Date: Sat, 15 May 1999 23:23:28 EDT
From: Cimehc@aol.com
Subject: Skateboys in Love

Skateboys in Love
by Mike Allen 
Characters and Situations created by Mike Allen

	I want to thank every one who has given feedback on the story.
Every comment has been so positive and it really made me feel good.  Sorry
the newest installments took so long, but college and all that.  Keep the
comments coming, and I hope you like the new chapters.


Chapter One - Jason

It was a beautiful day and I couldn't stand being kept inside for school,
but I kept reminding myself that all I had to do was hang on for a few more
weeks and then I could do whatever I wanted.  I had my skateboard under my
desk, and it was all I could do not to burst out of the classroom and just
ride.  The sun was pouring through the windows in this deep orange light,
and I knew there wasn't going to be much more light before sundown.  It
would probably rain too.  I could feel the itch going through my entire
body, from my feet through my legs and up to my chest and then streaming
down my arms and into my fingers which kept tapping on my desk.  I guess
the teacher noticed my anxiousness, and took that opportunity to ask me to
talk about the different stages of the 30 Years War.  And I had no idea
what the answer was.

People talk a lot about luck, but to me it's pretty much bullshit.  They'll
go on and on about how lucky they were to do so well on a test or how they
just avoided going off the road one night when they were all high.  All I
can say is that, whether or not it was luck or not, something interceded
and saved me that moment.  I was in mid-stammer, trying to pull all this
history from my brain, deep back where I had pushed it for storage.  Like
most seniors in High School, ever since mid-year I had been on auto-pilot.
It wasn't as if I had ever been a good student in a traditional sense, but
more like my tendencies for slacking had been accentuated by already being
accepted into college.  I had no idea what the 30 Years War was fought over
or when it happened, let alone what periods it was divided into.  I was
fumbling, my mouth moving without any sound following it.  And I totally
just blanked.

"Jason, do you know the answer or not?"

My teacher, who for some reason had taken this whole `interest' in my
education, just sort of scowled at me.  Not surprised really, just sort of
understanding that he never should have asked me in the first place.  So he
just turned on the heel of one of his famously gleaming black shoes and
pointed in the general direction of the one guy in class who would actually
know what he was talking about: Nick Corelli.  There was a collective sigh
of relief, the sort that only someone accustomed to being wrong and berated
by authority figures can hear, that went up throughout the rest of the
class.  They knew, in a sort of resentful way, that Corelli would no doubt
answer the question, and probably toss in some sort of extra remark that
the teacher didn't know how to take.  He was always making side remarks
that weren't necessary and somehow managed to even confound the teacher
too.  Nick would always say his piece, and sit back and cross his arms on
his chest, and look very satisfied.  Most people hated him for it, his
smugness.  He got A's while we all had to satisfied with B's and C's.  He
would write some poem or whatever and English teachers would cream their
pants over it, and post it on a bulletin board.  And even though we were
all a little envious of the way the whole school just sort of catered to
him, most of us did our best to make his life hell.  Nick wasn't a geek in
the traditional sense.  He was an outsider, maybe even by choice, and we
all had the feeling that he was laughing at us under his breath.  No one
beat him up or anything, we were all past that.  We just hated him, and
mocked him in this way that was never to his face but we could be sure he
heard about.  It was crueller than just calling him a pussy to his face.

So our teacher stood there looking at Nick for a minute, waiting for the
inevitable response, almost bracing for the big snide remarks.  Nothing
came.  Nick shook his head out like he was just waking up and looked around
the room.  Scanning across the faces of a bunch of his classmates just
waiting for him to say something that they could make fun of in the
cafeteria later, Nick sat back in his chair, and clearing said "I don't
know."

It was as if the whole world had gone upside down.  Up was down, black was
white.  Class ended after the teacher explained the whole concept to us,
and we all streamed out of the room trying to comprehend what had just
happened.  Some sort of balance had been upset, and it was almost like we
all had to reevaluate our places in the world.  Nick Corelli had fucked up
a question, the sort he usually excelled at it.  I know, it seems like I'm
lending this one idea a whole lot a extra importance than it should have,
but you have to understand: this was the first time anyone ever looked at
Nick Corelli as anyone but an adversary.  But what should have endeared him
to his opposition actually got the total opposite response.  On the way
down the hall, a I overheard a few of my friends saying how they figured
Corelli had missed the question on purpose, like he was throwing a fight.
It made them even madder.  Me, it made intrigued.  But of course, who was I
going to tell that?  No one would have understood that all of a sudden Nick
seemed like someone I wanted to find out more about.

I was watching him as he walked up the hall and turned the corner towards
the library where I knew he had an afternoon job.  A few weeks ago all the
talk had been about how he had bleached his hair almost lemon yellow, and
how it made him sort of look dumb.  I thought it looked good personally.
He was sort of imposing anyways, even without the hair.  Nick was pretty
tall, taller than me, and even though he was pretty slight, meaning thin,
he filled a room.  Like, you would be looking for a teacher after school
for extra help and you'd peek into a room and he'd be sitting on a couch
reading a book and you couldn't help but feel like he like, held control
over the whole place.  It was his room.

Outside, I put my board on the ground and skated away.  When I was riding,
I didn't really think about anything else.  Usually I was lost in some sort
of dreamy thought process, looking at the sun, watching shadows along the
side of the road, or just feeling the wind go through my clothes and across
my skin.  Riding was sort of a sexual thing for me, like, I had a lot of
power when I was on my skateboard, and winding through side streets and
traffic in this curvy glide was profoundly sensual.  I can't really explain
it, it just was that way for me.

I had my walkman on, with NOFX blasting in my ears, and I had no desire to
go home right away.  Home meant that I had to clean my room and make dinner
for my dad, who worked until late, and wanted a meal on the table right
when he got home, and just return to normalcy.  So I decided to take myself
down Reservoir Road to the bridge.  The bridge used to be where most of the
bums and homeless used to sleep before my town had this whole dreary urban
renewal project, so now all that ever went on down there was a few punk
kids making out or sometimes a few guys would skate on the weekends.
During the week though it was usually empty, maybe a few kids came down to
smoke a butt during lunch or something, but pretty much if you wanted to be
alone, the bridge was where you went.

The woods came up pretty quick.  It was like, all of sudden you entered the
trees and everything was shaded.  The sun came down in slits and sort of
grazed the road, which was never used except for maintenance trucks coming
back and forth from the reservoir.  So, whereas before I had been
surrounded by cars and bike riders, suddenly I was all alone.

I jumped off my board when I reached the side of the bridge, which wasn't a
bridge in the traditional sense really, in that it didn't really span water
or anything.  I think it was once a footbridge or something, a long time
ago, connecting something or other.  Whatever had been beneath had long
since been cemented over.  You had to walk down a little slope to get down
there, so I tucked my board under my arm and sort of skidded down.  I hit
the cement with a thump, sort of half jumped down, and watched at a little
dust rose around my sneakers.  It took me a few seconds to realize that I
wasn't alone.

I heard what sounded like a bottle being kicked over and shattering on the
ground.  Immediately I started looking for something to hide under or
behind, but I still was curious about who was over there.  It was pretty
dangerous, but I found myself an area of thick brush near the slope and
edged my way over to where I could get a look.

There was this girl sitting on a box.  She had stripped down to her bra but
she was still wearing a pair of jeans.  Her boyfriend was sort of fidgeting
around just out of sight, and I couldn't tell what he was doing.  It looked
like he was hopping on one foot, or doing some dumb dance.  I figured it
out all at once.  He kicked his pants off and they fell in a pile near his
shoes, which I hadn't seen before.  He moved into my field of vision.  In
his boxers, he peeled off his shirt, which was soaked with sweat.  He
dropped it to the ground.  He stepped in the way so I couldn't see his
girlfriend, but I didn't even notice because I was so hypnotized by the
muscles in his back.  He wasn't built or anything, but I could see some
muscles under his skin shifting slightly as he walked closer to her, and
the line from his shoulders coming down to his arms.  The base of his back
slowly smoothing out until his boxers appeared, and under that I was
positive was an equally perfect ass.  Just as I had finished getting all
that in, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of his boxers and slide
them off in one slick motion, and let them settle just below his knees.
His ass was out in the open, and was, like I had guessed perfect.  From
what I could guess, the girl was sucking him off on the other side, but I
didn't care.  I was fixated on him, and not really thinking about why or
how or the ramifications of the act.

Minutes could have turned to hours turned to days and I woulnd't have
noticed.  My hard on was tight against the inside of my khakis.  I wanted
to take it out but I was too scared so I just rubbed it through the cloth.
I let the head rest in the curve of my palm and then I would slide my hand
down the length of it and a shake would run thru my body.  The boy I was
watching tensed, his ass and back contracted, and he moaned softly, almost
as if it was a wholly involuntary response.  A few seconds of heavy
breathing and he turned to the side, his cock slowly softening.  It was
sticking out at about a 50 degree angle, and dropping down.  It was
surrounded by light brown pubes and was pretty thick.  It looked wet and
slick with spit and cum.

