My Story Is Simple

My story is simple. I met Ryan Hale when we were 7 or 8. We sat next to each other in class and became fast friends. When we were 14 I told him that I think I might be homosexual, and four months later I informed him of the inevitable attraction I had for him. He said he was straight, I backed off, and we lived happily ever after as friends. The End.

That would have been simple wouldn’t it?

We’re 17 now, both in college. We were lucky enough to be in the same class for the subjects we took in common. Everything was as it exactly was when we were 7 or 8. Actually, that wasn’t true. Everything was as it exactly was when we were 14 and I told him I kinda sorta maybe liked him.

I’d be lying if I say I don’t feel that way anymore. If I was any smarter I'd get over him already, but I haven't, and you can probably guess – I don't want to. Friends come and go. I've had so many friends which I thought we'd at least never lose touch of, and in the end, I can't say I'm torn about it. I'm not even sure I miss them. Sure if we bump into each other I wouldn't mind getting together, but you know what I mean. My point is, if I wanted to get over him, it wouldn't be the hardest thing in the world.

So why am I so obsessed with him? You let me know if you know the answer. Maybe it's love; I mean sure, I love who he is: he's confident, casual, mature and all that. As for actually being in love?

There are too many possibilities: maybe it's because he's my first crush, maybe my intuition tells me it could happen, maybe I'm too lazy to start obsessing about someone else. Usually at this point I just decided I don't care about some kind of revelation and look for that folder on my hard-drive full of porn.

Anyway, back to the present. The point of this story of mine.

Nothing really happened. I’m not sure what even happened. Okay, something certainly did happen.

We were in the library, trying to finish some homework we pushed aside until today, now, minutes before the class of which it’s due. We did manage to finish, 5 minutes after the class bell’s rung. We ran to the class through empty corridors; everybody’s in a class or somewhere else. We were only stopped when we bumped into Betty Dean.

“Oh… Oh it’s you! Where the fuck were you two yesterday? Doesn’t matter. Here’s the invitation. You heard about my Valentines Day party, right? Make sure you come, and with each other. Three couple I invited broke up, so I don't think they'll be turning up…” She giggled, “Well, there’s just two, one of them turned out to be related.”

“Look, thanks Betty, but…” Ryan tried to say we’re in a hurry.

“Ooh, look, I gotta go. Hope the potato salad’s not sold out. Bye!” she left as fast as she came.

We stood in the corridor, looking at each other. I know what he was thinking.

She thought we were a couple.

We didn’t laugh, but we did cracked smiles and snorted a little, for a short time. After all, we're used to people thinking we're a couple.

Then it was him who started it. There was a smile in his eyes.

“Well...” he said as he ran a finger down my right arm. From shoulder to wrist. “... What do you say we stop pretending right now and just bugger already?” his eyes exaggeratingly sultry.

I rolled my eyes. We'd do this every other week. Sometimes he'd be drama Ryan and he'd say “Oh darling!” a lot and quote Shakespeare, sometimes I'd lead and be all angsty, and pretty much recite something that could be a punk rock song. Believe it or not, this is nothing.

“Ryan, we're late.”

“Don't change the subject, Stan. Who are we trying to fool here? Huh?”

Swiftly, he moved closer. One hand now on my derrière, and the other on the back of my head, holding me close. His expression still playful and mine still half annoyed, half amused.

“Kiss me. I cannot wait any longer! Kiss me and tell me that you feel the sa-...”

I grabbed his head and pulled in, with a smile in our eyes. We kissed with our lips closed. This is how it usually ends – with a kiss. Although usually I'd drag it out a bit longer by resisting. Something along the line of “We cannot. We must not.”

Our mouths parted as quickly as they met. I said it was a kiss, but it was really a peck at best. Usually we'd be doing this in front of other people, but since we're not, I was getting the feeling that this is a little too dangerous. I was a little afraid I might spring a boner and make this to mean more than nothing.

