Disclaimer: The following story and subsequent submissions may contain scenes of sexual activity between males. If it is illegal for you to read such material in your locality or if you find such material offensive, you are advised to read no further. This story is fiction; it did not happen. Any similarity between characters and events portrayed in this story and real life is purely a coincidence. Do not copy this story or submit it to any forum without the permission of the author.

The Moon in Your Eyes

by Coningsby

Chapter Four

Third Hour Science seemed to take forever. I was so worried about Jeff that I paid no attention, despite the fact that we were discussing my favorite subject, astronomy. I should have been able to shine. However, when Mr. Harkness called on me to identify the major planets, I was staring out the window.

"Mr. Forrester, are we interrupting your own star-gazing at this moment?"

Several kids laughed and I was quite embarrassed.

"No, Sir. I'm sorry. What was the question?"

Mr. Harkness sighed and repeated, "Would you name the nine planets in order?"

This was child's play for me. Rapidly, I intoned, "Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto."

Baldwin the Younger had infected my Science class as well and when Mr. Harkness responded with a surprised, "Very good, Mr. Forrester!" Baldwin said, softly," Oh, stick it up your anus."

Several in the class found this rather amusing, though Mr. Harkness was not among them.

"Mr. Baldwin," said our teacher with a weary tone, "didn't you just spend an hour with the Headmaster?"

Baldwin grinned, but said nothing.

"I'll take that as a yes. And, I understand, your brother was there, as well, wasn't he?"

Still, Baldwin only grinned, though he was able to nod his head.

"It must be genetic. Please return to the Headmaster and advise him you are in need of further guidance. Have a pleasant day."

I almost died when the bell rang and Mr. Harkness asked me to stay after class. I wanted desperately to get to the cafeteria so that I could check on Jeff. Unfortunately, Mr. Harkness felt the need to compliment me on my knowledge of astronomy and to encourage me. I appreciated his interest and concern, but I was far more interested in and concerned about Jeff!

When finally I reached the cafeteria, Jeff was just leaving, with an apple, through the door to the courtyard. In growing frustration, I made it through the interminably slow line to get a ham sandwich and a pint of chocolate milk before nearly running out the door in search of my friend.

He was nowhere to be found. Dejected, I sat down on the front steps of the chapel and ate my lunch. When I was finished and had tossed the wrapping and the milk carton into the sidewalk trash can, I decided to spend the rest of my lunch hour as I had the last three days. These moments seemed to be the only peace I could find at school.

I could hear the organ playing from the outside and when I went in, I could tell from the rapid, mathematically precise style that the organist was playing something by Bach, though I did not know what. I stood in the nave near the baptismal font and listened. It was beautiful and as my eyes adjusted from the bright noonday sun, I saw an angel in "my" pew.

Slowly, quietly, I walked up the nave and sat down beside Jeff. He was sitting with his hands clasped in his lap, a look of heartbreaking sadness on his face. His eyes met mine and he looked downward in shame.

As the rapid chords ascended and descended, twisting and turning in such complicated yet perfect precision, I put my arm around his shoulder. He stiffened for a moment and then melted into me, resting his head against my shoulder, under my head. I wrapped my other arm around him and held him tightly. No one else had to know. No one else could share this moment or destroy its beauty.

In that moment, I was overwhelmed with a torrent of varying emotions. I was holding another boy in my arms. I was ashamed, I was proud, I was worried, I was joyous. My heart broke for the pain Jeff was feeling, yet I was thrilled to be holding him, to give him strength as he shed silent tears on the shoulder of my blazer.

It was several minutes of peace and serenity before the organist completed his piece in a triumphant climax. I heard a faint sniff from Jeff as I looked up. In the doorway to the sacristy stood Father Parker, a kindly smile on his face. I looked frightened, I knew, but he held a cautionary hand up and smiled even more warmly. He turned and walked over to the organ, hidden from our view by an intricately carved wooden screen.

"Who's playing?" I whispered to Jeff.

"Mr. Penfield, the music teacher," he replied.

I started.

"Penfield's father?"

Jeff sniffed again.

