This is gay love story between two boys and follows them as they grow into adulthood. Some chapters may contain references to sexual activities involving them and others.. If you object to this, you are urged not to read it. If reading this causes you to violate any laws in your community, please do not do so. The author does not condone the violation of any laws. This story is copyrighted 2002 under the pseudonym Omnius. You may not copy or distribute this story in part or in whole without the consent of the author.

This is primarily a romance. There will be some sexual scenes later in the story, (and some of these may be rather intense), but if that is your primary purpose in reading the story, you might be disappointed.

by Omnius

Chapter Two

As once again he rode south on Union Avenue, Timothy's eyes roamed over the park with a greater interest than they had the day before. The same young kids splashed and laughed in the wading pool, the same adolescent intellectuals sat over their chessboards outside the rec center. But, his eyes did not see what he was searching for.

He rode through the gate again, parked his bike under the statue of General Fremont, and consumed his peanut butter sandwich and apple and Quik. He opened Twenty-Thousand Leagues once again and, leaning against the pedestal, resumed the story. Every once in awhile, however, his eyes would rise above the book and survey the north side of the park, lingering over the picnic tables by the rec center. Then, with a faint sense of disappointment, he would return to the voyage of the Abraham Lincoln and its search for the giant "narwhal."

It was just as the frigate was confronted by the giant "beast" and Professor Aronnax was swept overboard by a sudden pillar of water, that Timothy glanced up. A slight smile raised the edges of his lips as he eyes focused on the picnic table farthest from the chess players. There, he saw the boy from the day before, sitting alone, facing Timothy, his head bent over the table, apparently reading a book. He returned to his own book, but after a page, realized he was not paying attention to the story. He was considering whether or not he needed a Coke.

He looked up. The boy's head was up and it appeared he was looking at Timothy, or, at least, at General Fremont. However, as soon as Timothy looked up, the boy looked back down. Timothy read another page, but realized he was lost. He had paid no attention to the previous page or two and had no idea how Professor Aronnax and Conceil and Ned Land had been rescued, or by whom. He closed the book. Yes, it was definitely time for a Coke.

Replacing his book in the backpack before slinging it over his shoulder, he walked his bike across the manicured lawn of the park toward the rec center and the old, beat-up, red Coke machine. And, then, he stopped.

Daniel Weinberg had suddenly appeared around the corner of the rec center. He was walking toward the Coke machine. Timothy stopped, looked around, and saw that the trunk of the nearest Cottonwood tree was not wide enough to hide him from what he knew were Daniel's irritatingly observant eyes. He sighed, and continued on toward the picnic tables.

By the time he reached the Coke machine, Daniel was sitting across from the boy and asking, in his whiny, nasal voice, "So, where'd you move from?"

Timothy looked intently at the selection of bottles in the machine as he strained to hear the boy's response.

"Berkeley, California."

His voice was soft, euphonious, (another word from his vocabulary exercise, and one which had seriously impressed his father). It also betrayed that the boy was not overly enthused about being engaged in conversation with Daniel, whose enthusiasm blinded him to what seemed perfectly obvious to Timothy.

After dropping his quarter in the slot and removing another Coke, Timothy sat down at the same table at which he had sat the previous afternoon. He ventured a look over at the other two. Daniel, perfectly dressed, as usual, in a white alligator shirt, blue shorts, and spotless Keds, was watching the new kid intently, who seemed much more casual in his cut-offs, tee-shirt, and worn out PF Flyers. His gaze seemed to bore down on his book as if his very existence was dependent on his reading and understanding every word and nuance of the writing. He had a small Sony transistor radio beside him which was softly broadcasting the news of Bobby Kennedy's shooting the previous night. Daniel looked up.

"Hey, Timothy!"

The boy glanced at Timothy out of the corner of his eye and then returned to his book. Timothy nodded.

"Hey, Daniel."

"This is my new friend!" Daniel announced, pride obvious in his voice. Timothy felt a sudden surge of pity for Daniel, a lonely boy with few, if any, friends. He tried to tell himself that it was Daniel's own fault for being such a pain in the neck, but he knew it was more than that.

"Neat."

Daniel grinned broadly.

"His name's Trevor." He paused and then, as if revealing one of the Great Mysteries of the Universe, announced with wonder in his voice, "He's from Berkeley!"

Trevor looked up at Daniel, who was looking at Timothy. He couldn't see Trevor turn to Timothy and roll his eyes. Then, as Daniel looked back at Trevor, Timothy grinned and felt a sudden link, a kinship, an understanding. He stood up and walked over to the table.

"Hey, I'm Timothy."

Trevor looked up and, for the first time, smiled.

