Chapter Three: Renaissance Apocalypse — Part 3

Aside — ChoCho’s First Love

ChoCho is alone, in Ted’s room, wondering how he has gotten into this situation. It is a small room cluttered with clothes and sports equipment. It has a coat closet set to the back, which is overflowing with clothes as well. ChoCho has gotten used to the musty smell of Ted’s room. Though he is sitting near an open window, and a breeze is working with the air conditioning to clear out the small quarters, Ted’s distinct musk seems to permeate everything. Cars zoom by on a distant, busy road, a constant reminder that around them is a massive, crowded city. Currently, the door is locked, there are poker cards everywhere, and Ted’s parents are at work, so there are only the two of them in the entire house. They had been playing poker, alone, for pennies, when suddenly the game turned into strip poker. ChoCho, who had been winning, was suddenly losing. In the corner of the room is set a computer, its screen off, its power light glowing an angry red from deep under the desk. Music plays somewhat loudly through its two speakers. Somehow Ted has gotten him out of every last piece of clothing, and ChoCho is sitting on the edge of Ted’s bed, trying not to cry while Ted proceeds, essentially, to take him down.

ChoCho is more or less full grown, but Ted is a football player who spends two hours in the gym every day while ChoCho is a waifish bookworm, an otherwise wiry young man whom puberty has chosen to ignore. Because he hasn’t expected Ted’s aggressive advances, ChoCho is quickly overpowered. Ted’s fingers find their way across his body, moving and maneuvering him onto the bed, then onto his back. He starts to resist, pushing Ted away, but Ted’s fingers lock around his throat, keeping him from breathing, from talking, from screaming. In a few seconds, as ChoCho thinks he is dying, blackness swallows his thoughts. When the twilight of Ted’s room creeps back into his mind, accompanied by tingling gray sparkles that refuse to quickly fade away, he finds himself looking into Ted’s eyes while Ted’s tongue darts around the inside of his mouth. Ted pulls back his face so he can see ChoCho more clearly. His hands are so big that he can hold both of ChoCho’s wrists in one of them while groping ChoCho’s groin with the other.

Ted’s hip, at the moment, is braced somewhere near ChoCho’s belly. ChoCho doesn’t dare talk, unable to fathom why Ted’s hands, rough as they are, feel so good against his skin. Suddenly he is more aware that his body has responded to that coarse grip, wrapped around his tightening shaft, and all he wants to do is cover himself. ChoCho tries to pull his legs to his chest so he can sit up and break free, but Ted wraps his groping hand around ChoCho’s knees and ChoCho finds himself curling so that his knees are touching his chin. Ted’s quiet voice is soothing, shushing ChoCho angrily as he gets a better hold on ChoCho’s legs. In moments, Ted has his elbow against the underside of ChoCho’s knees, and he squeezes firmly until ChoCho yelps. When ChoCho’s legs go limp, Ted relaxes and lets ChoCho’s legs drop down to the bed, and then moves a beefy, hairy leg up to pin ChoCho in place. Ted thrusts himself against ChoCho’s hip until his less than average penis hardens in response.

Suddenly hands are in places they shouldn’t be, one locked on ChoCho’s neck, the other pushing insistent and deep into the dark crevice behind ChoCho’s legs. ChoCho is afraid to move, because he doesn’t want to pass out again, even as he feels pain all over his chest and belly. Ted is nipping him with his two sharpest teeth, drawing blood in some places, leaving bruises in others, and though ChoCho winces from the pain, he doesn’t dare do more than whimper. In a moment, Ted is forcing ChoCho onto his side, rubbing something slick and oily onto and into his bottom. The rough edges of Ted’s fingers are more aggressive the deeper they go, causing pain to shoot into ChoCho’s gut and legs. In moments those massive fingers come back so Ted can unzip his pants. ChoCho starts to struggle, but Ted has his arm wrapped tightly against ChoCho’s windpipe, and a quick squeeze forces him to relax and submit to the inevitable.

ChoCho’s heart is racing even as Ted spoons him from behind, pushing in with little concern for the tears now stinging ChoCho’s eyes. “Please put a condom on.” ChoCho says quietly.

“Of course I’m wearing a condom, you little cunt.” Ted squeezes ChoCho’s nipple between index finger and thumb until ChoCho cries, “Do you think I’d fuck a loose whore like you without one?”

