Lucian Ch. 01

Dear reader,

For legal reasons I have to assure you that all characters in this story are over 18 years old. For every other reason, though, I must remind you that the law has no jurisdiction over your imagination.

*****

The black shoe swung in and out of the overhead light.

It was a slender-heeled pump hugging a nylon-clad foot attached to a nylon-clad leg. Bent at the knee the leg covered a second nylon-clad knee, swinging softly.

He loved the dark, reflecting liquid of black patent leather - it was a pool to drown in and be forgotten.

His name was Lucian Gaines; the shoe was on the foot of his mother. She sat next to him, talking to a woman on the other side of a desk. He watched her mouth as she talked. Her lips shone with dark red lipstick.

He loved her throaty voice. But he didn't listen.

"... are Lucian? Such a lovely name."

The woman behind the desk had a much crisper voice. She'd obviously asked him something, but his mind had been elsewhere. It loved being elsewhere.

"Lucian?" his mother said.

"Yes, eh, yes," he said, clearing his throat.

He noticed his palms were moist. The woman at the other side of the desk put a smile on her round, pale face. She wore black-rimmed glasses and her smile was almost real. His mother shrugged. It made her satin top stir; he loved to see her wear it.

His eyes lingered.

"Eighteen?" the woman at the desk exclaimed. She responded to another question he missed.

"I know," his mother agreed with a sigh.

He knew what they were talking about; he'd heard it a million times. Looking like twelve when you're eighteen makes people react that way.

"No," his mother said, another lost minute later. "His father wants him to, but he bruises too easily."

Again he knew what she was talking about. Once more he preferred not to listen - or rather: not to be there at all.

***

"Come," his mother had said earlier that day, picking up her clutch and her keys. He'd been lying on a couch, pretending to read a textbook.

"Where to?" he'd asked.

"Come," she'd repeated.

He hated being in her car, not just because he hated her low, silver-gray Mercedes SLS GT - he loathed the way she drove it. Her driving was exactly like her: fast, selfish and inconsiderate.

Sitting in the tight bucket-chair, holding on to the sides, he already felt nauseous at the second curve she took.

After almost an hour into the journey he asked where they were going.

"A new school," she said, talking to the windshield.

"Why?" he asked. "I already have a school."

She rolled her eyes. He should very well know why, calling in sick three times in the last four weeks.

"But why so far from home?" he asked after another three miles of silence.

Lucian knew that the word 'home' was relative; he'd spent most of his life in far away cities like London, Tokyo and Berlin. On the other hand, as he was American, Washington must be the closest thing to home, he supposed.

Then a sudden thought seized him.

"It's not a boarding school, is it?" he asked.

He hated boarding schools. He'd never been to one, but the word alone made him shiver.

His mother turned down the radio - Mozart or whatever.

She still didn't look at him.

"This is a special school," she said. "Anton advised it. You're going to like it."

Anton was his father's lawyer; he had a creepy moustache. Lucian called him Adolf behind his back.

"What's Adolf got to do with it?" he asked."

Right at that moment his mother left the freeway, rolling down a ramp to reach a country road that wound into low, green hills. Pennsylvania? Virginia? He had no idea; he hadn't minded the signs.

The violins on the radio sawed at his nerves.

Iron gates were set in a brick wall that ran along the road both ways. There was a small sign done in tasteful, classic lettering, reading Norton's Academy of Excellence. His mother mumbled something into a little box and the gates opened. A long driveway turned and twisted ahead through clumps of trees. Their leaves were turning into reds and yellows, some already lay strewn over green lawns.

On their way to a big, ancient building, Lucian saw several small groups of girls walking, dressed in long, open dress shirts over tight tops and very short shorts. Their ponytails danced, following the rhythm of their progress.

"Amazing," his mother said. Did she mean the building, the park, or the girls?

He turned around in his chair when they passed a group. One of the girls smiled and waved.

"Great legs," he thought.

At the entrance to the building stood a girl in similar top and shorts, but she wore a short white waist-jacket over it that had tails at the back. She also wore a white cap on her blond hair.

After walking around the car she opened his mother's door.

"Welcome to Norton's," she said, smiling.

He pushed his door open and climbed out. The girl got into the driver's seat to take the car to a hidden parking place.

