The Beginning of the Rainbow

By Dawn Johnson

The Beginning of the Rainbow is a gay romance novel about a young homeless man, Cody who meets a handsome stranger, Dee, who offers him sanctuary and kindness. Cody accepts but fears Dee's intentions toward him. Cody falls in love and discovers this man is extremely wealthy and has many secrets to hide from his parents in India. Cody soon finds

• Language: English
• Publisher: Best Book Writers
• Release date: Apr 3, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869295606

Book preview

The Beginning of the Rainbow

Dawn Johnson

Copyright Dawn Johnson 2022 All rights reserved.

Cover design and illustration by Daniel Flagel

This is a work of fiction. All characters organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

This book is dedicated to my sister, Dae O’Kegan

For all the encouragement and support in helping me realize my dream but mostly for inspiring me to write in the first place.

Acknowledgments

Thanks to Jordan Rosenfeld for her developmental edit of my manuscript. Her expertise helped me tremendously.

Thanks to Cuesta College and Central Coast Writer’s Conference for teaching me so much and encouraging all writers to strive for success.

Thanks to my wonderful daughter-in-law Roxann for her knowledge of publishing and acting as my agent.

Chapter One

My heart banged against my chest as I glanced around Dallas Fort Worth airport to see if I’d been followed. Sweat trickled down my back under my hoody. I sat on a bench and shoved the boarding pass to Los Angeles in my backpack. Willing my leg to stop bouncing, I hung it on my knee. I studied a new crack in the tennis shoes that carried me forward as I sprinted to freedom. Hiding wouldn’t work this time. Getting out of Dallas was the only way.

I sat there maybe ten minutes, hunched over, glancing around nervously, when a business suit sat beside me. He planted his hand on my skinny thigh and squeezed. A cry escaped me. I jumped, but his strong grip on my leg kept me from rising. Glancing up at him, I realized he wasn’t the rich man I just robbed. My heart tumbled back into my chest.

Barely able to breathe, I hissed at him, Piss off, asshole! There’s nothing for sale here. He moved his hand slightly so the fifty-dollar bill that rested there could be seen. A fifty? I thought. I stared at it, for a second tempted. His grip on my leg became painful.

Won’t take ten minutes, he whispered, pointing with his head toward the men’s room.

I can’t, I told him. I’ll miss my plane.

Huh, he grunted as he stood, snatching the fifty off my leg. "Like you’re here for a plane." And he was gone. For once in my short life, I didn’t need that fifty. I had many large bills in the rich man’s wallet. I was certain he would show up to kill me, or worse, take back his money. I pulled the stolen Rolex out of my backpack to check the time. I couldn’t even pawn the damned thing. Must have real residence and phone number, I was told. What a stupid law.

I was so small I looked younger than my twenty-one years. And my face so hairless and smooth I looked like a girl when necessary, though I was not. If you are young and pretty and sit alone long enough in a public transit station you will be approached, no matter how tattered, unflattering and dirty your clothing may be. It’s not a get rich quick scheme, but you will be able to buy food instead of eating from a dumpster. I wondered if the predatory business suits even cared whether I was male or female.

I took off my ballcap, pulled my long blond hair out of my jacket and removed the hair tie so it cascaded down my back. I zipped up my hoody jacket to hide my flat chest and headed for the ladies’ room. The line snaked out the door. I stood, not making eye contact, staring at the floor. When I finally got a stall, I went through the awkward process of peeing while sitting down just in case some religious nut noticed. Like it’s any of their damned business.

At the sink, I washed my face and hands and brushed my teeth with my brand-new toothbrush and tiny tube of toothpaste. The airport gift shop did not appreciate me paying for them with a hundred-dollar bill. So what? I needed change. I brushed my hair, hoping I looked presentable for these women of privilege. Just having anything that is yours is a privilege. I decided to board the plane as a woman, hair loose.

As I returned to the bench, they called my plane. I shot up off my seat and dashed to get in line. My eyes darted, still searching for my nemesis. All I saw were people preparing to go through the security check, pulling off shoes, opening carryon bags. I hopped on one foot taking off my tennis shoes, which reeked. I feared the airport security could see the terror emanating off me. Don’t say anything unnecessary. Don’t look them in the eye. Remain invisible.

Oddly, they saw nothing threatening in a raggedy teenager with a Rolex and a wallet full of money in a filthy backpack. After searching them, the security staff grimaced, held my shoes away from her face in her gloved hands and gave them back to me quickly. I breezed through without a hitch. That long blond hair works every time. It’s all anyone ever sees.

