following story is a fictional account of two young teenage boys who fall in
love. There are references to gay sex and some graphic descriptions of sex
between teenage boys, and anyone who is uncomfortable with this should
obviously not be reading it. Also, if you are underage or if it is illegal to
read stories involving sex between minors where you live, do not do so.
This story takes place approximately
a century in the future. It is pure science fiction and the author neither
endorses nor decries some of the purported societal changes that will take
place, particularly with respect to the use of cybernetic implants. The author
is well aware of the controversies involved in some of the positions taken by
the Catholic Church with respect to homosexuality, gay marriage and the gender
and celibacy of the priesthood, and the mere idea that some of these positions
might be reversed by the Vatican over the course of the next century should be
taken as pure conjecture and nothing more. The author retains full copyright of
It was a chilly October day and the wind was blowing from the
northeast at 8.73 miles per hour, with occasional gusts up to 12.36 mph. The
ball was near the opposing team's forty-yard line, with exactly 38.89 yards to
go to goal. It was our fourth down, with only 2.71 yards to go to down and I
was going to try for it. What choice did we have? With a strong headwind, we
were just a little too far from our comfort zone for making a field goal. We
were losing, 13 to 28, and the last thing Coach wanted to do was to turn the
ball over to the opposing team with plenty of time till the end of the first
half - two minutes, 37 seconds, to be exact.
All we had to do was to break through their line and gain three
fucking yards. Hell, anyone could do that and I was sure with my best friend,
Jake, at my side, we could easily do
it. It all depended on the guys on the line to create a hole big enough for me
to plow through. The plan was simple - I'd fake a handoff to Jake, tuck the
ball tightly against my body and wait for my opening. Our backup plan was a
pass to Frank, but my pass completion rate was not my strong suit and Coach
didn't want to take a chance.
The only reason I'd made quarterback on the freshman team was my
uncanny ability to sneak through in unbelievably tight situations. Of course
the opposing team knew this, but with
my best friend Jake on my right, and with Tony Williams on my left, they never
knew who to target. Together we were an amazing triumvirate - the Three
Musketeers, they called us - and no matter how focused their players were, they
could never get a lock on the ball. At least two of us would get through their
defensive line. With any luck, one of us would have the ball. For this play,
that would be me. Once through their line, all three of us could outrun just
I stood in position, ready to
grab the ball. It was only 48.65 degrees Fahrenheit where I stood, so my hands
were freezing and my ears felt cold, even with my helmet protecting me from the
chilly breeze. I confidently called out our prearranged signals and Brad
Sampson snapped the ball back into my waiting hands. I quickly darted to the
right, turning my body just enough to keep the ball out of sight of the
opposing team's watchful eyes as Jake and I passed by each other, heading in
opposite directions. I moved my arms as convincingly as I could to make it look
like I had handed the ball to him, even as I clutched the ball tightly to my
chest and continued my run to the right.
I stood back a moment and
fixed my gaze on Jake, making it look as convincing as possible that I was
watching my friend advance with the ball. Suddenly, a light flashed in my field
of view, indicating a place where our offensive line had opened up a hole for
me. I quickly darted through the hole and started my run for the goal. At first
my path was completely unobstructed and our opponents piled on top of Jake. Our
fake had worked! I knew we had our first down, but I badly wanted to score a
touchdown - my first of the game.
As I crossed the twenty yard
line, a warning beep suddenly brought my attention to a threat from the left. A
quick glance in that direction showed a guy barreling toward me at surprising
speed - 8.27 miles per hour with a perfect vector to push me out of bounds. I
had seconds to react.
I quickly darted to the left, in his direction, pouring on the speed
and using everything I had to shift my momentum away from his intercept course.
He looked big for a freshman, weighing an estimated 203.47 pounds, according to
my implants, and my best bet was to take advantage of his heavier weight and
the resulting higher momentum. Weighing only 143 pounds myself, I often took
advantage of my lighter weight to make rapid changes in direction. My leg
muscles were powerful and lightning fast.
The other player, identified
as Brian Watson by my implants, tried to change direction, but his body weight
betrayed him and I handily passed behind him and then resumed my relentless push toward our end zone. I felt his arms
brush against my side, but sensed he lost his balance and fell before he could
redirect his run to catch me. I sprinted right into the end zone for the score.
Modifying our kick to compensate for the wind direction as indicated by my
implants, we easily got the extra point, bringing the score to 20 to 28.
But who was Brian Watson, and why hadn't I noticed him earlier in the game?
We had no data on him before, so he must have been a new addition to his team.
One thing was certain - I was going to keep an eye on his position from now
on. He wasn't going to get another shot at bringing me down . . . that's for
A few bungled passes by the
other team and we had possession again. Just as I was completing one of my
perfect lateral passes to Tony, a sudden `outta-the-fuck-of-nowhere' warning
signal popped up that Brian Watson had gotten between me and Tony, and was on
an intercept course with the ball. It was too late to do much about it, but I
was royally pissed. Turnovers are a bitch.
Racing down the field, he had
a hell of a head start on me, but I was faster and could catch up with him
before he reached our end zone. My role might be offense, but in football, you
do what you have to do to win. The problem was that he was so much heavier than
me and I could never hope to bring him down or knock him out of bounds in time.
My implants calculated my best
intercept course and I poured on the speed, with fresh data appearing in my
field of view, several times a second. When I got close enough, I lunged
forward, reaching around his powerful legs and latching onto them. He hadn't
seen me and clearly wasn't expecting it, so my play worked and he lost his
balance, falling forward and losing control of the ball. I looked up in time to
see the ball tumbling toward our end zone and leapt up instantly, scooping the
ball into my hands before it crossed the line.
Instantly, my body shifted
gear as I tucked the ball under me and started the run back toward their end
zone. Turnovers are great!
My field of view was filled
with data on the positions and vectors of the opposing team's players, helping
me to plot a course that steered clear of most of them. I reached their
twenty-six yard line before the density of opposing players became too great to
out maneuver them, and I was brought down. There were only 27.38 seconds on the
clock, so we opted for the field goal, which was a piece of cake from this
distance. That made the score 23 to 28 in their favor, and we were back in the
The clock ran out shortly
after the last kick-off, and the first half was over. We retreated back to the
locker room and Coach began our usual half-time debriefing. With data we
uploaded to him from our implants, he showed us, play by play, the mistakes
we'd made and the supposed mistakes our opponents had made. There was nothing
unusual about this. No one ever held back any data, and Coach never pushed us
to upload anything more than we were comfortable sharing. The data privacy act
of 2086 forbid him to take anything from us without our consent, and as young
as we were, all of our implants had been designed from the beginning to comply
with the law, such that data could only be extracted without our consent under
Suddenly, Coach asked me,
"Lawson, what do you think of that new fellow, Watson?" That certainly took me by surprise. Why was he asking me?
"Well, um . . ."
