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Chip
Chipby Greg Bowdenjg.psgte.netChapter
Four”Short,”
Chip said when he climbed into David’s barber chair. “Like that.” He pointed to
a poster on the wall showing a pretty boy with the next thing to a buzz cut.
David looked him over and said, “No. Short, okay, but with that wound on your
head, not that short. Now let’s see…”He
proceeded to do things to Chip’s hair and when he was through you almost
couldn’t see where his head had been shaved for the stitches. Chip looked at
himself critically in the mirror for a moment before he smiled at David. “I
don’t even look like me, do I?”"No,”
David sighed. “You’re even prettier than before.” Chip took it as a joke but
David meant it.The
ride home was silent, Chip staring out the cab window, unconsciously touching
his new short hair. When we got into the house he went into the bedroom,
stripped off the sweat suit and stood in front of the full length mirror for a
long time, tracing the long red wound on his abdomen with his finger. Lolita Preteen I left
him alone.At
dinner I told him I thought the haircut had been a good idea and, avoiding the
subject foremost in both our minds, suggested we ought to think about doing
some shopping.He
looked at me blankly. “What for?”"Well,
even though you never seem to wear them, I think you probably ought to have
some clothes. You know, the stuff other people wear when they’re not in bed?”He
brightened considerably. “Can I have a new Stetson? Like the one you bought me
before?” Well,
I guess everyone has their priorities. “I was thinking
more along the lines of shoes, pants and shirts but sure, why not. If the other
stuff isn’t too expensive we’ll get you a Stetson too.”It
amazes me the things that make a sixteen year old boy happy. He cleared up the
dishes and hummed to himself while he washed and dried them. When he was
finished he went in to bed and turned on the TV. I sat in the study, pretending
to work and worrying about him–and those other kids out there on the street.
When it occurred to me how unproductive I was being I gave up, took a shower
and went to bed.”You
really watching that?” I asked, knowing from the
expression on his face that he wasn’t.”Why?”"Because if you’re not I think we need to talk.”His
eyes went wary but he shut the TV off. “What about?”"What
we’re both thinking about. About what BJ said.” I
glanced over at him and saw him wince. It occurred to me it wasn’t something he
really Lolita Preteen
wanted to confront–but he had to. “How reliable do you think he is?” I
asked.”BJ? He’s
okay as long as he’s off the hard stuff. When he’s shooting up he gets funny
though. Kind of out of it.”"How
was he today?” I hadn’t a clue. I never have been able to tell unless someone’s
so far out in space that everyone can see it.”Oh,
he was okay. I think that girl he’s with keeps him off the stuff. Why?” How
can these kids be so damn blasť about that? “Well, I was wondering if he really
knew what he was talking about. He said Ty and …”Chip
supplied the name. “Buzz. He’s a good guy.”"Yeah,
Buzz. He said Ty and Buzz were dead. You think he
really knew?”"I
guess. He said it didn’t he?”"Yes,
but I wonder how many people he told that you were dead, too.”Chip
considered that for a moment before he gave that little shrug of dismissal. “He
knew. He couldn’t make up that part about their…” He paused, unable to say it.”The
word is mutilated. Or at least that’s close enough. He wouldn’t make that up,
just to embellish the story?”"What’s embellish?”"It
means to add things, details to make a story more believable or more shocking. That sort of thing.”Chip
laughed. “No. BJ doesn’t much embellish. He’s not smart enough to know how.” He
said it without judgment. It was simply a fact of BJ’s
life.”I
guess those boys–Ty and Buzz–were… working?”He
laughed again. “You mean hustling? Yeah, they were hustlers. Like me.”I
ignored that last part. “Well, neither one of us is so dumb that we don’t
think–if they are dead and they were mutilated–think they must
have gotten mixed up with that guy that almost got you.”Chip
lost his smile and stared at the dark TV for a long while. “The crazy,” he
finally said in a low voice. “Yeah. Probably.”
He slid his hand under mine and it was cold. After a long time he said, almost
to himself, “I guess maybe I should go to Chicago too, like Fuzzy.”I
tried to measure my voice, so he wouldn’t hear the edge of disappointment in
it. “You could, I guess. But I think you’re okay here, at least for now.”He
turned his hand over and intertwined his fingers with mine. “Thank you,” he
said under his breath. After that he was silent for so long I thought perhaps
he’d drifted off to sleep, but he hadn’t. He’d been thinking. “You want me to
go to the… to the cops, don’t you?”I
rolled up on one arm and looked at him. He was staring fixedly at the ceiling.
