Date: Tue, 10 Feb 2004 20:06:16 -0800 (PST) From: the illiterati Subject: Mutual Parasitism 1 - Gay No part of this story may be published, distributed or duplicated with the consent of the author. All the situations, names, characters, places are fictional. Any similarities are purely coincidental. If you think that any of these characters is based on you and believe I have blatantly whored your life story to all of the world, get a grip, the world doesn't revolve around you. This text is not for the enjoyment of people below the age of majority (legal age) or for those in states, countries, regions or households where such forms of literature that contain explicit language, situations that portray sexual attraction between men or any form of sexual act or desire is illegal or forbidden. If you find such situations offensive or the powers that be that lord over you find them offensive, turn back now. I take no responsibility for any trouble you may find yourself in by accessing, downloading, reading these stories. Pardon any typos, I am not a good editor of my own works. Thanks, the illiterati theilliterati@yahoo.com Mutual Parasitism By the illiterati Chapter I: High School It would be unfair to call this true to life, but it is not entirely false as well. Somewhere out there two people who must have lived these lives and maybe my story might help you find out more about about you. And although I am older now and wiser I dare say, not any less hardheaded. Might as well start from where it all began on that first day I met him. It had not been so long before I stepped into the halls of the high school section of my then new Catholic high school. I didn't really mind the whole environment, but I had been set aside in one of the "special" classes. Not quite the brainiest bunch, but talented nonetheless and the school propped them higher than the rest of the "regulars". Having been an over achiever for the most of my life I didn't mind the whole set-up at all, thinking that all my other friends were going to this school as well, it was not going to be a lonely experience. But as luck would have it, two of them got lumped in the regular freshman class and three in the advanced class. I was the one stuck in the class in limbo. Excuse me would you like your education, rare, medium or well done? No one had asked me that question when I first applied, but then again I couldn't even remember my entrance essay as well, so I was not about to argue with the upperclassmen who were ushering us into our own rooms. The first fateful bell rang and in walked a man who I immediately knew was a person unsure of himself. He was rather tall, but not freakishly tall with a hint of good looks wasted behind a face that must have been smashed on too many beer bottles. He couldn't be more than thirty I thought... "Good morning, middle section freshmen, I am Mr. Christopher. You may call me Mr. Chris or Sir. I will be your class adviser for this first year at St. Francis Xavier's High School, and no do not expect the X-Men to be coming around for gym class." That crack was rewarded by a chorus of giggles that only the breaking voices of pubescent boys could deliver. Apparently, it was a popular joke among the boys of St. Xavier's. But no Professor X here, just a middle aged Jesuit priest dying from all the cigars he smokes on campus everyday. "If you must know, I also went to high school here and I too was in the Middle Class ten years ago." Chris, as I decided to call him privately, continued. My mind was suddenly whirring, adding ten years to my then fourteen years. He's twenty-four, not thirty, I thought to myself. Whoops. Good thing I didn't say that out loud or else I might not have made a very good first impression. Speaking of first impressions, I wasn't ready to divulge my life story for them to lap up. I hated the buddy games that we started playing, especially that one where you stick a paper on your back and ask people to write things to you. I mean, I have barely spent two hours with these guys at this point, what are they seriously going to write to me? What was I going to write to them? I didn't think it was proper to start insulting people so early on. Insults are to be shared among friends as I always thought and these people are not my friends, yet. So we went around the room murmuring to each other, "Dude, can I write on yours?" or "Write me a message on my back and I'll write one for you" or my favorite "What do you want me to say about you?" Is this self-propaganda writing class or something? Chris, was just there standing with his slightly unkempt hair and