Barefoot Guy

A Night at the Races

Chapter 1

He was a cute kid, early to mid-teens would be my guess, straight black hair that hung just below the shoulders and down into his face. Looked like the front was cut to hang as low as his button nose, he was constantly brushing it to the side; wet or dry; with his hands.

For those of you not familiar with the Outer Banks of North Carolina its miles and miles of miles and miles. Vast stretches of beach where one can be alone or hang out in the touristy spots. This boy must have been a local, he knew where he wanted to be and that was alone with the sand and the sea and his towel and soccer ball.

It was late afternoon; he seemed to be getting ready to leave. He was wrapping up his belongings and heading back to his bike, which was chained to a near by telephone pole. That timing worked perfectly for me. This was going to be easy. I pulled my van up to the siding along the road near his bike, popped open the side door and sat down drinking a soda.

"Hey there, you'd like a soda?" I asked him.

"Na, no thanks. I gotta get going." He said as he loaded up his bike and got ready to unlock it.

"Ah come on, take a minute. It's hot and you've probably got a ways to ride home. One for the road!" and I hand him an open can of soda.

He takes the soda but seeing its open he doesn't take a swig. I haven't drugged it but this was given me the chance to get close enough with grab him from behind around his chest and pull out a pair of cuffs and get his hands locked behind him. He lets out a scream and his legs are kicking wildly. Wearing only flip-flops his feet don't pack much of a punch, one of his flips falls off during his struggles. He's easily dragged into the open door of my van, which gets slammed shut behind him. The miles and miles of miles out here have heard his cries for help, but other then me, no body else has.

I have this gag I made myself; it's great for small size mouths like his. It's made from a practice golf ball; it's got holes in it to allow air through. It looks like a small wiffle baseball. Through the holes at either end I have secured, with the addition of a couple of knots either side, a leather shoe lace. A quick stop at a local mega-mart and you've got yourself an effective gag. It fits behind the front teeth into the mouth. Keeps his tongue pressed down and his mouth open.

It takes me a bit of pressure, but the gag pops into place inside his mouth and the lace is tied tightly behind his head. I grab and tie off his still kicking feet, removing the other flip-flop, and tie them with rope and do the same with his knees after the feet are tight. Then I push him inside a large doggie cage at the back of the van.

"Relax and you'll be alright. Do as your told, do a good job, and you'll be home before sunrise!" I inform him. He's seriously peeved right now and kicking at the cage walls. He's not going anywhere; this cage is designed to hold a pit bull! After I pick up his towel, soccer ball, and the flippy he lost outside, we drive off.

It's about an hour before I pull the van to our destination. It's a large, old barn out in the North Carolina countryside. Tall weeds boarder the parking area, which is already loaded with cars, trucks and vans. I can see that already several of the owners and racers are entering the bar. All the racers have their hands tied or cuffed behind them, a rule, and most have collars around their necks. I like this touch, and my cargo will be getting his as soon as I get him out of his cage. It makes the newbie racers so much easier to control, I think. In addition to the leather collar I add a chain dog leash and retie his knees together. He'll be able to walk but not run away. I hold onto the leash and his shoulder and guide him into the wide open door of the bar.

At the administration desk, a table really, we get my paperwork and they snap a quick instant picture of my new racer. His shirt is cut off and with a grease pen the 'official' writes the number 503 on his chest, back and on each of his arms. This will identify him while he's racing and the picture is for the betting board. He's then led away by the 'official' and put in the holding pen with other racers. We're in the fifth race out of ten tonight and he'll be in lane three. I head for the 'owners' section; I can't be seen with ordinary spectators if I'm fielding a racer after all.

Inside the holding pen my racer is pushed in so quickly he bumps into another racer tied the same was he is, but not gagged. Being gagged isn't a requirement, but I find with newbies- it's essential.

"Whoa there, dude, calm down sparky. Oh man you're gagged. Sorry dude, those oxen can be rough sometimes. If my hands where free I'd ungag you. But anyway, my name's Brad, good to meet ya."

My racer nods and mumbles as best he can with the ball in his mouth, "chavvfith".

"Okay let me guess, your name is… David?

David nods vigorously, the look in his eyes must express some amazement to Brad and he smiles and replies, "I've gotten pretty good a understanding gagged boys. I've been racin' for two years now!"

Race number five is ready to begin. My racer has been in holding for about three hours. Yeah, they're not fast here. You've got races, then race-offs of the two winners and then the first couple of race winners race each other, it's all very complicated. But my boy is up and he's placed in stall number 3, his knees are untied and the door he entered is locked tight. I decide to leave him gagged. Since he's a new racer an official from above the stall gives him instructions.

