Date: Wed, 30 May 2001 21:22:31 -0600 (MDT)
From: tb088 <tb088@ziplip.com>
Subject: Little Ricky's New Life -2

WARNING (disclaimer): This story is fiction and not to be taken seriously.
Consider this story, including its characters, copy written by the
author. It is also not intended for audiences under the age of 18, or where
it is illegal to possess reading material that includes sex between
consenting minors. If that is the case, move on.

Authors note: I must offer my thanks and gratitude to the author of "The
Castaway Hotel" for his help with this, my first attempt at writing.  I
also want to thank him for introducing Little Ricky as a character in his
story line.  Please feel free to email me at tb088@ziplip.com, with
comments or suggestions, flames will be ignored


Chapter 2.  The Morning After



Early the next morning Sgt. LeBau called to say that he wouldn't be picking
me up, that social services would do that, but not until later in the
afternoon.  It was during breakfast that Carmen broke her promise to
Sgt. LeBau and told me what had happened the night before.

"Pequenito, there is something I have to tell you." She started.

"Mama- no!  Let me tell him." Frankie interrupted.  "It would be better."
He smiled at me.  If for no other reason than the fact that she didn't
think she'd be able to finish telling me without losing control of her
emotions, agreed and gave my friend permission to tell me the bad news.

"Okay, but first you eat." She smiled.  There sure did seem to be a lot of
smiling going on, and if I was a little older, I might have had a reason to
be suspicious.  As it was, I'd been so busy spelling words I didn't know
out of my "Alpha-bit" cereal, that I didn't hear much of what was being
said anyhow.  For a 7 year old, eating cereal is more than just satisfying
your belly with the first meal of the day, it's an adventure, and isn't
usually done very quickly.

"Come on, `nito." Frankie whined.  He was getting impatient.  He rarely
called me `nito', which was short for `pequenito', which means something
like, "very small".  He'd already finished his second bowl of cereal,
including the milk, and was as nervous as he was anxious to break the news
to me.

"Leche....leche!" I cried as he started pulling me away from the table.
Leche was one of the few words Frankie taught me.  I guess he was too old
to remember that the sweet milk the cereal left behind was the best part of
the meal, and there was no way I was leaving it behind.  He let go of my
arm and let me slurp down the bit of milk in the bottom of the bowl.  No
sooner had I wiped my mouth with my arm than he was once again pulling me
in the direction of his room.

He helped me get dressed, and then asked his mom if he could take me to the
roof to talk since it was our favorite place to hang out.  She agreed and
as we headed out the door she warned us not to get into trouble.  How did
she know?  As usual, Frankie and I raced each other up the stairs to the
roof, and as usual, he let me win.  It was a dreary morning, somewhat
chilly and overcast.  We went and stood in our usual spots, along the
roofs' edge, and made fun of the people on the sidewalk down below.  Then
it happened, and I fear I shall never forget the look on his face, nor the
site of his trembling lips, nor the tear that slowly fell from his eye, as
he told me that my mother had "passed away".  He wasn't crying so much
because she died, but because he knew I would be leaving soon, to go live
in a foster home.  In his heart he wished he could hide me under his bed
forever, but even at 13, he knew it was pointless to try and change that
which was inevitable.  After he'd finished talking, he began to get
frustrated.  Because of my lack of response to what he'd told me, he
assumed I didn't understand.  The longer I was silent, the angrier he got.
I didn't answer because I didn't know how to answer.  What did I know of
death?  I knew that if my rabbit died we could just go to the pet store and
buy a new one.

"Are you mad at me Frankie?"

"Nito, no, I am not mad at you.  But now you have to go away and live
someplace else, and that is why I am mad."  He was doing his best to
maintain his composure.

"Where am I gonna live?"  I asked innocently.

"In a place with a lot of other boys that do not have parents either." His
temper was beginning to fade.

"Why can't I live with you?"

"Do you remember the policeman last night?" I nodded.  "He said somebody is
going to adopt you soon, and maybe if you live close by, you can come over
and visit."  Frankie was doing an excellent job of changing the subject.
He was getting worried that I would start asking questions he could not
answer.

"I could?  Cool!"  I cheered.  Just then I noticed a man walking his dog on
the sidewalk below, and projected the biggest milk-goober I could muster up
over the side of the building.

"Conyo!" he yelled and grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me away from the
side.  A second later we heard the man on the ground yell, "You damn
kids!!!"  This sent Frankie and I into a fit of laughter that could be
heard for at least a mile.

