Lucian, Ch. 3. free porn video

Lucian, Chapter Three. A million drops of water will hollow out a stone Three months passed, and a patient repetition of daily chores created a new normality for Lucian Gaines - even in a world as weird as Norton's Academy of Excellence. Since he started classes, things sped up. Life became more palpable, more real - though increasingly bizarre. He was at a school after all, a school with its strict schedules and classes, tests and exams and all the usual tedious chores. There was the daily routine of getting up at six, running half naked through skin-chilling air, showering, having breakfast and morning classes. There was running again, in autumn sunshine or punishing rain; lunch and afternoon classes, running into dusk, resting, having supper, doing evening activities, cleaning up and going to bed. It went on day after day, week after week. Everyone did it, and no one protested. GRA, Lucian found out at his first class back in October, stood for Grace; they were classes about how to move and behave graciously. It was home of the Smile and the Curtsy. And the Gliding Step. Lucian remembered the choking embarrassment when their teacher, an ageless, very thin former ballerina called Ms. Fontaine, asked him to walk over to the front of the class where he was supposed to mirror her every move and facial expression. For a week he'd succeeded in staying an outsider, watching what the woman did to make gauche and awkward teenage boys like Kelly and Harper, Jo and Madison move gracefully. He'd marveled at their willingness to adapt and perform, only to immediately change back to their gangling, roguish teenage ways as soon as class ended. It gave him the first inkling of a different kind of escape. What if it all was just an act? Look at Kelly. One moment the boy was a floating, smiling angel, the next moment he farted and they all rolled on the floor, laughing. Maybe he could do that - put on an act and hide behind it? Be there, but not really? One of the few moments of almost happiness at his former school had started the day Miss Winthrop, the English teacher, had asked him to join her theatre project. They would perform Romeo and Juliet, and to his amazement she'd asked him to be Romeo. For days he'd been sick with nerves, sleeping poorly. But from the very start of reading the dialogues he'd felt a change come over him - a withdrawal of everything scared and shy. And when they really went on stage to do rehearsals, it felt like stepping into a warm cloud - a different, secluded world. Amongst the other actors were two of his worst bullies, but when he started playing, they seemed to disappear. The girl playing Julia had always ignored him; or maybe he'd always been too shy to be around her. But now, as long as he was Romeo, he could be close to her without stuttering, smile without blushing. He could joke and laugh, and notice she laughed back. It felt as if locks had been removed from his limbs, from his mouth and his mind. They did their own costumes, and he'd advised her on how to look best. He'd even helped her do her hair and face and dress, feeling incredibly at ease. His parents hadn't been at the performance. He'd hardly noticed. For hours after the curtain closed he'd felt elated. There'd been a little party to celebrate. He got many compliments. But when the evening was over, Julia left with one of his bullies. The next day everything was back to dismal normality - the off-hand tormenting, the ignoring. But for a short time he'd felt how it was to be someone else - to have this invisible shield around him. To send this new and different person out into the world, making him cope with everything he could not. Could he do it again, here at this terrible place? Was it a way to escape, even without leaving? Standing in front of the classroom in his silk nothings, he doubted it very much. He stared mutely at the woman's mimicking - once more certain he ought to flee this crazy school at the first opportunity. There was the Smile, of course, in a myriad of subtle variations. She also tried to have him imitate twenty ways to neigh his head and look coy from under his bangs and eyebrows. "Grace," the woman had told them the first day of classes, "might well be the most important thing you'll learn here; the one indispensable skill to survive in an ugly world." Watching her go through Pouting 101 and ten perfect ways of turning your head, insisting he'd imitate her, he felt nausea climb up from the pit of his stomach. His face was on fire and he didn't know where to look: at this woman or beyond, where his classmates were. He ended up looking down at the shining tips of his ballet shoes. When Ms. Fontaine finally started showing how to twist one's wrist in a dozen elegant ways, Lucian's stomach started heaving. No playacting or make belief could remove him from the wave of nausea that attacked him. He ran off to find a bathroom, mumbling excuses all the way. *** "So you got sick in Ms. Fontaine's class? What happened?" Lucian sat on the bare wooden stool in Dr. Kurtz's practice. It felt hard through his thin silk shorts. He just stared at a point just north of the woman's left shoulder, and didn't respond. "What was it?" the doctor insisted. "A sudden nausea? Something you ate?" He shook his head sideways, hardly noticeable. "Lucian," she said, to get his attention. But he kept his absent gaze, saying nothing. The woman looked down into his file. "Did you take your pills?" she asked. He just barely nodded. "I'll have to examine you, honey," she said, rising from behind her desk. "Just to be sure you're fine." Lucian shrugged - examinations had become routine. Without being asked, he pulled the flimsy top over his head. Then he slid off the stool and pulled down his shorts and his thong-like briefs. The fluorescent tubes on the ceiling made his pale skin shine. Running from class, he had tried to vomit after reaching the toilets, but nothing came, just some bitter-tasting bile. Then he'd stumbled to his room, where Harper came to get him for a visit to the doctor. Her hands felt slippery in the blue latex gloves. He lay on the table, naked, as she prodded his body and listened to his breathing. Then she spread his legs and cupped his genitals. "You did take your pills?" she asked again, pushing a finger up his anus. He groaned under his breath. His cock started to glow, but it didn't swell - it retracted, shying away from the squeezing fingers. But then it twitched inside the warm latex hollow of her hand, responding to the probing of his ass. From a distance he heard Dr. Kurtz hum contentedly. The next day there were two new pills with breakfast. They were blue and rather small. *** BE of course stood for Beauty, and it was given by the petite Mamselle he'd ran away from on the day the girl Mackenzie cut his hair and exposed his penis. Mamselle nodded at him when he and the other Bobs entered for his first class, freshly showered and dressed in satin robes. The washing and changing had been a riot. The boys pushed and fought, but when the group entered class a hush fell over them. Mamselle obviously filled the little hearts of rebellious boys with a natural awe. The tiny French woman welcomed Lucian with the mere