 
# Blakely's Big Day

### A Contemporary ABDL Steamy Coming of Age MM Romance with Age Play and Cute Boys

## Laurie Lochs
Copyright © 2020 by Laurie Lochs

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. All characters are 18.

This novella includes mature content including light age play. If this makes you uncomfortable this may not be the book for you.

First edition April 2020

### Contents

Preface

1. Blakely's Big Day

2. Blushing Blakely

3. Blushing Blakely

4. AVAILABLE FOR PRE-ORDER ON AMAZON

5. About the Author

# Preface

_Blakely's Big Day_ is the free prequel novella to Laurie Lochs' upcoming full-length novel _Blushing Blakely_ slated for April release. It includes mature content including mild age play, ABDL and boys who like Daddies. NO DADDIES MAKE AN APPEARANCE IN THIS NOVELLA. They do in the upcoming series _Safe Boys._ Read at your own risk.

## 1

# Blakely's Big Day

I settled into the seat and tried to pretend I wasn't watching the door. Joseph had never missed one of our mentoring sessions and was never late. So I wasn't exactly sure why my heart was racing, letting me know that _this_ would be the day the brown-haired, straight, beautiful thirty-five year old lawyer I was absolutely not head-over-heels in love with would stand me up.

I cleared my throat, forcing my eyes down to the chessboard in front of me. I moved a pawn and contemplated my existence.

Okay, fine. So s _tand me up_ wasn't exactly the right way to put it. I was just worried that Joseph would... well, that he'd miss our mentorship session. _Standing me up_ sounded entirely too much like I thought meeting up with Joseph was some kind of date, or perhaps something almost romantic, when it absolutely one hundred percent wasn't. Safe Boys, the all-male non-profit that helped homeless youth like me, had asked Joseph to help me after I'd gotten myself kicked out of yet _another_ foster home. Apparently, I'd been deemed _high risk_ enough by Ms. Molly, the perky Columbia graduate who oversaw the troubled-youth division, to deserve my own personal life coach.

Which is why I _really_ needed to remember this was just another mentoring session and not a damn thing more. Just like I needed to remember that I was in no way, and under no circumstances — except perhaps these ones, i.e. the mentoring sessions — attracted to my mentor Joseph P. Davies, the savviest lawyer in Minneapolis.

After all, outside of the program, we weren't friends and never would be. Thirty-five-year old men weren't _friends_ with teenage boys, especially those who've gotten kicked out of so many foster homes they've had no choice but to turn to community homes for lukewarm meals and rat-infested places to stay. No, the only reason Joseph was even meeting with me in the first place was because I'd tried one too many times to seduce my foster Dad and had nowhere left to go. I was the reject, the boy no one family wanted to risk taking in out of fear I'd ruin their lives by seducing the Daddy, making the kiddies jealous and claiming him as my own.

But I was practically eighteen. It was time for life to begin. You know, real life.

The life where you could chase older men without getting kicked to the streets.

Though Martha Mason's two-bedroom rambler in St. Cloud was just the latest foster home from which I'd been sent packing, it sure as hell wasn't the first. _That_ distinct honour was reserved for the Longfellows, a church-going family of four that promised me, just like my mother had before she'd died, that they would never leave me or abandon me, or turn me away, or let me go without food — because they loved me. But love has limits. It turns out Mrs. Longfellow's principle limit was the fact that I'd been hoarding pacifiers and diapers under my bed.

"Jesus, Blakely Ellis! Not in my fucking house!" she'd said, her normally-pasty cheeks red with rage. "We are a Christian home, young man!"

"I-I'm sorry, ma'am," I'd whispered, staring at my toes. Without a word, Mrs. Longfellow gathered up my diapers, pacis and playthings — like the plastic ring of keys I'd stolen from their newborn boy — and tossed them out the door. The only thing she let me keep was Teddy, the stuffed animal my mother had given me as a child that, ever since my mother died, had been my only friend.

Foster family number two was where I'd met Kyle, my closest confidant and best friend in the whole wide world. Mark and Bruce were an emigré gay couple who took in troubled foster boys and helped them turn their lives around. Every week, we'd gather around the dining room table and give updates on our lives. We talked about homework, which I hated, after-school activities like community theatre, which I loved, and everything in between.

Once, after Bruce had gathered the family around their stylish mid-century modern kitchen table, we even talked about the birds and the bees. Well, not _literally_. We talked about how dangerous it can be to have sex while we were still so inexperienced and immature and young. "It's okay to have school crushes, Blakely," he'd said, smiling like a proud father explaining the things of life to his son. "You can tell us anything. It doesn't matter what kinds of girls or little boys you like. The important thing is that you use protection."

That night, I'd been far too shy to confess my sins. But Kyle, who was a year older than me and who struggled with ADHD, blurted out: "I don't like _little_. I want to find somebody like you."

The men didn't move. I wanted to turn to Kyle and berate him for ruining his opportunity with the second family, who had done nothing but care for us, who had shown us nothing but platonic, paternal love. Yet my fears were dispelled the moment Mark, Bruce's partner, raised his eyebrows curiously at Kyle and bit his lip. Kyle, whose cheeks had burst tomato-red, did not notice this, seeing as he was kind of focusing all his attention on his enamel-white plate.

Bruce promptly cleared the dishes and bade us farewell. We returned to our rooms. My heart bled for Kyle, who I was convinced had just ruined his life for not the first time. Around eleven-thirty, I cornered Kyle and made him confess. "Kyle," I whispered, shining a flashlight at him from beneath our fortress of sheets, "are you really gay?" Kyle said nothing. "Come on, Kyle," I groaned, poking his stomach. "You can tell me, you know. I-I won't spill the beans."

Kyle sighed heavily and sunk into the sheets. "I'm super gay, Blakely," he whispered, peeling the sheets from the bed as if he were attempting to pick apart the layers of his soul. "When I _wank_ , I'm not thinking about Stella from math class."

I giggled. "She's not very pretty, anyways."

Kyle groaned. "I'm gay, Blakely. But it's more than that... I don't know how to tell you."

"Just say it," I whispered, eyes glinting.

"I like Daddies."

My jaw dropped. Did I really hear him right? "S-So do I," I whispered, inching up to Kyle and burying myself in his waist. Kyle laughed politely and ran his fingers through my hair. "I-I just can't help it. I like them older."

Kyle nodded. "That's why I got kicked out of my first two families," he murmured, "I kept trying to seduce my Daddies."

My head shot up. "A-Are you serious?" I nearly shouted, pulling myself from Kyle's lap. "So did I!"

"Jesus Christ," Kyle said, laughing. "You're so bad, Blakely. I guess we're both bad. We'll both get into big trouble some day."

"I already have," I groaned, scrunching my face to show just how much trouble I'd gotten into.

Kyle sighed and kissed my forehead. Little did I know that this would be the beginning of the closest friendship I'd ever have.

We would grow especially close the following week, when we tried to seduce Mark. It was a Saturday night. Bruce was out of town, having recently been called to New York for a last-minute business trip that, unbeknownst to us, would be cancelled at the last minute, causing Mark to return to the house at a most inopportune time.

That Saturday, Kyle and I were doing nothing more than sitting on the sofa when, suddenly, Mark appeared in the corridor, wearing nothing more than a seafoam-pink towel. Clearly, he'd just come out of the shower and didn't realize we were home. Moving slowly, he ran his fingers through his hair and quickly unwrapped the towel to dry himself off, running it across his tanned back, thick calves, and even thicker ass. When he finished, he promptly wrapped it back around his waist and returned to his bedroom, shutting the door quietly as if nothing had happened.

Kyle twitched in his pyjamas. "Did you see that?" he whispered, not bothering to grab a pillow to cover himself. He was too mesmerized to be embarrassed.

"Y-Yeah," I whispered, nibbling my finger. It was a stupid habit I hadn't outgrown, biting my finger. I did it when I was nervous. Now that I'd reached the universal age when boys are supposed to become men, I also bit my finger when I was aroused.

"Fuck," Kyle murmured, staring wide-eyed at the corridor. No doubt, he was still imagining Mark's toned, manly body gracing the cream-coloured hall.

"I-I want him, Kyle," I whispered, biting Kyle's shoulder. It wasn't anything sexual. I just sometimes liked to bite him to relieve stress.

"I want to suck his..." Kyle's voice trailed off.

"Suck his what?"

"Suck his _cock_ ," Kyle moaned, pressing his legs together. A chill shot through me. No doubt, Kyle was feeling his cock on his skin.

It hadn't been our intention to seduce him, not at first. The poor, unsuspecting man had simply been the only dominant, ripped, caring specimen of a man with the body of a Hoplite warrior and the smile of a god in the house. So we couldn't exactly be blamed for wanting to come to him, bless his body with kisses, swim in his infinite eyes and rub cocks with him in the secrecy of his room.

"D-Do you want to try?" I asked, nibbling Kyle's ear.

The boy's supple body burst into spasms. "Yeah," he whispered heavily, like something was stuck in his throat. "Yeah," he said again, this time with force. Yeah, I want to fuck him, seduce him, make him mine. Fuck you, Bruce. I'm taking your husband and your life.

"O-Okay," I whispered, "here's what we'll do, Kyle. W-When he goes to bed, we'll slip into his bedroom in nothing but our underwear, and—"

"Our _underwear_?" Kyle whispered, covering his mouth to stifle a laugh. "Come on, Blakely. You have to think of something more sexy than that."

I glared at him. "Sexier than underwear?"

Kyle pretended to mull it over. At last, he confessed. "Nothing."

His words were lava dripping down my spine, pooling in my hole. "Nothing," I echoed, trying the word out to see if I'd like it. Seeing what _nothing_ tasted like in my own mouth, which, though a year younger, was just as inexperienced as Kyle's. Nothing tasted good. So when the clock struck midnight, we shed our pyjama bottoms and tip-toed to our foster Daddy's room in _nothing_.

"Kyle," I whispered, covering myself with my hands. Even though it was pitch black, I didn't need a rocket scientist to tell me Kyle was hard. "Kyle, I-I'm scared."

"Shh," Kyle whispered, wrapping me in a hug. "It's okay, Blakely. We'll do it together. That way, we have each other in case anything goes wrong."

"D-Do you think something will?" I whispered, squeezing Kyle's hand. "D-Do you think he'll turn us away? I-I just don't think I could bear it if he does. I-I don't have it in me to go back to the community home."

"Hush," Kyle whispered, kissing my cheek. Hot firelight trickled through my body and danced on my skin. "We can do it, Blakely. Just think of how his cock will taste."

"Gah," I muttered with a shiver. A bead of something I'd never seen before fell from my cock and swung to the floor. My heart raced. The tip of my cock was _wet_.

Kyle inched open the door. My jaw dropped. I'd never seen Mark and Bruce's bedroom before. Stylish grey walls, bay windows, flowing curtains that hid the room from the cruel world outside. The King bed looked spacious and sturdy enough to support not just two Daddies but two Daddies and two boys. And under a fortress of pillows lay the man of our dreams.

"J-Jesus," I whispered, glancing around the spacious room.

Kyle took my wrist and led me to the bed. "Here's the plan," he whispered, "we're going to slip into the bed before he sees. You find his cock and stroke it. I'll kiss him. That way, when he wakes up, he won't be surprised. It will feel like the natural continuation of a happy dream."

"O-Okay, Kyle," I whispered, squeezing my thighs together. Was I going to pee? "I-If you say so."

With the hand that wasn't frantically stroking my cock, I peeled back the covers. Kyle knelt in front of Mark and studied his face in the moonlight. He moved to kiss him. Yet before he could do anything, a voice suddenly rang out from the veranda: "Blakley? Kyle? What are your pyjamas doing on the living room floor?"

My heart stopped. "Kyle," I whispered harshly, letting go of the down comforter. "B-Bruce must have come home early from his conference. W-We have to go."

"No," Kyle moaned, bending down to kiss Mark. His cock leapt between his thighs. "I just need to kiss him, Blakely. I need to feel his lips on—"

"Kyle," I cried, this time much louder. Tears stung my eyes. "We need to leave _right this second_. I don't want to be kicked out of—"

Mark suddenly sat up. He flicked on the light. "Blakely?" he whispered, rubbing his eyes.

I couldn't bear it. "I-I'm so sorry, Daddy," I cried, flinging myself on him. Mark ran his fingers down my back and through my hair. "I didn't m-m-mean to hurt you. W-We just wanted to—"

Bruce burst into the room with his briefcase. His face was beet-red. "Blakely," he barked, throwing his briefcase to the ground. "Get _over_ here!"

I burst into tears. Mark kissed my shoulder, as if begging me to stay. Kyle pouted and sat in the corner.

"That's it, Blakely," he growled, "now I know what the Longfellows were talking about. You're done."

"B-But what about Kyle?" I cried, wrapping my arms around Bruce's thin, unattractive waist. "I-It was his idea, too."

I would later apologize to Kyle for ratting him out.

"I'm talking about—" Bruce sputtered, "I'm talking about _both_ of you! Get out of this _fucking_ room!"

Kyle began to sob. "Will you send us back to the shelter?"

Mark raised his hand to interject but Bruce shut him down. "We will see you in the morning," he said, pointing to the door. His slanted eyes let us know he meant business.

Like shamed dogs, Kyle and I walked back to our bedrooms with our tails between our legs. We passed the point in the corridor where we'd seen Mark earlier in the night. "Goddamnit," Kyle muttered as we entered the room and quietly closed the door. "God fucking _damnit_."

My stomach sunk. I'd never heard Kyle swear before. "D-Didn't quite go as planned."

"I'm sorry, Blakely," Kyle whispered, burying himself in his hands. Tears slid down his thin wrists like rain. "This is all my fault."

"N-No," I cried, rushing to his side, "i-it's not. I shouldn't have said anything. I-I just couldn't control myself around mark."

"Neither could I," Kyle whispered, sinking into his bed. I threw my arms around Kyle — we had since put back on our pyjamas — and comforted him. For the rest of the night, we held each other in our arms. The black moon cast an ominous glow on the laminated floors that suggested nothing other than the fact that, first thing in the morning, we would be sent far away from this house, the same house that up until this point had been the iron anchor for the wind-whipped ships of our lives.

Which was exactly what happened. By noon, we were back in the community home, awaiting our next foster placements that sure as hell wouldn't work out any better than the first. "What are we going to do with you?" Ms. Molly said to us when we arrived, bringing us grilled cheese sandwiches and bowls of tomato soup that tasted of cream and week-old tomatoes. "Mark and Bruce are the most upstanding foster family we have. Why in God's name did you mess that up?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Kyle whispered, staring glumly at the floor. Rain pattered against the window. Even the gods were disappointed in us.

