The following story, although drawn loosely from some of my own experiences as a bi teen, is a romantic fiction. Any resemblance of the characters to real persons is merely the result of Dame Fortune's random spin of the wheel of life.
The story contains explicit descriptions of sexual activities between consenting teens. If that offends you, I guess it's your loss.
If you like the story, let me know and please come back for more. It may be a long one. If you don't like it, feel free to let me know that too, but watch out for thr panther, heheh.
Thanks,
Evan Hathaway
PANTHER
Chapter 3
Horrified by what I read, my eyes locked on Will's words before me. Panther, instantly alert to danger, stirred inside me. What had I mumbled during my daydream? What had I done to reveal my fantasy?. As I agonized, I heard a soft chortle building beside me. Still wide eyed and pale with shock, I looked over at Will. When he saw me full face, he cracked up completely, laughing uproariously. I could tell at once from his pure mirth that he didn't have a clue. His note was just joking with me. Saved. Quickly rebounding from my terror, I jumped into Will's merriment, laughing with him at his cleverness.
"Taylor, Hathaway, that's 10 more minutes of detention for both of you."
Shit!! Will and I pulled ourselves together and he passed me a quick note.
Gotcha, Bro. Sorry, but I just had ta pull yur leg a little
I shot Will a wry grin, acknowledging his coup, and returned to my musings. As was usually the case, guilt clamored for attention first. Shit, I felt awful that I had fucked up Will's after-school tryst with Stephanie. I pictured the two of them together, their perfect bodies intertwined. They gazed lovingly in one another eyes and kissed tenderly. Steph's flowing golden hair billowed as she threw her head back, enraptured by Will's hungry kisses on her neck, down to her full breasts. His lips closed over her hard brown nipple and her tanned, slender legs wrapped around his solid torso. She reached between them to caress his rigid cock and guide it expertly to her juicy cunt. The gleaming head danced there for a moment, back and forth between the moist, pink lips of her vagina, then dove into the warmth of the pulsing cavern it knew so well. Their bodies moved as one, slowly, softly, at first, then growing to a frenzied dance of love and lust.
Fuck! Will was so goddam lucky. He was loved by one of the most gorgeous, most popular chicks in our class. He no doubt had fabulous sex with her on a regular basis. Why was I sitting there feeling sorry for him, guilty that I had interfered with one out of probably hundreds of their fuck fests? Besides, I guessed from his joke that he wasn't going to hold it against me. So Ifigured I was alright on that score. Deciding that I had done enough guilt for a while, my mind moved on along its usual course, from guilt to self pity, quickly seeking out something else I could feel bad about. I gazed out the window at an inviting Indiana Spring afternoon, lamenting my misfortune -- stuck here in detention instead of enjoying myself outside after school.
After school!! Shit!! I was supposed to be meeting Trevor after school today to study for our Spanish final. Bummer!! Bummer!! Bummer!! Today was going to be about my last chance to spend any time with Trev before he went away for the summer. And I was going to miss it. Damn. I cursed my fate.
Trevor was 15 months older than me, a junior, and the second year Spanish class I had tested into was our only subject together. All year I had shamelessly used working on Spanish homework with him as a means of gaining access to his time and attention. Without it, Trev's immersion in sports, study, and the girls that constantly hung around him would have rendered him totally unavailable to me. I couldn't have lived with that.
I worshipped Trevor. He and I were third cousins, or first cousins three times removed, or something like that. His great-grandfather and my great-grandfather were brothers -- you figure it out. When I first lived in Indianapolis, Trevor's family had lived next door. Even as a toddler, I gravitated to him and the aliveness of his home, a hungry animal seeking shelter from the frozen wasteland of my own family. We were constant playmates. Trev's sister, Josie, who was my age, and his little brother, Chase, a year and a half younger than me, sometimes tagged along to join in our play, but Trev and I were the dynamic duo. Building forts in the open fields behind our homes, slaying dragons, prancing naked in my darkened basement pretending to be powerful gladiators, secretly sharing with each other our dreams and fears, as well as our "privates," we reveled in countless idyllic days of innocence and wonder together.
Trev's crazy mom, Aunt Jane to me, filled her home with bustle and life. Kids in and out all day and night, always a new activity in the works, hugs, laughter, and warmth abounded. In contrast, my house was a mausoleum. Mom was either sick or distracted with my new baby sister, my dad usually drunk, or just unavailable. I dreaded the hours I had to spend there, living only for the next chance I would get to be with Trevor.
From the shared clumsiness and uncertainty of our toddlerhood, Trev ripened over the next few years into perfect boyhood. Coordinated and graceful, he excelled at every new sport his fiercely competitive father pushed him into. His humor and gregariousness drew friends to him like moths to a flame. And he was beautiful -- dark olive skin, perfectly proportioned body, black, curly hair atop a noble face and winning smile.
