Pick Up the Pieces

As much as the Greek girls of our community in Tarpon Springs had their lives mapped out, so did the boys.

Once I grew up, I’d become a fisherman like my father. Eventually I’d marry a nice Greek girl, and we’d give our fathers a new grandson or granddaughter every year.

That was the way it was supposed to be, only….

When I was fifteen years old, my father threw me out for being gay.

I knew what my father thought of homosexuals, had heard him and his friends, the fishermen down at the docks, sneer and tell coarse jokes about them.

But he was my father. He was supposed to love me, just as I loved him.

Instead, and as I probably should have expected, he shouted, “Teodore Bascopolis, you stop being gay right now, or else you get the fuck out of my house!”

Ma cried and wrung her hands, and Acacia, my eight-year-old sister, threw herself at me and held on, but Poppa just stood there with his hands clenched into fists, his face set.

I had no choice. I couldn’t obey the one, so I obeyed the other, and I got the fuck out of his house.

Since that time, I’d been a rent boy.

But it didn’t start out that way…

1

It was getting late, and it was starting to drizzle, unusual since this was the dry season in Florida.

Was this God’s way of punishing me for being gay?

I sat on a park bench trying not to cry.

“Whatsa matter, kid?” The young man standing before me slouched casually, a cigarette dangling from his lips. The rain didn’t seem to bother him.

I tried to look away, but something about him held my gaze.

He wore black motorcycle boots and jeans so tight the only place to keep his pack of cigaretteswas rolled in the sleeve of his white T-shirt. He had a tattoo of coiled barbed wire around hisupper arm and numerous piercings—along the cartilage of his right ear, along his eyebrow. Through the dampness of his T-shirt his nipples were prominent. His left nipple bore a ring.

He took the cigarette, dropped it to the ground and crushed it, and blew out a stream of smoke.

He looked so sexy that in spite of my predicament, I felt my dick hardening.

I shouldn’t have said anything—he was a stranger—but he also looked so sympathetic that I found myself pouring out the story of my plight.

“And…and then Poppa told me to get out.” I sniffed hard.

“That’s tough. You’re a sweet-looking kid. What’s your name?”

I glanced away, reluctant to tell him in case he was a social worker or something and was goingto take me in to the cops, who’d put me into some kind of juvenile home after they called my father and found out he didn’t want me anymore.

He laughed softly. “Well, I’ll call you Sweetcheeks.” He ran his fingers over the curve of my cheek and down to my chin, and I shivered. Ma used to pet me like that, but this was so different; I wanted to feel it again. “My name is Franky. How old are you?”

My birthday had been a few weeks before. “I’m fifteen.” I bit my lip. I hadn’t even thoughtof lying to him.

“Yeah?” His eyes were hot as they ran over my body. “Sweet fifteen.” I blushed. “You’re getting wet. Why don’t you come with me, Sweetcheeks? I’m pretty sure I’ve got some leftovers in the fridge, and I’ve got a bed you can use.”

“Sure.” I wouldn’t mind sleeping with him, if that was what he wanted in exchange for a place to stay. I’d fooled around with some boys in the men’s room at the multiplex, and I’d liked it, but I’d never done much beyond mutual hand jobs.

We had to walk a bit to catch the trolley that would take us to where he lived. “Cabs won’t gothere,” he said, his smile apologetic.

I guessed it was a good thing Poppa had thrown me out on a Friday, when the trolley ran until midnight.

The trolley driver gave us a bored look. Franky showed the driver his pass and gave him the fare for me without even asking if I had the money, which was a good thing, because I’d used my last couple of dollars at McDonald’s.

I walked ahead of him to the back of the trolley.

“Hey! You’re a redhead! I just noticed! It was too dark to tell before we got on the trolley,and I guess your hair was too wet.” Franky tipped his head to one side. “Does the carpet match the drapes?”

I stared at him. What carpet? What drapes?

He must have seen my confusion. “Are you a natural redhead?”

“Excuse me?” Was he flirting with me? I liked the thought that he was.