Date: Sun, 24 Aug 2003 09:32:48 -0500 From: Fredric L. Brothers Subject: ANOTHER LAWN BOY STORY - Part 8 (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 solely for private, individual use. It may not be reproduced by any known method, distributed or posted on additional web sites, without the written permission 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 8 We're waiting for our table at Barney's Rib Place. I'm having a delightfully extra dry martini (gin, thank you) and Clay is sipping orange juice. We're seated near the bar area. It's Saturday night and the place is packed. "Hey, Clay! How yah doin' dude?" I look up to see a mountain of a young man standing next to us. "Whacha doin' here bro?" Clay looks up and gives a big smile. "Kerry. How the hell are yah man?" He stands and the two guys sort of embrace. They chat very quietly for a minute or two before he introduces me. "Kerry, I'd like yah to mmmeet Dr. Cole Avery. I think I...uh...yah know, told yah `bout him? I'm gonna be doin' his gardening...yah know, redoing his property...and he's jjjust started tttutorin' me tttoday." He turns to me. "Cole, this is mmmy friend Kerry Forster? We go to the sssame ssschool." I stand and Kerry puts out his hand. We shake. Actually, I do the shaking - in my shoes! Kerry is huge! His hand just about swallows up mine. He must be about six-five or six and weigh well over 250. He's blonde, extremely well built and very, very handsome - beautiful is the more accurate word. He's quite the impressive stud! I cannot believe this guy is in high school. He could easily pass for someone in his mid-twenties. "Who yah here wwwith?" Clay asks. He turns his head to look at four people chatting together near the entrance. "My folks...and Lena...and Ramon, of course." "Of course," Clay whispers under his breath. His expression has changed from one of joy, and, it seemed to me, hero worship, to one of loathing. "Nice," he says, but I get the distinct impression that he doesn't mean it. He has a brittle, veneer-like smile on his face. "Well, have a great dinner, both of yah," Kerry says as they embrace again. "See yah later, skinny dude." Kerry laughs heartily and pats Clay on the shoulder and gives him a friendly tap and squeeze on the ass. He goes off to join a very handsome, thin, moderately tall, dark-haired guy; a very tall, leggy blonde young lady; and two older adults. "Must be his `folks...and Lena...and Ramon, of course'," I think. Clay seems to be shooting laser rays from his eyes, aimed at Ramon and Lena and Kerry. If he had the power, all three young people would be heaps of ashes on the restaurant carpeting. "That's Kerry. He's a sssenior. We mmmmeet on Thursdays - he's part of that afternoon gggroup?" He's still following their progress as they walk through the front door. "Lena's his current girlfriend. Ramon's a foreign exchange ssstudent this year...from Argen-tttina... and he's lllivin' with the Forsters. And...uh...he's Kerry's...um... Kerry's bbboyfriend." ^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^ It's just slightly after nine when we get back to the house. The answering machine message light is blinking. I take the messages; one is from Franny. I know we must return it ASAP. I dial the number; Clay is standing next to me. "Hi Franny. We just got back from dinner. How are things?" "Very fine. How are things there...with everything...the studies, I mean?" I clear my throat. "They're fine...just fine. We were able to get in three hours today." "Oh, that is wonderful!" "And we went to a nursery to buy some plants which we put in the ground before the downpours this afternoon. So things right now are moving ahead...right on schedule...uh...without a hitch." "Well, I am so glad to know that you men are getting along well and that everything is progressing so satisfactorily," she enthuses. I give her more details of our day. She seems very pleased and very happy. I mention the trip to the nursery and the planting again, but this time put increased emphasis on the studies. I tell her about dinner. She seems enthusiastic about everything. "Has Clayton spoken to you yet, Cole?" "Spoken?" I'm confused. "About what?" She pauses. "Oh...well...you will know when he does. I am sure about that!" I look over at Clay who has turned on the TV and is spinning through the channels. "Yeah...I'm sure," still uncertain of what I'm supposed to know. This new conundrum...added to the many other puzzling things about this boy and his family. What does it all mean? "May I speak with him please?" "Definitely." I walk over and hand him the portable phone. "Clay, your grandmother." He takes it. "Hi gramma. "Yeah! It's been a great day. Busy and great! We went to..." I go into my