"We have no other options," the woman said, crossing her arms. She set her clipboard on a shelf and shook her head. "No family is going to take you, Kyle. Don't call me _ma'am_. I'm Ms. Molly. The point is that you've both fucked up _big time_."

My heart throbbed in my throat. "I-I can change, Ms. Molly," I whispered, biting my lip. "I promise I can stop."

She sighed. "Kyle?"

"I can change, too," he muttered, not taking his eyes from the floor. We were both trying really hard to change.

"Well," Ms. Molly said, "in that case, we'll start searching for a new home. I can't promise it will be easy. But as long as you _stop_ — you know exactly what I'm talking about — as long as you stop _doing what you're doing_ , we should be alright. Makes sense?"

"O-Okay," I whispered, hugging Teddy. His soft fur let me know that it was possible to change if I really put my mind to it.

Five foster families later, Kyle and I had pretty much come to terms with the fact that, while "change" was something that was no doubt possible for others, we were on a one-way freight train to hell. I'd run into the same problems with the last foster home, the Mason's, when I'd tried to seduce the family patriarch in nothing more than a diaper while he'd been taking a bubble bath. No, we were Daddy lovers to the bitter end. The only problem is that none of them seemed to want us back.

Which was why I was so excited for my "mentoring session' with Joseph, the savviest lawyer in Minnesota, who was 6'4" and who, if our previous sessions had been any indication, was going to be the Daddy of my dreams. He spoke often of helping "boys" in the foster care system, and I could only dream of _how._ Force him to hold me, kiss me, protect me forever.

The only problem was that it was already nine-twenty A.M.

It was official. My salt-and-pepper-haired Superman was _late_.

I was just about to steal one of the free slices of banana bread the coffee kept laying around when suddenly Joseph burst through the door. Immediately, my heart fluttered. I rose my hands to wave him down but, a second later, he ordered a dark roast and set his briefcase on the rickety table right across from me.

Joseph didn't look happy. "Blakely," he said with a curt nod, draping his suit jacket over the chair. He set his coffee on the table and accidentally bumped it, causing a tiny bead to fly over the rim and splatter on the black enamel below.

My stomach sunk. _Oh, God. He must know about Martha._

Martha was the latest host family I'd gotten kicked out of. One night, when Mrs. Mason left for book club with her sisters, I donned my littlest diaper, favourite paci, and slipped into the bathroom for a night of baby things. Yet to my surprise, Mr. Mason had been in the tub, enjoying a hot bubble bath. The second I burst in his eyebrows shot out of his head. I'd tried my hardest to turn away but once my cock started tingling I knew it was only a matter of time before I trickled out onto the bathroom floor. So I did the only thing I could think of, which was to attempt to seduce him to see if maybe he liked boys like me. It hadn't quite gone to plan.

I took a deep breath. Then another. Then one more, until I'd sucked in all of the air in the room. At last, Joseph opened his mouth. "Blakely," he began again, drawing my name out to communicate his pent-up fury. "What in God's name has gotten into you? What the hell made you want to seduce Mr. Mason in the bathtub?"

_Goddamnit. So he definitely knew._

"Look," I began, shaking my head, "I-I can explain—"

Joseph raised his finger. "There is nothing to explain, Blakely Ellis. Look," he began, clearing his throat, "this is the fifth foster family you have — how do I put it? — _ruined_ your relationship within a span of less than four years. I'm starting to think that it's _not_ the system that's the problem. It's you."

My gut sunk.

"Fine," I whispered, sinking into the seat as if to say, _You don't have to rub it in. I know I'm a fuck-up. Not even Kyle can top this one. I'm the biggest fuck up in the Midwest._

Joseph stared blankly at me. "Frankly, I'm pissed."

My jaw dropped. "O-Okay," I said, biting my lip, "I-I get that. I really do. But you have to let me explain—"

"Explain what? How you ended up in the Mason family bathroom in a _diaper_?"

My heart exploded. "E-Excuse me?"

"A diaper, Blakely. I'd appreciate it if you didn't play dumb. How the hell — I'm going to ask again — how the hell did you end up in the bathroom — while Mr. Mason was taking a lavender-scented bubble bath, for God's sake — _in a goddamn diaper_?"

The room spun. I reached out to take a sip of water but the glass trembled too hard in my hand, and so instead of steadying myself, I set it back down before it spilled all over the table. The unexpected taste of iron washed into my mouth. I'd bitten my lip so hard I'd drawn blood. "I-I swear to God, Joseph," I muttered, staring at the table, "I didn't know anyone was in the t-tub."

Joseph glared at me. He was two seconds away from getting up from the table and leaving me forever. "You thought it was empty?"

"I-I thought it was empty," I echoed, nodding to the table.

Joseph said nothing. He sipped dark roast and stared at me. "That doesn't explain the diaper."

I rubbed my eyes. "I-I can't tell you that," I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut to block out the world. "I-I'm sorry, Joseph. I can't say."

"Blakely Ellis," Joseph said, narrowing his gaze. "You don't have a choice. Why were you wearing a diaper — you're _not_ a baby, for Christ's sake — in the Mason's home?"

A tear slipped from my eye and attacked a small lime seed on the table that had fallen from my glass. "I-I sometimes wear them to feel okay," I whispered, taking a short breath as if I had some fatal respiratory illness that prevented me from taking deep breaths. "T-They make me feel safe. L-Like I won't get kicked out of another home."

Joseph raised his eyebrows at me. "I have to say," he grimaced, "you're the first mentee I've met who's worn diapers. I will plead your case with Ms. Molly under one condition."

"Yes?" I said, raising my eyebrows. Did he actually understand? Or was he just humouring me so that he could bodyslam my hopes to the floor yet again?

"I'll plead your case, Blakely," he repeated, choosing his words carefully, "if you promise me — and this is a must — that you weren't trying to seduce Mr. Mason."

The room spun. Joseph had made me feel like a white-collar criminal who's accidentally lied to Congress and now has to weasel his way to safety. I had two options on the table and neither looked good. On the one hand, I could confess that, yes, I _had_ been trying to seduce my foster Dad, and that I wasn't sorry, that I'd loved him, that I'd seen him on more than one occasion peeping into my room, salivating at the mouth for a cursory glimpse at my body. But for some bizarre reason, I didn't see this going well _at all_.

So I opted for the second, which was to deny everything and pretend like Joseph was crazy for even bringing it up. _Seduce my foster Dad? Not a chance in hell._

"I promise," I said, nodding enthusiastically, latching on to the life vest he'd unwittingly thrown me at the last second before the riptide pulled me beneath the waves.

_Good job, Blakely. You're a good boy. You're in control._

Joseph crossed his arms. Then he uncrossed them. Then he crossed them again, wet his lips and leaned across the table as if he wanted to kiss me. My heart froze. This man, the same man who mentored me, _the_ man who was going to rescue me from the streets of Minneapolis, wasn't mad at me at all. No — he simply wanted to make love to me, here, in this coffee shop, with all the world to see. _That_ was the reason he'd been so obtuse. A flicker of hope shot through my spine. Yes, he wanted to hold me, touch me, breed me on this table with everyone in the world watching. For the minute in which he leaned across the table, I was _sure_ he was going to kiss me, that he was going to tell me all of this interrogation had been a ruse; that if I did so little as promise him I hadn't tried to seduce Mr. Mason, he would sweep me into his arms and carry me to his three-bedroom condo overlooking downtown and prevent me from ever stepping foot in the foster care system again. He wasn't judging me at all; it was only a misunderstanding. The second we left, he would pick me up and take me to his Loring Park castle in the sky.

But a second later Joseph leaned back in his chair and sneered at me. "You're lying," he whispered, glaring at me. "I _explicitly_ asked you not to lie."

My heart raced. _Motherfucker._ "I-I'm not lying," I gasped, shaking my head. "I-I swear—"

He raised his hand. "The one thing I cannot work with is a lie. That is it, Blakely Ellis. I will drive you back to the community house. But I will no longer be your mentor."

With that, Joseph swung his briefcase over his back and escorted me to the door. My heart cracked in two. The room swung around me like a planet out of orbit. "N-No," I cried, breaking away from his strong grip. "I-I'm not going back to the shelter!"

A family of four — with children who would _never_ have to worry about navigating the foster care system, finding a place to stay, or scourging food in dumpsters — glanced up from their lattés and glared at us. My eyes darted around the coffee shop. Alone on the table by the wall, I spotted my water glass with the half-lime lying dead-like at the bottom.

I was making a scene.

But I was about to make an even bigger one. "N-No," I growled, breaking free from his grip. I tried to look away but he held my gaze. Wind from the South Dakotan plains whipped our hair, tossing our black locks in the late-June air like spineless flowers. "I-I'm not going anywhere."

A garbage truck suddenly blared its horn. I yelped and jumped out of the way. At the last second, it veered towards the centre of the road and spared our lives.

Yet the connection had been broken. Gathering up what remained of my dignity, I broke from Joseph and sprinted down Hennepin, not daring to look over my shoulder for fear of what I might see. I passed garbage cans, homeless men, and entire shop-fulls of hipsters sipping drip coffee that cost more than what I'd eaten all day. In my run, the twenty blocks from mid-Hennepin to the community house became two; I arrived before I realized I'd been running.

At last, I threw open the doors and burst into tears. Ms. Molly immediately leapt from her seat to see what was wrong. From behind the corner, Kyle suddenly appeared and brought me to the bunk beds where we slept. "Oh, fuck," he murmured, parting my hair. "So I take it Joseph didn't want to be your new Daddy."

"N-Not quite," I wailed, throwing myself on the bed and burying my head in pillows. I grabbed Teddy and squeezed him. "He said he's never going to speak to me again."

Kyle sighed and slipped between the blankets. "Jesus Christ," he said, "you deserve a medal for being so bad. Joseph is one of the top mentors in the city. He doesn't just _let_ boys slip away from him, you know."

Tears stung my eyes. "I-I thought he was the one," I sniffled, taking Teddy in my arms as if to say, _You're the only one I've got, Teddy. When everyone else deserts me, I know I'll have you._

Kyle wrapped his arms around me and buried his nose in my arm. "If I were a Daddy, I would pick you."

I forced a laugh through my tears. "Y-You mean it?"

"Yeah," Kyle whispered, stroking my hair. Waves of calm washed over me, subduing my fear. "And if I weren't into Daddies, I would pick you, too."

I glanced up at Kyle. No, he didn't _appear_ to be lying. Was he just being nice? _Whatever_ , I thought, throwing caution to the wind and wrapping Kyle in a hug. "I would pick you too, K-Kyle," I murmured, kissing my best friend's pale neck. "You're the sweetest boy in the world. I-I hope we find Daddies together."

Kyle opened his mouth. But before he could speak, a figure suddenly entered the shared dorm room and plopped down on the foot of my bed. "Don't forget me," the figure said, rubbing my ankle. "If you're both getting Daddies, I need one, as well."

We all burst into laughter. I let go of Kyle and draped my arms around Trevor, my second closest friend. Though Trevor hadn't been with us at Mark and Bruce's, he'd been a fixture in the ever-evolving drama of our lives since we were fifteen. Like Kyle and I, Trevor had also been kicked out of more foster families than he could count. In fact he _couldn't_ count them — though he was cute and had the best singing voice in the world, he sucked at math.

"Daddy for me, Daddy for you," I whispered, squeezing Trevor tight. He laughed quietly and kissed my forehead. Kyle joined in on the hug. Soon, we were all laughing and hugging in my rickety twin bed like boys at a sleepover.

Yet all the hugs in the world couldn't make me forget the fact that, in a week's time, I would turn eighteen. Despite Ms. Molly's compassion, the community home was already preparing the paperwork to kick me to the streets. Federal laws let states cut off funding for boys the second they "grew up." As much as I loathed the community centre and Ms. Molly, who never took my side, I literally was shit out of luck — they'd send me to the streets within a week. The moment I ate my birthday cake, I would be homeless, rejected not just by Joseph but by the state.

I sighed and stared at my palms, as if they somehow held my fate in their grip.

But Trevor turned my face towards his and held my eye. "Something wrong, Blakely?"

I bit my lip. Though Trevor, who was barely my age, knew exactly what I was going through and would understand if I told him my plight, I didn't want to worry him. Mostly this was because I was deeply ashamed. I was fine with sharing my life plans with Kyle, whose life plans were, for the most part, as untenable as mine. Yet I absolutely did not want to tell Trevor that my _only_ plan for adult life was to be a house-husband for Joseph, the thirty-five-year-old lawyer who only saw me once a week and was required to do. Trevor would judge the shit out of me, especially since I didn't even know whether Joseph was gay, or if he'd like a live-in rent boy who wanted to cook and clean for him if only Joseph would provide all the diapers in the world to make little Blakely happy. Trevor wouldn't _understand_ I needed Joseph to save me; I needed a Daddy. The embarrassing Joseph fiasco was just another example of my hopeless, idiotic naiveté.

"No, Trev," I explained, sucking in my cheeks. "N-Nothing's wrong. I swear."

Though Trevor was nearly ten months younger than me — he'd only turned my age two months ago — he had more sense than boys twice my age. That's why he _knew_ that something was up. He wouldn't let me off the hook for the world. "Blakely," he said, shaking his head, "it's okay to be nervous that you're growing up."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "Nerves are one thing," he said, "but Blakley doesn't have a place to go. He's not like me, Trev. He can't volunteer at the shelter for a place to stay."

Trevor arched his eyebrows. "Why not?"

I glanced at Kyle. As much as I hated to admit it, I had no choice. "I-I've fucked up too many times," I whispered, palming my forehead. Trevor blushed.

It was true. Before Kyle turned eighteen, he'd been smart enough to make amends with Ms. Molly and secure a leadership role in the community house, effectively wiping the slate clean. In exchange for a place to stay, he helped younger boys maintain relationships with their foster families, guide them through difficult issues like losing their parents, and supported them in navigating the foster system so they wouldn't end up like we were — i.e. alone. He'd been instrumental in getting almost five younger boys on the straight and narrow, convincing them to get good grades, try out for sports teams and, importantly, to stop pursuing their foster Dads. No longer a problem child, Kyle was upper management's favourite. His picture was plastered throughout the shelter and he frequently won awards.

"B-But it's okay, Trev," I continued, smiling at my friend, "I just have to suck up to Ms. Molly and I'll be back in her good graces. I-It shouldn't be too hard, you know. In place of spice she just likes a little sugar. W-We'll still have a place to stay, don't worry."

Kyle wasn't so sure. "Blakely," he began, choosing his words carefully, "it's not as simple as it sounds. You may not be able to stay at all. In fact I'm positive you can't. In _fact_ ," he said, pausing for emphasis, "you're absolutely not going to be able to stay. It's completely of your control."

My jaw dropped. "What are you saying?"

