Page 2 of Gay for Pay
When the judge sentenced him to ten years of probation, one hundred hours of community service, loss of his license for an indeterminate amount of time and mandatory alcohol awareness classes, Chris could only nod and agree that he understood.
“You’re young, smart, and capable, Mr. Roberts. Your judgment on the night of the accident was, at the very least, reckless stupidity, and I sincerely hope you’ve learned a valuable lesson from this tragedy. Furthermore, I will be keeping an eye on you, and if I ever see you in any courtroom again, I will make it my mission to ensure you receive the highest penalty allowable. Do I make myself clear?” The elderly man with gray hair, glasses, and a scowl that would probably make a gangster tremble stared down at him.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Chris responded quickly.
“Good.” The judge sighed, his face a mask of stoic resignation. “I’m waiving incarceration at this time, Mr. Roberts, because I truly believe that you are not a violent person, that you are not a criminal but a young man that made a singular mistake that will likely haunt you for the rest of your life. And that, Mr. Roberts, is far greater than any time in prison I can impose upon your person.”
Amanda’s mother cried out, sobbing, and Chris’s mother wrapped her arms around the despondent woman. Several people hurled angry words at Chris, but the judge wasn’t having any of it, banging his gavel on the desk loudly. “Order! I will have order in my courtroom.” The judge waited until silence bathed the room before he finished. “If you ever show up in my courtroom again, or any other, for that matter that I’m made aware of, I can and will impose the maximum penalty for that offense. Are we clear, Mr. Roberts?”
Chris nodded. “Yes sir, I mean, Your Honor. Yes, I understand.”
“This court is adjourned.” The sharp, angry bang of the gavel resonated in Chris’s bones, making him weak in the knees. He’d surely have collapsed were it not for Michael and Max rushing over to him. Michael wrapped his arms around Chris’s waist, tight, the hug almost painful, but Chris accepted it happily.
When they filed out of the courtroom ten minutes later, a throng of reporters circling the four parents caught sight of Chris and stampeded his way. Always thinking on his feet, Max shoved him into the elevator, pounding on the button to close the door. As the elevator descended, the cacophony of questions and people chanting, “Murderer!” penetrated his ears through the steel doors. Those words wouldn’t leave him for a long time—if ever, and neither would his guilt.
Chapter Two
Life as He Knows It
January 2015
It was an unusually cold winter in New York, one for the record books. Blizzardlike storms had closed roads, airports, and schools. Chris wove his way through the crowded sidewalks that were busting at the seams with tourists, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, fingers numb. He didn’t want to spend another night flipping through channels, listless, tossing and turning on Michael’s couch. Braving the arctic temperatures and the crowded city streets had seemed like a far better option when he’d left the apartment, offering Michael and his boyfriend a night alone without him, the constant third wheel.
Chris kept his head down, his eyes only scanning his surroundings, making sure he didn’t bump into anyone—or worse, walk into a street sign. He chuckled at the thought; he’d seen the video on TV awhile ago of a famous rapper walking right into one of those while trying to avoid paparazzi. Chris didn’t much care for the guy anyway. He was always rude to his fans and generally everyone around him. He thought it was karma and was certain even the street sign had laughed that day.
“Karma.” He snorted. That bitch had been like a monkey on his back for the past five years. There was no escaping his past; even moving hundreds of miles away offered little reprieve. It did make life somewhat easier, he had to admit, not being followed by judgmental, condemning eyes everywhere he went. Whispers of how worthless he was buzzing in his ears like a swarm of angry bees, strangers questioning why that lovely, beautiful girl with her whole life ahead of her had to be the one to die. Why couldn’t the monster that had the audacity to show his face in the dairy aisle at the Piggly Wiggly be the one that was killed? It was a question he’d asked himself every goddamn day since that fateful night.
The therapist he’d seen in Alabama was no better, her barely restrained contempt always simmering just beneath the surface. But that was the way things went in small towns like the one he and Michael grew up in. There weren’t many options, especially when the judge that presided over his case made the bitchy woman his court-appointed therapist. It wasn’t until he moved to New York and found a business card pinned to a corkboard at a small coffee shop he frequented that Chris began to entertain the idea that he wasn’t completely worthless.
