/***** Notes from the author: Hi there, this is my first time writing for nifty - so please let me know what you think. All constructive comments appreciated. You can contact me at secret_writer@outlook.com All the usual disclaimers apply, if you shouldn't be reading this then don't. *****/
I may as well tell you now - my life is pretty fucked up right now. I'm 19 years old, I live in a bedsit, I have no legitimate income, and no job. Well, not a 'real' job. I'm 5'5'' and weigh in at 110. Kinda small, but not skinny, I work out plenty, running mostly. If what i did counted as an 'ossupation' then I guess running might be seen as an 'occupational hazzard'. Ha ha - I'm just so funny sometimes. My cropped black hair and blue eyes mean that I can look anywhere between tough mean street lad and adorable innocent angel boy. Usually I prefer the former - you don't last long in my world looking like an easy target. I've got tattoos covering my left arm, down my chest on the same side, and on to my abs. I've got a piercing in my eyebrow, and also just behind my balls. I like how it feels. And yes - I'm also a full on gay boi.
By the way, my name's Cal. Really it's Carlton - but that's such a fucking stupid name I stopped using it about as soon as I could speak.
This is a story about me - a little narcissistic - maybe. More over, it's the story of how my life turned around with a new relationship, a new beginning, a new life completely really.
I've been living here for a few weeks, not my first choice, but having been in prison for a couple of months, I didn't really have many options.
So about that, yeah, I've been in prison. I got caught for stealing a car. Then they realised that I'd stolen quite a lot of other cars, and done a few other things too. Anyhow - I got lucky, had good representation in court and got away pretty lightly. And now here I am.
As you might have guessed from my ability to form (almost) complete sentences, things weren't always like this. Growing up my parents were pretty rich, nice house, good school, in a fancy part of north London.
When I was 12 my Dad fucked off with some woman he worked with, leaving just me and Mum. It was OK at first, but within a few months she had started to drink a lot. Then she started to drink more. I guess she had the money, so no-one really said anything. Pretty soon I was having to take care of myself.
I was 14 when I first realised that I like boys more than girls. But there wasn't anyone to tell, so I never really had to 'deal' with anyone's reaction. I just was. Around that time, I started hanging around with some guys who weren't much like me at all. It started with one particular lad - I kept seeing him around, and eventually we got to talking. And then kissing. And then fucking. It was OK I guess, but we never really had what you'd call a 'relationship'. However, I met a lot of other guys who quickly got me in to a lot of other stuff. Ha ha - I just heard what that sounds like. No, not like that. Criminal stuff.
Theft mostly, small stuff. It was easier than I imagined. I quickly realised that I was actually pretty good at stealing things. That was when things got real serious. You see, you can't really make any serious money stealing and then selling a crappy Ford Mondeo. For real money - you got to go bigger. High end cars like BMW, Lexus, and Mercedes are where the money is. But there's a catch, they're also harder to steal.
Particularly if you want to leave no marks. You need tech - or the keys. But I guess you don't really want to know so much about that.
Apart from the more obvious ways in which my life is trashed, I really don't feel very happy. Not that people notice, I spend a lot of time and effort keeping up the hard lad image - it's how I survive. But I'm lonely. Funny isn't it - I don't think anyone around me even knows I have emotions. Not that there's anyone very close. I've never had a relationship - just a series of fucks, none of whom I've ever felt close to. The sex has been OK - but there's always been something missing. Fit, smooth, straight looking lads who like me to fuck them hard - sounds like it should be perfect huh? But it's not. It's kind of dull.
Day-times are pretty boring right now - so I spend a lot of time watching porn, smoking weed, and wanking - obviously. Today's not much different, but not too much weed as I had a job arranged for this evening but it just fell through. There's no point in making the effort to steal something if you can't sell it easily. So I've decided to do something radical, I'm going out. To a gay bar. Showered and fresh, slightly too tight turquoise t-shirt, black jeans, no boxers, fucking perfect.
Clothing toned down, smile in place - I think I look pretty fucking good. A million miles away from how I look two hours ago.
I got to the club just after 11.00pm - the start of the night. There were a handful of guys I recognised, and several hundred that I didn't.
I headed straight (ha) for the bar and got myself a JD and Coke. I don't really like beer that much. I don't really like JD that much either, but it was the best whiskey they sold. Tells you a lot about the place doesn't it. The music was great, the boys were pretty, and more than a couple were interested. But you know they all kinda look the same, there wasn't anyone I was expecting to be kicking out of my bed in the early hours. More surprisingly, I did make a few friends. Not like real friends, but guys that were fun to hang with for the night. They all had real jobs, and I did a pretty well lying about my own life, so everything was good. A couple of them left early, and I decided that I might go home too. Home - what a fucking joke that is, but it's all I have right now.
Stepping outside, it took a few moments for my eyes to adjust. It was a quiet night and I briefly considered calling in at a bar I knew across the city. But I decided not to bother, shouting my goodbyes to the few guys I kind of knew, and walked towards my place. I'd been walking for a few minutes before I noticed that I was being followed. I wasn't too concerned, I live, no, I exist out here on the streets. I can take care of myself if I need to, so I turned around to see what I was dealing with. Four of them - fuck, not impossible, but I'd do better to run.
But then they started calling me a fag and a pussy boy. I knew I should run, I could easy loose them. But the arrogant idiot part of me - encouraged by the weed and the alcohol no doubt - made me face up to them.
Something hit me hard - I could still see them all, oh fuck, there must be at least one more. Things got very black, or bright white, or dark red. I can't be sure. I don't really remember.