DISCLAIMER: This story contains sex between two teenage boys. If that offends you, read it anyway and you could learn something. I give consent and permission to Nifty to use this work and this story can not be removed from this site except by the permission of the author Wolfflyer26.

Other stories by Wolfflyer are located in the boy bands section of Nifty entitled Like The Rain. Check it out even if you don't like this one, it's a normal story with plot and dialogue.



Hi, my name is Matt Mitchell. I'm a twenty-three year old male. A lot of things have happened to me recently so I thought I would take the time to write down my thoughts. True knowledge is the realization that you don't know anything. If that's true, then I must be a genius.

Just to give you an idea of whom is writing this, I will describe myself. I am six-foot tall with brown hair. My hazel eyes are usually shining and filled with life. These days there is more redness than green due to the sadness I feel.

I am a normal looking guy, tall and slim, nothing that would make you look at me twice. I'm surely no Brad Pitt. But I do try to take care of myself with exercise.

I guess I'm just like everyone else. I have good days and I have bad days. I cry through the bad days and laugh through the good ones. Most of the time, I can always find a reason to smile or laugh or maybe just to appreciate living. But then there are some days, I don't know if I can take it.

You know those days when another family member dies or that cousin that was always your favorite had to go and bury his one year old son. Those days that your heart just seems like it's gonna burst from the sadness that encompasses your life.

It never ceases to amaze even a skeptic like me, that the human will and the human soul can endure such pain and hardship. Any other species that we know of would give up and die long before suffering the amount of life that humans deal with on a daily basis. That's it, the will.

We can laugh off life's little mishaps, we can think the good things when someone dies. We can pretend that we're happy when they die. "He was in so much pain, he's better off this way." But isn't that a lie.

Aren't we really happy that it wasn't us lying in that cheap coffin? Isn't that why we have that party that is always after the funeral? Not to remember the lost loved one, but to express the thanks that it wasn't us?

Unfortunately, too many of us feel that way. Maybe it's something that we as a collective society breed at an early age. I thought that was the proper way to mourn. Going to a wake and getting drunk and thanking whatever god you serve that it wasn't you. Luckily I learned what it's really about. And I learned it from the most unlikely of places.

I was raised in a strict religious house. We went to church four times a-week. Yes, four. Once, Sunday morning for Sunday school, once for Sunday evening services. Once for Wednesday's evening services and once on Friday just to make sure that the kids couldn't be in any sport programs.

It wasn't the best way to make friends in school. We had lots of rules of things that we couldn't do. I won't list them since I wouldn't want to bore you, but playing sports wasn't allowed since most of the games were on a Friday night and I couldn't miss church. Do I seem bitter to you? Damn right I'm bitter.

Years of torture and abuse from other kids because I didn't wear the proper clothing. No jeans for me, nope I had to wear suits to school everyday. And this wasn't a private school like most of you are thinking. I went to a normal public school. Only because that little town didn't have a private Christian school.

Years later my parents would blame the public school for all the "trouble" that I got in. Or they would blame it on my uncle who had been a bad influence on me. You know teaching me about free will and the right to follow my dream. Just a horrible person right?

Just to think back on my childhood makes me see red. Should I hate my parents for raising me this way? For years I did. I didn't want to be different. I wanted to be just like Billy or Timmy or Joe or countless other little boys.

Little did I know that my quest for normalcy or my quest to be the same as everyone else would take me down a road seldom traveled by "normal people". I look back and smile at life's little irony.

I have to admit that I bought into the "whole god thing" pretty much hook line and sinker. Up until I was thirteen I said my prayers and I tried to save the "sinners" from their evilness. Let me tell you, didn't help my already legendary image at school. No one likes a bible thumper, especially a twelve-year-old one at that.

What happened to change me you ask? I discovered the forbidden fruit. I discovered that which my dad to this day still won't admit or think about. When asked of my parents where is your son, I have heard that they say I died in a horrible accident. Nice parents huh. Don't get mad at them; hate the disease not the person.

Funny that, my father always used to say that to me. I guess he was wrong. I did listen when he spoke. Too bad he doesn't follow his own advice. Not only does he hate the disease, but he hates me as well. And is convinced that I am going to hell. I know, I say that with such casualness, but look at it from my side. I don't believe in hell.

What's the fruit you ask with a hint of anger at my lack of explanation? I discovered that I had a will. So I decided to explore my newfound gift. I did the unthinkable in our religion, I thought for myself.

Not what they told me to think about, but whatever I wanted too. I thought about all the hate that surrounded me in daily life and I how I didn't want to end up hating everything. I thought about all the choices I could make. All the different roads I could walk.

Heavy thinking for a twelve-year-old you might say. But I was an only child and my dad has an IQ of 174. He taught me at an early age of the beauty of learning. He taught me to be independent and not to rely on what others said. I was never out of school. My dad was teaching me from the time I woke up to the time I went to bed. Not only about religion (even though that took up a huge part of my day) but about the classics. The love of reading and the thirst for knowledge.

