As usual, I retain all rights, but am more than glad for anyone wishing to offer this story to others at no charge to do so with my gratitude and permission. Josh.
THE LEAST OF THESE ...
CHAPTER 14b -- Something Old, Something New, Cont.
The next day, my mind was still on Grandpa as I hurried to my first class. I ran into a couple of jocks headed in the other direction; literally ran into them. Larry Martin was almost a head shorter than me, but built like a fireplug. He was a defensive back with the reputation of being the toughest little shit on the field, and he deliberately collided with me.
Right behind him was Robert Garcia, who was my height, but built with more muscle. If I hadn’t been so loaded up on medicine, I probably would have kept my feet. Instead, my books flew from my hands and I went sprawling.
They stopped and looked down at me, leering. “Sorry,” Larry said. “I forgot how fragile you little fairies are.”
“You’re the little fairy, you fuck-up,” I said, gathering my books.
I was still on one knee when his fist caught me on the cheekbone, knocking me sideways. My ears were ringing as I struggled to get back to my knees. Larry was preparing to hit me again as I stood up, but Mr. Weishamer’s voice came from down the hall. “Larry!”
We all looked in his direction as I made it to my feet. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“Just a collision in the hall,” Robert answered quickly. “Bentolli here wasn’t looking where he was going.”
Mr. Weishamer looked at my face and frowned. “Get to class,” he told Larry and Robert, and put a hand on my shoulder. “Are you alright, Michael?”
I nodded and wiped away an unwanted tear.
He watched the other two disappear down the hall and then gave my shoulder a squeeze. “You sure are snake-bit,” he said tenderly. “Something’s happening to you every time I turn around. Is there anything I can do to help?”
I shook my head.
“We can put an ice pack on that cheek.”
“No,” I said. “I’m fine.” I glanced at him and saw something I really didn’t want to see in his eyes, pity.
I pulled myself to my full height. “I really am fine, Mr. Weishamer,” I said in as determined a voice as I could muster. “I’m fine.”
Davey met me at the lockers after school ended and wanted to know about my bruised cheek. I just shook my head; I didn’t want to talk about it. He drove us home in silence.
At the house, I put an ice pack to my face and tried to help Davey study. But I just couldn’t concentrate, so I took a nap on the living room couch while Davey made supper.
Mom was furious when she came home. Furious that someone would pick on me so soon after being in the hospital; furious that just one thing more had gone wrong in my life.
When Maggie came by after work, she and Mom crowded into my room to look me over. I was lying on my bed trying to read while Davey lay at the other end of the bed, studying. Maggie attempted to cheer me up, but I was too tired to be cheered. Davey watched, concerned.
“Come on, Davey,” Mom said as she and Maggie began to back from the room. “We need to let him rest now.”
Without taking his eyes from me, Davey shook his head. “I’m staying here tonight.”
It was a statement, not a request. There was only a moment’s hesitation, and then our moms were gone and the door closed.
I moved over and Davey moved up beside me. He gently touched my swollen cheek with a fingertip and a tear rolled down from his eye. Crying took more energy than I felt like spending.
He kissed my cheek and laid his head down next to mine on the pillow, stroking my hair back behind my ear. “You ready for bed?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I nodded. “Let me brush my teeth”
Davey accompanied me to the bathroom and we brushed our teeth together. Then we took a side-by-side whiz at the toilet. We didn’t plan it. We just did it. And there was something about the companionship of it all, taking a whiz standing next to Davey like we’d done since we were little kids, which triggered a cascade of feelings. By the time I shook my cock off, I could barely see, my eyes were so full of tears.
Without even tucking away, I turned to Davey, draped my arms over his shoulders, and cried. “I wanna give up, Davey,” I sobbed. “I’m so tired. I just wanna give up.” My sobs reverberated off the tile of the bathroom walls, while Davey held me, and let me cry it out.
When my crying slowed, he tucked my dick back in and zipped me up while I chuckled between sobs at how I’d left us undone. When he reached to tuck himself in, I stopped his hand and blinking my eyes dry, tucked him back in myself, and then zipped him up. He kissed my cheek and I hugged him hard. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m just really tired.”
“You’re just… really awesome… Mickey,” he said. “You are strong. You’ll be OK. You’ll see.”
I chuckled. “You just ‘know’, right?”
“I know,” he said.
I grabbed him hard and buried my face in his neck, drying my eyes on his skin. “You’re the awesome one,” I whispered.
Mom was outside the door when we came out.
“Are you OK, Michael?” she asked, looking with concern into my reddened eyes.
“Yeah, Mom,” I nodded. “I’m OK.”
At the door of my room, I stopped with Davey beside me and looked back at her. “Thanks for letting Davey stay.”
Mom smiled and came up with her arms outstretched to hug both of us together. “You know how I feel about…” She bit her lip and shook her head silently. Then she kissed us each on the forehead and left for her room.
Once we closed the door, Davey helped me undress, undressed himself, turned off the light, and crawled into bed after me. In the dark, I felt his hand on my shoulder and heard his voice. “Hey, Old Man,” he said softly.
“Hey, Old Man,” I gratefully answered.
“You aren’t going to give up,” he said.
“No,” I agreed. “I’m not.”
He pulled me to himself and I nestled into him, my head on his shoulder. Sleep came surprisingly fast.
* * * * *
Dr. Kazan believed in workout therapy. “The only thing that reverses the physical affects of stress is exercise,” he told me. “What sports are you in?”
“In the summer, Davey and I are on a swim team; you started him on that. The rest of the time, we run and work out with weights,” I told him.
“Are you faithful to workout?”
“Not as faithful as we were before we started our company, but we still run a couple of times a week. And do weights once or twice a week.”
He nodded and sat back in his chair.
I had expected to lie on a couch for our meeting. Instead, we sat in two, comfortable chairs, angled toward each other. Dr. Kazan sipped a cup of tea, and putting it back down on a side table, picked up his note pad.
