Disparate Mercies Ch 01

This is a copyrighted work of fiction by the author Shell C Crosby. All rights reserved.

Disparate Mercies Chapter 01

Desperate mercy:

I knock on the door in front of me. It's a regular door in a typical apartment. There's nothing to mark it as any different as any other door. Nothing that announces this guy's special and gonna give me what I need. Fuck it, I knock again. When it opens I feel nothing. The man standing in the doorway is just like his blue door. Common, typical, average, whatever, I really don't care, he gave me his word and I'm gonna have to trust Average Joe behind his average door is a man of his word.

His beady green eyes take me in. I let him look, it's his show, I'm here to play my part and get my reward. I look back at him through my hair. I'd let it grow out, because He liked my hair. For a second my chest tightens as I think about Him before I remember to hell with Him, if it wasn't for Him I wouldn't be about to get done by Average Joe still-looking-at-me-in- the-goddamn-hall. Maybe Average wants to back out, maybe I'm not good enough for Average either, that's fine I have a plan B.

Finally he steps aside and motions for me to come in. I don't hesitate crossing the threshold. We worked it all out in emails; I know exactly what to do. Which isn't much; I just give him this night, and wait for sunrise.

I follow him to his sofa, he sits on the leather and I strip. Nothing sexy, I'm not here to make him think I'm into him, he knows the deal. Even if I'm not the best looking guy I rate better than him. It's just the only one I want can't be with me and I can't stand being alone anymore. I kick off my shoes and take off my pants, and I hear Average Joe hiss or something. I did everything he asked me. I removed the hair from my body, pits, ass-crack, hell even my toes. I don't see the appeal, but if it helps get him up, whatever.

He's muttering magnificent, flawless, and other things. Now I can see the hunger in his eyes, and maybe a hint of something else. He stands and touches me for the first time, and it's a fight not to move away from the manicured hands. Call me an idiot, but letting someone I don't love inside of me still repulses a part of me, a sliver of the pseudo moral romantic bullshit my parents hit me with for my nineteen years. Of course for sixteen years they didn't know their son was bent. His hands touch across my skin and I can feel him shaking.

Average removes his chinos and I get a look at what he's working with. He works out, or used to, I guess. What I thought was flab are muscles, and between his legs is a not so average piece of meat that's growing further away from average every second. Lucky for me my schedule's clear or walking normal would be a real worry for me. He takes off his shirt and I'm looking at not a terrible body. Guess when you're a middle aged accountant type you have to bring something to the table.

He leans forward as if to kiss me, I don't move, but something backs him off. He instead puts his hands on my shoulder and I take the clue and drop to my knees. His dick is impressive, not beautiful like His, but long, fat, and covered with veins. I take his purple mushroom shaped glans in my mouth and run my tongue along his slit. The strong taste of his pre-cum is so vastly different from His, I'm again reminded of how much I miss the taste of Him. I wrap my fingers around Average's shaft and begin to work him in earnest; I'm man of my word after all. His ten inches bends down some and is fatter at the base, the deeper I take him the more my jaw hurts. His muffled groans let me know my efforts aren't in vain.

I close my eyes and pretend it's His weeping cock I am servicing. I work my mouth to his heavy hanging balls. The large cum churning orbs are too different from his, and threaten to pull me from my pathetic pretending.

I lick the underside of his rod and feel Average's hands knot in my hair. He shoves himself in my mouth stopping only when I gag. He moves his large hand to my mouth and pries my jaw open further. It hurts, but his pleasure is why I'm here, so I try to relax my aching jaw. He pushes in harder and faster. I choke and sputter, spew and spit run from my mouth down my body. It doesn't bother Average Joe from what I can tell. He moves one hand to my neck as he lodges his inches in my throat. I feel my eyes water, he's cut off my air I feel no panic at the thought. I feel nothing, and it affirms I made the right call coming to his den.

He pulls out of my throat and I gasp for breath, just as I take in air he's back in my throat again. He rubs his hand along my distended neck, I'm feeling lightheaded. I feel myself losing consciousness as his bitter come begins to squirt down my throat. I hope he leaves his fuck stick in my air passage long enough for it all to be over. He'd be putting me out of my misery.

