Not just girls.

byWynette1

158 followers

5 years ago

He was 14 yrs. old. (We'll call him Tom) Tom had already been out there for 10 hours. His feet, mouth, backside and entire body hurt from the work he was putting it through and he wasn't done. He felt like he had no choice but to stay right where he was and get the work done. He had to meet his 'quota' for the day, or his 'Man' was going to be unhappy and unsatisfied. He knew that. He knew what would in all probability, happen.

Tom's 'Man" would begin by just asking him, "Where's the money?" Then Tom would give 'Him' what little he had earned. His 'Man' would sneer, and then it would come. The backhand. It would knock Tom to the ground and his nose would start to bleed. His 'Man' would make him get up, then knock him down again, this time using 'His' fist and busting Tom's upper lip making it bleed too. One more time, and Tom's eye turned a curious shade of red mixed with blue. And it would start to swell, almost shut. He would hurt. Tom would try hard to block the punches, but his 'Man' would be too powerful for his frail undernourished body.

His 'Man' would send him back out into the shivering black night, to the stark bleak street, where he then would have to earn that hated 'quota'. Only now it would be harder. He would be marked. Who would want a kid with a face that looked like this? All beat up. He would have to stay out until he saw the sun shining through the tall buildings on the street where he stood.

And then there was that other man. 'His' friend who sood across the street. Watching Tom's every move. He couldn't even lie about how many tricks he had turned. And if all he could get was $20 from each of them, the least he was allowed to charge, he couldn't even stash some money aside. It would be to no avail anyway. 'He' usually gave him a body search when they got home. 'His' friend kept tabs on how many tricks he turned when he was out there. He was hooked on that almighty 'stuff', and had nowhere to go. He just stayed, kept working the streets and tried to make the best out of it. At least the heroin gave him a fraction of a moment away from this dim reality.

Family and friends shunned him like he had some highly contagious disease. Just because he was interested in his own kind. He had been kicked out. Out of his own home. Dismissed by his family as disgusting. They didn't want anything to do with him.

So he wandered through the town. Where to go? What to do? The bus station. Perhaps someone there could give him a handout. No takers. Then he met his 'Man', who took him in, cleaned him up, gave him new clothes, gave him some pot to make him feel better, and told him that 'He' accepted him, "... just the way he was..."

Later 'He' let him try something new. Heroin. 'He' found Tom's vein for him, and started to push the plunger in. Oh, the rush he felt was so warm, and new to him, and exciting. This was it! Yes, a new something to keep going. 'He' knew this would keep Tom here. 'He' knew Tom didn't know where else to get it.

'He' knew a way to make some quick and easy money. This would help them both. Tom could continue getting his new high and they could afford other things too. He decided that, "Maybe it might not be so bad." So his new 'Man' would explain it all to him. How to stand out among the others who were following the same path, how to approach someone to get what he was after.

He became rather good at it all. He did well at first. He was the 'new boy' on the block. Someone new to try. The money came pouring in. Then it began to trickle in. Tom's 'Man' became dissatisfied. 'He' then showed this young lad what happens when the money wasn't right. And when 'He' wasn't satisfied, the fix wouldn't come either. He would have to go out there feeling sick. 'He' also put the scare into Tom, telling him how if he didn't comply, he might get tied to a car bumper and dragged down a broken glass strewn, gravelly, rough tarred alley, until his body was hamburger, or maybe get marred with lit cigarettes on unmentionable parts of his body. 'He' was very convincing and creative with 'His' spoken, and very possible, punishments.

He was scared all right. It was harder for him since he was just a boy. The whole world seemed against him. He wanted out, but how? Who would help someone like him?

He just looked out at the barren street. Hoping someone would come around the corner and help him make that god awful 'quota' and allow him to have a peaceful rest of the night. When 'He' was satisfied, 'He' was nice. And fun. And would sometimes suprise him with little gestures of kindness. Perhaps a little gift, or maybe even go out somewhere together, then end up home and snuggle, watch a good movie. It was always nice when he could please 'Him'.

... like they say, "...keep comming back..." there's help out there... somewhere...