I know he was trying to make sure that when I went to that public school, I wouldn't be swayed from my religious beliefs. But you can see how that could backfire, can't you? I was fine when I listened and did whatever my parents said or whatever my minister said. But when I questioned their words, I was branded a rebellious teen and I was punished.

How can you teach someone to be wary of what others teach and expect them to never question even what you taught them? My dad has told me long ago that he was a horrible father because he taught me independence. And boy, did I learn that lesson well.

But, back to what I was trying to say earlier. I discovered that I had a free will. I could choose what I wanted to be. I could choose what I would do with my life. I could choose who I would sleep with.

You know I was going to go there eventually. I have since found out that suppressing people's minds isn't the answer. If you tell someone no enough times, sooner or later they will do it just to see what the fuss is about.

I was told ever since I could remember that sex before marriage was wrong. And if I did it, I was hurting god. Do you know what that does to your sexual prowess? Every time I got an erection I pictured god crying. Hard to have sex with god crying, believe I know.

I missed out on so many years of intimate relations with my hand because I was scared to make god cry. But all it took was a free will and my hand is one of my favorite partners. Don't look at me like that, you do it too.

I can remember so vividly the first time I actually masturbated. It's funny now, but then I was so scared that god would send an angel down to punish me for wasting my seed.

It was late at night, almost four in the morning. It was summer, it was so hot that I couldn't sleep. We didn't have air-conditioning cause that was a luxury that our religion didn't believe in. Something about if god wanted us to be cool he wouldn't have made the sun so hot. (Hell, I didn't watch TV until I was almost 16 and that was at a friend's house after school one day.)

I was lying there in my small twin bed naked. All the sheets were thrown on the floor in my perpetual quest for coolness. My bed was so tiny you didn't even have the small luxury of finding the cold spot on the bed. So I just lied there on my back trying to fall asleep with that sickly sweaty feeling all over my young body.

I'm not sure what I was thinking about, but I started the innocent rubbing of my chest and stomach. I found out quickly that if I lightly rubbed my body, I would get a chill for a brief moment. My youthful curiosity was peaked.

I slowly ran my hand over my nipples, my body shivered at my touch. With just one finger, I rubbed my hard nipple gently and softly. Alternating the directions every few seconds. If I wanted to cool myself off, this wasn't the best way, as I now know. But I was touching my body in a way that I had never done before and I was enjoying the sensations I was getting.

For the first time, I actually thought about my thirteen-year-old body. I was slim, even for a thirteen-year-old. God hates obesity my parents said to me almost on a daily basis. Which was the reason that I was the best-shaped kid in my school.

I exercised with my parents for two hours daily. We ran two miles every day. Along with push-ups, crunches, and all other sorts of exercises that most thirteen-year-olds didn't know existed. As we would workout, my dad would be busy brainwashing me with his religion.

But here I was lying in bed naked. A big no no in my religion. Nakedness is a sign of the evil doer. I don't know if my parents have ever seen one another naked in the forty years that they have been married.

I was doing the unspeakable. I was touching myself and I was lost in the euphoria of the first time. My firm stomach had sunk well below my ribs as I lay on my back. Everytime I took a breath, it sunk a bit lower. (Too this day, I still lie on my back and stare at my stomach as I breathe. It amazes me too no end at the illusion of my stomach and guts disappearing into my body somehow.)

As I rubbed my chest and my nipples with one hand, my other hand was stroking my upper thighs. By this time I noticed that my evil thing between my legs was fully hard and sticking straight up into the air. I kid you not, up until this night, I barely touched my cock unless I was washing it or putting it in a more comfortable location in my shorts. I was told repeatedly that it was a sin to touch or play with it at anytime.

But quite accidentally, my pinky finger brushed it softly one time when I rubbed my stomach. A sensation shot through to the core of my body. Not only did I get chills, but a feeling of pleasure shot through to my soul. Needless to say, I brushed against it again very quickly.

Who can explain the first time a male masturbates? Who can describe the feeling of ecstasy one gets at the slightest touch of a male penis? I know I can't, but the feeling is one that I have never felt as strong since. Not after my many encounters and my desire to learn new things have I felt that. (I guess in a way I am looking for that level of awakening still.)

And in a weird way, it's the reason that I am writing this today. But I will get to that soon.

For a few minutes, or maybe hours, I would rub one finger against my hard cock reveling in the feelings. But like every boy learns, I started using more fingers to glide up and down my shaft of my hardon.

No one teaches a boy how to masturbate, that's obvious in the many techniques that I have found by watching my various partners. But the gist of it is the same.

As I rubbed my dick, every time I touched right below the head, a shiver would course through my body. Needless to say, I enjoyed that immensely. So of course, I focused my attention there. Soon, I had wrapped my entire fist around my boy cock and was slowly learning the ancient technique of stroking.

