General

In Plain Sight – Part 1
by
Caliboy1991

“You’ve got my phone number programmed on your cell. Call me if you have any questions or see anything suspicious, Clay,” the older man said as he tossed the keys to the Taurus into the young man’s lap.

“It’s Asher,” the young man snapped.

Deputy US Marshal Brown climbed out of the driver’s seat and leaned down, “Yeah. He don’t exist anymore. Unless you want to wind up dead, it’s Clay Jones. Got it?”

Asher flung the passenger door open and took the keys. When he stepped out, he leaned against the car as a couple of men in coveralls hurried past, laden with a couch covered in a bland checkered pattern.

Brown came around and handed him a wallet. It was his wallet. He opened it and saw his face on the driver’s license, even if it wasn’t his name.

“How long do I have to put up with this bullshit, Mr. Brown?”

The US Marshal leaned against the hood of the three-year-old Taurus and lit a cigarette. As he took a drag through his full lips, Asher stared at the older man’s dark chocolate hand that held the cigarette. It was callused and weathered. The cheap Citizen watch was probably all he could afford on his government salary. After an indeterminant time, the agent said, “Until we bring down the Syndicate. We may have gotten your handler, Clay, and even a couple of low-level lieutenants, but until we get Demetrius Perdicaris into custody, Asher Moritz is no more. At least until we need you for the trial.”

Asher grimaced as the Marshal blew a ring of smoke which the wind carried into his face. “What about after that? Do I get my life back?”

Deputy US Marshal Brown laughed, “What life? Ash- Clay, you’re an orphan. You were a fucking sex slave for six goddamned years. Had your life fucked up by Perdicaris’s Syndicate. Not just your name, but you might have been dead already if the FBI hadn’t hit the syndicate house where we found you, what was it? Two years ago.”

Asher felt stinging in his eyes. He wanted to lash out and hit his government handler. Brown took another deep drag on the cigarette and blew it away from them, “Trust me, the life we’ve built for you is a lot better than anything you could go back to, Clay. In the fall, you’ll start college here. We’ll give you a place to stay until you graduate, cover all your basic needs, including school until then. After that, God help us, if Perdicaris isn’t in custody yet, we’ll even help you get that first job. And all the while, WITSEC will keep you safe.”

Asher shook his head. He hated to admit that Brown was right. He glanced in the wallet. In addition to the driver’s license, there was a social security card, a debit card from a local credit union, and some cash.

He said, “Do I call you when this runs out?”

The movers were finished and were climbing into the moving van. As they drove off, Brown’s eyes were drawn to another car pulling into the apartment complex’s parking lot. His eyes softened after a moment, “There’ll be a deposit around the beginning of each month. Try not to run out of money. Trust me, you don’t want the US Marshals Service picking up your groceries because you can’t manage your allowance, unless you like ramen for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

The car pulled up behind the Taurus. Asher recognized the driver from the local district office of the US Marshal Service. Brown dropped the cigarette and used his boot to crush it into the asphalt before ambling over to the car. He turned, “Hey Clay, I know the driver’s license says your eighteen. You’ve got the whole summer until college starts. It’s not like anyone has given you a chance before, but go be a kid for a little while.”

He climbed into the car, and as he rolled always, he held up his phone and mimed for Asher to call if he needed help. Then Asher was alone. He shoved the keys into a pocket in his cargo shorts and turned back to the two-story apartment building he expected to call home for the next four years. The apartment complex was older than his own eighteen years, although it appeared well maintained. He headed toward his new home.

Asher jiggled the knob. The movers had locked the door when they’d finished. He doubted seriously that they had been anything other than government contractors or employees. As he fished the keys from his pocket, he caught motion off to his left. He turned and saw a kid coming up the sidewalk.

Asher stopped fiddling with his keys and studied the kid. He was young, maybe eight or nine, with brown hair. His blue T-shirt was a couple of sizes too large, and emblazoned across the front was the picture of a longhorn bull. Over the animal was the word “Vegetarian.” Below the image were the words, “An old Indian word for bad hunter.”

Below the shirt, Asher could make out the leggings of a pair of cutoff jeans.

Damn, he’s cute.

As the boy entered the covered walkway, Asher felt something stir in his pants, and he pulled out the keys and studied the half dozen keys on the ring. Except his eyes darted to the side, eyeing the cutie who approached.

In a high-pitched voice, the kid said, “Hi, you new here?”

Asher swallowed a sigh. Taking in the kid’s soft pink lips, the first word that came to mind was sensual. His soft brown eyes drew Asher’s attention, too. For the past couple of years, Asher had been in the custody of the US Marshal Service. He’d attended more than a hundred counseling sessions to help him overcome the trauma of his former life. But one of the things he’d never talked about with the government paid shrink was his attraction to younger boys; at least until he met Peter.

Asher had first been molested when he was nine. The irony wasn’t lost on him that he found preteen boys attractive. And this kid was cuter than any of the boys he’d seen in the Syndicate’s large menagerie. Knowing he should just ignore the kid, Asher forced a smile onto his face, “Hi. Yeah. Just moved in. What about you?”

The kid smiled up at him, “Me and my mom live in twelve-one-two. It’s across the parking lot, over by the playground.”

Torn by the desire to keep the kid talking and the need to get away from the young tween, Asher said, “Cool.”

The kid flashed him a smile, “See you around.”

And then he was off, practically skipping along the breezeway between the apartments. Asher watched him go. Even though the cutoffs stuck out from beneath the oversized shirt, he could imagine the kid’s bubble butt.

“Get a fucking grip, man,” Asher muttered as he found the key and slid it into the door. A moment later, he leaned against the closed door. The furniture was simple, almost drab, as though it had come from a government warehouse.

