Chapter 2

"Hey gorgeous! What's a radiant ray of sunshine doing in a horrendous hidey-hole like this," I asked (one of my better pick-up lines, I thought) as soon as I entered the kitchen of the Taylor residence and saw the boy sitting alone on a bench in the corner, studiously working on something in a large sketch book. The sullen sight in front of me raised his sorry face and I could see the tracks of the tears that had been washing down that beautiful face. As soon as I saw that tear-stained mug, my heart just went out to the poor thing.

"Oh, Baby, what's got you so down, now? Huh? Come on and tell your Auntie Em all about it," I offered in my best consoling voice as I scootched him over and plunked myself down next to him with my arm over his shoulder so as to be able to pat him in an appropriately comforting manner. The cutie gave me a small smile when he heard me call myself 'Auntie Em', which I thought was definitely progress - it was better than more tears at least, right?

"You don't look much like Aunt Em," was the reply from my blond beauty. "You look more like the scarecrow. Although you do dress kinda like one of the munchkins," he quipped with an almost-laugh (Ha, ha - like I haven't heard that one before).

"Now, now! I'm as big a fan of Judy Garland as the next fag, honey, but please don't compare me to a munchkin," I laughed back at him.

"My real name is Emmett, Emmett Honeycutt," I informed him. "But, since I'm here in my role as 'Party Planner Extraordinaire' you can call me Auntie Em. And, who, praytell, would you be, sweetie?"

"Justin," he said, back to his sad sounding self.

"Well, Justin, what could possibly be so bad that you're holed up here in the kitchen on such a lovely fall day, ruining that perfect puss with all those tears?"

"Let's see," he stared, "my Mom's dead. My Dad's an asshole who threatened to have me sent off to a church camp to be deprogrammed if I continued to maintain that I was gay or if I let on to my new step-family, or anyone else for that matter, that I harbor any such deviant ideas. The step-monster in question informed me this morning that I have to start earning my keep, so she's convinced my Dad to make me work at his store as a janitor's assistant after school and on weekends. And, if that wasn't enough, Ethan and Ian, my new step-beasts, have decided that my room, since it's bigger, should be theirs and that I should move into the basement. So, nothing's really the matter, I guess. I'm probably just being 'overly emotional', as Brenda put it."

"Ack! That sounds . . . Well, it pretty much sucks, I guess! Well then, since you obviously do have some legitimate issues there, I guess the only thing to do is to pull out a pint of chocolate ice cream and two spoons so I can join this 'pity-party' - I am a party planner, you know - so you can just leave everything up to me!"

And I immediately went right to work, raiding the freezer, locating spoons and generally taking matters into my capable hands with my usual flair. I must have been fabulous, as usual, since Justin's tears had dried up and turned to giggles by the time I finally had to get going about forty-five minutes later. So, I gave the boy a pat on his cheek (I couln't help myself - he really does have one of the most pat-able asses I've ever seen!), told him to take care of himself, and took myself off to meet Teddy and the rest of the gang at Woody's for a drink.

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Justin and I became pretty good friends over the ensuing weeks as I spent a lot of time at the Taylor residence getting ready for the 'Big Day'. The more I got to know the boy, the more I really liked him. This beautiful blond boy was really an amazing artist. I used to sit with him down in his new dungeon digs (damn, that basement he'd been relegated to by his pseudo-siblings was disgusting - It was musty, damp and always smelled like cat urine, even though I was pretty sure the Taylors didn't own a pussy, other than the one Brenda brought with her), and we'd hang out and talk, whenever he wasn't otherwise busy, while Justin drew. His drawings were so detailed and precise. He could make anything he drew just about pop out of the paper. And imagination - Hoo whee! - we'd play this game where I'd name a celebrity and he'd draw them naked (only male celebrities, please. Who wants to draw a twat!). I was always amazed at how hung all those A-listers were - at least in 'Justinland'.

So, we'd talk, and it came out that Justin himself really hadn't - at least not to anyone other than his mom and best-friend, Daphne. He'd sort of tried to tell his Dad 'BB' ('Before Brenda'), but it had not gone well. Daddy Dearest was still in denial about the whole thing. And that turned out to be the extent of poor Jittery Justin's experience with the 'gay world'. He'd never been out to a gay club, had any gay friends or, god forbid, had any actual gay sex. He hadn't even had a god-damned gay kiss.

Well, as soon as I heard that, I decided that I would have to take this boy under my wing and introduce him to all the glorious joys of gay PA (well, maybe not ALL the joys - Justin and I are JUST friends, after all). My first objective, was simply to get the sweet, shy young thing out of this boring basement. Justin was justifiably jumpy about taking that first step - who wouldn't be with Cranky Craig as a father. But, I kept at the lad.

"Come on," I told the boy. "I don't care how tight you and 'Rosy Palm' are, you can't spend your entire life hiding down here with only a stack of trashy photo mags and your randy right fist to keep you company. You've got to live a little, see the wonderful wide-world of queerdom and get out of this house, out of the closet and out of those cruddy clothes!"

It took a lot of convincing, you better believe it, but eventually I talked "shy-guy" into a short exploratory trip down to Liberty Avenue, the Gay Mecca of the Pitts, so he could at least see the sights. The problem was coming up with a plan - Cantankerous Craig kept our boy on a pretty short leash, you see. Justin worked every day after school at his father's store until six or seven in the evening. Then, when our jaunty little janitor boy got home, Big-bad Brenda would have a whole list of household chores for him to take care of. And, if he still had time after all that, the bully-boys, Ethan and Ian, would often corner Justin and force him to ‘help' them with their homework. Unfortunately, their idea of help usually meant Justin doing the work himself in exchange for them not punching, pinching or pushing our poor pal.

The only time Just had off was on Sunday's. That's because Craig & Brenda were such good, god-fearing, morally upstanding child-abusers that they still held to the biblical prohibition against working their slave on the Sabbath. But, even then, Justin wouldn't be allowed to just take off on his own. Hence, the need for a cunning plan.

"Justin, I have a cunning plan," I finally told him a couple of weeks after we'd started talking about our daring adventure. "Next Sunday, I could call here and ask your soon-to-be-step-monster to send you over to my shop to pick something up."

"Wait," Justin interrupted. "How about, instead, we arrange with Brenda that next Sunday you need me to pick up something for her at your shop. Then, I'll have an excuse to get away from here and a reason to head to Liberty Avenue, and you can show me all your wicked ways that afternoon!"

"Brilliant plan, Boss," I agreed with him (well, it was - even if it was MY idea first). And, that was how Justin's Big Adventure began.