This story contains graphic descriptions of activity of a sexual nature involving a man and a minor boy. The story is not true; the sexual acts described herein derive solely from imagination. It is not intended to promote illegal acts with/to/by minors, nor does it condone child abuse of any sort. If you object to the subject matter, stop reading. If your reading of this material violates laws in your place of residence or where you are currently located, stop reading. Thank you.
This story is protected by the copyright conventions of the United States. For the most part I see my stories as fantasy, though especially with this story, I hope there are elements that ring true. For those of you expecting extended scenes of torrid sex, you may be disappointed, though you will find—I hope—sensuality and eroticism. This perhaps reflects my own journey and what I feel is important about this story. (And for those of you who do want more graphic encounters, you might visit some of my earlier tales.)
Those who wish to comment on this story may email me at
This story is protected by the copyright conventions of the United States.
For the most part I see my stories as fantasy, though especially with this story, I hope there are elements that ring true. For those of you expecting extended scenes of torrid sex, you may be disappointed, though you will find—I hope—sensuality and eroticism. This perhaps reflects my own journey and what I feel is important about this story. (And for those of you who do want more graphic encounters, you might visit some of my earlier tales.) Those who wish to comment on this story may email me firstname.lastname@example.org.
Coming to Terms
I don't how much time had passed when he finally went into the tent. I heard the scrunch of his footsteps in the sand, and then the glow from the lantern dimmed, and it was silent. Then I heard great, painful sobs, rip from his gut. I wanted to go to him, but I couldn't; I'd only get in the way, and it would have been too easy for him to focus on me as the issue. I would have only been inviting his rejection, and I didn't want to risk that. He needed to focus on himself. He needed to do this on his own.
It was about midnight, and I was wide awake, but the truth was, I couldn't have slept, even if I'd wanted to. I was beating myself up pretty good. You really fucked that up, I told myself. You should have obeyed your first impulse: don't get involved. What is it the doctors say: "First, do no harm." Then the tears flowed - tears of sorrow, of pain, of anger, of frustration. I knew the terrible hurt that beautiful boy was feeling. I'd wanted to help, but in my meddling I had made it worse. Oh, God, don't let him hurt.
I threw a few logs on the fire and finally, in my sorrow, rolled over staring, into the void. How long I was like that, I don't know. What I do know is that at some point I imagined hearing a soft, boy-voice offering a whispered, "I'm sorry."
"I'm the one who should be sorry, Eric", I muttered, and then in my dazed state, realized I'd spoken those words aloud. I squeezed my eyes shut, and rolled over. Now I was even talking to myself. But then I heard a "Why?" This was louder. I shook my head, trying to clear my muddled thoughts. And as I did so, I felt a presence. I snapped around again, and faced two lean, firm legs standing between me and the fire.
I looked up. Eric held his sleeping bag bunched up in his arms.
"I...I...don't want to be alone." It was a halting whisper, and I could barely hear him. What I could hear was a voice of defeat.
I nodded and hitched myself up on my elbow.
He laid out his sleeping bag next to mine, and stretched out on it. I lay back down. Together we lay there looking up at the stars.
"You can see the Milky Way," I said after what seemed like hours.
Three or four minutes passed. I was trying to screw up my courage enough to say I was sorry for everything, but I was afraid anything I'd say would make it worse.
"Do you think I'm gay?" The question hung there like the stars. It needed answering.
I lifted myself up, and looked into his sweet, beautiful face, barely illuminated by the last embers of the fire. "Eric, it's really not important what I think, or anyone else, for that matter. There's just one person."
"Yeah," he whispered.
I could see his body shudder with sobs as that terrible pain spilled out - a pain that had been bottled up from those first days his peers had looked at him and whispered (or shouted) wicked, searing accusations - accusations that deep down he feared were true. Oh God, it hurt so much to see this boy in such agony - an agony I had forced him to confront. I could see his legs were covered in goose bumps. His arms were wrapped tightly around his chest, and he shivered in the dim light of the fire.