“I want you to get at least twenty minutes of hard exercise every day. And you don’t have to wait for Davey. You can work out on your own.”
“Tell me more about you and Davey. Just assume Davey hasn’t told me anything. You tell me.”
Reluctantly at first, because I didn’t trust him, I told Dr. Kazan about Davey and me, beginning with the day we met. And soon, the hour was gone. Before leaving, I gave him a hard look. “You aren’t going to tell me I love Davey too much are you? I don’t even want to go there.”
“We need to go wherever we need to go, Michael,” he said. “Is Davey too dependent on you? I don’t know. Are you too preoccupied with him? Has the introduction of sex to your relationship endangered it? Do you put too many demands on him? I don’t know the answers to questions like those, but you may need to ask them.”
His smile was somewhat inscrutable, so I asked him, point-blank. “Do you look on homosexuality as normal or not.”
“I won’t judge you, Michael, if that’s what you are worried about. And I won’t try to force you to change your orientation. But to be honest, the dynamics between two men are very different than they are between a man and a woman. Men make excellent friends for each other. They don’t always seem to make good, long-term lovers.” He held up his hand before I could say anything in response. “Michael, there’s not a doubt in my mind that you and Davey could have the kind of life-long friendship people write love stories about. But it will be a challenge for the two of you to make your relationship life-long at the level you have it now.”
I nodded. “Sometimes,” I said, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
His smile softened. “Even straight romances at your age are fragile, Michael; intense, but fragile. I need to hear more about you and Davey, but it sounds as if the two of you have already made it through a lot together. Perhaps you two will succeed in having something long-term.”
* * * * *
Thursday morning, Mitch followed me into the restroom. Since I’d been outed, I noticed that the johns seemed to empty faster whenever I turned up. It wasn’t long before it was just Mitch and me.
When I went to the sinks to wash up, he came to the one next to mine and looked at me in the mirror. I smiled at him and he smiled back nervously. When he looked like he was about to leave, I thought I’d break the ice. “Yeah, Mitch. I am gay.”
He turned to look at me, his eyes wide.
I smiled. “You were curious right?”
He slowly nodded.
I grinned. “So, are you too?”
He turned pale, and his mouth opened, but nothing came out.
No one was around and I was in a don’t-give-a-shit mood. Maybe it was from being around Davey so much; maybe I was just goofy from the medicine – anyway, I quickly kissed Mitch and then patted his cheek. He was still standing there, stunned, as I walked out of the bathroom.
I laughed, and suddenly felt better.
That night, I noticed Davey pull each of our moms apart to talk. Before he went home, he led me out to the porch and sat me next to him on the swing. He grinned and rubbed the back of my neck.
“I’m taking you camping this weekend… at the office.”
“Oh?” I asked, enjoying the neck rub. “Is that what you talked to our moms about.”
“And they said it was OK?” I asked turning my back to him. “Use both hands,” I instructed him.
Davey but a hand on either side of my neck and continued to rub. “They said it was OK. I told them we had lots of work to do.”
“Yeah, like they’d believe that. But they said we could sleep over?”
“Tomorrow night and Saturday night.”
I turned back around. “Really?”
Davey nodded, grinning.
I turned around even further, and pulled Davey’s legs over mine so that we faced each other on the swing, and I began rubbing his shoulders while he did mine. He shrugged his shoulders under my hands and cooed.
Then he smiled. “Therapy weekend,” he said. “I’m going to give you rubdowns and…” he leaned closer, “orgasm, therapy.” He smiled. “We’re going to make you all well.”
“In one weekend?” I asked, grinning.
He leaned close again. “Lots of orgasm therapy,” he whispered, and then giggled.
* * * * *
The next afternoon, Friday afternoon, Davey and I took chocolate malt to Amy and sat with her on her front porch. She looked about as pregnant as a girl could get without bursting. She and Davey practiced La Maze techniques, and then he and I left for the ‘therapy’ weekend Davey had planned.
Davey insisted on doing the driving and the first stop was Walmart. First he loaded the cart with a small color TV and a boom box. Then he stopped at the section for body lotions, and next at the men’s colognes. He smelled every single bottle, wriggling his eyebrows over some, and dropping several into the basket.
I picked up one of the plastic bottles of lotion. It promised a soothing aroma and emollients that would give us youthful skin. Davey put an arm over my shoulder and leaned close to my ear. “I’m going to spoil you this weekend… Mickey. I’m going to do relaxation techniques on you… and body rubs, and… we’re going to stay naked the whole time, and I’m going to make love to you until you’re as limp as a noodle.”
He laughed and hugged my shoulders.
“Are we even going to need a TV?” I asked with a laugh.
He wriggled his eyebrows.
“You wriggle your eyebrows at me one more time and I’m getting a chastity belt.”
Davey probably didn’t know what a chastity belt was, but certainly recognized the challenge and wriggled his eyebrows again.
Next Davey drove us by the grocery store and loaded us up on sandwich fixings, snacks, and sodas. At the checkout stand, I pulled down a TV guide. “Need one?” I asked with a grin.
He wriggled his eyebrows again.
“When was the last time I gave you a good wedgie?” I asked
The checker, a nice looking guy a year or two older than us, smirked.
Once we carried everything up to the office, Davey laid down the law. “Strip. No clothes until we go home.”
While Davey turned on the boom box and found a station, I undressed and ended by kicking my briefs up toward the nerf basket above my desk. I missed and the briefs draped themselves over the backboard. I retrieved them and tried again, hitting under the basket. Davey finished undressing and tried kicking his boxers up and missed entirely. We retrieved our underwear and tried again.
We each missed again, but then “Born to be Alive” began to play on the radio and instead of retrieving our underwear for another try, I began dancing to the music, swinging my loose cock and balls as provocatively as I could at Davey. He danced too and we moved around each other, trying to turn each other on, which was pretty easy, actually.