“Even if I did it wouldn’t matter. What counts here is what you want to
do.”He
glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “You wouldn’t be mad?”I
shook my head. “I wouldn’t be mad if you did and I wouldn’t be mad if you
didn’t. I also wouldn’t be mad if you said you just wanted to think about it.”There
was another long silence while he made his decision. “No,” he said. “I… no.”"Okay,
how about this?” I was improvising but as it turned out, it was pretty good
improvising. “It seems to me the first thing we need to know is if those guys
really were killed.”"How
do we do that?” He’d stopped staring at the ceiling and was now looking at me.”Maybe the gay newspapers. They sometimes run stories no one else does. We’ll
pick up copies tomorrow when we go shopping. The second thing we–or rather
you–can do,” why hadn’t I thought of this before? “is
make a drawing of the guy who tried to do it to you.” Chip’s
eyes went hard. “What for?”"Well,
if nothing else we could give copies to all the boys still out there on the
street. At least they’d stand a better chance of staying alive if they knew who
to watch out for.”He
thought about that for a moment and then nodded agreement. “Okay. I can do
that. What else?”"At
this point Chip, I have no idea. Except perhaps you could
make a drawing of Ty and Buzz, too. I don’t
know how but it might help. Other than that, I don’t know. But at least we Lolita Preteen have
the beginnings of a plan.” I squeezed his hand. “Now turn over and think about
how nice it is not having those butterflies digging into you while you go to
sleep.” He smiled and did just that. God how I envy that kid, being able to
drop off to sleep in about three seconds while I’m still trying to get my limbs
arranged.Our
shopping trip the next day was fun. We started at Macy’s in the underwear
department where he cruised right past the emerald green French silk briefs and
even passed up the Calvin Klines in favor of standard
issue white Jockeys–which were on sale. He picked out socks and tee shirts that
were on sale too and even settled for the house brand of jeans once he found
that they had buttons instead of a zipper. He grinned at the salesman and said,
knowing exactly what he was doing to the man, that he hated the zipper kind
because he was always getting his big ol’ thing (his
exact words) caught in them. I don’t think the salesman’s eyes ever left Chip’s
crotch after that.On
the way out we passed a big display of digital watches and I asked Chip if he
wanted one. He gave me that completely blank look of his and said, “Why?”"Well,
I suppose you might like to know what time it Lolita Preteen
is, now and then.”He
shrugged. “I know.”"You
know what?”"What
time it is.” His inflection said, `keep up with the conversation, dummy’.”Okay,
what time is it?”"Twelve ten,” he said without hesitation. I glanced at my watch.
12:11. Close enough.”You
always know what time it is?”"Sure,”
he said. The unasked question was, `Doesn’t everyone?’ I let it drop.The
next stop was the western shop. Chip went straight to the real Stetsons and
picked one exactly like the one he’d had only it was
black instead of gray. He put it on and looked like he’d been wearing it all
his life.On
the way to the counter a shirt caught my eye, a washed out blue pattern in a
western cut. I asked Chip if he’d like to try it on. When he did it fit him as
though it was made for him–like a second skin. He took to it immediately. The
last thing before we got to the counter was a small alcove filled with boots.
Chip picked up a pair and studied them critically for a moment before looking
at me. I sighed and nodded, figuring that he probably never had a cowboy suit
when he was a kid.A
rather pretty woman asked Chip if she could help him. I had to leave when the
first `ma’am’ slipped out of his mouth. Obviously the boy had seen far too many
John Wayne movies.I
was surprised again when he come out of the alcove,
walking as though he’d always worn high heeled boots. The surprise though was
the boots he chose–simple, black, square toed and with almost no decoration.
Good, practical, every day boots of excellent quality and no flash. Maybe he had
worn them all his life.We
went to Burger King for lunch and while Chip Lolita Preteen
ordered (lavishly) I went down the
block to a bar I know and picked up copies of our two gay newspapers. I stuck
them in one of Chip’s packages figuring Burger King wasn’t exactly the place to
read them. That just goes to Lolita Preteen show where I come from. Looking around the place
over lunch I counted five guys and one woman reading one or another of the
papers.At
home I cleared out a bureau drawer for Chip and made room on the closet shelf
for his new hat. Once we were organized Chip settled down at the coffee table
with paper and pencil to work on drawing his attacker. I went into the den to
read the papers.An
hour later I found my first indication that something was going on. It was in
one of the gossip columns:Word
among the commercial boys over at the Lolita Preteen J.P. is that something is on the loose.
Two of them went down last week and the rest of the boys are so nervous that
there’s a traffic jam at the bus station.I
went out and asked Chip if he knew the J.P.”Yeah.