shadow of a smile. She asked him to take a stool at the back of the room - and just watch. He shirked until he sat comfortable, pulling the short robe tightly over his naked thighs. It was obvious that the boys knew what was expected from them. They sat down in pairs on the pink-clad stools in front of the vanity mirrors. "Today we once more do the eyes," Mamselle said, clapping her tiny hands. "No fake lashes, just the smoke and the pink and the mascara." He saw Harper pull a wide elastic band down Kelly's head; then pulling it up to push the red bangs from his brow. He picked up a cotton ball, dipping it into some liquid, and using it to cleanse Kelly's left eye. It made the pale skin shine. Further down the row he saw Jo do the same to Mu. Taylor had already picked up a brush, and was dabbing some pinkish powder on the eyelids of delicate little Charlie. There was no giggling or even whispering. The boys were dead serious and not at all clumsy or inept. Lucian saw Kelly's left eye start to sparkle inside a deep cloud of smoky make up. In just a few minutes the boy transformed into an oddly adult and sensuous creature. His green eyes seemed to project a deep, decadent knowledge way beyond his age. There was a hint of perversion that contrasted shockingly with his pale freckled skin and the skinny boy's body in its white silk wrapping. It made Lucian's crotch throb with alarming sensations. Looking down the line of mirrors he met other faces he thought he knew, transformed into disturbing masks of sensuality. Whenever they looked his way, the painted eyes probed his core, robbing it of certainties, making him feel at once confused and sickly excited. What he felt was not just caused by the decadence of what he saw - what he felt was a sickening return of suppressed memories. He recalled seeing his own young face change into that of a clumsily painted whore while his little boy's sperm oozed into his mother's silk panties. Shaking his head, he tried to escape the staring rows of smoky eyes - and the related specters of his memories. "Merveilleux, n'est ce pas?" a voice behind him said. "Aren't they amazing?" It was Mamselle, and her whispered words startled him. The exotic voice swam right into the daze of his conflicted mind, and he knew he'd nodded in agreement before realizing he did. Her hand touched his shoulder. "You'd be even more beautiful," she said, her warm breath touching his ear, making him shiver. Fear entered his mind. He looked around. Sensuous eyes were everywhere, watching him as if they knew things about him - deep things from the past he didn't want to know himself anymore; truths that everyone but he seemed to understand. The eyes invited him. They were like dark, widening pools begging him to take the plunge. "Allez," the voice said, and the hand softly squeezed his upper arm. "Come, ma belle, and let's show them how it's really done." He'd followed the urging hand hesitantly, at once wanting to refuse and to obey. He slid off the stool and walked to a free mirror. Sitting down he saw a ghost reflected in the glass, a pale face under a cloud of paler hair. A face like a sheet of paper, he thought, blank, pristine. When the wet cotton ball touched his eyelid, Lucian felt something withdraw inside him - some essential part of himself, scaring away from a cruel, confusing world. Mamselle's face was close, her dark, round eyes intent as her tiny hand deftly cleaned his skin. She was talking to him, but he didn't hear. Maybe if he didn't listen he wasn't there? He sat through minutes of swirling movements. Hands were busy, brushes tickled, pencils and powders spread clouds of sweetness. "Et voil?," the voice finally said, tearing him out of his dream. He was surrounded by painted faces - made up eyes and lipsticked mouths. He heard sighs and murmurs. Then he felt fingertips urging him to turn his head. The face in the mirror belonged to a stranger - a grown up woman with eyes that had seen the world, knowing how to live in it. The sapphire of her irises was like a clear sky framed in threatening clouds. Her mouth was wide and red and moist. A tear leaked from the lower lashes, taking a trace of mascara with it. Someone must have turned the sound on again, as he was suddenly engulfed in words and cries. Hands touched him, mouths kissed him. He was pulled up and taken into a group hug of soft, silk clad bodies, smelling of powder and perfume. *** Thank God there was running. Of all the new sensations Norton had brought him, this was maybe the only one that didn't muddle his mind with confusion. Whether it was warm or cold, wet or dry, the wind seemed to go straight though him, taking all dust and cobwebs with it, all fear and humiliation - leaving him gloriously empty. It helped him find the courage to get up each day, and sleep at night. A path circled the grounds, allowing a run of about three miles. It went through cops of trees, over small bridges, skirting a lake and passing through fields and along the outside walls. He ran it every morning before breakfast, and every evening before supper, most of the time doubling the distance. In the dark early mornings he was often alone, but in the evening he ran with a group of both Bobs and Barbs, although most of them stopped after the first round. Harper usually ran a second one with him, so did the boy Taylor, and sometimes Kelly. A few times a week Drew was there too. She had a wonderfully relaxed running style, gliding on her long legs, her feet hardly audible and her blond ponytail floating behind. He couldn't take his eyes off of her, but when she looked at him he looked away. She was a traitor after all, wasn't she? She'd been Kurtz's go-between; maybe she'd only gone to bed with him to report on it - on what he did and said. Maybe she'd even helped getting him drugged in the restaurant. She couldn't be trusted, could she? Once, when he was alone with her, doing a second lap, he tried to lose her by speeding up. But she just followed him, hardly breathing quicker. "Lucian," she said, when they at last stood stretching at the finish. "I'm sorry about what happened. I really didn't do it for Kurtz. I like you, Luce, I really do. Please let's be friends again." He looked the other way, leaning forward, hands resting on his bent knees. "Don't call me Luce." "Sorry." His mind raced. He stood straight, stretching his body. "Okay," he then said, holding out a hand. The next moment she was all over him, ignoring his hand. She pushed her sweaty body into his, kissing his face. She smelled lovely. *** That same night she knocked on his door, as he lay naked on the bed, reading. "Wait!" he yelled, but she already opened the door. Why were there no fucking locks in here? Drew stood silhouetted against the light, hands over her face, faking embarrassment. "Oops!" Lucian covered his crotch with the book he was reading. "Can I stay with you, just for a while?" she asked, looking through spread fingers. "Harper said Barbs are not allowed in Bobs' rooms," he said, already shirking a bit to the side. Drew smiled. She didn't fall on the bed at once, but first peeled off her top and shorts. Lucian had seen her naked, but never as relaxed like now. The soft light of his bedside lamp played along