In Plain Sight – Part 2
by
Calyboy1991
Asher ran a wet hand through his hair, trying to tame the cowlick sticking up in the back of his head. Once most of it was down, he gave up on a few errant strands and headed for the door. It was, he realized, the first day he could recall when he hadn’t been someone else’s mercy. He’d only been eight when his parents had died in an accident. He’d stayed with a foster family for less than a year. His life hadn’t been his own there. That was the first time he’d been fucked in the ass by a man. He’d had no idea when he ran away from there that he was jumping from the frying pan into the fire.
He’d been on the street for less than a week when the Syndicate had kidnapped him. Seven years of misery passed until the FBI freed him. But that hadn’t felt like freedom. The government facility had been its own sort of prison, although it was designed to keep its occupants safe from outside threats.
Grabbing the doorknob, Asher squared his shoulders, this really was a whole new life, and he would make of it what he could. The first thing he wanted was to see what kind of place the Marshals had put him in.
There were upwards of thirty apartment buildings, each with eight units. At ten in the morning, the parking lots were less than half full as Asher made his way over to a large clubhouse. At the front door, a sign pointed to the right, mailboxes and washer/driers in the utility room. Feeling the keys in his pocket, He veered to the right and followed the sidewalk around to the side of the clubhouse, where another entrance led into a spacious utility room. Washing machines lined one wall, dryers another, and on the third were stacks of mailboxes embossed with the apartment numbers.
Asher made his way along the wall lined with mailboxes, looking for his number, when he heard something behind him.
All the years of living in terror came back to him at that moment, and Asher spun around. His adrenaline surged through him, his body’s fight or flight survival instincts kicking in. Leaning against the door was the same kid from the previous day. He smiled and said, “Do you like it here?”
Asher relaxed and let a sigh escape, “Dude, don’t you knock?”
The kid just grinned wider, “Sorry ‘bout that. Well, do you?”
The kid wore the same blue shirt from before. But now, a pair of red shorts poked out below the T-shirt’s low hanging hem. It was all Asher could do to keep his body from responding to the cute kid. He stuttered, “Uh, I d-don’t know yet. Haven’t really got a chance to look around.”
The kid let the door close and came over, “Trying to find your box?”
Nodding, Asher resumed scanning the mailboxes. The kid said, “Oh-eight-oh-two, right?”
He pointed toward a mailbox close to the floor. Sure enough, it was the one for which Asher had been searching. The young man used the key to open the little door. As he’d expected, it was empty. Still, he felt the smallest bit of satisfaction knowing where to come and check for mail.
“If you want, I’ll show you around,” the kid said as Asher closed and locked the mailbox.
He didn’t want to creep the kid out, but without meaning to, Asher ran his eyes up and down the kid’s short, narrow frame. He was about a foot shorter than Asher, with a long, slender neck that disappeared within the overly large shirt. Instead of sneakers, a well-worn pair of black and white flipflops adorned his feet.
The best thing for Asher to do was to tell the kid to get lost. He didn’t want to get tangled up with another kid. He’d come so close to getting into a shit-storm of trouble when he’d been in the government-run facility when they had caught him with Peter giving each other blow jobs. Of course, Peter had only been twelve, and Asher had just turned seventeen. He was lucky the government was willing to overlook a lot when someone has evidence they want badly enough. Still, the head shrink had read Asher the riot act, and they had relocated Peter to another facility halfway across the country.
Then the kid smiled up at him, “I don’t mind.”
Something broke inside Asher, and he felt himself returning the smile, “Uh, yeah. I guess so.”
He nearly jumped as the kid grabbed him by the hand, “I’m Tate. What’s your name?”
“Uh, Ash- uh, Clay,” Asher stuttered as the kid led him out the door. They turned to the left. A few paces later, they faced a green-painted wooden fence. Looking up at him, Tate said, “Well, Ashclay, it’s nice to meet you.”
Asher disliked the need for letting his name – his very identity slip away. Even as he replied, he knew he was being recklessly foolish, “My name is Clay, but my middle name is Ash.”
Tate shrugged, “I like Ash. That’s a cool name,” then he pointed to the keypad, “The lock’s been broke since last year.”
