This
story concerns teenage gay males who are involved in sexual
situations. If it is illegal for you to read such stories, or if you do
not like to read such stories, please leave now.
This story is copyright 2006 by the author who retains all rights.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents
either are the product of the author's imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.
This is my second submission to Nifty. This is a continuation of
“Kiel’s Story” which was last posted on 7/24/06. It is not necessary to
read “Kiel’s Story” before reading this, but it may help you understand
where the character relationships started. Any comments or questions
are welcome at: carl_holiday@att.net
A warm thank you goes out to all who’ve written. I appreciate knowing
someone is actually reading this stuff. I try to respond to all,
including flames, but time is precious in my life, so if I didn’t
answer yours, please accept my apology.
Tim and the Corsair
by Carl Holiday
Chapter 14 – All is not Forgiven
Mark came home, to
our home
that is, a week after almost dying. His mother and father brought him
to us. It
had been raining for three days and there was no sign of improvement on
the
horizon. Mother and Doctor Randall welcomed them into our living room.
The rest
of us, Sally, Scott, Johnny, and I, stayed in Sally’s room playing
Chutes and
Ladders. We kept the door cracked so we could eavesdrop, we didn’t want
any
surprises.
Doctor Randall
sounded very
clinical; in fact, more clinical than he usually sounded. From what he
was
saying, he figured Mark would be with us until the end of the school
year,
using the group home as a transition back to his regular life. He
sounded
upbeat that Mark had confided in me that he hadn’t really tried to
commit
suicide, but fell under Sam’s psychotic influence and did something he
might
not ever consider if he hadn’t thought he loved Sam.
I wanted to see
Mark’s face
as everyone talked about him, acting like he was not even with them.
Even his
parents sounded like they didn’t know their son and hoped the son they
knew
could return to them in six or seven weeks. I began to think Mark might
have
been drugged at the hospital and was simply running on body function
while his
mind stayed comfortably subdued.
Then Mother started
talking
about Mark’s room and how he could make it his own, just like at home
because
this was foremost a real home. She didn’t say it was Sam’s room. I
think maybe
the good doctor told her not to mention Sam. And, then she said, “Come
on Mark,
let’s go to your room.”
They passed by
Sally’s door
and actually Mr. Patterson was standing right outside, peeking through
the
crack at us. I could just see him smile. Then everything went crazy,
just like
you’d expect in a group home for psychiatric patients.
“This is Sam’s
room!” Mark
screamed. There was a sound, a heavy, dull thud. The sound someone
makes when
they fall to a carpeted floor in a house. Mark was crying. Not regular
crying,
crazy crying, incoherent babbling crying on and on about the room being
Sam’s
and Sam still being in there. Then suddenly he stopped.
“Geoff? Could you
help me
with Mark?” Doctor Randall asked when he opened Sally’s door a little.
“I’ve
given him a sedative and we need to get him comfortable.”
“Sure,” I said.
Obviously,
Doctor Randall had the injection in his pocket ready to jab Mark if he
went
crazy on them. I could have told them he was going to go wacko, but who
am I?
Mr. Patterson and I
got Mark
to his feet and helped him into the bedroom. He was still conscious
enough to
walk, but that was the extent of his physical abilities. When we sat
him on
Sam’s bed I saw the revulsion in Mark’s eyes. There was just a flicker
of
awareness, but not enough to stop me from undressing him.
“Why don’t you guys
go back
to the living room,” I said. “I’ll get him into bed. I’ve done this
lot’s of
times.”
Mrs. Patterson gave
me the
oddest look. Then she looked at her husband, who looked at me
strangely, too.
Was I inadvertently supplanting their authority? Or, was it something
else?
“I’ll do it,” she
said,
pointedly.
I shrugged and went
out of
the room. Just as I stepped into Sally’s room I heard Mr. Patterson
say, “My
son is not a homosexual. So, Arlene, I would appreciate it if your son
left my
son alone.”
They didn’t know.
Mark had
kept all of this a secret somehow. All the talk about Sam being one of
the
family wasn’t because they thought Mark and Sam were really,
passionately in
love, they must have thought the boys were simply very close best
friends. I
heard Mark start to whimper. Then there was nothing. Doctor Randall
must have
given Mark an extra dose. I went up to my room.
I didn’t hate them.
They were
friends. They had been friends, I thought. They were Mark’s parents. I
saved
Mark. I took the quilt off my bed and balled myself into my favorite
corner. I
didn’t want to think about being a homosexual. Someone to be feared. I
wanted
to be a little boy who had a friend who was hurting and I wanted to
comfort
him, but his parents wouldn’t let me touch him, lest I give him some
horrible
disease.
