Boy-writer

2063

It is 2063. No, there is not a fascist dictatorship in America, nor even a Communist one. It is not a theocracy either – something that would seem foolish to people alive now. What few avowed Christians remain, the real ones, are a hunted and harried lot, mostly hiding out in the mountains, scurrying from place to place. Of course there are Methodists and Episcopalians and all that, but they are generally understood not to be real Christians – they aren't fanatics who actually believe in God and such. Anyway, all that superstition is mostly white trash stuff. And no – there never was any ecological catastrophe – never was any danger of one, but the fear of it was useful.

Looking back, it was probably the Campaign Finance Law of 1997 that did it, and people still chuckle that the Republicans were so stupid. The law prevented the Republican Party from raising 'soft money,' but it did nothing to control the labor unions and environmental groups that bankrolled the Democrats. The Republicans, who had expected to gain seats in the 1998 elections, wound up losing their majorities in both houses. Several states where Democrats held sway, starting with Massachusetts (which had a Republican governor – hard to believe) followed suit with similar finance laws. In 2003, the federal law was stiffened and applied to state and local elections as well, and in 2006, a new law was passed providing for total federal funding of all elections. There was a clause in the law that required that all campaign advertising be truthful. Judges appointed by Presidents Clinton and Gore decided what was truthful, prohibiting most of the few ads the Republicans could still afford to place, and by 2019 the House was 429-6 Democrat, the Senate 99-1. The remaining Republicans came mostly from Utah, which had been placed under martial law three years earlier after refusing to implement the new infanticide law.

In 2034, a Constitutional amendment was passed denying whites the right to vote. It had little effect, since by then few whites were brave enough to try to cast ballots. What had previously been called 'affirmative action' had become open discrimination, and the police were among the first to rid themselves of whites. They didn't care much if some uppity Caucasoids got beat up a little. If they got raped a little too, well they deserved it.

It is a chaotic time. Some old people, those old enough to remember, complain among themselves (they don't dare say so openly) that things don't work as well as they used to. Planes didn't crash as often, trains didn't run off the tracks as often, there weren't as many mine accidents, back in the old days. They don't attach it to the fact that able whites were driven from their jobs, however. The idea that whites are the lowest of the low is universal.

There are still a few rich whites around. The people who owned large businesses before continue to own them, having transferred most of their assets overseas. Some even continue as American nationals, despite the easy availability of Chilean or New Zealand citizenship for those who have ready money. That same ready money greases the palms of corrupt bureaucrats in the U.S.A. Everybody knows that the government is corrupt, that virtually anything is to be bought with money, but of course the press reports none of it, having been largely tamed by the Truth in Reporting Act of 2014.

Most whites are not rich, though. They huddle in ghettos in the cities where police seldom venture, and they work on the farms that their betters own, agricultural work being a particularly despised occupation. There is little work for those who live in the cities, however; the National Preference Law of 2035 requires that no white be hired when there is a citizen who could hold the job, and unemployment among whites is very high. Most whites live on the dole; qualifying is easy, and there is no work requirement, only a weekly 'advisory' session where the relative merits of the various ethnic groups are discussed.

There are still schools for white kids in the ghetto, but little is taught there, whites being considered intellectually inferior, and there is no incentive to attend. For the few who care, the Catholic schools are about the only place to go, but few can afford the tuition. Most white kids grow up on the street, without schooling.

All sexual mores have disappeared, at least among the whites, though some of their betters (particularly the Hispanics) continue to have intact families, at least to some degree. All laws restricting sexual behavior have been repealed, and anything goes now: incest, pedophilia, necrophilia, bestiality. The government provides inoculation against sexually transmitted diseases, except HIV (there is still no vaccine for that), but even for HIV there is a treatment that only takes a week in a government hospital. In any case, HIV is now fairly rare due to an aggressive eradication drive.

In the white ghetto, marriage, which requires an expensive license, is nearly unheard-of. Even cohabitation for more than a short period of time is rare. In an attempt to control the burgeoning (and costly) white population, the government reduces the dole grant substantially for men and women who live together. It is strictly illegal for a woman on the dole to have more than one child, and even one child brings a drastic reduction in the grant. And unlike the regular police, the dole workers are a very assiduous lot, doing their best to ensure that the regulations are enforced.

People haven't stopped having sex, of course; in fact, the birthrate among whites is far higher than among citizens. Contraception is free from the dole workers, but getting it requires an extensive interview, and a woman who seems too eager to receive contraceptives may be flagged as a 'compulsive breeder' and subjected to sterilization, which is accompanied by clitoridectomy as a humanitarian measure. Abortion is of course also free, but requesting one virtually guarantees a dole recipient that she will be a candidate for sterilization. Black-market abortion, like any other provision of health care outside the government system, is the most heinous of crimes, punishable by a long prison sentence – but most defendants die in police custody before trial. Most whites avoid the government health care system like the plague, in part because of the veterinary drugs used on them; the drugs relax the muscles and dull the mind but do not numb pain.

The net result is the opposite of what the government intended, and there are a lot of white children born, many of whom never live to reach the age of five (it is legal to kill them before then, with some restrictions). Those who do reach that age grow accustomed to having neither a father nor a mother, getting by as best they can, mainly by stealing or drug-running, till they get to be 18 and can qualify for the dole on their own. The Catholic Church, still run from Rome, feeds and clothes the abandoned children as best it can, at least in the winter, despite the objections of the Hispanic-Americans who pay for it all. In the summer there is less need, and many young children run naked that time of year, though the older ones generally manage to keep some kind of filthy rags on.