After our short rooftop adventure, Frankie and I moped around his room for
a couple of hours watching television and playing video games, until his
mom chased us out to play again.  Frankie and I were given strict
instructions not to enter my apartment, and to stay within earshot because
it was unknown what time the person from social services would be coming to
get me.

As the saying goes, "boys will be boys" and Frankie and I proved that true
enough when we slipped our small bodies through the unlocked door of my
apartment.  We didn't do much more than snoop around for a little while
before the excitement wore off and we left.  It satisfied us enough just to
know we had gotten away with doing something we weren't suppose to be
doing.

It was nearing late afternoon and Frankie and I knew that our time together
was short.  After playing soccer on the roof for an hour or so, we were
tired and decided to go back to his room.  Inside his bedroom, I lay on the
floor using his belly as a pillow while we watched television.


The aroma from his mother's cooking alerted us to the fact that it was
almost dinnertime and that our time together was short.  Just as we left
his room and entered the kitchen, there was a knock at the door.  I can't
say for sure, but I'm sure there were suddenly as many butterflies in
Frankie's stomach as there were in mine.  Frankie and I raced to the door
as if we had a chance of answering it before his mom.  She beat us.  There
was a lady standing there who introduced herself as Mrs. Smith, from social
services.  Carmen asked the lady if she'd like to stay and have dinner with
us, but she politely declined saying she was in a hurry and had one more
stop to make before dropping me off at the foster care home.  It was then,
as she declined the dinner offer, that I decided that I did not like her.
I also equated her personality with the type of treatment I could expect at
the foster home; a very discouraging thought it was.  Carmen practically
begged Mrs. Smith to let me stay and at least have dinner before I left,
but she would not budge.

If it weren't for her cold, uncaring disposition, her appearance would have
said it all.  Mrs. Smith stood about six feet tall, which from where I was
standing was monstrous, and weighed, well, too much if you ask me.  She
wore a poke dot dress with white stockings and heels.  Her hair was in a
bun with a fishnet cap covering the little ball her hair made in the back.
She had, believe it or not, a gold tooth on one of her front teeth, and a
ring for each of the five fingers on her right hand, and four fingers on
her left.  Guess which one didn't have a ring.  I presumed she was married
to her job.

She wasted no time asking that my things be gathered up so she could be on
her way.  Carmen did as Sgt. LeBau had asked, and filled a small suitcase
with as many of my clothes as she could fit inside.  There wasn't any
conversation as Carmen and Frankie followed Mrs. Smith and I downstairs to
her car, which was parked along the curb.  After my suitcase had been
loaded into the backseat of her 1980 Ford LTD, she impatiently waited for
me to finish saying goodbye to Carmen and Frankie.  Neither Frankie nor I
cried, but I'll bet he wanted to as much I did.  It didn't matter because
Carmen cried enough for the both of us.  As Mrs. Smith closed the back
door, I got up on my knees and stared out the rear window, at my friend,
who by now had lost the battle and begun to cry.  The car pulled away and
we waved goodbye to each other until they disappeared from sight.  Now it
was my turn to cry.  As I slid down into my seat, I buckled my seatbelt and
cried, silently to myself, until there were no more tears.

A little less than an hour later, Mrs. Smith's car pulled into a gated
parking lot, where she promptly parked and hurried me out of the car.  We
were at a professional plaza downtown.  I followed her through the lobby
and into the elevator of the tallest building I'd ever seen.  As I stood
quietly looking at the other passengers, I remember thinking to myself, "I
sure hope the people in this elevator don't think she's my mom."  The bell
rang, signaling our stop on the 12th floor.  She had me wait in the lobby
while she attended what she called a "meeting of the powers that be".  I
was clueless as to what that meant, but I obediently took a seat on one of
the two leather couches against the far wall.  With the exception of saying
thank you to the receptionist for giving me a lollypop, I didn't speak to
anyone the entire one and a half hours I'd spent waiting.  It was dark out
and everybody seemed to have gone home for the day by the time Mrs. Smith
was done with her meeting, which made the amount of time I'd spent waiting
for her seem even longer.  After hearing that it'd be another hour or so
before we'd reach the foster home, I was desperately hoping she would stop
and get me something to eat, because other than that lollypop, I'd not
eaten a thing since lunch.  And to think that if she'd only come a few
minutes later, I would have been able to eat dinner at Frankie's.  As it
turns out, it wouldn't have mattered in the least, even if she did want to
stop and get me something to eat, because, in the hour I'd spent peering
out the window, I hadn't seen a single sign for Burger King, McDonalds,
Wendy's or even Taco Bell.  If by the time we pulled into the foster home
parking lot she hadn't heard my stomach grumbling, then she must surely
have had a hearing problem, because I'm sure it would have registered at
least a five point something on the Richter scale.