Kyle sighed and bit his lip. "It's the new government. They're cutting state budgets across the board. Parks, schools, day-care centres. Community houses like ours will be the first to go. That's what I meant when I said it's out of your control. Hell, it's even out of _my_ control, not like I hold any sway around here as it is. When Congress passes the bill next week, I'll be just as SOL as you."

SOL, shit outta luck. My eyebrows shot out of my head. "Y-You mean they're kicking you out?"

Kyle nodded and stared at his toes. "We're all getting kicked out."

"Jesus Christ," I cried, throwing myself at Kyle. "B-But where will we stay?"

"I don't know," Kyle whispered, palming his chin in a display of timid humility. My nineteen-year-old friend no longer looked like the bravest boy I knew. In this light, he looked like a scared, vulnerable child.

"Don't worry," Trevor muttered, wrapping his arm around Kyle. "Don't worry, please. It will be okay, I swear."

"O-Okay?" I sputtered, staring wildly at my friend. "I-It's not going to be okay, Trev. I just f-found out that I'm going to be _homeless_ next Monday."

Trevor's eyebrows shot up. "No," he began, "you're not getting it. All I meant was that we'll figure something out. That's all. I know that we're going to be—"

Kyle shook his head like he was attending a wake. "It's not _you_ who's going to be kicked to the streets, Trev," he whispered, staring at a crack in the asbestos floor. "It's Blakely and me. No matter which way you slice it, we're fucked."

Trevor glared at Kyle. "I might be young," he began, sucking in his cheeks, "but I'm not leaving either of you. I swear to God. You're my closest friends."

"I'm not leaving you, either," I said, squeezing Trevor and Kyle as tight as I could in a futile effort to ward off the inevitable. I grabbed Teddy and pretended like the stuffed bear was kissing Kyle's trembling cheek. "I-I'm sorry, Kyle. I see what you mean. W-We'll just have to figure something out, that's all. I'm sure we'll come up with a plan, if we really try."

"I'm sure we can, too," Trevor said, biting his lip.

I wanted to say something but before I could open my mouth the rest of the shelter boys tumbled into the room — presumably from dinner — and began undressing and getting ready for bed. They slipped into checkered pyjamas and slid between their sheets. "Lights out?" Kyle asked, resuming his duties and walking to the door. Everyone nodded. Kyle flicked the light and pulled the blinds. Five minutes later, most of the boys were fast asleep.

Yet I sure as hell wasn't. Instead of sleeping, my mind raced over the deadline looming ahead of us. There was no way in _hell_ we were going to be able to figure out a plan in less than a week. You couldn't exactly do these things out in half a fortnight. Despite our best efforts, I could see little option but to register with the homeless shelter down the street. That would be my life from here on out: sleeping in lice-infested beds with grown men trying to touch me.

I drifted in and out of sleep. Sometime later, with gentle moonlight pooling on the chipped asbestos floor, my racing thoughts gave way to a man I often thought about in tough times. His name was Emerson Lane. We all knew about him; he was one of the only foster care success stories to come out of the Twin Cities, the only one who wasn't a royal fuckup. At seventeen, the University of Chicago had given him a full-ride scholarship to study Classics and Ancient Languages like Latin. After getting an MBA from Yale, he'd started his financial technology company which he'd gone on to sell to Wall Street for billions. Every so often, stories about him and his former-pop star husband Jamie appeared on Channel Nine, the channel Martha and Mr. Mason used to play religiously before school.

I knew him on a personal level.

Well, okay... not quite. But I knew _of_ him. He'd once given a talk at my old school, Lake Marlette, where he'd spoken about the virtues of finding your path. "I was supposed to be a statistic," he'd said, obviously gripped by emotion. "I wasn't supposed to start my company at all. If the system had its way, I'd have ended up on the streets. Find your path," he'd whispered into the microphone, breathless, "do what you need to do, but find your path. The American Dream is still well and alive, if you have the heart to chase it. If I can say one last thing — in addition to taking your questions, obviously — it's that you _must_ find your path. Find your path, find your will, find your way."

I'd been little more than a boy when he'd given that speech. And yet it had stuck with me through every foster family, every failed placement of my life. When times got rough, I recalled his speech: the hush in the room, the rustle of the microphone on his whiskers, the tingles that shot through my veins every time he made eye contact with me in the sea of hundreds. When I'd turned fifteen and gotten kicked out by yet another host family, I'd had to do no more than recall that speech, and it immediately reassured me that, though I'd failed miserably yet again, I was going to be safe, protected by the cosmos, okay.

"Emerson," I whispered, clutching Teddy tight. Another boy's snores — likely Christian's, who had bad allergies— floated through the air, as if testing the waters before they returned to the soft thirteen-year-old boy's mouth from which they came.

_Shh, Blakely. It's time to sleep._

I closed my eyes. And yet before I could sleep, a second memory suddenly rushed to the forefront and shook me cold.

My heart stopped. How the hell could I have forgotten?

_There had been more than just the speech._

"Oh, my God," I gasped, digging into the blanket. How the hell could I have forgotten? After the speech, after I'd sprinted from the auditorium so fast my legs had practically collapsed in front of my locker, I'd had a _personal_ encounter with the man who, even then, changed my life forever. I'd been grabbing math worksheets from the bottom of my messy locker, doing little more than minding my own business, when, suddenly, Mr. Lane crashed into me while coming out of the bathroom, sending me flying across the hall. "Ouch!" I'd cried, slamming into the floor. My arm hit the laminated wood hard enough to leave marks for weeks. But Emerson hadn't been phased. "Fuck," he'd whispered, steadying me. He grabbed my shoulders and made sure I was okay.

Except then he also sort of paused, stared at me, examined me in the dusty morning light. He raised his eyebrows, as if questioning reality, as if not believing that, for a split second, he was standing in front of someone like me. My heat seized. Electric currents shot through my body. I'd seen this exact moment, albeit with older characters, play out millions of times in movies. _Jesus Christ_ , I'd thought, gripping my folder tight. _I know I'm young and he's a grown man but here, in this hallway, in a sea of cameras and suspicious hall monitors, Emerson Lane —_ the _Emerson Lane, who I see on Channel Nine with his famous husband every morning, and whose speech I just watched with wide eyes — is going to press me against these rusty blue lockers and bring his lips to mine. This beautiful man, this god-like man whose words have inspired me beyond my wildest dreams is going to kiss me, and maybe even more, including but not limited to whisking me away from everything — this school, foster system, families that will never work out — and carting me off to his dreamland by the sea. Look, Blakely! He's inching towards you. He wants you bad. Let him touch you, let him touch your cock._

I stood on my tip-toes and leaned towards the man. My cock throbbed in my corduroys. This was the moment of truth. I puckered up and leaned as far as I could.

Yet my lips met air. A wave of harsh wind brushed past my face; he was leaving. When I opened my trembling eyes again, he was gone.

"Jesus, T-Teddy," I whispered, clutching Teddy as if fearing I might lose him. "I-I almost kissed Emerson Lane."

Under my blanket, my cock throbbed. I snuck a hand into my pyjamas and gasped. It was leaking. It reminded me of what Kyle had said years earlier, when he'd taught me the things of life after our attempt to steal a kiss from Mark hadn't gone as planned. "You're coming, Blakely," he'd whispered, gripping my tingling cock. "T-That's called _cum_."

I brought my hand to my cock and quivered. Sure enough, I was about to come. "Teddy," I whispered, bringing the bear to my cock. Flesh on flesh; skin on skin. Flames shot through me, sending firedrops through my spine. "W-watch out, Teddy," I gasped, "I-I think it's happening soon."

Without warning, I burst all over my tummy, coating my nose, lips and eyes in damp white. "F-Fuck," I moaned, rubbing frantically. A second wave of pleasure washed over me, sending me into a second cycle of spasms. In my mind, Emerson Lane kissed me. Even though he damn well wasn't interested in boys like me, in my dreams he pushed me against the lockers and, after brushing his lips against mine, slipped a finger into my rocketship underwear and brought my tingly cock to life. "You're the one I want, Blakely Ellis," he whispered, gripping my ass, "you're the specialist boy in the world, do you know. Come to my house; I'll buy you all the diapers and teddies in the world. Let me take you far from here, little one. Emerson's got you; Emerson's got you in his big arms. Come with me, everything will be okay."

In a web of mist and moonlight, I fell asleep.

***

Three days later, I'd completely forgotten my fantasy about Emerson, the crushing sensation of his arms around me, his frantic lips on mine — but that wasn't the only thing that slipped my mind. My promise to Trevor and Kyle had gone out the window. Not only had I _not_ been able to come up with a viable plan for the rest of our lives, but I hadn't even had time to think of one. Since I was turning eighteen in less than a week, I'd had to fill out a mountain of forms for Ms. Molly, including a waiver that stated I'd been the sole responsible actor in the situation with her husband. The events of the week, which were all mandated by state law, took precedence over the need to figure out a place to go.

Ms. Molly, who was still bitter that I hadn't changed my ways earlier, did little to help. "You're on your own," she said, filing the paperwork but not bothering to do much else. I stared around her cramped office and wondered what it would be like to be a Columbia graduate stuck in a hell-hole like this. But then I remembered I was homeless.

In the middle of the week, Joseph came by to say goodbye. Though I dared not look him in the eye, I thanked him for everything and apologized for making him uncomfortable, like Ms. Molly had told me to do. "T-Thank you, Joseph," I'd muttered, staring at my toes. "T-Thank you for taking me under your wing, even though I ruined everything and made you feel like the worst man alive. Y-You're the best."

Okay, so that's not _exactly_ what I said, but... still, it was what I felt. You can't argue with feelings.

Joseph left. I packed my things and prepared myself for the long journey to the homeless shelter down the street, where I would be staying with forty-year-old men who had committed crimes, and who maybe even wanted to touch me, though I was not yet eighteen. Oddly, this was the last thing I wanted: seducing men was only fun when it was forbidden. Plus they couldn't exactly rescue me from anything, save for perhaps a boring night by means of illicit drugs. No, I didn't want these Daddies, because they weren't Daddies at all. They had little money, they relied on handouts — they weren't Daddy as much as future versions of myself, all of them.

Just as I finished stuffing Teddy into the blue High Sierra backpack I'd stolen from the Safe Boys' closet, Kyle and Trevor suddenly burst into the room with grins as wide as the Grand Canyon. I glanced up, incredulous that they'd make an appearance in what was also their room at this dire, stressful time. Yet I had no time to ruminate. After sliding an envelope across my bed, Kyle opened his mouth.

"You're not going to believe it, Blakely," he whispered, tackling me and pinning me to the bed.

I burst into laughter and wrapped my legs around his thighs. "Huh? W-What am I not going to believe?"

"This," Kyle said, extricating himself from my iron-clad leg grip and tossing the envelope on my chest.

I shook my head. "What's _this_?"

Kyle burst into a grin. "Tickets, Blakely," he said, breathless, "tickets out of here. Tickets that will let us say goodbye to Minneapolis for the rest of our lives."

I glanced at Trevor, who was clearly the more level-headed of the two. Trevor was too smart to be swayed by empty promises, like I had been my entire life. Yet even he nodded.

"Tickets?" I began, examining the envelope. "Tickets to where?"

Kyle glances at Trevor, who simply shrugged knowingly.

"The North," Kyle whispered, taking the envelope from my hands and sliding it open. From the white paper, he withdrew three pale slips of paper that glistened in the late-afternoon sunlight. I suddenly felt like a downtrodden boy selected to become a wizard.

"Like..." I began, choosing my words carefully. The truth was, I had no idea what Kyle was talking about. "Like the woods?"

"Like the woods," Trevor echoed, winking at me. _You're getting it, Blakely. Your IQ is in the single digits but I believe in you._

I gasped, albeit a bit late. "W-What the hell are we going to do in the woods?" I asked, shaking my head in confusion. Were they talking about camping? We didn't have money for a cabin, let alone a tent.

Let alone a gas stove, propane burner, a cooler; you know, everything you needed to _go to the woods._ We could panhandle, but I didn't see us getting hundreds of dollars in less than — I checked the tickets for the departure date — in less than two days.

Whoops, not two days — a day and a half.

Yeah, Kyle and Trevor were out of their minds.

"Have faith, _mon bon ami_ ," Kyle drawled, making use of the year of introductory French he'd taken at Southwest High School in Minneapolis, where he'd attended tenth grade before transferring to Washburn, where they only offered Spanish. "We're not camping. Look," he said, grabbing Kyle's phone, "we'll be _homesteading._ "

I sighed loudly. These boys clearly had no understanding of the real world, like I did. You couldn't just _homestead_ in the North woods without proper gear like sleeping bags and tarps. There were like, bears and stuff. We had maybe a week's worth of clothes and not even a granola bar to call our own.

Also, what the hell was _homesteading_? The way Kyle had said it made it sound like the be-all, end-all solution to our every problem. Like it was a way to leave city life behind forever, without needing to rely on family or the state at all. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought he was making fun of me.

Taking my silence for confusion — which it _wasn't_ , I just needed time to think it over — Kyle immediately launched into an explanation. "Homesteading," he said, nodding like an older brother dying to offer advice, "is principally a lifestyle of self-sufficiency. You farm, preserve your own food, and produce your own clothes and textiles for household use. Blakely," he continued, "have you heard of the Amish?"

"The Amish?"

"Yes," Kyle said with a nod, "the Amish. They're a traditionalist Christian sect loosely associated with the Mennonite church. They're known for simple living, plain clothes, and—"

Trevor, smirking, jutted in. "Polygamy," he said, laughing as he envisioned a society that was basically a sexual free-for-all outside the scope of the law.

Kyle shot him a death glare. "You're thinking of Mormons."

"Oh," I said, mulling it over, "I know Mormons. You see them all the time on PornHub."

Kyle stared silently at both of us. "Come on," he whined, "you could learn something, ya know. I'm giving you advice. Stop making jokes."

Trevor acquiesced with a smirk. "Go on," he said, winking at Kyle like he could care less even though, just moments ago, he'd been hell-bent on derailing the conversation. _The little charmer._

"Like I was saying," Kyle continued, "homesteading is basically a rent-free way to live. We'll plant crops, preserve our own vegetables, and perhaps even raise chickens. We'll have eggs, plenty of protein and enough vegetables to subsist without relying on handouts for food. When the time comes, we can even get pigs and cows."

I cut in. "H-How are we supposed to find chickens?" I asked, not bothering to hide my exasperation. "W-We don't even have a place to _homestead_ at."

"Oh, my God," Kyle said, rolling his eyes, "you're thinking too much. Look," he said, grabbing Trevor's phone once again and draping it across my lap. "You only need to find land, really. These guys just picked out a spot and claimed it as their own."

Trevor nodded encouragingly. "It's true," he said, strengthening Kyle's remarks by repeating them, "you pick out a place and name it. Who's going to stop you?"