"Yes, he's Eric's father."

Eric. Well, perhaps this explained why Eric Penfield was such a nice guy. I decided I would have to get to know him. I needed to find some good quality people in this school. In the meantime, I needed to work on Jeff.

"Are you OK?" I asked him.

Jeff nodded, sniffed again and sat up. He took a deep breath, glanced at his watch, and then looked up at me. Softly, he said, "Thank you, Scott."

I felt no need to say anything else. We were friends. He knew that there was no reason for him to feel embarrassment or humiliation for my witnessing his earlier harassment. We simply looked at each other for a moment before he looked away and whispered, "We're going to be late for Fourth Hour."

Serenely, we walked out the south transept and across the courtyard.

"Why did you come to the church?" I asked.

"I always spend my lunch hour in the church," he replied. "Its like the only place where I can get away from the animals and find some peace and quiet."

"Well, I saw you outside over the last few days when I was coming out. Why didn't you go in then?"

Jeff shrugged. "Well, I didn't want to bother you, because I knew you went there for the same reason I did. But, I was also irritated you were invading my place."

He looked at me and grinned to let me know it was OK now. I grinned back at him.

Fourth Hour was interesting. Mr. Ostrander made no mention of the incident that morning with Baldwin the Elder, but he seemed rather subdued. He was normally quite gregarious and animated. Today, he seemed far more serious than he had been the previous three days.

I was tripped in the hallway on my way to Fifth Hour French, but that was becoming something of the norm. Jeff and I both seemed to have trouble concentrating on Mme. Brouchard's lesson as we kept glancing at each other and smiling bashfully. I was rigidly erect as I left for Sixth Hour English and wondered how I was going to be able to make it through the hour.

As it happened, we did, indeed, read "Tintern Abbey" in English that day, as Jeff had indicated the previous evening in my front yard. Actually, we didn't read it; I read it. Mrs. Freeman, at just the most inconvenient and embarrassing moment possible, asked me to stand and read the poem, which is quite long.

My heart froze. I had, only moments before she called on me, adjusted my rigid boyhood in such a way as to relieve the incredible pressure building up in it; but, I knew if I stood and read before the class, it would be painfully obvious to all. Why, why, would this issue never go away?

As I stood, a thought did occur to me and I immediately shoved my left hand into my pocket, holding my text in my right hand, as I began to read.

Six agonizing minutes later, during which time my mortification overpowered any hormones racing through my system, I was able to remove my hand, though only a few seconds before I was gratefully able to resume my seat. Mrs. Freeman smiled and said, "Very good, Scoot. You have a marvelous reading style and you clearly understood what you were reading. Bravo."

There were a few snickers from around the class and I sighed with relief.

"However..."

I stopped breathing.

"... a gentleman usually does not stand with his hands in his pockets. Please try to avoid doing so in the future."

There were more snickers from around the class, as well as furtive whispers. Then a girl in the back, who had been listening to another girl whispering something quickly in her ear, burst out with a disgusted, "Oh my God! That's gross."

The whole class erupted in gales of hilarity while I, face burning and feeling waves of nausea crashing over me, tried to focus my eyes on the next item in the book, a short biography of Shelley.

Mrs. Freeman crashed her pointer down on her lectern and shouted "Silence!" before ordering one of the offending females in the back to read the Shelley biography.

Fortunately, I survived the rest of the hour and met Jeff at the east door of the school after the final bell. He had a joyous smile on his face, which faded into a look of concern as he saw through my attempt at keeping up a brave front.

"What's the matter?" he asked as we descended the steps toward Norfolk Avenue.

I took a deep breath before looking around to gauge the level of danger before we began our walk to the bus stop on Franklin.

"You remember what happened to you this morning in Gym?"

Jeff looked away in shame.

"Why'd you have to remind me?" he asked bitterly.

He had stepped away from me; I grabbed his book bag as it hung from his left shoulder and spun him around.

"Because it happened to me in Sixth Hour English."

