The following contains descriptions of graphic sexual acts between consenting teenage boys. It is a work of pure fiction and has no basis in the real world. Any similarities between people and places is just simple and plain coincidence. Do not read this story if you are under 18 or the legal age in your area; or, if it is just down right illegal to read this material where you live. And, don't go any further if you don't want to read about gay/bisexuals falling in love and having sex.

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Strangers on a Train

by J. A. Adkins

Part 3-Darren

So there he was. All the six feet; jaw dropping; drool inducing; perfectly toned; icy blue-eyed; adonis looking essence of him. I watched him grab a bag of Skittles from somewhere above the door-his luggage most likely-and stare at me. His eyes were the most amazing color of blue I had ever seen. From somewhere in the vacuum that suddenly existed between my ears and my brain, I heard the sound waves of a voice. Echoed words telling or asking me something. My name. He was asking for my name and telling me his. I had to focus. He waved his hand and my brain regained consciousness.

"Helloo! Anyone home in there?"

I blinked frantically. "Umm..."

"Oh good. You're alive. I was beginning to wonder if I had to put a quarter in you in or something."

I laughed, longer and louder than I probably should have.

"I'm Darren." He smiled warmly, ignoring the fact that I most likely looked like I belonged in the lock down ward of some county hospital. He extended out his hand. His perfect hand. I looked at it, only keenly aware at that moment that he wanted me to shake it.

"See, on Earth, we shake hands when we meet new friends." He was sarcastic. I couldn't help but laugh, even though he was making fun of me.

Finally, my nerve endings reconnected, my brain cells resurrected themselves from the dark place they had traveled to, and my penis returned some of the blood it had stolen from the rest of my body, allowing me to function... at least a little better.

"I'm.... umm... Taylor!" Yes! I remembered my name. "Taylor Chapman." I shook his hand, a little violently. His fingers were soft and delicate, but not over feminine.

He nodded his head. "Hi, umm Taylor. I guess we're roommates for a while then. Sorry about this."

"Oh... umm... yeah... Umm... it's no problem. Really! Might be nice to have someone to talk to." And suck and fuck until our horny little brains fall out! I screamed in my head, simply smiling on the outside as I closed the door behind me.

He sat down in the chair facing the front of the train, smiling politely. "Yeah," was all he replied with. I was finding it very difficult to read anything from him. Such a frustrating thing.

Darren tore open the jumbo sized bag of Skittles and poured himself a small handful. I watched with hopeful intent The RAINBOW colored candy fill his hand before he dumped them onto his waiting tongue. I wanted that tongue. I wanted to taste the sweet essence of the fruity candy on his taste buds. He saw me staring and extended the bag in offering.

"Sure," I said, holding out my hand. He poured about the same amount as he had for himself. "Thanks."

"No olem," he replied, chewing the mouthful of candy.

I ate the tiny pieces a little slower than he did, putting just one or two in my mouth at a time. I have to admit that Skittles were always one of my favorites in the world of candy. They're the perfect snack item for any homosexual. "Taste the rainbow" should be ever gay boy's mantra, I've always thought.

Outside and under the floor beneath our feet the rhythmic sound of the train racing over the tracks, trekking quickly through the landscape filled the silence that had suddenly settled between Darren and I. I wanted to say something, but I didn't know what. I couldn't remember ever being this shy. I tried not to stare at him-at his perfect, angel face; or his amazing body so disappointingly hidden underneath his tight clothes. I gazed out the window, watching as the world zipped by in rich green and khaki brown or golden blurs. I was actually trying to see his reflection; but, the sun was on me more than it was him. I glanced at him when I heard the cascading Skittles roll out of the heavy, red bag and into his palm.

His eyes found mine. It was like a bullet exploding into my heart, just then. I know I must have blushed. Yet all he did was extend the bag in offering again. I grinned, stretching my hand out once more. He filled it a little more full before retracting his hand. The two of us sat there, in that little cabin, eating our handfuls of Skittles one fruity mouthful at a time.

Suddenly, though, he broke the silence in a way that caught me completely off guard. "So, did you and the porter have fun?"

I choked. This, a split second before I spit the remaining Skittle in my mouth at the window. The little, round-partially chewed-purple mass clung to the glass surrounded in a small puddle of my own saliva. Darren laughed at the whole scene in front of him. I quickly found my voice, replying, "Wha... What are you talking about?"

Darren looked at the purple glob on the window. "Oh, I think you know."

"He's nice," I responded quickly. "A very cool kid."


"And we were just getting to know each other better-if you really must know."

"Oh, I must! I must!" he said with mock enthusiasm.

I glared at him. I was surprised and embarrassed that he had seen Jake and I together; that now he probably thinks I am a total slut. But I was also annoyed that he was making fun of me now. I didn't like him any less. I just didn't like the way he was acting now.

"So... you two know each other... inside out now, huh?" He grinned a devilish, mocking grin.

"As a matter of fact... no. Not really, no."

