Date: Sun, 07 Apr 2024 01:02:23 +0000 From: Griz Subject: It's Not Me It's You "It's Not Me, It's You." By Zirg $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ nifty.org provides a free, accessible platform for writers and readers of gay erotica, in many categories. This service is provided free of charge, but operates off of our generosity. There are not to many story archive sites like nifty.org, so show respect and support to the team who isn't obligated to do it, but does----your and me. This story might be illegal where you live. Check with your laws, rules, regulations and any other governing body first before reading. This story is about two characters involved in a consensual yet contentious meeting. One is an adult man. The other is a high school basketball player, aged 16. One other character is 21 years old, also in college. I hope you'll like it. Let me know. I don't see this story continuing, but if enough folks like it, I have an idea for a second round, down the line. Cheers. $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ When I was in college, I knew another student who was in the on-campus gay group I also participated in. I lived on campus and he had an apartment elsewhere. I wanted to ask him out on a date. Not so much to fuck him, but just to know him. We both came from farm communities, about 500 miles apart. Completely different worlds within one state. After a few of the weekly meetings, he finally figured out my intentions. He was polite, but: Nope. Not happenin'. There's a quirk of my personality: I don't ask twice if I'm told `no' once, and `Why?' is a desperate attempt to keep both a conversation and an association going. The meeting was drawing to a close at the student rec center, and my walk across campus was the farthest distance possible. This was a disappointment, but not the first, and felt like a rejection to even just getting to know another gay farm boy. But yeah, he was tall and hot, and yeah, I'd date him. He wanted to walk with me, since we were going the same direction. As long as he didn't say anything stupid like, `You're ugly and I'm only into hot guys like me', the walk with him was going to be bearable. And then he said, "It's not me, it's you." I asked him if I heard him correctly, since normally it's the other way around. He repeated his excuse. Or explanation. Whatever it was that answered the question I didn't ask, and covered uncomfortable silence. I asked if he could please explain what he was talking about, since I was confused and, frankly, embarrassed. I remember we stopped in the middle of the walk and sat on a bench under one of the huge Elm trees encircling the Oval. It was only 8PM, but that was October and the Sun was down behind Mount Sentinel. Dark, but not pitch black. "This is going to sound strange or weird, I know. I'm not comfortable being `out'. Not yet. You are. I've always known I've been gay, at least since my Junior year of high school. I didn't know anyone else in my little school of forty kids. Maybe there weren't any to know. The last two years of high school were pretty lonely in public, but not in private. Somehow the guy in town who delivers propane figured me out. It didn't take him long to get in my way so he could talk to me. I was definitely his prey, but I didn't know that. Who would know that at sixteen? Not me. There was little discussion about getting together and talking more, and he dropped the right hints that told me we would not just be talking, and that no one was going to know about this----from either of us. Fine with me; that was the last thing I wanted to explain to my parents. A week later on a Monday, around 4:00 in the afternoon, I drove to the street where the propane store was. I parked a block away in the grocery store parking lot. Anyone seeing my truck would assume I was inside, or at the cafe next door, or getting my hair cut at the barber shop. I had alibi options, but I had one destination, and that was the propane store. When I got inside, he locked the door behind me and turned the `Open' sign so it read `Closed'. He led me toward the back of the store to the office. I hate the smell of propane. Did you know that's an added odor, so you'll know you're around a flammable gas? Pure propane, just like pure natural gas through a pipe, has no smell. Things are seldom what they seem. So anyway, we went back there, and he wasted no time telling me what he wants, and wondering if I wanted it, too. Freaked me out right away. I'd been very careful to say nothing to anyone about myself, and here this guy was, gunning for me. I think I was kinda hypnotized or whatever, because I just nodded. "Good" was all he said, and began unzipping his work trousers. From then on, there were no more questions. He basically yanked me forward and onto my knees while he sat down in a creaky old swivel