Date: Sun, 26 Jun 2011 10:44:15 +0200
From: Daeven Collins <ace_of.spades@live.be>
Subject: The Squat - Part 1: Second Chances

       All usual disclaimers apply. If you don't like M/M relationships,
than I'm wondering what you're doing on this site. Further, if you are not
legally of age in your country, please return to the previous page.
       This story is a fantasy, any resemblance with reality is purely
coincidence.
       This is my first attempt of writing and publishing a story and
(British) English is only my third language, so I know there will be
mistakes in the text. If however you find them to flagrant, please email
me.
       Comments are welcome, just send them to ace_of.spades@live.be

_________________________
Chapter 1: Second chances

       We -- me and some other guys -- lived on the outskirts of
Greater London, in a small, poor neighbourhood. A squat to be exact, in a
dirty, deserted street. Most people on our block were illegal immigrants or
small criminals or other people living in the margin of society. If you're
wondering what kind of scum we are: we're whores. No need to disguise
it. We're not proud of it, but it's better than begging.
       I'm David. 22. Orphan since I was 7, my parents died in a plane
crash. I've been to several foster families, but I never seemed to blend
in. You could say I was a problem child. So I decided to search my luck in
the City. And eventually I ended up here, working as a prostitute. I gain
enough to make a living, that is to buy food and clothes.
       I'm about 6ft1 with a lightly muscled body (whenever I find there's
a little money left, I make a trip to the swimming pool. It helps me forgot
my life -- do you know the feeling? When you're just lazily floating on
the water...) and a nice patch of chest hair running down my pecs towards
my boxers. My skin is pale, but I like it that way. Light brown curls, grey
eyes and stubbles on my cheeks and chin. (Razors are expensive and most of
my customers like me that way.)
       Almost every guy in the squat were whores. Jack, a 20 year old black
guy; Harry, 20 year old redhead and Sean, our chav of 19. Until a couple of
weeks there was Ian too. But after a rather unpleasant `business meeting'
we found him unconscious at the beginning of the street. Harry had called
an ambulance and we had the paramedics loading him in the car from our
house. We know he left the hospital about a month ago (a friend of ours had
informed at the hospital) but we haven't seen him ever since. There was a
new guy though. Romeo. A naïve guy of 17. He ran away after his father
found out he was gay. He told us how he had seen him in the front garden,
one of Romeos gay porn magazines in one hand, a heavy leather belt in the
other. And then he decided to take a run for it. He's young and
inexperienced. He only does blowjobs and handjobs. Willingly that is.
       It was nearly 5 o'clock in the morning when I heard a car pull
over. The brakes shrieked loudly, a carport opened and closed little
afterwards and the car left again with a roaring engine. The backdoor
opened and I heard someone climbing the stairs carefully. There were soft
sobbing sounds too. I sat up and waited. My patience was rewarded when I
saw Romeo entering the room, stumbling to his mattress in the corner of the
room. He strangled his crying in his pillow.
       Hearing him whimper like this made me feel bad. I got up and went
over to his bunk.
       `Are you okay?' I whispered.  He looked up at me. His face was dirty
and the pungent smell of piss hung over him. His tears had left a clean
trace on his cheeks, there was dried up sperm in the corners of his mouth
and marks on his wrists. His shirt was completely ripped and his jeans were
torn. Trails of blood mixed with cum ran down his thighs.
       `We've got to clean you up, come on.' I grabbed him by his
shoulders, he didn't resist, just let me lift him and carry him to the
dirty little bathroom. I helped him take off his shirt and trousers,
ripping a piece of it and wetting it in the bucket of clean water we kept
in here.
       `Can you spread your legs a little?' I asked him. He nodded vaguely
and spread them. Tears were still running down his face. I dabbed the wet
cloth on his thighs, washing away the blood and dirt, and slowly made my
way upwards. He sighed when I carefully cleaned his raw red hole. It had
finally stopped bleeding.
       `Was that the first time you..?'
       `Yes.' His voice was hoarse and shivered. `It'll get better. First
times just always suck.' He gave me a watery smile as I got up and started
washing his body.
       `I know.' His voice was barely audible. `My first kiss was with a
gross fat grandpa. My first blowjob got me flaccid in no time. My first...'
he grew silent and tears welled up again.
       I took him in my arms and gently cradled him.
       `Let's try to get some sleep' I said, lifting him up in the air and
carrying him back to my mattress. I rummaged through the sports bag which
contained all my belongings and gave him an old pair of boxers and a
shirt. It took some time before he got them on, so I waited.
       `Thank you,' he muttered.
       `No biggie.' I laid myself down and looked at him. For a moment, he
glanced at his own mattress in the corner, but decided then to lie himself
down next to me. His warm breath tickled the bare skin of my pecs. It felt
surprisingly good. He crawled closer against me, and I couldn't resist the
temptation to put my arm around him, before lingering off to sleep.