"Really? So what were you two doing in there, then?"

"Why do you care?"

"I don't," he said simply. "Just trying to make conversation is all."

I looked out the window. "Well, it's none of your business."

"You're right," Darren said, almost apologetically. He poured himself more Skittles. "So let me start over." He emptied most of the contents of his hand into his mouth. "Sho, ere are oo fom?" he asked, his jaw trying to form the words around the mangled lump of juicy candy attaching itself to his teeth.

I chuckled, looking sidelong at him. "Back at the wonderland we just left. What about you?"

"Chicago, originally. But I've been moving around a lot this last year."

"Why's that?"

"Just a sybatical of sorts. Branching out from the old conventions of my life."

I nodded my head. "In desperate need of an adventure?"

Darren grabbed my eyes with his again. He smiled slightly. "Something like that."

"So now you're on your way home?"

"Yeah." He poured another small handful of Skittles into his hand, then rolled up the half empty bag, tucking it near the arm of his chair on the window sill. "Why are you going to Chicago? Are you running away from home or something?" He smiled jokingly as he said it.

I couldn't help but avoid his eyes this time. I stared out the sunlit glass. My skin felt cold under the presence of his question. I could feel him staring at me. His beautiful eyes probing into my soul. But I felt other eyes, the eyes of those behind me-in my past-staring down at me. I knew the answer already. It was so simple. So obvious and true. I had known it before he had even asked the question. Before I had even left the station; or walked out of the house.

"Yes," I whispered.

"Aren't your parents going to come looking for you?"

I shook my head, keeping my eyes away from his. "No."

I could feel Darren staring at me, waiting for an answer; searching for a clue as to my sudden solemn appearance. It was the humbled visage of the heated torment inside me. I took a deep breath and stood up, pushing aside my somberness as much as I could. "I'm going to get something to drink. Those things always make me thirsty," I said, gesturing toward the candy. "You want anything?"

He shook his head, "No, I'm fine."

"OK. I'll be back then."

"OK. I'll be right here."

I grinned, opening the door then closing it quickly behind me as I stepped out into the bouncing corridor. I slumped against the wall, breathing out painfully. My chest suddenly hurt. My heart was aching, melting in the battlefield of guilt and sadness spread out from my soul to just under my skin. I could feel the memories flooding back to me, converging unstoppably in my mind.

I closed my eyes, a motion I knew I was a mistake. Replacing the darkness that should have filled my vision behind my eyelids was instead a painful, brilliant blur of the last year. The rocking, hypnotic clapping of the train was lost in the momentary ambiance as I remembered my house again. The walls were bathed in the crisp orange light of an early autumn sunset. The pictures are all hung neatly on the wall, secure in their place in time and history. There are birds in the birdbath near the back patio. The TV is on, but muted.

Then, like a crack of lightning the peace is broken. A fracture in the sanity of my existence. In all existence in and around that house it seemed. It started with the thudding of footsteps hurrying down the stairs. My footsteps. The beginning of my frantic flight of escape.

Then the yelling follows. Accusations and rebuttals, insults and curses thrown like spears. I was tired of their lies. They were tired of my disobedience.

"Stop lying to me!" I remembered yelling over and over again.

"We're not lying!" they screamed back.

A fierce battle without guns or bombs but voices and hatred that rattled the walls like a deadly and violent air raid. Time flies by my eyes. The night fast forwarding in my brain. Alcohol and sperm bathe my tongue. Wet lips and glossy eyes pass mine. I see the car lights that stretch and become infinite plasma streams streaking faster than sound through the night. My ears buzz. My stomach burns. The lights come apart, becoming a million pinpoints of sparkling energy. I taste blood.

My body screams out in pain, but only I can hear it. The laughter in the car is gone. The car is gone. Like a badly edited movie I cut back and forth between two places, never long enough to understand what is going on. The car I was in is mangled and wrapped around another. There are bodies in the street. There are bodies all around me. Doctors without faces poke and prod at my insides. Electricity excites my nerves. I try to scream. I am screaming but only I can hear. It's all going by so fast. Happening so fast. My brain skips ahead to an empty house disappearing up the street behind the taxi cab; then back to a courthouse. My grandparents orbit behind me as tall men with bald heads and breath reeking of coffee amble on and on. There's more yelling later. A fight. A deadly fight. I see a shotgun but stumble back in a dizzying blur into time when the trigger is squeezed. I'm in the hospital again; before the courtroom or the shotgun or the empty house. I've just come out of surgery. A doctor and a police officer stand over me.

"Your parents are dead," they say.

I loose myself in tears. I cried then. I'm crying now, I realized. I blink. Somehow I made it into the bathroom. I don't know how long I've been standing there, staring at myself in the mirror above the sink. I'm still crying though. I can't stop. I don't want to. I'd been holding it in all day. My knees lost the battle to support me and I collapsed to the floor, sobbing. I cried and I cried. Tears I couldn't shed before would not stop falling now. I don't know how long I cried. I didn't care.