They dressed quickly and left on the other side, leaving me all alone
again.  I couldn't believe what I had seen.  I wasn't ignorant of sex or
anything, I had just never seen it happen in front of me outside of porn.
Which was not the same thing at all.  I moved from the bushes towards where
they had been standing, and looked around.  Nothing had been left that
would have given away that there had just been sex here, but I could feel
some sort of aura about the place.  It was as if the fiber of the place had
come alive and infected me.  I was absent mindedly rubbing myself.  I
jammed my hand down my pants and felt myself.  It was all too much.  I
looked around quickly and sat down against one of the bridges supports.  I
undid my belt in one swift motion and unbutton my pants, which were
distended from my dick inside pressing against them.  I was wearing
boxer-briefs that day; I had bought a pair at the mall cause they looked
sexy on the mannequin, and I pushed them down below my knees.  My dick
sprang out and pointed towards the bottom of the bridge.  It was really
sensitive, and suddenly I felt my hand slide around it without even
thinking about it I was rubbing from the base to the head.  A flash and a
shudder of pleasure shot through me like I was plugged into a circuit and
it was like I was watching myself from outside my body.  My hand was
pumping between my legs and my left hand crept down under my balls and
pressed against that spot of skin between your scrotum and your asshole and
I was halfway there.  My mind was almost totally clear in this zenlike way
when a single thought slid in.  It was Nick Corelli.  Nick Corelli as if he
had been the guy five minutes ago getting sucked off under the bridge.
Nick Corelli as if that had been his ass and his cock slowly getting soft
again.  Nick Corelli mayeb turned and winking at me in a cocky way and me
moving from the bushes and we would be alone all of a sudden just like
magic and my hand would go from my side and my fingers would brush his cock
ever so lightly and I could feel how soft the skin was.  Nick Corelli
leaning in and opening his mouth to kiss me.  Nick Corelli.

My eyes were pressed closed tight and I felt my orgasm come up through my
whole body.  I shifted forwards onto my knees, bracing myself with my left
hand and suddenly, like my insides were blasting out my dick I shot cum
onto the cement and on my mind in my mouth on my tongue was his name.

The world came back into focus in shades.  I remembered where I was.  I
could feel a breeze running over my bare ass and curling under my body and
wrapping around my cock.  I was still hard.  I couldn't even will it down.
My knees had skinned on the cement, but I couldn't really feel any of the
pain.  My hand was still wrapped around my cock, slowly pulling, the
sensitivity almost too much, I was biting my lip.  I rolled over and lay
down on the ground.  I wiped my fingers on the cement as good as I could,
and just lay there for a minute, my pants around my ankles, my shirt pushed
up halfway and my hand rubbing my stomach.  My hard on had finally gone
down, but I was till absent-mindedly rubbing my balls.  My masturbation was
always a really heavy experience, something that took a lot out of me.
Some people I knew could just do it, clean up and then go take a test.  Me:
I needed recovery time.

The other thing was, I was a virgin.  I was 17, getting close to begin at
my sexual peak, and I had never had sex.  Now, when I say sex I mean I had
never fucked a girl or a guy, or gotten any blow jobs.  A friend of mine
when I was 13 had jerked me off a few times when I slept over his house,
but the memory was so blurry that I didn't even remember what it even felt
like.  Aside from a few meaningless hook-ups with girls I knew, or fooling
around lightly with a guy when we were drunk, which never even went beyond
me rubbing his stomach and maybe feeling him through his pants, and
sometimes even getting some back, my sex life entailed me beating off.

On my way back from the bridge, I kept thinking about Nick Corelli.  It
wasn't as if I was gay or anything, but there were images of him that were
filling my head.  Times I stumbled upon him reading in the library, or
alone in Ms. Chang's room writing poems in a big black notebook.  Each time
seemed like I brushed up against something really powerful.  Maybe it was
just that I always thought of myself as being pretty dumb, and he was
probably brilliant.  Or maybe it was the way he could just sort of sit in a
chair, his legs crossed, and stare through people like they weren't even
there.  Like he came from some other world.  Like he couldn't give a damn.
He would come to school with scars on his hands and his hair all messed up,
but somehow it all just added to his mystique.  I would sit in History
class and wonder how he had gotten a cut on his palm or why he never combed
his hair or just didn't cut it off.  While most of my peers were either
ignoring or deriding him, and I kept up appearances of doing the same, I
had kept a little watch on Nick Corelli.  When I say I noticed him for the
first time that day in History, when he missed that question, it wasn't so
much that I had never studied him before, but rather that it was the first
time that I actually thought of him as another person.  Like, maybe he
became real in that little moment of failing, like his aura had been
killed.  Suddenly I was overcome with the feeling that I would just go up
to him a talk to him tomorrow.  Try and strike up a conversation.  Be
friendly and bridge that gap.  At the same time I knew that he would
probably scare me away before I got the chance.  When I thought about it I
got a little sick to my stomach.

It was almost dark when I got home, and I left my board in the garage, and
went about cooking dinner for my dad, who would be home in about an hour.
I defrosted some chicken from the freezer and decided I would just deep fry
it up like he liked cause I didn't have time to do anything interesting.
Years of living on my own with him had made me a pretty decent cook.  I
could at least follow a recipe and sometimes be a little innovative.  My
mom died when I was young, and I don't really remember her all that much,
except when something reminds me indelibly of her, a smell or a photo or a
sound, and I feel her presence over me in waves, and then she's gone.  I
don't really remember what she looked like, but I can see her as an amalgam
of faces I'e made in my head.

After the chicken was done, I stuck dad's portion into the oven so he could
reheat it and took mine into the tv room, and I sat down.  The cable was
out, or maybe he hadn't paid it, or whatever, but I got bored quick.  I
thought about doing some homework, but then I just left my dad a note and
stuck it on the kitchen table and went back out.

Boarding at night is almost more amazing than riding during the day.
Especially where I live, where there's almost no cars on the road after
dark, what with all the parents coming home from work at dusk and none of
the kids out driving on the weekdays.  You could just cruise the middle
line.  The trees were over your head and the moon would sometimes peek
through.  It was peaceful.  I was wearing a thin white tee shirt and my
khakis and the shirt was rippling in the wind and with my board beneath me
it felt like I was going 200 miles per hour.  Straight down the yellow
line, and towards the center of town.

I was hoping to run into some friends, but I knew they were probably all
home.  Without really any idea of where I was going or why I got off my
board and started walking the sidewalk at the first sight of stores.  Most
were closed up, and the light pretty much came from the half-empty
restaurants and all night convenience stores.  The only place that was open
was a Barnes and Noble, which always seemed too big for my town, and I
didn't even really read, but I still figured it was the best idea.  I had
to leave the board at the counter, and I just started browsing the
magazines.

I was flipping through a copy of Raygun when I thought I caught someone in
the corner of my eye.  Blonde, tall, and moving away like he or she had
been looking at me and had been caught.  Nick Corelli, I thought.  My heart
jumped a little.  Nervousness?  I went around the corner to see who was
there.



Two hands went around my eyes from the back and I could tell they were
girl's hands.

"Guess who?"

I had no idea.  I was disappointed that it hadn't been Nick.  Maybe my
dejection was visible, cause she turned me around immediately and
explained.

"It's me you idiot."

Carol Hamilton.  She was this girl I knew from school who always had this
little crush for me, but who I never let get close to me, which I guess
just made her even more in love.  She would turn up at parties and like,
corner me somewhere with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other,
maybe reeking of weed, and she would tell me all these things she had done.
Like how she had been MVP on the soccer team or how Brad had asked her out
to Homecoming.  I wasn't into her, to be sure, so I just sort of nodded.

"Hey Carol.  What are you doing here?"

"Oh I have to get this free reading book for Chang's class.  Totally lame."

"Oh yeah.  I'm in that class, right?"

"God you're such a ditz Jason.  Yeah.  You need to get a book too.  You're
gonna have to read."

"Jesus" I rubbed my eyes.

"Tired?  I could give you a lift home."

I waved her off.  "No no that's cool.  Thanks though."

She got coy.  "So listen.  Do you wanna maybe get some coffee upstairs at
the Starbucks?"

"Carol I don't even know why I'm at this dumb store anyways.  I'm probably
just gonna get out of here."

She looked sort of hurt.  I wasn't like, openly snubbing her.  It was true,
the whole atmosphere of the store, what with the literary aspirations of
almost everyone there, was getting to me.  Hey, I thought, this is the sort
of place where Nick might spend time.

I started to move towards the escalator, in the opposite direction ofthe
exit.

Carol grabbed me by the wrist.  "Don't go up there. It's just fiction and
besides, Corelli is up there reading."

"He's what?"

"Reading.  Obviously."

I couldn't really pull away from her and go up there.  It was almost
required that I go have a coffee with her.  To go up to see Nick would have
seemed way to strange, and I would have got a reputation.  But as Carol
took my hand and quickly led me towards Starbucks, I looked back slightly
at the escalator up, where Nick was sitting, reading, and I wished I was
there too.


Chapter Two - Nick

I don't really have a good way to explain why I missed that question in
history, what with it being so damned easy anyways.  I just couldn't think
of it.  It's not as if some bomb went off though.  You'd think the world
had gone and exploded the way people were looking at me after that.  Like I
had some reputation to damage or something.  Anyways, everyone looked like
they had just seen Jesus or something, and I guess I was sort of proud of
making a stir, but at the same time, I didn't want that sort of attention.
God.

