Carter "Mickey" McKenzie
stared at himself in the mirror. His normally flawless skin was marred by
several scratches and one very large black and blue bruise around his eye.
Even one corner of his rosy red lips was swollen and cut. He looked like
shit.
This crap just wasn't worth
it anymore. He always said he'd quit the business when he reached the ripe
old age of twenty five but maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to retire a
couple of years early. His body sure would appreciate it.
Mickey was tired of being
beat up, accosted, arrested, and just generally being used and abused.
Granted, being a male prostitute didn't exactly come with job security but
the marks on his face and body hadn't come from a customer. Each bruise had
come from his boyfriend.
Scratch that, ex-boyfriend.
Mickey shook his head. No, he
was done. He had enough money stashed away that he could start over
somewhere new. He could live off of his savings for about six months before
he had to look for work.
He didn't have a clue what he
would do. Being able to suck cock and take it up the ass wasn't something
normally listed as a job requirement. Mickey just knew he was tired of doing
what he'd been doing since he started living on the streets eight years ago.
Mickey went to his closet and
pulled out his backpack. He grabbed several items of clothing out of his
dresser and a few personal items as well as a box of condoms and some lube.
He never knew when he might need to make some extra money.
Once he had all he needed
from his dresser, Mickey went to the bathroom where his stash was hidden.
Kneeling on the floor beside the toilet, Mickey carefully pulled back the
wooden slat in the floorboard and set it aside. He reached in and grabbed
the quart sized plastic bag that held his rainy day fund. Mickey
turned it over in his hand. It seemed to all be there.
He quickly shoved it into his
backpack along with the other items in the small hiding space in the floor—a
necklace that belonged to his mother, a couple of watches given to him by
long term clients, and a set of cuff links that were supposed to belong to
his father, whoever that was.
Mickey placed the wooden slat
back into place then stood, stomping on the slat a couple of times. He
didn't want anyone knowing he had a stash hidden away. He'd get mugged
before he reached the next block.
He walked back into the main
room of his studio apartment and looked around trying to ensure he hadn't
forgotten anything important. He wouldn't be coming back. While his little
room was better than most, he wouldn't miss it.
Well, not much anyway. It was
the first place that was all his and he'd been here five years. Before that,
Mickey had lived with friends, in alleys, and with whoever would take him
in. He'd even done a stint in a pimp house. Having his own place was much
better.
Not seeing anything else he
wanted, Mickey pulled on his jacket, shoved his cell phone in his pocket,
then grabbed his backpack. He didn't even look back as he walked out the
door and shut it behind him. The landlord could have whatever was left.
Mickey bounced down the
stairs and headed for the front steps of the brick building. As soon as he
walked out the front door he turned to the left. Sure enough, Ms. Dixie, the
woman that lived across the hall from him, was right where she always was
sitting on the front porch with her small dog in her lap.
"Hey, Ms. Dixie," Mickey said
as he walked over and sat down in the chair next to her.
"Mickey, honey, what happened
to your face?"
"Donny happened."
Ms. Dixie frowned, the pale
skin in her face wrinkling. "That boy never was any good, Mickey. You need
to get rid of him and find yourself a sweet young man that will take better
care of you."
"I'm working on it, Ms.
Dixie." Mickey chuckled.
"Is that why you have your
bag, son?"
Mickey glanced down at the
backpack he held in his hands. "Yeah, I, uh, I've decided to leave town. I'm
headed down now to see how far a bus ticket will get me."
"Have any place in mind?"
Mickey shrugged. "Not really,
just anyplace that isn't here."
"Have you ever been to
Idaho?"
"Idaho?"
"Well." Ms. Dixie chuckled.
"The eastern edge of Idaho, really, where it borders Montana and the Rocky
Mountains. It's beautiful country up there, lots of room to roam."
"You've been there?"
"I'm from there, dear boy, a
small town way up in the hills called Castle Creek." Ms. Dixie chuckled
again and reached over to pat Mickey's leg. "What? Did you think I lived my
entire life in San Francisco?"
"I guess I never really
thought about it. I try not to delve too deeply into other people's pasts.
Mine isn't exactly stellar."
"You have nothing to be
ashamed of, Mickey. We all do what we need to do to get by."
"Even you?"
"Mickey, do you really think
I've reached the age of eighty four without doing a few shady things here
and there?" The little satisfied smirk on Ms. Dixie's withered face made
Mickey wonder if she was proud of the things she'd done, whatever they were.
"Never be ashamed of things you do to take care of yourself, Mickey. Be
proud of the fact that you've taken care of yourself."
Mickey tilted his head a
little, confused. "Ms. Dixie, you do realize I sell my body for money, don't
you?"
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