K. J. Pedersen
“IESU, YOU’RE DRUNK,” I said.
“No, no,” he replied, wrapped his arms under my arms, around my chest, and leaned against me for support. “If I was drunk, would I do this?” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to my chin, and then let them brush up against my lower lip.
“I can taste the ale on your mouth.”
“Okay, so maybe we had too much to drink,” he said. “So? Just feel that breeze! Smell the ocean, Toby! Aren’t you glad you came?”
This was Iesu’s family vacation; he’d invited me to come with them! “Yes, glad ... very glad!” I said, and knew I was slurring my words. Who cared? He was right! The breeze, the ocean mist, the smells, hibiscus and.... Flowers. The scent of flowers. I couldn’t think of their names, but they were everywhere.
“Iesu,” I muttered and drew him nearer. “Iesu, my friend. My head — ”
“It’s spinning ... like mine.” He giggled. “Let’s walk this way.” He nearly tripped over his own feet. I steadied him. “Slower though. Huh?”
We were walking in the dark on the beach at Uætiti, on the island of O-a-u. From where I stood I could see the great black ridge which was called Ræ A-i. It was a volcanic crater, but from our vantage point it was like a sharp obsidian blade reaching out to the ocean. It was imposing; it was grandiose; it was beautiful. I felt so good, so free, and the sensation of my best friend’s body against mine as we walked made me feel all the better. We had on swimming shorts, no shirts, no sandals. The grains of sand between my toes felt so good.
I felt so good!
Though it was after midnight, there were other people on the beach tonight. There always were, Iesu told me. Some of them stared at us as we stumbled along with our arms about each other. Neither of us paid them much attention.
“Let’s go home,” Iesu said.
“Yeah,” I muttered pleasantly under the influence of the dark, strong ales, plum brandy, and a native drink made from the ‘aua root. Ta’aua — was that what they’d called it? It tasted like muddy water, and made my tongue swell, and there was this strange stinging sensation too.
“You’re such a flirt,” he said. “That pretty girl, that really, really sexy one with the long black hair. You were flirting with her so shamelessly, Toby. Shameless Toby.” He grabbed at my crotch.
I pushed Iesu’s hand away. He laughed, and I laughed with him. We walked across the street to the Uætiti Beach Apartments. We passed a few people, got a dirty look or two. We laughed again. He put his hand on my rear. Then he stuck his tongue out at them.
He pushed me through the front doors, into the lobby, and toward the elevator. When the elevator car reached the top floor, we ventured out into the hallway. This was his family’s apartment, the penthouse. It was one of their many homes. He searched clumsily through his pockets for the keys and let us inside.
“Ssshhh,” he whispered and pressed his fingers to my lips. “Ssshhh, my parents may still be up.” Then we made our way to his bedroom.
Once inside, he locked the door, flipped on the lamp on the bedside table, and flung himself onto the king-sized bed. I had shared this bed with him for the last two nights, but I knew tonight everything was different. The sexual tension between us, which we’d known right from our first meeting, was just too much. We would not just be sleeping tonight. No. Tonight was the night. We both knew it. I saw it in his eyes.
I dropped my shorts and stood before him in my briefs. He peeled off his own shorts. He grinned, tugged the waistband of his briefs down, showed me a tuft of his thick, curly black pubic hair. Neither of us said a word. My heart was racing. His chest rose and fell rapidly.
Slowly, I climbed up onto the bed, straddled his chest between my thighs, and leaned forward. I placed my hands on his shoulders and gazed into his beautiful dark brown eyes. He had thick, dark lashes. God, he was so good-looking: He had a thick mop of curly black hair that came almost to his shoulders, a fine nose, high cheekbones, a strong chin and jawline. A playful, innocent smile appeared on those full, sensuous lips. Iesu’s forefathers were Iberian and he had their good Mediterranean features and their dark, olive-colored complexions. I could see too that he counted the Temixæ, one of the many aboriginal peoples of Iberia Nova, among his ancestors. He was exotic ... beautiful.
