Michael and Bobby: Lost and Found
copyright 2011-2012 by DMR. For use with the Nifty Archive only.
Bobby apologized to Mrs. Bruhn before he left for his home. She brushed it all off, making a comment about boys being boys. Once home, Bobby went to sleep as soon as he hit the pillow.
Bobby awoke the next morning, feeling at least slightly refreshed. Though his problems were certainly not gone, they weren't on the forefront of his mind. Bobby stretched and grabbed a shower. After dressing, he walked downstairs and saw his mother and father quickly turn to look at him as he entered the kitchen.
"Come here, piccolo," his mother gently commanded. Bobby's eyes shifted between his parents, trying to get a feeling for the room. He stood before the kitchen table. His mother gently moved her arm in a downward arc, asking him to sit. Bobby complied, eyes still shifting from mother to father.
"Your mother and I are concerned," Alberto Strambo started, "about some things we have heard today." Oh. It had started already. Lucille Strambo placed her arm on her husband's shoulder. This was new territory for them and they weren't quite sure how to proceed.
"You have breakfast yet, piccolo?" Bobby's mother looked at him with love. Yes, she still loved him, no matter what had happened. Food was her way of showing her care. She began to serve him with more food than one mere mortal could possibly stomach. "Here is some good food. Maybe it will make you strong and tall like your papa." Bobby felt ashamed again about his stature. He wished he could grow tall and strong like everyone wanted, but he was 18, so that really wasn't likely to happen.
Lucille sat down. With her duties complete, she had to face the topic at hand. She looked at her husband, wanting him to take the lead. "So Bobby, you know people talk." Bobby nodded sadly, appetite diminishing. "And they have been saying some awful things. They say you have been chasing middle school boys. And doing... unnatural things with them."
Bobby dropped his silverware. "What?" Bobby had expected comments about the YouTube video, but this? "No, I ... no!" Bobby was irritated now.
"Well good, I am glad," his father responded. Bobby smiled. "So who is this Michael? They say you are following him with a camera. You know this is wrong and must not be done."
So they had heard something at least half-true. Michael. The thought of him pulled away some of Bobby's worries, and he smiled. "Michael is just a man I met this past summer."
"He seems much older than you. Where did you meet him?" Mother queried.
They had obviously seen his picture. What else had they seen? "I met him when we were on vacation this summer. But I wasn't stalking him, mom, I swear. We spent time together. He made me... happy." Bobby knew he should stop. This was dangerous ground.
"Lucille, I told you we should not leave him alone. I told you! But no, you said he needs his own space. Now you see what happens! I am not a fag father!" Alberto Strambo turned to stare sternly at his son. "You will not be a fag." Bobby winced. "You will not see this Michael person again."
Bobby looked down at his hands, fingers entwined. "Well don't worry, sir," Bobby said, becoming withdrawn. "He probably lives far away. I don't really know where he lives."
"So you are not a fag with him?" Alberto's desired response was obvious.
"No, we were just friends, and I don't think I'll ever see him again."
"That is for the best, then." Bobby sadly nodded and left to go to work.
Michael was studying in the library. Only 8 credits to go. Michael imagined a life without having to write a term paper all the freaking time. Ah, what bliss that would be!
"Hey Mikey," his sibilant, deliberate voice drawled. "Been missing me?" Michael hated that name. He glared at the speaker. It was Corey, wearing a pink "Queer as fcuk" mid-riff and short shorts. His just-so bronzed skin shone under the fluorescent lights. `He must have applied some sort of lotion or product to achieve his look,' thought Michael. "You're always in here studying. Why don't you come have some fun?" Corey accentuated the last word by leaning over the library table and crawling onto it on all fours.
"Having a dry spell, are you?" Michael sarcastically asked.
"Well I could go online for the hookup, but seeing as you're right here," Corey continued, lying on the table, hindquarters pointed to Michael's face. "And that big thick cock of yours knows what it likes." Corey was right, of course. It did like it. Unfortunately, Corey was just sex. No emotions, nothing real. "Wham bam thank you Sam," as Ray had said. Michael sighed and looked around. People were beginning to notice Corey's display.