"You'll notice there, boy, that you're standing on a metal plate, that will give you a shock if you stay on it, so once this door here opens," he pats the door with an open hand," you take off a'runnin' and don't stop until you get to the end. If you win your owner wins the pot and you advance. I'd advise you to run to win, the more you win the happier your owner will be and the easier it will be for you. Got it, boy?"

He nods.

The usual race announcements are going over the loud speaker. They really do it up right here, y'all might think we were racing cars here instead of boys. Now let me tell you about the rules: All boys must have their hands secured behind them. They can be willing racers or not so willing, like my boy is. There's no rule against having a 'kidnappee' in the race, you just gotta let 'em go after the race night. They can be gagged if the owner wants. They all must race shirtless and barefoot. The boys race in slots, once the door opens they see a long corridor lined on each side with chain link fence, it's 50 yards long and runs out the back of the barn to the end where another stall is waiting to 're-capture' the boy once he enters it. The first one there wins, second place and so on. Just like the horseys!

Bang, all ten slot doors open and out run 10 fit and bound boys. They are tearing across the soft dirt of the track at top speed. My black-haired boy is out in front. I knew I was right about his legs! They can pump!

I don't believe it, he wins. The first race with a newbie and I win. Cool! That means he immediately races the number two winner of this race and the winner of that last race; after a reset of the boys and a brief rest and some cold water. He done so darn good I inform the official to ungag him. I visit him in his stall before the next race starts. "Hey dude, that was awesome! You were a long shot and you won. I just won like $500. There's $100 for you. Wanna earn s'more?"

He nods, I guess that much money is a fortune to a kid like him. "All you gotta do is keep winning. Got it?"

"Yeah." He says.

"What's your name, kid?" I ask.

"David."

"Well David, you keep up the good work and as I promised you'll be home before sun up."

To make a log story short, he won the next race too, but came in second in his heat after that one, which got him advanced anyway. The next one he lost. But with the wins he got I won a total of $927 and I decided to give David $200 of it. After all he wasn't a willing racer at the beginning and he did well. He earned it.

He's sweaty and dirty and his feet are raw and sore, but he's generally okay. He's in the holding pen. I'm forbidden from removing him until after the championship race- like all the owners are. But they feed and water 'em and he seems to have made a couple friends inside as he was chatting and laughing away with the other racers, winners and losers.

After the final race, in which I won another $300 betting on the winner we head home. I rebind him the same way, feet, knees and toss him in the cage. After all he's still a kidnappee, until we get back to his bike by the side of the road anyway! But I leave the gag out. Poor little guy is so tired out from running and having a good ol' time in the holding pen that he falls asleep about five minutes into the trip back. Once there I get him up and out and untie his knees and ankles. I put all his stuff on the ground next to his bike. I unlock one wrist but attach that open cuff to the chain securing his bike. I tie a string snug around his neck with the key hanging around the back of his head. He can free himself but it will take a few minutes. Just to make it fun I blindfold him with an old bandana. Then I slip the money he earned into the waistband of his swimsuit. That startles him a little.

Then I whisper in is ear. "There's your money David, if you want to try to make more be here next Friday night at 5pm."

I hop in my van and drive off. It's 5:30am. In my rear view I see him working with his free hand for the key. He's all right.

Chapter 2
The Next Friday Night

After a few more miles, well more than a few I come around the bend in the road to the siding where I see a figure in the distance, there's a bike there too. I drive closer and turn down the radio as I get near the figure. I can see now that it is in fact David, he's wearing a pair of light green shorts, a long sleeve tee green shirt and flip flops. No soccer ball or other stuff appears to be with him, just him and his bike.

I pull onto the gravel and hop out of the van.

"Hello." He says tentatively.

"Hi, David. How's things?"

"O…okay I guess."

He's obviously very nervous.

"So what's up?" I probe.

"Are you…I mean were you serious about me earning more money by racing?"

"Yes I was; I am. You interested in a repeat of last week?"

"Uhm, I guess so. I mean that was a lot of money."

"Well I don't know. I don't have my handcuffs with me. I left them on you last week. You know the rule. Racers have to have their hands bound behind them."

With a sly smile appearing on his lips he pulls a hand out of his shorts pocket and dangles the handcuffs on his index finger.