I don’t know how
long I lay
there listening to mind feel sorry for itself. I don’t know if I slept
at all.
I simply stayed under the quilt trying to be as small as I could.
Trying to be
as insignificant as possible. Trying not to be something my friend’s
parents
feared.
“Honey? Are you
okay?”
Mother’s voice intruded into my pity party. She pulled the quilt away
from my head.
“They’ve gone, okay?”
I didn’t say
anything. I felt
unclean, filthy, someone to be shunned. I wanted to cry, but that would
have been
giving into to them. Letting them win. I was mad at me and them.
“Geoff, honey,
please?”
Mother said. I felt her hand on my face. It felt warm, soft,
comforting. It
made me feel good knowing she didn’t think I was some kind of leper who
had to
be avoided.
I looked up into
her eyes.
She leaned down and kissed me. I pulled the quilt back over my head.
“I’ll be okay in a
little
bit,” I whispered.
“Do you want me to
get
Timothy?”
“No, please, not
him, not
now. Please, Mother, could I just be left alone for a while longer?”
“Sure, honey.” I
felt her
hand on my shoulder. It gave me a little motherly squeeze and a soft
pat. Yet,
it lingered there, softly caressing me.
“Mother, you’re not
leaving,”
I said pulling the quilt away from my face. She was smiling. The smile
she gave
me whenever the world came crashing down on my head. The smile she gave
me
before I went crazy and I started to look for ways to kill myself. The
smile
that says, “I know you’re homosexual and I love you. I will always love
you.”
I pulled the quilt
over my
face so she couldn’t see the tears in my eyes.
I woke up in the
middle of
the night lying on my side with an erection slowly thrusting between my
thighs,
an arm draped over my chest, and hot breath on my neck in the slow,
regular
rhythm of sleep. By the size of the person, it could only have been
Mark. I
shut my eyes and went back to sleep.
When I awoke the
next morning
the erection was inside me, still slowly thrusting. The arm felt firm
across my
chest and two fingers were doing a very good job on my right nipple.
Lips and a
tongue were busy on my neck.
“I’m awake,
already,” I
whispered.
“Doesn’t matter,
I’m not done
yet,” Mark whispered between kisses. “I’ve missed you.”
And, his hand moved
down to
my own hard-on and began to stroke it in rhythm to his own thrusts. I
shut my
eyes thinking back to a time when this seemed beyond my wildest dreams.
Mark
the football player, the jock, boyfriend of Monica, and now he was
waking me up
to a good slow fuck. You can’t get much more romantic than that when
you’re
sixteen and horny as hell.
I felt the familiar
tingle in
my balls as my scrotum tightened and more blood was forced into my
cock. I felt
Mark’s cock change its rhythm to short quick thrusts and then it pulled
almost
out before being thrust forcefully back in and his body stiffened
against mine.
He pulled out again, then thrust back in. My own cock was going crazy
as Mark
tightened his grip in response to his orgasm.
We lay there held
by Mark’s
strong arms and my unwillingness to move. I didn’t care what his
parents
thought, Mark was about as gay as you could get as far as I was
concerned. I’d know
for certain when I fucked him because if he came like he usually did
from just
having my cock in his ass, well, you can’t get much gayer than that.
“I have to pee,” I
whispered,
not wanting to end the wonderful feeling of being in Mark’s arms.
“So do I,” Mark
whispered and
his cock twitched.
“Not in me you
don’t,” I said
pulling away from his still erect cock. “I’m not going to get a piss
enema from
you.”
“Ah, party pooper.”
“Pooper is right if
I don’t
empty this bladder soon.”
He beat me to the
toilet, but
stood aside and let my stream join his. Other than the bandage around
his neck
and the yellowing bruises, he looked lovely.
“Hey, you two,
don’t flush,
okay?” Johnny hollered from the shower.
“Oops, too late!”
Mark
hollered back as he pushed down the handle.
“Jesus Christ was
Mary’s
favorite son,” Johnny exclaimed stepping out of the shower. He looked
lovely,
too. His cock was up. Obviously, we’d interrupted a very touching
moment.
“Do you want me to
take care
of this?” Mark asked, kneeling down in front of Johnny and putting his
mouth
over the soap covered cock. “Oh, damn, why didn’t you rinse. You’re
supposed to
rinse these things.”