And I said our lips parted, but what happened was, somehow, we parted so little that we might as well be still kissing, and somehow, we kissed again. Our lips pulled together like magnets. I felt our lips parted a little, perhaps. We pulled away before there was tongue. Was there gonna be tongue? It was so short I can't be sure, but not short enough to be innocent.

Maybe it was him who kept me from drawing too far away after the initial peck, launched the more prominent kiss and/or gave signal to possibly french, or maybe it was me. Maybe it was us both or maybe there was no cauuse.

Nothing really happened. I’m not sure what even happened. Okay, something certainly did happen.

Yes, something certainly did happen. There was saliva, there was my growing penis (what did I tell you?), and there was the sensation in my stomach. I have no proof but it’s his doing, he intended it, it would’ve been nothing if he didn’t mean it.

And there it was, a smile. This smile was unlike one of humour. This smile happened because of content, because of pride, satisfaction, because of comfort, joy, pleasure.

And so on and so forth.

As fast as that smile appeared, it was gone, his eyes caught a look at the clock hung on the wall behind me and what replaced the smile was panic. He rushed again to the classroom. I followed.

What was that smile about?

Yeah, what was that smile about?

“Nice to see you gentlemen.” said the teacher.

Suddenly I realized I was in public, and a sudden surge of awareness about my erection rushed to my head, but it was no use; there were giggles.

As I sat down to the seat in front of Ryan, the boy next to me asked, whispering: “Was Ryan chewing your dick out there?”

“Ryan who?”

16:42, I have been moving around constantly since I got back home. The whole day I've been making excuses and avoiding Ryan. Bit juvenile, I know, but I’m only 17.

I've decided to just stop obsessing and work out something. I'm ready for that revelation now. What are the possibilities?

Possibility one: It was him.

Sometimes you just know, y’know? Well, I think I know. And there was that smile, what was he so smug about?

Bastard.

Possibility two: …

… …

Argh, I can’t think of an alternative, the first possibility is stuck in my head, like a song.

Fuck this.

I ran. I rarely run since I reached 15. Nothing seemed to worth that much effort anymore. I ran until I reached the dysfunction that was the front garden of 45 Grange Road. I won’t get into it right now. I rang the doorbell.

“Hi Stan, Ryan’s upstairs.” said Ryan’s aunt, Laura, as miserable as always. She’s divorced and staying with Ryan’s mother.

“Thanks.” I rushed upstairs. My haste seemed a tad rude, I know, but I was in a hurry.

I barged into Ryan's room.

“Tell me it was you.” I commanded. Ryan was lying in bed, playing with his Gameboy.

“Stan, hi, what’s wrong?”

“Just tell me it was you. Today, this morning in college, we kissed in the corridors. We weren’t serious to begin with, but then we meant it.”

Ryan stared at me.

I moved closer, “We meant it, right?

“ ’Cause I can’t stop thinking about it, and the only reason I can think of, that can explain what happened is it was you who did it, you kissed me. All afternoon, all day I've been building up on the hope that it was you, my mind simply rejected other ideas because it was all I could fucking think about.”

“So tell me, it was you.”

Faster than I could think, he leaped. Before my mind could register, we were kissing, tongues and all. We pulled our bodies closer to each other, the taste of his mouth, the smell of his breath, the heat of his closeness.

Passion. It was greater than I imagined. It was a little overwhelming.

When I opened my eyes we were naked, in bed. His eyes were still closed and he was mounting on top of me. He whispered in our kiss: “God I've waited so long for this.”

What the fuck.

I broke the kiss, “What!” I exclaimed.

“What?”

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘I've waited so long for this’?”

“Err, Stan?”

“I was the one who came out to you, I was the one who you rejected because apparently, you don’t suck cock, I was the one who had to tell myself that this will pass when I find someone else all those bloody nights after I came all over my chest thinking about you, and now you tell me you’ve waited so long?”