"You're way over dressed, David. You'll need to lose the shirt, the flip flops and I don't know about those shorts. They could just get in the way and slow you down."

"Uhm, okay." He puts the handcuffs away and lifts his shirt up over his head and kicks off his flips flops leaving the boy in just those shorts. "How's this?"

"I don't know, I think those shorts might pose a problem for you running effectively." I muse.

The puts his thumbs on either side of the waistband and pulls them down revealing that he's wearing the same pair of Speedos he wore last week.

"Oh very nice. You are a smart kid!" I praise him.

"Well they seemed to bring me good luck last week so I figured what the heck."

I pick up the shorts and fish out the handcuffs and toss them to David who catches them.

"Put 'em on, behind your back."

"Do I have too? I mean we're not there yet."

"Yes, you're my racer, you follow my rules."

"Okay." And he snaps them on each slim wrist behind his back.

"Wait here." I go around the other side of my van a grab an old plastic shopping bag from under the seat. I return to my captive racer and pick up his clothes and flippys and shove them in the bag and tie the plastic handles to one of the handlebars of his bike. "Let's go, David, hop in the passenger side."

Once we are both in I reach over the nearly naked boy and pull the seatbelt over his chest and waist.

"Last chance to change your mind. Once I put it in drive you're committed."

"I'm sure." He replies

We set off back the way I came heading back to the old barn where tonight's race will take place. It will take about two hours to get there. After about fifteen minutes David breaks his silence.

"Oh no, I forget the keys to the cuffs are in my other pocket of my shorts back there."

"Well I guess you locked up for the rest of the night then. Let's hope that your clothes don't get stolen overnight or you'll be stuck in those cuffs I guess."

"Oh man…"

After a few more miles pass under us I notice he's been stealing looks at the cage that is still in the back of my van.

"You'd rather ride back there again this week?" I ask

He thought I hadn't noticed his peeking at the cage. "Uhm, ah, no, not really. I mean it wasn't that bad, but I'd rather be here in the seat instead." I can tell he was lying just a bit.

"Well, we'll see how you do tonight. If you lose you might have to ride back there on the way home." I got no response to that, just a little shudder from the boy, a shudder of excitement I think. I think that his Speedos have inflated just a little bit.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure."

"Uhm, those other b…boys. The ones at the races last week. Where do they all come from?"

"Well lots of different places, David. Some are the younger brothers of the racers owners. Some are the cousins, or nephews, and I think that one or two are actually sons of the owners. A few others are or I should say were like you – kidnapped for the night"

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you guys do this?"

"It's fun, plus it's a chance to earn some extra money. Isn't that why you're back? You seemed to be having fun in the holding cage last week after your races were done. Plus you made some nice money for someone your age."

"Yeah I guess so. But why did you let me go after? I mean I'm grateful and all, but from what I see on the news most kidnapped kids are never seen again. I was afraid that was what was gunna happen to me."

"Hey, David, I told you that you'd be back home in the morning didn't I?"

"Well isn't that exactly what some crazy kidnapper would say?"

I laughed at his last statement. He had me dead to rights. "Yeah I guess you got me there!"

"So some of those boys…"

I interrupted him. "Racers, David, racers."

"Okay, so some of those other racers they where they willingly?"

"Yeah, almost all of them in fact."

"I guess I don't understand. I mean I get the racing and all. I mean schools have track events with running. But what's with the handcuffs, and being almost naked. And keeping us all in that cage. And the whole comparing us to horses…"

"Let me see if I can explain this… See there is this subculture."

"Subculture?" He asked.

This might not be so easy.

"It's like a group of people with the same interest. But a group that isn't so mainstream, somewhat not normal in everyday normal life. See what I mean?"

"Yeah, I get it."

"Okay, so this subculture likes teenage boys, sometimes preteen, but say like age 12 to 15. They like to see them perform, like in races. They also like to combine an interest in tying up these boys with the other interest. And because you can't see bound teenage boys race on the sports networks we get together in secret and hold our own races each week."

"Oh, I see. So this is all secret, right?"

"Yeah. Fun but secret. You didn't tell anyone about your adventure last week did you?"

"No."

"I thought not, since I wasn't greeted by the entire police force on the beach back there. So how did you explain your overnight away from home to your parents?"

"Parent, it's only me and my father. Mom's dead."

"Sorry."

"Don't be I never knew her. She died giving birth to me. Dad kinda got stuck with me."

"What do you mean 'stuck with you'?"