The Church tries to encourage the children to wash in the public fountains, to keep themselves clean, and therefore free of disease. It's a two-edged sword, however, since citizen men (and some women) from the surrounding areas also congregate around the fountains, looking for the clean white kids, prostitution being perhaps the biggest 'industry' in the white ghetto, except for a few drugs that have not yet been legalized. In a way, it is odd that since the whites lost their power they are still found attractive to the other races, but there you go: Caucasoid ass is still highly coveted. The miscegenation laws make it illegal for a citizen male to have sex with a Caucasoid female above 10 years, or for a citizen female to have sex with a Caucasoid male above 12 years, but the law is occasionally broken, mainly by the white females.

At any rate, it is a thriving market with its own peculiar rules, and the Church has not been able to stop it (truth be told, there is little pressure to stop it from inside America; only Rome is complaining). The little boys and girls wash themselves off in the fountain, ostentatious in their thoroughness, using soap provided by the Church, then parade themselves before the citizen buyers. It is good business for those who are good at it: for one night's work it is possible to earn enough to buy food for a week, and those who work especially hard can sometimes make enough in their careers to set up their own drug trading businesses, or even buy passage to Canada (where the restrictions on Caucasoids, while harsh, are not as draconian as in America). Not even the richest of the ghetto dwellers can afford to go to New Zealand or Chile, though.

The buyers traditionally pay for a night's lodging at the hotels that cluster around the fountains. Some pay for more than a single night, and for them the hotels offer live dancers, none above puberty. There are, of course, plenty of recreational drugs available as well (even alcohol), the number and variety of which would have boggled a 20th-century mind.

***

Isaac is turning ten today. He doesn't have a last name, having never learned it since he didn't know his parents, and he doesn't really have a first name, either. He decided to call himself Isaac because of the Biblical story of Abraham and Isaac. He can't read, of course, but he knows how to write his name. He's lived up till now partly by begging, partly by the beneficence of the Church, but mostly by stealing. He's thin, but unlike other children in the ghetto he's not skeletal; he subsists on little, and in a better world, his metabolism would doubtless make him grotesquely fat.

Isaac knows that the citizens will buy him; he's seen them look him over at the fountain on many an occasion, but he is cagy. He knows that boys who sell themselves too soon can be injured so that they won't be bought again, or even die, so Isaac has waited, and no matter how hungry he got, he didn't sell himself. Today is the day.

He washes himself off in the fountain, casually as it were, looking over the crowd. The water is cold, but the day is warm, and he is naked, as he needs to be. He sees the man he wants to buy him. Not too old, probably not even eighteen yet, a Hispanic. The man will not be too big for him. The little boys always try for an Asian and wind up with a black, and often they wind up badly hurt. The blacks seem to like that; they like to take the really little boys and tear them apart. Isaac will not go with a black till he has more experience. It is easier when you have experience, as long as you don't get torn apart first. He will not get torn apart, but he will not set his sights on an Asian, either, the Asians being too much in demand – they pay little. The little Hispanic will be his first.

Isaac catches the man's eye. He cleans his arms, extending them to show that they are long and slender as men like. He rubs his chest and belly, making it clear how much he likes the feeling. He goes and stands next to an older boy, maybe fourteen – sure they will buy that boy, but he will only get a pittance, nothing compared to what Isaac will get. Standing next to an older boy makes Isaac look smaller, more helpless, more erotic. He looks into the eyes of his mark and sees growing arousal as he washes his legs.

Isaac is fortunate. First, his parents didn't kill him, and though he couldn't remember them, they must have found someone to care for him then, or he wouldn't be alive now. Probably he had been sold a few times back then, but he couldn't remember it, and in any case he wasn't injured. Next, Isaac doesn't seem to get hungry as much as other boys, though the idea of metabolism would have been as magical to him as the transubstantiation. The third reason was that he was circumcised. It is common among citizens, who are mostly born in hospitals, but rare among whites. It costs extra money, perhaps two or three weeks' worth of food, to have it done, but it means that the citizens will pay more; the blacks, who are mostly Muslim, especially consider circumcision a sign of cleanliness. Someone, Isaac knows, paid for the operation, which men called 'rabbis' are allowed to perform, and he prays for her often.

Now it is time to show himself to the man. Making sure he is looking, Isaac pushes his legs apart and carefully washes his dick and balls, and the space between his legs. He lingers there, swinging his hips slightly. He makes himself hard, but not too hard; he looks eager, but not too eager. He is available, but not easy; a good God-fearing Catholic boy betrayed by his urges, willing to sin to satisfy them, but reluctant to do so. It is a very good act, and the young Hispanic man is watching closely now. He cannot have failed to notice that Isaac is circumcised, and he is interested.

Isaac is pleased, but he does not smile; this is serious business. He turns around. He cannot see his mark and is flying blind now, but he knows what men like. He washes his back thoroughly, like the rest of his body, but with pretended difficulty; if the Hispanic man is shy, he can shower with him and ask him to wash it. Finally Isaac washes his ass, wiggling it as if unconsciously. He lingers a bit about the hole, getting it especially clean, fingering it a bit. He is acting as if he wants it filled – which he does, at the right price – but as if it were an unconscious desire. He looks over his shoulder at his mark, his mouth slightly open with lust, then looks down in mock shame.

The effect is perfect. Isaac is a good boy, very clean unlike most whites, fearful of the ridiculous invisible God like all Caucasoids, guilty because like all little white boys he wants nothing more than to have a man's cock, which his invisible God tells him is a sin. He looks silly, naked, and helpless. He came to this fountain to get clean, his thorough washing making clear his fastidiousness, but his innate sexuality drove him to make this display to the young Hispanic man. He is ashamed of himself but filled with a lust for cock that he cannot control. At least that is the impression Isaac means to convey, and it is very arousing.