Kyle reached onto my lap and pressed _play_. Seconds later, a man on the screen began walking us around his small homestead __ in Northern Wyoming. He had chicken coops, three vegetable gardens and enough running water to provide for a small village in rural Pakistan, provided that the rich didn't siphon it off for their swimming pools.

But I wasn't convinced. "A-And how are we supposed to eat?" I asked, biting my lip. It made sense that, in theory, you could move to the middle of nowhere, set up camp, and build a life free from the constraints of modern civilization, save for the times you'd need to head in to town to change a lightbulb, or for wire, or if you had a heart attack and needed an operation. But for boys like us? We didn't even have a car.

"Watch," Trevor said, guiding my eyes back to the video. I sighed and stared at the screen.

The man, who went by the username AmericaMan1488, was walking around his slice of Wyoming paradise. "See this?" he said, pointing to a vegetable garden overrun with weeds. "This here is muh first garr-den. When I first come to the woods, I didn't hurrve a damn pot to piss in letta-lone a chicken to cook on stone. Yehhh-up, you'll be just fine with a packhet of these hurr seeds — potatoes, carrots, beets. You'll be a — what they call it? — a goddamn vegeterryun. Least for a couple months, 'til ya get up n' runnin'."

I bit my lip. Did Kyle and Trevor really think that I, who had been educated at South High School in Minneapolis, and who had almost passed his AP U.S. History test with a two, believed I could survive on root vegetables for months on end until we managed to get a chicken?

Because I definitely didn't.

Well... mostly.

But I wasn't going to lie. It sounded promising as hell. If for no other reason than because the man on the video had next to no experience and yet he was doing it, he had actually figured out how to _homestead_ and he was proving everyone who doubted him wrong. He was rubbing it in viewers' faces — such as mine, who hadn't believed in him at all — that not only had he figured out how to live in the woods, but that he'd freed himself from the shackles of civilization for all time. No boss, no family, no Ms. Molly breathing down his neck. A small part of me knew that if this proud American could do it, so could I. Even if I didn't have any chickens.

"So..." I began, unsure of exactly where to go from here. "W-What do we eat?"

"Well," Kyle began, choosing his words carefully, "we're not going to be able to plant seeds fast enough to eat them by next Monday, obviously. But I tell you what," he said, pulling a few sheets of paper from his backpack. He spread them over the blanket. "These are vouchers for Marley's Farmer's market by Loring Park. They were handing them out near the bus stop. If we go tomorrow morning, we'll be able to get enough to survive on before the vegetables take root."

Trevor nodded. "And besides," he said, selecting another video, "this isn't even necessary, not really. There is plenty of food in the woods. Nuts, mushrooms, berries. Just follow the squirrels, and you'll be okay."

"The squirrels?"

"The squirrels," Trevor echoed, sliding the phone back on my lap. "They'll show you exactly where to go and what to eat. Watch them, and you'll see what fruits and berries are safe in the woods. There's nothing to worry about, I promise."

My eyes fell to the phone below. Sure enough, a woman on the screen was giving a tutorial on finding edible fruit in the woods. She was walking through a brush thicket, selecting berries and showing the YouTube audience what was safe and what wasn't. It looked like she'd been doing this for a long time, like she was a park ranger or knew someone who was.

I felt giddy. If she knew how to figure it out, I didn't see why we couldn't, either.

"So..." I said for not the first time, "as long as we follow the squirrels and birds — like the lady says in the video — we should be able to make it until our crops grow?"

"Absolutely," Trevor said confidently. He grabbed the phone and slid it back into his pocket.

I didn't know if his confidence was entirely justified, seeing as he was a year younger than me and had never stepped foot out of the city. The furthest outside of Minneapolis and St. Paul he'd ever gone was Richfield, and that was only to stay with a family who'd wanted him to do housework and watch their children while they partied and did drugs. That Daddy, he hadn't wanted to seduce. But the fact remained that we were city boys. Nature wasn't even a hobby of ours, let alone our specialty. Trevor couldn't tell a lettuce tree from poison ivy.

And yet at the same time, his sheer unbridled confidence lit a fire in my tummy. In fact it inspired me. For the first time I wanted to try to _homestead_ for no other reason than because Trevor instilled in me a hope I could do it. If AmericaMan1488 the YouTuber could go off the grid and free himself from civilization, so could we. We could be something. Someone. I wanted to give it a shot just to prove Ms. Molly and Safe Boys wrong.

"Let's do it," I said, eyes blazing. "A-As long as you promise to stick by my side, guys. Y-You can't leave me in the middle of the woods with nowhere to go. P-Promise, okay?"

"I promise, Blakely," Kyle said, wrapping me in a hug so tight I thought I was going to suffocate. His lips brushed against my cheek, sending waves of brotherly warmth coursing through my veins.

"Trevor?" I said, biting my lip to communicate my unease.

"I promise, too," he said, wrapping me in a second hug. Soon, we were all hugging on my bed and giving each other the deep-rooted support we needed to get through what was absolutely going to be the hardest weekend of our lives.

A brown-haired boy interrupted our bonding session. His name was Christian, he was thirteen, and I'd seen him around the community house before but I'd never gone out of my way to start a conversation. He wrapped his arm around the supporting beam of my bunk bed and started to speak.

"Trevor," he began, biting his lip. "You're not leaving, are you?"

Trevor glanced at us and arched his eyebrows. "I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head softly. "We're going tomorrow, Christian."

The boy scratched his face. "What do you mean, tomorrow? Where are you going?"

Kyle sighed, not wanting to rehash the entirety of the conversation we'd just wrapped up. But Christian was Trevor's friend, and so Trevor brought it on himself to explain our plan.

When he finished, the boy blinked back tears. "I-I never thought you'd leave," he said, rubbing his eyes. "Y-You promised you'd stay here forever."

"Oh, Christian," Trevor said, rubbing his forehead. "My heart hurts, buddy. I didn't know we were getting kicked out."

"But _you're_ not getting kicked out," Christian said, pouting. "You're only seventeen! You can stay another year."

"It's not that simple," Trevor said, exhaling loudly. "These are my bestest friends, Christian. You understand that, right? I can't just _abandon_ them. You should never abandon your friends when they need you the most."

"B-But I thought I was your friend, too," Christian sniffled, shifting his weight to his left foot.

Trevor opened his mouth to speak. But before he could, Christian suddenly rushed towards him and threw himself around Trevor's waist. "Oh," Trevor gasped, wrapping his arms around the boy's neck.

My heart throbbed. "F-Fuck," I whispered to Kyle, gripping his wrist. It pained me to see a boy so young, so vulnerable, in such a state of need. If I could, I'd offer Christian the opportunity to throw everything away, and join us in the North woods. I wanted to tell him that we'd be able to get another ticket, that it wouldn't be anything at all to welcome him on our journey, the same journey I knew nothing about until ten minutes ago.

Of course, it wasn't my place to invite him. Yet that wouldn't have made a difference. The fact remained that Christian, who had just entered Washburn High School, was only fourteen. He was too young to run away. Kyle, Trevor and I were older and therefore more mature. Save for Trevor, the rest of us were legal adults — or close to it. Our prefrontal cortexes were fully developed. We could conceptualize cause-and-effect.

In other words, we were totally invincible — not even a ferocious bear in the woods could slow us down. Christian would not be able to make the journey to Northern Minnesota without suffering severe repercussions that would leave him more dead than alive. His age prevented him from realizing the dangers of the journey. Though adorable in every way, the boy was too young.

"You are my friend," Trevor whispered, running his fingers through his friend's hair. "You're my bestest friend in the whole world, Christian. You're like Caleb. You're a little brother to me."

Christian sniffled and wiped his nose. He knew that Trevor also had a younger brother, Caleb, who was barely twelve and who was also in the foster care system. Perhaps it was because of this younger brother Trevor couldn't rescue that he'd taken Christian under his wing. It would be excruciating to let each other go, perhaps even worse than when Trevor left his brother behind, though his hands had been tied.

"W-Will you be back?" Christian whispered, "w-will I ever see you again?"

"Yes, little one," Trevor sighed, stroking Christian's floppy brown hair. "You're family. When Blakely, Kyle and I are settled, we'll come back for you. We'll come back for Caleb. You won't need anyone ever again."

"T-Thank you," Christian whispered, "t-thank you, Trevor. Just p-please come back. I n-need you to save my life."

"I will, little one," Trevor murmured, stroking Christian's cheek. Christian sobbed quietly into Trevor's hairless chest.

We sat for a long time, not moving. My heart had long since melted and pooled over the cracked, dusty asbestos. Ms. Molly appeared in the doorway but didn't say anything. She retreated to her desk, no doubt to file more paperwork.

At last, Christian returned to his small group of friends that shared bunks at the far end of the dormitory. It was late. Sunlight trickled through the window and cast pools of shattered dreams on the chipped floor.

But we didn't have a choice. Our minds were made up. First thing tomorrow, we would go to the farmers market and select the vegetables, fruits, and non-perishable food items we would need to get to the woods.

"You ready to do this, Blakely?" Kyle murmured, biting his cheek.

I sighed and willed my future to the front. "O-One-hundred percent."

We finished getting everything in order. After a late dinner, we went to bed.

***

"Got your ticket?" Kyle said the next morning, narrowing his eyes and searching up and down the street for the bus which, according to the website, was supposed to come regularly every forty-five minutes. The last "arrival" was ten minutes late. Either our clocks were wrong, or the public transit system was running late as usual.

"L-Like I could really forget," I said, forcing a laugh. I fingered the glossy slip of paper and slid it back into my shorts. The last thing I wanted to do was accidentally drop it.

"Fuck," Trevor said, biting his lip. He shook his head and stared at the empty street. It was almost eleven A.M. and there was barely any traffic. So it wasn't like the bus had gotten into an accident which would have caused it to be late. The driver had probably forgotten, that was all. And that was probably what Trevor was thinking, if the pained expression on his seventeen-year-old face was any indication.

"S-Stop," I said, setting my enormous duffle bag on the ground and moving to wrap Trevor in a bear hug. Don't be nervous, my arms said to his trembling frame. Come hell or high water we're getting to the woods.

"Jesus, Blakely," Kyle said, rushing to my side. He grabbed the bag from the ground and heaved it over his shoulder. "You can't just throw your shit everywhere. You're going to catch a disease."

I frowned. "It's perfectly clean," I said, grimacing. I remembered the coronavirus fiasco from last year and realized that it had probably rushed across Kyle's mind. But I could manage. The last thing I needed was a lecture.

I sighed, took my bag back from Kyle, and re-joined my friends. I clutched Teddy tight and prayed that the bus would come soon. Because the fact that it hadn't yet showed up was _strange._

But what was even stranger were the unexpected events of the morning, which had changed our fate beyond our wildest dreams.

Case in point: the farmer's market. We'd been doing no more than picking out bruised avocados when, suddenly, we'd run into not just one person but two who wanted to help when they heard our plight. "You're going to homestead, eh?" a man selling fresh strawberries and peaches had said, nodding like we'd just told him we were on a mission to Mars.

"Y-Yes, sir," I said, staring at the man like he held the key to my future.

"And you have a tent? Food? Fishing poles in case you need to catch some trout?"

"S-Save for the tent, food, and poles," I began, "we've got everything we need. Isn't that right, Kyle?"

Kyle only nodded and stared into the sun.

"Well, shit," the man said, giving us each a free strawberry. I gulped it down gratefully. "Sue," he shouted, beckoning over his shoulder to a blond-haired woman who promptly walked to the cash register and smiled. "Watch this for a minute, will ya? I finally figured out what to do with that busted up tent."

"Oh my," Sue said, winking at us. "You boys need anything else? We've got plenty of food, too. Here," she said, grabbing a paper bag and filling it with fresh peaches and apples. "It's almost the end of the day, anyhow. I've made so many goddamn peach cobblers I can't stomach the sight. Take this," she said, thrusting the bag in my hand. "We'll just end up composting it, anyhow."

"T-Thank you," I sputtered, my eyes glistening. "Y-You really don't have to—"

"Thank you," Trevor interjected, smiling placidly at the woman. When he wasn't brooding, Trevor wasn't afraid of taking compliments. "You're too kind."

The man laughed. "Come," he said, roughly grabbing Trevor's arm and leading us to his rusty Ford pickup sitting in the shade of an oak, covered in mud. For a split second, my heart stopped. Wasn't this the exact situation they warned you about growing up? Grown man promises the world, locks you in his basement for eternity. My breath was trapped in my lungs. He was going to tie us up, throw us in the back of the truck.

Yet before he could kidnap us, he let go of Trevor's arm and grabbed a thick black bag from the backseat. "Boys," he said, tossing the bag to the ground with a thump, "you've got yourself a damn tent. How 'bout that?"

"J-Jesus," I said, grinning like a madman who's just spotted a nervous woman walking hurriedly down a dusty road. "This is really too much."

"We'll take it," Kyle said with a laugh, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. _Shut up, Blakely. This is our only opportunity to get a tent and you know it._

"Now we won't have to use branches and leaves like we planned," Trevor murmured, shaking the man's firm hand.

"That's not all," the man said, grabbing the fishing poles from the trunk. He handed them to me along with five cans of tuna fish, the Bumble Bee brand I'd so often seen at Safe Boys when Ms. Molly didn't have anything else to make. "Take these," he ordered, thrusting the tuna in my hands. I grinned and thanked the man profusely.

Kyle swung the tent over his shoulder. He bucked at the weight but quickly got used to it. When we returned to the market, the blonde-haired woman held a small amber jar out to us and beckoned us closer.

"What's that?" I whispered to Kyle. It was either poison or... well, I couldn't think of anything besides poison. Why the hell would strangers — who I'd met less than ten minutes ago — give us so many gifts? My mind couldn't register that they might want to do us a favor.

"Boys," she said with a wink, "look what I managed to snag for you. Take a peak."

She unsealed the jar. Immediately, a wave of sunlit-warmth and childhood memories washed over me. _Fresh honey._

"Oh, my God," Kyle said, bringing his hands to his face. He immediately relaxed. His worries fell to the wayside the moment the succulent nectar made its way to his button nose. "Thank you," he murmured, smiling placidly.

The woman grinned and wrapped up the strawberries in a brown package with a ribbon. "Good luck on your adventure, boys," she said, beaming at us. Jesus, she was even more excited than we were.

I held Teddy tight and savoured the moment, knowing that I would never forget this kind woman who had gone out of her way to help us, whose blonde hair was tinged with Grandmotherly grey, and who radiated no less loving kindness than my mother had the night before she died.

But all the honey and fresh peaches in the world couldn't compensate for the fact that, if this bus didn't show up, we weren't going anywhere. We'd have to march right back to the farmer's market and return the tent, peaches, and honey before we had a chance to make it on our own.

