By John Yager
This is the fourteenth chapter of an ongoing series. I sincerely appreciate all the correspondence this story has prompted. Thank you for your encouragement, suggestions and criticism. This is the most serious series I have attempted and many readers have told me it is the most serious and most issue-oriented story they have encountered on NIFTY or any other similar site.
My objective in this series is to address the major issues which have impacted and influenced the lives of gay people in the period between the 1960s and the present time.
This story is written in fictional form. The story is raising many more questions than it is supplying answers and I certainly make no claim to know the answers. It is my hope that by raising the questions I may prompt a more balanced dialog.
Andrew continues to provide much needed proofing and editorial help, for which I am sincerely grateful.
This is a work of fiction and in no way draws on the lives of any specific person or persons. Any similarity to actual persons or events is entirely coincidental. This is a work of gay erotic fiction. If you should not be reading such material or if such material is not to your liking, please exit now.
This work is copyrighted © by the author and may not be reproduced in any form without the specific written permission of the author. It is assigned to the Nifty Archives under the terms of their submission agreement but it may not be copied or archived on any other site without the written permission of the author.
All the stories I have posted on NIFTY can be found by looking under my name in the NIFTY Prolific Authors lists.
If you wish to receive e-mail notification of subsequent postings, please let me know by sending your request to the e-mail address below.
From that Christmas night forward, my relationship with Rick took a on new quality. The only word I can think of to describe it is tenderness.
We had always been easy together, always easy going, never rough. It was an odd thing, in retrospect, for two young jocks, whose bodies had been honed and developed, who had been trained to compete, who'd been conditioned to a combative sport like football. Yet, from the beginning, our sexual relationship had never been forceful.
But from that Christmas night on there had been something more. If we'd been told it was love we would have resisted the idea. I think the idea of love, of my love for Rick and Rick's love for me, was a concept we would not have been able to accept. But the truth is, we had fallen in love, even if we were afraid of the word. The difference in our relationship, in our sex, as I saw it at least, was more easily expressed as tenderness. I felt tender toward Rick. I worried about him, feared for him and what life held in store for him. I worried about his emotional state and his physical safety. In every aspect of my relationship with him the single word I kept coming back to was tenderness.
I was sure Rick would have even been uncomfortable with that word, with the concept of tenderness between us, between two growing boys, two young men. He would probably have resisted the word, but it is the only word which described my feelings toward him and his actions and attitude toward me.
It was a slow process which took two or three more months, but by the end of the school year we were able to say to one another, and in complete privacy, that we really did love one another.
As winter continued and slowly turned into spring, our senior year at Spring River High School progressed toward its inevitable conclusion. When we were alone and even when we were with others, Rick was always tender toward me. In the middle of a party or on a double date with the girls, I would see him looking at me with a slight smile on his handsome face. At times he reminded me of a besotted puppy, a moonstruck lover. I'm sure I looked at him with the same soulful glances. How could others not see it?
Joyce, always wise, always perceptive, did see it but, so far as I knew, she was the only one. She teased me gently and scolded me in private. She reminded me how important it was for us to be careful.
"Think of Rick, if you must, when you look at me," she said one night when I was taking her home after the four of us, she and I and Rick and Deb, had been out together. "When other people are around it is safer if you moon over me than over him, Rob. Those looks you give him, or worse, the looks he gives you, will give the whole show away."
Another time when she and I were walking alone, holding hands, as befitted our status as boyfriend and girlfriend, she said, out of the blue, "do you think Deb knows?" She didn't explain her question and no explanation was necessary. I knew what she meant and the query struck fear in my soul.
Our lives went on. Spring came slowly and with a few setbacks. The weather one week would be wonderful. The next would be cold and wet. Joyce and I were preoccupied with classes and study and with preparation for university the following fall. If Rick and Deb were also looking toward the future, it was to their marriage, she with anticipation and he with dread.
Rick and I ran track. After the regular training, we lifted weights together and watched as our bodies became more defined, more honed. We told ourselves that we were getting in shape for college football in the fall. I expected to be playing on the freshman team at Ole Miss. There was still no assurance that Rick and Deb would be going on to Starkville as he hoped.
