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About this story

There is a prequel to this story: (young-friends/growing-intimacy). I think you can understand most of the story even without reading it.

A big shout of thanks to the responses I got for "Growing Intimacy!" Without further ado, here's the first chapter of the series.

Date Completed

7 Dec 2012

Chapter 1 -- Seeking

I hated every bit of Oklahoma when I lived there. Now my nostalgia of my old and distant home was the constant subject in the depths of my midnight pondering. The attachment was more than attachment to people. Indeed I missed my friends at school, and my football gang, and Joel, but I was in unfathomable love with the environment too. Now in California, when I was walking on the street, I often had the feeling that the air was sweeter in Oklahoma, the trees greener, and the skies bluer. Of course, all those weren't necessarily true. But that was how I felt. It would take some getting used to before I could proudly say that California was my home.

Being basically a foreigner here, I needed guidance to get to know how things worked around the place. My parents couldn't provide that; they were new here too, and from my observation they didn't do much preparation before moving here. They were as clueless as I was.

So I focused on school, hoping that I could find someone to be the guiding light here, preferably someone who lived close to us. But it was summer vacation, and school wouldn't start until September. That meant I still had almost two months. My parents chose a bad time to move. Summer vacation was supposed to be a time when I horsed around with friends. Yet I had no friends here, and I wasn't exactly fond of starting to look for friends now without any direction. Was I to go to the beach and ask some random kid for their name and say, "Nice to meet you? Do you mind horsing around with me? I'm new here."

That was what I did. I was that desperate. I was bored to death.

I couldn't deny the great wonders of California beaches. In front of me was a convex shoreline that stretched both ways to seeming infinity. People were doing all sorts things here, and fervently the sun glared on the limitless amount of sand grains granting a great source of light for various activities.

Beach houses were on the far side on the left; a bridge full of traffic was on the right. Amid the busy traffic and people here, I wondered where I fit in this place, and where I fit in this world. I was trying so hard to find my place on this land that was utterly virgin to me.

Then I saw Max. Our encounter was somewhat brief. 4 foot 11, black hair, skinny and rather boyish, he was a vigorous teen having the best time of his life. The most attractive quality he had was his solid confidence; it was convincing yet not obtrusive.

When he neared me, he asked in humble confidence, "Wanna build a fortress there? I need some help."

"Sure," I said, and he waved me over to a corner where his fortress stood like a kingdom on a sea of sand.

"We're gonna need some moisture to keep it from falling apart," he noted. "Come on. Let's go get some water together."

All that time I stayed mostly quiet, but he didn't seem to be annoyed by my shyness at all. He did most of the talking. Under his instructions and some of my gradually increasing suggestions, we began adding parts to the kingdom, making it look more like a real castle.

"You don't look like you're from around here--you here on vacation?" he asked.

"How can you tell?" I was surprised. How did he know I was new?

"I don't know," he shrugged. "I just don't smell California on you." He laughed, and then he went to get some more water for our construction work. As his figure grew distant and gleamed under the overhead sun, I thought about Joel. Everyone looked like Joel to me. When I saw every boy of his age, I saw Joel. I'd been trying so hard to get him out of my mind, and it wasn't working well.

I put my attention on admiring this boy's confidence. Confidence was something that wasn't found in Joel; Joel was always subtle when he did things.

I told myself no. I needed to stop thinking about Joel. If there was anything that moving away brought me, it was the opportunity for me to forget what happened between us. It was the opportunity for painful memories to pass. I could have a new life, a different life here.

I looked at Max again, and I thanked God for giving me a friend. I expected this summer to be an amazing one, but deep down I knew I was getting ahead of myself. I just started hanging out with him. He probably already had a regular bunch of friends whom he hung out with, and there was no way I could fit in. I just didn't like big groups of people. So I said to myself that I would just enjoy this day, enjoy our time together, and enjoy the beauty of the beach as long as I could. I knew things slip out of our hands so easily.

When dusk took over, we were sipping smoothies from cups through straws inside a family-owned beachside diner. Sitting opposite each other, we enjoyed the softness and wideness of our seats and engaged ourselves into a discussion of our lives. He appeared to be totally honest with me and answered every single question I shot at him. In return, I tried to be all honest with him. But of course I didn't involve Joel in our conversation. I wouldn't lie; I just wouldn't mention him at all. This was no time to think about Joel.

"Which school are you going to?" he asked.

"Cheavers," I said. He replied with a "Me too" and we exchanged a smile. I started crying inside. Happy tears.

