This contains male-on-male love and sexual acts. If such material offends you, or you are not of age in your region for this type of material then please leave. Of course, I don't always know who is reading, so I can't force you to leave. So that means more readers for me!
Any names, places, or names of places that are same or similar to your experiences could be coincidental.
There may be mentions of celebrities (while characters are watching movies, television, magazines, etc.) but this should not infer as to their sexual orientations in real life.
You may not post this on any other website or any other means of publication without my explicit permission to do so.
Any questions, comments, and critiques are welcome, whether good or bad, and can be sent to
Tyler Christoper, firstname.lastname@example.org
(your email may be filed as Junk, so in the subject box, put the title of this story)
Note to Readers:
Though there are scenes of sexual activity and/or mentions of said activities, this is mainly a story of love, family, friendship and trying times.
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'With Arms Outstretched' - Chapter 6
"JJ! You know so much better than to call someone a name like that! Especially a friend of yours!" Mr. Forzine scolded John very sternly.
"Umm, it's fine. We all give each other hard times from time to time. It's quite the norm," I assured Mr. and Mrs. Forzine. Poor John looked worried. "Besides, if I wanted revenge on your JJ, I'd tell you guys that he..." I said trailing off, awaiting a reaction from John.
John was wide-eyed with panic, shaking his head furiously, begging me not to spill his secret.
"What is it!?" Chad asked enthusiastically.
"...farted so loud in class. I mean the fart sounded angry. We all looked at him. He was sitting in his seat, with a look like 'where did that come from?'"
Chad laughed so hard. Mr and Mrs. Forzine were trying to suppress their giggles. Of course, failing miserably.
"I. Am. Going. To. Kill. You," John said angrily in a quiet monotone. "But I'll give you a one second head start."
Before I could even begin to think about moving a muscle, John said "One!" and jumped out of his seat. The chair fell over as John bounded for me. As quickly as I could, I got out of my seat and ran for the garage door, because the door that led to the backyard was closer to John than it was to me. So into the garage, weaving through the car, tools and the bicycles. Out of the garage and into the front yard. John chasing me through it all, his anger fuelling him, he was catching up. All the while, I was laughing my lungs out. Then I felt cold water hitting my back and head. While still running, I looked back. John was about four or five feet behind me, chasing me with a hose that was spraying directly at me.
"JOHN! YOU CHEATER! THAT'S FREEZING!" I called while still laughing and running.
All in one second, John jumped forward, wrapped an arm around my ankles and I fell to the ground. I tried squirming free. Then John, with an arm still wrapped around my ankles holding me there, sprayed the hose all over me.
"John, stop!" I begged still laughing my lungs out.
"Johnathan Bradley!" Mr. Forzine called from the front door.
John stopped spraying me. But I was good and wet, soaked actually. I was still laughing uncontrollably.
"HEY! STOP!" John screamed, giggling.
I looked at John, noticing he was being hosed. I followed the spray to the hose to the person holding it. It was Chad. I didn't even hear Chad approaching or grabbing the hose. By now, John was soaked as well. I got up on my feet, noticing the weight difference in me from being wet and in wet clothes. I jumped on Chad, bringing us both to the ground. In the process, the hose fell to the ground. John, still laughing stood up and grabbed the hose, spraying both myself and Chad while we wrestled, laughing in hysterics again. Chad and I fought for dominance. Me, being younger and smaller, was not winning. So I cheated. I tickled Chad by his arm pits and ribs again, causing him to lose control of himself, giving me the upper hand.
"Boys! That's enough!" Mrs. Forzine called standing beside her husband.
John stopped hosing us, as Chad and I stopped our fight for dominance.
"Ty's gonna need to borrow some clothes," John said lamely with a smile, like it was so obvious. Well it was.
"Tyler, I'm sorry. Your clothes are stained. I doubt I'll be able to get them out," Mrs. Forzine said looking worried.
I looked down at my clothes. Yeah, they were wet, but they were also green from the grass.
"No, it's fine. I have more slacks at home. My mother insists on keeping extras, even though I just wanna burn them!" I joked.
"Okay, if you say so. You boys go take off your wet clothes in the backyard, then get inside to shower off the dirt," Mrs. Forzine instructed.
John, Chad and I made our way from the front yard to the backyard through the gated fence. As we passed by Mr. and Mrs. Forzine, Chad held his arms out to his mother for a hug.
"Don't you dare!" Mrs. Forzine said looking like she was about to run for it.