School was always such a tragedy for me anyways.  I mean, I get good grades
and everything, and teachers fucking paper their rooms with my poems and
short stories and a lot of that crap, but to tell the truth I never really
liked the whole institution, from day one.  Even in Kindergarden I could
tell that most of what I was going to be taught was going to be a crock,
taught by people who didn't really care, and sooner or later I was going to
be able to point this out to people.  Sarcasm, cynicism, whatever.  Most of
the people who teach at public schools are a waste of good oxygen anways.
All bluster and bullshit.

Nevertheless, there I was, walking out of history, these guys behind me,
Harry Balsam, Trevor Goodman, Jason Eisenberg and Kieth
whatever-his-last-name is who has this really ugly way of walking down the
hall like he's a caveman.  And I know they're probably making fun of me, as
people tend to do.  Maybe it's the hair, but probably not.  It doesn't make
much of a difference to me, cause I make fun of them too.  It's a vicious
little give and take but it serves both sides nicely and doesn't cause any
problems.  So, Harry Balsam is this sort of weird college bound type that
looks like he would be at home in a Starter jacket but is trying to be
like, all alternative, what with his Airwalks and necklaces.  And then
there's Trevor, about whom I have no opinion.  Jason Eisenberg is pretty
interesting though.  He's like, the real deal.  Most guys around here just
pretend to skate or just wear the clothes, but he actually does it.  Like,
I've seen him on a board out in the parking lot, and he uses that fucking
thing to get back and forth from school, so like, he's got a lot of
credibility.  Not to mention that he's pretty cute in his own right.  Looks
like he has a nice tight body, but he's not like ripped or anything.  It's
difficult to explain, but like, he's got muscles, but they're not really
defined so that they just make him look like he gets a fair amount of
exercise and maybe has a good metabolism.  Anyways, he's decent.  Actually,
he's really cool.  Like, he's got a really sweet face.  Youthful or
something.  I mean, I get the feeling that he's really a nice guy.

So, fine, I have a little bit of a thing for him, if you have to like, drag
it out of me.  But what's the big deal, right?  I mean, I've had passing
things for just about everyone in this school at one point or another,
including that little nerdy boy that tailed me around in gym class for all
of Sophomore year like I was some kind of role model for his people or
something.  What was I supposed to do?  I mean, for a nerd, he really had a
pretty decent body.  I try sometimes not to sound shallow, but sometimes I
think I might really be this way.  I hope not.

Anyways, Jason Eisenberg.  Jewish, which turns me on too.

So, I went up to my job at the library after school, still wondering
exactly what went wrong in History class and why I still couldn't remember
the answer to the question and whether or not Jason watched me all the way
up the hall.  Which was doubtful.  Which made me a little turned on.  Even
though it probably wasn't true.

But once I got to the library my boss told me that I could take the
afternoon off cause they were overstaffed that night, which I didn't think
was really possible, but I took advantage of it and left.  On my way out I
spotted Jason cruising out of the parking lot on his board.  I would have
liked, run after him or something, if that wasn't so fucking corny, and if
it would have made sense at the time, but still.  Something about him
sailing away made me feel obligated to miss him, so I did.  Something was
up between me and Jason.  Or at least on my end, some sort of feeling was
arising.  Maybe he noticed me looking at him in History?  That would be
terrible.  Not like I'm keeping being gay this big secret, but like, it
would be nice to make it through high school without hate crimes and slurs
being committed against me.  I'm sure most people know anyways.  There just
aren't that many people in Maryland that are like me.

I got in my car and made a big squeal as I pulled away, getting everyone in
the lot to raise their heads and watch my exit, which I sort of liked, and
then I just started driving.  I was halfway to the town limits when I
realized that I need to pick my brother up at soccer practice, so I turned
around.  Anthony goes to this school on the other side of town cause my mom
thought it would be bad if we both went to the same school and whatnot, for
like, brotherly harmony.  That's all well and good, but I still had to pick
him up everyday and listen to him talking about girls he wants to fuck.  He
doesn't know I'm gay either, but he still regales me with these stories
like he's trying to get to me.  He's a cute kid though, for 15, and no
doubt he gets more play than me.

I pulled up to Chaffee, his school and walked onto the field.  I must have
looked really out of place in a sweater and khakis, what with all the kids
in Umbros running around with bowl-cuts, but I didn't really care.  I lit a
cigarette and leaned against a fence.  I tried to pick out Anthony in the
crowd.  He wasn't on the field, but I spotted him on the sidelines, so I
walked over.

Patting him on the back, he turned and I saw his lip was swollen and he was
holding one arm like it had gotten hurt.  He might have been crying
earlier, but like, he was trying to look tough.  To be honest, I melted.
Like, I love my brother, you know?  I mean, he's an asshole and a piece of
shit to me and my mom and dad, but like he's still my brother and I don't
like to see him in pain.  And he looked so dumbly pathetic.  So I just sort
of offered to his coach that I take him home.  The coach seemed pretty
sympathetic, and gave Anthony a little pep talk before I guided him,
limping, back to my car.

Once we were on the road he started getting a little more light spirited.
He told me about his injury.  Some guy had body slammed him in the stomach
during a scrimmage, and when he fell down the wind was knocked out of him
and he bashed his head on a small rock.  I told him we'd get some
antiseptic and band aids at home.  I dunno how he felt about it, but it was
cool being all big brother about things.  Sure, I'm only 3 years older than
him, but it makes a big difference.  In many ways, Anthony was still a
little kid, where I was pretty much all grown up.

Well, we got home and my mom went all motherly about Anthony being hurt,
and thanked me for bringing him home and basically offered to like, coddle
him, for the rest of the night.  It was sort of sickening, but I got the
same treatment when I was that age and got hurt.  Not like I ever got hurt.
I never played sports.

My dad was going to be out for dinner, so Mom said that she had eaten a
late lunch and that she was going to cook Anthony some soup but that I
could go get a burger or something in town.  I jumped at the chance, got
into my car, and put my Pixies tape in.

If there's any music that's better for driving than the Pixies, I haven't
heard it yet.  I had made a tape for a friend but she never came and got
it, so it became mine.  It was great.  I'm not going to ramble on forever
on this, but like, take a listen to the second-half of Trompe le Mondeand
tell me that it isn't godlike.  Anyways, they just make me drive really
fast.

I decided that I would just get a bagel sandwich and maybe browse Barnes
and Noble's Gay and Lesbian section.  Discretely.  Barnes and Noble is
like, the only reason this shit-town really holds some value to me, cause
it's where I just go to hang out.  I know, it sounds really boring.  But I
love to read, and most people don't.  It's not boring to me.  Besides, some
books can be really erotic.  Which is good.

So, I pulled a few books from the shelf, a copy of XY, and sat down in a
chair way off to the side, and away from the crowd, which was really
limited cause it was a weekday.  I saw this girl Carol I know from school
browsing the Fiction section, and I tried to hide myself, but I think she
saw me anyways.  Books I pulled: Dennis Cooper's Guide, Bret Easton Ellis'
The Rules of Attraction, Jim Grimsley's Dream Boy (which I had already
read).  I dunno why I just listed that.

Carol vanished downstairs and I decided that I should get home, since I had
been gone an hour and a half and no doubt I should do some work.  On my way
down the escalator I looked over into the Starbucks and sitting there with
Carol is Jason Eisenberg.  I almost did a double take like in one of those
dumb cartoons.  I know he saw me, he looked right at me.  His eyes followed
me down the escalator and then out the door.  It was the sort of stare you
can feel on you when you walk, and it makes you walk a little slower,
saunter a little, and get all you can out of it.  He was definitely
looking.

So I got outside.  I was a little breathless, and not knowing exactly why.
It was like I had just made some big discovery.  It probably meant nothing.
People look at people all the time.  It's natural.  But it was just too
perfect.  Like, Jason Corelli.  Maybe checking me out from his table with
that skanky Carol.  What was I going to do?  I decided that I was just
going to stand outside and smoke a cigarette and wait and see what happens.
American Spirits.  I was so nervous I almost burnt myself on my Zippo.
Click.  Take a drag.  Click closed.

I fought the urge to look in the windows to see what he was doing.  It was
like, a dumb sort of obsession.  I was acting totally uncool.  I was
shaking.  What was up with this?  Every person that came out of the door I
almost jumped away thinking it was them.  I came up with several different
ways to say hi.

And then she came out.  Alone.  She didn't stand out there and wait for
him, but at the same time she didn't move away too fast.  She didn't notice
me.  I kept waiting for him to follow her but he didn't come.  My move.  My
move.

And I just turned the corner to the double glass doors and pushed them
open.  And there he was.  Sitting there at the table, with this sort of
bemused look on his face, probably looking into his coffee, which was
half-done.  It was like seeing God.  Or whatever.  Seeing a small time
deity on Earth-time.  He was perfect just sitting there.  His legs were
spread under the table, both of them sort of straddling the pole that held
it up, his ass sliding almost half off the seat.  He was nonchalance in a
box.  Something like that.  But how to like, approach him?

And then he solved my problem for me.

Unexpectedly he looks up and I'm just standing there in confused awe like a
dick-wad and he seems really inquisitive at first, like he's not sure what
I'm doing there or why I'm looking at him or maybe even how to react.  Then
he sort of half rose, and waved me over.  This is my stomach falling into a
puddle at my shoes.  I was stunned, and not just a little scared.