Davey backed into me and I held his waist as we rotated our hips in time to the music, my crotch snug against his butt. He leaned back against me and kissed my cheek. “Dance therapy,” I said, grinning.
He turned and stepped into me so that we each had a leg between the others two. I grabbed his waist and he grabbed mine, and we rocked our hips back and forth against each other in rhythm with the music.
“First you get a rubdown,” Davey said. “And then orgasm therapy.” He put his hands on my shoulders and leaned back, grinding himself against me to the beat of the refrain.
We were both hard now and I pressed myself to him from my thighs to my belly, holding his hips to keep us moving together. Davey slid his hands down my back and pressed his cheek to mine. His breath was hot on my shoulder.
“We’re going to make you well this weekend, Mickey.”
I kissed his neck. “I’m already feeling pretty good.”
. . . . .
We were sitting face-to-face on the floor with his legs over mine, and our privates comfortably nestled together. I played with both our cocks while bending my head forward for Davey to brush my hair.
He ran the brush through one last time and put it down. “I’m going to do some braids,” he said.
“Italian dreadlocks?” I asked with a chuckle.
“Yeah,” he said, beginning to separate out strands.
I pulled at a couple of his pubic hairs to see how long they were. “I wonder if I can braid your pubes,” I speculated.
“Don’t knot them with yours,” he warned.
“That’s a thought,” I said, chuckling. “Sorta tie us together.”
I scratched Davey’s tummy and he giggled. “I want to do your hair too, I said.” If we run out of rubber bands, I’ll use paper clips.” I licked my finger and rubbed it over his nipple.
Davey jumped. “Don’t. I’ll mess up your hair.”
“It’s not my fault. Your nipple called to me.”
“Don’t listen,” he said.
. . . . .
My back was stiff. I was sitting on the couch and Davey sat on the floor between my legs with his back to me, one arm over each of my knees. “I’m not doing as good a job on your hair as you did on mine,” I said with a sigh and unraveled a braid to try again. “It’s because your hair is so fine. It makes little bitty braids. Hey, I know what I’m going to do,” I said with a sudden idea. “I’m going to bring braids back from your temples and tie them at the back of your head. I’ve always liked that look.” I held up a strand of hair. “Might be a little short for that though, unless I pull on them.”
Davey was watching TV and simply grunted.
“Maybe I’ll just wrap them around your ears.”
. . . . .
“I could do a better job with scissors,” I said. Adjusting his foot in my lap, I moved the clippers to the next toenail.
Davey adjusted the foot I had in his lap and blew the filings off the nail of my big toe. Then filed on it some more. “You have pretty feet… Mickey. I like your feet.”
“You have strong feet,” I said. “And a nice, high arch. I like your feet, too.” I drew a finger up the sole of his foot and he jumped. “Yep, I like your feet,” I said and drew my finger up again.
Davey jumped again, and then drew his finger up the sole of my foot. I jumped. Then I grabbed his ankle firmly and began tickling his foot at exactly the same time he started on mine. We went rolling off the couch in a laughing tangle.
. . . . .
The movie was grade “B” at best, and the overstuffed arm of the couch was comfortable under my head. I would let myself fall asleep soon, but not yet.
I was lying on my back with a pillow over my chest. Davey’s head was back on the pillow and his butt sat between my legs. His back was on my belly and the blanket covered us up to his neck. He was already asleep.
But I wanted to look a little longer at the top of his head. Even in the dim light from the TV, I could see the naturally darker roots of his hair and the white of the part line I had put down the middle of his head. I liked looking at his head; it was Davey’s head.
I slid my hands under the blanket and onto his chest and brought my legs together against his narrow hips. The hardness of his lower back rested on my privates, and I rolled my hips; just barely, so as to feel him there. Then, I bent my head forward to kiss and smell his hair; took a second deep sniff, and was finally ready to sleep.
. . . . .
He jerked the pillow and blanket off me, and I woke as he jumped astride my hips and dug his fingers into my ribs. “Tickle therapy!” Davey yelled.
In seconds, he had me almost out of breath, laughing the way he could always make me laugh when he tickled me. Davey paused, grinning from ear to ear. “Are you happy, Mickey?”
“Yes, you doofus!” I yelled, grabbing for his wrists.
We rolled off the couch and onto the floor. Davey wrapped his legs around me while I struggled to pin his wrists. By the time I was able to get him on his back and pin his arms above his head, his legs held my hips tightly against him, and our cocks were growing hard between us.
I moved my weight forward to pin his wrists more firmly to the floor, but with his legs wrapped around me, that pulled us even tighter together at the crotch. I rotated my hips while keeping him pinned, and looked down at his grinning face.
“Davey, I don’t think you should tickle me when we’re naked.”
He laughed and fought to free his wrists. I kept moving my hips and his struggles slowed. Our eyes locked and our laughter faded. But our smiles never left our faces until I lowered my lips to his.
. . . . .
I bounced another nerf ball across Davey’s desk. “You’re supposed to be working on security certificate protocols,” I said. “But I know what you’re doing. You’re drawing landscaping plans again.”
He looked up from his desk and over to where I sat at mine and stuck out his tongue.
I tossed another nerf ball.
“You aren’t working either,” he said, accusingly.
“Yes I am,” I said, tossing another ball. “I’m simulating network traffic with nerf balls.”
And I realized that it wasn’t a bad thought. Different colored nerf balls. It gave me an idea.
. . . . .
Davey leaned forward over me, his balls pressing against mine as he rubbed more lotion onto my chest and shoulders, and I rubbed more lotion over the hard muscles of his thighs. In the background, a Rachmaninoff piano concerto was playing on the classical station. Neither Davey nor I had said a word since we began. His usual smile was absent as he concentrated on the work his hands were doing.
I picked up the bottle of lotion and applied more to my hands. Then I placed them on his chest and rubbed in the same way he was doing mine.
