Golden Boy

Absentee parents, contracted a disease that one sh'ant not speak of a loud. That sunny-bright smile that sets skin on fire, flames licking those wounds that physically cannot close. Solace eyes, ocean-sky blue. Halo-Ring blonde; angel face.

Little Golden Boy, seventeen-- not too young. Not too young to speak for his high school class. Not too young to tame the hottest heads. Prone for victory; prepared for perfection. That body, perfection, one that makes ladies swoon. One that draws in demons from those shadows: that smile is contagious.

Destined child, ready for greatness. Attending Oxford in the Fall; early graduate. Parents should be proud if they were there beside him. Golden Boy hates drinking for he sees it too often. Can't handle the stress that can come from a beer in hand. Poor child.

Beautiful child. Doesn't mind being touched when near those men with vodka shots; snuggling into their chests last at night. Down those alleyways, late night excursions. Deep kisses and throaty gasps out from our successful golden boy.

Sweet, sweet, sensitive kid. Beloved by his classmates, his teachers, his community. Everyone knew that he was going places far from that tiny town he was secluded to. No one knew about the drugs. No one knew about the abuse. The anger. The sorrow. Tiny, weakling Golden Boy. Afraid that his secrets would be out there.

He wanted it. Those touches he was missing. Those hugs and kisses that his family forgot to give. Challenging those situations that should have been so, terribly wrong. Little Golden Boy, so ready to be a man.

The drugs weren't so hard to get to. Long sleeves go far in that small down up North. The snowfall; that's what he recalled so vividly. Down that rabbit hole, akin to Alice he was. In his own, stimulated Wonderland, engulfed by those cannibus that eat away at that taste people love to lap up with tongues and off fingers. That Golden Boy, so delicate, so docile, so strung.

Not many friends, our Golden Boy has. Classmates, acquaintances. Two parents, mom and dad. Both work, government jobs. Dad used to serve, a good twelve years. Support the family. The wife. The "son." Or daughter, from how he acts behind closed doors. Shameful boy. Disappointing boy.

Those who know him the best are hooked on the way he throws his head back and moans names that isn't there's. They don't care. They just like how lithe he is and the things he can do on his knees. A sinner on his back, eyes up through the ceiling on a Heaven he knows he'll never have the courage to go. The way he works on his hands and knees, bucking backwards against thrusts. Hair pulling. Shoulder biting.

"More, more, more--"

Quiet Golden Boy. Doesn't make daddy proud. Too queer for his tastes. Hooking in bad men. Father doesn't know the extents his son goes for fulfillment when he doesn't give it to him. He just wants to see his father smile. He just wants to make his father laugh. Maybe then things could be different. Apologetic Golden Boy. False-Promise Golden Boy.

"I'm sorry."

"I'll do better."

©SelfTitled, 2017