Ryan Metcalf and Kit Jones
(I wasn’t there for the first part of this story. Most of it is made up of things I learned from different people after the events had occurred.)
It was the first weekend in October, and Christopher ‘Kit’ Carson Jones had visitation with his dad. His dad, in turn, was spending the weekend with his new girl-friend, Charlotte ‘call me Charlie’ something, so that’s where Kit was. It wasn’t too bad, though. Charlie had a son who was only a grade ahead of Kit and about a year-and-a-half older than him. When Kit had seen his dad a couple of weeks before, that Friday had been Ryan’s 8th birthday and they’d all gone to Chuck E. Cheese’s, which had been really fun.
Ryan was bigger than Kit, but not a lot bigger. Both of them were about average size. The real difference was that Kit had fair, but clear, skin, blond hair and blue eyes, while Ryan had bright orange hair, dark green eyes, and while his skin was fair, it was covered with freckles. The last time, he and his dad had gone back to Dad’s apartment after pizza, but this time Dad had said he could spend the night with Ryan, which was pretty kewl.
Ryan liked a lot of neat stuff, and Kit enjoyed playing with him. Even though he was only a first grader, Ryan didn’t treat him like a little kid. Right now, though, Kit was a little tense, mainly because Ryan was.
Dad had told Kit to take a bath before they came over that night, so he’d gotten into his pajamas, then looked at some of Ryan’s Pokemon cards while Ryan got his bath. Ryan had been a little nervous when he came back to his bedroom, though. He came across his room to the younger boy before speaking.
"You already had a bath?"
Kit nodded.
Ryan glanced at the closed bedroom door, then back at his friend.
"You wanna see my birthmark?"
Kit actually had no idea what a birthmark was, but it sounded kewl, and his friend seemed to want to show him, so he nodded his head.
Ryan slid his fingers into the waistband of his pajamas and slid them down a bit. He pushed the left side down, exposing his hip and the lowest part of his belly. The first thing Kit noticed was that his friend didn’t wear undies beneath his pajamas. Then he saw the spot that Ryan was pointing at. At first, it looked like a really big freckle. Leaning closer, he could see that it was a little different.
"See how it looks like a skull?" Ryan asked?
Kit didn’t see it, until Ryan pointed out, "You have to look at it upside down."
Kit turned his head a bit, then could see it a little. The bottom was fuller than the top and there were a couple of darker spots that could be an eye and nose. He wasn’t sure it really looked that much like a skull, but it was pretty kewl, so Kit agreed with his friend.
"What’d’ya think?" Ryan asked?
"Kewl," Kit assured him.
Ryan had been relaxing, but he suddenly seemed nervous again, before asking, "Have you ever seen another boy’s peter?"
Kit’s eyes went a little wide, then he shook his head no.
"You wanna? I’ll show you mine if you let me see yours. Okay?"
Kit nodded.
"Okay. But I already showed you my birthmark, so you show me yours first."
Kit felt a little nervous and embarrassed, but he didn’t want Ryan to think he was a wuss or anything, so he slid his pajama bottoms down a little.
"Further than that, Kit. I can’t see nuthin’."
Kit shoved them a little more, but the look on Ryan’s face told him it wasn’t enough, so he shoved them all the way past his knees, and took his briefs along with them. Ryan smiled at him, letting him know he’d done the right thing, then pushed his own down just as far. Ryan lifted his top, so Kit did the same.
Kit was shocked. His own dinky wasn’t really bigger than his thumb, and it hung down over his little sack. Ryan’s sack wasn’t any bigger than Kit’s, but his dinky was huge and pointed straight at Kit, instead of hanging down. Ryan laughed at the look on the other boy’s face.
"Yours is the same way," he said, obviously knowing what Kit was thinking.
"No it’s not."
"Sure it is. Watch."
Even as he said it, Ryan leaned forward and wrapped his small hand around the other boy’s penis. Kit gasped as he felt it. Ryan gave the shaft a squeeze, then opened his hand.
"See?"
He was right. Kit wasn’t sure that Ryan’s wasn’t still a little bigger, but his was much bigger than it had been and standing at attention, just like Ryan’s. He knew his did that some times, but didn’t know you could make it do it.
After letting Kit have a look, he closed his thumb and first two fingers around the shaft and began stroking them up and down. Kit gasped and clenched his little bottom, shoving his hips forward. Ryan laughed a bit.
"Feels good, don’t it?"
Kit just nodded, almost lost in the bliss.
"Do me," Ryan suggested. "Please?"
Kit was anxious to see what it felt like, so he reached forward and took the other boys dinky in his hand. He’d never done it before, but he must not be doing a bad job, because Ryan seemed to enjoy having it done as much as Kit did. And Kit liked rubbing Ryan’s as well - he loved the way it felt hard and soft at the same time - and he loved the look on Ryan's face.
Before it occurred to him to wonder if his own face looked the same, disaster struck.
The bedroom door came open without warning and his dad stepped in.
"Do you boys want…" Whatever he’d meant to say was lost in the next explosion.
"What the hell is going on in here?"
