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:

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 18 – I Love You

Mama wasn’t in the hospital a day before the surgeries started. She’d lost her left eye when her husband’s fist slammed into her face too many times on that side. As best we could figure she was going to be in the hospital for at least a month, not getting to go home until after school started. That could have been good for me and Ricky, but it wasn’t to be.

Ricky had what seemed to me to be an unnatural love for his father. It was almost like he wanted to get beat up by dear old dad. We slept in the same bed, but that was what we were doing, sleeping. Ricky seemed to be mad at me right from the outset when I woke him up the morning after putting him to bed with my teddy bear. I was kissing his ear.

“Stop that!” He hissed and rolled away from me. “Is sex all you think about?”

He was up and into the bathroom before I could say anything. I heard the latch click. He locked me out of my own bathroom, good thing I’d already taken care of my morning bladder. After what seemed like forever, but was probably no more than ten minutes, he came out with a towel wrapped around him and went to the dresser. He kept his back to me while he put on some clothes.

“I want to go home today,” he said, turning around to face me. He was wearing faded blue jeans that had a hole in the right front pocket and a Pomona jersey. I think he wore that only to piss off his brother who was an ardent UCLA fan.

“You’ll have to talk to Ruben about that,” I said. “He didn’t sound like he wanted you over there. I guess there’s quite a mess to clean up, besides the broken living room window.”

“What happened?”

“Your father threw your mother through the window,” I said. I was sitting on the edge of the bed, the quilt covering my nakedness. “That’s when the neighbors called the police.”

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Now, he’ll never get out. The judge told him one more time and he was going to do hard time. Fucking goddamned stupid asshole! Why does he have to do this shit?” He stared at me with empty eyes, the eyes he had yesterday. His lower lip was quivering. He started blinking as tears welled up into his eyes.

Suddenly, Ricky crumpled to the floor into a ball of tears. I picked up the teddy bear, a pillow, and the quilt—he wasn’t going to notice me now—and made him as comfortable as I could. Then I went and took a lonely shower.

Basically, Ricky ignored me as days stretched into weeks. He wanted to go home, but Ruben was adamant that he stay with me. Actually, I think Ruben wanted an excuse to come over and have me suck him.

He’d come to me whenever Ricky was sulking in the bedroom and have that “I haven’t come since I was last here” look. He looked so pitiful and I always gave in. Ricky and I weren’t doing anything, he barely acknowledged my presence in bed, but Ruben was nicer than ever. We had our favorite locations on the property. The powder room off the foyer, the gazebo down the slope below the pool, the landing at the top of the stairs leading to the former chauffeur’s quarters, and a couple quickies in the library when Uncle Walter wasn’t home and Bert was in his office.

It was cheating, pure and simple. No matter how many times I told myself I was helping Ruben, I knew I was cheating on Ricky, even though he seemed to care little whether I was alive or not. Yet, Ruben was so good about it all. Even, apologetic that he’d given in to his desire for an orgasm, very much against his coach’s orders.

Then it all came to an abrupt end. Julie came with him and we left her sitting by the pool, Ruben practically pulled me into the garage on the pretext of looking at the Roadster. Julie winked at me when Ruben wasn’t looking. She knew and she could care less what we were doing. We went up to the landing outside the chauffeur’s quarters. I was about to kneel down and get to work when Ruben held me against him.

“Wait, let me hold you a moment,” he whispered. Unexpectedly, I felt his lips on mine and a hand groping my crotch. I pulled away from him.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked. There was a need in his eyes I’d never seen before. Was it possible straight Ruben had a slight curve in his arrows? Whatever it was, I didn’t want to participate in his fantasy. For me, it was a simple quick blowjob with absolutely no emotional involvement. Ricky may have me on hold, but I wasn’t about to get tangled up with his older brother.

“I thought you might want something more,” he said, staring at the floor, his faced reddened from embarrassment.

“Not from you,” I said. I turned to start down the stairs. “I may not be getting anything from Ricky right now, but you’re not even gay.”

“I can pretend.”

“Not with me, you don’t.”

“Where are you going? I thought you’d at least suck me.”

“Not today, buddy. Not today.”

I walked down the stairs, out the side door, and across the turning circle toward the side door to the house. My dick was hard, as hard as it had ever been in my life, but I wasn’t about to share it with Ricky’s straight brother. I wanted one thing and Ruben finally forced my hand.