For sixteen, he had a very nice build, though he was really quite short, 5' 6" at the most. He had a well defined chest and stomach. I rubbed his pectoral muscles, brushed the heels of my hands across his nipples, rubbed him again, harder, more deliberately. Then I leaned forward, pressed my lips to his, felt his tongue on my lips. We opened our mouths to each other. I enjoyed the slippery smoothness of being inside of his mouth with my tongue, and the sharp taste of alcohol just under the nearly tasteless flavor of his saliva.
His hands tangled in my hair. “I love your mane, Toby,” he whispered against my lips. “The color of gold.” His kissed my chin. “And soft.” He kissed my throat. “Deus — ay!” he moaned as I pressed my crotch into his, and grabbed a fistful of his thick mane as well.
We laid like that, me on top of him for a long moment, kissing, thrusting our crotches together. Then he said, “Get off for a second.”
I rolled off, sat up, and watched as he pushed down his underpants. He wadded them up and tossed them at me. I dodged. “Nice, Iesu ... very nice.” I’d never seen his cock before, much less hard. It was thick, average length, and dark. I couldn’t help it — I reached for it, pushed the copious foreskin back from the head. It too was dark, but still pink-brown. I rubbed my thumb over its silky-smooth surface and touched the tip, the opening.
He drew in a sharp breath and shuddered visibly. The pleasure of it was written large on his face. Then, a moment later, after he’d recovered, he said,“Your underwear — take them off.”
“Okay,” I said and hooked my thumbs under the waistband and tugged them down and off.
He laughed “They’re blond! God, you fucking Anglo-Scandian boys are always blond right down to your pubic hair!” He grabbed me — much rougher than I expected — and stroked my cock with one hand, pushed back my foreskin, and with his other hand, tugged at my pubic hair.
“Oh, you like it rough, do you, Iesu?” I knelt it front of him, pushed his legs apart, put my hands on the insides of his thighs, and pushed harder.
He moaned: “Ay, ay. Toby — ay!”
I grabbed his hips and moved them up and towards me so his buttocks were resting on my knees. He put his legs around my waist. Then I pressed my cock to his, wrapped my fist around both of our cocks, and stroked it, once, twice, harder, harder, then eased myself down upon him again, until my chest was on his. I kissed him.
The difference between his height and mine brought about some difficulty as I tried to make a perfect fit — his crotch with mine — and worked for a steady rhythm. My shoulder kept hitting his chin because I was taller. He laughed because it was awkward, but exciting.
He grabbed my ass with both hands and my hands went instinctively to his waist. And then, suddenly, it was all right, the rhythm between us was perfect, and I couldn’t help it — I came.
I collapsed on top of him.
A moment later, I lifted myself again to look at Iesu, only it wasn’t Iesu at all....
* * *
I jerked upright in bed. My cock was so hard it hurt. I reached under my briefs and gave my erection a tight squeeze in an attempt to tame it. Fuck! I thought. Dreams are so fucking weird! It was such a perfect dream too, such a perfect reliving of my first time with Iesu. So why did it change, why was it Wulfric underneath me then when I came?
Yes, yes, I knew what it meant — I was falling in love with Wulfric. There was no doubt about it. The problem was, of course, that I didn’t know how Wulfric felt about me. I’d never tested the waters so to say. Wrestling with him, wrapping my arm around his shoulders, passing joints and flasks of wine back and forth, they were all things best friends did together. It meant little where Eros was concerned. Even when we’d watch a movie at his house and would lay on the floor together in front of the television, when he’d lay his head on my chest so we made a T, it didn’t mean anything more than he enjoyed my company and friendship. Still, in the back of my mind, I kept hoping there was something more to it.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, yawned and stretched.
This wasn’t the first time I’d dreamt of Iesu since moving from Suth Lancascir to North Lancascir. Sometimes the dreams were erotic, but not always. I missed Mamescaester, the slightly warmer weather, the cleanliness of the bay there — compared to Niew Lifrapol Bay, even the Liberian Dead Sea, seven hundred miles inland, was crystal clear — but more than anything I missed Iesu; I missed our friendship; I missed having him as a boyfriend.
I missed having a boyfriend, period!
