Lost Boi (5 page)

That horrible day when Wendi came, Siren and Kelpie were at Neverland. Pan had told Kelpie that he would take
her out to the roller derby. He knew the dyke working the door, and she had promised to let them in for free. Kelpie is a big femme who cuts the crotch out of her fishnet stockings to help them fit over her thick thighs and, let's be real, to save time. She's kinda the closest thing that Pan's ever had to a grrrlfriend. Kelpie danced at the peep-show place by the Interstate, and Pan liked to surprise her at the end of her shift, when she traded stilettos for boots and threw her bleach-stiffened pink hair into pigtails. Kelpie is tough, but her face always softened into a smile when she pushed open the heavy black door, stepped into the alley behind the club, and saw Pan leaning against a dumpster. He never told her that he was coming, but luckily for him, she never had plans that couldn't be ditched for milkshakes and fries at the all-night diner. Kelpie was tender and soft with Pan in a way she couldn't be with anyone else. She told him things, let him touch her in a way that no one else could. Kelpie was close to all us bois; she respected us and our role in Pan's life, but she also wanted more than Pan could give. The week before Wendi arrived, Kelpie'd asked Pan if he would start calling her his grrrlfriend.

Siren and I had been messing around together for a few months, at that point. Mostly, we saw each other when Pan wasn't around. Its not that we bois weren't allowed to hook up, it's just that Pan preferred that us bois kept our external entanglements simple, so that our primary focus was on service to him. Sometimes he had to help us, to forbid us from
seeing someone. I was always grateful when that happened, because it helped me to keep my focus on what mattered most.

Siren and Kelpie were as close as Pan and I were, and so when Kelpie and Pan were going to meet up at Neverland to go on their date, Siren tagged along. All afternoon, Kelpie waited for Pan to show up. Siren and I tried to keep her occupied with stories and snacks, but as evening stretched into night, she finally gave up. Kelpie pulled on her boots, reapplied her lip gloss, and went into the bathroom, emerging a few moments later with eyes glazed and far away, tugging the sleeves of her shirt down quickly. Siren offered to go to the roller derby with her, out of Mermaid solidarity, but Kelpie refused, saying that she was going to bike up to the arena. Not twenty minutes after she left, I was lying on the floor on an old sleeping bag with Siren when Tink flew in through the jagged glass of a broken window. Siren had just reapplied her cherry lipstick and lit a cigarette. Curled up on the sleeping bag wearing only stockings and a lacy bra, Siren was ready to pounce. I groaned as Tink pecked me hard while I struggled to get Pan's letter out of her harness.

          
Bois—

          
On my way to Neverland. Be ready to present yourselves.

          
Have two new hammocks prepared.

          
—Pan

As I read the note, Tink soared to the rafters to sulk. I threw the crumpled paper down next to me and groaned. Siren looked so beautiful—I mean she always does, but I don't think she believed that, no matter how many times I told her. As she read Pan's note, her face went hard. She didn't like that Pan had stood up Kelpie, that he seemed to have forgotten about her entirely, and for what? More bois? As she stared at the letter, I thought about the way the black slip she wore rode up her fishnet-covered thighs and how the toes of her black boots would get jammed into the chain-link fence that surrounds Neverland when she climbed it. When we fucked, I would fantasize about licking those boots, but she'd never let me. Siren wanted a boifriend, not a boi. I didn't know what I wanted.

Siren saw her first. I looked out the window and was surprised to see a grrrl struggling to climb that chain-link fence. She was such a silly looking little grrrl, wearing a pink hoodie and a white nightgown, with bare legs and little white sneakers. I glanced behind me; Siren was already pulling her black slip-dress over her head and lacing her boots tight against the curve of her calves. I didn't know what to do. I could have called the other bois; it's what I should have done, but I didn't want to look weak in front of Siren. I guess I actually looked pretty helpless, because she rolled her eyes, took one last drag of her cigarette, threw it into a nearby beer can, and stood. “You going to just sit there with your cock out and let Neverland be invaded?”