Isaac climbs out of the fountain and walks over to dry himself on a hot-air vent embedded in the sidewalk in front of a nearby hotel (good for business, don't you know – and, oddly, approved by the Church as a sanitary measure). In a moment, the bidding will begin. At that point, though, Isaac realizes that his show has perhaps been a little too good. Not only the young Hispanic, but seemingly half the crowd follows him, cheering obscenely as he dries himself off, making it clear that he may wind up taking all of them. No one will prevent it; the hotel owner, in fact, a fat old black man now watching silently from an overstuffed chair in front of the hotel, will pull out a bed in the lobby and sell drug-laced drinks to both participants and spectators.

Isaac knows it is a dangerous situation, and there is but one way out of it. He waits for his mark to approach, then walks right up him and kisses him on the mouth. The boy feels the surprised man's cock through his pants. It makes it clear that he wants only that man.

By the rules of the market, nobody can take Isaac now except for his mark, unless the mark rejects him, but there are downsides. First, if the mark rejects him, he will be carried into the hotel and gang-raped on the spot – but that, Isaac knows, was about to happen anyway. Second, there can be no negotiation over price. If he is accepted, the boy is bound to go with his mark and do what he wishes, and any payment will be only alms. Third, the mark, if he wishes, has the right to take Isaac right there on the street in front of everyone, or in the equally public hotel lobby. That would make Isaac the permanent slave of the Hispanic man, able to be bought and sold, his mouth and hole rented out to anyone who paid the fee demanded, and the boy would be lucky if he saw any of it. He would be reduced to taking tricks on the sly to get enough to eat. Such boys are usually released from service only when they are too sick and emaciated to live much longer.

Isaac chose his mark well, however. The young Hispanic man is new in the area and clearly does not know the rules, for he simply kisses the boy back, takes him by the hand, and leads him away toward another hotel. The crowd watches curiously but does not intervene.

This hotel, unlike the other one, is some distance from the square. Isaac, still playing his part, hangs his head in mock shame while swinging his hips slightly as he walks, in mock arousal. The Hispanic man grins lewdly; everything he has heard about Causasoids is true, though he has never been this close to one before. He remarks on the irony, noted by many, that this least intelligent and most animalistic of races, driven by an insatiable need for constant sex, should at the same time be the most susceptible to the old Christian myths, with their prohibitions on sexual activity. He is both pleased and surprised to have attracted the attention of such a pretty little Caucasoid, and he feels very much a man, though the Hispanic girls he approached back home have largely spurned him. The other whites on the street watch in silent apathy; this is a scene they have observed many times before.

The hotel, as befits it location, is one of the cheaper ones. The carpet is worn and stained, and it is not air-conditioned, air-conditioning having become a rare luxury even for citizens, since freon is an expensive black-market good, and the newer non-freon air-conditioners are very expensive and do not meet government energy-conservation standards. Accordingly, it is generally only the government that has them.

The stains are dried blood, for while the staff has been trained to rush boys back out as quickly as possible after they come out of the rooms, inevitably there is some leakage, especially with the younger ones. Those boys who can no longer stand are carried on sheets and tossed out the back door. Sometimes they die there, which is an inconvenience for the staff, but usually they are carried away to be enjoyed elsewhere by those who cannot afford the prices at the fountains. Many of the 'carrion birds,' as they are called, are white men, but some are citizens who enjoy the sensation of inflicting pain or taking those on the verge of death. The boys who survive the experience have a dull, empty look about them, and it is that look more than the damage to their backsides that puts off the fountain-buyers. Such boys generally do not live long, but a few recover from their injuries and find a place in buildings further from the square, where men (and some women) pay for half an hour or even fifteen minutes with them, at very low prices. The customers there are mostly Caucasoid men fearful of losing the dole for impregnating a woman. The boys there soon learn to be eager and able cocksuckers (and cunt-lickers) if they weren't before, that being the only way of sustaining adequate nutrition. A diet consisting mostly of cum gives a boy's complexion a unique and shameful glow, readily recognizable to the residents of the ghetto – they are called 'milk maids.' There are female milk maids also.

Isaac is not destined for that fate, however; he knows the game and is sure that he is big enough that he will be able to walk out under his own power. As he enters the hotel with his mark, he is treated with the utmost courtesy by the staff and handed the traditional flower, not a rose as at the better hotels, but a carnation. The Hispanic man, who is newer at this than even Isaac realizes, has to be shown how to place the flower in his hair – since the boy is a cornsilk blonde, his hair must be knotted about the stem to keep it in place. Once the carnation is secured, they climb up the stairs together, hand in hand (this hotel does not have an elevator).

The staff watch passively, some of the newer ones leering at each other. Isaac is a 'girl-child,' a term that does not apply to girls but to particularly pretty and effeminate boys, and they have never seen him before, but they are quite sure he is a veteran by the way he behaves. Since he is at their hotel, they know that he wanted this particular man, a slender Hispanic who is, in his own way, almost as pretty as the boy, and that impresses them all the more, for it identifies Isaac as a girl-child with a true sexual drive, willing to forego the higher prices paid at the better hotels to be with an attractive man. Girl-children stand apart from the hierarchy of the ghetto: if such a boy is weak of will or not very bright, he will make a fortune for the man who controls him, but if he knows his power, he can write his own ticket.