I moved to say something. Yet before I could speak, a large vehicle suddenly appeared on the horizon, moving towards us slowly as if afraid of pissing us off anymore than it already had by being so goddamn late.

Kyle broke into a grin. "Get the bags," he shouted, throwing his arms in the air, "we're going to the woods, baby!"

Trevor, who never said anything unless prompted, jabbed Kyle in the ribs with a snicker. He adjusted his bag and turned to me. "It's time for our life to begin," he said, winking at me. My heart fluttered.

For the first time, I wasn't nervous about leaving everything behind. I remembered Ms. Molly, the way that she hadn't shed a tear at my fervent goodbyes. I recalled Joseph, who hadn't even bothered to understand why I might like wearing diapers around older men, who I wanted to touch me. Even the memories of my mother evaporated like rainwater in sunshine the minute the black-grey bus creaked to a stop in front of us and welcomed us aboard.

_Trevor is right. It's time for our_ real _life to begin._

We stored the bags beneath the bus and ascended the dirty steps. I slipped into the seat next to the window. Kyle slid next to me, and Trevor took the aisle seat. Around us, oblivious passengers snored and stared into the distance as if this was just one of many stops they had yet to take on a long journey that wouldn't be life changing at all.

A wave of delicious light passed through me. _These passengers knew nothing of our ambitious plans, of the life we would make when we finally reached the woods past Lake Superior! They were probably just commuting to see relatives or friends. What fun! They have_ no _clue that we're beginning a brand-new, totally-awesome, and completely-insane, wonderful life._

I settled into the seat totally unable to suppress my grin. I almost expected the driver to turn around and, like he was a sea captain or train conductor, shout: "All aboard!" Of course he did nothing of the sort. So I closed my eyes and faded into the seat. Before I knew it, the bus throbbed into motion and began the journey, taking us far away from Safe Boys, Minneapolis, and the only not-so-sheltered life we'd ever known.

"G-Goodbye, my heart," I murmured, staring at the broken streets filled with potholes and crushed Coca-Cola bottles littering the road. The city disappeared before my eyes. "I-I'm sorry, Minneapolis. B-But I hope I never see you again."

***

Three hours later, the bus pulled up to a beaten-up gas station in the middle of nowhere and creaked to a halt. We'd been going down the same unpaved road for hours. Kyle poked my ribs. My eyes shot open and my heart raced. I couldn't believe I'd been sleeping.

"Let's get some snacks," Kyle said, rubbing my cheek.

"Snacks?"

"Like, Cheetos," he said, snickering. He pointed to the gas station, which looked like something out of a country music video. At least it was cleaner than the Speedways in the city.

I shook my head and out the window. No, I wasn't in the mood for Cheetos. In fact I wasn't in the mood for anything, even peaches and cream. My stomach was twisted into so many knots that I was going to be sick. To make matters worse, the day was no longer sunny and Disney-like, as it had been that morning. Above the lonely bus, clouds patterned the sky and blocked the summer sun from view. If I didn't know better, I would have almost thought that it was raining.

Suddenly, a bolt of lightning flashed through the air and sizzled over an unsuspecting power tower in the distance. My jaw dropped. "Goddamnit," I moaned, shaking my head in disbelief. It _was_ raining.

Fuck," Trevor whispered, biting his lip. Clearly, I wasn't the only one who was nervous. "Is that what I think it is?"

Kyle nodded slowly. But even his somber confidence did little to stave off our fears. In the distance, the clouds twisted and congested like there was a tornado forming. Wind blew trees at breakneck speed, threatening to pull them from the ground and throw them across the small, dirt road. If a tornado formed, our little bus wouldn't stand a chance. In the middle of this desolate land, the black-and-grey MegaBus would be the first to go.

_So much for our adventure, our fresh start from the city. The rain won't just make us wet. It's a bright-red_ WARNING _to head back._

"Here," Kyle said, pulling a small rectangle from his pocket. He set it on the tray in front of him. It was a pack of cards. "Do you know how to play rummy?"

I shook my head as if to say, _Your ill-timed distraction won't work, Kyle. T-Trevor and I are scared shitless. We know you are too._

"As long as we're trapped in this bus," Kyle began, nodding slowly, "we might as well play a hand or two."

"Ky- _yle_ ," I moaned, turning around to face the window. Rivulets of rain trickled down the glass. "W-We're going to get soaked."

Kyle grimaced. "Don't say that," he muttered, shuffling the deck. "Just focus on the game, okay? By the time we get there, the rain will be gone."

My eyes burned. "Y-You don't know that," I whispered, staring at my dirty shoes — the same ones I'd been wearing since I was fifteen. "I-If there's a tornado—"

Kyle put his finger over my mouth. "There will be _no_ tornado," he said, staring at me. His green eyes sparkled with intensity. "You hear me? This is _going_ to work."

I blinked back tears. "O-Okay," I muttered, fiddling my thumbs. "I won't mention the _tornado_ again."

Kyle narrowed his eyes at me. He was going to reprimand me in front of the entire bus. Yet he changed his mind at the last minute and tapped the deck on the table.

"The game," he said, drawing out each word as if he were giving the State of the Union address, "is Gin Rummy. It was created in the early-twentieth century by a Daddy and his -- excuse me, by a father and son. We each get seven cards," he said, dishing out the cards, "the goal is to get as many points as possible and have none left at the end of the game."

"Gah," I muttered, staring at my nails. "You're going to have to say a little more than _that_."

I was being a brat.

Kyle groaned. The passengers began to trickle back from the gas station, making their way with their sodas and bags of pretzels to their way to their seats. For a split second, I wished I'd gotten Cheetos, even though they made me sick. A brown-haired man walked briskly through the bus, staring at me intently as he made his way to the seat behind me. I shivered. I definitely did _not_ want him to be my Daddy.

"The game isn't hard, Blakely," Kyle said, interrupting my festering anxiety. He cut the deck and set it in the centre of the tray. "I picked it up from Stellan."

The bus began to move once again. I racked my brain for a _Stellan_ , but I came up short. I decided to ask Kyle who this _Stellan_ was. But before I spoke, the image of a sandy-blond young boy -- surely no more than fourteen years old -- suddenly flashed through my mind, letting me know that I absolutely knew who they were talking about. How could I have forgotten? It was Stellan, Christian's best and closest friend.

Well... sort of. It was Christian's friend, all right. And he _was_ Stellan's very best friend. But it was also the same Stellan who smoked weed every morning, who jerked off in the community showers, and who'd been kicked out of more schools than I could count. My description was correct, but incomplete. He _was_ Christian's friend -- but only because Christian was kind of enough to take him under his wing, like Trevor had done to him. Christian was only paying it forward.

What was certain, however, was that he was dumber than shit, like AmericaGuy1488 in the YouTube video. Yet if Stellan could figure out the game, I had little doubt that I could, too.

To speed up the learning curve, Kyle and Trevor let me observe a game -- "just a practice one," Kyle said, "it won't count, okay? I don't want you beating me if I have to show Blakely my cards" -- to see how it worked. I watched as they dealt the cards, came up with winning strategies, and beat each other into oblivion. By the end of it, I was ready to give it my best shot.

Of course this wasn't enough. I lost the first round _fast_.

And the second.

And the third. By this point, I was pretty much ready to turn in my resignation. Though I wouldn't write off the possibility of ever playing cards again, Gin Rummy was _definitely_ not for me.

Oddly enough, this proved to be a winning strategy. Because no sooner had Kyle and Trevor gotten into their tenth hand, did the bus suddenly jolt to a halt in the middle of the forest, letting us know we'd reached our stop.

"Guys," I cried, shaking Kyle's arm. His cards flew across the floor.

"God dammit, Blakely," Kyle grumbled, glaring at me. Oh shit. I'd totally fucked up his hand.

When I spoke next, my voice was timid and squeaky. "I-I think we made it," I whispered, pointing to the forest outside. Suddenly, Kyle forgot about the card game. His eyes widened in anticipation.

Just past the windows, rows of trees gave way to an endless forest. Enormous branches swayed in the wind, shedding droplets of rain that fell to the ground and formed pools. Shapes darted between trees, like shadows, like tricks of light or hungry monsters that were one-hundred percent going to devour us the minute we stepped inside. Was this... our future?

"I-It's wet," I whispered, clutching Teddy. My cock started to tingle, like it sometimes did when I was nervous. I wanted to shove my hands down my pants to warm myself. Though the rain had stopped, thunder still rolled in the distance. It made sense why the ancients used to chalk thunder up to gods. The Greeks had Zeus, the Romans had Jupiter. All I had was Teddy, who I was choking in a death hold under my arm.

I immediately relaxed my grip. "S-Sorry," I murmured, kissing his ears. Teddy trembled at the touch. He liked being kissed, along with other things.

It was time to leave. The few passengers that remained stayed put, no doubt getting off at the stop after this, which was damn near Canada. Pushing Trevor gently, Kyle freed himself from the seatbelt and stepped into the aisle. He selected his red backpack from the overhead bin and motioned for me to join him. I took one last look at the bus seat. Bye Mr. Seat, I wanted to say. You've been a true friend. It's time for me to start my new life.

The driver, a balding man in his mid-fifties who I just realized looked more suited to be a prison guard than a bus driver, helped us grab our bags. He didn't ask if we had a place to stay. We weren't even close to a town. Like children in a fairytale in search of a gingerbread home, we were alone.

"Jesus," Trevor said when the bus finally pulled away. We watched it kick up slick rocks until the point at which it was little more than a speck on the horizon. Trevor glanced over his shoulder and waved a silent goodbye to the road, which, for the last two hours, had been our closest companion. We set off.

Well... we didn't exactly _set off._ That would imply we had somewhere to go, which we absolutely didn't. Our plan was to... shit, I couldn't remember our plan. Weren't we just supposed to find land and claim it as our own? Isn't that what AmericaGuy1488 said?

"Erm," I began, adjusting the straps on my backpack. Kyle pivoted, tossing the tent-bag over his shoulder. "W-Where are we--"

Kyle stopped me before I had a chance to say the fatal words. "It's up here," he said, nodding up the road. "Keep walking, okay? We'll get there in no time. The website showed a clearing and trail. We'll use that to enter the woods. Just promise you won't worry."

I nodded and bit my tongue. The last thing I wanted was to upset Kyle, by questioning him. I slanged my bag over my shoulder and followed him up the road.

Yet I couldn't promise Kyle I wouldn't worry. Especially when everything around us dripped with dark rain. Overhead, leaves bowed to us, the branches no longer able to support their weight from the downpour. Menacing rivulets of water fell from black-brown bark that jutted out as if preparing to attack us. Branches criss-crossed the dirt road beneath us, as if telling us, _Don't go inside! Take what little money you have and go back to Minneapolis. You don't know what lurks inside._

Something howled in the forest. "K-Kyle," I cried, staring into the trees. "I-I don't know about this."

Kyle didn't turn around. Like a military commander who refuses to let his battalion down, he plowed ahead, foraging a past for the rest of us too timid to do it ourselves. In a final effort to stave off danger, my eyes shot to the woods -- but nothing came out.

I was safe this time. As long as Kyle, the military commander, would protect me, Teddy and I would be okay.

We walked for what felt like hours. I was damn near ready to drop my bag and sleep in the road when Kyle suddenly spoke. "It's close," Kyle said, "just a little farther, okay? I recognize this from the website."

"O-Okay," I said, nodding in agreement. Trevor nodded, too. I took another step. Suddenly, pain shot through my foot. "Fuck," I cried, shooting down to my feet. Trevor glanced back to see what was wrong. I untied my laces and untied my left shoe. A small pebble, having been finally freed, flew to its brothers on the dirt road below. I groaned and put the now-damp shoe back on my foot. Trevor turned around, shrugging. Yeah, that definitely didn't bode well for the rest of the journey.

I was just about to say something to Kyle when, suddenly, Trevor dropped his bag and gasped. "Look," he shouted, pointing to the parted trees. "We made it."

Excitedly, I followed Trevor's pale finger to the spot at which the impermeable wall of trees broke, giving way to a small past that led into... the darkest part of the woods yet.

"Goddamnit," I muttered, glancing at Kyle. So much for a happy ending.

My friends weren't about to come to my rescue and take me back. They couldn't. A car hadn't driven by in at least an hour -- or more.

Glancing at Kyle for support, Trevor and I took a timid step onto the path. Swallowed up by the trees, the grey late-afternoon light disappeared at once. If we went any further it would swallow us, too.

Yet at this point, there was no going back. After breaking for five minutes to eat strawberries and drink water, we tip-toed quietly into the trail. There was no other choice but to enter the woods.

***

We walked for what felt like hours. We passed menacing trees and mysterious shapes that were nothing other than hungry animals who wanted to eat us alive. Just as my feet were beginning to fall off my legs, Kyle stopped, holding out his hand and gesturing to the small patch of forest where we stood.

"Guys," he said, a stupid grin illuminating his face. "I think we made it."

I glanced up. Sure enough, we had stumbled upon a tiny clearing. Though my legs had been totally destroyed by branches, we had somewhere to stay.

Yet that did little to stop the pounding in my chest. "B-But where are the squirrels?" I asked, eyes wide.

Trevor let out a nervous laugh. "It's nighttime, Blakely," he said, grimacing. "We couldn't see the wildlife if we tried. We'll find them first thing in the morning, and they'll show us where to go."

I stared at Trevor, as if trying to see what he was really saying. Because from the looks of it, it seemed like Trevor was trying to tell me that he too was scared out of his mind. Though he'd never admit it in front of Kyle, Trevor was scared as hell that he wouldn't be able to find the berries and mushrooms like the YouTube videos promised. And now? In the rain? Our plan was as good as gone.

"Exactly, Blakely," Kyle said confidently, setting his backpack on a wet log. It promptly fell off onto the dirt and rolled into a patch of what looked like poison ivy. "Trevor is correct. Tomorrow morning, in the sunshine, we'll be able to find the squirrels and everything else the videos showed."

"Goddamnit," I whispered, keeping my voice low. Kyle would kill me if he knew I was questioning his authority. Silence was the only option.

Spreading the brush and small bushes, I uncovered a decomposing log on which I promptly sat. Trevor sat next to me. Though I'd thought the trees overhead had helped us, our pants were totally soaked. I couldn't help but let out a soft whimper and hold Trevor's hand.

The sun had almost completely set. Around us, mist rose from the forest floor, like something from a horror movie. My racing heart let me know that, if we didn't set up camp, like, ASAP, something was going to race out of the woods and devour us. Trevor, who was dead silent, nodded, as if he'd read my mind. It was time to stop being a baby and take action.

"O-Okay," I muttered, letting go of Trevor's hand I hadn't noticed I'd been holding up until this very moment. "I-I tell you what. I'll spread the ground tarp, okay? Isn't that what the video showed?"