Jeff looked at me blankly for a moment, giving me one of those empty stares I had seen so many of over the past week, until his face suddenly broke out into the sweetest grin. He started giggling and that started me giggling and soon we were both laughing hysterically as we walked up to the corner on Thirtieth.

"What happened?" he asked, after he regained his composure.

"Well, Mrs. Freeman called on me to read "Tintern Abbey" to the class and I was hard and all I could think to do was to put my hand in my pocket and try to hide it. And, it seemed to work until the stupid bitch told me when I was done that gentlemen don't put their hands in their pockets. I knew that, but what could I do? And, then, some stupid girl in the back screamed `Gross,' and everyone started laughing. I wanted to die right there. I knew just how you felt in Gym."

"No, you didn't know how I felt, `cause you weren't naked in front of the whole gym class. But, thanks for trying to be so understanding." He smiled at me and I wanted to hug him again.

We said nothing further for a block until Jeff looked at me mischievously and asked, "So what caused it?"

"What?"

"Your boner? What caused it?"

I looked at him as if he were weird. "I don't know. It just kind of happened. What caused yours?"

Jeff shrugged, then softly, so softly I could barely hear him from the traffic on Franklin, which we were approaching, said, "I get them all the time. I don't think anything really causes them. I just basically stay hard all the time."

"Yeah," I replied. "I know what you mean."

The light at Franklin changed and we crossed the street and stood at the bus stop. We both dropped our book bags on the sidewalk and removed our blazers and loosened our ties.

"So," I asked nervously as the traffic on Franklin resumed, "are you now?"

"What" Jeff asked.

I shyly looked up the street and then responded, "Hard. Are you hard now?"

Jeff shifted the blazer he was holding forward so that it covered the front of his pants.

"Yeah," he replied softly. "You?"

I followed suit and answered, "Yeah."

Again, we were silent until the Metrobus pulled up and we climbed on. We remained silent for the rest of the ride and until we had gotten off and crossed Twenty-fourth.

"So," Jeff asked shyly. "What are you gonna do for the rest of the day."

"Well, we have that quiz in Civics tomorrow and that quiz in French. But, other than that, nothing."

"Hey!" he asked with excitement. "Maybe we can study together! You want to come over?"

My heart felt like it would burst. I had forgotten what it was like to hang out with another guy, to study with a friend. In fact, I hadn't had a friend to pal around with since fifth grade, before we moved to the City.

"Yeah. That'd be neat!"

Jeff accompanied me into the house as I went to my room to change. The brat was watching Puffinstuff again. Mother was peeling potatoes in the kitchen and looked daggers at me until she saw Jeff behind me. He looked so cute in his open shirt, his loose tie, and his messed up hair. He just seemed to have charisma- I had just read a biography about President Kennedy which had said that was one of the keys to his success, charisma. I decided that was what Jeff had and Mother seemed to sense it, too, for she immediately mellowed again and smiled.

The heat in my attic bedroom was overwhelming as we climbed the stairs and closed the door behind us. I threw my jacket and book bag down on the bed and turned on the a.c. I ripped my shirt off and stood bare-chested in front of the icy-feeling air.

With my arms outstretched, I turned around to find Jeff sitting in my chair by the desk, eyes glued to my naked torso. He blushed and quickly looked away. I, too, blushed, and dropped my arms.

"You want to stand in front of the air conditioner and cool off while I go and change?" I asked nervously.

"Uh, sure. Yeah. I'm really hot."

I wanted to say, "You can say that again," but I figured I should keep my mouth shut. I walked past him to my dresser and pulled out a pair of Bermuda shorts and a white Izod and, then, froze. Where was I going to change? It would be awkward to walk downstairs to the bathroom I used by the utility room. But, I couldn't strip in front of Jeff right here.

Wait, I thought. What was I thinking? We stripped in front of each other everyday in gym! Why couldn't I change right here.

Why? Because I was hard as a rock again. That was why. I knew it was stupid. We were almost grown up, now, for Pete's sake! We were thirteen! We were teenagers! Yet, part of me couldn't bear the thought of Jeff seeing me undressed at that moment, even as a secret part deep within me desperately wanted to show off my rampant boner.

