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There is nothing quite so exquisitely beautiful as the suffering of a True Innocent.
I don't mean physical suffering, although that, too, has it's attraction. But, on the whole, physical pain is ordinary and quite dull. It happens every day and in a thousand ways, scrapes, bumps, broken limbs. Nothing could be more mundane.
The type of pain that excites me is deep, emotional torment. The kind that is so overwhelming, so consuming, that it builds on itself and grows until all that exists in the turmoil of emotions inside. Pure, painful, and true, it's intoxicating and so strong that all an innocent can see, feel, and hear is the siren song of despair ringing in his ears.
It's the type of pain that blocks everything out, including a car that pulls up and stops a mere twenty feet away.
Very few can pull off this type of pain. The very old. The very young. Someone who has lived through a great tragedy. Theirs is a suffering so intense, the air around them is filled with it. But they are few and far between and almost never teenagers.
Teen-agers are a type of pain and suffering unto themselves. Anything can set them off: a bad grade, a rejection from a potential girl/boyfriend, parents, the weather. And they always suffer with almost all of their hearts. The tears that come at odd moments, the persistent downturn of lips, the constant sighs; all designed to tell the world that they are In Pain.
But this pain is tainted. Calculated. There is a feeling of: "I'll show them how I feel" behind it. Or: "When they see how upset I am, then they'll be sorry." Suffering, depression, anguish is a show, a tool to get people to feel. And, quite frankly, I find it disgusting. I was never allowed the luxury of a good pout when I was grown up and I am a better man for it.
Every once in a while, though, you find a pure soul, a True Innocent who goes through life with wide eyes and utter trust. And sometimes something happens to this Innocent to make his world come crashing down around his head. Pain, agony, despair race through him as, for the first time, he is forced to face a world he doesn't quite understand. And, suffering deeply, yet needing to hide, he searches out a private place to gaze into the wreckage of his world. This Innocent's agony is so sweet, so delicious, that, when I encounter it, I am struck dead, enthralled, and hopelessly aroused.
By the picture of a True Innocent, crying on a bridge.
By the image of Clark Kent, hair falling softly around his face, eyes on the river as if he is gazing into eternity, tears slowly creeping down his cheeks, unheeded, unnoticed. So beautiful, so undeniably erotic.
I am constantly readjusting my grip on the steering wheel, my hands spasaming every few seconds, dying to be holding onto another hard surface. It was by sheer luck that I came upon him like this. I was driving home from the plant, literally cursing the fact that I could never find a good excuse to seek the boy out when I saw him. Standing there. Radiating agony from every pore.
We have been here now forever. Truthfully, I am not sure the exact number of minutes. I stopped just off the bridge, turning off my car to watch him. My back is stiff as I sit very straight, every part of me at attention. The lines of his body. . .sharp, clean, strong, graceful. Even leaning against the rail, he is at total rest. The only indication of his pain is the stiff curve of his spine, the desolation in his beautiful eyes, the downward tilt of his full lips, the tears glistening on his cheeks, and the air around him that screams louder than any sound could.
What has pushed him over the edge? How long has this been building? And, most important, is this the end of the beauty that is Clark Kent? Will he now be destroyed or is he simply taking a moment to let whatever has changed in his life wash over him.
He is grieving. That thought comes to me suddenly and the moment I think it, I know it's true. Clark is grieving over some loss. What that loss is, I can't say, but, out of the air, the certain knowledge that Clark Kent has lost something important comes to me. And, judging by the frustrating rolling off him in waves, I don't think it's over something as small as a girl.
I notice how hard he is concentrating on a spot in the water below. His concentration is so complete, so consuming, that I doubt he knows anything else. I know that his mind must be turned inward, but his focus is still quite amazing.
I wonder what else he could turn that all consuming attention to if given the proper motivation.
That thought, and the tear that slides from his cheek to join it's brothers in the river, force me to shift my position, a small moan escaping my lips.
I never knew I was a sadist. Getting off on a boy's pain. It was a new low. Oh, I'd played some games, experimented with a few things, but this is. Different. This was me painfully aroused by someone going through deep mental suffering. Clark's suffering. Wide-eyed, too young, too innocent Clark.
My hands try to sneak off the wheel, but I clench them, my teeth gritting with the control I am forced to exert. I'm in the middle of Hicksville USA. Not only that, I'm in the middle of a town where exactly two people don't seem to utterly despise me. And getting caught jacking off in my car while looking at one of them cry on a bridge is not going to improve my popularity. All I would need to do to endear me further is tattoo "pervert" on my head and get it over with.