"What's the matter, Gary . . .
you got the hots for him or something?" Jake asked me, teasingly.
I sat there, dumbfounded. I
hadn't realized it at the time, but there was something about Brian Watson that
intrigued me. He was very tall for a fourteen-year-old, and well built with leg
muscles that rippled under his skin. Although large, he carried his weight well
and moved with grace. I was, in a sense, star struck.
Recognizing what Jake had just
said, I quickly gathered my wits so as not to give my teammates any suspicions
and said, "Well, he's certainly fast."
"That he is, son," Coach
replied before putting up a picture on the video display at the front of the
room. If I thought I was intrigued with Brian Watson before, I was now
absolutely captivated. He was, to put it mildly, one of the most attractive
boys I'd ever seen. I'd never been captivated by a boy before, but I was
certainly captivated now.
He had amazing features. His
shoulders were broad, his nose was narrow, a bit long, but well-proportioned
compared to his face, and his eyes were large and the most beautiful shade of
green I'd ever seen. His hair was
very curly and a very light shade of brown, making it almost look dark blond.
His eyebrows were slightly darker and very full, accenting his eyes nicely. His
mouth was broad and in this photo-upload, he had the most beautiful, broad
smile with perfect, straight white teeth and well-formed dimples at the corners
of his mouth.
Going through puberty, I'd
felt an attraction to both girls and boys before and we'd all been taught, such
attractions were perfectly normal. With the new drugs used in pregnancy today,
nearly all kids being born in the
future would grow up to be right handed and straight, the only exceptions being
the few whose parents who felt the drugs were an affront to God's will. I was
born before the new drugs were developed however, and fully ten to twenty
percent of my age group would have strong attractions to persons of the same
sex, and nearly half would find themselves occasionally same sex attracted
throughout their lives. I was obviously at least in this half.
Not that being gay carried the
stigma it used to. I was very young back when the Citizens for Moral
Righteousness were still big, and their marches were something I'd never
forget. There were endless columns of men, women and children dressed from head
to toe in white. My father said it reminded him of the Klan rallies he'd read
about in school, back when his grandparents were growing up. These people weren't hooded, however, but they did wear white
hats, shirts, pants and even gloves.
Yup, the CMR was once a political
force to contend with. They'd managed to get laws passed that made it illegal
for gays to foster or adopt children, or to teach or to work anywhere near children. Not only couldn't they
marry, even in states that had legalized gay marriage, they couldn't even pass
their inheritance to a gay partner. But by the time I started school, their
power was already waning and what I'd witnessed, was their last dying breath.
The change in the CMR's fortunes came from an unexpected source - the Vatican.
It had taken more than twenty years, but once the cause for homosexuality had
been identified, the stage was set for a major showdown in the Catholic Church.
The debate ended with the election of the current pope, who issued an edict
during his first days after pontification to the effect that sexual orientation
was God's will. Citing scripture from Jesus himself, the Pontiff argued that
the coming of Christ had completely nullified most of Leviticus and we were no
longer bound by its oppressive precepts. The world was stunned, however, when
he went on to say that the Church would officially sanction and recognize gay
Of course, that was just the
start of the pope's revisionist reign that twice nearly resulted in his
removal. Allowing women to enter the priesthood nearly got him canned the first
time, but a strong push from women worldwide, coupled with the need to
compensate for declining numbers of men entering the priesthood made the papal
challenge a non-starter.
The second challenge happened
when I was an infant. Ending the requirement for celibacy in the priesthood
created a firestorm that threatened to tear the Church apart, but the pope made
a compelling argument based on scripture and, again, on the need to attract
more people to the priesthood. The establishment of an equitable plan for
spousal benefits removed the most serious legal objections and, again, the
challenges to this papal edict ultimately failed.
This was all ancient history
to me, but my parents very clearly
remembered the social unrest that resulted during the early days of the new
papacy. Many Catholics were torn, but most eventually accepted the will of
their pope and were not about to allow anything as trivial as the U.S.
Constitution to stand in the way of God's law. Fights broke out on the streets
between Catholics and Protestant fundamentalists. The CMR lost nearly half its
membership, but what was left became a powerful and increasingly militant
force, digging its heels in to maintain the status quo.
With a much more liberal
outlook, the membership of the Catholic Church swelled and, together with the
more liberal Protestant and Jewish denominations, not to mention those
unaffiliated with a religion, they managed to bring down political candidates
who did not support repeal of the Defense of Marriage Amendment. The amendment
was repealed the year after I was born, and the Equal Rights Amendment, which
prevented discrimination based on gender or sexual orientation, was ratified
the year after that. Finally, America had done what Canada and Europe had done
It was ironic, what the CMR
failed to do through political force, they largely were able to accomplish at
the hands of the scientists they despised. Once the cause of homosexuality had
been identified, it was only a matter of time before drugs were developed that,
administered during pregnancy, could counter the development
of homosexuality in the unborn child. Although most people might have become
comfortable with homosexuality as a natural occurrence, when given the choice,
nearly all wanted their children to be straight.
I'd recently read about a
survey conducted on couples undergoing genetic counseling prior to having their
first child. More than 90% of them thought it was unethical to use genetic engineering
to change their baby's appearance, to change its eye color or make it more
beautiful. Nearly as many, something like 86%, thought it was wrong to try to
change the kid's intelligence or athletic abilities. About half were willing to
fix a minor problem that didn't need to be fixed - something like allergies or a tendency to diabetes or high blood
pressure - things that could easily be cured later on. Nearly everyone was
willing to use genetic engineering to fix a major defect, such as Down's syndrome,
sickle cell disease, or muscular dystrophy, or defects that could cause cancer.
And an astonishing 87%, given the knowledge with certainty that they were
carrying a homosexual child, were willing to use drugs to ensure that their
kids were born heterosexual. 87%!
If current trends continued,
by the time my generation passed on, only two or three percent of the
population would be gay. My generation would likely be the last to experience
anything resembling a gay culture. Many predicted that the pressure to conform
would eventually become so great that no parent would dare not use
heterosexuality drugs during pregnancy.
"Lawson?" Coach asked,
obviously irritated that I hadn't answered him when he called out my name the
"Sorry, Coach, I wasn't paying
attention," I admitted.
"He was too busy looking at
his new boyfriend," Larry Richards said, striking much closer to the truth than
I'd ever care to admit.
"What I'd asked was, what
changes you thought we need to make in our strategy to counter his presence on
the opposing team?" Coach reiterated.