He got up
sputtering and
spitting, and pushed Johnny back into the stall then followed him,
kneeling
down under the showering water. He quickly rinsed off Johnny’s dick and
before
he resumed sucking, he said, “I’ve got the front, you can have the
back,
Geoff.”
He put his hands
around
Johnny grabbing the boy’s two melons. When he pulled them apart I saw
Johnny’s
pucker, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t get down on my knees and put
my mouth
on that part. It didn’t matter if Johnny washed it or not. I couldn’t
do it.
I went back into my
room and
shut the door. I sat on my bed waiting for the inevitable ribbing, the
joking,
the putting Geoff down. It didn’t matter though. I couldn’t do that. I
didn’t
think I could ever do that to someone, even someone I loved dearly.
“The shower’s
yours, Johnny
helped me with mine,” Mark said walking back into my room drying his
hair. He
looked beautiful.
I grabbed my towel
from the
back of the chair by the bookcase and passed him without acknowledging
his
presence. His hand grabbed a forearm and held me firmly. I didn’t turn
around.
“Johnny told me you
don’t
like doing that,” Mark whispered in my ear. “It’s okay. I don’t like
doing some
things, too.”
“Like what?” I
asked, turning
to him. He did everything. What didn’t he like?
“Like telling my
parents I’m
gay,” Mark said, pulling me into his arms and hugging me tight against
him. He
was kissing my neck.
“Your secret is
safe with
me,” I said feeling his left hand descend toward my ass. “But, if you
don’t let
me go, I’ll be late for school.”
“I’ll miss you.”
“Don’t sound so
sad, you’ll
have Doctor Randall to entertain you.”
“Oh, goody, I can’t
wait.
Just don’t be late coming home because I want that cock of yours up my
ass. I
want to have one of those explosive orgasms you give me.”
Mark was definitely
gay. His
parents didn’t have to worry about me being around him, he was doing
all of
this on his own.
I don’t know why I
was so
concerned about getting to school because it was a typical boring
Monday of
turning in weekend homework; reestablishing my place in the cafeteria,
the
Dolphin Table suddenly became the “in” place for unattached females
during our
lunch period; and, trying to get a good time on the first lap of the
school
track so I didn’t have to take an extra lap. The trick for me was not
to trip over
those itty-bitty cinder chips like I was prone to do.
What made this
Monday special
was the anticipation of another wild sexual encounter with Mark. It
certainly
sounded like he was back to wanting my concentrated interest in giving
him more
pleasure than he could handle. I floated through the day unable to pay
attention
to much of anything. The only problem I was having, though, were the
endless
erections I kept getting every time a memory of seeing Mark’s face when
he
released under me bathing both of us, the bed, and half the room with
his come.
Mostly, I thought of Mr. Patterson telling my mother I was to stay away
from
his son. That thought alone almost instantly knocked out an erection.
I practically ran
from the
bus stop to the house. Johnny was trying to keep up with me, but he
gave up
after the second block. The back door was locked when I tried the
handle.
Doctor Randall wasn’t at home. That was good, but maybe Mark wasn’t
there
either, that was bad. I fumbled with my keys dropping them onto the
porch. Then
bending over to pick them up the magazines I checked out of the library
for a
paper I was doing for American history fell out of my binder. When I
bent over
to pick them up my binder, math book, and a handout from biology spread
themselves across the porch, too. I tried to pick everything up at
once,
spreading them out even worse. My cock was hard in anticipation to what
was
waiting for me inside. Then I felt a hand on my ass slip down between
my
thighs.
“You’re making me
hot doing
that,” Johnny said. “No one is home, so why are you in such a hurry.”
“Mark might be in
there,” I
said. “He could be in there.”
“If he was, he’d
have opened
the door.”
Yeah, Mark would
have opened
the door. Now, I was getting mad. All this hurrying and he isn’t there.
He said
he wanted me like when we first started having sex. This was to be his
homecoming gift. This was going to be special for both of us.
Only, he wasn’t
there. I
plodded up the stairs to my room and started my homework. I heard a car
in the
driveway, but it was only Scott’s ride from his school. Another car
arrived,
but it was Sally coming home from her after school caregiver. And, then
I was busy
on my math problems. Not being particularly good at math, mostly
because I
didn’t see any sense in it, I struggled through the problems. It was
just
numbers or symbols representing numbers. I’d taught myself calculus
when I was
nine, but there wasn’t anything there, either. Give me a foreign
language,
especially something real foreign like Finnish or Basque and I was in
heaven,
but math just never seemed to click.
