Date: Fri, 21 Dec 2007 09:49:06 -0500
From: ronyx <ronyx@woh.rr.com>
Subject: Brittle as a Bird  Chapter 3

The following is a work of fiction. Any similarities to anyone are purely
coincidental. The story is intended for a mature audience. It may contain
profanity and references to gay sex. If this offends you, please leave
and find something more suitable to read. The author maintains all rights
to the story. Do not copy or use without written permission. Write Ron at
ronyx@woh.rr.com with your comments.

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Brittle as a Bird          Chapter 3



"Oh yeah, Kid. That feels good." The guy shoved my head down further on
his dick. I could tell he was getting ready to cum, and he was hoping to
shoot his load in my mouth. I know how to avoid it now. When I first
started, guys were always shooting their first load in my mouth; but now,
I can tell when they are close. The head expands and the shaft becomes
hard as steel.

We were parked in an alley behind a warehouse about three blocks from
Louie's. I was in an awkward position, leaning over the gear shift. I
tried to get the guy to do it outside behind a garbage bin, but he seemed
frightened. I think he thought I was setting him up to be robbed.

"Oh, Damn," he moaned. That was my cue. I tried to pull my head up, but
he shoved it down, exploding into my mouth. I gagged, and pulled my head
up before he came into my mouth again.

"What the fuck did you do that for?" He screamed, when I spit his cum
out onto the floorboard of his car. He continued stroking his cock,
draining it of the remaining cum.

He reached under the seat and pulled out a couple of paper towels and
began cleaning himself off.

"You son of a bitch," he spat. "Look at the fucking mess you made on
the floor."

"I told you not to cum in my mouth," I screamed back. "That's going
to cost you ten bucks more."

I had already received twenty dollars. I never went down on a guy unless
he had paid me first. I learned my lesson when I first started doing this
shit; that if you don't collect first, a guy will pull you out of his
car and tell you to get lost. They know that nothing will happen to them.
What am I going to do? Call the cops and tell them a guy refused to pay
me for giving him a blowjob?

Hustling can be a dangerous game. No one protects us. The guys I have sex
with sure don't give a damn about me. All they want to do is get off,
and then go home to their wife, three kids and a dog. The police sure as
hell don't give a shit if I live or die. Hustlers are just a nuisance to
them. Where we work the streets, drugs and violence follow.

I've been lucky so far. I try to be careful. I haven't been beaten up
by anyone. A few have chased my ass down the street when they wanted to
fuck me, but I refused to let them do that.

As strange as it may seem, I want to save myself for the right guy. It's
the only thing I really have to give someone. Sure, Uncle Billy fucked
me, but that really didn't count. I was just a kid and I didn't know
what I was doing. But since then, I've kept myself intact until I meet
the right guy.

"Get the fuck out of my car, Kid." He unlocked the door and motioned
for me to leave.

"You still owe me," I insisted. "I told you if you wanted to cum in my
mouth it would be extra." I crossed my arms and refused to leave. He
gave me an angry look, and then took out his wallet and tossed a ten into
my lap. I guess he was afraid if we sat in the car any longer, a police
cruiser might pull into the alley and wonder what we were doing.

"Fuck you," he hissed as he tossed me the money. I got out of the car
and flipped him off before he drove away. I memorized the make of his car
and the license plate number. If he ever came back another night, I'd be
sure not to get in his car again.

I walked to Louie's and knocked on the back door. A clerk cracked the
door open and I handed him a ten. He returned a few minutes later and
handed me a paper bag with two bottles of cheap wine.

As I headed home, a cruiser came slowing down the street. I ducked into
an alley. It was past curfew; and since I was underage, I didn't want
them picking me up and taking me home to my parents. My old man would
probably tell them to keep me.

The house was locked when I returned. I went around to the side of the
garage and took a long piss. Once back inside, I lay on the bed in the
corner of the garage and pulled the cover over me.

Again, I feel a pity party coming on. I can't control them. They consume
me when they hit. Even the wine and the weed I got earlier from Ticker
aren't helping. I get this sensation that I'm falling, and it frightens
the shit out of me. I close my eyes and its always the same. I'm
standing on the railings of a bridge with my arms out, and I can see
myself jump. I can feel the wind blowing in my face as my body drops
toward the ground.

It is like one of those shows where people are parachuting out of a plane
and they have their arms open as they soar through the air just before
pulling on the rip cord. However, I don't have a rip cord. My breathing
quickens and I close my eyes and tremble before my body splatters on the
ground. But I never hit. I just keep falling and falling, waiting for
something to happen. However, it never does.