My first orgasm didn't take me long to achieve. But I remember letting a groan escape my lips and my entire body convulsing as a feeling of utter euphoria raptured my being spilling out my seed on my taunt stomach. (I remember not even thinking about the cum that was on my stomach. I knew what it was, hell by that age I knew where babies came from and how they were made. It weird at what my parents thought was bad and what they thought was good.) My breathing was heavy and I realized that I was still very hot. Sweat had beaded above my lip and my hair was damp from the excursion of my hand. But I felt satisfied. In a weird way, I had discovered my will, which would set the tone for the rest of my life.

How can I place so much on one orgasm you might ask? Well, at that time, I learned that there was something other than religion that could give you pleasure. Granted, pleasure in too different ways. But pleasure never the less.

My parents had told me that my cock was evil and that nothing good would ever come of it until I was married. But I found out that they had lied. A lot had come from my evil member. For the first time in my life, I question what they told me.

I'm not saying that the next day I didn't feel guilty about it. But I didn't tell my dad that I did it either. That was the first secret that I had from my dad. Trust me, there have been many things since then but that was the first one. Thus, in a way, my evil cock is the reason that I don't believe anymore. (So in a way dad, you are right, but only in a way.)

The next morning at breakfast I was so scared that my dad would know that I had played with my evil cock. He always told me that god knew everything, that he saw everything. I was expecting to hear that god had told my dad that I was playing with my penis and that I was going to burn in hell forever for hurting him. But my dad didn't say a word.

Then I thought that he was making me suffer for awhile and that he would tell me later on after my conscience had wrecked havoc on my mind. All day I was jittery and nervous. I just knew that my dad would look at me and say that he knew. But it never happened.

But after that long horrifying day, I swore that I would never do it again. I even went as far as to wear pants to bed with a belt so that I couldn't touch my cock even in my sleep. I must have sweat buckets in those few days because of it. My mom kept asking me why my sheets were so wet every morning. Try explaining that too your mom.

After a few days and nothing happened, I started calming down about it. Maybe I had gotten away with it and as long as I didn't do it again, god would forgive me. But then church night came, and I was scared out of my mind again.

At that age, it was the first time that I really didn't want to go to church in my entire life. I was scared petrified that the minister would stand up in front of everyone and say what a horrible person I was about how I touched my penis until my seed came out and that I wasted it on sexual pleasure.

I know, I was a bit of a weird kid. But I did have every right to be; I had a weird childhood to blame it on. What's your excuse?

From the moment that I walked into the church a feeling of dread come over me. How could I pray and worship god with my horrible secret hanging over me? At that time I wanted so desperately to be a good little Christian boy.

But as the service progressed, nothing happen. I began to look around at the other people in the building. No one was looking at me funny. When people saw that I was looking at them they actually smiled at me. They didn't know. I looked at the other kids and saw their faces. I was shocked for the first time.

They looked how I must have looked just three short days ago. They were staring intently at the minister as he spoke of the evils of drinking and they were eating it up. They looked enraptured by his message and a feeling of confusion came over me. Were they somehow better than me? Did my evil act segregate me from the other faithful? Was that the reason why I wasn't paying attention to the sermon?

I started squirming around in my seat and that served nothing but a smack from dad with a word to pay attention. I tried to listen but I had noticed a boy sitting two rows back from me on the other side of the church. I had never seen him at church before or his family. It was the first time that they had come here. (Later on I found out that they had just moved into town and were glad that their kid had other good influences around to teach him the way, boy were they wrong.) He was staring at the ceiling with a bored expression. Did he touch himself too? Was that the reason why he wasn't listening? I didn't know but I knew that I had to find out.

The service seemed to drag on for days. But finally the minister dismissed us and I told my dad that I had to use the restroom. I quickly followed the young boy as he walked out of the church and onto the sidewalk. He leaned against a tree and seemed to be lost in his own little world.

As I cleared the front doors, I stopped and stared at him for a moment. Was he as evil as I was? Could this be the one person I could relate too after my brush with carnal knowledge?

I hoped so, I needed some answers and I needed them fast.

Later I found out his name was Greg, and like me he was raised in the same manner. He was a gorgeous blonde that had the most unusual eyes I had ever seen or have seen since. They were blue but they held a light or a fire that burned with such intensity that I felt drawn too them like a moth to a flame. If I was going to be burned, I was more than happy to be by him.

He was shorter than I was but one year older. His body was more muscular than mine. He still had that boyish fat to his frame but you could tell that he would grow out of that soon. He was dressed in a suit just like I was but the way he wore it suggested that he would be more comfortable in a pair of shorts and nothing else. His tie (which would always be that way for the rest of the time that I knew him) was crooked like he was constantly trying to rid himself of it. And his short blonde hair looked like someone had tried to comb it but had given up. It was always unruly, just like he was.

