Date: Mon, 24 Nov 2003 22:00:37 -0600 From: Fredric L. Brothers Subject: ANOTHER LAWN BOY STORY - Part 14 (Man/Teen) ANOTHER LAWN BOY STORY ----------------------------------------------------------------------- By Fred Brothers Copyright (c) 2003 Fredric Law Brothers - All Rights Reserved -------------------------------------------------------- NOTE CAREFULLY: The following is a copyrighted work and is intended for private, individual use. It may not be reproduced by any known method, distributed or posted on additional web sites without the expressed written consent of the author. Disclaimer: This story is fiction. It bears no connection or resemblance whatsoever to actual or specific persons and/or life experiences or situations. If you do not appreciate gay, intergenerational (that means man/boy love to the uninitiated or brain dead) love stories, or you're under 18 years old, then please leave now! Okay? You have been warned. Enough said! -------------------------------------------------------- Part 14 I've lost him. Christ! I've lost him. Lost my Clayton. Shit! I've really lost him. And do I ever know it! What a fucked-up mess! Rejected! Rejected? Fuckin' REJECTED! I'm so goddamned depressed... and so fucking miserable. I feel like a piece of shit! Why? Why did he reject me so quickly ... so summarily? Okay! It was not that quickly. We did have a few good times together. Didn't we? They were short - much too short - but good. I know I enjoyed all our time together. Did he? But he did reject me! What an incredible change of mood and display of desire from this boy. Couldn't stand to have me touch his body. Fuckin' shit! Rejection by a sixteen-year- old boy. A teenager! And this, on my first ever foray into the delicate world of underage male love. The god-damnedest thing is I would forgive him...forgive him in an absolute heartbeat! I'd accept him back immediately - no questions asked...no excuses wanted...or needed. He's all I think about...all I desire. I can't remember thinking and feeling about another person quite this same way. So lovely...so adorable...so desirable. My beautiful, beautiful Clayton. Jesus! How can I suddenly avoid thinking about him all the time...how can I stop wishing he were with me...in my enfolding arms...right at this very moment? And how...HOW?...did we get into this terrible situation ... just when everything ... EVERYTHING! ... seemed to be progressing in such a positive fashion? How did I get into this mess? How did we get into this situation? I hardly know. HOW? What did I do? What did I do that was so offensive? Put my hand on his chest? Moved my hand softly and gently over his nipple? That was it! Wasn't it? Just a gentle...the gentlest...of caresses. A show of love ... a simple sign of affection. And he immediately becomes so agitated. And what about the kissing incident earlier...when he practically bolts from the kitchen? What the hell was that all about? Does he feel he has to avoid me...avoid my advances...avoid my growing passion...avoid my burgeoning lust? Everything has turn to crap! Everything! Well, he's mine no more...as if he ever was. No use even thinking about him that way anymore. It's over. All for naught. Well, maybe not completely; his studies are definitely improving. Time to move on I guess... or... or time to move... to move out. That's always been my option. When things go bad ... I leave. ^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^ After relieving my pent up tension and acute frustration, I dress and wander into my office. I check my email and notice another offer from my former employer. I open the message and am bowled over by the proposal. It is for four months in Moscow, two in St. Petersburg, followed by nine months in Paris. The salary is stunning...and so are the accommodations and incidental expenses. This is definitely something to be considered, unlike previous ones that I quickly discarded. Surely a most tempting offer. I compose a quick response to Malcolm's offers. To keep my options opened, I manage to express vague interest in the assignments, while quibbling slightly with the monetary remuneration and certain of the accommodations. The offer is more than generous, brought about by his willingness, I'm positive, to take a slight "hit" in order to lure me back into the active fold. I move to the sofa and stretch out. My mind is in an absolute jumble of confusing and conflicting thoughts, combined with deep disappointment and resentment. To resurrect an expression from my youth, I can't get to second base with Clayton. He seems to be incredibly fearful. I realize that I may be rushing things...not sure of my own desires...or my true feelings. Deep down, though...deep down I know it was not how fast...or how slow...I moved...but Clayton's seeming anxiety. He obviously has an