My hand automatically went to the golden cross he’d given me that summer at the end of our vacation and I clenched it tightly. I slept with it on ... the only times I ever took it off was when I showered. I don’t know precisely why he’d given me a cross neck-chain. Perhaps it was charm, a talisman, and had something to do with an ancient Western Orthodox tradition that persisted within the now unified Church of Jesucristus. I didn’t know as I was familiar, truly, only with the Northern Orthodox tradition and its peculiarities. I doubted it though. More likely it had to do with Iberian culture, and was somehow only nominally religious, like bestowing upon a child the name Iesu, for Our Lord. Whatever it meant, I took it for what it was, a gift, and perhaps a symbol of Brotherhood.
My family was lower-middle class while the Iesu’s family was upper-class, so one might wonder why he’d would even give me the time of day, much less make me his friend. Well, let me just say that raw sexual attraction transcends class boundaries. And at sixteen, sexual desire is everything.
Iesu Flavius Michaelangeli filius Ramirus — that was his proper Latin name. His was an old, aristocratic family. The Ramirus clan originally came from Iberia to Terra Nova — the New World — in the 16th Century. They were among the landed gentry in Andalusia, back in the Old World, and they established themselves very well in the New. In fact, his family was known for producing senators, proconsuls, industrialists, military officers, and his grandfather, Gaius, who had served two terms in the Senate of Iberia Nova, was presently that republic’s ambassador to the Terran Republic. Iesu’s family — his father and mother, that is — owned property all over Terra Nova and Pacifica: A penthouse in the heart of the Iberia Nova’s capital city, Temixtitlan; the estate in Mamescaester; another in Corpus Christi; that awesome penthouse apartment in Liberian Polynesia, at Uætiti, O-a-u; among others. I was familiar with these luxury homes because Iesu had invited me along on their two month-long summer vacation when we were sixteen. It was amazing. Regardless of the fact that Iesu and family were citizens of Iberia Nova, they lived most of the year in Mamescaester because that was where the Ramirus-Æscforde Capital Group had its headquarters. Michaelangelus, Iesu’s father, sat on the Board of Directors.
Click, click ... click, click ... click, click....
My bedroom was downstairs and I could hear my mum’s footsteps directly above in the kitchen. She was wearing high heels from the sound of it. I was running late, as usual, and knew if I didn’t get showered and dressed in a hurry, she’d be coming down the stairs soon to inform me of just how late I was. Besides, I had promised to pick Kalli up this morning.
I got out of bed, dragged myself into the shower, soaped up good, washed my hair, and all the while, I thought about Iesu, Wulfric, the dream, and what Wulfric had said the night before.
He’d asked if I loved Kalli. Yes. Truly. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the kind of love Kalli wanted, needed. Our relationship had an erotic side to it, but it wasn’t sexual. I wasn’t bisexual like so many other guys were. No, I was gay. It was wrong of me to lead Kalli along like I was. We were together one moment and off the next. Our relationship was complicated. Enough was enough, and I decided to tell Kalli we were through, that I hoped we could remain friends, but that it was time to let this whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing pass.
I pulled on a pair of ratty jeans (I like a soft, broken-in pair), a T-shirt, my socks and shoes, and tied my hair back with a cord. Then I grabbed my computer pad, a light jacket, and bound up the stairs. My mother was in the kitchen. She was eating scrambled eggs and toast.
“Do you have a headache this morning, Thomas?” she said. It was such a pointed comment. Usually my mother was anything but sarcastic.
“No, mum, I’m fine.”
“Well, for a seventeen-year-old boy, you handle your wine very well.”
My parents were still up when I finally stumbled home the night before. It was after eleven or so. Wulfric said they’d smell the wine, and they did. And they hit the ceiling!
“Yeah, mum. Thanks for the compliment,” I replied in the same sarcastic manner.
“Thomas, you’re too young to drink.”
My mother always called me by my proper name — Thomas — when she had something serious in mind. How my parents ever got Toby from Thomas, I’ll never know, but they insisted it was every bit as legitimate a diminutive as Tommy.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “We talked about this last night.”
“Well, if you call your tirade talking, I suppose that’s true.”
“Mum.... Mum, I’ve got to go. I’m late.”
“Ever since we left Mamescaester, Toby, you’ve been a rebellious little monster.”
“A little monster, huh? Oh, thanks so much, and I am so sorry.”
“Don’t take that tone of voice with me, young fellow.”