He pushed the green gate open and pulled Asher into a large, enclosed area, stopping a few feet short of a swimming pool. The water was cloudy, and a few bugs floated on the surface. “I know it’s not much, but sometimes I like coming over here and swimming. Do you like to swim?”
Asher took an involuntary step back. One of his last memories of life before his parents’ death was a first lesson at the local Y. he’d not done very well. In fact, he’d never learned to swim. But there was something about Tate’s friendly expression that disarmed Asher’s fear, “Um, I don’t know. Never really learned how to swim.”
Tate’s eyes fell, clearly disappointed at the news. Then his head swung up, and he said, “I could teach you – if you want.”
The idea of getting in the pool with the kid caused a twitch in Asher’s pants. He tried to ignore the feeling, reminding himself he didn’t know how to swim, and maybe it was too late to try. He murmured, “I dunno. We’ll see.”
Tate’s head cocked to one side as though trying to read Asher’s mood. Then he shrugged, “Come on, there’s more to see.”
Asher followed Tate back the way they’d come, then across another large parking lot. At the far end was an open space with playground equipment. There was a large swing-set with four swings, monkey bars, and in the middle of a grassy area sat a large wooden platform with plastic crenelations designed to make it look like a castle. Several slides of various lengths provided quick egress to the ground. Ladders offered easy access to the platform as well.
The closer they came to the playground equipment, the more apparent it became the plastic was cracked, and the wooden platform had seen better days.
Tate sat in one of the swings, rocking his legs back and forth, swinging back and forth. As he rose higher, he said, “Come on, Ash, it’s fun.”
Asher eyed the swing skeptically. After all, he was eighteen. This stuff was for kids. Seeing the wild grin on Tate’s face as he flew by on the swing melted the young man’s heart, and even though his mind was telling him no, his butt sat in the swing next to Tate, and he started kicking his legs back and forth. Before long, the hot summer wind swept through his hair, and sweat rolled down his cheeks as he kicked himself higher. It took him back to a much happier time in his life. He envied Tate his carefree life.
When the kid reached the apex, parallel with the top bar spanning the length of the swing set, he called out, “Hey, behind us is a bunch of trails. Do you have a bike?”
Asher snatched a quick view of the tree line beyond the grassy playground. Sure enough, he glimpsed a couple of dirt trails that disappeared between the trees. It had been a decade since he’d ridden a bike. Still, he liked the idea of riding through the trails behind the apartment complex. He shook his head, “Not yet. But I’m gonna get one soon. How far back do the trails go?”
Tate was slowing down, his legs not swinging with the force they had. “Pretty far. Go back far enough, and you’ll hit the city’s official biking trail.”
Tate waited until he swung forward, about half as high as the top bar, and then he flung himself forward. He flew through the air a good half dozen yards before landing in the grass on his bare feet.
When the younger kid jumped back up and yelled, “Come on, Ash. Jump!” Asher felt he had to show the youngster he could go even farther. He pushed a bit harder with his legs and gained a bit more elevation before jumping out near the height of the arc. The feel of flying through the air sent his heart racing even as he landed less than a foot further out than Tate.
The kid jumped on his back, pushing him to the ground, “No fair! You went higher!”
Even as he complained, Tate laughed as he tried to knock the older teenager to the ground. Between the thrill of leaping from the swing, sailing through the air, and now, being tackled by the young preteen, Asher had never felt more alive. Despite the feeling he got from being around the kid, nothing felt more natural than letting the youngster climb on top of his back. Laughter bubbled up in him as he wiggled his way so that Tate sat just above his hips, gazing down on him.
Asher couldn’t recall the last time he’d laughed like that. He reached up, dug his fingers into Tate’s armpits until the youngster tumbled off in a fit of giggles. As the teenager climbed to his feet, the youngster backpedaled. That’s when Asher noticed a couple of older kids coming toward Tate.
He recognized the sort. The taller boy was probably about Asher’s height but probably outweighed the eighteen-year-old by fifty pounds. The shorter boy’s face was covered in acne, and his expression looked like he hated the world. Especially Tate.
Before Asher could raise his voice, the shorter boy’s hand darted out and slapped Tate in the back of the head. The look of pure dread on the youngster’s face told Asher all he needed to know about the new arrivals.