As I stared at him, a feeling slowly started coming over me. I didn't know what it was but it was so strong that my normally shy personality flew out the window. I walked over to him and asked him his name.

I remember the way he looked at me after my question. He looked me up and down like he was making sure of a horse that he was going to purchase. I am surprised that he didn't make me open my mouth and inspect my teeth, which I would have gladly done.

It was like he was judging how to react at my forwardness. Or maybe to see what kind of little preacher I was. But finally he told me his name, Greg.

I could tell that he really wasn't interested in speaking to me but that didn't stop me. When I am nervous I speak constantly. You can't shut me up, I just babble about anything that pops into my mind. And boy was I babbling.

To all my stupid questions that I fired at him, he answered with one or two word sentences. Never really offering any information and never asking any questions of his own. I babbled for a few minutes when his parents came out of the church. I guess he didn't have friends yet or maybe never because they were so happy that he and I were talking.

They asked me all the questions that Greg should have asked. My name, where did I live, who were my parents, what school did I go too and was it any good. They kept firing questions at me till my parents came out. Finding out that I made a friend who was in church and a good boy too; they quickly invited the new family to dinner for that following Saturday night.

That is how Greg and I found ourselves in my room on Saturday night. Greg wasn't the best talker at first. He was a lot like me in that he was shy around strangers and he never really talked much except to me later on.

Due to the fact that my religion was strict and they really didn't believe in toys, we had nothing to do. We just sat on my bed staring at one another for the longest time.

Finally, I guess he was as bored as he was going to get so he asked what I did for fun. I found out that his parents had only recently found this religion and that he had to give up all his toys, friends, games, TV, and a list of other things that were so foreign to me. Needless to say, he wasn't taking it well.

My hopes of him being like me were dashed. That's why he wasn't paying attention to the sermon. He wasn't sinful like me; he didn't touch himself in bad ways. He didn't have the answers that I so desperately needed. I was very upset by that too.

Lot of the things he talked about I had only small clues as to what they were, but I know I envied him. He had played sports. Football, baseball, soccer, all of these he had played in his last school. I felt so sorry for him by the look on his face when he said that he couldn't play them anymore due to that fucking religion.

Wow, I had heard the word fuck before at school, but I had never heard that word in my house. I was shocked at his blatant rebellion for everything that our religion stood for. But at the same time, I was intrigued by his knowledge of all things evil. Maybe this was my savior; maybe he could show me what I wanted.

I still looked around my room making sure that no one had heard his statement. I was extremely scared that if someone had heard it, I would lose my new friend. When he saw me glancing around the room, he laughed at me.

I can remember his laugh so vividly. It was full of mischief and it was very infectious. It wasn't a whole body laugh where the body shakes. And it wasn't a quiet laugh either. It was more like a laugh from the soul, like he had found happiness and nothing would ever take it away.

I was so shocked when he asked me if I had ever said that word before. I told him that I could never say it, I didn't want to make god mad at me. (Yes, I really was that innocent at that age.) He laughed at me again.

I was a bit hurt at the fact that he was laughing at me, but on the other side to that, I wished that I could be so reckless with my soul as he.

He teased me for a while about how I was chicken to say it. One thing about me, and to this day is the same, I don't like to be called chicken. I told him that I wasn't scared but I won't say a word that I didn't know the meaning of.

I had a smug look on my face since I just knew that he didn't know what it meant either and that he was just saying it because he knew it was a word that kids shouldn't say. Boy, was I wrong.

I know my face must have turned every shade of red as he began to describe in great detail what the word meant. I know I was squirming in my shoes and that my soul was forever tainted at what I learned that day. When he began to do the motions of fucking my bed, I lost it.

I yelled at him to stop desecrating my bed. At that he was the devil's child and that I never wanted to see him again. And what did he do while I was yelling at him, he laughed at me.

I asked him in my best angry voice why he was laughing at me. He said it was because I was so stupid and that it felt so good. He kept saying it over and over again, fuck.

I put my hand over my ears to block the sound of that dirty word. (Remember, I was still feeling guilty at my own sin and I could forget about mine if I condemn him for his. Typical reaction of the religious zealots that populate our society.)

Then he asked the one question that shut me up. Have I ever jacked off? The look of confusion on my face must have been a funny site. He realized that I didn't know what that meant. He told me in no uncertain terms how much of a pussy I was. Then my face turned red again as he described the act of jacking off.

You have done it he accused me. I guess he could tell by the embarrassed look I had. He asked how many times I did it. I told him the truth, once, four days ago. Then he asked the second question that got me, did I enjoy it?

I think that was the hardest thing I ever had to do in my twenty-three years of living. My mind was telling me to deny that I did, but my recently awakened body was screaming for me to admit that I did and that I had thought about it ever since. Like a huge match of tug-o-war, my religious side was fighting my carnal side. Needless to say, my carnal side kicked the shit out of my religious side.