He nodded. "Yeah," he breathed. He shook with tiny tremors, and not, I guessed, entirely from the chill air.
I lifted up the flap of my sleeping bag. I said nothing.
Eric looked a moment, then rolled/lifted himself into my sleeping bag. I dropped the flap and felt his cold skin against mine.
Now I felt I had to say something. "I..."
"Don't talk," he said. "Not now."
Okay. I would wait - wait, and hold him. It wasn't sexual, not even sensual. In any other situation with a beautiful young man in my bed, I'd be as hard as steel. But this was about something more, something almost spiritual. I felt as if, together, we were birthing a new human being. We lay there, unmoving. I could feel the struggle inside him - the birth pangs. A gentle breeze fanned the embers of the fire, and it sprang to life once again.
"I'm scared," he said finally.
"How do I know...for sure?"
I lifted my chin and he tucked his head under it. "Can I talk now?"
He snickered once, then shifted his body slightly so his side fit against my torso. "Yeah," he said.
"Society makes it so hard...especially kid society. It shouldn't be that way. Ya' know? I mean, really. We've even invented special terms to talk about it: 'sexual orientation.' It sounds so clinical. But it should really be no big deal. We are what we are, and we should do - be - just what comes natural. And yeah...for me, it's just more natural to want to be with a man."
"Oh God, Eric...if I knew the answer to that...but I don't. And to tell you the truth, I don't even think about that much anymore. I don't think anyone knows, really. Could be genetic. There seems to be some genetic influences...within families. In a way that would be awesome if someone could prove absolutely that it was genetic. Then maybe that would shut all those rabid homophobes up once and for all.
"Homophobia. Fear of homosexuals. The screamers who say it's sinful, and wicked, and evil. The assholes at school. Some of them, I'm convinced, call you names because they're afraid - at least that's my take on it - and not afraid of you...but of what you represent: a freedom, a different way of seeing things. And deep down, I believe a lot of straight guys have feelings that they may think seem gay, and they squelch them - just 'cuz they're afraid, afraid of what it might 'make them.' Anyway...there isn't that absolute evidence...maybe it's psychological...maybe we're the way we are because of the way we're raised - everybody, I mean. Bottom line: nobody really knows; if you said it's a combination of everything, you probably wouldn't be wrong.
"I just know that for me, having sex with a man is every bit as incredible as a straight guy having sex with a woman - I guess. Except I really don't know how it is with a woman. But 'why?'...I don't have a clue; it's just the way it is, and for me...now...it's okay. It's actually more than okay; it's awesome." Now I stopped talking, and waited. And waited...
Finally, he spoke. "Do...um..." He stopped. I understood his struggle. He wanted to explore this gay world - a world he'd resisted for so long. Now he was trying to become comfortable with sharing it out loud.
"It's okay," I reassured.
"Do you have a...you know...someone?"
"A lover? A boyfriend? No, not now. Once, for a while - my last year and a half of college. It was so awesome. I loved feeling him...with me...but...then we grew apart, and he left. It was pretty bad. It hurt - really hurt. I didn't know what I was going to do. Then a friend told me about this job, and so a couple of years ago, I just picked up...and...here I am. But he made me feel so good. Yeah..." I breathed with a sigh.
I looked over at him, and he had this look of confusion on his face.
"It sounds like you're talking about a girl."
"Is this the first time you've ever talked with someone who's gay? Or who you know is gay, anyway."
"Yeah, I guess so."
"Well if you think of sex and relationships as being only between males and females, then yeah, I guess I can see your point, but it doesn't seem that way to me. It's completely 'normal' to use your word to think that way about another guy. Do you understand?"
He thought about that, then nodded. "I guess."
"Someday maybe there'll be someone else. I hope so. Every once and a while, a friend will invite me over, or someone will stop by, and...well...maybe something will happen." I raised my eyebrows a couple of times and smiled a sly grin. He blushed and smirked self-consciously at my mildly suggestive talk. "Anyway, I can always satisfy myself the way any guy - straight or gay - does."
