Date: Tue, 1 Jan 2013 16:01:42 -0500
From: A Dark Phase <adarkphase@gmail.com>
Subject: A Dark Phase

Disclaimer: The follow story is a work of fiction and contains explicit
homosexual content. By reading this material you affirm that you are acting
within the limits of your local laws and ordinances and wish to view such
material. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any
resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

A Dark Phase

As soon as he pushed the door open, he heard the sound of laughter from the
kitchen. His fingers instantly gripped down on the doorknob and his jaw
clenched.

Goddammit.

He pushed himself forward through the doorway, feeling his chest tighten in
anticipation.  Bottles clinked in the distance and more boisterous laugher
belched out. He couldn't distinguish between the individual voices, but he
knew there would be at least three deadbeats in the kitchen with the king
of deadbeats, playing cards or just making a mess.

Fuck if I'm cleaning up his shit again, he cursed silently, his face
already flushed with hot anger. He had felt certain he had seen the last of
him the previous week when they had butted heads in an epic confrontation.

The door slammed behind him but he didn't care. Say one muthafucking thing
to me, asshole. I dare you.

He started up the stairs to his room, forcing his feet to move slow and
deliberately. He was not going to show fear. This was his house. This was
his. He'd be damned if he was going to let some wanna-be thug try to tell
him what to do.

As he put his weight on the first step, it shrieked with a whine of old
wood.

"Trae!"

His step wavered despite his best efforts but he steeled his eyes as the
staggering steps of someone lumbering from the kitchen approached.

The commotion in the kitchen continued as his father wobbled out of the
hallway, his eyes low and red. No surprise there, Trae thought. He should
have been able to smell his dad and ex-con friends a block away.

"Trae!" his dad bellowed again, his voice louder than it needed to be given
their proximity.

"What the fuck you want," Trae spat, his voice like ice. It was a
statement, not a question.

"Don't fuckin' talk to me like that, nigga" his father slurred, his head
weaving as if he couldn't keep Trae's face in view.

"I'm not your nigga."

His dad seemed to ignore the comment and swallowed a belch. "The fuck you
been?"

"School."

"You need to fix that fucking sink again," he barked then drifted into an
incoherent mumble.

The hell I will, Trae thought. There was no telling what his dad had tried
to stuff down the sink this time. He for sure wasn't going to fix it
again. Let that bastard stick his arm down in it and have it clip him
good. That would show him.

Trae humphed and continued upstairs, ignoring the drunken curses that his
father tried to throw after him. He had neither the time nor interest to
deal with this kind of shit today. Not today. He had enough on his mind
without letting this fool get to him.

He slammed his bedroom door behind him and flicked the lock, still hearing
his dad cursing at him but with less venom. He'd probably find the fucker
passed out on the steps in a few minutes.

Trae pressed his back against his door, his anger slowly draining out of
him and leaving him feeling depleted. He caught sight of his reflection in
the full-length mirror in the corner of his room. Frowned as he saw his
father's features more prominent in his face everyday.

He rubbed his head, irritated. He needed a haircut.

He tossed his backpack down on his bed but kept his eyes on his
reflection. He was wiry, despite all his efforts to bulk up and could
easily have passed for younger than his sixteen years, but he never backed
away from a fight. The small scar by his left eye proved that. He may have
lost that particular fight but it cemented his status in school. It had
earned him an element of respect.

His deep brown eyes he hated the most. Hated them because they were the
only thing of hers that she had left him. They were sad, hopeful eyes like
she had. They betrayed his every efforts to wall himself off into a cocoon
of iron. They revealed too much, just like they had revealed too much in
her.

It was easy to remember how they looked when he realized he wouldn't see
them again. When she had made up her mind and he wasn't in them, as if he
watched his reflection in them melt away.

Shit, he didn't blame her. He'd have bolted from this life if he had the
chance too. He would have been okay, anyway, except The Asshole had drifted
back into town and decided he was going to play father now. But all he had
done was stay drunk and high with his former prison mates. Even spent the
stash of cash Trae had been hiding away from every paycheck. That had lead
to one of their more memorable fights.

Fuck you, he cursed under his breath, the memory flaring in his mind.

It was no match between he and his father, though, despite how much the
shame burned him to admit. His dad was all muscle, hardened by two years in
prison for who-knows-what. He damn sure never asked. He couldn't have cared
less.

He exhaled deeply, his shoulders sagging from the unseen weight of the day,
and started peeling off his clothes. Shedding them to fall in pools on the
floor, he thumbed through his closet for his uniform, glad for a moment not
to have to think. Not to question. There were too many questions. Too many
secrets that bubbled up out of him unbidden. He was tired and worn out,
more than any sixteen year-old should be.