I felt two hands on
my
shoulders. The grasp was firm. I glanced at my left shoulder. It was
Doctor
Randall’s hand.
“He’s gone,” he
said. “His
father came this afternoon and took him to his brother’s.”
“Gary?”
“Yeah, do you know
him?”
“Yeah, I know him.”
I should
have said, “Yeah, he knew me in the Biblical sense,” but I didn’t think
the
good doctor would see the humor.
“I just wanted to
let you
know it wasn’t my idea.” The hands squeezed my shoulders. Those were
dad hands.
Tears were in my
eyes, but I
didn’t want to turn around. It feels bad when you get it from people
you think
you like. Mark’s parents just didn’t understand, but there was nothing
I could
do to sway their minds. That was Mark’s job.
“Are you okay?”
“No, but I’ll get
over it. It
certainly isn’t something to die over. It’s just hard being me and
having
people hate me because of what I am, not who I am. You know?”
There was a final
firm
squeeze. I was really beginning to like the doctor in dad mode. He was
getting
very good at it. I kind of wish my dad had been good at it, instead of
hating
me for what I am.
I sat there looking
at my
math problems. They were all correct. They were always correct. I may
not have
liked math, but I was still got all the answers right. There just
wasn’t
any
challenge, so I did sloppy work, didn’t turn in assignments, stupid
shit like
that. Trust me, you can be too smart for your own good.
Time seemed to drag
on. I
couldn’t think clearly about anything. My mind simply went on holiday,
but left
me standing at the bus depot. Nothing made sense any more. All the
trouble I
caused myself over Stevie’s death. Trying to jump off that stupid
bridge was
about the stupidest thing I ever did, except for going out on that
bridge,
again, after thinking Kiel and Tim were going together. Of course, the
biggie
was standing outside the railing on Jerry’s balcony. So close, and yet
so very
far away.
All that stupid
suicide shit,
for what? I was still as fucked up as ever, if not worse. I was pining
away for
a boy who in all likelihood was dead, or worse. I thought I was in love
with a
boy who until a few months ago was certain he was straight. And, his
parents
took him out of a home where he is loved by all because they’re afraid
I might
give their son the homosexual disease.
I was mad, but
there was
nothing I could do.
My second pity
party in as
many days was interrupted by a knock on my bathroom door. Johnny wanted
something, but I wasn’t certain I wanted to deal with him just then.
It’s kind
of hard to feel sorry for yourself when you have to worry about
upsetting an
innocent bystander. I went over to the door and unlocked it, then
walked back
to my bed.
The door opened
slowly and
only his hand could be seen at first, like in a horror movie. Johnny’s
smile
came in and I had to chuckle. He was no horror movie. He looked
worried. He
came over to my bed and sat down beside me. His hand was on my thigh
almost
immediately.
“I’m sorry Mark
isn’t here
any more,” he said leaning against me.
“It’ll be okay
after a
while,” I said. “Maybe he’ll come back when they realize I’m not the
big threat
they think I am.”
“No, he’s gone,” he
said as
his hand massaged its way toward my growing dick. “They never come
back. It’s
just like in the hospital. They come in and you get to know them. Then,
one
day, you come back from the shower and the bed is empty. No one ever
says why.
They just go away. It’s sad.”
I could hear the
fear in his
voice. I think he saw all of us as potential threats to his happiness.
Peter
was gone. Sam left. And, now, Mark was gone and he hadn’t been here a
day.
I looked down at
Johnny’s
hand as it closed in on its goal. My erection was as obvious as hell. I
put a
hand on his neck and started to rub that spot where he was ticklish. He
scrunched up his shoulders and grabbed my dick. I leaned toward him and
smelled
shit.
“You didn’t wipe
yourself,” I
said pulling away from him. “Did you take a shower after PE today?”
“I forgot,” he said
and his
face changed. He was someone different. His voice was different, too,
childlike. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”
“Go in the bathroom
and wash
yourself. You smell like shit.”
“Don’t be mad at
me. Please,
I didn’t mean it. My mommy said I have to come home after school. I
can’t go
out and play with the other children. I have to come straight home.
Please, I
didn’t do it on purpose. Johnny forgot. Please, my mommy said I have to
come
home after school.”
“Johnny?” I nudged
his
shoulder, but it didn’t do any good. He was going away.
