This is a story of friendship, commitment, love and trust. It is not a sex story. However, this story deals with love between male teenagers. If you are offended by stories involving love between two teenage boys, please do not read this story. There may be some sex scenes in this story; however, sex is not the main theme. If you are under age 18 or 21 or it is illegal to read this story where you live, don't read it. Reproducing this story for distribution without the owner's permission is a violation of that copyright.

Author's Comment: Well not much response so I think I will just finish posting this story elsewhere.


Sam (sam_lakes@hotmail.com)

Blind Love

by Sam Lakes

I had asked my mom if I could go with her before she got into her taxi. Her answer was no.

"You're doing cocaine again, aren't you?"

"No! I just want to have a good time with my friends. I don't want a spoiled, arrogant, self-centered, que-- brat along with me. What I do is my business, not yours. You don't have to worry about your precious money getting spent your asshole lawyer saw to that."

I watched as Mom's taxi pulled away and disappeared into the traffic then turn, went back into the hotel and up to my room.

It is hard for me to believe that two days ago was the best day of my life. It was so great. Then Thursday came and Mom was in one of her moods -- her `I hate Hawk' moods. I came in all cheerful and happy. I told her about my day with Trent.

"In the future I don't want you hanging out with some grown man. He obviously is a faggot or pervert wanting to hangout with a young boy."

"Mom, he's married and totally straight. He was just trying to be a friend."

"Well, I don't like him! You can work with someone else."

"I don't want to work with someone else I like working with Trent."

"Why are you a faggot like him?"

"He is not gay!" I yelled.

She said nothing. I stood in silence. It dawned on me she has never wanted me to have friends and now that I have them all she wants to do is run them down.

"You hate the idea of me having friends; you've never wanted me to have friends."

"Hawk, that's not true. I want you to have friends, dear. It's just those people are just too old for you -- it's not natural for a grown man to be hanging out with a young boy. You're much too impressionable."

"What you're afraid he'll make me queer?" I was getting angry.

"Well -- yes."

"Mom he can't make me queer! Because I am already queer! I've known it since I was twelve!"

"So you are telling me your gay and you've know it since you were twelve?" she asked blandly.

"Yes." I think I made a mistake.

"Okay, well, it's a bit of a shock, but I should have known you'd turn out that way," she said in a very controller voice.

"What do you mean?"

She looked at me without any real expression, "Sit down and have your breakfast, Miss Jenkins will be here in fifteen minutes for your class." She got up and left the table.

Nothing else was said. She really hates me now I know because I'm queer.

I looked out the window of my hotel room and wondered if I ran at the window would it smash? Would my body go sailing downward and smash on top of some car like they do in the movies? Would it hurt or would I be dead before it hit? How long would I live after I smashed it, if I didn't die? Maybe as I crash through the window a chard of glass would slice through my jugular vein. Blood would spew everywhere -- they say you're dead in 8 seconds when your jugular is cut. How long is that and would it take 8 seconds or less to smash into the roof of a car.

I turned from the window. I knew I would never do something like that I just get in a gruesome mood when I'm depressed. I know I would never take my life. Maybe it's because I am basically an optimist or I'm too chicken.

Just like now getting all those morbid thoughts. And I think "You know I could do it but what would happen if tomorrow I was supposed to meet the boy of my dreams -- I would have missed out on that and so would he and what-if he was as depressed as me and killed himself because I was the boy of his dreams too and he never met me. "

Two lives wasted.

I just can't do that to him.

Maybe he's not there tomorrow but he is there. I will find him if not tomorrow then next month, or next year. Someday. Someday we will meet. And he won't be like this silly pillow that I am hugging - he will hug me back.

I picked up the script and started seriously studying my part.


I am in a great mood today. Peter called last night. He's funny I told him about what happened and he said if I run into any problems with my mom he'd come to where ever and bitch slap her a few times the way he said it was really funny and he got me laughing so hard cuz he put on this New York gangster type voice.

We talked for two hours and before I hung up.

He said,"You're right I am too old for you, but I want you to know I am here for you as a friend and someone who really loves you a lot."

"Thanks," I said.

"I'm not finished yet," he giggled.

"Now what?" I thought, "Sorry go on."