Looking out into the darkness, I was overcome with grief. I thought with a shudder that this day would end soon, and was afraid that there wouldn't be another quite like this one. So artfully I began shooting another series of questions.

"There's not much to do here, right?" I groaned. He didn't give me much of a reaction. He only looked at the beach and turned back, resuming his sipping of the coke. Then he started biting his straw, leaving only a tiny gap for liquid to pass through. There was a gap of seconds before he said anything again.

"I like it here," he said, "the sea and the beach, and the skies. I think it's beautiful out here." Agreeing, I nodded.

My heart pounded when he smiled. "You know," he said, "that's why I come here very often. I like that it's so peaceful."

"Yeah," I said. "This is nothing like the mall." He nodded, totally agreeing with me. Great. He was also a lover of nature.

"If you like, we can come here again some time," he suggested. The pounding of my heart doubled.

"How about tomorrow?" I snapped. Was that too soon? I almost regretted it the moment I said it. Sounding too eager was so helpless in situations like this.

But his response was a short "Okay," which made me smile inside. He was a sweet boy. I loved the tenderness in his tone. When I heard it, I felt he was devoid of any kind of evil. He was all pure and innocent.

"It's a date then!" I exclaimed excitedly. We both burst into laughter. I thought I saw his face grew redder, but I couldn't tell whether it was from the heat of the summer or from my words. I would soon find out. It had been an amazing day; the fear in my heart was gone in a sudden. I was looking forward to us becoming good friends. He was a handsome little boy, but his compelling confidence made him even handsomer.

When we waved goodbye and headed home, my mind already jumped out of today and into tomorrow. I couldn't sleep too well that night, but when I finally did, it was all sweet dreams.

The beach looked more beautiful the next day. Lying on the sand, we looked at airplanes passing over us and heard the sounds of waves rushing onshore. The songs sung by the birds and the summer breezes set the scene, exalting the monotony in our all-school chat. We moved on to talking about summertime, telling tales of our past adventures. I told him about my school camping trips back in Oklahoma and the fun we had in the mountains. He suggested we go on a hike some time, and I nodded yes. There was nothing I liked more than an excursion. He proceeded to tell me about the boring summers when he passed an entire day inside his house because his mother said he was too young to go out and play by himself. It changed last year, when his Mum finally lifted the restriction, and since then he spent most of his time here. The beach was his second home.

I listened attentively; he did the same. I felt as if our conversation could go on forever. It wasn't even half finished when the bright sun turned into a magnificent sunset. Soon there was already the round moon on the sky and another shimmering and misshaped moon on the ocean. Stars filled the Milky Way under that painting-like July sky. If only this moment could last for eternity.

People dispersed, some in vehicles and some on foot. We counted the number of people still on the beach.

"Thirteen," I said softly. My tone was naturally light and soft in an environment of tranquility like this.

"Fourteen," corrected Joel. "That one at the far end of the beach. There's two people there. They're just leaning onto each other." It made me jump. He didn't know how much I wanted to lean onto him. But it would be extremely awkward to try that right now. It would definitely freak him out, not to mention I was too freaking shy to do that.

Anyway, I disagreed with his correction, and our argument turned into a playful fight. Soon we were wrestling each other and sand was all over us. He was the clear victor; his arms and legs locked me into a position from which I had no hope of escaping. Our bodies were burning from all that exercise. In fact I was relieved I wasn't popping a boner after all that close contact with another beautiful being like Max. This was the kind of moment to fall head over heels in love, and I swear at that moment, I'd totally fallen in love with the boy that was on top of me.

I couldn't move, literally. He had me. I was his; he could do anything to me. I wished. But in my mind I knew all he would do was to make me surrender and then he'd get off me. I just wished otherwise. But how often do wishes come true? Like never in my book of life.

We were in that position for I didn't know how long. Weirdly not a single word was said. I couldn't see clearly into his eyes and his thoughts, but something was going on inside him. I just knew. When some nearby ship's headlight shone over the beach and eventually on Max's face, I spotted something peculiar.

There was redness all over it. No mistake this time. I could suspect that it was because he was hot after all those wrestling moves, but his eyes spoke a different story. They didn't move for a long time. They had been fixated on one thing -- me. We were so close I was studying the outline of his face and the little features on it. Our eyes locked at that second, and the next he closed his eyes. My heart stopped.

