Taming His Mistress [Revised]

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Shadow's POV

It's not as chilly as it usually is. The temperature died down as I made my way to the scrap-house. That's what I call the dumpster behind this nice restaurant. I could never remember the name but I've been coming here for years, and in those years he's changed it many times. Perks of naming it after every partner you have I guess. The owner is a really nice older gentleman. He tried to talk to me, I just panicked and ran away. Now he just sets out leftovers for me to eat. I wanted to thank him desperately. My fear of talking to people was too strong. Many people have tried to give me money or offer to help. I would just run away like a coward. Dumb right? It's free money!

Yes I know it's stupid. Someone offering me free money when I have none. To be completely honest I rather die than talk to someone. The only friend I had was Jilly Bob. He had many personalities but each one was nice. I guess you could say I had more than one friend. One day he was Jilly, one day he was Bob. So I mashed the names and called him both. He didn't mind. He would give me a smile exposing all of his rotten teeth. Unfortunately, he died a year ago. Thus leaving me in my alley alone. Yes, this is my alley. I've been here for about 2 years now. Before I hitch-hiked and slept in various places. Eventually, that got old and I decided to settle down somewhere. I've watched other homeless people come and go. Most never stay. I often imagine where they've gone. Jilly would say that they died somewhere or got killed. I liked to think they got out of this life. Perhaps they're living somewhere peaceful where they get meals every day. I could go weeks without wondering where my next meal would come from. My stomach has gotten used to it. Only when I couldn't stand it any longer would I go to the scrap house. Usually, I like to leave the food for the other homeless around. Sometimes my stomach wins over and I go eat what the nice man leaves.

A good thing about living on the streets is the people who live on them as well. A few blocks down is where the prostitutes hang out. Although I don't call them that. We don't like that term but it's thrown around so much. They're just hard-working individuals. Yes, before you say anything, they are hard-working. Can you imagine how much it actually takes to sell your body like that to make money? I could never do it. The mental and emotional toll it takes is unimaginable. Occasionally I'll go down there and say hi. Every time I go they try to offer me money. I always decline knowing how they get their money. One gay guy said I would make good in the business because I'm so cute. Just the thought sent me dry heaving near the dumpster. He laughed and stuck a cancer stick between his teeth. The thought of another human touching me made acid rise in my throat. Not actual vomit, my stomach was too empty for that.

Finally, I made it to the scrap house. As usual, there was a nicely wrapped swan resting next to some used pizza boxes. I snatched up the swan and stuffed it in my worn hoodie. Actually, it wasn't mine. I found it last week in the trash. Since the weather has been dropping I snatched it up before anyone else could. It smelled of cigarettes and the faint dumpster stench. You don't get to choose where you get the things you need. I'm just glad I haven't sunken low enough to sell myself for sex. Not yet anyway. I don't have anything against what they do, I find them very brave. I just can't do it no matter how many times I've tried to convince myself to at least try.

No, I haven't reached that point yet. Hopefully, I won't have to. It's a bit rough going to job interviews in just rags. The first impression is everything. I seem to lack the qualities they're looking for. I'm great at math. It's my favorite thing to do. I remember my father would have me do pre-calc just for fun when I was 7. Most kids wanted new video games. I longed for the new math sets my father could get his hands on. Mother didn't like it, only because I never wanted to do anything else like sports. Sometimes I would help her study for college exams. She had me at a young age and never got to finish college. Only when they got their life together and my father had luck at his business, did she go back. I don't remember much of that time in my life, I just remember my mother telling me how much we used to struggle. It was silly being the one to teach her things at age 10. Eventually, I graduated high school at age 12 and was home ever since. That is until the fire took everything from me. It was quick but long enough to engulf my family. It was the night of the National Mathematics Tournament in Houston, Texas. I was staying at a hotel with all of the other participants when I got the news. We flew home immediately. I was placed with my aunt. She didn't want to see me go to a foster home. Little did they know, foster care would have been better.

I try not to think about my past and only focus on my future. Where I want to go and how I'm going to get there. Getting a job was going to be really hard. No one wants to hire a homeless street kid with nothing but rags to call his.

Soon I got back to my alley. My back hit the brick as I slid down slowly. Some of the brick scratched my back but I didn't care. I sort of liked pain. It's weird, I know. I once got into a fight with some other homeless guy over a piece of bread. He punched me in the face. It should have hurt, but I was smiling. Blood trickled out of my mouth and down my chin making me look like a mad man with a very uncomfortable boner in my worn jeans. The man looked at me wide-eyed and ran away calling me a freak. Embarrassed and pissed off, I snatched the bread he left behind and took off running. It was stale and hard, but worth it. My stomach was grateful that day. My penis was not. I neglected it and slowly it was soft again. I stared at my crotch for hours wondering what the hell was wrong with me. Freak. He was right. Just like Frederick. My aunt's "boyfriend". He would call me a freak every time I got hard when he hit me. It made him angrier, causing him to beat me till I blacked out. He called me gay too. Which didn't make sense; I very much loved vagina. Despite me never having the opportunity to prove it. I just knew I wasn't attracted to men.

I unwrapped the swan to reveal some sort of chicken. I don't know what's on it. Nor do I care. I take a small bite and groaned at the deliciousness. My stomach begged for more but I took it slow. A whine caused me to look over. A dirty mutt looked at my food with a tilted head. Another whine escaped his throat.

"Get out of here you worthless mutt!" I said, tossing a bottle at him. I must've calculated wrong because it flew by him and he didn't even flinch. I sighed and returned to my food. Another whine broke the silence. I sighed and tore a piece of my chicken off. The dog didn't hesitate when I offered it to him. He ate it quickly and licked my hand clean. I took turns feeding him and myself until the chicken was all gone. I let him lick the foil clean while I got comfy under my little trash fort.

Soon the dog made himself comfy right up under my butt. I didn't complain, his warmth was much needed. He smelled, but I smelled worse. Great, now I have another mouth to feed. That's just great. I closed my eyes and let the sound of the city drift me away.

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