Trevor nodded, encouraging me.

"A-And Kyle," I continued, "y-you get the stakes and begin pounding those into the ground. Trevor," I said, "i-if it's not too much trouble, would you mind getting dinner on the stove? I-I'm sure we're all starving."

"The stove?" Trevor asked, brushing his black curls out of his forehead. His forehead glistened in the twilight.

"J-Jeez," I groaned, "n-not the _stove_. Just food, please. Kyle and I will pitch the tent."

From the other side of the clearing, Kyle laughed. "Look at you, Blakely," he said, swinging the tent bag off the ground and pulling out the tarp. "You're becoming a regular woodsman."

"Y-Yeah," I muttered, kicking the decomposing log, "i-it's not _quite_ the life I had in mind, but we'll get there."

"We'll get there," Trevor echoed, pulling food from the bag. He produced a can of beans and a packet of tortillas from the farmer's market. "I'll go ahead and make us quesadillas," he said, grinning. God, if I'd been into boys like him and not grown, adult Daddies, I would've pinned him to the ground and assaulted him with kisses.

I went to Kyle and grabbed the tarp. In no time, we'd pitched the tent. When we finished, dinner was ready. We ate. For dessert, we dipped fresh peaches into the jar of honey, savouring the fruit like it was the last fruit we'd ever have.

At last, it was time for bed. I took one final look out into the forest. Shapes danced before my eyes. Above, a sliver of moonlight shone through the canopy, illuminating sections of the forest floor. It looked like puddles you could slip into, portals to another world. _Our_ world.

We packed the honey into the bag and piled into the tent. "A-After you," I whispered, playfully pushing Trevor in. He grinned and swatted my hand away from his ass. "Not for you, Blakely," he said, kissing my cheek. A wave of brotherly warmth washed over me. We were like really gay frat boys who'd decided to go camping.

I quickly changed into my pyjamas — the ones with rocket ships on them, the same ones I'd had since I was eleven years old — and helped Trevor unpack the flashlights and mats. When we finished doling out the sleeping bags, Kyle spoke.

"Look," he said, sighing softly. An owl cooed overhead. "I'm sorry I was harsh on you today, Blakely. And you, Trevor. I should have been more understanding back on the road."

My eyes shot open. Why was Kyle apologizing? "I-It's okay," I whispered, glancing quickly at Trevor. He shrugged his shoulders. Neither of us knew what Kyle was talking about. "Y-You didn't do anything wrong."

Kyle shook his head. "I was mean," he murmured, picking at a loose thread on the sleeping bag. "I noticed you had a pebble in your shoe, back on the road. But I didn't stop. I'm sorry."

"K-Kyle," I whispered, unzipping the bag and crawling to him. "It's okay, Kyle. Really," I murmured, burying my face in his lap. "I-I was being a baby. You were only trying to get us to the woods, like we'd planned."

Kyle said nothing. "I'm just so worried," he said at last, running his fingers through my hair. A wave of tenderness washed over me. From the other side of the tent, Trevor looked longingly at us like he wanted to join in.

"W-Worried about what?"

"That we'll never make it. That we'll have to go back and stay in Minneapolis forever."

This time, Trevor couldn't contain himself. He leapt from his sleeping bag and kissed Kyle's cheek. "Nonsense," he whispered, rubbing Kyle's forehead. "We're _going_ to make it, okay? No matter what happens, we're going to stick together. We're _going_ to be okay."

A tear fell silently from Kyle's eye. "I-I'm sorry," he whispered, letting go of my hand to rub his eye. But it was no good. The tear fell to his lap, forming a small dot on his blue-and-cream striped pyjama bottoms.

"Shh," I whispered, gathering my courage and kissing the spot where the tear fell. My lips pressed against something hard. It twitched under my mouth.

Kyle said nothing.

Something shot across my gut. "K-Kyle," I murmured, running a finger over his thigh, "a-are you hard?"

Kyle moaned and buried himself in his hands.

Trevor laughed and kissed Kyle's wrist. "He _is_ hard," Trevor said with a snicker, burying his face in Kyle's lap.

"Stop, guys," Kyle said, wiping his eyes. "It's just because I'm nervous, okay?"

I nodded. "M-Me too," I whispered, biting his cock. Save for that night with Mark, I'd never been so close to my friend's cock in my life.

Kyle groaned and swatted me away. Something crinkled in his pants. After readjusting his cock, he rose from the sleeping bag and left the tent. "I'm taking a whiz," he said, his voice echoing throughout the darkness. "If I'm not back in two minutes, just assume I got eaten by a bear."

Trevor snickered. "A bear would eat you up," he said, winking at me. I burst into laughter and snuggled with my friend.

Kyle was gone. Instinctively, my hand crept into Trevor's pyjamas. He gasped. To my surprise, his cock was soft and cold.

"Y-You can't just do that, Blakely," he gasped, yanking my hand out and returning it to my lap. "You just _assaulted_ me."

"O-Oh, please," I groaned, burrowing into his thighs. I inhaled. Yeah, this was my friend, all right.

"I'm serious," Trevor growled, lifting me by the hair. "I'm cold, scared, and don't exactly want to be touched."

My heart sunk. "F-Fuck," I whispered, "I'm sorry, Trevor. I was just being silly. I-I'm really sorry. Look," I said, untying my pyjamas, "I'll let you see mine, if you like."

"I don't _want_ to see yours," Trevor said, staring at the tent walls. But a second later, his eyes wandered to my waist. "I've seen it plenty of times, Blakely."

"Yeah," I said, rolling my eyes, "i-in the showers."

"I like _men_ , Blakely," Trevor said with a small laugh. "No offence, but you barely look... well, I'm not going to say it. You know what I mean."

Relief washed over me. _Trevor wasn't mad at me, after all_.

"I like men too, Trev," I whispered, sitting down again. I brought my knees to my chest and rested my chin on them.

Trevor opened his mouth. But before he could speak, Kyle burst back into the tent. "You guys should see the moon," he said, pointing outside. He'd left the small flap open so we could take in the view. Was he trying to distract us from his boner? "It's a crescent. You know," he continued, "this is when Muslims around the world celebrate Eid Mubarak, the feast marking the end of the Ramadan period of observance. They have everything you can imagine — sheer khurma, sheermal, mutton."

"Do they also have... cock?" I whispered, chancing a glimpse at Kyle. I wasn't trying to make a quip about Muslim religious observance. But I was _definitely_ trying to redirect the conversation back to Kyle's unexpected excitement.

Kyle groaned and slid back into his sleeping bag. "I'm going to bed," he declared, shutting his eyes and pulling the sleeping bag over his face.

Trevor snickered. "Blakely," he whispered quiet enough so Kyle wouldn't hear, "what if we surprised Kyle?"

"S-Surprise him?"

"Yeah," Trevor whispered, his green eyes ablaze. If I didn't know any better, I'd have thought he was up to something. "I tell you what," he said, guiding my hand to Kyle's motionless figure. "We should try to turn him on."

I burst into laughter. Turn him on? Isn't that exactly what I'd just tried to do to _him_ seconds earlier?

Trevor quickly slammed his palms over my mouth to stifle the noise. "Shh," he whispered, peeling back the sleeping bag. I pressed my hand to his chest. Trevor's young heart was beating a hundred miles a minute.

None of it made sense. Trevor had just said he was into Daddies. So why did he suddenly want to seduce our friend?

Suddenly, it hit me. Trevor wasn't _attracted_ to our friend as much as he wanted to turn him on. It was a game. Trevor wasn't getting off on Kyle's boyish good looks, hairless tummy, or soft skin — no, Trevor wanted to _submit._

And I did too.

"Kyle," I whispered, peeling back the sleeping bag.

Kyle's eyes shot open. "Please don't," he murmured, staring at us with a fervency that bordered on insanity.

"Shh," Trevor whispered, untying Trevor's nautical pyjamas. Kyle gasped and hid himself behind his hand. He didn't want us to see. _The big military leader who'd been so confident in the woods had been reduced to a shy, quivering child._

Trevor untied the first string. Kyle's cock throbbed beneath the fabric. Trevor began to slip the pyjamas down my best friend's thighs. But Kyle reached out and grabbed his arm.

"N-No," Kyle sputtered, shaking his head frantically. "Y-You can't."

Trevor glanced at me. His magnetic eyes glistened in the darkness. "Why is that?"

"B-Because," Kyle whispered, holding Trevor's hand like a life preserver. "I-I don't want you to see what's underneath."

I tried to stifle my laugh. What did Kyle mean, that he was _embarrassed_? I'd seen his cock before plenty of times. "S-Stop, Kyle," I groaned, "w-we just want to help you. Y-You're the only one with a boner in a hundred-mile radius."

Kyle sobbed and covered himself with his hands. "Fine," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "But you can't laugh."

Trevor shrugged in the moonlight. I followed his lead. "It won't be long," I whispered, kissing Kyle's cheek. Jeez, he was practically shivering. "T-This is what friends do, Kyle. M-Maybe tomorrow night, I'll need a helping hand."

Kyle groaned and nodded frantically. He'd given us the signal to go ahead. Trevor tugged the blue-and-cream pyjamas down to his hairless thighs. But my heart stopped the minute I saw what lay underneath.

_It was a diaper._

"Oh, my God," I muttered, my eyes wide. Kyle... wore diapers?

"Jesus," Trevor gasped, removing his hand.

Kyle sobbed and tried to pull his pyjamas back up. But I wouldn't let him. "K-Kyle," I whispered, "you wear diapers?"

Silence filled the tent. At last, Kyle nodded. "Yeah," he whispered. His voice trembled. "B-But only sometimes, Blakely. O-Only when I'm nervous."

"Holy shit," Trevor moaned, pinching Kyle's hip.

"I-I'm so embarrassed," Kyle moaned, pressing his thighs together. "I want to burrow under a log and die."

Trevor spoke. "I wish I'd brought mine," he mumbled, crossing his arms. I couldn't help but snicker. Trevor was obviously pouting. _What a baby._

"Me, too," I said, raising my hands in defeat.

I'd never told my friends about my love of diapers. In fact the only other person who knew was Joseph, and he hadn't exactly taken that well. The last thing I'd wanted to do was fuck up my friendship with the only friends I had by revealing such a deep part of myself. It was something I hadn't had the balls to say for years, something so dark and twisted I hadn't thought anyone would look at me ever again. I didn't even want to say out loud. Whenever I was alone in the bathroom, I couldn't even bring myself to admit it in the mirror.

And yet seeing Kyle lying in the sleeping bag, trembling with delicious shame, awakened something within me that craved to be spoken aloud, and suddenly I found myself wishing I'd told them far earlier, that I'd been upfront with them the second I got the desire to wear diapers when I was still very young so that I could've shared in their joy. If only I'd known my best friend in the whole world liked diapers too! The things we could've done, the experiences we could've had at Safe Boys, lost in the sheets of the dormitory and our arms.

Kyle's jaw dropped. "Y-You wear them too?" he asked, snapping me back to the present.

"Only sometimes," I whispered, "like when I'm too scared to go to school. I-It's not all the time, Kyle. I was so worried I didn't even remember to bring them for the trip."

Kyle bit his lip. "I have extras, you know."

Trevor gasped. His eyes were sparklers on the Fourth of July. "Can I... do you maybe think I... what I'm trying to say, Kyle," he said, clearing his throat, "is that I'd really like to wear one, like, right now... if you don't mind."

"'Course not," Kyle murmured, slipping out of his sleeping bag. "Just one second, Trev." This time, he shed his pyjama bottoms and let us see his diaper in full. It was light blue, with little pink octopuses on the surface. Instinctively, I pressed my lips against the side, because that's what I would've wanted Kyle to do if I were wearing the diaper.

He sheepishly pulled two diapers out of his backpack. "Here," he said, "it's not much, but we can all wear them, if you like."

"Oh, my God," I cried, throwing my arms around Kyle's naked waist. His cock twitched under the diaper. "You're the best friend in the whole wide world. T-Thank you."

"Thank you," Trevor whispered, accepting the gift. He looked like Jesus receiving frankincense and myrrh. He untied his pyjama bottoms and let them fall. I gasped as his small cock shone in the moonlight.

"O-Oh, fuck," I whispered, untying my pyjamas. "I-I guess I'm going to show myself to you, after all."

"Guess so," Trevor whispered with a light grin.

I gulped midnight air. Yet before I could drop my pyjamas, Kyle suddenly grabbed my wrist. "Let me," he whispered, kissing my forehead. Tingles shot through my body. "Let Daddy help you, little one. Blakely needs Daddy to help him put on his diaper."

My heart trembled. "W-Will Daddy do it for me?" I gasped, running my hands over Kyle's pale hips. I closed my eyes. Suddenly, it wasn't Kyle standing in front of me but Joseph, the beautiful lawyer who wasn't judging me or anything. He wasn't going to stop talking to me because I'd let him in on my little secret at all. In fact he wanted to hear it, he'd sacrifice every virgin in Minnesota for the chance to help me put on my diaper.

"Yes, little one," Kyle muttered, stroking my cheek. He untied my pyjamas and slid them down my thighs. At once, my cock sprung forward, hitting the octopus holding a rattle on his diaper with a soft _bang_.

"I-It's so hard, Daddy," I whispered, hiding my hands behind my back. I clenched my ass, shaking my cock lightly in front of me so that it butterfly kissed Kyle's diaper. _So soft, so clean._

"Daddy knows," Kyle murmured, caressing my thigh. "Daddy likes it when it's hard, little one."

"O-Oh," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the whistling wind. "Y-You make Blakely feel so small."

Kyle moaned and kissed my forehead. He gripped my cock in his hand. Tingles shot through my body.

I closed my eyes again. I wanted to conjure up Joseph again. And yet the minute I closed my eyes, it wasn't Joseph I saw but the _other_ man — the _other_ man, the one who wanted me more than life itself, the brave man who'd inspired me beyond my wildest dreams and who, when I'd been little more than a trembling child, changed my life forever.

Kyle didn't have to say a word. Without a peep, I was suddenly back in the hallway, being pressed into the row of trembling lockers by Mr. Emerson Lane. "Blakely," he whispered, gripping my hair. "My little boy. I've wanted you for so long."

"Gah," I cried, rubbing myself frantically against Emerson's rough, manly hand. He pinned me against the lockers and slipped a hand down my corduroys. "O-Oh, fuck," I moaned, molding to his Daddy fingers. "T-Touch me, Daddy. Blakely likes it when you touch b-between his legs."

"Oh, God," Emerson moaned, glancing around the hallway to check for people. He knew it was naughty, so naughty, and yet he didn't care. Without a second to spare, he dropped to his knees and took my cock in his mouth. Instantly, it throbbed, supercharging my trembling body and throwing me head-first into orgasm.