That's my life. I'm falling and falling, waiting for the end to hit me,
but it never does. It's a nightmare knowing that someday I will hit the
bottom- hard. I don't know when, or where. However, one thing is sure- I
will.

Fuck it. I can't lie here like this. My mind is swirling from the wine
and the weed, but it hasn't dulled my senses enough to sleep. It's two
in the morning and I have to get up and go to school in a few hours. I'm
going to look like shit again. What the fuck do I care? What the fuck
does anyone care?

I'm cold. I like being cold, though. It clears my head as I walk around
the streets. A few guys have tried to pick me up, but I've ignored them.
Why are these guys driving around so late at night trying to find someone
to suck their dicks? I'd feel sorry for them, but I got my own problems.

Damn, it just dawned on me. They're probably just as fucked up as I am.
They're probably out driving around lonely and depressed. The night
brings out people like us, people who are too afraid of going to sleep
because of our nightmares. So we come out searching. For what? Who the
fuck knows. We just hope that something will come along and end the
fucking nightmares.

****************

"You look like shit." Ticker walked up and threw his arm around my
shoulder. "More nightmares?"

"Yeah," I responded. Ticker knows that I have trouble sleeping. That's
why he is always generous when he gives me bags of weed. I never told him
the nature of the sleeplessness, but I think he has figured it out long
ago.

As we walked down the hall, two guys bumped roughly into me. I recognized
them as two of Gene Albright's friends. In fact, they had been the guys
who had tried to get him to fight me the day before.

"Watch it Mother Fucker," spat one as he shoved me again, only this
time with his hand. Ticker squeezed my shoulder tightly and tried to pull
me away.

"Fuck you." I turned and hissed loudly. He stopped and faced me.

"You're going to get yours someday, Fag." We stared at one another.
Students around us stopped getting books from their lockers and watched
us. Again, they could sense a fight.

"What's your boyfriend going to do?" I replied sarcastically, looking
at the guy standing to his right. He clinched his fist, and I could tell
he wanted to hit me.

"Not here," the other said. "But soon." He grabbed his friend by the
arm and they walked away. The warning bell for first period rang and
students began to scatter.

"You alright?" Ticker asked. I looked at him and saw a worried look on
his face.

"Yeah, I'm alright. Same shit, just a different place," I replied
sadly. I removed his hand from my back and headed off slowly down the
hallway.

"Fuck it." I headed toward the exit.

God damn tears! I've got goddamned tears in my eyes. I don't cry
anymore. Never! But right now tears are running down my face.

I don't even know where I'm going. I'm just walking. I feel like
running, but my legs won't let me. I want to scream- and run. I want to
run and scream down the street until my body collapses on the sidewalk.
But my body won't run.

"Hey, Kid." I look over and see a man who picked me up last week. "You
looking for some action?"

"Fuck you!" I scream, and then I run down the street. My body is
finally moving. It's like I'm running in slow motion. People on the
street stop and move out of my way before I plow into them.

"Crazy kids!" I hear one old woman state as I go running past her.

I must have run for miles. I don't know. It was probably just a few
blocks. I look down and see the river flowing by. There are a few ducks
bobbing up and down in the water. They are struggling to get over the
next wave that carries them along.

I lean over the railing of the bridge, gasping for air. I look down and
can see my body falling, as in my nightmares. Only this time, it is real.
I can actually do this. The moment has come that I've been waiting for
all my life. It has built up and reached the acme of my life. And now
it's time for the fall.

"Go ahead." I blink the tears quickly from my eyes, as I realize
someone has approached me and is standing several feet away. I look over
and see a guy, probably in his 20's, looking at me.

"What?" I asked angrily. His presence has interrupted my fate. The mood
has quickly left me and now I'm consumed with anger.

"Jump," he challenges me. "Go for it."

"Fuck you," I shout and begin to walk away.

"Do it!" He screams. "Fucking do it!"

"Do it." He begins to cry and then his body collapses against the
bridge wall. I watch as he sinks down and grabs his legs and pulls
himself into a ball and weeps. "Do it." He mutters through his tears.

I watch as his body is wracked with anguish. He is shaking uncontrollably
and is sobbing violently. I stand in amazement and watch the crumbled guy
before me.

I walk over to him and kneel down beside him. I don't know what to do.
He is a stranger who just a minute earlier wanted to see me jump to my
death.