In the backyard, we removed our clothes, except our underwear. And what a sight Chad was. Water dripping and running down his face, down his neck to his perfect chest, through that tiny patch of chest hair in the middle, over those erect pink nipples, down his lean sculpted abs, through the trail of hair, down... wow! His tightie-whities were see-through, transparent from being wet! I first noticed the dark patch of hair, then his cock was totally visible. To me, it looked HUGE! And it was! I could even see that the head of his cock peeked out of the foreskin, even when flaccid.
'NO!' I yelled in my head to myself. I looked away quickly and shut my eyes tight. I was trying to will away the erection that was coming. Fortunately, it was working.
"Hey. You okay?" Chad asked.
I opened my eyes. Chad and John both looked concerned. I smiled at them, flashing my teeth.
"I'm fine. Just... cold," I replied.
Chad's eyes ran scanned all over my body. He had an amused smile. But he giggled.
"What?" I asked self-consciously.
"You're so white!" Chad said laughing.
"Shut up! I tan, but it doesn't last."
My skin is white, almost alabaster shade. It is also really hard to tan. When it does tan, it never stays tan more than two to four days.
Mrs. Forzine asked us to twist out clothes, expelling the water out of them, so she could throw them into the dryer.
"Tyler, since you're our guest, you shower first," Mr. Forzine said pleasantly.
"I'm showering after him!" John exclaimed.
"No! I am!" Chad argued.
"You two wrestle for second shower," Mrs. Forzine teasingly suggested.
"That's not fair! He's bigger!" John complained.
I laughed along with Mr. and Mrs. Forzine.
"How 'bout a rock, paper, scissors match," I suggested as I walked through the backdoor into the house.
"Best of fifteen?" Chad asked.
"Fifteen!?" John complained again. By now, I started up the stairs.
"Makes it more exciting. Besides, we're gonna be waiting!" Chad said frustrated.
That was the last I heard as I closed the bathroom door behind me.
I shucked my boxer briefs and twisted them to remove most of the water over the sink.
I'd never in my short life enjoyed the hot water of a shower more than that moment. It was great. I lathered my hair with a shampoo that was in a red rectangle bottle, it smelled delicious.
"Ty, I've put some clothes on the toilet for you," John called as I soaped my body.
The clothes John left were a pair of faded jeans with a red graphic tee. The graphics on the shirt was of a skeleton riding a skateboard. Of course, John left a pair of tightie-whitie briefs and black socks.
I got out of the bathroom feeling fresh, and Chad walked by with a towel around his waist.
"You used my shampoo," Chad said with some heat in his voice.
"Umm... red bottle?" I asked.
"Whatever. It's fine. I never said what not to use. It's not your fault," Chad said, then ruffled my wet hair. "JJ's in his room."
I guess Chad won the rock, paper, scissors match because he got in the shower after I did. I went into the room across the bathroom, which, or course, is John's bedroom. John was clad in a towel around his waist. John played a fantasy game on his PlayStation 2 system. I watched. John offered me the controller a couple of times, but I refused because I didn't want to mess up his score. I didn't know how to play anyways. About fifteen minutes after I came out of the shower, Chad had come out. So John sprang for the bathroom. While John was taking his shower, Kevin came. He played the fantasy video game. I finally was paying attention to the game. I mean before I was watching, but not absorbing anything in. The characters looked asian. It was a group or magicians or mages or something. But one of the male characters was really hot. Black hair tied back, tall, buff, great fitting suit and armour.
"Tyler! Your phone is buzzing!" Chad called from downstairs.
I raced from the room and down the stairs and into the kitchen where I left my cell phone. Chad was standing by the refrigerator sipping a glass of water. I flashed a friendly smile.
'im bored. nick & gary left' is what Lenny texted me.
'u pitiful kid' I replied.
"Everything okay?" Chad asked.
"Just a friend," I replied with a smile. "Where are your parents?"
"Dunno. Probably next door," Chad replied looking to be in thought
'har har' Lenny texted again.
'guess wat, happy bday!' I texted back.
"You could tell me to fuck off if you want to, but why don't you like... uhh... what's her name?" Chad asked, looking serious.
I sighed. "You are persistent. I like someone else. For a long time."
"Who?" Chad asked, as curious as anyone could ever be.
"Promise you won't tell?"
"Promise," Chad said holding up his right arm.
"It's your mom," I said in the most serious tone and face as I could.
Chad looked like he bought it. His eyes widened the slightest bit. But he laughed suddenly. I laughed along side him.