A scowl on that beautiful face surprised me. I'd assumed he'd have discovered masturbation long ago. His innocence was disarming, and I felt my face growing warmer. "Masturbation." I looked at him. "You know about that, right?"
"Duh. Yeah....I guess...I mean, they talked about it a little in health class...but there were more questions at the end of it. I mean we learned how babies were made, and got a lecture about the value of abstinence...but...I dunno...there wasn't a lot in between. Master..." He tried sounding the word out on his own.
"Masturbation," I repeated. "Jackin' off...beating your meat? Fist-fucking?"
He giggled. "Kids talk about it, I guess..." Then he darkened. "'Course the conversation changes when the fag's around. They said I wouldn't know what it's for. They said..." His voice trailed off, and he seemed to lose the will to go on.
"What did they say, Eric? Remember, I heard it all before."
"They said the only way a fag like me could get off is up the ass."
"Eric..." I sighed. "Time for part two of Sex 101. You know that's not true, right? I mean, you do jack off."
He lifted his head and said in the softest words, "Not really."
"Whenever I try, it gets scary."
"Well, I...umm...When I was like eleven, a kid in the neighborhood asked me if I wanted to do it, and I said okay. So we ended up in the shed behind his house and he takes off. Then he's back with like a Playboy or something. 'I took it from my brother's room,' he says. Then he just sort of pulls his shorts and boxers down, and starts looking at the girls, and doing it. 'Come on," he says, so I drop my shorts, and I'm lookin' at the pictures, but I can't...um...you know...It's not..."
"You can't get an erection."
He nods. "Anyway, the other kid is goin', 'Dude, what the fuck...' but I can't...until I start watchin' him...then it's like a stick of wood. And that's the way it always was. If I thought about guys, I could do it, and..."
"And that scared you."
"Oh, Eric...Does it still scare you?"
"I...I dunno. I guess...'cuz...well...you know." He paused a moment, and then said, "Jason...No one's ever said it was okay to be..." He swallowed hard, and his voice dropped. "...gay...until you. At least and really meant it. So, I dunno..."
"Well, when I jack off, I'm all about guys. That's what gets me aroused. I love looking at pictures of some hot guy...or maybe even pictures sketched by a good friend." Eric grinned, and then even in the fading light of the fire, I could see him blush. "Maybe even pictures of a good friend." Now a deep red flooded into his face.
"You know what I'm talking about."
"Eric. Sex...especially at your age...is all about exploring. You kind of try things out. See what works...see what doesn't. It's not the same for everybody. You might like to be touched in one place..." He blushed redder. "...and I might not. Some people like soft, gentle touches, some like stronger, even rough touches. Some like things to move fast; some slow. It's whatever feels good. For me, sex is best, when there's that feeling of exploring, of discovering more about what your partner likes...or what you like."
"I've never talked with anyone about any of this stuff," Eric said.
"Is it okay?" I asked.
We lay there again, not speaking.
"How do you know?"
"Know what you like with sex?"
"No..." He was sounding tentative. "You know...the other thing."
"Whether you're straight or gay?"
"You know, it may not be that simple. There are bisexuals, too."
"Bi's. They're attracted to both males and females."
"The best of both worlds," Eric added with a sardonic tone.
I shrugged. "Whatever you are, that's the best world. For me, it's being gay."
Eric cocked his head. "Yeah..."
I nodded. We gazed up at the stars, lost in our own thoughts.
"It's harder for gays. I mean, I bet no straight guy struggles with who he is sexually - ya' know? I mean, can you see a straight kid going through a big thrash, thinking, "Oh my God, am I straight?"
Eric laughed. "Well, dah. 'Cuz that's the way you're supposed to be. Why would it be a big deal. The big deal for them - the older guys, anyway - is doin' it with some...girl, then talkin' about it in the locker room." I had to smile. The way he said, "some girl," made it sound very unappealing. I wondered if he'd heard how he sounded as well.