It’s a video game place over by Third Street. Why?”"Did
Ty and Buzz hang out there?”"I
guess. Most everyone did, one time or another. Did you
find something?”I
handed him the paper and he read the item. “Could be,” he said when he
finished. “Ty was really into one of the machines
there. Trying to break the score record.”"Okay.
I’ll keep reading. How’s your project going?”He
waived at several balls of paper on the floor. “It’s not right yet. Its hard, trying to draw… You know.”I
patted him on the shoulder. “I don’t know but I can imagine. Keep trying,
though. It’s important.” He pulled out a clean sheet of paper and I went back
to the den.The
second paper, The City Reporter, is
much more serious than Town Talk,
more political and often more angry. I’d saved it for last because I thought it
most likely to have something and I hadn’t wanted to skip over the other
papers. I was right. It was on page four, headlined “Murder Victim Identified”:The
mutilated body found Wednesday in Lakeside Park has
been identified as Tyrone Barlow from Elgin, Mississippi. Mr.
Barlow was identified by fingerprints provided by SOC, a children’s advocacy
group active in the southern part of the country. According to his mother, Edna
Brown, Tyrone left Elgin nine
months ago in the company of an older man. The man, identified only as Mr.
Watson, told Mrs. Brown that he could help Tyrone find movie work in Los
Angeles. Mrs. Brown has not heard from Tyrone since he left Elgin. A
second mutilated body was found nearby and police believe the two young men
were victims of the same killer.When
Chip read the article he shook his head. “I heard about the movie guy. He
didn’t say that he wanted Ty to be in porno movies.
Or that they paid mostly in bad drugs. Ty left LA
fast when he saw that.” He paused for a moment. “So now
what?”"How’s
the picture coming?”Chip
held out a piece of paper. “Here. This is him.”It
was a picture of a good looking man, thirty-five or so. He had longish dark
hair, a broad bushy mustache and a goatee emphasizing a strong jaw. He was
wearing odd, thick looking glasses and sitting behind the wheel of a car. There
was nothing sinister–or even very unusual–about him.”It’s
a good picture, Chip. You kept yourself out of it.” I’m not sure he understood
what I meant but he smiled and nodded. “I think this guy,” I pointed to the
by-line on the story in the paper, “would like to see it.”"Why?
He’s just a reporter.”"He’s
an involved reporter, Chip. He took the trouble to track down and talk to Ty’s mother in Mississippi. That’s a good sign, I think. Will you talk to him?”Chip
shook his head. It weakened my case considerably but I didn’t argue. When I
called the paper they told me Brian, the reporter, was out but would return my
call. He Lolita Preteen did, during dinner, and agreed to meet me the next morning at a mostly
gay cafe. After dinner I called Mickey and asked him to come to dinner the next
night. I thought he should see some of Chip’s work.The
reporter spotted me first, outside the restaurant. “Mr. Williams? I’m Brian
Thomas.” He was a good looking man, maybe a year or two younger than me, with curly dark brown hair, dark blue eyes and a warm,
friendly smile. I took his hand and smiled back at him. It was obvious we were
going to like each other.We
settled at a table by the windows, ordered coffee and world famous hard rolls
and studied each other while we waited to be served.”I
understand you may have some information for me,” he said, stirring his coffee.”I
think so. I read your piece on the Barlow boy. I think this is him?” Brian took
the drawing and studied it briefly.”That’s
him. Of course he was a lot less pretty when I saw him but yeah. It’s him.”I
handed him the picture of Buzz.”That’s
the other boy, the one they haven’t identified. And that
one?” He pointed at the third piece of paper in my hand.”The
man who killed them,” I said, handing it over.He
looked at the picture for a long time without comment and then laid it on the
others, evening the edges with his broad fingers. “And your
connection with these people?”I
looked him squarely in the eyes. “None.”"Then
how…”"The
boy who drew those pictures was intended to end up like the other two. He
managed to get away.” Brian toyed with a hard roll while I told him what little
I was going to about Chip. I didn’t lie, that’s not my nature, but I omitted a
lot of the truth and, without Lolita Preteen saying so, implied that Chip had fled the city.When
I was finished Brian broke open the roll and buttered it, shaking his head. “I
don’t Lolita Preteen know. It’s going to be a very difficult sell with my editor.”"What
do you mean?”"Well,
look at it from my editor’s point of view. Here’s
these three pictures being volunteered to the paper. Two of then–sure.
They’re the kids but this third one,” he tapped the stack of paper with his
knife handle, “this one’s supposed to be the bad guy who did in the other two.
