This is gay love story between two boys 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.

I wish to thank all you have written to compliment my story and to encourage me. I appreciate it very much. I also wish to thank Richard Lyon for listing my story on his site "Gay Writing on the Internet" at . There are many fine writers represented there and I urge you to check it out. If you would like to comment on my story, please email your comments to .Thank you for reading my story!

Cottonwood Park

by Omnius

Chapter Five

A dozen boys of various ages were scattered across the Holbrook's front yard. They lined up in two opposing sides as several girls sat in the driveway and on the front porch watching and cheering. Timothy and Trevor crouched in the line, one to the left of center, the other to the right. Suddenly one boy yelled, "Hike!" and once again, there was pandemonium and mayhem in the Holbrook yard.

Trevor was knocked to the ground by a stocky, grinning oaf of thirteen who deliberately ran over his left arm as he sought the quarterback on Trevor and Timothy's team. However, just as the oaf was about the run him down, the quarterback tossed the ball in a desperate attempt to avoid a sack. Timothy had broken through because none of the boys on the other side thought he had a chance of doing anything worth noticing. He ran to the edge of the yard and turned, only to see the football tumbling through the air toward... yes, toward him! He reached out, caught the ball and scored a touchdown.

The girls gave a restrained cheer, though his teammates were a bit more excited. Timothy's opponents refrained from their usual insults at being beaten as most of their fathers worked at the Multitron plant and Timothy's father outranked most of them.

As Mike Torino patted him on the back, Timothy saw Eric Lindstrom, the pastor's son, helping Trevor up. He ran over.

"You OK?" he asked, trying not to look overly concerned, yet unable to completely restrain himself. Trevor smiled wanly.

"Yeah, I'm OK. I just hurt my arm." Timothy looked over at the oaf, Sam Blankenship, whose father was a shop steward at the plant. Sam was smirking. Timothy knew enough about company politics to keep his thoughts to himself at that moment. The only reason Timothy's father, the Personnel Manager at the plant, had invited Sam's family to the Holbrook's Fourth of July party was to try to keep things smooth with the union.

"Come on," Timothy said pulling Trevor after him. "Let's go inside for a minute."

Trevor gladly followed.

As they ascended the stairs into the living room of the split-level, Timothy softly muttered, "I hate football."

"Me, too. So why do you play it, then?"

Timothy sighed.

"So the other kids won't think I'm a snob or anything, since Daddy's so important at the plant. He tries real hard to keep everything running smooth there."

They climbed another half-flight of stairs to the top level and entered the bathroom. Trevor had a few scrapes on his arm, but nothing serious. Timothy washed it off and spayed some Bactine on it. Trevor blew hard on the scrapes until the stinging subsided.

"I gotta pee," Trevor announced as Timothy replaced the Bactine in the medicine cabinet.

"Me, too. Hurry. I'll wait out here."

"Naw, you can do it now. Go ahead. Where's best friends. Remember?"

Trevor had a way of smiling, a strange kind of discerning smile that seemed to say, "I know what you're thinking," that Timothy found irresistible. He grinned conspiratorially, checked outside the bathroom door, and when he saw an empty hallway, closed the door and replied, "OK."

Trevor had already unzipped his cut-offs and pulled his tiny penis out. Timothy stopped as he approached the toilet and stood, looking. Trevor's thing was long and thin, with a wide cone on the end. A long and thin stream of clear pee was streaming out of it. Timothy suddenly felt funny, dizzy, breathless. And, he knew he couldn't open his shorts. His thing was suddenly hard, as hard as it had ever been.

Though he knew he could probably talk about anything with Trevor, (in the last few weeks, their friendship had cemented into one of near absolute trust), he didn't think that he could ever talk about his thing getting hard, "getting a stiffy" as Daniel called it. Daniel had made it sound somehow wrong, somehow dirty with his comment about thinking "nasty." For that reason, Timothy felt that somehow, this was something about which he should be ashamed and that it should remain a secret. He had thought about the implications of his "stiffies," of the fact that they seemed to occur at very odd times, when he listened to profoundly moving music, when he watched a particularly spectacular sunset, when he looked at Trevor's curls. Somewhere deep inside, he felt it was just something he could not reveal to his friend, that somehow Trevor would not understand and he would lose him as a friend.

"I thought you had to pee," said Trevor with uncertainty in his voice as he slipped his penis back inside the elastic of his briefs. Timothy looked up.