I got over to his table after weaving through a few others and wasn't sure
whether I should sit or stand.  He sort of smiled and said why don't I sit
down.  So I did.  I folded my hands in my lap and basically looked
extremely edgy.

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

Mouth dry.  "Oh, just reading."  As soon as I said it I wished I had
thought of something cooler to say.  Like "Oh, I was just sitting outside
smoking" or maybe just "Nothing much."  Anything would be better than "Just
reading."  Here I am, just reading.  Nose stuck in a book.  Sure Nick, make
yourself look weirder.

"Oh that's cool.  I was just gonna check out some magazines."

Was it tension?  Did we have tension?  There was definitely something going
on between us.  I would look up and catch his eye and then he would flick
his gaze to the wall behind me or down at the table or I would do the same.
He was fidgeting a little.  He ran his hand through his hair a lot when he
spoke.  He gestured nervously and quickly.  He made little wrinkles in his
nose when I was speaking like he was either listening really intently or
trying to spot an acne scar on my chin.  Either way.

"Plus I have to get a free reading book for Chang.  Any suggestions?"

How about Dream Boyby Jim Grimsley?

"Ever read Empire of the Sun?" I say instead.

"Nope.  Wait, isn't that a movie?"

"Yeah.  Spielberg made it in the 80s.  It was pretty good."

Starring Christian Bale.  I had such a crush on him.

"I might have seen it.  I don't remember."

"Yeah.  You should read the book.  It's really excellent.  Seriously."

"Maybe.  I dunno.  It sounds sort of heavy."

"Heavy can be good.  I mean, it can be interesting."

Tone it down tone it down.  Try not to be so fucking intelligent.

"Course I thought it was a little too deep for me." I add.

"Too deep for you?"  He laughs.

"What do you mean?"

"It's like, you're the deepest boy at the whole school."

Boy.  He used boy.

"People really think that?"

"Yeah.  I mean, there aren't too many people around here that are like
you."

"I guess.  I dunno."

Did he just look at me again?

He did.

I realized I had been drumming my fingers on the table.

He opened his mouth to speak.  Slowly and yawning like it was the most
deliberate thing in the world.  Like we was just daring me to kiss him.  I
watched his lips part with the thinnest string of spit.  I could see his
tongue raise and start to make a sound.

"Hey, can you give me a ride home?"

I started stuttering like someone had just told me I had won the lotto.  I
was gibbering away.  I had to concentrate really hard just to say yes.

We got up and he dropped two bucks on the table and we walked out of the
bookstore.  He had his skateboard tucked under his arm.  He whistled while
we walked to my car, which was parked on a side street.  It was something I
didn't recognize fully.  I imagined it was something I knew.  We chatted a
little.  Pointlessly.  Effortlessly.  Getting cold.  Or the test in History
is going to be hard.  Nice car he says.

Yeah.

We climb in and I turn the key and it rumbles to life.  The night has
gotten freezing and his breath is coming out in clouds.  It's beautiful and
he's beautiful and I'm lost in the near-perfection of the single moment
where he draws in a little air and his chest rises under his shirt.  It's
like that.  It's a dead silence.  Something passes between us and rustles
in the back of my mind.  Kissing him right now might be a good idea.  If
not hard to pull off.  I almost start to lean in when he starts talking
again.

"So.  Do you know where I live?"

No.

"Oh, it's just like, go up the hill towards the river and like, just turn
left at the 711."

I memorize it.  I repeat it ten thousand times in my head.  It gets
committed to memory.

The drive is painfully quiet.  We don't even turn on the radio.  My
headlights cut through the coming fog.  Sometimes he coughs like a cold
coming on.  He scratches his knee through his pants.  He pulls at the
collar of his shirt and sort of rubs his neck.

His house is small, but like, not terribly so.  It's modest.  On a little
green lawn which looks immaculately mowed.  Probably by him on a hot
weekend with his shirt tucked into his waistband.

When he gets out of the car he doesn't say thanks or bye or anything like
that.  He stops, bends down, and leans in the open window.  He braces
himself on his arms and looks me straight in the face and says quite
clearly, enunciating every last syllable like an elocutionist and says:

You're the best.  I owe you one.

You're the best.

Before I manage to clear my head I'm halfway home.  Thinking about the way
he put it.  Like, it wasn't thanks a lot I'll do you a favor.  And it
wasn't hey thanks dude.  Or you're a pal.  Or anything like that.  It had
connotation.  Deeper meaning.  At least to me.  I could tell.  It was in
his voice.  You're the best.  I owe you one.  One.  Of what?

There was no one around when I got home.  Well, Anthony was in his room and
my parents were watching tv and my mom was probably ignoring that show my
dad wanted to watch by reading a magazine.  I crept up to my room.

I sat on the corner of my bed and rubbed my face.  Stunned.  I peeled off
my sweater and walked around in a white tee shirt.  I wanted to smoke a
joint but my mom would smell it and then I would get the wringer.  I turned
on the computer, looked around, turned it off again.  I flipped through an
old copy of XY that I kept at the bottom of my drawer.  I drooled over a
photo spread about schoolboys.  I thought hard enough that one of them
started to look like Jason.  I got a hard on.  It hurt against the inside
of my zipper but I left it there.  I tossed the XY back in the drawer.  I
turned the computer back on.  I found my porn.

And then it was only a matter of time before I started jerking off.

To me, masturbation is more like a hobby than a requirement.  Like, some
guys just do it when they "have to".  Right.  I do it when I want to.
Which is a lot.  It's the advantage of having a lock on my door.

Before I got into it I pulled off my shirt and slid my pants down around my
ankles.  In my boxers I started to look at some porn.  Two guys fucking
against a sofa.  A kid who looks really underage jerking off on his knees.
On a beach no less.

Wonder how Jason jerks off?

My cock worked it's way out of the slit in my boxers on it's own.  I
wrapped my hand around the head.  Jason jerking off on a beach.  On his
knees.  Sitting in my car with his legs spread and maybe even his hand on
my knee.  Oh god.

I stop.  I get up from the chair and lay down, face-down, on my bed.  I
kick off my boxers.  I start grinding against the mattress.  I whisper his
name like a spell.  I can feel my cock growing slick against the sheets.  I
flip over onto my back and stare at the ceiling while my hand goes to work
between my legs, my thumb pressed against the ridge below the head.  Just
as my left hand starts to creep between my legs, under my balls, I feel my
orgasm building.  And then I'm coming.

I feel the first few jets onto my chest, and at first they're hot, but by
the final shot, it's gotten cold.  Sitting up, I grab a box of tissues off
the nightstand and start to wipe myself off.  Figuring I need a shower
anyways, I just go into the bathroom.  I can still feel my heart beating
hard.


Chapter Three - Anthony

Anthony sat up in bed at the first sign of morning.  It was early Saturday,
and the fresh air was streaming in through an open slit in his window.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, his feet buried themselves in
plush carpet and he stood.  He was shirtless, and his boxers had slid down
slightly while he slept, so he hooked two fingers into the waistband and
brought them back up to his waist.  Running a hand over his chest, and
moving his tongue around the inside of his mouth (which had grown dry
overnight), Anthony looked into the full-length mirror on the other side of
his room.  This was the first morning in a while where he hadn't woken up
with a hard-on, and in a strange way that was convenient for him.  If he
had wanted to jerk off, he would have missed out on the best time to skate,
which was early morning.  He slapped his chest with both hands,
rhythmically, and turned to the bathroom.  It was his own; both himself and
his brother Nick had their own bathroom-that was just the design of the
house.  Besides, Nick and Anthony were direct opposites of each other.
Nick was quiet, slightly moody, and intellectual, while Anthony was
carefree and full of life, and not terribly concerned with academics.
Everyone thought it best that they avoid each other as much as possible,
since they never agreed on anything.

Anthony took a piss and then went about preparing to take a shower.  He
glanced at the clock: 8:15 AM.  None of his friends would ever believe
Anthony would wake up so early just to skate.  Except maybe for Casey, his
best friend, who sometimes even met him at the park and skated with him,
even though Casey was noticeably less enthusiastic about the whole thing,
and really was just happy to hang out.  He turned the shower on and let it
warm up.  Sliding his boxers down around his ankles, he kicked them up and
caught them, then tossed them into the clothes hamper.  While he waited for
the warm water, Anthony looked at himself, naked, in the mirror.  He was
15, and he was just beginning to show definition in his body, where
previously there had only been padding under the skin from his youth.
Under his arms had grown a small patch of brown hair, and his from his
knees down his legs had become fuzzy.  But what Anthony focused on
primarily was his cock, and how much it had changed.  If the rest of his
body was the body of a 15 year-old, then his cock was decidedly older
looking.  Like many guys, his dick had outgrown him for the time-being,
looking slightly more mature than the rest of him.  He was circumcised and
the head of his penis hung about equal to his balls, which were hairless.
It wasn't so much the length as it was the thickness of it: soft Anthony's
dick seemed about as thick as a tube of toothpaste.

Stopping looking in the mirror, Anthony began examining his cock with his
hands, careful not to create too much pleasure, cause he needed to get out
to the park, and then jumped into the shower.  The water was warm at this
point, and Anthony quickly went about soaping himself up.  Unexpectedly,
his cock hardened.  Anthony gave it a few prefunctory pulls before hopping
out of the shower with it at half-mast.  He dried himself off and returned
to his bedroom, where he dressed, grabbed his board, and was out the door.