. . . . .
We lay side by side on our stomachs, sipping Coke and looking out the window towards the lights of the buildings downtown. “Maybe we can get in a day of fishing over Thanksgiving weekend,” I suggested.
“It takes so long to drive down there,” Davey objected.
“Well maybe we can fish somewhere around here.”
Davey rolled over onto his back and put his hands behind his head. “I want to go camping.”
“Where?” I asked, rolling to my side and propping my head on my elbow. I hoped I would always have the little possessive thrill I felt when we lay together.
“Just some state park,” he said.
“Some state parks have fishing. We just need to find one where we can fish,” I said. I reached out and touched his nipple. He might only be sixteen and just a youth, but I couldn’t imagine a more perfect male body.
Davey giggled. “My nipple is calling you again.”
I bent over and kissed it. “Singing to me.”
. . . . .
“Are you sure this is what a desk is supposed to be used for?” I asked as Davey lifted my legs to his shoulders.
“It’s my desk,” Davey said, wriggling his eyebrows at me.
. . . . .
He buttoned the last button of my shirt and kissed me once again. “You all better now?”
I grinned. “Very,” I said, “all better. But I could still use another week or two up here with you.”
“Me too,” Davey said, his eyes on my scalp. He pulled out his comb and ran it through my hair, again. “It’s still all wavy from the braids,” he said.
“Davey,” I said, stroking his chin. “Thanks.”
His eyes dropped from my hair to my eyes. He smiled. “It was fun.”
“Yeah,” I said. “A lot of fun.”
* * * * *
Tuesday afternoon, the shit hit the fan at the Sullivan house. I found out late in the day when Mom called to tell me not to hold supper. She was at Amy’s and was going to be late.
In fact, Mom didn’t get home until after Maggie arrived from work. We all sat around the kitchen table while Mom and Maggie each got a bite of supper. Mom looked tired.
“The rumors from your school finally made it back to Mr. Sullivan,” Mom said, watching me. “One of Amy’s brothers somehow heard about it at college and called him.”
I joined the others at the table. “What happened?” I asked.
“He was furious,” she said simply. “I won’t tell you the words he used. But he’s disgusted with you. And he almost kicked Amy out of the house for… well he said, ‘for letting a queer knock her up’.” Mom quickly looked down at her plate and took a bite of food. But then her fork dropped and she covered her face with her hands.
Maggie immediately moved to her side and put her arm over Mom’s shoulder.
“He doesn’t want to let her keep the baby now, Meg,” Mom said, choking a sob. “He doesn’t want Michael’s baby... ‘No son of a queer in my house’, he said.” And then she turned, burying her face in Maggie’s bosom.
My hands began to shake in my lap and I tucked them between my legs. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Davey move closer.
Maggie shushed Mom and patted her back. “Do you think he really won’t let her keep the baby?” she asked.
Mom sat back up and dried her eyes on her napkin. “He’s angry, Meg. He told Amy that if she kept the baby, he would kick her out of his house. He wants her to put little David up for adoption.”
Maggie knelt down beside Mom. “You’ve been looking forward to your grandson, Gloria. What are you going to do?”
Mom smiled, dabbing her eyes again. “You can guess, can’t you?”
Maggie nodded. “You’re thinking of taking her in, aren’t you?”
Mom nodded slowly. “Just until her father calms down. The three of us — she and her mom and I – talked about it. I don’t have time to find a bigger house for us before the baby comes, but Amy and the baby can have Michael’s room and he can sleep on the couch.”
Maggie looked at me, concerned. “After what Michael’s been through, do you think that’s wise, Gloria? Wouldn’t he rest better staying with us?”
Mom bit her lip and glanced at me. “Amy’s going to need help with the baby. But I have to work, Michael. And I’m a little old for 2:00 AM feedings and being up all night with a baby. I’ll need your help.”
Just then, the phone rang and Mom took it. Her brow furrowed, she nodded, said “OK” several times, and then hung up and turned to us. “The stress today with her dad was too much for Amy. She’s going into early labor. I’m to bring Davey over right away and take them both to the hospital.” Mom turned and gave Davey her first smile of the evening. “Coach Davey,” she said. “Are you ready?”
Davey nodded. “Has her water broken?” he asked.
I was surprised. Davey obviously learned more than breathing techniques in the La Maze classes.
“Yes,” Mom said. “We need to hurry.”
Everyone scrambled to get up from the table.
“How far apart are her contractions?” Davey asked.
“Ten minutes,” Mom answered.
Maggie and I rode together in the Camaro and drove directly to the hospital; we decided it wouldn’t be good for Mr. Sullivan to see me. Mom, Davey, Amy, and Mrs. Sullivan all arrived shortly after. As they came in through the lobby, Amy let out a cry and squatted down in pain.
Davey was immediately at her side, rubbing her lower back, speaking softly in her ear. I was struck with a brief pang of jealousy, wishing I was the one with Amy. But that was quickly replaced by appreciation for Davey. I was seeing a whole new side to him.
The contraction passed, and Amy, along with Mom, Davey, and Mrs. Sullivan moved on to the labor room. Maggie took me to the maternity waiting area.
Our moms took turns going into the labor room with Davey and Amy. It was almost an hour before they finally let me go in. “You better hurry,” Mom said. “She’s almost ready to deliver.”
Her labor room was private, and not very large. Amy lay propped up in bed, while Davey fed her ice chips. She was drenched with sweat, her face was flushed, and her hair hung in strings down the side of her face.
I had reached her room at the same time as a young, Hispanic nurse went in to check the fetal heart monitor. Amy saw me follow the nurse in and glared. “You did this to me, you bastard!” Then she tried to smile, but it turned into a grimace.
I rocked back, and the nurse turned to look at me in surprise, then at Davey, and then back at me. “Are you the father?” she asked.