I’d prepared a lie about being the daughter of the man who’s ID was in the wallet, just in case they held me back questioning whether I had the right to possess this rich white man’s wallet. But since I was white, they didn’t even blink. I knew him only as Billy Bob. Now I knew his last name, permanent address and everything else I’d need to know to make him pay for everything he’d ever done to me.

By the time I boarded the damned plane I thought the top of my head would blow off. My seat was on the aisle, thank goodness. I sat heavily, clutching my backpack like a baby. I watched the plane fill up. When no one paid me any notice, I relaxed slightly.

Beside me a sweet old couple held hands and chatted affectionately. Wow, I thought. People do that in real life? I’d certainly never seen it before.

Are you alone, young lady? the elderly woman asked, patting my hand on the armrest.

Oh. I flinched, pulling my hand away, softening my voice. Yes, I am.

We’re going to Los Angeles to visit our son and his family, she said with pride.

I wondered what it would be like to have proud parents. To have parents at all.

We just love California, her husband said. You will, too.

You looked so worried, she said. We just wanted to put you at ease.

We? I thought. They read each other’s minds? I blushed under their attention. Thank you. I’m excited. Terror and excitement were the same thing, right?

The pilot announced takeoff, flight attendants reminded us how to put on our seat belts, and zoom, we were pointing up in the sky. The woman patted my hand again and I realized I was gripping the armrest as if I were drowning. I smiled at her but couldn’t let go.

After the plane leveled off, I relaxed a little. The flight attendant came by with a cart and asked if anyone wanted a beverage or snack. Rum and coke, I blurted. And nuts.

Are you old enough to drink? my seat mate asked.

Yes, I said, glancing at the attendant.

Let me see your ID, the attendant said. I rolled my eyes and pulled my Texas driver’s license from the outside pocket of my backpack where I’d put it when I bought the plane ticket. She gave me a narrow-eyed frown as she looked at it, but served me a small can of Coke, a tiny bottle of Bacardi, a plastic cup of ice and a tiny bag of nuts.

Well, you’re too skinny, the elderly lady said. You should eat better.

I agreed with her wholeheartedly as I devoured the nuts, gulped the rum, chased it with the coke and sat crunching the ice.

The elderly man ordered vodka and tonic for him and his wife. I grimaced. The first time I’d drank vodka I was only eleven. The smell of it wafted over to me, taking me back.

My mother’s most recent boyfriend had me in a headlock, laughing, pouring vodka straight from the bottle down my throat while she slept off another vodka induced coma. I gagged and fought and threw up all over him. He shoved me face down on my bed, wrenching my pants off. To this day I associate the smell of vomit with sex.

I shuddered and stifled a sob. The nice lady beside me glanced my way. I pretended I’d had a burp, and patted my chest, smiling at her.

The rum soothed my racing nerves, but the nuts did little to curb my second day without eating. There was no time to spend any of Billy Bob’s money on food. Getting out of Dallas was more important. After getting lost several times, I finally found the airport in his car and got the soonest flight to California, which was within the hour. I smiled at the thought of him still looking for me while I was in the air. I stifled a giggle at what would be the look on his face if he ever found his car in the airport parking lot, keys in ignition, doors locked.

Two hours later, the pilot announced mandatory seat belts, our impending descent, and before long we were on the ground, smooth as silk. I picked up my backpack and joined the crush in the aisle. The elderly couple struggled to stand, leaning on each other so instead of moving forward, I blocked other annoyed passengers as I cleared a path for them. I helped the lady get in front of me, then the man.

Hey, what’s the hold up! one large impatient passenger shouted.

Wait your turn! I shouted over my shoulder, as a smaller person squeezed by me.

The elderly man was fumbling with the overhead compartment and I opened it quickly and asked him which one was his. He told me and I got it down for him. Even though I was barely five six, I was still taller than this couple. Eventually we started the frustratingly slow passage down the aisle. I carried their satchel as we entered the terminal. I was preparing myself for a quick flight on foot through the airport with their bag, but the couple was already being greeted by a middle-aged man and woman and three squealing children. Grandma, Grandpa! I stood there and watched them receive so much love. They introduced me to their son and daughter-in-law and thanked me profusely as the son took their carry on from my hand, smiling at me. I bowed out of the happy scene, jealous that handsome men like that never wanted or approached me. It was always lonely, pathetic, ugly business suits.