Kit’s Dad slammed the door behind him and started undoing his belt. Kit hadn’t thought they were doing anything wrong, but he knew what that signaled.
"I’m sorry, Daddy. I didn’t mean…" he tried to explain, but was quickly cut off.
"I don’t give a damn what you meant. No boy of mine’s gonna be no queer."
Kit knew what was coming and dreaded it, but didn’t know what to do. He heard the rapid fire sound of the belt snapping out of it’s loops, then he felt himself grabbed by his upper right arm and thrown across his friend’s bed. His arm hurt where it had been used to lift him off his feet, but that was nothing compared to what came a second later as the thick, black, leather belt sliced through the air and into his tender bottom.
Kit shrieked as the first blow lashed across his backside and was howling by the time the second fell just below it. He was in agony as the belt fell again and again. He couldn’t think of anything but the pain. He’d been spanked often, but this was only the third time he could remember being whipped, yet he couldn’t believe he’d forgotten how awful it was. It was nothing like the spankings his momma gave him. He didn’t even know what he’d done wrong. None of that mattered, though. Nothing mattered except the explosions of agony that kept smashing into his tush. There was nothing else in the world for the boy except the ache in his bottom and the lesser pain in his nose, eyes, and throat.
It wasn’t until Ryan’s howls and cries penetrated his haze that Kit realized he wasn’t being strapped anymore. Ryan was lying right next to him, and Kit could move his head enough to see, through the haze of his tears, that his Daddy had paused long enough to take all of Ryan’s clothes off, even though they’d both already been bare bottomed.
Kit thought about getting up and going to the bathroom, but he was just too sore. He changed his mind a minute later when the tip of the belt missed Ryan so much that it caught Kit’s hip. Kip might have thought he was too sore to move, but if staying there meant more pain, he’d find a way.
Kit started to roll away until his weight came down on his rapidly bruising hip. Then he just scooted himself to the side of the bed, where he could work his legs under him.
The entire time Kit was working to stand, his Daddy kept yelling. Kit couldn’t understand most of it, something about queers and molesting and it didn’t make any sense to him. Daddy was always a little hard to understand when he’d had too many beers, but it was worse this time.
That’s when Kit realized how much worse. Kit’s bottom ached and he was sore down onto his legs, but Ryan was getting much worse than that. Kit had looked at himself in the mirror once after a strapping, and he easily recognized the dark, angry red marks the belt left in his dad’s hands. Those stripes weren’t just on Ryan’s bottom or upper legs. They started up at his shoulders and ran all the way past his knees. Kit didn’t know how long Ryan had been getting whooped before he realized his own beating was over, but he knew the older boy had already had more than enough.
Trying to stop his father only got him shoved backwards, causing him to bump against Ryan’s dresser, reminding him of the agony in his own seat. Knowing he could do nothing, he ran to get Ryan’s mom.
Charlie was sitting in the living room, watching TV, and smoking a weird smelling cigarette. How could she not hear it.
"Please, Charlie," Kit begged, "Daddy’s whooping Ryan too hard. You gotta help him."
"Yeah, the little brat’s making a ton of noise," she replied, picking up the remote to raise the volume a bit. "What’d you two do, anyway? You musta really pissed Buster off bad."
She didn’t do anything. Kit couldn’t understand it. Surely his dad must have stopped by now. He ran back to look, but all he saw was the red marks starting to turn black and blue, and was that a bit of blood on Ryan’s bottom?
Kit’s mom was cautious, and she’d taught the boy what to do in an emergency. Kit still didn’t know what they’d done wrong or why his daddy was so mad, but he had to help Ryan. Remembering what Momma had taught him, Kit ran to the phone and dialed 911.
Bransom isn’t a huge town, but we have a good tax base, and the police are efficient. According to the records, there happened to be a car in the area, and they arrived at the house within two minutes of the call being logged.
As soon as the bell rang, Kit ran to the door. He tried to tell the police what was happening, but they could hear all they needed to know.
Maxwell ‘Buster’ Jones was arrested on first-degree felony child abuse charges and drug possession. Charlene Dow was arrested on the same charges, though the first charge was later dropped to a second-degree neglect charge. Kit Jones was picked up by his mother, who filed for and received a restraining order against the boy’s father. She never bothered asking for the visitation agreement to be amended, because the man doesn’t qualify for parole until his son is in his 20s.
And as for Ryan?
Ryan Edward Metcalf spent three days in the hospital. There was no necrosis to the tissue, but it took that long before he had much range of motion back. There was no serious (in the sustained sense) damage, but they were worried for a while because of blood in the urine and stool. He spent a very unpleasant weekend having tests done. (And if you’ve ever had to drink a barium milk shake you know what I mean. Not to mention, that’s not a pleasant way to receive your first enema.)
Ryan was released from the hospital late Monday afternoon and a woman from CPS picked him up from the hospital. He already knew his mom had done something wrong and was in jail, and that he’d be going to stay at a children’s home, while they found someplace for him to live.