Hell, he could just as well be your brother-in-law. Or maybe the boy’s pulling
a little revenge number and it’s his father. What we’re looking at here is a
very serious accusation and if this,” he tapped the drawings again, “turns out
to be some poor man some kid is trying to do in–well, we’ll all be in deep
shit. And, in my case, unemployed as well.”I
could see what he meant but Lolita Preteen it was still hard to take. I kept thinking about
those kids out there and what was happening to them. I told Brian my idea of
passing the pictures out to the kids.”I
doubt they’d pay a lot of attention to you. Now if it was one of them, say the
boy who drew the pictures…” He gave me a smile, telling me he didn’t believe
for a moment that Chip had left town. “Well, that might be different. But maybe
it’s not such a good idea Lolita Preteen
anyway. What you might do is just push the guy into
hiding for a while–or send him off to some other town where the boys are
plentiful and don’t know about him.”He
was right, of course. In
the end we agreed that Brian would approach his editor and see what could be
done and I would cool my heels until I heard from him. When we left I shook his hand and said I hopped I’d see him again–soon.
“Oh, you will,” he said with a wink. “We will definitely see each other again.”
A spark of erotic certainty passed between us and we both knew we’d get
together.When
I got home the house was quiet and I stood for a moment, wondering where Chip
was. A quiet, rhythmic sound coming from the bedroom finally located him and I
realized he was in there–masturbating.”Chip?”
There was a quiet sound as he turned over in the bed. “It went okay but I have
to go out again. I’ll be back in a couple of hours and tell you all Lolita Preteen about it.”
I went out, leaving him to his pleasure.I
wasn’t sure where I was going until I found myself in front of Richard’s
building. On impulse I called him from the pay phone in an Italian restaurant
just down the block. He said he was free for a couple of hours and would be
glad to see me if I could get there soon. I said ten minutes and made it in
seven.”You
look just a little strung out,” Richard said, waiving me into the massage room.
I hadn’t known it showed but he was right. I was strung out. “Can
I have a quick shower first?” I didn’t feel much better after the shower but at
least I didn’t smell and I’d figured out my problem–I was very, very horny. I
stretched out on Lolita Preteen the table and Richard came in wearing his massage
costume–which is to say nothing. He started with my neck and back, standing
beside the table, making himself available to me. I found his penis with my
hand and sighed, enjoying the feel of its warm bulk. By the time he’d moved
down to my buttocks I was feeling a deep, warm glow inside and when he raked
his nails lightly over my balls I came. All by myself.”Well,
well,” Richard laughed as my orgasm subsided. “You were more strung out than I
thought.” He made me get off the table so he could change the towels under me
and I was unaccountably embarrassed by my erection although I felt a little
better when I saw he was also nearly erect. I mopped myself off and climbed up
on the fresh towels. “I wonder,” Richard said, beginning again, “if we can do
that again. Well, we’ll see.”When
he had me turn over I was still erect and almost immediately Richard pushed me
to the brink of orgasm and then kept me there for the better part of a half
hour. When he finally let me go over the wash of relief and pleasure was almost
more than I could stand. He made that last a long time, too, and before he was
through he filled my hand with his own ejaculation.He
covered me with a towel and left me to drift in that
warm half world between sleep and waking for a while before sending me to the
showers. When I was dressed I dug out my wallet but he pushed the money away.
“No,” he said, “not when it’s that much fun.” He put his arms around me and
kissed me until we were both hard again. “I think it’s time we did one in bed,
don’t you? Maybe next time?” He broke away and swatted
me on the ass. “Now go. I have another client.”I
stopped at the market for dinner things and then the bakery where I bought
custard napoleons–Mickey’s favorite–for desert. When I got home Chip was in the
kitchen, eating ice cream out of the carton.”Hi,”
I said, ignoring the ice cream carton. “I’m sorry I woke you when I came in
earlier.”He
shrugged and offered me the ice cream. “I wasn’t asleep. What’s that?”I
opened the bakery box and showed him the napoleons. “How
come there’s three?”"Mickey’s
coming to dinner, remember?”"Oh, yeah.