I compromised. I turned my back to Jeff and lowered my pants, but didn't remove my briefs. I then stepped into the shorts and slipped the shirt over my head. When I turned around, I saw Jeff quickly turn from my direction and look at the National Geographic map of the Moon I had on the slanted ceiling above my telescope. He was blushing fiercely; I grinned to myself.

"Well, you ready?" I asked.

"Sure," he said a bit unsteadily as he stood up. I withdrew my French and Civics books from my bag and led the way downstairs.

"I'm going over to Jeff's to study French and Civics," I called to Mother as we exited the kitchen.

"Don't be late for dinner!" she replied.

"Yeah," repeated the brat on the floor of the living room. "Don't be late for dinner!"

"Oh, kiss my butt," I muttered as we exited the front door."

"Mommy! Scott said to...."

We were halfway across the front yard by the time the front door closed. Jeff was giggling as we crossed the street.

"You have any sisters or brothers?" I asked morosely.

"No, unfortunately."

I grunted.

"You're lucky. It must be nice to be an only child."

Jeff shook his head.

"It's not all it's cracked up to be," he replied. "I'd love to have a little brother or sister."

"They're a pain in the butt. Well, at least mine are. I'd give anything to have a brother and sister who didn't hate me. It would be cool to play catch with my brother or to show him how to build a rocket, or to show him the planets or the moon through my telescope. My brother hates me. He thinks I'm a fa... a.. a freak."

Jeff looked at me sadly and then his face brightened. "You can always play catch with me."

I grinned.

"I was just using that as an example. I don't even have a glove. But, thanks for the offer."

Jeff giggled. "Well, maybe instead of playing catch, you could show me how to use your telescope."

We had entered Jeff's yard and were walking up to his porch. I stopped and grinned.

"That's a great idea. That would be a blast. Hey tomorrow is Friday night! We could stay up late and look at the full moon!"

"Yeah! And, maybe you could spend the night! You want to?"

Jeff seemed so excited. Heck, I was, too!

"That would be too cool! I've never been on a sleep-over."

Jeff smiled so happily at me as he opened the door.

His house was nice, almost too nice for this area. I mean, this wasn't a poor area. It was a nice, average, middle class neighborhood. But, Jeff's living room was filled with really expensive looking furniture and antiques.

"This is really fancy," I exclaimed as we walked through the house to the kitchen. Jeff shrugged.

"Its OK. My parents are real into showing off. They really can't afford all this."

"So, where's your mom?"

We entered the kitchen and then his utility room.

"She's at work."

He opened a door and led the way down some stairs to the basement. At the foot of the stairs, to the right, were a washer and dryer and storage area. To the left was another door. Jeff opened it and I followed. It took a bit for my eyes to adust to the darkness when closed the door. I stood still for a second until Jeff opened the little curtains over the tiny basement windows near the ceiling.

I was stunned.

His room was nearly the whole basement. In the far corner was a huge bed that looked like what my mother and evil stepfather slept in. There was a nice desk in the other far corner, several bookshelves around the room, and a cheap SoundDesign stereo against the south wall. But, what caught my attention and held my fascination was the art. It was everywhere!

There was an easel to my left with a canvas on it, an unfinished painting partially depicting an old English-style church in the country. There were also other canvases around the room, hanging on the walls or leaning against the walls on the floor, mostly landscapes and still-lifes.

There were several corkboards near the desk and on those were tacked sketches and drawings of people.

Jeff stood in the middle of the room and looked shyly at me. "Well? What do you think?"

I remained speechless, just looking around the room at all the wonderful art. It was good. It was really good! I was amazed.

"You're an artist!"

Jeff shrugged and smiled.

No. I mean, you're an artist!"

`Well, I want to be an artist. I'm learning."

I shook my head.

"No. You are an artist." I walked over to the easel.

"This is incredible." The detail, the balance, the blending of colors, the use of shadow and perspective were all so good that I couldn't believe it was the work of a thirteen year-old!

"Thank you," Jeff whispered. I turned and saw he had a look of such quiet pride that I wanted to hug him again. Almost everything about him made me want to hug him.

