This chapter will describe my slippery slide into Hell. It's certainly not a part of my life that I'm proud of, and I'm going to go through it fast. My own stupidity will certainly be evident. I basically turned my back on everything and everybody I loved for the sake of drugs. I came within an inch of ruining my life. I damn near lost it. I hurt a lot of people along the way - people who cared for me and people who were depending on me. And I just didn't care. I didn't give a flying fuck.
I got into pot big time after going to school high that first time. I eventually stopped hanging out with Rafe after school and took the bus to Artie's house. It was still warm and I was having fun getting stoned and using his pool. That first weekend was only about the third in a year where I didn't go to Kenny's house. I pretended to need some study time for a non-existent test on Monday. I spent the weekend at Artie's instead, my mother thinking I was at Ken's house. I just had to tell her I had my own ride. I stayed somewhere between high and smashed the whole time. I tried some new things. Mescaline hit the spot. Ten bucks a hit. I'd gone through a hundred bucks before I went home Sunday night.
Surprisingly, I wasn't doing too badly in school. I still talked to Rafe on the bus. He said everyone had missed me. I told him I thought I spent too much time out there and should be doing other things. He seemed to buy that and didn't ask about the other things.
I kept going to Artie's almost every day. I brought my homework and did it there for a while. He even helped me. He was really good with math. I kept trying new things. Coke was ok, but expensive. I bought some acid but was waiting for the right time to try it. Artie said you should really be somewhere you could stay for a while and have someone else around.
Rafe figured out pretty quickly what I was up to, and he was severely pissed off. I didn't really give a hoot. Timmy was distressed and called me all the time. I talked to him for a while, but finally stopped calling him back. He got to my house one day, I don't know how, but I wasn't there. He left a note, but I didn't read it. I wasn't in the mood for any moralizing or pleading. I was having fun. I had my mother upset all the time, but I don't think she had a clue what was going on. I still got up and went to school every day and she never got any trouble reports about me. I met other dopers in school, and we found places to smoke so we could basically stay high all day.
In just a matter of weeks Artie and drugs were my life. In that same time I spent all my money. I discovered that I really liked cocaine. Artie was a good guy and fronted me for a while, but he eventually wanted to get paid. He hooked me up with some other kids that stole stuff. It was hard, though. Shoplifting cigarettes was the easiest thing at first, but it didn't take store owners long to make that harder.
We did some regular burglary stuff, but it was scary and also hard to find much worthwhile. Artie told me that he had a photographer friend who paid good looking kids like me to pose for pictures. Nothing dirty or anything. It paid twenty dollars an hour. He brought me to the guy one Saturday, telling me to make sure I was spotlessly clean and neat.
It was a farm about two towns away. I posed in all kinds of clothes. They were mostly light colored and tight and the photographer seemed to want pictures from behind or me in some kind of walking position. He was pretty happy when it was done and paid me eighty bucks. The next day I went again and there was another kid there. He looked Italian like me, but was maybe ten or eleven. It was all short pants this time, but we acted like brothers, playing with soccer balls and baseball bats, things like that. A lot of the pictures were us just walking towards or away from the camera with my arm over his shoulder. It was another eighty bucks for me, but I was still getting behind with Artie. I went there two more times until the photographer told me he couldn't use the same kids forever, but he knew somebody else that would pay twenty-five an hour if I'd pose in bathing suits, underwear and stuff. I didn't care.
This time it was at a regular house and all indoors. I'd stand there and the photographer would walk around me taking pictures, then I’d lay on a bed, first on my back, then on my stomach. Some of the shots were me in a chair, then at the bathroom sink, like I was brushing my teeth. It was all in tight bathing suits and briefs, sometimes with a t-shirt and sometimes without. I made one-eighty for the day. The next day was more of the same, only with another kid. This guy was blond and near my age. When we were almost done, the photographer said we could each make twenty more if we had hardons. The other kid immediately began playing with himself until he got hard. I didn't give a shit, and did the same thing. We sat on a couch and looked at each other, him with his arm on my shoulder.