"Nothing really, it's just I don't think he's happy having a son and no wife, that's all. So he doesn't really care if I come home or not, just so the cops don't bring me home he's cool with pretty much anything I do."

"You don't strike me as the kind of kid who gets into the wrong kind of trouble. You're not doing drugs or hanging out with a street gang or something are you?"

"No nothing like that," he giggled, "Nothing like that at all. It's just…" he faded off.

"It's just what?" I pushed.

"Ah, nothing, never mind."

There was something there I'd have to get it out of him. But not right now.

"So you're home life isn't so peachy-keen?"

"You could say that."

"Well what are you gunna do about it."

"What can I do, I'm only fourteen years old."

"Well, let's just concentrate on the race tonight. Then we can discuss things after we win some money, okay." I reached over and ruffled his long black hair. He smiled.

Poor kid he just needs some attention. That's why he came back. He's attention starved.

We got to the barn, I unloaded David and we walked across the gravel parking lot to the entry table. He winced and moaned a little having to walk barefoot over the stones. But he'll get over it.

"Welcome back, and I see you have the same racer this week. Nice to see you Ponyboy David." The official greeted us when it was our turn to register.

"Thanks," he replied.

I immediately clamped my hand over his mouth to silence him. The official shot an angry glare at the boy.

"I think your pony needs to be gagged." He stated.

"Ah, that won't be necessary this time, sir. He was unaware of the rules. My fault. He's new. It won't happen again." I turned to David and looked him in the eye. "Will it, ponyboy." He gently shook his head no.

"See that it doesn't." the official ordered.

He got all registered, he was placed in race 4 lane 1 so they wrote a big 4-1 on his back, his chest and both arms in grease pencil. They took an photo of him and this time his odds were 2 to 1.

Then I took him aside. "David, you must never speak to an official with out specific permission. Like if you sprain and ankle and the medic has to ask you questions to treat you. But you should never speak to a race official or other racer owner at anytime."

"Okay. Sorry."

"It's okay. The worse they can do is gag you for the duration of the races."

"But I can talk to you, and the other bo… uhm… I mean racers, right?"

"Yes, but only to the other racers when you're in the holding pen."

"Right, got ya."

Just then another official came over to take David away to the holding pen until he was ready for his first race of the night. I turned and went to the owner's area in the stands. I saw Brad was here again this week; at least David would have a friend to talk to in the pen.

Once in the stands I see a friend of mine. He notices I have arrived as well.

"Hello, Victor!" He shouts. "Looking well, I saw you come in. I see you have that same good looking and talented colt you had last week, Daniel."

"David," I correct him.

"As yes, David. I lost some money on him last week. I won't let that happen again.

"So who are you racing this week, Reilly" I ask.

"Oh my normal racer couldn't make it this week. His parents have him on vacation this week. So I'm without a pony this week."

"Too bad, hazards of being an uncle I guess. But if you don't have a pony this week, how did you get into the owner's box?"

"Oh I manage… Actually I'm here as a guest of Charles. It's so déclassé to be with the riff-raff for just one week. So he was kind enough to invite me as a favor."

"Cool, its good to have you here. Now that I am privileged enough to get seated here I can totally understand not wanting to go back to the spectator's seating."

"Are you so sure you'll have that little colt-boy to race every week?"

"I think so. There's something about that kid. Not sure what, but there's more to him, deep inside, than meets the eye."

"Oh, cute and mysterious, do tell, Victor," putting on his best effeminate mannerisms.

"You just behave!" I tease him right back. I begin to tell him about our conversation in the van during the drive over.

"That's quite a little tale. Me thinks that my radar is registering something, something special in that young colt."

"I know what you mean, and me thinks you're right. But I'll get there in my own way."

"Any who did you hear that there's going to be an auction after the races tonight."

"An auction, so soon? Isn't that unusual?"

"Yeah, kinda. But they're holding one. I hear that there will be about three ponies offered for sale tonight, plus if any of our fellow owners want to sell their stock after the races, after the pony's performances, they will be able to offer them for the bidding as well."

"Wow, are you going. Get a pony to permanently replace that undependable nephew of yours?"

"Hey, this is only the second race he's every missed! But yes, I will be attending the auction, if just for the cheap thrill of it all. If there is a nice pony to bid on, well who knows?" he giggled again.

"Gentlemen, please take your places, the first race of the night is about to begin. Yes I see they are loading the racers into their stalls now…" comes over the loud speaker.

The chatting settled down, my friend and I take our seats as our attentions turned to the spectacle about to begin.