slightly shaven shadow of a beard, scratching his groin in the middle of room. Does this guy exude class or what? Here he is our teacher in our slightly prohibitive private school, giving his balls the "works". I seriously doubt that it was for show, he was just really that crude and he had that blank look on his face. "Unbelievable" I said out loud. "Wha?" my classmate, who was writing a dedication on the paper on my back, asked. "Nothing" I immediately took back, embarrassed that I was almost caught checking out my teacher, not that I meant to of course. "Oh, alright, do you normally talk to yourself?" he grinned. "Yeah, it's a trait that comes with my unstable personality" I laughed. He seemed to enjoy my comment, "Want me to add that to what I wrote?" "Your call." "Okay... look...like...slightly..unstable...person...beware" "Alright, thanks" Our conversation was cut short as the time allotted for the activity expired. I reached over my shoulders and yanked the paper and the double-sided tape off the back of my shirt. Naturally, only a class of thirteen or fourteen year olds could ever write such witty prose such as the ones I saw chicken scratched on my paper: "Dirk you're da best!" signed by a guy named Robbie. Now I thought he seemed judgmental, assuming and not to mention insincere. "Kirk, I hope to get to know you better in our four years at St. X's" was another one written by a guy named Marcus, seemed optimistic - if not confused about what the hell to write. "Kirk, good luck in high school!" was from a guy named Erik, probably Swedish chap or something, but sounded awfully generic - had no potential career in writing Hallmark cards. "Peace bro!" from a guy named James. I also found out that the last guy who wrote on my back was named Kevin, "Carpe diem Kirk! Tho you look like a slightly unstable person. Beware!", precious, absolutely precious. Alright, I was fourteen, nerdy and thought that I was better than everyone else. Cut me some slack or something. I was about to crumple that sheet when I noticed a message I didn't notice before. It was written in black ink so rich and so deep and dark that it seeps all the way through the fibers of the paper. "Hi Kirk, Nice name."" signed Dirk. That short note broke through my walls of cynicism. I looked around the room scanning the name tags on everyone's chests for someone named "Dirk". The moment I saw I was, distant. He looked good, if not short, but definitely a cocky looking bastard. Coal black fair, pale face with too much facial hair for a kid and the beginnings of a furry forearm. "Hey" I said. "What do you want?" he smirked back. "Just wanted to say 'Hi', I'm Kirk" I held my hand out. He looked at my outstretched hand for a moment, after giving it a thought for a second or two, he shook it. "Nice to meet you Kirk. Am Dirk." "Yeah, nice name." I said. "Well, you're not very original, I used that on you first." "Yeah, I know" I replied, pointing to the wrinkled sheet in my left hand. "S' ok, not everyone can be Dirk. So Star Trek huh?" "Excuse me?" "Your name, it came from Star Trek?" "Oh that, yeah, I guess so. Well knowing my dad, if had it his way I'd be named Spock." "Nice." he said with a slight hiss. At this point the conversation felt that it had been stretched too much, it was going nowhere. I didn't care for Dirk much, he looked like an idiot. The thought of him as "sexy" hadn't even crossed my mind. Sure he looked objectively good looking, but I wouldn't spend the rest of my high school days lusting after him during Physical Education class. Dirk was "cool" or at least as real as the word could manifest itself in the real world. He was athletic played football and basketball a lot. He wasn't particularly muscular, but as the saying goes, carried himself well. He never made the teams because of his height, but that didn't stop him from playing. He made crude jokes and drawings of people he thought were beneath him, like fags and nerds. And well, looked hot for the most part of high school. Not exactly the type the serious teen that i was, would hang out with. My life was dedicated to studies, though I didn't excel that much. I had left my glory days behind when I entered St. Xavier's. The funny thing was is that I didn't spend my time lusting after Dirk at all, I spent my time chasing skirts over at St. Mary the Queen's a couple of blocks away. Plaid skirts looked good next to our relatively liberal uniform or rather "dress code". While I didn't attend socials like my other classmates, Dirk being one of them, who were just dying to meet a chick to bang. I had no problem meeting girls, they