adverse reaction to the increase in my attentions - my increased attentions to him...to him as a loving and desirable person...and to his delicious and tempting young body. I doze. It's a fitful sleep...filled with weird and color saturated imagery. Most involve Clayton...and plants...and food...and variations of things we did together this weekend. It's exciting and disturbing at the same time. When we are in private situations... whenever I'm ready to remove an article of his clothing...whenever I'm prepared to uncover a new and specific area of his luscious body...the dream gets interrupted - either by some event occurring in the dream or by the sound of a telephone ringing. I give up trying to sleep. No possible benefit. I answer the phone. It's Malcolm. "I'm so glad I got hold of you, Cole. It being Sunday and all." "No problem." "And thanks for answering my emails." "Yeah. Again, no problem." I'm certainly not sounding very enthusiastic and I'm still a little groggy. Nonetheless, I am interested in what Malcolm says. The emails have piqued my curiosity and stimulated my interest. Malcolm is his usual no-nonsense, down-to-brass-tacks self. He lays things out clearly, cleanly and concisely. Since I've had many prior dealings with the man, I listen, acknowledge his remarks, and know that he is making a concerted plea for my services - although in typical Malcolm Arnold fashion it does not sound like anything more than a polite recital of facts and figures. "So what do you think, Cole?" Malcolm asks after about five minutes of presentation. "It's right up your alley, right?" "It most certainly seems that way. But could you go over the specifics of the operations and the new system again...one more time. Particularly the ones in Russia?" And he does. "Great, no?" he averred after setting out the details one more time. "Yeah. It sounds that way." "I can hear the `but' already." "There's no `but.'" "Sure as hell sounds like one to me. What is it Cole?" "Well ... all these proposals sound great...at the start. Then, when they actually start, reality hits home and BAM...things blow up in your face." "I suppose. Nothing goes that smoothly. You know it...I know it." He pauses. "But we know that's not the reason. C'mon. Tell me. Tell me everything." He laughs his rather high-pitched but infectious laugh. "You know I'm a model of discretion. Meet someone?" So Malcolm knows me...knows me better than I would like. "As a matter of fact, I did." "And you're having your usual luck. Right?" He doesn't say this to be mean-spirited or vicious...but to be truthful. Malcolm does know me well. I hesitate. "As a matter of fact, yes," I reluctantly reply. I guess Malcolm can hear the sadness in my voice because he responds gently and thoughtfully. "Sorry, Cole." "Thanks. Well, it's nothing major but...but, I was hoping...as I always do. You know me - always the personification of hope triumphing over experience. In addition I also have a great big house now, part of my plans to settle down." Malcolm laughs again. "C'mon Cole. Don't bullshit me! All these domesticated trappings mean nothing...nothing at all. A guy like you can't settle down. You're a man of the world. That's your place. That's where you'll always be the happiest." "Yeah," I reply a little bitterly. "A man of the world ... I suppose so. But not, apparently, of the world I want to be part of." He's quiet for a few seconds. "So you'll give my proposition some thought?" I'm lost in my own thoughts and cares. "Oh, yeah! Sure. Definitely. How can I possibly resist. It means Moscow in the winter. Something not to be missed by any living soul." "Don't forget St. Petersburg in the winter too," he says and laughs heartily. "Yeah, but it's also means Paris in the spring and summer. An incredible restorative for the spirit." "Ah! Yes. Paris. Quite an intoxicant...and quite a lure. I'm sure that's why you packaged them together." He laughs again. "When did you say it begins?" "June first. And I'm giving you ten days to think it through... though I'd like an answer up or down even earlier - if that's possible." "Ten day. Okay. You're on." It's only when I hang up that I realize the full import of what I said to Malcolm. I was now willing to forego everything I'd been working for and planning, to go back on the road and resume my itinerant life and lifestyle. And for what? A fist full of dollars... a fist full of dollars and nothing more? No Clayton with me ... a stranger in foreign cities again...nothing...nothing to have...nothing to gain...but money. ^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^ I'm heating the chili, baking cornbread, and about to call Clay when he walks into the kitchen. He's completely dressed and toting his bags and crutches with him. "I cuh-cul-called my grah-gramma. She's guh-guh-gonna pppick