“My mommy said I
have to come
home. My mommy said I have to be a good little boy. My mommy said I
can’t play
with the other children. My mommy said I have to use a diaper. I have
to wear
plastic panties. My mommy gives me a bottle when I come home. She makes
me put
it in my mouth. My mommy makes me potty in my diaper so she can change
me. My
mommy says I’m her baby.”
He was losing it.
This wasn’t
the everyday sweet Johnny I’d come to love and welcome into my bed at
night.
This was the crazy Johnny, the Johnny who didn’t clean himself.
“Doctor Randall!” I
yelled.
“Doctor Randall! Come up here, please! Doctor Randall, I need your
help!”
He was loud coming
up the
stairs. Stomping loud. I guess I never noticed that about him. He
walked
noisily if he was in a hurry.
“My mommy said . .
.” Johnny
went on and on like a scratched record. Tears were starting to dribble
out of
his eyes. His hand left me and he put his thumb in his mouth. I watched
him as
he sort of crumpled to the floor. His body was quivering. He wet
himself.
“What’s wrong
Geoff?” Doctor
Randall said coming into the room. “Oh, shit! What happened?”
“I think Mark not
being here
set him off. Then I kind of scolded him for not cleaning himself. Is he
going
to be okay?”
“Go get my black
bag.”
“The drug bag?”
“Yes, hurry, I need
to get
him calmed. Hurry!”
I practically
killed myself
going down the stairs. You don’t tell an uncoordinated teenager to
hurry. I
didn’t fall, but I took two stairs at once and felt totally out of
control. I
caught myself on the railing and sort of stumbled the rest of the way
down. The
bag was on the credenza and I opened it to make sure it was the drug
bag.
When I got back
upstairs,
Johnny was half sitting on his chair and half leaning on Doctor Randall
who was
trying to get his clothes off.
“Get me a soapy
washcloth,”
he said.
I dropped the bag
on the bed
and went into the bathroom. There was a small plastic pail under the
vanity we
used when we cleaned the floor and shower. I rinsed it out and filled
it
halfway with hot soapy water. I grabbed a couple washcloths and a bath
towel.
Johnny was naked
when I
returned. Doctor Randall stood him up and I knelt down and started to
clean the
shit and piss off him. He was still quivering slightly kind of like he
was
shivering from being cold. I cleaned him as best I could then changed
the water
to rinse him off. Although Johnny normally slept nude, we put him in
briefs and
a t-shirt. No sex for Johnny tonight. Doctor Randall gave him an
injection and
Johnny went to sleep.
“Thanks,” Doctor
Randall said
as we left Johnny. “You’d make a good nurse.”
“Why, because I’m
gay?”
“No, because you
care.”
“Thanks.”
“Now go down and
see if you
can get Scott to talk.”
“This didn’t happen
when
Peter or Sam left. What’s different?”
“It happened, but
it was too
subtle for you to notice. Johnny will be okay. I’ll keep him home for a
couple
days then he’ll be the happy, bubbly Johnny again.”
I looked back into
Johnny’s
room and he was balled up on his side with his thumb in his mouth. How
long
does it take to treat a child like a baby until it finally sinks in and
becomes
part of their persona? Give Johnny half a chance and he’d revert to a
little
baby that peed and shit on itself. I felt sorry for him, sorry enough
to
consider not having him back in my bed, ever. He was too dear, too
childlike,
to be sexually attractive anymore.
I felt a hand on my
shoulder.
“You’re getting
good with the
dad grab,” I said, turning to Doctor Randall.
“The what?”
“Your hand on my
shoulder. My
dad used to do that. I guess it’s something you do to make a kid feel
good.
Right?”
“I guess so. I
never really
had a chance to be a dad.”
“I’m sorry, but I
think
you’ll be good, anyway.”
“Thanks, now go
talk to
Scott. He won’t talk to me.”
Scott didn’t answer
when I
knocked on his door, but then Scott hardly ever answered when someone
knocked. I
think it was because he had no personal space at home. His parents, his
father
especially, simply walked into his room whenever they wanted and his
father
wanted a lot. So, I opened the door and stuck my head in.
“Are you decent?” I
asked.
No reply. Not
unusual,
either. If he was busy on something, he was very good at ignoring the
outside
world. He was sitting at his desk.
“Are you busy?” I
asked.
No reply. I began
to wonder
if Scott had indeed returned to the land of unspoken words. I had to
admit,
though, it sounded like a beautiful place, but I could never do that. I
was a
word person. I had to talk, even when it wasn’t quite appropriate or
wanted.
