Chapter 2

"You know I can't serve you," chastised the bartender, Mike. "When you turn 18, and can prove it to me, I'll give ya' one for free." (It was 1973, and it was legal to drink alcohol at 18 years of age - Timmy had only just turned 17 a week earlier.) "Until then, you need to go home and get cleaned up, you're looking rough there, Boy."

"Ohhkay, thanks anyway, Mike," sighed Timmy. He felt way too sober now. He looked around, wondering who he could cajole into buying some booze for him. There were always some old geezers down at the end of the bar who sat there hoping. Usually he stayed away from their grasping hands. Tonight he gave one a twisted, tight smile, and while the older fellow watched, moved into the game room in back. Sure enough, Bob silently appeared beside him, and they both watched the foozball fanatics for a while.

Finally, Bob asked, "Can I get you anything?" Timmy hesitated, debating. The drink would not come for free. How much more could Timmy debase himself?

"Yeah, but be careful not to let them see you give it to me," Timmy whispered. "I'd really like a long island iced tea," he requested, wanting the most alcohol he could get in exchange for his implied consent. Everyone, even the old guys at the end of the bar, knew Timmy was under age. When the long islander came, he dispatched it quickly, standing hidden behind the wall with Bob and the foozball players blocking the bartender's view. The shame of the rape began to recede from his mind.

"That was good," he enthused to Bob. Bob smiled.

"Let me get you another."

Six shots of alcohol soon had Timmy sailing again. Bob didn't look so old now. Timmy almost eagerly said yes when Bob asked if he'd like to go for a ride.

The booze helped Timmy cross the dirt parking lot without thought of the earlier rape. He got into Bob's big Cadillac and didn't resist when Bob pulled him across the big seat up close, nor when Bob kissed him and clutched his thigh. Neither, on the other hand, did Timmy initiate any contact.

He stood there just inside the foyer of Bob's house with his eyes closed, his face tilted upward in bliss. Bob knelt before him sucking his penis into his mouth. With Timmy's eyes averted, the mouth he felt was as hot as anyone's. Timmy groaned, and shot hard.

Bob gulped and swallowed and gulped some more, then disengaged. He slowly got up, licking his lips. When he leaned forward to kiss Timmy, Timmy turned away. Bob sighed, then took Timmy's hand and pulled him further in.

"You should take a shower," he said. "My son has some clothes here, he's about your size. Go and get clean and I'll find some for you."

Timmy felt insulted, then remembered the dirt. Yeah, he should really scrub himself, although he doubted he could get clean. The heat would feel good, though.

However, clothes were not needed after the shower. Bob was lying on the bed with his arm out to Timmy in invitation. "Come here," he said. Timmy stiffly got onto the bed and laid down with his neck on Bob's arm. He resisted at first when Bob pulled him close, but then softened and laid his head on Bob's chest.

"Thank you," said Timmy.

He did accept the clothes the next morning. They fit well, and his old clothes were, well, a bit ripe and dirt fouled. After another shower, his hangover headache lessened enough that he could function.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," greeted Bob cheerily. Groaning, Timmy turned and looked at the clock. "Er, well, good afternoon," Bob amended. How are you?"

"Hello," said Timmy, sounding less than eager. "Ok, I guess."

"Want something to eat?" asked Bob.

Timmy's face blanched. "Uh, I don't think so."

"Oh." Silence reign for a moment. "Um, about last night..."

"No," interrupted Timmy. "It was no big deal."

Bob pressed on. "I, um, well, would you like to stay here for a while?"

Timmy was startled, feeling a real frisson of fear. "No, I don't want to."

"Should I take you home?" asked Bob concernedly.

"Ah, no," Timmy refused. "Just take me back to the bar."

"Where do you live, Timmy? Aren't your parents worried?" Bob pushed.

Timmy looked down at the table, avoiding Bob's eyes. "Things aren't real good there," he said.

Bob studied Timmy for a moment. "Well, Buddy, if you need anything, you'll let me know?"

"Ok," replied Timmy, too quickly. More slowly, "Er ... thanks."

Bob reached over and pulled Timmy to him, meeting only temporary resistance. Again, Timmy refused a kiss, but allowed a warm, encompassing hug. Bob slipped a bill into Timmy's hand, and would not let Timmy hand it back to him. Only later did Timmy discover it was fifty dollars.