The staff are mostly half-breeds, part Caucasoid, part citizen. As the product of a violation of the miscegenation laws, a half-breed does not officially exist. Blood quanta require 3/4 citizen blood for a part-Caucasoid to be a citizen, but if one is dark enough it is possible by payment of the appropriate bribes to have a record created in the national database so that a citizenship card is issued. The hotel owners, leery of pure-blooded Causasoids, prefer to hire the half-breeds, few citizens being willing to work in the ghetto. The pay is abysmal, and the hotel staffs are only able to save enough for the bribe by stealing from the hotel and from the clientele. They are generally successful, however, the clients blaming the young prostitutes for the thefts, and the owners, who are wiser, taking pains that the losses from theft do not wipe out the profits.

Isaac and his mark arrive at their third-floor room, and again the young Hispanic man betrays his innocence by opening the door himself. It is traditional for the man to hand the key to the boy so that he may open it; the act emphasizes the boy's eagerness for what is to follow and his submission to the man's will. Isaac notes the error and congratulates himself on his choice. He notes the man's wristwatch and gold rings, wondering if he will have a chance to steal them – most Hispanics wear jewelry, making them good marks. He has chosen well.

Isaac walks in first, knowing his place. The man, smiling, walks in afterward. The room, like the rest of the hotel, is dilapidated, the mirror over the bureau cracked, the curtains faded, and the carpet, while not as worn as the one in the lobby, has obviously seen better days. The bed is sunken in the middle from heavy use, but the room is clean. It is oppressively hot, however, and the Hispanic man walks over and spreads the curtains, then opens the window. A cooling breeze enters. The boy stands shyly beside the bed, his hands clasped behind his back, staring at his shifting feet. He has his mark now and seeks to act as hesitant as possible, to minimize what he must do later. For many citizens, the sensation of conquest is paramount, and by acting hesitant Isaac can do less, yet provide the same sensation to his mark. Perhaps he will let the man slap him once, 'force' him to do it. He is very afraid, but he is keeping his wits about him. He knows his job, having spent four years taking in the stories of older boys.

The man turns to him; Isaac glances at him shyly, then looks back at his feet. Naked as he is, with the flower in his hair, his golden locks, beginning to dry, hanging over his shoulders, he looks absolutely adorable, and if Isaac realized it, he might make use of that fact. As it is, he knows the game he is playing, and he is pretty sure the Hispanic man does not. He is right.

The man is completely charmed, all his suspicions (and prejudices) being confirmed. Isaac is clearly torn, wanting to do this, but filled with guilt at what he is about to do.

"What's the matter, puto?" the man asks softly, a lecherous grin on his face. "You afraid of the Virgin and the baby Jesus?"

Naturally, the man is a Catholic and went through Catechism, but the priests in the Hispanic churches are of the enlightened sort, and he knows that the superstitious stuff about God and Hell and all that is only for the benefit of less intelligent folk like Caucasoids, to scare them so that they will lead decent lives. The man was an altar boy and as such naturally had sex with the priest and a few of the wealthier parishoners. It is understood that such things go on, from the parents' point of view a mixed blessing, since while they disapprove of the sex, it is a sign of a boy's good looks that he is selected – a sign that he will make a good match when he is older. Enrique has so far disappointed his parents in that, though – not that he hasn't had sex with several girls, mostly non-Catholics.

The sun is setting; that too is Isaac's plan, for it avoids the all-day, all-night sessions that some men like, but which can wear a boy out. The window faces west, and the boy is illuminated with a reddish light. Isaac decides to be childlike, within limits. It is risky, for too much childishness, crying for example, will enrage the man and lead to a night of beatings and brutal sex. He must remain in control, but seem like he is not.

"I – I suppose so," he says. "It's a sin."

The man walks around behind the boy and rubs his shoulders; Isaac knows he's got him now, if he doesn't screw it up.

"Oh, puto, it is not so bad," the man says. "What's your name?"

"Isaac."

"Ah, Isaac, a good Christian name. The Virgin knows all about you, Isaac," the man says, his hands travelling further down the little body, "she knows you need to do this, you can't help it. She knows our Father made you this way, a little white boy" – he avoided the insulting term 'Caucasoid' – "who needs to do this. A little white boy who needs cock to be happy."

By now, Enrique reaches Isaac's little wiener, and the boy begins to respond in spite of himself. The priest used fundamentally the same speech on Isaac when he was six, and it worked then; that was the first time he sucked a man off.

Isaac tries to recover himself, but he feels very wistful and sad. No one ever held him like this before, and he has often dreamt of it. He wants to turn around and hug the man; he wants to be picked up and held, to cry on his shoulder and be told it's all right. He thinks of leaving the ghetto and going to live with this man, out in real America where everyone has a mansion and there is plenty to eat. But he knows it will never be like that. He stands still, unable to speak, his eyes tearing up, but he will not cry.

The man gets down on one knee and turns the boy around. He sees the teary eyes, and Isaac is afraid he will beat him, but he doesn't. For a moment, the look in Isaac's face makes Enrique think that perhaps there is something to this 'faith' crap after all. He picks the boy up, and Isaac puts his arms around his neck, resting his head on the man's shoulder. He sniffles but will not cry. He tries to remember himself, knowing that he must not make a mistake, but this is too good; it is what he always wanted.

Strangely, the man starts dancing around the room, singing softly and tunelessly, 'dancing' with the boy whose feet do not touch the ground. Isaac is delirious. He doesn't feel like crying any more; he just wants to be close to this man, to stay this way forever.

Eventually, the man, becoming dizzy, sits down on the bed, still holding Isaac to his chest. The boy's legs fold alongside the man's thighs.