I looked over his
shoulder
and saw him working on a haiku and it was in Japanese. He was using a
calligrapher’s brush and black ink. He looked up at me.
“I’m doing it for
school,” he
said. “My teacher’s parents are Japanese and they are coming here
tomorrow from
their home in Kagoshima, Japan. She’s going to bring them to school on
Friday. I wanted to do
something special.”
“You speak
Japanese?”
“Yeah, and I guess,
or at
least my teacher says, I’m seem to have a feel for the culture, too. I
did one
for her for Christmas. She had it framed and has it in her apartment.”
“Why are you
talking to me?”
“Why shouldn’t I,
oh, you mean
why am I talking to you and not to Doctor Tim or Johnny?”
“Yeah, something
like that.”
He rinsed his brush
and dried
it. Then got up out of the chair and went over to sit on his bed. I sat
down
beside him. That was another thing that was strange of Scott, the
ability to
stop talking while he was doing something, or was it the inability to
talk and
do something? I couldn’t figure it out. He didn’t talk at meals. He’d
talk
before sitting down, but when we were passing the bowls and platters
around, he
stopped talking and refused to talk until he was finished eating. It
drove
Mother up the wall.
When I sat down he
quickly
leaned over and kissed me. Then smiled. I liked Scott’s smile, it was
devious,
full of unknown things. He was sort of like Peter when he kissed, but
more
innocent.
“I’m sorry about
Mark,” he
said.
I waited for more,
but he
wasn’t going to offer anything else.
“It’ll work out,
everything
works out in the end,” I said. Happy endings. That was what I was going
to
think about from now on. Happy endings. No more shit. No more
unhappiness. No
more sadness.
“No, he’s gone. I
feel it.
His spirit is gone from this house. He’ll never be in this house ever
again.”
“How can you say
that?” I
asked. It sounded scary, like he could see into the future or
something. And,
he looked weird when he said it, like he saw into the future and was
simply
telling me what he saw or didn’t see.
“I don’t know,” he
said
shrugging his shoulders and then kissing me, again. “I just know he
won’t come
back. I don’t know if you’ll ever see him again, but I know he’ll never
step
foot in this house, ever.”
“What are you some
kind of
junior fortuneteller?” I was trying to make a joke, but his face
changed,
again, kind of like he was listening to something. Did he hear voices?
Was
Scott schizo? I wouldn’t be surprised considering what his father put
him
through.
“No, I just know,
okay? I can
do this? Don’t ask me to explain because I don’t understand it either.
I just
know sometimes. I can’t tell you what horse will win at a racetrack. My
dad
learned that one real quick. Then he fucked me without lube as
punishment. He
lost a lot of money believing I could call the horses, but I can’t do
that. It
has to be long term and I can’t make it happen. If you asked me what
you were
going to be doing thirty years from today, I can’t tell you. But, it
might come
to me that you’ll die on August 23, no August 22, 2033, late in the
night. I forgot about time
zones.”
“Time zones? But,
I’ll be
old.”
“Yeah, most people
die young.
I can see that, too. When I meet people, I kind of know if they’ll be
around
next year, or so. Oh, yeah, you won’t be living here, someplace east.”
“You’re weird.”
“And, crazy, too.
Don’t
forget crazy. If I wasn’t crazy, I wouldn’t be here talking to you. Oh,
and
about Doctor Tim? I didn’t talk to him because I was thinking about the
haiku.
You know I don’t talk and concentrate, too. And, Johnny? Well, I went
up to his
room, but he stunk. I thought we might fool around or maybe shoot some
baskets,
but he stunk.”
“Johnny has that
problem,” I
said. Thinking about Johnny curled up in his bed, drugged out of his
troubled
mind. Kind of pathetic if you thought about it too much. “Johnny
forgets to
keep himself clean.”
“But, he’s a
neatness freak.
He makes my bed when he comes down here, and I’d already done it!”
“Yeah, he’ll do
your
cleaning. He’ll clean his room, but he won’t clean himself. He has
issues.”
“He’s crazy!”
“We’re all crazy,
in a way,
otherwise we wouldn’t be living here. Now, do me a favor and go talk to
Doctor
Randall.”
“What about Johnny?”
“He went crazy up
in my room
and had to be given an injection.”
“The yellow stuff?”
“No, the blue one.”
“Oh, I had that
once. You
don’t remember stuff after having that one.”
“Yeah, I know.”
He kissed me,
again, deeper
and harder this time. His hand was in my crotch looking for something
that was
hiding. He pulled away and looked at me strange.