The lady that picked him up from the hospital was pretty nice. Her name was Maggie Roach (and she’d heard all the jokes already, thank you). He didn’t know the word, but Ryan liked her because she didn’t patronize him like many adults did. She even understood how blah the hospital food was, and they stopped on the way to his house, where they were going to get some of his stuff, so he could have McDonalds.
It was only when he got to his house that Ryan really understood what was happening. They weren’t talking about his mom coming back. They were talking about finding him a new place to live. They weren’t talking about someone coming to take care of him. They were talking about him going to a new place. Then, when they got out of the car, Maggie pulled out a duffle bag. When he asked, she informed the boy it was to pack the things he’d need.
Ryan tried. He was still sore and moving or sitting wasn’t comfortable for him. He still tried. He didn’t really understand why Mr. Jones had gotten so mad. He hadn’t meant to do anything wrong, and he hadn’t hurt Kit. He was really trying. Then Maggie helped him pack the bag. She put in undies and socks and t-shirts and some pajamas and jeans and shirts and…. But it was already full. It couldn’t be full yet.
"Where are we going to put my toys and books and stuff?" he asked, still trying hard to be brave.
"Honey, we don’t have room for that stuff. You’re going to have to share a room, and you might be moving around…"
That’s as far as she got before the boy exploded in tears. He just collapsed. It must have hurt for him to fall like that, but he didn’t show it. Maggie’s a compassionate woman and she tried to comfort him, but he was overwhelmed and she couldn’t even tell if he was hearing her. Then she looked around the room and saw what he was asking about. She saw it, and she knew what to do.
Very few people know my cell phone number. Most people have the house phone. I appreciate the convenience of cell phones, but I don’t really like them. I may not want you to be able to get ahold of me whenever you like. When the house phone rings during dinner, we ignore it. Dinner with the family is much more important. When the cell phone rings at this time of day… Well, it had better be an emergency, is all I can say.
Maggie explained the situation to me, and I tried my best to make her go away. Steve and Mikell were away at college now, JD had moved back in with his mom, and Aaron had finally matured to the point where he was more help than hassle. Still, Tommy was always a handful. Bobby wasn’t as bad as he had been, but was still pretty clingy. I tried to spend as much time as I could with Corey and Barry, but it never seemed like enough. And the twins were just starting to adjust to my household and beginning to believe that we weren’t going to uproot them yet again. I did not need another child in the house. I told her that. And she cheated.
The boy is laying on the floor of his bedroom, crying his eyes out because he can’t decide "whether to pack his Pokemon cards or his stuffed Godzilla in the room he has left," she informed me. "I just never believed you would do that to a boy."
"Maggie?" I asked her. "Darling? Can dykes be bitches?"
"Of course we can, faggot. We make the best ones. Are you coming?"
"Give me directions. I have to let the guys know what’s going on and get a couple of things."
Thirty minutes later Maggie let me into the house. It wasn’t real nice - a rental on the old side of town. Inside was a mess, until you got to the boy’s room. The furniture was the same used and abused rental mess, but things were neat in there. And she’d been right. Even standing in the door I could see books, and comics, and several Godzilla toys, and some Duel Master, Pokemon, and Yu-Gi-Oh! Cards. This kid was one of mine, and I couldn’t deny it.
The little redhead was huddled in a ball on the side of his bed. I walked over to him, then knelt beside him.
"Hi. Are you Ryan?
He looked up at me warily, then nodded.
"I’m Jack. Maggie says you need a place to stay and don’t have room to pack everything. Is that right?"
He nodded again, and tears started to gather in his already bloodshot eyes.
"Don’t cry, kiddo. I think I can help you out."
"You can?" he asked, torn between hope and the fear of disappointment.
"Yeah. You see, Maggie has rules about what she can let kids bring, so she called me. I think I know a place where you can go, and it’ll be okay to take most of your stuff."
"Where’s that?" He asked, managing to look wholly uninterested in the answer.
"My house. Would you like to come live with me and my sons?"
I think I had his attention then, but he still didn’t look enthused.
"Could I take my stuff?"
"Well, I don’t think we can take all of it, but you can take a lot. And I’ll tell you something else, Ryan…" I paused, making him respond.
"What?"
"If you forget anything important, we can get it for you. However, I have WAY more Godzilla toys in my collection than you have here. If you behave, and you promise to be careful, I’ll let you play with them sometimes."
"You like Godzilla?"
That sealed the deal. I went to the car and got the extra luggage I’d brought, and we packed up everything we could. That happened to be everything he had to have and a few other things as well. We also didn’t worry so much about the clothes, since much of what he had looked to need replacing anyway.
We never did find any other relatives for him, and his mom went to jail on drug charges. (When the police searched the house, they found quite a stash). The judge agreed to drop the neglect charges if she gave up custody of Ryan. Since she was facing a 10-year sentence for the drugs already, she was happy enough to agree to that. And Ryan’s been here every since. He’s not a perfect kid, but he’s good. And he’s now known as Ryan Edward Wells, since the adoption went through 16 January 2005, which makes today his 4th anniversary, and is the reason I wrote this today.
Return to Story List
Return to Table of Contents