Ted pushes extra deep, and ChoCho is surprised to find it doesn’t hurt more now that Ted is in. Ted’s grip around his penis has tightened, and soft, smooth skin rides over a hard unyielding shaft as Ted works ChoCho’s body against itself. Ted feels ChoCho’s sphincter tighten as ChoCho ejaculates, the sudden pressure causing Ted to orgasm violently, slamming into ChoCho with each spasm, his grip on ChoCho’s neck and penis tightening dangerously until the final collapse and release. It isn’t more than a couple of seconds before Ted has gotten off the bed and is throwing ChoCho his clothes. Ted has grabbed a tissue from the bedstand, and has wrapped his failing penis in it, freeing the condom from it, and is zipping up his pants as he talks.

“Get dressed, then leave. Use the back door, the one leading to the alley.” Ted says dismissively.

ChoCho stops at Ted’s door, wiping the tears from his eyes, but Ted is too busy pulling the sheets from his bed to worry about ChoCho — until he finds himself impeded by the boy on his way to the laundry room.

“Why are you still here?” Ted demands.

“I thought my first time would be different.” ChoCho says as Ted pushes past him and into the laundry room.

“You came, didn’t you?” Ted says this even as he throws his bedclothes into the washer, pours in bleach and dish soap, flushes his condom down the toilet, and proceeds to unzip his pants and pee, not even bothering to close the laundry room door on ChoCho.

Ted is pissing loudly into the toilet in the laundry room even as ChoCho is letting himself out the back door. It takes awhile for it to sink in to his mind what has just happened. Two days ago he had mentioned to Ted that he wanted to know what sex was like. Today he has just had sex, and has ejaculated harder than he has ever done before. Ted’s idea of sex, ChoCho decides, is entirely too painful. Every step hurts, his ribs ache, his throat is tender, every little nibble mark and bruise is a constant throb, the dull aching that seems to be working its way into his lower back, even the cramping that he feels occasionally creeping down his legs, is a constant reminder that Ted has just fucked him. More importantly, his butt hurts, not just inside, but everywhere, like he’s been spanked with a paddle until he can hardly move. In spite of how good it feels, and without relation to how bad it feels, ChoCho starts to cry. He knows Ted will never see him again. Ted has gotten what he wanted, and now he’ll find another fuck buddy. Before he realizes it, he’s home, and all he wants to do is get the funk of Ted off of his body, get as much of the experience as he can out of his mind, wash the stench of it from his nostrils, and get on with his life.

ChoCho wipes the tears from his eyes before his father can see them and goes to the shower. The water is blistering hot, and ChoCho scrubs every inch of his body, working soap across every bite mark and cleaning out the warm dark space between his buttocks. In a few days, an envelope with still photographs will arrive at his house, printed from images gathered by a webcam set near a bed in a bedroom where ChoCho got fucked for the first time. The photographs will only show ChoCho from the front, wracked in ecstasy and fear, hiding the face and body of his lover. The last one will show ChoCho in that final state of bliss that only ejaculation can bring, and it is the smile on his face that will damn him. An hour after his parents open that envelope, ChoCho will be homeless.

ChoCho walks to his only friend’s house to find it empty of people and to find that the girl is not home. In the three hours it takes for Jynx to get home, ChoCho has already justified the situation in his head. Ted must have intended those photographs for ChoCho. His parents must have intercepted his mail. The situation is just a misunderstanding. ChoCho tells Jynx everything, trying not to cry as Jynx takes off his clothes to treat fresh wounds that in some cases are sitting over old ones. Her fingers are probing but cautious as she checks other kinds of damage. ChoCho talks while she drains puss from a wound that has started to heal shut. The pain from this causes ChoCho some pause in his discussion, but in few moments she is done, and has managed to get him undressed for bed. By the time ChoCho has finished telling his story, the two of them are safely tucked under the blankets, Jynx lying gently against ChoCho’s back, her soft, butterscotch breath heavy on his ear. Unlike Ted, she has very little in the way of body hair. She is soft, and her touches, which remain platonic and loving, are gentle. Jynx stays quiet until he starts to talk about the photographs.

“You were wrong about one thing.” She says when ChoCho has finished talking, and is starting to nod off, “Ted did fuck you twice.”