“It’s got you
upset, doesn’t
it?”
“I keep losing
boyfriends,” I
said. Tears welled up in my eyes, again, but I didn’t want his comfort,
not
now. I practically ran out of the room and up the stairs to my room. I
went
into my closet and got my teddy bear. We flopped onto the bed and he
started to
make me feel good as only he knew how.
To say the least,
dinner that
night was a somber affair. With both Johnny and Mark gone, no one
seemed to
want to talk about anything. Of course, Scott didn’t say anything to
anyone or
acknowledge anyone else’s presence at the table. Sally looked sad. She
just
didn’t understand what was going on with any of us boys. I kind of felt
sorry
for her having to suddenly live with two or three crazy boys not
including her
brother.
I wanted to talk
about Mark
not being with us, but thought better of it. If the good doctor seemed
to think
this was a done deal, then who was I to argue with parents, especially
Mark’s
parents who didn’t like me because I was homosexual and might give
their son
the disease. I was mad at Mark for not telling them, but at the same
time
honored his decision to not tell them. You had to choose for yourself
the time
to tell them.
We
were working on our apple pie a la mode when the phone rang. Sally,
ever
vigilant, sprang into action and was answering before Mother had a
chance to
remind her to ask permission to leave the table. I think Sally was just
practicing for her teen years when she would spend most of her waking
hours
talking on the telephone.
“Geoff
it’s for you,” she said walking back into the kitchen.
“Did
they say who it was?” I asked. “May I be excused?”
“It’s
Mark,” Sally said.
“Yes,
of course, honey,” Mother said.
I
practically ran to the phone. Then I stopped and stared at the
receiver. I
wasn’t certain I wanted to listen to Mark’s explanation to why he
wasn’t living
with us.
And,
yet, “Hello?”
“Geoff,
is that you?”
“Mark?”
“Geoff,
uh, I want you to, uh, sit down, please.”
“Mark,
are you crying?”
“Please,
Geoff, don’t make this any harder than it already is. Okay?”
“What
do you mean?”
“I
can’t see you anymore, ever.”
“What
do you mean ever?”
“I
mean we can’t talk or be seen together ever again.”
“Are
your parents making you do this? Because if they are, I’ll, well, I’ll
do
something.”
“Please,
Geoff, will you stop! Please! Stop! Just shut the fuck up, for once in
your
life.”
“What
do you want?”
“I
just called to say goodbye.”
“Mark?”
“Mark?”
Dead
air.
“Mark?”
I
sank to the floor listening to nothing coming through the phone.
Nothing. I was
crying, well, weeping. I’d had my cry earlier.
“Here,
let me take that,” Doctor Randall said taking the receiver out of my
hand. I
looked up at him as he put it to his ear then put it back on the
cradle. He sat
down beside me.
“You
knew he was going to call,” I said feeling his warm body close to mine.
I think
he was in dad mode, but I wasn’t certain.
“Yes,
I told his father it would be best if Mark ended the relationship on
his own.”
“But
his parents are the ones who are stopping it.”
“They
have their reasons. And, like it or not, they’re awfully good reasons.”
“Reasons?
Me being homosexual is not a reason.”
“Partly,
it is. Mostly, though, it is the public’s perception Mark is not
homosexual.
Think about it Geoff. Think about what has been going on at school and
around
town since Mark was attacked. The whole premise to Mark’s defense is
that he is
not homosexual. What do you think would happen to him if suddenly
everyone
realized you’re his boyfriend?”
I
sat there seething at the thought Mark’s parents hated me because I was
queer.
After a while, a long while, Doctor Randall’s words began to seep into
my
reasoning and I started to see things from Mark’s parent’s side. Like
it or
not, they had a good argument.
“Wait
a minute? They know about me, but the way you’re talking they know
about Mark,
too.”
“Of
course they do.”
“But,
yesterday when they were here and Mr. Patterson told Mother to keep me
away
from his son. He sounded like he said Mark wasn’t queer.”
“A
poor choice of words. He admitted it to me. Look, Mark doesn’t know
they know.
They want him to admit it, for his own good, if anything else. You know
what it
means to have a parent tell you he knows you’re homosexual. You know
how that
feels. Don’t you think it would have gone differently if you’d have
told your
parents?”
“No,
not with my father.”
“Well,
it certainly would have been different with your mother.”
“Yeah,
I suppose so. But what happens now? What do I do about Mark?”
“You
leave alone. You don’t talk to him. You don’t acknowledge his presence.