I think in that one moment, all hopes of me following in my parent's footsteps went out the proverbial window. That started an adventure that I am still on to this day. Some would say that I am trying to justify my lust with my logic. Some would say that I am blaming my promiscuity on a sense of adventure and the admittance to a fourteen-year-old that I enjoyed beating off. Hell, both of them might be true, but I do have an appetite for sex and the pleasures of new experiences. Which is why I have tried sex with both males and females. Call it what you will, but I have to blame it on something right?

I remember hanging my head down in shame as the words came out of my mouth. Yes, I enjoyed it. It was like something I never felt before.

My head shot up as he said that it was normal for a teenager to do it and there wasn't anything wrong by doing it. He admitted that he had done it at least twice a day for years now. I wanted to know if it felt the same every time he did it. How was I to know that it wasn't a one-time thing and that it always felt good?

That night I learned about fantasies. I learned that you thought of other people touching you while you pleasured yourself. Hell, I always did have an imagination, so I put it to use that same night. The only problem was, I knew nothing about girls to fantasize about. So I used the only template that I had at my disposal, Greg. That night I masturbated thinking about Greg.

I have had lots of arguments with other gays about if it's a choice or if you are born that way. Honestly I don't know a universal answer to that question. My thoughts are that it's both. Some are just born that way, and others actually make a choice. No, I won't argue this again, let me believe how I want and I will let you believe how you want. See, it's a choice.

Up until that moment, I was a complete sexual non-entity. I was attracted to neither sex; hence, I made a choice of what I was attracted to. But when I have felt attraction to a particular woman, I have had sex with her. I am not BI-sexual, and I am not heterosexual, nor am I gay, I look at myself as a sexual being who enjoys the act of consenting sex between adults. Most of the time it is with males though, kind of a remembrance of my first time and my first love so to speak.

I started discovering my inner pleasures that night thinking about my friend Greg. As the weeks and months went by, Greg and I became close friends. Both of our families liked the idea of us hanging out. Cause at the time, we both acted like good little Christian boys in front of them, but behind closed doors it was another matter.

Greg was my first in so many different ways. Not only my first sexual encounter, but also my first time with skinny-dipping. I remember choking my lungs out the first time we tried smoking out behind the woodpile of my house. I was petrified that my dad would smell the smoke all the way in the house or hear us coughing and come out to check up on us.

I can still taste the puke that I threw up the first time we got drunk. It was horrible, I vowed never again. He made me break that promise the very next weekend. The first time I committed a crime was because of Greg. He dared me to steal a pack of cigarettes from the gas station. I could never say no to him.

He was there when I first started spray-painting cars in the dead of the night, his idea once again. As I look back, everything I ever did up until I was sixteen was because of him. "Borrowing" my neighbor's car one Saturday night was his fault too. I think he knew that I idolized him and that I was putty in his hands. I also think he liked that fact.

Don't get me wrong, I wasn't some play toy to him. I know for a fact that I was the reason he breathed everyday. What made him get out of bed was my face. I don't know how we fooled everyone for so long a time, but when we finally got caught, it was a shock to the entire neighborhood and the entire church. I think my parents almost died that day. But I a getting ahead of myself here.

Like I said, behind closed doors we were very different than what we appeared to be in public. It was exactly two months after we met that something happened between us.

I had begged my parents and he his to allow him to spend the night over at my house. It is a strong belief in my parents religion that kid's should never go to another's house to stay overnight. Something about no one can take care of your child like you, the parent, can. I don't know how we pulled it off, maybe because we were the model kids in their closed eyes. Or maybe because everyone thought I was such a good influence on him. Anyway, finally, both sets of parents agreed for one night.

I remember when my parents said it was time to go upstairs to bed, at nine o'clock I might add, both Greg and I ran to my bedroom. Since my bed was so small, he had to sleep on the floor in my room. My dad came in to make sure that we weren't doing anything we shouldn't be, like wrestling or something.

We smiled our sweet innocent smiles and he shut the door. I was so excited that someone finally was staying over that I couldn't sleep even though I was very used to going to bed at that early time. Greg, who was always a night owl, never went to sleep until much later.

I don't know how he did it, but he would fall asleep around four in the morning every night and then wake up at seven and be good to go all day. He did this the entire time that I knew him. He never seemed sleepy to me he had boundless energy. Me on the other hand, I need at least six hours to function, even to this day. Anything less and I am in a daze the entire day.

Why was I so excited that Greg was staying over? First, I an only child, and I always wanted a brother. Greg wasn't my brother but he was the closest thing I would ever have. Second, I've heard other kids talk about all the fun that they had at a sleepover. I was ready to experience some of that fun for myself. And lastly, by this time I was in love with Greg, and I wanted any chance to be with him.

I remember hanging my head over the edge of my bed, and he had placed his pallet right next to the bed, so that his head and mine were almost touching. We remained like that for hours whispering softly to each other about typical boy things.