"Why wouldn't you do it?" He cries as he looks up pleadingly into my
face.

"Why?" I ask.

"If you do it," he sobs, " then maybe I'll get the nerve to do it
too." Once again, his body shakes with emotion. "I come here everyday
and I can't bring myself to do it."

Suddenly, I begin crying once again. I throw my arm around his shoulder
and pull him into my chest. He is so thin. I can feel his shoulder blades
against my hand.

We sit for about ten minutes without speaking. Suddenly, he stands.
Before I realize what is happening, he grabs the rail and begins pulling
himself up onto it.

"No!" I scream. I reach out and grab his thin body. We fall to the
ground. I am pressing my body into his, trying to keep him from getting
up again.

"Let me do it!" He screams and thrusts his body under mine. "I want to
die!"

I lean in and place my face against his. I whisper in his ear, "It's
alright. Everything's going to be alright." Both of us are crying
uncontrollably. I can feel his frail body trying to get up, but he is too
weak to exert much force. After a few minutes, I feel his body collapse
under mine. We both are exhausted.

"Let me up, please." He insists after we have lain for several minutes.

"No," I whisper weakly.

"I'm alright now." He replies. "Please let me up. I can't breath
with your body on mine."

I raise my body off his, but I keep a hand on his thin arm. For the first
time I get a good look at his face. It is thin and gaunt. He looks like
he was a handsome boy at one time. I didn't know what had taken away his
health, but I was sure it was the reason he was wanting to die.

Because of his frail appearance, it was hard to tell exactly how old he
was. He could have been sixteen or twenty six. I really couldn't tell.
He had brown hair and sunken brown eyes. It appeared he hadn't slept for
weeks.

We sat up and rested our bodies against the wall of the bridge. Cars
passed by us and slowed down. A few even stopped and asked if we were
alright. I'd nod, and then motion for them to drive away.

"Thanks," he says. He starts to get up, "I gotta go."

"Wait." I grab his arm and pull him back down. "You can't just
leave."

"Why?" He asks. "Why do you care?"

I didn't have an answer. Both of us had come to the bridge, each for his
own reason. Both of us wanted to end our lives. I felt a closeness with
this frail guy that I'd never experienced with anyone else. We had both
shared our miserable lives with each other.. I couldn't let him leave
without at least finding out his story.

"I don't know," I admitted. "I just do." He looked into my eyes.
They seemed blank and now emotionless.

"Well, don't." He said flatly. He stood and brushed himself off. He
gave me a final look, and then turned and started walking away.

"Hold up," I shouted, as I sprang to my feet. I followed closely behind
him. He turned and looked at me several times, but continued to slowly
walk away. I looked at his thin body. His tee shirt was draped over his
shoulders, and he kept pulling his pants up on his small waist.

When we crossed the bridge, he headed south. I continued to trail about
six feet behind him. I wasn't going to let him just disappear from my
life. I needed to know what had just happened out on that lonely bridge.
What had brought us together?

We walked a few blocks, and then he entered a small café. He approached
the counter and ordered a small coffee. He then turned to me.

"You want something?" He asked. "Since I can't get rid of you, you
might as well join me." For the first time since meeting him, I saw a
slight smile on his face.

"A coke." I answered. I reached into my pocket to take out a dollar,
but he stopped me.

"My treat," he said. The waitress handed us our drinks and I followed
him to a table at the back of the café. Since it was late in the morning,
we were the only ones there.

We sat for a moment in silence. Occasionally he'd glance at me, but he
mostly stared at the steam rising from his cup. "My name is Allen. Allen
Foster." He reached his hand across the table and shook mine. His grip
was weak. I thought for a second that I might break his hand when I
grabbed it.

"I'm Joey Carpenter." I replied. Again, he stared into my eyes. I
could see the sadness he hid behind the sunken brown eyes.

You don't go through the shit I've been through and not be able to
recognize it in others. I didn't know his story yet, but I could tell he
had been though a similar pain and suffering I'd been through. By the
looks of his body, I was sure he'd suffered much more physical pain than
I had.

We sat again for several moments in awkward silence. My mind was racing
to find out his story, but I didn't know how to go about asking.
Finally, I decided that if I was going to find out anything, I'd have to
make it fast. His coffee had almost disappeared from his cup.

"Why?" I asked.

"Why, what?" He looked at me. He knew what I was asking, but he was
either trying to be coy, or he didn't want to talk about it.