"Get the fuck outta here. You know you don't have to tell me anything. We all have our secrets," Chad said with sincerity.
I thanked Chad and ran up the stairs, back into John's room. John had just pulled his shirt over his head.
"What did Chad want?" John asked as he straightened his shirt.
"Nothing. He said my phone buzzed. It was a text message,"
"Oh," was all the reply I got from John as he continued his video game. Kevin put a CD into John's stereo and pressed the play button. It was Evanescence's album 'Fallen'.Â Kevin and I sat directly in of the other on John's bed, legs crossed and eyes locked. Kevin threw the first punch, hitting my left shoulder. We have this game we play where we just punch each other until you are the last to surrender to the pain. We don't hit so hard that we cause fatal damage. The hits are more jabs than punches. We could play one on one, or in a group of any number of people. We just play until there is only one winner. Our rule is no hitting the stomach, neck, head, ribs or groin. We can only hit the shoulders, arms, chest, and legs.
"Oooo, that was a good one!" Kevin cheered after I threw a hit to his chest.
While Kevin and I continued our little competition, Mrs. Forzine walked into John's room carrying laundry. I didn't even hear her and her husband come back home.
"I've told you boys about that little game way too many times!" Mrs. Forzine scolded. "Now stop!"
Kevin and I said out sorries. Mrs. Forzine handed me my slacks and wife-beater shirt, apologizing about not being able to get the stains out. I nearly told her my mother knows how to remove any stain. But I hated those slacks, so I said to just throw them in the trash. She was disappointed, she said we could have changed into something sporty before playing. John's church slacks were stained as well. Before Mrs. Forzine left John's room, she told me not to forget my button-up shirt in the backyard. Earlier that day, I had taken it off to play basketball with Chad and John. It was still in the backyard sitting on a chair.
Within seconds after Mrs. Forzine left John's room, Kevin hit my chest again. That began another round of that game of ours. John was entranced in his game to stop us. John had occasionally bitched at the TV because he made a mistake or wasn't doing so good with his video game.
"Ty! Your father is here for you!" Mr. Forzine called from downstairs.
"Aww! Already!" I complained.
Kevin and I had been examining our bruises on our bodies. They were all tender, but the most tender was on my right thigh.
"We'll see you at Lenny's party, right?" John asked, finally looking away from his video game. "Man. You guys. My mom told you to stop that here," John gently scolded.
"Yeah, whatever. I'll see you guys at Lenny's party," I said walking out of the bedroom.
The drive home with my dad was one in silence. In case you are wondering, yes, it's still awkward between the two of us.
"So..." my dad said, trying to sound nonchalant.
I just looked at him. Not in any negative way. I just wanted to see what else he was planning to say. He just kept driving. His adams apple twitched a bit, I noticed.
"The Forzine's are great. In case you were wondering. Mrs. Forzine made a delicious tomato soup. She also made excellent turkey sandwiches. In case you were wondering," I said. I was irritated, but I tried my best not to sound it.
"For that little outburst, you're grounded for the rest of the week," my dad said with little frustration evident in his tone.
I looked at him in disbelief.
"No. Never mind what I said," my dad sighed. "It's not your entire fault that things are... weird... between... us."
"So... I'm not grounded?" I asked hopeful.
"No, you're not"
A silence filled the car again.
"I pray to God you didn't tell anybody about anything." I stated with thrice as much hope as I did earlier.
My dad didn't respond. He just looked forward at the road.
"I told my wife!"
"You told MOM!" I screamed in horror and embarrassment.
"You didn't hear her laugh the other night?"
"That's what that was about!?" I asked in a shout. "Oh, God! No wonder she's looked slightly amused lately."
"Your mother is having a great time torturing me with this." my dad said looking at me rather than the road.
"DAD!" I screamed.
He had run a red light. My dad slammed on the brakes. But it was too late. The car broke at the intersection, but the tires skidded on the pavement a few feet forward. We were sitting in the car, which was sitting right smack-dab in the middle of the intersection. A Ford truck had also skidded to a stop to my right. I was just nearly killed by that Ford truck in a traffic accident. The Ford truck was sitting not three feet from the passenger side of my dad's car.
My breathing was laboured. My lungs felt heavy. My eyes stung with tears. My palms and pits moist. My jaw hung slack. My brain was frazzled.
"I'm okay." I whispered to myself, trying to convince my body I was not harmed. "I'm okay."
However, I was still frozen in my seat. So was my dad. Neither of us moved.