She came around and opened my door, reminding me not to forget my suitcase.
I stepped out and stretched, almost throwing myself off balance.  During
the trip here, I imagined the place to resemble a prison, with armed
patrolling guards and high walls with barbed wire fencing stretched out
along the top.  In reality, it wasn't so severe.  I followed Mrs. Smith up
to a big gate and watched patiently as she pushed a button and a second
later, had a conversation with whoever it was at the other end.  A loud
buzzer sounded and she pushed open the gate wide enough for the both of us
to walk past.  Up the walkway and into the front door we went.

The door opened into a darkened room.  Mrs. Smith closed the door behind us
and told me to have a seat on a couch that was barely visible in the
barely-lit room.  Moments later the lights flickered on and a white-haired
lady appeared in the doorway on the other side of the room.

"Ah Mrs. Smith, so good to see you again." The older lady smiled.

"The pleasure is always mine, Mrs. Foote." The social worker replied.
She'd barely taken another breath before introducing me.  "Mrs. Foote, this
is Richard, Richard Aaron Calloway.  Richard, I'd like you to meet
Mrs. Cheryl Foote, night time caretaker of the center."  I shook the
extended hand of the older lady and smiled politely.  After a few more
minutes of conversation, Mrs. Smith wished me luck and left, just like
that.  Mrs. Foote took my suitcase, remarking how big and heavy it was for
such a small person to have to carry.  She even pretended it was heavy for
her, if for no other reason than to entertain me.  As she led the way, I
followed her through a series of doors and small hallways which finally led
to another, longer hallway.  This hallway was dark, and the only light I
could see was the light coming from some of the partially opened doors
along the way.  At the end of the long hallway I could see a bunch of other
boys sitting together around what looked like a big television.  I followed
Mrs. Foote down the darkened corridor and into a room about halfway down on
the right.  This must have been my room because my name was already on the
door with three other names.  The room had two sets of bunk beds, two long
dressers, a small closet and a mirror on the wall beside the door.  There
were no pictures on the walls, no stuffed animals, and no toys.  If it
weren't for the schoolbooks on the dresser, it would have been difficult to
tell how old it's occupants were.  I yawned.

"Oh you poor thing," she said, "...your probably tired, aren't you?"

"Yes ma'am." I answered.

"Have you eaten supper?"

"No ma'am." I answered, rubbing my tummy.  "I'm starving, too."

"Okay, well, let's get your things put away and we'll see if we can't find
you something to eat from the kitchen.  Peanut butter and jelly sound
okay?"

"Oh yeah, that's my favorite." I cheered.

"Heh, heh, heh." she laughed.  "Then peanut butter and jelly it is, but
first things first.  I run a clean house and you're a mess.  After you've
put your things away, I'll show you where the shower room is so you can
clean up before you eat." She smiled.  Her smile was as warm and
comforting, not at all what I expected.  I smiled up at her and tossed my
suitcase on one of the bottom bunks.  I checked each of three drawers and
found all of them had clothes in them.  Mrs. Foote walked over and found an
empty drawer in the other dresser and told me to put my things in there,
but not to forget to take out clothes for bed.  Once again I followed
Mrs. Foote out of the room and back into the hallway, in the direction of
that group of boys I'd seen earlier.  There was enough distance between us
so nobody even knew I was there.

