The following is fiction. It contains some scenes involving gay sex. If reading such material is against the law, please do not read this story.
What explicit sex is included in this story is intended to further the story; I do not write gratuitous sex scenes. The story is not principally about sex, and if your interest lies principally in reading about sexual activity, you will find this story disappointing and uninteresting in the extreme.
Those of you that have read my first two stories know that I like writing romantic tales of young teens learning who they are. This story has a somewhat darker and more troubling theme, and may have a message that is objectionable to some. I think the majority of you will enjoy it, but I’ve been known to be wrong in the past. Please be forewarned.
This story is copyrighted by the author. His permission must be secured before any copying or use of this story is permitted.
I love hearing from readers. It’s the reward I get for writing these stories. Any comments will reach me at email@example.com
T I M
Things at home settled back into our normal routine after that. I don’t know what went on in private with Mom and Dad, but Shawn continued to go to church and Mom continued to spend a lot of time there. Maybe Dad talked to her, I don’t know, but Mom never came and spoke to me about jerking off. Which was good because that wasn’t a conversation I was comfortable even thinking about, let alone experiencing. Actually, after that, I found the conversations I had with Mom were much less frequent than before. Of course, I was getting older and at that age a guy just naturally starts getting closer to his father, but Mom and I didn’t seem to talk that much anymore. The talking we did was about ordinary stuff, like what new clothes I needed, whether I needed picking up at school, that sort of thing, not important, emotional or personal stuff.
I talked to Dad a lot. When I was younger, growing up, he’d always been quiet, just sort of been there in the background. Mom had been the more vocal of the two, the parent who was intimately involved in the details of our lives. Now, it had become Dad I dealt with, talked to, asked questions of. He was there when I needed an adult.
When I was about to turn 14, things were still tenser at home than I liked. When I talked to Dad about that, the problems we were having as a family, he told me I might find an outlet for my thoughts and feelings if I started a journal. That didn’t sound like a bad idea to me. I liked the idea. I’d always had a pretty good imagination and liked living in my head, thinking about things, imagining things. I regretted not being able to remember some of the neat stories I’d made up when I was seven and eight. Writing things down, having a record of them, and getting some of my worries out in the open instead of in my head might really help me.
So I started doing that, and found I actually liked doing it a whole lot. And instead of what a lot of kids do, write every day for a week or two, but by two months later not write at all, I kept it up. I wrote almost every day, at least six days a week, and I didn’t stop. It became something I looked forward to, something I did before turning in every night. It calmed me, forced me to think more critically about things and I learned to express my views much more cogently, and I think the thinking I was doing made me a more introspective person. And it helped my vocabulary. I wrote about what I experienced during the day, my reaction to it, and my thoughts about how things could have been better, how other people should or could have reacted differently to things that happened to them. I also wrote stories based on things I’d thought of or incidents I’d witnessed.
When we were 14, Jed and I were still fooling around together when we could. It was difficult because I had Shawn to contend with and he had Missy, so doing much in either of our homes was awkward. Mom was gone when I got home after school every day, but I never knew when Shawn would show up, and his attitudes on sex hadn’t changed, as far as I knew. I actually didn’t know Shawn at all anymore. He’d been withdrawing a year ago. It was safe to say he was officially withdrawn now. He rarely spoke to Dad or me and spent his time at home mainly in his room with his Bible. But if he was home, I didn’t feel safe doing things with Jed, and I never really knew when he was going to be home. This didn’t make having Jed over for fun and games, the type fun and games we had in mind, a very attractive proposition.
This was the year we finally figured a way to get revenge on Missy. She was now sixteen and at that age where she and her friends would get together and talk about boys. She’d found Jed someone to pick on and someone to make life miserable for in the past. Now, she’d moved on to finding him a pest and a nuisance and someone to tolerate with great reluctance. She treated him with enormous disdain when she wasn’t actively tormenting him. And when I was with him, me too. Otherwise, I didn’t even exist to her.
Jed, of course, saw her as the enemy, and our scheming about what to do about her, while never fruitful, had also never stopped. And when we finally saw our opportunity, we felt no traces of guilt or restraint, just glee and satisfying vengeance. We didn’t even consider consequences.
It started when I was eating dinner at the Tuckman’s. I enjoyed being free from the tensions at home and ate anywhere I was invited whenever I could. I ate at the Tuckman’s at least once a week. Jed had never told me, but in the back of my mind I was sure he’d told his mother how frosty the climate in my house had become and that it would help me if I could eat with them often. I’d always liked Mrs. Tuckman, and she me. Her only flaw in my mind was her absolute belief in the ultimate goodness of her daughter. Everyone has at least one flaw.
