Time Moves On - Chapter 3

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 timemoveson@hotmail.com. 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.

The week after that Sunday was simply a blur. Not since I was a child had I been so happy. It was, as they say, too good to be true. Everything felt superficial, but I had resolved to stay with Chris as long as he wanted me. Officially though, we weren't anything. Friday afternoon, Chris, Sam, and I decided to hit the lake with the rest of the student body. It was the first day of the year warm enough to go.

So, I thought as I stared into the mirror, why are you going to the lake again? My self-image of my body was not at its strongest right then. All I could see when I stared into the mirror was my flaws. My skin was too pale, my legs were too skinny, and worst of all I had red hair. I looked at Chris in the mirror and sighed, running my thumb along the waistband of the blue swimming trunks. He was lying on my bed in grey nylon trunks and a short-sleeved white t-shirt.

"Why am I going to the lake again? I hate the way I look," I complained. "I wish I looked more like you."

Before responding, Chris gave me a vacant stare. "We're going to the lake because it is fun, and I happen to know someone who likes you the way you are, and I happen to know someone who is very happy that you look nothing like me." He had climbed off of my bed while talking, leaving the imprint of his body on the covers.

"Yeah, and who is that?" I asked with playful disbelief in my voice.

With his strong arms he pulled me to him, rubbing my naked stomach with his large, tanned hands and pressing my back into his chest. His warm breath caressed my ear. "Me," he whispered. His husky voice sent shivers up my spin.

I rolled my eyes and pushed him away, smiling. "But you don't count!" I laughed.

His tone suddenly turned frank. "Your boyfriend doesn't count?"

"I don't know. Are you my boyfriend?" I asked. It was a stupid question, really. Frivolous, innocent, and childish, but in my mind and in his, everything teetered on his answer.

"I'd like to be," he said quietly into my ear.

There was no escaping it now. We had to discuss certain issues that we had been avoiding before. "What about school?" I asked.

"I don't know," he said. "Can't we worry about it in August?"

"No, we can't. I'm going to W.C. and you're going to State. They're an hour apart!" That's when I realized I would do anything to keep him. "I don't want to lose you, Chris."

"You won't lose me," he replied without as much confidence.

"But either way... I still want to be with you now," I told him. He smiled, which brought forth his lovely dimples. He kissed me passionately for a moment, right there, in my room. I let forth a sigh of resignation. You're hopeless, I thought to myself.

Finally, he broke the kiss. "We've got to go, man. Sam is going to kill us."

"I know, I know," I said through the cotton of my grey t-shirt. Suddenly I was too uncoordinated to put on clothing. All I had to do was grab my wallet and keys, and then we were heading down the steps.

He took my hand and smiled, nudging me playfully. "You make me happy," he said. My face blazed as I blushed.

"Could you two have taken any longer?" Sam asked. As soon as I had pulled into the only vacant parking place left Sam had ran up to the door of my Jeep. She was wearing a black bikini. The asphalt was haphazardly marred by sand dragged from the man-made beach.

"Yes," I replied sarcastically.

As I stepped out of the car and grabbed my bag, she started dragging me towards the beach by my hand. For as long as I could remember, everyone came here to socialize. The lake was created in the 1930s. Really, there was only a small strip of sand and water marked off by buoys. Rimming the lake was an evergreen forest with mountains rising up as a backdrop. I sat down on the beach beside her.

"Hello, handsome," Sam said to Chris as he came walking up behind us.

"You left me!" he protested.

"I couldn't help it," I told him, looking up. The sun forced me to squint. "Sam dragged me away!"

"Yeah, I noticed," he replied sarcastically. He was pulling his shirt up and over his head. Every time I saw his body he took my breath away; he was perfect. "I'm going to hit the lake."

"Okay," I said.

"Jon has to talk to me before he can play." Sam was grinning.

"Just make sure he puts on lotion. I don't want him to get too burnt." Chris squeezed my shoulder. It was a small gesture, but it meant a lot to me. With that, he walked off until his feet barely touched the water. He looked like he was suspended above it because the water was so shallow.

"So...?" Sam asked.

"What?" I replied.

"Please, you've been smiling since you've got here, and I know you're not that happy to see me," she said. I hadn't noticed.

I felt like a gossip, but I had to tell her. "It's official," I sighed.

"Really!" Her voice became much too loud. "That's great! I've got to go talk to Chris."

I laughed. "So, you two are going to gang up on me now?"

"Of course!" she shouted as she walked away.

As I sat there putting on sunscreen, coercing the white cream layer to absorb into my skin, I couldn't help but watch Chris. Everything was different now. Nothing was simple anymore; I had to start feeling for another person as well as myself. In a way, I was afraid of the change, but I knew that he made me happy.

Before I realized it, I was being pulled out of my trance by Sam and Chris, and being dragged towards the water.

"You're really burnt," Chris remarked as he ran his hands cautiously across my glowing, painful back. We were in my room, lying across my bed.

"Nothing gets past you, Sherlock!" I laughed.

"Of course not... we better put something on that. Lay down." He paused for a moment. "Do you have anything to put on the burn?"

"There should be some moisturizing lotion in the bathroom," I said. After several minutes he returned with a white bottle.

"Turn over on your stomach," he told me. I did.

He began a slow, meticulous massage. Sometime during the process he stripped me naked. His hands molded my skin for hours under his erotic touch. When I turned over, he leaned up over me and stole a kiss.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you, too," I said.

"Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you. We can make this work."

"I know."

We sat in silence, looking at each other as time passed. The night wore on for hours in his eyes as we kissed. He reached inside me, caressed me, and then I did the same to him. It was slow and loving, but full of passion. Our innocence fled under mutual touch. Watched by the moon through my window, our love lasted until dawn.

Looking back now, it was innocent. My short-lived romance with Chris was everything I wanted it to be. First love, though, cannot outlast the miles it seemed, and as our lives separated so did we. So now here I am, behind my desk at study, thinking of him, seeing his dimples in the shadows of his face that night. I will always love him.

What is he doing? I don't know. I'm not certain if our paths will cross again, but I do not look back with sadness or loss. Instead, I look back with thanks and tenderness to what I was allowed to have for a few short months. All I know is that time moves on, and, with or without Chris, I must go with it.

Closing Comments: Yes, that is it. It is not in me right now to write anything more than a short story about first love. I'm only a little more than a year removed from high school, but already the mechanics have faded from memory. The more I wrote, the harder I found it to be true to the characters in my mind, and so I end it now.

I went into this story to learn, and I have. The brief conversations in e-mail with fans of the story have been wonderful. Will I write again? I do not know. This story was not planned, but crafted through a stream-of-consciousness-like fashion. I hope it helped someone, because writing it has helped me. I enjoy writing. If the idea of a story is ever planted in my mind, expect me to return, but better prepared.

Thank you for your support. It means more to me than the story ever could.

- Jon