her slender body. She was skinny, but in a soft way, with a straight, narrow frame. There was hardly a hint of breasts, but she had poking nipples in small, puffed areolas. As she moved and turned, he saw her tight round ass cheeks, blending into long thighs and strong runners' calves. Then she was next to him, making the mattress bounce. She chuckled, cuddling into his body, her warm breath touching his face before they kissed. It felt natural and scary, easy and overwhelming at once. Her soft flesh engulfed him, making his worries and anguishes fade into a new and unknown nirvana. He was held; someone held him - he was not alone. Her tongue felt like a warm, wet creature from a tropical sea, tasting salty, dancing and swimming around his tongue, darting and challenging, mocking and teasing. Her soft, sucking lips sealed his mouth, muffling his moans and making them echo inside his head. Wherever his fingers touched her skin felt soft and supple over firm flesh. It was impossible not to think of her as a girl, even when their slippery penises met, sliding over and under. They just felt like two extra tongues, he thought, as he churned his hips into hers. Her hard little knob poked into the softness of his scrotum - his own swollen cock pushed back into her belly. 'How clumsy I am,' he mused, the thought hitting him from nowhere. He felt gauche and uncouth in her embrace, all knees and elbows, his knuckles poking - his cock too large and too hard. But then a new wave of perfumed closeness overwhelmed him, and he melted. "Turn," she hissed in his ear. "Let's eat each other." They squirmed on the bed until his face slid down her slick, soft belly and his tongue found the little fat button on its bare, hairless mound. It tasted salty and was searing hot. Closing his lips around it, he felt her mouth taking in his twitching penis at the same moment, sealing it in a velvet lock. His mind drifted off as he lay in a bubble of bliss, their skin sliding on a film of sweat. All thoughts dissipated - he was no longer Lucian, no longer straight or queer or scared. He was no longer anyone, just a body, and even that seemed to dissolve. He felt himself being stretched into a thin smear of pulsing plasma - a ghost floating into an unknown universe. "My ass, my asshole. It's clean. Put your tongue in." The voice was just a breath, coming from nowhere, anywhere. Flesh pushed against his face, sliding, opening. Soft creamy thighs closed around his head as his tongue found her entrance. It was like another mouth, gasping - opening, closing. He speared it, and felt her muscles strangle his tongue. "Fuck me." The last word was a stretched sigh. He pulled his tongue out and dashed it in again, lancing her. He hardly knew what he did, but he did it again and again. The creature in his arms panted and shivered. A voice surrounded him, muffled by the fleshy vice around his head. It was a distant keening, following the rhythm of his fucking. Then something wet invaded his anus. It was stiff and insistent; he relaxed, yielding to it. Soon their rhythms started to find a common beat, the beat of their hearts. Fingers squeezed his balls and his penis; a thumb rubbed its head. He took her lead and started touching the little slimy knob. Even his simplest thoughts dissolved now into the sweaty, throbbing grotto their embrace had become. And then he came. Or he thought he came. Had he already come, was he still coming, coming again? How could there be a fixed moment in time in this satin-silk machine of churning flesh? How could he ever find a climax in this rolling eternity of intoxicating clouds, perfumed and misty, going on and on? Their entwined bodies radiated pure heat as they came and came. Waves of energy escaped into the vacuum surrounding them, until a last spasm rode their bodies and they gasped in final exhaustion. Lying entangled, they were lost to the world. "Lucian?" The voice called him back from a place he didn't want to leave. His mind was as spent as his body. He hated to stir it into life, and return to a world of choices and duties. "Lucian, honey?" A hand shook his shoulder. He tried to ignore it, not wanting to leave the pink limbo behind his closed eyelids. "Was it good for you?" the voice asked. "As wonderful as for me?" He opened his eyes. Drew's face floated before them, flushed and darkened by the backlight. But her eyes sparkled. Then the face came closer, and two hot, weak lips drowned his mouth with a kiss. He tried to rise on his elbows. "Hrrm," he said. He had to clear his throat to make words. "It was," he then said. "Can't find the words. It was..." The lips once more sealed his mouth, sucking away whatever he might have wanted to say. She let go and grinned. It made him smile too. Pulling him down on the ruined bed, she once more engulfed him with her glowing body. *** Time's pestle has this penchant for bizarre repetition, grinding sheer lunacy into a semblance of everyday routine. October went and November came. Lucian remembered Halloween, though he'd rather not. It had been an excuse to dress up extravagantly, and fill the hallways and corridors with dead whores and naked skeletons. There were clanging chains; there was skintight black latex and fake blood everywhere. The desks in Beauty Class were robbed empty, and so were the closets in Fashion. Barbs turned into sex oozing vampires and tall-heeled sluts. Masked and anonymous they moved to the central hall, where they brazenly kissed and dry fucked in corners and niches under the excuse of dancing. Lucian understood that it was a tradition for Bobs to crash the party under cover of their elaborate disguises, snatching punch and cigarettes. The blood red drink must have been spiked, as a soothing buzz hummed in his skull after only two glasses. Harper had done his make up, painting a bloody gash from his left eye down his cheek and throat - like a red arrow pointing at his rouged left nipple. His blue eyes lived in grottoes of black; teeth were painted on his cheek where the gash opened. White powder enhanced his natural pallor. His hair was a purple flame. When he hit the ballroom, loosing himself into the masquerade and the other Bobs' general excitement, Lucian was a half naked ghost in shards of floating latex. His arms and legs showed painted knuckles, his ribs seemed a cage of bones. He'd looked for Drew, but hadn't found her. He hadn't seen her for days, ever since they'd made love - neither in the building nor on the track. He'd asked around, but none of the Barbs could exactly tell him. She was 'out' doing 'chores,' they said, waving him away like the lowly Bob he was. "Hey, boo, bloody stranger!" an excited voice yelled at him over the booming music. He turned and saw a whore. Her entire body was painted golden bronze and clad in a see-through body stocking with torn holes that showed off her nipples and the bare skin of her thighs. She wore towering heels, and her face was covered in black leather, only showing her eyes through slits, and blood red lips that held a cigarette. She'd covered her crotch with a harness, he saw; from its triangular front poked a black, curved dildo, swaying with the music. Lucian had no idea who she might be. He took a step back, but her red-clawed