He leaned in. I felt a peck on my lips. It was too quick to taste anything, but it was heartwarming enough in its context. It was a moment of transcendence that I had prayed for. Everything was beautiful -- the sounds, the landscape and the look in his eyes -- and everything was heartwarming.

But he jerked away, and started pacing slowly, walking away from me. No, I said to myself. I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't let what happened between us slip away from my fingers. In that brief moment when we touched, however short-lived, I could see a future many years ahead. I could see us running under the coruscating sunrays. I could see us laughing and hugging and kissing. I could see us counting the number of people on beach and the stars on the night sky. Yes, it was a dream, but I knew it was a dream that could come true; it was a dream which I could make true, if I tried really hard. I was determined -- what I saw in that vision would be reality.

Max wasn't walking away particularly fast. He was obviously lost in innumerable thoughts. He turned when I patted his shoulder. It was wet. He was crying. I didn't say anything. I just held him close and we sat on the beach. For what felt like an hour. For what felt like two hours.

It had to be almost eight, but I didn't care. Max was more important than anything. Returning home late for an hour or two was nothing compared to the well-being of Max. Indeed I had no idea what kind of thoughts were roaring in his head, but I knew I played a part in his state right now. I knew I was its indirect, if not its direct cause.

We sat there under the starry sky for a very long time. I didn't mind at all. Having him beside me gave me a special kind of security. I hoped I had the same effect on him. I hoped he would speak soon. Hiding everything inside wasn't the best way to resolve this, but I wouldn't rush him. I would simply make sure I was there when he was ready to talk. So I waited.

He finally moaned, "I'm sorry." It was such a low voice I almost didn't catch the "I'm" part. I didn't know what to say. In my perspective, there was nothing he did wrong. He made no mistake; he made me feel good. I just pulled him closer. Some of his tears reached my face as I nudged his face closely; there was sweetness even among their saltiness. At that moment, I tasted the bittersweetness of love.

I think it was almost nine when he stopped sobbing. We looked at each other like we were old buddies, like we'd known for ages. I got the message from his eyes. He was scared. I had been there.

He gave me a slight smile which I found so heavenly. I wanted to make him feel better. I wanted to make him aware of the fact that I understood what he was going through. And I wanted to let him know that I felt pretty much the same way about him, that I reciprocated his feelings. I searched for the right words to do the work, but failed miserably. I'm not the kind of guy who says the most comforting words.

His black spiky hair was blown back in the wind. His blue eyes were so much like mine. His face looked so calm now, as calm as the sea and as still as the sky. I gave up trying to come up with anything to say. I knew just what to do.

Under the moonlight, I turned to face him and rested my left hand on his right shoulder, my right hand nearing the back of his head. Simultaneously I tilted my body and pulled him close to me.

So we kissed. I kissed him. He didn't pull away. I thought I smiled during our first real kiss. Of course I had no idea what I was doing. I just kept my lips on his. Dryness came soon; I was about to end the kiss when his hand wrapped lightly around my neck. His mouth opened a bit, and among the sweetness my dry lips gained moisture. I imitated him, and opened my lips a little; now his upper lip was between my two lips. The wetness was so exciting I felt my tent down there building. Conveniently our heads tilted sideways in different directions. I pulled him even closer, and he did the same. It lasted for seconds, then minutes, and I felt us both panting. I wanted so bad to taste him; I wanted to feel my tongue against his lips. So I prepared myself to attack his lips with my tongue, but all of a sudden he tightened his grip on me and my tongue entered his month. Our tongues touched, and we both jumped at that moment. It felt even better than before. Once my tongue was inside, it never wanted to leave ever again. I felt I was on autopilot, as my tongue explored different parts of his mouth. Then our tongues battled for minutes, and our panting increased. I never knew it would feel so great kissing a boy. When his lips sucked on my tongue, I gagged a little, but it was an equally great sensation once I got used to it. Soon I returned the favor, and when his legs moved so close that half of him was actually sitting on my hips, I knew I was doing an excellent job. I knew we were doing an excellent job.

When we finally pulled away for air, the first point of interest was our apparent bulge down there. We both laughed; we were kids once again. After another quick peck on the lips, he got up and said, "Come on. Let's walk you home." His confidence was back, and that made me so freaking happy.

God. That was a godly kiss. It was nothing I'd expected. I never imagined my initial intention of comforting him would snowball into an intense making out session.

He noticed the tent in my shorts as he pulled me up. It was pointing at him and he found it sidesplitting. God. How I wished he would touch me there.