Ricky was in the lounge watching a soap. He ignored me when I sat down beside him. He ignored me when I put my hand into his crotch. He tried to ignore me when I turned his face to mine and put my lips to his.

A few minutes later when I tired of kissing his unresponsive lips, I said, “You might as well pack your bag and leave. Ruben might still be here so you can go with him. If not, I’ll take you. I can’t see any point in having you stay here.”

“You have your driver’s license?” he asked. He didn’t appear glad I might take him for a ride in the Roadster, just slightly inquisitive.

“Yeah, I got it a few days ago. I asked if you wanted to go down to Jimmy’s Place for a burger and to see Sugar, but you ignored me. Just like you’ve ignored me since you got here. Now, are you going to pack your stuff, or do I have to do that, too?”

I got up and headed for the door. As much as I feared Ricky might become my next true boyfriend, I was tired of the Ortegas and their games. Ruben trying to go faggy and Ricky still locked in his gloom because dear old dad was headed for prison, not seeming to care anything about dear Mama’s smashed up face.

I was in the hall when a hand grabbed my shoulder. I tried to shake it off, but Ricky wasn’t having any of that. I turned and stared into his empty eyes. He was only a little angry as all his other emotions were still focused on his father.

“What?” I asked. I wanted to kiss him, but I wanted him out of my life, too.

“I thought you loved me?” Fear washed over his face. Could it be? Could he still have feelings toward me? Was the Ricky Ortega I fell in love with still inside that beautiful young boy?

“I thought I did, too. But you know what? Ruben tried to go queer on me. You’re sulking around here, pissing and moaning about Papa going to prison and not being able to beat the shit out of you, and your fucking brother tries to pretend he’s a fag, too. Trying kiss me when all I was going to do was suck him. All those fucking blowjobs I’ve been giving him and he thinks he can be a fucking faggot, too.”

Aw, shit!

And, I didn’t see the hand until the last moment, just before it slammed into my cheek.

I sat with my knees pulled up against my chest in the hall across from my open bedroom door watching Ricky slowly put his clothes into his duffel bag. He was weeping, but also seemed to be making a big show of it by going to the dresser for a pair of socks, then walking over the duffel bag on the bed and putting them in; then returning for another item all the while sneaking glances at me in the hall.

What I couldn’t believe was I hadn’t told him before that Ruben was coming to me to for blowjobs and that I was more than willing to suck his cock. In nearly thirty days how many times had I gotten down on my knees? Fifteen? Ten? Twenty? I couldn’t remember. I could remember, though, not telling Ricky what I was doing; or, rather, what his brother was asking me to do. I could have explained it so easily, made it into a joke we could share, “Ah, look at poor little Ruben. I wonder why he’s he today?” but I didn’t because I hadn’t told Ricky after the first time.

He stopped putting clothes in the bag and turned to stare at me. I saw his mouth move, but didn’t hear the words. He kept staring at me. He spoke again, but still his voice was too soft for me to hear. Then he yelled, “Come here!”

I got to my feet and slowly went to him. He didn’t look mad, kind of sad, actually.

“You didn’t shut the door,” he said. He walked past me and shut it. He pushed in the lock. He walked back to me, took my face in his hands, and locked his lips to mine.

I tried to touch him, but he brushed my hands away from his body all the while his tongue was trying to force itself down my throat. His owns hands were all over my chest and back. He broke our kiss, but before I could say anything he was pulling my t-shirt over my head. His lips returned to mine as two fingers pinched the hell out of my right nipple causing me cringe away, but he only moved to the other nipple, doing the same.

Ricky pushed me toward the bed, not stopping until I fell back onto the quilt. I stared up at him, but the Ricky I fell in love with wasn’t there. This was a new boy, someone who was mad at me for a lot of reasons; and, yet, there still seemed to be a bit of the devilishly devious Ricky showing through. My shoes were off and he was pulling my jeans and underwear down to my ankles.

He got onto the bed, knelt over me and forced his mouth onto mine. Again, I tried to touch him, but his hands weren’t having that. Then, quite suddenly, totally unexpected, he flipped me over onto my stomach. One hand pressed between my shoulder blades holding me onto the bed. I heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper being lowered. I glanced to my right side and saw a hand taking the lube from the drawer. At least he was going to use that.

He hadn’t pulled his pants down when I felt him press against me, the lube cold to my skin. I relaxed as much as I could, but the assault was still incredibly painful as he thrust deep into me. He pulled out, quickly thrust back in, and then he stopped and fell down onto my back. I felt a tear drop onto my shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do this to you,” Ricky whispered in my ear. He rose up, pulled out, and lay down beside me. He was crying, again.