At the top of the steps to the monumental entrance stood another girl, wearing the same outfit without the cap. She smiled too, calling his mother Mrs. Gaines, and gesturing them in.

As she walked in front of them through the wide marble hallway, he saw she wore satin ballet shoes, tied to her calves with shining ribbons.

She moved with grace, he thought; like a dancer.

The girl brought them to the office of the woman with the big glasses and the pale round face, who came from behind her desk, smiling.

It seemed everybody smiled here, and they were all women. On the desk was a sign with a copper plate telling him the woman was called Gloria C. Parker.

"Welcome again," she said as she shook his mother's hand. She only nodded in his direction. They sat down, and the woman poured tea.

He didn't like tea, but he wasn't asked.

After some inane chitchat, the woman opened a file on her desk, and picked up an old-fashioned fountain pen.

"What's wrong with a computer?" he wondered.

The questioning began.

As the woman only asked his mother, Lucian sent his thoughts away, chasing shapeless things that moved from nowhere to elsewhere.

His mother sighed after yet another question he missed. But he didn't have to know the question; he knew the sigh.

"As I told you, three times in four weeks now," his mother said.

It was about the bullying and the beating up. Lucian hated her for telling others.

It made him recall the pummeling and the cheering, and the metallic taste of blood. Contorted fleshy faces surrounded him; hard hands rubbed his face into fresh-cut grass.

To him innocent things like the smell of freshly cut grass would never be innocent again.

Parker - Lucian guessed she was the principal of this school - showed the particular smile he'd seen too often, while penning down what his mother told her. Pity was what the smile said and he hated it.

She looked up.

"And Mr. Gaines?" she asked.

His mother sighed again, another sigh he knew. It didn't sound hurt or sad, but angry. Before she answered, even, Lucian knew there would be words in her response like "manning up," "striking back," and "he has to do this himself."

Those words immediately brought his father's face to mind - a hard face, usually covered by a newspaper.

He was a diplomat but at home one wouldn't guess. Thank God he wasn't home often. He had a low, rumbling voice that was usually counter-pointed by his mother's shrill falsetto. They hardly ever talked; most often they either yelled or didn't say a word. They fought in front of him and in the bedroom; they even fought when they fucked.

Lucian knew; his bedroom wasn't far from theirs.

"My husband doesn't know we are here," his mother said. It caused the principal's eyebrows to rise.

"But I don't think," my mother went on, "that he will notice the boy's absence when he returns in two weeks time. He'll be too busy getting away again."

His mother often said 'the boy' when talking about him to strangers. The principal had other worries, though.

"But Mr. Gaines has signed the permit," she said, producing a piece of paper.

"He signs a lot," his mother answered. Her red lips stretched into a smile. Only then did Lucian realize what she said: 'absent, two weeks.' This wasn't an informative trip; things had already been decided.

"But...," he said, raising a hand.

"Lucian," the principal said. He saw both her and his mother's eyes trained on him. "I want you to meet Dr. Kurtz. She will be here any minute."

What more had been decided?

"I," he said, "I don't agree." He turned to his mother. "Let's get away from here. I won't do this."

Both women sported a smile on otherwise frozen faces. Especially his mother's bothered him.

She never smiled as much as she did today.

"I'm afraid you have no say in this, honey," she said. "You see, both your father and I signed for you to be here the next four years. We asked Anton after the first school you failed how we might keep you from dropping out once you turn 18. He drew up a legal thing we signed. Don't ask me how it works, just remember you can't run. Anton wrote it, so don't even try. Consider yourself fourteen, honey; you look the part. And remember too that this is not just your best chance; it is your last one."

He stared at her, speechless. Her continuing smile brought nausea to the pit of his stomach.

"I'll still run off," he said, hating the childish whine in his voice. He had no idea how to pull it of. "I'll get a lawyer too!"

"Of course," she said, chuckling as she exchanged a look with the principal. "We'll see about that when we get there."

The door opened and a woman came in. She wore a white coat.

"Meet Dr. Kurtz, Lucian," the woman behind the desk said, rising. "Dr. Kurtz, this is Lucian."

The doctor was in her early forties, he estimated.