office to retrieve the business messages. I have a very busy day scheduled for Monday, including a drive up to Milwaukee. I don't know what Clay and I will be doing tomorrow except for the studying, so I'd better clear as many things as I can while I have time. Clay walks in about fifteen minutes later. He's on crutches, having removed his prosthetic leg and arm. He still wears the same clothes - the sleeve of the shirt and pants leg dangle. His right crutch has a special rubber cup attached to one long wooden side. This is so he can control it with his arm stump. The hand that would normally manage this crutch is missing. He slides his right arm stump into the rubber socket and manipulates the crutch quite easily. "Thanks for the gggreat dddinner, Cole...and a gggreat ddday." He gives me a kiss on the top of my head. It is light and gentle. The feathery feel of his lips on my skin is a balm. My mood suddenly brightens. "You're very welcome. I enjoyed it tremendously myself... particularly the great dinner companion I had." I'm slightly reluctant to say the next part, but I feel I must. "I was also very, very impressed at...um...how well you manage...how at ease you are while eating. Now, I promise, no more comments about your prosthetics. Okay?" "Thanks...but I dddon't mmmmind. Really! I dddon't. I appreciate you sssaying that. Most people just lllike to prettttend there're nnnot there...and that everything is just ssso nice and normal and rosy ..." He takes a deep breath and grins at me. "But I rrreally lllike it when you say things `bout my pros. And only you. That's `cause I know you...well, you know...I know that you don't mmmind `em...and that you rrreally like `em...and I also know that you lllike what's underneath `em...you know, my stumps...what's left of me...and all." He gives me an endearingly cute smile and he giggles slightly - a perfect combination of boyish shyness and adult satisfaction. He sits on the large sofa. "Mmmm. Real cccomfy," he says. "Nice." "It used to be in the living room of my old apartment. One of the few pieces of furniture I kept. That, the bookshelves...and a few other things." "Where was your old apartment? You've nnnever ttttold me." "Washington...Washington DC." "Oh wow! Ttthat mmmusta been great!" I shrug slightly. "It was okay, I suppose. Not the most exciting place in the world. Far from it!" "But...but there are ssso mmmany things ttto sssee...and ttto do there. Right?" "To see, yes. To do...well, not that many. Not compared to other great capitals, like London...or Paris...Rome...or Berlin...or even Moscow." "Oh, mmman! You've bbbeen ttto RRRussia?" I nod. "Not the best place to be in the winter, however." He laughs at my small joke. "But there are lots of things to do." We're quiet and just keep eye contact. He doesn't mind my unbroken gaze. "How's your grandmother doing?" "Fine. They're bbboth ddoin' okay...I s'pose." "I forgot to ask you. Tomorrow is Sunday. Do you need to go to church?" He shakes his head. "Nah. My family's nnnot bbbig on gggoin' ttto church." "But you attend a Christian school...don't you?" "Yeah, but I gggo there `cause it has the bbbest education around for mmme...nnnot `cause we're bbbelievers. You?" "Last time I was in a church - and not just as a tourist - was the funeral of somebody I knew who was murdered. No, I'm not a churchgoer. Okay, so that takes care of that." He's fidgetting - can't sit still. He's also stammering more than usual this evening. Is he nervous...afraid of something? Is he uneasy about being here with me...at night...and by ourselves? He gets up, hops over to the bookcases and retrieves a book from one of the high shelves. "You read all the Harry Potter books?" "Uh, yes. Yes I did." "You lllike `em?" "Loved them. I think J.K. Rowling is just about the best writer working today. I've read the four books about six or seven times each." I stand and move to the shelves. "And if you've noticed, you'll see that I have the American edition, the British edition, and a few in other languages - French, German, Spanish." "You rrread them in those lllanguages tttoo?" "Yes." "Wow!" I nod. "But aren't they...uh....you know, kkkid's bbbooks?" "Not at all. Great literature transcends categories. Let me ask you something. Have you read E.B. White's `Charlotte's Web'?" "Yeah. Sure. Who hasn't? I llloved it." "How old were you when you read it?" "Oh ... `bout ttten." "Well, I read it for the first time when I was thirty-seven. I read it to one of my little nieces. And believe me, I cried just as hard as she did at the end...and I'm sure, as hard as you did." He looks at me. "How'd you know I cccried?" I laugh. "If you hadn't, you wouldn't be a member of the human race." He laughs and nods. "As you