The Moon In Your Eyes
Disclaimer: The following contains scenes of sexual activity between males. If you find this offensive or if it is illegal for you to read this in your jurisdiction, please do not do so. This is fiction and did not happen. Always use protection. Obey your mother. Remember: "i" before "e" except after "c."
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The Moon in Your Eyes
A strange and wondrous feeling seemed to envelope me. I couldn't identify it or locate its source, but it was wonderful. I was so tired and sleepy and I really wanted to sink back down into the depths of slumber, but this incredible feeling was growing stronger and more insistent that I awaken. I fought it, but it was too strong. It was warm and loving and seemed to envelope my penis in its stroking...
Stroking! That was it. My eyes opened and I cried out as the most incredible sensation of my life flooded over my body. I looked down and found my beautiful, sweet Jeff stroking my penis! He was on his knees between my legs, furiously stroking himself as well while he made love to my erection.
It was too much. My body doubled up and then exploded as I thrust my hips upward and screamed. I clutched desperately at the sheet beneath me as I bucked and writhed. I was beyond all rational thought. What was happening to me was beyond anything I had ever experienced; and when I collapsed, spent and exhausted, Jeff moaned around my erection and I watched his body begin to jerk and spasm. I felt drops of warm goo on my feet and calves as his little body quaked and rocked to his own joy.
Jeff collapsed between my legs, his head resting on my left thigh, my own cock, still fairly hard, just inches from his face. He lay gasping, his left hand laying on my other thigh, his fingers toying with the red hair at the base of my penis.
Once I could speak, I whispered, "Wim."
Jeff looked up at me through half-open eyes and smiled.
"Come here," I said.
It took him a moment to gather his wits and his strength, but after a few seconds, he crawled up my body and we embraced, his head, once again, resting on my left shoulder, where it naturally seemed to belong. My left arm was wrapped around his torso and my hand caressed his smooth skin. His left leg was draped across my thighs. I brought my right hand up to his face and ran the tips of my fingers over the pristine skin.
"I love you, my sweet Wim," I whispered to him.
"I love you, my sweet Scott," he whispered back. "You're the only person who calls me that. You're the only person who knows that was my nickname."
"Wim," I whispered as I ran my fingers through his silky hair. "Sweet, sweet Wim."
"Would you do something for me," he whispered.
"Call me Jeff in normal life, but when we're loving each other, will you always call me Wim?"
I smiled and my heart felt as if it would burst. Here in my arms was the answer to all my prayers. Someone really loved me. Someone finally gave a damn about me, not what I was, but who I was. Someone loved me and it didn't matter that I couldn't play baseball, (as my evil stepfather felt), or that I didn't fit in, (as my mother felt), or that I made great grades but not perfect grades, (as my grandparents felt). He loved me for me and that's all he asked in return, for me to love him for him.
"I'll do anything you want," I replied. "Anything. I love you."
I felt tears on my chest and then I slept.
Saturday was one of the happiest days of my life. We slept late and emerged from Jeff's basement a little before eleven. Mrs. Robinson seemed not to have any memory of her behavior the previous night; she was as friendly and gracious as possible when we walked into the kitchen. She did seem to be favoring her head a little, (which Jeff indicated was not that unusual on a Saturday), but she gladly fixed grilled cheese sandwiches for us.
Later, I stole Mikey's Frisbee and we walked up to Franklin Park, (the park, not the school), and spent much of the afternoon frolicking around, tossing the Frisbee back and forth, flying back and forth on the swings, laying in the grass. We stopped at the neighborhood branch library on the way home and just roamed through the stacks, discussing our interests and non-interests. Both Jeff and his mom asked if I wanted to spend the night again and then accompany them to church in the morning. I enthusiastically said yes, but that I had to check my with mother first.
It was late afternoon. My evil stepfather was out with friends after playing golf that morning, Mikey and the Brat were at our grandparents' for the weekend, so Mother and I had the house to ourselves as I walked in. She was sitting in the living room reading the National Enquirer and drinking a glass of Rose'. She seemed in an uncharacteristically peaceful mood.
I was nervous, for some reason; fearful she would sense how deeply I wanted her to grant my request and would, therefore, deny it. However, I felt I must get it over with.
"Mother?" I said tentatively as I sat down on the sofa in front of her. She looked up and actually smiled.
