Today's Blind Items - Thirteen, Part 3 - A Dancing Boy Story.

 When the butler came for me, I was led toward the front of the house, and up the spiral staircase, then down the hall to this one bedroom. He unlocked the door and led me in, or rather pushed me. About all I remember of it is a lot of antiques - including a Persian rug - and that it smelled like a flower shop. Apparently this executive liked to have flowers around. 

I was told that there was only one rule for the evening, and that was to be a very, very good boy - because naughty boys would be punished. It was at that moment that he picked up what I thought was a cane, but was actually a wand of sorts - the kind you use to corral living…property. He discharged it in the air several times.

I was made to undress and put on a clothing set of sorts - the kind just about all kids, including me, stopped wearing by the end of grade school (or face some serious humiliation in the locker room); apparently this was the man’s thing. Then I was told to lie across the bed and wait for him to come in; I was instructed to call him only daddy, or sir. The butler put my clothes in a bag and left with them. I could hear the door lock after he closed it.

That’s when I felt something under the covers, and I pulled them back. It or rather they were something I had only seen once - in a catalog for adult products I found at the bottom of my parents’ bedroom magazine rack. How to put it? They’re used to keep someone…in place.

I went to the bathroom, feeling nauseous, and kneeled in front of the toilet. That’s when I noticed a few drops of blood on the tile - the floor was shining, and smelled of ammonia. It had obviously just been cleaned. Apparently the maid…missed some of it.

I heard the door unlock, and laid down on the bed again. My heart was pounding. But it was not the man - it was the butler. He had a tray with two pills, which I was instructed to take, and a wine cooler to wash them down. (One was mdma - which was illegal by then - and the other was almost certainly a muscle relaxant.) There was also a fruit cup, for some reason, which he left on the nightstand.

Daddy will be in shortly, he said, leaving again, and locking the door behind him. (If you think about what I was made to wear, and what was under the covers, you kind of maybe get a scenario out of a certain kind of book - the kind with a lot of pictures, often read by children. I know it’s disturbing to hear, but that’s where this was going. And yes: the irony of there being a butler involved was not lost on me, especially given the exact theme of the clothing.)

Much like the first time, it would last most of the night. But this time I was in agonizing pain by the end of it. And I couldn’t take my shirt off in front of anyone for weeks because of what was left on my back and sides - it seems I hadn’t been a good enough boy.

Do you need to go to a hospital? the driver asked me when I got in the limo.

No, please, I said - just take me home. I just want to go home, I said, covering my tear soaked face with my hands. 

In another year, I’d be watching those highly graphic auto safety movies - the ones where someone has literally just lost their legs and they’re telling the cop or paramedic they just need to get home to their mother. A lot of the kids laughed, and whistled. I did not, because I knew something they did not - something no child should ever know.