"Hey."

Timothy stood up and walked over to the table where Trevor was trying to ignore Daniel. He sat down beside Daniel and opposite the new boy.

"So what brings you to Fremont?" Timothy asked.

Trevor looked up again and actually seemed interested in speaking.

"My Dad got a job teaching at Fremont State."

"Ah. OK. What's he teach?"

"Education."

"Well, yeah, but what's he teach?" Daniel asked. Trevor rolled his eyes again. Daniel, however, did not miss it this time. Timothy noticed the boy's face flush.

"He's teaching students how to become teachers."

"Well, for Pete's sake," Daniel whined. "It's not like I'm stupid or anything."

Trevor sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say anything like that."

This seemed to satisfy Daniel, whose faced brightened again.

"My Dad's a doctor! He's the top doctor at Fremont Memorial Hospital!"

Trevor smirked at that comment, as if he was not surprised by Daniel's revelation. He then looked at Timothy, paused a moment, and then asked, "What's your Dad do?'

"He's the personnel manager out at the Multitron plant."

Daniel snorted. "My Dad probably makes a lot more money than yours."

Trevor suddenly stood. "I need to go to the restroom. I'll be back in minute."

"Well, what did I say?" Daniel asked in bewilderment. Timothy had just about had as much of Daniel as he could take.

"Daniel, you're just a pain the neck. You brag and make people feel bad. And, you never let anything go. You just keep pushing and whining and pushing and whining. Just relax, man."

Daniel pouted for a moment and then his face brightened.

"Hey, you been thinking about any nasty stuff again?"

That was it. Timothy stood and pointed away from the table.

"Go! Now! Good bye!"

Daniel looked, first, affronted, then rebellious.

"No! He was my friend first!"

"Daniel, he doesn't like you any more than I do. Can't you tell?"

Daniel's anger rose and then, just as suddenly, declined into self-pity.

"Nobody likes me. Everybody says I'm a pain."

Sadly, he stood up and walked away. Just as suddenly, Timothy felt anger at himself for being so cruel and honest with him; but, he thought to himself, if you weren't blunt with the kid, he just didn't get it.

He watched, feeling dreadful guilt, as Daniel trudged away, yet unable to call the boy back.

"What happened?"

Timothy turned to see Trevor standing on the other side of the table, watching Daniel's receding figure. Timothy frowned and sighed.

"I guess I hurt his feelings."

Trevor shrugged and raised a dismissive eyebrow.

"He is kind of a twit."

Timothy grinned as he asked "What's a twit?"

Trevor sat and, with a grin, replied, "A twit's kinda like a goofus or a dip."

Timothy had heard the term "goofus" before, but not the other words. These must have been California words, he concluded. He sat down in front of Trevor.

"So, what are you reading?"

Trevor held the thick paperback up. "The Hobbit, by J.R.R. Tolkien."

"Never heard of it," Timothy replied. "What's it about?"

Trevor raised his eyebrows.

"You've never heard of The Hobbit? How about The Lord of the Rings?"

Timothy shook his head as Trevor snorted.

"Wow. Everyone in Berkeley's at least heard of Tolkien."

Timothy suddenly felt very small and insignificant. He looked down at his hands and felt his face flush. He had never felt this way before, as if, somehow, he was diminished by not knowing of Tolkien or because he lived in Fremont instead of Berkeley.

"So," he finally said. He looked up and saw Trevor watching him. The expression on the other boy's face clearly showed regret. "You miss Berkeley?"

Trevor seemed uncertain as he watched Timothy, but after a moment's hesitation, replied, "Yeah, but I'll get used to Fremont. We've moved a lot. I was born in Palo Alto when Mom and Dad were at Stanford. And, then we moved to LA when Dad was going to UCLA. And, then we moved to Austin when Dad was working on his first Ph.D at UT. Then we moved to Berkeley when Dad started on his second Ph.D."

"Wow. You've moved a lot. And, your Dad sure has spent a lot of time in college."

"Yeah. My grand-dad calls him a professional student"

"Fremont's a nice place. Everyone here is real friendly. You don't have to worry about crime or riots or drugs here."

Trevor chuckled.

"Yeah, I guess. Its kinda small, though. It seems kinda boring."

"Well, its not a big city, but we have stuff here. We have a zoo down at Fremont Park and we have baseball games at the American Legion park, and there are concerts sometimes at the college. The Turtles came here once! And, there's the natural history museum at the college. And, the planetarium."

Trevor smiled.

"What are you, the Chamber of Commerce?"

Timothy blushed, realizing he had seemed too enthusiastic about trying to sell Trevor on his new home.

"Have you ever been to California?" Trevor asked.