The cool, crisp air greeted Anthony, who was still a little wet in a tee
shirt and shorts, with a chill.  The park was down the hill, so it was an
easy ride, and Anthony got onto his board and basically let it coast down
the hill, easily.

Surrounded by trees, with a path that led to a small camping site in the
hills, the park was huge and green for the most part, except for a fairly
decent concrete embankment which led to a dried out swimming pool that most
of the kids used to skate.  Someone had built an okay ramp next to it too.
When Anthony got there, only one other person was already skating.  He was
precise and excellent at it, but not really showy.  Like, he wasn't trying
to pull any big moves or anything, he was just riding up and down the slope
of the pool, casually.  Anthony stood at the rim, watching him, until the
skater noticed and stopped in the center of the pool

"Hey," the skater said, "Do you ride?"

Anthony held up his board.

"Oh right.  Sorry.  You any good?"

He shifted on the balls of his feet. "Yeah I guess."

"Cool.  You wanna show me your stuff?"

Anthony was nervous, but he leaped at the chance to impress someone older
and more experienced.  The older skater climbed up the side of the pool to
sit down, and met Anthony halfway.  When they met, he outstretched his hand
and Anthony shook it.

"Hey.  My name's Jason Eisenberg."

"Anthony."

"Last name?"  Jason said with a smile.

"Oh.  Corelli."

At this Jason sort of looked surprised.  Anthony hoped he didn't know his
brother.  That could fuck anything up.  Nick didn't really have a good
reputation with the cooler guys in town.

"Right.  Nick's brother?  Cool.  Let's see what you can do."

For the next few hours they skated, shared tips, showed off, fell down,
scraped themselves up and basically had fun.  The day grew hotter as it
wore on, and Anthony, shamelessly, pulled his shirt off and tucked it into
his waistband.  By the time he was finished skating, it was almost 1 PM.

Anthony and Jason sat on a bench set on the grass, under a large, shady
tree.  They were already fast friends.  Anthony was nursing a wicked gash
on his arm, which had stopped bleeding, but still looked pretty nasty.

"Shit.  I always get fucked up"

Jason leaned over and took his arm by the wrist.  "Let me see it.  I'm good
at this."

Anthony let Jason hold his arm and investigate his wound.  He basically
just peered at it intently before saying "I think you'll live."

Jason's hand slid of Anthony's wrist.  "You should get a Band-Aid or
something though.  You don't want it to get infected."

"How do you know my brother?"

Jason thought about this for a second.  "We're in the same history class.
We talk sometimes.  Not too much."

Anthony was incredulous.  "You talk to my brother?  Why?"

"I dunno.  He's a nice guy I suppose."

Anthony shook his head vigorously.  His ear length brown hair tossed with
it.  "No way.  He's a dickwad."

"Well, maybe.  But we still chat.  I don't know him that well really."

Jason stood and said he had to get moving, and Anthony said he needed to do
the same.  He was tired and maybe a little sick from exposure to the sun.
Plus he had an uphill walk ahead of him.  They shook hands when they
parted, and each went his opposite direction.  Anthony looked over his
shoulder after a moment to catch Jason, but he had already vanished.



* * *



When he awoke again is was dark already.  Anthony rolled out of bed, in his
clothes, and looked at the clock.  It was only 5:30 PM.  Fall was in full
swing.  Downstairs in the kitchen his mother had left a note saying that
Casey had called while he was asleep, and wanted him to call him back.

Anthony called, and Casey told him that he had stolen some beer and vodka
from his dad, who was out of town, and that he had invited Stacy and Marisa
over, two girls who sort of had the hots for both the guys, and was
wondering if Anthony wanted them to come over and maybe go swimming.

"Sure.  My parents are going to be, like, out for their anniversary or
something.  Come on over about 9."

At nine Casey and the two girls walked up the path to Anthony's front door
and rang the bell.  When he didn't come down right away, Casey leaned on it
a little, letting it buzz continuously.  Through the window they could see
Anthony bounding down the stairs in a tee shirt and swim shorts, shoeless,
and then he flung open the door.

"Jesus!  You're gonna wake up the neighborhood."

They all came in.  The girls stood off to one side, snatching little side
glances of the guys, while the guys play fought near the couch.  Casey
produced a six pack of beers from his backpack along with a bottle of
vodka.  Anthony quickly went about getting cups and mixer from the kitchen.
He had learned how to drink earlier that year, when he and Casey had gone
to a Valentine's Day party and someone had brought rum and coke.  Anthony
didn't remember much of that night.

Anthony put the cups on the coffee table and Casey began to pour a shot of
vodka into each one.  The girls moved to the couch.  Before he had chance
to pour the juice, Anthony downed his shot.

They had downed about half the bottle between the four of them, and hadn't
touched the beers, when they decided to hit the pool.  Anthony drunkenly
pulled open the sliders and flicked on the lights outside.  The whole night
light up, and the blueness of the pool waved, reflected against the house.
Anthony and Casey both peeled off their shirts and jumped feet first into
the water.  The girls stood, giggling, ogling the boy's and their bare
chests.  Whispering to each other.  Both guys were well built, Casey maybe
a little more defined that Anthony, and with more hair on his body, under
his arms primarily.  Anthony felt a little embarrassed usually that Casey,
being younger, was a little more developed than he was.  Course Casey
couldn't skate for shit, so maybe that made up for it.

They swam and splashed around for a few minutes.  Stacy and Marisa sat down
on two deck chairs and watched with incredulity as the two boys threw water
at each other.

Marisa whispered something in Stacy's ear and they both giggled.  Casey
noticed.

"What?"

Stacy leaned forward.  "Okay, like, we were just wondering, like, if you
guys would, like, get naked for us?"

"What?" said Anthony.

"It's just like truth or dare.  Like, you do it and then like, maybe we'll
do something for you.  Like a trade."

"I dunno," said Anthony, looking at himself, "someone might see."

"Okay.  If you're chicken," chimed in Marisa.

"We're not chicken.  Just like.  You know.  Naked."

"Well then.  Do it.  We promise not to laugh.  At all."

Pause.

"We just wanna see.  We're curious."

Casey spontaneously started to slide his shorts down.

Marisa waved her hand.  "No, no.  Like, get out of the pool.  We can't see
anything underwater."

"That was sort of the point."

"Come on.  Stop being such a baby."

Reticently, Casey began to climb out of the pool.  Anthony followed closely
behind.  Stacy and Marisa sat up in their chairs and commanded the action.

"Which one do you want to see first?"

Stacy thought about it.  "Why don't we have Casey go."

Marisa turned to Casey, who was dripping wet.  "Okay Casey.  Let's see."

Casey looked to Anthony for help but Anthony just shrugged, then giggled.
It was dirty, to be sure, but extremely daring.  And Anthony couldn't take
his eyes off Casey as he slowly and carefully slid his fingers into the
waistband of his swim trunks.  Slowly, inch by inch of paler skin began to
appear.  The girls couldn't see from their angle, but as Casey watched he
saw the top of Casey pubic hair emerge.

Casey inhaled and then pulled the shorts all the way down.  He kicked them
off and they landed in a wet heap near the girls' chairs.  Nude, Casey
looked smaller in stature, but his cock was pretty impressive.  The
eroticism of the moment had made it rise to about half-mast, and it had
thickened.  As they watched raptly, it continued to rise.

"Come on, don't stare at it.  This happens all the time."  Casey covered
himself with his hands, but it didn't do any good.  He was now fully hard.

Marisa put her hand over her mouth.  "God that is so weird!"

Casey was bright red.  He had his eyes closed tight.

Anthony's cock had hardened in his shorts.  He was scared that he wouldn't
be able to even get his shorts off over it.  It was making the cloth all
distended.

Casey looked down at Anthony's crotch.  "Looks like Anthony's popped one
too."

The girls goaded him until Anthony finally just pulled the shorts clear
off.  His cock popped up, fully hard.  All four of them spent a few moments
looking each other over.  The girls whispered to each other, while the guys
looked at each other's penises and giggled.  The mood had changed
considerably.  Now that they were both naked, Casey and Anthony seemed much
less nervous, pushing each other around making fun of each other's
hard-ons.  Marisa and Stacy however, had grown a little disturbed at the
whole prospect.  They hadn't really thought anything about this event out.
Now that they were presented with two naked guys, they had no idea what to
do about it, and in addition, they were a little grossed out.

Marisa stood.  "Listen, guys.  Me and Stacy are gonna go home.  We just
remembered that, like, Stacy needs to get up early tomorrow.  For like
extra help.  Her tutor.  Right?"

Standing "Yeah, right.  Like, I don't want to fail my math test.  But we'll
see you guys...Like, later?"

"Oh that's okay."

The girls picked up their stuff and slipped back in the house.  At the
sound of the door closing Casey turned and shoved Anthony into the pool.
He then dove in after him.  Casey grabbed Anthony around the neck when he
broke the surface and dunked him back under.  Anthony reached around
Casey's waist and pulled him down with him.  While they were both
underwater, they became a tangle of limbs.  Their legs became intertwined.
It's not clear how it happened, but suddenly Anthony felt Casey's hand
slide between his legs, in a traditional wrestling move.  Usually, to
complete the move, Casey would have flipped Anthony over onto his stomach
and pinned him, but this time Casey just let his hand rest there, under
Anthony's balls.

