Date: Fri, 19 Mar 2010 20:26:05 -0700 (PDT) From: Jeremy Marker Subject: "Blank Slate Boy 1: The Dealer's Addict", Gay male: authoritarian ************** This story contains elements of mind control, tobacco use, alcohol use, illegal drug use, and prostitution. Please do not read if any of this offends you. I would love to hear feedback, positive and negative. Please send to Thanks, and I hope you enjoy ************** The Blank Slate Boy Stories Jeremy was an all-American seventeen-year-old boy-next-door raised in the rural county of Emporia in Virginia. He was an only child and lived with his parents on his grandfather's old tobacco farm. Jeremy was close with his Dad, who had taught him at a young age how to be a man and work the land. He was everything he should have been--smart and good in school, into sports and video games, friends with everyone and had a steady girlfriend. With green eyes and even-toned tan skin to match his winning smile, Jeremy had been a natural heartbreaker since middle school. At the top of his 5'9" frame was sandy brown, almost blond, hair. He was skinny but had defined outlines of a six-pack. And like any normal teenager, he spent his free time hanging out with his friends and his girl. Surely, he was a model product of the American dream. But all that changed when Jeremy became... ...the dealer's addict. The summer after his junior year of high school, Jeremy's parents lost their farm and were forced to move to the city of Richmond. His mom started cleaning houses and his Dad took a job as a painter and rented a tiny apartment right around the corner from the housing projects. Jeremy's Dad knew he needed help making ends meet for awhile, so he forced his son to quit school and go out to find a job instead. Jeremy was bummed about not being able to be a senior in high school, but he was a duty-oriented, devoted son and wanted to please his Dad. After a week of moving and unpacking, Jeremy started out into the streets to find a job. The first thing Jeremy noticed was the fact that there were no other white people walking around or even driving through this part of town. It was so dirty and run-down; most of the buildings had busted out windows and were tagged with spray paint. He missed his small town and his old life, but he knew he could make the most of this, somehow. He stopped into a convenience store that was clearly a former 7-Eleven. It was probably half a mile down the street from his apartment, so Jeremy thought this would be a decent place to work as he didn't have a car. As he entered the parking lot, which was cracked and stained with oil spots, he looked up at the hand-painted sign that read "Elrod's Stop and Go." The store front was littered with cigarette advertisements and neon lottery signs. The windows were covered by a latticework of thick black iron bars. The bells on the door jingled as he walked inside to dirty floors, dusty shelves, and a heavy odor of smoke. He also noticed that more than half of the fluorescent lights overhead were burned out. He walked up to the checkout counter and saw a man sitting in a chair reading a magazine. "Whatchu want, homes?" the man spoke with a heavy "ghetto" accent. Jeremy introduced himself and said that he was looking for a job. The man introduced himself as DeQwan, the owner of the store. He looked to be in his late thirties and when he stood up, he was a towering 6'6" at least. He was very dark skinned with dark brown eyes and black cornrows. He was built like he must have been a football player at some point but had put on some weight around the gut. He had a large diamond in each ear, a thick gold necklace and watch, and when he smiled, Jeremy saw that one of his front teeth was capped in gold. DeQwan also sported two tattoos of tears coming from his right eye and the left side of his neck was tattooed with the word "Demateria." As they talked, DeQwan told Jeremy that he could use the help around the store because that wasn't his only business. But DeQwan had some conditions. First, he'd have to take pay that was under minimum wage and under the table. Second, he'd have to educate himself on the culture of the neighborhood because he was liable to get his "white ass killed actin' all hokey up in hea." Jeremy was so elated to have gotten a job on his first try, he eagerly accepted. DeQwan told him to be back the next morning at 10 and gave him a list of songs to listen to that night. Jeremy spent that night listening to the gangsta rap that DeQwan had suggested, paying careful attention to all the lyrics. He also looked up videos on YouTube and tried to learn more about ghetto culture. He was actually excited to go to work the next morning and learn about these people that he had never really been exposed to