When we played our favorite gladiator game, Trev looked every inch the conquering hero. He would swagger around the room, naked and proud, slay the ferocious lions, and then overpower the awkward barbarian -- me. Victorious, he stood above his vanquished foe, sturdy legs spread wide, a sheen of sweat glistening on his brown skin, his boyishly muscled arm brandishing his sword, his little pecker pointing at me from above his petite ball sack. He would offer me the choice of life or death. To live, I had to beg for mercy, kneel before him, hold his stiffy in my hand and then kiss it. If I failed to please him by my plea for life, he would kill me with an arching stream of hot yellow piss. I generally chose life. Occaisionally, it would amuse Trevor to let me be the victor, with him on the floor begging for his life and kissing my hard little willy. Then he would spring from his crouch before me, tackling me and pinning me to the ground, our warm young bodies pressed together, and declare the match a draw
Through all our time together, all our games, all our contact, Trevor became my idol, everything I longed to be. Unable to actually be like him, however, I contented myself with living in his shadow, drawing strength and warmth from the pure energy he radiated.
But unfortunately I was young, and perilously unaware of the danger of dwelling in the shadows. My own strength waned as I drew my power from Trevor. My will atrophied as I bent to his. I grew pale and thin, emotionally as well as physically, lacking any nurturance of my own. When the day came that Trev marched confidently off to school to start first grade and I was left behind, my woefully dependent heart shattered. Tears of anguish, tears of rage blinded me. My chest ached as though it had been ripped open and the very core of me cruelly snatched away. For days I was inconsolable, unwilling to go outside or be with other friends.
But fortunately I was young, and happily still imbued with the resilience of youth. Fairly quickly, I bounced back. I spent more time with Josie and Chase and other neighborhood mates. I found ways to better entertain myself with books and games. But it was the time with Trevor, a few hours after school and long glorious weekend days and nights, that I lived for. Over that year those times became more and more infrequent as Trev moved inexorably into sports and activities with friends from school. Nonetheless, I treasured the times we did have and took comfort in the certainty that Trev and I still were good, even if not best, friends.
That balance continued when I started school the next fall, with the added bonus that I got to walk the five blocks back and forth from school with Trev and that he seemed to relish the role of playing big brother for me with his friends and teachers. But everything must change, and change it did. Trevor grew weary of my fawning presence, embarrassed by my adoration, eager to live his life without the useless baggage his closeness to me had become. By the spring of my first school year he had stopped walking home with me and rarely was available to spend time with me outside of school.
I wallowed in misery. Sure, I had other friends by now too, and knew that I could live without Trevor at the center of my universe. But I missed him horribly. He still was my only hero, and being with him filled me with an addictive sense of joy and peace. I desperately needed a fix. One day late in May, I left school and spotted Trevor up ahead, walking and laughing with a group of his classmates.
When I reached them, Trevor turned to me, disdain emanating from his face and, with the unique, cutting cruelty little boys manage to inflict on their peers, told me, "Buzz off, Evan. Can't you see I'm with my friends?"
"Yeah, but I'm your friend too. I just wanna walk with you guys."
"You're not my friend, butthole, you're just a sissy little leech who's always bugging me, following me around, gettin in my way. We don't want you here."
Baffled by Trevor's hostility, I stepped closer, pleading, "Come on, Trevor, don't say that, you know we've always been friends."
"I know you've always been a pain in the butt, wimpy, cry baby, just like you're starting to cry now. Leave us alone and run on home to your mommy where you belong."
"No, not until you tell me what's wrong," I stammered, fighting to hold back my tears, shaking, more terrified by the thought of losing Trevor than by the aura of violence enveloping him.
"You're what's wrong, dickhead, wrong, wrong wrong!!" he screamed, charging at me, fists flailing.
His second swing hit me square in the nose, drawing blood instantly.
"Stop, Trevor, please stop!" I cried out, my tears mixing with the blood streaming down my face.
"Aww, I think you made de baby cry, Trev," laughed one of his friends.
Trevor was deaf to both of us, continuing to pummel me furiously. I tried to cover and dodge but a powerful punch buried itself in my gut and I doubled over in pain. As I turned to run, a chop to my neck brought me to my knees. Trevor delivered one last kick that caught my unprotected kidney, loosing my bladder and sending me sprawling in the mud, writhing and screaming in pain.
"Did de widdle baby wet hisself?" taunted another of Trevor's friends, "Maybe he needs his diappy changed."
Trevor stood aside, staring at me in horror, fists clenched, tears forming in his eyes. Two of his friends held me down and ripped my shorts off and then the whole rabid pack bounded off, howling with delight. I lay there for what seemed like hours, pantless, covered with mud and blood and urine, paralyzed by a pain that emanated from my broken heart and shot through every inch of me. Eventually, I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard a soft voice speak my name. I broke open my tear encrusted eyes and saw the worried face of Nick James, a teenage neighbor bending over me.
"Jeez, what happened to ya, little guy, can I help you?
"Home," I whimpered.
I felt my self gently lifted by Nick's strong arms and I clung to him desperately, as if he were the very source of life itself.
At our front door I heard my mother gasp, "Nick what on earth happened? Come in."
"Evan's been hurt, Mrs. Hathaway. Where can I lay him down?"
"No, not there on the good sofa, Nick. He's all bloody and muddy. He'll ruin the furniture."
Her heartless words sent me spinning down into a seemingly bottomless pit of despair. I knew then that I was totally and absolutely alone in the world. I abandoned all hope for my life and Panther was born.
--To be Continued --