"All right, come on," Michael said, grabbing Corey and pulling him out of the library.
Arriving at the dorm, Corey playfully jumped onto Michael's bed, grinning. He had won his prize for the moment. "So Michael, ya ready?" he teased, lifting his perfectly tanned legs to his shoulders with ease, his well-used ass sneaking out of his shorts.
"Sure," Michael replied carelessly, looking down. Why did this feel so empty? Michael began to unbutton his burgandy dress shirt.
Corey frowned. "Uh, could you just keep that on?"
"Oh, ok," Michael replied. He had forgotten, Corey didn't like to look at his naked chest. There wasn't much to be impressed by, anyway. He was tall, but average. Corey's only interest was Michael's impressive bulge. Michael understood that that was how things were, so shrugged it off.
"That's better," Corey grinned. He dropped his legs, crossed his arms over each other, and wiggled out of his form-fitting midriff. In his superficial way, Corey was very hot. He hadn't a single original thought of his own, but he was hot. His bleach blonde hair, the shaved chest, the perfect tan, the manicured fingers and toes. He had created a molded beauty as expected in today's world. Hooking his thumbs at the hips beneath his shorts, he wiggled and asked, "Don't you want to help me take these off?"
Michael looked down and smiled. "Sure." Michael touched Corey's legs and started running his hands up the guy's legs. Corey lay back and falsely moaned, running his hands around his stomach and over his chest. Michael reached the button to the shorts and popped it open. He unzipped them and pulled them off.
Corey moaned rubbing himself and squeezing his backside. "Come here," he cooed. Michael walked over and Corey pulled off his jeans. "Oh god, there it is." This too was part of Corey's game. Michael knew his role: he was there to be a human dildo. Sometimes he wished he could just duct tape this little slut's mouth shut. "Oh I love big cock," Corey said, more to himself than to anyone else. Corey's glossed lips parted as he inhaled Michael like a hungry wolf. Corey went to grab Michael from behind and pull him forward, but released his hands, immediately, as if they had been turned. Body hair again. While in mid-suck, Corey picked up his cell phone from his night stand to check the time and look for new text messages.
A loud smacking sound could be heard as Corey released Michael's tool. "Oh, I have to go before too long. Just fuck me now, would you? Forget the condom, it'll take too long."
Michael crossed his arms. "I don't think so."
"Oh come on, just fuck me already. I'm on a schedule," Corey testily responded.
"No, screw this and screw you," Michael said, pulling up his pants, zipping up. If they were going to do this, it was going to be on his terms. Perhaps he was a little arrogant, but Michael wanted to be in control in the bedroom. And for once, couldn't it mean something?
"That was the idea. It's not like anything other than your cock is good for anything," Corey hissed.
That was it. This little power bottom could go find someone else. Michael opened the door. "Goodbye, Corey."
"What the fuck," he exploded. "No one does this to me! Do you know how many people would kill to have the chance with this body?!"
"Goodbye, Corey," Michael repeated, sighing.
"Fuck you Michael!" Corey screamed, pulling on his shirt and shorts and angrily sashaying down the hallway. That duct tape was sounding better and better. Maybe if he - no, not worth it. "Michael Brant is a limp dicked faggot!" Corey screamed to the hallway at the top of his lungs as he left. 'Yet you're the one swishing, you soulless cunt,' Michael thought.
Michael closed the door and sighed, falling to bed. Sex was just not worth it. He felt it again - too straight to be gay and too gay to be straight.
i hope U get aids n die
qweer ass peace uv shit
ur goin 2 hell
nice hole! call me!
Bobby was bored at work, and so was deleting his gargantuan text message inbox. Amazing as the spelling errors were, Bobby felt sick to his stomach with all the hate he had been given. He thought that if he deleted all of the messages, he might begin to feel better. It wasn't working. He sighed and pocketed his cell phone. He stood up and stretched. It was a slow day at the pharmacy, and the shift change of pharmacists wasn't for at least another hour. The current pharmacist was nursing a hangover in the back. Come to think of it, the store was really unusually quiet; it was deserted. Bobby expected at least a few old farts in talking about their gout, explosive bowels and other disgusting maladies. It must suck to get old.