"Uh, Richard?" she called.  I was paying so much attention to the boys down
the hall that I'd completely passed the shower room by 20 feet.  When I
turned around she was standing with her hands on her hips, smiling.  She
was always smiling.  "You'll get your television time, but not until after
you've showered and eaten something.  Come along."  I walked in ahead of
her and toward the showers.  It was a big bathroom, nothing at all like my
bathroom at home, though.  The shower area was nothing more than a large
area with 10 or 12 showerheads along the wall.  Toilet stalls and urinals
lined the opposite wall.  In the center of the room were some benches, all
of which had various names and drawings either scribbled in pen, or carved
with who knows what.  Mrs. Foote walked over and turned on the water for
me.  "Okay, have a quick shower and I'll meet you back in your room."
She'd started walking away then turned to face me again.  "You do remember
how to get to your room, right?" she asked.  I nodded.  "Very good." And
with that she left.  I have to admit that at first, I was a little hesitant
to undress right there in the middle of the room.  What if someone should
walk by and see me?  Worse yet, what if someone had to go to the bathroom
while I was taking a shower.  Was I ready for some strange boy to see me
naked?  I suddenly felt sick to my stomach.  I grabbed a towel from a
nearby bin and hid in one of the stalls.  I knew I'd better hurry because
Mrs. Foote would be coming back to get me soon.  I stripped down as quickly
as I could and wrapped a towel around my waist.  Before opening the stall
door, I listened for a few seconds to make sure nobody had come in, and
when I was satisfied that I was alone, I booked it to the shower.  The
shower didn't last more than 90 seconds at best.  If every part of my body
got wet, then I was clean enough as far as I was concerned.  I turned off
the water and the towel around my waist again and made a beeline for my
private changing stall.

"Richard?" Mrs. Foote's voice echoed off the bathroom walls.

"I'm in here." I shouted.  I had just finished pulling my oversized tee
shirt over my head when she arrived.  Next I pulled on my boxers, picked up
my dirty clothes and towel, and exited the stall.  When I'd finally stepped
into view, I could see myself in the mirror against the wall, and felt
ridiculous.  There I was, all 40 pounds of me, standing in a tee shirt,
Ron's tee shirt, which was five times too big.  I guess Carmen didn't
realize she'd packed it.  Well, at least the boxers I was wearing were my
own,

Mrs. Foote was standing in the doorway starring at me starring at myself in
the mirror.  She sucked her teeth.  "That's better.  Are you squeaky
clean?" she asked.  Her question worried me.  For a moment I thought she
was going to start checking me like my mom use to when I started taking
showers by myself.  Why is it that adults don't think kids are capable of
cleaning themselves?  Well, she never did check, thank goodness.  "Come
along now, I've managed to fix you something to eat."  After we'd dropped
off my dirty clothes in my room, I followed her down the hall and into a
room that would soon become my favorite place, the rec. room.  Right where
the hallway ended and the big room started, I stopped dead in my tracks.  I
couldn't see all that much because of the low light, but what I did see
scared me to death.  I was right, there was a television in this room, and
it was bigger than a car!  This room fascinated me.  Besides the big TV.,
it had wall-to-wall bookshelves, two huge pool tables (I'd never even seen
a real pool table before now), a foosball table, and a ping-pong table.
Various pieces of furniture covered what little there was left of the
floor.  It was the tap on my shoulder that woke me from my trance.
Mrs. Foote brought over to a small table where sat a peanut butter and
jelly sandwich and a small school-sized carton of chocolate milk, the kind
with the little plastic straw glued to the side.  Imagine that, my first
night here and I was already eating my favorite meal and drinking my
favorite beverage.  She patted on the head and said when I was finished to
throw the garbage away and join the other boys until bedtime.
   When I was finished eating my sandwich, I waded up the napkin and
stuffed it into the milk carton, then tossed the empty milk carton in the
trash.  I then slowly made my way toward the crowd of boys gathered around
the television.  I was pretty nervous about being the new kid and wasn't
exactly about to go sit in the middle of the room.  All of the seats on all
of the couches and chairs were taken, many by more than one boy.  There
were boys of all ages sprawled out everywhere, some as young as me and some
as old as Frankie, and some even older.  Even the floor was covered with
boys.  They closely resembled a litter of puppies.  I decided to play it
safe and sit towards the back.  Nobody had noticed my presence yet and I
didn't want to attract any attention.  I lucked out and found a seat toward
the back, near the far end of one of the couches.  It didn't have a very
good view of the TV, but then again I wasn't exactly in the mood for
television tonight.  I quietly sat on the floor and leaned up against the
arm of the couch.  The boy sitting in front of me heard me and turned
around.  I was a little worried about what his reaction would be, but he
simply smiled and turned back around.  He didn't look any older than me, if
that even.  When he smiled, I noticed he was missing his two front teeth.
I continued to scan the room and make little mental notes of everything I
saw.  After a few minutes my legs eventually got tired of sitting Indian
style and it was time to stretch them out.  There wasn't much room to
maneuver and I bumped the boy sitting in front of me, the one with missing
teeth.  He turned, and I don't know why, but I was worried that he'd be
mad.  I thought that if I flashed him my most convincing puppy dog eyes and
silently mouthed "I'm sorry", he'd forget it.  Well, I was right and it
worked.  He didn't say a word, but instead just smiled again and turned
back around to face the television.  It took a few minutes for the blood to
start circulating through my legs, and just as I got comfortable again,
that same little boy peered over his shoulder as if he were getting ready
to back up.  I thought I was doing the right thing by moving my legs for
him, but he stopped me and pulled my legs out straight again.  Then he lay
down, using my leg as a pillow.  He shifted around a little until his head
was resting comfortably on my thigh, then flashed me that toothless smile
again.  I wasn't quite sure what to make of this, but as I looked around,
the picture of that litter of puppies came back to me.  All over the room
there were boys laying all over each other.  Some of the bigger, older boys
were letting two or even three of the littler boys lay all over them.  I
looked back down at the boy lying on my leg, and decided I may as well do
the best I could to blend in.