"Well, um . . . first of all,"
I said, regaining my wits, "he can outrun just about all of us. He's big, so he
can tackle many of us unassisted, and it'll take more than one of us to bring
"I suggest that we assign two
or maybe three players to keep tabs on his whereabouts at all times," I
"That's very good, Lawson,"
Coach said, giving me rare praise. "Henderson and Reynolds, as of now, you're
assigned to keep track of Watson. Whatever you do, keep track of his
whereabouts. Do whatever you have to, to keep him away from the ball, pure and
When we took back to the
field, our new strategy paid off handsomely. Henderson was our largest player,
and Reynolds was probably our fastest. Together they managed to box Watson in,
largely preventing him from getting through our line, or getting near our key
players. Overall, our team was a lot better than the competition, so we easily jumped ahead by the end of the third
It didn't take the other team
long to realize what we were doing and to try to counter Henderson and
Reynolds, but their other players were no match for ours and we ended up
winning the game, 44 to 35.
As I headed off the field in
the direction of the locker room, I felt a presence approach me from behind.
The reality was, my sensors picked up his shadow, and identified him from his
physical size. I turned around to face Watson, just as he reached me.
"Great game, Lawson," he said
as he extended his hand. "That was a great strategy you devised to keep me
hemmed in during the second half."
"How did you know it was me that devised the strategy?" I
countered as I shook his hand."
"Wasn't it?" he asked.
"Well, yeah, but how did you know?"
"Just a hunch," he said as a
broad grin overtook his face.
I couldn't help but smile back
as I realized we were still shaking hands. I tried to pull away, but he
wouldn't let me. "Would you mind if I linked with you?" he asked.
Peering into his green eyes, I
could feel myself getting lost in them. Barely audible, I replied, "Sure."
`There, now we have more
privacy,' he projected his thoughts to me. `Did you know you're very cute.'
I couldn't believe it. Being
gay didn't carry much of a stigma any more, but it was still a bit risky to
proposition someone you didn't know was gay - not because of any physical
danger, but because of the awkwardness it could create if you were wrong,
particularly for teenagers.
`How . . . how did you know I
was gay?" I asked him.
he replied in thought.
`It's a program I downloaded
from gaysoftware.com,' he thought back to me. `The name comes from a mythical
sense gays are supposed to have for detecting other gays. Of course there's no
such thing, but this software is pretty good. It picks up subtle things . . .
things like how long someone's eyes linger on a boy or a girl, for example.
When it concludes there is a 98% probability someone is gay, it alerts me. I
had you pegged by halftime.'
`Not even I knew I was gay until halftime. I realized it when I couldn't keep
my eyes off of you,' I admitted. `So
you really think I'm cute?' I asked.
noticed it even before Gaydar picked you up. In fact,
I could hardly keep my eyes off of you either. When Gaydar alerted me that you were gay, I . . . well, that's why I had to approach you.
You're beautiful, but I bet you don't even know it, do you? I bet you think you're ordinary looking . . . I just get that sense
`You're the one who's
beautiful,' I countered. `Look at you . . . you're only fourteen and yet you
look like a sixteen-year-old. You have the most amazing green eyes and the
cutest dimples when you smile.'
`You mean I'm a freak,' he
said, `but hey, if you like the way I look and I like the way you look, and we
both like football, how can we lose?'
`Gary . . . is that what you'd
like me to call you?'
`Yeah, Gary's fine,' I
answered, `and should I call you Brian?'
`Brian, or Bri are fine,' he thought. `So would you like to go out with me?' he asked.
I couldn't believe it. This hunk
of a boy was actually asking me to go out with him. I almost stood there,
dumbfounded, but smiling, before I answered. `Yeah, I'd love to go out with
you come back home with me. We could shoot some hoops or something.'
`That'd be great,' I replied.
`I'll ask my parents after I get changed.'
When I finally got to the
locker room, the other guys made catcalls and whistles. "Gary's in lu-uv . . . Gary's in lu-uv,"
Larry Richards chanted as the rest of the guys laughed.
My face turned red as a beet.
What could I say? Even though they couldn't read my thoughts without my
permission, they'd probably seen what had happened just outside the locker
"I think it's sweet," Jake
said. Leave it to my best friend to try to help me out. "I always figured Gary'd be the first of us to get a girlfriend, but what the
hey, a boyfriend's the same thing."
"He's not my boyfriend . . ."
I countered. "At least not yet."
After getting dressed, I
excused myself and made my way to meet up with my parents, who had no problem
with me visiting a friend after the game. However, they were a bit surprised
that the friend I wanted to visit was on the opposing team, and wanted to know
how he became my friend. I couldn't help but blush.
"What is it, honey?" my mom
"He likes him," my brat of a little brother chimed in.
"Is it true?" my dad asked.
I turned even redder still if
that was possible. Finally, I let out a feeble, "Yeah."
"Just remember our talk," Dad
"Yeah, Dad, I know," I said.
"I'll be careful, and I'll wait until I know it's right." Gees, why do parents
feel they have to stick their noses into our non-existent sex lives?
After saying goodbye to my
parents, I met up with Brian and he introduced me to his folks. They seemed
nice enough and tried to engage me in conversation on the way to their house.
They had a nice home in a more
remote section of town, on a heavily wooded lot. The car pulled up in front of
their house and we all got out, and the car proceeded to park itself in their
garage. Before the garage door could close itself, Brian ran under the
partially open door, causing it to stop dead in its tracks.
"Brian, you know you shouldn't
do that," his father shouted out. "You could break the thing, OK?"
"Yeah, Dad, I know," Brian
said. I'm sorry, sometimes I just get lazy."
"Sometimes?" his mom chimed in
and even Brian laughed.
"Come on, Gary, let's go shoot
some hoops," Brian said as his parents went inside.
We were each wearing
sweatshirts over T-shirts and shorts, and we quickly stripped the sweatshirts
off. Even in the cool autumn weather, we knew we would soon work up a sweat.
We started out with a simple
game of horse, but it soon degenerated into a free-for-all as we played off of
each other, not even really keeping track of the score. Before long, we'd even
stripped off our T-shirts as we exerted ourselves.
Each bit of physical contact
sent shivers up my spine and I couldn't help but admire the sight of Brian's
muscles rippling under his skin. We were surprisingly evenly matched - what I
lacked in physical size, I made up in agility, and what he lacked in agility,
he made up in physical size.
After a couple hours of
horsing around, at least pretending to play basketball, we had pretty well
exhausted ourselves and decided to call it quits for the day. Brian put the
ball away and we headed inside, barely stopping to say hello to his parents as
we headed up to his room.
He had a typical teenage boy's
room, with clothes strewn all over the floor. It wasn't unlike mine. Neither of
us had bothered to put our shirts back on, and he simply dropped his T-shirt and his sweatshirt on the floor. I did likewise.
Brian kicked off his sneakers
and for reasons I wasn't sure of, he toed off his socks as well. I did the same
for reasons I didn't quite understand
- I guess I was just trying to fit in with him.
Brian had a small refrigerator
right in his room. How cool was that? He reached in and grabbed us each a Coke.
We each chugged them down, then let out a satisfying belch, laughing at
ourselves in the process.
"Maybe we should take
showers," I said, noticing that we both smelled pretty ripe.