"How did you learn to do this?"

"My mother was an art teacher. She helped me when I was little. Over the last few years, though, I just got books from the library and experimented." He paused.

"Whenever things get really rough and I'm feeling really sad, I go to my room and paint. In our last house, my room was real small, so I didn't have much space. The light is terrible in here, but at least I have more room." Another pause. "And, more privacy."

He turned and walked over to a dresser at the foot of his huge bed. As he was pulling out a pair of khaki shorts and another "hippie" shirt, I asked, "So where's your mom teach?"

Jeff didn't look at me.

"She's dead."

I was confused.

"But, I thought you said she was at work?"

Jeff didn't turn, but continued to look into the drawer from which he had taken his shirt. Then he turned and walked over to his desk.

"Come here," he said as he picked up a sketch. As I approached, I could see it was of a nice, happy looking couple, a man and a woman, both of whom were in their late twenties or early thirties, and who bore a strong resemblance to Jeff.

"These are my parents." He turned and wordlessly walked to the small bathroom in the corner. When he returned, he was wearing his shorts and hippie shirt. I noticed a small bulge in his shorts, but nothing indicating a full-blown erection. He was so beautiful. His hair had been brushed so that it hung over his face and covered his ears again. He approached and sat on the edge of the bed.

"I'm adopted. My parents were killed in a car wreck when I was eight."

He was looking down at his lap again and I thought he was about to cry. I sat down beside him and put my left arm around him. Once again, he just melted in to me. I brought my other arm around and held him. I knew Jeff was in pain, but it felt so wonderful to hold him.

"What happened?" I whispered.

He sniffed and then said, "We were driving home from the lake on a Sunday night and there was some construction work on 267 and a car cut in front of us and Daddy lost control and we hit the guard rail. I don't remember much after that except the car was on fire. The next thing I knew, I woke up in the hospital."

I was stunned. I didn't know what to say. Jeff had been in the accident, too. Jeff survived and his parents didn't.

"W... we're you burned?"

He shook his head.

"They say the impact killed my parents before the fire started. I don't remember anything."

I was silent for a few more minutes and then asked, "What happened to you?"

Jeff sniffed again.

"Oh, I just had a concussion and a few cuts and bruises. I was in the back seat. I had my seat belt on. Sometimes, my neck still hurts, but other than that, I'm OK."

We were silent again, and then Jeff whispered, "I think God's punishing me because I wasn't killed. I should have been. It should have been me, not them. They were so good. I loved them so much and I'm such a freak. It should have been me."

"You don't really think that, do you?" I asked, horrified and not knowing what to say to anything so painful.

Jeff shrugged against me.

"I'm a freak. I'm a sick freak."

"No, you're not! You're not a freak. You're a cool guy! You're the coolest guy I ever met!"

"You don't really know me. You don't know the real me. If you really knew me, you'd think I was a freak, too."

"Aw, Jeff! Don't say that. You and I are gonna be best friends! We're gonna do stuff together and we're gonna tell each other things we would never tell anyone else and we're gonna be there to help each other out, no matter what!"

Jeff remained silent, an occasional sniff and his breathing the only indication he was alive. Then, in an almost inaudible whisper, he asked, "You mean it?"

"You bet I do."

He pulled far enough away to wrap his arms around me as I had wrapped mine around him. Once again, he rested his head on shoulder and we clung to each other.

It was strange. Holding Jeff, feeling him hold me, sensing the warmth of his body, smelling the odor of a sweaty, teenage boy in my arms, all made me fiercely hard. Yet, I didn't really feel horny. I just felt good. It felt so natural to hold Jeff and for Jeff to hold me.

We sat like that for a long time until I heard a car door slam above and behind us. Jeff stirred and whispered, "Beverley's home."

Slowly, we pulled away from each other. Jeff looked up at me and I gazed into those soft blue eyes. The emotions I saw, trust, happiness, fear, I knew were reflected in my own. I wanted to kiss him. My lips parted and...

Slam. "Jeff! Why aren't you mowing the damn yard?"

