The Darker Side of Trey Grey (10 page)

“I’ll be out of your hair after your massage,” he said as he stripped the blanket off, exposing every bit of my naked self. Not that I
cared. My dignity had run away screaming, a long time ago.

“Massage?” I asked rather dumbly. My muscles were atrophied so of course a massage made perfect sense. He started at my feet.

“Yes, it will help loosen your muscles and improve circulation, not to mention release the toxins that have built up. Relax, everyone loves my massages. My wife thinks I should have been a massage therapist rather than a nurse. She doesn’t understand why I love my job so much.” He tisked and I smirked.

I knew I had been right, and the wife just proved it. I wasn’t sure if accurately pinpointing a person’s sexuality was really a talent, but I had always been very good at it. I wasn’t even sure how I knew with such certainty, just little nuances I supposed, but I had been able to do it since grade school.

His hands worked away, and I began to feel them on my skin. It was the first real thing I had felt, and I found myself sinking into the mattress as my muscles loosened and tingled. I didn’t even flinch when his fingers dug into my buttocks. I’ve had massages, but this was the first by a humming overzealous straight boy.

When he went to flip me over, I was in a languid half-dozing state. He was good, and by the time he finished with my shins I was there again, floating.

“Someone’s relaxed.”

I opened my eyes a crack and saw him flip my dick between my legs with a finger. There was a small pool of urine nestled in the hollow by my hip bone. I was rather shocked to find I didn’t care
, and just wanted him to get back to the massage. 

“Don’t worry.”

I wasn’t.
He snapped a glove on and cleaned me off with some wipes he produced from yet another unknown location.

“The feeling will come back soon, maybe even today.” He threw both wipes and glove away then went back to digging his fabulous fingers into my hips while I went back to lala land.

Over the next few days I grew stronger and every little accomplishment brought hearty praise from Gale. He really was overly positive and nothing bothered the guy.
And I mean nothing
.

Not even when my bowels decided to work again, and I had wretched, embarrassing, diarrhea everywhere. He chatted with me as if we were having coffee, while I cringed, mortified, and very much wanting my shower and scrub brush.

When he was done cleaning me, and everything around me, he set my cigarettes and ashtray on the stand then went off to open the windows. He busied himself making my soup and coffee, while I chain smoked through three cigarettes before I could breathe normally and quit shaking. I really appreciated his feigned indifference.

The third day saw me wobbling with the help of a walker to the toilet. The fourth I could get up without assistance and shuffle, still with the walker, to the windows for a smoke, or the microwave to make coffee. I had to drink it leaning on the counter though, as I couldn’t carry the cup and walk at the same time.

On the fifth day, as Gale worked through my physical therapy, stretching my legs to my chest and back down, he asked me, “How did you manage a private room?”

“I pay for it. So far I’ve been able to keep it, but if they ever need the dorm space I
’ll lose my privacy and gain a roommate.”

He rotated my ankle. “I thought they gave you boys’ private rooms,” he said conversationally.

So Gale knew I was gay, and I couldn’t help but wonder what had given me away. Straight boys, and most women for that matter, usually didn’t figure that out. I didn’t have any tells that I knew of.

“No. They’re not as anal as the military.” I glanced at him and narrowed my eyes as he hummed quietly while he worked. “How did you know?” I finally asked.

He stopped humming. “Simple, silly. You’re comfortable with me touching you everywhere. Straight guys tense and have a hard time relaxing. Even women relax faster.”

I chuckled and refrained from telling him part of that was due to my profession.
  

The mental health professional came on the ninth day. Gale had moved the appointment somehow, knowing I wasn’t ready to talk to anyone three days after the incident. And I hadn’t been. I fe
lt more self-assured now though. Being mobile and able to use the bathroom had been a big step towards recovering my confidence.

The therapist arrived just as Gale was leaving that morning. I was sitting on the bed in pajama bottoms and my maroon robe with my back against the wall, sipping a cup of coffee, when he came in. He was dressed in brown tweed and a bowtie, ghost white hair and gold rimmed spectacles. When you think therapist, a vision of this man would come sweeping into your mind. However, in reality, most therapists looked nothing like what you envisioned. They were rather an odd lot of quirky characters that all had one thing in common;
they
knew what was best for
you
.

“Mr. Grey, nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Tolstay.” I shook his proffered hand. Gale had managed to secure another chair,
on loan
, from Tom and I indicated it to the Doc.

“I am only here to assess you,” he said, dragging the chair closer. “If it is deemed you need a therapist, it probably won’t be me. Understand?” he asked, looking over his glasses. I nodded and he sat, withdrawing a pen from under his blazer. “I’m going to ask you some questions. I need you to answer them truthfully. Understand?”
 

I nodded again.

“What is your full name?”

“Trey Grey.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“Student.” His eyebrows rose at this, and he lifted his pen from the pad of paper he was scribbling on.