I blushed and pulled hard enough to get my cock out of its harness, then threw it up into my hammock. Standing, I zipped my jeans, thankful I hadn't taken my boots off. I followed Siren out of the room and into our makeshift kitchen. It has a view of the fence, and we could see Wendi trying to pick her way over the barbed wire. Siren laughed and pulled another cigarette out of her purse. I fumbled for my lighter but was too slow. Siren's chipped red nails flicked the little silver-and-pearl box. She cupped her hand around the flame and took a sharp inhale, then stashed the lighter back into her bra.

“Grrrls that clean are always trouble, and not the good kind. She's ether a spy, preparing to snitch on us, or she's going to bring bad luck.” Siren managed to laugh and be serious at the same time. I didn't ask how she knew about grrrls like that.

“What should we do?” I asked. Siren blew a smoke ring; I wished my cock wasn't in the hammock. Siren said that Pan would want me to protect Neverland, that he would want me to take charge, confront this pretty little grrrl and tell her that either she could get jumped in or she had to go. Everything Siren said made sense, and more than anything I wanted Pan to be proud of me. I looked up and saw that the grrrl had made it down the fence and was now crawling through a broken window. She yelped as her ankle caught a shard of broken glass, and her shoe was spattered with red.

Tink had come to roost on Siren's shoulder and pulled
a syringe and baggie from her purse as the grrrl climbed through that window and saw us standing there. I admired how she held my gaze when she first saw me, but when she looked down, Siren fired a series of questions at her without letting her answer.

“Hey, pretty grrrl, who are you? What's your name? How did you get here? Why aren't you talking? Who sent you? You're a snitch spy, aren't you? That's why you aren't talking, isn't it?”

After whispering her name, the grrrl didn't even try to answer Siren's questions. When Siren told her to get the fuck out, Wendi fell to her knees before me and began to sob and sputter. “Don't make me go! Please don't send me away.”

Confused, I looked to Siren, who just rolled her eyes. When I looked again at Wendi, I saw that her long, dark hair had fallen from its bun and stuck to the sweat on her face and beautiful throat. I'd never had a grrrl kneeling in front of me. My stomach lurched, and I couldn't tell if I was going to cum or puke.

“Please, what do you want?” she whispered from glossy pink lips. I looked at the gash on her ankle, the way the blood had beaded. Siren started to laugh.

“If this grrrl wants us to believe she's not some sort of snitch, then she has to prove it. She has to swim with the Crocodile.” I knew that this strange grrrl couldn't know what she was consenting to. But then I thought of Pan. I thought of how proud he would be of me if I, in his absence, protected
Neverland. I left her on the floor and sat at the dumpstered table with Siren.

This was not the first time that Neverland had been discovered by an outsider. Every couple of years, it seemed, some poser kids would sneak in or befriend Pan and worm their way inside. It never took long for them to be discovered as frauds, but it was always a great nuisance, and dangerous too, because grownups could have followed them here, maybe even parents, the worst kinds of grownups, the ones who have the ability to destroy everything for all of us.

That was why I didn't question Siren when she said, “What would Pan do? Remember, he fed Hook to the Crocodile. I bet he would want you to shoot this pretty grrrl up, to jump her in.” Siren's words rang true, and I was not the kind of boi to question Pan.

By now we weren't alone. News has a way of travelling fast in Neverland, in part on account of the lack of walls. Us bois are always climbing over each other; Pan likes it that way. He doesn't like to be alone, and I'm pretty sure that's why he has us bois in the first place. There isn't much privacy at Neverland. A grrrl, especially one who had broken in, was more than any of the bois could resist. They had all gathered around the little table, watching me and Wendi, who still knelt, silently pleading as delicious tears trailed her rounded cheeks. I can't imagine what Wendi thought of me, of us, a tangle of dirty denim, leather, ink, and steel shoved through various appendages. We all wore the same thrift-store
workpants, and whatever T-shirts, hoodies, and flannels fit us best from the pile of clothes that lived in the corner of the sleeping room. None of us had anything of our own, except for Pan's cuff, and that belonged to him and not to us. I don't think Wendi had ever seen bois like us. We weren't like those guys at the GSA spouting “born in the wrong body” bullshit stories. All she could see was a pack of bois ready to take her down, and Siren reapplying her lipstick.