I walked the terminal, looking for food. Constantly glancing about, still paranoid, I found the specter of my enemy had dissipated between Texas and California. I found a lunch counter sandwich shop. The stool rotated as I climbed onto it. I ordered a sandwich, hung my backpack on my leg and found the wallet. I pulled some bills out and let it fall to the bottom of the backpack, not wanting to reveal how much money was there.

As I was eating, I felt movement beside me. A man slid onto the next stool. Most of the stools were empty, so I assumed he was there to harass me. I was fully prepared to rudely tell him to go away, until I saw him. To my ignorant eyes, he was racially ambiguous, maybe Middle Eastern and wearing an awfully expensive black suit with a red shirt, half unbuttoned, revealing a tuft of thick wool-like chest hair. Tall, slender and muscular, he was facing me, his legs open. A rush of desire took my appetite, cutting oxygen to my brain. I dropped the sandwich onto the wrapping paper, a sigh escaped me. His face lit up in a pleasant smile.

Need a lift? he asked, ignoring the woman behind the counter. She must have whiffed what was going on, because she quickly went down the counter to wait on other patrons.

Not right now, I whispered, my heart thundering, my mouth dry. Since my hair was down, I feared he saw me as a woman. Well, I’d just take advantage of that for a little while.

You just got off a plane, right? he asked. Need a place?

Could you tell me where I could get a youth hostel? I fumbled the words like a flustered adolescent confronted with a movie star. I hated showing weakness.

They are a long way from the airport. I can take you there.

Take me there, I said with confusion. Take me where?

To a hostel. Isn’t that what you said you wanted?

Taking a bite of the sandwich, I said, Maybe. Unsure which question I was addressing.

Okay, he said, gazing at me, his elbow on the counter, his fist against his cheek, his smile euphoric, his patience eternal. It was unnerving. Most men were rude and in a big hurry.

After I’d given up trying to eat more than half the sandwich with my stomach in turmoil, I pushed it aside and looked at him. Follow me, he said, still smiling.

Anxiety engulfed me. I was sure his intent wasn’t any different than the other business suits. Surely, he understood what I was. Why was he bothering to be nice to me? At least he was attractive. Why shouldn’t I enjoy it as well? I gulped and followed him as we walked passed the restrooms and went instead to the luggage carousel. He retrieved his suitcase on wheels and a bag with a strap. I wondered what kind of riches they held. But I didn’t want to run away just yet. I was intrigued with this strange man.

We walked to a valet parking area of the airport where we stood awkwardly not talking. A few minutes later a red sporty Mercedes two-seater cruised up to the curb and stopped. I realized my mouth was hanging open and quickly shut it. The valet put his luggage in the trunk and reached for my backpack, then withdrew her hand, grimacing at its filth. She handed the car’s owner his keys and left with the tip he gave her. He let the top of the car down by pushing a button on the fob.

On the highway, he drove like a maniac who knew tomorrow would never come. The wind whipped my hair in my face. I grasped it and scrunched down in the seat, hanging onto the console for dear life. He laughed and slapped my leg. My fear became excitement. Suddenly I didn’t dread whatever came next.

We arrived at what can only be called a golden hotel. It looked like the ads I’d seen for Las Vegas, tall and shiny. He parked right by the front doors and a valet appeared out of nowhere. He got out of the car and tossed the valet the keys, saying, Have someone bring my luggage up to my room. The valet motioned to a porter who brought up a luggage cart and retrieved the luggage from the trunk of the Mercedes and headed into the hotel.

While the valet waited patiently, I sat in the car unable to move. Not a hostel, I said.

No, he said. Disappointed? Want to leave?

I desperately wanted to say yes, but my head was shaking no. Trembling, I got out, backpack in hand and followed him into the hotel, pulling my hoody up over my tangled hair. He strode through the lobby with confidence as I struggled to keep up. Many people, both uniformed employees and wealthy, richly dressed people of all colors and societies nodded to him with a kind of deference and respect that made my heart pound with both anxiety and anticipation.

What the hell am I getting myself into? I’d never had an actual rich man before.

He stopped at the front desk and spoke to the clerk quietly. I gaped about at the stunning beauty of the place. It made the motels where I plied my trade look more like homeless shelters.

In the elevator, he put a card in a slot, and we were whisked up so fast I thought the blood leaving my head would never return. The doors pinged open and we walked down the hallway to a set of double doors. He put the card in a slot on the door and pushed, opening into a huge, magnificent room full of sunlight streaming into an entire wall of windows. I stumbled into the room furnished with beautiful white and gold trimmed couches and chairs.

