
the evening memorable. He slipped into Chris' bathroom and pulled out
a canister of temporary hair dye, red-colored. Turned out there were a
dozen different shades of red, so the odds certainly didn't favor that
he'd gotten Darwin's exact hair shade, but the clerk helped him choose
the one that was most commonly found on people. While the dye started
to dry, he pulled out some cooking materials from Chris' fridge and
started mixing the materials for a strawberry shortcake. Then he
turned on Phineas and Ferb, On Demand, and set it to play through the
whole season, lighting a few candles in both living room and bedroom
for romantic effect. He finished the hair dye, put icing on the cake
and even had time to hang up a small oak tag sign on the living room
wall saying "Darwin and Chris - Love Lives On". Then he started on his
homework, excited and eager, waiting for Chris to come home.

An hour passed, and then two. Three. Where WAS that man? He lay down
on the man's bed, tiredness beginning to overtake him, but sure that
Chris would be home any minute now. After all, he had a 10pm curfew,
right? He had to show up soon....

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