Wendi's eyes darted from boi to boi, studying us. Nibs was the dandiest one of us, always trying to get us to fold our clothes and reminding us to shower. Slightly was a strange boi whom Pan pulled from a bus stop where she'd been left slouched over and overdosing on ecstasy after a rave. She sobered up and decided to stay. Slightly and I didn't get along all that well, though we were forbidden from ever really having it out with each other. Curly was handy to have around because he enjoyed punishment and would always take the fall for things, even when he didn't do them. When Pan was in a mood, Curly was always the first to volunteer himself for punishment—greedy pig of a boi. Of course, this sometimes backfired on us, because Pan is anything but stupid, and while he loves to punish a boi, he is (at times) a fair leader and prefers (when possible) to punish the boi who deserved it. When he caught us, we were given a lashing twice: first, for not having volunteered and second, for letting another boi take the punishment that we should have been grateful to receive. The Twins must have had a particularly
troubled past, because they fell from their pram together, and have never left each other. They even slept in the same hammock. Pan used to punish them for it.

All this time, as Wendi's eyes darted from boi to boi, I struggled with how best to defend Neverland. I didn't know yet that Pan was on an adventure hidden in the Pirate's dungeon with John Michael or that he meant this grrrl to be our Mommy.

Later, John Michael whispered to us bois about the rest of her adventure with Pan, how he'd motioned for John Michael to remain quiet. But from her place under the table, all she could make out was her face reflected in the toes of the immaculate boots that paced the room. Hook, Pan had told her, was Old Guard impeccable. John Michael hadn't known exactly what that meant, but she started to get an idea when his crew entered and presented themselves for inspection against the back wall.

Each crew member stood before Captain Hook, erect and in proper uniform, ready to be judged. He had carefully instructed his crew in the ways of the Pirates, and as he inspected them—tucking in a shirt here, adjusting a collar there, and shaking his head at a scuffed boot—he lectured them.

“A leather Pirate must always be respectable. He must present himself perfectly, always, in clothing and action. Black boots must always be worn. Do not mix different colours of leather; only black leather is appropriate. My crew will never
wear shorts, and should always wear denim or leather. Once earned, a Pirate should only be seen in his leather jacket. Only I, as your Captain, may wear a cap. Never wear the leather of another Pirate, unless it has been given to you.

“You are my crew because you wear my collar; you are mine, and mine alone. You are not to engage in battle of any kind with another Captain. Battling with lost bois is, of course, permitted. No Captain will engage you because you wear my collar, which means you are owned, you are off-limits, and they will stay away from you, if they have been trained properly and know what's good for them. Captains do not take collars, ever. Never forget: we Pirates are a breed unto ourselves.”

Of course, none of this was new for Hook's crew, but John Michael was mesmerized. Pan always said that this was shit that Hook had found on a website or something, but Hook swore he was Old Guard-trained in the dungeons of San Francisco before everyone had died. Hook said that the rules were literally beaten into him, and that was how he trained his crew. In his own way, like Pan and all us lost bois, Hook avoided growing up. He never had to have a grownup job but lived in a world of sexual outlaws, travelling from kink conference to kink conference, teaching his history and helping others to appropriately train their submissives. Hook not only trained others in the rules passed down to him from the great leather Pirates who'd come before, but he dedicated his life to their honour and made sure not one member of his
crew ever forgot that. In that way, his world inside the Jolly Roger was like our Neverland, separate from the morality and the judgments and the expectations of adults.

But the Pirates are our enemies because they are rich yuppies. Their fridges were always full. But they were different from grownups, because they lived by their own rules. Rules, Hook maintained, ensured the keeping of good form, and Hook was at his most seductive when he spoke about the importance of good form. When I first met him, I thought it was just about the clothes. After all, he wore only black leather: boots, pants, cap, gloves, pajamas (Pan always added that last one, when he'd make us bois pee ourselves laughing as he imitated one of Hook's serious lectures). Hook's keys always jingled from his left belt loop. He always laughed at Pan's black hanky flagging; after all, Pan had no keys. But I have to admit that good form went deeper than clothes for Hook. Pan had already told John Michael about the Crocodile, and how Hook had never forgiven him for hooking him. Of course, Hook would cut anyone who called him weak, for to show weakness would be to dishonour himself, his crew, and all the great leather Pirates who had come before.