"Never mind," I said dejectedly. I felt it was none of my business why
he wanted to jump from the bridge. Besides, I didn't want to tell him my
reason, either. We sat for several minutes before he finally spoke.

"I'm sick," he whispered softly.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm just sick." He stated. There were several more awkward moments
before he spoke again. "What's your story?"

"My life is a fucking mess." I looked at him and laughed nervously.

"Enough to die?" He stared intently at me for an answer.

"I don't know." I admitted.

"I have to go." He stood and looked down at me. "Thanks for being
there today."

"You too," I smiled up at him. "Thanks." He started to walk away. I
jumped up and ran to catch up with him as he headed down the sidewalk.

"Can I see you again?"

"Why?"

"I just want to see you again. That's all."

"I'm here every morning." He said. "Before I head for the bridge."
He nodded and walked away. I felt tears well up in my eyes as I watched
him slowly disappear down the street.

After the affair at the bridge I was exhausted. I had been physically and
emotionally drained. On the walk home, I couldn't get Allen's sad
countenance out of my mind. It had been years since I felt anything for
anyone. Hell, I'm not sure I'd ever felt emotionally for anyone, but
Allen had touched me like no one before.

He had penetrated my soul, and it was an unsettling feeling. In the hour
we had spent with each other, I felt a connection. Maybe it was because I
felt we shared an unhappy past.

"I'm sick." Those words haunted me. Not the words, but the way he said
it. It was as if he said it with a sense of doom. My life was fucked up,
but at least I know I have another tomorrow to make it through. I'm not
sure Allen can say the same.

And if he was sick enough to die, then why didn't he just wait and let
it come to him? Why does he go every morning to the bridge, hoping to
muster up enough courage to jump? I'm pretty sure that I had no
intention of jumping today. I just wanted to see what it felt like. You
know, since I've been there in my dreams so often. I wanted to
experience the sensation of actual height. But would I have actually
jumped?

The thing that unnerves me is I can't answer with certainty that I would
not want to jump. I don't have much of a future. Maybe I'm like Allen,
just waiting for the guts to take that final plunge, ending this madness.
If I did, who the fuck would really care anyway?

My folks would be pissed because they would have to deal with burying me.
That could be one reason to do it. I'd like to see the look on his face
when he gets the bill. That would serve him right. Shit, he's never
spent a dime on my ass for the past several years anyway. It would be
payback, and you know what they say about that.

I go home, after stopping by Louie's and getting a couple bottles of
happy juice. I'm out of weed, so I'll just have to drink myself to
sleep. Fuck. It's cold tonight. This thin blanket I got for a quarter at
the thrift shop isn't keeping my ass warm at all.

And Allen. I can't get his fucking gaunt face out of my mind. Mother
fucker had to creep into my life. Now I want to know his story. No, I
have to know his story. It's just what I wanted was one more thing to
think about; as if my life isn't already fucked up enough.

****************

"Can you tutor me after school today?" Star ran up to me and grabbed my
hand on the way to first period. "We have a big paper due next week, and
I could really, really, really use your help." She looked at me and gave
me a puppy dog frown.

Again, it was a surprise to other students to see me walking hand in hand
with a girl.

I think they would have been less shocked if it had been another guy.
They would have expected that.

"Sure," I said. She squeezed my hand tighter. "You don't understand
British poets?"

"I don't understand American ones," she laughed.

I turned and held both her hands and recited, "Hail to thee, blithe
Spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from Heaven, or near it, pourest thy
full heart in profuse strains of unpremeditated art."

"Show off," she giggled as she slapped me on my arm. "Who was that?
Tennyson?"

"Ouch," I muttered. "You do need help. That was Shelly. Mr. Vickers
covered him yesterday."

"A Spring Evening Churchyard?" She guessed timidly.

"Wrong," I laughed. "To a Skylark. And it's A Summer Evening
Churchyard."

"I told you I was failing," she said sadly.

"How much of the paper do you have done?" We'd had the assignment for
two weeks. I had finished mine about three days after it was assigned.
Most of it dealt with interpreting the meaning of the poems. I found it
to be quite easy.

"I've tried to read three of them." She looked up and smiled, but it
quickly disappeared when she saw the stern look on my face.

"You've only read three?" I asked incredulously. "And did you do
anything with them?"

"I threw the book across my bedroom," she laughed. Suddenly, a frown
appeared on her face, followed by a stream of tears. I took her in my
arms and comforted her.