chair. His cock was out of his pants and aimed right for my mouth. I hesitated because I was scared----and because he needed a shower----but this was what I wanted; sex with a man. Five minutes later, it was all over. He came in my mouth, but I wasn't going to swallow. I saw the trash can under the desk and spit in it. He stood up and zipped up his pants and buckled the belt. That belt was just like the sign in the door: `Closed'. He told me to get up and get going. As much as I wanted something for myself, it was clear I wasn't going to get it from that guy. Whether still being hypnotized or just some desperation, I only nodded when he pushed me out the door and told me `same time on Friday'. I walked back to my truck, freaked out by the experience----but not enough that I didn't begin planning my Friday afternoon around the `same time, same place' command. At the moment, though, I had to get the taste of his cock and cum out of my mouth. Gross. On the way out of town, I went through the little shack at the edge of town that was as close as any of us got to a Burger King, unless we were on a trip somewhere far away. I ordered a lime coke. I could've gone to the cafe in town, but I was pretty sure everyone would smell something from my mouth that shouldn't have been in there. When I got home, neither of my parents were there. Good. I got into the bathroom and brushed my teeth so long and hard, my gums hurt for awhile. Bled a little, too. Got the smell and taste of that guy out of me and that's all I wanted. That night I barely touched my hard dick when I got into bed, and I shot all over my belly and chest. I was disgusted by the thing earlier in the day, but it turned me on to be with a man, at the same time. Weird, I know; and yeah, very illegal for him. The rest of the week was the usual ho-hum, non-challenging classes and evenings at home. Friday came around and I was itching at Noon to get out of the school---but it wasn't over until 3:30. I don't know how many times I got hard and had to hide my dick between classes in the hall, but it was a lot. The final bell rang and I actually ran to my truck. I drove to the other end of town and parked in the store lot again. This time, I walked through the alley to the propane store. Same as the first time: pulled inside, door locked behind me, sign turned around. Well, I'm the one who came back, so it's my own damned fault if I don't find a way to get some pleasure out of this. Back in the office, he began unzipping his trousers. "Wait, hold on. Monday was my first time ever doing any kind of sex with anyone, male or female. Wasn't all that great, to be honest. Is that what it's gonna be like? You get off in my mouth and shove me out the door?" "Well, you can't sleep here. What do you want?" "What I give you." "Nope. I'm not a fag. You are. A gay faggot cocksucker. If that's what you're lookin' for, you can just get the fuck out." It made me really mad. My face started getting red, and yeah, I just wanted to get out of there, but there was something that kept my feet from working. There was something about all his macho bullshit and muscles and cock that turned me on. He wasn't like my dad or my one guy teacher; they were mild men. They wouldn't use that kind of language. This was.....exciting, in a perverse way. I'd read somewhere that `a bully respects a bully', and I had nothing to lose there, so might as well see if it was true. "You're not gay, but you fuck a boy's face and then kick him out? That's what you do? Well, fuck you. We're not doing this again. Or I'M not doing this again. Go out to the truck stop and get yourself a lot lizard." "What do you mean, `boy'?" "I'm a boy. Technically." "How old are you?" "Sixteen." "You fuckin' underage faggot! You could get me sent back to prison!" "Oh---a felon, huh? You mean YOU could get yourself sent back to prison. You're the one breaking a pretty big law here, and the sheriff and I are on a first-name basis. Kinda works that way since he's my uncle." "I'm gonna fuck you up, you faggot bitch. I know how to take care of snitches like you." "You can try, but I'll go down swinging. Must be a reason you thought I was an adult. Probably the fact that I don't look like a boy now, do I? That won't matter to a judge and jury. And even if you do beat me up, you'll still go back to jail, and I doubt you'd ever get out again." "Fuckin' asshole. I didn't do anything wrong!" "My uncle will disagree with you." "That what you're gonna do? Go crying to the sheriff?" He was pretty upset, and not as much with me anymore as he was with the corner he'd painted himself into. "No, at least not yet." "What do you mean by that?" "Tell me something. Why did you all but lay a trap for me? What made you think I'd end up doing what I did, last time I was here?" "Got to know guys like you by sight. Saw `em in prison. The ones whose