We did the underwear thing one more day, this time with three kids. Me, one about twelve, and one about seventeen. This time we got extra for having hardons, extra for touching each other's dicks, and extra for kissing. The other guys didn't seem to mind, so I didn't either. It didn't matter what I did. I was still into Artie deep for my coke and kept asking for more work. The guy also said that they couldn't keep using the same models, but what about posing nude? It paid forty an hour.
It made no difference to me as long as I got my supply of drugs. The nude shots were taken at another house. The place was real nice. They gave me fifty bucks to shave all my hairs around my dick, my legs and my underarms. I stood in doorways, talked on the phone, sat in chairs, laid on the couch, laid on the bed. He took a lot of pictures of my ass, usually with my legs spread lying on the bed. I was high all the time, and I really didn't care. The next nude thing was with another kid. Mostly the same kind of shots. The third time was with a kid my age. We pretty much sat on a couch with our shirts off and our arms on each other's shoulders. We had to open our pants and pull out our dicks. Most of the pictures were just us looking at each other's face or dick. It seemed stupid, but I didn't really give a fuck. The fourth time was me and a bigger kid. We laid on a bed naked and hugged, got our faces near each other's dicks, kissed, and touched each other's butts. At forty bucks an hour, who could give a shit? I wanted more of this work, but even that guy couldn't use the same kids forever. How about some jerkoff shots? Fine by me. It paid forty-five an hour, plus ten bucks each time you could cum.
I did that once, then a second time, then a third time. I did one jerkoff shoot with another kid. Again, too many pictures of the same face. I could make fifty an hour for fake action shots. What's that? Well, you had to actually take somebody's dick in your mouth. Not like really suck it, and really just for a few seconds. They could fake the rest.
It wasn't bad. Open your mouth and clamp down on a dick, have the same thing done to you. Then a whole bunch of pictures where you didn't have to, only get in the position like you were and they'd shoot from behind and like that. There was always an extra ten bucks if you could get the whole dick in your mouth for a second. If it was a real big one, they'd give you the ten just for trying.
My drug usage was going through the ceiling. I was high all the time, though I still went to school most of the time and wasn't flunking anything. I didn't even sit with Rafe on the bus anymore. I always sat next to someone else before we got to his stop. We hadn't spoken in ages, though at first I know he wanted to.
No matter how much money I made, I was just getting deeper into debt with Artie. My face had worn out its welcome on the fake blow job thing. I could get seventy-five an hour for fake butt fucking. How do I fake that? Well, you have to take a dick in the butt, but only for a few seconds really, just the tip, then halfway, then all the way. The rest are all 'position' shots. You get to do it to somebody else, too. What the hell, at least the drugs kept coming. Sometimes it hurt, sometimes it didn't. Depended on the size of the dick. Some really hurt. I didn't give a rat's ass and just stayed high. Kept the crotch shaved. Gave the camera the expressions they wanted. Fought off the cameraman's advances, though not everybody did. Fake fucking paid extra if you'd take a dick in your mouth at the same time for another twenty five bucks. Not too shabby, and it lasted quite a while ... the jobs, that is.
I owed Artie thousands of dollars. I could catch up easy if I did some film work. You had to do the real thing, but it paid different. Fifty bucks for a blowjob, given or received. A hundred for a fuck, given or received. Fifty to lick an asshole. Twenty five to eat your own cum, fifty to eat somebody else's. Twenty five an hour for down time - just being there. It sounded gross. Totally gross. Fuck it. I could stay high and get drunk after. I was worthless anyhow. It's what I deserved and I didn't care.
It turned out the films were mostly big dick/little dick things, with cumshots being the most important part. Lots of times there'd be more than two guys in a film. Sometimes four or five. One time I was the little dick with four older guys. I made a fortune that weekend, but I could hardly walk for a week. One of the guys had a horse cock that I couldn't get a quarter of in my mouth. My ass took it. Another guy had a long skinny dick, but he came like an elephant, all over me. The next week was just me and one other kid my age. The problem was, I knew him. I didn't know him personally, but he was in my grade at school. He had to be the best looking guy there, like perfect, with blond hair and blue eyes. As usual, we didn't say anything to each other, just did our stuff for two days and left. When I went to school that Monday I saw him at his locker. We just looked at each other and didn't say a thing. . We'd done just about every degrading thing one boy could do to another sexually. He looked as embarrassed as I felt.
