Writing Sample:
~Michael Chang~
Adjectives are frequently descriptive. That is, most often adjectives are used to describe a noun, or distinguish the noun from a group of similar objects. For example, an adjective might describe the color of an object, I read for the tenth time, reading the examples. The red pen, the Blue pen. I roll my eyes, thank you Captain obvious, and skip ahead. "In Spanish, most adjectives change form, depending upon whether the word they modify is masculine or feminine," I mutter aloud half-heartedly.
With I sigh, I set the book aside, blinking tiredly. I hate Spanish, I think petulant. I mean, OK I get it, I understand it's importance; as a second language the majority of Americans speak it, something like seventy-five percent or something like that. As the second most common language next to English, a lot of jobs require it, at least on paper, as a Second language; but Seriously, who in Lima speaks Spanish, except maybe Shue, Really? This is a town whose definition of Culture extends as far as the Taco Bell on third. Well, OK that's a little harsh, there's Figgins, I think he's Indian, or whatever, but I'm pretty sure I heard Ms Salvester make a Jehad reference, though. that doesn't do a lot to justify my defense of them, does it?
With a groan, I sit up, rubbing my stiff neck looking at the clock on the night-stand. "Time for a study break," I announce with vigor as I look at the clock and see that it reads Nine-Thirty Pm in big neon green numbers. I understand Ka-sans insistence that I study, but four hours is really enough. So, I close the textbook, whose thickness causing a quiet thud, and I wince reminded that I've got to carry that around with me all day with seven more like it. I could get a locker, I know, but the problem with getting a Locking is that they tend to end out on the opposite side of the building then where you need to be at a given time, and with just three minutes between classes in such a big school, it all but defeats the purpose of having one - consolidation sucks!
The springs groan as I Heave up off the bed to put the book back in the black, overstuffed backpack resting innocuously in my desk chair. After a few minutes of forcing the book back into it's allotted place in my bag, I abandon it, leaving it protruding slightly from the open Zipper and stretch, working out the resulting kinks from being in a single position for three and a half hours, before heading to the bathroom to relieve myself and shower.
My parents, or rather, my dad works in the early morning, while Mom, who is studying to be an accountant, has classes at the local junior college on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays; so, I don't bother to grab clothes on my way out, because both will be asleep by now.
The water was almost scalding, but I sighed in relief when it hit my surprisingly tense muscles, over cooled skin, and begins filling the bathroom with a heavy steam. I lean my head back, rolling it gently, working out the kinks, and let the water cascade over my face and through my hair as I breathe deeply, inhaling the cleansing steam trapped in the bathroom with me. It feels soft under my palm as all the Gel and product I use washes away, down the drain fallowing the stress and Drama of the day. My eyes drift closed of their own accord, as I loose myself in the rhythm of the water echoing off the bathroom walls, and images of people and places flit across my mind, flowing away like the water washing over me, as my hands continue to roam unbidden: Though my hair, across my neck, over my chest... They continue onward, and I sigh in pleasure, imagining a pale, lithe form, flush against my own, as thin, soft hands glide over my nipples and on to my cock. I bite my lip, failing to contain the quiet moan, a moan that seems entirely to laud to my ears in the echo of the bathroom, as a firm, soft hand strokes me, leisurely.
My pulse quickens, and the air seems to become heavy, nearly suffocating. The pace hastens, and even my breath seems to thunder in my ears as my balls tighten, nearing orgasm and a free hand reaches to grab my balls. A soprano voice moans encouragingly as a skilled tongue massages my ball-sack and my eyes clamp tightly, bracing...
A Bell sounds loudly in my ear and I jump in surprise, eyes snapping open, panting heavily. My hand leaves my cock in an instant, as if electrified. for a brief instant I look around. The water has become rather cool against my skin, and the Red tent to my skin, from the hot water has faded to a dull pink. I reach up and quickly cut the water, bracing myself for the inevitable blast of cold air that assaults me as I step out of the shower. My heart is still pounding a little as I reach for the towel on the rack and wrap it, securely, around my waist, and make my way down the stairs to the front door, taking the steps two at a time, muttering to myself. "Shit, shit, shit..."