eyes weren't looking at what most guys' eyes see. Caught you twice lookin' at the same guy, and to anyone who's seen plenty like you, it was easy to see I could get you on your faggot knees." "Okay, first: drop the name-calling. Disrespectful, and yeah, I'm sixteen and you're.....whatever.....but I'm not calling you any names. Though `pedophile' might work. My uncle would believe it. He might call you that, too. Next: So you just got your way behind bars, being a tough guy and counting on `guys like me' not being tough as you, and you get your dick sucked. What else did they give you?" "Fuck off, punk." "Nope. That's name-calling. Try again. What else?" "Fucked `em." "Oh, that must've been a real romantic moment for them." "Look, just get the fuck out of here you....." "Here's the deal. I am going to get out of here. Yeah, I was lookin' forward to getting with you Monday, and yeah, I wanted to go down on you. But you came off a lot differently before I got here. All friendly and what-not. Being a decent guy, until you got me in here and flipped the sign around. Then you pull that shit. I'm going. Don't ever talk to me again. Don't look in my direction. Don't look at any guy, man or boy, in this town again. Females, too. Not even sheep. You'll regret it." "Threatenin' me?" "Well? Did you get all that? Yes or No. I made it real simple for you." "Yeah, I got it. Now get outta here." "I can't get `outta here' fast enough." I turned and walked out of the office, keeping my ears alert in case he decided to rush me and take me down. When I got to the door, I unlocked it and pulled it open. I looked back at him, still sitting in his chair and not looking all that happy with is Friday afternoon. I held the bottom of the sign in my hand. "This place open or closed?" "Closed. Now fuck off outta here." He looked down at his desk. I flipped the sign to `Open' and walked out. I didn't walk back down the alley. For one reason, I didn't trust that guy to not attack me if he came out and saw me there. Full daylight for my walk back to my truck. I even whistled. Suddenly I liked the idea of people seeing me. No more alibi. Plus, someone might be a witness to some nasty shit going down on me. Got home and again, parents were not home from work. I didn't even wait to get to my room to start undressing. The afternoon jack-off was incredible; so good, I just kept jackin', using my cum as lube until I shot a second time. I was still feeling the rush from what was actually a pretty dangerous game. That guy could've taken me out, easy. Yeah, I'm big, and he didn't know I was underage, but I'd never been in a fight in my life. I wouldn't have known what to do. Just didn't need him knowing that. After that, I got cleaned up and went to the kitchen for a coke or something. My mom had gone shopping earlier in the week, and the fridge was full of stuff. I knew how to make one thing, all on my own----baked chicken breasts on rice with soup poured over the top. Cover it with foil, 350 for 45 minutes, easy clean-up. Might as well do something nice for my parents; they were good to me. When they got home, the house smelled exactly like the ingredients used, and they both smiled. Heck, I'd even made a lettuce salad and set the table; no eating at the counter for this dinner. Dad wanted to know what got into me. `Well, Dad, on Monday it was a big dick. Today it was some courage. Want some ice cream?' That was Friday night. That was the night kids got in their beat-up hand-me-down rigs and tore up and down Fleet Street, all five blocks of it, honking and shouting at each other like it'd been years since they were together---not just four hours ago. I didn't drive around, but sometimes I'd check in with the parents and if they were okay, I'd drive back to town and just park somewhere and watch my fellow fools who would someday be selling used cars and gas to kids to do what we did. Just fewer of them, since people moved away and nobody moved there to replace `em. That night, my parents told me to go have fun before I'd even asked, and Dad handed me ten dollars. I guess that was my reward for rewarding them for being actually decent parents. My dad was a mild man, but he was a good man. My mom, of course, was the best mom in town. I drove back into town and parked in the store lot again, just like I had earlier in the day. I got out of my truck to walk to the corner and talk with a couple of guys on the basketball team. We were barely a Class C school in Eastern Montana, but we were winners. We were three of the guys on the team; me the Center, and them, Forwards. We stood there, watching our classmates going up and down the street being silly. Of course, there was Randy Offenbach in his POS 1987 Firebird, the same one he drove six years ago---when he was a senior in high school. Randy was good to everyone, and no one gave him shit or