"Hi, sweetie," she replied. "Did you have a nice time at Jeff's?"
I beamed before I realized what I was doing.
"Oh, yes! I had a wonderful time! Jeff is the coolest guy. He's just like me! He likes the same music I like, the same books, the same movies! Its almost like we're brothers."
Mother looked at me with a sad smile.
"Its been rough for you, hasn't it?"
"What do you mean?" I asked nervously.
"Losing your father like you did. Things are so much different now. You and Mikey used to be so close; and, now, you're like from two different families."
I thought for a moment. It was true. Mikey hated me now. He always called me a fag because I was so smart and because I was interested in subjects most boys thought boring. Daddy had understood that I wasn't an athlete, so he encouraged my interests, even while trying to expose me to sports in an encouraging and non-threatening way. For example, he would play catch with me while asking my opinion about President Johnson and the War. We would go fishing Sunday before church and discuss the latest book I had read. Fred would never consider discussing anything with me.
"I suppose its because I got to spend more time with Daddy before he died than Mikey did. All he's known really for a father is Fred."
Mother looked down with a sad expression and set her paper aside.
"You and Fred are just so different. I wish you and he could talk."
"I've tried, Mother. I really have. He just hates me."
Mother sighed. "No. He doesn't hate you; he just doesn't understand that you're, well, different."
"I not different!"
"Oh, don't be upset, honey. I don't mean in that way. Its just that he grew up in a family where the man was the boss and kids were supposed to be quiet and work. He was knocked around a lot by his parents. He just doesn't understand the way things are now."
"He doesn't want to understand," I replied ruefully. "You don't understand. Even Mom and Dad don't understand. Jeff's the only person who understands me."
"But, Scotty, you seem so... so stuck up sometimes."
This was the button to push.
"I'm not stuck up! I'm really not!"
"Sweetie, I'm not trying to hurt your feelings. Its just that that's the way you come across to people. Like the way you call me `Mother' instead of something else."
I looked downward.
"Well, I'm too old to call you `Mommy,' and I can't call you `Mom' because we already call my grandmother `Mom' because that's what Daddy called her. And, I just don't feel right calling you `Mama.' I mean, what else is there?"
Mother looked at me thoughtfully and gave a sad smile.
"Its been so rough for you, these past few years, hasn't it?"
I looked down. She continued.
"Scotty, I know I made some mistakes and maybe I shouldn't have married Fred. You need special attention and I've ignored you. I'm so sorry for what you've been through."
I looked up at her with shock. Was she really apologizing? Did she really know what I had been through? Did she really understand?
"I love you so much," she continued. "I love all my kids."
This was what I was looking for! This moment was what I wanted from my mother, some recognition of what I had gone through, some respect for my feelings, my mother telling me in a true and sincere way she loved me. Tears came to my eyes and I wanted to rush over to her and hug her.
"But, nobody understands what I've been through, the Hell I've experienced. Nobody ever asks me how I am. I'm Mother. I'm just supposed to be there and nobody cares if I'm depressed. You think you've had it rough! Just put yourself in my shoes!"
With each sentence of her speech, her voice rose in pitch and intensity, moving closer and closer to hysteria. My heart sank as I realized that what I had hoped for would not happen. I sank back into my chair and my gaze moved sadly back to the perfect carpet in the perfectly clean and organized living room in our perfectly clean and organized house. I lost track of what she was saying. I had heard it all before; I could recite it perfectly.
When she paused to catch her breath, I looked up before she had a chance to resume her harangue and popped the question.
"Mother, may I... I mean, can I spend the night at Jeff's again tonight? I'm going to church with his family tomorrow at St. Stephen's and it might be easier if I'm already there with them."
Mother seemed confused for a second, as if it took a bit of effort for her to leave her world of pain and suffering and return to reality.
"What? Oh. Well, yes. OK. Just be sure to be gone before Fred gets home so he won't say no."
"Thank you," I replied softly, rejoicing on the inside, yet still feeling miserable all the same. Respectfully, I stood up and walked to my bedroom, where I gathered my blazer and slacks, shirt and tie, socks, briefs, and loafers, carefully packed everything except the blazer, and descended the stairs.
Fred was just pulling into the driveway at the side of our house as I went through the kitchen. I gave Mother a quick peck and hurried out the front before he could come in and stop me, (he hated me, but he would enjoy seeing me unhappy far more than he would enjoy my absence).
