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 “ASL?” blinked the word on the computer screen.
The boy, who has been staring at the TV, shifts his focus to the monitor and absent-mindedly types out his reply to the oft-repeated question of Age, Sex, Location.
“18, male, western suburbs.”
He then promptly returns to the evening news, being all too familiar with how these online conversations are played. He’s frequented gay chat rooms since first peeking out of the closet door when he turned 16 at the start of the year. Nine out of ten times, he never receives a response from the anonymous questioner.
A new window pops up. A reply from the same guy. And it’s private.
“Isn’t it a bit late for you to be online?” the stranger writes.
“It’s a bit late for most things,” the boy replies, “but then again, I’m a big boy already.”
“LOL,” is the response. “I like you. What’s your name?”
And so their conversation begins.
Several weeks later, the boy is sitting in an inner city park, his backpack beside him on the bench. Despite all the things he’s read about first encounters, he has reluctantly agreed to stay the night at the home of the 25-year-old he’s met online.
He and the man have spent many hours together in nightly virtual conversations. They’ve learned a lot about one another without learning too much; established a naïve trust. The one thing that the boy instantly liked about the man was that he didn’t push like the others did; asking for a picture, a phone number, to meet up.
Despite this, the boy is yet to tell anyone else about his new acquaintance. He doesn’t even tell his parents about his weekend rendezvous; instead making up an excuse about a sleepover at a friend’s. He’s chosen to keep this part of himself secret, much like he’d chosen, until recently, to do the same with his real age and identity while chatting with the man.
“There’s something you should know,” the boy remembers telling him in chat one evening. “Here, take a look at this.”
He hits send, and his picture zooms out across the ether to the man’s computer.
“You look so young. How old are you?” is the eventual response.
“I’m not 18… I’m only 16,” the boy finally admits, afraid that his real age and his original lie will put an abrupt end to their conversation.
“You’re really cute!” the man exclaims instead. “Here’s my photo.” And so the two finally exchange real details, and their virtual meetings become actual.
“Come on in,” the man says. “Let me show you around.”
The boy feels a sense of dislocation as he’s led inside. The house’s decorations are Spartan, save for numerous electronic gadgets. He’s led to the study, where the man shows off an impressive-looking computer surrounded by other high-tech toys. He notices the webcams and camcorder sitting on the study desk.
“I’m not sure where you’d like to sleep tonight. There’s the couch …” The man points to a dilapidated-looking lounge. The boy gives him a quizzical look. “Or you can bunk with me.”
The boy smiles politely. The man’s emphasis is not lost on him.
A long while later – how long, he is not exactly sure – the boy lies on the bed, looking up at the dark ceiling, a beam of moonlight shining on his face. Images of what had just happened are running through his head. He had eventually slipped into bed after prolonging the inevitable.
“What took you so long?” the man had asked him, smiling and moving closer.
Carefully, he began to caress the boy; at first concentrating on his upper body before his hands gradually explored lower. The boy felt electrified by every touch, but remained still.
“Don’t be scared. I’ll take care of you,” the man had reassured. “It’s alright. You can touch me, too.”
Slowly the boy lifted one arm and gingerly reached out …
It had been awkward to begin with, seeing that the boy was experiencing things for the first time. He had hoped that the man would be more careful, more understanding, but while he’d shown such qualities in the beginning, somehow, during the course of things, he’d begun to change, becoming forceful and greedy.
“You’re mine, bitch,” the man had said.
He sleeps now, turned away from the boy, his snores filling the room. The boy is confused, but also tired. He turns on his side and curls up into a ball, pining for his own bed. He sleeps restlessly.
Many years later the boy has grown up to be a man. Confident now, sure of his abilities and secure in his sexuality. He has learnt many lessons. He no longer spends his evenings on online forums. Certainly he has never contacted the man, or thought of him and the events of that fateful, long-ago weekend, again. Not until one late evening, that is.
Channel surfing, he happens upon the news, and is surprised by a familiar face. There on the screen, looking much older, is the man. Walking out of a building. Escorted into a car. Flanked by two policemen. He turns up the volume to better hear the newsreader.
“... local police today apprehended a 35-year-old man for the underage solicitation and penetration of a 13-year-old boy. The arrest follows a complaint made by the boy’s father, who alleges that the man lured his son to a hotel room after meeting him in an online chat room. He is expected to be charged for two similar offences committed in other states ...”
The boy sits in silent disbelief. It takes him a few moments to fully comprehend what he’s just heard. Then, he feels degraded, dirty, disgusted to know that he had been involved with the man. The thought that he could be one of those boys – that he was one of them – made him feel sick to the stomach.
“You’re mine, bitch.”
Slowly, however, a sense of empowerment begins to dawn on him, and a smirk spreads across his face. “Guess who’ll be the bitch now,” the boy says aloud.
He snorts, and soon his laughter fills the darkened room.
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