*Hello, this is a quick disclaimer from your author. This story contains gay material, and if you are okay with that, it also includes emotional turmoil, forced sex, and humiliation. You may think I am sadistic, but the next few chapters are a lot better, and there is some real love. Please tear it to shreds, and comment a lot, that way I can make future chapters better! Remember, all characters in this story are 18+ the bit in the beginning is just a flashback.
Have a nice read, and I hope you will have a better time then poor Simon...*
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I loved my parents. It seems like a simple thing to say, but it's true. It would be safe to say that my parents were my entire world.
My father was an amazing man. Now that I look back, he must have known how feminine I was. He must have guessed that I was gay, but he never let that affect his judgment. When I was fourteen, he came in my room to find me crying on my bed. I felt so ashamed that my father was seeing me like this, but he just sat on the bed next to me and waited for me to tell me what was wrong.
"A k-kid at school c-called me a f-faggot." I sobbed. "Wh-what if h-he's r-right?"
My father only hugged me tighter. "Listen Simon, that kid is a jerk, but I want you to know something." He pulled back and tilted my head so I was looking strait into his eyes. "It doesn't matter to me if you're gay, strait, bisexual, transsexual, a cross-dresser, or a goddamn Martian; I will always love you."
My mother was all of that. When I was growing up she was as protective of me as a mother bear. If anyone tried to hurt me or give me grief at school and my mother found out they would soon regret it. If my father was the best dad in the world, then she was my best friend and my protector. I was happy.
A week after I turned eighteen they died.
I came home from school a week after my birthday in October. I was nervous and full of indecision. A boy at school—one almost as nervous and shy as I was—had kissed me on the cheek. I knew that my parents would be accepting, but I wanted to hear my father's reassurance and I wanted to hear my mother's advice.
When I got home there was a police officer at my house asking me if I was Simon Grayle, and if I knew that Nathan and Sasha Grayle had been in an accident?
My mother had been killed instantly as a drunk driver careened into them. My father lived for three more hours in critical condition, and his lungs filled with blood just as I made it to the hospital. I made it to his room just in time to see him surrounded by doctors as his pulse flatlined.
I sleepwalked through the next two days. I talked to morticians and the doctors and the social workers, stupid and dry-eyed with shock. It wasn't until their funeral that I broke down. The sight of those shiny, cheap caskets that contained all I had ever known.
I sobbed in that room. No one was there except the mortician and a chubby older man that I didn't recognize. They could have been on fire for all I cared; my sobs came out in rough, gut-scraping paroxysms of pure grief. When I opened my eyes, I could see my reflection in the casket, a feminine blonde boy with hair that was too long and dark eyes that were swollen and red from crying. I hated that boy; I hated how weak he was.
I jumped as a heavy hand landed on my shoulder. When I looked up it was the chubby man; he was wearing a cheap suit and he had a heavy fleshy face. He seemed awkward and unsure.
"Hello Simon." His voice was a deep rasp. "I'm Peter, you're mothers uncle. I'm going to take care of you for the next few months."
I followed him. Like a stupid, obedient dog I followed the man who showed me no ID or papers to prove who he was. I followed this dangerous man. When we got out to his car I sat in the front seat. I yelped in shock as someone in the back seat put his arm around my neck. As I took a deep breath to scream, the person in the back shoved a damp cloth over my face and nose. As I inhaled, I got a heavy dose of something that smelled sick and sweet, and unconsciousness came swifter than I ever could have imagined.
My head hurt. My eyelids weighed a thousand tons, but I somehow had the strength to crack one open. I was on a soft leather seat and a man was sitting next to me. I pulled open my eyelids by sheer force of will and I moaned with fear.
I was in an airplane. The tube of the plane was narrow, but it seemed bigger because there were no rows of seats. I was sitting on a circular booth-like leather couch next to my 'great-uncle'. On the other side was a tall skinny man and an Asian girl in a pretty blue skirt and white blouse. The girl was either asleep, or drugged like I was.
I feebly raised my head, feeling panic crawl up and down my spine like a cold many-legged rat with sharp teeth; a panic-rat.
"Where..." I moaned. "Wh-why?"
I was feebly starting to get up when the man who had masqueraded as my great-uncle turned around and shoved two white pills in my mouth. I tried to spit them out but he covered my mouth with his hand. The pills were as bitter as pain.
"Swallow them, Baby." He growled. "Or I'll just give you a little tap on the head." I whimpered when he held up a shiny black police-issue club, and I swallowed the pills. "Good girl..." he crooned, sneering as the world faded to shadows.
I woke up twice more in that long drugged hell. The first time I was still in the plane and the 'Uncle' shoved more pills down my throat. The second time I was in another leather seat and I could hear the all-encompassing roar of helicopter blades. It was so loud that my 'Uncle' couldn't tell that I was awake and I caught a glimpse of where I was; not that it helped.
We were flying over an Ocean that was as bright blue as a postcard, dotted with hundreds of small islands. When the man realized that I was awake he dragged me back into my seat and shoved pills into my mouth. As the pills dissolved I saw the choppers whirring, and the world dissolved into moments and the eternity between each one.
I woke up for the final time in a dark room. I was on a narrow, hard bunk; as the drug began to wear off, my eyes began to adjust.
The room was about the size of a large closet. It consisted of my narrow bunk and a bucket and a flat vent on the floor. The door had no handle and a small wire-hatched window.
As I sat up I moaned softly in humiliation. I was wearing the white, buttoned shirt and black pants that I had worn to my parent's funeral. At the armpits my shirt was soaked in sweat, and at the crotch my pants were soaked in piss. My mouth tasted as hot and dry and fuzzy as a sock out of the drier. My throat was gummed shut and I was panting with thirst and heat.
I weakly got up and I felt dizzy and light-headed. Blood rushed up through my head and I could feel it roaring in my ears and eyelids. I moaned at the pain it brought and I felt tears beading under my roaring eyelids. I felt as weak as a kitten.