"Maybe later," he said just
before he pounced on me, laying me flat on his bed as he kissed me full on the
mouth. I kissed him back. He rolled us over so he was under me and I reached
around his neck as he reached his arms around my back. God, this felt great.
Brian then initiated a link
between us and I obligingly accepted the link. If what I'd felt was great
before, my mind was blown away by what I was feeling now. Suddenly, I could
feel everything he was feeling. I could sense the tingling in his lips from my
contact, just as I'm sure he could sense mine. I could sense what he felt as my
tongue made contact with his. I could feel his dick expanding and the wonderful
sensations he felt in his dick as he felt it rub against my pelvis.
I moved so that our dicks
lined up perfectly and I began to thrust a bit, causing friction between the
two. The sensations I felt in my dick, coupled with what he was simultaneously
feeling in his, were almost too much for me. As much as I could hear my
father's words in my mind, and as much as I realized we should probably slow
down, I didn't want to. At that
point, I couldn't if I'd tried.
I sped up in my thrusts as I
felt Brian bucking under me, meeting my motions, thrust for thrust as our
tongues danced their dance with each other. I could feel Brian building to his
climax as I felt my own impending climax rising in perfect harmony. Suddenly, I
could feel his juices spurting forth into his shorts as my own spunk erupted
out of my own dick. Our mutual orgasms danced inside both of our heads,
multiplying the effect a thousand fold.
I'd jacked off all the time
and was used to the sensations that came with jacking off, but that was nothing compared to what had just
happened between us. I could only imagine what a 69 or what fucking would feel
`My GOD, Gary, that was unbelievable,' Brian thought to me.
`Unbelievable doesn't come
close to describing it,' I thought in reply, `but we'd better get cleaned up,'
I thought as I giggled and leapt up off of him.
I quickly dropped my shorts
before any more of my spunk seeped through to them. My underwear was a mess,
`I don't think anything I have'll fit you,' Brian thought to me.
`Guess I'll have to go
commando, then,' I thought back to him.
I figured that we'd go shower,
but when I caught site of Brian's naked form . . . it was even more beautiful
than I could have imagined. He had the most beautiful uncircumcised penis I'd
ever seen. Of course I expected it to be uncircumcised - only Jews and Muslims
were circumcised these days - not that there was anything wrong with that.
Just as I was staring at
Brian's dick, I noticed that he was staring at mine also. `May I touch it,
`Sure thing, Bri, as long as I can touch yours.'
Brian reached out and gently
grabbed hold of my dick, which rapidly sprang back to life. I reached for his
rapidly lengthening member and gently fondled his balls. We were still linked,
so I could feel everything he was feeling. As I touched him, I could
immediately tell what made him feel good - it was really amazing.
`Let's lie back down,' Brian
`Yeah,' was all I could think
back to him.
We lay opposite each other, each
of us with our faces to the other's crotch. I marveled at the sight of my new
plaything as I tentatively stuck my tongue out and licked at Brian's
still-slick cock. It was a bit slimy, but I liked the texture and the taste,
and I especially liked the feeling I got through our link of what he felt when my tongue made contact. The
combination of this with the sensations I felt from his tongue lapping at my cock drove me to yet higher heights.
I concentrated my tongue on
the tender spot on the underside of his dick, just below the crown and marveled
at the feelings he felt. Mere minutes after wondering what it would feel like
to be engaged in a 69, we were lying down on Brian's bed and doing just that.
At fourteen, it doesn't take long to recharge from sex, and we were more than
ready to go at it again.
Through my link, I felt Brian
stick one of his fingers into his mouth and suck on it, and I wondered why he
did that, but only for a moment. In the next instant, not only did he go down
on me, but he grazed my ring teasingly and then gently pushed his finger
inside. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine this could feel so good. Of
course, I had to reciprocate, and when I did, I was rewarded with the most
wonderful sensations coursing back through our link.
We both learned how to give
perfect head as we felt what the other person felt, applying just the right
amount of suction, using our tongues to provide maximum stimulation, relaxing
our throats to engulf each other's crowns and simultaneously stroking each
other's prostates with just the right amount of pressure. We also knew when the
other was about to cum, so we could back off just enough to heighten their
pleasure, maintaining their bliss until we both decided we were ready to
explode down each other's throats.
Our second orgasm of the
afternoon was so powerful, it overwhelmed the link Brian and I had established
and we had to drop it in the final stages or risk burning out our implants. I'd
heard of such things, but never come close to experiencing them. I could
picture trying to explain that to my
parents . . . "Yeah, Mom, Dad, Brian and me were having sex in his bedroom when
we had such a powerful orgasm that it blew our circuits and fried our
implants." Yeah, that would go over real good . . . NOT!
So after coming down from our
sexual high, we reestablished our link and cuddled for a while. We shared our
thoughts, literally, about things we liked . . . the music we enjoyed, our
favorite teams, games, videos and so on. It turned out we had a lot in common. I really liked this boy. Maybe even loved him a
little. More than a little.
As it was getting late, we
finally took that shower we'd talked about after shooting hoops. He had a
bathroom to himself, so we took a shower together,
which of course led to more fooling around, but at least we did manage to get
each other clean in the process.
I ended up staying for dinner
with Brian's mother, his older sister, his stepfather and his little
half-brother. It was obvious that everyone knew what we'd been up to, and we
took a lot of ribbing from his brother, who embarrassed the hell out of us, but
it was all in fun.
Over the coming weeks,
football and school still took up most of my time. I could only imagine what it
must have been like in my parents', or especially in my grandparents', day when you actually had to read your assignments, rather than simply downloading what you
needed. However, in some ways, I often felt it was worse today, 'cause you
couldn't fake your homework. No, the teachers would know if the work you
uploaded was anything but your
original thinking, so you damn well had to learn the material, understand it
and be able to utilize it, or at least know how to access it for future use.
With so much of my time
already spoken for, my time with Brian was fleeting but, boy, did we take
advantage of what little time we had together. By the time we hung up our
helmets, there wasn't one square millimeter of his body I didn't know
intimately. More importantly, by then I knew I loved Brian more than life itself
and, thanks to our ability to link with each other, I knew he felt the same way
about me. It really sucked big time that we went to different schools, but with
the football season over, we'd finally be able to spend our weekends together!
Yeah, we did spend our
weekends hanging out together, going to the virtual entertainment theater with
our friends, then going for a bite to eat at the food mall and playing some
games at one of the mega-arcades afterwards. We shared everything with each
other, maintaining physical contact as we held hands, and mental contact
through our shared link. We knew each other's hopes and dreams. It was almost
as if we were one person, yet we still cherished each other's individuality,
One thing we did learn to do was link with each other
over the Internet. It wasn't easy and the connection often dissolved, right in
the middle of our orgasms, leaving us both with mammoth headaches. Even when everything worked, the communication lag
sometimes caused us to get out of sync - boy, did that feel weird. I remember one time, though, when everything
worked just right. We were both naked and in our rooms and I could feel Brian's
hand on his cock, and he could feel my hand on mine. We were both stroking and
reveling in the feelings we were giving ourselves, and the feelings we were
receiving through our link. It was just awesome. When we both shot at the same time, it was incredible. While nothing could replace the feelings of physical contact with my boyfriend,
this was the next best thing.