I heard my dad walking down the hall at ten-thirty. I quickly lay down and pretended to be asleep. Greg did the same thing thanks to my prompting. My dad poked his head in the door and made sure that his two charges were fast asleep. He shut the door and I waited until I heard his bedroom door shut before I resumed the position I was in just moments earlier.

We talked for another hour in hushed whispers, before Greg really started getting restless. He asked me if I had ever sneaked out of the house. I couldn't believe what he said. Even with my new found "rebellion" I had never even thought about doing that. It wasn't that I was afraid of the dark, but I was wary of dark places in the great outdoors. And I was vastly afraid of my parents and the punishment I would get for that.

Wouldn't you know it, he called me chicken. Somehow I found myself getting dressed and opening my bedroom window. Greg said we had to sneak out of the window, that was the rule or something like that. He told me that he had done it many times and that it was fun. (Later I found out that he had never done it either. He claimed that I made him reckless and that it was all my fault he did what he did. Who are you going to believe anyway, him or me?)

I found that I was running into the night with my best friend. As we talked and laughed, we approached the lake that was about half mile from my house. He brought up the idea to go swimming in the moonlight. Something about getting in touch with our inner primal beast, he was always spouting shit like that. I never knew what the hell he was talking about but I was never bored around him.

I was a bit nervous about swimming at night. What if we went out into the water and couldn't find our way back to the shore? But he gently pointed out that the moon was so bright there was no chance in hell of us getting lost. He always did have an answer for everything. I think he just went through life bullshitting and was lucky that it always seemed to work out for him.

I was stalling from my fear of getting caught when I brought up the fact that we didn't have any bathing suits. So what he admonished, it's only us guys; we can go without suits on. Since I have seen myself naked and I was a guy, it was okay to see him naked since I knew what it looked like. That was his logic and damn if it doesn't make sense now, but at the time I was still fighting with the evils of being naked.

I stood on the edge of the lake with him debating on whether or not I could actually do it. I was still scared that my dad would wake up to check on us and find us gone so he would catch us being naked in front of one another, we'd be so busted. He didn't seem to care one way or another. He told me that he was going too and I was chicken if I didn't follow.

That's how I found myself watching another man undress for the first time. I was transfixed on him as he kicked his shoes off. Watching him bend over as he took off his socks, a lust came over me that I didn't know I had. His slacks were drawn tight around his bubble ass leaving nothing to the imagination. He stood upright and turned so that he was facing me. A slow grin crossed his features as he slowly pulled his shirt out of his pants.

He didn't rip off his shirt fast like I normally did, but he started at the top slowly making his shirt raise up his stomach. His beginning six-pack showed in the moonlight as I could see him take every breath. Slowly the shirt moved up to where I could see his small pink nipples that instantly became hard due to the chilly air. His pec's rippled as he brought the shirt over his head and when he tossed it to the ground atop his shoes.

I swear he looked me right in the eyes the entire time his hands moved to the front of his pants. Slowly he undid the belt, and then he unfastened the top button of his pants. A grin broke out on his face as my eyes dropped down to his crotch. I would sneak looks at him in between staring at his striptease and this smile was on his face. Like he was having the time of his life stripping for his best friend.

I heard the zipper being pulled down and I took a deep intake of breath. He laughed out loud at my nervousness. I couldn't take my eyes off his crotch as he slowly pulled his pants down. One of his hands reached out and grabbed my shoulder as he steadied himself as he took one leg out and then the other kicking his pants over to the growing pile of clothes. His touch was like a shot of electricity that shot through my body down to my feet then back up into my mind where it must have fried all intelligent thought. I swear by this time seeing him in just his tightie-whities I must have been drooling buckets.

The entire time that knowing smile was on his face. It wasn't a mocking smile or even a teasing smile, more like it was a smile of conquest. Like the game was almost over and victory was in his grasp. Later on I found out that he had been racking his brain to come up with a situation where as he could make his move. I just wished it could have happened sooner.

He just looked at me for a few moments after he took his pants off. His hand was on my shoulder and the electricity didn't seem to be letting up. Finally, he said it was my turn to undress since I watched him, it was only right that he watched me.

I didn't have the experience or the courage to do what he had done. I kicked off my shoes and pulled my socks off. My shirt was over my head in seconds flat, no slow teasing for me. I undid my pants and kicked them off and threw them on top of my pile. I'm not sure if he enjoyed the show but I rather doubt it. But I do know I have since made up for that tacky strip show.

Then he did something I never really understood. He grabbed my clothes and put them on top of his. Still that smile was on his face. I on the other hand, had one hand covering my semi-erect cock, and the other hand covering my chest. (Don't ask I still don't know why I did that except that was the first time that anyone had ever seen me in just my underwear besides my parents when I was a little kid.) I am sure that my face mirrored what my head was doing. I must have looked so out of place and uncomfortable and nervous and any other emotion that you can think of.