before. When he got to the store, DeQwan was waiting. He gave Jeremy a long list of things to do. Stock the shelves and coolers, order candy and chips, mop the floors, clean and wipe things down, inventory the cigarettes, cigars, and beer, and clean the bathroom. DeQwan sat down and started reading a magazine while Jeremy got to work. It would take him forever to get everything done, considering how dirty the store was. He tried to keep a low profile as customers came in and out. He also couldn't help noticing that DeQwan didn't do anything around the store but talk to customers, smoke cigarettes, and talk on his cell phone--which rang constantly. No wonder it was such a mess! Thankfully, the store was only open until 6. At closing time, DeQwan locked the doors and the iron gate, and the two walked out into the parking lot. DeQwan lit up a cigarette then extended the pack to Jeremy, offering him one. Jeremy initially declined saying he didn't want to get addicted but DeQwan teased him and insisted. With his lit cigarette dangling between his full lips, DeQwan moved to stand close in front of Jeremy and placed a Newport between the boy's lips. Without even noticing, Jeremy saw DeQwan's flame dance in front of his face and he instinctively drew his first drag of smoke. He breathed it in deep and coughed like crazy. "Take it, bruh. Ha ha! You gonn' be allright. You and dis job gonn' work out just fine... For bof of us bruh," DeQwan laughed as he walked towards his shiny black Mercedes, which he started remotely. Before driving off he told Jeremy to keep it up and he'd be a pro-smoker in no time. Jeremy began walking home and finished his first cigarette; each drag made him cough less than the one before. Jeremy spent his nights over the next week learning more about "ghetto culture" on the internet and talking to people in chat rooms who were living it. He wanted to fit in with the most popular crowds and have a lot of friends like he had in Emporia. He read as much as he could about the pros and cons of "life in the hood." There was so much he was curious to experience too, like letting go of his inhibitions. He even found himself getting hard at the thought of being "bad" by getting drunk or getting high. Jeremy had really grown to love his new job and neighborhood. He and DeQwan had actually gotten to be friends. DeQwan was married to his high school girlfriend, Demateria. DeQwan had inherited the store from his Dad, Elrod, who died when DeQwan was Jeremy's age. He kept the store because it had meant so much to his Dad, but his other business was what brought in the real money. Although DeQwan didn't tell him what his other business was, Jeremy knew it had to be lucrative. DeQwan definitely had money--all his gold and diamonds were real, his Mercedes was brand new (paid for in cash) and although he was raised in the `hood, DeQwan didn't even live anywhere near it. He lived in a posh, rich neighborhood on the other side of Richmond. In awe and admiration of his new friend, Jeremy was learning about slang, clothes, music, and essentially everything to do with this new world that he was living. Jeremy had also started smoking regularly. In point of fact, almost every time DeQwan lit up at work, Jeremy did too. And he had really turned the appearance of the store around--it was clean. After his third week, Jeremy didn't have to work as hard during the days to keep things up so he would chill behind the counter with DeQwan. One day after he had complained about being bored, DeQwan told Jeremy to grab a 40 from the fridge and down it. Jeremy had admitted he had never been drunk before and DeQwan wanted to see what a country white boy looked like drunk for the first time. Jeremy definitely made his wish come true--he got shit-faced! He was trying to rap and could barely stand up straight, but he LIKED that feeling. When he was drunk he wasn't bothered with missing his old life or trying to fit in, he was just happy. He spent the rest of the day talking DeQwan's ear off about his "feelings." Needless to say, Jeremy passed out when he got home that afternoon around 6:30 (after trying his key in the wrong apartment door and getting cussed out by an overweight ghetto bitch). When he showed up to work the next morning, he was hung-the-fuck-over. DeQwan laughed at him all day and did things like turn his music up very loud just to aggravate the boy. DeQwan suggested he try drinking another 40 and that would probably make the headache go away. He was resistant at first, but eventually cracked open his second-ever beer and started drinking it. Sure enough, it made him feel a lot better. But he drank it much slower and didn't feel near as drunk this time. Either way, he finished every drop and smoked as much as he could before