The sex we shared together was
particularly special, and a reflection of our love for each other. Our parents
still had their hang-ups about letting us spend the night together, but they
agreed that it was better to let us have sex at home rather than sneaking
around, since we were going to have sex no matter what. By the end of November,
Brian and I were relieved our parents finally dropped their objections and we
were able to spend Friday and Saturday nights sleeping over at one house or the
other on a regular basis.
Our first sleepover was the
weekend just before Brian's fifteenth birthday, and I was spending it at his
house. We had a big party on Saturday, with all of our friends and went to the
Al Gore Virtual Space Center on a simulated mission to Jupiter. Afterwards, it
was just the two of us. Slowly and seductively, we undressed each other as our
hands roamed all over each others' bodies, touching and exploring as they had
so many times before. I loved the feel of Brian's skin, and the feeling I got
when I felt myself touching him through my link to his brain. It was awesome.
`Why don't we brush our
teeth,' Brian communicated to me, `and then we'll have the whole night to
continue this.' I eagerly agreed.
When we returned from the
bathroom, we lay on Brian's bed and our mouths came together in a passionate
kiss, our tongues dancing alongside each other as feelings I couldn't even
begin to describe passed across our link between the two of us. In our sex and
our passion and through our love, we were as one, and our feelings truly
bankrupted the English language.
`Are you ready for some
sleep?' I suggested to Brian as we lay together in each other's arms, having
somewhat recovered from our fourth, or was it our fifth bout of lovemaking?
Barely able to open his eyes
to look up at me with his head on my chest, he returned my thoughts through our
still-active link and said, `Yeah, sleep . . . sleep's good. Gary, you wore me
out . . .' And then he smiled as he closed his eyes. I smiled back at him, even
though he couldn't see me, but I hoped he was still conscious enough to sense
the sentiment through our link.
I closed my eyes as
overwhelming fatigue started to overtake me as well, content that I was in the
arms of the boy I loved, and secure that I could still sense his thoughts as we
drifted to sleep. . . .
"ALL RIGHT GIRLS, LISTEN UP!"
I heard a man shouting as my vision slowly came into focus. "We all know how
important this game is! We win it . . . we go on to the state championship! If
we lose . . . there are NO second chances! We are NOT gonna lose this game to a buncha faggots, you got that?"
My eyes opened wide as it took
my brain a second to process a word I'd seldom heard, it took me a moment to
even remember what it meant, but when it did, I was shocked. No one would ever
say something like that in this day and age.
Then I was stunned. I couldn't
feel my link to Brian any more, and my link to the Internet was gone. In fact,
I wasn't picking up any data from my implants at all. The only things I saw
were what I saw with my own eyes, and the only things I heard were what I heard
with my own ears. Was I even in this
day and age? My day and age? This was weird.
I looked around at my
surroundings and realized I was in a locker room, which was no surprise, given
the pep speech I'd just heard, but what was I doing here? Was this a dream? I
remembered drifting off to sleep in Brian's arms and a smile came to my face,
but this all seemed so real.
"Watchu smiling at, Richards?" the coach asked, and when no one answered and when one
of my teammates elbowed me in the ribs, I realized he was referring to me.
"Nothing, Sir," I answered in
a voice that was far too deep for me. What the fuck was going on? As I looked
around, I realized that my teammates were all a lot older than me - they had to be at least seventeen. This was varsity football. What the hell was I
doing on varsity?
"All right, let's go!" the
coach shouted at us and we all started to file out of the locker room. As we
did, I caught my reflection in the mirror and got the shock of my life. I was
black! I wasn't even me! I must have stopped dead in my tracks, as someone ran
into me from behind. I turned around to see a light-skinned African-American
boy who was maybe sixteen. He had beautiful green eyes and for some reason, I
started to bone up.
"What's gotten into you,
Chris? You've kind of been out of it all afternoon." The boy asked me.
"I don't know?" I replied.
"Must be somethin' I ate."
"Well get over it," he said.
"This game's important." Then he shocked the hell out of me by leaning up close
to me and saying, "and if you're feeling better later, maybe you can come over
to my house tonight for a little nookie," as he
slapped me on the butt. Whoa!
If this was a dream, what the
hell was I doing dreaming about someone other than Brian? Why was I someone
other than me? Why weren't my implants functioning and why did everything seem
"Hey," I said to the kid
before we split up as we entered the field, "I know this is gonna sound real
weird, but what day is today?"
"It's Sunday, you dufus."
"I know it's Sunday. Just humor me and give me the date. The complete date, OK?"
"What, like you're from
another planet or something?" he asked. "Chris, I don't know what's gotten into
you, but here goes. Today is Sunday, October 25, 2008, OK? There, you feel
2008! Holy fuck! People didn't
even have implants back then. You
needed one of those ancient computers back then to connect to the Internet. People had TV's back then, and watched
movies on giant screens rather than in virtual immersion through their
implants. On the other hand, football was a real game back then. There were no
implants to tell you where all the other players were and how far you had to
run to make a first down. It was a game of strategy, and strength, and athletic
prowess rather than technology, and I was about to play it along with someone
who was obviously my gay lover, but whose name I didn't even know.
At first, I didn't know if
this was the home field or not, but when the crowd cheered when the opposing
team came out, I quickly realized we were in enemy territory. Thankfully, we
won the coin toss, and elected to receive, so we'd have initial possession of
the ball. The opposing team kicked the ball into the air and the crowd cheered
wildly as the ball sailed through the air.
At first I felt completely
disoriented by the complete lack of data I'd expected to receive from my
implants regarding the ball's trajectory, but if this truly was 2008, I didn't have any implants and would have to wing
it. Watching the ball arch it's way gracefully through the sky, I realized it
was coming right at me. I couldn't be as sure as I would have liked,
particularly with a body that was bigger than I was used to, but I was pretty sure
and I positioned my arms for the catch. The ball sailed right into my waiting
arms and I tucked it protectively inside and began to run.
Again, I felt somewhat lost
without the data from my implants, but my twenty-second century training
perhaps gave me an advantage unique in the twenty-first century game I was
playing. I was used to playing a game in which I knew that every player on the
field was instantly aware of my every move - a game in which my only weapon was
my agility - my ability to throw the opposing players off-guard. Here there was
so much more room for me to maneuver before the opposing players became aware
of my moves - it was almost a joke. The other team might as well have been
standing still for all the good it was doing them. By the time they caught up
to me, I was already in their end zone and we had our first touchdown.
"Man, Chris, I've never seen you move like that," one of
the players on our team said to me.