Her dirty-blond hair was up in a loose bun and her grey eyes looked tired. She also smiled, of course, but her weak, full lips gave the smile a crooked trace of sensuality. It took away from her professional coolness, even in her white doctors coat.

Her hand felt soft.

"Call me Vivian," she said. He decided he never would.

"Dr. Kurtz will take you to her office for a medical check-up," the principal said.

He felt trapped in a triangle of women, all clad in some sort of authority: headmistress, mother and doctor.

"Do I need one?" he asked. "I had one only last year."

Dr. Kurtz smiled.

"Just a formality," she said. "It will be over in no time."

***

There are people we trust because we owe our lives to them; like mothers. Others we trust because they swore to guard our health, like doctors.

Who can we trust if not them?

Dr. Kurtz's office was like most doctors' practices: a desk, two chairs, and an examination corner, separated by a curtain. Walking past him to her desk, she said: "Please undress, Lucian."

He knew it was a perfectly normal request for a doctor, but he hesitated. Every accumulating minute of his visit to this school made him feel less comfortable. The doctor sighed.

Then her smile returned, the weak, sexy one.

"I am a doctor, honey. I have seen hundreds of boys naked. And yes, I know you are all special, but please undress, so I can examine you."

His hair rose in his neck.

He hated being called 'honey,' even by his mother. He also knew he was being childish about the stripping.

He pulled his T-shirt over his head, taking his white-blond curls with it, before they bounced back. Then he kicked off his sneakers and peeled down his pale blue jeans. They were skinny jeans, hugging his legs tightly. He'd been teased and ridiculed for wearing them.

"Nice jeans," Dr. Kurtz said.

Lucian mumbled, reaching down to pull off his socks. Then he stood in front of her, only wearing his Calvin Kleins.

"Come on, Lucian," she said. "I haven't got all day."

Turning away, he pushed his briefs down his thighs and calves. Picking them up, he rose slowly until he stood.

His hand automatically cupped his penis.

He'd been teased about its size but right now it seemed even smaller. It must be the damn airco. He slowly turned around, letting his hand fall away.

His ears burned; he knew he was blushing like mad.

Dr. Kurtz let her eyes travel down his exposed body. Her hand went to her mouth. It was wrapped in a blue latex glove, he saw.

"Oh God, honey," she whispered. "You are perfect."

Lucian didn't know where to look. Was she mad?

Everybody knew he was anything but perfect. He looked ridiculous for an 18 year old - weak and skinny, his ribs showing. He was sickly pale; his shoulders were too narrow. What was this woman thinking?

Was she mocking him?

She walked up, asking him to breathe deeply as she put her stethoscope to his chest. In the next ten minutes she listened and probed, checked his joints and reflexes, his throat and ears and eyes. She took his blood pressure and had him bend and stretch in all directions, feeling his spine.

Then she asked him to climb on the examination table.

The fresh paper rustled under him as he stretched out, closing his eyes against the bright neon lamp.

He felt her hands on his thighs, spreading them slightly.

Then she pulled out his penis, rolling back its foreskin. She felt his balls, probing his loins. His blush must be crimson by now, but all he heard was how perfect he was.

"Please, honey, pull up both knees and spread them."

He did as she asked, despising the endearments. A slick object entered his anus; it must be her gloved finger. He yelped in surprise.

"Beautiful," she said.

He tried to relax his sphincter to relief the stretching. The finger went deeper; could a finger be this long? It suddenly touched a spot that made him flinch. It felt like an electric current shooting up his spine.

He moaned; the doctor chuckled.

"So healthy," she mumbled, touching the spot again.

By now his back arched and his toes clawed the paper cover. He felt his penis twitch as the probe relentlessly hit the spot.

He wanted to cry out to make her stop, but there was no sound.

"Do you often masturbate, Lucian?" she asked.

Her voice was cool and matter of fact. He couldn't answer. Then he felt an object closing over the head of his aching penis. He tried to look, but the blue-gloved hand obstructed his view.

Another jolt hit his body and he knew he was coming.

It was an entirely new sensation - not at all the sharp and short-lived climax he was used to, under showers or in toilets. This was a stretched-out rush of heat, rising from his feet, stretching his calves, spreading through his lower body. It made him tremble all over.

Sperm seared through the shaft; he shook with the impact.

