Glenn View

Those were the last words Glenn said to his father three days ago. That was Sunday, his birthday. He'd come out to his parents, and in return, they taught him his first lesson in the true meaning of the word "Out". Out of the closet, and into the streets. Those were words he'd cheered barely three months ago, on National Coming Out day.

It was now mid-December. Glenn was glad for the warm day that had just passed. It melted most of the previous days' snow. As the sun went down, so did his spirits.

December in the southern Chicago suburbs could get on your nerves: You go out in the morning wearing your heaviest coat and gloves, scrape the quarter inch of ice from your windshield, and numbly fumble with the cold plastics of your car. If you're lucky, by the time you're halfway to work, you can take off your gloves and hold the steering wheel with bare fingers an no fear of frostbite. By one that afternoon, you can go outside in a shirt and sweater and baste yourself in the crispest, most welcome sun. On the ride home, you may be fighting the frost again, hoping that the months-old rock chip in the windshield doesn't spread from the contradictory temperatures.

For Glenn, it was getting harsh. He refused to go home. His parents might just outright slam the door on him, for starters. His father had been the loudest, but his mother had been more vicious with her words. This was not a normal argument. This one had been building since childhood. The suburban life his parents had laboured to give him was one he'd always wanted to escape.

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"The longest journey", he said out loud, putting his red fingers up to the two by three inch vents on either side of his Civic's steering wheel, "Begins with a single step". He'd taken a leap by making it into Brown on a winged essay, a hoped-for student loan and a prayer of support from his conservative parents. After one semester, that leap had landed him on his ass.

Mark and Kim Allen knew the name of the college, and bandied it about with their friends. Glenn Allen wanted the break from the uptight, super-structured sixteen years he'd had before applying. He was seventeen when he'd been quickly accepted for the next fall's freshman class. He was now eighteen and living off the $175 he'd closed out his childhood account with at four that afternoon.

It was now ten, and he still had most of it. He spent an hour enjoying the best McDonald's of his life. It was hot, even the fries. Normally he would have complained about McDonald's flavour being either "burnt roof of mouth" or "throat-clogging cold", but tonight it was hot, solid, food eaten inside a warm place. He hadn't showered in three days, and he only had one change of clothes, besides gym sweats, in his bag. He'd managed to mix and match so far, but he knew that he was starting to stink when he'd left McDonald's, opened his Civic's door and, despite the cold, smelled his own dank.

In three weeks of Rhode Island living, he'd met more people than in his seventeen plus years of Illinois solitude. In five weeks, Glenn had found his first boyfriend, as opposed to the four, silent years of fantasizing, restroom suckoffs and the occasional pseudo-girlfriend. They lasted only three weeks, but in those three weeks, Glenn had come into his own being. If college showed him that he was not alone, then the Pridefest proved how many more like him there were. No one person could contain him: Glenn burst like a pinata, swatted at by the minions, spreading his candy as far as he could and still manage to keep his grades in check.

"The longest journey...", Glenn reminded himself. He took in a deep breath, grabbed the sweats (thank god he'd washed them after his last trip to the gym) and headed back into McDonald's. He headed to the washroom for a bum's bath and a change of clothes.

Both stalls were filled, as well as one of the three urinals. Self-consciously, he put his sweatpants on the sink, and took a piss-stance against the urinal furthest to the edge. It didn't take long for the coffee to run through him and he managed to take a healthy leak. As he did so, the stalls cleared, but the guy at the other urinal refused to finish. His own well drained, Glenn shook himself slowly and chanced a look at the guy.

They locked eyes, but only after the guy's gaze lifted from Glenn's crotch. He was older, like early forties, Glenn immediately guessed. Solid gray around the temples, salt and pepper through the rest, a slight sagging around the eyes and a definite extended forehead, he held Glenn's eyes for another moment, then nodded toward the stall.

Glenn broke the eyelock with a quick and sharp shrug and shake of his head. He looked down at his own dick, dry of piss and shriveled from the cold come on. College had broken him of this kind of thing. A year ago, he probably would've gone into the stall with the guy and been happy for the experience. That was then.

"Twenty bucks", the guy said.

"Fuck you". Glenn said the words outloud for the second time in nearly four days, turning away as he pushed his head into his underwear.

"Fifty", the guy said. "I just want to suck you".

Glenn started to zip up his fly. Every notch the zipper went up sounded like coin as he figured his cash to be about $165. Fifty bucks would bring him up over three hundred. Three hundred sounded like a magic number.

"C'mon", Glenn said, grabbing his sweats off the counter. He headed into the stall and hustled himself for the first time.

The white-templed man followed him into the handicapped stall and gently guided Glenn to a seated position on the toilet. He lifted the lived-in sweater over Glenn's stomach and held it there as he licked the twitching abs. One hand landed on the outside of his thigh, the other reversed the previous pattern of the zipper.

"I wanna taste you cum", the guy said, pulling the waistband over the now-hard dick. His baggy khakis easily slid down to the knees, but for whatever reason, Glenn spread his legs and stopped them there. The guy didn't seem to care, licking at the tip of his dick, the guy managed to move Glenn's black Calvins down with his lips and a small tug. Exposed to the hilt of his cock, he accepted the mouth on him and started pumping.

Fingers started moving: Glenn's went into the white-templed man's hair as he slid along the roof of his mouth, pushed against his tonsils and rammed his throat. The guy's hands ran up and down Glenn, from the spread knees up to the exposed dent between his chest and stomach. With a flick into his sweaty belly-button, the guy slipped a finger along Glenn's dick and joined it in his mouth, sucking and stroking at the same time. Just when he thought he was gonna shoot in the guy's face, the guy pulled the finger out and slid it down the side of his crotch, circled his balls and slid it between Glenn's nearly spasming ass.

"That's another fifty", Glenn said without thinking. The white-templed man put his wallet on top of the toilet paper roller.

"Go ahead, check it", the guy said. Glenn sat up, slipping away from the guy as he did so. The guy ran his lips over Glenn's hard head and slicked his finger up and down his ass. Glenn slid back down without checking.

"Yeah, do it, make me cum".

The lips went down and took in his full length while a fingertip slid itself into his sweaty ass. The lips slid up, somehow warm against his heated hardness while the finger plucked it's way inside his thin ass ring. With a reverse motion, Glenn was spread and fully fingered, his dick pushing it's way across the guy's open teeth and then, as the finger started to retreat, Glenn pushed in and shot his load.

He swallowed the first, harsh dump: he had no choice. Glenn pulled the face as close to him as he could, pumping his hips on the lips and against the finger. The guy continued to swallow, as eager for the feeling of spunk in his throat as Glenn was to needing to release it. Glenn went soft in the guy's mouth almost as soon as the finger left his ass.

"Pay me".

"Take it", the white-templed man said, putting his fingers to his own task . "Just let me jerk this load". Looking into the wallet, he saw two hundreds and a wad of tens, neatly separated. He took the two hundreds.

"Be here tomorrow for the rest", Glenn said, unlocking the stall. He grabbed his sweats and took off, leaving the golden arches for the rank confines of his Civic. Within five minutes of shooting his load, he was onto Pulaski, two hundred bucks richer.

He could make it to Rhode Island on $360, easy. The dorms would be "officially" closed, but he had a couple of friends that would be staying over the closed term for various reasons.

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