This is my first ever story submitted on here. :) I gotta warn you though, some of the later chapters will be a bit sexual and there is a bit of swearing in it too. There isn't a rating on it just to make it look good you know. :) If you don't agree with homosexuality, then you will have a problem with reading this, but maybe it will change your view on it, I don't know. :) Don't blatantly critisize me for the way I write or what I write. We all have different styles. :) Carry on and read!

From troubled school kid to teenage prostitute on the cruel and unpredictable streets of London. Even from early childhood, my life was a mess. Just look what I did to it. Nobody deserves their innocence stripped from them like it was stripped from me. They didn't know about my background. Nobody cares about the thirteen year old rentboy.

by Felix17

25th September 1990

A happy successful couple grinned as the delighted father held their newborn baby boy in his arms. It was a new start for them. Times had been getting hard for them after the mother had lost her job, but this was a fresh beginning, with one extra little life in the family. The baby looked up at his father with his bright blue eyes and, tired, the father stroked the baby's short soft fluffy blonde hair. The baby was me.

I often wonder to myself about my childhood. Up until the age of three, we had been the perfect family. My dad bought in a good secure income, my mom kept the house clean and tidy while my dad was at work in his regular nine to five office job. He would come home to a cooked meal and a kiss from his fiance, a hug round the legs from his delighted three year old son, and then the three of us would sit down at our dining table and eat one of mom's wonderful homemade dishes. As a lone child, I would occupy myself with various well-used toys and regular journies to the little fantasy world vistied by most young childen in the bushes at the back of our middle-class estate garden. At the weekends, my parents would take me to the park near our home and watch as I played on the seesaw by myself and failing but trying to make it all the way across the monkey bars, while they held gloved hands and chatted on a bench nearby. It never lasted.

14th November 1993.

That day had been particularly cold, and my mother had wrapped me up well in a blue knitted jumper with matching mittens. Even indoors I could feel the chill crawl up my back as I lay on my stomach on the floor rolling toy cars as hard as I could across the carpeted floor. The fire was flickering next to me in the old fashioned grate, compensating for the biting chill that nipped my toes and fingers. It was late evening and my dad had been home a few hours. My mom was nowhere to be seen and dad was agitated that his cooked meal hadn't been provided for him. He didn't speak to me, but I was too far off in my imaginary world by the fire-place to take much notice if he did. I started humming an improvised tune to myself, nodding my head from side to side as my dad paced the entire house looking for some reason why his fiance wasn't at home like she should be.

"Ian," he asked me finally with the sort of high pitched voice that everybody does when talking to a child. I paused my tune and waited for him to talk again. "Where's mommy? Did she tell you where she was going?"

I continued my tune again and shook my head as I threw one of the cars across the carpet, trying to beat my own personal record. My dad sighed and grabbed the house phone in the hallway. I heard him chatting in an irritated voice to a somebody that I didn't know and I knew he was stressed. Before he had even put the phone down, the door slammed in the kitchen and my mom stumbled in with tears rolling down her cheeks. She looked a wreck. Her hair was a dyed blonde tangled mess and her thick make-up was smudged all down her usually rosy face. My dad rushed over to her in some sort of urgency, but I continued playing and ignored the scene.

My dad grabbed my mom gently round the shoulders in a comforting way, trying to get her to talk to him, but she shook him off and made her way quickly upstairs. Dad followed with a panicked look on his face. I waited for mom and dad to come back down. My stomach was growling and the toy cars were getting boring. I sat on the sofa and decided I would see how much noise I could make by banging my heels on the base of the sofa. It didn't match the shouting now coming from upstairs.

They were argueing. They hardly ever argued but I was calm, it was usually over silly things like whose turn it was to make the coffee. I sat alone in the living room for quite a while and with each bang from upstairs, I hummed to myself a little louder. I couldn't hear exactly what they were saying as it just sounded like a huge mess of words and sobbing and slamming of objects. I didn't understand what was going on, but what three year old child does?

Dad came hurtling down the stairs at such a pace that it made me jolt. Mom was screaming his name at the top of the stairs and my dad was giving her hand gestures that mom had smacked me for using at next doors Yorkshire Terrier. He stood in the doorway to the stairs as my mom pleaded on her knees to him at the foor of the stairs. He shook his head and frowned at her in disgrace, but I could tell she she didn't feel guilt. It was an act. He stormed past me and I felt the heat coming from his body and I felt a little more relaxed, but his hasty disappearence through the kitchen door only bought back the sweeping cold of the evening and I knew something was seriously wrong. My mom was on her knees at the foot of the stairs still, her head in her hands and tears and mucus dripping from her chin. The shoulder of her blouse was ripped and I could see a fresh mark of red on her pale skin. I ran over to her with a sofa cushion gripped tightly in my little hands and trying to stifle an awkward giggle. I approached her slowly hoping that she would take me into her arms and tell me that she was alright.

She didn't. She ignored me. And I stood by her numbed shaking body for the rest of the evening until she ordered me to go to bed, with no goodnight kiss, or dinner. From then on she was different. She wasn't my mom anymore, she didn't care for me like she used to. I was just a painful reminder of my dad.

I didn't see my dad again for months. He came regularly into the house for about half a year and he would stop and chat for a few minutes with me while my mom watched in the corner, silent. It was always cold and conversation died a little everytime he came to visit me. I would always sit in the armchair and hide as much of myself away behind one of the sofa cushions. When he left, he would take an object that belonged to him. It was like he was moving away from us, like he was packing for his holidays bit by bit, but me and mom weren't going with him. He didn't live with us anymore and I was too scared to ask my mom why he had abandoned us.

The birth of my baby half-brother, Martin, explained everything. Mom had had a baby with another man and my dad couldn't stand the fact that his beautiful perfect wife had been with another, all the time, under his nose. Baby Martin was a stranger to me. He didnt live with us, he lived with his dad, my own dad's competition, in the next town. Mom could only cope with looking after one child and social services had suggested she give up baby Martin, what with losing the house and moving to a grotty council flat, failure to get a job with her poor array of qualifications, regular monetary and possesive deductions from my dad. Life was pretty cruel to us both and I had to grow up with it for the next fourteen years.

Please leave me some feedback. :) Second chapter up soon.