Enrique takes the back of his head gently and pulls it back so that they look each other in the face. "So, how much are you, Isaac?" he asks.

"Three hundred dollars," Isaac says, pulling himself together. It is the going rate, but it isn't a lot of money – about twenty 1997 dollars. Isaac suspects he is worth even more than that.

"Three hundred?" the man says. "You are an expensive little boy."

In fact, he knows as well as Isaac does what the going rates are. He is beginning to think that the kid has never done this before, and it adds to his arousal. Enrique is confirmed in his belief that Isaac is a good Catholic boy betrayed by his sexual urges, which are known to inhere in a Caucasoid from birth, though they only manifest themselves in higher races at puberty. They are now on even terms, and the man is more firmly convinced than ever that Isaac wants this, completely apart from being paid – needs it in fact.

"Not so much," Isaac says perturbedly, irritated at himself.

The man misreads it, taking the remark as a come-on. He grins lewdly and lies back on the bed. "Come get it, puto," he says.

Obediently, Isaac begins to undo the man's belt. "Don't you want to get naked?" he asks. "It's better that way." He wants the man to take the watch off.

Enrique, however, has been advised to keep his clothes on while in the ghetto; he knows the game, at least that part of it. "No," he says, "you just pull it out and suck on it."

There is nothing else to say, for now. Isaac finishes opening the man's belt without a word, then pulls down the zipper. He pulls the man's pants down, and Enrique obligingly lifts his hips to accomodate him. The boy goes to pull the man's boxer shorts down, but he says, "Suck it through the cloth."

The boy goes down and begins to feel the cock with his mouth through the shorts, which are quickly made moist by his saliva and the man's precum. It is not a huge one, fortunately; Isaac has seen much bigger ones. He will not be hurt much. Still, this is something he hasn't done before, and he isn't sure he's doing it right. He keeps glancing up at the man's face, but he is just smiling and watching.

"Take it out," the man says. Isaac reaches for the fly, but Enrique corrects him: "Use your mouth," he says.

This is a new thing, but Isaac does the best he can. He pushes the man's fly open with his nose, then digs around a bit to align the hard cock with the opening. He can't get it out with his nose and decides to use his mouth, being careful to avoid touching it with his teeth. He works at the base for a while but can't get sufficient leverage, then moves up nearer the tip, which is stuck under the waistband, preventing further movement.

Enrique is grinning from ear to ear. Little does the boy know, but Enrique has done this before, having sucked many more cocks than Isaac has, and the simple and obvious way to take the cock out is to pull the shorts down with your teeth. Somehow, that doesn't occur to Isaac, and he is left to struggle, which the man enjoys immensely.

Eventually, the boy gets a sufficient hold near the top of the man's cock while pushing up the shorts with his nose and pulls it out. "Suck on it, Isaac," the man says, laughing, "that's what you're here for."

The tone of the man's voice tells Isaac that all negotiation is over. From now on, he will do what the man says, but he is satisfied; the price is adequate. He goes down on the cock and takes the head in, sucking on it a little bit. He's done this before; it helps with the priests, enabling one to move to the front of the food line when there is not enough to go around.

"Don't be so impatient," the man says, grinning broadly, "we have all night. Take my balls out too."

Isaac knows what he means, that hands are not to be used. He sticks his tongue out and pulls the bottom of the boxer fly down, then sucks each ball into his mouth and pulls it out.

"Yeah, suck on 'em," Enrique says, "make them real clean."

The boy obeys. They taste salty, and the hair gets stuck in his teeth once before he gets the hang of it, but he is soon licking and sucking them like they were his last food.

The man sighs. "Feel them with your tongue," he says. "What you want is in there."

Isaac does what he says. He explores them with his tongue, feeling the inner structure, following the tubes as they disappear into the man's groin.

"Stop now," Enrique says. That can't be all, and Isaac is afraid he's failed somehow, that the deal will be called off. The boy lifts his head, his lips moist with saliva, and faces the man. "Get us some drinks," he says, gesturing toward a small bottle sitting on the bureau. There are two shot glasses.

Isaac gets up and walks over to the bureau. He can see the man in the mirror, watching. The bottle is an expensive one, a crystal decanter with a glass stopper, and the boy has never seen one like it. It is filled with a green liquid. He pours two glasses and walks back to the bed, careful to avoid spilling any. He hands one glass to the man and sits down carefully on the edge of the bed.

"Taste it," the man says. Isaac takes a sip. It tastes good, like candy, which he has had twice in his life. He smiles.

"Like it? It's called creme de menthe." Isaac nods. "Go on, drink it up."

The boy realizes that this is very expensive stuff, since while alcohol is not strictly illegal, it is very tightly regulated, and this is not just grain alcohol diluted with water and with a harsh flavor additive, this is the real thing. In spite of the hotel where he is staying, this is obviously not a poor man, but the watch should have told Isaac that – it is the old-fashioned kind with a dial that hardly anybody wears any more. The boy drinks carefully, not wanting to spill a drop of the precious liquid.

The man is just sipping, Isaac belatedly notices, while his glass is empty. Enrique isn't angry, though. "Pour yourself another glass," he says, "there's plenty." He smiles.

Isaac gets up again and pours himself another shot glass. As he walks back, he begins to feel a bit strange, as if his feet are further away than usual. He has never had more than a couple sips of alcohol before, though, and doesn't know how it should feel. He sits back down and clicks glasses with the smiling man, then drinks. Enrique takes another small sip and puts his glass on the nightstand unfinished. The liqeur tastes very good, and Isaac finishes quickly, then puts his glass next to the man's.