We were talking about an upcoming school dance over dinner. Missy, as was her way, was gushing about the possibility of this boy, or that boy, asking her, what she was going to wear, who wouldn’t be asked and who would, going on and on, when suddenly an idea hatched in my mind. I looked over at Jed and he was stolidly eating his dinner, looking at nothing in particular. Or, in other words, Jed was being Jed. But, the idea, now hatched in my mind, was doing as ideas do: it was blossoming. And the possibilities were varied and exciting.
After dinner, when we were in Jed’s room, with the door open as his parents liked––which never made any sense to me, but all families have their peculiarities and strange and senseless rules seem to be a common area in which parents can express their weirdness––I told Jed my idea.
“Missy is waiting to be asked out to the dance. I got an idea at dinner. You still want to get back at her, don’t you?”
“You kidding? What’s the idea?”
“Well, you know how crazy she is about boys right now, and how nutso she gets talking about them and how romantic she makes everything? Well, it would be really, really mean, but, what if we had someone call her up for a mystery date? Not tell her who he was, but say things like, ‘I’ve been watching you for a year and have this enormous crush on you,’ and then describe things about her he loves, things that prove he knows a lot about her and has been watching her. That would get her all excited about having a secret admirer. Then, maybe, he could say something or somethings that suggest who he is, and that person can be handsome and desirable, but he can tell her it’s important it’s a surprise for when they get together so she can’t approach him if she thinks she knows who it is. Really get the suspense going. He should call her a lot, get into it so her excitement is high. Then, of course, she’ll get all ready on the night of the dance, be crazy with anticipation, and she’ll wait, and the clock will tick, and she’ll wait, and he won’t show. That will bum her out no end. I don’t have all the details worked out yet, like, should we write a letter afterwards saying this is to teach her a lesson, that she should be nicer to the people around her, or, should we leak it to her enemies at school that she got stood up, or do a bunch of other things this suggests.
“The thing we have to think about is, this is really mean, and will upset her a whole lot. Do we want to go this far?”
That was no problem at all for Jed. He didn’t even pause to think. “What do you mean? After what she’s done to me? You, too. All the trouble she’s got me in, and then laughed about it. She’s been sticking it to me for years, and rubbing my face in it. If we crush her like a bug and she ends up in bed for a week due to the pain it causes her, I’ll enjoy every minute of it. This is a great idea, but we have to get someone to call her, maybe even pay them something to do it. And write a script so he’ll know what to say. Stuff like that.”
So, we talked about it, and talked some more. There were a lot of things to look at, a lot of contingencies to plan for, and the scheme seemed to evolve as we planned. For the next few days we talked, and worried over it and suggested and discarded, and then, finally, had it worked out.
In the end, we got Billy Cameron to do the calling. I’d become pretty good friends with him and he was happy to help us out. To my disgust, we was straight as an arrow, but that actually was an advantage here because, being as good looking as he was, he was now popular with the girls and very used to talking to them, seeing as how he was something of a sex fiend. He wasn’t nervous about calling her at all. He also had a lower voice than either of us and sounded older, and he was bright enough to be able to avoid some of the mishaps that could occur from things that could come up which we’d not been able to plan out in advance. We filled him in on the nasty stuff she’d pulled on us so he wouldn’t feel sorry for her, and we described some of her mannerisms that he could tell her he found attractive.
He first called her one evening about two weeks before the dance. We had to move before someone actually did ask her, and we wanted enough time so he could call her several times before the dance to build excitement.
It all worked better than we’d hoped. In all, Billy called her seven times during the two week period, and Jed and I were there listening on an extension for each call, standing where we could see Billy and we could all meet each other’s eyes and enjoy it together. He did his part beautifully, and you could hear the excitement in Missy’s voice, a little more with each successive call. The last couple of calls, the talk had become hotter. Billy had begun purring to her how he’d think about her when he was in bed at night, and he’d get excited. She asked him, excited how? And he said he’d got hard, thinking about her, and he could hardly wait to hold her on the dance floor, and maybe hold her differently afterwards, and she’d responded by asking how he wanted her to hold him, and the talk kept getting hotter, and both Jed and I were wide eyed, listening to Billy pour it on. He acted like this was just natural for him.