I didn’t know what to do. Everything was immaculate. Me and my clothes were filthy. My dirty backpack hit the plush carpet. He was on his cell phone, so I just stood dazed in the middle of the room. He ended his call and came to stand directly in front of me.

I’ve always been fascinated with blond hair, he said. It’s so… He ran his hand through my tangled hair and gripped it tightly at the base of my skull, causing my mouth to open. He was close enough to my face to kiss me and I wanted him to. I didn’t usually get kissed. He smelled like a tropical wildflower. I’d never known a man to smell good.

I don’t know your name, I said, inhaling deeply.

You can call me Dee, he said.

Is that your name? I breathed, my heart banging around in my chest.

Your eyes are blue, he said with wonder in his voice.

Does your name start with a D?

He released me, his eyes traveling down my body. Follow me, he said, turning his back to me. I grabbed my backpack and followed him through this gigantic room into an equally large bedroom, then a bathroom. Waiting for us was a huge hot tub already bubbling hot water with an exotic scent that filled the steamy room. My heart hammered, dread and excitement battling for dominance. A hot tub usually meant anal sex. I hated anal sex, but it paid better than just head. I decided to not haggle price until I knew for sure his intent.

How old are you? he asked.

I’m twenty-one. I stared at the floor unable to look at him directly.

You look more like a teenager.

I guess that’s my charm. I’m older than I look.

There was a long silence. I looked up at him. He was studying me as if I were a bizarre specimen, a pained expression on his face.

Go ahead and get in the water, he said quickly. I’ll be right back.

He left the bathroom, closing the door. I argued with myself about escaping but had promised myself I would take the money in the stolen wallet and never live on the street again. I heard voices in the bedroom. Panicked, I shrank away from the door looking for a place to hide. There was no closet in the bathroom, so I kicked off my tennis shoes, stripped and in a half a minute was underwater. It felt wonderful, silky like soap, but it didn’t sting my eyes when I sank under and came up. He hadn’t returned so I went under again. When I came up, I listened and could no longer hear voices. Still alone in the bathroom, I rested my arms on the side of the tub, closed my eyes and allowed the water jets to float my body. It was wonderful.

After what seemed a long while, I sensed someone in the room. I opened my eyes and with a splash, self-consciously pushed my lower half underwater. He was standing in the doorway, wearing a terrycloth bathrobe, just watching me. He licked his lips, his eyes wide.

This is it! I thought, preparing myself. Heat not caused by the steam engulfed me, sweat mingling with the water trickling down my face. And at least he knows I’m not a woman.

He sat on the edge of the tub, right by me, put his hand under my chin and lifted my face. His eyelids were half closed as he stared down at me, his mouth slightly open. My mouth opened in anticipation of his lips. Instead, his eyes traveled down my body, a crooked little smile making him even more attractive. My poor little penis waved at him, desperately begging for love.

Rising from the tub edge, he said, When you’re done there’s a robe on the shelf. He picked up my filthy clothes and backpack and left the room. I gasped and almost slipped on the tile floor getting out of the tub. Taking a deep breath I reassured myself that he wouldn’t steal my getaway money if he was so fabulously rich as to live in a penthouse.

I was relieved, disappointed and confused. If he didn’t want me, then what the hell was going on? Was he preparing me to be rented out? I had just escaped that, damnit! I decided that for now, I’d just comply until I got a few good meals in me. I knew it wouldn’t last. Soon I’d be replaced with another. After all, he hadn’t yet asked me my name.

In the corner of the room was a large shower stall big enough for two people. I showered, using his liquid soap and shampoo. When I left the bedroom, with my hair in a towel, wearing the bathrobe, I saw him sitting at a kitchenette table just to the side of the sitting room. He was using his tablet and glanced at me but said nothing. I knew I was now as clean as any human has ever been and felt good about siting on his perfect couch. It was soft and comfortable. I rubbed my bare feet into the thick carpet. It felt like a massage. I started to doze.

I crept up to the nightstand, carefully, slowly picking up the wallet without a sound and put it in my backpack. Then I saw the gold watch. I picked it up quietly. The man in the bed stirred. My heart and breath stopped. He looked at me. In a half second decision I grabbed his car keys and dashed for the door. For a big fat man, he moved faster than I did. His large hands grabbed me as I swung the backpack has hard as I could. It crashed into his face and he staggered back falling on his ass. Those large heavy Gideon Bibles are good for something! Gave me a half minute head start.