The man pulls Isaac's head down and kisses him on the lips. When Enrique begins to lick the liqeur off the boy's lips, Isaac opens his mouth obediently, and the tongue enters quickly. The man kisses him roughly, holding his head tightly, the tongue exploring every corner of his mouth.

By now, Isaac is feeling very strange. The liquid is in fact creme de menthe, and it is much more expensive than Isaac could imagine, having been smuggled from Europe in the kind of hermetic container that could evade the government's nuclear sniffers. But Isaac isn't high on 40-proof alcohol. Enrique has added an equally expensive and highly illegal drug called XTF. It is the latest in a line of true aphrodisiacs developed after 2020. It is a mild hallucinogen, a powerful hypnotic, and a mild stimulant, but its strongest effect is on the lower spinal ganglia. It amplifies sensation in the pelvic region to an unbelievable degree while slightly relaxing the muscles there. Through its action on the brain, it dulls pain with no numbing effect. XTF is best absorbed when taken with alcohol; the liqeur was merely a vehicle.

What sets XTF apart from similar drugs, however, is that it is specially tailored for males. It causes involuntary penile engorgement and directly heightens sexual desire through hormonal effects. It is illegal for several reasons. First, it is an excellent 'date-rape' drug, being virtually tasteless and effective in small amounts. Second, it is highly addictive. Third, in large doses the effect can be permanent, or at least very long-lasting. Isaac has ingested twice the normal dose for a 200-pound [90 kg[ man.

It hits him like a freight train. He is immediately erect, violently horny. He sucks on Enrique's tongue like a hungry baby at his mother's tit. He rubs his little erection frenziedly against the man's belly, bluish waves of pleasure running through him. The drug delays orgasm in adult men, but it has no such effect on Isaac, and he cums repeatedly, though dryly. He can feel the air molecules bouncing off his butt, and each mild breeze coming in through the window causes him to stiffen in pleasure. And Enrique has not even begun to touch him back there yet.

With some difficulty, and much satisfaction, the man pushes the boy off him, and Isaac lies squirming on the sheet, staring into space as he grinds his butt into the sheets. His hands move down his sides to his pelvis. They find his cock, which he begins rubbing frantically, his orgasm becoming continuous. Enrique watches in amusement as he takes a bottle of oil off the nightstand. He pours a bit onto Isaac's cock, and the speedy hands quickly spread it around. The boy's breathing is very irregular; every so often he stops, takes a few rapid, deep breaths, then continues.

The man takes his pants down a bit more and pours a bit of oil on his own cock. He takes one of the boy's hands and places it there, then moves it up and down a few times. Isaac, in a trance, begins jacking Enrique on his own, spreading the oil liberally, but his frantic motion is not what the man wants.

Enrique lifts one of Isaac's legs. He takes the boy's hand and curls it into a fist with two fingers extended, then places the hand, well-lubricated with oil, at Isaac's anal opening.

It takes only slight pressure to provide the hint. Isaac is soon fucking himself madly on his fingers as he continues to jack off. Soon he is using three fingers. When he tries to insert a fourth, Enrique pulls his hand away and turns him over. Isaac begins to hump the sheets.

Enrique takes his place above and behind the boy, reaches below, and replaces Isaac's hand with his own. Isaac begins to fuck the man's hand. Enrique has to hold him down for a minute as he guides his cock to the winking hole and pushes in.

Isaac's body tenses up, and he passes out from the pleasure. Enrique is briefly disconcerted, but the boy recovers immediately. The man begins to fuck him slowly, but Isaac is having none of that. Mad with lust, he pushes himself on and off the cock as fast as he can. Finally, Enrique has to put his weight on the boy to restrain him.

Enrique knows nothing about the XTF he gave Isaac, and he has taken too little himself to have much effect. He was simply given some by a friend who told him to give it to a Caucasoid boy. It should be given in alcohol, the friend said. The creme de menthe was Enrique's idea. In any case, the man ascribes Isaac's behavior entirely to his race.

Enrique begins to fuck Isaac slowly. The boy, no longer able to move with the man atop him, shudders with each stroke, his anal muscles clasping frantically. "You love it, you little whore, don't you?" Enrique asks – but Isaac is too far gone to answer. He simply stares into space, his head turned to the side, his eyes glazed over, his mouth open.

Enrique speeds up, and again Isaac passes out, but this time the man knows what is happening and continues. He fucks faster and faster, closing his eyes to pretend that it is Maria beneath him. Isaac wakes up and immediately goes into convulsions, his continuous dry orgasm making him insane. He can't think, he can't breathe. Lack of oxygen makes him pass out again, but he wakes up and he is still being fucked, and once more he struggles mightily beneath the man, unable to control the fantastic sensations coming from his behind.

It actually does not take Enrique long, but Isaac passes out and reawakens three more times before his bowels are filled with the man's emission. There is no pain – the drug took care of that – but the boy feels every squirt as if warm lava were being poured into him. He drools on the pillow; snot runs out of his nose. He cannot think where he is, or who he is; he only knows that his butt is filled with something he cannot live without.

The man is done. He pulls out and rolls off of Isaac. The boy cannot stop, though. He humps the mattress madly, propelling himself to orgasm after orgasm. Enrique wants to sleep; the movement is distracting. It is also upsetting; the boy is clearly not satisfied, and that is an affront to Enrique. He tells Isaac to lie still, but it does no good. In desperation, he picks up the phone and calls the lobby, explaining the situation.

Mindful of the fact that XTF is illegal, he omits the fact that he drugged the boy.