me up in teh-teh-ten mih-mih-minutes. "You're not staying for dinner?" "Can't. Nnneed to geh-geh-get huh-home." "Sure...sure. I understand...yes," I say without conviction. I walk into the office and return with his assignment list. "Here. Take this. Fax me the assignments when you've completed them." "Rah-rah-right." He moves his stuff and leaves it all by the front door. "Thah-thah-thanks for the greh-great weekend, Cole. It wuh-wuh-was really wuh-wuh-wunderful." I cannot reconcile these sharp mood swings this boy goes through. "Clayton, you know...I'm sure you know that you exhibit ... display... sudden changes of mood." "Yeah. Thah-thah-that's why I tah-tah-take certain meh-meds." "Yes...yes...of course. Medications. Tell me, do you also see a therapist?" "For a wha-while I dih-did." "No more?" "Nuh-no muh-muh-more." He looks away. "I goh-goh-got so muh-much trouble talkin' thah-that..." His voice trails away. He turns to face me. He raises his arms...and we embrace. It is tender and I begin to feel overwhelmed by the emotions. "Why? Why Clayton?" I whisper in his ear. "Why are you doing this?" He is silent. We break the embrace just as the door buzzer sounds. Franny is alone. I carry Clay's belongings to the car, then hold the door open for her. She gives me a delightful little-old-lady smile. Nobody speaks. Clay climbs into the passenger seat, belts himself in, and lowers the window half way. He stares straight ahead. I lean over and speak to him a very low voice. "Why? Why Clayton? Why are you..."? "You ask tha-thah-that beh-before." He now turns to face me. "'Cause it's wha-wha-what I thi-thi-think's ruh-ruh-right. I nuh-know thah-thah-that. I nuh-know it. Fuh-for buh-buh-both of us. Both!" He lazily raises his left hand and gives me a small wave. The car very slowly turns out of the circular drive. Clayton Narrating --------------------------------------- It's hard leavin' Cole's place. Very, very hard. But I gotta do it! And I know I'm right. Seein' him standin' in the driveway and wavin' makes me very sad. I wave back a little. Maybe I'm makin' a mistake. Maybe I should stay. Cole's real nice ... doin' everythin' to make me comfortable...and happy. But... well, I'm not sure. And grampa always says that when you're not quiet sure, go back to the beginning. Return to where you start from. So, I do that. It was like a real nice weekend, though. He was nice. We had fun together even when doing the studyin'. We had fun, and I loved goin' to the nurseries. That was so, so great! He seems so interested in the plants we bought and the ones we planted and the ones I put around the house in the different rooms. Gramma drives so slow it makes me like totally nuts. Always five mile below the speed limit. That is, except if the speed limit is forty or higher, then it's ten miles slower than the limit. Christ! A ten-minute drive takes thirty minutes! When we finally get home and I grab my stuff outta the trunk and drag it all inside and into my room. I close the door. I don't want any questions from them. Not yet! I don't unpack. But I do take off my prostheses. I just leave `em on the bed and flop down. What a fucked-up mess! Christ! How did I ever get into this? With this guy? With this old guy. I mean, he's gotta be like three time older `n me. Right? And all he wants is to get into my fuckin' pants ... and play around with my bod. I mean, who the fuck wants to play with my body . play with the miserable excuse of a body I got? Shit! As if that's any big deal! Nobody else wants to! I know! They all know better than to try...`cause I'll let `em and then they'll really be up shit's creek. I laugh out loud. Then I just as suddenly start cryin'. I mean really cryin'... cryin' very hard. I'm just fuckin' bawling my eyes out! What a big fuckin' baby I am! It don't make sense. Nothin' makes sense! And nothin' makes me stop. What's happenin'? Why'm I doing this? Why'm I so upset and tense and cryin' like this? Shit! I know why! I mean down deep I know. It's just that I don't wanna admit what's happenin'...or what's already happened. That fuckin' asshole of a doctor better like increase my dosage. He fuckin' better! I can't stand livin' like this any more. I can't... just can't go on this way. It's too hard. That shit eatin' quack better set things right! ^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^ "You're awfully quiet tonight, Clayton," gramma says at dinner. "Everything going well with Dr. Avery and your studies, dear?" "Yeah. Fuh-fuh-fine." Grampa's been watching me close `cause I don't have my prostheses on and I hopped into the kitchen to eat. He doesn't say anything. I think gramma said somethin' to him so that he's not raggin' on me tonight. "I notice that you are stuttering very badly tonight, Clayton. When did this begin?" he asks. "Uh, earlier