Jeff closed his eyes and sighed. "Coming, Mother," he whispered in exaggerated politeness. I grinned. Jeff got up and grabbed our books. We both sat on the bed Indian style with our books open, practicing our rudimentary French.

"Bon apres-midi," Jeff said with a twinkle.

"Bon apres-midi," I repeated. Jeff's accent was much better than mine.

We repeated our lesson together for a few minutes until I heard stomping on the steps outside Jeff's door. He gave me a look and then we heard a pounding on the door.

"Jeff!"

"Yes, ma'am."

The door burst open and an attractive woman in her early thirties stood in the door, dressed in a professional woman's dress, blouse, and jacket. Her dark blond hair was perfectly coiffed and a strong of pearls adorned her neck. But, her face showed pure anger... until she saw me sitting on the bed in front of Jeff, our books open on our laps.

"I didn't now we had a guest," she said sweetly through a hint of acid. "Shouldn't you introduce us, Jeffrey?"

Jeff winked and said with great formality, "Mother, this is my friend, Scott Forrester. He lives down the street in the house on the corner. He's in my class at school. Scott, this is my mom, Beverley Robinson."

I stood and said, "Hello, Mrs. Robinson."

She smiled with a look of surprise on her face. I saw her look me up and down, which made me just a bit uncomfortable.

"We're studying for a French quiz tomorrow," Jeff said.

Mrs. Robinson smiled thinly. "Well, I suppose you can mow the grass after dinner."

"Yes, ma'am."

With that, she spun around and disappeared up the stairs.

"She hates me," Jeff said softly.

"Oh, she does not," I objected as I sat back down on the bed. "If she hated you, why did she adopt you?"

Jeff snorted.

"Because she and Ted need a son to show off to their friends. She can't have kids. I'm just not what they wanted. They thought I was, but, then, they saw what I really was and it was too late. They couldn't send me back."

I was horrified. Surely, he didn't really mean this! However, the look on his face told me otherwise. I wanted to hug him again, but Jeff had already picked up his book.

"Bonsoir."

I sighed.

"Bonsoir."

Later, at dinner, as nobody was speaking as they concentrated on my mother's meat loaf and mashed potatoes, the brat chimed up with, "Scotty has a new boyfriend."

"Shut up, buttface. He's not my boyfriend! He's a friend!"

"Don't talk to your sister that way!" my mother spat.

"But, Mother, she..."

"Shut up and eat."

Fred looked up and, with his mouth full of meat loaf, murbled, "He does look a little queer."

I threw my fork down on the plate.

"He's not queer!"

Fred's eyes grew wide with anger, (and triumph?).

"Don't raise your voice to me, you little asshole!"

I was practically finished with my dinner. I looked at Mother and said, "May I please be excused?"

"Yeah," she mumbled as she stared at her plate.

"Me, too?" the brat asked.

"No, finish your dinner."

"But, Scott's not finished!"

Fred took another bite and though a mouthful of mashed potatoes, spat, "Shut up and eat."

The brat gave me a murderous look. I didn't care. I scraped off the remains of my dinner into the disposal and went up to my room. As I started up the steps, Fred yelled, "You're grounded tonight for mouthin' off to me!"

I was almost to the top of the stairs when I whispered to myself, "Fuck off."

As I sat down at my desk with my Civics book, however, I looked out my window and could see Jeff in his front yard trying to start their lawn mover. A green Ford LTD pulled up as he yanked on the chord, apparently without success. A man with dark hair, wearing a dark suit, got out. I saw Jeff's shoulders sink as the man gesticulated. Then he pushed Jeff out of the way, did something to the engine and then pulled the chord. Could hear the faint roar of the engine. Woodenly, Jeff stepped up to the mower as the man stormed into the house.

We both seemed to have really shitty lives. I remembered The Plan. I looked over at the night stand, wherein resided my Scout knife, then back out the window at the beautiful slim figure struggling with the mower. He would be what kept me from implementing The Plan; and, maybe, just maybe, if he had is own Plan, I might be able to keep him from implementing his.