I looked around at the intersection, the vehicles, and the streets. Within my sight, there were no vehicles moving. People were stepping out of their vehicles looking concerned. Pedestrians were either standing in their spots looking at the scene that just unfolded. The driver of the truck that very nearly ended me got out of his truck and knocked on my window. I wasn't registering anything at the moment.
I looked to my left at my dad in the driver's seat. He was staring at me in panic, disbelief and relief at once. His breathing was also ragged. Tears freely falling from his eyes.
I looked down at my hands, which were sitting my lap. They were trembling violently. In an effort not to show it, I clasped my hands together and curled fingers to the other fist tightly. Then I noticed I shivered involuntarily. It was the fear. Or the adrenaline. Or both.
I heard my dad's seat belt unbuckle, then his door opening. But the car door didn't shut. I looked. My dad was running around the front of the car to my side. He pushed the truck driver aside, but not forcefully. He opened my door and reached around me. He unbuckled my seat belt. He slid his right arm under my knees and the other around my mid back. He lifted me out of the car and held like I was a little kid. I noticed he was sobbing, holding me tightly to his chest, my face hidden in his neck. Not moving my head, only my eyes, I looked around. People looked concerned. Or shocked. Or both. Some had hands covering their mouths. Then I looked at the man who drove the truck. His mouth was moving, but I was hearing nothing.
'Should I be concerned about that?' I thought.
"Stop." my dad said suddenly but quietly.
"What?" I asked confused.
"Stop. You are okay."
I had been absent-mindedly whispering to myself that was unharmed.
My mind went blank again. I didn't even realized my dad placed me on the ground and I was standing. My arms were wrapped around his back, his arms wrapped tightly around my arms.
I laughed hysterically. I don't know why. I laughed and laughed.
"My boy, you're scaring me." my dad confessed as I continued my hysterics.
I still continued my laughing. I must have sounded insane.
"Tyler. Stop. Stop. It's scaring me"
I was unable to control it. The laughing hysterics continued.
Looking at my surroundings again, I noticed people looked either confused or concerned about the laughs coming from me.
I stopped suddenly. "We can't tell anyone." I whispered.
"But--" my dad started but I cut him off.
"We can't tell anyone." I said more loudly.
My dad released his hold on me, so I let him go as well. He grabbed my arms and crouched down to look me in the eye. His eyes were red and swollen and had a lot of hurt and panic in them.
"Ty, we have--"
"We can't tell anyone!" I shouted. "Not your wife! Not your son! Not your boss! Not your neighbors! Not your best friend! Not your parents! Not your psychiatrist! Not your priest! NO ONE!"
The look in his eyes and on his face was one of fear, or panic from my tone or what I was saying! I was even scaring myself. It seemed it wasn't me talking. But I knew it was me. Just me on autopilot.
"Son--" my dad started, but I interrupted again.
In one split second, I doubled over, right hand clutching my stomach, the other holding my knee for support. Vomit spewing out of my mouth onto the pavement of the intersection. My dad placed one hand on my forehead, the other on the back of my neck.
I'd vomited quite a bit. Quite a few heaves later, I spit the remnants out of my mouth. A woman pushing a baby stroller came with haste. She dug in her huge tote bag and pulled out a bottle of water for me.
"Are you okay, little guy?" the woman asked a heavy French accent as she handed me the bottle. I'd guess she was relatively new to the country.
"Oui, merci," I said breathlessly. (Yes, thank you.)
"Oh. Ătes-vous franĂ§ais?" the woman asked, still looking concerned. (Oh. Are you French?)
"No. Ma grand-mĂšre est franĂ§aise." (No. My grandmother is French.)
"Merci de votre gĂ©nĂ©rositĂ©." my dad said kindly to the woman. (Thank you for your generosity.)
"Vous devriez prĂȘter l'attention Ă la route plus soigneusement." the woman said sternly looking at my dad. (You should more carefully pay attention to the road.)
My dad looked a little hurt. I grabbed my dad's wrist and gave a gentle squeeze. He smiled at me.
"Listen you!" I growled at the woman, involuntarily going back to speaking English. "Who are you to talk down at people? Your child is out of his stroller and running in the streets!"
She looked. Her toddler-aged son was just a few feet from us walking away.
My dad grabbed me back into another hug as the woman got her son back in the stroller and pushed away. People slowly went back to their business.
"Are you alright, my boy?" my dad asked in whisper still holding me tight against him.
I found I was unable to speak. The scene was replaying in my head. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I could only nod my head.