I turned and walked right out of the building, and I kept going, never to return. I walked to Artie's and got so smashed I fell asleep until the next day. I stopped going home because I knew I'd just get shit from my mother. Who needed that?
There were a few more films, but my face was getting too familiar again. It wasn't a problem. The movie maker knew a guy with a motel. I could make good money there and have a place to stay. There was a diner right next door. All I had to do was have sex with motel patrons. Twenty for a suck, forty for a fuck, two hundred for a whole night. The patrons paid something for the room. All I had to do was stay clean and presentable, which meant not getting too skinny. I was about square with Artie money-wise, and should be able to make plenty to stay in drugs, food and clothes. I wouldn't need much for clothes anyhow. The motel supplied soap and toothpaste and shampoo, and kept the room clean. It didn't sound too bad. I talked Artie into bringing me there, where I met Vic, the motel guy. He gave me a key to the room and showed me their little system. The bedside table had two little buttons. The one on the left meant I was available, the one on the right meant I was either with somebody, out, or whatever else. Eating, sleeping or in the bathroom. If there was a problem I pressed both. If there was any question, whoever was at the desk would just call me. Vic both brought me over to the diner and showed me a back way into a little room with just one table and four chairs. It was best to eat back there and not bump into my own customers. It was the week before Christmas.
I started that night. Took a shower and put on some shorts and nothing else, got high, then pushed the left button. I waited about an hour, watching TV, then the phone rang. Somebody was coming. It was a well dressed guy around forty. I pushed the right button. He wanted me naked, then I sucked him off. He gave me twenty five. My first tip. There were three more guys that night. Two sucks and a fuck. Every one of them gave me something extra. The guy that fucked me took a long time and it made me cum. Right where I had to sleep. I just put a towel over the mess and laid on it. It was three in the morning and I was beat.
The same shit went on for the next five months. It was almost always grown men, though I got the occasional kid that could pay for his first male/male sex. I worked every day. Well, almost. I got the clap twice and had to take several days off each time. Vic had somebody come and give me shots in the butt to take care of it.
I was getting fucked so often that my asshole gave up on its regular job. I used tampons to control my bowel movements, and I hated the added expense. I did good enough to keep up with Artie. He came to supply me every few days.
I ate two decent meals every day and even grew some. The waitresses at the diner knew exactly what I was, but they were friendly to me and even gave me extra stuff some times.
I had some regulars, and some of them weren't bad guys. They'd pay for extra time just to talk. I think one man wanted to adopt me. He knew what he was doing and what I was doing, but couldn't seem to reconcile it with himself. He found out when my birthday was and paid for the whole night. We didn't have sex or anything. He took me out to dinner a couple of towns away at a real nice place and we just talked. He gave me a silver neck chain for a present. When he brought me back, he just dropped me off.
I went into the room and cried for hours. I was stupid, but I wasn't really a dumb kid. I hated what I was doing, and could see the stupidity of it. I got myself hooked on drugs. They made me feel great at first. I got into debt with Artie because I overdid it. He got me jobs posing for pictures so I could pay him, but I got deeper in debt because I was using more drugs and booze to forget what I was doing. Now I was nothing but a whore to pay for the drugs that helped me forget what I was. The worst part was that I'd totally turned away from the people I cared for, that could have helped me. The same people that got me confident enough in myself to go visit Artie Loomis in the first place.
I couldn't see any way out. I was addicted to drugs and needed the money to pay for them. I only knew one way to earn it.
One Friday I got especially stoned in the afternoon. I just felt like it. It was spring and business had been good. By dark I'd already had two customers. After the second one I snorted up again. The third knocked on my door and I answered it. It was a tall blond teenager. As out of it as I was, I nearly fell over when I stepped backwards.
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