The artist guy. You going to
show him my pictures?”"I
thought I might. If you don’t mind. I think he’d like
to see them.”Chip
shrugged again and put the ice cream back in the freezer. “I guess. You want a
sandwich?”After
lunch Chip busied himself with his paper and pencils and I fooled around in the
kitchen with a leg of lamb and the spice rack. When I went in to take a
shower–what, number three for the day?–I noticed one of my early books open on
the night stand on Chip’s side of the bed. I took a quick glance and saw he’d
been reading one of the better sex scenes. I got a sort of erotic kick to think
that it might have been the fuel for his masturbation fantasies that morning.Chip
actually got dressed without being told and I thought he looked wonderful in
his cowboy clothes. He was a little disappointed when I told him he couldn’t
wear the Stetson in the house but he took it off without argument. He showed me
two new drawings he’d done “so this Mickey guy won’t Lolita Preteen
think all I do is copy his
stuff.” The drawings were of the living room, one with me sitting in the wing
chair and one, oddly Lolita Preteen enough, with an elaborate Christmas tree filling the bay
window. I thought both of them were very well done.At
five
o’clock Mickey breezed in
bearing gifts of wine and flowers. He did a slight double take when I
introduced him to Chip but I was getting used to that. What surprised me was
Chip. His eyes narrowed and he stiffened almost imperceptibly. It suddenly
occurred to me that they knew each other–or at least had met somewhere. It was
to Chip’s credit that he gave no other sign of recognition but I couldn’t help
wondering…Mickey
is an interesting man, handsome, full of charm and very lovable but he does
have his quirks. One of them is what he calls his “little collection.” I think
he’s probably had sex with every man he’s ever met–gay and straight alike. He
generally does it only once with a man but once he has, that man is in Mickey’s
little collection–two drawings, crotch only, one front view, flaccid, and one
side view, erect. He let me look through the collection once, to see it I could
pick myself out. I couldn’t but there were several
others that I thought I recognized. It now seemed that Chip might be in there,
too.We
sat and talked over drinks–Scotch for Mickey and me, Coke for Chip–and Mickey
entertained us with stories of doing portraits of opera singers. He’d been
commissioned to do a series of drawings for the Opera Society and evidently
divas are not the easiest people in the world to work with. Not all of it made
sense to Chip I suppose, but some of it did and he laughed with obvious
pleasure in many Lolita Preteen
of the right places. Whatever their previous encounters,
Mickey had won him over–as only Mickey can.After
dinner Chip dutifully began loading the dishwasher and Mickey and I took the
last of the wine into the living room. “So what’s with the kid, Dan?” Mickey
said without preamble.”Not
what you probably think,” I said. “He’s just kind of staying here for a while.
I thought you might like to meet him though. He did these.” I handed Mickey the
folder of Chip’s drawings.Mickey
glanced quickly at each of them and then went back, studying each one. He
laughed at the copy of his own drawing but he frowned at the next one. “Looks
like he might have something of a self image problem,” he said, handing me the
self portrait. “What’s that all about?”"It’s
about the way he looked. The stitches are exaggerated but I think maybe that’s
because they Lolita Preteen hurt and felt bigger than they were. The buttons Lolita Preteen are an attempt at
humor I think. Actually he had a series of very ugly clips holding him together
there. He had a run in with a guy and a knife.”Mickey
raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask. He went back to the drawings. “They’re good,”
he finally said. “Untrained but good. The kid has a
good eye. And talent.” He shuffled through them again and picked out the one
Chip had copied and the other self portrait. “He’s also an excellent mimic.
This one,” the self portrait, “could damn near pass for mine.”Chip
came into the room and stopped, watching Mickey as he went through the pictures
again. “I hope you don’t, you know… mind about the copy. I thought Dan would
like it.”"I’m
sure he does,” Mickey said, looking up and grinning at Chip. “I’m not so sure
about Bobby, though. He’s awfully proud of that thing of his–just as it is.” He
added, “Bobby was the model.”"Oh.
Well, don’t show him.” He looked over at me and said, “Maybe I’ll do a real
one. You know, of you. So I can get it right.”"There’s a couple of other problems too. Like the light here,
in the Christmas one.”Chip
walked out of the Lolita Preteen room and I thought he was stung by the criticism but he came right back, carrying paper and pencils. “Show me,” he
said to Mickey.They
spent the next hour sitting on the floor at the coffee table, sketching and
talking. I went out and finished cleaning up the kitchen.After
Mickey left, when we were getting ready for bed, I could tell Chip wanted to
talk but he didn’t say anything until the lights were out. “He thinks I should
go to school. Some kind of art school.” There was an
odd mix of emotions in his voice that I couldn’t identify.”You
want to?”I
felt his shrug in the dark. A moment later he turned over, put his hand on my
arm and went to sleep.He
didn’t mention it again Lolita Preteen for a week.To be continued…****************************Comments, criticism and notes gratefully accepted and
always answered.Greg Bowdenjg.psgte.net

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