can see, I even have many children's picture books in my collection." I remove a few off the shelf. "These surpass others of their genre and speak a magnificent, universal language...to people of all ages." I show him two books by Leo Leonni - two of my all time favorites - "Swimmy" and "Frederick." He is fascinated and sits back down with both of them and reads them. Then he rereads them, this time looking closely at the beautiful illustrations by Leonni. "Why don't you take `Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone' and start reading it tonight. Or take the British edition - `Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone'." "Yeah. Good idea. I'll tttake the American one." We're quiet again. He is most definitely antsy...uncomfortable... or maybe upset about something. His arm stump is in constant motion, wiggling in the long sleeve of the shirt, sliding over the cover of the book. His leg stump is also moving rather erratically. "Is there anything you want to talk about Clay? Something bothering you?" I look at him, trying to keep a very neutral expression on my face. "You seem to be a little on edge tonight." "Um...yeah. I am." He tries to give me a smile, but it doesn't seem quite right. "My gramma sssays I'm `off' when...um...when I ggget like ttthis." I move to the recliner, next to the couch. "I've noticed you're stammering more tonight. Is there a problem?" "Yeah. Ttthat happens...when I'm tttired or...or...and also when it's almost tttime for me...you know, fffor mmmy doctor vvvisit." "Okay. So...would you like to share the reason with me...tell me what you're upset about?" He's staring at me. Then he takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Yeah. Well.... Okay. It's Kerry." I'm stunned! "Kerry?" "Yeah! Kerry." "The Kerry we met at the restaurant? That Kerry?" "Yeah! That Kerry!" I'm still very surprised at his response. "Okay? What about Kerry?" "Well...it's sssorta...lllike...I'm in lllove with him." ^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^V^ It takes me a while to assimilate the information...the virtual explosion of facts. I know...I know...it's only one fact. But my brain feels overwhelmed by this news. I am unable to think clearly... or logically. I cannot believe that Clay has come right out with it...come right out and told me his very disquieting secret! And did it so calmly and reasonably! So, he's in love...in love with great, big, blonde, hunky, beautiful Kerry. Wow! This is quite stunning...and a shock to my already fragile state of mind...and everything I know about this boy. And he says it so straightforwardly...so nonchalantly...so seemingly without giving it a second thought. Of course! He knows! He knows that he's in love with Kerry...in love with Kerry. My disappointment is crushing. Clay is in love with someone...and has been, long before he ever met me. How am I going to fit in? How will I ever become part of his life? "How do you...uh...know?" It's the only response I can manage. "I've known for a lllong tttime...bein' in lllove with him, ttthat is." "A...long...time...huh?" "Yeah. Ever sssince I first sssaw him...and mmmet him...when I'm in the ssseventh grade...and he's in the nnninth." "And you...uh...know him well?" "Yeah...sorta." "What do you mean `sort of'?" "Well, as I tttold you before...we both gggo over to Kyle's house on Thursdays?" "Ah, yes! That Thursday afternoon group." "Yeah. Well, there're about eleven of us that meet there every Thursday afternoon. Well, I'm nnnot gggonna be there anymore now `cause grampa ssstops it." He's breathing deeply and is highly colored. "Anyway, we dddo...uh...certain things...tttogether when we're there." "Do things?" "Yeah." "What kind of things?" He shrugs. "Lotsa different things. We play pppool...or chess... ppping-pppong...or pppinball games...you know, arcade games...they've got lotsa them...sometimes we swim in the bbbig indoor swimmin' pppool they got." "Nice." "Yeah. Nice." He gives me a strange, unfocused look. "But...but ...you sssee...a lllotta things we do...we do together...all of us... well, we do `em when we're nnnot wearin' any clothes. I mean...we're all naked." He blushes strongly; I stare. "That's how I know all `bout those piercings and tttattoos on the guys...and other things...." The End of Part 8 (To Be Continued...) -------------------------------------------------------- You have finished Part 8 of my latest story, exclusively on the Nifty Archives. Thank you so much. I'd appreciate knowing your reactions and feelings to these characters and the story. I appreciate anything you have to say. Really! Anything! flbrothers@hotmail.com Also please put the name of the story on the subject line of the email. Thanks again.