Bobby's mind wandered. Maybe Karina was right. Maybe just offing yourself would be better. Lots of people would be happier, right? And working in a pharmacy... He could grab a few pills and do it right now. No one would know the difference. Or maybe there would be something to take the edge off. Maybe oxytocin? Hey, if it worked for the celebrities, it should work for him, right? Obviously. Hell, Bobby was probably one of the few 18 year olds who didn't have an interest in either nicotine or alcohol. He never knew what the point would be. But now he faced the reasoning: escaping this black hole of suffering that he was feeling sounded great.
*dee-doom* The laser entry beam chimed as a customer entered the sore. Bobby looked up, glad to be distracted from his thoughts. One of Karina's friends, Dan, swaggered up to the counter. "Hey," Bobby hesitantly greeted, "How may I help you?"
"Hey fag," Dan sneered. Uh oh. He had that look in his eye, the same look that Karina had. *dee-doom* *dee-doom* *dee-doom* The chimes announced more people entering the store.
"Look, I don't want any -" Bobby grunted in shock as Dan's grabbed Bobby by the Windsor knot of his necktie, smacking his head down onto the counter at his prescription drop-off station. Dazed and face down on the counter, Bobby heard the sound of running feet. Maybe, just maybe they were here to help.
"Grab the fag!" And maybe not. Three pairs of hands grabbed Bobby by his hair, armpits and belt. A terrific crash echoed through the store as Bobby was hauled up on the counter and his struggling arms met against wire baskets containing impulse items. Eyeglass kits, over the counter diet pills, laser pointing key chains and more spilled onto the floor. Bobby tried to lift his head, but a first struck the top of his skull roughly. "Keep your fucking head down, you piece of shit!"
The inebriated pharmacist snorted and muttered something about abandoning ship. Bobby's three assailants were silent for a moment before deciding it was safe to proceed. They pulled Bobby forward until he crashed onto the floor, wire baskets and their contents pressing into his sore chest. Not going to cry, not going to cry. Bobby's eyes focused for a moment and saw blood dripping in puddles on the floor from his nose. The three pairs of arms grabbed him again and dragged him to the bathroom. The pine door was kicked open followed by the kicked opening of the handicap stall.
In and out of focus, Bobby was dragged to the toilet and forced onto his knees. "Heard you like this shit, faggot. Well this is what you get then," one of the voices said, followed by the unmistakable sound of zippers being undone. No, not like this, not like that. A childhood fantasy of saving himself for that one man flashed into his mind. And then Michael appeared in his mind's eye. Michael -
"Unnhhh!" Half a second later, Bobby felt a hot splatter spread into a puddle on his back. Soon, two more streams joined the one. Oh no, that's not how he wanted this. Make it stop! Trembling, he became to cry. "Fuckin' baby faggot cryin' like the piece of shit it is!" He had to escape, had to get out of here. Gingerly moving his arms, he tried to lift himself. Bobby's head was quickly forced down onto the rim of the toilet by - wait, that wasn't a man's boot. He could feel a singular point in the back along with an area of pressure in the front. What on earth?
"Like that toilet water, you cunt?" Bobby gasped and coughed, blood dripping down his nose. He was soon forced down again into the water. He arms and legs flailed, knocking aside two people. The hands seemed to have released him momentarily. Adrenaline surging through his body, he jumped up and turned to escape this torment. He didn't get far. "God damn fag!" Bobby's necktie was removed from his collar and tied around his arms. Bobby was soon tightly secured to the rails of the stall. In short order, his pants were yanked down.
One of the assailants whistled. "Damn, that's a girlier butt than you -"
"Shut up," a higher voice commanded. So familiar. A moment of silence. No, they wouldn't do this. No, no no... "Do it," that voice coldly commanded.
A hocking sound, and spitting. Bobby felt it hit the small of his back and slowly dribble down. Tears pouring down his face, Bobby was forcibly lifted and felt the shaft thrust inside of him. With his last ounce of strength, Bobby gasped out, "M... M... Mi.... Mich-" before he was mercifully knocked unconscious by a hairless kneecap thrust under his jaw.
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