The uniform came off the hanger with a hard tug and he went through the
motions of donning his new armor. They were all just masks in the end, he
figured. High school was nothing but a parade, like some enactment of what
everyone thought they should be. Just going through the motions. Seeing
what stuck. Hoping what stuck was something you could live with.

The sun outside was already throwing scarlet shadows across the wall by the
time he had gotten dressed and had a chance to frown again at his need of a
haircut. Trae had lost track of the sounds from downstairs. Maybe they had
all left or passed out. They usually didn't stick around for long, only
appearing in the late afternoon or early morning smelling of smoke and
liquor.

He had found some flyer from one of the local strip clubs in the house one
day. Trae assumed his dad was a frequent visitor of the place and that's
where he spent most of his nights. It would figure. What he didn't throw
away on alcohol and drugs he probably stuffed down some stripper's
cleavage.

Trae scooped up his book bag as he gave himself a final check in the mirror
and breezed down the stairs. The house was still and bathed in the
iridescence from the setting sun. He'd likely be the only one home when he
returned, a thought that gave him some comfort as locked the door behind
him.

His cell phone sprang to life, it's deep bass ringtone vibrating against
his thigh. He fished it out of his pocket and saw the name on the caller
id.  Alesha.

Fuck.

He ignored the phone, stuffing it back into his pants. The flush of
confusion and shame filled his face. There was nothing he could say to her
now. Nothing that would make sense. He needed time to work things out.

He climbed onto his bicycle and adjusted his pack before kicking off into
the street.

Trae and Alesha had been seeing each other for most of the semester. She
was pretty and eager to please. She laughed at the right times and gave him
space when he wanted to be alone, which was a lot of the time, he figured.

Being popular with the girls at school was never a problem. He was
well-liked for the most part, but not so much as to draw too much
attention. It was a safe zone for him usually and he never kept a
girlfriend very long. He hated complications and with girls things got
complicated quickly.

Alesha was different, though. She would slip through cracks in his armor
that he didn't realize was there. She picked up on things about him he
didn't even know. Maybe that's why he avoided her so much. With her, there
was too much revelation.

The ride to the cineplex didn't take long. Trae bolted his bike to a stand
and entered in through the back. It was a pretty sweet deal working as an
usher. It left plenty of time to sneak food out and sneak off to catch
whatever flicks were playing. Plus most of his coworkers were friends from
school, so it wasn't bad.

As Trae walked in, he was greeted by a trio of his friends.

"Trae!" Alonzo greeted.

The two teenagers tapped fists. "What up, Zo."

The other youths nodded their greetings, lazily sweeping non-existent dirt
into a dustpan.

Alonzo leaned in close, his breath smelling of cigarettes and his face
marred by acne. He was the darkest muthafucka Trae had ever seen, his skin
like coal. It was strange because neither of his parents were that dark. It
was a source of teasing among the students. Had been for as long as Trae
had known him, which was a long time.

"Yo, Trae," Alonzo whispered. "What's this shit with Alesha?"

Something inside Trae tensed. He knew it wouldn't be a secret for long, but
to actually have to face it was something he found he was not prepared
for. "What you mean?" he asked, trying to pour as much indifference into
his voice as he could muster.

"She's been blowing up my phone, asking where you at," said his friend as
the other boys did a poor job of trying to hide their eavesdropping.

It had already started to make the rounds, Trae realized.

"She's always trippin' about somethin'," he bluffed, unsure how much of the
story was known.

Alonzo looked at him. Steeled his eyes like he was trying to make them into
binoculars to see past Trae's bullshit. Prodding the armor for weakness. It
was completely out of character. Alonzo was one of the few people he felt
safe with, one of the few he could just breathe around without having to
orchestrate every move. But his friend was on a hunt now, he
sensed. Something in their relationship had changed and probably would
never be the same. There was a distance now between them. Instantly, as if
someone had stretched their worlds apart like warm silly putty.

There was doubt in Alonzo's eyes, something he never remembered seeing
before.

"She's been looking for you. Been sayin' some crazy shit."

Trae dumped his bag into his employee's locker and grabbed some cleaning
supplies. The other two boys were eyeing him while they swept, eyeing him
as if he might be a threat. His heart was racing in his chest, all knotted
now with fear. It was the feeling of being so out of control that was the
most terrifying. Of sensing that everything was on the verge of spinning
out of control.

"Oh yeah," was all he muttered. Not a question but a statement.

Alonzo wasn't letting it go. He kept pushing, "Said you had some messed up
shit on your phone."