made fun of him for running with the kids on Friday nights. We just waved and smiled at the loneliest man in town, hoping he'd feel a little less lonely. He'd wave back, and after a few turns on Fleet, he'd disappear and we'd see him the next Friday. No one knew where he went between Fridays. My team mates took off to go ride with two girls they both had the hots for. I knew them. They had the hots for me. They told me repeatedly. I just told them my parents wouldn't let me date. Trish actually set me straight on that point. "We don't want to date you. We want to fuck you." Never happened, so they took the second and third best things in my class. I waved and shouted at the four of them, and off they took in some huge Buick station wagon. That thing was big enough for an orgy, and I wouldn't have been surprised if my team mates told me Monday that's what happened Friday night. I stood on the corner watching petroleum resources being wasted, and kids having fun at the same time. If we didn't have Fleet Street, I don't know what we'd have done in that town to blow off steam after a week of school. `Blow off' steam.....yeah, well.....that happened. I hated it. I hated that guy for being such a nice guy so he could lure me in and then turn out to be a bad guy. The problem was.....he wasn't the only bad guy in the situation. I was there, too. How was I a `bad guy'? Well, to start, I spit out his cum. That was just rude. Also: I don't have an uncle. I've never talked with the sheriff in my life. So, a lie. I threatened a guy with a future one-way trip back to prison, just because I didn't like being called a faggot. I still don't like it, but I don't hear that word anymore. That was the culture he'd spent a lot of his adult life in. That word meant nothing more than any other word used in there to establish or recognize dominance. That guy used it to dominate me on Monday, and I forbade him to use it on Friday afternoon. The tables were turned on him, surprising us both. Monday didn't work out how I thought it would, and Friday was definitely not the chain of events he'd planned on. We were at a stalemate as far as who could do what to who. Yeah, he could still beat my ass, and I could go runnin' to my `uncle'. We knew where we stood with each other. Thing was, I didn't want to stand. I wanted to get back on my knees and suck that cock----preferably cleaned up first. Nice guy or bad guy, the same guy had the only cock in town, as far as my deeply closeted gay boy self was concerned. My first blowjob got him off, which is what he wanted. I was probably the only mouth in town for that cock. That Monday, I blew a guy for the first time, and I'm pretty sure he was blown for the first time---at least in a long time. `What kind of agreement could Cock and Mouth come to', I wondered. I looked across the street. The light was still on in the propane store, and I could see the sign on the door was still flipped to `Open'. I doubted that was the case, but like anyone who'd tasted ice cream for the first time----even really bitter, nasty ice cream----I was drawn to the ice cream shoppe. I looked around to see what was going on. Everyone was focused on driving or watching others do it, and I doubted anyone would notice me run across the street that ran parallel to Fleet. No action on Barber Street; not on a Friday evening. Although.....something in me was thinking there could be. Just not the kind happening one block West. I got to the door and looked through kind of sideways, to where the office was in the far corner. That's where the light was coming from that I could see across the street. The office door was open, and it looked like that guy hadn't moved since I left him a few hours earlier. He obviously had, though; there was a hamburger foil wrapper on the desk, and what looked like half of a milkshake. He didn't see me looking through the door, but he heard me when I opened it. Without looking up, he just kinda shouted that they were closed. That was not the voice of a man who'd enjoyed a burger and a shake----or probably any part of that Friday. I stepped in and locked the door behind me. "Then lock the fuckin' door and turn the sign around." He looked up, kinda shocked; but then he looked angry. That was logical; I was the one who told him to never talk to me and never look at me again, and here I was doing both of those in his direction. At that moment, I thought I was probably the stupidest kid in town---although I was on track already to be the class valedictorian, still two years away. Yeah, well; `book smart' versus `street smart', and there were no open books lyin' around the propane store. He stood up fast, but didn't leave the office. He looked seriously pissed off, but also a little scared. I suppose he thought the next thing he'd see was a sheriff's badge right in front of his face. "Calm your