Date: Fri, 05 Mar 2004 19:46:21 -0500 From: A. Cheshire Cat Subject: Who Needs Bryan If you would like to comment on this tale, kierkegaard_is_cool@hotmail.com is how to reach me. I just whipped this up after a few months of writer's block and it took about 30 minutes, tell me what you think. Who Needs Bryan By A. Cheshire Catt March 5, 2004 I'll say I was about ten or so when this took place. Stereotypically, of course my mother was out of the picture; she was in a trailer park somewhere down south selling crack from her purse. My brother was gone too, always one step ahead of the law, warned never to come home I had a feeling I'd never see him again. My father and I lived in a small bungalow on a road by the river and the nearest neighbor were friends of his, their son came over from time to time to watch a movie or something with me. I was a scrawny little guy, all my bones showed, and I had a mop of brown hair that always seemed just a bit too long to be stylish. I didn't wear the best clothes, I didn't have the coolest toys, but I wasn't a nerd or anything, I was just a bit of a loner. Really, the kid down the road, the neighbor's son, Bryan, he was my only friend. I didn't care. I think my father worried though, I think he thought I was destined to be a creepy geek, always picked on and bullied for money. And oh yes, the topic of money, I mean, how did we live? My father worked for a small real estate firm in town, he wasn't rich, he wasn't one of the big wigs, nor did he actually ever sell houses. He lingered around the office all day, answering questions trying not to stick his neck out, and then he'd come home and make supper for me. He was good to me, I loved him, he loved me, and he gave me everything he could. A great sadness permeated our place though, like the shadows from the tall trees outside, always something damp and dark was lingering in our house. It was his boredom. I wouldn't truly appreciate his situation until I someday had a very dull job and had to go through the mundane rituals of everyday living with a sense of nausea. Our routine at home was simple. During the summer holidays, as it was at the time of this story, I just stayed at home all day and watched television, doing the odd jobs that my dad said I could handle. This was to earn my allowance. It wasn't much of an allowance but the nickels and dimes gave me the sense of freedom that as a young man I needed. When he'd come home I'd have made sure the house was clean and that his beer was ready for him. We watched the news and ate supper out of a box. After supper he'd say I could Bryan over and I'd call him, and if he was home he'd come, sure, my Dad was super cool in his opinion: because he smoked weed. Bryan often thought that simply sitting in the same room as the man smoking the joint was like smoking it himself. Dad never let me smoke it, I had no desire to smoke it, nor did he have any intention of giving it to Bryan, despite the young guy's curious, if not zealous staring. And we'd watch television for a while and then Dad would say, "That's it kids, I'm off to bed. Don't be too late going home Bryan." "Sure thing," Bryan would always say. He'd stay. We'd try to find something on television with a little bit of nudity and then drool over it in fantasies until finally boredom and time encountered us and sent him packing and me off to bed. Then, one night, things started to change. When Dad got home he seemed exhausted from the heat. He was distractedly shifting in his seat and avoiding eye contact with me. I asked him if there was anything wrong, over and over again, but the only thing I got from him eventually was more or less a command to bring Bryan over. I called up Bryan and he started coming over. Dad sat in his chair and complained about the heat. No, we hadn't gotten an air-conditioner. When it got hot in the depths of summer, the living room, our house, the area got entirely thick with humidity and it was almost unbearable. He started itching and I couldn't help but watch him. He seemed frustrated and finally removed his shirt and sat at the end of the couch, sort of lounging. I told him I'd get one of the fans from the bedroom. I was all about pleasing my father, I loved him most of all when he was happy, and when he was happy with me he would give me a little smile that said so much. When I arrived in the living room with fan in hand, he had stripped to his underwear, white jockeys. He was tan, he often went down to the beach to lay about in his thong and get a crimson tan, but outside it was something different than what it was in the living room: in the small hot room it seemed like he was revealing something to me. I plugged in the fan and the blades began purring and sighing and a breeze fell on his chest. He gasped, and the noise he made startled me and I jumped. He smiled that smile that I love. "Are you nervous, you seem all jumpy tonight little guy." "No, not really." He decided then to roll his joint. "I was so hot," he declared. "Are you better now?" "Almost." I have to say it was most curious "almost" I'd ever heard. Bryan came in then, without