"Bitches are triflin'," he spat. There was no sense in trying to spare
Alesha. If he had to sandbag her to save himself, it was a price easily
paid.

Alonzo nodded but his face didn't soften. Trae could still see the doubt
swirling in his friend's eyes. But no more was said, to which Trae was
grateful. Even though Alonzo was obviously not satisfied with the exchange,
there was no more questioning. Maybe, Trae figured, Alonzo didn't want to
know. Maybe he sensed they were at a turning point for which there was no
going back. Maybe suspicion was better than fact.

The night stretched on his more normalcy, though his friends were only
shades of their former selves. There were the normal jokes and taunts, the
same youthful clowning but it was just another mask. Everything was
different. They looked at him differently. Everything was a silent
question. Accusing.

It was late by the time he parked his bike at home and pushed the key into
the door. His feet ached. His whole body felt tense like he had been
straining every muscle the whole night. He probably had.

The lock clicked and he turned the handle, his mind numb and heavy. His
only thought was fixated on falling into his bed. Ready to wash away the
day into oblivion.

But as soon as the door opened, his heart fell. His dad was waiting on him.

Their eyes met and he felt the man sizing him up. Searching. Everyone was
searching, looking for a crack to exploit.

"Tell me this shit ain't true," his dad barked, his voice deep and heavy
with alcohol. He was slurring his words more than usual which was never a
good sign.

Trae let the door close behind him and ignored the comment. He took to the
stairs, slowly as he dared.

"Don't fuckin' walk away from me," his dad barked, his voice sounding
alarmingly threatening now.

He took two steps at a time as he fled upstair. This wasn't the time to
confront his dad, he knew. This time things were different.

Trae closed his door and flipped the lock but he heard the heavy footfalls
outside, mounting the steps. His had never came to his room. They sparred
frequently, each challenging the other, but they never invaded each other's
space.

The footfalls were quick and Trae backed away from the door just as the
lock exploded with splintered wood. His father loomed in the doorway like a
hulk, his breathing hurried like a bull about to charge.

Trae was genuinely frightened.

"What the fuck," he tried to shout but only managed to squeak, the crack in
his voice betraying his fear.

"What's this shit I hear about you?" his dad demanded, the smell of ash and
weed and liquor pungent on his breath.

Trae could do nothing but stand there, feeling lost and alone and utterly
vulnerable. His mind reeled but could offer nothing up to him.

His father paused, his eyes wild like an animal. "You know what some little
nigga down the street told one of my boys?"

Trae's could barely hear from the thumping in his ears. For a moment it was
like he was watching the world fall to pieces from a distance. Like he was
watching himself from across an ocean. To see but not be able to act.

"What," he heard himself ask, though he couldn't feel his lips move.

His father's eyes were daggers. His body was trembling, either from anger
or from the alcohol Trae didn't know.

"That you're some kind of faggot!"

When he heard the word, heard what he had been dreading ever since Alesha
had unknowingly destroyed him, it had less impact than he expected.  Maybe
there just wasn't anything left to feel.

It had all been so innocent, so quick that Trae had barely time to
recognize the threat until it was too late. Alesha had playfully swiped his
cellphone after teasing him about liking other girls. Maybe she knew, deep
down, why he kept his distance. Why there was a barrier to their
relationship that no amount of effort she could expend would breach. But,
like Trae, she fought to hang onto the illusion.

All it took was a rogue picture, a picture Trae knew he should have deleted
as soon as he received it. After all, it meant nothing. It was just a
random conversation online, an exchange of pictures. Curiosity. It wasn't
like he was going to act on it.

But for whatever reason, he hadn't deleted the picture. Hadn't deleted the
text message that could not be explained.

Alesha's face went pale as the explicit picture mocked her on the phone's
screen. Her mind stumbled as she tried to grasp onto something that would
explain why her boyfriend had exchanged naked pictures with another guy. To
explain the texts with all the raw sexual need the she could never illicit
from her boyfriend.

Trae felt like he was drowning, all his senses dense from under murky
waters.

"You a faggot?"

The question cut through the haze and he struggled against the darkness
that had enveloped his mind.

"I said are you a faggot!" his father shouted, his rage bubbling over as he
lunged for his son.

Trae was dumbstruck, still too frozen in the disconnected darkness to evade
the attack. Before he knew it, his father had grabbed him by the shirt and
lifted him like he was weightless.

His eyes suddenly exploded with stars as a hand connected to his temple. He
was tossed across the room, the pain a throbbing jolt that only managed to
disorient him further.