hand grabbed him and pulled him closer. A cloud of smoke made him cough. "You're a Bob, eh? Here to crash paradise?" she screamed. "Okay then, boy, welcome to hell. Why not fuck a Barb while you can. Trick and treat - it's Halloween!" And she pulled him even closer, her fake phallus nudging into his belly. He'd heard the voice before, but it was hard to be sure with all the music and the screaming going on. They danced, in a way. She'd gotten rid of the cigarette and thrown both arms around his neck - pushing her hot, steamy body against his. The cock kept getting in the way until she pulled it up and pressed it tightly between them. It poked into his navel. Lucian wasn't much of a dancer; too shy to have gained much experience. But it didn't matter. All they did was rub their bodies together, hardly moving their feet. "Don't be shy, Luci-boy" she yelled into his ear. "I know you fuck Drew. She's all over the moon!" So the girl recognized him. She also knew about him and Drew. Drew must have told her. Did she tell everybody? "Come on!" the masked girl cried. "I know a better place." She stepped back and grabbed his hand, pulling him with her as she sashayed on her tall heels to one of the dark corridors leading away from the hall. Painted faces floated by - ghosts and monsters, half- naked, half-drunk, yelling, dancing, kissing. He pulled free and turned around to get away, but he bumped into two tall creatures, painted and clad as outrageous as the first girl, wearing the same masks and net stockings and heels. But they lacked the swinging dildo. Their wide red mouths grinned. Long, painted fingernails reached for him. With a click a thing closed around his throat from behind - something wide and tight. Turning, he saw a chain that led to the first girl's hands. She pulled at it as hands pushed his back. Voices hissed 'go.' He felt nauseous. Doors opened and closed; there were narrow corridors and spiraling stairs. He didn't think he'd ever been where they led him. Then the girl opened one more door and flipped on a light that poorly lit a small room, a closet, really, filled with stuff. On the floor was a mattress. The music still boomed from a distance. He smelled the girl's scent, mixed with perfume, sweat and smoke - alcohol too. She pulled at him to get him into the closet. He resisted, but hands pushed him from behind. "No," he said. "Nonsense," she answered. A girl behind him giggled. The girl with the leash pushed him against the wall. Her kiss was greedy, tasting of punch and tobacco. He held his arms stiff, trying to push her away, but she was strong, and very focused. The other two girls were close behind her, their eyes fixed on him from within their masks. The girl handed the chain to one of her friends and let her mouth travel down his body, her claws scratching his skin. She bit the painted nipple and tore at the flaps of dark latex to expose his crotch. Maybe he said 'no' a few more times. He certainly pushed at her leather- covered skull, but all he got were grins and chuckles. When he really tried to get free, the girl with the chain pulled him tighter, slapping his face. Falling back against the wall, he felt the kneeling girl's hot mouth around his penis. It twitched and swelled inside her until it became hard. He felt betrayed. Her eyes looked up at him, dark inside the slits of her mask. "Yummy," she said, smacking her lips exaggeratedly. "It works." It worked. To his growing horror it worked. But not at all as it had with Drew. It worked like it once used to, when he was alone in a shower, his hand around it, building it up to a fast, short-lived spasm, a sudden spitting of goo - and then a stretch of lingering frustration. After two more pulls and a hard suck he felt himself come into her mouth. He arched and stiffened as the energy oozed away, sucking all power from his limbs. The girl opened her red mouth, showing a small pool of white on her tongue. Then she swallowed. "Mmmmm. Good boy," she said, grinning. "Next chapter." A sudden jerk on the leash made him stumble and fall onto the mattress, face down. Hands grabbed his wrists, twisting them on his back, and clicking cuffs around them. His face was pressed into the moldy-smelling mattress. Hands pushed and pulled until his ass pointed up. He cried out, protesting. Someone slapped his ass cheeks hard. Then he felt a cold, slippery thing enter his anus. At first it just rubbed and pushed against his sphincter, but soon it started sliding deeper, causing sharp stabs of pain with every thrust. He cried out and bucked, only to feel hands on his hips and back pushing him down. Voices hummed a monotonous chant, setting the rhythm for the fat pole to deflower his asshole. He resisted. He groaned and pulled, fighting the hands that held him down, just to receive more slaps, blows and kicks to his naked body. "Good boy," a voice hissed and the others took it up, turning it into yet another shanty - 'good boy, good boy...' He knew he'd started crying, sobbing into the mattress. A hand lifted his face. He saw a mask and eyes, a smiling mouth. "Poor boy," the mouth said. "But it will get better. Muuuuch better." And she chuckled. The thing inside him - no doubt the girl's strap on dildo - began a true pounding, and the pain dulled into a throb. "That's my girl," the leading voice chanted, followed by the others. "That's my girly-girl." Lucian stopped resisting. Bathing in sweat he became a rag doll, pulled up and down on the dildo. The pain dissipated, but the slippery friction went on. With new and deeper pounding he felt a glow starting to spread. Every ending of his nerves seemed to sparkle, causing a tremble. It made his fingers claw and his toes curl. Then the true horror started. His body separated itself from his screaming mind, becoming a senseless machine that acted on its own - gathering energy from the mechanical assault of the piston that pounded and pounded. It was a pestle in a mortar, grounding his resistance to a pulp. Lucian's body relaxed; his mind - watching from a distance - noticed the change. The ball of heat inside him started spreading, making him tremble on his knees and shoulders. His mind might still try to close doors on the spreading wildfire, but he felt the gorgeous heat jump from artery to artery, reaching for his chest, his throat, his brain. He started sobbing again, and moaning, but the girls noticed the change too. The fucking intensified, and so did the cheers that replaced the chanting. A hand crawled under his belly, cupping his genitals. Another hand joined it. By now the girls went at it like cheerleaders, repeating 'cum, cum, cummmm...' Hands slapped his ass cheeks and the dildo started hitting one single spot over and over. It made him jerk as if hit by bolts of electricity. Then he came. Again it was nothing like any orgasm he ever had. There was no explosion, no climax. It felt as if the churning fireball was being pressed through a tiny hole, streaming out into the world. It created a sensation of utter freedom, flushing out stress and frustration, making all his gathered tensions leak out. He floated. He flew. He gasped. Then merciful unconsciousness spread a cloak over him. *** "Hm, you're right, it looks a bit red, yes," he heard