Boarding School (34 page)

“What?” Matt asked.

“Oh this is too much!” I was now exasperated nearly beyond words.

“What?” Matt looked at me with worry in his eyes.

“Well look!” I shouted. “This is the pool that’s in the damn catalog!”

“Really?” Matt looked away from me and back at the water again.

“Yeah, look at those funny sort of translucent wall tiles over there, and the steel pillar in the middle of the cement, and that ladder coming up out of the water, and the patio furniture. This
is
the pool those Academy kids were swimming in that I saw in the Academy’s catalog! I don’t believe it!”

Artist then smiled at me. “That’s right, Clint. Man, what a memory you’ve got. Those were first-year students in that picture. They were on a break from their duties in the rooms they were using here that day.

“Incredible!” I replied with disgust as if being lied to about a swimming pool was more heinous than being turned into drug addicts and boy prostitutes.

A few moments later, Artist decided the time had come for us to move on, so we left the pool and headed for the bedrooms we had been assigned to use for that afternoon. The plan, as it turned out, was simple. Matt and I were placed in adjoining rooms with the door between us closed when customers were there, but left unlocked all the time. In this way, Matt and I could be available to come to each other’s aid should the need arise. Between customers, as it worked out, we preferred to keep this door open so we could talk with each other and look each other over to make certain that we were both all right after each session. Also, we were expected to work until just before dinner time. When he figured that we had labored long enough for one day, Artist would come for us and take us to the van which by this time will have returned to take us home. And except for the few free minutes we had between customers, Matt and I were never given a break once we started to perform our unique services.

“I’ II be in a room in a different part of the motel for security reasons,” Artist explained once we were all settled in what was to be my room. And then he opened up his briefcase and revealed to us the largest quantity of cocaine in one place we had ever seen. “By now the woman at the front desk has written my room number on a piece of paper and has stuck that paper in the lower left corner of the bulletin board they have out there in the lobby. Then, she’ll place a small alarm clock she has up onto the counter there at the front desk every time she’s ready to let the next person, who’s waiting out there in the lobby, to come to my room.”

“So all those people I saw sitting around the lobby were customers waiting to come and have sex with us?” I interrupted.

“That’s right,” Artist confirmed. “Anyway, after a person leaves the lobby to come to my room, the woman then puts her clock away until I call her to have her send me the next customer. So when these people who are interested in purchasing your services today come to see me in my room, I’ll ask them first if they prefer a boy with black hair or a boy with blond hair, and then after that we’ll negotiate a price and I’ll send him or her to one of you with a slip of paper in his or her hand. This paper is how you’ll know that the person who’s knocking on your door is a legitimate customer.”

“Are you gonna write something on the paper for us?” Matt asked. “Yes,” Artist answered as he pulled out some cocaine and began to prepare it for us. “There’s a code you have to memorize because different customers are gonna want to do different things with you.”

“Like what?” Matt asked as I began to prepare to snort up my afternoon ration of happy powder.

“Ok well, the number one means you take it in the ass. Number two means you give it in the ass. If you see a three on the paper it means you’re supposed to take it in the mouth and a four means you give it in the mouth. Then a five means you accept a hand job, and a six means you give a hand job.” “Shit!” Matt reacted as I began to sniff the drug into my head. “Well, we charge different prices for different services.” Artist then resumed his chopping and mixing as he explained. “A one, for example, is more expensive than a five. But don’t worry. Most of the time you’ll be taking it from them, so you’re not likely to get all used up. But if you find after a while that you can’t cum anymore, then just fake it.” He then looked at my roommate. “Ok, Matt, snort away, kid.” Artist then stood aside so Matt could get close enough to the mirror to take in his cocaine. “Ok,” Matt answered. “SNI…I…F”

