Date: Sun, 4 Nov 2007 10:29:34 -0500 From: Cole Angicent Subject: Chasing Echoes Everybody knows the story, right? Boy has a completely shit life. Boy meets Man. Man is young, always under fourty, in any case, unreasonably attractive, and possessed of enough wealth to make King Solomon blush, which is fine, because he's got ol' Sol beat in the wisdom department, as well. Man takes Boy in, either from scum-of-the-earth relatives who want nothing civil to do with him or from the cold, hard world that he fled to after everyone died. Man and Boy fall in love and start boning like rabbits, sometimes with the obligatory "you know people would say this is wrong" conversation beforehand, usually followed by the "I don't have an inch of grass in the infield but I know exactly what I want even if you don't" response from the young lad. Man then calls up his I'm-your-best-friend-and-will-get-all-the-paperwork-done-in-the-blink-of-an-eye-for-you lawyer, and legally adopts Boy so the two of them can live in the same house forever as boyfriends, eagerly calling each other Dad and Son even though their relationship is now not just pedophilic, but incestuous. Society rolls over in ignorance, except for the enlightened cop that's willing to look the other way because he's too much of a hypocrite to realize that he took an oath to uphold laws he doesn't personally agree with, and everyone lives happily and hornily ever after. If that's the best fantasy we can come up with, it's no wonder we're still outcasts. My story's a little different. Oh, it's got some of the elements of the nouveau-cliche -- the boys involved really didn't have the best lives before I met them. But they don't exactly have ideal lives now, either, and my life certainly hasn't become perfect for knowing them. As The Princess Bride will tell you, "Life is pain... anyone who says differently is selling something." I suppose at the end of the day, we're better off for knowing each other. Or perhaps I just like to make myself feel better by comparing their current lives, which contain struggles and hardships that they find tolerable and moments of genuine happiness, and the states of near-suicidal depression that I'd first encountered them in, and telling myself that I was the factor that produced the most significant changes. Maybe they would have happened anyway; maybe these boys were genetically predisposed to become more confident and self-aware at those points in their development, and I was living out a sort of reverse Yoko Ono deal, getting credit for all of the positives the way she got blamed for destroying the Beatles, when in reality it all would have happened whether we'd been there or not. What's important is that the boys in question /do/ give me probably more than my share of the credit for the way they carry themselves now, and that tells me I must have done /something/ right. But shame on me, I'm bringing you in at the end of the movie, aren't I? Where was I? Ah yes, I was comparing and contrasting my tale with some of the more typical smut that graces whatever internet archive you happen to have found this on. I suppose it's the least I can do, since some readers present are seeking comfortable fluff and an escape from the harsh realities of, well, reality. There's no escape in my story, I'm afraid; reality looms ever present. It doesn't even have a happy ending, although that's largely because it doesn't have an ending at all. This is a work about lives in progress, and as such, it's simply going to offer a glimpse of the journey from Point B to Point C (with perhaps a few references to Point A and a hint of where the road to Point D might lead) with no apologies for the fact that not every question will be answered, nor every plot resolved. This might lead one to speculate that the story is true, and I would assert that /all/ stories are true stories to some degree; it's only the details that a writer fabricates or exaggerates in order to make the story more appealing, the way that crappy green parsley somehow makes common mashed potatoes look like fancy restaurant food. There may, for example, be a little more sex in this story than in any alleged real life history it might be based on, although there'll probably still be far less of it than one is accustomed to in the cliche fantasy. And really, what difference does it make if a boy who had black hair in real life is described in this narrative as a dashing redhead? I happen to like red hair, I think it has a remarkably appealing gleam when it hits the sunlight at the right angle. And the boys it comes attached to are usually nicely freckled, which can create foreplay scenarios that are best left to the imagination, as any description would do them injustice. Three words: connect the dots. The names, of