Date: Wed, 19 Dec 2001 10:41:05 -0600
From: james smith <boyzheart@hotmail.com>
Subject: Ronnie Series - Chapter 3

Ronnie (Chapter 3)

Disclaimer:  This is a work of fiction depicting teenage males in romantic
and/or sexual positions and activity.  The people depicted in this story may
or may not really exist (many characters may have distant ties to the
memories of my past).  The places and historical social events are most
likely true, but you may not always be able to associate both to the same
place and time.

If you are under 18 years of age (or whatever the legal age I your area is)
you must leave.  If you find this material offensive, you should not be
reading this story.  If you choose to continue . . . you have been warned,
and I trust you to make your own wise choices.

I welcome any comments . . . any of them.  I will do my best to answer any
email, but please be patient with me if I do not get to you right away - I
will respond.  The purpose of my writing is to express what has been held
for so long without a voice.  Hopefully these ramblings will help someone
who may be struggling with similar feelings and experiences.  Please feel
free to contact me at boyzheart@hotmail.com with any comments or
suggestions.

Chapter 3

Mike reached down and hoisted me by the upper arms and said, "Come on, were
ditching the rest of the day.  We have some things to talk about."  The
firmness of his grasp and the warmth in his eyes told me that there was no
refusing (like that would happen) and that there was hope.

"Are you okay?" Ronnie asked.

"Do you only have one question in your pretty little head?"

"Do you always use the floor as your only pick-up line?"  That beautiful
smile spread over his face.

While bewilderment about how an eighth grader got in the High School
lunchroom would normally be enough to send my mind off into a never ending
loop of possibilities, the fact that Ronnie and Mike were walking one on
either side of me with both my arms tightly ensconced had absolutely pushed
my already overwhelmed little mind into hyper shock.  The combination of
differences in their height, skin texture, and body heat, along with the
emotional complexities I was experiencing between my best-friend-brother,
and this god-like-icon of my marathon night time self pleasuring sessions as
they drug me out of the cafeteria was both stimulating and perplexing.

Somehow we made it out the building and to the parking lot without being
stopped by the school Gestapo.  Neither of us had spoken since they picked
me up off the floor.  Mike had relaxed his grip of my right arm, though he
still maintained body contact till we approached his car.  Ronnie however
remained glued to my left side.  His grip on my upper arm with his own
somehow interlaced in mine was incredible.  I didn't realize the strength he
possessed.  His hand other hand was clutching mine in an awkward angle
making it difficult to walk and negotiate.  I imagine we looked very strange
to any passer-by, but quite frankly - I didn't care one wit.

Mike got in the driver side and reached over to unlock the other door for
us.  Without communicating, Ronnie and I both climbed into the back seat.  I
got in first and Ronnie climbed in beside me and shut the door.  Mike turned
sideways in the seat looking at us with this smug look of
self-accomplishment.    Ronnie was leaning into me and still holding my hand
(somehow he had managed to release the left one and took possession of the
right).  The silence was piercing and I could feel the tops of my ears
getting warmer - no doubt I was a bit flushed with all the focus seemingly
on me.  I felt pressured to say something, but could not muster any words.
Every time I tried to open my mouth, I could feel the ten thousand questions
swirling in my mind trying to burst out all at once.  It was as if some sort
of self-defense (preservation) mechanism had been engaged right about two
centimeters behind by jaw sockets - they simply would not open.

I had been forcing myself to stare out the window, waiting for either of
these two boy-gods to help me.  Looking over to Mike, I saw his expression
had changed to a mixture of sadness, and helplessness and he seemed to be
looking past me.  Slowly I turned my face around to look at Ronnie, tears
were now silently falling down his soft face.  Without thinking I gently
reached out with my left hand to wipe a tear as it fell.  (I say I did this
without thinking, because how many times have you ever wiped tears from
someone's eyes whom you have barely even spoken to before?  Not many, right?
  Why, because it is a way too personal and intimate act - most likely
something only lovers or parents do.)

The tear was warm to the back of my index finger.  I instantly was reminded
of my own tears earlier this morning and remembered the comfort the warmth
my tears had been to my aching heart.  I wondered if his were tears of joy,
pain, or frustration. I was about to ask him what was wrong when suddenly
his silent tears burst into full-fledged crying, with massive heaves and
sobs.  It was as if my touch pushed him over the edge.