“What the fuck, Tatum O’Twat-face? I told you this is our fucking spot. Why don’t you get the fuck out of here before I rip you a second pussy! And take your girlfriend with you.”
Then the taller boy grabbed Tate by the shirt and pushed at him. The youngster tumbled to the ground, leaving the fat bully holding the ripped blue shirt in his hands.
They were chortling at the younger’s cries as Asher came to his senses. He stormed over to them, and without saying a word, his fist flew forward and caught fatso in the mouth. His other hand drove forward, catching the same boy in the side of the head, knocking him to the ground, stunned.
Asher spun on the other boy, and while the youth was still trying to process what happened to his friend, Asher kicked him between the legs.
What had started as a couple of thirteen or fourteen-year-old bullies picking on a preteen ended with them both on the ground writhing in pain.
Asher stood over them, “Alright, you dipshits, Tate’s my friend, and if you fuck with him, you fuck with me.”
As the two young teenagers rolled into sitting positions, there was a shared flash of confusion on their faces before Acne-face grimaced and nodded.
Asher yanked the ruined T-shirt from fatso’s hands and then wrapped an arm around Tate’s shoulders, “Come on, let’s make sure you’re okay.”
Asher didn’t know what to do or where to go. He hadn’t gone far with Tate when he said, “Your parents home?”
Tate’s head shook as tears flowed, “N-no. M-mom won’t be home until t-tonight. And Mrs. Jenkins is p-playing bridge w-with her friends.”
Not knowing who Mrs. Jenkins was, Asher did the only thing he knew to do, he guided the youngster back to his apartment. After they were inside, he took Tate into the bathroom and said, “Sit on the counter. Let’s make sure you’re not cut up or hurt.”
He didn’t know what to do. He had a half-naked boy sitting on his countertop in the bathroom. Even though he did his best to ignore it, Asher felt his penis pushing against his underwear and shorts. Instead, he dusted some grass from Tate’s knees, one of which has a small scrape. Then he looked at the kid’s flat, narrow chest.
Even though it wasn’t necessary, Asher brushed his hand along the youngster’s shoulders and then across his chest, “There you go, little man. You’re tougher than you look. Just a little ointment on your knee, and you’ll be like new.”
Tate’s eyes were still full of tears, and he wouldn’t look Asher in the face, even after the young man opened a small first aid kit that had been left in the bathroom and put a bit of topical ointment on the youngster’s knee.
Worried something more was wrong, Asher gently took Tate’s chin in his hand and swung it so he could see the kid’s eyes, “Hey, big guy. What’s wrong?”
More tears slid down Tate’s face before the kid stammered, “Y-you t-think I, I’m a…”
His voice trailed off as his eyes stared down at the floor. Asher didn’t understand. He had the cutest boy he’d ever met going to pieces in his bathroom. Worse, he didn’t know what to say or do. He simply gazed at the kid. His delicate chin had a teardrop dangling from it. Another drop splashed onto his bare chest, running down immature nipples before sliding down the rest of his front until absorbed by the hem of his red shorts.
Asher’s eyes drank in the shorts. Under that bit of fabric was a small penis, just waiting to be explored. But wait. Asher couldn’t help but stare. There wasn’t even a hint of a little bulge in Tate’s shorts where he’d expect to see one.
Then the bully’s harsh words came back to him, and with a dread fascination, Asher asked, “Um, Tate, are you a girl?”
The youngster nodded, “Please don’t be mad at me.”
Asher realized his fingers had just touched her chest. Holy fuck! I just touched a girl’s boobs!
He had no idea what to do. In all his years, Asher had never seen a half-naked girl, even one as small as Tate. Since his capture a decade earlier, the young man’s entire experience had been with boys and men. It’s not that the Syndicate didn’t own women; it’s just that those two worlds were kept distinctly separate.
A part of him, some part from his childhood, realized a girl shouldn’t be exposed, and he grabbed a bath-towel from a rack behind him and held it up to her.
For the first time since the assault by Acne face and Fatso, Tate giggled, even if it was through a hiccup. “What’s that for?”
Why couldn’t she have just taken the damned towel? Flummoxed by the girl, Asher said, “To cover your boobs.”