*****

Singular mercy:

I look at the Boy. He really isn't what I expected. I kneel down and inspect him closer. No track marks just silver lines of old scarred skin, stretched taut over small muscles. Silvery reminders of explorations of pain, he is flawless. Whatever his damage, he's lovely. When I saw him through my peephole I had to rethink my plans. This kid has his whole life ahead of him; maybe if I don't... he'll want to stay with me. He won't have to stay long, but maybe long enough to take some of the loneliness away. I feel hope, maybe we can fix each other, temper these inclinations that brought him to me.

I cluck my tongue at myself and my lack of restraint. I hadn't meant to cut off his air, but he looked so fucking stunning with my dick down his throat, I lost control for a minute. But I'll be better. I don't want to damage his skin, so smooth and perfect. He'll be my Boy; I'll make him my Boy, and keep him.

I carry him to the bed and lay him on his stomach. I rub my hands along the smooth skin. I take small smooth globe in each hand and part his ass. His pink wrinkled hole invites me in. This wasn't the plan but I want to honor this body now it's here with me. I'm in control of this night, I control pleasure and pain. I will bring him pleasure and he will stay.

I nuzzle his ass crack, wedging my nose in first; clean, soapy, with a hint of musk. I run my tongue along the valley of his backside, avoiding the star-shaped target. His moan comes to my ears, he's waking up. I shove my tongue in his asshole. He cries out as I tongue fuck him with purpose, he pushes his ass back to my mouth; he wants more of me. Yes, he wants me, at least my tongue, and that's a start.

I sit back and turn him on his back. I want to look at my Boy's face. He is exquisite, but the brow above hazel eyes furrows when he looks at my face. Did he think it was someone else with their nose buried in his crack? He has to know I control his body no one else. I find myself squeezing his balls in my hands. Only the sound of his whimpers draws me back. I tamp my temper; he's not been shown he's mine after all.

I gentle my touch and stroke his flagging six inch cock. It fits in my hand perfectly, yes he is perfect, my Boy. He draws his lower lip between his teeth as he watches me stroke him. I will him not to damage his skin. His small hands twist in my sheets, he's fighting me. He doesn't want me to draw him in to me. I will teach him what his flesh is for, but his eyes hinder my lesson.

I rise from between his legs and go to my toy drawer. There are many things I had hoped to use tonight but adding new tears to his flesh holds no appeal to me, yet. My hands pass over my favorite instruments and I remove the blindfold.

He watches me and lifts himself so I can endow him with darkness. Yes, my Boy is compliant. I drag my hand through his brown hair. He shudders. I bring my mouth to the shell of his ear, breathing warm breath on his skin. I push him back on the pillow and crawl over him. I flick my tongue on the hard nub of his nipples. In spite of himself he is enjoying my attentions.

I lick down to his hard dick and draw the balls I had abused in my mouth. Like the rest of him they are proportional to his slim body. I roll the orbs in my mouth making him pant. First my tongue, now my mouth, next my touch draws him to me so he will be mine. I stroke his throbbing flesh, sliding the foreskin up and down.

I expose his sensitive member, envelope it in my mouth and push my finger in his hole. His hips move with the rhythm of my mouth. His hands are in my short brown hair. I add another finger and feel his fingers clench; my Boy is tight. I curl my finger and tap his hidden jewel and easily take him in my throat. He gasps and shoots come down my gullet. Oh yes, he is sweet, my sweet Boy.

I squeeze his spent sac and suck until I'm satisfied there is nothing left to give. I remove my fingers and over his thin body with my own and touch my lips to his. He responds, something he would not do in my living room. He opens his mouth accepting the gift he shared with me. He takes come from me and swallows, obedient Boy.

I kiss him and I know he is becoming mine, he kisses me back. I get the lube from beneath the pillow. I lean back on my heels and lube my reawakened cock. I put his feet on my shoulders and prep his tight asshole. I know fucking him is going to cause him true pain. My brutal tool jumps at the realization.

I place my head at his entrance, and press into him. He uses his feet and nearly unseats me. I push his legs down and pin his body. I will not be denied and I introduce him to true agony. His teeth are bared as he screams through clenched jaws at my intrusion. I am surrounded by the incredibly tight heat of him; it is the center of our existence, burning pleasure and exquisite pain. I do not stop as his body resists me. I move, sliding completely in, my trimmed pubes against smooth skin.