Ryan stared. “Shit.” He said.

“I’m such an idiot.” He looked away, and then he looked back at me. “I've been confused. When you told me you were gay, and then you told me you think you like me, I suppose, I didn’t really know what that meant.

“You were always the mature one.” He added. I'm the mature one?

“I’m not so sure myself. I noticed I was curious, but…

“But it never registered that you might be gay too.” I finished the sentence.

“I suppose.”

“So, what was that kiss in the corridor?”

“Impulse. The kiss clarified a few things. I was gonna talk to you but you were avoiding me.”

“And the ‘waited for so long’ thing?”

“I dunno, it just slipped, it seemed right at the time.”

Now it’s my turn to stare.

“Maybe subconsciously, I was waiting for you to make another move.”

And then we realised we were in the middle of sex.

He ran his rugged hand on my chest, across my abdomen, and then back to the chest, to my neck. At the same time, I stroked his thighs, his buttocks. I sat up and pulled him closer, I am now face to face with his penis.

I have never come this close to examining his manhood. It had been a thing of fantasy, it almost felt sacred, forbidden, yet here I am, holding it in my hand. A sudden surge of excitement charged my body.

I licked, and licked again, I enveloped it with my mouth, the usual. And then I looked up to his face, with eyes closed and throat flexed, I pulled him toward me until my nose is touching his pubic hair.

Ryan did the little laugh or gasp which happens with a good surprise, and he said: “You’ve done this before, haven’t ya?”

I slowly drew his rod out of my mouth, and replied: “Remember Chris Parkinson?”

“Excuse me?”

“Chris Parkinson, near the end of year 10, we fooled around a couple of times. He left that year, remember?”

“And here I am, thinking it was with a cucumber.”

I grinned.

“Why didn’t I know about it?”

“It was supposed to be a secret.”

And with that I continued. Slowly I moved on to the balls, he moaned a bit louder.

“Fuck me.” He said.

I continued sucking.

“Fuck me, Stan.” And with those words I stopped.

“Are you serious?”

“God yeah, fuck me now!”

“I hadn’t thought of you as a bottom.”

“Well, think again, ass.” He said as he twisted around and searched a drawer at the cabinet near his bed, it was full of batteries, Gameboy stuff and old diaries. Behind the diaries there was a box of lubricant. Three sachets were missing.

“Did you get those?”

“Aunt Laura did, she thought we were a couple.”

He threw a sachet onto my chest. I took it and shimmied my way behind him, through his legs. I put down the sachet.

“What’re you doing?”

“Stay still.”

With one hand I grabbed hold of his left cheek, with the other I pressed his back, with my signal he bended down a little; he supported himself with his hands by the bed’s headboard. I retrieved my hand and relocated it on his other cheek. With my hands I spread those perfect cheeks.

I love rimming, as long as it’s clean. I read a novel where there were a couple of paragraphs about rimming, and how being rimmed is one of the most submissive positions in sex, which made it that much sexier. One time with Creedy he hesitated to let me rim him because he probably didn’t have a shower, but I didn’t care because I really wanted to do it, and I still loved it. I knew Ryan would always shower when he gets home so that was all the better.

With each pressing of my tongue he made a little whimper. I decided to put him out of his misery.

I grabbed the packet of lubricant and applied liberally. I slipped a finger in, and he gasped, I entered another, and he bit his lip. After I played with his ass a little, I withdrew my fingers. We were ready.

It was hot.

As I leaned on the wall of the shower cubicle, and Ryan leaned onto me, it started to sink in. Not only have we become a couple, but I was the top. After we switched position three times we finally settled on where we started, with both hands I grabbed tight on his waist and gave him everything I had. In all the porn movies I have on my hard drive, it always turned me on to see the butch guys with the muscles getting their brains fucked out of them. I was getting everything I wanted.

“You done?” I asked.

“Yeah, let’s go down. I hope they didn’t hear us.”

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