Slowly they both surfaced.  Anthony looked at Casey, who in return stared
back at him.  There was total silence, save for the slight lapping of
rippling water.  Casey's hand slid up the inside of Anthony's thigh.

"We should get inside.  Someone might see us.  Or we might catch cold."
Anthony said, breathlessly.

The spell was broken as quickly as it had begun, and Casey and Anthony
clamored out of the pool and into the house.  Casey pulled two beach towels
from his bag and tossed one to Anthony.  Anthony dried off swiftly and then
wrapped the towel around his waist, and Casey did the same.  Then they sat
down on the couch.

Anthony could feel how close Casey was sitting.  It was a big couch, but
Casey was only sitting about a inch away from him.

Casey began to speak.  "You're pretty built dude.  Do you lift?"

Anthony laughed.  "Right, you're much more built than me.  Seriously"

They both laughed.  "Maybe," said Casey, "but like you've got a six-pack
starting there.  That's so cool."

Casey looked up at Anthony.  "Can I..?"

Without waiting for an answer, Casey put his hand on Anthony's stomach.  He
rubbed up and down, grazing the towel as he did so.  "Wow, you're really
muscular."

Anthony reached over and slid his hand down to Casey's stomach.  "You're
not bad yourself dude.  Really."  As Anthony said that, Casey's hand moved
from his stomach to his crotch, rubbing it through the towel.  Still
touching Casey's stomach lightly Anthony said "I dunno Casey man.  This
feels a little weird."

"Don't worry about it dude.  Just let me touch you a little."

"Okay."

Anthony let his head fall back on the couch and Casey's hand lifted the
towel away from his hips.  Anthony's hard dick was revealed, and Casey
encircled it with his hand.  He slowly began to stroke it.  Anthony's hand
slid inside Casey's towel.

"Oh god Casey."

Anthony moaned slightly under his breath as Casey sped his strokes up and
his own hand wrapped around his friend's cock.

Suddenly Anthony heard a sound, and sat up with a start.  It was a knocking
at the door.  He let his hand slide off Casey's dick.

"Don't stop dude."  Casey trailed off as Anthony started to wrap himself in
a towel.  Casey lay on the couch, his towel tossed off on the floor, his
hips unconsciously humping the cushions.

Anthony was panicking.  Was it the police?  Or someone else?  His brother
who had forgotten his keys?  He pulled the towel around him

The door was opening.  The door was unlocked.  A dark form moved into the
house.  "Nick?  Are you here?"

Anthony recognized that voice.  Jason Eisenberg flicked the lights on.  He
looked over at Anthony's towel wrapped form, and spied Casey, naked,
collapsed on the couch.

"Oh shit, I'm sorry."

Anthony ran out of the room.  Jason stared at the naked form of Casey on
the couch.  He slowly backed out of the house, closing the door behind him.


Chapter 4 - Jason

Here's the thing.  Have you ever had a moment where you totally lost the
ability to breathe?  I'm not talking about when you get kicked in the
stomach or fall down from somewhere high and get the wind knocked out of
you.  I mean have you ever just not been able to get your lungs to work.
It's almost like a heart attack.  Your entire body goes numb and things
you've taken for granted suddenly just don't function.

I couldn't feel the rest of my body.  If I didn't breathe soon I would pass
out.  I had just stumbled upon something that had like, pulled my entire
soul out of my body and then stuffed it back in roughly.  My eyes lingered
for a moment over the soft lines and curves of a naked boy sleeping face
down on a couch.  I had never seen anything like it.

My eyes flicked back to Anthony, wrapped in a towel, who gave me a look
like he was an animal caught of its cage.  His eyes were wide, and his
bottom lip was shivering.  He was wet.  The towel did nothing to cover up
his cock, which was pushing out and up.  I felt myself drift into a
familiar fantasy, then snap back to reality.  We stared at each other.  I
felt the need to say something.  Anything.  Just to break the tension.

"Oh shit, I'm sorry."

I saw tears well up in Anthony's eyes.  It was like I was his dead
grandfather or something, walking in on him.  It was like he had
disappointed him.  He turned on his heel, clutched his towel, and bolted up
the stairs.  The house receded.  I realized I had backed out the doorway.
I shut the door quietly.  It was all I could manage.  I sat down on the
steps for a minute held my head in my hands.  I was losing my mind.  If I
had come a minute earlier, what would I have seen?  Soft hands running over
someone's body.  This of course compounded with all my feelings for Nick.

Nick's absence from the whole situation was logical yet conspicuous.  I had
called him for some English help right a few hours earlier.  He had invited
me over.  I expected him to be there.  Whatever moves I had, I was thinking
about making them tonight.  But he was no where.  And his younger brother,
like a younger shadow of Nick, I mean god, this kid had really fucked with
my head.  My mind floated back to when I had seen that couple under the
bridge.  That was nothing to the images my mind was full of.  Two boys.
Jesus.

It was about then when I found Nick's note.  I guess he had tried to tape
it to the door or something, but it had blown off and was fluttering in the
hedge.  Pink paper.  Is that a sign?  No.  Jason, give me a call on my cell
phone #555 - 3788 and we can try and coordinate something.  My little bro
is having a party tonight and I promised I would get out of his way.  Nick.

I felt insanely sheepish.  But I didn't have a phone, so I opened the door
to Nick's house again.  There was no motion inside.  No rapid
reconstructing, no shuffling of clothes being pulled back on.  No moaning.
Nothing.  From where I stood I could see the boy sleeping on the couch.  He
had shifted so that he was on his side facing away from me.  Where the fuck
was the phone?  I didn't want to go too deep into the house.  I also didn't
want to go into the living room.  What if he woke up?  I mean, how would I
explain that one?

But I couldn't find a single phone anywhere in the hall or surrounding
areas, so I forced myself to be ballsy, and tip-toed into the living room.

As my field of vision cleared the couch I tried to pull my eyes away from
him.  Phone, phone, phone.  I needed the phone, right?  Concentrate on the
phone.  There.  On the table.  Okay.  Good.

He shifted.  I almost wet myself.  I jumped.  He was definitely moving.  I
couldn't help it, I had to look.  I craned my neck a little, and
side-stepped until I could see him lying there.

He was still sleeping, or he was oblivious to the world, his eyes shut
tight.  My eyes wandered from his chest down to his belly-button and then
found his cock, half-hard, flopped against his thigh.  My own cock began to
harden.  It was too much.  I saw the empty bottles on the coffee table.
Everything was starting to fall into place.

I grabbed the phone off the cradle and began dialing.  It was busy.  I
shoved one hand down my pants to adjust myself, and that only made me
hornier.  My hand lingered, stayed, and slowly curled around myself until I
almost buckled with pleasure and anxiety.  I redialed Nick's number.  Still
busy.  I watched as this boy ran a hand down his body in his sleep.  His
cock had hardened all the way and mine had too.  What was I doing?  I
slowly began to tug on myself in my pants.  The head of my cock rubbed
against the inside of the fly.  I redialed.  It rang.

With my hand still trapped down my pants, Nick picked up the phone.

"Hello?"  The whir of a car in the background.

I stammered, breathlessly.  "Hi"

"Fuck dude, I just called your house.  Where are you?"

"Uhm, at a pay phone."

"Oh man, want me to come get you?"

"Uhm, no, like, well, why don't I just go back to my place and you can come
and find me there.  Cool?"

"That's cool dude.  I'll see you in about ten to 15."

"Seeya"

I hung up the phone.  I had been unconsciously jerking myself that whole
conversation.  I pulled my hand from my pants, and willed myself soft.  I
left the house without another look back.  I rode home quickly.  By the
time I got there Nick had parked his car on the street and was sitting on
the hood, smoking.

He waved from a distance.  He was cute from there, by the time I got up
close to him, I was in love.

He hadn't brought any books with him.  "My mind is all you need." he said.
I guess I might have nodded.  Was he looking at me?

We said hello to my father, who had talked to Nick earlier when he had
called. He was eating the spaghetti I had made for him out of the
Tupperware.  Normally I would have stopped and scooped it out for him, but
tonight I just wanted to get upstairs.

Climbing the stairs I watched Nick's ass through his pants.

In the mess of my father's office, he made me brainstorm all the ideas I
could come up with.  When I fucked up, he would tell me where I had gone
wrong, and then when I got something right (there was only one correct
interpretation in Chang's class) he would grin or tousle my hair.  It was
interesting.  He suggested I make myself notecards so I could spread out my
ideas visually and like, rearrange easily.  So we both made them.  And then
we spread them out on the floor.

Nick laid down on his stomach next to me and we looked over the great
expanse of cards.  We heard my father come upstairs.  He leaned his head
into the office and asked how things were going.  Then we heard him go to
bed.

There was a thick silence.

We stared at each other for a second.

I wanted to kiss him.  But I didn't.  I looked back down at the cards.

Nick cleared his throat.  "So, I think maybe you should talk about the
existential themes first."

"How do you even spell that?"

"What `existential'?"

"Yeah.  I'm not like, the inventor of Scrabble."