The slapping of our bodies reverberates in the room with the sound of his pained cries. We are in bliss, my own heaven, his hell. His arms are around me, his hands fists as I pound into him, making him mine, making him need to be my Boy.

I kiss him, savaging his mouth and ass in unison. I break our kiss and look at his boyish face. Water slides down his face, tears escaping the blindfold. My vicious dick swells even more at the sight, there is blood, I can feel it. I raise my hand and run my fingers along the moisture. My poor suffering Boy, my hand rests on his lovely neck, healed skin and gaping hidden wounds. His mouth parts as he gasps for air. Such a faultless vision, it ignites me

I do not break my pace. I cannot hold back. We are whole and incomparable in this moment.

I had wanted to keep him. But I did promise. I promised him that if he gave himself to me I would free him from this world. He has given himself to me, my honorable Boy. I will honor my promise. I take his breath until his life leaves his eyes. I go to my drawer and review my many toys. The sun has not set, hours of amusement await me and no more pain for you, thank you my good Boy.

****

Variant mercy:

The doorbell rings and I let Richard in, it isn't uncommon for visitors to come through, Cheryl's asleep so I lead him to the living room.

"How is she?" He asks as he takes the seat across from me.

"She's having a good day, resting right now. We appreciate how great everyone's been. The church is the only family we have."

Richard shakes his head and I wait for the reason he's sitting in my living room.

"That's why I'm here Vince, family; Josh is missing and Angie's frantic."

He's missing.

The voice in my head drowns out Richard.

"I know you have your hands full, Christ." He swallows hard and I wonder how long Angie rode him to get him to come to me. "I'm sorry Vince, but you know him better than anyone, do you have any idea where he might be?"

"No need to be sorry Rich. You both must be out of your minds. How long has he been gone?"

"Two days."

I can feel my heart rate pickup.

Has he left town?

"That's not so bad. Did you guys have a fight? Maybe he'll turn up after he cools off."

"No, he didn't take his car, or wallet, he even left his cell. And there was no argument, he's been, perfect. He joined the young adult ministry and has been taking his classes. But he's still—"Richard stops.

Yearning.

"Isolated?"

"Yeah, you know how he is."

Yes I know.

"Police?"

"I went to Kent, and filed a missing persons report. But Angie and me feel like we should be doing more, we figured maybe you could help?"

"Sure, I haven't had much contact with Josh," I pause and he lowers eyes. I'd spent more time with Josh than either of his parents for three years, until Cheryl's illness. "Maybe I can have a look at his things in his room, see if I can help find a clue."

"Vince thank you. You've been such a blessing to us. You'll never know how much we appreciate you."

I study Richard and feel my face form that reassuring smile I mastered years ago, a reflex. It does not, cannot show the despair I feel whenever they declare their love for me. It would be easy to assert that they do not love me or Josh. But that is a lie. They love me and their son. They just can't fathom the devastation wrought by their love.

"The aide usually comes in around noon. It gives me a chance to run errands and check in with Sam. I'll swing by your place then."

Richard agrees and we hug. His face is a bit less strained when he gets in his car.

I close the door and face myself when I come to the mirror, as is my habit. Not for vanity, but to be certain the mask is in place. No outward signs but my hands tremble.

No wallet or cell? Our place.

Urgency grips me as the words pop in my head. I get my phone and call Karen. She works for hospice, but her hours had been cut and she makes up some of that loss by secretly working for me. The equations of poverty sometimes veer outside the rules, like so many things. She agrees to come right over.

I unlock the front door and go into the room with Cheryl.

Her room, the death room, was a bonus room once slated to be the play room for the children we were going to have. It is a thought that comes to mind every time I approach the closed door. With the door closed all the things hoped for live on, a fragment of something resembling hope. Of course it vanishes when the door opens. The scent of life's slow cessation banishes that shard. I walk into the room. I pick up the Bible. I sit and read to my sedated wife and try to draw strength for what lay ahead.

I'm driving as fast as I can to our place. Lucky for me Karen doesn't ask any questions. I didn't have a lie for where I was going. It isn't that she's not important enough for me to lie to, but I have so many woven threads I don't need to complicate things by adding a strand to her. It is the nature of lies. Once you tell it you have to attach that lie to that person, remembering it for some time in the future. I have many fine threads attached to the people in my life the tangled mesh amazes me.