“Very well. What do you do for money?” he rephrased.

“I have a full scholarship. When I need money I do odd jobs.”

“What kind of jobs?”

“Whatever anyone needs me to do.”
 

His eyes closed, and he let out a small annoyed sigh. He was good. He knew I was skirting the question.

“Doc, do you mind if I shorten this from two hours to a few minutes?” 

He tried to hide his smirk as he gestured to me with his hand. “By all means, Mr. Grey.”

I nestled my coffee into my lap and launched off.

“I’m a prostitute, I have been for... let’s just say awhile. Was I sexually abused as a child; yes. Do I want to talk about it; no. Was I physically abused as a child; yes. Do I want to talk about it; no. Was I mentally abused as a child; well, that goes without saying when the answer to the prior two questions is yes. Am I suicidal; not at the moment. Have I ever been suicidal; yes. Have I ever tried to take my own life; not intentionally. Am I happy; is anyone?”
  I lifted my cup to my lips and took a sip as I waited for him to finish his frantic scribbling. He leaned back and took off his glasses.

“I take it you have been through this before?”

“A few times.”

“You’re not currently seeing a therapist?”

“No.”

“May I ask why?”

“They all say the same thing then put me on medication.”

“Are you taking medications now?”

“No.”

“May I ask why not?”
 

I smiled at this. He knew I should be. “I don’t like them.”

“That is beside the point, Mr. Grey. They are prescribed for a reason.”

“I know. To help me cope. All they do is subdue me though. I feel like I’m no longer here.”
 

He sighed heavily at this, having probably heard it a hundred times.

“Do you engage in recreational drug use?”

“No.” My answer had him raising an eyebrow. “Never,” I added. He hummed, and scrolled down a piece of paper with his finger.

“The EMT commented you might be obsessive-compulsive. Are you?”

“Yes.” I pulled my knee
s up.

“What triggers the behavior?”

“I’d rather not say.” I caught his eyes and held them. “If I don’t alter my routine I can control it.”

“Obviously not or I wouldn’t be here, Trey.”
 

First name, I had become a patient.

“My last episode like this was four years ago, Doc. I think I have been doing quite well, honestly.” 

His brow furrowed at this. “Four years ago?”

“Yes.” 

His eyebrows rose. “That is impressive. It still doesn’t mean you don’t need help.” He smiled at me. “At least for awhile.” He returned his glasses to his face and went back to writing on his pad for a minute while I took another sip of coffee.

“All right, Trey,” he began as he put his pen into his pocket. “Normally I wouldn’t discuss this with you, but I can tell you’re intelligent, and I am sure you know what is coming. I will inform the school board you are not a danger to yourself or others,
at-this-time
, provided you see the therapist of my choosing, weekly, for eight weeks. If you miss even one appointment, even one, I will be forced to reverse my recommendation to the school. Understand?”

I nodded. Eight ap
pointments. Incredibly generous considering everything. I held out my hand. “Thank you, Dr. Tolstay.” He shook it then stood.

“Don’t make me regret my decision, Mr. Grey. You should receive the appointment schedule in the mail within four days. If you don’t,” he withdrew a card from his inner breast pocket, “you call my office.”
 

I accepted the card, “I will.”

It wasn’t until the tenth day that I could shower without Gale listening on the other side of the shower curtain. I lost the walker and gained a cane that day too.

It was two full weeks after my incident before I had enough strength to attend a short list of classes. I ignored the confab my appearance created, not really giving a shit what people were whispering. I did, however, notice
Taylor in my econ class staring at me rather appalled. I guess he believed me now.

As promised, four days after Dr. Tolstay’s visit my therapy assignment arrived and made me groan. Thursdays at four o’clock in
Bellevue. How fucked up was that? Right in the middle of rush hour, which around here lasted hours and was a vehicular game of Russian roulette. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. My favorite Mexican restaurant was just a few blocks from Dr. Greene’s office. Therapy then Mexican, it sounded like a winner of an evening to me.

Thursday rolled in like a quiet storm. I didn’t see it coming until the thunder boomed. Monday had been Gale’s last day, and we had celebrated with coffee and the best apple turnovers in Seattle at the Sunrise Cafe down the street. He cried when he left, and I almost did too. Not over his departure, although I did like him even if he was a pansy, but because I would be alone again.

My libido had been non-existent since my
incident
. I hadn’t had any desire to walk the Ave, and my nightmares had mostly been PG rated, thus the need to scour had become a distant memory. Even my scabs had healed to shadows under his tutelary.

I knew, with a certain horrible foreboding, it was only a matter of time now. Somehow Gale’s twice a day visits had kept my monster mostly locked away, and he seemed to have held the key. Now that key was firmly back in my hand.
 