the doctor say. "But no tearing, nothing serious." His face rested on the rustling paper of the examination table. All he saw was Dr. Kurtz's white coat. What he felt were her latex-wrapped fingers pulling apart his sore ass cheeks. Then one digit probed his anus and he winced. "Sorry," she said. "It must still be a bit sensitive. But it looks good. Did you enjoy it?" He slid from under her and off the table, his bare feet finding the floor. "No! Of course not!" he cried out. "Are you crazy? I was raped!" The doctor raised both blue hands as if to ward off violence. "Yes, yes," she muttered. "Awful, yes. But please lie down again and let me finish my examination." Lucian grabbed his robe. "No thanks," he said. "You only laugh at me." She gently took the robe out of his hands and patted the table. "Please," she said. "You are right, I shouldn't have said that. Now please let me see." Lucian stared at the woman for a moment. She looked tired again, he thought. Even her smile looked tired. He shrugged and mounted the table, lying on his belly and spreading his thighs. The fingers returned to his sphincter. "Please relax, honey," she said. Fuck your 'honeys,' he thought. There were metallic sounds. He groaned as something slick and cold started going in. It seemed to part and stretch his anus as it opened. He shuddered, but there was no pain. "Wow," he heard her whisper. "They sure have been enthusiastic. But they also must have been careful, using grease. Nothing's damaged, I see." The probing and the stretching brought memories his brain recoiled from - but his body warmed to them. He tried to get rid of both. Then he heard a click and felt the stretching stop. The metal thing left his anus, but the fingers returned. They were slick and greasy. "This is a balm to sooth you, and to stop possible infections - though I don't expect any," Dr. Kurtz said. She cleaned the excess cream with a tissue and told him he could get off the table. When he was dressed, she was back at her desk, asking him to sit down. After he did, she handed him a small jar. "Three times a day for two days and you'll be as good as new, honey," she said. By now the endearment hardly registered, as so many seemed to use it. He stared at her. She looked back, her eyebrows rising. "Anything else?" she asked. "Shouldn't you do something?" he asked. "Call the police, maybe?" Kurtz looked away, suddenly concerned with a few items on her desk. "Ehm, well," she said. "Maybe you should talk with Ms. Parker about that." *** "It was Halloween, honey; it's a tradition. Once in a while we allow the girls a day to unwind. They really deserve it." Ms. Parker smiled; of course she smiled. "By tying me up and raping me?" he asked, hating how indignation always made his voice sound thin and high. "Of course not," she said, pursing her lips. Her lipstick was way too red for her pale face. Pudgy face, he thought. Her equally shrill fingernails moved over the desktop to line up some papers that didn't need lining up. "Besides," she said, looking up. "You had no business being there. The hall was off limits for Juniors. You knew that." Lucian was aware of the formal rules that discouraged contact between Bobs and others at Norton's Academy. He also knew no one gave a damn, certainly not on Halloween. He fidgeted, searching for what to say. Moving in his chair, he felt the soreness that lingered deep inside. Parker sighed. "Okay," she said. "Who were they?" "How would I know?" he asked. "They were all dressed up, wearing masks." Ms. Parker sighed again, shrugging. "See?" she said. "Just what I feared. Poor boy, they took advantage of this Halloween thing. So what can we do? Thank God Dr. Kurtz didn't find anything serious." A hot wave of frustration hit him. "They were Barbs," he said. "Ask around." Ms. Parker blushed. She didn't like being told what to do, certainly not by a scrawny student with the face of a pre-teen and the voice of a child. "A Barb?" she said, feigning ignorance. "Well yes, you know, Barbies, Senior girls." "We have twenty-three of them," Ms. Parker said, trying to stress the enormity of the number. "I feel for you, darling, I really do, but I'm not going to turn this place into a chaotic henhouse, just because a few drunk girls made fun of you." "Drunk!" he cried out. "See? So you know there was alcohol!" Ms. Parker blinked behind her glasses. Then she rose. "Don't you have classes to attend, young man?" Lucian felt the well-known drain of initiative when he was being bullied. This was all wrong and the woman knew it. But what could he do? "I want my cellphone back," he said, rising too. "My mother won't like this." Parker smiled. "You might be amazed," she said, walking over to a cupboard, opening it and searching for his phone amongst the many she had. She handed it to him and showed him to the door. "Return it tonight," she said. *** "But mom, they raped me!" "Don't be like that, darling." His mother's voice was hoarse; he thought he heard her inhale and puff out the smoke of a cigarette. Images of moist, red lipstick on a white filter entered his mind, together with the heady mixture of perfume and tobacco. "So girls get interested in you at last," she went on. "Be glad." "They tied me down, mom, and then they forced me with a strap on cock." "Wow," she said. "Kinky." It had taken Lucian three calls to reach his mother. At last she'd responded to his voice mail, not showing any curiosity or asking questions about his wellbeing. "What's up, honey?" was her opening, followed by an urge to keep it short, as she had an 'appointment.' Lucian was irritated, but not surprised. He would have been if she'd shown any real interest. This was his second phone call with her since she'd dropped him off at Norton's. He'd tried to reach her more often, but Parker usually flat-out refused to give him his phone. On other times his mother had been unreachable in the timeslot Parker gave him - or she responded with a text message telling him to be 'strong' and that she was 'busy.' Only once had she taken up the phone. It had been after the debacle at Mamselle's, when the girl Mackenzie had tried to shave his crotch. His mother was tipsy, he remembered, laughing his fears away, telling him to 'man up,' at which she'd laughed until she'd coughed. It had been enough for him to not try again for a month. And now she chuckled away his rape. She poohed and asked if the girls had been pretty. He didn't cry. He didn't even try to explain how wrong she was. Lucian knew there was no one out there for him. *** Two days after the Halloween disaster he saw Drew on the track, maybe twenty yards in front of him. Her ponytail swept left and right; he loved how the tendons of her calves tightened her long, easy-stretching muscles. He wondered why she hadn't told him she was back. Picking up speed he yelled her name. "You're back!" he panted when he reached her. She nodded, looking at him and turning away. "Where have you been?" he asked. "I missed you." She looked at him for another second. "Here and there," she said noncommittally as she ran on. "When did you come back?" She shrugged, spreading her hands. "Yesterday." Maybe it was the handicap of speaking while running, but why did she seem this distant? "Are