"D-Daddy," I cried, clutching his hair. I was on the verge of coming by myself. If he did so little as lick it one last time, I'd burst all over his face.

But Emerson didn't let me come. Instead, he guided my body — my _little_ body, littler than all the boys in the world — through the tumultuous seas until we reached the island of warmth together.

"F-Fuck," I cried, thrusting myself into Daddy's face, "p-please, Daddy. I need you to s-s-suck my—"

Without warning, I suddenly burst into Emerson's manly throat. "Oh, God," he murmured, taking every drop. He sucked every bead from my cock, not letting even the littlest droplet go to waste. "You did such a good job, little one. You're the goodest boy in the world."

Waves of ecstasy washed over me, submerging me in blissful seas. "T-Thank you, Daddy," I whispered, trembling with my pants down. "Thank you. Thank you."

"You're the goodest boy in the world," Emerson repeated, standing up. Without a word, he pinned me against the locker and frantically rubbed himself across my lips, nose, ears. I moaned, gripping my cock that was already strengthening again. I rubbed myself frantically, like I was trying to put out the flame.

Without warning, Emerson untucked himself from his pants and suddenly erupted all over my face. "Jesus," he cried, ramming the thick cock down my throat. I gagged. His semen shot down my throat, coating my flesh with sweat. I swallowed every drop, just like he had, religiously, not letting the smallest bead hit the ground. _I was his little boy. He was my Daddy._

I stood still for a minute, not daring to blink. I was suspended in the haze of orgasm. Yet Trevor's voice, emanating loosely from the back of the tent, brought me from my daze.

"That..." he began, searching for the perfect word, "was fucking hot. Jesus Christ. You guys should be on PornHub."

"Who?" I whispered, running my hands over the torso in front of me. "Me and Emerson? You really think so?"

The toros in front of me froze. My eyes jutted open. Kyle was staring at me like I'd just committed the gravest sin.

"Oh, shit," he said, bursting into laughter. "You were thinking about a Daddy, too?"

My cheeks turned bright red. But no one could see in the tent. "Goddamnit," I groaned, pulling away from Kyle and wiping my lips as if to say, _Yeah, Kyle — of course I was thinking about a Daddy. Not just any Daddy — Emerson fucking Lane._

"You two are cute," Trevor said, grinning like a moron. His face suddenly contorted and he gasped. "G-Get out the way," he cried, pushing us aside as he dashed to the front of the tent. Before I could speak, he suddenly burst all over the forest floor.

"Oh, my God," I said, running my hand through my hair. "Y-You're ridiculous, Trev."

"I just had to come," he groaned, squeezing the last onto the ground below. Overhead, owls cried. Moonlight shone through the gap in the tent and cast a pool of white over the tarp floor.

"Better late than never," Kyle said with a laugh. He pivoted and tucked himself back in the sleeping bag.

But not before I stopped him. "W-Wait," I said, "weren't you going to lend me a diaper?"

From the tent opening, Trevor snickered.

"Oh, shit," Kyle said, smacking his forehead. He rose and grabbed it from the floor.

I noticed that _his_ diaper was lying on the floor. "W-What happened?" I said, scratching my chin. I was trying to ask how his diaper fell off.

"You, silly," Kyle snickered, ruffling my hair. He threw me the unused diaper.

"Gah," I moaned, catching the diaper and shedding my pyjamas again. "How could I have forgotten? I-I used it to get off."

"If that makes you feel better," Kyle said with a shrug, "I'll let it slide. Now put on your diaper, be a good boy and go to bed."

I grinned. "D-Daddy won't help Blakely put on his diaper?"

Kyle smirked. A second later, he was standing in front of me, wrapping the diaper around my waist. "Jesus," I whispered through gritted teeth, savouring the sensation of the cool fabric on my skin. My cock tingled.

Kyle clearly saw my cock starting to throb. "No," he said, quickly fastening the diaper. He kissed my forehead and wrapped me in a bear hug. "Now be a good boy and go sleep."

I giggled and stuck my thumb in my mouth. "T-Thank you, Daddy," I whispered, pulling the pastel-blue pacifier I luckily _hadn't_ forgotten from my bag. It was the one thing I'd taken from the Masons, from whom I'd stolen it from their baby.

Kyle grinned and kissed my cheek. "Good boy, Blakely," he muttered, "maybe someday you'll find a real Daddy to treat you right."

"Y-You too, Kyle," I responded with a smile, "you deserve the best Daddy in the world. You're the most bestest friend."

"You too, little one," Kyle said, returning to his sleeping bag. He peeled back the slit at the top and got in.

Trevor returned from his frantic jerk-off session. To my surprise, he was wearing his diaper. Around his neck sat the pink pacifier I'd sometimes seen in his bunkbed. I hadn't known it was for _baby things_ , though. I just thought it was a souvenir from when he'd been little.

"Goodnight, my _bons amis_ ," Trevor whispered, snuggling into his sleeping bag. He sucked the paci and closed his half-lidded eyes.

" _Bonne nuit_ ," Kyle echoed, blowing him a friendship kiss from across the room. "You're my favourite friends in the world."

"Uhh," I stuttered. Was I the only one who didn't know any French? _I'd have to find someone to teach me._ "You too."

" _Et vous la même_ ," Trevor muttered, already half-lullabied by the sounds of the forest. " _Et vous la même._ It means _you too,_ " he said, replacing the pacifier and hugging himself.

"O-Oh," I said, wrapping my arms around Teddy. " _Et vous la même_ , then. T-Thanks, Trevor. _Et vous la même_."

We fell asleep with visions of babies and Daddies dancing through our heads.

***

I woke to the sound of birds chirping, water rumbling, and Trevor snoring loud enough to wake not just the Seven Dwarfs but Snow White and Sleeping Beauty combined.

"Jesus, Trev," I muttered, throwing the sleeping bag back over my head. "Give it a b-break, already. Keeping me up damn near half the night."

"What's that?" a voice said from outside the tent. I immediately threw off the sleeping bag and tried to identify where the voice came from. Had a stranger showed up in the middle of the night?

Yet my fears were dispelled the minute I saw it was Kyle. Clearly, he'd been up for some time, just doing whatever young boys liked to do by themselves in the woods.

Being careful not to disturb Trevor, I slipped out of the tent and stepped into the clearing. Amazement washed over me. To my left, the trees were damn at least five hundred feet high. Squirrels darted between the trunk, no doubt in search of nuts that wouldn't poison them. The oaks swayed and shivered in the morning breeze.

To my right, my gaze caught a small marsh surrounded by cooing cicadas and cooing doves.

Okay... well, maybe not _doves_. More like cardinals or blue-birds.

You know, whatever you find in beautiful woodland places you stumble into while lost in the woods.

Kyle was standing in the most adorable pair of striped pyjamas and a loose-fitting t-shirt that did little to conceal the thinness of his delicious pale frame. "Good day, sir," he said with a grin wider than the Grand Canyon. For a second, I felt I was going to slip and tumble in.

"Jesus, Kyle," I whispered, surveying the grounds for not the first time. A flock of baby birds soared above me. There wasn't a mosquito in sight. "It's incredible."

"Ehh," Kyle began, shrugging for effect. "I mean, sort of. If you will it into existence. But you know what's really incredible?"

I shrugged. What could be more amazing than this? No Ms. Molly, no gross smells or asbestos. Clean, fresh air and beautiful trees as far as the eye could see.

"This fucking coffee," he said, laughing. From behind his back, he produced a tin mug of steaming coffee.

My jaw dropped. "I-It's... warm?"

Kyle nodded and motioned me over. When I reached him, I was shocked to see that, just behind his supple, angular frame that I'd pretended had been the man of my dreams last night, there burned a humble fire, surrounded by rocks to keep it from tearing down the woods with its flame.

"Holy shit," I gasped, bringing my hands to my mouth. "Y-You made a fire?"

"That's not all," Kyle said, handing me the coffee. He produced a small platter of fish. "Look," he said, pointing to the plate. "Fresh."

"How the hell did you—"

Kyle shushed me and spun me around. My jaw dropped. Behind a row of ferns sat the most sparkling pond I'd seen in my life. Behind the water, evergreens and spruces rose to the sky. It was almost like the towering trees were protecting it, keeping it safe from outside forces. Vaguely, it reminded me of the way the ancients — I'd read this in a book about ancient Rome Martha's husband had laying around — used to draw an imaginary, holy line around their city to keep out evil forces. If I remembered correctly, the line was called a _pomerium_ , and anyone who crossed it without permission, like an enemy militia, were immediately thrown in prison or killed. The trees surrounding the glistening pond were what the _pomerium_ , or sacred boundary line, was to ancient Rome. I wanted to ask Kyle if he'd had permission to draw fish from the lake, but I knew the second I smelled the delicious breakfast that we were more than welcome. We weren't doing harm to the lake, but treating its resources with respect, like the Natives. Perhaps, thousands of years ago, this had even been one of their most cherished lakes — but we will never know.

"Taste, Blakely," Kyle ordered, bringing the fish to my mouth. I grinned and took a bite. Jesus, it was good. In fact it was so good that I helped myself to another bite. And then another. And then one more, and one more after that until I'd practically stuffed the entire fish, bones and all, in my tummy.

"So good," I groaned, licking my lips. I felt like Huck Finn or Tom Sawyer, living off the land.

"Well," Kyle said, "that's all you get. As soon as Trevor gets up, we're heading forward."

Something dark shot across my gut. "Forward?"

"Forward," Kyle echoed, washing his hands in a small stream that was flowing behind the fire.

My heart had been torn from my chest. "W-What do you mean, forward? W-Why can't we stop here?"

"Blakely," Kyle said, measuring his words carefully, "we're not even two miles from the road."

I wanted to scream. "Only two miles?"

"That's it," Kyle said, shrugging. "This is still state land. Technically, we shouldn't even be here without a permit. We need to get far enough away so that it's no longer state territory."

"Oh, my God," I said, unable to shake the unease. I took a sip of the warm coffee but it only made me more nervous. "H-How much longer... you know, how much farther do we have to go?"

Kyle sighed and pulled a map from his backpack. "Erm," he began, deciding how to break the news, "at least twenty more miles."

I raised my hands in protest.

But Kyle silenced me. "Please," he said, shaking his head. "It's going to be okay, Blakely. We'll be there before we know it. We'll have plenty of food."

"B-But there's plenty of food here," I said, guesting at the lake. "I-If we run out, what will we do?"

"We're not going to run out."

"But if we do?"

"Then maybe we should have thought of that before we left," Kyle snapped, folding the map and replacing it in his backpack. "I'm sorry, Blakely. We don't have much of a choice."

"Motherfucker," I whispered, my voice husky. I wasn't calling Kyle a motherfucker. It was the entire situation.

Because the truth was that there was a _real_ chance we'd run out of food. We had peaches, strawberries, some peanut butter and bread, and not much else. If anything happened, we would totally die. Like, it wasn't an option. We would absolutely die if anything happened to our food.

The atmosphere shifted. I walked to the tent, my eyes burning. "Trevor," I called out, tapping the fabric. "Trev, it's time to wake up. Okay? We have to get a move-on, Trev."

Trevor didn't stir.

"Trev," I growled, panic gripping my voice. "We need to go _now_."

Kyle suddenly appeared behind me. "Look, Blakely," he said, sighing loudly. "We don't have to leave right this second, alright? Everything is going to be fine. Trevor can sleep a little longer."

I moved to speak. But before I could, Trevor's head suddenly burst through the tent door. "Jeez," he said, "it's only been a day, guys. Are we already getting cabin fever?"

Kyle groaned and ruffled his hair. I tried my best to calm myself and took another gulp of coffee.

Trevor pulled himself out of the tent. We ate more fish and packed some for the journey. The sun was shining brightly when we finally left the clearing. I packed up the tent and Trevor hoisted it over his shoulder. I took one last glance at the clearing, knowing full well it might be the last time I ever saw it.

Kyle and Trevor started down the path. I steadied myself against an oak and tried to clear my mind. "It's okay, Blakely," I whispered, forcing the words out of me. "You heard what Kyle said. You're not going to run out of food, like at the shelter. You have so much to eat and friends who love you. F-For God's sake, you pussy — they're not going to let you down."

I turned and rejoined my friends on the path. By the time dusk fell, I'd given up on any hope of finding our land.

***

Three days later, we'd run out of not only food but hope for any semblance of our new life. We'd eaten the peaches, strawberries, and fish the second night, and we were so hungry we'd even dived into the cans of tuna, which we'd gotten from the mysterious farmers' market man before we left.

The same cans of tuna that we promised we would leave for emergencies only.

_This was not going to plan._

I sighed and began to set up the tent. We'd been walking all day and, in Kyle's understandably faulty estimation, weren't any closer to where we needed to be. We were still on state land; we didn't know where the exact boundary lines were but we knew we needed to get into the territory that was neither the United States or Canada. The spot in between.

I was beginning to think it didn't exist.

I threw the rain tarp over the tent and began hammering the stakes into the ground. The clouds that had been so freaking bad just two days ago were back. We'd only have a bit before the rain started pouring down.

But that did little to stave off the hunger pains shooting through my tummy. "Trevor," I said, struggling to attach the rain tarp. "H- How much longer until the fish is ready?" My stomach was screaming for food.

Trevor glanced up from the ground and stared at me. "Fish?" he whispered, his voice dejected.

"Fish," I repeated, staring at him. I stopped attaching the rain tarp and looked him in the eye. Did he not understand what I said?

"Blakely," he began, "we ran out of fish yesterday. There's... well, there's not much left. I mean," he said, gesturing to the backpack, "we still have like a handful of strawberries, but they're starting to go bad."

"That's it?"

"That's it," he whispered, poking his backpack with his walking stick.

I open my mouth to respond. Who the hell had been eating our food? I was about to remind Kyle that we were on a _strict_ ration system at least until we got the crops planted. Which, at this rate, could be another three months away. And the squirrels hadn't exactly helped us forage for wild nuts and berries. I'd followed a chipmunk to a clearing the day before in hopes of finding edible food but he was only returning to his family. And I wasn't about to eat the chipmunk... though Teddy might.

I opened my mouth to scream at Kyle. Before I could speak, a wave of nausea washed over me and sent me flying. This sky trembled. The ground spun. Two seconds later, I was spinning and floating through the air.

When I next opened my eyes, Kyle was standing over me, thrusting into my chest like he was giving me CPR.

"Jesus Christ, Blakely," he shouted, shaking my shoulders. "What the fuck?"

I brought my hands to my throat. It felt like I'd fallen asleep in the middle of the forest and had enjoyed a most restful afternoon. In my mind, I'd flown through fairy tale kingdoms in which trembling boys were rescued by Shawn Mendes-like princes who carted them off to their castles by the sea.