He sensed my fear and said that we had to take off our shorts at the same time. I breathed deeply and he counted back from five. When he reached one, both of us pulled down our underwear with us staring at the other's privates.

I was really ashamed that I had by this time a full hardon, but when I looked at him, I saw that he was in the same boat and then I didn't feel so bad. I kicked my underwear off my feat and he stepped out of his. Grabbing both of ours, he placing them together on top of "our" pile of clothes. (Looking back on it now, it kind of felt like a marriage ceremony. Something like by these clothes we do wed or by the joining of these pairs of underwear I pronounce you married.) I know I am strange, you don't have to tell me.

Both of us hit the water at the same time. We splashed each other and dunked one another for awhile. You know all the childish things you do when you are that age. But when we started to wrestle, things got out of hand fast. After I first hit the water, my erection went south fast. Matter of fact I think it would be safe to say that my dick and balls had retreated inside my body. But as we touched and grappled in the water, my dick came out to play. So did his.

He had gotten behind me and was trying to force my head underwater when I suddenly felt his hardon poking me in the ass. I tell you, that sensation sent chills down my spine. The more I struggled the harder he poked at my ass. It wasn't long before we stopped wrestling and just enjoyed the new experience.

He grabbed hold of me and turned me around so that I was facing him. Our hard cocks smacked together as he pulled me closer to him. I wrapped my arms around him and pull just as tightly on him. The whole time, grinding our cocks together. One of his hands reached down and started caressing my ass cheek. Our eyes were locked on one another as we started thrusting our midsections together.

I saw in those beautiful blues eyes something that I am still searching for to this day to duplicate. Unconditional love and unwavering devotion backed by all the youthful lust that he possessed.

It was nothing short of magical. All my shyness and all my fear were gone in that one moment. I pressed my lips to his and we shared the first of many kisses. But none can compare to that first one. It wasn't a shy kiss, or a timid peck or even an uncertain kiss. It was a kiss of passion. A kiss loaded with all the certainty and all the knowing that this was right on every level. It was a kiss that transcended all barriers of religion, all thoughts of normal male behavior. All inhibitions or doubts of right or wrong were thrown to the wind in that one moment.

Can a kiss mean so much you ask? If you don't think so, then maybe you haven't found the right one yet. Or maybe I am just a hopeless romantic that doesn't live in reality. I don't know anything about that, but I do know that I became complete in that one kiss. And if it doesn't happen to everyone then I count myself lucky and fortunate to have it happen to me even if it was in my head.

The kiss lasted for years I think or at least minutes. But we found ourselves kneeling on the shore. Water dripping down our youthful bodies, glistening in the moonlight. Facing each other, we continued to kiss as our hands explored the body before us.

By the continued touching and groping, I started to convulse as one of the most powerful orgasms I ever had exploded out of my body leaving me breathless and helpless. My cum hit his stomach and started to drip down on his raging cock. After I regained control and my body slowed to only slight tremors, I returned the favor as best as I could.

It wasn't too long before his eyes rolled back into his head and he thrust his hips forward spewing a load all over my thighs and the sand. He collapsed into my shoulder and we kneeled there holding each other in the moonlight.

I will never forget that first time we explored each other. I eventually did lose my virginity to him about four weeks later. I guess I am lucky that my first time was with someone that I truly loved and cared for. And when I took his virginity, I guess we shared that special gift that so many people don't get enjoy.

Greg and I became so much more that night we went swimming in the moonlight. I guess I would say that he was my soulmate, my other half. I found my way in life; he is like my North Star, always pointing me in the right direction. It was something that I enjoyed until his death at age 17. It was shortly after I "borrowed" my neighbor's car that it happened.

I had stayed at Greg's house that night. His room was in the basement and we had fixed it up so cool. We had it all, all the pictures of the men we found attractive were hanging on the wall. Not in plain site mind you, we had proper painting but on the back of the paintings we had our pictures. We would turn them around while we were there and then turn them right side when we left. We had the black lighting with all the glow in the dark shit that we could buy or steal.

I remember that night so strangely. It's all perfectly clear, but I remember it happening so slowly. Greg had been telling me about his dream for the hundredth time. How when he turned 18 he was going to move out and get an apartment right down the street from me so I could sneak out and join him at night until I turned 18 the following year.

I asked him what did he want to do with his life after hell (as we called living with our parents) and he answered. I want to live my life without restrictions or without fear of my actions. To be able to kiss you (me) whenever I want to and not be scared of the reactions of parents or anyone. I want to live my life without hiding myself, to just be honest. To seize the day and to live life with a zest that will take me to the stars.

That night we made hot animal love. Too be fair, I would call it fucking. I like to fuck and I loved to fuck Greg. I wish I could say that we made sweet passionate love where we voiced our undying love for one another, but I can't. We made hot sweaty sex and I clawed his back to hell and he bite me so hard he drew blood on my shoulder.