"Ty. Talk to me. Are you okay?"
"I'm light-headed. Really light-headed," I hesitantly confessed,
I felt my dad's body tense at my confession.
"I should take you to--"
"NO! No. I'll be fine. It's probably just from spilling my guts out. Literally."
My dad accepted that. We got back in the car. People had now gone back to their business. We drove off. In silence. My right elbow resting on the door handle as I bit on the pinky finger. That is nervous habit of mine, chewing on a finger. Only when I'm nervous beyond belief.
So as we continued the drive home, I chewed on my little finger as I stared out the car window. My eyes burned furiously from the crying I didn't know I was doing. My heart raced for relief from the adrenaline still pumping. My brain was still frazzled with the idea of infinite sleep. I'd never thought about death before. But now, the only think on my mind was how happy Lenny was the last time I saw him. I'd given him birthday gift. That could have been the last time I ever saw his face. And that would have been okay because he was happy. He was beaming. He was over-joyed.
Out of nowhere, I tasted blood. Confused, I removed my little finger and used my tongue to check for cuts in my mouth. I didn't feel anything. I was about to continue biting on my finger when I noticed it was red, and dripping. Upon looking at it, I began to feel the slight pain the finger. My canine teeth had broken the skin, causing the finger to bleed in my mouth.
I got home and took a shower. I had dressed in black jeans and a white v-neck shirt. I changed my glasses from the wire frames to the thick black frames. I should probably mention that I was in a mood. A mood that was so not me. I wasn't in a grumpy mood. Nor was I in a pleasant mood. I was just kind of senseless. Unfeeling. Stupefied. I was also still light-headed.
Lenny's birthday party was going well so far. There were a lot of our classmates there. My parents had accompanied me, like they always do. I don't say that in a negative manner. My parents come over and Lenny's birthday and talk with the hosts as the party goes on. Lenny's parents do the same on my birthdays. We'd eaten pizza. Aunt Mags had made the pizza herself. After the pizza, we sang 'Happy Birthday' to Lenny and ate cake, pie and ice cream. Lenny opened his gifts. I didn't pay attention to the gifts. We were now watching a classic, 'The Goonies'. I should mention again that I've been light-headed since the intersection ordeal. That was about four hours ago that happened. Four hours of feeling really light-headed.
'Should I be worried at the length of the feeling?' I thought to myself. 'Nah.'
And I still was not in my normal mood. I was still feeling somber.
Sophie has been keeping her distance from me. But I have caught her looking. This girl just does not give up.
All of a sudden, a wave of heavy exhaustion came over me. I felt it all over. In every single muscle. And my vision became the slightest bit blurry, despite my vision correctors (glasses). I got up off the floor, weaving through the body of my peers who were watching the movie. I walked into the kitchen where Lenny was sitting with a bunch of boys laughing. Also in the kitchen were Mags, Nate, and my parents. Immediately, my dad looked worried. I walked up to Lenny.
"Hey, buddy. I'm not feeling so good. I'mma go lie down. I'm sorry and happy birthday," I said to Lenny in a toneless voice, my hand on his shoulder.
Lenny looked concerned also. "You okay, bud?" Lenny asked but I was already walking out the door.
The exhaustion was nearly enough to make me give up the very short walk next door to my house.
I walked into the kitchen. Curtis was there at fridge.
"Hey, Ty. Is the party already over?" Curtis asked, surprised I was home earlier than planned.
"No, it's not over," I responded lamely as I sat at the island.
"Oh. Are you doing okay?"
"Oh, yeah. I'm good. Don't worry."
With that Curtis left the kitchen, up the stair and into his bedroom. As soon as I heard his bedroom door close, I laid my head down on the countertop. The exhaustion was at an all-time high. It was very difficult to lift my head or my arms. I could feel my eyes drooping. I was fighting with all my strength to stay conscious. My dad appeared in front of me. He looked scared, panicked almost. His eyes becoming red as tears formed in them. He placed a hand on my shoulder and shook me.
"Ty!" he called. But my hearing was distorted, like there were glasses covering my hears. "Curtis! Curtis!"
Curtis came in running. He too looked horrified.
"What's wrong with him?" Curtis asked. My hearing becoming more distorted.
"I don't kn--"
That was the last thing I heard before blackness engulfed me.
To Be Continued...
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Questions, comments, and critiques are welcome, whether good or bad, and can be sent to
email@example.com (your email may be filed as Junk, so in the subject box, put the title of this story)