He stood motionless. Trevor shrugged, washed his hands, and walked out of the bathroom.

Timothy could have slapped himself. He felt like an idiot.

When he was finished relieving himself and washing his hands, he walked through the house looking for Trevor. There was no sign of him. He went down to the living room and looked out the front door. Trevor was not in the front yard. He turned, went to the kitchen and down the half-flight of stairs to the family room. Once again, no Trevor. He turned to the laundry room and the back door, which led to the patio, where most of the adults had gathered.

Outside the screen door, he could see a dozen men and women sitting around in lounge chairs or standing in groups, drinking cans of Shasta or bottles of Bud, talking, laughing, and doing the kinds of boring things adults did in social situations.

"I'm really glad you and Sarah were able to come. Timothy really thinks very highly of your family."

It was his father and he seemed to be speaking with Allen! Timothy had not thought that Trevor's parents would actually accept his father's invitation. After the outburst at his first dinner with Trevor's family, Allen had seemed friendly yet restrained in front of Timothy. It was possible, Timothy thought, that he was embarrassed; but, the boy knew that Allen was not happy teaching at Fremont State and living in Fremont, Kansas. He was surprised that Allen and Sarah would join a group of people that he was certain Allen would normally have made fun of.

"Well, we don't know very many people here in Fremont and most of the faculty are either out of town or too old for wild celebrations."

Timothy could hear them both chuckle. Allen continued.

"We appreciate the invitation. I have to admit that this is a bit different than the way we celebrated the Fourth last year."

"Oh? How's that?"

He heard Allen chuckle. "Well, we were at an anti-war rally in San Francisco. I got arrested and Sarah had to bail me out. Trevor spent the evening in the waiting room. I don't think those were the kind of fireworks he was expecting."

Both men chuckled. Timothy was shocked to hear his father laughing and being so friendly with a war protestor. He father had always criticized the protestors and rioters.

"You don't sound too shocked," Allen commented.

"Well, people in Fremont expect the faculty at the college to be a little different."

Timothy knew his dad and could hear the friendly humor in his voice.

"I suppose everyone here pretty much supports the war."

There was a pause.

"Well, we are pretty good and simple people. We love our country and we want to do what's right. There are several people at this party who've lost sons in Vietnam. We don't like the protests and we're really scared about the direction the country's taking. But, I have to admit that I'm not really sure the war is such a good idea anymore. I have to admit that I really don't know why we're there anymore."

"So," said Allen. "Johnson hasn't just lost Cronkite. He's losing Middle America as well."

Timothy was stunned. His father, his FATHER, was questioning the war! His father had ALWAYS supported the war. What was happening?

"You know, everyone here is a veteran. We all served in either WW2 or Korea. We grew up in an era when you did your duty and you trusted the government to do what was right. But, to be honest, I just don't know anymore. I listen to Cronkite announce how many boys died this week and I ask, `Why?' After Tet, I just don't know anymore. And, kids today. I don't want to see Timothy in the jungles there. He's going to be eleven next month. In seven years, he'll be draft age. Surely it'll be over by then. But, what if it isn't?"

"He's smart. He'll get a deferment."

"That's the coward's way out."

"Is it?"

A pause.

"Kids are a lot different today than they were in our day."


"I worry about Timothy."

"He's a good kid."

"Too good."

Timothy stopped breathing.

"What do you mean?"

A pause.

"Don't get me wrong. I love my boy more than anything. And, I'm so proud of him I can't describe it. He's the best son a man could ask for."

Tears formed in Timothy's eyes.

"He never causes us any trouble. He never backtalks. I almost never have to punish him. Now, Andy... he's always getting into trouble. But, you know? I don't worry about him. I worry about Timothy. Sometimes I almost wish he would get into trouble. You know what I mean?"

Allen chuckled. "Sometimes, I wish the same thing about Trevor. And, you know what's ironic? I'm the Communist and you're the Republican. See? We do have something in common."

Both men broke into loud laughter and slapped each other on the back.

Timothy backed away from the door.

His father loved him. He was proud of him. That was good. But, his father thought he was too good. His father wanted him to get into trouble. What did that mean? All his life, Timothy had wanted nothing more than to be a good boy, the kind of boy his parents and grandparents could be proud of. It was embarrassing when they bragged about how smart and how good he was. Yet, inside, he was proud. Now?