“Oh, he’s the one alright!” Amy shouted, and then she cried out as another contraction hit. Davey leaned close and made strange La Maze breathing noises for her, encouraging her to remember her relaxation techniques.
I started to leave, but the nurse caught my arm. “Ladies say all sorts of things when they’re in labor,” she said laughing. “I’ve even seen them throw a bedpan at the father.”
Amy’s contraction passed and her breathing slowed. “Sorry,” she said, hoarsely. “You aren’t a bastard.” Then she gave me a weak smile. “Little David is one huge baby,” she said and then tensed as another contraction hit.
The nurse quickly checked under Amy’s gown, and then looked up at Amy from between her legs. “You’re doing really well, Amy. You’re almost fully dilated. Time to head for the delivery room. You too,” she said, looking at Davey first and then me, “time to get on the scrubs.”
“But I’m not her La Maze coach,” I explained.
She nodded as she prepared the bed so that she could roll it to the delivery room. “I know, but you’re the dad. Her doctor’s a nice lady. She’ll let you watch. Now both of you better hurry. Get on your scrubs.”
“Is that OK, Amy?” I asked before leaving the room.
She glanced at me and nodded quickly before beginning another set of La Maze breathing.
A woman masked and in scrubs, entered the delivery room at the same time we did. “I’ve met Davey,” she said. “The nurse says you’re the father… Michael, right?”
“Can’t shake hands,” she apologized. “I’m Dr. Cortez.”
Amy had already been transferred to a birthing chair, her feet in stirrups and her legs high and spread. Davey immediately went to her side and I tried to stay out of the way.
Dr. Cortez sat down on a stool and wheeled up between Amy’s legs. She looked around the room, found me, and waved me over. “You can already see the baby’s head, look.”
I peered down between Amy’s legs and saw the top of the baby’s head pushing out from between her stretched labia. Davey stepped around to look, too. Then Dr. Cortez looked up at me. “Are you Hispanic?” she asked, mildly surprised.
I gulped. “Italian,” I said, a bit overwhelmed at what I was seeing.
She nodded. “That much hair on a newborn… not unusual for an Hispanic.”
Amy let out a small cry. The doctor held her hands in position, and helped deliver the baby’s head and shoulders. “Alright, Amy. Hold on. Don’t push yet.” Using a baby syringe, the doctor evacuated the baby’s nasal passages.”
The baby’s head was a little cone-shaped from traveling down the birth canal, and he was covered with birth debris. But he was awesome. Gross looking for the moment, but awesome. Little David, a miniature human, being born right before our eyes.
“OK, you can push now,” the doctor said.
A contraction hit, and the baby slid out into the doctor’s waiting hands. Dr. Cortez quickly clipped off the umbilical cord and lifted the baby by his heels. She didn’t need to swat though because David began crying. And I noticed proudly, he had a long little cock. He definitely was a boy.
A nurse held up a baby blanket and the doctor laid little David in it. Then the nurse wrapped him up and set him on Amy’s stomach. Meanwhile, another contraction hit, and Amy delivered the placenta. Dr. Cortez assisted, tugging at the umbilical. I gasped and turned away.
The sight, the blood, and the smell were almost too much. I tried to keep my eyes on Amy and the baby, rather than on the afterbirth and moved up to join Davey and the nurse at Amy’s side.
The nurse put her hand on my arm. “You going to be alright?” she asked. “You look pale.”
“No, fine.” I managed to get out, trying to keep my supper down.
The nurse returned her attention to Amy and the baby, and I tried to concentrate on little David.
“What are you going to name the baby?” the nurse asked.
Amy, who was crying happily, looked from Davey to me. “David Michael Sullivan,” she said, and laughed for no reason other than being happy. She pulled the baby’s blanket away from little David’s face with trembling fingers and the baby looked steadily up into Amy’s face, even as he cried.
“That’s unusual,” the nurse said. “Normally they don’t focus like that.”
David was born at 11.45pm He was 21 inches and eight pounds and five ounces, and he was absolutely beautiful.
And Mr. Sullivan was absolutely unrelenting. Amy could not come home with a son of mine. Poor little David was already disadvantaged because of me.
* * * * *
And so, on Wednesday evening Amy’s brothers brought over the crib her mom had purchased for little David, and set it up in the living room. There simply wasn’t enough space in my bedroom, especially since Amy would have a couple of suitcases. I filled a couple of suitcases with my own clothes, and set them in the dining room Mom used as an office.
We brought Amy and the baby home Thursday afternoon.
That first afternoon, Davey and I hung around, getting to know little David and helping Amy and Mom out. Davey and I both learned how to change a diaper. Little David slept and fed. Amy slept and nursed.
Amy was determined to breast feed her baby and Mom was supportive of the idea. But mother and child were struggling as they both tried to learn how. It was painful for Amy and she was becoming frustrated.
“Amy’s still exhausted from the delivery,” Mom told me as we prepared supper in the kitchen. “What would help is for one of us to take little David in to her when he wakes up for feedings tonight.
Well, since I would be sleeping by the crib, I knew which ‘one of us’ that would be.
It was midnight the first time I had to get up with little David. I carried him back to Amy and stayed with her while she struggled to wake up. Then she had trouble getting David to nurse correctly. I sat on the bed in my shorts and watched as Amy lay on her side and laid David at her breast.
With difficulty, he finally latched on and began nursing. Amy ran her fingertips lightly over him, still fascinated by her baby. She smiled up at me. “Lie down by us,” she said.
I pulled back the covers and lay down with our baby between Amy and me and watched while he nursed. Amy positively glowed. I touched David’s tiny shoulder lightly. His skin was amazingly soft. They were both here beautiful, lying there, and for the briefest moment, I thought sadly about the things that Davey and I wouldn’t have because we were gay.
When David finished, I took him out to the living room and cleaned him up before giving him a new diaper. I chuckled to my self when the smell hit me. There were definitely tradeoffs in this baby business.
