Comments: This is my, the author's, first attempt at a writing of any kind that is not of a research nature. Below is an entirely fictional story based on my own imagination. Any resemblance to a person, alive or dead, is unintentional and entirely of coincidence. This story does contain material of an adult nature. Only those of applicable age should proceed.

All comments, criticisms, suggestions, and/or praise are welcomed at This story will progress slowly, and elements are left up to the reader's imagination purposely. If that is your gripe, please don't e-mail me.

©2002. All Rights Reserved.

Time Moves On - Chapter 2

     This time there was no low, steady hum to rock me gently from the clutches of blissful sleep. Two rings invaded my dreams, pulling me violently into reality. Reaching over, I pulled the phone from its cradle and brought the handset to my ear. "Sam, what time is it?"

     I could hear her musing to herself on the other end. "6:30," she replied.

     The display on the phone cast a green glow across my morning stubble. "It's Saturday. Why on Earth are you awake?"

     She ignored my question. "It's raining outside. My dad stole my car again. Why is it okay to take my car--that's falling apart--to visit relatives simply because he doesn't want to put miles on the only car we own that can actually make the trip without requiring duct tape?" At least she already had me smiling, but I knew the question was rhetorical. Sam's never been one for digression. "You'll come rescue me, right? I can't be stuck at home, especially when it's raining outside!"

     "What?" I asked. "I'm not a taxi cab!"

     She laughed wickedly; I had already lost. "Oh, yes you are. I pay for gas, don't I? Besides, we have talking to do." I rolled my eyes. "Jonathan Thomas Smith! Don't roll your eyes at me."

     "Samantha Elizabeth Jones!" I countered. Then, I paused before asking, "How in the Hell do you do that?"

     "Magic! Anyway, fifteen minutes, okay?" she asked.

     "Thirty," I said.

     "Deal. Bye." The phone went dead.

     Forty-five minutes later I was waiting outside of Sam's small brick home; the headlights of my Jeep piercing through the rain as I waited. The wipers danced with the rain on my windshield. When she appeared through the front doorway of her house, Sam was already smiling. She was tying the waist of her long, black coat loosely over her brown sweater. As she ran up to the car door, I thought about how beautiful she was.

     The overhead light of the Jeep burned as she got in. "So," she said. "I have a friend, who has fallen head-over-heels for this guy, and I was totally expecting a phone call last night, but they never called! Can you believe that?"

     "Subtle... really," I remarked dryly.

     "Of course!" She was enjoying my torture. Kissing me on the cheek to assure me that she wasn't really angry, she added, "I like your hair like that. It's messy, but not." I couldn't help but laugh. "You know what I mean," she said.

     "I know what you mean," I replied. Then, as I was backing out of her driveway, I told Sam about Chris during one of the most awkward conversations of my life.

     "I'm going to miss you," Sam said. I had been listening to the clock tick the minutes away hoping to avoid that very statement. Running a finger over the delicate fabric of the white couch, I timidly looked to Sam. Her coat and shoes had been left behind at the door, and she was half-laying across the couch. We had sat through, but barely watched, the first twenty minutes of 'The Breakfast Club'--a rainy day ritual. "Things are going to be different, but I'm happy for you."

     Rain beat on the windows like a fist so I held her hand for a sense of security. "Don't run away Sam; don't feel like I don't want you to be here." The clock ticked louder as the seconds past, bearing down on my mind like a violent oppressor. "I don't even know if anything has changed. Chris may not want me." Hearing my own worst fears took my breath away.

     Sam continued, "Don't be ridiculous. You've changed, no matter how Chris feels. Going back now just isn't an option. Besides, he's an idiot if he doesn't want you." Sam's smile did more to unnerve than to calm me. Clicking the button on the remote, she turned off the television, and we were awash in darkness.

     "Maybe he's an idiot if he does," I said.

     Dropping Sam off that day was like closing a book you haven't finished. It hurt to watch her disappear behind the red door of her house; it seemed like it would be the last time I ever saw her. A false feeling, but it was the end of an era. From that day forth it would be impossible to lie to her anymore, to lie to myself, or to lie to Chris. Driving home I began to think of what to say to him, but by the time I pulled into my own garage I was simply feeling less confident.

     Standing over the kitchen sink, I watched tears of rain wash down the window. My mother's hand rested itself on my shoulder, but I didn't turn to look at her. She couldn't help me. Even though it was her day off, I hadn't seen her at all until now. Finally, I broke the silence, saying, "I wish he was here." It was all I could think of.

     "He is here, honey," she said. "Just talk to him." But I couldn't hear for the rain.

     I wasn't sure how long I had been asleep, or truly aware that I had fallen asleep at all. Once I lived by the clock, but now time was running away from me. The phone, once again, pulled me forward into consciousness. Picking up the receiver, I began to speak without opening my eyes. "Hello?" I asked.

     "What are we doing? Do you know?" Chris sounded as lost as I was, but suddenly I was wide-awake.

     "I need you," I confessed.

     "I'll call you back," he said. There was no goodbye, only bitterness in his brevity.