You
don’t say, ‘Hi, Mark,’ at school or anywhere else. As far as you’re
concerned,
Mark was never your friend. Period.”
“But.”
“No,
buts. You leave him be. I know this is going to be difficult because I
know you
love him, but you have to stop it. No can suspect you and him know each
other, because
people will talk. And, you know what happens when people talk.”
“They
jump to conclusions. But, some kids at school know I’m Mark’s friend.”
“Drop
it! Your friendship never existed. They were imagining things.”
“I’m
going to my room.”
“Do
you want anything to help you sleep?”
“No.
What about getting Johnny to the toilet?”
“If
you can get him up, take care of it. If not, I’ll check on him in an
hour. I’m
sorry, Geoff. I’m sorry it had to turn out this way.”
“I
know. I’ll get over it. I’ll fall in love with someone else and I’ll
lose them,
too.”
As
I lay in bed trying to go to sleep, I thought of Mark for awhile, but
as my
hand begin to entice my shriveled cock out of its comfortable nest of
pubic
hair, my thoughts quickly turned to Tim. We were at his sister’s
apartment. He
was kneeling between my legs. He leaned down and started licking the
crease
between my thigh and dick where I was super ticklish. I felt another
body climb
onto my bed.
“Scott?”
“Yes.”
“Did
the good doctor send you?”
“Yes.”
He
slipped under the covers. His hand took over for mine and his lips
locked onto
my right nipple. I could feel his hard-on pressing against my leg.
I
turned onto my side and said, “Fuck me.”
He
lubed up and pressed himself into me.
“Hold
me,” I said. “Go slow.”
Scott
had his arm across my chest pulling me back toward him as his cock
slowly
thrust into me. I was so relaxed. It felt so good to have someone care
for me.
“Geoff?
Geoff are you asleep?” Scott was jostling me.
“Were
you asleep?”
“Sorry,
I got too comfortable. Just hold me and fuck me. That’s all I need.”
“But
what about you?”
“Just
hold me and fuck me. That’ll do me good.”
“You’re
not going to fall asleep, again, are you?”
“Maybe.
It doesn’t matter you don’t need me for this.”
“I’m
not going to fuck you while you’re asleep.”
“Then
hold me and stay inside me until I go to sleep.”
Mark
returned to school the following Monday. He was wearing a turtleneck
sweater
and had an armed security guard walking beside him. When we passed in
the hall
before homeroom, I looked at the lockers on the opposite wall so I
didn’t have
to look at him. I didn’t see him until I was carrying my tray to the
Dolphin
Table at lunch.
He
and the security guard were the only people at the table. I glanced out
in the
atrium and the fairy was back. How appropriate, I thought. I looked
around the
cafeteria for an empty seat, but the only one on an aisle was the next
table. I
sat down.
“Hey!
Ain’t you the fag?” The kid next to me asked. “I ain’t having no fag
sit next
to me.”
“Then
leave,” I said.
“I
was here first, you leave.”
“Sorry,
I don’t have a problem sitting beside you.”
“You
know, it’ll be pretty easy to get you to go.”
“Go
ahead, hit me! Go on, hit me! Under the new rules, you’ll get expelled
and I’ll
still be sitting here.”
He
looked at me, fist ready to slam into my face. Then, I guess, he saw
the error
of his decision and returned to talking to his friends.
I
picked at the food. I wasn’t all that hungry. Mark was so close, and
yet so far
away. Finally, I got up and put my tray on the conveyor. I stopped by
the
office.
There
was a new secretary in there, but more importantly, Principal
Washington walked
out of his office. He looked at me, then asked, “Is there anything you
want?”
“Yes,
sir, I’d like to see if I can change lunch periods.”
“Here,
we were waiting for you to come in,” he said handing me a revised
schedule
form. “I’m sorry the way things turned out.”
“Yeah,
me, too.”
We
looked at each other. I was wondering what it would be like to suck
that dick
of his. I expect he was wishing I’d just leave, so I turned to go.
“Geoff?”
I
turned to look at him. His eyes were asking this time. I could see the
anxious
lust in them. I wanted to, honestly, I wanted to.
“Sorry,
I can’t.”
I
turned toward the door and left. Our opportunity was missed. I couldn’t
forgive
him for what he’d done to me. As much as I wanted to do him, I knew it
was
wrong. All he had to do was ask, but he chose to use his authority over
me to
push me into doing him. That was wrong. I knew that was wrong. I wasn’t
a
pushover anymore.