"In Chapter Four Ant discovers that Rayne does have quite a past, and finding out about it gives him a boner that just won't go down. After the nastiness of Chapter Three I thought it would be pleasant for Ray to have a little holiday, so our heroes are off to the South of France to try and make some money in the European Porno Movie industry." xxx.Sadie
(All characters and stories are copyright of Sadie Rose Bermingham 1999-2005 – any unauthorised use of these stories will be treated as an infringement of copyright.)
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Ant juggled the change in his trouser pocket as he waited for the receiver to pick up on the other end of the line. He had been walking all night and now, as the sun rose over this decrepit, graffiti riddled call box on Limehouse Reach, he was nearing his wit's end. The idea of leaving Rayne alone with Rabid John was still making him grind his teeth with frustration. The boy had looked so exhausted and defeated last night as he stood in the doorway, calling John off in order to save Ant's skin. Now the older man knew that there was no way he could turn his back on his beautiful young friend. If he left Rayne in Mile End the boy would be dead within a year, he was sure of it. Either the drugs or some crazy person would see him off, and that was if he did not succumb to AIDS.
Last night, not one of the bastards at that Gym had bothered with rubbers, in so far as he could tell. Ant wondered grimly how many times the younger man had consented to unprotected sex. The odds were not good for him.
He was about to hang up and try someone else when the line clicked softly and a cultured, sleepy, English voice said; "Who the fuck is ringing me at this time of the morning?"
"Daniel! I'm sorry, I know it's early," he apologised at once. "It's me... Ant. I need a really big favour. I need somewhere to crash out for a little while, and I'm going to bring a friend with me. You're not fully booked this weekend are you?"
"As a matter of fact, I was planning to have a few people over, but I suppose I can always make room for one or two more. What's the great urgency, Anthony?" Dan sounded bemused. He was one of Ant's oldest friends but they had seen one another rarely since Daniel Leland emigrated to the French Mediterranean. He lived on a seventy-foot cruiser at the Cap d'Agde for much of the year, a lifestyle Ant could easily appreciate.
"We just need to keep our heads down for a little while, and maybe earn a bit of cash, if you could arrange something...?" Ant bit his lip, fishing for coins and shovelling them into the machine as the credit dipped rapidly. "My friend... I reckon he could do a bit of photographic work, you know. I'm sure he's your type."
There was a pensive silence on the line, then Dan asked; "He's not jailbait, Ant? You're not hiding out from his parents and the police?"
"He's twenty," Ant pinched the bridge of his nose wearily. "He's really pretty, Dan and red hot in bed. You're gonna love him, I'm certain. He's a little goldmine!"
Daniel sighed and stifled a yawn. "I suppose so. He'd better behave though. I'm getting too old for teenage tearaways and the marina authorities won't stand for any funny business, you understand?"
"I get it," Ant nodded eagerly.
"When are you coming down?"
"In a couple of days, I just need to sort a few things out," Ant said, experiencing a flood of relief. "I'll ring you again before we set off."
He returned to the boat once he had spoken to Daniel and took a long shower. The last couple of days had left him feeling gritty and corrupted. A glance in the mirror showed him a body that had not yet succumbed to middle aged spread though he was definitely far from scrawny; not short, although he had always wished he were taller. He owned a face that many still found handsome and a nice, long meaty cock that certainly won him plenty of admiration from both sexes. His dark blond hair flopped across his brow, still thick and full, devoid of grey and he contemplated getting it cut before they set out for France then decided that it looked quite bohemian as it was. Once he had shaved and scrubbed himself clean he dropped the black out shutters in his bedroom and set about developing the pictures he had taken of Rayne Wilde in his bed on Thursday. Satisfyingly, his initial belief that the boy would be stunning on camera seemed to be borne out by the prints he produced. He looked younger still on film, captured in random moments of seductively innocent posing. So often he seemed to lift his beautiful eyes to the lens just as the shutter clicked. There was something in that wide, upturned gaze that seemed naïve, even when he was masturbating himself openly or riding Ant's toys and his cock. Ant turned on the lights now and fetched a dildo to help in his admiration of the prints.
He lay down, staring at a sexy little shot of the naked youngster with his wrists manacled behind him and his legs lifted and spread, a ball gag in his mouth and the self same big dildo protruding from his pink, stretched anus. Ant lubed the toy up thoroughly and eased it into his rectum, working it deeper and faster into himself then resting his cheeks against the footboard of the bed and riding against it as he began to jerk himself off with a slippery hand.
In a couple of days, all being well, he would have Rayne on a sun-kissed deck, out at sea, slim, tanned and stark naked, whilst Daniel Leland, one of Europe's premiere Pornographers took the pictures. Ant pulled himself to a massive, breathless, satisfying climax in minutes thinking of it and rubbed the spill of hot semen all over his naked belly and chest, panting appreciatively.