"I guess that's my point exactly. For gays, there's nuthin' more natural than bein' gay." I waited for that to sink in, and then began again. "Sometimes, I think a person knows he's gay...maybe even known it for a long time...but the hard part is admitting it."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, it's one thing to know something deep down inside; it's another to say it out loud - to look in the mirror and say it, or say it to someone else."
Again a long silence followed.
"For me," I said, "it felt like a volcano building to some sort of eruption. It was pretty scary."
"Yeah," he breathed.
"But it helped to admit it...finally."
"Why is that so important?"
I thought for a moment. "I don't know. Maybe it isn't...but...I guess, for me, that's when I began to accept myself for who I am. It was a turning point. It seemed like such a big deal, because I was always working to hide it. And I mean from myself - not anyone else - and then all of a sudden, it was just a part of me, and I could kind'a get on with gettin' on. I won't lie, Eric. It's not that there weren't some bad times after that, but I always kind'a knew I was okay, 'cuz somehow this is how I was meant to be."
A tremor passed through his body, and I felt him grow tense. Now he shook with tiny trembling. He was so afraid of what he was thinking. I ached for him, wanting more than anything to take that burden from him, but it was his and his alone. He would have to take the next step himself. The best I could do was to be there to hold him up, if he should stumble.
"Look!" he said, pointing up to the sky. "A shooting star!" We watched it streak across the sky, then quickly die
"It's a special night," I responded. Again, a silence settled in over us.
"Jas..." His tremors had returned.
"Yes, Eric," I whispered.
"I..." Almost violent tremors wracked his body. I tightened my grip on him.
"It's okay, Eric. It's okay."
"Slow and easy, Eric."
"I'm..." Countless waves of fear and maybe even sorrow flowed across his taut body. "I'm..."
"Take your time, Eric. It's okay. Just breathe."
He turned his head and buried his face in my chest. I felt hot, wet tears spill from his eyes. I felt the soft flutterings of his eyelashes; I felt the warm softness of his lips, and beneath it all, I felt the tremors of terror that he struggled to contain.
"I'm gay." It was a simple statement of fact, spoken in a soft whisper. It's impact was as devastating as a bomb blast. His resolve shattered, and unable to hold back any longer, he melted into me. I continued to feel his body shake with the silent sobs of his hurt.
I lifted my hand and stroked his soft, corn-silk hair, pulling his head closer to me. I sat up, and drew him onto my lap. He curled up, nestling into me, sliding his arms between my arms and my chest and grasping my back until it hurt.
"I am," he said.
"Shhh...." I cried, "It's okay, Eric."
At some point, the sobbing eased, and his grip slackened.
As the first dim hint of the morning sun began to show in the east, I sat, aching with stiffness, cradling the young gay boy who slept in my arms. Slowly, I eased him off of my lap, and gently urged his body to relax and unwind. I lay down, and gently tugged him to me. Like a baby nuzzling his mother, he turned and fitted himself to me.
I smiled. In his sleep, he was doing something he would learn to do later in his waking. Even in his semi-conscious state, he needed to be close, and I was happy to oblige.
Before the sky had brightened much more, I was asleep, too.
A crow had decided to become the local alarm clock at about 6:30. It was almost as if he were scolding us, telling us it was time to get up, to get on with life. As I dimly became aware of my surroundings, I felt a hardness poking into my groin. Sometime in those early morning hours, Eric had lowered himself, or I had raised myself, and he was now rigid with a morning hard-on, pressing into my pubic hair. I lifted the cover off us, and drank in his beautiful body. "Hey...sleeping beauty..." I murmured. He stirred. I wondered what the day light would bring. I wanted everything to be okay; I knew it couldn't be. "Hey...it's morning." I gently brushed his hair with my hand. He rolled away from me, and in a typical teen-boy move stretched, arching his back. His erection throbbed. Such perfection. He sort of moaned, and finally he opened his eyes.
"Morning," I repeated.
He smiled. "Morning."
Now he released all his energy and sort of wilted. His eyes drifted shut again.
"Oh no ya' don't," I said, tickling him lightly in the ribs. He sucked in a sharp breath, instantly reacting to the assault. "Okay, okay," he breathed, "I'm awake!"