"That was one hell of a run,
Chris," the coach said after that.
I was just glad I wasn't the
one kicking the field goal, as I'd have no idea how to aim my kick without the data from my sensors and implants to guide
me. The guy who did the kicking for our team knew what he was doing, however,
and the ball sailed right between the goalposts.
Now it was our turn to kick the ball to the
opposing team and, without the benefit of my implants and the data they fed me,
I was glad I didn't play defense. My agility on the field was virtually useless
for defense, and an opposing player could have done a dance with the ball right
in front of me and I still wouldn't
have seen it - I was that dependent
on my implants. Thank God the defensive line knew what they were doing!
Once we were seated
comfortably on the bench, the boy who made me the offer of some `nookie' told
the coach, "I need to go take a leak."
Coach looked at me and said,
"Richards, you'd better go with Stuart and make sure no one tries to ambush him
like what happened to Gifford last year at Attucks."
"Sure thing, Coach," I replied
as I got up off the bench and headed to the locker room behind Stuart,
wondering if Stuart was his first name or his last name.
As soon as we were through the
door, he pulled me around the corner, looked around to make sure no one was in
sight, and then pressed his lips to mine. I might not have implants, but I
didn't need any to tell how excited he was as our tongues intertwined and our
cocks ground into each other. From what I could tell, he had a pretty big one,
Pulling away from him ever so
briefly, I said, "If we keep this up much longer, it's gonna be pretty hard to
explain the large wet stain on the front of my jock."
"Same here," Stuart replied,
"But I don't fuckin' care," and then he went back to
ravishing my mouth with his. This went on for a while longer until he did pull
away and said, "I guess we should get
back out there, much as I'd like to stay in here and make out with you, Chris.
Lord knows it's hard sneaking around behind our parents' backs."
I thought about that - how
different things would have been for a couple of high school football players
in 2008, from the way they were a century later. We took a few moments to wash
our faces, which were all sweaty and flushed, and then headed back out onto the
"We were getting ready to send
a search and rescue team in for you," Coach joked when we got back.
During the time we were away,
the opposing team had gained forty yards, but then were bogged down on our own thirty-yard line. It was third down and ten, and they'd
decided to go for the field goal. Without my sensors, I would've had a hard
time of it, but they easily made it, and it was time to take to the field
again. The score was 7 to 3, our favor.
This time a kid I didn't know
caught the kick-off and ran for about thirty yards before he was brought down.
I was apparently the quarterback - a role I should have felt comfortable in -
but I had no idea how to relate to this team, and I certainly wasn't all that comfortable winging it - not that I had a
choice. In the end, it didn't really matter. The plan was for me to fake to
Stuart and then wait until a kid named Kragen was
open and pass to him. I faked to Stuart all right, but when I saw my opening,
it was way too good to pass up. It was as if all the other players were
standing still. I easily outmaneuvered everyone and was inside their end zone
before anyone on the opposing team knew what had happened. This was way too easy.
By half time, the score was 28
to 10, our favor.
While the opposing team's band
bored the spectators with their halftime show, our coach gave us a rundown in
the locker room.
"Chris, you're doing great out
there, but what's gotten into you? Not to complain, and it's great to see you
run like that and all, but you need to be more of a team player. We'll never survive
the state championship if you hog the ball like that."
I'd never felt so humiliated
in my life. Coach was right, but without my implants, I felt totally isolated
from the rest of the team. I didn't know how to play without my data, but I
couldn't tell him that. What was I
gonna say, that I was from the future,
and didn't know how to play twenty-first century football? Yeah, that would be
good for a trip to the loony bin.
"I don't know what's gotten
into me, Coach," I replied. "I'm sorry. I'll try to do better. I'll pass the
ball more, but if I see an opening, I'm still gonna take it."
"That's all I'm asking. Now
that said, we may want to rethink our lineup. You can run like no player I've ever seen before. Your talents are almost
wasted as a quarterback. You'd do better as a running back. We could gain a lot
more yardage with you out front, ahead of the ball. I just wish we'd discovered
this earlier in the season. The middle of a game is not the time to make the switch, however. We'll try it out at practice,
in time for the championship. In the meantime, keep on doing what you're doing,
but if you can, hand the ball off at least a little bit, OK?"
"Sure thing, Coach," I
"Then let's get out there and
show those fairies how football is played!"
There it was again - a
reference I had to think about for a minute - something we would never have
said in the twenty-second century. Before we headed out to the field, Stuart
grabbed my arm and said, "Come on, I think I saw a spot behind the bleachers that's
pretty well hidden."
I followed him down a narrow
passageway into a dark area where only a little sunlight filtered through from above. No sooner were we there than my
boyfriend of this time period grabbed me around the waist and had me in a
passionate lip-lock in no time. It felt particularly exciting because we could
see the feet of the people who were sitting on the bleachers above us - anyone
who wanted to could have looked in on us if they'd known we were there, but no
But then . . . someone was there with us.
It was one of the players from
the opposing team, a white boy whose name I didn't know.
"I wondered what you two were
up to, sneaking back here," he said. "I knew your team was nothin'
but a buncha faggots, and now I know it for sure."
Stuart and I literally sprung
apart, but there was no denying what we'd been doing. How could we? Even with
our jocks and cups in place, our uniforms were obviously tented.
"Stuart and Reynolds, right?"
The boy asked, but before we could even respond, he disappeared back from where
he came. We were screwed!
"What are we gonna do?" Stuart
asked, his whole body trembling.
Summoning up all the courage I
had, and perhaps with the advantage of the knowledge I had of the better future
to come, yet tempered by knowledge of the rough times still ahead, I swallowed
and replied, "We better go tell Coach."
Stuart nodded his head, and we
headed back out to the field, where we found the coach standing by our bench.
"Coach," I said, "Stuart and I
need to talk to you privately."
"No time for that, Richards.
Whatever you have to say, you're going to have to say it now, or wait until
after the game."
"It can't wait, sir," Stuart
added. He then turned to me and said, "The other guys are gonna find out
anyway." He turned back to Coach and said, "One of the players on the other
team found Richards and I behind the bleachers. We were kissing."
"WHAT?" one of the players on our team practically shouted. "YOU MEAN YOU GUYS ARE FAGGOTS?"
Coach motioned for everyone to
gather around, and he spoke to all of us at once. "Guys, I've known Richards
and Stuart are boyfriends since last year, but they're both helluva good football players
and that's all that matters in my book. They're not the first gay players I've
had on my team and they certainly won't be the last. In fact, they're not the
only ones, even now, and don't you dare ask who else on the team is gay . . .
it's none of your business.
"Now up till now, they've been
discreet in their relationship, which is the one thing I insist on. When it
comes to sports, the world isn't kind to gay athletes. Now that you've
unfortunately been outed, you're going to have to be
extra careful in watching each other's backs. I'm sure the other team will do
everything they can to make the game about Stuart and Richard's sexuality, when
it should all be about football and nothing else. It's up to all of you to keep
the game focused on football. Period. If you see anything happen in the way of
a fight, don't hesitate to get the referees involved.