he went home. DeQwan was happy with his employee's progress after a few months. Jeremy had started using the vernacular freely and had gotten clothes that didn't make him stick out like a sore thumb. He was smoking at least a pack and a half of Newports a day and started off each morning by downing a forty. After Jeremy's resistance to alcohol had built up, DeQwan introduced Jeremy to malt liquor. He didn't care for it much at first, but DeQwan MADE him drink during his shifts, sometimes to the point of getting drunk. Jeremy still enjoyed the feeling of letting go of his cares, and though he didn't want to drink every day at first, he was really starting to crave it. One day while shit-faced, Jeremy finally let it slip that he had really been dying to get high. DeQwan produced a crooked smile and pulled a sandwich baggie full of green buds from his pocket. DeQwan told Jeremy he was going to teach him everything there is to know about getting high and being high in the ghetto. He proceeded to open a grape-flavored blunt from behind the counter and cut it open with a straight razor. He emptied the guts into the trash and put the potent-smelling buds in the brown wrapper. Within moments, Jeremy was toking on his first blunt. He didn't actually get high that night, but the next day Jeremy was made to roll his own blunt and he definitely felt the effects of that one. In combination with the buzz he got off the beer, Jeremy was feeling incredible. His head was floating and he felt like he wouldn't have anything to worry about ever again. He asked DeQwan why he didn't get high with him. DeQwan then told him he'd find out soon enough. Jeremy went home that night more fucked up than he had ever been and he loved every second of it. As he laid in bed jacking off, he couldn't help but think about DeQwan. How powerful he was, how big and strong, how he had taught him to be a new person, how he had given him more pleasure than he ever felt before in his life. DeQwan had changed his life, transformed him into a real ghetto party boy. Jeremy finally came to the thought of kissing his boss and feeling his thick pink tongue caressing his own. Jeremy never had a single gay thought before that one but he was so fucked up, he didn't care. The next few months passed by much the same way, smoking, drinking, and getting high. DeQwan had started to be more authoritative and commanding of Jeremy, though. He frequently belittled him and called him names like "trick," "slut," and "ho." He also made the boy pay him for his cigarettes, booze, and weed--at a discounted rate, of course. Jeremy spent most of what little money he earned buying it all. And Jeremy's tolerance was always building. He started pleading with DeQwan to help him find a new drug to make him feel the pleasure he used to feel. DeQwan knew exactly what he needed. After the store closed that night, DeQwan dangled a very small plastic bag of off-white flecks that looked like rocks in front of Jeremy. Jeremy knew it was crack, but he was so hell-bent on immersing himself in the pleasure he got from DeQwan's drugs, he didn't care about what it would do to him. He grabbed the bag and looked at it close, eyes wide and mouth watering. DeQwan demanded twenty dollars for the bag and told him to go out behind the store and get fucked up, handing his boy a small glass tube to smoke out of. He fled out back, smiling like a maniacal fiend. After fumbling for a few seconds and burning his thumb in the process, he hauled the gray smoke deep into his lungs and exhaled slowly after a few seconds. Almost instantaneously, he felt a high greater than anything else he had ever felt in his life. His eyes rolled back into his head and he sat down on the gray concrete. In that exact moment, he felt someone grab a handful of his medium-length hair and tilt his head back. "I knew what you was da moment I saw yo bitch ass. A weak li'l cocksucka. And I knew if I could get yo frail li'l self to smoke cigarettes when you ain't want to, I could get yo dumb white ass to smoke crack. Well guess what, ho? You mind fucked now. I got you!" and with that, DeQwan laughed and forced his 11" solid black cock down the teen's throat. Jeremy was spinning. He knew DeQwan was right and he was happy about it. All he cared about was getting high, and now, sucking the wonderful, powerful dick that was in his mouth. Jeremy choked a few times during this, his first cock sucking session, but he eventually got DeQwan off and swallowed his thick load. Laying there on the gum-spattered cement in the pale street light, Jeremy felt perfect, complete. He wanted to do that again: the crack and the cock sucking. If DeQwan wanted to completely fuck up his mind, Jeremy was going to let him. He lay down on the ground and lit