"If you ever need anything -- anything. Just to talk or a hug or kiss or blowjob. I will be more than happy to deliver."

"Oh God!' I said trying to sound shocked, "Why did you have to say blowjob!"

"Oh shit, I'm sorry Hawk. I-I"

"Thanks a lot!"

"Hawken, I'm..."

"I am lying here in a hotel room 3000 miles away from you, horny as hell and you want to give me a blow job!" I laughed, "You've ruined me cuz I will not be able to get the picture of you giving me a blowjob out of my mind!"

He laughed and then in a serious tone, "God, I love you."

"I love you too."

"Well, I'll let you get some sleep. Take care and have fun in London. Goodnight and I love you."

"Yeah, it's getting late. Thanks for calling me. I love you too and I just want to leave you with this thought."


"Me jacking off thinking about you giving me a blowjob!" I laughed and hung up.

I wonder if he jacked off thinking about me. I know I was sure thinking about him.

I woke up about eight this morning and was ready to check out by ten. I could leave my baggage at the hotel until I was ready to catch the shuttle to Kennedy. The front desk clerk found me a store where I could by a cane. I decided that a cane would help me get more into the part.

I knew I could do this role. I wanted it. I knew I would get it as long as I got an audition, screen test, interview whatever I could convince anybody I was Trevor Smyth. Every word from here on out would be spoken with an English accent.

I didn't arrive at the cane shop until nearly four. Well, I wasn't in a hurry so I took in some of the sights of Manhattan.

"Hello, can I help you?" asked a young man probably nineteen or so.

"Good afternoon, sir. I need a cane for a blind person," I replied.

"Oh, what size and type?"

"Size? Type?" I hadn't even thought of that.


"Well, a white one for blind people."

"I think we established that. Do you want a telescoping one, folding? Who is it for?"

"For me?"

"You?" he asked. I nodded. "Excuse me is it for you?"

It was then that I realized he was blind.

I blushed, "Uh, er, yes for me. Sorry."

"Sorry, sorry for what?"

"I didn't realize you were uh, blind."

"That's alright; I didn't realize you were sighted."

He sounded a bit sarcastic but then I probably deserved it.

"If you're sighted why do you want a cane?"

"I'm trying to get into character. I have a chance at a role and the character is blind."

"Oh, and carrying a cane around is magically going to put you into the part. Suddenly by carrying a cane you can know how it feels! Sorry, but I don't have any magic canes."

"Robert, take a break," said the calm but commanding voice of a man behind me. Robert left.

"I'm sorry about that. He lost his sight two years ago. It's been really hard on him; he lost most of his friends and the rest just pity him."

I don't know why but it made me angry at first to think that people would desert someone because they became blind but the anger quickly became sadness.

"So, you have a role in a play?" he asked.

"Yes sir, in London, the character is blind."

Mr. Evans sold me a folding cane and even showed me how to use it. I left the shop. As I walked down the street I couldn't get Robert out of my mind. After five minutes I went back but the shop was close.

It was only four-twenty. I pounded on the door. Then I saw Robert coming to the door. "We're closed!" he shouted.

"Robert, open the door!" I shouted back.

"Oh, it's you. Go away! I don't need your sympathy! Okay! Just fuck off!" He turned and walked away.

I started pounding on the door and I kept pounding for five minutes straight. He finally returned and opened the door.

"What do you want?" he asked angrily.

"I don't know what it's like to lose my sight because I am sited, I don't know how it feels to loose all your friends because I don't have any friends except for my cousin in Australia. I am on my way to London, my mom dumped me off at a hotel -- to her I am a burden. I want this part in London. I wanted it because it's my ticket to be on my own and make friends. I need your help."

"You're crying."

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"I heard a tear drop and splash on the pavement," he said.


He laughed, "No dufus! I could hear it in your voice."

I giggled and laughed, "You're an ass, and you know that?"

"Yeah, I am and you're not English. But you had me fooled before. So are you going to just stand there or are you going to come in? Dad's making dinner; he likes you so you're invited to dinner."

I walked in and for the next two hours we talked not about being blind just stuff about ourselves. We spent the time just becoming friends. He guessed that I had a thing for Peter.

"It's the sound of your voice and the way you talk about him. I can hear the love and the caring you have for him."