"And finally, I will not
tolerate anyone on our team giving
either Stuart or Richards a hard time because of their sexual orientation. Is
that clear?" When no one said anything, he repeated himself, "I said, is that clear?"
"Yes, sir!" everyone shouted
out in unison. Somehow, I didn't sense that everyone was all that enthusiastic
about it though, even without the benefit of my implants.
We took back to the field and
what had been a piece of cake was anything but, when it came to evading being
tackled. Now it seemed that every player was focused on bringing me down and
even my superior agility wasn't enough to make up for having every defensive
player wanting to turn me into a pile of broken bones. The best I could do was
to hand the ball off as quickly as possible to anyone but Stuart. The one consolation was that with everyone gunning for
Stuart and me, that left everyone else wide open, and we still managed to gain
yardage quickly, even if I wasn't the one doing it.
Not that I got to see
anything, as I was constantly at the bottom of a heap of six or seven players.
I wasn't just getting tackled, either. I was getting hit, and punched and
kicked - all of it illegal, but done in such a way as to make it nearly
impossible to prove. Mercifully, we scored a touchdown fairly quickly and it
was time for the defensive team to take to the field.
Just as Stuart and I were
getting ready to sit on the bench, Coach said, "Don't get too comfortable,
boys, I've decided to make a substitution, and I'm putting you on defense this
"What?" I asked, incredulous at the thought. Was he trying to get us
"Now I know what you're
thinking, but hear me out. I know you're having a tough time out there, but the
best way for you two to prove yourselves is to take a beating under pressure
and come right back at them again. Trust me on this. By staying in the game for
both offense and defense, you'll be showing them that you're not a couple of
pansies who can't take the abuse they're dishing out. You'll be showing them
and the rest of the world how much better you are than they are."
I could understand what Coach
was saying, but I wasn't so sure we wouldn't die trying. Stuart and I headed
back out onto the field and lined up in unfamiliar positions, determined to
take whatever the other team's offense had to dish out while we did our best to
keep them from scoring. Little did we know how that would turn out.
We kicked to the home team,
they ran toward our defensive line, Stuart and me included. We brought them
down, and we now had to face off against them. Before the ball was even in
play, the kid across from me was already on top of me, pinning me to the
ground. That of course resulted in a penalty on the play, but the message was
delivered to me, loud and clear. The next time, rather than letting myself be
pinned, I blocked briefly, then got out of the way as I sensed more than saw
the fake that took place behind him. On pure instinct, I ran to my right, where
another kid from the opposing team seemed to be wide open, by himself, just as
the football came sailing by.
I leapt into the air and
caught the ball! Holy shit! How did that happen? I did it without even the benefit of my implants. I immediately took
off toward our end zone, before anyone else seemed to know what was happening.
Coach kept me on defense, so I
still had to line up against that same asshole who'd thrown the penalty a few
plays before. Just as the ball went into play, he hit me hard in the stomach,
knocking me to the ground, then he kicked my nuts, right in my cup, and then he
kicked me in the side, then he kicked me in the head so hard, my helmet went
flying, and then I felt the kick to my unprotected head once again with his
football cleats and my world went completely black. .
The next thing I knew, I could
hear a faint beep - beep - beep sound. I was very groggy and had no idea where
I was. I couldn't talk . . . in fact, I had some sort of tube down my throat
and I started to gag on it. As I did, I felt a reassuring hand on my own, and a
voice . . . it was Stuart.
"Don't try to talk, babe.
You're in Intensive Care." Slowly, his face came into focus, and I could see
the look of worry on his face. I was in so much pain. I hurt everywhere, and
when I actually moaned, Stuart called out, "Nurse, I think my boyfriend needs
something for pain."
"My boyfriend!" He actually said it aloud. I was so proud of him for that. In 2008,
particularly for an African American kid to say that . . .
As the nurse injected the
painkiller into my IV and everything faded to gray, I again wondered why I was
still in the twenty-first century. If this was a dream, why was everything so
real, and why did I feel so much pain?
`Hi gorgeous,' Brian thought
to me as I opened my eyes. The dream had been so real, it almost felt unnatural to be assimilating data through my
implants again, and I had to stop and think about my shared link with Brian.
`Brian, I had the most amazing
dream last night . . .'
`I know, I had it, too,' he
interrupted. `We were linked throughout the night . . . we shared that dream. It was pretty intense, huh?'
`Intense doesn't even begin to describe it,' I replied."
`Let me check something,' he
said as I felt him initiate a search on the Internet. `Here we go,' he said as
he pulled up the Wikipedia entry on a gay bashing that occurred a century ago,
and we both sifted through the information. I was stunned.
Christopher Richards and Lyle
Stuart were two African American high school students back in 2008. They were
both just sixteen years old when Chris was savagely attacked during the second
half of the state varsity football playoffs. He suffered broken ribs, a
punctured lung, a lacerated spleen, a severe brain injury, and a broken neck.
It took thirteen operations to patch him up, but even still, he never regained
the ability to walk, and although he finished high school, he was never able to
go on to college. In spite of all of that, his boyfriend never left his side,
and they remained life-long partners for more than thirty years, until a
urinary infection took his life in 2043.
When asked to comment at the
time of his death, Lyle Stuart had this to say about the life of his partner:
"Chris was one of the sweetest, kindest people I have ever had the pleasure of
knowing. He was a superb athlete and a top student before the attack, and even
after the attack, the wonderful qualities that made me fall in love with him
still shone through. Many people wondered why I still stuck with him when he
couldn't walk, could barely talk and couldn't even engage in what most would consider
normal sexual activities. Those people didn't know my Chris. What we had
together in each day was more precious than most people have together in an
entire lifetime. We were soul mates. He will truly be missed."
Brian and I continued to scan
through the material on Stuart and Richards, but the comments made by Stuart
upon the death of his partner continued to haunt us and we couldn't help but
end up crying.
`All those people who came
before us who gave so much so that gay culture could flourish, and for what?' I
asked. `Now that it's safe to be gay, we're all just going to fade away into
oblivion. The whole culture's going to die out with our generation.'
Brian got a strange look in
his eyes - a look of determination - and then he said, `Maybe it doesn't have to.'
`What do you mean?' I asked in
`Someday, we're going to have
`Well, yeah, if we're still
together . . .' and then I looked at his face, and the look of determination,
and the look of absolute love I saw in his eyes, and I knew right then and
there with certainty that he was right. I knew it just as certainly as I'd felt
it in my dream, the way Chris knew he'd be with Lyle Stuart the rest of his
life. And in my link to Brian, I told him so.
`So just as the drugs can be used
to make sure kids are born straight, they can also be used to do the reverse.
We can make sure our kids are born
gay.' Brian said with conviction.