tits. I'm alone." "Why? Why are you here?! I agreed. Get the fuck out!" "Not yet. I need to know something first." "What?!" "How was it? Or better, how was I?" "How was `what'? Being threatened with more time in prison?" "No, although I would also like to know what you thought of that performance. What I want to know is, was the blowjob good? How'd I do? What---or who---were you thinking about while your eyes were closed and my mouth was stretched open around that fat cock?" I took a couple of steps toward him, and I'm not lying, he actually backed up. I needed to cool down a little; backing an angry or scared animal into a corner never ends up a good time on a Friday night. I stopped and put my hands in my pockets. Maybe that would help. Whether it was that or something else, he dropped the Angry Face, and his ass followed into the swivel chair. "Kid, why the fuck are you here? I made an innocent mistake; I thought you were eighteen." "One of the oldest stories ever told, only in this case, I believe you. I don't look like someone between his Sophomore and Junior years of high school. I'm taller than anyone else in the entire school, and like you, I suspect, I spend time throwing weights around. By the way----how do you get your forearms so huge? You look like a real Popeye." "Holy fuck.....you are just a kid. You come back here to wreck my life? It didn't take much encouragement for you to get on your knees; you didn't resist. Look, you don't want me lookin' at you? Fine. Goes both ways. Don't talk to me, don't look at me, and get the fuck out!" "Where's that nice guy who seduced me right into his place on Monday? Can he come out to play?" "Goddamn you....." He leaned on the desk and sank his face onto his hands. I'd seen that before, but it was me doing it.....the one time in my life I got an A-minus. If he was feeling now how I felt then, he was all empty inside and branding himself as a useless failure. That's not a good feeling, for either a man who'd done his time or an as-yet valedictorian of a little graduating class in an even littler town. I didn't go back there to make him feel bad, or to threaten him, or anything else. I really did want to know if he liked the blowjob. I just wanted to know if I had any future as a cocksucker. I just wanted him to tell me, and I'd turn and go. I asked him that very question again. "Yeah, great! You were a star! Best head I've had since I was your age and my mom's drunk best friend stumbled into my room one night while my parents were out bowling. It was the best until she started vomiting. At least you didn't do that." "Can I come in that office?" "Kid, just go. Please." The scared animal in the corner was now just an exhausted propane delivery guy. Might be the only job he gets for the rest of his life. No one was out to make Randy Offenbach realize he wasn't making the best life decisions. This guy didn't deserve it, either. Not really. He already knew that. "You said `please'. Now there is the Nice Guy I was first talking with. I'm not going yet, if you're okay giving me a few more minutes." I sat in the chair facing the desk. He slumped back in his chair, banging it against the fake-paneled wall behind it. I looked him directly in the eye. "I apologize." "Isn't that what you want me to say?" "Well, yes.....but only because you shot so fast, didn't wash your dick first, and left me high and dry." "I told you I'm not a fa.....I'm not gay." "You sure about that? Because I think you are." "Why the fuck could you or anyone else think I'm gay?" "Because when you first started talking to me, you were nice. And funny. Yeah, I see now what you really wanted, but the `nice and funny' wasn't an act, was it? That doesn't mean `nice and funny equals gay', but also, I think you were looking at me the way you said you caught me looking at another guy. Tell you what I think: you saw me looking at him, and you wanted me to look at you that way." "Fuck off." "Not just yet. Look, I don't know why you were sent away. I don't know what your life was like before that. I don't even know your name. We don't have to be friends, you and I, but we could be friendly. Just so you're not avoiding and hating me, and I'm not sending that back in your direction, all in a town not large enough so we can avoid each other." "You are, without a doubt, the most confusing person I've ever met, and you have a great future as a prosecutor in a big city. You're confusing, weird as fuck, and fearless." "Ah. Now THOSE are names you can call me. So: a truce? If we can't be friendly, let's exercise detente and get on with our lives in this forgotten town. At least it's one I look forward to forgetting. Two more years. I can almost taste the freedom. Oh---speaking of `taste', what kind of milkshake is that?" "You are seriously weird. Chocolate Peanut Butter." "My favorite." I reached forward and took