“And then before they leave me to come to see you guys,” Artist continued, “I also sell them whatever amount of cocaine they want to buy from me this week. So if you’re really nice to them, they might be willing to give you guys little taste from time to time.” Artist then looked around my room to see if there was anything else he needed to do, and then he closed up his briefcase. “Ok you guys get ready. I’ll start sending them to you in a few minutes. And then when you’ve finished with the first one, put your clothes back on and make the bed, and then call me on the phone to let me know that you’re ready for me to send you the next customer. And if you go too long and I don’t hear from you, I’ll come down here and check on you myself. And if I have to do that I’m gonna be pissed. So keep ’em moving through here. Ok?” And with that our master opened the door and walked back out into the hall. “Oh, and one more thing. If either of you guys get any funny ideas about placing an outside phone call to anyone, you should know that the phones in this place are turned off at the front desk and the woman there is keeping her eye on the panel to make sure your lights don’t go on without mine going on too. And if I ever get a call from her telling me that either of you were making calls to anyone else in this motel besides me, the night you guys spent in the pine field will seem like a walk in the park compared to how you’ll both be feeling after we’ve finished with you two. Get my drift? And the same goes for what will happen to you guys if either of you decide to leave your room. Our operations here have been going on now for years. So there are a lot of people around town and in this motel even who are interested in seeing what we do here continue. These people would let me know immediately if you guys were wandering through the halls or worse, actually walking out on the grounds by yourselves. So do your jobs, don’t screw up, and everything will work out just fine here. All right?”

Neither Matt nor I said anything in response. We just stared at the kid.

“Ok, then.” And with that, Artist left us and began to walk through the hall toward his room.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Matt said as he closed my door to the hall. “Clint, how the hell did we end up in a spot like this?” My friend then sat down on my bed and looked dejected.

“I have no idea,” I answered glumly. “One day I was all excited about getting to go to the boarding school of my choice, and the next thing I know I’m standing here in a motel room in the middle of God knows where waiting for a hundred or so strangers to have sex with me.”

“Yeah. This stinks.” Matt was then silent for a minute or so before he felt like speaking again. “On the other hand, I can feel the cocaine starting to kick m now, so maybe this won’t be all that bad after all.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I know what you mean.” I was beginning to feel better too.

A few minutes later we heard someone knocking on Matt’s door.

“Oh shit! They picked black hair first,” Matt then stood up and began to walk toward his room.

“Are you gonna be all right?” I asked.

“How the hell should I know?” he shot back as he closed the door between our two rooms and then he went on to answer his door to the hallway.

Since I had nothing else to do for the moment, I tried to listen through the adjoining door to hear how things were going for my friend.

“A three, huh,” Matt responded after he had extended his greeting to the stranger. “Ok, come on in.”

I then heard the customer enter Matt’s room and close the door behind him. After that I heard silence for a few moments as I imagined them both taking off their clothing and getting the bed ready and then… KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! Someone was now knocking on my door. So I left Matt and walked over to open it.

“Hi.” A man I judged to be in his early thirties wearing a business suit and smiling at me then handed me a scrap of paper. When I unfolded it I could see that it plainly had the number one written on it.

“Ok,” I answered. “Come on in.”

* * *

On Saturday after lunch Matt and I were picked up by Joe in his blue 1963 Cadillac convertible. We had been told to pack overnight bags and that we were going to be spending the night at an estate down in Connecticut somewhere. For some reason which neither of us ever really learned, Joe was supposed to be our chauffeur for this trip. I found Joe’s driving alarming and at one point on Route 44, we had to pass a car while traveling at over one hundred miles per hour so we could barely miss hitting a car that was coming toward us from the other direction. And through it all, the man kept droning on about old girlfriends and people he had beaten up. The entire experience was nerve-racking, to say the least, for both of us. And as a way for us to release some stress—I suppose—my roommate and I found ourselves offering comments throughout the trip which were humorous to us as boys, but less than flattering to our driver.

By this time, Matt and I had thoroughly debriefed each other about the customers we had serviced on the previous Wednesday. The only really unsettling incident of that day had been the one time Matt had opened the door between our two rooms because he had believed that I was in trouble—which I kind of was.