up a Newport, passing out shortly thereafter. After the sun had risen completely, Jeremy woke up feeling oddly depressed, then stumbled on home and went to bed. Elrod's was closed on the weekends. After his mind-blowing experience Friday night, which he vividly remembered, Jeremy needed a day off work to recover. He woke up late Saturday night after his Dad had gotten back from work. It seemed like weeks since he had even seen his parents. They exchanged greetings and without thinking, Jeremy grabbed a beer from the fridge and walked out to the porch to smoke. His Dad, dumbfounded at first, stormed out the door after his son. They got into a heated argument during which Jeremy downed the whole beer in a matter of seconds. His Dad forbade him to drink anymore and Jeremy was so enraged, he stormed down the stairs and headed towards the store. Jeremy found DeQwan's cell number in his coat pocket and called his boss. He told DeQwan what had happened and DeQwan told him to wait at the store and he'd come and pick him up in about an hour. As Jeremy stood under the flickering lights in front of the store, he wished he had keys so he could run in and down a forty. Feeling antsy, Jeremy paced back and forth smoking cigarettes until DeQwan pulled up. Jeremy got in the car and DeQwan tossed him a blunt, telling him to "get some `dat edge off before get hash dis shit out, bruh." After Jeremy got high, DeQwan told him why he never smoked weed with him--he was a drug dealer. Jeremy was not really surprised. DeQwan then put his foot down about the other night, emphasizing that he was not gay but really liked getting his cock sucked. What he liked even more was control. DeQwan then asked Jeremy if he wanted to give up total control to him in exchange for a place to stay and really good prices on weed and crack. Jeremy responded with a resounding "fuck yes." DeQwan laughed as he tossed Jeremy a free baggie of crack saying "good boy." They pulled into a dark grocery store parking lot and Jeremy got out of the car to smoke. Immediately afterwards, he got back in the car to find his boss' dick poking out of his boxers and sagging jeans. Jeremy took to it like an old pro. Feeling euphoric in his high, Jeremy was all too eager to say "yes" as DeQwan taunted him, asking "Are you a faggot? Are you a whore? Are you my fuckin' crack head?" DeQwan pushed the boy's head down on his cock and drove out of the parking lot. About twenty minutes later, they returned to Elrod's and Jeremy sucked his dealer off, swallowing every ounce of godly cum. Before kicking Jeremy out of the car, DeQwan tossed the white teen a key and told him it was for the outside storage unit. It had a drain, a sink, and a small space heater. It was a good enough place for a crack head to sleep, DeQwan said, and finished by saying they would discuss rent on Monday. As DeQwan drove off, Jeremy walked to the front of the store and looked to the right. It was a big gray door with a thick doorknob. He shoved in the key and peered inside the pitch black closet. Entering completely and letting the door close hydraulically behind him, he listened to his heartbeat for a second. He felt so dirty, so cheap, and that his life was so fucked up. Jeremy reached to the cinder block laden wall and found a light switch. A solitary light bulb came to life over a mirror and very dirty sink. There was a drain on the smooth cement floor in the center of the room, a mop and bucket, a dirty looking blanket, and a small metal space heater that looked to be from the 70's. Approaching the mirror, Jeremy wallowed in the sorrow swirling in his mind. The only thing that made him happy was DeQwan's drugs and DeQwan's cock. Smoking cigarettes, drinking alcohol, smoking weed, smoking crack, sucking cock--that's all he wanted to do know, and he felt so empty not being able to at this moment. All the walls were solid cinder blocks and there was no way to get into the store to sneak some booze. He grasped his hands around the sink and looked into the mirror, which made him a bit happier. His eyes were dark and empty, but he did look like a cute white boy who had some ghetto flavor. After a few minutes, Jeremy smoked the last Newport in his pack while pissing down the drain, turned on his heater then curled up on the floor. Jeremy spent his Sunday walking around the neighborhood, trying to find some rock. He was not successful but did manage to smoke weed with some high school kids who lived in the projects behind the store. The weed helped him deal with the sore back he got from sleeping on the concrete. He figured he'd get used to it. He also managed to panhandle a few dollars to get dinner from McDonald's. He returned to his closet and passed out, excitedly awaiting work the next day. Suddenly, Jeremy