     Emotionally destroyed, physically beaten, I was past the point of tears. Retiring to the shower, I attempted in vain to wash away my thoughts. I attempted until the water ran cold, piercing beneath the skin to chill the bone. I attempted until I gave up hope, and then I stood even longer. Water splashed and swirled down the drain, but I didn't care. Eventually, though, everything has to stop. Bothering only to pull on a pair of navy sweat pants after drying my skin, I returned to watching the rain from my bedroom window.

     The clouds only looked darker now; the rain fell heavier against the roof. I stood there watching him stand there. Chris was standing in the rain, but he made no move for the door. At first I didn't recognize him for what he was, but instead I thought he was my imagination running wild. When I realized he was really standing there, I had to see him. I had to hold him. Only a few seconds had passed before I threw open the front door.

     He was staring absently at the ground, but when he heard the door open, he looked up at me. His clothes were soaked through, and his hair clung to his face in black clumps. Water glistened on his face. Never before had I seen someone so beautiful or so vulnerable. I moved towards him, drawn to his magnetism. I held him in the rain, and he held me. His skin felt like fire to the touch.

     "I don't know what we're doing..." he whispered in my ear. "I just knew that I had to see you. I had to touch you." His hand squeezed the back of my neck before he pulled away to look me in the eyes. I took his hand in mine. "You're soaked," he told me.

     "So are you!" I shouted above the rain. We laughed and held each other longer. Afraid to let go--afraid to lose him--I held him more tightly. "Come inside," I told him with barely more than a faint breath. As I started to pull him towards the open door, he smiled. I could see his cute dimples again. His boyish innocence pulled at my heart, and I had no choice but to give it to him.

     "Come inside," I repeated.

     Both of us simply smiled as I guided him by the hand up the front steps and through the front door. I never let my eyes tear away from his. It would have been too painful to look away now that I had him in my sight again. Closing the door, we started dripping through the house, but neither of us could have cared. At the bottom of the steps we kissed unlike our first kiss--almost violently. We were consumed with passion and need. My lips ached when we parted.

     Slowly we made our way up the steps into my room, laughing at the squeaking of his shoes on each wooden step. Chris was my drug, and I couldn't get enough. As soon as the door to my room was shut, we kissed again. This time we recreated our gentle first kiss, timidly exploring each other's lips as he stepped out of his shoes. I wasn't sure of what was going to happen, but I knew that I longed to touch him, hold him, be with him.

     Finally, we broke away to breath and look at each other. There was nothing either of us could do but smile. He brought his fingers to my face and traced my lips, held my cheeks in his palms, caressed my neck--everything he could do with his big, safe hands.

     "I want to memorize you by touch," he said.


     "Don't speak. Let me take in how beautiful you are."

     All at once I was flattered and embarrassed. I burned crimson, and my pale skin began to flush across my face and chest. He saw and laughed at my sudden urge for shyness. I rested my forehead against his and just enjoyed his touch as he ran his hand through my damp red hair. The smell of his skin hung over me... like lemons and soap. To me it was perfect, he was perfect, and the immediacy I felt for holding him hurt.

     My will took control and I started to inch up his drenched shirt. The skin that revealed itself was damp and glistening. His abs were elongated up his torso and fit together more in jigsaw fashion than in symmetry. When lifting his arms up so I could pull his shirt completely off of him, I could see his naked chest for the first time. He was hairless except for a thin brown line leading down from his navel. I sighed in his perfection, his flawless body.

     I, on the other hand, was completely hairless on my chest and stomach, but Chris didn't seem to mind. His hands were now trying to commit my body to memory: my arms, my back, and my chest. Chris's hands were followed by his lips, which left a trail of fire across my skin. He teased me by kissing around my navel and down to the waistband of my sweat pants. Slowly he slid them off my body and ran his hands over my legs.

     I pulled him up for a kiss; his lips were an aphrodisiac. I fumbled with the button of his jeans before he helped me remove the garment. We removed his pants and boxer shorts after struggling with the wet, clinging fabric. Me, on the other hand... I was beyond caring because I just wanted to see him. That night, beauty fell short when compared to him. In a way I felt inferior and unworthy.

     "I need you to hold me," he said.

     "Okay," I replied, barely a whisper.

     "Just hold me until the morning."

     He sounded like a boy on the verge of tears, and I couldn't deny him, so we crawled into my bed and I wrapped my arms around him from behind. I caressed and kissed his beautiful body until he fell asleep. There was no denying that I ached for personal release, but there was no denying that holding him was better. It wasn't until then that I realized you could make love without intercourse. It was all lemon and soap until my own eyes dropped.

     "Good morning," I heard him say.

     My eyes weren't focusing at first, but it didn't take long. For the first time in my life, I had shared my bed with someone I loved. I knew from then on that an empty bed would never be the same. Seeing him wearing only my sheet from the waist down peaked my interest.

     "You're beautiful," I said.

     "The view is pretty good from here too," he joked.

     "Kiss me." And he did. He kissed me my true first good morning kiss. Today was full of firsts. Suddenly I had a revelation.