you all right?" he panted. She looked at him, then away again. "Of course," she said. "Why?" "Why didn't you tell me you were back?" She kept looking ahead, saying nothing. He reached out for her. "Please stop," he said. She kept running, avoiding his touch. "Please?" "We'll catch a cold," she said. For a few more yards he watched her running, her face stubbornly on the track. "Drew? What's wrong?" She stopped. The suddenness surprised him; he stopped a few yards ahead. Walking back he saw her face. It looked dark. Shrugging she said: "Nothing's wrong. I had things to do. Nothing special." He watched her as she started stretching her legs by putting one foot on a bench, arching her body to reach for her toes. Lucian jogged in place to keep warm. "Did you tell your friends we made love?" he asked. The question seemed to surprise her. "Of course," she said. "Why not? And we didn't make love, we fucked." Speechless he watched her put pressure on her stretched leg, then changing to the other. She never looked at him. He turned away and started running again. Maybe it was her voice he heard calling after him; maybe it was a bird, or even a figment of his imagination. It certainly must be sweat leaking into his eyes. *** Two days later he took the decision. Still feeling numb after the cold shower Drew gave him, Lucian was convinced that no one cared about him inside Norton's. There was no one to protect him; no one to love. He didn't see Drew again. He'd tried to avoid people, seeing mockery in the eyes of every Barb he met - suspecting each one of being his unpunished rapist. Even the teachers seemed to chuckle behind his back. Harper and the other Bobs were their same uncomplicated selves, but they too seemed to withdraw when he couldn't stop sulking. He guessed he was just boring company. He remembered what Parker said, one of those first days - about this school being the only save place for him, where people accepted him as he was, encouraging his talents, discouraging bullies. It was all just bullshit, of course. He was alone. He'd been bullied, and there was no one to turn to, no one to trust at Norton's. He believed what Mamselle 'd said about running away, though. Life outside Norton's would be more dangerous than inside. He had no one to run to. He didn't have money; he didn't even have proper clothes. And when he looked into a mirror he doubted if he'd make a convincing man in any outfit - not even an eighteen-year old boy. At the very best he'd be taken for a child. And where would he go? Home? Parker had been clear that his mother would at once send him back. He believed her. But what if he got home when she wasn't in? There would be clothes and food and maybe even money. One night in the first week of November Lucian convinced himself that he had a plan. The idea was simple, really, but to him it came like a revelation: if he couldn't be a boy, he'd be a girl. Girls had closets full of clothes at Norton's. He could wear his running shoes. He wouldn't have to cut his hair, try to look tough and lower his voice. He knew how to be a woman, didn't he? So at daybreak of the next morning he put on two layers of running gear, a wool skirt, his running shoes, thin gloves, a shirt and a pink angora sweater he'd found at Fashion Class. Norton's management must be very confident, he thought, when he pushed open the little iron gate at a corner of the surrounding wall. As he'd noticed before, there was no lock, no guard, no alarm even. Mamselle had been right, escaping was easy. "So you can run," she'd said. "That's a choice too, I guess. Nobody will stop you. It's easy, you know, leaving here. The gate isn't really locked." He refused to remember what she then said about a truck driver picking him up. He was out on the street by the first gray light of a new dawn. He started jogging, but soon the sweater was too hot. He tied it around his waist, making it float behind him like a pink flag. Soon the first car slowed down, an old dented pick up truck. "Wow, we're up early today, honey," the driver yelled through the window he opened at Lucian's side. "What's the hurry?" He sounded like an old man. Lucian didn't look. He ignored him and the car, hating the stinking fumes. He tried to side step and run on the soft shoulder of the road, but it almost tripped him. "Where are you heading, girl?" the man went on. "Next town is over twenty miles, you know, and there'll be rain." Lucian hadn't thought about rain. Then of course the question came. "Where are you from? The girls' school?" Lucian kept running, even picking up speed. The old man laughed with a lot of phlegm; he must be a smoker. "Been a naughty girl?" he asked. At last Lucian turned his head. Yes, the man was old, he had bad teeth and was poorly shaven. "Leave me alone!" he cried. Then he stopped running. The car stopped too. "No need to bite my head off, young lady," the man said, sounding offended. "I just try to be helpful, you know." Lucian panted. "Sorry," he mumbled. "But I need no help." The man didn't seem to be convinced. "How old are you, girl?" he asked, leaning into the open window, letting his eyes go over Lucian. Lucian turned around and started jogging back to where he came from. After fifty yards he looked over his shoulder. The car drove away in a plume of exhaust. He sighed and stopped. The walls and the trees of Norton's were still visible, just like the rooftop of the gatehouse. 'Twenty miles to the nearest town,' he recalled. He doubted if running off was still the right thing to do, but he turned around yet again and started walking. The next car stopping had a female driver. "Want a lift?" she asked through the opened window. Lucian had never considered a female driver. It would be save going with her, wouldn't it? But what if she learned he wasn't a girl? What if, what when... "Please," he said, bending to look into the car. The woman was maybe fifty, blond and wearing designer glasses. There was a load of things in the back of her station car. She smiled; it made her look sweet. "Where are you going?" she asked. He had no idea; he never thought of any destiny but home. Where was Washington anyway; how far was it? He tried to remember - they'd driven hours to get here. "I'm going to Philadelphia," the woman offered. "DC," he said. "Arlington." "Pity." The woman beamed sympathy. Then she looked up to the darkening sky where clouds gathered. "Hope you get a lift soon." She gave gas and took off. *** The rain wasn't spectacular, but very persistent. The continuous drizzle soaked him to the bone in minutes. The pink angora hung off his chest and arms like a colorful but very dead cat. The skirt stuck to his legs and the tight fabric of his running gear turned chilly, making his teeth chatter as he walked on to an invisible horizon. The loud honk right next to him reverberated in his bones. He had to look straight up to see the high window of the truck's cabin. The rain chilled the skin of his face. The man looking down had a big round head with no hair, but he did have a ring through a nostril and a stud in his eyebrow. Damn, what kind of people drove around on these roads? Lucian shook his head 'no' and walked on. He couldn't help shivering. "You're catching a cold, sweetie," the