Rick and I continued to drop in on Ted Tucker, usually seeing him late on Wednesday afternoons.
Christmas time had been significant for Ted as well as for Rick and me. He'd been with his family and missed the worst of the ice storm in Spring River. The week after Christmas, before he'd come back to resume his duties at the church, he'd been able to drive to Jackson to see Trent, his former roommate at Ole Miss, who was then in his first year of medical school.
Even after the worst of the ice storm had past and the roads were officially reopened, Ted had found it was a very slow and very hard trip. But he felt he had to see Trent and knew if he didn't get down then it would be several months before he would have time again.
He didn't tell us much about their reunion, but it was clear from his buoyant mood that it had gone well. They were both able to say the things that needed to be said, including the expressions of love which had frightened them before. Now, for Ted, the issue was what to do about his new awareness of his sexual nature. They had agreed that, if at all possible, they wanted to eventually be together as a couple. They knew that would present huge obstacles, especially for Ted and his desire to go on to seminary and ordination. They had decided that for the time being, at least, and possibly for much longer, their love for one another would have to remain a secret. No one else at the church or in Spring River, beside Rick and me, knew a thing and we assured Ted that we'd keep his secret, just as he kept ours.
"The bishop would never let me go on to seminary if he knew," Ted had told us at our first meeting after Christmas. "I have a feeling that both he and our rector here would be privately supportive, but neither of them would go against church policy and that could only lead to my being politely asked to seek another career. I guess it's best, for now, anyway, not to burden them with my situation. I'll just keep quiet, even though I feel very uncomfortable about it."
During that same conversation Ted perceived that something had changed between Rick and me.
"Did something happen between you two over Christmas?" he asked with a knowing smile on his face.
Rick and I looked at each other and smiled back. "Yeah," Rick said softly and left it at that. Ted didn't ask any further questions and we didn't offer any further explanations.
By the middle of March the weather had begun to show clear signs of spring. The devastation of the Christmas ice storm was slowly disappearing as fallen trees were removed and houses repaired. Budding tress covered the scars and, most important for us, the end of the school year was in sight.
Rick and I made plans for a weekend alone at his uncle's cabin. We expected to drive out after school on the last Friday in March and not come back to town until Sunday afternoon. But then on Thursday the weather again turned wet and cold and it felt like February again. We had to postpone our trip.
By the middle of the following week the weather had turned spring-like once more and that Friday, the first weekend in April, we finally pulled out in the old Ford pickup for two days at the cabin.
It was a wonderful weekend, one I will always remember. We walked along the river banks and talked for hours. Back at the cabin we ate and talked and then snuggled in bed by the light of the fireplace. We made slow, gentle love, just lying for hours in each other's arms, touching and kissing.
Late on Friday night, the fire had died down to a glowing bed of coals and the moonlight was angling in through the window, making our bodies shimmer like silver.
Rick raised up on one elbow, resting his head in the palm of his hand, and looked down at me. We remained speechless like that for some time, Rick just looking at me, his eyes slowly roaming over my nakedness, as I stared up into his remarkable face.
Finally, Rick broke the silence. "You know I care for you," he whispered.
"Yes," I said, wanting to replace `care' with `love,' but suspected he wasn't ready for that yet. I later learned that he had come to terms with our feelings for one another to an even greater degree than I had.
"I really care, Rob."
"I know." I ran my finger tips along the curve of his jaw and then let the softest touch of my finger tips linger over his lips. "I feel the same."
"We've always made love the same way, Rob. The way you know I like."
"Yes, I know. Do you want me to fuck you now?"
"Yes, I always want that, but I sort of wondered..."
"Would you want me to fuck you?"
I had always wanted that, or at least been curious about it. Up till then we had sucked each other many times, singly and together in the old `seventy-minus one.' We had begun having anal intercourse almost from the beginning but until then I had always been the active partner, Rick the passive one, as he'd always desired.
"I think I would like it. At least, I want to try."