Timothy went into the family room and sat down on the easy chair in front of the television. His whole world had been turned upside down. His father was questioning the war. His father, who was as patriotic and responsible as anyone he knew, was questioning the war. Not only that, he was worried that he, Timothy, never misbehaved. Why would a father want his son to misbehave?

Well, he would have to make his father proud. So he would have to start misbehaving. He took a deep breath and wiped the tears from his eyes. Resolutely, he stood up and returned to the back door.

Stepping out on the patio, he found his father before the charcoaler flipping burgers and introducing Allen and Sarah to Sam Blankenship's parents. Trevor was standing next to them and grinned broadly as Timothy approached.

"Timmer!" his father called out. "It's getting late! You're falling down on the job! We need dessert! You want to crank the ice cream maker?"

Timothy started to jump and then, suddenly, stopped. He paused for a moment, thought about it, and then replied, "No. I don't want to." He then turned around and headed back to the door.

Timothy's father shook his head in surprise and said, "I beg your pardon?"

Sam's father smirked at his wife, waiting to see how the Personnel Manager would handle an insubordinate son. Trevor watched his friend in wide-eyed surprise.

"I don't want to," Timothy replied as he opened the screen door. Outside, he remained his usual confident self. Inside, he was trembling. He could not believe he was doing this; but, his own father had said he wanted to see him misbehave. So he was giving his father what he wanted.


He stopped at the door. That was the tone of voice his father used on Andy when he misbehaved. Timothy seldom heard his name pronounced in that tone. He could not take it. Immediately, he turned around.

"I'm sorry, sir. I'll do it."

His father looked at him curiously as the boy quickly walked over to one of the two ice cream makers. He draped a kitchen towel over the top, sat down on it and started cranking. Trevor grinned, draped a towel over the second one, and followed his friend's example. Sam's father watched in surprise at how quickly Timothy obeyed his father. Sam was always a lot more difficult and usually required a swat or five on the butt before acquiescing to his father's will.

"There's a meteor shower tonight."

Timothy was laying on the floor of the family room reading the copy of the Fremont Chronicle that Eric Lindstrom had thrown on the porch five minutes before Mike Torino tossed the Kansas City Star. Trevor was also on the floor, leaning against the easy chair, watching a rerun of The Man From U.N.C.L.E. Timothy's eyes went to the screen and followed Ilya Kuryakin as he ran across the screen, his long, soft-looking blond hair flowing in the wind. Timothy liked looking at him, yet another thing that gave him that... that feeling.

"How do you know?"

Timothy returned to reading the weather and astronomy report in the paper.

"Every August, there's a shower. It's called the Pleides. Tonight's the peak."

"Cool. Can we see it here?"

"Probably not. Too much light from town. You have to be out in the country. The paper says there will probably be like two or three really bright one's every minute. I sure wish we could see it."

Timothy turned to the comics to read Dick Tracy, his favorite strip. Trevor turned to him.


Timothy looked up at his friend and saw that grin on his face. Warily, he asked, "What?"

"Why can't we?"

"Why can't we what?"

"See it?"

"Well, it's going to be too late. The peak is like after midnight."


"I can't stay up that late."


Timothy looked at Trevor's eyes and felt a sudden sense of foreboding.


"Why not?"

"I can't."

"You said your Dad thinks you need to rebel a little. What's he gonna do?"

Timothy rolled his eyes.

"I don't know. Ground me. Give a dozen swats. Take away my allowance for a month. I don't want to find out. Besides, there's no place in town where we could really see them good."

Trevor turned back to the television with a slight smile on his face. During the next commercial, ("Come alive! Come alive! You're in the Pepsi Generation!), he asked, casually, "So, if someone was going to watch the meteors, where would be a good place to go?"

Timothy looked up thoughtfully.

"Well, anyplace out of town would be OK. There's a hill on the north side of the bypass, over on the other side of the college, that Daddy and I go to sometimes with my telescope to look at the moon and the planets. That would probably be the best place."

"Could we get there on our bikes?"

Timothy rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Trevor, I'm not sneaking out tonight."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm NOT."

Trevor grinned.

"Yes, you are. You know you want to."

Timothy sighed.

"Trevor, you know I would love to see the meteors. But, there is no way my parents will let me out that late."

"They don't have to know. You can sneak out. Look. The back door is two floors down from your parents' bedroom. They won't hear a thing if the air conditioner's on. You can be back before three or four. They'll never know."

Timothy said nothing. Trevor knew he was considering it.

"I'll meet you at midnight at Fifteenth and Union, in front of the Freshman Girls' Dorm. It's only a block away."