I've never thought of myself as a monster. I've also never thought of myself as someone who loses control. I control my body and lusts, not the other way around. And, Clark isn't exactly a child. Underage, yes. Living, breathing, breathtaking Jailbait, yes. But child? He left that stage long ago and now stands somewhere between childhood and adulthood. There is nothing awkward about it in his case, and his stands so close to the edge. . .
If he just took one step, he'd be a man. How I would love to thrust him into that territory.
I wonder if he would allow me to.
But. He. Is. Jailbait. Fifteen. A freshman. And I? I am twenty-one. I could wait three years, and then it's legal.
I don't think I can wait one year, much less three. And I am so good at keeping secrets.
Clark raises a hand to his cheek, brushing something away with one finger.
He is so tempting. The Ultimate Temptation. My Tree of Knowledge, and how I would love to taste the fruit of him.
That was not the thought I needed at this moment. A shudder runs through me and I close my eyes, drinking in the sensation, drinking in Clark's pain, fine wine caressing my overly sensitive nerves.
This is ridiculous. He is a fifteen year old man-child and I am an adult. The heir to a multibillion dollar corporation. I am not subject to the lusts of my body like other men. I am more than that. I am. A Luthor.
I open my eyes once more. Clark is looking at me from his position on the bridge. His eyes are wide with mild surprise, confusion, and something unreadable.
Shit. If he finds me like this . . .
Once more, I close my eyes, trying to think of something as unarousing as possible.
Lana Lang's image pops into my head. Well, that did the trick.
"Lex?"
My body, now mostly under control, behaves. I open my eyes. "Clark. Hi."
Tear stains streak his cheeks, but other than that, the pain is gone, tucked into a little box, away from his thoughts. Another sign that he's a True Innocent: he is willing to give up his pain when the time to live again comes.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, leaning against my car, his face just above mine in the window.
Watching you.
"I was going home from the plant and I saw you on the bridge. I'm not really superstitious, but it seemed better not to tempt fate."
A slight smile graces his supple lips. "Not a bad idea. It was bad enough thinking you were dead when I didn't know you. Now that we're… friends, it'd be worse."
I held his eyes with mind, wondering if he felt as captivated by my gaze as I did by his. "I feel the same way about you."
A flush rises to his cheeks and he averts his eyes shyly. How adorable. "I hope I didn't hold you up."
"Not at all." I hesitate, then ask, "Do you want to talk about it?"
Clark thinks about this a moment, then shakes his head. "It's not important. Just… life, you know? A bunch of stuff suddenly is happening in my life and it just got… too big. So, I took a moment. But now I'm good."
"That's a good way to deal with things."
"Thanks."
I pause again, then, as he seems ready to leave, I ask, "Do you want a ride home?"
He scowled and sighed. "No. I'm supposed to go over the Pete's house tonight. Him, me, and Chloe are supposed to go see a movie, then I'm spending the night at his house."
"But you're not in the mood."
"No. Not really. But I don't want to go home, much, either."
Ooh! An opening. "Do you want to come to my place? We could get some dinner, maybe watch a movie. There isn't much I don't own."
He wants to. I can see it in his eyes. He's very tempted. Go stay at a friend's house when he's not really interested, or hang out with Lex.? Lex the adult. Lex, the man who lives in a castle. I know my strengths. What kid wouldn't be tempted by getting to hang out with a cool older guy?
"I don't know. My parents. . ."
"Aren't exactly my biggest fans, I know. Look, Clark, you're a big boy now. You're in high school. Sooner or later, you're going to have to start making choices for yourself. You can choose to come to my place and hang out, or you can choose to go hang out with your friends even though you don't want to. Doesn't it make more sense to do what makes you happy?" I'm staring straight into his eyes, hoping he can't hear my pounding heart.
"I don't want to lie."
"So, don't. Call and tell them the change of plans, if you want. It looks more responsible, that you're doing something that you know they won't be thrilled with, but you're not going behind their back." I lean against the door, looking up at him. "It's the mature thing to do and you, Clark, seem nothing if not mature." That's right, Lex, flatter him right into your bed. Keep telling him how old he seems and soon…
In dream world, perhaps. Still, there is nothing wrong with fantasy.
I can still see the reservation in his eyes and I'm about to admit defeat, when he suddenly says, "Ok."
I'm still stunned when he slides in the car next to me, throwing his backpack on the floor and strapping in.
The gray eyes turn to me. "Are we going to go?"
That wakes me up. I smile and tell him, "Yeah. Let's go."