Humphrey had taken up prostitution as a profession. No one suspected a thing. Every day, after his daily activities, he would head back to the motel and along the way, there was someone with full pockets waiting to jump his bones. Being quite the special snowflake, he had many attributes that made him a magnet; he was mulatto, he was a ginger with a light orange hair rather than dark orange or red, he had perfectly placed freckles, he had heterochromia that seemed to be perfectly painted around his pupils, he had a round buttocks, he was slender, and he was a bit under the average height for an eighteen year-old. He and a stranger would go into his motel room, and an hour or two later, he would walk back out. Humphrey, after counting his money, would take a shower and lie down on the bed, watching old sitcoms in nothing but his socks, hugging his pillow tightly. His frown had become an emotionless demeanor, which his nightly customers had failed to notice. Humphrey realized that he was living through a cliché. His ignorant Catholic parents hit him and kicked him out for being gay. He had to become a prostitute to get by. And what guardian angel would help him when he or she sees the same thing every day?
He was not cheap; he would charge around $150 per hour. By his last day in the motel over two weeks later, which was a blistering Thursday, he had made around $2,750 after motel, clothes, and miscellaneous expenses, those miscellaneous expenses being nudie mags, oatmeal, and milk. He only had one outfit of formal clothing, so he had to buy new clothes. Without his parents around, he was able to buy them as mainstream or as skimpy as his heart desired. When 12:00 rolled around, he packed his suitcase, showered, watched the 12:30 news, and put on an outfit, which was a pair of denim short shorts and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, as well as a pair of black sandals. The reason for this outfit was that he was invited to a graduation rave by one of his classmates before the end of the school year. Of course, when he had gone down to the lobby to check out, almost everyone was staring at his backside in those shorts. He rolled his eyes and left.
From Toronto he planned to go to Quebec City. His friend, Jacob, wanted to take him in, but his father was a close friend of Humphrey's father and would not allow it. Humphrey left his suitcase in a storage locker at Union Station. He would have to return to catch a train anyway. By the time he left, it was 6:00 PM. Time to meet up with Jacob and Wendy, who were waiting at their usual hangout, an old diner near the station. Of course, Humphrey was the center of attention, with people staring not out of perversion, but out of curiosity at his ability to pull off short shorts so well. So he had Jacob walk behind him in a way that hid his bottom. The three arrived by 5:42 at a formerly-abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. The building was literally bouncing with flashing light, a slight fog, and incredibly loud music. They split up literally five seconds after entering. Wendy went to dance with her crush and get drunk. Jacob made out with two girls who were high on ecstasy. Humphrey got into a drinking contest with Elijah, the former quarterback of the football team, and he wasn't exactly sure how. He was that he gave up before he was too hammered to know what was going on. He headed over to Wendy, slightly stumbling and swaying. Through the screaming of the crowd, the thundering dubstep, the fog, the flashing lights, and the slight blurriness of his vision, he could see Wendy being taken out of the warehouse by the guy she was dancing with and his friends. She obviously was not within her wits, because she had put up no resistance as they dragged her by the wrists with her feet moving out of pace.
He headed outside to find the six men circled around her. She was bouncing off of and stumbling into them with her eyes slightly shut.
"Hey!" Humphrey called out. They turned to him, some with smirks, some with scowls. "Didja--did you put som'in in her drink?"
One of them, a burly blonde, laughed and said, "******** off." They all turned back to Wendy.
"Hey! I said did ya' drug her!"
Another, a baseball jock with ebony skin, said "No, kid, ******** off!", despite them being around the same age.
Humphrey peered at them and called out, "Hey, Scissors! You okay!?". No response. "So you did drug 'er..."
Another turned to him. "The ******** are you--"
"Scissors is 'er nickname! If she knew what was goin' on, she would'a answered!"
The blonde looked at his friends and snickered. "We said ******** off. Don't make us have to whip your a**, ******** shrimp!'
Humphrey approached him. "Wendy's coming wif' me, jackass."
"The hell did you just call me?" He said, puffing his chest out slightly, putting an intimidating look, and invading Humphrey's personal space.
"Hey, back off, it's not my problem yer d**k's the size of a golf pencil!" Humphrey remarked with a smirk.
This caused the blonde to throw a mother of a punch, which, after it connected with Humphrey's face, sent him flying about a few feet back. The rest of the men laughed. That is, until Humphrey sat back up and said:
"Are you done?"
His opponent then kicked him in the chest and sent him even further back. Again:
"Are you done?"
Humphrey got up, dusted himself off, and wiped the blood from his nose. He remained motionless when another man approached him. This one threw two punches and a kick, which Humphrey dodged with two tilts of his head and a shift to the side. The moment when this jock was kicking was the perfect opportunity, so Humphrey grabbed his ankle and threw him into the gate to their side. Two of the others charged, so Humphrey dropped to his back, lifted himself up on his hands and kicked them both in the stomach before sweep-kicking them as they doubled over in pain.
"...Damn..." Said one of the remaining three.