“Mum — ”
“You’ve always been a free spirit, but you’ve got to settle down. Your school career is a mess. Your grades are falling. And I don’t know what’s happening between you and Kalli. One moment your together, the next your not.” She looked me in the eyes. “Whatever is going on between you two, maybe you should slow down. You do not need to become a father at seventeen. I know what it’s like to be young and pregnant. It’s not fun, and its not easy.”
I felt like saying: I’m sorry father knocked you up right out of school — and here I am, thank you — but that’s not going to be happening with Kalli. We’re not having sex. And I’m GAY! Of course, I didn’t say that at all. In fact, I kicked myself mentally for even thinking it. That my mother became pregnant with me when she was only eighteen was a sore spot, I knew. And especially so with my father. He resented me. As for my sexual preference, I didn’t need it known because my parents might have trouble accepting it. And besides that, frankly, I didn’t need the shit kicked out of me by bisexual hypocrites like Markus Eiriksson, who fucked around with his teammates, but tossed the term “boy-fucker” around carelessly, and with such obvious contempt.
“Mum, there’s no need to worry: Kalli and I are not having sex.”
With those words it seemed a thousand pounds dropped from her shoulders.
Quickly, I moved in, gave her a quick kiss on cheek, and said, “I love you, mum. I’ve got to go. I’m late. I promised to pick Kalli up and she is going to be pissed if I’m not over there fast!”
* * *
Kalli Komensky lived in an apartment complex on the north end of my neighborhood, right on the main thoroughfare, 45th Street. The apartments were fairly nice, but older. Like most of the houses in my neighborhood, they were remnants of a more egalitarian age. She was standing in front of the buildings when I drove up.
I got out of the car, walked toward her, and naturally — I couldn’t help myself — reached out to take her in my arms. “Sorry I’m late, girl.”
She smiled. “What else is new, boy?” She always said she hated it when I called her girl, so she called me boy. Truth be told, I think she actually liked it.
See, I have wandering hands, and they wound up on her bottom. I gave her a gentle squeeze. She had a nice, firm, round ass. Yeah, I definitely enjoyed getting a handful now and again. “Let’s go.”
“Lead the way, Herra Beorcleah.”
I opened the passenger side door for her, then I went around the other side, and slid in behind the steering wheel. I turned and looked at Kalli for a moment. She was a pretty thing, with curly, coppery-blonde hair, amazing, expressive green eyes, the most pleasant, gentle smile, beautiful lips. She was gorgeous, and I’m surprised she wasn’t a lot more popular than she was.
Dating me though, I’d discovered, had somehow tarnished her reputation, and she’d had a falling out with her friends because of it. Two of the most popular girls at Sceofeld Academy, Lindi Nordkvist and Ama Winricsdohtor, used to be Kalli’s best friends. Well, I wasn’t completely to blame, for Kalli too was a free spirit, and she wasn’t shy about the fact. She had libertarian social and political views, very much contrary to the mainstream in Sceofeld, and it branded her as a outsider. Just as it had with me. Don’t make waves and all is well! If you do, you’re fucked.
I wondered how long it would be before it all caught up with Lukas Grundtvigsson. His father and his fellow Libertarian Workers were making massive waves. Sooner or later, I knew, despite Lukas’ athletic prowess, it was going to bite him on the ass.
Fuck, why should I care? Lukas dropped me as friend when he realized we didn’t have too much in common because I liked to compose music, and play the piano and guitar, and because I liked to sing, and write lyrics, and short stories. Man, that hurt. Bad. And even though he was still friendly with me when we’d pass in the halls, or even during our class together in the gymnasium, I felt betrayed.
All the while, as Kalli and I were together driving toward the academy, I kept thinking: How am I going to tell her we should break up for good? It was a short drive, and in the end, I ducked out; I didn’t tell her at all.
What if she wanted an explanation?
How would I explain that yes, she was beautiful, and sexy, and I loved her, but I didn’t want a girlfriend at all?
Sorry, Kalli, I want — I need — a boyfriend!
Yeah, that would go over just great.
To be continued....
* * *
I would like to thank all those who have sent me e-mail. Your comments are greatly appreciated. Thanks for the encouragement. — K. J. Pedersen