"Oh, it's like existence, except -tial instead of -ce"

"I don't even know if I could spell existence."

"You're not that dumb Jason."

"Says you."

He patted me on the back.

"You aren't dumb.  You just need a little help, like, getting all your
thoughts in order.  Like, you just seem confused."

"About what?!"

Nick seemed incredulous.

"About the paper.  Take it easy man."

"Sorry.  I'm edgy.  It happens.  I think I need a drink."

"Heh.  No.  You have a paper."

Pause.

"You just seem.  I dunno.  Worked up about something."

"It's nothing.  Really."

"Listen man, I know we're not even really friends.."

"We're friends Nick."

"...well, we haven't known each other very long.  Personally.  Like, I'm
that guy you see in the hall and the library and you're...well, you're
Jason.  But I mean, you can talk to me.  If you need to."

I smiled.  I blushed.  "You're so nice man."

"You too."

And he put his arm around me.  Friendly like.  But that's how it started.
I guess that's how it always starts.  I had to try.  It was like there was,
I dunno, a huge pressure against my chest that I knew, if I just touched
him, would be released.  His hand slid off my shoulder.  Before it could
return to propping him up on the floor, I took it in mine.  The quiet in
the room was enough to deafen me.  I could almost hear my own heart
beating.  It might have been his.

His hand was soft and suddenly hot and moist with sweat.

"Jason?"

I didn't answer back.

I let one finger rub against the inside of his palm.

"Dude?"

I stared to pull him towards me.  Slightly.  By the hand.  Like leading
him.  Suddenly I felt like he needed to be led.  Like I was in control.  He
resisted for a second, and suddenly in slid over to me, our bodies touching
all down the sides.  It was like a huge weight giving way.

"I don't think..."

"Don't think."  I said.  And then I kissed him lightly, on the cheek.

His entire face turned bright red.

But he rolled over onto his back.

"I've never.  You know.  This is.  New."

"Shh.  Me too."

He seemed calmed a little by this.

I shifted over so I was leaning over him.

There was no turning back from there.

I bowed my head until our lips met.  It was a closed mouth kiss.  I didn't
have the guts to open mine.  My hand rubbed his stomach through his
sweater.  He was so nervous he was shaking.

We held this kiss for a long time, for a kiss.  And then broke apart.

Nick looked up at me.

"You have a paper to write man."

And he started to pull away.

I was stunned.

"Don't you.  I mean, where are you going?"

"You've got a paper, and like, you'll do fine on it now.  It's just, late,
and I think I'm distracting you or something."

He stood and moved to the door.  I followed him close.  Before he got to
the door I reached out and grabbed his shoulder.

"Fuck the paper." I said.

He didn't resist me, so I didn't try and hold back.  I walked him against
the wall and leaned against him gently.  We weren't kissing then, I was
just holding him.  His hands were loose and empty, like they didn't know
what to do, at his sides.  I slid one hand between us.  I could feel the
heat from his body.  I pushed my hand down our bodies and I felt the top of
his pants, the waistband, against the tip of my fingers.  He was scared.
We slowly started to lay down again.  Sliding down the wall.

I started kissing his neck, lightly, and my hand found his belt and fumbled
with it.  It came apart, finally, and my hand brushed against his cock,
which was rock-hard.  His trembling hands wrapped around my shoulders.  My
hand plunged into his pants and I felt his cock slide into my palm like it
had been meant to be there.  Suddenly he pushed me off.

"I can't.  Listen."

"Cool down dude."

"I really should get home.  I mean, you have to write this paper and.."

"Don't worry about the paper."

He looked at me.  His face was tight and confused.  I realized that I had
fucked everything up.

"I'm so sorry."  I said.

He stood.  "Don't be sorry.  I just have to get going, you know.  Like, I
need to get some sleep."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah."

He buckled his belt.

"Good luck on your paper man.  I'll see you tomorrow in school, okay?"

And with that he was out the door, down the stairs.  I heard his car start.
I had been kneeling, but I lay down on the floor, and stared at the
ceiling.  I tried crying, but the tears wouldn't come.  My cock was hard,
but I just let it sit there.  Only after I had climbed into bed did my
tears cooperate, and only when I thought about all I had lost trying to
gain something.  Nick.  Nick.  Nick.

I shut my eyes so tight I saw stars.

Nick.

Fuck all the rest.


Chapter 5 - Jason

Morning came in shades.  Subtle yellows gradually turning from burnt umber
to mustard and I was awake to see all of it.  My de-constructed paper lay
in one hundred and four white cards scattered on the floor.  My father had
gone to work hours ago, and I had slept clear through the first hour of
school.  I had eventually collapsed into my dad's old armchair, my face
sweaty and pressed against the leather.  It was all I could do not to
scream.  What had I done?

I showered quickly, ran my fingers through my hair and went outside into
the blinding sunlight of 10AM.  I had the sudden urge to take my board,
which was tucked under my arm, and smash it on the walkway.  I had the urge
to throw myself into traffic.  I wanted to forget what my mind had already
committed to memory: I had kissed Nick Corelli.

I pulled on a pair of shorts I found laying in my closet.  Patting the left
hand pocket for change I found a dime bag I had bought days earlier from my
friend Trevor.  Later.  Lose my mind.

I skated.  Everytime I fell I almost relished the way the pavement scraped
my elbows and knees.  I knew what penance was.  Flashes of the night before
ran through my mind.  My hand pushing down Nick's pants and encircling his
hard cock.  I had to sit down on the curb and I spent a minute pounding my
thighs with my balled up fists until I felt bruised.  It suddenly came over
me that I didn't have a good enough reason to go anywhere.  There was no
where I needed to be, or wanted to be.  There was no reason to move
whatsoever.  So I sat.

Gradually I returned to my senses.  I was gay, that was cinched.  And
everything I had ever hoped for, that all this was just a phase or that I
would turn out luckily bi had all been dashed.  I knew what I wanted but I
was totally impotent to do anything about it.  I had done something about
it.  But what I had done had fucked any chance I had to be with Nick.  It
might seem shallow, but in my own way, I really cared for him.  Strongly.
More than I could admit.  In a way, I loved him.  In a way.

Walking with my board under my arm, I found the park almost by accident.
Heat was rising off the asphalt.  I was beginning to notice the scrapes on
my legs.  Pain streaked up to my brain.  Then I saw him.

Anthony was laying on the side of the drained swimming pool where we had
skated two days ago.  The whole park was empty.  I decided not to go over
and talk to him, since I figured he would be embarrassed.  However, he saw
me.

"Jason!"

I walked over.  "Hey man."

"Hey.  Shouldn't you be in school?"

"Shouldn't you?"

"I guess.  I couldn't go."

Pause.

"Listen man, about last night."

I interrupted him.

"Anthony, don't worry about it."

"Cause like, I know that looked weird and"

"I'm telling you don't worry about it."

"Just don't tell my brother okay?"

"I would never do that."

"Cause I'm not gay or anything."

He stopped.  Realizing he had just admitted everything.

"So like, please don't tell Nick."

"I told you dude, I won't."

Anthony looked a little bit heartened.

Pause.

"Did you ever?"

"What?"

Anthony practically squirmed.

"You know.  With a guy.  When you were my age."

"Nope."

Anthony frowned.  "I feel like a fucking pervert."

I didn't know what to say.  I was confused enough about all the stuff I had
going on to really help him out.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No" I said.

"Why not?  You're not ugly."

"Gee thanks dude."

"What's wrong with you?"

I couldn't tell him.

I kissed your brother Anthony.

"Nothing.  Nothing's wrong."

He stood.  I couldn't help but watch his chest.  His discarded shirt was
laying about 4 feet away.

Anthony stretched his body by arching his back and putting both his arms
above his head.  His chest muscles pulled upwards.

Idea.

"Dude, do you smoke?"

"Smoke?"

"Yeah, smoke."

"Smoke or smoke up?"

I laugh.  "Smoke up.  Right."

Anthony blushed.  "Yeah, a few times before.  Why?"

"Uhm, cause, I've got a dime in my pocket.  And like, I was wondering if
you wanted to, you know, go smoke up?"

"You got any papers?"

"Uhm.  No.  But like, we can pack it in some cigarettes."

"That work?"

"Sure.  It'll do."

Before I knew it, Anthony and I had moved to the edge of the forest, which
stretched up a hill and got thick near the middle.  He said he knew a place
up near the middle where he and his friend Casey had gone a few times to
drink.  A clearing.  Casey.  That must have been that boy on the couch.  I
stuck that in the back of my mind for future reference.

The clearing spread out about 30 feet in both directions, marked by an
overturned tree with roots stuck up into the air.  Anthony made his way
into the crook of the stump and settled there.  I sat down next to him,
about two feet away.  As we began to talk, the distance quickly lessened.
Soon we were thigh to thigh, as I began to rub out the tobacco from the
first cigarette.

"You seem good at that?"

"Hmm?"

"The cigarette."

"Oh, right.  I wish we had some papers.  Or a pipe."

"Sorry."

I looked at him.

"No, don't be like, sorry.  Like, it's fine.  Just, you know, could be
better."

"Gotcha."

Silence.  Leaves lightly rustling in the trees overhead.  The creak of old
wood slowly being pressed against and drying out.  I spent a moment looking
at Anthony while he stared into the forest.  I was lost.