Except I was still very much in the woods. Worse, the sky was three shades darker than before; I'd been asleep for hours.

Oh, God. Had I passed out?

"Blakely," Trevor whispered, his voice frantic. Overhead, lighting shot across the sky. "Blakely, are you okay? Please tell me you'll be okay."

I gazed at my friends like they were out of another dimension. Around us, thunder cracked and shook the trees.

"What happened?" I whispered, staring at the forest. Vociferous trees and pines loomed in the distance, threatening to knock our little tent down and crush us.

"You fainted," Trevor whispered, lifting me to my feet. He led me to the tent and brought me inside, where he quickly handed me his only sweater and thrust it over my head.

"Like, I passed out?" I asked, forcing my arms into the sweater. My eyes burned.

"Yeah," he muttered, nodding slowly.

I gasped. The tent floor swum beneath me.

Kyle suddenly reappeared in front of the tent. "That's it," he growled, throwing Trevor's backpack into the tent. "We're heading back, Trev. We can't let Blakely starve."

"Like... where, exactly?" Trevor asked, glancing at me.

"To civilization, you idiot," Kyle whispered. His voice sounded guttural and raspy like it was coming through a tube. But I knew his anger was an ill-fitting mask for terror and pain.

Something suddenly washed over me. "Uhm," I began, staring at Kyle. "E-Excuse me?"

Kyle glanced at me like I was a ghost. Maybe I was one.

"Blakely," Trevor began, "Kyle is only saying that we need to go back for help. You passed out for forty-five minutes. We thought you were dead."

Terror gripped me. "N-No," I stammered, my eyes frantic. "I'm not going anywhere!"

Kyle exhaled and slipped into the tent. He zipped up the opening behind him. "Blakely," he said sternly, turning to face me. "You almost died. We're going back."

I wanted to scream. Though I'd been ready to throw in the towel just two days ago, we'd come too far to go back. My friends _promised_ me they'd see it through. It wasn't an option to return to Safe Boys with Ms. Molly or the homeless shelter with old men who wanted to touch me when we had a life, a world, a vision.

We were going to beat the statistics. If we went back, we were numbers and nothing more.

"I'm not going anywhere," I whispered, clenching my fists. Tears stung my eyes and slipped down my cheeks. "Y-You promised me we'd make a life for ourselves. W-We can't go back."

"You _passed_ _out_ , Blakely," Kyle growled, throwing the backpack to the ground. Something broke and spilled out. _The honey._

"I-I'm not going anywhere," I whispered, wiping tears from my eyes.

Kyle pivoted and stared at me. Wind howled and whipped the roof of the tent like it would blow it away. "Fine," he said in a measured voice, "then _we'll_ go back. Okay?"

"A-And leave me?"

"Yes."

Trevor cut in. "Only for two days, Blakely," he muttered, rubbing my shoulder. I threw off his hand. "We talked about it while you were passed out. Just to the fish pond. We'll bring back fish and good things so you won't faint ever again."

I glared at my friends. "I-I thought we would plant our garden," I whispered, "a-and start our life in the woods."

Trevor eyed Kyle cautiously. But Kyle threw the backpack over his shoulder and exited the tent. "It's time to go."

Trevor followed. "We'll be back tomorrow, Blakely," he whispered, not able to look me in the eye. "Please don't be scared. Just stay here and we'll be back in the morning."

Thunder cracked and shook the forest full of ghouls and scary things.

I said nothing.

"We'll be back," Kyle shouted, grabbing Trevor's wrist and exiting the clearing. "Please don't leave the tent, Blakely. Stay here until the morning."

"O-Okay," I whispered, hugging Teddy. A bolt of lighting shot across the sky.

Then my friends turned and left me forever.

## 2

# Blushing Blakely

Turn to the next page for your FREE excerpt from Laurie's upcoming novel _Blushing Blakely_.

## 3

# Blushing Blakely

**BLAKELY**

"Goddamnit," I whispered, fastening the rain cover to the roof of the tent. If the thunder was any indication, the downpour would start any minute. The last thing I needed was to get wet my first night alone in the North woods.

Thunder cracked overhead. "O-Oh, God," I moaned, throwing the tarp over the tent roof and wiping excess sweat from my neck. I tied the strings to the stakes and brushed a leaf from the dark-blue fabric. After wiping my hands on my pants, I leapt into the tent and covered my eyes.

_Jesus, Blakely. Why the hell did you let Kyle and Trevor talk you into this? They were supposed to be your friends. They promised to stick with you and they disappeared like everyone else._

I bit my lip and burrowed as far into the sleeping bag as I could. "Kyle was right," I whispered, clutching Teddy to my chest. "I-I should have gone back the second we ran out of food." Now that my best friends were gone, the stuffed bear my mother had given me before she died was all I had.

_They just had to abandon me._

_On my birthday._

_In the middle of the woods._

Thunder roared and shook the tent. "It's okay," I whispered, burrowing into Teddy's fur as lightning shot across the pitch-black sky, illuminating a world that wanted me dead.

_Try to get some sleep, Blakely. When you wake in the morning, the storm will be gone. You'll find berries and wild fruit like the YouTube videos promised. Follow the squirrels, and you'll be fine._

I wrapped Teddy around my chest. Okay, Teddy. I'll do my best. But if Kyle and Trevor don't come back tomorrow, we're both as good as dead.

***

_Grrr._

My eyes snapped open. I couldn't have been out for more than five seconds. Yet the rain flying down against the tent made it feel like I'd slept through the night.

"N-No," I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut like I sometimes did at Safe Boys, the community home where I'd lived until three nights ago when they kicked me out, to make strangers disappear. But that did nothing. The lighting flashing across the sky like blood vessels wasn't going anywhere.

I shrunk into my sleeping bag and clutched Teddy. Rain trickled through the roof and slipped down the tent poles.

_Thanks, Mr. Rain Cover. You had one fucking job._

"I-I need help," I whispered, wiping a tear from my eye. I inched backwards into the tent wall.

Yet before I pressed against it, something suddenly growled.

_Grrr._

"Kyle?" I yelped, leaping from the sleeping back. My head slammed into the top of the tent, causing an explosion of ice-cold water to shoot across my head and trembling shoulders.

_GRRRR._

I screamed. "W-We need to go, Teddy," I cried, grabbing my backpack and stuffed bear. I threw open the doors of the tent and burst into the rain.

_Run Blakely. Go fast or you'll never make it out alive._

I ran until my lungs bled. I passed looming trees and branches that wanted to slit my throat. At last I stumbled across a small clearing that tall pines protected from the downpour. "In here," I cried to Teddy, sprinting into the circle of pines.

Yet without warning, something grabbed my leg and sent my flying to the ground.

I slammed onto the ground, clutching air. "C-Come on," I whispered in a raspy voice, clawing my ankle. The root had drawn blood. The thorns had torn my rocketship pyjamas.

I wrapped my arms around my knees and tried to block out the night. _Focus, Blakely. You need to reign it in._

But it was impossible. Above the canopy, wind howled like it wanted to tear me apart. Through swirling mist, moonlight trickled into the black forest and illuminated a world of tombstones.

It was hopeless. There would be no berries like the videos had promised. In the storm, I hadn't spotted a single bird that could tell me which wild mushrooms were safe to eat and which weren't. There wasn't even a squirrel to let me know where to find acorns I could grind together to make fire-cooked bread to survive.

"I-If only someone could save me," I whispered, burying into my hands. Why the hell did I think Emerson Lane, the man who'd inspired me to break away from the shelter in the first place, the same man who was rumoured to have an enormous cabin in the North woods, would rescue me? Talk about naïveté.

I was utterly alone.

Better just burrow under a tree root and be done with it. Dig a hole and be done with it.

Except out of the corner of my eye, something flickered.

_Oh, my God. It was a house._

* * *

**EMERSON**

"Jesus," I grunted, pulling the bottle of Crown Royal from the locked cupboard and pouring a glass. Two ice cubes, straight to the rim. I sniffed the liquor and immediately relaxed.

After setting the glass on the coffee table, I collapsed into the plush folds of the sofa and groaned.

Another lonely night in the Lane mansion.

"Fuck it," I whispered, tossing back the whisky and closing my eyes. The room swum before me like I'd had six glasses of whisky instead of five.

Oh, wait. I _did_ have six. Two in the morning, one for lunch, three for dinner.

Growling, I stumbled to the hand-carved fireplace and threw another birch log into the simmering fire. A fistful of sparks danced across the carpet. Tulip, the grey cat I'd adopted with Jamie, my ex-husband who was presently trying to extort me for a cool two hundred million dollars, leapt from the floor and buried herself in my lap.

Even Tulip was afraid of the storm.

"You're a lucky one, Ms. Tulip," I murmured, stroking her fur and sinking into the sofa. "In another life, you could very easily be out there."

The oblivious cat pawed at my pyjamas as if she hadn't heard a word of my two-bit monologue. Her life of wanton privilege prevented her from seeing past the Monet sketches on the walls.

But not me. I was lucky and knew it. For God's sake, I was not only rich beyond my wildest dreams but the most eligible gay bachelor in all of Minnesota. Men practically barged into my old living room on Lake Bde Maka Ska begging for sex, which was probably one of the reasons I'd constructed the McMansion in the North woods in the first place.

Life changes fast. At thirteen, the blinding lights from the seedy nightclub next to the homeless shelter had prevented me from finishing homework. Now the only light I knew was the supple firelight that sent waves of marble red throughout the palatial living room, giving to my Yale MBA plaque a curious air of regenerated life.

Yeah, you read that right. _Yale._

I sighed and scrubbed the McMansion from my mind. Modelled on the French Chateaus of the late-sixteenth century, the one-of-a-kind home situated within the Northern Minnesotan forest and turquoise lakes made it one of the crown jewels of Midwestern design. Architectural Digest had done not one but two profiles on the sprawling, eight-bedroom estate with matching dramatic staircases and over-the-top crystal chandeliers done in the style of Francis I.

In other words, Kylie Jenner's Cape Cod mega-mansion in the Hollywood Hills had nothing on my pad.

Yet it wasn't going to be mine much longer. Since I'd kicked Jamie out a year, the impeccable vista only reminded me of him. Roberta Sail, who left not two hours ago, wasn't the first real estate agent I'd had out to survey the lot.

"Nineteen," she'd said, nodding confidently as if she herself had thirty-five million dollars to buy the home. "In this market, it may go for twenty."

"Hold out for twenty-five," I'd said, shrugging. But I didn't press it. I wasn't about to start an argument over five mil. I wanted to sell the place. Leave the tennis court and curdled memories of better times behind.

I sipped the melting whisky-ice and buried my face in my hands. The floor swum. Not even the imported Canadian booze could get my mind off Jamie, my former-pop singer ex-husband who was presently trying to extort me for two-hundred million dollars.

I thought he'd been a delicate angel. His innocent eyes and bashful smile had captured in real-time the breathing of my heart. "Jamie Carter?" I'd gasped when my assistant had set up the date. _The_ Jamie Carter? The boy-band star whose singles racked up tens of millions of Spotify streams? She'd nodded, smiling mischievously. Hounded by Hollywood paparazzis and gorgeous boy fans, I'd been lucky he'd given me a second glance.

Little did I know he was Lucifer in disguise.

Because Jamie loved fast and lived faster. At the beginning, he'd tempered his wild side for me. Yet after two years of constant fighting, he'd gotten back into the party scene without a second glance. He popped pills with Demi Lovato and did coke with Amanda Bynes. By the end, he was so worn out he barely left the house. What I had to offer — security, protection — couldn't hold a flame to L.A. and the life that went with it.

Jamie was also into baby things.

This, I hadn't known at first. I'd never even _considered_ it before Jamie. "Daddy," he'd sometimes say, crawling to me with a teddy bear and a heart full of love. "Jamie needs _pwotection_ , Daddy."

"Has Jamie been a good boy?"

" _Vewy_ good, Daddy."

I'd throw down whatever I was doing — work, chess, a Nabokov novel — and swing him into my arms. "You're safe, little one," I'd whisper, stroking his balding hair and kissing him in the misty light. "Jamie doesn't ever have to worry again. Daddy's got him. Jamie's safe with Daddy."

Though Jamie had been safe with Daddy, Daddy's heart had been anything but. One Sunday morning, right after I'd made the Starbucks light roast he adored above all and was bringing it to his room to surprise him — and also to try to convince him to go to rehab for the hundredth time — I walked in on Jamie fucking the housekeeper. My heart stopped. I quickly turned around and high-tailed it to the kitchen, where neither Jamie or Javier could see me weep. My hands shook, my head throbbed.

I'd spent the rest of the morning shell-shocked like one of those soldiers whose seen a close friend die in war and who can't return to civilian life. Sometimes around noon, Jamie wandered out waiting for me to change him. " _Daddy_ ," he'd said, pointing to the adult diaper he wore around the house and in bed like he didn't have a clue I'd seen _everything_. "Jamie needs to be—"

"No," I'd whispered, staring at him. Staring at the little one who'd broken my heart. Staring in horror at the boy who, not an hour ago, had been taking our Venezuelan housekeeper's cock up his ass without second thought.

While sucking on his paci.

Which was supposed to be _our_ thing.

I saw red. "Get your shit, Jamie," I said, "you've gotta go."

He threw a fit. Which was understandable. And also incredibly predictable. "Emerson," he'd begged, "I-It wasn't my choice. J-Javier cornered me. If I hadn't given in, he would've—"

I'd raised my hand. In other words, I was basically telling him -- _I'm not buying your shit, Jamie. You've lied to me since day one. Suck on all the pacis you want. Your attempts to melt my heart are futile. I'm reneging on our prenup and leaving you with nothing. You're a cheater, my love. Get your shit and be gone._

"Storm is really coming down," I whispered, fingering the whisky. Pour another drink, then another. Anything to get my mind off Jamie. Sweet Jamie, with skin like cream.

Skin like cream, soul like rotten milk.

I grabbed the poker and stirred the flames. My Columbia MBA certificate was tilting slightly to the left. I straightened it and returned to the bar.

Yet I didn't even have a chance to refill the glass before a knock at the door sent me cold.

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED...

## 4

# AVAILABLE FOR PRE-ORDER ON AMAZON

_Blushing Blakely_ is slated for release April 30th. The following two books in the _Safe Boys_ series will drop in May and June.

* * *

Click HERE to pre-order!

## 5

# About the Author

Laurie Lochs is a writer based in the Midwest. He loves MM romance and is a total KU junkie. He's currently finishing and editing his latest series, _Safe Boys_ , which follow foster-care rejects Blakely, Kyle and Trevor on their journeys of true love. Every book in the series has age play, light ABDL, age gaps and sweet passion between growing boys and their Daddies.