       I woke up around noon. Alone. For some reason I felt a little
embarrassed for having thought -- wanted- that he would still be in my
arms now. The room was deserted and I got up. I found some toothpaste in a
pocket of my bag and quickly brushed my teeth in front of the broken
mirror.
       I set off in the warm afternoon sun and took the underground to the
City. I bought a cappuccino and two pieces of cheese pie, not the
healthiest breakfast, but definitely the most delicious one. I wandered
around, went window shopping in Oxford Street and then decided to take a
look at the artists and tourists in Covent Garden. I sat down on the
pavement, looking at the masses that passed, the living statues in the
lane, the street artist who were singing and dancing or performing other
tricks. A little girl with brown curls darted around a silver coloured
imitation of the statue of liberty, threw in some pennies and nearly jumped
out of her skin when the statue moved to greet her. I chuckled at the
sight.
       When the clock hit 9 o'clock I left and went back to the underground
station. It still was a little early, but the earliest clients were often
the most decent. The later it got, the dirtier the requests.
       It was only a short ride to the neighbourhood where we sold
ourselves. There were a lot of cheap hotels there and it wasn't that far
from the business district, so it was a perfect place to prostitute.
       I went to my usual spot, in the shadows of a tree and close by a
public restroom. The fluffy clouds from this afternoon had flocked together
and turned the sky ominous gray. I hoped to get picked up before it started
to shower. Unfortunately, that didn't happen. There weren't many guys
driving by, and they definitely weren't after me. I saw them pull over for
a couple of leather guys and a transvestite. I sighed and disappeared in
the collar of my jacket. The wind was blowing harder and the first drops
were splashing down. I stood there until midnight, soaked to the bone and
decided to call it a day.
       After counting the money that was left from two days ago, I found
that it would be better to walk home instead of taking a cab. It took me
almost an hour to get back to the squat, and the storm only seemed to gain
strength. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
       It was a relief to be home again. There was no one else, except for
Romeo who was sleeping on his mattress and a junkie blowing in the bathtub
(I discovered when I had to take a leak). I got rid of my wet clothes and
put on a dry pair of boxers and a my favourite blue T-shirt. It had been a
gift from my first boyfriend, and every time I wore it I still thought I
could smell a hint of his perfume.
       There was a loud rumbling, and I saw Romeo jump up. He looked around
with small eyes, his hair a mess.
       `It's just a storm,' I reassured him. He smiled at me. `Are you
feeling a little better?'
       `A little. Though my ass still hurts like hell.' He was still
wearing my shirt. And boxer, I thought to myself, judging by the bright
blue waistband that came just over his worn jeans.
       `I haven't had the time to find my some new clothes. But I promise
you'll get them back good as new.'
       `You can keep them. They were a little tight on me and they seem to
fit you great.' He blushed. Until now I hadn't really looked at him. He had
a pretty face with green eyes and pronounced cheekbones. His short black
hair was a mess. My wrinkled shirt followed the curves of his lean olive
skin.
       `You know, it can only get better from now one. Shall I tell you
something?' He nodded with a curious look in his eyes. I walked over to him
and sat down next to him. `My firsts sucked too.' He gave me puzzled
look. `I was 14, she was 16 and wore a retainer. Let's just say that I
didn't lock lips with anyone for a long time.'
       He laughed, a clear heartwarming sound, and so did I. After a while
we were done laughing and just sat there.
       `You want a do over?'
       `What?'
       `A do over,' I answered, crawling a little closer.
       `Do what over?' there was a small glance of fear in his eyes.
       `Your first kiss.' For some reason, I felt my cheeks glowing when I
answered his question. He looked at me, a little uncertain, as if he didn't
fully understand what I just had proposed to him. I moved closer, very
slowly, but he raised his hands defensively. I backed down a little, but he
didn't push me further away. It seemed like he didn't know what to do with
his hands, pull me in or drive me further away. Finally he just put them on
my chest, I could feel their warmth through my shirt. He came a little
closer, but hesitated and stopped again. It was all I needed to know.
       Our lips touched, gently, no lust or sex involved, just a sweet
first kiss. The way they ought to be, I thought to myself. Time seemed to
have stopped, it was just me and him frozen in this timeless scene. After
what seemed an eternity we parted again. A little thread of saliva still
linking our lips. He opened his eyes again, his watery green eyes staring
in mine.
       Tears started running down his face again. I took him in my arms and
laid us down on the mattress again. It didn't take long till we were both
sleeping soundly.