The desk clerk knows what happened, though; it has happened before. Some naive citizen gives a boy an aphrodisiac and gets his enjoyment, but then the boy, under the influence of the drug, can't stop. The old hands know how to use the drugs: if you can't keep going for two hours (or however long) yourself, you arrange for a few friends to join you. The boys, for their part, generally know the game and refuse to eat or drink anything unless they're paid extra, but that is one thing Isaac never learned on the street. At any rate, the desk clerk tells Enrique they'll be up in a minute to take care of it.

The desk clerk runs to tell the hotel manager. "In 224?" the man asks. "Yep," the clerk answers. They both laugh. 224 is the girl-child, and a girl-child on an aphrodisiac is a license to print money. Three men are sent up to help Enrique with his problem.

Enrique meets them at the door wearing an expensive silk robe. The man has turned Isaac over, afraid the boy will hurt himself. Isaac's eyes are closed as he grinds his butt into the sheets. Before long, he finds his cock again with his hands. One member of the hotel staff takes the boy's arms, the other his feet, and they lift him off the bed and begin to carry him out of the room, wiggling his hips. Enrique, feeling guilty for some reason, hands the third man the $300 promised to Isaac, telling him to give it to the boy when he comes around. The man promises to give it to him. They turn to leave. Isaac is carried out and down the hall to a vacant room. At last, Enrique can sleep.

Down the hall, in 229, they take some rope and tie Isaac's feet and hands to the four bedposts. It is the kind of rope we use for curtain tiebacks today – soft, it will not chafe. They place him on his back so that he won't hurt himself. No entrepreneur wants to damage the merchandise, after all. Isaac rubs his butt frantically into the bedspread. They see that his hole is leaking, and they pull the covers down so that he rests on the fitted sheet. They wipe his face and photograph him.

Once Isaac is laid out, a runner is sent to the square with the pictures. The price is set at $500, but once they see the face there are plenty of clients; they remember the boy from his show at the fountain. They troop back as a group to the hotel and walk up the stairs to room 229, where the manager is waiting outside the door.

The first man pays his $500 to the hotel manager and enters. The man is, oddly enough, an Asian, and not particularly well-endowed. They untie Isaac's feet, and he draws them up, trying to caress his butt with his heels. The man is not interested in that, though. He pulls out his cock and swipes the head across the boy's mouth. Isaac greedily takes it in. In a few moments, his frantic sucking has its effect. Somehow, the boy has the presence of mind to swallow and does not choke. It adds to the already substantial regard in which he is held by the hotel staff, who look on.

The next man is another Hispanic, older that Enrique, with a sizable cock that is already hard. He wastes little time as he climbs onto the bed and drives into the boy's anus. Isaac is again mad with delight, twisting his hips to maximize the sensation, straining at his bonds as he tries to push himself down harder. The man begins to fuck, slowly at first, too slowly for Isaac, who nonetheless moans while shaking his head frantically, his rectum clasping with repeated orgasms. The jaded man is quickly driven to a fever pitch of excitement himself, and another load is deposited in the boy's ass, all too soon.

The next man is a large, burly black. He unties Isaac's hands but holds them tightly so that he cannot touch himself, driving the boy mad with frustration. He sits on the bed and lowers Isaac on top of him, allowing the boy to guide the enormous cock into the hungry hole. Earlier in the day it would have injured him, but not now – not with the relaxing effect of the drug and the earlier invasions. The sensations are incomparable, and Isaac passes out again from pleasure. The man, none too pleased by that, begins to fuck quickly and roughly. Quickly, the boy comes to and attempts to hump himself on the cock, to deepen and intensify the fucking he is receiving. The man, amused, allows Isaac to take over, while still restraining his hands – he wants the kid's pleasure to come only from his hole. Again, the boy's orgasms come in quick succession, almost continually, and the spasms in his behind set the man off. Isaac's hands are tied to the bedposts again.

There are perhaps a dozen more. No one is counting except for the manager, who is counting his money – least of all Isaac. All except one (an odd-looking light-skinned black who preferred to ride Isaac rather than vice versa) add their loads to the boy's well-stretched hole. Finally, Isaac passes out and does not wake up. The manager knows it is time to stop; the ten-year-old's body has reached the point of total exhaustion, and though he could be awakened with the appropriate drug under his nose, it is not advisable. Isaac is tied to the bedposts again, for his own safety. A broad stain spreads on the sheets beneath his butt.

The old man tells the rest of the waiting clients that there will be no more today, eliciting surly groans. He says they can come back tomorrow – and he does not doubt that Isaac will be here tomorrow, and the next day. Enrique has left the hotel; it is late, nearly midnight; and the shot-glass found in room 224 has tested positive for XTF, in a powerful concentration. The boy's mark has overestimated the dose. The effect will be lasting, perhaps permanent. The manager has heard of cases where men who overdosed on XTF could not be fed, except though a baby bottle with a nipple shaped like a penis. Isaac will not need much food, though – he will get most of the nourishment he needs from the blowjobs he will provide, offered by the manager at a reasonable price. The manager smiles; this boy will make him a lot of money. Naturally, the money Enrique handed to a member of the hotel staff as Isaac's payment remains in the staff person's pocket.

In men who overdose so badly on XTF as to be permanently affected by it, the drug soon causes sterility, followed by prostate or testicular cancer, which would normally be followed by death. The approved medical treatment is removal of the testes and the prostate, which unfortunately does not abate the sexual drive, then fixated on the anus, but at least allows the affected men to live out their lives in institutions. As an experimental treatment, a sex-change operation can be performed, which can permit those affected to earn a living as prostitutes if properly supervised. A less radical solution of supervised prostitution without the sex change is under investigation.