I pulled him into my arms and held him tightly.  His face nestled into the
hollow of my chest and he just sobbed.  I could feel the tears through my
thin cotton white uniform shirt and my tee shirt, but that didn't matter to
me. (I realized at this strange moment that the rain had finally stopped and
the clouds were not so foreboding any longer, almost as if God had decided
to lighten the ambiance of the moment.  Does He still care about a gay boy's
life enough to manipulate the elements?). Just like Mike had comforted me
earlier that morning, I was rubbing his silky soft hair, and whispering soft
comforting noises.  My grip was firm, but not overly.  Mike turned in his
seat and quietly started the car and began driving.  He seemed content to
let Ronnie and I work this out between us.  No conversation took place; all
that was heard was the torments of a fourteen year old and my occasional
cooing.

After driving for several minutes Ronnie's tears began to subside, though I
could still feel him trembling in my arms.  (I noticed Mike was driving in
circles because we had passed the 7-eleven on McCormick Street at least
three times.)  Mike asked if anybody had an idea where we could crash for a
few hours until school was out.  Our house was obviously out because Mom
didn't work and was always home.  (No, we didn't have the typical June
Cleaver house - I will explain later.)

"No-one's home at my place," Ronnie said barely above a whisper.  He never
moved his head or shifted his position in my arms.  He seemed to gain
comfort there of some sort I supposed.  This thought brought a soft smile to
my face as I continued stroking his hair.

"Cool," Mike said and began negotiating his way to Ronnie's house.

It occurred to me that I didn't know where Ronnie lived.  I hardly knew
anything about him other than his features I had memorized while he didn't
know I was staring at him.  Even when I was bold enough to get close to him
on the basketball court there was never much dialog between us - always
seemed to be a lot of raw energy present though - it was almost palpable.
(I wonder how Mike knows where this boy angel lives - I will have to ask
later.)

Five minutes later we pulled into the drive of a modest middleclass home.
>From the outside it was indistinguishable form most of suburbia, but one
could quickly gather that his family was well off enough to afford the
private schooling for Ronnie.  (I hate the way my mind goes off on
auto-pilot like that.)

Mike turned off the ignition and said, "guys, we'd better go inside before
anyone sees us out of school in the middle of the day."  Ronnie and I did
not seem to be in a hurry to break the embrace we were in to get out of the
car.

"Come on Andy, bring him inside," Mike said as he opened his door and slid
out of the car.

Reluctantly, I followed Mike's instructions.  I leaned forward slightly and
kissed the back of Ronnie's head, and gently pulled him to a full sitting
position.  There was a definite blank page on his face.  My shirt was soaked
with his tears, and his eyes were focused straightforward on the closed
garage door in front of the car.  I reached behind him and opened the door
with my right hand and shoved it open slightly.  Ronnie did not move.  I
leaned forward and kissed him ever so slightly on the cheek.  I gently
lifted his chin and turned his face to mine and whispered, "Come on babe,
it's gonna be alright."

He nodded slightly and swung his feet out of the car and stood up.  I slid
out and quickly.  The break of contact left me cold almost immediately, I
had not realized the amount of body heat he and I were generating.  (I
wonder if he felt the coldness as well).  I reclaimed my spot beside him and
literally had to take him by the hand and lead him to the door where Mike
was already waiting.

"In the flower pot on the far end of the porch," Ronnie said before Mike
could ask.

Sure enough, Mike fished out a shinny brass key and lifted it up with a sort
of victory look on his face.  He opened the door and went in first like it
was our house instead of Ronnie's.  There was a deacon's bench on the right
side of the entry way and we all peeled off our jackets and tossed them in a
heap, kicked off our shoes and made our way toward the stair case.

"Got any soda's?" Mike asked.

Ronnie nodded in reply.

"You two go on up to Ronnie's room, I will be up in a minute," Mike said in
his self-assuming take-charge mode that I never seemed to challenge.