always seemed to warm up to me quickly enough and I had no patience for their little soirees, horny Catholic guys one side and pseudo-demure Catholic girls on the other. The mating game is just filled with so much bullshit that after the sex, they hardly have enough substance to build a relationship. This went on for the most part of high school and I took pride in having my fair share of girlfriends. Two actually, and when the trend was to last only a couple of months, both lasted at least a year. In particular my second girlfriend, Amanda and I were steady for two years. It was just after my first anniversary with Amanda, and I was already in Junior year at this point. We had spend a particularly good evening in town where we are dinner at a fine Japanese restaurant. It turns out that she's quite allergic to seafood and I had ordered a Sashimi-Sushi Boat. It wasn't a case of food poisoning, but Amanda had forgotten to take her antihistamines and started to react violently to the ebi sarada temaki. She said she didn't know that ebi was shrimp as her jaw started to swell in red blotches. I for one didn't know how she could not know it was shrimp at all. It was pinkish-orange for crying outloud and the tiny tail was sticking out of the nori wrapping. "I'm sorry Kirk, I just really have never eaten in a Japanese restaurant before." "It's all right" I said, trying to stand up to ask the waiter if they had antihistamines or something. She grabbed me by the side of my shirt, pulling towards her. "Please Kirk, don't leave me here. I can't-" And that's all it took. I don't know but the sudden movement, the dizziness or something, but at that moment, as she tried to stop me from leaving, she let it all out. It wasn't pretty at all and all over my best dress pants and finest shirt. I wasn't angry with her, not at all. She looked at me with pleading eyes, hoping I wasn't mad. I wasn't. A waiter rushed to our table, with rags and all and I helped him clean up her mess. She went to the ladies room to do her thing while I waited at the table. As soon as she got pack, she apologized profusely for her behaviour. Honest to god, I wasn't mad, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't upset. Money down the drain and all that. That's nothing, but its still money wasted. I excused myself to go to the mens room. It was a particularly nice mens room, with a relatively low sink and finely polished mirror that extended to the ceiling. The walls were deep red and the gold faucets complemented the black marble floor and basins. Thank god for the abundance of paper towels and I wiped the vomit off the front of my shirt and my pants. "That was pretty decent of you" I heard someone whisper behind me. I turned around, which was stupid because I was right in front of a mirror. "Dirk!" I exclaimed, he looked great in his maroon, long-sleeved shirt, although he looked a bit weird cleanly-shaved. "What are you doing here?" "Eating, same as you I suppose, fine dinner show you and whats-her-name gave us to day?" "Yeah, Amanda, well I didn't know she was allergic to shrimp. Damn, that girl won't tell me anything." "Does she put out?" "Yeah, but not tonight, I don't expect a blowjob with her mouth all swollen like that." "Aw, poor Kirk, no release tonight." Dirk pouted. "How bout you what are you doing here?" I asked as I continued to wipe myself. "Here, let me help you with that" Dirk offered. He pulled a couple of fresh paper towels and started wiping the front of my torso with it. "I'm here with my family, younger sister's birthday" he continued. "Oh..." was all the reply I could muster. He was rubbing the towel against by chest, over my nipples, which were slowling starting to harden with his brisk strokes. "Uh, Dirk... She didn't throw up on my chest..." "Oh right sorry" he chuckled as he moved his hands downward. Downwards, he wiped my lap delicately, but no matter how light his strokes were, enough pressure was applied on my groin. My dick has started to twitch at his tickling touch and I was definitely becoming aroused. That coupled with his other hand stroking and holding on to my back to support me. "Dirk, I think that's enough." I said as I pushed his hand away. "You think? Well, yeah that looks good." "Thanks, Dirk" I said as I turned on the faucet, hoping that the cold water would somehow cool my heated blood. "Thanks what friends are for Kirk, we boys should take care of each other." Friends? Funny, I never thought of him as a friend.... __________________ Comments, suggestions, constructive criticisms, post-colonial readings, direct them to theilliterati@yahoo.com