Bang the stalls opened and six, barefoot and bound teenage boys raced out onto the dirt paths at top speed.

Halfway through the race a smallish blonde tripped and fell. Thereby losing the race as he had no time to stand back up and catch up with the other racers. In fact by the time he stood up again, the race was over.

"Damn kid, clumsy as a duck walking on marbles!" an owner who I didn't know shouted in anger.

Reilly leaned over and whisper in my ear. "Oh I think we have our first addition to the auction tonight. He might not be a great racer, but the kid is a cutie…"

Well after some waiting and the races and race offs we finally arrive at race number four, the race with my ponyboy in lane one. They place the boys in the each stall and lock the door behind them. At this point the boys stand barefoot on a thin metal plate facing another door, a gate really. It's a wooden frame with chain link fence so they can see down the race track. Long each individual track hemming in each side is more chain link. This assures that the boys cannot cross into another lane of course. This little measure was started after too many races where the boys deliberately tripping the racers next to them. Something that is dangerous to the boys as they have no way to protect themselves with their hands tied or cuffed behind them, plus it's just plan cheating. Once the doors are flung open a mild electric shock courses through the metal plates, this insures that all the boys take off and none remain in the stall, they all exit whether they want to or not.

After a few seconds and some announcements concerning the race about to take place the buzzer sounds and the doors fly open. Again six young teen boys dart out onto the race tracks heading with full speed toward the finish line. David's off to a strong start but this race had lots of strong racers, more experienced racers, racers with more training then David. Ever try to run a race with your hands bound behind you, it's pretty damn hard. David holds his own, but in a few short seconds the race is over, David comes in second place. He's done for the night. Once and out. They gather up the losing boys, run the race-off with this race's winner and the last race's winner, I don't pay attention. I just head over to the holding pen.

"David, come here."

He stands up and walks over to where I am. "I'm sorry. Guess I don't make any money tonight."

"It's okay, you did well. You didn't win, but second isn't bad for a newbie. You just hang out here with your new friends for a while and I'll be back to get you after the races are all over. There's a little event afterwards that I want you to see."

"Okay, and I am sorry for not winning."

I really think he is genuinely upset. "It's okay, kid. We'll get 'em next time."

He smiles.

"Go on, get back to your friends."

I walk over to the official in charge of the boys in the holding pen. "Look, pony number 4-1, don't give him anything to eat, water is okay, but no food. He didn't win, he didn't earn it."

"Understood." That's all the reply I get from the official. I could have had him gagged for the remainder of the night, or even secured in place to the fence of the cage, or tied to the bench. But I want him to return and to start to develop a little trust for me, so I go easy on him for losing, this time.

After several hours of more races and some more betting the racing event is over. I did okay, not as well as last time. But I made a few buck. I think I'll give David $25 for tonight, hey he did show up after all, that's something.

It's auction time. I go collect David from the pen; he says his goodbye to his friends. He seems to make them fast here, something I don't think he does so well in his everyday life.

"David, this is a special event tonight. This doesn't happen too often. But tonight they are holding an auction."

"What are they selling?"

"Racers."

"What?" he exclaims. "How can they sell racers, they're boys, you can't sell people. I thought you said that most of these boys are here by their own choice."

He's clearly shocked.

"Yes they are. But they can also be sold off to other racers. It's a very closed world. Let me explain. The boys in this situation know they can be sold or traded to other owners. See we treat the full-time ponies, that's what we call racers that are family or other long term partners of their owners, like ponies. They are all home schooled. They know their place and they know that if their owner loses interest in them, because they get too old, or start behaving badly, or if they start losing races or just become too much for the owner to deal with anymore, they get put up for auction. You remember the little blonde boy that fell during the first race?"

"Y…yes."

"His owner is selling him for being too clumsy. He'll be the first boy sold tonight as he's the youngest lot in the auction. I think my friend is going to bid on him."

"You're planning on selling me aren't you? Because I lost tonight, that's why I'm here! You're going to sell me to someone else! You can't. I said I was sorry… please don't sell me!"

He has losing it, getting quite upset.

"David! David calm down! I'm not going to sell you! You're not that kind of pony. You're not a live in ponyboy. It's against the rules. You can't just disappear from life, that would raise too many questions for our little group. Settle down, now.

"You asked some questions about how this all works, I just want to show you the whole picture. We'll talk about things on the ride home."

"You're not going to sell me?"

"No, I promise."

"You're sure?"

"For Christ's sake. David. You're not going to be auctioned off. I can't say it any differently!"

