Norman sat on the floor. It was cold, dirty and pieces of plaster made it uncomfortable. He shifted his hips to move them away.
It was warm despite the room being dark and the window spaces just being open rectangles now with twisted window pan frames.
He could see the green trees and weeds that practically hid the building from where he sat. It was hotter outside then where he sat.
Nobody else was there. He had come there often over the years. The long ago abandoned warehouses were once ignored and now forgotten. One had to leave paved roads, go past wrecked houses, many were half burned.
Even the old railroad tracks were overgrown with grass, weeds and vines. Occasional scurry of field mice or even rats could be heard as one found a passable path.
The warehouses were shelters to those like him that needed escape. Safe harbors for those wanting to horse around or engage in illegal alcohol, pot, other drugs or sexual activities.
He had come here by himself to escape the shouting at home, the behavior of adults who knew better. And here he could escape through the books he read, the fantasies he relished.
And as time progressed, Norman would explore his own body's needs for sensations, usually alone, sometimes with other outcasts from a world they wanted to escape.
He moved his back against the cement floor. It scratched his bare skin which didn't feel bad at all. Finding another position, he lay back to feel the cool surface against his warm skin.
His legs moved on the cement floor. They too moved the remnants of cement and plaster lodged under him. He couldn't move too far.
Norman tried to flex his muscles, back, shoulders, buttocks, thighs, feet and arms too. He flexed his chest, which he knew had grown nicely into mounds of muscle.
His skin itched but there was no relief. All he could do was endure.
The light outside grew darker. He had to piss, in fact couldn't stop his body and soon felt the warmth of his own urine as his penis moved like a small lawn sprinkler spraying his thighs, lower stomach and crotch.
Despite the situation, his penis filled with blood as his urine hit areas once covered with thick black curly hair.
His legs cramped and Norman once again tried to flex muscles to get through the intense pain. Norman yelled out, though not for help, just to distract himself from the situation.
And he actually dozed despite the strain of each arm and leg.
He woke in the darkness. Outside the passed hour had shrouded the trees and likewise turned the inside of what used to be an escape into a closet protecting himself from those that might see him by accident.
Norman cursed when the man yelled at him. He hadn't finished satisfying his body when discovered.
He struggled but lost the battle. Norman was a growing teenager but not as big or burly as the man who held him. Somehow in the struggle he lost.
He still had a headache. So Norman knew the man had done something to knock him unconscious. He had awakened to discover himself as he was now.
The man was still there gathering the clothing taken. He laughed and stood over Norman relieving himself on the boy head to toe.
It was there he discovered the man has taken his chest, pubic and other body hair as well as his head of hair.
"Now you are really on your own" the man said "I'll send over some friends who want to use you like the pervert bitch you are" he said leaving Norman there, tied spread eagle, vulnerable and available.
So now in the darkness, Norman shivered. He tried to piss so his body could feel the warmth the urine provided.
Others sought refuge in that same warehouse from time to time, he knew. So perhaps they would rescue him.
But the man said his friends would be coming too. Those that called him names like "Nancy", "bubble butt", "hot lips", and "bait" were his step father's friends. More then one had pinched his nipples until he fell to the floor nearly in tears. A few had grabbed his butt while making threats of treating him like their bitch-boy.
In public he struggled to avoid them, but the man made him bring them beers and food like a servant when they were there.
In private he struggled under the arms and legs of some of them, feeling them fulfill their threats. Norman felt guilty about those fantasies though they aroused him to the point of greater orgasms each time.
Now the fantasies were fears. And Norman lay there, available.