DECEPTION AND LIES:
On Monday morning the bank staff were helpful but ultimately apologetic. They were quite willing to lend him money against his boat but the credit check would take a little time; time Ant did not have. He made arrangements to withdraw as much of his savings as he dared to and they promised to have the money ready for him in the afternoon. Whilst he was waiting, he called in at the post office and picked up a couple of forms, then he went down to the marina at Tower Bridge and spoke to one of the guys he knew who worked there renovating small pleasure cruisers and carrying out maintenance. They chatted about the boats for a while, which ones were regularly out on the river and which seemed to have been neglected. Then he returned to the shopping arcade and had copies of some of his old keys cut.
He filled out the forms, which were for the British Waterways Licensing Department. A few subtle alterations would take care of the primary details. Then he went back to the bank and collected a thousand pounds in cash.
Ant felt self conscious about walking through the East End with so much money, but he had dressed down deliberately and only the occasional passer by glanced his way. He caught the District Line up to Mile End tube station and managed to find his way back to the house on Canal Road without too much difficulty. The door was shut and the place looked abandoned but he climbed the steps and knocked loudly all the same.
After a while of this, someone peeked out through the boards over the front window. He thought he recognised the thin, sullen girl from his previous visit. The door was wrestled open and she peered up at him solemnly.
"You'd better 'ave his money," she warned.
"Is Rayne okay?" he wanted to know.
Before she could speak, a husky voice somewhere in the hall behind her said; "What do you expect? What the fuck are you doing back here?"
The door opened wider. Rayne looked pale and there were dark circles under his huge green eyes but he was up and dressed. He moved awkwardly as if he was still in some pain.
"I've got some cash for your Pimp and a deal, if he's interested." Ant tried not to show his annoyance at this offhand greeting.
"You are such a fucking idiot!" Rayne shook his head and limped into the downstairs front room where he slumped into the decrepit armchair closing his eyes. Ant followed with a studied frown on his face.
"Is trying to get you out of this shithole such a stupid thing to do then?" he demanded.
Rayne opened one eye and surveyed him listlessly. "I dunno why you're botherin', to be honest!"
Ant took in the ripped, rumpled jeans and the same gauzy shirt he had been wearing on Friday night. One sleeve was rolled up and there was a small, dark, painful looking bruise in the crook of his right arm. He curled up in the chair now, hugging his knees miserably and refusing to look at Ant.
"Do you think I want you to kill yourself?" the older man asked him vehemently. "Do you think I can, with all conscience, leave you here knowing that you're just going to get yourself deeper and deeper in a mess that you can't get out of?"
"I don't fuckin' care what you think!" Rayne lifted his hands to his ears and huddled up like an ammonite. "Leave me alone. You can't 'do' anythin'! John'll find a way to get me back, whatever. He's right, I can't manage without him. I can't do anythin'!"
"And you believe that, do you?" Ant moved around to the side of the chair and crouched down, reaching gently for the boy's hands. Rayne pulled away, curling up tighter. He made a little gurgling sound in the back of his throat, shaking his head. The girl watched them impassively from the doorway.
"Listen to me," Ant said more firmly. "The other night I watched you get up on stage and you played and you sang and you were fucking great, so don't tell me that you can't do anything. You're a gorgeous kid, you're smart, you're mouthy and you could do so much with your life. Just let me get you out of here. Let me get you off the poison he's been filling your damned veins with."
Vivid, venomous green eyes stared out from the darkness between Rayne's skinny forearms. A tight little voice hissed; "It hurts too much. When I take Junk it stops it hurting for a while. I 'need' it."
"No you don't," Ant insisted in a gentler voice. "Trust me, Rayne. There are other ways to stop the pain, less lethal ways."
"They don't work," the boy looked down again, his forehead resting on the ripped knees of his jeans. Through the rents in the denim, Ant could see that his legs were still raw and scabbed. He ached to fold his arms around Rayne and just carry him out of here. "Nothin' works... nothin' else."
"It's making you ill," he protested weakly. "You need a break from it. I 'can' help you, you know. If you'll let me I can help you."
"You all want something from me! You're all as bad as one another!" Rayne's voice cracked and he made a little choking, sobbing noise and wrapped his arms tightly around his head, swaying back and forth frantically in the chair.
"I don't want anything," Ant lied, feeling somewhat guilty but unable to say anything else that would help. "I only want you to get better and sort yourself out."
"Leave me alone. I wanna die." Rayne sniffed hard and refused to uncurl himself.
"Someone wants his medicine," said a knowing voice from the hallway.
Ant looked up to discover that the despondent looking girl had vanished. Rabid John was watching him expectantly in the doorway. Behind him was the tall, thin carrot-haired youngster who had accompanied Ant to the bank on Saturday morning, and chased him out with a knife in the small hours of Sunday. Now Ant rose to his feet, folding his arms defensively.
"If you kept him off it for a while he might try and kick the habit on his own," he pointed out.