saw morning light pouring in through his heavy closet door and saw DeQwan towering over him, clutching his arm very tightly. Before he could focus, Jeremy felt a needle go into his arm and something cool injected into it. Almost instantaneously, Jeremy felt a new kind of euphoria, not necessarily as strong as the high he got from crack, but it was powerful and made him feel incredibly happy. Removing the needle, DeQwan grabbed Jeremy's mouth and looked right in his eyes. "Okay boy, you ain't gonn' live hea fo' free. Er'thang I do need to bring in money. Now, I ain't normally into pimpin' or any otha shit like dat, but faggot, consida yo'sef a real `ho now. Don't worry, I'mma keep yo' ass high on rock an' anythin' else I want, but you gonn' earn yo keep for real, homes. You real cute wit dem pouty-ass li'l lips and dat bubble butt. Some DL bruhs pay some good bills to make yo froat and ass all greasy. Heheh." Jeremy's eyes were rolled into the back of his head and his cock was hard as a rock. "Yeah, I thought so, fuckin' cocksucka. I'mma bring you a few forties, a couple packs of Newports, and some of yo favorite crack to get you through your day, bruh." DeQwan left, the door slamming shut behind him. He returned about ten minutes later and set everything down on the ground before a half-naked druggie. "Now all dis shit's gonn' run yo' broke ass a hund'ed bucks. I `xpect you'll be able to bring in at leas' dat walkin' da streets tonight, yo..." he turned to leave, "oh... I can't have no fuckin' fiend all up in my sto' all day so consida yo' ass fired. You still gonn' give all yo money to me though, so not much gonn' change Heh heh heh, fuckin' faggoty ass." DeQwan left to open his store and within a few minutes, loud rap music came pouring in from the speaker on the ceiling. Jeremy went back to the mirror and gazed at his changed appearance. It felt so perfect seeing such a dumb boy staring back at him. He tried to nap a little bit in the afternoon, but couldn't with the loud music filling his closet. As he sat and drank and smoked, he felt himself go numb, mentally and physically. His mind had become filled solely with desire to get high and service masculine ghetto black dudes. Nothing else had even crossed his mind in days, and he was happy about that. Jeremy started working the streets every night and became a walking goldmine for his boss. A cute little white boy with beautiful blond-brown hair, big eyes and pouty lips was fresh meat for the countless hungry men that cruised the dark streets. Blowing DL brothas and out-of-place white businessmen, he was able to make enough to pay DeQwan for crack, cigs, and booze everyday and still have some money left over to buy some junk food from Elrod's. DeQwan kept whatever was left. Eventually, Jeremy started letting his johns fuck him bareback in exchange for drugs. He would meet up with a few regulars who fed him crystal meth, acid, ecstacy, and painkillers. After being a real street whore for a couple more months, Jeremy was taking as much dick as he could get, sometimes two in his ass while deep-throating another. He was an alcoholic, pot head, crack head, meth head, heroin addict, and faggot. Life couldn't have been better. That was, until DeQwan dropped an atomic bomb on him. Jeremy had been his bitch for close to a year when DeQwan found out he was going to be a father. He had made thousands of dollars off Jeremy and tens of thousands off of dealing. But with such a big change coming into his life, he made the decision to go straight-edge to focus on his wife and his baby. He put Elrod's on the market and ended up making over a hundred thousand off the sale. DeQwan got a job as a supervisor at a credit card company and never returned to that ugly, depressing side of town. Five years after he had last seen his son, Jeremy's Dad was sitting in his truck at a stoplight and saw a thirty-something guy panhandling. This man had on a dirty wife-beater, saggy jean shorts exposing the top half of his boxers, and busted black tennis shoes. He had a shaved head and the skin on his face was weathered. He had an eyebrow ring resting over his bloodshot eyes, which were sunk in and hollow. Jeremy's Dad observed, as the man was talking to someone in another car, that his tongue was pierced and what teeth he had left were yellow. He was dangling a cigarette from his lips and there was a bottle wrapped in brown paper at his feet. This "bum" had track-marks all over both arms and a homemade tattoo on his arm that said DeQwan. His cliche cardboard sign read "Homeless, hungry, please give what can." Feeling disgusted at the sight of this illiterate drain on society, Jeremy's Dad sped off. What he didn't know was the he had just snubbed his own twenty-three year old son.