I sat up and removed my jeans and underwear. Then knelt over him and began to quickly undress him. He looked up at me, but I shushed him by placing my fingertip over his lips. When he was naked, I got over him with my knees on either side and lowered myself slowly down taking him deep inside.

“I’m sorry, I should have told you,” I said as I began to rise up and slowly ease back down.

“What happens now?” Ricky asked.

We were lying on our backs next to each other, exhausted after four, or was it five, incredibly intense orgasms from all the fucking and sucking we hadn’t done since he came to the house. He was holding my hand and our hands were the only part of our bodies that were touching. We were still far apart from each other, but our hands held us from drifting away.

“We first did it when he came to pick me up for your birthday party,” I said. “We were joking, but he went serious and asked. I didn’t say no. I should have said no, but I didn’t. He went quick, real quick. Do you know he’s shaved down there and is wearing pink panties?”


“Some sort of football team thing and his coach told him not to jerk off.”

“What?” Ricky was giggling, soft little laughs strung together with happiness he hadn’t expressed in weeks.

“He’s doing quite well with the jerking off part, but keeps asking me for blowjobs. I should have told you. God, how you must hate me.”

“I love you.”

He rolled over onto his side facing me. I felt his hand on my cheek where he slapped it.

“I don’t think you’ll have a bruise,” he said. Then he lowered himself down and pressed his lips against mine. “These are my lips and you cannot use them on anyone else without my permission. Do you understand? No kissing Bert. No sucking Ruben.”

“No kissing Bert?”

“You don’t think I’ve seen you, but I have. No kissing Bert.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

“Yeah, now that I know what it feels like to have you in me, I don’t want us to do that ever again.”

“Okay, I won’t fuck you. Do you want to do me?”

“I said no fucking.”

“Okay, no kissing or sucking other guys and no fucking. Anything else?”

“Yeah, kiss me.”



And, I didn’t stray ever again and we didn’t fuck, either. I stayed true to Ricky for all the days we were together, including the short time he tried the grass on the other side of the fence when we were in college, but that’s another story for another day.

After graduating from different high schools, both of us went to Fort Okanogan College for our bachelor’s, then back to USC for our master’s and doctorate’s, Ricky in American History and mine in Linguistics. Then we returned to Fort Okanogan to teach.

When Uncle Walter died early in the epidemic before it had a name and left me with a sizeable inheritance, we bought the Englehart House on Professor’s Row and remodeled it to provide housing for, primarily, gay students. We had six suites available for rent and always tried to get the boys when they were young and needed an understanding home to escape to. Oh, we had a few lesbians and a couple trans-whatevers, and actually a few straights stayed, too, wanting to widen their worldly experiences, or some liberal East Coast shit like that.

And, then, three years ago at the town’s Fourth of July Celebration, Ricky left me. I knew he was going first. All my boyfriends left me. It was an abdominal aneurysm; something totally unexpected, sort of like a fatal heart attack is sometimes the first symptom of heart disease.

Nearly forty years, that’s a long time to be with one person. I grieved for a long, long time. The boys at our home helped a lot. Doctor Randall and Mother came up from Palm Springs for the funeral and stayed for nearly a month. I still miss him and occasionally find a tear in my eye when something reminds me of him.

A year ago, I was in the college bookstore browsing for nothing in particular when a book caught my eye. It was a new memoir. I tired of that genre early on as the writers seemed to be trying to outdo each other with horrible childhoods, but the cover of this book definitely piqued my interest: The Corsair, by Tim Chambers. There was a picture of a Corsair, practically the same Corsair on my desk at home. I carefully picked up the book and started to slowly, carefully examine it. I opened the book to the dedication page and read:

To Geoffrey Johnson
My first love, my only love,
Thank you for keeping me alive

Yes, I started crying. I couldn’t help myself. I looked around and saw a chair, but nearly didn’t make it. I was sobbing horribly. You can imagine how I looked, a middle-aged gay (Yes, everyone on campus knows I am gay.) professor crying like a little boy who sees his puppy get hit by one car and then another and another on an incredibly busy street.

A friend came and took me home. The boys took care of me until I got brave enough to search the Internet for Tim Chambers. There were a couple direct hits, but nothing like that would make the search easy. I called the publisher and they put me in touch with Tim’s agent. When I told her who I was, she took my number.