man yelled over the sound of the car that kept pace with him. Lucian tightened the useless sweater around him, only squeezing more cold water out of it. The man was right: he would catch a cold. He stopped and looked up again. His jaws were too stiff to shape words; his teeth rattled. "W-where a-are you going?" He had to repeat his words to be heard. "Raleigh," the man bellowed. "Where are you heading?" Raleigh was in North Carolina. They'd have to go through Virginia; it might be the right direction. Lucian knew he shouldn't do this. But he also felt the icy water leak down his back, making him tremble. "Arlington!" he yelled over the deep rumble of the truck. The door opened and a gnarled claw swung down to pull him up on the high step and into the cabin. He must be weighing nothing for the man, even in his soaked clothes. The stale, smoke-stained air inside hit him as he followed the arm and crawled over the man's lap to sit on the narrow seat between him and the driver. The bald man had the physique of a body builder, a thick, short neck and a low, menacing brow. The driver was just plain fat, his belly touching the wheel. He wore a tent-sized checkered shirt. A thick gray beard made him look like an angry biker, even when he smiled. The bald man only wore a black leather vest over his tanned chest, his heavily tattooed shoulders and biceps billowing out. They both looked at him, chuckling. Then the driver put the truck into gear and they were back on the road - the wiper blades squeaking on the windshield. "You should get out of those clothes, sweetie," the bald man said, touching the dripping sweater. "What? Here?" Lucian asked. His scared face must've been funny, as both men chuckled. The bald body builder grabbed the curtain that covered the back of the cabin and pulled it aside. Behind it was a closet-sized bedroom with a mattress that covered the floor, and pictures of big-breasted, naked women on every wall and even the ceiling. "What do I wear?" Lucian asked. The bald man shrugged; it made his muscles roll. "There's a blanket somewhere," he said. "It might even be clean." Both men laughed. Lucian climbed into the tiny bedroom, closing the curtain behind him. A small, yellowish light made the abundant tit-flesh shine around him. He peeled the drenched sweater off and got out of his sneakers and skirt. Then he started to roll down the double layer of running tights, feeling cramped in the small space. He never took his eyes off the closed curtain. Country music struggled to be heard over the droning engine as he finally got the lycra top off his damp body and over his head. Shivering, he looked for the blanket, finding it stowed away between the mattress and the wall. It smelled moldy, but it was dry - and warm. Wrapping it all around him, he sat down against the back wall, arms holding his knees. "Ready?" a voice yelled, and a hand split the curtain. It held a mug of coffee. He mumbled thanks and wrapped both hands around the hot plastic, blowing on the steaming liquid. It tasted awful, but it might be the best drink he ever had. Its glow spread through his numb body, relaxing nerve ends and reaching every muscle. "What's your name, sweetie?" What indeed. "Lucy," he said. "Why don't you come out and sit with us?" It was always the same voice, the bald man. Big beard didn't talk, it seemed. Lucian felt his heart race; he pulled the blanket closer. "Are you afraid of us, sweetie?" the bald man asked. "No need, we only look dangerous." They laughed. A woman wailed a country love song. "Come on," the voice insisted. A hand opened the curtain. The bald man's ugly face appeared. It grinned. "You know, I have a daughter your age, sweetie," he said. "I would never harm you." His claw begged. Lucian crawled back against the wall and the pin up pictures. "Here, see," the man went on, showing his wallet. There was a picture of a young, blond girl. "Gabby," he said. "She'll be 15 next month. Thank God she takes after my wife." Both men laughed again. Lucian swallowed and took a decision. Handing the man his mug, he crawled out of the closet, onto the seat, holding on to the blanket. The place was so narrow that he almost touched both men. The engine droned on. Lucian saw the rain sparkle on the windscreen as the lights of the oncoming traffic swept across it. Daylight seemed to have gone only one hour after sun up. He sipped some more coffee, but the magic had worn off. It just tasted awful now. "So why are you on the road, hitch hiking?" the bald man asked. "Call me John, by the way. The beard is Gus." Lucian nodded. He decided to keep close to the truth. "I ran away from school," he said. "My parents live in Arlington." "I see," the man called John said. "I hated school too." They laughed. There was another pause, filled with a humming engine, squeaking wipers and a howling guitar. Then he heard another sound - it took him a while to realize it was Gus, humming along. The atmosphere inside the truck still made him gasp - the sweat and the nicotine and the unwashed bodies. Obviously cleanliness and soap had been so omnipresent at Norton's that he'd forgotten it wasn't everywhere else. Something touched his leg. He looked down and saw a brown, gnarled hand resting on his thigh, over the thin blanket. How long had it been there? It started moving, rubbing softly. "Sir...," he said. The man smiled his stained teeth bare. "I'd rather not...," Lucian went on, pushing the words through a choking throat. Panic returned. He jerked his leg away, moving left, only to feel another hand on his left thigh. The driver grinned while humming louder. A lover had betrayed the nasal singer on the radio. Two hands tugged at his blanket, moving it up. "You are a beautiful girl," the bald-headed bodybuilder said as his fingers moved to the inside of Lucian's thigh. "Great legs." He couldn't utter a word anymore; he could hardly breath. "No!" he at last got out. "No." He tried to climb back up into the sleeping closet, but the hands held him down. "Beautiful," the voice said. A claw went up and found his thong. Lucian let go of the blanket and grabbed the groping hand, trying to pull it away. He meowed like a scared kitten, squirming to get away from the touching. The laughing face of the driver blended with sweeping headlights as he turned to watch the bald man's face. He was caught and doomed. Suddenly the claw stiffened as it cupped his crotch. "Fuck you!" the man yelled, jerking away his hand as if bitten. His other paw removed the blanket, baring Lucian's body. Pulling down the thong, he exposed the small, pale penis; it retracted even more from panic and shame. "A boy!" the man cried out. "A fucking faggot!" His mouth with the ugly teeth hung wide open - fear and disgust struggled in his eyes to get to the forefront. "Goddammit, Gus!" he yelled. "Get off the road. Let's dump the queer. Yeagggh... oh God, awful!" He shook his hand to clean it from contaminating filth. As the bearded driver forced the truck onto the road's shoulder, Lucian pulled the blanket back over his body. Two strong hands grabbed him and pushed him out of the open door, making him drop five feet down to the wet ground. He lay sprawled on his face, feeling his still damp clothes and