course, have been changed to protect the guilty, insofar as those characters named in the tale may bear any resemblance to any real world people in the author's life. The characters, both the generally good and the generally evil, make choices that might not necessarily fall in line with the accepted standards of behaviour for people in their position, and as such, they certainly shouldn't be used as role models for anyone out there. Man does not always say or do the "right" thing here (I mean that in the ethical and moral sense of the word, of course -- legally speaking, we already know he's not going to stay on good terms with Johnny Law) where Boy is concerned, and Boy is not always the charming deviant perfectly content as long as his Man stands by him. That said, it's not /all/ gloom and doom, but by now, anyone who was looking for a purely fluffy and light tale should have been eliminated, and all of this exposition isn't doing anything to advance the tale in any way. So, with no further adieu, let's go for a journey. One that catalogue's a chapter in the middle of our main character's life, and is thus preceded by the end of the previous chapter... ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "I don't want to be boyfriends anymore." Staring into the boy's eyes, Andrew found the sensations of the moment that followed to be surreal at best. There was a sympathetic sort of pain reflected in the beautiful pools of blue that shone up at him from the twelve-year-old's face, the kind of expression a person wears when they know that their words are causing harm to someone they care about. Several instincts within Andrew competed for attention; the desire to comfort his preteen lover, as he had always done whenever the boy was unhappy, vied with his urge to weep with joy that the boy cared for him so much. Neither instinct, of course, was rational in view of the boy's actual words, but those words were still jumping around in the back of Andrew's brain, fighting to get past layers of disbelief and denial in order to be processed. The brain had a number of tricks up its sleeve; it surveyed the boy's body and conjured up memories of more comforting times in the past. The jacket that hung open on the boy's frame was the one they'd bought together on their last date in the city a month ago, and the shirt underneath was the first one that Andrew had ever slipped his hands under, on the night they'd made out for the first time. It was getting tight on him now -- had the boy passed five feet during his winter growth spurt? Soon they'd have to hit up a Wal-Mart, perhaps next weekend. A small gust of wind came from a passing car on the highway, and Andrew reflected on what a strange sight they must be, a man and boy standing in the middle of a dentist's parking lot at two in the morning on a cold January night, staring at each other so intently. They'd made a habit of taking a walk together every weekend, usually by themselves although sometimes a mutual friend or two would join them. This one was a little later than usual, though, usually they were back by one, why had they waited this long before coming out this time? Right, because they'd had a friend over, and the boy had wanted to wait until their friend had gone to sleep because he wanted to discuss something important. Something he really, /really/ must not have heard correctly. "Josh... I don't understand," Andrew replied, his own face already starting to mirror the pain on his soon-to-be ex-lover's because, of course, he understood perfectly. At least, he understood /what/ the boy said. Which left the obvious question.. "Why? Did I do something wrong?" "No," Josh replied quickly, holding up a hand to symbolically push back such a notion. "It's nothing like /that/, it's just..." He sighed, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. Usually Andrew was polite enough to give him the time he needed to express himself accurately. This was not a usual occasion, however, and Andrew's mind was already filling the void of knowledge with theories. "You met someone your own... someone at school?" In a failed attempt at levity, he added, "Boy or girl?" "Neither," Josh replied with a roll of the eyes, glancing around to see if anyone could see them before reaching out to take the twenty-two year old's hands in his own. He took another deep breath. "I love you," he confessed solemnly, squeezing those hands tightly. "Pretty lousy reason to break up with someone," Andrew quipped, his first sniffle escaping as he pulled his hands away to wipe his nose. Josh nodded. "It's the secrecy, man. I just can't deal with it anymore." "What secrecy?" Andrew asked. "Your mom is okay with us, your co--" "And that's a big part of the problem right there, Andrew," Josh pointed out. "You