I walked into the squat blue glass buildin
g that held Dr. Greene’s office leaning heavily on my cane. I could walk without it but I wasn’t ready to let it go yet. As long as I
needed
it, I was unable to work. Or at least that’s what I kept telling myself.

I couldn’t say the reception area was cheerful. Dour was more like it. Everythi
ng in rich maroon, deep green and dark wood. The plants were fake and plentiful, while the lighting was jaundice. The bookish looking receptionist was so detached, she came off cold. It was as if she might catch whatever the patients had if she unclenched her jaw.

Probably just needed a good fuck— ten minutes with me would loosen the bitch up. The thought had me immediately moaning down deep. I felt the raunchy monster inside me stir and rake its claws across my ribcage.
That took all of five minutes in a public place.

I had
no sooner slumped into a chair than I was frigidly instructed to head through the paneled dark wood door by the uptight twat. Fuckin’ A, and the monster had come out to play.
Where better than here, right?

I could already tell I wouldn’t like Dr. Greene. He hadn’t even had the courtesy to retrieve a new patient in person. I waltzed through the door into a starchy office of blue and gold. Not exactly calming colors when joined together, I noted wryly.

I almost laughed out loud when I caught sight of, presumably, Dr. Greene standing behind a large mahogany desk. He was the spitting image of Larry Fine, if Larry wore tortoise shell glasses that is.

“Mr. Grey. May I call you Trey?”

“Whatever you desire, Doc.”

“What is the cane for, Trey? Were you recently injured?” He indicated the mustard-gold couch, and I sat down while he settled in to the powder-blue Queen Anne chair across from me.

“No. Actually, I suffered a breakdown and ended up in a psychological coma for several days,” I explained. “That should be in your notes.” I gestured to the file perched on his knee.

“Five days actually, and it is. I wanted to hear it from you.” He wrote something down then set his leather binde
r on an oval imprinted table before tenting his fingers. I couldn’t decide if that had been an asshole move, or brilliant on the Doc’s part.

“Trey, did Dr. Tolstay explain to you why you were referred to me?”

“No, I received the schedule and directions to your office, so here I am.”

He took a long whistling breath through his nose and nodded once. “I
’m a sexual therapist. More specifically, I specialize in the treatment of sexually abused teens.”

“Ah, Fuck.”
Touché, Dr. Tolstay
. I started laughing. The man didn’t look like he had much experience when it came to sex, in or out of the bedroom, and I found that hilarious for some reason. He ignored my outburst. It probably wasn’t the first time someone had cackled at him in his office. I doubted it would be
my
last.

The first session was short and not so sweet. Dr. Greene informed me we would be talking solely about my sexual abuse as a child. That was it. Nothing else. Well, and everything that twined into that abuse at the time it was going on. Or so
he
thought. He hoped to find the root of my current dislike of myself. I could tell him that in ten minutes and we could sit and play Parcheesi the rest of the appointments. But no, this was just a get to know you meeting. 

Yet, when I walked out of his office I didn’t feel like
he knew one damn thing about me other than what I had already told Dr. Tolstay. Typical therapist. By the end of the session you’re right back where you started, and didn’t work out a damn thing.

By the time I pulled kitten into the terraced back lot at the restaurant, I had forgotten all about Dr. Greene an
d was focused on the fajitas I was about to put away. I winced as I glided kitten between two SUVs. The only consolation was the fact both were newer, expensive, and pristine. I hoped they weren’t so new the drivers just hadn’t had a chance to hit anything yet.

I left my cane
, and climbed out of kitten, knowing I could no longer lean on it. Upon entering the adobe archway of the restaurant, I was more annoyed than surprised to see a small herd waiting to be seated. It wasn’t even Friday night and the place was crowded.

I debated, un-enthusiastically, about tr
ying somewhere else. In the end I wound up with my ass on a green pleather bench, waiting like everyone else.

I was leaning my elbows on my knees looking at the terra cotta brick floor for no reason other than it was there, when two flouncy girls sat on either side of me and shoved their hips into mine.

“You are c.u.t.e,” said the blond.

“Ahh, Candy, cute doesn’t work on him. He’s luscious,” explained the gum popping brunette as she blithely ran a hand up my arm.

“And you two look like jail bait to me,” I commented with much less enthusiasm than they were showing. They laughed.

“Candy’s eighteen and I’m nineteen.”
  She leaned in, feathering my hair back with her lavender nails until her matching lips were almost pressed to my ear.  “Can’t buy beer but legal enough to screw.”

“And you are?” I asked giving her a sidelong glance while still leaning casually onto my knees.

“Tammy, and what’s your name?” she asked popping her gum over her tongue. 

I might
have actually found her attractive if not for the chawing issue. She had nice tits, and her eyes had that soft smoky look to them. Not that I would ever fuck her. I leaned back, glancing from one to the other, then smiled at them apologetically.