During the call the night before the dance, the flirting had become pretty intense. It started with Billy discussing when he’d pick her up, then graduated to what they might do after the dance, and when Missy said she wanted to feel him, feel his excitement, find out for herself how excited she made him and what he felt like when he was that way, Jed was so hard his pants were sticking straight out. I was too, but was hiding it a little better. Billy was actually rubbing himself as he talked to her. He told her she wouldn’t be disappointed and that he was looking forward to her stroking him! And then he said he’d never really stroked a girl before but had read up on it was he was going to be gentle and go slow, but she was going to be really happy! Wow. Then he said he was so excited, talking to her, he was going to have to jack off, and she said she would too, she was so wet talking to him she was almost dripping, and she was getting off thinking about him playing with himself! When Billy hung up, I asked him if he always talked to girls this way, and he admitted he didn’t, but had always wanted to, and maybe he would now that he found he could and it worked so well! He said he’d always imagined talking like this with an eager girl, but this actually doing it was so much better than doing it in his imagination.
I spent some time over at Jed’s house during this period, and we watched as Missy was almost climbing the walls with excitement and giddiness. I was starting to get some reservations, seeing how high her high was and realizing how low her low might be. Jed, on the other hand, seemed delighted. The plan was going just how he wanted it to go.
I just happened—yeah, right!––to be over at Jed’s house the night of the dance. Missy got ready. It took her a couple hours, even though this wasn’t a formal dance. Then she waited. And waited. Jed has a mean streak, a nasty one, I found. It had been his idea to have friends of his come ring the doorbell at about 15 minute intervals from the time Missy’s date was to pick her up till an hour afterwards. So, every 15 minutes, Missy would jump up, then walk slowly to the door, patting her hair, and it would be another of Jed’s friends. By the third time this happened, 45 minutes after she was supposed to be picked up by her mystery date, the disappointment was beyond palpable, and her nerves were raw and showing.
When the last of Jed’s friends had arrived, after Missy had let him in, she walked back to her room with a lost and empty look on her face and we didn’t see her again that evening.
I was feeling a little bad. Not awful, I knew she had it coming, but still. . . . We were hurting her, and badly, and that makes you think a little. I guess I wasn’t as heartless or vengeful as Jed. But then, I hadn’t suffered quite as much at her hands as he had.
We had given Missy the impression that a guy in her class at school, a rather shy guy who we thought might well be gay and who was very good looking and kept mostly to himself, was her secret admirer. We’d had Billy drop a couple hints that would lead her in this direction. The dance had been on a Friday night. On Monday, we watched in the cafeteria as she approached him. She was in a funny position, mad that she’d been stood up but uncertain how it had happened or who had done it. She obviously had bought our proposed theoretical date suggestion, and thought it had been Eric, the possibly gay boy, and so she approached him. She spoke to him hesitantly, and he responded in kind, not having a clue what she was talking about. We were on the other side of the cafeteria, watching, and the confusion both of them evinced was hilarious, but we thought it would be dangerous to laugh in case she looked around and saw us. We thoroughly enjoyed their confusion.
Jed had thought it would be good to have Billy make one final phone call. He did that Monday night. She answered, and he told her that he’d decided not to pick her up for the dance because he’d heard she was a real bitch to her brother, and he had a problem with girls who were like that. Then he hung up. I told Jed I thought that was pushing it too far and way too risky, but he didn’t care. Half of him wanted her to know this was revenge from him, half of him knew he shouldn’t let her know. This was his compromise.
I ate dinner at their house that night. Missy had a strange look on her face. She started to say something to Jed several times, then stopped. She looked at me hard once, and a considering, pensive look came into her eyes. She didn’t say anything to me, but very obviously was thinking hard. I realized she had to know that Jed would never have been able to come up with, or execute, a plan like this on his own, and also that I was very capable of such a devious plot. Her hard look soon became a glare. I returned a very blank look.
Overall, you could tell the entire affair had affected her. She wasn’t the same bubbly girl she’d been. She was quieter and less sure of herself. I didn’t know how long this would last. I hoped we hadn’t made a permanent dent in her self-esteem.
A couple days later, Jed told me she’d confronted him and asked him if he’d had anything to do with her being stood up. He said he’d professed complete innocence. He also said she told him, if she found out he’d been involved, he’d regret it for the rest of his life, and from her tone of voice, he was sure she meant it. She also told him, she thought that this was his doing. He wasn’t worried, though. He said she already made his life hell, and what more could she do?
We found out, of course, what she could do. What she could do was bide her time. She could wait. How could we have known?