Be Somewhere

Ricky stayed in the doorway while his father climbed into the bed. It had been seven years since he had last been here. Seven years since he had last stood in this very doorway awaiting the signal to climb into bed. He shuddered at the memory of it.

”Why don't you climb into bed, honey?” He had whispered in an attempt to seduce, “We can just cuddle if you want, I know you like that part at least. You'll like the other stuff when you get older.”

Ricky hadn't budged from the doorway. He had just stood there as still as a statue until his father had climbed back out of the bed and made a threatening advance toward him. Then he had turned and fled down the stairs, screaming bloody murder all the while. He had ran as far and as fast as he could possibly with his small legs. Through the fields surrounding the house; through the orange groves that his father couldn't drive through if his life depended on it.

He had made it as far as the next house on the lane and had banged on the door insistently. Jackie, Scott's wife, had opened the door to find her neighbor's little boy streaked with tears and mud. She picked him up and carried him into the house and called his father.

When he arrived Ricky ran off screaming down the hallway and into the backyard where Jackie caught up with him again.

“What is the matter with you today?”

“Please don't make me go with him, I'll do anything,” he whimpered, “Please...”

Ricky never knew what made Jackie do it, the whimpers, the tears, or an undefinable something else, but she called the police. The last memory of his father's face that Ricky had was him being taken away in a police car with the sirens blaring. It was a decision he had come to regret.

“Ricky honey, why don't you climb into bed?” Ricky didn't move from his post at the door, and his father didn't get up from the bed. The tension from the car settled back over them and Ricky didn't bother to reply. He walked over to the bed as quietly as he could and just simply stared at the man who he had grown to fear more in his absence than he ever had in his presence.

He placed himself at the edge of the bed, as far from his father as possible; something that didn't go unobserved by his father.

“Why don't you move a little closer. honey? We can cuddle while we talk.” Ricky shook his head exuberantly. “Why don't you start off the conversation then?” Once again, Ricky's hair flailed about as he shook his head violently.

Why didn't he run away like he had when he was seven? Jackie still lived in that old house down the lane. He could have made it, probably. And even if his father did make it there before him, what would have been different from the time before? He would scream bloody murder and Jackie would call the police again.

But He didn't. Couldn't.

He slid a bit closer to his father, but he was still out of reach; a fact that was obviously getting on his father's nerves by the was he kept shifting around. He tried to speak but the words died in his throat.

“I don't like this room.”

“What do you mean you don't like it?”

“It's mint green... its awful.”

“Would you rather we go to a different room in the house?”

“Sky blue or pastel pink? Don't make me gag.”

“What colour would you like then?”

“Red, blood red.”

“I'll try to keep that in mind for next time.” Ricky slid farther back but his father had ben inching forward during their talk. He grabbed Ricky's foot and pulled him closer again. Their faces were now inches apart and Ricky could smell his breath. He tried to place the smell, it was vanilla and cinnamon. His father had been drinking coffee at some point in the near past.

Ricky hadn't noticed his father's hand inching up from his ankle slowly. It hit mid thigh and Ricky shrieked in surprise. He jumped and gave his father the opportunity he had been waiting for. Ricky had let go of the middle he had been clutching and his father took this opportunity to slide his arms around Ricky's midsection.

Ricky felt himself slide onto his fathers lap where he began to kick and scream instantly. The arms weren't removed from him; if anything they tightened their grip until Ricky couldn't breathe. He slowly but surely gave up the struggle and finally lay calm with his father.

“See kitten, this isn't so bad, is it?” His father purred in his ear causing his entire body to tense up. He felt one of his fathers hands travel down over his stomach and to his groin. Ricky bit down as hard as he could on his lip to keep from crying. “Calm down Kitty-cat, you're way too tense,” he murmured.

Ricky wasn't sure how he managed it; but he bit down even harder when his fathers other hand slid down his backside and started prodding him. Ricky wasn't sure how exactly his father had managed to turn him around so quickly; but he found himself straddling his fathers waist in a heart beat.

His heartbeat, he noticed, was coming quicker than it would normally. And his breathing was slow and uneven.

One... Two... Three... Four... Five... Six... Seven... Eight...

His father still had one arm wrapped a little too tightly around him; constricting his airways. The lack of oxygen was exhausting him and he seemed like a limp and lifeless doll. The vision in the corners of his eyes was blacking out and any remaining sight he had was a blurred, distorted mess.

“If I stop squeezing you so tight, are we going to have problems?”

Ricky couldn't bring himself to shake his head. His tongue had gone numb with the rest of his body and he couldn't muster the words to reply. He knew that his father would relieve some of the pressure soon anyway. He wanted him conscience, and he wanted him fighting.

The only problem he had had with the earlier struggle was that he wasn't winning.

Ricky tried to block out what was happening; he tried to calm himself and breathe evenly, but he could still feel every single movement his father made. The arm that had travelled down to his crotch started to move, and the one that was draped around his backside podded his entrance once again. When he shifted from the discomfort, he felt it the instant his father became hard.

He bit onto his upper lip until he could feel the steady drip of iron as it fell onto his tongue. He could feel his father's body tense when he didn't respond to the stimulation. Even though he was being rubbed constantly through his denim jeans; he wasn't aroused in the slightest. Normally, if the body is being stimulated it will react, even if in the victim's mind they aren't a willing participant.

Ricky didn't feel a thing.

His father flipped him onto his stomach and he groaned in protest. In the past he had just sat on his fathers lap while he had bucked his hips. Ricky whimpered again as he felt a tugging on his jeans. Once his jeans were removed; his legs were spread and Ricky felt an increasing pressure as his father placed some of his weight on him.

The weight was removed for an instant and Ricky didn't dare look back to see what heinous acts his father was committing. He felt his boxers as they slid from his body and he heard their rustling whispers as they were tossed casually to the floor. Ricky was exposed and he hated the feeling of vulnerability that crept into his stomach.

He grimaced when he felt the first finger enter for stretching. From what he understood this was unpleasant under normal circumstances; when it was unwanted it was outright disturbing. A second finger was added and he shifted his body to try and accommodate it; only to find that nothing made this feel any better.

When the third finger was added he started to thrash a little bit. Maybe it was too violently for his fathers taste because it got him a very tight squeeze to the slide. He stayed perfectly still as his father entered the first time. He remained tense and he couldn't imagining anything hurting more.

Even on Richard's worst days, he had never caused so much pain.

How could his own flesh and blood, his father do this to him? He cried silent tears as his father continued with the torturous ritual. And when he pleaded exhaustion and his father left the room, he stayed huddled in the fetal position until long after his stomach cramps had ceases.

He could still feel the breathing on his neck, the cum in his backside; moving. Every thrust his father had performed would be forever ingrained in his mind.

His sleep was so fitful that it might as well have been non existent. Every noise or movement from anywhere in the house would drive him into a panicked frenzy, while his father slept on blissfully in the room next to his.