"Trevor! I'm not going."

Trevor stood up.

"I have to get home for dinner. See ya tonight!"

"Trevor! No!"

"See ya!"

The sudden muffled sound of someone speaking Spanish awoke him. Timothy suddenly sat up in his bed and looked to his right. It was coming from the alarm clock radio on the night stand between his bed and Andy's. The clock read 11:45. Timothy quickly turned the alarm off. He had forgotten that Fremont's only AM station, KVFK, went off the air at eleven and there was some high-powered Mexican station that came in then. He almost always went to bed at nine during the school year and ten during the summer. He looked over at Andy, who snorted and rolled over.

The house was silent as he slipped his pyjamas off, crawled into his Bermuda shorts and a pullover, slipped on his PF Flyers and snuck into the hallway.

There was a strange sound coming from his parents bedroom. They normally went to bed when the ten o'clock news was over, but his father was groaning. It sounded like he had a stomach ache. Timothy quickly ran down the hall and descended the half-flight of stairs to the living room, then the half-flight down to the family room.

The fear in him was enormous. Yet, the sense of excitement was greater than anything he had ever felt. This was dangerous and the thrill was amazing.

He paused to listen and, hearing nothing, crept into the laundry room. As quietly as possible, he slipped the lock and pulled the back door open. The hot air of a late summer Kansas night was a shock to a body accustomed to the cool of the air conditioning. He quietly slipped out to the back porch, gently pulled the back door shut, and tip-toed over the gate in the chain link fence where his Typhoon lay. A moment later, he was pedaling for dear life toward the FSTC campus.

As he stopped on Union, he looked across at the empty parking lot of the girls dormitory. In just two weeks the campus would be crowded with three thousand students. Now, it was still deserted. He heard a whistle. Under a tree, in a shadow away from the lonely blue light of the lamp illuminating the lot, Timothy could see a figure on a bike waving to him. He looked around to see if campus security was anywhere near and if any traffic was approaching on either Fifteenth or Union and, seeing he was alone, quickly pedaled across to the lot.

Trevor was sitting on his blue Schwinn Varsity ten-speed, a bike that was almost too big for him, behind a big green mailbox.

"I knew you'd come."

Timothy wanted to slap him. He grinned.

"Yeah, well, here I am."

Trevor gave him his smile and that was all the reward Timothy needed.

"So, how do we get to that hill?" Trevor asked.

Timothy looked around.

"Well, we have to go up Union to the other side of the bypass and then head east on Henderson Road past the truck stop. Its like a mile past the truck stop. But, we have to watch out for the police."


So, the two boys pedaled up Union. Only a couple of cars passed them on the deserted street and as they came up to the Ramada Inn on the left side of the street, they carefully checked to make sure there were no police or state troopers around. With the path safe, they darted across the bridge over the bypass, tore past the truck stop and headed into the darkness of Henderson Road.

Timothy was frightened, but he would never have let on to Trevor as they rode through the darkness. There were sounds beyond the normal crickets and frogs one heard at night in town, sounds he couldn't identify, and he was on the verge of suggesting they turn back when, suddenly, Trevor let out with an excited, "Wow!"


"Did you see that?!?"


"A meteor! Right in front of us! Up there!"

Timothy looked where Trevor was pointing, but saw nothing.

"It was like this bright star with a long green streak behind it!"

"Wow. Come on," Timothy urged, suddenly energized.

They came to the top of the hill. There was a barbed wire fence on the right and a rusty sign on a rotting pole advertising "Bunny Bread." They hid their bikes under some brush in the ditch beside the road, crawled through the barbed wire, and ran up the hill.

Their expectations were more than fulfilled. All across the sky, as they lay in the grass gazing up at the wondrous sight, dozens of bright streaks of light shot across the stars. Trevor gazed in wonderment at the Milky Way as it divided the sky in two.

"Its so beautiful," he whispered in awe. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Yeah. Its something else," Timothy agreed.

"You never get to see the stars like this in LA or Berkeley. I never knew it was like this."


Timothy heard a sniff and realized Trevor was on the verge of tears. The two were laying on the backs, side by side. He reached over and took Trevor's hand in his. Trevor squeezed his hand.

Together, they lay watching the glory of the night, two boys seeing the wonders of the universe unfold before them, feeling the joy of sharing with another who understood. Timothy was overwhelmed with emotion, with joy, and with love for his friend. He knew he would never forget this night.