"Healthy indeed," he heard a distant voice whisper, as dark blotches danced before his eyes.

"You may get up now, honey, if you can."

Lucian tried to sit up, using his elbows. It took him two tries.

When he at last stood beside the table, his knees wobbled and his head spun. The woman in the white coat held up a small container.

"I took a sample, if you don't mind," she said, smiling.

He looked for his Calvin Kleins.

"Not yet," she said. "Please sit over here."

She led him to a stool; he sat down, still feeling too dazed to wonder. The wood pressed cold against his burning skin.

"We need a sample of your blood too," she said. "You know: to do tests?"

She took a ball of cotton and rubbed disinfectant into the crook of his arm. A needle slipped in.

"Nice veins," she said.

The door behind him opened; he sensed the draft on his naked back. There were heels clicking on the floor; warm hands rested on his shoulders.

He didn't have to look up; he'd pick up her perfume anywhere.

"Is everything fine, darling?" his mother asked.

Lucian turned his face around to see her. Through the curls dangling in his eyes he saw her smile. Her hands squeezed his shoulders; her eyes seemed to focus on something.

Then he felt a stab in his thigh.

Swerving his head back he saw a large syringe sticking out of his leg, held by a hand in blue latex.

"What..?" he cried, trying to jerk away. The hands kept him firmly in place.

"It's all fine, darling," his mother said in her breeziest voice. "It's all for the best."

A cloak of soft darkness sank over him. Loving hands caught him as he slid off the stool.

***

You never really know when you wake up, do you? You know when you've woken up. It is like falling asleep in reverse - first you drift off, and then you drift back again.

It takes a while for the cobwebs to disappear; but then you remember.

His world was white and misty.

It took a while before Lucian knew he was on his back, on a bed. It took another while to distinguish the several whites around him: the white of the walls against the whites of the closed curtains; the whites of the ceiling against the white of the sheet covering his body.

'Hospital' entered his mind. 'What the fuck?' followed suit.

And then he felt the throbbing.

It wasn't pain, really, just a humming in his groin. He slid a hand under the sheet; his chest and belly were naked. Then he felt a slick, stiff fabric over a soft, yielding bulge.

Lucian screamed.

He didn't know why he screamed. It might just be a ball of air wanting out, and it made no sound.

Then memories rushed in and he screamed again.

This time it was an audible croak - air tearing open his throat to prepare the world for his real scream.

He pulled back the sheet and saw his groin. It looked silly enough - frilly plastic panties you use to cover a baby's diaper with. It even had little pink flowers.

But he didn't think it covered a diaper.

Feeling inside, he found bandages. That was when he screamed for real. It destroyed the silence, making the water glass on the sink jingle.

He twisted his body and slid off the bed, his bare feet reaching for the floor.

"Don't!"

The voice was clear as a bell.

It belonged to a blond girl in a long white shirt reaching halfway down her thighs. She was tall and thin and she smiled. On her feet were ballet shoes.

"You must stay in bed, Lucian, just for another day."

She took his legs and pushed them back on the bed. Doing so, her face came close to his; she smelled good. She also had lovely grey eyes and a generous mouth.

How did she know his name?

"I'm Drew," she said, covering him with the sheet again. Then she fluffed up his pillows. "Can I get you anything? Water? Tea?"

"What did they do to me?" he asked.

She fluttered her eyelashes, never losing her smile. Goddamn, did they all have to smile like that?

"I can't tell you," she said. "But the doctor will be here any minute. I can stay with you, if you want?"

He didn't know if he wanted her to, but he didn't mind.

"Are you a nurse?" he asked. She giggled.

"No," she said. "I just happen to have hospital duty this week. You are my only patient so far."

"Patient?" he echoed. "I'm not ill."

She shrugged; it made a few strands of hair fall out of her cap. She pushed them back in.

"My mother brought me here to enlist me, you know, for this school. And then I had a medical check-up with the doctor, and then..." he remembered the syringe; his mother's hands holding him down.

"What did they do to me?"

Right then, as if on call, Dr. Kurtz rushed in, bringing a breeze of fresh outside air with her.

"Lucian, honey!" she said, way too loud.

The girl rose and left the room. The doctor took her place on the edge of the bed.