Mrs. Robinson's station wagon was just pulling into her driveway as I came up to Jeff's house. Jeff opened the front door and I laid my things on a chair in the foyer before going out to help him carry in their groceries from the car.
"Ted went to the office for awhile," she said as Jeff and I set the last of the bags on the kitchen counter. "He'll be bringing back some pizza for you boys. We're going out to a dinner party tonight."
I think she noticed the glint in Jeff's eyes for she squeezed his shoulder and smiled as she left the kitchen. When Jeff and I made it down to his bedroom, he started dancing joyfully about the room, singing the word "Freedom" over and over. I laughed at his silly antics, especially when he came up to me with his "wild boy" face and declared, "We're free!!!"
Ted and Beverley were actually nice people when they weren't drinking. As Jeff and I sat at the kitchen table eating the pizza later and they were walking about the house, they were laughing and joking and quite friendly. At one point, when they had disappeared into the bedroom to begin dressing for the party, I leaned over and whispered to Jeff, "Hey, they're really nice people, once you get to know them."
Jeff raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Wait till you really get to know them."
Once they had left and Jeff and I had the run of the house, he dragged me down to the basement to quickly masturbate with each other, ("to relieve the pressure," he insisted). When we had finished, bringing each other to screaming orgasms as we gazed lovingly into each others' eyes, we took a long relaxing shower, (which resulted in yet another orgasm, the intensity of which only a thirteen year-old can know), and then returned outside.
Jeff brought a beach towel out and we lay in the backyard as the sun set behind the houses to the west. I lay on my right side, my gaze shifting from the angel at my side to the purple crepe myrtle beyond. As dusk settled over us, we began to joke and tease until I grabbed Jeff and began mercilessly to tickle him.
He would scream for me to stop, and yet, during several opportunities when he could have escaped, he chose to remain beneath me, enduring the tickles and the torture. I held his hands above his head with one hand and relentlessly attacked his sides and underarms until I thought he might pee in his shorts. During one of the few brief respites I allowed him for regaining his breath and his composure, I could see a strange look in his eyes, a hungry, wild look, a needful look that told me he loved this, craved this. He wanted me to hold him down. He wanted me to tickle him. He wanted me on top of him.
Suddenly, he moved his face upward and we kissed. Roughly, I forced my mouth against his, pushed my tongue into his mouth. Jeff moaned as I took control of his mouth. This was a strange feeling for me, a sensation I had never known, satisfying a need I never knew I had.
As the fireflies darted around us and the crickets and tree frogs began their songs, I pulled Jeff's tie-dyed t shirt from his body. I began to kiss him again on the lips and then around his face, kissing and licking the beautiful smooth skin, loving his nose, his eyebrows, the little pimple on his chin. I moved down to his throat and he cried and wriggled under me as the sensations grew too intense. Hungrily, I kissed and licked and sucked his neck, bathing it, running my tongue over his Adam's apple, making him squirm and squeal and gasp with love and pleasure.
I was once again holding his arms above his head; I don't know what possessed me to do it, but as I looked down at his smooth, hairless, underarms, I was taken by the desire to bathe them with my tongue, to love them, kiss them, take them. My sweet Jeff cried and writhed helplessly beneath me as I loved his underarms.
And, then, the most incredible thing happened. Jeff orgasmed. For the third time in less than two hours, his face took on that pained, joyous, intense, agonized look and as his head flailed about on the blanket and his body jerked and twisted and writhed in a paroxysm of teenage lust, he screamed and babbled and cried until, just as suddenly, he collapsed back against the blanket.
"Oh, God, Scotty. That was... that was amazing. How did you do that to me? How did you make me do it without touching my dick?"
I shook my head in amazement.
"I don't know. I was gonna ask you the same question."
It was dark and the Moon wouldn't rise until an hour later than the previous night. The only light came from the yards and houses around us and the ambient glow of the city. Yet, I could still see his eyes and his sweet lips in their angelic smile. I kissed him softly and rolled over on my back. Jeff rolled over onto my left side, into "his" position, and we lay under the stars, listening to the crickets and tree frogs and the sounds of the city around us.
We both fell asleep and awoke much later as the Moon, now a night past full, rose above the trees to the east. Jeff must have sensed my awakening for he looked up at me. I kissed his forehead and he rolled over onto his back. We lay there for several minutes, watching the Moon as it slowly rose, bathing us in the purity of its silver light.