tuh-tuh-today." "It's nothing to be concerned about, Clarence. It happens sometimes to the dear boy when...you know, when the appointment date gets near." "Yes. Yes, of course. But it seems to have come on quite suddenly." "Nuh-not really," I reply. We continue to eat. The silence is terrible. All I can hear is the clink-clink-clink of the knives and spoons and forks on the plates, these two old people slurping their coffee, the sounds they make whenever they swallow and the clicking of their false teeth. Probably didn't use enough Polygrip this morning. I excuse myself from the table and hop back to my room. I know all I want to do is sleep. Must be very depressed. But I sit down at my desk and do some of the assignment stuff Cole gives me. It's harder to work with him not bein' around to answer my questions. But I plug along and after an hour I fax him the stuff I did. I get a reply in about thirty minutes and it's good. I got a few problems wrong but I had the right procedures so he wasn't too upset. Gramma comes in about 9:30. She sits down and I know that means she wants to talk. But I don't wanna talk. For two reasons - I got nothing to tell her and my stutterin's gettin' so bad that it's hard to say anything and make sense. She kisses me on the forehead before sittin' down. It's just like Cole does and I feel myself gettin' teary when she does it and I like remember him doin' it. Christ! What does she wanna talk `bout? "I see you are working, Clayton. How are the studies progressing?" "Good." "That's nice." She picks up a piece of paper from the floor and tosses it in the trash. "How are things going with Dr. Avery? Are you boys getting along?" "Okay, I geh-geh-guess We geh-geh-geh-get along guh-guh-good." "'We get along well'," she corrects. "That's nice." Shit! Will she stop saying that? "Is everything right between you and Dr. Avery?" I nod. "The reason I ask this Clayton is that your stuttering is certainly very bad tonight ... the worst it has been in months...and you don't see Dr. Newcombe until Wednesday." "Juh-juh-just happens." "I suppose it does." She takes a deep breath. "I also noticed that you and Dr. Avery did not say anything to each other when I came to pick you up." "Nuh-nuh-nothin' to seh-say, I geh-geh-guess." "I see." She stands and looks around the room. "But things did seem a little...well, they seemed a little cool...tense. Any reason for that? Any reason why I got that impression?" I shake my head. "Very well then, dear. You have a history test on Tuesday, don't you?" I nod. "Are you studying that subject?" "Duh-duh-doin' it rah-right nuh-nuh-now." "Very good. Then I will just day good night, Clayton. And if you do want to talk about anything...and I mean anything at all ... please talk to me. I think I will have much better answers than your `friends' will have." Again trashin' my friends. "Guh-guh-good night, grah-grah- gramma." "Oh, yes, dear. One more thing I want to mention. When we see Dr. Newcombe on Wednesday, we should ask if there is any way your dosage could be...um...be better regulated. I know he has told us that it could be dangerous if he increases it...but...well, I think there has to be a way to prevent these roller coaster changes you...you seem to experience so frequently." I stand and give her a hug. "Thank you Clayton...and good night, dear." When I'm alone again, I return to studyin'. But it's like no use. I read and read and the shit goes in my eyes and right into the trashcan of my brain. But she's right about my so-called friends. They're like a bunch of shits ... only out for their own fun. Kerry's the most. I suppose Seth and Kyle aren't like too bad...they never do anything to embarrass anybody else. But the rest...they're pretty much slime...and morons. Rich slime...but still slime. It's funny that I'm thinkin' `bout `em this way. I mean I never think `bout `em much ... but to think `bout `em this way is very different. Maybe...maybe it's `cause what Cole says when we talk. The way we talk how they do things to me. He says it's like abuse. Maybe it is. Maybe.... I hear gramma and grampa talkin' in their room. If I can hear `em then it means they're havin' an argument. And the argument's always `bout the same subject - ME! I just hate bein' the cause of so many problems. Their life together should be so happy and peaceful now that they're old. But it isn't. It's pretty miserable...