Timothy shook his head, once again feeling diminished. This was a new experience for him. Never had anyone made him feel this way; and, he knew Trevor wasn't trying to. He was simply being himself and asking straightforward questions. Nonetheless, Timothy, for the first time in his life, felt embarrassed, as if he wasn't as smart or as cool as Trevor. He really wanted to impress Trevor. He had never, ever, wanted to impress another boy before.

Why, he asked himself, am I trying to impress Trevor? Why is he different from the other kids I know?

"Timothy?"

"Huh?"

"Did you just space out or something?"

Timothy blushed.

"I, uh, I don't know. Sorry."

Trevor smiled again.

"`s OK. So, you ever been to California?"

Timothy shook his head.

"We went to Florida once and spent a week in Sarasota and Bradenton. We went to Texas once, too, but not to Austin. We went to Galveston. We also went to see NASA."

"That's cool. Well, California is the coolest place on earth. Its like so cool that you can be anyone or anything you want and nobody cares! Well, except Governor Reagan."

"Wow."

Suddenly, the intro music for news on KCMO came on Trevor's little radio. The lead story, of course, was the shooting of Senator Kennedy earlier that morning. Robert Kennedy was the younger brother of the late President John F. Kennedy and he was running for the office his brother had held until his own murder in Dallas five years before.

"That's really awful," Timothy commented. "Its scary. Its like everything is crazy. Like the war won't ever end and the protests and Martin Luther King getting shot and the Negroes rioting and now Bobby Kennedy getting shot."

"Yeah," replied Trevor softly. "My Dad was crying this morning."

"Crying?" Timothy asked incredulously. He had never heard of a man crying.

"Yeah. The only other time I ever saw him crying was when Martin Luther King got shot."

"My Dad didn't cry. He was just worried that the Negroes would riot again."

"You're not supposed to say `Negro" anymore," said Trevor with a look of admonishment on his face. Once again, Timothy felt embarrassment. "You're supposed to say `Black' or `Afro-American.'"

"But, I thought it was rude to call them `Black.'"

"No, `Black' is OK, but `Afro-American' is the best."

Timothy nodded. "We don't have any Afro-Americans in Fremont."

Trevor looked shocked.

"Why not?" he asked indignantly. "You didn't chase them away, did you"

Timothy felt very uncomfortable.

"No. I don't think any have ever lived here."

"Not even at the college?"

"I don't know. There might be some Afro-Americans at the College, but I've never seen any."

Trevor shook his head in wonder. "Man, what kind of place did we move to?"

That was it. That was all Timothy was going to take.

"Hey, this is a nice town with nice people. Its not our fault there aren't any Neg... I mean Afro-Americans here. Its not a stupid place. OK, its not as sophisticated as Berkeley or LA or whatever. But, it's a nice town and the people aren't snobs."

Timothy stood up, surprised at his vehemence. Trevor had a look of shock on his face as Timothy turned away, slung his backpack over his shoulder and picked up his bike.

"I'm sorry," Trevor said softly.

"Yeah," Timothy replied over his shoulder as he mounted his bike. As he pedaled toward Tenth Street, he called over his shoulder, "See ya." He didn't see the crushing look of self-reproach on Trevor's face.

That night, as Timothy lay in bed listing to the breathing of his little brother, Andy, he thought about the strange events of the day. Never before had a boy affected him this way. Looking at Trevor made him feel funny, the way he felt when he looked at Will Robinson on Lost in Space. It made him feel the way he had the previous afternoon before Daniel the Pest interrupted his thinking. His thing had gotten stiff while he was sitting at the table. Plus, he had wanted Trevor to like him. Timothy had never had a lot of friends, but he had some and those tended to be good friends. Since his family had moved during Christmas break from their old small house on the south side of town to the big new split-level in the new addition on the north side, he hadn't made any new good friends, though everyone at his new school, North Park, seemed as nice and friendly as the kids at the old school, Jefferson Avenue.

There was something different about Trevor. He seemed smart and sophisticated. His hair seemed really cool, much more so than Timothy's perfect haircut. He thought it might be neat, no, cool, to have hair like Trevor's, but he could never do that. But, Trevor had seemed to be making fun of everything Timothy knew. He was making fun of Fremont and seemed like a snob. He had rejected Timothy and this made the boy angry. This boy that Timothy wanted to be friends with had been a snob and it humiliated and embarrassed him. Never had anyone made him feel that way. He had never known failure or embarrassment or humiliation before. And, it was not pleasant.

With a grunt of irritation, he rolled over on his side, facing away from his little brother, and drifted off to a disturbed sleep, conscious as he drifted away that his thing was not stiff.