"My son a fucking faggot!" his father slurred, crossing the room quickly
and landing another blow to his son's face.

Trae's mind swam, his thoughts just static. He tried to focus, tried to
move, tried to speak but he was spinning.

He felt a massive hand seize the back of his neck, pressing his face down
into his bed that smelled of teenage sweat.

"You a fuckin' pussy!" he dad continued to rant, his hand so strong it
might as well have been iron clamped around his neck. "You like taking
dick."

Trae tried to will his voice to work, his mouth felt dry and full of cotton
as his tongue thrashed about trying to remember how to make sound. His
heart boomed in his chest like an alarm.

He heard the jingle of metal like a distant wind chime. Everything seemed
so very distant. Even the pain seemed less.

"My son likes dick?"

His thoughts were slow. It took effort to form something coherent out of
them and he struggled to orient himself. The tinkering of metal sounded
louder to him now and he felt his father working on something. What was it?
Was he fishing around for some weapon to beat him with? Something to wipe
out the disgrace he held under his grip? Trae didn't blame him. Truth be
told, he almost welcomed it. Better to be taken out than have to face what
he was.

Trae felt his dad's free hand grab the back of his waistband and tug
violent down. Heard the rip of fabric and felt the elastic bite into his
skin. It was like a flare going off in his brain and his consciousness
surged forth as realization screamed at him. He struggled, pouring every
ounce of strength and determination into muscles.

His body shook, taut and full of desperation, but there was no escaping. He
was like a rag doll under his father's hands. He barely budged.

"This what you want?" his father's voice growled close to his hear, the
putrid stench of his intoxication like rotten meat.

Still Trae resisted until he felt a hotness at his exposed self, felt his
father's dick prod at his anus like a piece of pipe. It felt so inhumanly
large as it pressed against him, the heat from its tip burning as it tore
into him.

He felt himself scream into the bed, his breath wet and hot against his own
face.

He screamed as his ass was invaded, burned. He trembled and felt nauseous.

"This what you fuckin' want?" his father almost sounded pleading, almost
sorrow-filled.

Trae's mouth gaped open as he was impaled, as the dick snaked fully into
his ass until he could feel the sweat from his dad's stomach on his back.

"My son a faggot," his dad whimpered, pulling his dick back and plunging in
again.

Trae grunted, his body strung out. He didn't have any strength left to
struggle and the pain was now a numbing throb. The blanket under his face
was soaked and he closed his eyes, felt the push and pull of his dad's dick
as it primed his assed.

His father's mumbles were weaker now, giving way to soft grunts of his own
as his pace evened, as the tightness of his son's virgin ass gripped his
dick.

"Oh fuck," he whispered.

Trae felt his ass tingle, felt the pain give way to something
else. Something that made him burn with a different kind of shame. He
grunted, his bed now settling into a rhythmic squeaking that was the only
sound in the room. Trae felt the wetness under his own exposed dick,
horrified that it was betraying him.

He tried to will his revulsion and answer, tried to dig deep and summon
them to him. Another mask to wear. But he only grasped at shadows as the
dick continued to fuck him.

"Oh shit," he heard himself whisper, the restraints on his neck now almost
gentle.

"Yeah," he heard his dad whisper, barely audible, working his hips now in a
circular motion.

The friction against the bed and the rod now easily pumping into him made
Trae's dick swell. His fingers gripped the blanket and he raised his hips
to meet the thrusts.

"Fuck."

Their torsos were pressed tightly together now, the sweat and precum from
their bodies easing the dick into it's assault on his hole. Trae drank in
the power of it, his dad's steel arms now wrapped around him as he fucked
his son with frantic strokes.

He gripped his dad's fingers, meeting each stroke by pushing back with his
ass. Tightening his sphincter around his father's dick. He bucked, ignoring
the shame and pain and fear. He was beyond it all now, all the armor
stripped away.

"Oh fuck," his dad whimpered in his ear, his breath warm against his
neck. "Take this dick."

"Yeah," Trae grunted.

"I'm gonna cum."

Trae could only grunt, caught up in his own orgasm that pooled under him.

His father groaned, tightening his bear hug as his seed pumped into his
son's ass. It seemed like an endless stream of cum, hot and thick.

Trae heard it squishing as his dad continued to fuck him, though with less
urgency now. He felt the hot cum running down his balls, pooling with his
own.

The tension in his body evaporated and his body trembled, exhausted. The
heat from his dad still clinging to him was a furnace. His father's tight
embrace was like a blanket around him, a kind of closeness he had never
experienced before. For the first time in his life he let his mind go, let
his fears go silent. Finally able to stop hiding.