I insisted I would walk him home but he declined. His reason was that I was the newcomer here. I couldn't win that argument, so I complied. We walked past the promenade and narrow and winding little paths, and all that time our faces were so close together. I reached out to hold his hand and he held me tight, walking the lonely streets being so-not-lonely.

I suddenly loved California then. The boy next to me was greater than everything combined in Oklahoma. I was glad I came here. It's funny how one can have so much privacy and secrecy in such a busy city. The smaller and the busier a place, the easier to hide among crowds. Of course it wasn't our intention to blend in, but we didn't need to hear judgments and opinions from outsiders. No, we needed none of those. We needed only the two of us in our own little world.

It was nice how the two of us communicated with little words and big emotions. It was only the second day, and we were already inside each other's mind. We might not know exactly what kind of raging storm that was going on inside, but we knew just the right things to do, and we did them at the right moments. When I pressed my lips against his on the beach, I somehow knew that it was the right thing to do at that very moment. And it fixed everything. It beautified everything.

In minutes we were standing behind our house. I was worried about how I would explain my lateness to my parents, but Max assured me and said it would go fine because it was the first time it happened. "Right?" he questioned. "It's the first time, right?" I nodded. He put up his thumb and I was ready to run inside.

"It's a nice house," he added. I stopped and took a look. I hadn't really looked at the house that much. Anyway, he was being objective. It was a nice little house. I didn't know how he could afford it, but my Dad hired some great architect to design it. The company probably did it for him; they kind of sponsored him in some way. That was the best guess.

Past the front gate, there was a nice garden with various kinds of flowers and a young tree that stood a few feet away from the house. The backyard was the barbecue area with stoves and picnic tables covered and protected from the occasional rain.  The house itself was a grand marvel -- kitchen and three rooms on the ground floor, five rooms and three bathrooms on the upper floor. Here and there on the ground and in display cases were nice-looking ornaments and some ancient artifacts. It really looked more like a vacation home than a regular home. I had to admit it felt like a celebrity's house.

"You must have a chauffeur too," said Max half curiously and half teasingly.

"Don't get the wrong idea," I smiled. "We aren't even that rich. It's just part of the company package, I guess."

He didn't seem to believe me. No problem. I put him close to a passionate kiss. This time my tongue was in his mouth the first second, and he gladly accepted its entrance, and our tongues soon started to pleasure their counterpart.

Then he pulled away and asked, "Aren't you worried about your parents? Can't they see us here?" I ignored him, and went right back into the kiss. This time it lasted longer, and there was no resistance. The truth was they couldn't possibly see us even if they tried. The best they could see were two mysterious figures kissing passionately outside their house. I should say that we weren't even that close to the house.

As our tongues were twisted in an endless affair, my previously unsatisfied erection returned. For a moment it brushed against his abdomen. I loved how he didn't at all try to reduce his distance. We just continued to exchange the tastes in our mouths and every second we seemed to be pulling each other closer to our body, trying to feel to flesh under our shirts in the dim moonlight.

Then something amazing happened. I felt him hardened against me. Then I felt us intentionally moving our bodies to make sure our erections stayed on each other. From our heads and necks, our hands downed to our shoulders and our butts. I was desperate to touch him and feel him, but I needed him feel me and touch me more. I reached one of my hands to the front, starting to approach the belt on his short jeans. Before I could reach it, a light in my house went on, and the door was open in the next second. We stopped and crouched, my hand over his mouth.

We waited for minutes, and finally I could see my Dad going back in.

"I thought you said they couldn't see us," Max grinned.

"Well--" The truth was I was so scared I almost wetted my pants.

"I'll see you tomorrow. Okay?" he added.

"Come here at noon," I said. I didn't know how much eagerness was written on my face. I wished I had said "morning."

"David," he whispered into my ear before he left, "I really like you." I couldn't help but give him another peck. He didn't know how much I wanted it to be another deep and passionate kiss. He didn't know how much I wanted to take off all his clothes right there right now.

I sighed when he disappeared into the shadow of the night. God. I already loved him too much. The vision I had on the beach seemed a little bit closer to reality then.

Talking to my parents seemed a lot easier than expected. They had always been the easy-going ones. We were done in a minute or two. I promised I would be more responsible and I guessed I would now that I'd found my life.

When I went to bed that night, Max was with me the whole night. I didn't even know if I was asleep or not. I wouldn't have known if my house had been on fire.

My Other Stories

Growing Intimacy (gay/young-friends/2012-11)