Courtesy of www.99Gay-Men.US

Let's Do It Again, Part 8
by Greg Scott


All the usual stuff about you must be old enough in your jurisdiction, etc.  In other words, if you are underage, don't read this unless you have a really cool teacher who assigned it.  Otherwise, come back in a few years, when nobody will yell at you.


My dad came into his study where I waited.  I didn't look at him, but I stared at nothing in particular on his desk.

"I'm talking; you're listening," my dad said firmly.

In fact, I didn't plan on starting a conversation, anyway.  I just wanted this whole thing to be finished and for him to go back to the fundraiser at the school.

Dad took a seat in his desk chair.  I lowered my eyes to my knees, fearful of making eye contact even accidentally.

"First, Tyler, I'm not mad at you," he began quietly.  "You're not in trouble. Sometimes older boys have ways of making younger boys do things they don't want to do."

"But Dad," I interrupted in violation of his instructions, "Rich didn't make me do anything."

"You are not to talk," my father reminded me.

"Sometimes older boys make younger boys do things by threats, and sometimes they have ways of just convincing younger boys that it's the cool thing to do or whatever.  No matter what method they use, they are still manipulating you."

"Rich and I have never done anything that I didn't want to do," I risked speaking again.

"Do you mean that you and that boy have done this sort of thing before?" Dad's voice rose.

I said nothing, but Dad waited for a reply.  For the first time since he had caught us I looked into Dad's eyes.  I nodded.

"My god, Tyler.  Have you done this with anybody else?"

I don't think that I've ever lied to my Dad, not even when I was a little kid.  He had backed me into a corner, though.  I felt trapped, and I knew I didn't have much time to make my decision.

"No," I lied.

"Just as I thought," said my Dad as if I had somehow admitted something that I hadn't intended.  "Rich made you do it somehow."

"No, Dad.  I wanted to," I insisted, although I knew that my words would have no impact.

"He's two years older than you are, Tyler.  I'm sure you think that it's great having an older friend.  Naturally, you want your other friends to think that you must be pretty important to have a buddy who is that old, but he's using you."

"That's not true," I reiterated a bit too loudly.

"I've already told him that he is not supposed to hang out around you anymore.  I told him he's not welcome here, and you're not allowed to go to his house either.  If either of you breaks the rule, I'm calling his parents to tell them what he was doing."

"That's not fair," I said, my frustration coming out in a combination of a plea and a scream of anger.

"That's the way it is, and he understands.  He's agreed to my rule--not that he had a choice, of course."

I jumped from my chair to run from the room, but my dad screaming my name stopped me in my tracks.

"You are not to even talk to him aside from any communication you have to do related to your football practices.  If you break this rule, if you violate my trust again, his parents will know about everything and you'll be off the team.  If that happens, I'll also have to let your mother in on all of this dirty laundry.  She doesn't need that."

I walked out without a word.  I later heard his car leave to return to the school's fundraiser.

I went to my room and cried hard.  It had been at least two or three years since I had cried about anything.  I was on my bed at first, but I could still sense Rich's presence there, so that just made me cry harder.  I moved to my desk chair and just stared at my blank computer screen, tears streaming down my face.

When I calmed down, I thought that I should call Rich.  Luckily, before I picked up the phone, I realized that if Rich wasn't home yet his mother or father would wonder why I would be calling for him, since he was supposed to be at my house as far as they might know.  I didn't know how I would explain to them why he had left.

Still, I felt very alone.  I wondered if I should call Alan to talk over my situation with him, but I didn't think I wanted to bare myself to him in that way.  Plus it could embarrass Rich maybe.  I felt a sort of panic that I had never experienced.  Everything seemed out of my control.  I could lose Rich.  I could lose football.

In a way I could understand my dad's reaction.  After all, he had walked in to find his only child having sex with another guy.  Still, I was furious with my dad for his reaction, for threatening Rich, for all of it.  Worst of all, he wouldn't even listen to my side of the story.

I guess that the only logical reason for what I did next was to somehow get revenge on my father.  I walked downstairs to the kitchen.  I grabbed the biggest glass out of the cupboard.  I moved to the refrigerator and dropped a single ice cube into the glass.  Then I stood on a chair and pulled a bottle of vodka from the top shelf, filled the glass to the top and replaced the nearly empty bottle back in its place.

I took my first ever sip of alcohol before I left the kitchen.  I coughed so hard that I was afraid I'd spill the glass.  After my coughing fit, I returned to my room and turned on my computer.  

I contemplated writing a letter, telling my parents why I had run away.  Instead of running away, though, I went to Youtube.  I searched for random words, watching a video or two from each.  "Anger."  "Hate Parents."  "Teens."  "Gay."  
As each video began, I forced myself to take another sip of the vodka.  By the time I had searched "teens," I noticed that my sips were bigger and I no longer coughed.  Once I reached "gay," I just moved from one related video to the next and no longer even noticed when I would take a slurp from the glass.  At one point I realized that my glass was already half empty.  I made an awkward trip back to the kitchen to top it off and add another ice cube.  I knew that I would soon be too drunk to accomplish a task that complicated.

I happened across a video of a guy about my age who said he was gay.  He was dancing around like a silly fool and lip syncing some song that I hate.  I turned off the sound so that I could just focus on the shirtless, hot guy.  I was in the middle of the third viewing by the time that I realized that I had my hands down my shorts massaging my cock and balls.

I decided that I wanted to jack off and cum all over my computer screen while that boy flaunted his muscular torso.  It seemed like the best idea that I had ever had.  I didn't worry about how I would get the slime off the screen.  I was in no mood to worry about the ramifications of anything that I did.

