Free HOLD by Cora Brent Page A

her lips and recalled the taste of my cock…
    Hooray!   Just in case there was any doubt that I was still ruled by my dick he made it clear that dissent was intolerable.  One quick flashback to Stephanie’s sexy body and he was ready to roll.  
    I lingered outside for a few minutes and focused on unsexy things like the mound of bird shit by the door and the homeless fellow cheerfully eating an entire red velvet cake on a nearby bench.  Once I was the master of my own domain again I pulled a ten dollar bill out of my wallet and handed it to the guy before heading inside.
    The camp was just a daytime program designed for local kids who were looking for something to do this summer besides hang out in the industrial hellholes of Phoenix and melt in the heat.  These were my kind of kids; a little rough around the edges but eager to learn.  Being among them made me excited for the chance to stand in front of my own classroom and tell them what I knew.  They were the kind of kids I couldn’t wait to get invested in. 
    “Hey, Chase.”  Bastian Bordeaux, the program’s chief coordinator, greeted me on my way in.  He never tried to hide the gang tattoos that decorated his neck or the needle scars on his arms.  Once a teenage runaway, drug addict and hell raiser, he was now a middle-aged father of three and was responsible for a number of community youth outreach programs.   He told me once there was nothing to be gained by smothering the echoes of the past.  They’ll just choke you.  I’ve come by a few scars myself, both inside and out, so I know what he means. 
    “Hey,” I said, shaking his hand smoothly. 
    Bastian motioned down the hall.  “Get your group assignment.  We’ll head down to the light rail in about fifteen minutes.” 
    There were six of them in my charge for the trip we were taking up the road to the art museum.  They were all around thirteen to fifteen years old, a rowdy bunch who took up space and made a lot of noise because they were trying to figure out where they stood in the world. 
    “Mr. Gentry,” sang out one of the girls as the light rail lurched slowly through downtown Phoenix, “where’s the bathroom?”
    “You’ll have to wait until we reach the museum, Inez.” 
    “Hey, Mr. Gentry,” called out another voice. “I need a drink of water.”
    “Arun, they’ll have water at the museum.” 
    “I’m thirsty now.” 
    “You can wait ten minutes.”
    “Naw, I can’t.  It’s dangerous to get dehydrated in the desert.  You told us that.” 
    “We’re not in the desert. We’re in an air conditioned train on Central Avenue.” 
    The kid hammed it up, sprawling across the seats right into the lap of Inez, who squealed and shoved him away.  He closed his eyes. “I might get heat stroke.” 
    My mouth tipped into a smile.  “You’ll be fine.  I promise.  Hey kids, listen up.  Remember the rules in there.  No cell phones, stay with me and keep the noise to a minimum.” 
    They laughed and jostled each other as we reached our stop and headed to the art museum.  They quieted down when we got inside the building though, listening respectfully as the docent took us through the temporary exhibit on twentieth century photography.  We spent three hours walking through the bright galleries, running into Bastian’s group and some of the others a few times.  We ate a brief lunch at the café before returning to the library.  The kids chattered brightly on the ride back and compared notes about what they’d seen.  Then they spent the afternoon at the library composing a ten-minute skit about contemporary art, which they performed in one of the large meeting rooms in front of all forty members of the camp.   
    The day went fast and didn’t even seem like work.  At five o’clock we bid farewell to all the kids and cleaned up everything from the afternoon’s activities.  Bastian was talking to one of the other counselors but he stopped and headed my