Rick rolled away from me and off the bed. Naked in the moonlight he looked like some sort of pagan god, a god of passion and procreation. His body was beautiful and I was suddenly filled with a growing desire to feel him in me. In less than a minute he was back with the familiar jar of petroleum jelly, the one we had used on previous visits to the cabin. For the first time I wondered why it was there. Had Rick's uncle left it? If so, for what purpose? Did he bring someone out here as well, a woman, or another man? No, I continued to think, there are other reasons for such stuff.
I was lying on my back and Rick sat beside me on the edge of the bed. He began to stroke my stomach and chest, lovingly running his hands over my body, willing me to relax. As his hand reached my hard cock and began slowly to stroke it, he leaned over me and kissed me gently on the lips. Our mouths opened and we began to explore each other's familiar mouth. It occurred to me as I gently sucked his tongue while stroking it with my own, that I loved having him in me that way and would surely love having his cock in my ass as much, if not more, even though the thought of it was still rather frightening.
As we continued to kiss, Rick moved around so he was lying beside me. Then he reached down and moved my legs apart. He rose up and knelt between my legs and then lay forward on me, pressing his groin against mine and his chest against my chest. I brought my arms around him and twined my legs over his. His always warm body radiated such tenderness to me, filling me with desire for more and more of him.
After a few minutes of such loving intimacy, Rick rose up and knelt again between my legs. He lifted my legs onto his shoulders, exposing my ass to his view and touch. With his fingers liberally coated with the lubricant, he stroked the puckered bud of my ass, circling it, massaging it, at first with no attempt to press in, then gradually pressing in just a little, only to withdraw. It wasn't long before I was begging for more.
"Please, Rick, at least put a finger in me," I moaned.
"I will, fellow, just let me take it slow."
"Hey, I want you to enjoy this and I want to enjoy it, too. It isn't often I get a chance to fuck a virgin ass." He grinned at me, keeping his eyes locked on my eyes as he slowly pressed his index finger into me, extending it and then rotating it, coating my channel with the lube.
My moans were constant now. I'd fingered my own ass a few times, wondering what this would be like. Now I could only wonder why I had taken so long to get here. One reason, of course, was that Rick so enjoyed being fucked that he had never before suggested that he should fuck me.
Another reason was my own hesitancy, and it was disappearing very quickly as Rick worked the lube with leisurely, gentle strokes into my hole.
He'd worked his finger deep into me when suddenly he hit a spot which sent me reeling. It was like a powerful electric shock, not painful, but pleasant. Pleasant? No, wonderful, amazing!
"Oh, Rick," I managed to say.
"Yeah, I know. I'm touching your prostate."
"I can't believe how wonderful it feels."
"It'll be even better when I get my dick in there."
I was moaning as he withdrew and, as I expected, reentered with two fingers. He proceeded with such gentleness and slowness that I had more than ample time to adjust to each new phase of the process. Eventually, when he had been slowly twisting his hand with three fingers extended into me, he pulled back and I knew the moment had come.
Rick adjusted my legs, which were still lying limply over his shoulders, and brought his cock to my well lubed ass. He applied a generous glob of the stuff to the dripping head of his cock and then stroked it down the length until it glistened in the soft light.
"You ready, Buddy?" he said, his voice not much louder than a whisper.
"Yeah, just go slow." I knew I didn't need to say that.
He placed the head of his cock against my pulsing ass and slowly moved forward. I felt the pressure and then the pain. My muscles were clamped tight, resisting the invasion, the intrusion of his manhood into me, the loss of my virginity.
"I'm waiting," he said.
We stayed like that, my knees now bunched against my shoulders, the slight pressure of his cock against my ass. Slowly, very slowly, I felt my muscles relax.
He moved forward again and a fierce pain shot through my buttocks, moving up to my stomach and then to my chest.
Was it worth this? I wondered if I could do it. I wondered how Rick could take my cock so easily, how he could enjoy it so much.