The drug is new, and little is known of its effects on preteen boys such as Isaac. We can't be sure yet whether he is permanently affected, but in any case he will be spared the worst effects (the sterility and cancer), as doctors will eventually discover. For now, Isaac is in a deep sleep; totally exhausted, he barely breathes. It is a mad sleep, filled with dreams of sex, dreams of being fucked. One by one, every man he has ever known takes him in his sleep, in every conceivable place – on the street, in the grocer's shop, by the fountain, on the altar of the church. After he has gone through them all, it starts over again with wild men, strange men he can barely imagine, then, more and more, nightmare monsters of men, all fucking him, over and over, driving him insane with lust and fear. He cannot wake up; his exhaustion is too complete. The nightmares take him in a way that the men of his recent waking hours could not.

Isaac finally wakes up about 10 o'clock the following morning, still violently horny. Gradually, he remembers the previous night, being penetrated again and again, each throbbing heartbeat of each man translated into a wave of ineffable pleasure. He rubs his bottom on the sheet, frantically trying to recover the feeling, but it is no use. By an amazing act of will, he manages to focus on his surroundings and notices that he is tied. He must escape.

The bonds were tied tightly, however, and Isaac's efforts are useless. He tries to concentrate, to construct a plan of escape, but he cannot. Giving up, he rubs his butt on the sheet absently and stares at the ceiling.

The movement has alerted a staff member who was passing in the hall. A key turns in the lock, and the door opens. The man, a mulatto, grins widely and closes the door quietly behind him. "Good morning," he says. Isaac's eyes go instinctively to the man's crotch, now beginning to bulge. "See something you want?" the man smirks. Isaac does not respond, but the look on his face has answered for him; he is ashamed of himself.

The man walked over, sits down on the edge of the bed, and strokes Isaac's hip. The boy is delirious with desire, the lingering effects of the drug leaving him unable to resist – yet his mind is still conscious, still calculating, in spite of the distraction. It takes a great act of will, but no greater than the will to live that has enabled Isaac to survive to the ripe old age of ten.

"What do you want me to do for you?" the hotel worker asks with a sneer.

"Fuck me," Isaac gasps. It is the only thing he wants, the only thing he can want – except escape.

The man unties Isaac's feet and lowers his uniform pants. The boy lifts his knees as far as he can, exposing his hole for the fleshy pole he strains to see. The man approaches, placing his hands beneath Isaac's hips, lifting him a bit, seeking alignment.

"Can you – untie my hands too?" the boy pants. "I want to feel you, your back and arms 3;" It is incredibly difficult. All Isaac really wants is to be penetrated again, to feel the fantastic barrage of sensation that comes from a penis pounding within him. Yet he must remain in control, convince this skeptical man. "I want to kiss you, feel your tongue in my mouth, touch your ass as you push your cock into me."

The man sneers, nearly laughing, yet wildly aroused by the boy's pleading – in fact only his own intense horniness has kept the staff member from bursting into laughter. He leans over Isaac and releases his hands, the man's hot breath on the boy's face nearly making him faint.

The man begins to retreat to his former position, expecting Isaac to follow and fulfill his lusty promises. It is only a split-second, but it seems an eternity to Isaac as he struggles for control, finally mustering the inner strength to take the chance he has received. It is an even smaller fraction of a second during which the boy reaches over with one hand, grabs the lamp off the nightstand, rips it away from the wall, and smashes it into the side of the hotel worker's head.

Moaning in pain, the man slumps against Isaac, and now it it worse; now there is physical contact. Adrenalin fights against the drug and the lingering exhaustion of the previous night, a deadly chemical battle in the boy's veins. With temporary superhuman strength, Isaac pushes the man off of him, a man three times his own weight, then jumps up, free at last.

The man is still moaning, trying to lift himself. He will recover; he must not. Isaac looks around the room desperately for a weapon. There is another nightstand, another lamp. He grabs it, lifts it effortlessly, smashes it down, the metal base colliding with the man's skull with a sickly crunch. Again, and again, and the man is finally still, his blood soaking the worn bedding, the dilapidated mattress. The lamp is dropped on top of him.

Isaac knows he must get out of there, must get out, as fast as he can. He struggles to think through the fog in his mind, a sexual fog that seeks to penetrate his entire being. The other hotel staff will miss the man Isaac has just killed; they will look for him. Perhaps they have heard the commotion and are already on the way. The boy leaps to the door and locks it from the inside, puts on the chain – but that will not stop them for long. He runs to the window – a fire escape! He climbs out.

The door bursts open as Isaac runs down the stairs, faster, faster than he thought possible. The same drug that disables his mind enables his body, now cooperating with the adrenalin, sublimating a sexual desire more powerful than anything natural into an awesome physical power. They reach the window, yell at Isaac to come back, but he is already on the ground, running away along the alley, seeking the street back to the fountain.

Isaac passes men and women, and some children. They can see that he has been violated, the emanations from his anus darkening his legs. They laugh at him, some trying to stop him to take their turn. He evades them easily. Isaac does not think any more; he only runs – runs for the fountain, not thinking why he should go there.

The crowd of citizens parts for him as he approaches, bursting into a cheer as Isaac dives into the fountain, immersing himself in the cool water. It comforts him, clears his mind, the cold subduing his disobedient body. He remains under for as long as he can, seeking serenity in the watery silence.

He cannot remain under forever, and finally he rises. Isaac runs off down the street, away from the fountain, seeking the deserted attic he calls home. He is naked. He has done it, and he has survived. He will do it.

The End