     "It's Sunday!"

     "Yes, it is," he replied. Confusion ran across his face.

     "I have church. Man, my mom is probably waiting for me." By now his right hand was resting on my neck and his thumb was tracing my jaw line.

     He was smiling at me. "She's already left," he said.

     My eyes said it before my mouth did. "You talked to her?"

     "No!" he laughed. We kissed again, just a quick kiss. "I heard her leave." His face took on a serious tone. "Thanks for everything last night, Jon. I really needed that."

     "So did I," I said. "Spending a night beside a beautiful man isn't so difficult, even if I pale in comparison." The joke was more about my milky skin, but the personal jab at my insecurities was there.

     "You don't really believe that, do you?" he asked.

     I shifted my weight uncomfortable. "I suppose so... yeah. You make me feel small, I guess."

     "Man, you are so wrong. You're everything I've ever wanted." His thumb was still caressing my cheek. "Everything." I flushed, but I wasn't sure I believed him. "Besides, you aren't smaller than me everywhere."

     Chris laughed. "Jonathan Smith suddenly isn't confident. Wait until the school hears!"

     "What... you're going to explain to them that I don't like my naked body in comparison to yours when we're in bed together?" I was dripped sarcasm.

     "Point taken," but the wheels were turning in his head. "Let's get moving. I have to pee."

     "Me too."

     I lead him to the bathroom, grabbing towels from the hallway closet as we passed. It was the first time I had shared my bathroom, and I think the bathroom itself surprised Chris. For the most part, we washed one another in silence. He had nothing with him, so I shared my toiletries with him. It was the least I could do, but I was incessant that I dry him. When we had returned to my room, it also dawned on him that he would have no underwear of his own until we washed his clothes.

     "You can wear these," I said as I handed him a pair of black boxer briefs.

     "Um... I'm really more of a boxers guy."

     "I know, but I just want to see you in those." I could feel my smile creeping across my face.

     "If it makes you happy." He kissed me before sliding them on. They were really too small for him, but I thought I would go faint when he slid them on. The boy was even sexier wearing clothes. Someone else hadn't dressed me since I was four, but he asked if he could dress me. Our games were childish, but I enjoyed them. Sunday it was customary to dress slightly less casual, and even if I wasn't at church from besiegement by my mother, I still felt like I should dress well.

     It took us far too long for me to just be putting on black slacks, a solid, light blue button down shirt, and black shoes, but we managed. After I ran gel through my hair, I heard him whistle. I blushed.

     "You look great man," he said, still in just boxer briefs.

     "I think you look better."

     "Not from where I'm standing."

     "Don't get me going there," I said as I was grabbing up our clothes from the night before and his sweater. I put them into my laundry bag that hung in the closet. "You can help me wash these."

     I washed his clothes first, and this time he wouldn't leave anything behind, even though he still had my shirt. As soon as they were finished, he got dressed, and I was sad to see the boxer briefs disappear underneath his jeans and his chest disappear behind that sweater. For the rest of the day, we talked, held each other, and stole kisses in privacy. He had to leave in the early afternoon, but letting him walk away was hard. I would miss him, and furthermore I didn't know what Monday at school would be like, or what tomorrow would be like regardless. I stood on the porch and watched until he got to his car door.

     "It's a beautiful day!" I yelled out after him.

     He smiled and put on a pair of sunglasses. His dimples appeared, and he looked great. "Yeah, it is." And he was right... it was.

     I leaned against the white pillar at the top of the porch steps until he drove out of sight. I had to speak to him in person, so quietly I locked the door, got into my car, and drove away in the direction Chris went.

     The cemetery was two hours north in North Carolina. It was small and wild flowers were beginning to bloom now that the last bitter days of winter had been beaten back. Late March generally held lovely weather in the southeast. It was warm, but the breeze held a slight chill suspended in the air. I stood standing at my father's grave for hours sucking on grape lollipops.

     "I brought you cherry," I said. "I remember that it was your favorite. I had to go to a bank to find the lollipops with the looped handles like you like. Convenience stores don't seem to have them anymore."

     I placed it on the ground next to the faded silk flowers in front of his tombstone. I sat there on the edge of the weathered rock for hours talking to the wind until the wind echoed with my voice. I told my father everything I wanted him to know and I asked him everything I needed to know; I laughed and I cried. His face was clear in my mind again where he used to be blurring around the edges.

     The sky ran purple and orange before I told him goodbye, but my heart talked to him the entire way home.

More comments: Chris is not real, at all. I don't know where he came from. Yes, Jonathan is based on me slightly. No, I never had a relationship like that in high school. I'm now in college at a small, private Christian institution inside the Bible belt. I'm sorry if you were teased during this chapter, but I wasn't comfortable with gratuitous sex at this point. It makes me blush. I hope you can all understand how truly difficult this chapter has been for me.

Please, please e-mail me if you want. I read every one; however, I'm adopting a new policy. If you want me to reply, state that explicitly. The volume of e-mail is prohibitive to individual responses to every single one. You might be able to catch me on AIM under the name JonTMO on the weekends, if you really want.