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 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?”
“What?”
“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.”
THE END
Epilogue
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 timchambers.com 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.
“Hello?”
“Is this
Geoff Johnson.” The voice was older, but
had the same basic tone I last heard so many years ago.
“Tim?”
“Geoff?”
“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?”
“Yeah?”
“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.