"Okay. I believe you."

"Now just stand beside me and be quiet and watch."

"Okay gentlemen, the first offering tonight is racer 1-3. He's an eleven year old blonde. His owner says he's well behaved, but very clumsy. Maybe he'll grow out of it once he hits puberty but his owner is tired of him falling and losing races. Let's start the bids at $20."

The young boy had been paraded out onto a small raised platform, clearly shaken from the news that he was about to be sold. He was not currently crying, but the evidence was plain on his tear streaked face that he had been crying not too long ago. He tried to put on a brave face for the crowd. My friend Reilly was right he really is a cute kid. Silky blonde hair cut in a page boy style but a little long, and sweet innocent blue eyes and well proportioned body.

I noticed that he has small feet for a boy, that's probably why he's so clumsy. He was still wearing his tight little dark blue Speedo with is hands bound behind him, but as with all auction boys, his ankles have been hobbled with a set of boy sized steel shackles.

"Twenty Dollars" a cry rings out from the crowd.

"Twenty-five," comes another bid.

A few seconds of silence from the crown and the auctioneer spins the boy around for a better look.

"Thirty," a third bidder chimes in.

"Bend him over."

His bubble butt is on full display.

"Forty."

"Show us the whole package!"

The auctioneer knows what that means. So does the boy. He stands the boy up again and spins him around so he faces the crowd. Without any ceremony the tike's swimsuit is pulled straight down his legs exposing his pre-pubescent cock and balls to the world. In the cool early morning air the sack tightens even more then it was inside the suit. The young boy turned bright red from the top of his blonde head to each little toe.

"Fifty dollars," Reilly finally chimes in."

"Fifty-five," a counter bid.

"Sixty." Reilly offers.

A few seconds of thinking by the bidders, "Seventy!"

"Seventy-two," Reilly cries out.

"Seventy-five," a little bidding war. These auctions never bring much money, none of us are millionaires here. Seventy-five dollars is considered a good bid. I think the highest bid for a ponyboy was two hundred dollars. But most bidding ends no higher than one twenty-five or one fifty.

"Seventy-eight!" Reilly bids again.

"Eighty"

Someone likes blonde boys. I can't see who keep counter-bidding from where I am and I don't recognize the voice.

"Eighty-five!" Reilly shouts out.

"Too rich for my blood." From the mystery bidder.

"Going once, twice. Sold to Reilly. You can claim your ponyboy after the auction is over."

I lean over to David, "Ready to head home?" he shakes his head yes.

Once back in the van and heading down the road again. I turn the radio down so it's just audible.

"David, I have something important to ask you. I want you to think about it and not answer me too quickly. Don't say yes and don't say no with out thinking it through. Understood?"

"Okay."

"David. You've seen our world; you've seen what a full commitment to being a pony boy racer means. The training to be good, the way you're taken care off, the love we as owners have for our boys, and the possibility a ponyboy might get traded or sold to another owner. Now we have rules about treating a pony you don't know about. Let me just say that we can't physically harm a boy; we can hurt them, as punishment or in training, but no long lasting harm. We can't trade or sell them outside the club. And we can't force a boy to become a live in ponyboy; it has to be their choice. Once a boy makes that choice it can't be taken back. After that he surrenders his will, his mind and yes even his body to his owner. Do you understand what I am saying?"

"Y…yes I think so."

"So what I want you to consider, is this. From the little I know about you, I see a good racer in you. I see a sweet kid, a smart kid, but someone who needs to be cared for better then his currently is being cared for. You don't seem to have a great home life. You seem to enjoy yourself at the races and have made a few friends already. You're very attractive too, that helps.

"What I want to know from you, David, is would you want to be my full time, live in pony boy?"

"I know you said I didn't have to answer now, that I should think about it. But can I ask you a question first?"

"Yes."

"What's your name?"

"Ha, you never did learn my name did you? It's Victor."

"Okay, Victor. I want to answer you now. I thought about this all week, kinda, actually. Yes I want to do this! Please."

"Okay. But I still have to take you home first. Think about it during the week and if you still want too by Friday turn up at the beach again at 2pm and make it look like you've run away from home. Be wearing only your swim suit with your hands cuffed behind you, and I'll pick you up, just like I did today."

I dropped him off and told him to fish out the key from the plastic bag and his shorts himself. I got back into my van and he darted over to the open passenger window sticking his head inside.

"Victor, I'll he here next Friday, I promise."

"I'll see you then, Good bye for now, my little colt." And I drove off.

The End