Date: Mon, 10 Jul 2006 11:37:20 -0700
From: Gabriel Duncan <lonelyocean@alamedanet.net>
Subject: Angel 13

This story is fiction.  Any likeness to persons living or dead is
coincedence.

This story contains material that may not be suitable for minors.

For more stories, check out my wesbite, Htp://www.lonelyocean.co.uk

This chapter rhymes.


Tryst: Part Eleven of Angel Gabriel Duncan

"... Inside is me Is all that I am Inside is me And in you extend ..."

There was a flurry of activity right before Sam and Helen arrived. We had
finished the Alfredo sauce, added the blanched broccoli, boiled the pasta,
browned the chicken breasts and cooked them the rest of the way in the
oven. We thought we wouldn't have enough time. The potatoes were quartered
and scalloped and seasoned and keeping warm in butter by staying
covered. The wine was drug up from the cellar. She had pulled out a bottle
she had saved for stormy weather. She said I could drink some, too; which
made it even better. Only one thing left to do. Change my clothes, and
swipe the deodorant, too. They're coming soon. But there was still the
Alfredo sauce I had to watch or it would burn. And then the pot would be an
urn to represent the wasted night we'd spent trying to make things
right. And I know Macy wants to cheer me up. I don't want to disappoint
her. So I might as well make Sam feel welcomed and top off his cup.

They arrived on time. On the dot, even. And Sam looked as nervous as I
felt. He was dressed in baggy jeans, a black band tee with a black bag and
a baseball cap. Macy took care of introductions. I'd never just sat down
straight to dinner at a party before. But I figured there was much more in
store. Macy told me that she and Helen usually had a girls' night. So it
was alright if Sam and I wanted to have time to ourselves. In fact, she
preferred it. But she didn't want to make me feel marginalized. She just
thought I'd like it better hanging out with another guy. And I was
thankful.

Macy sliced the chicken up and threw it into a pot with the pasta and the
sauce. Sam and I sat down next to each other. Helen and Macy the same, Sam
said he'd brought a PS2. Did I play video games? Of course I did, I told
him. But I haven't played in a while, and he's probably better because he
owns them. Of course, I am a quick learner, I said, so I would end up
owning him.

Sam laughed and dinner began. Helen started asking the questions. She
wanted to know if I would be staying for long. I said I didn't know. She
asked if I would be going to school once it began again. I said I didn't
know. She got the hint, though, and we moved on to other avenues of
conversation. I asked Helen about her job and she paid our cooking a
compliment.

After dinner, we sat around sipping our wine. Sam and I looked nervously at
each other. Soon we would have to talk. It would be that time. Now, up to
that point, we'd been skirting around the reason for our presence. The fact
that we were unhappy was unarguably evident. But I was absolutely elated to
have someone else to play with. I'd spent the last week alone, on the train
and I was starting to get sick of it.

Macy and Helen excused themselves to go into the living room, down the
hall. Sam and I sat at the table. We tried to talk, but couldn't come up
with anything to say at all. I expected myself to be fun and
entertaining. Maybe I'd just let down my walls and ask him if he was up for
some gaming. Instead, I was sitting across from him and this felt like a
blind date. I was too worried about what kind of first impression I would
make. He wanted to know why I'd run away. I told him Los Angeles was
hell. If he'd ever been there then he'd know it as well. My father was an
asshole who liked to drink a lot. My mother never confronted him so it was
my face that his hook caught. I tried not to tell him my whole life's
story. But I told him the clean version, in all its blue-and-purple
glory. Sam took a moment to consider my words. He said he'd never been in
that situation, but he had some friends who were. Sam said I could talk to
him when I wanted, any time. He said Macy had his number and he knew that
Helen had mine.

I said, "Macy told me about you and your ex."

"I know," He said, "Jason leaving me was something I would have never
suspected."

"I know what you mean. When I was on the go, I had to cut mine clean."

"Oh, you have a boyfriend, too?"

"No," I tried to save face. His question seemed to touch deep inside; the
shadow in the dark, still trying to hide.

"Used to," I told him, "We broke up before I left."

"Oh no. Why? Were you two upset?"

He died, I thought. So we didn't have a choice. But yes, of course, was the
answer that I voiced. Denying the truth has its advantages. Sam was caught
up in the hopeless romanticism of being gone with the wind and being
endlessly abandoned. The "here's looking at you kid" of my train ride to
Penn. State. But the merit of the term "romantic" was one I wanted to
debate. But the contents of his backpack were not going to wait.