I glanced at Ronnie, who nodded again, and motioned upward with his head.  I
followed closely behind him.  I could see his figure quite well from this
view and was it great.  I wanted to reach up and pat his beautiful
bubble-butt as it shifted with his strides.  I could see the firmness of his
thighs as the muscles contracted and relaxed.  Every feature of this boy was
absolute perfection.  He could have been the boy posing for the statue of
David - absolutely perfect.

His room was at the top of the stairs (naturally, like when have you ever
seen a room half way up the stairs - duh!), and to the right.  I saw several
more doors down the hall, all closed, which must have been the rest of his
family's secret retreats from life's daily assaults.  We entered his room
almost side by side.  We were holding hands again, but I didn't remember
taking his.  I glanced around the room.  Everything was exactly as I
imagined his room would be (yes, I fantasized about being here more then
once - okay!).  Where mine was small and slightly cluttered with both Mike's
and my abandoned clothes - here everything was clean and orderly.
Everything had a place.  I mean, you could tell that each detail was
carefully thought out.  The trophies were all uniformly placed on his
dresser (chronologically placed from left to right I later understood).  The
only poster on the wall was of Sammy Sosa and Mark Maguire sort of fading
together with both in a position undeniably at the end of a homerun swing,
Sammy on the left, Mark on the right; both looking toward the center of the
poster and at center field where their two home fields had morphed into one
and a single baseball was sky-rocketing over the home-run porch and into the
sunset.  The caption said. "Do you believe?"

There was a full size bed with an NBA comforter that had obviously been
purchased for a much younger Ronnie - perfectly made up. (I thought of mine
that I left at 4:30 this morning and realized that I definitely did not make
it before I left home.  Ronnie was at practice before I was.)  There was a
small tidy desk off to one side with a PC on it; the tower was neatly staged
to the left on the floor.  To the right was a TV stand with a PS2 - all
neatly organized, controllers stored, games stacked in order
(alphabetically).  Beside it was an ordinary looking bookcase housing videos
and books as well.  I took all this in instantaneously.

Ronnie made his way over to the bed, sat down and pulled me down beside him.
  I looked at him and was immediately hypnotized by his gorgeous blue eyes.
They seemed to have subtle changes of tone - perhaps they changed with his
mood.  (My Mom's eyes do that - creeps me out big time.  I mean one time
their hazel, the next their green!  Too weird - and way not what I want to
think about right now.)

I pulled myself to reality and knew I must start this conversation.  I was
after all two years older than him.  In the overall scheme of eternity
(where do I come up with these thoughts?) two years is a drop in the ocean,
but the two years from fourteen to sixteen were light years apart.  He was
no doubt as confused about all the events of the day as I was, but the look
in his eyes now told me that his anxiety went well beyond today.  (Why
hadn't I seen this before?  Was I that self-absorbed?  Sigh - probably.)

"Ronnie," I began, "I don't know what happened today.  I don't pretend to
understand it at all, but I only know one thing . . .I know I am glad today
happened with you."

An obvious sigh escaped from Ronnie.  "Oh, Andy . . . I was so afraid I had
ruined everything," he cried, and fell on his back on the bed.  His hands
immediately went to his eyes.  He turned onto his right side and rolled up
into a fetal position.  I spooned in behind him and worked my arms around
him.

"Ronnie," I whispered, "you didn't ruin anything - it's just beginning."
His tears started over again, and his small frame once again began sobbing.
I couldn't help but smile through my own tears as I kissed his hair and ear,
knowing this time the tears were tears of relief.  I could feel him relax
into my body and snuggle closer with each outward breath.  After sometime
the crying stopped and we drifted off to sleep.  He pressed against me, my
arms around him, my left hand caressing his lower abdomen and my right
tightly holding his left pectoral.  My lips were on his neck right where it
transitioned into his shoulder - in sort of an extended kiss.  I saw the
poster over the bed and drifted off with the thought, "Do you believe?"

Yes, I thought to my self . . . I believe . . . and . . . thank you God for
not being mad at me, I'm sorry for ever doubting . . . . . . .


That's all for now. Thanks again for taking the time to read, hope you
enjoy.  Those who have responded have meant the world to me.  Thanks!.
boyzheart@hotmail.com

-Andy