I laid my head back against the arm of the couch and closed my eyes, for
what I thought would only be a few minutes.  It was a loud noise from the
television that woke me.  I looked around the room desperately looking for
something familiar, and then suddenly realized where I was.  It was the
chorus of laughter coming from the litter of boys that woke me, not the
television.  The boy who had been using my leg as a pillow, who was now
asleep, shifted his weight and it was then that I realized that my leg had
fallen asleep again.  He looked so comfortable and I didn't want to wake
him, but it didn't seem as though I had any choice.  When your leg goes
numb, you fear it will stay that way forever if you don't move it, and that
fear was building.  Just then the movie ended and the lights flickered on.
Boys everywhere began getting up and heading down the hallway.  Some of the
bigger boys pushed and nudged the younger ones who had fallen asleep trying
to wake them up.  While I was busy trying to see who was going to go in my
room, someone lifted my young sleeping friend from the floor, and my leg.
I wasted no time getting to my feet and stomping my foot on the ground to
try and shake the sleep out of my leg.  I must have looked like a cat with
tape on his paw as I held myself up on the arm of the couch and violently
shook my leg back and forth.  I hobbled across the room and followed the
crowd of boys down the hallway.  By the time I got to my room, the two beds
on the opposite side of the room were occupied, but by whom I did not know
as they had their faces covered with their blankets and pillows.  The boy
who fell asleep on my leg was being loaded onto the bed above mine by what
must have been one of the oldest boys here.  When he realized I was
standing behind him in the doorway, he turned and headed out of the room,
but not before giving me a big smile and winking at me.  My eyes followed
him as he left the room and headed down the hall.  Some 30 or 40 feet down
the hall, he stopped, turned back toward me and smiled again before
disappearing into his room and shutting the door.  I stood there for a
minute or so trying to figure out what had just happened.  I looked back
and forth between my bed, the upper bunk and the hallway.  I noticed that
most of what appeared to be boys my age headed into the rooms closest to
the rec room, and the boys that appeared to be older went into rooms a
little farther down.  The boy that winked at me must have been really old
because he was at the far end of the hallway.

I doubted the boys across the room were asleep as they'd just gotten into
bed, but I figured if they were trying to pretend to be asleep, then they
must not have wanted to talk to me.  I thought for sure they'd at least be
curious as to who their new roommate was.  Oh well.  I shuffled to my bed
and climbed in and under the covers.  I wasn't sure if I was suppose to
turn the light out, and just as I'd thought about it, the boy in the upper
bunk across the room yelled "turn out the light, man!"  I guess I got my
answer.  I sighed, got up and tuned the light out, and since I wasn't sure
whether or not I should shut the door, I did it anyways, and then got back
into bed.  With my eyes closed and the room dark, I found it easy to begin
replaying the day's events, and in mid thought, the door opened and someone
stuck their head in and said, "Goodnight fella's."  I didn't know who it
was, but I knew it was an adult by how high up the doorway their head was,
and strangely enough, I replied back with "Goodnight" at the same time as
the two boys across the room did.  Unfortunately that was all that was said
that night and I was soon fast asleep.


(This is the end of chapter 2.  For those of you looking forward to some
sex stuff, be patient.  Although this story does not revolve around sex, it
does include sex.  I am not exactly sure how many chapters deep I'll go
with this because it's based on public response.  I look forward to your
comments and suggestions.  Email me at tb088@ziplip.com.