Date: Thu, 09 Oct 2003 13:50:22 -0400 From: Noren Carmathen Subject: lost high school lover, part 2 ****************************************************************************** This is a continuation of my previous story about my high school days. This is about what happened in the months following my first love's tragic death. The usual disclaimers all apply. ****************************************************************************** After Matt's untimely passing, things got very strained for me. I realized I was gay, which in itself can be a life-shattering event; not only that, it happened at the same time that I lost both my best friend and first lover. Compounding my problem was that I couldn't bring myself to tell my parents about my sexuality (actually, I still haven't, but that's the cause for therapy another day). It's not surprising then, that I sank into the depression that I did. Jacob was a brick throughout all of it. He never once left my side. And, even though he wanted to, he never made a move on me. Not once. I've told him since then how much it meant to me that he didn't try to just move in and take Matt's place. So it was that I started my junior year of high school. I was antisocial, bordering on being a hermit. The only person I ever hung around with was Jacob. I went into what I now call my "mourning" phase, where I dressed in black all the time, almost gothic. This was when I started writing. Up until this point in my life, I had never really considered writing as Art, only as something that I did for school. This also marked the point at which I became an avid (and later a ferocious) reader. In two years time I had mastered most of the "classics" and had branched out into areas as wide as history, philosophy, ecology, and (my new found passion) poetry. I started writing poems; there aren't many of my earliest ones that have survived. But I took up writing as Art. And, according to those who read them, I flourished. The subjects were as dark as I was feeling. And many of them dealt with death and hiding, understandably. It was about this time that Jacob introduced me to a lady who became the most influential person in my life. She was an English teacher at our high school...one who had a reputation for failing people on whims, and being something of a hardass. I thought he had lost his mind wanting to take her classes, but somehow he talked me into it. You had to apply to get into her advanced classes, and my grades in English and Literature weren't exactly great at the time. But I took a sample of my writing, and went for a conference with her. By the time I left it, I as in. She pushed me hard, very hard. I developed a great deal intellectually under her. And Jacob as well. We became closer than we ever had been, most of our free time being spent now studying and reading and talking about what we'd read, rather than drinking and smoking up on the weekends. About this time I gave up pot all together. So, the weekend before winter finals, we were at the local library in a study room in the basement which we had reserved for couple of hours. We had books, notes, and all manner of things scattered everywhere. We were trying our damnedest to get as much of the volumes of material she presented us with in our heads. Suddenly, Jake pushes away from the table, pushes his copy of "The Fountainhead" away from him, and says, "I need a break." "Yeah, me too, " I replied, rubbing my eyes, "but we've still got everything to go over from the last 6 weeks of class." "Fuck! We're probably better prepared than any body else in that class for this exam, Alex. We should be out having fun this weekend, instead of being locked up in this basement studying." "I can't think of anything I'd rather be doing," I said in the morose tone that everything I said took in those days. He looked at me slyly, "I bet there is." I totally misread him, "Man, I gave up the weed. You know that." "I'm not talking about weed..." he trailed off for a moment and then said, "When are you going to tell me about what happened with you and Matt." I know I started turning red, and shaking with anger. I did that anytime someone mentioned his name. This terrible, terrible rage would just well up from inside me. "Jake, I swear to god--" "Don't act like that with me, dude. I know that there was something going on between the two of you. I admitted to you that I was in love with the both of you. He's been dead six months, and you still won't talk about anything with me. How long are you going to wait? Until it eats you up inside, or drives you crazy?" That hit home, hard. I broke down, then, and started crying. I hadn't cried in front of anyone since Matt's funeral. Jake came over to my side of the table, and put his arm around me. I hated myself for crying like that in front of him. "Alex, I'm sorry. I as way out of line just--" "No," I cut him off, "you weren't. You're absolutely right." So, I told him about the great sex Matt and I had that afternoon at the lake. I told him about how I thought I was going to Hell, and had, though my actions, damned Matt as well. "Alex, what the holy fuck! If there is a hell, and if Matt ended up there, it was NOT becuase of you. I swear, you religionists and your hypocrital morality. Your god is love, you say, but he damns people for the crime of loving. Fuck that." "Jake, it's not just that. I mean, it can't be normal, can it. You yourself have told me on more than one occasion when we've been fighting about evolution that behaviors that aren't beneficial to the survival of the species get eliminated through natural selection. Where's the logic for gay love in that? Doesn't that defy your Reason?" "Dude, like Pascal said, 'The heart has reasons that Reason knows nothing of.'" I looked at him, into his warm, brown eyes, his caring smile. I looked past the piercings, I saw his dark, black hair sticking out in curls from underneath the backwards ball-cap he always wore. And I smiled at him, and leaned in to kiss him. It was sweet, not like the passion and fire that characterized the kisses I shared with Matt. But there was love in it, and unconditional support. Our tongues danced from my mouth to his, swirling around, making hot, slurping sounds. The next thing I knew, his hands were at my pants, undoing my belt, then unsnapping my jeans and pulling down my zipper. My cock was hard as cold steel. He pulled it out through the fly of my boxers, and started sucking it. His tongue flicked back and forth across the head of my dick, licking the piss slit each time. I moaned. Loudly. He began to slowly snake his tongue up and down the underside of my shaft. He feel of his warm breath on my dick was terriffic. He stopped, looked up at me with that wry grin he always wore so easily, and then downed all seven inches of by cock at once. The feeling was incredible. I was face-fucking him, trying to push my cock further down his throat. He never once gagged. I picked up my pace, and he knew I was about to cum. He pulled back, and I came in his mouth. He immediately got up and kissed me, with my cum still on his tongue. It was delicious, sharing my cum with Jake like that, kissing me with it in his mouth. We both swallowed, and I was exhausted. Months of sexual frustration had been temporarily relieved. "Jake..." I began. "No, don't worry about it Alex. You needed that. And so did I." ____________________________________________________________________________ Thanks again for all the response I got from my previous story. Thanks for all your warm words, I appreciated them more than you could know. This was just the first of the times Jake and I would get together over the next couple of years, though nothing ever really came of us. Sorry for not having more sex in the story, but life is sometimes about more than just great sex. Thanks again for reading. If you want to hear more, email me at carmathen707@hotmail.com