There's no denying dodger's been around the block two or three...dozen times. And yet, he keeps coming back. Not so muh a drifter as a nomad. Not ever wanting to call any one place home for too long. He's grown up on the streets: a runaway, a pickpocket, a hustler. His fingers are light enough to have earned him the moniker by which he's now known. His original name has long since been forgotten. Stints in and out of juvie as a kid were followed by longer "holidays" in rougher enviornments. B&E, aggrevated assault, larceny, trafficing, solicitation...his rap sheet reads like a primer, though he's yet to graduate to truly violent crime. Yet.

Prison has kept him in shape: lean and muscled. The tat that rides the space where his back melts into his ass was learned, earned and applied there. The 2" gothic letters spelling out SLAVE are worn as a badge of honor and pride.

There's something about the flick of ash, the bite of a crop, the intensity of sensation that comes from depravation of oxygen or the sight and smell of a boot up close as he licks it that makes him feel truly alive. There's no shame in admitting and embracing what you are nor is it a sign of weakness to submit. It takes a true man to know his place and be happy with it. dodger's learned that over time. 'Sides, punters pay far more when they know the goods can be willingly abused.

The long periods of time behind bars have acclimated him to the embrace of a man. He craves the level of sting only a well muscled bicept can inflict. Women were beautiful and could be quite cruel but nothing replaced the burning hunger he's come to appreciate for a hard man's feet, thighs, abs, pecs, hands, arms, lips, teeth, cock, ass.

dodger stands 6'1" with brown hair and brown eyes. A set of dog tags always hang around his neck, which read "Just for Decoration". He lives in a dingy flop house but spends most of his time looking for a quick buck or someone to bring him to heel.