I had no idea how long we lay there, though it was long enough for the Moon to move its own diameter above the trees, but we were eventually roused by the sound of car doors slamming.
"The Robinsons," he intoned ominously, "have returned."
I was scared. "What do we do?" I asked.
"They'll stumble around the front door for awhile," he replied. "Then, they'll get into a fight, if they haven't already. Then, one of them will wonder into the kitchen and yell down the stairway to see if we're OK. Come on."
Slowly we stood and Jeff rolled up the beach blanket. I followed him as he snuck in the side door. As we crept through the darkened utility room toward the basement stairway, I heard Ted yelling from the front, "Damn it, Bev, do you always have to act so damn snooty around everyone? The Cartwrights see right through you. Didn't you see Elizabeth laughing at you when you were talking about your damn porcelain collection?"
"She's the one who's snooty. She came from nothing! The only reason she married Arnie is because she had to!"
Jeff shook his head as he quietly opened the door to the basement stairs.
"Gag," he whispered as he began to descend. I giggled quietly and followed.
However, as we undressed, once again in the soft glow of candlelight, the argument upstairs became a bit more heated until it seemed to consist only of incoherent profanities and mindless screaming. The eye-rolling with which Jeff initially greeted the hostilities soon turned into furtive looks of fear as we cuddled in his bed.
When, suddenly, the sound of shattering glass broke through the din of screaming, we both jumped. The look of terror on Jeff's face at that moment told me far more about him than nearly all the interactions between us that weekend. The cockiness and sarcasm with which he faced his adopted parents was not the real Jeff. The trembling, crying boy clinging desperately to me as the sounds of violence erupted above us was the reality.
It lasted only a moment, but it seemed an eternity. As abruptly as the sounds of breaking glass and shattered china began, so it ended. I had experienced my share of family fights since the advent of my evil stepfather in my family, so I was not completely unaccustomed to this sort of thing. However, the ferocity and level of violence left me as shaken as Jeff. We lay quietly, clinging to each other in the now dominating silence, unable to sleep, unable to speak, unable to do anything except share our love and fear and pain.
When, finally, I fell asleep, I was visited with demons throughout the night, visions of Jeff's parents in vicious arguments, suddenly turning into my mother and stepfather as the Baldwin brothers looked on and sneered. I was in gym class and the fights were occurring all around me. Jeff was standing on the far side of the gym as my classmates blocked me from him. Mr. Gordon stood to one side lecturing on the difference between a citizen and a slave while Father Parker stood on my other side sadly shaking his head.
It seemed the dream would never end. I would awaken from my nightmare, squeeze my love and then fall back asleep and back into the same endless nightmare. When finally we both awoke Sunday morning, we were exhausted.
We cautiously emerged from the basement after dressing for church and found no evidence of the previous evenings hostilities. Mrs. Robinson was sitting at the kitchen table nursing a glass of tomato juice and looking as if she had just emerged from the deepest, darkest circle of Hell. Mr. Robinson was nowhere to be found. We stood in our shirts and ties, afraid to speak. Mrs. Robinson looked up and appeared to suppress the urge to vomit.
"Good morning, Mother!" Jeff suddenly chirped, an instantaneous change-over transforming him back into his sarcastic persona. "And, how are we doing this fine morning?"
If looks could kill, Beverley Robinson's eyes would have, at that moment, turned her adopted European son into a pile of middle-American ash.
"I guess you and Dad won't be going to church this morning?"
She continued to gaze malevolently at Jeff through eyes of evil red. Slowly, she rose, steadying herself with the table.
"There are Poptarts in the cabinet."
Jeff greeted this revelation with the same bravado.
"Oh, Scott! Doesn't that sound yummy? Even better than really greasy sausage and runny eggs and...."
Beverley was lunging for the door in desperate search, I assumed, of a bathroom. Jeff smiled sweetly at me.
"That was mean," I remonstrated. A look of darkness came over his face.
"Fuck'em," he replied.
I was shocked. It was not so much that I didn't use profanity; I was exposed to more than my share at home and at school. It was that it seemed so out of character for my angel. But, those eyes as he uttered that phrase seemed familiarly dark and angry. Then I knew where I had seen them. They were the eyes of the angry clown and, once again, I saw another side of the boy I loved.
And, I was scared.
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