This story deals with gay subject matter, love, affection and potential intimacy.
There is no bumfucking involved. [smirk] I always wanted to say that.
What Would You Do
Somehow I don't think my relationship with Jessie is a normal one. Its almost as if there is some secret boundary or limit that I have yet to exceed in life and I just know that he has to be there when I do it. I feel like he's the only one who doesn't have to get me, like the only expectation I have to live up to is being there for him no matter what. That's an easy enough task, considering I'd do just about anything for the little runt. He'd smack me if he heard me call him that.
The guys on the team think I'm something of a social recluse in need of some action. Um... yeah... first of all, I wouldn't know what to do with a girl even after I got the manual, second I really don't want or need one. The girl not the manual. It's strange but I don't feel like there's anything missing in my life. I get my quota of affection and caring from my mom and Jess.
When my dad died I thought the world was going to end. That life as I perceived it was over, when this spiky haired, blue eyed boy tried to borrow my cat from me mid heave. He yelled something about getting her hair all wet and cats not liking that. I just looked at him and sniffed. I would have punched his lights out, but he sat beside me as I cried and didn't move even after my tear ducts had dried up.
" Name's Jess." It was the scratchiest voice I had ever heard on a kid that young. His blue eyes bore into my soul, and I couldn't look away.
"Kienne." We've been friends ever since.
"Coming, mom!" Sometimes I swear that woman sounds more and more like Roxanne.
"Jessie honey you sure you don't want to stay for dinner? I can whip up somethin' quick, quick. Look at you, all skin and b..."
" Mum, I think Jess looks just fine." Jess shot me a grateful look one that also pleaded for a quick escape.
I've been telling him about those muscle tees he loves to wear. They were some of my old one's from football that I'd out grown. He wore them to skateboard even though he has the frame of mighty mouse... I guess he figured they were old enough to take a beating instead of his Abersomething tanks. It's cute, and kind of funny ; you could see his chicken chest through the gigantic armholes. Its not really chicken, he has been working out, but his jeans are always on the verge of falling off, even with his belt in the tightest hole. He's just that tiny.
He was 12 when he started skateboarding and at 15 when his mom let him out after hours was desperate to try out his moves on the ramps. Cocky little bugger thought he could brave the punks and the cokeheads on his own. Earned him a black eye and a busted lip. He never went again without me. Tonight was "Risk night" at the ramps downtown. I never did anything there; I can't ride to save my life, maybe I'm afraid of heights. It's true what Jess says, "Funny how you can face down six huge walls of muscle but you're somehow afraid to fly." People knew him here. He wasn't invisible.
It's the only time he's completely comfortable in his own skin. He's the man in charge, at the top of his game. He'd cut through the air and do these amazing tricks and land so easily and always with a placid expression on his face. That `No, I didn't just do a death defying feat. What are you on about look?'. Yeah. It turns my insides. I get so scared seeing him go up my stomach clenches, I can feel the adrenaline burn, hear my heart thump in my ears and its hard to breath. I keep telling myself that its just a friends dire concern for his well-being, but I can't help thinking that its something else. Every time he comes back down to earth safely, I let out the air I've been holding in puffs and feel the full body tingle of relief and pride. But its not the `my football bud just scored a touchdown' , pride. This was deeper, an all consuming blush to your roots ... and other places, pride.
That's what I didn't get it. What I don't get. What does it mean when he looks up at me, like now, as if he's looking for approval; like a champion gone out to win and being victorious in war for his nation and why do I feel light headed? Every time he hesitantly approaches me and the guys from the team with his eyes cast to the ground, I have this sudden urge to hold him, to hug him to me, his back against my chest, my arms tight around him right there in front of those guys. It feels like it would be an act of defiance or a protective desire or something else. It's frustrating as hell cause I can't figure out what. Last night when he came over to `study' more like watch me study, it felt different somehow. The atmosphere that was usually jovial or comfortable was stuffy. I felt hot and clammy enough to take off my shirt. Weird thing is, it may have gotten hotter after that. Something in my subconscious was niggling at my thoughts but I couldn't break my focus to ponder on it.
Sometimes I see Jess looking at me warily, his eyebrows furrowed, a perturbed and adorable frown on his face, and I wonder if he can sense my confusion. I want to talk to him about it, he's the one I would talk to but I think he's the one I need to talk about.
He's walking towards me now with a confident swagger, his jeans are caught up below his ass and his teddy boxers are on display. A cute and triumphant smirk on his face, he's glowing and sucking in steady streams of air. His chest exposed, easy to see his harsh intake of air and to hear his hissed exhalation, his skateboard tucked under arm.
"You ready to go?" I haven't answered that question yet, I'm staring blankly at the steady rise and fall of his chest through the blousing tee-shirt. He squints and shakes his head as a bead of sweat rolls off his sweat slick hair and into his eye.
It comes to me, fuzzy at first really, this incredible desire to crush him to me and press my face into his neck. I want to cry. I don't know what it means but I can guess it's significance and my gaze darts frantically to his face. He looks at me confused and I realize that I haven't answered him. The first try is a bust. Unable to get sound out, I clear my throat and try again.
"Yeah." Oh god. What do I do?
I swear the last phrase was unintentional. I just saw it in editing.
Responses would be appreciated.