Around three-thirty in the morning, we finally called it a night. I lay on my back and he put his head on my shoulder and we fell asleep clutching one another. It was our favorite position to sleep in. At that moment and for the entire night, we felt like we were one.

I had a great nights sleep as I always did when I slept with Greg. I woke up around 11am that same day. Instantly I knew something was wrong. Greg had his arm draped over me as he slept tightly against my back. But his arm was cold and so was his body that was touching me.

I don't remember when I realized that he had passed sometime in that night. But I remember screaming my soul out. My screams brought his parents downstairs where they found us naked in the bed with me holding on to their son's corpse.

It took one doctor and two policemen to pull me away from Greg's body. The rest of the day is a blur. My parents coming to see me as I sat on Greg's floor still naked staring at the bed where so many times we had made love. My parents telling me that I was kicked out of their home and that I was forever cut out of their lives. But that didn't matter, only Greg mattered.

I remember Greg's parents picking me up and carrying me outside and placing me on the sidewalk, still naked, because they couldn't have a queer in their house.

I remember showing up at the funeral and noticing that his parents weren't even there for it. Oh they paid for it all right, but only because the law made them. But they made sure that everyone knew that their son was queer and that I was his lover. So hardly anyone was there to pay last respects. There were only about five students that kind of knew who we were and I. That was it, my lover, my best friend, my true north had six people at his funeral. And I was the only one that loved him.

After the funeral was over, I finally found a place to stay with an uncle of mine who had been kicked out of my parent's lives when I was around three. He had tried to contact me several times but my parents wouldn't let him see me. I have lived there ever since. I guess he became the father that I should've had in the first place.

He taught me that hate is no way to live. He forced me to see that if I truly didn't want to be like my parents, I couldn't hate them for what they did to me or for what they believed. He taught me to love and to show compassion for all living things. And that loving a man wasn't that bad, he said it was a natural thing to do. From the time I was 16 to four days after my 23rd birthday, I lived with my uncle in bliss and happiness. He had never married, and to my knowledge he wasn't gay either. He just really never thought about sex, unless I was asking questions about it. The time I spent in that house with him, was the best of my life thus far.

Everything that he taught me about life, or about relationships, or maybe just about giving of yourself to others, I am forever in his debt. Unfortunately, I will never be able to repay that debt to him. You see, four days after my birthday, he passed away from lung cancer. It seems that I am destined to lose everything I ever love.

First, I lost my beloved, Greg. Just a few brief hours after that, I lost my family. The ones that I loved so deeply, and that to this day I miss. Then, I lose my uncle, my second dad if you will. As I look back on that last ten years, I can see how I grew and how I changed due to my uncle's influences. He has taught me some of life's hardest lessons.

But the most important thing I've ever learned, Greg taught me. It wasn't one thing he said, but just how he lived his life from day to day.

If anything, I learned from his example. I have to live life to the fullest everyday cause I don't know when it's my turn to go. I learned to follow my dream now and not to wait for that "perfect time or moment". Everyone knows that it could never be "perfect".

When I went to Greg's funeral, I didn't get it. I was so angry with the students who came just to get out of school for a day. Their attitude of thank god it's not me. I hated each one of them because of that. I didn't know then what I know now.

And last week at my uncles wake, I didn't get it at first either. All his friends were sitting around the table laughing and joking like nothing had happened. I didn't get it.

A funeral isn't mourning a loved one. A funeral isn't about moaning and groaning about a death. A funeral is a celebration of that person's life; not they're passing.

My uncle's friends weren't laughing because they didn't care; they were laughing because they were remembering my uncle in the most precious of all ways. They celebrated his life and what he did for them. And for what he did for everyone that he ever came into contact with. It was a remembrance of all things good.

I wish I'd known that for Greg's funeral, I could have let everyone in that building know what a wonderful and kind person he was. But I was to caught up in the trappings of death to really understand.

I don't mourn for Greg anymore. I miss him just as strong today as I did then. But when I think of him now, I remember all the laughter we shared, the love that held us together. But I remember his life and what we all could learn from it. Too live life with no regrets. He used to say to me all the time, his only fear in life, is to die and to have regrets. I think he died perfectly content and happy with his place in the universe.

The doctor's said that he had a heart attack and died in his sleep. They say he didn't feel a thing and that it was painless. I like to think that the last thing he felt was my love and the last thing he thought was his love for me. I will never forget him or forget that he gave me the most precious gift of all, a will to embrace life and to take a chance on love.

The End ... or a Beginning?

NOTES: If you made it this far please email and tell me what you thought. I know it's a weird way to write a story but it was the best way I could find and yet get the message across. All emails will be answered Wolfflyer26@yahoo.com

Don't forget to check out my other story located in the boy bands section of Nifty entitled, Like the rain.

Copyright ©2001 Glacier Boy