We set up the system quickly and went straight towards the Gauntlet,
keeping score and playing our hardest. It seemed like his skill was offset
by mine. And we tried the hardest in the games that were timed. But when it
came to strength and brute force, I won half of all. But we never seemed to
get ahead. Behind was not a way to fall.

By the end of our games, we both conceded: we were the same. So we no
longer needed to play versus again. We spent another two hours on the same
team. We played against bots, set to highest difficulty. We still picked
them off, as if they were fleas. I didn't think we'd have that much
fun. All too soon Helen said our night was almost done.

Sam and I both had to protest. Neither of us wanted to part yet. Macy spoke
up and said Sam could stay the night, it was okay. Helen said alright, Sam
could stay. They hugged, and Helen went her own way. Macy sat down with us
and watched us play.

"Looks like you two made quick friends." She said. She watched me spatter a
bot. Her eyes were far away. She seemed lost in thought. "Ah, to be young
again"

I looked away briefly, from the screen. Macy stood up and started to
leave. "Where are you going?" I just had to ask.

"It's getting late, guys. I need to hit the sack. Feel free to stay up as
long as you want. But don't be too loud, or else you're gonna get smacked."

I made that last part up. Macy isn't one to attack. The PlayStation 2 would
be the only thing assaulted in those rooms.

"By the way, Adam," She couldn't abstain, "Your bed will come the day
hereafter. Don't leave any stains."

Sam and I played until one in the morning. It seemed only minutes. But the
hours were soaring. My eyes were burning and my thumbs felt numb. We put
the system and games back where they came from. Sam helped to fold down the
couch. I wondered if I'd get the chance to head south that night; as we
shed most of our clothes and I snapped off the light.

I don't sleep well. And I'm sure you can understand why. Especially when
every night in our house a tornado tends to stop by. So by the time I was
tired and wanted to sleep, I couldn't close my eyes, or even pretend all
was well in my keep. Now, more than ever I was up on the edge. I was lying
facing his back and focusing on keeping my heartbeat out of my head.

It was obvious he was still awake. So when he asked if we could, he rotated
so we faced. Holding him felt good. It didn't hit me at first, because it
was caught between my thighs. But my phallus was growing and close to
reaching its full size. I became worried about the puddle it would
make. There was no mistaking the impression of the snake. Worried was the
wrong word to use; because he was hard, too.

At first, our friction seemed by chance. We didn't make eye contact, hardly
even a glance. I was almost sure it was my hallucination. But my eyes met
his and he was prompt to realization. Caught! I rocked forward, my blood
was boiling hot. He gasped softly, and clutched me closer, in
appreciation. I pulled down the covers and his face, things were about to
get heated. We kissed firmly and furiously repeated.

I couldn't help but gasp when he grasped me firmly. His skin was molten,
and my passion was burning. It took concentration; but I managed not to let
go. After we flipped and joined head-to-toe. His head popped out, then I
sucked it back. He moaned so loudly, I took all of him in.

We grunted and humped, vying to find release. We stopped and I pulled him
to his knees. I was led to his orifice by his pungent smell. He was sucking
harder, and I could feel it swell. He gasped and went rigid, upon my first
taste. I almost asphyxiated, when he pushed back in his haste. He begged me
to please, don't ever stop. His phallus was dripping, my chest catching
every drop. When I finally let up, I made him lick it off.

Sam grunted when I entered. He took it all at once. Then he moaned in
ecstasy as he began to take the brunt. The feeling of his bowels quickened
the pace of our dance. Then I hit his prostate and his cock thickened in my
hand. We were flying high, pounding hard and thumping fast.

"Hold fast!"

I stopped, for fear of having torn. But then he let out a low, holy moan. I
watched Sam's body turned to stone, and then the first shot was born. It
sprayed out and splattered, up along his chest. His muscles were clenching
and brought me to the crest. We gasped at the same time and came, ever
closer together. And turned to a sail, torn and drenched, finally tamed by
stormy weather.

I floated adrift, lost in the deep blue ecstasy. We didn't have the energy
to turn or pull out, we simply pulled up the covers and soon fell
asleep. As I was crashing, I heard him recite, a poem that would last in my
mind, long after the night.

"Inside is me; is all that I am. Inside is me; and in you extend."

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