Little David’s cock had muscles in it that I knew mine sure as hell didn’t have. The thing was like a worm. A long little worm, that wriggled around. I laughed. “They may call you a Sullivan,” I whispered to him, “but with a cock like that, you’re a Bentolli.”
And suddenly, he began pissing, spraying everywhere.
“Arrgh!” I yelled out, putting my hand over the spray. I looked down at his little face and frowned at him. “Was that a smile? Was that a smile you little, doofus.” I kissed his forehead, and grinned. Whether it was a smile or not, with his uncle Davey around, David would learn to smile soon enough.
I didn’t get much sleep that night as little David woke two more times. Friday night wasn’t much better. On Saturday and Sunday, there was a parade of Amy’s friends and family coming to see the baby. Mom and Amy’s mom shooed most away after a few minutes, but it was still busy.
* * * * *
Davey and I had no ‘alone’ time together, but that was alright. We were each able to hold little David a lot. Davey and I hadn’t made love since the weekend before, but that was fine with me. I was too tired to care much.
School was hell on Monday and worse on Tuesday. I stumbled through Wednesday. It felt like I’d had no sleep at all. The one bright spot was Mitch who kept popping up around every corner. Toward the end of the day on Thursday, he caught me walking alone in the hallway. “Can I talk to you sometime?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said smiling. I told him to come by the house after school and explained how to get there.
Mitch stopped by that same afternoon. Davey and I sat with him on the porch and talked about being gay. Mitch was still a virgin and it seemed natural to tell him about Hudson. But Mitch said he wanted to take things slowly and kept dropping hints that he might be interested in ‘learning’ from Davey and me.
When he left, I watched Davey’s eyes follow Mitch’s butt down the sidewalk. Davey turned back to me smiling, but lost the smile when he saw my face.
“Our two week promise is over, Davey,” I said, ruefully. “Go for it if you want.” And then I turned to go inside.
He grabbed my arm and pulled me back around and searched my eyes with his.
I sighed and shook my head. “I’m sorry, Davey. You didn’t deserve that. I’ve watched Mitch’s butt before too.”
I turned to go back in but he still held my arm. “What’s the matter?” he asked.
“I’m just tired,” I said with a shrug. “I’m not getting much sleep.”
“And we haven’t made love,” he said, frowning. “Come to my house tonight.”
“No,” I shook my head. “That’d be hard on Amy and the baby.”
“They’ll be OK for tonight,” he said. And he stepped close, putting his arm behind my waist. “I need you.”
His face was so close that I felt his breath on my mouth. Amy’s tutor had just left and the baby was napping. No one was out on the street. So I kissed him. “Wait,” I said and stepped inside.
I was back outside in only moments. “Amy said she’d fix supper for her and Mom. Let’s head over to your bed… uh, place,” I said smiling.
An hour later, we had only made love once, so when Davey bent over naked to look inside the fridge, it was impossible to resist pressing my semi-hard cock against his crack. Davey straightened up and leaned back against me. Reaching back behind my head, he pulled me forward to kiss over his shoulder.
Then he turned in my arms and draped his arms around my neck. Clinging there to me, he whispered in my ear. “I want another two weeks,” he said.
My cock was rising between his legs and his rose up my hip. I ran my arms over his slender torso, the smooth skin of his sides, and down to his butt. “As if I’d tell you ‘no’ at a time like this,” I said.
He pressed his mouth hungrily to mine, and then backed toward the kitchen table, pulling me along. He climbed up on the table and lay down on his back, butt toward me. I stepped toward him and he lifted his legs up onto my shoulders. Grabbing him by the hips, I pulled him to the edge of the table. Our eyes stayed locked as I applied spit to my cock and he applied spit to his butt.
He was tight and it took a few moments, but once I had pushed in, Davey dropped his legs from my shoulders to lock them around my back, which left me free to work on him with both hands. He closed his eyes and sighed as I fondled his balls with one hand and cock with the other and started to pump with my hips.
Maggie always kept one or two sticks of butter in a little covered dish on the table so it would be soft for toast and bread. Quietly, so that Davey wouldn’t open his eyes, I reached forward, grabbed the tray, and lifted off the cover. Then I scooped out some butter, warmed it in one hand, and wrapped that hand around Davey’s cock, stroking up and down.
His mouth and eyes both flew open. “What…” he started to ask, bending up to see what I was doing.
I spread the butter down and over his balls and rubbed his privates with the palm of my hand.
Davey moaned and leaned back, closing his eyes once more. I pulled my cock out and smoothed some butter over it, and then pushed back in, sliding easily, warmly.
Then I took more butter and applied it to his nipples and then over his pecs as I rocked my hips in and out of him. He tightened his legs around me and he began to move with me. When he did, his abs showed under his skin and I traced all the seams between the muscles with a buttery finger.
“Harder, Mickey,” Davey said in a throaty voice and dug his heels into my butt, pulling tight against me. I moaned, grabbing his hips, and began to pound his ass. Each time my loins pressed his bottom there was a squishing sound and I could feel butter dripping from my balls. I slowed to pace myself, and giggled at a stray thought.
Davey looked up at me in surprise.
“The way we were going at it,” I said. “I was just thinking… assault and buttery.”
He groaned and closed his eyes.
I spread butter over his belly and over his ribs with the palms of my hands. And then I returned to his balls and cock, caressing, fondling.
Davey picked up the pace again, swiveling his hips, and I matched his pace with mine, wrapping my hands around his cock to form a buttered tunnel as his hips moved. His head lolled, eyes closed and soft groans escaped his lips with each of my thrusts.
“Davey,” I said softly. “You’ve got to say yes to anything I ask now.”
“Why?” he asked, dreamily.
“Why? Because I’ve ‘buttered you up,' doofus.”
He looked at me for one uncomprehending moment before a smile spread over his face. Then he struggled to sit up partway, reaching behind my neck with one hand to hold himself up while he scooped some butter with his other hand and slapped it onto my chest.