As far as I could tell it was a flawless plan, but there turned out to be one major problem.  I couldn't get my dick hard.  I had never, ever failed to get an erection.  I thought that my problem might be that I had cum too recently, except that I remembered one night when I jacked off successfully four straight times as a sort of experiment.

I was confused.  I thought the video guy was super sexy.  I imagined myself with him.  I wanted to be with him.  I imagined what his cock would feel like in my mouth.  Nothing got the result I wanted.

As I took another gulp of my glass of vodka, the realization hit me.  I was drunk.  I was too drunk to get hard.  That sucks!

I decided that I could probably get hard if I could just be in my bed.  Unfortunately, I discovered that I was also too drunk to walk to my bed.  It felt like my head was spinning when I stood.  Then it started to feel as if the room had tilted.  I moved farther sideways than I did forward.

I carefully lowered myself to the floor and crawled to my bed.  The room didn't seem to be quite as tilted, but my head still spun at the same rate.  I used the night stand to pull my self upright, flipped off the light switch and managed to get into bed.  That's the last thing I remember from that night.

You probably know what my Saturday was like.  Long, painful and filled with self-hatred and self-pity.  I got up very late, went to bed very early, and it seemed as if there had to have been thirty-six hours between those two events even though barely twelve hours had actually passed.  Sure, my head throbbed but it wasn't as painful as my back.  I despised myself for drinking.  Whenever I stopped condemning myself for my stupidity, I would remember that I wasn't allowed to be with my boyfriend any more, and I would feel even worse.

Fortunately, my parents were gone most of the day doing whatever it is parents do on Saturdays.  At least that meant I didn't have to hide my hangover or my tears from them.

Monday finally came.  I don't think I've ever been happier for the start of a new school year.  I would be able to talk to Rich, at least at after-school football practice.

Technically, this was my first day of high school.  Of course, I would be going to the same building that I had always gone to, and seeing many of the same faces that I had seen practically my whole life.  Really only the teachers were different.

Despite the sameness of almost everything, the first day of the new school year always has an air of excitement.  I guess that it's mostly because we get to be with our friends and other classmates in big groups to find out whatever news we didn't already know, like summer vacation stories or who broke up with who and such.

There's one way that the first day of school is similar to the last day.  The teachers realize that we're not really going to get any work done.  I guess they know that the kids are going to be much more interested in each other than in whatever the teachers might have to say.

At the start of practice that afternoon, Rich walked close to me and whispered, "Can you hang around for a while after practice so we can talk?"

I nodded, and he walked away to where the first string offensive players were gathering.  I was suddenly in the best mood I had been in since that fateful moment of my dad walking in on us fucking.

Once school begins, football practices become a little easier and more fun.  A greater proportion of the time is spent perfecting plays rather than merely working on the fundamentals.  It's a little closer to a real game kind of thing.

After practice, I waited outside the locker room for Rich to finish.  I was excited about being able to talk to him, but I was a little scared to talk to him for some reason.

"Hey, Tyler," he said when he joined me in the school corridor.  "Let's go talk in my car."

The car turned out to be uncomfortably hot from sitting in the late summer sun all day, but nobody else was around so we stood next to Rich's car to talk in relative private.

"What happened with your dad after I left?" Rich jumped straight to the point.

"Not much, really.  Mostly he just told me what he told you.  He wouldn't believe me when I told him that you didn't trick me into it.  He wouldn't even listen to me.  Then he went back to his party, and I got drunk."

"You asshole!" he said loudly.  "Did you think that would help?"

"I don't know why I did it.  I was just pissed off," I offered my illogical explanation.  "Why did you tell your parents you came home that night?"

"I didn't go home.  I spent the night at Alan's house and went home the next morning, so they wouldn't suspect anything."

"Did you tell Alan what happened?" I asked.

"Yeah.  I had to talk to someone about it.  Man, it really scared me.  It still does.  I can't have your dad telling my parents."

"What are we going to do, then?" I asked fearful of Rich's response.

"We just have to make sure we don't get caught again," Rich said, giving me some hope that he wasn't just going to break things off with me.

"But how can we be together?" I asked.

"Alan said that he would help us," Rich began his plan.  "We can secretly hang out together at his house.  He said that he could even invite both of us over for sleepovers."

"Dude, I don't know that my dad would go for me hanging out with another guy who's the same age as you," I said, realizing my father's new lack of trust in the influence of older boys on his own son.  I wasn't at all sure that he would trust Alan any more than he now trusted Rich.

"Yeah, Alan anticipated that," Rich explained.  "He said that with your help he can get your parents to trust him and not worry about you spending time with him."

"Maybe," I said, doubtfully.  "I don't know.  What if that doesn't work?"

"It has to," Rich insisted.  "I don't want to lose you."

I sensed a sudden sense of warmth for my boyfriend after he uttered those reassuring words.

"I really want to kiss you right now," I said as I felt my dick growing in my jeans.

"Me too," Rich agreed, "but we have to be extra careful for a while."

"Okay, so what should I do?" I asked.

"Alan will be in touch with you.  Just play along with him."

"Okay," I agreed hesitantly.  "I guess I better get home before my dad gets suspicious.  He'll be home soon."

"I love you, Tyler."

"Yeah, me too" I said, but I wasn't confident that I really did know what love even meant.  I did know that Rich had a special place within me.

As I pedaled toward home, I wondered if the plan that Rich and Alan had worked out had any chance of working.  Even more I wondered what that plan really was.  I guess I just had to trust Alan on this.  Maybe quaterbacks really are naturally able to adapt to unexpected circumstances.  The future of my love life depended upon that.

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