It seemed strange, that for the second time in as many days, I was
feeling a connection with another person. First, Allen; and now Star. And
the connection wasn't sexual or physical. Two people had come into my
life, and I was sure it was not by pure coincidence.

"Meet me in the library after school," I told her. "We'll study there
and get you caught up."

"Thanks." She stood on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek. It was the
first time someone had kissed me since I was about ten years old when my
mother would kiss me as she put me to bed. I kissed her quickly on the
cheek and hurried away before she could see the tears that were forming
in my eyes.

After lunch I was on my way to fifth period when I saw Billy Joe and
Camilla walking my way. They walked upand stopped me. Camilla instantly
grabbed my arm and began rubbing it.

"We gotta talk, Man." Billy Joe had a serious look on his face.

"What?" I asked, as I pulled Camilla's roving hand from my arm.
Several students began whispering as they noticed her action. I laughed
inwardly because I knew their image of me being the school faggot was
being challenged.

"Word around school is that Gene Albright has it in for you." He
warned.

"No shit." I laughed. "He got ten days because he wanted to kick my
ass yesterday."

"I'm serious, Joey," he warned. "He's a real homophobe. You better
watch out. He's making a lot of threats. I was smoking last night with a
guy who knows him pretty well. He's out to get you. You'd better watch
your back."

Billy Joe patted me on my back and walked away. Camilla rubbed my arm a
final time before giving me a small wave. She then ran up to Billy Joe
and wrapped her arm around his. If I had cared more, I would have
wondered just what kind of a relationship they had.

Star was waiting in the library after school. She was sitting toward the
back, away from most of the other students. She had her literature book
open, and she was chewing on her fingernails. She looked up and smiled at
me when she saw me approach.

I sat down and we began to work on the areas where she was having
trouble. Unfortunately, it was the entire book of English literature.

"This is useless," she sighed after about fifteen minutes. "It sounds
like a foreign language to me. Are you sure this is written in English?"

"It is a little difficult," I confessed. She grabbed her book and
pointed to a passage.

"Nymph of the downward smile, and sidelong glance, In what diviner
moments of the day art thou most lovely? Just what the hell does that
mean?" She threw the book down on the desk, making a loud crash. The
librarian looked over at us and gave us a look that only a librarian can
make.

"That's John Keats," I said. "He's admiring her beauty."

"Why can't he just say she's pretty then?"

"Then it wouldn't be great literature."

"It wouldn't be garbage." Star slammed the book shut, earning us
another of those librarian looks. This time it was accompanied by a
shushing sound.

"I give up," she moaned as she put her head on the desk.

"Star!"

We both jumped when we heard a shout. I looked up and saw the boy who had
tried to get Gene Albright to fight me in the hall yesterday.

"I want to talk to you," he said sternly.

"Fuck off, Barry." Star gave the boy an irritated look.

"I said I want to talk to you," he said more adamantly. "Now!"

"And I said fuck off, Barry," Star spat back. The librarian rose from
here desk and headed our way.

"Is there a problem over here?" She asked as she stood challengingly in
front of the guy who had intruded our study session.

"This Boy is bothering us," Star replied, emphasizing the word Boy.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave, Young Man," she insisted.

"This ain't over." He pointed an angry finger at me before storming
away. I couldn't figure out why he had decided to come into the library
after school and disturb us.

"Sorry about that," Star said timidly.

"Who was that?" I asked.

"My brother, Barry."

"What's his problem?"

"He doesn't want me associating with you," she confessed. "He's
Gene's best friend. We live next door to Gene. He and Barry have been
friends since like forever."

"So your brother is a gay basher just like Gene?" I asked.

"Barry does what ever Gene tells him to do," she replied. "If he told
him to jump off the roof of the school, Barry would do it."

"How do you put up with such an asshole for a brother?"

"I just tell him to fuck off," she giggled.

"I noticed." Becoming serious, I asked, "Have you heard anything about
Gene wanting to do something to me?"

"I haven't heard anything, Why?"

"Someone warned me that Gene was planning something."

"I'll keep my ears open," she assured me. "If I hear anything I'll
let you know."

"I don't want to come between you and your brother," I insisted.

"You won't," she answered sadly. "We haven't been close in years."

She gathered her books and put them in her book bag. "Thanks for helping
me."

"We didn't get much accomplished today," I reminded her.

"It's still nice that you wanted to. Thanks." She gave me a quick kiss
on the cheek and then left the library. I looked around and noticed a few
students watching me. I got up, flipped them off, and then left.

********************

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