Precious

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and all the characters are mine.

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Precious POV

I wasn’t an orphan, but I might as well have been. See, being an orphan means someone either cared too much about you to let you live the same life as they did or they really couldn’t afford to care for you. Either way they thought about your welfare before they decided to give you up. Not give up on you.

You were a priority.

Me? Well, I was abandoned. I was cast out of my nice home in the ‘burbs and forced to abandon everything I ever knew. My parents couldn’t handle having a son, who was such a disappointment, a freak, a sinner- - an abomination. They could understand how I could choose to be gay. It wasn’t a choice. I just am.

It hurt at the time. The anger and disgust in my father’s words. The tears in my mother’s eyes. The shouting words that my grandmother had hurled at my father as he forced me to grab my stuff and leave. She tried to help, but she was so small, frail from age. I never blame her.

Funny how I remember how blinding and shiny my mother’s tears were as I climb the pole to swing around. There weren’t many options for an almost too pretty nineteen year old boy from the ‘burbs in the city. I was smart enough to avoid the guys wanting to give me a sample of their goods. New to the city or not, I knew that stuff would got you hooked and destroy you. Burned your veins from the inside out, making you look like one of those zombies from a George A. Romero film.

Met a few hustlers who taught what places were okay to go and which weren’t. I avoided the pimps too. I wasn’t put on earth to be anyone’s punching bag. A couple of the guys I knew took me to this place. The owner had, what he termed, an ‘amateur night’ for new talent. The place was full of all types of guys. Certain types forming little blocks within the crowd. I watched some of the guys get on stage, nothing too fancy. They moved, shook their bodies and removed just enough clothing to be considered indecent.

One of the guys in our little posse suggested I try it. The rumbling of my stomach told me the same thing. I only remember certain things after that moment; the bright lights from the back of the room partially blinding me and then the rhythm of the music. Everything after that was a blur until I seemed to wake up when I could hear thunderous applause.

Leonard Cortes hired me that night. He put me back on that stage and somehow I just knew how to move. It didn’t bother me to have all those men starring at me. Nor, did it upset me that I was too naïve to know what most were thinking.

I just danced.

I’ve done a good job of it so far. Cleaner and more sober than some of the other guys that work at Leo’s. But, I’m trying to stay afloat, not slip under like the rest.

It’ s my last dance of the night. I plan to swing long and hard from that pole. By the time, I finish I know every guy in that audience is hard. Though, they’re looking at me, I always manage to feel lonelier than I ever imagined. None of them could see me and that’s the only thing I want.

I should’ve known that things would change after that. Anytime, I start living too far into my own head, the real world comes down and kicks me a good one. Ultimately, telling me to look around. I should’ve.

Because everything that I wanted, that I needed was coming. Not as expected, but it was coming nonetheless. And it would all begin by him calling me, “Precious.”