"I'm jus' as s'prised as you are." Humphrey said, laughing. He then struck a sloppy Kung Fu pose, and, due to his feat of strength which shouldn't have existed in his small body, they grabbed their friends and backed away. Humphrey did a fist pump, grabbed Wendy by the wrist, and pulled her inside to Jacob, who was in the former employee break room, cooling his manhood with an ice pack.
"The hell happened t' you?" Humphrey asked.
"One of the girls wasn't as high as I thought. I tried to have a little feel and she kicked me in the nuts." Jacob replied with a slight groan.
"Hey, can you watch Wendy? I think I should go."
"Are you sober enough to get to the station by yourself?"
"Yeah, yeah, I think I can see straight now."
"You think or do you know?"
Humphrey shaked his head and replied, "I know."
"Alright, best of luck, bro. We'll miss you. Call us when you get to Quebec City!"
"I will, I will." Humphrey said, now able to walk in more of a straight line.
Twenty minutes later, around 11:00, he had almost arrived at the train station. He stopped to lean against a wall and rest for a bit. His rest was cut short when his original client, Zeke, tapped on his shoulder. Humphrey was a bit surprised, but too tired to care.
"What do you want?" He said, groaning.
"I saw you weren't at the motel anymore, so your neighbors told me you'd be coming here. I want another night with that sweet a** of yours." The man said, smiling and wrapping his arm around Humphrey's back, which he responded to by pushing away immediately.
"Whoa, I'm not selling myself anymore, man. Look, I've really gotta--" As Humphrey began to turn and walk away, Zeke grabbed his wrist and pulled him back.
"Come on, I'll pay you double."
"I said no!" Humphrey tried to pull away, but despite the scrawny build of this man, he had an incredible grip. "Let go!"
"Now look, if you're not gonna spread your legs on your own, we're gonna have a problem." Zeke said in a more stern tone.
"I said let me go! Help!" Humphrey called out to no one. It was an empty backstreet, it was certain that he couldn't be heard. In a panic, he headbutted Zeke's nose when he wrapped his arm around Humphrey's neck. Zeke wiped the blood away from his nose and muttered, "You little slut." He grabbed Humphrey and pulled him into the nearest alley.
"Wait! Please! I'll give you whatever you want, just let me go!" Humphrey pleaded.
"I want you." Zeke whispered as he tried to force his tongue into Humphrey's mouth, while Humphrey kept his teeth clenched. He desperately struggled against his force, and began to kick and flail when Zeke pulled down his shorts. Humphrey shut his eyes and cried for help one last time, and interrupting Zeke was a set of fingers wrapping across the back of his head and slamming it into the brick wall. Before he could even look back up, the assailant grabbed his arm and snapped it over his knee at the elbow. Then came a sweep kick and a stomp to the gut. Zeke scurried out of the alley and ran onto the street, whimpering.
When Humphrey opened his eyes and looked up, above him was a man, half-a-foot or so taller than him. This man's skin was a tan color, much like his, only a bit more golden. A scar ran down his right eye. He wore a green jacket with a fur trim, despite the heat, blue jeans, and black boots. Stubble ran from ear to ear. His piercing eyes were a brown nearing black. His brown hair was slicked back, with a lock hanging over his forehead. In his mouth was a freshly lit cigarette.
"Are you hurt?" He asked in a soft baritone voice with a hint of a Spanish accent.
"No, I'm fine. A few scratches, here and there, but--" Humphrey was interrupted when the man kneeled down and pulled his shorts back up, to which he replied with a blush. "Er... thanks..."
"Where are you going? I shall escort you so that no one else will bother you." The man offered.
"Oh, well I'm just going to the train station down there." Humphrey looked out at the empty street. "You really gave that guy the business, didn't you? Where did you learn to kick a** like that?"
"It's best not to ask a stranger personal questions."
Humphrey pouted. "What about a gentleman?"
"...Let's go." The man replied.
The two headed a few blocks over to the train station, and as they arrived, the man asked, "So, where are you headed?"
"It's best not to ask a stranger personal questions." Humphrey said with a smirk. The man puffed a cloud of smoke into the air.
"I had to come to the train station anyway. I'm going to Quebec City."
"Oh, what a coincidence! What's your business?"
Humphrey sighed. "I don't know. I can't go back home. I guess I'll start over there."
"Where will you live?"
"I don't know."
"What will you do?"
"I don't know."
The man scratched his chin. "Hmm... I'm heading there to settle into my new house. My acquaintances set the place up already, so I just need to head over. Hey, do you want to live with me for a while until you can get back on your feet?"
"You're inviting someone you just met to live with you?"
The man nodded.
"I like you. What did you say your name was?"
"I didn't. I am Victor Villalobos, 24 years old, your new roommate." Victor said.
"Humphrey. Humphrey Princeton. Thanks."
"Heh. Who knows. Maybe I'll be the next one to drop those shorts." Victor said, winking. This caused an instant blush from Humphrey and a crooked expression.
Victor began to try to calm him down as they headed inside.
The Clawed Chaperone
A 19 year-old Mulatto hooker + A 24 year-old Nicaraguan ex-cartel elite, both living in Toronto. What do you get when you add love to the equation? An all out war aganst the world's largest cartel, that's what.