shoes fall on top of him. "Damn faggot!" he heard as the truck pulled away with a roar. *** The hand was warm, rubbing a blissful glow into his skin. It was a lotion, soothing the bruises and numbing the pain. "Stupid boy," a voice scolded softly. "You could have been dead." The words didn't really register, but the caring tone did. Would he ever have believed that this paper covered table might feel so welcome, relaxing - save? And that Kurtz's voice would sound comforting? She was right, of course; he'd been stupid running off on his own like this. He could have been raped, beaten up or worse. Lying on the examination table, feeling the heat relaxing his cramped body, Lucian wondered what made him do it. What had made him feel so certain that he'd had to run off with no food, no money and hardly any clothes, looking like a lost, 15 year old girl? Hitch hiking in the pouring rain, goddammit. Lying facedown on the road shoulder, he'd cried. But the cold seeped in again, so he tried to pull on the damp top and running tights. He found his shoes and started walking, wrapped in the dirty blanket. He left his sweater behind, a pink smudge in the mud. Stumbling and stepping into puddles he made slow progress, wondering if it was progress at all. He had no idea where he was going. Maybe there would be a gas station ahead, or even a restaurant. The rain stopped, and a wintery sun came out, making it easier to walk. An electronically enhanced voice tore through his musings. It was distorted by static, so he didn't hear what it said. But he knew it was meant for him. Looking left he saw a police patrol car crawling at walking pace, lights flashing. He stopped. So did the car. A window was lowered. Through the crackling he understood words like "doing here...lost...alone...boy." He just stood and stared. "Show...hands," the electronic device went on. He did. "Come over... slowly." He slowly walked over to the waiting car, hands out. Behind the open window was a face - lean, fortyish, and with a moustache. "Hello... boy?" the man said. Lucian noticed the small pause before 'boy.' And the question mark. He shivered. "Lift the blanket." He did, showing his lycra-clad body, shivering harder. "Get in." The back door clicked open. Lucian slid in, feeling the warmth close around him. Two police officers turned their faces to him, the moustache and a younger woman behind the wheel. She was pretty in a tired way. "How old are you?" the moustache asked. "Eighteen," he answered, trying to keep the trembling out of his voice. The police officers looked at each other. "Eighteen?" the moustache repeated. Lucian nodded. "Got an ID?" Lucian shook his head no. While they drove on, the male officer started to interrogate him, obviously suspicious after having trouble believing his first answer. Lucian decided to just tell the truth about leaving school and trying to hitch hike home. He told them about the truck, but hesitated to mention the attempted rape. The humming car and the warmth made him feel sleepy. "So why did they throw you out of the truck in the middle of nowhere?" the officer wanted to know. Of course he'd want to know. So Lucian told him how they'd felt him up and how he'd wrestled to get free and jumped out of the driving truck. He didn't know why he lied. There was shame, maybe, for having been taken for a girl, or the need to seem courageous. He certainly was determined not to tell them how the men had dumped him after grabbing his crotch and finding out he had a penis. He couldn't tell if the officers believed him. "Are you hurt?" the woman asked. "No," he said. "Just bruises - and cold." The patrol car turned into the parking lot of a roadside restaurant. They went in and sat in a booth. The moustache telephoned while the woman got them coffee and Danish rolls. He wolfed one down; the woman grinned and gave him hers. The moustache started asking him questions about the truck drivers, the truck and anything else he remembered. Lucian guessed he was a poor witness having no idea about license plates or even the brand of the car. The woman took notes. Next he asked him about home. He gave them the address and telephone number, landline and cell. He made calls, but got no response. Too early still, Lucian knew; his mother would be in bed. He gave them the name of the school, but added that he had no idea where it was. Somewhere in Pennsylvania, he said, an estate. They wanted to know what kind of school it was. He just said it was kind of a college, a boarding school, and no, he didn't have a phone number. The woman Googled it on her smartphone and made a call. Lucian didn't remember what she said after making contact. He let his mind wander, overcome by a sense of fatalism. So he'd tried to run, but he now knew it was just that: running away from something, but having no idea whatsoever where to go. He tried to imagine picking up his old life again, but no pictures came to mind. He knew his mother would not want him. He shuddered at the thought of seeing his father. All he saw was aggression and humiliation. "School wants you back." A hand touched him. He looked up into the pretty, friendly face. They took him back to Norton's; it happened to be only a thirty miles drive. Thirty miles of freedom, he thought - ugly, cold, wet and stinking freedom, peopled with salivating monsters and clawing rapists. "Don't ever do this again," Dr. Kurtz said, checking an ugly bruise on his left shoulder, where he'd hit the ground beside the road. *** "Why did you run off?" Drew asked. "What is it to you?" Lucian countered. She looked hurt; he didn't care. If she could dump him, so could he - couldn't he? If she could make an indifferent fucking out of what he held dear, why would he even talk to her? He'd seen her often, ever since he'd returned. Sometimes it seemed she wanted to talk. Just curious, like the others, he supposed. All the Bobs wanted to know where he'd been. He shrugged until they lost interest. Barbies looked at him too, giggling their damned giggles. He just went about his duties, turning in as early as he could. "I'm sorry I hurt you," Drew said, standing closer. "Whatever," he answered, by lack of other cool things to say. "I really am. I was such a jerk." Her hand touched him. He stepped back. She winced. "Yes," he said. "You were. Why say it anyway?" They were standing in a shielded corner of a corridor, both on their way to classes, he supposed. Drew had blocked his way. Harper and Kelly had been with him, but they'd walked on. He'd seen Harper's eyes roll at Drew. Drew shrugged. "I shouldn't have said it," she offered. "Not that way. But we really shouldn't... meet like that anymore. It got me in trouble, you know?" Bullshit, Lucian thought. There was a lot of fooling around - amongst Bobs, and amongst Barbs too, no doubt; even between Bobs and Barbs. Sure, school didn't like it, but he'd never heard of anyone getting in 'trouble' as she said. "Trouble?" he asked. She looked away and back. "Can we be friends, Lucian?" she asked. "At least friends?" Now he shrugged. "For how long?" he asked. "Until you change your mind again?" Why did she cry? Tears ran down her cheeks, all of a sudden. He stepped aside. "Sorry, I have to leave for classes." And he ran.