the half-drunk paper cup. He looked at me suspiciously, turning his head slightly while frowning, but kept his eyes on me the whole time. "What the fuck are you doing?" "I'm going to see if I learned anything on Monday. This thing I'm gonna suck on is thinner and not as long, but I bet it's gonna taste better. Oh, and the important part: this time, I'll swallow." I gave my first blowjob on Monday. Four days later, I was going down on a milkshake. I'm pretty sure I was actually still pretty pathetic at it, but at least this time, I was going to enjoy the experience. That guy didn't take his eyes off me, but his mouth dropped open just a little, like he was looking at some alien from the Moon. With one loud, bottom-of-the-cup, disgusting-sounding suck----something you'd hopefully never hear from a dick you're getting the last drops of cum out of----I finished what remained of his milkshake. I put the paper cup back on his desk and ran the back of my hand across my mouth. Just in case I was leaving any evidence behind, like there probably still was in the trash can beneath his desk. "Are you done here?" "Well, I am with the milkshake. You haven't answered my question, though. Can you and I be friendly?" "Before I answer that, tell me this: why would some sixteen-year-old, small-town punk want to be friends with a felon who got sprung three months ago after ten years in prison?" "Truth, or just something that'll make you feel better about all this?" "The truth." "That was the right choice, because I think you'll actually get both of those. Two-For-One Friday Night Special'. Okay. When you and I first met and talked, I really did think you were a nice guy. You weren't some distant, depressed, disappointed, middle-aged man who was runnin' out of luck on his property, trying to grow a few acres of wheat that was selling for less and less every year. Yeah, they support this town while they can, and I don't underestimate their tax contribution to my education and the basketball team I get to play on. I'm the Center, by the way. Not only were you a nice guy, but you had a great smile. Not just your mouth and teeth; you smile with your whole face. For someone who's been in prison and probably didn't smile a lot in there, you certainly saved the ability until you got out. I liked your smile. Third, but not last, you're a hot-as-hell stud fuck. You swagger around this town like you own it, or have the biggest dick in it. By the way, you probably do, but I wouldn't know. I wasn't kidding about your forearms, and the rest of you is just as good. I'd train all day in a gym with you for months, or as long as it took until I looked as good as you do. The fourth thing that kept me talking with you? We had a few good conversations. Current events, this town, lots of things. You were interesting. I like interesting. I think I like sucking cock, but I know I like a good conversation. So, there you go. Your turn." "Before I answer that...." "All these `Befores'. Just promise me you'll answer my question." "All right. I.....promise. Fuck is wrong with me, making promises to a sixteen-year-old weird kid? Anyway. Why didn't you tell me your age?" "Because if I told you that, the conversations, the smile, all of it would've ended." "So.....what was your end game? You really wanted to be friends?" "I wanted to suck your cock. NOW I want to be friends. Or at least friendly." "Wait----you were pursuing me?" "At the same time you were pursuing me. Yep. Was I as good at that as I was at sucking your cock?" "Uh, yeah. I mean, it's a pretty low bar in this place for a decent chat or whatever, but you're all right." "`All right', he says. I actually set a very high bar. It took three of those conversations before you could vault right over `em and get me here Monday." "I'm beginning to think you were the one doing the vaulting, Kid. Okay. No more `Befores'. Yeah, I guess we can be friendly." "Nice. And when you say `we', can you bring the Nice Guy along with you? Not that I don't like `this', because I do; I came back here on my own, after all; and the `Nice Guy' wasn't in here this afternoon." "Yeah, I'll bring him along. That it?" "Almost. When you and I get together next Monday, make sure you've gotten a little closer to the bar of soap. If I'm gonna suck your cock again, at least make it smell and taste okay. And eat strawberries or pineapple for breakfast, please." He hesitated just a moment and then laughed, pounding the desk twice with his hand. Not just his mouth, but his whole face. "Okay, okay; you win. But get it through your weird head: I'm not gay." "Sure you're not. Okay, so this'll be our own little `Don't Ask, Don't Tell' thing. But while you're being not gay, can you maybe show some affection? Maybe my cock in your mouth? A kiss now and again? Just lay close on a bed together, watching the ceiling fan go `round