Fifteen minutes into his second session with Dr. Shwarma, Chris was forced to examine the moral and motives of the people in his hometown. “Tell me something, Chris. What about what you lost that day?”
“I’m sorry, I…I don’t follow?”
Sighing, the ethereal woman with honest hazel eyes stared at him for a few moments, a sad smile on her face. “You lost your girlfriend, your family, and most of your friends. You didn’t get to graduate with your class, and your scholarship was rescinded. One bad decision cost you everything except for your life, Chris. That is what I am saying. Has anyone, especially you, ever considered that?” And there it was. All his pain, depression, and sadness rolled into a misshapen ball with a tattered and torn bow wrapped around it.
The only person that was right by his side through it all, even knowing that Chris was at fault, was Michael. Their friendship was unconditional and unwavering. In fact, Michael and his boyfriend, Max, were the only shining light in Chris’s otherwise dark life. Michael left for college in New York not long after the trial and convinced Chris to come with him. Chris quickly agreed, knowing there was nothing left for him in Alabama. Truth be told, he didn’t really feel like he belonged anywhere, was still convinced his life should have ended the night he killed his girlfriend. Michael was his strength, the brother he never had, and he helped Chris find some semblance of a life in New York while Dr. Shwarma worked on the pain and suffering he kept locked inside, a festering wound he allowed no one around him to see. Thank God the Judge presiding over his case showed him leniency, and Chris didn’t have to jump through hoops with the legal system in order to leave the state as long as his community service hours were completed prior to moving.
Music and flashing strobe lights within the building he was passing pulled Chris out of the misery of his memories. It was very alluring, the elaborate dancing colors pouring through the windows that were synced perfectly with the bass of the song, and he was drawn in. Showing his ID to the big, burly guy at the door that winked at him, Chris entered the club.
Inside, slowly circling the perimeter, Chris was amazed by what he saw. Darkness surrounded the outer edges and corners of the large room, with cages of various sizes separating the circular dance floor. The DJ booth was opposite the entrance, with more cages on either side that held nearly naked men in various stages of undress. They were dancing, kissing, groping, and in one cage, Chris was certain they were fucking. As he slowly made his way through the crowd he was just now noticing were all men, he saw several chairs and couches lined up along the rear wall, and there was a man between another man’s legs, his head bobbing up and down, keeping time with the beat of the music.
He stood frozen in place for a minute, staring at what was obviously a stellar blowjob—judging by the look of ecstasy on the recipient’s face—right there, out in the open. How was it that these men were so brazen about what they were doing, and the place wasn’t swarming with cops? And how was it that Chris lived just a few miles away and had never noticed this place before?Michael and Max would be in heaven here, he thought.
A small, waiflike young man with slicked-back black hair breezed past him wearing nothing but a jockstrap, knee-high tube socks, and a pair of Converse. Since he was carrying a tray full of empty bottles and glasses, Chris followed, certain his next stop would be the bar. His relationship with alcohol, shockingly, was one of the few he’d made amends with since that night. In fact, it was only in the past year that he’d started allowing himself to drink again, and always in moderation. He ordered a rum and coke, then turned and leaned against the counter, enjoying the music and the atmosphere.
“Well, hello there, gorgeous. Haven’t seen you ’round these parts before.” A petite blond grinned up at him, openly appreciating Chris from head to toe, with a rather naughty gleam in his eyes.
Chris laughed out loud, smiling down at him. “So gay men’s pick-up lines are just as bad as the ones us straight guys use, eh?”
Chris thought he might have offended the little guy for a minute, but he threw his head back and barked out a high-pitched laugh, then straightened and smacked Chris on the arm, hard. Chris mock-flinched—“Ouch!”—and grabbed his arm, chuckling.
The little guy shoved his hand toward Chris’s chest, and he took it before shaking. “Name’s Colby, and who says I’m gay?” He winked at Chris before turning toward the bar and ordering a cosmo.
“That right there, little man, that says you’re gay.” Chris laughed.
“Oh ha ha, and what is your beverage of choice, jolly? Jack and coke? Budweiser?” Colby was trying hard to come across as serious, Chris could tell, but the smile never left his eyes, so Chris knew he was messing with him.
“Close. Rum and coke. Jolly?”