`cause they got a cripple, diseased grandson to take care of. People this old shouldn't have...have such... I close my book and hop over to my bed. I look at my arm and leg lyin' on the bed. They make me sick...realizin' that I'm just `bout helpless without `em and that half my body is on the bed and not attached to me. I take off my clothes and get under the covers wearin' only my underwear. I feel tired...and a little chilled ... but not sleepy. I rest some this afternoon after Cole leave me in my room...in the guest room...after I panic again. Panic when he touched me ... touches me in a sexual way. Why does this happen? Why does it happen with Cole? I mean he's so great to me...so very, very great. And it's fun being with him. More fun than being with anyone I can remember. He's kind ... and gentle...and understandin'...and he likes me. And I like him. So why? Why do that to him? Why'd I push him away... and not even talk to him...or explain? I don't tell him why I do those things. Maybe it's `cause it takes me so long to say anything...with this fuckin' stutterin' and all. Shit! I can't just say what I wanna say quick and easy. Everything's a production. Everythin' takes so long. Yeah. That's why. I remember how he touches my stumps. God, that feels so great! I so love it when he does that. Who knew it can be so wonderful. And then ... then he massages and kisses...and makes real love to my arm stump today. God! It feels so super. He just seems to know exactly what to do and what I love him doin'. And then the warmth of his lips and tongue rubbin' up and down on my arm...and how wonderful it feels when he licks at my armpit...and pulls at the hairs with his lips...so gentle-like. Cole's so nice. Real nice! There's none of this phony shit of bein' nice to the cripple boy - to the big, fuckin' loser kid. I begin rubbin' one of my nipples with my stump...and I start playin' with my dick usin' my hand. It feels good...and I relax some. Then ... then I remember how I panic. And how I push him away. Shit! What an unthinkin' asshole I am! I mean I know I'm not like normal. I know I'm so terribly fucked up ... so horribly undersexed and all...but...but why do I reject him like that? And without even sayin' anythin' to him. That's real lousy. I mean what was he gonna do? Nothing! Nothing that I didn't want him to do, that's what! That's not true...not true at all. Who am I tryin' to bullshit? I can't fool myself any more. I don't say anythin' to him `cause I'm... I'm scared. I'm like totally fuckin' terrified. I'm scared that he's gonna find out `bout me...see me...see all my body...and know all the problems I got. And I know he'll reject me. Like the others do. Yeah ... but is that so? I mean he sees me without my leg and my arm ... and he doesn't freak...or push me away...or ignore me. He still wants to be with me. And seein' me with no arm and no leg is pretty fuckin' gross. But...but he accepts me. He still treats me nice...and seems to care a lot `bout how I'm doin' and all. Yet...yet, he does like to see me wearin' my prosthetics...and he likes...likes to touch and rub both my stumps. It really seems to like turn him on. But what happens when he finds out...finds out the truth...finds out that I can't...can't give him what he really wants from me - sex. I mean I can't be a proper boyfriend...I can't be a man. I'm a sexless nothing! When he finds out...when he knows...it'll all be over. I know it! When I go to his office to speak to him again, he's on the phone. I hear him clearly. He's talkin' to somebody `bout Moscow and Paris and...and leavin' Chicagoland...and leavin' me. He doesn't know I hear him. Now I panic worse `n before. Shit, shit, shit! Did I ever fuck up! I reject him so clearly... so completely...and now he's gonna be leavin'...leavin' his house... leavin' this area...leavin' me! Well, he should! He should leave m!. I deserve it. I'm no good for him? I'm like poison...poisonin' everything I come in contact with. What a fuckin' Jonah I am! That should be my name - Jonah, not Clayton. I bring bad luck to everyone I know...and everywhere I go... everyone I meet...and everyone I love. Everyone I love. Everyone ... I ... love ... I sit up quickly. What was that? What was I thinkin' just now? Love? "YES!" I say out loud. The sound of my voice almost frightens me. Yes! That's it! Why couldn't I say it before? Why couldn't I tell him? I love him! I love him very much! I'm in love with the guy. I'm in love with Cole. I'm fuckin' in love with Dr. Cole Avery! Now what do I do? How do I get outta this situation...this mess I got myself into? And...and do I want to? I start cryin' again. I get out of bed. I'm havin' a real problem seeing anythin'. I start puttin' on my hook arm and my leg. I dress quick and walk to gramma's room. I knock on the door. The End of Part 14 (To Be Continued...) -------------------------------------------------------- You have just read Part 14 of my latest story. Thanks so much. I'd like to know your reactions to the characters and story - anything you may want to say is greatly appreciated. flbrothers@hotmail.com Also, please put the name of the story on the subject line of any email. Thanks again. --------------------------------------------------------