Rating: approx. R for generally offensive language and
mature subject matter
SPECIAL WARNINGS: MINOR in a sexual situation,
INCESTUAL overtones, child abuse
Category: Pre-XF slash
Disclaimer: I'm sure this is not how CC sees these
characters; it's how I imagine they could have been.
The characters belong to him, 10-13 and Fox, and no
copyright infringement is intended by me having some
fun with them.

This is for the "coming out" challenge, which as of
this writing hasn't shown up on the list yet. Screw
Mercury<g>. I got advance notice of this by one week,
but didn't start writing it until Monday, so I'm not
cheating too badly.

This is also the most potentially shocking story I've
ever thought up, let alone write. The derogatory
names, however, are not used for shock value. This is
set before the word "gay" was in common usage to mean
homosexual.

If the title looks familiar, I was inspired by the
movie "This Boy's Life". It just seemed right to vary
it a bit<g>.

*******************************

"Guess what? I'm a fag," Fox told the mirror. He'd
been doing this for the past half hour, varying the
wording, practicing with various stresses on various
words and syllables. He didn't think he'd ever be able
to say it to his mother, though.

He would *never* be able to tell his dad. No way, no
how. Not if he wanted to live. But, at age 13, he had
come to accept his own sexuality. At least, he no
longer denied to himself that this was what he was - a
faggot. A fairy, a queer, a homo, and whatever the
Hell else people would call him if they knew.

He was afraid, but he wanted to tell *someone*. The
other night, he had decided to tell his mother. He
planned on telling her soon, but that soon kept getting
farther away.

They used to be close. Anyhow, Fox thought his mom had
probably suspected this for years. Mothers tend to
know those kinds of things about their children.

"Yes, Mom, I like boys," Fox informed his reflection.
Nope, not looking secure enough. Voice still a little
shaky. Fox filled his lungs and almost yelled. "That's
right, Mom, I'm QUEER!"

His bedroom door crashed open, and Fox spun around to
gasp at the sight of his father in the doorway. The
boy felt like he'd had a bowling ball hurled at his
stomach, and he could feel the blood drain out of his
face.

"You're...you're home early," Fox said to the stony
silence that was his father.

It seemed like at least ten minutes before his father
said anything. Finally, Mr. Mulder cleared his throat
and spoke to his son.

"Stop acting like a fool, and get ready for dinner. No
TV tonight - this room is a pigsty."

Bill Mulder shut the door quietly this time.

Fox's knees buckled, and he plopped down on his bed.
He stared vacantly around his room, and saw nothing out
of place.

**********

Dinner wasn't any different than usual, but to Fox it
was torture. His parents engaged in the usual chit-
chat about household trifles and social obligations.
Not much was said to Fox, aside from the occasional
rebuke of his table manners, but that also wasn't any
different than any other dinnertime in the home of
William Mulder.

The only difference was the more intense than usual
glare his father gave him each time the conversation
was directed at the boy.

**********

/Maybe he didn't hear me...maybe I'm just being
paranoid/ Fox thought as he lay in bed that night. He
knew he wouldn't get any sleep; the scene from earlier
in the evening would be played over and over again by
his cursed eidetic memory. He looked at every nuance
in his father's face, trying to see recognition and
understanding there. Trying to read what was going
through that stern man's mind when the door had opened.
He'd even tried to get his mind off it by playing with
himself under the sheets, but even that was no use.

A widening rectangle of light shot into the room as the
door opened once again. Fox immediately closed his
eyes and relaxed his body as much as possible, feigning
a deep sleep. Although he'd been laying on his back,
he hadn't seen who it was crossing the threshold of his
bedroom. Still, he knew from the sound of the steps
that it was his father.

Eyes kept shut, he heard the man close the door again
and walk slowly to the bed, muttering unintelligibly.
Fox almost gave away that he was still awake when he
felt his father crawl onto the bed and straddle his
hips. The boy could smell the bourbon, so strong it
made his nose twitch in revulsion.

"I know you're not asleep, you little PRICK!" Bill
Mulder cried out as he lunged forward to wrap his hands
around his son's neck.

Fox's air was almost completely cut off before he even
realized what was happening. His eyes shot open, but
his arms could only weakly reach out in a reflexive
attempt to push the man off him. His body jerked up
from the bed, struggling for air and to throw off the
weight holding him down. All his panicked efforts did
was make him lose what little reserves of oxygen he
had.

The boy couldn't hear - or couldn't understand - any of
the words his father was screaming at him as the man
continued to squeeze even harder. Fox's only thought
was on survival; his body's instincts took over, and
his mind had little to do with what was happening to
him.

In one small, forgotten corner of his brain, however,
Fox was registering all the sensations inflicted on his
awakening body. He felt the heavy weight astride his
hips, his father's crotch grinding hard against his own
trapped groin. He heard the blood rushing in his ears,
heart pumping to make up for lack of oxygen and to
supply strength to his struggling. He sensed ominous
fear in the pit of his stomach, spreading out to numb
his entire body with the portentous prospect of death.

Vision became grey and pulsating light in the darkness,
periphery turning invisible. Arms thrashing more
dumbly than at first, Fox tried to put all his waning
strength into his legs and torso. The rubbing of the
heavy, warm, and powerful body against his weakening
one continued in a driving rhythm. Fox's groin was
filled with pounding, heated blood, and all his now
dimming sensation moved to the hardest erection he had
ever had in his young life.

>From there, all was a mass of panting and sweat, a man
and a boy grunting in tandem and in opposition, one
battling for survival and the other for retribution.

In a kind of second wind, Fox's flailing hands managed
to catch hold of his father's forearms. But instead of
employing his last reserve to at least try to break the
strong grip on his windpipe, the boy used the extra bit
of leverage to buck harder into the body above him. He
was near death, and he was near an ecstasy he had never
known possible.

As Fox's last spurt of energy was burning into
nothingness, once again a shaft of light gave visual
evidence of the struggle being fought on Fox's bed.
The boy heard his most familiar voice break the
silence.

"Bill, don't! You're killing him!" his mother screamed
as she ran into the room, lunging atop her husband to
pull him off their son. With a mother's strength, she
managed to break the hold of hands at the boy's throat,
toppling the man onto the carpet beside the bed.

Fox gasped forever, unable to take air in quick enough
to feed his starving body. After a few moments, he
managed to turn his head to look at his parents on the
floor - both huddled together, and both sobbing and
shaking with emotion. Finally, the wife helped the
husband lift himself back to his feet, and the pair
hobbled out of the room together, leaving the son to
recover in darkness.

Heart beginning to slow, Fox drew his shaky hands under
the covers once again. Not realizing what he was
doing, both hands slid down under the elastic waist of
his pajama bottom. His hands met a thick, sticky
dampness in the cloth.

Fox Mulder had his first *waking* wet dream.

The end
Feedback welcome at griffgrimes@hotmail.com

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