didn't ask me before telling my mom about us." Andrew backed up a step, raising his voice slightly. "We had this fight months ago. Yes, it was a mistake, we should decide together who we tell, but I explained why I did it. You can't keep punishing m--" Again, the youth interrupted, his own voice rising also. "It's not about you telling people on purpose, it's about the way you act around me, you're too... obvious." "What, I'm supposed to treat you like a leper when friends are around?" Andrew asked mockingly. Now anger was seeping itself in, and he was taking comfort in it. Anger is a better feeling than despair. Josh, however, wasn't about to be pulled into it. "It's not your fault, you're a very open person." He shrugged. "It's one of the things I always liked, really." "So then what do you care if one or two people start to suspect something?" Andrew demanded. Josh snorted, shaking his head. "Do you even /understand/ what people could do to us?" Andrew's blank stare was all the answer he needed. "You don't get it, Andrew, you had two parents and an easy childhood, you don't know what life is like." "Easy?" Andrew protested. "I got picked on every day in elem--" "And how many times did you have to turn away a drug dealer, or keep your mouth shut about someone bringing a weapon to your little catholic school?" Josh answered angrily. "How often did you have to go out for the wrestling team to keep an A in Social Studies?" Andrew sighed. "Okay, you've had a hard life. But that doesn't mean I don't know what they'd do because I do, we talked about it, remember?" "We talked about being separated and you going to jail," Josh recounted. "We didn't talk about them sticking me in therapy for years until I tell them you were a con artist who tricked me into giving it up, or me getting taken away from my mom for letting it happen. We didn't talk about all my friends in school asking me when I'm going to ask Christina Riley out and me having to keep coming up with excuses because I can't even tell them I've already got a BOYfriend because even if they could deal with the gay thing, they'd want to know who he was. Fuck, man, we didn't even talk about what /your/ mom would go through if you went to prison, or what life would be like after they let you out." Andrew lowered his eyes to the ground. "We decided it was worth the risk," he said meekly. "Well I just changed my mind," Josh replied. Accepting defeat, Andrew nodded. An urge to cry bubbled up inside, but he suppressed it. He wanted to show Josh he was strong enough to take this easily, so the boy wouldn't be so sad about it. "Eighteen months, I've said you were mature enough to be in this relationship." He reached out to run a hand through the boy's hair. "Ironic that your last proof of that would be in ending it." Josh swatted Andrew's hand away before it could reach his red locks. "That's /exactly/ what I'm talking about. We're in public, how would you explain touching my hair if someone saw? Even if they couldn't prove anything, do you know what the /rumors/ would do?" He sighed. "Look, man... someday, when I'm sixteen, maybe... but for now, we have to go back to just friends." "I... I'm gonna need time before I can do that," Andrew declared, his voice barely above a whisper. Another sniffle. Josh nodded. "Just call me when you're ready." --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Two years later... Andrew awoke with a start, bolting out of bed. He glanced to his right, briefly taking note of the fact that his queen-sized bed was still empty save for him and his cat, and sighed, realizing that he had once again had the dream. The dream, more memory than fantasy, was of the first time Josh had orgasmed in his mouth. He could still remember the look on the boy's face when he swam up to him in the apartment complex pool without even saying hello, nestled close so that his chin was resting on the boy's bare shoulder and his breath was tickling the bottom of the boy's ear, and whispered gently, "I heard about what happened." Josh's cheeks reddened and he immediately submerged, staying under for at least thirty seconds before coming up, playfully pushing Andrew back, and swam towards the deep end. Andrew followed, idly pondering the shine that the water was giving to the redhead's bare back and legs as the sunlight hit them. He didn't say anything, waiting for his young boyfriend to process the statement. "Mom?" Josh guessed. Andrew nodded to confirm it, his grin widening. At that point in time Josh's mother was unaware of the fact that he was dating her son, but she still enjoyed a good bit of gossip at the boy's expense. "Figures," Josh grimaced, falling into a treading pattern near the far edge. "I can't believe she'd do that. She's probably gonna tell