I awoke abruptly, sitting up, my heart wrenching to be released. I gaped about this unfamiliar dimly lit room in bewilderment. Where the hell was I? Where was my backpack and money to freedom? Had they been stolen already?

Ah, you’re back, said a beautiful god man as he walked toward me.

I stared at him, for a moment, not remembering anything except escaping. Then I recalled the airport, the ticket to freedom, and this man. This not ugly, not fat man who had yet to touch me or hurt me. And my heart came down from its desperate flight.

The god man sat beside me, smiling, wearing a bathrobe. Had we had sex already? I didn’t remember. Then I smelled the most wonderful food. I giggled. I’d been tense for so long I’d lost myself.

Here, he said, his hand out toward a room service cart. Eat.

Then I recalled his name. He’d given me an obvious alias. Was he hiding like me?

He went into the kitchenette as I explored an array of foods unfamiliar to me. Rice mixed with colorful vegetables I didn’t recognize on a covered platter. My hand shaking, weak with hunger, I took a clean plate, filled it and dug in, wolfing the food like a starving stray.

He brought me a glass of red wine and set it down on the coffee table in front of me. I glanced at him nervously. He gave me a shrug as if to say, ‘Drink it or not. No big deal.’ I gulped some of it and realized it wasn’t beer. Immediately my head swam, my body engulfed with warmth. He was smiling at me amused. I was annoyed and grateful. Was I being drugged? Well, if we were going to be fucking, I was going to need something to kill the pain, so I gulped some more. Then resumed eating as he went back into the kitchenette. The food was spicy in a way I’d never tasted before. My whole body hummed with warm chemical electricity. After I’d eaten more at one time than ever before, I leaned back on the couch, dreamily staring into space.

Dee brought a wine glass and bottle of wine and set them on the coffee table. He poured me more wine and a glass for himself from the same bottle. Then sat close beside me and caressed my chest under the bathrobe, using his entire forearm. His elbow near my crotch, I got hard immediately.

Where did you get those bruises? he asked as he sipped, and I gulped the wine.

Bruises? I blurted, glancing down at myself, recalling my last beating, the one that spurred me to action. Is that why you don’t want me? Cause I’m damaged?

No, he said, caressing the bruises, then kissing them. I arched my back toward his face, gasping in pleasure. Leaning into me, looking me in the eye, he folded the front of my robe over my penis and stroked me slowly. You’ve been badly used. It doesn’t mean you’re damaged. Relax.

And relax I did, coming quickly into the robe. I smiled up at him as he loomed over me, his smiling face becoming blurry. Exhaustion took me.

Chapter Two

I awoke in a huge and empty bed. For a moment I thought I had a wonderful dream but expected to be curled up on a bench somewhere in a tight fetal position, trying to be invisible. I vaguely recalled Dee’s warm body against mine as we spooned in the night. I didn’t remember coming to bed. Had he carried me like in those old romance movies? I giggled. I lay there for a luxurious moment, stretching, squirming, trying to tell if we’d had sex, but the residual pain that accompanied anal sex wasn’t there. I got up, not surprised to see I was naked and visited the bathroom. Further exploration of my body proved he’d not taken advantage of me.

I found a clean terrycloth robe and put it on. I looked in the mirror and realized my hair was a tangled mess, wind-blown, then washed without being brushed. On the long counter with double sinks sat a hairbrush and toothbrush, both still in their packaging from the store.

So, he picks up a lot of strays? I thought with unease. Or perhaps just a lot of overnight guests? I felt the heat of shame in my face. An emotion that hadn’t visited me in a long time. Why now? Was it because he thought of me, instead of using and discarding like soiled tissue?

Then I heard Dee speaking to someone in the living room. Anxiously, I listened at the closed bedroom door, but only heard his voice. I quickly made myself presentable and hesitantly left the bedroom. There was a room service cart by the couch. He was talking to someone on his tablet as he sat at the kitchenette table eating. He pointed to the cart, frowning slightly as if he didn’t want me to sit with him and be seen by whoever was on the call. I could tell he was speaking one of the Middle Eastern languages but was ignorant of them specifically. He had a definite accent then. But when he spoke English, he had virtually no accent at all. He sounded like a white news anchor on the whitest American news channel.

I moved to the couch and repeated my starving stray manners. I planned to eat like a pig until it was time for me to be gone. I then went exploring. Instinct. Escape routes. Hiding places. There was a door to another bedroom just like his with its own private bath, the furniture rearranged as if a bed-sit. It had bed and nightstands, couch, chairs and a large TV. In the main room, I noticed an open door to a half