Date: Tue, 1 Aug 2017 21:21:01 +0930 From: Winn Fruit Subject: To Say I Trust You / To Say I Trust You / Chapter I Each character is complete fiction. Any relation to real-life events, people, circumstances, or places are pure coincidence. The town of Windy Point is a fictional paper town, and while I write protagonist Blaine and all his struggles through teenagerhood to seem real, he's pure fiction. I've been reading and enjoying stories on Nifty for a few years now. With this series, I'm hoping to bring the same joy to some people that I've experienced with Nifty.org and all the wonderful, free stories that are provided (consider donating to Nifty!) on this unique platform. This is my first erotic narrative. So please, email me feedback and/or constructive criticism at winnfruit@gmail.com. Questions are always welcomed. :) Happy reading, Winn. ----- * Mr Mann was a strange one, he lived alone with his diabetic cat. Rumour had it he spent close to $700 a week on medications and special meals all for that miserable old thing. Most people here would have snapped its neck and ended the poor cat's misery, but I guess Mr Mann's fat pay check and loneliness kept his cat alive. Somedays, I wish Mr Mann wasn't alive. Okay, that was sarcasm. I wouldn't wish death upon anyone, only for him to quit babbling about Osmosis and cells. Our class is too small and too quiet for him to rant on. Still, he persists each lesson – boring kids out of their brains with his textbook regurgitation. As the bell rang and students hurriedly exited the classroom as if they were chasing the last of their sanity after that lecture, my phone went off, alerting my attention to a text from mum. [Mum: You'll need to walk home. I've been called up to Riverdale for the weekend, dinner in fridge. Love you x. ] Mum was a minimalist, much like myself. I'd gotten my kindness and humbleness from Mum, too. But one trait I didn't inherit was overthinking literally everything. I worried about her driving in this weather, how crazy the elders at the ward might be because of the full moon, and if I was going to make it home alive in this oncoming storm. All of this had come before I could even reply to my dear mother. [Ok. Love you too x See you soon.] Said fact is true, for your information. Old people go crazy and bite people and shit when there's a full moon, it's like they drain it for ungodly elderly energy. I tucked my phone away, checked I had everything, and was off. As the earthy smell of the harsh rain filled my nostrils, I descended the school stairs in a hurried pace. Commencing the walk to my humble, two-bedroom home, a rust-stained Intergra pulled beside me. `Blaine,' someone shouted as they struggled to make the stiff window budge `get in!' It could be an old lady abducting me – or a group of old ladies with extra sharp false teeth in. I thought as I entered the vehicle with my hand-me-down converse bag, carefully checking for any old people in the back. Much to my delight and surprise, it wasn't a gang of nursing home patients. It was Ryan. That slicked blonde hair and 5-clock' shadow couldn't be forgotten. Eyes wondering, his grey sweater clung in all the right places and those red sh- `Are you okay dude?' `Uhh, yeah... thanks,' I trailed off `I was just thinking of the best way to get home.' That was a lie. I was thinking about how reckless I might currently seem. I wouldn't usually recommend hopping in strangers' cars, but our school is small and thankfully I know all the students who drive. `Too easy man. You're welcome, by the way!' he teased. `Sorry, Ryan, thanks! How are you anyway?' `I'm decent, busy as per usual with school and swimming, yourself?' He made this awkward transition between concentrating on the drenched road and flicking between radio stations with his slender, olive fingers. A strong radio signal isn't exactly a widely traded commodity, in our country town of Windy Gully. Especially in the `once-in-a-ten-year-storm' as our one local news reporter, editor, and weather lady, Mrs. Karrie had labelled this manic weather in her conservative Australian accent on TV that morning. Between the dying signal of Hallo Spaceboy playing, and my last-minute directions, we made typical Smalltalk. Do you like boys or girls / it's confusing these days - the lyrics were synonymous with my urge to stare at this boy. Of course, I always checked out girls in our grade, especially Alicia, but I'd never looked at a boy this way before. This seemingly... cute boy, his hazel eyes - all confused me as much as his spontaneous act of giving me a lift did. Pulling up my overgrown driveway, Ryan culled the rumbling engine as the rainfall aggressively transitioned to once-in-a-ten-year storm rain. `Would you like to come inside for a bit? It's probably not the best idea to drive in this doomsday weather, and er... we can hangout or something until it dies down if you like?' I questioned Ryan awkwardly, picking up my bag off the thread-bare floor. `Sure, I don't need to be home until late, anyway.' He answered, motioning to my tiny veranda. I unlocked the door and kicked my All Stars off