Three incredibly long days later I was eating breakfast at the Student Union with a young freshman who was having boyfriend problems and needed someone to talk to, someone who’d been there, someone who wasn’t going to be too judgmental, someone he felt he could trust. Unfortunately, just as he was getting to the really serious part, my cell phone started its annoying ditty.


“Is this Geoff Johnson.” The voice was older, but had the same basic tone I last heard so many years ago.



“Oh, god, where are you?”

“In my car, in front of your house.”

“Damn, I’m at the Student Union having breakfast with a young student who kind of reminds me of you.”

“Still after the young ones?”

“No, he has a problem and it’s known on campus that I’m an understanding ear. Tim?”


“Don’t go, please? Stay right there. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

My breakfast companion looked at me. I smiled and explained who Tim was and why I had to leave him. He was understanding, I guess.

Right now, Tim is upstairs in our bedroom waiting for me to finish this. He said I’d feel good if I dredged up a few memories and put them down on paper. He was right. It was good remembering Stevie, Kiel, Sam, Johnny, Scott, playing Chutes and Ladders with Sally, and being just a little crazy.

Within a month of graduating from high school, Scott enlisted in the Army and was dead in a rice paddy in South Vietnam by Christmas.

Johnny never did seem to get good at being grown up. After graduating from high school, he went to a voc-tech school and learned to be a welder. He found an artist who was into big, iron sculptures and who was looking for a boy who was looking for a daddy. They made a cute couple for a few years. AIDS took Johnny in ’89 and his daddy a year later.

Sam was diagnosed schizophrenic and never got better. He’d be fine when he took his meds, but he go off them and try to beat someone senseless and end up in some crazy bin. After a few years, they’d let him back out and the cycle would start over. He lasted until ’97 when some skinheads decided they could prove they were real men by beating a crazy man to death.

Peter didn’t make it to eighteen. He died in a lonely alley with a needle stuck in his arm.

Mark went back to football. With most of the North Park team expelled the school was willing to do almost anything to field a football team and asked Mark to be its quarterback. It was a rather ragtag outfit with a lot of third and fourth stringers, but they took the City Championship Trophy the first year, mostly because the other teams didn’t show up for their games. Seems no matter how hard Mark’s parents tried, a lot of people still hated Mark for turning in his teammates. He went on to play for Washington State, then was drafted by the Dallas Cowboys as a running back where he stayed for three years. He went back and taught English Lit at North Park College. He married shortly after graduating from college and had three wonderful children, two boys and a girl; and, one of the boys turned out to like boys, too. Then, something must have clicked in Mark’s mind because he divorced his wife and moved in with a younger man. You can hide it, but you can’t change it.

Although Ruben wanted a pro football career, he ended up making movies. He was never a star, but kept busy and eventually ended up behind the camera. He and his wife and two children moved back to Peoria where his production company is based.

And, Bert and Sugar? Well, Bert finally published a legitimate novel and made enough money to move back to England with Sugar. They have a little bed and breakfast up near York.

Author’s Comments

Yes, it ended. I had no intention for this to continue on ad infinitum as so many stories on Nifty tend to do; and, it did end somewhat abruptly, but that’s how it is sometimes.

Next up is a story about a college freshman from a small town in Eastern Oklahoma where everybody, including his parents, thinks he’s gay and even kicked him out of their church because of it. He’s accepted at North Park College and ends up living with his aunt’s former husband who is gay and is living with a gay erotic artist who is very interested in getting the boy into his studio; which may or may not be in the boy's best interest. The Pastel Cowboy is baed on a short story, novella and novel I wrote a couple years ago.

On the backburner is a story about a high school boy who is different from a lot of the people around him. Aliens Brought Him >From Outer Space comes from another novel I wrote in a period of six months, shortly after coming out of the closet after a lifetime of hiding more from myself, than others.

Of course, there is Mark Patterson’s story, The Quarterback Club, which needs to be told, too. Seems Mark just couldn’t stay away from the boys, no matter what he thought his parents wanted.

And, possibly there might be a series of stories based on Geoff and Ricky’s house on Professor’s Row where the Sunday afternoon supper was the place to be if you were a young gay student at Fort Okanogan College and not because Ricky was famous for his delectable desserts.

Again, I thank all who have written and I apologize if I haven’t gotten back to you. The nature of my job does not allow a lot of free time on a daily basis. Plus, some days the depression is so bad, doing my job is about as good as it gets.