He looked up into my eyes, and I in his. I let my eyes drift down his body in a deliberate, intimate survey, periodically shifting my gaze back up to his eyes. I wanted to be sure he was watching my every move, and he was. My interest caused him to blush. "You're a very handsome boy," I said. "More than handsome. You have a beautiful body." Now he really blushed, but he smiled, too, in these first early moments of a new life - a life in which he would come to see himself in a different way. Then his eyes darted down my body, but darted back without taking time to really see. I smiled, when he locked his gaze back onto mine, and I nodded.
"It's okay," I said, easily. "There's no need to hide your interest...not this time. Look...just the way you want to...for all those times you couldn't." Again he blushed, and tentatively let his eyes trace down my face, to my chest, and abdomen. I watched him as he studied my morning erection. A little, easy smile formed on his lips. Then his eyes found mine again. He seemed okay.
"What are you thinking?"
He shrugged. "I don't know...maybe...maybe...I guess, you're the first person...first guy...that I've ever really be able to look at the way I wanted."
"Exactly! Isn't it great?"
Now he got a sort of silly expression on his face, blushed deeply, and gave a flash of uncertainty. "Well..." he said, darting his eyes downward; his eyes settled on my cock. "...It's big...but I don't know if I say it's great." A tentative smile spread stretched his beautiful lips.
"Why you..." I grabbed him, and tickled him mercilessly. "Ya' know, a guy can be pretty sensitive about his manhood." He shrieked with laughter, but I wouldn't let up. He tried to catch his breath, and speak. "Don't....don't...I'm gonna' pee..." More laughter.
"Oh, that again," I said in mock anger. More laughter. "We'll see about that!" I picked him up and we moved away from the sleeping bag, down toward the water. He squirmed as I tickled him, and, grabbing me around my neck, wrapped his legs around my waist.
His rigid little member was jammed between us.
"Really...I've gotta go."
"But I'm really, gonna..." There was a desperation in his voice, and I knew he was afraid of spilling his urine on me. I pressed on and a look of concentration came over him and I felt a warm splash, then another, and it settled into a flow of warm liquid, bonding both of us. My smile and twinkling eyes told him it was okay, and his expression softened - unlike his adolescent tool. At the same time, I managed to get a flow going myself, and we listened to the strong stream issuing from me strike the water we stood in. When both of us had finished, I backed into the deeper water and allowed the cool currents to cleanse us.
We ate, and quickly packed up the gear. As we folded up the tent, Eric spoke. "I'm glad I told you."
I looked up.
"Told me what?" I adopted a look of confusion.
"You know," he said, knowing full well what I was doing.
Now the fun had left for the moment, and he grew more serious. "I'm gay."
"Eh?" I mocked a tone of an old bitty, hard of hearing. "I'm sorry, young man; you'll have to speak up." I cupped my ear with my hand.
Ever-quick on the uptake, he cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted one word at a time: "I...AM...GAY!"
"GAY!" he shouted, with an incredulous grin.
"Ahh," I said, still in character, "you're gray?"
"I...AM...GAY!" He shouted, stiffling giggles. And he muttered under his breath, "Moron!"
"Moron!" I said, and began another round of tickling.
Eventually, we quieted, and I spoke, more seriously. "Every time you say it, you'll become a little more comfortable with yourself - who you are."
"So...you want me to announce it to the world."
"I think you just did," I said with a twinkle in my eye. "Actually, I think it'd be great if you could go back to school next September and show the assholes..."
"The capital 'F'-ucking assholes," he interrupted.
"Right, that you can put all their shit where it belongs, but it's not that easy. The names, the innuendo...the meanness is never not going to hurt, but if you know who you are, and what they are, then you'll have a better chance of surviving. But that doesn't mean you don't have to be careful. You'll learn who you can trust, and who you can't."
"I can't trust anyone." he said, growing somber.
"Oh, great! Thanks a lot! What am I - chopped liver?"