knocking as usual and upon noticing my father on the couch in his underwear he calmly said, "Wow, are you hot sir?" "Aren't you -- or do little boys not get hot?" Bryan was older than I was, he was probably about thirteen, be didn't need to be called a little boy anymore. He kind of laughed, but he couldn't take his eyes away from the pile of weed on the coffee table. I offered Bryan something to drink and got him a Coke in the same breath. When I got back he was sitting at the other end of the couch, which was so weird. He always lay on the floor with me, bellies down, butts wavering up in the air. I turned the channels and found some sitcom, probably the Cosby Show or something ridiculously ironic like that. I ignored my so-called friend and my father because I felt like they were only paying attention to each other. All I heard then was, "Do you want some?" "Sure." I rolled my eyes and felt like pouting, but I was being a man about it. I was, after all, a whole whopping ten. I listened to Bryan coughing and everything, laughing hysterically after only a puff. "You smoke like a pro little guy. Son, do you want some?" "No Dad." I couldn't believe he'd let himself stray from his routine so much in one night. What next I wondered? I sternly watched the television but I kept getting distracted by the banter of the hyper-chatter of one stoned Bryan. Dad kept telling him to calm down and just watch television, but it seemed that was the last thing he wanted to do. I was so angry with my father, I couldn't believe he'd ruined my night. Suddenly Bryan said, "I'm hot too. Can I take my clothes off like you?" "Uh, sure, just don't tell your mom or dad." "As if I'd tell them about this." He fought with his shirt, tugged off his pants, as if to be quickly the same as my father. I hated him now too. He sat there on the end of the couch and laughed at everything the television said to the point that I nearly snapped. I looked up once or twice when things went quiet to see Bryan staring at the television while tickling Dad's ankles. Dad was looking at Bryan in a weird way. The air was electric, but then it was calming down. "See, bud," my Dad suddenly said, and I looked at him, "that's why it's not as cool as he thought." I looked over at Bryan who'd fallen asleep in his underwear. Dad said he'd call Bryan's parents and tell them Bryan was spending the night. He told me to haul the kid into my room and put him under the covers and sleep with him in his bedroom, so as to avoid disturbing Bryan. I whined, but then I decided it would be fun, and his room was so much cooler than mine, so I got a little excited. In about twenty minutes I was standing in the door to my Dad's room. The house was dark and quiet, there was only the thick heat and the technical wheeze of the fan and a spray of cool moonlight across his white sheets. He said from the pillow, "Come on, don't be shy." I hopped across the room, rubbing my tired eyes, and climbed in. I could smell his cologne and the weed and the sweat from his lower body. He told me to take of my clothes because I would be too hot tonight. I hesitated. He laughed, "Don't make me take them off you." He didn't wait though, he grabbed at the wait line of my pjs and tugged them down. I laughed too because it tickled. He fought, I squirmed, and soon I was naked. He said, "Now, isn't that better." I sighed, yawned too. "I love you Dad." "I love you too Bud." He leaned over and kissed my forehead. I reached up and grabbed the hot, rough side of his jaw, and it all seemed so natural then, I can't even explain it, he just kissed me on the lips. I loved him and that's all there is to explain about it. He pulled away. He touched me then in my private spot, he grinned in the darkness, my little pecker had gotten hard like a knitting needle. In his hands, so big and hot and foreign to that part of me, I ached for something more. I bean grinding him like a cherubic demon, and he threw his arms around and pulled himself onto me. He told me to touch him like he had touched me. My small hand could barely grip his big cock, but I distinctly felt that it was all wet. Instinctively I licked it all off my hand. He started jerking his pole under the sheets, but being as curious as I was I threw the sheets off and stared at him pulling on his massive, dark, uncut meat. I went down to kiss it, he groaned. "Lick it boy." He stopped jerking himself and let me put tongue on it, it was super hot, I put my lips around the searing, juicy head and sucked. He cringed. "There's so much we can do together son, I love, I will show you what love is." "Who needs Bryan anyway?" "I love only you son, don't worry about it." He jerked his meat more and more while watching me copy him. I wasn't about to blow a load but that would only take about another eighteen months. When he came, it shot up into my face and went in my mouth. I jerked my cock for him like I was about to do the same. He told me to relax, hushing me, getting up to get a wash cloth and laughing a little. Then, once back in bed, he lay next to me and I felt safe and cool in the wild heat of that summer night.