in the hallway as Ryan followed silently. I motioned my hand awkwardly. `This is home, I guess? I announced somewhat proudly, `Mum is never home, so it typically stays... empty.' `Neat, its cosie.' He complimented in response, soaking up every corner of my home with his eyes as every newcomer to someone's home did. Poor Ryan, he probably thought my Mother was born a decade or two ago. Someone's house could tell you a lot about how they lived, but not our home. Mum didn't believe in materialistic things – and I was raised this way, so our home was scarcely decorated. Cosie was the politest way he could have put it. I connotated its furnishings and decoration, mismatched furniture and pascal colours, with a nursing home or my grandfather's house. Or maybe on the same spectrum as Mr Mann's house. My mother worked rurally as a nurse, which pulled in enough money to live comfortably, but she's the least materialistic person I know, so we never had a reason to decorate or renovate. Instead, mum insured we travelled lots and that I always had a good education. Well, as far as good goes in this town. Only two high schools to choose from – Windy Gully High and Windy Point, I attended Windy Point, the much more expensive and somewhat glorified high school. I presented Ryan a drink and we made more chitchat in front of the television, which was still replaying Mrs Kerries' weather warnings for the night. We talked about school, teachers, his parents (who owned the local hardware store), and my Mother's work. My `father' was deadbeat, and hopefully dead, so I didn't mention him. `You're so lucky. My house is always buzzing with younger siblings!' Ryan returned. `It does get a bit lonely with Mum being away so much sometimes, but I never considered it that way. It's usually pretty lonely here, but I make do between studying and hanging out with Jake'. I grew up next to Jake, so he naturally grew to be my best-friend. The inseparable kind, with close mothers and abnormally similar hobbies. He was off on a footy trip for the weekend, which meant I was a loner until Monday. `At least you can wank without being interrupted, imagine sharing your room with a pesky sibling, ' Ryan replied, confidentially grinning at me. `Uh, yeah – I mean... that sounds lame.' I awkwardly spoke, stumbling on what to say again. He was just so outgoing about everything. It made me wonder if he questioned every decision like I did. We spent the rest of the night enjoying the atmosphere that ciders, Nirvana, and INXS on crisp vinyl provided for us; I was delighted Ryan enjoyed the same music as me. Heating up some Garlic Bread and chips in the oven was as far as my cooking `skills' went. After dinner, we hung out in the loungeroom for a few more hours. We enjoyed even more music and made fun of the info commercials on the television, it was a blast. That is, until the electricity betrayed us, and everything in the house turned obsidian-black. I felt my way to the kitchen for some source of light. `Ryan?' `Fuck!' Ryan protested, sipping on what I presume was his fifth or sixth cider. The tiny lamp illuminated a moody light that seemed to bring out all this boy's features. Those wide, determined eyes, his hair-pin smile, and his seemingly perfect features glowed in the dim light. Forget cute, this boy is sexy. I could have absorbed his features forev- `Blaine, you're zoning out again. What's up?' `I uhhhh, I was talking to I mean thinking about you.' I confessed unwillingly, realising what I said once it was in the air. A state of instant panic consumed me like wildfire, but he didn't react straight away. He stared at me, half-drunken, and let me drown in my own racing mind. `Oh, really?' He finally smirked at me, leaning on the fridge. Is that it?! Was he torturing me? Changing the subject? `As in, I was – I was thinking like where are you going to sleep tonight?' I attempted my best to recover from his confusing question, and it seemed to work. `Right. I'll just sleep in my car, have you got a blanket?' He quipped almost too quickly in a nonchalantly tone. His mood had changed slightly, and I tried my best to be some form of reassuring. `No!' I half-laughed, `Just sleep inside, it's too stormy out there. I'll sleep on the floor- or we can just share the bed... if that's cool with you'. I think that was an unfazed tone, but my mind was racing with thoughts and questions and possibilities. Oh really? Ryan's voice reran again and again in my busy mind. * Upstairs, Ryan had passed out almost straight away. His kindness and remarks still made me question everything. What if he looks at me the same way? What if has the same thoughts as me? Where are these thoughts coming from? Each question and its spawn of ten other questions clouded my mind, I tossed and turned while this boy next to me slept innocently and cutely. Unaware of the passing time, I watched his defined chest rise and fall with each restful breath. I wished he had no shirt on – or nothing on. Carefully, I placed my arm next to his. Not touching, but close enough to feel his warmth. To say I trust you with my arm. * To be continued