“Get the hell out of here, kid!” The giant man who was raping me at that moment yelled at Matt. Upon seeing that I wasn’t being murdered at least, Matt felt he had no option then, but to comply with the man’s order. I explained later that this customer had shown up with the number four written on his piece of paper. So after he had finished giving me a blow job, he then ordered me to turn over and get ready to take it in my ass. When I sat up and protested that he had only paid for the service we had just completed, he hauled off and slugged me full out in the face. He was a big man and his punch had spun me around and left me lying in the bed on my face. The man then squared up the lower half of my body, dipped his penis into the jar of Vaseline we always kept on the night stand, and then proceeded to take from me what he had really come to my room to get.

As I lay there dazed and not entirely coherent, I guess I must have yelled out each time he thrust himself into me because my screams, apparently, were what had triggered Matt to enter my room.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Matt had said when we talked about this later.

“That’s ok, Matt. There wasn’t anything you could have done. After all, it wasn’t as if you could have pulled the guy off of me or anything. So don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, but I should have been able to think of some way to help you.” Matt was clearly torn up inside because of his inaction.

“Forget about it.” I really didn’t want Matt to feel bad. I simply figured that in the future, I wouldn’t worry about what sort of money the Academy was collecting for our services. The ache I still felt in my jaw on this Saturday afternoon caused me to decide that from that point forward it would be in my best interest to permit the customers to do whatever they hell they wanted to me and allow Artist, or whatever other upperclassman was escorting us that day, to worry about the rest.

I can’t say the name of the town or the person who had ordered us up for this weekend, but our latest customer turned out to be a famous actor who Matt and I recognized immediately once we were deposited on his front drive. He was friendly and, we found, very easy to talk with. We also found his place to be magnificent. The large house was set well back from the tree-lined road, and he said that he owned about twenty-four acres of land around us. And after the man had helped us with our bags and had shown us to the room we would be staying in, he had us meet him around in back by his swimming pool for an autumn afternoon in the still warm Connecticut sun.

We arrived at the pool before he did so we waited in the chairs on his patio for him to show up and give us permission to jump in. When the man did finally appear, he did so in a terry cloth robe. He informed us then that his family was away for the weekend so we men had the run of the place. “So I say we ought to go skinny dipping!” he announced. Matt and I then watched as the man pulled off his robe to reveal himself in all of his splendor, and then he jumped into the pool. Matt and I then looked at each other and smiled. Skinny dipping sounded like great fun to us, so we pulled down our swim suits and jumped into the water in our birthday suits to join our host.

Matt and I were both fans of the man’s television show, and we had seen his movies, also. So the time we spent with him that afternoon was magical. It was almost like spending time with a wild and uninhibited uncle. We had lots of questions about his show and the other members of his cast, and he was happy to spend the day talking about himself. And we barely gave it a second thought when, at different times, he had us swim over to him and then float on our backs so he could go down on us. We were finally away from the Academy and free from the constant scrutiny of the upperclassmen and the colluding members of the faculty. It felt wonderful to us both to be out in the world again. It turned out that our host was an excellent chef. So for dinner that night he prepared Chateaubriand for us with wild rice and asparagus. After weeks of eating the garbage they gave us at the Academy, I felt as if we had been sprung from prison. Our host also introduced Matt and me to French wine, and he taught us a little about which wine went with what sort of meals. And I liked the high I got from wine. It seemed to come up more gently and wasn’t such a right cross to the jaw as hard liquor was, and I thought it mixed better with the cocaine the three of us enjoyed later on. After dinner, though, once we had helped him to clean up his kitchen, our host’s secret plan for us was revealed. When the time came, Matt and I followed this guy upstairs to his bedroom. Once there, he pulled out some costumes and makeup and then he helped us for the next fifteen minutes or so to get dressed up. Apparently this macho star of the big and small screens had a thing for
The Wizard of Oz.
So while Matt and I were looking with disbelief into this guy’s full-length mirror at the Munchkins who were staring back at us, our host was dressing himself to portray a hairy-legged version of Dorothy. And when everything was arranged just the way he wanted, the three of us then climbed up onto his huge bed to play a game which went like this: