Lost Boi (12 page)

This year, it wasn't Pan who came to me, it was Wendi. Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to show her the stars; I wanted to flip her body into the night sky. I've always been a switchy boi, but I think this was the first moment when I really understood wanting to top, wanting to create a world for someone, even for an hour or two. She was standing before me, and there was no time to think deep thoughts about identity or regret, or about not having paid attention when that rope rigger from SF was staying at Neverland. I threw my cigarette into the river and closed my eyes as Wendi ran the chipped red edge of her nail along the line of my jaw and then down my throat,
stopping at the ribbed collar of my tank top. It wasn't what I expected.

“Sweet boi, my sweet boi,” she whispered in my ear before kissing me. I felt her creamy lipstick smudge against my lips as I wrapped my arms around her. “Mommy …” I moaned as I dug my dirty hands into her dress and nuzzled against her breasts. I thought she was going to beat me, to punish me for not having finished the dishes before we left Neverland like I had been asked to, but I guess she'd forgotten, or didn't care. Mommy wasn't after blood and tears that night. I didn't know what else I could possibly offer to her.

Wendi stood over me. I was confused and torn as I slouched against the railing, legs spread before me. In part, I felt that I should be trying for sexy, to maintain some aloof, tough-guy image. I moved my left hand just slightly, to rest on my thigh. I was hard packing tonight, just in case. I thought maybe Wendi was looking to get laid, to lose herself for a little bit in something that felt completely good, to give herself the chance to forget how messy her life had become. I was just about to lift my hand to rub my stiff, denim bulge. Wendi stood reapplying red lipstick in the soft twinkling light. She stared into her pretty silver compact before closing it with a snap and tucking it into the front pocket of her apron, then she crouched, breasts only inches from my face. All I could smell was the sweetness of her soap, and then she whispered in my ear.

“Sweet little boi, what are you doing out here by yourself?
Mommy has been so worried. She's been looking for you everywhere.” I shivered and a smile crossed her face. “Come here, sweet boi, Mommy has something to teach you …“

I'd never wanted anyone in the way that I wanted Mommy in that moment. I watched as she quietly closed the door to the deck, and we were truly alone. She sat next to me, pulling me against her. My cheek rested on her right breast. She was so warm. I closed my eyes. One arm was around me, holding me tightly to her, the other … I'd rather not say, except I must. She was exploring all the places I keep covered, all the places I'd rather forget about, the places I don't even touch, and then she was in them, and I needed more of her, wanted her to take everything. I didn't go away, didn't close my eyes and drift away. I stayed with her, my eyes fixed on the twinkling stars. I hoped they weren't laughing at me. I gave Mommy everything, even something Pan didn't have.

I didn't know until she was holding me, our sweat-slick bodies sticking to the splintered deck, that she had watched as Pan disappeared into a room with the Twins. I wasn't close to them, and neither was Pan, so I was surprised that he chose them to battle that night. They were the most recent arrivals at Neverland before Wendi and John Michael. Their bright mohawks stained the sink and the ropes of their hammocks. The Twins met as teenagers in some backwards town where they lived at opposite sides of the trailer park but were always sneaking into each other's bedroom windows. The minute they turned sixteen, they were gone. I know that they hopped
trains and lived in the wilderness together, doing some kind of crazy off-the-grid backpacking for months somewhere between San Francisco and Seattle. When I talk about them that way, it makes it sound like they're urban primitives, which they totally aren't; they're tough, rugged punks who know how to survive outside, but they don't get all fucked-up and appropriative about it, acting like it's some ancient spiritual thing from some tribe, some people they have no connection to. The Twins just like nature and shit, I think, so they hit the backwoods trails. After that, they train-hopped down to New Orleans and all through the south. They play hard; I guess that's probably why Pan chose to spend the party with them. Their backs are covered with scars, interlocking designs left by the steel of knives. None of us ever asked to borrow their binders because they were always crusted with blood from healing cuts. The Twins always liked to irritate the cuts and disrupt the healing. They played for scars.

Wendi and I were still lying together on the deck when the quiet of our breathing was ripped apart by the growl of a bike motor. Pirates. Sticky and trembling, the last thing I wanted was to move, to leave Mommy, but I knew my service to Pan still had to come above all else. I couldn't meet Wendi's eyes as I stood and pulled my jeans over my boots and cinched my belt. I didn't bother with my unused cock and harness, and pulled my shirt on as I opened the door and went into the Lagoon.

I stood silently in the doorway, my fingers picking at the
carved initials in the doorframe. Pan had the Twins secured to bolts in the moulding. He sensed me standing there and turned with a look of concern. I was his best boi; he knew I wouldn't interrupt unless it was important.

“Pirates,” was all I needed to say to set him in motion. Pan snapped off his latex gloves and threw them to the floor.

“Tootles, see to the Twins.” He hurried from the room. I let the Twins down from the wall. If I hadn't been feeling so sorry for myself, so torn, I probably would have been sweeter to them. Instead, I mumbled something about seeing their shirts in the corner. I wanted to be a good big … not quite brother, but something like that for them, but I just couldn't bring myself to give them the aftercare I was lacking. I followed Pan into the living room where Siren, naked except for her boots, torn fishnets, and a tangled net of pearls, reclined on a chaise longue, smoking through a vintage cigarette holder. There was no denying her glamour as she welcomed Hook and his crew to the party.

I knew without needing to be told that Pan wanted me to disappear into the shadows and hide Wendi. She was still the kind of grrrl who could easily be misled or seduced by ritual and rules, the kind Hook loved and which bored Pan immensely. This was part of why he hadn't allowed Wendi and Hook to meet; he knew she would love the Pirate's good form. Pan kept her from the Pirate Cove, a BDSM club downtown, too. The Cove was never really our scene, but sometimes, before Wendi joined us, we would go there and
battle. Mostly though, we just watched the parade of sashes and laughed at these people, for whom it was a performance and not a lifestyle.

The mood of the party shifted with the arrival of the Pirates, who couldn't be missed in their pressed and starched Levi's, black T-shirts tightly tucked in, black leather belts, boots, and vests. Smee and Hook wore leather chaps, and Hook the cap and jacket that marked him as their leader. They carried play bags with exotic wood carved into oar-shaped paddles, beautifully braided floggers, and single tails.

Before I slipped away to hide Wendi, I saw Hook and Pan greet. Watching them was always like watching a thunderstorm—you could feel the electricity in the air and knew you couldn't get too close because you would get burned. Hook and Pan exchanged nods. For all the rivalry, there was a profound respect between them. They shook hands too; Pan's filthy little tattooed one disappearing into Hook's strong leather-clad grip. They always stared deeply into each other's eyes when they met, not daring to drop their gaze. Although Pan respected his bois, as our Sir he wouldn't have wanted to be seen by Hook as one of us. I don't really know how Hook saw things. He needed his crew; after all, what's a Master without someone to serve him? In that way, I think his crew was valuable to him, especially Smee (who I think was more lover than boy). Hook valued his crew, but I don't think that he respected them. He didn't respect anyone who wasn't a lifestyle Top.

I couldn't get to Wendi in time. She was coming down the stairs as I pulled my eyes away from the Pan/Hook storm brewing in the living room where Siren watched too, blowing smoke rings at them. Wendi was all stockings and pumps. The first several buttons of her dress were undone, bra showing her flushed chest. It was clear then that she was already turning, that womanhood would take her. Still, I didn't want to believe that she would leave, betraying us all, becoming a grownup. I didn't want to think about the choices I would have to make, what I would want.

“Daddy, don't you think we ought to find the littles?” Wendi asked. Her sweet voice suddenly turned hard. I saw Pan flush, his little fists balled at his sides. This Daddy thing was purely Wendi's fantasy. Again, I mean no disrespect to my Sir, but Pan was no Daddy. Hook, whose good form wouldn't permit a ruder response, cocked one eyebrow at Pan and smirked.

“Been experimenting with new roles?” he whispered. “What's that cute girly key around your neck?”

Pan's face quickly switched from embarrassment to anger as he turned, and he said nothing as he grabbed Wendi's hand and went deeper into the Lagoon.

I thought we might leave the party then, but we stayed on. Pan and Wendi had slipped into a little room under the stairs, and I was left alone. I thought about finding a Pirate to battle with, but I wasn't in the mood for blood or sex anymore. More than anything, I wanted to be left alone to think, to try to make sense of everything that was happening. I sat on the
stairs, feeling like our old globe when I spin it really fast, so fast that you can't tell what cities or countries are whirring past you, so fast you can't tell who anyone is, or where they are from. I didn't know who I was anymore, what I was doing, or where I was from. All I wanted to do was spin the globe faster so that it would never stop, so that I would never have to remember, never not be dizzy, never have to figure out where I was going.

After a few moments, Pan reappeared and brought one of his dirty fingers up to his lips to signal that I should remain quiet. I didn't try to follow him. I wasn't sure that I was really up for any kind of adventure.

He went into the bathroom and closed the door. Pan knew how the heating vent in the bathroom connected, through the ducting, to the big bedroom by the front door, the room the Pirate crew always commandeered when they came to battle. Standing on the toilet, Pan listened through the vent to the sounds of slaps and moans. It was a messy ruckus, which meant only one thing: Hook wasn't in the room. Pan must have seen that Hook had stayed in the living room, talking at Siren about some new toy or conference he had been to. Hook was always trying to impress her, but Siren couldn't have cared less. She liked to fuck and could get into BDSM when the mood struck, but she found D/s boring. I'd tried to explain to her why I needed to be Pan's lost boi and what having a Mommy meant to me, but it just didn't make sense to her. Siren wanted a boifriend.

Pan hunched over and giggled before straightening up and tucking his thumbs into his belt loops. Standing on the toilet, he puffed up his chest and bellowed “Crew!” directly into the vent. The slapping and moans were replaced with scuffling and then a tentative “Yes, Captain?” in unison.

Pan had to double over in giggles again, his boots braced on the piss-slick seat. This was going to be one of his best pranks ever. Pan knew Hook better than anyone, except for maybe Smee. You always know your lovers different than you know a battle opponent, but Pan had spent years learning Hook's manners and style, and he did a pretty mean imitation of his voice, especially when distorted through an air vent. Hook's crew was completely fooled.

“Release those grrrls!” Pan commanded in Hook's voice. He couldn't see them, of course, but heard the confused whispers about why the Captain would have brought them to a party only to take away their fun just when it was getting good.

“Maybe it's a test?” suggested one of the Pirates.

“Maybe …” Smee started to say, then shook his head in confusion.
No
, he reminded himself, this was not confusing. The Captain had given orders, and they were to be followed. There was nothing simpler.

“You heard the Captain,” shouted Smee. “Release the grrrls. What are you, a bunch of lost bois without proper form? It's a good thing Captain Hook isn't standing here to watch you disobey him. Think of how you would be punished if he saw. Hurry, or I'll have to tell him.”

Pan climbed off the toilet and walked into the hallway, seeing the grrrls—mostly femmes he didn't know—quickly leave the room, straightening corsets and reapplying lipstick, then walk into the living room or out the front door to smoke on the porch couch.

Hook was deep in conversation with Siren, asking about us, about Pan, about how we had found a Mommy, and how it seemed like everything was changing. Pan and I both saw that Wendi had now come out from under the stairs and was listening to Hook. She was pleased that the conversation was about her, about how important she was to our lives, and how she was helping us to dream of something different.

Confusion crossed Hook's face at the sight of his crew standing before him. Pan was now laughing so hard, I worried he was going to piss himself. He tried to muffle his laughter, so that Hook and the Pirates wouldn't catch on. Hook looked at his blueballed crew, then at Pan, then back at the crew, trying to make sense of what was happening. Then his eyes locked on Pan, and what I saw seemed like admiration. Pan had controlled his laughter and met Hook's stare as Wendi crossed the room and introduced herself to Hook as our Mommy. He took her hand and gently kissed it.