Boy Crucified Read Online Free PDF

early morning—I preferred grunting.
    “I’ll get it for you,” he said. He was up and out of his chair in a flash and I watched him go, feeling something tug at my heart. Lust? Longing? Loneliness?
    What you crave makes you a slave.
    It had been a long time since Billy, five years and counting. After his death, I preferred to be alone. I didn’t go out. I didn’t date. I was just not interested in starting over. I did not see how it would be possible to ever love someone again, not the way I had loved him. In comparison, the bars-and-boys thing seemed exceedingly dull. What was sex compared to love?
    I sat down at the table, sighing, feeling my age. Sometimes I thought I had retreated into Buddhism because I couldn’t deal with the pain of accepting reality as it really was.
    Daniel returned, flashing a smile as he spread the newspaper on the table, displaying the headline. Before looking at it, I looked at him, again feeling something tugging at my heart.
    “Read it,” he said. “Oh man!”
    I looked at the paper, at the screaming headline:
    “Boy Found Crucified”
    “How’d they find out so fast?” he wanted to know.
    “Mac Harris is going to be pissed.”
    “Who’s he?”
    “The department spokesman. If you read the article, no doubt you’ll come across the old ‘sources close to the investigation’ said ‘blah blah blah’ routine. He really hates that.”
    He read the article, out loud, excited. For his first, it was a rather large case, and his enthusiasm was obvious.
    “You hungry?” he asked.
    I didn’t usually eat breakfast and said so.
    “Oh, come on, man,” he said. “I can do pancakes, eggs, bacon, whatever you got.”
    “Surprise me,” I said.
    He did, giving me a nice view of the tops of his underwear, not to mention his flat belly and chest and strong, beautiful back. Staring at him, I wondered how it would feel with my cock in his mouth. But of course I knew how that felt. This thought made me hard, and my business throbbed with a life of its own, as if it had experienced a resurrection after last night’s goings-on. When Daniel bent over to fetch a pan from the oven, I wanted to get up and have my way with him.
    He cooked breakfast: eggs, sunny-side up; toast, lightly browned; potatoes, fried without oil and topped with ketchup; all of which was served with orange juice, jam, and all the trimmings he could find in my pathetic excuse for a pantry.
    All this was done in less than fifteen minutes.
    “I’m surprised,” I said as he sat down opposite me, telling me to “tuck in.”
    “Man, you need to learn how to do some grocery shopping,” he pointed out. “Get some groceries in this whorehouse. These cupboards look like they belong to an old widower who forgot how to cook.”
    “Maybe that’s what I am,” I said.
    He looked up at me, frowning.
    “What makes you think I’m not an old widower who forgot how to cook?”
    “Are you? I mean, were you married?”
    “As much as two people could ever be,” I said.
    “What happened?”
    “He died.”
    He lowered his eyes.
    Why was I doing this? What the hell did he care about my past? What was wrong with me?
    “Man, I’m sorry,” he said.
    “Well, it was a long time ago.”
    “What happened? He die of AIDS?”
    “Because I’m gay, my partner has to die of AIDS?”
    “No, man. Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
    I did my best to pick at the food, since he had been kind enough to make it.
    “So what happened?” he asked.
    “That’s a long story,” I said. “Maybe some other day.”
    “About last night,” he said quietly.
    “I’m sorry about that,” I said, suddenly nervous. “I was kinda out of it.”
    “I enjoyed it,” he replied with a smile. “Thought you could use a little love. But I don’t want you to think I’m a slut. I just… I don’t know, it seemed like the right thing to do. Won’t happen again.”
    When he saw my frown, he added, “Unless, of course, you want it