We giggled as we buttered each other. I even spread butter over his lips with my finger. Then I locked my arms behind his back, kissing him while our hips gyrated together and my cock stayed locked deep inside him. The kiss was sloppy and buttery and we chuckled.
“My butt feels all loose,” Davey said. “How does it feel to you?”
“Here,” I said, pulling out and moving beside him to bend over the table. “Try it.”
Davey climbed off and stepped behind me. He spread butter into my crack and then pushed in with his already buttered cock. “It feels funny,” he announced. “But good.”
He grabbed my hips and moved, testing the feel. “I like it, except… I think the butter’s melting and running down my legs.”
“That’s cause you’re so hot,” I said, stroking butter up and down my cock.
“I think it needs salt,” he said, teasingly.
“Like hell it does!”
Davey grabbed my hips and pounded hard into me several times. “It’s sorta loose,” Davey said.
“Too much butter,” I suggested, and pulled away from him. “Lie down on the floor. I’ll get a towel.”
When I turned back around with the towel, Davey was on his back, stroking. I knelt over him so that our cocks aligned and wiped both of them off. Then I couldn’t resist holding them together and sliding the underside of mine against the underside of his. He reached up with both arms and I lay down on him, slippery belly to slippery belly.
I grabbed Davey’s shoulders and he grabbed my butt so we wouldn’t slide off as we rubbed cocks on bellies. “Mickey,” he murmured. “I like it when you think up new stuff.”
“Well, that’s a challenge,” I said with a moan as Davey made a particularly good slide against me.” I’m not sure how long I can keep coming up with new stuff.” I moaned again and gripped his shoulders tighter. “But I did have one idea,” I said, “involving jalapeños.”
That night, Davey and I showered, ate supper with Maggie, and headed to bed early. I was looking up at the ceiling when Davey scooted on his back beside me under the sheets and reached between my legs. He rolled my scrotum between his fingers and nodded knowingly.
“Yours is soft like mine. Here,” he said, taking my hand and putting it between his legs.
His scrotum did feel softer. “Maybe we’ll have to use butter all the time.” I said with a chuckle and started to take my hand back, but Davey gently grabbed my wrist.
“Don’t stop. It feels nice.”
“Let’s try this,” I said, moving his hand to his side, palm up. Then I rolled over onto it so that my balls rested in his palm and my right hipbone was on his right hipbone. He got the idea and his fingers began working on me as I reached between his legs.
Davey turned his head to look at me so that we were eye to eye on the pillow — me on my stomach, him on his back, and we grinned as we fondled each other.
“Nice,” he said.
“Yeah,” I agreed, wiggling my hips to move my balls in his hand.
His brow furrowed. “Mickey,” he said. “I’m, um… I’m sorry I stared at Mitch today.”
It was my turn to furrow my brow. “Yeah,” I said, scooting my face closer to his, which put his shoulder in the middle of my chest. “And I’m sorry I reacted like I did. Davey, I’ve been thinking a lot — ever since my… you know… mental thing.”
“Thinkin’ about us?” he asked, his frown deepening.
“Yeah, about us. But, really — about me.” I lifted his balls on my fingertips and let them roll off. Then I lifted them again. “This whole last year, I’ve been trying to hang on to you just for myself. I worried about losing you, and, well… I’ve been selfish, Davey.”
“You haven’t been selfish,” he said quietly.
“Yeah, I have — I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I’ve been acting like we’re married or something, and geez, we’re only sixteen.”
He looked up at the ceiling, but kept fondling my balls. “You’re mad at me. It’s my fault,” he said. “What happened to you was my fault.”
“No, that’s not true…” I started to say, but Davey turned his head and looked me in the eye.
I nodded and lowered my gaze. “I try not to blame you. I mean, it was just as much my fault, and that asshole, Geoff’s.”
I looked back into his eyes. “A long time ago, Dr. Kazan told us that you think… differently about things.” I cupped his balls tenderly in my hand. “Look, I know you like sex, and guys, and that you got into messing around with other guys when you were with Geoff. You’re a free spirit… and I’ve decided,” my eyes held his, “I’ve decided that I need to let you be with other guys if you want.”
He tried to roll away, but my chest pinned his shoulder and I kept him there.
He turned his head away.
“Davey, this isn’t easy for me,” I implored. “But I have to do it, because if I don’t, I think I might go crazy.”
He turned back to me with sudden concern.
“I’m a man, Davey,” I explained. “And like my grandpa says, I have to treat myself like a man. I want my dignity back. And I want my self respect back. I don’t want to spend the next year getting the shakes because I’m worried about you sneaking off with somebody.”
He looked angry and his hand tightened around my cock. “But I’ve been staying faithful,” he said. “I swear.”
I tightened my grip on his cock in turn. “Yeah, but for how long?”
We glared at each other until Davey finally looked away. “You don’t trust me,” he said in a small voice. “I don’t blame you. I don’t blame you if you don’t ever trust me again.”
What was I supposed to say to that? Then I realized we were both clutching each other’s cock a little too firmly. Relaxing my hand, I resumed fondling him.
“Look, Davey,” I said. “Guys our age, we’re supposed to mess around. It’s normal. We’re supposed to…”
“I’m not normal,” he interrupted. “And you aren’t either, Mickey.”
I looked into his eyes, glistening in the faint light and let my eyes travel to the pale hair that feathered down his neck. “No,” I said softly. “You aren’t anywhere close to normal.” I put my forehead against his. “I don’t think I can do it, Davey. For both our sakes, I wanted to let you be free, but… Old man,” I let my voice drop to a whisper. “I’m so deeply in love with you — I’m just not sure I can set you free.”