"So, Anthony.  About, like, last night."

"Forget about it."

"Well, I sorta can't."

I started packing the cigarette.

"Why?  I mean, shit."

"Listen.  Man.  Don't get weird.  I'm just saying I was kinda shocked.  You
know.  It was unexpected."

"Didn't mean anything man.  I mean, I'm sure you did that sort of shit when
you were my age."

"Not really."

"Gee don't try and make me feel better."

"Dude, listen.  I mean, it's cool with me."

"Cool with you?  What do you mean?"

Said too much.

I could tell I was blushing.

Anthony began to speak.

"Dude?"

Just like his brother.

"Anthony.  Dude, just, shut up."

I finished packing the weed and patted myself down for my Zippo.

I flicked the flame on.  My face must have been flashed bright for a
moment.  And inhaled deeply.  Anthony slid his hand around mine and slid it
from between my fingers.

We continued in silence for a few minutes.

Fuck it.

"Anthony dude, me and Nick..."

I trailed off.

I didn't need to say any more.

"Really?"

"Well.  Like, not altogether..  You know."

"Did you fuck?"

"What?  No!"

"Have you ever fucked anybody?"

"No."

Pause.

"I knew Nick was gay.  Like, he's not too good at hiding it."

"Yeah?"

What?  Remain calm.

Anthony handed the joint back to me.  He turned.

"Like, right, he's got all these magazines stashed in his desk.  Like, with
half-naked guys all over them."

"How do you know?"

"I looked at em once or twice."

"Curious?"

"Uhm.  Not really."

"That's all?  Just a bunch of magazines?"

"Well, uhm, I caught him, you know, jacking it to a bunch of gay computer
porn."

"That's fucking crazy man."

"No man, for sure."

"Shit.."

Pause.

To Anthony: "So, does him being gay bother you?"

"Nope.  He's still my brother.  Him being gay doesn't make him any less of
a prick."

I laughed.  "But you're sure he's gay?  I mean, lots of guys fuck around
like that."

"Positive.  Dude, it's like, how could he not be?  He's like, so quiet and
stylish and just, like, smart at stuff.  Plus the whole jerking off to gay
porn thing."

I doubled over laughing.  If what Anthony had told me was true, Nick had
been just as turned on as I was last night.  He was just hiding it.  But
then a new thought came to me.  What if Nick was gay, wasn't hiding it, but
just wasn't attracted to me?  It always seemed like the first time I found
a gay guy I liked that the fact that we shared sexualities would ensure us
being together.  But I realized it might not be that simple.  By the time I
finished laughing, I had decided that I must not have been Nick's type.  He
probably went for those muscle-types.

We finished the joint and decided to just sit and relax for a moment.

I smacked the side of my hand against Anthony's shoulder.  He just sort of
giggled.  The tee shirt he had pulled on down in the park was wet with
sweat.  I suggested he take it off.

He did.

I didn't know where I was going.

I quietly let my fingers stroke his bare shoulder.

"Jason?"

"Yeah dude?"

"Are you gay?  Or are you like, just fucking around?"

"I don't know," I lied.

"Cause.  I mean, me and Casey.  Last night.  It was sort of intense."

I placed my palm on his chest.

"I could tell.  He looked fucking drained."

Anthony rolled onto his side, facing me.

"No.  I mean, like, we didn't really do that much.  I just touched him a
little and he touched me.  I didn't come."

"Casey neither?"

"Nope."

Pause.

"Do you think I'm gay man?"

"Anthony dude.  It doesn't really make a difference what I think."

"I just want to know what you think.  Please?"

"I guess I just think you're horny."

He giggled.

"That's for sure!"

I don't really remember how it started.

But I know I didn't make the first move.

But all of a sudden Anthony and I were wrestling.

We were a tangle of limbs.  It hurt a little, but I didn't care.  He wasn't
a small kid, and he was quicker than I was, so it was all I could do not to
let myself get pinned.  Eventually though, he had me.

Sitting on the forest floor next to me, his arm tossed across my stomach, I
let my hand slowly slide down his thigh, under his shorts.  He bristled.

"You okay?"

"Yeah.  Just tickles."

"Oh, okay."

And I let my hand push in further.  I watched his face the whole time.  He
was staring at the ground.  When my fingers brushed against his balls
through his boxers, his mouth opened in a little gasp.

Startled, I began to move my hand away.  I let it rest, non-committal, on
his inner-thigh.  Anthony looked at me.  In my eyes.

And he shifted his whole body forward.  Forcing my hand back towards his
crotch.  I felt the familiar give of his balls again, and this time I had
no intention of moving my hand away.

I could feel my hard on straining against the inside of my shorts.  Anthony
was beginning to notice it too.  I started to slide my fingers under the
fabric of his boxers.  Feeling warm skin, I closed my eyes.

Anthony jerked back.

"I'm sorry man," I whispered.

"No.  I mean."

And his hands were suddenly at his belt, unbuckling himself and slowly
sliding the khaki shorts down.  His boxers were blue plaid.  I lost myself.

His dick was semi-hard beneath them, lolling to the left against his thigh.
I could see it outlined perfectly.  The trail of hair that sprouted out of
his waistband led up delicately to his belly-button and then vanished.  His
nipples were hard in the slight breeze.  He was teasing me.  Offering
himself to me.

I couldn't say no.

I hooked my fingers into the waistband and slid his boxers down.  His cock
twitched in the sudden air.  He raised his hips and legs and soon I had
dropped his underwear by his side in a heap.  He was all nude.  He was
beautiful.  His eyes were shut tight, and his lips just parted, his tongue
moist inside.  I decided not to kiss him.  This was not romance so much as
lust.

My fingers found their way down the developing muscles of his chest and
stomach, across the prickly new hair, and into the softer bush below, and
finally touched the base of Anthony's dick.  He raised his hips at the
touch, like he had never been touched there before.  Even though I knew he
had been, he acted as if he were being opened.  Explored.  Renewed maybe.

Fully hard, Anthony's cock felt good in the palm of my hand.  I teased the
head just under the crown with the pad of my thumb, which made his stomach
contract.  I stroked him expertly, even though I had never done anything
with another guy before.  I did him like I would have done me.  It's true
what they say about guys and hand jobs.  A guy knows how to work another
guy because he knows how to work himself.  Every time Anthony sighed or
twitched I felt like I knew exactly what he was feeling, and that made me
even harder.  It was like experiencing his pleasure.  It was symbiotic.

With my other hand I took down my own shorts and began jerking myself off
while I sat.  I timed the strokes on his cock to match my own.  I was
squeezing my eyes together with pleasure when I got an idea.

I went with it.  My head moved gracefully into Anthony's lap.

"No teeth," he gasped.

I was careful.  My lips parted and I let my tongue french kiss Anthony's
dick.  It slide across the head and spread down the shaft.  Teasing.  I was
unsure what to do with my free hand at that point.  I let it rest on the
inside of his thigh while I sucked him.  Ideas were forming in my head a
mile a minute.  Slowly, so not to scare him, my hand moved below his balls.
He flinched a little when my fingers parted his ass ever so slightly,
beneath his scrotum.  I toyed with the idea.  What would I want?

A finger up my ass?

When the first knuckle slid through Anthony had started breathing heavy.  I
had stopped sucking him to make sure he felt alright.  His mouth was wide
open.  He seemed shocked yet too happy to make a move.  I was at once
slightly repulsed and enormously aroused.  I knew what I wanted.

"Anthony?"

"Wha-what?"

"I want to fuck you."

"In the woods?"

"Right here."

He was unsure.  So was I.  I stood him up, my finger slipping from his ass.

I didn't make any promises.  He knew I wouldn't hurt him.  Maybe he thought
it was all a game.  Maybe.  But I stopped asking.  I stopped talking
altogether.  I leaned him against a bent tree and spread his ass cheeks
with my fingers.  I spit on my hand and rubbed it into my cock, and then
his ass.  With his face turned away from me, he looked like Nick.

I pressed my cock against his hole and began to push.  He cried out at
first, but buried his voice somewhere deep inside of himself.  His cock
leaped to attention.  My hand wrapped around and found it.  I pushed myself
all the way into him.  He moaned.  I began to pump his cock as I slowly
fucked him.

I was bent over him, my lips on his neck, saying things I couldn't
understand.  I was so excited, I barely took three minutes to come.  When I
did, I could feel Anthony buckling beneath me.  My hand grew slick, and I
felt warm wetness spread over my knuckles.  He almost fell but I held him
up.  My cock, slackening, slid out of him.  I turned him around.

There were tears on his cheeks, but his lips were parted and he seemed
happy.  He put his arm around the back of my neck and surprised me with a
kiss.  We both fell against the tree, our tongues meeting, and our
softening cocks pressed against each other.  We pulled apart.

I swear to this day I didn't remember who I was.  I didn't know who he was.
We were anonymous.

"I love you man," he whispered, like he meant it.

I didn't whisper back.  Instead I covered his mouth with mine and pressed
him against the smooth bark of a birch tree.  I thought of Nick.  I thought
what if this was the closest I ever came to him?  I thought I might die
away right there.  I thought what if this happiness?  And then I stopped
thinking and gave into the moment, and the boy in my arms.


	To Be continued.