“Sorry ladies, you are
not
my type.” It was the easiest thing to say to get them off my scent.

They both flopped back next to me, and then called in unison, “Justin, you were wrong, he’s gay.” And now the whole restaurant knows it too. The blond added, “You owe us dinner.”
 

I was a bet? Funny!
  Grinning, I ran a hand through my hair as patrons turned to look, and some to snicker. They didn’t bother me. The guy wandering over carrying the cocky smile had a smidge of my attention however. Perfectly-spiked gold hair, arresting blue eyes, and rather nicely put together. He was a tall, athletic type that no doubt had been an “A” lister in high school, driving both boys and girls wild.

“He’s not gay.” He had a cocky attitude to go with the smile. How quaint.

I tipped my head and gathered him up. “Neither are you,” I replied slyly. We were teasing each other of course. His smile went from cocky to genuine as he extended his hand.

“Justin.”
 

I clasped his hand. “Trey.” There wasn’t a tingle of any kind, no electric current, but his hand was warm, strong
, and soft, and heat traveled in a slow burn across my skin.

The girls were chatting over the top of me about whether Justin was right, my appearance, and other equally important things, sounding like shallow daddy’s girls. I, however, was pondering something else. Whether the bulg
e almost level with my eye line was real or falsely enhanced. 

If it was real, that meant he was bigger than me, and I was pretty damn big. When more than a few tricks have exclaimed over the size of your tool, you’ve earned the right to be arrogant a
bout your cock. But then I didn’t know a successful male in the trade who wasn’t well hung.

He carried himself with the confidence of someone incredibly well endowed so I gave him the benefit.

“Sorry about them.” His fingers flipped to the girls. “When you walked in they went all flitterpated.”

“Flitterpated. Is that a real word?” I asked seriously, folding my hands in my lap.

“It is when referring to them.”

He pulled his arms into his chest in mock defense as sounds of indignation erupted from the two girls. Candy smacked his hip with her hot pink purse
, and he ducked away, laughing. He had a really nice laugh. Not too deep, with an edge of roughness that made it genuine.

“So, Trey, you waiting on anyone?” Justin asked when Candy’s attack ended and she plopped back next to me.

I shook my head. “Nope. Alone. Sad, I know.” 

Candy squealed in my ear, leaving it ringing and me cringing.

“Girls, I think he should join us, don’t you?” 

Another ear piercing screech
, and head bobbing from both. I considered this for about a second. I decided as long as I wasn’t seated next to Candy, it might be nice to hang. It wasn’t as if I would ever see them again. Justin was looking at me expectantly, a crooked smile on his tan face, and an eyebrow raised ridiculously high.

“On one condition.” I turned toward Tammy. “Get rid of the gum.”
 

She opened her mouth
, looking incensed, as Justin laughed.

“How many times have I told you how un-attractive that is?” he said, pointing a chiding finger at her.

She rolled her eyes. “Gad, now there are two of them.” She did, however, get up and throw her gum away in a fake plant. 

A few short minutes later found us seated with our orders taken. I loved that about this restaurant. If you didn’t need the menu, and knew what you wanted, you could have your food ten minutes after being seated. Besides, who doesn’t know the basics serv
ed in every Mexican restaurant? Rice, beans and something else. Easy. Except I omit the rice.

I mean, come on. If you take your girl to Mexican you already know you will wake up the next morning with the room smelling like someone crapped the bed. Reserve the rice for Oriental food and eat more beans. They’re a helluva good source of protein, which a person might need for a fart ridden fuck following their meal.

We chattered about the mundane things everyone chats about as we waited for our food. They all went to BCC, the local community college. As community colleges go, BCC was, admittedly, one of the best. They gave me a bad time for attending U.W.  Calling me too smart for my own good, and I didn’t deny it.

Our food arrived
, and we spent a few minutes stuffing our faces appreciatively. The food here was fantastic and the reason why the place was packed, obviously. Tammy picked a few green peppers and chicken off my skillet. I didn’t mind. It was something a friend would do, and the fact she was comfortable enough to go there didn’t escape me. I found myself laughing easily and relaxed into the easy banter.

“We’re headed to a party. Want to come?” Justin asked as he rolled an empty glass around on the table.

“Please come. Please, please, please...” Tammy stopped, and stared at me with big expectant eyes.

“What kind of party? Drugs, drinking, sex?” I asked casually, except I actually wanted to know what I was getting into before answering.
 

“Definitely,” Justin said.

I chuckled and shook my head.

“It’s just a house party.
Lot’s of booze and some sex. No big deal,” he added, but averted his eyes to the glass and shifted in his seat, causing me to wonder what he
wasn’t
saying.

I’d attended a few house and dorm parties when I first arrived at the U.W., and decided they were not my thing. Alcohol induced orgies basically, whether the sex happened in the open or behind closed doors.