Davey’s hand on my privates became very gentle. “I don’t want to be set free,” he whispered. “I don’t want you to ever set me free. You and me, Mickey – we belong to each other. We’re supposed to belong to each other,” he whispered. “When we promised two weeks, I liked that… a lot.” His hand tightened on me again. “I know I fucked up Mickey. I always fuck things up between us. But when we promised two weeks – it was like… another chance to be together, like we’re supposed to be. Just you and me, Mickey.”
His eyes became pleading. “I’ll be faithful, Mickey. I really will. Don’t have sex with someone else. Please. I don’t want you to have sex with anyone else.”
“And you think I want you to have sex with someone else?” I asked. “Davey, I want you to belong to me only. We just aren’t ready.”
“I’m ready,” he said, squeezing my balls. “I really am, Mickey.” He looked away and cleared his throat. “When you walked in on me and Hunter,” he said quietly, “I saw your face. You were real happy, and then you saw us. And then you looked so…” He shook his head and closed his eyes. “Mickey, I don’t ever want to do that to you again. Not ever.”
He looked back into my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
I felt my heart climb into my throat. I was sorry, too. I nodded.
“Old Man,” he whispered. “Forgive me… Please?”
It seemed so funny. My eyes were watering and there was a lump in my throat, but we kept fondling each other’s privates and somehow, that was the right thing to do. I tried to smile. “You know,” I said, “Grandpa never told us that it was hardest to forgive the one you love the most.”
Leaning his head forward, he placed his lips on mine and kissed me gently.
I closed my eyes and rested my forehead on his. “I forgive you, Davey. I don’t know that I’ll ever have much choice about that. I love you so much — you can always hurt me more than anyone. But I’ll always want to forgive you.”
He kissed my lips again and his fingers played with my foreskin.
I opened my eyes and focused on his lips. “You know what I want?” I asked impulsively.
“To marry me,” Davey answered simply.
“You knew!” I said, smiling, watching his lips. “Stupid, huh? Guys our age. Straights don’t even marry this young…”
He kissed me again, just as gently as before. And then he whispered softly. “I want to marry you, too.”
My mind froze. And then exploded into a million thoughts.
“But, Davey,” I said. “Marrying somebody means ‘forsaking all others’. At least for me it does. It means promising never to have sex with anyone else again, for as long as you live. Ever. At least that’s what I think it should mean.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said.
“What do you mean ‘you know’? Do you mean you know how I feel about marriage, or do you mean that you know that is what marriage is all about?”
“When you marry somebody,” he said. “That’s what it means.”
“Davey,” I said, holding his gaze, “if you break a promise like that, it’s broken forever.”
We both grew very quiet.
His eyes widened as he realized just how awesome the commitment would be. “Mickey, I don’t think I’m ready.”
This time, I kissed him. “Relax, Davey. I’m not ready either. It’s not time.”
He frowned. “But don’t have sex with other guys. At least,” his eyes dropped. “At least not now, Mickey. I’m being faithful.”
“I won’t. But don’t you either. We’re all forgiven-up. Let’s do it right for a while, OK?”
He nodded. “Two more weeks?” he asked quietly.
“Two more weeks,” I agreed.
He rubbed my hardening cock nervously and I rubbed his. We kissed and Davey moved his hands to my hips, pushing them up so he could slide under me.
I settled between his legs, slipping my hands under the back of his shoulders, and Davey wrapped his arms around my neck. His cheek was soft against mine.
“I want to,” he said. “I’m just not ready.”
“I’m not either, Davey,” I reassured him. “But that doesn’t mean there’s anyone else I’d ever want to do anything with,” I quickly added.
“Me, either,” he said. “Not any more.”
I pressed my cock against his belly and moved my hips forward and back.
“Someday?” Davey asked, clutching my back and pressing his pelvis upward.
I kissed his neck. “Someday,” I agreed. “We don’t need to rush, and we won’t break any promises. We’ll just promise these two weeks for now. And after that, if you want two more, we’ll promise those.”
Davey spread his legs wider under me and we found our rhythm, rubbing cocks against bellies.
“You feel so good,” I said, pulling his chest to mine. “I still like this about the best.”
“Me too,” Davey agreed. “Matching rubbing places.”
I covered his mouth with mine and only an occasional moan broke the silence as we moved together, enjoying the feel, loving the embrace.
When Davey grabbed my butt, I knew he was close and reached down to grab his butt as well, pressing my nose into the hair behind his ear. We began ending each thrust with a long hold and press.
We pressed, pulled back, pressed, pulled back, pressed and then Davey clutched my butt hard and whimpered as his orgasm hit. I felt his cock throb against my belly and pushed harder myself, tensing the muscles in my pelvic floor; pulled back and pressed again. And then I came too, the first of my whimpers blending with the last of his in the quiet of the dark room.
When we were done, Davey whispered in my ear. “Sleep like this.”
“You don’t want to clean up first?” I asked in a whisper.
“No. Stay on me.”
I kissed his neck, and then bunched the pillow under my head. Wrapping my arms over one of his shoulders and behind the other, I relaxed completely on him and let my lips rest in the nape of his neck. “Tell me when this gets uncomfortable,” I said.
“Umm,” was his only reply. Davey touched the top of my butt lightly with his fingertips and then drew them up my back. A pleasurable shudder ran through my body, and he did it again. A smaller shudder ran through me as my back muscles relaxed. In the space of a moment, I was incredibly drowsy. Just before I dozed off, he put his lips to my ear. “Trust me?”
Unbidden and unwanted, the memory of Davey walking from the pool with Geoff and the sight of Davey and Hunter when I walked in on them rose up in my mind. I pushed them away; violently away.
“Yes,” I said, determined. “I trust you.” Then I nuzzled his hair. No nagging doubts; I wouldn’t allow them.
“You won’t be sorry, Mickey.”
“I won’t be,” I whispered in agreement.
His hands came to rest on my sides and then finally slid away as Davey fell asleep. He took a deep breath under me. And then I took one, the scent of his hair filling my nostrils. And then I was asleep.
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