and `round? I would almost bet my part of the championship game trophy that you've had some experience with most of those." "Maybe." "Well, if not, then those can be your own `First Times', just like the half-blowjob I gave you Monday was for me." "`Half-blowjob'? What the fuck is that?" "You shot your load before I was even half-way down to my knees.' "And where do you think we're going to do all this `You're Gay But I'm Still Not Gay' shit?" "I have no idea. I just got you to laugh. Don't make me do all the work." "Kid, you are....." "Your friend. With a little something extra, too. By the way; what is your name?" "Kyle." "Are you fucking with me right now?" "No; why do you say that?" "My name is Kyle." "Well, that's weird, too." "We can't both be Kyle. You be Kyle." "And who'll you be?" "`Kid'. I like `Kid'. You've said it more than once tonight. That work for you?" "Yeah, I think it will. You know, you're awfully bossy for a high school punk." "I thought I was fearless." "I guess they're kinda the same. In your case they sure the fuck are." "Well, Kyle; this has been the best Friday Night following the worst Friday Afternoon since I've been in high school. Maybe in sixteen years. Let's just forget about Friday Afternoon. I need to get home. I can hear fewer cars on the drag now, so it must be getting late. I don't want my parents to worry." "Heh.....if they only knew you were hanging out with a felon ex-con instead of with kids chasing each other in twenty-year-old heaps....." "One of the benefits---among many---is that friends keep each other's secrets. You can tell me some of yours. Like where the bodies are buried." "Oh, fuck no! I didn't kill anyone! I just drove the get-away car for a bank robbery!" "Did you give all the money back?" "Ummm.....maybe." "Then tell me where the money's buried." "You'll go straight to your uncle and THEN the D.A.!" "Nah. And I don't want any stolen money. I have lots of my own. Dad gave me my allowance before I came down here. Ten whole dollars!" "Yeah, you are flush! Don't spend it all in one place, Kid." "I won't, Kyle; if only because there's no place to spend it here. I haven't seen Gun Oil on any shelves in town." "You have a gun? I can't be around guns." "Oh, man. Okay, let's agree: I'll learn things from you and you'll learn things from me. Next time we meet, we'll start with Gun Oil. So, since `Nice Kyle' has joined us, can he walk me out and lock the door behind me?" "`Spose so. Yeah. Um, kinda want to ask, though....." "Shoot. You're fast and good at it." "Smart-ass. Um, seein' how we both had the same milkshake, you think maybe we could get a little `Gay/Not Gay' kiss first, Kid?" "I'm not standin' in a propane store on a Friday Night for my health, Kyle." I reached for the light switch and pulled it down. Oh, yeah. Chocolate Peanut Butter. Now my favorite in kisses, too. Nice Kyle---or just Kyle by then---walked me out and locked the door behind me. I pointed at the sign. He shook his head and smiled and flipped it. Officially closed for the weekend. "Well, that's it. Kind of a long story, especially sitting outside in October on a bench on an otherwise deserted campus." "Wow. Damn. Is it cold? I was honestly getting kinda hot toward the end. So, can I ask: were you and Kyle able to stay friends?" "We were. We actually got closer. He still swaggered around town all macho and big-dicked, but with me, he was also the really nice guy I met the first time. I got my own `Two-For-One Friday Night Special'." "And you had two more years of high school. Were you able to make it work?" "Oh, yeah. Dad wanted me to get a part-time job. We met where I worked." "Where did you work?" "Where Kyle worked." "Damn. That's incredible. And you're.....how old are you?" "I'm 22. I graduate in December, actually." "I remember you said you're PreLaw. So you're going to law school, too?" "Yes. Right here. I was told I'd make a good fearless prosecutor. I think I agree." "You figured out I wanted to ask you out earlier this evening, and you said something I'd never heard anyone say to anyone before. You said....." ".....'It's you, not me'. I remember. You are a good person. You're `out'. I've enjoyed that group mostly because you made it engaging and fun. `You' deserve someone like you; someone who is good, engaging and fun. And `out'. I'm not that person." "Well, that was a unique let-down, and a good story behind it. I get that now. Okay. So, that was six years ago, when you and Kyle met. Do you miss him? Are you still in contact?" "I do miss him. I miss him often. But then, I get home to the man who loves me and whom I love, and everything is fine." "You have a boyfriend! Good for you! This makes even more sense now, what you said back in the group. What's your boyfriend's name?" "My husband's name is Kyle. It's getting late; I need to run. See you next week!" He took off, and