Trying to ignore the bulge in his underwear, Asher chuckled. No doubt that’s exactly where the furniture had come from. In addition to the sofa, there was a battered wooden coffee table between the sofa and the TV stand. The TV was the only thing in the place that looked new, except for the PS4 next to it and the stack of disks. While he had been in government custody at a facility for kids like himself, the people charged with his healing and care had done what they could to give him a little bit of happiness, and new console games turned up in his room regularly.

The bedroom reminded him of the hundreds of hotel rooms he’d been in with the Syndicate’s myriad of clients. Asher closed his eyes as he felt the world closing in on him. Taking deep breaths, he reminded himself that he was free of the Syndicate’s clutches. They couldn’t reach him anymore. The moment passed, and he opened his eyes again. Now, the room simply looked like a bedroom. The bed sat in one corner. It was a queen bed, more than big enough for his five feet four inches.

Along the opposite wall was a chest of drawers. There were a couple of boxes of clothes stacked in front of it. Asher muttered, “I guess government service doesn’t include putting my shit away.”

Against another wall, they’d set up a desk. An old desktop computer peeked out from a large cardboard box. It had been a gift from the staff at the government facility he’d stayed in after his rescue. It was a combo going-away and eighteenth birthday present. Without internet access, there wasn’t much he could do with it at the facility. But now, WITSEC was paying for both the apartment and the utilities. Internet service was at the top of his to-do list. Next to the desk was a wood laminate bookshelf, with one small cardboard box next to it. Asher wasn’t a big reader, but he’d collected a few books over the nearly two years he was in protective custody. Before long, college textbooks would soon add their weight on the cheaply made bookshelf.

Asher collapsed on the bed and closed his eyes. He felt drained, at least emotionally. The past week had been a whirlwind of activity. The facility he’d been at had been for minors, and now that he was eighteen, he’d been assigned to Deputy US Marshall Brown. Being transported halfway across the country by plane, train and automobile was exhausting. And now, Brown had told him that Asher Moritz was no more. He was just supposed to forget himself and become Clay Jones.

It was all just too much. The shrinks hadn’t needed to teach Asher how to compartmentalize his thinking. He’d been doing that since the first time the Syndicate had whored him out, when not even ten years old. He tried to empty his mind. An unbidden image crept into his mind. The kid from earlier with his alluring brown eyes and brown hair filled his head.

And his pants. Asher’s mind filled with images of the kid shirtless. His erection strained at his shorts. He unsnapped the button at his waist and lowered the zipper. His erection nearly hurt as he yanked his shorts and boxers below his knees. Still, there was no relief even as he gripped his penis. His glans poked above his fist as he stroked his aching erection.

His other hand drifted downward, playing with the shrunken empty sack below his penis. Asher felt a twinge of anger. Anger at the Syndicate for surgically removing his testes when he was just ten years old. Anger at leaving him suspended in childhood for years longer than nature’s own demands.

The shudder he felt had nothing to do with stroking himself. How much worse would his situation be if he hadn’t been given testosterone treatments once he’d been rescued?

Asher had barely been five feet tall when he turned sixteen. And his immature penis hadn’t been even four inches long, and a thin four inches at that. To add insult to injury, the only hair on his body had been that on his head. But the perverts who paid the syndicate for his services had loved his body, even as he hated it. Smooth as a twelve-year-old boy, which is what he’d been told to tell those fuckers if they asked his age.

He had so many reasons to hate the Syndicate. Not the least of which was he would have to take testosterone treatments for the rest of his life. Two years into the treatments, they’d been uneven in how they’d benefited him. He’d grown an extra four inches in height since taking them. But the pediatrician who had last seen him had said that his bones were pretty much fused at their adult height, and he’d not likely get any taller.

He let go of his immature scrotum and ran his hand over his smooth cheeks. His body was still almost entirely devoid of body hair, although the same pediatrician said continued treatments would gradually result in a more physically mature body. For now, all he had were several dozen silky strands of short dark brown hair at the base of his penis. He still gripped his erection, sliding his fist up and down as he felt the tingling grow throughout. One thing had changed since his rescue. Erections had been rare occurrences after he’d been surgically emasculated. That had suited most of the perverts who’d been quite happy to abuse his ass. But since the treatments began, his erections had become every-day occurrences.

Of course, he knew how to take care of that. After all, he’d been doing that for years. Despite his lack of testes, there were plenty of times of emotional stress where his only release came from masturbation. Even without the sex drive from testosterone his body couldn’t make, he’d masturbated himself to sleep more times than he could count while the Syndicate’s prisoner.

The tingling increased as his fist flew up and down. That familiar urge to pee came over Asher, and he closed his eyes as his hips bucked on the bed, and his erection spasmed in his fist. As he let his hand fall away from his erection, his fingers found the thin line of watery semen trailing up his chest from his belly button. That had been one of the biggest surprises when he’d started the treatments. When he was younger, he’d assumed without his testes that he’d never have anything more than a dry cum. And even though he still hadn’t come to terms with the reality that he’d never father a child, there was something empowering seeing watery semen splattering his chest.

Feeling his urge satisfied, Asher cleaned himself up and spent the rest of the day unpacking. By the time he climbed into his bed later that night, he was hard again. He was still amazed at how the testosterone he was taking had changed his sex drive. It was like flipping a switch, and he felt like it was almost always on. Was this what other teenage boys went through?

After cleaning up his chest with some Kleenex, Asher finally drifted off to sleep. For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t tormented by nightmares of the Syndicate. He dreamed of a brown-haired kid skipping along a concrete sidewalk.

Continued in Part 2

Copyright 2020 – Caliboy1991
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