Again, the wave of discomfort was gradually followed by a further wave of relaxation as I felt the head of his cock now wedged just slightly in me, not yet fully in, not yet through the stubborn ring of muscle which resisted with all its strength. Then, again, I felt myself loosen and very slowly he moved in. This time the head of his cock got just past the ring of my sphincter before another wave of discomfort hit me. Without a word on my part, Rick stopped and held still, just maintaining his position, just barely in me.
Then, as my muscles relaxed again, he moved in. With the wider head of his cock now in me, the more slender shaft moved easily in. Slowly, easily, he moved into me until I felt the hair of his crotch push against the widespread crack of my buttocks and I knew he was fully in.
Rick brought his body down onto mine. The feeling of his warm body, now not only resting on me, but in me, was amazing. I wrapped my arms around him, stroking his muscular back as my legs instinctively moved to encircle his hips.
"Oh, Rick." It was a moan, a sigh.
"Yeah, Rob, I know."
It was several more minutes before he began to move, and by that point I was ready for him. He began to move slowly, gently, in and out. The flair of his cock head sent chills through my body every time it rubbed across my prostate.
"Harder," I whispered, wanting more.
He speeded up, moving in with both speed and force, increasing the speed, increasing the strength of each thrust.
He was pounding into me now, his body driving into me, his cock hammering into my ass with increasing urgency.
"Yeah, Rick, harder. Fuck me harder."
I was bucking my hips up to meet his downward strikes, my body responding now and I was lost in the primal rhythm.
"Yeah, Rick, yeah." My voice had become a growl. It was guttural and bestial. I was lost in it, in the passion, the lust, the sheer joy of giving myself to him.
My mouth came forward and closed over the hard ridge of his shoulder, not gently but harshly, biting into the hard muscle, marking him.
Rick was moving like a raging bull, his cock slamming into me, his body colliding with mine. Sweat was pouring off us, making our stomachs and chests slick, our chests moving against each other, hard now, pounding now, moving with the hard, fully flexed muscles of two demanding males, not stopping until our bodies reached their goals.
I felt a shudder move through Rick as I gripped his buttocks, trying to pull more of him into me. My own body responded and our climax began. I was groaning now, a constant demand for more, for harder, faster, always more of him.
Rick was trying to rise up a little, his back arcing as he tried to pull his chest away from mine.
"No," I groaned, not willing to relinquish any part of him. My arms slid up to grasp him, hold him.
I felt his cock expand in me as my own began to erupt into the tight, hot, wet place between his belly and mine.
My growls became a hiss, a long release, giving voice to what my body felt as my seed shot forth and his seed shot into me.
I felt Rick slump on me, the full weight of his powerful body now resting on me, pressing me down in to the damp sheets and the yielding bed.
"Oh, Rick," I moaned, "oh, Rick."
"I know, man," he whispered, his lips against my ear. "I love you, Rob."
All that was Friday night. We slept in each other's arms, slept late on Saturday morning, not waking until the sun warmed us and forced us from our still damp bed. We ate and swam, and had slow, easy sex, reveling in each other, in our youth and manhood, in the joys of our hard, honed bodies and in the newly admitted fact of our love.
Saturday night we reversed our roles, with me assuming my usual position and Rick submitting his beautiful body to my demands.
What he'd said in the height of our passion on Friday night was said again and again, in cooler moments and in the ebb and flow of lust. We loved one another. We could say it now. We repeated the words like a mantra, a charm. We told ourselves and each other. What was new became established, what had been tacit, became accepted fact. I loved Rick and, by some amazing quirk of fate, Rick loved me!
Late on Sunday afternoon, as we drove, sated and reluctantly back into town, we heard over the crackling, static of the truck's old AM radio, the first we'd known of riots in Los Angeles and Washington, DC. At first the reasons were unclear, but just as we got to the edge of town we were stopped at a police road block and learned the awful truth.
"What's going on, officer?" Rick had asked.
"Nothing much here, but you boys just better get on home."
"Why, sir? What's going on."
"Where you been, boy?" the officer said. "That black fellow, Martin Luther King, he went and got his self shot in Memphis."
To be continued.