yeah, he actually ran. He had seriously powerful legs, and the rest of him was the same. Some serious gym time, obviously. Maybe he trained with Kyle. `Not Gay' Kyle. I stood up and realized we'd been sitting for a pretty long time; my legs were wobbly. I walked back to my dorm room, walking quietly down the hall so I didn't disturb the other guys on my floor. We were pretty much all of us Math or Physics majors, and Quiet Hours were twenty-four hours a day. I did the nightly wash routine and returned to my room, getting down to the usual Nothing I wore to bed. I laid on my back and looked at the ceiling and smiled. Good for them. What an interesting life they'd have; an ex-con and a prosecutor, already together six years. They might have to avoid answering too many questions with dates included, considering two of those years would not be looked upon favorably. Although, I suspected if `Kid' could talk `Kyle' into not beating him up, then going back and talking him into being a friend and then a boyfriend and finally his husband and somewhere along the line get him to realize he was, indeed, gay---he could talk anyone out of having an issue with his having been underage. For the following two months, we saw each other walking around on campus, and of course at the weekly group get-together. We became friends, something I realize was the attraction to the group in the first place; just a sense of community. On his last week as an undergrad, he invited me to their apartment on the far side of town for dinner. It was a modest little home, but just right for them. When I knocked on the door, he answered and welcomed me. He said Kyle was still at work, but would be home soon. We talked for awhile, and about half an hour later, I heard heavy steps on the stairs outside the building. He didn't wait; he walked to the door and opened it, and there was the famous and infamous Kyle, a big grin on his face and a kiss for his husband. I stood up and smiled, and introductions were made. Kyle took off his snow boots and hat, and then unzipped his coat. I saw his name on and embroidered patch, and when he turned around while taking the coat off, there was the name and logo of our college town's largest, if not only, propane dealer. Well, I'll be damned. Dinner smelled good, its last few minutes in the oven. Kyle really was a nice guy, just as I'd been told. I could see, though, some serious machismo under that smile; and almost look of `You're here because my husband invited you---but I don't know you. Do nothing that will give me the absolute pleasure of taking you apart.' And I respected that. He was being protective; not threatening. The timer began dinging and dinner was ready. A trusty 9 X 13 was taken out of the oven and the foil removed, and there was baked chicken on rice with soup poured over the top of it. Oh, and we had green beans, too. The evening was the best I'd had in months. Stories about propane customers and classes were enjoyed with laughter all around, and throughout dinner, Kyle very subtly moved his chair closer until they were almost side-by-side, always in physical contact with each other. When it was time to go home, I got hugs from men made of steel and a welcome to return sometime. I smiled all the way home, driving through snow on the streets and more falling on my windshield. I realized that was a graduation party, and I didn't bring even a card. For someone studying numbers, I certainly didn't pay attention to any of them on a calendar. I'd put one in the mail and include my thanks for dinner. I still had a year of school. I didn't see him much at all after he started law school the following Autumn. After graduating, they took a trip back to the other side of the state to see his parents, who loved Kyle---but didn't know too many details about how they met. Eventually I graduated, then moved on to a master's program out of state. For a couple of years, every once in awhile, I'd look online to see if he was a prosecutor yet, and finally, there it was: Deputy Prosecuting Attorney. I felt proud for him. For them both. I had achieved a PhD in Physics, made my parents wildly proud, and then wildly disappointed when I introduced them to my fiance. I guess they'd been hoping against hope that I was just in some silly college experimental phase. The fact that I had been out since my freshman year and three degrees should've been a clue I don't do phases very well, but from then on, it all got and stayed chilly. It was disappointing, but I got what he said I should have: `a good man just like me'. Yeah, he'd been a student in one of my classes, but he earned that 4.0 all on his own. Now all four of us are older than we were when any two of us met. I hoped they were still together and happy. We were. He was right; it was Me, not Him; and it was the best let-down anyone probably ever got.