Tate took the towel as her giggle turned into brittle laughter. She wiped at her eyes before setting the towel next to her. “Thanks, Ash. Um, when I get them, I’ll keep them covered.”
What could Asher say to that? Tate’s chest had less definition than his own. Even his own nipples were bigger than hers, and his were still smaller than a lot of other young men his age.
That didn’t keep him from blushing. Everything he had assumed about Tate was out the window. Asher didn’t know how to treat the young girl sitting on the bathroom counter. One thing he strongly suspected, though. Her parents wouldn’t want her sitting half-naked in his apartment.
“We should probably get another T-shirt from your place before your parents get home.”
Tate shrugged, “It’s just me and Mom. And she won’t care. She’ll just say I got what I had coming to me for not dressing like a girl.”
Okay. No dad to kick my ass, Asher thought. Still, he was worried about the appearance, “Well, we should still get you a T-shirt, right?”
Tate said, “Can I borrow one of yours? At least until your parents get home.”
Asher rocked back on his feet. “Parents? Um, how old do you think I am?”
The girl, eyes puffy, moved her head around his for a long moment, “Um, thirteen? Maybe fourteen.”
He drew in a sharp breath, “Hmm, actually, I just turned eighteen.”
It was Tate’s turn to lean back, her eyes widened in shock. “Really? You’re not just pulling my leg?”
Shaking his head, Asher fished his wallet out of his pocket and showed her his driver’s license. Granted, the only thing right about the license was the bad DMV portrait. All the rest of the details on the license supported the identity of one Clay Jones. But it was close enough to his real date of birth as to make no difference to Asher.
Tate held the license up to her face, “Oh-five, sixteen, nineteen ninety-nine. Oh, man, you really are eighteen!”
Smiling ruefully, Asher took the license back, “Yeah. Good to know I’m not the only one here who gets things wrong. So, is your name really Tate?”
The girl nodded, “Tatum.”
“How old are you?”
Tate flashed a smile at him, “How old do you think I am?”
Asher’s eyes glanced down to the girl’s narrow, flat chest. Apart from her quick wit and clever tongue, the girl seemed impossibly young. “I don’t know, maybe eight.”
Tate stuck her tongue out, “Almost ten.”
She grew serious, “So, you thought I was a boy, and that’s why you were hanging out with me?”
Asher didn’t know how to answer her. He couldn’t imagine telling the girl the truth. Yep, Tate, I like tween boys. Had hoped we’d become friends so that one day before long, we could fool around, maybe even suck your little cock.
No, maybe not that honest. Still, he didn’t want to completely lie to Tate. “When you showed up and offered to show me around over by the mailboxes, you seemed so friendly. Just like yesterday, just more so. Not having any friends in town, I was happy to let this cool kid show me around the apartment complex. I hope it’s not creepy, but I was kinda hoping we could be friends. So this place wouldn’t seem so lonely.”
Tate’s full pink lips turned downward, “What about now, Ash?”
The occasional flapping in his stomach was gone. Even Asher’s penis seemed to have settled down. Somehow the idea of hanging out with Tate, the girl, seemed safer than hanging out with Tate, the boy. The thought brought a smile onto his smooth face, “You’re still the same cool kid as before, Tate. Without a friend, this place doesn’t seem very friendly to me. If you’re cool with it, I’d still like to be your friend.”
The lips curled upward on the girl’s face, “Cool. Me, too.”
She climbed off the countertop and added, “You really live here all by yourself?”
Asher showed Tate around the small one-bedroom apartment. He loaned her a T-shirt, which she pulled on, and then they played on the teenager’s console until the young girl glanced at the time, “Oh, shit. I’m late. Mom’ll be home, and if I don’t have the living room straightened, she’ll flip out.”
She was up and over at the door before she turned back, “See you tomorrow?”
She was gone as soon as Asher nodded. Once the door was closed, the teenager leaned back on the couch and thought about just how strange and wonderful his first full day on his own had gone. He’d started the day falling for a brown-haired boy named Tate and finished it with a solid friend who just happened to be a girl named Tate.
Continued in Part 3
Copyright 2020 – Caliboy1991
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