He reminded me of a younger version of Trent -- straight as an arrow but caring. I still hugged him goodbye.

We promised to keep in touch by email and I would stop by to see him on my way back to LA.

I arrived at Kennedy an hour late.

Mom was a bitch but then what was new.

I showed her my cane. She could have cared less.

I told her there was some white powder by the corner of her nose. She looked away the wiped her nose. I smiled when she wasn't looking -- there wasn't any white powder. She was on coke and not the cola kind. Paranoia here we come.

Being in first class we were allowed on first. Well I would have been allowed on first anyway because I was using my cane. Mom was behind me.

"Would you put that cane away? And hurry up she whispered loudly."

"Mum, I can't hurry up. You know the doctor says I will never be sighted. Okay, Mum! I'm blind. You have to face it. You have to face reality!" I said in a normal tone of voice so that the flight attendants could hear.

"Oh! Shut up. I have a splitting headache and you are not helping. Now stop clowning around."

The flight attendant helped me to my seat. I had the aisle seat. Well, if I was blind a window seat is worthless.

When the Flight attendant brought our before takeoff drinks she reached across in front of me and handed my mom her drink then proceeded to try to hand me my drink but every time the drink was almost in my hand I would move my hand. I think the Flight Attendant was getting a bit frustrated until I asked, "Ma'am, would you have any Braille magazines?"

"Hawk!" blurted my mom.

"Mum! The teachers want me to practice my reading. I know you hate me for being like this but you just have to learn to accept it! I'm blind. Twenty-three operations and nothing!" I waved my hand dramatically in front of my face. "Nothing. Flight Attendant, could I please have my drink," I said politely as I held my hand out. I let her place it in my hand, as I knew I was pushing the envelope with Mom.

"I swear one of these days you're going to put yourself into an embarrassing situation and I am going to love watching you squirm!"

I giggled, "Mum what could happen? I really want this part. It's a part that will get me noticed." I sat there staring ahead and wondering what it would really be like to be the character I was hoping to play. What could be beautiful about being blind? I was lost in my thoughts not even realizing that we were now in the air heading towards London. What if I didn't get the part? I have read the script a hundred times and there were parts in the script where I got so into it that I was really crying. I was just thinking about that part how would I ever get through that part.

I thought about Robert and wished now that I had asked him about being blind, but it just didn't seem to be appropriate. I guess I found myself caring about him and cared more about making a friend and making sure he knew I was his friend.

All I found out was he had had an accident and his optic nerve had been damaged. All his friends had deserted him. It really saddens me -- how could anyone give up friendship. I could feel my warm tears beginning to flow then suddenly I felt a hand upon my shoulder. I quickly removed my glasses and wiped away my tears feeling slightly embarrassed. It was the flight attendant.

"Sorry, I was thinking about something sad," and forced a smile.

"You have beautiful eyes. I think that happens to all of us," she smiles kindly, "Here this will cheer you up." She handed me a very plain notebook. "There's a man and his son in coach. They said it would be fine for you to have this for the flight. It's a magazine in Braille."

I looked at the book in my lap then over to my mom. "Told you so. So, what are you going to do now?"

"It's not funny..." It really wasn't funny. I sat there trying to gather my courage to go return the book praying that it was the man's book, not his son.

"Ma'am," I said to the flight attendant as she walked by.

"Yes, dear."

"I-I can't read this...I-I was kidding I can't read Braille...could you please return this to the man?" I couldn't look at her I was so embarrassed. "Tell him thanks..." I muttered.

"Sure, it's no problem," she said taking the book from me as I slouched down in my seat.

I looked over at Mom. She had a definite smirk on her face.

"Happy?" I muttered. She smiled and continued reading her book. I learned back and closed my eyes trying to decide if I should carry on this pretense. I must have been convincing enough to fool the flight attendant; the question was could I convince the director I was the right person for the part.

Moments later I felt a hand on my shoulder and a man's voice spoke, "Hello, I'm John Ambrose. My son, Alex has asked me to tell you that he would be happy to help you with learning Braille. Is this your mother?"

My mouth moved but nothing came out. I nodded my head like a fool. I know I was blushing. How was I going to get out of this? Well, Mom got her wish!

To be continued -