`Wouldn't that be tough on our
kids?' I asked.
`Not if every gay parent did
the same thing,' Brian answered, `and besides, if we don't do it, who will?
`Gary, look at what Chris
Richards went through so we can be together today in safety. So
that we can have a thriving gay culture today. Our culture is unique.
It's special. It's worth saving. This isn't just a game. We have an obligation
to save it.'
`But we alone aren't enough,'
`But you won't be alone,' a
voice came to us in our heads. `I'm sorry to intrude, but like you, I realized
that something precious was about to disappear. My name is Lyle Stuart, and my
days are near an end. Before I leave this earth, I wanted to be sure that my
lover's legacy meant something . . . that his sacrifice wasn't in vain.
`I know this must be a shock
to you, but there are people like us everywhere, including at the highest
levels of the government and in government intelligence . . . people willing to
risk their careers for a just cause . . . people willing to go to prison if
necessary . . . people with access to the universal keys to unlock your
implants, and with knowledge of the technology to access them remotely. If you
tell anyone this, I will have to deny it. If you ask me to, I'll leave you
alone and never contact you again, but I hope you'll listen to what I have to
say . . .
`My friends and I have been
searching for young gay couples . . . lovers who are obviously soul mates the
way that Chris and I were, lovers who have formed links that resonate with the
purest kind of love. Gary and Brian, you two are such a couple. You're among
the chosen . . . the ones who will spearhead the movement . . . if you're willing.'
I reached for Brian's hand and
took it firmly in my own as I communicated back to Lyle Stuart, `Of course
we're willing. We can never repay you and Chris for what you have given us, but
we can do our part to make sure our
culture doesn't die. We can raise a houseful of boys, and girls, too, who are
out and proud. Oh, and thank you. Thank you for sharing a very poignant memory with us . . . a memory Brian and I
will never forget.'
`So what do we need to do?' my
`The most important thing is
to get married when you're ready, and stay faithful to one another. I sense
that this will not be a problem for the two of you.'
Grabbing me around the waist
and drawing me tightly to him, Brian answered, `Not in the least.'
`You will join an organization
. . . you can start right now. It's called Citizens for the Preservation of Gay
Culture, and among its many goals should be the promotion of and support for
gay parents raising gay youth. There's an associated foundation, the
Christopher P. Richards Foundation, which will provide funds to couples who
need assistance to make up for the loss of tax breaks should they choose to
have more than the prescribed two children per couple. I know it's a lot to
ask, but if a fourth of all gay couples would have ten children or more, we
could at least maintain our numbers.'
"TEN CHILDREN" I shouted aloud.
`What's wrong with ten
children?' my lover communicated back to me. `I think it could be cool to have
a large family, maybe even more than
ten. We could have our own little football team. I know it could be a handful,
but after a while, the older kids would help out with the chores around the
house and help take care of the younger kids. With the love you and I share,
we'd have more than enough love to go
around for all of them, and they'd be gay kids. Every last one of them would be gay.'
`Gee, I hope they don't end up
pairing off with each other,' I
`While a little
experimentation is to be expected in any household, gay or straight,' Lyle
Stuart communicated back to us, `incest isn't a good idea when it comes to
having children, and we certainly want your children to go on to have gay
children of their own, and that's where we come in. The CPGC will provide venues for the children of its members to meet,
helping to foster future generations of gay youth. We want gay culture to
ultimately become self perpetuating.'
`But won't you run the risk of
isolating gay culture from the rest of society?' I asked.
`We'll take that risk for now
to save gay culture . . . otherwise, there will be nothing to save,' he
answered. `It's our sincere hope that future generations of parents will
eventually get over their obsession with choosing the destiny of their
children, and be satisfied with letting chance determine their sons' and
daughters' orientations. When that happens, we'll no longer be necessary.'
`One final question I have,
Lyle, before you leave us,' I asked. `Did that football game really go down
like that? I mean Chris seemed to run like a bat out of Hell!'
We felt more than heard Lyle
chuckle inside our heads. `It's rare that I find such outstanding football
players with whom to link in this scenario. Most couples we find don't even play football and it's often a struggle
just to get them to run in the right direction as we download the dream
sequence into their implants. When I chose you two, I could have never imagined the unique triple threat
I would be creating. By combining Chris' superior instincts with your agility and
Brian's speed, I effectively invented a player like none that ever lived
`Each time we play the dream
sequence, the experience is unique. Every couple brings to the dream their own
emotions. The only thing predetermined is the outcome. Each couple has to be
free to make their own choices as a part of the dream. That is the only way to
make it seem real.'
`Thank you, Lyle,' my lover
said. `We will never forget the glimpse into your past that you showed us, nor
will our children, nor will our grandchildren.'
`I'm counting on that,' Lyle
said, and then he was gone.
I sat next to my beautiful
husband on the back deck. He looked every bit as handsome to me at 58 as he did
when I'd first set eyes on him at fourteen. We were holding hands, and our minds
were linked through our implants as they had been continuously for nearly all
of the past four decades of our lives. In front of us, our adult and teenage
children, as well as some of our grandchildren were playing a pick-up game of
football in the chilly autumn air as falling leaves swirled all around us. I
was tempted to join in the fun, but at our age, Brian and I both knew we were
no match for the `kids' as we thought of them all, even though our oldest was
approaching forty and had a teenage son of his own.
Just then, I noticed a kid on
the field who wasn't one of our clan. `Who's that?' I asked my husband,
pointing to the teenage boy I didn't recognize. True, we had thirteen children
and eighteen grandchildren, but I was pretty sure I knew them all. I wasn't that old, yet.
`I have no idea,' Brian
answered. `When there's a break in the action, we'll have to find out.'
Later in the afternoon, we
caught sight of the boy with Paul, our oldest son's, son. We invited them over
to chat - something I'm sure both boys were thrilled to do - chat with a couple
of old men.
"Hey granddads," Paul said.
"I'd like you to meet my boyfriend, Sam," he continued as Sam extended his
hand, first to Brian and then to me. "My grandfathers met when they were our
age, Sam. They were fourteen, just like us. They met during a football game,
just like we did, and they were on opposing teams, too. They've been together
44 years . . . can you believe it?"
Suddenly, I felt it, and I
knew Brian felt it, too. There was no mistaking what we had felt. It must have
been the same thing Lyle Stuart had felt emanating from us. It must have been
how he found us. Paul and Sam were linked, and their link was resonating. They
were soul mates . . . gay soul mates.
"Wouldn't it be cool if we're together that long, and maybe
longer?" Paul said happily.
Before I could open my mouth, Brian said, "You will be,
boys. Of that, I have no doubt, but let me tell you about a couple of boys who
played football way back in 2008. . . ."
The author gratefully acknowledges the invaluable assistance of David
of Hope in editing and Trab in proofreading my stories, as well as Gay Authors, Awesome Dude and Codey's World for hosting them.