Kidnapped Ch. 01

I flop down next to him, perfunctorily tying off the condom and dropping it in the trash. Despite the physical satisfaction my mind is not at all satisfied. He snuggles into my chest, but I feel a coldness, chased by immense guilt. It's not the first time I've fucked a guy purely to get my rocks off, but it may be the first time I've felt quite so bad about it. I am so aware of how unfair it is to him that I feel zero connection, that I feel he is so...so average. I know he isn't really, but to me, there's nothing there.

"I love your skin, it's like milk chocolate."

He strokes the veins on my arm, and the culpability dissipates some.

"Your eyes, too, so mysterious. You're so exotic."

"Nothing much exotic about upstate New York."

I'm blunt in my rejection of his fetishizing, but he's oblivious. It gets to me, deep, more than it usually does because I'm already feeling uncertain about where my mind is sitting. This is part of that chip that nestles on my shoulder.

It isn't helped by the fact that, after my parents died, I had to go live with my dad's parents, in hickville, in a small country town where I was one of only half a dozen non-white faces at a high school largely filled with Scandinavian heritage, and my grandparents had no idea how to deal with a volatile teenager who had just lost both parents. Luckily, I was pretty good at non-team sports, and smart too, so I didn't have the worst time, but nothing took away the novelty factor, and being able to fake personality isn't always enough for the kind of people who focus hard on differences.

I didn't know who I was meant to be, which wasn't helped by the fact that my grandparents were sometimes the worst reactants to my efforts to find out, their uncertainty made everything worse, exacerbated one hundred-fold when I came out my junior year.

I bundle Sammy into a cab soon after, promising to call but knowing I never will.

* * * * *

So now, in the bright light of morning, after multiple late nights in a row, as I sit across from Slater at the breakfast bar, I'm not feeling well disposed to spunky little frat boys.

I'm hanging on by a thread, sipping bitter coffee while Slater extols the virtues of his, now developed, plan.

"I've been watching him. He's pretty boring really, spends most of his time in the fraternity house, studying by the looks of it. Plays lacrosse a lot with off-season training. Doesn't seem to go to parties much -- Jason has managed to get into a couple at the house and says he's never seen him there, so I guess he stays in his room."

This could be a problem. Jason. Lord of the Douches, King of Frat Bros.

"Why did you get Jason involved?"

"You know he's always up for fun. And he can keep a secret, I promise."

That's part of the problem, because I don't doubt that he can keep a secret, but it's what his own personal secrets might be that is most worrying. He plays on the team with Slater and is a complete creep. I don't understand why Slater doesn't see it himself, but it's probably all part of that jock bro-code that they live by. Slater gets surprisingly defensive of his teammates, even the ones he doesn't like that much, and over the years Mikey and I have worked out it's far easier not to push it.

"Anyway, I only needed him for the recon. He won't be involved in the next part, I promise."

I sigh, mainly at myself because I know I'm about to do something stupid, but first I need to know why.

"Why?" Slater responds. "God, man, to get off that damn court. If I don't need the scholarship anymore I can focus on my degree. I mean, that's what I need to have a life after school, isn't it? We both know that I'm good, but I'm not NBA good. I can't have it destroying what comes after."

Christ, I suppose he has a point. The idea of being able to focus on what I'm actually here for is tempting. And it's not like Sebastian Winthrop III means a damn thing to me. I'm becoming tempted by how easy Slater makes it sound. I mean, who doesn't want easy money? And the way he's planned it, there's really only a couple of points of danger. I'm feeling a weird sensation -- I think it's excitement, and I don't know whether that should worry me.

Slater is definitely excited, his eyes shining like a kid at Christmas, ecstatic, I suppose, that he's convinced me to join him in a mission he never thought, in his heart, I'd go for. I try to remind him of the pitfalls but he's just grinning at me, promising me it's a no-lose.

Mikey comes in then, ruffling his hair tiredly and looking at me hopefully. Erm, bad news, buddy.

"Ollie's in, are you?"

Mikey rolls his eyes at me.

"Sure, if Ollie's in, I'm in. What's twenty-five to life in federal prison between friends anyway?"

Too chilled out that boy, that's his trouble. Nothing is stopping Slater's enthusiasm though, as his gleaming white teeth shine out of his bronzed face, he clearly feels like this is the solution to every problem he's ever had.

* * * * *