I'm rushing, hoping the door-bell didn't wake my mom and dad. "Who could be here at ten-thirty in the evening," I wonder, looking at the clock on the cable box above the TV. Taking a second to collect myself, I open the door. He is standing there on the other side. For a second, I just stand there, looking at him, unsure of what it say. "Kurt?" I ask, thank you again captain Obvious. I fight the smile that threatens to split my face, finding him on my doorstep. I've known Kurt as long as I can remember, I used to protect him from bullies on the school playground; but he seemed to draw away during Middle school and we didn't talk as much, but now with Glee, we've been reconnecting recently; but my smile fades a bit, happiness morphing to worry as I take in his riffled, disheveled appearance. It's quite unlike him, and it's dark, but the street light a couple of yards aware illuminate his face in a faint glow, it sparkles dimly in what I fear are Tear Streaks. "D-do you want to come in." I ask, concern painting my tone. "Are you alright..."
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Another Sample
Aeron Stranton
I have to admit, if only to myself that I'm pretty excited when we - Dad and I - pull up in front of 'Skivvy Collection' - I smirk at the creative if misleading name. The Average person would never be so crass as to openly buy a slave. That's why the Legislation that bought it about was called 'The Cinderella Project' to the public and called them 'Laborer's'. Oh there were still those that protested, calling it a constitutional violation - which it was, but that's the thing about Constitutions. They aren't as iron-clad as people like to believe; they can be changed and amended.
The Cinderella Project - House Bill 9856S-1 passed when I was thirteen, and I admit that I was against the idea myself. It went against everything I was taught was right. You didn't force people into servitude, it was absolutely Barbaric. The more I thought about it though, the more it made sense. The truth of it is that there are people in this world who simply can't take care of themselves. look at all the kids that were in Juvie, the Prison population... The United states along held twenty-five percent and growing of the worlds prison population, most with little success in rehabilitation. Look at all the Mothers living off public assistance, popping out more children just for the money, only to end up in foster care as a farther drain on the system. It's not the kids fault certainly, but why shouldn't we use the resources available? Plus, just because one owned a slave doesn't mean you have to be cruel.
It had become something of a tradition to buy a slave as a companion when you came of age. This has several benefits: it gives a way to... safely direct energies and it teaches responsibility, most important among a host of other benefits including experience. Today is my eighteenth birthday and I admit it, I'm excited at the prospect of a new toy. Dad just chuckles at me as we walk inside.
Dad had called ahead so there was a sales rep and a handler waiting for us just inside the lobby. Being government sanctioned as well as one of the high-end emporiums they were well dressed. The Rep wore an impeccable Men's Black 2 Button Super 120's Slim Fit Side Vented Wool Suit by Ike Behar. The Handler was understandably dressed more casually, but was no less polite when he introduced himself. "Aeron Stranton," I respond in kind after my father Quenten.
It's hard to describe the place; it's a bit like a cross between a corporation and a hospital, Professional and modern, but Antiseptic like a hospital. It's understandable of course, all laborers receive a complete medical check before going to the market. "Just a few questions Mr. Stranton," The Rep says as we walk through to the show room. "Do you prefer Males, or Females?" Males, I tell him honestly. "And Vintage," he asks completely professional.
He's asking me how old I prefer the boy. A decade ago such a question would have been inconceivable, but Laborers are property so it's a nifty little technicality some exploit. I actually consider that for a moment and eye my dad a bit nervously. He pretty much accepts my sexuality, but being conservative I'm not sure how honest I should be. I have to chose someone I'm going to like, and in truth I see nothing wrong with younger boys. In all honesty boys start experimenting early. I was about twelve or thirteen, and as long as they can shoot I see no issue. Hell, time was Girl's were married off as soon as they bled. "Fifteen, seventeen at the oldest," I answer finally.
"If you'll follow me then, we had a selection prepared before hand. "If you dislike them we can have another selection ready in a few minutes."
He led us into a large auditorium style room with maybe 15 boys of all types all in a row; Blonds, brunettes, auburn haired boy's. Some were lithe and lanky, others toned and athletic. They were all on they're knees, heads bowed with their hands clasped behind they're backs. They were clothed, but the fabric was white, thread-bare and see-through so that you could see all their bodies. They wore cheap leather collars with the company logo on them. I take a few minutes to peruse, looking them over. It's a tough choice. There's one in particular, a blond with mid length hair and a tight little fuckable ass. He must sense me because he looks up at me - just for a second - with Dark smoldering eyes; but my breath literally hitches at the Ginger boy near the end. He's thin and pale, but I can see the Muscle tone.
Oh the Choices, the choices....
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