Choices, I had to make.

I glance in the rear view mirror.

She knows what you are. Why hide?

My amber eyes accuse me. I'm at war with myself, and that helps no one.

I turn onto a side road that goes from gravel to dirt, stopping in front of our place. It's a small cottage on five wooded acres I inherited from one of the church members, Mrs. Canon. I picked her up for church every Sunday for two years. She never invited me in or shared much about her life, but when she died this property was mine. Cheryl never stepped foot inside, it was outside her ambition therefore irrelevant. It was something that was never hers.

I unlock the door and step inside. I know he isn't in here; the air is too still, but I call for him anyway. The house is small, five rooms. I walk through the living room looking for signs of him and find none. I stop at our bedroom door, me and thresholds. I open the door and see the full sized bed we made love in every chance we could for twenty months. The memory of when the hope we clung to began to shrink beyond our grasp overwhelms me.

****

Cheryl had gone for prayer healing. She, the woman I had spent eight years with was slowly leaving this world. I found no comfort with my pastor or those I'd known as friends, my solace was with Joshua. My reality was full of her, grief for her suffering, and sadness that she never allowed herself the freedom of loving anything. But I had and I loved him and it was right. If God was love and God loved me then no matter what, this was not sin. Cheryl knew about us but before anything could be remedied she got the diagnosis. Life revolved around her dying, except in that house.

I lay on the bed; my back pressed against the headboard waiting for him to undress. He stood and watched me, like he did every time we were alone. I stroked myself. His eyes followed my hand. My body was shaped by years of labor and colored darker by working in the sun. His unrushed perusal made me feel wanted. I willed him to come to me so I could push myself in his warmth. When he reached and turned off the lamp I knew something was wrong.

"Hey, turn the light back on." We never fumbled, shrouded in darkness. This one place, our place we did not hide ourselves.

Josh stood in the darkened room, unmoving by the night stand. I slid over and turned the light on myself.

Josh's head was down. His dark hair covered his face.

"Josh, sweetheart, take your shirt off. Let me see you." I swung my feet to the floor and sat upright, he stood between my legs.

Hazel eyes looked down at me, and I smiled, a reflex. Josh did not take off his shirt but slid out of his pants and under wear. His hard on jutted out from him, but his thighs were my focus. I saw nothing and thought myself foolish for my reaction. He pulled the long sleeved black tee over his head and I saw them.

"Vin don't be mad."

I didn't know what to say to him. For the first time, in three years I couldn't find the words he needed to hear. I wasn't angry. But I could give him nothing. The niggling voice that had I'd ignored for almost two years was booming at me. I had no way to deny it; this was a part of the mess I'd made.

What we gave to one another wasn't enough and I had nothing more to give. I'd thought he'd be alright, he knew I loved him. I'd thought that if someone loved who he really was it would make him better.

I ran my fingers along the red scabbed lines; one looked like he should have gotten stitches.

"I'm sorry Vin." He whispered the apology over and over.

I hated the light in the room at that moment. I grabbed him, buried my face in his stomach, my arms squeezed his waist. I didn't want to let him go.

I pulled away and patted the space on the bed for him to sit next to me.

"What happened?"

Josh's hands danced as he spoke. He never let his hands dance for anyone else.

"I went to group and they had a football player from State as the speaker. He was talking about how you can't allow yourself to succumb to homosexuality or drugs or depression."

"You know bette—"

"I know," he cut me off, "Vin I know. I was born this way. There's nothing wrong about that. And if your God is real and he says it is, then he's an asshole." He tossed his head up sending his thick brown hair away from his face. "You told me that the first day we spoke, but what if you're wrong?"

"I mean Perry gets up and he goes on about indulging in illness. Basically saying anxiety and depression are ways to avoid taking responsibility for your life and decisions. If you trust God and his children around you you'd be fine. That's when it hit me. I was in a roomful of people who are telling me that everything I am is fucked up. I mean Perry used to me my best friend. And I know you said it'll get better when I leave, but Vin out there is gonna be worse. It's not safe, nowhere is. These people here have known me my whole life and they think I'm wrong. I want to be right. I'm tired of being scared. But I don't know how to stop."