"No! Besides you."
"I'm not so sure about that. I can think of someone else."
He thought for a moment. "Who?"
"I think you can trust your mom."
Eric looked like he'd been shot. "No...not her."
"You sure? She'll never stop loving you. I know that absolutely."
He thought about that. "I couldn't."
"No, I can't. Not my mom."
"Well, you might be surprised. But anyway, you don't have to tell everybody...hell, you don't even have to tell anybody. And, like I said, you have to be careful what you put out there. Just so long as you feel good about your decisions. But think about this: the statistics say one in ten is gay. There are other gay kids at your school. If you're gay, and comfortable with yourself, they might notice. And you'll get your 'gaydar' going, too. It'd be nice for you to have some gay friends."
"You mean for sex?"
"Well...that, too, maybe...but I was just thinking about friendship, being together, talking."
"But what about sex?"
"I'm for it!" I grinned.
He shoved me, "Quit foolin' around."
"Oh, right. Sex is all about being deadly serious. Thanks for reminding me."
"I'm trying..." The boy was actually getting a little exasperated. "I want to know."
"Ah," I said. "Inquiring minds..."
"Just tell me!" He shoved me again.
"Okay...okay...Sex is great...it's awesome. And now, permit me another ol' fart moment. When I was your age, I fantasized about doin' everything all at once. Like, bang! I was the hot stud of the world. But the truth is, it's best when you just kind'a go one step at a time. Like I said: just doing what comes natural; exploring. By yourself, with someone else. Touching, kissing, making out...and so on."
He thought about that for a moment. "Tell me about the and-so-on part."
"What's happened to you? Did someone all of a sudden throttle your hormones to full blast?"
"I just want to know..." He got a silly shit-eating grin on his face. "...everything! What was it like for you...in the old days?"
"Old days...hmmmph...why I ought to..." I thought back to my first gay encounter. "My first gay contact was with a guy in my social studies class. I'd caught him looking at me, and got to wondering...fantasizing, actually."
"Fantasizing?" Eric asked. He was all ears.
I grinned. "Picturing him and me naked together, touching...exploring...if you must know." I leered at him and he smiled. "Like when I was jackin' off, I'd try to imagine it was his hand wrapped about my cock." I smiled at him, and he grinned back, understanding exactly. "Anyway, we sat together a few times at lunch, and kind'a hit it off. Then we got paired up to do this stupid social studies homework assignment. We had to make a montage about America using pictures from magazines. He invited me over to his house. I saw one photo of this really hot Olympic swimmer in a really tight Speedo, and when he saw my reaction, he said, hold on. And off he went and came back with this body-building magazine. Oh man. He knew where every hot picture was. I was hooked right away. Well, we both knew what was going on, but it took forever for us to even touch each other. And then we messed around for a long time before we kissed...but oh man, as awkward as it was, I'll never forget it."
"Jerked each other off. Now that was awesome, too." I watched Eric as he grew redder in the face. "What's wrong?"
"I'm tryin' to picture me doin' that with some guy. I mean, I've imagined doing it, but now I'm thinking I really am going to."
"I'm sure you are, and it's going to be un-fucking-believable!" He giggled at my enthusiasm. "Really," I insisted. "And I want you to promise to call me and tell me all the details!"
He blushed again, but his eyes sparkled, and he nodded his agreement.
I pulled him to me. "But I have to tell you something, Eric. It's still very dangerous for gay guys especially in some places. You have to be careful - very careful. For me...well...at first, I didn't have anyone to talk to; nobody talked about being gay. When I got those thoughts, I felt guilty. I felt guilty because just thinking about that stuff was exciting. I'd be fantasizing about some guy, and it'd make me feel awesome...but that only made me feel more guilty. I pray that you won't feel that way.
"I have felt that way, Jas...but it helps to...you know..." He grew more reflective. "...um...talk to you. You've...um...well...thanks."
"Hey, you're welcome." I grabbed him in a kind of bear hug. "And now then, we better get going. There's a lot to do, if we're going to make it back tonight."