everyone." "Well, you have to admit, it's a funny story," Andrew surmised. Josh scoffed. "Funny if you didn't live it." "What the hell made you decide to masturbate with perfume oil anyway?" Andrew asked curiously. To his delight, the blunt question made Josh's cheeks flare an even brighter shade of red. Any brighter and it was going to match his hair. Finally, the eleven-year-old shrugged. "I thought it would feel good?" he suggested. "Heh, yeah, if you weren't allergic to it I'm sure it would have," Andrew agreed. "I heard you ran to the neighbor's house naked banging on the door and yelling that your dick was gonna explode." "And not in the good way," Josh joked. "They didn't circumcise you, did they?" the college student asked, concern in his voice now. Josh smirked. "No, the goods are still intact," he assured his boyfriend. "Won't be touchin' `em for awhile, though. Still swelled up and tender as hell." "Heh, how big did it get when it was swelling up?" Andrew wondered. Josh made an estimate with his hands that was likely exaggerated. "Careful what you wish for, ey?" "No kidding," Josh remarked with a roll of the eyes. After that Andrew changed the subject, and the pair had fun of the platonic variety, splashing about in the pool and going off to a skate park later in the day. That night, however, the topic resurfaced as they were in Josh's room, a small couch seat propped in front of the door to prevent anyone from walking in and surprising them. Josh's hands were down Andrew's pants, rubbing his hand over the young man's underwear, but when Andrew attempted to respond in kind, he got a preteen wrist slap instead. "Uh uh," the boy whispered. "Tender, remember?" "Awww c'mon, I don't even get to inspect the goods?" Andrew teased. Josh smirked. "Well, maybe window shop," he suggested, removing his other hand from Andrew's crotch and stepping back to do a proper striptease, swiveling his hips and slowly dragging down the zipper. "Oh c'mon," Andrew complained, "just get it out. Part of this is actually non-horny curiousity, y'know." Down came Josh's khaki shorts and boxers, revealing a perfectly hairless four-inch erection with a lot more width than it usually had, the foreskin red around the edges where it met with his sensitive glans. "Daaaaamn," Andrew murmured. "What, it looks bad?" Josh asked self-consciously. Andrew grinned, looking up. "No, it looks as hot and juicy as ever," he assured the youth. "I could just stare at it for hours every time I see it." He reached out to grasp it with his hand, but again, the preteen protested with a swipe of his own hand against the adult's. "Well stare is all you get to do today, no touching. I can't even touch it myself." Andrew looked up, a mischievous grin on his face. "Wait, this happened like three days ago, didn't it?" Josh nodded. "Three whole days and you haven't made it go off once?" "Don't remind me," Josh admitted. "Believe me, I've tried, it just hurts too much." "Mmm," Andrew agreed, "it's this pulling motion." He pantomimed jerking the young boy off, his fingers a half-inch above and below the preteen's rod without actually touching it. Glancing up at the boy's face, he smirked and added, "You need some lube. I think I know where to find some perfume oil..." Josh smirked in kind and grabbed a pillow from the couch seat, bonking Andrew playfully on the head with it. Andrew chuckled, and then he leaned in and blew hot air onto the boy's sore member. "Oooooooh," Josh moaned, closing his eyes. "Do that again." Andrew complied easily. "Mmmm... I bet it wouldn't be sore if you used your mouth on it. Y'know... `if we've been seeing each other long enough'." The last part was added sarcastically, an allusion to Andrew's insistence that they take their relationship more slowly than Josh felt any need for. Andrew grinned. "Three days? I think we can make an exception for a dire emergency like this..." And with that, he leaned forward and took Josh's four inches of flesh between his lips, sucking slowly and rhythmically to see if his young member would accept such ministrations without complaint. And accept them it did, with ease, prompting Josh to moan softly again and place his hands on the back of Andrew's head. Later, when the poor boy was healed up, they would engage in this activity with more ferocity, but that night it stayed all gentle, even when the rhythm picked up speed and Josh had a dry climax inside his lover's mouth. In reality, this was followed by ten minutes of cuddling and playing with each other's hair after which the eleven-year-old softly whispered, "I love you, Andrew," into the man's ear. In the dream, however, Josh cuddled up against Andrew's hairy chest, leaned in close, and plucked out one of the hairs, whispering, "I don't want to be boyfriends anymore."